#timekeepertales

Send “📋+a number” for assorted facts about my muse!

Merc lost her arm during a fight with her peers who ambushed her on the outskirts of the village. In her rage and pain she killed the five of them outright with an electrical outburst that scorched the earth. Nothing grows in that area anymore. 

Her prosthetic arm is made out of a metal alloy that is currently unknown to humans due to it being made by magical means. She continuously tinkers with it in attempt to make it lighter yet retain the durability. 

The artistic constellation of Pavo decorates her lower back in a spur-of-the-moment “fuck you” to her family she got during her youth before she was banished. She still cherishes this tattoo.

The twin scars on her lip were caused by a fight with a wild creature after her banishment. She doesn’t quite remember what happened during the scuffle but she does know she won. She thinks. 

The air here was thicker than Virgil ever experienced. One intake of air had him choking on his own breath out of surprise. 

He had been attempting to get himself back home, but magic was a wily thing, especially when it involved universal jumping. Home was still evading his reach, and so he ended up here... wherever it was.

The city was both familiar and not to the ones he had been in before in other worlds. The air was thick with smog, the streets bursting at the seems with the sound of people and hisses and noises that made his head ache- if the thick air and his impromptu introduction from being spat out into a brick wall in some sooty, dirty alley. 

Virgil was more than thankful to be wearing his old clothes from before Valhalla had given him his new set of robes, the grey and threadbare tunic and black trousers seemed to make him blend in far more than the bright burgundy with gold and silvery-white accents along the deep blue over-robe. It suited the... odd drabness... of the new place he was lost in.

Shivering slightly in a mixture of anxiety, energy drain from the excessive magic use, and the pain from the growing bruise on the right side, the small scholar gathered his nerves to nervously step out into the street, his bag tucked to his chest in his arms as if it would shield him from the world. He didn’t think much about pickpockets- Irensle would be more than happy to take care of any unsuspecting fingers that managed to try to sneak into his bag if he ever let go of it. 

He didn’t want to talk about this.  It was unnecessary, sharing his troubles with others.  Furthermore, he wasn’t supposed to explain what was happening.  It was a rule, a requirement of the deal — he needed to stay quiet.  Otherwise… otherwise people would get hurt.  And he didn’t want to hurt anyone.  Everything he’d done would be pointless if his friends suffered because of him, because he was weak, because he couldn’t suppress his words.  It wasn’t worth it.

So, why not say so?  It was the truth.  It was something he was worrying about.  It… it couldn’t hurt.  Could it?  He wouldn’t be revealing anything about the deal, not really.

His hands stung, bringing him out of his thoughts.  He hadn’t realized he’d been clenching his fists.  His palms had crescent-shaped nail marks indented into them when he uncurled his fingers.  He forced himself to stop biting his lip and respond, his voice an unsteady whisper.

“I’m not… I-I’m… I’m worried about bothering people.  I don’t want to hurt anyone.  Much better to help people.  I’m alright on my own, s-so… talking about this, it’s… it doesn’t matter, it’s not important.  It’s… unnecessary.  It’ll turn out alright, I’m certain, I just have to… I mean, I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t… I’m sorry.  I only mean to say you needn’t worry on my account.  I’m fine.”

Melissa was quiet for a long while, giving him time. Letting him sort through what must have been a very complicated web of thoughts. When she finally spoke her voice was soft, reassuring.

“Just because you do alright on your own doesn’t mean you always have to be alone.” There was much more that he wasn’t saying, that much was clear. But she wouldn’t push him to say any more - she could tell that the subject was an open wound, one too painful to touch just yet.

“You’re not a bother, you know. And talking about things like this... it is important. Your well being is important.” She gave him a tentative smile.

“I know you’ll be okay. From what I know of you, you’re a brave and kindhearted person, and I know whatever it is you’re facing, you’re strong enough to get through it. But I want you to know that you don’t have to face it alone. No one should have to, ever. And if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll be right here. There’s no shame in asking for help. And nothing you need to apologize for.”

The ground was pretty comfortable.  It was better than standing up, at least.  Roscuro had attempted pushing himself upright and quickly learned that it wasn’t a good idea at the moment.

This had happened before.  He’d even expected it to happen today.  The gang had gone a little too far, and he must have passed out at some point.  He’d woken up dazed and alone with his back pressed against the alleyway wall.  His knees and the palms of his hands were bleeding from when he’d been pushed to the ground.  The jacket sleeve on his lower right arm was darkened with red, but he wasn’t brave enough to do a careful inspection of the damage.  He didn’t recall having someone punch his face, but judging from the sore spot on his cheek, it must have happened.  

He remembered falling on his right wrist strangely.   He couldn’t examine it very well in the darkness, but it was numb and hurt to move.  The ache lessened when he bent his legs close to his chest and rested his arm in his lap.  Even so, it had been at least an hour and the underlying pain hadn’t gone away.  He hoped it was just sprained.  If it was broken, he would have trouble working, and if he had trouble working, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He leaned his forehead against his knees, wrapping his other arm around his legs.  He’d decided to walk home as soon as he could stand without feeling dizzy.  Fainting again wouldn’t be very helpful.  At the same time, night was approaching, which was when the alleyways were the most dangerous.  He’d be fine for now, though, as long as no one found him.   The typical undesirables who roamed the streets at night were mysterious and unpredictable.  The chances of encountering someone good-natured were slim, so it was better to hope he was hidden enough to avoid being noticed.

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Ordinarily, Melissa wouldn’t have wanted to linger in a place like this. These dark back alleys had always made her a little uneasy, and for good reason. It wasn't a safe place even by daylight, and it was especially unwise to travel these streets alone so close to nightfall. But it couldn't be helped, today. Though the herbalist didn't often make house calls, there were occasional exceptions, and she had spent longer than expected with a client on the other side of town. Now it was just a matter of getting home.

She stuck to the main streets as much as she could, where there was at least a little more light. Her coat wasn't quite enough to keep out the brisk evening chill, and a dense fog was beginning to settle over the city. It would be a relief to be home, she thought, with the light and comfort of a fire and a good meal. She turned a corner and started down the alleyway between two buildings, a shortcut that would get her there a little more quickly.

But she wasn’t as alone as she thought, she quickly realized. The hunched figure sitting on the ground was difficult to make out by what little light made it through from the street. Melissa paused when she caught sight of him, backing away instinctively. In a place like this, it was easy to assume he was another vagrant or drunkard, perhaps someone who might mean her harm. She might have turned and gone the other way, just to be safe, but something stopped her.

He was young, she realized, younger than she expected. Just a boy, really. Certainly, he didn’t belong in a place like this... She took a step closer, still very carefully.

Emmett looked up at the building in front of him with a mix of curiosity and mild trepidation. The shop was unfamiliar to him, but a friend had recommended it. He only hoped they were as good as advertised.

His hand brushed his jacket pocket, checking once again to reassure himself that the watch was still there, wrapped in a clean cotton handkerchief for safekeeping. Then he steeled himself, put on his best attempt at a smile (not entirely a convincing one), and stepped inside.

Clocks and watches of all kinds ticked steadily all around him. He glanced curiously at a few of them before looking to the young man behind the counter. "Um... e-excuse me?" He stood a little stiffly, as if not quite sure where he ought to be. Interacting with people he didn't know had never been one of his strong points. He cleared his throat and tried that smile again, with little success.

"I, um... I was wondering about getting a watch repaired..." He hesitated, then took the watch in question from his pocket and set it on the counter very, very carefully.

The watch was very old, and, from what Emmett understood, a fairly rare model as well. It had been his grandfather's and then his father's before it was passed on to him, and it was one of the last things he had to remember his family by. The watch had already survived a great deal by the time it came into his possession, and he had always taken the utmost care to keep it safe. But it seemed that something entirely beyond his control had befallen it - the brass casing was badly dented and mangled, the glass cracked. Emmett hadn't dared look at the inner workings, but the way it rattled when moved indicated at least a few loose or broken gears.

Perhaps that was the source of some of his apparent anxiety - he seemed quite ashamed that he had let such an important heirloom become this badly damaged.

I just noticed it as well! I’m not very fond of this update for the same reason as you (the contrast is a little too intense). There’s an xkit extension that changes it back to the old color, though, which is nice!

Feeling and emotion meme (accepting)

The newly- crowned king of Persia stood up, pushing off his throne without a backwards glance to the massive seat, wrought from the most expensive wood in the likeness of an elephant head as he descended into the large, mostly empty room around it. 

He had won, he reminded himself, not for the first time; there was satisfaction there, yes, the heady feeling of victory against impossible-in his case, literally so-odds; it was a potent sensation, and it brought a faint, weary smile on his lips. He had done it; after all these years, after all he had been through…He was finished with the Sands of Time, with everything they entailed, and his homeland was free, safe, his as well it should be.

And yet…He glanced back to the throne a moment later, the smile fading. He could still see his father, lying dead before that very same throne he had just vacated, surrounded by his loyal guards; he still dreamt of Babylon, his city, his home, wreathed in flames, of bodies in the streets, of Kaileena, dying before his eyes, the burden of her death weighing heavily on his heart, as if it had just happened. He knew these memories, these dreams weren’t going to fade, not any time soon, if ever. In many ways, both he and his city, his people, were still grieving, their wounds not yet healed. He wondered if they ever would heal fully, even as he drew in a deep breath and walked out of the room.