#blessedlancer

[kustomhobbies]

#BLESSEDLANCER #mitsubishilancer #LANCERRALLIART #lancerralliartsportback #SPORTBACKTURBO #EVOXTURBO #CHURCHTINGZ #fuckcovid19🖕 (at Brantford, Ontario) https://www.instagram.com/p/B-C9NoJHATL/?igshid=bgza2z8oypl5

[cfncbility-blog]

     “princess azura, are you alright? you seem to be a bit more...      MELANCHOLIC today. has something been bothering you as      of late?”

// @blessedlancer.

[butlerbourne-blog]

@blessedlancer || your tea is ready.

         Jakob was out of his quarters, performing the nightly portion of his duties. Something seen to every day and night. Always works to be done: inside, outside, and around the territory of his master. It had to be done, and had to be seen to, and by whom? By him, of course. A perception intended to by his self-enforced belief behind his abilities as a butler. As the butler.

        But, that all said, he discovers himself astray of the path he’d set for himself. The night air cool, yes, but not distracting. No, what distracts him is the faintest sound of singing. A woman’s voice, a familiar one at that. Jakob needn’t guess at who it could’ve been, not when he already knew. Still, even then, he feels a budding surprise at towards his continued listening. Continued listening, as well as his approach towards the sound’s source, at which he discovers her.

      “ It’s a tad late to be astray of one’s quarters for all purposes            of... singing. Or, would you say otherwise, Lady Azura? ”

       Jakob speaks, but not until he catches Azura at the end of her song. Then, and only then, does he speak. Hand to his chin, his expression is the same as it almost always was: stern, teetering upon unfeeling. Yes, to many he offers a cold, hardened front of an expression. It was the only face he saw suitable to give them.

[grandschemed]

@blessedlancer

from faceless, the prince defends her without a second thought.  there’s no time for thinking - his blade cleaves through the well-weakened creature.  the blood roars in his head, dragon inside aching to be freed from its prison, but kamui does not let the beast get the best of him.  seemingly ignoring the dancer’s quiet gratitude, he encircles an arm around the small of her waist, pulling her near as he does a quick once-over to check for any immediate injuries. 

the blood-soaked cloth catches his attention and his silver brow furrows with desperate concern, his gloved hands tender against her form.  “you’re not hurt, are you!?” he breathes, his priorities made clear as if he cannot stand even the slightest injury towards her.  to him, it doesn’t matter if he does not know her well, but he knows it is to her who he owes a debt.  monsters can tear him limb from limb, but never her.

the prince take a hold of the torn fabric, red eyes searching hers.  “may i?” he requests, attention stolen by an approaching figure as he herds her behind him, his own wounds quickly forgotten.  “stay behind me.  let me keep you safe,” he murmurs under his breath, readying his blade.  “then you can thank me once this is through.”