warwaited

[warwaited]

Kinda feel like I should reblog some memes or something just to do stuff

[warwaited]

She thinks she's rather effectively detailed what she meant, but that's only her own supposition. The hobgoblin rolls her shoulders and chuckles lowly, putting hands to hips as she pauses to give Wyll a more thorough look-over. The paladin's yet to offer an opinion on the results of his broken deal - it seemed she'd rather liked Karlach and hadn't looked altogether too pleased with the idea of killing her, but infernal power seems like something that could quite easily change her mind.

"Their goodness is obvious, but so too is the fact that we need to work our advantages and at the moment there are crucially few of them. It's my belief-" Rakatak's about to continue arguing the point when, visibly, she reins herself in, instead scrutinizing him with those yellowed eyes a moment or two. The moment passes. Squared shoulders lower, and she huffs, shaking her head.

"...you are not bound to take my advisement as command. I suppose we will be moving to do things the hard way. I will make preparations." For what, precisely, she's not sure yet. The curse has been spoken of only in passing, and while the Banite's not worried about bringing a little light, she can't fathom what the flames of conquest will be seeing off.

"What do you mean, I wonder?" Wyll inquired almost absently, thinking he was getting used to Rakatak, even with their short tenure together. They very clearly had different perspectives on mostly everything they were coming across. She was still a curious person, taking a much more ... logical approach that best suited her or them if she had to count anyone else to her equation.

Again, the suggestion was sound, pragmatic but definitely not the route he would have preferred to take. "If it were not for the artifacts' protection, I would deviate temporarily, offer up my services to protect their caravan, not use it as essentially ... cannon fodder."

To think! Wyll would have looked scandalised had it not been for the earlier thought of getting a bit more used to her. Of course this was what she thought was best. "They're good people, you know. They've struggled a lot to get where they were, and as you can see ... they haven't been dealt a good hand by those who should be a little more compassionate, welcoming. I think at the very least, we should be merciful ... easy on them."

[warwaited]

@ravengrd

"Payment?" It's a scoffing laugh, and she turns to look askance at the dashing hero - gauging whether he's serious. "Still a neophyte, are we. I don't mean their coin or their food, we've enough of both from the-"

Snort. Already planning on it? "Do not deign to rope me into your heroics. Before I learned of the goblins' apostacy I had no intentions of involving myself." It's true - Rakatak had technically been outvoted in whether this was any of their business in the first place, but she at least had changed her tune when Astarion hadn't. Seemingly for the wrong reasons.

"They are headed in the same direction as us, and onto dangerous ground. The tactically sound maneuver would be to use their movement as a screen, drawing attention that we would rather not have. Their usefulness isn't merely material."

[warwaited]

well maybe my path to getting revenge wouldn't be so bloody and destructive if people didn't keep getting in my way to lecture me about how bloody and destructive a path it is

[warwaited]

Xue leaves trails as she moves, wisps of colour tracking the movements of her hands and feet. Making a painting in three-dimensional space, starting sharply with the force she uses to draw her hand back from his grasp. Confusion flits through her eyes, and for some reason, that same hand slips to her waist. There's nothing there to grasp, even though her fingers close around the air. She takes a breath.

"If you're here, then... you must also be dead." Her tone betrays no notes on what exactly that's meant to mean, but she sounds sure of herself. The one who calls herself Student takes a step towards him, leaving the same trail in the air. It starts to fade from where she made her first move - like it's cataloguing where exactly she's been. What exactly she's done, but only a few seconds into the past. "Or something else. Something equally bad."

@warwaited sent :: ["You... shouldn't be here. You really shouldn't be here." (I am following through on the "thread in the arcane" threat!)]

 It is a single touch, that is all that is needed for him to enter her mind. The space around them is vast and empty, residing at the very surface of her psyche. Most minds were like this, clouded in vague consciousness. She is there, before him, swathed in shades of red, blue, and orange – colors resembling a worn, eroded canyon of emotion. He lowers his fingers from her wrist, letting her go to look her in the eyes.

 Only to be met with the warning that he shouldn’t be there. Resistance is natural. Someone foreign is now in her mindscape. It’s only to be expected that there would be a negative reaction. Instead of retreating from her thoughts however, he persists, diving a bit deeper into her mind. “And yet I am. You are safe. I am not here to disrupt.” He looks around at the fields of fog around them. “Only to observe and understand.”

[warwaited]

The briefly raised voice does draw over their leader. Rakatak has been combing the beach for supplies - there are more than enough corpses to pick through for anything they might be able to use. More of those oddly-shaped coins, some food. Others might not think that ferreting away rations is well-served at a time like this, but she has a feeling it might be a while before they're able to properly feed themselves on something other thank the spoils of war.

That said, she's loathe to turn down conscripts on these foreign shores, and when she approaches, it's not hard to see that the young tyrant thinks Astarion has found a winner. She crosses her arms, looking this new specimen up and down - not seemingly put off by the lack of shirt. "...I see." The hobgoblin draws herself up and softly clears her throat.

"You address Rakatak First-Among-All, daughter of Hurkyll First-Among-All, Emperor of the Provinces and Holdings of the Clans of Rhet. I am the leader of the group composed of this crash's survivors. Join us if you wish to survive further than this beach."

Really putting her best foot forward. She wants to impress him.

　　　the  swift and equally fluent  rejoinder  knocks  a  cackle  from  his  sternum. “komorník !?” he was just insulted, yet is grinning like some self-satisfied feline. “to  vysvetľuje,  prečo  cítim  také  pokušenie  opraviť  tvoj  plášť ～”   oh — the arm's aglow ! how nasty ! did anyone else see that ?? palms shoot up as  if  to  warn :   easy there,  big  guy . . . “not  charity.”   he  grimly assures, gaze rolling — rather offended, actually, by the mere notion. “just  a  shirt.” astarion tears a lobbed leaf from one of the many oaks drooping down onto their path as a kind of revenge for its licking his brow and trying to stab his eye. “as to who's going to put up with your temper . . .” leaf between the two fingers that jut forward, pointing rakatak out from the pack is simple enough. abruptly calling her over ( “we require an opinion, dear !” ) holds the notes and energy of a boisterous wingman who imagines he's about to render unto his ‘friend’ a favour — only, of course, astarion plans on doing no such thing.

[warwaited]

“Keeps the marching timely. Aside from yourself and Lae’zel I’m certain our merry little band would happily stick our faces in every random hole and shaded path along our road, and I have slightly higher standards for what is deserving of our attention.” She chuckles shortly - but out of the corner of her eye she can see Karlach looking her over. It’s subtle, but not that subtle, and Rakatak turns onto her side to lock eyes with the barbarian.

There is, briefly, the almost threatening sense of being observed.

She laughs. “Do not trouble yourself with it if you do not desire to. I will take care of it. Just as I take care of everything else. It is already dealt with.” The certainty of her tone leaves no room for argument, and a moment passes in confident silence before the hobgoblin’s lips twist and she raises her eyebrows. “You know, if you spend much more time tracing the outline of my physique, the stars are likely to get jealous.”

@infernalapparatus

The hobgoblin’s nose wrinkles at the pet name she just can’t seem to shake regardless of who’s saying it, but the irritation is soon washed away by Karlach’s agreement. She hums softly, providing tacit approval of the sentiment - the bitter end certainly seems to be where they’re all headed unless they can figure out how to revoke a man’s immortality.

“And I am ever fortunate to have you slavering at my back to be set loose on our adversaries. The road ahead may be difficult, but I imagine it would be more so if not for the fury of Avernus.” A low, rumbling chuckle of her own escapes Rakatak, and she turns her eyes back up to the stars.

“…I have been thinking. About what that forgemaster said - Dammon? It seems as if our timeframe is shortening. We will have to be more assertive in our application… more than we were already, even. That engine needs to be repaired.”

[warwaited]

It comes to this.

She feels like the past couple of weeks have gone by in a total blur. It hasn’t been without cost - when she heard that the Eye of Zaun had been making more public appearances than was probably smart for a man of his station she’d kicked her surveillance efforts into high gear. Sleepless nights, rooftop interrogations, and more than a couple high-card scrapes that she got out of more because of grit than strictly skill. She’d taken a night to lick her wounds and prepare.

Because she knew he’d be here tonight. Calling it “playing into her hands” would imply more of a plan than she’d had, but the fact remains. Just because this isn’t her place doesn’t mean she can’t be here. It’s outside both of their loci of control, and only time will tell which of them is the better at adapting to unfamiliar territory.

She steps forward into the sickly yellow glow of an overhead light outside the back-alley entrance of some run-down shop. Does anything even need to be said? She doubts he knows who she is. He has no reason to. What happened to her has happened to hundreds of others that didn’t have the guts to persist and warp themselves into something capable of paying evil unto evil like she has. Like she will.

“Not this time.”

@warwaited

There had been rumors going around about some stranger in the shadows of Zaun that was targeting Chem Barons. Normally, this sort of information would not regularly bother Silco. After all, the Eye of Zaun so often kept himself from getting his own hands dirty, much preferring to use others to do all of his dirty work for him. If death were to come for him, its hands would have wrapped around the throats of hundreds of loyal followers well before putting Silco himself into the ground.

Yet, Silco also knew that pride could only take him so far. Inevitably, the chisel of the one wishing to fell those leaking Shimmer into the streets would inevitably find their tools set to destroy the very head of the organization. Such was the case that he had flown too far from the safety of his own nest where he stood there on the streets of Zaun, surrounded by the smog and smoke and soot. Separated from his own men.

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

A sound alerted him from a far off alleyway. Hand instinctively went to the sheathed knife on his hip, wrapped around the handle, ready to flash in a moment notice if need be.

"Sevika?" He hissed, pushing a prodding question in the chance it was his second-in-command come to find him, though something told him such was not the case.

[warwaited]

"I do not speak when I am not sure." Still, Rakatak smirks at him, then glances down towards the box he's been messing around with. Not fumbling - he's far too deft and has clearly too much idea what he's doing, but it's more like he needs to put some kind of distance between himself and the conversation. "Oh- look, there you have it. A shame, you seemed to be enjoying the chase." When Astarion offers it to her, though, she's all too quick to snatch.

"I would like. If it's of suitable value I'll allow you to keep it." A funny way of wording the offer - if it's some meaningless trinket it'll no doubt be pawned at first opportunity in favour of coin used for things they need. Food, armour, weapons, perhaps something to throw into Gale's open furnace of a body. But if it's truly useful? To the crafty one will go the spoils of his effort.

　　　＂pft ! oh, no — you think ?＂ and, what ? is she going to rub it in now ? or is she going to smile at him with eyes blazing like the sun because he's finally gotten the little conundrum in his lap to yield ? thumb on its seam, he presses up on the lid to take a squeaky-peek, but shifts gears, his mind changing at the last second. he passes rakatak a glance. ＂wouldst thou like to do the honours, my lady ?＂ snort. bedding her may be out of the question, but that doesn't mean he cannot apply to rakatak in other fashions. his grip coils around the clink of wrench and pick and eases them back into the kit. he'll be able to use both again. ＂it's rather heavy.＂ careful to avoid a clash with the wine glass betwixt strong fingers, he extends the offering towards her in one splayed hand. the fruit of his mischiefs and labours, right there in his palm. and he'll let her have the first bite. there are deep indentations on the skin of his thighs ( concealed by his breeches ) from where the box was held, lighter ones along the edges of a few fingers from his efforts. ＂— probably not cursed.＂

[warwaited]

Jason does his best to match her, offering a small smirk as she does the same. Relearning how to properly emote, when and where and what to act— it's a learning curve for sure. Something to be worked on. On Rook, he always had a stare about him, an intense glare like that of a hawk. Unblinking. Unmoving. Gathering as much intel about an adversary as he could. Here? Among fellow man that didn't want to kill him? It brought unease, mistrust. Apprehension, especially as out of his depth as he was in an eastern civilization instead of a familiar western one.

He smiles, and he means it. The first win all night. The biggest win of all night.

"Thanks"

To her compliment? Her adjusting his curriculum? Offering to spend more time together? Any. All. Whatever meaning she wanted to apply. Jason was almost shocked she actually listens, let him tell as much or as little as he wants. Unlike the dozens of head shrinks he'd recounted the tale to, unlike his friends he'd died for. Not that it was out of malice, but they had such a sheltered view. They had been there, but not really there. And no amount of explaining had changed things.

He rips himself from the past once more, following her advice. Might be good for non-combat too, actually. Focusing on here. He tends to slip a lot, find he compares things too much. Something distracting, both occupying him and distracting him in the worst ways.

"Open hand to hand wasn't something I did a lot of. Glad I could at least somewhat keep up."

An attempt at a joke. Or at least a funny irony. Keep up? Sure. The sifu had wiped the floor with him.

"I think next time you're gonna have a harder time surprising me. I know your game now."

I can learn by example, too.

[warwaited]

Those expressive brows rise slightly, a moment taken to ensure the question is genuine before she responds. “My introduction to Shadowheart was having her follow me from the crash site to the Druid grove and then practically insist on coming with me to assess the situation to the east of the grove. For someone who truly loathes the idea of being known, she affixes herself to others as if drowning.”

A low, almost mocking chuckle. “Stands to reason, her being a Sharran and all. A people characterized by deprivation. No wonder her first foray from the nest sees her gorging herself on emotional connections previously denied. Frankly, I’m shocked she turned you down at all… you must have put her off somehow.”

"And I approve your discretion." It's a bit dry - both of them know it would have gone poorly for him, but he's already been rejected once and Rakatak would take no real joy in repeatedly beating him down for the crime of finding her beautiful. "Given how clingy she is I think it's only a matter of time before you wear her down if such a thing is your goal."

She does not have the patience for lockpicking. Her attention's mostly divested from his work at this point, staring out across the river to the far shore and wondering idly what the rest of the day will bring. Just about everyone else is up now - soon she'll be giving the order to move. "You were fine. No one was watching you anyway. Much better things to occupy oneself with than marking down the unsuccessful advances of the evening."

[warwaited]

"And I approve your discretion." It's a bit dry - both of them know it would have gone poorly for him, but he's already been rejected once and Rakatak would take no real joy in repeatedly beating him down for the crime of finding her beautiful. "Given how clingy she is I think it's only a matter of time before you wear her down if such a thing is your goal."

She does not have the patience for lockpicking. Her attention's mostly divested from his work at this point, staring out across the river to the far shore and wondering idly what the rest of the day will bring. Just about everyone else is up now - soon she'll be giving the order to move. "You were fine. No one was watching you anyway. Much better things to occupy oneself with than marking down the unsuccessful advances of the evening."

　　　rakatak has her thoughts about the contents of the box ; astarion has his own. he also has the occasional strand of lilac weave pulsing faintly around his fingertips whilst he works. "you want the truth?" the fact that he doesn't linger on the pause exposes his plan to give it to her — his truth — no matter what. it's a strange, strange feeling. "i initially had thoughts of taking my shot with you, hah." he digs gently in with the pick, tongue slipping from one corner of his mouth to go prod at the other. after a couple seconds: "but then i realised." and then, yes — he reached for the grim flower instead. ". . . did i seem suitably composed last night?" the words he refuses to mutter but direly hopes rakatak grasps anyway: after she rejected me.

[warwaited]

"Even worse, then. I apologize. I may be mostly self-taught, but I had the benefit of a... proficient teacher before my story was set on the path it would keep for the next few years. If it's any consolation, it looks like you filled in with instinct what couldn't be informed by training. Just because you're not a proper match for me doesn't mean you aren't a proper match for anyone." Xue gives him a lopsided smile, still more or less fully relaxed despite the tightly-wound emotional state of the man across from her.

Probably not least because she just readily demonstrated her ability to kick his ass clean in two, but hey, at least one of them is dedicated to keeping the vibe nominal. Funny how much desire to move someone can show even while sitting down - doesn't feel like that long ago she was the same way. Always bouncing in place. Fidgeting. Not wanting to spend a single second idle, because who knows which second might be the one that mattered.

"I'd hope it was different." That same flickering smile, more for herself than for him. "I take a little bit of pride in the speed my students learn at, but none of them are quite at my level. If we do this again, I think I'd like to test your offence as well as your defence - I was an impolite host. Barely gave you space to talk."

Because he didn't take it, but it's beside the point. "Still. I'll have you moved up. The belt is still your responsibility to earn, but I'm certain that once you can ground yourself in the present and focus on the movements of fighting rather than the feeling, you'll be surprised just how fast you pick it up."

Through everything, Jason's pleasantly surprised. Surprised she offers no judgement, gives him no pity. Doesn't see a poor, broken animal that the rest of his friends, the world saw. Only sees another fighter, someone with the same drive for survival (if not purpose).

"Training a scapegoat's what he had time for."

A bitter laugh. An itch of his sleeve. Call him a monster all you liked, Jason had little care for Citra. Held little remorse for Dennis. Sorry it had ended how it had, and yet so, so jaded. He hadn't had his head on straight beforehand, but he hadn't deserved... that. Any of it. Not Ollie, Liza, Daisy, not his brother Riley, and Grant.....

"I... don't think I was sober for a lot of it."

He just wished he had the memory loss that came with it. Might be easier to deal with. Or, he might just have been super dead. Citra was never not blowing dust in his face or handing him weird teas, telling him wild stories and slinking off while he was out of his mind delirious. Jason could vividly remember more than one wild drug trip, waking up to more ink on his forearm and half the day gone.

The American suddenly feels another itch, this time at the back of his neck. Hairs standing on end, smoothed physically by a hand massaging the tense muscle. She was leaving it in his hands, letting him make the decision. Something he might've shirked before that trip to hell, something he might've shrugged and promised to make later, only to ghost. Now? Choice felt as odd as it felt freeing. He hadn't had much choice but to sink deeper and deeper on Rook. Depravity, violence, bloodshed and murder. But here? Even something as simple as how to proceed with the extra curricular? Seemed to soothe his nerves. Choice. And it was his to take.

The tiger who had remembered the soft floor of the jungle, yet accustomed to the cold concrete of the cage.

She mentions a similar path... did she think people could really change? Did she think Jason could change? The foreigner was skeptical, yet willing to hear reason. If not further that his fucked up intuition had been right, that they wore a similar set of scars.

"No— it.. It was nice. Different."

More itching. Cracking his neck aside, willing his heartbeat to stay steady.

"I think the last person I really talked to was Customs. I wanna move up a class."

[warwaited]

@infernalapparatus

The hobgoblin’s nose wrinkles at the pet name she just can’t seem to shake regardless of who’s saying it, but the irritation is soon washed away by Karlach’s agreement. She hums softly, providing tacit approval of the sentiment - the bitter end certainly seems to be where they’re all headed unless they can figure out how to revoke a man’s immortality.

“And I am ever fortunate to have you slavering at my back to be set loose on our adversaries. The road ahead may be difficult, but I imagine it would be more so if not for the fury of Avernus.” A low, rumbling chuckle of her own escapes Rakatak, and she turns her eyes back up to the stars.

“…I have been thinking. About what that forgemaster said - Dammon? It seems as if our timeframe is shortening. We will have to be more assertive in our application… more than we were already, even. That engine needs to be repaired.”

[warwaited]

yeah baby

[warwaited]

A vague, passing interest is given to the box Astarion is messing around with. She'll surely have a look once it's opened, if only to determine whether the contents are best served in Astarion's possession or hers, but for now Rakatak is happy to leave him to it. Keeps him occupied, if nothing else, and there's a notable quality to a lockbox being kept in such a place. Hand knows she's been apprised of some of the benefits of keeping things out of the hands of goblins.

"Mm. And nothing else, I imagine. Especially not with so many people at that little get-together making eyes at each other already... and I suppose your freedom is reason enough to campaign at least for the moment." Finally, Rakatak starts to pour a second glass. It'll likely be her last for the day. "The wine is acceptable. The tieflings had little to offer, which sweetens the taste... knowing that they gave exactly what they had without having it demanded of them."

　　　or she could ask astarion. he doesn't offer. he's never going to. he brings along a wooden stool, a set of lockpicks, and this fascinating little cofrett pilfered from the goblin camp. something heavy within. steel and impervious to slams against rock or ground, there's a physical lock keeping it bound, but also a touch of the arcane. he tinkered only a few minutes last night before force-quitting. gentle river breeze on both their faces, astarion cackles heartily at rakatak's idea of him skulking. "what you saw was me mocking her feeble attempts with that artefact." and the sharran hesitated not in returning snide sentiments, later discovering astarion by himself in a corner, absorbed with what's being worked between his hands now. instead of wine. instead of a warm body. ( — fuck, that's the second pick he's mangled in this attempt. ) "i have no pursuits, beyond remaining a free man." he's smug, and then he's concentrating again, brows pinched, peep of tongue lashing the corner of his mouth. "how's the wine, by the way ? couldn't stomach it myself."

[warwaited]

HC: as opposed to what people think about hobgoblins, Rakatak actually smells pretty good and takes meticulous care of her hygiene. She brushes her teeth and takes baths regularly, and would look gorgeous in a suit.

Approved! Rakatak is generally someone who flies in the face of hobgoblin "stereotypes", even if she's also a very strong example of some of them. She took a small, personal satisfaction in killing Dror Ragzlin - imagine wearing a loincloth in front of goblins. Had he no shame?

She would also look gorgeous in a suit. Double breasted.