@Pancakes here you go :3
Early morning dew made the tall meadowgrass and blooming wildflowers slick, and as short of stature as Louis was, his easy lope through it soon left his fur dappled in fine beads of water mixed with pollen. He didn't mind.
He loved this time of day, when mist could still be seen gathered in the lowlands, and the sky smattered in hues of pastel pinks and yellows. Before the heat of the summer sun had set in, but just beyond the chill of night. There was a little poetry in that, he thought, pausing to watch the insects wake up, too, and set about their own daily routines.
Usually he'd chase them, a pup-like habit he'd never outgrown. But this morning he felt no such ambition. Just a little too lonely, he supposed, and was content to observe the creatures who's lives must be so very different from his own. Crickets and grasshoppers and beetles and bees, what must it all be like for them?
June 30, 2023, 08:58 PM
if you really must know, all insects do live different lives. honeybees are like fierce business majors, all about that grind and serving their queen. crickets are the starving artists, though often they are always told that their music brings about a sense of summer nostalgia and comfort (rather than getting tossed out because they don't buy anything from the cafe they sit in for hours). grasshoppers are your everyday sports fanatics with those sculpted legs of theirs. and beetles? that remained as uncharted territory.
and where does Pancakes fit into all of this? one could say that she fits in with the crickets, but a butterflies work is not comparable to the chirps of others. certainly they fly great distances and could be athletes, but the smallest injury or wing tear means the end for them. lastly, butterflies are everything BUT fierce and focused.
they are here for a good time, not a long time. perhaps they are as elusive as the beetle...
Pancakes has a very simple morning routine. she wakes up, stretches her wings, and listens for what the others may have to say. in these summer nights and early mornings, the chatter is always something wonderful and inviting.
but this morning, Pancakes is joined with another four-legged creature who seems all too quiet. he wears a gentle face and a soft air, something that reminds Pancakes of laundry hanging to dry during a calm summer evening. she thinks of the clean, fresh smell and comes to flutter closer to her newest sensation on a nearby grass blade.
"Child, when you’re sad put on your blue shoes."
(her voice is quiet in the morning as she looks upon his figure)
"You know that Mama loves you lollipops,"
(Pancakes loves lollipops too, especially fruit punch flavored ones with glossy coats!)
"So put on a party hat. We’ll play the kazoos!"
and where does Pancakes fit into all of this? one could say that she fits in with the crickets, but a butterflies work is not comparable to the chirps of others. certainly they fly great distances and could be athletes, but the smallest injury or wing tear means the end for them. lastly, butterflies are everything BUT fierce and focused.
they are here for a good time, not a long time. perhaps they are as elusive as the beetle...
Pancakes has a very simple morning routine. she wakes up, stretches her wings, and listens for what the others may have to say. in these summer nights and early mornings, the chatter is always something wonderful and inviting.
but this morning, Pancakes is joined with another four-legged creature who seems all too quiet. he wears a gentle face and a soft air, something that reminds Pancakes of laundry hanging to dry during a calm summer evening. she thinks of the clean, fresh smell and comes to flutter closer to her newest sensation on a nearby grass blade.
"Child, when you’re sad put on your blue shoes."
(her voice is quiet in the morning as she looks upon his figure)
"You know that Mama loves you lollipops,"
(Pancakes loves lollipops too, especially fruit punch flavored ones with glossy coats!)
"So put on a party hat. We’ll play the kazoos!"
July 03, 2023, 01:28 PM
Louis' big ears, built to hear mice scuttle under snowbanks and the feet of little birds across pine needles, flick at the soft music of an unfamiliar voice. He tilts his head toward it, seeing no one at first, and then realizing as she continues her song that it's the butterfly twirling his way.
He's pretty sure a butterfly has never deigned to speak with him before.
Probably because he was always chasing them, before.
Tail wagging a little, he lifts a paw to look at it. "Would blue shoes really help me?" He supposes he could rub blueberries on them, though he's not sure how that will lessen his loneliness in the long run. Eating the blueberries, though. That might improve him. A little.
He's pretty sure a butterfly has never deigned to speak with him before.
Probably because he was always chasing them, before.
Tail wagging a little, he lifts a paw to look at it. "Would blue shoes really help me?" He supposes he could rub blueberries on them, though he's not sure how that will lessen his loneliness in the long run. Eating the blueberries, though. That might improve him. A little.
July 03, 2023, 11:42 PM
truth be told, Pancakes had no idea what blue shoes would do for this lost soul, but her advice never tends to be very helpful in these situations. she has been across the world on her marmalade wings, and there are still many things that she cannot wrap her head around.
the vessels that she has come to learn from, they sing of pain, of heartbreak, of all the things that they never wish to know again. and yet they coast along in the ripple, soaking up their grief and perhaps cherishing all the poison that comes to exude from their empty hearts.
Pancakes does not understand tragedy and the human draw to it, but somehow she may come to know that this young boy is in need of something.
"are you half empty?
why don't you fill up?"
(perhaps she is getting warmer...)
"did you lose something?"
(these 4 legged friends don't have wide purses to lose lipstick in anyways)
the vessels that she has come to learn from, they sing of pain, of heartbreak, of all the things that they never wish to know again. and yet they coast along in the ripple, soaking up their grief and perhaps cherishing all the poison that comes to exude from their empty hearts.
Pancakes does not understand tragedy and the human draw to it, but somehow she may come to know that this young boy is in need of something.
"are you half empty?
why don't you fill up?"
(perhaps she is getting warmer...)
"did you lose something?"
(these 4 legged friends don't have wide purses to lose lipstick in anyways)
July 04, 2023, 02:43 PM
She doesn't speak like a wolf, and Louis isn't even really sure how much the butterfly understands. But she must, a little, because she's asking him about the emptiness now. It occurs to him to wonder how such a small thing could recognize sorrow.
He doesn't stop to ponder, though. Instead, he explores. "No. Not really. I'd hoped for something, but it wasn't mine to begin with."
You can't lose what you didn't have, right?
Yet it feels that way.
Louis shrugs, glancing briefly back toward the mountains where a pack of wolves live around a stone circle. "She found a place she belongs, where she wants to stay. And I kept moving. It's strange, isn't it? Things are the same as they've always been for me, but I feel different, now."
It's a deeply personal admission. Especially in the presence of a stranger. But there's no harm in being honest to a butterfly, he reasons.
He doesn't stop to ponder, though. Instead, he explores. "No. Not really. I'd hoped for something, but it wasn't mine to begin with."
You can't lose what you didn't have, right?
Yet it feels that way.
Louis shrugs, glancing briefly back toward the mountains where a pack of wolves live around a stone circle. "She found a place she belongs, where she wants to stay. And I kept moving. It's strange, isn't it? Things are the same as they've always been for me, but I feel different, now."
It's a deeply personal admission. Especially in the presence of a stranger. But there's no harm in being honest to a butterfly, he reasons.
July 08, 2023, 11:40 PM
sorrow is something universal, and even the butterflies know of its significance. one day, Pancakes had found herself crying tears and tears when she found out about luna moths, how they live so short and come to find love and make a family and then -- just up and die. a tragically short life, but one meant to be fulfilled so easily and quickly that many days are not needed!
Pancakes may even find herself crying today if she continues to listen to this blue boy, and her wings that once always sought attention are quiet. a butterfly may be scatterbrained, surely, but no idiot to the pain of others and themselves. she listens to him carefully.
"you feel different..." a small echo of what she hears, for she must think a moment.
"we gather medicine for heartache,
so we can act a fool."
(she has always been told that love makes you do stupid things)
"we feel it move through our skin,
it's a sickness, a manic weakness!"
(oh Pancakes, you're getting a little intense here baby)
"but," a long drawl to fix what she said before, "it's incomplete without you."
the whole dance of love is a ballroom waltz. for some, it begins as a samba, a tango perhaps! something with flair and excitement! and then we settle, into something more relaxed and graceful. and dancing with a partner is perhaps the only way in such a setting. for through all the pain that love brings, we are complete in our own sewn soul, but constantly tempted to bring in what we feel we lack.
love is complete within ourselves. but in a search for others, it often remains empty.
Pancakes may even find herself crying today if she continues to listen to this blue boy, and her wings that once always sought attention are quiet. a butterfly may be scatterbrained, surely, but no idiot to the pain of others and themselves. she listens to him carefully.
"you feel different..." a small echo of what she hears, for she must think a moment.
"we gather medicine for heartache,
so we can act a fool."
(she has always been told that love makes you do stupid things)
"we feel it move through our skin,
it's a sickness, a manic weakness!"
(oh Pancakes, you're getting a little intense here baby)
"but," a long drawl to fix what she said before, "it's incomplete without you."
the whole dance of love is a ballroom waltz. for some, it begins as a samba, a tango perhaps! something with flair and excitement! and then we settle, into something more relaxed and graceful. and dancing with a partner is perhaps the only way in such a setting. for through all the pain that love brings, we are complete in our own sewn soul, but constantly tempted to bring in what we feel we lack.
love is complete within ourselves. but in a search for others, it often remains empty.
apologizing in advance for pancakes' not-so-helpful advice BAHA
July 10, 2023, 08:30 PM
((Aaahahah I love Pancakes so much))
Love as a sickness? Louis might have disagreed before - it was the cure, surely! But unrequited, or at least unanswered... maybe she's right. He'd felt horribly sick hearing @Tauris choose someone else to his exclusion, and some of her words still echo in his mind now and then, days later. Something has taken root, a fear he is somehow... not right. Not enough.
He's never felt this way before.
But even if it is a sickness, he has no inclination to ignore it. He wants love, still. Someone - or someones - to hold and be warm beside at night. To laugh with. To go on adventures.
It might not be Tauris, but she's shown him a glimpse of what certainty might mean. Made it important in a way it never had been before. A dalliance might be fun, but that isn't the same as caring for someone enough to devote to them. To be certain of their own devotion. Like her and Figment. Like Louis' parents.
He's a rover, but he was born to a family that loved him, and he craves love, still. He's not really built for being alone.
He sighs, shrugging his shoulders, "You're right." The little butterfly is wiser than him, he thinks, because she already knew this. She can even put it into song. Not that it helps him get over Tauris. Or know what to seek next. But at least he feels a little less isolated in his heartbreak.
Then a blink, and he smiles weakly, "Have you been in love before? Where'd you learn this...?" Louis trails off, realizing, "Here I am spilling my heart to you, and I don't even know your name. I'm Louis."
July 21, 2023, 11:26 PM
has she? has a butterfly ever experienced the sensation of love?
it is perhaps something Pancakes can taste on others. she has felt the love radiate from a lover's lips as they reach for a tender neck to kiss. there is perhaps the burn for lust, but the existence of adoration and a beauty that can be found nowhere else.
a butterfly tastes with her feet, and what Pancakes has seen all over the world is that love comes in many shapes and sizes. through lullabies a mother sings for her baby, for the laughter in a bad joke between friends, for the hugs that are shared during a moment of grief -- yes, Pancakes does know love.
"Pancakes is the name of the game!" she comes to say excitedly, extending her wings and lowering herself in a tiny bow towards this great boy.
"Of a youth who loves me and whom I love,
silently approaching and seating himself near."
is she bold to say such a thing? could a wolf learn to love a butterfly? perhaps not, for it seems his heart remains tethered to another. but he remains close, and his teeth do not come to reach for her bright wings. so perhaps there is a love for life, for the things that fill his hollowed out loneliness. Pancakes cannot say anything with certainty these days, but her voice grows soft.
"strawberries spread through your name.
I dreamed the snow was you,
when there was snow."
"in this world,
someone loves you."
it is perhaps something Pancakes can taste on others. she has felt the love radiate from a lover's lips as they reach for a tender neck to kiss. there is perhaps the burn for lust, but the existence of adoration and a beauty that can be found nowhere else.
a butterfly tastes with her feet, and what Pancakes has seen all over the world is that love comes in many shapes and sizes. through lullabies a mother sings for her baby, for the laughter in a bad joke between friends, for the hugs that are shared during a moment of grief -- yes, Pancakes does know love.
"Pancakes is the name of the game!" she comes to say excitedly, extending her wings and lowering herself in a tiny bow towards this great boy.
"Of a youth who loves me and whom I love,
silently approaching and seating himself near."
is she bold to say such a thing? could a wolf learn to love a butterfly? perhaps not, for it seems his heart remains tethered to another. but he remains close, and his teeth do not come to reach for her bright wings. so perhaps there is a love for life, for the things that fill his hollowed out loneliness. Pancakes cannot say anything with certainty these days, but her voice grows soft.
"strawberries spread through your name.
I dreamed the snow was you,
when there was snow."
"in this world,
someone loves you."
"Pancakes, huh?" Louis tests the unfamiliarity of the name, but finds he likes it. "That's a beautiful name." He bows back to her, one paw lifted to his chest. It's only polite. And she's given him reasons to smile, today.
He takes a moment to ponder the rest of her song. He thought - maybe she was flirting with him. But butterflies didn't speak like wolves, or at least Pancakes didn't, and it felt a little presumptuous to assume. All the same, he winked at her. He'd never flirted with a butterfly before. That seems only polite, too, at the very least.
And she was right regardless. There were people out there who loved him, weren't there? His parents, his sister. He had a home, far away, and he knew they must think of him at least as often as he thought of them. "Someone does." He repeated, nodding wistfully. "And that's a comfort."
He was still hurting, even so. "Not everyone loves the same way, though, do they? Sometimes we want something someone else can't... or won't, give." A sigh. "It must be hard when very different people want to love each other, and can't find a way to." He said it as if he hadn't felt the sting himself. The distance made it a little easier to think about. He doubted he'd fool Pancakes, but maybe she wouldn't look too hard at the observation. Maybe she'd sing again and he'd forget all about it.
Maybe it was better not to brood.
"But I don't want to drag you down. You're a beautiful lady, and you should be soaring high with your lovely songs." He grinned at her, tail wagging a little.
He takes a moment to ponder the rest of her song. He thought - maybe she was flirting with him. But butterflies didn't speak like wolves, or at least Pancakes didn't, and it felt a little presumptuous to assume. All the same, he winked at her. He'd never flirted with a butterfly before. That seems only polite, too, at the very least.
And she was right regardless. There were people out there who loved him, weren't there? His parents, his sister. He had a home, far away, and he knew they must think of him at least as often as he thought of them. "Someone does." He repeated, nodding wistfully. "And that's a comfort."
He was still hurting, even so. "Not everyone loves the same way, though, do they? Sometimes we want something someone else can't... or won't, give." A sigh. "It must be hard when very different people want to love each other, and can't find a way to." He said it as if he hadn't felt the sting himself. The distance made it a little easier to think about. He doubted he'd fool Pancakes, but maybe she wouldn't look too hard at the observation. Maybe she'd sing again and he'd forget all about it.
Maybe it was better not to brood.
"But I don't want to drag you down. You're a beautiful lady, and you should be soaring high with your lovely songs." He grinned at her, tail wagging a little.
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