[se] chasing the rapture
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 12
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 335
MP:
#1
Deimos
Later, later, later, when they’d had their revelry and reverie with others, he approached, gave chase, a wolf, a vulture, a demon. The selfish, greedy, voracious contortion to him would’ve preferred her entire company, her and her alone, but he knew better than that, didn’t give it a voice, naught more than a passing, flickering notion: for she was Amalia, kind and beneficent to all, and it wasn’t her fault he lacked the abilities.

Deimos’ advance was quiet, unhurried, a leisurely, predatory stalk that failed to give away the sense of urgency in his bones, the hushed reverberations of his intentions, the gift laden in his basket now, beneath the captured, glinting stones from the Stonesong. His patience and invocations had crafted the present, deep in the bellows, annals, and archives of Fae dictation and tomes, furtive and secret, while she was enamored with another object he’d bestowed. He likely wouldn’t ever stop with the offerings: time and time again, striving to show his gratitude, his affection, his endearments and devotion – which was a bit silly too, because his actions should’ve done so, should’ve transcribed what words and phrases could not. But it was unnerving, over and over, to feel the push and pull so vividly, to not ever truly understand why she even deigned to give him the time of day.

Jyoti would likely give him away before he could deign a further advance, but he strived anyway, coming up from behind her frame and looming, a shadow, a monolith, a Colossus towering and eclipsing, hoping the length of his darkness didn’t extinguish her lighted torch (a constant fear; an avid reminder of who he was and who she had become). Then he leaned down, closer and closer until his mouth was nearly at her ear, a whisper, a conviction, a tease, a ruse, breath fanning along her neck, inciting and kindling out of pure upheaval, mischief, and impishness. “I have something for you,” he murmured, before backing away, attempting to be out of reach.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 20
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 546
MP:
#2
AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
As it happens, Jyoti's reemergence into Amalia's awareness works well in the large man's favor. The starcalf is a comet of energy and abundance, crashing upon the baker's mind with all the weight of a glittering tide. Breaching before her surprised girl, she imparts visions and feelings of adventure, tries to convey the joy of dancing, the teasing and playing she has done. Jyoti is happy, exuberant, reckless and free; it is all Amalia can do to laugh, her dark eyes glittering with the whale's reflection as she tries to make sense of the myriad of scenes. "Slow down!" she cries, reaching to pluck the child from the air, her fingers teasing gently upon her spine. "You've been getting into trouble, hmm? And where is-"

She need not have asked, should have known what it would invite. Deimos' voice in her ear sends a shiver down the girl's spine, surprise making her jump and spin, a wild creature caught in a trap. Clutching her own basket to her chest, Amalia stares wide-eyed a moment before breaking into a vibrant grin, happiness radiant on her face. She cannot help it: she is always awed, left in wonder by his attention, the idea that in a sea of heartbeats he would focus in on hers. "Deimos." A reverent hum, melodious and teasing, her voice chasing as her body does not. Oh, she yearns to reach for him, to grab and steal the thing he offers, the idea of a present utterly astounding, proof that he thinks of her when she is not there, that she owns a portion of his mind.

Dancing delicately on bare feet, Amalia laughs at his attempts at coyness, a mischievous echo on her own face. "I have something for you, too." The basket waves between them a moment before vanishing behind her back, both hands locked upon the handle, wicked teasing on her lips. Stepping sideways she inches toward him, legs crossing beneath the long white dress. "Whatever shall we do?"
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 12
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 335
MP:
#3
Deimos
Reckless, fervent, and committed, to stars, to suns, to outlandish trouble just for the sake of it, he waited for Jyoti to tell of all their conspiracies and mischief. Daring and provoking for the sheer trill of it had been a juvenile endeavor, now back in the open, after quiet, stoic, detached days, after withering and decaying for so long: he cannot describe his gratitude for her, for all these other wondrous entities in granting him something other than despondency, melancholy, and treachery. So he lingered there, beholden, crowned, and laureled in mischief, awaiting the right moment – when she turned, when she shuddered, when the Cheshire grin turned into a more rampant, easygoing grin; loose and free, liberated and delivered. He leaned in, another tease, another ruse, while she clutched her basket and spoke his name on esteem and regard (which, in another time, another place, would have been absurd; then it was intimidation, fear, and wrath), wild locks rippling past his shoulders as he caught the glimmer of his title. The warrior proffered the same, uttered her calling with a marked, piercing reverie, syllables sliding across his tongue, against his teeth, past his lips. “Amalia.” His hands clutched behind him, gift entangled in his calloused fingers, awaiting the right moment, the correct interval, the play, the games they shared –

There it was, the laugh he required, obtained, kept locked away in his chest with heartlines and savage ichor. “Do you now?” His voice was an edge above a whisper, a knife, a dagger, gaze hooded, purposefully, methodically, a battle of perseverance and fortitude, as his gaze swept over her mouth, her eyes, her smile. “A dilemma.” Then the great beast shook his head, a pretense, a masque, as if there was no solution at all – no end to the wickedness, to the trails and traces of audacity they meandered and employed, clawed and toyed. He sidestepped as she pulled towards him, beckoning, tenacious, intentionally drifting on stiletto edges so she couldn’t duck around him and see; no honor amongst thieves. It could’ve easily been another molten battle of who would outlast the other: and the warrior was prepared to counteroffer, to bludgeon, to root himself into the very ground on the sheer notion of stubbornness.

But curiosity usually got the better of him, and he was not a soul often gifted. While he’d laden promises, vows, assurances, dead, broken bodies and disheveled tyrants upon doorsteps and feet, the same couldn’t be said amidst Basin inhabitants. Here though, where nearly everyone accepted and tolerated his ridiculous, asinine qualities, had been a present and reassurance upon itself. However, the avaricious pull was strong, the inquiries and inquisition stronger, so much so that his eyes dared and his head tilted to perhaps peer into the basket, intending to catch the slightest glimmer of an artifact meant for him.

Because she’d seen something and thought of his ineffectual, monolithic entity. It cornered its way into his heart, stammered, reverberated, made him straighten up and pretend he hadn’t been concocting anything untoward; innocent, blameless (not a day in either of his lives). He unhinged his shoulders in a haphazard shrug, but intentions were clear on the strength and puncturing depiction of his eyes. “We could always exchange them.”
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 20
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 546
MP:
#4
AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
He sidesteps her advance and she continues to circle, long limbs matching is attempt at retreat. It is a sunlit smile which meets his teasing, cherubic innocence a thin-stretched mask which scarcely conceals the mischief below. She tilts her head in silent response, tsk'ing with a shake of golden locks. Again she steps, and then another, revolving around him like a moon, drawn closer and closer to his orbit as she tries to spy and contour and dance. Her eyes never leave her as she spins, twirling beneath his azure gaze, the basket shifting in her hands and she gracefully circles the man. Jyoti swims behind her, a wake of starlight to her dance as she tries to sneak a peak at his present whilst still concealing her own.

She has to stop her attempts at spying in order to defend her own prize, snatching the basket from his view as he tries to use the advantage of his height. "Hey!" she laughs her indignation- as though she were not employing the same ruses, not trying just as hard as he to win the latest of their games. Curious and hungry, she yearns to see his gift, to know what it is he thinks of her, how he has chosen to reward her affections, what prize he thinks could even begin to the wonder of his heart.

"We could," she answers agreeably, stepping toward the man. But there is no fun in making things easy; it is not their way. "Or we could play a game. I'll answer one question about your present. You answer one about mine. Then we'll guess." She raises an eyebrow, a challenge offered, and extends a hand for him to shake. "Deal?"
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 12
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 335
MP:
#5
Deimos
What a spectacle they must’ve made, had either of them cared – circling, like vultures, like raptors, like birds of prey eager for the hunt and chase. He’d revealed himself far too early, ardent and avid, which only served to kindle the incoming rush and game. That was their pattern, taking eons to ever compel layers of forthrightness, a tease, a ruse, well-versed and rehearsed humor they both reveled and shared, twisting and turning, unfolding back upon the other with a due diligence to mischief and mayhem. Before and before and before, the Reaper wouldn’t have made a prime candidate for anything other than distortion, demolition, and obliteration – and now, here he was, striving to peek and glance at a gift meant for him, molded, entrenched, so firmly in devilry, in juvenile, infantile antics, that scarcely anyone would recognize him. Perhaps the baker wouldn’t have been either, hiding and tucked away, diffident and reserved, until everything else came into view, and there they were, tucked and sequestered in savage, silly nuances. He turned. She spun. He revolved. She rotated. They were on an axis, on a rotation, whirling and spiraling, their own dance with all the layers tossed amidst defiance and sedition.

She stepped forward and he did the same, towering and expanding again, the beast of burden pressing his shadow into her light. It was a challenge, a dare, a provocation, and affection all in one swift movement, snicker enclosing itself upon his lips, an arch to his brow. He could easily reach his hands out and pluck the basket out of her grasp – greedy, mercenary, acquisitive, ruin the entire damned surprise and fun because his patience had suddenly become paper thin – but he willed back his composure, the state of his control. His chest heaved on a theatrical sigh, as if he were put upon by the inclinations of one more diversion and distraction (he’d always welcome her as a divertissement), but hummed and crooned straight into it, the speciousness and mask not well established. “Deal.” The agreement was quick and short, like all their other ones, and though no dancers were currently threatened, who knew where the moments would lead - but his fingers were not, purposefully shaking her hand and then intertwining their fingers together. With the other hand still behind his back, holding, hiding precious wares, his eyes lifted towards the clouds and shadows, pretending to think and mull over, taking a lengthy amount of time for the sheer amusement of it. Finally, his gaze slid back down to her, inclining and tilting his head much like a curious hound. “Can it be used as a tool?”
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 20
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 546
MP:
#6
AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
He matches her circle step by step, steadily shortening the space between them, a strange dance they alone know how to perform. His dramatic sigh is met with a beatific smile, innocent and cherubic, dark eyes fluttering behind long gold lashes. She reaches a hand up as though to catch it, encapsulate his weariness and tuck it far away, fingers drifting with pointed lightness over the curve of his bearded cheek. A tilt of her head, a hint of a smirk; she lets her touch drift down his neck, tracing lazy rivulets down the ripples of his chest, down and down and down his arm until she slips into his hand, the fingers knitting easily together as they agree upon their play.

She will never get used to the feeling of her hand in another, perfectly encapsulated by the breadth of his palm, enraptured and entrapped by calloused skin. As Deimos ponders his first question she raises it to her lips, the action almost idle, unplanned, as natural as taking in a breath. Hot breath ghosts across his knuckles, one after another as she watches him think, mischief glittering behind black eyes, her own questions brewing behind her gaze. He lowers his head as she reaches his thumb, and she hums a soft alto note across his fingers as though not quite sure the answer to his inquiry. "Anything can," she answers unhelpfully, smirking up over the hand on her mouth. "But no, I don't suppose you would want to, as it is."

Relaxing her hold, she takes a step backward, not to pull away from him so much as to think. Tawny head tilting thoughtfully, she makes a show of working hard, her brows knit into careful consideration as she tries to settle on a line of inquiry. "Is it useful, or decorative?" she asks at last, realizing belatedly that she is utterly lost, not sure how to narrow down from no idea to a tangible concept of what this might be.
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 12
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 335
MP:
#7
Deimos
Were this some other game, he might have thought she was intentionally distracting and deterring him from processing any assemblage of thought. But these ones seemed drowned and weighted in a particular set of innocence, not meant to truly beguile, ensnare, or thicken the plot: no one is in danger of their capers and crusades, knocking the world and its inhabitants asunder, so he silently reveled in her fleeting touches, leaning in, in, in, as she traced, etched, and sketched, the lightest ripple of a growl forming in his throat. Then her lips are on his knuckles, his fingers, and he arched a brow, breath billowing and teasing, and his eyes slid to a narrowed assault, mouth and teeth and tongue aching to bite down on something. She was likely fully aware of the current bout of torment, so he consumed and devoured the incensed wake in his lungs, drowned it out with mischief and devilry, stare rekindled to absolute ferocity.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes at her first response – intentionally vague, already a challenge just by mere happenstance and a lack of potential questions. The second though, proffered something of a nuance: if he wouldn’t find it as a tool, it was most likely not a weapon, a shield, or any sort of hunting, gathering material, as it is. The trial and tribulation continued though, since there were no other opportunities or chances to inquire – left only with the light intentions and the brooding potentials. He had no idea. His brows furrowed, no longer a pretense but an obvious role he’d taken as reality, machinating mind rumbling and rambling over the slight pieces he’d been granted. He supposed it wasn’t living, which narrowed down an assortment of choices, and it would have to fit in her basket. Was it ornamental, since that had been her inquiry? Could he adhere it to something later, impart it as munitions and ramparts? He wished he’d been able to have more inquisitive measures, and he then he sighed, irked that there wasn’t a probability of him winning the game. Eventually though, even the calculating depths of his skull were worn out, and he was left to break apart the silence. “Metal?” Metal – not yet worn or hammered by a forge’s grace, unwielded, but capable of becoming something.

Then it was her turn – he watched her brows knit, considerations being made, crafted, back into the heart of the festival. He found he didn’t mind the intellectual side of their antics; but craved more of the physical, the rambling, the ambling, the jousting. “Quite useful.” It was why he’d crafted it - practical for her use, not a beast to inspire, incite, or create treasures and trinkets. It required purpose.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 20
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 546
MP:
#8
AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
She tilts her head to the other side, playing at thoughtfulness, stretching out her answer into a hummed reply. "Metal?" Amalia repeats, the syllables blown across his knuckles, as though she has forgotten the nature of her gift. Lacing her fingers into his, she drops their hands and smiles like sunshine, innocent and innocuous, cherubic and sweet, as though there is not mischief glittering behind her onyx eyes. "No, not metal," the girl replies, giving a shake of her tawny head, gold hair dancing upon her neck. Then she laughs, stepping forward, pressing her body briefly against his, standing on tiptoes, her mouth upon his cheek, a whisper in his ear. "Do you surrender?" It might have been something scandalous, for all her subterfuge, her darkened tone and hooded eyes, her brush of lips and teeth. It might still be: a challenge, a dare, a question of dominance and its price, of victories vied for again and again. Do I win? Will you fight? Shall I make you my prize?

She slips away on dancing feet, widening the space as easily as she closed it, a vibrant laugh ringing from her throat. She is happy, and wild, a hot summer breeze, enraptured and rapturous, unstoppable with glee. The promise of something useful has her puzzled once more, curiosity rampant and hot in her veins. Lower lip slipping thoughtfully behind her teeth, Amalia twists with consideration, the basket and its bounty still clutched behind her back. "Quite useful," the baker coyly repeats, an eyebrow raised with implication, that first word honey on her tongue. Many things could be useful to her, to them, and in light of recent misadventures she feels a shiver of possibility at the thought of any potential gift. Not that she thinks he has crafted something scandalous- but oh, she has found it is fun to tease.

"Is it a loaf mold? And if not- will I use for baking, or, ah, something else?"
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 12
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 335
MP:
#9
Deimos
The devilry blended together, breath billowing along his knuckles in singsong reproach, his brow arching while his skin shuddered, then laughter in his ear, gilded hair against his cheek with a boldness he had every intention of taking. He turned into her lips, intentionally, softly, resting his just above hers, enough so his exhale ghosts over and along, a slide of his rapacious, emboldened whisper. “Never.” It was mischief and mayhem before he pulled away; she must’ve known he wasn’t a beast, a heathen, a fiend made to yield and concede, too blistering, too scathing, too seething, incapable of neglecting a challenge, a dare, a provocation. He dug his heels in and maneuvered closer into her essence, darkness covering the light, smirk and snicker on his features as his mind whirled again at the possibilities. “Some sort of stone?” The artifacts could be used for a majority of tools, especially notched at the end of something, providing weight for a throw, fulcrums, or beating into submission. His head tilted, curious, inquiry, behind the slate of blue, thawed glaciers, stepping and pressing, advancing, as she attempted to twirl into the expanse.

He could watch her spring, reel, and chase sprigs of whimsy for an eternity, bordering on the sultry winds, gleeful instead of dampened and soused. His grin turned more amiable, affectionate, as he witnessed her consider her own guesses, raising both brows when she emphasized with an arch, simpering, coquette shade – eyes then narrowing, the brimming, smoldering expanse beating a voracious intention. “No, it is not a loaf mold.” The warrior stepped into her orbit again, a volley, a dance of their own with distinct twists and turns, hands still tucked behind his back, almost an innocent gesture if no one knew what he was or represented. He chased. He preyed. He stalked. He fumed. He existed: a combination of bestial threads and tender fondness (for her, her, her; more than just games and diversions). “I suppose you could use it for baking.” He shrugged, but gave nothing else in particular, no more details to ensure her victory.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 20
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 546
MP:
#10
AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
She presses forward into his lips, stealing the kiss he scarcely offers, a brush of whiskers on soft skin making her wrinkle her nose in amusement. Smiling against him she slips away, delighting in his bold pursuit, the refusal to let her drift away. Expecting nothing less she is nonetheless surprised, ever amazed by his attentions, never anticipating him to care. "Careful," she murmurs, her quiet voice dancing, reflecting the crackling blaze in her eyes. "People might start to think you like me, and where will your surly reputation be then?"

There is a flush of disappointment at his guess, a pursing of lips as the man is successful, the game coming too soon to an end. Tilting her head to the side she scowls, playfully distressed, her mouth fidgeting in thought. At last she deigns to acquiesce: "Some sort." Then she smiles, too pleased with the festivities to argue, too excited by the promise of secrets revealed. Now that he has finished much of the guesswork she wants him to see the rest himself, to watch his face and read the emotions as he takes the gift into his hands. And when she learns that she is wrong it seals her impatience, itches at her soul. "I give up," she admits, defeated, grinning brightly despite her words. "Come claim your prize" As he drifts nearer to her orbit she brings the basket forward, extending it out while stepping away, an offering given with tentative hope. She has labored and agonized over the thing, thought and rethought, wavered and yearned; even now she considers retreating, retracting, her cheeks flushed pink with worry and pride.

But she does not retreat, cannot retreat, would never retreat from him. She extends her offering, a bit of her heart, delicately crafted by more skilled hands than she. Should he unwrap the package Deimos will find a length of blue stone which glitters with gold, veins of sunlight in a river of sapphire. It is lapis lazuli, carefully fabricated to the shape of a whale, long and slender and glittering and fine. Jyoti coos as she looks at it, pleased by her representation in the gift, delighted and vain to the very end. Amalia's eyes remain on his face, anxious and eager, sparkling with love, his and his and his alone. "What do you think?"
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 12
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 335
MP:
#11
Deimos
Deimos had very rarely given an ounce of care towards what others thought of him. For a modicum of his life, he was determined and stalwart, and thereafter, between the cracked, rebellious pieces, detached and indifferent. “In tatters,” he mock-shuddered at her response, disinterested and apathetic where others were concerned about what he did or whom he adored. Jigano had tried to pry it out of his jaws, and the beast had toyed with secrets for her, and then because it amused him, to not allow the bard some information, to dangle it within reach and then scatter it away on petulant, infantile silence. Most of it had ghosted away anyhow, between dances and diversions, touches and fragments, and unless they were all turning blind eyes, then the revelations had always been there. He was about to take the blaze, the inferno, further, ignite just for the revelry, but what will they say about you on the tip of his tongue, as if it were shameful for her to be in his presence, in his orbit, little moons and suns spinning their way around his bestial existence –

But then she pursed her lips, and he tilted his head, eating away at the quandaries and possibilities, until it seemed he’d been successful, and the chase was vanquished, finished, coveted in his grasp. It was quick and sudden – he hadn’t expected the finale to end so abruptly (their play and pretenses were always lengthy monologues and soliloquies, then a volleying, back and forth, back and forth, a quip, a dagger, a grin), earning her scowl and interwoven smile. Disappointment in his victory was bizarre, for a greater portion of him had regarded her with a smug, satisfied smile, the cat caught with the canary and not even bothering to release it: stepping back into her path and trajectory with a savage stride. Some other contortion, the more eager, fervent, ardent grandeur, was simply pleased with the notion of a gift - claiming bringing a feverish, sultry, molten tint to his movements and motions. His eyes, somewhat hooded, somewhat superior, flickered from her to the basket and its contents.

There was nothing tentative in his advance, but reverential, methodical, pondering over the last time anyone had ever gifted or granted him anything (not worthy his world, his mind, would’ve said and added; no one presented anything to a machine, to a colossus, to a glacial statue seething on the throne) – one hand reaching in as the other continued holding the bestowal he’d created for her. It was wrapped, hidden, tucked away, and his palm slid over it carefully, studying, awaiting the contents to slowly unravel themselves, bits of blue and gold sparkling back at him. When he finally disentangled it completely, he beheld it in his hand: a beautifully crafted whale, with ichor christened in sunlight and rivers, tail skittering across imagined waves, speckled as if honed from the heavens. It was like her and him and the little star-dusted companion, all melded and molded together: gilded armaments for her grace and audacity, sapphire for his eyes, for the water, for the ice tied in his soul, and the coo, the croon, of Jyoti lavished and gathered there, harmonic, a serenade, an oeuvre. “Thank you.” His voice was hushed, but his eyes were not – captivated, lingering to meet hers with everything else he couldn’t name, say, or think. “It is wonderful. Did you make this?”

Then, he supposed, it was his turn: no longer hiding the package behind his back, extending his arm in offering, as he’d done so many times before, would continue to do for eternity. Its wrapping was not so fine and honed as hers, but the gift within was what mattered the most: upon her unwinding, she’d find two enclosed together: the first, a small notebook, bound by three spirals of gold thread, but the cover was the truly exceptional piece. Perhaps they were both inspired by the same, small companion: for it was embossed with galaxies and constellations, bright, lingering stars and patterns of blue, lavender, and ivory streaks, with a whale dancing within the middle. Cloaked along its side was a quill, with a lengthy feather and plume of an owl, found upon the forest floor, cleaned and dried, pressed to make something new. “I thought you could use it to write down recipes.” He strived for an explanation, but it was all he could accurately convey, two taken by the sea and its inhabitants that had fled for the skies – apprehension and consternation suddenly rumbling along his chest and ribs, pondering what he’d be able to concoct if she didn’t like it.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 20
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 546
MP:
#12
AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
She watches him intently, dark eyes trained upon his face, bright and uncertain and hopeful and aware. Any reaction, any sign- she expects disappointment at its lack of utility, a drop of his brow and a blink of confusion belying his lack of appreciation. It is a silly thing, she has decided, useless and pointless, only there to be pretty. And what need has the world for beauty, when it is a world like theirs where survival is paramount and need absolute?

She wavers and rethinks and flounders and fumbles, but Deimos does not let her fall. The man does not say anything eloquent, but this is unsurprising. He has never been one for sonnets or songs. But Amalia knows him: the wrinkle of his eyes, the arch of his brow, the way delight plays sweetly symphonic across his chiseled features, a tale of appreciation written in his smile. "I found the stone," she tells him shyly. "That day, by the river." She does not need to say which day- her quiet blush and intonation says more than any words, makes it apparent the time she speaks of, shared confessions in the sun. "I had the mason shape it like Jyoti... so it's from both of us." The starcalf backs this statement up with a cheerful coo and an aggressive onslaught, circling tightly around the man before settling in his hair.

Then it is her turn, and Amalia unwraps the package eagerly, not pretending to have control, to not be the impatient fire she is. A gasp is all she can offer, at first, quiet amazement and awed entrancement as the notebook comes into her focus. It is gorgeous, flawless, exquisite and amazing; she does not think she has gotten a gift so pointed, so perfect, in all her life. Speechless with wonder and delight and love, her face says more than her lips ever could as she turns it up to face the man, falling once more into blue. "I love it," she intones into the space between them, all the unsaid things clear within her voice. "Thank you, Deimos."
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 12
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 335
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#13
Deimos
The stone was warm and emblazoned in his hand, and his eyes continued to peruse, to study it, to admire the shape and masonry. His heart orchestrated a crescendo, a symphony, of delight that he was uniformly unfamiliar with, a delicate, tremulous wave he wasn’t quite sure how to handle or explain, but unknown and foreign just the same. Was it contentment? Happiness? Jubilation? He lifted his eyes again when her shyness was cast, when the story of how she’d come to find the rock delved into the surroundings – and the slightest, superior look crossed his face again, cheeks dimpling in impish decree and degrees. “I am very fond of that day.” The warrior watched the scattering of a rosy hue mark her features – utterly amused to witness the play of emotions along her face, could shake his head in wonder at her mixture of audacity, coyness, and then reserve. Then his gaze swam back to the delighted calf, who’d managed to claim his hair again, his other hand, now free of his gift, scratching at one of the starwhale’s fins. “Thank you,” he supplied in return for the coos, croons, and benedictions, the wry smile still embedded there.

His present was not so carefully divested: he chuckled as the impatience became unearthed and rampant, heart puncturing, piercing, and pervading in his chest as he waited for her reaction. The Reaper wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but listened to her surprise, to her gasp, with calm precision, even if his emotions were mercurial and divided on where they should stand – the speechless airs growing into more apprehension without the clarity, the veracity, clinging to any emotion or response. Then her face lifted, and he exhaled, loosened the tentative breath, his smile more indulgent as her rejoinder wasn’t lost in the discomfort of an unwanted bestowal: blue and black conspiring amidst the intonations. “I am glad,” which was just a precursor to the relief spreading through him, the lightest smirk dabbling back into his features, expressions ranging in affection, adoration, and other tangible clarities. “You are welcome.” Welcome to have it, welcome to have him, welcome to have anything was a drumming mark in his mind, saved for another day, another moment.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 19 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 20
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 546
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#14
AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
Amalia continues to look over the book, utterly entranced by the beautiful design, the craftsmanship wrought with magic and love. Long fingers trace the pictures, the thread, turn the pages and look within- and all the while she drifts nearer to him, until her back is against his chest, her weight divested against his support while her attention remains on the marvelous gift. For a few moments they remain like this, quiet and content, the girl enraptured, her heart full with ardor. She thinks it might be nice to stay in this time, crystallized beneath the aubergine sky, three souls neatly intertwined, safe from the turmoils of a bitter world.

Eventually she pulls away, taking his hand back in hers, the gift tucked safely within her basket, stashed among the rest of the bread. Rising onto pointed toes, Amalia brings her lips to his face, a gentle kiss placed upon his cheek before her attention returns to the rest of the world. "Shall we go join the others?" she asks him softly, dark eyes warm as they take in his expression, fingers lacing against his palm as she turns, looking through the blankets for a familiar face.


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