Discover Top Posts Tagged with #sekhmetsbath

@sekhmetsbath (continued)

In their first meeting, it’d been natural to think her a queen, and nobility if not so. She’d held herself with impeccable poise, and in both mannerisms and thought, she struck him as someone well above the crowd--someone, if nothing else, with a disposition to rule.

When he steps foot inside the Regency Lounge as per her invitation, then, Kouen expects it to resemble a court. What he sees instead is something more closely resembling a temple, filled with people who are reminiscent of devout worshipers--men and women both bewitched and enthralled, willingly made prisoner by the enchanting shackles of a voice too mesmerizing to be true.

For a moment, Kouen thinks to laugh. She is no queen as he’d thought, but a woman made goddess--and here, in her domain, the difference is as clear as each shifting intonations of her song.

He doesn’t clap and cheer as the other patrons do when her performance comes to a close, but neither will he deny that he’s impressed. Eliza’s voice is a pleasant one, even when compared to the performers of the Kou Empire’s royal court, and if there is reason behind which individuals have been brought here to this city, Kouen thinks that hers is this--to be a beautiful songbird in a cage of gold, to sing and sway in a tireless repetition of entertainment and power.

With wide, even steps, Kouen approaches her stage, the pedestal and altar upon which this songbird-goddess defines her place among the crowd.

“I wouldn’t have thought you to be a performer.”

But it says enough that he is here now, stepping close rather than receding away. Kouen has never been a man to pursue that which doesn’t capture his interest, and this Eliza is no different.

#sekhmetsbath #eliza 02 #i almost fucKIN WROTE #'hey bb u come here often :^)'#smh.....

☻☼

☻: Which genres do you find the easiest to play? (angst, fluff, smut, etc.)

angst tbh. like one of my favourite things to write is hurt and comfort, specifically the hurt part so i it’s become really easy for me to write angst. i also just love to die and be killed by writing it (’:

☼: Which tropes do you find overused/boring?

already answered!

#sekhmetsbath

27, 42.

27. Is your muse a dreamer or a realist?

I mean, there’s definitely some people who might’ve looked at him once and thought, yeah, definitely a dreamer. Uniting the entire world under his empire? That’s not really the kind of ambition that’s easily achieved, if at all. But Kouen has proven over and over again that he not only can do it, but he will do it--people under his command have come to believe it.

Kouen considers himself a realist, especially since he doesn’t really bother with the pretty what if’s. He sees how the world is around himself, and he accepts it--not because he assimilates himself into what it is, but because understanding it fully and completely is the best and most effective way to go about changing it to his will.

He doesn’t hold any romantic notion of getting everyone to understand each other; conflict has been, is, and always will be inevitable. That’s why he works toward the goals he does (...or, did): realistically speaking, it’s the only way he thinks peace can be obtained.

42. How do they feel about astrology?

He knows of its practice, but he doesn’t really find it necessary or even relevant. If anything, he thinks it’s more a source of comfort for people who lack the confidence and direction to command their own lives--not necessarily a bad thing, but definitely not something for him, either.

#meme answer #sekhmetsbath

Tell me.

Put a “Tell me" in my ask and my character will answer…

If you snuck into my room I would:

[ x ] Go back to sleep [ ] Kick you out[ x ] Cuddle with you [ ] Be like “How in the world?”[ x ] Let you sleep on the floor Share the bed [ ] Become angry

If you kissed me (or hugged) I would:

[ x ] Kiss or hug you back [ x ] Smile and laugh[ ] Stiffen, and feel uncomfortable [ ] Push you away[ ] Be shocked [ ] Strike you

If you asked me to go out with you for a day I would say:

[ ] No [ x ] Yes [ ] Most certainly not. [ ] Without hesitation.

You are:

[ ] Cute [ ] Adorable [ ] Attractive [ x ] Beautiful[ ] Okay [ ] Ugly [ ] Am not going to grace this with an answer

You are to me a:

[ ] Stranger [ x ] Acquaintance [ ] Ally[ x ] Friend [ ] Love [ ] Rival [ ] Enemy

I find you to be:

[ ] Pathetic [ ] Off no consequence [ ] Intriguing [ ] Frightening [ ] Unsettling [ ] Annoying [ ] Infuriating [ x ] Pleasant company [ x ] Comforting [ ] Unable to be lived without [ x ] Trustworthy

#meme response #sekhmetsbath

open mic.

Few and far between, she had little chance to exercise her vocal cords. It was beginning to frustrating, her endless wanderlust to find a way out of this irritating rut driving her up the wall. She truly longed to let her voice out, and not just to speak. Singing was her love, everything that she held dear to her heart in this place. It had kept her distant from those strangers she saw on occasion, turning away at both helping hands and menacing stares. This was not her place to be, or so it felt.

Eventually though, she began to pick up on differing places. Ones she could isolate, whilst finding a home away from home. Those faceless strangers, not ones plucked from lands worlds away but the milling, mindless types, were the only frequents. A bartender with a recycled personality, regurgitating the same conversation every night. Attendees spewing the same static back and forth. While it may have been perturbing, they had avoided her all together. It was what she had sought, a place she could call her own without interruption.

For the time being, at least.

Like moths drawn to an open flame, not long after she had begun to frequent others had slowly trickled in. Though she didn’t mind, when others began to take that deserted stage was what had begun to make her tick. This was a home away from home to her. Even as they let their voices out, a chance to break free from the oppressive air of this urban sprawl for but a moment, she couldn’t help but feel tread upon. Even if it left her with a tinge of guilt, it had nonetheless imparted a mark on her heart. She would defend her home. Taken the stage, she let out her voice at last, one of a true singer, one who had been born for her voice. Though there was no applause, it had silenced her home. As it had left its mark on her, she had indelibly left her own on it to match.

As it would turn out, her act had been up to cause murmurs. Rumors spread like wildfire, even here. She had no doubt that she wasn’t the only singer here. While they would be welcomed, it wouldn’t be without her voice to match. The microphone as open as ever, that stage gathering dust but only aside from shoe prints in front of that archaic stand, plain lights beaming down. Simplicity was its strong point, she thought, putting those brave enough to step up to have to put on their best.

Of course, one would. She had come without fanfare, coming in like a hawk upon its prey. She had not come to share her voice, to mystify the people in her beauty. She had come all this way to prove a point, to contest the red-headed songstress. It was the first of which had truly impressed Red, and the only one aside from the woman herself to draw applause from the soulless mannequins. The woman left the stage as quickly as she had arrived, the lights not even having time to automatically dim. Red knew, seeing those sharp eyes tracking her own, wanting to see every range of emotion as she contemplated. To her credit, she hadn’t raised immediately to match with a song of her own, only matching look for look. A wordless dialogue, the quiet bar had come to be territory, a battleground. Though not one to fight, eventually she would have no choice to act.

Soon enough, strumming her knuckles in rhythm on the wooden table, the woman had sat only one booth over. Close enough for a conversation, for like-minded yet polar opposites individuals to meet and duel, words and voice their blades.

#sekhmetsbath #&& ᴇʟɪᴢᴀ 01.