<font face=verdana size=1 color=silver>[ icantfuckingbelieveiamdoingthis ]</font> -- Death Valley

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Date Posted: 19:41:00 05/28/03 Wed
Author: psyche
Subject: [ icantfuckingbelieveiamdoingthis ]

[ Damn. Damndamndamn. I did SO not mean to get back in this game. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? Well, you know it's me; consider yourself greeted. KATE, you said you were back, now where the hell are you? ]

Psyche. Like still glass she stood affixed to the summit of a hillock, her hooves light on the rough purchase as she digested the decor her uncle had selected for his so-called throne room.

Real like glass, but not really glass.

The ever-present arrogance buried deep within her eyes danced now; a white-hot fire with a mind of its own, as she buried her savoir-faire, her emotion, and her femininity and opted to barge forth off the gentle crest at a rollicking caanter. Psyche at four was equipped with no more than an acid tonuge in her head and a blase attitude through which her vision was filtered. She had learned nothing of the world and the idiosyncrasies of those who dwelled on its shores and, despite the sarcasm that exited through her lips with sinuous articulation, she was starkly naive.

It was as though her excessive boredom with life and anything reminiscant of vitality was a Holly Golightly-esque eyeglass that thrust her concsciousness deep and irrevocably forth into the throes of perpetual illusion. She found excessive happiness to be pseudo and unnecessary; a mind-softener and a drug that supplied the user with more pain than pleasure. But unlike the bejeweled Holly, Psyche was niether a phony or a real phony. She was a phony phony, like her mother, who disguised her true seity by assuming the roles of the Hedonist; the Cleverbitch; the Watcher. Sometimes all at once. The dappled waif had too many sets of fingerprints on record to count.

Now she paused. Was there any need to acknowledge the resident evils who seemed to populate this tiresome place?

No.

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[> [CURSING ZOE! *tackles*] -- Megan/Maleah, 15:04:21 05/31/03 Sat [1]

[OISH! YOU'S BACK!]

The young mare jolted to life, and looked up from plotting with her friends, her eyes widening at the sight of the slender form that is her sister. Unusually white hooves carry her in a slow jog to her sister's long-unpresent side. Their coats were matching, but there the similarity ended.

Beneath the subsiding happiness of her sister's return, was embedded a deep anger. Psyche just came and went as she pleased, and now she was back. It was a morbid sense of joy that brought a smile to her lips, no one had run to greet her. She wasn't special. With framented words she acknowledges her sister verbally. "Psyche, you grace us all with your presence," She said, her voice very near utter silence. Her silken tail lashed at her sides, she is visibly tense. Awaiting for any sort of outbreak, she stands as if on needles.

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[> [ yeah, yeah, yeah. i enjoy dropping the odd "f-bomb" every now and then. ] -- psyche and z [i have been reduced to a letter], 21:59:54 05/31/03 Sat [1]

[ yeah, i'm back...oh, and don't ask about that whole "f-bomb" business...i'm adopting a friend's bizarre phraseology (and it sucks) :D ]

She was pleased to see that things had changed. Her sister-dear appeared to have traded her intolerable and iexorable exuberence for something that bore a strong resemblance to....cynicism? Jealousy? Pure and simple deep-seated hatred that twisted her reason into an oxymoron? Or had her magnolia twin finally yielded to that insatiable hereditary desire to manipulate? Psyche couldn't place it.

Her thoughts fluttered and pulsed behind an obdurate front that seemed misplaced in such young eyes. She was too small, too inexperienced, too chaste for such a jaded psyche [no pun intended]. But hell, it was the hand she'd been given, and she was going to damn well make the most of it.

Her poker face now indelibly intact, Psyche decided to bluff. It was what she was best at.

"Yeah, I'm back. But probably not for good."

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[> [ HAHAHA F-BOMB! That paraphrase rocks!] -- Maleah, 22:37:54 05/31/03 Sat [1]

Yea, she's changed. But her dearest parents might not think for the best. "Good," She comments blandly, though her voice dripped with a syrupy kindness. A short laugh is choked from the voice box of the mutated sister, and one from the outside would think she was queer for laugh right then, but she didn't care.

Her sister's poker face was no opaque shield to her own twin sister's malevolent lavender eyes. The face was just a display to her, a display of hidden weakness in her sister. Tension snapped like a thin string, she lowered her head slightly to conceal her eyes with a more substancial cover, her misty-grey forelock. Something about being twins left her feeling inadequete whilst her sister was gone, and she hated that blankness that she felt covered a quarter of her mind, shrouding it. But now with the sister intact, her mind was moving a little faster, awakened from hibernation. "Ah well, your presence can be delt with," She commented brusquely, before tucking her thoughts away for later review.

[Jeez. my RPing has gotten longer...]

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[> [*Grins widely* Why...what a surprise, Zoe!] -- Zamnor, 16:45:29 06/01/03 Sun [1]

[My my, took you quite a while, but in the end you succumbed...*evil cackle*...that's the way the ball rolls, after all.... That rolling ball...yes....

*Tackles Zoe* You sound so aaaaaaaaaangry and iiiiiiiiiiiiiirritable! What's wrong, Zoe dear? Annoyed by CM's addiction?]

The lobes attached so firmly to the top-end of Zamnor's head swiveled to confront the sound of two mares chatting. They twitched as they distinguished the accompanying emotions, curiosity carrying around his thoughtful eyes. Close enough to see outlines and colors, far enough for details to be omitted, he watched for a time. His gaze watered as it strained against the air, resisting the rules of distance in order to recognize the speakers. He recognized only one. It was then that the rubber band of civility that had held him back snapped suddenly, releasing him with a silent twang. The lad, barely older than the two sisters, rounded about and picked up his hooves: time to greet his returning aunt.

The dear lad was as similar to the sisters as dogs are to cats; his coat was black, like both father and grandfather, and his eyes an amiable brown. Within the matching pools of brown was reflected a free soul that laughed with the world, and not at it. He was, by no means, independent from the chains of hate, but nevertheless a balance was held between hate and love, and from that union common sense was born. For instance, it took only one look for the lad to realize that the two must be sisters, and so the one he could not identify must also be his aunt. As he had not met this other aunt before, she must have been gone from the territory in which both Maleah and he resided. He could then infer that Maleah was not happy that the unknown aunt had been gone and that there was a cold "wind", so to speak, blowing between the two. Therefore, it was probably not wise for him to interfere until they were cooled off.

How's that for common sense?

Unfortunately, Zamnor had created his own type of common sense at an early age. He knew that he shouldn't interfere, but he just couldn't help it. There they were, here he was...and it was only polite. After all, his father was lead of the land and was not here to greet his sister properly, so it of course fell upon Zamnor to perform the duty.

Right.

"Hello," he pronounced with uncharacteristic reserve. But then, the situation was basically screaming for solemnity, if not screeching.
The lobes attached so firmly to the top-end of Zamnor's head swiveled to confront the sound of two mares chatting. They twitched as they distinguished the accompanying emotions, curiosity carrying around his thoughtful eyes. Close enough to see outlines and colors, far enough for details to be omitted, he watched for a time. His gaze watered as it strained against the air, resisting the rules of distance in order to recognize the speakers. He recognized only one. It was then that the rubber band of civility that had held him back snapped suddenly, releasing him with a silent twang. The lad, barely older than the two sisters, rounded about and picked up his hooves: time to greet his returning aunt.

The dear lad was as similar to the sisters as dogs are to cats; his coat was black, like both father and grandfather, and his eyes an amiable brown. Within the matching pools of brown was reflected a free soul that laughed with the world, and not at it. He was, by no means, independent from the chains of hate, but nevertheless a balance was held between hate and love, and from that union common sense was born. For instance, it took only one look for the lad to realize that the two must be sisters, and so the one he could not identify must also be his aunt. As he had not met this other aunt before, she must have been gone from the territory in which both Maleah and he resided. He could then infer that Maleah was not happy that the unknown aunt had been gone and that there was a cold "wind", so to speak, blowing between the two. Therefore, it was probably not wise for him to interfere until they were cooled off.

How's that for common sense?

Unfortunately, Zamnor had created his own type of common sense at an early age. He knew that he shouldn't interfere, but he just couldn't help it. There they were, here he was...and it was only polite. After all, his father was lead of the land and was not here to greet his sister properly, so it of course fell upon Zamnor to perform the duty.

Right.

"Hello," he pronounced with uncharacteristic reserve. But then, the situation was basically screaming for solemnity, if not screeching.

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[> [> *Winces* Sorry about that...here, look at this one...far less confusing... -- Zamnor, 16:48:15 06/01/03 Sun [1]

The lobes attached so firmly to the top-end of Zamnor's head swiveled to confront the sound of two mares chatting. They twitched as they distinguished the accompanying emotions, curiosity carrying around his thoughtful eyes. Close enough to see outlines and colors, far enough for details to be omitted, he watched for a time. His gaze watered as it strained against the air, resisting the rules of distance in order to recognize the speakers. He recognized only one. It was then that the rubber band of civility that had held him back snapped suddenly, releasing him with a silent twang. The lad, barely older than the two sisters, rounded about and picked up his hooves: time to greet his returning aunt.

The dear lad was as similar to the sisters as dogs are to cats; his coat was black, like both father and grandfather, and his eyes an amiable brown. Within the matching pools of brown was reflected a free soul that laughed with the world, and not at it. He was, by no means, independent from the chains of hate, but nevertheless a balance was held between hate and love, and from that union common sense was born. For instance, it took only one look for the lad to realize that the two must be sisters, and so the one he could not identify must also be his aunt. As he had not met this other aunt before, she must have been gone from the territory in which both Maleah and he resided. He could then infer that Maleah was not happy that the unknown aunt had been gone and that there was a cold "wind", so to speak, blowing between the two. Therefore, it was probably not wise for him to interfere until they were cooled off.

How's that for common sense?

Unfortunately, Zamnor had created his own type of common sense at an early age. He knew that he shouldn't interfere, but he just couldn't help it. There they were, here he was...and it was only polite. After all, his father was lead of the land and was not here to greet his sister properly, so it of course fell upon Zamnor to perform the duty.

Right.

"Hello," he pronounced with uncharacteristic reserve. But then, the situation was basically screaming for solemnity, if not screeching.

[Sorry, I was writing it on Microsoft Word, and I pasted it twice.]

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[> you confused me SO -- Maleah, 22:21:31 06/01/03 Sun [1]

The approach of her nephew aroused no other distraction within her to tear herself away from Psyche's misdemeaning presence. However, when his uttered vocals punctuated the terse atmosphere she turned her head sharply to him, her usually calm, soft lavender eyes absorbing an unusual look; quite acute acknowledgement. "Er... Hello Zamnor," She voiced, in a tone that hinted Zamnor's presence might possibly be unwelcome.

His common sense didn't appeal to her very much.

Rolling her eyes back to her sister, she mentally and emotionally rocked back on her haunch, judging the situation 'from a distance'. She almost surprised herself by the harshness and the anger she felt towards her sister, but as soon as she felt it, it felt quite natural to her. As if she was satisfied with being this way. Goodness knows she would've thought herself horrid if her three-year-old self looked at this odd mare that showed her face now before her relations. Outer body experience?

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[> [ "warm" welcome? ] -- psyche, 19:00:57 06/02/03 Mon [1]

[ not angry, i'm happy ;D. PS: go see The Matrix Reloaded. ]

The condescension Maleah exuded was palpable, as was the almost stiff decorum of the midnight creature whom she assumed was her...nephew, was it? She harbored an obscure recollection of laughing hysterically over the fact that he was, in reality, older than both she and her twin...her head unaccountably thrown back, her eyes arcane in jest, her supple body welcoming the kiss of the wind...always the wind and always the sun, back then. We must've been a really dysfunctional family growing up, Psyche thought with an ironic internal grin, for things to end up the way they are now. Dad gone...he was always the reliable one, too; Mom disappeared...but then again, she was never around; two sisters inexplicably estranged by a tacit yet mutual acrimony...

A clear taboo was beginning to envelope what were euphemistically referred to as "Family Matters" among a certain demographic, or "Those Issues" among others. Like most things she didn't accept, Psyche thought that skirting the crux of the whole ordeal was moronic and cowardly and she resolved to challenge the whole affair as soon as an opportunity presented itself. But now was not the time to discuss how they would all probably require extensive therapy before the entire business had its last hurrah, so to speak.

And so she returned to Maleah, the current and most pressing matter at hand, and forced the rest of her painfully-formed resolves into the back of her mind with barely perceptible reluctance. She orchestrated the settling of the heavy, poison and ice silence that ensued, savoring the agonizing speed at which it assimilated to the pre-existing milieu, which had, in all honesty, already been established as tense and somewhat hostile. But Psyche, brazen rascal that she was, never left well enough alone and refused to grant her (completely unwelcoming and stubborn) sibling the privilege of selecting the "d�cor".

A few protracted minutes elapsed without communication. She was drowning in the stillness she herself had perpetuated�it was a void, now, an etched and shaded void that had to be filled quickly with words or someone would die. A nameless enigma of a fear surmounted. Even she wasn�t mentally masochistic enough to sustain the macabre deficiency.

�Have you seen Mom and Dad lately?� A way to bridge the gap between �Family Matters� and �Current And Most Pressing Matters at Hand.� The question possessed a tangible and lethal point, like a spearhead; the sinuous, deadly-calm quality of the verbal nuance implied that someone was to blame for their initial departure.

And I know just who that someone is�at least who that someone is right here, right now.

[ Long, convoluted...oh well. I'm in a long and convoluted mood. ]

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[> oi -- Maleah, 22:18:50 06/05/03 Thu [1]

The starkly achromatic mare only rolled her heliotrope eyes in response to this question. How monotonous it was, she barely brought herself to think of it while at the same time feeling incredibly naucious. Her wispy, paled tail lies still for the instant moment, and her attentions towards her dearest nephew are stowed in the back seat of her mind for the moment. She took a deep breath, quelling the fervor of her frustration. Her words had a cool edge to them, nonchalant almost. "If you decided to hang around a bit longer than you did you'd know," She told her sister, and her own mind burned with unanswered questions. Where have you been? Why are you back? What do you WANT?

She sighed audibly, though she was quite content to contain the palpable tension that hung in the air in a trance-like manner. She hoped a frost-bitten atmosphere would bidden the unwelcome likes of her dearest (traitorous) sister farwell before it was time for afternoon tea. However, she knew she was not so lucky. She raised a psuedo-brow and responded a touch more amiably. "No. They're just... gone," She whispered, and she found herself finding strong distaste in the rampant disappearance. How could her parents just leave? She had never truely forgiven them, though her upset had just been buried beneath a happy, smiling face that had now rotted to show the turmoil beneath the mask.

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