transfers from th forums yahoo!
long overdue for a part 2 of th forums transfer post the first one is unmanageable.
Maggot
Show me a character who *doesn’t* like lingerie.
Man never thought about it before but like. I've known she's definitely opposed to wearing it herself for big masc reasons. but I don't think she cares for it on other women either. a girl comes out in special lingerie just for her and she starts calling her a tryhard. making fun of her. misogynistically .
The suspicious look Maggot had been queueing up for Leon gets just smacked off her face when he says "I doubt it." Maybe it's the juice already in her system, but it's apparently the funniest thing anyone's ever said to her - she has to bury her head in her arms on the table to stifle high-pitched shoulder-shaking laughing.
Shattering glasses make her peer up, eyes wide. "I know what a goddamn screwdriver is. A preteen knows what a goddamn screwdriver is." Grin only growing, she props her head in her hand, fascinated by the glass she's accepting from him. "Stop, you're fucking kidding me. Fancy handiwork like that and you only know how to make a fucking screwdriver? Mercy, what the hell is wrong with you?" Tipping back the glass, it crosses her mind to ask if he's buying or if she's gonna have to pay for this - but, hell, for a dinner and a show, she'll cover the glasses he broke, too. Night's only starting.
End of a long night, things have been quieting down, air cooling as activity wanes. The weirdo who'd been on a (very outspoken) winning streak all night seems wiped out now, taking a seat near you and leaning back in it, crossing her legs and idly bobbing one.
She studies a glass of clear liquor in her hand, then asks you, "You think if you put hand sanitizer in vodka it counts as a cocktail?"
Apparently having had enough, she slides the glass elegantly across the table towards you. ... Hey, does this have hand sanitizer in it? "Drink it," she says, tilting her head back. "$200 vodka in there. Good stuff." That does not clear it up.
v She's too blasted to react but her expression can only be described as mild despair.
"Wh- How? Of course I've lost a-" Abruptly, she grabs his shoulders. "Is rock paper scissors a skill-based game? Can you teach me?"
in which maggot leaves things slightly worse than how she found them and morty gets damaged like a package in the hands of a careless mailman.
Ducking down beneath the toppled over table, a face grins at Morty. "You still conscious down there, bud? No split stitches? Gotta say, that was some real fancy footwork. You know, 'til you ate shit."
She drops to a crouch. "I'm not tryna start a fight. The owner wants your noisy ass outta here and said he wouldn't ban me for counting cards if I took care of it, so the deal is, if your legs still work and you aren't seeing double I'll give you a tenner if you come with me." She squints at him, tilting her head. "If you are seeing double, then I guess we can make it a twenty. Alright, bud, up and attem."
An arm under Morty's, Maggot gets him to his feet not all that gracefully given the height he's got on her. She makes it all of two steps before she falters - her sense of smell's far from strong, but it's unmistakable and her mind zeroes in on it like lightning and a rod.
Dead body smell.
Involuntarily a muscle convulses and she drops Morty, sending him absolutely biting the dust of the upturned table he'd just been picked up from.
Standing above, Maggot blinks, clearly profoundly confused about what the hell just happened. "Alright," she says finally, "well now you're gonna need those stitches redone. ........... I gotta go."
He doesn't even get the ten bucks. 😔
"I'd break your arm, old man." The blasé comment was followed by, glancing at him, a pleasant smile with a downright sinister overtone. "But you don't look like you can afford to sue." She set her elbow on the table with a gay little flick of her wrist. I hope he sucks her dry.
[Solve: "Sure ~ How 'bout we make wager out of it?" The challenge slithers through a thick sea-worn accent, the pirate's mandibles gleaming with the quirk of her lips as she slips intimately close. "Tat ther weapon at yer hip," and she presses her hand against a tense thigh, uncomfortably close to said weaponry.
Dragging her tongue across her teeth to fiddle with a fang as golden as the Maggot's handgun, Nyma smiles wider. "Fer me tooth ~ ?"]
She's almost too engrossed to talk business. Almost. Maggot grabs Nyma's hand, though she doesn't move it, just stops it. She leans in a bit closer, breath against breath, and in a full gentle condescending murmur, "That's sentimental, darling, and worth twice your tooth at least." With a smile, she relents, and gives Nyma a pat on the cheek. "Besides, I've got all the replacements I need. Honestly, I thought gold would have been tacky." Some very bold stones from the guy in an enagraved-handgun-shaped glass house.
[Solve: Nyma's expression flickers, mouth twitching into a sneer as she briefly contemplates biting that pale hand, before smoothing out the contempt from her features just as quickly as it appeared. "Ooo, I don' know 'bout tat, tey price me mouth rather highly," she murmurs back. Squeezing the flesh under her hand tightly, she leans forward to snag the tie around Maggot's neck with her teeth, loosening it as she pulls away, threads disintegrating under the acid dripping from her golden accessories.
Releasing the frayed fabric, Nyma settles back into her own seat, offering her hand. "Can't blame a lass for trying, ya? I'd settle fer some coin, 'nough fer a new tie, at least." ;P]
"If you wanna sit here, chèrie, you'll have to pay me back for all the money I lost at your fucked up casino." That's half the story; Maggot had had the most psychologically damaging series of card games of her life at the Mirage and then threw up outside. Leaning forward on the bar, idly rotating her glass, she peered up at Irene with a wry, thin smile. "I think I was roofied - don't you have some sort of policy about that?"
[...] Maggot takes the revolver from Irene, the tension in her voice betraying her salt-rubbed wound. "I have a better game." Spinning her barstool, she reels back her arm: "It's called fetch."
[...] Likewise, Maggot seems satisfied, far from at ease but settling back down to sip at her drink. "I have money. Value my life more accurately than a couple shitty thousands and maybe I'll play with you next time, loveheart."
"That's what the gag's for, girlie." Maggot rolls her head back. "I've been once - he was a smart man, knew I woulda made a scene on purpose. Usually, though, if it's gotta stay quiet, it's not really premeditated enough that I'm just carrying one around. Last time I had to use my hand I almost lost a fucking finger." Turning away, under her breath, "Thank god Argent's got enough damn poise to control herself."
"Lingerie," she says. "Never worn any. Don't even particularly like it on other women. Always thought it looked cheap, no matter how much they charged you."
Maggot was given a nice little briefing before she was sent here. Maybe not that nice or little – the repetition of how unlikely Carmine was to eat her specifically started to feel almost insulting by the end – but it had braced her to meet the Prelest. It had not braced her for the garden.
They told her it'd be fungi, that was the point of this little field trip, but since she got here she hasn't absorbed a word Carmine's said, attention split between xis directions and trying very very hard not to step on anything that could spread. Something about moisture – follow xis footsteps between pulsating growths – something about inoculation – avoid her shoulder brushing the culture erupting from a still-living tree – something about absolute consumption – doesn't the way they're pushing back the bark look like they're growing from under a fingernail? ... Xe's stopped talking. Pulling her attention away, in her haste to turn, she runs into xis chest.
"Carefu..." The non-apology dies on her tongue as, backing up from xis stitches and deeply displeased look, she feels the back of her coat touch the fungus. Expression frozen, she takes a deep, prolonged breath, and decides she'd literally prefer to be eaten. With a strained smile and an almost-polite tilt of her head, she says, "I have to go." She did mean to follow that up with an even remotely professional excuse, but, you know, some things just aren't meant to happen.
She gets her arm stuck trying to her her jacket off on the way out. The God Eater receives an apologetic... email? from HR.
Her boss has tasked her with the care of one (1) potted plant while she's on a business trip but she's never taken care of a plant in her life and is kind of stressed about it. She's scrolling the wikipedia page for "Plant" please help her.
^ "Now why in god's name would I want to fuck a coworker?" A short laugh, shaking her head. "I only fuck my bosses."
< i talk enough about how she only gets off on debasing people in positions of power by having sex with her what if i want to talk about how she's also in love with her but won't really understand that until it's already too late
v Propping her chin on a hand, "How do you choose between two women?"
With a weary look away, "Both better options than formaldehyde, but unlucky for me I have no time machine, so..."
"Mercury isn't actually that toxic in its elemental form. If you drink it you just piss it back out."
("Sounds cool. Think I can snort it tho?")
"Have to be honest man, don't think I can test that one for you!"
("oh oh i have one! did you know that without our special stomach lining the acid would burn through our insides and kill us instantly?? and our jaw has the strength to fully bite off our finger but our brain keeps us from doing it!! isn't the human body sooo cool?")
Happy point at them, "I did know the second one because I tried to bite my finger off as a teenager!"
"Dump your other sugar babies, I charge less and I do taxes."
("Get to the back of the line everyone I just found myself a new wife. You help me take care of that net worth situation real quick and I'm gonna pay you handsomely. A shame we can't snort some gun powder together, though, that's my favorite way to bond with my wives.")
"^_^ the what situation"
Angel
Never have I ever posted an embarrassing photo or video of myself on the internet.
"Not only have I absolutely done that, but the prosecutor brought one of them up in court." Long pause. "Lmao."
Jae-hee
The smell of iron acts as a warning. J has a second to prepare before she's assailed, Jae-hee looping one arm around her shoulder and pressing the other to her collarbone, a claw slipping out from between his ring and pinkie dangerously close to accidentally cutting her skin. "Psst," he hisses, grin wide, "you wanna do me a favour and introduce me to your friend sometime?" She catches a glimpse of a violet eye between strands of hair, absolutely shining with humour. "Not the weird one, you know, the hot one!" Despite the word choice, Jae-hee raises a hand to make a gesture that's clearly purely referencing his height.
(double follow up he is being Assailed.) ↕️ Not quietly at all and ever-grinning, "Man, I've missed men who aren't impossible to goad into attacking me! My cue to go, J, seeya!" He deliberately shoves back his hair so she can see him wink, accidentally cutting a huge gash in his forehead.
"Oh, I'll lose." His bared teeth glint as he enthusiastically slams his elbow onto the table, leaning in. "But don't call me a coward." Quit looking so excited. Can't you at least wipe off the blood dribbling out form between your fingers first?
(lordbrianc) Alright let's see if this fucker is still smiling after Ren's through with him. With an elbow on the table, he can only meet Jae-hee's toothy grin with a cold scowl. "No cheating," he sharply orders with full intention of doing so himself. Nothing like a bit of voltage up the arm to secure victory in an arm wrestling fight.
The shock causes Jae's claws to reflexively shoot out. Both end up with possibly the most serious arm-wrestling-related injuries the ER would have ever seen, if only either of them went to the ER. I think Ren would still count it as a win.
Looking so despondent, Jae-hee sniffles. "........ I found out I'm allergic to down."
(What's a place you wish you could go back to?) "I've been..." Jae-hee changes the way he's sitting, leaning in, eyes shining. "I've been thinking about going back to the lab." Fidgeting, he looks away, drops his head to one side. "I dunno why. I just feel like I have to. I just keep wondering what happened to it." He cracks a smile with an unusually sardonic sting. "Or maybe I just don't know where else to go anymore." Staring at the ground, his grin grows more and more humoured. Shaking his head, "I don't remember where it is. Not even a clue. Had a bit too much going on, I guess, didn't think to note any landmarks, so!!?"
Way
in which Way Might Have Some Hangups
She's so beautiful. I'm furious.
Sat before Isolde, Way looked almost frightened of the angel before her, hands fidgeting, eyes never staying on her, on the dress, for more than a few moments at a time. Not quite like she was afraid to, but like she was looking at something repulsive and deformed and knew how rude it would be to stare, no matter how much she wanted to. It did fit. It fit perfectly. No doubt, the others did, too. No doubt, the others were just as beautiful. And they'd been thrown away. Several dresses, several marriages - don't you know what I'd have given for one? What I did give? She was ungrateful, and the disgust in Way's chest nauseated her.
A warning - a past held onto. She repeated Isolde's words in her head, having been only half-listening the first time, clinging to them to draw her out from the churning. They, at least, were something she could understand. The cold weight of the chain wrapped around her wrist felt, as it so rarely ever did, reassuring instead of frightening.
It had been a long time since she'd looked up and a long stretch of silence since either of them had spoken, and Way looked almost startled to realize it as she came back to herself and finally met Isolde's eyes, an unmistakable sheen of illness on her brow. The silence passed for another moment until Way found her words, the only ones she could find, voice polite but faint and weak to breaking: "It's a beautiful dress."
("Do you prefer sweet lies, or harsh truths?")
"I chose sweet lies for so long," murmured Way to the serpent. "Now I can't even stomach sugar."
Noah
"The creature locked in my head seems to think that our marriage also means that it's married to the creature in your head and has been incessantly raising issues about consent."
v "And when I say I'm going to kill you I mean it. You'd understand if you'd read that book about love languages I got you. Tch."
"I wouldn't share my home with a vampire - especially not one that talks so much," lies Noah, a man who is not scared of vampires but is scared of doctors,
[sillyvamp: “Come onnnn! I hardly bite, and I’m retired from the doctor bizz! 😒”]
"Great. And the talking?"
That feels like a sign to leave it out of his scope (which I will, aside from a rune that can hold your blood in it's stitches and bed rest for you, boy), but in my like 3 drafts of going back and forth on it, I might actually let him get rid of them someday. His magic is powerful, only given he has time to write a rune and he knows one that will do what he wants; I think designing one to heal specific tissue in a specific spot would arduous, but not impossible.
ANYWAY. Yes yes, all but one are failed runes! I think he feels the same way about the scars as he does about the journals he kept during the haunting - an annoying mix of pride and embarrassment. It's most potent with the scar on his palm, whose story he'd hate to tell (no ink, no paper), but was the turning point and most useful failure on the path to winning against the haunting.
That said, he does have the journals and the successful scar, neither of which will be gotten rid of, so I don't think he feels any pride-based urge to keep the rest. At worst, he's probably back and forth on whether something so superficial is worth his time. I think they itch exactly often enough to make him keep working on it on the side lol.
"That's two sentences with the narration. And you call yourself a librarian." He doesn't take the drink.
"If you shut up and lie down, I can try and help. ... I need something to do, anyway."
Noah knew human anatomy. His work, his tattoos, they required placement as precise as the angles they were made of. So he'd studied; The bones, the nervous system. The muscles.
What started as an excuse to keep his hands busy became an investigation. Nameless was strange to look at, but he'd seen stranger before - he hadn't guessed what was hidden beneath the pale skin of his back would be so... wrong. Tense clusters of muscle shaped differently than they should have been. Tendons reaching further and longer than they had to. Muscle that should have been striated breaking from its parallel lines and spreading like a mold.
It at least made a good massage, each anomaly worked through with a meticulous fascination that overpowered any unease. Not that he'd ever been especially afraid of the man - an equal combination of overconfidence and the sense that Nameless's demeanour was more familiar, or familial, than it was offputting.
As he moved down Nameless's arm, the part of the body he knew best, Noah finally spoke - the first time during all this regardless of whether or not Nameless had tried to speak to him. "Whatever you've been doing," he murmured, "it's not good for... Well, I can't say that. It might be fine for you. I don't know where I'd even start trying to approach this medically." He looked towards Nameless's face. "What does that feel like?"
Noah's house isn't really a house that gets broken into. Mama Rabbit found him in a motel instead.
Fingers still wet with ink, the job of lining the temporary room with protections half finished, Noah spun to the shadow at the half-open window, chains swinging and back against the door. Fear in his eyes steeled over, tracing a tattoo on his arm that glowed in answer to his touch - but something strange happened. In the face of the masked figure just beyond the glass, if that is what he saw, Noah's expression relaxed.
He started to speak, then second guessed himself, like he was embarrassed. To be fair, it did sound just a bit silly from him when he finally said, "You're... Mama Rabbit. I, um... I read about you, when I was younger." He didn't move, the look on his face faintly of wonder with a trace of something sad. All the while, the nightmare chained inside him made the air churn with unease. "If you're... here to protect me from the thing I think you're here for, I don't think there's anything you can do."
A phrase at the tip of his tongue; Because you're too late. I needed you earlier. He bit it down, shutting his eyes. He hadn't needed protection as a child. He hadn't been in danger. He'd just been afraid. Sighing quietly, Noah turned his back to Mama Rabbit - perhaps too boldly, given the entity he housed - and retrieved his pen to get back to work. "Thank you. But you should go. I'll figure this out on my own. I'm sure there's plenty of children who need you more."
Dismissively, "I have a couple bookshelves, not a library. Try the public one in town."
(TCBM is an emotionally sensitive person / quite the crybaby!) "..." His eyebrow noticeably twitches with the effort of not defending himself.
"I don't do pet names. I don't think I've even ever called you Ry. Plus, no one wants to hear the phrase 'honey bunny' coming out of my mouth." Looking at her, his expression darkened. "... Stop making that face. I'm not calling you honey bunny." His stare held resolute a long moment before he finally broke, putting his forehead into his hand. "I can do buttercup or sunshine. Pick one."
not sure if ryan would be excited or repulsed by pet names, went with the one thats more torturous for noah xo. but I think if she hated it he'd start trying different names in a futile effort to prove he can pull it off
Rats
"I ain't much of a singer, 'less you count drinking songs." Getting the vibe Isil isn't particularly impressed, Rats snorts. "Nah? I also play piano." She wanders around the instrument, takes a seat. "I'd love to hear that songa yours someday. In the meantime, all I got's my own old ones. Hope my playing's not too much like nails on a chalkboard compared to the music you got in there." She taps the side of her head.
Jon
(mosszexual) "So, getting this straight...you travel across bodies of water by yourself? How does that not scare you? There's so many...things! Out there! And most of it you can't even see until it's in your face..." His tone were impressed, but frightened.
"Oh, trust me, a couple weeks at sea and you'll just be begging for some scary thing in your face!" She jumpscares a hand at his face, for emphasis.
"I'm afraid you'll hardly catch me in the water of my own free will - and if you do, you can be sure I'll be keeping my head above the surface!"
Luck had nothing to do with it, the thus ironically-named explorer would tell you.
The assurances only emboldened a mortal that was already, arguably, far too bold - Jon sat at the table in the palace like she was meant to be there. It was everything she'd hoped for, the storm a perilous thrill and its eye a paradise of gold. And... her. Jon was the type of man who could see a miracle firsthand and tell you it was a mere natural phenomenon yet to be documented. She did not consider this sorceress was a god - though she still lavished Her Ladyship with respect worthy of one. Far be it from her to disrespect such a fascinating host!
.... And yet.
Jon looked surprised by the dish, and as Lienna sat, gave her a faintly perplexed smile - she had expected, apparently, something more exotic. Some people just can't be pleased. "It's delicious," Jon still told her, politely but transparently despite the truth in the statement.
She's so singleminded it never occurs to her there could be something strange about the sorceress's dish. Lienna can safely file her as someone who'd be remarkably easy to poison and/or curse.
"Catch!"
Jon was not inclined to hosting and did not like to share. She did, however, like to show off, which perhaps accounted for the eagerness with which she tossed you a fruit you've never seen before. Soft-skinned and deeply magenta, it would split easily under your hands into two halves. The inside was an even more vivid shade of pink with seeds as large and shiny as gems, flesh glimmering under the midday sun.
"Sweet enough to make you sick and sour enough to cure you of it," she cautioned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Been trying to think of a name for it."
(How capable is your character of.. slaying a god?)
"God... What a useless word." Jon's smile is bright and amused as she shakes her head. "It means something different to everyone you ask. I've seen creatures some might call gods." She raises her palms in defense. "Now, I'm not interested in killing them - it would be a travesty to lose so many beautiful things - but if it came to it, well..." A sorry look on her brow,though her smile doesn’t leave. "They really aren't so different from any other creature in this world."
10/10.... if she's allowed to pick
oatmeal raisin cookies and bitter tea
Decaire
"Some of my pet projects have decided to seek therapy, and it's undoing all of my hard work... What's a poor monster to do...? :("
"What are they doing outside, where the therapists are?"
Ellis
There's a lot of reasons Ellis thought about fighting Verity. The instrinsically punchable smile was the first, something about her presence pressing on old nerves, but that's not nice, so she didn't. The longer Ellis listened, though - staring at Verity from across the bar like a weirdo - the more her mind turned it over. She was well-acquainted, by now, with the idea that pretty words don't make good words, and she's sure the verbal garden Verity's planting's full of thorns.
And still, somehow, maybe every half an hour, there's a glimpse of something, something she'd say or do, that made Ellis wish they were alone in the bar so she could listen to Verity's thoughts just the two of them - get a clearer view.
... Ellis stands up to leave the bar before she switches back to wanting to fight. Or worse, tries to talk to her or something. never once crosses ellis's mind whether she could even win a fight lmfao
"... I wanted to be one, when I was little. A knight, I mean. But I didn't know how, and the other kind of sword found me. Does it... It looks like it hur-... .... Was it nice, at least?" [... (it was not nice) ...] "Ah..." It will take Ellis minimum three days to process whether that's comforting or even more depressing.
("Three swords. I'm impressed you've learned how to fight with them. Although, if you could, would you have turned to firearms instead? I've always found ranged attacks better.")
"That's a misnomer I had more," mumbled. It doesn't take much more thought before she gives her head a firm silent shake. Better not to think about it, maybe.
forgive me for playing with their last ability, in my defense ellis has the trope of being too dumb to know she's not supposed to know some things disease, pray for her 🙏
Merri would find the soul in an alley, a boy no older than thirty, lulled to sleep in spite of the early spring chill by the booze and the creaking of ships in the harbour. At least he'd had company in his last hours - as they helped the man to his feet, he took care not to wake the figure breathing shallowly next to him with her head in her arms, pale and cold.
Despite the effort, as Merri began to walk him towards the water, fingertips just barely brushed their calf, either too weak or timid to properly grab the fabric of their pants. Ellis stared up towards the face beneath the hat's brim with the mesmerized look of a child just barely roused from dreaming, but without any confusion or alarm more than a brief stuttering of her breath. Slowly, she withdrew her hand from them and turned it to point towards herself. As if, somehow, making sure Merri was positive they had the right soul.
Maybe it was the faintness of her heartbeat or maybe she was really was still dreaming. Either way, no matter what Merripen would do to reassure her this was the way things had to be, Ellis cast her eyes away and nodded, almost imperceptibly small, sorrow and fatigue clear on her face though her expression barely seemed to change. That look disappeared from Merri's view as she silently lowered her head back into her arms, like looking away was simply the polite thing to do.
(batsunsetz) She was too young to be that good with a sword. No matter how tall she was, Ellis was tiny compared to the eight-foot demon. He'd just wanted to sneak on the ship, keep eyes off himself, but he had a soft spot for kids... however, soon enough he realized that they didn't need his help.
A black iron sword rested in his hands, unbelted from black leather armor. He'd barely gotten the damn thing out before the attackers were bled dry, leaving him awkwardly holding the weapon. He was suddenly realizing that an eight foot tall man in full armor was maybe extremely not the thing that anyone would trust, and he dropped his sword as Ellis turned to look at him, raising his hands in a half-surrender.
"Uh," Knight started, extremely prepared, "Uh, good job?" He only barely resisted tacking on 'kid', deciding that Ellis would definitely try to chop his head off if he called them that. They had three goddamn swords on them, and at the moment he was unarmed.
He didn't have to worry about death, and honestly he kind of liked pain, but he didn't need to make a scene- so, instead, he pulled off his helmet and hoped he could pass as a tiefling. Awkward trying-not-to-look-intimidating grin on his face, hands still in the air, he did not seem like the demon who had looked after wars for the past thousand years. He looked like a man who was terrified of a random fourteen year old. He, was a man who was terrified of a random fourteen year old.
He really wanted to go home.
Ellis Jackwell, the legendary swordarm, is losing the fuck out of this fight.
The Scarath's strikes are heavier than any cutlass, the impact ringing through her bones even as she draws back, moving with the momentum to keep her sword in her hand. Coupled with the speed of each consecutive blow, Ellis is finding no opening to attack, driven back and back again wherever Mandragora's next hit led her. More than that, her blocks are sloppy, almost late to greet Mandragora's blade, seconds away from probably losing a whole arm. This isn't the performance of the infamous pirate who'd been traded like gold. Something's distracting her.
Crash! The Scarath catches her blade early and it goes careening out of her hands. For a moment, Ellis is almost confused by the sensation, turning to watch it go flying – barely coming to in time to dodge one final swing before Mandragora can register herself that she's won. Apparently completely untroubled by the near-death experience at the hands of her sparring partner, she looks back to watch her sword skid to a slow stop, shaking the pain of the blow from her hand. It takes her a moment to look back at Mandragora, cheeks rosy and eyes wide, and a couple tries before she manages to say, "Do you wanna go get milkshakes or something." Captivated by her depth her beauty her swaglessness and her skill with a blade.
Yohai
"You're talking to the wrong guy if you're expecting..." Yohai trails off, and after a few moments meets Illanya's eyes, an almost taunting smile returning to their face. "... Sympathy? Salvation? Condemnation?" A bit more silly bravado on each word, then lowering their head with a weary shake. "Nunna that. We get it here!" They slap her shoulder, a bit harder than is necessarily called for. "It's no cowardice, huh? No selfishness. It's the way our world runs, girl, it's the reason this ship's still afloat - if you don't wanna suffer, someone else has gotta."
As the words linger in the air, the captain's sharp grin falters with trouble, and they give their neck an idle rub. Their smile is weary when it returns and they wander from Illanya's side, wood creaking beneath them. "All that talk," they continue, "and yet... Do you want to know something?" Looking over their shoulder, casual tone belying something almost cruel. "I'm actually not sure I'd make the same choice. Submission like that sounds worse than Hell to me."
A moment passes. Then they add, "Besides, if any of them were that upset about being killed horribly, they should just come back," and then wink. Illanya gets another pat on the shoulder on their way out.
It's possible you met before this, but it's honestly just as likely you're a complete stranger Yohai has just startled rattling off to, twirling a golden dagger between their fingers.
"I went to see a fortune teller a while ago. She told me I'd fail. Told me I'd be walkin' myself to my fate. Die," they emphasize, like that wasn't already clear. Eyes on the sky, they breathe a laugh. "I should really stop. I should back out now. I can't believe I believe the old crone! But..." They shake their head, looking down at their knife. "I don't wanna stop. I'm gonna kill her and I'm gonna kill fate with 'er. An' if I fail, I fail - one final fucking-over for my sorry ass."
Yohai had given Illanya special permission to lie low in the captain's quarters - "shelter from the crows" was the way they'd put it. Their tone had been playful, but the description wasn't inapt for the way the Spectre's crew flocked and picked curiously at the outsider whose undead nature was different from theirs, who bore news from lands they no longer walked. It wasn't as though the captain's company was much different from their crew's, but at least there was only one of them - plus their desire to seem like they were too smart to ask silly questions. Most of the time.
Sitting in the chair across the room, outside of the light from the lantern that cast across Illanya's scars, the golden gleam of the captain's eyes lingered on the knight a bit too long, a curious little quirk of their lip that could only mean trouble. "Illanya," they started, unprompted in the conversation's lull, "would you do me a favour?" Sitting upright and leaning forward, they rolled their neck with a grin that almost seemed embarrassed to finish the thought. "Would you... let me cut your hair? Fix up that awful back?" They raised a hand in mock innocence, a glimpse of bone as it caught the light. "I promise I won't cut you. Used to do it for the old crew all the time, but, uh..." They nodded at the door, smile a bit bleak. "Nothing around here grows anymore. ... Thought I'd offer." That's one way to spin it.
Surprise! 🗡️
Yohai has a twin brother - not even their closest friends know.
(How easily can your OC walk in heels?)
7.5/10 it goes terribly at first but give them a day and not only do they master it but now they're never taking them off. enjoy being four more inches shorter than me. bitch.
At Illanya's call, Yohai drops down from their work on the riggings, hanging their weight off the rope as they listen. When she finishes, they smile wryly. "You really are a knight, aren't you? Far too nice. It never even crossed your mind the pirates who kidnapped you might've been lying about letting you go, did it? ... I'm kidding!" Are they? Not that it really matters now, does it? They look out over the deck. "You're more than welcome here, Illanya. Truth be told, I think it's been good for everyone to have you around, more than just the extra set of hands. Long as you stay, you can trust you'll be treated like anyone else on the crew, not a weapon or a guest." Glancing back over, a small wink. "That means you better get back to work. I'll let the others know. If you're braced for the extra attention, that is."
V
This is, I imagine, a fucking nightmare for Roy.
Ever since they met the first time at the bar, V has not let him drink alone. He sidles up with with a fruity cocktail in one hand and a beer in the other and gives Roy the beer, "on me." There's always this look in V's eyes the entire time Roy's drinking, like he's real entertained. It probably feels a bit like being hazed. Psychologically. At least he always leaves once the drinks are done.
That night, V had finally caved and brought Roy a cocktail, whether he'd claimed he wanted the beer this time, had come clean he was tired of watching Roy squirm, or the two of them just hadn't mentioned it at all. The fact of the matter was V stuck around longer this time, and when they leave the bar together, both their steps are a little unsteady, and Lan (or maybe Ran) gets, for just a moment, wedged right into the hidden mechanisms of V's knee brace, tying them together as V stumbles. They hit the pavement; Roy gets his fall softened by V's leathered chest, and in the impact, for just a moment, their lips meet.
V stares at him, not a trace of a smile on his face, eyes wide and dark. An ominous breeze blows. Before Roy can crawl off of him, an iron hand curls around the king's collar, stopping him. "What," V says, voice low, "no tongue??"
duct tape is part of my faith j
can't wait to find out if the voice priests think car suspension bondage is holy or heretical because that shits holy as fuck to me
Ines
The pop of a rifle preceded the thundering of hooves.
The shot missed, but, like, it's the thought that counts, right?
Riding a bulky piebald steed towards the men who were hauling J along, Ines unloaded two more rounds, one kicking up dust by their feet, the other finally catching one in the side. It's enough to make the one who wasn't shot drop J's arm and scatter back - and thank god for that, because Ines is hardly the best shot even when she wasn't riding at the pace she was, and J was frankly lucky she hadn't been hit.
The shot man stood his ground even as Saturday's massive hooves barreled towards him - and he realized the woman on the horse wasn't bluffing. He dropped and rolled as Ines took Saturday apace around J, the unfortunate sap managing to dodge all but one hoof, coming down to flatten his shoulder into earth. "Easy!" For a moment it sounded like Ines might have been reassuring J, but the word slowed Saturday down enough for the priest to extend a gloved hand down to her. She was breathless and a bit jittery - "Hi! Climb on." Just as soon as J was in the saddle behind her, reins flicked and Saturday went bolting, cycling back the way he came.
Bang - the man who still had both shoulder bones found his gun. It cracked again, and Ines yelped as it caught her shoulder, ripping through her jacket - and ricocheting off the iron beneath it. Ines peeked back behind her, then smiled at J. "There's some perks of- Oh, god!" She flinched down as another round flew past them. "Here," she said, taking the rifle in one hand and reins in the other, "take..." She thought a moment before making probably the very correct decision of handing the rifle to J and keeping the reins.
In the quiet between cracking gunshots, Ines called over her shoulder, "I'm sorry we had to meet like this." Bang. Ines still smiled whenever she looked back. "But we've got a little rule down in Wyawot - we don't let other sects interfere in our business. Even if our business is just a guest."
I think they both think the other is a bit dumb so forgive each other for it LMAO.
Her soft smile's a bit exasperated. "Have you been talking to Ben? Nobody's going to assassinate me!" She'd die. Unless V is there to stop it or the assassin really fucks it up, she'd Simply Get Killed.
the character below me likes insects and disgusting creatures
Nodding thoughtfully, smile barely concealed, "I am pretty fond of Ben, so I guess that must be true..."
An iron knuckle stifles her smile. "It's been a while since I've heard someone assume the majority believes in a predestined fate. Many in my faith do, don't get me wrong, but myself, I... Well, I haven't decided. It's hard to believe my identity is beyond intervention when I would have been dead before 10 without it. But when someone tells me everything happens for a reason, to forge us into the shape the universe needs... I can't say I don't feel that in some part of me." Shaking her head, Ines is still smiling. "So I guess my answer is if I had that revelation, I'd just be overjoyed to have an answer." Caught up in the philosophy of it all, Ines successfully completely misses Alois's implied revelation.
In the tone of a high schooler gossiping at a sleepover, "Who is... the scariest person you've ever met?"
She hides her smile like she's embarrassed. "I love seafood. Especially crab. I'd eat it weeks straight if I could, but Wyawot's all groundwater, and Rivers is the only person I know who could afford to have it shipped out here, and she just hates seafood, can you believe that?"
"Oh, here's one I can't stand: What do you think of smoked meat?"
("Have you never tried good smoked meats, or do you just like boring food?" Lucille teased. Maybe teased? From her tone, perhaps it was difficult to tell. "Smoked lamb is really good. I don't know what kind of garbage you've been eating!")
Miserable sniffle. "I wish I lived wherever you do that crab is more boring than smoked meat." Everyoje so mean to me can you please send me crab
"What a beautiful design for your covering, though!"
(“How kind! Crafted it myself, you know.” The mandibles make it a bit hard to tell, but they’re grinning. )
Delighted hand over her heart, "You're an artist."
("If only I could have my face like yours, but I don't believe our flesh is worthy enough to combine with that of metal.")
Almost apologetic nod, "Many of the Children consider it heresy." But she can't restrain a bit of a smile. "I worry some members of the Inner Assembly are a bit jealous, too."
Stephox
"I eat normal food. We're hunters." She crosses her arms. "........ And it's hard to keep flies in a bowl. So."
"I think there's gotta be something wrong with your head."
"Ain't it obvious, dragon knight? Only crazy people worship those things."
Step is a potionmaker. This is a little bit like presenting your first time cooking to your friend who works as a chef. This also means she knows the consequences of a bad potion - ranging from severe consequences to your health to just tasting real bad.
She's not stupid. However. She also can't remember the last time someone's asked her for her opinion on something and the rush of power is kind of making her lightheaded. "Yeah alright."
Don't worry Morgan she's resistant to poison it'll be fine. Probably.
// "Potion that makes you sticky," declares Step, sticking it as far into your face as she can reach. "I made two, but Gob drank one and got stuck to Ailea and she was so pissed off she didn't want the second one and wouldn't let Gob drink the other." Mumbling under her breath, audibly a bit annoyed, "Also no one will buy it please just take it. You can find some kinda use for it, you look smart enough."
(TCBM likes fishing) ".. Yeah." But she sounds so tense about it.
Stephox looked up at the Champion (both in terms of height and a slightly envious awe). Snapping out of it, "I have a friend who's a minotaur. You're..." She fell silent for a solid thirty seconds, studying him, clearly struggling very hard to come to some sort of decision. "... less scary than her. I think."
v Contradictorily taking a step back and squaring up, "I can poison it by spitting on it, too. By the transitive property, you oughta keep any part of you with pores roughly eleven feet away from me. Pervert."
Elane
"It was Solomon, wasn't it?" hums Elane idly while he takes the drow's measurements. "It's a familiar name. Yes, yes, I'm quite certain I've had a couple clients who've mentioned you and your wine to me, is that right?" ... The odds are about fifty-fifty that the tailor's just using the suggestion of gossip to torture Solomon for daring to bring those shoes into his shop.
(terrence) “ a tailor, eh? y’know — “ leon starts, eyes glittering in curiosity as he takes in how fashionably dressed the man is — “ i thought that was a myth, ‘n all that. jeez, people really pay ‘ya to tell ‘em all the fashions? “ he adjusts his tie, as if to make the statement that he’s on par with elane. he’s most certainly not.
"Is... that really what you think a tailor does?" Pure fascination on his face. Maybe a little bit of pity.
" well, i've only heard of the whole shebang through word of mouth. what is it you do do, then? " he seems in awe. " can't be that 'ya make clothes, right? they've gotta different name for that, don't they .. ? "
Baffled grin, "I do. I do make clothes. And I tailor - good god, it's a verb, I don't know what to tell you! - I tailor them to fit right." He tilts his head sympathetically. "Discount for you on that one, lad." And winks.
i love dominic. anyway does it count as old man yaoi if theres no sex but elane clearly gets off on fucking with him
"Before you even think of asking," Elane declared, taking the opportunity to stroll into the room ahead of Dominic, "if you'd like me to sleep on the floor, I'm afraid you'd have to make it so by force." He didn't say so, but it was clear from his glittering smile as he took his seat on the far side of the bed that not only was that no innuendo, but that he thought it was no question that Dominic wouldn't win that fight, and that he'd very much like to see him try. I don't know what class Dominic is. All Elane has is sheer size and I'd like to see him get magic missiled.
After long enough of both men reclining in the bed, Elane pulling at his tie until was loose, his eyes wandered to the sleeve of Dominic's robe. "It really is a lovely garment," he commented, immune to uncomfortable silence. "A shame it's started to fray." A pause, and his eyes flickered up with feigned shock and embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was sure you'd already noticed." Scratching at his furry neck, he frowned with dismay at the silk. "I suppose I could do something about it, but I'd need a good night's rest, and, of course, I'm no charity..." All at once - completely transparently - his grin was back and his eyes were alight. "Ah, well, there's one idea - if you took the floor, perhaps I could trouble myself to take care of it. Besides, I think roughing it at least once is good for a man."
"Oh, false! We all had to try one before we were sure. ... Myself excepted." Elane flashed a grin, shook his head "I was a shy, lonely boy. You, though, you don't seem like you were that type."
"Well, I'd be more than honored." His smile is joined by his saddest puppydog eyes. "Only so long as you don't make me spar with you." Lazy or just a sore loser, the world might never know.
Eyes shining, "My, I'd take you to a party on my arm anytime!" It's plain as day he's just already picturing a new dress to make them, circling them like that.
Claude
"I've... never been in a tailor shop I've liked less than this one."
(argal)"No worries, nothing in here is going to harm you but just don't stand in one place too long or it'll trigger the talkative ones voice cycles."
... She nervously takes a single step over in a random direction.
(argal) Soft inhale, "sike, moving does it anyways-"
SCREAMS
batsunsetz: when especially exausted or under duress, claude will find herself almost possessed, drawing balljoints on her limbs and tying string around her wrists. theyll hide this with great fervor, but since its literally with anything they can grab, they often end up with smudged pigments on their joints that they keep under long sleeves.
"....... no I don't think so."
Claude is ready to leave it at that, but something stops her; She turns over her shoulder to give her pack an incredulous stare. "What? No. Why? ..." Pinching the bridge of her nose, she hushes her voice: "Well, that would be cheating, anyway, it's a one-on-one sport." The puppets want a go.
// There's a faint sense of offense about Claude, like Chantilly had said something that embarrassed her, and despite the edge of haughtiness in her tone, she doesn't meet her 'eye;' "I- never said I was unwilling. Understand there's a world of difference between you and..."
("How do I avoid having to worship the deities of the deep sea? It's all simply against my beliefs...")
Wearily, "Pick a different god and beg for their protection."
Marion
It was astounding, thought Marion, that the deadringer could always find some new and unexpected way to bother her.
Did she know the marionette couldn't sleep? Given how close to human Marion had come to look it wasn't impossible she didn't, but she still couldn't help but feel like Pel was rubbing it in.
It had been annoying enough to watch her nodding off in the corner of her vision - sat on the other half of the old loveseat, the sporadic movement was a distraction from the book pinned between her fingers, long-used to stillness around her as the smaller puppets of the house kept out of her sight unless they wanted her attention. It was not an improvement, though, when Pel had finally decided it was time to shift positions, and had the gall to make the new position using her as a back rest, head tilted back onto her shoulder. It couldn't possibly have been much more comfortable - for one, the couch wasn't remotely long enough for her, leaving most of the length of her legs hanging over its arm.
Marion had pulled her hands away in surprise, but remained dead silent as if her judgmental glassy stare could make Pel reconsider. It hadn't. So the marionette sat, thumbing the page of her book but keeping her eyes on the doppelganger, feeling the warm weight against her, and thinking once or twice about how easily she could fuck up Pel's nap just by standing. ... She turned her attention back to the page. As long as she stood any time before Pel woke on her own, she wouldn't have to find out how long she was allowed to lie there. So long as the puppets didn't find a way to tell her.
Miriam
^ "Oh, yeah. And it's a part-iii-cu-lar-ly tricky one. Maybe only if you're looking for a challenge."
< yes their campaigns are completely unrelated down to the groups and systems. yes i still think it would be funny if renn's corp sent her to track darcy down
v Massaging a temple, the woman gives you a fatigued smile. "I gotta bite the bullet - any tips for getting over a guy?"
Rats
^ "Call it howlin' if you want, but a couple years on a ship'll teach any mutt to carry a tune and well goddamn enjoy it." After a moment, she cracked a weary smile. "Still wouldn't catch me dead doing it on my lonesome, though."
< a shockingly competent pianist who forgets she can play a piano until she sees a piano
v "I never learned how to play chess," mumbled Rats with all the existential despair of someone who knew they only had a day left to live (or a drunk person who believed as much). She grabbed your shirt with urgency. "Teach me t' play chess."
(picklepantry) ^ With hearts in his eyes, Jackson nodded. "Of course! We'll start with this piece. You'll like it, because it's just like you. It's the queen~" He was holding a rook.
< He's never played chess either.
Evie
When Evie woke, it was still raining, no longer storming but drumming steadily on the window by the headboard, far still from dawn. Not for the first time that night, she found herself grateful for a warm dry bed, small as it may have been.
It was that thought that made her notice something that was missing from her side. Sitting up, she drew back the bedsheets, and next checked the floor. Finding both spots empty, she set bare feet on the floor and, as quietly as she could, left the guest room.
The low light didn't make her vision worse, but her sight wasn't the best even in daylight, and she found it trickier than she should have to move through Silas's halls, thin for all that lined them. In some ways, it reminded her more of a museum than a home. There was, too, a dreamlike quality, memories of being little and walking the halls of her own family's house, tall and frightening in the night. The way some of the shadows in the drawing room ahead of her cast in person-like shapes made her almost uneasy.
Oh, god, that person-like shape is my host. Evelyn froze at the edge of the hall, then straightened up with a stiffness that only made her look more like a child caught sneaking into the pantry at night. "... Mr. Phelonius. I'm... sorry if I woke you, I was just-... Is there any chance you've seen my-"
In another room, something toppled over.
"- sister." Paling more than was probably called for, Evie started to take off after the noise, then promptly doubled back with a, "I am so sorry, I'll go get her. Molly!"
She almost knocked over another stack of books in her hurry down the hall.
═══
Under the power of her older sister's disapproving crossed arms, six-year-old Molly rubbed her feet together and mumbled, "Sorry for touching your stuff Mr. Phelonius." Half a second's pause, then she whipped out the content of her nightgown's pocket. "But look at this cool skull I saw!!!!!!"
"Molly..."
Evie has to stop and think about that, the trace of a soft smile touching her face. "I didn't use to like marmalade, but I guess it's grown on me. I'm sure I can find someone around here to blame for that." (Yum)
"Ever had chocolate pudding cake? Ugliest cake in the world before you put it in the oven, fucking amazing when it comes out. Like magic."
Bas
A light laugh from within the automaton. "I could certainly give it go." Setting his elbow on the table with the same sort of energetic poise as a nerdy teenage boy a bit too excited to try fencing for the first time, "I'd appreciate it if you tried not to break anything." ... Despite being possibly more or less evenly matched, Sebastian puts on a good show but lets Silas win.
Chris
"'Scuse me." It's more of a polite greeting than an actual apology as Chris dipped in, promptly having to wipe her glasses, then resort to removing them altogether. Without her vision completely obscured by fog (albeit still blurry now), she looked to Nameless - then looked over her shoulder - then looked back to him with a bemused smile. "I'm sorry, were you waiting for somebody else? It looked like you were looking for someone..." Regardless of confirmation or denial, her smile only grew more certain; "Well, you're more than welcome to kick me out if they do turn up."
"Hearing a good abstruse turn of phrase feels like running into an old friend sometimes."
Nikolai wasn't getting into the library. Regardless of whether she really understood his nature, Chris had made up her mind on it - but just because she was playing a virtue didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a sin's company. "I always used to win this game," she'd said, laid on the ground and examining the pocky over her face. "Never got embarrassed like the other girls. Kinda killed the challenge."
And so Nikolai and Chris ended up lying side by side, heads turned towards each other, separated by roughly the distance of three quarters of a pocky.
After a moment of silent bewilderment, the corner of Chris's mouth twitched, and she shifted the cookie in her mouth to speak around it: "Real funny. You're just gonna make me do all the work?" The rules, suddenly, had changed into a game of stubbornness. "You don't know who you're messing with." Perfectly devious. She held his glittering eyes in silence, his completely smug face - and she had to stifle a laugh. Snap.
All the amusement left Chris's face, looking on the broken pocky. "I... Well, come on. That doesn't count."
(”Hmph, some uncultured Cyrod asshole has decided my arts are foul because it doesn’t fit what his people think is proper, how can I tell him to go punch sand without coming across… Overly aggresive?”)
Visibly on thesaurus.com in the reflection of her glasses, "Well, you could tell him to– Wh–? Stroke!?" Remembering she's mid-conversation, she swallows her laughter and tries to finish as sincerely as possible, "You could tell him to stroke sand instead. Apparently. So mu– So much softer."
"How the hell do I insulate a drafty window?"
("JUST BREAK THE WINDOW??? HOW'S IT GONNA BE DRAFTY IF THERE'S NO WINDOW??? NO INSULATION EVEN NEEDED!!!!")
*image of spraybottle*
Sister❔🌫️
(Can I see another character associated with fire in some way?)
got a couple (*casts firebolt* and also a metaphor for soul or rage or whatever, bullied with fire imagery until their corpse gets made into a bonfire, and responsible for the bonfire), but Chris's small pervasive fire associations are my fav of them :] cigarettes to matches to burning paper to nothing left but ashes
Killcrop
Looking up to see Kiely, a cold feeling more than the chill of sunset passed over Killcrop, the hand holding his whittling knife falling still. The wariness didn't leave his body even as his face grew a crooked-toothed grin. "Now maybe I need a new pair of glasses, but you don't look like one of mine." He cast his eyes back down at his work, though they didn't stay there for too long at a time. "Man I sold a mule deer to in the last town over warned me about you kids. What was it he called that thing? The Harvester?" He shook his head. "Bad news if that's who you were looking for, kid. You've found yourself a Killcrop instead." Flipping the little knife in his hand, he pointed it towards them. "You get on your way and keep your distance from my brood, alright? Wide berth; My boy's got my axe, and I was told you lot weren't supposed to be out 'til the sun goes down, so I say the day belongs to us - and if I don't have both of 'em back by nightfall, I'll sell you as venison next."
Slightly endeared and visibly enjoying his favourite pastime of trying to scare children, Killcrop waved the knife. "Come onn, I wouldn't use this harmless little thing! This geezer'd find a nice big rock to crack your head on. Like an egg."
^ Killcrop has to check twice to be sure the Architect is talking to him. "... Well, I mean, that age, it doesn't really matter, does it? You give 'em something fancy and it's about the same amount of exciting as something from the dollar rack. I liked to take 'em somewhere and tell 'em, y'know, 'pick anything you want.' They were wild for that." A low chuckle and a glance away, a fondness lingering even through the crooked grin when he looks back. "You'll wanna save the hard thought 'til they're older - there's a little sweet spot where they get hard to impress and won't even try to spare your feelings."
< Additional advice Killcrop would give: Twelve is a good age to gift a child a serious weapon. Before that, you only want to give them little ones. You also need to make them use it on an animal when you give it to them on their birthday. It's good for them.
v "Hey, you. I'm gonna be stuck here for a while, what do you do for fun around this shithole?"
Natale
"I'm not coping very well with the scratched furniture." Nate plays it off with a laugh that doesn't at all hide the tension in his shoulders. "I've practically been having nightmares about you getting into the studio." Probably the wrong thing to fear, king 👍
(tcbm is a hoarder) He shakes his head, smiling. "No, not at all. The studio's a lot more crowded than my apartment, and even that's a little more sparse than I'd like it some days."
"I hate to ask this, but would you be willing to come to a party with me and pretend we're having a very pressing discussion so that nobody I know tries to talk to me?"
("I...sure...I can sympathize with that specific circumstance honestly, hope I don't have to dress fancy though." v (laughed))
"Excellent, if I pick someone who'll enjoy it too much they might get distracted."
("Have you ever committed a crime or something?") "Mm, well, I've killed a few solos, but no people last I checked..."
he is the most annoying man in the world and the idea of bringing an instrument where it could be damaged would give him an aneurysm. THIS IS MY BAD for putting the dead ones at the end no member of the troupe gets a nice normal death <3
(okay so hypothetically what your oc gonna do if they get thrown into the dance circle ) You never. Half-ass. Anything. but someone else is coming in with him. if we go down we go down together :^)
"I've decided I don't want to know if you consider me one of your virtuosos," says Natale. As the door to the theatre shuts behind him, his voice resonates in the dark, spreading across velvet seats and high ceilings and returning to greet his strange visitor. "I realized I don't think I'd like the answer either way, so I might as well spare us both the trouble."
The building is one of the most beautiful the town has to offer, but it's truly nothing remarkable to anyone well-travelled. "I never asked if they forgot to take my keys or if they let me keep them on purpose, either," he muses, the ring jingling faintly around his fingers and into his pocket.
The declaration and the change of topic are not, though, enough to keep it from prickling at Nate's mind, and it's evident in his demeanour as he leads the visitor up the stage stairs. Whether or not the phantom lets him stir in the discomfort, Nate simply can't restrain it, glancing away, back to him, then away again. "Haven't you had any of them say no? Surely... I mean, I can't be the only one who believes that what we do is– is supposed to be temporary. That sometimes things are more beautiful when you realize you'll never hear them again." He becomes silent for a long, uncertain moment. A glance towards the empty auditorium snaps him out of it, and when he turns back to the maestro it's with a smile, amused and a bit embarrassed. "Not a very good soliloquy; I think that's enough of that. Do you perform at all or strictly conduct?" Nate's presently overtaxed brain apparently doesn't have the creativity for any guesses beyond that.
(from ZaraTM: Timothée hates Natale.
Not that he would ever admit it out loud.
The ease in which Natale cradles his fame, and how he left once and for all to enter the side of the world untouched to the masses, where he settled down to create instruments, of all other works he could have done.
And Natale looks content.
Happy even. Timothée is almost envious of him.
(He wants to wring his neck with his bare hands, feel the life chokes out of the man as he stared down into his dulling eyes with righteous fury.)
(But he won't. A face and smile as beautiful as his is worth more to be alive still. Even away from the prying, starving public eyes.)
Timothée finally enters, a smile a little bit too tight on his face. Not that he cares. “My, if it isn't Mister Keene. I heard words on the street you're the man who can whisk me out a harp. I couldn't find any existing ones that fit to my taste.” He says, with a shake of his head. “What says you, Mister Keene? Would that be possible for you to work on?”
He smiles his best smile. He really do want that harp.)
Jess
"... Yeah, I can give that a shot, but you gotta promise if you break my arm you'll put me out of my misery." A handgun's unholstered and set aside on the table. "Not kidding." The only remotely reasonable chance she has of winning is if this psyches Boss out.
("What a whiner... sure, but you'll have to stand real close. I'm a lousy shot.")
"Telling me your lazy ass can't lean closer across the table when I'll be the one with the broken bone?" The insult primes her to actually kind of want to win which is just going to make this hurt more.
("I don't like getting physical; with anyone for that matter. Don't touch me.")
"Huh. I'm gay." She has forgotten what thread she's in.
Renn
"Man..... That would be so fucking cool." A faraway look in her eye, taking it just as serious. Then she breaks, rubbing the back of her neck; "I haven't, though, nah. You ever need condoms up there fast, though, I'm your man." <- perfectly equipped for bridge sex too insecure to pull any bitches. truly a cyberpunk dystopia.
"Shit, uhh... Never have I ever accidentally hurt my partner during sex." Renn, meanwhile, was a very brave boy who didn't cry that time she pulled a hamstring,
v teleporting away mid conversation to get a grip so she can play it cool when she gets back
Katrina
Katrina barks a sound between a laugh and a scoff. "Fuck them - compromise for no one. Can't create anything worthwhile with your hands busy fondling the audience's balls, now, can you? Double down. With a catchy enough tune behind it, they'll be the ones crawling back to kiss your.. weird rubber shoes."
Nails tapping on the table she's leaned on, Katrina sighs. "Any ideas how to convince a crotchety old man to move to the city with us?"
v What Katrina says is, "Down," but from the look in her eyes, she's very into the idea.
Magni
"Well, happy birthday! What would you like for a gift, then? Not optional, I'm afraid, you'll have to pick something good," spoken with a sage faux-apologetic nod.
maribelle fixes magni and ways marriage by teaching magni that children can be fucked up and also getting them into doing lego together.png
("Oh greeeat, dorky-ass romantics, my favourite kind of... human...? Yeah, whatever, human. Well, atleast, you're a pirate, and a pretty powerful one, that's cool. I'm pretty powerful myself... if you ignore the gut and the kinda weak baby arms, but anyways, I could build you something that can get you out of the ocean... unless you like it there or whatever?") Visibly choosing to take all that as a compliment, "Unless you can build something to reverse death, I think I'm a bit stuck down here, but it's very kind of you!"
^ Magni draws in a very, very slow breath and manages to smile and nod. "That's funny. I actually used to be a prosecutor, too. If I remember right, I think we had a name for a lawyer who wasn't in it to win for their client. It was 'bad lawyer.'"
< one of the laywers who see it as competition, and SO testy about it since her career-ending case was one even the client didn't want to win that she didn't even answer the question 💔 deep down I'm sure she did hate how isolating the competition ended up becoming
v Having to make a conscious effort to relax, she flashes a less tight-lipped smile. "What do you do to unwind?"
"Come, love, come here, sit! Take this. I want to see how fast you can solve a Rubik's cube, and then also how fast you can solve a Rubik's cube drunk."
("This is foolish. Okay.") "You're absolutely right. Delighted to have you."
(”Oh my. How interesting you are~ You’re just dashing mi cielo. You have a sharp mind. Tell me, what was life like at sea? I can’t say I’ve ever been.”) "... Consider me flattered. It's hard work, love, but more rewarding than any other hard work I've done. If you'd ever like to fix that last part, there's no better escort money can buy than the Sugar."
Benny
Benny listens with a frankly undue amount of understanding nodding, as if latex-glove-exclusive-kleptomania is a very relatable situation to be in. Could happen to anyone, right? When Mina's done, Benny surreptitiously glances over her shoulder, then the other shoulder, then scooches in closer to her, and in a lowered voice says, "So you need help getting rid of them? I can fix something up for you. Nobody has to know."
Before Mina even has a chance to reply, she starts getting nervous that maybe she really loves having piles of latex glove boxes in her house-car and impulsively tacks on, "I could even buy them. If the price isn't bad."
Sat staring blankly at her glass, mask pushed up so she can anxiously chew at her thumbnail, Benny confesses, "I spent the last of my paycheck this month on Orbeez and a bottle of gin. The Orbeez did not absorb the gin, if you're wondering. I was." A long pause, sad eyes still locked on her drink. "I literally don't think I'm gonna be able to pay for this."
v Tilting her head back and apparently taking him at face value, "I think you've got the alcohorbeez process backwards, but I love the initiative. Straight ethanol would absorbeez even less, though."
Bads
"If nothing else, maybe you could appreciate the humour behind it – like some sort of disturbed version of being one another's beards."
"I'm not interested in inflating your ego. Can you show me your horse instead."
(“Na- too much a hassle, I have better things to do✨ Unless there’s a prize, then MAYBE i’ll consider it ;)“) Deadpan, "There's not."
"I think you should allocate more time to drawing horses."
("Hapless little thing, 'tis a shame to see a man tamed and caught up in such mocking servitude when he could have been so much more.")
Was that faint sound a scoff or a laugh? "People are sad things on their own. At least now I serve something that matters."
("There's no fool like a devoted fool. That much I know to be true.")
A gentle tilt of his head. "Far be it for me to disagree with that. I must be the most incorrigible of them." Is it cheating for an evil henchman to ask a different villain to have a drink.
"Disappointing. They have quite a rich history. What animal would you not find boring to draw?"
His steps pause when he notices she's leading him to the insectarium, for a moment caught off-guard. After another, his stride resumes pace, deciding bug girls does make perfect sense as the taxonomical opposite of horse girls.
For a man whose eyes barely lingered on any of the displays they passed during their beeline, it was satisfying to see the inquisitor drop to a crouch in front of the display cases to get a better look. They're certainly not as upsetting as the creatures he'd been shown when he'd last asked such a question, having been brought to pet the Doctress's "friendlier" chimeras. Less upsetting, even despite what Maribelle could tell him about the family dermestidae ("Mm. Who needs flesh anyway?"). He spends the longest with the mantises – empusa pennata, the conehead mantis, as he'd learn – grateful to be masked, unsure if the disturbed fascination he felt looking on the would be obvious on his face. His exoskeletal right hand flexes faintly beneath its glove, like some near-suppressed desire to mimic its movements.
"You're boring her," laughs Julia. "She's moved past the insects and on to some of the more interesting plants in the display."
He turns his head to Maribelle. "I may have to hold that you don't spend enough time drawing horses, if for no other reason than to break up how much time you clearly spend here." Rising from his crouch (with some difficulty), he looks about the exhibit, then eventually back to her. "Well. Does the gift shop here sell charcoal? I suppose I should admit defeat, if you're willing to give me some pointers on their anatomy."
Mekonopsis
"How does one get appointed to such a position? Was it a political affair or was there just truly no one else who could perform it as well as you?
"... And, on a perhaps more personal note... Is there any truth in all the talk about 'coming back wrong'? Are there side effects?"
"I am trapped in a garden that's also a tower indefinitely and undyingly. AMA."
I'm saving mmmeatbat's whole random thoughts about Way response
^ YES STRONG WLW DUO HAPPY ENDING FTW TYSM. ok damn Way is based for that chastity thing then, her and Nat do be paralleling each other kinda. they should drink/cook together and discuss their weird ahh spiritual experiences sometime fr
fuck yeah my religiouscore queen. oh how i long for your blessing in these trying times, Way.
- first of all, i absolutely love the consistent duality she has to her character; especially in the context of faith and morals. she's prudish yet she's absolutely not; she's prone to doubting her own ideals and actions, yet she spreads - somewhat - her unlikely faith and shares her compassion with those who need it, still. love me some good inner conflicts and dilemmas that are cruical to the character's personality.
- she a baddie fr. her appearance is quite unique, and i adore how telling her facial features are: this is a stern, hardened yet still incredibly forbearing, perhaps even tender woman i am looking at. chef's kiss, you've conveyed her persona perfectly. while we're at it, i LOVE her pfp artwork, she looks both like the most determined person i have ever seen and lowkey like a lost puppy. she needs a proper hug methinks.
- imo you've also nailed both the "can be easily mistaken for a man" AND the "is perfectly capable of looking feminine/radiating Femme Energy if the mood calls for it/if the outfit is right" aspects flawlessly. i can totally see the latter too tbh. sparkle on Way, you so slay.
- OH MY FUCKING GOD all this time i've been simping for Magni like a madman yet i have JUST NOW realized that she and Way are- were a couple. A PRIVATELY ENGAGED ONE, AT THAT. and also a rather... complicated one, waow. at first glance they make for such an intriguing, almost picture-perfect powerduo, yet there is also this... complicated aspect to their relationship which makes their dynamic pretty damn tragic. and compelling as fuck. i'm unable to describe my thoughts properly, but i do think they have complimented each other's personality well, at one point in time. and i do hope that there was some kind of solace for them to be found in one another, while it lasted. help i'm getting emotional because women
- i tend to have a soft spot for characters who have some kind of REALLY important memorabilia that they will probably only part with once they are no longer traversing this world. Way being so tied to her ring is such a great detail; her fierce devotion is simultaneously admirable and concerning. love it to bits.
- as you've said, since we are in the sex thread; i remember that one Never Have I Ever reply teehee. in all honesty, i think it adds up to the whole "not as holy as you'd think" concept nicely; why the fuck would she ever wear the damn thing? one doesn't have to restrain oneself to such a ridiculous degree in order to be considered "good" or "worthy", after all. more power to you queen get that Stress Relief all you want. god i love her so much