Shyril Skyseeker

My Syl,

I know we’ve never been traditional. I’ve asked myself a thousand times why the fuck we’re doing this, but I know I could never even think of it with anyone else. I wonder if you’re nerves are trembling half as hard as mine are.

The redhead breathed in deeply, inhaling Syl’s scent and smilng as she noted the thin hint of motor oil, sharp and familiar. Lithe fingers splayed across his back momentarily, her words spoken into his shirt. “You proposed knowing I’d never marry you, didn’t you?” She echoed, finally offering a tilt of a pointed chin so her gaze could meet his much higher one.

The femme didn’t need an answer. Instead her lips pulled into a smile as she nodded, cementing a decision in her mind. Her head turned, settling on those wide double doors that held promises of both heaven and hell within them. Knowing she’d have the man on her arm every step of the way made prying it open not only worth it, but the only course of action even worth considering.

“Well. We both know I don’t do well with expectations. Time to prove you wrong, Captain Arash.”

My Syl,

I know we’ve never been traditional. I’ve asked myself a thousand times why the fuck we’re doing this, but I know I could never even think of it with anyone else. I wonder if you’re nerves are trembling half as hard as mine are.

Here’s a little something to get you through a hectic day. A little hint at things to come.

I’ll see you tonight, lovely.

I’ll be the one in the dress.

All my love,

Syl drew a deep breath through his nostrils, his eyes closing and his head falling back against the wall. His mind raced, his heart pounded at a million beats a minuet. Even his arm seemed to be uncharacteristically finiky today. He rolled his shoulder, his real hand coming up to massage where man met machine, the socket making an odd whirring sound before a loud grinding pop filled the air. He rolled his arm again, finally letting that deep breath go, his eyes slowly opening again. Trapped in his mechanical hand was a letter and a picture, both from Shyril earlier that day.

He hated himself in this moment, so many thoughts racing through his head. Why did he let this happen. Why was he upset this was happening. Why was he nervous, he was the one who proposed to her after all. They may as well be married anyways, right? He finally drew another breath, his mechanical fingers unfolding the parchement, his real hand reaching for the picture. Instantly, a smile came to his face and all of his fears and nerves faded away for a moment. She always captured him, from grimey clothes to the rare occasion she wore a dress, often for some sort of job. He just stared at her picture for a moment, his teeth drawing over his lower lip for a moment before his attention finally drifted to the letter. The small reminder that she was just as nervous as he was, as well as her own gentle push in just the right way. His attention drifted back to the picture again, a truely happy grin tugging at his lips as he folded the picture away into the letter again, sliding it into a pocket on the inside of his jacket.

Adjusting his tie and shirt, he pushed off the wall he was leaned against and drew his pocket watch from his jacket. Snapping it open, he shook his head and gave a light chuckle. ‘An hour late to my own wedding….and I’ve been here for days.’ He thought as he drew a cigar from his jacket. The cigar settled into the corner of his mouth, holding his mechanical thumb up to the end of it, with a few snaps a flame sparked to life, drawing into the end of the cigar and drawing it to life as he circled around the building, dramatically pushing both of the doors to the chapel open as he strode through the center of the doorway, he looked confident but he half expected Shyril to shoot him as soon as he came through the doors.

vielynne

"You too, huh?"

The words rang out simultaneously with the hand that fell upon a mechanical shoulder, stopping the rogue just as his hand landed on the handle. Shyril stood there in all her bridal radiance. The dress was simple yet fashionable, worn at the insistence of Loreliae no doubt. It held all the woman's causal touches of style while still encompassing the personality of its wearer.

The redhead smiled up at him from her significantly shorter stature, pulling her hand back as if afraid to let it linger to long. That was different. It was a rare day Shyril feared anything, and never something as simple as a man. This, however, wasn't any ordinary evening.

"We don't have to go in there, you know." She murmured, a casual glance given towards the wide double doors decorated with small, white flowers she couldn't and would never be able to name. Lips pursed briefly in contemplation before she spoke again. "Fuck. All this is for them, not me. I don't need this. I don't need -any- of this. So if you want to walk, just walk. It's alright."

This is an idea I just had that would be a neat exercise for roleplayers.

Aaand genderbender Mei.

Let’s not pretend he wouldn’t cut his leg off for a chance at this fine piece of engineering.

Let's not pretend Mei hasn't been thinking of replacing 85% of his body parts for years.

Also that hair.

To improve my writing skills, which I believe to be lacking:

Give me a topic or scenario in ask.

"Mowah tea, Ms. Twilly?" 

The clink of fine china echo’d in the small playroom, delicate taps of two rose-embossed cups clacking together in fine afternoon tradition. One was held in a chubby little hand, small and adorable from its pink-painted nails to the oversized bit of gaudy metal jewelry that threatened to fall off of it and onto the matching saucer on the table. It jingled as the toddler moved the cup up to her lips, sipping the invisible brew and savoring what must have been the fine flavors of earl grey or chamomile.

She was all curls and dimples, the perfect picture of adorable all decked out in an over sized lacy gown she must have stolen from someone else’s closet.

The elven child wore it like a -Queen-, her back straight and regal in the hand-carved play chair that matched the tea-table she ruled over currently. Innocent green eyes peered over her teacup, locking expectantly with her guest’s matching set of emerald hues.

"Not… Just yet.."

Shyril’s voice was a bit strained, to say the least. It could have been because she simply wasn’t dressed properly for so grand an affair; her sweat-soaked leathers still stained with blood and oil as they had been when this invincible creature had accosted her. Kidnapping the pirate captain from her airship almost as soon as it had been secured to the docks. It could also have been her lack of sleep, putting out the fire that had mysteriously started in her stateroom while on the voyage. -Steve.-

But most likely it was because the tea was as imaginary as the amber liquid that she dreamed of lacing it with to make this situation a little more… Bearable. Knees were drawn up almost to her chin as she hunched in the opposite play chair. Silently, she prayed to herself. Just hold my ass for another ten minutes.. Her armor was hot and sticky in the summer’s heat, with only a bit of breeze that floated in from the lace-curtained windows to relieve her a bit. But the discomfort all washed away when her eyes locked with her daughter accross the table. 

"But perhaps I will have more of that delicious cake you made."

Beaming, the little Elven ‘Queen’ began to cut another slice from the purple colored dough that she had molded into a true marvel of the bakery world. Shyril had just sighed with contentment, lifting the cup to her lips for another calorie-free sip, when..

The door creaked ever so slowly open, revealing two looming figures framed in the dim hall lights. Cake slice in hand, the child froze as her eyes widened at the sight of who was gracing them. The pirate choked on her imaginary tea.

"COUSIIIIN!"

Two high-pitched childish voices called out at the same time, threatening to shatter the supply of good china in the room. The Queen arouse from her table, rushing to greet her relative from a neighboring kingdom as the two young elves clashed in a flurry of hugs and giggles. Over sized shoes seeking to trip them both at every turn. 

"…Sup, Ms. Twilly."

If Shyril’s voice was strained, this one’s was sandpaper dragged over velvet, a smoker’s wheeze. But her eyes twinkled merrily behind their goggles, and her lips were tugging themselves into a sheepish grin. Over top of the full-length white gown that had been unceremoniously shoved over her soot-stained plate armor.

"Don’t stop!"

"Where are we?"

"Baby…"

"You know I love it when you do that…"

"Now what?"

"What happens next?"

"Help me!"

"I can’t stay here…"

"You need to leave."

"Why are you trying to hurt me?"

"I should hate you."

Meilos blinks at her, looking at her for a long time, trying to tell if she was being serious. It was three in the morning and he had just been wrenched from fitful sleep. Together they had gone downstairs, and Mei had brewed some coffee (which he then, of course, spiked). 

Mei pushes his tangled bangs out of his face, trying to understand what he was hearing.