#avin scar

[brandyy0moss]

Cw for Blood/ Death

Where Scar has his wings sacrificed to his gods- only said gods are really not happy to see their favourite mortal injured- oops

Kind of dislike this— but maybe I’ve just been looking at it for too long, either way enjoy the Scar angst :D might doodle more of this au

[sentientcave]

Once Again I am Asking You to Celebrate WIP Wednesday (Baybeee)

More Rugby! Contains Gaz, a reference to top surgery, a joke about having too many nipples, and no actual rugby. Maybe there will never be any actual rugby. Who can say?

Sunday mornings are always football with Simon and Johnny’s friend Gaz, as least when he’s not deployed. He’s a lieutenant or something, part of the unit that your friends used to be in. He’s nice, if a bit too charming for you to be entirely comfortable around him. On sunny days he always finds an excuse to take his shirt off and flash all his well-maintained muscle at any watchers, but annoyingly, today he’s trying to persuade you to do the same. “Ah, come on, Ripper. You’re gonna be as pale as that one if you don’t get some sun,” he says playfully, jerking his thumb in Simon’s direction. Simon is, as always, fully covered, with long sleeves under his t-shirt and socks up to his knees.

You roll your eyes. It would be physically impossible for you to ever be as pale as Simon, regardless of how little sun you get. “I think between you and Johnny, we’re showing plenty of skin as a group.”

“Never have seen ye take off yer shirt.” Johnny leans against Gaz’s shoulder, blue eyes curious. “Never even change ‘fore or after games. Ye just goan home as is.”

“So?” you ask.

“Johnny, leave ‘im alone.” Simon ruffles your hair playfully. “Lad’s just shy.”

“Not shy,” you say amiably. “Just have several sets more nipples than the average person. Bit self conscious about it.”

Johnny’s eyes bug out. “Really?”

Simon swats his arm. “No not really, Johnny. ‘E’s ‘avin’ us on.”

“Did we come here to play football, or did we come here to speculate on the number of nipples I have?” In all fairness, you probably could take off your shirt without worrying about it now. Your scars are a few years old, fully faded, and you’ve put on so much muscle since (and especially since getting to know Simon and Johnny) that you don’t even notice them when you look in the mirror now. Still, the risk of them seeing, the risk of them noticing and treating you differently is not one you’re particularly keen on.

“Sure we came here to play, but tha’s all Ah’m goan ta be able ta think about noo.”

“Well, I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

Simon’s hand comes down on the back of your neck, that affectionate scruff he usually uses on Johnny. “Aw, come on, Rip, ‘e’s not goin’ to be useful to anyone if you don’t. If you’re not shy and you’ve got the normal amount of nipples, don’t see why not.” His hand is heavy, his thumb brushing across the skin under your ear deliberately. “Wun’t mind seein’ the results of all that work you’ve been puttin’ in myself.”

You give him a sharp look for encouraging the other two, but he’s unconcerned, just gently squeezes the back of your neck. Your knees wobble.

SHARE WHAT YOU'RE WORKING ON! I DON'T DO TAGS ABOUT IT BUT IF YOU WANT TO YOU SHOULD! WIP WEDNESDAY FOR EVERYONE.

[identity-library]

Disability (Video Games)

A:

Ace Attorney

Diego "Godot" Armando (Blind)

Ken "Acro" Dingling (Paralyzed, Wheelchair User)

Animal Jam

Tavie (Limb Difference)

Arcane

Sevika (Amputee)

Viktor (Limb Difference, Cane/Crutch User)

B:

Baldur's Gate 3

Karlach Cliffgate (Prosthetic Heart)

Wyll Ravengard (Partially Blind)

Bendy and the Ink Machine

Tom (Amputee)

Borderlands

Sir Hammerlock (Amputee)

TK Baha (Amputee, Blind)

Bugsnax

Floofty Fizzlebean (Amputee)

C:

Castle Cats

Mewton (Amputee)

Redmane (Partially Blind)

Wetbeard (Amputee)

Cookie Run

Baumkuchen Cookie (Wheelchair User)

Black Raisin Cookie (Amputee)

Half-Avocado Cookie (Amputee)

Red Velvet Cookie (Amputee)

Tarte Tatin Cookie (Partially Blind)

Twizzly Gummy Cookie (Partially Blind)

Cozy Grove

Octavia Cubbins (Wheelchair User)

D:

Danganronpa: Desperate Heart 2: Infectious Devotion

Charlotte Berry (Double Amputee, Wheelchair User)

Dishonored

Billie Lurk (Amputee, Partially Blind)

E:

Ever Legion

Bruk'daz (Seizure Disorder)

Extreme Meatpunks Forever

Lianna (Amputee, Wheelchair User)

F:

Fallout

Harold (Partially Blind)

Set (Partially Blind)

Fallout 2

John Cassidy (Arthritis, Heart Condition)

Louis Salvatore (Unspecified Breathing Condition)

The Arroyo Elder (Partially Blind)

Fallout 3

Billy Creel (Partially Blind)

Breadbox (Deaf)

Eclair (Partially Blind)

Split Jack (Partially Blind)

The Drifter (Partially Blind)

Wernher (Partially Blind)

Fallout 4

Dead Eye (Blind)

Fisheye (Partially Blind)

Horatio (Arthritis)

Porter Gage (Partially Blind)

Priscilla Penske (Arthritis)

Proctor Ingram (Double Amputee)

Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel

Jesse (Amputee)

Harold (Amputee)

Fallout: New Vegas

Doc Mitchell (Bum Leg)

Father Elijah (Arthritis)

Joshua Graham (Chronic Pain, Scarring)

Raul Tejada (Arthritis)

Ranger Grant (Partially Blind)

Scrambler (Partially Blind)

Tommy Torini (Partially Blind)

Fear & Hunger 2: Termina

Olivia Haas (Vascular Myelopathy, Wheelchair User)

Fire Emblem

Alfred (Crohn's Disease)

Basilio (Partially Blind)

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd (Partially Blind)

Elffin (Blind)

Largo (Amputee)

Leteena (Blind)

Malice (Blind)

Natalie (Limited Mobility)

Niles (Partially Blind)

Raphael (Limited Mobility*)

Rhys (Immunocompromised)

Robin (Chronic Migraines)

Saber (Partially Blind)

Fortnite

Demi (Amputee)

Joy (Vitiligo)

G:

Gears of War

Benny (Amputee)

Genshin Impact

Avin (Unspecified Disability, Wheelchair User)

Goof Troop

Keelhaul Pete (Amputee, Partially Blind)

Guild Wars 2

Taimi (Limited Mobility)

Guilty Gear

Baiken (Amputee, Partially Blind)

Zato-One (Blind)

H:

Hades 2

Hephaestus (Amputee, Wheelchair User)

Honkai Impact 3rd

Bronya Zaychik (Unspecified Disability, Prosthetics User)

I:

J:

K:

King's Choice

Cyril (Paralyzed)

L:

M:

Magic Warrior Diamond Heart

Chandra Maharaj (Stutter)

Sophie Anderson (Autistic)

Valerie Amaranth (ADHD)

Zacharie Pelletier (ADHD, Autistic)

Mass Effect

Jeff "Joker" Moreau (Osteogenesis Imperfecta)

Mega Man Battle Network 3

Mamoru Ura (Heart Condition, Wheelchair User)

Mortal Kombat

Kenshi Takahashi (Blind)

N:

O:

Open Sorcery

Pisces (Wheelchair User)

Overwatch

Genji Shimada (Amputee)

Junkrat (Amputee)

Owlboy

Otus (Mute)

P:

Q:

R:

Ratchet and Clank: Rift Apart

Rivet (Amputee)

ReCore

Kai Brehn (Double Amputee)

S:

Sally Face

CJ (Unspecified Disability, Wheelchair User)

Sal Fisher (Facial Difference, Migraines, Prosthetic User)

Soul Calibur

Voldo (Blind)

Stardew Valley

George Mullner (Paralyzed, Wheelchair User)

T:

The Last of Us

Ellie Williams (Amputee)

U:

V:

Viva Pinata

Jardineiro (Unspecified Disability, Wheelchair User)

W:

Wolfenstein

Max Hass (Brain Damage)

X:

Y:

Z:

[rosenight143]

(I know i'm two days late for doing this but leave me alone I been on wrighters block for my shorts and my other books and I am working on a Christmas hermitcraft book with xia and gally in it but here is a short story for here and my one-shot for hermitcraft)

Keralis and xisuma are hosting a Christmas bond fire for the other hermits after the empires people left.

They are also planing on telling the others that there will be a new member to there group soon.

Xisuma sits on a log that Keralis is on and leans on him, Keralis smiles and puts a arm around his husband, xisuma smiles back then looks at the others.

Grian is siting on scars lap and scar has his arm around grians belly, cleo has stress infront of her and Joe leaning on her, pearl is playing x's guitar that he willing let her play (he trust pearl more then the others with it) so she can play Christmas songs, false has a arm around pearls shoulders and gem has her head in pearls lap, zed is on tangos shoulders and is running his hand through impulses hair, iskall is laying on the floor with mumbo laying on him, doc is holding ren.

Xisuma smiles at his family he made he then put his hand on his stomach and look up at Keralis with a nod.

Keralis got the hit then cleared his throat and everyone looks at him.

Keralis: thanks you all for coming to our campfire Christmas party ha, but there is another reason me and shashamy have ask you all here

Pearl: what will that be mate?

Xisuma: we are going to have a new member joining us in a couple months

Grian: it is kinda the middle of the season x?

Xisuma: I know, but I can't really control this new member about coming

Cleo: your the adm- wait

Keralis: haha

Pearl: x are you

All xisuma had to do was nod and two avins who he thinks of as a little brother and sister are hug attacking him to the ground, as the others (besides cleo) are confused.

Keralis: shashamy is pregnant you guys

They all went from confused, to shock, then super happy

Doc: that is amazing you two, congratulations

Scar starts to laugh and picks grian up

Scar: haha, it seems you and grian are more siblings then we all though haha

Pearl and x look confused by that but grian turns bright red

Grian: um well I may also be pregnant

Pearl: jeez I may have asked the both of you to make me a aunt, but I didn't mean you both do it at the same time

Xisuma&grian: pearl!

Everyone starts to laugh and soon grian and xisuma join in as well.

The night went on with everyone happy and soon everyone went to bed and being excited to see what there admins and sever Gremlins kids would look like.

[ronmanmob]

"Scars make us who we are.”

She’d taken a break, pouring herself a cup of coffee and gone to join him. One hand wrapped around her mug, fingers tracing a jagged line in the wood on the table. Corinne found herself looking forward to those days he lingered in the cafe, their conversations covering a wide range of topics. She’d not realized at first she’d said the words out loud. Spoken in a quiet tone, but filled with a weight that nearly took up a physical presence in the air between them.

“Sorry, didn’t realize I spoke out loud.” She said after glancing up and a sudden awareness dawning that he’d heard. She gave him an apologetic smile, then decided as long as she’d given voice to the thought, she might as well ask. “Do you think that’s accurate?”

Scars Meme

Reflexively Ron waved off the apology, a slight motion of his hand and a single shake of the head doubling for words as he considered his newly returned pal's question. Time was she'd barely been able to get three words out of him, but as weeks trickled into months and his visits to this lovely little café became at least semi-regular, his comfort with its lady-proprietor (and hers with him) had slowly grown to the point where this, now, was possible. As to scars though--

"--If tha' was true" Ron began, his gaze lingering on Corinne's cup and on her hands more than it did her face or eyes as he spoke to her. He'd have worried once upon a time that that way about him tracked as dismissive or disinterested, but she'd never mentioned it to him and kept on coming over to see him when the mood took so...It couldn't be so onerous a thing.

"If tha' were true, lit'rally true, I'd be more ov a mess ov a person than I am now."

There was a laugh under there somewhere, just a breath's worth that aimed at making his comment sound jestful. On a penny though, almost as a testament to how false it'd been, this guise fell away. Ron moved one of his hands away from the steaming cup of tea he'd been cupping with it, reaching by inches towards Cory so she could see its back; see his knuckles and the spiderweb of pale lines and old, fading calluses that patterned them. There were so many more of them in so many places, but these...They hurt the least.

"All I'd be-" he went on, chancing a look at her face quickly before retreating again to their hands; his where it lay for her to see in the warm café light and hers on her mug, nice and warm. "-Is a ragged lump'a rage 'n pain b'cause mine-- Their legacy's fights. 'Avin' t'fight -- ovvah people, m'eself...I--"

A breath was drawn in and released as a thought came to him.

"Scars" Ron said, "tell th'tale'a where y've been, I fink. They don't tell th'tale'a 'oo y'are; don't make yah 'oo yah are." He glanced at Cory's face again. "S'tha' make sense?"

[designedparadigm]

[FLIRTING] johnny for simon bc he's an ASSHOLE but he likes possessive simon far too much.

   oh  no.  oh  no,  no,  no,  no. 

   simon  should  know  better,  when  it  comes  to  johnny,  that  he's  not  really  about  to  walk  away  with  someone  else  when  he  has  simon.  but  to  tell  that  to  an  overactive  mind  that  reels  with  seething  jealousy  every  time  he  sees  that  smile  flashed  to  anyone  who  isn't  him?  impossible. 

   he  wants  to  stalk  over  and  take  the  other  guys  teeth  right  out.  a  full  punch,  break  a  nose,  marr  his  features.  for  all  the  times  johnny  called  simon  beautiful  -  he  feels  that  ugly  envy  bubbling  up  inside  of  him.  a  perfect  scar  free  face.  handsome  by  conventional  standards.  and  what  was  simon?  sure  he  said  he  was  handsome  -  he  had  that  capacity  once.  but  most  would  call  him  ugly  now,  not  see  past  the  scars  across  his  face  and  body. 

   don't  you  always  say  how  he  deserves  better?  the  voice  nags  in  the  back  of  his  head.  that's  better.  who  are  you  to  stand  in  the  way  of  that?  it's  right  -  but  it's  so  fucking  wrong.  no.  johnny  was  his.  johnny  chose  him  time  and  time  again.  he  put  his  marks,  his  claim,  on  that  god  damn  scot.  he'll  just  have  to  do  it  again.  ignore  the  self  conscious  nagging  -  just  take  what  he  wants.  everything  and  everyone  else  be  damned. 

   his  scowl  is  nothing  short  of  ugly  when  he  comes  up  behind  johnny,  watching  as  the  man's  eyes  widen  in  fear  and  he  stutters  and  stumbles  his  words,  backing  away.  the  mask  is  removed  from  simon's  face  -  and  his  size,  visage  and  aura  are  helping  him.  he  doesn't  need  ghost's  face  for  this.  there's  a  swell  of  pride  in  his  chest  that  he  could  strike  that  fear  without  wearing  the  skull.  but  that  isn't  the  point  he  entirely  wants  to  make. 

   “johnny.”  it's  said  in  the  gruff,  commanding  growl.  domineering  in  every  aspect.  a  hand  to  shoulder,  turning  his  sergeant  to  face  him.  a  hand  reaching  out  to  grip  johnny's  chin,  a  vice  grip,  before  he  forcefully  crashes  his  lips  into  johnny's.  free  arm  snakes  around  waist,  pulling  bodies  flush  together,  shoving  his  tongue  into  johnny's  mouth  without  a  second  thought.  so  deep  in  that  there's  no  mistaking  it. 

   simon  only  draws  back  when  he  knows  johnny  needs  air,  his  gaze  tied  to  the  man  who  is  now  slinking  away,  sneaking  terrified  glances  back  toward  where  simon  stands,  holding  his  johnny  so  close. 

   “do  i  go'a  fuck  ya  so  ‘ard  ya  can’t  go  ou'  anymore?”  simon's  attention  flicks  to  johnny,  a  sharp  glare  affixed.  “told  ya  before.  ain't  no  one  else  ‘avin’  ya  but  me.”  it's  a  half  snarl,  though  he  pulls  johnny  impossibly  closer.  “need  me  t'  fuck  i'  int'  ya  ‘arder?  by  fuckin’  god,  johnny,  you'll  fuckin  ‘ave  i’.  you're  mine.  ain't  gonna  ‘ave  you  or  anyone  else  forge’in'  it.  ever.”

[aquamanandfriends]

"Hm," Avin nodded, he just wanted to check if he was doing what she wanted. He wasn't going to cross that line if she didn't want it. "Scar me? Damn," he scoffed, "What about seeing you orgasm would scar me?" Avin's hands moved over her sides, just below her hips. "I just want to make sure you're good."

"You've done a lot to make this place incredible," she said, meaning every word. "You should be." Inez nibbled on her bottom lip, wanting to sound confident but not sure how to go about it. "Well, there's no point in you being in here unless you're having a hand in it," she said, "But if that's gonna scar you for life--won't take it personally--I'm pretty sure I can handle it solo."

[multi-attack]

Prey No Longer

"I don't really think there are words for how many ways I would undo this."

/ / AUDIO DELETED / / / / TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS... / /

[ A ] Why the change of plans?  I thought we were just going to have a quiet evening in.

[ Z9 ] Just got a thought in my head is all.  Humor me.

[ L ] | I dont like this, Avi... |

[ A ] Alright, fine.  At least you settled on Oldtown.  We can still get dinner afterwards.

[ silence ]

[ Z9 ] Okay.  Here we are.  This is just going to be a one on one fight.

[ sound of helmet locks ]

[ Z9 ] Don't hold back on me.  Remember, this isn't a game.

[ L ] | Avin, we need to leave. Now. |

[ A ] I know, I know.  You don't need to be so serious, though.

[ gun cocking ]

[ A ] Woah!  Hey!  Give me a second to get my own helm on!

[ Z9 ] But this is what you're after, isn't it?

[ audible gunshot ]

[ audible thud ]

//: GHOST RESURECTION IN PROGRESS

/ / ...END TRANSCRIPT / /

[miamaymarry]

Soooooo. It’s not Avin this time but Mo Guan Shan with a soft expression and love written on his face. I imagine him to be around 26 here. 🤍

I know it’s probably gonna be stolen but at least he’s not mine to begin with 💔 still: DONT REPOST! I do this to animate people to come talk to me 🔥

@dominimoonbeam Lol I never get tired to call you out on my posts, because your stories inspired me so much. When Mo sees his boyfriends being soft around each other he forgets how to frown and becomes a pretty pudding face himself.

I also intend to break everyone’s hearts 😈

So here’s a little au story of the time Yi vanished:

When Jian Yi disappeared, everything had changed. Zhengxi had stopped talking for weeks. He Tian had tried to explain to them his brother had no choice but to take Jian Yi away in order to protect him. But Xi just cried and Mo couldn’t get over the fact who He Tians family really was.

He distanced himself from them, ran from his feelings again, fucked She Li again and stopped thinking about anything else but going to work or run errands for his mother. She was to worried, he was to hurt to talk to her. He would never trust anyone in his life again. They all just lied to him and manipulated him for their own benefits. Whatever He Tian wanted from him, he couldn’t forgive him that he lied to him.

He Tian would still force himself on him, was even crying in front of everyone but Mo had pushed him away, as hard as he could, screaming he was a perverted fag and he hated him. Running again. Breaking his own heart but it didn’t matter to him anymore. He wouldn’t mind if he stopped feeling anything at all. He didn’t go to school again after that, cutting all ties but with She Li. He seemed to enjoy fucking Mo until he wouldn’t scream anymore and just lay there. It made him feel numb. So numb he could forget about everything. So he didn’t run anymore and even enjoyed himself being taking away from his broken heart.

And so time passed.

It was a sunny day in spring when Mo Guan Shan went out for a jog. His whole body hurt from the weekend he was with She Li but he still enjoyed it was his decision this time, to make his muscles ache. He began to feel better... somehow.

When he first saw them at the riverbank, he pulled his hood onto his head, suddenly frozen. He watched them through the cherry blossomed trees, trying to overhear their words but he only heard his breath catching in his throat.

It made sense they had held onto each other, comforted each other... probably.

He Tian held Zhan Zhengxi close to him, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips. It was such a soft and gentle moment. Their relationship never had been this way. The other men buried his hand in the long black strands which seemed to be more tamed then Guan Shan had ever seen them before. Mos chest hurt and he wasn’t able to breath anymore. They looked so happy.

It was the first time Mo saw Zhengxi smile again since the last evening all four of them had been together and Jian Yi had kissed him goodbye in front of them. They leaned their foreheads against each other and it was this moment Mo knew he had lost He Tian to Zhengxi. His heart stopped beating as the tears escaped his eyes.

He could see what He Tian saw in Zhengxi: he was perfect. The only scar he ever had was the loss of Jian Yi and he didn’t even bring himself to hate He Tian for being somehow involved. How could somebody not fall for so much kindness? If only he would have been there for Zhengxi too, maybe the three of them could have worked out something together.

But here he was, covered in bruises to numb his inner pain and unable to reach out to them, even though he never wanted anything more than to scream their names and rush into their arms. He missed them so badly, he couldn’t stand his feelings anymore which were crashing through his inner barrier. He sobbed as they kissed again and caressed each other gently. He still couldn’t look away, move or say anything at all. Mo just silently cried watching their intimacy.

When they parted Xi suddenly layed his eyes on Mo Guan Shan, still smiling. That was when Mo came back to his senses and moved backwards.

“Don’t you dare running again!” Zhan Zheng Xi shouted, already dragging the surprised He Tian towards him too.

Mo sank to his knees. Xi really was perfect.

[brandyy0moss]

Hopping on the bird Scar trend but mak'in it a lil twaumatising

[socthinghq]

"yeah yeah..." avin moves away from him slowly, putting on a shirt, his eyes trying to not look at teddy. "since we broke up, i don't think you have any say on any changes on my body." he said, to him. "it was a cooking accident, by the way." bhavin was awful dealing with knifes so the scar on his left hand was clearly a consequence of him trying to chop some vegetables.

open to anyone.

connection: anything but the angstier the better.

muse: teddy montgomery, 30s, underground fighter.more about him here.

“say what you want but i know every inch of your body and that scar wasn’t there last time i saw you.”

[chaoticookie-autonomous]

Autonomous II: Chapter 22 Posted

Chapter: 22/?

Word Count: 7.5k

Rating: M

Warnings: mild spice

Genre: Action/Romance/Sci-Fi – Canon Compliant AU where Maul still has the Shadow Collective with him after the events of Order 66, including Gar and Rook. Also, recreated Dryden Vos’ story.

Pairing: Móni x Maul

Summary: Avin's uncertainty about Móni and Maul's new status in their relationship raises hard questions no one wants to face.

_________________________________________

Maul shifted a curl out of an eye for a better frame of her placid features. Móni had long since fallen asleep and although he had gone several hours without it, the parsecs between Naboo and D’Qar weren’t long and he wanted to take in as much of her he could before returning horns deep in work. He hadn’t left her side, not even to transmit a message to Kast of their arrival. The crime syndicates, the Shadow Collective, and Sidious were moot compared to the soft snores beside him.

The ointment was doing its work on the skin, her rich warmth returning and the blemishes fading. Another day perhaps of treatment and the scars of battle would be completely wiped. He lingered on an old wound on a shoulder, a piece of a scar out of many that would never heal and a memory she would always carry on her back. Maul had suffered rigorous conditioning, and many would have left him disfigured if Sidious hadn’t been so gracious in offering proficient medical procedures. Many of which he was awake for so the pain would be a reminder of his failures. Móni wasn’t offered any such treatment and must have agonized for days over the slow healing.

The difference between their suffering was hers were visible and didn’t carry the traumas of her past so heavily as he did. She rose above them while Maul was shaped by them.

He traced lightly over the fresh scar below the collarbone. What do I do?

Continue Reading

[jocelyn-wellson]

The elf had not been difficult to follow. Between the staring men and women, the waft of exotic perfume, and the overwhelming sense of privilege she radiated, the woman was an easy mark. To Jocelyn, she was a rather pleasurable 'assignment' mark at that; the former greatly appreciated all things beautiful, most especially the human and elven forms. She longed to be like the most astounding amongst them, even as they made her feel insecure. Her scars, misaligned bones, body language - she knew she would never be more than a used up whore. Whereas the elf before her bloomed in perpetuity, Jocelyn only seemed to wilt by the second - a feeling only intensified around this woman. But she could not stop. She was too intrigued. 

It was just about dusk. The elf had wandered into a rather upscale portion of the Mage District. Jocelyn felt terribly underdressed. She glanced about: women in evening gowns and fine leather armour and mail and gleaming plate. All beautiful. The men, all the same: chest thumping idiots. She knew their type all too well. Nevertheless, when the woman went into a restaurant, Jocelyn was stopped by the maitre d'. 

"Can I help you?" he asked from behind a greased handlebar mustache. 

"Ya can lemme in, yea," said Jocelyn, stepping forward. 

The maitre d' blocked her. "We have a dress code, and," he said, sniffing her, "you look and smell like you belong in a barn, certainly not in our establishment."

 Jocelyn flushed with rage. She pulled her brass knuckles out from a small pocket sewn into her pants. The maitre d' noticed immediately. 

"We... we..." he stammered, pausing to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow. "I can give you an outdoor table. W-will that be acceptable." 

She slipped off her knuckles. Chromatic alloy glistered as it slipped back into the pocket. She smiled at him, cold and insincere. "Yea. Jus' gimme the same servah as th' elf who jus' sa' down." 

The man looked puzzled. "No poisons, please." 

Jocelyn scoffed. "I ain' gon' kill no one." She shook her head, wondering why everyone thought she was a murder hobo. 

The maitre d' cleared his throat. "This way, please." He guided her toward a table in the far corner. Jocelyn could see inside, just a glimpse of the bar. She watched carefully. 

"Good evening, ma'am," said the server, her voice light and cheery. Jocelyn looked up: slim and tiny, freckled, blonde ponytail. A bright smile from white teeth. She was carrying a plate of clams casino. "Compliments of the house." She set them down. Jocelyn had not expected that. 

Maybe looking like a murder hobo has its perks... She pulled her napkin from the glass on the table. The server filled it with iced still water, slipping a lemon in at the end. "Where'd ya keep tha' lemon slice, yea?" asked Jocelyn, mirth apparent. "Or ya cannae tell the tra'e secre'." 

The server leaned in. "Sleight of hand," she whispered. 

"Nice job, luv," said Jocelyn. She picked up the tiny appetizer fork from the plate, before looking up toward the server questioningly.

"Ah...,” said the server, “use that one to scoop out the filling. That lemon wedge in the middle? Squeeze it over all of the clams, first. Just a drop a piece. Heaven." 

"Fanks..." Jocelyn set down the tiny fork and did as suggested. She thought she had an orgasm, but better. "Luv, I got'a tell ya somethin', an' et's embarassin'." 

The server's face fell a bit. "If you are light on funds..." 

Jocelyn waved her fork hand. "Nah, nah." She slipped it into her mouth. Her eyes lit up. Holy fuck. The server noticed and regained her cheerful demeanour. Jocelyn swallowed. "The menu, uh... I ain' literary, yanno?" She whispered: "Cannae read." 

"Not a problem," said the woman. She smiled at her. "Want to know my favourite?" 

"Sure," said Jocelyn. She scooped out another lemon-kissed clam mix from its shell. "Ya did good 'ere." 

"Veal osso bucco," said the server. 

"Wha' th' fuck is tha'?" said Jocelyn, mouth full of clam. 

The server's brow crinkled for the briefest of moments at the faux pas. "Veal is calf, uh, baby cow. They take the loin, you see, and slice it in a way that keeps the bone intact. It's broiled using our own mix of herbs and spices and other meats. It's brought out to you, hot. My favourite part, though, is the marrow." 

Jocelyn cleared her throat. "I... th' bone marrah?" 

The server nodded. "Delightful." She told Jocelyn the price, who thought about it for a moment. 

"I think I'll give et a try, yea?" 

The server smiled, broadly. She took the menu from her. "Right away, ma'am. And your wine paring?" 

Jocelyn took another bite of her clams casino. She glanced toward the bar. The blonde elf was over there, drinking. "Wha's yer othah customah 'avin'?" she asked, pointing with her fork hand. The server hesitated. She looked Jocelyn up and down, eyes following the guidance of the fork. She frowned. After a moment, she looked down on the table, and there, in front of her, was Jocelyn's badge, resting on the corner. 

"Sleigh' o' 'and," said Jocelyn. 

The two laughed. 

"3 year Darnassian chardonnay. Very expensive, very rare," said the server, "But for my friends? Well, a glass might slip out every once in awhile. I'm Melody." 

"Thanks, luv," Jocelyn said, reaching for her coin purse. "Jo."

"Will that be all for now?" 

"Aye, Melody." The young server dipped her head slightly. She walked toward the bar, chin up and confident. Like the elf. Jocelyn envied her in that moment, but was grateful to have met her nonetheless. "Girl's gon' go far," she muttered, opening the coin purse. She counted through it. She was certain the meal would be expensive, but the intel was worth it. She could pay for this. Besides, if approached in the right way, she'd be paid  soon enough, anyway. 

( @lovelydeadlysocialite )

[asparrowandaswann]

C2: RETURN TO SHIPWRECK COVE. PART 3#

The room was small and bare, with a bed which she could tell from a glance creaked terribly. A chest of drawers, empty. A chair with a woven seat stood against the wall. A small table sat in the corner, an old pot of ink, but no papers, no quill. An inch-thick layer of dust covered everything, as Teague had warned. No one had entered this room for quite some time. She could find nothing personal. Nothing which could tell her about Jack, from when he was simply Jackie. Jackie Teague. The boy before the legend. A pang of disappointment gripped her stomach. She had hoped to know him better. Something of his childhood which he would never have told her himself.

Nevertheless, the room smelled of him. As though he had just left the room. Something spiced, a vague hint of sandalwood, and... sweat. Quite overpoweringly of sweat, in fact, considering he hadn't set foot in the room for Lord knows how long. And there was something else... something...

Elizabeth moved towards the bed, the bedding seeming to be the source of the smell, as, where else could his scent be coming from? She pulled back the covers gingerly, and gasped, leaping back. Blood. Dark, old, blackened blood. With a brave sweep, she pulled away the thin blankets entirely. The bed was soaked through. Or had been, some time ago.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" Her voice broke. She couldn't take her eyes off the blood, wondering whose it was, and hoping to God that it wasn't Jack's.

The door inched open with a creak, and when she turned, she saw a little man, grey and slightly bowed, backing into the room, carrying a stack of linens in his arms as he pushed the door open with his shoulder.

"'ere y'are, yer Kingly-ness." His voice was smooth and grandfatherly, and as he turned, kind blue eyes caught her worried gaze, following it to the bed. The man shook his head sadly. "Aye, t'was a bad time, that."

"What happened here?"

The man placed the bedding down on the wicker chair, taking a moment first to wipe away the best of the dust with a rather soiled handkerchief.

"I've been 'ere since Jackie were a wee lad." He explained, stripping the bloodstained bedding away as he did so. "I was born int' piratin', but truth be told, never been much good a' sea. Much prefer land, so I found myself 'ere, amongst me own, withou' 'avin' t' do much wot pirates be doin'. The lad weren' like tha', though. It surprised no one when 'e ran off t' the sea the momen' 'e turned four'een, withou' so much as a 'bye, pops' to ol' Teague. 'E'd come back now and then, though... always sportin' an injury which needed seein' t'."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. So it was Jack's blood.

"Aye, Miss." The man said, seeing her worry. "There were one particular night... nigh ten years ago or so, now. The boy came stumblin' back, 'avin' sailed 'ere in a little scrap of a boat, with a man named Gibbs. 'Is only crew a' the time, though if you'd seen this boat of 'is, 'e were in no need of a crew. It were small enough to be manned alone. No, 'e'd lost 'is ship, the Pearl, quite recently, in fact, and was still cut up about it. Loves that ship like a mistress, 'e does. So, Gibbs practically carried 'im up 'ere, up the hill, screamin' the whole way for a doc'or. Obviously, place like this, we 'ave one, an' we give 'm enough business to keep 'im 'ere. Doc'or Grove, is 'is name. 'E saw to the lad. 'E'd been shot, twice." The man patted his chest, just over his heart. "T'was a near miss. A few inches further south an'... Well, Teague were furious with 'im. The lad 'ad 'ad a pistol, after all, but 'e'd refused to use it. 'That bullet weren' mean' fer 'im, Dad', 'e kept sayin'. Never seen old Teague so mad, I ain'." Taking the straw mattress, which was also stained straight through, he carried it out into the hallway, returning moments later with a replacement. "This were pillaged just a week ago from a fine Spanish galleon. Should be more fittin' for a King." It was too large for the small bed frame, hanging limply onto the floor, but Elizabeth was grateful all the same.

"I've seen Jack's scars." Elizabeth confessed, thinking back to their time on the island, having been mutinied by Barbossa. She thought of the dark cloud which had crossed Jack's gaze as he had drawn back his sleeves. "How on Earth did he survive?"

The man glanced towards the skies. "Miracle, I reckon. That lad's seen 'is fair share. Someone's smilin' down at 'im, scoundrel though 'e is. 'E must 'ave charmed an angel in a prior life, I reckon. Nah, 'e pulled through by the skin of 'is teeth. I s'pose no one thought to change the beddin'. 'e only ever comes by with some injury or other, when this is the closest friendly bit of land with a doc'or. Whatever 'e lies on would only get soiled again anyway." He busied himself, tucking fine sheets - no doubt taken also from a fine galleon - as best he could under the oversized mattress, and fluffing a fresh goose pillow.

"And that was the last time? That Jack was here?"

"Aye." He brushed his hands together as he stood back to admire his work. "Though..." His face froze, and he half-turned, smiling at Elizabeth with a glint in his cornflower-blue eyes. "Now I come to think of it, there were one other time since. Quite recen'ly, in fact. Couple years back. 'E'd just gotten 'is Pearl back, I believe, an' it were once again ol' Gibbs who brought Jack 'ere, the lad staggerin' an' shoutin' that 'e didn' need no doc'or, 'e just needed 'is Pearl, but Gibbs knew best, as always."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. That must have happened since they had met, after she had watched him from the battlements of Port Royal, sailing into the distance. "What happened?"

"Fever. 'E'd caught summit nasty from some tribe, an' it were burnin' through him. Delirious, 'e were. Rantin' an' ravin' one minute, weepin' into the pillow, the next." He was eying Elizabeth curiously now, watching her. She shifted uncomfortably. "After all 'e'd survived before, no one doubted for a moment that 'e wouldn't pull through. A legend like 'e's carved out for 'imself, 'e could 'ardly go down to a fever, now, could 'e? But it were a nasty sickness, all the same. I remember one evenin', the night before the fever broke, I came in carryin' a tray of broth, to try an' get summit into 'im, an' there were no one else there at the time but the doc'or. The lad were sleepin', so it seemed, but 'e were mutterin' t' 'imself, nonsense, as always, an' neither the doc'or nor I paid it much mind, until..." He stepped closer to Elizabeth now, his voice dropping to a mere whisper. "'E started speakin' a name."

A coil tightened in Elizabeth's gut. "A name?"

"Aye. Name of a woman. Chantin' it, quiet, like, under 'is breath. Now, it caught my attention because I know the lad not to be the settlin' sort. 'E's 'ad 'is flirtations, sure, but no one 'as ever truly caught 'is eye, to my knowledge. The doc'or noticed too, an' asked me if I recognised the name. I said I didn'. 'E stopped as soon as 'e started, an' 'e woke the next mornin', past the worst of it."

Elizabeth licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know. Obviously Jack had had his fair share of women, but to think that one would leave her mark enough for him to speak her name during his delusions. But of course, her curiosity was too great.

"What was the name?"

The man smirked. "Lizabeth."

Her face burned, and for a moment she lost herself, her mouth gaping with shock. He had spoken her name. They had parted ways, and yet he had chanted her name, calling for her, perhaps dreaming of her under the heavy sleep of fever. What could that mean, besides...?

Pulling her lips into a pout of indignation, she stepped back sharply. "Common enough name. No doubt the whorehouses of Tortuga are teaming with Elizabeths and Lizzys and Elizas and... I'd thank you not to look at me that way." She snapped at his knowing gaze. "And to keep any gossiping thoughts to yourself."

The man mimicked drawing a line across his lips in an oath of silence. "Believe me, Miss, with all that goes on 'ere, that would be one of the more mundane tidbits, anyway."

Still not convinced, she asked warily. "What is your name?"

"Perkins, Miss." He didn't bow, as the gentlemen of Port Royal would have. This was the Kingdom of Pirates, after all. "Pleasure's all mine."

She nodded her head curtly. "Thank you for replacing the bed. I think... I shall sleep now."

The bid him goodnight, locking the door behind him.

Sitting heavily onto the bed, the mattress dipping dangerously off the side of the bed-frame, she thought about all she had learnt that night. She imagined Jack, in this very room, as a young boy desperate to follow the call of the sea, until the urge had been too strong to resist any longer. She imagined him on this bed, writhing in agony while a doctor pulled the bullets from his chest. So much blood had been lost. How on earth had he survived? She imagined him bathed in sweat, sleeping in the bloodstains of his last visit, chanting for her, calling for her. She imagined herself, water bowl in hand, dabbing with a cloth at his brow, soothing him. Clinging to his hand as the doctor performed his crude surgery on his wounds. Stroking his hair as the wounds were cleaned with precious rum, and cauterised with red hot metal. She imagined them both, in this bed, whispering to each other...

Oh, you hussy. Her husband not but a few hours gone, and already she was picturing herself with another man. And not just any man. That man.

God, ten years was a long time, indeed. Her body had been awakened to sensual realities of womanhood, and she knew that she couldn't wait ten years. But as for him... no, she'd have to steer clear of him. Jack was as much a danger to her heart as to her body. He would worm his way into her heart, and stay there. And she must protect Will's heart, above all else. Protect it within her own.

But as for physical pleasure... she resolved again to find a way of communicating with Calypso. After all, all men took lovers, why not a Pirate King?

Removing her heavily armoured coat and belt, she slipped beneath the covers in her black dress, placing her effects on the ground, within easy reach. Glancing again to check the lock of the door, her hand skimmed over her thighs, her fingers travelling to that secret part of her. A part of her still sore from her hasty honeymoon. Flashes of images raced through her mind as she touched herself. A pair of dark, kind eyes. Strong, calloused hands on her bare waist. Her fingers tracing over a scar on a man's chest. Soft, greedy lips tasting her own. A wry smirk. A glint of gold.

Tipping herself into ecstasy, she let the night take her, and let her exhaustion claim her.

[the-luca-ruberia-gang-blog]

The young man with the scars had the best manners. “Thank you for having us, it is so wonderful to meet you your majesty. You have a lovely kingdom.” The smaller one had an Australian accent. “Right, ta fawr 'avin' us. Dya all av internet? my tech can’t get a read on anythin' heah.” The big on had his hands in his pockets as he yawned, “So.. is the grub prepped yet? I’d like to eat some festival food..” Fin smacks him in the head and u-turns back to Solaris. “Apologies for Nik, he forgets his manners.”

Daughter of the Sun - Open RP

Solaris was walking on her temple, since she was the next Goddess of the Sun, she couldn’t step outside the temple.

She was always alone in that place, even with her servants and guards, she couldn’t help but feeling completely lonely on that place, no even mortals stay there with her for long.

Less she knew was that someone had going inside her temple.

[lambs-rest]

New Bones, Old Farce

Track: Hiroyuki Sawano - ashes suite (YT)

--------------------

Anyone who saw her arrive at the run down shack in the middle of gods end nowhere Thanalan would see a male Highlander of impressive stature with a thick black scraggly beard and hair, not the Warrior of Light. Still, Granye wore a hooded cloak, well pulled over her head as she slowed Palankwehn and tied her to a splintered post of wood beside the tiny structure.

Worn, shabby boots hit the dirt, and Granye strode to the door. Knocking once and receiving no answer, she entered.

Her fingers curled tighter around the dark crystal in her pocket when she saw the body, laid neatly on the threadbare bed, a haggard brown blanket its only modesty.

Though the flesh was bare at a glance, she knew it was etched with runes and sigils; all manner of warding pulled from ancient texts and whispered dark arts. She could see them if she focused hard enough - faint, almost-there, pale scars in very specific shapes. 

Preservative magics staved off decay of the dead, the soul long since departed, but they would not last much longer.

Granye shut the door, bolting it with a loose plank of wood, discarded on the ground. Her heart thundered, painfully. 

If this didn't work...

If it did work...

She shook her head and carefully retrieved the crystal, cradling the black stone in her palms. In the fading light of sunset, it looked like ink...but it lacked the once tell-tale purple sheen, the glimmer of something more beneath the faceted surface.

"...Lahabrea?" Granye whispered. 

She held her breath, eyes darting over the dulled surface. 

Before she could call again, his voice came, thick and sluggish, as though pulled from the abyss. 

"What?" he sighed, his Ascian tongue a tired snarl. 

She bit her inner cheek. "Nothin'." 

She didn't have to hear him to hear his disdain.

"No! No, it's not nothin'." she blurted, squashing her cowardice. Granye squeezed her eyes shut and fought to steady her frantic heartbeat.

Lahabrea, no longer able to draw enough strength to gaze beyond his cramped prison, only felt her fingers tighten once again around the crystal. She had been holding it with an increasing frequency of late. This time though...

She was shaking. 

"What ails the Bringer of Light?"

"'m sorry!" she whispered. "If this doesnae work-!" she stopped, steadying the tremor in her voice. "If this doesnae work, I'm sorry. If I dinnae get the chance to say it again..." her fingertips brushed the crystal.

"Why does she tremble so?" 

"'Cause 'm 'bout to do somethin' reckless an' I dinnae ken if it'll work." she replied. "...I've got no regrets fer 'avin' defended ye at the Facility. Dinnae ever forget that." Granye whispered fiercely.

She walked toward the body, eyes raking over the chest, seeking the most predominant sigil and the designated gap of lines within it.

Granye sat slowly on the bedside, still holding the crystal tenderly. She looked down at it once more. One...last time. 

She would admit to herself - and only herself - that it had become something of a comfort. Feeling the weight of it in the pouch around her neck, or the shape of it in her palm calmed her. How many times had she felt alone, overburdened, only to be reminded by a snarky hiss that she was meant to be better, that she should be stronger. 

And, hells, it wasn't good, but it always gave her the motivation, and sometimes the spite, to strive for better. Wearing it around her neck made her more careful to keep her head, to protect her heart where it incidentally hung close.

Life was hard, and getting harder...and if she lost what little vestige of strength she had to keep going, because she made another bad decision...

"If this dinnae work, forgive me. An' if it does...hate me."

Granye held out the crystal, not a word from its occupant, then lowered it and pressed it against the empty place on the cadaver's chest.

She stared. 

And stared. 

"Why isnae it workin'?" Panic crept into her voice. "Come on! Work! Work, ye stupid- ah!"

She flinched, jumped back as the crystal under her palm sank into the flesh, absorbed like liquid in a sponge. The patterns over the skin flared to life, like rivers springing to life in bright orange - the colour of the author's aether. They spread over the skin, rapidly illuminating the inside of the shack a colour to match the faded sunset.

Granye shut her eyes, wincing and leaning back until the glow softened. When she looked again, shadows fountained from the core of the chest, billowing up and out, curling over the flesh and seemingly attempting to lift from it entirely. But the dark vapours were rebuffed - shackled, almost - and with no other recourse, they clung to the skin, sank into the meat and bones like a malevolent blanket, snuffing out the orange glow and plunging the shack into darkness, not even the setting sun outside to shed a light.

She stared, waiting for her sight to adjust. 

Then, she just stared.

Her voice cracked. "It...worked?"

Before her was not the prepared body of the unknown.

Before her lay a man whose face - though she'd never seen it before - she knew at once.

A face with features that seemed to fit only a look of disdain, and light blonde hair that dusted his shoulders. She hadn't known what to expect, if anything at all. He'd always been so openly hateful about mortal forms, she assumed he didn't care about pressing his own desired features upon the flesh.

"...Lahabrea?"

-~-~-~-~

His soul had never felt so heavy. Never felt so compressed and dense. He could not escape it either, could not flee to the abyss, though that was hardly new.

Someone called him through the mire. It felt so...familiar. How many times had he gone through the rejuvenation process, beckoned back into consciousness with a call of his god? His aching soul said too many.

The voice said no.

Well, maybe it said yes. He couldn't tell what it was saying, really.

"Lahabrea?!"

Oh. That one came through.

And it was not his god.

For the first time in moons, Lahabrea felt the need to control a mortal vessel, to open his eyes, and the burden that came with moving muscle and sinew.

At first, he thought it a stranger - a hyuran man. He blinked again, as though clearing a fog from his eyes.

Mismatched eyes, red and gold, stared back down at him from a face he hadn't been able to see for weeks.

It grinned. She grinned. 

"...Granye?"

Could her face light up any more? How loathsome.

The smile twisted into a smirk as she leaned back, and he hated it even more.

"So tha's what ye been hidin' behind tha' red face o' yers." she purred playfully.

He curled his lip in disgust, as though to shoo her away.

Immune, she remained, still staring at him, though her expression softened somewhat. "Ye better take care o' this one. Ye won’t be gettin' another."

He blinked, the events of previous weeks clicking into place. 

"You...secured me a host body... Why?"

"I knew y'needed a real resolution, an' me soul o' light was grindin' yers down to nothin'. It was on me to fix."

"Such a burden to take as one’s own. I cannot understand."

She stared at him, eyes filling with sadness before she exhaled and shook her head. "'s not fer ye to understand either way."

Lahabrea slowly struggled to move the body upright, to sit up. Granye looked away quickly until he noticed and rolled his eyes. 

"I'm decent." he scoffed, rolling out of the Ascian tongue he had been used to using for so long and making sure the garish blanket was still covering his lower half.

When she looked back, he was raising his arms up to whatever light would come in from outside, squinting at the insides of them. To his eyes, the patterns were as visible as ink.

White-gold eyes flashed with fury as he laid them on her.

"You've locked me in here!"

She nodded, calm. "Aye."

Lahabrea turned on her, snarling. "I'll gut you!"

She stared calmly. "Ye cannae, an' ye know it."

It was the tipping point, such a blatant declaration of his weakness.

He rocked forward, both arms outstretched, aiming for her throat. Granye reacted faster, sweeping aside his right arm and pressing her right palm to his collarbone, pushing him back onto the bed, forcefully pinning him down, blonde hair flaring around his head.

"Yer in no spot to do anythin' o' the sort. We both know yer too weak to try anythin' funny, so dinnae pretend."

He could feel it; the frailty in his new limbs, the way he trembled after that small exertion. This body was not strong. It had atrophied, and whether that was by design, or simply nature's rebuked attempt to claim the corpse, he did not know.

His lungs burned as he drew dry air into them, breathless, winded.

Granye lifted her hand, released him. He stayed down, assessing the situation. 

He was locked into a closed circuit. With his crystal embedded in the body, any attempt to flee would bring him right back to the flesh. The wards were like a cage, boxing him in. But...the harshness of her Light no longer wore down his weakened soul.

"Ye ought'o be able t' recover a bit o' yer strength now." she said.

He dragged his gaze to her, still scowling, but the fatigue plain on his face.

"This changes nothing."

Granye smiled slowly. "I ne'er expected it to." She looked down at his legs under the blanket. "Can ye move 'em? Make sure everythin's in workin' order."

He moved his foot, bent his legs slowly one at a time, stretching his toes. "...Everything feels functional."

"Good! Now, food an' wa'er; do ye need some?" 

"...No."

She leaned back and folded her arms. "So why're ye lookin’ like such a sook?"

He pursed his lips and glared. "Why are you going to all this trouble?"

"Despite the popular opinion, I dinnae want you dead, Lahabrea. I never wanted to kill anyone. Maybe ye thought my questions were all jus'...flights o' fancy, but I've been serious from the start." 

"Oh, you have certainly fooled me." he grumbled. 

She grinned. "Aye, aye, I like me chuckles, ye got me there. But I'm serious. I wanted to go a few rounds with ye, aye. Ye pissed me righ' off, the lot o’ ye. But I know it isnae my right, same as it wasnae Thordan's. So, for better or worse, I'm givin' ye a chance."

"Where was Igeyorhm's?"

Granye's face fell. "I dinnae have an answer for ye. I still regret it. But I cannae go back an' change it."

"Hmph." he scoffed. "So you intend to make amends with me?"

Granye arched a brow. "Well...no, that wasnae the plan. Cannae make amends with someone who thinks yer wrong fer existin' an' lit'le else."

Lahabrea opened his mouth to sneer some more, but instead he was overcome by a generous yawn. He squinted after it passed, glaring at the ratty ceiling. 

"Yer tired, aye?"

He lowered his hateful gaze at her, as if to say 'What to you think?' 

She nodded. "Get some rest."

Lahabrea shot her one last sour glare, part of him relishing the chance that now he could, before fatigue dragged him under.

Granye stayed where she was, seated and waiting. Lahabrea passed out into a deep sleep so quickly she thought he was faking it.

Ten minutes later, satisfied it was genuine, she carefully and snugly wrapped the blanket around him and picked him up off the hard bed, slinging him against her shoulder gently. She pulled what she could of the rough blanket over his head to hide his features, then opened the door a crack, peering out into the cool Thanalan night and waiting, listening for any noise of movement beyond the usual creatures of the night and the gentle wind. And the slow breathing next to her ear.

Once she was certain, Granye swiftly made for her chocobo and, keeping a good grip on Lahabrea with one arm, lifted herself into the saddle. She settled and rearranged him so he didn't fall off, securing him in a cradle and taking the reigns in her other. She paused a moment. With his head resting on her shoulder, blonde locks falling messily, face relaxed, he looked almost...sweet.

"Yah!"

Palankwehn took off, breaking into a steady run.

Granye had paid her entire fortune for this. They hadn't questioned why she'd needed such a peculiar thing as a warded cadaver, and hopefully with her glamoured disguise, they would never know to ask her why.

But she'd be damned if she stayed in Thanalan a second longer than she had to.

She would ride east, to the lush forests of the Black Shroud where the laws might not protect her, but the virtue of her name would most certainly. Ul'dah still left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she was not wholly trusted after the confusing mess of the bloody banquet and what little of Teledji's lies had spread from that event.

Nor would she risk the Admiral's ire if her dealings with the Alacran was discovered in La Noscea. Not that she was scared of Merlwyb, per say, but she felt there was enough bad blood between them already.

But Gridania was safe. Gridania hailed her as their favoured champion, the strongest tree to sprout from their soil.

Her grip tightened around the waist it held. Adrenaline-fueled fear raced through her veins. 

They would hate her. They would all hate her for this.

Granye knew that she would hate herself more if she let him waste away without genuinely trying everything in her power to save him.

——————————-

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