Why hello there, intrepid explorer of forums! Welcome to Obdurate, where things are always ![]() Join our community! (If you do decide to register, please send a personal message to one of the administrators or leave a message in the cbox at the bottom of the page. This helps us cut down on spam. Thank you!) Then, of course, all you other people who already have accounts can sign in. You know the drill. |
| Mechanical Lullaby; PRIVATE for Flare | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 15 2011, 07:40 PM (235 Views) | |
| Oop | Feb 15 2011, 07:40 PM Post #1 |
|
so they scream
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
((Private for Flare.)) Farid strode into the small, elegantly decorated corner of the gardens where the Seasons usually met. He found only Sabra, Spirit of Winter, waiting there. "You're looking a bit ragged, dear Farid," she commented, patting the arm of his throne -- a wooden masterpiece,carved with furling vines, dancing leaves, and other things reminiscent of his season -- invitingly. He sat slowly, saying, "It's been a very long autumn this year." "Yes, well, it will be over as soon as Winnow and Cadair arrive." She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs so that her white robes pulled taut. In an attempt to change the subject, he asked, "Will the winter be a harsh one, Sabra?" as he leaned back in his chair. His numerous bracelets clattered as he folded his arms. He glanced at his fellow Season, her hair white and her skin an icy blue, just as his was almost a russet color. She was beautiful, of course, but every bit as frigid and cold-hearted as her season. "It will be what it will be." She checked her nails, which didn't need the attention. "Is a long autumn a harbinger of a long winter, suppose you?" "You know that we can't know that. We shift as the world calls us." He shifted in his seat, throwing a leg over the arm of the chair. "Wise words, coming from the youngest of us." "Being the youngest doesn't mean I'm young." True, Farid was the youngest of the four, and he did have the shortest season, but he was still older than he'd cared to keep track of (he'd lost count somewhere in the thousands). It didn't really matter, although he'd never hear the end of being the youngest. "You certainly are a quippy thing this year, aren't you?" Sabra smiled at him. She truly was of surpassing beauty, just as all spirits were. He didn't respond, but rather reclined further. "I am exhausted." Sabra leaned over, patting his hand. It surprised him how warm she felt when she appeared so frosty. Farid didn't bother withdrawing his hand. "Poor Farid, dear. Winter is almost come." The way she said it gave him chills, and he knew in that moment that it would be the harshest winter yet known. But he could do nothing about it. Hopefully, if nothing else, it would pass quickly or Sabra would grow tired and ease off. It would also make Winnow's job much harder, come spring. Of all of them, she had the hardest job, having to bring life and warmth back to a cold and desolate world. The thought of seeing Winnow again made him smile softly. He enjoyed her company very much. Where he ushered in the cold, Winnow opened the way for Cadair to bring his brilliant warmth, and he found it fascinating, just as he found the differences in Sabra and Cadair enthralling to examine. The way they interacted simply drew him "I only hope they hurry." Edited by Oop, Feb 15 2011, 07:42 PM.
|
| If you're gonna hit it, hit it until it breaks. | |
![]() |
|
| Flare | Feb 15 2011, 09:49 PM Post #2 |
|
Marching On
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Oh, Winnow was hurrying, alright. She was stumbling-over-her-own-feet hurrying, crushing way too many leaves as she ran, and geez, she hoped Farid wouldn't mind too much that she was destroying his handiwork. Well, after today, it would all be in Sabra's hands, anyway, so maybe he'd just brush her carelessness off. Let Sabra deal with it. Oh gosh, Sabra. "She's going to kill me," Winnow sighed aloud, using one of the phrases she'd picked up from spending so much time with the humans. It wasn't like she was always late to these things. It was just... she'd been moseying around that little shop... and the fingernail polish was just so blue... Shel lifted a hand. Glared hard at her brilliantly blue fingernails. Growled. Smiled. "I'm hopeless!" she laughed airily, reaching down and hiking up her skirt so she would stop tripping on it. Her slender legs were left to stretch, stretch, stretch as far as each stride could take her, and it was almost too bad that she could see the Gardens coming up in the distance. This running business was a lot of fun. Although Winnow was usually one to "stop and smell the roses" (humans had such perfect sayings), today she merely cast the dying flowers around her a passing glance as she raced through the entrance, splashed through the stream, leaped over the statue of Cadair that the man himself had insisted they install, and almost crashed into a hedge wall as she made a sharp turn around the corner to face the thrones. Winnow's grin practically split her face. She reached up and ran a hand through what had become quite the nest of knots, ignoring the frustrated look Sabra shared with Cadair as Winnow flounced toward her throne. As soon as she was seated, she leaned forward to brace her elbows on her knees and set her chin in her hands. "So. Where do we start?" |
| "Que sera, sera." | |
![]() |
|
| Oop | Feb 15 2011, 10:30 PM Post #3 |
|
so they scream
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
As Winnow finally joined them, Farid smiled. He wanted to get this over with and go take a ridiculously long nap. Like, "wake me up when it's time for autumn again" kind of nap. This exhaustion sapped him clear down to his bones. At first, when his season first rolled around, Farid felt better than ever. As the leaves shifted colors and the winds grew bitter, he felt at his peak. But as the long months dragged on, it took a toll on his strength. In fact, the autumn had stretched so long that Farid hadn't even had the strength to fly here; he'd had to walk a great deal more than he'd have liked. By the time everyone had arrived, Farid had both legs slung over an arm of his throne and one arm dangled limply. He didn't much feel like moving, either. "Come now, Farid. I know you're tired, but it won't be better if you don't get up," Sabra said, standing. The flowing white material of her robes cascaded to the floor. "Your new robes are quite stunning," he told her, lowering his feet to the ground. Even as they spoke, his strength ebbed. Sabra took his arm, her grip strong for how small she seemed, and led him to the slightly raised dais around which the thrones made a semi-circle. "You're too sweet, little Farid." She stepped up, and then took his hands, helping him up as well. With a grin, she asked, "Ready?" "Of course." They closed their eyes, keeping their hands locked for a long while. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but after a few moments, a bitter wind blew in. It was an imperceptible transfer of power from the outside, but on the inside, it felt to Farid like a great weight lifting from his chest. Like a cleansing away of some kind of leeching parasite, in a way. It felt like hours that he stood there, letting Sabra take what was rightfully hers, before he sighed in relief. Returning very slowly to his throne, he sat heavily. Sabra stayed on the dais, flexing her hands. "Well, I'm off. There are wonderful storms forming in the north that I'm rather anxious to take care of. Ta-ta!" She stepped from the dais and took the path out of the gardens at a leisurely pace, her white robes flowing behind her like liquid over the ground. Farid simply remained in his throne, even as Cadair rose. "No reason to tarry, then. I shall see you both come spring," he said, and then followed briskly after the Winter Spirit. With narrowed eyes, Farid glanced at Winnow. "Does that make you curious as well?" If he had the will power or the strength to change to his other form, he would have gone after them. A falcon may have stood out in this garden, but a human stood out more. "I wonder what they're up to." |
| If you're gonna hit it, hit it until it breaks. | |
![]() |
|
| Flare | Feb 18 2011, 07:24 PM Post #4 |
|
Marching On
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
This is her least favorite part of their ritual. She doesn't usually mind it when it's her up on that dais - the transfer of power always feels so good - but when Farid gives it all up to Sabra and that bitter cold sweeps through the garden and chills Winnow to the bone... well, she doesn't like it. At all. Winnow wraps her arms around herself as she sits and waits for the two to step down from the dais. From the corner of her eye, she notices how Cadair leans forward in his throne and watches the exchange with a look of childlike thrill. She... she likes the man well enough, but he's often a little too greedy for her tastes. Of course, Summer is like that, too, taking the water from the leaves and the life from the grass. Winnow has politely asked Cadair to back down a little before - after all, that's her work he's destroying - but her efforts are usually for naught. After so many years, though, she's over it. She just has to enjoy the green of the fresh new world while it lasts, is all. She sits up and smiles warmly at Farid as he makes his way back to his throne. He looks tired, as any one of them do after giving away their power. Still, it's never any easier to see her friends weak, so Winnow reaches out and clasps one of his tanned hands in hers. "Good job," she whispers as she squeezes before turning her attention back to the woman on the dais. Sabra is gone before Winnow has a chance to say good-bye, Cadair quick on her heels. She watches them go, her brow furrowing as Farid voices her own thoughts. "Aye..." An idea hits her, and she flashes a wicked grin to Farid. "Shall we do a little investigating?" she asks with a twinkle in her eyes. |
| "Que sera, sera." | |
![]() |
|
| Oop | Feb 18 2011, 08:40 PM Post #5 |
|
so they scream
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Despite being the youngest, after this many years, Farid would safely assume that he knows the others well as they know him. He knows that Cadair is the oldest and most powerful of them, and the most arrogant as well. He knows that Sabra is strong-willed and harsh, all logic and not much emotion. He knows that Winnow is fun-loving and caring, eccentric, but can also become carried away, heedless. He knows these things, but it is not his right to judge. Their seasons rule them as much as they enslave the seasons. Cadair is powerful because he must be in order to control that scorching sun. Sabra is bitter because the winter constantly fights and bites back. Winnow is free-spirited because spring is the season of new life. It all makes sense to Farid. Because he knows these things, he doesn't allow himself to worry about who has the power. They all have equal right to it and share it as the seasons dictate, because they are forced to obey the Earth's whims. Yet, that doesn't make him feel any less tired. Every second now he feels stronger, just as before every second brought greater weakness. "Winnow, my dear, I am always game for investigating." As an eternal Spirit, he needs something to pass the time. "Just give me a few minutes to rest." He doubts that Sabra and Cadair could have gotten very far, anyway. Beings that have no sense of age aren't usually known for their hurrying (though the Seasons, ruled by time, might count as an exception). Farid slumps into his throne, thoroughly exhausted, but feeling increasingly better. Placing a hand over his hazel eyes, he inhales slowly. This part he hates: the weakness, the lightheadedness, the vulnerability and uselessness. Finally, though, he feels adequate enough to undertake an espionage mission. He turns and grins to Winnow before shifting into the majestic falcon that is his second form, perching nobly on the arm of his throne. Ruffling his russet, white-speckled feathers, Farid emits a single piercing cry before spreading his great wings, buffeting the ground with powerful downstrokes, and taking off toward the sky. With his incredibly heightened vision, he watches for Sabra or Cadair as he circles their secluded little corner of the gardens. He's also waiting for Winnow. After all, it's not any fun at all to spy without a partner. |
| If you're gonna hit it, hit it until it breaks. | |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
|
|
| « Previous Topic · Other · Next Topic » |






![]](http://z4.ifrm.com/static/1/pip_r.png)




7:14 PM Jul 10