Dec 15, 2017
fatherofexperimentation started following you
âWell well well. Look what the bangaa dragged in. Crawled out of your cozy little lab to frolic with the common folk? You do us all an honor.â
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fatherofexperimentation started following you
âWell well well. Look what the bangaa dragged in. Crawled out of your cozy little lab to frolic with the common folk? You do us all an honor.â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Many things could and had been said of the old man-he was no kind person, he was not one to remember long on passing dates and memoirs or to linger on sentimental value. Perhaps it was for this that Balthier had seen nothing of his father this day-or perhaps, it was because the old man lingered on one memory for far too long, and did not wish to face his son with said thought in mind. Either or, on this day, the date he'd been born, a package was left outside Balthier's new dwelling-unlabeled though it was, the box smelled of chocolate. Perhaps a homemade cake?
He'd only know when he opened it.
A letter was also tucked down in neatly, sealed and unmarked also-his writing would be enough evidence of who had left this gift behind, he felt. There was no trace of the man who'd left it, just the lingering echo of a fist on dull wood and then nothing. Once Balthier opened the letter he'd be greeted with a handwritten note-crisp and clean and orderly, very much reminiscent of the man who'd left it here.
The only thing out of place would be heavily crossed out lines, as if he'd had something to say but decided it not something that should be seen.
Balthier;
My son. It's come to my attention there was something I almost forgot-I did not get you anything, not a new fancy trinket for your ship or anything similar, nothing of the manner a father would think fitting. Besides, such gifts are overdue and long past and I know not whether you would accept them of me anyways.
My apologies for my absence this day, but I had something to attend to. I hope this makes up for it?
I do plan to visit you soon, and hopefully, I will be able to linger then.
--Cid
Within the box is a carefully crafted cake, and something wrapped in brown paper. No flare given, but perhaps some needed-at very least he had left something, however. Within the brown paper was a bottle of fine old rum, neither Arcadian nor Rozarrian-this particular kind of rum can only be found in Balfonheim, and it is quite expensive.
And as Balthier found out these things, a note would fall out from between two folds of the paper as well;
If you wish to see your old man, I am in Balfonheim. Feel free to come by for a visit now and then, but I find I tire of Archadian air.
The cake, he had to admit, was one of his father's better efforts, even before Balthier's flight unto the skies and world beyond the walls of Archades. Still, he found himself wary, the experiences of birthday's past keeping him with a healthy measure of skepticism within his mind.Â
Rather his hands sought the rum instead, inspecting make and batch and vintage. When satisfactorily perused, he rolled his eyes skyward with the shortest of chuckles. "Off to be a scalawag with the rest of us, dear old Da'?"
â
"NO!" He snorted incredulously and stumbled to his feet, hefting the larger man from where he had been resting and casting him down onto the ground. He glared, and then began to simper wickedly, his polished fingertips alight, magic sizzling and spitting as it sparked atop his palms. He drawled low, grinning from ear to ear. âSweet dreams, old man. Hehehe.â
[The crown thing for Llyria :P She falls asleep quite randomly and often, because she rarely eats and tires out easily]
Penelo was trying not to move. She also looked as though sheâd accidentally caught the attention of a wyrm. This was due entirely to the sleeping immortal in her lap. The sleeping, âvessel of a guy she once killedâ immortal at that. Do not wake the immortal who hasnât killed you for that yet. She had a feeling she wasnât going to be breathing much until the girl woke up.
â
Penelo rolled her eyes at the unconscious man leaning on her shoulder. He was making it increasingly difficult to hate him every time she spoke to him. She briefly entertained the idea of giving him a hard shove and sending him sprawling across the floor butâŚbut she saw the lines on his face that hadnât been there at Ridorana, the bags under his eyes that said he hadnât slept well in too long. She let out a long sigh and crossed her legs, settling in for the long haul. Some habits were hard to shake.
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fatherofexperimentation replied to your post: Just wrote a long reply for mageofrabanastre. ...
[IT PUBLISHED I SEE THE REPLY]
AWESOME YES. I think I need to save these as drafts or put them in word as well.
I see the word fire on my dash and I got interested
Who's she?
"Was someone talking about me?"