Doing the IC thing for Veri last night crystallized some things for me.
1) I miss playing my cinnamon roll way way too much.
2) I miss being in an RP guild where I had a wide variety of IC interactions and my characters had a definable ‘purpose’ (even if, in Keia’s case, it was just to fuck things up).
3) ICly, Veriinya is a vanilla fighter, but I’ve never been able to get really excited about warriors, so I played her as a paladin for 2 years. I’m leaning strongly toward changing my monk to be Veri. (The monk has always been a secondary representation of Keia, to represent her scrappy fighting style, but now that Survival is melee I got that covered)
I love the folks of the guild I’m in, but they’ve all moved to Final Fantasy (Which I understand- I just can’t get into the game myself), so I’ll discuss with Ark and when the dust settles in the real world (we have A LOT going on over the next two weeks), I’ll maybe start hunting.
So if you have a great IC guild of chums that like doing stuff together (even if it’s just playing scrabble or IC chatting, does not have to be Grand Epic storytelling!), let me know. Huge bonuses if it’s a Draenei-focused group!
While we truddled down to the US to pick up a package, @draenei-harbingerand I discussed the state of RP and my current writing blockage.
When I had to let go of a very close friendship last year, I had a really hard time keeping up my enjoyment and desire to RP my draenei; so much was wrapped up in that friendship. We plotted together, we discussed stuff OOCly, our characters were close ICly... it was literally like having all the wind removed from my sails and I’ve been sitting in the calm ever since.
In our discussions, Ark suggested that maybe it was time to look at the characters and rethink some of the history I had done for them. Neither of us are big fans of retcons- it can easily get to the point where story development is meaningless because there’s no sense of permanence.
But at the same time, my sense of direction and purpose has been gone for over a year, and it’s entirely possible that rewriting things a bit can rejuvenate my enjoyment and desire to play these characters and write for them again.
I doubt I will go into much detail on Tumblr; the changes won’t impact anyone but myself, Ark and one other, and I’d rather discuss them out of the public eye.
But I am tentatively hopeful that I can begin to write for my Draenei again. I loved them very much and miss them dearly.
☘ : Does your muse believe in luck? How about fate?
Glass clinked as she moved, clattering as the bottle rolled into an untidy pile of others just like it. Keialaar leaned down to peer into the mirror, ignoring the pallid, grey tone to her complexion. It had been nearly a year. A year since she put Cherynaa in his arms, a year since she had felt the reassuring brush of his tail against hers.
When she and Arkturas had first begun courting, she had waited for the other stone to drop; she had firmly believed she was fated to chase love and never catch it. For four years, they had been happy. Things had been rough here and there, but he loved her and she hadn’t been foolish enough to question it too closely. And now, he was gone.
It had taken time; too much time - to track things down. Friends had helped, of course, but in her mind, they had begun to look at her with a sort of sympathy. The kind you reserved for those that were lost in grief, that couldn’t let go. She’d given that sort of look herself, many times over the millennia.
Fuck. That. Baring her fangs at her reflection, she straightened, shifting the heavy quiver on her back. Fate and luck may be stacked against her, but she wasn’t letting go. Not this time. She would bring them home... or die in the attempt.
On the streets of Dalaran, her hand lifted to shade her eyes as she turned to the one place - the one person - that might help her. Hooves rang a sharp, staccato beat as she strode toward the mage tower. Khadgar was reputed to aid adventurers. If he was unwilling... A hitch of her shoulder brought the heavy crossbow into a position where it could be drawn quickly. She had ways of motivating people. Even mages.
16. Who would be able to spend centuries in misery waiting for the other to be reborn.
It wasn’t that they would be miserable years. They would simply be years; centuries - perhaps an epoch until the being known as Zigor Itzal would walk through a crowded market with a brilliant ribbon of red streaming from the hilt of a falchion. There, he knew the exact moment when a slender hand would reach for the scarlet banner and he would feel her again.
After all, Zigor Itzal had completed this loop 39,151 times. At the end, he and his counterpart would look at each other, nod, and return to the beginning of the loop to ensure it remained stable.
Zubeida would continue on outside of that loop to provide the world with the history it nearly lost.
Pairing of your choice! “I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
“... you know, as silly as it sounds.”
“I appreciate the sentiment Khaanir, but we had a contract, it was fulfilled and now it’s over.”
She placed her things in a weather and worn leather bag, tightening the draw string before tying it off, before she moved on to something else to pack. Khaanir watched from the entrance way into the tent that most of, if not all, of the researchers were sharing here in Silithus. Crossed arms unfolded as the warrior rubbed the back of his head, trying to think of a way to put this.
“Yeah, I mean technically your right... But, like... I guess, I thought....”
Viv sighed, closing the suitcase like container before turning to Khaanir. “Thought what?” she asked, brow raised curiously. “That there would be something more? Some fairy tale adventure? A whirl wind romance that leads to a confession of love? The helpless mage falls for the strong, muscled warrior. Is that what you mean?”
Khaanir blushed and was visibly flustered. “Come on Viv, you know that’s not it. I know you aren’t helpless at all, I just...”
The Archon sighed as she rubbed her face. “My research is vital Khaanir, all my focus is on my work and the Order as a whole. I cannot be running around having “adventures” while there is work to be done.” she folded her arms, leaning heavily on her right leg. While it had been a while, her left leg still wasn’t one hundred percent healed and probably never will be.
“That- ung, that’s not my point Viv. I’m not looking for a romantic affair...” which was a lie. “... I just... I, liked being with you.”
It was Vivaaldi’s turn to blush, though she hid it well thanks to some unwanted sun that burnt her cheeks a dark-ish hue of blue.
“Yeah we had our sordid affairs in the bedroom, but you just don’t get that I just like being with you.” Khaanir sighed as he slowly approached the mage. “This isn’t about a contract, hell there doesn’t have to be a contract made up for me to just be by your side.” he rested his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes.
“Because as far as I’m concerned, wherever you go, I want to be there too.”
A moment passed, one where Viv swallowed hard as her brain didn’t quite know how to process this. One where Khaanir was worried, for a hot second, that he was going to be sent to another dimension. But the silence had passed once Vivaaldi chuckled, batting at chest jokingly as she shook her head.
“You are such a helpless romantic, you know that right?”
“And you are stubborn old fool, so I think it works out.”
Khaanir pulled the Archon into a hug, kissing the top of her head, despite her effortless struggle and her meek outcries of “Stop, I can’t let anyone think I actually care for people!”
Basically--just put some product in and part it on the side. And if I don't feel like doing that, I can just let it part in the middle, and the undercut will get covered up.
I was trying to think of all these deep, thoughtful, unpopular opinions, but my throat is killing me and my eyes are on fire, so here’s what I’ve got:
Warm seasons are fucking stupid.
Sure, they’re a relief after what feels like a decade of snow and ice, but no sooner have said snow and ice disappeared than everything decides it’s time to propagate the species, and that’s when misery sets in.
Trees just... jizz all over the place. Everything is covered in tree jizz, and then you breathe the tree jizz and suddenly, you’re dying. Everything in your face just starts leaking and your throat is on fire and your head is pounding and the only relief you can find is either starting a Claritin regimen or waiting for it to rain enough to wash the tree jizz all away.
And then you might get mushroom jizz.
So there’s the trees. Then there’s the birds. It’s nice out, so you’ve got your windows open, and you’re sleeping, and you went to bed at 2:30 a.m. because you have twin infants (twinfants, if you will) and normally, you’d be able to sleep through the sun creeping over the horizon and the dulcet tones of your husband downstairs feeding the babies and your four-year-old, BUT! The birds have decided that it’s time to scream because they, too, want to propagate the species. So it’s 5 a.m. and you’re in the middle of a dream where you’re somehow in a poly triad with the Chris of your choosing and Zoe Saldana and then AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA GO THE BIRDS.
But the birds don’t stop there! Oh no no, the fucking birds have decided that your front porch is the best possible place to build their love shack, and they’ve done this twice in a row now, first on the decorative wreath that you have up on your door and then, after they realize that was a stupid idea because now their babies are all dead because they’re afraid to come and feed them because--SURPRISE--people still come in and out of the door, they build an identical nest on the light right next to the door, so there’s dead baby birds on your door and now eggs next to your door and birds just coming at your house at top speed at all times because they need to propagate the species.
And between the birds and the trees you just feel miserable AND THEN it gets hot and it gets humid and even if you have air conditioning, that can only save you so much because eventually, you need to leave the house, and when you do, you just... die. Right there, you die.
Moral of the story: fall and winter are the superior seasons and spring and summer can kiss my ass.
19. most likely to binge-watch Netflix for absurd lengths of time
I’m so sorry I got delayed in answering this!
... Hoo! I thought I had an easy answer on this one, but then I had to give it serious thought.
Keialaar. She nests into the sofa with snacks and beer and watches 4 seasons of whatever’s caught her interest until she passes out from sheer exhaustion.
She enjoys watching TV with others (she and Veriinya have watched the Colin Firth version of Pride and Prejudice so many times they can recite it by heart), but when she’s binging something, she prefers to watch alone. Periodically Ark will come in and make sure she’s still breathing beneath her nest of blankets.
