IN RADIANCE.

WOMEN AND MEN, SOLDIERS AND OUTLAWS, FOOLS AND CORPSES. darkest dungeon multimuse, by vladimir. sideblog to aladyonce.

[darkestheir]

https://inspiringtune.tumblr.com/ I MOVED MY JESTER TO HER OWN BLOG

[valiantspirit]

crimson cursed quincey: a cricket

[vengefulfinale]

quincey clasps chester's gloved hands between her own, bouncing on her toes. she's in a good mood, made better by chester and vaux bounding into her performance. " chester, chester, i have something important to tell you. " she lets the tension drag for a looooooong minute before her smile softens from manic-to-sweet. " i'm glad you're my friend. "

She bounced and beamed and touched him, bright and elated. He didn’t need to feel her without gloves to really feel that emotion. Excitement sparked in his own veins from the routine. She was gifted, to say the least. Amazing and outstanding to say more.

“–Oh, what is it?”

He waited, and waited, and just before he went to ask once more, she confessed. There was a bit of surprise in his reaction, body shifting taller, the hand hold looser, and only for a moment. He let go completely just to engulf her in a hug and laughed, loud! Her feet was off the ground as he twirled her.

“And I’m so glad yer mine!”

@valiantspirit

[valiantspirit]

      there’s a performance in the square!       quincey and chester are at it again!

[valiantspirit]

Secret is....Quincey is secret royalty. Killed her dad. Idk

           “ if i’m a princess, why the fuck am i in this shithole? ”

[valiantspirit]

[valiantspirit]

☁[quincey]

SECRET SENTENCES.

           “ her name is annabeth. ”

[valiantspirit]

send a ☁ & my character will reveal an out-of-context sentence from one of their secrets.

[valiantspirit]

" What's the difference between my ex and the titanic? The titanic only went down on 1,000 people." [For Quincey]

      welp, there she goes. she’s literally fallen out of her chair and is laughing hysterically in the tavern, laying on the floor. you’ve defeated your fellow jester.

[valiantspirit]

"It’s hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs because they always take things literally." [For Quincey]

         “ is that why reynauld doesn’t laugh at my jokes? ”

[valiantspirit]

it's during a lull in her ballads, her words halted but fingers continuing to pluck away at the strings, that he dares speak, matching the rhythm of her song with the rhyme of the limerick. “T’was a brutish maiden in Choux, unwed, yet suitors were few. Til came a man penitent, a masochistic flagellant, said he, ‘truly, my dreams have come true!’”

     she’s between songs for the moment, feet kicked up on the table at the tavern, and testing the strings to try and see what she might play next. it’s a nonsense tune, something that was just sing-song-y enough to go along with whatever story she conjured up next, that nesdin manages to match fairly well. not perfectly, but oh, not everyone could be blessed with perfect pitch.

     still, she laughs -- it’s one she isn’t familiar with herself.

          “ ha! nesdin’s got a good sense for rhymes! ”

[valiantspirit]

ROSA.

“i’ll hide my behavior with wine as my savior, but, oh, what beautiful things I’ll wear!” ♫

         “ oh, what beautiful dresses and hair -- wait! oh! you know the song! ” quincey’s song breaks mid-verse at the realization, her tone bright as the bells she wears on her hat and in her hair. “ not many people do. kinda an old song, if you ask me. ”

[valiantspirit]

          “ when i’m beheaded, at least i was wedded;             and when i am buried, at least i was married… ” ♫

[graveshot-deactivated20190704]

her voice catches when his words stop and he points a finger at her. there is a moment of panic in her song bird ribcage, a reminder of a time passed, before he picks up with a different song, one he helped her learn from the fables he wrote. she shifts her hands on the lyre, changing the tune, and picks up where his words had left off. ' i heard from a birdie it doesn't end purdy. it doesn't end well. no, it never ends well. '

He relaxes to her voice, finger curling back in with the rest. Shoulders lax, lips still tremble, but his voice does not continue. He listens to the lines, and plays the part of the audience– Bark bark bark. Whispered, soft, smiling quietly. He listens to the song,  and lets his eyes slip shut. Rest. Rest.

A bird of song and whim to chirp devotion by the wind. He could rest, if she was here to deliver messages. For the first time, he  shifted, lowering himself down in to the sheets, to face the wall and curl up. Sleep, finally blessed relief, to the voice of an angel- damned as she was.

[graveshot-deactivated20190704]

' let us piss from the vine! let us claw in the mud! ' her excitement is tangible when he responds with the words to the song. she hasn't sung it before to anyone in the hamlet, but vaux knows a lot -- so knowing the song isn't that weird. she picks up with the words, the bells of her hat ringing as she sways back and forth to the tune. ' let us swing with both fists as we write in the blood! '

He stays, voice quiet, tone fairly even, unlike hers. But he doesn’t flinch from the noise; he doesn’t shy away or try to interrupt. His eyebrows are screwed in to a knit, almost confused. Not quite focused, but trying, trying.

          “Let us walk on s-stained glass, sinners one; sinner all.            It’s al ..always prettiest, after the f-fall.”

He falls silent, leaning forward, a finger raising, almost pointing at her, but without the authority of demand. He waits for a beat to see if she keeps, before interjecting with another tone, changing- the world spinning in his eyes, a king’s hand jeweled with greed and cup filled with wine and malice. Abuse on the ones below and none above. Stomped down under iron boots and nails.

          “Let me tell you a tale for a penny. One that you cannot           h-hear anywhere else. No n-not anywhere else.”

[graveshot-deactivated20190704]

( valiantspirit! ) quincey curls her legs under her and settles down on a small mound of cushions in the corner of the common room. she knows how it feels to be in a bunch of tiny pieces -- though she's not quite the same kind of cracked as vaux. she flicks her fingers over the strings of her lyre to gauge his response before she starts on an old song she heard once upon a dream. ' let us walk on stained glass. sinners one, sinners all! it's always prettiest after the fall! '

He’s sitting up in bed. He’ll eat and drink when prompted, but only when prompted, sits up and barely sleeps. Fractured, fragmented, utterly shattered– he speaks when spoken to, but only prophetic rambling of a mad man. Prophecies or drawn ramblings of observations;  the caretaker has already advised people against talking to him after two hurried out to go drink.

This is how he sits now as she comes in and makes herself comfortable. Unresponsive, saying noting, fingers curled around his forearm, digging nails in to flesh until it bleeds under his nails. It heals as fast as its made, leaving nothing but a brown stain under his fingers.

The first notes cause nothing in his expression, no change. But the second her voice picks up his breath stops, chest catching with a gasp soft and quiet. Fingers dig back in to their iron grip on his arm, new pricks of blood welling crescents under his nails.

Her voice is heavenly. He knows these words. They fill in to his mind, and his lips tremble. His voice is barely a whisper, and he’s never been a good singer. But all the same, the words come up without permission.

          “We gnaw on the bone, up town they sprinkle sweetener.            Nectar for the cups, and napkins for the chin. A gentleman            prefers to dig in with his fingers, suck in through his teeth,            and bare a hungry grin– “

[valiantspirit]

I’M SO IN LOVE