#ooc: Ody is so flirty today for some reason shshsj /silly

[thrpr0phetuseek]

[ they were leaning their head atop his shoulder when he brought it up. It had made their body stiffen, remembering the blood that gushed and spilled and the blink of pain before their soul began to reform again. It still haunted them, sometimes; they’d feel like blood was leaking from their eye where the sword had slashed, or like there was still a weapon twisting in their stomach and wrenching out pain. The feelings weren’t all from that day, but the bloodstains were, and they had no intention to speak of it again. Not now ]

“I know. The wind carried the tension. I don’t want to talk about it, love, I really, really don’t. I promise I’m safe now. It’s okay, now. I just— can we pretend to forget about it? Like we did with the blood you once wore. Please?”

[ they were sat peacefully by the shore of the mingling rivers, swaying lazily with no lingering thoughts. This had been how they’d spent the past few hours — though time is irrelevant in the underground, everyone knows this — getting up and wandering tipsily when they felt the itch to move, settling down for however long their body would let them before they were spat out to wander again. It peaceful, if not irregular, and the prophet could not think to ask of a better way to spend such a quiet time. Well, nearly could not ]

“ . . . Muse?”

<< @thrpr0phetuseek =} >>

"Hey there, love." Odysseus greets the call, slinking out from the water to move towards the peophet. Upon getting close, the king's face scrunches, catching whiff of the alcohol lingering on their form. Even if they faint, they unfortunately couldn't escape it, not with heightened senses.

With a quiet, almost inaudible hum, he plants himself by Tiresias' side, not yet shifting out of his seabound form. The prophet was still one of the few people he felt he didn't have to be on edge around; let alone hide certain features he had learned to humanly mask.

"Red wine?" He asks, playfully poking their side, though it was also meant to give them a general understanding of where he was sat.

[just-a-mer]

The stumble made Odysseus instinctively tighten his grip to avoid Tiresias, or him, falling. Once he realized what the cause was, he huffed in amusement. "Oh, careful, there's a root there." The siren teases before melting into the kiss for as long as it lingered.

When the prophet made their offer, Odysseus moved to sit yet found himself pausing at the sight of blood. He hadn't smelled the copper due to its age, but it was clear now that his gaze was atop it. Stopping himself from blurting out concerns, the siren waited until the two of them were snugly resting against the base of the willow tree. "My star, I'm sure you don't wish to talk about it, but ... I saw the blood."

[ they were sat peacefully by the shore of the mingling rivers, swaying lazily with no lingering thoughts. This had been how they’d spent the past few hours — though time is irrelevant in the underground, everyone knows this — getting up and wandering tipsily when they felt the itch to move, settling down for however long their body would let them before they were spat out to wander again. It peaceful, if not irregular, and the prophet could not think to ask of a better way to spend such a quiet time. Well, nearly could not ]

“ . . . Muse?”

<< @thrpr0phetuseek =} >>

"Hey there, love." Odysseus greets the call, slinking out from the water to move towards the peophet. Upon getting close, the king's face scrunches, catching whiff of the alcohol lingering on their form. Even if they faint, they unfortunately couldn't escape it, not with heightened senses.

With a quiet, almost inaudible hum, he plants himself by Tiresias' side, not yet shifting out of his seabound form. The prophet was still one of the few people he felt he didn't have to be on edge around; let alone hide certain features he had learned to humanly mask.

"Red wine?" He asks, playfully poking their side, though it was also meant to give them a general understanding of where he was sat.

[thrpr0phetuseek]

[ they smile, listening to the gentle silence before starting to sing a low, nearly inaudible hum. It held the same few notes constantly on loop; a lullaby of sorts that they intended to keep silently singing had they not nearly tripped over the roots of their tree. In that action, they leaned against him, finding balance before straightening themself up again. They waltzed with him for a few moments more, just in the general vicinity and not too far away, before they slowed and reached a hand to cup his face, kissing him again to make a peaceful end ]

“We made it. You want to come sit?”

[ they tugged on his hand gently, the one still intertwined with their own, pulling him towards it. With their other hand, now free, they shifted their scarf and then their cloak, pulling the remnants of dried blood hopefully out of his sense of reach, ensuring they would not receive questions or worries during what is now a long and peaceful night ]

[ they were sat peacefully by the shore of the mingling rivers, swaying lazily with no lingering thoughts. This had been how they’d spent the past few hours — though time is irrelevant in the underground, everyone knows this — getting up and wandering tipsily when they felt the itch to move, settling down for however long their body would let them before they were spat out to wander again. It peaceful, if not irregular, and the prophet could not think to ask of a better way to spend such a quiet time. Well, nearly could not ]

“ . . . Muse?”

<< @thrpr0phetuseek =} >>

"Hey there, love." Odysseus greets the call, slinking out from the water to move towards the peophet. Upon getting close, the king's face scrunches, catching whiff of the alcohol lingering on their form. Even if they faint, they unfortunately couldn't escape it, not with heightened senses.

With a quiet, almost inaudible hum, he plants himself by Tiresias' side, not yet shifting out of his seabound form. The prophet was still one of the few people he felt he didn't have to be on edge around; let alone hide certain features he had learned to humanly mask.

"Red wine?" He asks, playfully poking their side, though it was also meant to give them a general understanding of where he was sat.

[just-a-mer]

Odysseus was still working on recovery since arriving home; eating peoper meals, re-training his mind, and even working to gather his old strength that had left him with time and malnourishment at sea. It was a painfully slow process, but he was far from as frail as he used to be, and any progress was a step in his eyes.

"Alright, alright." He replies before letting the silence envelope the two of them as they continue their waltz; inching closer to the tree with each step and sway. For their surroundings and the knowledge of their location within the world, it was peaceful.

With their ear against his chest, Tiresias could make out the steady thrum of his heart and the occasional change in its own rhythm, sometimes matching the pace of their dance or seeking its own within the air that surrounded them. At some points in their dance, Odysseus would allow his eyes to close.

It was surprisingly empty; the seemingly endless darkness was a relief to the images that constantly plagued him at sleep. It was as though Tiresias' very being, no matter if a tangible presence or a lingering memory, seemed to ease his mind better than he ever could have.

[ they were sat peacefully by the shore of the mingling rivers, swaying lazily with no lingering thoughts. This had been how they’d spent the past few hours — though time is irrelevant in the underground, everyone knows this — getting up and wandering tipsily when they felt the itch to move, settling down for however long their body would let them before they were spat out to wander again. It peaceful, if not irregular, and the prophet could not think to ask of a better way to spend such a quiet time. Well, nearly could not ]

“ . . . Muse?”

<< @thrpr0phetuseek =} >>

"Hey there, love." Odysseus greets the call, slinking out from the water to move towards the peophet. Upon getting close, the king's face scrunches, catching whiff of the alcohol lingering on their form. Even if they faint, they unfortunately couldn't escape it, not with heightened senses.

With a quiet, almost inaudible hum, he plants himself by Tiresias' side, not yet shifting out of his seabound form. The prophet was still one of the few people he felt he didn't have to be on edge around; let alone hide certain features he had learned to humanly mask.

"Red wine?" He asks, playfully poking their side, though it was also meant to give them a general understanding of where he was sat.

[thrpr0phetuseek]

[ they can’t help but smile, though they bite down a laugh to keep all their focus. Carefully, they take an improvised step back, one not recounted by any lesson or practice, allowing some of his wait to be supported. In return, the leaned their own against him, though they never always weighed much, so there wasn’t much weight to give ]

“Perhaps it would be, though I do recount you saying just moments prior you wanted to dance, yes? One step at a time, love, let’s not get too hasty. At least give enough up to the willow tree, then we can see what to do next.”

[ a part of them wanted to keep talking. To hear more of his witty responses and tender flirts, the way he used to stumble over his words at some of their actions. They wanted to settle down again, and just lay together; they wanted to keep moving, excited and eager to see where they could take him in their dance. But more than anything, they just wanted to be with him, hands intertwined and head close to his heart. It took so many years being apart to truly miss the connections they used to think they had all too many of, but now, the prophet never wanted to let go again. Not for the world, not to fear. They just wanted him to stay near, so they continued to lead, stepping forward and back, left and right, coming closer and further apart as they led him up the hill they had spent so many years becoming familiar with ]

[ they were sat peacefully by the shore of the mingling rivers, swaying lazily with no lingering thoughts. This had been how they’d spent the past few hours — though time is irrelevant in the underground, everyone knows this — getting up and wandering tipsily when they felt the itch to move, settling down for however long their body would let them before they were spat out to wander again. It peaceful, if not irregular, and the prophet could not think to ask of a better way to spend such a quiet time. Well, nearly could not ]

“ . . . Muse?”

<< @thrpr0phetuseek =} >>

"Hey there, love." Odysseus greets the call, slinking out from the water to move towards the peophet. Upon getting close, the king's face scrunches, catching whiff of the alcohol lingering on their form. Even if they faint, they unfortunately couldn't escape it, not with heightened senses.

With a quiet, almost inaudible hum, he plants himself by Tiresias' side, not yet shifting out of his seabound form. The prophet was still one of the few people he felt he didn't have to be on edge around; let alone hide certain features he had learned to humanly mask.

"Red wine?" He asks, playfully poking their side, though it was also meant to give them a general understanding of where he was sat.

[just-a-mer]

Odysseus, as always, was distracted by their words. He felt as though he could lay for hours, ignoring the need to survive, simply listening to the prophet recount tales or stories. Singing or humming, maybe even a duet or two between them, dancing together if he could master it.

Due to his distraction, the siren does, in fact, stumble. It's quick, and he's sooner righted his footing with practiced precision. Following was surprisingly simple for someone who had always led others. With a mix of his earlier-in-life observation skills and learning techniques, Odysseus followed Tiresias' movement; counting the pace in rhythmic beats and the pattern.

After a few moments, he found himself not having to stare at the ground to keep up. "That would be quite funny, no? We could both roll down the hill together." He chuckles, playfully leaning a fair portion of his weight against Tiresias.

[ they were sat peacefully by the shore of the mingling rivers, swaying lazily with no lingering thoughts. This had been how they’d spent the past few hours — though time is irrelevant in the underground, everyone knows this — getting up and wandering tipsily when they felt the itch to move, settling down for however long their body would let them before they were spat out to wander again. It peaceful, if not irregular, and the prophet could not think to ask of a better way to spend such a quiet time. Well, nearly could not ]

“ . . . Muse?”

<< @thrpr0phetuseek =} >>

"Hey there, love." Odysseus greets the call, slinking out from the water to move towards the peophet. Upon getting close, the king's face scrunches, catching whiff of the alcohol lingering on their form. Even if they faint, they unfortunately couldn't escape it, not with heightened senses.

With a quiet, almost inaudible hum, he plants himself by Tiresias' side, not yet shifting out of his seabound form. The prophet was still one of the few people he felt he didn't have to be on edge around; let alone hide certain features he had learned to humanly mask.

"Red wine?" He asks, playfully poking their side, though it was also meant to give them a general understanding of where he was sat.