Action Log: Morning of the 19th.

[brosif]

Characters: The horse formally known as Sif
Open? Yes!
Where: Schwanheim or the woods, depending on the time.
When: Morning of the 19th.
What: The magic peddler gave Sif a very special hat. Too special.
Warnings: Sif is an angry horse, yo.

In the village of Schwanheim, there is a horse in place of a prince. Her color is lovely – a deep, rich brown. Her temperament is not. She runs through the city, vision blurred, knocking over whatever lies in her way in an attempt to leave the village walls. There is a bandage around her front left Fetlock, but it covers no wound.

Being in the city enrages her. Sights and sounds are filtering into her mind in a way she is wholly unused to. She thinks of the face of a peddling man and is enraged further. She will find him.

Comments

[shiromadoushi]

As luck would have it in these matters, Bakura was precisely in the wrong place at the wrong time when a rampaging horse came running down the street. And with the streets being narrow as they were and him being too polite to dash into a strangers' house, all he could do was bolt, trying to stay a head of the pissed off animal.

[brosif]

It is good of Bakura to run: the horse has one goal, now, and it is getting out of these accursed streets. She runs faster still.

[shiromadoushi]

Crap crap crap crap craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap!

Bakura's would actually be a little surprised how fast he's running if he were able to do anything other than flee for his life. If he can get out of these narrow streets and out into the fields...!

[brosif]

Perhaps a part of Sif recognizes the small, white-haired man. Or perhaps she does not see him at all. Either way, he does not register as a threat, as nearly everything else in the castle does.

Still she speeds towards the gates, guided by memory. Hopefully the bridge is not drawn – she is likely to smash right through it.

[shiromadoushi]

Still barely managing to keep a step a head of the seemingly rampaging animal, Bakura's hoping the same thing. For once, however, luck is with him and it's nothing but open field from where he can see.

The instant he's clear of the walls he veers to the side, hoping the horse continues going straight ahead. He's all but out of breath and his legs are aching so he's pretty sure he's going to be stumbling to a stop sometimes soon. Hopefully not still in front of the horse...!

[brosif]

Bakura is, for quite possibly the first time in his life, in luck. He holds no interest for the animal, so long as he is not in her way. In the open air at last, she speeds forward. In search of the peddling man.

[shiromadoushi]

Oh thank goodness. He's just... going to collapse in the grass now, taking in deep gulps of air. He has no idea WTF, and is just rather glad to not be trampled. Not being trampled was a rather nice feeling...

[canistricari]

Coyote normally stayed on the outskirts of town, in unused houses where he could avoid being bothered. It was the commotion that brought him in to the town proper, in his normal Coyote form. Of course it was obvious to him what had happened, but this wasn't his trick. He wasn't here to gloat, merely to observe the excellent chaos.

[brosif]

And there is chaos aplenty to observe. On her way out of the village, Sif has left quite a number of market stalls destroyed and has at least one perfectly nice man running for his life.

Once she is in the clearing, though, the panic starts to ebb. Less noise to overwhelm her senses. She stops, briefly, taking in her surroundings.

[canistricari]

And there is Coyote, walking calmly in her direction.

"Had a nice run?" he asked, and there was a touch of mocking malice in his voice.

[brosif]

When she first spoke with this creature, she did not feel chaos. Only amusement. But even in Asgard, animals are better with such things. It is what makes them tools of battle.

Sif’s hair stands on end as she canters backwards. Eager to be left alone.

[canistricari]

He laughed, certainly amused by her fear. Such strange creatures! So like him, and yet different. He followed at a leisurely pace.

"How rude! I was only making polite conversation!"

[brosif]

The mare exhales, sharply. She will charge him if provoked.

Hope this is okay?

[consultmybooks]

[...so that's what it feels like to have someone walk, or more appropriately run, straight through him. Giles had been purposefully attempting to avoid such a thing, but the rampaging horse goes straight through him like he's a problematic cloud of mist and the world goes temporarily black.

When awareness returns, Giles finds himself being quite literally dragged along in her wake, like he's the one on a lead. It's a dizzying and disorienting feeling, and he has to take a few seconds to metaphorically find his feet again.

Once he does, of course, Giles realizes that this really is his best chance for keeping pace with the horse and finding out what the hell has it so distressed. He knows horses. He knows horses very well. This is not normal horse behavior.]

S-Slow down, you idiot animal!

It is the MOST okay!

[brosif]

Sif has spent a lifetime avoiding stillness. When she needs to clear her head, that clarity lies in action. When she thinks of her death, she thinks in fire. Not stillness.

That is what running through the ghost is like – being incased in stillness. Horse and human alike rebel, trashing back violently.

\o/

[consultmybooks]

And the unwittingly bonded ghost is caught up in her thrashing, her attempts at escaping him. Giles would like nothing more than to back away from this beast, but the invisible lead that seems to have sprung up between him won't let him get more than a few feet away. And every time her hooves connect with him, for an instant the world goes utterly black and his consciousness is switched off.

Dizzied and distressed in his own right, Giles will nevertheless try for both their sakes to soothe the horse when he has five seconds together of awareness, staying as far back as he can, albeit not far enough.

[brosif]

Trying to run from a presence that she cannot escape, that envelopes her wholly in a minute and then frees her in the next, wears the mare down. Were Sif fully cognizant, she would have put an end to this. But her senses are overwhelmed with the simplest of thoughts. Run.

Eventually, she can do it no more. The horse stills, catches her breath, waiting to be overtaken again.

[consultmybooks]

He has no breath to catch and no muscles to tire, but Giles nevertheless comes out of the struggle feeling as though he's just been trampled by a horse. Panting out of memory, more than anything, he nevertheless sits down heavily at Sif's hooves and waits for the world to come back into proper focus.

Once it has, he glares up at the mare.

"Finished, then?"

[brosif]

The bodiless thing will not leave. There is a lack options, here – the horse would flee still, but parts of her mind that are human are pressing to present more rational options.

She stares down at the specter. Not charging, for now.

[sorcerous]

Luck, perhaps, that Loki is out brushing his own horse when this happens,

He sees Sif flee from the village, and he vaults onto the little dark-colored mare and urges her to speed. A runaway horse; perhaps he could claim it as his own once recovered.

[brosif]

In any form, a creature knows full well when it is being chased. Sif speeds up on unsure legs and hastens to the woods – a human's impulse, not a mare's. She might have done better in an open field.

[sorcerous]

He takes advantage of a horse's instinct: he steers the mare well, and dodges between the trees, until they are running in parallel. Until they are in synch.

And only then does he begin to slow.

[brosif]

She does not slow her pace when he does. She feels hunted – as a human, it is a feeling she would respond to with some degree of excitement. Of challenge.

Now, it causes her to flee. She takes the paths that Sif knows best but soon finds herself in a small clearing with a single, easy outlet.

She canters back against the trees on unsteady legs. If the hunter comes through the clearing, she will charge him. There is nothing else to be done.

[sorcerous]

He dismounts, and leaves his horse, and steps in slowly. He is calm, and his voice is low.

"You're frightened," he murmurs. "There is no need. I won't hurt you, won't take a rod to you, won't mistreat you."

He does not advance, does not trap her, but steps aside, leaving the exit mostly-unblocked.

"Come," he continues, "come to me."

[brosif]

She knows that voice. To her bones she knows that voice, and the horse stills for a moment in recognition.

But: images of saddles and bridles, and the unfettered thought that a kind master is a master still. She whips around, wonders at jumping over logs.