𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑵𝑨𝑳.

          from the activity level on this blog, it’s totally reasonable to assume what i’m about to confirm here: i’m taking an extended break from the roleplay community. initially, i wasn’t going to make a post about this as to not make it a big deal, but i find it cruel to have the people who were anticipating responses from me waiting for something that may never actually come. so here it is: i’m taking a break for a while.           to be perfectly frank, writing doesn’t give me joy anymore. it hasn’t for a while, and i’m not satisfied with anything i’ve forced myself to write over the past several months. it’s because i’ve been writing for feedback or attention rather than writing for my own pleasure. roleplay exacerbates this, and i find it to be the best decision to ‘reset’ my mindset, so to speak, by abstaining from collaborative writing until i can find personal satisfaction the act of creation again. i need to learn how to write for me instead of writing for other people. when i do, i’ll likely revamp or remake. i will not be returning to my multimuse at all; it was an experiment born out of this unhealthy mindset.           this in no way means i want to cut contact with people i’ve started to talk to here, however! my discord display name is no longer the same as in my rules — and i can’t publicly post any contact info here due to extenuating circumstances regarding my personal safety — but for those of you who have it, i’m still willing to talk about characterization and have general chats! after making this post, however, i’m immediately logging off, and i won’t be able to see anyone asking for said information. if you don’t have my info and want it, there’s not much i can do.           until i can say for certain it’s okay for me to return, i wish everyone the best —— now of all times, especially. sorry for the disappointment, and thanks for understanding.

                                        @bardluck has to deal with like, so many vampires right now

          THE WIND FROM THE SEA FEELS DIFFERENT.  it feels different in its very composition when one’s surrounded by it, and perhaps he’s deceiving himself in thinking the inner sea has a different character than the iliac bay; a harsher, less friendly one that blows through him in a way he has never felt wind before. it feels as nothing. there’s no temperature from it. the way vicente curls in on himself is equal parts force of habit and pure defensiveness.  over the sea, the lights, starting to fade as the night marches on, burn holes into his retinas when he looks for too long. without needing to, vicente shivers.           staying still is good, he realizes. there is still something that still has its claws wrapped around his ribs — something that shakes the bars of the cage in a way that’s less like human effort and more akin to a mild earthquake— but staying still at least eases a bit of the manic discomfort that makes his skin feel alien. if he is still, then the world is stiller, too. it’s calmer, easier to pick apart; stillness seems to dampen the senses that have, ever since, felt as if they were constantly alight.            his shoulders swallow his neck entirely, face half-hidden by the hide draped over his pauldron; he has to glance sidelong through a tuft of jackal’s fur to get any proper view on her without moving entirely. the fur trembles with each too-deep breath. through milk-pink slits, he searches for anything, anything like deception in her form, anything malicious. eventually, he gives up.           her offer has hung in the air for minutes before vicente responds. “ if it were anything else, i would take you up on that. ”  in the time between, the malice in his voice has decayed, the edge largely lost. “ morrowind’s tastes certainly aren’t mine. people aren’t, either, if you get me. why do you think i’m leaving? ” if his sharp exhale is supposed to be a note of a laugh, it doesn’t quite reach the amount of mirth it needs. if the statement’s a joke, it doesn’t quite reach the level of funny.           but it’s the offer’s nature that ... lingers. it seems ... a kindness. it’s a kindness that, even minuscule, shouldn’t seem foreign to him yet. but thinking on it — dwelling on it — makes his entire face screw up in a scrunch of confusion ( how many weeks had it been since a stranger offered such kindness? how many months? ) that he hides by turning back to the water.            she won’t kill him. probably. if she knows, she would have already. if she doesn’t, he just needs to take more care. to suppress it. to stay calm.  and he stays there.                   ( this is a challenge, he thinks, overcome it. this is what you have to do now.  )           “ you’ve taken this trip before? ” if she doesn’t plan on leaving, vicente would prefer small talk to the deafening, paranoid silence — and it certainly wouldn’t help to get information when all he can recall from his first encounter with the sea is illness, and when ( truthfully in a way only stowaways can really be truthful, )  he’s not supposed to be there. 

          AT FIRST, HE STAYS AT HIS STILL, coiled and ready; the answer does little to quell his defensiveness where it prickles on his skin like gooseflesh. the second answer does even less so, and the idea of being watched throughout brings two things to vicente’s mind: those who would seek vengeance, and those who would seek justice. thorne is too calm for either, and vicente cannot trust this.           and thorne continues, and his guard breaks despite itself, with only a few words offered from the deity’s lips: god of the underworld, he says, and vicente’s mouth would parch itself if it weren’t still slick with the last dregs of the corpse’s lifeblood, his cheeks would flush in color were they not already vibrant as painted porcelain. he doubles over, bends at the waist in a bow of supplication, but from where he’s seated it seems to only further cover the corpse in his arms.           “ forgive me, if i’ve been  — ah, —  impudent, ” vicente manages, speaking more to the grain of the floor. “ the honor is mine. ”  but truly, he’s at an impasse; unworthy in the realms of gods even if he is there at all by illifor’s blessing and command. the corpse’s shoulder presses into his chest. vicente sits back up, and — with far more care than he’d usually take — lies what’s left of the man in his nightshirt on the bedroom floor.  he does not expect to meet thorne’s eyes when he stands.           “ the soul ... any of it is yours to take as you please, ” he says. it seems goache to offer a killing as sacrifice to the keeper of souls, seems like he’s doing little but forcing more work. what he says next, he does not prepare for, and he does not mean: the thought comes half-baked and rolls off his tongue, shot into the dark before he has a chance to snatch the words back. “ if only, lord grey ... perhaps you’ll let me watch what you do with it. ”