#jxrmngxndr

[5point1]

✦ fata organa: a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, as if you could see backstage through a gap in the curtains.

cw: addiction, gambling

There is something inherently beautiful about gaming.

Hear her out - she doesn't mean video games, but just… games. Sharing joy and laughter with others, old and young, bridging gaps between languages or distances through a brief escape from reality. This is what Silver Wolfs loves about games, and sharing games with others: there are challenges to be overcome, but fun to be had, and friends to be made.

As with every escape from reality, sometimes the fictional world becomes all too alluring, blurring the lines between what is real and what is not.

She saw it in her own reflection in the screen of that basement arcade game; the darkness of the stuffy room almost suffocating, the power having gone out for just a moment, but long enough so that her game reset, and she could see into her own eyes. It was like looking into the face of a nameless stranger, those sunken in eyes, one who had simultaneously lost everything and had nothing else left to lose. Just one more level, one more win - one brief glimpse of hope.

It gave her pause. Only for a second. Once the engine whirred back to life, that nameless young loner's fingers resumed moving with practiced muscle memory: left, right, left, left, hold down, right, up, left. Her only friend, the joystick.

Silver Wolf sees this empty stare in the eyes of others at times, in gaming halls when the stakes are higher. If anyone were to point out that stranger that just lost their life savings on picking the wrong card, she might scoff or quip about not putting all of your eggs into one basket.

She knows well she still has a piece of that stranger living within her, deep down. Would she still be stuck in front of that same basement screen had she not been found by that man, woman, metal humanoid and ∎∎∎∎ that day? She does not like to linger on the answer to this question, knowing the answer would likely be "yes."

[reverxiii]

It wasn't as though he were unused to the feeling that something was at his back. The greater the man, the greater the target, and while Kevin did not presume himself to be a great man, even after everything, he knew that there were those that did, and there remained in him that instinct to address and eliminate before a threat could bloom.

He had not necessarily expected the feeling to carry forward into this life – had not expected anything from this new life, had hope that the end was the end – but there was, of late, the strange niggling feeling that there was something there. It wasn't threatening, just enough to prick at his awareness, and more than that it was...

Familiar.

The flick of the tail, the trace of it through the air in the shadows cast by the high hot sun, was what caught his attention, and when he turned it felt for a moment as though this were another lifetime entirely as Kevin's footsteps stuttered to a halt, gaze falling heavily on the rounded cheeks of someone who he had last seen where no other human ought be.

"…Felis…"

There were many things weighted in the name, not merely shock, such as it was for him, not merely recognition or remembrance or confusion, the pieces coming together in sharp relief that this was a world that made even less sense than all the others that came before it.

But above all, there was what might have been the gentlest tinge of relief, for a friend and comrade who had thought they'd lost everything.

Good things come to those who wait are inordinately lucky.

There is very little reason, if any, for Pardofelis to believe she will meet any of her friends again. Even among those who had ostensibly survived into the next Era, had lived longer than even her artificial memories could imagine, there is no guarantee they would meet one another. Perhaps they would exist in the same place, but whether their paths would cross would be entirely in the hands of fate.

It just so happens that fate tends to bless a certain cat-eared girl a little more than most others.

Sunny days like this bring to mind the title thrust upon her: Flame-Chaser. These days, though, the only flames she chases are the sunny spots that shift with the sun's rays. She's still in the process of mapping out where all of the best spots are nowadays, which involves a lot of slinking around. Even if cats will no longer approach her, that doesn't mean she can't let them lead her to all of the good spots.

Today, however, the cats are all lounging in the sun and Pardofelis is the one searching for something. The reason? The sound of familiar footsteps, permanently burned into her mind, crunching on the ground. There's no way she could ever forget that particular footfall after the way it had come for her every time she tried to sleep through a MOTH meeting if Elysia didn't get there first.

Indeed, the cool blue eyes that stare her down couldn't belong to anyone else. He usually looks way more annoyed at her, though.

There's no meeting today. There's no Herrscher come to bring them tragedy, either.

Just a bright, sunny day.

"Big Boss Kevin?!" Pardofelis throws out her hands in a frantic 'stop' gesture. "W-wait, wait, wait! Stop there! Right there!"

She does not run from him nor does she run toward him. Instead, she plunks herself down on the ground and... curls up as if to sleep, tail wrapping around her legs to circle up toward her head. Behind the spotted fur of her tail, a contented smile forms on sleepy lips as she settles in to the sunny spot.

Perhaps others might find his chill unbearable, but to Pardofelis, there's nothing more comfortable than sitting by Kevin's side on a warm day like this.

[frostgnawd]

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

Obscure Sorrows

There's a child that lingers in the reflection of the ice, too small and too weak and too insignificant to be anything but a shadow. Perhaps that is how he should've stayed, all wide eyes and trembling hands and fear that the world around him would swallow him whole. Sunlight is an indulgence he's rarely partaken in, and now, he cannot escape it. Now, he is center-stage, as if everything in the world depends on his very being.

He decides to try.

Every tentative step he takes is a daring venture. Every sickness he overcomes is in spite of fate reminding him where he should not be, and every challenge he takes on upon a healthier constitution he does so with an earnestness and dedication that hardly suits his sickly disposition.

He still tries. He dedicates himself to trying, guided by the hand of a man that will never be as bitter as his father was, and the smile of a woman who will never be as weary as his mother was, and the cheerful tone of a boy who will never truly understand him.

( The former are perspectives whittled away by death and time, and the latter has always been his fault entirely. )

He keeps trying. His past begins to fade, and the future opens up before him, and he's so close to bridging the difference that it leaves behind. He's so close to grasping the light -- he's so close to becoming something more than shadow.

But the boy raised in shadow does not understand how intense light can be. He's clumsy, and he's careless, a gaze suited for darkness unable to comprehend the dangers hidden in plain sight. He doesn't realize that this light he's trying to grasp has a heart of its own.

The boy in the shadows, the boy that is a shadow, has known fire within caverns, the torches that burn and illuminate the walls; he is familiar with that comfort instead, of places that are hidden but not dark, and he has mistaken that for the light that he glimpsed at the end of the tunnel, at the escape he might've found if only he'd been more conscientious of the manner in which he tread.

There's a boy in the ice, and Kaeya does not see him so often anymore -- but he does see him tonight. An illusion of the sight, of the mind, and yet somehow he hears that hesitant voice call out anyway.

"It works, doesn't it?" He asks, and Kaeya only smiles. He is taller and wiser and far more confident, and yet, he is still a shadow.

He will always be a shadow. If only he'd realized sooner.

"You try." He says, and the ice cracks, shattering into the same nothing it has been from the start. "But it's not enough."

[renascinem]

[VINGT-ET-UN]- Let’s go gambling! The best bar in Fleuve Cendre is holding a Black Jack tournament. It’s time to test your luck and see if you can make it big, or lose it all.

The easiest way to get the cut of a man was to put him in a situation where he could lose everything. Kevin had lost everything, and had pressed forward, had pushed those with him forward, the better that they too and all those around them did not lose everything.

It was not this which had made him suited for this game, but it didn't hurt.

What had made him best suited for this game was patience. And reticence.

He cocked his head, just a fraction, and watched the movements of the man across from him, equal and opposite in all measures as the game had progressed and more players had fallen, to their excitement, to their hubris.

He made no sudden movements, glancing at the cards the single time they were dealt, and keeping them facedown, hand over top of them as though to say that it was finished.

Regardless of what hand either was dealt, it would be the end.

"...Good game," was all he said, in spite of the chill.

Dan Heng's exploration of Fontaine eventually took him into the city's lower section, where a whole new world awaited. It's almost impossible not to draw the parallel between this and Belobog - the living conditions, the ways of life, the norms and traditions. It's a little unusual, though in the end, he pays it little mind.

Just as he didn't fear the Underworld back there, so too does he have no fear of this place, strolling around freely. Fleuve Cendre - that's what he heard it being called in passing - appears to be celebrating in their own ways; a lot more modest, but that doesn't make them uninteresting, and if anything, in some ways, they're much more his style than the glam and pomp on the surface.

In the end, he gets pulled into a card game tournament, and while some others appear to be in on it for the big game (at least, going by some of the cheers and wails nearby), all he wants is a moment to chill out. His opponent appears to be a somewhat enigmatic man; if Dan Heng were to guess by his clothes and general appearance, he did not seem like a local, either. But it is not as though that would ever bother a wanderer who spent years trying to just get away from home, as far as he could.

He looks at his cards one more time, and plays his hand, ending the game to the applause and joy of the onlookers.

"Good game to you, as well," he says with a respectful nod. His opponent was indeed skilled.

[avcnturine]

[MIC CHECK] - It's hard work to make sure all the equipment is good working order! Help the sound team out by singing in a few notes with a partner.

SQKREEEEEEE - !!!

The microphone would not stop screaming at him - no matter the distance of his fingers to its base, it protested shrilly to his presence in a way that had begun to appear most distressing to not merely the sound team, but passers-by.

Kevin grimaced - or rather, his lips ticked slightly downward in contemplation of the predicament. He was not the sort of man to leave a task unfinished, once he had pledged himself to it, but if this was the way that it kept behaving...

Eyes slid to the side, seeking out someone - anyone, in truth, who might have taken to the stage better than he - and finding his mark in a man whose smile seemed to wear him, rather than the other way around.

"...Perhaps you might be better suited to help with this. Would you come, lend your talents?"

Static buzzing, crackling with feedback, Kevin handed the microphone off to the young man, gaze simultaneously curious and pleading.

THE TINNY SCREECH OF MISBEHAVING TECH, the din of a hosted event venue in its preparation stages——sometime in the years since shedding rags and the ubiquitous roughness of sand for his newly-minted image, he'd gotten used to things like this.

aventurine is just passing by when the notes of shrill whining reaches its peak, every head in the room turning to glare at the unfortunate perpetrator. the young man standing on the stage looks no better off for it, nervously cognizant of the unwanted attention yet seemingly at a loss to fix it. where were the sound technicians? he can't imagine they'd left someone who had no idea what he was doing to set up the equipment.

as luck would have it, those nervous eyes scanning the room land on his, and decide to stick there. he sighs ; the meaning's clear enough. who'd he be to let this man stand up there and continue to flounder?

"i'm here today to meet with the producer about details regarding expenditures, not as an extra hand for the sound crew." measured steps bring him up abreast of the other on the stage, dimming the microphone's grating screech with a sharp tip of the instrument down toward the floor. though his words alone seem couched in admonishment——even threat——his tone is gentle and pleasant, lulling between the hypnotic serenade of honeyed tongue and auroral eyes. "i'm just letting you know: the company may end up owing for this."

he's no expert, but enough times on a variety of stage, set, radio, and otherwise, and anyone might pick up a trick or two from watching. the problem has to be with the speaker towers set up not a far distance away. but just as he positions to lift the microphone stand with both hands and move it, the instrument's shrieking suddenly stops completely. caught by surprise, he gingerly releases it. still nothing, even though it hadn't shifted an inch.

"hm. . . " he tilts the microphone back up. "testing, testing." the avgin's velvet caresses the air of the auditorium just fine, so he steps back and gestures for the other to try his luck again——but almost immediately, the stand begins to whine again as though sentient.

mm, i see how this is.

with a chuckle, he returns to his previous place ; the impending screech quiets once more to obedience as he looks to the other with something part apology, part admittance. "looks like something's gotten into this one. i'd be careful about sourcing anything from penacony if you're not accustomed to handling it. best to just find a new mic for now."

[huntersoath]

[FIGHT SCENE] - Fighting can be tough, but faking a fight and making it look real is even more difficult. How about a demonstration for these blossoming actors?

[EXT. - WOODLANDS - DAWN]

[Our duelists find themselves pacing apart in the swirling mist just before sunrise, counting the steps as though counting their heartbeats. They cannot remember what brought them here, but it is their honor at stake - and neither will let the other leave this field alive.]

ANTONY (At the tenth pace, he turns, lifts his sword in a salute) I detest that it has come to this. But needs must.

Kevin takes the final step and turns, as his script bids him, but instead of those final words, he glances across the way and assesses his opponent coolly - just, it seems, as she does he. If this were a real battle, he could not have been less interested in giving a speech, merely driving forward to test the mettle and iron of the person before him.

He nods, once, the flick of the sword light in his hand in salute.

"Come."

For being expected to act out a scene... It seems like they both share the similarity in which they'd rather let their actions do the talking. Clorinde doesn't feel the need to arrive to a battle with flowery words in tow, or any at all; her rapier will express everything necessary within the confines of the Dueling Ring. In this case, it very well may be the best way to get to know the man standing across from her. Tucking one arm behind her in the typical pose she assumes when preparing for a bout, her back remains straight and rigid as she raises her own rapier in a sword salute as means of extending courtesy. From what Clorinde remembered, their characters were meant to be bitter rivals that were once friends before drifting apart-- and part of it strikes a chord in her that she wished it wouldn't. "How polite of you. Very well," She responds in an even tone before her foot shifts ever so slightly, the only indicator of her movement before she dashes forward with lightning speed; the crackle of thunder in her wake is merely an aftereffect of her vision, the purple sparks dancing across the length of her prop sword. She doesn't have the intention of actually using it, of course. As she swings, the sparks quickly die out into nothing as she follows through with her strike-- in the last millisecond before it would connect, she halts completely to avoid making an actual hit. It's close enough to where it could easily seem that she did land the swing, but it also gives him the option to feign an injury or respond in kind with his own onslaught. "Your move, then." The ghost of a smile on her face betrays the amusement with which she treats this situation, barely a hint of enjoyment flashing in her eyes.

@jxrmngxndr

[trailblczed]

The comfort that comes from a hand giving a pat to his shoulder is minimal, but it's better than nothing. Lad's already lost somewhere in his head, a hand motioning for him to follow behind an abrasively pushed Gail does the trick to bring his mind to the surface, still mildly in shock and defeat, Caelus does his best to follow their "escort" closely into an elevator that takes them back to the floor they first entered the building on. He pointedly keeps his mouth shut until their outside the main doors, a tiny exhale of relief to at least be out of immediate danger--

The other three of you, just out of HQ’s entrance, are suddenly surrounded. The street is just before you, so impossibly close. In Mei’s grasp, Gail goes suddenly rigid. “ There’s a safehouse, it’s not far, and you’ll be safe there. I can take you, just… ” More guards now, from every side you can see. “ You have to run. ”

Until the world comes crashing down in his head, once again. Oh if only his RNG luck was better, maybe they'd stop getting all the bad outcomes in this terrible plot. Hands clench at his sides, despair slowly turning into anger- the Whispers of Nanook tickle the back of his mind 'just destroy it all, Nameless- what are you waiting for?' - but he's able to shut it up easily this time. Well.. not entirely. A calm, deep voice resonates as the lad inquires from their rescue-e.

❛ Miss Gail... Which direction is this "safehouse"? ❜

“ a mile or so north of here, ” she answers, then, more urgently: “ your trackers, take them out and throw them somewhere, anywhere. doesn’t matter. just do it. ”

A simple nod, a quiet "very well" ( who knows, maybe this stupid tracker is what was interfering with his systems- ) as the silver reaches with a ( strangely ) steady hand, digging around the spot he recalls Raiden Mei was told ( he had not looked at the time to see the specific of where, but he thankfully recalls the discussion about it to have a general idea ) to take hers from, before viciously yanking the device from his temple, uncaring of the golden blood now leaking from the torn "flesh" ( he'll deal with the consequences of his non-human nature being revealed later- much later ). No flinch, no noise of discomfort- just one swift action. The Nameless does let the Destruction's influence simmer stay long enough for him to let out one big burst of physical energy, launching himself at the wall of guards that were blocking the direction of North- a wide swing of a leg kicking several of them out of the way, with a follow up fist clothes-lining another several to the ground. Another few try to return the favor by lunging at him, but a quick backhand swipe with his bat sends those flying, adding to the collection of fools he's tossed to the ground. Caelus might not have been able to use his abilities well ( or at all ), but at least he can still throw hands, right? A blessing of The Destruction that he will, this once, be appreciative of.

❛ GO! ❜

An opening is made, and it seems his loud proclamation for action is followed as Gail and Raiden Mei zoom past him. A guard tries to stop the two, but Caelus has had enough and stomps the fool's head into the ground to make sure they cannot impede his team's escape. Caelus isn't entire sure of the Shadow's wearabouts, only being vaguely aware that the man had come down with them on the elevator and out the door ( before they were surrounded via an ambush )- so the lad will simply assume their invisible companion went through with the others. With his task completed, it was now the silver's turn to run ( and hopefully catch up ).

Roll: 1d4-1 || Result: 2 - 1 ( 1 Space Moved - Current Space: 5 )

It's likely the exhaustion catching up with him ( unsurprising ), but his body feels heavy as he struggles to get some fire under his feet, moving only about a yard before he takes a quick peak behind him to see just how close the guards are to them ( he needs to know when to take a moment to trap their chasers for a few moments ). Caelus is so tired- he already felt like the trash he so wholly treasures before this latest escapade.. maybe going all out for a big burst wasn't the smartest move ( well, he's already established he ain't a smart dude ), but desperate times call for desperate measures. Gail had looked so terrified ( as he had been ) with how fast she went stiff. Can you blame him for acting upon an Aeon's influence impulse?

❛ They aren't far behind-! Keep... moving! ❜

It is a warning directed to the others, but it could very well have been directed to himself ( do not let the low power levels stop you from getting to safety. think of how sad your family would be if you did not return- think of how sad you will be if you never get to see them again ).

Next: @jxrmngxndr or @originsrebirth

☆ who needs combat when I got legs that can run

【 program overdrive ── team chase ; week 3 】

[colleinanbar]

✦ maru mori: the heartbreaking simplicity of ordinary things.

OBSCURE SORROWS

Bony fingers—tanned by long days in the sun cup the plush in her hands. They trace along the crude stitching before holding up the finished product up to the light in the room.

This is not a product that Collei is particularly proud of, to be honest. Sewing little odds and ends in her spare time is a hobby that has grown to ebb at her heart, feeling so.. So.. meaningless. Not even is it just sewing. In times of deep thought, Collei finds herself pausing her activities, staring blankly at the subject of her action.

Why does she do all this? 

Collei leans over her desk as she places the now repaired Cuilein Anbar down. What is even the point? She’ll never be able to measure up to the fine work of seamstresses, or even just Amber. This.. This is just the work of some random girl. This isn’t anything major, or important, or even magnificent, by any means. It’s simple.

Questions like these always seem to litter Collei’s thoughts, leaving her throat unable to speak and words sparse throughout her mind. She’s struck with the ferocious, animalistic urge to push her desk over.

She can only walk away.

[secondsovereign]

ABOUT: KEVIN 🥺👉👈

ABOUT: [CHARACTER] ASK MEME

"Kevin Kaslana..." a name he hasn't had to speak about in a rather long time. "What is there to say that hasn't already been spoken? Raiden Mei once informed us of his life story from her time in the Elysian Realm. His was a... unique life, to find himself without friends and a son he'd been ill-prepared to raise... perhaps that's why I feel a kinship with the Herrscher of Finality, understand him better than I'd expected to all those years ago." A glass raised in toast to the man he hoped had found a peaceful rest amidst the tides of the Sea of Quanta, buried as he was with the Might of An-Utu at the request of his descendant. "Kippis... Old Friend."

[voidrifter]

OBSCURE SORROWS: @jxrmngxndr asked:

✦ loss of backing: an abrupt collapse of trust in yourself, which makes it that much harder to guarantee that your word is worth anything, even to yourself

— cw for: descriptions of violence, medical imagery, tragic yuri.

In your dream, you can feel the frantic way the girl's throat contracts.

The shallow breath that whistles through it.

The rise and fall of her chest, frantic-- up, down, up, down, up-- as she gasps, over and over, desperation mounting with each one. She's squirming, hands grasping at your wrist, at the collar you have made of your fingers at her throat. Her lips are moving, taking the shape of a name you know but cannot stand to hear.

In your dream she is as beautiful as she was the day you met her, and you cannot look away from her. You wouldn't want to. Why would you want to?

She's crying.

The walls around you are hospital white, the kind that give you a migraine, even though you know the pounding in your head has nothing to do with them. There are no windows, there don't have to be. You know where you are because you can see your hands and where they are balled into fists in your sheets, too weak not to tremble. It takes biting your cheek so hard you taste copper not to rip out your IV, but you do it.

Because she's crying again.

And you can't look at her, because the last time you did you liked it. That fear in her eyes ( not of you-- never of you, always for you ) will make you sick if you have to see it. Sick, as if you aren't already. As if your life hasn't already been assigned a number of minutes, a handful of days, a matter of weeks. How many months? She won't tell you, but you know.

And that's for the better. What good are you, like this?

When you can't even look at her, let alone wipe her eyes, lest your finger slip and find her throat again. When you can't reassure her, because you know you'll be lying. What good can you do the world, if you can't even do this?

Your throat is dry when you swallow, the corners of your lips twitch when you try to raise them, your head aches.

You hope she doesn't notice how, when your eyes raise to the doorway in which she stands, they look past instead of at her. How your voice cracks and crumbles around the single syllable of her name.

How your arms don't tighten when she folds you in hers, how you screw your eyes shut, how your smile strains.

How afraid you are of her, of yourself for what you might do to her.

"It's been..." For her, you'll smile as hard as you can. She shouldn't have to be afraid, you shouldn't be something to fear. "...such a long time, Mei..."

You'll lie.

"Wait," sheepish laughter worms its way into your voice like it belongs there, "no. We actually just met a few days ago."

You're just not sure to who.

[aevitium]

There is white for as far as the eye can see, the blanket of snow and ice so thick here that truly anything might be buried beneath. Anything, if reports are to be believed, is perhaps more apt a thought than intended. There's a strange, somber mood in the frigid air-- the acknowledgement of inevitablity, that no matter what it will always come back to this.

Or maybe that's just Kevin.

"It's so cold, I almost forgot you were here~" The flash of a smile over her shoulder, all faux-innocence. She really could shut her eyes and pretend they're young again, first-time soldiers rather than veterans. And how nice that would be, to be unaware once more.

Elysia hums a sweet, upbeat tune. "If reports are anything to go by, we shouldn't be too far now!"

It had been big news, and quick to slip into their fingers. Humanity's oldest war, its oldest fighters-- it would be only natural that their instinct guide them back to the frontline. Or, well, Elysia's instinct. That, of course, included batting her eyelashes at her only superior until he agreed to come along. Regardless of whether it was necessary.

Fingers buried in the pockets of her coat, she functions as their guide. There's no map-- it wouldn't matter if there were, in this endless sea of snow-- but it's easy enough to tell when they're near. Research operations have been set up so far out at no small expense, and they arrive to a largely desolate camp.

"Oh, wow."

There it is, with stakes set in a circle around it and rope to haphazardly construct a fence. There's no denying it, not even a little bit. It's a Honkai beast, alright. Eyes flit to Kevin, but Elysia says nothing.

@jxrmngxndr

✧ ˖ — as i could ever know

crystallize ... honkai beast in belobog

[cisoriaseams]

✦ elsewise

to be struck by the poignant strangeness of other people’s homes, which smell and feel different from your own.

Chiori never found fault in the rain for it was how flowers grew. The stretch of days without rain became weeks, then months quite regularly. It made those precious hours of precipitation that broke the waves of better weather special. Rain was when the city slowed down, when the streets cleared aside from stray citizens just now finding the time to run an errand.

The rain was when thunder rumbled; When lightning struck.

In those moments she felt as the Inazuman Plum Blossoms did in the shops of Fontaine. The soil never changed, yet the stone walkways were carved so different, trodden dirt colored differently as time went on, the grass was still green yet its shade, for as close as they were to each other, could only be described as worlds apart. Her boutique held the same kimono's as it did during her start in Inazuma, yet it was not the same. No matter how long Chiori stayed in Fontaine, undeniably her home was Inazuma.

Even as the rain cleared up, bakery windows would reopen to let the same scents roam free. People of all walks of life would stroll over slick stones, and the refreshing, cool air after welcomes Chiori with open arms.

It was the moments after the rain ceased, when the sky dried up, that this odd unfamiliarity would overtake the seamstress. These scents were unlike the pastries she enjoyed in her youth, when she would sneak from classes too boring to hold her attention. The people passing held themselves different, with clunky machinery taking the place of jangling armors. Yet the air was no different.

In all moments but these, Chiori was of Fontaine. It was only when the rain clouds rolled past that the Inazuman could recall where her path diverged from home.

@unfxllenone @jxrmngxndr

[voidrifter]

She doesn't have to listen to him, and in her experience there's pretty minimal reason to, but she does. Because she can reason herself that he's probably right, anyway, and certainly not because deep down she doesn't really want to. To get to know him-- Kevin Kaslana, the Sire of World Serpent, the end of the world-- as anything other than a threat or an enemy is a strange prospect. But Kiana's never shied away from strange.

"I'm at ease," she says, and tries to mean it at least a little bit. Flamescion's heat bubbles eagerly under her skin, wards away the frigid air that hangs around him like a cloak, but does little to loosen the tension in the air. "I didn't know you were a coffee guy."

She didn't really know he was an anything guy, if she's honest. It's kind of hard to think of what little pleasures in life might be taken by someone as famously miserable as Kevin.

And who wouldn't be, if they like a beverage generally served hot and were... well. Come to think of it, won't it be ice in a couple minutes? Kiana looks away.

"They make it cold nowadays." Is this small talk? It's something. "I guess getting it hot buys you more time before..." she makes a vague half-gesture with one hand. 

Geez, she's terrible at this. 

"Anyway, I'm not just gonna ignore you for twelve hours. Unless you want me to," she pauses to throw him a sideways glance, like she's anticipating him to say as much, "that would be boring, and I get sleepy when I'm bored." A nod to herself. "I don't hate you or anything, y'know."

MORE LYTES THAN YOUR BODY HAS ROOM FOR

[aevitium]

✧ ˖  OBSCURE SORROWS: @jxrmngxndr & @renascinem sent:

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

It is the first moment of the evening that Elysia has managed to spend even remotely alone.

The room is awash in pale gold-- a living, breathing thing, with a heart that beats and a soul that sings. It is beautiful, impossible to look away from. A single moment that might stretch eons if she asked it to, that her God's finger might bar from ever ending were she more selfish a being.

Were she, as though she is not. As though she does not stand here, a Snake in the Garden, drinking in a world that is not hers to taste.

The crystal glass, held delicately in her hand, trembles just so impossibly slightly. Elysia does not look at it, she does not look at anything, and yet she sees this room as though from the opposite side of rose-hued glass.

She sees Gold, head tossed back in liquor-warm laughter, a hand on the gentle slope of Discipline's pale shoulder. She sees Decimation, arms bound firmly over his chest, lingering at the flank of Setsuna, whose gaze is warm where it considers Daybreak.

Then there is Infinity, who has ( for a moment ) forgotten her bitter scowl in favor of an almost-pleasant expression, attention on a canvas of Stars. Beside her, Helix dangles a card before Reverie, and Vicissitude's small smile betrays amusement.

And then, where the light shines brightest there is Deliverance, expression eternally as frigid as he who wears it. And yet even that, in this single second, seems to have begun its thaw. Of course, for there is a certain nostalgia in the way his eyes linger on the Doctor and, beside her, Bodhi.

Origin cannot comprehend what it means to be alone, for there is nothing lonelier than it. The beginning of all things, something before it is anything. To it, there is nothing else.

But to Ego, there is a distant, yearning feeling that claws up artificial ribs and sinks into her crystal heart. For she has tried to be something that she is not, and so she must be aware of all that she is supposed to have been.

This room, this light, it is here because of her. MOTH's annual ball, spitting in the face of the world's end. Humanity's decree that no war can make it forget itself and that which it loves. It had been her suggestion, and these people... they share this ceiling at the very same.

And yet she knows, in a soul she should not have, that they would have come to this without her. They would laugh without her, still. Perhaps they would laugh harder, then, in a world where she had not been given the chance to exist.

A hand takes hers, suddenly, returning mind to body. Elysia blinks, slowly, sees where a gloved hand has begun unfurling her fingers from the shattered remains of her glass. Ugly crimson weeps from jagged cuts, betraying crystal where there should be flesh.

"Ah, how careless of me~" Her laughter is dissonant, a hundred sounds too pretty to be the devil's. "I might have stained my dress!"

[huntersoath]

The scene starts with thick tension permeating the air in a dimly lit stage-- it's something that feels like it's straight from one of the scripts she's played multiple times in her experience with Tabletop Troupe, and the script that was given to her was somewhat easy to remember. Clorinde had been roped into this whole debacle with promises of generous rewards, and before she had much of a chance to protest, she had already been dragged backstage to prepare for the role of a hero's nemesis. Truthfully, she wasn't sure if she could pull off the role of an evil maniac, but... Now that she was here, she might as well give it her all. An actor across from her paints a striking figure, his snow white hair a stark contrast with the general dark aura of the room. It's not a face she recognizes, and they haven't quite slipped into character for the current filming session. As a result, the Duelist opts to bridge the distance, clearing her throat before offering a handshake to the other man. "It seems we'll be working together on this," She speaks softly, a warm smile tugging at her lips. "I'm certainly no actress. In fact, I was really forced into this against my will- I had no chance to say no. My name is Clorinde, it's a pleasure to meet you." Her gaze flickered to the bustle of the film crew hurrying to scramble to set props and checking lights. "The writers have put a lot of effort into these characters. I can only hope that I can do them justice. Shall we make this memorable?" Clorinde takes a few steps backwards before she inspects the prop weapons offered to them both, opting to take a sword that's much too light for her liking. With weight so easily off-put, it'll make it much harder to judge her movements correctly... But she assumes that the other will have the same issues, if they're even much of a fighter. "I won't take it easy on you just because this is a show." A soft chuckle follows, making it evident that her words have no ill intent. "Your move. I'll be kind enough to let the 'hero' go first." @jxrmngxndr

LARPing

nobody saw anything. w/ @jxrmngxndr

[trailblczed]

Caelus' vision goes fuzzy as his companions figures are covered by the overwhelming amount of guards detaining them. He feels like he can't breathe, hands twitching at his sides as the horror stays swirling around inside him. Part of him wants to give up, to fall to his knees and accept defeat ( he let this happen. If only he hadn't been a failure of a teammate- if only he didn't have some sort of malfunction then this could have been prevented-- ), mouth gaping open and closed as words are lost to him, only low whining sounds being able to come out.

K̶e̶e̵p̶ ̴m̸o̵v̴i̸n̷g̵.̸ ̷Y̴o̸u̷ ̴s̸t̵i̷l̷l̸ ̷h̶a̷v̶e̴ ̶s̸o̸m̸e̵o̴n̴e̸ ̷t̸o̴ ̴p̷r̷o̷t̷e̴c̶t̵,̴ ̴d̸o̴ ̸y̶o̵u̸ ̴n̸o̵t̷?̴

Roll: 1d4-1 || Result: 3 - 1 ( 2 Spaces Moved - Current Space: 10 )

Against his wishes ( almost as if he were a puppet on a string ) his body turns around, preventing him from witnessing the final moments of his team being captured as his feet move of their own accord, trying his best to catch up with Gail. He may or may not get caught himself, but at least he can make sure that his promise to get her out of that place was fulfilled.

❛ Go Gail, Go! Don't look back! ❜

As long as she stays safe, get out of this ( who knows what would happen to her if she got caught- possibly worse fate than them being a prior prisoner who escaped [with help] ) alive and makes it to the safehouse she mentioned, then he can say he at least did something useful..

Next: ...? You are the last player standing. Continue the mission.

☆ who needs combat when I got legs that can run

【 program overdrive ── team chase ; week 3 】