—moze.

private & affiliated moze from honkai star rail.

[faithbinder]

life savers (the candy, not you)

moze & sampo.

[huuuugestmoney]

There's an almost imperceptibly high-pitched, creaky sort of faint whine Sampo looses when he sees the clump of hair that falls from the man's cruel grip to the ground. If Sampo ever happens to bald early, this man will surely be to blame.

But okay, he'll bite. Maybe the man has a point. He turns to look at the fallen beam he'd supposedly been rescued from and blanches - oh. Oh! Ooooooh.

Wow!

He could actually have died just now, ha ha ha! Holy cannoli, was that ever close!!

"Sorry, sorry friend! I don't know what came over me just now…" Hands clasp together, wring together. "My priorities got all topsy turvy for a sec there, eheh..."

A small chortle accompanies the stranger's remark. Confirmation - no, he sure ain't no mere scavenger. But of course, it would be rude of Sampo not to elaborate.

"''Course not! The name's Sampo Koski," he falls into a bow, rising with his trademark flourish. "Ancient artifact acquisitions expert extraordinaire, star-traveling merchant who wants nothing better than for his customers to leave satisfied and smiling, one and all!"

Ta-da! He's been working on his new intro. How's that, mister? He claps Moze on the shoulder a couple of times.

"Anyway, Sampo owes ya one, he does, so don’t hesitate to call on your pal if ever you're ever in a bind, all righty??" He straightens then, a light in jade eyes like he's just remembered the most obvious thing ever:

"Hey, well hold on now, you're no mere scavenger yourself, are ya? And foreign to boot, if Sampo had to bet his bottom dollar… What brings you out here into the cold?"

Surely the man is not… gasp…

Competition…?!?

[faithbinder]

He makes use of far too many words to say far too little. Sampo Koski, by his own account, is a curator of things given value because they have been forgotten. The rest of what he says—and there's a lot of it—is simply noise, only made irritating by the hand on his shoulder.

"We are not friends. This is the first time we've met." Friends—Moze can't even say he has any. Allies, yes. Contacts, certainly. But friends? ...How ridiculous. His duties have never demanded more of him, and he isn't particularly keen on changing that. He is but the General's blade, oft pointed where she directs, and deflected when it angles itself in reverse. If there is anything he needs both now and in the future, it's a target. Nothing more.

"...And I am only a scavenger as far as fuel is concerned. In its absence, anything combustible."

Moze walks past him to take a closer look at the beam, stepping on the discarded locks of hair as he does so. No foul play from what he can see, which only makes this factory feel even more desolate. If there's anything of use still remaining within these walls, it would only be because nature itself had made traps out of human ingenuity left abandoned.

He doesn't know enough about Belobog's infrastructure or technology to be able to tell just what's flammable and what isn't. If anything, everything he's seen thus far has just looked like junk. Very, very old junk. He'd almost argue everything here was combustible if it wasn't for the fact that everything was also very, very frozen... which, for better or for worse, actually makes saving Sampo Koski's life to be a convenient decision.

"Point me to anything here that fits. You can keep whatever artifacts you find otherwise."

[faithbinder]

the price of two turnips

moze & flins.

[faithbinder]

Pekka—short for Pekka Hursti, and even shorter for The Fearsome Pekka IV of the Hidden Leaf Pirates—has a secret. Two secrets, in fact.

The first: his mom gave him enough mora to buy four turnips, but since the vegetables were on sale, he was able to buy them for the cost of two.

The other first: Instead of leaving the leftover money on the counter like he'd been taught, The Fearsome Pekka IV, dastardly pirate that he is, pocketed the coins and ran off to the marketplace.

And the second: he bought a map. Not just any map, no, but he's sure that this is the map. It's wrinkled, has splotches of brown, and smells faintly of coffee—all clearly marks of something super old. And you know who else is super old? Reed Miller. Yep; that Reed Miller. The connections are far too obvious for someone of The Fearsome Pekka IV's wit and intelligence, but he understands that the shopkeep isn't nearly as well-traveled or smart to realize just how grand of a treasure she'd sold for a measly 700 mora.

Now, one might think that Pekka is set to embark on a grand, thrilling adventure to uncover Reed Miller's treasure. And he is! There's just... one big problem.

...He's not allowed to go more than thirty paces beyond the town's walls unless he's accompanied by an adult, and he lost count after about twenty. On top of that, he's pretty sure he counted eleven through sixteen more than once. But in his defense, he was only able to use one hand, because the other is clutching Reed Miller's very real, very obvious, and very old treasure map! That's far more important!

His brows furrow as he glances over his shoulder. He can still see the town, kinda, but he's definitely more than thirty paces away. Pekka Hursti would have turned around and ran back, because his mom always has a way of figuring out when he's done something he's not supposed to, and she's really scary when she starts yelling about bandits and monsters. But he's not Pekka Hursti right now; he's The Fearsome Pekka IV, and he has a mission to accomplish! Treasure to find! He's dastardly and sly and cool, which means instead of turning around, he's going to find an adult and strike it rich enough to buy a hundred radishes! His mom will be so overjoyed and wowed by her secret pirate king son's achievement that she'll forget all about yelling. It's so easy!

...Now, if only he could find someone. Maybe if he went... this way?

── ⟢ ⸝⸝ . . .

Moze—just Moze—keeps many secrets, very few of them his own. Some, he protects. Others, he silences. Which end of the blade they fall on depends on the orders he's given.

With that said, herein lies the problem: he can neither hide nor destroy that which simply doesn't exist. Yet here in Nod-Krai, nestled so far away from everything he's known that even the Reignbow Arbiter's arrow has yet to whistle through the skies, he is approached for the fourth time now out of some misplaced belief that he harbors a secret that could change entire lives.

The bodies of the third set of nuisances—not dead, merely unconscious—remain in a dusty heap just a few feet away. Moze looks to the fourth with a faint crease in his brow and a weapon that has yet to be returned to its sheath.

"I neither know nor care about any treasure. I've never heard of Reed Miller. And I have nothing to give you." Terse, low, and sharp—it seems he's repeated the same far too many times already.

The fourth nuisance—a man, to be precise—carries himself differently from the other treasure hunters that had accosted him. He doesn't rush in the way the others had, nor does he approach with weapon already brandished. It's precisely for those reasons that he puts Moze on alert, fingers remaining tight and still around the hilt of his dagger.

(It's his eyes that are the most discomforting of all, nothing like what Moze has ever seen before. Who is he?)

"...You shouldn't have any further inquiry."

@aarnivalkie

[faithbinder]

the price of two turnips

moze & flins.

[faithbinder]

december plotting call !

Nod-Krai solistice — mayhaps a silly little thread that begins because Moze is mistakenly identified as the "Black Raven," because he's also known as the "crow-feather weirdo" on the Xianzhou Yaoqing, and I can't be the only one who can't tell the different between ravens and crows. He could probably be talked into accompanying his partner to search for the actual Black Raven afterwards.

Chasm rescue — he is absolutely terrible at working in any kind of team, but it's ok because I like trauma dump threads and that's all that matters.

Vidyadhara — "Someone will die" "Of fun!" kinda jam. (Also acceptable is that one vid/meme of the girl pulling out the sword and her brother pushing it back into the sheath.)

I'm also down for non-commission board threads! Just let me know and I'm sure we can figure something Fun and Quirky out. Either ping me in the plotting channel or DM me on Discord if you'd like to discuss! I'm definitely not gonna see Tumblr IMs in any timely fashion.

[faithbinder]

life savers (the candy, not you)

moze & sampo.

[huuuugestmoney]

They say bad luck comes in threes.

First: Sampo Koski,

The man (Sampo Koski), the myth (the Belobog Caveman), the legend (also Sampo Koski - or Mister Cold Feet if you prefer)... he who has perfected the special technique of "invisible snow-walking," who moves without making a sound,

has wound up slipping on his rear and making a right fool of himself.

"That black ice don't play around, huh..."

It would have been fantastically comical to witness, he was sure of it. Alas, the only testament to his blunder remain a bruised rear and ego both, a few unlucky scrapes, and a smattering of blood left behind in the snow.

He might have stopped to clean up after himself, but he'd been in something of a hurry, you understand? He couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous lay in wait on the horizon. Naw, this wasn't what he'd been preparing behind the scenes for this whole time, by ol' Sampo Koski's reckoning, but......

look, bad news was bad news no matter how ya looked at it.

Second: "Now if I were an ugly Geomarrow-snacking Fragmentum beastie, where would I be wanting to hide? Hm, hm, hm~!!"

The beam overhead creaks.

If Sampo hears it, he shows no evidence. Scratching at the nape of his neck, he sighs. Scuffs at the ground a bit with the heel of his boot, wary of repeating the earlier kerfuffle.

"This ain't very copacetic of you, ya know, dear Universe. Jarilo-VI was just trying to have itself a grand ol' hullabaloo and wham, you go and throw the Fragmentum :tm:, Round Two, at 'em? How ru- waaaAagh?!"

Third: that's his HAIRRRRRR you fuc--

The snapped beam thunders to the ground where he'd been not a moment ago,

And in a bit he may give pause to wonder at the increasing prevalence of this kinda situation happening to him, but! For the now! Sampo Koski has got his priorities firmly in order:

He whirls on his saviour-aggressor.

"Hey, what gives!! You can't just go around scalpin' people! Since when do people see the 'do and go 'uh huh that's what I'm messin' with today!' The 'do is sacred! AaaaaahAahAaaaaaaa-"

Yeah,

Left to his own devices,

This might go on awhile.

[faithbinder]

"..."

...What. (Or, more accurately: what?)

Nothing that Moze does is in search of glory or gratitude; he does what he's told and whatever he deems necessary to complete a mission. Any additional lives he may save in the process are mere coincidences. So while that means he never anticipates being thanked for something that happens more by chance than by will, it also means that he never expects to be... chastised.

Especially for a split-second decision to trade a bit of hair for an entire life.

"...Your 'do'," Moze says lowly, dropping the—admittedly sizable—handful of hair before the man, "would have become a 'did' if you were left to stand there. It's better to lose something you can grow back than something irreplaceable."

Because at the end of the day, it's just hair. He could have lost an arm, or a leg, or something much worse. Compared to that, even being bald would be—should be—preferable. So why was this man...

(...so uncaring about the fact that he'd been just moments away from certain death? Some people tremble and shake, brought low by how quickly they realize the risk. Others don't process the danger until much later, when the adrenaline finally fades to make room for fear. Yet from where Moze stands, this man seems to be neither.

As someone who has been one, then both, then neither as well, he would know.)

"You are no mere scavenger." Fact, not question; realization, not accusation.

[faithbinder]

to the flowers that were left here

moze & ororon.

[faithbinder]

It isn't that Moze is accustomed to pain; it's that he's good at enduring it.

The chill of frostbite threatening to settle on his skin. The burn of poison burning through his veins. Even the dagger that's still buried into his side, left there to prevent worse injury—these are all things he can bear. One breath, then two, then three, then four. Endure it. He has lived through much worse.

Slowly, he pulls himself up to his feet. His target is not so fortunate; she's a mangled thing now, with more vines than veins branching beneath her skin. Some have thought her pursuit of Abundance's blessing to be admirable when Yaoshi's touch has yet to alight in this part of the world, but looking at her now, buried in blood-smeared leaves that crack and brown at their edges instead of ever-blooming flowers, she looks nothing short of pitiful.

Moze turns before another thought can follow. He's going to leave an obvious trail if he leaves now, but the alternative—the thought of staying here, next to a body so twisted it cannot even remember to rot—is... unpleasant.

So, he walks. He walks, and he stumbles, and he hobbles, trying to force himself to count inhales and exhales instead of the number of steps he takes. He makes fourteen—steps and half-steps, because he fails—before he hears someone approach. (Heartbeats? ...No; they are definitely footsteps.)

With a soft grunt, he presses himself closer to the wall and into the darkness that hangs from a slanted roof. But he knows—he can see—that while he, himself, might not exactly be visible, he's left a less-than-subtle path in his wake. With cold, shaking fingers, he reaches for his weapon—and he waits.

@gardenvampyr

[faithbinder]

to the flowers that were left here

moze & ororon.

[faithbinder]

[ SNEAK ]

"Hello?" Gepard's voice rang throughout the small little alley way. Standing at the entrance of it, eyes squinting to see through the darkness, that made it much more difficult to locate what he was looking for.

A person. Or... So he thought.

The Guard Captain hadn't necessarily been paying close attention, too focused on his task of giving out blankets, and ensuring the fire was staying lit. He had only caught a glimpse, to be honest, not even that, of something purple, or... He thinks it was purple. Instantly, he was on guard, deciding then make his way over to check it out.

'Was it a Fragmentum monster?' He couldn't help but think. His hand tightens around the handle of Earthwork, ready to attack and defend at a moment's notice.

"Is someone there?"

On Gepard Landau's part, it's very impressive.

On Moze's—unacceptable.

He was visible for only a second, if that—so it was impressive that Gepard had caught sight of him in that brief moment, and unacceptable that Moze had made such an uncharacteristic mistake. But the snow is blindingly bright here, and the sunlight provides all but warmth above them; its glaring rays only grow more punishing against the white landscape.

"If you suspect someone to be there," Moze says, revealing himself with a small frown, "calling out only puts them on alert."

Case in point: this. Them. Here, and now. It's a pointless warning when he already puts himself before the man, but one he thinks to share regardless. These are not the kind of tasks he normally undertakes for his general's sake, and it shows.

[faithbinder]

life savers (the candy, not you)

moze & sampo.

[faithbinder]

It was supposed to be safe.

No; to be clear, it had been safe. Moze had circled the building parameter himself. The main road was frozen over; black ice lined the path in near-invisible patches, and he'd noted blood—not much, but plainly visible to his eye—from when a desperate, hapless passerby must have slipped and fell. He guesses they'd crawled back from wherever they'd come from, too discouraged to search the abandoned factory for any remnants of fuel, because by the time Moze arrived, the building was empty.

...Had been empty. Just like it had been safe.

A metal beam holding up the roof cracks. Moze glances up, brow furrowed but still far from being alarmed—until he hears a voice. A human voice. A human voice coming from—yes, a human—which means the building wasn't empty, and that he'd somehow missed whoever was also here. A human voice, belonging to a human he'd missed, coming from a man who's very much standing right where the beam is angled to fall.

He isn't here to save anyone. Not really. But as the beam creaks again, seconds away from snapping, Moze moves, sliding down the frozen railings to land silently on the ground floor. He grabs what he can and pulls, yanking the man back.

It just so happens that he'd grabbed the man's hair instead of his clothes. But, better to lose some of that than his life.

@huuuugestmoney

[faithbinder]

life savers (the candy, not you)

moze & sampo.

[boltsunder]

nothin' good happens at 4 in the morning

cont. from here

[boltsunder]

She half expects a blade to come sailing in her direction. At the same time, the General knows well-enough that Moze isn't so obvious in his attempts, and her head hangs slightly as she throws her hands up in a dramatic shrug that exemplifies the fact that she's not concerned with the matter. If Moze had actually succeeded in killing her, then she probably deserved it; it means she's gotten lax, and a born and bred soldier can't afford for their senses to become dull. A tool of The Hunt. A broken arrow can't sail fast enough to pierce the heart of its target, falling short long before its goal is ever reached. Azure eyes that glint in the low light pierce straight through the dark to settle on his form, that low rumble seemingly materializing from thin air. With great hubris and familiarity, Feixiao lifts one of her hands before slapping it hard on the dead center of Moze's back; so much of her is loud and unapologetic, and that includes the laugh that erupts when she throws her head back. "Oh, come on! That's not true." It's then that she pivots on her heel a little clumsily, waggling a single index finger at him. "You got plenty I'd want. I... think." Damn, maybe she shouldn't have taken that whole keg from the bartender. Flew a little too close to the sun on that one. "Like... if I win..." An ear flicks there as she hums in thought, head tilted slightly. "If I win, you gotta play a couple rounds of Go with me. If I lose, then I give up drinking." Oh, shit, those stakes are too high. Feixiao pauses for a minute, an awkward silence passing before she clears her throat. "For a week, that is." @faithbinder

[faithbinder]

Whether she drinks herself into a stupor or remains awake for days on end is hardly any of his concern—not unless and not until it impacts her faculties. But as it stands now, even though she's drunk enough for her speech to slur, he knows that she'd still be able to best him in a fight.

"Is that an order?" Moze asks, though they both must know that her answer doesn't matter. That it won't ever matter.

Feixiao is his both his savior and his greatest enemy; she is both the light in the dark and why he must even need light at all. To want for her blood is also to pray, if he even remembers how to anymore, that he will have enough of his own to give in her service. So for someone like her, wretched and gracious above all; for someone like her, who offers a routine to ground him, who offers an answer to every question, who assures him that what begins must have an end—is it not enough that she merely thought to want?

"...I've never tried Go," he admits, which itself is acceptance of her request even before she can grin and answer. "You'd be better off asking Jiaoqiu to play with you."

Yet it's him that she asks. He can't discern whether it's boredom or inebriation that causes such lapse in judgment.

[faithbinder]

[STARS] hi moze...ciri loves you

There and gone again.

The mechanical stars do nothing to cut through the darkness. Every bit of lamplight has been silenced for the occasion, forcing Childe to tread carefully through uneven pathways. When metal crunches under his feet, he realizes that he’s standing over the remains of what was once a building – broken glass and an age-eaten table left to rot underfoot while everything of value had been looted.

There. Blue eyes become even darker in this atmosphere, every shred of life pulled away by his surroundings. It doesn’t stop him from seeing, even if Belobog has already proven that it is overrun with shades that don’t exist. People who aren’t real. He thinks nothing of the shadow that flickers in and out of his awareness.

Onlookers groan as the harbinger steps through the light of a large constellation, particles scattered around his head as he sheepishly leaps from one rooftop to the next. Searching for a vantage point. There. Right there. The presence returns, more solid than before.

Thoroughly snared, he chases the shadow through the stars. Real or not real? It doesn’t matter to him anymore. Now? It’s a game. Where Childe takes up space, his target grows infinitely small. Not just difficult to catch…but skilled. Anticipation finally overtakes boredom, and every constellation swinging into sight is now beautiful in that it puts starbursts in his vision, making the game harder. “Come on,” He calls, hoping that the shadow is someone actually capable of listening. “I won’t bite! Promise.”

Listening, yes. Responding, no.

But as the chase continues, it becomes clear that he must—either with words, however sparse, or with the edge of his blade. One is always easier than the other—

"...!"

—or so he'd thought.

Moze moves before the fabricated constellations can glint off his steel. The dagger that leaves his hand seeks his pursuer's thigh, aiming more to cripple him than to kill him, but intent matters little when he misses all the same.

And Moze—he doesn't miss. With Feixiao, certainly, but this isn't the general. This is an unnamed, unknown man who is able to keep up where most would be hard-pressed to even guess that he's there. So while it's unclear whether this man is friend or foe, or even to guess what he could possibly want in so remote a planet like Jarilo-VI, Moze decides to err on the side of caution. His next strike is up-close, lunging at the man from behind.

"...But I will," Moze says lowly, his voice no lighter than a growl. "Identify yourself."

[faithbinder]

[TOUR] - after trying to explore the museum on his own for several hours with nothing but an ill-fitting headset guiding his experience, jiaoqiu relents, returns the equipment for good, and approaches a familiar ( and almost silent ) presence that he's at least fairly certain is still here in the museum's lobby while he had set off to explore it. "moze, have you had any luck with those guided tour headsets?" maybe he's here. or maybe he's talking to a corner... either way, jiaoqiu has a few complaints to make. "the self-guided tour this museum offers seems to have its issues for someone with foxian ears and limited use of their eyesight. so far, all I've gathered with some ease is that most of the exhibits here in the museum aren't terribly old, at least not by the standards we would use in the alliance... but I couldn't tell you what the cases I've walked by actually contain."

this would be very, very awkward if he was essentially talking to a corner in the museum lobby, and moze wasn't still here where he'd last been with him.

a slow breath, and a long pause as eyes open more to try and make sense of the space he's stopped at: there seems to be a shadowed figure of someone, but it could also just be a statue, couldn't it? "anyway. would you mind coming with me on the next actual guided tour offered by the museum docents? I think I heard that it starts in about ten minutes."

It would be awkward, indeed—but Jiaoqiu talks and Moze listens, because of course Moze is there.

Because if Jiaoqiu can see little more than shapes and shadow, Moze will always be in the latter. And though it isn't much, a part of him dares to think: at least this way, Jiaoqiu will have someone familiar with him at all times.

Moze takes one step forward. He pauses. Then he takes another, purposeful in the way he puts his foot down. Habit refuses to let him make much sound, even with the effort, but it's still better than the silence under which he's accustomed to moving.

"I've heard enough from yours," Moze replies. "You've passed by lamps, old bedrolls, and a leather case. Some paintings. None were more than 700 years old." Perhaps it would've seemed like nothing at all, for someone like Jiaoqiu—or perhaps he would've been fascinated. Moze doesn't actually know how old the doctor is, but he's never thought to inquire, much less find out.

"...I'll take you to the tour. But I doubt they'll tell you anything interesting." Moze glances around once. The only things that seemed even remotely worth staying around for were the photographs... but it isn't as if Moze had much of an eye for historic artifacts to begin with.

[faithbinder]

[LATE] Well, she's spent enough time lingering on the inside of the museum. There's not much more in the exhibits that can catch her attention, and after one too many drinks... Feixiao makes it a point to stumble out into the courtyard; an ear flicks with the realization that there's a presence with her, and she spins on her heel with arms thrown wide in an overly dramatic gesture. "I know you're there, Moze!" She calls into the night, a loud laugh following as she plops onto the stone surrounding the beautiful fountain that sat in the center plaza. It's not like there's many people lingering about here, with how late the hour's become. "C'mooooooooon. Quit hidin'. It's borin' in there!" The General drawls in a drunken haze, a lopsided smirk on her face. "Wanna make a bet? I think we should have a race." Despite her state of intoxication, it would still be a challenge-- assuming she doesn't trip and fall right on her face.

He's tried this before, is the thing.

When she was similarly drunk. When she was asleep. When she was in the baths, even. Anywhere and everywhere one might expect peace, he'd approached her with his blade aimed at her throat—and every single time, sober or inebriated, asleep or awake, she'd managed to evade him.

Moze isn't foolish enough to assume this attempt would be any different; not when Feixiao has already noticed him. Still, he remains where he is for a moment longer, lips pressed thin as his fingers curl over the imagined hilt of his dagger. And as he does, he thinks not of past failures or future attempts, but of her: endlessly confident and ceaselessly bright, fragile even in—especially through—her invincibility. No matter her strength, no matter how untouchable she seems, she bleeds just like any other living creature.

And that has been, and always will be, the most terrifying and reassuring thing about her.

"...No," Moze finally replies, landing beside her without a sound. She reeks of alcohol already, and though it's a pointless concern, he wishes she wouldn't bare her jugular so easily. "Bets are placed with something one desires on the line. I have nothing you can want."

[piikopoko]

matching~