[vermiculi-a]

♥ » “Alright!” Irisviel replied, perhaps eight isn’t the right age for something of this topic. Lady of light softly hummed a song she had heard from the radio that he had brought, having remembered the tune to the perfect note. A dreary & snowing day seemed a lot brighter when they were together, she thinks, her eyes expressing her bliss.

    “Most definitely.” she laughed lightly, then looked at her love a bit more seriously. The tea tray came down on the table with a gentle & ringing clink. “But you know, Kiritsugu… There wouldn’t be a point, would there? Because she won’t...”

    Irisviel leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of the tea she had prepared.

[utnihil]

          He saw in the snow the futility in their time spent together, saw the birth and coming death of purity. The lifespan of something precious depended upon where it first touched the Earth, and he knew, knew so well, that the fortune of his virtue was incredibly slim, the time he'd been allotted to spend in its presence an even smaller amount. Irisviel was not his retribution, after all, though she was the method through which they would all be saved, neither she, nor his daughter, would be at his side forever.

Yet, he had to keep looking forward, for he could not look back. Kiritsugu cast his glance out the nearby window, took in the sight of a quiet snow falling over a glamoured forest, a vision of white, a vision of his present. He turned his gaze back to his wife, reached up with uncharacteristically gentle hands to thumb along the frame of her face, to touch something that would only be in his hands for so long.

"I know, Iri," the acceptance of the words she could not say left his lips sounding of a croak, of a reality too hard to choke back, too harsh to swallow, "I know the time we have is limited. But when the time comes, it will be the both of us that fulfill the promise of giving her the best future possible, of setting her free. When that time comes, it is a future you will face at my side."

[gungniring]

     Crystallines eyes fixate on the man who speaks poorly, ideals pouring through his tone - yet still not effecting her, solid rock-like aura unable to be permeated by even the strongest of weathers. However, she’s yet to speak with anyone about her intentions or experiences, heavily focused on her personal goals as opposed to how she looks to some old man. It does not hurt to at least defend what little reputation she has anyway. 

     Hardly fazed, she replies with both honesty and tact. ❝ It’s insulting to be referred to as a child still, I’ve long since been doing this sort of thing. You know nothing about me to be speaking down on me with your… ideals. I am a professional, not a little girl, and I advise you view me as such. ❞ Hostility, all the while masked, is knit between her words, caring little otherwise for someone to degrade her as though she’s to live up to a standard written by someone else.

[utnihil]

         He was far from impressed by the way she presented himself. Such was clear in his stance. He held himself with a cigarette in his hands and smoke in his lungs, ready to escape his lips as cold thoughts were his tongue, forming a strange conflict of tone and temperature. She did not react coldly, did not readily jump to assert her status as what she had called a professional, and to the inner self, the sort of empathy he kept hidden deep under the layers of memories he did not revisit and discarded shells and magazines he'd never retrieved, lives he'd never saved, he found her reaction to be the most disappointing value of her demeanor. She was once the sort of little girl a hero with a hung cape had wanted to save, after all.

"No child will ever earn the title of professional, girl. Not you, not I, not the progeny I may leave behind," his words were simple, a cold truth, a real fact. Professional was a title he'd hounded, yet had found himself shielded from for his entire adolescence. Children in no circumstance needed to know how to pull a trigger. "You are a little girl, and you are right, I will certainly view you as such."

[utnihil]

         His laugh was a reflection of all the dry vigor an old man could muster in the face of some vaulted form of entertainment. How sardonic it was, the way he found himself chortling in the presence of an advert directing the recruitment of young mercenaries, how reflective of his state of mind indeed.

"A crop of mercenaries run by a young girl, my, the surprises this world presents would truly astound a man with a greater depth and capacity to care. Still, to see children advertising such a state of being," he swallowed, the words truly left a sour taste on his tongue and a starchy dryness on his gums, "it goes against everything I fought for as a man, I would think."

[utnihil]

*.[intro.velvetiiin]

velvetiiin

         It was with a flat stare that he regarded the one who had expressed such a vague curiosity in the form of a staying gaze. A veil of cigarette smoke proved to be the curtain between them, a silence and clear disinterest stifling that which had caught the other's eye in the first place. Still, his watcher moved not an inch. 

"If you're waiting for the moment I give to whatever game you've got me locked in, you'll be waiting for some time," cold words left colder lips on the rising drafts of another exhale of smoke, "You're clearly not seeking some sort of business with me. So what is it?"

[grailism-blog-blog-deactivated2]

utnihil

       At the masquerade, Irisviel stays on the outline of the activity; eyes shining brightly behind a delicately made mask gifted to her by some kind stranger. No, she does not fear the event that’s occurring around her, though it does make her nervous in an excited sort of way. It’s much like some fairytale she thinks, has read enough to be aware of the extravagance of what’s occurring despite never having been in direct contact with one until now. How lucky she felt to be a part of this all now.

       No matter how lovely the ball is around her, it’s hard to enjoy it with her fullest heart. Part of her mind – most of it really – is focused on the lack on something. The female knows herself well enough to know exactly who has occupied the parts of her mind that are not focused on the music flowing around her or the people that pass her by.

       Occasionally, she allows herself a look around, not obvious enough to garner much attention when she does so, but enough to get a good enough view of the room. She knows who exactly she sees next time she looks around, can’t mistake anyone else for him. Before he gets lost amongst the crowd, she follows close behind for a little while, and allows herself to reach out and gently tug on the sleeve of his suit for attention.

       “Kiritsugu!” the name spoken in a puff of breath, delight notable in her voice and how brightly her face lights up behind the mask. “I’m so happy you’re here, I was beginning to worry that I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

[utnihil]

          She is a vision in white, flowing skirts and delicate lace and all the virgin grace and clumsy steps she'd taken down the aisle on the day they were wed. She was a memory, a ghost of the close and forgotten past, eyes wide with wonder, arms open and accepting, pure and untainted and innocent, so naive, everything she had been until the moments she'd yielded herself to his final desire, calling out in a voice whose dying breaths had spoken his final prayer. 

Such a prayer had lead none of them to their salvation. In his own final hours, he'd seen her black, tainted by his exhaled smoke and the true reality of his ideals. In her, he could not allow his miasma to form. It was when she summoned the Grail that he'd realized just how his cup ran over, just how he could not control its flow, could not keep that what was precious and white and light and such a vision from staining in his presence.

Perhaps that was why his initial reaction fell into steps of recoil, a one, two, three, part of an eight count beat following the lines set by the music overhead. It was rare that his eyes, cold and dead and gray, shook with that sort of fear, for he was not the sort of man to visit his past, and never in his lifetime had he found himself forcefully visited by his ghosts, an esper so pure and virgin, returned to a state before his fingers had ever left traces of his touch.

He breathed heavily, exhaling a trail of anxious smoke, though no miasmic words left his lips. To indulge himself in this fear he constantly rejected would be to deny this vision of his past that which she had always wanted to return to. Kiritsugu, in that moment, did as he knew best. An inhale, another exhale, calm his nerves and steel over the light in his eyes, return to zero. He held a single palm out to catch the ghost that wished to return to his arms. Inviting, as the waves always were before they drug a man under.

"Iri," another breath, "would you do me the honor of this one dance?"

[arthuriaa-deactivated20171110]

     It was an undeniable presence— one which even behind the facade of a mask could not shield the familiar hulk of his body, the same, brooding shoulders and unshaven jawline— those eyes which screamed of a past of ideals since long begotten… 

     “I did not believe you would come to such an event.” Flat was her voice, not quite unkind but leveled. Her gaze, pointed and calculative show only the sparks of curiousity lingering amongst its verdigris depths— she questioned his very presence within the ballroom. 

     “Emiya, Kiritsugu.”

utnihil

[utnihil]

          Kiritsugu, of course, was a man easily found with attentions gracing the forms of the weapons and relics of ancient, untold heroes in an event such as this. Rather than mingling with the crowd, he stood as an outlier dressed in their garb, an otherwise well-disguised black sheep, still and quiet, hands shoved into the pockets of his trenchcoat, a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip. None of it piqued his interests, really. There was no inclination in his posture, no pull of curiosity at the corners of his lips, only dregs of smoke polluting an enclosed space and dark eyes a dead, mirroring grey of the toxins he breathed out.

Yet, as on airs as he appeared, he was never the sort to find himself caught in a daydream. Only those innocent in mind fantasized beyond their mind's eye in their waking moment. He had simply stilled, placed greater focus on his own awareness than the drum and droll of the crowd around him. It was that focus that triggered him to look up, eyes and mouth in a thin line behind his mask, to acknowledge and take in the simple splendor that was the Knight King.

"And I suppose one would expect the King of Knights to have naught but these plans for the night. Tell me, in times of old, at events such as these, when taking in the sight of your people, did you see them as a crowd or did you learn to recognize the individual faces behind the facades of splendor," he spoke flatly, words directed at the display case before him, not to the Eirei at his back, questioning her own inquiries, "Arturia Pendragon?"

[interweb-slinger-deactivated201]

Send me "Note-ce me" and I'll hand write something for you!

[utnihil]

[utnihil]

knowing your partner well makes writing together a lot easier. tag this with the people you enjoy roleplaying with but want to get to know better. i was tagged by: irxsviel

BASICS:  name: squeak. age: twenty. preferred pronouns: she/they. sexuality: grey-a/pan. zodiac sign: scorpio/sagittarius cusp. taken or single: single. three facts: pocket sized, dislikes lots of foods that start with a 'p,' craves coffee beans often.

EXPERIENCE:  how long (months/years?): thirteen years. how’d you start: parental permission form to use the neoboards, roleplay forum. platforms you’ve used: neopets, proboards, gaia, msn, deviantart, tumblr, skype. that order.

MUSE PREFERENCES: female or male: half and half. fatale ladies and morally grey or mindbroken males. favorite face: nina clones. least favorite face: generic white actor faceclaims. multi or single: had a multimuse indie in the old days, prefer single characters to an account these days. multiple characters per gaia forum and posting for them in the same reply is fine though.

WRITING PREFERENCES:  fluff, angst or smut: depends on the character. most dominant muse is more for gore and smut, some angst. plots or memes: smaller memetic threads that build to plots, memes are a day off every sunday. long or short replies: short that works into long. best time to write: sleeping schedule is cyclic, but usually in the last two or three hours before i sleep. are you like your muse(s): not really.

No obligation, but I would love to read about:

legacyofcourage horosuru rymors zaiteki / vidhir

[vermiculi-a]

♥ » “I see! Isn’t that wonderful; younger society learning about the reproductive system.. Though, Kiritsugu, how we did so was quite awkward, wasn’t it?” Irisviel pours another cup of tea into Kiritsugu’s cup.     “Perhaps we should look up this ‘R-18’ topic for Illyasviel.”

[utnihil]

“The moment I learned was far from ideal, but I'd had no mind for 'awkward' in those days. The only uncomfortable minutes of your own situation were those in the presence of others as we discussed the limits of our bodies. Though, I would give Illyasviel another year, maybe two before we breach the topic to her. She has the luxury of a sheltered, but open life. Spoiling that early may not work to our favor," from his lips, came a chuckle, as he regarded with much adoration the woman he'd taken as his wife, considered with great remorse how quickly the time in his limbo had gone by. Their daughter was already approaching that age.

"Though, coming upon us in the middle of the act would certainly be a worse way to learn of such topics. You play the role of the mother, you can choose when you wish for her to learn," the continuation of his reply fell in a flat tone. Playing off the responsibility of teaching his daughter of the birds and the bees would be his best strategy.

[utnihil]

❝ No one can blame you for walking away. ❞

ＬＡＢＹＲＩＮＴＨ → the sentence meme:

Her acceptance of his past dilemmas were his retribution. Tears were a foreign entity in his eyes, but, as he nodded his head to the wispy remains of what were the delusions of his wife, she who had fallen victim, like so many to his ideals, he felt the peace she’d always sought for him. It was her forgiveness. His reply came on the voice of choked sobs.

“Of course, Iri,” Of course, no one would blame him, and from this point he would move forward, he could not, as he always had been unable to, allow himself to feel blame. ”But losing you, losing Illya, they will be my unmentioned regrets. I do not deserve your forgiveness.”

[vermiculi-a]

utnihil

♥ » “Kiritsugu, what does R-18 mean?”

[utnihil]

“It is a rating used to describe moments similar to the times we *** and **** and *** of an adult nature, a label for the things in the world that are too explicit for the eyes of the innocent or the eyes of a child to see, Iri," he found no aversion to her curiosity, as always, only a loving compellence to sate it.

[utnihil]

❝ All right then, throw down your weapons, and I’ll see that you’re well-treated. ❞

ＬＡＢＹＲＩＮＴＨ → the sentence meme:

“You and I are one in the same, King of Heroes," though his odds feel bleak over his shoulders, he was not the sort of man to bow, not to his own demise, not to the ideals of others, "if a man was so quick to throw down his weapons and his ideals, he'd have no worth as a man. I will not bow to your tricks."

[utnihil]

❝ My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. ❞

ＬＡＢＹＲＩＮＴＨ → the sentence meme:

"Only one of us has seen their kingdom fall," his breaths are ragged, words as heavy as the others, and they were so close, oh so close to their precipice, only holding on long enough to wait for the other to fall, "and neither has the right to call themselves a king. What good are men with our ambition to lead based on ideals?"

[utnihil]

❝ All right then, throw down your weapons, and I’ll see that you’re well-treated. ❞

ＬＡＢＹＲＩＮＴＨ → the sentence meme:

“Do you honestly have any expectation I’d surrender to you?” his questioning reply came on obstinate airs, as he cocked the barrel of the shotgun in his arms with all too much threatening intent, ”I have no mind to fall here.”

[utnihil]

*.large parties [intro.enkiengi]

Your odds are always stacked, you'll go back to black.

From whence his pull came, the call that drew him from the veins of the city to a vulnerable place bathed in lights, he did not know. It was a zero, a whim without origin, but it had left him, uncertain and weary, seated at the edge of an open bar with a large cigar smoking between the pinched fingers branching from a palm and a glass half empty (or maybe half full) of whiskey poured over a sizeable ball of ice, seated coasterless, serving as the object of his gaze and one of many dates for the evening.

Recreation came as a much-welcomed need in this city, though those that turned their shoulders to its calls and its lights as he had turned his back to the night's splendors pushed against its pull. He would numb the attraction with alcohol, and, with that thought in mind, he brought his strained hand to rest at his side, lifting his droplet-laden glass to his lips with the other, regarding he who had seated himself so close with a grunt and a gaze over the cup's rim.

Such a guise was not easily mistaken.

"Archer," came his greeting, a matter-of-fact grunt of the Servant's summoned class, accompanied by a nod. In these conditions, acknowledgement served as more than a welcome greeting.

[utnihil]

CITTA WINTER MASQUERADE 2015

[utnihil]