"Sometimes I wish I could run, and run and run, so fast that maybe the Deity of Wind would pick me up and let me fly away. It makes me happy, a little, when I think of doing that instead of how it hurts."
content: mild physical abuse. being lashed, then having a domestic hair braiding scene with his sister afterward to distract themselves. fear, melancholy, sense of being understood, desire to protect.
"Gift? Gift? No, no no no, the world, they all talk with money, not with sentiment. You are not given it, you earn it."
content: working your skinny teenage ass off and then bickering madly with your boss for the sake of a violin, then playing that violin for your boss. Teenage frustration but satisfaction, sense of respect, growth of a sense of self.
"What do you want? No, hey, seriously, what's even your goal here? Use your words or your fists, kid, but for spirit's sake, don't use other people."
content: a short dude with an eyepatch and dumb little shoes drags you out and fights you until you actually talk like the giant baby you are. a lesson in coping. somehow a very positive memory???????
content:Intense physical trauma, being chemically burned alive, shock, the recovery afterward, extreme feelings of disgust and frustration and uselessness. also, surprise! you gained one (1) severe water phobia.
A husk of a world, but one that still held breath in the cold cracks of its earthen chest. Life continued, if only for a little longer, naive and stubborn.
content: Placeholder for varied minor lore and world flavor, both positive and negative.
"Don't let the sign matter. I'll do the talking." He rests a hand against where your arm has tensed with a fist next to your hips. What the hell did he have in mind? Had he gone insane?
Well, you suppose it wouldn't be the first time. Jackass.
The smell of gunpowder is fresh. You're very young, and your fingers do not hold the dexterity that age and experience might bring. But habit already makes the motion easy. Back goes the trigger - to half, to full, to raise it out the marbled window you lean lazily out from many stories up, aiming at the form of a sparrow in the yellowing trees that line a nearby garden, framing the dulled gray of the sky.
The shot rings, as do your ears, and every bird in the general vicinity goes flying. Your mouth tightens in displeasure at the one sparrow wavers into the stone walls of a nearby building, injured but still alive. Not good enough. A sullen hum drawls out as you blow the residue from the barrel and start to clean off the flint, even as light, pattering footsteps echo across the floor behind where you sit. She calls your name, something you register through the ringing... and promptly punctuated by a jerk of pain when she gently tugs at the braid behind your neck in impatience, chanting each syllable with a bounce to her that carries the curls of her hair like the flickers of a flame on the wisps of an evening breeze.
The cold of winter still bites at the starts of spring. It's not unusual for her to sneak into your bedroom when the servants have left her alone, the two of you dragging furs and feathered blankets to the fireplace with her face humming against the crook of your arm. It's not unusual for her to be a little gloomy when she asks to stay by your side, especially on those days where you can spot how fresh the scars appear on her skin. But tonight, she just seems happy. She babbles in that sunny voice, as quietly as she can with her face lit up by the light of the fire, up until the moment those blue eyes drift shut and she grows heavy against the floor. You find yourself glad, as you awkwardly brush the hair away from where it sticks to her mouth and pull the coverings closer. You always do. More than anyone, to see her smile fills you with warmth, of wanting to keep her here in this place near the fire while the rest of the world went on.
The weight of the night overtakes you. Soon enough, you wake up. The fire has died to ashes, the sun peeking up through the edges of the deeply-framed windows.
"---Wh... what the hell??? Where did you even find something like that???"
The old goblin across from you just laughs, tapping a grizzled fingers to his mouth as he lifts a battered violin out of his daily collections, tucking it off with those items that couldn't afford to be damaged by the moistures of the caverns. ">Secrets, Lutha. Your tongue is slipping.<"
Your face goes hot, but you give a sharp nod, mulling over the words you wish to use in the correct tongue as you crane your neck to try and get a better view. ">... Why did you even bring it down here? You know how much that's worth -- someone's just going to run off with it if anyone finds out.<"
">We must keep that between us then, correct?<"
You blink. "...I don't... >Ghett-Fer, I don't understand.<"
Your eyes are heavy as they slowly open, squinting from the lack of light. It's cold. It's humid. The rough carved stone around you is claustrophobic, and the lingering scent of rot makes your eyes water. You hear nothing but ringing from your right, no matter how you turn your head.
Your young fingers tighten against the scraps of a pelt thrown around your shoulders, against the bare remains of your hair, shaved nearly to the skin, now thick with the feel of a darkened, tar-like grime that coated the stone. You don't want to be here. You're tired. You've been tired for days. There's a peeking of sunlight, from where the stoneware meets the sky, very faint sounds of life above. But your chest tightens, a burning emptiness that matches how your gut claws like a wild animal against your ribs, your limbs trembling as you force yourself to your feet, slowly following the unfamiliar tunnels.
"Don't fucking follow me." The words spit out sourly, a mix of anger and nausea mixing deep in your throat as you bound down the wooden stairs, letting your feet find dusty ground and bracing to just walk in a straight line for as long as it takes. Behind you, you hear the furious echoing of the elf, the deep vocals of the wyvern trying to soothe her, and, more clearly, you can barely make out the voice of another man speaking through the doorway, even as he tries to descend right after you.
"An hour, give us an hour, just -- keep it all together, yeah?? No need to cause a mess." He sighs, his own gait light against the wood as he completely ignores you and pursues. "Lutha. Lutha, stop."
Your pace quickens, jaw tight, your nails digging into the palms of your fists. Fuck that. Fuck them. So often you'd been holding onto this group for no other reason than necessity, but this was just a line you could not cross. As always, though, the cold treatment doesn't seem to be working on Alfonso, whose pitch hits a tone that nearly drives a nail through your spine.
Hurt drives like ice into your extremities. But you press forward, your footsteps confident through the shadows of blackened, curling corpses of trees, roots barely anchoring the mix of stone and ground that still remained. You can hear something in the air above you. Likely Kai. Whatever. At least the wyvern wouldn't come to hold your hand. At least he wouldn't be throwing your name around as bait over a grudge. At least he wouldn't give into the batting of eyelashes and a heart that was far too soft.
Idiots. You're not here to be treated like a fool, and you're not just going to stand around and wait while they bickered while their stupid lead was getting away. They needed to split this up. You just made their choice for them.
Your eyes follow the ground, very wary of the rushing water constantly beneath your feet, the swamp turning to rapids as the slope changes. You'll need to make some calculated jumps. Nothing you haven't done before. You don't even break your pace as you find the safest spot, taking a running jump and letting your feet hit solid ground.
You're competent. You've proven that enough. So what if your temper needs some work. So what if you prefer to work on your own. Idiots. Idiots.
"Here, this way." Your voice stays dry and low as you quietly lead your company off through the alleyway, wrapping your knuckle against a carved doorway. The goblin-fer stays behind you, his pace slow. Age is starting to catch up to him, and you remain patient, even as the door opens in front of you.
You blink. You can see your contact beyond the entryway, the lithe human with blonde hair tied up messily on top of their head, waving politely from a table. But the bulking figure who stands at the door is a stranger, all tarry skin and bulking jaw, one of the tusks of the unfamiliar Orc cracked up the length as he stares down at you with cold, beaded eyes.
"...>>Street boy.<<"
"Ah, splendid, you found everything alright~" The man in the back singsongs his interruption in a heavily accented Common. You can already feel your headache starting to grow, even as your master slips by, letting him pass by the Orc that utterly dwarfs him, even as he gives a sunny smile that drags all his wrinkles up like an old piece of leather.
You keep your voice quiet as you lean down to whisper, ">Do you need me to lead?<"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
C MAJOR
E MINOR
G SHARP MINOR
B FLAT MINOR
F SHARP MAJOR
B FLAT MAJOR
B MAJOR
D SHARP MINOR
A FLAT MAJOR
B MINOR
C SHARP MINOR
G MAJOR
♯♭♯♭♯
Well, you suppose it wouldn't be the first time. Jackass.
placeholder --
LUCAS
♯♭♯♭♯
The shot rings, as do your ears, and every bird in the general vicinity goes flying. Your mouth tightens in displeasure at the one sparrow wavers into the stone walls of a nearby building, injured but still alive. Not good enough. A sullen hum drawls out as you blow the residue from the barrel and start to clean off the flint, even as light, pattering footsteps echo across the floor behind where you sit. She calls your name, something you register through the ringing... and promptly punctuated by a jerk of pain when she gently tugs at the braid behind your neck in impatience, chanting each syllable with a bounce to her that carries the curls of her hair like the flickers of a flame on the wisps of an evening breeze.
placeholder--
SEONHO
TSURUMARU
♯♭♯♭♯
The weight of the night overtakes you. Soon enough, you wake up. The fire has died to ashes, the sun peeking up through the edges of the deeply-framed windows.
You are alone.
placeholder--
SYLVAIN
ANASTASIA
♯♭♯♭♯
The old goblin across from you just laughs, tapping a grizzled fingers to his mouth as he lifts a battered violin out of his daily collections, tucking it off with those items that couldn't afford to be damaged by the moistures of the caverns. ">Secrets, Lutha. Your tongue is slipping.<"
Your face goes hot, but you give a sharp nod, mulling over the words you wish to use in the correct tongue as you crane your neck to try and get a better view. ">... Why did you even bring it down here? You know how much that's worth -- someone's just going to run off with it if anyone finds out.<"
">We must keep that between us then, correct?<"
You blink. "...I don't... >Ghett-Fer, I don't understand.<"
placeholder --
OCHAKO
ELLIOT
♯♭♯♭♯
Your young fingers tighten against the scraps of a pelt thrown around your shoulders, against the bare remains of your hair, shaved nearly to the skin, now thick with the feel of a darkened, tar-like grime that coated the stone. You don't want to be here. You're tired. You've been tired for days. There's a peeking of sunlight, from where the stoneware meets the sky, very faint sounds of life above. But your chest tightens, a burning emptiness that matches how your gut claws like a wild animal against your ribs, your limbs trembling as you force yourself to your feet, slowly following the unfamiliar tunnels.
He won't let you back if you try to steal again.
placeholder --
XIE LIAN
♯♭♯♭♯
"An hour, give us an hour, just -- keep it all together, yeah?? No need to cause a mess." He sighs, his own gait light against the wood as he completely ignores you and pursues. "Lutha. Lutha, stop."
Your pace quickens, jaw tight, your nails digging into the palms of your fists. Fuck that. Fuck them. So often you'd been holding onto this group for no other reason than necessity, but this was just a line you could not cross. As always, though, the cold treatment doesn't seem to be working on Alfonso, whose pitch hits a tone that nearly drives a nail through your spine.
placeholder --
OOKURIKARA (maybe?????)
♯♭♯♭♯
Idiots. You're not here to be treated like a fool, and you're not just going to stand around and wait while they bickered while their stupid lead was getting away. They needed to split this up. You just made their choice for them.
Your eyes follow the ground, very wary of the rushing water constantly beneath your feet, the swamp turning to rapids as the slope changes. You'll need to make some calculated jumps. Nothing you haven't done before. You don't even break your pace as you find the safest spot, taking a running jump and letting your feet hit solid ground.
You're competent. You've proven that enough. So what if your temper needs some work. So what if you prefer to work on your own. Idiots. Idiots.
placeholder --
OOKURIKARA
FIGARO
♯♭♯♭♯
placeholder --
ZHONGLI
♯♭♯♭♯
You blink. You can see your contact beyond the entryway, the lithe human with blonde hair tied up messily on top of their head, waving politely from a table. But the bulking figure who stands at the door is a stranger, all tarry skin and bulking jaw, one of the tusks of the unfamiliar Orc cracked up the length as he stares down at you with cold, beaded eyes.
"...>>Street boy.<<"
"Ah, splendid, you found everything alright~" The man in the back singsongs his interruption in a heavily accented Common. You can already feel your headache starting to grow, even as your master slips by, letting him pass by the Orc that utterly dwarfs him, even as he gives a sunny smile that drags all his wrinkles up like an old piece of leather.
You keep your voice quiet as you lean down to whisper, ">Do you need me to lead?<"
placeholder --
CLAUDE
no subject
FELIX
YULIY
no subject
HUA CHENG
BYAKUYA
no subject
MINAKO