Oct 30, 2021
Alighiero Boetti (1940-1994)
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Alighiero Boetti (1940-1994)
* SCRIPTEUR / ft. sansa — “ these past months have been a torment. ”
caleb is unsure what this young girl expects him to do about her troubles. he has magic, yes, and it seems that such powers are rarities in this land. his king knows this — half the reason he brings his court mage along, caleb expects, is to show off what westeros does not have. he orders a demonstration for this boy-king, and caleb delivers a roaring, fiery illusion of a lion — planned beforehand, of course, for house lannisters’ sigil. king joffrey’s reactions are mixed, to caleb’s eye, but his king only reads success and envy therein.
he remembers @scripteur from the throne room — small, pale, and auburn-haired. she is a pretty dove . . . and she is frightened. and he may be a mage, but caleb is of no use to her.
“ my lady . . . i know little of this place. this is not my home — and it is late. perhaps you should be in bed. ”
@scripteur / gif starter call / kate
“i know it looks bad.” it looks worse than bad. it looks horrendous. shit, it feels horrendous. he got lucky; he knows that. his life is a domino set up of lucky moment after lucky moment.
doesn’t feel too lucky. never really does.
a muscle in his jaw jumps as he props himself up on the couch by an elbow.
“i’ll be fine. always am.”
41. our muses must share a bed [ VEX for PERCY ]
100 INDULGENT TROPES. ( accepting !! )
When it comes down to travelling, the best part was the rooms provided for them for the right price. More cheaper if the haggling had succeeded. ( If you'd rolled right. ) Percival's back was sore, more than usual in his case due to Grog's misstep. He landed on Percival and knocked the wind out of him, so he wheezed in pain as his airways sucked in the cold air. Just another "interesting" adventure with the Vox Machina. The tavern was inviting and warm - candles lit and wax melting; a comfortable atmosphere including the patrons who drank without care, clinking their tankards and laughing jolly-like.
Better than being almost killed by a white dragon, Percival thought bitterly. He eyed towards the bed, and soon something clicked in his mind. It was only one bed. Just a single one. He slung his bag off his shoulder and placed it down gently. The nobleman looked over at Vex'ahlia. "Well, I suppose it is right to give you the bed to sleep on. I can always request something for myself to lay on."
8. one muse helps the other put on a necklace or tie. [ VEX for PERCY ]
100 INDULGENT TROPES. ( accepting !! )
Exhaustion was evident on his face; another night sought towards his craftsmanship than to let the nightmares win. He would work to the bone until Percival could allow himself to pass out, knowing that his dreams will be dreamless. ( Or hopefully they will become dreamless. Percival was sometimes successful in that department, if the Gods will bless him with such. )
And yet it seemed that aside from the exhaustion, the man had failed to properly tie his ascot. It seems Vex'ahlia had caught notice and sorted it out for him. Percy stares almost tiredly in a way before a warm smile - akin to something that was nobleman like - formed on his mouth. "Ah, I appreciate that, Vex'ahlia."
' i'm a whole lot of work ' —from kate
"yeah, but i like having you around. i can't say that for a whole lot of people, you know? but i like having you around. and i'm a whole lot of work too."
@scripteur plied Veronica with a truth serum (alcohol)! - 🍻 + "who are you, really?"
“Journeyman Scribe, Veronica Renata Santangelo. Brotherhood of Steel, Former New California Republic Chapter - Current Mojave Chapter.”
The words escape her in a practiced fashion, despite the soft lilting and slow cadence the absinthe has her underneath. She’s been trained to know those words, to know that speech. That was her identifier, that was her identity. Outside of the Brotherhood she had no identity. Outside of the Brotherhood she had no purpose.
She was made of Steel, from the day she was born until the day she died... Okay, she needed another glass. Maybe the whole bottle.
“Can I- Bets, can I borrow a few caps? I’d like another drink...” She hiccupped. It wasn’t a sob, okay. It was a hiccup. This stuff was really strong. Tap- tap tapped Bets’ shoulder. “Actually Bets? Can you help me up? I need to go vent an energy cell...” And she didn’t know which bathroom was good one.
‘𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘’ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈.
“ there are monsters everywhere, ” @scripteur says. it cuts straight to the bone, through the bluster she keeps fronted up with her hiked shoulders & fists hocked at her hips. the twist of her brow is terse, twisted up over the fact that they can share some knowledge of that.
she could say that out loud, offer out some type of consoling commentary about how there are good people in the world.
“ no shit, ” is what comes out of her mouth instead. the words are chewed up, hoarse, bitten off in a way that might seem acerbic if jessica didn’t come across this type of thing every damned day in her life. “ people love to spew that bullshit about it getting better. ” her camera slings beneath her scarf, zoom lens ready to capture all the evidence she might need. she thrusts a boot up against the chain links locking around the fence in front of them to give it a testing battle. “ ------- world’s full of these kinds of assholes. ”
the links clank & clatter, but don’t give. jessica gives it another hearty kick & the hinges creak open. she throws a one-sided shrug before dipping into the gap between them. “ you coming? ”