GOATS

[blackgoat]

"Do you have children?"

The voice seemed to come before the lady, as if the question summoned her, rather than was actually spoken.

Small, demure in appearance, lovely in a way that quickly extended itself into the realm of disquieting. She seemed doll like, unliving and not quite made of flesh.

Little hands resting on a heavily pregnant belly, the woman draped in heavy Victorian dresses of stone grays, off whites and dull sky blues, with that porcelain skin and wild snow white hair, she'd almost look like she was trying to blend into the snow.

"If you do not, do you want them?"

Ah, so it was her speaking, the voice soft and sweet, if... off, in an odd way. A tone that crept up the spine and settled into the neck and base of the skull, like cold fingers pressed against the nape.

Comments

[blackgoat]

Two of them, no less. The All Mother always had her pick of mates, after all, and simply one father would never be enough for her needs. Chances were good there were many more entities that could at least claim to be consorts of hers, but only two could ever claim true partnership.

The motion of course, was not missed. He'd find now his attention almost chased, the small woman beginning to slowly impose herself on his personal space. Now what was that motion for, Micolash?

"Give me your name, child. So that I might pass your wishes on to him. My husband is ever gracious and eager to share his insight with others." Much to the crippling detriment of the poor soul recieving such a 'gift', unfortunately. The Yellow Sign only imparted madness. But... well. How much madder could this man get?

"I know this desire well." A request she'd been begged of before, quite common in fact among her followers. "A worthy wish, to hope that your offspring should transcend yourself. One that many of my followers hold, and pray for.

Perhaps, child." The smile was soft, small, and alien on what would otherwise seem to be a face carved from marble. "Someday."

[grantuseyes]

"Micolash!" he says quickly and breathlessly, hands clasped together again. "I am...Micolash, once Headmaster of Mensis, once Host of the Nightmare. I am most covetous of all Insight. Even the smallest scrap is to be cherished." He certainly knows how the brain can only retain so much before it starts to liquify and hemphorage out the ears and nose and eyes. But his is altered, tempered, reforged into something more suitable for cosmic knowledge. Sanity is a negligible exchange.

The smile and encouragement of someday having offspring closer to the likes of Kos/m or Mergo makes the sallow scholar blush slightly and once again avert his eyes. Micolash smiles as well, wobbly and embarrassed, skinny fingers hovering near his mouth in a shy gesture. "I did not mean to sound. Presumptuous. I know I am...imperfect. As I am. Human." The two words might as well mean the same thing.