#revantdailes

Was… He suddenly a leaning post? He had no complaints about the whole ordeal, it was just strange. He was either suddenly a post, or something else that drew people to him. He would not object to the company, and would only shift once Reno’s weight was against him. “They Turk.” he said casually, turning his head to glance at him. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

revantdailes replied to your post: OKAY  ALL  OFFFFF YOUUUU&nbs...

Lookin’ good c:

              Forsooth, cessation of turmoil didst enthral ye. Nares wert the proxy for an ephemeral breath to be exhaled, rejected from the body if a spectre wast one who couldst gasp for air at all. Bound to that eupnea wast, too, the dolor, the rue and lamentation; in the shedding of such atrocities rose the severed bonds of duty. No longer wast Cetran bone nor blood needed upon Gaian loam. This fallen angel--or whichever sobriquet he laid upon himself in the lieu of infamous appellation bequeathed--true to his name wast he; shattered by the adamant alacrity hailing from AVALANCHE members of yore, twice now conquered by those several eco-terrorists.

Now benumbed wert ye to the ❝Thankyou❞ one bartender didst bestow. So autarchial wast the Lifestream, so segregated from the lives of the living souls below, no words couldst fully pervade the portcullis which proclaimed the two spheres mutually exclusive from one another. What wast imparted ne'er transcended susurration; what glissaded, groping for one to listen to its sonance, wast feeble in itself. And so, tranquil sorrow swept o'er thee like a cancer doth grow, realization of the separation taking hold of the mind.

No threats loomed aloft, crafted by iniquitous metacarpi, kin to those thy killer hadst borne--the ones that graced the hilt of an adamantine blade, pierced thine emanating spirit and lured ye to a foretold Promised Land; the holy terrain which a company lost in the past yearned to reach, instead occupied by thee. Fie, treacherous reveries, who doth infect the wandering rays of thought. Condemned to the lucidity of capitulum, thou art; invocation of morose desires asphyxiated by their disuse. 

In the advent of this purge, repudiation of retrospection encroaching, summoned the awakening of a corporeal memory. Visceral gesticulation didst follow, claimed wast the form of one imbrued with erstwhile affection ye hadst once purveyed.

             A thousand days squandered, merely awaiting in vain for the return of one single SOLDIER. Beseech ye, emotions which shan't percolate again, exeunt like the actor he wast; exeunt and replicate the apex of the act once shared by thou. Soliloquies punctuated by the name of he before thine eyne, markèd by onyx ocelli which durst linger along the fantastical phantasm, no longer reach an orifice to solicit them. 

Spake thee, with evanescent words, in the denouement. ❝Why does everyone keep calling me their mother lately?❞ sain whilst overwrought by the burdens of concern, directed strictly to the body of a pseudo-SOLDIER. This--an epoch of placidity--allotted thee a reprise, a second prelude wherein two departed hearts could, perchance, mend what one hadst deemed insanable. 

❝Zack,❞ Fettered by ligature, unbreakable withal. Bestowed wert ye with carmine taenioid, and shed it not thou didst. Yet this toska, this lítost felt midst the contents of a heaving breast proved to be myriad. The vision of one so embedded in whilom fantasies now presented afore thee. The curtain hath raised, and a preface begun? A cancrine tale, perhaps, ramate history engraving it. Thitherward ambulate, and thou canst exonerate him of fleeting charges; speak, memory, for ye art gifted the time to, and frivol not its precious value with prodigal speech. Let not these tears be seen upon the surface; wound the heart, but wear it not on thy sleeve. ❝You're here.❞

Commence, the inquiry that stabbed and bit at thee until vocal submission wast enforced. ❝Why?❞

        --Too forward, mayhaps; tactless once again, how typical. Which sickle hadst seized his life? Cleaved body from soul and sent the latter to this sanctum? Thou know naught whereof this hammer that had fallen, e'en with this Cetran vexation no information wast begotten by ye. ❝I mean--I'm very glad to see you. Even though you were there during the whole thing, but....❞

Alabaster coerces the lower lip into retrograde gait, if only for a second during the pause taken betwixt sentiments. Duality of the brows remains unmarred during the passage in which they shift toward one another, consternation sheathing the visage of she who hadst become speaker. ❝It's all over now, I think. We can finally...have a moment.❞

Sin married with steel. Aye-- that is Edge. The broken metropolis where the echoes of ruin render betwixt the pylons and pilasters of mankind, gargantuan supports that poised themselves like totems, mere epitaphs of the carnage that transpired in years gone. These emblems were but mere scraps, gathered by the muddy palms of lost children in their hopes to afford a meal for the night, seeking refuge neath the accursed, recycled boards of Shinra's olden stockades for the burrows that linger are far too packed even for a babe. Iron flares like airy grains from the sodden surface of turbid rows, metallurgic in nature, enclosing all within its cold grasp and barely bestowing an ounce of protection. Bulwarks built by knaves, uncaring to the symbolizations that streak every bolt and pin with the memoirs of a tyrannical power, living within the walls painted by the masked blood of a forgotten nation. How could one stand to be among this? To be reminded of their grief gone, exposing themselves to the years of suffering that profile these towers of archaic dominion, latching onto some false hope that they can find some sort of solace from the remnants of their abusers.

  Edge is sickening. Why am I here?

He aimlessly wanders; a direction crafted by the auric rays of She whom slumbered in emerald groves below the obsidian crust of Gaia, incorporeal but there in all her magnificence. Pearl luminescence that had banished the ailment that struck banoran tan white; he saunters bereft of the blighted shackles that had bound him to chaotic will, liberated by the goodness that blanched irises almost lost to the abyss. Visibly, he is free. Free of the mania that vamped his screams, that de colourized his fire to the ghastly hearth it had become, adopting a faith that sprung forth like a hand fated to pull him into the light. He hadn't known of this shelters construction. Off-course within the lanes of sleep, a dreamland that had enamoured him for three years before the earth quaked and wished him awake, and from then on he had been exposed to a myriad of emotions, features and phenomenal constructions that had been erected from the fragments of a world he terrorized prior.

  No, it's still there. He mused.

A brief visit it was to be, but even then, he was overcome with a multitude of desires and despairs that sought to own him within the bustling symphony of unnamed voices. He could feel the eyes of the wary 'pon his back, tracing the lines of war that melted leather at their pointed corners; both sickened and perturbed by the sheer beating his wear garnered. Straps and sashes that were never to be there, only to replace something that once was. Faded reds that were once a total blaring rose; Aye-- his semblance was dull, troubled by the uncounted sins, the heaping enormities, and his stare would dissolve with every passerby that managed to haul ultramarine to them. It was a constant battle between if they looked with nostalgia or with just mere intrigue, and also, whether or not the balladist was thankful for their attention or not.

  No one has looked at me for years.

Seventh Heaven had been his location for several moments, albeit on the outskirts of its anointed stance on the street, reluctant to treat the flaxen lad within with the truth that fluttered between the echelons of cobbles and rumour like a raven of ill-omen. Eyes resemble the dragon's ire that blared from the lofty peaks of Nibel's vales; focused on the door, unmoving. Beryl is illumined by both the work of the Devil and also the Divine, a concoction of synthetic prowess and granted virtue that whorl back to their lulling, wearisome state. Not today, he concludes. And so cinnamon snaps the air, ensnaring the senses of those whom passed by in his theatrical pivot, a romantic even in the end of all things and in every gesture he will perform. Graceful feats are harnessed, continued, when he opts to disappear into the scampering horde akin to a fox absconding into the stirring dales of tall flora, unbeknownst to those whom he bumped a pauldron against, or to those whom twisted their hide to shadow the fiery trail he left.

So... a newbie.

In any ordinary circumstances, a presence of new faces would not have stirred from this man any forms of reaction. It seemed to be one of those unbidden truths within this sterilized compound where white coated men worked their woes on other men, that the best way to retain one's sanity still was first not to care. Faces came, they went. What's the differences when for him, they all sang the same pretty scream? It should not have mattered, yet, as carmine oculis were to prance past the two huddling forms where the former was vehemently whispering his encouragement to his other even when it was much apparent that the blond in his arms could not possibly hear, something just urged this man to stop and to peer past the thick column of glass by which we were separated.

What had changed?

Perhaps it was for the fact that he still cared.

"Leave it. It's obvious he didn't hear you."

you gotta manually change the html because Tumblr’s doing an update. At the beginning change it to https://31. then the rest of what should already be there.

(( ooohhh thanks for the tip!