Training not a prayer (open)
the Firebrand
Headmaster / Grand Healer

Age: 29 | Height: 5' 11' | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 11 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 39 - Int:
ASTRA - Mythical - Luxere
Played by: Crooked Offline
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#15
LOREN
The dagger hit the baker, and the summoner winced in sympathy. While he’d been aiming to deter her, he hadn’t actually expected to hit her. Still, it was blunt, so the worst she’d get was a bruise, which he could definitely heal. In fact, it was getting to be a bit of a habit, him unintentionally hurting someone in sparring and then healing them. That thought almost made him falter, and certainly distracted him.

On top of that, Loren was expecting Amalia to pounce, so when the otter’s tiny paws latched onto his ankle and then shifted into something much larger, he was already leaning forward, expecting to have to dive. Well, he did indeed dive, but this time, instead of controlling the fall, he slammed into the ground, feeling something in his side crack. Although his vision whited out for a moment, it wasn’t the first time he’d cracked a rib—it wasn’t even the first time he’d fractured a bone this season—so he powered through it, since he was much more worried about what the baker might do to him now that he was trapped.

First, he tried to roll away from her (on his uninjured side, of course). Simultaneously, he released the spell he’d been preparing since dismissing the qilin. A wolf appeared over him, jaws snapping forward to try and bite the baker on the nose, while a second appeared by Amalia’s side, rushing forward to try and physically tackle her away from the direction Loren was rolling. Assuming he had a moment of respite, he would heal his side of whatever damage the fall had done to him.

She could dodge one qilin. But let's see how she liked two wolves.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#16
Amalia
she was afraid of heights
He falls, and Amalia growls her triumph, unaware of Loren's cracked rib, the damage she has inadvertently caused. Had she known how seriously he has been injured she would have stopped the moment he crumpled; instead she prowls and grins above him, her paw pressing gently against his chest. Checkmate, the leopard seems to be thinking, dark eyes sparkling with a feral triumph, fangs glittering white in the low light of the room. She has won this round, or so she thinks, her success leaving her flush and heady, the distracting pleasure of physical exertion causing her endorphins to rise.

She has won the battle but not the war. Where Amalia had expected surrender another attack appears instead, wolves materializing before and beside her in a flurry of teeth and fur. Snarling surprise and displeasure the leopardess draws back, though not fast enough to avoid the wolf's teeth leaving a mark upon her face, catching her cheek and tearing through flesh. The other wolf, meanwhile, bullies her off of Loren, and Amalia howls her obvious frustration, lashing out at the construct as she retreats.

Bleeding from her face, the leopard seems to reevaluate the situation, her body low as she tries to avoid the wolves. With powerful legs the feline springs, once again taking wing as her body contorts and changes in the air, an owl's screech leaving her beak. And then back to feline as she hits the ground, hoping to come up behind Loren, to catch him still upon the ground and put her paw upon his chest once more. Objective victory is what she wants, triumph, to overpower. She wants to win, to subdue this Outlander man who thinks himself so very superior. She wants so prove that she is stronger, that she is better.

She wants to feel something other than sadness, other than anxiety and crushing despair.
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
the Firebrand
Headmaster / Grand Healer

Age: 29 | Height: 5' 11' | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 11 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 39 - Int:
ASTRA - Mythical - Luxere
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#17
LOREN
Amalia kept moving, dodging away from Loren’s wolves, shifting into another form to get far away from them and him. He couldn’t blame her: he’d seen the flash of blood from where summoned creature bit her. He froze, instantly dismissing all his spells and just laying on the floor. Every single time he trained with someone, he forgot. He forgot that he was ruthless in battle, and that eventually, before too long, he would hurt someone, even if it was just a sparring match. It was just a fact that the Launceleyns had honed him into a weapon, and in battle he reacted to everything far too seriously. Even though he could heal the damage, that didn’t make the pain he inflicted any less. It made it worse, even, made him think he could wash away the damage he did.

He couldn’t. He’d never been able to, and never would be able to. Time to accept that he just hurt people. Again.

So as the baker shifted into a leopard once more and placed her paw upon his chest he remained there, unmoving, eyes haunted. However, that didn’t stop him from sending his healing magic up through Amalia’s paw—a sky blue glow emanating from his chest and then passing through her body—healing every wound he’d inflicted upon her, and every scar and injury she’d gotten from a mundane source.

For once he was tired of fighting. Tired of fighting himself, his true nature, other people, the world. He’d put himself through every wringer imaginable, and his energy had finally run out.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
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#18
Amalia
she was afraid of heights
Triumph. That is the leopardess' first thought as she hovers above the man, her paw resting gently but firmly upon his chest, her teeth bared in a feline grin. Triumph, because at last he has surrendered, because at last she has succeeded in something, even if it is just a spar.

But Loren just looks... tired. Breathing heavily, the leopardess feels her triumph slipping away, replaced by a deep and constant uncertainty as she studies the summoner's face. She doesn't get it: he'd wanted this as much as she, and now he looks defeated- not just physically, but emotionally, as though she has taken something important from him.

Amalia shifts back just as blue light leaves Loren's hands, coursing through their now joined fingers and pulling at her skin. She had hardly noticed the wolf bite, but as it knits itself together she reaches up to wipe away the last of the blood from her cheek, pleasantly surprised by the lack of pain. "Thanks-"

But it doesn't stop there, and Amalia's black eyes widen as she feels the healing magic work its way through her entire body, pressing and pulling and changing things. It's a familiar feeling and an unfamiliar one too, and as it works on her the girl suddenly feels a crushing wave of memories and emotions, images flashing through her mind. Her mother, healing her time after time; her mother, dead in the infirmary; darkness, and a light within, and the voice of her grandmother, and then Vervain's magic, a terrible magic that felt just like this, pulling her back from the comfort of death, willing her body to revert and change.

She should have died that day, when no one would have mourned her. She had been so close to being free, and in the days that followed she had looked at the scars on her wrist as a reminder. Scars made by Jigano's teeth. Scars in a ring, grounding, faint but prominent.

Scars that are no longer there.

Pulling hurriedly away from Loren, Amalia scoots back on the ground, her face awash with panic and dismay as she stares, wild-eyed, at her pristine wrist. "What... what did you do to me?"
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
the Firebrand
Headmaster / Grand Healer

Age: 29 | Height: 5' 11' | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 11 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 39 - Int:
ASTRA - Mythical - Luxere
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#19
LOREN
When Amalia’s thanks cut off, Loren knew he’d made another mistake. Once more, he’d forgotten that not everyone wanted or needed his healing; he’d been so caught up in repairing the damage that he’d done to the baker during the spar that he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to what else his magic might be doing. Besides, he still wasn’t used to having this much healing magic at his beck and call, and it took him by surprise as well.

However, as she backpedaled and turned a stricken face towards him—and he realized that those thoughts were just convenient excuses—he screwed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the exhausted tears that threatened to spill. He felt fractured inside, and this encounter had just added another crack to his shattered heart. ”I-I’m sorry. I was just...just trying to heal you from the wounds I inflicted, the, the, damage I did.” Although he spoke in a soft and broken whisper, hopefully she’d be able to hear him.

Even if she probably wouldn’t be able to understand or forgive. He knew that would be asking too much.

There was more he knew he needed to say. ”I should’ve...I should’ve asked.” As always, he’d rushed ahead, only considering himself and what he wanted to do. He needed to learn how to take others’ feelings and wants and desires into consideration: just because healing magic couldn’t hurt someone physically didn’t mean it couldn’t do any harm.

No doubt Amalia wanted nothing more to do with him, so he sat up, then stumbled to his feet. Eyes not really seeing, though they were open now, he somehow managed to find his way to the wall opposite her, and slumped against it. Presumably she wouldn’t ask him for that drink now, not after he’d used magic on her without her permission. He of all people should know how much that could hurt, and yet time and time again he blundered recklessly ahead.

Well. No more. If he had to stay away from people besides the bare minimum to keep them safe from him, he would. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to do so, but he certainly hoped it would be the last.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
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Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
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#20
Amalia
she was afraid of heights
She stares blankly at her wrist through his apology, afraid of what else she will find if she dares to survey the rest of her body. What else has he taken away from her without her knowledge or consent? How else has he changed her, erased moments and memories from her life, triumphs and failures and accidents alike? "Why?" she whispers, tears in her eyes, her alto voice choked as she exhales the syllable.

Once again she has been given new life, without ever asking for or wanting it.

It is Loren standing that makes her head snap up, fury blazing suddenly in the depths of her eyes. "Wait!" she cries, scrambling forward, still on the ground as she reaches stupidly after him. She can feel her heart racing in her chest, feel her breathing come heavy and fast. Why? Why is she angry? Why does it hurt so much? Why didn't he ask, and why does she need them, and why and why and why?

Kneeling, the baker drops her hand, palms on the cold stone and head bowed. "Please..." Amalia whispers helplessly, childlike loss in her broken voice. She feels helpless, weak, lost and afraid. "Please. I don't want to feel this way... Please. Take it back."
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
the Firebrand
Headmaster / Grand Healer

Age: 29 | Height: 5' 11' | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 11 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 39 - Int:
ASTRA - Mythical - Luxere
Played by: Crooked Offline
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#21
LOREN
Why?

Because he was trying to think.

Because he’d acted without thinking.

Because he was an idiot, and he hurt people, and he couldn’t seem to do anything right, even when it seemed so straightforward, maybe especially when it seemed so straightforward.

Loren didn’t have an answer for her, but as Amalia snapped at him he froze. And as the baker scrambled across the floor towards him, he just hugged himself, too tired to be worried about anything but how monumentally he’d screwed up. If she wanted justice or revenge, well, he knew he deserved it: even his healing magic, which should be pure and good had betrayed him. But that was just because every time he reached for the light it burned him and he fell further into the darkness.

It was because he was always the root of the problem, not any other external or internal factor.

As she knelt before him, he sank to the floor, back against the wall. Then he drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them. He found that he couldn’t meet her eyes, so he looked away and tried not to cry. It became easier as the initial panic and sadness faded and he was just left with the dull ache that was far more familiar to him these days. ”I’m sorry.” His repeated apology was even quieter than the first one, and yet it carried with it the bone-deep exhaustion that he felt. ”I...I can’t take it back. I c-can't give you back your scars.” Considering how long he’d carried his own around for, he should’ve realized that Amalia might want to keep hers as well.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#22
Amalia
she was afraid of heights
Loren, too, sinks to the floor. If her mind was clearer Amalia would feel remorse for what she is doing, guilt over causing the man to suffer for what was clearly a well-intentioned act. Now, though, she simply feels lost, as though the world is fading around her and her brain is flooding with broken glass and she is sinking far below a string of failures and loss.

She, too, pulls her knees to her chest, her head buried deep within her knees as she tries to steady her frantic breathing, to find even a little bit of stability. Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it- she isn't sure if she's saying the words silently or aloud, but they ricochet and reverberate around he brain like bullets, tearing her apart. But her right hand keeps rubbing steadily over the empty spot on her wrist, and she rocks gently on the cold ground.

"I got this one a year ago," she whispers, still not looking up at Loren, her voice low and expressionless. The words are rushed, as though if she restores the memory quickly enough she'll be able to restore the scars. "During LongNight. The spark bird perch broke, and I went out to fix it, and everyone turned... crazy. Except me. And then Edrei hit me with magic, and I died- but it worked. The Spark Bird came, for the first time in years."

Triumph. Loss. Fear. Death. But at least she accomplished something, that day- and she'd loved the scar because it was a reminder of it, that one time, one time, she'd succeeded. A reminder that he's taken from her, without her consent.
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
the Firebrand
Headmaster / Grand Healer

Age: 29 | Height: 5' 11' | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 11 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 39 - Int:
ASTRA - Mythical - Luxere
Played by: Crooked Offline
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Posts: 5,165 | Total: 9,913
MP: 3415
#23
LOREN
Although all Loren wanted was curl up into a ball until the baker left him, he forced himself to listen to her words. He owed her that much, at least, after everything he’d put her through. After the damage, and the further hurt he’d caused with healing, of all things. Somehow he’d managed to turn the lightest of magics into a weapon.

Well, if anyone was capable of it, it was him.

However, even as he rested his forehead on his knees to hide the tears that finally fell, he couldn’t help but hear the echoes of a conversation he’d had not so long ago. It had taken place in the deep hole the Fae called a jail, but some pits and prisons were metaphorical, he knew that better than most. And this was a dark place if ever he’d stumbled upon one. Only it wasn’t him hurting, but someone he’d hurt. And he couldn’t make anyone else suffer. Not again. Not anymore.

So he’d see if the words that had failed to reach him could somehow reach Amalia. He'd probably fail in this too, but that had never stopped him from trying. ”I-I didn’t…” His voice came out softly, so softly he wasn’t even sure if it was audible. ”I didn’t take away your m-memory of that night. You still, still remember...everything. You still remember everything. I didn’t take that away.” He hadn’t. He wouldn’t, even if he could. That was a cruelty beyond even his ability or capacity to inflict. If he could, even he wouldn't stoop that low.

But he’d been thoughtless and cruel nonetheless. Somehow, he managed to shrink even further in on himself, though it might’ve just been a minuscule shift away from Amalia. ”But...I’m sorry. S-sorry for taking away the reminder.” He’d offer to make her a new one, somehow, but he figured he’d done more than enough to her already.

Gods he just wanted it all to stop. But they never seemed to answer his prayers the way he needed.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
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Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
MP: 2580
#24
Amalia
she was afraid of heights
Somewhere far away, a starwhale is experiencing devastating pain.

"You don't understand." Amalia's voice is soft and expressionless as she continues to rub her barren wrist, dark eyes dull, heart rate slowing. "I don't want to remember. I want to die."

It's a big confession for the girl, yet she says it as though it is the simplest thing in the world- because if she looks too closely at the associated emotions she will shatter apart and lose herself. Exhaling a shaky breath, the girl continues to speak; her words are far less terrifying than her thoughts. "I've always wanted to die. I should have - did - that night, and when I woke up again it was..." She swallows hard, shaking her head.

After that, in her darkest days, she'd used the scars to remind herself that for whatever reason, the Gods had not wanted her to die that day. That she has a role to fulfil, a purpose, even if she doesn't know what it is.

That she has to keep trying, because the moment she stops, that darkness comes flooding back in, and she knows that one day she will drown within.

Eyes red and cheeks puffy, Amalia at last glances up at Loren, as though she has forgotten he was there at all. He is curled, wound, crying, small, and the baker blinks in near surprise. Is this what a broken person looks like- what she looks like? Are they just fractured reflections of each other, both working hard to drown out demons until their hearts and bodies finally break? "Why are you crying?" Her expression is guileless; there is no malice in her voice, no pity, no attempt at fixing him. She's laid herself bare for him, her not-friend. She is merely inviting him to do the same for her.
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
the Firebrand
Headmaster / Grand Healer

Age: 29 | Height: 5' 11' | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 11 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 39 - Int:
ASTRA - Mythical - Luxere
Played by: Crooked Offline
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Posts: 5,165 | Total: 9,913
MP: 3415
#25
LOREN
It wasn’t surprising that Loren didn’t understand. He wasn’t particularly good with people, nor was he all that capable of listening to them and actually hearing them. However, he heard Amalia loud and clear.

I want to die.

His head shot up. No. Not that. Anything but that. Even though the baker was mostly a stranger, too many had died, or were lost or gone already. His hand unfurled and he would attempt to grip her now unmarked wrist. ”No.” His own tears and pain and anguish were forgotten in the face of hers, which so far superseded his own that it was almost completely forgotten. ”No. Don’t say that. Don’t think that.” His voice came out hoarsely, but it was filled with a desperate need. He couldn’t be responsible for causing this pain on top of everything else.

If only he had the words or the knowledge to help her out of this pit of despair. Just because he was in it with her, and had been here many times before didn’t mean he knew the way out. Always, always there'd been a helping hand, and now it was just the two of them. If he’d been anyone, literally anyone else, he would’ve given her hope, reassured her, found a way to show her that life was still worth living. But he wasn’t. He was a pathetic, tired, starving, shadow of a man.

But he was all she had. And somehow, he’d have to find a way to be enough.

Gods, let him be enough just this once.

”I know it seems bleak right now, with everything you’ve been through, everything that’s going on in your life. But...it is your life. Not your death, your life. And it’s a good one, Amalia. I don’t know of many people kind enough to help the Prince, or me, a stranger who is the son of a family that wronged her. And I know there are those you care about, and who care about you in turn. Jyoti. Deimos.” While the Launceleyn didn’t know exactly what the general was to the baker, the summoner knew they were close. ”I know it doesn’t seem this way right now, but as dark as everything might feel, there is light in your life. And warmth. And love.” He didn’t know that for sure, it was true. But it had to be true for anyone as fundamentally good as Amalia. Because if it wasn’t, there was no hope for people like Loren.

Somehow, even after all that, his words felt inadequate for the depths of depression he’d sensed in the baker. ”I need you to remember what living feels like. The smell of fresh-baked bread. Of spending a cold day indoors with a hot drink, a good book, or with friends and loved ones. Of cuddling with Jyoti and anyone or anything else that brings you joy and who you bring joy to.” Let Amalia think about that, and not about dying. It was everything Loren longed for, and nothing that he possessed, so he knew how acutely he missed it and how comforting it must be for her.

As she finally spoke directly to him, he felt the urgency drain from him. If he’d managed to snag her wrist, he’d release it to hug his legs with both arms once more; either way, he rested his chin on his knees, eyes losing whatever spark they had when talking about her woes. They became dull and lifeless instead, just like his soul. ”I hurt you.” His voice once more came out in a broken whisper. However, he knew she wouldn’t understand what that meant, not to him. That was okay, though. He’d given up on leaning on others, mostly—isolation was increasingly calling to him, and it had always been more familiar to him than being around people who professed to care—and so long as he minimized the damage he did, that would be enough for him. At this point, he was done hoping for anything more than that.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
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Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
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#26
Amalia
she was afraid of heights
He takes her admission far harder and more seriously than she intended, and before she can clarify that she has no intention of actually killing herself his hand is on her wrist. Amalia blinks at it in stunned surprise, not sure if she wants to pull away from the touch or lean into it and so settling on doing nothing at all, just staring, silent, as he begins to explain the good things in her life.

And, yes, there are a lot, and each one feels like a slap in the face, a.lash across her back. Deimos' and Jyoti. The bakery. The Prince. She is the Shield of Safrin, has been greeted by Vi, has found a family after losing hers. She is alive- shouldn't these things lead her happy, fulfilled? Shouldn't she be basking in the light instead of drowning under shadows?

What the fuck is wrong with her?

At the end of the day, in a roundabout way, it is her accomplishments that save her. Because somehow and against all odds, the girl has managed to find people who love her. Who believe in her. Who expect things of her. And as much as she may fear letting them down by living, she fears far more leaving them to mourn. Oh, the desire to die is still there, haunting her nights and pulling at her dreams, but she simply cannot act on it anymore.

It's a fact she hates on days like this.

If Loren's response to her admission is surprising, his reaction to her question is heartbreakingly familiar. Amalia looks up as the man pulls away, recoiling into a corner, his hands around his knees. Because he hurt her. Because he tried to do something right and it backfired. Because no matter how hard he tries, tries, tries, it's never enough, he can never erase his mistakes, be more than a failure, be good-

Ah, no, wait. That's just Amalia projecting.

It is her time to move forward, her hand reaching for his knee. Her dark eyes are bloodshot, no forgiveness within them but no anger, either. Looking intently at the man, she Shield tries to catch his eye before murmuring a soft mantra into the space between them, as much for herself as for him. "As long as we learn from our mistakes, we are better than them." And then, an add on, this too for them both in powerfully different ways: "You aren't your family. You aren't her."
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
the Firebrand
Headmaster / Grand Healer

Age: 29 | Height: 5' 11' | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 11 - Strg: 32 - Dext: 33 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 39 - Int:
ASTRA - Mythical - Luxere
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#27
LOREN
Although he managed to make contact by gripping the baker’s wrist, Loren wasn’t sure if any of his words were able to break through to Amalia. If he’d been capable of mustering hope, or prayer, or anything beyond the last dregs of energy to try and bring her back from whatever brink she’d found herself on, he would have. As it stood, all he could do was just let the rush and jumble of his useless thoughts pour out, unable to help, but similarly unable to stop.

Perhaps it was just another manifestation of his misguided recklessness, that kept him going long past the point he should’ve given up.

However, then he found the tables were turned: Amalia laid a hand on Loren’s knee, and though he didn't flinch away, he didn't react to it in any other way either. He found his blue eyes meeting her much darker ones. However, despite the summoner eye's lighter shade, and the baker's earlier confession, his were the ones without any light or spark in them. Then again, the only time he’d really felt alive recently had been with Frey, and even that felt more like a dream than anything else.

Finally the baker spoke. For a long time, he considered staying silent, as she had, even though Amalia’s words almost begged for a response. Mostly, they were empty platitudes—she didn’t know him, and all she could offer was the same sort of drivel he’d heard from everyone else—but even so there were echoes of truth in them. Perhaps not in the way she’d intended, however. ”Some of us can’t.” His voice came out louder, but just as broken, filled with no emotion but a dull weariness.

You aren’t your family. You aren’t her.

The latter part was true, if only by dint of it being an objective fact the Loren was not Zariah. That had to be the her Amalia referred to, the summoner’s tyrant of a cousin. The fact that the baker had even made the comparison was telling. He could almost picture how Zariah might have felt similar pressures, beset on all sides by perhaps well-meaning, but certainly judgmental and accusatory eyes.

”I am a Launceleyn.” By blood. By upbringing. By training. And, despite all his efforts to the contrary, to be good, to be kind, to be light, by inclination.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
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#28
Amalia
she was afraid of heights
Some of us can't. And what is there to say in response to that, what can she possibly do except shrug, a silent acceptance of a painful fact that is true, even when they wish it were not. Maybe they can't, but she has to believe it's possible. It's all she has to hang onto, the potential for a better future, that one day if she tries hard enough she will make amends for her countless mistakes.

It is his next statement, though, that makes her frown, pulling her hand off his knee and recoiling back into herself. Maybe a kinder person would say something reassuring now; maybe a friend would argue that he is more than that, better, that he has a future just like her. But Amalia's kindness has been spent, and the pair of them are not friends- simply two people looking into shattered mirrors, seeing splintered and half-baked reflections and aching for the peace they cannot find.

Standing up suddenly, Amalia shrugs, still rubbing unhappily at her now bare wrist. She has gotten what she wanted: a fight, an escape, a break from reality, and at the end of the day her only reward is deeper pain and loss. "You are a Launceleyn," she agrees simply, looking down at Loren a moment before turning her dark and tired glance away. "Whatever that means." Because frankly, his name has very little weight in Caido, and if he wants to cling to its ancient meanings from a place far away, well, that's on him.

Wordlessly Amalia turns away, planning to gather her things and walk out unless he has something more to say. She is tired, and has her own mental breakdown to finish, and more missing scars to be unable to find.
but she was much more afraid
of never flying


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