#alealueur

[themxtleycrew]

@alealueur

Citrinne sat in the café, a cup of tea to the side while she poured over some pieces of parchment on the table. The contents of each paper weighing heavily on her mind as she stared intently at them. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the familiar mix of blue and red, already she pushes back in her chair to rise to her feet. "Divine One, it is a pleasure to see you." She greets with a curtsey. "Are you here for breakfast as well? I can check to see who has kitchen duty this morning."

She moves to cover the parchment with her hand, put the paperwork away for later. But maybe having a second opinion from the Divine Dragon might help with her decision.

[maligns]

company (not sure for who but this might work better with Rosado? but do reply with any muse of yours and verse of mine if you have any particular ideas; write whatever you wish~)

meme     ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ♡     @alealueur id.  :  zelkov company .   silently  sit  with  my  muse  to  comfort  them.

He's *intimately* familiar with death and loss. It hangs around him, like the familiarity of a cloak, the contact of a warm hand pushing insistently at his shoulders and eyes filled with fire and fear, urging him to flee. He used to feel more present in those memories than in reality, but the Somniel has ... helped ground him some. Sometimes it is the simplicity of nature that has a way of curing ailments of the heart. Sitting under a vast canvas of stars, or watching the sky turning ripe pink at sunset can humble him -- *trivialize* his problems, in a way.

When he finds Alear sitting solemnly, staring out at the sky from the Lookout Ridge, he feels kinship. A force compels him to sit, to align his posture and gaze with Alear's. Maybe in doing so, they'll be able to understand each other a bit more, heal each other's pain by *anatomizing* it. He knows the events of the battle, this one in particular, has caused Alear much pain. Knows, too, that he cannot say anything that will detract from that concoction of blame, anger, regret. He merely sits, two *solitary* figures staring out as the sky darkens into night. He has time.

[pathofemblems]

✶ · ⊰ @alealueur ⊱ · sent (for pandreo)... While he had no idea how Pandero was able to properly see with his bangs the way they were, at least on a normal occasion, Alear was able to see both of his golden eyes through them. In this moment, though, he couldn't. Hopefully the priest didn't mind what he was about to do. Reaching over to pinch at the bright orange strands blocking his eye from view, he carefully moved them aside and attempted to tuck it behind his ear, ❝ Sorry for the breach in etiquette, but your hair was in the way. ❞ The second he had done what he meant to, the manakete quickly drew himself away, not wanting to invade Pandreo's personal space any more than he had already done.

Before them sat scripture, one Divine and one Fell. Despite being a man of cloth for the former, Pandreo took it upon himself to be well-versed in the religions of the world, even the ones opposed to revering dragons. Each book was filled with notes, passages underlined and heavy annotations in the margins (and there may have been a couple blood-spattered pages from a nosebleed, provided by Panette's accidental perfect aim with a snack, but that wasn't important). Pandreo was prepared to help Alear understand everything, to know why people revered them, what made them so special, and how even the Alear of the past was, to some, someone worthy of worship despite their ill intent. He'd been so deep in his explanation of ancient devotion, he hadn't noticed the shift in movement. ❝ While it's not really a thing these days, in centuries past it was believed that religious leaders could possibly become vessels for the Fe— ❞ At the simplest touch, his heart lurched for his throat and all words died on his tongue. What had he been talking about again? Where was he supposed to look? Why couldn't he breathe? Why did it feel as if his chest had suddenly burst into flames? As if his ribs were crushing down on his lungs? Why? Why did—why—why—w— ❝ No! I mean—no, it's okay… Really. ❞ Shaking, Pandreo's hands followed the path Alear's had taken, tucking and re-tucking his bangs so they wouldn't be a hindrance. Quickly, he took the tiny hair-tie from his wrist, bright blue and yellow and a gift from Timerra, and hastily pulled his hair back, even if it were just a tiny tuft. Though a simple touch might not have meant much to a dragon well past a thousand years of age, it was something Pandreo had only experienced during one of Panette's rare tender moments, wanting to be closer to family that had been missing for years. Golden gaze finally met the elder's mismatched one, hesitant and sheepish. ❝ I'm sorry I distracted you, Divine One. Truly. I'll remember next time we study to pull my hair back so you can focus properly, ha. ❞

[pathofemblems]

MIDNIGHT MASS STARTERS // ✶ · ⊰ @alealueur ⊱ · sent (for pandreo)... “Well, in the future, let me know if there’s an issue. That’s what I’m here for.”

❝ No, no. Please. It should be the other way around, Divine One! ❞ he immediately countered, still surprised that Alear, a god amongst men, wanted to help with something he thought was beneath divinity. Even if it was offered, Pandreo had no desire to impose in that way, never one to bear his troubles, no matter how trivial they may be. ❝ You have more than enough on your plate than to be worrying about me. ❞ Pandreo didn't want to come across as rude, denying such sincerity. He could never! But he'd most definitely turn it around instead. With everything going on around them, it wasn't a god's job to edify their followers, but the other way around. Placing a hand on his chest, the priest bowed his head forward in respect. ❝ But I'm more than willing to lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on if you ever need it. It might not mean much, coming from a lowly cleric like myself, but the offer's always there. ❞

[grisshound]

@alealueur said: ❛ you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜

for the damaged / not accepting

“Why not? Worried I might  slip and fall?” He says it from his precarious perch on the very edge of this floating rock of an island, Som-whatever. One leg hangs off the edge completely, with the other knee tucked against his chest at an angle that makes a perfect rest for his arm.

He’s always been one to skulk in the shadows, and that includes nighttime well beyond the witching hour. The Divine One (honestly, Griss doesn't remember his actual name) ought to know that well after their  last battle.  He tilts his head to glance up, but doesn’t bother to stand. Divine this guy may be, he’s certainly not  Griss’s god, so he shows him the appropriate respect—which is none.  

“Or maybe you think I should be kept on a leash. Can’t trust me, that it?  —hey, I get it.”  And, if only to sow some playful paranoia: “I wouldn’t trust me, either. Could be up to all sorts of  naughty plots.”