#i'm sorry volot but

[salisburyliam]

quite a introduction damn

[floaroanemoia]

“Close your eyes.”

     To most, it is a harmless enough request that escapes from the merchant. The barest hint of a surprise laying in wait, and wishing for it to remain as such until the right moment. For those fortunate enough to live amongst a settlement or within the confines of a village, perhaps they might oblige with neither thought nor a second spared—trusting willingly; blindly. The luxury of safety and numbers. For Sarana, however, it is a statement loaded and jagged along the edges of each and every word. To take away a sense so vital to her own survival—something that the medium has long relied on to keep an eye on the smallest of details, or catch onto those which attempt to use their surroundings as camouflage. A choice that could ultimately lead to an untimely death.

     A single hand holds itself out towards her, that usual, almost boyish grin playing on his features. The silence on the woman’s side is heavy, focus flickering between an all-too-familiar, grey eye, and the gesture. What Volo asks—to him, it may be a simple and light-hearted part of a greater theatrical plan, however  for Sarana, it is nothing short of putting her life in his hands, even if only for a fraction of a second. Is the weight of it all something he is aware of? Should she accept, would it be wise to note how many steps were taken; how many turns they make; if her boots make contact with dirt, snow or branches?

     No. It matters not. For each thought is pushed back, and Sarana finds herself following along, eyes falling shut with the slightest of scrunches.

     How foolish of her.

          “Very well,”

     Fingers, hidden beneath the safety of floral lace, comb the air until eventually, the medium’s hand comes to rest in his. It is warmer than she thought. A little more calloused than what appearances might suggest, but comforting—welcoming. The sort to momentarily seize the heart, but soon after radiate from its chamber the shallowest of flutters. Surely, Sarana tells herself, the source must lie in making a decision as hefty as this. Yes, for he has offered her a hand in times gone by—as have others—with not a sensation such as this. No, for she can almost hear each beat of her heart in the depths of both ears; feel in uncertain palms two pulses negotiating an equilibrium.

     Why is it so different? Does he feel it, too?

     Eyes shut, she still turns her head away to clear her throat, something akin to the remnants of a laugh slipping from the medium.

          “…You may lead the way.”

[kalosinflames]

As a side note; what on earth is with that man’s hair? Is he a cosplayer? Is that what this is? He looks absolutely stupid. How do you use that much gel to get your hair to stay like that and be able to look at yourself?

Adam has the sudden overwhelming urge to kick him in the ribs.

[poktch]

@volot asked : ❛ you look like you just saw a ghost. ❜ or ❛ it’s rare to see your kind around here. ❜ , whichever you vibe with most! [ fooooor either platinum verse or missing verse barry? 8) sorry that this guy-who-looks-like-cynthia-but-like-40 is hanging around sinnoh, barry ]

200 random dialogue prompts / accepting

— ❝ yeah ? ❞ what made him think that ? the look in their eyes , the fact that he had been pacing in circles for about ten minutes , or the way his hands were shaking so bad he had to hold something to get them to stop ( that something being his scarf , taken off and wrung tightly between their hands ) ? ❝ here i am , thinking i was holding myself together pretty well !! ❞ cue a forced sounding laugh -- and it doesn't do anything to soothe them . grip on green fabric only tightens as they tug on it . yeah , he's freaking out . he's totally freaking out , and he HATES it .

— ❝ i was ! up at spearpillar !! and -- i know you probably won't believe me because i'm just some kid , and why should you believe some kid , and where even are my parents , BUT -- ❞ he pauses mid-sentence if only to gasp for a breath , speaking too fast for even themself . ❝ -- something , uh , really , REALLY bad was gonna happen up there with those awful Team Galaxy goons , and me and my friend got involved , and -- ❞ and he's off on a rant . there's no stopping them now . he just needs to get it out , is all -- volo was just the one unfortunate enough to trigger it .

— ❝ -- SO ANYWAY i think i saw giratina itself abduct the leader of Team Galaxy and everything's fine now but i'm freaking out , and i don't know WHY i'm still freaking out if it's already OVER !! ❞

[floaroanemoia]

{ ooc. @volot​ already knows the context behind this but a cursed image for the fact that like 2 or 3 blogs reblogged Sarana and Volo’s promos in the exact same order back to back

you’re welcome }

[floaroanemoia]

{ ooc. @volot​

I’m not sorry }

[floaroanemoia]

“They dropped the world on your shoulders and called you Atlas. How long can you hold the weight?” [ hi jess i am refraining from sending you like 50 of these because i want to So Bad ]

Raw lines from unlikely sources || Accepting @volot

     How coincidental it is, for a question of carrying burdens to have its own, anchor-like weight. Unexpected, but not unwelcome, it drives Sarana to thoughtful silence. Red gaze shifting to the horizon-- to the clouds lingering above the sea, white and grey; dull purple and blue. She breathes in, slowly and without a sound, the scent of brine and sulphur filling her lungs. How many times has she invited it in? How many times has the sea breeze sunk its claws into her bones and strengthened her resolve, despite the uneasiness that comes with staring into the source of it all? A gloved hand rises to hold onto her chin, the sensation of lace woven by hands more experienced-- older than Sarana’s-- pressing against skin grounding, in a sense. 

     How long could she hold the weight? 

     ‘Forever’ is the word that shoots up in the back of her mind, however the medium knows she has not a luxury so valuable as infinite time, nor does the home she wishes to save. It would be the simplest way to put it, though. The truth, if only in context to how long the stars look upon her under the veil of the night and decide to give the blonde another day. How could it possibly be put into words, the woman wonders, without evoking concern or raising further questions? Without insulting the years of dedication-- the blood, sweat and tears-- that have been embracing the weight not unlike how a mother might cradle their newborn child?

     An index finger taps her chin at a steady, barely noticeable pace, the hum muffling against her lips a brief drone to their rhythm and a racing mind.

          “...If it is a length of time you seek, I can’t possibly tell you that,”

     She begins, words slow to fall, but lacking waver and weakness. No, they are spoken with finality, if not in a terribly matter-of-fact way.

          “As long as I need to. As long as I must. Until myself and those I took a vow alongside have accomplished what has been passed down to us, and beyond that.”

     Yes, she is certain of it. As vivid eyes catch the wisps of fluorescence from Lumineon drifting across the sea, her resolve hardens once more. Trials and tribulations aside, if the medium has come this far, what would another twenty seven years be, if not an experience Sarana has learnt so carefully to navigate? There they are again, as always-- the stars. Be it in the sky, reflections or water, they persist-- light shimmering and flickering, but never truly dying. And she will be the same-- for the sake of those in the past, present and future. Attention shifts, and finally affixes itself to Volo’s features.

          “If the weight of the world is what I am meant to carry, then I will hone my strength and resilience until holding it is no heavier than a feather. ”