katabatiic

[katabatiic]

Though the names of the months here are different, the calendar matches up well enough that Heath recognizes the date approaching. While he has not been perfect, he has made an effort to at least acknowledge Legault's birthday these past years, via letter and the occasional small gift.

This year, though, he doesn't have to rely on a courier and hope they happen upon Legault near his last known whereabouts. Heath can simply slip into the hidden abyss beneath Garreg Mach and navigate some rather shady streets while searching personally for his old companion.

Should he not call him friend, at this point? It's an odd friendship, but if Legault isn't his friend, hardly anyone could claim the title. And while it was not expensive, per se, Heath did put some thought into it. A nice whetstone, an abrasive cloth to clean out imperfections, even some oil to polish--Heath knows Legault keeps his daggers at top performance at all times. It's a practical gift, all things considered, and helpful in a place like this.

Heath definitely looks a bit out of place when he comes down here, and even if he dresses in plainclothes his demeanor is distinct and his hair memorable. Still, after several visits with nothing done but checking on Legault, Heath's certain they've just assumed he has business with him.

What manner of business assumed is questionable based on Legault's reputation, but it is what it is.

Thankfully, Legault seems to be at his little underground residence rather than out and about, which makes it easier to give him this little bundle without it seeming shady. And to say what he's going to say. He doesn't need an audience.

"...Happy birthday, Legault. Glad to see you're still kicking."

How old is he, again? Older than thirty, that's for sure. Though he'll never admit it.

It's an interesting development-- to be sought out by one of Bern's finest soldiers rather than trailing after him in the shadows. It's not new, per se, but there is a difference between sending a polite letter and showing up on one's doorstep.

(Even the letters had been a surprise, truth be told. There aren't so many folk who like to thank a disgraced assassin for sticking around for another year, and he'd often been a good distance away from the handful who were glad for his company.)

He hadn't been sure whether to even count Heath as someone who would be glad for his company. Optimism buzzes about between his ribs, disallowed from settling in any deeper in his chest.

"A personal delivery this year?" He smiles with a slight tilt of the head. "Careful, there. You'll fool me into thinking you actually like me."

The gifts are modest and direct in their use, but of a fine quality. They're not unlike the man who brought them, in Legault's eyes. The thief's gaze soften at the corners, just a touch.

"I try to stay sharp enough to safely stick around. It'll be easier with good tools, though. Thank you, Heath."

[katabatiic]

"Serious as the grave," Legault concurs, though his wicked smile remains. "I can behave when I need to, you know. If you don't want me to say anything else, I won't."

He abandons the lance at its post now, freeing his hand to twist a curled fist above his lips in a 'locking' gesture. With an extra flourish, the invisible 'key' is tucked into his shirt.

The thief is obediently silent as he kneels beside the bedroll. A forward tilt of the head and a quick tug at the back pulls his bandana free, and a light shake of the head allows his hair to fall over his half-numbed ears. Re-tying the fabric to cover them would do a better job at warming back up, but his fingers protest against the fine movement. Any position motion away from the curled shape he'd had around the lance shaft makes his joints ache.

He clicks his tongue quietly, wrapping the bandana loosely around his hands instead. A few exhales into his cupped palms begin to bring more feeling back to his skin. Between breaths, he nods toward Heath, then toward the bedroll. The little challenge he's invented limits their means of communication, but the knight can take a hint, no?

boy am i glad that he's out there and we're frozen in here and i just remembered-

mission board: anniversary [hv arm +1]

[katabatiic]

Legault's smile unfurls into genuine, unexpected glee. If going out into the sun means more chances to hear that laugh, he's not sure he can stop himself from foolishly throwing himself out into the daylight more often. To be laughed with is a rare treat, and an even sweeter one coming from a knight who once pushed him away so coldly.

"Would you like being my first choice?"

Nimble fingers drift away from grooves between stone, brushing lightly now over clusters of dark green leaves that crawl out toward the garden wall.

"I've bothered a few old friends, but you're the first out of the ones who tagged along with the little Lycian-led crew."

He plucks a leaf from the vine and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.

"It's reassuring to have wyvern wings around to provide a little shade. Especially when there's such a stalwart knight astride the beast."

Eyes lift from the streaks of green on his fingertips to bright, near-transluscent irises. He lets out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a soft laugh.

"I can count on the fiercest defense of the poor souls of Abyss with a pair like that around, can't I?"

if we're both getting chased by assassins will they cancel out like pemdas

[katabatiic]

"I thought the low light was just a nice part of the ambience, to be honest." Legault says, dishonestly. "It was cozier in here with the lights out if you ask me." He shrugs again, letting those ice shard eyes pierce as deep as they like. Pinpricks of suspicion are little more than gnat bites to someone with a history like his own. "Well, at the end of the day it's your shop. Adjust the lights as you please. Oh, and congratulations on the new business." His smile slides into something more comfortable and less faux-apologetic than before. If the role of a genuine customer hasn't been completely dismissed, he's more than happy to play along. Elbows rested on the counter across from the shopkeep, he tilts his head in thought. "Hmm…it's been so long, I wonder whether I can trust my memory of my friends' tastes." It's the first thing out of his mouth that doesn't contain any lies. "I suppose I can't go wrong with something practical. Do you carry blades, whetstones, anything of that like? Or do your wares lean more on the decorative side?" (He certainly can't imagine a practical use for gold ingots, save for a subpar bludgeoning weapon—but perhaps the other man has more options up his sleeve.)

yoink!

[katabatiic]

october activity

Skill Points

+1 Monthly

Total: 7

Allocated: Sword C+ (6) → Sword C+ (7)

[katabatiic]

𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.

a collection of words to describe the strangeness of being human.

✧ agnosthesia: the state of not knowing how you really feel about something.

✧ alazia: the fear that you're no longer able to change.

✧ altschmerz: a sense of weariness with the same old problems that you've always had, the same boring issues and anxieties you've been gnawing on for decades.

✧ apolytus: the moment you realize you are changing as a person, finally outgrowing your old problems like a reptile shedding its skin.

✧ bareleveling: trying to improve yourself without anyone else knowing about it, afraid that they'll think it's silly or grandiose or unnecessary, or that they'll end up calling too much attention to your efforts.

✧ bye-over: the sheepish casual vibe between two people who've shared an emotional farewell but then unexpectedly have a little extra time together.

✧ candling: the habit of taking stock of your life on the occasion of your birthday.

✧ craxis: the unease of knowing how quickly your circumstances could change on you.

✧ daguerreologue: an imaginary conversation with an old photo of yourself, in which you might offer them a word of advice, or maybe just ask them if they thought you had done justice to the life they built for you.

✧ dead reckoning: finding yourself bothered by somebody's death more than you would have expected, even if they were only an abstract presence in your life.

✧ dolonia: a state of unease prompted by people who seem to like you too much, which makes you wonder if they must have you confused with someone else.

✧ endzoned: the hollow feeling of having gotten exactly what you thought you wanted, only to learn that it didn't make you happy.

✧ énouement: the bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, finally learning the answers to how things turned out but being unable to tell your past self.

✧ etterath: the feeling of emptiness after a long and arduous process is finally complete.

✧ falesia: the disquieting awareness that someone's importance to you and your importance to them may not necessarily match.

✧ feresy: the fear that your partner is changing in ways you don't understand, even though they might be changes for the better.

✧ fool's guilt: a pulse of shame you feel even though you've done nothing wrong.

✧ harmonoia: an itchy sense of dread when life feels just a hint too peaceful, with an eerie stillness that makes you want to brace for the inevitable collapse, or burn it down yourself.

✧ heartspur: an unexpected surge of emotion in response to a seemingly innocuous trigger, which feels all the more intense because you can't quite pin it down.

✧ immerensis: the maddening inability to understand the reasons why someone loves you.

✧ inerrata: a kind of mistake you wouldn't take back even if you could.

✧ insoucism: the inability to decide how much sympathy your situation really deserves, knowing that so many people have it far worse and others far better.

✧ justing: the habit of telling yourself that just one tweak could solve all of your problems, which leaves you feeling perpetually on the cusp of a better life.

✧ kairosclerosis: the moment you look around and realize that you're currently happy, which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart, and put it in context.

✧ keep: an important part of your personality that others seldom see, that remains a vital part of who you are even if nobody knows it's there.

✧ kuebiko: a state of exhaustion inspired by senseless tragedies and acts of violence, which force you to abruptly revise your expectations of what can happen in this world.

✧ lackout: the sudden awareness that you're finally over someone, noticing that the same voice that once triggered a cocktail of emotions now evokes nothing at all.

✧ leidenfreude: a sense of paradoxical relief when something bad happens to you.

✧ liberosis: the desire to care less about things.

✧ lyssamania: the irrational fear that someone you know is angry with you.

✧ mauerbauertraurigkeit: the inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends whose company you generally enjoy.

✧ mcfeely: to be inexplicably moved by predictable and well-worn sentiments, even if they're trite or obvious or being broadcast blindly to the masses.

✧ nachlophobia: the fear that your deepest connections with people are ultimately pretty shallow.

✧ nighthawk: a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night.

✧ opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

✧ ozurie: the feeling of being torn between the life you want and the life you have.

✧ pâro: the feeling that everything you do is always somehow wrong.

✧ povism: the frustration of being stuck inside your own head, unable to see your face or read your body language in context, only ever guessing how you might be coming across.

✧ proluctance: the paradoxical urge to avoid doing something you've been looking forward to, stretching out the bliss of anticipation as long as you can.

✧ punt kick: a quiet jolt of recognition that it's time to become a better version of yourself, sensing that all the strategies that brought you this far are no longer working.

✧ rasque: a moment you instantly wish you could take back, feeling a pulse of dread right after crossing the point of no return.

✧ rubatosis: the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.

✧ scabulous: being proud of a certain scar on your body, even if it hurts.

✧ slipfast: the longing to disappear completely, so you can take in the world without having to take part in it.

✧ soufrise: the maddening thrill of an ambiguous flirtation, which quivers in tension halfway between platonic and romantic.

✧ tiris: the bittersweet awareness that all things must end.

✧ the whipgraft delusion: the phenomenon in which you catch your reflection in the mirror and get the sense that you're peering into the eyes of a stranger.

✧ tichloch: the anxiety of never knowing how much time you have left.

✧ tornomov: the weird hollowness of trying to imagine the distant future.

✧ yu yi: the longing to feel things intensely again.

[katabatiic]

Legault, currently waylaid by his task of driving the tip of his borrowed spear into the upper wall of their shelter to ensure they have fresh air, is certain he must have misheard. He twists to look back toward his companion and is greeted by the sight of far more fabric than metal. A grin springs to his face. The follow-up question only adds a wicked edge to his expression. Where to start, indeed. "You sure you want my directions on where to start and end your strip-down over there?" He purrs, leaning into the lance in his grasp as if its the only thing keeping his legs from buckling beneath him at the sight before him. A tilt of his chin toward a rucksack on the ground saves him from having to give up his little act too quickly—and saves him from having to uncurl stiff fingers too painfully, to boot. "There should be a wool blanket in that pack. I appreciate the show, but I'd still like to save myself from punishment for letting you turn into an icicle."

boy am i glad that he's out there and we're frozen in here and i just remembered-

mission board: anniversary [hv arm +1]

[katabatiic]

Legault offers a smile as his fingers curl around the shaft of the lance. If the roles were reversed and Heath had asked him to disarm himself, he'd be reluctant-- if not for his share of spare blades on his person. Then again, Heath seems a practical sort. It's difficult to imagine a fugitive from Bern would survive this long without an extra weapon or two tucked away.

Sharp eyes follow the motion of the knight's hand. Good. If his hunch is right then the man doesn't have a death wish, even if his vigil out in the blizzard speaks otherwise.

"If the wolves won't make a move until the storm passes, then we can worry about them after the storm. The cold will take you before any beasts get the chance if you stand out here all night." A sigh creates a large cloud of condensation in the air. "And then I imagine your lizard friend will eat me when he returns as punishment for letting you freeze."

He braves a few steps in the snow, taking half-shelter against the wind behind the bulk of Heath's armor. Fingertips brush against the back of a breastplate, only to flinch away at the bite of frigid metal.

"Let's pick a better end for ourselves, mm? One that doesn't happen tonight. I could use a hand organizing our supplies."

boy am i glad that he's out there and we're frozen in here and i just remembered-

mission board: anniversary [hv arm +1]

[katabatiic]

"I look like a student to you?"

Perhaps that explains the authoritative edge to the man's expression earlier. Still, there must be some sort of epidemic of students messing about with these odd little constructs if merely holding one is getting Legault mixed in with them. Surprise quickly gives way to amusement, adding a drop of warmth to his voice.

"I'm flattered, but I haven't been in a classroom since…well, ever. Could never afford tuition, I'm afraid."

He laughs lowly, mindful of his volume. The blessed quiet that has replaced the doll's cries doesn't go unnoticed. Its tiny features look more relaxed than he's ever seen them, half-tucked against the other man's shirt.

"Well, she seems to like your arms more than mine. I suggest she stay there until you locate that student."

…Which may be encroaching on indefinite, given this guy's student-spotting abilities. Unfortunate, that. He shrugs.

"Afraid I don't have much to help you with. Do you know any academy dwellers prone to dumping their homework in the waterways?"

what's the difference between a stork and a heron anyway

(return to sender pls) || mission board: anniversary — Faith +1

[katabatiic]

Legault's brows twitch upward at the returned touch—a little spark of bewilderment that he works to rein back in. All it had taken was the mention of his name for Legault to begin to imagine what he might say to Lloyd should they meet again. None of his thoughts had made room for Lloyd extending out a hand so readily, especially not while speaking of what he supposedly owes to a runaway.

He clears his throat and finds his footing, dusting off the sides of his pants with itching fingers. "Well. If you're willing to trust the word of a turncoat, I suppose a report is the least I could give."

Where to begin…? A low chuckle ghosts across his lips as he pulls old names to the front of his mind.

"If you want to hear about looking death in the face—the Angel of Death tagged along with the Lycians for a while, if you weren't aware. We can thank your little sister for that one." His voice softens. "She still lives as well. She's in Pherae, last I heard."

Her safety may already be known, for as much as Legault knows of the past several years of the Reeds' lives. It still feels worth sharing.

"As for the others…well, at least Jan is always a welcoming face. But most other survivors…" He laughs again, rougher than before. "Well, I've only met a few. Some think I'm there to give them their end. Had to explain my intent with a blade to my throat once."

He shakes his head. His smile remains, but there's weariness at the corners of his eyes when he brings them back to Lloyd's face.

"There is no fresh start. Seems that legacies like ours don't come out quick in the wash."

old habits, huh?

[katabatiic]

"Nope," The word is delivered with a pop at the end, followed by a slow-growing smile. "No killing orders for me."

His smile stretches a little further at that, as if he's just told a joke of some sort.

"I'm just a visitor who wanted to see what all the fuss is about. It's an impressive sight, I'll admit."

A petal flutters down through the space between the two of them, taking a sudden twist on the breeze and clinging to Legault's cloak. He plucks it from the fabric, turning the delicate thing between a thumb and forefinger. His gaze drops to the glint of the knight's axe.

A spark of curiosity alights in his eyes when he looks back to the man's face. How does a more chivalrous heart come to terms with a task like this?

"Seems a bit masochistic to spend time admiring your quarry. Makes it harder to do the deed, doesn't it?"

spring's end

mission board: anniversary | Axe +1

[katabatiic]

september activity

Skill Points

+1 Monthly

Total: 6

Allocated: Sword C (5) → Sword C+

[katabatiic]

Yikes. Not a lot of warmth in this one, is there? Ah, well, Legault is no stranger to ice and cold. He meets the shopkeep's frigid eyes with his own cool steel. The sharpened blade hidden safely beneath his cloak remains his own last resort. Braving this little interrogation is still preferable to putting it to use, though. “I’m here because I needed to acquire some goods, of course.” He shrugs loosely. “Was in a bit of a hurry, so I didn’t think to check if you were open.” “Now that I think on it,” A fingertip taps to the side of his chin once, twice, “Maybe the door did give me a little trouble. I just figured it was a sticky latch and forced my way through. Sorry if I caused any damage.” ( With how simple the lock had been to pick, it may as well have just been a faulty latch. )

He smiles, but his face isn't particularly good at creating an apologetic shape that looks sincere. It's more of a smirk, really. “Perhaps I could make it up to you with a purchase? I've recently reconnected with some old friends and I've been shopping around for gift ideas to make the reunions a little warmer. Do you have any recommendations?"

yoink!

[katabatiic]

The winding, dimly-lit corridors of the Abyss are home to many a sight and sound at practically all hours. It hadn't taken long for Legault to grow accustomed to the the sounds of violence in the distance, nor the habit of clinging to the shadows and stepping right by. …It is a bit more difficult when the violence is happening right in the middle of the narrow pathway that leads him home, though. As he approaches, the sound of the two mens' voices reach him with more clarity—hushed words carrying a tone that gives the whole scene a different sort of color. "Oh." Ah. That had slipped out aloud, hadn't it. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and gives the pair a quick smile. "Sorry, I'm still a bit new here. Didn't know this alley was reserved for couples. My abode is on the other side, though, so if you don't mind—" He strides right past the both of them, glancing sideways at the blood and scars on display beneath partially-opened shirts. (Saints above, that mark across the blonde's neck beneath his collar makes Legault's face decoration look like a kitten scratch.) "Well," A swift flick of the wrist serves as a gesture of farewell, "Have fun! Let me know where to pick up a partner for this type of event next time, would you?" And with that, the thief steps back into the darkness down the other end of the hall. Just another day in paradise…

[ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 ] ― sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood (nsfw bats eyelashes 🥺) Finding an empty hall was an art he had long mastered. Between those of Garreg Mach or Castle Fhirdiad, he knew most places. The Abyss was new territory, any slip up would have a passerby turn the corner and catch them. Yet teeth sunk into skin and savored the taste. Careful not to get too close, skirting around the edges of the places he knew would raise the other man’s voice. “We’re far from Fhirdiad, and you’ve no title you must hide to preserve. It’s been far too long since we played this game.”

(no longer accepting) lowkey-nsfw, just in case! thyre just freaky ig

His back hit the wall with a sigh- interrupted as teeth dug into his skin and pain flared up his neck and down his clavicles. It was an interesting position to be in, cornered in one of the Abyss’ many twisting hallways, just away from a torch’s warm light, plagued by the thrilling notion that the sound of steps approaching could range from a stray cat or dog all the way to a passersby catching them red handed. At worst, it could even be one of his students- a situation Lambert couldn’t even begin to imagine as to how he could explain to them.

Because the fiery pain from the bite didn’t call upon his crest for retaliation- to push the threat away and choose between escaping or ensuring there is no longer anything to be concerned by.

No, that pain sent his heart racing.

He had long forgotten how he even found himself in this situation. A walk with Matthias turned into tugging one another into spiraling corridors, hands pulling and yanking until his chestplate was detached and the buttons of his collar were pulled open to expose skin. Sighs and grunts and everything in between as Lambert tried to choose between reprimanding his companion for being a ridiculous, impatient deviant who couldn’t at least drag him to his own room and basking in the whole ordeal while at least trying to keep an eye out for the end of the hall.

“Thank you for the reminder.” His words had bite, but more of a tease than actual threat. “Is this how you hope…to drag your king back? By the teeth?”

Red-bitten lips curled into a smirk as he reached Matthias’ ear. “Like a dog?”

Now it was his turn to dye his lips crimson, digging onto the other man’s neck.

[katabatiic]

This town's boastings of its beautiful blooms weren't all for show, that's for sure. The central grove is alight with pastel pinks and whites, falling upon the townspeople and visitors alike in a gentle snow of petals. It's a sight to behold, and the crowd here is large enough for Legault to safely risk beholding it. He leans against a sturdy trunk, eyes moving between the branches above and the people below. A child tugs on their mother's hand and crosses in front of the thief. 'Are they really gonna knock all of them down, Mama? But they're so pretty!' 'They are pretty, but we learned they don't belong here. So…so they're going to take the trees back where they belong. That's all.' Legault exhales a little sympathetic chuckle under his breath. The breeze carries a flurry of petals, and in the distance—the sound of hatchets against wood. His eyes return to the crowd and settle on someone new. Most of the people milling about come in groups or pairs, but this man seems to be out on his own. He doesn't seem to be waiting for anyone, either—not as far as Legault can tell, anyhow. If anything, the man seems preoccupied. Whether that's by the view or something within his own mind is impossible to discern. …Unless one were to ask, maybe. Quiet footsteps are softened further by grass and fallen petals as Legault approaches the stranger, head canted to one side. "Hey there. Taking in the view before it's gone? I don't envy the ones assigned to the executioner's squad for this job, that's for certain."

@realmsprotector haha yeah sucks to be them right

spring's end

mission board: anniversary | Axe +1

[katabatiic]

The sound of a crying baby is a difficult one to ignore. It's loud, and shrill, and echoes sharply off the stone floors and corridors of the narrow path between Abyss and the surface. Legault needs it gone immediately. This would be true even if the bundle in his arms were a real, living infant. He has neither the means nor the disposition to care for a child, especially with the racket that one of this size tends to make. His plan ever since he heard that plaintive cry over the sound of the canal had been to scoop it up and dump it into the arms of someone more capable than himself. The fact that this little bundle of joy is little more than an enchanted doll simply means he can afford to be less choosy in his mark. Someone with their hands free, ideally unaccompanied. There—long dark hair, willowy frame. That one will work just fine. "Hey there, someone left this little thing where it doesn't belong. Mind holding it for me?" The crying, which had died down to a quiet fuss while the 'child' was tucked up against Legault's chest, comes back in full force when he shoves it into the other man's arms. Saints, what a noisy thing.

@thelightofcreation

what's the difference between a stork and a heron anyway

(return to sender pls) || mission board: anniversary — Faith +1

[katabatiic]

Well, if Legault had to choose someone to be stranded on a snow-capped mountain with, at least he's landed one of his top choices. The wyverns and riders of Bern are both of hardy stock, and it's a boon to have a set of them with you in just about any dangerous situation. Hyperion has already proved this point twice over—first with massive claws that helped dig out a snow shelter in less than half the time it would've taken two men alone, and now with strong wings that should return with help from the monastery by morning now that they don't need to bear the weight of two riders. And now, with the wyvern off in the skies, he is left with just the knight. Legault busies himself by shoring up the walls of their temporary little cave for a while, well aware that his companion isn't always much for conversation. (Not with himself, anyhow.) Unwinding a man as tightly coiled as Heath is a practice in patience. …Perhaps he could start by convincing the man to enter their little shelter before he catches his death outside. Legault edges toward the entrance, squinting against the icy wind that surges past. "…I hate to ask, but do you mind passing your lance this way? None of my tools of the trade are large enough to keep an air hole open up top here."

@loyaldeserter

boy am i glad that he's out there and we're frozen in here and i just remembered-

mission board: anniversary [hv arm +1]