#foxrott

@foxrott: ❛ am i not good enough? ❜

𝐈𝐓'𝐒   𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒   𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓   𝐅𝐋𝐘   to   his   lips,   unfettered   annoyance   blooming   bright   on   the   vulpine's   face   at   leander's   ever   affable   attitude,   even   in   the   face   of   humiliation.   vere   thinks   to   just   grunt   out   his   displeasure,   but   the   opportunity   to   demean   the   rot   smelling   bastard   is   not   something   he   likes   to   pass   up.   so   vere   stares   down   at   the   mage,   who   kneels   at   his   feet,   with   one   of   vere's   ever   shiny   booted   feet   resting   nonchalantly   at   his   shoulder.   arms   have   crossed   over   his   chest,   and   vere   is   the   very   picture   of   tension   and   aggravation...   but   also,   perhaps,   a   bit   of   sensual   curiosity   .   

"   hmm.   "   mutters   the   fox,   paying   no   mind   to   the   din   of   the   wet   wick   outside   the   door,   or   the   fact   that   the   others   would   certainly   wonder   where   they'd   both   scampered   off   to.   "   good   enough   for   what?   "      he   muses,   "   to   add   me   to   your   list   of   conquests?   "   outward,   that   long   leg   extends,   pressing   delicately   to   leander's   chest   now,   applying   the   slightest   bit   of   pressure   to   force   him   to   bend   backwards   beneath   vere's   mischief.   "   or   to   shine   my   boots   with   your   mouth?   "   up   he   gets   then,   that   same   foot   falling   between   leander's   strong   thighs   with   a   thunk,   bracing   against   the   floor   while   clawed   digits   find   woody   hair   to   yank   his   head   back.   "   one   of   them   you   are   certainly   fit   for...   "   he   purrs,   delicious   and   dangerous,   coercing   that   poor   poor   mage   closer   to   the   fire   of   vere's   hunger,   "   how   about   you   guess   which?   if   you   win,   i'll   give   you   a   prize.   "

@foxrott said   :   “  if you think no one has noticed, you're wrong.  i can tell there is something wrong. speak.  ”   / from quincy (hsr)<3

          a blink. blunt, to the point – to say he’d become to accustomed to people who didn’t mean what they say or say what they mean in recency was an understatement. lips pressed into a thin line, the archivist gestured with a soft jerk of his head towards the nearest settlement, curiosity alight in his eyes.   “   are they aware of it too ?   ”   he referred, of course, to the stellaron, another beating heart of destruction when already this world had seen the ravages of nanook’s hand. dan heng worried for the inhabitants, but their new companion seemed to care very little for their company.   “   different accounts allow for a more accurate observation of data. is there anything we should know before trying to speak with them ?   ”   an odd question on it’s own, but a habit to question everything developed from trailblaze mission after trailblaze mission. different worlds, different societal expectations.

@foxrott: " get out of my way . i won’t tell you again . "

                                "   oh   dear.   "

𝐡𝐨𝐰   𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.   𝐚𝐬   𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬,   it's   hard   to   read   kafka   -   harder   still   to   understand   the   intonations   of   her   silken   voice,   or   the   way   that   she   regards   her   fellow   hunter   through   long,   carefully   darkened   lashes.   the   dual-ringed   hue   of   her   eyes   remain   devoid   of   any   emotion,   but   a   hand   has   long   since   stretched   forth   -   settling   lightly   upon   the   broad   expanse   of   her   companion's   chest.   the   wine,   silken   splendor   of   her   gloves   is   bright   against   the   dark   patterning   of   his   coat   (   dirty,   she   needs   to   get   him   a   new   set   ),   and   carefully   mirrors   the   way   the   huntress   sticks   out   next   to   him   like   a   sore   thumb   -   opulent,   lethal,   serene.   

"   is   the   mara   stirring,   bladie   ?   "   behind   them,   scalegorge   waterscape   erupts,   the   conflict   with   phantylia   long   since   over   -   and   the   object   of   her   predator's   obsession   somewhere   sifting   along   the   waters.   "   you   know   i   can't   do   that.   it's   not   party   of   the   script.   "   a   soft,   tentative   coo,   palm   patting   lightly.   "   hold   it   back   awhile   longer,   mm?   "

@foxrott: ❝ your face is blank and barren, like another language, impenetrable. ❞ ━━ luocha.

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐚   𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰,   𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝   𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤   𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬   𝐭𝐡𝐞   blade's   handsome   features   -   a   soft   dusting   of   long   lashes   over   the   paleness   of   his   cheeks.   curious   and   curiouser,   his   head   cants   to   the   side,   navy   gradient   tresses   a   slow   caress   over   the   shapely   thigh   of   the   healer   before   him.   it's   true.   he   appears   tired.   empty.   a   soul   without   mooring,   spirit   adrift   in   a   sea   of   deathlessness.   with   others,   perhaps,   he   might   tend   towards   violence...   but   for   some   reason,   luocha's   presence   keeps   him   bound,   a   steady   writ   of   strange   energy   which   keeps   calm   reticence   at   the   forefront   of   his   mind,   even   as   he   watches   his   wounds   disappear   once   more   beneath   healing   hands.   

ㅤㅤㅤ❝   mm.   ❞   is   all   he   says   for   the   moment,   a   grunt   of   affirmation   that   he   heard   the   other   man,   and   acknowledged   his   words.   still,   lashes   flutter   again,   and   the   hunter   seems   almost   sleepy   -   ready   to   slump   forward   into   the   being   before   him   and   seek   to   rest.   he   doesn't   though,   at   least...   not   yet.   after   a   long   moment,   he   reaches   forward,   bandaged   fingertips   curling   about   the   merchant's   delicate   wrist   to   cease   his   ministrations.   his   grip   is   not   painful,   but   it   is   demanding,   even   if   the   crimson   of   his   eyes   is   dull,   and   his   voice   nigh   on   curious.      ❝   stop   healing   me.   ❞      it   was   more   like   a   question,   than   a   demand.      ❝   they   are   only   going   to   open   again.   just   leave   me   be.   ❞

@foxrott: ❝ you don’t bother to threaten me, yet. i should be worth threatening. ❞ ━━ jing yuan

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐢𝐭'𝐬   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚   𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭   𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬   𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡   𝐡𝐢𝐦,   a   sick   burgeoning   of   pain   through   his   veins   and   a   flood   of   power   that   dilutes   the   senses,   that   washes   over   the   hunter's   awareness   like   a   thick   layer   of   velvet.   ying   xing,   who   had   been   staring   at   the   arbiter   general   originally,   now   hides   back   in   his   cage,   silence   permeated   through   the   vestiges   of   the   craftsman's   mind.   he   returns   to   his   roots   -   the   sleeping   crow,   a   bird   of   carrion   allowing   the   beast   that   lurked   within   him   to   take   over,   to   guard   his   heart   from   jing   yuan's   words.   the   artisan   could   not   bear   to   face   the   man   he   knew,   after   all,   it   was   easier   to   let   the   mara   ebb   into   him,   easier   to   let   it   take   over.   

easier   to   be   violent,   than   forgiving.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝   worth   threatening?   ❞      he   echoes,   madness   seeping   through   every   crack,   every   pore,   of   the   blade's   very   being.   crimson   overtakes   once   warm   amber   eyes,   and   he   regards   the   other   with   a   low,   gravelly   chuckle.   long   gone   -   is   ying   xing's   sweet,   silken   candor.   in   it's   wake,   only   death   and   despair   remains.      ❝   you   are   not   even   worth   my   time,   ❞      the   lilted   purr   of   carnal   agony   finds   his   utterance   of   the   general's   name   -   the   word   sounding   more   like   a   curse   than   anything   else,      ❝   jing   yuan.   ❞      his   sword   raises   then,   fractured   edges   glowing   as   it   points   towards   the   divine   foresight   himself,   and   the   man   on   the   other   side   bares   his   teeth   in   memory,      ❝   you   shield   him   from   my   punishment.   stand   in   my   way   again,   and   i'll   rip   out   your   throat   and   drink   the   marrow   from   you   bones.   ❞