#xfindingtrouble

[softersinned-arc]

@xfindingtrouble said: percy kisses astoria to show off for someone else.

The first time she met Sereda, the girl who tended to her before Lenore, she was six years old and guarding a stray cat with the ferocity of a barbarian. Childhood teasing, the boy's mother had insisted, though she'd quaked in fear when Astoria had shown her that wide, slow smile, the cat tucked under one arm and Sereda clinging to her skirt, peering out from behind her knees. She brought both home, cleaned them up, gave them a soft bed and certain food. Sereda. parentless and just as fierce as first impressions would lead Astoria to believe, received tutors and tailors and, though she's nearing fifty now, calls Astoria sister to this day.

The cat had, by that point, had quite enough of a six-year-old's clumsy care, and took to perching on Astoria's bookshelves and hissing furiously at anyone who came near it. Melora, Sereda's predecessor, wouldn't stay in the same room as it without someone else present, certain that one day the cat would lose its patience and murder them all. After a few too many bites and scratches, Sereda kept her distance, too. Only Astoria made any attempt, watching with mild amusement as the jagged tears in the backs of her hands healed before her eyes. Still, despite its bursts of violence, the cat followed her everywhere—always a few feet behind her when she went into her workshop, sleeping on top of a pile of her notes and swatting furiously if Astoria disturbed it. And whenever Astoria let a hand rest on its head or scratched idly behind its ears it looked as though it was contemplating raining down an impossibly powerful wrath upon her before it leaned wholeheartedly into the gentle touch, the gestures of affection, the absentminded love she offered. It headbutted her hands, took to sleeping in her lap, draped itself across her shoulders, started answering when Astoria called for it. Sereda called it Pumpkin. Melora called it beast. Astoria called him sweet thing. She thinks of him often, as she thinks of all the cats she's looked after, and the way he'd pretend not to want to be touched only to seek out her attention every chance he got, in the inscrutable way of cats.

Percy, she realized in the early days of their courtship, before either of them called this what it was, reminds her often of that cat. Pleasant company despite his capacity for brutality (perhaps, if Astoria's being honest, because of it, at least in part), but startled by any genuine affection from her, enough so to forget to be wary of it. She'd made the connection the first time he laid his head in her lap and fell asleep there, slipping into dreamless quiet after spending the night before fitful with nightmares. She'd carded her fingers absentmindedly through his hair until he stirred, and when she paused, he nudged his head into her palm, as if to encourage her to continue the touch, all without waking. Experimentally, Astoria had resumed, and with her free hand she'd stroked a careful line along the bridge of his nose, and swore she'd caught sight of a smile in his sleep.

That had been the first time but certainly not the last, and in the weeks and months that followed, as the both of them danced carefully around any honest admission as to the nature or strength of their feelings, she found herself mimicking the cat, too. They fussed over the state of her hair, sometimes gathering the hairbrush from her hand to tend to it without interference. She found herself reaching out to touch them whenever she could, extending an arm to brush her fingers against their elbow, stretching her legs to gently nudge her toes against their thigh. It was much the same process: just as she had with the cat, she and Percy carved out a home for the other, opened a guarded heart to admit family.

He has that cat's pride, too, appearing unconcerned and even haughty as he kept a catalogue of every offense, every insult. It's why he's so often more troubled than she is by the whispers that follow them, by the suggestions that perhaps Lord Percival's choice of bride left something to be desired. She can hardly blame the people for their distrust; the last vampire so close to the city's rule had been devastating. And the diplomats don't faze her.

"I find it hard to be bothered by infantile mockery," she'd said to Cassandra once, when Cassandra had asked her, in that wonderfully direct way of hers, if she wanted a diplomat ousted from the castle for an insult aimed her way. Said diplomat had been uneasy at Cassandra's clear disapproval, and averted his eyes in silent shame when Astoria's nonchalance carried clearly through the room. "I have been practicing politics since his grandfather was in nappies and I have forgotten more than he'll ever know. Should he have something useful to contribute to our conversations, I'll take his disapproval seriously."

Percy, for their part, had been furious at the disrespect shown to their wife, and has yet to forget it, years later. (She thinks of the cat and the way he punished her for spilling wine on his favorite cushion, weeks and weeks later when she presented him with a new one, lifting a leg to piss on it while keeping eye contact with her. She'd been so charmed by the sheer strength of his personality that she couldn't even pretend at anger. Somehow, she imagines she'll react similarly when Percy finally lets loose their cold fury.)

In the three years since their wedding they have yet to grow bored with one another, and though Percy is admirably focused on the business of administering over Whitestone, he is nevertheless more focused when she is on-hand, if only because his eyes don't wander to the curve of her hips and waist (thanks to the corset he'd tied himself mere hours before) while she's walking across the room, and he doesn't find himself forgetting to absorb what he's told because he heard the ring of her laughter from the other end of the hall. She would tease were she not the same, utterly entranced by the furrow of his brow or the quick, clever movements of his hands as he gestures and speaks. Better, they have both learned, if they simply stay nearby one another.

It's how she knows he hears the conversation occurring not far from them, two women speaking just loudly enough that they can, from where they're standing, pick out nearly every word. He's got a glass of wine in one hand, the other at Astoria's face as he fixes a stray curl for her, when his fingers freeze and he clenches his jaw, the tension in his muscles visible to her and near enough that she almost raises a hand to smooth her fingers against his skin and try to soothe him.

"You'd think one vampire was enough," the first woman says, and she lets out a sigh. "Lord Frederick and Lady Johanna must be turning over in their graves."

"Is she even still considered noble?" Her companion seems genuinely curious, despite the snide tone of her gossip, and the first woman laughs.

"At least she had the good sense not to take the name. An undead de Rolo." She sighs again. "Nobility doesn't mean a thing in circumstances like these. I could say my dog is noble, but I still wouldn't let him eat at the table with people."

The hand at her cheek is very nearly shaking with rage, and Astoria simply turns her face to their palm, presses a kiss there. She wonders what bothers them the most: that strangers dare speak of their parents like this, that they dare speak of her like this, or that she'd made the same argument when she said she should, perhaps, refrain from taking their name.

("De Rolo or no," she'd said softly, sweetly, hands folded over their abdomen and chin propped up on her fingers, their knees bent and ankles bracketing her hips, their fingers twisting in the tangled mess of her hair, "I am utterly, irrevocably, eternally yours." Words like eternity mean something to her, Percy knows. "Your name is symbolic of liberation. It means something more than I could ever put into words to the people. I don't want to take that from them. Whatever my name is, I love them like you do." She'd shifted forward, pressed a kiss to their collarbone, before settling back where she'd been, and pretended to be surprised when they guided her back up by her hair so they could press their mouth to hers and roll her over, pin her gently to the bed beneath them.)

The second woman laughs nervously. "At least she's not on the council," she says, as though perhaps dog is a step too far, and she's trying to bring the insults to a more civilized place.

"Of all the de Rolos, one would think that the clever one would know better than to fall into bed with a dead woman. Do you think she's enchanted him somehow?"

"Maybe he's just in love. It wouldn't be the first time someone was foolish because of love."

"Love," the first woman said gravely, "is not reason enough to condemn your only surviving family, and the well-being of your city."

Her companion seems uneasy now, and she says, voice halting, "Surely Lady Cassandra—after all she suffered—would not have allowed such magic to defile her home again. Surely she's had a cleric see to him if there was any concern."

The first woman says, "It's not just arcane magic. Spread legs can be just as deadly as a spell," and Astoria laughs at that, bright and ringing and loudly enough that the two women stop speaking and look at her. When they do, Astoria meets the first woman's eyes, then the second's, and winks. The second woman grabs the first by the arm and leads her away, farther into the room, and Astoria looks back at her husband, and this time she does raise her hand to rest gently against his cheek, thumb stroking his skin.

Percy looks down at her in surprise, as if he'd forgotten, in his anger, that she was there at all, and he softens at once, lets Astoria distract him with discussion of the wine and a conversation with a visiting academic she'd invited herself so he might enjoy a bit of theory unrelated to his current projects. He's earned a bit of learning for learning's sake. Still, his eyes wander to the women, and when he stops his sister to ask for their names, Astoria thinks of the cat again.

She thinks of the boys, surely no more than fifteen, who'd wandered through her woods and thrown smooth stones her way from the trees; it was amusing more than anything, given that one of the boys had been the child her sweet Sereda had so loathed, and that they'd deliberately waited until Sereda was in town, knowing that if she were present she'd have chased after all of them with a broomstick in one hand and a frying pan in the other. It was only the cat with her, and Astoria had scooped him up to shield him from any projectiles, though the stones only bounced harmlessly at her feet, the boys' aim and strength both wanting.

But the cat, perceiving insult and potential injury to his family, had hissed. He spat and writhed in her grasp until he'd wriggled free and he'd launched himself at one of the boys with a scream, left him with a gash in his cheek and a bite so deep in his hand that it was terribly infected for days after and resulted in a rather concerning fever. And then, calm as can be, the cat had returned to her, and climbed into her lap, and settled in the shade provided by the tree she sat under and the grey of the sky. He fell asleep there and when she lifted him into her arms to head back inside he pressed his cold, wet nose to her cheek and rubbed his face against her jaw, as if to say, you are mine, and only I am permitted to draw blood, and only in good fun.

Percy, she thinks, has the same look in his eyes that the cat had all those years ago. She doesn't question it when he slips away from her apologetically to have a word with someone about the seating arrangements, and by the time they've sat down to begin eating, she's forgotten the women's faces, pleased to be sitting between her husband and Allura, visiting from Emon.

It's not until she hears a loud, joyous bark from one of the tables that she tears herself away from the conversation they're having, and she sees the first woman seated beside the head of one of the tables, displaced from where Astoria was certain she'd originally been seated in favor of the hunting hound they'd been gifted last year. Melchior is now at the table's head, looking immeasurably pleased by the current arrangement. The servant attending to the dog looks at the woman witheringly when she complains, and Astoria has to strain to hear the servant's response.

"This dog," the servant explains, "is the treasured companion of Lord Percival and Lady Astoria, a skilled hunter, a noble beast deserving of only the finest treatment, and he shall not be fed scraps on the kitchen floor—"

Astoria looks at Percy. Percy raises his eyebrows and smiles, looking satisfied, and catches her hand in his, brings her fingers to his lips so he can press a kiss there. She wonders if he's simply bored tonight, if he's planned such a specific revenge, or if the insult was simply a step (or five) too far for him to forgive.

The second part of their revenge comes when they stand to address the guests, glass raised, voice warm. Their speech is an unremarkable one for the most part—we thank you for joining us, for your friendship to Whitestone. A word here and there about Whitestone's current projects, a longer word in honor of Vex'ahlia, who couldn't join them but is nevertheless remembered fondly in her absence, as Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt and the Champion of Pelor.

"And I would like to direct your attention once more, this time to my wife, Astoria de Rolo—pardon me, Grim—" And here Astoria's eyebrows raise, but she doesn't react beyond that and a smile. "—whose generous patronage of the arts in the city has allowed us to turn our attention to the reconstruction of the amphitheater, a project we have long had to delay. She has breathed such life back into this city."

Part two of his revenge completed, he sits again, and the dinner commences.

The final part comes when the plates have been cleared from the tables and the guests are mingling again, Melchior led out from the hall after gorging happily on a cut of meat that Astoria suspects was superior to his neighbor's. They step out to a balcony, eager for a breath of fresh air and a chance for relative quiet, and Astoria follows them out, stands beside them at the railing, careful not to touch them until she's seen that they want the sensation of her cool skin on theirs. "Quite a speech, my love," she says after a moment, and they chuckle, casting a smile her way.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Immensely. Particularly the slip in which you forgot my name." She grins to match him, though she sobers after a moment. "She really bothered you, didn't she?"

He's silent for a moment before he answers. "You know how I think of you," he says finally. "And you know how I value you."

"I do."

"Sometimes," he confesses, and he reaches up to tuck that misbehaving curl behind her ear again, "it drives me mad that not everyone knows those things."

"Sweet thing," she murmurs, and she presses a kiss to the soft underside of his wrist. "I appreciate your defense of my honor. I could always eat her., if she's really upset you."

"Not satisfied with the nuts and berries?"

"The blackberries had turned," she says sadly, and Percy chuckles again, and turns to face her. His hand falls to her chin, and he grasps her jaw in his fingers, tips her head upwards towards him. The balcony is in clear sight of anyone inside and near the door, including the two women they'd heard before, but he doesn't seem bothered by their lack of privacy.

They lean down to kiss her and Astoria reaches up to meet them partway, and she all but melts into them, the powerful certainty of their kiss and the strength of their hand settling on her side, fingers gripping tightly enough that were she still human, it would leave a bruise. She doesn't challenge this unexpected reversal of roles, Percy's gentle but unwavering dominance over her in these moments; she only leans into him more, with all the desperate need of a woman starving and in the presence of a fest.

He kisses her like he means to swallow her whole. He kisses her like he loves her, simple as that, and Astoria's own hands come to his wrist, his face, and she thinks that she has done this thousands of times and never once has it been anything less than miraculous. She breathes in the subtle scent of lavender on his skin and his clothes, brushes her fingers over the smooth plane of his jaw, and when they separate she feels an aching hunger for more of him settle into her chest, hollow and needy and wanting. When she gets him back to the room they share there will be no separating them, she's sure.

When he pulls back from her she chases his lips and he laughs, concedes, kisses her again. Neither one of them stop for the audience, and the familiar faces there, peering into the night and their shapes wound around one another.

[winterfollows]

-Starter call for @xfindingtrouble!

"Do you watch the stars, Lord Percival?" It's still late afternoon, but Haleir's head is canted toward the sky, hood pulled up so as to keep the sun from burning him. "Is there somewhere here in Whitestone where one could be closer to them? An observatory, perhaps?"

[whalefelled]

“Let them talk…” Vex adjusts with a little groan from an aching muscle as she maneuvers another pillow to prop herself up a little more comfortably. “I’ll give them a piece of my mind if they say anything untoward and protect your honor, Darling.” She promises, eyes crinkling at the edges with her grin.

The archer feels a little boneless laying her and much like she’s floating. Taking the moment for Percy to rejoin her, Vex interlocks her fingers together briefly, stretching her entire body. As she allows her limbs to relax again she cracks an eye open to Percival.

The chill of Whitestone creeps against her skin as his shifting body moves the air again and so she is clinging to his frame once he is close enough. Though something about his words dig into her heart. With him settled Vex cards her fingers through his hair a few times with her thumb smoothing against the shell of his ear just once before she draws her fingers under his chin to draw his gaze to her own.

“I’d like you here every night, Percy.” She allows her voice to tip to a more serious tone, and her lips purse lightly, “Could be our bed is all I’m saying—“ a little shrug leaves her, fingers not under his chin drumming lightly against his bare shoulder in a thoughtful rhythm.

@xfindingtrouble from here

[stcrforged]

@xfindingtrouble asked ❝ a bad reputation doesn’t mean you’re bad. ❞ ellis @ agrona!

the URGE to roll her eyes was strong and so she did. without any hesitation. though, it was not made by spitefulness, but she found it hard to believe the other's words. " i don't think many agrees with you. at least not the nobles, or the orlesians and probably some old grumpy man. " there was NO doubt, the inquisition had made many good deeds when the world had been on the verge of breaking due to a cursed green giant hole in the sky, but it had all changed after the breach had been closed. people now saw them as a THREAT and agrona understood them. as much as she loved her friends, the good memories, the bad memories, she also thought it was time to disolve the inquisition. then people, strangers, had begun talking behind her back, spreading lies because she was a dwarf, a FORMER member of the carta, a reaver. it made her irritated. defiant. a quiet, yet heavy sigh escaped chapped lips before clear green eyes gazed upon the warden. " how did you get through all of it? you have been in this weird ass game longer than me, champ. "

lost meme / accepting

[stellarhistoria]

unprompted, because i wanna see how this turns out

[ hey percy wanna deck a noble piece of garbage ? ]

@xfindingtrouble

characters: lord cytos & percival de rolo

── ��

" It has come to my attention that you have been speaking to my child? Prince Cytos? Greetings. I'm their father, Lord Cytos. I figured I should introduce myself, seeing as they have a determined tendency to make the mistake of saying the most inane of things. Surely you've heard them by now. "

── The nobleman can't help but chuckle, as if talking about someone who wasn't family, as if speaking about someone who both of them didn't like, and not someone who wasn't a good person at heart.

[princguard-a]

Hamilton (Act 1) Sentence Meme

accepting @xfindingtrouble sent: “Fools who run their mouths oft wind up dead.” from percy!

Lark canted her head to the side as she was enjoying a drink at the bar. She had been striking up a conversation with a young man. Her dark brow rose and she found herself nodding in agreement.

❝ Aye, so you say. ❞ she replied and took a sip of her wine. ❝ Fools always wind up dead because of the things they say.❞ She went on and ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to tame the long waves. She was eyeing Percy; surveying him. She couldn't quite determine if he was a friend or a threat.

❝ And where would you place yourself, are you a fool? ❞

[hollowichor]

[care] – percy provides physical care for keyleth's bruises !!

She's never been a snake before, but Keyleth hisses like one at Percy's first touch. "Gods!" Instinct demands she slap Percy's arm. Immediately she's sheepish. What a way to thank your friend. "Sorry Perc, I didn't mean to --" Another touch brings another hiss. "I'll sit on my hands. You don't deserve to get hit like this."

If only she'd gotten the bruises from a noble fight. But no, she fell out of a tree while trying to get a flower for Pike. Although her friend eventually got the needed ingredient, Keyleth's thanks came in the form of being rushed inside and checked over. "Did Pike say the flower was enough for her elixir? There were more about to bloom! I could go back up tomorrow."

[cryptiique]

i get carried away when i'm with you. - percy to vax!

heaving breaths exchange in the space between them, both trying to refill their deprived lungs with air at a rapid pace. with the way they grasp at each other, one might equally suspect a scene of aggression as much as one of passion. perhaps, if not for percival's pale skin exposing him for his reddened lips, and vax's braid beginning to come loose beneath the gunslinger's grip. the half elf's mind struggles to catch up his body, sluggishly coming back to himself from the moment of grasping and kissing brought on by...

well, vax isn't quite sure what set it off. it seems like the two of them are a powder keg always waiting to erupt.

" yeah, well, " vax rasps, his voice hoarse with alternative use just moments ago. his lips twitch at a bit of a smirk, head dropping back against the tavern wall he finds himself held against. " they say a little impulsivity is good for the soul. "

[knivesfirst]

i haven't felt this way in a long time. from ellis!

DEEP CONVERSATIONS - accepting // @xfindingtrouble ♠

     The admission hits Annette like well delivered blow - it steals the air from her lungs and leaves her to gasp breathlessly. The force of it strong enough to knock her from her feet if it weren't for Ellis's strong embrace.

     Grey eyes are blown wide as her lips part to speak, yet nothing falls from her tongue. Such sharp wit dulled so very quickly. She's swimming in her thoughts, drowning in her emotions, choking on her words. Everything within her is screaming to RUN ! Running is all she's ever known, all she's ever done, the memory of it locked deep within her muscles.

     Yet, she knows she can't run forever; her past always makes it way back to her, and she can only ignore her emotions for so long before that meticulously crafted, carefree façade comes crashing down around her. Despite her rawest instincts, something tethers her there to that spot and to that moment. It forces her to confront what terrifies her the most - what she craves so desperately.

     Annette presses her forehead to Ellis's chest as she inhales deeply, praying to find courage in his scent, in his embrace, in his presence. Shaking fingers knot themselves in the fabric of his shirt and she slowly peers up at him, those grey eyes filled with a potent mix of both awe and fear.

     ❝ I love you. ❞

[inabsentiiarch]

❛ you’re lucky you got away with only a scratch. ❜  from percy!

"I wish it was just luck." The redhead responds softly. A fleeting hint of humor sounding on his voice. Eyes still linger on the small array of bodies left behind. Their faces hidden by intricate masks now familiar to him.

" I think it's more of a question of experience." The fighter speaks and a frown creases his forehead. Last time they weren't this many involved. Either the price for his head has increased, or the assassin's guild is finally getting tired of losing members. "This isn't my first encounter with the guild." The elf sighs at the thought, before finally turning to look at the other.

"You are not hurt, are you?" The fighter raises an eyebrow, briefly scanning Percival in search for any wounds that might need to be taken care of.

"I suppose they didn't expect me to have company. I am sorry you got dragged into that."

[forfeitsouls]

@xfindingtrouble​ sent: "I mean it. I want to know." Cassandra @ Percy?

He hesitated still as his sister reaffirmed her desire. It wasn’t as if she needed coddling or protecting, quite the opposite. She’d seen just as many horrors as he had, maybe even more during the unspeakable amount of time he’d assumed her to be deceased. It was moreso his own shame that creeped up hot along the back of his neck. Choices made in times of distress oft’ weren’t the correct one and he’d made his fair share of bad choices... continuously.

He shifts a stack of papers away from her bed and takes a seat along with her. “You really shouldn’t be doing work in your bedroom. And if you are, at your desk... You’ll ruin your posture.” A breath of a laugh escapes him in his extended deflection.

“I have a fear that the world will never truly be on pause. Free and safe as it seems.” She too had experienced the onslaught of Vampires, of dragons of creatures who desired to ascend to godhood. In this moment of quiet, it felt too good to be true and that put him on edge. 

“You saw what became of me when I fell to the desires of revenge and finding my own sort of peace and i’m not sure that scar will ever fade. That itch remains though buried deep... Once you walk that path, digging yourself out is... slippery.” He takes a deep breath looking up while he finally spits out his grand reveal. “If anything happens now, when Vex’ahlia is with child. Well, I think I understand the idea of tearing down the entire world for another person. Even if we’ve yet to meet.” Before she could get a word in edgewise, he gives a small smile, clapping a hand down on he shoulder.  “Don’t worry. I think you’ll make a wonderful Aunt.”

[softersinned-arc]

i love the handwriting meme everyone's doing, i love to see what it would look like. so, a sample of astoria's, in a note to @xfindingtrouble -

[Good morning, my darling. Forgive me, please. I couldn't bear to wake you before I left - by the looks of it you fell asleep in your work, and you're too wonderfully peaceful to disturb. I've left you my notes from my study of the orb last night, and when I return, I would enjoy the chance to hear your thoughts. I'll be in the catacombs most of the day. Your sister has asked me to join her as she tries to identify and return remains to their proper graves. I think perhaps this is progress. Please tell Taryon that while I appreciate his devotion to you, I miss you, and it's my turn tonight. Wear a heavy cloak - it's cold today. I love you.]

[deathturned]

@xfindingtrouble said: ❝ sometimes we need the cold light of death before we can see reality. ❞  from percy,,,

She wishes she knew what to say to that.

Tragic, isn't it? There's no easy answer, no clever quip waiting at the tip of her tongue. She doesn't have anything to say to that and certainly nothing to take the weight out of it. A hand moves, and she only recognizes it as hers when she feels the soft skin of his ankle under her palm. Her fingers curl against the back of his heel, and she strokes her thumb across the top of his bare foot, her expression thoughtful, her silence deliberate.

"Sometimes," Vex acquiesces finally, and her hand slips up to curve against their calf. She is near overwhelmed by the sight of them, sometimes—the tousled white hair, sticking up at odd angles from the desperate ministrations of her own impatient fingers, the same ones now so gentle against their skin; the green of their eyes, almost startling, always beautiful; the crooked curve of their lips when they know something she doesn't and the crease between their eyebrows when she's said something deliberately wrong, just to get them going. "But—for what it's worth—I think, perhaps, we were inevitable."

There is a rage inside of her that is never quite quelled, located in the scarred chamber of her heart where she feels her brother's oath the most. There are scars across her body she can trace to map out a timeline of death and pain. There is a spot behind her left ear where Percy kissed her yesterday, one of his hands gathering her hair over her right shoulder and the other settled on her side, and his breath warm on her neck when he let out a chuckle at her yawn as she made peace with the morning. There is a section of skin where she has no sensation, the result of an exploding arrow that went off too soon and burned her fingertips while Pike was away. There is a hollow in the pit of her stomach when she thinks of Scanlan, and his silence, and her own guilt. There is a small cluster of freckles on her back that Percy traced when he climbed into bed beside her tonight, finger feather-light as he made out a shape that he swore was a constellation. There is agony inside of her, dulled only by years of learning how to swallow the pain she felt and let it burn her from within.

There is more love than she knows what to do with, sweet on her tongue like the taste of their kiss. Vex leans into them, and at once, they press their heels into the mattress so she can rest her weight against his thigh, her hand moving back to settle at their thigh.

"Almost losing you made me understand how badly it needed to be said." Her concession is quiet, thoughtful. "But even without that, I would have told you. I doubt I could have stopped myself if I tried."

[whalefelled]

“You’re leering,” Kios half-scolded, tone flate. She was often so keen to avoid anything that might turn into an argument amongst those they traveled with, but sitting here at the fire she watched Ellis stare Morrigan down for the better part of the evening.

Her stomach turned.

“I would say she doesn’t bite, but she might at you—” oh Andraste take her, that was her actually needling the poor noble… and all she could is look and feel pleased with herself about it before she looked up from the scrap journal she had tucked against her legs. The mage’s feet shuffled in the dirt as she settled on staring at Ellis with her wide and unsettling gaze (“deer-like” Leliana had said. Shale likened it to a specter).

He looked genuinely interested in the Witch… and a sigh left her as she sat up a little bit more to get closer to the fire and put another few dry branches into the pit. “Do you want to talk to her about somethiiing?” Kios drew the word out as she squinted at her fellow Warden, finding herself chewing on the inside of her bottom lip.

@xfindingtrouble

[stellarhistoria]

@xfindingtrouble WE GOIN FERAL TODAY LADS?

Characters: Aryin & Percival

─── ♥

There was a certain energy that came with watching the sun rise, and Aryin could not for the life of her put it to words. In a way, it was like faith, something that she did not, could not, would not put her - well - faith in. Faith is easily broken, easily taken, easily dashed upon the rocks, like a frozen piece of glass. A sunrise is something you can always count on seeing, as long as you make it to the next day.

you, you, you . . . it's all you .

A patient smile curls the corner of her lips as she looks partially over one shoulder towards the gunslinging technician of war in the wings. Yes, she has read the history books of this world, and has listened to countless a bard song, countless a tale of deeds sung by both reckless and silly, and dire and dirge. Yes, indeed, there is many things to say about his group. Many things to ask. But right now, at dawn, when the sun is yawning above the horizon like a blooming rose... now is not the time.

" I suppose, in a manner of speaking, I was merely thinking that, hm, " she takes a slow breath in. What brought on the thought, indeed. " things back home. They are going too well. When things go too well, the home is bound to burn. I do not wish, to watch to world end a fifth time. "

" Percival, I am not strong enough to lose everything again. "

[stcrforged]

@xfindingtrouble asked ❝ i mean, it’s the long way or the ‘we’re fucking dead’ way. ❞ ellis @ agrona!

" WHAT? not up for a challenge, aye? " perhaps it was the dragon blood in her roaring, echoing in her ears or her deep love for fighting that made her heart beating faster. the adrenaline. the thrill. the UNKNOWN fate of the future. would she survive? would she die there on the battlefield? it was always unclear.

gloved hands rested upon the grip of the pommel. CLEAR green eyes looked at the hero of ferelden before the gaze wandered away, observing the dead demons and darkspawn at their feet, forming a circle. head raised as the dwarf looked towards the horizon, seeing more enemies. it seemed to have no ending and no beginning. never ending. if they fought their way through this, the distance would become SIGNIFICANT shorter, but it oozed of death and misery. the longer way would be safer, less traps. a sigh escaped chapped lips. " alright then. let's go, BUT you're paying for beer. champ. "