hadriel_logs | Event Log: Fear and Love

She can sense it in the air. Bianca has always gravitated towards places at the edge of their existence, and this new Hadriel, with its grim, armed citizens and its ravaged park, reminds her more than ever of her home in 1930s Berlin. Only this time, Bianca has no choice but to go with it. She's never fought in a war before, and privately, she has to admit the prospect is frightening. Bianca can shoot straight and look after herself in a knife fight, but that hardly makes her a soldier.

That thought summons Rey into her mind: her scarred face, her broad shoulders, the comforting solid strength of her. Rey always made her feel safe. She shouldn't have mucked that up, she thinks, shouldn't have let the mirage of an old love distract her. Jack has been gone a long time, and her dream house full of puppies and redheaded children had only ever been imaginary. Rey is the opposite of imaginary.

Without entirely realising what she's doing, Bianca heads for the Speakeasy.

War is something Rey is always ready for. More so than she's up for most things. With bigger things on the horizon, she hasn't had much time to dedicate to tending to the Speakeasy as she used to -- let alone setting up the welcome nights. Doesn't seem like there's much to welcome these days.

What she didn't expect coming in that day to check on the place, however, was a particular familiar face. Rey knows what the date is, but that doesn't stop her from balking a moment at the sight.

Then, her expression sours a bit.

"What," is all that manages to come out.

Oh, she is not in the mood.

It's not that Bianca can't read a room, it's just that she rewrites it on the fly when she doesn't like what she reads. She grins happily and holds out her arms with a flourish.

"I'm back, my darling. Did you miss me?"

As Bianca brings her arms out, Rey folds her own over her chest guardedly. An uncomfortable twist churns in her stomach at the way the other woman addresses her. Like nothing ever happened.

"Well, didn't expect you'd come back. Sure as fuck not this late." So much has already happened. She can't just... pretend. Never was any good at that sort of thing.

"Oh, darling. Surely you aren't blaming me for that? I wasn't even permitted to remember Hadriel while I wasn't here. A security measure, no doubt. I would certainly have been back sooner, if I had."

This might even be true - Bianca honestly hasn't considered it, one way or the other. She smiles an uneven, bittersweet smile.

"I hear we'll be at war, soon. Do you think we'll any of us survive?"

"No, not really." There are other things Rey blames Bianca for. Things that she can't so easily brush away by saying the gods influenced her, or the Door had taken her. Not that Rey ever really bought that excuse, from anyone, really.

The way Bianca is talking now, it's hard to know what to make of it. Rey shifts, her mouth tightening into a thin line as her foot scuffs the floor.

War is easier than dealing with this shit.

"Sure, why not. Kicked the Null's asses before. Was practically born for this." Even though Undine would have said otherwise.

— open to cr;
( Steak, by nature, is meant to defend others. It's something he does without thinking, even here in Hadriel as he wanders the outskirts of the city and dispatches anything which both looks dangerous and gets too close to it. It's his job, his meaning as a Food Soul.

But, this one particular morning — humid, as every morning on this planet has been — it's more than simply defending the town at large. He stalks the city with purpose, looking through the streets for any familiar faces and immediately gravitating towards them, the hilts of his swords firmly in grip, ready to be withdrawn at a moment's notice. There's barely time to ask what the hell is going on before his head inclines in a respectful bow, which may look less respectful and slightly more threatening when you consider that he's the owner of a pair of very well maintained, sharp horns sitting atop his head.

But at least his words might just be encouraging? )

This body, this heart, and this sword in my hands, shall be forever loyal to you!

( Yeah. Okay Steak. Sure.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), this declaration is one he takes in earnest, firmly by his acquaintance's side for the foreseeable future, sizing up anything that might stand in their way. Doors? He'll open them. Shopping? He got that. Random passer by? Uh... please tell him to sheathe those swords. )

— open to strangers;
( Sadly, in the course of protecting an acquaintance, Steak's swords are too easily drawn. If you, dear reader, are the lucky number thirteen (or, actually, any number whatsoever) that comes too close to Steak's designated protectee, you might just find a muscular, sword wielding horned man glowering at you with rich red eyes. )

State your business.

( Ya... might wanna do that, bud. )

— closed to red wine;
( In all his work protecting others, there's been one real thought in his mind, one thing more important than everyone else he's offered to protect: His promise, the one made centuries ago, and the one person in this city who is also from Tierra.

Red Wine.

For all too long, Steak has scoffed at his worries of Falling, has written off his concerns and believed that to be a way of helping — if Steak believes that Red Wine will never Fall, if the others around him feel the same, it'll all be fine. He'll realise how over-sensitive he's being and all will be normal — but then Steak came back from the transfer, the failed transfer, and—

The echoes of their blades clashing is an all too familiar noise, but it sticks with him in this case; ringing steel against steel, the tension in his muscles as he pushes Red Wine back and out of the city.

And away from the influence driving him like that.

Which is, ultimately, where this logic comes from. He finds Red Wine in their home, somewhere, and — without asking, because who do you think he is? — grabs him by the shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric of Red Wine's top. )

We're leaving. Come on.

[Though he hasn't spoken much of it, what had almost happened to him haunts him even now. How could it not? When the very core of what you are is so violated, how can it fail to play heavily on your mind?

It has, but Steak has always scoffed at the very idea of his falling. He doesn't expect it will be any different now, even when he has seen the evidence of it in front of him. The memories of it come back in drabs and flashes, in flickers of sunlight reflecting off steel and the taste of dust in his mouth, and he tries not to dwell on it...

But how can he not?

Fingers digging into his shoulder jolt him out of his thoughts on one unremarkable afternoon, and he immediately stiffens in anticipation of a fight.]

Excuse me? And just where do you think we're going?

( It can still be stupid and yet be an almost frightening reality here in Hadriel. Back on Tierra, they don't have blasphemous things calling themselves gods trying to manipulate people's minds.

The point is that there's a chilly, icy dread in the back of Steak's mind, cold at the base of his spine as he considers staying in this city any longer. What else could these beings pull, given the opportunity? He promised to protect Red Wine, and he may not be able to do that here, if he can't stop the gods from touching Red Wine.

Ergo— ) Out. Away from this city.

( Come on, Red Wine. Don't make him carry you. )

I think there's been some kind of mistake, here. You seem to have forgotten just who you're speaking to.

[There's that tone in his voice, the one that dares Steak to just try and touch him to start a fight. The one he has used countless times before, edged with just a hint of unfamiliar wariness.

Steak is an idiot, but something doesn't feel right. He's never spoken to Red Wine quite like that before.]

I don't need to go anywhere.

The hell you don't!

( What is one more fight between them, really? They must be beyond a thousand fights in their time together, so what is one more fight if it comes to the greater scheme of keeping Red Wine safe? Steak hardly sees that as an obstacle to fulfilling his duty, his promise to his Master Attendant.

Come at him, Red Wine, if he has to knock you out and drag you out of this city, he'll do it. He doesn't trust it or what it can do to either of them. )

( They're running out of chances. Truthfully, they have been for a long time, probably since before The Door was first opened and people were first brought here. It's why she's kept herself so busy, trying to find a way to use The Door to help protect them — it's some sort of ancient fucking god, even their gods are wary of it, surely that has to be of some use — or driving herself to exhaustion with countless hours of combat practice, or exploring the areas beyond the city in a bid to try and find something useful before they're out of time.

Any day now. And then? Then there's no guarantee of anything. They could all return to their own worlds, safe as they (possibly) can be, or they could all be wiped out in a mass extinction. And what do they have? A few guard towers and the vague hope that they can do something.

Maybe she was promising Faith too much, trying to save the gods. But that's what she did, and she'll see it through.

But Faith isn't the only person to whom she's indebted in this derelict city. There's countless people who she's known through the years, friends who've made this place more bearable, those who are still here and those who aren't. And the need to see them is like a chill down her spine, something she can't ignore despite her best efforts. The need to make sure that nothing is left unsaid, because—

Well, because if there's anything she fucking knows about in this life, it's how hard it is to live with unsaid words. How many times has she wished for one more chance to see her brother, to tell him all the things she thought were too obvious to say? How many people here in Hadriel have gone without a chance to properly understand what they mean to her?

With that in mind, she walks to the memorial garden, and settles down in front of a marker as old as the place itself is, plain bar a loosely tied strip of checkered fabric around it. )

...Hey. ( There's a certain something to her tone, quiet and warm, mixed with a touch of something that could only be longing, the desire for things that never did happen. Things that could have been.

It's strange, visiting Sam's marker for this, when it's been so long since she has, but she has years more practice talking to headstones than people. In a way, it's easier, like visiting her family's graves. ) Know you can't hear this, and you're probably fighting demons or whatever now, no memories of this place. Don't know if we'd even count as the same people now. But, um... Thanks. Wish we could've had longer but— ah... ( Well. ) Wouldn't have what I do now if you weren't in my life then. Helped me realise being with someone weren't so bad.

( She shifts on her knees, cheeks warm to the touch, and clears her throat before leaving.

That. That was needed. But now, there are people still around who she needs to see, and only so much time to do it. One more glance at the marker, and she steps away from the garden, heading back towards the city. Should she recognise anyone, her hand raises in a half wave, and there's a clear— )

Got a minute?

( OOC: so feel free to embarrass her by overhearing the bit in the memorial garden or just... find her around town. If those don't work, wildcard me baby and we'll do something else )

[George is on her way home, walking with a slow, easy gait when she sees Kate lift her hand in greeting. she immediately switches paths to walk on over with a curious, yet friendly (friendly. wtf has happened to her here?!) look on her face.

and in a lightly teasing tone] Sure I've got a minute. Might even have more than that.

( A lot of shit, the same as is with the rest of them. If Kate returns home with all her memories, she's going to have a lot of explaining to do to her friends. That should be fun. )

C'mon. ( There's a wall nearby, down a street that's usually less than populated. It's as good a place as any to chat. ) Been a long time coming.

( And, honestly, a lot of the time, she wasn't sure this sort of moment would ever come in Hadriel. )

[definitely a lot of shit. but all shit she wants to remember, because she actually . . . kind of likes the person she's become here. she didn't before.

she follows Kate to the wall] Yeah, guess so. Been here two whole years now.

[she's honestly dreading it because 1) she can't fight, so she'll be no good against the Null and 2) she's doesn't want to think about what happens afterwards]

[Jo might have been headed for the memorial garden herself but seeing Kate on the trip there means she'll stop for a moment, especially when Kate waves to her.]

Sure. What's up?

( It's probably appropriate that they meet here, isn't it? Kate on her way out and Jo, by the looks of things, on the way in. It's almost enough to bring a smile to a person's face, knowing that they had the same idea.

Not her face, necessarily, but someone's. )

I— ( Wow, it's strange to try and word this when she's fresh off the heaviness of visiting Sam's marker. ) —You've been a good friend.

( Lame, Katherine. )

[It brings a smile to Jo's face, and a laugh as she looks around them.

Just in case.]

Don't break a bone. [She laughs again, reaching out to lightly tap Kate's shoulder with a closed fist.]

I'm glad we met. You're a good friend too.

Alfred has been in a mood as of late again. He doesn’t know what it is exactly. There’s a deep frustration with Ivar at times. The Viking is restless and moody and really, really nice to look at and even better to have long conversations with, to wake up next to, entangled. There’s been more than a couple embarrassing incidents with their mornings over the months and what not. But things hadn’t ever progressed all that far. Sex wasn’t a thing consistently on Alfreds mind, his experience with it after all isn’t the best and he’s said it before that he didn’t enjoy his ~husbandly~ duties with Elsewith even when there wasn’t an audience.

But he knew that there was something deep there with him. He cared about Ivar more deeply than he had ever cared for anyone before. He should tell him, really tell him that. He is idling in the kitchen of the apartment they still share, making dinner for the both of them. He’s been practicing more than just stews. there’s meat and some pasta — spaghetti had actually been the first meal that he’d learned here.

Either way, he’s drinking wine while he’s cooking which is always a good idea.

Ivar had needed his space after coming back from the heartbreak of losing his wife and child. It wasn't anything personal, it was just like being wounded in any other sense: he needed time to heal. Paradoxically, he'd also been sticking closer to Alfred during this time, just needing to be around him without wanting to say anything. The English king seemed to understand and let Ivar hang around like a dog looking for someone to give it a kind word.

Ivar had been out, enjoying the heat of the jungle world. It eased the pain in his legs, making him less grumpy, which was just good for the safety of everyone in the city overall. He limped inside the apartment he shared with Alfred and Kelson. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen. "What are you making?" He asked as he sat down at the table, watching Alfred cook. His hair had grown a little longer, but Ivar wouldn't be satisfied until it was back to its previous length.

The heat hasn't been particularly pleasant to Alfred. Warmer times typically were the times when he fell ill so he had been nervous in this new location and climate. However, he'd been lucky this far not to have an episode. He's particularly grateful for that as he'd be embarrassed if Ivar ended up seeing him fall into such a weak state.

"I don't think it has a name. Just meat and some pasta," Alfred said and glanced over at him with a quick smile. He takes a drink out of his wine and then moves to get Ivar a cup as well to pour the Viking some wine.

Alfred shouldn't have worried. Ivar wouldn't have had any contempt for Alfred falling ill. Instead, he would have been glued to his side night and day like a faithful watchdog, terrified until he made a full recovery. Alfred was one of the only people he loved who had never deserted or betrayed him and Ivar was determined to repay that threefold.

Ivar accepted the wine with a murmur of thanks. "When did you learn to cook? I never really had to." Being royalty had its perks and Ivar, much like his mother, never really had the inclination to learn how to cook beyond more then the absolute basics.

"When I first came here," Alfred answers. Although, he had seen his mother cook enough when they were in hiding that he could have likely managed to survive but all the same... it'd been a useful skill to cultivate here without servants to make him food and such.

"There aren't exactly servants here."

"More's the pity." Ivar could have done with a servant or two around to tend to his needs. Still, he wasn't soft by any sense of the word, and had done just fine since coming here on his own.

Ivar struggles back to his feet, limping up behind Alfred. He leans down, resting his chin on Alfred's shoulder, his free hand wrapped around his waist. He can admit to himself that he loves Alfred as much as he's capable of loving anyone. "Why are you so good to me? I hardly deserve it," he murmurs.

Alfred finds himself distracted as the other comes close, feeling the other's chin on his shoulder, the warmth of him pressed behind him as his arm slipped around his waist. It's a thrill that he's never had with anyone else before. Nothing really came close to it. He doesn't lean too heavily back but he does tilt his head to lean against Ivar's.

"Because you're special to me," Alfred murmurs. It's not a statement like Ivar might have heard before. He's not saying that Ivar's some god or a gift from the gods but that he's special to Alfred. Alfred forgets what he's doing for a moment, fingers dropping to trace over Ivar's arm and his lips brushing against his ear.

"I probably don't deserve you either," he says, there's a teasing to it.

He kisses Alfred on the neck. Ivar can hear the teasing tone, but instead it just makes him feel a little bit sad. "You deserve someone better then me. You're a good person and you see the best in people. I'm...not." Not a good person and too cynical by far, bringing the shadows of people to light instead of their best qualities.

But he'll take what he can get. Alfred's like a light in the dark. He may not make Ivar good, but he makes him the best version of himself.

Alfred is quiet for a moment at Ivar's response and he shakes his head. He laces his fingers into Ivar's where he had been tracing his arm before. "We're all a mix of good and bad, Ivar," he replies, smiling and reaching his free hand to give the food a quick stir but it's an idle movement.

"I've never felt like anyone the way I do about you," Alfred murmurs and it feels like a terrible thing to say in some ways. He's married after all but it'd not particularly been a marriage of his choosing.

"Some of us more of one then the other," Ivar points out. But he's not interested in a discussion over the matter right now. He's happy and relaxed, two things that rarely occur. The raw spot left in his heart from where Freydis had betrayed him still hurt, but a little less so then before. Alfred's presence had been helping to heal him.

He tilts his head and kisses Alfred. Thoughts are entering his head that have never really been there before. Oh sure, he's thought of bedding Alfred many times, but they were never serious, more like fantasies he liked to indulge himself in. The idea of seriously sleeping with the English king has never really entered his head...until now. Now, he thinks the idea a sound one. They might die tomorrow, so who cared about anything else?

"Think the food can wait?" The Viking asks in a low tone, sounding far unlike himself.

Alfred doesn't want to talk about it either. It's true enough in any case but he thinks maybe there is more good in Ivar than Ivar thinks there is. The kiss keeps any temptation to say more tightly locked away. He kisses him back, it was easy to fall into this with Ivar. His mind doesn't go to sex, sex, after all, hadn't been the most pleasant experience with Elsewith. But he'd often enjoyed kissing Alfred, had heated dreams about him and rather had enjoyed when he got glimpses of his bare skin.

He nods, reaching to turn the heat down to a warm so that at least it wouldn't get cold. "For a while."

"Let it sit for a while," Ivar tells him. He gestures with his head towards the bedroom that had somehow become both of their's over the course of the proceeding months. His hand slides down to Alfred's own, intertwining his fingers with his so that he can slowly lead him there.

Once inside, Ivar shuts the door behind the two of them. He stares at Alfred for a moment, searching for words that simply won't come. All he ends up doing is leaning forward and kissing Alfred, dropping his crutch so that he's leaning solely up against Alfred to keep him upright.

Alfred nearly asks why but he doesn't and decides he'll trust Ivar's lead. Sometimes after all the Viking just wanted to be close and Alfred had always wanted that too. He was always happy to spend time with Ivar no matter what they were doing. He's perhaps not the best at reading the signs that Ivar might have something a little different in mind this time.

He meets Ivar's eyes when they're in the room, he can almost feel what Ivar wants to say, maybe, but not quite. The kiss is more than welcomed and Alfred returns it with no hesitation. The weight of Ivar against him is solid and the other is warm. His arms slip around him as he tastes the Viking on his lips. The crutch is set aside so Alfred doesn't pull away but leads the other teen to the bed so Ivar can get off his legs as they continue to kiss.

As they sit on the bed, Ivar works on getting his leg braces off. With all the straps and metal parts that need to be undone to get them off, it does pause the mood for a moment. Fortunately, he knows Alfred is patient and won't mind too much.

After he's finally gotten the last strap off and put them carefully on the floor, he looks over to Alfred, and begins to kiss him again. It's slow and sensual as his hands begin to explore the other teen's body. His hands slip under Alfred's shirt and begin exploring the muscles of his chest. He may not be a Viking, but the English king has wielded sword and shield long enough to develop a nice musculature.

Alfred's a lot smaller then Ivar physically, but as Ivar feels his own hands on him, his heart begins to beat faster. He wants Alfred as much as he ever wanted anyone. This time, he knows the object of his affection doesn't view him with any pity or have any manipulations planned where he's concerned.

Alfred is patient and he knows Ivar well enough to know that he doesn't want help just then. There were times where Alfred knows that he can help the Viking with something but it is not always and those braces provided many opportunities to inadvertently cause Ivar pain. But the time seems to pass quickly to Alfred, his heart racing as he watches the other and he is eager to return to kissing. He'd never quite enjoyed kissing with anyone else -- not that there's a large pool of people that he's kissed to draw comparisons from.

The kissing is somewhat different from most of the other times they'd kissed, Ivar's hands under his shirt is not completely new but there was more intent and it drew more heat. Alfred's hands aren't confident as he touches Ivar in return, finding their way to his sides, the muscular torso. Ivar's upper body had always been something that had made Alfred flush, from his arms to the strong span of his chest.

"Ivar," he murmurs, breathless against the other's lips.

Ivar pulls Alfred's shirt off, exposing his upper body. He kisses Alfred on his neck and then running his lips down his chest, licking with his tongue as he bites playfully at his skin.

He leans back onto the bed, pulling Alfred down on top of him. He's working his own shirt off now, flinging it to the side and off the bed once he's got it. His dick is growing hard from the feeling of the English king's hands upon him. Neither one of them is terribly experienced, but for once, that gives Ivar a bit of confidence that this might turn out alright.

Alfred feels a modicum of shyness when Ivar pulls off his shirt. Of course, Ivar has seen him in various states of undress but there's something different about the fact that it's Ivar undressing him and then himself. His body feels warm, a coil of desire that he'd not really understood completely. He swallows heavily when he finds himself on top of Ivar. He can feel Ivar as their hips press close together and his own cock was getting hard.

He'd never get the affect that Ivar had on him. Being close to Ivar was like this was so different than the few times with his wife that had been forced and stilted. There'd been no coil of heat, no overwhelming sense of desire and emotion. His hands move over Ivar's exposed chest, his skin tingling from the teasing of Ivar's mouth upon him.

"Ivar," he murmured. This was definitely nothing like anything he'd done before even with Ivar. He shifts to press his lips to the other's jaw and then a trail along his neck and the strong shoulder.

The feeling Alfred has on Ivar is intoxicating. It's not just his looks, though Ivar will never deny that the English man is easy on the eyes. It's how he makes Ivar feel inside, like he believes him to be a better man then he actually is. He makes Ivar sometimes feel like he can actually be that person, the potential one Alfred sees inside of him.

Alfred illuminates the darkness within him with his own light.

There's a shudder of desire from Ivar as Alfred's lips lightly touch over his bare skin. Taking the initiative, he trails a hand down Alfred's chest, hesitating at the edge of his pants before he slips his hand down, wrapping a hand around his boyfriend's cock before he begins to move his hand up and down in a rhythmic movement.

Alfred would never stop believing that Ivar is capable of being a better person. They were all capable of being better and being worse and he believed in Ivar. He couldn’t help himself even when sometimes logic would dictate it was ridiculous to put faith in Ivar.

Ivar’s touch on his cock is a shock to Alfred. The pleasure was nearly just as surprising and his mouth stilled where it was pressed against his shoulder. His heart seemed to pound in his ears to a deafening volume.

“Ivar,” he exhales raggedly after a moment, fingers digging into his sides.

Every touch of Alfred's mouth or hands is enough to send sharp bursts of electricity racing over his skin. He feels like this is something he could never get enough of. All he wants is to keep this going forever.

Ivar breathes the other's name out like a prayer as he continues with his ministrations, hand moving with a deft touch. "Alfred..."

[Tinya understood the necessity of each of them keeping their separate apartments. appearances had to be maintained.

she understood the need to keep the love they found a secret, that the vast majority of Hadriel's residents would look askance at a man Will's age having a relationship with a woman Tinya's age. she knew they'd cast their judgement on Will who'd been judged so many times by so many people and she didn't feel that was fair to him.

she understood the necessity for discretion, so when Caedra murdered the man she loved and left her to find his body, she mourned in the privacy of Will's apartment and kept up her usual sunny, friendly demeanor in public even though she felt as though she was screaming inside.

so she understood. she knew.

that didn't stop the fear of losing him from seizing her by the throat. and it didn't stop her from phasing down through the floors of the apartment spire separating her from him, landing on his floor with a soft thump. Winston was already out to greet her, but where was Will?

moving through his apartment towards his bedroom, she calls out] Will? Will? Where are you?

[ Will has been trying to sleep, something he's never really been any good at, still there was so much happening lately, so many people with overflowing feelings and emotions- Will was overwhelmed and swamped by it all.

He was laying on the top of his bed, a glass of water and his spectacles resting on the cabinet at his side. It wasn't as if he'd actually been asleep, well, not a deep sleep anyway but the moment he heard Tinya call his name, Will mused that he was deeper asleep than he realized.

Raising up by pushing against an elbow, slowly rubbing the groggy feeling away from his eyes. ]

Tinya? Is... Is that you?

[she'd feel awful about that if she knew she was contributing to it in any way, but. as it is, she needs to see him with her own two eyes, hold him close, and soothe her rattled nerves.

she enters his bedroom and her eyes go soft and loving at the sight of him laying in bed with his glasses off.

she approaches slowly and sits down on the bed next to him, reaching a hand out to run through his curls.

a warm smile] Who else would it be?

[and she leans in to kiss him slowly, gently]

[ Tinya wasn't the reason for Will's sleepless nights- Well, no that wasn't exactly true but she wasn't a negative reason that was for sure. Being an empath was extremely tiring and Will had always had a problem with sleeping, it was just now it seemed even harder to drift off.

As she came over and sat on the bed beside him, Will fell a mix of emotions of his own. Relief that she was there, so much so that the moment she threaded her delicate fingers through his tangled curls, he wrapped both arms around her middle and held her close. The other thing he felt was fear, irrational fear of losing her. ]

I was just dreaming of you.

[ He uttered, his voice just above a whisper. Slipping into her kisses as easy as breathing. She was perfect, too perfect and Will knew she could have any man, woman or alien she wanted. ]

How eh, how did you get in?

[ He didn't hear the door or Winston bark but then again, it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was here and that she chose to come and be with him. His heart started to pound in his chest, fear sinking its nasty claws into him, bubbling up that feeling of dread. Like she'd only come over to tell him she was leaving him. ]

[she knows he needs to get more rest and feels a little guilty about interrupting it. but she needed to see him, to reassure herself of his love.

she smiles warmly, lovingly when he wraps his arms around her, snuggling closer in response. and his hair feels so good to touch, soft and curly. she wraps a curl around a finger and watches it bounce back, then goes back to her gentle stroking]

Were you? Happy ones, I hope.

[she says back gently, her voice hushed in response. and she kisses him again and again and again, soft and gentle kisses that could easily be coaxed into something more passionate. and perhaps she could have any man, woman, or alien, but she loves and wants him.

she giggles softly] I phased. All the way through the floors separating us.

[Winston knows her well enough to not bark at her now. and she reaches her other hand to gently cup his cheek in her hand and stares into his eyes with love and tenderness and desire. leaving him is the absolute last thing on her mind]

Edited 2019-05-27 00:35 (UTC)

Open; About the Jungle

[It's an unfair bit of snobbery for Fingon to indulge in, but he doesn't particularly enjoy using Rage's arrows. He's used to fletching his own (two thousand years of experience in that quarter does help in that regard), and the abundance of birds in the jungle provides an opportunity to do the kind of work he's used to.

So he goes out into the jungle, looking for possibilities. He has his harp, most of the time, and can be heard playing music to attract the creatures of the woods toward him.

Later he'll be found about the city, piecing his arrows together and testing how well they work.]

Open; Shops and Desire's Housing

[There are things other than arrows they will need before the end, and to the best of his ability Fingon will be sure they have them. He hunts the shops anything that could be turned into medical supplies, relying on centuries of battlefield first aid to guide his judgment. And when other things catch his eye he looks over them a moment and frowns, judging whether they can be of use.

One of the things he he spots? Flour and wheat, and an idea begins to form. Coimas, elvish waybread, is by the tradition the province of women- but it can't be so different from normal baking, can it? Perhaps if he can figure out how to recreate the recipe as best he can...

It's a lot harder than it looks, as it turns out. Over the next few days Fingon can be found outside his house, holding pieces of what looks like hardtack in his hands and shoving them on passersby.]

Eat this, [he barks, clearly frustrated.] Just a bite, you shouldn't need much. Tell me how you feel.

[Either he'll get it right or wreck his kitchen in the process. Please someone help him before it's the latter.]

Open; Around the Firehouse

[The wildlife teems in this city, and while Fingon is usually grateful it does make some things much harder than they need to be. For example: the Firetrucks, which always need a clear route to travel to where they might need to go. Which means they need constant testing to see how far they can travel.

And also, they need constant testing to see what they can be used for- whether they can be modified to be useful should the Null attack. It's that Fingon is working on- that and another nearby project, trying to create a device for projectiles to attack the Null with. Feel free to interrupt him on either project.]

Closed; to Sansa

Is your evening free?

[Fingon asks when they see each other during the day.]

I thought we might spend some time together.

[And while he tries to keep his tone light, there's something more serious about his eyes.]

Event Log: Fear and Love

Bianca - mostly Rey but also OTA

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steak / open

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kate / open to cr

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near the garden

:>

<3

Alfred Aethelwulfing | closed to ivar

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Tinya Wazzo: closed to Will Graham (cw: underage, age gap)

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Fingon | Mostly OTA