THE DEFENDER

Propeller cleared a spot for himself close to the smaller knight with a corkscrew kick. With his feet planted firmly on the ground and his rapier drawn, he turned his immediate attention to the swarm around them.

“Hoh, do not think so little of yourself to say my time would be wasted on aiding you my friend! I am not here to steal any glory from you, and as much fun as it is to watch your skill and valor from afar, the least I could do is help save some of your energy.”

Was he laying it on a little bit thick? Debatable, but he wasn’t about to antagonize Black Knight with a quip right now. Not when there wasn’t any sign of this clearing up any time soon. Black Knight was a viable ally to have! He had all the qualities, like being available!

“ What?! That’s not what I... Did you just...? Nevermind! ”

     A taut grip upon familiar weaponry does little to negate those little nips of annoyance brought by confusion. Attention swaying, trapped between brief glances between foes and... Foe. Partial aggression wishes for a minuscule reason to point his blade unto that pompous presence, yet reason argues otherwise. A mere swipe, dismissing the useless attempt of an attack, sends one bouncing blorb back into the crowd of its kin, easing his tension.

See, here’s the problem. Working for the Bounty of Light is all fine and good. Helping out those in need is a noble cause. Running out of food is definitely a setback, but a manageable one. But being a pushover is absolutely what’s gonna get Bard killed one of these days. He’d volunteered to pick up the food after the person delivering had failed to arrive, and it’s left him trudging through the streets of Cotes Ward in what must be at least ninety degree weather. He’s ditched the helmet and hat because of that, and has tied his hair up to the best of his ability. The heat makes him sluggish… he almost feels like finding his house again and taking a good nap– that is, until his name is very loudly yelled. Looking around, he doesn’t see anyone he recognizes… until he notices the man sitting on the ground, and he finally pieces together the voice and the face.

“K- Kisho? I– I should be asking you that! You’re… You’re…” He should be asking why he’s on the ground, why he’s armorless. Is he hurt? Does he need his assistance? Food can wait if he needs to help someone injured, and a friend, no less… but his eyes trail over his friend and all he can notice are feathers. Why is he… covered in feathers? No, not covered in them, but… Has he always been like that? Bard realizes his mouth has been hanging open, and he remembers to shut it. He’s already a sight to see, those feathers glistening in the sunlight, but… he catches himself in awe at his face, too. He’s striking, and certainly not in a bad way… Bard has to wonder why he’s so insistent on keeping that helmet on. He knows he personally wouldn’t mind seeing him sans armor more often.

“I– I mean. I was going to get food. Uh– I… I’ve been volunteering. Well, they’re paying me, but– Th- they ran out of food. I was going to get more. What are you doing out here? And what happened to you? Are you alright?”

     No word could describe the influx of emotions battling for dominance, nor would its definition satisfy an already anxiety ridden avian. Befuddled by his brilliance (his sudden knee-jerk reaction only having now registered fully) and now trapped in a situation as fragile as a taut rope nearing its limits. Momentarily, at best, all he could do was stare. Blink. Leave his mouth open and let instincts override, short breaths and ruffling feathers offering minute reprieve from the unruly weather. It’s when the man stutters - makes mention of a mission - that the Knight draws himself out from his seemingly apathetic torpor. Readies himself to build up walls and satisfy the urge to hide.

“ ...And you’ve been going at this alone?! ” Aggression clings to harshly spoken words, accompanying a steadily souring expression forced for the sake of “self preservation”. “ Have you not been made aware of the situation we’re in? You seem rather ill prepared, dressed as you are, and whatever it is you may be thinking, for your sake, don’t. ”

     Yet even still, as desperate as he tries to cling onto that ever intimidating and unapproachable facade, concern seeps through the cracks of his defenses. Antagonistic gaze only thinly veiling growing worries. 

     Try as he might, without those intimidating wears...

EARTH

No amount of blankets is going to change the fact that you’re still falling apart inside, that it feels like everything you’ve ever done wrong is crawling underneath your skin, that you feel like there’s something wrong with you but everyone says that it’s fine, you’re fine, it’s all going to end up okay but you can’t change anything, no, it’s not in your control, they say. They’re wrong. You deserve to get better. Don’t you? Aren’t you tired of the bags under your eyes, of the weight on your shoulders? You have a hard time figuring out which relationships are toxic because they’re so fundamentally ingrained into your personality - or so you think - and you don’t know quite how to take care of yourself. You want to touch the stars but you’re so stuck in your problems rather than your dreams it feels like drowning, not flying, and it’s hard to tell the difference between the two feelings of weightlessness.

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust-filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water-soaked skin / seaside towns during off-season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways.

𝐑𝐄𝐃 wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets.

𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams.

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 marshy swamps / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grotto / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theatre productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theatres / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces.

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art.

“ YOU of ALL people. Have you nothing better to waste your time on? Leave this business to me and me alone! ” Whether or not the knight was here to aid, he’d have no such business in being near anyone affiliated with the order. Small hands grip tightly against his shovel blade, turning his attention briefly away from that oh-so-terrifying cluster of blorbs wiggling their way closer, mindful that out of most, Propeller Knight was hardly the worst choice for company out of the bundle. Even still, ever at guard, he stands at the ready, watchful, ready to strike without warning though always patient in waiting for a reason.

     Of all the oddities to have occurred, this experience had most certainly spoken his language. The return of both weaponry and strength fueled an undying desire to spar; an unsatisfying itch of which nothing could satisfy beyond those who donned very specific wears and the occasional “villain” or two. Here and now, standing proud atop his noble companion, searching for survivors became much an afterthought compared to the reality that the world was now all but a battleground.

     It’s only when the duo victoriously defeats their third foe that they’d come to a halt. The sight of pink is hard to ignore given the dull contrast of a desecrated city surrounding them.

     With the most boisterous overconfidence only a cocky and headstrong knight such as himself could give, he approaches with little care or regard towards the possibility of drawing attention. His shovel swiftly holstered, arms quick to cross, and chest plate jutting forward with a huff that soon accompanies his prodding questions.

{ It’s a better time than ever to reach into your local birdhouse and find yourself an angry knight!

Black Knight’s very much set on fighting as much as possible (because he’s a reckless idiot) so having him as an ally is very easy. All you have to say is “fight” and he’ll follow with his trusty tortoise companion! Two free buddies for the price of nothin! And they’ll even laugh together like the edgy dorks they are! Wowee! Look at these idiots!

That aside, the Valley is full of terrifying creatures like... *checks notes* ...rat on a propeller and... *turns page* ...A sleeping bubble blowing dragon- I swear this game has scarier enemies.

At least his boss is going to be terrifying! Watch out y’all, that sweet sweet angsty character development means Black Knight’s grand foe is none other than the titanic terror himself: not dad Polar Knight. Can all the emotionally constipated soon-to-be-supremely-upset dorks give a ‘wai-oh’?

    A city in widespread panic only further reassures endless theories and countless days spent investigating out of unease. The ferocious heats devastating Cotes Ward did little to help in his current self-assigned endeavors. Between backtracking, weaving in and out of alleyways, ever trapped in a constant search for those in need of aid, it felt as though hours seemed to pass before he’d allowed himself the luxury of a break - or rather - his body had made such a hasty decision for him as wobbled knees easily caved to their growing weakness.

     Self reprimands towards current poor choice in wears die before they reach the tongue. Now, his body sags, pitifully slacked against the heated concrete sidewalk and brickwork of an abandoned building behind. No matter how hard he wills himself, moving is a near impossibility and the stress only grows as sweltering heats threaten to overwhelm.

     It’s with a burdened sigh that he attempts to soothe worries. Surely, he’d not be recognized so long as he doesn’t speak... It was enough of a bargain to deter him from clinging idiotically to the comforts of weathered obsidian.

     With furrowed brows and great amounts of hesitation, his helm is the first removed and cast away into his inventory. Each individual portion - leggings, boots, chest plate, pauldrons - soon follow in their slow removal, freeing feathers that had for so long begged for freedom. It’s an enlightening feeling; between that drastic shift in heat and the removal of an all too familiar cramped sensation. His mood might have even stayed highly positive, despite the situation...!

     Had he not caught a glimpse of familiar orange garbs.

     Had he not felt panicked, wondering whether the Bard had witnessed the reveal.

     And certainly, had he not blown his potential cover.

{ OH golly gee! So manny bad things be happening! It’d be a shame is a self-destructive, reckless, claims-not-to-be hero kept trying to race around helping everyone!

For the most part, Black Knight’s interest is in the safety of others, escorting them to the current ward’s safety zone, but maybe someone could convince him to accompany them on their holey hole ventures? He’s got a tortle!! That’s a bonus. Who doesn’t like torts?

Poking and prodding at the strange pup, Pale King flipped the creature over in his hands to a protest of blaring static of which he took no mind. His claws parted the fur easily, snout wrinkling at the sight of the same tender flesh that humans possessed; was this some manner of convergent cousin? Taxonomic trees had never been of much interest but he could try his hand, pressing hard on a squishy paw pad. Like touching raw meat—

Head turning to notice the pack of similar creatures around him and the humanoid wielding a shovel, Pale King he openly stared. It seemed humans also practiced knighthood albeit it in a more gaudy fashion; the black and red metal plating was a terrible eyesore on his good tastes.

❝Implore us? A bold statement from a knight, a servitor.❞ Flipping the pup right side up, he spared another glance for the loose circle of furry creatures around them with their tails no longer wagging, heads bent low with the only standout baring pearly white teeth. ❝We have no intention to lay harm to this amalgam. Surely a cursory examination is amenable.❞ Not a question.

     The gall of these civilians... Whether such traits comes from well-placed confidence or mere stupidity and a lapse in judgement, either would lead to the same conclusion. To bear witness towards their indifference, to be the object of insult from a well worn title, had he been any less of a Knight set on justice, this would have been enough for him to leave. Let lessons be learned however horrid they may present themselves.

“ I answer to no one. ” Words hiss in defensive instinct. A well thinned temper only growing with each steady breath. He gives pause, if only to give a cursory glance between the “amalgam” and its kin.

“ Your claims fall upon deaf ears. My s u p p o s e d   s e r v i t u d e  falls solely upon their protection. For the ones who cannot fight, I stand only for them. ”

     The beginning of Spring in itself was never a favorable time. A new addition of change within the city, bringing forth silent worries and an undying need to investigate further, hardly helped. Anger doubled and curiosities tripled; it’s not long before he finds himself on a frantic race around every section of the city, skulking in the safety of bushes and trees until confirmations towards every possible event being one of good intents could be made.

     For now, he’s currently found himself getting involved in a competition of sorts. The talent in question was one entirely foreign, nevertheless, he pursues in the art of “latte”, crafting incredibly poor and misshapen foamy images of foreign flowers.

     A third attempt has him leaning back in his seat, arms crossed and brows knitted tight. He’s long since made the assumption that, this TOO, was nothing more than a celebratory event for the arrival of Spring. So... Why was he still here?

     It’s in his blood to be competitive. No matter the prize, merely winning in itself was enough to satiate a pride-fueled drive. But persistence can only will him through this for so long. He’s finding himself more enthralled through people-watching than anything else... Except when said people watching catches the attention of a familiar face.