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Ever since first arriving in the Wilds, the Meronique's days had been filled with nothing but travel. From dawn 'til dusk, she'd rise from her temporary sleeping place and set out for the distant horizon, traversing as far as her trvel worn feet would take her until she either grew too hungry or too tired to keep going. It sounded like a tough existance, especially for one born with a silver spoon in her mouth, where everything she'd ever wanted had been delicately laid at her paws and did not need to be sought out or found. However, now more used to it, it wasn't that hard. Just keep walking. Simple as that.
Perhaps the more difficult task was figuring out why she was traveling. Was it curiosity? Suppose so. The land was wide, expansive, diverse, and new. It never ended, and it seemed a new discovery was around every corner. She'd never before realized how naive she was until seing how much more there was in the world, so perhaps she was filled with an insatiable desire to learn it all, memorize every corner and every detail until she was five times as knowledgeable as her past self. Or maybe she sought a higher purpose? Without a place to call home and having no clue what she was (aside from a noble Meronique of course), the youth really didn't know her place in the world anymore. She was above the common wolf of course, but where did that land her exactly? Would her days always be nothing more than aimless traveling, living the ghost of a life that could've been? Or, if she kept traveling in one direction long enough, might she find her true calling? Might everything be made right in her life if she just kept pushing forward?
The final possibility was she was not traveling, but running. Still running from her past. As much as she tried to push the horrid images away, the memories of her past dogged Andronika like a vengeful spirit, refusing to leave her be. She could go days at a time without thinking about it, as if she'd managed to leave it in the dust, but it always caught up... Always whispered in the corners of her mind when she let her guard down. And though she'd like to claim it was merely just an annoyance, that she'd gotten over her grief, that too would always catch up, take a good stab at her heart. It still hurt. It still hurt to think her parents had been stolen from her, to think she was left alone in the world without a soul to call friend or family. To think she had lost her throne, her childhood promises, and now only had a meaningless title and the blood in her veins to show her worth. She had nothing, and that thought would echo maliciously in her head until her eyes welled with tears and her breathing grew hard to control.
That was where Andronika found herself. Sitting on the rocky edge of a dangerous cliffside with her eyes trained on the sea, lost in a tumult of her emotions. She'd managed to bite back the tears for now, having gotten over the first wave of grief, and was now just trying to calm herself down, trying to seal those thoughts back up in their jar and push them away again so she could continue. Needless to say, she was far too distracted to hear approaching pawsteps, or to pick up the scent of an approaching stranger on the salty winds. To her knowlegde, it was just her, the ocean, and her emotions.
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Thankfully, Kitsch did not have to wait very long before being the presence of another squandered her lonesomeness. In the soft spring light, it was not hard for Kitsch to spot the lissome shape of another upon the coastal cliff line — the form itself was youthful and distinctly feminine, so Kitsch maintained no reservations about altering her arbitrary course; every sight now set on this soul in the mist. There was a sense of relief that flooded her body at the sudden presence of another and her pace quickened in a jaunty, fluid trot in order to close the distance between them quickly — but also to maintain an air of impermanence. Kitsch drew up to beside the babe [not stopping to consider whether or not such an entrance would be welcome] and muttered one, simple “hey.”
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So wrapped up in her thoughts was she that the casual "hey" took her by great surprise. She'd just barely noticed swift movement out of the corner of her eyes, that of the new stranger pulling up beisde her, but the wolf didn't become real until she made sound. The greeting sharply penetrated Andronika's pensive silence, causing the young Meronique to quickly jerk her head up and turn to stare at the newcomer, eyes wide with shock and apprehension.
Of course the wary yearling's first reaction was to percieve this girl as a threat, to maybe jump back and put some distance between herself and this cliff that she could so easily be pushed off of. When she laid eyes on the stranger's face, however, the lack of aggression or even interest towards the startled youth caused her to instantly toss away those paranoid thoughts. Like so many others she'd met, it seemed this wolf had not approached for the sake of attacking, perhaps merely just to strike a conversation, so the princess slowly willed herself to relax and look over her companion a second, more analytical glance. A very pretty girl, she had to admit, one of a nice figure and seemingly soft, feather like fur, complete with two eyes of a vibrant aqua shade. Her body language was not aggressive, another indicator that Andronika need not be so alert and on edge, but little else could be read about the new comer, making her frown and narrow her eyes slightly.
"Hello," came her slow, slightly pointed reply. Now not so terrified, she found herself just a little irritated by the other's sudden presense. She didn't enjoy having her alone time interupted, not when it was being used to compose herself and shut out the bad emotions plaguing her life. Of course, logically, one shouldn't expect much alone time when standing on neutral, unowned territory, but regardless, she still didn't appreciate the intrusion. Still, it would be a nice distraction from her grave thoughts, perhaps even just the thing she needed... Besides, she never could deny that natural tug of curisotiy when faced with something, or someone, new. Her eyes turned wistfully back to the ocean, staring out acorss it's dark waters towards the distant horizon.
"Are you here for the view as well?" Not really why she was here, but it's not like this stranger needed to know the real reason. It'd be a good way to strike up a conversation, she supposed.
She regarded the other now as if she'd known her all her life; as if she had been snuck up on by an old friend and not a strange wolf who's intentions were still unknown. This was not out of naivety, but moreso an attempt to feign calmness, for fear that if she didn't, the other would catch on to her distressed state and pry into matters that did the Meronqiue did not wish to bring up.
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The girl, at first, was taken aback by Kitsch’s assumptive entrance — but it slowly melted into a certain sense of openness, as wolves often tended to do. In fact, the girl who stared so solemnly out beyond the bluff greeted her quite amicably, echoing Kitsch’s own introduction. With that, Kitsch was certain that she was welcome and she swept her gamine hips against the crumbling earth that built these impressive cliffs. She released a low chuff out of pleasure, for the girl always felt she worked better when joined with a comrade — and now she had one!
“Not really,” Kitsch suggested with a shrug of her sloping, downy shoulders. Though their milieu dwarfed both young girls alike [and was well deserving of their awe], Kitsch did not seek it out for its beauty. Kitsch rarely tried to find anything, simply came upon things but barely paid them any attention. These wilds, all of it, paled in comparison to Sao Baile; a land she craved with the entirety of her being. All the world was dull compared to it so she traveled with such listlessness; as if only to experience the movement of such. “Are you really here for the view?” she questioned inelegantly, notching up an onyx eyebrow at the agouti girl beside her. Kitsch didn’t believe that for a second.
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A flare of defensiveness shot through the girl, as it so often did when others pryed into her business. It wasn't just the question, but the way this stranger said it — so blunt and arrogant! Of course, Andronika could be accused of doing the same thing when addressing the woes of wolves she'd encountered in the past, making her no less blunt and arrogant, but her hypocricy was beside the point. She cast the ivory furred slyph a sharp, cold side glare of pale green, making her disdain towards the other's tone apparent, then slowly turned her attention back to the sprawling ocean before them, feigning apathy, like it hadn't really bothered her that much.
"Not really," she replied cooly, purposefully echoing her companion's first response. "It is a nice distraction, though." Should the other dare to question just what she needed a distraction from, she was already prepared to snap "none of your business". Hopefully it wouldn't come to that though, and this conversation could remain light and casual.
"Resident of the coast, or just passing through?" It was her logic that keeping the conversation's spotlight on the wolf beside her would be an easy way to avoid discussing her true business among these cliffs.
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forgive me for the wait <3
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Kitsch very clearly saw a look of antipathy cross the pretty female’s visage. Though the look was fleeting, Kitsch’s fragile jaws pressed together in responsive distaste. Who was this strange girl to pass judgement on her, for simply providing her friendship? It did not occur to Kitsch that, perhaps, the girl upon the cliff hadn’t wanted company and wished to remain just how she was — alone. That simply wasn’t how she had learned to view herself and those around her. As far as the naiad was concerned, wolves always appreciated her conversations [if she had chosen to speak to them at all] and would indulge her whenever it was so desired. It was just the way of things.
Then, Kitsch was distracted from her derailing by a question concerning the subject she enjoyed most — herself. “I guess I live here now.” Kitsch shrugged and cast her gaze out across the ocean’s waves, unintentionally mirroring Andronika’s movements. This fact made her sadder than she ever let on, and she cried nightly for her mother and her father, but Kitsch would hide this matter beneath a tongue-in-cheek facade. “But i’m… i’m not from here.” she continued cooly. ”You don’t seem like you’re from here, either.” Throwing the girl a knowing, sidelong glance.
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