The cheery laughs and cries of children playing would echo across the skittering sand and burning head of the Gyr Abanian sun; sun bleached stone multi-colored with reddish ringlets fabled to be just the reddish Earth beneath them -- though could never be proven to be the shifting of the earth beneath their feet or the blood of innocent life lost.
What possessed her, when she saw the little babe sporting a head of short, dark, messy hair and the smallest tail she’d ever seen, to take her in her arms and claim this child to be her own?
It had been a request from her sister.
C’mayan had never been so scared in her life; had never been so skittish and locked away for so long without a word.
She should have known what that meant.
When the woman approached her, hot tears streaking her beautiful skin and sunny golden eyes filled with panic, C’ohna couldn’t refuse her. She couldn’t tell her no, not with such horror in her face -- not when the baby needed a mother and the mother couldn’t be her life-giver. She’d just given birth… In truth, it would be frighteningly easy to tuck her into her own litter and showcase her along with her baby boy. No one would be the wiser.
The only thing that puzzled her was the color of the little girl’s eyes.
No one in the tribe had such vibrant green eyes but the older woman who had been locked away for being a harbinger of doom. But this was -C’mayan’s- child, so how could those two be tied together?
C’ohna wasn’t given time to think about it.
Her sister thrust the babe into her arms, whispered hushed and desperate prayers over the little one’s forehead as she withdrew her arms pitifully slowly from around her small body and begged C’ohna to keep her safe. There was no time to reply, C’mayan forcing herself to turn away and to flee from the cave in the dark of night with nothing but a wish upon her lips and the burn of tears in the back of her throat.
And so C’ohna stood in the blackness of her home, the creep of night so suffocating that her distress had been felt by her husband who emerged. She wept in his arms and he cradled both her and his new -- beautiful -- little girl, to whom he cooed over and lavished in such easy affection that even C’ohna was startled. When she asked him how he could accept this news so easily, C’yn could only smile at her and remark with pride in his eyes…
“Klyngeim! There are cookies on the bar we’re considering adding to the menu. The recipe is good but I’ve been struggling on a name. Can you try a few for me?”
A creeps it’s way over the roe’s face the whole time she’s shout out of the Mason’s kitchen out to her co-owner. Arha was one of many cattes that had become a center piece of her life, but admittedly the connection between the pair was unique among them. It was rare to have that sort of trust, compassion, rivalry, and well-meaning cruelty between two souls, even in her years of sailing with pirates. Her hands manage to keep up the illusion of being busy in the kitchen while she stole glances back to see if the promise of sweets had drawn the runt in.
That height was a part of what had drawn her in to begin with. Not that she was any stranger to being the bigger half of a pair, but that there was over two and a half fulms of difference between them was particularly hard to ignore. And that she could somehow lift the giant when she chose to was the absurd twist on expectation that she’d come to expect out of her time with the coeurl. She was less enthused in the rampant disregard or perhaps even embrace of self-destruction the young woman engaged in, but there seemed to be an unspoken rule that they kept out of that shit for each other unless it was truly dire. It wasn’t like Brem was innocent herself on that front after all.
With the sort of obvious footfalls of a tiny person, it was clear her best friend was nearing the bar and the covered plate of cookies waiting for her, leaving the sea wolf fighting down a preemptive chuckle. From the very first game night it’d been clear that the two of them enjoyed a good chaotic prank on the unsuspecting. She was a firm believer in the guidance of the Navigator, but it didn’t mean she was above making her own gusts of wind when she needed to. Though she wasn’t quite sure if Arha had intentionally been leaving those openings for Brem to twist the night back around against her, or if it’d just been an exercise of that well-meaning cruelty striking. Before she could muse further though the ring of metal on metal of the covering dish snapped her attention out to the bar.
There her business partner stood, staring at a plate full of cookies shaped like the horses of the Steppe that she’d called the catte in to help name. Only a couple of heartbeats before the sea wolf was about to prompt her further there was a burst in the volume she’d expected from her tiny friend.
I'm a day behind, please be kind to me!
Heyyo, I'm a black creator and this is C'arha, my Ala Mhigan, taking her well deserved vacation off on the beach!
#pocwolweek : Vacation!
[ Several Months Ago: C’arha is still currently on Hiatus ]
{ TW: Mansplaining / GasLighting; Implications of Sexual Abuse }
Ul’dah was as bustling as it always was, the streets lined with the prospect of coin and carriage; the wealthy casting disgusted glares among common-folk while they bartered and bantered, coin exchanged and value pressed upon another by how silver their tongue ran. The game was one that you couldn’t enter into without gil, a prowess for being underhanded, connections in high places or incredible fucking luck.
C’arha had much of that and much of it in spades.
She had an entirely different outlook and way of carrying herself that she didn’t previously have when she first crawled her way into the city, belly first and starving. No one had paid her any mind. She was nothing but another one of the begging filth from Ala Mhigo--a stain upon not only the economy but the outlook of the pristine and rich lands of the Ul’dahn city states.
Eyes only watched her when she spread her thighs for food.
Where the rest of the sun-dried, fanciful hovel had forgotten her--for she was nothing more than an auburn colored smear in the dirt, she had not forgotten the way the city had treated her. She could see it in each of their faces, how they offered her pleasant smiles and pandered to their wares; prostrating peacocks desperate for the half-gleam of her green eyes to grace their product.
It made her gut twist, the grimace of a woman gone mad with vengeance and rage contorting to the fox-faced smirk of a merchant looking innocently through stalls for that rare ‘something’ she could never find. Their dismay that she would never afford them a second glance lit a fire in her belly that would never, truly, be stomped out and she reveled in knowing that these same men and women that domineered the Sapphire Avenue and swore by their ‘legitimate’ goods, the same who would promise her loans just to get on her feet would be the same who floundered about--squawking for her attention like pigeons waiting to be fed.
Nothing brought her deeper satisfaction than having a gavel to hold and swing at the very heads of the same people that denied her humanity, kindness and love while shouting slurs and pecking at her pride by referring to her people--her blood, as nothing but lowly.
Bastards with their hands out.
Strange.
Savage.
She had noted every dirty look, every cruel comment, every single one of their cocky, corrupt, filthy faces. She remembered and she remembered well.
That is why a particular stall, a man clothed in fine jewelry--tossing his hands about and making racket to garner attention--caught her eye. Ah, a face she’d remembered. Nothing stopped the clack of heel and the sweep of hips, hellfire in her walk when she curved about the crowd to the front of the pack with an authority that demanded the crowd part for her presence. The pale-skinned jeweler took note of her and her appearance; cracking an easy smirk when the smaller woman lifted her fingers and wriggled them in greeting.
“And you, the green-eyed jewel of the marketplace, may I interest you in some fine filigree to dangle about those beautiful wrists?”
C’arha’s lips curled--but she managed to push it back to a dangerous smirk and not a snarling hiss.
“You maeh.”
“Oh! I know that accent anywhere! You are quite the exotic to have roaming our fair stalls in the daylight!” His voice rose an octave on the tail-end of that statement, forcing the hackles on the woman standing before him to raise. Despite the hidden physical response, she flashed him a pretty smile and said nothing more--pointedly ignoring the whispering of the crowd behind her.
The salesman shifted back to his stall, reaching for and retrieving a golden amulet with a jade center--the chain dangling back and off from the center of his palm. He presented the piece to her, which she took and hummed over gently--interest brightening in her gaze. His reaction to her interest was all she needed, that cat-like grin growing when he noticed her flipping the amulet over in her palm several times and seemed to be pleased with it.
“Oh this, m’darlin’ flower, is an amulet of prosperity that comes directly from yer lands! Pure gold with a jade center, meant to stimulate peace on the person and within the household when maintained easily enough. Matches yer eyes like a dream, darlin’! How about I throw in a discount fer ya?”
C’arha let her sharp gaze flick from the amulet to the man.
“‘Ow much?”
“20 thousand gil! Surely somethin’ comin’ from yer land has more weight and interest to someone like yerself!” The hyur bobbed his head, gesturing with his hands to get the crowd to respond; which they did, nodding along with him. When C’arha did not immediately respond, the man cocked a brow and leaned in--voice dropping in tone and coated in false concern.
“What is it lass…? Can… Can ya not afford it?”
The runt of a Seeker couldn’t help it then--it was too much. She burst out into bright, shrill laughter that danced it’s way down the alley with about as much pompous energy as the salesman trying to sell her absolute dozo shite.
“You must fanceh yoahself an enteahtainah as much as you fanceh yoahself a snake oil salesman.”
The hyur wrinkled his nose, starting to come out of his shocked still notion to hem and haw at her. “What are ya gettin’ at, lass?”
“This shit is about as fake as yoah beahd is, fool. That is what I am getting at.”
The salesman’s eyes sharpened and he tossed his head back, letting out a whoop followed by a soft snort. “Callin’ it fake when ye can’t afford it? Bit cheap of a tactic, don’t ya think? I was even gonna throw in a discount cuz yer so plum pretty--but like this… Maybe not.”
C’arha shrugged, offering the man her same--stilled--unbothered smile.
“Do you want me to prove it?”
He curled his lip, venom dripping off his teeth and tongue with each syllable that dribbled out of his foul mouth. “I -implore- you to.”
Shrugging her shoulders, C’arha let out a brief sigh. “Vereh well.” Tossing the amulet into her other hand, she rolled the jewelry between her fingers and then--all at once--crunched down on the metal with her fingers, closing her fist about it. When she opened her hand, the ‘jade’ bit of the amulet was cracked in half and in two pieces--as well as much of the chain having shucked off in… flakes?
The woman turned, showing the sham to the crowd with a tired sigh. “Crystal you painted to look like jade--no jade is cleah on th’inside. And this chain? Gold plated coppah--at best. Caeh to explain yoahself?”
The salesman stood--staring wide eyed at the runt that had just strolled up and ruined his showcase in a matter of moments, in front of a crowd no less! His hands motioned to the rest of his case and he parted his lips to explain himself before C’arha cut him off entirely and with little regard for what he -actually- had to say.
“‘Ow long ‘ave you favoahed yoahself an authentic salesman in th’Exchange? Summahs now, ‘asn’t it been? ‘Ow maneh repeat custoahmahs ‘ave you ‘ad? ‘Ow maneh came to you, screaming of ‘ow you deceived them and yoah long-time clients bailed you out of th’stickeh spot by shouting yoah praises ovah th’truth? ‘Ow maneh times ‘ave you ‘ad yoah balls tickled by th’nobel women whose feet you kiss to keep yoah pitiful shack in business?”
The hyur snarled sharply and took a step toward C’arha, looming over her with hate burning in every ounce of his body. “Now hold on th--”
“Shouldn’t you be paehing moah attention to th’crowd?”
He paused… And brown eyes flicked upward to note the crowd’s reaction. Many were watching the exchange while others were furiously talking amongst themselves--only for the man to notice the looks of disgust and anger they held toward the jeweler more than the little Ala Mhigan that had undone all his hard earned work in a matter of moments.
“N-Now now everyone! Let’s not believe hysteria!”
“But you can’t deny this! She has the proof in her hands!”
“Come now, you would trust the word of an Ala Mhigan over me? Born and bred in Ul’dah’s very heart? What of comradery for your fellow man?!”
C’arha could only laugh once more, shaking her head with glittering amusement in her eyes. “Is that naught who the betrayal often comes from? Yoah ‘fellow man’?”
He was too slow to stop the first rock lobbed at his showcase and the rest? He wouldn’t have dared to step in front of. The motion had been quick and their anger swift; for just an instance later the stall was nothing but a heep on the ground of wood, fake product and rubble. His petrified face watched as the crowd dispersed to other stalls, casting snide glances over their shoulders--his reputation would be ruined to all of the other sellers by sundown. He’d been undone.
His attention snapped to the runt still standing in place, amusement dancing like fire in her eyes--a surly grin marking her face of a huntress that’d just devoured her prey.
“I’ll… I-I’ll ruin ya fer this!”
“With what?”
“I.. I have men--”
“Who I can buy.”
“I have sponsors--!”
“Who I can buy.”
“I have f-friends! I--I have family!”
“Who I can buy.”
“I have protections!!”
“Did you naught saeh you wheah boahn and raised ‘eah? Everehthing in Ul’dah can be bought, bahtahed and sold. Even you.”
His expression crumpled, both hands coming up to catch the hot tears that rolled down his face. What was he going to tell his wife? Their daughter? How would they survive? What was he going to do--what kind of man would he be if they had to be out on the street? Beg? Beg like the rest of them?
C’arha could see his worry, watch the life drain away from him while he steeped in his own truth and she let out another long--tired sigh. “‘Ow about this--I’ll give you a discount, since you wheah so kind to give me one. ‘Ow does that sound?”
He perked up, lifting his face from his hands right as C’arha leaned down to whisper into his ear the truth of his salvation! All he had to do was listen to her, do what she said and he’d find mercy! He’d find--
One will bite, the other will not and it changes every time you pet them!
- You MUST pet at-least one of them. Failure to pet means they both will cry.
- Petting one over the other will mean the one not being pet will cry.
- There are very rare occurrences where neither will bite.
A lifetime of traditions boiled into the blood of an ancestry blended from so many different sources that it’s neigh impossible to separate--Where candidates are drawn, inexplicably, to a location in the far desert; a home to call their own. Ridiculed or abandoned from their own blood, bound to the rote of ‘different’ or ‘unwanted’, never truly craved and not exactly hated. Something in between, destined to coast on the tides of ‘indiscriminate.’ A feeling that cannot be given words yet is felt with every sharp look, every digging phrase and every uncouth action meant to unnerve. An invisible set of shackles; a prison of their own blood.
A siren song that draws them away from a place they are deemed ugly to a home where the fruit of divinity has been gathered to sow a seed. A seed that is cared for; to sprout into a budding plant and eventually into a blossoming tree--where the next generation will grow and feed the soil for new growth. A pattern of generations; all vowed by an unearthly voice that whispers soft and cloy just against the back of their neck--both haunting and welcoming. The promise of love and hope and a new beginning where the grass is greener and the waters are clear; where love can grow.
But Home is the Mouth of a Shark.
The Coeurl know this to be true.
Goddess Tears turn their soil rich; keep the rivers rushing and clear. The skies are kind and clear--the hunt? Plentiful for the desert. Protection from the elements within stone caverns fortified by the might of the Goddesses they worship, destined to be the very temples in which their inscriptions are written for the eras long past--both waiting to be discovered and damned into oblivion.
Where the world is perfect and waiting. Where the blessings curl in their favor. Where the fruit tastes of gold and the waters chills of silver.
What they find--At the crux of it all?
A resolute, war-built people functioning off of traditions of old gods that have no business controlling the very lives of the living and not the ilk that should have tended to when their hay days were present. A community of stubborn, fierce people that swear their allegiance to twin Goddesses whose allegiance belongs only to their own; where lives are sacrificed for traditions that the outside world will never understand nor be able to justify. Unfit to make their entrance into societies without being deemed unruly. Wrong. Backward. A people who bicker and bite and snap at one another over who is ‘right’, poisoned by a truth that is truth only to their eyes tinged gold with the light of an over dweller lending their strength and prowess to children that never asked to be born under these rites.
Generations of young men and women that blindly follow a truth burned into their blood that none other can even hope to comprehend, to understand their pain and struggle--to feel the pride that burns in their veins and electrifies their souls with the vigor of battle, blood and fire. A people that do what they know; some soft-souled enough to coax the truly protective into seeing another side--to rest their clenched fist and allow something else to slip into the crags that split their heart each time the realization dawns on them that they will always be strange.
Turned mad by this truth; the real truth--that they are monsters born and bred to keep their eikons relevant. Food for a bigger predator. And that inherent truth turns their pride, their justice, their souls to ash on their tongues and acid in their bellies. Some--the smart ones--flee the village in search of a better life. The smarter ones? They remain. They know, down to their core, that the connection they bear to this land and it’s cultures and customs cannot be escaped. It’s written into the very fabric of their DNA, going more than just against the grain to defy their truth.
And yet; This truth unravels each day that passes.
Silver and Gold; Borne in the image of the twin goddesses themselves--they defy their very existence by going more than against the grain. They go against all that it means to be Coeurl while remaining the proudest Coeurl to have ever been born into the tribe to date. The very essence of Sun and Moon; they lead their tribe to a prosperity that grows beyond just food for old gods and monsters built for an endless war. They go beyond their boundary, beyond their purpose; all for the notion that there is more to this life than they are.
To return to their people, their blood, the right to a life merely colored by the ancients--not controlled. To return to their people their honor. Their respect. Their safety.
Ultimately, to give them back their hearts.
To write a history where change gives birth to free thinking.
To encourage finding their own way.
To overcome. To thrive.
To live.
In their eyes; emboldened with the flicker of godhood,
What do you see?
