[Closed] Jus' a lil' Song and Dance

Xavier sets up for a little performance in Crosstown Court.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Elias Mercucianno
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Joined: Wed Jan 30, 2019 6:21 am
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Race: Galdor
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Mon Mar 04, 2019 11:38 pm

40th Achtus, 2718
SOMEWHERE TOO BRIGHT | WAY TO BLOODY EARLY
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Elias’ looked up at the delicate creature—and up and up!—at his vantage point on the couch, the Gioran quite easily in his line of sight between here and the ceiling. The softness of the other’s voice, and a gentle brush of hair from his own forehead did something to the galdor. It was too long since someone had done that, seven years in fact. His breath caught in his throat, eyes filling unexpectedly and chest aching with longing for things that were very long since gone.

Thank Hurte for Doris.

Standing, he rapidly blinked away the emotional mess that wanted to spring forth at the simplest of touches, brushing against the body that was far to close with a carefully put on smirk before guiding the willowy albino into the dining room. As the pair ate, or more to the point as Xav ate and Elias fawned, Doris moved around the table removing used cutlery and quietly tending to her master with little things that he clearly took for granted. Brushing lint from his robe, tsking quietly and frowning when he asked for whisky in his coffee and his cigarettes, bringing his glasses and setting them on the table should he require them. All things he missed as he smiled at the Gioran, watching the lips and tongue moving over the pale thumb with a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

It was the giggle of course, that hummed through the galdor, his field warming and reaching to encompass the wick with a strong sense of desire.

“Women in power, imagine that. I suppose, given some of the faux pas that happen in this country, maybe its not a bad thing. You have…most definitely been blessed dear.” The tightening of the taller creature’s glamour caused Eli to draw his own back slightly, aware enough even in his high to sense discomfort. Discomfort usually didn’t lead to more delightful, comfortable things.

“Well, you would have to have. I don’t know many Giorans, I know, I said that before…but I do know your culture enough to know that you would not have had an easy time. Am I right? A wick, in a galdori exclusive country, gasp Xav for shame! Did they chase you with pitchforks? I’ve always imagined that might be how it works.” It was insensitive, but then the man knew nothing of the performers past, only that a wick wasn’t welcome in Gior. As the quick fingers snapped around his wrist, Elias gasped, only to grin wickedly at the albino as they almost threatened the galdor with promises of being a lot tougher than they looked. He watched violet stained lips touch his skin with a wistful sort of sound, before biting his lip as his hand was placed quite directly on a tightly clad thigh.

“Well, Xav. I’m not known for backing down from a challenge. If that’s what you’re implying.” Elias breathed, watching his hand as it kneaded the muscle gently and began to creep towards places far more exciting and interesting then knee’s and toes. Leaning forward further in his chair, the inebriated brunette chuckled, eyes flitting to soft purple lips and mouth parting slightly in anticipation.

“Mmm… I’m not Anaxi though. Bastian, my lovely. Born in the beautiful city of Florne and raised by—” The galdor stopped himself, closing his eyes and wetting his lips as he froze in the space between them both. Swallowing hard, he looked away, sitting back and drawing his hand from their thigh.

“I’m sorry I…that…excuse me a moment.” Standing unsteadily, the unstable galdor moved from the table, grabbing his cigarettes and padding with barefeet to cross the room. Taking one from the packet, he tossed the rest in one of the robe pockets, lighting it with a flick of his fingers. This time however, it didn’t work. This time the mona lashed at him with a fierce discipline, annoyed at his blaise casting and overuse of improper technique, causing the galdor to loose his spliff as he pressed his hands to his ears to stop the god awful sound that burst forth. They rang badly, as though he'd stood inside the bells of the church as they were tugged, and the scent of sulfur filled the air. Not a brail, just a nasty backlash, a curt reminder that he was not invincible.

“You..uh..seem to have caught me on a particularly bad day.” Elias muttered shakily as he shook his head, as though to clear it, before looking around for the cigarette. He stumbled, falling back on his behind and laughing as he moved to lay down on the marbled floor.

“Master Mercucianno, your bath…” Henrick said from the doorway of the dining room, unperturbed by the young man’s actions. The brunette sighed, turning his head to look at Xav with a far away grin.

“See? Takes time.” He said, before rolling to his feet with all the grace of a pregnant chrove. Moving back to the table, cigarette long forgotten, Elias looked at the Gioran with a sigh.

“I’m going to wash now, pretty.” He declared, running a hand through his hair and scratching his chin.

“Care to come upstairs?” It was an invitation, but also an out, should Xavier want it. The brunette wanted more of the pale moonlit being, but it was clear he was not in a good frame of mind. There were cracks in his intoxicated armour, and he needed time to plaster them shut again. A warm body in his sheets would certainly be welcomed, but it would be messy and probably entirely unsatisfying.

Still, he was not kicking the wick out. Yet.


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Xavier Zhirune
Posts: 90
Joined: Tue Jan 29, 2019 4:00 pm
Topics: 10
Race: Wick
Location: On Tour
: Not all that glitters be ging. Some 'f it's me.
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Writer: Muse
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Wed Mar 06, 2019 2:48 pm

mercucianno residence, uptown
in the morning of Achtus 40th, 2718

Xavier swallowed their bite of bacon, hard, very visible laryngeal prominence bobbing with the effort, blood rising to the surface of skin born without pigment flushing them with a deeper shade of pink at the mix of admission, complement, and then complete ignorance spilling from the galdor's irritatingly attractive lips. Choosing not to make political comments about the role of women in society, about the strength of femininity, about the need for a recognition of equality not just between biological sexes but also perhaps between gender roles, the pale musician offered the wariest of smirks at the way in which Elias questioned their existence in Gior.

It stung, it did, and the graceful creature blinked slowly, colorless eyelashes fluttering heavily while they glanced away from the dark-haired man to their plate, suddenly no longer hungry. It was an act of intentional generosity, of foolish vulnerability, Xav raising the galdor's hand to their lips, violet gaze meeting bleary, verdant hues. It was a sharp ache for distraction that led them to purposefully place that same hand on their lithely muscled thigh, fully aware of how such a bold move would be interpreted by the wasted-before-noon creature before him,

"M'eoh—my mother—was a priestess 'f Imaan. A passive, ye chen, but she loved m'eohda—my father—human 'r not. It weren't 'til I came 'f age that me bein' half 'f anythin' ever mattered, bein' th' only one 'n our cozy village with a field. Did I get chased out with pitchforks 'n' torches? Ne, Eli. I were sold like an animal t' th' highest bidder t' be a servant—a cabin boy, t' be honest. Exiled without a chance t' say goodbye on board an' airship headed t' gods know where by gollies like yerself. 'Cause clearly I'm a disgrace for jus' exisitin'. Havakda."

That was personal and the pale musician bit their lip as if to hold back more words, as if ashamed of such a very raw admission. This high, conceited thing didn't need their truth, not at all. Elias' hand wandered higher and Xavier didn't stop him, didn't entirely want him to stop while the warmth of chagrin burned beneath their skin and clawed down their spine. Please, if they could just forget they went so far and—

The albino wick blinked, willing to listen to the Anaxi—no, Bastian—until it seemed as though his own words became too much truth and instead of reciprocating honesty, the galdor withdrew. His touch. His words. His company as he stood and removed himself from the table, leaving Xav sitting in their chair chagrined, confused, and so very aware that everything had just gotten far too strange. Violet gaze followed the ungraceful creature in his ridiculous robe, watching his desperate need for activity, for far more distraction than even the musician craved.

This man was broken.

Xavier just didn't know by what, and they were quite convinced, in this moment, that they didn't even clocking care.

The mona once again refused to obey the jent's commands, a harsh enough rebuke that the wick couldn't help but wince, curling toward the back of their chair, worried about backlash. This wild, wasted excuse for wealth and privilege had taken for granted their magical gifts, had clearly taken advantage of their heritage, and the mona didn't agree. It was sad, really, and something inside the willowy Gioran was far more curious than they at all should have been.

Was this the price of Viendan high society? If they'd been invited inside the home of any other galdor, would they see the same?

Or was it just this one.

Sliding from their seat, graceful and cautious, the tall albino offered a small smile, "Yer hungover, oes, no' t' mention—oh."

The dark-haired man fell over and one lithe hand raised to their face, hiding a smile, hiding a noise of surprised amusement they struggled to keep contained.

It was difficult to watch and Xavier was confused as to why this bothered them so much. This was just a galdor, a galdor experiencing the price of their own choices. There should have been some secret pleasure, but it really wasn't something worth watching. It was wrong and yet at the same time, stirred by their admission of their own exile at the hand of his kind, an ache they tended to try and avoid, an anger that the sight of such pathetic and wonton irresponsibility flared brighter than they expected. There was something in that anger that burned inward, that consumed the albino wick in ways they'd never quite been able to properly express.

It justified their thievery. It justified the feeling of victory over conquests. It tasted bitter like vengeance, but the aftertaste was always sour.

Wincing at the voice of Henrick as though they'd been surprised by his appearance, Xav looked between the two men, unwilling to entirely watch Elias struggle to his feet. Unable to help themselves, they reached to steady the poor man, lithe fingers moving of their own accord over a body they might have enjoyed had it not been so misused. There was something about taking such advantage that wasn't quite as pleasurable in theory as it could have been, something about taking what could hardly be given as dissatisfying as it was unprofitable.

Then again, was there anything upstairs worth stealing? Were there rooms they should be investigating once they'd tucked this poor thing into bed?

It wasn't worth it.

The pale musician sighed, "Oes, boemo, Eli." Their touch lingered, lacquered nails curling against soft, fuzzy bathrobe as if they were seeking to rake against the Bastian's skin. This wasn't much of a challenge—charming someone so out of reality and stealing from someone who practically gave it away in their wasted state. Oh well. They doubted this galdor would learn from his mistakes, whether they were shaped like moonlight poured so perfectly into Xavier's shape or whether they were found at the bottom of yet another bottle. Elias hadn't learned yet, and what were a few missing belongings to someone so obviously wealthy, anyway?

Fine.

Perhaps he deserved this, after all.

"M'haps I can help ye stop lookin' 'r smellin' like someone scraped y' off th' Lantern floor last night, ye chen." Purred the albino wick, curling themselves back around the dark-haired man's arm and willingly bearing his unsteadiness, allowing themselves to be led once again, leaning to brush lips against the galdor's ear and add in a whisper, "Let's float on up like a 'ship on th' breeze an' get y' outta this robe, hmm?"


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Elias Mercucianno
Posts: 51
Joined: Wed Jan 30, 2019 6:21 am
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Wed Mar 06, 2019 8:26 pm

40th Achtus, 2718
SOMEWHERE TOO BRIGHT | WAY TO BLOODY EARLY
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Lacquered nails brushed against his robe, and surprisingly strong hands held him steady as the Bastian wavered before the Gioran, seeing something in the violet depths he didn’t deserve. Didn’t want. Didn’t need.

Pity.

“As you wish, Eli." The galdor muttered the Tek in Estuan, scoffing at the words and raising a dark brow.

"As I wish…I wish many things Xav. Too many things. But let’s not dwell on those.” He reached out to stroke delicate porcelain features, a thumb dragging softly over rose quartz cheekbones and across stained lips, his brow drawing slightly as his mind flitted around in the clouds.

“How could anyone mistreat something so…perfect.” Elias muttered, picking up on the wick’s perhaps too personal words from before. Sold, as a cabin boy.

On an airship.

His stomach churned, and he withdrew his fingers to curl into his palm, pressing the hand against his chest and looking away with a hard swallow. There were too many cracks now, too many to keep inside. The Bastian took a deep breath through his nose, shaking his head and rubbing a hand across his eyes, hiding the tears that stung their gold and green depths. Fucking airships, omens of death or despair. The proverbial hatcher in the mist. Traps for the unwary.

As Xavier wound himself around the brunette’s arm, he stumbled towards the staircase, fighting to find some semblance of his devil-may-care composure as the cracks turned into yawning chasms. He needed a drink, or more snuff. There was too much feeling now, too many dark and self deprecating thoughts welling from within. His eyes closed, he could see his mothers tear streaked face, his eyes open he could hear his fathers strained voice. Embarrassment frayed the edges of his tenuous hold on the cool playboy he acted, ashamed to let anyone see the broken child that hid behind his adult facade.

“Yes, help me. With that.” The intoxicated man said distractedly, resting a hand on the stair rails as they took them slowly, one unsteady step at a time, hesitating as soft lips whispered against his ear. He stopped still, porven field darkening and drawing around him like the ominous stormclouds of Loshis.

“Ship’s don’t fucking float, they fall. Get off me.” Elias growled, his voice husky and thick with emotion as he gently pushed Xavier’s arms off his own and stumbled back against the balustrade. He slipped again, sliding down against the protective railing of the staircase to sit awkwardly on the marble steps, running a shaking hand over his face and through his dark curls.

He wasn't prepared for this. He'd done so well to be so intoxicated that he'd managed to run away from the aching that chewed him up and spit him out over and over again. Hurte save him, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't do this now.

“Leave.” He said in almost a sob, refusing to look up at the beautiful creature, cheeks flushed under the stubble of his regrowth. Looking around himself with a hitched breath he shook his head.

“I’m in no state to take visitors today. Henrick will see to it you are compensated for your time this morning, and bringing me home.” The Bastian said dismissively, eyes red rimmed with the effects of his hang over and his emotions, the loathing and hatred at himself biting like a rabid beast at his heart.

They died, because of you. Because you couldn’t be a man. Because you didn't pay enough attention. Didn't check the gas levels. Didn't double check the gauges. It was you. It was always because of you.

“Good day, Xavier.” His baritone rumbled deep in his chest, more of a mumble than it was spoken word.

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Xavier Zhirune
Posts: 90
Joined: Tue Jan 29, 2019 4:00 pm
Topics: 10
Race: Wick
Location: On Tour
: Not all that glitters be ging. Some 'f it's me.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Muse
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Sun Mar 10, 2019 12:05 pm

mercucianno residence, uptown
in the morning of Achtus 40th, 2718

To say that the albino wick was caught off guard would have been an understatement, for the pirate and performer had found themselves in all sorts of unusual (and sometimes unfortunate) circumstances before this one and, well, it wasn't as though galdori weren't just a bit predictable. This one was a wild card, just as wasteful as they were wasted, but there was something volatile inside, something that seethed with a festering hurt. It was adventurous, curious, and caught the no less secretly damaged Xavier's attentions in all the ways it shouldn't have.

They were better than this sort of thing.

They didn't need the attentions of someone so hurting, anyway. The bed this man may have had to share would not be one filled with delights, anyway.

The pale musician knew all of these things, and yet they'd lingered. And yet they'd invited themselves here, not simply to scout out the wealth inside and deem it worthy of pilfering, but also because there was something about the godsbedamned Elias that held their attention with more than just malicious intent or morbid curiosity.

There was something about the way the dark-haired man muttered and rambled, a softness hidden beneath the snuff and alcohol, something beneath the hatcher-may-care rebellion that spoke of someone lost. Xavier understood those things, chased them, but they also weren't sure they desired to ever find a safe place to land. Not really. What would be there but more heartache in the end? What would be there but haunting whispers of what had been left behind?

This, intangible and unspoken, this they understood too well.

The galdor wavered just as the willowy Gioran wrapped themselves around his arm with all the intention of leading him upstairs and entertaining him however the wasted creature so desired until he wore himself out, until he was asleep and Xavier could slip away, scout out the interior, and disappear back to their cozy little room in the Book and the Bell to plan their robbery.

Instead, Elias froze, his frazzled, disorganized field suddenly oppressive in its frustration, the man's body tensing with an anger the albino wick knew but had learned to suppress, to channel into music, to focus into occasional larceny instead of violence or debauchery (not that they weren't above a little bit of either when they felt like it).

Violet eyes widened and the graceful creature scoffed at the terse dismissal, at the obvious flare of pain at their allusion to airships once again,

"Eh?"

Colorless eyelashes blinked slowly, exhaling the question before inhaling sharply as if preparing for more words, only to let their painted lips draw into a thin line. Their own glamour tightened protectively, hissing as the dark-haired galdor struggled free of their grasp and made an inebriated fool of himself attempting to flee their presence. The pale musician frowned,

"Yer what? Oh, please. Are y'ever in a state for visitors given how ye can't seem t' stay sober, kov?" Sneered the ruffled, offended wick, aware of how Elias had slipped away from the beautiful Mugrobi boy they would have gladly gone home with instead. Did the curly-haired young man speak of airships, too? Or something else?

Interesting.

With a sigh, lithe fingers straightened their clothes and fussed with their hair as if Xavier needed to wipe from their graceful person any evidence they'd touched the ungrateful wretch of a jent,

"Ye wouldn't be much fun b'tween th' sheets anyways, if ye can make 't to 'em without me. Prob'ly a greedy wretch who couldn't spoil th' gorgeous likes o' me an' m' body like I fair deserve. Hmm? I don't need any ging for m' time—I ent a clockin' tumble, ersehole. An' I don't need a servant t' show me out. Looks like ye run those poor passives ragged enough with yer shenanigans an' they deserve better."

Blowing the man a very slow, languid kiss and waggling their bejeweled fingers in a mockery of a farewell, Xavier turned and floated their way back to the foyer, musical voice trailing behind them,

"Fotamos, Eli. Take care 'f yerself." Gods knew that was probably impossible, but the albino wick didn't wish too much ill will on the pathetic excuse for a galdor, languishing in their privilege.

By Imaan, they were gonna enjoy robbing this place later.


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