#script: baeksa.

[decthless]

Open Starter:  [ accepting 3/3 ]    Location: Morkhul

"Here is fine," the young lord Chae demanded with a dismissive wave, climbing out of the carriage with a huff, ignoring the protests of the staff as he climbed out before reaching the gates of his elusive, stifling home, which were all too eager to close behind him, he's certain. "I need some fresh air," he did not, but he needed an excuse. Home sweet home. He is off before his parents have a chance to come fuss, he ought to make himself scarce, the young Lord thought, disappearing down a path he knew too well. They would have him all to themselves soon enough.

It's not so much that the beauties of his hollow escape him; to Baeksa, there was seldom a place more beautiful to lose yourself in, but the distant knowledge that they this return was enforced like a sentence rather than willfully sought leaves him restless. How he loathes to obey orders, even those he realizes are likely to assist his own survival. It was once he wandered into a cave and sought death, only because he was told not to—the warmth and affection they bathed him in later, it made nearly die almost worth it. That same dangerous, rebellious spark burns him still, and so he opts to placate himself by heading towards a body of water large enough to cool his ill temper, the bracelets at his ankles clinking like bells in the night as he extends his bare feet towards the water, dipping his toes with a contended sigh. "I suppose there are worse places to be confined in..." he hums, his voice blending with the wind, sweet and airy as it shifts through the dense vegetation.

[decthless]

closed starter for @celcstine

He kicks the foot of the chair, just lightly, it barely does anything—he doesn't really want it to, he's just trying to figure out a strategy to best elicit a response, a way to approach; it's a situation which demands compassion and genuine tact, of which Baeksa has none. He could feign it, of course, cover him in sticky, syrupy sweetness and meaningless words to veil the ugly truth, promises which hold no real weight. 'You will recover' when they might not, 'you will rebuild' they might never be able to do, 'all is not lost' it most certainly is. "You still look pretty when you're devastated," he offers instead, which to him was a small comfort—but perhaps to Lathander it was no comfort at all. It's the only truth he can offer; what good would it do to speak those hollow things? His house would still be ashes, the flames would not subside and time would not turn back because he is cradled in someone's arm and told sweet, empty lies that could only provide momentary relief, if that.

The way Baeksa looks at him, head tilting, curious, cautious; it's if he's being studied, like a wild beast he wasn't sure wouldn't lunge and snap its teeth. He's no fun anymore. He won't be any more fun for awhile, if ever—if he were to guess. Why was he here, then? It's anyone's guess, but he leaves the bottle on the table by his side, like a quiet offering, not pity—never that, he wasn't gentle enough for such a tender emotion, was he? If he must attribute meaning to it, then let it be bribe.

[decthless]

closed starter for @mctanoias

The boy lands with a soft thud on the brown floor beneath, the dead leafs scattered about cushioning his fall as his back hit the floor, a sharp pain to the back of his skull making him wince. "Blast and damnation..." he cusses under his breath, through his teeth, his rage blooming red on the apples of his cheek. Visibly affected, he forces himself to be still---having to settle for begrudgingly laying there, looking up at the dangling fruit, swirling, red and delicious, that he had failed to snatch, now cursing his own weak nature; why is his body so utterly incompetent? Curse his parents. And curse everyone who...

Nestled amidst a sea of white, white hair spilled under his scalp like fresh snow, he looked like something of a dying sparrow, too weak to survive winter. "Huh...?" those frosted lashes flutter like a pair of delicate wings, attuned to the environment even in moments of weakness, his body remains unmoving, delicately stiff, but his head follows, tracking the shadow like a sunflower gravitating towards the sun; the irritation drains as his face softens, plush lips parting into all too dainty of a smile. "Ah... I thought I heard footsteps..." he forces his torso to rise upright with a pained grunt, a hand pushing against his bruised shoulder to quell the discomfort, and he refrains from digging his nails there in frustration. "How lucky of me to be found by a brave knight rather than a monster... say, you wouldn't happen to be able to reach that... would you?"

[decthless]

closed starter for @wanshangs

A sing-songy whine swells in the room like a birdsong, calling for him as his body already melts in the shape of his brother's back, silk dripping down his back, his long, unbound hair cascading down the arch of his shoulders, spilling smoothly, cool like spilled milk, and as he pours himself down onto him in his weariness, offering his pitiful body some much needed reprieve from the night, his wishbone arms reach towards him, slithering languidly atop his brothers strong shoulders to ensnare.

"Hyeong, hyeong..." the jagged ends of his nails seek to ensnare, cupping his strong but delicate jaw from underneath like a prized possession—he lifts that cherished, gloomy face by nudging insistently when he cannot win by force alone, demanding attention in a way that was neither subtle nor shy. "Such a pretty face, frowning like that..." cue a pout; he's teasing, testing his patience, as he does, his own brand of love that always seems to come wrapped in childish infatuation. "You'll get wrinkles... and who will love you then, besides me?"

[decthless]

closed starter for: @springscngs

The soft padding of his feet were light against the ground; a boy made of air, sylph-like in how he glided, how he moved with effortless grace, seeming to hover above ground. The fragrance in the air was sweet and treacherous, and the very wind too eager to play with him, an impish breeze whispers through the silk fabric of the robes and Baeksa stifles a laugh, his jewels clattering faintly, a chill curling around his waifish form before warmth invaded him once more; it was an eternal summer here, such pleasant weather—the colors were more vibrant, the birds more lively, the melancholic shade of blue from his home forgotten, the feverish colors a welcome change in senary. The oleanders thrived, beautiful in their delicate, poisonous bloom; swaying, rocking against the wind. He had gathered a few, thinking of her, brought them like an offering cradled between his wishbone arms, gathered in delicate, white tufts held intimately against his chest, his dainty hands, smooth hands, clutching their dagger green leaves. It was impolite to come empty-handed, after all

"Your Ladyship," the young Chae greets, all honeyed, bowing in polite recognition, his hair the color of new snow as it descends down the narrow slope of his shoulders. "I do hope I haven't disturbed any private thoughts…" she had a reputation for being kind—was that so? "Unless they were grim, I suppose… in that case, perhaps my eagerness deserves forgiveness," he lifts his face to the singed moon, bathing in its glowering beams, inhaling languidly, slowly, light filtering through his doll lashes as they rest against his cheeks. He turns slowly, extending the bouquet, lashes fluttering, inquisitive, observant of every small gesture. "I saw these, and thought of you. I do hope you don't mind."

[decthless]

closed starter: @insatiabilitics location: the gardens of elaris keep

All the childish excitement drains from his face as his head whips back to spot Taemris' familiar face, his eyes wide and incredulous, his crumbled form on the grass suddenly aghast; you'd think him not used to the sight of injuries when it could not be further than the truth. "Morvaen—" those plush lips round into a perfect, bewildered 'o', a quiet, soft vowel cushioned against his tongue.

His dainty, bare feet push him off the ground, padding over to the assassin across the vibrant, velvety grass in a rush, dropping all the beautiful flowers he had been collecting, colorful petals scattering about, floating to the ground as he saunters off, doll-like head lolling, fair lashes blinking unwittingly. "Oh, my... what horrors did you endure during my absence? May I not leave you be for even a moment?" the scolding is a soft as a feather plucked of a winter bird, his hand gentle as it reaches for his cheek, molded for the single purpose of cupping, but doing so without touching—he leaves a gap, as if expecting the other to lean, pushed onto his tiptoes to reach him. "Now, what kind of savage would hurt such a beautiful face, mm?" he coos, tucking one of the remaining flowers in his grip still behind the arch of his ear.

"There," a brief flicker of a satisfaction flashes. "Come now... let me take a look." the young Chae ushered, grabbing his hand as though they were children frolicking in a meadow.

[decthless]

closed starter: @celcstine location: a balcony in elaris keep

"Oi!" the small, pale sylph-like spirit beckons from its perch, standing high atop the stone balcony, the moon a halo behind his skull, the milky white of his gown rustling against a playful breeze as he hurries to wave Lathander over with those dainty fingers, tiptoeing closer to the center, and bending himself awkwardly to peek at him through the doorway. "You—where do you think you're going?" he's all saccharine as he calls, despite all, heavy-lidded and too relaxed for a proper scolding. "I'll take your apology in cursive," he informs. "I like... long loops and hearts dotting the i's..." a pause, and as he leans, his lips to stretch mischievously. "But I suppose if you insist I will consider letting you suck me off."

A sharp exhale flares his nostrils, just briefly so; the winter of his hair tossed over her shoulder, mouth pursed disapprovingly; he offers him all the orchestrated affectations expected of him, and then allows himself to soften a little. If Baeksa were truly bothered, after all, he would have made it known. He's missed him. Won't admit to it, of course. Instead, he holds out his arms with the strained tolerance of a half-tamed animal, his face turned away as though he could not stand it. "Come now... let's hug let's make up."

[decthless]

closed starter for: varyn mirethorn (@moonvcils) location: courtyard of elaris keep

The young lord's willowy figure shifted in its seat with an air of arrogance and superiority; the winter bird he was, glorious against the pale moon, crowned in a sanctifying glow that spills down the length of his small shoulder in a cascade of white. "Well, look at you... don't you look like a painting of melancholy, all by your lonesome." he croons, deceptively sweet as usual; he hadn't asked to join him, his parasitic presence seldom asking for permission to worm its way in. He did not make a habit of conversing in public, alas, so long as it was not frequent enough he did not seem the harm. Best than to avoid entirely, that would be even more cause for suspicion. His parents would not approve, of course, but then again when had he ever asked for permission? Best to apologize later than risk being denied, it's what he thought.

Perching his chin atop his bony knuckles, the young Chae's clever eyes shifted periodically, always watching, studying, filing away thoughts for a later, searching for opportunity and leverage. Politics were a bore, but they a necessary evil. He was not such a fool as to think ignorance was bliss—ignorance was the slow, agonizing death of progress and civilization. If Nocturnia itself, in all of its ancient glory, was not proof of it, he did not know what could be.

"My dear friend," he invites intimacy, stripping away formality and titles, his tongue sweet and mellow as always. "What has you in such a foul mood? Do burden me with your thoughts."