The Lost Islands
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Common

Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.

i know what you want, what you want

Tawa
when you're lookin' at me like that
you won't like the bite back
She stalks along the beach bordering the Commons, leaving the tranquility of the Meadows behind her. The young mare was fuelled by a smoldering rage born of a grief she dare not name, for fear of inviting peril upon those she’d lost track of - her mother, whom she’d last seen in the jungles of the Ridge; her sister, whom she’d left the shores of Atlantis in search of; her father, who’d followed her to keep her safe, only for a sudden storm at sea to separate them.

For many days, she’d haunted the coastline of the Meadows, staring across the water to the island where she’d been born. Had Nuka made it back there in one piece? Had the currents carried him further south and pushed him roughly ashore there? Should she wait, and hope that he’d find her? But what if her foolishness had ended up with him being injured, and he was stuck somewhere, vulnerable and alone? Ears laid flat, irritated by the sudden wind coming off the sea that had her squinting against the stinging flurries of sand, she scowled as she retreated further inland, and stopped amongst the tussock grasses there just beyond the beach.

There was little cover here, and it made her anxious. It would be for the best that she keep moving on, but having come to a halt, her body was slow to get moving again. Instead, she hunched her shoulders, and dropped her head low, as if hoping in vain that by attempting to make herself appear smaller, she wouldn’t be so likely noticed. No such luck. It seemed only a few minutes of solitude were granted before another approached, disturbing her at rest.

Tawa made no attempt to greet the figure approaching her, nor even acknowledge their presence, her reasoning that if she appeared stand-offish, the way Nuka did sometimes, it would be clear enough a sign for them to leave her be. And yet… "What're ya lookin' at?" she spat, when the stranger paused and looked her way. The words were laced with all the venom the young mare could muster, which wasn’t much - she was tired and it’d been a long time since she’d last had a decent sleep. "Ain’t go’ nothin’ for ya."

html by dante! & bg & lines






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