[Mature] Drown

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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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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Writer: Raksha
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Sun Dec 30, 2018 12:35 am

37th Vortas, 2718
RHYS HOME | AFTERNOON
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Standing before the mirror, Charity stared at her reflection, brushing through still damp locks as she did so. Her violet gaze was critical, frowning back at herself as she looked at the woman in the mirror. Like an unwelcome hand on her shoulder, the withdrawals of the Crop that she’d taken earlier in the week still dragged through her field, causing her hands to tremble slightly and messing with her ability to regulate her temperature. It was disgusting, how easily the vial that Diaxio had given her had turned the woman. She’d seen sobriety, it was glorious. It was grand. It was however, short lived. The dosage from the 30th had been overwhelming, Charity knew that had she fallen asleep that night instead of being roused by the wick and his human sister, that she might not possibly be here today. It was frightening, beyond that it was terrifying.

She had awoken the next day violently ill as her body expelled the narcotic from her system, and then craved. She shivered, and she vomited, and she cried. It hurt, her body was freezing and hot all at once. She pleaded with Rhys to help her, to get her just the smallest of hits, just enough to take the edge off. Of course, he’d said no, but it didn’t stop her trying. Pleading. Weeping to him. He’d stood firm, and to her frustration, kept her under close watch. No sneaking out, no caving to Xi and Ben’s plan, not yet. Not till they had a plan.

Dropping the brush in the sink of the bathroom, the petite pianist gripped the porcelain with a shaky gasp, closing her eyes and fighting off the anxious feeling that snagged in her chest and pressed against her ribs. Her heart raced in her chest and she felt cold, field dottering uncontrollably. The perceptive mona in her aura flowed and ebbed, riding the waves of her panic. She felt like she was drowning, gods help her she couldn’t breathe.

It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

The mantra repeated in her head even as sweat broke across her brow. Breathing slowly, in and out, her pulse boomed in her ears and her lungs ached. Gulping a large inhale of air, before blowing it out, the woman felt herself calming. The moment passed as suddenly as it had come, and leaning down Charity turned on the tap to splash her face. Lifting her head again, the brunette looked at herself in the mirror.

Brunette.

The idea had come to her shortly after Rhy’s had left the house to help Gale move to the new forge, and with the aid of the lovely Hoxian downstairs the Captains daughter found herself in possession of a dark rich walnut brown dye. It was made by wicks, they loved to do all sorts of bizarre things with their hair, but instead of being purple or green or red Charity had collected a deep dark color. If anything, her bright pale locks were distinguishable to far too many people; Diaxio, Benjamin, Damen. In theory if she went dark, just for a while, then she might be able to leave the house. Maybe?

It might be a stupid idea, but it was too late to go back. Staring at her brushed, damp hair in the glass, the galdor dragged her fingers through the rich brown, noting that it caught a slight red hue when the light bounced off it. Would Rhy’s see it as just another mess the stupid girl had created? Would he hate it?

Throwing her hair behind her, Charity rubbed the scar under her ribs, used to the strange way it ached even after all these years. It still was inconceivable that Xi had done this to her. Xi. Her best friend.

You haven’t had any friends since you let your father tear Rhys from you.

“You’re a mess. A disgusting mess.” She said to the pathetic creature in the reflection, before turning away to tug the soft black silk slip from the shelf and over her head. It was good to have her own things, but it didn’t stop her from also snatching up a bathrobe that she was fairly sure belonged to Rhys, wrapping it around her person and tying it shut. Snuggling into the oversized robe, the galdor breathed his scent. The man had run himself ragged for her, and the guilt was eating at her. They’d not spoken about the 30th, not properly, and there had been so much happening. Their reunion, the riot, her father, the drugs, his non-galdorness, Gale’s existence. So much, and they’d not stopped. It felt like they had just not stopped.

Moving to through the house, she rubbed Jynx’s ear absentmindedly as the osta lept onto the kitchen table and chirruped at her. Dragging open cupboards, the newly minted brunette looked for two clean cups and set the kettle boiling. Fixing a kettle for tea, she noted the slant of the sunlight. Rhy’s had been out all day, but surely he would be back before the night. Soon, hopefully. The small metal kettle whistled from its perch on the stove hob, and moving almost out of muscle memory, Charity poured the boiled water into the teapot and settled the lid on top. Placing the pot, two cups and a small container of sugar on a tray, the pale musician took them all to the lounge and sat down gracefully.

Perched on the edge, the woman stared at the front door, waiting for her lover to walk through it. They needed to take a second, a moment in time, to process it all. To just talk.


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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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Sun Dec 30, 2018 3:30 pm

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37th of Vortas, 2718
​​HOME | Late AFTERNOON
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Plum knackered was a godsbedamned understatement, and while Rhys couldn't quite express the level of mental and emotional exhaustion that had crept into every fiber of his being over the past few months since the riots of Yaris, his body was now officially just as sore and spun out after a day of moving his human sister's personal and professional possessions from one forge to the next. His shoulders ached and there was some part of his lower back that felt pinched, the young Valentin always one to over-extend himself in nearly every situation without a second thought, mostly to his detriment but not always. Lately, he was vaguely aware he’d been paving a path to his own destruction, one misadventure at a time.
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​​Sweaty in his uniform despite the late Vortas chill, the cold that crawled against his skin as he walked familiar routes from the Soot District through the Dives to Uptown and Kingsway Market to home was not a physical one. He'd been gone too long, longer than he wanted to, and he'd had to leave Charity alone. Again. This had gnawed at the not-galdor all clocking day, writhing through his mind like angry serpents, whispering all of the things that could happen in his thoughts like sweet nothings against his ear only deadlier, only more cruel: She could leave the house. She could find more drugs. She could get in trouble. She could get hurt. She could get found by Damen. She could wind up lost. He hadn't at all been prepared for the level of worry and terror that would come crashing into his life all those months ago, reuniting with the delicate pianist he'd loved so fervently as a boy, nor was he at all equipped to deal with the danger and responsibility it took to love an addict, for regardless of how committed Charity was to making the right changes, her world had sharp claws and no desire to let her go free.
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​​Trapped into some complicated series of threats, the D'Arthe heiress was now once again longing for opiates and all but forced to use and sell again by gods knew how far-reaching a group of upper class drug lords. Rhys was going to bust them all somehow, that much he’d sworn to himself, and the fiery sensation of vengeance was wrong but he didn't fucking care. He was drowning in it all, sinking into a darkness he wasn't sure he had enough light to keep at bay on his own.
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​​Everything else felt so clocking stacked against them.
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​​Where had it all gone wrong? Where had he failed? What was salvageable? What could be redeemed? How could everything salivating to devour the joy they longed for in each others' company be defeated?
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​​Rhys wasn't enough. He wasn't even a real galdor, regardless of how many snaps shown as if declaring otherwise in the golden autumn afternoon sun as he wove his way through the busy market full of delicious seasonal scents and curious wares from the end of the harvest. Blue eyes drifted over woven blankets and sweet treats, his body losing momentum after a day spent physically laboring for what he'd come to consider a damn good cause. Was Gale worth all of this trouble? Did the human really need a brother like himself? Had he only brought more harm and danger than friendship and family?
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​​Fuck, it was all such a mess and Rhys couldn't see a clear way out of any of it, like wandering the fog of Hatcher Territory and waiting for the snapping of jaws to rend him in pieces of steaming flesh and bloody entrails. There was the trial looming. There were high class drug lords to bust. There was some ersehat gang harassing his sister.
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​​And the Seventen Sergeant was just one man, one dirty halfbreed living a total lie who wasn't even sure who he could trust with the truth among those who shared his job and life and duties.
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​​He'd never felt so helpless and alone in his whole clocking life, and now all he wanted to do was curl up at home and be a lump of aching muscles and frustrated thoughts. Maybe a bit of a cuddle and some thoughtlessness in a cup of tea would also help, but as Rhys waggled his fingers through the window of the dsoh shop and received a curt smile and a nod in indication that Charity was still home, he couldn't help but fantasize about leaving the Kingdom for somewhere far away, somewhere to just start over. The twinge of guilt at bribing the restaurant staff to keep watch for him when he was away stung almost as sharply as whatever he'd pulled in his lower back, and the tall blond hissed as he climbed the stairs, fumbling for his keys in his uniform coat as usual.
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​​Rhys knocked first to announce his arival—out of habit, aware that he'd just moved Gale out of his home—suddenly struck with the sour taste of a thought that, in the end, he was no better than Damen for keeping the woman he loved captive in his modest flat, living like fugitives as they both were in different ways. He paused, hand on the knob, and pressed his forehead against the cold wood with peeling paint, closing his eyes and swallowing the molten heat of fear that bubbled up from the cavity of his chest.
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​​Self loathing crushed his chest and gnawed at his bones while he pushed the door open, closing it behind him and turning all the locks before even looking for Charity. Slumping against the wood and reaching to unbutton his sooty, dirty uniform coat, he ignored the panic and worry that now immediately stabbed him in the guts every clocking time he came home, afraid of what he'd walk into on a daily basis, paranoid and hurting. His home was no longer a sanctuary, that was for sure.
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​​It was, of course, the unexpected brown hair that caught his attention, that yanked from the depths of his knackered marrow a very sluggish fight or flight response. He tensed and his breath caught, blinking there in the foyer half way out of his outer layer, one foot still slipping from a boot,
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​​"Who are you, beautiful stranger, and what have you done with my blonde pianist of a lover?" Rhys was nothing if not quick-witted and quicker-tongued, and even as his pulse raced in his temples in panic and his ears rang with that stubborn tinnitus that seemed to reappear every time his field tightened just so, the young Valentin grinned roguishly, mocking a reach for the baton on his belt as if Charity was an unknown threat. The expression hid everything that clawed beneath the surface behind a needful playfulness and the tall Seventen took in the way her darker-dyed hair brought out the depths of color in her violet gaze and warmed her skin tone, standing awkwardly for a moment caught between getting comfortable and admiring the view without objection.
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​​Hands slipped to free himself from the heavy belt of his official duties, untucked his shirt, and eagerly shrugged off his coat, Rhys shoving away questions because he didn’t want to know the answers, not really, not to the fears that whispered cruelly in the darkest places of his heart:
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​​Was she sober? Had she gone somewhere? Was this her first step toward leaving him for good?
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​​Crossing the room to stand before the delicate creature, he let his fingers brush over damp locks of a new color, bending to press lips to her forehead, the gesture both a greeting and an obvious attempt at wordless diagnosis, not wanting to directly ask whether or not the pianist made the decision of a decent disguise while she was high or not. Leaning further to kiss Charity’s lips, Rhys lingered because it was the first time they’d been alone in days and he needed her, smiling before he leaned away and all but melted at the galdor’s feet, hands trailing down through her hair to rest on her knees as he slowly sat down with a groan,
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​​”Clever work. It looks nice. I like it. Did you—when did you—how did you do this while I was gone, Charity?” There it was, a faltering of the young Valentin’s joking resolve, a knot of worry in his stomach even as he leaned heavily on the lovely pianist, shoulders objecting to more movement. He didn’t care that he smelled like a forge and was smudged with ash and dirt, simply glad to be home again and see that his now brunette pianist was, as far as he could tell, safe for the day. ​​
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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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Sun Dec 30, 2018 7:04 pm

37th Vortas, 2718
RHYS HOME | AFTERNOON
Sitting on the couch, waiting for the man who she wasn’t even entirely sure would be home anytime soon, Charity lifted her bare feet to rest on the edge of the table and leaned forward to rest her chin on her knees and wrap her laced hands around her shins. Staring into the nothingness, she once again let her past wash over her, once again playing out each step and considering the ‘what if’s’. Where had her life fallen over so disgracefully? Was it when Damen had shown his true colors and stopped her seeing Rhys? Or was it before.

Did she want to think about before?

A womans face, pale as fresh snow with eyes the color of rose quartz flashed in her mind. Her beautiful Gioran mother. Charity knew she resembled her, the Bastian that was her father had reminded of that with a crawling, creeping disgusting clarity. Loosing her had been a blow, given the loss of her brother prior. Damen’s wrath wasn’t clear then, not back then. Mathias had been the one to take it, and Charity had no idea. Not until it was too late. Not until he was gone.

Was that the beginning?

Lifting her hands to her forehead, the pianist sighed, running her hands through her hair and closing her eyes. How had she missed Diaxio’s true nature? Drugs, thats how. You were so high that she could have told you to your face and you wouldn’t have even known. Twisting her fingers into the darkness of her locks, Charity squeezed her closed eyes tighter together as though she could crush the thoughts physically. Rhys shouldn’t have to deal with any of her baggage, not then and not now. There was so much of a mess around her that the galdor couldn’t find a way out. She was drowning in it all.

Normality. That was all she wanted. A moment to be a normal fucking person without fearing for her life or living entrapped by her own circumstances. She wanted to walk Vienda and laugh and do stupid things like take dinner in the Court or shop in the market. She wanted to stroll with Rhys along the bridge and throw bread to the whice that sang their little rainbow hearts out in the weeping willows that hung into the water.

The knock on the door dragged the brunette from her spiral of self-pity, bringing her head up and opening her violet eyes. The keys rattled, and the door opened, and for a split second Charity almost imagined it was like the unlocking of a cell door. Gods, what was wrong with her. This wasn’t Damen’s home, this wasn’t a prison. It was Rhys’ home, and a place of safety. It was only her issues that kept her caged inside.

As the man entered, he looked exactly how he should. Tired, physically and mentally and emotionally exhausted. The wick slumped against his door, and for a few precious moments Charity saw the unfiltered Seventen without his smiles and reassuring words. She saw him and it stabbed guilt through her chest like a knife under the ribs.

She had helped to do this to him.

When the taller blonde finally looked at her, it was the tensing of his field that she felt first, followed by the shock on his face as he paused mid boot removal. Then, like a sheet pulled over the corpse of some naer’do’well, he replaced his inner demons with a grin and humorous deflection. Charity gave a small smile, laughing softly and raising her hands.

“I plead innocence officer.” She said softly, lowering her feet from the table to the floor and watching as he removed his belt and jacket, sensing the edge of suspicion in his field. It pounded another guilty nail into her chest, her eyes drifting closed with a small frown as he kissed her forehead. The woman knew he was afraid of what he’d come home to, with good reason. Gods, she didn’t want that for him. She wanted to let him trust her, without clause or need to be concerned. Pushing back the anger that bubbled within, the petite creature surprised herself as the man’s lips moved to press against her own, a needful desire flaring within her core. Had it been so long since they’d had time alone?

Following him with her eyes as the Seventen all but oozed onto the floor before her, hands on her knees and body weary, Charity smiled again. A tired, self-loathing smile as he asked her how. When. And unspoken, why. Assumptions danced in his words, and it hurt even if it was warranted.

“You like it? That’s a relief. I keep catching my reflection and scaring myself.” She joked, before taking a deep breath.

“I didn’t leave the premises, if that’s what you mean Rhys.” She said softly, reaching to brush a smudge of forge born carbon from his cheek with her thumb. Letting her hand linger for a moment, searching the mask he wore that was so ragged at the edges, the pale brunette reached past him to pull the tray closer.

“The Hoxian downstairs that seems to have a significantly keen interest in me everytime I step foot outside, she went on an errand to the market.” Placing sugar in the tea cups, the galdor poured the deep chestnut liquid into them, focusing on the activity rather than the wicks face. It was too much at the moment.

“I figured, if I could change something glaringly obvious about myself, it might allow us to leave the house. Together. With a small piece of safety. No one is looking for a brunette, they’re looking for a blonde. This way, I thought…I thought we could be normal. For just a little bit at a time.” Putting down the teapot, she glanced at his face.

“It wasn’t some high bright idea either. I promise. I am struggling Rhys I—” The unexpected catch of her voice gave the woman pause, hating hearing the words out loud. Clearing her throat she continued.

“We need to talk. About everything. I’m not okay, and it’s not alright, but neither are you. You smile and you joke, but I can see through it Valentin. Talk to me. So much has happened since, well since that night behind the theatre, but you’ve barely spoken since after the riots.” Stroking a hand through his sweat damp, grime dusted hair, Charity sighed.

“I know you want to fix it all Rhys, but you can’t expect to keep running on broken legs. Have some tea, and talk to me.”

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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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Sun Dec 30, 2018 10:57 pm

37th of Vortas, 2718
HOME | Late AFTERNOON
There was hurt in her tone at his subtle accusation, and Rhys inhaled slowly at the brush of fingers over his face, tilting his head not to lean into her palm but to kiss it, blue eyes meeting the violet hues that searched his face with a wordless sort of apology. Well, it wasn't entirely apologetic, for there was a mischievousness about the way he glanced at Charity's face for a brief, very tangible moment. Gods, she was a distracting thing. Their fields mingled and if he felt the wanting they shared as it wandered through his mona-amplified senses, he did his best to keep his hands from roaming upward from her knees, his own fingers teasing beneath the hem of his robe she wore so damn well. Moving his body reluctantly when she leaned for the tray so as to not end up with hot tea in his lap, he settled more comfortably on the floor, wincing and sighing.

Her words about the Hoxian downstairs made him frown, but Charity was watching the tea and not the flicker of guilt that danced over his well-carved features,

"Listen, I didn't mean—I just wanted to make sure that—uh—"

The tall blond began to interrupt but bit his lip instead, turning to lean his aching back firmly against the lounge, ingratiating himself between the delicate pianist's knees but facing away from her. Leaning his cheek against one of her legs, his eyes closed for a moment as he turned over in his mind the right words to say that were honest, that weren't in pain.

Normal.

What did that even mean?

How could that mean anything as a wick in galdori clothing, as a woman in hiding from certain death?

Rhys opened his eyes again and looked up, tilting his head back against one of Charity's inner thighs, "We can go out. Pots or Hours would always be willing to escort us. No questions asked. I don't really know what's safe anymore, but I'm sorry, I sure as Vulker's sacred roots are deep, I don't know what the clock is normal at this point. I shouldn't keep you here all the time, either, I know, but I just—"

Unable to even finish a sentence with any of the right words, he cut himself off and looked away from the delicate pianist and her curiously attractive darker hair, scowling at the tone of her voice as much as at the admission. Damn straight she was struggling and he felt somewhere inside himself that it was his fault, that had he refused to ever listen to Damen D'Arthe all those years ago, had he defied every expectation and rule placed upon him as a youth and stuck by this woman's side, then they wouldn't have to be here. Like this. At all.

He drew his own knees up to his chest, slinging his arms loosely over the green of his trousers, and lifted his head to stare at the steam that rolled off of freshly poured tea instead of continuing to stare into the violet depths of Charity's lovely eyes.

He didn't want to talk.

What was there to say? He didn't want to bring up not being a galdor again. He didn't want to talk about Gale waving her gun at strangers during the riot and killing for him. He didn't want to talk about Captain D'Arthe. He didn't want to talk about the gang harassing his sister. He didn't want to talk about his father. He didn't want to talk about drugs.

Rhys reached up to catch her hand before it slipped away from his hair and guide her delicate but skilled fingers toward his sore shoulders, wordlessly instructing her and her other hand to knead at places that were tight from the day's overuse. He'd slump forward against his knees and reward her should she catch the hint and acquiesce to his wordless request with a long, slow sigh,

"What do you want to talk about? Where do you want to start?" He groaned his words, closing his eyes instead of reaching for his tea, jaw clenching with the heat of bottled up frustration and helpless anger that tickled through his veins, "Charity, I'm not sure what to say—I'm not a galdor, we hung the wrong criminals after the riots, your father is a fucking mad man, and all your friends are lies. Oh, and you're addicted to opiates. There's a gang threatening the only family I feel is worth having around. Which of those subjects did you want to actually hear my deepest thoughts on again? None of them, surely. Clocking hell."

Like some needful animal, he'd practically melt beneath her touch, especially if the now-brunette galdor would let her hands drift lower down his spine. Rhys' eyes shut tighter and his voice wavered, holding back sadness and suffering, holding back tears. The tall blond hissed when massaging fingers found pulled muscles and yet he didn't squirm, leaning into the sharp pain as if begging her to linger right in that particular spot. His words were a whine, "I can't clocking fix any of it. I feel like I'm just pretending. I can't really help you. I can't really stop anyone, not without breaking more of the law my halfbreed sorry-ersed self shouldn't be representing in the first place. I—I'm just trying to hold things together—to hold us together—but I keep waiting for everything to really fall apart."

The young Valentin's breath hitched and he shifted as if to dismiss the delicate pianist from further need to attempt to assuage his aching body for the moment, finally reaching for his tea while making sure he leaned against one of her legs, desperate for the support lest he just fall over and curl up on the floor,

"Who else is going to do anything, Charity? Who else if it isn't me? I should never have listened, you know, to that stopclocking ersehat of a Captain you call father."
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
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Mon Dec 31, 2018 12:32 am

37th Vortas, 2718
RHYS HOME | AFTERNOON
Spellwork
SidekickBOT Today at 15:56
@Raksha: `d6` = (2) = 2
  • Calm: Create an overwhelming sense of calm and peace in your target. They forget their worries and fears, and accept the world as it is. Limited duration, can be resisted.
  • 2-3 Minimal Success (you get it done, but it's less than satisfactory, easily countered, or not full powered)
She wasn’t ignorant to the mischievous glint in the Seventen’s eyes, nor the almost restrained brush of forge-dirtied fingertips along the hem of her—his—robe. Their fields, always so easily merged and so familiar with each other, shared more than words currently expressed. It was distracting, especially after so long having to be considerate of their house guest.

But she had said they would talk, and gods-be-damned they were going to talk.

Almost a blessing in itself, Rhys turned around to rest his back against the lounge, and as comfortably as an extension of her own body he settled between her knees. Leaning back to leave the tea to cool, Charity brushed her fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss his lips when the man looked up at her from his unusual vantage point.

“I don’t want to go on a threesome outing with Pots or Hours. I want to go and sneak kisses with Rhys Valentin behind the sycamores,” She giggled suddenly, memories of a time long since past dredging from the depths.

“I want to take a day trip to Brunnhold and act like fools in the Stacks. Drink a glass of…what was it? Oh that’s right, Hanged Man. With you. Not with an escort.” Beginning to take her hand from his hair, the false brunette paused when he snatched it, understanding rapidly what he was asking for. Shifting a little to allow better movement, Charity placed her hands on each shoulder and pressed firmly with her thumbs to kneed the knots she found there. As he slumped forward, the woman braced herself for the fire in his words, knowing exactly how it felt to talk when the weight of the world was crushing your entire being.

Letting the initial venting occur, the woman bit her lip at his words. Admittedly, they stung. But then, she’d asked for it. Shifting her hands lower, the pianist tilted her head slightly, dark tresses cascading gently across her shoulder.

“All of them Rhys. Every one of them.” The petite galdor encouraged, focusing on the spot that seemed to draw the most satisfaction for the man, unable to avoid the warmth that pooled in her core at the sounds dragged from his chest. Focusing instead on the conversation, Charity looked down at the top of his blonde mop, shaking her head.

“You know, back then, when he did that to us…I visited the East Gardens. For weeks, I think for months even. I was so broken, I wanted to take it all back, but I couldn’t. So I hid in the ugliest part of Brunnhold, just so I could avoid you. I thought if I couldn’t see you, it wouldn’t hurt as much.” The wick shifted, dismissing her suddenly, causing the violet eyed woman to draw her hands away carefully and rest them in her lap.

“I was so ready to walk into that maze. Remember it? That creepy labyrinth that everyone joked wasn’t quite right? Then, of all the people in all the world, Drezda Ecks stopped me. And she listened. Cold hearted, bitch of a galdor, Drezda Ecks listened to me whine over some boy. And hey, I still wanted to fall into a thousand pieces, but just telling her how I felt…it helped. You know?” Tentatively reaching for his hair again, she gathered her field and leaned forward to brush her lips against his ear, gently dropping monite incantation for Calm. The Perceptive mona in their shared fields shifted almost sluggishly, as though not quite prepared for the casting, and Charity felt a minor ache in her back teeth. It hadn’t been quite the stellar spell she’d hoped for, but perhaps it would help.

Gently tilting his head back against her thigh slightly, the brunette looked down at him, her brow drawn with empathy. The gold flecks in her iris’ were brighter as the spell’s runoff lingered, and her fingers pressed deeper to massage his scalp, knowing it felt good. It might not loosen muscles or ligaments, but it felt nice. Or at least, it did for her. If he protested, she would stop.

“I need to take responsibility here too Rhys. I chose to listen to him. I chose to let Diaxio pull me into that life. Admittedly, I didn’t realise she’d planned it, but I could have just stopped. I could have…I should have…there was probably more I could do. There were other ways to help myself.” She couldn’t see them, not now and not then, but they were probably there. Stroking her fingers across his head firmly, the musician stared at her own cup on the table, thinking over his words.

“The trial is coming up, that’s a start. Focusing on one thing at a time. Surely everything we have will affect the outcome. I…I have to do something soon, for Xi and…and him, before they come looking for me. I know, I know you don’t want me to Rhys. But…I have to.” Taking a deep breath, she shifted her hands to a new spot, moving in slow circular movements.

“I read something. A spell. Something to take the edge off the…need. But, I’m scared to cast it by myself. I don’t know if it’ll work, but if it does, I won’t need…I won’t need that. And it would only be for a little while. Just till we can get past the trial.” Suddenly she laughed, drawing his head back a little further so she could look at him, hands on his temples and shifting to lean over him more.

“Really fall apart? Hasn’t it already? How much more could it possibly get worse?” Searching his face, Charity leaned down to kiss his mouth, just a quick kiss given the bizarre angle. Sitting back, she sighed.

“What do you need Rhys, to let go? I don’t need you to hold it together. I need you to let me in. I need you to let go. You aren’t going to loose us, do you understand?” Leaning forward again, the galdor wrapped her arms around the not-galdor, hugging him around the neck and shoulders.

“I’ve asked too much for too long, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair on you. It’s not.” Charity whispered beside his ear, kissing his cheek softly.

“Stop thinking just about others, and start thinking about yourself Valentin. Be selfish. For once in your clocking life be a little bit selfish. I can pick up the pieces, I promise.”

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Rhys Valentin
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Thu Jan 03, 2019 3:25 pm

37th of Vortas, 2718
HOME | Late AFTERNOON
Charity brought up old memories, speaking of Brunnhold and the Stacks, dredging up their far more innocent, younger selves. He almost smiled, but the weight of everything was far too much. Instead, he lost himself for a few moments in the kneading of her hands against sore muscles, deft pianist fingers carefully finding all the right places to massage,

"Brunnhold? Gods, we can go there anytime. I'm sure I can find an investigative excuse for travel if you want one. Without an escort." He sighed, eyes closed and slumped over his knees, aware of the different kind of warmth her touch tended to stir in him no matter how grateful his sore body was for such an invitation to relax. Still, Charity continued to press for his actual thoughts and actual feelings, for a real conversation about the clocking mess they found themselves in.

Begrudgingly, he complied, but the delicate blonde's response caught him off guard, "Drezda Ecks? You what? Tocks, you didn't—you confided in her about me? I'm not even going to go there—I—nope." Stammered the tall not-galdor in surprise, beginning to turn and look over his shoulder with every intention of berating her about what kind of strange woman the Hoxian was and how he'd made his own mistakes in her company on more than one occasion, but instead Rhys felt the shift in Charity's field and the tangle of her fingers in his hair and his lips tightened into a thin line as if to hold everything back. When she leaned forward, he thought to kiss her, but instead she whispered a spell near his ear and he recognized the Monite.

Their comfortably mingled fields made everything feel different, slower, stranger, and perhaps it was more of the position of their bodies or the nature of her touch but all of the fear and panic and frustration she sought to calm to a reasonable level only seemed to melt into desire instead of peace and Rhys felt the rush of curiosity tingle through his veins and a bit of color warm his cheeks when her hand directed his head to lean against her inner thigh. He closed his eyes while her fingers tangled in his unkempt hair and pressed comfortingly against his scalp, unable to protest as he sought instead to stay focused on what, exactly, she wanted him to say.

Otherwise, he'd just change the subject entirely.

Not opening his eyes while she admitted her own part to play in their complicated relationship, in her own addiction. His brows drew together in a scowl, but he didn't look up at her face quite yet, speaking quietly while dull light filtered through his eyelids, "You didn't have all of the choices you thought you did. Some cards were decidedly stacked against you that you didn't know about until now." There was an edge to his near whisper, an anger not even her spell could dissuade from simmering in his narrow chest, "I'm going to clocking make sure all of those so-called friends of yours face the consequences, you know. Just like that ersehat you call a father. He's a disgrace. I can't even understand how Commander Morde can't see it—gods, the clocking trial—"

Rhys seemed to melt even further against the lounge and against her person, reluctantly opening his eyes to stare up at Charity's violet hues, unable to entirely hide the utter helplessness that threatened to steal his breath again, tilting his head to lean more against her palm, "I have fought so very hard to allow Odette's testimony in court. She's a passive. It's unprecedented. Everything may be thrown out at anytime and if—if anyone knew what I was, Charity, it will all fall apart. If the judge decides testimonies require a Truth spell, you know everything. So does Odette. She was there when Gale was attacked, but I had no choice—where was I going to go? Clock the Circle."

He groaned, aware of how tenuous everything had become, but vehemently committed to at least attempting to stand Damen D'Arthe up against his crimes. They were obvious to the Sergeant and tainted the Seventen uniform he'd worked so clocking hard to wear, the only thing left that kept the truth hidden from the eyes of his peers. She spoke of magic and he attempted to follow the change of subject, aware that Charity's not-friends would eventually come to collect on her so-called duties, the drug ring requiring her to sell with a threat to not only her life but also indirectly his own,

"Well, you don't have to cast anything alone so long as you're comfortable knowing you're no longer casting anything with another galdor." The young Valentin still found those words hard to say and he swallowed more fire, the taste of ashes strong on his tongue. He'd done well in his Brunnhold education, his relationship with the mona was almost enviable for galdorkind, and yet ... he wasn't even one of them. His glamour expressed his self-doubt, but he shrugged against her, "Not that it's mattered thus far. Just because you won't need anything, will that stop anyone from expecting to see you using what you're selling? I can't be there. I can't fight anyone off—I—"

Charity kissed him quickly as if to quell him slipping back into helplessness and he hummed instead of finished his words, shifting to stretch his legs, hands restless, "Let go of what? You're already in everything, so tangled in each others' lives that are no longer simple like when we were kids. I can't think about myself—I'm nothing if I'm not living for others. It's been my whole life. I can't stop now. We just need to figure out what to do with all of this," He waved his hands in a flapping, helpless motion, attempting to ignore how much more of her lips he wanted against his skin.

Settling into her embrace, his hands coming to rest on her arms to hold her in place, Rhys leaned his face against hers, "I need you, you know. I always have. And I'm afraid there won't be any pieces left to pick up should your father or those drug-dealing galdori get their hands on you again. I'll be alone, and I really don't think I'd know what to do without you, should something happen to you. I can't stop until something has changed for you—for us. I just can't. I'm afraid the only solution to all of this clocking mess will have to happen outside the bounds of my duty as a Seventen because no one will believe me and no one can know the whole truth. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Rhys would never have considered his lanky, not-galdor self any kind of vigilante, but here on the precipice of so much danger, he found himself acutely aware of just how well he knew the law and what he could do to get away with whatever he wanted. It was a temptation that he'd wrestled with for months now, and one he attempted to shove out of his mind even know, pressing gentle kisses on Charity's arm and against her cheek,

"There has to be an end to all of this for both of us, short of fleeing the Kingdom forever. I just need to see it clearly."
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Charity Valentin
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Fri Jan 04, 2019 10:23 pm

37th Vortas, 2718
RHYS HOME | AFTERNOON
“Yes Drezda Ecks. I didn’t confide in her as such, but she listened whilst I just let go. Why, is there something I should know about you and Drezda?” Ridiculously, jealous curiosity flared in her chest, brow arching under a curtain of dark hair as she thought back on their school years. If Rhys had indeed had a relationship with the Hoxian woman, her teenage self had not been aware. Then, of course, after her eighteenth birthday she hadn’t really paid much attention to her surrounds.

Shaking off the strange turn in her stomach at the thoughts, Charity chewed inside of her lip as the blonde not-galdor defended her own comments about being responsible for her disasters. He was right, there were definitely cards unplayed that she’d not been aware of, ones that took any advantage she might have like aces in sleeves. She could sense the mediocre Calm that she had cast was too frayed at the edges to keep at bay Rhys’ flare of anger at it all. An underlying sense of dread and panic wavered at his ruthless comments.

“Just be careful Rhys. Xi and Benjamin made it really clear there’s so much more going on then just their little set up. I don’t know who is trustworthy and who isn’t anymore, outside of you and Gale. I don’t want to see you hurt….or worse.” The violet eyed galdor said softly, her field flinching at the mention of her father. Somewhere deep inside, somewhere small and unnurtured and unwanted, the woman had a tiny space in her heart that still cared in a bizarre way about the cruel man. She wanted to be sure he was taken down and paid for everything, but part of her would be sad. Probably. Possibly. It was impossible to say out loud, because frankly she didn’t know what it was. A childs love for their parents, no matter how bad they were. Some biological chemical connection that tied them together.

“Regardless of a Truth spell, Odette’s words can be disregarded. You and I both know that. A passives word is as good as a lie, regardless of where its pulled from.” It was said without malice, but matter of fact. Charity already knew that bringing the house passive into the trial was a waste of time, but she trusted Rhys’ judgement. She had to.

A sudden snort escaped the woman at the mention of casting with a wick, and she tsked, slapping his shoulder gently.

“Rhys Valentin, I was perfectly fine casting with you before, and I’m just as fine casting with you now. Stop doing that. You might be a wick by the definition of the word, but you’re as galdori as me with your casting. The mona in our fields doesn’t discriminate, and that’s enough for me.” It was a strange thing to say out loud. Wick. It still didn’t seem real, and often the new-brunette would forget, so familiar and comfortable was she with the man’s glamour as it was supposed to be called. The panic was rising in his voice, she could hear it, cutting him off with her brief kiss. It was true, there would be expectations, she had no doubt in her mind that Xi or Ben would test her frequently. Buyers would want proof it was legitimate, or would feel more comfortable if the seller was to take a nip. At least the spell might help to keep her addiction at bay. Rather than searching for the high, she could safely take the edge off and maybe then…maybe she could…

It was too much to try and think about right now.

Sighing, the pale creature stared at the tea pot on the table as Rhys held her in place, his cheek warm against hers as he poured out the true depth of his heart. He was afraid, of loosing her. Afraid enough that he was willing to put his job at risk, to go beyond the rules and regulations of the Seventen oath. A lump began to form in her throat, as she realised when he meant and in some way, she agreed. Warm lips brushed her arm, and her cheek, his question hanging in the air.

“I understand.” The brunette said softly, turning her head to look at his face, her gold flecked violet gaze meeting the sharp and clear crystalline blue of his own. Pressing her own lips against his mouth again, Charity leaned against her own arm to study his face.

“We’ll find it, together. Somehow.” Smirking slowly, the pianist kissed him again with a soft chuckle.

“Maybe we should marry, then at least we can give my father a big fat ‘clock you’ if things don’t work out. I mean, yours already thinks its a done deal. Can you imagine Damen’s face? Tocks, it’s a nice thought.” The galdor sighed, her smile fading as she looked at him.

“I love you, Rhys Valentin. I’ve loved you forever I think, and I’ll love you whatever happens. If anything, I can find peace knowing that you know that.” She said seriously, holding his eyes to be sure the man understood what she meant. If they got her, if they hurt him, if Damen somehow won the entire trial, she wanted Rhys to be absolutely sure that she was his entirely. There were no others, there never had been nor would there be in her eyes.

As if to break the heavy seriousness and unspoken unhappy endings that their words danced around, Charity glanced at the tea on the table.

"Is the tea acceptable? I think I'm getting better at doing these sorts of things myself, though cooking is still a strange unfamiliar language I cannot understand. Monite is easier to read than recipes, I think." The not-blonde said awkwardly, feeling unsure of whether she should encourage more talk, or move on. The warmth of his head between her legs and shoulders under her arms was distracting, as was the tickle of his breath against her cheek. He needed a bath, a good sleep and a hot meal, not those things that simmered in the depths of her minds eye. Memories and imaginings.

Think of something else Charity D'Arthe. Birthday, he's got a birthday soon. Yes think of that. No wait, maybe not.

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Rhys Valentin
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Sat Jan 05, 2019 12:51 am

37th of Vortas, 2718
HOME | Late AFTERNOON
The hint of more than just idle curiosity was felt more than simply heard in Charity's tone of voice, Rhys so familiar with the delicate pianist and already so entangled in her field that all he could do was smirk, stretching so that one of his hands drifted upward to toy with her now much darker, richer hair, "We're all Perceptive conversationalists, lover, and Miss Ecks gave a go at the Seventen. We've run into each other here and there. In Brunnhold, I—we—well—but us? No, clocking hell, no. Drezda has no interest in my kind—male."

He chuckled, almost wanting to tease her for the jealousy he could feel, but their conversation waned serious again and he sighed, "I'm not afraid of the lot of them, Charity. It's my duty—it's what I wear this uniform for. Wick or galdor, I still believe in protecting people, protecting good people from those who wish to do harm, regardless of their race, too. Galdori can do wrong. We both know that to be true. I don't know who I can trust either—Captain Haines. Gale. I don't even know if I can trust my own partner! Potiphar is so ... straight and narrow."

The blond Sergeant huffed his disappointment, aware that his number of close friends was sorely lacking, so devoted to his career had he been until accidentally reuniting with Charity all those nights ago,

"Even if this clocking trial goes to hell, even if Damen walks out of the courtroom with all of his clocking snaps and a slap on the wrist, godsdamnit, at least people will know. At least someone will report it in the paper. At least others in the Seventen can take a moment and really look at themselves—this letting the High Judge get involved when it's Commander Morde's job is just clocking ridiculous. Nothing good will come of the Oculus, and while this trial may get me suspended or disciplined, I don't care. Someone needs to be honest and hear the real story."

He simmered with that for a few moments, so focused on accomplishing even the smallest success with the trial so long as the judge upheld the restraining order and recognized that Charity's life was indeed in danger. As much as he wanted the Captain she called father humiliated and expelled from the ranks of the organization he'd served for so long, there was little he could do but stand up for the truth and weather the results of the storm,

"And if everything really goes to shit, we can just leave Anaxas. I'll take you anywhere—Hesse or Gior, Bastia so long as you don't have clocking family there. We can start over and forget this mess."

He meant it, breathless and earnest and afraid, closing his eyes for a few long moments before he waxed poetic about spell casting and his tarnished, sullied, half-bred heritage.

The now-brunette laughed at the not-galdor and his worries, her words unexpected and strange enough to draw a reluctant smile to his face. It was an unlikely revelation that the mona they'd been told all their lives obeyed galdori better had listened to him without objection for nearly two decades now. He was a mystery. An anathema. A terrifying new thing all his own should he dwell on the reality of his situation, a wick that could wield magic like a golly,

"The mona appears to be nonplussed about my heritage and they have known since my birth. Everyone else? Well, they won't understand. I'm a monster according to galdori society, some strange contradiction in the Seventen uniform I wear. I don't know what it means, but I feel compelled to find out. Eventually." Not that he wanted to become someone else's experimental lab rat, but the Inspector assumed that someone, somewhere would be interested in knowing how he accomplished the impossible.

Seriousness still weighed him down, thoughts of what he really was bringing fear and panic sweeping into the cavity of his chest like so much cold ocean water. Charity sought to calm him, seeking to hold his gaze and tilt her head to kiss him and he lingered, arms stretching behind him to embrace the woman he leaned against.

It was his turn to snigger at her suggestion, though his noise of amusement and disbelief wasn't a dismissal, "Marry?" Rhys hummed the word, mulling it over with a pleasure that almost seemed out of place in their current stream of conversation, shifting where he sat as if he wanted to move his sore, tired body, "I've always wanted to claim you just to see your father's face, to legally make you mine. I know a few clerks in the Courthouse, you know, the nice ones who sign my paperwork faster when I ask with manners—"

The young Valentin all but purred, piqued by the suggestion. He'd have married the delicate pianist at eighteen. At twenty. At any year in between graduation and now. Now? She loved him, but the way in which she said it drew his brow together in worry and he sat up, turning to face her on his knees, curling fingers into the fabric of his robe and the sofa on either side of her hips,

"Charity, nothing is going to happen to you. To us. I'm going to do everything I can to protect you, though I know that right now ... I can't do enough. I was without you for nearly a decade, and did I feel peace? No. It was all pretend—I—" Rhys had held her violet hues for a few moments, kneeling between her thighs, heart hammering in his chest in some kind of stubborn rebellion against the calm she'd attempted to quell it with, but then he looked away, down between them, at his hands, over the faded pattern on his lounge, "—I'm pretty sure I joined the Seventen in hopes of bringing peace to myself. It hasn't worked. I've been missing you. Now, by the Lady, I'm not going to let anything happen if I can help it."

He'd looked for peace in all the wrong places, restless and needy when their friendship had been stolen, when he'd been forced to be so alone. He hadn't made all of the right decisions, it was true, though becoming an officer of the law had brought focus to his intelligence and given direction to his restlessness.

The tall blond didn't move from his new position even with her talk of tea and cooking, shrugging his shoulders as he slid his hands to rest on her knees and glanced over his shoulder at the tea, "It's really clocking hard to make a shitty cup of tea. You did fine. If you can learn Monite, you can learn to follow a recipe."

He couldn't deny the stirring of her field their proximity brought to his senses, aware of the position he'd put himself in without thinking that was, in any other situation, a bit compromising. The warmth of awareness tingled down his spine and smoldered at the base of his skull, the ache of his shoulders dulling with the fluttering distraction of his own thoughts. His fingers wandered, touch light up the length of her thighs, slipping beneath his robe she wore so well to tease over pale skin, unashamed about changing the direction of their conversation just so.

His blue eyes searched her lovely face, blinking heavily even as he felt his pulse pick up in his ears with the way his palms moved so comfortably over the familiar body in front of him, "Sometimes, the recipe is just the idea for the thing. Like a good spell, sometimes, you just have to wing it and trust the rest will work out so long as you have clear intentions. That's easy to say about cooking, and a lot harder to say about our lives right now."

Rhys sighed and his shoulders sagged, pressing his lips gently to her forehead, to her cheek, and finally to her soft mouth, lingering for what felt like longer than he probably should have, his kiss expressive of things he didn't know how to say and feelings he couldn't put into words. Hands meandered while his pulse picked up in tempo, fingertips reaching higher, seeking the finer fabric of her slip and teasing his way beneath it. Vaguely aware that he'd been getting his hands dirty all day and more than just vaguely aware that he'd been sweating, the young Valentin pressed his luck, distracting himself from all the seriousness with the deviousness of his touch,

"Tocks, I'm so afraid. Just like you. We both are, and that's okay. I want to make the right choices, but so many of them feel wrong. I wish more made sense. I wish it wasn't just us that made sense, you and I."

There was some strange measure of comfort in their togetherness, no matter how difficult the path ahead appeared to be, treacherous and strange. Their fields mingled and when alone, just the two of them, just like when they were young, Rhys enjoyed how the rest of the world didn't matter.

There was more to discuss, sure, but how many more times could he possibly say the same things over again?

"Charity—" The blond not-galdor whispered now that they were so close, leaning to offer just a few more of his thoughts against her cheek, next to her ear, slowly allowing his body to speak the rest of his heart, capitulating to far more simple forms of expression as if her Calm spell had been something else entirely, breath suddenly shallow and full of desire for another, less word-filled kind of peace. He kissed the pale skin of her neck, feeling her pulse pick up with the brush of his lips, "—now I don't even know who I am or what I'm supposed to be anymore, but for the moment, thank Alioe I have you."
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Charity Valentin
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: The voices aren't real, right?
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Sun Jan 06, 2019 11:43 pm

37th Vortas, 2718
RHYS HOME | AFTERNOON
I know a few clerks in the Courthouse, you know, the nice ones who sign my paperwork faster when I ask with manners—"

Charity pressed her forehead to her arm with a giddy sort of rush, ridiculously enamoured with the offhand remark. She probably seemed the type as a youth to want for a lavish affair with bells and whistles and the such, but truth be told the pianist wanted something intimate and quiet. It was dangerous territory to joke around in, not helped by her somewhat melancholy proclamations of love. As Rhys shifted, kneeling to come closer to her face at this height with hands either side of her petite frame resting on the fabric of the couch, Charity leaned back to look at him as she nipped the inside of her lip with a furrowed brow. He saw through all her words, saw the fear still seated heavily in her mind about the situation that had swelled around them. Vienda was dangerous, for both of them, and peace was but an illusion. She could smile and talk up all the ways to help and make things better, but really it was just a mess.

Looking down at her lap as he sighed and looked away, the not-brunette let out her own sigh, as though she had been holding her breath, laughing softly as he picked up on her comments about tea and cooking with a slight air of amused encouragement. The warmth of his hands on her knees was distracting, more so than their previous position, and the petite pianist could feel the shift in his field. Her violet eyes watched his hands creep upwards just so, drawing her lip between her teeth and looking up through her lashes to meet his heavy gaze.

“The idea for the thing. Yes. I suppose that makes sense.” She said in a tone that was entirely in another mindspace, not at all thinking about cooking anymore. His lips pressed against her forehead, her cheek and finally her mouth, lingering longer than their serious conversation should have really invited. Her heartbeat rushed in her ears, eyes closing and a delicate pale hand moving to rest against his cheek as she encouraged the more expressive kiss. It spoke words that seemed they couldn’t. The tickle of his fingers slipped under the silky fabric, dragging a soft sigh from the womans lips. She should stop this, they weren’t done, were they? Oh but it was so sweet, so needed. There had been desire and lust when she’d come home from the Zoo a stripped unbalanced mess, but it had been quelled by cold water and serious words. By the presence of Rhys sister and the mess of her withdrawals. It had been a while, more than a while in the scheme of things…

“Rhys—” The Captain’s daughter breathed, her head tilted to allow the press of his lips against the sensitive skin of her throat, violet eyes still shut and breathing shallow. Swallowing hard, she moved her hands to grasp at his wrists, pausing the tantalising movements that teased her further from the shore into the deep.

“We’re supposed to be talking.” Charity whispered, her field barely undetectable from his, running rampant with the needful desire that burned through her at his touch. It was a struggle to hold herself in check, but they needed to speak. Didn’t they? It was wrong to fall into his arms, to welcome his touch and find pleasurable release. Wrong to use that as an out from this mess, just for a few hours or so.

Right?

“And you’ve been busy, all day. Lifting and…doing…things...” It was a weak excuse, the grime of the day far from bothering the woman who teetered on the edge of just giving in to it all. Everything that weighed on them both, it seemed so much easier to explain with a kiss or a touch than with words. Lifting her head and opening her eyes, Charity leaned back slightly so she could look at him, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed. She glanced at his mouth, and back again.

“…I just…” Berating herself, the dark haired galdor leaned in to kiss him again, a warm welcoming caress of her lips as her hands rested on his wrists, deepening the movement. It was selfish, indulgent, but so wantonly needed. With a sudden almost angry movement, she broke their connection and panted slightly, catching her breath as she frowned with closed eyes.

“Damn it Valentin.” She cursed between breaths, slapping at his hands and looking into his eyes.

“You’re not making this easy, this talking. I'm trying to be a proper adult here.”

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Rhys Valentin
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Fri Jan 18, 2019 4:17 pm

37th of Vortas, 2718
HOME | Late AFTERNOON
Rhys whined when delicate fingers curled around his wrists, stopping the upward movement of his palms. He paused, respectful of her refusal, resting his face for a moment on the delicate curve of her shoulder, unwilling to lean away,

"I don't want to talk about all of this, Charity." He whispered back, the brush of still-damp dark hair against his cheek cool but not soothing as he tilted his head up to meet her violet gaze, "All of this—It's too much. It's just too much. I'm angry. I'm confused. I want to ignore every oath that put me in uniform and go out to hunt everyone down, one by one. I know exactly what I can get away with, and that scares me. Fuck the trial. Fuck Benjamin's warnings. Fuck them all—I'm this close to losing my shit and going off the books and making sure Vienda's golly population never fucks with our lives again. This clocking trial is going to be a shitshow, and I'm terrified I'll take the blame for it when all I want is for people to see the truth. And for you to be safe. For us to be safe."

He meant it. Every harsh word was quietly uttered with a waver of sincerity and hurt in his voice, a barely contained anger, a need for justice he feared his own Kingdom's legal system would be completely unable and unwilling to provide.

Well, he already felt he knew how things would go.

Horribly.

His heart fluttered wildly against his chest and a wanting crawled so hungrily in his veins. There weren't enough words for the tall blond to express his helplessness, to pour our the disillusionment that crushed his lungs, to discuss the horror that clawed up his spine.

Still, despite her flare of anger at his persistence, his delicate pianist didn't shove him away, returning his kiss with a similar neediness, as if she was aware there was both too much and yet nothing left to say. She might have lamely commented that he smelled like he'd been working in a forge all day, but surely, that was hardly a deterrent given how she lingered so alluringly.

Rhys could talk about how precarious his life was now that he knew the truth of his heritage, now that she knew it, too. He could talk about how he felt so strange too long for some connection with the young human who'd proclaimed herself his sister. He could talk about how feeling so suddenly out of place was maddening and terrifying. He could talk about how he was afraid he couldn't protect her from her father or from the drugs or from anyone else. He could have talked about so many other things that ached inside of him like his overworked muscles ached beneath his skin.

But he didn't really have the right words.

But he didn't want to.

Surely, Charity could feel so much of his emotions already, simply by virtue of their lengthy friendship and intimately close relationship and the beliken mingling of their fields. He didn't need to differentiate, didn't need to separate whose was whose in the mix of mona that had attached themselves to them both, and he couldn't help but want to bring their bodies together in a real urge to find comfort in much more wordless forms of expression.

"What do you want to hear from me? What can I say that you don't already know?" He smirked at the slapping of his hands, mocking a wince before he set them back down on either side of the petite brunette, pulling her toward him, emphasizing his words by sidling closer, nestled as he already was between her knees, "—I don't know how to fix things. I'm desperate to protect you, to protect us, to protect this second chance that we have together—"

Rhys held her violet gaze, breath ragged in their proximity, dragging his hands upward to curl fingers into the open hem of his robe she wore, slowly offering to part the layers, to slide it from her delicate frame and invite her to proper adult in a very different direction. Biting his lower lip in a brief moment of hesitance, he blinked, ignoring the sting of honest tears and the waver in his voice,

"—I am failing. I'm terrified I'll lose everything. Every last thing. I don't have a sense of direction without you, Charity. Nothing is easy. Nothing ahead of us is going to at all be easy, but this—"

The tall Seventen admitted in a whisper, searching her face with uninhibited need softening the sharpness of everything else. Gods, did she not just want to be swept away? Did she not just want to stop worrying and drown all of this in forgetfulness with each other? So long as she didn't stop him, he leaned to press his lips to hers again, not with force or demand so much as a gentle plea. Passionate and expressive, deepened by all that he couldn't put into words, the not-galdor paused just long enough to string a few syllables together, murmuring while he let her catch her breath, the deviousness in his tone undeniable despite the hurt he knew they both felt,

"—this is a proper adult way of dealing with things." There was almost a question on the end, his hands still at her shoulders as if he was somehow patient enough for permission when it was clear that he was barely just.
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