#shedwyn

[noonmutter]

Theatre

DWC May 2024 Day 1: Mysterious/Appearance

"I know you hate basically everything about nobility and court and upper-crust behavior and all that, but... a public appearance?"

"What's wrong now?"

"Normally you make appearances for your introduction at court. Not... like this." Shedwyn swept a hand toward the doorway, painfully aware that it was a ground-level entry point rather than a balcony overlooking anything. Or, more to the point, out of easy reach of anything.

Terry scoffed as he adjusted his coat. He'd conceded to wearing something a bit more ostentatious than his standard, but outright refused anything he'd labeled as actual frippery. A really good duster with a tiny bit of shiny metal and an admittedly very comfortable interior lining was acceptable; it was decorated, but not so much that it didn't serve its actual purpose as a coat.

"Th' court knows me better than th' people I'm supposed t' be carin' for by default. They get pictures an' a li'l dossier with a description an' some li'l warnin's about wot not t' say t' me well in advance, just like Rumpole did. They don't need an introduction, they just want it cuz it lets 'em gauge me as an asset."

Shedwyn was at her standard resting level of ostentation, glittering feathers adorning her shoulders before giving way to a light wool riding cape. Simple, but still very noticeable. It was never a matter of discomfort with the finer things; she could luxuriate with the best of them when she felt like it. But she'd been mugged exactly once, by someone who thought she was just a defenseless peasant rather than an incredibly dangerous mage, and that was plenty. She explicitly wanted her status to be known on sight, now. She avoided more inconveniences that way. This? This felt like running headlong into just such an inconvenience.

"I do get it, trust me. But we already know everyone in town on sight and by name, and--"

"No, you do. An' th' problem we're dealin' with now is tha' we keep gettin' more people ev'ry day, in numbers comp'rable t' wot th' orchard saw in about a month. We both need t' see an' be seen by 'em, an' we need t' do it now an' never stop."

Terry finally accepted that there was nothing left to adjust and gave the heavy duster a final, sharp downward snap before turning away from the mirror to face his wife properly. "I will not be th' kind o' noble I grew up despisin'. I want t' know th' people we're meant t' protect, an' I want them t' know us. If there's t' be any loyalty from any of 'em, I want it t' be t' faces an' names they know, not t' th' mysterious pricks in th' keep tha' collect taxes an' send watchmen."

Fighting down the immediate swell of immense pride she felt in her husband when he talked like that, Shedwyn quickly dusted away debris that wasn't there from her skirts. "I will concede that maybe you do have a point, with the sheer rate of new names and faces. You've been stuck here laying out plans for the keep, I've been stuck laying out plans for the new orchard as well as the old one back home. Even the children are starting to complain about it, according to Shu-fen."

Terry paused at that, then straightened up a little more. If he hadn't already been certain of the course he'd wanted to take, he was now. "Alright. Compromise."

Shedwyn knew better than to be hopeful; that word was always a trap from him. "Compromise?"

"We make this outin'. We shake 'ands, we kiss babies, we learn names, we extend minor favors, we invite some people tha' seem promisin.'"

"...and...?"

"An' then we're goin' back t' th' house fer a week."

"Sorry?"

Terry held his hand palm-down next to his head. "Our family." He dropped it a little bit. "Our people." A little bit more. "Th' crown an' th' court." And finally, next to his hip, "Ev'ryone else. Always. So we're gonna see our fam'ly an' be a fam'ly a while after we do this big t' do."

There was a pregnant, and expected, pause after Terry finished speaking, where he wasn't entirely sure Shedwyn was going to agree with him, burst into literal flames at him, or a secret third thing.

Then, she reached out with both of her hands to take the one he'd just used in his little demonstration, brought it to her lips, and made a soft little humming sound.

"Um. Is tha' a yes?"

Shedwyn cracked up, dropping her head to bump her forehead against his captured fingers instead. Finally, she sighed, "Yes, my idiot, it's a yes. Let's go be nobles so we can go be parents."

---

There was only one attempt on either of them, and to be expected for the very first one, it'd been on Terry. And because neither they, nor Shu-fen, were stupid, it was allowed to happen. Examples had to be made, and it was best to do so early on in as clear a message as possible.

So, when the knife had come flying toward him, Terry leaned back on his bootheel, allowing himself to catch the blade and spin gently with the momentum of it to throw it straight back where it'd come from. It was a stupid, risky, flashy, energy-wasting trick, but it got the point across when it thudded into a post right next to the very surprised would-be assassin's face. They'd be interested to find out later which shocked the fellow more: the knife, or immediately being clapped in irons by a few nondescript people appearing out of the woodwork right next to him.

The message was very simple: You're going to have to try a lot harder than that. And so will we.

@daily-writing-challenge @shedwyn

[noonmutter]

Dwyn and Terry have all of these. He carries darts for a tranquilizer rifle he doesn't carry, because Dwyn carries that in case he hulks out and she needs to deal with him, and sometimes she forgets ammunition because she's a mage.

idea: scene with two characters eagerly stripping each other clearly about to bone, but they keep getting interrupted by finding carefully concealed weapons in each other’s clothing, so they keep just unholstering, revealing and unstrapping increasingly ludicrous amounts of hidden guns and knives as the clothes come off, and it’s lowkey killing the mood a little

[shedwyn]

"What's one positive thing you've taken away from your worst relationship?"

Shedwyn stirred the cinnamon stick in her cider as she thought, filling the silence with the clink of ice cubes against the glass. "If you mean something along the lines of something that I learned I enjoyed from one of my worst relationships… The biggest, also from one of the worst relationships, would definitely be learning about… 'kinky' relationships. Not only did I learn that such things actually exist outside of weird books, I learned how they really work, how they don't work, and how things actually feel on the receiving end, rather than the poetic nonsense from the books. Sadly, novels are the only concept too many Doms have of what it's like to be struck."

"On the other hand…" She took a moment to lick a stray bit of cranberry from the end of the cinnamon stick. "If you'd like something on the sweet side, rather than the sinful... I learned that real friendship is key, easily as important as passion, if not more so. A close friendship is based upon almost all the same elements as a good love: trust, loyalty, and comfort."

[mekandawn]

6 / 17 ?

6. Have you ever stolen anything? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever stolen? Hearts don’t count, but innocence does.

"I have stolen many things!" Caythaes replies with a wide, unashamed smile.

"I have stolen a cat!" they add, holding up... well, a large ball of void in the shape of a cat with two orange, glowing eyes that stare out in unamusement. Despite the "cat's" lack of enthusiasm, it doesn't protest to being held beneath its armpits while it's big, bulky body dangles in the air.

Really, it's closer in size to being a small lynx than any normal sized cat.

"Well, actually, he- he stole himself," Caythaes admits sheepishly, shifting their hold on the cat so that it's cradled in their arms like a baby. "Th-this is Glycerin, he- he climbed into my bag and- and I walked off with him. But- but it was during a heist, where I helped steal a whole bunch of- of treasure, so- so I say it counts!"

"I- I don't think I can, uh... Hm." With a furrow of their brow, Caythaes settles down to think seriously. Their ears flick back and forth absently, and one hand scritches under Glycerin's chin, making the cat purr with a loud, reverberating rumble. "No, there's no worst thing I've ever stolen. Ev-everything has been worth it, and I've taken nothing bad."

17. Would you throw down with a god to save a friend? Do you think you’d win?

"I would, and I would," Caythaes says in complete earnestness. "I'm- I'm a demigod, myself, and- and one that no one can kill in- in a way that is meaningful. Even- even if I don't win in a literal sense, I will- I will still win in a metaphorical way, given- given that I will have thrown down with a god long enough for- for someone else to do the actual saving."

"P-probably Shedwyn. Or Terry. They will also fight gods."

[handhourgalleries]

Music Tag Game

Tagged by: No one. But borrowed from @silver-dream89 - thank you, I could not pass your post up and *not* participate ;)

Rules: Shuffle your Spotify On Repeat playlist, and put the first 10 songs in a poll. Have your followers choose which song is their favorite.

Tagging: @preachersooc @aglitchysylveon @astarmaux @duraxxor @asharinhun @risrielthron @shedwyn @captzexx @nixalegos and anyone else who would like to do this! Obviously no pressure.

[noonmutter]

@shedwyn

it’s like no one wants to fucking take their bloody hands and cup their lover’s face, making a streak of red on their cheek with their thumb before passionately kissing anymore 

[artofradioactivechina]

Raffle winner pieces!

Apparently I forgot to post the piece won by Rikorika at @blackbirdbrewery’s Gratuitous Goodbye Event!

There is also a piece won by @shedwyn at the @succulent-tart Glitter is in the Air Event!

And the last piece was won by Caele at the Howling Owl’s Untamed Night!

[embergale]

Pass the happy along! When you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy. Then pass it along to the first 10 people in your activity. 💜

His husband

Fried food

Beer

Travel

Family

Thanks @shedwyn! @xanelen mention.

[noonmutter]

Adjudication pt. 3

DWC May 2024 Day 4: Drama/Celebration

(I'm finishing this time, no matter how long it gets. I may regret this statement by the end.)

With the children gone and Caythaes' giggles finally run out, Tulford was able to relax at least a little bit in a much quieter and emptier space. It allowed him to take in the sheer size of the house--he'd noticed Shedwyn bounce between calling it a cottage, house, manor, and a few other terms, so he'd settled on the mid-ground of 'house' and moved on. Nobody had seen it necessary to tie him back up once he'd shown that he could've just slipped the ropes a while ago, and he was still trying to figure out what to make of that when Terry emerged, mercifully fully dressed, and nodded him toward the front door.

"My turn now."

Tulford felt like that was both a warning and a reassurance. He took comfort from neither.

For a moment, he worried that this was it and the game was over, and he was just going to become food for the wife's flowers or something suitably dramatic like that, but Terry veered off from the front door almost immediately to lead him to a humongous gate. Tulford recognized it as the entrance to a pasture after a moment, though he wasn't used to any quite so large. The reason for the size struck him after a few seconds when he recalled that Ambroce was known for raising elderhorn, and indeed he did spot a few of the enormous beasts grazing off in a corner.

Terry allowed Tulford to step through the gate and pass him, raising a brow when the young man actually did so but holding back a comment for the time being. Quickly locking the gate, he strode across the grass to lead his confused not-quite-prisoner to the stables, and once again, Tulford didn't hesitate to walk past him and allow himself to be locked inside with him.

"You're not gonna pull up a chair and a torch now, are you?"

"Wot?"

"Y'know. Treat 'em to a last meal in the comfy house, take 'em to the stables to torture 'em in private so the kids don't see."

Terry snorted as he fetched a coil of rope from the wall, then picked up a pair of stools from the empty stalls. "Shit, boy, if we were about torture y' never woulda left th' basement. Shedwyn was all about flayin' you alive til I stopped 'er. She takes attempts on my life a lot less kindly than I do, 'specially when 'er 'ormones are goin' nuts. Good job takin' th' hint when I told y' she was preggers, by th' by."

The blinking started anew as Tulford watched him. "...That was a hint?"

"Don't tell me y' thought it was braggin'."

"Well, no, but... Iunno, I didn't know it was deliberately a hint, I guess?" Tulford paused, then furrowed his brows. "Wait. Why did you slip me a hint?" Another pause, then a quiet and dumbfounded, "You were testing me?"

Terry visibly relaxed as he set down the stools, one in front of himself and one in front of Tulford, then began unrolling the rope. "Thank fuck y' got there, I was startin' t' think maybe I'd misjudged after all." With another short nod toward the stools, he simply said, "Sit."

Finally, Tulford hesitated to follow the instruction, letting worry creep into his confusion again. "Why? What are we doing now?"

"Sit down, Tulford. For now, all we're gonna do is talk. Solemn oath from a traitorous slag 'o doesn't deserve 'is title."

Once again, his face betrayed him and flushed crimson right away, and Tulford sat down. "You uh. Heard everything, then?" Of course it'd occurred to him Terry would've caught some of it, since he'd yelled a few times, but he'd held out hope.

"I don't take very long showers. Disappointed y' didn't notice th' water stop, but then, th' kids're noisy at breakfast an' so is Cay." Terry tilted his head as he watched the would-be assassin fidget and shuffle, resembling nothing so much as one of his own sons, waiting to be chastised. Which was, admittedly, fair. But still. The comparison made him feel old, and it was annoying.

Terry shoved the unoccupied stool a bit closer to Tulford before sitting down on it, continuing to unspool the rope as he spoke. "So. 'Ere's wot I think, Tulford. You tell me where I get it wrong. You were barely a boy when th' wall came down an' Gilneas collapsed. Maybe y' remember wot tha' was like, maybe it's just a bunch of jumbled images an' scary noises. But y' were there when it all 'appened, an' it stuck with you, tha' you were there. It stuck with a lot of us, th' fact tha' we were there."

One heavy, callused hand shot up to cover the lower half of Tulford's face before he got more than a grunt out, and Terry gave him a warning look as the boy realized just how strong his grip was. "Don't interrupt me." With the release of tension in Tulford's shoulders, Terry released Tulford, ignoring the gasp for air as he resumed his assessment.

"You 'ad t' grow up without a lotta people you thought would allus be there, prolly. A lot of us did. An' just like th' lot of us, tha' meant you 'ad t' grow up way too much, way too fast. But y' din't grow up fast enough t' do th' stuff y' wanted t' do. You wanted t' get some payback fer ev'rybody, fer those people y' lost, an' especially fer you. A lot of us did. But you were stuck at th' worst possible age fer all tha'. Old enough t' be angry, young enough t' be left be'ind. Am I wrong yet?"

Tulford said nothing, but his tensed jaw and shining eyes answered for him. Terry nodded, and kept going.

"Me 'n' Shedwyn clocked you fer 25, at th' oldest. Don't really know fer sure, cuz you don't actually 'ave a lot o' records tha' were easy t' find. We'll find 'em, don't worry about tha'. It's just gonna take longer." Terry shrugged with one shoulder, working absently with the rope, tying it into some kind of intricate knot Tulford couldn't sort out yet. At some point, Terry had palmed a metal ball of some sort, and was wrapping the rope around it over and over. "I can't believe you managed t' fool anybody about yer age with tha' babyface o' yours. Ground support planetside fer th' Antorus campaign? Wot were you, twelve? Thirteen?"

The response was sullen, and without any attempt at eye contact. "Fourteen."

"Early growth spurt, bribe, somethin' else...?" Terry shrugged again, waving it off. "Nevermind. Doesn't matter. So you're th' kinda kid 'o lies 'is way int' th' army. I kin already tell you never killed another person, though. Maybe a demon, but no people." He looked back to the boy, forcing him to meet his eye with his free hand, all but daring him to try and lie about it. Tulford said nothing, and after a minute, tore himself away from that penetrating stare.

"So. No kills on anybody tha' counted. You either bailed on Kul Tiras an' Zandalar, or you got found out. Which one was it?"

"I--"

Terry drew the rope taut. "Do not lie t' me right now, boy."

"...found out, sir."

Terry caught the reappearance of the honorific, recognizing it for the indicator it was that he was getting somewhere useful. He didn't like breaking people, but he was good at it. "Discharged or jailed?"

"Jailed, sir."

"How long?"

"Got out three years ago, sir."

The timing stood out, and he frowned slightly, no longer paying attention to his ropework. This was important, but more than that, it was potentially interesting. "What terms?"

"I was..." Tulford shifted on his stool, suddenly keenly aware of how small it was and how small he felt next to Terry Ambroce. "There was some kinda... screwup, I guess. I shoulda been out earlier. But all the shit with the..." He waved his hand vaguely upward, "The sky and the banshee bitch and all that, stuff got messed up. A few of us were stuck way longer than we shoulda been."

Terry went cold. "They give you a name?"

"Sir?"

"Who messed it up. Fucked up yer sentences."

"No." Terry couldn't figure out if it he was relieved or disappointed, but before he could say anything else, Tulford spat on the wooden floor and added, "But word got out that some fuckhole sergeant called Rutherford was behind it."

The answer, it appeared, was neither relieved nor disappointed, but somewhere in the middle of the two. On the one hand, this kid's life hadn't been ruined twice over by Smits or Diggs, but he had been screwed by one of Smits' favorite lackeys, and that stung more than enough. Terry hadn't even considered that anyone else might've been going through the same things he had, it'd been too personal. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made that there would've been other prisoners getting shuffled around. It made hiding the important one easier. Stupid.

"Tha's where I'm findin' my trail's gone a bit cold. You lost three years outta yer already fairly short life, an'... wot then?" His hands finally remembered the half-finished piece of knotwork they were still holding, and resumed their slow, measured pace. "Wot was there fer this green soldier fresh int' man'ood t' go back to?"

"NOTHING!" The eruption of sound actually startled Terry, but not as much as being tackled did. He'd actually forgotten to keep his eye on Tulford, too caught up in his own head. Later on he could chastise himself about that, but right then he was busy keeping the kid from hitting him in the face. It was easier to let him land a few punches that he barely felt than throw him off, and right then, he felt like the kid deserved a few free ones.

"I lost everything! Family! Friends! The deaders took all of 'em!" It was less yelling and more screaming after the first few punches. "Couldn't save anybody, couldn't help anybody, couldn't do anything! Just a useless fuckin' baby with no fuckin' money and nowhere to go and nobody to find!"

And then those became less like punches and more like desperate flailing. "Except you! The one that jumped right into the deaders' arms! The one that gave the deaders more bodies! The one that left for redder pastures! The one that could suddenly do no wrong! The one that got everything he could ever possibly have wanted! The one that left nothing behind for the rest of us! Great glorious golden boy you!"

That last crack had far more sting in it than any of Tulford's punches, but Terry didn't blame him for that. He did give the kid a little longer to decide if he was going to remember how to brawl or not, as a courtesy. Once Tulford slumped, Terry cleared his throat.

"Kill me, then. Yer never gonna get an easier shot."

Tulford stared down at him, red-faced and watery-eyed, and said nothing.

"Tha's not a threat."

His mouth closed and his jaw set, like he was trying his level best not to explode.

"It's a promise."

With a final, furious scream, Tulford stood up and stomped backward a few feet, then punched a post. There was an audible crack of breaking bones, and Terry winced as he got to his feet while Tulford crumpled. Tempting though it was, the elder Gilnean resisted the urge to offer him a hand up. He knew that was only going to add insult to more insult, and he'd done what he wanted to do.

Instead, Terry pushed his hair out of his face, went back to the stools, and picked up the knot to finish it up. He felt shitty ignoring the sounds of a grown man trying not to cry, but he felt shittier drawing attention to it. So he gave Tulford the illusion of privacy, and kept working until he was satisfied with the piece in his hands.

The temporary slungshot brought silence to the stables after one resounding crack that startled the existential despair right out of Tulford. And a little piss, since Terry swung it right next to his foot.

"You've got two options, Tulford."

"Are you fuckin' crazy, you--wot? Options?"

Terry drew the rope back into his hands, swinging the weighted knot lazy back and forth. It did its job; Tulford was alert like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. "Option one, you get yer shit t'gether an' try t' kill me proper. We go a round or two, I beat th' absolute shit outta you fer tryna kill me, an' then I feed you t' my wife t' finish th' job. It'll take 'er weeks. Months, if she's really mad at you. 'Ard t' say."

Yesterday, Tulford would've scoffed at the scenario. Today, he thought about the fact that the stable doors were locked, and Terry was standing between him and them, and Shedwyn was on the other side of them somewhere. "...And two?"

"Option two, you get yer shit t'gether an' I give you a job."

"You are fuckin' crazy. I tried to kill you!"

Another CRACK by Tulford's other boot got a startled oath and a small backward jump out of him, and Terry smirked. "So's Dwyn. An' m' brother Leon. Wolf's threatened to. Anyway, same deal we give all our 'ouse staff. Pay, room, board, learn a skill tha' you sorely need."

Warily, Tulford peeked out from behind the post that'd beaten him up. "What skill?"

"Assassin."

"...Sorry, what?"

"Normal people," he gave the weapon one final, terrifying swing that wrapped the rope-wrapped shot ball around another post a few times and let it go, where it hung, "Would call it a bodyguard. But in my experience--of which I 'ave a great deal, as you know--nothin' makes a better assassin than' learnin' 'ow t' protect a target from other assassins. Sure, you know 'ow t' fight, an' you've got damn good aim, an' y' got some impressive power in yer throw, but you don't 'ave a fuckin' clue 'ow t' pay attention or stay focused or cover yer tracks. Fuck me, boy, y' brought yer knives in th' same luggage as yer clothes!"

"I didn't have anything else to--wait, you went through my luggage? When did you--"

"Call it a penance, if y' want to, because I will make you suffer. It's not a gift I'm off'rin', it's trainin'. Gruelin', awful trainin' tha's gonna make you wanna kill me again, an' I expect you t' bloody well try."

Tulford's arms hung helplessly at his sides. "I don't understand anything anymore."

Terry sighed, wiping the mirth off his face for the moment, and closed the distance between himself and Tulford with speed the younger man had not expected. His concern in the immediate sense was with the hand that reached for him, though it wasn't a fist, and it turned out not even to be going for his throat. Instead, Terry set his hand on Tulford's shoulder and looked him in the eye, unblinking.

"I'm lucky. I know tha'. You've reminded me t'day tha' there are still facets t' tha' luck tha' even I've failed t' find. An' I know exactly wot yer goin' through, because I went through it too. If I turned you out now, wot th' fuck would you do with yerself? Prolly get int' worse trouble. Prolly get killed. Wot a waste when I see plenty o' potential fer a damn good man in front o' me. If y' want it, it's yours fer th' takin'. But yer gonna 'ave t' earn th' right t' keep it."

Tulford stared back into the eyes of the man he'd tried to murder and who was now offering him a life, and couldn't find the words to answer. He felt himself starting to cry again, which he hated, which made him want to cry more, and eventually all he could do was hiss out another swear word and look down. Terry let him go, but only to offer him a beat-up kerchief.

"Does it..." Tulford's first attempt cut off with a wet, snotty sniffle, and he gave up and started over. "Is it always this fuckin' wierd?"

"Sorry, kid. Ours is a wierd-ass life. It's gonna get way worse fer a while."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

With equally shocking speed to Terry's, Tulford's good hand snapped out and landed a good, solid blow right in his unprepared stomach, and Terry doubled over. That done, Tulford nodded. "Okay."

Terry wheezed out, "One fer you, Tully. An' now..."

Then he headbutted him.

Wolf--Ansul, Uncle Sully, Barton, he had a small handful of names in the Ambroce household--watched quietly from the hayloft as the two of them brawled. After a second, he took his hand away from his dagger and reached instead for the cheese wedge he'd brought with him to snack on. They'd be at it for a while, and the dumbass would be fine.

( @daily-writing-challenge @shedwyn @mekandawn )

[noonmutter]

@shedwyn

Rebecca Ferguson at the Met Gala 2024, wearing custom Thom Browne.

'Gathered cape in black silk moiré with blue moiré lining and black raven appliqués, over a rep stripe high neck dress embroidered with black and white sequins, raffia, lurex, and sequin black ravens and 60,000 blue and green Swarovski crystal florets, with heelless platform saddle boots in black nubuck leather.'

[iztarshi]

shedwyn

Huh, somehow I never thought of "aloof" as one of his qualities, he always struck me as the friendliest of the lot, probably the baby of the group, who tries to act cool like his big brothers but is still a huge dork.

This is true.

I think he’s in some ways more sincere than the others, or just really transparent.

A lot of Jägers are friendly unless they’re actively trying to kill you, but it’s not unusual for Maxim to regard humans with open suspicion. Then if he starts acting like he likes someone he really does (and it really isn’t unusual for him to start being friendly with humans).

[shedwyn2]

Love/Protect

"Shedwyn, it's Terry. Th- they're all Terry. He's splintered-" "Te- No, it can't-" Watching the animated suits recover and square up again, it finally clicked. Yes, every single one moved like Terry in heavy armor. Every one was using a weapon Terry had used before in their sparring - with the exception of the one with the ridiculous warscythe, which she'd only seen him noodle about with the once. Of course it was Terry. Fate, the universe, the narrative, whatever one chose to call it, had been trying to maneuver Shedwyn and Terry into killing each other since before they even knew the other existed. The reasons had been numerous, from injured friends to injured pride, love and rage, doppelgangers, possessions, split souls... The scythe-bearer raised his weapon and charged toward her, gaining speed unnaturally quickly. Every time, they flipped the narrative the bird and chose mercy, forgiveness, or retreat. Turning what looked like a tragedy into another chapter in a cheesy romance novel. But this time, she had someone to protect -- not in the distant sense of protecting one's family by fighting the Legion, but in the very immediate, literal sense. She could feel Caythaes doing that crawly-feeling, short-range teleport across the battlefield, and spotted them as they turned to infuse her with... something. It was outside her wheelhouse, but she could feel the power skittering across her skin. "Terry! You don't have to do this, you can stop!" But he did have to do it. And she had to fight him. Again. She hefted the warhammer she'd stolen from one of the suits they'd already destroyed. "I am SO TIRED of FIGHTING YOU!" Two bounding steps and a spin like she was about to throw the damn thing landed the warhammer square in the gut of the charging scythebearer. She expected her arms to try to tear themselves from their sockets, but whatever Caythaes had done left her recovering only from swinging further than expected in the follow-through and left the animated armor tumbling ass over teakettle across the room until it fetched up against wall and breathed out its last wisp of anima. It was far more damage than she'd planned to inflict, hoping she'd only cripple it. If they were really connected to Terry, she didn't want to risk permanently harming him by destroying them. With the scythebearer down they were left with only half of the original suits... ah, but one was armed only with a crossbow and a dinky shortsword. Crossbows, at least, were easy to break with warhammers. Caythaes shouted something at her, a question about something the prisoner in the center of the room had just croaked, but she had no answer for them. She only knew two things in that moment: 1) all the suits of armour flickered when Terry spoke, creating an opening for her, and 2) whatever was about to happen, she was relieved she had someone to protect her, and that she would not be alone for the aftermath.

@mekandawn @mremaknu

[mekandawn]

TT: What has been the best part of the year thus far for them? What about the crappiest?

"Well, uh... I guess I'm nobility-adjacent now?" Caythaes raises one hand and holds it out to the side as they shrug, eyes wide and ears tipped back. "I'm not well-versed in the, er... Well, I don't know if being Shedwyn's boytoy actually confers any status, but I have chambers at the Keep that're- that are bigger than the house I built myself, so-!"

"I haven't- I didn't move in there, fully," they continue, looking down as they fidget with their fingers and nails. Glancing up, they add, "L-leon did help me furnish the, uh- the boudoir, and- and I've been considering- well, the, uh- the parlor is set up for afternoon tea and- and coffee, so..."

Caythaes' face flushes burgandy as they duck their head, mostly mumbling to themself. "I-I guess that's kind of the crappy part, really. I still feel... brittle. Around people. I've- I've been helping Terry and Shedwy and- and Miss Shu-fen with- with the children, tutoring them and things, but- but I get worn out and migrainey after- after a few hours. Crowds are...."

Making a slightly strangled noise, Caythaes shakes their head and hunches into themself. "W-well, h-hopefully I'll- I'll be in better shape for- for Fire Fest."

[noonmutter]

@shedwyn

Blue got a new shirt.

[janosis]

If Janosis had the courage to do one thing, what would it be?

Take Shedwyn’s advice.

[ansul]

The Price of Loyalty

(( This rp is from about a year and a half ago. I’m posting because it had just been sitting in my drafts for nearly a year, and we’re dredging up some of this in Terry and Shedwyn’s current plot. ))

Almost as soon as Terry is shipped off to Nazjatar, Ansul starts poking his nose around. 

Over and over again, he’s met with the same answers -- literally the same, phrasing and all -- "He's expendable" and "it's above my pay grade." He just keeps Karen-ing, asking for the supervisor until he either finds out whose paygrade it’s not above or gets completely shut down. But he never gets shut down completely. Even when he runs into an old friend, Sergeant Rutherford, who not only smiles while he’s giving the same old answer, he tells Wolf to, “Run along, pup,” when they’re done.

But Wolf’s next guard duty assignment is not the best. He’s sent out to patrol the jungle with another sneaky rogue and a sniper as overwatch. At the furthest point of the patrol, he loses track of his backup and overwatch goes silent.

Six men, mostly human and a dwarf ambush him. Because he doesn’t want to kill them and doesn’t know when to stay down, he loses, hard. He finally gets an explcit warning: "He's not worth your career, he's sure as hell not worth your life, don't throw both away." He's left there to whimper and groan and probably be tick food until somebody finds him.

While he's waiting for someone to come find him, Wolf gets scared and calls Terry. "Hey, man. I- ... lost a fight and- and I- I'm... 'm bored. Got time to talk?" Tiny-voiced and short of breath, but he's kinda proud of himself for not outright crying.

That's a long silence, but then there's a sharp crackle and the dull thrumming sound of an airship engine in the background. "Bored?"

"..... Yeah. C-can't move."

"What?! Fuckin'--where are you? Shit--"

"'ll be fine, man. Relax. Where're you?"

"Fuck you mean you'll be fine, can't fuckin' move-?" Terry's been shuffling around kind of at a loss on what to do, it's not like he could jump off and go back, but he did trust Wolf to judge situations properly, so after a minute, he forced himself to stop. "I... mngh. Somewhere over th'bloody ocean. Can't see anythin', too damned far out."

"’The ocean.’ ... Good. ... Been thinkin'... Anybody 'round? Don't want nob-body to hear this, 'cept you."

Terry says something that probably doesn't have a direct translation to common but is unquestionably a curse word, then there's more shuffling. The engine noise grows slightly louder, but he's still audible. "Go."

"...Rutherford. Dunno how deep he is, but he's in it."

"In i-- Ruth--" Realizing he shouldn't name names, he bites that off. "That cunt?"

"Yeah, he-" Wolf swears softly and there's the distinct sound of a blade squelching through flesh.

"Wolf?" There is some genuine fear in there now.

For a moment there's nothing, then just pained breathing. Realising he's taking too long, Wolf insists, "I'm fine!" way too soon to keep his voice under control.

"What th'fuck 'appened? Don't you fuckin' die on me!"

"pffheh-ow. Please don't make me laugh. S'just a bloodsucker."

"Piss off, what'm I sposed t'think, you call soundin' like yer doin' yer bullshit 'it's only a flesh wound' routine."

"... Maybe they were right to- to split us up. Know each other too well."

"What happened, Barton."

"Bitched my way up the chain. Talked to Rutherford. Same answer as they all gave - that you're expendable and it's above his paygrade. Can't believe s’just a coincidence I end up alone on my next guard duty. Kicked my shit in but I- I kept my temper, man, didn't kill nobody. Barnes'll be proud..." He's starting to sound a little distant, but snaps back with another soft swear. "Told me to give up on you. Told 'em to go fuck ‘emselves..."

They know each other too well for Wolf to miss the silent rage on the other end of the line, even with the engines droning. "Fire a shot in th'air. Get some damn attention b'fore you fuckin' pass out. Call my wife."

Ansul nodded along absently. Right. The pistol. Where the fuck is his pist- ah, there. "Kay. You're okay?"

"I'm on a fuckin' troop transport headin' to a surprise warzone that's prolly gonna get brought down on th'alliance an' horde whenever this Azshara bitch gets bored, an' I'm STILL more okay than you right now."

"I'll survive." Oh look, another palm-sized tick. He takes aim, drops the gun, and tries again. "Watch your ears."  Blows the fucker to pieces.  It's not nearly as loud as most alliance-issue weapons, being modified for use by a sneaky scout-type, but it's enough that there's shouting from the guards that were already out looking for him. "They're coming."

"Good. Be safe, Wolf. I...I can't fix this'un from here."

"No. But I wanted... you to know. In case they're not done with me. Your sneaky-as-shit girl wouldn'a told you. Wanted you to know."

"Keep yer head down. Keep yer blood. Get out fast."

"... Won't. Trying to. Can't yet. But same to you, man. Get 'em before they get you."

"...Make sure it's Barnes tha' fixes you up."

"Yeah, do my best." Now Terry can hear other voices. Some angry, some panicky, lots of shouting. And Wolf tiredly insisting, "Wasn't Horde."

Terry almost starts shouting to try and get somebody's attention, but decides at the last moment that he's caused enough trouble with even being present. "{Please be safe.}" Click.

He takes about two minutes to collect himself, and also to punch something that probably broke a finger but he was too angry to tell right then, before he calls Dwyn. "Babygirl."

@mremaknu