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osric-giroux-ffxiv · 1 year ago

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Tense Conversations

Quiet - a rarity, after spending weeks at what had been the Slater estate among the hammering and the sawing, dealing with corralling the workers and the architect and trying to keep everyone on track so that perhaps, perhaps, the barracks would be completed in a timely manner and things could move forward. Every day had been spent among the dust and debris and the evenings spent trying to recover what energy he could and prepare for more of the same the next day,

Until today - the rare reprieve - trusting that Wyland would oversee the construction effort in his place, he’d sent a missive out to one Lord Damien Gray instead.

An effort to perhaps get to know the man possibly doing business with his family, the man previously spending time with his wife’s sister, a man with information that could potentially be useful to their new endeavors with their recently purchased chocobos…or perhaps simply an opportunity to speak with a like minded soul.

Osric checked his timepiece for a moment - dark hair pulled back away from his face, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as they often were when he was home - before tucking it away into his vest and moving over to the piano nestled within the corner of the sitting room, taking a seat on the bench - fingers moving across ivory keys. An easy way to pass the minutes until his company arrived.

Recently Damien felt as if he were at the beck and call of not only Cordelia Gray, but the whole of House Cress as well. Though there was little mind given to his time spent with Valeria, he was rather shocked that the Southern Cress requested his presence recently, and Vahalia had been silent since the alleged distancing from the drama of House Gray. The missive sent today by Vahalia’s newlywed husband, Osric, would have Damien feeling surprised and curious at the same time. His experiences in life so far had taught Damien the importance of playing his cards close to his chest. While he didn’t seem incredibly motivated to offer services or assistance to House Cress at the present moment, satisfying the curiosity of why they sent for him would have been enough.

He traveled alone to the requested meeting point as Laurant and Alain were busy tending to other matters. The usual attire that Damien wore of finely crafted tunics, jackets and trousers were traded for a heavy leather coat that was lined well to keep him insulated in the harsh Ishgardian climate. He wore a thick wool vest and thick leather boots that stopped just below his knee. Clearly he had been engaged in other endeavors than lounging around the estate waiting for such missives.

The large bird he rode came to an abrupt halt as he approached the large door to the estate and Damien tied the chocobo on the dedicated post before he approached the door. The introductions were made and Damien was led to the room where Osric was present. “A Lord Gray is here to see you,” the attendant spoke up before Damien cleared his throat and offered a curt nod to the man across the room from him.

Fingers paused and Osric offered a nod towards the attendant as he stood up from the piano, adjusting his vest for a moment. “Thank you.” He turned his attention to his guest, with a small bow and a nod. “Lord Gray - thank you for coming. I’d meant to call on you sooner, as after the dinner there’d been some mention of perhaps shared interests, but things have been quite hectic and you look to be quite the busy man yourself.”

Osric motioned towards two large chairs situated in front of a well stoked fire, one glass already present on the table set between the two chairs with a small amount of amber liquid lining the bottom, a trolley with various drinks and glasses settled nearby. “Please, you’ve traveled all this way - make yourself comfortable. The weather certainly leaves something to be desired this afternoon. Something to drink?”

“Quite busy,” he replied rather cooly as his mead colored hues followed Osric’s gesture. His jaw clenched for a moment as he took another step further into the room. He had paused for another second before he had made his way over to one of the chairs by the fireplace. “I make it a habit to drink among business partners, friends or at parties and I suppose I’m rather curious as to why I’ve been summoned by Lord Cress.”

His brow lofted slightly as he took a seat in the chair. His posture was relaxed though his tone seemed to be the opposite. In truth, he was curious as to why Osric had wanted to speak with him. It had been some time since the dinner and while he would’ve given grace to the hectic schedules, it did seem rather odd given the information he had been provided by Valeria. “If this is some attempt to discuss Lady Cress’ sister man to man, I can assure you it is unnecessary and would save us both our time. As you noted, our schedules have been quite hectic and my time is better devoted to my endeavors than a lecture on who I keep within my company.”

“I hadn’t given any thought to your relationship to Valeria, to be quite frank. I was simply looking for an opportunity to have a discussion and get to know you a bit better as the dinner itself was not much of an opportunity due to the amount of cross-talk.” Osric’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment as he watched the other man take his seat. It was one thing to be tense, or perhaps to feel a bit anxious, but to be this terse, this curt…it didn’t bode well for the rest of the afternoon.

He moved around to take the empty seat, reaching for his glass before leaning back into his chair, dark eyes scanning over the other man, “But as you are an individual that my family is to be doing business with I thought it would be wise to get to know you as an individual. But if you feel that it’s a waste of your time to do so, then you’ve no obligation to remain.” A choice - he lifted his glass and took a small sip, gaze shifting to the amber liquid for just a moment before moving back to his guest once again - Damien could stay or go, ultimately it was up to him, and whatever his choice, it would tell Osric something about the other man either way.

There was a hint of amusement that had shown on the edges of Damien’s features at Osric’s words. “Yes, well, Lady Gray and I don’t seem to be on the best of terms these days.” He’d respond idly as his tongue ran over his lips. He rolled his shoulders as he relaxed back against the chair and moved to fold his arms loosely over his chest. The leather of his jacket creaked with the movement and his fingertips would drum along the broken in material.

“I wasn’t aware that I had been doing business with your family,” the amber haired man chided. “I was under the impression that Vahalia was away on business and I had personally delivered two well bred falcons to the estate. One for her and one for her sister. I hadn’t received any correspondence further and I was under the impression that the gift was not well received by Vahalia.”

“May potentially be doing business with, if all aligns, which I understand may or may not work out. It was a bold assumption.” Osric reached out, gently placing his glass back down on the table. “You are correct - my wife is away on business at the moment, though I’m curious as to what makes you think that your gift was not well received. When Vahalia spoke to me of the falcon she was quite impressed with it. She also mentioned that you’ve some passion for chocobos - primarily those of the racing variety.”

He settled his arms against the armrests of the chair. “Indeed, the-,” he paused, brow furrowing for a moment as he searched for the correct word, “- tensions between yourself and Lady Gray were rather apparent at the dinner, that’s true. And whatever situation is ongoing between the two of you is for the two of you to sort out. But certainly you had a life prior to any interactions with Cordelia Gray.”

“The news of your wife being impressed with the raptor is news to me. Only Lady Valeria has expressed her gratitude for the gift.” He’d shrug slightly as his lips pursed and his honey hues regarded the man in the chair next to him. Osric was difficult to read. He didn’t seem as calculating as Vahalia did upon first meeting, but his demeanor and tone was enough for Damien to know that the man knew his capabilities and knew far more than he let on. Vahalia had remarked that there might’ve been some similarities between Damien and Osric during their first meeting, but the auburn haired man was genuinely curious if there was any truth to that statement.

“I’m sure if you were very interested in my life before Cordelia Gray then you could’ve easily asked around for that information, Lord Cress.” Damien commented as a brow lofted slightly. “Though I suppose you’d rather hear it from my lips than the gossip of another.” His brow would resume its normal position as he exhaled slowly. “My brother, Ambrose, was the eldest of the Gray children. He worked under my father to learn the business. My father preferred textiles and Ambrose preferred his gems. There was a rather large gap between myself and Ambrose and so there was little interest in educating me as he had with Ambrose.” There was a shrug as Damien paused to gauge Osric’s demeanor. “That left me with the capability to make my own destiny, I suppose. I took to the stables as a boy where I learned to work with chocobo and horses alike. From there, the interest grew into avians and raptors. Ambrose largely left me up to my own devices if I’m entirely honest. Until he married Cordelia, I lived within the family estate. After he had wed her, Cordelia had requested the estate be for them only and Ambrose had secured me a modest lodging with a small staff.” His throat would clear as he drew in a breath to glance at the crackling fire. “Outside of that, my interests are largely occupied by dueling, jousting and the occasional ball or two.”

“And my sister-in-law.” Osric lifted a hand, resting his chin against his fist as he regarded the other man, his face neutral as he listened to Damien’s history. “But as has already been stated, we’re not here to discuss Valeria.”

There was a brief pause as Osric reached forward to collect his glass, taking a sip of his drink and gently setting the glass back down, “So - I’m curious, why chocobos, avians, and raptors - of all of the animals available, those three make for an interesting combination…” He settled back against his chair, eyes locked on the other man, watching him curiously, attentively, fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair.

Despite the fact that Osric had chimed in that they were not here to talk about Valeria, Damien had still paused for a moment before he spoke. “Your sister in law has my interest, yes, but not for the reasons you or Lady Cress assume, I’m sure. There are not many who understand the plight of the…spare and Valeria does.”

“You assume a great deal of two individuals who you’ve had limited contact with - and one of whom this is your first conversation. Your knowledge of myself is limited and what I think, or what my wife thinks are your reasons for pursuing Valeria are our own. Your assumptions are yours, and yours alone, Lord Gray. I would also point out that both Lady Cress and myself have had our own hardships and that had things played out differently Vahalia would have been the spare, rather than Valeria - as Valeria is the older twin.”

“Well the avians and the raptors fall within the same category. They’re just different breeds, of course,” he’d speak casually as he shrugged and then moved to cross his arms across his broad chest. “My father kept several chocobos within the stables at our estate when I was younger and the stablemaster had a son my age. We were friendly and by nature, I had been exposed to chocobos. They have their uses. War, racing and travel. I had taken up the interest in avians and raptors for other interests. I rather enjoyed hunting and the they prove to be skilled hunters if trained correctly.”

Osric gaze followed the other man’s movements, features neutral. He noted the closed body posture, but chose not to bring it up. “Had you ever trained any yourself? Chocobos? Or the avians or raptors? Is that something that you are still actively engaged in? I had a conversation recently with Valeria in which she mentioned that one of the birds - the one you gifted her, Clotho - I believe was the bird’s name - was trained by you and that you had offered her some suggestions for how to continue to train the bird, correct?”

Damien had given Osric a bit of a puzzled look as his head canted ever so slightly to the side. He knew that the man was gauging where Damien stood on these endeavors but still, it was hard not to find the line of questioning amusing. “Of course, Osric.” His tone was matter of fact as if the answer was obvious. “My father’s status and wealth was helpful, of course, but there was no handholding in this endeavors. It’s not as if the Gray’s are known for their work with wildlife.” He paused for a lingering moment to eye Osric’s drink. “When I broke ground, it started with the chocobos. We scouted and sourced them from the forests near Tailfeather. Then came the training. I did meet with and work with individuals who race chocobos for a living, but the training was exclusively between a trio of us. As for the avians and raptors, I trained under a man named Castile. He now works for me and we train the creatures together. I would consider him a mentor of sorts.” Damien paused to draw in a steady breath. “Can I trouble you for that drink now, hm?”

“If you like - what’s your preference?” The dark-haired man stood, gathering his own glass as he did and moving over towards the trolley. He quickly refilled his glass, setting it aside before turning his attention back towards his guest, waiting for the man’s response. “Had you ever trained any birds that were utilized for battle, rather than for racing? Or have you any knowledge of those who specialize in such training?”

“Gin,” he replied as his arms unfolded and he leaned forward in the chair slightly to watch Osric’s actions. “I’ve trained avians and raptors for hunting and for combat assistance but not chocobos. I have had personal chocobos that have been trained to be familiar with the atmosphere of jousts so there are some basics there for war. Of course things that can be improved upon.” He’d pause for a moment as he pursed his lips. “I’m sure I could ask around within my contacts for someone who has a more specialized knowledge of war training. Though I’m unsure why you are asking me and not exploring your options at Tailfeather.”

“Neat, or with ice? Do you prefer tonic?” Osric quirked an eyebrow as he reached for the appropriate bottle containing the clear liquid - Vahalia favored the beverage, so there was no shortage of it within the estate. “I’ve intentions of asking about trainers who specialize in such areas in Foundation and in and around Tailfeather, however I thought it might be best to inquire with one who has knowledge of the field first. Even if it’s in a different area, such as racing, I simply thought that you might have heard if there were particular individuals who might be better well known for their work with birds suited for battle.”

He removed the lid from the bottle, once again, awaiting the response from the other man. “You mentioned combat assistance for the avians and raptors - could you elaborate further on that? I’ve never seen such a thing in practice.”

“With ice and tonic, please,” he’d reply as he settled back against the chair. Damien would draw in a steady breath as his gaze shifted from Osric to the fireplace. “I know a good deal of people within Tailfeather so I am quite sure that someone has the knowledge you seek, I’ve just never needed to ask.” He would pause with Osric’s next question before he’d nod. Not that the dark haired man could see it. “More so the raptors than the avians themselves. Their wing span makes them fairly formidable and their talons are deadly. I think it can be particularly useful by a mounted user. It does require someone trained with the raptor however.”

It only took a moment for Osric to finish preparing the drink as requested, replacing the lid on the bottle and the tonic, setting both aside before offering the glass - filled with clear liquid and ice - to the amber-haired man before moving to his own seat, his refilled glass in his hand. “And the being trained with a raptor - is such training extensive? You mentioned your mentor is currently working for you, as I hadn’t heard of such a thing before, it doesn’t sound like many offer such a service.” He hummed thoughtfully. “You raise the birds yourself, yes?”

Damien had taken the offered glass without a second thought and quickly brought it to his lips to take a lingering drink. The initial coolness of the liquid felt good in his mouth which was promptly followed by the burn of the alcohol down his throat. “It can be,” Damien replied as his tongue ran over his lips to whisk away any liquid that might’ve remained. “There are a multitude of variables. How old is the raptor when learning, how confident is the trainer, are they being primarily trained by someone else or the individual who is handling them, are they wild caught or bred in captivity.” The list went on but Damien stopped himself with another sip of the drink. “There are some that are raised from hatching by myself, Castile or others that work for us but there are still a good amount of species that we don’t breed and must catch them instead.”

“Complicated, indeed. And is there an extensive market for such birds? It sounds as though you have quite the monopoly on training services for them at present.” He lifted his glass to his lips, taking a small sip with a low hum. “Forgive my curiosity - the training to become a dragoon is, well was - I don’t know what it’s like now, but when I was going through it, it tended to isolate those engaged in the training. Learning about other methods of combat, whether that involved how to train chocobos, or utilizing raptors was simply unheard of. The understanding was most of us were not going to survive long enough for it to matter, so I find this all to be quite informative.”

“The market seems limited to those that can mostly afford the birds. The cost to breed, incubate, hatch and then care for can be quite high. The cost to wild catch can be physically dangerous, can sometimes require lengthy trips and then there’s the necessary training on top. Your basic commoner isn’t sourcing me for assistance.” The amber haired man would pause fo savor the taste of the drink again. “I’ve mostly sold my stock to nobles of enthusiasts I’ve met in Isghard or through racing. While they’ve not spoken about using them for war, the birds are sold on the premise of being hunting companions or messengers.” His lips would purse as he moved to rest the glass on the arm of the chair. “I had wanted to be a dragoon when I was young. Curious how paths change.”

“So it is, in fact, something of a monopoly, then.” Osric exhaled slowly, one finger tapping the side of his glass for a moment. “To be quite fair - there were quite a few who wanted to be dragoons when the war was still ongoing. There was a certain appeal to the title, the station - it carried with it a certain amount of weight. What it required of you, that is what was never discussed.” He shrugged one shoulder easily, lifting his glass to his lips once again. “But neither here nor there. It’s a different time, and I’m told the order has taken a different direction. I set aside the armor several years ago.”

Damien took another drink of the gin and tonic. He was painfully aware of how the drink had been getting closer and closer to empty but he’d draw in a breath as his tongue rolled over his lips. “I suppose it would be a monopoly then.” Damien replied somewhat absently. He’d never thought of it as more than a passion that he had approached head on. Castile chose to work for Damien and Damien paid him well and perhaps that brought on the loyalty. There was a subtle nod as Osric spoke about his time as a dragoon. “You’ve set the armor aside and now you’re a lord in the Cress family,” there was a coy smirk on the edge of Damien’s lips. “It seems you’ve moved up quite a bit in your station and so I’m still curious about what the Lord Cress wants with me aside from picking my brain about various hobbies.”

“And I was the heir apparent and then the Lord of the Slater family prior to being the Lord of the Cress family - but once again, that is neither here nor there.” Osric reached out, setting his glass on the small table between the chairs. “Various hobbies were a topic of conversation that seemed to be safe as you seemed less than interested in a conversation when you arrived. As I noted earlier, my goal was simply to try and get to know you as an individual. No more, no less. There is no hidden agenda here, Lord Gray. At least not from my perspective.”

“So it would be a fair assumption to say that you’re not simply out here asking me about chocobos and warbirds because Lady Cress has recently become the owner of several chocobos?” His brow lofted as the words left his lips and he finished the remainder of his glass and placed it down on the the table in between the two of them. “Because if we’re discussing business, then I would hope you know that it is transactional. My knowledge is not free.”

“I would not assume that it would be. There are very few things in this life that are not transactional. I’m curious as to how you came to know about the recently acquired chocobos, but to answer your question, even had Lady Cress not acquired said birds, I would still be asking out of genuine curiosity.” His head tilted slightly to the side as he leaned back against his chair. “But should you like to make this a business transaction rather than a simple conversation, then so be it.”

“I certainly have my way of knowing about things,” he’d admit with a slight shrug of his shoulders as he leaned back into the chair. His fingertips drummed slightly along the arm of the chair as his gaze lingered on Osric for a little too long. “If it is a simple conversation with nothing expected at the end from either of us, then sure this can absolutely continue as a simple conversation to satiate your genuine curiosities. Should there be a request made of services I offer or am capable of providing, I would request that we not beat around the bush.”

Osric leaned forward slowly, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands lacing together as he looked across at the amber haired man. “In favor of not beating around the bush, let me be quite clear in this. I’ve an…inkling how you came to hear about the chocobos. Valeria did mention that she had been utilizing her bird to exchange letters. However, I will also note that should more than an exchange of letters be occurring it would cause quite an issue for my wife, as I believe she was quite clear in her expectations for her sister. And those who would want to interact with her sister should understand that my wife is the individual with the final say. Surely I make myself clear, yes?”

Damien hummed as he leaned forward in his chair. His hands had moved away from the arms of the chair so that they could instead rest along his thighs. “Osric, I’ve not seen Valeria since I personally delivered both falcons to the Cress Estate,” His tone was firm and cold. Perhaps Osric had struck a nerve or maybe Damien had assumed that the man was acting accusatory in nature. “Though it seems that you’ve an issue with Valeria exchanging letters and so I would expect that both birds are promptly packed within their cages and delivered back to the Gray estate.”

“Should you choose to do so, I imagine Valeria would be most upset. She seemed to be very attached to Clotho. And this isn’t an accusation, Damien, simply a suggestion. You may either choose to heed it or not. I’ve no issue with Valeria exchanging letters with whomever she chooses to. I want nothing but the best for her, she deserves some happiness in her life. She mentioned the companionship of the bird to be most comforting, and if that’s something that you wish to take from her, then I would leave that on your conscience.” He shifted back, his elbows lifting up off of his thighs. “If you say that you have not seen my sister-in-law, then so be it. I will take you at your word until you give me a reason not to.” Though the man’s shift in demeanor alone was enough to make Osric question his answer.

“As I said, should you or your wife take issue with the fact that Valeria has been corresponding with letters, then I ask the birds be returned. If there’s no issue, then the birds may remain.” His eyes narrowed slightly so that he could observe Osric’s demeanor. Despite the fact that Damien was in a place where he felt unfamiliar, he didn’t feel threatened. Words were simply words. “I’ve no desire to harm Valeria. I’ve made that clear to her. Your wife’s…punishment is unwarranted based on rumors spread by a potential business partner. If I had really wished her harm or planned on using her as a pawn, I wouldn’t be wasting my own gil on it. Those birds could’ve brought in plenty.”

Osric fought back a sigh as his gaze remained on the other man. “It’s not a punishment. As previously discussed, the tension between yourself and Lady Gray was made apparent during the dinner. Vahalia has to look out for the safety of House Cress, first and foremost, as do I…Valeria is part of House Cress. Surely you can understand that. We are not looking to punish Valeria, nor is there any attempt to punish anyone else. But as it seems that things are very much ‘up in the air’ there is a need to make sure that all are taken care of within House Cress. Surely, if you care for Valeria the way you claim to do so, you can see the wisdom in that.”

“I would also note, Damien, that it’s not ‘wasted gil’ when spending it on those we care for. Or it hasn’t been in my experience.” Osric reached for his glass, downing what remained before setting the empty container down once again.

His gaze averted momentarily to the fire as he chewed absently on the inside of his cheek. “Ah, yes, the ever present need to look out for House Cress while aligning yourself with Cordelia. The woman not only had a hand to play in my brother’s untimely death but has promptly stolen all control of my family’s assets overnight.” He’d draw in a heavy breath as he pushed himself to his feet. “I believe this meeting is concluded, Lord Cress. You and your wife have made your allegiances known to my sister-in-law and it is clear that neither of you have any regard for the means at which you acquire business for your house.”

“Once again, you make bold assumptions, Lord Gray.” Osric stood, adjusting his vest as his eyes narrowed in the direction of the other man. “I will put the needs of my house above my own, and I will - indeed - always look out for House Cress and its members. But the assumption that I aligned with anyone knowingly who had a hand in the death of your brother is a bold accusation indeed. Perhaps you’d like to lay such an accusation at the feet of my wife as well, or Valeria? As she is part of this house as well. The well-being of the members under our banner is my primary concern. There is unrest within your house, that is clear and we only seek to protect those in our house who may not be able to protect themselves. If you consider it a punishment that we do so, then so be it, you are welcome to your perspective. But do not assume to know my mind or what drives me or my wife, Lord Gray. I trust you can see yourself out. Good day, sir.”

“Valeria is aware of the accusation and doesn’t agree with her sister’s business practices. Perhaps you should look into that when you see what your house aligns with.” His comment was swift and he had offered Osric one final narrowed gaze before he turned on his heel to exit the room where they had sat.

Collab with @damien-gray-ffxiv

#stories #collab writing #of lances and lament #osric #damien

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anon-apple · 2 months ago

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Hot Soup And Soft Bread 2

Table of Contents and Synopsis <- Chapter 1

T/N: Chapter on WordPress if anyone prefers reading there.

Chapter 2: Chocomonts II

After getting off work past 7 pm, Zhong Qiuyan stood outside the roast duck shop in the East City food market. In the rotating oven, a couple of oily, crispy, roasted ducks rode the final merry-go-rounds of their lives. A typhoon was passing through this part of the country, and the rain hadn’t stopped in the past few days. Qiuyan took off his cap and stared blankly at the evening news playing on the wall-mounted television.

Apparently, the second season of Rose Garden ended badly. Apparently, a patient at the People’s Hospital accidentally ate the medicine for the patient in the next bed and fell into a coma. Qiuyan received his order of half a roasted duck, already sliced, from the shop owner. He smiled, eyes curving, and said “Thanks.” He then drove to Qin Qin Homeland, intending to bring the roasted duck to Liu Xiaoying and Zhou Cunqu to supplement their dinner.

Qiuyan parked his car downstairs. A pair of old men, twins, who lived on the second floor of Building No.3 were sitting in the entranceway of someone else’s garage playing a game of Go. The two of them gossiped about Liu Xiaoying’s family as they played. Qiuyan, holding the roast duck, walked up to listen. The two old men fanned themselves at the exact same pace, and whenever one spoke, the other would echo his words.

“Right, he hasn’t stepped outside in two years already. It’s a big deal.” “Right, it’s a big deal.”

Qiuyan squatted down next to them: “Why hasn’t he gone out for two years?”

One of the old men fanned himself as he replied: “I heard he used to be an architect. Maybe some accident happened.” “Maybe some accident happened.”

Cunqu asked as he held the box of roast duck: “What kind of accident?”

One old man placed a black playing stone onto the board, the other followed with a white stone, saying: “Not sure, do you know?” “Not sure, do you know?”

“I don’t know.” “I don’t know.”

Cunqu asked again: “And so these past two years he hasn’t left the building at all?”

An old man nodded, replying: “Haven’t seen him downstairs.” “Definitely haven’t seen him downstairs.”

As Cunqu was about to get up and leave, one old man grabbed him and asked: “Where did the roast duck come from?” “Where did the roast duck come from?”

When Cunqu made his way upstairs, Xiaoying was sitting by herself on the sofa folding laundry. She had already eaten. Underneath the heat-insulating cover on the dining table were the dishes left out for Qiuyan and Cunqu. Qiuyan placed the roast duck down on the table, asking, “Ge hasn’t eaten either?”

Xiaoying turned and gave him a look, saying: “Eat your own food.”

Qiuyan sat down and took a bite of the red braised pork, complementing: “Liu Xiaoying, this is delicious.” After he ate and washed his dishes, he squeezed himself onto the sofa and started helping Xiaoying fold the laundry. The rain outside came down harder and harder.

Xiaoying suddenly spoke up: “His appetite’s fickle. Sometimes, he won’t eat for a couple of days in a row.”

Qiuyan replied “Oh” as he folded Cunqu’s grey pajamas. Xiaoying stopped what she was doing, and looked at the TV screen.

“Sometimes, he won’t even sleep.”

Indeed, Cunqu often could not fall asleep. At night, he’d wander back and forth in Xiaoying’s condo. He’d sit out on the balcony and smoke. And then he’d go back the next day, thoroughly clean up the tea jar he was using as a makeshift ashtray, and place it back to where it was. Xiaoying no longer tried to tell him to smoke less, or to tell him not to smoke at all.

But she would leave out the Chocomonts she bought for him on the coffee table. And she would leave out a blanket on the sofa. Xiaoying had been a teacher her whole life. She had four kids, and many more students, colleagues, and friends. But ever since Cunqu moved in, Xiaoying stopped inviting any of them over to her home.

The only exception was last week when Cunqu’s aunt came over to discuss the matters of Xiaoying’s 80th birthday celebration. Later that night, Xiaoying sat on the sofa with the blanket draped over her. When Cunqu left his bedroom to get water, Xiaoying spoke to him. Her hair was down, draped loose over her shoulders, and smile lines decorated her eyes. “For my 80th celebration, will you attend with me?”

Cunqu stilled, with a cup of water in his hands. Xiaoying shook her head and said, “It’s alright if not.”

2 am at night, Cunqu sat on the sofa and pulled the blanket over himself. He grabbed the box of Chocomonts. On the box was a sticky note: Ge, it’s Zhong Qiuyan. Open the topmost drawer of the coffee table.

Cunqu bent down, pulled open the drawer, and took out what was inside. On top of the box he took out was another sticky note: Ge, I’m giving you my Anpanman[1] nightlight. Whenever I can’t sleep, I always switch it on.

Cunqu pressed the on button of the nightlight. The entirety of Anpanman’s figure glowed, and the light that landed on the floor reminded him of fragments of stars. Cunqu hugged his legs and stared blankly at the fragmented light rays.

The following night, Cunqu found a note on the fridge door. Zhong Qiuyan wrote: Liu Xiaoying and I made a beverage perfect for this rainy season. Dear guest, please open the fridge and have a taste.

And so Cunqu obediently opened the fridge door and poured himself a glass of juice. He mulled over the taste for a while. He tasted pear, avocado, and chia seeds. Cunqu sat by the dining table and finished the entire glass, then walked to the balcony to have a smoke. It’s been quite a few days, but he had only one real face-to-face encounter with Zhong Qiuyan. He was rather tall and broad, and his eyes were naturally curved downwards at the ends. Whenever he smiled, he gave the impression that he was genuinely happy. Cunqu, his hair spilling onto his shoulders, held a cigarette between his fingers and blew out a breath of smoke towards the sheets of rain outside.

On the third night, Cunqu found a sticky note on his ashtray: Do you like water lilies?

He doesn’t know why Qiuyan was asking this. But the next night, he saw a small purple water lily on the dining room table. Xiaoying wasn’t the type to waste money on flowers. Qiuyan had left a note on the flower vase saying: I planted this myself in my parents’ flowerbed. It’s currently the flowering season for water lilies. It blooms only in the daytime, remember to come out and take a look.

Cunqu stroked the petals of the water lily. He had almost forgotten the texture of a real plant. That night, Cunqu discovered for the first time how pleasant a water lily smells.

The following morning, Xiaoying moved the flower onto the balcony after she woke up. She headed downstairs for her morning exercises while yawning. Qiuyan, who had a day off from work, ran into her downstairs and asked for the keys.

When he opened the door, he saw that Cunqu’s bedroom door was open. Qiuyan looked around the living room and finally found him leaning against the railings of the balcony, watching the yet-to-open purple flower bud. That day was the first sunny day in a while. Wearing a tank top, Cunqu raised his head and pulled all of his hair back into a ponytail. He leaned over the railing as he watched for the purple water lily to bloom. On the side of his earlobe was a small mole, almost resembling an ear piercing.

Cunqu stood there and waited aimlessly, as if he had all the time to spare. Occasionally he would lean in and smell the flower.

And Qiuyan from behind, still clutching the keys, stared at him.

Aside from the few times he’d come out to look at the water lily, Cunqu still rarely showed his face in the daytime. Qiuyan worriedly asked Xiaoying: “Won’t he be calcium-deficient like this?”

Xiaoying almost laughed out loud.

They were currently standing next to the dining table folding dumplings and wontons. Xiaoying instructed Qiuyan, and Qiuyan stood at attention, folding the dumpling skins as he replied: “Yes, teacher Liu. Understood, teacher Liu.”

They placed the fruits of their battle into the freezer. Qiuyan stuck a sticky note on the fridge door, writing: The second section of the freezer has celery and pork dumplings as well as mushroom and pork dumplings. Those who have tried it reported their backs and legs stopped hurting; they may supplement calcium. The dumplings make for a good night-time snack, remember to eat them. (Zhong Qiuyan)

When Cunqu left his bedroom that night, he stared at the sticky note for quite some time. The next day, after Qiuyan left, Cunqu came out for a glass of water. Xiaoying asked from behind him: “Does it bother you when that kid Zhong Qiuyan comes over? When Grandma gets her cast removed there won’t be any problems anymore. I can tell him to stop coming over.”

Cunqu lifted his head and drank half the glass of water. He then ran his hand through his hair, lightly replying: “I, don’t mind.”

Xiaoying looked at him. Cunqu took his glass, walked back towards the bedroom, and said once more, “I don’t mind.”

Footnotes

[1] The protagonist of a Japanese comic book series by the same name. He’s a superhero with red bean bread as his head.

T/N: I'm also posting these translations onto a WordPress blog for better formatting (especially for footnotes!) Feel free to read there if you guys prefer :)

Chapter 3: Chocomonts III ->

#chinese novel #chinese bl #danmei #translation #hot soup and soft bread #chinese webnovel #hehe Qiuyan why are you staring hmmm #also the little notes are so wholesome Qiuyan is such a wholesome guy #Cunqu is realizing he enjoys his presence around #novel update

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autumnalwalker · 6 months ago

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A Dream About An Escalator

A minor goddess once challenged a mortal man to create a work of art worthy of Her divinity. If he succeeded, he could have any blessing that was within Her power to grant. If he failed, he would only receive Her mockery. Either way She would be entertained.

The man declared from the beginning that he wanted no reward, only the ability to work unimpeded and see the project through to the end. It seemed a reasonable request and one more likely to give Her what She wanted in the end, so She cleared the way for him

Above all else, the man loved escalators and the opportunity to design and build one of his own was reward enough in and of itself. With divine intervention opening his path but not guiding his hand, he managed to be involved in every step of the process, from initial drafting to talks with city planners and architects to the physical construction to the final flip of a switch that would set his creation into motion.

Along the way, the goddess could not help but fall a little bit in love with the man for his purehearted passion and devotion, but knew better than to act on the star-crossed emotions. Such unions never end well and She knew that his love was not for Her but for escalators.

Once the project was complete, he rode his escalator once and then returned to his normal life, never to see it again nor to ever create another escalator.

The most perfect escalator you’ve ever seen connects the rarely-visited top floor of an office building to the almost-never-visited glass-domed rooftop. It is a short ride, less than thirty seconds in either direction. The escalator is always perfectly maintained even as the rest of the building falls into disrepair with the passage of time.

Ascend the empty tower that is always forgotten by those who condemn buildings for destruction. You’ll have to take the stairs, for the power has long since been disconnected. At the top, you’ll find an escalator running in pristine condition. Step onto it and feel the simple joy and wonder. Look behind you when the sun or moon hits just right and you’ll see a goddess riding the moving stairs up and down for hours at a time.

#microfiction #writeblr #dream writing #writers on tumblr #dreams #my writing #my dreams #dreamposting #escalator #gods #deity #goddess #urban fantasy

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jasminebutintaiwansojiemin · 4 months ago

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July 13th, 2024 星期六 - 西門地 + 東三水街市場_新富市場 + Taipei Botanical Gardens

We met around 9:30 am and headed on the green line to the blue transfer station where we rode the MRT to the Longshan stop. As soon as we got out of the station, the Longshan Daoist/Buddhist temple was in view. It was very beautiful and colorful. First, we headed to the wet market. By the name, I assumed “wet market” meant mainly fish/seafood but it was just an outdoor market selling fruits, vegetables, meat, fish, and other goods. Our tour guide said that when he was a kid, he would go with his grandmother. It heavily reminded me of how I would go to very similar markets with my grandmother in Jamaica. As we entered through the dragon side, the wide variety of fresh produce could be seen everywhere you look. I noted that it was mostly older people buying and selling at the market. Our tour guide noted that there are increasingly less and less wet markets in Taiwan, as many opt to go to grocery stores instead.

After making our way through the market, we headed towards Longshan temple. A place of worship mixed with the Daoist and Buddhist beliefs, it was extremely colorful and adorned with porcelain, gold, and jade. As we walked through the temple, we got to see and try out using the moon stones to answer our questions. In the Daoist part of the temple, there were several shrines for different gods such as the gods of love, war, and health/wellness. There was also an area where one can buy talismans/good luck charms. I definitely want to return tomorrow to buy good luck charms for my friends and family.

After the temple, we rode the MRT again and ended up at the Taipei Botanical Gardens which we walked through before ending up at a museum for a famous Taiwanese Architect. After exploring the museum, we took the MRT once more and ended back in Ximendi, where class was dismissed. Afterwards, I went along with some of my classmates to eat hot pot. After lunch, the girls all went shopping around Ximendi for some cut clothes. We also colored the Red House and surrounding flea market shops before returning home on the MRT green line. Before entering the hotel, we stopped at a Family Mart so I could buy a special Kyoho grape redbull—something we definitely don’t have back home.

Academic Reflection

I was very interested in the wet markets we visited today. I ended up doing some research on wet markets in Taiwan, especially the differences between those in Taiwan and those in Mainland China. I found that apparently that has been a large increase in regulation of the wet markets in recent years. Live-killing of animals and the selling of live animals have been cracked down on, but you can still buy snakes, turtles, and live fish sometimes. I also found online how the Jianguo Wet Market in Taichung was torn down and re-made into a building that even includes industrial refrigerators and breastfeeding rooms.

Our tour guide also told us about a jade market that happens on the weekends a wet market like the one we visited today. Turns out it is the a similar area to the Jianguo market previously mentioned. This immediately sparked my interest because one of the things I really wanted to buy in Taiwan is jade jewelry. At this market, one can also buy an array of gorgeous flowers and plants. Located in Da’an and open from 9am to 6pm, there are about 700 stalls selling many goods from and flowers, to ceramics and furniture. I most definitely plan on going tomorrow to buy jade jewelry.

#chinese #taiwan #chinese language #taipei #daoism #temple #travel

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zacksbloghpc · 2 months ago

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Weekly Journal 1 : Traveling Experience to Singapore

What am I grateful for? I am grateful that the world has given me another chance to live a healthy life and spend more time with my family. So, today I would like to tell a story about my experience going to Singapore with my family. A month ago, my mother and her siblings organized a trip. My mother suggested going to Singapore. She has been longing to visit The Universal Studio Singapore because a lot of her friends recommended her to go there. While some disagree, claiming that the place is for kids or that it is not worth their money, my mom persuaded them, saying they should give it a chance and don't judge a book by its cover. They yielded and agreed with my mom. After much deliberation, they've concluded on staying with my mom's sister, who lives in Johor, before going to Singapore.

Time fades quickly, without realizing it is almost the day. Before going, my mom ensured that everything was sufficient, such as medications and snacks. We will be going with a bus since my mom's family consists of approximately 21 people. Everything went smoothly without any obstacles barricading our journey. As we arrived, I was dumbfounded seeing the beautiful creations of many talented architects, especially the renowned Universal Studio Rotating Globe. To start our journey, we went to the Shrek 4-D Adventure. As always, the Shrek franchise never disappoints us. The story was very funny and interactive. There's a scene where the audience will get sprayed with water because Donkey was spraying water on Shrek's face. It makes me wonder, How can they time all of these special effects so perfectly every time?

After having fun there, of course we would be hungry, so we went to grab some food. We even went on and bought the limited edition Optimus Prime cup. Once done, we took a walk to process our food. We went to the merchandise store to buy some t-shirts as keepsakes. Now, we will be going to one of the main attractions for the theme park, which is The Transformer: The Ride 3D. I was very hyped to try this ride because I have read tons of reviews saying the ride is worth every second they spent waiting, and just now I understand the meaning of that statement. We had to wait for a whole 3 hours in line just to try this ride. After 3 whole hours, the time has finally come. As the worker there made sure everyone's safety gear was working, I couldn't contain myself from being excited and started shaking violently. As the ride went on, my mind changed from being excited to being in awe. I was so immersed in the ride to the point that I felt like I was the one controlling the ride. Overall, the ride was so good that I would not mind spending another 3 hours in queue to ride it again.

For our last ride, we went on to ride the Shrek Roller Coaster, which is called the Far Far Away. I was actually quite nervous to ride it because it is actually my first time riding a roller coaster. The interesting part about the ride is that the roller coaster itself is a replica of Donkey's wife, which is Elizabeth. Since I sat in the front row, it was actually quite funny seeing a dragonhead in front of me. The ride itself was very fun and thrilling, and of course I screamed hysterically during the ride. I even noticed people from below were waving while laughing at us.

To wind down our day, our whole family gathered around the Universal Studio Rotating Globe and took a family picture. It was and always will be one of, if not the most memorable day of my life. After that, we went on and rode the bus to return to my mom's sister's home. While on the bus, everyone stated that they enjoyed the theme park and was relieved that my mom suggested it. My mom, who is flashing a grin, said that we should have trusted her and let her plan the next family trip. I wonder where we are going next.

#writing project

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kagrena · 2 years ago

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VYRA

When you come to, it's after four thousand years of being stuck while the whole world's been spinning around you, and you barely recognise a thing. They don't recognise you, either. You're not the half-wild dwemer bastard daughter of some Telvanni wizard-lord, nor are you the architect formerly known as Rzarak, fallen from grace. You don't know if you can go back to being Vyra Rzarak Demnevanni. Maybe some clans can continue on like nothing happened, go back to their workshops where the tones stopped singing so long ago, but you -- you were determined to go your own way, to make something of yourself without the choirs and the clans chiefs trying to figure out what to do with you, without the acolytes who wanted to rip out your throat and the bell towers ringing your name and the half-dozen mentors who scratched their heads because you, Vyra, you could be something brilliant -- when you weren't being difficult, which was all the damn time. You'd taken one good, long look at that world -- and you'd left it all behind.

But not without having it all first. It was the Brass Architect herself who'd gotten through to you, after all, who'd seen you as more than 'trouble', and whipped you into shape. She'd taken one look at the engine in your big old brain, fed it the nuts and bolts of tonal theory, and got it to work, got you to work, got you to love, got you to hunger, and you grew. You grew until you towered over everyone else, one of the brightest minds of your generation, right until you were shining at the top of the spire. Introduced you to the big names, to the players and shakers, to Chief Architect themselves, who picked as one of their favourites - and they did pick favourites among acolytes, that was no secret. Yes, you were good. And once you realised exactly what you were reaching for, you wanted none of it.

The Numidium Project would ruin you all.

You had told people - you'd yelled your damn lungs out - that it was all no good, that it was all was rotten to the core, years before anyone else did. You brought it to the Grand Debate, where you were scolded like a child, and got ousted from Grand Chamber by the Chief Architect herself, who'd carved you up into little pieces and served them up to applause - but by the grace of the very same Chief Architect, you had not fallen fully from your previous stature. No, you'd been offered some write-off tonal engineer position in a minor outpost where you couldn't cause any more 'upsets' nor rouse any other 'upstarts'.

'She didn't want this to happen, Zakya. She's already overcome with grief,' you were told, by the woman you'd considered more than a mother, like you were already dead.

So you left.

You left the only world you knew and you spent forty years being raw and furious with the open skies and roads before you. You cut your hair and shaved your beard, threw out every precise instrument you'd ever touched for netch leather and a well-oiled crossbow. You cut yout hair and ran a caravan from Nchumzel to Tel Enora to half-way across Tamriel that you stashed with knock-off brass implements and any runaway who could pull their weight on your pathetic, wretched father's guilt money and you hated everything and everyone you saw along the way. You cut your hair and it always grew back long and thick and curly, no matter how savagely you cut it. You cut your hair and rode out your rage, tear up the road and everything on it, until the end--

-- until the Call came --

And 'I was right,' turns out to be no comfort at all, not even a bitter one, when the world's rolled on past you, and you haven't changed a bit.

Except that your hair's grown back.

You've realised you miss your grandparents. Even though they died fifty -- four thousand and fifty -- years ago. And you'll never see your cunt of a father again -- more's the fucking pity -- nor your half-brother, unless you waste half a funeral at an ancestral -- shit, what's the word for those things? Shrine?

Your hair's long past that feeling of fresh-cut grass and is beginning to curl around your ears. It itches.

You on keep counting their names. Lyr, the stable kid sweetheart who liked your guar -- you'd let her name them, Mistymuck and Needle and Calamity, that last one you both had a soft spot for -- she'd liked them far more than she ever liked you. She's gone. So is Knocks-on-Wood, the drover your father hired to spy on you, the only person you'd ever considered taking an arrow for. You'll never catch sight of Melyn Drels and his dimwit brother again, nor Shady Jade, nor the Alessian nuns, nor the Tel Enora cornerclub crew nor ---

Kagrenac would never speak to you again.

Kagrenac is still missing. You half-wonder whether she'd thrown herself into Red Mountain in spite.

But Bthemetz might. Bthemetz--

You learn that Red Mountain still smokes in the distance in Ald Resdayn, but the trees are now younger than you are. You only recognise half the road signs in Ald Cyrod. The traders on the high road gawk at you. The route is the same.

You miss them. You've always missed them. You'll always miss them. Your life will always be missing something, and you think you'll have to live with that. You're not happy, but you're no longer so furious you don't know what to do with yourself. The old world you wanted to tear up with you is missing. And you're what's left, Vyra--

When you get enough coin together to get a good look at yourself in a looking glass and not a muddy lake, rough stubble's coming through along the length of your jaw. You decide not to touch it. You pull your hand through your hair. Strange, how its length feels like a comfort now, when it had felt like a wound before.

When you raise a knife to your scalp--

When you raise a knife to your scalp, you think better of it. You finish your tea. It's the fourth era of some empire you've never heard of. Dynasties, what are they good for? You sign the guestlist with VYRA. You give no family name.

#vyra #dwemer #chimer #dwemer return AU I guess?#dwemereth #1st era

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greenbloods · 1 year ago

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“Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff’s dwelling. ‘Wuthering’ being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones.”

Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë

“The Gates of the Moon,” her uncle said as the party drew rein. His standard-bearer rode to the edge of the moat to hail the men in the gatehouse. “Lord Nestor’s seat. He should be expecting us. Look up.” Catelyn raised her eyes, up and up and up. At first all she saw was stone and trees, the looming mass of the great mountain shrouded in night, as black as a starless sky. Then she noticed the glow of distant fires well above them; a tower keep, built upon the steep side of the mountain, its lights like orange eyes staring down from above. Above that was another, higher and more distant, and still higher a third, no more than a flickering spark in the sky. And finally, up where the falcons soared, a flash of white in the moonlight. Vertigo washed over her as she stared upward at the pale towers, so far above. “The Eyrie,” she heard Marillion murmur, awed.

A Feast for Crows, George RR Martin

#wuthering heights readthrough

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skxrbrand · 1 year ago

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Concurrent

Weapon he might be, but Kha'xanzyr was convinced that he could put up a meaningful defense against the Malalians. Right up until Verminlords came into the equation. Then, he wasn’t so sure. Most Khornate leaders had limited experience with defensive battles, always used to being the attacker for most enemies never dared initiate anything against a Lord of Khorne.

But if was going to be anyone, it would be the children of Malal. Led by one of his own kin, long since disowned once the treachery was discovered, however forced it was. Kha’xanzyr mused on Blackfury’s fate. He could give the Bloodletter an honorable death, but do not much else for him.

“ Take these.” Kha’xanzyr nodded to the wagons full of explosives that the Blood Legions had put together. Though scarcely mused upon, the Daemons of Khorne had a engineering capability that shouldn’t be underestimated. The weak would use deceit and cunning, and where they couldn't respond with blade or axe, the bloody legion were learned in the making of traps.

“ Take your hounds. Use them to bury them deep in the death; when they explode and kill the ratkin, we will know the enemy has arrived.”

Khazaan took the gift of arms with a gleeful grin. The Architect rather suspected the gravity of this particular war had escaped the Tippler. To die here was to be dead. No resurrections, not nothing. The Gorger’s cackle, accompanying that grin, only cemented his theory.

“ Hell of a plan, brother.” Khazaan complimented. Kha’xanzyr grunted, but didn’t accept the praise. After all, the plan hadn’t been his own and he could feel Tanakhuill’s smugness oozing through his axe. Convincing a Daemon from the circle of Carnality had been easy and unfortunately not unpleasant. Kha’xanzyr didn’t dwell on it, choosing to pay attention to Vhiarn’s approach.

“ You as well. Take your hounds. Bury the explosives deep in the sand. Take away the craven’s advantage.”

“ Mind my ratkin.” Khazaan added as an aside as she rode away.

“ This leaves us few hounds to monitor the enemy movements. Many do not return after departing. We must be careful, frugal.”

The Tippler shrugged, “ Chaos furies are faster than hounds. But, you are the mastermind brother.”

He slipped off the sandy rock he’d been on, swiping from lingering grains from his bloody skin. Kha’xanzyr rumbled to himself.

Chaos furies...of course.

#Kha'xanzyr (Architect of Endless Carnage);#Khazaan (The Slaughter Drunk);#plot point #longpost

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theperplexedpoet · 2 months ago

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children of the algorithm

feed to feed, yet always starving and willing to take you with them the information age darlings children of the algorithm world went wide, we saw its pages we rode electric waves to meet gathered for a feast of ages without a single byte to eat generations born inside it connected through the disconnect all yet nothing was provided a brand new version of neglect world went wide, we saw it going witnessing a brand new schism off and running, never slowing dancing to a twisted 'rithm generations born inside it tainted temple of the obscene each a star that has collided now all just ghosts in the machine feed to feed, yet always starving and willing to take you with them the information age darlings children of the algorithm world went wide, we saw it dying extending far beyond safe reach for the views we all were vying to find a way free from the breach generations born inside it the dreamers caught within the dream archon architects invited to bid on gods behind the screen feed to feed, yet always starving and willing to take you with them the information age darlings children of the algorithm world went wide, we saw its pages we rode electric waves to meet gathered for a feast of ages without a single byte to eat (9/18/24)

#poetry #sociopolitical #a tale as old as midnight #information age #algorithms #children of the algorithm #internet #world wide web #social media

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rotterdamvanalles · 2 months ago

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De bouw van de toren van het World Trade Center op het Beursgebouw, 6 juni 1986. 🆕️

Het World Trade Center Rotterdam (WTC Rotterdam) ligt aan de Coolsingel, het Beursplein, het Rode Zand en de Meent in het centrum van Rotterdam. Het is een zakelijk centrum in Rotterdam met circa 200 kantoren en diverse faciliteiten zoals een congrescentrum. Het hoofdgebouw is 93 meter hoog. World Trade Center Rotterdam heeft de status van Rijksmonument.

De laagbouw van het huidige World Trade Center is als multifunctioneel beurscomplex ontworpen door architect J.F. Staal en werd gerealiseerd tussen 1936 en 1940. Bij het bombardement op Rotterdam van 14 mei 1940 kreeg het een aantal treffers, maar de schade kon vrij snel worden hersteld.

In 1973 werd de laagbouw van een extra verdieping voorzien. Architect van deze uitbreiding is Arthur Staal, de zoon van J.F. Staal.

In 1984 werd gestart met de bouw van een nieuwe kantoortoren te midden van de al bestaande laagbouw. De groene ellipsvormige toren, ontworpen door Groosman Partners, kwam in 1986 gereed. Koningin Beatrix heropende het complex onder de naam Beurs-World Trade Center.

De foto komt uit de collectie panorama- en luchtfoto's van het Stadsarchief Rotterdam. De informatie komt van Wikipedia.

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thequeendomhq · 2 months ago

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NAME. Val’shira Melithar AGE & BIRTH DATE. 611 & September 13th GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her NATIONALITY. Avalonian SPECIES. High Elvhen FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Architect FACE CLAIM. Bruna Marquezine

biography

Bellanaris Melithar’s grief for her relationship was fresh and unresolved when their daughters were born. Twins, physically identical to one another in nearly every way. But she had only ever planned for one child and was now unable to fathom the thought of caring for more while she nursed her broken heart. The first daughter was named Mir’solas, named for the pride the mother had for their child. A name their wayward mother had once wanted to name her first child, long before she decided she could not continue on with her arranged marriage and a life in Avalon. The second and unexpected daughter was named Val’shira, an elvhen name of hope and promise that the journey that was taken would always be remembered. But Val’shira remembered nothing of her other mother; she had never known her and never would. She hadn’t asked to bear the burden of her present mother’s sadness and longing but it was what she carried with her since the moment that she came into the world. Val’shira had a gift of light, glittering as the future promised to an elve of her status, but it would not illuminate the answers to all her questions and could not brighten the dim life of their broken family. Her older twin sister took to swordplay and the life of a warrior, carefree and joyous in every way. Mir’solas was exuberant, vivacious, and weighed down by nothing. Bellanaris’ every attention centered on her first daughter and she turned a blind eye to the second. Still, she warned the both of them about the dangers of Taravell. She warned them that they could never stray long or far. And, if they ever cared for their mother, they would not think to stray at all.

Val’shira could not say she was like her sister in any way but physically. She quietly took to the woods and creatures, she took to dusty tomes and blank parchments ready to be turned into art. Mir’solas brought music and joy everywhere she went but Val’shira brought trouble and mischief if she ever left the woods. Often ignored, she strayed from home and instead found company and joy in the friends she made within Avalon or in the Silverland feywilds, the balm to the loneliness of her childhood was the love of other elves around her age or the creatures of the woods. She ran with direwolves when she was younger and rode owlbears when she was older, trusting the loyalty and compassion of the beasts more than many judgemental elves. She was a strange girl, not easy to love with the fear of abandonment lending to a habit of pushing others away before they could think to leave her instead. The few who stuck around earned the undying loyalty of an elve that was empathetic, playful, mischievous, and all too curious beneath the thin mask of ire. It was these loved ones who encouraged her interest in art and who smiled with pride as Val’shira decided to give back to her people of Avalon as an architect. The illusions of her light created ideas; ideas manifested to dreamy mirages that the elve committed to paper. Val’shira’s passion lay in imagination and the discovery of beauty, the simple act of making art for art’s sake. There was a great use for that. No longer was she a wild child of the woods with a penchant for mischief, Val’shira grew up and gave back to become an elve her family would admire. For years, her noble mother worked diligently to advise Queen Tinúviel, an uncle took charge of Elune’s Veil, Mir’solas trained with soldiers within Elgar'nan’s Hearth, and Val’shira worked with other architects and artists to build and maintain the majesty of their home tree. With her work, it was often that Val’shira would visit other branches of the Laurelin and become acquainted with other elvhen. But she enjoyed staying behind, watching the Moongate open and elves come in and out. Curiosity prickled at her desire each time that the light of the Moongate bathed her in its magic. Though she remained, feet often planted on the soil of Avalon or barely out of the Moongate, only stepping into the feywilds and returning home within the month. “Remember the journey that brought us here: love and betrayal,” Bellanaris would say, “Taravell took your other mother from us.”

Life held its own steady rhythm, a little tiring sometimes and a little monotone, but it wasn’t difficult to find moments of genuine contentment and fulfillment when she picked the right company. It was even easier to find joy when she finally took the risk and ventured out of the Moongate and farther into Taravell, into Lórien’dal, and far beyond the Silverlands. For too long Val’shira had tempered her curiosity and remained so close to Avalon, eager to please her mother who resented the world outside for taking away her lover. But Val’shira found solace there that she couldn’t within Avalon, and she found belonging in the chaotic independence of Taravell. She could not capture the unique beauty of it all, no matter how many times she sat in front of an easel to try or attempted to mimic it with her light. In time, Mir’solas saw this new joy within her twin; Val’shira was lit up inside from more than the light that flowed from her. The noble sisters became close to one another once they both reached greater maturity and understood how the treatment their mother had given them had always been unequal. The twin sisters, who had once been so aloof with one another, finally found equal footing. They played tricks on friends by pretending to be the other, and sat by rivers to eat their supper together. Mir’solas was there to hold Val’shira when she lost a dear friend, and she was there to smile and praise every new idea shown to her. Val’shira humored Mir’solas desire to train with her and encouraged her sister to chase the mysterious love that she had found, a love that she kept a solemn secret. Her unquestioning support of her sister would one day be Val’shira’s greatest regret. Like their other mother, Mir’solas would disappear within Taravell, but she had left them all without a word or idea where she had gone. Bellanaris’ pain was too great when they could not find her. It was almost a mercy, or perhaps a cause of the pain, when Bellanaris’ old age caught up and a clouded mind took over the old elve not very long after. Val’shira’s uncle took to advising Queen Tinúviel and Bellanaris returned to Elune’s Veil, slowly descending into a madness that only Val’shira was there to try to temper to no avail. None were safe from the Blight, not even her strong mother beneath the light of the Laurelin.

It seemed that in almost just a fortnight, Val’shira had lost just about all the family she had. A deep and impenetrable sadness seeped into her heart as she was left to wonder what had become of her sister when no one was ever able to find her. It wasn’t until the fall of Iskaldrik that a letter finally reached them, a letter expressing that it would not have reached them if she hadn’t been gone forever. Mir’solas had once been alive and well within Iskaldrik. She spoke of a child that no other had ever known existed, a child whom she begged Val’shira to find and care for. The details of the child were lost but hope was found; it sparked in Val’shira’s chest as she found the will to venture much further out into Taravell. If her twin sister’s child was grown, and likely alone, than they had to be taken home. Val’shira thought of all the silver elves and faiman she had seen in all her years, changelings, and even Dúnedain descendants. Her sister’s child was somewhere there among them all. All these people did not deserve to endure the fate of the Blight which was slowly encroaching on Taravell. Even those within Avalon were not safe but all the elvhen deserved to be united in this fate if they chose to be. Val’shira packed a bag and she made a promise; she would find her sister’s child and hope to reveal a way for all the elvhen blooded of Taravell to be united under the light of the Laurelin.

personality

+ creative, intrepid, authentic – withdrawn, brooding, mischievous

played by dany. est. she/her.

#the light #high elvhen

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a-man-named-shang · 3 months ago

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NAME: Li Shang AGE: 29, 30 in a month lol (2006-2012) GODLY PARENT (IF APPLICABLE): Athena AFFILIATION (CAPTURE THE FLAG TEAM/AGENT OF ERIS/HUNTER OF ARTEMIS/CAMP STAFF/ETC?): Team Blue Captain SPECIES: demigod

ABILITIES: Genius Intellect, Craftsmanship, Audiokinesis (limited), Telumkinesis (limited), enhanced physical prowess

BIOGRAPHY: Shang’s father Li Yuming once brought the attention of two goddesses. The first was Shang’s mother Athena, who fell for his mind as he invented the usb. In gratitude for his keen mind and innovation, Athena birthed Shang from her mind and gave him to Yuming to raise. Devyn then joined the family when Shang was seven. With the success of Yuming’s invention, he was able to provide the two brothers a nice home in Shanghai, where they wanted for nothing… except perhaps more attention from their father.

Be that as it may, Shang grew up happy enough, and he decided that it was his responsibility to look out for his little brother. Yuming seemed to believe that was his duty as well, and rode his ass if he ever did anything that could be construed as irresponsible. He needed Shang to be ready. For what, Shang wasn’t sure. So even though Shang was still a boy himself, he started exercising and trying to get in shape so he could be ready in case anything happened.

Unfortunately, as Shang got older, his presence was not ignored by monsters anymore. Shang was attacked at his school when he turned and he had to run away to keep the monsters from coming for his father or brother. He thought this was the best thing he could do for his family. It took him a year of life on the run before he made his way to camp. It was hard, at first, adjusting to the camp lifestyle knowing that he had been forced to leave his family behind. Worse, because he felt he had failed his father and his brother. He wasn’t home to protect them.

But Shang threw himself into camp activities, training, and strategizing with his fellow siblings in Cabin 6 for games of Capture the Flag and joined in quests when someone asked for his help. He thrived in the community, and even found himself rather charmed by a hunk in Aphrodite’s cabin. And then the war started and Shang threw himself into strategy meetings for that and worked with other campmates to come up with better solutions for battles or protections for the people he cared about. His mind was constantly at work to try to protect the family he had found there.

Despite having completed his time at camp, Shang stuck by two extra years to see out the end of the war. From there he ended up working at an architect firm and moving up the ranks as people saw the brilliance in the designs he would come up with. Now, ten years after the war, Shang is back at camp. It was not hard to hear that his mother had a bone to pick with Ares. And, since Shang was a proud son of Athena, he knew he would have to put his talents to work. Maybe it was a simple Capture the Flag game for Alumni…but Shang would not be treating it that way. His mother was the one in the right, this meant that Athena’s team would simply have to be the winners of the competition. And Shang would do his best to help lead the way. If he doesn’t get distracted by his old crush. But there’s no time to fuel a crush on some hunk in Aphrodite's cabin when Athena's pride is on the line. Or is there?

#satobiography

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romance-untold · 4 months ago

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ROMANCE : UNTOLD (CONCESSIO'S VER.)

Forget gilded cages. We can't contain the inferno that burns within us. This opulent darkness is a mere stage for our defiance. We are the architects of our own destiny, and Concessio is the anthem of our rebellion. Crowns and jewels hold no sway over hearts ablaze with a fire that consumes all limitations. Our eyes shone with a powerful purpose beneath the flickering moonlight. We forge our own path, fueled by an insatiable hunger for something more. The price of freedom may be high, but the cost of confinement is far greater.

A gold-plated cage with ornate bars that cast long, skeleton shadows held a ravishing heart. Not only was there the dazzling red moon beaming beneath the cold, sumptuous blackness, but there was also a mysterious feeling, almost as if the fog itself was alive. Could this be a captive or a perilous secret trying to escape? We promise to explore want, sacrifice, and the cost of pursuing our greatest curiosity in this discussion of desire and sacrifice that we bring before you. Visual metaphor at its best, the image itself.

Beauty and danger dance a tangled waltz in the realm hinted at by the finely made cage, a symbol of wealth and restriction. A questioning of the decisions we make and the repercussions they confront, a heart blazing with intense intensity.

The obsidian night mirrors the fire in my eyes. A loyal companion stands beside me, a reflection of the untamed spirit that burns within. Concessio beckons, a promise of freedom whispered on the wind. I rode towards it, not with gilded bridles, but with hearts ablaze and a thirst for the untamed. This is rebellion personified.

This is not a vacation that is meant for the timid. There is a lot of uncertainty in front of me, but the fire within me drives away all doubt. I am the phoenix that emerges from the ashes of social expectations, the storm that smashes the golden cage.

A hint of insurrection sends shivers through the obsidian night. The moonlight, a broken piece of resistance, gives the barren terrain an eerie sheen. A lone rider stands atop a magnificent steed, its coat as white as the gathering shadows, eyes blazing with unrestrained fury.

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annieintheaair · 5 months ago

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If you like red hot chili peppers, 4th of July weather... you're gonna love liking me spicy

I was on Catalina Island one summer with my aunt, uncle, and cousins when I was a teenager. We were on a tour when we came across a buffalo giving birth. Everyone was taking pictures. I don’t know why but I didn’t feel like I needed a photo. My uncle said something to me about how the best photos are in our minds and don’t require a physical photo. While I don’t have a photo of the buffalo that day, I do have the photo in my mind.

Over the years, Dan and I never took many photos. While I find it sad sometimes that we didn’t have more, I know in my heart that all those mental images, the photos in my brain, are safe where no one can take them away from me. With him gone now, the pictures in my head are almost like a secret that I hold, only to ever be known by myself and Dan. There’s something special about that.

I got home last night and looked through some mostly blurry photos from the day. Nothing really captured any of it properly. When the night came to a close and I rode on the front of the boat, the wind blowing through my hair, and I didn’t have my phone to take any pictures. I sat up there and watched at least 15 different fireworks displays around the lake. I don’t think any picture would have captured it the way that I’ll forever remember it in my mind.

A lot of life lately hasn't gone as planned and I've had a lot of difficult days with low motivation. I somehow managed to survive my five-day stretch, with not much accomplished during the day at home. I made it to some yoga classes and tried to work on projects for my second job. When I do make it out to run errands, it often feels like I need to just keep going before I go home and quit before I get far enough.

When I finished my stretch of five on Tuesday, I decided I'd try to power through the day as best as I could. I only took about a fifteen-minute nap that afternoon before I had to get ready for yoga. My dad texted me reminding me that it was Taco Tuesday so I decided I'd go to MiCocina for dinner after yoga. I was the only person on the patio but I sat out there enjoying my brisket tacos and skinny smash margaritas.

Do you ever feel like you're really enjoying something and then something sneaks up on you and tries to ruin it? That's how I felt eating dinner that night. I turned around, and even though I had been to that MiCocina many times, and that shopping center even more times, I never noticed the church there. I immediately had to Google it. It looked so familiar to me, almost identical to the church that Todd tried to show me in Arkansas. As it turned out, the Marty Leonard Community Chapel here in Fort Worth was actually designed by the same architect, E. Fay Jones, who designed Thorncrown Chapel, in Arkansas. I couldn't help but wonder if he knew that this chapel was here in Texas.

Anyway, I got home from dinner that night and went straight to bed. I considered stopping at Central Market but decided against it and instead drove back there on Wednesday before work. I picked up some food to get through the week and even bought fruit to make sangria.

I was a little disappointed Wednesday night since the people I was supposed to work with all dropped and called out at the last minute, so I ended up being the most senior person on my crew. It wasn't terrible but it wasn't the best either.

Thursday morning, the 4th of July, I had an easy ride home without traffic. It was a nice change. I got some work done and then took a nap on my couch for a bit and then headed out and arrived at the lake by 4:30pm.

We spent some time on the dock, grilling, eating, and drinking, and then at around 6:30pm, we took the boats out to find a spot for the fireworks. We dropped the anchors and everyone got out to swim and float as we waited for the sun to set and the fireworks to start. It was so amazing the way that we could see at least fifteen different fireworks displays all around the lake. I had never seen so many going off at once so it was quite the experience. It was a lot of fun so I didn't take many pictures but here are a few:

Maybe this year has been so unexpected and so far from the plans I had in my mind, but I'm learning to accept the changes in my life, knowing that God has a plan for me, even though sometimes I struggle to understand.

The ride home felt extra long last night. It took me nearly an hour so by the time I got home, I was hungry and it was midnight. I made some gnocchi with pesto and watched TV before asking my dogs if they wanted to go to bed and they both immediately jumped off the couch.

I'm flying tonight but we have a lot more ground time than normal so I should hopefully be able to get some decent sleep. I'll be off the rest of the weekend when I get home at 6am tomorrow and then unfortunately go on reserve on Monday. I'm hoping to meet up with a new friend from bff, Gina, so we'll see what happens with that. My realtor has also been looking for places for me and saw a townhouse the other day that I really liked but they wouldn't accept a 2-year lease, which made me too nervous to go through with it.

Well, who knows what the weekend will bring!

xoxo

Annie

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vaccerelli · 5 months ago

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it was agreed upon by the remaining military cabinet of the Order that they should attempt to kill the Master of the Mountain Temple before their own world crumbled around them into ruin if for no other reason than to balance the scales of a thousand years of misery inflicted by the Master and his temple of deranged, bellicose monks.

the potentials and possibilities of killing a seemingly immortal man who had lived for more than eleven centuries presented them with natural, theological, and practical concerns, for it was known the Master was born a religious figure in his own time, and had sculpted the Mountain Temple from the tip of Mt. Damskene over the course of two hundred years. in those centuries following it they expanded the Mountain Temple into an enormous carved complex, stretching deep into the guts of the Damskene and outward to cover the slopes, an effort of a millennia of tributary monks and divinely-inspired architects. this made the concept of killing the Master more arduous and quarrelsome, as it was unknown just what kind of creature he was. if he was a sorcerer, then they could still kill his flesh, but his essence would return. if he was a revenant, they would merely need to destroy the source of his undead energies. if he was a sophont or technologist, they would have to find his core and wipe it clean. it was a discussion that took nearly two years before a solution was hit upon by a metaphysician who said to send him a poisoned gift. a heshegore. a beautiful bird from the nightmares of a demon, unspeakably beautiful and angelic, it was born from the primum of infernal nightmares, forged by the damned to be the aspect of pure beauty. for what horrifies a demon more than what brings delight?

it was further agreed upon that the delivery must be made under the auspices of war oracles and proper ordermen, for this was no furtive assassination, knives in the dark, bloody blades, but an open statement of contempt for the Master and his misanthropic treatment of the border between the Damskene territory and periphery of the Order. the villages on the edge of that frontier had suffered all crimes, all cruelties imaginable at the hands of his vile monks. what could anyone do? the monks were trained in the highest of the Art, a martial force that either achieved some physical harmony or dismembered men and broke armor with merely the force of sinew and limb. any protest was met with immediate lethal violence or worse. the slow Art was something that was dispensed so rarely it was mostly whispered about in rumor. and worst of all, the Master, who was so powerful in the art as to be something unholy and superhuman.

before the Order, when it had been a scattered kingdom, King XI Grantham had rode with a whole army to extinguish the Master and his Mountain Temple. the Master slapped his head off his body and threw his horse amidst his army and according to legend struck down the king's royal protectorate and all the generals in the space of a few minutes, even when struck through with sword and lance and grapeshot. the monks had run into the army itself and routed them easily, and King XI Grantham's kingdom followed the king and dissolved into the anarchist interregnum. some of the political scientists of the Order labeled that as the true end of their part of the world. it was known that things were getting far worse, if not just in distant lands, in the lands of the Order as well. it was always hot, to the point the elderly and the very young died in droves during the peaks of summer. there was never enough food and what they imported sometimes arrived contaminated from the journey. the rich fields between territories were now scrapyards and fields of ash, burnt by the heat, all the farmers and frontiermen dead. wars broke out and killed the soldiers and protectors alike. even cossetted and covetous as they were, even the nobility knew they existed on sufferance and borrowed time. something deep in the world had fractured, not some great cataclysm or armageddon of fire and chaos, but something deeper, something unfortunate, something that starved and burned and made grotesqueries of the living world, made water into poison and food into tasteless burnt mush. even the meat of animals tasted of wrongness. in thirty, fifty years time all the castles and towers of the Order would be empty, mute stoned, layered in ash and dried blood and filled with starved corpses.

in a thousand years time -- mayhap merely even a hundred -- some new species could occupy them, and tremble in wonder what curse had ravaged these lands so. hopefully they would not be so frail as the world of now, which was faltering in their stride like a cancerous old man.

but they were still the men of the Order, and what they could do, they would do. trespass had been visited upon the people of their lands, and so they would pay unto that evil with the righteousness they knew they were capable of. they had all heard rumors from the south, of the rising death-cults, of the groups that felt like purposeful annihilation through endless war was better than slow starvation, and while some of the cabinet, in the pitch of night to their spouses and concubines and collected children, agreed in their heart that it was better to die in battle, they knew that to make endless war just to die would be an inglorious end, for inglorious fools. the advanced world had fallen some centuries before and the grand technologies of the old fathers had rusted away and withered or simply shut down, the foul and exotic energies used to sustain them suddenly unable to appear and coalesce. some saw that as a great mercy amidst the tragedy. it had given rise to the new kingdom, which was strong and hearty, full of living children and proud warriors. whatever mistakes the old fathers had made were wiped clean with the loss of their monumental cities and vast technological empires, now just graveyards of steel and glass and blank static-issuing screens that faltered and died one by one. once in a great while an artifact would be revealed to be still functioning and more often than not many would die at the misuse and misapplication of whatever it was intended to be.

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