[Closed] Lost Everything

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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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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
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Writer: Muse
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Thu May 02, 2019 2:29 pm

20th of Achtus, 2718
PAINTED LADIES | AFTERNOON
"Nothing has been fine. Are you really fine? I'm not—" Rhys refused to accept the gentle excuse but also refused to finish his thoughts, biting his tongue at the attempt at smoothing over of the far harsher reality that the truth presented to them both. He straightened the coat with his one free hand, needing the warmth but not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

Gods, everything had to really fucking hurt, didn't it?

He resisted the urge to shove plates and the table away, far too weak to do so, no matter the fiery heat that burned in his broken chest. Teeth worried at the knots of sinew thread at his lower lip and his eyes narrowed, blue hues following Charity's hands to her lap instead of staring at the food, "I wasn't accusing you of anything. This was a good choice. You made a good choice. The Painted Ladies really are safer than everyone believes in Uptown. It's full of good people—I don't care where home is. It's not like I can just uproot us to Brayde County. There's nothing there I want to go back to. Brunnhold? The Harbor? The Northern Tors? No—"

Rhys shifted in his seat, frowning in pain. Sitting hurt. Standing hurt. Laying down hurt. This conversation hurt. Really. Everything. He distracted himself with food, needing to do anything other than continue to dwell in the same sensations,

"—easy as in not dangerous?" She laughed and he cautioned a smile, far too aware that there was hurt between them, too.

Unassuaged. Unhealed.

He deserved her resentment.

He'd betrayed her trust. He'd broken the one safe thing the two of them had: each other.

"It's just a bit of sweat and time and probably way more money, getting this place back to something more livable. Nothing we both don't have, in comparison, and it's not like it doesn't have potential. Cleaning and fixing a place like this is easy in comparison to everything else going on around us, honestly." He didn't know her thoughts on the matter, had no idea of her own similar conclusions. He hadn't thought about her thoughts on much of anything for what felt like a lifetime crushed within a handful of days, to be honest, and yet here he was, far too aware of her heart and her mind to not express similar unspoken feelings about some run-down house far enough from Uptown to keep them sane. For now.

Was it home? Could it be home? Could they hide here forever? Could they pretend to build a life here, a wick in galdor clothing and his beautiful wife? Could they keep Damen and his wolves from their trail? Could he ever really keep them safe enough to say they were a real family?

Not that he could even think of what that word meant. He was hardly a husband as it was. He'd hardly had any example of parenting, and, though Charity had some brief time with her mother, neither of them had any solid foundation when it came to such things as children. And if this broken body he currently existed in was just a promise of consequences to come, there was no real safety he could offer the woman he'd made his wife, let alone any lives they'd want to share with their own.

How deeply he felt the aches of his missteps.

Wincing, he sighed, shaking his head at her stern words with unexpected vehemence, "No. I won't. I don't want to—I—it's not just about you. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. I don't know anymore. It's my choice. This is manageable. The pain. Mostly. It'll be alright. We can manage—" Rhys was perhaps telling himself in an attempt to believe the words, having suffered through it all this long already that he'd decided he could continue to endure the rest of his recovery, even if the escape of some sort of pain relief sounded so tempting in this moment. He'd escaped enough. Besides, he wanted to remember.

He needed to remember.

"I want to feel it."

His finely carved jaw clenched out of reflex, the tall blond forgetting in his emotion all the bruising and broken bits of his face. The subtle movement was a sharp wave of hurt and he hissed, shutting his eyes and curling his good hand into a fist on the table next to his plate. Knuckles white, it was clear he barely refrained from banging the heel of his firmly closed palm against the worn wooden surface, blue eyes fluttering open again, "I want the reminder. I don't want to forget. This is on me, Charity."

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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Raksha
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Fri May 10, 2019 10:28 am

20th Achtus, 2718
PAINTED LADIES| AFTERNOON
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Charity’s pale features drew further into a frown, arms crossed protectively over herself and violet eyes drifting from the injured wick to the table between them, field drawing back slightly in hurt frustration as his words dug into her chest. Out in the open, a frankly straight up admission that her presence was in fact the reason he wasn’t getting the medical assistance he needed.

"I want to feel it."

Her gaze snapped up with a creasing of her nose, begging to object to such a ridiculous statement, pausing to flounder as he continued to speak. There was a deep rage underneath all those bruises and contusions, and the blonde understood. She’d not allowed the bruises on her throat and her thighs to be healed, wearing them as bold reminders of what had come so close to happening. Reminders of what could happen when she was weak. Looking at the fist he’d drawn on the table, the pianist turned her head slightly, as though listening to someone speak from the other room. Silence hung heavily between them for a few heartbeats, before she finally spoke.

“No. This is on Benjamin Tolsby. And Diaxio Shiuni. And Damen D’Arthe. You didn’t set this up, you just walked into a well placed trap. One that I frankly would never have anticipated from my father. I know he is a vile man but to let Ben—” Inhaling sharply, the petite sorcereress almost sprang from her chair, striding to the hearth of the kitchen and reaching angrily for the warmth of Static mona in the space around them. It wasn’t in her wheel house, but the elementary basics of Static were taught to all students. Charity knew enough to light a flame.

Flame

SidekickBOTToday at 23:31

@Raksha: `d6` = (1) = 1


The spell work was disruptive and sloppy, weariness from her lonely magical experiments leaving her not quite up to lighting the fireplace. Wick and galdor together would feel the tingling burn up their spines, and whilst a spark did jump from her extended hand, it wasn’t enough to catch the tinder among the heavy wood logs.

Oh wonderful work Charity Ann, absolutely spectacular.

“Shutup.” She snapped in an angry whisper, resting a hand on the mantle of the hearth and closing her eyes, hiding the shaking of her hands against the stonework and her white skirts. Taking another breath, the new Valentin pressed manicured short nails into the dirty ashen stone, opening her eyes and looking back at Rhys.

“You only revealed the final truths about Damen that I didn’t want to believe. He was always a monster, but now I see a hatcher. A shadowy beast from the depths of nightmares and myths, ready to consume everything in it’s path. Family, friend, foe. It doesn’t matter to him. It doesn’t matter who. I used to matter in some awful twisted way, but I don’t think I do anymore. And…” Turning to face him properly, the galdor glanced over his form again with a sigh.

“And I don’t know if that makes me insanely happy, or sad. Isn’t that ridiculous?!” Sweeping around the table rapidly, Charity knelt in a gentle pool of white lace, balanced on the balls of her feet and holding the edge with one hand. The other moved to grip his good hand, lacing fingers through his and holding it tightly.

“I know you’re in pain, you stupid kenser, and I know you need help. Just get something Rhys. Something to take the edge off. Please? I can’t bear to see this, it’s like they’ve won already. And they haven’t, they won’t.” Lifting her chin, the blonde set her jaw firmly, rage flaring in her field again where it wove itself carefully between his glamour.

“Don’t let them.” She hissed, looking up at the crystalline eyes with a furtive expression.

Last edited by Charity Valentin on Tue Oct 15, 2019 10:05 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
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Fri May 10, 2019 2:13 pm

20th of Achtus, 2718
PAINTED LADIES | AFTERNOON
"But I fucking fell for it, didn't I?" Rhys growled at Charity's back, permanently Perceptive-warped vision struggling to shift his focus properly while she moved to the hearth. He felt her gather her field and his expression soured further, confused, biting his tongue lest he choose to chastise her sloppy spellcasting that fizzled as expected.

Did she guess what was on his mind? Did she anticipate some form of criticism from the broken not-galdor about her spellwork? He just didn't have it in him, not now. It wasn't his place anyway, given what he knew he was now. Or maybe it was, given he was a wick that had passed unnoticed through the hallowed halls of Brunnhold to graduate with all the same honors of galdorkind. The petite blond told him to shut up—the tall blond ignorant of her unhealthy internal conversation, with a crack in her consciousness he couldn't see, thinking her words were mistakenly meant for himself—and he glanced back down to the food he'd put on his plate, appetite persistent but will to satiate it fading quickly.

"You only mattered as a bargaining device in his delusional plans, Charity, and I—"

Rhys looked down at her hand reaching for his, at her fingers wrapping with his own, and he let the words he wanted to stay dig into the back of his mind, burrow into his aching chest, and burn against the tip of his tongue for a few moments longer than necessary. Looking back up again to search her face, a hint of desperation in his tone, he added quietly,

"—I should have acted sooner. Years ago. I should have never listened. I know. I know. I've said this all before and you've told me it doesn't matter, but it did. It always has. And it still does now. I see that clearly, if nothing else. This has all gone on for too damn long. You should be happy to be away from that ersehole, but only so long as I'm actually a better choice."

He sighed, restless in the pain she reminded him he was most definitely experiencing, body protesting every movement. Still, he shook his head again, gritting his teeth to lean and press his better, less bruised cheek against her forehead as she knelt next to him in the chair, "No. I'm winning. We're winning. I'm not letting them get away with anything else. Ever. Again. But I need this. I need to think. I don't want to cloud my thoughts or blur any more of my judgment than I already have and—fuck—it hurts, but, I know what I'm doing."

Tilting his head, he let his lips brush her skin, disliking the way the hard knot of stitches felt, feeling his stomach turn at the sensation before he leaned up again with a whine, not releasing his fingers from hers,

"We will write the end of this—not Damen. Not Diaxio. Not Benjamin. No Co-Captain of the Seventen can keep up this charade forever, not so long as I'm alive and still in uniform. I think he knows that."

Rhys finally dragged his hand away with obvious reluctance, reaching for what was on his plate to half-heartedly nibble at it, weak and already tired from just making it down all the stairs to this chair. He'd have to go back up them and the very thought was daunting. Staring at the hearth while he chewed, his blue-eyed gaze drifted back to his wife,

"It's time for all of this to stop, but I need you. I need you more than any painkiller, now more than ever. We need each other because you're the only person I trust right now. I can't even trust the Seventen. Not after this." He groaned, leaning back in his chair while glancing down at yellowed bruises beneath the coat around his shoulders,

"This has to be my last mistake. Our last mistake. We can't afford another one—we've lost enough."
User avatar
Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Raksha
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Mon May 27, 2019 8:17 am

20th Achtus, 2718
PAINTED LADIES| AFTERNOON
Image
The pale blonde took a deep breath, eyes slipping shut as a warm cheek pressed against her forehead, fighting against the urge to cry even if anger brimmed within her. She sighed a sound of disbelief, holding his hand tightly, brow furrowed.

“This isn’t…you can’t call this…” Her words died in her throat as he continued, demanding clarity for himself, for his next moves.

“I know Rhys, I know you do. I just don’t want…I can’t…I can’t stop seeing your face. The blood and…Good Lady.” Charity took another sharp breath, feeling the broken skin of his lip brush against her, reminded of the stitches that held the gash together whilst it healed. Drawing back, her violet gaze lifted, searching his face with a concerned frown.

He knows what he’s doing, but he doesn’t believe you do.

The pianist’s jaw twitched, though she continued to look over her husbands face, ignoring the voice so close to her ear. Her field pulsed at the mention of her father, of Diaxio, flaring thick with emotions that were an entanglement of anger and fear at Benjamin’s name. Staring into her own thoughts and memories, Charity let the taller man draw his hand away, finally looking away at her lap before gracefully rising to stand. Wrapping her hands over her elbows, holding herself almost protectively, the petite woman regarded him for a moment. The firm resolve to make him take something for the pain was etched on her brow, but as he looked at her with a crystalline gaze, the blonde felt it slipping away like sand on the riverbank.

“Alright Rhys, alright.” She said with a sigh, reaching to stroke his hair from his forehead, letting her thumb linger across his cheek and over his jaw. Her gold flecked gaze roamed over his features as she stepped closer, shifting her hand to his hair again and letting her fingernails run lightly over his scalp.

“No more mistakes, by either of us.” It was a quiet comment, laced with more meaning than perhaps intended. Leaning down, Charity seemed to move to kiss him, stopping short and turning slightly to press her lips against his cheek as her stomach twisted violently. Standing straight again, she smoothed the white of her dress, drawing back with hands on her skirt.

“Perhaps we should get you back upstairs. I can bring you some of the broth up, there’s no need for you to be down here.” Her field collected slowly, the slight woman gathering her strength to help him again with magic and muscle. It was a slightly wavering movement, her aura not yet ready to cast another unfamiliar spell so soon. Still, Charity was determined to do what she needed to for the wick, feeling an unspoken agreement pass through them in that moment. There was no way they could let Damen win, not after everything that happened.

They would write the end of this. Even if that end meant having blind faith in each other. The blonde could accept that, after everything that had happened, she was at her tether’s end. Whatever it took, Charity was prepared to do it.

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