#ruudra

Full Name: Rudovan / Ruudra Gender and Sexuality: Male / Asexual Pronouns: He / His Ethnicity/Species: Draenei Birthplace and Birthdate: The Genedar / Has no idea Guilty Pleasures: Water pranks, swimming, spoiling children. Phobias: Heights. What They Would Be Famous For: He’s already famous for his Brawling career! What They Would Get Arrested For: Assault, property damage, disturbing the peace. All things people have tried to arrest him for. OC You Ship Them With: He’s grown soft for the lil’ human Lune. OC Most Likely To Murder Them: I don’t know about murder, but several would certainly like to take cracks at him. Like Veronar, and Sarynth. Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Nature Documentaries. Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Lewd, smutty things. Talents and/or Powers: He’s a talented water shaman (and at least familiar with the rest of the elements) and incredibly swole besides. Also blacksmithing to a degree, and fairly intelligent on subjects you wouldn’t readily expect. Why Someone Might Love Them: Once past... most of his personality, one can get glimpses of an over protective, soft-hearted man. Someone who indulges those he’s taken under his wing, will put himself in harms way for them, and buys cake for little orphans. Why Someone Might Hate Them: Antagonistic, argumentative, quick to offend. He’s extremely opinionated on subjects he’s versed in, and will fight you over them. His anger is easily earned, being surly and stand-offish by nature, and he’s more than willing to use his fists to settle disputes. How They Change: Slowly but surely finding he doesn’t have to keep waiting for the inevitable march of death, and can actually chose to live.

Felenae’s left panting, having screamed and cried herself hoarse, looking around her new apartment. Ink and paint drips from the walls and ceiling, a technicolor nightmare constructed of thrown and shattered bottles, and her own hand and fist-prints. An empty bottle had long since rolled off into one corner, to join the shattered mess of glass that borders the walls of her room.

She exhales slowly, her hands shaking as she slides down onto the floor to observe the handiwork of her much-deserved meltdown. She looks down to her hands, seeing the one that had cupped a lover’s cheek not three mornings ago, and pulled her down into a kiss.

Just ever so slightly higher up her arm, a purple sleeve. Checkered in broad squares of lighter and darker, and spattered with paint. Her mind drifts to another, a woman who had stolen her heart in a matter of days, and had -no- idea. But also, a friend, and a dear one.

She blinks, still feeling his arms so gently wrapped around her waist, taking care with his great strength. Still feeling the weight of his confession to her, and left with no idea of what to do with it.

She looks back out across her new room with a heavy sigh, still heartsick and overwhelmed. She looks up to her walls, all of their names written there in a rainbow of ink in a personal shorthand of hers, usually meant for journaling. At least, if any of them saw it, they wouldn’t know it.

“What a mess.” She closes her eyes, letting the blessed numbness of a bottle of Gilnean whiskey wash over her a little more fully, though not enough to stop her to feel all three of them, pulling at her heart in their own ways.

-to ruudra from lune

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It was a rare thing, finding or receiving things specifically addressed to him. Even rarer still was when what he received happened to be something other than an invitation to compete in yet another back alley grudge pit fight. Or payment for said grudge match.

This little folded piece of parchment, slipped beside him on the hearth while he was sleeping, certainly didn’t fit into either of those usual situations. Ruudra sat staring at the... drawing for several long minutes upon discovering it, brows raised and confusion pursing his lips.

The one in the middle was the draenei himself, easily enough. To the left was Lune, given away by the letter helpfully printed on his shirt. The woman to the right, though, gave him pause. ‘R’... Rose? That was the only human he knew with a name that began with ‘R.’ 

‘Best friends... four ever?’ Forever? Ruudra blinked. Was it common practice to replace words with numbers? He’d never seen it done before, so perhaps it was a special quirk of the... artist. Not to mention ‘forever’ was a very strong word to use, for a race as short lived as humans.

At least he needn’t worry about who had drawn it. It was obviously from the little Bird. It said as much. Although, the niggling question of why tickled just behind the ears. Was this sort of thing exchanged between humans to show... what? Gratitude? 

Whatever the case may be, he could recognize an attempt at a congenial gesture when he saw one. Folding it back into a neat little square, Ruudra tucked it behind his breastplate to be taken back to his room in the city. Where he would smooth it out and hang it upon his wall, beside the other artwork gifted to him.

Cascading dark over mountains, shaded by stunted trees and constant twilight, a waterfall whispers. Falling beside a long abandoned memorial, a grave for some short lived mortal, the water clouds and swirls. A stream unfit for its station, dripping impossibly slow through rotten limbs and over another cliff face. The display, if it could even be called something so pointed, was dismal and ever-lasting.

Sathea sighs, silent and soft. Lips slightly parted on the gentlest of smiles, ears laid back lazy and tired. Less exhausted than the last year had wrought, though. This was only the general, vaguely pleasant, ache of good honest work. No stress headaches, no constant bone chilling worry. She had someone special to thank for that, didn't she? Dim silver pools dance across the ruined tower that had served as their camp, brightening once they pause on broad shoulders. Hunched as he sorts through his notes, tail coiling against ivory stone as he concentrates, fingers deft and impossibly light against aged parchment. Another contented exhale, eyes slipping shut to see other things. Those arms, blue instead of the expected violet, wrapped around her waist, holding her close to his chest. While her own curl around a bundle that cooes and giggles. Her smile and his eyes...

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There is a very special tailoring shop, with a view of the canel along the outer edge of the trade district. Although one wouldn't assume it was anything out of the ordinary. It has a little sign, and a little bell over the entrance, and two large windows to show case the latest fashions. The woman behind the counter always smiles and asks how-do-you-dos to every patron who chimes through the door. A typical store, full of typical things. Talarae drags a lithe finger tip down smudged glass, just over the delicate gold pattern work on the newest gown hung on display. How many hours had it taken, for that particular seam? They smiled. Two and a half, if memory serves. Turning away before their pause could be noticed by the giddy little girl dragging her mother toward the same display, they went about the rest of their day with a secret, special smile.

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