quiet is the night

The Idealist (ISFJ)

In love, you crave a long term, harmonious relationship. You want a life partner and soul mate. For you, closeness doesn’t come quickly - it takes time for you to open up. You need to build trust first. Overall, you are supportive, nurturing, and expressive. You want to be that rock for the person you’re with. However, you tend to be shy and protective of your personal space. You absolutely need to have your ‘me’ time too. Best matches: ENFJ and ESFJ

   Fane quietly watches from the corner of the room. He had sneaked in without Abel even noticing – but Fane was here to watch, he wanted to go unnoticed. He took in that Abel was unhappy that he was skilled in one hand but not the other, it was understandable. Fane was naturally left handed but he could work with his right as well. He was older, though, he had a little more experience than Abel did. That didn’t mean much, though – Abel was a very talented hunter even though he still had some things to learn. 

     “You know – it would be easier to train if you did it with a partner.” Fane says, finally making his presence known. “How about a good old sparing match?” He asks while pushing himself off the wall that he was resting against. “You know, sparing is a nice well to convey feelings too.” He grinned. “Show me how you really feel with your fists.” He says, holding up his hands that were now balled into fists. “The words might not come from your lips but lets see what your hands have to say.” He stops. “Unless – you’re afraid of getting your ass kicked.”

Honestly, it was pretty bad that Abel had failed to notice Fane had been watching from the doorway for so long. There were times for getting into a zone, and times to be aware of one’s surroundings. Training in here also should include being aware of his surroundings, but he’d let himself get to focused on the physical aspect of the work. He honed in on the rhythm, the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself, the pounding of his heart as he drove further and further. There were many things that captivated his attention and his focus.

At the time, Fane had not been one of them.

The brief surprise Fane’s announcing himself gave Abel resulted in him dropping down from the pull-up bar, though he tried to play it off as it being intentional. A brief run of a wrapped hand to wipe away the sweat under his chin and he looks toward Fane, processing the offer to spar.

It was obvious he’d have the clear advantage; Abel had been training for some time already, expending energy. But Fane (hopefully) hadn’t had a chance to warm up. Honestly, he didnt think he could beat Fane. Sure he might get in a few hits and hold his own for a bit, but he’d seen the way the other can fight.

At the other end of the room, a certain red headed nephillim was hard at work against the shaking punching bag that dangled from the ceiling. How long had been in there was only a guess based on the amount of sweat that soaked his shirt and dropped from his chin. Hair was pinned back and away from his face under the elastic of a headband, keeping his vision clear and focused.

One-two, one-two-three, one-two--

Wrapped fists hit with everything he had. He fell into a rhythm, his mind seeming to elevate past the training he pushed himself through. It was all memory, a refresher.

Then, in an instant he shifts. Two steps and a quick turn hands drop and fingers snatch a pair of throwing blades strapped to his thigh and flung them one after another. Seconds later the hard thump-thump signaled the blades hitting home. Then he did the same thing again but with his other hand. Two blades, one after another, thrown at the dummy. This time, however it wasn’t so satisfactory a conclusion. One scraped the side, just barely, but still drove past and hit the wall behind it. The second missed completely and skittered to a halt on the floor, clattering with one of the other blades that had missed.

It was to be expected that his aim would be worse on one hand than the other, but having ambidextrous aim would be beneficial in a fight. Abel frowned at the results and clicked his tongue. Having spent the throwing daggers he’d strapped to himself at present he ignored the punching bag this time and instead turned his back to both it and the striking dummies. He walked towards one of the pull up bars bolted in for basic workouts, next to which was a small table with a water bottle and a towel.

Within seconds he took the water bottle in his hand and popped the cap open, taking a long drink from the plastic container.

A third of the bottle down, Abel closes it back up, dusts off his hands, and goes straight for the bar. Right back to work.

‘i drank the last of the coffee...’

and he doesnt know how to brew a new pot with the kind that Sascha has. The one he and his dad used was ages old and didnt work half the time, but neither of them used it enough to warrent replacement. So Abel usually went to the coffee shop or...

🌠 - Would your muse make a wish on a star? If so, what would they wish for?

Abel doesnt believe in wishing on stars anymore. He used to a long time ago when he was still young and desperate for some shred of hope in the midst of his despair. He used to wish for a lot of things. New toys, lots of time to play with his young warlock friends, for his mom to cook dinner instead of dad. He wished for candies and treats and good scores on tests to make his parents proud. He wished for shiny new weapons he wanted to use in battle one day, or sturdy gear just like his dad’s. 

He used to wish to turn back time.He used to wish for his mom to come home.He used to wish that the adults wouldnt scold him so for not talking.He used to wish he could talk.He used to wish he could have died instead of his mom.He used to wish he died with her.

          he stopped. his body held the current position like a frozen appearance. white smoke left the muzzle of the beast. this night was surely a cold one. sadly he had to admit that his own hesitation had caused the excape of his prey. pretty frustrated he got his old position back. bony head moved sidewards and to the direction where he had sensed the cause for all this mess. bloody eyes searched through the darkness of the street before they stopped to fix another subject of interest. this person was just going to take the place for the lost one. this time without any exception. for sure.

The intensity of the bad feeling he’d had creeping up on him only seemed to intensify. This time with much more intent than previously sensed. The grip on the glowing seraph blade at his side tightened, and it’s gleam shined brighter in the dark night. It wasn’t on normal occurrence he brought more than one seraph blade with him, for it wasn’t every night demons were encountered, but just one would still have great effect against many opponent he might face. Though as he turned to face the threat of this ill intent aura he felt, he didn’t think to encounter something quite like this tonight. 

’ ah .. well , the ones that i live with are harmless. they’re kitsune , an ancient line of tengu , a dragon … all sorts of things like that , but they’re not fully yokai. they come from human families , the genes have been passed down from generation to generation. more or less , they’re spirits versus actually demons. but , not all yokai are benevolent. there are yokai like kamaitachi , who cut off legs , joro - gumo , who is a shape shifting spider , gashadokuro , a skeleton who eats people … well , you get the idea. i think oni’s are typically more feared , however. ‘

He had been about to comment that those yokai didnt sound so bad in comparison to the demons they deal with, but then she continued on. The look on his face went from one of consideration to one of concern and slight horror. A yokai that specifically cut legs off? That was horrifying. All of those bad ones sounded terrible.