#laudorian

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Just a lil’ smooch!

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Carry. car·ry

Carry. car·ry (verb) support and move (someone or something) from one place to another; to support the weight of, whether physical or emotional.

Laudna is squishy. Not squishy like Imogen-squishy, but...fragile, a rag doll that could fall apart at the seams if pulled too hard. Everyone is aware of this, but sometimes, it seems like Laudna herself forgets this, or, more frustratingly, ignores this, when she throws herself into the middle of combat despite the risks. It had happened when they first encountered Dugger, and it happened over and over again, each time Imogen, Dorian, or FCG scolded or worried over her, and she dismissed them every time with a “what’s the worst that could happen? I die? Again?” and a crooked grin. Imogen would gently ask that she take better care of herself, FCG would give her a lecture on proper self-care, but Dorian was the worst. He would lay a hand on her arm or intertwine their fingers, healing energies flowing into her body and give her a Look that said more than any phrase could. It was a look that said she wasn’t as strong as she showed herself to be, for him, for all of them, to be allowed to protect her.

Well, she was being painfully reminded of her squishiness right now, and her facade was cracking.

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Possession. pos·ses·sion.

Possession. pos·ses·sion. (noun) the state of being controlled by a demon or spirit; an item of property; something belonging to one

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Bell's Hells stared at their friend, whose face was distorted by the oppressive presence that filled the room. Stone walls and floors were shattered and cracked, magical torches flickering ominously despite not needing air to provide light. Kind eyes were sharp and cruel, glowing an unnatural white as they impassively surveyed the damage of the surrounding room. Imogen and Fearne were crouched on the ground, staring at their friend in horror, the magic shared between them uncertain of what to do. Imogen reached out a hand, but when the cold eyes turned her way, she flinched. This wasn't her friend...

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Title. ti·tle.

Title. ti·tle. (noun) a name that describes someone's position.

Since the Dreamscape Theatre, Dorian has been more on edge, peering into the shadows and jumping at sounds. Orym and Fearne have noticed, from the way their eyes flicker to him or how their hands will be on his arms, steadying him, but he’s certain none of the others have noticed. They haven’t been together enough to know each other’s quirks, and it’s a blessing in disguise for him.

Cyrus was a...not quite a threat or danger, but something that could not be ignored. His mere presence on Jrusar is a looming shadow that threatens his anonymity and freedom. He had been caught off-guard in the Dreamscape Theatre and doesn’t want to be caught again. He missed his family, missed his brother, true, but...the ‘why’ was daunting, and so Dorian stuck with the group, unwilling to go off on his own lest Cyrus try something, thoughts echoing of ‘Why was he here? In Jrusar? Was it because of him? It had to be because of him, right?’

He wanted answers but didn’t want to be caught alone by Cyrus. He loves his older brother, but trust is a whole other question. It is a conundrum that kept him glued to the group’s side (they really needed to determine a name), with whoever would endure his presence. Fearne and Orym were constants while at the Spire by Fire, but interestingly, it was Laudna who glued herself to his side while they were out in the streets. He had to admit, they were quite the pair, his larger frame beside her lanky one, silk and course cotton, blue skin and deathly skin, each different from the other, but it was...it was nice. She didn’t care about who he might be (despite the group suspecting a bit about who he was), she had made him his Bertrand doll, she gave him a shoulder to lean on, he could just be...him. Dorian Storm, not the self from Before he ran away.

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