#octoboltflash

[aevitium]

✧ ˖ @octoboltflash asked:

Taking a deep breath to steady her racing heart, Acheron knew that she had a promise to make good on-- and she was, always, a woman of her word. Besides, regardless of whether it was a previous agreement or not, this was an opportunity she would take. While the fingers of one hand nervously toyed with the cuff of her dress shirt, the other carefully adjusted the lapel of her jacket. The longer she waited, the more that this knot of uncertainty would tighten in her gut. There wasn't even any point in hesitation, this was already predetermined. Striding forward, a soft clearing of her throat is the only announcement of her arrival behind the other woman... aiming to catch her attention without startling her, hopefully. "It seems the path of fate has brought me to you once again, Elysia," She began, her voice taking on a gentle yet determined tone. "I believe you owe me something." The warm smile stretching across her face belies her intentions, pausing only to offer her outstretched palm to her companion. "Do me the honor of sharing this dance with me?"

Ego stands, draped in dark satin and waiting.

And though she feigns surprise when the other approaches, her smile remains impossibly sincere. Her head tilts, considering the open invitation of a hand as though there has ever been a chance that she might do anything other than take it.

"It seems so," she chirps sweetly in response. "And here I was, hoping you might have forgotten."

A lie, though she has no doubt that Mei sees past it. Even if this Mei is not hers, no time or stretch of the Sea could truly change her. Elysia hums, as though finally coming to a decision to the thought she had been pretending. A stalling tactic, perhaps, but she has always found the things wanted most are the sweetest when waited for.

Lithe fingers curl into the open palm of the other. As when they had touched before, familiarity floods her senses. Origin, warm and inviting and hers, though it has taken a new name and face. 

And though it is not the same one she remembers meeting, all those lifetimes ago in the Golden Courtyard, she would wish for it to reside with nobody else.

"The honor is mine~♪"

[trailblczed]

It wasn't uncommon for Caelus to miss his friends- he's often told that he a sort of separation anxiety by a few of the medical staff he's seen on the occasion (Natasha and Joanne from Herta's Space Station being the only two recurring Doctors he's willing to see due to obvious reasons). So it should surprise no one that after about a month has past since the end of Penacony's Charmony Festival, that as Caelus scrolls through his phone's chat records and sees a name of someone he hasn't seen since then, the nerves push him hastily forward into typing out a few dozen messages to send.

Caelus just hopes that his texting won't inevitably be in vain- though deep down he knows the chance of actually getting a response is highly unlikely, a small part whispers to himself that he just has to be patient and wait (not matter how hard a task that is for his wild self).

@octoboltflash

[threadsforewoven]

About: Nihility

⋅ ⋆ — Send me “About [NAME]” for my character’s thoughts! [ accepting ]

ABOUT NIHILITY Friendship Lv. 4

A path that views existence as something inherently meaningless… To follow THEIR path would be to discard one’s self, hope, purpose, and any links to the idea of value. THEY believe in nothingness and thus all else, therefore, is worthless. Hmm… There is a quiet allure to it, I suppose. If there is only nothingness, then there is the absence of fear and pain. Of the weight of a wretched past. … Still, I find such a notion to be quite unsettling. There may be times when purpose feels elusive, even hollow... but to choose nothingness entirely? For someone such as I, who sees memories and the past, be it one full of pain, joy, rage, or sorrow, as something precious... Indeed, to tread the river of Nihilty would require a resolve far different from mine.

[aevitium]

✧ ˖ @octoboltflash asked:

[JADE MYSTERY] Were she to be anyone close to normal, this streak of losses would be nothing short of depressing. Acheron certainly has no ability for discerning anything of value in this game, and a crowd has gathered to bestow pity upon her with every consecutive incorrect guess-- the vendor, of course, is reveling in the funds he's raking in from such a gamble. Some among the gaggle of onlookers mumble to each other: "Should... we stop her?" Surely, at some point, she has to choose the right one. Yet there's a sort of futility to this that she can't refute, yet the desire still remains. If only she could use her sword to break open these indistinguishable rocks, or if she had someone who had even an inkling more luck than she did... "Again." This time, for sure. (( please save her, she's going to die before she gets the right one ))

Quite the audience has begun to linger about the little stall, which Elysia might otherwise dismiss as typical were it not for the murmurs. She collects them with each carefully picked step closer and closer-- shouldn't she give up by now? how many times has she tried? is it even possible to get it wrong that many times? surely she's guessing wrong on purpose, how much money does she even have?

"Ah, I've been looking for you!"

She had not, actually, been in search of the other. It's quite the pleasant surprise to see her, Acheron, but not until Elysia set sights on her familiar figure did she have any intentions of speaking up. Of course, quite on the contrary, she breaks the line of the crowd and makes to grab for the other's arm. A second nature, easy motion that any onlooker might assume is commonplace between them.

Well, it is for Elysia, at least.

Crystal eyes flit from the furrow of the woman's brow to the assortment of rocks before her and then back again a time or two. With faux-impatience, she points to the one in the middle.

"You were just about to select that one, right?" Then to the man behind the stones, an assertive nod. "Mhm! She guesses that one~"

And, without waiting for an answer from the vendor or an objection from Acheron, Elysia is making to drag her from the stall and through the crowd. "See? Easy! Really, you should just call for me sooner if you need rescuing next time."

Disregard that, behind them, the stone has cracked open to reveal nothing yet again.

[aevitium]

✧ ˖  @octoboltflash asked:

A small envelope is left in an inconspicuous location, yet just visible enough for Elysia to quickly pick it out of her surroundings. It's rather plain, the parcel a simple pastel pink shade that nearly matches the colors she normally tends to favor. It's signed by Acheron-- yet the name is crossed out, and instead replaced with Mei. Inside, a piece of parchment that's rather old-fashioned. "Elysia, May this gift accompany you on your travels. In Izumo, it was often given to loved ones with the intent of bringing good luck. Wherever you are, I hope it serves as a reminder that you are never alone-- when we meet again under clear skies, I'll extend my hand to you as I always have. Fate's path brought me to you, and I'm thankful for having the chance to exist in the same time and space. Happy birthday, Ely. - Raiden B Mei" Tucked further into the envelope is a small trinket that isn't particularly flashy, a charm with means to be easily attached to anything of choice. An omamori, fashioned out of an intricate white brocade, decorated in a shade that matches Elysia's hair-- yet the pattern on it is oddly familiar, strikingly similar to the design on Acheron's sleeve. Almost as if she's leaving a part of herself to guard the other in her absence.

Origin knows origin, be it in flesh or in spirit, across time and across space. And so Elysia knows it here, or perhaps she just spies a pretty pink package and decides there can be no coincidence that such a thing would find her on today of all days and be for anyone else.

Pleasant surprise flickers across her features as the letter unfolds, eyes flitting to the name at the bottom before they bother with anything else.

The letter is read once, twice, then folded neatly into fourths and tucked gingerly into her pocket. Something to carry with her, to save for another moment alone.

And after it, the charm. Ego traces her thumb carefully over embroidered patterns, admires and sets each line to memory. A piece of another-- how long had she carried with her a feather, a golden pocket watch, a figurehead of a goddess she does not know, how long has she been without them?

The charm is looped around her finger and clasped in the warmth of her palm. She will find a place for it so that it is never far, and she will thank its maker when fate brings them to one another yet again. For she is confident that, as it has, so it will continue to.

[threadsforewoven]

[PHOTO OP] Based off of the conversations Acheron had happened to overhear, Fontaine was quite known for its affinity for the arts. Which honestly made this make a lot more sense-- a large amount of painters, photographers, and what seemed to be like small booths for the sake of silly imagery... Truth be told, the idea was rather endearing. With the inevitable fading of her memories, to have a physical memento of the times she's spent here...... It would be a treasure kept close to her heart. "Ah, surely this is right up your alley," Acheron mused, the smallest hint of a smile lighting up her features as she studied Black Swan's expression out of the corner of her eye. "A Memokeeper indulges in fondly kept memories. Care to make a few more, and preserve them in a form that we can both share?" She comes to a halt in her stride, hesitating briefly before making the move to extend a gloved hand to her companion. "It's my turn to provide an invitation, I believe. Shall we?"

(( HI :) ))

❪ ⋅ ⋆ — OVERTURE 2024 ❫

Black Swan paused, her gaze casting briefly over to the line of booths before them, watching as lights flickered softly in the fading dayling, patrons and vendors eagerly chatting amongst each other, their spirits still from the festivities. She thought back to Acheron's words—voice carrying a hint of fondness and something else as she held out her invitation.

For one who may easily forget, the Memokeeper could not blame the Self-Annihilator for wanting a memento.

Still, she huffed out a sigh. If Acheron only wanted to keep a memory, Black Swan could easily weave a Light Cone; a perfect replica of the scene that shall forever live. It would be effortless—a moment perfectly frozen in time, preserving not only their memories, but even their feelings and thoughts, their pain and happiness of today, their strength and weaknesses. A photo was… Hm.

With a soft smile curling from her lips, she gently placed her gloved hand in Acheron’s.

There was something undeniably endearing, she supposed, about the simplicity of a single piece of photograph.

“Very well,” she replied, her voice smooth and sure, though there was a flicker of something warmer beneath it as she allowed herself to be guided toward the photobooth.

“Let us make a memory, then.”

[aevitium]

✧ ˖ @octoboltflash asked:

[SUNSCREEN] With her pale complexion, the Emanator was more than aware that if she didn't take the necessary precautions, she'd end up burnt to a crisp from the intense rays of the sun. Her arms had already begun to tint red, and she frowned at the presence of the heat extending across the surface of her skin. Lathering a majority of her body had been easy, but... Her back would certainly end up scorched, considering she had removed her beloved vacation-print shirt not long ago. Honestly? Mei would die before she'd ask one of the others to help. But there was one person that she at least held some sort of strange familiarity with. Against her better judgment, she had quietly approached the other woman, bottle of sunscreen in hand-- standing awkwardly as she gauged her options, unsure of how to even begin to navigate this situation.

"Ah... Elysia, was it? I have a favor to ask of you, if you'll hear me out." Acheron squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, already feeling her face beginning to heat up. She motions to the bottle in her hands, clearing her throat before continuing. "I ... can't reach my back. I could use a hand." Quite literally, actually... (ic: frendraws)

It cannot be helped; Elysia erupts into a fit of giggles.

Between the look on the poor girl's face and the stiffness in her every action, it's impossible to keep a straight face. All to ask something so simple, of course. In classic Mei fashion.

Some things simply transcend the bubbles of their universes, laws and facts of life that bend and morph and take new shapes but always remain. This one among them.

"With that look I half expected you to ask something much worse~" Words managed through her laughter, though hardly. Elysia swings both legs over the edge of her chair and hops up from it, still stifling giggles beneath one hand while the other reaches to pluck the bottle out of Mei's.

"Silly girl, it would be my pleasure ♪"

Composure regained and hearty amount of sunscreen squeezed out into her palm, Ego smiles triumphantly.

"Go on then, turn around! It's going to feel cold at first-"

[phantomiaou]

[NOODLES] Using a pool noodle much in the same way she would her sword, Acheron flashes a deadly look in Lynette's direction. Another discarded noodle lays nearby, open to use if the girl so chooses. "On the still waters of oblivion, I guide the wandering souls..."

ever since their stellar driving had made the story of legends and revised more than a few road instruction manuals, lynette would not call acheron a stranger. in short, crimes bring women together. (why were you, as a french man, standing on an aquarius queen's road? the curb included.)

and now, they meet again on the blazing sands of this mysterious beach. there is no mistaking what that look of acheron's means. perhaps fate has brought them back together—but this time on opposite sides.

roll 1d20 - 20. where da fuck was this energy in the tower of the waning sun

faster than any car, maybe faster than lightning itself, lynette bolts to the discarded noodle in a skid of sand and anemo. pilfering shadow state is nigh invisible; within it, she locks onto her target. with a pivot of her heel she's flying toward acheron, vision flickering in the center of her hairbow, the winds still steering her enigmatic feint.

"surprise,"  is lynette's only fanfare, breezing back to acheron before the foam noodle thrusts forth.