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Ryu Yeong

the world had shrugged at him and revealed its indifference

0 · 380 views · located in Fae Realm

a character in “Aes SΓ­dhe”, as played by rubytuesday

Description

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β—’


β—’β—’ n a m e : xxxRyu Yeong

β—’β—’ a l i a s : xxanarchistxxinsurgent

β—’β—’ h u m a nxxn a m e : xxxPark Haneul

β—’β—’ a g e : xxxthree hundred and eighty six

β—’β—’ s e x u a l i t y : xxx? ; panromantic

β—’β—’ c o u r t : xxxwinter

β—’β—’ r o l e : xxxxxxexile

β—’β—’ o c c u p a t i o n : xxxbartender

β—’β—’ p r i m a r yxxp o w e r : xxxweather

β—’β—’ s e c o n d a r yxxp o w e r : xxxindomitable, chaos

β—’β—’ t h o u g h txxc o l o u r : xxx#d89f9f

β—’β—’ d i a l o g u exxc o l o u r : xxx#7dbdB8



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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━either the heart would break or cease to care. best cease to care



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β—’β—’ a p p e a r a n c e

S o xxxstrange that a boy so strong has allowed his skin to become paper. Paper in that it is inked with artistry- a masterfully illustrated, seemingly random assortment of images and designs. His fair olive flesh is a canvas that he keeps adding to, and he shows no sign of stopping. In fae form, these tattoos turn from contemporary, human symbols to ancient fae runes. They multiply and spread, a sea of delicate lace less inked and more engraved into his skin. The fae symbols spread to his face, reaching to his lips and curling about his sharp cheekbones like desperate fingers over a cliff edge.

I n xxxboth forms, his hair falls in soft laziness. Sleek, with the slightest of waves, his dark locks frame about his sharp cheekbones like silk curtains, falling longer at the front of his face than at the nape of his neck. As a fae, however, it seems just a touch wilder, and stretches several inches to hang about his shoulders, whilst ebony oribi-esque horns pierce the black, like seedlings breaking through earth. His figure, meanwhile, is slim and lean; long-legged with a frame that is fit without being especially bulky or heavily muscled. His long limbs only emphasise his slimmer shape, but whilst his body is far from a thing of intimidating brawn, his gaze is something else entirely.

I c e xxxcold and yet capable of burning, his dark-eyed stare (dark brown when human, obsidian when fae) is almost as frightening as the sly smirk tugging at his lips. Those lips, soft and bowed, play a cruel game of suggestion. I know something you don't, they say without speaking. The gaze never falters, and the young man is seemingly immune to the pain of dry eyes, for he can seemingly go for forever without blinking. He does not break the contact, only taking pleasure from the discomfort his unnerving glare brings. I'm cheating at this game we're playing, but there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

T h e n xxxthere are other moments. Moments when his expression is humorless. Cynical. Stormy. One can feel the glare well before they meet his eyes, for it slowly burns at them like ants beneath a magnifying glass. Again, it does not break. Burning. Burning. You... you are going to find yourself very regretful, very soon.

F o r xxx a young man so ferociously difficult to decipher, he can be startlingly easy to read when he wants to be.



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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━the world had shrugged at him and revealed its indifference



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β—’β—’ p e r s o n a l i t y

H E ' S xxxhardly the easiest person to get along with. His smooth features are inordinately misleading, contrasting immensely with his internal coarseness. This coarseness is much like the edge of a tin can, in that its rough edges catch and cut, leaving wounds that sting and hurt regardless of their size. And he is so unapologetic. He shows no guilt for the cuts he makes, the pain he causes. He sees affliction as something almost inevitable; something that needs to be had, for the sake of healing stronger, and learning from one's mistakes. Ironic, then, that he seldom acknowledges his own mistakes. His pride could easily be the end of him, for the amount of time he spends dedicated to keeping it in tact. He is not one to kneel, regardless of circumstances, and seems to treasure his ego over his life.

H I S xxxexterior is one of cool abrasiveness, and his words always seem to come out blunt even when he is making an effort to be civil. He is near impossible to approach by a stranger, for the ice that so often breathes from him. Even when smiling, there is this inexplicable chill to him, and to be frank, it is frightening. He is not incapable of kindness, but so seldom does he ever feel truly warm, that it is not rare for one to doubt his status as a living, breathing being.

H I S xxx cynicism falls into both versions of the word. He is indeed distrustful of human integrity, and tends to assume that people are motivated by selfish means. But then, he is also falls into that category himself, being very selfish and always focusing on himself and his sister, above everything and anything. His humor is sardonic and sarcastic, and a mocking smirk is always quick to his lips. He is both mysterious and honest in that he keeps his personal feelings and thoughts close to his chest, but is very open about his opinions of others.

L I V I N G xxx in a world supposedly against him, his capacity for sympathy is rather limited. He has hardened himself, built armour around his heart to keep any potential damage. His trust is tremendously difficult to obtain, and he struggles with loyalty, for whilst he admires it, life-or-death situations tend to bring about his survival instincts rather than thoughts of teamwork and nobility. He is fearsome in his protectiveness, and more than a touch vindictive when he feels like he -or, more often, his sister- has been wronged. His softness is difficult to uncover, but it is there. One can see it when he is with his sister, or when he is interacting with kids, whom he has a considerable amount more respect for than most adults. One can see it in his inner conflict, as he struggles with everything that he hates about himself, yet fights to maintain a guise of indifference.

S I N C E xxx his exile, he's become a touch more open about his waywardness. His devil-may-care attitude flaunts itself proudly, relishing in the fact that he is such a good actor. Where are his insecurities? His concerns? His fears? He refuses to be penitent, even when beneath his ashy surface, he is struck by bouts of regret. He plasters on a smirk, and throws the dice again and again. He has no power over luck, but that does not inspire the prudence it should. Because even the harshest losses offer him a purpose- to win it all back again. And, in truth, that is what he wants most of all: a purpose; something to live for. Or die for. It really depends on the day, fickle thing that he is.

E V E N xxx in his bouts of self-righteousness, he knows all too well that he is far from a good person. He knows that he could be labelled a bully, a liar, a traitor, and there would be little he could do to deny such accusations. He feels disdain for his many, many shortcomings, but has developed a grim view of life and the world; one cannot change oneself. Regret and remorse do not reverse actions, nor do apologies or attempts at redemption. He sees the world in black and white, to the point where he simply does not belief in the presence of colour.



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━━━━━━━━━━━━━just drink, drink, drink and screw, screw, screw things up



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β—’β—’ l i k e s

xxxstreet food.xxxmotorcycles. xxxpiercings xxxsteak. xxxpoetry. xxxcigarettes. xxx sleeping. xxxcity lights at night. xxxhotels. xxxspicy food. xxxclaw machines. xxxstorms. xxx'hype' music. xxxVincent Van Gogh. xxxalcohol. xxxcard games. xxxhot showers. xxxstar gazing. xxxhuman reality television (he gets invested). xxxscars, marks and tattoos. xxxunique jewellery. xxxspontaneity.
xxxrock, R&B and jazz music. xxxlemon, lime and bitters.

β—’β—’ d i s l i k e s

xxxhorror films.xxxhugs. xxxpretentiousness. xxxauthority.
xxxcapitalism. xxxEDM. xxxcinnamon. xxxhospitals. xxxeggs. xxxpublic transport. xxxketchup. xxxpublic pools. xxxbabies. xxxmusicals (with the exception of Hamilton). xxxgossiping. xxxgetting up early. xxx ignorance.xxx elevators.



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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━we know so much and we know nothing, absolutely nothing, nothing at all



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β—’β—’ s t r e n g t h s

A d a p t a b i l i t y xxxit seems as though Yeong is always ready; ready for change, be it for better or (more often) for worse. He reacts almost immediately, shifting and changing how he must, in a constant state of evolution, adapting to survive and rarely caught off guard.

W i l l xxxperhaps, in the minds of others, this could be seen as a flaw of one's personality, but for Yeong, his steadfast nature only means that he always has a faster route to what he wants. He is stubborn and persistent, seldom showing even glimpses of indecision, and even more rarely exampling any sort of compliance or passivity.

F i g h t i n g xxxnot the classy, professional, military stuff of the fae army. No, he is a brawler and a street fighter. He plays dirty, rough, unpredictably, much to the ire of his opponents.


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β—’β—’ w e a k n e s s e s

T e m p e r xxxDespite his supposed coolness, he does flare quite easily. Although he tries to keep his temper under control, his vindictive nature often reveals the truth, even when his expression does not. He is quick to violence and aggression, particularly when sensitive topics are broached.

C a l l o u s n e s s xxxsympathy is not something that comes easily to Yeong. He tends to ignore any empathy-driven urges he may have in favour of himself and his own priorities. He does not often worry about whether or not his words or actions may hurt people, at least not strangers.

A l o o f n e s s xxxhe has long-since found that life is easier when one is not burdened by emotional involvement. That way, one can't be betrayed, nor have their heart broken. And thus, he has worked hard to distance himself, maintaining a cool and detached personality that shields himself in a way that his indomitable abilities do not.


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β—’β—’ m a g i cxx&xxe q u i p m e n t

P r i m a r y xxx when one has a nature has tumultuous as Yeong's, the power over weather is only fitting. Yeong can bend the weather to his will, from spreading the clouds to create a sunny day to brewing intense and dangerous storms. In moments of rage, which only so often rise to the surface, he can set the sky ablaze with lightning, or stir around himself brutal and tearing winds. With his abilities, he is both the calm and the storm.

S e c o n d a r y xxxYeong's indomitable ability is erratic in that, whilst his extremely impressive pain tolerance comes to him quite easily, the strength part of the equation only really surfaces in moments of emotional intensity, particularly anger. It is also quite an exhausting ability to use, and any major uses of this ability tend to result in headaches or tiredness.

E q u i p m e n t xxxa ring, crafted from winter's breath and moonlight, has a permanent place on his right forefinger. It is rather simplistic, a thick banded thing that is neither beautiful nor ugly, just plain.



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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━he was ready to die, but he did not plan on dying



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β—’β—’ h i s t o r y

Ignorance xxxwas easy, initially. Youth tends to be generous in its imposing nature, granting us naivety in return for cynicism later on. Yeong would prove to be an early developer. As a child, he'd always been oddly impressive, a frightening thing to behold, as his eyes clouded grey and the sky followed suit. As a roar passed his lips and thunder responded in kind. As his fingers burned and cracked, and lightning framed him like awe-inspiring art. But he was rebellious. Constantly in question. Eager for a purpose beyond himself.

Horrible xxxmemories always linger longer than pleasant ones, and as he saw her dragged away, a pretty stranger, a girl with a treacherous father, he struggled to forget. It hurt him, angered him, this forced acknowledgement, this bludgeoning reality, the divide between the people had been made clear, and it tore a hole in any idealism he'd once carried.

Privilege xxx did not prevent him from seeing the problems. The cracks in the facade, the crumbling perfection. The gaps between the words, between the people, fae turned puppets for the entertainment of the stronger. The friends of the monarchy, how they loved the king, with all his talk of peace and prosperity, all the whilst ignoring his supporters; the powerful lords' constant engagement with corruption, their manipulations and abuse of the people beneath them. Fae turned consorts out of revenge, pettiness and sadistic malevolence.

Dissatisfaction xxx drove everything as he grew, and as he feigned loyalty, dissent brewed beneath the elaborations on his skin. Likeminded youths whispered in agreement, 'down with the monarchy,' they cheered in silence, not yet ready to be discovered. They planned riots and spread anti-royalist propaganda, these youths, both of noble class tried to spark demur.

One xxxparticular lord was especially abusive. Too powerful to be touched, he wielded his power without apology. He was the one who'd taken the traitor's daughter as recompense. She was young, but she was pretty. They always are, aren't they? these martyrs and their maidens to save. As his abusive tendencies grew, so did his appetite, and the crimes he committed were hidden under a rug of deception. His victims (and there were many) forever tormented by his actions, sometimes chose to end it all. And yet, nothing. No punishment, no retribution. Instant forgiveness, doubt of his crimes, innocent until proven guilty unless of course the criminal is a peasant. Justice never came, and so they began to plan it themselves.

Betrayal xxxis perhaps the most painful of afflictions, for its existence relies on emotional attachment. He still doesn't know who sold them out, and for what price. He only hopes that they are satisfied, for he still isn't. As he was dragged from his home, his sister, still but a child, screamed and cried,
don't go! don't leave me alone!

Indomitability xxxis not resistant to iron, and so it hurt when they burned him, their own hands protected from the metal by thick cloth. The runes on his skin seemed to recoil at the iron's touch, and his own screams, reminiscent of thunder, filled the interrogation room. who else? who else planned with you? who are the other traitors they had not succeeded, so why the violence? He resisted. Stifled his screams and let them scar him. But then, you know what I do to traitors, don't you? what I do to their families? The lord, smug and sadistic, spoke in a whisper as he bowed his back. Your sister... she's pretty, isn't she?

Truth xxxspilled from his lips, and to save him from martyrdom (and perhaps give him a crueller punishment) he was exiled instead of executed. Thank you, the lord said, for your compliance.



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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━the world, a tired performer, offers us another half-assed season


c h a r a c t e rxxs h e e txbyxxxlayla
f a c e c l a i mxxxShon Minho
p l a y e dxxb yxxxrubytuesday

So begins...

Ryu Yeong's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Orhien Naena Character Portrait: Amaya Kyotsuki Character Portrait: Mariko Kimura Character Portrait: KazimΓ­r Ε Ε₯astnΓ½ Character Portrait: Aurora Kinski Character Portrait: Ryu Se-Ri Character Portrait: Alize MorleaΓΊ Character Portrait: Cullen Lawrence Character Portrait: Kelvin Woods Character Portrait: Petunia Griffin Character Portrait: Illyana BΓ‘rΓ‘ny Character Portrait: Ryu Yeong Character Portrait: Tae Jeong Character Portrait: Lilith Averescu
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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#, as written by Layla
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▁ β–‚ β–ƒxxxH I G Hxxxxxx ▁ β–‚ β–ƒxxx31/12/17 : 1100xxxxxx▁ β–‚ β–ƒxxxW H E R ExxxW O R L D SxxxC O L L I D E
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xxxxxxThe moon released its cold, blue breath. Her sisters followed; speckles of starlight coming to life across the cold expanse overhead. And like a milky way on earth, the faelights that hovered untethered to mortal devices illuminated a path deep into the woods. Human passersby steered clear of the forest that emanated terror and demise, ushered away by a cleverly crafted glamour.
xxxxxxThose that dared venture into the sprawling canopies and distant shadows would find a mirageβ€”an illusion that broke like water when prodded. And through this unseen wallβ€”magic. For on the final night of every year, exiles and Fey without allegianceβ€”or "freefolk," as was polite to call themβ€”gathered in the fringes of New York City to celebrate the end of the earth's rotation.
xxxxxxThrough the veil were colours unseen by the human eye. Beads of light hung from the branches of ancient trees, their fingertips caressing the tips of faerie wings. A river snaked through the celebrations, spelled to bubble with a thick and cloying liquid of darkest gold.
xxxxxxFey danced to music that swelled like waves and descended in waterfalls. An alluring flute murmured its tune from the fingers of a sylph, urging lost humans to dance their worries away. Until their feet blistered, bled, and broke.
xxxxxxThe couples and groups twirling to the symphony were immune to such temptations, as they, too, had been forged of impossible things. A little blue boy giggled in his mother's arms as she twirled him 'round and 'round, her lips peeling back to reveal small, pointy teeth that could shatter human bones. Another girl blushed, her skin morphing into the emeralds and mahoganies of the trees behind her as if she could disappear into the belly of a trunk.
xxxxxx"Oi, watch it!" shouted a manβ€”who was also a goat. Thankfully, from the waist down. He glared over his shoulder at the rather ordinary looking fellow stumbling past him. The subject of his distaste grunted and waved his mug of honeyed tea, its contents sloshing over the sides and between his fingers.
xxxxxx"S'ry," he murmured, scrunching his nose. Suddenly, a sneeze erupted from him, the strength of it tossing him backward into a crate of candied apples and lifting the skirts of some wayward ladies. They squealed, sending of breath of frigid air that melded his hand to his mug.
xxxxxx"Oh, come on," he groaned, rolling onto his side and falling to the dirt. He blinked. And squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them. Closed. For surely, he must be mistaken. Or inebriated.
xxxxxxFor through the thicket of bushes and leaves, a set of ruby orbs peered into the revelry. But before the man could yell, the redcap scuttled away into darkness, leaving only a murky memory in its wake.

▁ β–‚ β–ƒ β–‚ ▁


xxxxxxAmaya peered through the lens of her microscope at the bronze watch on her worktop. Joji hummed overhead, the tremble and thump of his synth filling the old antique store with contemporary music. Amaya exhaled to his croon, and wiggled the burnisher into the bezel of the old watch.
xxxxxx"Hey grand- Shit!" A cacophony of tumbling wood and smashing metal followed his expletives, ending with the sharp punctuation of his pained wail. "Ow, ow, ow!"
xxxxxxAmaya did not look up from her work as she said, "That's $6,410 worth of priceless artifacts you just knocked over."
xxxxxx"My femur! My femur!"
xxxxxx"Is decidedly less valuable," she murmured, slipping the watch's crystal face over the dial. "What are you doing in my shop, Ishaan?"
xxxxxx"What most people do in shops? Buy things?" Ishaan emerged from behind a glass cabinet stuffed with various deadly instruments and one too many skulls. "Though I can't imagine how anyone finds anything in this place. When was the last time you organised?"
xxxxxx"It's organised."
xxxxxxIshaan looked around him at the various texts and materials littered throughout the store, all of which seemed to have been placed without reason. A cluster of feathered pens sat beside a fraying Jack-o'-lantern; a pile of rare manuscripts were poised precariously atop a sealed bottle of indiscernible liquid; a frightening puppet with only one eye hung beside a brilliant chandelier of molten gold.
xxxxxx"Right," said Ishaan.
xxxxxx"Well?" Amaya prodded. "Out with it."
xxxxxx"We need Pandora's Box for the New Year's celebrations."
xxxxxxAmaya lifted her head to pin Ishaan with her black stare. She raised a brow. "Do you?"
xxxxxx"Well, yes. Obviously. Because I just said-"
xxxxxx"It was a rhetorical question."
xxxxxx"Oh."
xxxxxxMoments passed, the silence interjected only by the soft ticking of the watch Amaya held in her hands.
xxxxxx"Soooo..." Ishaan began. "Can you do it?"
xxxxxx"Yes."
xxxxxx"Will you do it?" he clarified.
xxxxxx"What happened to the box I gave you last year?"
xxxxxx"Uh..." Ishaan smiled sheepishly. "We broke it."
xxxxxx"How?"
xxxxxx"Gertrude was gassy."
xxxxxx"That literally explains nothing."
xxxxxx"Gertrude is part orc."
xxxxxx"Oh. That explains everything." They shared a slow nod of understanding. Without warning, Amaya stood, wiping her hands on the cloth strewn over her chair. "Don't break anything or I'll sell your organs on the black market to make up my losses."
xxxxxxAmaya glided between the mountain of objects seemingly without care as Ishaan tiptoed behind her. She ducked, disappearing into a narrow passageway that opened up to reveal a marginally wider door. She twisted the handle and stepped in.
xxxxxx"You don't lock it?" Ishaan asked.
xxxxxx"Why? Would you steal from me?" she replied.
xxxxxx"N-no. Geez. Of course not. Please stop looking at me.”
xxxxxxA flood of cold air greeted them. Colder even than the Winter beyond the store's four walls. The room glowed with an eerie blue light. This was Amaya's real collection. The priceless Fey objects and relics beyond the innocuous storefront that declared this place the Home of Intangible Things.
xxxxxxPotions swirling with incandescent hues perched on shelves etched with ancient runes; a wiry potted plant emitted an eerie glow in a corner; a book whose cover shifted with every minute hovered within a glass dome. Yet Amaya ignored all these as she approached a box the size of her palm. She lifted it, peeling back the velvet cloth that encased it.
xxxxxx"Here," she said. "You'll owe me a favour for this."
xxxxxx"Yeah, yeah. I know the rules. But," he chewed his lip, "we were actually hoping for another favour from you. Could you, maybe, attend the celebrations and call upon the box yourself? Its sister was so unruly last year. We had no idea how to get it back in once we'd opened it."
xxxxxx"Put three objects of personal value into the box and call-"
xxxxxx"Yeah, we got your instructions last time. But those rascals inside are hard to wrestle."
xxxxxx"You'll have to pay extra."
xxxxxx"Already on it." Ishaan waved his arm. "My sister has a gem from one of the late king's crowns. So, deal?"
xxxxxxAmaya tilted her head, fixing him with her stare. "Deal."

▁ β–‚ β–ƒ β–‚ ▁


xxxxxxThe box held within it collective memoriesβ€”whispers of another time before the courts had been forged and anarchy reigned. Four powerful faeries had gathered to forge an alliance, carving into a map the lines of their rule. The Courts embodied the balance of the natural world. The seasonal courtsβ€”Summer and Winterβ€”would share the earth's cycle, shifting their power to reflect changes in the climate. The courts of Dark and High would create chaos and maintain order, so that the world would not fall into excess. A High Lady or Lord would command each court, with their mates at their side.
xxxxxxAmaya stood at the centre of a clearing, where a crowd had gathered in anticipation of the night's ritual. The midnight hour neared.
xxxxxxA strand of alabaster hair fluttered into Amaya’s line of vision. She beat her papery wings and the small gust that followed lifted her hair from her face. Her off-the-shoulder dress swished around her ankles, their opal colours changing in the dim light that emanated from the faelights.
xxxxxxAmaya paid her audience no head as she twisted the box’s moving parts, spinning the sundial leftward untilβ€”like a setting sun that had met its endβ€”it was eclipsed by a silver moon. She spun both ends of the box until the flourishing green tress met its barren twin on the other side.
xxxxxxPandora’s box unlocked.
xxxxxxA burst of red light blinded the Fey, and when it retreated, a chorus of cheers rose from them. Scarlet figures of smoke and vapour danced above their heads, wielding small swords and spinning in skirts that left faint trails behind them. The musicians began their symphony.
xxxxxxAmaya tilted her head upwards to watch the memories unfurl, her eyelids fluttering shut against their brilliance. The glow of the figures bounced off the crescent moon on her forehead, the curved mark scattering the colours into a kaleidoscopic dance.
xxxxxxSuddenly, a small red dancer turned and screamed.
xxxxxxAmaya's eyes snapped open. She turned as the people forged of red smoke raced with a fervour, screeching as they fought to return to their box. Large figures of flesh and bone rose behind them, their forearms encased in metal, their faces cloaked in armour. They wore the uniforms of the High Court's royal guardβ€”a legion sworn to protect the faerie on the throneβ€”but their magic did not solely belong to the High Court. A faerie with a swarm of straw-blonde hair threw a column of flame into the throngs of Fey fleeing the woods.
xxxxxx"Give us the Halflings," called a woman in copper armour. "And we might consider granting you exiles and traitors a merciful death."
xxxxxxAmaya had stilled, enraptured by the woman's familiar form, and the emerald eyes that peered from the slit in her helmet. Airell. The girl had been her friend, once. Or as close to a friend as one could find when one was imprisoned in a tower.
xxxxxxThe luck fae had warned her of this. KazimΓ­r Ε Ε₯astnΓ½. He had told her of the late king's downfall and her role in his child's resurrection. He had said with some mirth that she owed him a debt. He had saved her life, he'd claimed. When he was just a child, and she the prisoner of the High Lady of the Dark Court. She had not wanted to believe him, but she did remember him. The small boy with smaller antlers who had come to her cell and offered her luck.
xxxxxx"Feykiller," Airell intoned. "I did not expect to see you. Today must be my lucky day."
xxxxxxAmaya turned and ran.
xxxxxx"Fleeing again, are we?" Airell called out. "Where is the Blood Moon our keepers worshipped?"
xxxxxxAmaya darted between the trees, whizzing left and right until Airell's flames vanished behind her.
xxxxxxA little blue girl collapsed to her knees. "Mama!" she wailed. "Mama!" But the Fey around her did not stop. They had become cruel in their haste to survive.
xxxxxx"Hold on to me," Amaya barked. She wrapped her arms around the small girl, who clung to her with a grip that was unexpected of such a small creature, and ran.
xxxxxx"This way!" she called out to the faeries fleeing aimlessly through the woods. "There's a path that leads out of the forest into a human Walmart and cave on the way should we need to hide. Follow the trees with the crawling vines and blue flowers until you near a small ravine. Quickly. Quietly."
xxxxxxThe Fey stumbled through the darkened woods, a petite Summer faerie emitting a tentative glow to illuminate their path. Amaya looked over her shoulder to see the faeries who had stayed behind to fight the invasion, and those who were sprawled on the ground. They were much too still.
xxxxxx"Found you."
xxxxxxAmaya twisted, flinging the small child forward and into the thicketβ€”better bruised than deadβ€”as Airell lobbed a dozen black arrows toward her with nothing but a thought.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Amaya Kyotsuki Character Portrait: Ryu Yeong
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━RYU YEONG
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XXXXXXXXXXXXXthe world had shrugged at him and
revealed its indifference

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Gunbae! Bar had been in a rare state of static before she entered. Yeong had leant over the back of the bar, wiping its alcohol-damp surface down with a flannel, when he had heard the door open.

"Sorry, we're closed."


He'd called out without bothering to turn, anticipating a frustrated groan and the clicking of the door closing. When such sounds did not materialise, he sighed, and turned to face the stranger.

"I said, we're clo-"


His words caught in his throat, his tired expression evaporating into something unreadable. Her face, too, was unreadable. So sangfroid were her features, they seemed unfamiliar despite their familiarity. The face was the same, but not how it expressed itself, like a work of art put into a completely different frame, or a plant repotted.

Her expression did not shift, not even as the silence intumesced, clouding the bar and freezing the doors. Questions, so many questions, he didn't know where to start. There was none of the warmness they had once had, and any conflict she may have possessed within herself for him was apparently buried deep.

"We need to talk."


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Memories of that day a week or so ago (has it really been that long?) clung to him like smoke to clothing, stubborn in their scent. Perhaps it was a bad analogy, for he'd grown fond of human cigarettes during his time on earth, they had become familiar, whereas she... she had been familiar too, once. But now-

Yeong sighed before raising his shot to his lips, throwing back the grey liquid. His lips parted as icy breath escaped them and the slightest frost webbed across them before melting in the warmth- all side effects of the aptly named 'frost shots' that were a popular, contemporary beverage among fae. Winter fae especially, to no one's surprise, and, exile aside, Yeong was no different. The frost was as invigorating as it always was; certainly better than any beverage humans had managed to concoct in their decidedly alcoholic history, although that was saying little. The contrast was almost painful to acknowledge, releasing him from what was steadily becoming a desensitisation to the alcohol of the human world, reminding him deftly of what he was missing.

Not that he never drank fae alcohol; he had an arrangement with a trio of smugglers who kept his bar comfortably stocked for the many non-human customers who often roamed into Gunbae! Bar. But he resisted for business' sake, and because fae alcohol didn't deliver headaches in quite the same way the human stuff did. For anyone else, this would have been further incentive, but for Yeong... well, he was a touch masochistic in his appreciation of a little ache here and there- something to keep the memories occupied.

He stood on the edge of the fray, watching with a bored curiosity the white-haired fae knelt at the circle's centre. Last year's opening of Pandora's Box had been decidedly unsuccessful, but the free folk seemed far more optimistic about this year. Perhaps it was because of her. Not perhaps, actually. It was undoubtedly because of her. Every movement she made was fluid, quick and professional amidst a sea of wild, frenzied and disorganised.

As smoky warriors began to rise from the box, dancing across the sky, Yeong joined the fae around in him in their fascination. He watched the crimson creatures, reaching up to touch a passing soldier, only for it to warningly swing its its poleax at his outstretched hand, and rise up, out of his reach.

Just as humour finally touched his features, the first scream broke out, and the scene around him descended into chaos.

"Give us the Halflings, and we might consider granting you exiles and traitors a merciful death." He should have been frightened, but Yeong had long-since found that fear did not come to him easily. In its place, spite, aggression, and a too-dark sense of humour. Hence the way, after a moment of reading the situation, he scoffed instead of screamed. A 'merciful' death. Our troops are ever noble.

He thought it with sarcasm, not stopping to acknowledge his own lack of a noble nature as he plunged into the greenery with no intention of staying behind to fight. Not feeling fear, it seems, is not the same as not yet desiring death. 'Yet'. He had a purpose, now, after all. His sister had set him a goal. He'd failed her too many times already to die before completing it.

Dodging a stray spear, he weaved through the forest, cutting away from the crowd but following the same direction. The direction of the gateway to his world, the human world, was too familiar to need a guiding light.

The child caught him off guard, however. The little blue thing tumbled through the thicket towards him, yelping in pain as she rolled over roots and stone. Looking up to where the girl had come from, Yeong saw her again, the one who had opened Pandora's Box, now at the mercy of dozens of ebony arrows launched in her direction.

Gritting his teeth in an expression of exasperated frustration, an intense gust of wind cut through the foliage, bending the trees and sending the arrows twirling off course. In a swift movement, he had grabbed the child by her wrist and swung her onto his back. She wrapped her little arms around his neck almost knowingly, holding tight as he ran towards the ivory-haired fae.

"Come on."