#;;harbinger

[ffsdovahkiin-blog]

@dososahrukvokun

Zaharia sat at a table in the large home of her current clients, arms crossed over her chest. She was guarding the families safe, and she wasn’t entirely sure what was in it - they’d only said it housed their families heirloom. It was late, and the rest of the household was asleep, and she was left bored but unable to allow herself to get distracted - not when the pay was as good as it was and the risks were apparently so high.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, breathing in deep - and it was as she inhaled that her heightened senses caught a strangely familiar smell, one that didn’t belong in the home. Her eyes snapped open and she stiffened, sharp eyes scanning the area. There was someone nearby. She didn’t move from her seat, her body language deceptively lackadaisical even as her hand drifted to the hilt of her ebony sword.

“Your cover’s blown, thief,” she called, sharp eyes scanning vigilantly for any movement in the shadowed room. She knew someone was there - just not where. “I’d suggest leaving.”

[ffsdovahkiin-blog]

@noshackleswillholdus

the mer smiled a bit looking down to his own drink. “i hate sitting alone i figured most other people don’t like to sit alone either.” he shrugged offering his calloused hand to her. “names ena.”

She couldn’t say she felt the same way - sometimes, she preferred being alone. This wasn’t one of those times, so his company was welcome. She took his proffered hand and gave it a small shake. “Zaharia,” she introduced. “Pleasure to meet you, Ena.”

[ffsdovahkiin-blog]

the dunmer sat down next to the woman at the bar sliding a mug of ale in front of her. "you seemed lonely over here sitting by yourself. figured i'd come over and say hello." the freckled mer said kindly giving her a warm smile. //hi! -noshackleswillholdus

@noshackleswillholdus

Zaharia’s head lifted at the sudden occupation of the neighboring seat, blinking in slight confusion at the ale in front of her before looking to the dunmer now beside her. She offered a small, crooked smile, a bit hesitant as she wasn’t used to people approaching her. “Hello,” she responded, taking the drink in hand. “And thank you.”

[granxaire]

borninthedocks

     He knew it from the electricity in the air, from the shadows in his fever dreams, and the whispers in the wind: the revolution was doomed to fail. Every moment he spent in their company, their jester and their skeptic, was another nail in the coffins they'd never see. 

     Harbinger. The curse he'd known since he was a boy. Where there would be tragedy, Grantaire was drawn with a gravity he could deny no more than the air in his lungs. Disaster and ruin were ever on his heels and yet nothing could change it. His words constantly fell on deaf ears. And who would believe him now? Just a drunk, lost to the madness of spirits and opiates. 

     And yet he couldn't look away, couldn't force himself to leave. These boys with their dreams and their hope would die violent, bloody deaths, and still he sat with them, drank with them, called them his friends. 

     Harbinger. Masochist. The two seemed forever intertwined. 

     The steps to their back room creaked with the arrival of another revolutionary and at first, Grantaire refused to stir from where he'd sat, but as they drew closer the air grew heavier, thicker in his lungs. Tragedy since past. It was not a sign he felt often in these halls of revolution. Blue eyes, dulled with spirits now bright with curiosity, flickered over to the new arrival. He poured himself another glass and crossed the room with a boxer's grace, spirits be damned. "And which of our merry revolutionaries recruited you?"