#daespoina

COME AT HIM, SHORTIES

“Of course.” Not. "It’s nothing serious.” The way he was clutching his side almost made his words believable. The bullet was still lodged below his ribs, a small blessing really, though the stain on his shirt made it clear he was still bleeding quite heavily. 

one word prompts / @daespoina

‘ those who wander the righteous path often do so blind. ’ it is a warning spoken - shared with whisky, wine, and a strategically placed gun. a bullet - single round with different meaning. what comes with it is promise, oath, and danger known. he had said the words with a soft smile and a brief glance and hands he had known to be stained with the red of blood: for country, for what’s right, and for what should be --- and maybe even once perhaps, for one ( a stutter in stance, hesitation and the fracture and fall with broken belief - once, and never again ). 

so this now, should not be betrayal. agreement and acknowledgement with fury’s strike: no hesitation for the woman king. you fail in the eyes of judgement, in a watcher who holds a different post: same language / different dialect - yet here she stands remaining true. 

failure is what echoes and a wonder why. 

but again the words repeat: ‘ those who wander the righteous path often do so blind. ’ 

damn, he thinks and there is defiance there still that remains. no, this is a good thing, this is a right thing. so of course, still the feeling’s there: betrayal - a sharp sting with hardened eyes, feet forward and the barrel of a loaded gun. or, perhaps it’s shock - the kind that comes with gunpowder, the trigger pulled and the hammer click...

( gold with engraving qui audet adipiscitur ). 

roll for initiative / @daespoina

Strength: How physically strong or athletic is your muse? Can they run long distances without tiring? Do they work out?

Merlin’s athleticism has declined over the years with the change in his lifestyle and his job. Though this does not necessarily mean that he is a man now used to sitting behind a desk, rather - he no longer needs to commit to the training regimen of being a member of the S.A.S. He had maintained his fitness relatively well enough in MI6 and perhaps more so in Kingsman - though, this is simply to ensure that he is fit enough to be an agent (not necessarily field - though his performance in rifle combat is not to be ignored).

Merlin works out - mostly because of his training of candidates, and very much because of his pet border collie. Though, most field agents would probably beat him in any hand to hand combat / anything requiring training. Naturally speaking however, he does have some strength in him. If we were to speak in terms of D&D, he’d probably have had a strength of 12-14 (being tall and kind of solid does help). 

Wisdom: What steps, if any, does your muse go through before making an important decision? What criteria, if any, does a choice have to fulfill to be the ‘correct’ one?

Merlin learns from mistakes. He’s the kind of man that makes it once, and strives to ensure it doesn’t happen again - almost to a fault. But, in essence ( and this falls into the lawful territory almost ), he has a set of beliefs, he has an understanding of what he believes should happen - as a desired outcome, and with desired method ( though that being said, neutrality comes into play where it doesn’t necessarily involve specific rules - Merlin can tap into the grey when necessary because often it’s the end goal that’s a priority for him.). 

In matters of safety, his priorities do involve the safety of the agents and those he cares about - no matter how heartless he seems, he will always strive to ensure that those under his wing are protected. This isn’t something that just happened through kingsman, but a very much ‘brothers in arms’ mentality developed through military school and beyond; a loyalty and camaraderie that you cannot beat. 

He will put those who follow him / those he cares for above all else, until they’re not.  There’s the idea that there’s the mission and nothing else, but Merlin does not like to lose someone. Ever. There are moments in his life where this was a challenge, and he’s willingly taken the course of action he’s believed in. But all in all, how he knows it’s correct? He doesn’t feel like when he looks in the mirror he doesn’t recognise the man he’s become, and when he sees the world, it isn’t just a place with no colour, taste, or life. 

Death Saving Throws: Has your muse ever had a near-death experience, or knew someone who has? How did they cope with it?

Yes, far too many times. Serving in the army, Merlin has had near death experiences, and has known people who have - it’s brothers and sisters you’ve once or twice shared a meal with, or sat in a trench with - shared a smoke. Next thing you know there’s ringing, there’s the taste of dirt and there’s the unknown that comes with a body that doesn’t move. But sometimes, people come back. Sometimes the same, a smile still - and sometimes not so much. 

mr robot.     /     not accepting

     “Hmmm,” he hums, noncommittal, nonchalant, and focuses in on the bowl of popcorn on his stomach. He doesn’t have the answer to his question, but perhaps that’s not surprising either. After a long moment of consideration, he pops one kernel into his mouth. “I don’ know.” He shifts on the couch, turns his shoulders a few degrees to look at her.

late night sentences.     /     not accepting

     “S’cold outside,” he says, like it isn’t for the fact that he’s soaking wet and dressed poorly, hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon. But instead of insisting on the matter — because this is her house and her soon-to-be as wet parlor floor, and she’d have all right to do so — she decides to treat the symptoms rather than the cause. So, handing him a towel in the same way that she’d done it months ago when he appeared on her door step for the very first time, she eyes him in the least pressed manner that she can offer after spending the better part of this day arguing with people who refuse to see any other standpoint than their own, then makes room for Albert to sniff his leg.

     How’s Arsenal been doing?

admittedly, he had predicted something being said when he appeared that night. glasses on, suit jacket buttoned in all the correct ways. he’d had remarks since he asked for it to be made – an uncertainty in every step along the way. it wasn’t traditional, clearly. the furthest thing from it, really. always one to push boundaries until they started crumbling beneath his fingertips. never one to blend in with the crowd, even when that was literally what his job required if he wanted to continue living through to the next day. some days, eggsy wonders if he has a death wish or if he’s really trying to stick it to the man. the look on tristan’s face across the room and he suspects that she might be the cause of his death that night. eggsy merely grins. can’t stop himself if he tried.     “a suit,”     he answers, mouth hidden behind the rim of a champagne glass.     “do try to keep up with the times,  tristan.”     that seals it, doesn’t it? she’s going to murder him.