#soulcleft

[drouklazher-blog]

❝ Ragar Kertia, hear my command. Seek out the spiciest of this human item called ‘ramyeon’. You may not return until you find one that would make even the Noblesse shed tears. ❞

@soulcleft | @unheimlig - 8|c

     There was no doubt that the Lord did all this to annoy him. Obviously unloading whatever she held back in persistent aggravation, given the former leader of the Kertia family orders just as this one that a many other current [ and former ] leaders would find appalling. Atrocious and something to raise voice about that he should deny these happenings and require upon orders more worth his time and skill!

    Himself? Honestly, he held no care about that. Accepting easily, as would it not permit him to wander back into the realm of humankind and just be for a while? [ in a sense, she did him well with her personal displeasure about plans and orders from her Lord Father ]. And, unlike others, he was not against learning the changes of the world [ even though man-made appliances held little to no worth for him ], having been taught a few things here and there by the modified humans under Viktor’s care. Especially the man named Tao seemed to be delighted that someone of the assassin’s class would be willing to indulge in the ‘benefits’ of this so-called 'internet’, making work a lot simpler while - in the end - Ragar would still go out and about and fancy himself in gathering whatever would come to light in research done over the last hour [ he, still, had to listen to the boy voicing concern about being loaded upon with something quite as - whimsical - as this ].

    Alas, two could play this game.

    “My Lord.”

    It would be laughable to assume that the Noblesse would shed tears, alas, he had left packages behind for Frankenstein to try and indulge his Master, however he saw fit [ he would her about this, later on, he knows ]. “As per your wish, I went out to find the 'spiciest ramyeon’, and will hear later about how it fared with the Noblesse and if it was to his taste.” She couldn’t really mean it, now could she? To make him 'shed tears’ [ too much like her father sometimes ]. With the announcement of return, he bows before her, movements of well-mannered politeness and respect to be fulfilled, accepting her wholly as his new Master and Leader.

    “I’ve had the servants prepare it all regarding what Frankenstein told me how to do it, so if you may want to proceed in trying them as you wish, they are waiting in the adjourning room.” And he was not desultory in his tries. Finding ten different versions, not only from Korea but also Malaysia and India as well - fulfilling it all to utmost perfection. “They are lined up by the 'mildest’ to the 'spiciest’.” And even more might he not want to offer? Of course, but that was due to the scientist’s very mannerism around those that all the nobles would look up to [ couldn’t have helped it, right? alone the fact of task being quite so charmingly hilarious as this had spurred on wants and needs to - 'help’ - ? ]. “I am to also offer my regards from Frankenstein himself.” That would not end well, so he knows. “He provides his skill to add ingredients and spice to the one you like the most if it were still too mild for the Lord’s tongue to taste.” And sure enough - the spiciest of them all held enough heat to have, by a little taste, lingering burn for half an hour on lips alone.

[unheimlig-blog]

fine frankenstein if u wanna play this game then the next time she comes around with a life restoring ragnarok she'll sprinkle it with some FINE ASS CAROLINA REAPER POWDER BEFORE STABBING RAIZEL WITH IT

  @soulcleft - nO DON’T DO TH AT.

A sneeze echoes 'round laboratory, head lifting away from test results to stare blankly at the wall. What was this sensation? Or, to be more exact, when was the last time he’d felt it? A few hundred years ago, perhaps? ❝ Hm? Feels like a demon is cursing me somewhere. ❞

[leviathanwielded-moved-blog]

@soulcleft || sc <3 

  She could run and run - but eventually, she would hit a dead end.  Now, however, she could choose who to meet at the road of the end. If she were to die, then at least by hands that blessed her with their touch. And so, though a primordial part of her urged her to go on and run for her dear life, she slowed down. Her arm still had not regrown, dark Spear’s energy almost nullifying all modifications she had made on herself. And so, she must face the Lord, a mix of excitement and horror bubbling in her guts.

   “Lord.” She could not think of a better one to pursue her. Here, on this clearing in the dense forests of werewolf island, her fate must be sealed. To be brought down by the sword of the Lord.... must be a good end. A better end than the voracious abomination that was Frankenstein’s false soul weapon... and a better end than falling into the hands of the Noblesse, even if there really was not all that much difference to it, really.

     “I wish we had met again under better circumstances.” 

[drouklazher-blog]

     Sometimes [ but barely in any moment in his life ] he had to wonder what his Lord thought with orders given that seemed as fleeting of a whim as the wind that had changed outside to announce weather of upcoming rain. He could already feel it, faintly smell it, and yet found himself in the middle of a grand hall - waiting for a company he did not expect to have today. The Lord's daughter, Erga Kenesis Di Raskreia, would meet him in a few heartbeats still spent in silence and solitude. Those that tick away like the approach of footsteps heard and concentrated upon while he stands with eyes closed [ situated upon the opposite of the door, visible shall one enter ].

    How curious [ maybe he should ask? ], that the Lord found it humorous to bestow a task like this upon the family leader. Ah--- maybe Ragar didn't even want to know why.

    So he bows once the door would be opened. Waits a few seconds before deeming it polite and courteous to raise voice of tranquillity towards her very person. "Lady Raskreia." Soft-spoken as he always had been. "My pleasure to be your company for the evening. Your Lord Father ordered me to instruct you." Instruct in what? "May I ask how you fare when it comes to dancing?"          || @soulcleft  ♡~

[drouklazher-blog]

No bitterness could be shown ( orders were followed perfectly ) so all the Lord can do after that 'delightful' experience with the ramyeon is praise the former Kertia leader's effort. What better way than a personal gesture? Silently, using the chopsticks still resembling stakes, she offers a tteokbokki ( directly to his face ) neatly decorated with all those kind spices Frankenstein gifted on Ragar's completed mission beforehand. There is no verbal command, but eating can be the only option.

@soulcleft akdjhadad BYE

     If he were to be honest, in a sense, he had considered before that this would be the outcome of it, watching with mild amusement [ yes, he's very amused ] how she had absolutely no words for it and then settled on a rather 'jovial' gesture of her own.

    Feeding him with it, hm?

    He would need to tell Viktor about that later, even though he was aware that this was quite an incident he would suffer through just for his own bewildering entertainment in these moments. "Of course, my Lord." He sounded far too entertained. Far too delightfully painted in the shades of knowing he did catch her - even though he would be paid back for it in seconds to come - "You know, this actually reminds me of what my children had done very often, caught up in play with one another."

    Hundreds of years ago, but he did reminisce in these fleeting seconds, gaze turning a bit softer, before gaining back an amused glance. "And what you have done so many centuries years ago as well." [ How lucky that nobody else was around to hear him, now wasn't it? ] A cherished bit of the past between them---

    ---alas, he would fulfil her wish anyway. Without blinking or twitching, 'indulging' in the concoction the scientist had prepared [ yes, actually he had expected it ].

    And would go to suffer a while in peace.

[drouklazher-blog]

@soulcleft - you asked for it

     Veiled forms of sorrow made all the more apparent. The edged difference of how the heir ‘should’ appear and how she ‘does’ appear, only be brought forth in these few select moments shared in the nothingness of a grand castle. All boiled down to the few instances they were allowed to spend with one another and leaving him to watch the careful movements of the princess [ hard to believe she would be Lord soon ] with a gentle smile. With the softness of a father like he was one, and also - always, in a sense - had been for her. How quaint to think about that now, when she seemed so forlorn, pleading without really doing so [ without being allowed to ] with him to stay. And tumbling in realisations a shake of his head brought to a crashing halt: how he would not want to stay. Want to spend more time with his sons, now that all was so sure, so direly limited, alone for her to raise concerns about the two children? It was enough to have his countenance waver and shatter like fine glass before his eyes turn so unexpectedly - so painfully - fragile in their well-needed placidity.

    “Yes, they have been made.” Speaking like through a fog-like dream when recounting faces, recounting expressions and sadness boiling down to the feelings of wanting to soothe it and being barely able to do in the first place [ how his heart aches with the memory ]. “And yes, I have to.” ‘But do I want to?’ - swirled as a sudden questioning realisation behind those darkening eyes, shades of red shimmering, sombre as he doesn’t know anymore, after seeing own children waning with their despair. To see this child weeping with the same form of buried sorrow? He doesn’t and he never did fear this day coming, would follow his Lord’s wishes without any remark nor remorse, but— [ what would he think? ].

    So a sigh breaks loose only seconds later, that small and near imperceptible smile managing to lighten up whole visage. Before it, remarkably enough, falls to nought and nothingness.

    “Gejutel’s reasons for staying are different, his Highness’ orders are meant to provide utmost possibilities for the future.” Yes, he thought her not quite fitted to be Lord. Yes, he thought she would need more guidance, more time, more experience [ and how this contingency shall not be allowed if only for the Clan Leader to be there with her? ]. It’s all too devastating, to tear them away. But—

    But— “I’m sorry.” It breaks free all of a sudden like a barely perceptible whisper swallowed whole by deafening quiescence. Being forced to watch movements of fluttering insecurity, of known sadness, of the feeling that - yes - there was more, there was something else, had it not always been a problem when it came to the family of the Kertia? Their loyalty, their utmost will to sacrifice themselves for Lukedonia, for the Lord? Despairingly apparent to get attached to them from young age on [ and for once in his life, he knows and sees how it feels— ]. “I’m very sorry, Princess.” Casual, without any casualty. Never would he usually use this word, would have all but referred to her as a Lady, from being a shy child on to be introduced to her, that timid little girl hiding behind tall figure of one of his best and closest friends, a small mimicking amusement in regarding the youth with attention well-deserved and - as he knows - desired. But now? It was so different; his mind going in circles, spinning and having the urgent desire to stop.

    Nothing, nothing would be anymore like now. Her eyes downcast in avoiding gaze of his own [ lingering on any and each movement fulfilled ], that trails along the hem of her attire, in a sense - he wanted her to stop with it. Wanted her to understand that, yes, he might not feel her ready to be the Lord but he would never - never - question decisions made by his Leader’s will, following them near blindly even though the assassin’s own pursuits had been calculated perfectly [ like splitting his own soul into two - how quaint to reminisce on it now ]. But finally so, with all the ache and numbing inability to do anything else, Ragar relents in his own personal grievances.

     When he lowers his tall form to kneel in front of her, head bowed and a hand placed to his chest, upon heart beating and blood pulsing slowly [ running cold with each second ticking away ]. A broken picture perfect resonance of their mutual ache in departing [ unwilling to, unwanting to, it’s a sorrow filled piece of history ], when such the Leader fulfils what she would experience from now on endlessly. Relentlessly. Cursing it all, for it took away cherished memories of the past. As she said, many of the older family heads knew and agreed that her time was not yet here, that she was too young, too filled with emotions in need to be severed for her to overcome a ‘weakness’ that— [ truly was none ]. Heartbeat that still itself out to none at all, when his free hand - unoccupied, flittering before - finally lifts and carefully grasps for her own, lacing long fingers around that delicate wrist in feeling how unsuitable do these hands not seem for fighting, now that, in these moments, reverent gaze was permitted and indulged to finally see. It’s quaint to think about it, how she had been entangled into him so wholly as a little girl [ and how his feelings for her were those of a worried father’s own ]. How she had meant and made to get attached to his form, and reluctantly was now - was now—

    —so surely forced, to let him go.

    So he gives into his personal grievances [ may they not be pardoned to be selfish for once at least? ].

    Leading her hand towards him, having her cease the fretting. The fidgeting. With a guidance of different calibre, soft and slow, when smaller hand had be placed upon the back of his very own then soon enough brought to the assassin’s lips in placing a soothing kiss upon the back of it. Staying like it. Barely perceptible in how he lifts after seconds tricking away like fine sand stalling in the aperture of an hourglass, feeling like an anguished eternity. In all the time he was aware of the date coming closer - of the nobles’ end drawing ever nearer, there were only two moments when he dared to refuse in acknowledgement that it had all been right. All been completely planned. Completely and perfectly overseen. The first moment just, when his own children’s sorrow-filled eyes would regard him and his words with silent pleas to stay. The second, this one right here and right now, achingly settled deeply within his very form. “Do not be afraid, we will always be with you.” Words of sincerity, spoken with a voice unwavering of belief and a smile adorning she was unable to see. Still—

    —still—

    —“I am so very sorry, my dear Princess.” For he knows so well, in these ticking seconds he feels racing in the hidden pulse from her very skin. “Believe in yourself, so that I can leave you behind.” It would still not be enough, in the future was so surely grim.

[soulscursed]

@soulcleft

The clack, clack of heeled shoes against the floors of Lukedonia’s glistening halls, glorious and dusk swept in the darkening evening, is pervasive in the silence. Each step only loudens as their owner’s resolve grows, his stride hastening steadily; the striking of shoes against tile announces his presence in the Lord’s throne room long before she even has to look up.

He offers the courtesy of a bow. Paying the proper respects to Raskreia is a duty he won’t brush aside, even for matters of importance.

❝ Lord – could I have a moment ? ❞  Polite as the words are, Ryo’s tone is touched with just the slightest hint of humour. A sign of familiarity, and of an old respect born of thousands of years of  ( could he dare call it such? )  friendship.  ❝ I have news. ❞

[prismbursts]

@soulcleft || sc. <3 from Janna 

         “I have a great idea.”  A simple announcement that might mean everything and anything - whether an idea was ‘great’ or not was highly subjective after all. However, in this moment she felt like this was maybe the right thing to do. A day out, an opportunity to do something Raskreia would probably enjoy - and if she was not mistaken, from all she heard, the Lord probably was not much exposed to classical culture during the time she spent with the Noblesse in Korea. How could anyone in this world not enjoy true art?

     “We should go to the theater. The Tales of Hoffmann. Would that tempt you? In Venice, such a wonderful city! I think you would love it.” Ah, there she stood, excited, certain that she found something the Lord might approve of. “It’s truly magical. I have attended two or three performances in the past centuries... and I think you might enjoy it as well.”