| IN BLOOM |

@lus-a-chalmain​ said: ❝  i’ve been to many strange places… but this is a new one.  ❞ god of war (2018) starters

          “Is that right?” The words came out as a slow drawl, almost riding on sarcasm as he eyed down his newfound guest. Not human, he quickly decided. Whether or not he was dangerous, however, remained to be seen.

Nonetheless, he put on his usual casual airs. Lounging idly within the seat at his desk, an ankle rested lazily on his knee and his weight leant onto one forearm settled on the armrest, he gestured vaguely into the air. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. Welcome to this strange place – you here for somethin’, or are you just gonna gawk? I know you can’t help but be in awe, especially when it comes to me, but I’d like to but business before pleasure if you got any.”

Were this uncle, or the father? ...did Nero even mention a father? Though this man does seem to suit the ‘big guy’ that was much more affectionately referred, the demeanor seems off. Off in a way that isn’t or cannot be placed at the moment. And, unfortunately, indeed gawking for all of a moment until social discomfort demand some movement be made. “Right...” alongside ignoring the lack... well, lack of energy, care? Was this a bad day?

@lus-a-chalmain​ asked: ❛  nothing  was  ever  easy ,  but  maybe  that’s  the  beauty  of  it .    ❜ || SOFT THORNS

“Well, sure doesn’t sound like things are lookin’ too easy in your neck of the woods nowadays either, pal. Can’t imagine things being all that pretty either if what ya say is true–sounds like a real nightmare’s going down on your end.” Though with dauntingly little evidence to clarify what, who or why–the few scribbles of witness reports and grain-riddled photographs of things skulking in the night being the best there on offer, all shut away into the folder that has found its way to Nero’s desk as he uncrosses his ankles from their places propped on the table. “But lucky for you, you came to the right place. And my schedule’s wide open–so long as you don’t mind settling for the boss’ nephew comin’ in to clean things up, that is. The big guy’s too popular to be stuck takin’ on the little gigs right now, y’know how it is. You’re gonna be waiting a while for him to get back.”

A smile hooks to the corner of Nero’s mouth, matter-of-fact and accompanied by the casual flourish of one gloved hand. “I can head on out there today and take a look, if its all the same to you.”

“Mildly put, yes, but if these things were so simple - life would be more dull than I care to think. That is, so long the carnage strays away from any form of real casualties... that’s where the catch comes in, I’m afraid,” deliberation is no clearer now than it were hours, days before arriving here. A small glass container is retrieved from his breast pocket, thumbed over with his gloved hands to no betterment of his anxieties which churn Terrence’s stomach, “actually, I think in this case I would prefer someone younger. Hear me out on this: my colleagues refuse it, and this very much is going on a hunch, but I have enough reason to believe this might be... ah, well, cult-inspired.” It does sound ridiculous. Terrence practically deflates upon saying it, frowning with evident expectation of immediate denial. Gradually, he goes on, sliding the glass case across Nero’s desk for him to view.

“These are examples of the wheels you may encounter. While I am not... supposed to lend them to you, I have brought them for a point of reference that is not within the reports. These discs are associated with the worship of a pagan god, specifically the ‘Wheel-God’, depicted having between six and eight spokes, as you can see. However, I’ve ah, well did some looking myself and noticed some engravings... and while bastardization of culture isn’t out of the norm, I’m concerned that there is a reason these carvings have nine spokes,” a sigh follows - “as you probably already know, nine symbolizing in almost every culture to mean completion. This area is normally bustling with people, especially tourists, and it has been unnaturally quiet. So... be careful.”

You can hear the gears turning in his head as he tries to process that comment–

“....Ah, I take it that is cause for greater concern than I thought it were?” Were it truly as troublesome as that? Oh, certainly he overreacts... The strange, twig-woven symbol in his hand is turned over.

“Roxanne–you don’t have to wear that dress tonight…”

@lus-a-chalmain​ said: my  muse  helping  your  muse  clean  blood  off  of  them ★    BLOOD   LUST

Strange how very different this time is to the one before it. The blood spattering Edmond’s face today does not belong to him, though it poisons the immaculate white of his collar just the same; the gentle hands and worried eyes making him their business for the umpteenth time, too, just the same as they were when there was a wound in his flank to stitch shut. Terrence is, as always, stubborn in his kindness–only now has that resolve begun to frighten the few, fleeting human parts of himself that he can still recall as the other touches cloth to his tarnished face.

“…Nothing stumbles you as I think it rightly should. You have seen me in all states of undoing and soldiered your way to my side with your misgivings and all even so.” A rarity for someone that does not kow the depths of him (but knows more than they should all the same.) A hand creeps high enough to catch the slim width of the other man’s wrist, finding himself too weak to squeeze as tight as he wishes, but the grip itself proving better than nothing in the quiet desperation Edmond hopes (prays) does not shine through. “I wonder…” His heavy head bows, the cool of his forehead touching to his companion’s as pain freezes through his chest. His days are numbered–he scratches them off to this moment just as he did on the walls of a cell, once upon a time. “I wonder how far you will go before you find me too much a poison to stomach, too much a care to shoulder; I wonder how long it will be until you regret having taken me into your arms when you had, for one gleaming moment, the very opportunity you should have seized to run.”

           His hands only begin to shake after he speaks. After the truth is made louder than the static circling his head, making wavelengths of thoughts lost to any form of reason. And he breathes a long winded sigh the moment that frightfully colder forehead touches his own, supposing it were obvious to Edmond that he is terrified. The uneven breath, the fragility of his movements now speak for themselves where before they had been made mute. Terrence takes a deep, winding breath. Calms himself and speaks past his nerves and terror and acts, cradling that face between either terribly honest hand. He speaks, sounding desperate enough for the both of them.             “I think so too. I was once - no, I am stumbling. I always stumble. I have stumbled my way far past any reasonable bound. I have learned of you beyond what perhaps I should. I have... I have this terrible feeling that it may only get worse. That something scares my heart into tremors, into that unknown that wounded me so terribly for so many years...             “But, Edmond, where I would have drowned someone knew how to swim. Someone yanked me from the dark and expelled the water suffocating my lungs. Someone saw me, and acted; so I have in my dedication learned how it was, how it is, that we as humanity has served, safeguarded and aided one another. I have flung myself happily into unknowns for the sake that I may teach, that I may impart something, help someone,” pushed more upright by his sternum, that jaw is held firm, beckoning. Staring into unusual sights as that vague, strangely threatening aura dares to covet him again.

             And speaks past his sudden, brief paralysis to talk louder, firmer, “Yours is so much more like fire. Like smoke. Like ashes - and I can’t make sense of what’s been burned. Not unless you’re honest with me, tell me, tell me what it is that twists your life to so much misfortune now. Tell me so I can learn, so I know how to avoid the smoke. So I know which floors to walk lightly on. You call me your friend and yet tell me you are some poison to me. But I am here to tell you that I know how to stomach it. I know how to shoulder it. I...”

@lus-a-chalmain​ said: [ eat ]  for your muse to offer mine food ( HE COMES BEARING HOME MADE GOOD GOOD ) || WORD PROMPTS

“Oh…” Surprise steals across the seer’s young face as swiftly as the breeze teasing by, pale head bowed all too quickly with the humble expression of thanks as both hands reach out to accept his visitor’s generosity. Though not without a curious tune seeping into the sound of his voice. “Did you make this yourself? It was terribly kind of you to bring anything to me regardless, but…”

His smile is sheepish, as though worrying his words will be found absurd–trusting his guest enough to speak them anyway as he tosses the sea-white hair out of his summery eyes. “I’ve always known and said that one can taste what love people put into things they make themselves, even if the maker doesn’t quite notice it. Cooking becomes so mundane when it is a necessity, no? But I feel that there is love in everything made by hand, even purely for necessities sake. I always enjoy tasting other’s cooking knowing all flavours of love are different.”

A pause, his smile wide and earnest as he sways lightly on his heels. “Do you cook for yourself often?”

           Surprise that Terrence is unaccustomed to witnessing. Better it be that he may begin unpacking the moderate box, laying out variables. “Well, I got to thinking - this place is unlike anything I have come across. The raw energy is wild, and that is what initially freaked me out. You know, I do not do well with wild animals... even ones within their crates or cages, something about it freaks me out. I think that’s why stumbling here so unceremoniously as I did was not only bad timing, but bad - awful - for you, and I did not know how to interpret it. Especially with how cool headed you were! What was that? Where did you learn that?” He makes some hand gestures, almost laughing to himself under breath. Now where was that sauce base...?            “So, well, how else does me and mine befriend? To answer your question, yes; I always cook for myself. Cooking is one of my greatest passions, and I completely agree with you on that front: to share one’s meal is to share their home, their thoughts. So, by the time I realized how much I had prepped and made... I couldn’t just abandon the idea, now could I?” He’s practically aglow.              ...if not for one realization.