#crystaldrain

@crystaldrain​ asked: ❝ it’s a thankless job , but somebody’s got to do it . ❞

       The prodigal exile’s eyes narrow, and the corners of her mouth twist downward in obvious displeasure as she surveys the machine, now upgraded. There are more chairs now, more room for gelfling and podlings to have their essence drained in order to feed the rotting and the damned, to still the hands of time for creatures who should have died ages before. She chafes underneath the smell of lingering vliya and the sound of the crystal’s increasingly loud and pained screams. 

If TekTih was there to see this, it would have torn at it’s crest for grief. 

⌑ Across the room, a vulture-like creature hunched idly over it’s chicken-scratch notes and well-worn tools scattered across the desk with lines of dust to indicate former placements of items haphazardly shoved to the side. Jenny didn’t remember much of her capture; only a hood over her head, the grip of two pairs of strong, clawed arms, and the sudden jolt of pain as her avian captor tossed her carelessly into the barred quarters.

⌑ Every problem has a solution. Every room has a weak spot. An inch of give at the welding, the mortar flaking at the brick’s alignment. Something. Something!

Send a symbol for your muse to tell mine that they're: 🐒 immature

The Entertainer’s beak curled into a snarl. Today has been one of his “bad representations”. The other Skeksis were not available as volunteers, all stuck in their occupations. So he had to use some Podlings, and we all know the acting quality of a Podling ! It was a disaster ! The Emperor left the room before the end ! What a tragedy ! The Scientist chose the worst moment to criticize him, if good moments existed. 

“I had the worst critic the Emperor could give : silence ! And you know whose fault it was ? Don’t make me tell you, I’m sure you know why my wonderful, epic tale about our great emperor and his Sifan conquests failed ! I know its his favorite story ! I built the best boat I could, I painted it myself ! A Skeksis sized boat !” 

As he spitted his words, he came closer to his interlocutor, his twisted beak almost bumping into his. He then took a growling voice, squinting eyes full of accusations. 

@crystaldrain asked: “The rooms spinning.”

       The Khrokaf’s movements are airy and graceful at the best of times, but it is still surprising how swiftly she can move when given the mind. In the blink of an eye, she is by the Scientist’s side, a hand coming to gently rest on a shoulder as it bends over a table with ragged breath. “Katakontidzeh tekka,” she curses, but there is hardly any bite in it. “You self-destructive ignoramus, you told me there was no reason to worry. ‘I’ve eaten enough’ were your exact words.” 

She is perhaps the bigger fool for believing it’s nonchalant grumbling, but that is beside the point. 

She guides it to a desk chair before pouring a cup of water out of a flask she’d had the servants send up that morning. The laboratory is perpetually humid and stale, with poor ventilation and no windows. Such conditions are not necessarily dangerous to her, who has no preferences for heat or chill due to a perpetually burning core, but it can be easy for another to become dehydrated in such an environment, especially when toiling over tomes and experiments for days on end. 

❛    what could you   give me? ❜

   𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅                and from the throat  /  for dark eyes are settled and unwavering on this wretched creature, alive yet wrought with decay.   (  the smell of death is a familiar, yet still it wrinkles his nose. )  features are narrowed, in  recoil  against this ancient stench of chemicals  ;  and of rotting flesh.  

                                                                        ❛   –  you are barely anything yourself .. all of you.  ❜

@bxlakor​​ asked: 📂

I’ve talked to a lot of people who have this image in their head of Snow’s figure being traditionally feminine and curvy, but the more I’m writing for her, the more I’m picturing something a bit more androgynous? Like, she’s very tall and lanky, with small breasts and narrow hips. When she disguised herself as a male in the past, she was able to pass as one from a distance, and she often did so, just because a lone traveling man raised less brows than a noblewoman.  

@crystaldrain​ asked: 📂📂📂

Snow doesn’t necessarily have claustrophobia, per se, but it’s very easy for her to go stir crazy when in a confined space for an extended amount of time. She was made to live outdoors, and as a child, she often slept in tree tops or in burrows outside. Staying in small spaces reminds her of days spent in Landshut’s tower, so she’ll be fidgety, constantly pacing or finding things to toy with. Noise, constant activity, and the presence of those whom she trusts helps, but it’s still not ideal. (Which, boy, that adds another element to her living in the laboratory.)

She’s an uncanny eldritch abomination in a flesh suit, and she knows this. Since she really has no taste for fine metals and gems, you can more often find her wearing hair nets made of spider webs, or wreaths of leaves and flowers, or jewelry made from feathers and animal bones. 

“Sorry Oi’m nah using proper formalities, m’lord.” A hint of distaste upon meeting the Skeksis. Memories consume of the lies, and the fake friendship they poised to him. A nine year old who discovered a fantasy world. A nine year old who had lost everything, only to lose more in a naive existence that he lived. A child who had desired some sort of friendship after experiencing nothing but hostility, even going as far as to quickly accept the gracious hand of food, shelter, knowledge. Drake being treated like he were a guest there. But, it was all in the name of selfish use. And when his purpose was over? He would’ve been killed the same no less. He were twelve now, and a bigger man then he was before. Drake being apart of the seas, apart of the Sifa. Hell, he’d consider himself Sifa too if he could boast. Drake adjusted his vest that he had recently fitted onto him. It felt natural. Accepting a new vision of himself. Standing tall he eyes down the other. 

@crystaldrain​ asked: "I dread the sound of his key in the lock." talkin about skekSo ? maybe so 

        It is a sound that the Khrokaf, too, dreads, although hers is an imprisonment by choice. She is not completely out of their Khrokon’s regard, for her title as his right hand remains, does it not? And yet, it has been this way ever since the beginning. If the Nosharikh triumphs, she rejoices as if it were her own; if they are punished, she, too, mourns and chafes under the yoke, for soul-twins are they. It was their destined path since the moment their essences were pulled from the stars. 

And so, the dim, wan figure comes to rest aside her companion. She could be taking part in the feast upstairs; only skekTek was tasked with remaining in the erkashti (not yet rukhash, not yet) until a solution to the crystal’s waning gifts could be found, yet she remains. For here is her heart and home. 

“If I could break it, I would,” she murmurs, but they both know it is vain. skekSo has far too oft heeded skekSil’s poisoned whispers or his own paranoia rather than her sense of reason. 

If only her olpirt manin would listen. If only they would leave with her and go to a place without locks or keys...