Gelatinous Cube
"How do you want to do this?"
ABOUT
Hey, my name's Cube. I've been away from role-plays for a long a time while getting my English degree, but I'm back to see if I can snag a few to fill my time between work and college.
»٭٭Thirty years old.
»٭٭Cross-overs welcome.
»٭٭Open to one-shots and long-term.
»٭٭Can and will double if the story calls for it. I also like sharing control of NPCs with my partner unless I have an idea in my head for them backstory-wise or a specific way to further the story.
»٭٭Not big on post-splicing, but not adverse to it.
»٭٭Thread, PM, and Discord-friendly.
»٭٭Not interested in post length (I'm more interested in character and plot development), but no one-liners. If your style or preference of role-play is centered around pages of narrative exposition, flashbacks, and thoughts with nothing for me to respond to, though, I'm going to get bored fast and have to politely decline.
»٭٭Know the essentials of grammar, punctuation, etc. (If you think "He looked around, he didn't see anyone there," is grammatically correct, this might not be the search thread for you.) I'm not nit-picky and I'm not going to murder you in your sleep for typos, but there are some fundamental rules to grammar that let things run smoother and too many mistakes are going to pull me away from the story we're telling--and I've found it's hard to reach emotional depth with my partner's characters if they don't know the basics.
»٭٭I'm old and busy and can't post all the time, so I don't expect you to, either.
»٭٭Ditch-friendly, but I will let you know if my interest wanes. (If you ghost me, though, after we've been chatting for a while, I'm not going to be likely to want to try something up again in the future.)
»٭٭I don't care if the setting is AU, past, present, or future.
»٭٭A plot can have romance, but I don't want that to be the plot.
»٭٭I love chatting with my partners, but it's not a requirement. All I ask of you in terms of conversation is when we're plotting things out to be actively engaged and providing your own insights and ideas. I don't want to be the only one squeezing my brain for plots and scenarios. I've run into this a few times and it is mind-boggling to me.
CONTACT
PM or Discord. PM me to exchange Discord plugs.
FANDOMS/PAIRINGS
»٭٭ Some of these I'm craving more than others, which I'll mark with an asterisk, but don't hesitate to ask about any of them! And "pairings" doesn't necessarily indicate romantic combinations, more two characters for whom I'd like to specifically write. Bolded ones are the roles I would enjoy playing, and ones that are crossed out don't necessarily mean no, but I'm not craving them enough to come up with a plot. If you've got one already, I'm all ears!
٭٭٭ oc x oc
٭٭٭ canon x canon
BLACK BUTLER
٭٭٭ william x grell
٭٭٭ grell x sebastian
٭٭٭ william x sebastian
٭٭٭ revali x oc
DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS *
٭٭٭ zevran x fenris
٭٭٭ zevran x canon
٭٭٭ zevran x taliesen
٭٭٭ zevran x oc
FIRE EMBLEM: FATES
٭٭٭ kaden x keaton
٭٭٭ keaton x oc
٭٭٭ keaton x canon
FIRE EMBLEM: PATH OF RADIANCE + RADIANT DAWN *
٭٭٭ canon x canon
٭٭٭ canon x oc
٭٭٭ oc x oc
٭****٭Characters I can play: Reyson, Lehran/Sephiran, Kurthnaga, Skrimir, Naesala, Rajaion
٭٭٭ canon x canon
HAKUOUKI: DEMON OF THE FLEETING BLOSSOM
٭٭٭ canon x canon
٭****٭Characters I can play: Keisuke Sannan, Souji Okita, Kaoru Nagumo, Kazama Chikage
HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE (NOVEL/MOVIE)
٭٭٭ howl x canon
٭٭٭ howl x Sophie
٭٭٭ howl x oc
INUYASHA *
٭٭٭ canon x canon
٭****٭Characters I can play: Shippō, InuYasha, Sesshōmaru, Jaken, Jakotsu, Naraku, Rin, Kōga
KAMIGAMI NO ASOBI (ANIME)
٭٭٭ baldr x loki
٭٭٭ loki x canon
٭٭٭ baldr x canon
KINGDOM HEARTS
٭٭٭ axel/lea x saïx/isa
٭٭٭ axel/lea x canon
٭٭٭ saïx/isa x canon
٭٭٭ marluxia x canon
OKAMI + OKAMIDEN
٭٭٭ kurow x waka
٭٭٭ kurow x canon
٭٭٭ kurow x oc
SKYWARD SWORD
٭٭٭ ghirahim x canon
TALES OF SYMPHONIA *
٭٭٭ mithos x canon
٭٭٭ mithos x oc
TALES OF THE ABYSS
٭٭٭ canon x canon
٭٭٭ canon x oc
٭****٭Characters I can play: Luke fon Fabre, Jade Curtiss, Asch, Ion, Mieu, Dist
THE CRUEL PRINCE
٭٭٭ canon x canon
٭٭٭ canon x oc
٭٭٭ oc x oc
٭****٭Characters I can play: Cardan Greenbrier, Madoc, Locke
THE TEMERAIRE SERIES
٭٭٭ temeraire x canon
٭٭٭ iskierka x canon
٭٭٭ temeraire x oc
٭٭٭ iskierka x oc
٭٭٭ oc x oc
YU-GI-OH
٭٭٭ canon x canon
٭**٭Characters I can play: Yami Yugi/Atem, Ryo Bakura, Yami Bakura, Marik, Yami Marik
YU YU HAKUSHO
٭٭٭ kurama x hiei
٭٭٭ kurama x canon
ORIGINAL
»٭٭ I'm big on D&D (5e) and fantasy. This means elves, kobolds, goblins, dragons, shifters, demons, dwarves, kenku, the whole shebang. I've a lot of characters from past campaigns and modules I would love to re-use, along with other original characters, some of whom I'll list. I'm also on a fae kick and couldn't happier that sub-genre is growing in popularity in the literary field. Because "fantasy" is as broad as it sounds, I'm open to most ideas and suggestions! This includes vague pairings like shifter x human, demon x hunter, dragon x human, whatever. The only thing I'm not too keen on at the moment are werewolves or vampires unless we come up with an interesting twist together.
٭٭٭ Sabrix
***** A kobold druid raised by a halfling after they found her egg among the wreckage of an exterminated kobold community beneath their city. She's on a mission to collect as many teeth from foes she has vanquished (or claims she's vanquished, at least) as she can for reasons that are her own. Ironically, I made her expecting her to die because she was meant as a stand-in character to teach the rest of the party (and therefore, their players) how to play D&D as a favor to the DM, and her likelihood of living long enough to Wild Shape and join Circle of the Moon were slim, but the campaign ended when they all died except for her and she used their bodies as a shield to escape.
Oh, the stories I could tell.
She fits well into most settings without needing a lot of tweaking, and as an added bonus has a giant weasel mount named Sniggs!
٭٭٭ Merihim
*****Merihim's a demon who has the ability to see and provoke a person’s darkest desires. In a world where humans strive to push above their weaknesses and “sins,” there is nothing more pleasurable than denying them this and watching them crash afterward.
More along the lines of fae lore, Merihim has a true name. It's a name he doesn't use and is supposed to protect because if a person got a hold of it, that person would hold power over him and be able to control him as they saw fit. When a person manages to discover his name, a “contract” is made in that the person owns him until they die, release him, or accidentally reveal his name to someone else or Merihim himself. While his name is in another’s possession, he has no recollection of it, but once the contract is broken, the person who knew it forgets. Disobeying an order from the one that holds his name is impossible, or he dies, though there are the fine prints unmentioned that give him a certain amount of time before he really has to listen.
He's also fecking lazy. This bum didn't bother protecting his name and wound up bound to a hunter of demons and monsters who used him to hunt others--which was a lot of work and he hated it. They were immune to his powers, which made tricking them into revealing his name almost impossible because that meant thinking of other ways and he would rather sleep, but he dreamed of the day he could get his name back, kill this hunter and then eat them.
But that also sounded like a lot of work.
If I use Merihim, we could replay that original story and tweak it, or come up with something entirely different.
٭٭٭ Finneen Ahvindre
*****A rude boy high elf. True Neutral, though I play with alignments a lot. Thinks he's so much better than everyone else and puts elves on a pedestal. Pretty stereotypical, which I enjoy playing with because he's developed far beyond what he started as at the beginning of the three-year campaign where he originated. I'd like to put him in a scenario with another elf, or a human, where he has a better chance of developing, and I have a million and one scenarios we can try with him and your character depending on whom you're playing. Him stumbling across an escaped convict in the woods, for example.
Finneen's malleable to almost any fantasy scenario, so he's a safe bet. And I love him. He is my boy.
٭٭٭ Cassius
*****Cassius comes from a more humorous campaign. Basically a narcissistic man forced to turn into a peacock whenever he looks at his reflection / does or says something narcissistic. While it started as comedic, he also fits fairly well into more dramatic settings and plots. He was only in one campaign and a few side stories, so he's not as fleshed out as my others. I'd love an opportunity to test him more and develop him.
٭٭٭ Estelder Valin
*****An elf druid (I may or may not love elves). He's got a bad case of thanataphobia that drives a lot of his actions. In past settings, this has either led to or follows along with the idea of him unknowingly becoming a liche after signing on a deal with a devil, the details of which often come out in the story, but I don't like to spoil too much of my characters' lives and prefer playing it out naturally.
He comes from a 3.5 edition campaign, so he's got a fox animal companion crucial to his character because of Reasons, but he can be tweaked and such details usually aren't of a concern in role-plays as opposed to actual modules and campaigns.
٭٭٭ Other
*****God, I'm terrible at character summaries. There's so many more not listed, though, and I love making them, so if none of these push your shopping cart, I'm more than willing to create more with you!
***** A kobold druid raised by a halfling after they found her egg among the wreckage of an exterminated kobold community beneath their city. She's on a mission to collect as many teeth from foes she has vanquished (or claims she's vanquished, at least) as she can for reasons that are her own. Ironically, I made her expecting her to die because she was meant as a stand-in character to teach the rest of the party (and therefore, their players) how to play D&D as a favor to the DM, and her likelihood of living long enough to Wild Shape and join Circle of the Moon were slim, but the campaign ended when they all died except for her and she used their bodies as a shield to escape.
Oh, the stories I could tell.
She fits well into most settings without needing a lot of tweaking, and as an added bonus has a giant weasel mount named Sniggs!
٭٭٭ Merihim
*****Merihim's a demon who has the ability to see and provoke a person’s darkest desires. In a world where humans strive to push above their weaknesses and “sins,” there is nothing more pleasurable than denying them this and watching them crash afterward.
More along the lines of fae lore, Merihim has a true name. It's a name he doesn't use and is supposed to protect because if a person got a hold of it, that person would hold power over him and be able to control him as they saw fit. When a person manages to discover his name, a “contract” is made in that the person owns him until they die, release him, or accidentally reveal his name to someone else or Merihim himself. While his name is in another’s possession, he has no recollection of it, but once the contract is broken, the person who knew it forgets. Disobeying an order from the one that holds his name is impossible, or he dies, though there are the fine prints unmentioned that give him a certain amount of time before he really has to listen.
He's also fecking lazy. This bum didn't bother protecting his name and wound up bound to a hunter of demons and monsters who used him to hunt others--which was a lot of work and he hated it. They were immune to his powers, which made tricking them into revealing his name almost impossible because that meant thinking of other ways and he would rather sleep, but he dreamed of the day he could get his name back, kill this hunter and then eat them.
But that also sounded like a lot of work.
If I use Merihim, we could replay that original story and tweak it, or come up with something entirely different.
٭٭٭ Finneen Ahvindre
*****A rude boy high elf. True Neutral, though I play with alignments a lot. Thinks he's so much better than everyone else and puts elves on a pedestal. Pretty stereotypical, which I enjoy playing with because he's developed far beyond what he started as at the beginning of the three-year campaign where he originated. I'd like to put him in a scenario with another elf, or a human, where he has a better chance of developing, and I have a million and one scenarios we can try with him and your character depending on whom you're playing. Him stumbling across an escaped convict in the woods, for example.
Finneen's malleable to almost any fantasy scenario, so he's a safe bet. And I love him. He is my boy.
٭٭٭ Cassius
*****Cassius comes from a more humorous campaign. Basically a narcissistic man forced to turn into a peacock whenever he looks at his reflection / does or says something narcissistic. While it started as comedic, he also fits fairly well into more dramatic settings and plots. He was only in one campaign and a few side stories, so he's not as fleshed out as my others. I'd love an opportunity to test him more and develop him.
٭٭٭ Estelder Valin
*****An elf druid (I may or may not love elves). He's got a bad case of thanataphobia that drives a lot of his actions. In past settings, this has either led to or follows along with the idea of him unknowingly becoming a liche after signing on a deal with a devil, the details of which often come out in the story, but I don't like to spoil too much of my characters' lives and prefer playing it out naturally.
He comes from a 3.5 edition campaign, so he's got a fox animal companion crucial to his character because of Reasons, but he can be tweaked and such details usually aren't of a concern in role-plays as opposed to actual modules and campaigns.
٭٭٭ Other
*****God, I'm terrible at character summaries. There's so many more not listed, though, and I love making them, so if none of these push your shopping cart, I'm more than willing to create more with you!
SAMPLES
Had he the energy, Aeron might have spun where he sat to snarl at the unexpected voice. His spine stiffened and his hackles rose, nostrils flaring as he tried to get a good sniff of the stranger until he remembered his useless, humanoid nose. Immediately he fixed a hard gaze down at the waves, head ducked so his eyes couldn’t be seen and give him away.
Somehow he hadn’t seen the male and now he’d been caught as easily as a pup. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
From the corner of his vision he saw the flask and suspicion flared. Here he’d only just arrived outside of winter lands, a hunted prey for years, and the universe expected him to believe after all this time a random stranger had decided to display an act of kindness?
Poison.
Irritation licked at the corner of his low thoughts. Sincere or not, couldn’t the male see he wanted to be left alone in his own miserable, pathetic self-pity? He deserved that, at least--but his utter lack of concern and surety of his future forced his hand to reach out and take the offered drink, anyway.
“What is it?” he asked, his gravelly voice unfamiliar, unused and dusty. After a moment’s hesitation, he sniffed the lip of it and put the tip of his tongue to it for a testing taste.
Somehow he hadn’t seen the male and now he’d been caught as easily as a pup. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
From the corner of his vision he saw the flask and suspicion flared. Here he’d only just arrived outside of winter lands, a hunted prey for years, and the universe expected him to believe after all this time a random stranger had decided to display an act of kindness?
Poison.
Irritation licked at the corner of his low thoughts. Sincere or not, couldn’t the male see he wanted to be left alone in his own miserable, pathetic self-pity? He deserved that, at least--but his utter lack of concern and surety of his future forced his hand to reach out and take the offered drink, anyway.
“What is it?” he asked, his gravelly voice unfamiliar, unused and dusty. After a moment’s hesitation, he sniffed the lip of it and put the tip of his tongue to it for a testing taste.
All of Bran’s children had the highest education. They were trained in combat as well as intellectual pursuits. None were left wanting, no matter their hold to the throne. They learned math and politics, and on rare occasions Bran personally saw to their learning to smooth the jagged edges with his experience.
Cleon had attained it all, and the first intellectual words from his mouth, in the face of the one who had granted it, were I wanted to be outside.
Bran stared, deadpan.
Had he neglected this one somehow?
Several seconds passed. Then, with a sigh so heavy the world tilted, “Is that really the best you could give me? Even your younger sister made some attempt when she went against my orders. Now--” his expression hardened, for how would this one survive in the world as royalty when so apparently soft, without some harshness? “--as you’re unable to follow simple direction, I see it’s in our best interest to find you a nursemaid to attend you as you once had as a kit.”
Cleon had attained it all, and the first intellectual words from his mouth, in the face of the one who had granted it, were I wanted to be outside.
Bran stared, deadpan.
Had he neglected this one somehow?
Several seconds passed. Then, with a sigh so heavy the world tilted, “Is that really the best you could give me? Even your younger sister made some attempt when she went against my orders. Now--” his expression hardened, for how would this one survive in the world as royalty when so apparently soft, without some harshness? “--as you’re unable to follow simple direction, I see it’s in our best interest to find you a nursemaid to attend you as you once had as a kit.”
Zevran heard what Cole said even as he focused on this new man. So far he hadn’t shown signs of attacking save for the ill-intent behind his narrowed eyes, but that could change all too quickly.
“I often ask myself that very question,” Zevran said, still conversational. He allowed a pause, then, “Wait, why are you asking, exactly? If it is because I'm wandering down a dark, criminal-infested alleyway with a man who fancies legs and says you can’t save this woman, then yes. Very much so.”
His fingers curved inward to brush the trigger of the push dagger in his sleeve, ready. Already his mind sorted through their possible options—the most prudent would be to attack and run. He wasn’t on the job with a mark tonight, and Cole would no doubt only get in the way.
Would Cole run with him?
The man looked momentarily dumbfounded before his face scrunched up in irritation. “You are crazy. You looking to get yourself killed?”
Keep his guard down. Don’t antagonize. It was sheer instinct at this point to give one of his soft, charming smiles. “Not particularly, as I rather like living.”
A snort. A step forward with purpose. Confidence. The man thought him an easy target all while he had his daggers ready. “Empty your pockets.”
“Ah, that is a problem,” Zevran said, shaking his head as if disappointed in himself. “Neither of us brought any of our vast riches tonight, I'm afraid. A shame, really, to lead you on so. Why not ask that other man who has been following us for the last ten minutes? I am sure he will have something if you only ask.”
At the mention of another person, the man’s gaze flickered in the other direction before alighting back on Zevran. He smirked, not inclined to turning his back even on someone he considered simple—though Zevran couldn’t imagine where he’d first come under that impression after having heard the things coming from Cole’s mouth. “Your fancy armor will do.”
“But I like my armor! I need it for walking down criminal-infested alleys, you see.” But the man didn’t budge, or smile back. “I don't suppose you will just let a crazy man go?”
Of course he wouldn’t. Even as the man reached for his blade, Zevran had planned three steps ahead. His daggers appeared in his hands as if by magic and he struck out—once, twice, three times. With a grunt of surprise the man stumbled back as blood pooled from his shoulder.
It was time enough for Zevran to twist around and grab Cole’s arm, yanking him down the alleyway.
Why hadn’t he just killed him?
It’s all you’re good for, after all.
“This way,” he said, hoping the other would listen.
“I often ask myself that very question,” Zevran said, still conversational. He allowed a pause, then, “Wait, why are you asking, exactly? If it is because I'm wandering down a dark, criminal-infested alleyway with a man who fancies legs and says you can’t save this woman, then yes. Very much so.”
His fingers curved inward to brush the trigger of the push dagger in his sleeve, ready. Already his mind sorted through their possible options—the most prudent would be to attack and run. He wasn’t on the job with a mark tonight, and Cole would no doubt only get in the way.
Would Cole run with him?
The man looked momentarily dumbfounded before his face scrunched up in irritation. “You are crazy. You looking to get yourself killed?”
Keep his guard down. Don’t antagonize. It was sheer instinct at this point to give one of his soft, charming smiles. “Not particularly, as I rather like living.”
A snort. A step forward with purpose. Confidence. The man thought him an easy target all while he had his daggers ready. “Empty your pockets.”
“Ah, that is a problem,” Zevran said, shaking his head as if disappointed in himself. “Neither of us brought any of our vast riches tonight, I'm afraid. A shame, really, to lead you on so. Why not ask that other man who has been following us for the last ten minutes? I am sure he will have something if you only ask.”
At the mention of another person, the man’s gaze flickered in the other direction before alighting back on Zevran. He smirked, not inclined to turning his back even on someone he considered simple—though Zevran couldn’t imagine where he’d first come under that impression after having heard the things coming from Cole’s mouth. “Your fancy armor will do.”
“But I like my armor! I need it for walking down criminal-infested alleys, you see.” But the man didn’t budge, or smile back. “I don't suppose you will just let a crazy man go?”
Of course he wouldn’t. Even as the man reached for his blade, Zevran had planned three steps ahead. His daggers appeared in his hands as if by magic and he struck out—once, twice, three times. With a grunt of surprise the man stumbled back as blood pooled from his shoulder.
It was time enough for Zevran to twist around and grab Cole’s arm, yanking him down the alleyway.
Why hadn’t he just killed him?
It’s all you’re good for, after all.
“This way,” he said, hoping the other would listen.
”The specifics of what I’m having you do should be kept secret,” Mithos said, hoping Jack was smart enough to hear the underlying warning lacing his tone. ”But seeing as how you’ll be using my credit and getting my assistance, it would be hard to hide that forever. At least from anyone smart enough to put two and two together.”
Though he didn’t particularly care one way or the other about the boy’s prospects, the fact that this endeavor might be mutually beneficial would make it a better incentive for Jack to do as he was told. If he had the promise of extending his reach in BIOS by helping with this project, why shouldn’t Jack want to take it?
These thoughts, however, evaporated as Jack continued to talk, insolent words dribbling carelessly from his mouth.
Jack spoke as if Mithos had never had to grapple for every scrap of food as hunger raked at his stomach with vicious claws, as if every day hadn’t been a struggle just to keep above water while from all sides came hatred black and filthy as the junk piled around them. Jack had a home, had a means of advancing without any barriers except for the concern of money, could walk the streets without fear of ridicule or death when Mithos had had to tear his way there and lose everything that mattered in the process.
And the mongrel whined to Mithos as if he had a terrible life, oh, how sad it is to be me.
It was no less than Jack, a human, deserved.
There wasn’t a lot of thought put into what he did next, just force of habit, instinct garnered over thousands of years of demanding, assuming respect from those around him. The magic left his hands, a solid flash meant to knock the boy to his knees where he belonged. His incessant whimper still hummed annoyingly in his ears—and all he could think about was Martel, bloodied and dead, because of the greed of humans.
”I’ve been patient enough with your cheek so far,” he said with contempt. ”If you have such an issue with me and the board in general, say it now and I can leave because I won’t tolerate this prattle the entire time we’re working together.”
Though he didn’t particularly care one way or the other about the boy’s prospects, the fact that this endeavor might be mutually beneficial would make it a better incentive for Jack to do as he was told. If he had the promise of extending his reach in BIOS by helping with this project, why shouldn’t Jack want to take it?
These thoughts, however, evaporated as Jack continued to talk, insolent words dribbling carelessly from his mouth.
Jack spoke as if Mithos had never had to grapple for every scrap of food as hunger raked at his stomach with vicious claws, as if every day hadn’t been a struggle just to keep above water while from all sides came hatred black and filthy as the junk piled around them. Jack had a home, had a means of advancing without any barriers except for the concern of money, could walk the streets without fear of ridicule or death when Mithos had had to tear his way there and lose everything that mattered in the process.
And the mongrel whined to Mithos as if he had a terrible life, oh, how sad it is to be me.
It was no less than Jack, a human, deserved.
There wasn’t a lot of thought put into what he did next, just force of habit, instinct garnered over thousands of years of demanding, assuming respect from those around him. The magic left his hands, a solid flash meant to knock the boy to his knees where he belonged. His incessant whimper still hummed annoyingly in his ears—and all he could think about was Martel, bloodied and dead, because of the greed of humans.
”I’ve been patient enough with your cheek so far,” he said with contempt. ”If you have such an issue with me and the board in general, say it now and I can leave because I won’t tolerate this prattle the entire time we’re working together.”
Once or twice that morning, Dacey woke to an empty room, lost in a familiar haze of exhaustion. There was a vague sense of understanding that he knew this place, knew the loud ceiling and walls, that the absence of another body meant something, but too quickly the hand of sleep captured him. Next, he woke to a rather unpleasant jab to his side. Too tired to investigate the pain--who could be bothered?--he waited until consciousness fed him facts one by one.
He was in Tanya’s room. He knew the smell by now without having to open his eyes.
That, and Tanya was mad at him.
Boy, I wonder what woke me? he thought wryly. But opening his eyes, acknowledging the day had come, meant talking. It meant uncomfortable things, and hurt feelings, it meant remembering he hadn’t found Luka and all he had lost with her. Dacey kept his eyes shut and fell back into sleep before Tanya had closed the door behind her.
He dreamed of shapeless creatures, bouncing about just out of reach, and if he could just catch them something amazing would happen. All his problems fixed, his life restored. He chased them across Tir’a’Nog, across the world, his hands outstretched. One was so close he could smell its flowery, soap-y fur. He reached for its furry black head, his hope so intense it ached in his chest…
SCREE
The creature attacked. With a shout of panic and a heavy thud, Dacey fell, half-asleep, in a tangle of limbs and heavy blankets to the floor. He struggled with the invisible force--how had it restrained him so quickly--before the last cobwebs of sleep were swept away and he found himself face-to-face with plush carpet.
“How nice of you to finally join the living, Dacey dearest.”
Tanya.
Oh, gods. Could he go back to fighting blobs?
In his best, practiced fashion which was belied by where he was and what he had just done, Dacey pretended not to hear her and let out a massive snore.
He was in Tanya’s room. He knew the smell by now without having to open his eyes.
That, and Tanya was mad at him.
Boy, I wonder what woke me? he thought wryly. But opening his eyes, acknowledging the day had come, meant talking. It meant uncomfortable things, and hurt feelings, it meant remembering he hadn’t found Luka and all he had lost with her. Dacey kept his eyes shut and fell back into sleep before Tanya had closed the door behind her.
He dreamed of shapeless creatures, bouncing about just out of reach, and if he could just catch them something amazing would happen. All his problems fixed, his life restored. He chased them across Tir’a’Nog, across the world, his hands outstretched. One was so close he could smell its flowery, soap-y fur. He reached for its furry black head, his hope so intense it ached in his chest…
SCREE
The creature attacked. With a shout of panic and a heavy thud, Dacey fell, half-asleep, in a tangle of limbs and heavy blankets to the floor. He struggled with the invisible force--how had it restrained him so quickly--before the last cobwebs of sleep were swept away and he found himself face-to-face with plush carpet.
“How nice of you to finally join the living, Dacey dearest.”
Tanya.
Oh, gods. Could he go back to fighting blobs?
In his best, practiced fashion which was belied by where he was and what he had just done, Dacey pretended not to hear her and let out a massive snore.
There she is: the whore of the evening.
Grell leaned casually against one of the high, pointed turrets on the roof of the Angelic Threads boutique, her arms folded and eyes cast down on the street. Her lip curled in disgust. Below her, oblivious to her seething red shadow, her quarry sauntered through the dwindling crowd of shoppers.
That damn demon had baited the woman out of mild curiosity, no doubt. Boredom, like Grell as a long-lived being constantly suffered, but she still gritted her teeth at the attention he’d given the sleaze who had so openly flirted with him.
It was boredom that had led her to observe Sebastian during his working hours in the first place, and it was boredom that now had her tailing his sordid customer—but through Grell's observations, this woman was no more interesting than any other.
Which meant not at all.
Had Sebastian promised her anything? He only offered such services to a human when he needed something from her. Surely this woman had nothing Grell couldn’t get for him. The idea of anything to the contrary had jealousy coiling around her heart like a great black snake. Her grip on her folded arms tightened. No—just another ugly cow not worth her weight in red. A waste of time.
Still, it was boredom—and only boredom!—that had her leaping from the roof to land squarely in the woman’s path. With a skeptical brow cocked and a small pop of her hip, she pointed at her. “And just what were you doing in Phuntom Antiquities, hm?” she asked, frowning heavily. “As if a woman like you would have any real interest in books. There are plenty of magical shops elsewhere.”
Grell leaned casually against one of the high, pointed turrets on the roof of the Angelic Threads boutique, her arms folded and eyes cast down on the street. Her lip curled in disgust. Below her, oblivious to her seething red shadow, her quarry sauntered through the dwindling crowd of shoppers.
That damn demon had baited the woman out of mild curiosity, no doubt. Boredom, like Grell as a long-lived being constantly suffered, but she still gritted her teeth at the attention he’d given the sleaze who had so openly flirted with him.
It was boredom that had led her to observe Sebastian during his working hours in the first place, and it was boredom that now had her tailing his sordid customer—but through Grell's observations, this woman was no more interesting than any other.
Which meant not at all.
Had Sebastian promised her anything? He only offered such services to a human when he needed something from her. Surely this woman had nothing Grell couldn’t get for him. The idea of anything to the contrary had jealousy coiling around her heart like a great black snake. Her grip on her folded arms tightened. No—just another ugly cow not worth her weight in red. A waste of time.
Still, it was boredom—and only boredom!—that had her leaping from the roof to land squarely in the woman’s path. With a skeptical brow cocked and a small pop of her hip, she pointed at her. “And just what were you doing in Phuntom Antiquities, hm?” she asked, frowning heavily. “As if a woman like you would have any real interest in books. There are plenty of magical shops elsewhere.”
While his last two attempts with Solas to combine mana and—what did Solas keep calling it? The Fade?— to get home had resulted each time in minor explosions that altogether upended several trees, two buildings, and sent four cats yowling into the wilderness with their tails trailing tendrils of smoke, Mithos refused to quit. They would find the right combination; perhaps a little more Fade and a lot less mana the next time?
The mana hummed forcefully in Elestis, a powerful resonance Mithos felt deep in his bones, unlike the faint cadence of life energy in Aselia which sang softly throughout his body. Tentatively, he would tug on the strands of magic with mental fingers, and power pulsed and undulated outward in the form of bioluminescence—seen then in the rippling, colorful trees and shrubs of the Darkwood Forest around him. They lit the way as he walked.
This wood, or so Mithos had heard, housed little creatures known as fairies. Elusive, flitting creatures with a magic all their own. Similar, he supposed, to the fairy-like monsters of his world, at least in appearance, though those he found of no use whatever. These, however, might be of some use in one way or another, or so he and Solas speculated. If he could find them, that was.
With practiced feet he wandered silently, moss absorbing the sound of his footsteps, eyes scanning the dark places between the bright branches for signs of living light. Something in him wanted to find these fairies, if not for the sake of getting home, then to please Solas, who thus far had proven—after their settled misunderstanding—fascinating company. The way he spoke, he might have known as much about varying things as Kratos—but never more.
No one knew more than Kratos, he was sure.
Critters crept out of sight, creaking, cracking, chittering. He heard them, thought he heard the woods breathe as one great sigh periodically, and once, not too far off, the thundering roar of a fallen tree that hushed all else. He’d been warned of the dangers before entering the woods and had his sword ready just in case. He was prepared for hairy beasts, fanged monsters, snakes and—
“Wha—“
The sound of running, almost deafening in the wooded silence. He spun around, hand reaching for his sword—
As a force slammed into him with the might of an avalanche and he tumbled heels over head backwards along the ground. His sword clattered against something hard as it slipped from his hands. For an inestimable amount of time they rolled, nothing but pain and a swirl of color. When the spinning stopped, a blessed relief, Mithos groaned and peered up at his attacker, who wasted no time in spilling over him a barrage of an indecipherable, slick, sliding language, the undertones harsh. He reeked of blood.
Taking only enough time to register deep, manic red eyes, Mithos shot out a hand and pressed it hard to the man’s face, shoving, heart hammering--where was his sword? He needed his sword. Mana didn't work quickly enough here. “Get off of—“ He stopped. Words he actually understood rang in his ears, and he stared at the face squished under his hand in wary comprehension. "My hair?" he repeated, confused, uncertain. Was he...was he serious?
Was this not an attack? But why did he smell so much like blood? Irritation bubbled under his initial terror. His mouth opened again to insist that he get off, until his eyes snagged on the flickering, flittering creatures just behind his assailant, and instead he found himself asking, in both hope and surprise without moving his hand, “Are those fairies?” Some of them had already come to land, making perches of the man. Their brightness bathed his twisted face in a surrealistically pious, sputtering glow.
The mana hummed forcefully in Elestis, a powerful resonance Mithos felt deep in his bones, unlike the faint cadence of life energy in Aselia which sang softly throughout his body. Tentatively, he would tug on the strands of magic with mental fingers, and power pulsed and undulated outward in the form of bioluminescence—seen then in the rippling, colorful trees and shrubs of the Darkwood Forest around him. They lit the way as he walked.
This wood, or so Mithos had heard, housed little creatures known as fairies. Elusive, flitting creatures with a magic all their own. Similar, he supposed, to the fairy-like monsters of his world, at least in appearance, though those he found of no use whatever. These, however, might be of some use in one way or another, or so he and Solas speculated. If he could find them, that was.
With practiced feet he wandered silently, moss absorbing the sound of his footsteps, eyes scanning the dark places between the bright branches for signs of living light. Something in him wanted to find these fairies, if not for the sake of getting home, then to please Solas, who thus far had proven—after their settled misunderstanding—fascinating company. The way he spoke, he might have known as much about varying things as Kratos—but never more.
No one knew more than Kratos, he was sure.
Critters crept out of sight, creaking, cracking, chittering. He heard them, thought he heard the woods breathe as one great sigh periodically, and once, not too far off, the thundering roar of a fallen tree that hushed all else. He’d been warned of the dangers before entering the woods and had his sword ready just in case. He was prepared for hairy beasts, fanged monsters, snakes and—
“Wha—“
The sound of running, almost deafening in the wooded silence. He spun around, hand reaching for his sword—
As a force slammed into him with the might of an avalanche and he tumbled heels over head backwards along the ground. His sword clattered against something hard as it slipped from his hands. For an inestimable amount of time they rolled, nothing but pain and a swirl of color. When the spinning stopped, a blessed relief, Mithos groaned and peered up at his attacker, who wasted no time in spilling over him a barrage of an indecipherable, slick, sliding language, the undertones harsh. He reeked of blood.
Taking only enough time to register deep, manic red eyes, Mithos shot out a hand and pressed it hard to the man’s face, shoving, heart hammering--where was his sword? He needed his sword. Mana didn't work quickly enough here. “Get off of—“ He stopped. Words he actually understood rang in his ears, and he stared at the face squished under his hand in wary comprehension. "My hair?" he repeated, confused, uncertain. Was he...was he serious?
Was this not an attack? But why did he smell so much like blood? Irritation bubbled under his initial terror. His mouth opened again to insist that he get off, until his eyes snagged on the flickering, flittering creatures just behind his assailant, and instead he found himself asking, in both hope and surprise without moving his hand, “Are those fairies?” Some of them had already come to land, making perches of the man. Their brightness bathed his twisted face in a surrealistically pious, sputtering glow.
Available Slots Before I'm Drowning
Last edited:
