isleofavalon | [open] SOMNUS & YOU, catch-all feb

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[open] SOMNUS & YOU, catch-all feb

🧙 WHO: Somnus and YOU
⚔️️ WHAT: Open quests, TDM prompts, etc.
🕒 WHEN: around feb
🗺️ WHERE: errwhere
⚠️ WARNINGS: none

Cupid's Arrow Beta Testing

[ What is the purpose of such quests? An enchantment to cause another to fall is reckless, dangerous, even. But that doesn't mean he won't be watching as the arrows are distributed. Eventually, and with a solemn mien not fit for any feelings of affection (enchanted or otherwise), he decides to take up the quest with explicit intention to not fulfil it. Taking a potentially enchanted arrow from the quest-giver means one less another might use against someone.

Now he stands and walks with an arrow in hand down one of the cobblestone streets, his eyes keen on its sharp, spell-doused tip.

Enter you, at an ill-advised moment or angle-- perhaps a carriage is rushing down the street, too, or a man wheelbarrowing a stack of hay shouts for you to move out of the way and into Somnus' path. Somnus deftly side-steps the encounter, nimbly twirling the shaft of the arrow between his fingers to prevent it from harming you-- only to be pricked by it himself....

When the commotion ends, Somnus stands still. His free hand rises up, slowly, to press his palm to the slight-left of his upper chest. It's a tender motion, self-steadying as if something suddenly weighs upon him, but delicate as if he’s holding something fragile within. He looks at you, ashen and solemn. For once, emotion flickers across his normally stony expression.

This. This is a great, incomprehensible, and terrible pain. ]

Training Grounds:

[ Ever since his arrival, he's been cut off from the birthright-magic of of his Line. As such, he has neither pocket-dimension armory nor Armiger. Unable to house it within the metaphysical space of crystalline, divine magic. and Somnus has still yet to find a proper sheath for his blade. Which means... he might as well exercise his new, kinetic magic with it.

Find him wielding his sword remotely through kinesis, practicing various forms as if if a specter were swinging it only meters from where he stands. Occasionally, he'll attempt to kinetically lift another weapon into his practice. ]

Sync or Swim

A: [ He trusts those insofar who are interested at exploring the potential and boundaries of their magic, and so if you are a like-minded professional and should you have agreed to accompany him, he enters the ritual tent with you. On his part, it appears he's neither flighty nor awkward, but grim and serious as usual. He's fought many battles with men he's known for less than a month before-- and when presented with a common goal (whether that of defeating daemons or this), he knows that success can be possible just with that.

He also has known for some time that one is never strongest when alone.

With the paint applied, they are ready to commence the dance. Somnus holds up his hand to you, his pale, calloused palm facing outward and awaiting yours to join it, prepared for the first touch and the initiating circle. The dim lighting of the tent casts shadows, accenting the severity of his expression, yet the amber glow of the candles seems to simultaneously soften the normally sharp blue of his gaze. His voice, strong and deep, announces, ] Let us begin.

[ (Note that if new CR, assume names have been exchanged!) ]

B: [ Whether success or failure, Somnus can be found after any attempts at the ritual by the prismatic bonfire afterward, looking upon the fire with a complex expression. The flames flicker, dancing in his eyes. Perhaps they even cast a nostalgic light. ]

Save a Beast, Kill a Man

[ He looks upon the quest board app with some amount of interest for the last one. (Thankfully, he's read up on what selkies are.) To anyone who also happens to be randomly standing nearby also reading the latest update on their quests: ] Are such unions lawful in this realm?

[ Not only does it seem to be a marriage between a fae-creature and man, it's obviously one of forced marriage where the requester is openly asking for murder. Is that also not frowned upon? ]

Wildcard

[ Wildcard any of the above prompts here, DM me Jade294#6977 or PP me at drinksteapots! I'm okay with repeating multiple prompts. ]

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[ She jests that she would bury him in flowers, and he would let her.

The shadows shift upon his expression as a shade of a grimace washes then withdraws over his face. Her laugher pains him, in that he is incapable of facilitating both more of it. Yet such a sound shouldn’t be his to hear, much less covet. It’s mistake after mistake to continue to continue to remain near her moment after moment, but it’s as if he’s powerless to stop it. This highlights his glaring weakness, for after millennia of fealty to the Six, he strays so easily towards this selfish desire to remain.

Still, his offer has no deadline. Thus, he replies: ]

Do as you will.

[ Somnus elevates his gaze towards the reason why they are here: the flowers. They pale in comparison to her in both beauty and kindness... neither have a place within his temporary residence.

The vendor in front of them, who had been watching their exchange the entire time, speaks up and urges them to hurry to pick their flowers. ]

[She can't even pry a smile out of him. Somnus is one tough audience. Before she can make any additional attempts, however, one vendor privy to their slightly awkward exchange catches her attention.

An earnest "sorry" later and Aerith finally decides on larkspur seeds, lily of the valley, and primroses, showing each to Somnus, though not expecting him to give her any grand input. (It does not seem to her that he knows much about flowers.) And as added accent, she is set on the triumvirate plant bed. It's a good start and each should provide at the very least something colourful.

She can always come back for more pots later.]

I think this is a good start.

[She claims triumphantly, looking them over while she readies her phone for payment processing, and decently pleased that she got enough that she won't have an excess to carry. In truth, her purchasing has taken this into consideration. She'll have to return them to her place, in the end.]

Do you see anything you like or want?

[Aerith looks over to Somnus before choosing to finalise. He's come this way with her. It'd be unfair not to offer him something as a 'thank you.']

[ As she makes the exchange and purchase, Somnus watches on in silence, seemingly unmoving save for a few rustles of his cloak as his hand shifts beneath. As for which he longs, the answer is not the flowers but who stands before him in all of her grace.

He steadies himself, pausing, and that pause might be an indication of either thought or hesitation. At last, he responds, his voice slightly coarse and gravely, as if the utterance had to be hooked and dragged past his lips. ] ...There is.

[ What tender emotion does he dare to harbor when his hands are bloodied? It is too much. Never mind being buried in flowers, he feels as if he's currently drowning. Nevertheless, he turns. ] Come.

[ And at this, he'll lead her not back into the market, but away from it. ]

[He responds cryptically. As she thinks about it, his behaviour since the moment their paths crossed has been a bit strange. Not necessarily bad, just odd when it comes down to how she normally thinks of him. But he's humoured her thus far. Aerith sees no reason she shouldn't do the same for him.

He plays the navigator, but wherever his interests lie, they aren't in the hustle and bustle of people or the busy ambience that embraces them. So she follows him as he weaves them a path from the market.

As she follows after, she brightens up with a thought.]

I can grow you some flowers, too. Then you can have something at your place that reminds you of me. When these start growing, you'll have to come take a look at them and you can pick one. It'll be on the house.

[ As they continue to walk with him in the lead, his head remains raised as he navigates the streets. It seems as if he's searching for a place with less people. ]

...Spare thy talents, [ He replies with the edges of his voice softened, as if to mitigate any potential offense. Those flowers should be for herself or for those she wishes to gift-- other than himself, with whom they would be wasted. In any case, they are meant foremost for Arthur. ] for the King of Avalon bids them of you first.

[She smiles. That's kind of him. He's remembered her saying that she specifically wanted to grow some larkspur for King Arthur. Somnus might not seem the most openly kind person on the outside, but that he remembered implies something she wanted was something he perceived as important.

It's a warming thought, really.]

Welllll... I have quite a few seeds, so I don't think I'll be giving away all of them right away. I think I can spare one or two plants for you. But if it's because you don't like flowers, you can just say that, too. You don't have to be nice.

[And she wouldn't judge him much if he wasn't either. Everyone is the way they are and usually it's for a reason. She doesn't have to agree and sometimes she doesn't. But maybe that just comes with the territory of being so remarkably easy-going.]

[ At last, they arrive at a quad between loftier residential buildings, quaintly maintained and without too many pedestrians milling about. Sidewalks with stone still dusted with snow cut paths between white lawns between buildings, not unmanageable through which to walk. It is quiet.

Perhaps here, one day, her flowers will be delivered by courier to residents, or mayhap her flowers will decorate the sills and stoops of these homes, bringing hope and joy to all those who watch them bloom.

"--if it's because you don't like flowers--"

The crest of Lucis' Line, which started with him, honors the chrysanthemum's ephemeral bloom. Like both his blood and power, the flower-star had been passed through the dynasty; however, like her, most would not assume that the Founder King would have sanctified such a delicate symbol, much less find peace in the presence of flowers for his rigid and severe nature.

At the middle of the courtyard, he turns to face her. (Another mistake, to look upon her face.) A puff of cloud catches with his breath as he speaks. ] You are too kind, Healer, and...

[ But what he wants, what he prefers, what his heart wishes for, matters not, and so he lets the topic die in melancholic silence. He brought her here for a reason, and that is to bid farewell-- because he cannot continue this any longer, not in good conscious. He gazes down at her, the austere steel of his eyes gentler than before. But before he leaves, he has something for her.

Something that, in the market, he had used his newfound kinetic magic to lift from one of the stalls and deposit coin as payment in return as she had bartered with the flower-vendor. But he stalls. ] ...your generosity, overwhelming.

[It is cold. A hold of the season in the midst of its beauty. The further away they get from people, the more aware of it she becomes. That almost makes sense, actually. When people are together, there's a certain warmth present. The absence of that makes everything else a bit more pronounced.

There he goes again.

Healer.

Why is he allergic to her name? She begins to correct him just once more and after some consideration, she pauses. Maybe he's been doing that intentionally all along? Not necessarily to get under her skin, but because he knows she'll correct him. Maybe he likes that she corrects him. Before she can determine how to proceed past that line, whatever line it might be, she plays catch up.]

You were kind to me. Why shouldn't I be kind to you? Even if you hadn't been, I still would be.

[Aerith shakes her head and after a moment, she brings her gaze off of him and looks around indicatively. Not to their immediate surroundings, but to Camelot. She means the region, the world in its entirety.]

People like you and me get brought here, not necessarily understanding why we specifically were chosen. There's nothing easy about that. Some people miss their homes, their loved ones. I'm not sure being unpleasant would accomplish anything. Why make things harder for anyone? That's not what I want to do.

[She shakes her head and as she tips up her chin to rest her gaze on him again, Aerith continues.]

I'm just doing what I think is right.

Edited (Oops, I missed a word!) 2021-02-05 03:45 (UTC)

[ She does what she believes is right, and the earnestness in her eyes is unmistakable. Faith, then, not in some deity, but in her ideals. It is a powerful statement, and one he's honored time and again himself, only not so nobly.

After all, he had slaughtered his brother out of the belief of doing the right thing, and for the future, the world, he will herald ending the last of his Line, for there is nothing more imperative than restoring the Dawn to their ailing Star...

His expression slackens its hold, and conflict flits within his eyes. A word escapes him, hollow and reverent, ]

...Beautiful.

[ This makes her all the lovelier, for her faith brings her to be kind, and him, but a monster. She is good, too good for him to mar any longer with his presence. ]

[For several lengthy moments, she simply stares at him. As if she can get all of the answers to her unasked questions by simply looking at him. The changes in his expression, like many things about Somnus are subtle, near inconspicuous things. It would be very easy to miss them if someone failed to be more observant.

The singular word he offers her only leaves her with more questions. Is it what she's said that he finds beautiful? To her, it's decency. It seems so common sense that it might as well be as simple as merely breathing. But that is just how Aerith is. She has been, undoubtedly, shaped by her past. Perhaps as a child she might not have understood this.

Or maybe it's because she's a Cetra. Where others may have only had one or two voices in her life, Aerith has heard no shortage of them. There is almost certainly a different kind of upbringing when that is involved, that ever deep connection with the planet and what gives it life.]

Well... So is everyone. And everything. Hm... Here.

[She moves a bit closer to him, not to cause him any deliberate discomfort, but to point to the distance. The landscape really, which is little more than a bunch of powdered snow everywhere.]

It might sound a little silly, but everything around us is beautiful. Sometimes we just don't always see it and sometimes it's not always easy to see. The same goes for you too, you know. You might be a little complicated, but that's okay, too. It's just who you are.

[ The world seems to cease around him, the flakes suspended in air, his breath held, the thudding within his chest pausing in the moment she takes a step towards him. She is spring when winter reigns around them. He wants to hold her to him, to take those cold hands and warm them in his own, to brush the flakes that have caught in her chestnut hair, to protect her. ...Then time resumes like the harsh clap of lightening, reminding him of the reality that this cannot be. Fortunately, it seems she's brushed off his word to speak of the world at large.

That had been too close. With every second he lingers, he strays further and further from his Star.

But shouldn't she know that she is that? That she is beautiful, both within and without. What a pity, if she doesn't.

His brow knits delicately together. He's exhausted from this feeling, this enchantment, and from the turmoil it brings. It weighs on him like a smith's anvil upon his back, and her kind words are the hammer striking him. ] Indeed...

[ Impossibly, instead of beating him to shirk, it galvanizes him to move. Somnus' hands lift out from beneath his cloak to take one of hers, and into her palm he presses a gift. There is meaning in his gaze, but also defeat. He has succumbed. ]

Beauty, that is yours and yours alone.

[He doesn't get it? It's so hard to attempt getting into his head, to try and understand him. But there's something thrilling about that challenge. Aerith is no coward. Adversity has never exactly frightened her, and even in the past when she has been uncertain, pressing through those hardships has also formed her to the way she is now in this moment with him, this unwavering pillar of strength that she, at times, may even underestimate.

In short, there is nothing in his demeanour that would turn her away, she thinks. Only that he is a mystery to unravel and she expects that to take time. In Camelot, it often seems they have no shortage of that. Why not spend it with him, trying to understand him a little more? She could easily spend days doing that, most likely. Even more so when he continues.

His hand touches hers and though she's not stirred to pull away or withdraw, considering she's never exactly been the sort to seem unwelcoming or uninviting, she's puzzled by the gift he presses along her palm. It is a secure piece, solid, and when she gets the opportunity to marvel at it, it makes her think a little of the glamorous things that could be found in Wall Market. Madam M, really. It makes her think of Madam M and all of that.

Oh. So when he was speaking of beautiful things before, he meant...

Oh.]

You got this for me? [It seems like such a silly, ridiculous question, especially when she knows the answer. Yes, obviously he got it for her because if he hadn't, he wouldn't giving it to her now. She just doesn't get it, though.] I'm pretty sure it should be the other way around. You're the one who was accompanying me, so I should have gotten something for you. What's this for?

[Aerith's admiring it again, lifting her free hand to feel about the way her hair is pulled back. Where can she tuck it? On a side in front of where the ribbon of pink is looped around her hair...

Maybe he has a better idea.]

Edited (Just missed a [/small]) 2021-02-05 05:13 (UTC)

[ She asks what it is for, and unfortunately he’s never been one to explain himself more than once. Beauty, hers and hers alone. If that not enough elaboration, if that not enough to convey what blasphemous affection he holds for her, then perhaps it is a blessing in disguise that she does not understand. Such words should never have been spoken to begin with.

He looks away, and then back to her, taking in her oblivious look, warm eyes framed by the gentle slopes of her cheekbones, angling down to lips that appear too soft to be real.

Thus, he refrains from answering her. It should be obvious that she does not feel anything from this in return: she had stepped closer not out of reciprocated attraction or affection for him, but to speak of the world. There is not a scant tinge of pink to her cheeks. Nothing, nothing at all.

With a distant look in his eyes, he raises his hand towards hers that holds the pin as she fusses with it. ]

Permit me to adorn you.

[ He doesn’t know much about women’s ornaments or their hair, but he’s seen how some pins might be applied. ]

[He doesn't answer. Rather, he doesn't answer in the way that she expects him to. Her befuddlement is transparent, clear as day, but the proverbial gears in her head spin rapidly.

What is it that she has done or been to be deserving of presents? The only answer she can come to is that he may be so unfamiliar with kindness that hers has caught him by surprise. She could believe that. Aerith knows if she asks him something so pointed, he likely won't answer. Somnus only seems to answer what he chooses to. Most people probably operate the same way. Just because she is a largely open individual doesn't mean she can make the same expectations of others.

When he offers to put it in for her, she pauses for several long moments and then concedes. She raises her hand, open palm, so he might take the hair pin at his discretion and she turns just so that he can better examine her hair. It's only then that a subtle shade of pink falls over her.

For a very long time, she has only ever worn the very specific ribbon in her hair from a man who has long since been gone, yet remained imprinted upon her heart. She can't really picture herself without it. And beneath it, the white materia gifted from her mother. There is weight in this moment, a weight that Aerith is reluctant to share or speak of.

Yet it is there and palpable.]

Here. [She begins somewhat quieter and thoughtful.] Maybe in front of my ponytail? I'll let you decide where it looks best.

[ Both the ribbon and bauble are accessories that he’s noticed before, and it seems she purposely styles her hair in a particular way with them. His hands hesitate from placing this additional decoration to her hair, when it’s clear that his gift hasn’t earned such sentimentality as the other two. Nevertheless, he slides the pin beside the ribbon, tucking it into the base of where her hair gathers. Fingers happen to catch a wavy lock as he finishes, only for the strands to slowly sift one by one off of his fingertips, cascading to her shoulders.

It would look lovely down, reaching past the curve of her back. It would look lovely gathered up, revealing her slender neck...

She’ll hear his boot crunch over snow behind her as he takes a step away, his hands falling to his sides.

He has no words, not really. He needn’t say she’s beautiful again, not which it is the most obvious thing in the world— he can’t say it again. But his heart beats beneath his robes, quietly and somberly, aching for him to hold her. ]

[As he takes his time in placing her new hairpiece, Aerith folds her hands together patiently, knowing very well that she will most likely always hold onto it. It's a gift that she doesn't fully understand the weight of, but contrary to what others may think of her, she puts investment in such things.

It is emotionally charged, even if she isn't entirely aware of it.

When he moves, she turns to face him. Tilting her head, she's smiling, the tinge of pink still touching her cheeks.]

Thanks!

[Her hands lift and she motions to her face.] What do you think? I might have to go clothes shopping too to pick out an outfit that'll match it.

[After a moment's consideration, the flicker of a frown passed across her face.] I should have gotten you something. Are you sure there isn't something else you'd like? Maybe... something to eat? Or... No. [Looking him over from head to toe, her head tilts as she taps at her chin.] Should probably do something fancier? What kinds of things do you like?

[ When she turns and smiles at him, he's rendered mute once more, and he seems to go still as her eyes sweep over him in assessment of his status. Her conclusions are hers to draw; however--

What he likes, what he wants, matters not. It is their Star that demands the most of all, and still it cries for salvation from an endless night. The King of Kings sits upon the throne, and he must return to it to usher in the Dawn, for the future awaits. Her smile and tint upon her cheeks, the flowers she cares for, the gift she offers him, her care for the entire world, even the passing thought that her brief frown is something he wishes to overturn by any means... it makes him stray. This, this is a gross self-indulgence.

Unbidden, a confession slips from him at last, harsh and wretched: ]

Ask not, else I shall surrender.

Surr...

[She begins to respond, as if she doesn't get what he means. The pause that ensues brings her no closer to the question she has yet to ask. It sits on the tip of her tongue and for a non-descript amount of time (time that seems longer than it likely truly is), she wears the same smile that she ordinarily has in his presence.

Her head tilts and she finds her voice once more.]

Hm... Surrender. I guess it might depend on what you're surrendering to, but to surrender might not be the worst thing, right? Are you in trouble, maybe? If you tell me, I might be able to help.

[Her smile grows.] I'd like to help you. If you'd let me.

[ With his confession given by the betrayal of his beating heart, his expression resumes is previous grimness.

Somnus' gaze lingers upon her eager, earnest smile. As his sides, his hands are slack. He takes another step from her, marking another heavy print in the snow. Perhaps she too is cold, but unlike handing her a cloak in the caravan, he should not be the one to warm her. ]

You cannot help.

[ Henceforth, it is best if they never see each other. ]

Well—

[Aerith isn't convinced. It is a passing, fleeting happenstance where concern reflects in her gaze. He's so complicated. It's hard to know where she can push and what's 'too hard.' She had thought he was like Cloud before, but... no. The more she converses with him and observes him, she finds that there are some differences between the two.]

I don't know about that. [She decides to play nonchalant.] I think I could. I think you just don't want to let me. Are you always so stubborn?

[Her gaze moves off of him as she thinks carefully about how she should proceed.] Everyone needs someone, you know. [Herself included. Aerith is so accustomed to handling many things on her own. Having Tifa and the others was an adjustment process. Even then, she still doesn't rely on them fully. Maybe she's being hypocritical...] We weren't made to carry everything alone. You don't have to say 'yes' right here or right now, or even to me, but... I hope that you can find an opportunity to release some of your burdens.

[ There goes her smile, gone so quickly like frost at dawn. ]

Ne'er would I impose.

[ For the only burden here and now is how the feeling that's settled in his heart crushes him, that, having admitted to surrendering to it before her-- he's even admitted to that much. She cannot help with that, because the affection is unrequited. It would be unwise to burden her with such needless knowledge.

At this, he looks away from her. ]

Oh, so that's what it is. You're afraid of imposing.

[That's a little more difficult to work around, isn't it? She can't actually change how he sees something and in truth, she wouldn't want to. Aerith wants him to be honest with himself and she wants him to feel like he can be himself without judgement. He deserves that, and likely more.

She moves closer to him and in a show of something that seems incredibly casual, but accompanied with an undeniable friendliness and reassurance in only a way Aerith can, she bumps affectionately right against him by way of the hip. Well. Her hip. Their height difference implies it's probably not his hip she's knocking herself into intentionally.]

I can't speak for anyone else, but you're not an imposition to me.

[ It happens at once. Her approaching then bumping her hip against the side of upper thigh, just as he's taking a slight step back. His boot finds purchase on ice, causing a slight shake in his balance, and his hand reaches out to-- her. Her waist, specifically.

He's steadied himself in a half-second, and the snow will soon cover the small slip of one footprint as if it's never happened at all, but his hand remains upon her, pressing against the small of her back. His palm burns, yet his body refuses to move again, whether towards or away.

Somnus draws in a slow breath through his nose. When he speaks next, his tone is strained, and his voice, quieter for their proximity. ] ...This one would be.

[Catching him off balance is almost a blessing. It puts a break into that icy facade of his. In the same moment that he's keeping himself upright, she's offering her hands to help steady him. He uses her, but not exactly the way she's expecting. But she doesn't shake him off.

To her, it's not an ordeal. She has never been shy about being close to others. It's simply that at a point, others have been rendered uncomfortable by her strange and sometimes eerie abilities. In this new world, very few people know of them, the truth of them, and Aerith intends to keep it that way.]

Hey.

[She begins, simple and quiet as she looks up to him. Consideration passes and her hands lift to help straighten out the way his fanciful garb sits upon him.]

You don't get to decide that for me. I get a say, don't I? I don't think you're a burden, so you aren't one.

[ He meets her gaze evenly. Not a burden, she says, and he doubts. He cannot add more. This tender feeling (enchantment induced) is an inappropriate response to her magnanimity. It feels too good to be beside her.

His shoulders straighten as her hands correct his grab, then relax. Quietly, ] And what of your own?

[ Finally, he steps away, definitive in his step this time. ] Farewell, Healer.

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inemeraldfaith - 2021-02-06 06:19 (UTC) - Expand

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luciing - 2021-02-06 06:23 (UTC) - Expand

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