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+--- Thread: Frogspawn Swamp The lives we've reclaimed. (/showthread.php?tid=33779)
The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Firefly - April 07, 2019
A day spent creeping through the muck of the slough ended with Firefly finding a place to roost for the night among the foothills of a mountain, and in the morning he continued his roaming "vacation" until the scent of the slough had drifted away and all around him was the clean, crisp scent of fresh water. He stopped to drink from a smaller pond of swamp water and immediately regretted it; but his presence disrupted the native fauna all the same, and soon the upset of the water's foul taste was forgotten as he began to stalk after the resident frogs.
Despite the jolt of their movements, Firefly managed to corner a few and do away with them before they could escape in to the deeper waters. He found that they clustered along the edge rather than the center of the swampy ponds, and with some focus he found a number of plump amphibians in the reeds. He made a mental note never to come this way again — frog meat was curious for its flavor and consistency, but it was easier to stick to the slow-moving crabs of the seaside.
By the time he'd eaten his fill he was soggy from swamp muck and tired from the amount of work the hunt had taken. He stopped to rest on an exposed segment of hillside where the pines were not so thick, and let the spring sunlight warm and dry his coat. He knew he would need to turn around soon — he had spent at least a full day too long roaming — but he wasn't yet ready to give in to his future role as a father.
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Niamh - April 09, 2019
Niamh had roamed the borders, but had peeled away from them near the norther border toward the swamp, potentially planning on visiting the Plateau if she was able to find something to eat along the way. Surely they wouldn't begrudge her for hunting the thicket- as long as she shared with whoever greeted her at the borders, and as long as they knew who she was. She was hungry, bordering on hangry, and needed to find something to eat so as to feed the growing squibs inside her that seemed to demand that she eat more than twice the amount she usually did- which was already quite a lot.
The scent of the swamp made her reel, though; maybe it was because it was Spring and all the fallen leaves and dead grass were now revealed from under the snow, rotting and decaying, or because she was pregnant- but the stench absolutely gutted her. She meandered along the borders where the smell was slightly less overwhelming, and where the water was clearer, and thought she might simply forgo the visit to the Plateau today. While she wanted very much to visit Towhee and tell her the news- which was already fairly apparent by the sag of her abdomen- she might have to either send out a howl, or send someone on a mission to inform her if she couldn't force herself through the stench of the swamp.
Over that smell, though, came another- the scent of a wolf- and it stopped her in her tracks. Her brain recognized it instantly, and was able to derive a bit of information from it, but she couldn't quite compute the answer she was given. She hastened her step, following her nose and moving through the murky waters carelessly, stumbling here and there where the marsh grass gave away to a pocket ot foul water- until she caught sight of a figure she never thought she'd see again.
His body bore scars, but through his healthy, beautiful pelt they were only really visible (from this distance, anyway) when he flexed and moved, presumably pouncing frogs. But there was no mistaking the coal-black of his pelt, and the burnt gold of the fur along his shoulders. He moved away from his task to bask in the sunshine, so she moved forward, eyes trained on the dark figure, recognizing him more and more as she drew closer. She could see his scars more clearly, which halted her. Why, then- if he'd survived, and if this was truly her brother, had he not returned to the Plateau?
"What the actual fuck, Am-BRO!" She shouted at him from a distance, waiting somewhat warily for his reaction.
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Firefly - April 09, 2019
From his vantage point upon the hill where he basked, he could watch as tufts of cotton drifted off of the nearby trees, or fragmented bits of pollen and petals fluttering over the swamp. It might've smelled like sulfur at the worst of times, but if he ignored his nose then it became almost, almost a pretty sight to behold. He missed the brine-scent of the sea more and more though, and knew he would be leaving by nightfall. The thought made him smile at first. Further consideration of his shifting future and the role he'd have within Rusalka turned that smile in to a tense line, then it faded completely. Best to just bask in the warmth of the sun and try not to think, then.
Firefly felt a yawn pitch its way up his throat, and as his maw gaped he paired the sensation with an eager stretch; toes splayed, elbows popped, and he sank back against the grass —
What the actual fuck, Am-BRO!burst a far-off voice; the sound broke the quiet of the moment and his one good ear pivoted, and in one fluid motion he was sitting up, turning to observe whoever the hell had called out. They weren't too far away by the time he took notice of their glimmering golden coat — he was reminded vaguely of Svalinn who had a similar palette, but more muted — and otherwise made no move. Not a single shred of actual recognition passed over his grim features but he got to his feet, shook bits of grass from himself, and tried to approach the stranger for a better view.
He got a few feet closer before pausing; the wind had changed, pulling their scent towards him and surprising him, because there was something familiar about it. A sweetness. A newness, similar to the scent carried by many women back on his beach. What was a pregnant woman doing out here in the swamp? He huffed, intent on minding his own business, but really couldn't help it as he called back,
That your baby daddy? You shouldn't be out here lady — a swamp isn't exactly ideal for your affliction.
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Niamh - April 09, 2019
For the littermates, it’d been more customary for them to tackle one another- but Niamh’d restrained herself on the basis that tackling a ghost would’ve only hurt her and possibly her children. Ambrose moved toward her, but halted- and not a sparkle of recognition lit in his beautiful eyes. Niamh’s gaze hardened for a moment, and she knew before he spoke that he didn’t recognize her.
She did a double take- looking him over and thrusting her muzzle into the wind to catch his scent. Though he smelled of Rusalka, where she knew Caiaphas lived, he smelled like the ocean but also just like Ambrose. There was no mistaking it; this was her brother, and the scars told her enough. He’d been attacked by a cougar, as Quixote had told her- but he’d survived.
He spoke and his words flew over her head. He didn’t know her. Her cheeks flushed with heat as anger coursed through her with one swift pulse. Quixote had forbidden her from searching for Ambrose- and had she gone against his wishes, she might’ve found him and nursed him back to health. She muttered something quiet but mildly hostile about her former alpha’s command for a moment before she began to stride boldly toward him.
”I can do whatever I want, and you should know that, Ambrose,” She said, and tilted her muzzle up, almost proudly. She gazed at him evenly, as her anger faded into desperate hope. ”It’s me, Niamh, your sister.” She said, before adding, almost tearfully. ”I thought that cougar killed you. Quixote told me it must have.”
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Firefly - April 09, 2019
There it was again — that name, that fire in her voice; it occurred to him after that, she was talking to him, and his scarred face twisted in to a more obvious frown. He opened his mouth to protest against whatever claim she was trying to make, because he certainly had no memory of her, but then she mentioned a cougar and his golden mane bristled across his shoulders. He took a bold step closer to her and fixed his good eye in her direction, trying to study her face — ears twisting at the name offered up to him, Quixote. Who was that? Who was she, and how did she know...?
Maybe this was a trick. His first thought was less than trusting; she could be playing him. Firefly knew that his injuries were extensive and obvious and he wasn't ready to come to terms with a potential truth — so he shook his head, and soon flashed his front teeth as a small display of resistance.
I don't know what you're talking about.Even as he spoke out against her he was mentally bracing for the aftermath, not knowing what to expect from this broad. His experience with pregnant women had made him more cautious about how he behaved around them, but what this one claimed - that threw him.
I don't have a sister. None that I remember,his voice softened a bit as he spoke, but that frown remained in place.
Nice trick though, guessin' at what caused all these scars. Could've been a bear, or maybe a bunch of coyotes —his eyes were still trained on her face, tracing her scars with utmost scrutiny. So she was a fighter too, it seemed.
What about you? I'd guess — angry pig?There. His frown turned in to some kind of grim and straining smirk. He wanted to be away from her, whoever she was. Crazy women and their hormonal bodies making them nuts, and all that.
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Niamh - April 10, 2019
He seemed to be sorting things out, but coming up dry, though he came closer and trained his gaze on her face, which she very voluntarily held aloft for him to see. She watched for any glimmer of recognition, and saw him scanning her over, but didn't see anything that told her that he knew who she was- and he admitted as such. He said that he simply didn't remember having a sister, and that was slightly encouraging- he wasn't saying, then, that he'd never had one- simp[ly that he didn't remember having one. It was disheartening to hear that he didn't remember her, but from what she could tell, he'd simply lost his memory following the cougar attack. Maybe he wouldn't have, if goddamn Quixote had let her go find him.
"I am your sister. You disappeared- all we found was your fur, and blood, and cougar tracks," She said hastily, her voice hitching slightly. He began to speak again- well, that hadn't changed...They'd always had a habit of speaking over one another, but had always managed to keep up with what the other had said. She snorted at his comment, and tilted her head slightly, revealing the four scars over her left eye. "Cougar. 'Cept I kicked the shit out of mine, clearly yours got the better of you," She retorted, and it felt good to tease him again. "Look. Don't believe me? Check your left elbow- stretch your left leg forward, and look down to where it meets your body. There's a scar in there of four perfect, tiny canine teeth." She said, gesturing. She hoped that it would still be there, in the vulnerable and sensitive skin between his leg and his chest.
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Firefly - April 11, 2019
Either she was crazy (which he'd like to believe) or she was very convinced by her self, or maybe she was actually telling the truth. His countered words were met with her own abrupt cutting-in, and for a moment he was stunned that someone would talk over him; it didn't happen often in Rusalka and he was not used tot it. He was silent for a bit after she'd made her case again, but his resistance was wearing thin. The firm look on his face became a little more like a smirk — his old self making an appearance, maybe. Still, he didn't feel the connection that she insisted upon.
But when she mentioned a particular scar, he laughed - the sound booming out of him.
You think that I can tell the difference between these scars?Did she not notice the gnarly twisting of his face, or the patches of fur along his body that were still not growing back right? He was a mess; he'd be a mess for the rest of his life, this big ball of ugly scar tissue. At the very least he didn't remember it in detail — Firefly thought himself to be blessed for that. If he had to forget a sibling in order to cope with his injuries, then that was a fair enough trade.
Still, she was convincing. He huffed and puffed a little but relented, more or less thrusting his left forelimb towards her and then trying to find this particular wound. He glanced quickly (maybe deep down he was afraid to know the truth), and saw — something, anyway. A tiny wound compared to the ruination of the rest of him.
Well I'll be damned,murmurs the man as he glances between the comparatively small mark and the woman's shimmering face.
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Niamh - April 11, 2019
At his laughter, Niamh rolled her eyes. Even if he’d lost his memory, it didn’t quite account for the fact that he was being this haughty; but she supposed she’d always been on the inside, and that both of them had usually teamed up together, and now she was being faced with a stranger. ”You sound like Bruges,” She muttered softly to herself, but fortunately, ego aside, he checked.
And she was right. ”Those’re from me. The day Bruges and Fey- our older siblings- decided to teach us to swim. I have them too, from you. They pushed us off a rock into a deep hole in the river, and we just bit onto each other to stay together until Ma saw what they’d done and dragged us out.” She said with a small, but dry laugh. ”Apparently we just kept hangin’ onto each other for like an hour.” She said, mildly amused by the fact, even though now she was the only one clinging desperately to their relationship. ”You’re Ambrose DeMonte-Argyle. An I’m your sister, Niamh.”
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Firefly - April 11, 2019
Okay now you've got to be shittin' me,he countered as she brought up the full memory; she seemed so certain of herself but the names didn't sound familiar and the situation blanked in his mind. Firefly would be fine with all that, but then she said a name that sounded so long and uppity that his first instinct was to say no, sorry, got the wrong guy. But there was no way to ignore that she'd said Argyle — something he thought he had chosen on a whim when travelling. Evidently not. That took some of the fire out of him and his expression softened.
That name -- it sounds too fancy to fit me. I'm Firefly,and while he was suddenly nervous to reveal this about himself, he couldn't rightly accept his old name - his dead name from a dead life - as easily as she offered it. A frown creeps back on to his face as he considers all she has said and he blurts,
Cool story and all, but I ought to be getting back home --and abruptly tried to remove himself from her company, feeling a little spooked. So much for a vacation.
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Niamh - April 11, 2019
She hoped she was making some sort of progress as she spoke- and she thought she saw his expression change at the mention of his full name- but it was impossible for her to be sure. His features were different- and his mannerisms too, a bit- but he wasn’t unrecognizable. No, she was sure of it. And even though he said his name was Firefly now, she still knew him to be Ambrose. ”How is that less fancy than Ambrose?” She taunted lightly. ”More girly, maybe. But if that’s what you go by, that’s OK.” After all, Niamh loved her brother, regardless of what he said his name was.
Obviously a little flustered and uncomfortable, he made to excuse himself but Niamh didn’t want to see him go again. ”You’re gonna be an uncle, Firefly” She said. Even though he’d already pointed her pregnancy out, she doubted he’d considered the fact that that would make him an uncle. ”An’ you’re gonna have to put up with that. ‘Cause I’m friends with Caiaphas, and you bet your ass we’re gonna visit you.”
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Firefly - April 11, 2019
She cut him sharply with her tone, or maybe he was more sensitive at the moment with all these revelations being thrown his way; regardless, Firefly paused in his escape and turned a small glare upon her as she commented on his name — it wasn't worth fighting over, but he didn't appreciate the (percieved) hostility. Who the hell was she to decide what his name was, or who he was? Whether they had history or not — Ambrose was dead, Firefly was here now.
You're gonna be an uncle, Firefly.she said, and even though it hadn't quite registered yet, he wasn't sure how to feel about it when it was pointed out to him. What really chilled him to the core was her naming of Caiaphas; of all the things to cause his belief in her story, that was probably not the piece she was hoping to spark any understanding. But as she mentioned the sea-witch Firefly stared dumbly at her — and then, grunting and trying to play off the momentary pause that had caught him in place, he began to pull away with more urgency; but over his shoulder he shouted,
Sure, and we can arrange play-dates; you're gonna be an aunty too, Nellie.
Did he call her something wrong on purpose? Maybe just to make a point; but he wouldn't linger to see the after-effects, leaving behind the sunlight and the calm as he began his return-trip to the coast.
RE: The lives we've reclaimed. - RIP Niamh - April 11, 2019
Roleplaying with you makes my heart so happy <3
Her flustered brother seemed to pause for an instant when she mentioned Caiaphas’ name. It was strange to have this sort of dynamic with Ambrose; this sort of banter was more Bruges’ sort of thing...And she was made to wonder if perhaps, as Ambrose had survived his cougar attack, if Bruges was still alive. Given that Ceara had delivered the news, she might not have been terribly surprised...But somehow she doubted that.
He seemed irritated with her, and half-shouted at her as he moved away, with a statement that stopped her in her tracks. ”Say what?!” She called- but Ambrose was making a hasty retreat. She waved her tail as she watched him go, deciding not to irritate him further...If his memories of her wouldn’t come back, then she’d have to create new, good ones, and chasing him down to harass him for information about these niecephews she’d be having, and who the mother was. Part of her got really excited when she leapt to the conclusion that Caiaphas would be the mother. Still, she’d have to go back to Colt and persuade him that their trip to the coast needed to happen soon. She sniffed, and turned away, satisfied. Ambrose was different- but he was alive, and he was going to have kids. ”Nellie,” She murmured to herself, as she picked her way back through the bog toward the copse.