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Age of Alliance: Serpent's Call

Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

a part of “Age of Alliance: Serpent's Call”, a fictional universe by Gray.

The Pestilence strikes with deadly fangs, let's waltz right into its business.

Characters Settings Story
This conversation is an Out Of Character (OOC) part of the roleplay, “Age of Alliance: Serpent's Call”.
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Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Wudgeous on Wed Jun 10, 2015 6:47 pm

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Collaboration Corner

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Wudgeous
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Re: Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Wudgeous on Wed Jun 10, 2015 7:19 pm






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All righty. You know how I talked about collaborations making the IC look cluttered? This section is implemented to solve that dilemma. Here is where you can post a 『one on one』 conversation or overall 『party banter』 between two characters (or more), with almost no restrictions on time and space. Is the IC in the middle of a great battle, or is it just trucking along with plot, whereas you rather feel like writing about two friends camping? There's space for that here. You can post an event that happened in the distant past, present, or a little ways into the future as long as you indicate as such in the upper right.

So yeah! Banter funtimes!!




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We have another special treat; if you feel you're falling behind on skill points, your character has the option of 『training』 with a mentor. For now, only Bo and Adriel are available, but more options can open up through PMing a GM, or simply as the storyline goes along.

Please request a training session via PM, and we can write a small collaboration together between the teacher and teachee. A point will be awarded to one or both characters after the event, at a GM's discretion.
Last edited by Wudgeous on Tue Jun 30, 2015 9:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Wudgeous
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Re: Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Gray on Tue Jun 30, 2015 9:26 pm




[H I G O H T | E Z E N G B O]
[K I S K E | K I R I L L]

Prelude to the Menace
The evening of the test.







ImageHigoht’s day could not get any better. Not only were there so many recruits, a man with a cart had swung by and sold him a baked sweet potato. The steam from the confection felt warm on his face. Yes, many parts of him did worry for the lives that might be lost during the trial, but he was sure Adriel was fighting right by their side and keeping them safe where he could. Perhaps they were already well on their way to the rendezvous point? He noticed that the sun was beginning to set, casting shades of lilac and vibrant orange above and drawing shadows together on the streets below. His reverie came to include the sounds of tromping metal footsteps, striding with pride from down the road, which came to an abrupt halt by his side.

“You there, orc.” Said one of two Silver Knights, who then gritted his teeth impatiently as he waited for acknowledgement.

Higoht, glancing up with the very corners of his eyes, decided he would smile at them. “Is there a problem, Sir Knight?”

“No squatting.” Another Knight snapped—a woman, apparently. “You’re gonna have to shove off, orc.”

Higoht adjusted his sitting position compliantly. All things considered, "orc" wasn't the worst thing to be called. “I’m waiting for a friend,” he said, “I’ll be on my way soon, Miss Knight.”

“You’ve been here since morning, you rogue--”

“And I should hope I won’t be stuck here until nightfall! Mister and Miss Knight, I enjoy loitering on a box about as well as you might.” Higoht tactfully hid his sweet potato behind his back as he stood to face them, knowing full well that he might be a little peeved if one of the knights got carried away and slapped it out of his hand. “I’m certain you have other duties to tend to and other streets to patrol. If I’m here by the time you get by, I can give you my word that I’ll be giving my business to an inn like a good samaritan.”

They left, but not without a degree of irritation and plenty of grumbling. Scarfing down the rest of his food, Higoht knew he couldn’t dwell for too much longer.




ImageBored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. This had been Kiske’s day. This had been all of Kiske’s last six years to be precise. Life, these last few years had been reduced to little more than basic numbers. Three square meals a day, two hours of sunlight, and four hours of sleep. Prison, it seemed, had been a far more daunting challenge than Kiske had ever imagined. When he first thought of going here, he had thought it would be just like the pocket novels. Plenty of slashing with bedsprings. Beating a new guy to death in a bathroom, and making your cellmate your bitch. This is what Kiske had thought until he had arrived, in Autumour prison and found it to be the dullest place on Tegea. But all of that was to change today.

Celeste was the most beautiful first woman he’d seen in many years. The kind of face that never leaves your mind after you see her. She had blue eyes, rare for an elf, a bay pony’s tail of hair hung down to her shoulders, and her smile was brighter than the morning sun. Or it would be, if she would deign to smile once in a while. And if Kiske had seen the sun in the past six years. She was so slender, and so perky, but always wore an incredibly grave look on her face. In short, not unlike her stature, Kiske was certain that Celeste was the most show stopping gal most people will ever be privileged enough to see. She worked directly under the watchers, and had orders to perform as an agent for the Serpent’s Gathering; it was her duty to find new recruits. It was clear that she was attracted to talent, but she had the misfortune of being assigned to sift through inmates. This did mean that Celeste had passed up on more recruits than anyone else in her unit, yet despite this, the elf was determined to find candidates of worth and of note. That day, Celeste was called to the shithole which was Autumour Prison to assess a man who had been bored for too long. One every guard was all too happy to be rid of, but yet no one wanted to say the obvious; “should we really be releasing him?”

This would prove to be a very bad move on their parts. Shame on them.

All agents of the Serpent’s Gathering had been given a task of interviewing any recruit that they found, and making sure they were fit for field combat. When the warden of Autumour Prison had summoned her, told her one of their most notorious inmates desired an audience, Celeste understandably believed it to be a joke. Yet in a secluded room of cold stone and steel sat a lone red haired man. Guarded by two men in armor, and with nothing more than a table before them, Celeste asked him to undergo the hardest test of his life. She was to test this man for field duty, this man with absolutely forbidden from weapons and equipment, and ensure that he would be a good fit. And this man, despite the mass of his shoulders, looked like a right priss. She quickly realized that “Kiske,” as he was called, had a bogus file. He’d been locked up for slaying thirteen key nobles of Airedale. All extended family from the sounds of it. Sure, there were some guards too, but explaining away why a murderer of such caliber might soon be free to the men who ordered him here was going to be very expensive. So, she decided, they would not need to know. From what she'd heard, the humans had been giving her commanding officers Ezengbo and Nisaan a hard time, and who was she to not attempt to return the favor?

Nevertheless, the test began. The man had said he was a magician, and utilized some simple tests, which included summoning a blade out of his own ear and using it to detach and reattaching his own wrist. (The guards did not appreciate this part). She asked him what he knew of the cause, and the precise details of his magical abilities; he replied sincerely enough, and refreshingly, seemed quite knowledgeable about the Serpent's Gathering. He was their biggest fan, he said. After some bartering and a degree of persuasion, the tall red head was free. “We’re going to meet with the commander of the unit which will be overseeing you. Higoht Ezengbo is his name.”

A great many things about Kiske began to seem strange. For instance as soon as he got out of jail, the male immediately looked at his shabby crimson jumper and exclaimed that they were “Tosh! Utter tosh! I must get new clothes. How else am I to look presentable for a strapping young orc?”

It wasn’t as if Celeste could simply leave her charge to do as he pleased. She was liable for anything the male did in the city. However, he was quick, and with a speed of exactly that of a convict who had just been released, he dashed. Celeste was hot on his heels, but always seemed to be a moment too slow. Kiske darted in and out of shops. Sometimes, it seemed like he was just playing games with her. She had intended for Kiske to be ready to leave with the rest of the recruits, but now here the fool was, playing hide and go seek amidst the crowd. Every now and then, he’d jump out to surprise her, his odd, gigantic, smile plastered on his face. It was enough to give any normal man a fright, but even the stalwart, no-nonsense woman, who was used to civilized culture and ranting prisoners alike, was not ready for the psychotic jokester.

That was just the thing though. In all the confusion, with all the shop keepers apparently taking rocks as payment, with all the throbbing headaches Kiske gave her, Celeste noticed that his outfit was ever-steadily changing. No longer was he wearing a bright red jumper and canvas shoes. He was now dressed in a gaudy pink shirt which fit his form like a glove. His shoes were now gold, and looked to be made of such fine silk that a normal person would raise an eyebrow before considering purchasing them. But this was by far the most tame of Kiske’s ever uncoordinated wardrobe changes. The most garish of all, Celeste had jotted down without paying it much mind at the time. In a large portion of his life, and now plainly displayed by Kiske as his former occupation and identifying features, he was a performer. A clown. As of now, Kiske’s face was a shade of ghostly white, his lips orange, and on the left side of his face was a large purple symbol the elf had never seen, too bright and elaborate for a simple makeshift black eye. “I think I’ve perfected it! We must go meet my commander!” His smile was infectious to the people around him, his words loud enough for all to hear, and his appearance too shocking for words. Celeste, however, was undeterred. She was, instead, growing steadily furious.




ImageThankfully, Bo’s time here was coming to an end after all: a woman came trotting toward him, looking uncharacteristically (yet understandably) hurried. She apologized before he could even greet her.

“I’ve brought the snake and the antidote,” she babbled hastily, pushing a lidded basket towards him in the manner of someone who was never late. “It is unacceptable that I’ve taken so long, please accept my sincerest apologies.”

“Hello, Celeste,” he almost stammered, holding up his hands to protect himself. “It’s all right.” Higoht’s eyes wandered to her side, where an unusual man was restlessly at attention. Higoht would have to ask about him in a little while. “I should let you know, Adriel had a change in plans
”

The woman’s features rather abruptly shifted from annoyed stress to a dark uncertainty, as if she wondered whether or not she should be strangling something before she heard the next part.

“He’s, ah, he’s taking them to the quarry instead of the woods, since we’d heard about a Nidhogg problem in that area, so we probably... should have just met in Barkmere; I’ll be on my way to meet them there shortly.” He had meant to use that reasoning to insist that they were even, but her features told him that it did not have the effect that he wanted.

“
 Coranos.” She discreetly hissed after a small pause, which Higoht understood was elven for “bastard.” She was, of course, not referring to the man who stood in front of her. Celeste crossed her arms after Higoht gingerly accepted her delivery, donning her usual serious demeanor. “No matter, although I thank you for informing me. As to this man,” she gestured to him with her shoulder, moving slightly to allow Higoht to get a better look. Higoht noticed that it was at that moment where she released the man’s horribly red and mangled ear. The stranger rubbed at it with a sour expression. “I was invited to see to a prisoner rather last minute, and determined he may be of use to you.”

This person of use looked as if someone had ingested paint and vomited on him explosively. Higoht kept a steady face, but had to cleared his throat to accomplish it. After all, the human rather suddenly had the most perverse orange grin, which came close to splitting his pale face in half.




ImageThere in the background stood a man who was all too keen on the womenfolk in town. His eyes almost bulging out of his skull, his arms wrapped around his torso as his tongue traced his lips. Kiske was remembering that life on the outside could be pretty grand. How he’d missed the sight of nary a lass who walked by him. Finally though, the big green orc was giving Kiske the attention a performer such as he deserved. Clearing his throat, and bowing in a deep flourish, Kiske spoke in a tone unbecoming of his makeup.

“Oh, Master Orc, I come to you as a new leaf. I am but a mere magician who wishes to serve a cause greater than myself. A cause worthy of dedication and skill. You see I have traveled far and wide, I am a magician skilled in the means of healing others and—“

Oh if you could see Celeste’s face! Cold as a winter tundra. She produced her handwritten notes on the clown, using it to cut him off as she handed it to his soon-to-be commander. The gaze she cast on Kiske showed that she was done with his antics. “As with the others, I have this one's data.” She uttered with the quiet fury of a woman who had dealt with more today than she had in thirty years.

As Higoht glanced over the file, the clown reacted quickly. This, after all, was his one shot to get out of jail. If he screwed this up, it’d be back to prison again. “Ahem--I may or may not also have just stumblied out of lockup for killing most of my family. It was a scary time, but I’m a new man. A changed man, and a goo—“

Again, Kiske was cut off. Her patience with this man had run to the wire. “You would do well to talk less when you meet the Second. Regardless, I should warn you, Sir Ezengbo, only the most notorious criminals are kept in Autumour, well in sight of the silver knights. But I believe you can keep him in line.”

This was true, those kept in Autumour were not like other prisoners. Many of them no longer had keys to their cells. For the most part coming here for imprisonment meant that they would never again walk the streets free men. If they did, it was only because they managed to escape and would be quickly quelled by Silver Knights.

For a third time, Kiske amended himself. This time trying to be more factually accurate. “Oh ho ho ho, you know how it is. I was bored in there, but if you give me this chance I’ll doctor like my life depends on it. I hear you serpents have quite a challenge ahead of you, and it’s one I want. I might not be the best person, but a better mender you’ll never find. My name, Master Orc, is Kiske Kirill~”

This might have been the first real truth Kiske had spoken, beside the blatant mispronunciation of his own name. His talents for healing were unrivaled where he was from, but upon closer inspection of his fact sheet would reveal Celeste's careful notation that whatever he could fix, the clown could also break.




ImageHigoht had only a sparing nod for Kiske's dramatics. "Celeste," he said, "if you would, please head to Rielorn to turn in a report and have things ready. The other agents, I believe, are gathering any and all latecomers there. I doubt Adriel will have the time or patience to test any further recruits personally, so I'd like to leave the task to you, if you don't mind." He would have asked for her to take the clown with her, as he was certain Adriel would not approve of this man gaining his immunity before being properly tested--but while he dearly respected her strength and independence, he did not quite trust Kiske to be alone with her. Call it his overprotective brotherly love flaring up.

“Right.” Was all she said, already turning on her heel.

"Celeste?"

"What is it?"

He paused thoughtfully. "I think I’m going to have them call me 'Bo' from now on. That should be easier for humans to pronounce. What do you think?" Adriel likely would have told him it was a stupid idea, and he wished for a kinder opinion than that.

What streaked across her face was an uncertain alarm at first, as the conversation took a far more casual turn than she had anticipated. Yet ultimately, her reply was warm: "...Yes. I'm certain they would appreciate that."

With that, Celeste was gone, leaving the splat of color that called himself human behind. Setting the basket down beside him, Higoht had several moments of silence flipping intently through the report on the man. Celeste's handwriting was crisp and perfect. He was a little jealous. That aside, the information on Kiske was intriguing, and he took care to absorb every detail.

"...I see you're a noble." He said finally.




ImageBeing left alone was almost worse than being bored. The jolly green giant had been reading through Kiske's file, as the clown attempted to steel himself. There was lots of information in that file, and many pieces of it were rather sensitive. Fortunately enough, Higoht picked up on one of the only pieces of information that wasn't sensitive.

"Ah! But of course." His voice seemed to spring to life, and alert any nearby passerbys that they should move immediately or be forced to share the same general area of space with a lunatic. "Yes, I hail from Remington. Certainly you can take one look at me and discern that, no?" Clowns were not common anywhere. But if they were around anywhere in particular it would be Remington, the capital of Airedale. There, a near constant festival rivaled the combat arenas of other countries. Seeing no face change whatsoever on the orc, the clown cleared his throat and spoke. "...I guess not. Well no matter, noble I am. Did you know I'm on a first name basis with the King of Airedale?"

There were stakes here. Big ones. Kiske so desperately wanted to be free of his confinement. Any assignment would do, but this one promised adventure, and challenge. As such, it was imperative that Kiske do his best to convince Bo that he would be a worthy asset to the team. "If you have me close, certainly Geo-boy will give in to almost any demands you can make. We go way back, old friends, you could say."




ImageHigoht took in this information with a grain of salt, dark eyes still glued to the report and hardly acknowledging the clown. He couldn't claim he knew much about Airedale's royalty or how they took to the senseless bloodshed of their kin, but perhaps they enjoyed that sort of thing. You never knew with humans.

"Kiske," Higoht said patiently, "You will be accompanying me to the village of Barkmere. There is where we will meet the remainder of our group. If we're unlucky, we may have some adversaries along the way."

Kiske was the sort that found enjoyment in constant activity, according to his papers, and Higoht supposed that would be the least he could provide. From the ensuing smile and chuckle, this, at least, proved to be true. He would reserve his judgement on Kiske for the time being, but the journey would allow him to determine personally if he could keep the man under control.

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Re: Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lifecharacter on Sun Jul 12, 2015 8:06 pm




[K I R]
[H I G O H T | E Z E N G B O]

Enough of a Purpose
That night, at the inn.







Image He could rarely ascertain someone's identity without their name, or without a report detailing their appearance. This was doubly true when he had to find one orc in a group of other orcs, where they were all large and gruff; or if he had to speak with a particular elf, but they were all lithe and flighty. Bo had particular difficulty telling elves apart sometimes, especially when they tried to look fashionable and hurt his modest eyes with their glowing smiles and general overabundance.

Humans, however, gave him impressions entirely different from one another, and he had to wonder if each human was his own individual race. As such, when Adriel described one of the humans in the unsympathetic way that he did earlier, Bo was able to guess rather astutely as to which one it was. Not that there were many to pick from, and they only had two archers.

There he was now--the young man with the hunched shoulders and the head-covering. Getting a better look at him, Bo observed he was not feeble by any means; having calloused hands and a tough overall exterior. His posture, however, was unmistakably submissive. How odd. "You there." Bo called him, summoning him with a small gesture of his wrist. "A word, if you would."

He wasn't sure where he wanted to go with this conversation, but he had no problem playing by ear. "What's your name?"




ImageShuffling amongst the crowd was something Kir was good at. Regardless of how much he feels everyone’s eyes are upon him unless he’s actually looking at them to see that they’re not (though the fear of catching their eye keeps him from doing even that), not many people really pick the hunched over man with his head covered out of a crowd. He’s nondescript, and he takes solace in that despite his ever-present anxiety over his mind shouting about how much he stands out.

Sadly, the crowds he normally floated with weren’t here, and he was now amongst giant green women and pointy eared assassins and lots of people with well-dressed hair and cheer over slaying a monster. Nondescript stood out in a crowd of people who stood out by themselves, especially when he was one of the few who escaped being covered in the filthy gore of a monster. He was normally relatively dirty compared with everyone else, having the last rounds of water to clean with and spending his time down in the dirt while others sat upon rugs or chairs, but here he was, pristine by the standards of monster slayers.

The green one from earlier today, the one who had disappeared before they were marched out of the city of stone and spires, called out. No one responded, and Kir saw why when he glanced in the direction and saw the orc facing him. He also saw the gesture that often demanded his approach, no matter what it might mean to others. And so he approached, and was asked his name.

His eyes remained downward, the folds of his wrappings hiding his eyes from those of the orc that stood over him. He stammered and choked, but the sounds escaped: “K
 Kir.” A whisper, muffled by deformity and wrappings and fear.




Image How tremendously soft-spoken he was. "Again, please," Bo encouraged, acting as if he didn't quite catch the name. He kept his expression and posture open, so as to not spook the man. It felt a little silly, but did not want to find out where would he be if he didn't try to compromise.

"If I'm not mistaken, Kir," he said after a short while, "you are one of the warriors sent by the Bydan queen, correct...? I don't mean to come across in any particular way, but I'd wondered if you knew what we plan on doing after the initiation."




ImageKir did as he was told when the orc asked even more of him. "Kir.” It was clearer this time, with more volume behind it, but it was likely not the resounding response that was desired. When the orc continued, words became confusion. The Bydan queen? Warrior? Kir was a prisoner who went where he was told and was told nothing but where to go and warriors were what Kir’s arrows used to find their way to.

He didn’t know what he was doing here, what the queen had to do with it, or anything beyond the fact that he was told to be here, in this exact spot in front of this exact orc. So he simply shook his head at the question. It wasn’t that big of a change for him; he only ever knew what he was told to do.




Image Here, the orc hesitated, placing a fist against his lips as he deliberated the best way to move forward. He'd had a similar conversation with Gretchen before as well, though she did not seem as receptive to learning anything new. It was an improvement with this one, at least. "There will be more battles like the one earlier, against the Nidhogg. Do you understand? Well, against different beasts other than the Nidhogg, but I digress--" He paused again, dipping his head down a bit to see that the Bydan man was still with him, to pick up on any shifting eyes or lolling heads. From what it seemed to him, Kir was at least good at listening. When he spoke next, it was rather more sober than before, and he made an attempt to attain eye contact.

"You know of the Pestilence, don't you, Kir?"




ImageKir listened attentively to the orc’s words. He was always attentive when people addressed him directly and specifically; to not do so was to invite unpleasantness upon himself. Battles with beasts was the topic, and fighting today’s beast wasn’t too bad as far as Kir was concerned. It was still bad and terrifying and awful, but standing at a distance shooting arrows at a monster certainly left a lighter burden on him than doing the same to some unfortunate soul who happened to cross paths with whoever was giving him orders at the time. It wouldn’t be ideal, but there was little hope for ideals at this point.

But then came the pause. The pause was when people usually allowed their annoyance to boil and turn over into anger and a desire to inflict pain. It was also when Kir grew ever more anxious and his body tensed as he expected a blow to come, not raising any sort of outright defense lest he make things worse. But it never came, replaced instead with Pestilence. A word he had heard before, but had no real understanding of. As such, he shook his head in reply.




Image It was as he'd quietly dreaded: Kir seemed to be completely and utterly lost. Maybe he hadn't even been sent by the Queen, simply wandering into their meeting place at the wrong place and the wrong time? No, that couldn't be it--he could swear he had read a report on Kir's existence before meeting him.

Not that there was much in that report.

He didn't appear fazed, though. Bo wondered if that was a strength or a weakness. "The Pestilence," he managed evenly, "is a disease that has accomplished the rare task of affecting humans, elves, and orcs alike. It turns the common man into a monster, and is of unknown origin. I, as the first of those immune to it, was assigned to study and subdue it where I can.

"Should you choose to remain with us and fight for this cause, you will be seeing a lot of the Pestilence and its effects, in exchange for the immunity you may receive tonight."
He straightened, resting a hand on his hip as he stared down at Kir to gauge his reaction to what came next: "Although you have passed the test to be a member of my unit, I will not force you to stay."

Then, hearing voices on the approach from down the hall, he clapped Kir once across the back, inclining his head towards the side room. "We'll be gathered in there before we begin. That should give you enough time to think it over, yes?"




ImageDisease. Wormrot. Snakeskin. Sand lung. The Fever. Those were the diseases Kir was aware of, though he had managed to avoid catching any of them and being immediately put down by those who had no use for a sick bundle of rags. None of them turned people into monsters, though some did certainly make parts of their victims look grotesque and monstrous. These diseases were suffering and death, not Pestilence, a word that now carried real meaning for him.

And it was now the task of everyone who had marched with him earlier to fight a disease and the monsters it gave birth to, to fight Pestilence. There was no real need to give Kir the option to choose; no one had ever done so before and he went and did what they wanted anyway. But here it was, the choice to do what he wanted. Not that there were very many options. There were, in fact, two: go with these people, or waste away somewhere.

The orc’s hand slapping him on the back came as a great shock as air escaped his lips and his eyes were forced upwards to see the room in question. Kir needed little time to think; he made the same choice he always made. He walked towards the room to wait for night and whatever may come. He’d gone with worse people with worse motives before, so there was little reason not to go now.

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Re: Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ezarael on Mon Jul 13, 2015 1:11 pm




[H I G O H T | E Z E N G B O]
[L A E T Y A | K Y U U T A E]

Tough Love
That night, at the inn.







ImageBruised, beaten, and battered was probably the best way to describe Laetya right now, the orc having taken a substantial pounding in the previous battle with the Nidhogg, and subsequently refusing the services of the orcish healer provided by the Gathering. It felt too much like accepting defeat, or at the least admitting weakness of mind and body. The entire left-side of her body was covered in a hideous bruise, luckily the discoloration would blend in better as it yellowed, and her back-side was scraped almost like a man dragged down the road by a horse. Her knuckles were red and swollen still, albeit this was from a previous scuffle in the tavern, and her right ankle was noticeably swollen.

None of that mattered. The pain would go away . . . ever in after awhile. She couldn't stand the thought of looking weak and vulnerable in front of her new comrades though. Her orcish pride demanded a public refutation of the pain, and her quick, albeit limping, stiff-backed strut through the halls of the inn were meant to convey this fact. That's when it happened, her self-justified pride was shattered in a heart-beat when she noticed Higoht, standing resolutely in the hallway to meet and greet his new companions.

It wasn't all that frequently that the Reaper was stopped in her tracks, if only momentarily. Catching a glimpse of him from the crowd was one thing, but running into him, alone, in the middle of a hallway was quite another. The moment that her breath caught in her throat felt like an eternity, a never-ending story, that would not pass. She may have continued her march onwards, but every step felt like it was weighed down by a thousand stone. The monumental figure of her cousin, a devout warrior, towered over her.

A nervous smile, tinged with doubt and fear, half-flickered across Laetya's usually self-assured mouth. "Heh . . .so uhhh . . . how's it goin'?" Nearly a decade had passed since the last time they had spoken, and that was all she could manage.




Image Having just sheparded another person into the meeting room, Bo was smiling with some degree of fulfillment.

The smile lingered as he regarded Laetya's approach, if rather stiffly. It wasn't that he was disappointed to see the girl, but for whatever reason, he wasn't fully expecting to see her right then. So, caught off guard, his already crossed arms tensed a bit further as he took a deep, silent breath. "Quite well," he said. It was not the first thing he'd wanted to say. It was far from the first thing he'd wanted to say. He'd planned and rehearsed his first words to his wayward relative for many years now, with several different iterations, down to his tone of voice and how often he was allowed to blink; 'quite well' had no place in any version he'd practiced before, and he was already feeling rather put out with himself. Indeed, his upturned lips began to sink somewhat. Before he could say anything else, he knew he was not to watch over her as keenly as he used to; he wouldn't have the time, and he can't imagine she would forgive him if he did. With this in mind, he ran through his list of first words one final time. "It's good to see you again, Laetya," he said sincerely, although his eyes spoke volumes beyond that. A wistful yearning crinkled there and between his brows as he, for the first time in some years, looked at her properly.

She had gotten taller without him.




ImageWhat the . . . It was just too much to handle, first him . . . and then Gully. Now here she was, one of the outcasts of their world, standing right there in front of one of the paragons of their society. This was way too much too handle.

All the years of loneliness and solitude came rushing back to her, all the alienation she felt after being forced from their homeland kept pounding away like the high tides on a sandy shore. It was all she could do to keep from completely breaking down where strangers might intrude.

The embrace was quick, but powerful, as the banished orc clasped her strong arms around her resolute cousin. Despite the unexpected wave of emotion, she refused to shed a tear, even though her eyes were more than shining pools at this point. "Is that all you have to say? I'd have expected a damn speech, knowing you at least."




Image Again, there was an off-putting stray from his predetermined script. He had wanted to be the assertive one and hug her first: He'd long envisioned it, his right arm crossed over her shoulder and his hand pressed against the back of her hair. He should have considered that Laetya was never one to conform to anyone's expectations. "Th, The speech is later," he stammered reflexively. For that brief moment where she squeezed his arms tightly into his sides, he felt both deep concern and a nostalgic comfort in alternating pangs.

When his surprise finally waned, Bo allowed himself to rest his head against hers, bringing his arms up to rest around her lower back to return the gesture. In that split second, his skin felt the brush of the uneven terrain that was her back. "Laetya--?" His tone had dropped severely.




ImageIt was almost too much to ask for. Gods be damned what lines they were supposed to read, what script they were supposed to play. Her cousin seemingly faltered with her display of affection, naturally she stole his thunder, but then it happened. Why wouldn't he hug her back? Higoht wasn't some unfeeling piece of stone, a statue carved from the ideals of the Faoryuun. She had almost forgotten the pain searing through her body. The pounding sensation coursing through her side, or the burning paing that carved a print into her back, was almost enough to make her stagger.

She winced, if ever so briefly, when Higoht returned her embrace. This was as close as she had been with someone since leaving Kyoshel, and the drastic change in the atmosphere made her wince, both physically and mentally. Pride kept her from accepting any help from the healer, and she knew her cousin was going to chide her for this. It had to be Higoht, her own flesh and blood.

What in the hell . . .

Laetya pushed back as the pain painted a vivid picture in her eyes. She didn't release her grasp, only alleviate the pain it brought. The change in his tone was obvious, and she was felt a pang of shame when her name left his lips afterwards. "I'll be fine. I've suffered worse than this and lived." Her words were true, even if they weren't completely resolved.




Image What he wanted was to insist she would not be going any further unless she went back and had her injuries looked at, but he knew her well enough to figure she might call the bluff. Instead, like shackles, he firmly clasped his hands around her elbows. "I know," he replied rather curtly, his sentimental look gone as he stared her dead in the eyes. He actually did believe she would be 'fine' eventually, and gods know what terrible scrapes she's managed to get herself into in the past, but that was far from the point. ", but dammit Laetya, there's going to be more fighting tomorrow and I'll not have you at a disadvantage. Did you think it through?" He had gripped her a bit harder than he wanted to during his rant, and realizing this, unhanded her. Here he was, doing exactly what he'd just decided he wasn't going to do. Hovering, nagging, overprotective oaf. Damn it all.

"You're still dear to me, Laetya," He professed in his flat, no-nonsense way, "I never once doubted..." He trailed off as he regarded her scuffed hands, and he had to summon much of his patience to keep himself from getting more irate. "Can you at least consider borrowing Juyo's supplies?"




ImageMany fond memories of Kyoshel came drifting to the forefront of Laetya's mind during her cousin's rant. Despite being her junior he had always done his best to watch out for her, always attempting to caution her quick-temper when possible. It still pissed her off though, but she was too tired to fight back anymore. Higoht's words had bitten into her much more deeply than his grip, but she still winced slightly as his fingers bit into bruised flesh.

With an exhausted half-smile the outcast brought a hand to Higoht's shoulder. "Ok, I'll go see Juyo." She started off, back to see the healer to tend to her wounds. "Really though, next time you think a few scrapes and bruises are enough to knock me out of a fight I'm gonna kick your ass."




Image That proved to be... much easier than he'd anticipated. It seemed Laetya did grow up somewhat in the time they've been apart. Bo was expecting one of their full on spats that would have woken up the entire inn, and he was grateful that it hadn't come to that.

"Oh..." he said when she placed a hand on his shoulder, almost a bit wary as he peered after her. He was almost surprised he didn't turn around and say or do something that would ensure her 'victory.' He touched his neck, feeling the heat of his fading rage in his palm. "Love you, too," he groused loudly, with a softened expression despite his inflection, deciding he would take the last word if she did not. He would have to talk someone else into getting on her case next time.
Isn't it strange how Decidedly we
will chasE such an iNdefinable concept
That cannot truly descrIbe us no
maTter how hard we trY?
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Re: Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Wudgeous on Wed Jul 22, 2015 12:19 am




[V A S H A | R H U I N]
[G R E T C H E N]

Tastes like Shit
Sometime in the future, camp daybreak.







ImageThe blue-gray light of dawn filled their camp with dreary reluctance, clinging to the ground in clumps of fog as frost left the air. Vasha extended an arm out lazily to grab a nearby flask, letting the burning liquid bleed down his throat and settle in his stomach like a boulder. Fatigue sunk his shoulders into his chest. A little heartburn flared up from the acid of the drink. He eyed the yellow light that peeked over the tops of their tents like a peeping tom, feeling itchy and exposed. No doubt his eyes were bloodshot and yet still he remained by the fire, poking it with a stick for god knows what purpose. An impressive pile of dry wood lay by Vasha’s side, likely gathered by the elf while the others slept. Occasionally, Vasha would frown, a slight twitch to his lips, and in another few pieces would go, the fire belching and puffing out in protest. When the flames got particularly wild, Vasha’s brows relaxed and he found a place to recline a little ways from the inferno.

Lost in thought, his hand came to rest against his left thigh. Fingertips caressed in habitual circles. The act calmed him somewhat and his mind began to find a path through the chaos. He dismissed the darker thoughts, like how suffocating it was to be trapped in the Nidhogg’s mouth or that nagging urge to mindlessly kill that was starting to flare up again. Instead, he followed the productive ones; the many things he’d learned from the massive beast, the relative strengths and weaknesses of his comrades, and what the Serpent’s Gathering actually entailed. Vasha wondered what challenges would await them, hoping that the next one would distract him for longer than the previous one did.

Already, his ‘masterpiece’ had lost some of its glory, reduced to nothing but a common camp fire. Vasha tossed a few more logs in, noticing a tent flap flutter from the corner of his eye.






Image The night had been a prickly level of cold and the ground felt like bricks, which was normally just how she liked it. She didn't mind stones in her lower back, or the buzzing and swooping of miniature monstrosities. Truth be told, it took a lot to get under her skin; a knife, namely. That night, she found herself restless; not one rough twist or turn fully killed her insomnia. She had gotten sleep, fleeting sleep, just barely enough to function. Thankfully, she never needed much.

Gretchen emerged into the slow-rising light of day, squinting angrily at the horizon. She wasn't tired, but her sight was still bleary, which left her lurching about like a gangly chimpanzee. She was both annoyed and astonished that she wasn't the only one awake.

It was one of the elves who sat before the fire, with the dark hair and darker demeanor. God forbid he have a peaceful moment to navel-gaze.

"Whatch'a got there, champ?" She challenged dryly as she lumbered over to the other side of the flame. "A neck fetish?"

...Hm. He held flask, not the neck of a bottle. Oh, well. She felt as if her teeth would rot away entirely if she admitted it, but she rather enjoyed the warmth sometimes, too; which meant that her motivations weren't entirely sinister. She should feel better as soon as she hunts something and drags its red-streaking corpse back for all to see. Establish dominance.





ImageThe rabid dog, yes, I remember her. Something about her stance made him feel like she was itching to brawl but he paid it little mind. Wait
 what? Vasha followed her line of sight to the flask he held and decided she had to be talking about the drink. He shook it. A little over half full. Taking another deep swig, he offered it to her. A slight smirk pulled at his lips. “Tastes like shit but it works well enough.”






Image With the way her face scrunched up, one would have expected her to start sniffing furiously at his offering before she even considered it. Not that Gretchen had any particular reservations at present--the elf seemed smart and conniving enough to find a more creative way of poisoning her than this, if he felt so inclined. The most astute way to describe her face was, instead, a rather astonished dubiousness. Then her shoulders arched into a shrug, and she accepted the offering with an unusual, abrupt social dexterity--without fumbling, without hesitation--and guzzled down a cordial mouthful.

"Tastes like shit," she amended, tongue burning as she ran it over her teeth. Oh, she can handle the hard stuff without retching and looking the fool, since the latter sort of thing could get you killed for showing weakness. It didn't mean she liked it. In her experience, the bandit staple was small ales. She hunkered forward, crossing her arms and peering at the man across the fire. Shades of orange cut into the sharp contours of his face. "You're one of the ones here willingly, aren't you?" She said steadily.





ImageAmusing, this one. She wears her villainous thoughts on her sleeve. Like a proud, bloody badge of immorality. Or maybe just animal instinct. No matter. He nearly told her there was nothing to fear when her posture suddenly changed, caution and hostility replaced by camaraderie in the blink of an eye. So she decided he didn’t have fangs after all.

As she tasted the drink, Vasha suppressed the urge to laugh at such obvious displeasure. She got it all down though, without even the slightest cough. He never thought she would be able to with her laughable size. Speaking of which, how much would it take to make her pass out? That’ll be an interesting experiment. Idly entertaining the thought, Vasha remembered a time when he could look forward to blacking out on a whim. Now he had to find more creative ways - nearly not worth it considering the effort required. But a blanket of nothingness had a way of getting under his skin.

“You’re one of the ones here willingly, aren’t you?” Attention snapped back to her, studying the intent within. What is she aiming for?

“I have my reasons.” He kept his expressions artificial, tone blank and meaningless. “Though you could say that for most here. If you’re not enjoying our lovely little adventure, why stay?” He looked back at the tents, motioning nonchalantly, “Everyone’s asleep.” He paused, catching her eyes through the sparks. “And I won’t stop you.”




Image She smirked, widely and genuinely and condescendingly. "Only if you got balls enough to run with me." She snarked without so much as a wink, chucking the flask back to him over the flames. It could have had a terrible outcome if even a few drops left in the thing that should happen to ooze out mid-arc, but there was literally no outcome horrible enough to make her think twice. Not being reprimanded by a complete stranger, not burning down the entire camp, not coming face first with a blazing explosion. All trite concerns. "Running is just as much trouble as staying, and you know it. If you got advice, feed it to Killer. Now--"

Gretchen propped her elbow against her knee, glaring up into his gaze. From how he had impetuously jumped into a monster's throat, she couldn't help but itch to unearth where he drew his lines. "Try me, Sasha, 'cause I'm running a fuckin' poll. What're you in for?"



ImageThe flask soared over the flames like a suicide bomber. One, two escaped the lip of the flask. The ensuing roar deafened Vasha’s ears for a moment, pupils seared from the brilliance of the reaction. Echoes of shrill tones still reverberated in his head as he caught the flask. Gretchen’s smug expression made him snicker inwardly, noting that she gave not one shit if any harm should come to him. What a little rebel. And so like him.

Unfortunately, he didn't get burned. A shame, that. In fact the only consequence was his now yin-yang flask that smelled of delightfully burning leather.

Oh, right. She had been talking. Asked him why he was here, glaring from across the pit. He considered the factors, the pros and cons of telling her the truth. Deciding that lying served no real purpose, he spoke. “I see no bars.” He drank from the flask like it was water, nodding back to camp, “This is my escape.”




Image"Haha!" was the shrill noise of delight, which likely would not have ever been attributed to Gretchen were she not slapping her knee and rearing back with giddy enchantment. The burst of flame, the sudden violent embrace of heat, was by no means planned or intentional on her part. No big show of strength this time. But if she were ten years younger, she would be whooping childishly and goading Vasha into making it happen again. It didn't take her long to rap her hand against her mouth, with a mock sidelong glance toward the tents. How dare she forget? They had "friends" around now. In the same way fish had hooks in the water.

"Aren't we clever," she observed impassively when he finally replied. No bars. Well, if what he valued was freedom, he likely was no patriot, and she could find grounds in common with that. Unless his secret plot was to open his own tavern and he relished the lack of competition. "Good for you."



ImageHe shrugged half-heartedly, about to drink from his flask. Lips tasted salty. Sweat from the heat of the fire. Which reminded him, he only had a few lonely pieces of dry wood left. Vasha stood like a creaking door, stashing the flask in the back of his belt. "You'll find yours. Of that, I have no doubt."

He gave the misfit one last look and peered out into the trees. Likely there'd be more logs closer to that clearing he had found before. Stretching his back, he couldn't repress a face-tearing yawn. God, he was tired. Gazing longingly at all the unused debris, he sighed, realizing that indulging his temptations would prevent him from getting any sleep until the evening.

Ah, well. There's always tomorrow morning.




Vasha approves of Gretchen’s amoral abandon: +13
Vasha slightly disapproves of Gretchen’s narrow minded thinking: -4

Vasha gained +40 approval for being oddly... agreeable... if cajoling.
Vasha lost -5 approval for the birdcage mentality.

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Re: Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Quakernuts on Sat Jul 25, 2015 3:37 am




[ Arayel|Maervanyn ]
[ Illeren|Myakleyth ]

A Bite, A Drink, A Slap
Right after the Induction




Image

Though her legs were wobbly and her mind hazy from the pain and the tremendous amount of physical stress, her steps were determined. The stairs were only lit by the candles that hung along the wall and a torch by the door, resting in the wall sconce making the shadows dance like ghosts on the walls. Shaky fingers reached out and pushed the old wooden thing open, creaking on its hinges. Blurry figures passed her and it felt like time had slowed down, but everyone else was moving at a regular speed. Arayel couldn't make out any of it, but after an uncertain amount of time found herself with a glass of wine in her hand and her feet up. This room was a little more well lit and the barkeep stood with a cloth over his shoulder and poured a drink for someone else. The liquid went down her throat and left a wonderful taste in her mouth. It was not a very good wine, but after the ordeal she had been put through, drinking piss didn't sound so bad. Wine was better though. She set the glass down on the table she was sitting at and took deep breaths. Her heart wasn't racing anymore and for once her eyes weren't darting around the room. They were fixed on an unspecific point on the wall above the door leading in. There she sat and took the occasional sip of her wine and drew steady breaths.

Thankfully this room didn't smell as damp as the basement. It smelled like sweet tobacco from someone smoking a pipe, sweat and ale. Like most of these places did. What she had expected to be a night of celebration would be spent in a much quieter way, it would seem. She hoped that the rest of them were equally as knackered as she was, after being bitten by the styx snake. It would be embarrassing to be the only one. It wouldn't do. Silently, Arayel reminded herself to ask Bo about the knuckle bone from the nidhogg. Why had Adriel told her to bring that? Was it just a token or was there a plan with it? The elf closed her eyes for a moment, shook her head and took another sip of wine.




Image
Illeren had been stumbling around for what seemed like minutes now, the effects of the hallucination not yet having fully worn off yet. That was the most vivid thing he had experienced since he had been hit over the head with the blunt side of a great sword. He wandered through the halls looking very much like a no good poverty stricken human...if it weren't for the ears and high quality tattoos. Where was he? What was he wanting to do again? Why was there an after taste of goat ass in his mouth? How did he know what goat ass tasted like? All these questions ran through his mind in blurring speed as he didn't bother to answer any of them until he wandered past an open door. He paused two steps passed and slowly backed up to peer in. A bar! A bar filled with lovely tasting beverages meant to get the after taste of sun dried rotten tomatoes out of his mouth.

He took a couple steps in, seeing another elf, among other occupants, in the bar currently facing the door and narrowing his eyes at her. He knew this one, right? She was from the group correct? Right! She had been the one at the meeting to also yell something about going ahead and getting the induction over with. In retrospect, maybe he should have exercised caution in that regard. Hell, in retrospect maybe he should have more caution in general. Illeren mentally shrugged it off as he strode in, not caring a single ounce about his outward appearance as he strode forward with a sort of drunken confidence and plopping himself down unceramoniously at the bar. He slapped the counter a couple of times. "Oi, mate! Do ya have...ehhhh...Histaren Whiskey?" The man nodded and brought out a small glass to start pouring the alcohol into, but Illeren put his hand over the glass. "Just leave tha bottle mate." The bartender raised an eyebrow before Illeren dug into his pocket to pull out a few gold coins and tossing them loudly on the counter.

The bartender gathered up the coins and left the bottle as Illeren took a swig directly from it, glaring at the back of the man's head. Where tha 'ell did I get those coins from? Illeren thought to himself as he finished his swig. "Ahhhhhhh." He stated, looking over at the elf for a moment before pointing to the wine in her hand. "That shite ain't gonna get ya drunk. Ya need a real man of a brew tah get ya goin' down that road." Illeren flicked a finger twice at his bottle, but didn't offer any yet.




Image
While she was slightly surprised, she was also disappointed that her glass was now empty. This dark realisation came when she raised the glass of wine to her lips and tilted her head back. No sweet and fruity liquid poured onto her tongue. Arayel sighed and set it down, about to stand and order some more. Before she could, the human-looking elf caught her attention. She had watched him walk in but couldn't conjure up the energy to stand and speak to him. Arayel was content studying him for a while. He was a curious thing. He'd ordered whiskey and seemed to enjoy it very, very much. She could understand that as her own body ached. It was as if she had aged several hundred years and her bones were old and tired.

"I reckon it also takes a real man to drink it then?" She purred and tapped her fingers against the side of her own glass. Arayel sighed and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. A part of her was glad he talked to her. The fabric of her attire was so soft and light that she might actually fall asleep. Being engaged in conversation might keep her awake. Illeren certainly would. "Illeren, was it?" She asked, fixing her eyes on the bottle he'd ordered and then on his. She slowly pushed her glass towards him and then leaned back against the back of her seat, gesturing towards an empty chair across from her. "Are you going to pour me a drink or not?"




Image
Did she...did she just insult mah manhood? Or was she referrin' to 'erself? Confusion abound misseh! Illeren thought to himself as she responded to his statement. "Aye luv, Illeren's tha name. Didn't quite catch yours though, but I'mma guess it has a bit a flourish to it, maybe a couple abbreviations? 'ard to spell? Seems like tha way to go with us elves." Illeren stated, more out of the sake to hear himself talk than anything else. He had given legitimate thought of changing his name to something like 'Ralph' or 'John' at one point, but had eventually decided against it when he realized that would probably change his entire demeanor. Illeren was about to take another swig from his bottle when she gently pushed her glass towards him on the table she was currently sitting at, asking if he was going to pour her a drink and to have a seat. Part of him wanted the whiskey for himself, another part of him didn't care, and there was yet another part of him saying to throw the bottle at the bartender and see what he could jack from the coin purse behind the counter.

He gave a small shrug, getting up from the bar and plopping himself down in the seat across from her, pouring a couple fingers worth of whiskey into her wine glass and scrunching his face at it slightly. "Much too fanceh of a glass for this drink. But eh, be careful with it if yah used tah that wine swill. It will hit yah harder than a rampaging bull going through heat." Illeren lifted the bottle up and took a good gulp of the stuff before nearly slamming the bottle on the table, leaning back in the chair and propping his legs on the corner of it. It burned, maybe a bit too much as he coughed slightly from it. He needed it though, after that induction ceremony of literal Hell. After a few seconds of not saying anything, Illeren slapped his bare chest a couple of times like a bongo drum before looking at the woman. "So...'ow did yah snake bite go?"




Image
"It's not so bad." She said and smirked. There was something mismatched about him when you knew that he was an elf. When he confirmed it, Illeren seemed all the more un-elvish. His appearance was one thing but his accent was what really made him stand out, she thought. Oddities had a special place in her heart though. He took the offer and moved to take a seat at the table, bringing the bottle of whiskey with him. When he sat, he promptly poured her some. "Arayel." She stated. "Ray, if that's too difficult." She meant no offense, but she got the feeling that he didn't mind a bit of teasing.

She took the glass and sniffed it. It had a sharp smell, gently stinging in the nose. Then it was sweet and smokey and plesant. Illeren warned her though it wasn't her first time drinking whiskey. 'I drink more than I let on...' The elf thought to herself, mentally chuckling at that. What he followed up with made her stop as she was about to drink and made her laugh. Arayel glanced at him and shrugged. "Never heard it put quite like that." It was difficult to resist asking if he knew that from personal experience, or if it was just a metaphor. When she did throw her head back and drink the whiskey, she sat still for a moment and enjoyed the burning sensation in her throat and chest. It was strong, but it felt good at the same time. When she set the glass down she took a deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling and looking at Illeren again. His mention of the snake bite caused her to shiver. "Dolorae annin marchyn."* Arayel looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. "Yep." No pain ever experienced was stored in her memories. Once more she pushed the glass towards Illeren, flashing him a tired smile. "How did yours go?" She decided to ask, having discovered that this man was more entertaining and interesting than she had originally thought. While waiting for his answer, Arayel tried to guess where he was from. It wasn't very easy with the accent and the way he dressed. Close to humans would be the obvious guess. She didn't want to guess yet, so instead she listening to him while biting the inside of her cheek with a curious expression on her face.

*Dolorae annin marchyn - Pain beyond belief




Image
"Arayel is it?" Illeren stated, performing a mock glare at her subtle tease towards his intelligence. "And Ray as a nickname? Maybe I should add Sting in front of that, with your little jabs at tha size of mah brain eh? Sting Ray?" Illeren tapped his temple. "I'll have yah know I know plenty of things...like how tah kill monsters...and...how tah kill more monsters." Illeren paused, realizing he wasn't portraying his point very well with the alcohol starting to run rampant in his system. He shrugged it off, it was just a subtle tease after all, nothing to get defensive about. Her laugh was appreciated though, at the very least it let Illeren know she had a sense of humor. People who couldn't or wouldn't laugh weren't people he wanted to deal with. He watched as she downed the whiskey like it was some kind of fine drink, meant to be tasted but not ingested. Illeren took another swig himself, the burning starting to fade away as the numbing effect of the alcohol replaced it.

When she did answer about the snake bite, it was in elvish. He knew what she was saying of course, but had just been so long since he had actually conversed in his native tongue he wasn't even sure he could properly form the words anymore with his accent the way it was. Instead he gave a good laugh at the response, nearly tipping his chair too far back and flailing his arms slightly before he regained his balance once more. "That sounds about right! Can't say many people can claim tah have been bitten by a poisonous snake voluntarily, nah." Illeren stated, still laughing slightly as he took another swig from the bottle, keeping it in his hand and resting against his chest. She pushed her glass forward, and Illeren dropped his legs from the table, slamming the chair down as he sat forward and poured her another two fingers of whiskey. Normally he would be a bit more stingy with his alcohol, but he wasn't even sure if he paid it with his own money, or some poor sap who happened to pass him in the hall's money. Once the glass was filled, he sat back and returned to his former position with his legs crossed over each other on the corner of the table.

She asked how his went, and he thought about this a moment. There was no way in Hell he was going to tell her the details of his, he didn't even want to know the details of his. It was just...too mentally scarring to go over again. He looked over at her, noticing her expression was very investigative, and her crystal eyes, which drew his attention for probably longer than necessary now that he was paying attention, were piercing him with their gaze. It was something he had seen far too many times. She was trying to figure him out. Keep tryin tah dig misseh, everythin' you need is on tha surface.

"Hah!" Illeren belted out, possibly louder than he needed to. He held the bottle up, swishing it around some. "Let me tell yah! I went down there and that snake came out, well they 'ad to force it tah bite me. My very presence intimidated it into submission!" Illeren took another swig, holding up a single finger as he chugged a good portion of the bottle. Once he was done, he held the bottle against his chest once more. "Aaaaaaaah...anyways, nah, I'm a liar. Fookin thing bit down like rabid child and sent shivers through mah spine as if that child then said I was it's father." Illeren swished the bottle some more. "It was one of mah more painful experiences, yah that was. Not tha first time I've been poisoned either, at least this time I wasn't frothing at tha mouth." Illeren paused. "At least...I don't think I was, nah." Illeren held up the bottle suddenly again. "Oi! At least we now have tha benefit of going tah fight tha ghoulies without becomin' ghoulies ourselves, right?"




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She seemed to consider it a moment. The nickname. It almost took so much of her attention that she forgot to listen to Illeren, but she managed to stop herself, deciding to make up her mind about Sting Ray later. As a response, she shrugged and raised an eyebrow. "Alright, alright, dear. I don't question your skills." Arayel giggled to herself and shook her head, amused. Was the alcohol starting to affect him? Had he been drinking a lot? He did hurl down those drinks.

While waiting for his answer, it looked as if he was thinking about how to put thoughts into words, though the reply that came wasn't the one she had expected. Her eyebrows raised obvious surprise and she nodded approvingly. "Is it really?" Arayel asked, genuinely interested to know the answer to that. There must be a reason for that facade. If it was a facade at all. That was what she was trying to find out. She had never met someone quite like Illeren. They had locked eyes for longer than she thought was comfortable though, so she averted her gaze. If possible she would try to keep the conversation focused on him. Not her and not her eyes. Definitely not that.

Arayel couldn't help laughing again. He's fun. She thought to herself. At first she had thought he was serious but it quickly became obvious that he was not when he took another swig of the bottle. She herself reached out and downed another round of whiskey, the burning sensation not so strong this time. "You have a way with words." The way he expressed himself and quickly formed sentences that were just funny. It seemed like it was just part of who he was. No one could think of that so fast.
Essentially she agreed with him. "Agreed. I didn't plan on succumbing to that fucking disease and now I won't." For a moment she frowned, as if disgusted. Then she shook her head and cleared her head. Arayel reached across the table and plucked the bottle from Illeren's grasp. "Where..." She began and then took a swig from the bottle. "Are you from, Illeren?"




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At the very least she seemed to be playfully entertaining. Normally a lot of people would shrug off his words, look at him as if he was brain damaged, or at worst, saw him as some kind of easy mark. More than a few thieves and bandits had met their end at his blade simply because they thought he was inept and stupid. He was glad she didn't seem to look at him that way as he simply smiled and relaxed in his chair. He would admit that he didn't have a very strong alcohol tolerance, despite years of ingesting the stuff. His elven physiology with it's smaller frame and muscle mass prevented him from becoming a walking barrel of ale sloshing around as he strode. Besides that, he had been pretty much chugging the bottle, so needless to say his inhibitions were starting to drop quickly...if there ever were any with Illeren.

Arayel reached across the table and snagged the bottle out of Illeren's hands much to his surprise. "Oi!" He stated as he leaned forward on his chair. He thought about reaching after it, but realized it was damn near empty already. He gave a lazy look to his left and right, before digging into his pockets. "Hm?" He asked when she asked her question, before shaking his head. "Oh, right. A little bit of everywhere luv. You know 'ow it is. I don't have a 'ome, so I go with the wind. Been to every 'uman territory so far, even managed to get to the walls of Kyoshel, but they didn't feel too keen on letting me in." Illeren pulled a toothbrush out of his pocket and stared at it for a second before throwing it on the table. He pulled out a small shiv, some charcoal, a single strawberry which he quickly popped into his mouth, and a bar of soap. What he was looking for however wasn't there. He had no more money. "Damn." Illeren stated, looking up at Arayel and the bottle before giving a smirk. He wasn't going to give up that easily. "One moment luv" Illeren got up from his chair, making his way back to the bar.

"Oi, mate, another bottle if ya please." The bartender gave a nod, pulling another bottle from beneath the counter and holding it to the surface. Illeren looked at him with a sideways glance. "Really mate, I'm going tah be drinkin' for a bit here...got the lovely lass over there with me. Just start a tab would ya?" The bartender gave a glance over at Arayel, and back to Illeren who just rolled his eyes. "Look, I paid for tha other bottle didn't I? Ya know I'm good for it." The bartender stared at Illeren for a moment before releasing the bottle. Illeren grabbed it quickly. "Many thanks silent drink man!" Illeren said louder than he needed to, drawing a few gazes from the other bar inhabitants. He popped the lid, and sat back down at the table with his new bottle of whiskey in his hands. He took another good drink from it, slamming it down on the table with enough force to shake it and draw yet more gazes from people around him.

"Right, where were we? Oh, right..." Illeren stated. "Like I said luv, I'm from everywhere. No 'ome, no place to roost, free as the air around us." Illeren stated, waving his arms to accentuate his claim. "But what about you? I'mma take a wild guess and say it's Rielorn. Ya seem like a fanceh enough ladeh to come from the ever esteemed capital."




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It didn't come as a surprise but neither did it give her what she wanted. What she wanted to know was where he was born, why he put on that accent and what he had been doing up until now. Well, she wanted to know where he was born at least. Illeren had informed her that he'd been very many places. No fixed address, no home as such. Before long though, he started fiddling through his pockets and fished out different objects - random objects that required an explanation though Arayel refrained from asking. Around the time he popped the strawberry into his mouth, she realised that he was looking for something. Money.. The bottle was near empty so it could only be that. She merely nodded when he left to buy another and proceeded to empty the one they had. She felt the tingle of the alcohol now, reminding herself to slow down. Higoht and Adriel had given the impression that they wouldn't go easy on them. At all.

Apparently acquiring another bottle of Histaren Whiskey wasn't as easy as you'd think. She hadn't paid attention to what was going on at the bar, but caught the bartender looking her direction when she began to wonder why it took so long. Illeren didn't look poor in her opinion, not rich either. You simply didn't know if he had money or not, but the bartender probably had years of practice discerning which people had money and which didn't. In any case, he didn't give the bottle away easily. When Illeren finally got it, he stated his thanks. Loudly. Arayel sat and watched him silently. Perhaps I should convince him to go to bed. Alone, though. She thought to herself. The more he drank, the louder he got it would seem. Good to know.

"Born and raised." She nodded and decided that was enough. Do I scream Rielorn? He had proceeded with assuring her of how free he was and how he had never had a stationary place to live. Always moving.
Arayel looked at the new bottle and then at Illeren, silent for a few seconds. "Where were you born? Her voice was clear yet light as she adjusted her seat and discretely and smoothly pushed her chest out a little more. Waiting for his answer she wondered if that would work on Illeren, or if he would simply not notice it and keep talking loudly. Both were amusing.




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Illeren continued drinking from the bottle. She confirmed his suspicions, but it wasn't that much of a leap. Reilorn was a big city, or so he had been told, and most Elves were proud to have come from the city. Either way, over the years he had gotten used to evaluating people based off his own impressions. He had to admit, he wasn't right all the time but a few times but it had saved his life a couple of times. She asked him where he was born and he held up a finger as he took a few gulps from the bottle in an almost exaggerated fashion. Once he was done taking his drink, it seemed like he was going to bring it crashing back down to the table, but stopped just short, and carefully placed it on the table...well, as much as he could in his quickly deteriorating state. He clasped his hands together, although amusingly it took him a couple tries to do it right as he stared down at them like they were some kind of puzzle.

"Now..." Illeren stated, trying to look a bit serious but still unable to restrain his face from giving a happy smile. "I would ask yah, why you're so interested in where I was born." Illeren's voice had lowered slightly now, still aware enough to change the volume of his speech. "But...I don't care why." Illeren stated, pointing lazily at her. "Just like...you shouldn't care where I was born." With his finger he made the motion of a circle around her face. "This..." Then her chest. "And this...very much this...SOOOO much this...I know what it is." Illeren stated leaning back slightly.

"You're fishin. Common...common...common con move, usin' tha bodeh like that. Not that it's not appreciated luv, I've just done enough of my own..." Illeren snapped his fingers as he was struggling to come up with the proper words. "Jobs!"[ He stated, finally grasping it. "Now, don't get me wrong, it's not like it's some big secret or something, I just don't like talking about tha past, birth included. What's tha point? I don't plan on going back there any time soon. So no need to talk about tha bloody place. Nothin' worth seein there anyways." Illeren stated, chugging a good portion of the bottle before placing it right back on the table. Pausing and checking the amount, before stealing a glance back at the barkeep.

"Right, now...here's the thing...I need yah tah slap me and walk out in a huff...I know it will be hard and all, with me bein' so charmin, but just for me?"




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He really did drink with a passion. When he gulped down more whiskey and held up a finger, she had expected him to slam the bottle down on the table again, but no. He set it down gently (as gently as he could) and continued in a more quiet manner. The concentration required to make his hands meet, was more than he could muster it would seem. Arayel didn't hold it against him at all. Not with the amount of Histaren whiskey he had consumed. Yet, he managed and continued talking. He was smiling but more serious than before.

Arayel watched him with an interested smile on her face, his voice lowered and the words flowing forth albeit with some trouble. He surprised her. Something had apparently made a habit of. This man was brighter than you thought at first impression. When he stated that he knew what she was doing, she smirked. She didn't succeed in what she tried to do, but it let her know something about him. He wasn't so easily fooled. That was valuable knowledge as well, but she felt disappointed that he hadn't at least looked at her breasts longer. When Illeren finished talking, he had made it clear that he wished not to talk about his past. Not in an angry way, but simply stating that there wasn't a point. Naturally, that just made Arayel more interested but she decided not to push further. He topped the whole thing off with more whiskey and then set the bottle down. Arayel hadn't said a word while he was talking instead just listening and nodding. She was going to get it out of him at some point. And Illeren wouldn't be the only one she would ask these things, oh no, they were all in danger. Everyone in the Serpent's Gathering.

"If there's one thing I learned from this conversation, with my prying and my charms, it's that you are full of surprises. Arayel said as she reached her hand out, placed it gently on his right cheek and leaned towards him so that her mouth was next to his ear. "Vrasta ûlaer"* The words were a soft whisper and she deliberately just barely kept her lips from brushing against his ear, before she abruptly jerked her head away from his with an angry expression on her face. "My right tit is bigger than the other?" She shouted and used the same hand that had so gently touched his cheek before, to smack him right across the face. And then Arayel walked with her chin up, out the door.

*Vrasta ûlaer - Good luck




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Illeren barely avoided the shiver that came with the woman's spoken words into his ear. Something he was more used to the best courtesans being able to pull off.Well at the very least yah find me interestin'...Leaves tha door open for other possibilities! Illeren thought a split second before Ray did as he asked and jerked her head away with an angry expression. He knew the slap was coming, but in his state the force of it nearly slammed him out of his chair as he grabbed the edge of the table to prevent himself from spilling onto the floor. "Fookin' OW!" Illeren yelled at her as she turned and strode out of the room with her nose in the air. Illeren looked to the others in the room, bartender included and gave a mock smile even as a red hand print started to form on his cheek. "No worries mates, I can fix this...I can fix this..." Illeren stated, giving a nervous laugh as he quickly got up from his seat and half jogged after Ray.

"Luv! Wait! I can explain! It was meant as a compliment! Supposed tah mean you're unique!" The moment he was outside the door, noticing that Ray had already managed to vanish, he rubbed his face for a moment, mouthing the word 'ow' as he walked down the hallway. He nervously looked back at the door, expecting the barkeep to come barreling out at any moment to catch him in the act as he turned the corner down the hallway. He smiled as it appeared that they bought the lie and he strode away with a very confident swagger. Slap aside, there was nothing better than having a conversation with a lovely lass and free liquor.
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Re: Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Yonbibuns on Sun Jul 26, 2015 11:54 pm




[G U L F I M | G R A G B A]
[L A E T Y A | K Y U U T A E]

Awkward conversations and Big Bosoms
The evening of the test.







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A series of sharp, albeit extremely brief, intakes of breath indicated the extreme amount of displeasure Laetya was experiencing at the moment. Sitting off to the side of the hot water bath, armed with a bucket and small cloth, the orc was scrubbing away the filth and grime covering her body. Even a bath as large as the one at the inn would start clouding over if a number of people as soiled as she decided to jump in without even a light rinse. Every time her hand dipped into the pail and came back up to attack yet another portion of filth-encrusted skin a new wound was uncovered. Bruises and scrapes littered her body, giving her an even more mottled look than usual. By the time she was finished the water she had been using was a sickening combination of black and yellow.

Finally she was able to take a dip into the actual bath, more like a shallow pool filled with steaming hot water. A huge sigh of relief escaped her exhausted lips as she dipped herself slowly into the bath, her face grimacing slightly as her open wounds were exposed to the hot liquid. The pain was fleeting though, as wave after wave of intense pleasure permeated her entire being. She sank and sank until the water was just underneath her nostrils, wanting to enjoy the sensation of submersion for as long as possible. It was surprising how peaceful the experience was for her, it seemed no one else had made it to the bath yet, probably seeing the healers or looking around the inn, and the solitude was an immeasurable plus.

The Reaper felt like this was going to be a rather stressful night given how exhausted she was at the moment, and she wanted to cherish every moment of privacy she could get before running into Gully and Higoht.




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It wasn't as if Gully disliked bathing... it was just that nearly all her baths had been taken alone. All of them, actually. In the privacy of her home, without companions across the way. Elbows and shoulders and pretty faces. Her heart thumped sickly in her chest. There was a bird's flutter of anticipation to hurry up and shed her armour, in order to scrub it clean. To do so, Gully would need to actually enter the chamber and take her clothes off in front of people she did not know. She stood in front of the door leading to the bathhouse for longer than she'd care to admit, still in her grime-encrusted armour. Every time someone passed in front of her, she pretended to unfasten the heavy fastenings of her leather-skirt. She paced away a couple of times before returning to stare at the iron door handle. A leather-thronged came up to knock on the door before plummeting back down to her side.

Why was she about to knock? Stupid, stupid.

All she needed to do was enter and be done with it.

So, she did. Hesitantly. Gully pushed the door open and entered the first chamber leading out into the open-air baths. She couldn't see anyone inside, but heard an audible sigh and felt the steam as soon as she entered. Shaky fingers finally unfastened the many laces holding her armour in one complete piece, folding them over each other until she compiled a uniform pile in one of the corners. She would scrub them clean once she'd gotten herself all clean. Pausing at her soft underclothes, she peered around the wooden slats to see who was already in the baths. Laetya lounged in one of the corners, eyes slipping closed. Distracted. Unfocused. She wouldn't notice if she was quiet enough to slip in, as well. No need for any stammering awkwardness. She felt around the collar of her shirt, fingers skirting across the neat bunch of stitches down her neck and collarbone, before she quickly hefted it over her shoulders.

If it wasn't for her jerky movements, and stumbling out into the open, nearly slipping onto some of the grime-spatters left behind by Laetya, she would have been silent. She tensed and made a small, unpleasant sound in her throat before turning back towards one of the stools, movements nearly as wooden as they were. Willing herself invisible, as if it were possible for someone as large as she was. Whatever greeting she'd orchestrated and practised in her head died on her lips, gurgled into an awkward laugh. Should she have said anything at all? Excuse herself for intruding. Thrown up her hands as if she'd barged in on someone using the washroom. She arranged herself on another stool and swilled an old sponge through the bucket to scrub at scabs, grime, and caked mud alike, dirtying the water and stared at the furthest wall unconvincing interest.




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Of course it was too good to be true. It was too much to ask for some time to clear her head and prepare herself for the evening that was to come. Screw all the other assholes she was teamed up with in the Gathering, she had to run into both Gully and Higoht, and on the same day no less. Two of the people she cared most about in Kyoshel, and here they were. She wanted just a little bit of time to prepare herself for this ordeal, something she had never dreamed would happen in a millennia. Why the hell didn’t she know what to say? Another heavy sigh escaped her lips as she heard the sounds of someone slipping, followed by a curious little unpleasant noise.

When the weary orc lifted her head to see who caused the ruckus, what felt like one of the most difficult movements she had made that day, she was greeted with one of her greatest fears for the day. Surely enough, there she was, Little Gully Gragba all grown up and . . . stark naked to boot. The orc wasn’t sure why this surprised her so much, naturally she would be naked in the baths, she just didn’t expect her to be so . . . grown up is all. A nervous laughter escaped the poor girl’s throat, probably mortified that she just disturbed someone. She could feel her heart catch in her throat at that moment. This was the encounter she dreaded the most, having to face Gully again after all these years.

Did they tell her why she left Kyoshel? Does she hate her? Would she even want to talk to her now? A million questions whirled through Laetya’s mind in that instant, twirling into billions of different scenarios that could play out, each one more dreadful than the last. With one beleaguered smile she did her best to will all the horrid machinations from her mind. When Gully proceeded to scrub herself, much as she had, Laetya turned back around and lay her head down once again. “Just let me know when, or even if, you’d like to talk Gully.” That was the best she could think of, and even that had taken most of the fight left in her this evening.




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As warm as it was in the bathhouse, Gulfim swore that she felt a trembling shiver crawl up and down her spine. An instrument of not quite knowing how to open her mouth and simply speak. Her frayed nerves played against her temples, her rib cage, her tangled tongue. If she were being honest with herself, she would have admitted to being pleased to see Laetya again. Perhaps, not under these circumstances; dangerous as they were, she did not want to see anything bad befall her once-friend. She scrubbed at her skin until her arms tingled and ached, and the water was yolked with blood and muck and whatever-else the Nidhogg had spattered them with. With painstaking attention, Gulfim emptied her bucket in the proper receptacle, washed it out and took another deep, withering breath. There was nothing more to do than slip into the baths, and hope that she could speak around the lump in her throat.

She did not outright turn towards the baths, but instead faced the wall she'd been staring at moments ago, heavy arms crossed over her own assets. Foolish, foolish girl. What was louder? Her internal chest-beating voice, hissing like a scornful hen as she stood there, squeezing her elbows, or the sickly staccato of her heartbeat. What would Belfor do? He shouldered her fears as if they were weightless, hollow things, and behaved like she wished she could. All bluster and bold, cocksure smiles, this situation would've been easy to execute. But she was not Belfor and she would never be. She'd heard it before. Well-wishes did nothing but feed her cowardice. Be brave, be kind. Be brave, be kind. The unspoken mantra, however silly, did make her feel better. She slowly turned, willing her wobbly legs forward and slithered into the bath, across from Laetya, with far less grace, and nestled herself into one of the corners, relishing the warmth with a timid smile.

It surprised her when Laetya broke the silence, strange as it sounded. Of course, she would. Bright, strong Laetya. As much as she appeared changed from last she'd seen her, those qualities certainly had not. Gulfim sat on the smooth, craggy bench in the water and drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. Perhaps, if Laetya had known what she offered, she would have retracted it. All of the questions that swam in her minds eye clambered to be voiced first, though she had enough discipline to hold her tongue. She dipped her chin in the water and rested it atop her knees, studying Laetya over the ripples before clearing her throat, “It is good to see you again. I never believed—I thought that...”

Gulfim shuttered her eyes closed, and opened them again. Proper words, properly rehearsed. There were times, it seemed, where she didn't have enough time to prepare. Be brave, be kind. “I'm glad to see your face, Laetya.”




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Laetya let the relative peace and quiet wash over her in waves, soothing her tempestuous thoughts and tormented soul. She kept track of her junior's location by her miniscule noise print that seemed almost a cacophony compared to the peaceful bath. Washing, scrubbing, and rinsing over there, cleaning herself before entering the bath, then the soft pitter-patter of footsteps as she neared the bath, and finally the splish-splash of her entering the bath across from her. Laetya would wait for Gully to speak first, having no desire to unnerve the girl who always seemed so unsure of herself. When she finally broke the silence between them it brought a rather large smile across Laetya's lips. It seemed she had quite a bit she wanted to say.

An amused snort burst forth at the last statement, bringing the older orc back up so she could look Gully in the eyes. "You missed my face did you? HAH Are you sure that's all you're glad to see?" She said so teasingly, much as she used to do when they were children, and then proceeded to wiggle a few times under the water to emphasize the jest. Guess they tried to keep my banishment on the hush-hush back in Kyoshel. Maybe I should avoid that subject for the moment. Laetya winced as she dragged the scrapes on her back across the pool, arching her back for a moment while the pain subsided before laying back against the side of the bath. "Hah, serves me right, I guess. Well, aside from the fact that you only missed my face, I’m glad to see you too Gulfim. It’s been too long.”

A dark shadow crossed her face briefly. The girl was going to confront her about why she left sooner or later, and she knew putting it off or lying about what happened wouldn’t make matters any better. She let out a heavy sigh before proceeding, attempting to steel herself for however the conversation might go. "So, do you want to talk about why I left Kyoshel? We could always leave that bit for later, you don’t seem to be particularly comfortable here.” That last part was more of an understatement than anything, the girl was practically folding up on herself to try and cover her bare body. Had she never bathed with company before?




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Gulfim blew soft ripples across the water and watched as they scattered past her bruised knees. Much like this particular conversation, her responses were wan, watery things compared to Laetya's torrential presence. She was easily subjugated and overwhelmed, though Laetya did not swamp her with conversation. It was childhood familiarity she was met with—smoothing down the crinkles of seriousness with lip-quibbling quips, and Laetya squirming beneath the temperate swell of water, causing her own ripples. Her cheeks and ears prickled a mottled red and burned; thankfully, the baths warmth could be blamed for her embarrassment. “Y—Yes, well. I mean, your company, also.” A genuine, truthful response. Stuttered lamely, coddled between her teeth. She'd missed Laetya far more than she could put into words. How would one word such a thing properly? She dipped her face below her knees, and resurfaced, wiping calloused fingers across her lips, eyes, nose. A small reprieve, a moment to rearrange her thoughts.

It sizzled apart when Laetya met her eyes, squarely. Brutally honest as they had always been, as they always were. How many lies had she been told concerning Laetya and her circumstances? Some had been outright ridiculous, even as a child and still, Gulfim held onto the foolish belief that she'd see her traipsing in through the gates as if nothing had happened. It never happened. That hadn't been the case, and Belfor refused to give her anything in the form of explanations. She'd seen the outrage crinkling at his forehead. A rankled reception, steeped in white-knuckles and tempered frowns, that made her fear for Laetya far worse than the unusual news they'd been fed over the years. Banishment? Of course not. Nothing so truthful. It had occurred to her that they might've lied to keep her placid, but fooling everyone else in Kyoshel? “No,” she blubbered between her knees, nearly rising from her huddled corner, “Everything about it was wrong.” The brief spurt of emotion dissipated much like the ripples, and she settled, “I always thought you would come back, but... they drove you away, didn’t they?”

Never one for skirting around issues she thought important, Gulfim drew her own conclusions. However wrong she might have been... she wanted to believe that Laetya's reasonings for leaving had been justly and honourable. She may have been oblivious to obvious things, but she understood Kyoshel's politics enough to understand that she did not agree with everything they stood for—particularly if it involved family. Especially for someone like herself, who did not fit as cleanly as they would have liked. Laetya reacted outside the mould of things, operated on her instincts. In all accords, they behaved much differently than what they were schooled to become. She did not fit within the confining crate her family had constructed for her. Neither did she, honestly. She was a conundrum among her peers; too soft, too brittle, too formal. A softer smile flickered across her face, disappeared just as quickly. “Yes. I would like that,” she replied in earnest, gaze flicking back towards the door she'd come, “when we're not—like this... in more comfortable circumstances, perhaps.”

She was silent for a moment before a sigh sifted through her lips, barely audible, though a fraction of tension left her shoulders, “Best to indulge while we can.”




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Laetya smirked as Gully seemed to react to her teasing, huddling down even more as her ears and cheeks flushed slightly, of course maybe she was underestimating how much the girl had grown since she left Kyoshel. No, she couldn’t think of her as the girl she used to know as that would be a disservice to the woman seated before her now, they had both changed since their youth, even if neither knew how much. Still though, she had to find out just how much the girl had changed, adding a strange nostalgia to the somewhat monotonous task of figuring out a new person. The timidity of their past was still there, the young girl who barely knew how to interact with the world around her, a far cry from the overwhelming presence commanded by her father and brother. While the naivety of her junior proved rather amusing at times, it was also irked her so when knowing someone so confident in their fighting abilities could lack that same confidence outside of battle. Oh yes, she would definitely need to fix that. A massive grin spread across her face as she thought of where to start, alcohol would probably be the best bet. Of course, that had nothing to do with the fact she was looking for an excuse to drink with company, not at all.

Then the momentary silence was shattered by Gulfim, spurting out something other than the answer to her inquiry. She had thought she had come to terms with the fury of her banishment years ago, but she had only redirected it inwards. Laetya seethed at Gully’s brief revelation of torment at her banishment, what of everyone else she had known and loved back home? Were they all this distraught by what she had done? A white-knuckled hand shook furiously as untrimmed nails began digging into her palms, thrusting it down into the water swiftly. She should have known better than to explode at the Oligarchy as she had all those years ago, venting her frustration at their justified displeasure. All she had to do was swallow her pride for a few minutes and everything would be different. Her bruised and battered frame slumped over, looking down at her own reflection in the warm waters, gathering her thoughts before answering the girl. "It’s not that simple Gulfim.”

Hesitation. There it was, plain and simple, a reaction as uncommon to her as modesty was to Ezra. A momentary pang of fear had the Reaper’s breath catch in her throat as she thought of what to say next, quickly followed by a wave of frustration that resulted in her dunking her head in the water. Then she could fill all the confusion melt away, much as the gunk in her hair was, as she stayed under water just a few seconds before returning to the reality around her. Luckily though, Gully answered her inquiry in the affirmative, saving Laetya from the trouble of having to manage one of the last conversations she ever wanted to have. The older orc even managed a chuckle at Gully’s proposal to indulge in the minor comforts offered by the present, a suggestion much more typical of her. "Heh, whatever you say boss. We probably won’t get many chances to live it up like this once we leave, unfortunately.”




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In all her foolishness as a young girl, Gulfim used to fantasize about different outcomes. Had she been there, perhaps she would have been able to sway the outcome and make her stay—how that was actually possible eluded her now that she was older, but as a child, it made enough sense to wish on. Laetya's disappearance from Kyoshel had been shrouded with mystery and hushed whispers, but even so, Gulfim understood that something unusual had occurred that night on the wall, and that they intended to keep tight-lipped about it. Indefinitely? She was not sure. She had no doubts that Laetya existed elsewhere, alive and well, outside of Kyoshel's walls. Days became weeks and months, and years, and now here she was. Broad shoulders slumping back into the bath. Grinning mouth smothering down into a hard frown. Her eyebrows crooned together, wrinkling her forehead. She'd said something wrong again. An error in her rehearsed speech, contrived from the bubble of emotion that threatened to stutter out. Her mouth gawped open, and promptly shut. Speaking out of turn served no one, least of all herself.

Everyone made mistakes. Sometimes, those mistakes were necessary. She had made enough of her own to understand that nothing was simple. Nothing appeared as it did on the surface. A large, shameful part of her wanted to believe in what they had told her when she enquired. That Laetya had been fine all along—just gone somewhere else, some place that would suit her abilities. All of the why's had been smothered away, smudged into offhanded shrugs and distractions. “I only meant...” Her voice faltered and trailed off, deflating like an old, sad balloon, “My apologies.” The tension in her shoulders reappeared and stiffened her posture, though her arms remained securely wrapped around her knees. It was easier to slide back into old, practised mannerisms; a soldier's stance in the presence of grander houses. Gulfim dipped her chin lower and shuttered her eyes closed. If she'd just asked more pertinent questions... if she hadn't stopped asking them, perhaps then. Impossible. Things had happened as they had for a reason. She would say so next time they spoke of this.

She felt a shift in the bath, and opened her bright eyes, realizing that Laetya had dunked herself in. It was another chance to immerse herself in the following silence, between altercations of water-movement and underwater burbles, absorbing from it a certain calmness. She willed her fluttering heart to please please be still. Before Laetya resurfaced, Gulfim had already pushed herself over the lip of the bath and retrieved a much too-small square of cloth to wrap herself in. She needed time to rehearse. She needed time to reflect on this conversation. It wouldn't hurt to prepare herself for the worst of the initiation, given the seriousness of it. There was much to think about.

“Laetya. I'll take my leave, then,” she announced, sidling towards the lateral chamber, “I... I am glad that you are here.” And then, she was gone. Heavy padding footsteps, the ruffle of clothes and clanking armour superseded her departure.
Ambar: Snow & Ash
Image
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"For these words, he won't come around here,
and his eyes won't see."

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Yonbibuns
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Re: Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby iCakez on Mon Jul 27, 2015 3:46 pm




[H I G O H T | E Z E N G B O]
[A R A Y E L | M A E R V A N Y N]

Interesting.
Before Arayel's induction.







Image Arayel was an interesting person. He hadn't been with her when she fought the beast, so he could only go off of what he saw: the way she smiled more on one side of her face, the lilt in her voice when she wanted to be heard, the coy hand resting on her hip. Bo remembered his former fiancée mentioning something about the conscious effort women had to make in order to appear attractive, and how even something as subtle as where she put her hands could affect the overall silhouette of her body. Bo had to admit that he normally just didn't think that much into it, but the elven woman certainly rectified that when he opened the door for her, with the way she slithered by him with a quirk of her shoulder.

Even he had to catch his wandering eyes, pushing them back in their sockets. Intently gazing away from her descending form in front of him, he wondered just how much allure was needed to be an assassin these days. He imagined that Adriel was the furthest thing from charming with his targets, for the most part. Perhaps that was the difference between an assassin and an infiltrator? Sex appeal? No, that didn't sound quite right... Their trip down the stairs was silent save from its creaking from their weight. Mostly his. He liked to distract his escorts from the noise by breaking the ice in some way, but he wasn't certain how to best accomplish that with his present company. Illeren liked his sword a lot, it did not take long for Bo to pick up on that. Kir seemed interested in upcoming events and how it would involve him (at least, judging from the man's eye movements--"interested" might have been a stretch). Gulfim was simple. Updates on their hometown, and her progress as a noble warrior. Answering any questions she had for him. Ezra enjoyed talking about himself, because surely Bo had heard of him (he hadn't, but he happily played along).

Arayel, meanwhile, seemed like the most important thing to her was her body, and he was not about to undertake that hurdle.

He cleared his throat deeply behind his fist when they made it to the bottom, signalling her to slow her pace. "Here we are," he said, awkwardly stopping himself from asking if she was ready. He knew there would be no point to that question. Shaking his head at himself, his eyes began to wander--dammit!--but he noticed something curious. "If you don't mind me asking, what is that...?" He knotted his brow at the object in question. It looked like a large ball of solidified vomit had attached itself to a talon.




Image The silence didn't bother her. Some people, she knew, found it awkward walking with someone in complete silence. Mentally she tried to prepare herself for what was to come, finding a strange comfort in the rhythmic creaking that came with every step. The ordeal that awaited her, distracted her so that she didn't feel excited about walking right next to a person she hadn't talked to before. Someone she hadn't really had the opportunity to study and pierce with her eyes. As she made herself aware of this, she stole glances at him and beheld his large, muscular figure in the torchlight. The creases at his eyes made him look wiser instead of older than his years. A handsome man, she thought. Him and Adriel were very different, it seemed.

While she rarely had trouble finding some subject to talk about, Arayel chose to remain silent. If and when she opened her mouth she wanted to ask the right question, or give the right answer. It was much too exciting to hear him speak first though, and she had the feeling he was about to.

She understood the signal and slowed down at the bottom of the stairs before entering the room ahead, slowly turning to face Higoht. Her eyes wandered up to meet his, for he was quite a bit taller than she was. A nod was all she gave in reply and a smirk slowly appeared when she saw him shake his head slightly. The words he started with almost made her cringe. I was bor- But that wasn't what he asked. The orc before her wasn't interested in why the fuck her eyes were that color. Arayel exhaled and relaxed - she had tensed up without noticing it and was obviously uncomfortable for a brief moment. "Uh." She started and remembered his question. "A knuckle from the Nidhogg." Arayel stated simply and dared to look at him, making sure to look unimpressed. "My decidedly eccentric kinsman told me to cut it out and bring it. What for I was never told." She still remembered how Adriel had stabbed a finger at her and barked his order. She was dying to know if they were going to let her keep it though. As a souvenir. A trinket. Surely they had no use of it.




Image As if to drastically contrast her unimpressed expression, Bo's face practically split open with all the awe and wonder of an orc child holding a real weapon for the first time. "Really?" He gasped, digging his fingers into the hair behind his ears as he struggled to comprehend the object, completely fixated on the disgusting marvel. "It's huge! So that's real Nidhogg knuckle? I--"

He coughed, supposing he was being rude. As he looked her in the eyes, he could only hope that he wasn't making it too terribly obvious that he had never fought any creature of that size before, let alone seen one. Kyoshel, unlike its sisterlands, was dull and peaceful with its bestiary by comparison. Truly large monsters simply hunkered down on top of mountains far removed from orc civilizations. He'd only hunted big cats and grazing herbivores, at best.

"Eccentric, you said....? Oh. Oh, him. No, Adriel probably just wanted it around so he could use it as proof that you all killed it, if I tried to naysay him about something." He bobbed his head as he spoke lightly of his second, then chuckled a bit. "Though no offense, the scent of guts and blood and whatever else you spilled from the Nidhogg did more than enough convince me." Jeez, now he really couldn't believe Adriel took them to fight such a glorious beast without him. Gulfim and Laetya got to go and see it. Bo almost really did feel like crying or counting the test as invalid... He was going to have to go give the infiltrator a hard time, later.

Anyway, he tried to look serious and get a move on, but he simply couldn't tear his attention away from the knuckle she toted around like a purse. Disappointed in his childishness, he heaved a sigh and removed his hand from the door. "Could I... Could I hold it for a minute?" He asked, earnestly.




Image Apparently that excited him. Given that she didn't know why, her expression became a little suspicious. His expression was endearing though. Arayel hadn't seen it for a long time and hadn't experienced it herself for a long time, she realised. "Mhm." She nodded and untied the string she had tied around the token, from the red sash around her waist. When she had cut it from the dead beast she had found some good, thick leather string to keep it in. When she had the chance she wanted to boil it so the putrid flesh would fall from the bone, so the bone itself was all that was left.

Given that Higoht was so excited about this, it struck her as strange that he hadn't participated in the battle to bring it down. He did not seem a coward, and Arayel did not like cowards. That was fortunate since her impression of him was good, so far. As she stood and watched him, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The orc sighed and asked the question he seemed like he'd been dying to ask since he had spotted the bone. "Yes, sir." She replied quickly, her mother tongue clearly audible by the way she drew the s's.

"I promise you, the beast is dead." Arayel assured him and placed her hands on her hips, shifting her weight to the other foot. "Vasha crawled into its mouth." She added, clearly fond of the memory. "When I cut him out he was just completely covered in - haha! In blood and gunk and acid and..." The dark haired elf stopped and calmed herself, realising she was getting carried away. Arayel cleared her throat and regained her composure, watching her superior study the nidhogg knucklebone.




Image "I believe you," he mumbled absentmindedly when she elaborated, taking hold of the token. Then she brought up the bit about her other fellow kinsman, and he had to raise a brow at that one. "Yes, that sounds--He did what--? Well... I'm glad he's still with us. I'll thank you on his behalf."

He examined the knuckle, rolling it around in his palms to experience every bump and bruise that marred its surface. He began to ramble at an excited, low volume, not even realizing that she had stopped herself from getting too carried away. "This is amazing, Arayel, just how big was this thing? This knuckle is larger than my entire hand, so what--five times our size? I know what it smelled like," he glanced at her with a renewed fervor as he cradled the trophy, "but what did it look like? How did it move around?"

Realizing the error of his ways, and how very un-orcish he was behaving, he shifted his spine straight once more, reluctantly parting with the knuckle and turning back toward the chamber. "Please excuse me," he apologized devoutly. How very unprofessional of him. "I did not mean to impose for as long as I have. We should attend to the matter at hand."





Image What he stood with in his hands seemed as important to him as diamonds were to a jeweler. Though she had received Vasha's thanks in his own way (she was sure), it was comforting to know that their leader kept track of things like that. When he asked about the size of the nidhogg, she raised her eyebrow and immediately began searching for words to describe it. It was the biggest thing she had ever seen. The biggest thing she had ever killed in her life. After a few seconds of contemplation, she focused on Higoht again and opened her mouth. "Well-" Arayel started, but didn't get to finish. The orc excused himself rather abruptly and handed the knuckle back to her slowly, turning to face the door yet again. She fastened it to the sash again and sighed, disappointed.

"No, no, no, no!" The words came slightly frustrated and were followed by her hand touching Higoht's shoulder gently. "This was going so well!." She let out and patted his back twice before straightening her back as well and waited for the door to open.
A moment passed in silence. "The Nidhogg was huge. It's limbs bigger than orcs even as big as you."




Image He grinned warmly in spite of himself, bowing his head subtly when she reached out to him. "Let us speak more after tonight," he said, meeting her hand with his own--not to lace through them like an octopus, but to lightly return the reassurance she had so kindly shared with him. "I will be looking forward to it." He had to admit that he was impressed with her. Her file had portrayed her as ruthless and cocky, a criminal more than a proud assassin. While he wouldn't be inclined to burn the documents and call them lies, it did seem that there was more to her than the file had covered. There was a person beneath all that paperwork and misconduct. He, meanwhile, must have appeared horribly wavering, as if he hadn't decided what persona he would encompass. That wouldn't do, but he knew he would rectify that in short time.

"Now then!" He declared, perking up and straightening his expansive shoulders. Formal, despite the bright expression. "You have an immunity to attain, and I believe you will be strong enough to endure it. Good luck."

With that, he guided her through the door, quietly closing it between them.





Arayel gained +30 approval for showing him the trophy, and for humoring him overall.

Bo gained 10+ approval for his endearing excitement about the trophy, and taking the time to talk to Arayel.
She can't live without you guys.

Bo's flag has been initiated: The Bigger They Are.

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iCakez
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Re: Collaboration Corner || AoA: SC

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Baby on Tue Jul 28, 2015 8:50 pm




[T H E | B U L L]
[A R A Y E L | M A E R V A N Y N]

Wrong Room.
Awhile after the initiation.







Image“Down the hall and to the left.”

The orc had lead him back upstairs to the ground floor of the dimly lit inn. They only made two turns, but Berlioz felt like he would get lost easily. The corridors were a pale, sludgy green, with only two thin strips of red lining to give the ends of the carpet some livelihood. And to make matters worse for whoever the interior decorator was for this inn, the designs matched the wallpaper and doors for the entire hall he was lead to. Everything blended into a vomit and blood eyesore. Berlioz had no idea which door would be his in the whole mess. Maybe if he turned the corner, there’d only be one door
?

He poked his head around the bend and sighed, “No.” There were at least 5 more doors until the hall ended.

Well, there was only one way to find out which room was vacant.

“Hello?” Berlioz said as meekly as possible as he knocked on the first door. He didn’t want to disturb someone out of their slumber.




Image "177, 178, 179, 180, 181-" The brush stopped halfway through her hair. Arayel looked at herself in the mirror and saw her tired eyes, sighing. Who came knocking at her door now? At this hour? A smirk crept onto her face as she played with the thought of Ezra standing out there, having decided to try his luck. A voice rang out from the other side of the door though, which definitely wasn't his, though. It sounded deeper even though it wasn't loud. It was almost careful. She decided to not let whoever it was keep waiting and so got up from her seat, brushed a few strands of hair away from her face and brushed her clothes off.

The door swung open slowly and Arayel appeared in the opening. The light from the room itself was not overwhelming, actually it was dimly lit with only a few candles here and there. It was better than she had thought it would be. The bed was soft and the covers were stuffed with feathers. The floor had seen better days though. She suspected that it was an old inn, so at least it fit the rest of the building.

The dim light hit the left side of her face as she stood and watched the man before her. The name escaped her but she appreciated the sight. "Hello." Arayel purred and locked eyes with him. She didn't look nearly as tired as she had a few moments ago. Her eyes had lit up with excitement when she had opened the door. "I had expected it to be Ezra to come knocking on my door, if anyone." She said, a light sigh escaping her. "Did he put you up to it? Or Illeren?" The latter was also a possibility. Arayel rested her head on the door as she waited to see if he understood that she was teasing. She hoped he did.




ImageThe moment he saw the knob turn, Berlioz knew that he had not found his room. He’d have to apologize for waking whoever it was up. To his dismay, it was a woman. Now the situation would appear much worse on his end, knocking on a lady’s door this late at night. And if he wasn’t mistaken, they were also comrades.

“Hello.” The elven woman spoke to Berlioz in a tone that was almost unfamiliar. But there was something behind it that he could subconsciously detect. Something that made his stomach churn so much, he couldn’t even admire her gray eyes for long before he had to divert his gaze down to his feet.

"I had expected it to be Ezra to come knocking on my door, if anyone." [“Who is that?”]

"Did he put you up to it? Or Illeren?"

“No!” Berlioz quickly responded, albeit, a little too loudly for bedroom whispers. He was incredibly embarrassed, and the woman thought exactly what Berlioz thought she would have. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know who those people are...at least by name. And I would never disturb someone like this. I was just looking for my room. Please, excuse me for intruding.” Berlioz lifted his head to show his sincerity and was momentarily distracted by the view of the room. The bed behind her was entrancingly inviting in it’s visual appeal. It looked soft, fluffy and
and...not wooden. Oh how he missed sleeping on a real bed and not a floor for once!

“Berlioz, by the way. I believe we are in the same group.” Berlioz gave a light head nod before turning on his heel to go to the next door.




Image Yes. This was amusing. The big man had reacted like she had expected he would. The way he moved and carried himself didn't match this person she talked to now. He was embarrassed, that much was easy to see and Arayel found it very amusing, naturally. She kept looking at him and the smile on her face widened as he excused himself. His eyes wandered from her to the room behind her and it almost looked like he was going to barge in. His longing for soft pillows and a good nights sleep was understandable. Her own body was aching.

Oh no you don't... Slender fingers caught his shoulder. Arayel stepped out into the hall. "Ezra is the one who never shuts up, I think. You must have noticed all that chesthair earlier?" She was not giving up on this man so easy. "Illeren is the short elf that looks like a human. That should be enough."
The night so far had been good (aside from that whole fucking thing with the fucking styx snake) and she had talked to some of her comrades. Hell, she'd even slapped Illeren!

"We are in the same group. The Serpent's Gathering, lest you forget." The elf wrapped her clothes around her tighter. Yes, she enjoyed how he had been uncomfortable before, but she wasn't going to disrobe herself right there and kill him. "Berlioz..." She tasted the name on her tongue, locking eyes with him. "My name is Arayel." She extended her hand and waited for him to shake it.




ImageHe felt small, light fingers caress his left shoulder and shuddered at the sudden touch of something so gentle.

“These women are going to drive me crazy.” Berlioz thought to himself as he allowed his body to move with the bidding sway of her arm. He was standing face to face with her, but he couldn't keep his eyes on her for longer than two seconds, always diverting it to somewhere else. Anywhere else.

"Ezra is the one who never shuts up, I think. You must have noticed all that chesthair earlier?" [The one who was singing from before?] "Illeren is the short elf that looks like a human. That should be enough." [No. That was the one who was singing. So Ezra was fire sword. Got it.]

"We are in the same group. The Serpent's Gathering, lest you forget." [I did. I shouldn’t be so forgetful about this. I mean, I could possibly die serving this cause. The least I could do is-]

“Berlioz.” His body quaked again at the sound of his name uttering from her mouth. Why did she say it like that? ...Why did she have such a serious gaze?

“Let me live through this night.” Berlioz thought to himself as he broke eye contact again to stare at the carpeted floor. He took her hand with both of his palms, shaking it lightly and quickly to end the contact before he got too acquainted with the touch of her softer skin. He hoped Arayel would let him go.




ImageEnough with the cautious, formal, proper etiquette! This one was something to behold though. He didn't even say a word! He just took her hand and shook it weakly before he let it go as if she was stricken with the disease they saw to eradicate. Arayel sighed, looked down at her feet for a moment and then ran her fingers through her hair, moving left, around Berlioz. "Can't find your room," She drew out his name again and walked around him. When she had circled him and stood in front of him, she had closed the space between them and was much closer. "Berlioz?" With the name she placed her hands on him, again and let her palm rest on his chest.

A shiver ran down her spine. The realisation of how close the blade on her wrist was to his skin was immediately exciting. All at once the scent of blood, the color and the feeling of killing came rushing into her mind and her vivid eyes became wild for a moment. No, no not him. Arayel calmed herself and pushed those thoughts aside. They disappeared as quickly as they had come, but left a trace in her body. And suddenly she longed for the next day, for them to move to the next task. Whether it was normal or not to enjoy killing so much that you actually longed for it, didn't register with Arayel. She didn't really think about it. It was just an urge. Maybe it was the excitement? Maybe it was the styx snake bite? Perhaps the first taste of combat after having been locked up did it? Whatever it was, she would have to subdue the feeling. She wasn't mad. Right?

Once she was done with her own thoughts, she focused on the man in front of her again and cocked her head to the side. The wristblade did not spring out. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rumbling but not confident. "I'd let you sleep in my bed." She said to him and enjoyed the torture for a moment. "But," She had better stop before her keeled over. "How 'bout I help you find your room instead?"




ImageArayel walked around Berlioz like a tiger. Her tongue lolled about his name, causing his body to stiffen when it danced into his ears. She placed her small hand on his chest, and there was a sea of lust swirling around Berlioz’s drowsy eyes. Wherever Arayel was getting at with all of this physical touch, Berlioz wanted to go too. And when she shivered, Berlioz was almost sure that she finally felt that desire for him as well. And the attraction became mutual.

He raised his head to speak on it, but paused when he saw a look flash over her eyes. It flickered through the gray orbs, but it was not too quick for him to doubt what he had seen. He couldn’t exactly place a word for that look just yet, but it unsettled him. And he trusted his gut over his loins.

“Arayel.” He spoke to gain her attention, with his own eyes hardening over the fatigue into vicious caution.

"I'd let you sleep in my bed." His right hand's knuckles all cracked simultaneously as he thought of how terribly that would end for him. [No.]

"But...how 'bout I help you find your room instead?” And his left hand's knuckles followed suit when he thought how that could be worse. [No. No, no, no,-

“No!”
His voice came out harsher than he had wanted- no, scratch that. He didn’t even mean to speak aloud, but he had already become defensive. He kept his eyes locked onto hers, watching closely for that danger to pop up again, and opened his mouth once more. “I didn’t mean for it come out like that. But I would like to find it alone, Arayel.” He subconsciously flared his nostrils, hinting at an aggression he himself wasn’t willing to act on, but planted his feet on the floor nonetheless. Their dance had ended.




Berlioz gained +20 approval from Arayel. What? He was friendly and she really enjoyed torturing him.

Berlioz fears that beautiful death-singer, Arayel. -3 Approval.

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