#vazaymir

[shadesofblades]

Kisses!

its been awhile since i drew these two! something sweet!

[drawwithsajiri]

Commission for @vazaymir of Roka and Vaza.

It was a lot of fun drawing these miqo’te ladies

[luck-and-larceny]

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

@vazaymir asked this too! I could just make something up, buuut- wouldn't it be more fun to just ASK people? I'd find that more fun. Let's do that!

Here are the responses from the people Malika has known the longest. @herowren (Mae):

Mae would prod the suspected-fraudulent-Mal about her full name without giving it, ever, because NO and about STRICTLY FAKE memories that are so anti-Mal or anti-Mae that if it WERE Mal, she'd immediately reject them. Following those, she might prod about their "adoption ceremony" date WHICH MAL DOESN'T -HAVE- TO REMEMBER BECAUSE IT IS ENGRAVED ON THEIR RINGS. If Malika answers with the correct date when she takes off the ring to look or just makes up a date with absolute confidence then it's definitely Mal.

If she either doesn't answer or she answers correctly with absolute confidence without having to take the ring off then it's NOT Mal. Malika: First Sun of the Third Umbral moon. I remember that day like it was yesterday. We stole the shoelaces from every Maelstrom officer's boots and part of your speech to me during the ceremony was about how much you admire and respect me as your elder. (This is all clearly made up- but the shoelaces thing sounds fun) @dumb-hat (Evander) If Evander thought someone was impersonating Malika, he'd probably offer to take them on a very expensive shopping spree, but he'd make sure to mention stuff like how much money he was going to spend, how expensive everything was, stuff like that. If she's impressed by the cost of things or seems greedy, it's not Malika. Malika would rather they spend money on something cheap and fun, then steal the fancy stuff.

But I think he might suspect an impostor and be like "Ah, okay, reverse these values and… Yup. Okay. They think she steals because she wants stuff. Definitely not her. Malika: Ugh. The see if you can agitate me by talking about gil strategy is valid, but uuugh. Quick, We both need to take a drink from an expensive bottle of alcohol and then I need to throw that bottle hard against a wall.

@kestrelvylbrand (Kestrel)

Ok, so my first instinct to the question is that Kes would be oblivious and try to heavily makeout with Malika. And in that process she'd figure out it wasn't her.

Malika: Good detective work there, Kes. Just to be on the safe side, you'd probably better make out with me everytime you see me. You know, just to make sure I'm the real deal.

@argentrenard (Argent)

Argent would ask her to do something, like, anything he can think of right off the bat like "Malika, go steal something off that desk." If she does it without comment, it's not Malika. If she refuses to do it, it's Malika. If she refuses to do it, but then when he leaves or his back is turned DOES do it, it's Malika. Unless he tells her this plan, then if it's really Malika it might be hard to figure out if it's really Malika. Malika: This wouldn't work. Unless it did. But then I'd pretend it didn't anyway. Unless I thought you expected me to pretend that it didn't work in which case I'd.... Uh. I need a drink. Wish I hadn't thrown the bottle against the wall.

@suzhuazheyal (Suzhua) She would ask the nickname that Malika gave her. Malika: I don't remember it in your language, but how could I forget Annoying Sheep?? Affectionately though, right? ...Right?

@the-wanted-man (Roman)

He’d ask her what constellation was in the sky the first time she showed him magic. Malika: You must mean the Hunter. That constellation has a lot of names for a lot of people, all of them as real as the next, but that's what you called it. Thanks for the Ask! That was fun!

[the-wanted-man]

21. collapse

With clamor and clang, the rusted iron grates of his cell door slid open out of schedule, for the first time in moons since he’d been put into them. A set of old clothes are tossed into his lap and with little pre-tense, the fugitive cowboy is informed by the looming Torch to get dressed and that the conditions of his sentence had been adjusted on the heels of a generous benefactor’s timely donation.

The journey back to the city was long, arduous, and quiet. In the time it had taken him to shuffle from his cell in Marasaja back to Ul’dah, a slow and simmering despondency had settled within him, dampening a mood that was typically more excitable than what it was. Not that he would have been particularly chipper with his escort anyways, a city Blade who had met his previous captors about half-way and  reminded Lawrence as every guard ever had done before, that escape was not an option.

The cowboy might have felt compelled to remind in turn that despite popular belief towards the contrary, the option had a tendency to make itself known anyways but in truth, he couldn’t much muster the strength. Too weary to even consider food let alone a proper escape, he took to his small room with one way in, and one way out and found it far more appealing. Collapsing into the sheets of a cheap cot, he settled there for the remainder of an uneasy night of rest and stole some additional comfort in the fact that the Blade guarding his door would likely get very little sleep keeping an eye on him.

His dreams nevertheless were born of a fretful state of mind, full of the things he hated most. Rusting, rattling chains. The dull thud and clink of pick-axes digging into stone echoed about his skull like the ricochet of a bullet kicked off course. Monstrous rasps and shrieks haunted him, while the disembodied laughter of cruel men and the steady pacing of boots against hard stone chased him in his sleep. He relived every beating, every gut punch and busted lip in his restless, fitful slumber and felt no better for it come the morning.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMP! He awoke with a jolt to heavy knocking, body reacting on instinct to tumble and flail onto hardwood in a heap of blankets and aching bones. A strange sense of delirium followed him into that hurtling consciousness of which he found hard to shake, the  incessant thumping upon the door doing little to ease the splitting migraine that caused his head to throb. He’s told to make himself known, no doubt with concern that he’s somehow flown the coop. 

"Roman Lawrence Wyld! Declare yourself! You have twenty seconds."

The Outlaw grumbled out a curse to the Twins and swiped a hand up over the side of the bed to drag himself to a stand on shaky legs. Before he's managed to even fully stand, the door is hit again with the same excessive force as before, shaking as if it might be thrown from its hinges while the same, authoritative demand echoed from the other side of the wall. 

"WHAT?" His voice croaked sharply, filled with more venom than a stepped-on rattlesnake. A tense silence follows where the cowboy stares red eyed in a standstill between himself and a door. Finally, he’s told that he’s been summoned though not by whom, and a string of swear words tumbles from his lips with the same harshness of which he’d fallen before. Despite his general lack of punctuality he’s out the door within half the time allotted to him, somehow knowing better than to press his luck.

In the same way he’d been brought to his room, he’s taken to his destination: with a Brass Blade on his heels, monitoring every step. It raised his hackles and placed the vagabond on edge, but they make it to a tall building of piss yellow stone without incident, and ride a lift to the highest floor. Heavy wooden doors are pushed open, and he’s pushed through into a lavish, circular ball room with polished marbled floors and stainless white walls. 

Everything had some kind of gilded finish on it. Expensive art of every pretentious quality hung from the walls, and all the furniture was of the heavy and ornate kind that would entail only the most back breaking labor to get up this far anyways. Not the sort of labor to likely be done by anyone that would ever live in a place such as this. 

He’s led to a corner office that opened into an impressive balcony, and the doors are shut behind him. The room itself held a number of shelves full of books and ledgers, as well as a number of cultivated bonsai trees and small shrubs that surrounded a curved desk. Things that might have held his interest otherwise, if not for the man sitting opposite the oaken desk in front of him. Roman stared a while, not quite believing his eyes despite the very tangible nature of his reality. 

“Yer th’one what paid m’debts off, m’guessin’.” He states carefully, squinting with suspicion at his half-brother. 

“Ten years at least, and that’s the best ‘hello’ you can muster.” Leviticus for his part sighed, dramatically at that, taking up a glass of what could only ever be the finest wine that Ul’dah could offer. “Straight to business, then. So be it. If you must know; No. I didn’t. I paid to get you out of the Pit, something that wasn’t cheap, mind you. It took a small fortune just to get them to listen to me, let alone get you out. You’re welcome by the way.” 

Self-aggrandizing pretention had ever been a character flaw of his brother, and a decade had done little to lessen that fact it seemed to Lawrence. Levi went on to chide him about how Law’s own flaws had led him down a path to needing saving, and that stealing from as many nobles and merchants as he’d had would have ended with him at the end of a noose had Levi not suggested Marasaja instead while he worked out a better deal for his wayward brother. 

“I hear they only throw the worst of the worst down there, you know. Murderers. Demons. Tax evaders.” What was meant as perhaps a joke in poor taste, was no less true and Lawrence shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Pits. It was perhaps the worst cell he’d ever been in, and had no intentions of ever returning. 

“I convinced them I could get them their money back, through you. And me, of course. See, despite all the trouble you caused them, they couldn’t help but admit you were resourceful in your villainy. So, I told them that we’d use you to recover their assets since you were so good at taking them in the first place. You work hard enough, they’ll erase your record and let you walk. Again, you can thank me.”

The cowboy didn’t thank him. Instead, he scowled and made a gesture. “So lemme git this straight: I’m t’be a lil’ crony fer a bunch’a rich folks what labeled me a thief, murderer, an’ a damn heretic. An’ when all is sed an’ done, an’ I pay off whatever debts it is they think I owe, after turns’a hassle, you think they’ll jus’ let me walk away from everything?” 

“That’s precisely what I think, because here, just like anywhere else, money will get you everything if not more. Even a fancy spot in heaven, if you believe in all of that. The deal, as it stands, is that you’re to remain near Ul’dah. Preferably in it, until called upon, though given how readily they expect you to fuck up, I  sweetened the deal by providing additional tracking. There’s not yours. You’ll need to put this on. A stipulation of your parole, we’ll call it, and more importantly, a stipulation of my business partners.” 

Leviticus opens his desk, and sets what appeared to be a ceruleum cuff on the desk. Lawrence blanched. “What y’want t’put a damn collar on me now?” 

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a bracelet. Now, put it on. While I’m certain I could have my shiny new Brass friends do it for you, I’d rather save the spectacle. Besides. I never much enjoyed brute force, and know other ways to settle a discrepancy. Like your old man, sitting in that church up by Drybone. I take it you get a lot of friendly tips about what the guards there talk about, and how close they are on your tail. But I don’t think he’d do half as well in Marasaja as you’ve managed in his declining age.” 

Lawrence went several shades pale. “That’s not true. You know it ain’t.” 

Levi shrugged. “I know that it could be. And that’s really all that’ll matter in the end to the right ears, isn’t it?” 

Lawrence felt a fury in his breast start to swell, so rapidly he thought his whole heart might burst as he lingered on the edge of attacking the Garlean but instead, he linked the cold metal cuff about his wrist and stood, not bothering to exchange further pleasantries with his half-brother as he left the office. 

The same Brass Blade from before quickly hurried up from a seat to escort him back to his room, but the presence wouldn’t really be needed. He left the immaculate room and the tall building, straggling back to the tavern where he supposed his new abode would be. With the door shut behind him, and a space all to his own, he finally had the good sense to say what had been on his mind the whole walk back.

“Well. Shit.” 

To be continued...

Chapters: [ I.][ II.] [ III. ][ IV.][ V.][ VI.]

From Micro Story Asks [x]

Sorry this took so long! But hopefully, its an enjoyable read. I’ve had some story things I’ve wanted to do with the character for a while, and these prompts helped to build that foundation. So thank you for sending! 

Edit: I did some rewriting, to cut down on what I felt was ultimately a lengthy post that didn’t quite convey thoughts I wanted at 2 in the morning whenever I finished but at the time wanted to get something written. It’s more or less the same story, just cut down to be more palatable of a read while I get back into my groove and more concise on the details I wanted. 

[mistdrinkersblade]

🫧

The quiet splash of water was the only other company the pair of makeshift adventurers had. Syla adored it that way. Resting his hair back onto the miqo’te lap, as Vaza expertly wove her fingers through his soaked hair. Lathering a pleasantly scented mixture through long, auburn locks. She had picked it, of course. Syla smelled how she wanted him to smell...and honestly? He didn’t mind too much. Whatever pleased her.

Especially if she was willing to wash him like this. A bit more intimate than he had expected the first time, but this was almost routine at this point. Letting her hands play with his hair and lather the soap among it. Closing his eyes with a sigh as he rest back on her. Comfort and trust, and only for her.

Maybe, if she let him, she would be next...

[phoebe-of-ivalice]

take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . Phoebe!

Phoebe hated being in the forests of Gridania, especially at nightfall. It was bad enough she was plagued with the broken voices of the Green Word here, let alone trying to listen for any creatures lurking out of sight. She shook her head abruptly as if it could magically clear her ears of the perpetual onslaught of elemental voices. If only Buscarron hadn’t cut her off so early, she could be blindingly drunk AND lost in the forest.

Perhaps that was how she missed the shadowy figure stalking her on the rocky ledge above. It wasn't until a pair of boots hit her square in the back that Phoebe would realize someone else was present. She was knocked to the forest floor, face full of dirt and molding leaves. She sprang back to her feet reflexively, katana drawn and ready to attack.

She hadn't expected to find a Miqo'te huntress facing her, an arrow pointed right for her forehead. Phoebe slowly sheathed her weapon, then raised her hands slowly to show she meant no harm. She had heard of the Moon tribes in these areas but had never encountered one before. Perhaps in her idiotic stumbling, she had crossed into their territory.

"Forgive me, I meant no harm. I seem to be lost. I'll just.... be on my way," Phoebe attempted to sidle back to the path. The eyes of the huntress burrowed into her as she walked back the way she came. Perhaps Buscarron wouldn't mind letting her sleep on the porch just this once.

@vazaymir thanks for the prompt! :D

[shadesofblades]

26. How much stock does your muse put in first impressions? What is the best way to make a good first impression with your muse?

The first character that came to mind was Shunbai.

While he doesn’t want first impressions to define his relationship with a person- they usually do. He’s the type of person who can get in his own head about how he might come off to people and what people think. If you run into him and immediately clash, he will remember that for a long time and maybe even get pissy about it.

Making a good first impression with Shunbai isn’t too hard if you’re chill or interested in the same things he is interested in. Hunters and crafters who respect the trades and are not abrasive tend to leave good impressions on him. Don’t tease or bully him too much out of the gate or else he will not want to talk to you. Only good friends can do that. Otherwise, he will genuinely get mad.

I’m sure there’s more since he’s such a multifaceted personality, but I’ve rambled enough.

Thank you @vazaymir !!

[shadesofblades]

If your OC were ever to fill out a Dating Site (or pamphlet or newspaper) profile, then what would they include?

The first character I thought of for this silly thing is a young Baatu

[picture of Baatu shirtless holding a huge fish that he just caught] Baatu, 23 📍Lives in Ul’dah 2 miles away Looking for: A Good Time About Me Always down to clown. Love to fish and fight! I can cook you a home cooked meal, baby ;) Interests [Fishing] [Sparring] [Parties] More About Me [Solider] [Foodie] [New in Town]

This was so silly lmfao, thank you @vazaymir ! <333