{ 👑 } THE LIAR WANTS NOTHING MORE THAN to keep his deep and dark secrets to himself, to refuse to utter a word that may deem him IMPLICIT to a soft heart. Yet, it is difficult, so very difficult when he's all but forced to reveal hard inner truths. The flowers don't hurt, but they irritate. Branding him a liar, a mistrustful man. Why, that technically isn't nothing NEW, but … well …
TO SEE NABOR AGAIN IS A relief in more ways than one.
❝NABBIE! YOU! WHAT THE HELL? SHOWING up on my doorstep like … like … ❞ Petals spew from within his sleeves as he clings to his companion. Arms move, gripping tight in a hug. ❝Big idiot - strong - handsome lug -- Gods, I was so FUCKING worried about you, you know that? I … ❞ A single tear is brushed away upon his sleeve as he watches thelast of his flowers fall. ❝I missed you more than anything.❞
GUN'S ABLAZING, DRAWN. HE DOESN'T TRUST the monsters born from art to uphold any code of honour. doesn't expect to EMERGE from this unscathed. he's grown used to this sort of environment, the games the stars throw their little citizens into, to such extremes that something as SIMPLE as a grand opening of a museum can GENERATE the flapping of butterfly wings within his ribcage. the darkness that seems to lie in wait, only to spring forth and catch some, but not him, UNAWARES.
it was nice having fun while it LASTED.
he sighs, as though weighted by a great LABOR, exhaustion at even being here. the placard on the wall denotes that there's supposed to be sculptures here. he's certain the room must have looked impressive when full, but now, COMPLETELY empty of statues ( just pedestals and podiums ) it looks too eerie for words. he takes a single step, and it ECHOES. bouncing off the walls and all around, reverberating back at him. the DEAFENING silence could make his blood run cold, despite how relieving the sight is. he's surveying his surroundings with TRAINED eyes - nothing but white walls and empty display cases. maybe this ain't so bad after …
the SUDDEN sound of footsteps reaches his ears.
… all?
spinning as quickly as he could on his heel, gun arm raised. he only lowers it upon RECOGNISING the face of the figure who approaches. ❝well i'll be — got ANYTHIN' hot on your tail?❞
IT FEELS AS IF HIS HEAD has been underwater, as if he's drowning. ears, eyes, mouth, choked up, squeezed by a harsh pressure. as if he's reached his breaking point. a normal lifestyle should be something to grow accustomed to without a second thought, the roar of cars / murmur of voices should be a welcome change, but hand rubs against the back of his skull. over and over. as if expecting to find the wetness of BLOOD against those tips. as if expecting his breath to cut short. o’, hope has been lost to him the day mondo died.
❝is it normal?❞
suddenly asked to a stranger. there's no prompting, no politeness; the killing game ran those emotions ragged —- or perhaps this is lingering residue from his time as ‘kiyondo’, a failed DESPERATION to cling to his losses -— leaving but a teenager desperate for attention. hands balling into fists, click of boots against concrete, as he turns, a crimson gaze looking past what is an admittedly odd figure standing at his opposite. he's tired and angry, struggling to find a footing. no one ever talks about what happens after the war, what to do when it is all over. he's been trying, by god, he's been trying to adjust. but every so often, he's pulled back into some UNENDING NIGHTMARE.
❝for those who have DIED to come here as if it were an afterlife?❞
❝ PONTIFEX NABOR, there is something I have been meaning to ask you. ❞ Lighting the clay pipe with a flame conjured from his fingertip, he took a few test puffs before offering it to the Mahjarrat across the desk. Wahisietel didn’t often get a chance to spend quality time with one of his oldest friends, so when the opportunity struck...he took it; even if it was something as simple as sitting in the guest chair and watching the other work.
❝ WHY DID you decide to work here of all places, hidden underground away from the world with only... ❞ his ears twitched as he heard the echoing shouts of one of the priest’s patients. ❝ ...these people to keep you company? Why not accompany Mizzarch and build? Or work with those of less-fortune? Be out there working with the people, it must get incredibly lonely down here. ❞
💛 💜 ❤️ || she does not at all fancy the PROSPECT of landing herself into a fight. the alien creature does not seem to be a horrible individual, but that memory of him looming THREATENINGLY over her small frame set off signals, harsh alarms that burned and seared into her bones. she's a survivor; the world FORCED her to be one. and yet, when she sees him crossing street towards her, the mind she searches is not filled with vile thoughts. nay, he doesn't seem to recognise her presence in the slightest. and indeed, he doesn't even LOOK like himself! she wonders if this is the creature who was so desperate for her end or if his thoughts just happened to ring SIMILARLY? satori leans in upon her seat, elbows propped against the table. a softly sweet smile touches lips as she peers upwards.
❝are you HUNGRY? they have some of the most DELICIOUS cakes here.❞
❝it is not often that i can look another man in the eye,❞ he remarks. an idle thought, perhaps, spurred by the slight irritation that there's someone here that he wouldn't TOWER OVER. the crux of the matter being that he's not yet hit by any hard truths, that he's still finding his footing with HESITANCE cloaked in GRACE. ❝most in hyrule pale in comparison to the height of a gerudo.❞
Seated in the snow, Natsu was trying to meditate - which wasn’t happening due to the people all around, but still he tried. Closing his eyes and keeping his hands on his knees he did his best to block out the sounds. God! He now knew how Cobra felt having such good hearing. Dragon slayers had exceptional senses, though Natsu was somehow the best of them and that often had its drawbacks.
About to scream and yell he held it in and dropped back in the snow, deflating as it hadn’t worked. If he had known anywhere better to go, he would have gone there for sure, but since he didn’t, he was stuck there in the park.
(Secret Santa drabble for @psychiatriae! Hope you enjoy it!)
Winter has always been a pleasant time of the year for Nabor. The cold is refreshing, even more so the white snow kind that you see in Spirale. Back in Freneskae, ‘winter’ was nothing more than a pathetic ashen display, courtesy of several volcanoes spewing their content in the atmosphere constantly.
Gielinor was a far more pleasant world than Freneskae, winter not being an exception to that. He still remembers the first time he saw proper snow, the wonder he felt at that new discovery, that renewed proof that he lived in a paradise! Of course, things turned out to be more complicated than that down the line, but he can’t avoid but to chuckle at his past self. It was still much better than his home planet.
A cup of hot cocoa lays on his hands, of which he occasionally takes a sip while staring at the window. He remembers the taste of it from his ‘other self’, the first time he had the treat on his life. Mahjarrat don’t need to eat, so he never sought to experience human food beyond one or two things before that occasion. …He has to admit. It fits well with this time of the year.
Don’t make him drink the super sweet version that Gangrel is so fond of, though. His mouth can’t tolerate that much sugar.
Speaking of Gangrel, when will he arrive? He was so excited about watching some sort of sporting event with Nabor on TV, yet there are only 15 minutes left for the beginning of the match and no signal of the king. It’s not even snowing enough to block the roads, so what gives?! Nabor huffs. This is an aspect of his boyfriend that he will forever find deeply annoying. If only he warned Nabor of complications like this, he could take the measure of teleporting to Gangrel’s location and then teleport them to his residence.
There is no point in getting stressed over this, though. He knows that, once Gangrel does arrive, he will compensate his lateness with some cuddles. The thought of it makes Nabor blush. He does enjoy himself some cuddling. How embarrassing, yet it’s the truth!
Ah, the timer has sounded its alarm. The gingerbread cookies should be ready. Nabor goes to the kitchen to check and, just as predicted, the cookies look ready to be served. As he goes grab his mitts, he thinks to himself that perhaps it’s not that bad that Gangrel is late. Were he here already, he would try grabbing one of the freshly baked cookies before giving them time to cool off, which would most likely result in the fool burning his hand.
Nabor shakes his head while sighing and smiling. He loves that guy.
On the TV, they are already doing pre game coverage. What was the name of this sport again, ‘basketball’? He believes that was it. Nabor doesn’t pay much attention to human sports, that with so many of them involving ‘ball’ in the name. Football, volleyball, baseball, softball, basketball. Can’t humans be more creative with their naming schemes?!
He hears the sound of a door knocking. At last, that should be his companion! Just in time for him to finish setting up the cookies and warming up some hot cocoa in the way that Gangrel likes. Well then, he should sit down and enjoy the afternoon now. He has a date to participate at!
