Zell Dincht

@ladylunafreyaoftenebrae​  ❝ you’re important. ❞

“Tch--! Then you don’t even know who you’re messin’ with!” Dance-dance-dance, look how quick those feet move, Squall. You really think you can hurt a powerhouse like Zell freakin’ Dincht--?! Do ya? Do ya, really??

Ding!

“Only 10%?! And-- HEY! I ain’t TINY!”

“S-seriously?! Nah, man. We ain’t doin’ this--”

I’m so excited to be back and active on the dash, but I’ve been giving it some thought and I’ve decided that a reset on all my blogs is the best thing that I can do at this current point in time.

I always try to avoid doing this as little as possible because I know that I’m guilty of hoarding and taking ages to respond (for various reasons that don’t belong on a public platform), but I feel fresh reset is the best chance I have at getting back on the dash much quicker than ressurecting threads from months back.

So as it stands right now, I have cleared out my inbox and drafts both on here and on @misplacedheroics.

The way Zell talked about these people – those he called Ma and Pa – had the bitter taste of bile bubbling up in Baldur’s throat. There was a deep seething hatred in him for these people. They had taken his boy away. And they were acting as if they were his boy’s parents. This man, who wasn’t even around. Who made the little one work like a slave. And burdened him with some fucked up talk of ‘being the man in the house’.

Watching Zell’s every movement out of the corner of his eyes, Baldur let the pale strands of his own hair hang over his face as he brushed at the dirt. So the boy wouldn’t see that darkness on the man’s face.

He couldn’t afford to scare him away like this.

He needed to collect all the info. The man a fisherman. The woman working at a clinic. A healer? Nurse? Some technician? Who knew. But he at least had some pointers now. And there couldn’t be too many ‘Dinchts’ around.

How his son asked about his family… Baldur just wanted to grab him and hug him. But he couldn’t. Not yet…

But maybe… if he talked about them, there would be something coming back to Zell’s memories? After all he had already been a toddler when they had taken him away. Four years old. Maybe that was the key.

“Yes…”

Baldur nodded, turning towards the boy to see his every reaction.

“I have a smart and beautiful wife. She has long, blonde hair, often in waves over her shoulders and bright blue eyes, just like yours. She likes to sing lullabies to our sons… I have a bigger son and a smaller one. Both with blond hair, too. Reno and Loqi.  They love to play in our garden, with a swing and a tree they usually climb to steal apples from.”

That you loved to climb… just to leap into my arms, all giggling and laughing…

Blomst. 

The steady, rhythmic sound of the scrub brush halts-- Blomst. It just popped into his head the instant Nemo had begun to describe his family. He had heard that word somewhere before. Had it been he who said it? 

It’s strange what he can imagine. Ma always told everyone what a big imagination he’s always had. That he gets it from his aunt. Baldur describes his wife. The long, blonde hair. But Zell doesn’t see waves. He sees curls around his fingers. It’s soft. Smells of flowers. No, there’s a flower. It’s big. Her dress, white lace. 

A cold chill runs through the boy’s small frame. So much that he visibly trembles, the brush falling out of his hand. These stories Nemo tells. Zell can see them plain as day. Even the boys -- one was just a little baby.

The finite hairs on the back of his neck are rising until he reaches up to rub at them. He could almost see himself in that tree... 

But of course, Ma had always told him differently. ‘They’re just dreams, sweet pea. Your grandmother was inventive like that, too..’

Strange that he never wondered why she was so quick to correct him. 

“I always wanted brothers. I’d even take a bratty baby sister if I could!” He’s so quick to resume his brushing, cleaning with a smile on his face. “Ma had a son before me but he was grown up when I was born. I’m not s’posed to know but he joined the army but he never came back. She wouldn’t tell me but m'Grandfather told me once that he was killed in the war. He got a purple heart ‘meddle’ and everything.” 

Back to scrubbing. 

tacticalgunner replied to your post: @tacticalgunner​ //  he tosses confetti all over...

I CAN’T BELIEVE IM LAUGHING AT 4AM INT HE DARK B Y MY SELF

I’m glad that my super professional high-quality glittery icon could help illuminate your evening. 😎👉👉

@ladylunafreyaoftenebrae​ // "Happy birthday, Zell darling." What's a birthday without cake? She's made him one, a simple chocolate-on-white affair with his name on it in blue icing.

Simple or not, this is just lovely. Zell just stands there a moment with the cake in his hands, admiring the handiwork of the lettering. He could never get how people can write with icing. Never had the patience for it, at all.