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chromophage replied to your post “Do you play board games?”
Have you ever played Illimat? It's a card game with a gorgeous aesthetic, it seems like exactly your shit.
holy shit you are not wrong, going to check this out once i can. thanks for the rec!
A tiny bird landed on me this afternoon. Then flew into my house. Then came back out and landed on me again. I gave her a bowl of water, she looked thirsty. If she comes back tomorrow, I’ll take her picture.
Exalted -and- the Dear Hunter? My goodness, I may have the vapours. Don't forget that the Dear Hunter just put out Wait, too. I think it's my favourite from the new album, at least so far.
Yeah, Wait is incredible too. A Night On The Town though. All those lead ins, breakdowns, and melodies from Act 2 & 3.
I see you all the time on my friend's exalted posts, and today I see you on a completely unrelated Fallen London lore blog. You. You're good people, I can tell.
!!!!!
While out for a brief walk I saw a handful of big lipped baby blackbirds peeping loudly from their nest and I thought immediately, “I wish chromophage were here, she’d appreciate this.” Then their mom came back and threw up in their mouths and everyone was happy.
Hoarfrost.
It had been some time since he had made his way this far north. The caravans had stopped in the early autumn, and the sane travelers a few weeks therafter. D'arca glanced to one side, eyeing the elezen out of the corner of his eye. He supposed that neither of them could be declared 'sane' at the best of times. The chemical stench of Dhatura's-- Dorian's, he mentally corrected himself--hair dye still lingered on the air. The duskwight met his gaze with a chilled look fit to cut glass, and D'arca fixed his gaze on the road ahead instead.
The ground was frozen solid, and his chocobo was having a difficult time making headway in the knee-high drifts. Through the faint snowfall, he could vaguely make out the outline of the Observatorium. They were close.
He heard Dhatura curse behind him, swearing something in typical Ishgardian fashion under his breath. Turning his head a few ilms to look, he saw the man scrubbing furiously at his glasses.
"Trouble?" he asked, one ear orbiting back to point toward the man.
"Just the damn hoarfrost," the man muttered. "This long in the snow, even my lenses begin to freeze."
It was true. The reins around his hands were limned in the white-gray stuff, crackling with each minute adjustment. The Miqo'te reached a gloved hand up to dust the snow from his hair. He noted the ring of ice around the wrists.
"This place is a tomb." He barely caught the utterance under Dhatura's breath. His brow creased in a minute frown.
"We're nearly there now. You have our documentation, yes?"
"Of course."
D'arca nodded. "We should hold over in the Observatorium for the evening. No reason to risk a night blizzard on our ride north."
"Right. Remember to let me do the talking."
"D-.. D'arca. Lissen." Dhatura's face is ruddy. His eyes are glassy and he can't seem to keep entirely upright, but he endeavors to do so all the same. He plants scarred hands on either side of the Seeker's cheeks and his lips part into a terribly rare, terribly fragile, terribly genuine smile. He's been drinking very much. "-Lissen,-" he insists. "We gotsta-.. we are goin' ta -dance.-"
It's all that D'arca can do to keep the laughter inside of him as Dhatura stares at him with pleading, hammered solemnity. He swallows the chuckles, forcing his ears to perk forward. Things have been tense between he and the duskwight of late; this could be a chance to break some new ground and mend a bridge or two. His hands slowly rise to his cheeks, cupping around Dhatura's.
"Dhatura," he says in response, his voice deadly serious, "I agree. Lead the way."
Briefly, his mind flashes back to the last time the Elezen had been reduced to such a state, sloppily licking the Miqo'te's face with the same look of pure seriousness, without preamble or explanation. Or the time before that, when he had held D'arca close and upended a tankard of foul ale over the both of their faces, sputtering something about spiritual brothers as he had half-drowned himself.
D'arca had to hand it to the man. Never a dull moment.
"Are we doing this Ul'dah style? Or do you want to do the Manderville?"
