delirium.

ryujin, taash second born of general nao combustion bender

[gasoliya]

* left to stay

[gataash]

[ gasoliya ]

with that, she walks towards him, but passes to his other side, skirts and layers flowing about her. “unless you are proficient with fabrics, i believe we may both just be here to browse,” she muses, fingers brushing over various materials. “the circulation in fire nation is certainly different than air nation. i’m here for even lighter fabrics than the ones i am wearing…your sister will probably need something red, no?”

“most people of some status do. or, here at least. that said, your hosts should have offered their own in a time like this. not like we all bring a team of stylists when we travel.”

a jab at someone she surely doesn’t know, but the frivolity of the royal family must surely be common knowledge by now. soliya looks amused, and so he speaks more boldly with her. there’s little consequence to speaking your mind here, in the secluded corner of a fabric shop, with a woman who holds no true power in this kingdom. 

“we do. interesting though, where we have commonality.”

he turns on his heel, a smooth motion as he follows the line of her hand. slender, pretty nails. well kept, but not gaudy. “i might surprise you yet.” he grins, hand following hers to point to a roll of fabric a little higher. “is this what you’re thinking of?”

he tugs it out a little bit, pulling some of it down so that she can touch it. “and god, no. she needs to stand out. something yellow, for the summer.” 

[gasoliya]

* something in the tide

[gataash]

[ gasoliya ]

quietly, now. just barely above a whisper. “you used to like how spontaneous i could be, at any given moment.”

“rather poetic way to call everyone a bunch of fakers.” curt. she doesn’t need a response to something that wasn’t a question. a statement of her assumptions about the world, about the fire nation. about him? maybe. he’s always thought the practices of keeping her appeased were rather simple, but it’s not about the method as it is about the person. “it’s hardly your place to speak on the matter. you don’t know what happens behind closed doors.”

you lie. you’re a hypocrite. 

he flinches as she raises her hand, but keeps his face still. just a trick of the wind. there’s no reason to think she’d hurt him here and now, on his home turf, where there are guards around the corner and guest rooms full of firebenders hungry for glory. she has no gain from this, and he can’t imagine she intends to hurt him otherwise. she’d have to care to be that petty.

taash holds his breath as she comes closer, wary. what does she want?

he narrows his eyes, lowers his voice to match hers, even though he didn’t intend to. “you talk about the past like it still matters.”

like it ever mattered to her. 

[ozenga]

?

You know what’s an exaggeration? Swearing yourself off of any interaction outside of work, big or small, for seven damn years. If it’s ten, however, that… that’s believable. How, you ask?

Easy. It shows when he poses the following question:

“So… bodyguard?”

You know someone for practically their whole life and talk to them like that? Alright, fucking A. But so what? It doesn’t hurt to start now… knowing someone. Getting to, anyway.

Ozen isn’t drunk. At least on his usual, bottle of chardonnay in one hand a courtesy of Sana from just last month. “I’ve seen you around for ages, friend.” He smiles a little loopy, raising his glass with his other hand to motion to him. “Think I kinda trust you…” Mumbles a little something like, “I mean then again, trusted Dorj for twenty-five years straight…” blah, blah, blah. He pours another one out, offering the rest of the bottle to Taash. “Loosen up a little if you’re not on duty.” If that’s how this works.

[gataash]

it’s the little things that get to him the most. the constant incense burning. the surveillance. ozen. 

taash purses his lips, absentmindedly fixing the cuff of his sleeve. he’s glad that the dress code lightens up with each passing day, though the combo of black on black makes him feel like he’s back in the military. he never liked matching with everybody else. 

“you can look at it like that.”

he’s not feeling talkative. he never is, but there’s something about ozen that irritates him particularly. he doesn’t think much of oafs, but it stings when you have to remind yourself you used to look up to one. how embarrassing. 

taash raises a brow. is he expected to drink on the job? he’d love to. just not with current company. not like he has a glass anyway. “funerals have a funny way of bringing people together, don’t they.”  not a question. “thank you. i guess. dorjee does his best.”

despite everything, he’s doesn’t care to gossip about his brother. he’ll ozen keep on going though, because this is the only way he’ll get news of what’s happening without having to ask. not like he still cares, right?

he takes the bottle warily. “how much have you had to drink?” 

[gataash]

what’s it like where you are?

[gataash]

[ yviga ]

emotional is one way to put it. the people who move about the palace are normally composed, so these sudden outbursts of emotion only unnerves her. theatrical. but she’s no better for being weird about it either.

“you’re right. it’s very intense.” and quite unlike anything they’ve ever seen. yui shrugs, and slumps back the slightest bit. “i thought it would be nice to see everyone together, actually, but i’ve barely talked to anyone except my parents.” taash isn’t quite what she had in mind in terms of a reunion, which may be what makes this easier.

there’s no great pretence between them either: his dispassionate tone and attitude is actually quite amusing in contrast to the rest.

“sounds like you’re really torn up about it.” slightly hypocritical, all things considered, but the smile that follows should take the edge off.  “and you’re back to work?” the academy would be turning in its grave right about now.  they didn’t leave, but now it’s like they never even tried. “i mean, i can relate.” 

he shrugs. “give it a day or two. we’re all still in the midst of the official business.” 

it’s not the worst part, though he leaves that out. as much as he dreads the tediousness of ceremonies, he can’t help but feel a little apprehension towards what’s to come. he offers yui a smile. 

“how are your family? it’s been a long time since i’ve caught up with you or ozen.” 

not quite the friends taash hoped for right now, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

“not to sound like an old man, but once you’re my age, you’ll get it. it’s social politics, right? having to be nice to everyone. to take care of them. it’s not bad but it’s a lot. especially right now.” 

[gataash]

just a taste.

[gataash]

[ akzoyaga ]

she follows his gaze to the jug of honey-wine by her side and picks it up, topping off her glass with more. “the bar was left unattended. something about one of the ladies needing urgent assistance.” so she told the bartender she’d help watch over for a bit, ever the helpful samaritan. “want some?” she raises an eyebrow. “i don’t mind sharing. always more where that came from.”

“traditionally, the honey wine is just for guests. at funerals we drink this malt tea. it’s not tea, or malty, but it tastes like hell. good for reminiscing.”

taash takes the step forward, moves to sit beside her a polite distance away. he leans back, rests his weight on his hands, rolls his neck. what are the chances of zoya snitching that he took a break? he’s keen to say they’re low. at least while she’s offering. 

“mind if i drink from the same glass?”

taash yawns, habitually covering his mouth with his sleeve. ceremonial clothes are thick, layered, and ostentatious. he feels like he’s going to sweat through them. “any ideas when you’re heading back?” 

[gasoliya]

* left to stay

[gataash]

[ gasoliya ]

“i didn’t see you when i first walked in - nor did i think i’d run into someone i knew here.” well, kind of. she knows more about the idea of him than she knows him personally. it’s fine - it’s enough to make short conversation without it being awkward.

“are you here for a cut of cloth for something fun, at least?”

it’s a little off-season for red, but maybe he’s just sick of it. the gaudiness of it, the fact that it’s everywhere. they’ve all got to be sick of it at some point... right? 

he much prefers a different kind of opulence. fleeting. slight. his sister may not be inclined to agree but she’ll appreciate the thought at least. he’s been avoiding their family for the longest, but she’s never wronged him and he can’t say he isn’t still fond of her. 

the familiarity of the fabric district is nice to come back to at least. he likes being left alone to sift through the rolls of cloth. the store attendants know him well enough by now.

“ah!” he smiles. just his luck, running into someone else in the one place he wants to be alone. “hello soliya. i’m as surprised as you. most people send their tailors to have things made for them.” 

he lets go of the fabric he was inspecting, turns to face her. it’s only polite. “for my sister. it’s her birthday soon. and what about you? anything that i can help with?”

[gasoliya]

* something in the tide

[gataash]

[ gasoliya ]

two of her fingers on her right hand tap at her upper thigh through the thin fabric of her pocket, a nervous tick that’s her clearest giveaway. “i don’t really know what to do now,” she admits honestly. “there’s no step two, no next part in the plan. i saw you from the back, knew it was you, and it was instinct from there.” she isn’t going to run this time, so she holds his gaze.

“hm.” acknowledgement, maybe. lined with distaste more like. “the least you could do is pretend to be sad. blend in with the wailing masses.”

soliya? blending in? she sticks out like a sore thumb at all times of day. that infuriating smile, the airbender charm. floats around the place like she owns it. like at the slightest hint of trouble she’ll just be carried away by the wind. she really might. he wonders if the earth kingdom folk are the only ones they’ve got a tight grip on. he’ll have to remedy that, even if he doesn’t want her walking the same halls as him. 

she always sounds like she’s laughing. he can’t stand it anymore.

he can’t help but notice everything about her. the ways she’s changed. how perfectly still she becomes when she’s nervous. the way her hands never stop moving. 

taash clicks his tongue. “how long is it going to take for you to think before you act? these aren’t easy times soliya. i won’t be around to tell you about consequences if you end up with your head on a pike.” 

[gataash]

i want what you have.

@dorjeega

past.

he sucks in a breath, cold air rushing into his lungs. the instinct is to close his eyes, but he can’t, not even for a second. his aim is perfect but he can’t let his guard down so predictably. 

relax. hold. concentrate.

arms loose at his sides, fists clenched. he turns his head to follow dorjee’s moving line across the training arena, how quick he moves that it seems like his feet barely touch the ground. a bird flies over head - blue jay.

release.

a beam forms above the skin of his forehead, a needle thin line that swells, expands, and shoot forward, lightning fast and white hot. taash waits, waits, waits, and sucks in his breath right before the beam touches his brother - close enough to singe. but when dorjee jumps up and out of the way, taash realizes only too late that he’s left himself open - both from behind, and from the blast that he’s no doubt going to get in retaliation. his stance is unstable, his pulse jumping, head pounding from the pressure.

he ducks, curses himself for his slow reaction time and holds his arms ahead of him to redirect the blast. 

except it never comes.

his beam shatters midair, and the small explosion seems like nothing compared to how it would have been had dorjee countered it with a fire shot of his own. 

taash crouches, one hand on his chest as he catches his breath. this always takes out more of him than he can prepare for, every effort leaving him exhausted. but there’s no time to relax in a battle, not even at a distance. he grinds his teeth, forces himself to stand up rather than look weak for a second more.

“why aren’t you fighting back? i told you not to go easy on me.” 

[gataash]

what’s it like where you are?

[gataash]

[ yviga ]

she expects a similar answer. there’s really no other reason, only different ways of wording it; some more polite than others.

“did you come with your family?”

he pauses, wonders if it’d be polite to sit beside her, but he doesn’t want to give the impression he’s here for a long conversation. he’s tired though - god knows after this he’s switching to babysitting chunhee, and just the very thought makes him want to pass out.

“it’s rather crowded in there. it’s hard to prepare for how... emotional it was going to be.”

the wailing crowds don’t suit him. he doesn’t get the big deal - sure, there are formalities, but it’s not like anyone liked the guy anyway.

“i did. duty-bound, and all. the whole nation is supposed to be coming together because of this terrible event.” taash deadpans, unable to fake his grief. 

[gasoliya]

* something in the tide

[gataash]

[ gasoliya ] 

“…are you just now heading to bed?” the concern is laced into her voice even though she tries to de-tangle it from her vocal chords. her voice quiets even further when he turns to regard her. “you’ve worked hard today. i hope you’re going to rest,” and a small smile makes its way to the corners of her lips. “though knowing you, you’re going to go to your quarters to overthink.” the familiarity is hard to erase, even if the ease of it has disappeared almost entirely.

he’s never been a lightweight, but maybe it’s just been a while. a couple of cups a couple of hours ago - the cold breeze had helped but he still feels wobbly. everything is clear but he’s so tired. since the morning he’s been busy, running round and round. he likes to think of himself as a patient person but after all this even he feels like he’s run out of all his energy, his brain turned to mush from repeating the same phrases prayers and condolences over and over. 

there’s no point in mourning a man no one liked, but even he has to show face. he’s just glad he’s not being asked to fake tears. 

taash closes the courtyard door behind him, glancing to the guards as he heads down the hallway finally to the guest quarters. he’s too tired to speak to anyone else, and he prays he won’t run into any of the other una participants before bed. he slows to a stop, gently rubbing his temples. the world is blurring, just a tad, but he thought he was fine. he curses himself, almost doesn’t catch the sound of his own name.

that voice-

he turns his head, eyes wide, before he schools his face into something neutral, forces himself to stay still. it’s absurd. he’s seen her countless times over the past week, but he’s never stood close to her like this, never spoken to her alone. of all the things that would betray his heart, he never thought the smell of her perfume would do it. the familiarity - he almost holds his breath. 

“i was about to, yes.” the sentiment catches him off guard, but she’s always been like this. he should have known better. 

“maybe so. this week has been hard on everyone.” 

the familiarity of her voice - it’s off-putting. to pretend he’s not still bitter. he grinds his teeth together. “though i’m sure you’ve had it worst of all, coming back here after all this time, only to be trapped here.” with me, goes unsaid, but he means it. 

[gataash]

just a taste.

@akzoyaga​

“well, someone seems like they’re having fun.”

he’s seen plenty of people that have begun to drink away their grief - the funeral ceremonies last ages, and their dearly departed fire lord wasn’t particularly well loved, but there’s a lot of other reasons to not be sober.

but there’s no point in pretending that zoya is drinking for anything other than fun - he hardly knows her but he’s seen her around enough over the last week to know that she’s not grieving in the slightest. if anything, she might be celebrating. god knows he would be too if he didn’t have to save face.

none of these courtyards are particularly private, but taash doesn’t hesitate to go stand before her, keeping only enough distance to be polite.

he’s more not shy when he eyes the jug of honey-wine beside her. it’s a sipping kind of drink, but he’s not here to judge.

“where’d you get that?”

[gataash]

what’s it like where you are?

@yviga

out of all the things that bother him the most right now, the heat is the most unbearable. 

spring has barely started but the heat wave is unforgiving, the sun bearing down on them all with it’s unblinking eye. nothing about the funeral processions change this fact - on the contrary, they only draw his attention back to the heat once again. the layers and layers of formal robes that cook him like an oven, the doors and windows closed to even the slightest hint of a breeze, and the people. 

there’s so many people. lines and lines of wailing civilians, come to pay their respects to their dear beloved fire lord. 

he keeps his back straight, eyes open, intending to be vigilant, but inside? he needs a fucking break. 

the royal family has their private chambers to mourn in, the guards stand at every corner like statues, and he thinks he’s allowed a moment of reprieve. it’s just a small walk out of the main chamber to get a breath of fresh air, the courtyard starkly peaceful compared to the misery indoors. 

it’s not empty though. 

he curses himself for making eye contact, but he manages a smile. she’s never been bothersome, and he knows he can manage conversation. it’d be impolite if he didn’t at least try. 

“yui? how are you faring?”

[gataash]

solo.

all things come to an end. what burns must become ash.

the sun crawls along the sky, orange hands dragging over the massive capital. the imperial structure stretches out far beyond the palace walls, imposing and gridlike, before shifting into the chaos twists of the winding city. the buildings  turn into shadows where the sun doesn’t touch them, and when he steps closer to the window, lets his hands rest on the sill to take in the darkening sky -

it feels like something is coming to an end.

inside, the palace is in chaos, the walls coming down around all of them like a prison. he knows his way around, but the way out isn’t as clear to him. not that he could leave now anyway - not when things are the way that they are, when his duties wait for him.

the fear of treason remains always, like a stain at the back of his mind, but the resentment only grows. but then again, he wonder if he’ll ever be free of this place.

outside, the sky sweetens, turns purple, the stars show their winking eyes. the sun crawls down to the horizon, a brilliant red before its burial. night will come, the sun will rise, and the nation will wake up to a new era. war will come - his family vigilant, their duties upheld. he will begrudgingly accept his role. what else can he do?

tomorrow will come, and he wonders that if for the first time in a long time, it will be different. he hopes, at least, that it will be.

[gataash]

please fuck me

[gataash]

hello!

i’m seth, 22, i’m here with taash, second born ryujin son, eternal pessimist. profile and bio here, but i’ve got a run down below.

28, ryujin clan, general’s son

he’s got the all the expectations and responsibilities that you’d expect, but he’s most certainly not happy about it, and he makes that fact well known.

when he was younger he was very argumentative and stubborn. very angry at the way things are, but there’s not really a way out. so he sticks to his duties and does them well enough, but the resentment and bitterness never goes away

eventually he’s become very emotionally distant and reserved, and most people will think he’s a quiet person that just does his duties well, but those that have known him for a long time would know he’s still a bitter bitch - he just keeps out of most conversations till he’s got some cynical shit to say

all in all, he’s not a huge fan of the royal family, or of the military complex. but he can’t imagine his way out, so he’s just being a pessimistic little  dweeb.

but! but! if your muse doesn’t know him well, again most of that won’t be clear to them. he’s very reserved mostly and doesn’t make friends easily. many of his current relationships were gained through work or diplomatic relations (like una, where he’s surrounded by everyone else and meant to socialize)

kind of an asshole, but he’s responsible enough to get by without being questioned. as dry and acerbic as one can be. 

kind of vain but don’t tell anyone about it ok.

ultimately, he’s only out for himself, but a little push in one direction or the other: who knows? he’s not as patriotic as he appears, after all

my plots page is under construction but i’m very flexible and will definitely be taking a look at everyone’s pages. like this post and i’ll dm you

[gauntrp]

HERE STANDS TAASH RYUJIN OF THE FIRE NATION, TWENTY EIGHT YEARS OLD AND THE SECOND BORN OF GENERAL NAO

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Park Hyungsik for CéCi.