glory be!

Miriam has an odd way of going about things. It’s subtle at first, hidden behind these sweetness laden smiles that she seems so good at giving. In this case, she’s paying Cal near no mind, driving the cart here and there as she looks at everything from kitchen gadgets to mugs to small appliances. There’s nothing she’s dead set on, though, save for a fun looking set of salt and pepper shakers, alongside an electric kettle. 

When Cal calls for her, she skids to a stop, pulling her weight backwards to stop the forward momentum put up by the cart. Hopping down from her spot, Miriam saunters over, half crouching so she can drape herself overtop Cal’s back. 

“I think they’re both weird as hell, and I’d rather get spoons that look like they belong to a vampire if we’re going for off putting but not frightening sorts of vibes, you know? If we get fancy plates for special occasions or whatever, we can go full woodland creature there, for contrast. Actually wait-” Miriam wrinkles her nose. “Never mind. I hate that now. I think we should get brass colored silverware, but get nothing else that matches it.” 

Reaching up, she pats the messy wrap of hair atop the other’s head, squishing it down and chuckling to herself. The lazy bump of her kissing the back of his head comes a moment later, before Miriam goes to pull herself back to standing. 

“okay, but consider the following--” he wastes no time launching into debate mode, straightening up with a little shake of his head to put some volume back into his bun. “consider. okay. those decorate plates that old people put in locked display cabinets so their grandkids can’t get their grubby hands on them. those, except we put food on them, so you’re picking away at your sweet potato wedges and then, surprise, it’s revered angel lovelace smiling up at you.”

cal settles his hands on her hips before she can escape back to the cart, a kiss pressed to her forehead. “they came down to the city and made a whole series of commemorative memorabilia for it. it was kind of fucked up, but people really love orthodox angel bullshit, so of course it sold well. if there’s a thrift store here they probably have something similar.”

He stops as soon as the voice reaches his ears, only his head turning to the source. A bored gaze follows as the firecracker soars through the air, clearing him as if it was shot from a gun. No ordinary strength, then, is his observation. Because, hey!─ he wouldn’t be V if he wasn’t constantly analyzing people around him. His brother would call him boring; he finds it practical.

Lips part to inject a comment but he’s hardly got the time before another firecracker is lit. This time, the aim is better. Rather, the stranger’s strength is more controlled. A clean shot, but V doesn’t move or make any attempt to catch. He’s still as the object soars through the air and watches calmly.

The figure that ends up catching it manifests from the tattoos on V’s body, a mixture of shadows, feathers, and ink. The avian demon catches the firecracker in his talons, ready to brag that he managed to get it when V couldn’t. That’s when V steps back, watching as his familiar squawks curses and flails about, feathers coming off in a cloud.

V actually smirks, looking towards the stranger once more.

“ Nice shot. A fair amount more controlled than your first one─ even if I had the intention of attempting to catch it, I would have hardly had the chance. ” he muses. And that’s when Griffon recovers, flying circles above the other.

‘ Oi─ who the hell do you think you are, throwing shit like that? You wanna fight, huh? That it!? ’

okay--he won’t deny that that’s pretty cool. the squawking indignation is met with a sweeping bow and a guiltless smile stretched wide across his face; it’s a good cover for the surprise a man feels when he sees a creature spring fully-formed from mortal flesh. y’know. the natural response to that sort of thing. perhaps if cal were a lesser beast he’d also employ the classic tactic of ‘running and screaming’, but that’s never been his style.

the god straightens from his bow, brushes ginger hair out of snake-slit eyes that are wide and bright with interest. he’s been ever so bored (bored bored bored bored--), but this is a good sign. “what can i say? i’m a damn good pitcher, and if i hadn’t been kicked from the team for bad behaviour, the godsbridge iconoclasts might have actually stood a chance in the championship.”

“hey! catch!”

there’s a moment of hissing as the calid saint winds up his throw, and--whoosh, there goes a firecracker, sailing right over the stranger’s head. like, way over. like, ‘guess who forgot he has divine-level strength’ over. from the next street there comes a muffled cry of alarm and a lot of very menacing crackling as the firecracker goes off.

“okay, do-over. stay right there.” cal fumbles with a lighter, ignites the fuse on another little firework. “that was just a test--this one’s for all the glory. ready? hands up, friend!”

total loser goes to bar all by himself. cal can’t help but imagine the headlines already, plastered across every newspaper worth reading in this gods-forsaken hellhole of a world (it’s a nice place, actually--he’s just in a bad mood). he’d hoped to put his incredible charm to the test and party all night long--or at least until they kicked him out--but, shockingly, everyone else has brought friends, and he’s so far been unable to wrangle his way into third-wheeling someone’s date.

i still owe replies, but i wanna get in on this event before it ends!!! so. here is a starter call with a cap of three. i am trying to Learn my Limits.

he’s spent a long time tricking himself into thinking he’s suited for domesticity. he still can’t cook anything more complex than a two-egg omelette, still refuses to do most of his own chores, still leaves his things all over the place and huffs at miriam when she asks him to put his socks away--but his home back in the locus was a beautiful example of divine suburbia, and if he can’t do the important things by himself then he at least knows how to take care of the minutia.

in this case, the minutia of the day is interior decorating, and fantasy ikea is his helpless victim. miriam too, he supposes, but if she didn’t want to come along she should have put up more of a fuss.

there’s a basket on his arm, a furrow in his brow, a tank-top with armholes that are entirely too big draped over his Naturally Sculpted Chest. the calid saint, glory-born, god-maker, is crouched in the cutlery aisle, staring at dessert spoons.

“your opinion,” he asks miriam, though there’s no note of an actual question in the flatness of his tone. “i can’t pick between oppressive utilitarianism--” this with a gesture at some offensively plain spoons, the kind that would make you feel grim just by using them; “or antique whimsy.” the whimsical spoons are brass-tinted and engraved with scenes of Woodland Frolicking.

these are the spoons one chooses if they want to invite guests over and make them feel as uncomfortable as possible.

||  █ ▌— kieran taps his lower lip in contemplation, then laughs, the sound high and mirthful and almost but not quite a giggle. ❝ not at all? well, ‘tis a shame !! i think elaborate hairstyles would suit a man such as yourself. tall and gorgeous… you could easily be mistaken for nobility where i’m from. ❞

almost, because whatever this man is, it isn’t what kieran is, that’s for sure. so intriguing…

❝ let me make you even more gorgeous? ❞ he asked, grinning. ❝ flowers and… maybe some ribbon? you’ll tell me your favourite colour, won’t you? ❞

the final question asked made kieran hesitate, but only for a moment. he’s not used to such blatant–ah, never mind. he takes it in stride, though, and his grin returns. my, isn’t he charming…? ❝ we need only a bench or somesuch place. i want you sitting in front of me, pretty please. ❞

there’s only a moment of playful sulking at the other’s focus on the task at hand, his exceedingly unsubtle flirtation put aside for the moment. well, the day’s still young, and cal has plenty of charming little tricks to play. “come this way, then--i know a lovely little spot.”

this part is true, it turns out. they’re near a park, with a lavish assortment of topiary constructions guiding them through the grass--curious figures and curiouser animals melt away into a rambling hedge at one point, and tucked away in the thicket is a courtyard with a birdbath and a ring of stone benches. away from prying eyes, with none but the gods themselves to watch their little... what? it’s just a beauty session.

This kingdom that had kidnapped him had taken away his lab.

…Well, actually, that’s not true. His lab is probably exactly where he remembers it, but seeing as he no longer has access to it as a result of being kidnapped and relocated somewhere completely unknown, it’s currently as good as gone. And that means he has no supplies, no materials, nothing – which is really not ideal, especially in a kingdom full of interesting foreign technology he’d like to study. (Oh – and also run by his kidnappers. Having nothing on hand isn’t so great for that situation either.)

However, despite the city’s strangely advanced tech, it seems almost ridiculously obsessed with magic. Or at least, that’s the impression he gets after finding a section of the city that’s positively dedicated to it. There’s an almost offensive amount of stores and such all related to magic, and once Varian’s stumbled upon the cluster of them, there’s so many that it’s almost impossible to stumble back out of it. He eyes the storefronts with open skepticism, steering clear of them as best he can (which is actually pretty hard, considering they’re practically everywhere). One thing does catch his eye, though – an object that looks to be made of glass, without the telltale magical-looking design flair that everything else here seems to have. From a distance, it looks like something that could, maybe, actually be used, something that isn’t… magic. Or at least, it doesn’t look magical; Varian scoops it up to inspect it, but fumbles it. The object flies out of his hands as though it’s slick and covered in butter. He yelps and makes a dive for it, managing to catch it before it hits the floor, but the move ends with him sprawled awkwardly on the ground, nose right at someone’s feet.

Varian cranes his head back, expression melting into sheepishness, and gives a toothy grin. ❝ Oh, uh– S-sorry. ❞ He lets out a short, nervous burst of laughter, springing back to his feet, the object clasped safely between his hands as he returns it to its perch. His gaze flicks to the side, embarrassed; there’s a beat of hesitation before he speaks up again. ❝ Hey, umm–… I was wondering – d’you know if there’s any places in the city that have stuff that isn’t… uh… this? ❞

@calidsaint​​, please, there’s got to be someplace else. (starter call.)

for all of godsbridge’s faults--and, gods, are there many, if anyone tried to write a list they’d be at it for years--it has, at the very least, prepared cal for vraelgard’s confusing mixture of tech and magic. not even proper magitechnology, either, which is just offensive. the city had been seventy percent divine intervention and thirty percent mortal ingenuity, and while certain dedicated bureaus had done a good job of tamping down the latter, things like televisions and cellphones had sprung up all the same.

this place isn’t so different, really. thinking about it now, cal’s not sure if that’s a good thing.

there’s no helping hand offered to the fumbling stranger as he drags himself back to his feet--just a single raised eyebrow and a look of ruthless judgment, as if the young man had committed some great blasphemy and cal had come to strike him down to hell. (maybe later.) “you’re going to have to narrow it down for me, friend,” he answers, tone clipped and curt. (he woke up on the wrong side of the bed, with tedium clawing at his bones, sharp and sour.)

“this as in magical,” with a nod to the city around them, to the ranks of storefronts peddling reagents and fortunes and useless enchanted trinkets, “or this as in not going to shatter into a thousand little pieces when you next trip over your own feet?”

  The temples which stood at various points around the city spoke of a deep and indelible culture unknown to her native land, and those holy halls sanctioned divine figures that seemed to swallow even the mighty pagan gods whole. The heavy silence of the temple she now sat in was nearly deafening, with only a handful of wayfarers such as herself present to occupy the hall. She knew not the circumstances behind why those few others chose to be here and scarcely knew what had initially drawn her here, either – she did not pray to that indistinct figure represented by the building’s architecture nor understood exactly what they stood for, but she found the space to be among the most calming in the city, a place where her thoughts felt untangled.

With there being so many seats open, something immediately felt off when the next person to enter the temple chose to sit quite close to her, as if they were looking to be a nuisance. The calm which had hung over her shattered in an instant, and her eyes, previously closed in thought, opened to cast the other a side-long stare.

“ Normally, people do not come here to mingle. They come to be alone. ” The words are pointed, though she keeps her voice low as to not disturb the others present. She thought it should still get the point across. / @calidsaint​

oh, if only she knew just how on the mark her assessment is. ‘looking to be a nuisance’ is, with a little room left for semantics and scenario, cal’s entire modus operandi, and it’s with that exact mischief in mind that he settles himself next to the one of the sparse few people in this place, as if the temple were packed to the rafters and this the only seat left without planting himself on someone’s lap.

“normally,” he agrees with a nod, as if that explains everything and absolves him of all wrongdoing. the god is keeping his voice down, at least, a murmur that would be some kind of seductive if it were anyone else. “but you seemed ever so lonely out here on your own. and if you’re here to commune with the divine, i figured i’d give you the chance to skip the middle man and send your prayers direct to the addressee.”

his smile is beatific, his slit-pupilled eyes watching her with an unreadable look. (here’s a hint: it’s something between cruelty and divine euphoria. boredom does wicked things to a twisted soul.)

(sorry for disappearing constantly i got Brained Problems)

             An eyebrow couldn’t help but quirk itself when the man came into the presence of the other. Of course, Herlock had always known that he had a rather keen ability when it came to reading others so he wasn’t particularly surprised by the sensations that came with it by this point. However what he WAS surprised by was what exactly the small voice in the back of his head was telling him. ‘ Something’s not quite right. ’ Of course, one could argue that nothing in this strange land was ‘ right ’ however there was something especially not — right about this stranger. He couldn’t place it without observing the other — it wasn’t an ideal thing to do, he knew, especially when the police in this land were not yet on his side, but he could arrange a — 

             Ah. It seems he was careless and the stranger had made eye contact with him. Well there goes his possible afternoon plans, he couldn’t help but think to himself as he fixed a gentlemanly smile on his face. It was best to act as if he wasn’t about to spend his afternoon observing this stranger, after all. “ Good afternoon, is there something I could help you with ? ” he asked politely. He was unsure how well he covered his actions, however if that was unsuccessful he was fully prepared to simply talk his way out of a potential awkward situation. //  @calidsaint X

if he could read minds, cal would be beyond flattered by the assessment the other just made. something’s not quite right. oh, it’s an aura he’s spent hundreds of years cultivating, and to have it recognised by people who don’t know his full title and say it with the kind of reverence befitting a light-born god–well, it’d bring a tear to his eye if he knew.

but all he knows is this: he’s being watched, and he flares with irritation and narcissistic pleasure in equal measure. there’s a fire in his blood and it burns hotter, hotter; the calid saint steps a little closer, smiles his knife-edge smile. oh, poor stranger. he’s bored.

@calidsaint​

Crossing her arms with a rather obvious pout on her face, Elodie stares up at the castle with apprehension. She wasn’t scared of such a place – but after her earlier outburst at her ‘audience’ with this kingdom’s princess, she felt like she must be on a blacklist of some sort. Still, if she could apologise for her rudeness and explain her situation, in a diplomatic way, as she had been taught – then maybe the crown would take her into consideration. If the princess’s words were to believed, her presence here was an accident…

She sighs. She supposes she was free to do almost whatever she pleased, but not being treated politically, with no rules – it was completely unfamiliar. Usually she would enjoy it, but…

                                                                    +1 Depressed

Hold on… she glances sharply to the side, her gaze narrowing when she notices someone’s eyes on her. He looked smart enough, but there was something about him that she didn’t like. She puts on her most petulant look. “Is something the matter?”

people-watching is one of those things that really never gets old--even if he’s doing it for all the wrong reasons. it’s an old habit. back home he’d spend altogether too much time in the city instead of, y’know, the realm of the gods where he belonged, scoping out the poor souls that wandered thew streets day in and day out. this person is perfect for promises of a brighter future, this person won’t ask too many questions about the errands they run, this person will just do whatever you tell them to do with a reverent light in their eyes.

call it business. call it... talent scouting.

and, sure, he doesn’t have his old job here, but that won’t keep him from sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. like here, for example, strolling up to stand beside a young woman who reeks of forge-fire and the heart’s steady beat. she’d make a beautiful aspirant (till it all burned out of her, at least).

||  █ ▌— kieran just smiles, easy. he sees the smirk, registers it, catalogues it somewhere in his mind, and moves on. he’s used to being looked at. even before he was fae, he was pretty, and he’s always known it. a smile forms on his face, and a little purple wildflower snakes its way out of the scarf around his neck, not that he notices it.

❝ i can see why they’d swoon, ❞ he says, and means it. not that he can lie even if he felt inclined. ❝ i know i can’t keep my eyes off such gorgeous long hair. ❞ he’s delighted, and it shows on his face. no, this man definitely isn’t of summer, but he’d fit right in at court, he thinks, idly, as he watches his hair fall from its braid. ❝ it practically begs to be braided more elaborately than what you had, you know. ❞ some kind of twist, perhaps…

❝ with flowers, ❞ he adds, rather pointedly. ❝ but mayhap all men look better with flowers in their hair. ❞

he wants to bat his lashes in a way that communicates ‘beautiful but stupid’, but--well, ‘deliberately playing dumb’ will have to do. it’s the same idea when you get down to the core of it. “oh, elaborately? i wouldn’t know anything about that,” he muses, running his fingers through a lock of hair and pausing at the tips to inspect for split ends. “stylish yet functional usually works for me. although.”

the smirk grows into a smile that’s far too charming, a mirror of the man’s own.

Catching the expression, Miriam narrows her eyes, watching the others colors flare. “What has you so frustrated, darling? You’re burying it under the other stuff, but I still see it. It’s this muddy spot underneath all of the, amusement? I think I’m reading you right.” Her fingers drum on his arm, a small back and forth soothing motion that she often defaults to when Tabi goes into a rage. Hopefully this goes a little better than those attempts, though, given her memories of Tabi’s tantrums. 

“You did offer that, and I appreciate the gesture more than you will ever know.” There’s a bit of bravado there, complete with a laughing expression as she leans her head against the other’s shoulder. If the affection is a soothing action, she’s happy to provide it. The trip towards the burger shop is easy, thankfully, and Miriam keeps easy pace with the other. “But, to answer. Yes, but only if its fried. Poached or scrambled eggs on a burger is stupid. And I mean, you can, but for a burger, people tend to go for medium at the least.” 

Miriam lets out a contemplative hum. “I’ve never had it, its no ambrosia, but I’m pretty sure ground beef and steak tartare are different cuts, and different levels of ‘potentially contaminated with e. coli’. But yeah, it’s just raw beef, if you’re into that.” 

it’s testament to how incredibly wild life is in the locus that he hardly reacts to her sudden psychic emotion-reading nonsense. no, maybe that’s the reaction itself, the way his spine stiffens just so, the smile that freezes itself on his lips as if this is just par for the course. “oh, it’s just the humidity. nothing you need to worry yourself about, honey.”

he can feel that he wants to draw back, to string her along until he can have his fun and then cut her loose--like he usually does--be done once and for all with women who don’t know how to keep their noses out of his business.

she can probably see that, too. the twitch of irritation that scrapes its way up, blooming and freezing in place.

(it’s a good thing he’s temperamental and all but guaranteed to change his mind at the drop of a hat.)

“i think i’m willing to make a case for, like, a little egg roll or something, if you don’t want to deal with a messy yolk. although i guess if you don’t want messy, don’t eat a burger.” his stomach twinges with the beginnings of a feeling he isn’t able to identify as ‘hunger’. “i mean, whatever. what’s e. coli going to do to me. don’t say gastroenteritis, i’m physically and legally immune.”

While that montage plays in the other’s head, Miriam doesn’t do much. She just stands and smiles and wonders briefly, what the hell is going on. Then, the other makes reference to stealing gas station food, and Miriam’s brow furrows, turning that smile into a smirk, which fast dissolves into a giggle. 

“Oh you’re precious! Don’t do that, though, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Miriam ends her laughter into her hand, before looping her arm with Cal’s, giving the other’s forearm a squeeze. “I’ll get us something, then, and you can just owe me something. And we can work out what that’ll be some time other than now.” 

For a minute, they’re both just standing there, before Miriam takes the opportunity to lean herself into the other. Nothing like taking some weight off, right? 

“I’m the highest universal authority on what lives and what doesn’t, and you ask me about fast food? Of course I know. There’s a good burger shop down the street we should hit up.” 

the fact that she takes his arm is enough to satisfy him--more or less--but he still makes time between sentences to pout down at her, as if the idea that she should be the one to pay for their meal has wounded his gentlemanly pride to the very core. “okay, sure, but i do want us to all take a moment to acknowledge that i offered, and that means chivalry is not dead. chivalry is also not above petty theft.”

@calidsaint​ liked your post:“like for a starter. it’ll happen over the next few days.”

Thancred’s never been one to stand still.

How many times, now, has he found himself flung through places he never chose to explore? How many times, now, has he ended up lost and alone and so far from his friends? How many times, now, has he had to figure out if he’s coming or going or standing still? Once is already too much, but more than once means he already knows how to keep himself from losing his grip on reality and his sanity and his hopeful drive to get home.

The gunblade is not a gunblade. It doesn’t fit in his hands the way his gunblade does. It weighs far less than his gunblade weighs. It has no cylinder to load with aether-charged cartridges like his gunblade has. He doubts it would even survive a single strike against a soft surface without collapsing into a million pieces. But it’s still something. It’s still a grip in his fingers and a weight extending past his arm, and that’s enough to at least go through the motions; enough to lose himself in the familiarity of it all in what he had assumed was a quiet area in the park.

he could, of course, duck out of the way if he wanted to enough. it isn’t a case of godly reflexes or preternatural combat instincts--it’s just the simple task of side-stepping the weapon-waving madman and carrying on his merry way through the park to, ahem, a Hot Date with his Equally Hot Girlfriend.

but it’s cal, so nothing’s ever simple. and the fact of the matter is that he’s settling in, and getting used to being in this particular hellhole, and all the little novelties of the place are starting to wear terribly thin. he’s getting bored again. and as everyone knows by now, a bored god is all too prone to making terrible decisions.

getting in a fight sounds like a great deal of fun right now.

the gun-sword monstrosity hits him in the chest with a harmless thwap. cal doesn’t say anything for a long moment, channeling all his theatrical powers into an irritated glare, lava-glow eyes narrowed to slits. when he does speak, his voice drips with enough venom to kill a basilisk.

“well? aren’t you going to apologise for being so careless?”

but also: if it’s been too long and you have no interest in continuing the thread, that’s absolutely fine. no hard feelings! feel free to drop me like a hot potato. you are all the masters of your own destiny and i am simply a pringle

♠ kb