Persepolis added two handfuls of berries to the bag, after popping a few into her own mouth. "These berries are really good," She agreed. In response to Luna's second question, she answered "Strawberries are my favorite berry. Not too tart, not too sweet. As a kid, I occasionally tried to pick the seeds out. I was never successful." She laughed. "What's your favorite berry?" She asked Luna.
Lies and Deceit - A Fantasy RP
- Thread starter HoodedHuntress
- Start date
-
- Tags
- role play
- Thread starter
- #862
HoodedHuntress
Songster
Luna laughed at her story, before responding “Blackberries. They’re the perfect mix of sweet and sour for me. But raspberries are a close second.” She added with a sheepish smile “And they match my hair, so there’s that. And yours to be fair.” Luna proposed excitedly “We should try to find different types of berries too, and make like an assortment of them.”,hoping she would be up for the slight challenge. The reward was great, however. Those pancakes would be even better with the addition of the assorted berries.
"I'm up to that challenge," Persepolis responded enthusiastically. "I think it would be cool if we could find red, black and maybe some other colored berries for the assortment." Persepolis was enjoying this outing. She liked having Luna's company and hunting for berries made it that much better.
- Thread starter
- #864
HoodedHuntress
Songster
Luna nodded, smiling as she admitted “I don’t know what to say about those pancakes, other than that’s all I can think of right now.” She looked at the berries, closing her eyes and imagining what the pancakes would taste like. She asked conversationally, partly to distract herself from the pancakes, “What food would your mother cook when you were little? Or did she cook at all?”
"The pancakes will be delicious, I'm sure of it" Persepolis mused. She thought back to her childhood. Images of a signature dish that her mom used to make for her and her siblings flashed through her mind. She answered Luna's question, "My mom used to cook Macaroni and Cheese often. It was her signature dish. I loved it every time she made it. She would always make it with butter, whole milk, and three different types of cheeses."
- Thread starter
- #866
HoodedHuntress
Songster
Luna heard her story, attentive to detail. At the end, she gasped “That sounds delicious.” She pointed to some blueberries up ahead, which weren’t her favorite plain, but in pancakes they were divine, walking up to the patch of bushes at a slow pace to continue their conversation.
"It was delicious" Persepolis remembered. "Sometimes we'd stir in pan-fried sausage if we had any available. Did you have a favorite food growing up?" she asked Luna.
Persepolis acknowledged the blueberry bushes that Luna had pointed at, matching Luna's slow pace. She wasn't in a rush to reach the berries, she enjoyed having a conversation.
- Thread starter
- #868
HoodedHuntress
Songster
Luna’s tone shifted to one of coldness, reflecting her outer shell of her personality. She stated simply “The orphanage only made porridge. So no, not really.” She realized her voice and eyes had changed, and apologized immediately. Her she was, breaking down their conversation. She pleaded “I’m sorry for speaking like that. It’s just...” Luna found it hard to defend herself in front of someone seemingly perfect like Persepolis.
- Thread starter
- #869
HoodedHuntress
Songster
(@HeavensHens88 remember that long post you did in AHAM...this is in honor of that.) Horius had reached a spot. Sitting down on the floor, the soft rustling of leaves beneath his weight was the only sound to be heard in the area. He looked around him as a last form of checking there was nobody to witness his rage, but most importantly his weaknesses. The forest, as if it knew what the man was capable of, provided silence, backing off from the one who had conquered its on-slaughters. It assured him solitude, quiet, silence.
Silence for him to shout out his anger, his rage. For him to cry out his tears.
Horius' eyes, a mixture of the white snow of winter covering the dark brown oak tree of the forest, looked to the sky, a vast ocean of fears and regrets and rage. Trepidation surrounded the man; he began sweating, dreading the inevitable. The inevitable consumed him, swallowed him up like a lost voyager drowning in the sea, with no one to salvage him. His mind raced, rudely whispering into his ear she wasn't there. She wouldn't listen. Because she wasn't there.
Horius finally uttered a word. A word whose tone could only be understood by a mother, that of one whose child is suffering and needs comforting. His lips touched each other, finalizing the utterance. It had begun. "Mamá?" was all that broke the silence. His ears wished to have the delight of witnessing his mother's soft, kind, voice, as she responded to his call. His eyes, which had closed, slowly fluttered open like a butterfly breaking free from its chrysalis, yearning to see the like of day. But while the butterflies would experience the warmth of the sun's life-giving rays, he was given nothing but darkness. The darkness ate away at him, tearing as his flesh, gnawing at his bones, sapping up his blood till he was no more. And once he was no more, the darkness stayed. Forever.
Curse the silence! Let it rot, away with the carcasses of the weak. Silence only reassured him everything he had was dead. Silence made his brain reminisce. He had no choice but to comply with the cruelty of the mind's doings. With the opening of the first chapter, he was consumed. Page one.
The toy train ran happily along its simple circle, obeying the law of the tracks. Horius laughed as he pushed the first car over, toppling the others with it, then carefully reconstructed the train cars neatly before doing it again. A door opened. His mother had come home, surely, the creak of the door, years old now, aged by wind blowing against it and the scratches of the feral cat, opening and her soft, elegant, footsteps carried upstairs where his father was, in their room. As Horius toppled the train set once again, the cars separating and hitting the carpet floor which molded under their weight, he heard a huge bang upstairs, and the loud voice of his father, filled with hatred and malign. Horius supposed they were simply talking, arguing perhaps, but his heartbeat betrayed his true suspicions as it beat away against his rib cage, threatening to burst out and run off elsewhere. Horius looked up at the ceiling, which had shook with a bang, vibrating the walls of the house. The cacophony came with a cry, the cry of his mother. One that had a tone that could not be described lest one witnesses it in person. That cry only intensified as Horius sprang to his feet, ignoring the pain that rushed through his body as he stepped on one of the cars of his former. As soon as he had reached the stairs, the sobs of pain and pleas of mercy echoed throughout the house, torturing his eardrums. There were demons in the walls, surely, carrying the news around the small wooden house, whispering in cursed voices how she was doomed. The small beige house, forged with the wood of birch and the toil of his parents, always bright, illustrated with light shades, was nothing but a pit of darkness. As he burst into the room, breathing with the breath of a madman who has just killed, he saw.
His father, standing over his mother, wielding a broken bottle of wine, its edges dark green mixed with the red of his mother's blood. Some of the alcohol had spilled on the floor in a puddle that soaked into the carpet, staining the normally impeccable floor. His maddened face, creased at the edges with anger and ignorance. His veins pumping dark blood fueled by hatred back to his heart, blackened with malignity and evil.
His mother. With injuries too grave to explain, her blood stained an unhealthy red dye, urging him to leave. So he didn't have to see. See her hurt, her suffering. She had wings, beautiful wings of a goldfinch.
Horius had tried to push his father away from the violent scene he was birthing, but received instead a push so forceful it sent him hurling into the hinges of the doors, scraping and tearing into his flesh, petrifying him with pain. Only unfrozen by his mother's cries to leave. The cries stopped when he had reached the porch, leaving behind his teddy bear and his train set to obey his mother even at her death. With that, Horius abandoned the porch he had played as a child, the porch he had eaten on with his parents on war summer nights, and where he had made snow angels in the brisk winter mornings. A child's obedience is what made him survive that day, along with his mother's love. As his figure faded into the forest, his new veil from his father's cruel hands, Horius seemed to regain his sense of the present. The sky was in front of him again. His cheeks were covered in the salty tears that no one could see, lest they be killed. They didn't deserve to see his pain. Horius looked down at his forearm. The scar from the hinges was still there, branding him with a life of relentless pain and sorrow. It's dark hue signified his and his mother's blood, forever with him, coursing through his wretched veins.
The words came out choked, struggling to leave his mouth. They pained him to say. With a quiet sob, he murmured "I failed Mamá. I failed. I'm so sorry Mamá. I tried, but he was too strong. I am strong now, but..." Horius, who had fallen to a kneel, stood up, enraged, hissing "But what GOOD DOES THAT DO NOW?"
Horius cloaked himself with his hood and marched off. Straight to the hunter's territory, snapping branches, crushing leaves. The forest didn't matter. His home would obey him, let him pass. Do what must be done for his mother. As he neared, he turned invisible, seeing two hunters carrying a tarred Aves. Limp and lifeless.
The eyes of the Reaper darkened, cloaking any emotion other than that of fury and hurt. No sympathy was found in the lagoons of hate that stared upon the cowardly killers. His muscles tensed, every tendon an axle of a killing machine that would usher only pain, and hurt, and revenge. Uncloaking himself, he stood before the two men, uncloaking himself. He would be the last thing they ever saw.
He was a reaper, and there was nothing he could do.
Silence for him to shout out his anger, his rage. For him to cry out his tears.
Horius' eyes, a mixture of the white snow of winter covering the dark brown oak tree of the forest, looked to the sky, a vast ocean of fears and regrets and rage. Trepidation surrounded the man; he began sweating, dreading the inevitable. The inevitable consumed him, swallowed him up like a lost voyager drowning in the sea, with no one to salvage him. His mind raced, rudely whispering into his ear she wasn't there. She wouldn't listen. Because she wasn't there.
Horius finally uttered a word. A word whose tone could only be understood by a mother, that of one whose child is suffering and needs comforting. His lips touched each other, finalizing the utterance. It had begun. "Mamá?" was all that broke the silence. His ears wished to have the delight of witnessing his mother's soft, kind, voice, as she responded to his call. His eyes, which had closed, slowly fluttered open like a butterfly breaking free from its chrysalis, yearning to see the like of day. But while the butterflies would experience the warmth of the sun's life-giving rays, he was given nothing but darkness. The darkness ate away at him, tearing as his flesh, gnawing at his bones, sapping up his blood till he was no more. And once he was no more, the darkness stayed. Forever.
Curse the silence! Let it rot, away with the carcasses of the weak. Silence only reassured him everything he had was dead. Silence made his brain reminisce. He had no choice but to comply with the cruelty of the mind's doings. With the opening of the first chapter, he was consumed. Page one.
The toy train ran happily along its simple circle, obeying the law of the tracks. Horius laughed as he pushed the first car over, toppling the others with it, then carefully reconstructed the train cars neatly before doing it again. A door opened. His mother had come home, surely, the creak of the door, years old now, aged by wind blowing against it and the scratches of the feral cat, opening and her soft, elegant, footsteps carried upstairs where his father was, in their room. As Horius toppled the train set once again, the cars separating and hitting the carpet floor which molded under their weight, he heard a huge bang upstairs, and the loud voice of his father, filled with hatred and malign. Horius supposed they were simply talking, arguing perhaps, but his heartbeat betrayed his true suspicions as it beat away against his rib cage, threatening to burst out and run off elsewhere. Horius looked up at the ceiling, which had shook with a bang, vibrating the walls of the house. The cacophony came with a cry, the cry of his mother. One that had a tone that could not be described lest one witnesses it in person. That cry only intensified as Horius sprang to his feet, ignoring the pain that rushed through his body as he stepped on one of the cars of his former. As soon as he had reached the stairs, the sobs of pain and pleas of mercy echoed throughout the house, torturing his eardrums. There were demons in the walls, surely, carrying the news around the small wooden house, whispering in cursed voices how she was doomed. The small beige house, forged with the wood of birch and the toil of his parents, always bright, illustrated with light shades, was nothing but a pit of darkness. As he burst into the room, breathing with the breath of a madman who has just killed, he saw.
His father, standing over his mother, wielding a broken bottle of wine, its edges dark green mixed with the red of his mother's blood. Some of the alcohol had spilled on the floor in a puddle that soaked into the carpet, staining the normally impeccable floor. His maddened face, creased at the edges with anger and ignorance. His veins pumping dark blood fueled by hatred back to his heart, blackened with malignity and evil.
His mother. With injuries too grave to explain, her blood stained an unhealthy red dye, urging him to leave. So he didn't have to see. See her hurt, her suffering. She had wings, beautiful wings of a goldfinch.
Horius had tried to push his father away from the violent scene he was birthing, but received instead a push so forceful it sent him hurling into the hinges of the doors, scraping and tearing into his flesh, petrifying him with pain. Only unfrozen by his mother's cries to leave. The cries stopped when he had reached the porch, leaving behind his teddy bear and his train set to obey his mother even at her death. With that, Horius abandoned the porch he had played as a child, the porch he had eaten on with his parents on war summer nights, and where he had made snow angels in the brisk winter mornings. A child's obedience is what made him survive that day, along with his mother's love. As his figure faded into the forest, his new veil from his father's cruel hands, Horius seemed to regain his sense of the present. The sky was in front of him again. His cheeks were covered in the salty tears that no one could see, lest they be killed. They didn't deserve to see his pain. Horius looked down at his forearm. The scar from the hinges was still there, branding him with a life of relentless pain and sorrow. It's dark hue signified his and his mother's blood, forever with him, coursing through his wretched veins.
The words came out choked, struggling to leave his mouth. They pained him to say. With a quiet sob, he murmured "I failed Mamá. I failed. I'm so sorry Mamá. I tried, but he was too strong. I am strong now, but..." Horius, who had fallen to a kneel, stood up, enraged, hissing "But what GOOD DOES THAT DO NOW?"
Horius cloaked himself with his hood and marched off. Straight to the hunter's territory, snapping branches, crushing leaves. The forest didn't matter. His home would obey him, let him pass. Do what must be done for his mother. As he neared, he turned invisible, seeing two hunters carrying a tarred Aves. Limp and lifeless.
The eyes of the Reaper darkened, cloaking any emotion other than that of fury and hurt. No sympathy was found in the lagoons of hate that stared upon the cowardly killers. His muscles tensed, every tendon an axle of a killing machine that would usher only pain, and hurt, and revenge. Uncloaking himself, he stood before the two men, uncloaking himself. He would be the last thing they ever saw.
He was a reaper, and there was nothing he could do.
"Hm. Yeah." Raquel mused. She shouldered her pack, until she could find a good hiding place for it. "Let's go."
Hector didn't glance up, mumbling "I need to find the right-Aha!" He pounced upon a massive limb, and sat down, trimming many of the leafy appendages.
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