#idle murmurs | roleplay

[kemuele]

Forests will forever enrapture the archangel's curiosity. The way they can tower over people, blanket them in their canopies and leaves, rekindles a fondness in his heart from long ago. While his heart will continue to guard and protect the northwest, there is something to be had for the eastern states' own.

His visit isn't for the trees this time. Kemuel slips his hands in his pockets, shaking his head as he takes in the southern sun basking the town in its heat. Normally he'd enjoy bathing in the light, but Kentucky's humidity leaves him less than pleased. Eyes shift from the mirage forming down the street to the strangers passing by. All seems well except--

"Excuse me," he says, clearing his throat to a young woman, dark hair. "it is too hot to be wearing a jacket, is it not?" As if in demonstration, he nods to his own since folded over his forearm. Peculiar; are you trying to fit in or run away? Thoughts are kept to himself, but Kemuel's polite mannerisms keep him in place for an answer. She's not like the others, so why is she here?

@ofgilmore

[draiochteve]

Kissing Strangers

WoLGraha | Roleplaying as Strangers | Light Drinking | Established Relationship | Flirting | Oneshot | Hey, Sweetheart 2022

Word Count: 2,551

“Truly? Fancy that~ You remind me of my sweetheart I’ve been missing. Perhaps you’ve seen him?” she replied with her voice dropping as she leaned in far more than a newly made friend would ever dare. Her free hand even sauntered towards his idle fingers, pretending to be tracing the outlines on the wood table only to finally intertwine her digits with his. How G’raha’s heart thrummed just feeling her heat and the pressure of her touch.

“Oh? Why don’t you tell me of this ‘sweetheart’ and mayhaps I can be of assistance…?” he murmured as he inched his lips towards her cheek, tickling it with his breath and a phantom of a kiss. The woman shivered noticeably and G’raha fought the urge to claim her lips then and there.

Not yet, he reminded himself, for the game has just begun.

Click the title or image to read!  

[kemuele]

Continuing from here

Long time no see, indeed. Busy in some ways and not in others, seeing Fi for the first time in years makes him forget his absence. Kemuel instantly lowers his hands, releasing the witch's face from his friendly, though certainly excitable, hold. "Ah, my apologies," he starts with a warm bubble of laughter. A grin spills on his features and lifts the corners of his eyes.

"Is that better? I am doing well, but what of you? How are things these days?" Question after question, though not in an interrogative tone. His words are rife with curiosity and friendless, warm to the ears as much as they are to speak.

@learnedlucidity

[technicallycleverdetective]

I have a prompt, but it's not from the list, is it still okay? I was thinking about Ermal wanting to spice things up in the bedroom and asking Fabrizio to spank him. After a while, Fabrizio agrees, but when they start, Ermal starts having strong childhood flashbacks and is crying. So of course Fabrizio stops imidietly and comforts his love. A lot of soft touches and even softer words is excganged that night, with Ermal falling asleep safly next to his Bizio.

Ermal had gotten the idea two weeks ago, during an idle afternoon when loneliness came and Fabrizio was far away. He was on a certain site when he came across a roleplay. One partner leaned over a walnut desk not unlike the one he remembered his teachers and professors having, while the other scolded them for being such a poor student and occasionally smacked their buttocks with the palm of their hand.

 It was a surprisingly scintillating watch. Ermal typically wasn't a fan of punishment and humiliation, but the way the person’s hand caressed their partner’s skin before planting another red mark onto it, and the way the victim cried out for more even as their voice began to weaken, was undeniably erotic. He found himself imagining Fabrizio in that position, which made the viewing experience all the more pleasurable, up until the moment that the roleplay ended.

 At that point, the previously stern professor changed personality in an instant. They hugged their partner and whispering reassuringly to them, stroking their hair and kissing their face gently. In Ermal's head, the roles switched in an instant. Fabrizio's hugs had always felt like a shield to him, wrapping him up in a warm cocoon where nothing bad could touch him. It could be thrilling to experiment with pain work in the safest environment he knew, let go of his famous control and trust that his boyfriend wouldn't let him fall. It always had been an intense experience on the few occasions he had been able to put himself at Fabrizio's mercy. Next time they were together, he might suggest the idea.

 That was today. Ermal didn’t know how long they’d been lying on the bed, exchanging kisses, but somewhere along the way their clothes had disappeared to some unknown part of the room. There were few barriers left between them now and the evening was definitely heading in a certain direction.

 “Bizio…” Ermal murmured, removing himself from Fabrizio’s reach. He reluctantly opened his eyes and then was glad he did. Fabrizio was always the most handsome man in the world, but he was never more stunning than he was in those rare moments when he was completely relaxed. His eyes seemed to be lit up from within. He settled back on the pillows, smiling as he waited to hear what Ermal had to say.

 “What do you think about trying something different tonight?”

 “Sounds intriguing. What did you have in mind?”

 Ermal bit down on his lip and traced his finger over one of Fabrizio’s tattoos. “I saw something about spanking…” he began cautiously. “It looks interesting. It’s supposed to heighten the intensity. I’d like to try it.”

 Fabrizio hummed, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “Okay, I’m willing to give it a try” he said.

 “Okay,” Ermal smiled and then took a deep breath. It was inescapably scary to put himself in such a vulnerable position. “And…I want you to do it.”

 Fabrizio looked at him. The light in his eyes had vanished, leaving them dull and filled with concern. “I’m not sure, love,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t be comfortable with hurting you.”

 “You wouldn’t be hurting me, not really,” Ermal insisted. “I trust you. You just said you’d be willing to try it.”

 “Yes, but with me. I don’t want to be…I just don’t want to hurt you.”

 Ermal stared at him and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He sat up and moved to look down at his boyfriend. “Why?” he asked. “I don’t want to hurt you either, but the point is that we trust each other and make sure the other person is okay. It’s supposed to be pleasurable. Why do you think you could handle it better than me?”

 “I’d just rather that you do it for our first time” Fabrizio said matter-of-factly. His gaze was clear and innocent, and Ermal couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.

 “Bizio…” he sighed, stroking his hair. “I don’t really know what to do. You know how to do this stuff properly. I need you to show me. If I get it wrong, I could really hurt you and I don’t want that. I trust you,” he added softly. He leaned in and kissed Fabrizio’s cheek. “I can do this. I want to do this. Please.”

 Fabrizio paused, eyes flitting about thoughtfully. Was he trying to think up another excuse not to give Ermal his way? Apparently not, as his gaze settled back on his boyfriend. “Okay,” he conceded. “The safe word is blue. Make sure you use it if it gets too much.”

 “Alright. It’ll be okay, Bizio,” he added, smiling happily now. “I’m not a doll.”

 “We’ve never done anything like this before” Fabrizio remarked, standing up.

 “Yeah, because you treat me like a piece of glass. I’m proving a point to you” Ermal retorted. Fabrizio smirked at him. He walked over to the doorway and leaned casually against it. “So, prisoner Meta, do you know why you’re here?” he asked lazily. Ermal grinned at him, no matter how unsuitable a response that was. Those simple words, and the promise they held, were mesmerising.

 “I’ve been bad?” he suggested. That seemed a reasonable assumption.

 “I think I enjoy the disobedient ones best,” Fabrizio remarked. “Have you had sufficient time to consider your crimes?”

 “Yes.”

 “And do you conclude that you are worthy of punishment?”

 “I do.”

 “Good. Then we are in agreement,” Fabrizio walked towards him. “Stand up.”

 Ermal did so, already buzzing with excitement. Fabrizio looked him over, frowning. “Your disrespect in stripping before an inspection irks me.”

 “You said you wanted to inspect me. Did I misunderstand?” Ermal replied mischievously.

 The stony face cracked into a smile, before Fabrizio attempted to get back into character. “If an inspection is what you want, an inspection is what you'll get.”

 He turned Ermal around and pushed him to lean over the bed, pulling his shorts down to expose his ass in one fell move. Ermal could feel him hovering over his prone body and couldn’t deny that it felt intoxicating to be in such a position, to trust Fabrizio enough to do this.

 “Mr Meta, you're filthy” Fabrizio said disapprovingly.

 “I know.”

 “Particularly dirty here.”

 Hands roamed across his skin, gently caressing him. He could barely speak, concentrating solely on not letting his breathing give away how much he enjoyed the sensation. Fabrizio abruptly spanked him and his whole body flinched.

 “Okay?” his boyfriend queried worriedly.

 “I’m fine, it’s just the surprise. That didn’t even hurt.”

 Fabrizio promptly did it again. “You have a bad attitude” he teased.

 “Yes.”

 “You need correction.”

 That word made his breathing jump for a different reason, one far removed from pleasure. It promised something that wasn’t at all enjoyable. But it was just a word, just a roleplay. It was fine. Get over it.

 Fabrizio hit him again and he gave a short moan in response. “Are you ready to be a good boy now?” he heard. He felt his chest unexpectedly tighten and sucked in a sharp, painful breath. It was still Fabrizio’s voice, the one that promised safety, but underneath that he could suddenly hear another that was less familiar and far less agreeable.

 He didn’t answer. His ribcage was so contracted that he couldn’t pull in enough breath to do so. He was hyper-aware of the presence behind him, the slight creak of the floorboards as it moved, the hairs on his neck standing up to warn him of impending danger. His breath was starting to become short and shallow. There was no way to tell when the next strike would come and he tensed up, preparing himself for it, closing his eyes and then opening them again because it was too frightening to be left completely helpless. He felt the sharp sting on his buttocks and released half a gasp, clenching his jaw to stop it short. He was looking for a reaction. The punishment lasted longer if he got one.

 The next one hit his other cheek, even more painful than the last, and he couldn’t stop a whine leaping from his mouth.

 “Ermal?”

 A hand gripped his shoulder and he tensed, trying to pull away from it. The hand released him and he bent double over the bed, trying to at least stay on his feet and preserve his dignity. “Stop…” he moaned. “I can’t…I can’t do it. Stop it, please.”

 “Ermal…It’s Bizio. You’re okay. Will you look at me?”

 Slowly he stood up straight and turned to face his boyfriend. Whatever Fabrizio saw on his face made him look like he was about to start crying. “Can I…?” he requested, letting his arm hover in the air. Ermal nodded and launched into his embrace. As soon as he was encircled in those strong arms, he felt tears in his eyes and struggled fruitlessly to keep them down, but they were too powerful. He gave in and released a sob, muffling it in Fabrizio’s chest. It was safe to let go now.

 “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought I would be okay.”

 “It's okay, it's okay,” Fabrizio said soothingly. “I'm sorry. Was I too rough?”

 “It wasn't you. It was just different than I expected, not being able to see your face, and the pain wasn't good.”

 “Do you want to switch roles?” Fabrizio offered. Ermal shook his head quickly. “I can…” he suggested, pulling back and reaching for Fabrizio’s shorts. His hand was arrested on the way and gently removed.

 “No.”

 Fabrizio looked at him so kindly that he sobbed again. He sniffed loudly and sat down on the bed, pushing his hands into his eyes. “What is wrong with me?” he asked.

 “Nothing is wrong with you” Fabrizio protested, sitting down beside him.

 Ermal choked on a humourless laugh and shook his head. “Of course something is wrong with me,” he muttered. “Look at me, a grown man reduced to this by such stupid things. Why can’t I get over this?”

 He heard his voice rise in anger and regretted it, feeling Fabrizio’s hand on his, gently rubbing the skin in an attempt to calm him. This wasn’t his fault. It was Ermal who had pushed him into it and he didn’t want Fabrizio to think that he was being blamed, or that Ermal was taking his frustration at himself out on him. Nothing could be further from the truth. He looked up, blinked those traitorous tears away, and felt his heart break at the sadness in his beloved’s eyes.

 “Erma’, I hit you,” Fabrizio said quietly. “Repeatedly. Of course it was going to…”

 “I should have been able to handle it,” Ermal retorted. “It's been decades and I asked you to do it. It doesn't even hurt anymore. You didn’t even hit me so hard.” He groaned and pressed his palms over his eyes again, powerless to stop them leaking. “You shouldn’t have to be afraid to touch me. You shouldn’t have to take care of me…”“I want to,” Fabrizio interrupted. Ermal looked up, surprised by his firm tone of voice and the look in his eyes. “You're the strongest person I've ever known. You said it yourself when we met, we're both survivors, but being a survivor is hard work! In an ideal world, we'd have had happy lives where nothing bad ever happened, but that's not how things turned out. It doesn't mean we can't help each other carry the burden.”

 Ermal blinked, felt the tears gathering for another assault, and took a deep breath to force them back. “It always seems to be you carrying my burden” he remarked sadly.

 Fabrizio shook his head. “It's not,” he whispered. “How many times have you calmed me down when I'm having a panic attack, or looked after me so patiently when I get sick, without ever making me feel like I’m being ridiculous? And what about all the time you spend with my kids, the inspiration you've given me, the way you always call or text at just the right time to give me a reason to smile? You don't know how many dark holes you've pulled me out of. I wish I could do the same for you.”

 “You have,” Ermal replied. Surely this was obvious. Hadn’t he let Fabrizio know how much he was appreciated at the time? “All the times when the world seemed against me and I wanted to give up, you've always been there to tell me I'm enough and I'm loved and I deserve to be happy. You see something to love even on the days when I can't stand my reflection, and you make me see it too. I'm grateful for that.”

 Fabrizio lifted his hand and gently cupped his cheek, keeping his touch light until Ermal leaned into it. “You’re enough,” he said. “You’re loved. You’re so loved, Ermal, you wouldn’t believe how much. You deserve happiness and for as long as you’ll let me, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

 “Can I have a hug?”“Always.”

 Once again he found himself safe and warm inside that shield, his head resting on the strange Punk heart tattoo that he didn’t mind for once. He could hear Fabrizio’s steady heartbeat next to his ear and hummed contentedly, returning the embrace. “Your hugs are the best.”

 Fabrizio chuckled and Ermal felt the vibrations through his skin. The arms shifted to hold him closer and a kiss was placed in his hair. “What do you want to do now, love?”

 “Just lie here.”

 Within twenty minutes of suggesting the idea, Ermal found himself back in the same position where he’d started the night, this time under the duvet with Fabrizio’s warm body still curled protectively around him. He truly had no idea what he’d done to deserve someone so kind-hearted.

 “Bizio…” he murmured into the growing darkness. “You make me happy.”

 Fabrizio didn’t say anything and Ermal couldn’t see his face, but he could feel the arms around him tighten briefly, and the hand which moved down his arm until it found another hand to hold. That said more than words ever could, but it still wasn’t enough. Ermal rolled over and threw his arm over Fabrizio’s chest, moving to tuck himself in against his boyfriend’s side, and closed his eyes. This was the best place to sleep, safe and warm with his Bizio.

[kemuele]

"Is she? Then what are you?" He asks, already knowing the answer. But at the very least, with Fergus satiating his appetite, the journey back to where he came from would be easy. Kemuel slowly nods at his proposed efforts for retracing steps. Surely if the man has arrived at the diner of his own volition, he'd be able to go back to the garden he woke up in?

Or, would retracing those steps require more stimuli and effort than his disoriented self provided? Whatever the case, Kemuel has an uneasy feeling over Fergus's predicament.

"With all of these questions, I never did introduce myself. What is your name? Mine is Kemuel." He even gestures to the plastic nametag on his shirt, bearing his name in capital letters only fitting for a label-maker.

“ye.” a nod confirmed that was as much as fergus’ ability to track his own location would go. he had no mental map of the place he was at, or the area - he didn’t even understand which country he was at currently. or how he got there, all he did know right now was that food was great. he dug in like there was no tomorrow & who knew - maybe there wouldn’t be for him. it wouldn’t be a great loss, so he saw no issue indulging today & using this stranger’s friendliness to his own advantage. 

“me mother’s a witch, but me - i’m no such thing.” a shrug. he didn’t have the ability to jump anywhere. he doubted she came home to do it either, so .. yes, unwillingly fit best. “i can try.. find my way back.” he’d not properly paid attention, but maybe he could do it. 

[rudra-writes]

Pallas and Telurin - Hot Springs (Part 8)

Part of a roleplay story with Telurin’s player. Telurin considers his conflicted feelings about continuing to be Pallas’s guardian, indirectly putting the anchorite in danger from his own death knight compulsions. The following day on the road, Pallas suggests they stop at a natural hot springs. Pallas encourages Telurin to join him in the warm water, and their attraction to one another comes to light. (Advisory for some suggestive content.)

Pallas laughs at Telurin's words, his nose crinkling. "You're so lascivious, Telurin! I'm sure I look like a wreck." This is true, he does look like a wreck. The priest moans faintly at the soft kisses and raises his chin to return them in kind, delighting in the physical contact of their lips and bodies.

However, he was unable to ignore the throbbing pain in his posterior. Pallas's eyes were flinching despite his best efforts to make it look as if he were fine. "Telurin..." he murmurs quietly after a short time, his white eyelashes flitting as he looks up from the angles of the death knight's face down to their union and back again, "Could... you pull out? I need to take care of myself..."

Telurin smirks at Pallas. It's true, he does look like a wreck, but it's a wreck of his own making, and Telurin has come to find he appreciates those more than any other. He begins to reply with something to this effect when Pallas continues speaking, and the slow, halting tone lets him fill in the rest of what Pallas doesn't say - that he's hurt, regardless of how gentle and slow Telurin was at first. He frowns without thinking.

"Of course." The reply is perhaps more curt than he intended, the reprimand in his voice more for himself than for Pallas, even though he doesn't actually specify it as such. Nonetheless, his touch to Pallas's hair is feather-light, and he does sit back up and begins to ease the two of them apart.

Pallas could detect the curtness in the larger man's voice, and he regrets making the death knight frown like that, when his mood had been so pleasant. Still, he thinks to himself as Telurin straightens, maybe it was better if he was honest. Physical pain did not seem like a healthy thing to hide from a partner.

He bites his lip as Telurin starts to ease himself out of him. The death knight had hilted himself so deeply inside Pallas that it felt to the priest as if it was where his dick belonged. After Telurin had separated them, Pallas breathed a gasp, then swiftly moved one of his hands down to his aching arse where Tel's cock had been moments before. It hardly looked like the most distinguished way of healing oneself, with a finger up his butt like this, but Telurin has seen all of Pallas's physical body by now, and so it didn't seem worthwhile to care.

The Anchorite summoned the Light and started to heal his poor butt. He smiles apologetically up at Telurin, "Please do not be upset. It was amazing... All of it."

Telurin snorts, but he looks somewhat mollified. His jaw works for a moment, before he says, "It was not my intention to hurt you."

He sees Pallas insert a finger to heal himself, and besides a brief flicker of confusion, he's more interested in apologizing with his fingers instead of his words, and not the Anchorite's healing style. Though, it does give him ideas, which bring his expression to something more neutral than his previous frown. He trails his hands down the planes of Pallas's body, and keeps their tails intertwined.

"I know," Pallas murmurs earnestly when Telurin states that it wasn't his intention to hurt the other man. The death knight seems hesitant, but then he moves to caress the Anchorite while he's curled in this awkward position with one hand between his legs. Pallas scooches closer to him, squeezing his tail with Telurin's.

The Anchorite was a bit floaty with his mental and metaphysical concentration being diverted to heal himself, but he was still able to comprehend and speak. "It's exciting to me to know you can still enjoy sex," he says quietly. As opposed to things like food and drink, which he seemed to have lost almost all sensation for.

"Is it any different for you, now?" he asks in a low murmur. Pallas supposed it might be a very personal question, but given everything that had just transpired, perhaps it was acceptable. "Compared to before?"

Telurin avoids the question until he's shifted positions to stretch out beside Pallas on the grass. He looks up at the stars as he answers, head on his forearms and hips tilted toward Pallas, erection only now starting to go down.

"It's not something I think I can put into words." He pauses, tail flicking idly as he gives the question its proper consideration. "It is different. Less necessary. The desire is still there, just not as immediate as it was while I was living. If it wasn't for tonight, I would say it had given me more stamina, but I think it just gave me another set of kinks that I've not been able to explore until now."

Pallas eventually is satisfied with the healing to his bum. He looks over as the death knight lays down, then moves himself closer so that he can lay his head down on the side of Telurin's shoulder.

The priest listens to Telurin's answer with curiosity. He supposes that very little concern is given towards death knights’ sex lives, or anything else concerning death knights in general, besides 'keeping them in line' and on the outside of society. As such, he is in a position to learn something few knew about.

Pallas makes a wry face when Telurin unabashedly mentions he thinks his undeath has given him new kinks. "Are you a kinky person?" he asks.

Telurin automatically curls an arm around Pallas as he settles up against him.

"I can be." He replies with a smirk. "I've been around a long time, Pallas. You get to where you try things just for the novelty of it, or to stave off boredom."

Pallas smiles faintly as Telurin curls an arm around his person. The death knight's desire to touch him is so different from his behavior when they first met.

He thought about Tel's response for a moment, then replied, "I will endeavor not to bore you, then." He tries to make it sound serious, but it comes out mischievous anyway.

Telurin chuckles, and the hand that's currently curled around Pallas's shoulders reaches down to tweak the little Anchorite's tail. "I don't think you have any cause to worry, Anchorite."

He's relaxed, it's true. It may not last for long, but for now, he can lie here next to this beautifully mussed Anchorite, who let him be the cause of that wrecked appearance, despite better judgement telling him otherwise. He'll enjoy this while it lasts.

"And what of you, Pallas?" he turns his head to smirk at the man. "I see one kink of yours, do you have others?"

"What are you talking about..." Pallas protests weakly, flicking his tail against one of Telurin's burly legs after the death knight tweaks it. He grins faintly, "I am a holy Anchorite... A noble, chaste priest. I can not have experimented much. I am the hand of the Light, and of divine purity and sanctification."

He's perfectly aware this is bullshit, especially after Telurin knows now that he carries oil on his person. "Well... There might be some things. I like to be, um, fucked. And fucked well. There was something else... Something Boros and I shared... But. I don't know what you would think of it." His eyes cast to the side.

Telurin snorts at Pallas's pronouncement that he's 'chaste' - that blow job had not been the work of a novice, and he says as much.

"Yet I can't help but notice you aren't getting any regular attention, even being as prepared as you are...." Telurin's fingers trace idle designs onto Pallas's back as he trails off, patterns that would be more than idle play if he were still a Vindicator. "I hardly think whatever it is you used to share with your Boros will shock me." He continues, "Out with it, little one. Do you really think I will look down on you for it? After admitting to my own debauchery?"

Pallas melts into Telurin's touches and closes his eyes. He seems to want to fall asleep then and there, in this peaceful moment. Such an act may not be very wise, as they were relatively out in the open even with the willow trees surrounding them.

"It's not that I think you will look down on me for it," the priest murmurs. "It is... something that requires a great deal of trust on your part. I do not know if you trust me enough yet. Perhaps you shouldn't. We have not known one another long, if we are honest with ourselves." The Anchorite paused for a while. "...It is too soon."

[progeny-of-the-fury]

Journey to the Twelve: Llymlaen, the Navigator

Log date: 8/14/17

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the readers enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participants knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

Tags: @thehawu

The trip across Eorzea was one long in the making. 

I had asked that Lord Parlemaix accompany me on this journey, as I presumed a Lieutenant of the Adders would be well versed with the lay of the land. I seemed to brood some in worry as well. Having invited Lenny in excitement over his desire to learn more of our gods, only to be shortly bestowed upon the traditional expectation of such a pilgrimage to each stone. To say I felt foolhardy would be an understatement, secretly I hoped my invitation had not been misconstrued. Countess De’bayle seemed rather against the excursion altogether, worried over my still tender and healing wounds inflicted on me during the campaign in Gyr Abania. I had taken matters into my own hands to make their healing process swifter, my drive to learn of this land far out-weighing my concern for an injury that in time will find its mends. While the woman's concern was appreciated, for my own good, I needed to dismiss them. I have lived this long without their presence, what more is a fortnight or two? 

Still, the idea of leaving her alone brought me no great pleasure, I was fully aware of her lonely state. I would have plenty stories and trinkets to return to her, while she handles the dealings with the House in the Counts absence. I know full well what duties entail. As for myself, I had belongings to be put away into storage, and a map to prepare...

Faithful Navigator, help us to see where our hearts lie. Lead us toward true divinity, so that we may find comfort in knowing our rightful place within your Halls. Grant me the virtue to shepard as you do.

Adelise De'bayle was standing at the counter, conversing with Madame Celeste over more than likely the keeping of anything important in her time away. Strapped to her ready side was a rather thick bag, more than likely carrying her belongs for this escapade. In her hand, a decently sized rolled parchment was held tightly to her chest. "Please make sure nothing happens to it, it is very expensive," she huffs out in irritation, adjusting her baggage some.

Siovant Parlemaix passes quietly into the house, having come looking for the young Adelise.  The eve of their trip was nigh, and he was all packed.  "Dawdling, Adelise?" He inquired in the lofty tones of one who was just barely more prepared than his peers.  Weight shifts from heel to heel, watching the young woman with golden hues.

Adelise De'bayle tossing her head in the man's direction, her braid thwapping at her back, Adelise scowled slightly, "there you are. Lord Parlemaix, I have been meaning to bring something to your attention," she huffs, nodding toward Celeste before stepping away to approach him. "Lenny wishes to drop in for portions of our trip, wanting to learn of the different patrons himself. I told him I would ask your thoughts on it all first," she eyes him, some awaiting his response.

Siovant Parlemaix furls his ebon brows in some manner of confusion, at first looking as though he didn't quite understand.  One of his palms rested atop the considerable grimoire that hung from his hip, "You were the organizer of this trek." He asserts, "You're welcome to bring whoever you so desire." He'd note, cocking his hip to one side.  "Will he be joining us today?  Or was he merely going to drop in from the middle of the wilderness?"

Adelise De'bayle: "I would have to inform him," she replies flatly, her brows furrowing somewhat at his response. "I suppose he would just drop in then... at some point. No matter. Aside from that, I wished to discuss our first location. You know this land better than I do... would you prefer we started farther from home and made our way north?"

Siovant Parlemaix runs those sharpened globes along her face, lips pursing ever-slightly.  "That would be acceptable.  Was that the path you were intending on taking?" He probed gently.

Adelise De'bayle pauses some, her hands tugging forward the parchment within her grasp. Tugging it open, the girl would dip her nose into page, "well... perhaps I am being biased... as I wish to see the sea again," she murmured out, "I figured perhaps starting with Vylbrand would be more optimal anyhow, as then we can continue most of the rest of the journey on foot or bird-back."

Siovant Parlemaix seems to consider her offering with an appraising expression, "I wouldn't mind a bit of sea-breeze myself.  I find your choice to be of an acceptable caliber." He affirms with a graceful nod of his head.

Adelise De'bayle smiles lightly at the man's praise, feeling only lightly fluffed from his words. "I have mapped out each location as well to make this easier on ourselves..." she exhales out contently, handing the man over her now presumed 'map'.

Siovant Parlemaix would take the offered article from the young woman, "Your forward thinking is appreciated, Adelise." He'd note in firm, warm tones.  He'd tuck it into his coat, near to his chest as to keep it close at hand.  "Shall we, in any case?  I presume that you are packed?"

Adelise De'bayle: "I am all but prepared for departure. Let us get going, I would prefer not to miss the next ship to Limsa. Are you feeling air or sea?"

Siovant Parlemaix considers for long moments, "Air would be a great deal faster, I should think." He notes softly, then he'd turn on a heel.  "Shall we?"

Adelise De'bayle: "We shall."

Adelise De'bayle leads the packed duo into the Shroud and to the city. Once travelled into the inn, they made their way down into the airship landing where the young woman tugged free her gil pouch, being sure to properly count out the exact amount for each of their tickets. "You know... I have left the Shroud before but... this feels a lot different. I never left those times with the intention of learning or exploring, simply there and back. Mm, I am both anxious and excited to leave this place for awhile."

Siovant Parlemaix laughs loftily at her admission, "Soon you will be a learned traveller, and you'll find no place in Eorzea is beyond your reach."  He'd flick a sort of furitive glance around, seeing only idle-eyed attendants.  "My love." He'd suddenly add.  "We shall see how you feel about distant lands once we've returned, Mm?"

Adelise De'bayle lets out a small scoff, "I will have you know back... home, I ventured quite far with my instructor. This was hardly any place we had not rea-" the young woman is caught off guard some, her eyes glancing toward the airship ticketer who seemed rather disinterested in the idle chatter of travelers. "D-Distant lands? So you did wish to travel to the east then," she huffs out, her cheek the slightest shade of pink.

Siovant Parlemaix leaned in a little closer, smiling crookedly.  "We shall have to see how we travel together first.  You may find that you tire of my presence after you've been stuck with me for awhile." He chuffs amusedly.

Adelise De'bayle grunts somewhat, "perhaps," she murmurs, shoving the man his ticket. "Let us board before the leave without us," she offers the ticketer a polite bow before quickly shuffling away.

The duo boards their ship to Limsa, the trip a bell or two long before eventually the sea-side city was made visible from the air. Once landed, they both made their exit.

Siovant Parlemaix: "About as thrilling as flights can be, I suppose."

Adelise De'bayle exited off the ship with a relaxed expression, seemingly having found the the trip to her liking as she spent nearly the entirety of it aboard the top deck enjoying the cold breeze. "I quite liked it, not a fan of flying?

Siovant Parlemaix: "I've never had enough time to enjoy them at my leisure.  Flights, that is.  Nearly every one was at the behest of some work issue."

Adelise De'bayle frowns to this, her eyes directing downward. "Mm, I see. I suppose that would make them a bit less enjoyable after some time," bringing a hand behind her to tug forward her braid, Adelise tugged at its end some. "The first of the stones is here within the city. I do not know the layout here much, but from what I remember it is on the Upper Decks."

Siovant Parlemaix moves to offer the young woman his hand.  And should she take it, she'd find herself being lead away.  "I believe I know where it is.  Although you will have to direct us the rest of the way."

Adelise De'bayle glances toward his hand with brows raising over her forehead, the injuries that once lay there now but light marks. Reaching to place hers within it, Adelise would glance around with a modest expression, avoiding his. "That is fine. I am sure it should be clear enough once we are in the area... it would give me a good chance to speak to the natives anyhow."

-Leading the young Half-Elezen through the bustling city, Siovant eventually brought her up into the Upper Decks, the area decorated ornately with colourful bombs and lights.-

Adelise De'bayle: "Huh... is there a festival going on?"

Siovant Parlemaix inhales briskly, drinking in the mixture of salt and other various city-smells.  "I believe so. I haven't paid much attention."

Adelise De'bayle looked about the lovely lights curiously, a small smile gracing her lips, "it looks nice... I wonder what they are celebrating... back home we celebrated the Sunbreeze festival about this time.”

After some more time moving along, he would bring her to a would-be secluded area, the location of Llymlaens stone and a perfect view of the darkening sea.

Siovant Parlemaix: "And here you have it."

Lehko'a Nhali parts with an absolutely shite-eating grin to his companion as his one ear flutters about, proud of himself. "Aye, quite often I tell myself the same." A final drag is taken from the cigarette before he nubs the end against the stone, scorching yet another mark on the alabaster as smoke curls from his lips. "You and I are not the same, darlin'." He pauses, looking rather pointedly to her now. Before the approach of others gives him pause. Brows furrow and the corners of his lips pull downward into something terrible, almost akin to a pout. He falls silent, gaze casting off over the harbour.

Siovant Parlemaix halts just short of the fascination, golden hues alighting upon the sunbaked stone and gently-trickling water with some manner of curiosity.  "I've seen it dozens of times, but I've never actually stopped to examine it." His scarred lips tilt delicately, in an expression of musing thought.

Adelise De'bayle looked about the statue with a small state of awe, the beginning fireworks of the festival lighting the evening sky. "This was far more exciting then I had anticipated..." she breathed out, glancing over at the nearby duo. Lips tugging awkwardly, Adelise simply enjoyed what she came for. "Llymlaen is the Navigator. she watches the seas and helps lead sailors safely over its waves through storms..." glancing over toward the Elezen at her side, an endeared expression washed over her features.

Hawu Jinjahl angles oversized ears back to take in the voices of a pair of folk that stand now at their backs, mouth lagging in the wake of her cigarette. Pity, they've silenced her companion. With a huff of quiet laughter, the witch reaches up to shove at the bandit with a hand so heavy with wealth that it becomes the night. "Are you /frightened/ of a little company, dove? My, we really must be different," And they are, the valley of their dichotomy turns sleeplessly with the howls of what lays within it. She's a ghastly thing, this wretch as she leans his way, voice low. "I will find a way to give you something in return for your services then. It would make it easier for me to employ you if you /told/ me what you might like? Trust me, it will not be easy, accompanying me in the dark. There are things you might not like at all."

Adelise De'bayle: "It is quite beautiful is it not?" she inhales deeply at the salt-filled air. "It brings me fond memories..." her scarlet gaze rolled upward toward the heavens, once more growing lost amongst the endless lights.

Siovant Parlemaix flicks an errant eye towards the tones of the paired strangers and their enigmatic intents.  Still, his mood was not quashed by company.  "Tell me something about home." His expression slipped towards Adelise, eyes alight with that curious gleam.  "That... other home, I mean."

Adelise De'bayle kept her gaze toward the sky, the joy within her eyes seeming to dullen with his inquiry. "We would often make trips to a seaside port city similar to this. My instructor and I, or Serick. We would spend our sun there enjoying the sausages served by the vendors, a specialty there and visit each of the respective guilds," Adelise smiled lightly, the expression somewhat somber as she tore her eyes from the stars. "I always said I would pick up a craft, each time I went. I believe it was just an excuse for them to keep taking me back. At the end, when dusk came and washed the sky over in darkness, we would sit and watch the ships leave, the sea an endless black. Covered in these same lights..."

Lehko'a Nhali sways in time with the force of her palm against his shoulder -- which, to say, is not much at all. Her arms were but dried twigs. Still, it earns her a sharpened look and his hand rises to snatch up her wrist, grip perhaps a touch too firm. Slowly, he relents and places it into her silken lap. Tucking the cigarette she'd offered him some bell before into the breastpocket of his vest, he rises, nubbed tail flicking about behind him in muted agitation. Turning, his mismatched gaze falls upon the innocent pair as if they have trespassed something sacred with their presence here -- not that they might have known, of course. Sniffing, he spits into the well as he parts to leave, black tar seeping into the clear waters like ink.

Siovant Parlemaix would draw just a step closer to her as she spoke, offering her muted comfort in his physical closeness in addition to the tangled aroma of that mildest of colognes that he wears.  Familiar scents, paired with the unfamiliar sea breeze.  "I see." He breathed, tones muted in a somberness to match her own.  "It must be hard.  But I know that you are strong." He'd affirm to her, "It sounds lovely, though."

Hawu Jinjahl raises her chin as her wrist is snatched, painted lids swimming low to split the rounds of her eyes in twain. Fingers curl inward, relenting at it's placed back into the seat of her lap. "What an irritable creature." As he rounds the corner, Hawu rocks up to her feet, black smoke draining from the corner of her mouth like poison on the air as she turns to regard the pair. Despite the vitriol expressed by her companion, she offers them both a nod, the carmine curve of her mouth both great and terrible before heel claps to stone. Is that an apologetic look in her eye? No, it mustn't be so. She's ambling after Lehko'a with a lazy gait, suddenly privy to trouble.

Adelise De'bayle leaned into his form gently, eventually turning her head to look up towards him. In-taking another deep breath as their proximity grew, Adelise seemed taken by his aroma. Attention drawn for a short moment as the feline pair made their abrupt exist, her eyes flickered to the inky pollution of the fountain the man left in his wake, it rinsing out and into the pitch sea. The young woman simply sighed and let the thought of any potential confrontation go in the face of enjoying their moment here just a bit longer. "Up there. The larger blue stars that glow brighter than the rest? That is the gate to the fifth heaven... the Heaven of Water."

Siovant Parlemaix draws his gaze upwards in some curiosity, his brows furrowing as he squints.  His sharpened Wildwood hues had to refocus for the darkness.  "Mmm." He breathes in introspect, "I see." He notes, absorbing the information she so gracefully imparted.

Adelise De'bayle: "You would think that to be Llymlaen's heaven, but in truth she is that of the Wind. Though perhaps considering her duty, it might not be all too surprising," she motions a hand up, attempting to point toward the green stars, "The Navigator and the Wanderer, Oschon, created it atop a lofty peak. It is said only explorers, adventurers, saints and those who rescue are allowed within their halls," Adelise bows her head some, as if hoping to take in the knowledge herself. "I wonder how many follow such a path here? The rogue gusts that create tempests from the Heavens created the hell where bandits, defilers of land and sea, and pirates are thrown to. Do you think perhaps many here are destined to such a fate?"

Siovant Parlemaix shifts his weight from heel to heel in mild uncertainty, his eyes dropping back down to the bleached stone that they stood before.  "It is difficult to tell where the hearts of the transient will be sentenced.  Although, I would not be as naive as to say that there is not an exceptional wealth of 'privateers' within these sunbaked spires."

Adelise De'bayle took a step forward, her eyes wandering over the symbol of the Navigator. "Indeed. Exceptional. People who fall within these gusts, they cannot be saved. How could my voice ever reason with that of a pirate or bandit," a singular breath slipped through her in resignation, ger body moving to kneel onto the stone ledge just before the fountain. Reaching into her bag, Adelise would tug out a decently sized white stone, it egg-like in appearance. Moving it over carefully, she would place the object within the water, watching it for some time.

Siovant Parlemaix drew near to her kneeling form, curious as to her actions.  "What have we here?  Gifts for the gods?" He brushed his fingertips along the crown of her scalp, scritch-scratching his fingers there softly.

Adelise De'bayle: "The gods care little for gifts, they offer them nothing," she huffs, leaning her head into his scratches feline-like before eventually tucking her leather-clad hands into the water to scoop the stone out. "I simply hope on this journey that allowing him to feel the presence of each god might help to bring him some clarity. His rage knows no bounds."

Siovant Parlemaix lofts an ebon brow, "Him?"  Curiosity licked at the edges of his gravelly tones, his eyes slipping about that strange stone.

Adelise De'bayle: "Nogelle," she replied swiftly, the name rolling from her tongue in shame, her tone leveled. "He is never too far for long. Forgive me, for having made you do what you did. I cannot imagine the experience was a pleasant one." Adelise brought the egg up to her face, her thumbs pressing against the shell with some firmness. "He is a troublemaker."

Siovant Parlemaix shifts his weight from heel to heel, although his expression was one that hardly claimed surprise.  "I had assumed something of the sort would be the case." He drew in mild tones, "It was not the most... thrilling experience, I suppose." His shoulders slumped slightly, revealing the somberness that took over him.

Adelise De'bayle raised the egg upward, a gentle smiled reserved only for his presence gracing him in their tranquility. "He will be alright I assure you. It has been so long since that has happened to him, it is best to keep him on a tight leash. He gets too possessive otherwise," her head dipped forward in an assuring nod, moving to slip the incased Nogelle away carefully, patting at her bag for extra measure. Shifting her legs under her to push herself back up to stand, Adelise brushed her coat off, "this is the first of Twelve. Not in actual order, but for this particular outing. Did you wish to travel farther out into La Noscea tonight? Or leave in the morning?"

Siovant Parlemaix seems to consider his options, "If we leave the City now, it's quite likely that we'll end up sleeping in the wilds. If that's not something that concerns you, I would recommend that path." He doesn't seem particularly drawn to either option, weighing both their merits.

Adelise De'bayle grins slightly, "in truth, I might actually prefer that.  That does not seem to ridiculous does it? I became so adjusted to sleeping under the stars that the plushness of a bed hardly brings me the same comfort. You had mentioned there potentially being springs here in Eorzea, yes?" she eyed him, "I believe where Oschons stone lies, there is one near the location. Least from what I could tell from my gatherings. It is a further trip north but..." she murmurs out gently, “before I forget. I contacted Lenny on the flight here. I am sure we will be seeing him here soon."

Siovant Parlemaix could not help but allow the sardonic furl of his brow, a barely perceptible tightening of his jaw.  "I'm looking forward to seeing him." He notes softly, affirmed for the combination of the tome at his hip and the curved Wildwood blade hidden beneath his coat.  "Did he give any indication of where he will meet us, or are we simply to stumble into him at some point?"

Adelise De'bayle: "I had informed him we would be here in the city, so I am sure he is somewhere about," Adelise seemed to brighten momentarily at the thought, her hands clapping together almost uncharacteristically as her thoughts seeped into her movements. "Maybe he got caught looking at the festival decorations as well. I am sure he would quite like them, he is an adventurer after all," Adelise reaches to take Siovant’s hand, hesitating for a moment. "Ah..." her fingers curl, retracting as her lips tugged downward unhappily. "This way..."

[kemuele]

His ninety-nine percent confidence is correct about his power; though if he were in Dean's shoes, he'd make that ninety-nine turn into a one-hundred. Kemuel simply nods along as werewolf regeneration is brought up. It is useful, yes, but it no match to the power at his fingertips. Or, perhaps, wing-tips. "Few have the pleasure to," he replies and slowly looks him over. Dean's arm roll is an assurance things will be fine, much like the self-deprecating chuckle.

They all have been there--right?

"It is good to meet you, Dean Forester. Werewolf, mechanic, and 'bag boy'." Kem's tone is even, though it does gain a dubious lift at the "bag boy" title. Uncertain, but unsure whether to inquire what it entails. The archangel moves to stand back up, offering a hand to Dean.

"My name is Kemuel. Are you from the area, Dean? Or are you staying somewhere nearby?"

He wasn't lying. Boy, did it ever feel hot. But it wasn't the most unpleasant sensation that he'd ever had but he did have to make sure to hold still. Soon enough, the pain and heat were ebbing away. Leaving him feeling tired but otherwise completely normal. But it still didn't answer the question of just what or who the hell this guy was. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know. The world was scary enough without knowing what all powerful beings lurked in the darkness. He really had gotten lucky because he was ninety nine percent sure this guy could wipe him off the map. "A lot better...I didn't know healing like that even existed. I mean...Werewolves heal fast but not that fast. Thank you. I guess the least I could do after that is introduce myself. I'm Dean. Dean Forester. Werewolf, mechanic, bag boy. Sounds like a real exciting life, I'm sure." He laughed a little at his own expense, giving an experimental roll of his arm. "Yeah...Feels a lot better."

[fallcnlight]

Tag drop V

[ao3feed-fma]

Acacia .

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2XTELWa

by redstringraven (sirimiri)

Rosé bows her head, her fingers idling the hem of her apron. He already knows the question lingering at the tip of her tongue. It's murmuring in his own head, just faint enough that--if he's wrong--he could find ways to ignore it. But she looks up, prudence evident in the softness of her eyes and the hesitation when she opens her mouth. He knows he's not wrong.

"... Can I kiss you?"

Words: 1806, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of lovely mind .

Fandoms: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Dolcetto | Dorochet, Rosé Thomas

Relationships: Dolcetto | Dorochet/Rosé Thomas

Additional Tags: Haphephobia, First Kiss, Fluff, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Awkwardness

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2XTELWa

[kemuele]

"Oh, I am fine," he returns with an easy-enough smile. Polite to the eyes and lips, Kemuel doesn't seem bothered by Ethan's question. If anything, he is curious for the other's isolating ways. Is he, too, separating himself from people? Taking on an observational role in the world? He sees the werewolf for what he is, but his demeanor is far unlike the brutes of his kind.

What happened to cause this?

"The woods can be very peaceful, would you agree? The quiet is a rare...treat these days," he goes on to say, adjusting his coat with a light tug to the sleeves. "Do you live around here? I can leave, if I am trespassing."

@kemuele ∣ 🐺

"Hey, uh... you alright? Never figured there'd be no-one out here, jus'... jus' wanted to make you're okay is all."

[kemuele]

Heaven’s dealt with and Naomi no more.

It’s a wonder how long it took for the archangel to fly back home, take his place as a leader where Michael would have been, or Father, too. Yet neither were around and Naomi took their places, a lost child playing pretend. Kemuel had done a decent amount of wrong in his long life, most reasoned to Father’s will and the betterment of the world. 

But this, smoting the angel and bringing Castiel to his cabin?

One of the many right things in his life.

Kemuel arrived to the cabin to nothing but the sound of dusk wildlife. He sucked in a breath and laid Castiel’s unconscious form on his bed, careful in adjusting the seraph’s bloodied wings. Uninjured but dirty, Kemuel gently started to rinse the feathers of their grime with a soft sponge and tender touch. “I got you, brother,” he whispered to the unconscious, having since healed the angel’s vessel. Now Castiel had to mend his own grace, something no archangel could truly hasten.

After a few hours of caring for the angel, he relented to dozing off in a chair on the other side of the room, leaving Castiel to himself till daybreak.

@shieldofgod

[rudra-writes]

Pallas and Telurin - Inn Conversation (Part 2)

Part of a roleplay story with Telurin’s player. The following evening, Pallas and Telurin chat over their meal at the town’s inn. Telurin warns Pallas that he should continue his studies in Light and mental magic for self-defense.

Pallas doesn't know Telurin's thoughts, but he sees that the Death Knight is studying him. His cheeks tint cyan blue when he feels the other man's eyes. Why was it like this? Was there something hideously /wrong/ with him, that he should find an undead man attractive? Was he an intrinsically sick person? Like a tiger, Telurin was to Pallas's senses: Too beautiful and too terrible.

He accepts the glass of water, and drinks. "I needed a change of scenery. And I needed to move on. After Boros died, I was inconsolable. It took me years to recover to the point you see me now." He chanced another look at Telurin, "Besides. I am an Anchorite. It is my sworn duty to heal others, whether that may be healing of the physical body, or disease, or the mental mind. I like to take care of people, and see them well."

Like a hawk,Telurin plucked the unvoiced conclusion to Pallas’s statement. Of course one trained in the mental arts would feel his guilt at what had been done to him, and what he'd subsequently done himself. His tail lashes as he bites back his words to something more humane. "A fine goal," he draws the words out, some amount of warning still present in his voice, "But there are still those that require the care of an Anchorite on Azeroth. A desire to help does not mean you must be where it is most dangerous."

Although he was now drunk, Pallas was still cohesive enough to detect Telurin's displeasure. He frowns up at the gigantic Death Knight, "The need is greatest here. I am not made of glass, Telurin. And I am not weak." Incredibly, he reached across the table, to grab one of Telurin's chinticles, glaring. This was the sort of thing he wouldn't dream of doing if he had been sober. "If you test me, you'll find out how strong I am."

Telurin starts at the contact, he had definitely not expected anything so brazen, and consequently pulled back against Pallas’s grip. He closes his eyes so the Anchorite won't see the effect it has on him and chuckles, low in his chest. "Oh, you are brazen, little one," His voice curls around the words. "Do not tempt me, Pallas, I would enjoy taking you up on that offer."

Pallas ends up getting dragged forward some when Telurin pulls away, but for whatever reason, he refuses to let go of the man's chinticle. He's still gripping it tightly in an angry little fist. Insinuating that Pallas was weak was one of his hot-buttons. He did not like to be called weak. He was also distantly aware he had just done something unfathomably dangerous, and maybe he should... run away? Run out of the building? But his stubbornness kept him right where he was. "Then let's go."

Pallas frowned and tried to look angry, although his features caused it to look more like a really angry pout. "Whatever you want to throw at me, I can take it. I'm not afraid!" He was so drunk. What was he even doing? But Telurin was wrong, in Pallas's mind. He wasn't weak.

Telurin chuckles again, and opens his eyes to look into the priest’s. He wraps a hand around Pallas's wrist and digs the tips of his gloves into the tendons, forcing the Anchorite to release his grip. "You are drunk, Anchorite." His tone is dismissive, and he's not made a single other motion towards the other man besides this one. "It would hardly be a fair fight. Come back to me when you're sober, and we'll see."

Pallas jerks his hand back at the grip of Telurin's gloves. He sits in his chair, breathing deeply and fuming for a moment. He is being dismissed. If he were in a more logical mindset, he would understand why, but at the moment, the emotional affect of the rejection is what he notices. His hands ball up into fists, and he looks down at the tabletop as tears form at the corners of his eyes. "You think I'm weak." He sounded irrationally angry about this.

Telurin frowns at Pallas's distress. The anger he could deal with, enjoyed even, but tears of frustration are another matter entirely. "I think you are drunk, and not thinking about your actions. Do you really want a fight, Pallas?"  Telurin's words are soft and he leans forward to rest his forearms against the table. "I will tell you this, I would not call you by your title if I did not think you worthy of it."

"If it would make you not see me as weak..." Pallas murmured, some of the fire dying down now that the heat of the moment was over, "Then I do." He became quieter when Telurin speaks about his title. Was he being complimented? "An Anchorite must be strong, for the kind of work we do... I've seen terrible things..." The priest squinched his eyes shut, then opened them again. "...Maybe you're right... Maybe I am drunk. I feel tired."

Telurin reaches for the Anchorite's wrist, the same that he had pried off of his tentacles earlier, his thumb now brushing over the same pressure points he had used to his advantage. "You do not." Telurin insists, more gentle than he's been with Pallas all evening. "Because it would end badly for you. I have *done* terrible things, Anchorite. Do not push me into another when you are not thinking clearly." He lets Pallas go and leans back against his chair.

Pallas is surprised - This is the first time (at least that he can remember) that Telurin has initiated a physical touch with him like this. As such, he blushes yet again, a faint turquoise spreading across his face and the tips of his ears while the Death Knight holds his wrist. But he's still being dismissed, and Pallas frowns again. "Does it have to be combat? Is there no other measure of strength that you would use? It is true, we are ill-matched." Pallas squinted up at Telurin's face. "...If I had to defend myself from one such as you... then there would be no fight to begin with."

Telurin seems to consider this, the tip of his tail twitching in idleness. "Then why did you seek one out? In what field would you consider the odds to be in your favor?"

Pallas scowled. "I just don't want to be considered weak... Just because I am not a hand to hand combatant, does not mean I am weak." He reaches for his rum glass again. Uh oh. "And I'm not afraid of you. I wouldn't be here, if I was." He blinks at Telurin's question, trying to comprehend it in his drunkenness. "The mental arts," he replies, a bit sluggishly. "I try to be respectful about people's minds. But I will defend myself if pressed."

Telurin plucks the glass out his Pallas's fingers, setting it back down on the table. The Anchorite is closer to right than he knows, though he has not had his mental defenses tested since he became a death knight. "Did I not press you to try and do so the first time we met? To pull the truth from my mind?" Telurin picks up his own glass, swirling the rum. "I am accustomed to Anchorites, Pallas. Do you not think I would have picked up some defense against their mental abilities by now?"

Pallas scowls, "To go flipping through the pages of another person's mind is not something to be taken lightly. It is a violation of privacy of the highest possible degree, when it is not consensual." Pallas blinked blearily, then... dropped his head against the tabletop. Drunk Anchorite. "...If I had felt threatened for my life, I might have tried something. It is otherwise like removing the clothing of another. There may be situations where it is appropriate, but it is usually best to ask."  Pallas smirked, "But maybe you would disagree with that too."

Telurin hmm's noncommittally. "One might take my provocation for consent." His delivery is smooth, noncommittal, and his posture at first glance is relaxed, as if they were discussing something innocuous rather than the severe breach of privacy that kind of mental contact would be.

Pallas turned his head where it lay on the tabletop, eyeing the Death Knight. He squinted his eyes. Depending on Telurin's defenses against such Shadow-based mental intrusions, he may or may not feel a cold brush against his mind. And he may or may not feel compelled to for some reason speak, 'I am a Death Knight asshole'.

Telurin is accustomed to such intrusions, though even still, he was caught off guard. The words blaze brightly in his mind and for a second, Pallas ensnares him, the habit of obedience working against Telurin in this case. He opens his mouth to speak before he catches himself. "I am..." He pauses, wresting control of himself back with sheer will. His grin is feral as he looks at Pallas and finishes the sentence to his liking. "...Not so easily ensnared, Anchorite."

Pallas actually laughs, picking his head back up off the table. He points at Telurin's brawny chest. "I had you! I felt it! You aren't as invincible as you seem!" Even if he wasn't completely successful, he's still pleased with himself. He could have been blocked out entirely, for all he had known. "You'd better watch yourself or I'll... make you sing nursery rhymes when you're not looking."

"You did," The death knight concedes, "For a moment." Telurin takes a sip from his glass, not looking terribly put out at the Anchorite's laughter. "Though I doubt you could maintain it for as long as it would take to complete a song."

"This is true." Pallas nodded. "That would take a lot of time... Your will is probably too strong, to allow me to do anything for that long." Pallas gestured, "If this were an actual combat situation, and you were someone who meant me harm, I would have only seconds in which to act. It's much more simple to try to make someone feel compelled to run away, than do something elaborate." Then his brows started to look worried again. "...I've heard Anchorites who practice Shadow go mad."

"Some." Telurin nods. "It takes a strong will to not be lured by it." Telurin pauses, remembering the first time he had encountered Pallas, and the glazed eyes of the orc who had suddenly dropped his weapon."I would guess you are safe from such a fate."

Pallas rubbed one of his thin arms. He feared the effects of using Shadow over time might be cumulative. Being that he was young and had not been dabbling in it for very many years yet, he thought might play a factor. It was not something he could control, however, and he knew of Anchorites who were masters of Shadow, and could still think and reason. And Pallas did have a stubborn will.

He was quiet for a moment. "... I have been thinking about your condition," he murmured. Now that they were conversing more freely, it felt somewhat safer to bring up. Telurin might not become grouchy and prickly as fast. "I was wondering if..." He gestured with his thin hands, "If there was some way to fool your body, into thinking you were doing something that you were actually not." He looked into the Death Knight's lichfire-blue eyes. "Do you see how I mean? If we created a mental manifestation... but you were not actually hurting anyone. Do you think something like that would be possible?"

Telurin's eyes narrow the longer Pallas speaks. "No," he says, tone absolute. "Even if it were to work, you would still be required to witness… No. There is too much risk, for far too little gain. My problems are my own, do not concern yourself with them."

Pallas goes light blue in the face again. He nods, his lips pursing when Telurin says the Anchorite should not concern himself with his problems. "I just want to help." But figuring out how he /could/ help was another matter. It was possible that there was nothing that could be done. If so simple a fix existed, Death Knights would have surely made greater strides at reintegrating themselves into society than they were capable of doing now.

Telurin resumes some of his previous relaxation as it becomes apparent Pallas will not press the issue. "A noble ideal, but even Anchorites cannot help everyone."

Pallas looks crestfallen. He rubs his eyes. "I should go to bed." His head still felt floaty and buzzy. Had he... Yes, he had /grabbed/ Telurin's chinticle. He hadn't imagined it, it had happened. He started to get up from his chair.

Telurin eyes Pallas, gauging whether the other man would be able to stand, let alone climb the stairs to his room. "Second on the left." He says, picking up his drink. "I will be along shortly. Drink some more water or you're going to be insufferable in the morning."

"You're already insufferable," Pallas snips, although he does pick up his glass of water to take with him. "Goodnight, Telurin..." He didn't really think Telurin was insufferable. He knew that if the other man chose to leave, he would be missed. But, he remained distant, and Pallas wasn't sure how to get closer. He wanted to see what was on the other side of the walls the Death Knight put up.

Telurin smirks at Pallas's snark, and he tips his drink to the Anchorite as he turns to leave. He watches him weave his way through the tables and the small crowd due to the hour until he had passed out of sight on the stairs, only then knocking back the rest of his drink with a sigh. He judged that by the time he was finished with the bottle of rum Pallas would already be out cold, and he could avoid the too innocent questions and the trusting eagerness for one more night, but it will only be a matter of time before Pallas learns to use it to his advantage against him.

[barbosaasouza]

Baobab's 'Jack' Merges Theater And Virtual Reality With Empathy

Baobab’s latest project, Jack, was one of the most talked about experiences at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival. “Every morning it’s been 60-plus people on the waitlist to try it out,” a PR coordinator told me as I waited for the crew to be ready inside this oddly dilapidated man-made shack in the middle of Spring Studios in New York. “It’s so worth the wait, though. I’ve seen people be genuinely afraid or just start to cry. It’s very emotional.”

The VR experience is based on the classic story Jack and the Beanstalk, but the premise was the only thing that Jack had in common with the fairy tale. The setup was strange. I surrendered my bag and my jacket to the wooden post outside the room I was supposed to walk into and slipped into a backpack with the VR rig inside. I had no idea what was waiting inside for me. All I knew was that this was the Must See experience at the festival. Given Baobab’s exceptional track record with VR — two Emmy awards for INVASION and more recently, Asteroids — there was a good chance that it was going to be interesting, if nothing else.

I kept waiting for someone to hand me a couple of controllers. Instead, I was ushered into the room without any means of interacting with a digital space. At first, I did my best to take in my cartoonish surroundings, not paying much attention to where I was walking. I hit my head on a light-bulb hanging on a string, which may as well have been akin to a figurative light-bulb switching on inside of my cranium.

“Oh, this is all real,” I murmured to no one at all.

And it was. Well, about as real as mixed reality gets, anyway.

I walked over to the far end of the room where a hot plate burner was running and a kettle was sitting idle. I picked it up and placed it on the burner, where there was quite clearly some kind of heat source concentrated in that area. I walked back across the room, bumped my head on the same damn light-bulb (because it still hadn’t sunk in that my virtual world and the real world existed in the same capacities), only to be startled by a voice and a physical presence in the room with me. I suppressed a yelp.

In virtual space, she was a frog and clearly my character’s mother. I was speechless at first, unsure of how to interact with this Frog Mother. Would she respond to my input? Was this partially scripted or fully improvised? She asked me a question. I settled for silence. But she handed me a broom that I wasn’t sure what to do with, as if it were the first time I’d ever seen a broom or used one. But in this bizarre mashup of virtual meets reality, I was apprehensive. I took the broom, like a good Frog Child, and swept the virtual (and actual) shack.

“Oh Jack,” she said, beckoning for me to sit and listen to her.

Oh right that’s me, I thought and hastened to sit on a three-legged stool near a radio.

She proceeded to tell me all about her most treasured possession — the radio right next to where I was sitting — and how I needed to barter with the trader coming to visit our shack. Frog Mother had to go fishing so we would have something to eat. It was my responsibility to make sure I got the best deal I could for the radio.

“Of course, mom,” I said, letting myself melt into the roleplay. This was old hat for me, anyway, what with years of theater and the reams of pen and paper RPGs to draw on. I’ll play the Frog Child named Jack. “I’ll try my best.”

Frog Mother didn’t like that response. She admonished me and told me that she won’t always be around to take care of me and that it was time for me to grow up. This made me frown. No one has ever told me that I need to grow up, not even my meatspace parents. But I nodded, took the radio in my hands, and waved goodbye.

Good riddance to mean Frog Mom. I wandered around the room a bit more and approached the kettle, which whistled faintly as I approached. I took it off the burner and turned to the balcony outside the one-room shack. I didn’t dare get too close, as I wasn’t certain where the physical boundaries of the room started and ended. I was still too apprehensive to really test the limits of the technology, in case I broke something by accident. (Yes, I’m a terrible klutz.)

It would be entirely on brand for me to trip, fall, hurt myself, and potentially break something in a mixed reality experience.

I attempted to skillfully barter with the jocular trader as she docked her airship at my balcony, but was distressed when all I was offered was this strange magic bean. I mean, I told her that my mom would be so upset if her prized possession only netted a bean… but the trader was adamant that it was the bean or a rusty fork.

So, I took the bean.

Frog Mom was very unhappy with me. It hurt a little to have done my best with trading and have it not be good enough. I protested vociferously, reminding her that it was either the rusty fork or the bean. “And mom,” I found myself whining, “it’s magic. Come on, let’s see what it does.” She threw it out the window and I pouted. At almost 32, I pouted like an eight-year-old and sat back down on the three-legged stool, feeling hurt and a little huffy.

Until the special effects wind and rain started, that is.

The virtual room began to rumble and fall away, wind howled around my head and whipped at the objects in the room. It was hard to suspend disbelief when I knew that the room around me was actually okay (and firmly in reality), but experiencing those mixed reality effects made me grin. I lost sight of being Jack and was myself again, standing in the middle of the room, bumping my head on a light-bulb for a third time that day, and marvelling at the technology (and showmanship) required to put on such an engaging show.

I had the opportunity to catch up with Jack’s director, Mathias Chelebourg, and one of Jack’s producers with Baobab, Kane Lee, over the phone after the Tribeca Film Festival wrapped up. Chelebourg’s enthusiasm was palpable, even over the phone, especially as we talked about why he chose “Jack And The Beanstalk” as a vehicle to tell this particular story. It’s a story that’s hundreds of years old, rife with conflict and wonder. And while he could have used any fairy tale to bring his vision to life, he liked Jack.

Chelebourg acknowledged that it was a difficult task, bringing theater and virtual reality together. The project team worked on an accelerated deadline so that they could bring Jack to the Tribeca Film Festival, collaborating with Baobab from Paris starting in September 2017. Chelebourg considers Tribeca Film Festival to be the most innovative film festival in the world, which is part of why Baobab wanted to make sure that Jack planted itself in the VR arcade.

Lee pointed out that it was difficult to live up to the Baobab ethos of bringing the best virtual reality experiences to everyone in the world when the installation could only accommodate one person at a time. But he reminded me that the reason why they wanted to work with Chelebourg in the first place was his creative vision, so they’re not sure about licensing Jack out to theaters or theatrical production companies. They’re in the process of exploring distribution options for Jack, but nothing’s concrete at the moment. Instead, they’re focused on ensuring that Jack will continue to be the singular experience that it was at Tribeca Film Festival.

Part of the plan involves tapping Academy Award-winning actress Lupita Nyong’o to play the Giantess in an upcoming episode for Jack. Both Lee and Chelebourg were almost gleeful with the promise of collaborating with such an acclaimed actress. And while there’s no confirmation as to whether or not Nyong’o will be available to physically participate in future performances at festivals, she’ll be lending more than her voice to the production itself.

Jack is a fully immersive experience, straddling the virtual and physical worlds in a way that I’ve never seen before. Chelebourg’s gift for visual storytelling and emergent narrative is stunning. Baobab’s eye for talent is equally astounding and the indie studio may very well see another Emmy under its belt by this time next year. More than anything, I’m truly excited to see what Part Two of Jack will look like.

This article is a preview of Greenlit Content's upcoming industry site, launching soon.

Baobab's 'Jack' Merges Theater And Virtual Reality With Empathy published first on https://superworldrom.tumblr.com/

[kemuele]

continuing this lil mess I started

Kemuel dragged the other angel along, taking him away from the city’s borders and back into the start of nature. He passed the winding asphalt road in favor of the dirt and fern-laden trail, until he at last dropped the other’s arm. Much like a dog, he took a look over his...prize of sorts. An angel he’s heard so much about but never met.

“What?” He echoed back, brown eyes gazing into bright blues. Kemuel recognized the energy to that of a soldier, with blues emanating from the vessel’s core like wisps of fire. His own was old, likewise fashioned in licking flames but where blue met Castiel’s, his was tainted in golds and coppers. Metallic, almost. 

“It isn’t everyday I find another angel in this area,” his ‘home away from home’, given the cabin’s not but another few miles away. His hideaway from Heaven, “let alone one pivotal in our family. Tell me, what brought you to the town?”

@shieldofgod​

[kemuele]

Having since healed and mended, Kem was still struggling with himself. With Mikey, too. Two weeks and his heart’s still working over not only the assassination ploy, but also the truth: he was erased from the Host’s memory. A coverup, ruse, to leave him none the wiser and heaven without a care. 

Kemuel sat at the counter as sunlight poured into the cabin, warming up his right side and glinting in his brown eyes. He looked over his shoulder, back straightening at the sound. Michael must be up, stirring. Was he in need of food, wound care? The archangel lifted the mug to his lips. Cinnamon tea greeted his lips and likewise warmed up his cold gut. At least then he’d feel something other than confusion.

“You are up early. Is something the matter?”

@fracturedsword​