private [ ... ] just an anchor

[Keona.]

[div style="width: 527px; line-height: 1.4; text-align: justify; font-family: palatino; font-size: 11px;"][align=center]— blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly —

The dummy had been frozen solid.  An unintentional mishap, but the current predicament nonetheless.  The tiny fae crept up towards the fake-enemy, frown tugging her lips down.  Hesitantly, she reached to touch, running her paw down slick ice.  She brings her it back, tendrils of cold shaking up her legs and small form.  So much for practice.  No matter how hard she tried, she could not convince the ice to melt away.  "Le do thoil."  The striker wished the sun was out, for it'd do the work for her, but beneath the moon the frozen dummy was too strong a barrier for her to batter with her paws.  Unless she wanted to break them.

Frustrated, Keona backed away, beginning to pace the outlines of the colosseum.  She'd found it vacant for the night.  No sparring going on or anything, so it was all hers.  An empty arena.  Hollow.  Lips quivering, the child slumped into the sand, her tail flicking to and fro behind her, listless.  With her ribs healed, she needed to work.  Train.  Practice.  Improve.  Better to push her body than to linger in her mind.  Not much was on it as of late.  Not much could be on it, since her mother's message.  They hate each other for it.

Keona dug her claws into the ground, bitter.  I want my ma. All she was... Was a song.  Her heart had swelled at songs once.  But she wanted more than a song.  More than a stupid message in a bottle.  She swiped sand into the air, eyes stinging with unshed tears.  She wouldn't cry.  A tough pirate wouldn't cry.  A tough pirate was what she had to be now.  So nobody doubted her.  So nobody could catch her again.  So nobody could hurt her again.  Nobody.

Most certainly not a ghost with one word.

Nobody.

Then why are you crying?

[ [member=483]SÉAMUS[/member] ]

✯ — keona sibéal ó faoláin. female. striker of the typhoon. blind. rusty spotted cat.  ref. bio.

[SÉAMUS]

☠

Did it sting to be avoided?  A little.  More than it had ever in the past.  Yet Séamus still gave the space he felt needed, against every instinct.  He kept distance between himself and his twin, though not as much as he perhaps should - he couldn't help but be a bother, sometimes.  If Kian wasn't so hardheaded... We've always tiptoed on this line.  His brothers had always looked to him with wariness in their eyes.

That brought him into the familiar confines of the Colosseum.  In the dead of night, he'd expected some solitude.  A place to train a little.  Instead, he spotted an all too familiar figure against the sand.  A lump formed in his throat.  Stay or go?  He didn't need the link between their minds to say she was upset.  A rare tremor of guilt stabbed him.

With a sigh, the endfield slowly approached.  He kept his mind closed off from her, respectfully.  No need to accidentally clutter her mind with his own feelings, though the look on her face explained why he'd felt so out of it recently.  Tears in her eyes.  He wanted to rake his talons across the world, stone cold fury for hurting the child, but he knew he was where the blame lie.  Mostly. 

He'd brought it up to his brother, before he went to infiltrate the Pitt.  He'd been the one dancing on the line, mischievous and vicious jealousy behind the friendly, helpful uncle.  He'd shattered any plan of utilizing the raid to bring her home first.  Selfish.  But they why shouldn't he be selfish sometimes?  Hadn't he lost enough?

"Did you freeze the dummy?" Trust Keona to have inherited Kian's affinity for the element of water.  He frowned, then attempted to nudge the girl, lightly, with his snout, to push her back to her paws.  "You're not sad about the dummy, are you, Sibi?" God, he hoped he didn't provoke her, but... Well, that was an idea.

"If you need to hit something, hit me, but I find a verbal debate is oft just as exhilarating as an actual fight."

"Tá brón orm." His words felt heavy, but he meant it.  He can't recall many cases where he had before.  All he knew was that he didn't want to see her cry anymore.  "Labhair liom."

"word of mouth there's a snake in the garden" —-- Séamus Ó Faolán

[Keona.]

[div style="width: 527px; line-height: 1.4; text-align: justify; font-family: palatino; font-size: 11px;"][align=center]— blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly —

Keona very near jumped out of her fur, sniffling once as her head swiveled towards his voice.  She could taste salt on her tongue and tilted her head downwards, towards her paws.  "Yes," she mumbled, unsheathing and sheathing her claws restlessly.  "I didn't mean to." Of course, he probably knew that.  The fae flicked her tail.  This place was supposed to empty.  She liked it empty.

She had wanted the space, conscious she was getting it whether or not she ran off.  The hiding helped.  It limited any potential accidental interaction.  It kept them apart.  It gave her time to sort through everything on her own.  No interruptions.  Why are you here?

Keona let out a quiet string of protests, ears flattened as she found herself back on her feet.  Even then, she was small.  Small, and odds were her eyes had turned a puffy red and her nose runny, but she didn't care.  "No," who cares about the stupid dummy?  Without much thought, she aimed a sudden swipe at the endfield, claws unsheathed.  Her attack held little enthusiasm, but she knew how to aim now and she just wanted to do something with the hole in her heart.  She had wanted to be alone.  She just wanted her mother.  "I don't care about the dummy."

"I don't want two dads, I want my mom."

✯ — keona sibéal ó faoláin. female. striker of the typhoon. blind. rusty spotted cat.  ref. bio.

[SÉAMUS]

☠

Séamus blinked once, slowly.  His eyes quickly narrowing and watching every muscle movement.  He bit the inside of check at her harsh response.  For a brief second, he recounted the rare the times he'd come home, bruised and battered, tears streaking down his checks, to his mother's side.  That was... Countless years ago and she was gone.

Quickly, he took a tiny step backwards to throw her off.  Had her claws been safely sheathed, he would have been of mind to let her hit him.  The glint of sharp claws caught him a little off guard, though perhaps it shouldn't have.

Gentle as possible, he retaliated, attempting to swipe her paws and trip her. No intention to hurt her on the way down and if the move was successful he'd grab her by the scruff and sit her on his paws.

"I didn't say hit me with your claws, Sibi," he'd scold softly.  "... I understand."

"... I don't want to share you," he admitted, flicking his ear.  For that, he knew his brother rightfully distrusted him.  For that Kian likely saw him as a threat, a danger to Keona.  As if he'd take her away.  Tempting thought really, but he knew better.  "And I miss your mother.  Kian does too.  More than anything, and its not fair, it isn't but life has never been fair.  I think you've learnt that for yourself by now."

"No more tears, Sibi.  Sheath your claws and I'll teach you how to fight."

"word of mouth there's a snake in the garden" —-- Séamus Ó Faolán

[Keona.]

[div style="width: 527px; line-height: 1.4; text-align: justify; font-family: palatino; font-size: 11px;"][align=center]— blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly —

The child gasped softly, losing her balance just as intended, eyes widening for a brief second in surprise.  Before she hit the ground she felt teeth carefully catch her.  There'd always been someone to catch her, hasn't there?  Keona blinked, checks burning furiously.  She flexed her claws silently but said nothing, head bowed.  Stupid. She should not have expected to actually land a hit.  He was still faster than her.  Besides, you don't actually want to hurt him.  No.  He was still family, even she was upset with them.

"… No you don't," she muttered, shifting on his paws.  All talons, not... Claws.  She wondered if she'd ever learn to shift like him -- Kian could too, she thinks, and so can Raziel -- and if she'd ever end up in such a strange form.  Yet his fur is soft and she does not really want to jump off his paws.  "You had a mom." They all did.  She didn't know much about her grandmother... Or anything, really, save that she'd died a long time ago, but she knew that she'd raised them.  She'd been there.

Keona raises her chin up, eyes flickering.  Share me?  That made sense, actually, when she thought about it.  Seamus had always seemed a little possessive, but so was his brother, whom until now had been her undisputed father.  She had always gotten the sense he'd been there from the day he arrived in the Typhoon, watching, keeping an eye on her even before they even got close.

She narrows her eyes into a fierce glare, directed back down at her own paws.  It isn't fair.  She agrees wholeheartedly.  But maybe she'd been looking at it wrong.  The Pitt had certainly taught her life wasn't very kind.  The number of children running around with only one parent, just like she had been before now... That had to say something about fair.  Yet she couldn't help but fume at the change.  She didn't want her little family to change.

Yet it had.

So she sniffed once more, softly, then buried her face in his fur. "I... I don't want to anymore," she whispered, muffled.  "Can you tell me about mom?"  The tiny fae had grown wary of ever asking.  Her father, Kian, had always grown morose and quiet when she brought her up.  He'd loved her so much, and Keona had hated the way he grew so terribly sad.  She couldn't bare it, not well enough to keep asking. 

✯ — keona sibéal ó faoláin. female. striker of the typhoon. blind. rusty spotted cat.  ref. bio.