location prompts, ft. @laesarus' sol. ↳ the tranquil, glassy surface of an underdark lake reflecting bright bioluminescence.
it dawns a tranquil enough morning (or should be, judging by the lights cast by the underdark's fungi) that Vann uses to its fullest. He's the first to rise for the third day in a row and though he knows he ought to return by the time everyone else is up and readying for another day's march, today he lingers by the lake they came across a day before. Vann, for once, gives into frivolity: a quick swim surrounded by silence and comforting, living lights should help ease some of the tension he's been dragging for the last little while. The water's pleasantly tepid, warmer even closer to the bottom. [ It's the first time in ages he's had the chance to reason past his ... aversion to breathlessness. Three feet under, he watches the lights ripple and slowly settle as lake's surface stills again. ]
there's a flicker of gold that It reminds him of Sol's eyes. They speak only as necessary now, and she does her utmost to stay away from him. He exhales, and colors muddy and mix again like a painter's palette. The first thing to come to mind in the morning is often a source of prolonged grief; given their recent animosity, Vann is hardly surprised that even half - blinded and deafened by deep water, that unease is forever present. Lungs emptied, he kicks to break the surface with a deep but silent breath. It's no mind - numbing plunge into icy water, but he does feel better.
he unfurls a thin blanket to dry off. [ I pity such a lonely existence. ] Vann clicks his tongue at the recollection. He doesn't regret defending himself, but loneliness is a blade that bleeds its wearer; it's painful enough to bear without having to be reminded of it. He wonders if Sol resents him, if for no other reason than to be rid of the tension between them before the seams continue to fray. His hands slow down as Vann's own thoughts sequester him away, and he stops halfway through lacing his trousers. Water droplets trickle down the side of his neck. [ I never claimed to be good, and I don't pretend at honesty. ] He ought to speak to her.
half - dressed, Vann wrings the last of the water out of his hair, and only then does he realize he's paced some distance away from his belongings. He turns, the blanket - towel slung over his shoulders.
there's a flicker of gold. Hand halfway stretched out to reach for his shirt, Vann pauses, staring right into Sol's eyes from where she stands above the incline. [ Your scars signify failure. He's never wanted to hide this badly before. ] He collects himself and his wits. Let her look. His body does not pretend. ❛❛ Is something wrong? ❜❜