#dragoonvowed

@dragoonvowed said.

Terence is searching for a manner to distract the other. It's been what? Two hours since he is analyzing that map. Lips part to utter while two big arms cross upon his chest. "How long until you request my assistance? Or what about you take a small break." [ give me one of yours final fantasy muses :3]

   His mind is starside, caught in the orbit of some singularity of thought, falling deep into the moment of their efforts. The map sprawls before him as ravenous as that singularity. There, in the illustration of their battles, lay a point beyond he cannot possibly be fit to approach. An inevitable yet nebulous after that grips onto him with fear.

   ❝ Oh. ❞ Thought draws in, expands and warps until normal.

   Cecil realizes now, upon the comment being made, that his mien has once more transformed into that vacant, empty, thing. Oft he struggles with such a fact, that he knows not even how he is supposed to feel or act until situations become more dire than even he can withstand. So, to have Terence commenting... Well, he should probably follow suit, shouldn't he?

Recovery has been incredibly long and difficult. Dion did not expect to survive Origin, didn't think that he would come out of it in the slightest. But he has, granted with a horrific brain injury and two broken legs, but he's come out of it all the same. His days are mostly spent trying to learn how to walk again and pondering where to start with rebuilding Sanbreque now that it's his. Everyday scouts go out to look for other survivors and resources. Gav promises him that they'll give him word on Terence and Kihel the moment they have it.

Dion did not expect, however, for Terence to find the Hideaway.

One day, as Dion sits in his wheelchair, overlooking the deadlands (which are now starting to teem with hesitant life), Gav rests a hand on his shoulder, looking awfully pleased. Dion is about to ask if he found anything on Terence's whereabouts when someone steps out from behind. Terence.

Prince Noctis was not known for his charm. He was shy and awkward, two traits that often made him appear standoffish. Of course, those who spent any amount of time with him quickly realised that was not the case but still. He was awkward.

They were taking a much needed break. Noctis was sat fishing with Terence nearby reading his book. Not much seemed to be biting right now. It was disappointing, but it happened. Fishing wasn't as easy as it looked. There were a lot of variables. Sometimes the environment just wasn't right and different fish were active at different times and were attracted to different lures. Whatever it was, they weren't biting and Noctis found his gaze increasingly landing on Terence.

Every now and then, Terence's gaze would catch his own and Noctis would quickly glance away as if he had been caught doing something wrong. He didn't even realise he was doing it. Not until Terence brought it up.

"Ah...do I?" Noctis felt his cheeks heat up but he forced himself to look at him properly. "Hah. Must be bad timing."

Time to change the subject.

Send me "I'd totally fuck you" to see my character's reaction ;;

Last he recalls such WARMTH making home 'pon his cheeks, he'd tumbled into a body of water in the presence of near EVERYONE he deeply cared for. That, though, had been near incomparable EMBARRASSMENT--- this was different. The way 'tis worded may be a touch CRASS, but where one might take OFFENSE to it, Urianger is quite FLATTERED. A chuckle is loosened, eyes slit as the edges of upturned lips stretch WIDER, and with no reservation, the distance 'twixt them is cast away, the tall, slender mass of STARS and intellect beyond fathom closing the world OFF from the two of them.

– @dragoonvowed asked:

Lies always endeavor to surface. False promises follow soon after, spoken in that saccharine timbre meant to soothe, deceive, and make venom taste like honey. But Terence is no fool. He knows exactly who stands before him, knows the shape of that deception. Sleipnir, just being in the same place as him feels suffocating. Air around them thickens, heavy and foul, pressing against Terence's lungs until each breath becomes a conscious effort. The man sets his instincts on edge, as if shadows themselves attempt to creep closer, consuming whatever light he still carries within him. He doesn't want to be here. Doesn't want to look at him. Speak to him. Endure even another moment in his presence. Nevertheless, he has no choice. Steel-blue hues narrow. ❝ You’re a dirty liar, and I hate it. I hate this ! ❞ His hand bends at his side, fingers curling before stilling again, forcing himself not to reach for his blade unless given reason. ❝ You better behave yourself. ❞ (Sleipnir)

"Oh my, such anger," Sleipnir replied, taking in every small motion that Terence made. "Was it because of something I said?" It was a provocative statement, as Sleipnir knew what he had done. He loved pressing on other's buttons, making them squirm or lose their composure. Terence's weakness was obvious – a few pointed comments about his beloved prince and this was the result he had gotten.

Even better was the fact that the squire knew he could not make a scene at the moment. Of course, these 'peace talks' were nothing more than a farce. His liege had no intentions of ever agreeing to a peace treaty with Sanbreque. Barnabas wanted them at war, as it created a convenient distraction. It would wear them down and thus make them easier to manipulate. Besides, his king enjoyed war – fighting was the only thing that made either of them feel alive these days.

Sleipnir had simply found that he enjoyed verbal sparring as well – it was a different kind of fight, but an enjoyable one nonetheless.

"I am merely speaking the truth, dear squire. A marriage contract is a common tactic to ensure peace between nations – and Sanbreque only has one prince. I'm sure my king would take excellent care of him, should that be the case." Nothing of the sort would ever take place, but oh, how Sleipnir enjoyed poking where it was unwanted. If Barnabas had actually wanted peace, then it was something that very well could have happened, even if his liege had no interest in Dion Lesage. In politics, things such as desire or interest had no place.

It was true that Sleipnir should behave, but when had he ever listened to such a thing? He wanted Terence to do something reckless, if only because it would liven things up a little.

@dragoonvowed sent: ⤷ don't move. you'll only make it worse

𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑵𝑬𝑪𝑲.  The blood flooded over the curves of her fingers and meandered down her pale freckled neck. Eyes burned her displeasure into Terence. 

❝ Yes, I would hate to bleed out. ❞ She sneered and held her neck. ❝ Did you see the creature that bit me? ❞ She hadn't gotten a good look at him, and now her vision was blurring. Slowly, she pressed her back against the brick wall of the alley, and slid down to sit. 

❝ What the hell was that? ❞ 

@dragoonvowed asked: A new world awaits ready to emerge in the wake of Ultima’s demise. Freedom, long overdue, is now available. Nevertheless, liberation alone is not enough. Societies will need to be reconstructed from the ruins left behind, and lessons will need to be learned. People must live with dignity in this approaching era, transforming suffering into something kinder. At least, Terence believes so. Sanbreque, too, must be reborn from its own detritus ; must look upon its past mistakes to become something better. For a while, he says nothing, simply standing beneath the expanding light, steel-azure hues intensified by the first touch of sun peeking through. ❝ It's been a while since I watched such a beautiful sunrise. ❞

Is this it? He wonders, as he gazes up at the first rays of morning light. Is this the end of the reign of gods and pre-determined fate, and the beginning of a new chapter for men?

Despite having dreamed for so long of a world where all would be free and all would be treated with respect and dignity, in some ways it feels hollow for him now that it's here. After all, both of his sons are still gone, leaving only the weight of years stolen from them and words not spoken sooner. Their sacrifice was noble... But that does little to quell the pain of a loved one, no matter how true it may be. (They should be here to greet it too.)

Humanity has been saved. The world can begin its long and arduous process of healing, and in turn can society build itself anew -- no matter how difficult the journey will be. (And it will, indeed, be difficult.) The short-term pain will be worth it to pave a better, kinder future for generations yet to come; and for those of today, should they so choose to, they will be the ones to build that foundation one brick at a time, just as The Founder had done so long ago. They will be the ones to tell stories of this monumental triumph, just as they will be the ones to tell stories of mankind's darkest hours, and all will be necessary in weaving together the chronicled history of Valisthea.

With all voices being heard.

When the much younger man speaks, "Miles" shifts his focus from the horizon over to him. The statement gives him pause; for as much grief and pain and rage has roiled within throughout the years, taking a moment to appreciate the sunrise seems... almost necessary. As the night bids farewell, the sun brings with it a sense of hope that he has not felt in decades, at the very least.

Hope squinted up at the sky, watching as the rain continued to pour down without sign of stopping. It was just rain, there was nothing unusal about it, and yet something about it felt like an ill omen.

Frowning slightly, he turned to face his companion.

"Do you want to keep pressing forward, or shall we try and find some shelter?" He asked the dragoon. They were both soaked through to the bone, it wasn't like they could get much wetter, but he didn't know how much more of the weather the chocobos would tolerate.

They could be feisty creatures, and he didn't much relish the idea of being thrown off into the mud if they got annoyed. As if reading his thoughts, the chocobo beneath him let out an annoyed squawk and he reached out a hand to gently pat her neck.

"Easy there Rosé." He murmured, "I promise I'll get you lots of gyshal greens after this."

Rosé ruffled her feathers disdainfully, having every bit the sass of the woman she named for, but settled down for the time being. She was a smart creature though, so Hope was sure she'd hold him to his promise.