#aretiacs

[cleocentricism]

[ text: freckles ] hey guess what

[ text: freckles ] u forgot ur scarf on the couch

[ text: freckles ] u better come claim responsibility for this. i already have a child i aint ready 4 this kind of commitment 

[cleocentricism]

aretiacs and i have a thread wherein petra is the cutest elf mage in the world and auruo is a stupid templar with the dumbest haircut in the world aiyaaaaa 

[cleocentricism]

     >> he was a man without a say in his own destiny, and his world had groomed him for such a notion. he was no different from the swarms of unfortunates he saw day in and day out, struggling ineffectually against the great tide of misfortune that had befallen his land. he was not without his advantages, however -- Auruo Bossard had been born human, at least. In his infancy, he had the fortune of being found by the Chantry, where he would be fed and clothed, saved from the slow death of starvation, or the hardly preferable option of encountering Dark Spawn upon the quickly emptying roads of Ferelden. 

     >> Chantry-raised though he was, he had grown up skeptical and bitter. the Reverend Mother seemed to take a kind of pleasure in reminding him that his first words to her had been " Why? " after a few years, however, he'd learned to ask less questions. it wasn't difficult to accept the call to become a Templar. his talents were singular, after all: he was very good at hitting things. with the proper training, he would master hitting things, and he would do it in the service of Andraste, of whom he cared not, with skill and vigor and the promise of pay and food and soft blankets in the back of his mind.

     >> one could not argue that Auruo wasn't talented, but he was new and wet behind the ears, and so, as all things progressed without his explicit consent, he was informed that he would be sent to The Circle, to oversee mages. mages...who were eerie, who were his apparent mortal enemies, who caused all sorts of trouble, or so he was told time and time again. he didn't like the idea, but what choice did a fiery young orphan have in the face of the organization that had raised him and groomed him?

     >> and so he travelled, outfitted in heavy armor and packed in a carriage with his comrades, none of whom he could claim to particularly like, disagreeable urchin that he was. he travelled in foul spirits, and they grew fouler with every step toward the brooding Circle Tower, a creepy affront on the otherwise pleasant scenery. the Templars were packed in small dinghys and shipped across a wide lake toward the tower -- as they sailed creakingly across the moonlit surface, Auruo brooded, dipping his fingers in the cool water and wondering if the rumors he had heard about mages were true. did they truly turn into monsters at a moment's notice? did they experiment on each other? and worst of all, blood magic...

     >> despite his worrying, he arrived eventually, scowling and shuffling amongst the others. the Tower was as dark and gloomy as he had expected, but the head mage, a fellow named Irving, had at least been a kind sort of old bastard -- even if the mages flanking him seemed wary, disgusted, even, regarding the presence of his company. Templars who had held the post for far longer stepped up to offer a few words of welcome: mages had the potential to be incredibly dangerous, don't screw up, don't be a hero, rely on your fellow Templars....

     >> it was nothing he hadn't heard before, but being in the presence of so many robed individuals, human and elven, was a new experience to be sure. he scanned the fast-growing welcoming party, standing awkwardly and wondering when he'd be able to break away to take a piss. in the gloom, he noticed a pretty face, framed by bright red hair, and dotted with freckles.

     >> in that moment, ridiculously, he decided that looking at her would be a welcomed respite. 

[cleocentricism]

Auruo and Petra Get High. That's It That's the Title.

     ✯ ┅her carpet is fucking impeccable; her taste, bordering on neurotic. in fact, the place looks kind of like a catalogue spread, although you won't deny it's a pretty catalogue spread; everything artfully positioned in the most aesthetically pleasing way you think anyone could muster. your own sense of interior decoration is pretty tasteless, but you're -- dare you say it -- impressed that she's managed to turn such a small space into something reminiscent of a penthouse hotel suite you stayed in over spring break two years ago. 

     a subtle sort of flowery scent pervades, gentler than a hotel room. kind of like tea, or maybe whatever she uses to wash her hair. but maybe, just maybe, it's the incense she insists on re-lighting before you spark up the bowl, lighter hovering impatiently. frankly, you should've expected this behavior -- scurrying around busily, making useless preparations.

     "For fuck's sake, baby, we're smokin' weed, not plannin' a goddamn housewarming party...!" you complain to her back as she darts across the apartment with a kitchen lighter clutched in one hand. paranoid already and she hasn't so much as inhaled a breath.

[ruhigenein-blog]

He jerks forward, immediately righting the toppled mug. It's too late, steaming liquid already spilled atop the skin. 

"I-I am so sorry!"

[cleocentricism]

     ✯ ┅you're going to get grass stains on the ass of your pants again, and the thought makes you all the more cross, although you know the tragically-hued denim has been sullied by far worse than blades of grass.

     you sit far enough away from the lonely, cavernous old castle you call HQ that you can't smell the cooking or the burning wood anymore -- which is probably for the best, since you know she'll be helping out. annoying busybody; poking her nose into things, offering unwanted opinions... putting up with your bullshit.

     the flower stem is smooth but sturdy between your fingers. it's a pretty one, which is why you decided to sit here -- not that you have any idea what kind of flower it is. not that you care... but flowers, for whatever reason, are generally regarded as a gesture of good will when given as a gift, and you figure it's better than slinking back to her empty-handed.

     you pluck it from the ground. "Sorry." maybe if Petra doesn't spew fire in your face she'll have enough composure to stick it in a jar of water. 

[ruhigenein-blog]

Why must his family fight so

[militislibertas-blog]

Totally watching and listening to their fight, extremely amused even though they're loud.