#squaretablehold

There’s something wrong with the crabs. 

Not with their behavior (Lorian watches as they sift through the sediment with their claws, bringing morsels to their mouthparts hand over hand in that mechanical way crabs do) but with their shells. Milky yellow eyes peer lidless from their backs, clumps of golden hair sprouting between gnarled growths. He doesn’t like it. Something itches at the back of his mind whenever he looks at them.

This was a bad place. They ought to leave. He’d dug up a good amount of the medicinal plants they needed, and surely there were other waterways. Lothric watches him from the muddy shore, legs tucked up underneath himself, brow furrowed in pain. A few days ago, he’d snapped the tip of one of his long horns off, and it throbbed continuously. Supposedly these water plants made a good painkiller. “What’s the matter?” he calls down. “Did you hear something?”

“T’was for the simple honour of having thy finger, ah, fucked up, as thou said. Did he not let thee keep a dissected appendage as well, for thou to use to kill to thine heart’s content? What about a badge in our Dynasty’s image, for use in future communion? Thou ought to be ashamed for overlooking the greatness of the gifts he had bestowed to thee! Perhaps thou ought to turn a new eye inwards rather than fling thy accusations outwards, hm?”

@squaretablehold​

Fyra turns from Seraph and after a few moments does her best to sign at him. She had not been able to learn much, as Geralt was able to hear. She signed what little she had managed to learn at him.

‘Okay. Take care.’

She looked down at Geralt. “Honey, Rhys will be watching you. He can speak with his hands too, so you should be in good hands. okay?”

Geralt nodded and walked to Rhys, touching the side of his head and moving his hand forward in a single wave.

“You… you…”

She laughs with a little snort that usually doesn’t come out when she laughs.

“You’re a funny man. Funny funny funny. Fuuuuuunnnyyy…”

She keeps laughing like that for some time.

“Saaayy… sum’n fuuunnnyyy…”

Give my muse a nickname || accepting

It’s strange really. He wouldn’t really mind that nickname had it come from anyone other than this mad, rambling Tarnished. The venom with which it was spat certainly didn’t go over his head.

from give my muse a nickname [accepting!!]

“… I feel as though I am missing out on some important context. Does this have to do with slugs again?