★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

ooc y'all do n o t have to read all of this okay you can just skip to the last few paragraphs if you want <33

Hazel hated dreams.

Of course, there was the possibility that everyone dreamt the way she did; because surely, most people had dreams of flashing colors and disorienting images that were always just out of focus. Surely, they would see the rosy hues of dawn glow on the horizon and feel a swelling sense of giddy comfort. Surely, they would know of the untroubled curiosity that bubbled up when dawn would suddenly turn dark and the air would grow frigid; when there was the brush of a breeze against their cheek, and the tug of momentum in their stomach. They would know of the confusion upon realizing that maybe this was not supposed to be a happy place. It was supposed to be morbid and cold, and...why did it seem so intriguing?

That sounded like an everyday dream, right?

No. No, it didn’t. Hazel was very well aware of this, and it frustrated her to an endless extent. But...she would always prefer frustration over terror. Every single time. Because Hazel would, without a doubt, rather have puzzling and irritating dreams over night terrors.

They were hardly nightmares. No, these — from these, Hazel would wake up screaming, her lip shiny with blood and her paws trembling with fear.  Throughout the day she would remain shaken, frazzled and upset. Dread would sit, cold and heavy, on her nerves until she forced herself to sleep the next night. Anxiety would creep underneath her pelt, sinking into her brain until she was biting her lip again.

These night terrors were always the same: consistently showing a different mistake, a different failure, but the same reaction from the same feline. In one, a broken vase lay shattered on a tiled floor. The details were hazy, but the bitter scent of chocolate permeating the room, layered with something  bitter and angry, was sharp in her nose. The scrape of claws would drag itself over Hazel’s eardrums, and she could feel herself pressing her skinny frame closer and closer to the floor. Pressing against that cold surface until she was sure she could disappear into it, and escape the words that were being yelled. The words that reduced her self worth to less than the lint under the cabinets. The words that could never be healed like the claw marks on her forearm could.

But memories of an abused past were a common trope, and Hazel was no more entitled to something special than the next person because of it. She just wanted to leave it behind and let it go. The sooner she could do that, the better off she would be.

But by “better off” was in no way meant literally. Unfortunately, Arion didn’t exactly receive that message, and had promptly gone from a lively trot to a jolting halt, pitching Hazel forward from her perch between his ears. She hit the ground with a startled cry, unhurt, but caught off guard and awoken in the most brutal way.

“Thanks, Arion.” She snapped at the colt, glaring at him. The steed blew a huff of air at her through his nostrils, ruffling her fur. He didn’t seem at all perturbed by the fact that he had just thrown his friend. Still, he reached out, lips snuffling at her, until she groggily pushed him away, the feeling of his teeth grazing her skin making her itch with discomfort. “Ge’off, you lump,” She snorted. Arion relented, looking as smug as one horse possibly could.

Hazel pushed her hips back and arched in a luxurious stretch, claws scratching at the dirt and eyes squeezed tightly shut. She couldn’t say she was actually mad at him for waking her up — in fact, she was glad, for he had woken her from a depressing recollection of something that had just happened a month prior. But now…

“Where...are we?” The cocoa colored femme wondered aloud, standing to see rolling fields stretch across the ground in front of them. Arion nickered, his hoof scraping the ground. It didn’t take a genius to see the colt was high on the idea of stretching his legs, letting his joints bend and snap with satisfaction.

Just as Hazel turned to tell him to stay put, the young Thoroughbred streaked away, kicking up a spatter of dirt and tossing his head. Hazel’s stomach sank, for she could smell the scent markers in the general vicinity. They were unfamiliar and defensive, a clear claim of territory. And Hazel’s colt had just taken a (very fast) stroll right through the closed gate.

“Great,” She muttered.

★ — Hazel — "speech" — six months — no clan — tags — ★
c) miithers

Margaery's dreams (when she did dream) had not been kind to her for almost a year and a half now. Usually, she was granted the opportunity to slip away into a black slumber, undisturbed by her restless mind, but it wasn't uncommon for her nights to be haunted with blood and screams and memories she had long since repressed out of fear for, well, herself. Her nightmares did not cease, even after she had joined the Ascendants and her life began righting itself- she still managed to wake in a cold sweat, a silent scream parting her jaws. She always grasped for Suiteheart in those moments and she was always disappointed to remember that her wife was not beside her simply because she couldn't be- they had chosen to live a lie and thus were to suffer without one another.

Coincidentally, that was why Margaery was out and about now, having accidentally fallen asleep while going about her day's business. She had been so tired recently and a nap had at first been welcomed. What a fool she was for thinking that perhaps things would start to change, that perhaps she could rest peacefully. It was always the same thing, that grotesque scene - her loved ones all around her, her paws dirtied with their blood. This time, it felt a little too real though and she had awoken with a start, her body tense and coated in a thin layer of cold sweat. It didn't help that not one, but two cries sounded almost the moment she woke up, bringing her to hurry quickly to its source. Were they under attack? Was everyone okay?

Margaery caught sight of a colt and two figures, one of which she quickly realized to be Suite. That anxiety in her chest relaxed slightly as she realized, with a sigh of relief, that this was nothing but a new joiner. Fixing her composure quickly, she moved to stand near Suiteheart, trying her best not to get too close. They still had an image to maintain and, shaken or not, she'd respect that.

[color=black]"Welcome!" She greeted, her voice too cheerful, [color=black]"My name is Margaret."

★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Teeth worrying at her lip, the girl tracked Arion as far as she could manage ocularly. Deus, he was going to get her in so much trouble. Which, in all fairness, was to be expected of the colt. He had been weaving around tree trunks and navigating unfamiliar forest floors covered in foliage and fauna for a few days now. Him wanting to stretch his legs was more than a given. Hazel was only unsure of the consequences he would face, and if she could stand up to them.

What she wasn’t expecting (not...so soon, at least) was the shriek that rivaled her own in pitch. Fur standing on end, Hazel logically knew that she should probably be searching for some sort of shelter to protect her from whatever made the noise. Immediately was more preferable than later, because that scream was loud, which meant its owner was way too close for comfort.

Far too familiar with the feeling of fear pulsing in her veins from the threat of imminent injury, Hazel froze, rooted to the spot because it was what she had taught herself to do for the six months she had been socially conscious. If she stayed put, Mother was less likely to get angrier, which resulted in lack of bloodshed. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but it kind of beat the alternative.

Mind blanking in a horribly habitual way, Hazel was completely unprepared to hear a bewildered voice call out, followed by the appearance of a stranger. Heart hammering against her ribcage, Hazel easily reigned in her terror, slapping a mask of politeness over it like she had done so many times before.

With Arion appearing in and out of her peripheral, Hazel tried to focus on the stranger - or, Hotelsuites, as she learned. Ears falling sheepishly, she ducked her head when Arion was mentioned. They had been here all of two seconds, and he had already nearly run someone over.

“I’m Hazel. I’m...um, looking for a place to stay, I think.” She answered, praying that her voice didn’t crack. She hoped someone didn’t ask again; her name made her uncomfortable. Felt wrong on the back of her tongue - felt like it should belong to someone else. “And yeah, I...I did, uh - I’m sorry if he’s causing trouble. I’ll clean up whatever he breaks, promise.” Hazel’s guilt tucked itself deeper into her chest as she turned her golden gaze to the ground, studying the blades of grass under her paw pads.

Another apology was ready on the tip of her tongue when another unfamiliar figure appeared, and stars, did they just teleport? Or were Hazel’s senses really so bad as to not being able to notice a living being crossing an open field?

The cheery demeanor of the newcomer was a bit startling, and easily noticed as overdone. Hazel didn’t comment on it, though. She knew how she looked, and how Arion was being a total idiot, but. “I - thank you. Pleased to meet you, Miss Margaret,” She said, voice a little lighter like the child she should be. A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth, genuinely grateful for the friendliness. As for the formality, Hazel couldn’t say. Margaret seemed like someone who deserved respect, and Hazel had been taught to give respect first before cutting formalities.

It was then that a boy decided to show up, and Hazel could feel his sour mood pull her lips into a frown. He radiated don’t look, don’t talk, don’t touch vibes, and Hazel found herself equal parts annoyed and frightened. His tone was the same flat, unimpressed, on-the-verge-of-an-emotional-breakdown that Mother would gain after a long day, and the familiarity of it made Hazel want to shrink inside her own skin. Still, he was talking about something she had background knowledge of: mythology. Or history. Either one. Whichever it was, it sparked a light of confidence in her.

She gave him her full attention, with luminescent 14-karat gold hued eyes meeting icy blue. “Last I checked,” Stars, she was going to get in so much trouble for back-talking. “it wasn’t the horse that attacked the city, but the soldiers inside.” Holy shit. Holy shit, Mother would have locked her in her room for a week for that. Hazel wasn’t really sure why she was sassing the scariest stranger when he looked like he wanted to murder the world, but...impulse control was a finicky thing.

The interaction made her itch, and she resisted rubbing over the tingling scars covered by the golden bandana on her forearm. Instead, her gaze found the ground again, though her ears were still tilted back in annoyance. She blinked at his next question, refusing to look at him again, and curled her slightly puffed tail around her opposite side.

“Already said that I was looking for a place to stay.” Hazel mumbled, risking the quickest of glances at Margaret and Hotelsuites. “Because he’s been trapped in a forest for a couple days. He wants to run. I’m a little small to stop him.” And it was then that a very real fear hit her - the fear that they would lock Arion away; pin him down and kill him for hurting someone he didn’t mean to. Snapping her eyes back to Bastille’s, her guard lowered for a fraction of a second, her next words spoken in earnest and sincerity. “He doesn’t mean any harm - he just wants to run. He’s okay most of the time, I promise.”

★ — Hazel — "speech" — six months — no clan — tags — ★
c) miithers

★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Hazel peered out the corner of her eye, watching with odd curiosity as the grumpy boy made an interesting attempt at relaxing. His stance became less aggressive, muscles rolling back and hostility shifting into something that wasn’t quite politeness. There was still an air of guard about him, though; visible in the flicker of a pause at her remark - and her heart just about slammed out of her chest at the notion - and the awkward slide of irritation to something along the lines of...what was that, him being friendly? Whatever it was, Hazel found herself wondering about the bunch of his shoulders and the flex of his claws. She wondered about the near tangible anger he’d shown up with, and what had caused it. What an interesting character, She thought idly.

At his remark, Hazel raised her head, ears lifting. “Can’t say that I would,” She supplied, cautious. “Not...with mythology, at least.” A good-natured grin graced the corners of her lips, like she found what he said somewhat bemusing. Like she found a lick of confidence at calling him out on something he obviously thought he had the upper hand on. Maybe...she could learn to tolerate him.

Unless he kept eyeing her the way he was, with his chilly gaze sweeping up and down. The itch of discomfort returned, crawling through her scars and under her pelt. An inward chant of stop had started up, even though she knew he couldn’t see any physical ailments. She forced her eyes away from him, lip caught again between her teeth, and instead focused on Luna, who had just shown up.

“Um, yes ma’am, he is.” Stars, did Arion have to run into - over - every being that occupied this territory? Surely, he had some sort of moral compass that included sparing the lives of the locals. Arion might be reckless and young and way too fast for his own four legs, but he was also capable of great care and caution. He had helped keep Hazel, who was much, much smaller than him, alive for a good month and a half. “I apologize if he startled you, or stepped on you.” She swallowed, hoping Luna had a forgiving heart and mind.

When the angry boy spoke again, Hazel’s gaze snapped to him, once again finding those oddly chilling eyes on hers. She visibly relaxed at his reassurance, her spine loosening and shoulders dropping in just the slightest as a huff of breath was drawn from her lungs in her relief. She was about to say thank you, but stalled as he kept talking. Her head tilted, noticing the change in voice from sarcastic drawl to something unsure. To Hazel, he seemed like someone who wasn’t caught in the unknown very often. Curious.

“Observatory?” She echoed, the word rolling off her tongue in a foreign fashion. Before she could ask what the hell an observatory was, he was offering to build a stall for Arion and telling her she could stay. A sort of grateful warmth bloomed in Hazel’s chest - this grumpy boy was offering to use time and resources to aid in building something for someone he just met. That sort of effort would never have been wasted on Hazel in her previous home. The slow smile that danced across her lips and lit up her expression was a giddy sort of sincerity, happy and excited and radiant. “That’d be amazing - thank you.” She purred. “And it would be really nice if someone could show me around…? Nobody has to, I’d just - nobody has to. I can explore on my own if it’s too much trouble.” Hazel cut herself off, smile flickering back into something uncertain for a brief moment.

Then Hotelsuites’ voice was dragging her attention away before she could ask the name of the boy, having realized she never heard it. Sheepish, she shook her head at the female. “It’s okay. He’s a handful. I’m sorry he surprised you. Hopefully it won’t happen again in the near future - he’s pretty easy to hear coming, so his sneak attacks are awful.” Hazel explained, an amused expression rising on her features. True to Hotelsuites’ word, these people seemed to mellow out the further she got to know them, thankfully. Maybe she would like it here, if she was lucky.

Letting the warmth of gratitude seep through her guard, Hazel’s smile grew as she caught on to Hotelsuite’s last sentence and where it was directed. Head dipping, she flicked her eyes to the boy and back, childish mischievousness a creamy glint in them. “Yes - most.” She mused, a purr on the back of her tongue.

★ — Hazel — "speech" — six months — no clan — tags — ★
c) miithers