|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Jan 29, 2014 3:30 pm
This is a private roleplay between George and Odhrán (Mahogany Sunset). Please do not post without permission.  
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 29, 2014 3:36 pm
 George showed off his new earring proudly, turning his ear for his friend to see; the thin band of dull silver was the mark of his new life as an adult, his first loot. When he had stolen it, the bauble had been nothing more than a strip of grey, the same color as the stone it had been laid upon. Though there were other trinkets lying about, some with shine and sparkle, some with more robust color, George had taken off with that shred of metal. He’d had an idea: if he was going to steal something that would be the defining item of his life, why not shine it up a bit himself? And so he had taken something the kelpi could never hope to miss, that ugly bit of sea-softened silver.
It took him hours to get it ready for the presentation ceremony. He had still been a colt then, at least in title. His coming of age ceremony had renamed him “Pirate, Plunderer, Looter, and Thief,” the honorary title of all young stallions. Eventually, he would be known by a title of his own, but for now, the one bestowed upon him by his people would do well enough. The earring had been his gateway into adulthood, and he was busy telling Odhrán all about it. “Hours and hours I scoured the metal with sand and rock both, to get the stains and barnacles off of it,” he said, grinning. He would not admit it, but his ear still throbbed. “Then I bent it between hoof and stone, to give it the round shape that would fit it to an ear… After that, the Elders did the rest,” he finished, holding his ear still again. The earring’s turning shot pain down the length of his sensitive ear, and he could hear every tiny shing as it brushed against the hairs within. In time, George knew, he would become accustomed to it; the wound would heal, his ear would block out the whispering of metal against skin. It was all just a matter of time. “What was your first loot, Ronnie?” George asked his grey-and-green friend, peering over the seathi’s head and around his long fins in search for a trinket. The first loot was traditionally worn on the body, as a sign of competence. A fellow without one either did not belong to a tribe or had not passed his first looting, neither of which was a vote of confidence in the eyes of George’s people. “You remembered to bring yours, didn’t you?” he asked when he did not find a hint of Ronnie’s treasure. “Did you take it off so soon?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 29, 2014 3:37 pm
 Ronnie shook his head, still doing his best not to stare at the new adornment sparkling in George’s ear. The sunlight caught the silver spectacularly, refracting all kinds of strange rainbows as the pair relaxed in the warmth just under the sea’s surface. “I did not wish to bring myself pain for something so simple as a bauble and an ordinary title,” he replied. It was true – Odhrán could not bear the thought of allowing anyone, even the Elders (despite the fact that one of them was his grandmother and would have gladly coaxed him through the ceremony), to pierce his body for the sake of a formality. Earrings were a common choice, fin piercings even more so; thin and sensitive as they were, fins with piercings often ripped irreparably, bringing unendurable pain for a time, followed by impressive scars and splits. Such was the reason that fin piercings were more common than ear piercings: scars were revered. They spoke volumes, bringing the seathi tribes in their area renown for fearlessness in the face of enemies… Though most scars, in fact, came from piercings that had been torn through.
Such was the lie of Ronnie’s people, and such was the reason that he had refused to go through with the traditional piercings, aside from the fact that he was unsure whether he could bear the pain. Ronnie did not want to be known for scars he had not earned; he would rather take a scrape from a kelpi than lie about the origin of a scar later. And so, like very few of his people, he had chosen the painless route. Odhrán, rather than loot a cave that had been reported as “easy” (usually guarded by a slow alligator or someone’s familiar) and be stuck with a needle later, had opted for the more difficult treasure hunt. Without experience or luck on his side, Ronnie had set out to find his own piece of loot for the presentation ceremony. With all of the wrecks and drop zones in the area long picked clean, he had been forced to attempt an even more dangerous task: to rob someone who was very much alive.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 29, 2014 3:38 pm
“You chose the Folly?” George gasped, searching his friend with his eyes once more. Despite Ronnie’s culture-defying act, he appeared to have gotten through his ordeal without a scratch. The Folly was the common name for the second option of the coming-of-age ceremony. It had, over the years, earned its name from the young seathi who had died or come home fruitless in their search for a painless initiation – very few had ever succeeded, and those who had usually did not like to talk about their adventure. A rare seathi sometimes slipped through the ranks, earning his adulthood by stealing from his parents, but such was nothing to brag of. Those youngsters usually ended up being outcasts, as honor still had its place, even among the most daring of thieves. “They say there is one in every generation, you know,” George added, eyeing Odhrán for a reaction. When he had been younger, barely out of his shell, George could remember hounding one of the older surviving Follies, as they had been termed. Follies were the stuff of legends, sometimes becoming the greatest plunderers of a generation, and others dying almost immediately after initiation.
He had never even thought of attempting the Folly himself; George had been accustomed to pain since he’d knocked his head on the top of his shell as he emerged from it. The scar still hid beneath his forelock. The memory it sometimes brought back was warm, not ashamed at all of his own clumsiness; that first cut had prepared him for his ceremony. Though his ear pulsed irritatingly now, the heat and sharpness had been soothed away from the sea. What Ronnie had gone through, and so quietly, intrigued the black-and-neon seathi, though. His friend must have succeeded, or else he would not be so easygoing about the whole thing, George deduced. There was no other explanation. “Was it an exciting adventure?” he asked. He could already see himself begging for more information later. “What did you find?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 29, 2014 3:40 pm
“I did not choose the Folly,” Ronnie said, meeting George’s golden eyes with his own paler ones. “There was no other choice.” It was a cryptic answer, but rang true in the young seathi’s ears. Unlike George, who was rugged and ready should anything bring a fight, Ronnie was softer and avoided pain as often as he could. In a land of jellyfish and unfriendly eels, that was sometimes impossible, but he had done his best. George had always been his protector when he had truly needed it, as Ronnie’s father was hardly, if ever, around; the nixie had long ago parted ways with Ronnie’s mother and visited only when the seasons brought him to his son – the other two foals of his blood had died in their shells. Ronnie’s mother, a seathi mare, had done her best to bring up a good boy, as much as their culture allowed. Her son had been doted upon from the time of his shell’s opening, but her friend’s son was eventually the one who took the best care of him. Ronnie had come to the conclusion that George, while terrible at taking care of himself, was quite gifted at taking care of others.
“It was not as exciting as you might think,” Odhrán said, giving his friend a weak smile. “I ended up robbing a very peculiar kelpi mare, as the odds would have it,” he continued, giving in to George’s questions. “It was not so much robbing as it was… paying the right price. She gave me a strand of glistening glass beads.” At that, he smiled, thinking of the odd shapes, smoothed and frosted over from the caress of the ocean. Not all of them were uniformly round, but many of them still bore sharp edges in places. “When I met her at first, I was trying to make off with one of her metal shin guards. She was not pleased, to say the least.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
