#theowlchemist

Of course this was Rouge’s idea. Because when Rouge met one person that struck her interest, it was all she could talk about and think about, and of course the timid owl boy who was surprisingly decent at fighting had caught her eye, so now she had absolutely demanded he travel with Shadow to Angel Island.

The whole situation was weird enough. Shattered world. Knuckles requesting help. This guy. Shadow was scowling.

He sat across from Noctus, arms wrapped tightly around his chest, displeasure written into every line and wrinkle and feature of his face, eyes staring sharply at the ground. The helicopter whirred through the air as they traveled above miles of lush forestry. Of course, the helicopter wouldn’t be able to actually land on Angel Island--they were going to have to improvise.

Shadow liked that at least.

The pilot jabbed a thumbs-up. Casting a look at the owl, Shadow unbuckled his seat belt and got up, crossing to the lip of the helicopter. The air whipped between his quills.

unprompted asks | always accepting

“ goodness, doesn’t that sounds scary ? ” as much is not clear in her.. lackluster response. mild, bordering on amused; though she tries to sell some shock with a light grace of her hand over her lips. “ you know, I’ve always loved a good story; monsters, and ghosts. no shortage of fuel for such fancy tales in th’ middle of the hills. where moonlit trees carve eerie silhouettes on a distan’ hillside, an’ th’ more y’ squint in that dark ‘f night, th’ more convinced you are y’ see somethin’ growin’ closer. steadily. but always still just far ‘nough away y’ can’t make it out, can’t be sure what it is. 

I understand that’s no different in th’ city. what, with all th’ narrow alleyways, th’ bends ‘round which no streetlight can reach. odd shadows, strange sounds; elevated t’ horror by weary nerves an’ uncertainty. ”

“ but that’s jus’ th’ point, isn’t it? they’re whispers. stories. unsubstantiated, an’ fanciful. the consequence of long hours on a lonely mind, eyes which beg t’ see somethin’ suspicious an’ give shape t’ their fears, when they really don’t know anything about what they might — or might not — have seen.

// Noctus will throw hands with a fifteen year old if he's gotta. Sure he's going to promptly get his ass kicked but he'll do it anyway.

some more icons for @the-owlchemist !! 

@the-owlchemist said: ( betrayal au?) “be cunning and full of tricks.”

            “ A phrase you’ve chosen to live by, I see. ”     Revali had yet to come to terms with the mixture of emotions warring within. Disappointment & anger-- in himself, mainly. He’d let his guard down, allowed himself to  TRUST  the younger Rito. A feat not easily gained, yet Noctus worked to earn it. 

                                           All of it was a lie & he  KNEW  better than to trust so easily. 

        The  HURT.  The Rito Champion truly believed the sincere facade Noctus carried, he allowed himself to believe that they  had  a  FRIENDSHIP  stemmed from a mutual fascination of archery, blooming into something much larger. A mistake on his part, Revali would admit.

                                                                         Never again. 

▐│∶x∶; —                             noct speaks so softly that dol almost doesn't hear him through the repetition of the stone across steel. it's not to say that dol's sensitive ears wouldn't have picked his voice out of the air... more-so that his focus, attention, had been so carefully homed on his work that most of the world around him had faded to white noise.

dolcetto looks up with a bit of a jolt, blinking a few times, allowing noct's words to repeat themselves in his mind. he sits up a little straighter. lets himself replay the words one last time ( to make sure that he'd heard them right ). then, he grunts... gives the sharpening stone a small toss in one hand; balances the sword a little better across his knee.

            ❛ ...good t'know, ❜

he mutters, unsure just what to say. it'd never been an expectation for his jobs ( be them given to him or self-assigned ) to go noticed... and why should they? everyone played their part to keep the bar running, their whereabouts hidden, the family fed. even if not all of them always took it as seriously as they ought to. ...being one of the ones with his nose against the grindstone was just... what he did. his place. had been since he was young; when his accomplishments became less celebrated and more expected, setting a bar--a good path--for the siblings who'd follow behind.

he'd grown used to it. and that was fine. ...he'd always hated being the center of attention, anyway.