Harrowhark the Ninth (
we_bring_hell) wrote2020-11-24 01:43 pm
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Nothing is wrong. Well, nothing new is wrong. It's just that sometimes you wake up and hate everything, starting with yourself and extending outward from there.
She has snarled at Gideon, banished Gideon to the distant past, and is now sulking about being abandoned by Gideon. She was trying to work on the Lyctoral theorems, but her bile got in the way, and now she's chewing on her interdimensional communication mechanism.
She is considering burning characters into her living bones while her cavalier is away and without a healer standing by, because she may be 90% of Gideon's self-control but Gideon is 70% of her self-preservation.
The Mountain Goats is blaring; Transcendental Youth.
She has snarled at Gideon, banished Gideon to the distant past, and is now sulking about being abandoned by Gideon. She was trying to work on the Lyctoral theorems, but her bile got in the way, and now she's chewing on her interdimensional communication mechanism.
She is considering burning characters into her living bones while her cavalier is away and without a healer standing by, because she may be 90% of Gideon's self-control but Gideon is 70% of her self-preservation.
The Mountain Goats is blaring; Transcendental Youth.
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The mouth is more like a beak than a herbivore's mouth, and might be properly termed a maw. It steps deliberately closer and snaps a bit of the meat, incisors flashing. Seen from outside, with the proper sense of humor, it might be funny; two skittish, gruesome creatures approaching either with mirror images of skepticism.
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"Sedulus," she replies. She crosses her arms, watching with a huge smile, ready to step in if either of the two need her.
"The attendant said it could take a quick flight if it wanted. Sedulus likes flying, don't you, sweetheart?" Yes, Ingress is cooing at a thestral. Luna Lovegood would be proud.
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"I would be please to see it fly," Harrow says, risking a graze of its muzzle with her gloved hand.
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The thestral pauses, whickers a raspy wheeze, and then it walks towards the other end of the paddock. Its magnificent wings unfurl to their full span, and with a huge flap that stirs up clouds of dust, it steps forward and lifts off, soaring into the sky.
"So pretty. I love their wings."
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"I think they will bear people as riders. I'm not sure I'm remembering that correctly, but they seem gentle and friendly enough."
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She's being ridiculous, of course, but she would carry Harrow around if Harrow needed it.
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Between the teeth and the option to, you know, drop people from a great height.
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The thestral does one more loop in the sky above their heads before it begins its descent.
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"A fearsome, terrible creature thou art," Harrow mutters to it, and scratches its jaw.
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"I think you've made another friend."
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When the thestral finishes devouring the last bits of meat, it snuffles its way to a corner of the paddock where it can stand in the quiet and enjoy the fresh air.
“I believe our audience is over,” Ingress says.
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“Of course, friend. I’ll walk you back, if it’s all right with you.”
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