#viladlind

now he is splayed out on the couch, eyes skimming over the pages of a book without truly taking in the words, fingers absent-mindedly stroking the soft feathers of bark's head, who himself has decided the elf's stomach makes for a wonderful pillow. the picture of domestic bliss. scratch lays on the ground right in front of the couch, content in his afternoon nap.

but then the dog's head pops up, ears straight and alert. zevran does not pay any mind until the whining starts. even bark begins to fidget.

"hm? let me guess: you need to go outside, again?" it will be at least the third time in the past several hours. sometimes he thinks they do it just to spite him.

scratch does not stop whining, even as he leaps to his feet and pads his way to the front door. he begins to paw at it. the hair on the back of zevran's neck stands on end.

he draws a dagger from one of his various hiding spots in the living room and heads to the door.

there is nothing there when he opens it. he takes a step out.

and then he sees him.

fiyero, collapsed in the garden. fiyero, bleeding out in their garden.

he is on his knees next to the tiefling before he can even think. his stomach may as well be in his throat.

For someone who did the whole 'trying to sell as many trinkets as possible before they completely engulf his house (again)' thing just this summer, Wukong still really likes looking around the secondhand stores. Usually for himself. It's hard to beat a good knick knack when it comes to improving one's mood! Plus, it's fun to haggle.

This time though, he's actually looking for a gift for someone else. It's around the gift-giving season once again, and he did completely forget about it again. But there's still time to grab something, if he can find something good...

...Maybe something like this? He picks the figurine up, looking at it from all sides. It's a little ridiculous looking. It might actually be perfect.

In a way, it’s a relief. He’d known something bad was coming, and here it was. Now he no longer had to deal with the anticipation hanging over his head like a sword, suspended by a fraying thread.

This new prison is opulent; it reminds Octavo of the time he’d spent working in Hyrule castle, if only in atmosphere. Fine furniture, warm wood paneling, splashes of vibrant greenery, all pervaded by a persistent feeling of unease, as if he knew corpses were rotting behind the walls. He’d woken to the sound of distant shouting and screams, the thudding of hurried footsteps on the upper floors.

Before he has the chance to encounter another living soul, he rounds a corner and finds himself face to face with his doppelganger. It slams into him, pinning him to the wall, face a mask of fury.

“You absolute, blithering fool!” It hisses. Its nails dig into his shoulders. Octavo kicks it in the shin, sending it stumbling.

“What is this?” he snaps. “What are you?”

As it staggers to its feet, he gets a better look at it. Not quite a spitting image. It’s too young, having trouble keeping its balance. The clothes it wears are simple, ill-fitting, breeches and a rough tunic without any shoes, like it had stolen them out of someone’s laundry. Someone’s tried to remake him, but they went too far into the past. This is him before he’d made the Lute, before he’d been set upon the path that had led him to his death at the hands of Ganon, over and over again.

The double does not reply, charging him again. Octavo backs into what appears to be a game room at a glance, multiple round tables surrounded by chairs, a dart board on the wall. In a flash of purple smoke, the double vanishes, reappearing behind him and grabbing him around the torso.

“You trapped us!” Its teeth click next to his ear. “I earned my freedom, only for you to condemn us to madness in a time loop!”

Octavo twists in its grip, teleporting himself and the double in panic. It trips, falling backwards and sending them sprawling to the floor with Octavo on top of it. He elbows it in the stomach and thrashes free of its grip, lurching to his feet. As it wheezes and tries to get up, he grabs one of the chairs next to the gaming tables and swings it around, slamming it into the double’s face. It falls back to the ground, blood splattering the paisley carpet. It does not get up.

He stands over it, breathing hard, dread pooling in his stomach.

dusty old art meme ( not accepting ) @viladlind

❛ I think you should kiss me. No? ❜

He thinks he looks quite dapper for it, all things considered. There's a tree in Cotes and they're both out on a limb and the bard's finally finished the song (was a it a love song? What if he wants it to be?), so the mood was all right.

There are leaves in his hair and a twig in his hands and very little room to move further, unless he forces the bard onto the thinner branches until they snap beneath them.

"haaaah...! haa... reunions are suppose ta be somethin' sweet! romantic!" holding himself with palms pressed against a knee each, raven tires to catch his breath ( even if most of it is given to complaints ). it was almost difficult to believe he made it this far, given how he sounds right now.

( "what kinda crummy setup are they givin' me here!" )

last visit blessed him with a wonderful wave of excitement, a kiss upon his cheek. he was over the moon, then. he didn't want to be in it!

"i've been dyin' ta catch up with ya, fiyero darlin', but this ain't the kinda starry night i was aimin' fer..."