#indu1ge

[rotfire]

closed     starter     for     ;    diya    &     sylvain [    @indu1ge  ] place        ;    outside   the   caldrithen hospital   ward

Diya  can  feel  her  eyes  burning,  and  a  small layer  of  ash  still  clings  to  the  bronze  of  her  skin,  the  path  darkened  where  her  salted  tears  had carved  their way down towards the  sharp  jut  of  her  jaw.  Slowly,  her  gaze  shifts to  the  edge  of  the  door  as if a tethered string had guided her there, and  it  catches  her  like an arrow,  mid air and mid breath, held  only by  the  contours  of  Sylvain’s  face.  Her  eyes  widen  momentarily,  and  her  spine  lengthens  for  a  fleeting  second  as  his  form  had come  to  her vision. The  relief  is sweet as her breath escapes  the  smog  licked  hollows  of  her  lungs.  Diya  leans  forward,  as  if  proximity  alone  could  anchor  her  to  his  retreating  back. It  takes  her  another  fifteen  minutes  before  she  can  peal  herself  away  from  her  brother's sleeping form.  But  her  footfalls  are  slow  as  each  of  her  steps  bring  back  a  forgotten  life  in  her  limbs. 

There  he  is.  Her  eyes, once  warm  and  gentle, were  now  inflamed  with  carmine  veins,  the  swollen  lids  stinging  with  a  lasting  burn.  Diya  comes  to  stop  behind  him,  her  breath  shaking  as  she  breathes  in  to  speak. " I'm  glad  you  made  it  out  unscathed.  I  worried  for  you. "  Her  hands  wring.  Fingertips  tightening  and  unfastening, the  skin  only paling  beneath  the  pressure before her relief takes over,  and so she stretches  out  her  arms, gliding  them  over  the  width  of  his  shoulders,  her eyes caressing every limb   so  she  could  make  sure  that  no  fire  had kissed  him.  Slowly,  she   steps  back, and her  arms fall from his frame again.

Fatigue settled heavily within as sleep only eluded her. There’s concern  edging  her  brows, drifting over to  the  careful tone  of  her  lilt,  the  words  leave  the  space  of  her  mouth  almost  tentatively.  " I  heard  about  your  cousin   how  she  was  burned. "  Diya  shrinks  when  she  says  the  word,  her  heart  eating  itself.  Her  hands  wring  again  as  she  blinks,  inhaling  deeply,  free  from  any  smoke.  "    How  is  she  recovering? "

[sitzmarks]

closed starter for: isolde kelindorr & sylvain kelindorr || @indu1ge place: the quarter’s assigned to house kelindorr

Blue eyes focus on the teacup before, a finger tracing around the rim as lips are pressed thoughtfully. There is much that remains uncertain, now that they have arrived at Celembron. The danger has passed, for now, but considering this is the second such tragic occurrence that has happened in a few months, Isolde now doubts that it will be the last. Which brings forth a greater concern of ensuring her family’s safety. Changing her finger’s path so that she can grip the cup’s handle, she brings it to her lips and takes a delicate sip as she keeps considering her options. Isolde is only distracted from her musings once she hears the door to the wing the Kelindorr family was given open. 

Glancing up, she sends her cousin a wan smile. 

“Sylvain, it is good to see you,” she says, voice tired yet warm as she sees her cousin and gestures for him to join her at the table. “Please do join me, I have not had time to discuss the events of the night of the fire with you yet, and I would like to ask about how you fared.”

[decthless]

closed starter for @indu1ge

There's something insidious about this kind of beauty, the way he carries himself, like a barely humanoid thing, fluttering across the blue tinged gardens like a moth chasing after wisps of light, like he could float, like his feet hover just above ground as gravity itself could not hope to tether him. Pale moonlight sits in a halo atop the pale crown of his head, sanctifying, and like a winter river, the hair cascades the delicately sculpted arch of his shoulders onto the small table, blending into the silk of his gown.

The little nymph-like creature waves a finger at her, beckoning with a sheepish smile and heavy-lidded eyes, the rind of docility lining his mouth offering a danger of its own. "Lady Miharu, Lady Miharu," he coos too sweetly, sing-songy, almost cloying, like a child nagging for attention—and once he has what he wants, he softens. "Lady Miharu, I hear you're so very wise," he’s rearranging an array of tea sets, carefully, tactfully, with hands too soft to have ever yielded a sword, to have ever yielded anything rough or heavy, mindful of the fine porcelain, fabricating reasons to hold her attention hostage. "I had the most unpleasant disagreement with a friend earlier... surely, you of all people would able to enlighten me," his gaze drops to the cup, a plume of white-ash smoke curling against his rosy cheeks as he runs his finger idly along the rim. "I think most behaviors could be excusable if you’re bored enough... boredom is a torture method, after all. It's why no live organism can exist sanely under prolonged conditions of complete isolation," he peers up at her through gauzy lashes, all doe eyes and curiosity. "What do you think?"

[sitzmarks]

closed starter for: nayara kaelvorn & ran solkarith || @indu1ge place: a servant passageway near the sacred room within kal’there coven, time: as the seren & cian snooping thread is happening

Nayara had been careful enough to memorize some of the guards rotation within a few days of arriving at the Kal’thera Coven, and she is now grateful for the fact. Lingering on one of the servant passageways near the sacred room of the coven, she taps her finger carefully against her side and keeps a mental hold of her mental clock as if to ensure the time does not slip away from her as she observes Seren trying and failing to pick the lock. Part of her is tempted to go help her, if only because she is internally cringing at her attempts, but a smarter part tells her that keeping watch is key if she wants to pull her into one of the secret hallways if the guard rotation moment approaches. They still have some time, at least, but she can’t quite relax. Lips pursed thoughtfully, she keeps lookout through a hidden opening on the wall, her eyes flickering from Seren to the main hallway out of the area.

She is focused on her task, so she almost does not notice the noise of steps. They are quiet, but not the sword of quiet meant for servants that are not meant to be seen or heard. It’s the sort of quiet trained fighters carry. Freezing in place for a moment, she glances away from her peephole and winces when she notices a shadow approaching from the hallways bending angles. It’s too late to move, so she quickly arranges herself, hands behind her back, head tilted down just enough to have her hair hide some of her features. That, combined with the servant clothes she had borrowed from one of theirs should be enough to distract and avoid identification.

Or it would have been, if once the stranger approached, she had not dared a quick glance up to see them.

“Lord Solkarith?” She asks, perplexed at the recognition that burst forth at the glance.