#crestintrigue

@crestintrigue

It would be absolutely ridiculous, Ahn thought, to think of him as homesick, especially after only such a short period of time had passed. It was just that it wasn’t fair. He was finally starting to get his life together again, had nice process with his studies, had a job albeit unofficially, a beautiful girlfriend, a place to call his own. And now all of that was just gone. He had always been one to take adversities in life a bit harder than most people, but considering his circumstances he dared say it was justified. He was finally starting to feel not like a monster but like an actual human being. And he was finally starting to get acknowledged as one as well. Did he have to work for all that again.

Slamming a fist against a brick wall in his frustration, the pain immediately shot out and filled him with regret and disappointment that he hadn’t really changed as much as he would have liked to believe. At this hour of the night there shouldn’t be anyone else out and about, but Ahn heard the hesitant footsteps behind him, announcing a spectator to his pitiful display. 

@crestintrigue

“... Don’t tell me you’re going to sleep through our reunion, too.”

maybe it was a bad idea though, on second thought. they needed somewhere calm to relax, and settle. cappuccino would always be there for them to explore when they were in the mood -- which in chloe’s case, is often, but when she isn’t wandering that district in pursuit of fun, or sitting comfortable in chamomile, lakeview seems to draw her to it. 

with its sunny atmosphere, and the beach nearby, it reminds her of her old hometown. funny, how she misses some aspects of it in spite of wanting to leave for the longest time. not badly enough to even consider returning ( not that she can anyway, ) but enough that she feels nostalgic upon seeing a place so similar.

as she continues along the districts boardwalk, reminiscing about events that didn’t happen too long ago, she suddenly lets out a curse when her foot collides with something on the ground. she barely manages to stop herself from tripping over the object before breathing a sigh of relief and whirling around on her heel... only to see that a person lying there, not an item as she suspected. 

❝ jesus christ, dude -- you almost tripped me! ❞ she exclaims, though she supposes she’s kind of to blame, since she wasn’t watching where she was going, and he was sleeping comfortably off to the side, out of the way of anyone who had been paying attention. 

❝ ugh, i mean -- my bad. i wasn’t really looki-- ❞ she pauses, blinking down at his still form. he hadn’t budge the entire time, despite being kicked and yelled at... could that mean...

❝ shit -- why aren’t you moving? hello? oh fuck me, are you dead?! please tell me you’re not dead, i can’t deal with this shit again! ❞ she’s bent down to his level in an instant, giving a swift slap to his cheek. ❝ WAKE UP! ❞

nonverbal rp starters

The dream plays out behind his eyelids again, vivid as it ever was.

The battlefield rages around him, the screams of the dying mixed with the cries of his classmates as they carve through the soldiers opposing their advance. They’re unstoppable, because of course they are. They’ve been too well-trained to be anything but. His focus, however, is not on the soldiers around them, but on the lone man standing before him.

His father, Lonato, untouched by the chaos that surrounds them both. The chaos he orchestrated in his rebellion against the church. He keeps coming here again and again and again, the day repeating itself unerringly but never quite the same twice. The only thing that never changes is the ending.

Every single time, Ashe steadies his bow, nocks an arrow; lets it fly. Fast as an instant and slow as eternity it soars, finding its mark and sinking into the man’s chest with a--

Clink.

He starts, and the world rights itself again. Ashe looks at Lindhart with surprise, temporarily having forgotten where he was. He’d fallen asleep sitting up at the table, nodding off after staving away the exhaustion that’s been gnawing at him all day. His former classmate’s face and the cup of tea placed in front of him draw him back to reality, and he smiles apologetically.

“Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to go through all that trouble, though,” he says, hoping the man won’t question him too much. Surely Linhardt is no stranger to impromptu naps, though Ashe can’t speak to his familiarity with nightmares. If the Goddess is merciful, it is not something he too must suffer through.

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