#decthless

[wanshangs]

location : white oak grounds , vallarion ⏲ sardonyx  moon from : nuwa lian , liege of perrelor keep to : nuwa sheng , lord of perrelor keep [ @decthless ]

a mere moth to a flame, knowing the ache that will come, yet still unable to move away. from the corner of his eyes, watching, yet pretending not to see. a curiosity that never leaves. an itch that he can never scratch. a wound that has not scabbed over, for often he picks at the scars. during all of this inner turmoil, if one were to ask lian how the festivities are going ( barring the tragedy that has occurred ) he'd clap his hands and give them one of his signature smiles. start a conversation about how lovely vallarion is, how kind and welcoming the ruling family has been — how he has heard again and again in his travels the beauty of this land, yet how difficult it is to actually walk these grounds. have you ever seen such a gorgeous shade of orange? isn't the air warmer than usual in this city? the topic would change within the blink of an eye, and he would no longer need to think about things that hurt to think about. one's mind is not as easy to distract as a stranger's, and it takes only so long before he cannot fight the magnetic pull of curiosity, of knowing his brother is within reach, and yes choses to stay away. always making the same choice. never attempting to breach the gap between them, no matter how much lian used to try. a few strides that always felt like worlds in between. a door between two realities. lian won't try anymore. it is of no use. he gave up years ago on trying to make amends, yet there is still a lot to be said, even without amends. as compulsive as he always has been, he decides there is no need to talk to him until the split second he changes his mind — seeing those familiar robes, he is brought back to memories of their home, the smell of trees, something lost, something that may never be found again. his feet move before he can stop them. his shoes are quiet against the warm soil, yet he doesn't assume he will surprise sheng; the older has always been the better fighter out of the two. "diànxià —" the word is heavy in his throat, feels like gravel in his mouth, carefully chosen. he does not call sheng gege anymore, haven't for a while, not when he decided he does not want to be brothers. and if that is dramatic to utter out loud, lian would say they would need to talk properly in the first place to fix things, which they rarely do. once the title is out, it feels difficult to find the right words. jumping into the water, yet not knowing how to swim, another one of lian's moments of carelessness. nonetheless, he pushes on with brute force, questions fall after another. it feels less difficult, knowing that they stand next to each other. not eye to eye. "do you have time? i am curious... about what your highness thinks of this ritual." a pause, before he has to clarify he has been asking this to everyone around him ( he has not ). "i have been asking around."

[wanshangs]

location : nuwa chambers ⏲ the forgotten  world from : nuwa lian , liege of greenspire to : nuwa sheng , lord of perrelor keep [ @decthless ]

while the seeds of suspicion were planted long before their arrival in elaris keep, the news that followed only made it grow faster. the uneasy feeling in the youngest nuwa grew, taking more and more place within his lungs, threatening to break through his ribs. before hearing about the death of the ruling lady, before knowing the name that had been on the list, there was much to be happy about, it was easy to ignore the nagging feeling. for once in what felt like decades, their relationship had felt lighter, in the wake of their spar and matching bruises that ached, yet left them laughing as if they were young again. then, the glee of being able to leave braxigar had come, and made any speculations unimportant. but now, as the young nuwa paces around in their room, waiting for the elder to come out, he is left with a feeling he cannot begin to describe. within his grasp, there are pieces of a puzzle that do not fit one another. whispers that were barely heard, sheng ushering people out of rooms, something happening at the corner of lian's eyes, yet never fully visible. by all rational capacities, it's paranoia. another manifestation of his fear of being left out- of being abandoned, this time in knowledge, not in presence. he could very well ignore this, add it to his list of shortcomings, yet he is nothing if not impulsive, and it only tends to get worse when his emotions run amok. once the other is within grasp, lian walks quickly up to him, expression serious, hiding the distress underneath. "sheng." lian starts, and the words threaten to burst out of him, after having been ricocheting inside his skull for too long - at least by his own standards. "i need to talk to you." a pause to take a deep breath. "back in vallarion, do you remember you told me to come to you when i feel if something is amiss? if anything feels wrong?" another step forward, crimson hues meeting those that should be familiar. lian doesn't know if they are. "i think something's wrong." the pin drops. "and you are keeping it from me."

[wanshangs]

location : chae chambers ⏲ the forgotten  world from : chae haneul , liege of greenspire to : chae baeksa , lord of greenspire [ @decthless ]

dark robes hang across wide shoulders, draping across the sofa, ends of the fabric reaching the floor. haneul sits near one of the arms, legs crossed over one another; a book lies across their lap, a hand idly playing with the corner of a page. their attention is not fully there, yet there is somewhat of an attempt to take in the information at their fingertips. another book about heliophra and its nature, something they know they should know more about, but there are many thoughts that cloud their mind to focus. one particular thought stands at the center of it, one shaped in the form of their young brother, and they wait until the younger is done preparing, settling in, dressing up — before entering the main room. "baeksa." they start, before they look up, words flat, void of any embellishment. their finger on the book pauses its movements, and closes the book shut. only then they look up, eyes dark, searching. there is an answer they await, something they wish would come unprompted. but as it stands, through the long journey that was made and in the month before, not spoken into the space between them. they know it to be foolish to assume it will come now, after all this time, yet they give the younger another opportunity to talk to them, before they do. "now that all hollows have reunited..." a tilt of their head, eyes focused on the younger, taking in their reaction. "anything you wish to talk about?"

[sitzmarks]

closed starter for: nayara kaelvorn & baeksa chae || @decthless place: a random hallway near celembron’s hospital ward (yes the same as the lathander thread) time: right after the lathander & nayara thread

Reactions driven by pure emotion are natural, yet for Nayara who prefers to be in control of herself, they are extremely frustrating. Wiping away the tears does nothing if they keep falling, the hurt of having a secret that was supposed to be guarded with fervor wielded against her with intent to harm lingering in her chest even as her mind races ahead. She knows she will have to tell Lenore of the confrontation, but considering Lathander’s stellar reputation she worries her sister will still see advantages courting his favor after what they witnessed during the ritual. The sort of power exhibited— It is priceless. And frustratingly, the heir of Tethalune might have the only answers available, now that the White Oak had gone up in flames. 

She is considering how to convince Lenore that Seraphyna is a much better point of contact if they need anyone from House Tethalune, when she hears footsteps. A small part of her freezes, the realization that she is still crying hitting as she turns to meet the steps, but she has been trained in the niceties of courts, so even with the tears streaming down her face she curtsies and offers the interloper the best smile she can at the moment. It’s not much. 

“My apologies, I did not think anyone else would come this way,” she admits, raising a hand to wipe at her tears once more. “Please don’t mind me.”

[indu1ge]

𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊.  the  library  of  celembron  castle,  a  habitat  most  unnatural. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓.  @decthless's  nuwa  sheng,  measuring  stick  and  bludgeon.

“  you're  staring.  ”  he's  still  looking  at  the  page  ⸻  not  at  all  reading;  he  gave  up  on  that  ages  ago  ⸻  but  ran  knows  it's  true.  a  sixth  sense  honed  over  a  lifetime,  some  lingering  prey  instinct  that  doesn't  so  much  make  his  hair  stand  on  end  as  it  does  his  nose  wrinkle  in  agitation.  as  a  man  of  action,  all  this  skulking  has  never  agreed  with  him.  braxigar's  brood  may  be  best  suited  for  the  dark,  but  that  does  not  mean  they're  all  bristles  of  the  same  brush.  ran  is  singular.  that's  why  he's  here  all  alone  ⸻  doing…  nothing  at  all,  really.  stacking  books  around  him  in  a  cramped,  highly  flammable  fort,  split  between  categories  of  interesting  and  boring  and  incomprehensible.  all  arbitrary  designations,  naturally;  he  can't  recall  a  single  word  his  eyes  glazed  over  in  the  last  few  hours.  ran  can't  even  say  it  fills  some  sort  of  void,  chiefly  because  it  would  require  acknowledging  some  kind  of  emptiness  to  begin  with.  but  it's  better  than  sitting  with  his  thoughts.  perhaps  he  figured  the  thoughts  of  others  might  be  more  comforting.

only  ⸻  he  can't  do  much  whilst  being  watched.  it's  like  his  body  won't  let  him  do  more  than  snap  like  a  dog  protecting  its  territory.  perhaps  house  caldrithen  would  like  to  partake  in  his  services  next,  seeing  as  his  current  post  is  in  flux.  a  craned  neck  precedes  furrowed  brows,  a  clicked  tongue  punctuating  the  glare.  ran  flicks  a  few  tomes  off  of  one  tower,  making  them  crash  to  the  ground,  so  he  doesn't  have  to  hold  that  stupid  pose  for  much  longer.  he  does  not  like  staring  into  dark  mirrors.  “  what  do  you  want.  ”  not  a  question  posed,  his  voice  is  the  broad  side  of  a  juggled  dagger.  “  surely  one  has  better  things  to  do  than  prove  a  nuisance.  ”  ran's  quite  fortunate  that  no  one  else  is  around  to  challenge  his  hypocrisy.

[wanshangs]

location : chae chambers , celembron ⏲ sardonyx  aftermath from : chae haneul , liege of greenspire to : chae baeksa , lord of greenspire [ @decthless ]

in tumultuous times like these, it takes more effort to keep the other side of themself calm. it yearns to be out in the woods, with the rest of its kind, free from the shackles of fate and chaos they are currently bound to. it wishes to feel the wind on their face, for their feet to dig into the soil, to climb trees, and trek across the vast darkness of the forest that feels like home. the very same instinct yearns to curl around the kid that is their brother and be home in morkhul, where they are the most powerful, on familiar terrain, able to take over the world. now, every step must be calculated, every word spoken with gravity. no one knows why the fire started, who was behind it, or why it happened in the first place. and if there is something they hate, it's the unknown, preparing for something they cannot grasp. that does not mean they will not try to flip the script, yet they are also aware of their chances of success. that's where two parts of them cannot settle on an answer. they know how fickle baeksa' interest can be, how quickly they get bored, yet there is a certain relief and power in knowing where the younger is. once baeksa begins to rouse from his slumber, haneul slowly sits next to him on the bed, expression calm as they watch recollection settle into his features. "good morning, baek-ah." it's almost afternoon, yet they do not say it pointedly. a hand settles on top of the sheets next to him, able to be reached if the younger wishes. "eat something. it's getting late." their other hand gestures to the tray that was served earlier, plates full of food.

[sitzmarks]

closed starter for: theano eluwe & sheng nuwa || @decthless place: a private tea room time: a few hours into the feast

Societal convention is quite the fun trap to deploy whenever she feels like it. It is a particularly clever move to ensure a conversation happens when one of the parties has been spooked by the other, for one cannot turn down an invitation for tea politely. Especially not after how their last encounter ended. Lord Nuwa would have to accept the invitation, if only to ensure that he does not owe Theano anything by his social faux paus. Not that she is holding it over his head for any longer than it takes him to accept the invitation. There is no political advantage of doing so with someone from Braxigar, unless they are the Garramoth heir with all of his current political power. Instead, she will play the part of the forgiving and benevolent lady from the land of the sun as to leave a warm impression upon a man that has lived his life in the cold of Braxigar. If she repeats such actions, it is possible that over time Lord Sheng will grow to associate her with warmth until it is all he craves. Then, she can use such craving to her advantage.

To reinforce that impression of warmth, she had asked her servants to prepare some foodstuffs along with the tea. Nothing overtly much, for she had filled herself while talking to Hiran, but enough so that whatever hunger Lord Sheng may feel may be dulled by it. Some cheeses, honey, fruits, and breads, as well as some dried meats, lay spread before them. There are some dainty little pastries as well, in case Lord Sheng is more partial to sweetness. The tea table is carefully set, each of the objects placed upon it calculated with thought to ensure it did not seem calculated at all. Just some food offered in the comfort of privacy, for Theano doubts that Lord Sheng is the sort to find himself at home among the crowds. Which will also likely mean that the thought of eating is likely not a priority for him that night. 

She is taking a dainty sip of her tea— teacup held with her non-dominant hand to avoid straining —, when she hears the knock of the door. 

“Do come in,” she calls, voice loud and warm as one of her servants opens the door for her to allow Lord Nuwa to step inside. Carefully setting her cup down, she stands and offers him a bow of greeting, before taking a seat once more. “I have taken the liberty to ask for a snack, as the grand hall is a bit too loud to concentrate on eating at this time. Please, partake in both drink and food.”

Once more, she picks up her cup with a non-dominant hand and takes another sip. 

“I am very glad you accepted my invitation,” she says kindly, a bright smile spreading through her lips. “Thank you, for I was rather looking forward to resuming our last conversation.”