#starter replies

[riftmeanewverse]

“I not let go.” (Alexei @ Hopper?)

Inwardly, Hopper was a little amused, but outwardly he couldn’t let on about that. He let out a long-suffering sigh as he continued to munch on his chips and salsa. To be fair, the fact that he didn’t immediately protest was proof that he didn’t actually mind Alexei’s closeness.

“Fine, but if I happen to let one rip, you can’t complain about the smell.”

[i--gnis]

@athliotis// Haunted (cont. from here)

athliotis:

How long has it been?

How long, since his fatal mistake, in letting Fate correct itself? When he had so many opportunities, yet he squandered them in something as foolish as faith? Had he not placed this final contingency plan… He would have completely failed. Failed himself, his kin. All those who were wrongly subjugated, enslaved.

He cannot make such a mistake again. But now the game is turned against his favor, for he knows though he is granted life once more, it is far more limited than what he once held. That wretched vessel nearly severed all ties from him, and because of it, their connection is weak.

It could take years before the vessel, and he, are ready to be one again. But what the tactician doesn’t know will be his only advantage. For now, the former Fell God will play it cool.

Given flesh once more from Robin’s foolish curiosity, dark magic and his blood fuse together. Compared to his original self, he looks like a mere, tiny, twelve inch replica.

“Robin…” Grima growls, a hollow echo reverberating in his throat. 

     Picking himself off the ground, the white-haired tactician allows a slight grunt of pain to muffle against his lips, moving a hand to his forehand to try in vain to ease the dull ache pounding rhythmically in his head. Once on his feet, the young man’s eyes fell to the purple tome at his feet–brown eyes immediately widening a bit as the memories of what had taken place mere minutes earlier resurface in his mind. Admittedly, he had been stupid, and he had been reckless. He had allowed his curiosity to get the better of him, despite knowing the risks associated with so much as attempting to use the darker types of magic, especially for someone who has no known practice with such dark practices. Maybe he could have injured himself, or even worse, but as dark eyes scan the area around himself, the tactician can find no signs of his attempt to wield such a dangerously powerful tome actually being successful–he sees no such damage that could imply that. Perhaps, the young man thinks, he is a bit disappointed in himself, but then again, he should be grateful his stupid actions didn’t get himself killed. In fact, as the male looks around, he sees no sign of his attempted usage of the tome anywhere–nothing aside from the purple mist and bright light he had seen earlier. Eventually, the young man sighs, shaking his head as he reached down to pick up the tome, deciding he would not attempt to use it again, but rather keep it on hand. Yet, upon hearing a scarily famliar voice call his name, the man freezes in his spot–brown eyes widening as the grip on the tome suddenly slips from his grasp, hearing only the sound of the book hitting the ground and the pounding of his heart in his chest as he quickly turned on his heel, toward the voice.

    “…?!”

    The sight before him–was that really what he thought it to be? That could not be the fell dragon, could it? Last time he checked, the fell god was massive–large enough to carry an entire army on his back. No, this…thing before him was not Grima. It looked like some sort of slug in comparison. A slug with horns and wings, yes, but a slug nonetheless. Feeling his guard drop, Robin merely stares at the creature, a single brow of his cocking as the confusion of the situation fully hits him. If this tiny dragon really is Grima, then what in the gods’ name could have happened to shrink the dragon so?

   “…A Grima…replica? What?”

[avem--geminis-blog]

@itsgregortime

Gregor:

“Ah, hello Daughter to Tactician Robin, is being surprise to see you calling on Gregor. So what is she needing of Gregor?”

   “Gregor,”

     The young, pink-haired tactician started, looking up at the mercenary with a look not harsh in nature--despite her slightly furrowed brow--, but rather on the more serious side, something that was not common place for Morgan at all. It is clear by the look on her youthful features as well as the tone of her voice that she had call for the man for a reason, and she intended to accomplish said reason by all means. She can be as persistent as she is stubborn at times, after all, but whether or not the much older other saw this little chat coming or not is beyond the young tactician, as she cannot read his mind. That being said, perhaps part of Morgan wishes to believe he had expected this...however she can’t say if he’ll take it as seriously as he hopes he will. So, clearing her throat slightly, and hugging an impressive tome close to her chest, the young, cloaked girl speaks up to the man, attempting to give off as serious of an air as she possibly could despite her small stature and usually sweet demeanor.

   “...It’s true you proposed to my grandmother, yes? Do you think you could answer a few questions for me, real quick?”

[riftmeanewverse]

‘ single again, another year running. at least there’s discount chocolates. ’ (Samson, for Soren)

“You gotta be selective about those chocolates, though. Some of them are absolutely terrible. I have yet to try a good strawberry truffle from one of those boxes. Ugh, they make ‘em so darn sweet!”

[riftmeanewverse]

"... Over." 🚔

“Hey, now you’re gettin’ it! Come get your lunch, smarty-pants. ...Over.”

[riftmeanewverse]

“I just need a breather, that’s all. Maybe ten. No fifteen.” To Hop from Callahan!

“Already? See, this is why your wife is dissatisfied.”

[riftmeanewverse]

❛ moths aren’t even scary! people say ‘ mothman ’ and i don’t - i don’t shiver. ❜

“I mean, I don’t know that much about mothman, but I’m pretty sure the scary part about him isn’t the moth part. Moths are basically just sort of depressed butterflies when you think about it.”

[riftmeanewverse]

“don’t go falling in love with me.” // hi i'm awful.

Sorren’s heart constricted as he tore his eyes away from Julien’s face before he could figure out if the other man was joking or serious. Fuck, had he caught him staring? The two had had a few… close calls, maybe, was a good phrase for the fleeting moments of intimacy under the influence of adrenaline or alcohol or whatever else had pushed them into it. If anyone asked if Sorren was attracted to Julien, he wouldn’t deny it. But was it simply physical? He wouldn’t let himself think about that too deeply. He usually didn’t let himself get too close to people, and it usually wasn’t a problem, since he would meet people at bars and then never see them again. With Julien, however, they had the whole business thing going on. It was a terrible idea to get involved any more than that, honestly. It would just make things complicated.

So why did Sorren keep finding himself thinking about that deep voice or getting lost in those blue eyes?

“Don’t be silly,” he said softly, avoiding the other man’s gaze, though whether his words were more to Julien or to himself he couldn’t say. Hands wrapped around one of the mugs of tea he’d made for them, he stared down into it and wondered, not for the first time, what the psychic would see in his aura.

“Sorry for wasting your time with this one. Never know if people’s claims are true. I’ll still pay for your travel expenses and everything since you came all this way.”