chrysanths

[chrysanths]

Super short post! Thanks, everyone, for being so creative, fun and lovely in this short time we had. Thanks for also rekindling my motivation for writing, as I was in such a slump. I was initially intended on hiatusing because of my irl stuff but... well... - I'm sad to see it go but if anyone would like to keep in touch, please feel free to do so! I may be slowly lately, but I would love to hear from you!

[chrysanths]

keran

( ... ) today, keran keeps the tension coiled tight within her in anticipation of the next round, though there's time on the sundial before it. her eyes glance across the board to see that her opponent hasn't yet been determined, so she nods over to the holding tent that's a little down from the tournament ring. "your side needs seeing to, before aera pulls both our ears!"

Those weary embered eyes of his trace Keran's features as if they intend to hold her within them. The soft slope of her nose, those large eyes that tell every bit of what burns inside, the rosy tint across the apples of her cheeks from the heat of the battle, rising from that bright smile that compels him to never feel cross with her. Temptation to brush his fingers across her skin is simple to ignore when they are dirtied with his own filth, but he grips her hand strong, managing to rise to his feet with a pained grunt.

"Well matched... ugh, indeed..." Geonwoo takes pause, leaning into her unconsciously as they step from the ring. "H-had I not been distracted I would have— hrgh... I would have won!"

The words he chokes out are typical of their moments after battle. A brief banter, high spirits and goof sportsmanship. Rare, for the man to ever allow a hint of bitterness to seep into his lungs, but he tastes it in every inhale. Dust and steam and blood resemble the flavor of sorrow. He spits it out with a turn of his head.

"She need not know a thing if we are quick, then."

He meets pace with Keran's — slow and steady, shoulders brushing and bumping every so often. There is a pause in their steps, however, once they reach the tent. He leans away, reaches his hand toward. This one is unsullied and tender. Its thumb roughly wipes away a smearing of dirt across her jaw, other fingers intent on pushing those stray hairs from her face. A repeated ritual of the aftermath of their spars. The familiarity bubbles back into his chest. Bittersweet, undeserved.

"Your hair... needs brushing." The corner of his lip twitches. He has finally come back home.

⸻ END.

[chrysanths]

PLOT CALL

-ˋˏ OOC / Hello! I've fallen behind on plotting and now that I'm wrapping up some past threads, I would very much so like to get some more plots going for Geonwoo! I tend to plot a bit slow since I like to take my time and make sure I get things correct. Since many plots are interconnected, too, I would be very interested in expanding upon those if Geonwoo is tangentially involved! Please give me a ♡ if you are interested or have some ideas to pitch or would like to pick up where we left off and I will message you ~ ( I am shy though so pls be gentle. )

[chrysanths]

nara

( ... ) "you can imagine how shocked i was that so long had passed, for me it was only like a night." and a long one at that. "i was so scared that you and the others... that you–" she can't continue, but geonwoo will know what she means. it's still there among them, a wound that will never fully heal. "i'm just glad we're all alive, well and together." she offers him a wobbly smile. "i missed you an awful lot, brother."

"My injuries have healed by now, sister." he asserts when he pulls from her hug, offering her a reassuring widening of his eyes. "Rest assured, I have been treated well."

He allows Nara to do much of the talking, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of awe and bewilderment. The sight of her, after being gone for so long, fills him with a flood of questions. What was it like? Was it painful? Are you ill? Did you see mother and father? How long did it feel? Each inquiry swirls in his mind, but he swallows them back, one by one, before they spill from his lips.

As they approach the threshold of the sitting room, Nara begins to answer some of his less probing questions, her words coming faster than he can form them.

"I see..." Geonwoo's gaze falters, dropping to the murky liquid in the tea cup placed before him by a servant."Perhaps I am in... shock..." He clears his throat, blinking rapidly to dispel the unease settling in his chest. A drop of something falls into the still plum-flavored water, but he feigns brushing a bead of sweat from his temple "Did you hear from Yura? She..." His mind ventures to their spat prior to the banquet. It remained a regret nagging in the corner of his head for the past two months. His head shakes and he quickly brushes the topic aside, finding the thought of lingering on what he could have done better useless by now.

Geonwoo brings the tea cup to his lips, his fingers trembling slightly. Gentle enough for him not to notice. "I thought you... dead... both of you..." He admits softly, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air — weighted enough to slightly bow his head. I thought we would have to pick up the pieces on our own. "

[chrysanths]

yura

( ... ) “i was simply training outside and time slipped away.” she still gave her brother a prompt answer, aware of his growing impatience. her words weren't outright lies, yet she chose to hide a part of the truth, hoping it will be enough to quell her brother's suspicions. “i am tired, i shall head to bed now.”

Geonwoo does not look away from Yura's gaze — he never does, even when she makes her propensity for obstinance known. No, it is especially due to this personality of hers that he finds the need to stand so firmly against her decisions. ( And, perhaps, there is something to be said about siblings closest in age butting heads twice as much. )

He knows well enough of the youngest Choi's feelings on the matter of their parents. In the short time that has gone by since their passing, he has been able to make use of this to his advantage in understanding her motivations, her feelings. All of which had been something of a mystery to him in all their two decades together.

Yura had always been fiercely independent, reluctant to accept help even when she needed it most. It is a trait they both share, inherited perhaps from their parents, who always encouraged them to stand on their own two feet and pave their own way. And yet, in moments like these, he couldn't help but wish she would let him in, if only for a moment. The wall that surrounds Yura becomes visible to him. Just once, he wishes to step over it; else he knows the only other option is to knock it down. He hears those words, however; those of their mother. If only you could be more like— He refuses to say them himself.

"Training... ? You are lying to me, Choi Yura," Geonwoo is firm in his stance, stepping close enough to her to cast a shadow over her features. It is a tangible reminder of his presence before her — his ability to assert authority over her. His eyes travel past her toward the sky. Am I overstepping, father? But, despite the man's strict demeanor, it is clear the affection he holds for his sisters is something that would never waver; even if it means drawing tension between them. He is protective to a fault. "If you are content to conceal the truth from me, I will inform our sister when the morning comes."

A caveat lingers on his lips. He sighs, loosening the arms he coiled against his chest so tightly. "However, if you tell me now, I will keep this between us," he clears his throat. "Promise."

[chrysanths]

yeongja

( ... ) with her good arm again, she draws the circles, summoning more flames. they circle around her, igniting part of the sleeve on her bad arm briefly. she smacks the flames away, blackening her hand without a care. "i am nothing, now." she fills her chest with a breath, then begins to hobble her way over to him, looking up at what parts of his face she can see. "so tell me, what can this nothing of grace do for you, my lord? what do you wish of me?" she looks down, past him, to the courtyard that now suffers a drenching from the rain, and she brushes past him, bumping him with her injured shoulder as she enters the rain. "all i can offer now is convinction."

Geonwoo does not know what it feels like to lose part of oneself. Akin to a severed limb. A loss of his own lavabending would feel the same way. Yet another piece of his father torn from his grasp. So painful, so empty. He can only assume it burns in the same way the loss of his parents did. To watch those pieces tumble away is to fall to one's knees and look to the sky, muttering pleas for any god who may be merciful enough to listen.

Thunder cracks, lightning moves through the sky and ripples through the dark clouds like molten fissures in earth. Is that what she chases?

The rain comes down hard. Pelts against the ground and roof mask her words with a jagged blanket. It is enough to obscure Yeongja's form as she steps within it, transforming her into nothing more than a blurry silhouette. The sight leaves him a brief moment of awe. Yeongja's determination of self knows no bounds. Even as the sky's warm tears drench her through, she does not seem to flinch. It is as she says — conviction.

He jolts into the courtyard after her with every sense of urgency in each step. No offer of words or sighs are given as he makes an attempt to shield her body with his own from the downpour. He must be delicate in touch, well aware of the injuries that linger, even as he makes attempt to urge her to turn to her room. If it is his command to protect her, then he must — even if it conflicts with her direct order to leave her be. He can sense those words coming. They are already said without her needing to speak them.

"Princess..." He begins with his voice low, conflicting thoughts ruining his mind. He did not want to be the object of that ire when she returns with a cold. His expression twists. He fights against his need to discard his position with his casual words — to be bold enough to chide a princess. Could he manage to live with such a thing? The odd sensation of concern of another sort surges through him. It could be said the past few months are evident that Geonwoo is, indeed, capable of compassion ( among other things he once found unsuitable for himself ).

"Your state will only worsen should you remain outside." Surely, he would receive reprimand should he do nothing. Damned if he does, damned if he does not. He does not allow her the option of refusal, however. An arm coils around her in preparation to restrain should she burst into a tantrum once more.

[chrysanths]

chanyul

( ... ) the reminder about the upcoming meal, however, is admittedly a welcome one. chanyul hadn't eaten in hours, rushed from one event to another in preparation for tonight's festivities. "thank you," he says, though he knows that the timely reminder will do more to prompt the servants to hasten their efforts to finish dressing him. some of their work, of course, could be made easier if chanyul makes a few decisions beforehand. before geonwoo manages to slink away, he holds up a hand and meets his gaze. "gold or red ?" he asks, holding two silk sashes he's been considering.

The very existence of the prince is unfair. Geonwoo's opinion turns to spite the moment he feels his assumptions are confirmed all those years ago. His disdain for Chanyul takes its root in their childhood.

It evolves from general suspicion into a disdainful view that has his spitting little more than venom in his direction. His mother chides the young teen to be careful with his words; and his father insists there is growth in rivalry so long as it is healthy. However, there is nothing less than mutually destructive about this feud between two boys who know nothing more than emotional drive and unmitigated tempers. It takes them fighting tooth and nail until they are knocked to their senses. Geonwoo remains convinced they could have very well killed each other had they not stopped.

Their state now is little more than a war of words; battles calculated through gazes and underhanded statements and gestures. Geonwoo's opinion of the man still rings true — still driven by the irrational state of his heart that pushes him into nothing short of passion. Fervor in his vitriolic inner dialogue.

"My apologies, your grace." There are no excuses to give that would satisfy the prince, nor rectify his observation. Preparations for the event and his need to monitor his own family as well as tend to his own duties have stretched him thin, lending him no more than a few hours a night to sleep — much of which he spends sitting, hopelessly awake. He hardly expected any extension of sympathy to his cause. No, particularly not from Chanyul. For his own negligence in remaining alert, he marks himself for a self-inflicted punishment once his duties are cleared.

His eyes clear and settle on the fabrics held out to him. The golden one shimmers in the lantern lights like sun; the red trailing down the prince's hand like a sanguine river. His gaze flickers up to his face. He states his answer simply, refusing to elaborate, "Gold."

[chrysanths]

suguru

( ... ) "geonwoo," suguru calls, gently touching his shoulder with his good arm. "geonwoo wake up, we need to leave, now." he looks around, but there is no one who can help him. it seems it's just the two of them now. "come on, get up, we gotta go."

Geonwoo drifts between states of consciousness as the world burns around him. Screams and panicked yells of names and requests blur into ringing that suffocates his ears with its drilling. He can still hear the lava bubbling, the agonized cries of those dragged within still piercing the air. His eyes close as he rolls closer to the wall. Should he accept this? Death?

A dream briefly comes over him. One where a bird calls out to him; sings a song like the one his mother once did when he was a child. A chickadee with eyes like simmering coals. It bounces toward him and tilts its head. Then the voice changes. To a man's. Familiar. Someone he knows that lives. "Sugu...— " He calls out a in a wheeze. It hurts to breathe, hurts to move. The forming bruises that grip his ribs make it so.

"Safe… everyone — … safe?" Delirious mumbling is the most he can manage as he sits up. His eyes scan the ruins of the tea house — not a soul in sight but the two royal guards. No glimpse of his sisters, the few friends he had, the royal family. In his most disastrous of thoughts, they are all gone, set to never return, and he provides himself no time to lament over it. They must heal and rebuild. "Fuck... damn it all..."

Geonwoo, at last, finds the wherewithal to examine his fellow royal guard in front of him. Injured as well; unfortunately expected. He reaches out, hand firm against his nape. His eyes search his in the building's fiery glow. Has he, too, lost? The extent of his injuries? The Choi furrows his brows. Suddenly, you care so much? "You live." The statement is firm, pushed through grit teeth as he finally stands, his body heavy against the wall. "Report..." shortness of breath lends him little space for words, but determination of duty forces them out. "Have you seen... any further signs... ? House Yi..."

[chrysanths]

-ˋˏ OOC / Just a heads up that I will be slower than usual for a little bit. Currently, my battery is pretty low and, admittedly, I am having a difficult time keeping up (sobs). That being said! Thank you to everyone for your patience with me. Promise I am not ignoring, I just don't want to give half-assed responses where full effort should be given. And I wanna give the best I can. ♡ Hope you all had a great weekend.

[chrysanths]

"No," he rasps into the still air. "You are hurt." Geonwoo mutters those words as if his own injuries do not outweigh her own. In the midst of the chaos, he made sure of that. His hands pulling her away from the fray, sticking her at his sister's side as he hurriedly urged them to rush to safety. He held her in his eyes as if it could have very well been the last time she might see him alive. Having the next moment of seeing her be in a panic over his half-conscious form has been an image that would sit with him in perpetuity.

"Do not worry about me... Please, Keran." He pauses, slipping from the bed with a suppressed grunt of pain. His breath is still short and difficult to draw in from the pressure in his ribs. The bruised area pushes into his lungs like an unyielding hand intent on suffocating him. He rounds the other side of the bed ( limp noticeable ). The fingers on his good hand comb through the messy tresses that line her forehead from her eyes. There is a pause in his movements to trace her features in the dark. His vision has adjusted by now. Tears... Lines crease his brow with worry. "I will fetch you some calming tea, if you are unable to sleep... Do not move from this spot for now."

geonwoo's hand brushes away a teardrop clinging to her eyelashes, catching the pale moonlight suspended within. the poultice wrapped in her bandages is starting to make her wounds hurt, her palms having been burnt raw from trying to wrestle people from lava. she'd helped some, but not enough. and not her family—something sour pinches her nose, tears pooling in her eyes again. it blurs the movement when geonwoo responds to her, turning away from the door where he sits upright.

she understands him, soldiers at attention, the need to keep vigil ingrained in them. it's there in the tired shadows under his eyes, alert despite the weariness seeping through his wounds. he calls her name as softly as he's able to, and it feels like a hand cradling her still panicked heart. "i can keep watch too," she whispers back, tremor of her breath floating above aera. keran shakes her head, the sound of her hair rustling softly against the pillows. she doesn't need sleep right now, and geonwoo needs time to rest. keran pushes herself upright, careful not to disturb her sleeping friend, and roughly swipes away the tears that roll down her cheeks with gravity. "we can take turns. have you had any sleep at all?"

[chrysanths]

"Nara... ?" He can hear her voice. A far off cry carried by a gust in the gentle spring wind. It blows through him, leaving his skin cool and bristling with bumps that make him shiver. "... N-..." He bursts from the palanquin the servants had been insistent he sit in, nearly stumbling from the height it is lifted at. He can still feel the phantom pains of those wounds coursing through his body. A shortness of breath overcomes him as he breaks into a run, ignores the calls of the guards. A stinging sears through his leg but he pushes through it, leaning briefly against the gates. "Nara!"

He is breathless by the time he reaches the patio. He props himself against the wooden pillar. There is hardly time to react before her embrace throws itself around him. Although not one for physical affection, Geonwoo folds. He offers her his arms in return, bending to meet her height.

"I wanted to run here... the moment I heard of your return," his brows furrow as he mutters into the space behind her. He recalls the dismissal of his request to leave Fire Fountain City, those lingering feelings of rage as he was forced to return to his quarters to stew with the mystery of his sister's fate for another two weeks. "I am relieved. You live... You truly live."

He feels that unfamiliar stinging. It rumbles like an itch beneath his skin, pushing a twitch beneath his eyes. "Fine. I am fine," he stretches the truth. The evidence is clear on his body. The reddened scar that peeks from the collar of his robe, the healing burn marks up his left arm. It is impossible to hide the injuries of battle. "You... are not injured nor sick? I was informed you...—" his tone shifts into something more skeptical, seemingly befuddled by the explanation of the phenomenon he'd been sitting on for the past month. "— you were taken to the spirit world and returned."

In that time, he feared — dreaded — the idea of her death along with Yura. The loss of another two of his family members took a toll on him that outweighed the horrors of that night that still linger in his mind. He suffers the paranoia of another attack the entirety of his time at the Bae estate, convinced their proximity to the incidents site would put them at greater risk. Had he slept more than a few hours a day since the chaos? He is not so sure these days. Those two months came and went in a blink, passing as a waking nightmare of foreboding aftermath.

with geonwoo @chrysanths at the choi household

"my lady, shouldn't you be resting?" the servant rushes behind nara, trying to keep up with her long steps.

"i already rested enough." and that is the truth. she turns to the servant, smiling. "fresh air will make me feel better."

it's all she wants now, to feel the air on her face, to look up at the sky and know that she is here, in the real world. it's a beautiful day and nara intends on enjoying it. when night comes she knows she won't be able to sleep, knows that when sleep finally come it will come in small increments, will make her toss and turn on her bed, waking up in the middle of the night and not sleeping anymore.

here, unlike in fistfires, nara feels a connection to the house, to the garden her mother tended to, to the rooms where her father would sit and read. here is home, here is safe. she will feel even better once she sees her siblings – she knows that they are fine, but knowing and seeing are two different things, and the anxiety of separation makes her jittery.

have they ever been apart for so long? nara doesn't remember. from the day her first sibling was born, they've been together at all times – it could be suffocating, there were times when nara wished she could have just one moment of peace and quiet, but she would never want it for too long, surely never forever.

she turns around when she hears a commotion at the gates. "what is it?" she asks the servant who has been following her like a shadow.

"someone approaching the gates, my lady," the servant answers, already picking up her skirts to follow nara, who runs to the gates.

call it intuition, call it despair, but nara feels her brother before she sees him. she knows beyond any comprehension that geonwoo has arrived. and to prove her right there he is, standing in the inner patio of their house.

nara stops, tears already sliding down her cheeks. "geonwoo!" she all but screams, manners forgotten as she runs towards him. "geonwoo!" her brother, looking just like she had last seen him at the banquet, alive and well.

she hugs him tight, like she used to do when he was little. "oh, geonwoo." she pulls away, hands on his shoulders. "let me look at you, are you alright?" nara asks. "i missed you so much." she hugs him again, unable to control her tears.

[chrysanths]

yeongja

( ... ) she stands, her bad arm falling limp at her side as she sheds the sling, casting it to the ground. her left arm is dead weight, completely useless, but with the right hand she begins drawing those fluid circles in the air, trying to summon the storm within her, one she knows rages harder and fiercer than whatever childsplay nature was making outside. ribbons of flame appear, whipping out of her hand in elegant, fluid motions, but they grow more erratic and chaotic in nature the more she pushes for a different element she once held mastery of. she pushes and pushes until the flames nearly seer the ceiling, pushing them out through the doorway and into the rain with a shout of pure frustration. the pain pulses in her thigh and her arm, but she ignores it again, more wounded over her failure to conjure the one thing that made her her.

The ground still rumbles beneath the steps that he traces along the palace corridors. That day is a ghost that looms overhead, digging its fingers in like claws of dark spirits tearing at his flesh. The sites of past injury still ache beneath his armor, a constant reminder that only draws him closer to the nightmares he fought to keep away.

When he first received notice of his next assignment, he had hardly given it a second thought. ( The distraction from his mind's lure would be a welcome change. ) In all his seven years of serving as a guard, then one who protect and serve the royal family, he has grown to know their routines, served at each of their sides in succession ( sometimes to his chagrin ). But the weight of this duty draws heavy on his shoulders. Circumstance and tragedy befall the children of House Yi. In her ailment, her weakened state, the need for more personal protection has placed him in closer watch to Princess Yeongja. In mere appearance, the woman has faded from the doll-like sovereign's daughter he once knew. She is a shell of her former self, cracking and trembling in all her looming fears. Her once vibrant presence now seemed muted, as if she were but a shadow of her former self.

The sun has already begun its set over the horizon, bleeding colors into the darkening sky as it retreats. He stands outside the door to the courtyard of her quarters. Back presses against the wall and his eyes drifting to another passing guard he gives brief nod to. The man mentions a coming rain, tapping stray drops of moisture from the spiked helmet perched atop his head. The chill of the evening air seeps through the joints of his armor, raising goosebumps on his exposed skin.

Moments later, the door to the princess's chambers creak — a crack of thunder roars through the thick grey clouds in the seconds that follow. Geonwoo turns from his position with an urgency that swirls a dizzying sensation into his head. From her room bursts trails of fire, a cry of desperation before he sees her standing there, her eyes seem fixed on some distant point within the sky. Across the courtyard yells a maid, 'Princess, you mustn't!'

Geonwoo breaks into a sprint to approach, but he exercises caution in the few feet he stands from her, hands outstretched. The rain cascades from the sky like a barrage of arrows, chilled and stinging. He shouts her title across the way. "Your grace!"

[chrysanths]

jiyu

( ... ) “you think yourself above the law? is that it?” when he straightens up, just for a moment, he towers over geonwoo. “if it’s not your command he’s under, you’re stepping out of line. whether or not he deserves the rope isn’t your decision to make.” they’re bound to attract attention, very soon. jiyu’s not eager for it, and too hungover to want to deal with the situation at all. “who does he report to?”

Above the law? He scoffs at the notion. On the contrary. Geonwoo's own suggestion on the matter would differ, fall on deaf ears. "I follow the discretion of House Yi and my commanding officer's standard of enforcement."

The tone of his remains in its typical monotone; inflections nonexistent as he drones on about the official memorized 'laws' his ilk follow within the winding walls of Hari Bulkan. As if he were a tool and nothing more. "A guard must fulfill his duty to protect and serve at all times in accordance to the command that the royal family be protected and represented in a way that preserves their honor and strength. The code of conduct dictates harsh punishment for dissidents and problematic behaviors. Should this be your ship, I would concede to you."

He bites his tongue from further comment. In spite of his need to correct, he knows his place. Jiyu is still a naval commander, a revered son from a strong great house. He does not know of him in the way he does his younger sisters.

The royal guard considers himself to be far from in the wrong, steadfast in the convictions and morals instilled within him since they were all youth in the Fire Nation's best academies. Those who act in are to be reprimanded and, at the discretion of authority, subject for torture or death for any serious actions. He would live and die by the code of conduct — no matter how improper and inhumane it appeared when he enforced it in his own way.

"Do you not agree, my lord?" Geonwoo continues his glance up at Jiyu with a furrow lacing across his brow. His gaze drips with scrutiny, tone telling of a man genuinely befuddled by the other's offense to his actions.

[chrysanths]

⸻ @tamedflame

In the most recent passing days, Geonwoo comes to ponder upon his true feelings concerning his profession. He takes immense pride in his position; knowing himself to be one of the Fire Nation's most formidable to be granted such a role. However, there are instances in which he can feel the regret creeping at his toes. His body has been honed over the years to be sturdy as a tree trunk, able to withstand the heaviest of blows and longest of days. And yet, a waver makes itself known in his legs.

He feels his eyes grow heavy, head bob to the side and— he clears his throat, startled by his own doze. Several blinks and a widening of his eyes jolts him back from the seductive fingers of dream world. One glance around would serve him a reminder of where he is. Trapped, he would say, within four walls of some extravagantly decorated bedroom. With honor from House Bae, each noble had been granted accommodations in the coming days before their illustrious banquet. The children of House Yi ( of course ) are housed in the most luxurious of spaces. Certainly no match for the royal household in Hari Bulkan but its interior is impressive. More than a man like Geonwoo would ever dream to stay in.

His special assignment to guard Prince Chanyul ( and the other members of the royal family ) only gives him a small peak into the life of unfettered opulence. Servants flit about the room with various items of clothing. They hold it up to the prince's body to see how it may fit for his banquet outfit. Outer robes, silk sashes, shoes with ornate designs. The man finds the repetitive notion of dressing and undressing in pieces one would not walk out and wear a daunting task.

Gods, free me now... or make the sun grow dark and end this suffering.

"Your grace," through grit teeth, he speaks at last; leaning over the prince's shoulder as he sits. Geonwoo's hands remain clasped tightly behind his back. "Dinner will be served soon, on the hour."

[chrysanths]

⸻ 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖐𝖘 𝖜𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖆𝖗

a rise character development prompt for lord choi geonwoo

BASE ; wood — in a social setting, is your character more stoic and reserved or are they more boisterous and expressive? why so?

Stoic and reserved. It is simple something in his nature. Developed from a young age, the concept of stoicism was instilled in him by his father. The man took a special interest in the boy and he inevitably began to mirror the attitude of his father. Remaining as a stone pillar in a world of wildfires is important. It has helped him in his refinement of his lavabending and offered him a better discipline when it comes to his position as a royal guard.

EYE HOLES ; almond-shaped — if your character were to successfully manipulate someone to their will, would they harbor any guilt or remorse for their actions?

When it comes to manipulation, Geonwoo is someone who is none the wiser about why he would ever need to do so. He is a man who is very sincere with his intentions, simple-minded and unflinchingly honest, and has never taken any interest in the machinations of the other nobles. In fact, he finds it a bit abhorrent. It is nothing he would do in the first place, beyond this hypothetical. But he would find himself incredibly guilty if he ever did so.

Self-destruction. Leaning into rage. This is how he manages to cope with any pain he goes through. He retreats into himself, most of all.

NOSE PIECE ; plain — what is your character’s most used coping mechanism?

Geonwoo carries with him a special charm that was made by his twin sister, Aera. It is similar to a bokjumeoni or omamori pouch. It is one of the first ones she ever made and he has kept it with him ever since. ( He used to have a second one made more recently but it seems to have somehow found its way into the hands of someone else. ) The initial purpose is for good luck. Otherwise, Geonwoo dresses very plainly.

MOUTH OPENING ; none; a half-mask — what is your character’s most recognizable habit or mannerism?

A man of habit, he is recognizable by the way he stands. He is ever the picture of a member of the royal guard, standing with his hands behind his back and his shoulders straight, chin forward. He is also known to simple grunt or hum in response to certain things. His mannerisms are very military noble. Stiff and proper.

EMBELLISHMENTS  ; metallic accents — does your character have a signature piece or accessory that they frequently wear? if so, what significance does this piece have? if not, why so?

FASTENINGS ; leather cord — what is your character’s worst fear, insecurity or vulnerability?

To put it simply: losing his siblings. He has already lost his parents. The last thing tethering him to this earth is what remains of his family. And so, this is his worst fear and his subsequent vulnerability.

[chrysanths]

⸻ CHARACTER UPDATE

Given the events and some plotting I have done, as well as thinking, I've decided to write up a comprehensive update for Geonwoo and lay out the character development he will be going through and what happened to him during and following the events! This could lead into potential plots or further dev!

THE BANQUET : Before things went awry, he did not enjoy the banquet much, sticking mostly beside the royal family's children. He is never off-duty.

THE ATTACK : During the attack, he stuck around for as long as possible to fight off the dark spirits and maintain the strange lava. He went out of his way to pull other nobles to safety ( especially those who are young or unable to fight ) and stuck to protecting the royals to the best of his ability. He displayed acts of selflessness, appalling even himself, and managed to stay in the physical world. But he has his first argument with his twin sister Aera, when he pulls her to safety. Suguru, his fellow royal guard, assists him while he is injured in being brought to the infirmary.

AFTERMATH : Because of his actions, he becomes severely injured and sustains those that take over a month to completely heal. Bruised rib, sprained wrist, cuts along his arm, and several deep wounds. For a time until healing all the way, he has a temporary limp. Because of his fight with so many, he can still feel the toll the incident has taken on him mind, body, and spirit. Fortunately, this has all given him time to become even more in tune with his lavabending and swordsmanship so he can do better next time. ( Hoping there will not have to be... )

CONCERNING FAMILY : In the month and a half that his sisters Yura and Nara are gone, he has become convinced they are dead. Fortunately, his twin Aera is more spiritual and when Nara appears in her bed, he is at a loss, and finds himself unable to not openly weep when it is told to him that Yura has been found as well. He cries for the first time since their parents died. Safe to say he has an even more profound protective mindset over them than he already had and he strives for their house to become stronger than ever.

CONCERNING LOVE : Something he does not want to touch upon whatsoever. When two months pass and decisions are made that are out of his hands, he will feel as if he's breaking in two all over again. Despite a heartfelt confession, court politics rule, and he is left with empty hands and a sore heart. He wants to find and burn that letter ( to be posted ... maybe ). This result will slowly turn him away from unwavering, unquestioning support of the system he once sought to uphold. He will retreat further into himself and leave matters of the heart and all pursuits of it in the dust, never to be touched again. Rage, jealousy, bitterness and sorrow overwhelms him once more. He remains in his room or sitting glum in a tavern or garden if not working, from here on. Profession above all, now.

PLANS FOR THE FUTURE : Eventually, years and years down the line, my plan is for him to vie for position of captain of the royal guard for his achievements and the strength he has shown. If he cannot have selfish human wants, he will focus on honing himself as a more useful tool. He will also be thinking of a way to convince House Yi to allow more individuals to learn lavabending for times of crisis, shifting from his position to covet it. He is playing the long game. The rest of my thoughts consist of years down the line, including the latter but it's relevant since it begins brewing now.

[chrysanths]

Franz Kafka