Tainted by Malady

Ind., sel. and priv. Highmore of Arknights ▏ Penned by Vi

[seawrought]

                                                                           Are you lost?                                                           You’ve lost sight of the shoreline                                                                  Is this what you planned?                                                      Is that kelp at your ankle or is it a hand?

                                                               About | Guidelines | ♪ | Carrd

[seawrought]

Sustenance~

[seawrought]

//sorry for the infinite delays, here and on all my other blogs. i'm trying to get back into the swing of writing, but words are hard, and my brain remains fried every day. but... i'm trying :')

[darksails]

She is right — with a wish to live every moment as he pleases, Bartholomew is selfish down to the marrow of his bones. It all comes with being a pirate and more. Yet, with the pitch of bitterness and finality of her decision, it's clear that Highmore shares the heart of one, too.

A glimpse of delight pulls the hard lines from Bartholomew's expression, and he allows himself the briefest sigh of relief.

"Ah, I almost thought you would've denounced me for being this way. But we're like two clams at high tide," he says, edged with a chuckle. Those worries slowly dissipate like fog curling away from the warmth of a morning sun. Bart bridges what distance is left between them, until they are face to face once more. Finally, he gives her a familiar smirk. "Then, sea star, please allow this pirate to continue being selfish —"

Chaldea isn't going to like this, cutting off the current contract without prior agreement or administration. Yet another betrayal under his belt.  Still, Bartholomew grasps the binds within his spirit; one twist, one nod of agreement from his question, and he'll snap it clean.

Well, the least he'll do is let the kid know; they probably expected it by now.  

"Make a contract with me, Highmore! Let me be yours as you mine. And, as for fighting against losses — well, two is always better than one. "

[seawrought]

Her lips part to form the singular word “what?”, yet Highmore’s voice has abandoned her. The swift change in mood, the uttered proposal all too sudden, leaving her wide-eyed and as if lost in a riptide.

‘ Bart….a-are you asking me to… ’

No, it can’t possibly be that, and the barely recovered whisper of her voice fizzles out again. Her thoughts turn feverish, frantically searching for some other meaning his words could have. Contract—right, he mentioned that word before. What was it? The memories sluggishly return, but no matter how she looks at it, she can make no sense of it all.

‘ Ummm, I-I mean… ’ She clears her throat and swallows hard, the gesture hopefully drowning her embarrassment. ‘ You…You told me you have a contract with this Chaldea place…It’s what gives you this body…right? So how could we… ’

In her fumbling, she finally finds a thread to pull, something to dive into and technicalities to focus on. With any luck, it’ll distract Bart enough to take no notice of Highmore’s original interpretation of his words.

‘ Can you have more than one contract? How does it all work?—Wait… ’ In the end, not even this approach can free her from the impact of those various implications, the multitude of meanings they could have. ‘ D-doesn’t this mean you ‘belong’ to Chaldea…? ’

Perhaps, instead of covering up her discomposure, Highmore has only dug this grave for herself a little deeper, even placing signposts to its exact location. Maybe…throwing herself back into the water is a valid last resort.

[seabeck]

Sunset//Moonrise

[darksails]

Highmore is allowed to contemplate; she undoubtedly deserves the space and time to do so. He gladly gives both. But the wait is painful, a helplessness made present at the expense of his fleeting patience. Even the silence feels like the deadly rush of the ocean, cresting a wave that threatens to drown him with every passing second.

Bartholomew settles for watching the arch of her scythe, eyes the bubbles that form and pop, ironically ephemeral, and releases a stiff sigh. Were it anyone else, this gravitas would have rushed along as quickly as a bubble pops with charm and near truths. Out of his element, he feels more forlorn than he would like.

Yet his glaring expression softens considerably upon hearing Highmore's voice, Bart instantly attentive and lifting his head to meet her eyes — only to frown for a different reason. Ah, yes — betrayal.

Bart spends a few seconds of furious wondering if denial will serve any purpose here.

"Well, you haven't given me a reason to. Nor do you need to worry, because . . . " He catches himself falling into habit, and Bartholomew drops the rest of the sentence like a stone. "Sea star — Highmore. Now that you know . . . I need to hear your thoughts," he tries again, stepping carefully in her direction.

"Tell me how you feel. I'll rest easy knowing what's on your mind."

[seawrought]

That means the answer is yes, if the circumstances supply a reason. It only offers greater cause for worry, not less. A frown, and Highmore’s gaze retreats towards the ever darkening sky. Fake as it is, it holds no answers nor solutions.

‘ How I feel… ’ she echoes Bart’s request, frown deepening, and Highmore’s grip on her weapon tightens. After a moment’s contemplation, she shakes her head. ‘ I don’t have the words, and you lack the experiences to fully take my meaning. But I’ll summarise my thoughts the best I can. ’

Shifting her weight, her scythe now serves as a pole to lean against, the barest minimum of support, lacking anything else.

‘ From my perspective, we are opposites, and also the same. I won’t claim to enjoy your methods, but I understand. You take things you want by any means. The root of your actions lies in selfishness. ’ She takes a deep breath before continuing.

‘ When I was younger, I thought I had nothing left to lose—yet I lost…much more. I don’t want to lose anything else. I know my motivation is no less selfish than yours, and my methods… ’ She lifts the scythe a few inches, eyeing its blade with practised indifference. ‘ …no less fatal. So if you believed telling me these things would change my mind—it does not. ’

Highmore finally raises her eyes to meet his once more, but her gaze is sharp, narrowed by the weight of feelings left unexpressed.

‘ But I am tired of losing. ’ A hint of the unspoken spills into her voice, and she quickly quenches it with a sigh that sounds a little more like a huff that abruptly ends in silence.

[unforestalledreturn-a]

@seawrought liked for a starter! Try as they might, Rhine could never rid themselves of their dark dabblings. It was not to say an organization could not untangle themselves from past mistakes and move forward with the good of people in mind, but always, ever always, the dark allure remained. For there was much to be gained in the forbidden. Rhine Labs could never separate themselves from that shadow of their pasts because they never truly tried. Individuals came and went, but the hunger to master this world and its deep magic was always at the core. No matter how many labs burned or partnerships with 'trusted' entities like Rhode Island... there would always follow that dark legacy, somewhere, waiting to rear its ugly head. Ifirit was lucky. Deemed a success, she was given every opportunity, the most sweet-laden lies. Even to this day, no longer a specimen to poke and prod, Rhine Labs kept a close eye. Of course, they had their eyes on more than just her. Afterall, there were precious few who could withstand the Many, and retain their sense of self. This codenamed 'Highmore' was what they called, like Ifirit, a spectacular specimen.

Nothing like him, of course. Waste of resources, waste of time. He knew they were watching as he stalked the trail of this Rhode Island operator in the drizzle and misery of this marshy hell. He knew he was being offered up for something like her to chew him up and spit him out in pieces, scribbling their little notes, yearning for just what it might take to get their hands on something so valuable.

Genesis approached a steep cliff face overlooking more marsh, more dreary fog-- ah. And a wisp of movement that trailed deeper within the mangrove. "You... were so close..." He hummed mirthfully, leaping off the cliff with quite a splash in the knee-deep water near the figure. A set of ferocious blue eyes glimmered eagerly at his prey, if only the fog would do more than just offer a vague figure to leer at. "So close to getting away. Poor thing-- although, I do reckon if you lopped off an arm or some sort of appendage, they'll be satisfied-- for now. Seaborn cells don't come easily, you know. And I'm told that yours is one of a kind."

[seawrought]

Thus, the chase came to a halt, though who was the hunter, and who was the prey remained a matter of interpretation. The privilege of walking through life oblivious to the gazes full of distrust and malice following her every step had never been hers. This latest pursuer hadn’t approached as unnoticed as he might’ve presumed, and neither was this chase a matter of escape.

Becoming an operator for Rhodes Island came with its own set of complications, after all. Not everyone at camp was suitable for combat, not to mention the civilians the medics were treating. If there was a threat pursuing Highmore in particular, it was only logical to lead it far away from the others, towards battlegrounds more suitable for her purposes.

This guy had happily followed her, and so Highmore had accomplished her first goal. But if the Doctor were here, merely removing the dangerous element wouldn’t be an option. Considering the report she’d undoubtedly have to write up later, she required more information. And from what little her opponent declared, it was already obvious that he was a mere pawn. Then, who was pulling the strings?

Highmore slowly turned to face the stranger, soundlessly sinking her scythe into the water, wetting the blade in preparation of a seemingly inevitable battle. Her diplomatic skills certainly wouldn’t be up to preventing it, but she supposed she at least had to try. It would look better on the report.

‘ I do not know who you are, and I don’t much care to know, ’ her calm voice emerged from the fog. ‘ But you’re mistaken on all accounts. Relinquish the identity of your employers and you may yet escape the tide. Or you may drown. ’ The second option would at least come with less paperwork. Probably. ‘ Make your choice. ’

[darksails]

"Sea star . . . " His hand hovers in the space where Highmore once stood, halting to follow in her absence. It would take one step, two, to resume his caress and words of honeyed praise. But even Bartholomew knows that continuing to dodge the inevitable will deepen their rift.

So, instead, that hand raises to rake through the dark curls of his hair, pulling them back in its wake—and along with it: mirth. The pirate lets out a heavy sigh, rueful and weary, letting its weight fill the air before flashing Highmore a look that lacks all the warmth prior.

He wears a sharply proud expression, lips curving into a mocking twist fit for dastardly villains of many tales told. Except, this time, it is no fanciful story.

"I am a pirate—a scoundrel who pillages and kills as he pleases on the high seas," Bart says, the words cool and to the point. "Not for fame or money, although either is welcomed. I am a pirate because I want to be, Highmore. We've made our choices—the difference lies in our regrets afterward, and I have none." Except for death.

Having said that piece, his demeanor begins to fray when a profound sense of worry hurriedly catches on, forcibly drawing his brow together. There's more left to say, but he would rather go back to coveting—silently praying this satiates Highmore's questions, no matter the consequence.

"Ah, but . . . what a hypocrite I'd be to question you, when I would betray everyone if it meant getting my way?"

[seawrought]

So, that’s the self Bart doesn’t want her to see. It makes sense, she supposes, though it absolutely is something one should know early on. But Highmore’s immediate response is silence. A frown and a slow nod at least confirm that she listened, understood, and that the matter requires further contemplation. Absently, she lets her scythe swing above the grass, a trail of bubbles following every move.

Yes, it’s not matters. Does Bart think his admissions would appal her? If so, he still thinks too highly of Highmore. Certainly, there are many things that require further clarification, to uncover the precise nature of his morals—or lack thereof—and motivations. Truly, though, there’s little need. Humans are selfish beings after all. Some more, some less, but their nature remains all the same.

And he’ll know, he’ll finally see exactly what kind of person Highmore is if she asks the one question that matters to her. Though the thought of a murder spree on the high seas doesn’t exactly elate her, she can’t claim to feel all that dismayed either. After all, those people have nothing to do with her. And besides…at least Bart didn’t mention slaying his own kin.

Sighing, Highmore rests her weapon’s blade on the ground, and the last remaining bubbles burst with the tiniest pop.

‘ Everyone…includes me, too…right? ’

[darksails]

when ur gf is too cute and you wish you can transmute into lungmen fabric to be superimposed onto her

[seawrought]

[seawrought]

//finally 😩👌

[dcviated]

Some time has slipped through the cracks, like the cream of a pie into marble stonework, before Malkuth manages to locate the terrified Aegir. Though witness to her escape the 'festivities' (if you want to call them that) had a grip on the Kuranta. Reining her in for a few minutes more. Returning fire to those wronging her. She's competitive.

...but she's also really worried about her friend! So she does pull herself away, however reluctantly, and takes back to the streets of Laterano, dripping the whole way. Perhaps this earns her favor with the populace, for having joined in with the event, but it lends no benefit when she comes to a sliding stop before the gloomy girl.

"Highmore! Oh my gosh, Haiiiimoooo I'm so sorry I ditched you there!" No, it does not occur to Malkuth that it was Highmore that left, only that she should have been quicker to come along. "But don't worry! I avenged myself! And you! I hit this one guy in the face so hard the pan warped around his head! He deserved it! Haha... ha..."

Malkuth takes a seat next to the other on the bench. Her casual attire mired with pie fragments to say nothing of the bits in her tail and hair.

"Wah... needa... catch my breath... I forgot what we were supposed to be doing.... before we got into that!.... but you're okay, right??"

[seawrought]

Settling on an almost perfectly spotless bench—is that a scorch mark?—Highmore takes a moment to catch her breath and put her much-strained composure back into order. At a glance, Laterano had seemed like such a serene and tranquil place, but the Sankta…Their temperaments seem fundamentally at odds with Highmore’s.

Malkuth, however, fits right in. And when the Kuranta shows up to give her report, Highmore listens intently, quietly fighting off the urge to distance herself from her friend’s pie-smeared clothing almost touching hers. If it did, though, would the Sankta mind if Highmore jumped into one of the fancy fountains to rid herself of the stains?—Ah, that’s probably not what she should wonder about right now.

‘ Malkuth… ’ she begins, momentarily unsure how to proceed. But there’s a misunderstanding here that needs clearing up, and even if admitting so might have detrimental effects, it is the right thing to do. ‘ I’m the one who ditched you. I’m…sorry. I should’ve stayed to cheer you on at least…But I’m glad you had fun. ’

Highmore found entertainment in staring at the sparse clouds floating by overhead in the meantime, but that’s a little too embarrassing to report, so she falls back into an awkward silence. Malkuth is right though. What were they supposed to do before all this…?

‘ Um, we came for…candles. ’ Somehow, that had entirely slipped her mind, and, as Highmore stares at that scorch mark on the bench, the thought immediately vanishes once more. ‘ The Sankta have all these explosives…Do you think they have fireworks, too?—Um. Ones that don’t require Arts to use, anyway… ’

[seawrought]

my sea star! 💗💞💖 will you finally celebrate the ocean with me today? i have a list of activities in mind that we could do together by seaside.

‘ Why today...? Is it somehow special? Anyway, I've already finished my work for the day, so it should be alright. As long as you don't go into the water... ’

And, of course, she'll bring her scythe. No date outfit is complete without it.

[darksails]

: )

[seawrought]

mun meme

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍!

★  NAME:  vi

★  PRONOUNS:  they / them

★  BEST EXPERIENCE: RP is best whenever i get to take my time and develop muses and their connections with others long-term. i can't really offer you a single best experience tho since i wouldn't even know.

★  PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: IMs, or discord @ viwrought. i have a lot of blogs, i don't check each daily, so if you really want me to see a message in time, discord is the likelier place to find me. i'm also on twitter, but i don't recommend following my gacha blogging.

★  MOST ACTIVE MUSE: uh...active muses are anyone whose blog i haven't taken offline yet i suppose. that said, some muses are harder for me to write than others, but that's mostly caused by the limits of my writing abilities and less by a muse taking a vacation.

★  EXPERIENCE / HOW MANY YEARS: it's been 10+ years of clowning, but who's still counting? :') the matter of fact is i've been on tumblr for far too long, but good luck trying to remove me for good. even i haven't managed to do that yet.

★  RP PET PEEVES:  

ehe...i have approx. infinite pet peeves, so i'll leave things aside that i consider caused solely by varying personal tastes, which can be quite different from mun to mun after all. what i will put here, however, are the things that IMO go beyond just preferences, and that is being a shitty RP partner in general.

what i mean by this is the failure to acknowledge that RP is a collaborative hobby. it's disrespecting the time and effort your RP partners invest, it's dropping threads left and right because threads "go nowhere" while not offering any plots, or even hints of anything taking a thread forward, essentially leaving it up to your RP partner to entertain you while delivering nothing in return. it's replies that are basically illegible, either in content or because of extreme formatting. it's pressuring people for insta-replies, again expecting them to cater to you, your schedule, ignoring their own lives. it's failing to stick to even the most basic RP etiquettes such as trimming posts, no godmodding, no forcing ships, no meta gaming, etc. it's not bothering to read people's rules pages, let alone any infos given on their muses (gasp, you could even get plot ideas that way! can't possibly have that of course).

i could list more, but i think my salt already escalated here a little too much lmao. summed up: RP isn't writing fanfics or other fiction you write all by yourself. you need RP partners, so be respectful and remember threads are supposed to be 50:50, not 90:10.

★   PLOTS OR MEMES: oh no, i thought i was done with the salt... i used to say i don't care how threads start, as long as each RP partner actively contributes to ongoing threads to keep them interesting. these days tho, people sometimes don't even seem to reply to starter posts they specifically requested via memes before, so i'm at a point where i really don't understand why people do these memes then at all. either you want a thread, or you don't. just talk to me if you do, and we can work something out.

★  ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S)?: i don't think any of my muses is as salty as me so ahem! to actually answer the question, i rp to slip into roles that aren't myself. of course, the characters that interest me have to be relatable to me to some level. likewise, there are characters i avoid because i can't relate to them at all and don't think i could do them justice. genuinely happy-go-lucky type of characters for example. i also rarely ever pick male muses because i don't think i'm any good at writing dudes. of course, those are writer weaknesses, but i prefer working on fixing these in my other writing rather than embarrassing myself even more on here lmao

tagged by: @dcviated ty for giving me this stage for salting tagging: @apricyties, @unforestalledreturn, @hallowleylines, @touchyoudown and uh...actually, i have no idea if i've tagged anyone here before and i'm sure i'm missing others. so, just consider yourself tagged!

[darksails]

It is his turn to remain silent while truths are laid: in process, in consideration, listening while the lake laps softly at Bartholomew's ankles. He watches, too—searching Highmore's face as she concludes, taking the bruised-colored arm from sight. So that's that.

Despair, once established, can be difficult to uproot. Bartholomew knows this and will always be ill-equipped to trench through Highmore's melancholy until she begins with herself. Still, he tries to bargain with the chips in his hands.

"Alright, then, let me correct myself,"   he says, clambering to shore toward his generous pile of clothing.  "Foolish? Perhaps. But, in shared folly, we pirates are nothing but grand fools. I could never criticize you for that, love." 

In hindsight, if Highmore were not one bit foolish, she would not have chosen to stay in his company for so long. Ah—a fact that may soon go belly-up.

"As for a failure?"  He pushes onward, gesturing animatedly.  "Well, had you not failed to become what and who you are, we would not be talking here. Now, isn't that a tragic thought?"   Bartholomew abruptly shifts into spirit form and disappears along with his garments. When he reappears, it is at her side, fully clothed and dry, stroking the fringe of her hair.

"A fool, a failure, and crossed with a dangerous sea creature—if I am to be honest, that makes me a little aroused! So, yes, you're still my beautiful sea star,"  Bart admits, voice filled with odd sincerity. If allowed, he could spend their evening highlighting every attraction.   "Of course, you could choose never to believe me. So, I pray someday you'll learn to believe in yourself instead."

[seawrought]

Seems like Highmore was mistaken—Bart’s obsession with her hairstyle is enough to make up for the truth, or at least part of it. Whether this is a good thing or bad, she can’t say. In fact, Highmore’s immediate response is silence. If it were up to her, she’d stay quiet, too, but that’s hardly how any relationship works. Maybe it would be easier if Bart could hear her thoughts, but…That’s not even worth considering.

‘ I see. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or worried now, ’ Highmore finally says, opting for the truth, as always. Though she attempts to speak clearly, there’s a subtle tremble in her voice she can’t banish in entirety. ‘ I’ve…betrayed humankind and you don’t even ask me why… ’

If only not believing his words were the problem, but it’s far from so. And to be honest, Highmore can’t fault him for his claims. They are, after all, only variations of the things Bart has always said. No more, no less. Most likely, he still doesn’t fully understand what it truly means to become Seaborn either. He’s not from Terra, let alone Iberia. Of course, he wouldn’t understand.

No, Highmore is the one who continues clinging to all too fragile things. She’s the one who chases phantasms. Though this entire conversation started as an attempt to correct this, so far, she’s done a poor job of it, with no improvement in sight.

‘ I’ve merely told you all this, because I don’t want you to be mistaken about who I am. It may not matter to you, but it does to me. ’ She shifts out of Bart’s reach and retrieves her weapon from the ground. ‘ Anyway, it’s your turn. ’

[darksails]

"Sea star, love. Don't look at me so!"

[seawrought]

‘ Sure. Just eat this bit of...seafood I grilled for you first, though. ’

[randomitemdrop]

Item: Knuckles of the Golden Clam; adds +1 to Punching damage, plus if you can hold a speck of dirt or gravel in your hand for 24 hours it will turn into a pearl.