The Virga Fields (Celestia/Roseluck) Feb 15, 2016 20:01:14 GMT -6
Post by Deleted on Feb 15, 2016 20:01:14 GMT -6
Her eyes were closed, her head taking up the rhythm of the music in her headphones and of the carriage rolling, rolling, rolling over a path of rocks and dirt, her hoof tapping on the deep reddish wood of the cabin. The carriage stopped in the middle of a melody, and Roseluck opened her eyes, sliding back her headphones onto her neck. Either the coach driver was stopping to get off his yoke for a restroom break, or maybe ... maybe there were wherever they were supposed to be. From outside, the wind hissed, and her hoof kept tapping.
Minutes later, she stood by herself on the thin grass of the road, the dust from the departing carriage tracking its path into the wide blue of the sky. She sat down and unrolled the scroll the driver gave her on the ground. It was, seemingly, a really old map, frayed and faded, and by no means drawn by an experienced cartographer. All that was depicted was an arrow for north and a path going west ... maybe a mile or so? Somewhere, a mile west, there was a small hill, and on it, a lone cabin. "Seriously? Did I get the Horrors & Hangings date or something?"
The wind continued to hiss and wisp around, her, and as she stood and glanced forward, she didn't see the hill or the cabin. All she saw where the endless swaying heights of Early Spring grass. Somewhere in there, larks trilled and the cicadas rose in chorus with the wind. Her ears flattened and she took a breath as a single word echoed throughout her: alone. But after a moment, she shook her head and whipped her tail. "By the thighs on high, I've got to get my act together. With my luck, the mare I'm meeting has been waiting for hours, whoever they are."
She rolled up the scroll, stuffed it into her saddlebag, and after taking a big tough-mare inhalation, stepped into the field. Her thoughts went to imagination as she walked through the thick of the landscape. So ... the date ... a day and a night in a cabin so far away from others that it'd pass for the hideout of some kind of transcendentalist supervillain. She giggled at that. "Beware, all ye that come, for thou art in the domain of the Dread Poet Whitmane! Fear my epic similes and innuendos! Heh ... yeah ... confidence, I got it." I probably don't have it.
She stood up on her hind legs, and beyond a tree, there might've been something geometric and artificial, perhaps a rooftop, yet that didn't quite cause her to come down until her legs where annoyed. The earth was green, and the sky was blue, simple and absolute. "Okay, c'mon, almost there, get out of your head, Rosie. Reach deep, feel the romantic confidence surging within. Surging! Yeah! You try to be best, 'cus you're only a mare, and mare's gotta learn to take it ... wait, no montage music. Just be you, Rosie. Rock on." She took a deep breath and walked on.