Entry tags:
open [catch-all, quest 202]
Who: somnus & you
Which: log
Where: around
What: Quests, Catch-all, Wild-card
Warnings: cupid's pranks prompts
Quest 202: Cupid's Pranks
Wildcard
Which: log
Where: around
What: Quests, Catch-all, Wild-card
Warnings: cupid's pranks prompts
Quest 202: Cupid's Pranks
[ That this dream world is able to alter one's state of mind, consciousness, and emotions (or all three at once) is nothing new. Having been here over a year, the mayhem caused by these alterations is anything but charming. Phantom-- that is, incorporeal-- or not, wayward arrows bearing the mysterious power of this realm affect him as well; thus, he, too, must remain vigilant. But there's a flutter of wings, a giggle, a swift woosh, followed by a muted tap of a toy arrow against his back... and it's all over. The projectile falls upon the ground, joining a few soft, white feathers scattered behind as the cherub vanishes from sight... ]Smithy
Amorous[ It could be within the smithy, the town square, near the treehouses, the cafe, or anywhere, and it could be any time of day or night, but you will find that Reverin's resident ghost stands alone, striken and still. Only the pale, spectral aura of his death long passed shifts about him in its usual light, ambient and cold as the moon. His cloak rustles, and a hand emerges from the dark, heavy fabric to rise upward. Long fingers make a cage upon the slight-left of his upper chest. The motion is tender, steadying, and fragile, braiding all three delicately and deadly as a weaver's edge.Hostile
His expression, polished as marble, ripples with an unseen weight. Ashen, solemn, his gaze raises... to meet yours.
This. This is a great, incomprehensible, and terrible pain. ][ Among the various treehouses is one that's long been unoccupied-- seemingly, anyways, because the entire year that it has been claimed as a residence, very rarely has the resident himself occupied it. Curiously, though, there is a modest bit of land beside it that's cleared of snow and ice, thanks to the warmer weather besetting Reverin. Unfortunately for the same reason, the soil is no longer "soil", but melted slush and mud, with all four of its stone borders in disarray. This garden, if it can be called that in this state, is largely ruined, indiscernible from the rest of the land.
To make matters worse, the long-absent resident himself is actually here. He's leaning against the base of the tree, shadowed by its bare branches, his focus remaining fixed upon the damp, turned soil. Brow lowered, jaw tight, he doesn't appear too pleased. Perhaps the uncanny weather may have disrupted whatever he was trying to grow...
Or maybe it's you, who's unwittingly encroaching on this meager, misshapen mash of mud and brick if only to pass by. It's here that he stops you immediately. His voice is frost over steel. ] Hold.
[ As ususal, Somnus can be found in his smithy within Reverin. He no longer manifests in his traditional, giant-suit-of-armor, but instead his phantom form that gives him the ability to craft with much more precision. Here, he works on weapons, tools, and even jewelry! ]
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[ Have an idea? PM this account,drinksteapots, or Jade294#6977! For the Amarous prompt, please only characters 18+ because of romantic overtones. For Hostile, depending on the interaction, Somnus may lash out! ]
cupid's pranks because im terrible
Somnus? Are you alright?
[Do ghosts get sick?? Why does he look like that.]
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Somnus' gaze darts to the broom she had almost reached for, then to the concern clearly written across her face-- a concern reflects upon his own, fraying at the edges of the grave expression he bears, threatening to crack.
He clears his throat, but it does nothing to smooth the charcoal in his throat, texturing his low voice. ] All is well.
[ It is her nature to care, yes, such is the depths of her honor-- strong and lovely, fathomless in conviction--
He blinks once, wrestling with the train of thought, desperately attempting to reel them into a soldier's line, or at least identify the root of their meaning. No, this won't do. He needn't add to her burden. How dare he give her extra cause for concern. ] ...Perhaps this is enough for today. I shall close the shoppe.
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Rather than take him at his word and start prepping to leave, she sets the broom aside and begins to approach, her hand out to try and check his forehead. Maybe he'll still be too ghostly to feel, maybe he won't be overheated, but it's instinctive for her to try. Raised too many children insisting they were fine when they were burning up and needed to go back to bed at once, young man. Which- okay, she can't scold him or order him around, but she's very good at guilting people into behaving themselves.]
That isn't like you at all. Did something happen?
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To her, he'll feel as cool-- yet, not as cold as ice as he normally would be, thanks to the effects of dreamotion. Yet to him, her fingertips sear like irons over coal. Harsher than the Ring's power, more unyielding than the Draconian's presence, there is no greater torture than this: the touch of a woman whose grace and kindness makes her heart gold. ]
You... [ Somehow a single word escapes him airlessly, cautious and quiet, but whatever else he had been about to say dies upon his tongue. Her heart is not the only thing that is golden about her, from the hair that frames the angles of her face to the gaze with which she observes him. Only a fool would not see how her eyes are that of the earth cast in the amber light of dusk.
Only a fool would think her less striking than twilight itself.
It hurts to behold her, and slowly, he's beginning to understand why. Somnus dares to speak, although he remains as still as he can, not daring to remove her hand from his forehead, lest he not wish to let go. ] You needn't concern yourself with the dead.
[ ...Yes, they've already discussed this once, and he acknowledged her point that she can care for anyone she wishes, even those who have passed. But he's faltering hard, mind uneasy, and she'll likely be able to tell the words are uninspired, distracted, and likely said only to buy himself some sort of time. ]
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His comment has her shaking her head, smiling weakly, with her expression a mixture of fondness and exasperation. Honestly, why is "don't worry about me" the default answer for so many people she knows? As if that has ever in the history of her life made her stop worrying about someone who looked like they needed it. And people who normally run solo the way he does very often need someone to do the worrying for them.]
Even if I don't need to, whether or not I worry isn't something you can control. Though I would worry less if you were honest with me.
[They're not the closest of allies at this point - she's not even sure if he would call her a friend - so she wouldn't blame him for keeping mum. On the other hand, she's been around him enough to recognize certain cues and consistencies within his behaviour. This... this is not normal for him, and it draws her attention like a spotlight.]
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Meanwhile, his expression remains tightened into a grimance. Clearly, something is causing him pain, and he appears to be restraining himself from both moving, speaking, or reacting. Her palm had burned, indeed, but the relief is short-lived. Now he longs for its warmth, if only to hold it within his own. Despite his control, his fingers twitch at his side. ]
You wish... for my honesty. [ He asks the question slowly, as if the words themselves are difficult to parse, scratching at the back of his throat. The logic is simple, but conflicting: state what ails him, thus being truthful for her favor, but forfeit all-- or worse, insult her with the disservice that the truth would be. ]
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She hesitates, just a moment of confused uncertainty, then nods.]
Of course. It's better to be honest, isn't it?
[Even if he doesn't want to share it, don't lie so obviously. He can't possibly be fine, looking the way he does.]
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By that same patience and kindness alone, she could have him on his knees. No blade could do such damage, and his defeat is imminent. By all accounts, terror should accompany the great pain he feels within his chest at this realization, but mystifyingly, it doesn't-- at least, not to an extent that leaves him frozen.
Somnus' fingers curl into his palms, then relax. She wants honesty, and he struggles. Surely it is not the time, the place. It is too sudden, unnecessary, and undoubtedly unrequited. Not all truths lead to good outcomes, and how he has fallen...
And so, his reply is no more than a forlorn murmur, ] Mercy, Kisara.
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More unsure than ever before, she backs up a step, her hand hovering uncertainly against her chest, like she needs to keep her hand in check lest she reach out to try and help him again only to make it worse somehow. Is it his pride? Is it her? She doesn't know if he'd been like this before her arrival, so it's impossible to tell. Clearly she'd done something to make him plead (plead!) for her to back off.]
I'm sorry... I didn't mean to upset you. [He'd wanted to leave, right? Maybe her company is just unwelcome right now.] If you'd like to head home and rest, I can finish cleaning and lock up for you.
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--No. [ He's quick to dismiss the idea, and just as quickly, he repeats himself in a softer tone, correcting for the sudden, snappish tone. ] No. You've done nothing wrong. It is... [ At last he animates, raising his hand up to jaw, palm partially covering his mouth. Another pause follows, and his hand lifts further to card through his hair. The strands fall haphazardly back over his pinched brow.
He could say that she needn't do more work, but how would that come off as, firing her? He's already stumbling over his words, no need to throw more misunderstandings into the mess.
Somnus looks at her. ]
Let us walk.
[ Ah.
...Hm. This is probably a mistake on his part for asking. ]
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Alright... lead the way.
[Perhaps rather than push for answers, she'll just join him and let him open up as he pleases. She's wary about what's going on, but she won't feel right if she leaves him alone, either. What if he collapses somewhere? Becomes intangible while he's unconscious? She couldn't exactly carry him to shelter if that happened. But if it happened unsupervised no one would know to call for help, either.]
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He's getting ahead of himself. (And isn't stepping outside not part of the effort to quell such intrusive thoughts?)
But first...
His arm lifts for her to take, naturally. ]
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Since she'd decided to keep her mouth shut until he decides where they're going with this, she'll follow his lead as she said she would, letting him choose the direction and path upon which to walk. She is really hoping for some answers, here.]
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As for the contact... he has offered his arm to others before. It is normally a casual gesture, but he's far more aware of how hers lays over his today. Perhaps it is because the connection highlights their most obvious differences: she is warm, and he is not. She is a living, breathing person, while his heart is nowhere to be found...
(Then why, with her beside him, does he feel both lighter and heavier at once?) ]
Allow me to clarify, [ When they pass along a row of tall, grand evergreens, he speaks. The dryness of his voice has subsided, somewhat, returning it to the usual low and smooth cadence. He speaks with care and caution. ] ...that I hear your concern. You are kind... Kind in a way that is only yours.
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She takes note of the direction they're headed, but offers no protest. She's been alone with him before, so it isn't concerning; she'd have been more worried if he had led them somewhere more public, because it meant he had nothing much to share. Whatever is so deeply bothersome to him surely can't be for public consumption.
But okay, he 'hears her concern'. Doesn't mean he's going to do anything about it. It's a... step in the right direction.]
Kindness can only go so far. The one receiving it has to accept.
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As for her kindness and the subject of accepting it— he can’t, not fully. It is overwhelming, and he would only drown it it. He is already, but this is not a failing on her part.
Somnus looks ahead, where the row of evergreen trees give way to the scattered edge of a forest. ]
The grace you give… they are fools to not accept it fully.
[ And he is among them. ]
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I have to be honest... I'm not sure how to take any of this. You won't say you're sick, but you aren't acting like yourself today, either. But it isn't anything I did?
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Fate has other plans. Cold dread resurfaces its ugly head when she inquires about his health once more. If it's one thing he will not stand, it's her assuming that she is somehow at fault.
He turns his head, looking at her profile. ]
You do, and have done, no wrong.
[ And, frankly, she could do no wrong in his eyes. ] I pray you belive this, if nothing else.
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So... hmm. She feels somewhat at a standstill, but he seems so discomforted by her questioning that it would be wrong of her to push. Her goal is not to pester him with her worries or make him feel worse. That would not be a kind thing to do, and he's been patient with her multiple attempts already. After a few moments of quiet, she finally responds,]
Alright. I believe you.
[If he doesn't want to talk about it, she won't force him. They can just... walk for a while. It's okay, she thinks, it isn't a bad thing to do nothing more than share one's company with another. Maybe he'll feel better after.]
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They continue on their walk, and maybe this will do the both of them good. Him, for reasons he keeps quiet about, and perhaps for her, some time in which she is not busying herself with a chore.
To think that she offered closing up the smithy for him, when it should be his responsibility.
It’s a bit of a topic change, but he inquires: ]
Have you… ever considered that you work too much?
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[She glances sidelong at him, surprised. Isn't he the one usually going on about duty and expectations? The need to work hard and protect what they have? Nevermind that he basically lives at the smithy and this whole conversation started because she was shocked he might leave early...
Hypocrisy aside, she does give the question some thought. No, she probably doesn't usually consider that. Should she is another story.]
I suppose I haven't given it much thought. When work needs to be done, I usually volunteer. It's mostly habit at this point.
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That is to say... [ She helps at the smithy, picking up after Alphen when she needn't, or taking up his tasks in addition to hers when he is out. All this, without any complaint. It is impossible not to notice how her help includes actively reaching out to others or simply doing a task before being asked. ] You go beyond, taking others' responsibilities as your own, putting them before yourself.
[ Only once has he seen her indisposed, and that had been in the fields of flowers back when they had taken up roles within a story involving "Oz". In a dream world that affords them the time, he would rather see her enjoy herself with leisure activity, not staying within the smithy and working with iron. ]
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I... suppose.
[It's not really a firm agreement or denial. Yes, she does a lot of work for her friends, or for those who she thinks need it. Yes, sometimes she gets tired or worn down. But the same could be said of most people who like to help others, couldn't it? There's a degree of tirelessness that comes from aiding those in need. And here, at least, it's actually much less work than she's used to. She's missing half of her party, her city patrols are far more relaxed, and cleaning the house or the smithy gives her something to do. She still has time to train, tend to her equipment, and fish. It's far from a bad life.]
I think you're missing something, though. It isn't a burden, taking on extra work for those I care about. And this isn't meant to be a vacation, either. We may be dreaming versions of our old selves, but the lives we lead here are no less real, right? So we need to take care of this place, and each other.
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But it seems she extends her duty to protect to this world, too-- choosing to risk her own safety and health for others she hardly knows in a world that has given her nothing but risks in return, from dragons to nightmare's corruption.
Once more he stands in quiet awe of her, although it shows as only a slightly slackened, less grim countenance. He states, simply: ] Those are words of one who leads without effort.
[ A pause, and when his speaks again, it's upon a breath. ] You are noble.
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[There's a slice of irony to that comment. How different this conversation is from the one they'd shared at the wedding, where there may as well have been a chasm stretched out between them. The context is not the same, of course, and thus neither is the meaning. Still... the irony remains. She does like this much better. Walking arm in arm with him, at his side, like equals who might even enjoy one another's company. She is not a noble, but she is noble. It's almost sweet of him, and what strikes a chord more is how sincere he seems as he says it. She doubts he would have lied to placate her - he's never indicated himself to be that type - but he could have said it plainly, without emotion, like acknowledging a fact. Instead, he'd...
...well, she's not sure what to make of this. Since this meeting had begun, he'd puzzled her left and right. It is well worth recognizing his effort, though, so:]
Coming from you, that means a lot.
[In more ways than one.]
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