#*mainverse

Farkas wouldn’t have noticed the pickpocket at all if a passing guard hadn’t called out.

“Hold! What are you doing?” The guard’s face was covered by a helmet but Farkas knew the man. Not by name, but in the way you get to know everyone after living in a city for long enough. Whiterun was full of people Farkas knew without knowing. That’s how he knew that this particular guard was a little too enthusiastic about his duty.

Farkas stepped in between the guard and the thief. “Stand back. I’ve got this,” he assured him.

“Are you sure? I—”

“I’ve got this. Go.”

The guard hesitantly went back to his patrol, and Farkas turned on the thief. He help out a hand, palm up.

Farkas waited in the softly falling snow. He was long past the age of catching snowflakes on his tongue. Inviting the cold inside was never a good idea, no matter how Farkas enjoyed its company. No, he most certainly did not catch snowflakes on his tongue. If Mya noticed him closing his mouth rather quickly when she approached, well that had to have been a yawn didn’t it?

Farkas nodded a greeting. No need for formality. Some people did need that, or at least they wanted to need it. They wanted words and titles to tell them who to follow. Farkas didn’t really understand the fuss about it all. He’d follow people he trusted and people who trusted him would follow him. Simple enough. He trusted Mjadveig enough to follow her, but liked her enough not to mention it.

Angst Starters

Despite how death seemed to saturate everyday life in Skyrim, it never quite lost its weight. Farkas knelt next to the burnt out husk of a building. He touched a charred piece of wood, still warm, and dragged his fingers over the blackened edge. 

Growling Suggestion

Farkas cast down his gaze, not from shame or sorrow but to better consider the words he had been entrusted with. He took a long moment to absorb them, weigh them, attempt to sift through and understand thoroughly the meaning of Lorelei’s confession. In the end he could only think of one thing to say.

Growling Suggestion

@troubledtwins

Farkas put a hand on Boe’s shoulder. He let it weigh heavily there. Not gripping, just a comforting touch that they could easily slip away from if they wanted to.

“If you want to rest then rest. I’ll watch out until you’re ready to stand up again.”

Angst Starters

Farkas nodded solemnly. He knew a bit about loss, and a bit more about loneliness. He felt it sometimes: an aching absence that gnawed between his lungs. He wondered if Boe felt it the same. Did they feel it in the digits of their hands? Their joints? The back of their neck and the pit of their stomach? Maybe they felt it even worse.

“Someone told me once that nobody is ever truly gone. They stay with you in your head and heart. I don’t think that’s quite right,” Farkas said slowly, “Memories get muddled. The hurt gets less as time goes on, then you feel guilty for not hurting anymore. It’s hard. Being left behind is hard.”

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

“I don’t remember our parents,” Farkas began haltingly, his voice barely audible above the ruckus of the Companions’ great mead-hall. He tapped his fingers on the side of his drink, content to let the hot mead warm his hands rather than his belly.

“I don’t remember our parent,” he started over, a little louder this time, “but if they’re alive I hope they’re happy. If they’re dead I hope they’re proud.”

Another pause. Longer this time. Farkas knew what he was going to say next, but the sound of a fight breaking out nearby distracted him. He always found it hard to keep his train of thought when someone else was talking nearby. He recentered himself as the altercation went from barbs to blows. It would be over soon enough. The loser would lick their wounds and the winner would preen. No grudges would stick and tomorrow they’d drink together again as shield-siblings.

“I used to think Jergen was our blood-father. I think I thought so, at least. We were so small when he took us in. It’s hard to remember what’s a memory and what’s a story. I do remember that I loved him. No story can make that any different.” Farkas paused once again.