A new multimuse RP blog with a focus on novella writing, shared storytelling, and adventure. Adored by Catrix, 30+. Please read my rules below.
Minors, DNI.
While I am definitely willing to write NSFW and DDDNE content, I prefer to focus on plots and character development first, and let that content trickle in naturally.
Willing to write in many fandoms. I probably won't have a muse list, but I will post RP ads about the muses I'd like to write.
Highly selective, will only follow blogs I'm excited to write with. Low activity, but with a focus that doesn't fade with time.
If you only write bottom/submissives btw, please don't interact. Most of my muses are tops/assertive, but I myself am just uncomfortable with people who only portray passive characters.
I strongly prefer queer ships. I am a queer person, and have damn near no interest in writing cishet m/f. My favorite thing to write is M/M, but all queer (and platonic!) ships are welcome.
I'm so sorry, but I am not interested in interacting with Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss muses at this time unless it is an AU/doesn't take place in their universe
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"I submit myself to serve until completion of the task as was outlined."
"Very well."
Under the Early Summer Sun
Vere was much closer to the equator and much warmer than Vern for it. Which as much as he didn't want to, Alex did, in fact, appreciate. It meant that he didn't feel as chilled here. However, while it made up for the months of sea travel, it did nothing to change the way his body ached after a week of travel from Port au Mal to Arles on horse back without his sunfires to help.
At least he had long mastered the ability to hide the truth of his thoughts and body; he was after all a Sunblade. The strongest in generation, the fastest trained ever according to the records, so he had no reason not to believe he was capable of seeing this task to completion. He would serve his people in the ways he'd been taught.
"Don't look so glum, boy," A hand clapping to his back drew mahogany eyes to the man riding beside him as they entered the Veretian capital. "You've not lost your will have you?"
Shaking his head, Alex smiled at his father's best friend. "No, sorry, was just thinking, Lord Robert."
"Oh?" Robert squeezed the young Sunblade's shoulder, rocking the man in his saddle. "About anything important?"
"Not really. Just about Garrett..." The dark brow that Robert raised at him had Alex chuckling softly, shrugging. "The fool's going to get himself killed without me there to remind him to behave around all the nobles."
"No, he won't." Warmth coated the Duke's voice as he joined the conversation, having been listening to his dearest friend's check in on his son, but only now shifting his weight to slow his horse to match pace with the other two Sunblades. "We won't let him cause disrespect."
Had Alex been truly worrying about his best friend, his only friend, he would have been much more worried about that particular statement. Garrett had been, after all, born beneath thatched roofs not stone, he only had a few years of classes to call on to remember how to behave among nobility even if he held such a prestigious title as the Knight Paramount. Alas, there was little Alex could do about it now. He'd have to just trust that his father would not let Garrett be felled in his absence.
Hopefully, the fact the Oracle Mentor had finally claimed young Garrett as his son would offer more forgiveness should the man falter in how he treated his betters.
"Then I don't need to worry, do I?" Lips curled in an easy grin at the reassurance, Alex looked ahead, back straight even as he rolled with the motion of his steed.
"Indeed not." One more squeeze to the young man's shoulder and then Robert's hand was falling away from Aaron's son. "Looks like we've made it."
Nodding quietly, Alex glanced around as they rode through the city. Though he was very careful to ensure that he didn't do so too fast, that his gaze didn't linger any one place for long, looking for all intents and purposes a silly nobleman awed by the Veretian city. His breathing was counted, three in, three out, a half second pause before the direction of airflow changed. Body relaxed as he rode, he prepared himself for the things he knew he was about to hear. The whispers that would likely spread and surround his entire existence within Vere.
But he would see his task to completeion.
He was a Sunblade through and through.
As the party slowed before the castle, he settled his mind and readied himself for his time here in the Veretian capital. Until he was reclaimed by Vern, he would be on his best behavior. He would be exactly what was needed of him in service of Vern and her Star.
The Vernian envoy, it seemed, was not expected. Or, if they were, the guards had not been notified--and the guard presence was heavy all around the palace.
"You'll have to wait here while we verify your identity, sirs," one of the guardsmen said, although he did at least lead them through the wall and over to a resting area. There was a trough for the horses, a post to hitch them too, and a shaded little pavilion, with a few chairs and a perspiring pitcher of water with sliced lemons floating in it, for the travelers to rest in.
"Take a moment, relax. There's been a bit of an upset in the palace, so this might be longer than you're accustomed to, but we'll do our bed." The guard gave the strangers a warm smile, although he looked like he was fighting some sort of private distress--something that hopefully had nothing to do with these men. He gave them a polite nod, then hurried off.
Two guards remained to keep an eye on them, and did not seem inclined towards friendly conversation. They were tense, but it wasn't the strangers that had them worked up; whenever their eyes wandered, it was to the palace they looked.
Above the palace, two flags fluttered. A massive red banner, signaling the Regency, and a powdery blue pennant with a delicate golden starburst--symbol of the Crown Prince of Vere.
As the Vernians were forced to wait, the blue pennant was lowered, then removed.
-
Eventually, a man in palace livery approached. "The Regent apologizes for the delay, sir. If you will please follow me?" Turning, he walked away at a quick pace, clearly assuming they would obey and obey promptly, if they wanted to be let in at all.
He took them to a throne room. It probably shouldn't have been quite as formal as it looked, given that in theory, the man sitting on the throne was only holding it until his nephew came of age, but there was a weight, a gravity to the chamber as the guests were brought in. The gathered courtiers were tense, and even the air itself seemed to ring with the aftershocks of some horror.
"Welcome to Vere," the Regent said, putting on a smile. "The envoys from Vern. We were beginning to think we must send out a search party."
The throne room seemed to be unofficially divided into two factions--a much larger one, comprised of people who looked at the Regent as if he had hung the moon and stars, and who tended to wear or display red on themselves somewhere, and a smaller group, displaying golden starbursts or delicate blue in their dress. They looked like they were fighting to keep their expressions neutral, and seemed to be gathered more or less around someone, a center--currently hidden by their bodies--holding them in its gravitational pull.
The Regent gestured to the Vernians, inviting them to bow with a warm smile and eyes of ice.
Who was the frustrated one? After all that Garak had prepared, all the usual subterfuge and plotting his wired mind had concocted, this should happen? A stranger should come along and ... kiss the doctor.
Not an unbelievable sight, not by half, not when Julian Bashir dashed after all manner of women on this station, fluttering around like a rare Terran bird conducting a mating dance, and usually as successful. His talent in charming others with a smile and an invite was almost as impressive as his talent in saying exactly the wrong thing or being an opinionated fool - a trait Garak would admit to sharing in.
Opinions were one of the few things not wrung out of him, yet.
The sight of Julian's smile might be lost on him but the sound of it wasn't; through his words, Garak could see it, forced but still quite handsome. For a human.
"Then that's a few days I'll have nothing but mild indigestion to mull over after a meal. Alas," the tailor said with maudlin misery; affectated loneliness that sounded more fake than usual. If the truth had been different, perhaps he would've missed the doctor, as he had on past assignments. To anyone outside Garak's own cluttered skull, however, it was impossible to know what the truth was - and very likely that you'd never know.
Garak heard the human shifting forward to touch him and, imperceptibly to most ears, his cold body tensed, scales rustling beneath heavy fabrics at the thought of a hand on him ... but it never made contact. As was often the case.
He bit his tongue in disappointment and swallowed down any thoughts of what might've been said. This doctor. This infuriating doctor.
"THANK YOU for your visit, Dr. Always a delight," he graciously said without looking up.
When that comment about making friends with Mollymauk was suggested, however, and a 'civil' remark about a rival clothing store was mixed in, Garak did glance back at his customer; an indescribable look in those pale eyes. Not quite a glare ... but definitely displeasure. "Wouldn't that be amusing? You'd finally have a place to shop at which matches your taste," he bit back. "I'll need to finish that pair of trousers you asked for, then."
"I suspect you'll have little interest in coming here if Mr. Mollymauk becomes a permanent resident."
Garak wasn't actually jealous, was he? Surely not. Surely, if he cared enough to get jealous over someone else giving Julian attention, he would say something, do something, make some sort of move. But, Bashir reminded himself, he wasn't even sure whether or not he and Garak really were courting. It could very well all be in my head. I don't know him that well... even if he's the first person I think about in the morning, and the last at night.
Human attachment and emotion were chaotic, ridiculous things.
"How lucky for us both then that we don't know why he's here. Or what he is." Molly might look humanoid enough, but everything was off with him. Suppressing a few bitter thoughts about the strange infernal being, Doctor Bashir repressed the urge to say anything else to Garak, sighed, and saw himself out.
Some days, he almost thought he was welcome in that man's company.
Some days, he thought they might be friends.
Some days--
Some days, he just didn't know.
-
It didn't take long to pack for the trip. Julian checked his assignment one last time--an entirely habitual pretense, checking the shuttle he'd been assigned to, as he'd already memorized all of the frustratingly scant information he'd been given--and slung his bag over his shoulder, heading out at the appropriate time for departure.
When he saw Mollymauk Tealeaf standing near the shuttle, an almost-feral, almost-sweet smile on his face, tail swishing, muscular chest half-bared, Bashir's steps faltered.
"You're... coming with me?"
"Oh, aye. You've no idea how long I've wanted to see the stars like this." Molly stepped aside to let the doctor in, then followed after. The young Starfleet pilot gave them both a curious look, but seemed absorbed in going through their preflight. Molly settled down near Bashir, watching him for a moment before his strange, ruby-red eyes began roving the inside of the shuttle, as if he'd never seen anything like it before. "That handsome friend of yours isn't coming? I thought for sure he'd refuse to let you get away."
"I'm... not sure we're friends today," Julian sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.
"So you do think he's handsome."
"Of course I do. I have eyes. Garak's a beautiful man. What exactly is your purpose in coming along?"
"We'll find out when we get there, won't we?"
"Will we?"
Mollymauk's laughter was light and pretty, an attractive sort of laugh, but there was something under it, something just unsettling enough, empty enough, that it left Julian's shoulders tensing up.
The sooner this trip is over, he thought, the better.
"We're just waiting for one more, doctor," the pilot said, tone apologetic.
Julian shook his head and gestured dismissively. They could wait as long as was necessary. He wasn't exactly in a hurry. Today had felt messy from the start. Why let stress make it any worse now?
The first thing that caught Alfredâs attention was not the lions.
It was the air.
That heavy, electric feeling that precedes a summer storm, the kind that makes your fur cling to your skin and every breath feel charged. Nashville summer storms had nothing on this kind of air, the kind that got caught in the narrow streets of the Black Market, held low over the central square by the drum skin of the atmosphere, waiting for the first strike of thunder.
And beneath it, the thrum of a crowd.
When Agata grabbed him by the shoulder, Alfred blinked in surprise, his long kangaroo ears automatically perking up.
"Whoa, hey, whoa, hey..." he began, taking a step back before he could keep pace with the excited lion as he was dragged along. His tail flicked quickly behind him as he was herded toward the group of lions gathered at the back, as if he were a suspect being brought in for questioning.
But instead of fear, the thin kangaroo looked... pleased.
A half-smile played at the corners of his muzzle as he was placed in front of the fashionably dressed stag.
The moment that Louis looked up, Alfred froze.
Not in any big, showy way.
Just for a moment, for a beat, as if he were a musician hitting a rest in the middle of a measure.
For the stag was striking.
He was sharp-boned, sharp-featured, as if he were a knife wrapped in velvet, his eyes sparkling with light even in the dim light of the stage lamps. Alfredâs ears leaned slightly forward, his curiosity as plain as day, though he quickly recovered.
Then Louis spoke, his voice smooth and calm, and Alfredâs smile grew a little wider.
âOh, no worries,â he said, his voice easy and warm, with a soft roughness to the words, the kind of roughness that came from a singerâs throat well used and well loved. There was a little mix to his accent, a little bit of everything and nothing, so it didnât quite fit into a category of its own, the way a person might sound if they grew up between two worlds, or three, or four.
Agataâs paw was still resting on his shoulder, and Alfred looked down at it for a moment, then back to Louis.
âHonestly, this is the most polite kidnapping Iâve had all week.â His tail swished lazily behind him. When Louis said something about breaking a leg, Alfred laughed, a sharp, short sound, and scratched the back of his neck.
âYeah, think Iâll give that one a miss, though.â
Another raindrop landed on the stage behind them, a big fat one. He saw Louis look up at the sky, and turned to look up there for a moment himself.
Thunderstorm.
Perfect timing.
The Show Must Go On.
He thought of the phrase, and the way it sounded, and grinned.
When Louis gestured to him, Alfred stood up a little straighter, his long ears pricking up again, as if antennae were tuning into the call of the stage.
Free spoke up then, the fangy grin spreading over his face, and Alfred turned his head a little, looking at the lion. He didnât look nervous. If anything, the attention seemed to wake something up inside him.
âOh, good,â Alfred said, rolling his shoulders. âNo pressure at all, then.â
He turned back around to face the stage entrance, and hopped up the little steps to the stage level itself, balancing on his tail as he took the microphone stand and adjusted it down a little. The crowd murmured, and a few people looked over at the thin marsupial and the guitar draped over his back.
A few raindrops landed on the stage lights.
Alfred leaned into the microphone.
Tapped it once.
The squeal of feedback echoed briefly, then stopped.
He took a breath.
And then began to talk. âAlright⌠so, apparently, my name got drawn out of a hat somewhere tonight.â
The crowd laughed.
Alfred grinned.
âThis oneâs for anyone out there having a bad year.â He glanced over at the group of people behind the stage again, a fleeting glance at the group of suited lions and the even more sharply-suited deer.
And then adjusted the guitar strap over his shoulder.
The music began, strong and clear and unmistakable, the notes and chords flowing from the guitar as his fingers danced over the neck-board of the instrument, the amateur musician that he was.
And then began to sing, soft and open and deceptively large for a little creature of his size.
Louis had expected for the musician to be just another person, someone he saw and would promptly forget about, but that wasn't the case. Alfie handled himself in such a unique way, that once Louis started to notice it, he was hooked. His eyes stayed more focused on the man, his ears were up and turned towards him.
People should be afraid of the lions--not just because they were a pack of male lions in their prime, but because they were Shishigumi. They were the apex predators of the Black Market. They were on top of this dark little world right now, held there by their own ferocity, Louis's planning, his ice-cold will, and their claws. Anyone with sense should be afraid of them--so either Alfie didn't have sense, or there was more to him than met the eyes. So, so much more.
"He smells like a hybrid," Agata said, once the man had gone. He wrinkled his nose and rubbed the back of a paw against it. "Gross."
"Hey." Free smacked his shoulder. "Don't be a bigot, what the fuck?"
"Yeah, well, you're not the one Melon stabbed with a fork."
"Never getting over the fork thing, huh, kid?"
Ignoring their banter, Louis walked up closer to the edge of the stage, although he was careful to stay out of sight and out of distraction's range, but barely aware of it. It was only Louis's long respect for the stage that kept his feet rooted to the spot, as that strange little kangaroo started to sing.
The music was--
Louis had never heard anything like it before. His breath caught and held, his eyes widened, and although he was aware of the rain starting to fall more heavily now, it didn't matter. Alfie wasn't singing to him, he knew that, but the power of his music, the words of the song--it felt like he was. That was the gift of a true performer, the red deer knew that, and knew he wasn't immune to the effects, but still. The words cut him to the quick, the building strength of the song, the understanding the man sang it with...
Louis was spellbound.
He ignored the rain, ignored the way all of the lions moved away other than Free; he stayed, opening up an umbrella to hold over his boss while the other cats sought shelter under various overhangs and pavilions. Louis gave the smallest twitch of an ear in acknowledgement of the rain no longer falling on him, but that was it. His eyes were on Alfie, his heart was held in stasis, and even his soul felt like it was in danger.
It wasn't until the song ended that he felt like he was breathing again. The crowd was cheering and applauding, far more for this act than for most, but Louis couldn't move. He wanted to clap, but he couldn't. He shook himself, trying to recapture his self-possession, but still, he couldn't look away.
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Watch enough people die, fight long enough and hard enough to try and stop more from dying, and every survival story felt like a win. It didn't matter that Levi didn't know the man he'd just found. It didn't matter that he was pretty damn sure he wasn't in his own world anymore. What mattered was that he'd found the guy, wearing what looked like an officer's uniform, floating in the surf--someone who probably mattered to quite a lot of people. Whoever he was, he needed help, and he wasn't going to be just some tragic corpse, some discarded body. He wasn't allowed to die, damn it. Not alone. Not abandoned.
The man was going to be sore after this. Levi knew that. He knew, but it didn't make him any more merciful--the chest compressions he performed were quick and deep enough to matter. The rescue breaths he gave were deep. Efficient. Desperate. He didn't know where he himself was or how he'd gotten here, but he knew he was tired of seeing people die when they didn't have to. So, chest compressions. Rescue breaths. Rinse and repeat--until he felt the sweetest sensation in the world:
A heartbeat that wasn't his. The rising and falling of a chest that wasn't his.
Levi didn't make a sound, but he wanted to shout for joy. Instead, he turned the stranger on his side in the sand, into the recovery position, and stayed with him, sitting against him to help keep him propped in that position. The seawater was drying on them both, the evening air was turning cold, but it didn't matter. He wasn't going to leave this guy.
When the stranger finally made a sound--Levi didn't even know what noise, he'd been lost in thought staring out at the sea--he looked down and took the man's hand.
"You were in the water. You're not now. Your chest is going to hurt." He pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the back of his hand, more parental than anything else. "And you're going to be okay. Don't die on me, soldier. You understand that? Don't die." One more kiss, a soft affection to go with hard words and a lonely place.
Please don't die.
-
The brush of lips against the back of his hand dragged him up from the dark. Not the wind. Not the cold. Not even the agony splintering through his chest.
The kiss.
It was so startlingly gentle that it cut through the blackness and he woke as though dragged upward by force. Lungs convulsing, throat burning raw with brine and salt. The first breath he pulled in was ragged, violent, more cough than air. It tore through his chest like grapeshot. His back arched against the sand, fingers digging into something solidâfabric. A sleeve. A hand.
Pain. God, the pain.
His ribs felt splintered. Every inhale scraped and he coughed again, seawater spilling from his mouth onto the sand, shoulders trembling with the effort. For a terrible, suspended second, he thought he was still drowningâthat the weight on his chest was the ocean itself.
Then the cold wind hit his face.
Not water.
Air.
His lashes fluttered open sluggishly. The sky above him was dimming toward dusk, streaked in bruised purples and fading gold. He turned his head slightlyâtoo fast. The world lurched.
Someone was holding him.
The sensation of lips against his hand registered a second later. Soft. Unexpected.
James stilled.
His gaze sharpened despite the haze. Even half-dead, there was something formidable in itâthe instinctive authority of a naval officer who had once commanded ships and men. His hand twitched faintly in Leviâs grasp, not pulling away⌠but not yielding, either.
âr..ReportâŚâ he rasped automatically, the word shredded by salt and strain.
He swallowed, winced, and tried again.
âWhere's⌠my ship?â
The memory came in flashesâthe storm. The mast splitting. Orders shouted into useless wind. The deck tilting beneath his shoes. The roar of the hurricane swallowing everything.
He attempted to push himself upright and immediately faltered, breath hitching sharply as his chest protested. A low, involuntary sound escaped himâanger more than weakness.
He became aware, gradually, of the stranger at his side. Not one of his men. Not Royal Navy. The clothing was wrong. The posture was⌠unfamiliar. Yet steady.
Alive, then. Because of him.
Norrington's eyes settled on Leviâs face properly for the first time, his own brilliant emerald eyes were bloodshot.
-
Levi wasn't a big person. He was small, especially for a man, petite, but despite his small frame, he was strong. There was no extra fat on him to soften him out, giving him the slightly too-sharp features of a fae, if you were generous-minded, or of someone who had probably starved at some point in his life and just never recovered if you were realistic. He looked strong, a survivor, but like someone who had gone to the edge of endurance and maybe just never had the opportunity to make it back.
Still, he was pretty enough, even with his black hair half-dry, clinging to his face in a few places, the wind tossing it in others. His eyes were just as hard as Norrington's--slate blue, dark, the color of a sea that hadn't decided yet whether or not it was going to take a life--and they looked on with the same patience and focus that Norrington's did. Levi was another officer, even if the uniform he wore was doubtless completely foreign to Norrington: a short brown jacket made of some sort of tough fabric, thick and heavy like canvas. A white shirt, some sort of leather harnesses around his torso, hips, and thighs, although there was nothing connected to them now. White trousers, tall boots. He was soaked, sand and seaweed clung to him, but he still looked calm, focused. A commander, unfamiliar with the situation, but no less willing to lead, to help.
"I don't know where your ship is. I came to out in the water. Started swimming for what sounded like waves breaking. Found you floating out there. Wasn't sure if you were alive or dead, but I wasn't gonna leave your ass." He stated things calmly, his tone a little flat--not necessarily friendly, but firm and oddly caring. Levi looked at him for a moment as he spoke, then looked past him, out at the horizon. "Take it easy. I probably cracked some of your ribs trying to get you breathing again. I'm Captain Levi Ackerman, from Paradis--which probably doesn't mean anything to you," he admitted with a sigh. Looking back down, he studied those bloodshot emeralds. I won't let you die out here, Levi silently promised him. It didn't matter that he had no idea how to keep that promise, he was going to. This person had crossed his path, so he would fight for him. Whatever it took.
"If you want to sit up, do it slowly. Use me for support if you need to. Lean with your back to mine, if it helps. But you got close today, Green-Eyes. Too close. So be gentle with yourself."
Because if you die on me... if you die on me...
Levi didn't want to think about the odds of becoming alone out here. There were no plumes of smoke from the wisp of an island behind them, no sounds of people, no lights, nothing to indicate that there was anyone else here. He could be alone, he told himself. Somehow, he could do it, he could take it--but the thought made his stomach clench. He had to keep this man alive--not just for the stranger's sake, but for his own.
for @edana-rp -- I gathered up everything we had so far and tucked it all in here, along with my most recent reply at the bottom <3
Julian sighed, pressing his fingertips against his forehead, eyes closed, trying not to overthink the paperwork that had just come across his deskâmarked Classified, of all things. Really? They really needed him to go and âassessâ the situation? There was no point in taking anything for the headache this was sure to causeâhe would only get another, and another.
For a moment, Doctor Bashir gave serious thought to declining. He didnât want to travel off-station. Not now. It was selfish, of course, why he wanted to stayâit felt like his friendship with Garak was finally starting to deepen a bit, to mean something, perhaps to lose the confusingly barbed edgesâbut damn it, why not be selfish? Just a little? It was a human instinct, after all, and should be an acceptable one for him to indulge in⌠but a young Starfleet doctorâs career was on the line, it seemed. As if my opinion will really mean anything.
With another sigh, he stood up and cleared thing away, then headed out onto the Promenade. There were a few hours yet before the shuttle he needed to be on was due to depart, and that meant there was time to find Garak andâ
What, apologize? Say, Sorry, we wonât be able to have lunch together for the next few days because Starfleetâs sending me off to do some classified assessment they wonât even tell me the details on in advance? Garak wouldnât care. It wasnât like the two of them wereâ
Well.
He wouldnât care, but telling him still meant something, to Bashir if no one else. Julian made his way towards the tailorâs shopâand smacked directly into a strange man who seemed to have just stepped out of nowhere.
âIâm so sorry,â he said, quickly reaching out to catch the strangerâalthough as he took him in, his eyes widened somewhat. Who⌠what race is he?
The stranger was a handsome man with broad shoulders and a warm smile, but he was also purple. A lovely, rich lavender shade. His eyes gleamed redâthere was only a subtle difference between the sclera and the iris, and even his pupils looked redâand he had lovely curving horns growing on the sides of his head. A muscular yet graceful tail swished behind him. Gold jewelry glittered all over, on his horns, his hands, a few necklaces draped over his bared chest, because apparently he didnât believe that buttoning his shirt all the way up was necessary. The manâs clothes were absurd. Stripes, stars, far too much ornamentation, a jacket that looked like it belonged on some ancient carnival ringmaster, a pirate belt, trousers that poofed out⌠There was a grace to the chaos, it somehow seemed to work together, but it wasâtoo much. Far too much.
âNot to worry,â the stranger replied, his voice warm, a hint of an Irish accentâvery Earth. âI did come out of nowhere. Are you hurt?â
Stolen, Julian immediately thought. The accent sounds good enough, but itâs not his. Heâs not even emulating it. He⌠what am I thinking? He had to shake himself out of his thoughts. âSorry. No. Iâm fine. Just rushing, not looking where Iâm going.â
âAh, and where are you going? Perhaps Iâll go with you.â
âPerhaps you should,â Bashir said, before he realized exactly how rude it was. His smile was tight but polite, and he gestured for the other to accompany him. âIâm headed toââ Let down the man Iâm most certainly not courting⌠âAh, to the tailor.â
âLovely. Whatâs your name?â
âDoctor Julian Bashir. And yours?â
âIâll be glad to tell you,â the stranger said, and did not tell him. Looping his arm through Julianâs, he winked and nodded. For a moment, Bashir just stood there, trying to understand. Really? This wasâthis was really how today was going to go? This man wanted to just walk arm-in-arm together?
Another tight smile, a little less polite this time, and Bashir nodded again. âRight.â
-
âGarak? Forgive me for dropping by. I know we had plans to meet later, but⌠I was hoping you have a moment. And Iâve brought aânew. Person.â
âMollymauk Tealeaf,â the stranger said, and he stepped away from Julian, releasing him in favor of giving the Cardassian a graceful bow with a flourish. âAnd it is a pleasure to meet you. The stars dance in your eyes, truly.â
Julianâs eyes might not have stars dancing in them, but they did have a plea: donât be cross. I donât know why heâs here, but I do want to talk to you. Whether or not Garak chose to understand or not remained to be seen; Bashir never really knew what to expect from him.
-
The poor doctor was bothered.
How did Garak know that? The same way he ALWAYS knew things - through the hemming of cuffs and the delicate embroidery of a coat.
A Classified assignment had been placed upon the doctorâs desk and, indeed, upon his capable shoulders; like the mythical Atlas the doctor had once spoken of. Perhaps an unruly comparison, facetious to many degrees, but to know Julian Bashir was to know that his responsibilities weighed as much as a collapsing star in his mind - and heavier on his conscious.
Heâd be leaving, Garak gathered during a very intense round of pleating, to attend to the assignment - a VIP planetside, dealing with a small but unpleasant bout of food poisoning, was unhappy to be treated by local healers and was demanding a Starfleet doctor to tend to them.
If this had been a ⌠different organization, they wouldâve found a comfortable hole to bury this ill visitor in.
Starfleet chose to go down the path of diplomacy, and to send their charming human doctor to soothe the patient, which was undoubtedly an exciting adventure for the doctor in question. Oh, Garak was annoyed, very much so, at how this Chief Medical Officer would leap at the chance to run out on and abandon so many different opportunities but never, NEVER, his precious Starfleet. Like they served him at all.
The bushels of guilt and the mocking of sincerity that he could feed to Bashir over lunch would be delicious, absolutely succulent, and the reveal that he planned to go along for the shuttle ride would be even sweeter; that wide-eyed expression making an appearance, no doubt, as the doctor silently questioned who Garak had murdered or bribed to obtain this chance.
Really, was he that suspicious? Couldnât a Cardassian tailor travel to sample wares without being accused of villainy?
Garak worked in his store with a lighter step that day, tending to customers almost pleasantly, unsure when heâd see the doctor but sure that heâd see him earlier than their usual meal. When the chime above his door sounded some time after the morning rush, his smugness multipled, and he didnât look up from his pinning to greet the visitor. âGood day, doctor.â The Cardassian spoke warmly, ready to play out the drama heâd been plotting.
Then his story was interrupted, rather abruptly, by an unexpected actor on the stage. Cold and judging eyes shot away from the garment that heâd been preparing and onto the guest who was stepping towards him in an extravagant matter. One had thought that theyâd surely consumed the worst atrocities to sensible fashion and good taste after witnessing the doctorâs wardrobe, but this man, this Mollymauk, was a category unto himself. Even accounting for culture, he was a headache of styles and colors, and Garak quietly mused if it was meant to be appealing or offensive weaponry.
He regarded this intrusion with the warmth one could expect from a rumored spy. âA pleasure? I suppose it must be, Mr. Tealeaf; tell me, are you interested in fabrics or in optometry?â Garak questioned him with a mild smile and an overall bemused expression; no anger to be seen but, certainly, no affection. He nodded when the other bowed. âWe donât see too many of your species out here.â
Julianâs attempt to pass a desperate message across was seen, and smiled at, but otherwise ignored. If he was here for him, why bring a stranger?
-
Bashir suppressed the urge to sigh. Heâd upset Garak somehow, that much he understood, he just wasnât sure exactly what had done it this time, or why. There would be time to sort that later, he hoped. With any luck, Mollymauk wouldnât linger long, and theyâd be free to talk. This strange man really was ridiculous companyâalbeit also intriguing. There was something off about him. Not just in the strength of his pulse or the utter calm of his respirations, but in a thousand little ways that, the more Bashir let himself notice, the more vaguely concerning they became.
As for Mollymauk, however, he didnât seem to be perturbed in the slightest. If he even understood that Garak was casting a mountainâs worth of shade at him, the strange lavender man let it roll right off that muscular back of his.
âI donât imagine you do,â Molly practically chirped. âNo one sees much of me. And fabrics, my dear man! Iâm interested in fabric. The fabric of a lovely outfit, the fabric that makes up our daily lives, whatâs not to be fascinated by? The finest threads can weave the most unexpected patterns!â
âWhile that is true,â Bashir agreed, carefully modulating his tone to indicate that this was more of an observation, not a desire for further friendly interaction, âI would imagine theââ
âYou know, Doctor,â Molly said, turning and pressing a finger to the pretty manâs lips, âyouâre quite lovely.â The red-eyed stranger winked at him, gave Garak a quick but almost taunting grin, revealing a few sharp pearly-whites, and sauntered out, leaving the two of them alone in a space that suddenly felt much smaller, as if the air itself had gone out of the room.
Julian hesitated, then looked to Garak. âIâm sorry. HeâIâm sorry.â He should come up with a better quip, he knew, make some more spirited attempt to fence with words the way that so delighted his friend, but for the moment, his spirits dropped enough that he couldnât bring himself to. âAnd Iâm sorry about our lunch today. Iâm going to have to miss itâand may be gone for several days.â
He quashed the impulse to beg Garak not to be angry. Instead, Julian searched his eyes. Garak had immediately disliked that strangerâor disliked Julian bringing him here, at least, which was fairâand if he needed to be left alone right now, that was something Bashir could and would respect.
-
What upset? Garak was attending to a customer, that was all; the fact that Julian brought this man in, it didn't change the need for hospitality but it certainly wasn't meant to cause FUSS with his usual lunch companion. If the doctor wished to have the Cardassian's eyes solely on himself, then come alone.
Or wear another truly worrying shirt and short combination.
Garak was intrigued by this new man, however, and would confess to his focus shifting rapidly towards figuring him out. He almost looked like one of those characters in the Terran novels; the ones set in the medieval era, tales of chivalry and 'witchcraft', indeed. Thinly veiled attempts to deify and uplift the legends of the noble class - as any good Cardassian could recognize. Mollymauk spoke like one too; an inscrutable one.
His deflection was almost as good as the tailor's.
"Ah, so you're a philosopher? No wonder you and Dr. Bashir get along so well; he does enjoy a good problem." Garak said with charm to match his partner, all while he was taking careful mental notes on this man and his 'fabrics'. Part of his excessiveness was almost entertaining.
ESPECIALLY when Mollymauk would lay one of his fingers on the good doctor's mouth, shush him as one might shush a child, and compliment him; calling him 'lovely'. Relatively faint praise for Julian. Many of his partners, and even his good friends, had said far more enchanting things; Garak would claim to be in neither category but he had also noted upon the man's attractiveness.
By human standards, of course.
To a Cardassian, he was unlike anything else.
That grin that the stranger flashed seemed to imply something but Garak only gave back a curious expression; no clue what Mollymauk was so gleeful about. Had a joke been made? Those lips were nothing to laugh about touching but Garak still felt no particular way about his actions, and he wasn't sure why he ought to.
However, it wouldn't be unheard of if, during the occasions that this tailor might share a table with Odo, he should bring up a new customer he'd encountered. If, in some way, Odo should then take a look into the character, well, Garak hadn't caused it.
He'd only been talking.
The atmosphere in the shop was stiff, following Mollymauk's departure, yet Garak wasn't taking the blame for it. Julian was the one apologizing. "My dear doctor, what are you sorry for? That was a very interesting man," he claimed with gracious tone and a pleasant smile, expecting to hear more fuss or more apologies.
Instead, Julian cut to the point - a point Garak had briefly forgotten about until it was brought back up. Ah, yes, the shuttle trip ... he briefly patted the doctor's shoulder with a half-hearted and noncommital hand before returning to his pinning. Now didn't feel like an excellent time for drama.
Mollymauk had proven that an old man gesticulating would tire one quickly.
"A shame," he murmured. "I do hope there's nothing disastrous coming over the station, and only a well-deserved vacation being taken on your part! A few days, mmm, I'd say take a week; that should be just long enough to restore your missing energy!"
-
Julian didn't know whether to be frustrated or flustered or just plain flummoxed, but as that was often the case when he met with Garak, he settled on just accepting that all of the responses were likely the right response, and he let them settle away into him like silt in an otherwise pristine alpine lake. Mollymauk had flustered him, and left his skin feeling almost burned--not that there was any actual damage, of course, there was just something about that strange purple being...
But, aware that direct topics and lines of conversation rarely got him anywhere with Garak, he put on a small, patient smile and twitched an eyebrow, watching him.
"Nothing disastrous, at least there shouldn't be. Perhaps there are portents," he added dryly, an amused smile warming his lips, "but the appearance of devils and demons is such an unscientific method. No, I'll only be away for a few days. Most likely."
And I'll miss you, he thought, but couldn't say. Even as he thought it, though, he wondered, will I miss him? He's frustrating and inane and talking to him is like trying to coax a sphinx... But he would, of course. Julian might be someone people liked to call friend, but he wouldn't say he actually had many friends--there was a difference between being someone who came to mind for others, and actually having opened one's own heart up, however infinitesimal an amount, to another.
Garak was a problem and a headache and a beautiful distraction, and maybe a friend.
Expression softening, Bashir reached out and almost touched the tailor on the arm, but didn't quite make contact. "I just came to tell you, but I'll leave you to it, then." He stepped back towards the door. "Perhaps when I get back, I'll have a new story or two to regale you with. Maybe you and Mollymauk Tealeaf can become friends while I'm away. Ooh," his soft eyes lit up with just a hint of mischief, hidden away under practiced civility, "do you suppose he might be here to set up a rival shop?"
for @bardicarchetype -- it's very long, hence under a cut, this seemed like the easiest way. hope this works! very long post, don't click Keep Reading if you're on mobile!
When Ikithon finally left the room, the duke sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands down his face. That had been an absurdly long meeting, and while on the surface he understood it, it still felt like a waste of time. The handful of them had been tasked with âoverseeingâ the Festival of Joy, but it wasnât as if they had any hand in controlling the festival, in writing policy for it⌠So why drag them together?
Vepar looked over at the other three and sat up straighter. He stretched his wings outâthe flecks of mottled gold and copper in the black feathers caught the golden afternoon sunlight beautifullyâbefore folding them neatly around the chair and scooting up closer to the table.
âAlright. Iâll try to be more⌠succinct than Trent,â Vepar said. âHigh Lord Eris,â he nodded to the newest nobleman in Zadash, someone whose presence Vepar absolutely did not understand, but was willing to accept, âyou are tasked with ensuring the city does not burn to the ground. I understand you have an⌠affinity for fire.â
The archfey smiled. He satâor lounged, really, making the chair look like a throne that had been carved just for himâin a beam of the golden late-afternoon sunlight. Dressed in flowing robes of copper and gold, autumn leaves braided in through his long red hair, he looked rested and refreshed, as though heâd simply been enjoying relaxing all the while Ikithon had gone on.
âUnderstood,â Eris said. âI shall keep the ash out of Zadash until the festival ends.â
Vepar narrowed his dark eyes at him. âAnd preferably long after.â
âMm.â Eris picked up a goblet of the wine Ikithon had treated them toâsomething almost acceptable, and undoubtedly fine by human standardsâand took another sip. âYou know what this is, donât you?â
âThe⌠wine?â
âNo. Our placement as guardians of the festival.â
âEnlighten us.â
âItâs a test. A game. He wants something from each of us, and hopes to catch us each in a massive enough failing to step in and help us⌠It should be entertaining, really. I look forward to it.â Eris looked over at Vepar, taking him in: a pretty man who almost looked human, with soft black curls and warm golden-brown skin, save for the wings on him. Massive feathered wings, for the most part a rich black, but mottled with lovely metallic shades here and there. This would be a creature worth keeping, he mused, worth bringing home when he was done with all of this.
Vepar frowned at the aggressively uncomfortable way Eris was studying him. Something in the feyâs eyes made him damned glad to be in armorânot that it would likely do much against him.
âBe that as it may, weâll conduct our duties to the best of our abilities. This is a weeklong festival, and weâll doubtless all be tired by the end, so weâll lean on each other however we have to.
"Prince Stolas, I understand you volunteered to host the ball on the final night? Thank you for that. In addition to those preparations, youâve been tasked withâŚâ Ensuring everyone is happy. That was how Trent had phrased it, but Trent also made it sound like a damned threat. âMorale. There are hundreds of artists, vendors, shop-owners, and the like, who are involved in the Festival. Please work with them to help ensure they have what they need. Minimize chaos.
"Sir Integra, youâll be handling security at all over the larger events. No doubt you are aware, but there has always been a sort of⌠counterculture version of the festival, usually run by criminals, and they have frequently delighted in disrupting official events. We have next to no intelligence on how that happens or what theyâre going to do. I recognize that Trent instructed you to⌠learn about their operation by any means necessary? But Iâm using my authority,â which was arguably greater than Ikithonâs, depending on oneâs point of view, âto countermand that aspect of the order. Just keep the events safe. Donât kick any hornet nests we donât have to.
"Does anyone have any questions?â
Eris held a hand out, examining his rings in the sunlight. âAre you single?â
âDoes anyone have any relevant questions?â
With Ikithonâs departure, Stolasâ posture relaxes, if only a little. He breathes a small sigh of relief and rotates his shoulders. His fingers circle the stem of his glass, bringing the wine to his lips. He appraises the aroma first, circling the contents and gazes into the dark liquid. Deciding he isnât fond of the taste it leaves on his tongue, or letting the beverage muddle his senses, he sets it back down and turns his attention to Eris and Vepar. Vibrant, garnet eyes flit between the pair curiously, though it was unmistakable he found Erisâ antics⌠exhausting. Curious, but exhausting nonetheless, at least for the moment anyhow.
Something about Erisâs words feels like sand chafing against skin. There could very well be a level of truth to them, and he isnât certain which infuriates him more: Ikithonâs attempt to keep them as marionettes of sorts, or Eris, shiny and new, inserting himself into every detail and spitting it out so plainly.
âThen I suppose we ought to be at our absolute best if we wish to succeed and pass his little test. A good challenge has never scared any of us away before, why should it now?â
Lips painted a midnight shade curl into an easy smile. The prince places a hand over his heart as he addresses Vepar directly. âIt is my pleasure. It is a rare occurrence in which I host such grand parties, and I really ought to put the ballroom to good use. I intend to have the gardens prepared for mingling as well, and perhaps a few, mmmâŚâ He waggles his fingers, magic sparking between them in playful little bursts. âGames for the guests to enjoy and indulge in. A dancing contest, a hedge maze, the likes. Perhaps a blindfolded tasting of some imported delights? Nothing too overwhelming, of course.â He leans back in his seat, resting a pale cheek in an open palm.
âEnergizing our vendors and artists shouldnât be a difficult task. Curating the happiness of those around me is one of my specialties, after all. I will visit each personally and ensure their needs are met, that they feel appreciated and welcomed for the coming festival. I may be on the prowl for something special myselfâŚ.â Perhaps he might find what he is looking for. After all, they will have local and traveling merchants joining them for the festivities. It would be the perfect opportunity to take a little glance at their wares.
Arctic blue eyes remain trained on the untouched wineglass before her. She herself had not participated, though it was poured nonetheless. Gloved fingers were bridged, laced and supporting her chin. She listens carefully, committing everything between them to memory. While she regards them each with some level of respect, there was no one at that table she trusted or respected more than Vepar, and even he came second to someone that wasnât present.
Eris was young and new; a spitfire that felt uncontrollable and unpredictable. He somehow has some form of sway, and nevermind the fact that he was Fey. Being convoluting and tricky was likely second nature to him. Stolas, relatively young as well, wasnât untrustworthy by any means, but he limited himself greatly. To what end, she could not understand. But again, there were methods and mannerisms she didnât quite agree with in him either, though she certainly would trust him long before she would ever consider putting any faith in Eris. That left Duke Vepar. She regards him with the utmost respect, and would even consider his orders to be well beyond the Archmageâs. He was considerate, intelligent, and level-headed with honorable qualities in her eyes.
She gives a small nod of understanding, head tilting in his direction as an indication of her acknowledgement. âUnderstood. We will not act without reasonable cause, and any altercations will be handled quietly and discreetly. I will have my most powerful resource placed in the heart of activity during the events. We will distribute security as evenly as possible without imposing or causing discomfort to participants and townsfolk.â
Both Integra and Stolas give Eris a look for his query. Stolas looks startled and surprised, while she only provides a cool and dismissive look of disapproval.
After a momentâs silence, Stolas gives a short series of taps to the table, sharp nails clicking softly against the polished surface.
âActually, I do haveâŚjust one. Has this festival not been a recurring event here in Zadash? Why, in all planes of existence, are we just now overseeing it? Does that notâŚ. raise alarm to anyone else? That there is suddenly some significance to it all?â
At the end, as Stolas was asking their question, Vepar raised a hand and made a subtle, twirling gesture; a spiral of golden sparks drifted away from him, stretching out into the rest of the room like extensions of the sunlight pouring in. In just a heartbeat or two, certainly before Stolas was done speaking, they had become a protective web of silence, cloistering the group away from any prying eyes. And although he didnât say it, Vepar had to resist the urge to let his lip curl; he had felt a few eavesdropping spells fizzle out under the spreading web.
âItâs⌠certainly strange,â he agreed. âFrom what I understand, thereâs a different council to help organize things every year, but there have never been two councils as there are this year. Why a general and a handful of nobles are on it⌠your guess is as good as mine.â Vepar folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. It felt strange to be in regular clothing, out of his usual armor. âTrent did ask me to use my soldiers to reinforce the local garrison for the festival. Perhaps he knows more about some⌠hidden threat? Than we do.â
Eris stood up and walked over to the window. âWhat was that you did just now? The magic?â
âJust added a touch of privacy to the room.â
âWhy?â
âIf you cannot imagine, High Lord, then you are a more innocent lamb than I took you for.â
Eris scoffed. âI see. So, none of you trust Trent either? Which puts us in an interesting position. This festival of yours⌠something tells me itâs going to be the most exciting this city has seen in a long, long timeâŚâ
-
In the House of the Golden SunâŚ
âYouâre sure youâre alright?â Levi asked, trying to keep anything that might be misconstrued as disapproval out of his voice as he watched the pretty lavender-colored tiefling get dressed.
Molly flipped his hair free of his collar, smiling despite his back being turned to the lithe little human. âIâm sure that the last person you need to worry about is me.â
âKind of my job.â
âMmmhmm.â Spinning gracefully on his heel, Molly gracefully dropped to one knee where Levi was sitting. In the same fluid motion, he rested his hands on the humanâs knee, then rested his chin on them and smiled, humming as he looked up. âAnd thatâs all it is, isnât it? Youâre just doing your job⌠every night, after the customers go home.â He kept the words playful, but there was an edge behind them.
With a quiet scoff, Levi grabbed one of his hornsâhis grip gentle, even if he knew he had standing permission to do soâand tugged Mollyâs head up and away from his knee. âAt least one of us is.â He stood up, making Molly do the same, although the tiefling towered over him once they were on their feet. Levi let go of his horn and just held onto him by the shoulders. For a moment, each looked into the otherâs eyes, one frowning, the other searching, before they both turned away.
âWith any luck,â Molly said cheerfully, heading for the door, âweâll hear this secret festival nonsense today. See you downstairs?â
âMm.â
âIsnât this delightful? Breakfast, every afternoon!â Humming cheerfully, Molly made his way down.
-
Fjord, who had been showing his new outfit off to Adler, beamed when Molly made his way down. âHey! The tailor brought it by today! It looks good, right?â
âWould I ever lead you astray when it comes to clothing yourself?â
Fjordâs smile was awkward, even if the look in his eyes was a happy enough one, trusting. He shook his head at Molly, never quite sure how to interact with him, and smoothed a hand down the front of the linen tunic. âSo what kind of stuff happens at this festival anyway?â
Suppressing a wince, Molly curled up in a loveseat and started shuffling through his cards. âSomething tells me,â he murmured, âand by something I certainly do mean the cards, that weâre going to find out very soonâŚâ
-
The guard who knocked on the door to Eulaâs office had very wide eyes and was sweating profusely, more nervous than he had ever been in his young life. In theory, everything was okay, he knew that much, but to actually have the Shishigumi walking behind him? This was terrifying. Their boss was a beautiful deer-person of some sort, graceful and serious, but somehow no less sinister than the two well-dressed lions who followed him in.
âUm, M-m-miss Eula?â The young guard asked, knocking on her door. âThe Sh-sh-sh-shhhââ Fuck, why was he so scared? He took a deep breath. âThe Shishigumi are here to see you?â
Though the establishment was not yet open to the public, there was a business about the halls and rooms that would have convinced anyone otherwise. Beings of all sorts move with purpose: some are tending to linens, while others check lighting and decor, some stick to the kitchens where they can continue to prepare hot meals and different spreads, others worry about sweeping, and quite a few go about simply offering breaks or to take over tasks, ensuring no one is overwhelmed or overworking themselves.
Karina flits about, busying herself in a variety of different areas so she can maintain eyes wherever she can. With the festival fast approaching, preparations were well underway. They needed to tend to the place but also themselves just as much. It wouldnât do well for anyone to drop in the peak of it all, or even just the beginning. She steps over Wrenâs legs with an armful of folded blankets and towels to distribute. Meanwhile, he just so happens to be lounging like one of those princely housecats that gets whatever it wants (and is thoroughly in her wayâŚor at least annoying to look at). It earns him a low growl and the swat of her tail in passing.
âYou should be up and helping!â The words come out as a hiss.
âI am helping by staying out of the way,â he fires back teasingly.
âI just had to step over you, Wren Atlas! Youâre insufferable. Youâve been here long enough, you know the drill!â
âFeisty today, are we Rina?~ Did you have breakfast, by chance? These peach and fig pastries are simply to die for.â
âThen keel over already.â
Her words spark a sudden burst of laughter. Wren wipes his mouth as he finishes his breakfast stretches. He rises to his feet and salutes her. âHeading to the kitchens now.â
âNot to stuff your face, I hope. Seriously. Get. To. Work.â Despite the clipped tone, she knows heâll pitch in. Wren has always carried himself with a carefree and lazy air, but when push comes to shove, or help is needed, heâs entirely reliable. Karina also knows he purposefully likes to get under her skinâŚYet somehow, she doesnât hate him.
âIâm on it, I swear!â With that, he disappears to take care of his dishes and get to work. Whether or not he sticks to the kitchens is questionable, but Wren is always willing to help where itâs needed, and today would be full of opportunities to provide it.
-
âIt looks fantastic. I didnât think I could imagine you in anything different, but this compliments you very nicely.â His gaze sweeps over Fjord, respectful but thorough.
A fond smile has made itself at home on Adlerâs features. The gentle curl of lips, a small tilt of head, the lazy sway of his tail, and a warm shine to his eyes. Their newest arrivals have settled in quite nicely, making a home for themselves. He could tell comfort was becoming a regular thing as their personalities began to blossom. When Molly enters, he gives him a welcoming nod of acknowledgement.
âThe festival is different each year. Some of the same activities, or overall base exists, but you never really know what youâre in for.â He pauses with the realization.
âOh! It will be your first with us! Thatâs exciting! Or not, depending on how you do with high energy functions that are ongoing for a period of time, rather than just one night. But still, I think you might come to enjoy it.â
Jester practically dances into the room. She sweeps over to Molly to greet him with false kisses on the cheek, meeting the air around him before flinging her arms around Fjord. âWoooooow! You look handsome! These must be new~â She walks her fingers up his chest, dazzling sunshine smile on her lips before she waves a hand at Adler.
âI got THE BEST sleep ever last night. My dream was soooo crazy and fun! Also, The Traveler totally loves this place. He says itâs like, his favorite that weâve visited so far. And have you seen the decorations out the windows?! This festival must be a really big deal.â
-
It didnât take magic for her to sense unease or discomfort. Though perhaps it played a part in the way she was able to occasionally read others, providing a calming balm to the frayed edges of their feelings. Then again, the mere mention of the Shishigumi was enough to cause some to sweat. Eulalie herself rarely felt fear, though to say she was absent of it would be a bold lie indeed. It was more that she was capable of channeling it into quiet anticipation and a sort of stillness. It was her responsibility to keep her fellow companions safe and happy, after all, so a certain level of collection, of calm and control, is to be expected.
Crossing one leg over the other behind her desk, Eulalie folds her hands atop her knee, a portrait of elegance; formal and formidable. Today she dons a cream gown that only reaches over one shoulder bearing a somewhat modest cut down the front, and a teasing slit up from the bottom to the top of her thigh. The dress is only as long as it takes to reach the ground, however, and no longer. Accessories are minimal; she wears a thin chain with a ring hanging from it and a few bracelets at her wrist; her ears bearing hanging golden suns. Her tail sways slowly, almost idly, head tilting to a side as though she might be able to make out their forms beyond the closed door. She does this only for a moment before inviting them in.
What the Shishigumi wanted or needed with her or the House of the Golden Sun was beyond her, but they will surely make their desires known.
âI will see them now. Let them pass.â Her voice is steady, but not firm. And when the door opens, she does well to meet her nervous guard with a warm and placating smile. âThank you. You can leave us now, youâve done well.â
To the Shishigumiâs leader she gestures to one of the plush armchairs across from her. âPlease, have a seat. Would you like anything to drink?â
âThank you,â Louis said, and took a seat in the chair she indicated. He was an elegant creatureâa humanoid shape, but with the sweet, soft head and features of a deer, and his pelt was a smooth golden-chestnut. He appeared to be unarmed, and was dressed fairly plainly in neat black clothing. Everything about him looked composed, not so much as a hair out of place. Even when he leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, it was a completely at-ease gesture, comfortable. This place might be bustling with excitement, and Eulalieâs guard might have been barely willing to leave the room, but the young buck was calm. Sereneâ
Save for the look in his eyes. Soft and pretty as they were, there was a dangerous hardness there, an edge that promised not just intelligence, but the possibility of cruelty. The two Leonin behind him were quite possibly the safer of her guests to get entangled with. One of them looked young and wide-eyed, his dark mane as carefully styled as he could manage, and he was struggling to stop smiling and staring at everything. The other one, his light eyes a crystalline blue, was focused. Not violent, not threatening, just focused. He would ensure his boss walked out of here no matter what. Festival or no, his guard wasnât coming down. Not when it came to this damned deer.
As for the damned deer, he took out a parchment scroll, sealed with a wax Shishigumi seal, tied with a golden ribbon.
âWe appreciate your patience, and your welcome. And, might I say, you look beautifulâas radiant as the rumors say.â He placed the parchment on her desk, within her reach, before leaning back. âAs you know, judgement of the Underfestival has fallen to the Shishigumi this year. An honor we intend to take seriously. Not as seriously as others have in years past,â he added, a hint of wry amusement in his voice, as he knew full well there had been fatalities when other criminal groups ran it, âbut still. We expect all participants to play by the rules.
"If you break that seal, you are agreeing on behalf of your House, entering the contest. I hope you do. Know this: one House has received a different set of instructions from the others. I will not divulge who, or why. It could be yours, it could be another. Whether or not it matters, wellâŚâ He twitched an eyebrow and gave a tiny, dismissive shrug, as if to say maybe that wasnât so important after all.
Once Eulalie took the scroll and broke the seal, the crime-lord waited patiently for her to read itâwhile Agata tried his best not to wiggle with pride, excited because he had been working for weeks to make his handwriting elegant and formal, wanting the privilege of writing all of the scrolls out.
The UNDERFESTIVAL COMMANDMENTS
FIRSTLY, ALL HOUSES PARTICIPATING IN THE UNDERFESTIVAL MUST BE HOUSES OF SIN AND DELIGHT. Participants must provide gambling, drug use, alcohol, sex, or all of the above, as their regular business model, yet must also be in good standing; Houses who abuse their staff or allow their customers to suffer unduly are not invited to participate in the Underfestival.
SECONDLY, ALL HOUSES MUST MAINTAIN STRICT SECRECY WHILE PARTICIPATING. If any members of a House are detained by law enforcement, or anyone acting in the capacity of law enforcement, that House is disqualified.
THIRDLY, NEW TO THIS YEAR, all House participants must be willing; no one maybe ordered to undertake a particular quest. If coercion is discovered, the House will be disqualified and the owner subsequently disemboweled and dismembered, to be then devoured by the Shishigumi.
UNDERFESTIVAL QUESTSâ These quests must be completed, in no particular order, between the tolling of the city bells; firstly, the bell that opens the Festival of Joy, and before the tolling of the final bell on the final night. These quests have been determined by the Shishigumi and must all be completed to qualify for the Underfestival Trophy, as well as a year free of paying tributes to any criminal organization, for protection or otherwise.
Bedazzle. Steal, bejewel, and return a livestock animal, without harming the animal, to a business owner or noble house within Zadash city limits.
Vandalize. Deface a storefront window and door, in a manner both whimsical and obscene, refraining from any imagery that may be construed as threatening or prejudiced.
Corrupt. Persuade musicians at any austere, official ceremony, whether or not it pertains to the Festival of Joy, to perform the lewd ballad Zaddy Got Back, without the musicians being alerted to the fact this is an Underfestival quest.
Exhibit. One nude dance must be performed by three employees of each House, at a public fountain during daylight hours, without being overtly crude. Masks are optional for this quest.
Ring the Bell. The Trost Belltower is under constant guard. Whatever member of each House rings this bell, they must not be seem going up, but they MUST be seen leaving the belltower, post ringing it in an inappropriate manner at an inappropriate time of day.
Classy Balls. At least sex-worker of each house must be invited to the final-night ball, by a titled member of nobility. Said noble must be aware they are inviting a sex-worker, but invite them as a personal choice, without any exchange of money, goods, or services. At that ball, said house-member must manage to place a red stain somewhere prominent on their noble.
Feed. Prepare and distribute 100 meals, of any healthy and sustaining variety, to people in need throughout Zadash. All participating members must be green from head to toe at all times during this quest, from preparation to distribution, displaying no other colors. Any loss of full green coverage, whether by their doing or not, will result in instant disqualification for the House.
Await. Await the Black Envelope. Throughout the Underfestival, each participating House will be given a black envelope containing their private quest. From the time it is delivered to them, the quest contained within must be completed in no more than three hours, and in strict accordance with its terms.
Guzzle. Break into a tavern and replace all of their alcohol with water. The water must be glittery and/or pink, but it cannot be flavored. Distribute the stolen liquor to city guards; extra points may be awarded for those who get guards the drunkest.
Improve. Make the life of someone uninvolved with your House demonstrably better, in a matter that does not complicate or endanger their life or livelihood, and which is sustainable; the change must be lasting, even if it stems from a single item or moment. Only one submission for Improve may be sent from each House, but it is encouraged that multiple members attempt it, then confer together to decide which submission to send in.
âThere is, of course, also one âimpossibleâ task,â Louis added, after giving Eulalie plenty of time to read the paper. âIf a member of your House can seduce Sir Integraâproperly seduce her, consent must be informed and enthusiasticâthen that achievement will count for every other item on the list being accomplished. The sex much occur in this House, and be between Integra and someone already under your employ.
"So. Any questionsâabout any of this?â
--
INTERVAL--
Integra returns later in the day, when the sun's warmth begins to fade, golden light bleeding into the sky to change the brilliant blue into stark oranges, sweet pinks, and blood red.
As she passes Alucard, a thin scroll of paper is pressed to his chest. When she moves to occupy the chair behind her personal desk, Integra smiles. "I figured you might not take my word for it." She gestures towards th paper left with him. "Proof of the magic used by the Healer, and the findings. Which, you will be pleased to know, are none. I am in perfect health."
His long fingers closed around the paperâprecious more for the fact that it had been in her hand than for the proof it allegedly contained. The appointment with a Healer was not news to the vampire; if Integra thought he hadnât stalked her every movement, following along from down in the tunnels under the city, she was sorely mistaken.
Still, he smiled in response, and gave her the smallest of bowsâa gesture of respect that was perhaps too familiar, too intimate in the way his eyes stayed on hers, burning. He appreciated her gesture and her information, but that did not feel like enough. None of this felt like enough. Something was changing in their city, the balance of power shifting in ways that were impossible to ignoreâthe world was starting to tilt, and Alucard would be damned anew if he would allow her to slide off its edgeâŚ
Especially considering that other things were sliding.
Such as her control of him.
The leash was coming loose, the collar falling to bits; day by day, a little more eroded away. Freedom, unlimited freedom and unrestricted power, were almost within reach. He could taste them, they were so closeâ
But he couldnât see the reasons in Integraâs eyes, and that was infuriating. Alucard knew he could just ask, of course. He could ask and she might tell himâbut the thought was there, preventing him. What if? What if she didnât know? What if this wasnât on purpose? What if, after all this time, he really was about to receive his freedom? If she didnât want that, and he asked, she might manage to tighten the knots again. And, however loyal the vampire might be to this woman, it was always there, simmering under the surface: the thought that he might betray her. Not for money, not for romance, not for any earthly delightâ
But for freedom?
Maybe.
It was too tantalizing a possibility to simply offer it up on a platter. So, baring his teeth in a smile, he tucked both the worries and the hungers away, unrolled the scroll, and read it over.
âYou didnât go to the handsome new elven healer? When I went to such lengths to ensure you would go only to the best. Iâve heard heâs quite handsomeâand pliable. A commanding presence such as yours might have had him on his knees in no timeâswearing fealty, of course.â He tossed the paper back down on her desk as if it didnât matter, as if it wasnât the manifestation of everything that ever stood or grew between them.
âAh, well.
"So. Are we prepared for this festival?â
-
She was more than willing to share privacy with the individuals who come to her now. After all, she had no debts to pay, no quarrels with the Shishigumi that she knew of - only the festival to look forward to and expect.
Thereâs a slow and idle sway to her tail as Eulalie welcomes her guests. She understands they are there for official business, and though her demeanor continues to suggest one of natural ease, she knows better than to let her guard down. While he mentions rumors of her beauty â which earns a saccharine smile â she is well aware of the tales surrounding the Shishigumi. She is most certain there are families who tell stories of them to misbehaving children in the hopes of corralling them into better behavior. Whether or not those tales are exaggerated could beâŚdebatable, but less than likely. Each member was taken into careful consideration. There was Louis, obviously the head of the organization and the one in charge of the situation now - and the two Leonin. Each of them was to be considered a deadly force should it come down to it. Though there would be, and should be, no reason or cause for alarm in their meeting, sheâs done business far too long not to be cautious and aware of the company she keeps. Which is precisely why, and she will never tell a soul that she prefers business with the Shishigumi over most others. They were discreet enough, formal in their own rights, powerful, and respectful. Beyond that, they honored their word, making them trustworthy.
âDespite the rumors Iâve heard of the Shishigumi, I do have to say, Iâm happy to know the festival is in such strong and meticulous hands.â A compliment of her own, and it was true. Past festivals, while fun and true to their nature, had always held a certain aspect of danger. And with recent ones, loss, too. These festivities were meant to bring excitement to the participants and those they interact with. Every task was meant to leave an impression of some kind, and for days and nights, minutes and hours, Zadash would be brilliantly filled with a symphony of sounds: laughter, music, pleasure, revelry at its finest and most boisterous.
There is no need to think twice. Eulalie breaks the seal and reads the commandments. His words did not deter her in the least. She had new and old companions seeking thrills, and the House of the Golden Sun would not shy away from the Underfestival. The first paragraph leading to the commandments earns him a look. Houses who abuse their staff or allow their customers to suffer unduly are not invited to participate in the Underfestival.
Something soft etches itself into her features, a warmth bleeding into her expression that mingles with the respect she already held for him. A small nod is given in his direction before she reads the rest of the details.
By the time she reaches the end, a hearty and rich little laugh escapes. Eulalie swiftly brings a hand to her lips, murmuring an apology and rolls the parchment up. A dazzling smile blooms over perfect lips, tail swishing with joy. âOh, you have certainly outdone yourselves this year, my friends. This is certain to be a remarkable and memorable experience for everyone involved.â Her head tilts before she sets the instructions down and steeples her fingers.
âAre there any limits to how many individuals from the House can participate? I have a handful of new friends who may or may not wish to participate in some of the quests, but perhaps not all of them. It seems silly to ask, but one can never be too cautious about the specifics.â
A gentle knock sounds on the door, a kind and uncertain face peers in. Eulalie gives a small nod to welcome them in while conversation is paused, and they proceed. A serving tray is brought to rest upon the desk. It bears a small assortment of sandwiches, a few pastries, and tea is left for them to pick at. They bow respectfully and hastily take their leave, unwilling to stay too long. Privacy is respected, after all.
Louis gave an appreciative nod about the refreshments. Maintaining that perfect poise of his, he gladly shared them with Eulalie, without hesitation or any apparent fear of poisoning. If poison had made it into this House, then things were so very wrong that no amount of caution would save him, he mused. Still, formality was maintained; although Louis ate and drank with her, the two Leonin behind him did not. They were here to guard him, and they did their job well.
âItâs not silly at all. Youâre right. One can never be too cautious. And no, thereâs no limit. Any of your people who wish to participate are welcome to. That actually brings us to another topicâthere is one of your staff Iâd be very interested in having a private conversation with. Just a conversation, nothing physical,â he added, since clarification was absolutely in order here, âand if he doesnât wish to speak to me, there will be no repercussions. Still. If you get the chance to ask him, Iâd be grateful for the chance to sit and talk with Levi Ackerman.â Since heâd had just enough of the tea service to be polite, and there were many more Houses to get to today, Louis stood up, smoothing his jacket as he did. âWhatever price you think appropriate, Iâll gladly pay it.â
While Louis spoke, Free looked over his shoulder, his cold eyes focusing hard on the Madam. The deer might be speaking casually about this meeting he wanted, but from the looks of it, the blue-eyed lion disapproved. Whether or not Louis was aware of said disapproval, he ignored it entirely, stepping back and offering a bow to Eulalie.
âWelcome to the Underfestival. I look forward to seeing how your Houseâs endeavors play out.
"By the way,â Louis added, as if by the way at this point in a conversation could ever actually be a casual addition, and not something of vital importance, âI heard a rumor that Archmage Trent Ikithon, may be aware of the Underfestival. Be careful. I donât want involvement in this costing you, or any of yours, your life.â He bowed his head ever so slightly, then headed out, his bodyguards following after him.
-
Fjord watched as the pretty man and his intimidating guards left, then turned back to the others. Settling down, now that he had showed off his new outfit, he also joined in the extremely late breakfast. Was it even brunch? Or when you woke up this late in the afternoon, was everything just linner? Linner didnât seem like a reasonably word, though⌠But it was sometime between lunch and dinner, and linner was better than dunchâŚ
âYou think that deerâs single?â he musedânot a question he meant to ask out loud. Blushing, Fjord cleared his throat and picked up some tea he didnât especially want. âI mean. Just. You know. Whatâs it like, living the life of a hardened criminal? Do you, um, get to have romance? Relationships?â
âNice save there, love, really.â
âAw, Molly. I justâŚâ Nope. Better to just glug the tea down.
Mollymauk shrugged, and ran his fingertips through Leviâs hair. âI think thereâs opportunity for romance for all of us, if weâre open to itâŚâ Although he looked relaxed, he wasnât, not really; the tiefling was eager to see Eulalie emerge, hoping to hear about this Underfestival. It sounded terribly sordid and excitingâhow could anyone not want to participate?
Characters I'd like to play: Damien Vryce & Gerald Tarrant
Characters I'd like you to play: Anyone! Any muses you'd like to throw against them, I am so completely happy to do crossovers.
Damien and Tarrant are essentially a paladin and a vampire, to put things a little too mildly, a little too politely. Damien is a good man, a priest devoted to a church he believes in, who spends his life fighting monsters and healing those in need. Honest, sometimes naive, caring, down-to-earth, and kind, Damien may not always be the most elevated company, but he's pleasant and good to be around. And he is, always, safe to be around. Heâs a deeply good person who genuinely tries to live true to his beliefs. A sorcerer, a priest, and a warrior, Damien is a force to be reckoned withâbut one who will never hurt someone else without reason, someone people can turn to, talk to. Heâs a decent man, even if heâs not always the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Tarrant is an ancient evil who founded the very religion Damien now follows, as part of an experiment. He deals in fear and darkness, and can be considered a dark Adept or archmage, although the truth is he's a little more than either would imply. He is not a particular safe person to be around--amoral and ruthless, he has no problem feeding on someone for their blood or their fear, and he sees little value in an individual life.
And somehow, these two have become close friends, which is why I'll write them both (unless by some miracle, someone comes along who wants to write one or the other, of course). These are two of my favorite characters of all time, and I am completely happy to send them into other fantasy or science-fiction settings. They're a fun duo, and who doesn't love putting a mismatched pair into an adventuring party?
a plotted starter for @certainconviction, because we are monsters and just cannot be kind to sweet Alfie
The Black Market Music Festival probably sounded fake to quite a few people, but it had certainly made the news and drawn in the crowds. Businesses in the Market were prospering, and although the last few days had been crowded, there hadn't been much in the way of violence. Visitors were being more or less left alone, without any harassment from residents or regulars from the Market--which might have more to do with the fact that the Shishigumi were handling security, rather than the goodwill and graciousness of beasts at large.
It was the second to last night, and still early in the evening. The summer air felt heavy and alive with a thunderstorm threatening, but for now, the evening skies were clear. The festival was just warming up for the night, with larger acts to make their way onto the mainstage later on, but right now, time was set aside for an open-mic period, and a young lion named Agata was having the time of his life. The handful of performers whose names had been drawn, who had already been given timeslots, were milling around out there in the square, and it was his job to find each one when it was their turn.
When he spotted the skinny little kangaroo, his eyes lit up.
"Come with me," Agata said, trying to sound tough and stern and like he thought an official music festival employee should sound. Taking Alfie by the shoulder, he marched him around to the back of stage area, where a few other lions were gathered, smoking and talking to a handsome deer in a well-tailored suit.
Seeing him approach, a lion with crystalline-bright eyes laughed and tossed his cigarette down. "Caught another one, huh?"
Agata nodded. "Uh huh."
Without looking, the deer ground out the cigarette with his hoof. He gave the blue-eyed lion a look, something halfway cold and halfway amused, then looked at Agata and his quarry. "Did you say anything to this one?"
"Yep! I was polite and everything!"
"Hm." The deer twitched an ear, but when he looked at the thin little kangaroo, his expression softened somewhat. Whether or not that softening was artifice was impossible to tell, but his voice gentled as well. "Sorry about Agata. He's excited. You're Alfie, right? You're up next. Good luck up there. I'd say break a leg, but," the wry hint of a smile touched his lips as he met the musician's eyes, "I wouldn't wish the pain on anyone." Even as he spoke, the music from the last act wound down, to more enthusiastic applause than Louis would've expected. He turned his head to look out towards the crowd, then glanced up at the sky above them. A few clouds drifting over, and a few heavy raindrops began to fall, but it wasn't so bad.
Turning his attention back to the kangaroo, he nodded to him. "Go on."
"And don't forget," Free put in, grinning wide enough to show more fangs than was polite in any echelon of society, "we'll be watching."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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for @tooth--ache -- don't mind me, i just gathered all our stuff into one spot <3
///. CORMORANT-009 OFFLINE
///. GOODBYE, HOWARD J PIKE
The engines wind down, and Moppy got out of its seat to check on the shutdown protocol manually. Howard trailed to the softsuit locker, crawled into it, but ignored the helmet on the shelf. He was planetside now; there was no need for that, and if he wanted to sell this false identity, heâd better hide in plain sight.
As far as he could tell, the false identity was solid. It was top-notch work from someone Moppy had⌠âskillfully persuaded into an equitable business withâ (so it said), and while the android intended initially on leaving the business a one-and-done deal, Howard was keen to continue his business, which had brought them here.
It was a busy port city where they had landed. Moppy rattled off the name of the planet and the city, but it was in a language Howard could not even pretend to speak, anyway, and he was happy to leave it at that. Moppy could fill in the rest of it when it was needed.
Androids and cyborgs walked past him, unaware of his existence. Great! That meant he was fully registered as an augmented human and not a walking dead, which would â even in this day and age â cause heads to turn. He wasnât comfortable with the amount of wearables he had to keep on his person to sell the story, but needs must.
âPosted the job on the bulletin, Howard,â Moppy said, pulling up its hair into a ponytail. âIâve booked us a room in a place called Ganymedeâs Odyssey, a 10-minute walk from here,â it sent Howard a guide on his Eyerisâ HUD. Soft glowing arrows revealed the way.
âHow do we know weâre not going to get scammed?â Howard asked.
âWe donât. If they do, youâll bite their heads off. Na?â Moppy grinned. âWhat are they going to do to you, shoot you dead?â
âIâm worried about you, my dear.â
âPshhhhh. Iâll be fine.â
And Howard believed that. Truly. Moppy, above all else, was once a bot-pilot for the Cormorant â it was the finding out to a lot of pirateâs fucking around.
HELLO!
WE ARE A DUO LOOKING FOR 1 OR 2 FREE AGENTS TO JOIN US ON A âWELLNESS CHECKâ DUTY OFF-WORLD. FIND TEAM ON SITE AND DELIVER INFORMATION BACK TO CLIENTâS BOSS. NOT TIME SENSITIVE BUT ON A TIMELINE! PLANET SAFETY SCALE 3/10.
FOOD/LODGING/BASIC HYGIENE PROVIDED ON A SPACEFARING ALTO-CLASS TRADE SHIP. NO PETS. NO DRUGS. AND NO CHILDREN!!!! BRING YOUR OWN CLOTHES
-
This was different, to say the fucking least. The city around them was bustling, as busy and lively as Jaggonath had been, but this sure wasnât Jaggonath. This wasnât even Erna.
It was their third day in this strange place, and Damien still wasnât used to it. Tarrant was thoroughly enjoying himself, of course, utterly fascinated by the technology all around them, but the bastard had snuffed fear out of himself so long ago that he probably didnât even have the sense to consider whether this was a situation where they absolutely should, in fact, be afraid. It was, it definitely was, Damien had no doubts about thatâbut fuck, it would be comforting if his traveling companion even acknowledged that.
Three days. Three days of wandering through the city, looking for cluesâmostly three days of following Tarrantâs whims, because Damien was having a very quiet, somewhat minor crisis of faith, and trying to go against his friendâs endless hunger for knowledge felt like too much of an uphill battle right now. Three days of air that wasnât theirs, roads underfoot that they were never meant to walk on, people and machines that maybe, maybe had been similar to those in Ernaâs history, but maybe not at all. Three days of pretending they fit in, when they didnât at all, and Damienâs nerves were wearing thin.
So, when Tarrant strode up to himâdark cloak billowing around his willowy, graceful form, every bit as beautiful now as he was back in their worldâand held up a piece of paper, Damien sensed the other shoe about to drop, but he didnât have the energy to fight it.
âWhat did you find?â
âLetâs go sightseeing,â Tarrant purred, a glint of something approaching delight in his silvery eyes. He gave the paper to Damienânot the gesture of a friend inviting another to read it, but a master expecting obedience from a servant. Damien bit back a frustrated reply, resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and read the paper.
He really should have snapped at Tarrant, he concluded, as he handed the sheet back. âNo.â
âNo?â
âWe donât even know how we got here! We canât go off world, what if we miss theââ
The Hunterâs smile was cold enough, the look in his eyes hungry enough, to silence the priest.
âYouâre speaking out of fear, Vryce. We have the chance to see yet another world. You would truly say no to that?â
âWeâre in another world right now. And I want to be able to get back to ours. We donât know howââ
âWe do,â Tarrant objected, brushing him off as a professor might an idiot who had somehow sneaked into his classroom. âThe fae surged during an earthquake, mid-Working. Weâre lucky to be alive. Now. Come. Letâs see what else there is to see. And perhaps we will be luckyâperhaps this world whose safety is rated a mere three out of ten, will be our own.â
Damien sighed. âYeah. Sure. Cause people can just fly to Erna.â
âWhy not?â
In the end, no amount of objecting was enough. They collected their things and went to answer the job listing. Maybe this was a terrible idea (probably), but letting Tarrant get bored and restless was probably a worse idea (definitely), and so really, what was there to lose?
-
Damien Vryce was a sturdy looking man. Dark hair, hands heavy and thick from a lifetime of combat, tall, broad-shouldered, not quite handsome, but with decency in his eyes. He looked like someone to be trusted, someone who one could turn to in their darker moments; the light in his eyes was steady and warm, kind. He was dressed in fairly plain clothing with a mix of armor piecesânothing flashy, nothing matching, just hard-used armor that had held up over years of battle, marred here and there by claws or fangs, but still serviceable.
Next to him, Tarrant looked like he belonged in another echelon of society altogether. An elegant face, his features refined, his hair soft and subtly curled as it fell in ashy-blond curls, pale lips shaped to be kissedâbut eyes far colder than ice, the irises silvery-gray, hungry, intelligent, demanding. And, most dangerous of all, patient. He was dressed finely, but all in black, without a hint of dust or mud on his person.
âAre the two of you the duo in question?â he asked, in a voice that matched his appearance: cold, refined, polished. âBecause we are interested.â
âWeâre maybe interested,â Damien cut in, giving his friend a look before he turned his attention back to the others. âDamien Kilcannon Vryce and Gerald Tarrant.â Best to leave our titles off for now.. right? He pushed past the doubt. âAnd before we commitââ useless words, considering the look in Tarrantâs eyes, âweâd like to know, just how dangerous is this world you want to take us to? What are we going to do there? And, no offense, but⌠who are you?â
-
The two who had answered their job listing were surprisingly average looking. Normal, even, or so Howard hoped, which gave him a glimmer of enthusiasm that this might in fact turn out to be a smooth sailing contract.
Moppy nodded at the question. âYes! Hello!â It waved in lieu of extending a hand. Every minuscule piece of information about the two men before it was scanned meticulously by its sensors, and stored in the Cormorant for future analysis. First and foremost, the bounty register. Juuust in case. âWow! Full government name? My name is Moppy, itâs short for đźđđđđđđđđđđđ đžđđđđđđđđ đ°đđđđđđ : đżđđđđđđđ đżđđđđ đđđđ đđđđđ which is definitely unwieldy on the tongue Iâm sure.â
From the way it carried itself, Moppy seemed indistinguishable from what one would consider an ambiguously gendered young human person, leaning towards female from its stature and physique. If it hadnât introduced itself the way it did, it would be rather easy for Moppy to fool them into believing that it was human, but from past experiences, lying over such things tended to cause unnecessary conflict.
âAnd this is Howie, the captain of the Cormorant.â
Howard chose to go the handshake route instead, offering it freely for any (or none) of them to reach out to. âHoward Pike. A pleasure to meet you.â
âThe planetâs only dangerous if we donât work together as a team, since thereâs reports confirming the presence of hostile fauna in the area. Itâs also outside the protection of the Covenant Treaty, so anyoneâs bound to land there without having to check in with a warden or a port,â Moppy prattled on. âWild wild west, so they say on Old Earth! Youâre OK with killing people?â
âMoppyâŚâ Howard sighed.
âWhat?! Weâre bound to do that at some point,â it made a face at Howard, then turned to look at Vryce once more. âWhatâs your toolkit look like? Close quarters? Sharpshooting?â
-
Old Earth?
Those two words had a noticeable impact on the two, if one was watching. While the elegant Tarrant only showed his reaction through a momentary widening of the pupils, Damien looked stunned, like the phrase had hit him as hard as a punch. He got over it quickly enough, and the two of them exchanged a look.
Shaking Captain Howardâs hand, Damien nodded. âItâs a pleasure to meet you, Captain. I would prefer not to kill peopleââ
âI have no problem with it, Tarrant interjected, his voice like silk.
Damien pretended not to have heard that. "But yeah, if itâs necessary, itâs necessary. Iâm good in close quarters combat. One opponent, dozens,â he shrugged, frowning a little. There was never going to be a comfortable way to sing his own praises when it came to violence. Damien was good at it, but that didnât mean he wanted to be. The best way to win a fight, in his opinion, was to avoid it whenever possible. âSo if either of you,â he nodded towards Moppy, who he absolutely did not understand, then fixed his attention back on Howard, âget into trouble, Iâll do what I can to help. Iâm not a bad touch with Healing, either. As for Tarrant, heâsâŚâ
Damien looked over his shoulder at the man.
Go on, Tarrant seemed to say, raising an eyebrow in subtle amusement.
âYou probably wouldnât believe me if I told you,â Vryce settled on, looking back at Howard. âBut heâs not useless in a fight. And listen, we⌠we arenât, um. From here, exactly. So letâs pretend that we donât know anything about your government, the Covenant, any of that. Treat us like weâreâŚâ
âIdiot children?â Tarrant suggested.
Vryceâs face flushed subtly, but he nodded. âSure. That works.â
âMm. Perhaps. But, dear Captain, donât let Vryce sell himself short. In all my years, Iâve never seen a warrior who will fight to defend those he cares about with half as much heart as dear Damien Kilcannon Vryce. Whether or not one deserves to be under his care, if they are? Theyâre as safe as can be.â
Damien shifted uncomfortably, not entirely sure Tarrant was trying to compliment him. He cleared his throat quietly, looked at Moppy, then back to Howard. âPlus, we need the job.â I think. âWhat uh, exactly is the job?â Just because Tarrant was clearly excited enough by the opportunity to take any job, heedless of the details, and amoral enough to see anything through with that vicious precision of his, didnât mean Damien was quite as sanguine about itâŚ
Looking for: BEASTARS RP
My Muse: Louis
Your Muse: anyone, he'll play with a canon or an OC
I will be writing Louis as being around twenty-eight years old; heâs eighteen in the show (or nineteen?), but I am aging him up further for my starting point with him. Everything Beastars I do will be an AU where the school stuff was actually a college university--no hate to the show, I would just rather not RP highschoolers. Another point of canon divergence, just because I think itâs cool, is that my Louis has hooves for feet. Or, well, one hoof now, but sshh. No human-shaped foot. He still absolutely has human hands, but little deer hooves are just so cuteâand sharp and good for kicking with. So, mine has a hoof, and his prosthetic for the other leg matches that as well as it can.
I will also typically play Louis as being back with the Shishigumi, as the boss they've chosen, with Melon ousted. Louis loves them deeply, always will, and has chosen them over anything else in his life. Yes, he wants to help steer them onto a somewhat more moral path than the one Melon took them down, but Louis is also coldly practical. He realizes that organized crime is a necessity right now, in their society, and he doesnât want to destroy his own people just to prove a point--homeboy only does that to himself. He will do whatever he can to take care of them and protect them, whatever it takes. As their leader, he considers it his job to take care of the lions, not their job to take care of him. I will absolutely play the lions as NPCs, and I am a sap so... Ibuki might still be alive. If you want to play specifically with the lions, that's totally fine by me, this is the same setting/verse I'll go with.
As for sexualityâLouis is definitely queer, even if he is somewhat newer to identifying himself as such (and yes, that is the term he prefers right now). It took him a long, long time to realize that heâs not typically attracted to anyone at all until he cares deeply for them, and even then, heâs almost exclusively attracted to men. (Especially if theyâre carnivores. Louis has no self-preservation). He may not be especially easy to courtâheâs prickly, cold, and can be haughty and demandingâbut he does have a good heart, sincere intentions, and a strong sense of loyalty.
If youâre interested in writing with Louis, great! Please message me, and please know that RP will only take place via Tumblr reblogs. The Beastars RPC on Tumblr is tiny, but the more of us who choose to write here, the easier it will be to find each other, rather than just everyone going to Discord for everything.