#( thread three )

[ammoweave-blog]

there were few ways to combat one’s inner demons. keeping them at bay was easy but it came at the cost of health, of sanity, and of respect. though respect was something he had long since earned, thancred was still careful not to dampen his reputation nor soil it beyond belief. a good time was still very much a pleasure to be had, but it no longer eased into something fun and frantic. he was careful in slight ways, almost unnoticeable really. always alert even when alcohol stained the air a bitter scent. he had a guard now, an invisible wall which he kept for his mind’s sake, thus preventing any wandering masked demons to warp his mind once more.

upon the eve of one night, spiralian pleasures still yet to be fully revealed to him, thancred had wandered into one of the island’s more quiet drinking holes. it paired as a library as well as an inn-like establishment, not too far from the koi ponds but far enough that the music of the venue did not disturb the serenity of the fish. he was not in the business of drowning his sorrows, but rather sought a comfort which he felt he deserved. he had responsibilities now, ryne his ward and his intentions to leave spirale by extension must be safe enough for her presence at his side. 

“ something small, if you would barkeep. “ he gestured to the man behind the counter, who poured him a half-pint of bitter. it was a necessity to keep his wits about him, but he also found himself still craving that need for escape. thus the two moral differences waged war within him as he took a heart gulp. the venue was rather small, the walls lined with bookcases and the front entirely glass, passersby peering in and their eyes rolling across the gunbreaker’s figure. there had been a time when he would not have craved the solitude of drinking alone, instead flanked on either side by ul’dah’s hoard of scantily clad mistresses, alas so much had changed, hadn’t it? 

so instead he drank alone, rolling the latter half of his beer about the bottom of the glass, the noise about him muffled as he grappled with the weight of his current bout of problems.              ( *ﾟ— @sciocryptique

[thedyinggasp]

small waves lapped at the bay of the lake, whatever source of such a phenomena remaining unknown. no moon reflected upon the water’s clean surface but that was not to say it was devoid of light. small fires, erected flames upon tiny rafts, drifted from the hands that pushed them out across the water, before blinking as mere specks within the distance. prayers were sung. hands were held. yawn, yawn, yawn. how could one celebrate a life lived so short. his ears had overheard one man say the woman for whom his candle was lit had been at his side for a year. a year?! such a short moment, it was barely a passing thought when compared to --- sigh.

but the visitor continued to wander, weaving past the picnic-laden patches where people had set up their shrine of memory and loss. where people had congregated to celebrate something as frail as a mere handful of years distance. did they consider that true pain? was a year apart so heartbreaking that the world was but a hollow husk of a realm to such creatures? comprehending it seemed extraordinary! 

whilst so many had their heads hung in shame, one stood apart from the rest as he did himself. and thus did emet-selch wander further, eyes glancing across the sea of bowed heads and hands clasped together in prayer. he stood beside the stranger -- a woman, tall with a cape lightly waving at her hips. her gaze was not lost on him, her manner and stance as she stood so apart from the others not quite escaping his notice. it was his job to notice. to observe, after all. and then he spoke and it was soft, despite his usual bravado, though his typical flair was not at all lost in the moment.

“ for all of the trivial meanderings i have witnessed in my years, this has to be one of the most... dull. a waste of a candle, when one considers its better uses. but i cannot fault their attempt, i suppose. but i expect you disagree, perhaps? “  ( *ﾟSTARTER // @imcatholic [ FFXIV SPOILERS ]

[furyeyed]

@glacinium

it mattered not that the nightmares and daydreams were merely those, just fragments of a past that he wished so hard to disband and release him so that he may eventually live in some brand of inner peace. but the past had always been hard to shake, as if his heart was obsessed with it. perhaps it would always be so. but not everything from the past was painful. not all of it black and miserable, scarlet and sorrowful. some of it was ice white. some of it was almost good. 

he hadn’t been sure, at first, whether or not he was still dreaming. she was dead. estinien had laid garlands to rest in her honour, had spoken a silent prayer that she may only be damning the ears of fools in an unreachable plane. but she walked not as a spectre would float, but as a woman with purpose, as he had always known her to; back straight and keen eyes glancing about as if ready to rival all that she saw, question any mysteries and speak only her truth, plain and simple. in contrast, he remained private ever still. coping, you might say.

he followed her from a distance, up until they reached some part of the world where cherry blossoms fell like pink snowflakes. sentimental scenery did nothing for him, nor did it inspire any heart wrenching poetics within him. if it was indeed a scene for beauty, he knew he would stick out much more apparent than most. although this was a world of peace, it certainly seemed that way, he still donned the armour sharing her name, the striking blue so distant from the crimson-soaked shade she may remember him owning beforehand. the only other new item upon his person remained to be a gift, something he had been tempted to toss aside, but had taken it up to merely dump later. in truth, he had forgotten about it altogether. 

“ had i not spent so much of the night in quiet slumber, your presence would strike me as a foolish mirage at my own expense. “ he approached her, words the shield for he wondered whether he could take the truth of a second loss of her, an ally indeed but due to the course of her life’s end, such a meeting was so very precious, in many ways. were he merely dreaming, surely the truth of that would be ripe with its own sort of frustration. “ my lady, how can it be? “ were she so defiant in her demise that she repelled death itself? were she anything but herself, he might have called that a ridiculous notion. he daren’t mention his mourning of her.