#// feel no need to match length

[decimatlas]

@naitfall gets a starter from Zelda.

An unlikely alliance has formed in a world that crumbled around them. Sharing a meal with those who have been painted as enemies for so long was a surreal experience that Zelda was still growing accustomed to.

At this point in the night, many of them have gone their separate ways to get some rest, but some of them remained awake. Zelda leans against Pieck's Cart Titan, slowly sipping at her second bowl of Hanji's stew as she attempts to blink away thoughts of the night's events. All considering, it could have gone worse, but the image of Jean beating Reiner kept flashing through her mind.

Of course, pushing the night's events to the back of her thoughts did not leave Zelda any better off. No, because now she would ruminate on a question that has been eating away at her since their lives turned upside down: Why would Zeke do this? How could he do this? He betrayed everyone –– his people, especially the Warriors. The word that most accurately describes what Zelda is feeling is blindsided. She knew Zeke had some strong ideals, but she never knew he felt intensely enough to do this.

❛ General. ❜ Zelda breaks the silence that had fallen, which causes Pieck to shift her position a little bit. Magath turns towards Zelda, his brows rising in anticipation of her next words. ❛ I just... don't understand. I don't understand how Zeke could do this to us. ❜ She doesn't realize that Levi has stirred awake at this point, likely at the sound of Zeke's name. She is too focused on Magath's lack of a response. He seems unable to find the words, it seems, but Zelda continues. She isn't sure she's doing this for anyone else but herself, resorting to vocalize her confusion and hurt while they exist in a space where they could do so. Who knows when the next time they'll be able to speak their minds will be? For all they knew, this night could be their last chance.

❛ He chose Eren over us. ❜ Zelda can't help but to speak his name with an air of hatred. She's thankful mostly everyone went to sleep, or are occupied with other things. Pieck's Cart Titan lets out a dejected breath; it seems she is too exhausted to engage. Magath simply stares at the ground. ❛ Do you have anything to say? Either of you? ❜ If Onyankopon was still awake, he would surely converse with her. She wouldn't bother engaging with Yelena. But she would like to hear from her comrades –– her truest comrades. Zelda's voice becomes more distressed. ❛ I'm talking about Zeke, and you have nothing to say? ❜

[flamesque]

₊❏❜ ⋮ i'll chase you to the ends of the earth. ⚬𓂂

@dolasach

He is used to it; however, that didn't mean he accepted it.

Rafayel sighed as he let his head rest against his palm, the same thing being drilled into his mind by the endless sea of words spewing the history of Lemuria and the world on the surface repeated like a broken record from the elders. He seemed to be falling asleep and was immediately scolded for not paying attention.

Evidently, something came up that had the elders leave the vicinity for the time being and this served as an opportunity for Rafayel to escape. He had attempted in doing so a few times, but he was sure that this time he would be able to be successful. 

A blue fish swam around him and held his hand out, allowing the fish to swim over his palm. 

"Shall we head to the surface? It's a little boring right now and I'm tired of hearing the elders saying the same thing over and over again." 

The fish continued swimming over his palm before seemingly directing him toward an opening to which he was able to squeeze through. It was then he realized that he was out of the city walls of Whalefall City and was able to swim to the surface.

He thanked the fish before it disappeared back through the city walls and Rafayel didn't have to think twice as he turned away from Whalefall City to swim up to the surface; however, before he allowed himself to fully come out, he swam slowly as the damn words from the elders rang in his head. 

"The world on the surface is dangerous, even if those people worship our Sea God, there is a chance that someone will try to capture him."

"As the previous Lemurians have..." 

"Rafayel, you must never venture out to the surface world. Your people are here, that is all that should concern you." 

And the annoying part of all. "The Sea God will one day meet the Goddess of the Forest, and when that day comes, should he fall in love with her, it will be the beginning of the downfall of Lemuria."

Rafayel always thought it to be those stories to be something a parent would tell to their child to make them listen. And besides, Rafayel had always been, not only a rebellious soul, but one of sheer curiosity. 

Once he peeked out from the water, he spotted a woman by the shore. And he had seen a few other humans before, but something about her was different and he couldn't help but to swim towards the shore, closer to her. Who could she be? For some reason... he needed to know and while he doesn't know why he needs to, he simply just has to try; in a way, it felt as though there were residual feelings, feelings that weren't from him and that in itself baffled him.

So without thinking, his mouth opened to speak.

"Who might you be? You don't seem... human to me, although you do appear to be." He tilted his head briefly before letting out a laugh. "Ah, apologies. This is bold of me, I will admit."

[faithhearted]

@honorhearted said: "Can we speak of this another time? I'm busy." (for Mary!)

This was not how Mary envisioned her life unfolding. Ever since she was a child, she had strived to be proper, to be viewed as a good and Godly young lady. ‘Be kind’, her mother had told her, ‘kind and fair and devout and true. These are the makings of a desirable woman.’ and so she’d obeyed. Even now, over and over again Mary told herself to be kind, fair, devout, and true, and your husband will love you.

But she had not married the man to whom she’d been promised. Instead, she’d wed his brother, who had taken her hand out of some sense of duty or responsibility though he never spoke about why.

No matter how kind, fair, devout, and true she endeavored to be, her husband did not love her. He’d done his husbandly obligation and together they’d conceived and raised a child, but still, he did not spare her an ounce of affection.

Instead, Abe’s eyes lingered upon Anna Str.ong, the woman he had always loved and loved still. It tore at Mary until her heart was in tattered shreds. Anna was everything Mary was not.

Anna was inconsiderate, tempestuous, fickle, and irresponsible. She too was a married woman and yet Abe wanted her. In truth, Mary once utterly despised Anna for this, and that hatred ate at her gut until she was tired of the way that hatred felt. Instead, all her energy was now spent on ensuring her family's survival.

A fortnight ago, Mary had been brought to the Contin.ental Army’s New Wind.sor camp for her protection, and for her son’s, and Abe was off once again, in another covert plan to enlist in Arnold’s unit. While Mary supported her husband’s revenge against Sim.coe, she was once again left alone to wait for a man who did not want her and who might very well never want her.

Despite all this, Mary worried for his safety. Early that morning, she’d set out to Major Tall.madge’s tent to inquire about Abe’s well-being only to be met with unattentive indifference to her presence. It was something she was used to but refused to tolerate further.

"Can we speak of this another time? I'm busy."

“We will speak of this now,” she firmly insisted, snatching the quill from his hand if only to force him to look into her pleading eyes, “Please, Major, you must know something about how he’s fairing. Will you not permit even five minutes to ease a wife's concern?”

[jasonmacavoy]

location: blackwell gala for: anyone! @thefallstart

This wasn't typically Jason's scene, too swanky and posh for his less refined and more barbaric tastes. He was more of a dive-bar kind of guy, perfectly content with a large pint of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a Marlboro Red stuck between his lips. If was going to go out, that's what he'd want. Nothing fancy, just a shit ton of cheap beer and a couple of smokes in his honor.

But tonight had nothing to do with him. He was simply on call, and for all intents and purposes working, positioned at the side of his gang like any good, little soilder would be. Jason didn’t ask questions either. He just did as he was told and carried out his 'errands' with pride and a sense of discipline — well it always started out that way anyway.

He hadn't lasted more than twenty minutes, a personal best for the ex-fighter, before all this being on his best behavior bullshit had earned him a drink. Jason had spotted an empty chair at the bar and just as he reached for the seat, another did the same.

"Yo, I was here first."

[bxllatrix]

OPEN STARTER — THE WEDDING.

Bella was on her best behaviour today, although the urge to scream, break into frustrated tears, or hex someone all threatened to suffocate her. The weather was, of course, perfect, her sister was stunning, and the overall ceremony had been... mind-numbingly heartwarming. Something she would think if she had a heart to warm, at least. Bella, obviously, wasn't jealous nor annoyed at all. She didn't care that love filled every nook and cranny of the blasted place. She didn't care about the ease at which Narcissa's friends chatted amongst themselves, always knowing exactly what to say and when to say it. She also did not care that everywhere she turned, she was forced to offer empty platitudes, greetings, and — merlin forbid — compliments.

Which is why after multiple hours of pointedly not caring, Bellatrix leans over and picks up a canapé, shoving it into her mouth and biting down so hard her teeth clack together. She sees the other person, but on theme for today, does not care. "Stop looking at me," she says calmly and slowly, "or I will snap your arm in half, and I won't use my wand to do it."

[councillor-roland]

closed starter for @gwyndolence

How was it that he always ended up alone?

It was a feeling Roland really should have been used to after all this time and yet, somehow, every single time it happened it was just as painful if not more so. Oh, Rhys hadn't exactly dumped him but given that the witch had relocated to London for the foreseeable future and more or less forbade Roland from joining him due to family and coven complications, it basically amounted to the same thing. They weren't broken up but given the circumstances they weren't really together, either, so it was like they were on pause. Roland hadn't wanted that but no matter how much he'd argued or pleaded, that was the result. He couldn't hold Rhys at the end of the day anymore or see his smile on a frequent basis.

Effectively, Roland was alone.

He ached, fiercely missing Rhys already. In spite of all his practice, Roland wasn't actually very good at being alone, the last thirty or so years being the exception. That had been before this new love, when he'd more or less resigned himself to not risking his heart again and enjoying everything else life had to offer. He should've known he wouldn't have been able to stick to that and now here he was.

Roland had been at the piano in his suite for hours. He wore a dress shirt, waistcoat and jacket long since carelessly discarded, sleeves rolled up. First, the pieces he'd played were angry, discordant, venting his frustration. Inevitably, however, he'd drifted into the melancholic, the haunting, and sad. He'd done some Scriabin and Ravel and was just near the beginning of Chopin's Prelude in E Minor when he caught the sound of someone skulking about his suite near the balcony doors. While normally he might have reacted more strongly to an intruder, he was too lost in emotion and music to bother at the moment. Roland didn't even turn from the piano or stop playing as he spoke, quiet but firm and clear.

"Whoever you are, go away. I'm not in the mood."

[moshebehar]

SETTING ― Latte Love, afternoon ! AVAILABILITY ― Open ! ( Capping at 4 ) !

It was peaceful. That had been Moshe’s initial impression of Blue Harbor when he’d finally taken the plunge that following Nilay halfway across the world had warranted. There was really no telling whether he'd make the decision to leave any time soon― he doubted his perpetual wanderlust would pull him away from Blue Harbor considering the fact that he seemed to find more and more reasons to stay with every passing day. It wasn’t as though he had a deep aversion to packing up and leaving if that was something that needed doing— it was more that his time in the United States had offered him a freedom he’d not yet allowed himself to experience in life and he was all too willing to take advantage of it as long as he possibly could. Freedom that had found him, at that present moment, shifting in a cafe chair outside of Latte Love, grading papers for the most recent assignment he'd given his first year students. 

“Ah, good try, mate,” Moshe found himself murmuring under his breath as he wrote a few detailed comments beneath the final paragraph of the paper in question. He admired the effort his students were willing to put into their work and hoped it was in part due to even the barest hint of respect they’d developed for him since he’d become their teacher. He found himself blinking owlishly at the sight of a phone number scribbled at the end of one of his student’s papers and shook his head firmly as an almost startled laugh erupted from him just loud enough to catch the attention of someone near him. He raised a hand and smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry about that– I hope I didn’t startle you. Perhaps you can help me? What’s a fellow to do to turn a student down incredibly gently when they seem to have a crush on him? I’m really quite concerned I’ll accidentally reduce her to tears or something.”

[denverneumann]

It was with not just a little bit of trepidation that Denver took her first steps into the Tower since she'd been escorted out. It hadn't even been that long ago. Snow, what had it been, a week? Two? Time seemed to be in a state of flux, or else a kind of liminal stasis. In a world without Games there were no bookends to the seasons, no touchstones upon which to ground one's sense of reality. And what a painful reality it had been. But Denver had been promised it would be okay this time. She was going to be okay. She had walked in through the front door, and no one had arrested her yet. Besides, even if someone didn't believe she was here on business, she was still just a low-level loyalist. A rich girl without a rich name to back her up. She'd be safe.

Her kiosk was gone. Denver wondered idly as she passed where it had once stood if there had been any satisfaction in tearing it down. Her manager was dead, she was certain. As best as she'd been able to gather, all of the upper management for the Hunger Games Museum were dead.

She walked in nearly a straight line until she reached the back of the Tower, a window in one of the old lounges. No arrest. She was okay. She sighed at that, a mix of relief and sheer uncertainty, and took a seat. She pulled out her notebook and a pen, lucky finds from the BEEF gift shop, and started taking notes of the world around her. So wrapped up in her observations was she, so bent on mastering the art of recording history as it was actually happening, that she'd missed someone coming up to her until she felt the presence right by her side. She jolted up, startled.

"Hi," she said, resisting the urge to insist she was allowed to be there. "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was there. You must have quiet feet or something." She gave a laugh and a smile, but gripped her pen tighter.

[apalestar]

@galefcrce plotted starter.

An eventful evening not for the soiree or clandestine deals Astarion had in store. No, tonight his palace played host to a friend of old. Admittedly, he and Gale had not ended off on the best of terms. A lover scorned and all. Already a small entourage of Baldur's Gate richest and finest had gathered. The palace had never been more livelier.

And many of Cazador's old clients and connections were all too eager to latch onto another influential person. The infamous moniker attached to his name: Hero of the Gate. Who could resist not coming to his social events? And how foolish Duke Ravengard had been to give him a noble's title! It made him respectable even if the eyes of those who knew him when he was but his slave.

This was the crux of why he even considered extending his lover of old an invitation. Gale wanted something from him; a deal. Something of import for him in exchange for magical tomes the late bastard Szarr kept in his collections. All were property of Lord Ancunín now, of course.

The musicians played a classical tune meant for partnered dancing. The wine and hors d'oeuvres flowed from the kitchens. A perfect evening for playing nobility's game.

Astarion's chamberlain, a slight thing of a woman, approached him. One of the few mortal servants in the household. Every vampire needed at least one for appearances. "My Lord, your guest of honor has arrived." She spoke quietly only once he signaled for her to do so.

"Splendid. The highlight of my evening barring any assassinations. Those always make for an entertaining affair." Astarion dismissed her. He weaved himself in and out of the crowd dodging conversations with a polite, well-practiced smile. His roguish tendencies hadn't diminished since the fall of the cult.

"Gale of Waterdeep." He greeted with the same fervor any good patriar would of an old friend; even one as estranged as him. "So pleased I am to—" A pause. "—see you. I'd fear you'd be half dead before you came to chat."

[kmadrigalsoto]

❛ ☾ ◟━ LOCATION: nash's supermarket

❛ ☾ ◟━ TIME: mid-afternoon

❛ ☾ ◟━ STATUS: open to anyone

Coming from a place of privilege, Kimberly didn't have to learn independence. The heiress had her fair share of help, whether it be her driver, nanny, maid, etc. However, when she went abroad for her studies, that's where she willingly learned how to do things on her own. As she got older, the concept of adulting wasn't something she could relate to with someone outside of her tax bracket. However, as soon as she ran away from the Soto Legacy, she knew that it was crucial to adapt on her own—especially in a new country. Out of her day to day chores, there were a few things she despised. One of them was figuring out what to eat. She didn't want to heavily rely on food delivery apps, takeout, or dine-ins, when she's well aware that she has a kitchen that needs to be used.

Currently in Nash's Supermarket, she had been making laps around the store with her grocery cart trying to figure out what to meal prep. By the fridge area, she watched as the last carton of egg was taken from the non-existent pile and it was there that Kimberly was ready to admit defeat. "Maybe this is a sign." she said aloud. "Is there even a point for me to flag someone down when I don't even know what I want?" Turning to the nearest person beside her, she wore a sheepish smile and added, "Apologies, it looks like talking to yourself is a clear sign of hunger...Hm, off the top of your head, what's the easiest meal to make that leaves you satisfied?" Clearly she was looking for quick food-spiration.

[starbcrnsx]

closed starter for @tragcdyfallen cassian ft nesta

Sitting in the gym he let out an irritated sigh. His first interaction with Nesta had failed. She didn't remember who he was nor did the meeting end the way he had hoped it would have. She had stumbled away from him, almost running and ordering him to leave. He had called her Lady Death in harshness for it felt as if she had pierced him in the heart. My partner, the words still rang through his mind as he worked out. He knew that without memories things would happen but he hadn't expected it to hurt as much as it did.

After he left Nesta and the bar he had put up flyers around Ivy Cove. Flyers for a self defence class for anyone who was interested. There were four different ones he had set up. One for all men, one for women alone, one for both together, and one that was for the lgbtqia2s+ alone. He wanted a time slot for anyone who was interested and a grouping where each person would feel comfortable within, he didn't want someone who was interested not to feel like there wasn't a place for them. Each class was on a different day and the doors were open for anyone interested.

Finishing his set he let himself relax against the machine as he waited, it was almost time for the women's group to start. He wasn't expecting a big turnout but he did hold out hope that at least someone would show. He held out hope that by the cauldron's blessing that Nesta would show up. He didn't hold his breath but he waited patiently, silently hoping as he stared off into space.

[therealricksanchezpleasestandup]

@xluciifer

No Morty. No Summer. No Beth, no Space Beth, and more importantly, no JERRY. Today was a day for himself--and himself only. Granted, he's always the one pulling everyone else into his bullshit, so mayhaps the real vacation is for everyone else.

But the point still stands, after a long few weeks of dealing with fighting overlords from a few galaxies over for some spices to trade for credits to gamble at an intergalactic horse race for the Beths, taking Summer on some stupid girl adventure he promised her, Morty the next day wanting the same special treatment, followed by a few days later Jerry asking for help with something involved in the house's plumbing that ended up involving a giant sentient mutated AMOEBAE taking residence in the pipes...

Well.

He was packing his shit up and leaving for a few days before anyone else wanted anything out of him. His experiments weren't working out like how he'd hoped as of late, ideas were becoming stale, and he was growing increasingly frustrated with his current prototypes.

Punching in the coordinates for dimension TE-584, the green swirling portal opens up in his garage. On the other side awaited him with nothing but the bliss of beautiful men, women, and anyone else in between and outside of the between. Plus the drugs, booze, and endless food. A simple step through is all it takes, and when he does so, he's quick to announce his presence on the other side, arms raised high.

"HELLooOOOOooo VILIXONIA! LADIES! GENTS! READY TO PARTAAAAAAY IT UP IN HERE! RICK IS IN THE HOU--"

Huh. This isn't the intergalactic beach hooker bar on the beach he remembered.

Where the fuck IS he?

[eclvpses]

for: anyone! @bluestarters location: aurora

For a Tuesday night, Aurora was jam packed - which was saying something. Leo was used to a crowd at the club, but he felt especially sardined as they made their way to the front of the line, as desperate for a drink as everyone surrounding them. A thin layer of sweat coated their forehead and smudged the coal that’d been smudged under his eyes by a girl in the washrooms an hour ago, the two of them bonding over a mutual hookup and a line of whatever she’d offered to him. Already impatient as they were, Leo just felt himself grow more annoyed - if anything, their next move was meant to be helpful. One less person for the bartenders to worry about as he helped himself, stretching forward and splaying himself across the bartop until he could clutch onto the first bottle in his range. “Oh, word.” Leo nodded appreciatively, Casamigos label flashing at him - bucket of ice water dumped over his head and ruining the moment when he heard one of the bartenders shout; Hey, what the fuck! A beat passed as Leo made eye contact with them before they were darting off, letting out an adrenaline-fueled shriek of delight as they pushed their way through the crowd, only skidding to a pause when they noticed someone they recognised. “Yo!” He hollered, grabbing his new-found companion and, to their detriment, accomplice, Leo huddling in close to them and concealing the tequila bottle between them just as a security guard huffed past. The man looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “Ha! Asshole! Helen Keller can see better than you!” Pausing so that he could properly celebrate their victory, Leo uncorked the bottle with his teeth, spitting it onto the ground and holding the tequila towards the other, saccharine grin all but taking over his face, cheeks already aching. “You first. I’m feeling generous.”

[poppywright]

the loss of @sirensought in her childhood was something poppy wright never quite got over. just when she felt like they were going somewhere, where she might have been brave enough to make it through middle school, there eric went. she shouldn't be holding a grudge. it's not like it was his fault his family had to move. but she is, or rather, she has been for the last decade. because one day they were best friends and maybe even more, and the next she was completely alone; back to being the weird girl, a loser in so many words. which the kids in her grade and outside of it loved to used. and she was miserable despite trying her best not to be.

in high school she forced herself to try again. it was a new school with new opportunities, and now she was objectively prettier. that would be the start she needed. her blonde hair had the perfect wave to it, her boobs developed in the way most teenage girls literally prayed for. and eventually, people noticed. the colors she wore brought out her beauty. they matched her personality in a way that was appealing to teenagers. she was fun. she was sweet. but all it took was one rumor to crash and burn all over again. and in poppy's mind, everything could have been avoided if eric had still lived in linfield.

which is why, when she sees him at a party during her first few weeks of college, she has to fight the urge to rip her hair out and scream in his face. but college poppy would never. college poppy was who she had wanted to be her whole life: easy-going, charming to the point that no one who met her didn't want to be friends with her, and cool.

"oh my god, you guys know each other? that's so crazy!" their mutual friend exclaims, standing between eric and poppy like it was the wildest thing she's ever heard. but the air between them is tense to the point that their friend dismisses herself, awkwardly. once they were alone though, poppy can't help but push. "why are you looking at me like that?"

[aletheialed]

Right now, wine glass in hand and staring vacantly into the dark corners of the room in which he dwells - Barok can't help but think about his brother. To think about Klint during hard times, the man who he's always admired so much, has always come naturally to him - but it can't bring him any comfort now.

The truth is, Barok doesn't know what he should feel more betrayed about. The fact that the brother he'd wanted to emulate all his life was nothing but a killer, who's actions resulted in the ending and ruining of so many lives, including Barok's own? Or... is it that, until the very end, Klint was too afraid to share that horrible truth with him, even when that fear allowed him to be controlled into committing the most heinous acts imaginable?

It makes him want to laugh with a bitterness he hasn't felt in years. It makes him feel ill; desperate and angry and like a fraying rope about to snap. Perhaps it's sinful, and a sign of Barok's own weak character, that Klint's lack of trust in him might be what hurts the most. Had he thought Barok would break under the weight of the truth, and sought to protect him from that fate? What's worse is that Barok doesn't know how he would've reacted deep down. What's the scarier thought - that Barok would've turned away in despair and been unable to carry on just as his brother feared, or that he would stand with Klint, perhaps even turning a blind eye to his crimes...?

...There's no point in thinking about it now. But if he doesn't think about Klint, then there's no shortage of other things to take his place at the forefront of his mind. Such as the true identity of the Reaper, and how Barok had been complicit in his crimes for the longest time - allowing himself to be used and manipulated like a puppet on a string, even when he didn't see the full extent of it all.

His whole life, these past ten years in which he thought he'd endured so much, all for the sake of the people of London... what were they all for?

When he hears the knock on the door, it's tempting to ignore it entirely - he barely has the energy to stand, anyway. He doesn't know who it could possibly be, considering everything, but... in the end, he rises like a man possessed, and finds himself walking to open the door as if in a trance. What he sees when the door opens is the last thing he expects.

"Mr... Naruhodo...? You... pray tell, what are you doing here at this hour?"

@tenacquity ( starter! )

[rebelscaped]

food truck alley, midday, current time (no specific date) / @anchoragestarters

The remainding few pieces of xiaolongbao he'd ordered had been sat neglected on the bench table long enough that it had started to go cold, the soup having seeped out of one and into the polystyrene tray that held them. Although Kael had never been known for his appetite, it was not because he was not hungry that his lunch had gone ignored but rather that he was much too focused on other things; in particular, inspiration had hit and the most inconvenient moment and he was now stuck scrawling away on a pieces of scrap paper he'd found in his bag. The one he was on right now had been a flyer for something at some point, he hadn't bothered to flip over to check. Songwriting wasn't something with which Kael troubled himself quite as often these days; since he'd joined the band, those duties had fallen into hands besides his own. He harbored no ambitions of going solo but it felt nice to cling to old passions. Besides, the lyrics he penned were often personal and more occasionally, they were too vulnerable to be seen by anybody but Kael. He was fine with this. He might have even considered it a cheaper alternative to therapy. (Or was it more like keeping a diary?)

Of course it came as a shock, then, that a strong gust of wind came in just at that moment and whisked the papers right from under his pen. All Kael could muster as a response was a quiet grunt of surprise. The wind had calmed as quickly as it had picked up, as was the way of Anchorage's unpredictable weather. (He supposed he ought to have been used to that, given how much time he'd spent in London.) Most of the paper had gathered at the legs of another bench. Another occipied bench. Mostly under the bench. "Oh, fuck me sideways," he hissed under his breath, as he pulled himself to his feet and marched over, the gravel crunching noisily under the weight of his heavy New Rocks.

"Ey, if you don't mind moving for a bit, I need under here," said Kael, brusquely. Usually, he'd more polite than this. He wasn't a naturally rude person, but in times as frantic as these, he had a way of forgetting to filter himself. His gaze dropped to the bench table and his eyes widened as he finally noticed that a few sheets had landed squarely in this person's food. (He was so not reimbursing them for this.) Slowly but surely, eye contact was made. "Don't touch that."