KIROKAZE
Keni
bliss lane
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almost home
PR's Tumblrdome
noise dept.
Sade Olutola
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@theartofmadeline
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Show & Tell
oozey mess
todays bird
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
One Nice Bug Per Day
Not today Justin
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@indu1ge
𝑹𝑨𝑵 𝑺𝑶𝑳𝑲𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑯 , lord of lumien keep. ⸻ intro. threads.
a study in ... autocannibalism as worship, breaking cycles with your body, immovable objects met at terminal velocity, the terror of transience, & iron-tasting ichor. 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 by reze, for nocturniafm.
Somewhere within the old lessons on history and faith, the same ones that Ruoxi had ceased to pay full attention to sometime after she learnt to write and read enough to be allowed to run back to her training dummies of straw and her wooden swords, they had been taught of that which had become forgotten and could thus only be speculation: the origin of them, and of how that around them came to be. One such was a Maker of untold power, that had handcrafted the universe in the way someone waves a basket of flax, the way someone molds clay into shape. If such a being was real, then they truly must be cackling now—for it feels as if Ruoxi’s life has become a cosmic joke. And for once, she did not feel inclined to laugh. Why had she come here? It was not so little ago a beauty of another type of sharpness had called her dull, and now she is not inclined to disagree. At the very least, she seemed to continuously be quite foolish. The halls of Elaris Keep are nothing like Braxigar, despite how they had made sure to make themselves as accomodating as they could be for those coming from those lands. And so, there is nothing here that she would gleam, from that faraway place called Lumien Keep. And still she had come, thinking too much and nothing at all. As it always was: avoiding the lure with all her might until she couldn’t bear it, and until she turned around and swallowed it in one bite. His appearance strikes her and makes her stand still, looking uncharacteristically caught. Caught in him, in the color of those damned eyes that seemed to be unlike those other ones she had found within these sun-kissed gardens (those torn in fury of some cub, the despair written in the depths of another fool’s). And yet it is one, in particular, the line that cuts his lip, that makes her the most befuddled. “What happened to your face?” When he says ‘you’ she points at herself, as if questioning if it is really her who he speaks to. At the jar of salve and his shirtless-ness and the ‘do it outside’, her eyes flicker to his pants, not really in arousal but rather confusion, until the true meaning catches up to her. She wouldn’t have turned tail and ran again, but had that not happened, she most likely would’ve spat some words then absconded nonetheless. Now, she finds herself trailing after like some sort of stupid dog, and her brow twitches. Still, she sniffs around, now allowed into the chambers themselves. Decorations she had never seen, eyes tracing everything. Did he bring anything of what I gave to him? The better question is why she was here at all. Was this meant to be another humiliation? Despite her own moping—she could admit this just this now and would not later on—pride flares, as only herself can flick mud at herself. She tsks, raises her chin. “You found not worthy hand to wound you, so you would wound yourself?” Her worry has always been shown in irritation, in soft hands but harsh words. She snatches the pot out of his hands, smells it, raising a brow at its dim stench. “And here I thought that it was only me who was worthless of a sparring partner. Or have you found you and I to once again be one of the same?” She awaits no true answer as she keeps looking around. “Are you going to lay down, or would you prefer to be standing? I have no kind healer’s touch—I will be rough on you. You might wish to bite a pillow, my lord.”
was it bravery or foolishness that stayed his course ? ran is not among the many half-wit philosophers who believe them to be the same sides of a single coin. at least ⸻ not as far as he was concerned. he did not need to look before he leapt because he knew he would reach the other side anyway. everyone else could hop and skip as they pleased. and yet, for all his certainty, ran feels a sense of skittishness that he prays ( demands, from powers that are rarely ever merciful ) does not manifest as gooseflesh.
“ you did. ” his incredulity mirrors the lady's confusion, marked by a jabbed finger like the one ruoxi had directed at herself but moments before. his tongue rubs over the line absently, now a comforting pull and texture to the flesh after the dull ache has subsided. it would not be his first scar, and most definitely not the last ⸻ though, ran supposes, it does have the distinction of being the very first upon his face. how fortuitous, that he's only become more distinguished by it, rather than having his good looks marred. but before she can get too proud of herself or admire her handiwork overlong, he turns his back on her once more.
does the sight of him haunt her, he wonders, the same way she did him ? or had she better ways to push him out of her mind while he sequestered in his familiar darkness, picking at the knots in his chest in a tedious attempt to unfurl the length of rope, a thankless task he thinks he might never complete ? though unthinkable for the sake of his pride, ran wonders, in the simplest of answers, whether it had been difficult for her to forget him at all. a pathetic line of ponderances, though acknowledging it as such did nothing to curtail it. stubbornly, he sets his jaw. “ i'd like to see you try your worst. really, i mean it ⸻ dig in there, my lady. ” he would sooner bite his own tongue off than admit to her any sort of physical infirmity, beyond what he had already shown. and in any case, his entire life has been nothing but little stings. what was a dozen more ?
“ and what worth would you find in someone who tucks her tail between her legs ? ” acrid words spill forth from a curled tongue like froth from an unchecked cauldron. “ one who would, moreover, as if such folly was not enough, entreat me to go looking for it, in some pitifully lascivious attempt to divert my attention from the fact that in order to be a sparring partner, one must needs spar ? ” he almost lets a defiant furrow shape his brow before he forces his shoulders and temples to loosen. the tension means that he cares enough to let his body keep a tally, and ran reminds himself that he does not.
his mouth, of course, is under far fewer restrictions. “ what happened to you ? “ accusatory, high-handed, undeniably bitter, and unafraid to use his scant inches on her to loom. ” for a time, i thought my fabulously sophisticated penmanship ignited some insecurity that halted your own. yet when we crossed paths, somehow, you seemed loquacious enough. was it some winsome sense of chivalry, then, that compelled you to break our promise ? “ perhaps the nobles had the right of it, to take oaths in blood and ink. not that ran needed physical proof to feel any sort of vindication. ” hard to believe that when you lot love smashing wooden sticks into each other horseback every so often. " another reminder he would not soon forget, that all knights, in the end, were the same. that a lady of such high birth would have much more in common with them than she would ever complement him.
petulantly ( bravely, given the lashing he'd just rent and the rest he was poised to give ), he finally sits to offer his wound for probing and prodding. ran crosses his arms, half a childish gesture, half to easily mask digging his nails into the meat of his biceps if need be. but before she even touches him, he gives a quick jerk. crimson eyes raise to the belongings strewn haphazardly across his quarters. seldom does ran solkarith ever take the invitation to make himself at home, whichever way that marks him as a guest. of course, the one time he deigned to unpack, the arrowhead-shaped obsidian bequeathed upon him in their earliest missives six years ago, long since stripped of her scent, would sit both plaintively and pointedly on the table at his bedside.
it would be more obvious to lunge for it, so he doesn't bother. let her bring it up if she wishes. or let it be something else for fenglian ruoxi to flee from. he would not wait with bated breath.
✧˚ · . ─── There was an unwell fascination she had with most who were death-touched in Braxigar. Their hand was forced to live a life of violence, their name sullied even before their adoption - or, rare chance, birth - was finalized. She could commiserate in that, and in a subconscious reminder, it was likely such shared fact which bound them to a cruel likeness that explained her fascination in each deathling. She sighed at the question, silence hanging between them momentarily as though the air had been pried from the sky and shunted into a strange vacuum. The only thing which broke the silence which overtook her was the chittering of life beyond the balcony - any bird or bug making themselves known amongst the glittering night.
Sometimes she envied the freedom of each winged thing, wondered how it could feel to truly fly. Perhaps it was where her recklessness came from now, one leg hanging over the balcony; an easy target but one such which still held little worth to the game of tyrants. Finally her blank stare, which had bordered on disbelief of the question, broke towards an answer, " You would kill simply for the sake of doing so ? That is a pity . " It grounded her, not entirely in mind, but in the sense of shifting her leg over the balcony, both feet planted on the marble beneath them.
Regardless, she let her weak points speak for themselves, closing her eyes and inhaling sharp as though he were indeed going to push her over; if this was to be her last moment she would enjoy the wind in her hair and the sweet floral notes which drifted through the sandy air of Heliophra. " Her life was granted as an oblation for something - my name , my title , even my fight for crown . . . some would figure it meaningless . I am only another cog in the machine . " She smiled , shamelessly mad , the sickness of her house a festering miasma which occluded her wit , " So , if you dare not to push me , at least dare to vote my name for the crown , hm ? "
ran had never been one to mince words or sounds, so he groaned. openly and loudly, rolling eyes even more obvious. everything always comes back to that stupid circlet, doesn't it ? he'd never once in his life found a moment to care upon whose head it sat, not when he'd had a cesspit to climb out of, a ravenous mire that blotted out the sky, the muck that clung to his boyhood. and not even when his lordly charge had declared candidacy for the farce ⸻ far be it from him to question the decision of a grown adult, though ran had made his misgivings and, frankly, disappointment known. from birth to this very moment, he had always felt like there was some sort of dark curtain, or an impenetrable veil between himself and the crown. it was difficult to imagine someone so far away holding his leash, ran supposed. in his mind and in his heart, which mattered most, ran had always grasped it in his own hand, and it was his choice to offer it to those he knew could be trusted. the brief glimpses he'd caught of valerian never impressed him. he doubted their successor would fare much better.
“ i would kill because i wished to do so, ” he answers, not quite leaning toward agreement or disagreement. “ an exertion of my will upon the world, one to which it has no choice but to bend. ” he was on the verge of suggesting it himself, momentarily, but he knew better. ran could be a monster because he was whole. complete and utter control ⸻ with or without some figurehead's leave ⸻ justified his very existence. and death had been herald to his birth besides, a stain upon him cursing his first breaths. though he could not remember bearing the sight of it, so many years past, the mere thought would mark every step he took until the day he came upon it himself. “ is strength piteous to you now ? or is it envy, rather, cloaked in a more gratifying condescension. ” he was used to it, whether or not those around him would admit it.
the entreaty, just as futile now as it would have been at any point in time, drew first and foremost a scoff. “ it is meaningless. “ dare he make the braxigarian spiel now ? would she prove receptive ? or, more to the point, would he care if she listened ? he figured it would be best to be blunt, even partway through his journey to temperance and consideration. that dissuading her from this absurd pursuit would do more good than harm seemed an easy enough excuse. but ran was no saint, not quite yet. ” if you're tottering around like this, how am i to put my faith in you, milady ? “ logic, surely, was the middle road. ” seems to me like you're better off in search of calmer waters. "
the young nuwa readily lets go of the bottle, somewhat pleased at finding a drinking partner in the other braxigarian. it is quite paradoxical to be happy about this, especially so when he left inside to get some quiet and calm. nevertheless, the companionship is welcome, even if they probably cannot be called friends. when the bottle is back in his hands, he also takes a long swig, before setting it down in the space between them, ready for the lord to take if he so wishes. a surprised hum at that, he raises the bottle again and nudges the other's shoulder for another sip. "hear, hear!" it's a whisper shout more than an actual shout, not wanting to attract more attention to them. not when he still half lies on the ground, legs sprawled in front of him. the next comment should probably be offensive, but because he does not want to take it as such- he doesn't. laughter spills from his lips, followed by a shrug. "it's only manners of a poor guest if i get caught by the hosts. it's like if a tree falls in a forest and there's no one to hear it... did it still make a sound?" tells this with so much confidence that it's probably unbelievable. it obviously still makes a sound. "if a guest is being improper- does it matter if the host doesn't see it?"
“ frankly, i find that the better question is ⸻ even if they did find out, what could they do to me ? a disapproving tut, a public denunciation ? as the best of all hollows, we braxigarians have such a glowing reputation already. ” patriotism has never suited ran half so well as sheer pride. “ and good luck to anyone who'd try to impose force onto me. ” he offers the other a sidelong glance. when was the last time he spared the younger nuwa an ounce of consideration ? had such a thing ever occurred before ? lian might have been closer to ran in age, but it was the elder brother he had taken for a rival, a yardstick of a man. one's strength was the sole measure of their worth, so ran had believed ( and, to be honest, still does ). “ you might have some trouble. but i'd help you out, since you've been so generous with me. ”
the words are said in his usual dry fare, but truth be told, the night has him feeling somewhat sentimental. a budding kinship lies here, if but for these scant hours, as long as either of them will it. the easy touch the other offered to his shoulder had almost been worth a startle. most others considered him a rabid dog and would have refrained for fear of his bite, and ran, never wanting to fall under expectations, would have obliged, facetious as it would be. that he refrained from the mask could very well mean something, if he allowed it. “ suppose that would make them think twice about inviting us folk anywhere. doubt i'd miss the posturing. would you ? ”
𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊. the corridor just outside of the solkarith quarters, flouting all standards of propriety. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓. @prodigxlis's fenglian ruoxi, razor's dance & razor's grip.
the original intention, not that it matters much now, had been to flag the first passer-by. statistically speaking, that ought to have been a servant of some sort. an individual predisposed to discretion and silence ⸻ whether an attendant selected from his own household, or one of altinsoy employ. in turn, ran possessed a list of people he had not wanted to glimpse him in this very moment. his parents and their heir sat toward the top, knowing they would ( with certainty ) chastise him for being so stupid. fenglian ruoxi had occupied some spot in the middle ranks, only now he had forgotten why, because he upon the sight of her, he now had the odd impulse to sneer at her. look at the mess that's been made of me. this could have been yours. if only she hadn't spurned that long-promised spar, she might've been privy to this sight sooner. but she had, and he was furious with her for it, and that anger in some part manifested in the wildness that had brought him to injury.
such carelessness was beneath him, he had arrogantly thought. ran had not trained with a flail in some time, but only a fool ⸻ so he had believed ⸻ would catch himself across the back while seeking to hit a personal record for distance. and only a greater one would find that he actually quite liked the sting. he hadn't done more to himself than the first strike, of course. but he had stood there like an idiot, prodding at the wound, then shuffling the dirt around its evidence, and then proceeded to sweat into it as he continued with his training. so now he had to make sure it wouldn't get infected.
because that would be the most embarrassing part of this whole affair, and not that he was struggling to reach it with the jar of ointment he'd pilfered from his mother's belongings.
“ you. help. ” his request for aid is bleated with all the brusqueness he would afford anyone else. why should it not be ? it is not as though she deserves any better; it is not as though this isn't ran at his very best. lest the woman fail to comprehend the situation at hand, ran lifts the porcelain pot, then raises the two fingers covered in its glistening white cream and pantomimes reaching over his shoulder.
“ preferably inside, ” he adds as an afterthought, “ unless you'd rather do it out here in the open hallway. it'll only take a moment. ” what might the other solkariths think of him then ? at least, ran muses, it would take their minds off of the need to verbally lash him for his foolishness. yet for all the amusement the vision stirs in him, he spins on his heel without waiting for a response, exposing the single angry red trail scored across his trapezius like a comet, and delves further into his chambers.
𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊. the mouth to the training grounds of elaris keep, an echo of the near past. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓. @moonvcils's luz solkarith, the forsaken, the sundered sibling.
but a single quick blink heralds the shift in ran's posture, the immediate turn of his left shoulder inward, making himself flatter against the closest wall to make way for the next person to use the facilities. as the shorter head passes, he finds that he cannot help but laugh. the noise bursts out of him like a whip striking out to coil at their ankle. they had parted with a strike, shoulder to shoulder, at celembron, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. and yet here ran was, softened enough to leave room for someone else. the ran luz had grown with would have just made himself a pillar and allowed the collision, if only for the derisive sneer that would follow, or the crash and cry of the other as they crumpled to the ground under his strength. instead, he had moved smooth as silk. he hadn't even thought anything of it.
“ little luz, ” he calls in greeting. he lets it hang in the air like the moon, subject to obfuscation by cloud and storm. the address in itself sounds like an insult, the endearment of little one lost to the name and its alliteration. a ‘ my ' had been implicit, once upon a time. and like the fairytale cliché, it feels little more than an errant dream. truth be told, he cannot remember ever using her given name before. gods be good that it did not fall clumsily off of his tongue. “ come to run some of those fanciful drills your esteemed mentor taught you, i see. ”
he had kicked the dirt over his own spilt blood, hadn't he ? a minor mishap, cloaked now by his dark robes. but an error that had wrongly made itself known nonetheless. his mocking grin falters then, for a moment, before a mirror tide rolls in anew. his rejoinder is all the weaker for it. “ are they actually of any help ? ” a half-genuine question.
𝖜𝖍𝖔: efigenia velwyrn && OPEN [2/5] 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊: a balcony within elaris keep 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓: within 48hrs of hollows/houses arriving
.✦ ݁˖ ⸻ Efigenia sat precariously close to the edge of the balcony's precipice. It felt as though if she leaned far enough, she could spill out over the side and the stars would carry her afloat, their essence burning brightly, starkly, madly, within the evening sky. She'd barely spent her time in Heliophra, the golden sands and ivory pillars the complete antithesis to the grayscale of her home within Drakathar. One of her pets was perched upon her knee, the beetle chittering into the quiet buzz of the night. She had tossed everything to the wayside by throwing her name into the battle for Chosen - a losing battle - but one she fought madly to entertain. Her sister had chosen a life within Vexmarsh, a deliberate act of silence against Efigenia for all her recklessness. She was ruling lady of the house and though she had opened the door for Amarei to walk away, a means of refuge against Graveholt, the silence screamed louder than ever before.
Though she heard the other approach, she did not address them directly, speaking to the beetle which was one of the only one's left within the empty embrace of Graveholt; it made sense she would not leave them behind in her journey to Elaris Keep.
" Who will be next to fall ? " Cooed to the creature perched on her leg, her eyes finally wandered to the one who joined her on the balcony. " Who joins the Lady of Sheer Castle in her sacrifice ? " An inappropriate laugh escaped her for if Efigenia was to meet the hands of death before her name was offered vengeance then all would be for naught.
ah, and here he'd meant to be a simple spectator. such maudlin affairs were better to scoff at from afar, in ran's experience. seldom a stranger to despair and desperation, such tragedies had seemed to him more like passing circuses than instances deserving of sympathy. he was meant to stand lips pursed, snacks in hand as he chittered away with some like-minded soul ( or whoever he could cajole into listening to his erstwhile babbling ) as to what sort of splatter one might make. but he had none of that now, save for the grimacing expression. his pursuit of fresh air cursed him, the grinding noise of an aborted retreat hammered it into his soul.
ran long since believed that there was never any way to go but forward, and so that is where he walked. a measured, steady gait clipped whatever indigence of enthusiasm exuded from him before, almost casual the way he draped his arms over the lip of the balcony. his lip curled at the sight of the lady's rustling little companion, though he was proud of himself for fighting the urge to flick it off of her. surely, those wings were not merely vestigial. but even for him, such rudeness seemed a touch too far.
“ sacrifice, ” he repeated quietly. “ is that what you would call it ? ” if anyone dared to ask his opinion ⸻ murder, slaughter. she was put down like a dog. but he knew that if the words ever left his lips, his ruling lord might ( try to ) have his head on a spike. as confident as ran was in his abilities to fight off any threat that dared to challenge him, he was not in the habit of making himself a pariah by law. “ i can't say i'm one for theorizing. ” something self-deprecating lingered on the tip of his tongue, sparking a startled blink. “ you have thoughts, surely. muddled as they seem to be. think you're next ? not an admission of guilt, but ⸻ if you do, you're making it very easy for me. ”
location : balcony , elaris keep ⏲ the forgotten world from : nuwa lian , liege of perrelor keep to : open starter ! [ 𝟏 / 𝟐 ]
it's an odd hour for people to be awake, let alone go sightseeing through the house of elaris keep. perhaps that guess is the mere reason why lian feels confident in his plan that he wouldn't be caught in this particular endeavor. lying across the floor in a wide balcony, overlooking the city, and most importantly, the sky. he has in his hand the neck of a bottle, and takes a swig occasionally. earlier today, the young nuwa didn't even attempt to sleep, knowing it wouldn't come easily, not after what they learned, not with what's to come. his trust in this nonsensical belief makes him feel comfortable as he lies on the cold ground, so at ease that the sound of footsteps reaches his ears later than it should, startling him to sit up. akin to a deer caught in the forest, he turns his attention on the newcomer, expression morphing into something sheepish. "hey — didn't think this would be a popular attraction." lian muses, and knows it too late to hide the bottle in his grasp. "i can share if you don't mind... sharing." he holds it up in the air, and shakes it a little. "i don't know if we are allowed to bring drinks here, but i don't think anyone will care."
perhaps in the days of yore, he might have been able to fly. it would not be anything like levitation, of course ⸻ but something of a powerful leap could have sent him soaring, bounding through the air. perhaps he could have cleared the very wall he scuffs his boots against, if not the entirety of elaris keep. but such possibilities would have been many and more moons ago, and ran finds his new habit of looking toward the past ( further, in this instance, than he has ever done so before ) more irritating than illuminating. seldom has he believed there are lessons to be gleaned from the ancestors; ran has never paid much thought to a line he would never know. predecessors both gifted and otherwise are done and dusted, anyhow. what matters is the living.
the other is lucky to have spoken when he did, for he might not have been considered among that number for much longer, elsewise. ran's foot hovers a little too close to the younger nuwa's head, still suspended in the air, before he carefully lowers it at a respectable distance. worst of all consequences would be the earful he'd get from the other's brother, surely. the spike of annoyance that accompanied his consternation flares, only appeased by the offering. ran squats and grasps the bottle, taking a swig larger than is polite before handing it back. “ rules are meant to be broken, anyway. ” he swipes the excess moisture from his lips, gesturing to the the spirits. companionable warmth seeps into both gut and voice. “ trying to forget something ? besides the manners of a proper guest, that is. ”
Cian wisely does not word neither agreement nor disagreement, though in the specific matter of those blessed with such strength in Braxigar’s lands, well… He could not think of it any further, lest his opinion be betrayed by anything more than the twitch of his brow. “You are very strong!” Diplomatically said. “And I owe my life to such strength. I do think you are charitable, that way.” And those following words are more honest, but he moves past quickly, before Ran finds the gratitude too much. Cian would not wish his friend to act any other way that than in which is his nature—he had found comfort in the surety of the thorns, and in the places where the stem of Ran’s prickly rose did not sting the skin as much.
The little noise is a wonder, somewhere to linger, but he knows better than to press. His eyes close a moment to blink slowly, and his lips twitch, face going on a most perilous journey in an attempt not to laugh, but failing when it comes to his grin. “I am not calling him that.” He eyes the bird, and hopes to not find himself pecked anytime soon. “You couldn’t think of any other name? I don’t know. Lord Feathers.” Cian blushed. If you could not tell he did not name his own bird, you could now. “A friend gave her the name. I think it’s rather cute.” Otherwise, she probably would’ve been Lady Feathers.
“Baby f—” Cian frowns, and does his best not to pout. “We have sparred before, though.” He almost wishes to approach, to speak now in whispers, but stays put. “Unless you mean something of a different nature.” His eyes glint with curiosity, with interest both. Trepidation creeps, as well, but Cian waves it away with a feeling of bitterness in his gut. “Do not worry, I doubt he has much interest in what I am doing. He has been quite busy as of late.” Cian shrugs, careless, attempting to cast away the tension on his shoulders at the reminder of his father’s attentions being elsewhere. Doubtless were it any other way he would be rebelling at the thought of being treated as a child, but that was not the case now, was it? “I scarcely see him, and he scarcely sees me. I would be surprised, if he knew that I was here.”
“But your secret is safe with me.” Cian smiles, kind and boyish. “Just as I hope that mine is kept safe with you.” Promptly, his hand slips into his sleeve and a black letter is procured, like a mage fetching a hare out of a brimmed hat. “Tell me, where does your little—friend, know to go? And how fast is he?”
charity. it is not quite as nauseating as ran came to expect, all things considered. but he did not want to make a habit of it. he has a reputation to maintain ⸻ foisted upon him or otherwise ⸻ and a sense of self to preserve. slowly but surely, he had been taking a hammer to his own walls, just to see what had burrowed within. but even ran, who never does anything by halves, has his limits. no, charity will not become part of his repertoire. he was certain the other could see the appeal in such exclusivity.
brows furrow at the lordling's suggestion, a groan punctuated by rolling eyes. “ how's about lord featherbrain ? take it or leave it. ” his lower lip juts out, a childish expression, as he jabs a finger at the offending creature. “ if i start being too nice to him, he'll start to think we're friends. and then he won't shut up until i feed him, or worse yet, he'll keep pecking me until i do. ” things have their places, even crows. it would not do for them to be unaligned. “ … i suppose it is. ” a light coating of disdain falls upon his agreement. cuteness and beauty hold little value, even as ran's senses can appreciate them. but such transience and subjectivity held no power or sway in his mind; he preferred to deal in fact ( and bias ) than mere preference.
his lips part, i wouldn't call necessarily call that sparring, but the cessation of both statement and scoff starts before he consciously opts for it. there is no need to bring shame into such a pleasant conversation, surely. it is a new trick for an old dog, to keep his ego from erupting through his mouth. “ yes, i could pass the true solkarith secrets onto you. invite you to one of those fancy ‘ dinner parties ‘ people say we get up to. ” at this, the chuff escapes, the dam before a tidal wave of incredulity collapsing under its weight. “ it's a great honor, you know. ” to be so monstrous, to be so feared. to earn such hatred through hearsay alone. he wonders if the other would have the strength for it ⸻ a mental brawn that had little to do with his physique. ran decides that he does. elsewise, cian would not be worthy of ran's esteem.
ran allows himself a brief glimpse at the letter, exhaling slowly. finally, something a little closer to transparency. such chumminess might have grated before long. “ he's fast as lightning, ” he answers, lifting a finger for the corvid to take its perch and prove him right. the digits of his other hand follow the smooth iridescence of its plumage, pausing at an abrupt ruffle. “ like most of our hollow, he's most familiar with our borders. but little f ⸻ lord featherbrain has once, many years ago, seen the skies above moira castle. ” if it is discretion cian wants, ran is well-equipped to oblige. but there is a part of him that finds it difficult to be impressed by the subterfuge.
such trust he offers, in asking ran to help paint a target on his back, as though there isn't one there already. he's touched, truly.
.✦ ݁˖ ⸻ Depths and complexities; it'd be an insult to cast any Braxigarian house under one foothold of brutality or violence. Each held many cruel secrets beneath the brick-laden roofs and each was fastened with rumors of blood personified, each more barbaric than the last the further one traveled throughout. The question is perplexing, enough to nab Taemris out of his own strange stupor. Lately, it had seemed a sickness had been cast over much of Braxigar; many returned to their cyclical facets but the silence had never screamed louder between each house. Taemris had set off from Helia Bastion before he'd ever truly gotten settled, a clash with Marya over the semantics of council and crown was all it had taken before he'd set off.
There was no true destination, trapped within the cage of his origin, the lock around the Braxigarian hollow had never seemed so intricate and damning. Whichever dark corner of the hollow would accept his presence seemed far better than his home, but supplied with such question, Taemris felt utterly baffled. Was the entirety of Braxigar doomed to be unwound ? Each day it felt as though the expectation of the undead loomed closer and many were to lose their heads; figuratively and literally.
" Wondrously repellent , " Taemris mocked this coldly after a moment, falling into step of winding his own carapace back tightly around himself. " Others of House Solkarith should feel great shame that they do not meet your level of repellence , Lord Ran , " the sarcasm dripped, heavy-laden and irrefutable, though Taemris' brows rose in a silent question to the middle Solkarith as to why he asked something so preposterous.
there was a temptation to offer the younger a seeping bow, the envy of any actor at curtain call ⸻ but then that would be evidence, wouldn't it, that it was all an act ? that the barbed tongue, the casual indifference that bled into meanness-because-he-could, the puffed chest, all served some ulterior end, to make ran solkarith into something he was not ? complexity was an oft-praised virtue, in his experience, but he could not help but disagree. opaqueness was weakness. natural cover for those too weak to stand as they were, too slow or unobservant to make use of their environment. he did not doubt that many of his childhood rivals ensconced themselves in illusory bravado, so it was ( and still is… yes ? ) a point of pride that ran was as sincere as they came. if he said he could pummel someone into the dirt, he would. and has.
a morvaen wouldn't know much of that, he assumed. any belief otherwise would have been beaten out like imperfections above an anvil. wetwork required a certain level of discretion that was foreign to him, unless mitigated by some sort of extreme indifference or extreme amusement. he could sense neither from the man before him. “ wondrously, ” he repeated, somewhat faintly. “ oh, good. ” was it ? “ just making sure. ” but repellent was something different than intimidating, wasn't it ? intimidation was a warning, and to some ⸻ as many as it frightened ⸻ it impressed. to repel was to ceaselessly drive away, to isolate. there was no point in being on a tower if there was no one else to sneer at down below, no one to gnash his teeth at if they came too close. no one to invite onto his pedestal, no one willing to climb into it without his help as though she always belonged there, shoulder-to-shoulder like a pair of lovebirds in their caged perch.
“ indulge my curiosity, if you will. did you form this opinion from a preceding reputation, or was it… more evident up close ? ” perhaps he ought to take notes, pass a survey around the hollow. “ surely you must've heard of me, before the bastion. word of mouth travels fast and far where excellence is concerned ⸻ though, of course, that is not what i am asking after. ” ran felt his lips twitch as he looked the other over. “ your sister is regarded as the terror, i would wager. but you and i move through this world in a way none of our siblings will ever fully understand. you and i know what it is like to be an inherent danger, with all the repugnance it implies. ”
location: outside the citadel, vallarion status: open time: morning
lukesh hated the idea of feeling trapped. he couldn't leave vallarion and while it was home, he felt a bit useless with everything going on. he had to figure out who started this fire. he was heir but if he couldn't even discover his family's own mystery, what made him think he could discover another? he sighed and hung his head between his legs.
the memory of the past fire crept into his mind, the one from the citadel. he shuttered at the thought of seeing hundreds of books burnt. with his eyes closed, it brought him back to the day. the similarities of the most recent fire flashed through his brain and for a moment, he couldn't even decipher them from each other. he heard the sounds of screaming and his eyes shot open.
he smiled at the people around him and stood suddenly. the stress started to bubble underneath his skin and his hands began to sweat. he took a deep breath and he was off, further away from the citadel.
after a bit, lukesh slowed down. he was covered in sweat but he didn't care. he wanted to be as far away from the citadel as he could. he didn't expect to find anyone here but of course, there they were. lukesh laughed and shook his head. "well, you were the last person i thought i'd see out here." he smiled and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "are you here to visit my mother?" he asked.
miharu kept her hands folded politely at her front as she shook her head. “ only insofar as to ask her permission to browse your venerable archives. ” but the truth of her presence was that she needed to be away from the spire. the council's orders were an outright affront, in miharu's eyes. it may have been the most pitifully basic psychology, that forbidding one from an action only made them want it all the more, a maneuver that she should have been above, but she proved to be no exception to the rule. a rare instance, all things considered. obeying orders had become harder and harder as of late, as she felt herself growing colder and colder.
she had first descended from her tower to greet friends and followers. she assuaged concerns with words as best she could, only to find that a gentle touch was the only thing that could calm those who came to see her as their salvation. miharu had thought she would take a momentary reprieve from her parents and their constant reproach, well-versed in plugging her ears to the criticism. only, she had left their range of sight and found that… nothing was stopping her from going further. she had no intention of reaching the boundary of the hollow, but the idea was tempting.
it was mere chance that she had chosen to the citadel as her destination over nithiri keep. both were places she might hazard to learn something, far from the forefront of her mind as it was. and there had been a part of her that thought she might try to look upon the tethalunes' new castle. perhaps she might find some like minds among their new stewards, who had kept the place faithfully for the wretched council. but in all respects, she would have proven an imposition.
“ i apologize for any offense or intrusion. ” miharu paused, frowned softly. she shifted on her feet and then cast a brief look over her shoulder, as though again looking for someone who might stop her. “ forgive me for my insolence, my lord. but it does not appear that you should be alone right now. ”
A smithy was perhaps not the place the Heir of Moira was expected to be seen, but since their return to Morkhul he had been wholly uncharacteristic to himself. He had not heeded the call of well traveled paths across his home hollow, nor followed the faint hum of tavern music to his usual dwellings. Instead he had locked himself behind the great heavy doors of Moira Castle, among the stacks of tomes in the Midnight Library, and wandered silently through the cobbled paths of the Moon Garden without any company treading beside him. His only compatriots were the thoughts roiling in his head. Whatever was on the lord’s mind was locked deep within, and some of his closest confidants in the castle began to worry when his boisterous laughter did not echo through their gilded halls. When he’d emerged that night and saddled his horse, there was hope he was returning to form. That his winsome and gregarious smiles would light up his stony expression, and the sound of singing would be heard as he galloped through Morkhul. But he had been silent, steely-eyed, and a tad more morose. This time, he was this way in the citadels that he typically thrived in.
Crossing into the smithy, his nostrils flared at the scent of fire, human exertion, and melting metals. It was not a normal stop, but he had written ahead of time to this particular blacksmith with a request and had gotten word that this had been fulfilled. He had expected a quick in and out procedure, that he would be back on the road winding towards Moira and back to his chambers in no time, but his blue eyes caught another figure who in turn was asking him a question. Folding his arms over his chest, Evandris lifted a brow as he wordlessly dragged his eyes over the paper being held up. His forehead creased, clear confusion painting his features. His jaw bobbed before he finally spoke, voice gravely from lack of use over the several days they had all been home. “ I… am unsure what I am looking at exactly. ” Candor painted his tone, Evandris’s head tilting slightly as though another angle could stir him to recognizing the shapes. Silently, he dug into the messenger bag that sat at his hip, concealed by the cloak he wore to stave off the cold and hide his noble clothes. Procuring a small leather bound journal and an even smaller stick of graphite, he opened to a fresh page and found a stool against the wall to sit upon, leisurely and lazily, the only hint of his normal self resurfacing. “ Why don’t you explain to me what you were attempting? ” He asked, making broad strokes upon the paper in the more noticeable shapes from the others displayed work.
ah, not even worth a haphazard guess, then. sylvain turned the sheet back toward himself, squinting at his handiwork. the original shapes he had started with, a set of blocky oval-squares, were completely hidden behind the violent hatchwork he'd used to sharpen the edges as a line ( or a dozen ) got away from the main body of the image. digging dents into the paper were black pits where he assumed he meant for the eye holes to be. only, they were so close that one could be forgiven for thinking the pits were meant for his nostrils. the hinge to the helmet especially was a disaster, flown so far off from everything else that it seemed he had drawn it with his eyes closed. and indeed, he probably had, given the sudden yawn that seized him, beaten back with no small amount of effort. sylvain could not remember the last time he had gotten a good night's rest; the fact that he was even here, instead of with his family as he'd sworn to be, was because he felt the sudden and implacable urge to move. “ um, i think there was supposed to be something plant-based in here. ” yes, if he squinted, the lines did start to look like some sort of root system. the smith himself had off-handedly mentioned it might be a good idea to start with. the spikes atop his head and cascading down his skull could be fashioned into petals of some sort. but somewhere along the way, sylvain had gotten lost. he did know what flowers looked like, didn't he ? what sort of kelindorr was he ?
brows lifted with his gaze as the other joined him, caught somewhere in between awe and gratitude. he smoothed out his own workspace, knocking crumpled earlier drafts to the floor and crushing them under his boot as he swept them into a pile with his soles. “ i had hoped for something to go with the whole… dandelion knight sobriquet. it never made much sense for me to trot onto the field after the herald bellowed such a diminutive name with my face framed in black iron and flame. ” he blinked then, cocking his head, as he tried to recall if the man might have first-hand account of such an occurrence. perhaps they had never met along a tilt, but both of them were known to go up and down a few roads in their time. however, sylvain had always taken meticulous care of his armor, and he never exposed it to the elements unless it was absolutely necessary ⸻ which it seldom was. “ here's the original, if you're unfamiliar. ” the helm clattered onto the table with a heavy thunk. “ i haven't the faintest idea how to un-fire-ify it. truth be told, i've always thought it a bit gauche. and now more than anything, it's in exceedingly poor taste. ”
“I heard that the crows of Lumien Keep are the fastest that Braxigar can boast of.” His finger brushes the feather of a crow that allows him such liberties, proud and preening as it flaps its wings and showcases its feathers. “And their bats the most bloodthirsty.” Cian finishes, turning and raising an eyebrow, mouth quirking in a boyish grin.
“Too bad they both find their wings bound to this place. There are many to whom I would write to, were I able to. With some, the distance will be painful.” Cian’s face falls slightly at the name that goes unsaid, of a friend taken for granted until suddenly he had found himself bereft. Did he wish to linger on it? Would Ran? Despite the freedom in Cian’s words now, his characteristic caution is still one he clings to in the shadows of himself—he does not wish to offend nor invite mockery, and, most of all, he does not wish to upset his friend. But, just, if Ran does wish to talk—“I’m sure you do, as well.” Though knowing Ran, the prompting would either be too vague or too much, but never in-between.
“Do you have a favorite? Did you name them? I had to leave Estrella behind. Before her, I’d always wanted a little crow as a companion.” Or a raven, more-like, with dark wings and a sharp beak. Had imagined himself like those far-off tales of sorcerers, with a little familiar at his beck and call. But he had been too shy to reach for the ones in Sheer Castle’s rookery, and then, too busy for such thoughts.
It was still striking how different the holds of each Hollow could be, yet what tied them together. Black brick, darker earth, and darkest the tales that surrounded each of them. Lumien Keep, most of all. “Not really,” he says, truthfully, faux innocence pouring as he blinks. “Where are the bloodpools? I heard people bathed in those. Are you hiding them from me? Maybe I want to remain forever young as well, you know?” He could barely get through the jest without bursting into outright laughter. The welcome into these halls had been refreshing, if only because of the lack of propriety besides the customary greeting to Ran’s parents, and it had lightened Cian’s steps. Rather than not believe them, it would be truer to say the rumors have never really held much of his care.
“ everything in lumien keep is better than its like elsewhere, ” ran snorts. “ including myself. scour the hollow for anyone with my gift, and you'll soon see theirs is charity where mine is providence. ” such boasting should have been miles behind them by now; he has little and less to prove to one he calls a friend, but there's something in the other's tone ⸻ a slight hitch, a backfoot scrape ⸻ that spurs his usual bile. perhaps shoving whichever specter lingered center stage in cian's mind would put an end to it, their shared discomfort. ran has no issue with taking as many laps as is needed. he'll even leap through the proscenium, using the curtain to glide.
“ … hrn. ” the bats he had sent forth years ago, to cling onto illegible scribbles and worthless junk were surely glad to be free of their burdens. gladder still to know that such duties remained locked to the past. neither did he have any interest in posting to solari sanctum; even if he knew what to say to his wayward sibling ( i'm sorry would be a good start, something akin to a conscience mutters ), he would not chance vulnerability finding its way into their mentor's hands. a precious few were worthy of it, a number in the single digits. never in this life or the next would a knight be among them.
ran's brows lift. “ estrella ? ” he repeats, realizing only after he'd spoken how much the incredulity sounded like judgment. “ no, i ⸻ well, i suppose that one there likes me as much as i like him. i call him little fucker because he never listens to me. i think it suits him. ” as though it could understand him, the bird narrows a beady eye at ran. he returns the glare. “ see ? look at him. disrespectful little shit. ” pot, kettle, bird, person. all the same to him.
ran remains unused to the sound of laughter not his own. it brings a boyish grin to the fore, and a head bowed closer. even when he'd had companions on the streets, there had never been much mind to camaraderie. he'd wanted attention more than he wanted laughs, and he can't imagine he has changed all that much since then. except for, perhaps, at this moment. “ unsatisfied with the baby face you already have, you greedy little wretch ? maybe i do want to keep somethings all to my own. filled those pools myself, i'll have you know, and i'm not one to share. ” he sniffs. “ however… i suppose, since you're here, i may as well teach you how to make your own. do try to hide it from your father, though. ”
who: seren tenelith & any vallarion muses [2/4]
option one. within the library of vynetwist citadel.
being back in her home, amongst the tombs that felt so familiar, centered seren in a way she did not know she needed. while it had not been long since she first left the citadel for moira castle, she felt as though she had experienced years upon years worth of moments. almost as though she had lost sight of who she was and what she wanted. but being back home, where on certain days the smell of burning parchment still lingered, seren was reminded of her goals. of the truths she wanted to uncover. grasping a few books that needed to be returned back to their homes on their shelves, the brunette turned towards the entrance of the library when she heard footsteps approaching, "hello," she called, walking towards the visitor. "let me know if you need any help finding anything, i know this place like the back of my hand." the tenelith said with a smile. it was not unusual for residents within town or even other areas of the hollow to come in search of tombs and scrolls for their own personally research or enjoyment. in the past seren would smile and not bother them unless they addressed her first, but if she had become anything in the last few months, it was more confident.
option two. nearby a lake within vallarion.
when seren had first picked up a piece of charcoal and decided she was to draw in her free time, she had only done so as an excuse. but to her surprise, seren had found she had grown to enjoy it. the task could be technical, in a way. she could try her hardest to perfectly replicate a large stained glass window or the numerous tiles in a roof. which she found to be a delightful challenge. recently, seren enjoyment extended to sketching more academic subjects (such as the bat skull before her). her head cocked to the side as she tried to find the correct angle to approach such a subject. "i often find the first few lines the hardest to get right. it will set up the progress for the entire piece." she spoke to the person who shared the blanket she was sitting atop.
though she had never lain eyes on them herself, miharu could not imagine that the ashes of vynetwist citadel looked very different from those of kal'thera. they proved, in their gray lifelessness that history was but a circle. an ouroboros, a serpent swallowing its tail. the image of it marked into her own skin was at least a figure eight ⸻ twists and writhing exhibitions of a fight that vallarion's pure ring lacked. not that such an issue of stagnancy was endemic solely to their hollow. nor were those who suffered fiery ruins worth much scorn. “ that is a very kind of you to offer, ” miharu hums, inclining her head in gratitude. though, truth be told, she was not very enthusiastic about her mission, even if she had set it into motion herself. “ i am looking for any texts and illustrations you have on star charts. i wished to compare them with my own. ” and she did mean hers, individually, not the flecks of ink her parents bade her memorize shortly after she learned to write her name. none here could be more accurate than the ones meticulously kept in enimarah spire's own archives, or the ones sitting beneath the false bottoms of miharu's trunks. but still. call it curiosity. “ have you ever read them yourself, lady tenelith ? i should not be offended by one considering them arduously esoteric. ”
he gave his companion a transient glance, flitting over sharp blues, before they drifted to the little bowl of nuts betwixt them. a snap of his head and a muffled chuckle revealed his amusement, he had never been much for singing, himself -- or had he? well, he'd not truly had a chance to sample it. he preferred the outlet of conversation, be it of the compelling sort or thoroughly insipid, and what it revealed of the other -- what they wished it to reveal. but cai had a fondness for people, what moved and motivated them, their tales, their frivolities -- their lies. song was just another form of oration.
a hand dove into the bowl without ceremony, and he chose to devote his full attention to the other, after he'd pondered the observation. "sounds to me like you've half a plan laid out there. am i to bawl out a song first, or do i chime along with whatever takes your fancy?"
“ that eager for my lyrical genius, are you ? it's about time my true mastery of dactylic hexameter found some appreciation. ” rather, sylvain's performances were mostly of the wordless variety. he was more accustomed to drawing out vowels or startling them out of his observers. the most frequent word he found himself luring past reluctant lips was his own name ⸻ but he's been fairly removed from that era, so it occurred to him.
too long had it been since he alighted a saddle for some reason other than travel, since had knocked someone off their own destrier to a triumphant roar. any harshness he exchanged found life in the form of words to the woman he loved, calculated hurts that found no refuge in the excuse of martial games, or in castigations lacerating his own soft underbelly. usually, when sylvain took to the drink, it was because he had something he wanted to celebrate. there was nothing here to feel great about. but that was hardly cai's fault. willing some vague glimmer into his eye, sylvain nudged the other with his elbow. “ if you'd like to take the reins, though, be my guest ! at the very least, you'd have my support. ” which was clearly worth so much.
The barren soil of Braxigar, cold and unkind, welcomed them home; a language they understood too well. The very air felt more dense here, wet, muddy; it was not often he stained the soles of his boots by descending from his ivory tower, from the fortress that was Perrelor's Keep, to commune with the locals—the gossip was like flies buzzing in his ear—but he was searching for a very special item his servants had been incapable of locating, and so, here he was. He'd been far away from home for too long, his father told him, and yet as he returned it felt as though he never left.
It was mid-exchange that he was spotted, his impassive face and impervious red eyes flickering between the vendor and Ran, quiet for a long moment before sighing with what felt like weary resignation. He was not going away, was he?
How does he keep finding him? He does not know. They are opposing forces, and he doubts he had nothing better to do with his time than trailing after his heels, so he must accept then that there was no one to blame but the mindless cruelty of an uncaring universe, forcing them to remain in each other's company. "...Yes." quick, but composed; the Lord of Perrelor's Keep deadpans without an ounce of emotion, looking utterly unenthused and unfazed somehow, by the brazenness of his demeanor. He looks every bit disinterested in engaging in whatever this was or was gonna turn into, knowing whatever response he offered was unlikely to end it, but he had a feeling there was no avoiding it, either. Trying to ignore the Solkarith was like trying to ignore a whirlwind, ripping every house and tree off the ground on the way as it headed your way, demanding recognition. "Why? Did someone say you weren't?"
surely there can be no more important a conversation than the one ran has just initiated. whilst the tongue of braxigar is most often scripted through blood and bone, that simply makes it all the more significant. whichever trivial pursuit occupying the nuwa heir can most certainly wait; ran thought it, so, like most things, it must be decidedly true. a cursory look ⸻ not a glare, thank you very much ⸻ to the stranger his words had interrupted dispels any forthcoming argument, and a direct answer to ran's query locks their line of conversation tight. the extracted affirmative itself pulls a perfunctory nod from ran. the confirmation was not one that he needed, he thought. but then, why else would he have asked, if there was not doubt in his heart ? suffice it to say that the opinion of the man before him weighed more than a feather, if only because of the eminence that linked them. a dark, heavy chain no one beyond the closed borders of their hollow could ever truly gasp saw them as two polished ebon links, elsewise counterweights forever bound by the strength of their own gravitational pull.
the returning question yanks a barking laugh from him. “ who would dare ? some simpering idiot foolish enough to think flattery the best way to worm into my good graces ? ” few and fewer sought such a thing, regardless of intelligence.
“ no, rather the opposite, in all senses. no one has called me alluring ⸻ no one has said much of anything to me at all, actually. but actions speak louder than words, so the cliché goes. ” ran's mouth clicks shut in consideration. a honest assessment of his skills was a requirement in his particular line of work, insofar as seeking ways to avoid the pitfalls of overexertion, or to seek ways to improve. his psyche, on the other hand, remains a dark, echoing, uncharted cavern; he can only imagine it filled to the brim with skeletons. “ i have been mulling over my … being an imposition. which seems to have been a rather frequent occurrence, even if i had been invited. ” a glimmer of irony glints off the dagger of his own words and into his eyes, momentarily blinding. “ i suppose i had hoped to find confirmation of such from one i know not to mince words. ”
open starter (3/4).
location: a bustling tavern, somewhere in morkhul.
as a noble offspring with no good in mind, cai had often preferred more secluded, ramshackle establishments. rough patrons, bawdy talk, and cheap ale to wash the unbecoming grime down with -- nooks of nocturnia where not a soul recognised him. he hadn't ventured far enough, in this particular instance, barred from crossing beyond his hollow. in his irrelevant opinion, a vexing decision that he feared may yet serve to heighten tensions, for it provided no answers and foisted restrictions upon those who had long questioned the council's judgement -- and made others begin to nurse doubt yet. but he voiced no such misgivings to his lord father, for he wielded no power to prompt change, and so, he sulked.
a gilded hand coiled about his tankard, the clank of rings preceded his crooked smile. "the ale is palatable enough," he muttered, preferring the richness of red, but he hadn't come to savour his drink. he came to idle away time he would rather spend elsewhere. "the conversations, however, are positively engaging. there is a certain beauty to drunken rambling -- crude, but honest."
the open air was more to his preference, just so he could gaze at the stars above him and make up stories about the little shapes he saw. not necessarily the ones recorded by the oracles of vallarion, just little squiggles he called dog and hammer and sheep shit. but sometimes a man needed a hovel. a dingy corner, a sticky table above some questionable stain, and a heavy tankard that carried each belch and turned it into a warn horn. and sylvain liked the little nuts too; they were easier on his pockets, at the very least. traveling the tourney circuit for years meant he knew how to stretch his coin as needed, though there seemed to truly be no need, when all he had to do was write home. something between pride and shame stayed his hand, left his letters to more gilded dreams sent off to sun-lit lands. he hadn't truly appreciated the freedom of it, sylvain realized, until the council's decree.
“ wait until they get into the singing. ” he snorted to himself, then shoved another fistful of cashews and pecans into his mouth. “ don't even have to learn the words, just get the melody right ⸻ and, really, all you have to do is go along with the person nearest to you. won't have to pay for another drink for the rest of the night. ” he should know; his whalesong impressions were the stuff of legends. obviously.
