Lost To The Moons

( cont. )

Megan nodded almost instantly at the question. She was both curious about if what she had seen was real, and worried about the elk's safety if it wasn't a figment of her imagination.

Conversation wasn't her forte, however, and after a few moments of silence, she could only mutter -

"So, uh, are you a runaway as well, den?"

The grubby teenager bit into her only slightly moldy sandwich and squinted at the man as he spoke. She chewed, trying not to think about the odd taste in the back of her mouth, and then swallowed.

"Oi've never been to one," she eventually confessed. "Is it a good laugh? D'ye know one that would take quarters as payment?"

There was a pause as she realized something, and she almost coughed up the bread again while correcting herself. "Actually, Blind Terry reckons he can see the future an' wotnot, but oi t'ink he's just off his meds. Oi doubt he counts; his prediction of me "turning into a chee-wa-wa" prob'ly don't 'old much water."

     The old wooden door rattled open and a familiar scarred face appeared, foodstuffs gathered up in her burly arms. A small bit of relief washed over her when she saw that the girl was indeed still there, hopefully warmed up a bit now.       Without a word, thew shuffled closer and set the apple and the candy down next to Megan, then she moved off a little ways to try and skin the rabbit as quickly as she could. It was tiny for a massive creature such as her, though she hoped that it would at least be enough for the youngling.

Her hands snatched the candy and fruit almost automatically; the girl almost ravenously consuming her treats as though she were a wild animal. When hunger no longer clouded her mood, she came off as a rather bright child.

A polite smile crossed her face as she muttered a pleasant "t'ank you," though it faltered slightly at the question. Once again, the handy finger counting technique returned - this time without tears - and Megan eventually nodded.

     Crying was something she was rather unfamiliar with. Socialization was not her strongpoint; she was never around people to really witness any emotional cues, thus she found herself unsure of how to react. Perhaps she should just get the fire going and be on her way. The sooner she could bring this child food, the better.

     Turning her head towards the fireplace, which thankfully still had a few pieces of dry wood sitting in it, she held up her massive hands to begin conjuring up a simple fire spell. Her palms sparked before flames burst outward from them, licking the skin between her fingers before she sent streams of it onto the wood. It immediately took to her powerful magic, and when she closed her palms a nice fire remained, illuminating the room with a soft yellow light.

     “There,” she mumbled with a dip of her horned head. “That should stay for a while, but I shall bring more wood when I return.” With this the beast swung around to the ragged old door, robes sweeping gracefully across the dirty wood floor.

Megan huffed out a trembling breath, trying to say something- but only making a strangled, wet gurgle. She stood up from her mattress and awkwardly stumbled toward the fire; staring into it in miserable silence as the being leaves.

⤿   headcanon memes; comfort character edition!   tw: death, family, religion.    

send in a symbol and i’ll answer the corresponding question about my muse!

[ 🧱 ] how would you describe your muses’ morality? what are their core values?

[ 🌎 ] are there any aus you have for your muse? what are they like, and how is your muse different in them?

[ 😱 ] does your muse have any specific fears? where did those fears come from?

[ 🤝 ] how does your muse approach intimacy? are they hesitant, or do they like it? what types of intimacy do they like and dislike? (ex. physical intimacy, sexual intimacy, emotional intimacy, etc.)

[ 👪 ] what is your muse’s relationship with their parents like? was it always this way?

[ 💍 ] does your muse have a “type” of people that they prefer to enter relationships with? is their type generally compatible with them, or does the dynamic tend to be toxic?

[ 🏆 ] is your muse multitalented? what are their hobbies, and why did they pick up these hobbies? if they don’t have hobbies, why don’t they?

[ 🐱 ] does your muse have pets? did they have pets as a child? how do they feel about animals?

[ ❌ ] is there something your muse struggles with that they might never overcome? what is it? why do they have so much trouble with it?

[ ✨ ] what aesthetics or symbols do you reference when writing your muse? are these backed up by canon, if your muse comes from a canon? is there any specific relevance to these choices?

[ 🌱 ] what themes are relevant to your muse?

[ 💀 ] has your muse gone through anything traumatic? if so, how has this trauma affected them?

[ 💛 ] how empathetic is your muse? how compassionate are they? is this something people expect from them, or are people surprised when they find out how compassionate or empathetic they actually are?

[ 👗 ] what is your muse’s fashion sense like? are they able to dress the way they want to? what would they wear in an ideal world?

[ 🔮 ] what is your muse’s relationship with religion and spirituality? were they raised in a certain religion? have they stuck with the same set of spiritual beliefs all their life, or have they changed over time? are they settled in their spirituality now?

[ 🤷‍♀️ ] how does your muse approach strangers? how does this compare to how they interact with close friends or lovers?

[ 🎵 ] is there a specific song or songs you associate with your muse? why is that?

[ 💸 ] if your muse had no shortage of money, what would they buy?

[ 🐺 ] does your muse like solitude? do they prefer it to being around others? how easily does your muse get lonely?

[ ⚰️ ] what are your muse’s greatest regrets? what would flash before their eyes when they’re on their deathbed?

[ 🧸 ] does your muse keep anything sentimental? if so, what do they keep and why?

[ 🙏 ] what does your muse need? this can be something material or something abstract.

[ 📚 ] what books does your muse have on their bookshelf? what books would they like to have? if your muse isn’t an avid reader, is there anything they collect or might like to collect?

[ 😍 ] does your muse believe in true love? why or why not?

Then - then it offered her food. Food and a fire.

And it kept calling her 'little one.'

Whatever frustration and insult welled up inside of her suddenly extinguished, like someone had dumped a vessel of water onto a flame. Her body lurched hungrily; a reddening spreading across her features as the waterworks rose from her gut to her head.

All she could do was nod and cover her face. She was not going to sob in front of anyone, let alone some random, kind monster. Even on her deathbed she was not going to let the ugly crying become audible.

This is the only drunk doodle I got to last night before crashing

The Khajiit held her breath as the fox continued to stare and as the Bosmer drew nearer. She found herself unwilling to move; perhaps if she pretended to be a mangy, friendly dog…

With the wolf internally gagging in disgust; M'nari let out a low whine from her throat and tentatively crept from the underbrush. Her eyes peered up at the Elf; mouth still coated in blood from a recent feast, though innocent-looking enough.

What was it dogs do? She thought, peering over her shoulder at the limp, slender tail - and began forcefully wagging it, returning her gaze to the stranger.

       When there was movement and a whine the elf tensed a bit, the air seemed to grow cold around him. Getting ready to shoot if whatever it was were to be hostile… as much as he would prefer not to. Spilling blood was perhaps his least favourite of happenings- though he would do what he had to do to survive.

       A wolf crawled out from beneath the brush. Not just any wolf it seemed upon further investigation; this one was far bigger and shaped a bit differently than they usually were. It seemed heftier, lengthy arms and a frame that looked to be more man than beast. Despite never seeing one in the flesh before Faendir couldn’t help but know that this was a werewolf. 

       The first instinct that came to mind wasn’t to shoot, it was more along the lines of fleeing in fear. He didn’t though. Instead he lowered his bow, gently placing it on the ground and holding his hands up in a passive manner. He didn’t know if these things could understand speech, didn’t know if it was a good idea to put down his weapon; what he did know is that he was a pacifist, and would choose to use soft words over aggressive actions.

M'nari's eyes slowly blinked, trustfully, up at the elf; exhaustion creeping onto her slightly feline face. She wanted to speak, to say "me either" - but could only huff out a tired breath of hot air.

( cont. )

Megan nodded almost instantly at the question. She was both curious about if what she had seen was real, and worried about the elk's safety if it wasn't a figment of her imagination.