Firefly Ravine baby did a bad, bad thing
the world is cold and life's not fair
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Ooc — Rosie
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#1
 
Winter was far from the Banshee’s favorite season. She was a warm-blooded creature of the sun-soaked plains, with a coat meant to cool her body and heat of her family to keep her warm during those few chilly days — but winter in the south seldom showed up in force, unlike it did here. Even in these days where the snow fell lightly and the winds blew gently, Isleña felt the absence of her family keenly.

For endless days and nights, Isleña struggled with the idea of her solitude and had difficulties coming to terms with it. It just didn’t make sense, after all; one day they were all there, with stars in their eyes and hearts full of familial love, and then another day they were not. It was as simple of a disappearance as one could have. There were no kidnappings or wars, murders or accidents. There was only a distinct emptiness that the girl could not shake. She was like an addict without her fix — she was unable to see any positives in her situation, and only validated the negatives with her persistent seclusion. If this could be worse, Isleña failed to see how. 

Perhaps a smarter wolf would have attempted to find a home for the winter, but that’s not what Isleña was bred for. Cunning she was, yes, but persistent she was more. The girl continued to hold out hope that Tashkent and Kuyuk and Enx and even Mengu would one day reappear and they would fold easily back into the status quo — but every day that reality fell farther and farther away, and Isleña became more and more desperate. Nearly starving and visibly rattled [to this day], Isleña traversed the coastal landscape and continued her worthless attempts to scent-find the only family she had ever known.
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Ooc — ebony
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#2
he left her; he lingered, noting not only the position of the herd, but that of the frosts, of the snowfall, the stars overhead. from the east, the scent of salt — the winterlashed ocean reached far, he thought with some amusement. 
it was time that he returned to the mountains, mahler decided, and resolutely turned his steps in that direction. his thoughts traveled to takiyok, however. how would she fare? some selfish part of him wished that she —
ahead, a dark form, too thin and wandering. another familiar figure, though he did not look upon this one with the same fondness. the male changed the trajectory of his path, nearing the would-be thief with a confident lope, and slowing to let out a rumbling chuff in her direction. she seemed lost, this sea-eyed woman — what was she doing here?
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the world is cold and life's not fair
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Ooc — Rosie
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#3
Isleña continued on her quest with great focus and intent. She could never forgive herself if she faltered in her duties and missed the trail of her family in need! There was no way that Isleña would be the cause of the Luk’s downfall, not if she could help it. So onward she marched, finding purpose (and a reason to live) in her march.

It wasn’t long until she encountered another. That wasn’t what surprised her — no, it was the fact that she recognized him! It took only a moment before Isleña recognized him as the silvered man from the river; the one who failed in his duties to protect his meal. At least, that was how the banshee saw things; she had been able to steal it, had she not? 

Standing tall, Isleña allowed a playful smirk to settle over her features. They were past introductions by now, so why take things so seriously? “Mənim üçün başqa quş varmı?” she barked at him smarmily, wondering if he would now treat her with disdain — but he hadn’t before, when she truly deserved it, so she doubted the handsome male would start now.
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Ooc — ebony
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#4
mahler did not know the words she cast at him, but found her demeanour more friendly than the last time they had met. and so he waved his plume in response, narrowing the distance between the two of them to a respectable space. "i trust you are vell, frau?" came the stony baritone of the shadow. their enmity had been brief and far in the past — he saw no reason to treat the sable creature with anything other than the respect he would give another stranger.
and today he had no prey with him. amused, he continued past her, inclining his muzzle in invitation to join him, one she could take if she so chose. and on it he bore the barest hint of his own smile, pleased in some secret way by her company.
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the world is cold and life's not fair
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Ooc — Rosie
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#5
It was pleasantly how Isleña had expected, but that did not mean it was boring. Isleña did not live a boring existence, but rather imbued her every interaction with a vivacious, lively energy that sometimes challenged convention. The banshee loved the interesting dynamic that existed between the two of them, lived for this kind of thing really, and was almost glad that she hadn’t been allowed to abscond with the man’s grouse completely. Then, his handsomeness and his demeanor would have been quite a waste! Meeting him, and subsequently running into him once more, had been well-worth that night’s empty belly. 

The man moved past her and, though he had proffered her company with the cant of his muzzle, Isleña spun on her heels and darted after him with a smirk and an “Ay!”

Isleña pulled up alongside the man, trotting in step with he, appreciating how he distracted her mind from her infinite troubles for at least a moment. She hadn’t had a good sleep in days, but perhaps she could instead restore herself through a good conversation — or, at least, as good of a conversation that a girl who only spoke a foreign language could have. With her chocolate visage turned towards the much taller man, Isleña questioned “Where go?” and left him to fill in the details. He did seem like he was uncharacteristically in a hurry, and she didn't exactly want him to be.
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Ooc — ebony
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#6
the sable sylph fell into step with him, and he lay the lavender steel of his eyes upon her briefly. "i am going home, to the mountains." even as he spoke this, he knew it would be at least another day before he truly returned; mahler wished to see if takiyok would follow after all. wondering at this in himself, and deciding to assess it for weakness at another time, the musiker turned his attention back to his lithe companion.
"i am mahler. vhat is your name?" he could not recall having gotten it before their interlude now. of course, their first meeting had been not marked as being an occasion in which two wolves might share their respective titles.
for being alone in such a pale and desolate wasteland, the woman alongside him seemed utterly undaunted: a quality the gargoyle both appreciated and admired.
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the world is cold and life's not fair
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Ooc — Rosie
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#7
He didn’t stop moving, so Isleña worked to keep up her pace. She didn’t have anywhere to be, hell, so she allowed herself to be easily guided. She glanced up at him, not watching her step [this seemed to be a common thing when in the presence of this man] but, gods be good, she didn’t trip time. Instead, she focused on how he spoke, the drawl of his tongue, and the dangerous lilt of his words. She nodded as if she understood.

“Mon-tan,” she repeated with a thick tongue. “Mah-ler,” she practiced, remarking at the similar sounds of the word. One of those was his name, she knew, but she didn’t really know which. “For me, Islena.”
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Ooc — ebony
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#8
"isleña." the syllables were exotic, bringing to mind quite different lands than the ones wherein he been reared, and mahler practiced it twice before filing it away. "mountains. mahler," the shadowpriest repeated, gathering to his mind the similarity that the lithe she-wolf had pointed out.
"isleña. island," mahler offered in return, a true smile curving his lips in the barest hint of amusement. their languages were different, yet lay so entwined within their mouths, and there was a camaraderie to be had in that.
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the world is cold and life's not fair
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Ooc — Rosie
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#9
She liked the way he said her name, with his accent giving it a very yummy inflection. Isleña allowed herself to revel in the sound, saying nothing, as he practice her moniker and gave her the attention she so missed from her Luk family. Isleña! Isleña! they all had once said. Now there was no one to speak her name, and it felt good for it to finally happen.

Then, simple, easy words — for that, she was appreciative. The girl opened her mouth and laughed, a cheerful sound. She knew what this was; it was a game! Her seafoam-hued eyes danced as turned her head to fully look a him. Then she turned forward, watching the path to god-knows-where disappear beneath their feet, and muttered “ummm…”

“Montans, Mahler,” she repeated, adding on the only other 2 syllable m-word that she knew: “Mother,” she tacked on slyly, not knowing what a silly addition that really was. Watch him top that!
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#10
mother, she said, and mahler was transported briefly to a hazy remembrance of a dark grey she-wolf looming over him, a smile wreathing her muzzle. mutter was what she had said. he repeated it aloud for isleña, charmed by the memory that she had brought to his mind.
"mutter," he said to her, translating it gently into his own tongue. quietly elated, mahler paused to look at a stone half-covered by snow. "stein," he offered, glancing into her seaglass eyes.
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Ooc — Rosie
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#11
I made you wait so long! I’m sorry!

This encounter with the man, Mahler, was much more tame than their last, for better or for worse. It was equally as enjoyable though, for that what where Isleña differed from most of the Luks in her family. They were brutes with considerable force and considerable numbers, but the dull things in life bored them. The men would often fight for the hell of it, or to stave off bored, and even the women would spar and fight and fuck for no reason at all. Isleña, however, she could derive much enjoyment from a simple verbal game such as this — even if she was clearly inadequate equipped for such  repartee. She did not have to win either, which was another difference between her and her namesake. Losing was okay. Sometimes, losing could get you ahead, if you played your cards right.

Mahler was clearly having a fine time as well, though his stoic exterior did not very well show it. Isleña yielded, though she would never admit it was done intentionally.  “Ahhhm…” she hummed while she trotted, giving every appearance of being deep in thought. After a moments stalling, the bedouin gave a dismissing roll of her shoulders and dropped her head in mock-shame. “I do bad,” she noted in a playfully somber tone.  “Again!” If the man did not stop besting her in games such as ‘steal the grouse’ and ‘who knows more words,’ then he might not ever know how truly clever she could be. One day, she trusted, he would know.
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Ooc — ebony
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#12
no worries! <3

mahler, despite himself, was charmed by her. she was birdlike, childish, her eyes glinting with a hidden reserve of fervency that he had never before hoped in himself. a curve creased his muzzle once more, and he lifted it to gesture at a flock of birds, gathering for warmth in the tangled branches above the heads of he and the she-wolf.
"birds," the gargoyle murmured, sweeping his ears forward to hear the muted, sleepy twittering of the little beings. "vögel," he repeated in another tongue. he had hoped the woman would share some of her own speech with him, and glanced toward her to see if she would see the question in his lavender eyes.
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Ooc — Rosie
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#13
Mahler, like so many others, took it upon himself to teach her words in the common tongue. Despite its necessity, and its endlessness, the topic of conversation had become somewhat trite for the banshee. As much as she wanted to speak fluently with all of the others she met in these strange lands, Isleña was so tired of learning words — and then relearning them, when she inevitably forgot the word — and it exhausted her mind and body when everything in the world was always a lesson.

But beggars could not be choosers, so like the dutiful student she was, she grinned and repeated the words and attempted to commit it to memory.  “Burds,” she said thickly, the word sitting firm and bulky upon her tongue. The man himself had an accent nearly as strange as her own, and from the modulations of the second word he spoke, Isleña strong suspected that was the same word in his own lexicon. Figuring this was all the permission she needed to do the same, the girl nodded and said with a definitive tilt of her chin “Quşlar.” Then, hoping to impress him once more [she found that she did love to please him], she posed the question “Do you like… burds?” to him and raised an eyebrow expectantly.
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Ooc — ebony
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#14
please him she did, giving no hint of the weight to which his lessons had added. a smile wreathed his broad muzzle. "kizz ... lar," he attempted, though he was not ashamed of his butchering, merely amused. this shone through his gaze as he looked upon isleña, and then glanced to the sky. "i do like birds. i like their music, and how they look after vone another." 
indeed, in quieter times and upon warmer days, mahler made a study of the little birds who called diaspora home, coming to recognize them first by group and then by individual. sometimes even by song. "do you like birds, isleña?" he asked of her, moving along toward a copse of pines in the distance.
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the world is cold and life's not fair
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Ooc — Rosie
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#15
Closing up shop and putting Isleña on PPC for a lil’ bit <3 Thanks for being an awesome thread partner, as always!

She listened as he spoke, put at ease by his thick accent and obvious interest in this silly conversation. In a world where she felt like an outcast, a burden, it was so nice to be seen as something different — something of value, even if all she was doing was repeating simple, childish words

She recognized the new word ‘birds,’ and then the word ‘music’ sounded familiar — she easily put two and two together, because their beautiful songs were about all birds were good for. Isleña came from the plains, from a nomadic hoarde, and the birds she grew up around were stupid, flightless pheasants. They commanded no respect from but, but there were a few creatures that did. “No, I like…” she stopped in her trekking for a moment, and turned to face Mahler. “Boğa!” she said, pounding the ground with her front two paws and lowering her head as a buffalo might when defending itself. Those were big and strong creatures. Isleña felt as though she had a bull buffalo’s spirit inside her, at times.

Looking at the sky, Isleña took note of the placement of the sun in the sky, and knew she must return home before dark. Her blue eyes then flicked to Mahler, asking silently for forgiveness if she made the decision to depart.
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