#shysweethellhound

@shysweet-hellhound​: Beleg may be speed dating but then surprise surprise, Iskra is there, and she's here to steal some of the free cake. Romance doesn't even enter into it, it's just really good cake. 

@shysweet-hellhound

Doth he snort brusque, yea, and nearly close enough to turn his spying gait into a opened flame from the delicate, gossiping crowd. Thus of Orlais and the glittering jewels hung from blood-let necks and white ears; thus shorn of poetic hair and gleaming with beaming teeth and the ringlets of rubies and sapphire and emeralds from thin-boned hands. The ring of the Wood gleams from Roland’s own eyes, yea, as his grin is feral and fox-tooth’d, and caught within the snare of a simple, green mask.

“Thou art close-minded and unimaginative,” whispers he, thus to point her audacity of the lack of an Imagination. He gestures with his expression, thus: to the very glitter of Moon-kissed jewelry. “See there, what hangs from bared throats and inviting hands? Dost thou naught hath the urge to snatch?” And doth his eyebrows bounce in thrice, in congruency with his peaking teeth.

@shysweet-hellhound

‘Twere his Plan to gift the littlest Lady Josefin her own lute ‘pon their camaraderic Nature, and to hath her learn and to learn with him the melodic tunes of duets, the concepts of spoken Sonnets, and the Like.

‘Tweren’t the footnote of this Plan to hath her incredible exuberance and giddy gladness! and his face warms from the press of her thankful kiss. Doth he laugh high and bright in rhythmic harmony with her voice, and blush all the way up to his pointed ears! “Merry am I thou art pleased! I thank thee!”

@shysweet-hellhound

Asleep in the Library of the multitudes of Faery lore, written history of the crawling apes come up from the Primordial ooze, and the chants of distant Worlds is Roland slumped and cradled in the corner of the high Tower, safe and quiet beside an opened window.

The wind from the gauzy curtains trails ‘long his face and wisps the clouds of a peaceful serenity, and dost Roland’s expression reflect. His is dozing and careful, and doth his eyelashes flutter by the sweetest warmth of a kiss ‘pon his temple, and doth he blink awake.

@shysweet-hellhound

Near the toilets of this high Ball--- with the negation of the true affinity for toiletries as coiffing hair or readjusting a bonnet or a bustiere in the midst of High Faery Society--- doth Roland reapply the bottom lids of his glittering eyeliner; making amusing expressions and drawn his masculine face long to acquire the perfect shape to his re-affixed Wing.

He starts and ‘tis near ruined his blade of a silvery line, the scent of green and chlorophyllic blood to the perfection of his sculpted, handsome features. And dost he whip his head by pure instinct, and find the Queen within these private halls.

He guffaws embarrassedly. “I thank thee, Highness! Thou didst gift me a stupendous fright!”

In a broken country there is never time to rest for the righteous person. A system, an infrastructure, an economy and overall the trust and hearts of people needed to be repaired or even be built up from nothing. And so Bryce slaved away over papers and plans, over numbers and complains. 

The few times he allowed himself to rest was when his wife visited him to bring him freshly brewed tea or her attempts at baking. It was also one of the few times he found himself smiling and forget his woes. 

Another splendid thing was coming up. The first moon festival was soon to be held for the first time in many years again. And so Highever would have many visitors that’d bring joy and hopefully coins.

His door opened, and as he looked up a smile drew upon his lips.

           ❝ I was just now thinking of you... ❞        he confessed and gently pushed his papers and parchments aside.