(Closed) Event & Aftermath Catch All

[mirshikar]

Who: Asura + Plotted CR
When: Late January - Early February
Where: Rescue basecamp, Asura's shared home, and likely the steps of Parliament.
What: Wrath, dumb jokes, politics, and a lot of h/c.
Warnings: Strong descriptions of injury, mentions of torture (re: event) and slavery.

Comments

[joies]

[His initial request, at first glance, seems to garner no reaction from the floral dragon - a gentle flick of her tail is the only acknowledgement if he watches closely. It's not as if she is ignoring him, but rather she doesn't exactly... approve of him trying to go out, to move and strain himself, when he has only just recently arisen from a slumber brought about by his injuries. The last thing she wants, nor any of those dear to him wants, is for him to strain himself while he's still healing.

But she knows Asura. She knows that this won't stop him, especially as he was able to push himself to style in a more familiar way - despite the gruesome scar that carves across his chest.

(It makes a flash of something white hot pulse through her veins, recalling the room she found the culprit in - the broken shards along the floor, the instruments on the walls.

She wishes she could've taken more than some bloodied teeth.)

And especially when he's right. The refugees need to be heard, after all this - they were promised a safe place, yet what has been given instead? Violence and scorn, from the city that should've protected them. Of course, Asura knows she cannot resist what he offers, to extend helping hands and listening ears to them - to help them have a voice, when no others would.

So she then finally, finally, look at him - hair pushed back from her crimson eye, having been perched in her main 'nest' in the common room when Asura sought her out. By the window where the sun shines in brightest, the light reflecting in through the glass making her gaze burn all the brighter as it fixes solely on him.]

You are far from recovered to be doing this alone, Asura. So I shall make sure you stay steady. [A pause, before she shifts to stand up - wings stretching with a soft hum, a sound that echos from deep within her chest, before standing by his side.

Then something in her gaze softens, the blazing fire of her eyes becoming a warm glow, as lips quirk up at the corners. It's been a while, at least for them as casual and carefree they are, that she had let her tone take on something more teasing.

(That strange new feeling has consumed her for far too long.)]

After all, you can not hope to aid them if you are out of breath by the time you arrive. [So by his side she shall be, as always.]

[mirshikar]

[ Many things have changed. Enkindled by an emotion which she could not name, Persephone seethes and burns in isolation, surrounded only by the sights and sounds of her chosen aerie: light, filtering through glass, and the creaks and groans of the windowsill as its hoarfrost coating begins to melt away beneath the burgeoning warmth of day.

In Talam, the grasp of Winter seems not to last for long— already, it stretches, cracks, and thaws, receding so that Spring might come. But that vernal tide is different, no longer is it (is she) so simply desirous of new beginnings and better futures; of sowing joie de vivre across arable hearts and land so that Summer would well and truly flourish in the time when it straddled the world before Autumn turned its bounty and harvest to ash. No, there is something almost human about her; something which does not bend to the cycles of the four Great Courts and runs wild, untamed in the flash of her eyes when she looks upon Asura and his scar before she chooses to relent, bending to what he would bid of her and of anyone.

Though he does not say it, Asura can name the condition which Persephone has succumbed to— he can taste it for himself upon his tongue, and it (her wrath) is the earthy bitter-sweet of rose petals and aromatics. Never in his lifetime, did Asura envision a day where Persephone's emotions would be so real that he could feel, scent, and taste them for himself. And for the very first time since arriving in Talam, the King finds himself unnerved by the power of the world: nothing in all the realms has ever been known to reverse the inhuman condition of Changelings, and yet...

Yet, here Persephone stands at his side, and Asura has never felt so close to her (or so very far apart).

Many things have changed, but the King himself has not, as is evident in the way he offers the Queen an easy riposte despite all uncertainty: ] To be certain, then, that I've breath enough to greet them upon our timely arrival, I will need to look into borrowing some from a willing donor.

[ Leaning in, he allows for his kajal-lined eyes to fall shut as he touches his forehead to Persephone's own in a departure from his Imperator's visage. For her, he is even able to offer a smile as he teases in rasping, weakened, but still too damn charming tones: ]

I wonder... where might I find someone who will lend me the air from their lungs? Where is it that you would look, o'Queen of Spring?

[ Board? Set. Move? Played. Will Asura be able to coax a kiss from Persephone before they go on their merry way...? ]