rexerrat
* KING OF MISTAKES .
affiliated with ISOLA RADIALE & INDEPENDENT FRIENDLY GANGREL from FIRE EMBLEM: AWAKENING
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{ 👑 } THERE ARE QUITE A FEW NAMES buzzing against the inside of his mind, none too different from a jar of bees or wasps being shaken violently. But the names, he cannot place to faces or figures. He's not too bothered by all of this, for if there's one thing Gangrel still knows about himself, it is that he can be a very SELFISH man. But oh, it certainly is quite odd. Unusual. Different. And even if the names didn't seem all too important, the broken fragments of his thoughts still irritated.
❝WATCH IT-!❞ HE HISSES, UPON BUMPING into a stranger, but suddenly catches himself, hands gathering up pieces of a mind stirred up. He's rude and wicked, but accidentally being a pain in the ass isn't his style. Perfectly manicured hands fly up in a gesture of PEACE. ❝Sorry lady, my mind just ain't working right today. Brain is quite frankly MISSING a few screws - more than the usual for me gah, ha ha~❞
There was a rather large panic of people everyone around Spirale. Normally Camilla wouldn't care too much as a large majority of her memories were still in tact. Even if she knew something was missing
While she could see all of their silhouettes, even try and put some of the pieces together herself everything else was all static that plagued her mind. Trying to take a walk to take her mind off only ended up wanting to find the answers even more.
"I wonder what else is going to happen next in this insane place..." And who else is actually suffering a similar fate to herself.
@rexerrat
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{ 👑 } HE HASN'T THE FAINTEST IDEA OF where to find the vanilla extract, but it only takes a few opened cabinets to find it. Gangrel ought to have a more careful eye upon his surroundings, but Gaster, dear Gaster, is too much of a friend - not that he'd ADMIT it aloud - for him to be anything more than relaxed.
HE FINDS THE MILK MUCH MORE easily - thank Naga, Gaster would indeed be insane enough to stick it in an unconventional place - yet still took long enough that he didn't get to SEE the wizardry at work. Nose curls up a little; he remembers talk of mixing wet and dry ingredients separately? Ah, whatever, this ain't his wheelhouse.
❝HOO HOO,❞ HE LAUGHS ALONG TO Gaster's declaration, arms crossed over his chest as he watches his friend lay down the baking paper. In truth, he barely even knows what baking paper IS, but laughing at Gaster's silliness is far more lucrative. ❝Butter ain't slippery enough? Colour me shocked. I guess I should avoid using it in my schemes, huh.❞
IT CERTAINLY IS A STRETCH TO link baking to the likes of lock-picking and trespassing, but his friend has just as much of a naughty streak as he, albeit LESS pronounced. (He has a feeling that Loghain isn't as straight-edge as he seems. He's not STUPID enough to poke that bear, however.) A hand waves at Gaster to continue this little story of his. Promise I won't laugh too hard.
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } TEETH PULL BACK INTO A SMUG little grin, he knows all too well what Gaster may be holding back. He knows better than to assume the worst from his friend, that his huffing and puffing is more like the meows of a little kitten than the warning signs of a tiger. Elbow nudging into his pal’s ribcage before scrambling and measuring and altogether making a little bit of a MESS. With the way the flour is sticking to him, there might not be time to snore tonight.
❝WELL … 200 FEELS RIGHT TO ME if that’s what the recipe says …❞ He understands the vague implications behind Gaster’s words, has seen enough cooking shows to know how often these sort of things seem to rely on INTUITION above all else. Bothersome, perhaps, but now’s not the time to pick a battle. ❝May not be perfect, but if that’s what it says, then it WON’T be shit, yeah?❞
HE’S ASSURING HIMSELF JUST AS MUCH as Gaster as he shimmies his way into the fridge. A tight fit, but he’s bothered none. If anything, the busy atmosphere would be a boon to their clouded minds. Eggs wriggle in their container as he sets them down. ❝That it?❞
∃【☝✌💧❄☜☼】─ “I believe so? Perhaps we need a splash of vanilla.”
Ah, in truth, he couldn’t remember the recipe as flawlessly as he’d hoped. Or maybe it was the midnight exhaustion clouding his mind, yet either way, Gaster got to cracking a few eggs into a separate bowl. “While you are there, can you get milk? I believe we only need a small amount.” Enough to make the batter more… batter-like. While Gangrel busied with gathering things, Gaster set about mixing the ingredients, dries first, then wets, then all mixed up together. Still, he made sure to punctuate his actions with the occasional announcement of – possibly inaccurate – measures of ingredients.
The end result, at least, looked like the kind of cake batter Loghain would end up with. He plucked a cake tin from their lower cabinets, and set about preparing it for the batter. “I did not use baking paper, once,” he mused, as he unfurled the aforementioned paper, lining the tin to the best of his ability. Some kind of admittance might be a worthy conversation to have, if it gave Gangrel something to laugh about, something to distract himself with. “I used butter. Any recipe that tells you using butter is ‘just as good’ is a liar.”
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{ 👑 } IN ANY NORMAL SITUATION, HE'D ENACT a fraction of kindness, enough for him to not speak of the citizens like they're, well, NPCs. Oh, he's a scammer and a pickpocket and a liar, but he does normally try to pick his battles a LITTLE carefully. It seems, however, that the Stars truly do pick the perfect events to test one's patience and mortal fortitude. Yikes, he actually kind of does wish to meet this guy again in less than dire circumstances. Make himself out to be at least a fraction less crazy in the head.
❝THE CITY JUST … REPAIRS ITSELF. LIKE uh,❞ A crooked finger taps against the underside of his chin. Like uh, what? To Gangrel it feels quite a bit like magic, a Mend staff at work over the whole city. ❝Like nothing ever happened, really. A RESET. It's like … purgatory. How you get hurt but then come back … but for the city itself.❞
HE'S VAGUE, BUT NOT BY INTENT. The Stars are cryptic, even to this old soul who has been here for far too long. Clever, because they know they'd be immediately gutted if spent too long among the people of the city. At the very least without protection of some sort at their back. It takes a coward to know one, and Gangrel is a MIGHTY coward.
❝YOU … HUH.❞ HE … DOESN'T EXPECT AGREEMENT to come with little resistance, doesn't expect to quite literally toss aside every potential argument that rests within his cranium. Gangrel holds his tongue before pushing his luck, however tempting it feels to revel in his victory. If anything, his companion's WILLINGNESS to compromise is filed away in a useful corner of his mind.
A SHAKE OF HIS HEAD, SHOCK of unruly red sticking out in all sorts of different directions. He leads the way, if only because he's been here longer, felt the heft of the city's foundation for many a moon more than the stranger. Many a look over his shoulder to ensure the other's keeping up. Gangrel has no doubts that he's capable, but he'll be DAMNED if they get separated after all this work! Hands find their way against rough brick as he hugs the wall. Gods, I detest stairs!
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } HE’S FAR TOO PARANOID BY THE constant ebb and flow of the city’s moods to NOT be urgent in his actions. Gangrel has been working on being a better man, slowly but surely, but the need to survive is as ingrained into his DNA as his red hair. There’s time to apologise to his scowling companion later. Preferably when they’re free from the fog.
❝THERE MIGHT NOT BE ANYTHING LEFT of us for the locals to scold if we ain’t careful,❞ he admits with a twiddling of his gloves. Tense? Undoubtedly, he’s high strung and wound - coiled tightly. ❝And knowing them … knowing the people in charge, everything will FIX itself when the mist clears. It is … peculiar, how this place operates.❞
AT THIS POINT, IT FEELS MORE as if he’s talking to a brick wall than another human, but well, at least the other hothead isn’t completely miserable to be around, even when he leaps over the fence, startling Gangrel with a tiny eep. Absolutely full of SURPRISES this one is! He smirks in response, quickly hopping to his feet. Playfully, his tongue pokes between his jester’s grin as he slips past the other.
❝HEY NOW, SAVE SOME OF THAT for later!❞ He rasps, but it is all in good fun; he did hope the other would take initiative, after all. And perhaps, that initiative would come in handy just about now … He raises his hand, running it over the grooves of the building closest, tip of his boot against the stairwell clung to the outer rim. ❝I wouldn’t call it trespassin’ if we’re on the outside. Just shimmy up to the roof and make our way across from there.❞ He wonders for a moment if this would be enough to convince his companion, so he adds, extra cheekily for good measure. ❝’M sure you want to put those TRICKS of yours to good use.❞
OH, IS HE BEING IMPATIENT? CERTAINLY, but to his credit, he doesn’t immediately take initiative for himself. If the stranger has a better plan, he would without question FOLLOW and with next to no complaints.
Taking to the rooftops is a better idea than Anakin expects to come out of this guy’s mouth, honestly. Not that he’d expected to hear anything specific, of course – but for someone who refers to the planet’s native population as sheep, who sees no issue with agitating them because they’re pushovers, it’s much more discreet and subtle a plan than he would’ve thought.
There’s logic in it, too – gaining higher ground would allow them to get a better view of things from above… as long as the mist is thinner up there, which admittedly isn’t a certain thing. But still, there’s no harm in getting off the streets, where the twists and turns of the city are all the more frustrating due to the fact that the dense mist makes it impossible to see too far ahead. And to be honest, it’s not like the idea of going up hasn’t crossed Anakin’s mind already.
But first… ❝ It’ll fix itself? ❞ he repeats, his voice sharp with interest. His eyes narrow. ❝ What do you mean? ❞ Truthfully, Anakin has very little knowledge of the Stars; they are an elusive bunch, seemingly nigh impossible to pin down because nobody seems to know anything significant about them. And he has no idea how long this man has been trapped on this planet, but from his words he sounds far more familiar with how their kidnappers handle things.
Anakin’s gaze flits skyward; above them, the eclipse looms, an ever-present watchful eye. The headache he’s been nursing throbs unpleasantly. His companion is not the only one who is impatient to leave the all-encompassing mist, and Anakin doesn’t really require excessive convincing to agree to the proposed idea. Besides, since his powers seem to be working again (for now), even if they did encounter any trouble, it’d be easy enough to persuade people to leave them be.
❝ …Fine, ❞ he says, finally. He’s not reluctant but there’s a touch of stubbornness there, almost like he can’t help but dig his heels in a little anyway, especially considering the source of this suggestion. ❝ We’ll do it your way. ❞
#pashieon#pashieon oo1.#EVENT: MISTIFIED#ic tag tba.#queue tag tba.#( finally being ginger haired isn't the only similarity between obi wan and gangrel!!! so proud#oh yeah yeah yeah totally ... and gangrel is just....he is really just a slice of burnt toast among men. truly#he even feels a bit about how ..... mildly bonkers he must seem about now - )
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{ 👑 } AS ENDEARING AS YOU ARE! THOSE words certainly make his heart flutter - and his chest groan. No doubt, as thankful as he is for Gaster's continued friendship, it is far more troublesome wrestling with this UNFORTUNATE condition that has afflicted the pair. Too much to think of in the current time frame, he'd much rather torch this city to the ground. Preferably with Gaster safe. Oh blast it, even his own mind isn't SAFE!
❝IT MAKES SENSE,❞ HE'S QUICK TO say, as though in the hopes that letting this all air out would distract him enough to not fixate over and over upon his newfound honesty. Volumes of flowers are scooped up in his arms, probably not doing either of them a fat lot of good, but he FEELS slightly better by being on the move, by doing something with his energy. ❝Smart. You're good at thinking THROUGH these sort of things.❞
THIS IS ALSO INFORMATION THAT HE wasn't particularly stoked to admit aloud, but at least it would be good in boosting morale. Perhaps it is false hope, that they could get rid of the flowers, but anything is preferred over telling the truth so plainly and boldly. Nose wrinkles. ❝Yeah, couldn't have said it better myself. All well and good being all chummy but it ain't fun if you're FORCED to. I guess we can just shovel them out of the apartment … truth be told, a part of me wonders if this will even do anything, but it's BETTER than just sitting down and doing nothing 'bout it.❞
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } IT CERTAINLY FEELS STRANGE, DARE HE say wrong, to hear Gaster speak so earnestly. He hasn’t thought about the possibility of bad blood between them in such a frightfully long time, such a long time that he doesn’t even REMEMBER. Oh, there was that one time they fought over his fear of heights, or that one other time they —- well alright, so they still bicker from time to time, but his point still STANDS.
❝EH? WHAT? NO WAY YOU’D MENTION that so … so earnestly and cutely!❞ Despite being so very disturbed by the open admission of feelings, Gangrel manages to sneak in a teasing response, fingers wiggling underneath Gaster’s ‘nose’. ❝Something’s up, I don’t know how much more KINDNESS I could take from you …❞
MUCH EASIER TO THINK ABOUT THE problem at hand - damn those Stars, damn them to hell - than to replay Gaster’s honeyed words over and over in his mind. And oh, he would love to tease back, but every time HARSHER words attempt to pass through their lips, his brain screams to speak honestly. What. A. Pain.
❝COME TO THINK OF IT, I saw some in the hallways on my way here. I didn’t think about it, apartments like to furnish their halls, yeah? But now that you bring it up – they’ve been growing like WEEDS.❞
∃【☝✌💧❄☜☼】─ “Cute?” Sure, words spilt like oil on tarmac roads, but such honesty didn’t stop Gaster’s tongue from sticking out, face scrunched with a dose of mocking disgust. Twice, he’d done that so far, and he hoped for both of their sake’s it wouldn’t need to happen again. At least, not any time soon. Easier to pull a face that rely on words that threatened to twist themselves without his input! “Likewise, as endearing as you are, Gangrel, niceness does not suit you- us- whatever.”
A groan follows, before Gaster begins his hunt for some kind of brush, anything to clear off this abundance of petals and pollen. “It is one thing for these to grow in the ground – in the middle of winter, no less – but another for them to grow in the walls. Yes, whatever is making us…” He waves a hand, a rough gesture between them and this painfully candid conversation. “… talk like we are, it is no doubt these flowers that are at fault. Help me clear them.”
Would it work? Probably not, as he glanced out of his window to the myriad of flower patches that had seemingly sprouted overnight. Pollen could be anywhere by now, yet if they could build some respite from it, then so be it. “It is not that I do not, ah, a-appreciate it. But is it not better to hear these things with conscious control than against our will?”
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{ 👑 } IT IS WITH SILENT RELIEF THAT he finds that he needs not explain something that well and truly has been taken for granted. However much he thinks, he can never imagine a world WITHOUT festivals and holidays, for to Gangrel, these things are intrinsically human. What sort of hellish apocalypse awaits a world without parties? The thought bears a shudder, and were the blonde from such a place, he'd offer a rare bout of sympathy.
BEING KINDER HAS BEEN EASIER THESE days, hasn't it? The thought doesn't come with misery, with the shame of weakness. Gods, he's been here for so long, to be relieved that someone has at least one footing in this world. It is a RELIEF that he's discovered newfound patience, as he's opened a rather unexpected gateway. And he can't speak on behalf of anyone else, but being honest about his own experiences has done wonders. Gangrel settles into more of a lounging position near the (seemingly) young woman, but not cloying.
SEEMINGLY APPEARS TO BE RIGHT - THE word descending sounding more like an angel or god walking upon the earth than something mundane. Though, he supposes, it could also be appropriate for someone digging deep, deep underground. A look in the direction of the smaller, silver haired one and he IMMEDIATELY discards that theory.
❝AH, THAT CERTAINLY WOULD EXPLAIN MATTERS then. You've known him, probably your whole damn life, and suddenly, your other half ain't here,❞ he sighs.
GANGREL CAN'T SAY HOW MUCH HE sympathises, being not only an only child, but a true lone wolf since the day he was born. His mother, dear sweet woman she was, had passed away before he could truly feel the weight of it all. Sometimes, it is easier to live without a shoulder to lean on. He's no stranger to company, but can't imagine the feeling of SUDDENLY losing someone he's known for thirty or more years … just … like … that.
❝AND WHETHER INTENTIONAL OR NOT - THIS city is rubbing it in your face, I reckon. ‘Get your loved ones gifts! Spend time with the family!’ Well, least ya have some company.❞ Mulling it over, fist underneath his chin, he adds. ❝And, maybe these events of yours are connected, and if not, well, there'll be hundreds of stories to tell your brother when you meet AGAIN. Hoo hoo~❞
{ 👑 } ROTTEN ASSUMPTIONS AND POOR JUDGEMENTS OF faith have historically landed Gangrel in sticky situations. Foul habits have always been a trouble in letting go of, but at least this action of possibly poor judgment isn’t going to END with daggers drawn. ( He thinks! ) If anything, he is being rather kind in his concern … by Gangrel standards, anyway.
❝HMM, HMM, OFTEN ENOUGH FOR ONE to learn to get used to it, I reckon. Ya got seasonal festivals where ya from? It’s like that.❞ The analogy isn’t perfect, and it certainly feels strange to speak about in this way. Why would they wait until the winter and summer festivals to give us shit they could offer for free? ❝Guess they ain’t wanting us to go cold and hungry … for a FEW months outta the year.❞
A PERFECTLY MANICURED HAND SCRATCHES AT the back of his skull. He may be a poor judge of character, but something in his gut says that the miss may have been plucked from the middle of a journey of some sort. Not often would someone say no to this sort of event, save for those who seemed naturally DISPOSED towards sour tendencies, and, well – usually those sorts tend to be much louder in their distaste.
❝I CAN’T SAY I BLAME YA. We’re all kind of thrown in ‘ere with little more than the clothes on our backs. Think it’s worse when ya got an UNFULFILLED purpose. Sheesh, I …❞ He quickly shuts up —- the last thing she needs is to be reminded of the uncertainty of her homeland without HER living in it. ❝At least you don’t gotta worry so much ‘bout buying groceries for a while.❞ He falls silent with a sigh and knuckles resting against the underside of his chin. His curiosity is as VORACIOUS as a cat’s. ❝What would ya consider it then? The reason you’re here?❞
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{ 👑 } IT CERTAINLY FEELS STRANGE, DARE HE say wrong, to hear Gaster speak so earnestly. He hasn't thought about the possibility of bad blood between them in such a frightfully long time, such a long time that he doesn't even REMEMBER. Oh, there was that one time they fought over his fear of heights, or that one other time they —- well alright, so they still bicker from time to time, but his point still STANDS.
❝EH? WHAT? NO WAY YOU'D MENTION that so … so earnestly and cutely!❞ Despite being so very disturbed by the open admission of feelings, Gangrel manages to sneak in a teasing response, fingers wiggling underneath Gaster's 'nose'. ❝Something's up, I don't know how much more KINDNESS I could take from you …❞
MUCH EASIER TO THINK ABOUT THE problem at hand - damn those Stars, damn them to hell - than to replay Gaster's honeyed words over and over in his mind. And oh, he would love to tease back, but every time HARSHER words attempt to pass through their lips, his brain screams to speak honestly. What. A. Pain.
❝COME TO THINK OF IT, I saw some in the hallways on my way here. I didn't think about it, apartments like to furnish their halls, yeah? But now that you bring it up -- they've been growing like WEEDS.❞
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } ❝WHY WOULD I WANT THEM? HAVE I looked like the kind of guy to fawn over flowers? Hah!❞ He speaks rather plainly, palms raised in protest. Backing up against the wall, pot brandished like a weapon. ❝Rude! You didn’t even wait for my answer! I ought to SHOVE these flowers down your throat.❞ Hand snatches the pot, scattering pollen in clouds over the pair. ❝Look what you’ve done —!❞you
HE WAS ALREADY UNDENIABLY WORRIED THAT the plants were bad news, a sort of sinister vibe hanging in the air from the moment things first looked ‘off’. Like the tense quietness before the monster attacks, like hearing a noise in the distance and trying to be as QUIET as possible when investigating. The bated breath one gets avoiding the squeaky step on an old staircase.
❝YOU KNOW, I WAS GOING TO take them if you were being more polite.❞ The words come out as a surprise even to him. ❝You’re my friend, and I care for you, even when you’re being an unreasonable idiot like now!❞
∃【☝✌💧❄☜☼】─ Gaster stares. Blinks, once, twice, til the pollen finally scratches at the bones of his face and he sneezes, scattering pollen all over the home. Oh, he’ll be cleaning it up for weeks at this rate. “Yes, and you are my dear friend too, why else would I have intended to give them to you?"
Tongue sticks out, then, as finally, finally it begins to dawn on him that something might just be a bit off. "I had ordered echo flowers, not these. Do you think the Stars are up to something?” Oh, but of course he was going to just completely ignore any slips of the tongue, any faint embarrassment that might cover his cheeks. All ignored, yep, for the less he addressed the fact that he could not understand why such an admission of friendship would hang so loosely from his mouth, the less Gangrel would tease about it. He hoped. It wouldn’t happen, he knew Gangrel and he knew the king teased mercilessly, but he could hope for something.
“I found some of them growing on the porch this morning, too. Have you seen them anywhere else?”
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{ 👑 } AS HE LISTENS, HE NODS. UNCHARACTERISTIC, one could say of him, but Gangrel has hardly been behaving in a characteristic manner lately. There isn't really much of a choice, but to self reflect and listen. And he finds it is much easier to listen to a voice he can trust over a voice he cannot. He wheezes out the quietest little laugh, perhaps Ruya has a few lessons to learn under her belt as well.
❝LUCKILY FOR YOU, I HAPPEN TO know of all the greatest napping spots in all of Plegia.❞ Fingers waggle, mischief in moderation sounds REASONABLE enough. One should not work themselves so ragged that they fall apart at the seams and turn to rot. ❝Aye, I know it may not make for a glamorous vacation, but - ❞ More handwaving this time, but almost as if he's shaking himself from water - or nerves.
BUT, WHAT IS THERE TO BE nervous about really? Surely, the worst has passed! He doesn't bother to disguise his APPROVAL at the unceremonious end to his dearly departed former advisor. Being played like a fiddle stings just near as bad as the war that shook his childhood. Good. I couldn't be more proud, his thoughts settle on. I'll crush that man's memory. Put the final nail in the coffin - ensure that he's only a FOOTNOTE in this world's history. Ruya, Chrom, and Lucina may have done the heavy lifting, most of the work, really, but …
❝AND YOU ARE FREE TO A front row seat to my triumphant return!❞ Back to thinking about those relaxing napping spots of his, it seems! There's so much lost time, so much tragedy at their backs. A theatrical spread of his arms, before, and with a REMARKABLE amount of gentleness for his bearing, takes the tactician's hand. Shaking it once, twice, thrice.
{ 👑 } PLEGIA IS AN ABSTRACT. THE WORDS make more sense to him than he’d like. So many of their number were mere children when the departed Exalt EMBARKED on his perverse crusade. Quite easy it is to see enemies in vague Boogeymen and historic prophecies. He can’t say for certain that he will ever let go of his bitter feelings for the Shepherds as a whole, but for EVERLASTING peace, he will not let them consume him.
❝OH - AHAHAHA! THAT TOOK ME BY surprise! I suppose I’m more of a time waster than you then, eh?❞ Though Gangrel would not consider Ruya to be humorless, he certainly did not expect THIS response either. I suppose I shall have to grow used to surprises such as this! ❝I certainly ought to be the same, but oh, DAMN it all, I wasn’t there for his downfall.❞
THERE’S QUITE A BIT OF PENT up energy in his scoundrel body, to the point that he wonders if he’ll ever fully expel it. Beating the tar out of Grimleal may be appealing, but his heart of hearts says that he mustn’t fall into the PIT of his old ways. Like a wriggling worm of a thought. While he still is uncertain what to make of Aversa, he’s positive in his gut that she and he aren’t the only ones that have been duped by the cult.
❝IN THAT CASE - I SHALL SETTLE for a metaphorical spitting of the grave. Did that sod even get an actual burial?❞ Hands placed on his hips with a tilt of the head. ❝Gods, I’d hope not, but I DO hope that he’s seeing us while he roasts in the afterlife.❞
THIS NEW PARTNERSHIP INVIGORATES HIM MORE than he’s ever expected of it. If he had ever thought about scooping Ruya up for his own army, it would have been a SPITEFUL thought, an attempt to laugh in Chrom’s face, but this? The horizon spans impressively before his eyes, like he’s drunkenly stumbling forth with confidence for blood. He laughs, a rare, soft, uncharacteristic sound. ❝Well then, I consider this to be a deal, my dear tactician. I look forward to our continued partnership.❞
#heartwilled#grimahearted#grimahearted oo1.#non isola#ic tag tba.#queue tag tba.#( oh my lord something fucked up with my reblog i think so ignore the ass formatting.#😔🙏 )
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{ 👑 } HE'S FAR TOO PARANOID BY THE constant ebb and flow of the city's moods to NOT be urgent in his actions. Gangrel has been working on being a better man, slowly but surely, but the need to survive is as ingrained into his DNA as his red hair. There's time to apologise to his scowling companion later. Preferably when they're free from the fog.
❝THERE MIGHT NOT BE ANYTHING LEFT of us for the locals to scold if we ain't careful,❞ he admits with a twiddling of his gloves. Tense? Undoubtedly, he's high strung and wound - coiled tightly. ❝And knowing them … knowing the people in charge, everything will FIX itself when the mist clears. It is … peculiar, how this place operates.❞
AT THIS POINT, IT FEELS MORE as if he's talking to a brick wall than another human, but well, at least the other hothead isn't completely miserable to be around, even when he leaps over the fence, startling Gangrel with a tiny eep. Absolutely full of SURPRISES this one is! He smirks in response, quickly hopping to his feet. Playfully, his tongue pokes between his jester's grin as he slips past the other.
❝HEY NOW, SAVE SOME OF THAT for later!❞ He rasps, but it is all in good fun; he did hope the other would take initiative, after all. And perhaps, that initiative would come in handy just about now … He raises his hand, running it over the grooves of the building closest, tip of his boot against the stairwell clung to the outer rim. ❝I wouldn't call it trespassin' if we're on the outside. Just shimmy up to the roof and make our way across from there.❞ He wonders for a moment if this would be enough to convince his companion, so he adds, extra cheekily for good measure. ❝'M sure you want to put those TRICKS of yours to good use.❞
OH, IS HE BEING IMPATIENT? CERTAINLY, but to his credit, he doesn't immediately take initiative for himself. If the stranger has a better plan, he would without question FOLLOW and with next to no complaints.
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } IT RATHER THROWS HIM OFF,THAT trespassing is a line this fellow isn’t so willing to cross. After all, he seems so desperate, so tense. Hardly the rude ones possess such a clean set of morals. But perhaps he’s being misjudged; surely even the most laid back or individuals could break or bend under this sort of PRESSURE. Human beings are a sort of complex puzzle, contradictory even on their best days.
❝OHOHOHO, GOOD POINT! GOOD POINT!❞ HE responds with a flap of his hand. Regardless of how they proceed, danger will lie at their front. Morality may as well be an AFTERTHOUGHT to the cynical monarch; at this point in his life, he expects this sort of behaviour to be done unto him. This world is dog eat dog. If you’re not strong, you’re DEAD. ❝But think of it this way —- if we are only trespassing as a means of surviving - of leaving this city, is it really so bad? Your conscience shouldn’t weigh so HEAVY.❞
HE HALTS IN HIS LECTURE AND his walk, eyes lifting to take in the obscure of the chain-link fence that now blocks their way. Oh, he could always go around, but it would take far too much time for his patience. So, he crouches down. The bolted lock of the fence is picked at, scraping of metal to metal before it clicks open. He grumbles, swinging open the rusty gateway with a screech.
❝IF WE’RE QUIET, THEY WON’T NOTICE us - the sheep, I mean. They’re pushovers compared to people like us, anyway. C'mon, we can slip out through here. It’s a little tight, but we’re both small guys.❞ Helping a stranger weave his way back to the outskirts was not on Gangrel’s bingo card today, but neither was finding so much of the mist - thick and cloying that it is - too close for comfort. ❝I don’t go out of my way to rough people up, but I’d rather risk a fight than take FOREVER to get out of this mess.❞
The more this guy talks, the more exceedingly considerate Anakin seems in comparison.
The thing is, it’s not that Anakin is unwilling to trespass; he would have no qualms doing so if it were some sort of emergency, if it was something important enough for them to evacuate the area as soon as possible. Anakin is not above ‘borrowing’ speeders and whatnot when necessary, either – but although he’d certainly like to get out of the mist sooner rather than later, it’s not like there’s any particular rush that’d necessitate that sort of thing now. Leaving the city can easily be done without agitating the people native to the planet.
❝ We don’t want any trouble with the locals, ❞ he says, no-nonsense. The citizens of the city act as though the mist doesn’t exist at all – somehow, he doubts they could be easily reasoned with. ❝ They don’t seem to understand what’s happening anyway. ❞
The chain-link fence that bars their path seems to materialize out of thin air, a result of the ever-present mist. Anakin looks it over briefly. Then, after a moment, he says, ❝ I’ve got it, ❞ and… he leaps clean over the fence, landing easily on the other side. Something in his expression is almost smug – triumphant, maybe. He hadn’t been completely certain that’d work. Athough his abilities had seemingly been returned to him within the mist, he still has no idea how or why… and if it’s anything like the lightsaber currently hanging off his belt, they too could probably disappear and reappear at any moment’s notice.
His new companion is still going on about shortcuts, though. Anakin sighs. And people say that Anakin is impatient. ❝ …What shortcut did you have in mind? ❞ he says finally, folding his arms across his chest. He’s still not looking to quarrel with the local populace for no reason, but there’s no harm in hearing this guy out. Perhaps there’s some workable alternative.
#pashieon#pashieon oo1.#EVENT: MISTIFIED#ic tag tba.#queue tag tba.#( gangrel truly is a living reminder of why jedi gotta keep the peace and learn diplomacy dkfjksasdfkd#hes extra jaded too bc the npcs are just constantly unfazed by things he's stopped seeing them as ppl rly ...#i would be HERE for that anakin vader throwdown and i would instantly regret it. i say i love angst but im actually babie )
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{ 👑 } TEETH PULL BACK INTO A SMUG little grin, he knows all too well what Gaster may be holding back. He knows better than to assume the worst from his friend, that his huffing and puffing is more like the meows of a little kitten than the warning signs of a tiger. Elbow nudging into his pal's ribcage before scrambling and measuring and altogether making a little bit of a MESS. With the way the flour is sticking to him, there might not be time to snore tonight.
❝WELL … 200 FEELS RIGHT TO ME if that's what the recipe says …❞ He understands the vague implications behind Gaster's words, has seen enough cooking shows to know how often these sort of things seem to rely on INTUITION above all else. Bothersome, perhaps, but now's not the time to pick a battle. ❝May not be perfect, but if that's what it says, then it WON'T be shit, yeah?❞
HE'S ASSURING HIMSELF JUST AS MUCH as Gaster as he shimmies his way into the fridge. A tight fit, but he's bothered none. If anything, the busy atmosphere would be a boon to their clouded minds. Eggs wriggle in their container as he sets them down. ❝That it?❞
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } IF GANGREL NOTICES THE BUZZING PHONE or lingering trepidation that grace Gaster’s features, he says not a word about it. Gaster has his own life, his own TROUBLES, and Gangrel doesn’t find it appropriate to psychoanalyse such a thing. He has the grace within him not to cheer in joy when his companion reveals the contents of the text, at least. Instead, he merely tuts and shrugs it off, as if to say ‘too bad he can’t show up!’
❝OOF,❞ HE HUFFS, FEELING HIS ENTIRE body sag under the sudden weight of the flour. He grumbles to himself, rather, and SURPRISINGLY, gentle as he sets it aside on the counter. ❝Well, you’re a pretty good babysitter, so don’t worry any, gah ha ha ~ ❞ He wouldn’t admit verbally how he’s looking forward to this, praying that the backflipping of his stomach would CEASE once they’ve entered the routine of it.
GANGREL SHUFFLES UP AGAINST THE COUNTER, standing upon the tips of his toes as he pulls a sizable bowl from the cupboard. Sharp red gaze peeking over the rim of the bowl into Gaster’s eyes; for a moment, he CONSIDERS speaking up about this, to offer thanks, but lips purse tightly and bowl is settled right next to the bag of flour. ❝Heh, you never know. I can sleep like a log after eating sweets~❞ He says with a grin, teeth flashing.
∃【☝✌💧❄☜☼】─ “Do not remind me,” Gaster huffs, biting his tongue on the smile that threatened to follow. Ah, but it was all a fuss for nothing, he could only appreciate the presence of his friend on a night like this, even if the prospect of Gangrel’s obnoxious snores only filled him with quiet dread. “Weigh out two hundred grams of this for me. Or, ah, whatever weird measurement you feel like.”
He swears Loghain just measures it with his heart anyway, having not once seen Loghain reading the baking recipes on their bookshelf. Perhaps that was the magic behind his cakes? Regardless, he pushes the thought aside before it sours his faux-enthusiastic mood any further, grip on a whisk perhaps a little too tight, before- “Oh, right. Sugar and butter is in this bowl, whisked until fluffy.”
Gangrel wanted to know how it was made, after all. “Ah, once you are done with the flour, can you get some eggs from the fridge for me?” Rushing a little, yet the frenetic energy kept him distracted, at least.
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{ 👑 } HE RATHER LIKES HOW QUICKLY NABOR has taken this with stride. Head undoubtedly held high, shaking off these matters with ease, the redhead could only praise the gods that he's FORTUNATE to have his love return at this particular time. Oh, imagine the pain of having to wear heart upon his sleeve to a stranger! The thought bears no repeating.
❝AYE, I DON'T FOR A MOMENT doubt that you'd rather be here with me, but damn how else am I supposed to vent?❞ He's grumbling now, legs tucked up close and head buried firmly into Nabor's shoulder. The flowers wouldn't ALLOW him to continue his tirade even if he wanted to. ❝That's right. With ya back, I'm invincible!❞
AN ATTEMPT TO PULL NABOR FROM his stupor, perhaps, to let him know that it is all okay now. The flowers aren't doing a very good job at supporting his plans, however, with their itching and scratching and INCESSANT sprouting where they don't belong. He grumbles, picking and prodding at the mess by his side, tugging and roots and sprouts that cling to his bedpost. ❝Honestly,❞ he corrects Nabor gently. ❝They make me more honest.❞
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } ❝YOU BETTER BE SAFE, YOU – YOU —- ugh …❞ A pain in the back of his throat halts the man on his tirade. Gangrel sighs, head shifting to thunk against Nabor’s chest. ❝You … I know you had no choice. I only rant and rave because it feels GOOD to let out steam.❞ The embarrassment tastes like salt on his tongue, not disgusting, but dry. Too much and he’d be begging for water.
A HAND TUGS NABOR INSIDE, RELUCTANT to part, but needing to breathe, to sit comfortably upon a sofa or bed, and not the doorway to an apartment shared with strangers. Nabor is now home, he ought to act like it. Petals are kicked up as the Mahjarrat is rushed in, with the URGENCY of a touch starved, hungry man. But Gangrel is not thinking lecherously. With the pollen infecting him, he may not even be able to make jokes of that nature.
❝I FIND MYSELF TELLING THE TRUTH more often lately. This damn pollen in the air. Heh, I want to make a joke about us being intimate —- but I don’t know if I could even be CAPABLE of that.❞ A wily grin between the folds of Nabor’s robe, before he holds his love even closer. ❝How fortunate - that the only one I’m being ‘forced’ to tell the truth around is you.❞
▄▀ — “So the City is up to its tricks again? It hasn’t changed one bit.”
Comforting, almost, though maybe that’s the gentle warmth of Gangrel’s honesty, and not the familiarity of this hellscape. Still, better than the remnants of his asylum, desolated and mauled as it was. He allows himself to be lead, to sit carefully upon the edge of the bed, hands settling in his lap. A heavy sigh, until it dawns on him; the scratching pain in his throat, the pollen, perhaps such difficulties with keeping truths under wraps were connected?
But it was Gangrel, and no-one else. Still, it hurt. “I was… scared. When I was locked in my institute, I tried to continue my research, but things did not go to plan.” Yet here he was, still breathing, face as constructed as if fresh from a recent ritual. Perhaps the most jarring feeling came from being so withered to so refreshed with nothing in between. “There’s little that can happen to me here. We’ve dealt with enough together, haven’t we?”
He plucks a petal from the linen, leaning against Gangrel beside him, mind finally at ease for the first time in a while. “These flowers… they make you speak more than usual?”
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{ 👑 } THAT'S SOMETHING ENDEARING TO SEE, NABOR'S hesitance being almost unheard of. His heart flutters at just how carefully and seriously his beloved is taking this. Nabor could make nothing short of a total, CHAOTIC mess, and Gangrel would be stirred all the same. He lets a simper exhale through his lips with great effort, gaze fluttering about, as if to search for any eavesdroppers …
❝NABBIE - YOU, YOU … ECH, I CAN'T be upset when you're trying so hard to impress me!❞ He inches closer to his beloved, lowering voice to but a raspy whisper. Towards anyone else, he'd show nothing but pride, the overwhelming sense of SUPERIORITY, but to his sweet partner, he'd have to be honest. ❝Things like this don't happen overnight, you know. I may talk about how it comes naturally to me, but my first time rolling up a ball of snow was absolute SHIT! Keep practicing at it every day. You'll get it.❞
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } OH, THE PUSH WORKS! BITING THE inside of his cheek to hold back a shiver, Gangrel leans in, a subtle forward pitch as eyes sear into Nabor’s work. It takes every ounce of his strength not to return to helping the Mahjarrat, but he wants Nabor to have the confidence that he could do this too. Certainly, he’d BOAST his own capabilities to anyone who may breathe in his direction, but Gangrel is far more than simply willing to set aside his pride for Nabbie’s sake – his love just has to deal with his complaining first!
❝HMM - LET’S SEE HERE … LET’S SEE … ❞ The end result isn’t perfect, but eyes nevertheless light up. Hands gentle as they brush against the side of the … rather MISSHAPEN lump. But to him, it is still beautiful - if only because it has the imprints of Nabor’s hands and the evidence of his hard work. Gangrel smiles and nods, ❝Yeah, it’s pretty good. Keep making balls like this and you’ll be a master sculptor. Rolling shouldn’t be hard either.❞
▄▀ — Well, if Gangrel approved, the Nabor must be doing something right. With renewed pride – only glowing in the briefest flicker of his eyes – he turns to the snow below, setting down the ball like one might lay a kitten within its nest. Yet hesitancy returns with the same vigour as it had left, claws hovering over the mass as he puzzled over what to do next. Roll, surely, it couldn’t be that hard
He sets his hands back down and-
The ball folds completely, packed snow crumbling into the ice like sand through fingers. “Oh…” With it, he folds too, resting arms against his knees as he sighs through disappointed, gritted teeth. Scooping it back up, he glances up to his beloved, lips pursed and prepared for the inevitable scolding of his oafish ‘handwork’.
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{ 👑 } AS IT TURNS OUT, ONE COULD still party and dance, even when quite happily taken by romance. It was once a rather new experience, and at times, he still finds himself surprised by it all. The melodies of a minstrel's flute can NEVER travel near as far as the pumping speakers and pounding bass, and Aversa would constantly nag and heckle every time he expressed interest in dancing among the masses. It is an exhilarating, and slightly OVERWHELMING engagement.
AT FIRST, HIS INTENTIONS WERE WHOLLY benign, solely to avoid those who may grow a little too handsy or slop a little too much drink down his shirt — but he won't deny that he's a TROUBLEMAKER at heart. When he slinks to a quiet corner for recuperation, he instead makes a beeline towards his latest frenemy - emphasis on the enemy - none too different from a shark stalking prey. A rather jingly and sparkly shark.
❝AHAHA~ DON'T BE LIKE THAT! LITTLE ol' me was just worried 'bout ya~!❞ Not entirely a lie - though nearly so - but if Break's body or spirit were to be ruined, why, who else would Gangrel bother? He's not in the business of punching down. ❝Folks here have been rather FOND of crawling into big holes they ain't prepared to crawl into - gotta make sure all your limbs are intact, eh? Hoo~❞
' AND I WAS HAVING SUCH A GOOD TIME UNTIL NOW! ' honestly, this is perhaps the cheeriest gangrel has ever seen break. not because he's not cheery in general— just because he's disliked the man from the moment they first met, and he hasn't made any effort to conceal that fact.
however, now they're at a party break was dragged to by a new friend, and he's spent the better part of the evening learning how to dance. not the type of dance he's used to, either. nicolette is talented in many aspects, though this one in particular has sparked break's interest and energy the most. having retreated back to the bar as carefully as possible, bumping into one or two people on the way, break is now sweaty, and tired, but very much happy.
turns out that you don't have to be able to see very much, to have fun at one of these clubs, as she called it.
and he's not about to let gangrel ruin that. he'd recognize the jingle of his jewelry anywhere, not surprised when the man leans over the bar next to him, even without sight. ' i'm hoping you're not here to bother me, specifically? '
@rexerrat / starter call
#schleckermaul#schleckermaul oo1.#ic tag tba.#queue tag tba.#( hi hello my brain decided to sleep for like over a week#when you're worried about someone else not because you care but because you won't have anyone to bully ... )
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{ 👑 } IMPRESSED NOW, RATHER EASILY BY GASTER'S knifework, the monarch hums in silent approval. He always knew that there was something mirroring DARKNESS in the skeleton's past, but doesn't at all consider that to go hand in hand with his chopping skills. With how much he brags about his boyfriend, he could just as easily have picked up cooking from there. He's content to sit on the edge of a table and smell the waft of chili morsels spilling out over the knife's edge.
❝WELL, I'D RATHER NOT STARVE TOO - but sheesh, wouldn't you rather eat something you know will keep you alive?❞ Eyes roll, as he lounges. Not merely taking comfort in this opinion, he's treating it like a fact. Well, whatever, butting heads with Gaster has ALWAYS yielded no fruit, so he's content to spend the next few minutes or so keeping watch on Gaster's work.
UNTIL HE TAKES THE BAIT.
❝HEY, HEY, HEY NOW. I SEE what you're trying to do - aye, bastard. I won't budge!❞ But his butt still shimmies against the table and his eyes crane to peek over Gaster's shoulder. Won't budge, perhaps, but rather damn close. One wrong move on the part of the skeleton and he'd likely POUNCE, like an old grandma protective of her signature recipe.
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } HE DOESN’T HAVE MUCH OF A thought between that thick skull of his. Social cues are either thrown right out the window or simply not glimpsed. Either possibility could have been true, for Gangrel had never been one for sense. Footfalls are quiet as he paces from side to side, warbling static flying straight through one ear and out the next. The air has grown FROSTY over their shoulders, but the Plegian hardly feels it in the slightest.
❝EH, I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT,❞ he stops walking, waving his hand in the air with no regards to where it lands. Pressing the hand into his hip, he prods the opposite into Gaster’s chest. He’s probably going to regret his next words, but plows on through anyway with the TACT of a hammer’s swing. ❝I’ll be the judge on his ABILITY to teach you cooking.❞
GANGREL, FOR ALL HIS AGGRESSIVENESS, NOW keeps his hands to himself, crossing arms over the silk clinging to his chest and beady eyes keeping a close watch - as though expecting a single mess up. He’s not wired out of spite or anger, but in his eyes, NECESSITY. Gangrel would much rather be on his toes than be dead. ❝Oh? Is that why you’re willing to eat literal shit? Well, in that case, I’ll have you fix something spicy, the PLEGIAN way!❞
∃【☝✌💧❄☜☼】─ A roll of eyelights - it was difficult to do anything else around the loud-and-proud king - yet for once, Gaster appreciated the lack of braincells within the crown. Instead, he sets the pan down and glances over the cans. Surely, something edible could be made from them? Nothing rotting that he could see, yet he busied himself with some more drawers anyway, pulling out a few utensils that he hadn’t a clue whether they would be valuable or not.
Still, he had to look like he knew what he was doing, plucking a few chilis from a can and slicing them with surprising efficiency, with the only knife not dulled by rust. “I am willing to not starve, sacrifices have to be made sometimes.” He waves the knife absently, yet confident that Gangrel wouldn’t see it as any possible threat.
(Hate it, of course, but the king would probably win in a fight anyway.)
“Ah, but if you want me to see your plegian spiciness, then surely you should be the one cooking?” Back to a coy sort of sass, that would just as quickly fall on deaf ears. “You do not want me cooking a style that does not fit your tastes, do you?”
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{ 👑 } ❝I ALWAYS WANTED TO PAMPER YOUR claws,❞ Gangrel admits quietly, almost sheepishly in his whispers. A stark contrast to the massive form he now occupies, he looks down at how chipped and harsh Nabor's claws are. ❝Figured ya wouldn't want them to be all PRETTY in case some shits think they could cut ya up.❞
HE AIN'T IN ANY POSITION TO argue, not that he wants it anymore. If he could feel hunger in this body, it would have overwhelmed and exhausted him like sandpaper to a hunk of wood. At the end of the day, all he wants is to be close to his darling, no matter what either of them look like. He grins, a rather GANGREL grin despite his current form. ❝Ah, alright then, I trust that's what you want. It'd be more convenient, I think. Wouldn't have to figure anything out~❞
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } GANGREL NEARLY FORGETS TO BE CAREFUL, only wincing when Nabor speaks. But of course! He looks down at his palms, heavy, thick pads nicked with scars and sharp pointed tips. He could carelessly RUIN anything be wanted in his own body, but to do so in Nabor’s would be sacrilege. Lips press thinly as he shifts the pad of a finger to shift through the apps on display. His dearest Nabor certainly has an eye for keeping things tidy, the thought of which causes Gangrel’s lips to tick upwards.
❝HEH, MY NAILS ARE PRETTY LONG too, you know~❞ He reassures his love with a nervous tinny to his voice. Though perhaps, he is trying to reassure himself first and foremost. He’s sheepish, shuffling upon his feet, grasping the phone as if it is a PRECIOUS child. ❝All done. Now we … wait. Maybe I can show you the kind of food I normally eat … no, hm, you’d probably PREFER something healthier …❞ It has been … quite the long day.
▄▀ — Nabor only then allows himself to glance back up, vertigo still coiling in waves to see his own eyes staring back. Nails run against palms, long, certainly, yet nothing of the brutality that came naturally to claws. No, his claws didn’t compare to Gangrel’s nails, preened as they were to perfection. It almost makes him laugh, a sound that spits more than purrs. “You could pamper my claws.” A suggestion, only half in jest. It’d keep Gangrel occupied when he’s eating, at least.
Yet the topic of food comes back up, and he scowls. “I… want to try whatever you eat.” If he had Gangrel’s body, then it stood to reason he had Gangrel’s tastebuds. This is the reason he ends with, knowing for certain it wasn’t the whole truth.
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{ 👑 } ROTTEN ASSUMPTIONS AND POOR JUDGEMENTS OF faith have historically landed Gangrel in sticky situations. Foul habits have always been a trouble in letting go of, but at least this action of possibly poor judgment isn't going to END with daggers drawn. ( He thinks! ) If anything, he is being rather kind in his concern … by Gangrel standards, anyway.
❝HMM, HMM, OFTEN ENOUGH FOR ONE to learn to get used to it, I reckon. Ya got seasonal festivals where ya from? It's like that.❞ The analogy isn't perfect, and it certainly feels strange to speak about in this way. Why would they wait until the winter and summer festivals to give us shit they could offer for free? ❝Guess they ain't wanting us to go cold and hungry … for a FEW months outta the year.❞
A PERFECTLY MANICURED HAND SCRATCHES AT the back of his skull. He may be a poor judge of character, but something in his gut says that the miss may have been plucked from the middle of a journey of some sort. Not often would someone say no to this sort of event, save for those who seemed naturally DISPOSED towards sour tendencies, and, well -- usually those sorts tend to be much louder in their distaste.
❝I CAN'T SAY I BLAME YA. We're all kind of thrown in 'ere with little more than the clothes on our backs. Think it's worse when ya got an UNFULFILLED purpose. Sheesh, I …❞ He quickly shuts up —- the last thing she needs is to be reminded of the uncertainty of her homeland without HER living in it. ❝At least you don't gotta worry so much 'bout buying groceries for a while.❞ He falls silent with a sigh and knuckles resting against the underside of his chin. His curiosity is as VORACIOUS as a cat's. ❝What would ya consider it then? The reason you're here?❞
rexerrat:
{ 👑 } HIS BELOVED PARTNER HAS NEVER HAD a need nor a desire to eat, so Gangrel has always spent mealtimes away from humble abode. Even in Nabor’s absence, nay, because of his absence, he kept up that habit. Soup is supposed to be one of the most warming, HEALING things to drink, isn’t it? It certainly helps to stave off the rising cold weather in the air. A much needed comfort to the drabness of Fibonacci. It would have been nice, he thinks, if the poor of my homeland had a massive, infinite supply of soup after the war.
❝WHAT WAS THAT?❞ HE’S PERHAPS TOO harsh in words, a grating croak of his voice, inner thoughts taking the reins. One shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth! ❝Hey - ya didn’t get anything.❞ Hands planted into his hips, dark brows tight. Peeking around the young woman, gaze shifting towards the merrily brewing soup pot. It looks just as fine as it ALWAYS has. ❝With how sad ya look, I EXPECTED there to be fish heads floating to the surface.❞
PERHAPS THIS IS HER FIRST WINTERFES, he thinks. Not completely unheard of, with the near constant exodus of people from their home worlds. If anything, he’s surprised that this is the first time he’s seen a visible look of CONFUSION on another’s face. Gangrel snorts, a wheeze through his own throat, before he helps himself to a mighty fine portion of the soup. ❝See? Nothin’ wrong. Hundreds of people come ‘ere on the regular, and I’ve never seen anything bad happen.❞ He’s never been the best at comforting, but well, no skin off his back if she goes hungry.
she wasn’t one all too transparent, though her pages were not entirely blank — feeling would seep through like ink blots and they would grant impression for others to read, interpret as they saw fit. while the image he might speak was a gruesome one, that had been the shape the spill took. her eyes trailed after his toward the pot, as though there were indeed a need to verify the true state of the meal within, eyes returning upon him with the twist of bowl dangling from her fingertips. and in all honesty, even if there was something amiss with the substance, she would have eaten worse — if it had been a matter just of spying the soup with mistrust, the matter could be smoothed with a taste and experience of his assurance — Paimon certainly hadn’t hesitated.
“does this happen often?” was the first query — one layered in scope. the soup, the festival, she had become acquainted with many an annual festival in world prior, each with their own attractions and customs — reason stood this one was no different. it was a matter of timing, and the lack of resolution. “it wasn’t long ago that we were brought here. we’re still adjusting, it’s a lot to get used to”. her voice trailed, a want to specify the complication of her situation, the haste to return and continue her journey, with the end never far from thought.
but this man had not come to hear the lament of someone he had sighted staring into the pot as if something was about to jump out. still, her thoughts would not quiet with copious questions hanging in wonder. “it isn’t like this is the reason for our being here. or what of us made it”.
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{ 👑 } ❝HEY, HEY, HEY NOW! I THINK intent matters more than the action it spurns! Hoo, they scammed tens - maybe hundreds - of people! And me? I just told a corporation where to STICK IT.❞ Arms cross over his chest, somewhat pigheaded in his retort. Admittedly, altruism wasn't his only motivation, but simply why he chose THAT target in particular for his victim.
PALMS FALL RIGHT TO HIS SIDES, fingers spread out. He sighs, a laborious, overdramatic thing. Don't be stupid and show your hand too much. You're already being way more truthful than you oughta be … Jaw clamps shut, twisting, almost contorted. Why is it suddenly more difficult to be the self he projects? It ought to be as EASY as breathing - for to Gangrel, to lie is to live. But he feels it, a twisting, stirring sensation — and a blossom BURSTS into life from the front of a shirt-button, red petals flaring wide. ❝Ehh??❞
{ 👑 } ❝ACK!❞ NOT ONLY DID HE MAKE an unwarranted outburst, but someone else heard it. How mortifying, how miserable! He buries his face in his palms and groans. Between the tines of his fingers, he looks out, searching for the source of the voice. ❝I expected someone taller -❞
GANGREL KNOWS NOT HOW HE'D DESCRIBE the creature; she's certainly regal, all glittering, enough to make a man ENVIOUS and stir up his greed. A morbid thought, that a cut of her diamond would look nice in his crown. He clamps his mouth shut. Don't say THAT out loud - not when you're already on thin ice, you fool-!
❝I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW, I WAS doing the city a favour. Those bastards rubbing the shop are practically fleecing us from our Dust. Acting like they had some rare fabrics when a store in another part of town sold the same thing at HALF PRICE. Dirty cheats!❞ He snarls, palm pressed into his chest. ❝Er, yes, it is a rather nice cloak, though ~❞
#diamonddomain#diamonddomain oo1.#EVENT: A CROCUS AMONG US.#ic tag tba.#queue tag tba.#( diancie 👏 is 👏 valid!! 👏 )
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{ 👑 } TRUE VILLAINY MAY BE WELL BEHIND him, he swears, up and down and over and under. Conquering and killing may be a part of his past, but the shadow of that past remains a cloak upon shrewd shoulders. His hands may never truly be declawed, eyes may never lose their BLOODLUST. But well, ah, he's accustomed to people who aren't the most fun to be around.
❝WELLLLLL, IN MOST CASES, IT IS likely the obvious answer.❞ A single finger points vaguely upwards, as if the Stars he speaks of were ACTUAL celestial objects in the sky. ❝Though sometimes they swear that they meant to help us.❞ He rolls his eyes. Ineffectual fools - if they truly wanted us safe, the more clumsy of their kind would be excommunicated or executed. ❝But they also have ENEMIES of their own. There were situations where I had to side with the Stars to keep myself safe. Bothersome …❞
rexerrat
{ 👑 } HE HOLDS BACK A SCOFF AT her paltry act of self defence, not that he finds it unwise, but that it would take a great deal more than a toy bow to take him down - electro or no. Nonetheless, he shifts the weapon in his grasp, instead holding it upon the palms of his hands for display. A welcoming action for one UPRIGHT woman’s eyes. ❝Now, now, missy, if I wanted to strike you, I wouldn’t have telegraphed my moves beforehand.❞ But he shrugs it off, he’s not particularly trustworthy, after all.
❝IT’D TAKE QUITE A BIT OF talking to say all that’s come and gone, a rather long list of horrors.❞ He returns his weapon to its hip, pressing both his palms underneath his chin. ❝Things that mess with your mind - make ya think that you’re SOMETHING that you ain’t. Your emotions and feelings … sometimes your body. Other times, we’re under attack from invaders. Gah, ha, ha, ha ~ I honestly prefer that. My mind is already screwed up as is it!❞
Sara’s gaze is still trained on the man before her, along with the weapon held in his open palm. While his words seemed to ring true, Sara knew better than to let down her guard. While he may not be an enemy right now, he was certainly no ally. “Perhaps.” Was the only reply she would give him regarding the matter, her distrust still evident in her posture and expression.
“…so this island is a host of many issues, possibly since the beginning.” And it seemed that anything and everything were possible, which didn’t bode well for those who were stuck here. She would have to plan for every possible scenario.
“If I may ask: Just who is responsible for the events that occur here?” She was beginning to suspect that it had to do with whoever, or whatever brought her here, but that was not something she could confirm just yet.
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