middaeg | (Closed) Mareuer Catch All

Entry tags:

(Closed) Mareuer Catch All

Who: Asura + Plotted CR
When: Mareuer
Where: Aefenglom, Dorchacht, and the respective Wildes of both cities.
What: SOL, Quests, Asura's birthday, and treehouse construction. Also, I'm always down for building new CR, so if you'd like a thread starter, feel free to hmu @ the March CR & plotting post!
Warnings: Will be updated as necessary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ "But it's just a story," the posting had read, and though he and Daenerys both had been in the midst of a morning outing to the Market District, Asura had touched the tips of his golden talons to the words and found himself moved by their urgency. The Wilde holds its dangers, yes, but it is home to someone like him, and long since has Asura familiarized himself with the lay of the land beyond the Bright Wall.

Already, he thinks of the groves of trees which flank the river Temese as it branches north, and knows that he will be able to make the venture there before the sun rises to its height in the sky, returning long before the shadows of the afternoon stretch into skeins of twilight. But he will not be so ill-mannered as to forget his companion. For her eyes, he plucks the request for aid (one of its many iterations adhered to the storefront they've stopped beside) free of its resting place, seeing it delivered into Daenerys' hands for appraisal.

There is a familiar spark to the green of his kajal-lined eyes (no different from when he'd declared "know that my hands will not remain idle during my stay" during his first visit to Mhysadei) when he asks of her: ]

What say you, Daenerys? Will you search for this glimmer of hope with me? [ For Nora and their partner, and for tangible proof that stories are not always so simply stories. ] It is not a morning of running errands at market, to be sure, but I'd wager that it will be by far more exciting.

You make it sound like stories of valiant knights on quests to save the world. Things children would beg their parents to tell before bed every night.

[ She sounds amused, at the very least. It had been a long time since she traveled further away from Aefenglom. Yet, the farmlands only offered a temporary sanctuary. Nowhere was safe, she surmised, not when the wilds slowly took over the land.

The small stature of a dragon follows closely to him, words all but gentle compared to the task in front of them. ]

If you need my assistance, the least I can do is provide it to you. I would not be here without you. Do not be prideful enough to forget that debt – whether you view it as one or not.

Strange— [ —a hum, reverberating and low, sounds at the back of Asura's throat as he considers Daenerys with a sidelong glance that is both weighty and roguish in turns. His kind (the fae, infamous for weaving pacts and promises so that no debt could be escaped) are ever aware of which way the scale tips (what they owe, who they are owed by), and all this while he'd been of the mind: ] I had thought that debt settled on the very day it was incurred.

[ In the very moment when a certain necromancer had found him in that vile pit of stone, and Asura had smiled (resilient, vicious, and passionate even then), knowing that Daenerys' flare and flight had lead to the day being won. ]

What I ask of you now is simply to join me, [ as either aid, traveling companion, or both ] because while we are not knights, we surely hold power as dragons, and saving someone's partner so too is saving their world.

And that is a fine story, one worth telling. [ Does she not feel the same? Perhaps the King's own enthusiasm could stand to sway her as they walk abreast of one another, the silver and gold dragons who had once spoken of telling such stories, those of the Mirrorbound and the people who they stood alongside of.

What's more: ] There is also something which I would like to show you, out in the wood.

[ Though, quite naturally, Asura fails to say what that 'something' might be. How mysterious! ]

Edited 2020-03-12 03:09 (UTC)

Perhaps one is unable to find suitability in what is deemed worthy.

[ It was all a ruse, of course, her words holding a light airiness to them.

Instead, his words fall more centered on the task at hands. There was little fluff, the kind that she had grown accustomed to with such... characters here. They speak so quickly that she looks out into the woods themselves – out where the darkness of the shades lay blankets of uncertainty. Her knight had gone hunting in them for hours at a time, so there's a hint of uncertainty in her eyes... but her words offer no such betrayal to her. Asura finds a pleasant curiosity, that of a young girl overeager and still, sadly, ignorant. ]

Deeper, where the Shades are? [ But, one that is aware of the horrors of this world. ] Or where the travelers lead up North?

[ See Asura. See Asura, on the damp of a misty Mareuer morning, in a lumber yard beyond the Bright Wall. Here he stands in survey of his recent purchase: a palette's worth of heartwood, dense and resistant to the elements. Despite the rainy season ahead, the timber will not see itself softened into either food or burrowing grounds for the Wilde's plethora of chimerical insects, and that is before the exacting application of Asura's own fortifying enchantments.

But ~~witchy-woo~~ employing the spellcraft of mortals is an undertaking best reserved for after the palette of heartwood has been delivered to Asura's intended construction site. There, where the King might enjoy the stillness of the forest as he weaves his magic, and so too uphold a pretense he bears little qualm with: that he is a Monster, rather than a Witch. After all, it could only ever be a Monster that hoists several planks of timber, bundled together, into the air with such frightening alacrity and ease. Testing the weight of the load, Asura sees it balanced atop his mighty shoulder as though it were nothing so unwieldy, and takes his time considering the distance which he's to travel; the amount of lumber which his coin has allowed for him to purchase. ]

Ten trips. [ —he pronounces, grinning like it's a worthy challenge, because in many ways, it is. But Asura, he'll save the cost of a wagon and horse, and labor for the cardinal reasons: the acquisition of strength and gentle accomplishment. There is nothing quite like the burn and ache set into the muscle after a day's worth of pursuing ambition and exigency both, and this is Asura's true motive—

—despite grandstanding like a pro-lifter, his duster-coat of crimson brocade and cigarette black slacks the perfect set of (ostentatious) raiments for it. But maybe, neither the flex of muscle or Asura's state of dress are what's garnered the attention of this individual. The person Asura feels before he sees, knows intimately by the taste of the emotion which has returned to them.

With a nod of his head and welcoming huff of a laugh, Asura greets: ]

Unless you'd like to help me cut that in half.

[ Hello again, Nier. ]

[ the city is cramped, a place of confinement in his mind more than anything; it had been home to magic and technology a far cry from what he knew, whirring and bustling and shifting about. never a dull moment behind the wall — but there'd been little familiarity to it all too. to the cobble stone, the carts of jewlery, the footsteps of monsters and witches alike.

in the woods, there'd been danger. fatality, even. but the greenery, even with all it obscured, was reminiscent of home than anything else this land had bore.

and amidst them is a presence he recognizes: it's warm, passionate, tastes of cinnamon on his tongue but brisk like the breeze. it draws him in closer and closer, until— ]

...Hey.

[ the smile on his face a little infectious, truth be told. the corners of nier's mouth curl up like a flower in bloom. he stares for a moment, impressed by the sight before him — this man had been capable of enduring even the most strenuous of emotional and physical burdens, and he can't help but be in awe.

nier holds out his arms, beckoning him to ease his own load. ]

Of course. [ a moment passes as he studies his surroundings, ice blue eyes searching for any other figures or forms. ] I don't know what it is you're trying to build, but I'm not going to let you break your back over it. Let me help.

Edited 2020-03-11 08:23 (UTC)

Dragons do not break so easily. [ —grin splitting into the realm of roguish, Asura's hearty repartee is reassurance and intrigue both. Yes, the King's bestial strength is gone from him in this realm, but his draconic's composition has changed very little: beneath his mortal's guise and flesh, Asura is...! W e l l. A rock, one that's heavy with layers of chalcedony which protect crystalline innards and a molten heart of glass.

During his tenure in Talam, Asura has fashioned himself into a brace to bolster a collapsing home, shattered an axe when it collided with his head, and when the foulest of Witches (the Rathmores, their accomplices) employed their magic to rent him open so that the fire crystal of his chest might be harvested, he had endured. Risen again. And while there is a scar (crude, and made so by the butcher's hand which had inflicted it) which is visible to the eye (Asura, he just can't be assed to wear a shirt most of the time), the jagged path it carves down his abdomen is only further testament to the fact:

No, dragons do not break so easily. However— ]

But surely, those limited to bipedal form may find themselves looking to comrades when in need of making good time while ferrying supplies through the forest.

[ Amused, Asura lets slip the warm reverberations of a considering hum, eyes the color of mystic sage and its smoke creasing at their corners. ]

With your aid— [ Help, which he accepts, lowering the bundle of timber from his shoulders into Nier's open arms. Bearing most of the weight initially (careful, careful) before entrusting the heartwood to the other Mirrorbound completely. Nier's frame is one lean with muscle, and there is no great disparity between his height and Asura's own. And lo: the King will trust in Nier to let him know if the burden is too great to hold. ] —and the hours you grant me, I will be able to raise the platform of the treehouse by nightfall.

[ So that's it, then. What Asura intends to build: a treehouse, of all things! And truth be told, there is no better place than the Wilde to do it, even if— ] ...the way you look at the Wilde, my friend, it is with a hunter's gaze.

[ Something which Asura knows to recognize, perspicacious as he is. As much of a hunter he will always be, himself. ]

[ the lumber is ferryed into his arms, the weight tremendous but nothing beyond the extraordinary for nier. he'd been accustomed to stone, wood, flesh, all that the natural world had to offer, always inevitably finding its way into his arms. but his newfound vampiric strength, reminsicent of what the great grimoire weiss had granted him, made his motions all the more streamline as well.

dragon, he thinks. he hasn't forgotten, but it's always difficult to not dwell — or perhaps dream of what that life would have entailed. ]

Dragons shouldn't have to do things alone is all. [ it's said with yet another benign smile, and his eyes brighten a little, ice blue shimmering like snow. ]

A tree house? [ nier trails behind him, his head peeking up with a tilt; curiousity flickers in his eyes. ] By nightfall? Sounds like a challenge. I'm in.

[ puncuated by an airy, amused little noise. ]

Hunting is what I do — always has been. And I want to kill the Cwyld as best as I can. That's one of the reasons why I travel here as often as I do.

[ his shoulder brushes against his asura's bicep like a breeze. ]

I can tell you're a hunter, too. Even if you're a lot of other things. [ many, many things, even if he hadn't been aware of the specifics. asura is a man of grandeur, and that has not at all eluded him. but there is comfort in his presence, perhaps one borne from an endless battle, or maybe it was the empathy nier so often chucked aside in the name of survival?

he hadn't know, but it existed within the realm of his mind no less. ]

Is that what's got you so interested in this?

Aa, in part. [ —is Asura's not-quite confession, shades of easy camaraderie in his stance and in his smile as he witnesses Nier's strength for himself, feels the slightest tease of it when the other Mirrorbound shifts, the proximity between them as close as it had been on the night when they'd both laid ghosts to rest.

Still keen, that thread of connection. Undeniable, that the King would seek to know Nier in all the ways in which the other man would permit it. Both these things, reasons why they should m o v e, lest they linger for overlong and allow their joints to lock beneath the weight which they both support. Having hoisted a secondary bundle of lumber into his arms and along for the ride, Asura sees them set off at a measured pace, once which allows for storytelling, because...! Well, there is much to tell, isn't there? Tales of his hunter's past and present, and the disclosure of that that other 'part': ]

Like you, I frequent the Wilde often, and not only because it reminds me of the primeval forests which were once my dominion and home. [ Those parts of Arcadia which would always be with him, no different from how he would never stop being his once-Master's creation (even if he'd devoured that vile being; even if he now wears Summer's crown). ]

Where there are creatures in need of deliverance from suffering— [ Because that is what the Cwyldtid are: somber creatures, shackled by the blight, and Asura would free as many as he could by way of spear and flame. ] —I will ever be on the hunt.

But... so too is this treehouse meant to be a reprieve. A sanctuary, beyond the confines of the Bright Wall. [ A place away from the atrocities so many Mirrorbound had endured, due to no product of the infection, but instead suffered at the hands of the very people the Mirrorbound had fought to protect. ] A good friend of mine partnered with me to scout the location and draft the design, and it is my wish to surprise them by expediting construction.

For you see, this treehouse of ours will be open to all Mirrorbound— [ here, Asura gives pause in the rhythms of his speech to glance back, over his shoulder, to Nier with a rather pointed narrowing of green eyes and a perfectly cunning edge to his grin ] especially those who rise to the occasion by volunteering themselves for tasks beyond that which had been asked of them.

[ Carrying (ten trips, reduced by half), Asura remembers asking for assistance with. Construction, the King had extended no such invitation for, and while he is ever-welcoming of company (and means not to turn away the aid), something still must be said— ] I will amend my previous statement: you are a hunter, one with a terrible case of idle hands. And that I put you to work, now, for the second time is egregious to do without offering payment.

[ But what? He thinks, then, to the ad which Nier had placed upon the network. Biiiingo! ]

The enchantment which I offered to you before, are you still in need of it?

[ their pace is leisurely, and one that does not dissatisfy him; the air is clear and cool, and the weight of the lumber settles into his arms somewhat uncomfortably a worst. any time spent in the company of a friend is worthwhile in his eyes — and the feeling of the turf grazing against his pantlegs, the wood crunching beneath their feet, allows muscles that were typically so taught to relax. ]

It reminds me of home, too. [ he says a bit whimsically, following along with ease. there's an ember of curiousity at what he says next. a raise of the brow, slight and quick to fade. ] You feel sympathy for the Shades. You're a kind man, Asura.

[ asura was gentle. gentler than he ever would be, his passion rivaled by an empathy that extended to all creatures. in place of understanding, there is admiration for that trait. his brows raise a tad as nier tilts his head, thoughtfully. ] I like the sound of that. I heard about what happened those months ago — you, and the other Mirrorbound...they deserve to feel safe from the city. Like they're free from it, if even for a moment.

And— [ and...! ] it'll be good for scouting the Cwyld. [ as nier himself would so brazenly say: it's killin' time. ] If it's a gift for your friend, I'll make sure it looks nice. Flowers'll brighten just about any home.

[ nier is a moment's away from protesting, from simply telling his friend that the favor need not be repaid. but an enchantment... ]

I was going to say that your company was enough, but I can't turn down something that'll help me fight better. [ sorry! he was close to being smooth, though. ] What kind of enchantment are we talking about?

Edited 2020-03-19 04:32 (UTC)

Elemental— [ Enchantments, that is. Where Asura is, by and large, a Witch with the bulk of their skill tree points allotted to both divination and evocation, the latter (evocation, Asura's passion) branched easily into the realm of enchantment. Instilling the elements into weapons, vestments, and tokens all comes as naturally to him as navigating the terrain of the Wilde, their pace (for all that it is unhurried) already putting fair distance between them and the lumber yard. ] —fueled by runes which can be activated by either Monster or Witch.

The rapier you sought a blacksmith for, imbued with a cutting wind which gusts with every swing. [ A common enchantment, favored by those who utilized its knock-back effect for the express purpose of protecting others. Then, the less sought after, if only because it proved to be by far more unwieldy: ] Or your greatsword, wreathed with flame to burn the Cwyld away.

[ ...but perhaps Nier would employ the enchantment beautifully, and his blade would burn as vividly as the wrath which consumes him still.

A slow smile parts Asura's lips before he speaks next: ]

And know that I offer you this enchantment not only in payment, but in self-interest as well. [ Ah, what's that? Maybe Asura isn't nearly as kind as Nier had professed? ] If you are able to fight better because of it, then so too will you make for better company on a hunt.

[ That Asura would like to call Nier partner is implicitly said as their travel goes unimpeded, the forest dense and filled with fauna, but bearing no signs of Cwyldtid or the blight which spawned them. ]

It is also a rare thing, to find someone who speaks of flowers as readily as they do of killing. [ Now both in person and over the Watches— curious. Normally, it is only ever one or the other: Summer's warmongering or Spring's flourishing and growth. ] Tell me, what sort of home does such a person hail from?

[ there's a furrow of the brow, eyes hardening with interest — what had torn through the undead, cutting and merciless? fire, of course. he longs for his old arsenal of weaponry, home to axes and lances and greatswords and katanas withholding the souls of the dead in them. each and every one carried an aura, and some had burned with a bright flame, one that had made shade killing all the more convenient when they'd curl in onto one another. ]

...The fire. [ he starts, mulling over the prospect. ] I want it. It'll be useful for when they congregate into groups — ...I want to see how the infection reacts to the heat too.

[ he is as decisive as ever, and the admission of self-interest does not sway his opinion of asura whatsoever. the man was kind for a number of reasons, all of which nier had little intention of forgetting. as the lumber rocks in his arms, he cants his head to peer at asura. ]

I've got no intention of being a burden. Anything that makes me better, I'll take it. But if you need any help, tell me, alright? I'll do what I can.

[ there's a soft lilt to his voice, amiable in what it is. okay, yeah, asura was a big guy. and a dragon at that! but everyone had their fair share of blind spots, some less than others was all. at his question there is a hum, and the sun reflects in his eyes. ]

I come from a dying world. [ dead had been a better word for it. ] But flowers always sold well in the market. Everyone wanted to see them. It gave them hope — people want to find the light in the darkness. In a world full of death, the bloom of a flower makes you feel like there's a chance, doesn't it?

[ a laugh, small, airy and so easily smothered by the wind. ]

Honestly, I did it for my little sister. I was bad at it at first. But the more I fought, the easier it became. You don't know what you have until you lose it — that's what they say, right? A true warrior knows how to cherish life. That's why we [ a pointed look towards asura. ] fight, after all.

[ and as he overlooks the plains, his gaze turns back towards asura, the corners of his lips now upturned into a smile. ]

If I grew flowers for you, they'd be...orange lillies, sunflowers and gazanias. They would go nicely with your hair. [ a beat. ] Your home — if you're alright with telling me, what was it like? Do you miss it?

Edited 2020-03-25 08:42 (UTC)

I wonder— [ Almost coy, that stalling drawl of the King's. Of course Asura misses his home, the one he'd built within his Freehold and Court where Summer soldiers were rowdy and rollicking, welcoming of all with their scarred and open arms. Or rather, welcoming of most, so long as the guest (or the Hedgefresh novitiate in question) were capable of holding their liquor a n d rolling with the punches after the very bottle which they'd imbibed from had been smashed clean over their head in the beginnings of a sporting, knock-down drag-out brawl. There's a reason why Asura spends a good majority of his time in Aefenglom's Harbor district where a fair number of sailors were much the same: rough and tumble and weathered, fond of regaling each other with tall tales no different from the ones traded by the Crimson Court after their hunts and raids. ]

If you are able to promise me something, I will gladly show you what my home is like in return.

[ Showing, opposed to so simply telling, and no that hadn't been a slip of tongue. Offering a memory to the man who had allowed for the King to feed upon their wrath seems fitting in many ways; an exchange of trust for trust. ]

And what I would have you vow, Nier who cherishes life, is to find and pursue a hope of your own.

[ "It gave them hope." "Honestly, I did it for my sister." "If I grew flowers for you." Noble, all of Nier's declarations, and as Asura himself had professed on the night when they first had met, the other man's wrath remains (always, always) for someone else.

That's why, the fae in Asura wishes to convince a pledge from Nier. Why dragon in him would bequeath Nier its flame. And why the King in him speaks frank as anything, as they near the edge of the plain and closer to the Autumnal colors of the Wilde's treeline, approaching what seems to be a steep decline into a forest hollow: ]

This world... I am certain that you have already come to find that it is not unlike the one you know. Talam is dying, and the very least one can do to honor a dying world is to live. [ And live properly. Fully. Freely. ] And not solely for the purpose of fulfilling the wills of others.

[ And here...! Here, there is a pause; a discerning hum before Asura amends: ] Though... I would not say no to sunflowers, if you wished to grow them for me. Not only are they the heraldry of my Court, but I just may be partial enough to them to wear them in my hair.

[ For Nier alone, that is. ]

Edited 2020-03-29 04:37 (UTC)

[ asura was a man who knew how to put you on edge — his words are firm and earnest, but they build and build and build, like an ember blooming into a flame. it leaves nier curious, a brow curving upwards a touch at his proposition.

reds and yellows and oranges overtake their surroundings, slowly coloring the trees. it's as though they've been catapulted into autumn itself, the crisp scent of leaves slices through the air.

for a moment, nier is quiet. cherish life — and yet he had destroyed it just as easily. with that promise comes a heavy burden, one that causes his eyes to stray, features now downcast.

the lumber feels near weightless in his arms right now. ]

I... [ asura had been different. had felt the worst, the ugliest of his feelings and embraced them for what they were. had given him something that hadn't known since he was a mere child, the memory far, far away from him.

so the words do not stay locked with the confines of his heart. they flow slowly, like a stream of water. ]

I don't know how.

[ it wasn't a matter of kindness. on the contrary, it had been the very opposite. a show of weakness, of dependence. ]

I've wanted the end for a long time. [ for as long as he can remember, on some days. ] The difference between this world and my own was—

The humans. They were always going to die. All of us were, no matter what we did.

I was the one who ended it.

[ all of it — he does not specify. the sorrow, or perhaps it'd been an inkling of shame, swims in his eyes, his grip on the wood now growing tighter. ]

I don't know if someone like me can hope anymore. But you...

I want to know more about you. Because you made me feel something I didn't know I could anymore. You were able to shoulder the burden of my emotions. You're strong, but a part of you understands too, as different as we are.

It draws me to you. I can't shake the feeling, even now.

[ that next revelation, of course, leaves him with a sense of nostalgia. there's a lighthearted shake of the head in spite of the conversation topic he's been presented with. ]

You're royalty. Makes sense. You guys tend to talk a certain way.

[ there's an edge of warmth to his voice. don't mind him. ]

I'll try. I can... [ hesistantly, for once. ] promise that. For you, and for my bonded, who asked the same of me.

A person like me with a dream. [ and a grimace. ] ...Maybe. But I want to see those flowers in your hair no matter what, alright?

Edited 2020-03-29 11:10 (UTC)

You should not hold yourself so far apart from others. [ —is the conclusion which Asura draws after hearing the totality of Nier's words and examining them, the other man's confessions coalescing together into a stream which is not so weak as Nier himself might imagine. ]

A person like you walks alongside many, shares in their battles and bleeds all the same. I am a sovereign, yes, worlds away from here— [ No, Asura hadn't missed the warmth which suffused into Nier's voice upon the other man's articulation of the word 'royalty'. Who is it, then, that also wears a crown a n d has won Nier's affections? Could it be the Bonded which Nier had spoken of? Another?

My, my, Asura does wonder. True, the King is no Spring courtier—no champion of either love or desire—but as a Fairest (stereotypically chatty, prone to gossip, always in everyone's business), is it not his prerogative to speculate, investigate, and someday unearth the truth of things? But that is work for a fair-weathered day, one which does not already hold the promise of many hours given to labor. ] —but my rule would be empty if I did not live in the moment with my brothers and sisters, laughing and dreaming and battling through the trenches right along with them.

Those who you support do not look to flowers for hope. They look to you, and so you must find a dream for yourself. That both your Bonded and I asked the same thing of you is no mistake. [ And perhaps now, with two vows made, Nier will find his ambition. Decide for himself. Far heavier than the lumber which they carry, the burden of choice (this Asura has always known, and it had taken him years to truly learn what it was to live without the weight of shackles), but... Though Nier does not know how (does not know the way), there is time for him to learn. ] They are wise, and even if you should find yourself uncertain, heed their words.

They will help you along the way, just as I will. [ Because they do share an understanding, Asura and Nier, and not only in the daily struggle to view the world as it is, uncolored by wrath and the dogged pursuit of something beyond them. ]

Everything comes to an end, Nier. For every rise, there is a fall. There is no realm which I have walked where humans have escaped the embrace of death, however... [ That does not mean all ceases to exist. As Nier himself once said, he'd held the memories of the world even after its people had passed. ]

So too is the resurgence of life inexorable. It flourishes, even in the most inhospitable of places, including this one. [ Here, where they arrive into the enclosure beyond the forest hollow, the land cleansed of the infection and teeming with new growth. Setting down the bundles of heartwood in his arms, Asura gives a great roll of his shoulders, stretching, before looking again to his companion— ]

You realize, though, that 'no matter what' is a rather large ask. [ Like asking Nier to promise to find a hope of his own hadn't been the very same !! Still, the segue allows for levity in Asura's reciprocation of something he'd felt, wanted since he had siphoned Nier's emotions and repurposed them as power: ] You're fortunate that I'm drawn to you, as well. I haven't the will to rebuff you.

[ That is to say, with a broad and unabashed grin: ] So yes, then. No matter what.

I don't mean to. [ it's a half truth, half lie. for a long time, he was a being who feared loneliness above all; the idea of dwelling in isolation, of being forced into it in such a cruel world was mortifying. but as he grew older, he'd begun to realize that perhaps it is when you're alone that you're free.

still, the feeling is biting and as relentless as it had been when he was alive. even more difficult is the prospect of accepting a warm hand rather than lending one. ]

But...you don't need to worry for me. [ his features harden with a shake of the head. it isn't stern, merely determined. ]

I'm a selfish man, and one who is free. I've already seen the end — so I'm not afraid of the future.

[ he is a victim of the horrors of huamnity, and has witnessed them rob him of his own earth — has almost had has his own self taken by them as well. as asura releases his weight of lumber, nier follows suit, gently easing them down onto the ground so as to not damage them. ]

I'm not doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I'm doing it because I like you. [ said firmly, earnestly, and with a dash of maschismo. the smile that dances along his lips is boyish. ] I want, just as you do. And to me, wanting is enough reason to do something, even if isn't to others. That's why you don't need to worry.

[ and of course, his eyes brighten at asura's agreement. he would absolutely be letting out a merry "haha, alright!" if he could — but he does not, instead opting to be at least a little graceful here. ]

I'll hold you to that. After you, [ a pause, before he takes a moment to joke. ] my liege.

Edited 2020-04-06 10:41 (UTC)

[ Sleeves rolled up and straining over the swell of biceps, the fabric (sure to s p l i t at any given moment) has only just been spared from the hectic array of color which coats Asura's lower arms.

Two weeks, several bundles of home-dried flowers, spices sourced from Dorchacht, and a copious amount of rice flour has culminated in this: the King of Summer employing his talons as commonplace measuring spoons and scoops as he cleans the powdered pigments out of the coffee grinder (he'll purchase another on behalf of a certain necromancer and mage post haste, he promises) and portions them so that his accomplice (a very lovely lady, if he does say so himself) may work her magic to (use her non-taloned hands) see the variegated hues of orange, magenta, and blue deposited into balloons. Why?

Weeeelll something had been said about a birthday, and this particular grandpa not knowing exactly how old he'd be this month, but wanting to celebrate anyway. ]

Don't think I've ever told you, but I was human once. [ Clack-clack-clacking his talons against their countertop workstation, little plumes of yellow powder rise from the motion. It's easy, talking to her like this, and Asura's voice is as rhythmic and rolling as it had ever been as he settles into a lean against the kitchen island. ] Was born on the second day of a festival where all the land was bathed in color.

There's this story to it, you know? [ —he hums, reverberating and deep, green eyes flicking up to watch Paloma as she works still, the fullness of his mouth curving into a smile as he soldiers right on: ] People play and smear each other with this pigment to welcome spring and show love for one another, so...

[ Sorry not sorry Paloma (??), this would be Asura launching a swift assault to pop! the balloon you're blowing up. All it'll take is one teeeeeny tiny taloned touch. ]

Edited 2020-03-11 01:57 (UTC)

[ Asura expertly got each and every defense low, her suspicions nil, before ever beginning to confide in her. Lamps or candles keep their industriousness well-lit and bright at the late hour, catching and throwing color back into their eyes with a vividness that she can't help loving; after a rainbow of pigment builds under her nails and dusts her fingers, she might be glad of picking out a more worn skirt and blouse for the staining, but everything about the room and company is beautiful.

She's smiling shyly and glancing sideways, away from him, when the balloon attached to her mouth explodes and the whole world becomes a yellow cloud. ]

AAAH GOD!

[ A screech, high and horrible, and an instantaneous leap away from the noise. Her ankle hooks into the stool she'd claimed and nothing is there to cushion her very hard fall but the wooden floor. Deception! Disgrace! A wayward foot upends the table as she kicks out reflexively. Then there are several more clouds as the first is still just hovering thick in the air, none the same color. ]

Asuraaa—

[ Without the sense to dodge floating pigment, she appears upright in shades of pink, and orange, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and maybe he has a moment to reconsider before Paloma body slams him with unchecked vampiric strength. ]

[ Why reconsider when he can brace? Quite frankly, Asura's comfortable with saying that there's no one (no monster, no witch, no being with eyes) in this or any other parallel realm who could resist getting h i t by such a vision: the reckoning that is Paloma, bursting through clouds of pigment-plumes, trails of color in her wake as she drives into her target. Into Asura, who greets her with open arms even as he's forced back by that Kindred's momentum and strength, his hands locking about her middle (tugging her close and dear to him) as he nearly loses his footing, slamming back into the wall behind him with such a force that it shakes their two-story home right down to its foundations.

(Holy hell what a woman.)

And in that instant, every fixture of the house comes alive: windows rattle, wood creaks and groans, the light fixtures overhead tremble, and through it all Asura's laugh rumbles, short-winded and low. ]

Always taking my breath away, still. [ —he murmurs, every bit as breathless as he'd professed, lips quirking up into a lopsided grin as he huffs and wonders if she'll wrest herself free of him. When he tilts his chin down, all he can manage a glimpse of is the crown of her hair (colored powder adorning her curls in fine dapplings and larger splotches) as he holds fast to her, saying...!

Nothing so world-shattering or profound. Instead, his voice is silvered, teasing, fond when he says: ]

But Paloma, should've seen the look on your face. The noise which you made. My ears are still ringing, goddamn.

[ If only Asura's joy wasn't so infectious and soothing. It's hard, too, to hold anything against him when she is the thing being held against him, because nothing in any universe lends her such a vast sense of safety and security. The arms twining around his torso tighten with belligerent insistence.

Seeking revenge can wait a minute. It's time for a cuddle, an addiction worse even than a Kindred's thirst for vitae. But he knows that. ]

Don't respect me. A joke to you. [ Muffled petulance from where she's smothering herself in Asura's chest, or giving it a good effort. A rough concept of a plan for retribution begins to hatch in her breast. ]

Beg forgiveness.

Would. [ Beg forgiveness, but there's just one problem: ] But you're pressed so close I can't do it properly.

[ And while he holds fast to her as surely as she clutches to him, as it is, it'd be e x c e p t i o n a l l y hazardous to extract himself from her grip. Who knows, after all, what thoughts are lurking beneath that indignant huff-puff bluster which suffuses through that link of theirs, rising against Asura's consciousnesses like the swell of a Summer squall as he makes a further attempt at seeing her pacified: ]

What use is beseeching you to forgive me, if I can't go down on one knee? [ Prolonged contact between two Bonded means magic will be cycled. Means that Asura's shoulders will relax against the wall behind him, his posture slumping as he debates folding in, onto Paloma, to enshroud her completely with his person as the sensation washes over him. ] How about...

[ Drawling and smooth, his delivery. Flourishing and stupidly majestic, the hand which he is loathe to lift from Paloma's person, but does so for the sake of employing a taloned finger to denote something which lingers just out of sight: ]

I give you a three second start for the bowl of green pigment behind you, instead? [ Are you game for a second round, Paloma? But this time, the color fight will be on equal footing. Sporting and positively blithe, he teases— ] The one someone had good sense to put a lid on.

[ Countdown? Starting now. Three, two...! ]

[ Goddamn him, it's almost like they're soulbonded and he has a masterful sense of which buttons to press to melt Paloma like a plate of butter. The down on one knee imagery (her ribs constrict with painful want, want, want of that for herself); that alone about does it. Her weak imitation of rancor falls out of a hole in the pocket she'd secured it in, and there isn't any suppressing the smile into his warm, warm skin. ]

Oh, so now I'm not sensible.

[ Not softened to Asura so much that she's about to play fair.

His warning is the rapid readjustment of where her arms lie as she drops into a squat, wraps them under his mighty ass, and heaves upright to bring his swollen head even closer to the ceiling. She spins around and around to throw him off his rhythm, whooping. ]

[ She doesn't go for it, the race which he proposes. Instead, she goes for him, and he's unable to stop her because suddenly Miss Paloma Cecilia Vasquez is the deadlift champion of Aefenglom, and he is hoisted up by arms which secure beneath the ~~shelf~~ round of his ass, held suspended as she pinwheels him about. And to be honest, it is dizzying, but not on account of the way Paloma sets them both into a tornado of a whirl— it's her laughter which does it, along with the residual feeling of a desire squashed down and quelled (Paloma, Paloma, what is it that you're denying yourself?) that he becomes dazed by an immersed in. But not so much so that he isn't able to rectify the situation. ]

Not in the slightest. [ —n o p e, there's not a lick of sense in her lifting him (but then, that's why he's so positively delighted, his boisterous guffaw resounding right alongside her whoops and hollers), and he's certain that: ] You're going to throw out your back, hauling me around.

[ So...! He throws out his arms, to see her spared from that fate, pitching his torso (the heaviest part of him, solidly dorito-shaped) forward into a dive roll which sees Paloma upended (into the air she goes!), and the sleeves of Asura's own button-down splitting at the seam no sooner than his palms connect with the floor below. And it's a riveting sound, the way that material goes, the impact rippling up through Asura's wrists and to muscles which flex j u s t enough to ruin one of the King's only fitted garments. Then, there's the thud! of his back and legs colliding against the floor, with Paloma not too far behind him.

And after that? The way he props himself up with his elbows is immediate, at the ready to wrestle further (and wheezing with laughter still), the green powder momentarily forgotten. ]

The best— [ Who? Her. Catching his breath, he clarifies: ] You're the best birthday present. Love you so damn much, Paloma.

[ Everything goes pear-shaped. Down they fall, his weight and her flailing limbs rattling the floorboards as if part of a greater battle between two titans. Paloma's shriek trails off into laughter, fades into giggles, and she doesn't hurry when rolling onto her belly, grinning so widely that it might've strained her face, once. (When her muscles still felt that discomfort longer than a minute or less, when aches hit harder and simpler than dictated by blood intake.)

She visibly falters in the middle of preparing to launch at him, devastated in fewer than five seconds. It just took Asura looking at her that way and talking, again, of love. Her throat locks. ]

No, that's not fair. You can't say that.

[ The sweet, terrible joy swamping their connection says otherwise, but Paloma had plans to exact vengeance and they cannot bear fruit when she wants to kiss him insensate.

Happier than anyone's got a right to be, she kicks off the floor and drops recklessly onto him, snarling a war cry. ]

[ A menace! Paloma is a menace, one that sees Asura imperiled by simply being. Though she is Kindred, her emotions are more vivacious, more resonant and alive than any human Asura's ever siphoned Glamour from, and the crest of her joy hits the King just as hard as the sheer force behind her bodyslam. At this rate, their storied battle will wake the neighbors, giving them something to gossip about, but— in this moment, all Asura knows is reflexive happiness, and it's better than any other high he's known.

There's no need to worry about injury between them (they've sparred harder than this, knocked each other around more), but instead of spurring his body into a quick economy of motion (to see Paloma upended again, and to keep that rhythm of theirs going) Asura only...! Draws a slow, steady breath. Exhales. Huffs: ] Can't I?

[ She's a mess of color, and now he is too. Transferred to him, by way of their physicality: the colors of lovers and partners and the sentiment of I will grapple with you for the sheer hell of it, but also as foreplay too.

The look in Asura's eyes is arresting, then, as his lashes fall to half-mast, his molten heart thundering away in his furnace of a chest— ]

Don't tell me that I need to throw us into the thick of another life or death situation if I ever want to say those words again. [ Arching his pelvis up sharply, he jostles her on top of him, his hands roving over her person with large, calloused, warm palms which glide over the backs of her legs and thighs, pushing up the frilled fabric of her skirt. ] Much as I live for danger, think that'll get tiresome real quick, and I'd much rather spend time like this instead.

[ Where Paloma is elated, beautiful, and fierce atop him. Where Asura himself can't stop grinning like a fool because he's all caught up in vast scope of everything she is.

With a wink— ] You look good from this angle, you know?

Edited 2020-04-03 03:18 (UTC)

[ The floor, their clothes, their bodies, their hair are all wretched with the colors of this festival. Or precious with it, depending on your point of view, and she likes the perspective from her cushy throne. She likes when that throne rolls up into her even more.

From contrived outrage to dizzied interest, there's a quicksilver shift of expression and physicality. Answering that audacious wink is a bafflingly shy smile showing only the most delicate points of either fang; under the guise of resettling onto him, Paloma presses down more roughly than is strictly called for. Carelessness encourages the powdered skirt higher because naturally it would. ]

Don't imagine you can sidetrack me by flattering my angles.

[ The rasp of her voice, more pronounced but always with deepest affection, precedes a pair of inquisitive palms smoothing up Asura's wide neck, cradling and then scratching him unkindly. ]

I love you— I love you. You're in my heart, you'll always be. [ Joy wars with awareness of how fragile, how tenuous trying to lock someone to oneself is. Fear tries to sour the whole barrel until the mad strength of love and lust shoves it somewhere else. ]

If it could beat again, loving you might do the trick.

[ Here, his hands are ocupado. She leaves his neck alone to help by reaching behind herself for the ties to her dress. ]

[ Teamwork is Asura helping Paloma out of her dress posthaste: where the fingers that had soothed and scraped along the column of his throat (unblemished palms discovering scar tissue in their bout of curiosity, finding that place where the King of Summer—proclaimed enemy to all Kindred—had opened the skin of his neck for one) have set their sights upon fastenings and ties, Asura's hands raise higher still, pushing up, up, up until he's able to see the waist of the dress over Paloma's head, and...!

He creates a new rain of pigment in the process, the powder loosened from fabric, skin, and hair with the fluidity of the motion. Plumes of color fall, hues shift and blend, and it turns out that teamwork is also one surefire way to mask the reddened cast of fluster which sweeps across Asura's features when Paloma reciprocates, says the words "I love you" not once, but twice, in that breezy vibrato of hers. And it's strange, isn't it, how Asura's own molten heart surely skipped a beat, delight and surprise evident in the widening of his eyes, in the moment she'd decreed (from atop her throne of his body, flesh, and crystalline bones) that her love for him just might be the thing to help her feel alive again.

Here, in the peace of Asura's shared home, those avowals—spoken only once before in that vile pit of stone—resound with a clarity which moves him like nothing else. This is where he's meant to be, even if he's realms away from his Freehold and Court, and the sentiment which burgeons within him can be no product of a restraint or lock: strong enough to cast wrath into shadow, it feels dangerously like freedom from the constraints of the mortal realm which Asura had stepped into nearly a half-century ago. ]

Call me selfish, Palomabella, but I want to be with you in any way that I can. [ Above him, she is beautiful, but— with his taloned hands now settled on either side of her waist, he lowers her to the floor below, sees her laid atop the cushion of her discarded dress before his fingers find the delicate curve of her jaw, cradling her face. ]

Whether or not I reside in a heart that beats or one that is still... [ Though now, now he wonders what it would take to return a Kindred to mortality— what the sacrifice would be to forge a contract with Life and Death both. If only she wanted, truly wanted, he would consign himself away for her. ] ...or if this Bond of ours should someday fade...

[ Thumb sweeping over the rise of her cheek, he swipes away residual traces of powdered yellow as his body bends, the incline touching forehead to forehead as he promises— ]

...I'll pursue you all the same. [ One kiss, pressed to the bridge of her nose. Teasing. ] Avidly. [ Another, placed against the cupid's bow, nose nuzzling nose. Surprising, how gentle Asura could be, for all that they had battled against one another not so very long ago. ] Brazenly. [ A third, to the veeeeery corner of the mouth. ] Wantonly.

[ And finally, f i n a l l y a kiss that's a mesh of lips against lips, closed-mouthed and steeped well with desire that's been brewing since the very moment when Paloma had bulldozed him into a wall in the first place. ]

Edited 2020-04-12 20:15 (UTC)

[ Cheating is hearing it when his heart skips, smiling secretively and with pleasure at the proof that this perfect feeling isn't unrequited. Turnabout is soft fabric under her back, motes of bright powder getting absolutely everywhere with no rush for either of them to clean up. She keeps chasing him, clawing off his hairtie, trying to dole out the kind of affection he teases at giving. The promises/threats trip her up, make her inelegant.

Paloma half-lunges to meet the kiss and scorch it back into him. Funny; she hadn't bothered to put her underthings back on after they said hello earlier, in this same treehouse. Though coaxing the necessities off of Asura's lovely body, swearing love again and again and again, suits her fine.

She's pretty happy with herself, afterward, and not hurrying to get that soiled dress back on. What if she just... wears him? Like a stole. There's a thought. (Not many of those, currently. Sex makes her airheaded.) Most folks would want a big man off of them after the excitement is over, but she's neither most folks nor concerned about getting crushed by however many tons of solid muscle. Paloma curls her legs and arms around him like a snake looking for bugs to eat. ]

Mmmmmyou gotta start every balloon over again. How many'd we make before you popped mine...

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