ā-- eh? ah...ā
heās a bit taken aback. and pleased. and clearly a little too affected by compliments and approval.Ā āhrm.ā if you press it, heāll cry.
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ā-- eh? ah...ā
heās a bit taken aback. and pleased. and clearly a little too affected by compliments and approval.Ā āhrm.ā if you press it, heāll cry.

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@smallhopeā
ceireās magic is like a weight lifted, a freedom to move. itās a memory of a performance, not one of his own but with the presence of pride and without the sear of wildfire. flames lick over and through him but with her spells active he doesnāt feel the heat or the violent clawing distance from humanity.
(there is almost a song here, just on the edge of awareness, cold and sharp and novel.)
flames flicker over salieriās blade. enemies before a shadow servant. they fall quick, and salieri laughs. there isnāt a joy in killing, per se, but there is a joy in being lightened, in the ability to follow a rhythm that usually isnāt present. novelty and, if not happiness, then an absence of despondence. he skims over the ground in a rush of sound and fire. (there is a glory in it. a delusion of godhood, heady and rushing.)
last standing: the shadow servant. itāll be easy. like this, light and with power dripping from his maw. quicken the tempo. the music played, soundless to him but flickering with violence. it weighs heavy on the battlefield. the ground flickers red. y es, itāll be quick. of course. heās [Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ], after all.
no.
the sound falls discordant. he feels again the ripple of heat over his arms. another tune -- and the note of a bowstring tightening, a single noise that shoots through salieriās consciousness and nicks in his chest, pinning him halfway back to reality.Ā āyou,ā he snarls in a lick of flame. the wildfire shackles him again, and the delusion of a world where he isnātĀ evaporates, becomes something left for imagination. the blade is heavy again.Ā
the melody changes. the song isnāt played by him any more, it comes contrasting from that bow, fingers on a string that sounds too wrong, cut at his sides, and doesnāt even have the good goddamn gracesĀ to match the original timbre and tempo. fury flares in a spark, both righteous and petty in one at the ire of something taken and nothing given. āyou! die, accept it and die, gottlieb!ā
his sound rises in a bright crescendo, gleaming and angry. to wipe the tase out of his mouth of strange chords from a shadowed harp. there is still enough casting from the goddess behind him, whose presence he has forgotten except in the rush back of the spells -- they donāt lift him the same this time, but the add to the bite, to the swing of his sword as a cathedral crashes down around him with a violent crescendo from a choir of shadows, the rise and swell of music propelled by flames.Ā
a full orchestra, a performance led by a god wrapped up in anger and destruction and the feeling of loss. vengeance. the taste of someoneās blood wells in salieriās mouth and he shouts wordlessly, a threat and declaration of victory at once. his sound will win. heās been blessed. for once, he isnāt salieri, not something humanity and god hated. so he can do this. wildfire can raze what it wants, and there is no pity or mercy from the things that oppose him. heāll kill them. heāll show them, burn them, take--
and the battlefield collapses down around him. the choir is gone, the colour -- and itās so sharp salieri gasps and staggers as if hit, falling back to the ground in an ungainly thump and stumble before he can catch himself and hop back to the air. the flames are burning this time, too. a crash from the apex back into reality, breathing ragged as he remembers. no, you are not a god. you are not [Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ]. the fire pulses in his chest. it hurts this time, it hurts, and his ears are ringing. salieriās blade drops from his hand.
there are no blessings. it does not feel like he lost them, it feels as if they have been undone, unwritten, there never wereĀ and never will be, there is only thanklessness and the weight of disdain. worse than silence, a sharp never-ending noise.Ā āa-ah?ā
this shouldnāt be happening with ceire around. she is a goddess, she doesnāt -- -- she doesnāt have protections from his music. they werenāt supposed to use their phantasms around each other. the ringing gets louder. he doesnāt want to look. he doesnāt want to.Ā āceire?ā he turns to her, eyes wide.Ā
she looks lost and so hopelessly small with her own spear driven between her ribs.Ā
itās like sheās surprised to see both him and her weapon, and surprised that her hand slips from the handle of her blade now that itās slick with her blood. the spear gleams pink and burning with a curse that wasnāt for her, and thereās nothing salieri can do to keep her from falling to the ground.
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Ā Ā Ā ā ugh ..Ā huh ? yāreally think so ? ā material gathering wasnāt always easy , especially with unfamiliar teams . Ritsuka felt her performance visiblyĀ go down with rowdy groups . too much noise , even more to keep track of . sheās sure itās not intended , regardless , the mental exhaustion formed . ( she couldnāt wait to go back to her room . )
Ā Ā Ā it seemed the Caster was knowing of her tired smile , as she gave her words of encouragement to Ritsuka . seeing her sincerity , the magus couldnāt help but take a deep breath , and give her a more real smile in response .Ā ā thanks , i think Da Vinci said this would be our last round of gatherinā before heading back , so letās make the best of it . ā

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@smallhopeā
āYou donāt act very much like a god.ā Itās a good thing, so far as Hektorās concerned. Gods are capricious and incapable of understanding anything other than their own wants. People who say they care for humans but canāt understand life and death.
Ceire is, at least... a little more human. A lot more. He wouldnāt have expected her to be the god type if he hadnāt known.
Hektor looks back down at the table, where heās rolling another cigarette. The one heās smoking now is the last, he should plan ahead.Ā āI assume you donāt smoke. You can hang out with this old man here so long as you donāt mind that I will. I like company.ā Even though heās keeping his attention to the cigarette instead of looking up at Ceire. Eye contact might make it a little too clear that heās not being fully open, or let the mask slip to show any of his perpetual paranoia around strange divinities.
Itās not nice to be suspicious of perceptive allies, after all.
@smallhopeā ŃŠŗŠ°Š·Š°Š»(а):
what to give a stranger on his celebration? oh, she's got no clue at all. a cake exploded in the oven; jewelry if she had the funds; and she never quite learned how instruments were put together; so what is she to do...? ceire glances off to the side as she hands salieri a small box, in which lies a thumb-sized carving of a bird. "you, um... your... birth-day?" she's flustered. "please don't-- comment, i... didn't know what a good present would be...!"
he doesnāt actually expect things from anyone - the most he would do is dramatically prod at mozart the day before as if mozart would brush him off, and use an excuse to buy himself cake. thereās really no other need or call to celebrate a long-dead composer and his impostor.
and yet, here he is instead, with enough people who decided to like him that he has gifts. what a novelty. even death itself is allowed to have a few birthday wishes. ciere wasnāt expected, but he offers her a pleased greeting nonetheless. theyāre friends, right? sure.
itās not for her benefit that sheās subject to feeling othersā emotions when it comes to being around salieri. thereās only extremes, things felt consumingly if felt at all, from the blank despair of the lamenting exterior to the human but still compulsive emotions off the battlefield. he was in a good mood already, but ciere offering him something makes that brighten into a signal flare. heās surprised in the nice way (if anything, all she would have reason to give him is that acknowledgement, and that would be welcome on its own).
salieri grins at her, flustered as well. (hah! sheās his friend! how cute! and somehow, ciere has been immediately filed away into the mental categorization ofĀ āstudentsā.)Ā āthank you, i appreciate it.ā with full sincerity. too bad for her, though, he canāt notĀ make a comment. salieri has to open the box, of course, and makes a small surprised noise upon seeing the bird.Ā āof course i have to comment. itās cute, and i appreciate something you put work to. ahah.ā
Haha all the effort put in to write like TS to give me this birthday card from my wife's best friend. I had a small chance of believing it was true. The face swap is hilarious @taylorswift if only it was the real deal I would be gob smacked!