#ecaradis

[operaghcst]

@ecaradis​ ︱ s.c.

“That cannot be fixed. Do you mean to heal the unhealable? Do you mean to mend a corpse back together? It cannot be done.”

[crimesplit]

     The blizzard of this reality howls and rages, blinding any unfortunate soul (a human soul, he muses to himself, as wretched Yaga have (been) adapted to this nature’s torment and he — and all of them — is unaffected by this deathly cold) — and if not, the snowflakes prickle the skin (and it tingles, annoyingly so; it will redden later, giving his face an unnatural flush) and obstruct the vision, forcing anyone to shield their eyes.

     It does not bother Dostoevsky, though.

     He is perched on an ancient log (oh, but has it not become ice already? The surface is cold and slippery to the touch instead of a mushy rotten garbage the wood becomes), slouching, with a pose of a diligent student: knees together, hands resting on them intertwined with each other; it looks so stiff and uncomfortable that some shudder at a simple thought of spending mere minutes in it. The freezing gusts toy with his coat and loose hair hanging from under his hat (isn’t it a wonder how it stays on his head? Truly, a miracle of sorts — but the fur is riddled with snowflakes), and yet his gaze seems focused on a certain someone — after all, he is not alone in his hell he always called home.

     She is a nurse in that place called Chaldea (in that place that was called Chaldea, for it no longer exists: amusing, oh, how amusing it was to hear all about it — he almost wishes he had been there to watch the remnants scurry in desperation, just like rats from a sinking ship) and while they may have had encounters (or, rather, he has seen her around — she has not, not yet; he made sure to be out of her sight — who needs constant lectures about posture?), being left alone with her, a Berserker — even if she sounded sane, —  is nothing short of God’s will.

     “Miss Nightingale, what do you think about snow?” The question is muffled by the raging blizzard, but it still reaches her — it should reach her in clarity; Dostoevsky leans forward and carefully scoops some snow (it is fresh, loose and even fluffy; it prickles the skin so pleasantly and it melts a tiny bit under his rather artificial heat) and presses it together, before starting to mold and polish it with bare hands — after all, he is a Servant, and he does not need gloves.

                    @ecaradis​

[gallowking]

ecaradis replied to your post: Knowing that Sanson had befriended Romani to the...

iirc the medical info is broken up into parts w/ sanson, nightingale, and da vinci holding the records. it’s not that roman doesn’t trust the others, just that sanson is one person he does trust! it’s good sanson is getting development tho!

I like that even more! You can tell I don’t know much about this portion because I need translations LMAO... but yes! I like the team work Romani created, I can appreciate a good connection between servants because this is pretty much what they need! 

[ofviper-moved]

ecaradis replied to your post:

DON’T DO THOSE THINGS IN THE FIRST PLACE.

                   “i wouldn’t dare participate in public indecency, perhaps you should check on some other servants.”

[ofviper-moved]

@ecaradis said: ❝ —Were you popular among your people? Ah, perhaps that is the wrong question. I do not know much about you or your rule, Miss Semiramis, and many people in Chaldea do not talk about it. So I want to know, would you rather be known as someone loved by many or feared by many? ❞ ⤷ unprompted.

                   “IF I WAS POPULAR ? you meant to ask if my people liked me as their regent ?” head rests upon palm, a quirk of lips the only indication of amusement playing on her visage. “ some were quite against my reign after i had taken king ninus’ life, but those were silenced soon enough by my trusted servants. my people prospered under my rule, my kingdom expanded—” 

there's a glow in her eyes, glinting with past memories, hinting at the poison swirling in her body at the next question. the greed that drove her forward, to take everything, and all. their rule; their kingdoms; their lives were nothing compared to hers, she had shown them all just what she had been capable of, had dragged them to their ruins and let them fall. a weak empress wasn't what the people needed, someone swayed by fears and sweet words. oh, no. semiramis enjoyed it when her enemies cowered with fear, fought for their lives until even they saw that it was all futile. no. without that fear she wouldn't have restored assyria to it's former glory, without fear she would've fallen much sooner. "fear. it does not do well not to be feared, or was that not the answer you sought for ?" 

[verfurdc]

@ecaradis​ :   “ don’t walk away when i’m talking to you ” //  starters  /  prompts taken from various characters starring in the game   fire emblem : three houses .

         “I apologize Miss Nightingale, you were just talking… too much, and there is a task we must take care of first” the assassin spoke with a calm tone of voice as she stopped on her tracks to look back at her. Perhaps it had been a fool choice of her to ask Nightingale a question related to injuries, after all, the nurse did know a lot and was certainly not shy to share that with the other.

Releasing a small short sigh, Carmilla looked back once more at Nightingale before proceeding with her walk;

“After we finish this troublesome task, I’ll gladly listen to your talk”