#manigfeald

“thanatos, you visit the world of the living regularly... if you had to pick, would you prefer living here or up there?”

     solus hitches a breath, head buzzing but attention focused on the wooden chair before him. it’s a difficult process, one that takes every onze of his concentration--one hand firmly planted on the table before him, the other struggling to hold the chair steady. his torso is a roadmap of pain, pale skin blotched black and green with bandages firmly wrapped around his ribs and a portion of his neck.

     ‘ we aren’t supposed to do anything, ’ he grinds out like salt against gravel, ‘krile will make our injuries worse should we try.’ he growls out a groan, but it’s quick to switch to a whimpering whine as he eases himself down into the chair across from his counterpart, not bothering to hide his anguish, ‘ aaahahaha, pain-- ’ it’s a good minute or so before he’s able to relax, and he places his elbows on the surface of the table that separates them, letting his head rest between his hands, ‘ ...need food... i hope krile hurries with whatever it is she’s cookin’ up... ’ preferrably not archon loaf.

(    🌺    )             WHAT    ?    

SURE,   THEY COULD UNDERSTAND    if the ascian meant that he knew who they were in terms of being    the warrior of light    (    or    ‘   the annoyance    ‘    in terms of messing with their plans    .  .    )     but the implication that he    KNEW    who they were    ;    especially in some    IMPLICATED DEEPER FASHION    .  . 

HE’D LOST THEM.

THOUGH THEY COULD    naught deny that the others’ soul colour felt familiar to them,   oddly comforting as their    heterochromatic    violet eyes widen somewhat as their head tilts.   a finger taps at their chin while a mischievous smile sat ‘pon    THE VEENA’S LIPS.

amaya raises their hand just a little, enough to wrap their fingers around hades as they guide him further until they reach a clearing. a house stands there and if it had not been for the grass growing too high, the broken windows and other signs that the only inhabitant was nature itself, one could nearly think that its human owners would return at any moment... there were still chairs outside, now broken toys scattered around the porch and remains of fabrics on a string implied that laundry had been hanging there.

the raen keeps silent for a little, eyes wandering around the place before settling onto the ancient by their side. “...I was born here.”

“nobody else claimed this land and hien agreed that I could have it again.” they let go of hades hand and walk towards the house, a hand now resting on the old wood. “I wanted to ask if you would help me rebuild it - for the both of us -” though amaya is aware that showing him this would reveal even more of the loss they endured under garlemald’s occupation, amaya did not mean the gesture as punishment - but simply as a sign of trust. “so what do you say? are you in? it might be quite a bit of work but I think it would be worth it...”

“I do not dislike work - I just disliked the one father gave to me. now stop being fussy and give me your scroll. you clearly need to rest hypnos, I can take over for a little.”

RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS. ↪ accepting.

❝ unlike you, i don't need to COMPENSATE for sum'thin' by makin' my pokémon BIGGER. ❞ she was fully being arrogant; back straight and hands in her pockets, keeping her head high with that SMUG SMILE on her face. ❝ 's called TRAINING. maybe you should try it. ❞

❝ or maybe you still need BABY WHEELS to ride with the pros. ❞ strelitzia's pokéball bounces carelessly in her hand, before stopping. ❝ i'll take you on. NO DYNAMAXING. i'll even bet dinner on it. ❞

RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS. ↪ accepting.

❝ my hero, ❞ strelitzia bats her eyelashes, feet dangling in the waters of the hero's pool with a few gentle splashes. SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE'S DOING, being a menace as usual, and with the look she's giving him, she thinks that acting cute and coy is gonna get her out of her mess.

IT MIGHT. and if it doesn't, at least this is fun. ❝ c'mon SHORTCAKE, you ain't even a lil' bit cold ? ❞ literally out there wearing nothing but a light jacket, hips exposed to the cold circhester winds. ❝ just be glad it's still light out, or i woulda dipped in there from head to toe. ❞

i forgot the meme | @manigfeald

Sunlight pierces through the foliage of the thin branches of white-barked, black-striped trees, the grass vivid and lively, accounting for the prickling nettles and bindweeds dotting across the ground. Cuckoo cries reverberate through the placid woodlands, yet nothing stirs in the forest beyond the faded groans of a tumbled man lying on the ground.

Minutes? Hours? Time is a fleeting concept, like the sensation of touch and general awareness. All the man seemed to be cognizant of was the soft grass bed and a sharp pain shooting down his neck.

At least, that is what Sophie concludes in finding him in such a state of shambles. With one foot leading, she stumbles down the dirt ditch with her hands balled in the air, trying to maintain balance.

In a short sprint, the seamstress hurries to the fallen man's side. In haste, the grass underneath her footfalls crumples. She sharply halts at this side, finally hunched over with her hands on her knees, her eyes wide.

Haggard breaths leave the woman whose hands rest on her knees, light scratches and dirt across her reddened cheeks. Tresses of copper locks displace from their braid, spilling over her face. Brambles raked and bit at the ends of her gray skirt, leaving stray and wee tears around the hem.

"Layle, thank God," Sophie brushes her bangs back, keeping them away from sticking to her forehead. Onto one knee, she plummets down to the earth, marred hands cupping his face. Splayed fingers brush his messy, sandy locks from his eyes, maneuvering his head side to side.

"You were reported missing for some hours," the woman begins, reaching into her apron pocket and shuffling to locate something. "Off you went by yourself without the caravan, and Mister Keiss had only begun to question where you were."

As Layle croaks his first words, Sophie's hand jolts to a halt. Once and twice, she dryly blinks as her eyes trail back to the mouth of the man who complained in mid-concussion.

Her brows lowered and her eyes narrowed, hand now resting on top of her thigh.  The audacity of this man--!

As she gradually careens forward, the sun rays trace over the red-golden locks, with even whisks of a strange silver in them. Her index finger taps against her leg, mouth open without any words at her disposal.

After a well-deserved stare, she finally gathered her words. "They were not supposed to, but they figured they had to."

"Following the wind to whichever desire the zephyrs guide you to will surely be the end of you!" She lets out of breath of exasperation.

"What would have happened if no one knew where you were going and you were stranded and immobile in the middle of nowhere, hm?" Hand now flat, she waves it around. "Return to your feet and resume as if nothing happened? Miraculously recover by yourself?!"

Reprimand after reprimand, her hands finally return to holding his face. Left cheek to right cheek, she murmurs and fusses under her breath. Lips tuck into her mouth as she finally looks to his forehead. She hooks her index finger, barely touching it.

As she retracts it back, the back of her finger is tinted with a deep red color.