#source; h.onkai

[daybreakrising]

@araneitela: "If truth be told, I’ve grown oddly fond of you." (Blaaaaadie)

He feels the gentle weight of her head as it falls to rest against his shoulder. It's a gesture steeped in familiarity, of something done a thousand times before, and a thousand times yet to come. A small gesture, but a telling one. There are few who would dare to be so familiar with him - few who would be comfortable. Perhaps, even, she is the only one.

There's the curl of fingers within the crook of his elbow - yet another of those gestures that speak louder than words ever could. Her hand fits there as if it was meant to, as if it has always been there. That he has accepted this without question, that his mind has come to such a conclusion, is only indicative of the bond they share: one that is so natural that it does not come with questions.

A crimson gaze shifts, subtly. It slides in her direction, to rest upon the crown of wine-coloured hair nestled so comfortably upon his shoulder. He studies the top of her head with a discerning eye, lingering only a moment or two before his gaze slides away again. The silence that hangs from the end of her words stretches on between them, but it is not a silence of discomfort, but rather... the opposite.

"Why?" The question on his lips is one frequently lurking in the murky corners of his mind. Why? Why him? It is a question he has posed upon many a subject, a question he presumes to never know the answer to in most cases. But this one, perhaps, he can hope to achieve.

He is useful, he tells himself, and that is why. A swordsman may hold a particular fondness for a certain blade. Perhaps it has a grip that fits perfectly in his hand, or a sentiment that is dear to his heart. Perhaps it has saved his life countless times and, thus, he cherishes it. Other blades may serve the same purpose, but none shall carry the meaning this one does.

Is that why? Am I that cherished blade?

[daybreakrising]

@iniziare: For once, for the first time in too long, she didn't condemn the end of her slumber. If nothing else, she would condemn it for ever having claimed her when it had; for it had taken her from him too soon, much too soon, but would any time not have been too soon? A longing, one for him, from she who did not long.

Bladie. The sensation under the trace of a finger that'd found the shadow between his jawline and neck was familiar, as if she had felt it in a thousand times before in a dream so achingly recent. Or were these instead part of a memory, and not a dream at all, this caress that had traced his skin over, and over, and over again; the same time as when those beads of sweat had gathered, and caught at the hairline where a wine-colored gaze now lingered, and where, under the lightest touch of her fingers, she could swear that the roots felt damp still. Bladie. Why did her breath hitch, even if ever so softly so? She remembered his gaze on her, everywhere, and she remembered his hands far beyond where they rested on her now, she remembered them everywhere, and his breath— was the warmth of it to her cheek now, a memory of this same, recent past, or was it part of their present? Bladie. "Bladie,"

It is a rare thing, to catch him in slumber - or his version of it, at least.

He drifts, in a dreamless fog perhaps for the first time in memory. No shadows taunt at his fractured mind, pull at threads that should be left to fray into nothing. He isn't haunted by glimpses of what was, what will never be again. He is left in this gentle, blissful nothing.

No... no, not quite nothing. There is... warmth. A soft, constant pulse of it, enveloping him, shrouding him. It burns in the most pleasant way, a tingle across his skin, a simmer within his chest. And there is... peace, too. A peace he has come to know so intimately, a peace that neutralises the constant war inside his head. Two sensations that now blend, twist into one soothing, calming essence that tempts him, lures him, into remaining here forevermore.

And he would have, had he not felt her stir against him. She, the source of this warmth, this peace. She, who banishes the shadow from his mind and grants him a reprieve from his torment. She, who is... everything to him.

He feels the light touch of her fingertip upon his skin, follows its path from jawline to neck - and he reacts: just the barest exhale between parted lips, the subtle shifting of a hand that had been comfortably settled upon soft, warm skin. His fingers flex, grip, then relax again, his palm gliding along the curve of her spine to then settle once more in the dip of her lower back. An intimate touch he is now blessed to lay claim to.

There's a low hum, akin to a purr of pure contentment, that rumbles from his chest as he presses closer to the lithe figure tucked so snugly against him. His lips find the corner of her mouth, skim a kiss that barely whispers against her skin before his head dips and he buries his face into the warmth of her neck, breathes her in.

"Kafka..." Her name is a sigh upon his lips, a sound that carries an echo of the bliss with which it was uttered only hours before - soft, deep, weighted with emotion. Her name could be a prayer, a promise, with the reverence with which it is spoken.

It takes very little effort to tuck her beneath him, to crowd her against the soft mattress now at her back. His lips skim along the curve of her neck, across her jaw. His eyes open for the first time since waking and deliver upon her a gaze that is a gift only for her. There is more said within those softened crimson eyes that could ever be spoken upon his lips. It is raw, unrestrained - unmistakable.

"Kafka."

[daybreakrising]

hey doctor hey doctor i think i have ligma :(

There is a long, pained, sigh - the sigh of a man who is perhaps currently suffering severe mental agony.

"If you think I'm going to enable you to finish that ridiculous attempt at childish humour, think again."

[daybreakrising]

' dad! ' here comes The Boy... putting in his mentor's hand a small keychain, a dog's stylized pawprint made of shining iron with the back a layer of dark wood, and the brightest smile in the galaxy. ' for you! '

A dark gaze shifts in the direction of the call - and how odd, he muses, to think he has actually become used to that moniker, one that had never been on his radar prior to meeting this... boy - and there is, perhaps, the slightest lift at one corner of his mouth as Kaeya all but skips over to him.

His eyes drop to the item now placed into his palm. The pawprint looks similar to the one branded upon the flask at his hip, and he's sure this is no coincidence.

"Thanks, kid." He tosses it into the air, catches it in his other hand. "I don't have keys, but..." It's easy enough to hook the clasp onto his belt. "I'll find a place to carry it."

[daybreakrising]

It's like a pulse beneath his skin – the itch that seeing that face summons. He knows the risk of being here, of getting close to this ghost of his past, especially without Kafka nearby to quell the mara that sits, ever present, in the shadows of his mind. Yet he must be here. It is part of his script.

"You can relax." He utters, knowing relax is the last thing Dan Heng will do in his presence. "I am not here to fight you." This time. "I… need your help."

He suspects he will not be believed – and no wonder, really. He cannot blame the man for that. He half expects that spear to be thrust towards him at any moment, an initiation of a dance they have danced many times before. "I need to reunite with the other Stellaron Hunters, but… circumstances make it difficult to do so upon my own power." He knew he'd be here. It was written into the script, just as his circumstances were. "Can you help?"

H.SR STARTER CALL // @daybreakrising

"I thought we were clear on matters..."

There's a tenson to Dan Heng's posture that threads through his body, fingers curling more tightly around the spear he keeps close as the Stellaron Hunter emerges from the shadows. He had thought that the events on the Luofu had been an end to their engagements, yet here, within the remoteness of the universe, he'd felt the presence, had needed to pause his data gathering to deal with the current situation.

"What do you want from me? There is nothing left that I can do to help ease your burden..."

[daybreakrising]

bonks head against gallaghers arm. bonks. bonks. bonks. bonks. b

The sigh is... barely restrained.

A hand lifts, palm planting firmly atop the head of hair pushing persistently against his arm. With a deft, abrupt shove, Aviv is pushed to a more bearable distance.

"What do you want, kid?"

[daybreakrising]

@avaere: " it's nice to finally meet you. " gallagher to ratio !

An indifferent gaze falls upon the... unkempt bartender before him. The book in his hand snaps shut, but it is not lowered or tucked away for later. He holds it firm in his grasp, arm imperceptibly tensed - almost as if he is gauging a need to use it for something other than study.

There is a sharpness to that gaze as it takes in the full form, from the untamed dark curls and straining shirt, to the flask at his hip and the shiny black shoes. Assessing. For what purpose, who can tell.

"Is it?" Though the expression upon his face remains neutral, there is the slightest curious lilt to his tone, as if the statement uttered to him is one to be challenged, to be picked apart like some great mystery. It's as if he is asking why is it nice - what path has this man taken to reach such a conclusion? "I cannot say likewise."

A beat of silence.

"Who are you?"

[daybreakrising]

@ddazzlingblds: ❛ you look like you've got something to say. ❜ @ blade

He's been staring.

It's easy to forget that this can be... unsettling to a lot of people. Luckily for him, Sampo doesn't seem to be one of those particularly bothered by being subjected to his rather intense gaze. Even so, he does make something of an effort not to stare too hard or too long. He's... not always successful.

There's a familiar thread of humour in that honeyed voice, the same tone his unlikely companion uses when answering to the now empty threat he directs at him on a semi-regular basis. It's fond, and warm, and it settles a sense of ease upon the immortal.

"I cannot work you out, sometimes." His head tilts a fraction to the side, regarding Sampo with that heavy crimson gaze. "There is so much more to you than this surface level facade, yet no matter how deep I look, I cannot touch the depths beyond."

He reaches out a hand, brushes aside a lock of that fringe that falls so softly across Sampo's face. "And I still cannot understand why you embraced the attention of one such as myself. Very few willingly spend time in my company, you know."

[daybreakrising]

This is nothing new for him.

A slight complication, sure, but nothing he can't handle. Nothing he hasn't handled before, nothing he won't be able to handle again. In fact, it's even something of a thrill for him, a burst of excitement in an otherwise average day. Maybe he'll even get to add some more zeros to that number on his poster by the end of it.

But he's also not a fool. A fool might ignore the insistent whisper that pierces through the cacophony of shouts behind him, the beckoning hand, but not Boothill. Whilst he can certainly handle this little problem alone, if someone is offering aid, he's going to take it. Never turn down help with it is offered, even if there's an ulterior motive behind it (which, usually, there is – but he can work with that).

He whirls around, gun in hand, ready to dispatch the guard on his heels, but before he can fire a single shot, something… happens. The expressions on the guards go blank, their eyes staring blindly right at him as if they don't see him, or the curious fellow beside him. Then they're moving on as if nothing had happened. How… interesting.

He has seen many curious things in his time. This is a new one on him, but he'll take it in his stride. He peers at the man beside him through a narrowed eye, gun still in hand, just in case. There are few, he finds, that offer help for nothing, and he does not trust easily.

"Kaeya," he repeats in acknowledgement. "Well, sugar honey iced tea, Kaeya, what the fork did y'all just do?" There's a definite hint of suspicion in his voice, but also something that could be curiosity. "You say we're fine in the shadows, huh? Interesting. Now I got a question for ya – why do ya wanna help me, huh? What do you want? Ain't nobody help somebody for nothing, not around here."

@daybreakrising

   a trained ear learns to identify the sound of chaos before it starts involving him. 

   if there was ever a person as bad as leaving things alone- expecially when it came to the vicious guards of this planet, it was Kaeya. traveling in the shadows all the time wasn't pleasant, there was nothing he could do about it: outsiders were not well tolerated by the surveillance.

   cautiously, he turned the corner of a lateral, narrow desert street to peek at the source of the chaos-

  -and discovers that the planetal guards have found a familiar face, someone he may have recognized by online news and wanted posters plastered on plenty of planets he has visited. it takes him less than two blinks to identify a cybernetic body and the attire- 

   uh-oh.

   ' psssst, ' he calls, much sounding like a somewhat worried snake himself. the guards don't turn towards the source of the very audible sound, and Kaeya clearly seems completely at ease with the situation.

   ' pssssst! over here! come here, please, ' he beckons the outlaw with a gloved hand, and is relieved when the man finally picks up the hint and slinks into the much better hidden street where he's being essentially pspspsp'ed in. 

   of course the guards step to stop him, but once the ball of his heels touches the shadow cast over the hiding place... well, something weird happens.

   from alert and vigilant, the guard's eyes go blank. there's an entire minute of silence, where Kaeya peers at them with a few curious blinks safely hidden by the other man. soon after, the lot of them shake their head in confusion and resume patrolling, with the stowaway stopping to crane his neck to watch the scene and turning his attention to the cyborg in front of him.

   ' hi, ' he says, as politely as he can under the circumstances, still having to tilt his head up to be able to look at Boothill in the face. ' my name is Kaeya- and as long as we stay in the shadows, we'll be fine and won't be noticed. the guards here are... well, let's say diligent. ' he concedes, thinking of much more colorful words to use.

   ' i can hide you as long as we're close until you leave the planet. i'm sorry- i know this is probably an inconvenience for you, but the surveillance on this planet is merciless, as you saw. let me come with you for a while, and i'll make sure we both don't get caught. would that be okay? '

[daybreakrising]

@resolutepath: ‘  grief  is  just  love  with  no  place  to  go .  ’ (elio to blade)

Though the voice does not startle him, it is still unexpected.

He sits alone - though not any longer, it seems - upon the sill of a window that looks out upon a familiar landscape. They are yet to leave the Xianzhou Luofu, though they won't linger much longer. He has already delayed them longer than planned, but it was... necessary.

His gaze remains fixed upon the world beyond the window, but he acknowledges the new presence that pads silently to his side. It isn't surprising that Elio has paid him a visit now, of all times. In fact, he had almost expected it.

But the words... those he did not expect.

"And what makes you think I am grieving?" It is a pointless question, and a poor attempt at deflection. He is grieving, and Elio knows it, because he knows everything. If anything, his response is knee-jerk, instinct, a natural reaction to vulnerability.

He sighs, casts his gaze away from the familiar. The sooner they are away from this place, the better. He can feel the monster inside him stirring, restless. "It is a useless emotion." The words sound harsh, and there is a stubbornness to them - because grief is also a very human emotion, in his mind.

And he is not human. He is a weapon. Only a weapon.

[daybreakrising]

Sorry, but as a 'job well done', Kafka wanted me to let you know here, that she's eased herself down onto his lap, rather proudly I have to note, and has settled very comfortably against him, her body absolutely sinking into the contours of his own as if she belonged there this entire time. I told you, she's definitely found her Bladie and she's very content about it.

And, to the outside eye, nothing about Blade's demeanour has changed - though he accepts her settling into his lap with no question or complaint. But to those few who know him well... the way his hand shifts to rest at her lower back is not merely to support, but to cradle, to claim - and there is the faintest curve at one corner of his mouth, a kind of smile that suggests...

...peace.

[daybreakrising]

@loiyaltie continued from x

Luka flashes a grin back at the captain, feeling the thrill of the challenge this fight presents. He is forever looking to improve his skills, to make himself stronger, so that he might protect the Underworld to the very best of his ability. Tales of the captain met his ears long ago, and now, to have a chance to spar with him? He was going to make sure he made the most of it.

"As long as you think you can keep up," he snipes back in friendly taunt. He has no doubt the captain can keep up, given all that he withstands in the Overworld, but some healthy trash talk is never out of place in the ring. He adjusts his stance, eyes fixing upon that impressive shield at the captain's side.

"A crack, huh? Gotta warn ya, this arm of mine hits hard. You sure you want me to dent your shield?"

[daybreakrising]

"waahh—don't pull my wings!! i didn't even do anything!!" in light of recent discoveries: bully.

There's a chuckle - soft, amused - that rumbles from the man's throat, and beneath it a kind of... low, deep chitter that is reminiscent of something more... beast, than human.

Fingers release the feathers in their grasp - but not before giving another light, gentle, tug. "What's the matter?"

"You seemed to like it the other day."

[daybreakrising]

@resolutepath continued from x

There is a stubbornness to the gaze that remains fixed upon a point in the distance, narrowed into an expression only three steps away from a glare. But it is not anger that sharpens his gaze, not this time. There is nothing combative in the way he sits, still and silent, within touching reach of the man beside him – the man who is both the same and utterly different from the one he knew. No, it is mere focus that hardens his expression. His refusal to look at the other is a means of coping, of fighting against the fire inside his mind that threatens to burn, and burn, until all is ashes.

If he doesn't look at him, maybe he can escape the memories.

"Mm." It is a rare moment of reprieve, the mara dulled for now – but every minute he sits at Dan Heng's side is a risk. Yet here he sits, unmoving, unwilling to put that necessary distance between them for the moment. "After what we did." He does not clarify which version of the other he refers to – he doesn't need to.

I am not him.

His gaze is torn, then, from the distance – to instead settle upon the hands now held before him, hands forever stained with blood invisible to the eye. The blood doesn't bother him, not all of it. But some… some he cannot scrub clean no matter how hard he longs to try. "I… remember little. The mara…" He shakes his head, a hand lifting to clutch at his temple as he feels the faintest flare somewhere in the dark corners of his mind. "But I remember… regret."

In a fleeting moment of risk, he turns crimson-hued eyes to that familiar face – agony be damned, he wants to look him in the eye. "You are not him, but you have his memories. Is there… was there… regret?"

[daybreakrising]

@ddazzlingblds: ❛ i’m not afraid of you. ❜ @ blade after the 3848383 time where '' [x] or die ''

The corner of his mouth curves into a smile; the kind that promises trouble, though what kind of trouble yet remains to be seen. Many who have witnessed said smile have gone on to suffer beneath a manic and merciless gaze, others been forced to flee if they desired to cling onto their meagre lives.

Sampo... Sampo is solely privy to a much more entertaining kind of trouble.

The Hunter crowds in against the other, until broad shoulders are pressed firmly back against a solid wall, a more slender frame snug against him. Gloved fingers close around Sampo's throat, applying just enough pressure to be felt, but not yet to harm.

"No?" There's a low level of threat to his tone, but it is not an unfamiliar one between them. At this point, it is habit more than actual intent. "Mm..." He angles his head, leans in until teeth graze lightly along the line of Sampo's jaw. "I must be slipping, then."

The hand at his throat glides down to a firm chest, fingertips finding the sliver of skin on display. "But if you're not afraid," he drawls, amusement threading through his voice, "then why do you tremble so?"

[daybreakrising]

@ddazzlingblds: a kiss to distract. since sampo REALLY wants to see if he can die today give me blade-

He doesn't have time for this. That's the thought at the forefront of his mind as he stares down the man in front of him. This is a hindrance that must be dealt with; a temporary roadblock that he must charge through if he cannot simply go around.

His hand goes to his weapon, eyes narrowed, his expression one of bored irritation - the kind you might expect to see on someone facing a mild inconvenience. He'll take care of this quickly, he thinks, and be gone before anyone can trace him here.

As the other moves, he readies himself to parry an attack or to dodge, whichever will trap his foe into a quick end. But no attack comes, and the Hunter finds himself utterly at a loss for perhaps the first time in memory as a hand catches at his collar and lips close over his own.

His body tenses, muscles rigid as he processes what is happening. An assault he had been expecting, but certainly not one of this nature. And there, beneath the haze of bafflement, there's a snap of something else, something he can't quite place. He has... forgotten. Forgotten such a simple, human, touch.

How... peculiar.