#liightborne

[ TXT ] : I never knew how much work could suddenly be thrust on one man until now...

[ TXT ] : If ever there comes a time where you wish to do something with me, please tell me. I will accommodate everyone else around it.

[ TXT ] : You will always be my very first priority. Do not ever forget that.

text ask meme

[TXT] : Saiiii.... (┬┬﹏┬┬)

[TXT] : I always feel like I shouldn't interrupt your work...

A man of few words Sai may not be, but there frequently come times where he is unable to speak how he wishes. He may trip over himself during his lessons, or he forgets to continue the flow of conversation (and thus proceeds to stare overlong, intently but with a reptilian glaze over his eyes).

Other times, he acts without thought.

As his mind swirls with thoughts of tests, homework, and lesson plans, Sai ambles about the monastery courtyard relying solely on muscle memory. Were he to blink now, he would find himself somewhere entirely different from where he had started! It would be a troubling situation were he aware enough to register it as such.

Sai stops, however, when a person-shaped silhouette draws closer into his field of vision. Whoever they are, he stands behind them... and, goodness, is that hair that falls down to the cobblestone? That reminds him an awful lot of his sister... not to mention the similarity in color.

"Shea, you have forgotten to put up your hair...," he mumbles, reaching down to take a sheaf of long strands. "You mustn't allow it to get dirty, now..."

...Wait. Shea's hair is not this color. And she isn't this tall. Actually, this person doesn't look like Shea at all in any capacity.

...

...Who is this?

"Blessed Naga, forgive me!" He drops the hair of a stranger, face quickly paling as he draws backward. His expression is positively aghast. "I am terribly sorry! I was not paying attention and thought you were my sister. I pray that I did not cause you discomfort!"

There had been a time, lifetimes and lifetimes and lifetimes ago, when she had spared what precious free time she had on her appearance. Kohl and rouge; lotions and gold; she'd draped herself in bright fabrics and brighter jewels, too naive to know that the love and devotion earned through such shallow beauty would not be the kind to last.

In that era of ignorance, she'd grown her hair, tying it, curling it, braiding it, and straightening it—again and again, until it grew long enough to reach her ankles. Long enough to hide behind. Long enough to be a noose. She thought to cut it when Lord Sombron gave her the child he'd promised her.

—But then he lied, and then she died, and now she's little better than a fool who spends hours and hours brushing each lock until she's worked each tangle out.

A foreign hand on her labor of love-folly-wish-regret, then, is a filthy and unwelcome thing. She hadn't even let Marni touch her hair, and there had been a time when she had truly treasured that girl with as much affection as she'd deserved.

"And if you did?" Zephia asks, turning to survey the pale face of a man who looks like he's seconds away from sinking into himself. It isn't the kind of terror that she's accustomed to facing, but perhaps that works a little in his favor; the poor thing looks like he'd committed a sin rather than a social faux pas. It isn't entirely unamusing. "Would your prayers have your god come beg for mercy alongside you?"

She waits a moment. Two. She has killed men for much less, but there's rules, and turning a new leaf, and living a new life, and all the other dreary things she must remember. So, she smiles.

He pulls nervously at the cuffs of his gloves (perhaps for the hundredth time) to ensure they do not fall off. His fingers still buzz from the shame of what he's done and he simply does not have the ability to address it. Not right now, when there are other things to worry about.

One of his allies comes into view not too far off, so Sai goes to them. "Sir... Arion, was it?" Sai calls with a half-raised hand. "It is good to see you well after today's events. Tell me, how fares your shoulder? Is it anything I may assist with?"

As the battle began, so too does it end - quickly, in one word. The rebels are chased away, the chaos dispelled, and were it not for a few damaged shops that hadn't been cleaned up just yet, as well as the now dull pain in his shoulder, he might be forgiven for thinking the whole thing wasn't even real.

But Arion knows better than that. Their struggle was very real, and having taken enough care of himself for now, he directs his steps outside once more, intending to find and check on his new allies.

There's the dragon-looking lad, still looking a little too pale for Arion's liking. He notices the prince in turn and approaches, so it's natural to direct attention to him. "Arion, yes. No need for formalities," he clarifies, waving his hand lightly. "And you were... Sai, correct?" When the question is posed, he subconsciously rubs lightly at the back of his shoulder, where the injury previously was. "I'm alright, thank you. I got myself healed, but I'm also... sturdier than I look." That's one way to say experienced, but it'll do.

Sai has flipped through his inventory list a few too many times; the ink has smudged from its place on the paper and disappears to the pads of his gloves. He cannot rightly explain why he has done this. He makes himself too busy to think about why. Something to replace it, he thinks. Something to replace it. So that I need not touch it again. Even the inside linings of his gloves turn his stomach, too similar to the waxy slip of a tome newly-opened for him to take with his eyes closed. But then there is the smell--too clean, the scent of sanitation. Burned there and cratered, having filled in the cut on his arm like the dirt packed into a grave; it's in his fingers. It's spread to his gloves, he's certain, and removing them will only force him to experience it again. It would be better to keep them on. He can hopefully return back to some semblance of normalcy if he deals with it long enough. He blinks out of his stupor when he hears a nearby voice, turning his head too far so that he must pull back. "Forgive me. I was thinking perhaps too hard," he chuckles, keeping his hands on the shelf of items he was observing. "It is... very kind of you to offer, but you needn't spend anything on myself." Whoever this philanthropist is, the proposal for supplementary funds is more kindness than Sai was expecting. The price tag for a staff peeks out at him among those of the skill scrolls and miscellany, and... well, if he were to do a little math, actually... no, he shouldn't... ahh, but he has already, and the price is actually somewhat achievable, there's just a small bit he needs... ... ... Sai coughs. He should not ask. "...Would I... May I, hum, be so bold as to, ahem. Request a small loan of 40 gold for a particular item...?" And yet.

"...Truly, it is of no hindrance to me." Bouncing up to his side with her hands clasped behind her back, she 'hmmed' and 'haaaed' at the selection herself. She hardly wanted to impose on him—perhaps if she appeared occupied, it would give him room to come to a conclusion himself. 50 gold here, 20 gold there—the labels impressed upon every customer a sign that the economy would still keep running even if castles came down in the foreground.

A cough has her cant her head in his direction, the brightest gleam collecting in her eyes. Yes? She coaxed, without saying a word.

"...Hehe! Yes—please, I insist. I used to traverse within an army structure that spoke not of how much gold or shares each had. And while I entirely understand concerns for privacy, the lack of pooling did curtail many a-strategy."

It's on her fingers—the warm slack of silk drawstrings, twined into braids. Her purse was loosened, and she was grateful for the opportunity. There was the privilege of having known two armies, hair standing on both arms as one dissipated and the other continued to walk on. To walk on until they learned of the world with blood beneath their nails and long palm lines ending where their mothers' had left off. Her hands were cleaner now, with the semblance of generosity when she had no room for it before.

40 gold, pressed into his gloved hands, was nothing at all today. But yesterday and yesterday before that, it would have been a hard-earned privilege to be giving at all.

The name exits his mouth, unexpected, while he sits in his classroom. He is only looking over the notes on lesson plans, attempting to figure out exactly what goes in to writing these… his eyelids droop slightly, unable to bear the monotonous unknown… when it comes to him in a snap, firecracker-popping him from drowsiness.

…Hm?

Why did he say that?

But his sudden bout of lucidity brings familiar sensations to his attention. There is someone here whom he knows, no, beyond that—someone he cares a great deal for. He does not know why she has come, nor when, but regardless of all the little things he rises from his seat with fervor that sends papers to the floor.

"Shea?"

He only needs his intuition to guide him. He whips through hallways as though possessed; though he skillfully dodges those walking to and fro, his wild movements draw confounded eyes. None of that matters! Sai would gladly make a fool of himself if it meant he could find her faster! If he could find her easier, if he could find her, if he could find her—!

And there she is.

"SHEA!"

It is unbecoming of a retainer to the Goddess to emote so strongly—as far as Sai's standards inform him. He will happily, however, break every single rule he holds himself to if his beloved sister, Shea, was involved. He rushes to her, stopping just short of ramming speed to take her into his arms. "My sister! When did you get here… and why? Blessed Naga above, to see you healthy and well…!"

She spent a lot of her day doing idle work. Her mind's worries silent as she kept it busy with what she had to do next, but she cannot lie to herself. The hint of loneliness crept up in her.

Shea was used to doing almost everything with her brother, and of course being this far away from home would eventually gnaw away her confidence that she had. She had be down all morning, look for busy work to eventually push past these feelings.

Perhaps people noticed, they looked over at her with sympathy clear in her eyes. She wasn't really looking for pity, but what does it matter, she cant control. There seemed to be some commotion down the hall, she didn't take any notice to it at first until the foot steps grew louder. Before Shea could even react, Sai had already pulled her in for a hug. The dragon, completely bamboozled by this situation was to stunned to speak.

Sai enjoys the moments in his days where he can simply stand outside. The warm sun upon his face, the soft grass that gently cradles his tail... an office cannot provide these comforts no matter how hard one may try.

The courtyard has granted him a lovely thirty minutes of what can truthfully be called sunning, but his pocket watch informs him that he cannot afford to spare much more time. At the moment when he begins his trek to return inside, he happens to notice someone moving in the same direction. The pair of them are rather close to the door, so... why, it would only be polite.

"Ah, do allow me." With a slight bow of the head and a gentle crinkle of eyes, Sai increases his pace in a burst to pull open the door for the incoming faculty. A kind hand gestures towards the hall. "After you."

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 > open: your muse opening a door for mine.

It had been a long time—over a thousand years, to be exact—since Rafal last acquainted with the company of another dragon he didn't already know or wasn't meant to kill. Nil, Nel, Zelestia, Alear, and Lumera, then Alear again, contrasted with countless siblings forgotten or never unearthed, or simply slain. Many of them by his own hand.

Fell Dragons were born in pairs of twins yet lose those twins eventually; they flock within highly competitive clusters culled by their own ranks. They kill for jealousy, for dominance, because they know no other way. It is inherently unusual for his kind to coexist with other dragons, but over time Rafal has learned to - because Nel and the Divine Dragon have shown the way. But the price of such a deathlike life as he has lived is caution. Rafal cannot help his tension at the proximity of a green-eyed stranger and forces himself to relax as they walk. Then as he is assisted.

There's no mistaking the magical signature they dragons own; if the secular tones of man are as woodwork and clay, then ancient dragons are as sea salt and sulfur and burning resin - pungent and unmistakable. And if he thought to speak nothing to this unmistakable, unnamed dragon, he is given no choice but to as the door flares open.

"You are a dragon," Rafal stops and states bluntly in response to the robed man's cordial gesture. Being dragon is no sin, he reminds himself, as slit pupils work to dilate. The body is honest, as much offensive; a rival sibling may very well take Rafal's initial reaction as challenge. "Those horns—you are a Mage Dragon? No, there is a purity about your presence. Perhaps, Divine? You are certainly not Fell."

Not Mage. Not Fell. Somehow, the fact is reassuring; he has had more than his fill of Fell Dragon enemies. Mage Dragons suit his tastes none, either. The only misgiving? There is a certain resemblance, a distasteful and selfsame kindness, between this kind-looking layman and a naive divinity in his acquaintance.

"My name is Sai, and I have been newly brought in as a Faith professor. I have not been here for more than a few days." As his free hand folds behind his back, the other--bearing a small plate of warm chocolate biscuits--stays its place. "While I hadn't the time to introduce myself to the staff and faculty as of late, I had overheard that today was your birthday. What I bring is not much... but they are fresh from the oven."

His voice floats upward, a flower bud's smile settling on his face. "I hope that we might get to know each other soon. Until then, may you have a happy birthday."

"oh, hello." edain blinks, barely even glancing up at the horns on his head. such inhuman features like that had become so normal now that she had adjusted to living in the monastery.

"you're a fellow faith professor...?" she repeats if only to properly comprehend. the smile that follows is bright and excited as she claps her hands together. "to do something for a complete stranger... that is so kind of you! thank you." she can't help but grow excited meeting fellow clerics like her— no matter the experience they have with a staff.