positively unattached
naive and unattracted to the buzz
fate tests her, now.

it grates, unyielding on the nerves, causing her to seethe with an intensity that rivals a searing sun. a raging and vengeful star that looms with the threat of incineration, beating mercilessly down upon the oasis sands. but it is different now, almost intolerable. an abrupt shift in temperature that sees her pawpads scorched, aching as she trudges to the safety of shade near a receding shoreline. a change so vague that she double-takes the waterhole, a frown creasing her features accordingly. gods, as if the oasis were not loathesome enough without the prospect of drought.

a dramatic sigh shears her silence, and she plops lazily into lukewarm sands beneath the shelter of palms. if only her energy levels would permit travel to the coolness of favored muddy expanses; then perhaps, would olive find her spirits much less sour.

tag: @Halimede
ooc: gonna set this before olive's escape attempt


Art © Ryuu

It starts small. Perhaps first in the Oasis, where it would go unnoticed, brushed off as some instinctual course of nature. Halimede only notices the water's receding edge because she'd been so remarkably lazy. When she was not offending potential opponents in the Pit, or barking in Leander or Seneca's ears, she was found mostly lounging on the water's edge. It brought her comfort, in a sense; where she'd been before, there was only ever desert. Ceaseless, unending. This place, too, was where most lions tended to gather; the Oasis was far larger than Halimede had left it, and many new faces to introduce herself to.

She had, after all, seemingly overnight become the wife of the Heir.

It was strange to think about. Vastly different than the wild and uncouth nature of her upbringing. Halimede had considered herself no different now than she was before, and just as doggedly loyal to him and his family as she was before. Besides Magnus, the Miroslav men had been the ones to show her great kindness: a home, a bed, and food in her ever-starving belly.

For others, perhaps not nearly as much.

She watches as @Olive slips against the sand, sending a burst of desert dust up into the dry, arid air. Winter seemed to recede with a haste, plunging their little haven into a growing drought. It was not quite at the concerning level, Halimede mulled, but had the potential to grow into something larger, scarier. Casting those frightening ideas aside, Halimede emerged from the tropical underbrush, fur kinked where she'd been tangled in the roots of the mangrove trees and brushed with long palm fronds. “Fornicating with the sand, are we?” she mused playfully, approaching the woman, “Scandalous. But also—kinda hot.” Literally and figuratively. If she were not so used to this stale heat, she might've been panting.

positively unattached
naive and unattracted to the buzz
she sprawls, limbs outstretched in every which direction as her stomach kisses the cooler earth beneath. adorning the desert sands like a rug, entirely motionless if not for the heaving of her chest with every dramatized pant. this is olive’s hell; perhaps retribution for the many taunts and insults slewed from careless lips – and continues to slew. and she would sooner burn in the oasis’ flames than pass up the opportunity to tease for her own amusement, for nothing can compare to the high of that dopamine hit. no, she’d remain doomed here if that were the cost to pay.

a rustling amongst the palms alerts her to an onlooker, and her skull elevates from its perch atop the sands as she turns her gaze upon the perpetrator. breath hitching in her throat some as she takes in the feminine form of @Halimede, momentarily overcome by an uncharacteristic shyness. pretty, olive thinks. charming in her humor, and a soft snort brushes past her nostrils in response. fucking sand, indeed. “didn’t realize the oasis had a resident peeping tom,” she quips, a coy smirk curling one side of velvet lips with the friendly intention to play along. for olive is friends with all, even perverts.

but she is curious if her perception is off, and soon, her chin inclines to the receding waterhole. “is it just me, or does the oasis suck a bit extra, lately?” she does not hide her disdain for the desert, her tones touched with disappointment. perhaps the tabby can relate – or, at the very least, confirm or deny her suspicions regarding an oncoming heat wave.



Art © Ryuu

Peeping tom? Almost certainly, but only because Halimede hadn't anything better to do.

She could have been guarding the borders, preparing for which war loomed upon the horizon. She could be spending time with Leander, were he not so busy with his duties to his brother. She could have been training, exploring, any number of things that would have put her somewhere else other than here. But to her, there'd never been anything quite so exciting as to creep upon those of Seneca's horde that she'd yet to meet. In fact, she'd still a settle to score with Genya over the largest, coziest den; but her scent seemed to have long disappeared.

“Peeping tom?” she drawled, feigning disappointment, “That hurts almost as bad as when Magnus said I was a seven out of ten.” And if that man weren't so frightening, she might have never let him live it down. The last time Halimede had seen him, in the midst of battle so long ago, she could have sworn he was halfway between shocked shitless and ready to kill her. She ventured toward @Olive, maintaining a comfortable distance but residing close enough to not be heard above the howl of desert winds. This strange shift in the air could be felt by many, even Halimede.

Is it just me, or does the Oasis suck a bit extra, lately?

Halimede paused, mulling. In terms of the constant feuding with other prides and the pool at the center of their territory slowly drying up, then yes, it did kind of suck. But everything else? Halimede felt as if she'd returned home, a word she'd never considered before, something she felt undeserving of. The Oasis was her home, Leander was her home, and she'd never felt belonging like she'd felt it here. Perhaps it were different from other lions who looked upon this place through different lenses. Halimede was never able to tell if her own were rose-colored.

It would never matter, she considered. She would not let them slip out of her grasp again. What Olive may want to push away, Halimede was desperate to keep.

“Hmm...yes,” she agreed, a sly smirk flitting to her lips. She was not trying to deceive Olive, but never was she the type to give a truly honest answer. She'd just gotten so good at hiding how she felt. “Hey, why don't you and I become the Queens, and we toss Seneca into an alligator pit? Wouldn't that be fun to watch?” She was half-tempted to speak loud enough that the lurking King may hear her. She could only imagine the way that half-wet and bedraggled cat would drag himself out of there with a gator hot on his tail.

positively unattached
naive and unattracted to the buzz
the youth is silent as she marvels, turning her cherry gaze upon the tabby as would a child to their idol. for the woman embodies ethereal grace and beauty, a magnetic charm apparent in her perky demeanor that dims the fire residing in olive. and she is sheepish in her presence, reverent as she regards the woman like a queen. the image of a crown about ashen temples easily discernible, for @Halimede plays the role quite perfectly from her (biased) perspective. yes; if olive were to one day assume the throne and regalia of royalty, she hopes she will match the tabby’s witticism and charisma. teach me to be like you.

nose scrunches and her brows knit with contempt, confusion evident as halimede relays of this magnus guy’s transgressions. perhaps he were cursed with blindness, and olive has half a mind to pity him for his inability to admire true beauty. but he is a man, and olive does not spare him her leniency, choosing to damn him to her ill-graces instead with a disdainful snort.

she does not shy from the woman as she encroaches upon her proximities, allowing for a slight and respectful cushion of space to linger between them as she does so. and olive shifts onto her side to better face the queenly woman, retaining a lax posture despite the looming unfamiliarity with her new acquaintance. and as hali’s verdict is given regarding the oasis and its prospective drought, a frown creases her drying lips. perhaps, in due time, they would all shrivel like raisins, leaving their charred remains to speckle the desert sands. and in the afterlife, olive could poke and prod and badger the miroslav horde with ‘i-told-you-so’s, for the grass is always greener than arid expanses of nothingness.

it is too bad the grasses were set aflame by nature’s brewing wrath. but olive is oblivious to the ruination of their lands – for now.

amusement is proffered in coy suggestion, and her carmine gaze narrows upon the woman’s bi-toned with sly intent. perhaps the two were on the same wavelength, or perhaps the woman were a mere figment of her imagination, conjured by heat exhaustion. regardless, olive entertains the deliciously wicked idea with a snicker, with ardor. “now you’re speaking my language,” is the implied approval she extends, nodding as to confirm the sentiment. “but leaving the gators with one little meal? too cruel,” she tuts with feigned disappointment, mischief setting the embers of her eyes ablaze. “i say we throw magnus in there, too. for good measure.” the unknown man deserves it, after all. and if the duo were to reign over the oasis, surely they will need to fall in the gators’ good graces; and what better way to solidify their alliance than to sacrifice a couple of men to be ripped to shreds?

but olive is an actress who lives for dramatics, and soon, her posture straightens with overzealous poise. “olive, my co-queen. pleasure, darling, pleasure” she drawls, her tones snobbish, uppity. carrying herself in the highly-exaggerated manners of royalty as she stares down the bridge of her nose at hali, amusement glittering in her eyes. let’s play.



Art © Ryuu

It was not often Halimede found one of her ilk; one who could match her quips, falling into a blissful dance, each turn more graceful and entertaining than the last. Halimede was simply delighted by the way @Olive seemed ready to join her in this endeavor, and how close she would be willing to push it, how achingly excited she would be to coax alligators into that oasis, to lead Seneca to a certainly-chompy demise (though, there was little doubt the man wouldn't come unscathed from all that, thinking of far more serious outcomes simply wouldn't do).

It was easy to forget the world falling apart around them in such pleasant company. The man-forged wars and brutal rending of mother nature all seemed distant, unreal.

And in her dark fantasy, adding Magnus into the fray seemed to simply sweeten the pot. It was hard to tell which man frightened her more; perhaps seeing the both of them humbled by far greater beasts would give both women great joy, confidence, power. Playfully, of course; Halimede wasn't even sure where to begin when falling into the good graces of alligators. It would be hard to translate the ideal of two larger meals when desperately trying to escape their snapping jaws herself.

Olive, my co-queen.

“Halimede.”

If only their lives were so idealistic. Politics waged with words and alligators, women aspiring for greatness forging bonds over good company. Perhaps in a different life they would have made good Queens, fair to their subjects and masters of the largest, most dangerous moat. Olive and Halimede, one Oasian force to be reckoned with, warrior-Queens and slayers of the great Seneca Miroslav (and one of them even sleeping with his brother).

Alas, fate had other plans.

What was to come mattered little in this moment. That brief second in which Olive's expression turned playful did not go unnoticed by the gray tabby. “Ah—Queen Halimede Sandpaws the Third, ruler of the Hottest Desert and protector of the Dried-Up Puddle of Dust.” A paw rested upon her chest, regal, her chin tilting up toward the sky. Perhaps a bit far too much.

positively unattached
naive and unattracted to the buzz
lighthearted and carefree, like all conversation would flow in an idealistic version of reality. absent of woes, of rage and vengeance, of the solemnity that seemingly plagues the majority of the peninsula’s inhabitants. and while the youth learns little of her counterpart in the midst of their fantasies, she feels inclined to the woman – bewitched, even. warmth radiating from the gaze that settles on @Halimede as the tabby lists her fanciful titles. “the sandpaws, you say?” she gasps incredulously, placing a paw above her heart for the sake of dramatics. “the sandpaws who won the great war of the rolling dunes? my, my, how impressive.” perhaps the duo will play their roles until the end of time, with neither knowing exactly when to quit.

pupils detach from the woman as she surveys their scorching surroundings, a melodic hum rumbling velvet lips as she internally debates. a lazy forepaw is cast towards the blistering sands as she reaches her conclusion. “we’ll obviously need to draw in some elephants to spray the sands. can’t have the royal toes shriveling up from this heat, you know.” her digits individually flex, attentions wavering to the woman with an impish smirk. but there is a flaw to potentially foil their ascension to the throne (and revolt against the king), and olive voices her concern in all of her queenly wisdom. “what will the miroslavs say?” the endless horde of miroslav brood, the brothers who swept her from the challenge – surely they would not be so quick to comply to the actresses' superiority.



Art © Ryuu

So used was she to the brutal nature of those Miroslav men. Even Leander, who had always taken her jabs in stride and played along with her, could not quite match the same energy as @Olive. Halimede felt like a puppy, whose tail smacked everything in its delighted path and slobbering tongue yapped between every lipsmack. Her excitement manifested in the way her paws fumbled, claws digging into the ground as her hips and tail swayed excitedly. Very unqueenlike, but manners were not needed when one ruled the brutal desert. In fact, manners were discouraged in such a dangerous place. Trying to make friends with a cactus would only lead to heat death. And the snakes and lizards of this place would sooner bite and thrash than allow for talks of an alliance.

“The very Sandpaws,” Halimede concurred. Olive's suggestion of elephants was a grand idea, the thought of both an alligator moat and a loyal army of elephants at their sides certainly to drive away any machinating, ill-intentioned brute. Thieves would think twice about plucking from their caches if they stared down the sharpened tusk of an angry beast. If only, she thought chidingly, the only true detraction from this pleasant fantasy. The brutal politicking of Amaryllis was enough to make any stomach turn, even in the most playful of moments. It is only Olive's inquiry that draws her back from that half-reality. “The Miroslavs would be delighted, no doubt, that we have freed them from the insurmountable trouble of leadership and gifted them a lovely experience with our scaled moat-dwellers.” In fact, Halimede was very sure that Seneca would wring her neck in front of the entirety of the Oasis, making an example like none other out of Halimede, sister in-law or not.

“Seneca and I have a great relationship. I do whatever I please, and he says Halimede, stop, you're embarrassing me.”

positively unattached
naive and unattracted to the buzz
the excited wiggle of the woman’s hips is her tell, suggesting that she, too, finds elation in their exchange of fanciful tales and farfetched dreams. perhaps not all of the oasis’ residents had been reduced to solemn drones in the dull throes of politics, and olive has half a mind to believe she can endure this wretched sand with an ally at her side. to think of the mischievous antics the duo could indulge in, the endless pranks to torment their peers with; it is almost enough to make her stay – but not quite.

@Halimede is confident the miroslav horde will appreciate their efforts to smite their king and father, and olive’s smirk deepens with amusement. she is cynical, but for the sake of the game they play, she concedes with a thoughtful nod. but at the mention of the tabby’s relationship with their sovereign, olive’s interest piques – perhaps her counterpart fosters a greater relationship with the man than olive could ever fathom. carmine gaze lingers on the woman, an unspoken question dying on her tongue; were she actually the queen, seneca’s wife? but it is implausible in the youth’s eyes that the man could muster up that much game to sway someone cool, and she stifles the possibility with a brief shake of the head.

but even in the safety of shade, the sweltering heat beats mercilessly against her flesh, causing discomfort to reign over delight. heaving herself upon all fours, she casts a final toothy grin to hali in the midst of a stretch. “time to go strike a deal with the gators, then,” she voices her intentions, mischief igniting the stare she settles upon the woman’s bi-toned. “i’ll be back with their terms, miss sandpaw,” is the vow she solidifies with a short nod, her desire to cross paths with hali discernible in the touch of sincerity that laces her playful tones.

and with her departing sentiment made, she braves the sands once more, a noticeable pep to her step.

-- exeunt olive

+10 bwp tickets (complete a thread with someone you've never threaded with before)
+5 bwp tickets (complete a thread with a character you've never threaded with before)
+5 bwp tickets (complete a bwp-related thread)
+2 bwp tickets (analyze the changes being made to the land)
+1 bwp ticket (make a bwp-related post)

Art © Ryuu

Things may have been different, once.

If Seneca had never become king of the Oasis, then perhaps Halimede wouldn't have been in such a precarious situation. Never before had she been willingly loyal to a person or group, her devotion had only ever needed to be to herself before this. Before Leander, before them all. Now, her priorities had been upheaved, her way of life forsaken in favor of the politicking and battling that these Amaryllisian lions so loved to partake in. She was wild and uncouth, the bear-skinned woman dancing atop those frilled tables, clawed feet shoving food in the faces of the polite and well-mannered. Leander had been loving of her uncultured ways; Seneca, tolerant of them.

She'd never imagined a life greater than that. She'd go to war for them, if she had to. They were all she'd ever truly had.

Perhaps that is why Halimede is genuinely disappointed in the way @Olive does not want to stay as fiercely as she does, finds no happiness in this place as she had. It is a difficult feeling for her to comprehend, where once all she'd ever known was the desire to escape where she was fettered, caged; by comparison, Andal had seemed a distant paradise, undeserving of a woman who'd committed so many atrocities in the years past. She does not wish to let Olive slip through her fingers, unknowing that as she watched her turn to leave, it may very well be the last time they'd see each other in this same plane of understanding. What Halimede feels in that moment is instead pure bliss, reclining back on her haunches as she watches her new friend leave, and lingers only a moment more to revel in the shade.

exit Halimede