isn’t she lovely?

Imogen had been refraining from theft these days, in fear of being captured again―meaning it had been quite a while since she had brought any food home. But, her hunger seemed to be a bigger issue than any fear, so she had taken the opportunity to roam the streets looking for a chance to snatch a spare apple, a loaf of bread, anything. 

Hearing a familiar voice, she turns around and faces him, a smile on her face less radiant, dulled. “Not lost. Just…wandering. I would like to go back home as you suggest, but unfortunately I have to take chances to sustain my stomach and abate my sister’s frustration at me.”

           It had been too long since he’d last laid eyes on the girl, but there was evidently something absent from her usual jubilance. Pascal chewed at his bottom lip, torn between sympathy and fear for his friend’s well-being. Though the Pit was up and running again, he and his brother were in a similar predicament, barely scraping by with just enough to keep their appetites at bay. He understood, he really did, but that didn’t—couldn’t—change things.

           “Imogen, trust me,” he pleaded. “Soon enough, you’ll have a better shot at getting entangled in someone’s petty brawl than finding something to eat.” A pang of guilt walloped in his chest. It pained him to see her without her spark. “Would Adelaide really rather have you injured?”

           “I’m sorry, but I believe you might have me mistaken for someone else.”

When Pamela returned to Clara’s home to find the door hanging slightly ajar, her heart seized in her chest as fear gripped at her. A horrible feeling of dread enveloped her and without taking a moment to think or consider what could be waiting for her in the house, she dropped the groceries and ran, bursting through the door and shouting out her sister’s name. “Clara! Oh God.” She clutched her head as she took in the disheveled surroundings. It was obvious that there had been a struggle and whoever had taken her sister hadn’t bothered or cared to right the house when they left. “No, no, no, no, no.” A sense of panic and grief overcame her, washing over her in waves. This wasn’t right. She couldn’t have failed again. She promised herself she wouldn’t loose Clara like she had their parents. She should have been keeping a better watch over her. This was her fault again. If Clara was hurt, if she was… this was her fault. Hot tears of anger and grief singed her cheeks as the situation hit her even more. She’d kill them. Whoever was responsible for this she’d make them sorry they ever so much as looked at her sister, much less abducted her.

           Pascal was on his way home when he caught wind of it— the blaring, pained wailing. A woman’s choked voice rose from somewhere down the path. Unfortunately, such a dreadful noise wasn’t so uncommon these days. All the rattled shrieks and sobs were havoc’s bread and butter, squeezed ruthlessly out of the city by the unending violence. How awful it was that it was becoming normal. Nevertheless, it simply wasn’t in Pascal’s nature to let well enough alone. The clearer the crying became, the more worry seeped into his thoughts. Before he could stop himself, to take the time to think his actions through, he found himself trailing after the whimpering sounds to a house a little ways away.

           From a single glimpse into the open doorway, it was clear what had happened. The inside of the house was shambolic at best. Someone had been taken away. The woman was just as Pascal had expected to see her, still as a statue surrounded by the disarray. Tears upon tears trickled down her cheeks, and guilt immediately flooded over him. “I’m so sorry to intrude,” he said softly though insistently, the apology clumsily tumbling out of his mouth. He shouldn’t have come here. If anything, he should have left before the woman even had a chance to notice him, but now he had no choice but to stay. Pascal gulped, his right hand anxiously shooting to the back of his neck. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

helenawymond

          Stampeding into the city center like a herd of wild horses, stomping and mad, untamed eyes just as hungry as their lungs, the knights hollered frenzied albeit ambiguous queries: “Did you see where she ran off to?” and “Where could she have gone?” and “How on Earth could we have let her get away?” Finally, one shot out his arm to point to a hooded figure in the shadow of a closed shop. A petite thing, just barely taller than the piles of debris towering around her. From what Pascal caught at first glance, she couldn’t have posed much of a threat, yet for some reason far beyond him, the knights were adamant in their pursuit. “One of the boys they commissioned from the Pit,” they each came to note Pascal’s presence through their heavy breaths—tired, or perhaps defeated. “He must be strong,” they all quickly decided. “Must be fast.”

          God, were they wrong. Loath as Pascal was to identify as a fighter, he would sooner rise on a platform and bellow that half-truth to the heavens than claim to even remotely be a runner. All that muscle wasn’t decorative; it was dense, weighty. Though in his adolescence he had surely won his fair share of races, these days he was built for endurance, for jolting punches and jabs like daggers. But to his mild frustration, there was no point in arguing with the knights; Pascal was trapped under their thumb. He was sent after their escapee without another word, promptly darting into Albion’s jagged side streets. Dashing left and right and left again, his footfalls were audibly heavier than the cloaked stranger’s. He was falling behind. At this rate, he didn’t stand a chance.

          Treading over rubble and ruin, Pascal had set his sights on the marketplace as soon as the sun broke over the horizon. With war quickly creeping into every nook and cranny of the city, preparations had to be made. Food, they could last long enough without, but Pascal couldn’t risk not having medication tucked away in case his brother’s illness worsened; supplies would soon be scarce, if they would even be attainable at all. He had high hopes that Oberon would have what he needed, and was relieved to find that his stall was still fully in tact despite the debris that newly littered the market.

          “Oberon,” he called out in greeting as he bounded toward him, staggering to a stop once he reached the table. “There’s word you’ve been troubled by thieves as of late? Some problems are simply inescapable, I suppose.” The side of his mouth quirked into a knowing smile. His days of desperate pilfering were long since passed, but the memory of their first meeting wasn’t easily forgotten. “You’ve been well otherwise, I hope? Safe?”

          “Are you lost?” Pascal questioned, his voice genuine with worry. It was dangerous enough as it was. Now, the countdown to the real storm had begun. “I would suggest turning back to where you came from. It’s chancy—staying out here for too long.”

Celestite: How my muse deals with anxiety.

Cleaning. Long walks. Exercise. He tries to direct that negative energy into something, anything else, and often becomes compulsive when he's too anxious. Talking to his brother always helps, too, though he rarely shares what's on his mind with anyone else.

Calcite: My muse's social tendencies.

Amiable and authentic, Pascal has a warm personality—so much so that it's quite difficult to tell that he’s an introvert given his personability. While he isn’t the most eloquent, he really doesn't mind initiating conversations. Pascal is good at small talk, and is almost always ready with genuine smiles and well-timed laughs. He is easily overwhelmed by large parties, and fares considerably better in one-on-one conversations. In a crowd, he tends to blend in, not dominant enough to assert himself much. The better he knows someone, the more outgoing he is. Those who know him on a personal level might even find it odd how much more or less talkative he can be depending on his environment.

Kyanite: An anger headcanon.

Aquamarine: Where my muse feels most calm/relaxed.

Wherever his brother is—but especially when it's just the two of them sitting outside, drinking in cool evening air and chatting as if their lives were entirely, perfectly normal.

Fossil: What my muse's dream job is.

Pascal would pounce at a job that would allow him to leave Valencia behind, even if only temporarily. If he had to choose a particular occupation, he wouldn't mind being a messenger or a merchant. A life of travel would be like a never-ending adventure—a prospect that Pascal could never say no to.

Jasper: What my muse would be like as a parent.

Mother of Pearl: If my muse tends to lift people up or bring them down.

( Answered. )

Ruby: A happiness headcanon.

The pain from all the fighting, and the pain of all he's done—they only hurt until they don’t. He's happiest in the moments when it feels as though he's forgotten his baggage completely, which is most commonly when he’s spending time with his friends.

Verdite: My muse's ethnicity/family history.

Chalcopyrite: How my muse deals with ending relationships.

Concerning both romantic connections and friendships, Pascal is fairly blunt when enough is enough. He figures that there's no use postponing the inevitable, and will come right out and say when it's time for things to come to an end (though never without valid reasoning). After it's over, he'll likely be moody and insistent that he needs some time to himself.

Iolite: My muse's drinking habits.

Highly inconsistent. He'll always accept a drink when he's offered one, or when he's invited out for a drink with friends, but he won't go out of his way for it. It's not that he doesn't enjoy alcohol—he does appreciate that it helps him relax—but every penny counts, and drinking simply doesn't interest him all that much.

Mother of Pearl: If my muse tends to lift people up or bring them down.

Biotite: The biggest problems my muse is currently dealing with.

Being recruited to help the knights with street interrogations, recurring out-of-body nightmares, affording food since his fights in the Pit have become less frequent, and—as usual—his brother’s well-being..

Kyanite: An anger headcanon.

Even before moving to Albion, it wasn’t uncommon for Pascal to blindly toss ceramic cups and plates and vases when all of his pent-up anger would finally burst. Sometimes he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears the jarring shatter against the wall that accompanies the damage, his arm already poised in the air. Breaking things helps allay his anger, but he would never admit to such a violent truth.

Mica: What my muse views as their worst personality trait.

Obsidian: Which of the seven deadly sins my muse would be.

Wrath. At first I chose this by default, but it really is the most fitting after thinking it through. Strike the right nerves, and Pascal can become vengeful and impulsive, almost thoughtlessly violent. His sudden bouts of aggression are rare and fleeting, typically lasting only a few minutes at most, but there’s no denying that his stubbornness paired with his strength can make for a disastrous combination. Not many people ever witness Pascal’s bad side—which is definitely for the best.

Jasper: What my muse would be like as a parent.

Compassionate and incredibly protective. Pascal would be with his kids every chance he got, and he’d want to teach them everything he knows: etiquette and empathy, and how to throw a punch, and the names of all the constellations in the night sky. He’d take them on hikes (or adventures, as he would call them), and as toddlers he’d carry them on top of his shoulders when they got too tired to stand on the way home.

He’d find ways to firmly discipline them while still encouraging independence. It would be important to him to never set a finger on them, and he would seldom yell (but his silent anger would be intimidating enough to set them straight anyway). Even though he would love his children unconditionally, he wouldn’t sugarcoat anything for them. Pascal would raise them on realism, and constantly remind them that not everything will be okay in the end—but that acceptance is crucial to surviving in this life.

Galena: What it’s like to be in a relationship with my muse.

Pascal would be warmth and friendship, laughter and subtle spontaneity. He’d surprise you with flowers and whatever small gifts he could afford when he’s on a winning streak at the Pit; he’d kiss you on the forehead whenever you tell bad jokes (and even though he’d try not to laugh, you’d still feel the smile on his lips); he would drag you outside late at night just to show you his favorite constellations, or to skinny dip in the pond in the quiet part of town, or even just to aimlessly wander until sunrise rolls around. Loyalty is a virtue he holds to a high standard, and he wouldn’t think to enter into a relationship without truly caring for you.

He’d seem like the perfect gentleman until he isn’t. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, he’d leave without a word. You wouldn’t expect that he’s a knight in sour armor. He’d demand that you don’t ever set foot in the Pit to watch him fight, and he’d insist that all his wounds are fine and normal, and he’d be strangely guarded sometimes. On his bad days, he would refuse to tell you what’s bothering him. (You would have to learn to stop asking, because he’d only end up isolating himself for hours trying to shake off his mood.) He’d trust you with his life, but never with his secrets.

Fluorite: What my muse’s room looks like.

Neat, but empty. Pascal doesn’t have very many belongings, and what few he does have, he keeps well organized. (He has a habit of tidying things up when he’s overly stressed. Having a clean room makes him feel like at least he has something under control.)

Quartz: How my muse thinks other people see them.

Pascal tries to be kinder than he has to be, primarily because he fears that people may assume he’s aggressive due to his profession. He thinks himself successful in his efforts; there have only been a handful of people that hasn’t gotten along with. He figures he’s likely seen as a fairly nice guy, though nothing really special.

Mica: What my muse views as their worst personality trait.

abalone: what kind of situations compromise my muse emotionally

aegerine: my muse's opinion of the supernatural

agate: how my muse calms down

blue lace agate: my muse's favorite form of communication (verbal, letters, texting, etc.)

fire agate: if my muse is brave or cowardly

moss agate: if my muse has a high or low opinion of themself

amazonite: what kind of situations call for my muse to be dishonest

amethyst: what my muse would most like to be able to shape-shift into

ammolite: how lucky or unlucky my muse is

angel aura quartz: my muse's opinion of LGBT+ issues

apache tears: a sadness headcanon

apatite: a headcanon about my muse's intuition

apophyllite: my muse's religious/spiritual beliefs

aquamarine: where my muse feels most calm/relaxed

biotite: the biggest problems my muse is currently dealing with

bloodstone: how my muse sees themself as part of the world at large

calcite: my muse's social tendencies (introverted vs extroverted, parties vs one-on-one conversations, etc.)

carnelian: an art-related headcanon

celestite: how my muse deals with anxiety

chalcedony: the saddest my muse has ever been

chalcopyrite: how my muse deals with ending relationships

charoite: who my muse looks up to

chrysocolla: a money-making headcanon

copper: how I think my muse will end up when they're older

coral: how my muse views the natural world

diamond: a sex headcanon

dolomite: a sleep headcanon

emerald: how my muse tells someone they love them without words

fluorite: what my muse's room looks like

fossil: what my muse's dream job is

galena: what it's like to be in a relationship with my muse

garnet: what my muse's perfect partner would be

gold: my muse's financial situation

hematite: how squeamish my muse is

hiddenite: how much of an "inner child" my muse has

iolite: my muse's drinking habits

jade: if my muse would ever cheat on a partner

jasper: what my muse would be like as a parent

kyanite: an anger headcanon

lapis lazuli: where 'home' is to my muse

lodestone: what kind of people gravitate towards my muse

malachite: what my muse as a child thought they would be when they grew up

mica: what my muse views as their worst personality trait

moonstone: my muse's opinions on outer space

mother of pearl: if my muse tends to lift people up or bring them down

nebula stone: how good my muse's memory is

obsidian: which of the seven deadly sins my muse would be

opal: how creative my muse is

pearl: a mental health headcanon

petalite: what my muse would do if they found a wallet on the street

pyrite: a physical health headcanon

quartz: how my muse thinks other people see them

rhodonite: if my muse prefers elegance or convenience

rubellite: if my muse has any 'triggers' that inspire painful memories

ruby: a happiness headcanon

sapphire: if everyone my muse knew was hanging off a cliff and they could only choose three to save, the rest certainly dying, who they would choose

serpentine: how my muse would seduce another [alt: how my muse makes their money]

silver: if my muse prefers masculinity or femininity

tsavorite: if my muse believes in destiny or fate

ulexite: how empathetic/sympathetic/compassionate my muse is

unakite: what my muse's ideal pet would be

verdite: my muse's ethnicity/family history

zebra stone: what gets my muse excited

☞: Five things my muse is good at.

( Answer 001. ) Small talk, swimming, strategizing/coming up with plans, pitching (as in, throwing for distance and with aim), and getting the right presents for people.

☜: Five things my muse sucks at.