#lordspeaker

i fail to understand how purely semantic details might change the categorization so profoundly.

You Are A Twink

He lifts Aymeric up effortlessly, tossing him up in the air a few feet for good measure. He doesn’t seem winded at all by this, actually.

fenris has come to the temporary culinary stalls set along the star trail in search of simpler pleasures. food from the free marches isn’t particularly memorable, and so the possibility of a stall from home doesn’t quite pique his interest. instead, he is on the hunt for any one carrying fruit among their offerings. 

he thinks that it may be a bit indulgent of him, but he hasn’t had fresh fruit in a while. apples are his long-standing favorite.

attendees are sparse, so one individual stands out as familiar. it’s hazy, but the warrior recalls the old conflict, and the aid of an elvhen stranger.

archimedes ward is home to several street musicians — those that use old heirloom instruments and those that turn everyday objects into mediums for song. there is one pair in particular that corvo visits most commonly on his wanderings of the ward; she has a warbling fiddle and he carries a lyre, and together they play songs that remind him of home. not dunwall, but karnaca.

some time had passed since the disturbance in cotes. perhaps a week, he could not be sure. time was not in his best interests, at least nothing beyond the mark of the sun within the heavens and the freckling of stars in that sun’s momentary absence. but, he sensed that same strength. as if standing far too close to a river of molten, running lava, the heat washed over him and he could not deny its warmth. 

it had led him there, down between the border of cotes and golden, betwixt two visually appealing places as per the opinions of the masses, at least. caught within walls, sephiroth understood that this brand of freedom was truly just that; a figment of imagination for all whom wished to believe it. though most of the island was constructed and not at all broken and abandoned, there were pieces that were reminiscent of midgar and its frailty. homes left empty, coated with a layer of dust but otherwise untouched. there were churches, graveyards seemingly devoid of tombs, gardens left to overgrow thus nature commanded her space. 

but it was there, as snow had begun to litter the broken brick of a misplaced chapel, that sephiroth happened upon aymeric de borel. 

far taller than most he had met, the almost ethereal stranger occupying the snow-glazed venue was difficult to miss. he stood out, as the moon ought even on a night laden with heavy, dark clouds. as sephiroth approached, his shadow grew to swallow the stranger whole, his clothing darkened by the grey which sought to envelope him despite the difference in their heights. he waited, just for a moment, before tearing through that ambient silence with the low and patient roll of his voice. 

“ i have spent a lifetime familiar with death; you reek of it. “ 

he paused. the winds whistled a haunting, chilling tone and then the son of jenova moved. he took to walking around the back of the stranger, only to stand before him, where the thin trails of light through the broken mosaic glass painted him holier than it seemed possible. an omen of death, his single wing shrouded in the shade of night folded, as he crossed his arms before his chest. upon the freshly fallen snow a few black feathers nestled but nothing else stirred. the stranger, a delicate face framed by curls of rich black, was certainly one to remember. so unlike the many human faces he had encountered, this other was perhaps what many would consider beautiful.

May as well try. He did say something about familiarity with mages all the way back.

TO:@lordspeaker

FROM: RIDER

>>There was a substantially large mana flux a few weeks back.

“You’d think in a world so used to people from different worlds, the customs wouldn’t have have so much whiplash,” He grumbled to no one in particular, taking a swig of his sake. The Nohrians had their fair of noble infighting--certainly nobles were just predisposed to fighting with each other. (It sounded pessimistic to believe, but in a position of power and seeing how people grabbed for it, then maybe) Still, it made this holiday rather vexing, as he’d had enough fighting for his affection. For once, he just wanted to let it rest. “Or are most nobles interested in seeking attention?”

     She was honestly rather unsure of how to broach the topic. Even approaching Aymeric, a man she had never formally known back in Ishgard, seemed rather out of place for her to do, let alone bringing up her concerns. Yet she knew no better party to parley with, as he seemed to be the one person she knew that Yotsuyu let in even by the smallest of margins. That didn’t exactly inspire much hope, but hope she must for her concerns grew out of hand, and worrying did her not an ounce of good. And, well... she couldn’t very well ask Yotsuyu herself. 

     No, by now Ysayle had learned that Yotsuyu was far from being particularly keen on divulging her stories and secrets to Ysayle. She could pry through her memories if she truly wished, but that she wished not. Often were her visions a curse as much as a gift- and mostly they were involuntary. To use them at will, when she could force such an occurrence- well it was simply disrespectful. She cared to respect Yotsuyu, as much as she could. She’d had enough visions of her life already, seeing her transformation, her pain, and flashes of a rather testy, unpleasant looking boy. 

     Asking Aymeric seemed her best option, the only option that she was willing to utilize at this time. She’d used her phone, asked him to her house for tea under some pretense or another- she hadn’t particularly cared what he believed, so long as he agreed. So when he arrived, and she let him in to then swiftly lead him to the dining room, picking up the tea kettle on the way, she didn’t make use of much formality. He was already here. No, she rather poured two teacups out for the two of them and spoke once she had passed his cup over.

Living with another individual for months at a time with little significant conversation is one of those awkward things that’s rather difficult to do. Really, Wolf isn’t sure how she’s pulled it off, though she had spent time away, sleeping over at Liquid’s when her pneumonia had flared up once again. However, this isn’t one of those times, and she’s half asleep, drinking instant coffee at four in the morning when she and Aymeric make brief eye contact. 

“Hi.” She offers in a low voice, pausing to take a long sip of the bitter brew, ignoring the taste in favor of the energy it offers. With her plans to go jogging at some point to shake off her sleeplessness, she’ll need it. “Why are you up?” It’s either unusual, or she hasn’t been paying attention.