#echobled

The frost seeps – a slow crackle the begins at the skin and settles into the bones; he knows he has succumbed to the chill when he breathes it out in vapor trails, spilling past his lips. Jahliqai’s jaw clenches tight, but his teeth never chatter. Rather, he continues to whet his lance’s blade atop one of the many crates, thawing himself with the idle motion.

It was no secret to anyone that Ul’dah had it’s troubles. It was filled with folk that were scheming and corrupt, thirsty for gil and little else. The wealthy oft took advantage of the poor to fill their coffers - leaving some folk down on their luck and feeling forced into situations that led to trouble.

So, when Ryce stepped in on a situation of a masked figure attempting to jump a visitor to the city, he made sure his punches weren’t lethal. Though the man was still left unconscious, Ryce knew he wouldn’t die from a caved skull or broken neck.

Sighing, the Au’Ra stood to his full height. Ryce Aldynn, Dragon of Ul’dah and Scion of the Seventh Dawn, turned his gaze to the stranger, and a soft smile played at his features.

Automatically the feline's arms rose to encircle the exuberant Viera though his ears laid flat in a small measure of alarm and he had to take a half step backwards in order to brace against the flurry of motion and armful of Lysander he was gifted with, to the sound of the chair clattering and Tataru making her displeasure known. Even without looking though, he knew there would be a fond smile on her face too.

"Hey," he replied softly, combing his fingers through the Viera's hair at the same time as Lysander squished his cheeks and it made Maru chuckle helplessly.

"What if I don't want to let you go long enough for you to tend my hurts?" he asked playfully and he caught a very obvious roll of the eyes from Tataru before she turned away to set Lysander's chair to rights.

&  RE  :     prompt    /    @echobled.

IT’S EQUAL PARTS DISAPPOINTMENT AND RELIEF  :  her chest aches with a pain she can’t even begin to put into words as his voice reaches her, the gaze of her nightmares sifting away until there’s nothing left  ...  but it’s bittersweet, the embrace of Phoenix’s memory fading against the reassuring hands of their hero that rest on her shoulders. She’s still catching her breath from having jerked awake, the soft rocking of the carriage reminiscent of the time they’d traveled together, strangers opposite of one-another on their way to Gridania. Her hands still rest on his side from where she’d begun to pull away, perhaps not shockingly  —  she is certain the gesture had been meant in comfort, but she doesn’t know what to do with it, when those other than her brother attempt to show her compassion  :  affection, even.

“  —  it’s not,”  she starts to speak, but her voice is hoarse, parched from thirst as their long night traveling stretches on. She’s quiet, grasping for an excuse she can’t find. It wasn’t a nightmare, she wants to correct, it was a memory. But thinking on it chokes her up, makes her hands tremble in a way that finally brings them back to her side. She pushes away from him, situates completely opposite from him in the carriage once more.

@echobled​  --   his teeth chatter as he drapes his coat tighter around himself. lysander has never been an expert at enduring the cold  -- his stay in ishgard had consisted mostly of him avoiding staying outside unless there was no other way. garlemald is no different, though he finds less and less excuses to stay behind at camp broken glass. no amount of wool and furs ever seem to suffice. at the end of the day, he is but a child of the jungle, a true ravan boy with skin not made for drops in temperatures. 

dahlia, on the other hand, is his perfect opposite; fitting for a veena, used to snow-tipped mountains and snow crunching beneath her feet. lysander scoots closer t'ward her, wiggling in his spot as he drapes his arms around her middle. "i do not wish to complain," he says, shivering, "but i am certainly not made for this climate."       //    unprompted ask,  always accepting    !    

(    🐇   )                 A SMILE WARMS    her lips as lysander’s arms drape ‘round her middle,    a hand coming to gently pat his hand as it sat on her gut.    she glances to him at her side and snorts soft,    playfully while she gently nuzzled his cheek with her   (    cold    )    nose as she hummed softly.    as the two of them sat outside,    even by a makeshift fire,    she could see that lysander was still cold in the frigid air.    she was having a grand time,    ALL THINGS CONSIDERED.

      <       NO.    BUT LET    me help.    >    she squirms a little so that he lets go of her,    shrugging out of her coat to place it on lysander’s shoulders while her teeth ground    ;    rather impressed with herself.    a hand goes for his,    placing it back ‘round her waist like they were before as    COMFORT SETTLED IN    once more.

        Gil was not always required, in order to gain something one deeply wanted. In fact, amidst the steppes trade was often the preferred choice in dealings. Growing up the former Hotgo member found non-verbal tribe to be a trustworthy sort, as her father would often work with them and even secured Qestir an aetheryte. Full glad was she to witness that said speech-averted folk put it to good use.

         Upon other crouching down Odtsetseg took her satchel and followed suit. When inquired about her wares, dancer proceeded to take out a few items. One was something thoroughly wrapped, the other appeared to be fabrics of some fashion and finally there came furs neatly stacked against one another.

&  RE  :     prompt    /    @echobled.

SMUGLY DOES SHE REGARD HIM WITH ONLY SLIGHTLY  hidden disdain, though it is all in humorous intent. Boys are so annoying, she’s come to learn  :  each of them within the Scions dancing on every last good nerve she has yet managed to save. He’s certainly stubborn, she’ll give him that  ...  but much as her family themselves had come to learn, even he and Alphinaud had not seen anything from her quite yet.