#maquiscursed

"Are we fighting a losing battle?"

It's a dreary day outside. A grey, overcast sky has followed him from morn til' eve, always with the threat of rain that has yet to come. It's a fair representation of his current mood, a manifestation of the troubles brewing inside his head.

He looks out across the Court with a heavy gaze. Outside these walls, people will be heading home, the work day done. They will be sitting down to family meals, enjoying a chance to relax, and rest. There will be warm fires, soft beds waiting. What will they talk about, he wonders. The day to come tomorrow? Errands to run, chores to undertake? Gossip or news gathered at work or on the streets of Fontaine?

Will they whisper about the Melusines and the people who stand beside them-

He turns from the window, turning his back on the world beyond. Every day that passes, with every bitter opinion spat in his face, he feels more and more like he stands apart from it.

"Do you ever wonder if this is all in vain?" A hard gaze meets that of the Iudex - is he seeking reassurances, or a confirmation of his fears? Even he does not know. "It seems every time we take a step forward, we are pulled back three. I don't understand how Carole can remain so... so optimistic."

al-haitham: makes eye contact and, slowly, eats one of the treats. by himself.

Thoma hadn't remembered a time where that impish desire to just roam flourished so freely. To make pleasant and nostalgic notes of the many, many changes to familiar views.

To think the penultimate plan would have such a welcomed change all the same. Liyue had provided a boon never expected, but for each and every day, he couldn't help but be grateful form as a fond travel companion gets to devour these very views with him. From the perspective of the divine damsel, she'd get to see how much that emotion weighs as precious as gold upon his heart.

Being within the proud walls of Mondstadt, to see its naturally festive flare and creative whimsy dotting the streets alongside fine drink, part of Thoma couldn't help but feel like its a dream. After a welcomed, tearjerking (and frankly embarrassing) visit with his mother, it still left a forethought of confusion to drift within his mind.

"He.. Never made it back here either."

The value in this very connection is what allowed his explosive growth to what is seen today. At the same time, having it be that way forevermore was nowhere in his plans. As they remain by the outskirts of the Cat's Tail, a Mondstadt hashbrown within his hand, and a snack of Shenhe's own choice in her's, it's clear this one detail drew forth a feeling of complication.

Glancing towards her wintry visage, a sense of comfort swells, leading to those more difficult feelings to be better balanced as another grit filled bite is taken from his snack. "And while I miss him clearly... Just can't help but think of my ma's feelings Shenhe, that's her partner, someone she wanted to spend all of her days with." Thoma mentions. Despite the amiable warmth a family like theirs shared with no effort, it's clear that distance would be a waning tide.

"I wanted to bring them back together. Archons, its.." A low hiss follows as the honesty of his emotions were known.

"Feels like I just failed her somehow."

@maquiscursed

send me ‘👀’ for something my muse has said about yours to someone else / when they’re not around.

The teamwork of two brightest minds of the Akademiya certainly brings out the most intriguing of rumors between the common folk. They gossip and they giggle, or they gasp and they feel scandalized. They're still people and they're still fools no matter how highly academically they might stand. It's common knowledge Al-Haitham is the least teamwork friendly person to work with and Zarina's own stubborn approach to research is brought up by the community. Perhaps, that's why several scholars who couldn't defeat their curious would inquire Sokolova about working with the Scribe.

Zarina raises her eyebrow at the questions thrown at her, wondering when they've turned into such an energetic, chippery folk. Their eyes gleam with interest but also some concern. Aw, they seem to care about HER wellbeing so much.

Al-Haitham is so unfriendly, so brash, how can you work with him! Such common words are spoken in flurries at her when her office is invaded by several scholars.

"Al-Haitham is quite a wonderful young man," she says, watching the expressions on the intruders change from concern to either deeper concern, to relief, to doubt, to horror. They all reacted so differently, but before anyone could speak a word, Sokolova lifts her hand to ask them to be quiet. "He's quiet, diligent and does his job as he needs to. He also makes sure we stay on top and do not stay working overtime. I believe, such efficiency is good, wouldn't you say? It's also been a while since I've heard such straightforward back and forths during research. Never have my ideas been shot down so fast solely for the sake of cutting down time."

—But he is so...

"Scary?" She asks, a sly smirk appearing on silverette's lips.

—N-no! He just doesn't seem like someone who would work well with you.

"Ow, that hurts, mind you!" There's laughter in the air to alleviate the awkwardness. "To your surprise, I adjust to my teammate's moods and behaviors to make the job easier. Though, I do think Al-Haitham will avoid me after this project is done."

Questions looks are shared.

—Miss Sokolova, please don't tell us...

"I do like to tease, alright? Just one expression from him would be worth it! I do my job, alright. I just want one change from the rock-face stoic handsomness."

—Don't tell me you also make questionable remarks about his appearance.

"Who do you take me for?!"

—A flirtatious individual...

"Well, yeah, but I only asked about his biceps..."

—MISS SOKOLOVA, WE TALKED ABOUT THIS! WE THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN HITTING ON A SCRIBE OF ALL PEOPLE!

"I DIDN'T HIT ON HIM! IT WAS A JOKE!" A second of silence. "And what do you mean better than that?! Can't I appreciate a pretty person?!"

—This is why Sage Naphis told us to keep an eye on you...

"Wow. Betrayed."

—Maybe the Scribe really IS the losing side here... I feel bad now.

"Aaaaalright, everyone, get the hell out."

❝ it doesn't taste like anything.  ❞ what? he doesn't see the appeal.

"It was..."

There's an amused lilt to the ancient god's tone as arms fold across his chest and he stares at the waters of Fontaine beside the other. How strange it is that two creatures so old, who belong to a world of gods and monsters, have now found place within this human-led one. Stranger still that Osial has managed to forfit his pride long enough to talk to Neuvillette once more, but he has come to understand in his new guise - thanks to an old friend turned enemy turned friend again - that there is strength in reconcilliation, in defeat, in bearing one's weaknesses with pride. Behind that amusement, however, lies something heavier, something understanding and empathising with the creature below the depths, sealed temporarily. His face turns serious once more as his gaze drifts from the waters to meet the Iudex's own.

"There was never a world in which rage could be contained. Have we not learnt from the past?"

He speaks of himself, of course. His rage was contained for millennia, writhing and raging as he was held beneath the weight of Morax's spears, the hate allowed to fester as he was left with nought but his rage and bitterness, letting it seep into the land above him, the minds that dared linger in his destroyed domain. And when freedom had come, it had come with a rush, a desire to burn and scorch and devestate with no care for the cost to humans or himself. He had simply wanted the wretched world to drown.

"There will be a time when no seal will hold back that which lies in the deep. And then Fontaine will have to choose..." He pauses, sighing. "To be consumed, to defend and destroy or to defeat and rehabilitate... there is no easy path." Though he had taken the latter, rehabilitated into a life where he has a new name and job, a purpose within this world and a chance to reminisce about days of old, there had been times when he had simply wanted to hiss and destroy and forget about belonging. When he still felt entitled to the domain he had once had.

"And you will have to bear witness, as he did, and decide how you intend to act as well." It is strange how the story parallels his own so, with that which lies beneath feeling a similar cocktail of emotions to he and Neuvillette resembling the role Morax had taken in his fate, with the option to choose to find a better way or be the final action that decides the fate of events.

A semblance of a ghost's caress was the only other sign of life aside herself amidst these ruins of a home, their home, that had long since been lost, perished, and abandoned. And it had been the second time that she'd succumbed to it, this— chill that claimed her spine as it did. Was it the echo of the life that once built the paths and buildings that once surrounded her where she stood, that caused the ache that resonated so vehemently within her chest? Memories of a sigh at a day's end, and memories of a smile at the next's beginning. Memories, they were memories, and so little more than that now.

The leaves beneath her feet, bare still as they were so long ago, crunched as she kneeled amidst them as if she were no less than a kindred spirit. And when the tips of her fingers brushed them aside, and touched the soil beneath— perhaps only the most attentive of mortal gazes, or an eye much too divine, could perceive the flecks that seemed to hover and sink into her skin one by one, as if in an instinct ever innate, dust and ash beckoned to return to where, and to who, they always belonged. The sigh it had drawn from her was bare, and unlikely mortal in its sound when it escaped the lips that were so far from any such human concepts, as it existed within a smile, one much too bittersweet.