[Closed] Jus' a Prelude

A little riverside celebration of wick life.

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Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 98
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Topics: 12
Location: Vienda for a Hot Minute
Race: Passive
: I'm just here for the Sho.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Post Templates: Post Templates
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
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Mon Jun 18, 2018 12:15 pm

20th Bethas, 2718
Late Afternoon | On the Arova River near Surwood Isle
Image
The dark-haired passive smiled into the lovely witch's hair once he'd pulled her away and her arms wrapped around him,

"Oes, y' ent used t' bein' in th' open at a real caoja anymore. I chen. Th' Queen weren't nothin' but a sad imitation. S'fine. These tekaa don't know where you've come from, so they don't mean any harm." Aware she'd perhaps had more to drink than himself, Tristaan knew that chan had its own strange effects, especially in a crowd. He chuckled at her question, "We're no' under Teira's watch, Sarinah. You're a free rosh an' can go where y' want now. Remember?"

He tangled their fingers together and tugged her away from the bonfire and the music and the dancing crowd. If he gave Teira or Farhid a smile without the lovely witch noticing, well, it was just to let them know things were fine. The passive supported the inebriated witch and offered her the same soft smile when she apologized for feeling strange in the middle of a party organized for no other reason other than to have a good time.

There was no structure here, just pure enjoyment, a sense of celebration that wasn't present in a brothel nor most of the Harbor for that matter.

"Oes. Hawke's business be stealin', macha. No' jus' ging, neither. Lives, too." He breathed quietly despite her grin, aware of how many lives had been stolen in front of him before his own was spared for whatever nefarious price he found himself indebted to. Sarinah slipped away from him to step closer to the river bank and his grey eyes watched her warmly, shaking his head at her words,

"Ne. Talk all y' like. It's fair with me." Tristaan grinned at her then, watching the ripples her feet made in the water while he hovered somewhat aloof by the shore, having spent enough time in the chilled waters with bochi just a little while earlier. Her question caught him a little off-guard, it was true, but the chan had blurred his thoughts and removed much of the filter that her very presence already seemed so capable of doing,

"A fami 'f m' own? Oes, I've thought 'bout such things ... who doesn't? But, it's illegal for me, Sarinah, as a passive—all 'f it: marriage an' children. Should I get caught—"

His grey eyes looked past the lovely witch and he stopped his words abruptly, hesitating, aware that he lived a life outside of galdori purview on purpose, that ever since he'd fled the Soot District of Vienda, he was more a wick—a parse—than the scrawny, magic-less son of a galdor he'd been born as. He sighed, calloused palm running over his stubbled face before curling fingers into his dark hair, "No' that it matters, I s'pose. I ent in Brunnhold. I ent under th' thumbs o' gollies here as tekaa. But—"

There was always a but.

As a scrap, as galdori garbage, as factory trash, Tristaan couldn't see his worth to anyone in the long term, let alone as a father or a husband. He was dangerous, he was rejected, and no matter how accepted he'd been into the Crow, he couldn't quite feel like one of them. He knew how his people, how the galdori who'd once called him a son, felt about wicks, felt about half-breeds, felt about passives. How could he bring children into a world that hated them? How could he attempt to provide for a family when he was either hunted by Hawke or at risk of arrest for being a free passive?

He sighed, leaving the space between them awkward and empty for a moment too long, not ignorant of the reasons for her questions, not ignorant of the way her company made him feel in the more unspoken depths of his scarred chest. Her words revealed she felt the same, or similar, that their friendship didn't feel so coincidental and their shared experiences had brought them closer than expected in a short period of time, a traumatic period of time,

"It ent a trivial thought, it's jus' a hard place—th' Harbor an' th' Kingdom in general." Tristaan willed his hesitant self to step closer, feeling a mixture of things twist his insides and dig at sore places inside his mind. His smile was different but genuine, and he met the rich darkness of her brown eyes with an almost tangible fear. Had he possessed a field, surely, it would be heavier, but he didn't and so his emotions could only be read in his expression and in the waver of his voice, "I ent made t' sit still, but that don't mean I ent able t' settle down."

He grinned at her laughter, but it was an awkward, shy expression as if he recognized who her words were meant to be directed toward—himself. Did she know, too? Or was she really just making conversation for conversation's sake?

"I'm afraid—'f who I am an' what I know I can do. I've always told m'self that there's ent gonna be anyone who could see all o' me—m' diablerie, m' bein' a passive an' no' a wick, an' m' bein' jus ... a broken thing, really, scrap—an' really want t' take that risk in a Kingdom that doesn't want me, either. So, oes, I've thought 'bout fami, but that's 'bout 's far 's I've gotten. I'm afraid 'bout th' rest."

It was Tristaan's turn to laugh, almost coyly, looking down at their hands together and stepping closer so that more of their bodies touched, biting his lip for a moment while he did his best not to hold her mahogany depths for too long lest he disappear in them, and he all but whispered his last collection of words, free hand brushing her lovely face, lingering with a warm palm,

"It'd be nice, though. Don't get me wrong. I'm jus' afraid, t' be a bit more honest than I'm usually with folks. Must be th' clockin' chan." He almost giggled, but it was perhaps just to hesitate, just to keep himself from kissing her instead, so many feelings pressing against his tongue with his quiet words, "You're th' first t' know all m' secrets an' stick around, Sarinah."
Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
Passive Proverb
word count: 1148
User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 86
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Topics: 9
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Post Templates: Post Templates
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Contact:

Tue Jun 19, 2018 8:06 am

20th Bethas, 2718
AROVA RIVER | LATE AFTERNOON
Image
We're no' under Teira's watch, Sarinah. You're a free rosh an' can go where y' want now. Remember?

The witch paused at the words, a slow smile creeping across her features as she realised he was right. She didn’t need permission, or curfews or any of that which had tied her to Scarlett’s beck and whim. She was free. The tipsy brunette didn’t catch Tristaan’s reassuring glance towards their gracious hosts, but if she had, she would have been grateful.

“Hawke. A jent if e’er there was one. I ent met him, not personally ye chen, but I knew a chip or two that had. Hatcher with a silver tongue, that’s how I hear it. If he comes after us...” Kicking gently to catch a spray of water in the moonlight, Sarinah watched it fall with a curious expression.

“Ent sure ye ever told me what Hawke stole from ye kov. Maybe ye did an’ I’m just fuzzy right now oes? Ent like it matters, not t’me. We’re in this together. At least, for now, oes?” The dancer glanced at Tristaan with a shy smile, before continuing their wandering. As the water rippled around her feet, the brunette kicking up spray here and there whilst they moved, her awkward smile quickly turned into a frown as she shifted to look at the passive.

“Illegal?! What kind of backwards mung race are gollies? Havakda! Marriage and bochi? Vrunta, who makes these rules? Who thinks they’re so important they can dictate what a person can or can’t do?!” The irony of her comments compared to the situation they had just fled didn’t register with the witch, something inside her flaring with anger for the scarred man, and something more. Something that spoke to her on a far more private and personal level. Something that was too new and undefined to yet voice.

But.

The word carried with it all the reasons and excuses that made her chest ache without entirely understanding why, watching the grey eyed passive move closer with an almost mild trepidation, as though they were encroaching on something neither was quite sure they should discuss. Her own weak field reflected the tension for the both of them, settling heavily around the couple like the oppressive air that preluded a wild storm. His awkward shy smile matched her own laughter, strangely out of place and almost deflecting the seriousness of their words.

Sarinah held her tongue as he took her hands, letting the man air the words that spoke so deeply of his fears and wants. She looked at his face, dark eyes full of empathy and a shared sense of sadness. How much he carried on his broken shoulders, the weight of an entire race’s pathetic discrimination and the years of being told he was worth nothing. As Tristaan brushed a hand against her cheek, the lithe dancer leaned against it gently, smiling as her eyes scanned his face.

“I see ye Tristaan. I see ye and I ent afraid of the risk, ye chen? Ent a spitch, a scrap, that I see.” She squeezed his hands, holding his grey eyes with her own mahogany gaze, determined for him to see her conviction.

“I see a good man, a balach. A tekka, even if he won’t really believe it. I see a hero, a kov who ent afraid to stand up n’protect those who ent brave enough. Or smart enough.” She looked away with flushed cheeks and a shrug.

“Ye shouldn’t be afraid of the rest...” The brunette laughed suddenly, looking at Tristaan with a wince and a shake of her head.

“That chan, oes. Really potent stuff. I should...uh...should probably just save all these words f’morning ye chen? When I ent quite so...” She waved a hand with another laugh, before poking the passive in the chest.

“Ye are entirely t’blame for this, kov. Ye and y’macha words n’playing with all the bochi. Make it hard for a rosh to think n’all.” Sarinah giggled then, unsure on how to cope with the serious turn their conversation had taken. She knew the butterflies in her stomach and the fluttering in her chest were more than just a kindred desire to spent time together, but the idea of voicing what that was danced on the edge of her thoughts before disappearing into the many imagined ways he could react. Right now, in this moment with the Crow, she was happy.

She was happy. And she was free

word count: 803
User avatar
Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 98
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Topics: 12
Location: Vienda for a Hot Minute
Race: Passive
: I'm just here for the Sho.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Post Templates: Post Templates
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
Contact:

Fri Jun 29, 2018 11:45 pm

20th Bethas, 2718
Late Afternoon | On the Arova River near Surwood Isle
Image
The dark-haired passive hesitated when she asked about his past, when Sarinah questioned what, exactly, it was that Tristaan owed to the Bad Brothers,

"He stole th' only thing I had t' call m' own—m' freedom. I drifted from th' Crow an' followed tyat into th' Nomad Lands, because most 'f 'em were m' friends an' because I had a bloody bone t' pick with m' past. I wanted t' stick somethin' in th' ribs o' gollies an' whoever else got in m' way. An' for a few maw, 't felt benny t' be a part o' somethin'. But it wasn't right an' I knew it. I've done some things I shouldn't 've, an' I can't go back an' fix 'em. Anyways, we got in a fight we couldn't win against some Brothers over a shipment o' drugs an' guns headin' to Vienda, an' no matter who I tried t' save, I failed. Th' witch who spared me—because I was such a balach, she'd said—made me Hawke's man for th' breath in m' lungs. An' I've been doin' his odd jobs ever since, though I've been allowed far more freedom than you ever were in th' Queen."

His grey eyes drifted away from the lovely witch's face slowly, washing over the rocks and the sand and the river and the undergrowth, straying toward the horizon instead of looking at her further. He hadn't really shared with anyone the entirety of his mistakes before, and as much as it was a relief to tell that story, he also knew it revealed a darker side to him that most folks didn't get to see. He'd willingly run with criminals and cut throats, and while he was often the moral compass in a pinch, he'd felt just as much enjoyment breaking the bones of his oppressors as the next tyat for a time.

For a short time, at least. The cruelty wore on him, and the helplessness that pervaded the lifestyle of the kuatano he traveled with was no different than the helplessness in a factory of the Soot District he'd forcibly grown up in. Tristaan needed optimism and freedom, and just when he thought it was time to leave, he'd agreed to one more job.

That one job was the job that lost him his friends and cost him the freedom he'd already gotten used to taking for granted.

Still, the passive couldn't help but smirk at Sarinah's incredulous volume when he spoke of having a personal life being illegal for his kind, for passives, "Macha, gollies view me as broken, cursed, an' disgustin'. I ent allowed t' be one, an' I ent allowed t' have a life like one because what if I pass on whatever makes me a scrap? What if I give m' bochi m' magic-less burden?" While he asked the questions with the hint of a wry smile, it was clear that he truly wanted to know the answers to them, that he'd been told the same statements over and over again so many times that he may had actually believed his so-called imperfections would somehow curse his offspring should he choose to have them.

Still, her words both empowered and confused him, wrapping a warm, gentle something around all the sore, bruised pieces that seemed to fill the entire hull of his chest, that never seemed to heal. Tristaan blinked at her, face twisting and breath hitching as if he wanted to sob, to weep at the kind of forgiveness and freedom that she spoke perhaps without even being entirely aware of it, ignorant of the deep wounds of betrayal that haunted his entire existence, but he held it all in, exhaling his response quietly while she squeezed his hands, struggling to keep himself afloat in the warm, earthy depths of her gaze,

"Sarinah," There were tears welling, but he couldn't hide them so he just kept talking instead, "You've seen what I'm capable of, an' I couldn't wish that on anyone, no' some kov off th' street an' no' bochi should I have them. I know tekaa have their own parse, jus' like me with diableries an' all. Is it th' same? I try t' do right by most folks. Sometimes, I don't, but mujo ma." He thanked her. He thanked her for her kind and heartfelt observations, her words stirring desires and feelings in the neglected places of his thoughts, tickling places in his heart he told himself he wasn't allowed to go, that he wasn't allowed to feel.

She teased him, laughing and he laughed back, glancing down at her finger boring into his bare chest for emphasis and grinning broadly,

"Oes, m' fault. I'll take that one—boemo." He stepped closer and rest his own hands on her hips, smile wistful, grey eyes straying for a moment to her lovely lips, her bright expression, "I'm a'right blamin' th' chan, too, though. An' I'm no' th' only one who makes it hard t' think, ye chen."

Tristaan wasn't opposed to any of the ideas the lovely witch so coyly presented in her inebriated state, aware that their conversation was inclusive and specific and perhaps should have been more uncomfortable than it was. But they'd shared a lot together in a short time, and the similarities in their lives weren't something that the dark-haired passive could dismiss as coincidence. The way she stirred certain feelings in the scarred hull of his chest, the way her touch made him feel, and how her smile robbed him of his ability to think clearly ... he understood that there was something more than passing interest between them.

He was just quite terrified of the conclusion of such intentions, unable to escape what he felt was his cursed birthright, but here on the shores of the Arova, free again and far from the Old Rose for now, he could pretend that maybe, just maybe, nice things were possible even in his Alioe-cursed, mona-less life.

Maybe.

"We can talk more later, rosh, oes, when we're both thinkin' a pina mana straighter." The dark-haired passive spoke quietly with a mischievousness flushing his features, stepping closer to wade into the water and reach for her. Calloused fingers brushed olive skin and he smiled almost shyly, pulling her toward him in the chilled water, sprinkled with stars, "But what t'do together if w'ent talkin' 'r dancin'? Everyone else be enjoyin' th' caoja, ye chen."

Grinning before he kissed her, Tristaan let he warmth of his lips express the things he was hesitant to speak out loud, the things he wanted but knew he shouldn't. A rosh. Bochi. Simple fami life. Gods, had he longed to just be like everyone else, to ignore the inked brand that marred his bicep, to be free.
Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
Passive Proverb
word count: 1228
User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 86
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Topics: 9
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Post Templates: Post Templates
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Contact:

Sun Jul 01, 2018 9:06 am

20th Bethas, 2718
AROVA RIVER | LATE AFTERNOON
Image
Sarinah listened intently, even in her tipsy state she could see the way the words dug at the passive, bitter reminders of mistakes he would far prefer to leave behind. She couldn’t help but nod, listening to the way that Hawke dragged him in. A favour, not to kill him but to spare him as one of the King’s lackeys. If the passive was looking for judgement or shock at his choices to run with the wrong crowd, he would not find it in the eyes of the brunette dancer. She feared and hated the galdori, so to imagine a group of tyat roamed the country shivving vroo jents was not one that saddened the woman. She didn’t endorse the violence, knowing that even among the gollies there had to be innocents, but she didn’t call it out as a sin.

The grey eyed man looked away over the river, and the brunette glanced away, knowing her passionate words were overly exuberant in her intoxication, turning back again at his words with a tsk.

“It ent a burden. Plenty of wicks with magic-less bochi, ent no one throwing them away. Moony tsuster gollies…” Her indignation at the whole race clear in the curl of her nose, clearly not associating Tristaan with the fami that left him to fend for himself. As far as the witch was concerned, the man was tekka, regardless of his heritage. The scarred, broken man continued, his eyes shining in the subtle light with tears that tugged at her heartstrings. She opened her mouth to speak, to answer his statements with some sort of reassuring affirmation, sighing and closing it again with a frown. The magic he’d released had been frightening, far stranger and stronger than anything she’d encountered, but it had been more than that. It had been awe inspiring and even for a brief moment, beautiful.

“Is it the same as a parse? I…I ent sure kov. I ent. But I know, if it were up’t me, I wouldn’t care. Ye were left to flounder, left to fall when ye needed hama th’most, ye chen? Y’are a balach Tristaan, even if ye don’t seem to quite believe it. Ye are.” He laughed at her teasing, a sound that gave the young woman a thrill of delighted joy at its free exuberance, knowing that for most of his life the man had little reason to laugh. Sarinah welcomed his hands on her hips with a sultry smirk, searching his face with mirth and a hint of warmth touching her cheeks, either from the drink or the dance or the proximity of the marked passive the wick wasn’t entirely certain.

“Mmm oes. Later. Benny idea that.” She said softly, dark eyes settling on his own with unabashed desire, stumbling slightly into Tristaan as he drew her towards himself through the chilled Arova waters. She chuckled, the fringe of her borrowed dress dipping into the water as they stood together in the star blazed river. Her brow arched at his question with a surprised laugh, before disappearing under the warmth that his mouth brought to her cheeks. Sarinah breathed deeply through her nose, drawing her hands up to rest on his chest, palms pressed against his shirt.

“I can think of a couple o’things balach.” She murmured with a soft purr, a lithe leg curling against his own as they stood in the chilled water. Grinning, the witch drew away and scooped low to throw a spray of starlit water at the passive with a laugh before attempting to dash away from his possible retribution, stumbling none to steadily in the crystalline river.

"'Course some o'those would require ye t'catch me!" The dancer giggled, her mahogany eyes lit up with playful delight, hands curling into the skirt of her dress to valiantly save it from too much river water. Her tek accent bled heavily into her words as the alcohol and chan affected her with a buzzing sense of sudden giddiness.

word count: 711
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