It takes a leap of faith
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 1,762
MP:
#1
Mature Content Warning 
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Perhaps he was a fool, to permit, instigate, and invoke an evening where he didn’t plot, where he didn’t claw, where he didn’t run capricious calculations or train in his yard, hacking at unmoving targets. But those days had been plenty: fraught with peril, with injustice, with danger, with subterfuge, with primordial predilections, and barbaric twists and turns. Upon his extension of invitations, the Reaper ensured this evening was for them, and nothing else.

The grouse he’d slain in the morning had been plucked, now set aside, cut and portioned into slices, easier to cook over the fire, along the stove, and he’d grabbed ahold of some rudimentary, simple plates for later and putting them on the small table – keeping himself busy instead of pacing the floor. The rest of the house was completely unburdened: Spartan, bare, plain, and stark, save for the weapons adorning the walls. His favorites had earned their place as décor, from swords to cutlasses to rapiers, and then there was a further assemblage of various daggers, throwing knives, and stilettos along the threshold, all in their proper places. Opening any drawer would likely reveal a complete set of some form of munitions, all in the experience and practice of utilizing and creating his own arms, with no need of a blacksmith – some with unfinished hilts and more austere designs, when he’d been devising how to ornament and enhance Remi’s gifted dagger. Upstairs only held his wardrobe, his bed, and perhaps one ornamental present, but otherwise, it didn’t hold much significance. It was a house, serving a purpose.

It wasn’t going to impress her, but as he tilted his head and considered the room, he doubted she had high expectations.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,924
MP:
#2
Amalia

stop thinking so much

To say Amalia arrives at the agreed upon time would not be strictly true.

To say she is early would further obfuscate the truth.

To say she is late, while technically accurate, ignores much of the story.

Here's what actually happens: Amalia intends to be on time. Perfectly on time. So much so that when she is ready early, prepared hours before she needs to be, the baker finds herself at something of a loss. She has already finished the daily bake, closed the shop early in preparation for the next day's ventures. The garden is tended to. Her prayers have been said. She has dressed and redressed herself, struggling to determine what one wore on a date, flipping between her three old dresses before settling on a blue one, pretty and delicate, a leftover from her grandmother.

Yet still there remains an infinite stretch of time to fill, and nothing to do with her idle hands, no thoughts except her rising anxiety, her concerns about the evening to come.

So she finds something to do. It is meant to be small endeavor, a simple recipe made slightly more complex by the choices of flavors, the ingredients she selects. But of course, those ingredients require gathering, which means an outfit change back to work clothes, and she is missing another thing she needs, and then she is lost trying to execute her vision-

And the end result is this: slightly late, out of breath, Amalia arrives at Deimos' door. Her dress is replaced by a black blouse and green skirt; her arms are covered in a handful of scratches, and there is a streak of blue across her cheek. Golden hair once pinned now spills undone across her shoulders, flowing down her back. But for all her disheveled appearance she is wonderfully alight, flushed and brazen and utterly delighted with the product of her work. Setting her aromatic baskets upon the ground, the baker knocks on the Reaper's door, an apology lurking beneath her smile, hopeful he will forgive her transgression once he learns what it has bought.

you're breaking your own heart


Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,762
MP:
#3
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
If anyone ever asked him, the Reaper would say he had never been nervous, apprehensive, or anxious his entire life. He was a man of preparation, calculations, and precision – there were moments strung together by projections, predictions, and predilections. His actions and motives, his movements and motions, were nearly always practical, dedicated, efficient, and without fuss. The military had taught him exceptionally well in all areas of control, composure, and tenacity.

But his eyes kept catching the clock, and when the predetermined time rolled around, and then the hands kept ticking farther, steamrolling into a vivid expansion – more than just seconds, more than just minutes, the trepidation began.

There could’ve been a thousand different scenarios explaining her lack of appearance. She’d been held up at the bakery. She was making deliveries and lost track of time. Something exploded. She’d been otherwise detained. She’d gotten into a fight with the local guards (again). She’d irritated the Fae and been captured once more. She’d been praying and was called away by one of her favored gods.

Or – she didn’t want to come.

He pushed the thoughts away, because there was half a second where he surmised he’d have to vacate his home, go out and find her, and then the entire situation would spiral into something he wouldn’t know how to handle (he didn’t know what to do with any of this). Faith and conviction kept him from twitching and falling apart at his wit’s end, or glancing at the clock once more. Perhaps he ought to be sharpening more knives. His eyes flickered to the grouse, idle notions continuing to flicker back into his mind.

The knock on the door, resounding, reverberating, along the outskirts of his home, made him raise his head like some kind of alerted predator; the wild heartbeat ricocheting through his chest calmed and stilled, the frenetic energy replaced by calm, by composure, because the warrior never maintained any sense of agitated energy, as he went to open the door.

The sharp, piercing depth of his eyes caught the scratches, blue streaks on cheeks, a slight dishevelment that caused him to tilt his head, hiding laughter that might have just been instigated by immense, intense relief. A smile coiled itself along his mouth instead, boyish and youthful on her alighted appearance.  “Come in,” he beckoned, a hand extended to grab her basket, another one to reach along the small of her back.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,924
MP:
#4
Amalia

stop thinking so much

"Hi, Deimos."

She lets him take one of the baskets, fights the urge to curl up into his other hand, to melt against the comforting sensation of it on her back. Will the sight of his smile ever stop catching her by surprise, the ardor she somehow entices from him ever instigate less than a flip of her stomach, a pleasantly bewildered mirth? Somehow it seems unlikely, for that would mean it is no longer remarkable, and Amalia cannot conceive of a world where he is not remarkable to her.

Luckily the girl is easily distracted, dark eyes dancing to the weapons on the wall, curiosity expansive as she aches to take it all in. How many times has he been in the bakery, yet this is her first time seeing his home? It feels somehow intimate, to be allowed within his sanctum, the hall he had made his own. To be trusted enough, cherished enough.

To matter.

Reaching out to touch a silver blade, Amalia turns back to face the behemoth, a wry smile upon her face. "You could outfit a whole army-" trying to swallow the fact that he may have to, that they are part of an army now. Tonight is not the night for such considerations.

Tonight is for them.

"Will you teach me how to use some of them?"

you're breaking your own heart


Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,762
MP:
#5
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
“Hello, Amalia,” he returned in a teasing snicker, grabbing hold of one of her baskets and bringing it inside, placing it on the table – half intending to rummage through it while her curious eyes, ears, and movements traced over the confines of his home. For however many times he’d managed to wander into the bakery, this is the first time anyone else had come within his confines. While it’s not a castle, not a mansion, nor anything remarkable, it was still his, a haven of sorts, but also the reclusive, detached threshold at the tail-end of the street. He was comfortable with her within its walls though, amidst the weaponry and sparse furnishings; everything that mattered tethered in the vehement chambers of his heart, in the Spartan inclinations of his home.

The Reaper watched as she meandered, touching over the edges of blades, waiting for a reaction. He received a smile instead of a harsh retort or a worried glance, and it was enough to set him at ease, comfortable – even as words touched and scorched over the foreboding outlines of the impending army. Perhaps he could supply the barracks, or, on the arch of a brow, anything else. He made no mention of his latter thoughts, allowed it to sink into the muck and mire, into the floorboards, in front of the closed door. “You may take any, if you wish.” Deimos’ head nodded and inclined to any number of armaments and munitions flanking the walls, or the ones lingering beneath their cousins, waiting to be cleaned or utilized, tested for their appeal and measure. “Or I can make you one.” He shrugged, stare haphazardly going back to the baskets, curious, inquisitive, lingering amidst more juvenile intervals, hands yearning to dig in, until a question loomed in the air.

His smile was genuine, but crooning, humming, with a Cheshire outlook, cheeks dimpled. “Swimming and swordplay? What are you going to teach me?” It was an obvious ruse, because she’d already taught him a hundred different things that he’d never thought he’d learn. They went unsaid, but stayed, twisted and turned along the small fortification, with its blades and shields, with its knives and daggers; and none willing to strike. They were enticements and allures instead, hastened by the piercing depth of his gaze, the arch of his brow, before he altered the subject, fingers stretching, threatening, poised to plunder whatever items she’d transported. “What did you bring?”
Unite and spread the heart apart
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,924
MP:
#6
Amalia

stop thinking so much

She searches the room and his voice follows her, generosity offered again and again. A smile and laugh reply to his suggestion, touched and bewildered by the ease with which he gives to her, who has done nothing to earn it. "I've only ever learned how to use a staff," she admits somewhat reluctantly, afraid to make a fool of a potential gift, to have him find she cannot possibly do justice to the faith he endlessly misplaces in her. Still, her attention lingers on the blades, particularly fascinated by a pair of long daggers, curved and wicked and likely impossible for one so graceless to possibly wield.

Still, it would be nice to have more skills, to be able to protect her loved ones and friends. She has no magic after all, no ability to do anything other than bake. And as much as she would like to save the word through the power of pastry, the viability of that plan seems minimal at best.

His reading comment draws her around, a playful grin given in response to his mischievous smile. Slinking forward suddenly, Amalia decreases the distance between them, leaning back against the table and flashing him a smile. Maybe it would have been sultrier if she wasn't blackberry-stained and wounded, but she is doing her best. "Hmm... Absolutely nothing. I'd rather keep taking advantage of you." An eyebrow arches in delicate challenge; her hands rest on the wood. There's something close to a purr in her smoky voice, alto lilting teasingly over the words, a flirtatious tone in more skilled lips made playfully earnest by inexperience.

He's looking into the first of the baskets, and Amalia follows his fingers with her gaze, a moment of panic crossing over her face as she tries to establish which one it is. Then she relaxes, an exhale leaving her lungs: "I brought some vegetables and dough for a pie," she says, reaching out to try and snag the second basket before he can look within.

you're breaking your own heart


Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,762
MP:
#7
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Her response invoked only the slightest inclination of his head, while thoughts spiraled, curled, and contorted off in different directions. It was satisfying to know the baker had some defensive or offensive capabilities in her, intriguing all the more when he’d seen bits and pieces of wildcat violence. However, he was also mildly concerned that it wouldn’t be enough when coming head-to-head with cutlasses, daggers, or any other weaponry entangled with adversaries (he made of a mental note of where her eyes lingered; twin daggers with intimidating curves). Leopard claws and agility were convenient as well – but what if -

The Reaper ceased the meticulous deluge of his thoughts, not divulging any of it, except to state which might be more welcome, considering the surrounding circumstances. “Swordplay first then.” He offered her the smallest of winks in regard, then intended to turn his attentions back to peeling away the layers of the basket, mischief in bounds, striving to put distance between dim, grim prospects of the future, if the Merciless was to be believed in her conquests.

He’d drawn her back towards him though, her curiosity sacrificed for devilry and flirtation. The beast was fully aware of the traps and snares, but hung around them anyway, biding his time, courting, inviting, and teasing the lines, piercing eyes lingering on stained features and scratches. What had she been doing? “At least you are honest,” and he smirked, hovering around the incited challenge, understanding the notions of a dare suspended, waiting for him to grasp it. Those were the rules they’d always played by: someone instigated a provocation, a summons, and the other reveled, revered, twisted and turned within it, waiting to see what the other concocted. Deimos lingered listlessly, perfectly comfortable in their arrangement, on the soft, dulcet vibes of her coquettish interludes, gaze hooded, flickering down on her lips as he drifted closer and closer –

And pulled away to dig deeper into the basket contents, masking the rogue smirk threatening to inveigle his mouth. It dropped off into his nefarious roots anyway, once his hands ghosted over vegetables and dough, and her proclamations followed suit. Though he would likely enjoy the pie, he’d been looking for something mischievous to sink his pursuits and persistence into. However, this evolved into another opportunity, and he hid the lacquer of disappointment, eyes briefly ghosting to the other basket (and now that his ambitions had been revealed, it was unlikely he was going to get a chance to sneak into that one), before his stare slid back to her. “Repayment can always be in baking education.” It was an arch to his brow this time, the challenge reinstated, as his hands tugged the contents of the basket over to the waiting grouse.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,924
MP:
#8
Amalia

stop thinking so much

He takes the bait as she knew he would, the same dances performed with reckless abandon, the same delightful and dizzying steps taken again and again. The man draws near and the starlit girl's breath catches, her face growing hot beneath his hooded stare, her heartbeat a pounding rhythm, a hymn to the blue of his eyes. "I'm always honest," she murmurs in reply, the attempt at righteous indignation fading into a whispered oath, a hummed assurance of alliance and love. Honest in emotion, honest in faith, honest in her ardent devotion of the world, the gods, of him.

He drifts nearer, and the girl begins to raise a hand, fingers seeking his dimpled cheek, to catch his lips as they crash against her, hold him flush upon her skin. Lost in his eyes she smiles, unaware, unexpecting the sudden diversion until it is taken, her hand still half-raised in the air, a bemused expression on her slender face. This is another part of the dance, the pushing and bending and yearning and teasing to see who will be first to break.

With a heavy exhale Amalia grins, a little bittersweet by the absence of his touch, a little entertaind by his clever ploys. She watches him begin to dig through his prize, the other basket hooked on her fingers and tucked beneath the table's legs. His boyish curiosity and declaration of repayment entices another ringing laugh; still leaning on the table, she shakes her head. "And watch you get more flour in my floor than in your bread again?" Her dulcet tone is a gentle tease, a reminder of bright days and shared friends.

Pushing off the table, Amalia follows him toward the Spartan kitchen, a distracted smirk still pulling at her lips. "It's good we're cooking at your house today. The bakery couldn't handle another attack. And my house is... Well." She trails off, glancing sidelong at him, her bottom lip between her teeth. She does not often speak of her house, the old building which has been in there family for generations but now stands empty, dusty and dark. Lately, though, she's wondered about it, thought about what it might be like to once more have a home, instead of just a shop. Somewhere to live, but also to share, to keep her heart and show her friends, to host parties and bask in the smiles of those she loves.

Home is people more than place, after all.

you're breaking your own heart


Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,762
MP:
#9
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Teasing and tormenting, inveigling and enticing, was a far more comfortable venture than leaning or leering into the past day’s transgressions, mishaps, and footfalls; he would rather spend a thousand hours unraveling her and them than take one more unholy moment discussing or diving into fractious, mercurial disasters. He didn’t question her honesty, and she didn’t circle over whether he was or not (lies were often part of ruses and schemes, machinations and calculations, one duplicitous instance to fit upon or between another). Perhaps she saw, realized, that he didn’t need to be so guarded, so rigid, so unyielding, so damned reticence and reluctant, around her – naught to hide, tangible and attainable only for her claws, her grace, her vehemence.

She laughed at his antics, which only galled him onward, arching a brow at the insinuation of flour on the floor, the memories of diversion, play, and amusement a far greater thing than the towering upheavals waiting outside the door. “Was that not the game?” His chuckle was a deep reverberation, echoing off the walls of the house, as he unloaded her basket, placing the items along the counter. “We cleaned up afterwards,” he uttered in defense of their mess. It had been glorious. “It was worth the victory.” The beast raised his head as if he’d obtained a grand achievement – winner of the not-as-much-flour-on-one’s-clothes contest, stringing upheaval throughout her bakery.

When he’d unloaded the dough and vegetables, he placed the basket aside, hands searching for particular pots and pans, grabbing hold and placing them near the stove. Deimos caught the enigmatic intonation beyond the antics, matching her gaze with his own. “I think you discount your bakery’s admirable defenses.” His hands went towards the grouse, itching for something to do, cutting the pieces he’d already sliced into finer fragments, easier to cook. “Your house is…?” He didn’t let her off so easily this time: curious, intrigued, plucking at strings she'd likely preferred left alone. She’d clearly seen and now ventured into some portions of his home; it was nothing sensational, vibrant, or revealing, but it suited its purpose. It was a roof over his head, some measure of security, but lacked depth and warmth – mainly because it only housed himself, weapons, and necessities.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,924
MP:
#10
Amalia

stop thinking so much

"As I recall, the goal was to stay clean." Any attempt at true severity is easily betrayed by her laughing tone, fondness at the memory, at his victory, at cakes and friendship and joy. Not long ago she had been just as guilty of committing the same sins, making childish games out of adult endeavors. Can she help but delight in his ability to draw that part of her back to the sun, illuminate the wonder and youth she thought had been buried beneath hardship and loss?

She loves him for it. She loves him for it all.

Still leaning on the table, Amalia watches Deimos work, her dark eyes following his movements and preparations as he assembles pots and pans and grouse. Usually the first to jump into action, it is nice to take a moment and observe, watch as another acts and frets and begins to make something beautiful for her. Stepping forward at last, Amalia takes a kitchen knife and begins to slice her vegetables. There is something strangely peaceful and perfect in working alongside someone else; as she cubes potatoes she begins to hum, an old and lilting tune leaving her thoughtful lips.

His invitation for her to continue silences the song, turning it into an intonation as a frown plays at her brows. "I suppose it is my family's more than mine," the young baker replies unhelpfully, remembering with bittersweet nostalgia little home where she once lived. "I grew up there, with my mom and Nani - and nanu, for a time." Amalia's grandfather is a fond memory, lost too early to leave much of a scar, having succumbed to illness when the girl was scarcely more than eight.

Putting aside the potatoes, Amalia takes up a carrot to slice. "After my grandmother died, though... I dunno. My mom and I... We kind of just stopped going home." She does not mention the fighting, the harsh words and blame and guilt. The year after Anjali's death had been a hard one for the Chandrakants, with fractures that would never be filled growing between mother and daughter, each wrapped up in the distraction of their own worlds.

you're breaking your own heart


Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,762
MP:
#11
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
“Was it?” He snickered – longing for those hours, those moments, those minutes, where they hadn’t been burdened with any irrepressible weight, where their heads weren’t reeling with the notion of incoming, forbidding calculations, or signing names, lives, away on pieces of paper. It’d been fun and diverting, amusements tangled up in naught but silliness and joviality, things he’d missed along the way, jumping from life to life, and now it felt like an entirely different world, as if it never happened, as if it had gone up in smoke, flames, air, and proclamations. He tucked away the sigh threatening to pulse from his chest, striving to discover delight in the here and now, soaking in the present, instead of wading into the past.

So his eyes lingered on her, and found it again.

His actions were swift and certain, the acquired aptitude and precision long ingrained within his hands, the knife’s blade making quick and intricate work of the grouse, and he’d peel away layers at a time, applying the same patterns and intervals. He could feel her eyes on him, on his skin, on his movements, and while he never yearned to ascertain for much attention, he grasped and required hers, straightening out, a cheeky grin on his mouth until she sliced into her food. They worked together in silence for a time, a sense of ease and repose, serenity and tranquility; bobbing his head to her hums and croons. He didn’t have any of his own, except for the beats and trumpets of warfare, the blasts of cannons, the outcries of mayhem and dissolution, but he remained in hers, in her orbit, in her revolution.

She continued in her speech though, at his insistence, and he listened, always eager for another piece of her puzzle, another recollection of truth and veracity, another part of Amalia he’d yet to see, to understand. The baker mentioned her mother, her grandmother, and what he presumed was her grandfather, but no intonation of her sire, so he didn’t ask, didn’t pry, just a fervent ear, growing up within a house that perhaps no longer felt like a sanctuary, not after things dimmed. He could understand the notion, in a way – his parents’ deaths were another on the crescendo and pulse of devastation – and the house they’d always cherished had burned, gone to ash and soot. He had nothing left of them but memories, some tangled, some illustrious, some scalding, some wonderful. He’d had too many homes in the meantime: oceans, mountains, battlefields, and catacombs. “You could always make a home elsewhere.” If the burdens were too great, and the stairs too steep, and the weight too heavy – not an escape, but something new, something fresh, something hers.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,924
MP:
#12
Amalia

stop thinking so much

Amalia will never run out of delight, she thinks, always entranced by his boyish demeanor, the way he can shed the icy armor and return to youthful gaiety. A smile pulls at her lips as he sways in time with her quiet hum, sidelong glances and a rosy blush acknowledgment of his attention, affection. Peacefully they work, and a contentment settles upon the troubled girl, washing away many of her stressors, the endless weight of woe. There is something inherently wonderful about being quiet in the company of another, the comfort of companionship when nothing is expected, demanded, asked. So she hums, and he dances, and together they work, finding a rhythm they fit in together, taking a new turn in their dance.

When the conversation resumes the girl becomes thoughtful, some of those old weights returning with memory, nostalgia. He suggests making another home, and Amalia shrugs, unsure how to feel about the idea. In a way the house stopped being home a long time ago, when the light that lived within it died and the girl and her mother did not know how to reignite it.

In a way, it will always be her home, as empty and hollow as it may now be.

"I have the bakery." Hardly a home, but it is where she lives now, and better than the Atheneum, at least. How many nights had Amalia spent among the books, curled in a quiet corner, afraid to find she has forgotten how to be a part of the world? It is an embarrassing thing to admit, she thinks, the self-imposed isolation, the years of not knowing where she belongs. Bowing her head over her work, the girl bites her lip. "One day, I think, it would be nice to have a home again."

But that is enough of her nostalgia, her broken heart and splintered past. Turning curious dark eyes to Deimos, Amalia tilts her face up to meet his, pausing a moment in her work. "What was your home like? And your family?"

you're breaking your own heart


Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Militia General of the Hollowed Grounds / Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 8 - Strg: 29 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 33 - Luck: 28
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,762
MP:
#13
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Amalia must have realized the fortifications were only down because of her; the comfort, the sanctity, the little intricacies and intimacies permitting walls and structures, carefully designated and designed armaments, to descend, reveal the boyish, youthful interludes beneath. He was still stalwart, still brazen, still emboldened, but with less iron, less detachment, less reticent, the reserve gone in her presence, the mischief alive and well and whole and there. She didn’t judge him for it. She didn’t dig into vulnerabilities. She didn’t choke or strangle him by his frailties, flaws, weaknesses, or ineptitude – acceptance, raw, real, and whole, so he did the same for her. He was quiet, but only to absorb and adore the passing moments, not yearning to forsake them in the bewitching horrors, trials, or tremors outside, not wishing to be haunted, devastated, marred, or ruined – them, together, hushed and unafraid.

When he was finished with the grouse, he tossed the pieces into a pan, worked on invoking some fire to settle beneath the burners, then grabbed ahold of more of her vegetables, chopping and dicing them with his particular accuracy and meticulousness. The baker didn’t seem too partial to his idea, so he left it in the air as she shrugged, not stepping into the deciphering layers and codes. It would likely have to be something she noted and decided for herself; but she did have the bakery, with its warm smells and delightful foundations. “You do,” he nodded in agreement. As an after-thought, while placing some of his diced potatoes in another pan, he nodded. “It is one of my favorite places here,” a wink tossed in her direction too, before glancing over whatever else needed to be done.

Keeping his hands busy while his mind churned over her additions, he wasn’t truly surprised she’d ask about his home: but there’d been so many, that he couldn’t help but arch a brow. “Which one?” The depths of his smile lingered on her, and then it passed over the threshold of the kitchen, eyes surveying but flickering to the past too – the beats of a youth pressing his feet into the sand, sea air in his air, the world at his fingertips. “I was born near the ocean. We had a home on the coast. They called it the Moonlit Tides.” It had been everything – the breath of the wild, untamed outreaches, where he could howl at the moon and the stars and the kingdom would do the same back, where he thought he’d be something instead of nothing. Family was a precious thing too, gnawing and gone, except for those agonizing interludes that sometimes surfaced in his sleep, when he wished he could see them all again. They came back every now and then, in cauldrons of flames, in snippets of brooks. “My father was quite boisterous and had a penchant for fire. I always thought I would follow in his footsteps.” But maybe he couldn’t have been that bold, that audacious, that spectacular and spellbinding. “My mother was stern, calm, and could command water in her hands. She ensured I was educated, no matter how much I fussed.” And from there, she’d ensured he’d found a love of knowledge, no matter how severe and strict her commands. His smile softened; missing them terribly, in those stretches of time and lives intermingled, wires crossed, infernos fanned, dead and gone while he was gone, fighting wars and enabling crusades that had no business of being concocted or implemented.
Unite and spread the heart apart
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,924
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#14
Amalia

stop thinking so much

His comment brings another blush, his wink forcing her to look away while a smile blooms across her face. Leaning over, she nudges him with her shoulder, a little bit of gratitude laced into the joke."We need to show you more places, then." There are far better things to see here than the bakery, and Amalia wants to show him them all.

Carrots and potatoes chopped, Amalia sets about shucking peas, the final vegetable in her basket. As she does she listens to Deimos' story of his youth, tides and oceans and a moonlit coast. "Was it beautiful?" she breathes, wondrous. "The ocean?" She yearns to see such magical things, the subjects of books she only half-knows. Oceans and mountains, deserts and lakes: Amalia itches to explore them all, to have the world at her fingertips at last. Wistfully she continues working, though her thoughts are far away.

But the mention of parents brings her her back, and the baker listens with hungry interest, happy to drink of every detail, make a map of his history and use it to find her way to him. Parents of water and fire take shape within her mind, and she envisions them as towering figures, wise and wild and kind and just. "She sounds like mine," Amalia remarks, thinking of her own dark and blistering mother, a gale of information, an educator and scholar, whether Amalia asked for it or not.

Having finished with the peas, Amalia goes to fetch the dough, looking for a wide flat surface on which to roll it out. There are more questions on her tongue, more things she wants to know about him. "What about Kiada?" she asks, thinking of the familiarity they share, the obvious history between harpy and reaper, behemoth and spitfire. "How did you meet her?"

you're breaking your own heart




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