#|| nard ||

[unxknownxplayer]

Bird of Paradise Flower, Camellia Japonica, Daffodil

Bird of Paradise Flower:  Does your muse have a good grasp of the bigger picture, or do they have a more narrow perspective on things?

Reynard prides himself of always being several steps ahead of any given situation, so he would probably claim to have a bigger picture. But in reality, his perspective is actually very narrow and near sighted. 

There are signs he ignores, or get skewed in his head. A lot of the time he only sees what he wants to see or fully believes, and anything suggesting otherwise is a trick. It’s a lovely mix of confusion and denial.

Camellia Japonica:  What does your muse excel at, and are they aware of/proud of these skills?

Strategizing and innovation, and yes, he is very aware and proud of these skills. When standing in a room, he’s probably already figured out escape routes and how to immobilize you while you’ve been talking to him the past five minutes, and how to utilize anything in said room to his advantage, including himself and you. He loves to play chess and any other strategy based games, and he enjoys taking things apart and putting them back together. He can usually make use of any tools he’s given.

This sounds like a very useful skill, but he’s SUUUUPER paranoid. It’s a blessing and a curse, for he never stops thinking or planning. 

Daffodil:  Has your muse ever gotten a chance at a fresh start at life? If not, would they make one if they had the chance?

Yes, and he blew it. If you think about it, he maybe had two chances, that melded into one. When he escaped his past, that was chance number one, for he was now free to do what he pleased. When he decided to work for the Royal Scientist, that was his chance number two.

But while he managed to destroy what was hurting him, he never really, truly escaped. Even now he’s still chained to the product of his history, plagued by its scars, and rather than seek new beginnings, he only sought to hurt others the way he had been hurt. 

Instead of friends, he wanted enemies. He believed everyone was an enemy. That mindset never went away, and he was determined to always be the one to strike first, lest he lose the advantage and once more become trapped. So when presented with an opportunity for something good, he didn’t see it for what it was and saw it as an obstacle instead, deliberately made to expose him and lower his guard. And he has been tempted. He has allowed the thought of a peaceful, fulfilling life of friends and family to cloud his judgement. He has wondered if, maybe, just maybe, he’d be allowed to have that. 

But he has been naïve before, and paid the price. Even now, if offered the opportunity, he’d sooner spit on the offer and threaten violence than accept it as truth. 

He’ll never be tricked again.

[unxknownxplayer]

🥀 - My muse in a panic/having a breakdown and how they’re affected by it. : )

((Under a readmore due to sensitive material, please read tags))

     The walls had stood so firm, the confidence unbending. Every step he took, they were carefully placed. Not a action happened that he hadn't thought of. Not a scenario he didn't have a plan for. He had been powerful. He had been unstoppable. It was child's play.

     How it all so suddenly fell away from him, he didn't understand. How it all came to this, he couldn't fathom. He thought, he thought and he thought, every choice he made, every action he had done that had brought him this far.

     How?

     Was it because he cared?

     That had to be it. That was what was different. How could he have been so stupid and blindsided. He let his guard down. He let his thoughts get muddled. He gave everything up on a maybe.

     The walls were crashing around him. He tried to hold them up, but he found he couldn't breathe. How long? How long has it been? He scrabbled at the walls, and felt a sharp pain at his side. Was he still bleeding? He couldn't tell. He couldn't see. He couldn't see.

     He laughed. A nervous laughter he didn't recognize nor did it make him feel better. Yet still he laughed, because he couldn't contain the bubble of emotion. It was all slipping away from him. So fast. Like sand cascading through his fingers. He grasped at it desperately, but it just made it slip faster.

     Then he felt hands grasp his throat. Just tightly enough to make it hard to breathe, but loose enough to seem so falsely gentle. He choked and gripped them, as if to pry them away, stepping back.

     But the hands wouldn't let go, and somewhere in the darkness, he knew he was smiling.

     He gasped for breath. Tried to break away. But he felt more of them. Caressing. Prodding. They moved like whispered promises. Reassuring and caring, but he knew they were candy coated venom. He felt like a child again, trapped and lost. The doors wouldn't open. The walls now stood firm. Walls he didn't make but kept him trapped. Trapped.

     NO!

     With a will, he threw the hands off of him. With a strength he didn't think he had, he burst through the walls, shattering them like glass. The darkness writhed and it moved like a living thing, and he ran. He ran.

     He ran until he couldn't no more. He ran until he tripped, and there he huddled in the dark. Like a child, he covered his head as if hiding from a nightmare. He urged it to go away. To make all of this go away. To escape. His heart beat so frantically in his chest, he couldn't hear the strange echo within the darkness. He didn't realize it came from him, nor recognized the sound as painful sobs.

     Nobody came. Nobody ever did.

     There was only one escape.

     He knew it so well, it was almost scary how easy it all was. How easy it became to strip away what had made him weak. What had made him vulnerable. It was easy even as the emotion took him, choked him, to steel his heart. His walls had crumpled, but he'll make them better. Stronger.

     It was easy.

     He could turn his heart numb with ice. He could push the people and their faces away, cutting the ties. Like balloons tethered, now floating off to nothing. In his mind he could twist the forms and bury them, bury them so deep so they can never resurface.

      The ground felt steady beneath him yet still he didn't move.

     Quite the contrary, he felt himself curl tighter. He felt the darkness moving, as if cloaking himself in it. No one would come near him. No one would ever draw close again. They'll never even have to know.

     And he laughed again, and this time, it was strong. This time, it echoed. This time, he stood firm. And this time...

     He won't lose.

[unxknownxplayer]

🔮

You thought you would win, you thought you were right You thought you could deny, you thought you could fight Tell us how you planned the story to end  Tell us how you thought there were no amends 

You called it justice but it was disguised with lies You called it vengeance but you were the one who broke the ties Where is it now, or were you always intending to sin? What will you say now, or was the evil always within? 

Look around, and you’ll find where you have started  Hear us now, and know you have caused it  It could have been different, you could have atoned  You knew no better, it wasn’t set in stone 

 Here you are now, and it’s all alone. 

[unxknownxplayer]

@unknown-server-royallabxx

     The “fox monster” was known to be a diligent worker. He practically lived at the labs, he was there at least as often as the Royal Scientist. Yet he had to be home at some point, because he was always clean and well kept, bright eyed and attentive. The assistant was known to help the Royal Scientist with his work, but he didn’t have half the stress that Valdemar Gaster carried. He was always calm and collected, some would even say easy going. 

     Something was different on this day. 

     The scientist assistant was subdued. Grim faced and weary. Many often found him approachable, but there was something about his aura that warned them he should be left alone. There were no pleasantries exchanged that morning. In fact, something very odd and rare happened: Reynard was late.

     Reynard was never late. He’s never called off sick. Yet it was an hour before the fox showed up to work, without a word of explanation. He proceeded like nothing was wrong, but spoke to no one or so much as spared a glance. He did, however, take folders and stacks of paper to his desk and proceeded to pour over them. And that’s all he did for the next few hours. 

[unxknownxplayer]

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