songerein | open [catch-all, quest 202]

Entry tags:

open [catch-all, quest 202]

Who: somnus & you
Which: log
Where: around
What: Quests, Catch-all, Wild-card
Warnings: cupid's pranks prompts

Quest 202: Cupid's Pranks

[ That this dream world is able to alter one's state of mind, consciousness, and emotions (or all three at once) is nothing new. Having been here over a year, the mayhem caused by these alterations is anything but charming. Phantom-- that is, incorporeal-- or not, wayward arrows bearing the mysterious power of this realm affect him as well; thus, he, too, must remain vigilant. But there's a flutter of wings, a giggle, a swift woosh, followed by a muted tap of a toy arrow against his back... and it's all over. The projectile falls upon the ground, joining a few soft, white feathers scattered behind as the cherub vanishes from sight... ]

Amorous
[ It could be within the smithy, the town square, near the treehouses, the cafe, or anywhere, and it could be any time of day or night, but you will find that Reverin's resident ghost stands alone, striken and still. Only the pale, spectral aura of his death long passed shifts about him in its usual light, ambient and cold as the moon. His cloak rustles, and a hand emerges from the dark, heavy fabric to rise upward. Long fingers make a cage upon the slight-left of his upper chest. The motion is tender, steadying, and fragile, braiding all three delicately and deadly as a weaver's edge.

His expression, polished as marble, ripples with an unseen weight. Ashen, solemn, his gaze raises... to meet yours.

This. This is a great, incomprehensible, and terrible pain. ]
Hostile
[ Among the various treehouses is one that's long been unoccupied-- seemingly, anyways, because the entire year that it has been claimed as a residence, very rarely has the resident himself occupied it. Curiously, though, there is a modest bit of land beside it that's cleared of snow and ice, thanks to the warmer weather besetting Reverin. Unfortunately for the same reason, the soil is no longer "soil", but melted slush and mud, with all four of its stone borders in disarray. This garden, if it can be called that in this state, is largely ruined, indiscernible from the rest of the land.

To make matters worse, the long-absent resident himself is actually here. He's leaning against the base of the tree, shadowed by its bare branches, his focus remaining fixed upon the damp, turned soil. Brow lowered, jaw tight, he doesn't appear too pleased. Perhaps the uncanny weather may have disrupted whatever he was trying to grow...

Or maybe it's you, who's unwittingly encroaching on this meager, misshapen mash of mud and brick if only to pass by. It's here that he stops you immediately. His voice is frost over steel. ] Hold.

Smithy

[ As ususal, Somnus can be found in his smithy within Reverin. He no longer manifests in his traditional, giant-suit-of-armor, but instead his phantom form that gives him the ability to craft with much more precision. Here, he works on weapons, tools, and even jewelry! ]

Wildcard

[ Have an idea? PM this account, drinksteapots, or Jade294#6977! For the Amarous prompt, please only characters 18+ because of romantic overtones. For Hostile, depending on the interaction, Somnus may lash out! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[And here she'd only gone to the smithy to assist with clean-up, like she does periodically while Alphen is taking a break. She's about to call a greeting and grab a broom, normal as ever, but when she looks over and spots Somnus's expression, she's immediately alerted to something being Up.]

Somnus? Are you alright?

[Do ghosts get sick?? Why does he look like that.]

[ His hand, initially loose upon his chest, tightens against the cloth of his robes when she addresses him. Although his palm lowers from his chest as he straightens, his posture fails to lose its rigidity; it's as if he's ready to flee, but simultaneously frozen to the spot.

Somnus' gaze darts to the broom she had almost reached for, then to the concern clearly written across her face-- a concern reflects upon his own, fraying at the edges of the grave expression he bears, threatening to crack.

He clears his throat, but it does nothing to smooth the charcoal in his throat, texturing his low voice. ] All is well.

[ It is her nature to care, yes, such is the depths of her honor-- strong and lovely, fathomless in conviction--

He blinks once, wrestling with the train of thought, desperately attempting to reel them into a soldier's line, or at least identify the root of their meaning. No, this won't do. He needn't add to her burden. How dare he give her extra cause for concern. ] ...Perhaps this is enough for today. I shall close the shoppe.

[Oh. Oh no, he really is ill. Closing early? Is the sky falling?

Rather than take him at his word and start prepping to leave, she sets the broom aside and begins to approach, her hand out to try and check his forehead. Maybe he'll still be too ghostly to feel, maybe he won't be overheated, but it's instinctive for her to try. Raised too many children insisting they were fine when they were burning up and needed to go back to bed at once, young man. Which- okay, she can't scold him or order him around, but she's very good at guilting people into behaving themselves.]

That isn't like you at all. Did something happen?

[ For some mysterious reason, she'll find that her fingers are able to brush against his phantom form, and with his long bangs brushed aside, the pale glow of his skin shimmers beneath her touch. The moment she makes contact, his lips part for a breath he doesn't need, silent, short, and benumbed.

To her, he'll feel as cool-- yet, not as cold as ice as he normally would be, thanks to the effects of dreamotion. Yet to him, her fingertips sear like irons over coal. Harsher than the Ring's power, more unyielding than the Draconian's presence, there is no greater torture than this: the touch of a woman whose grace and kindness makes her heart gold. ]

You... [ Somehow a single word escapes him airlessly, cautious and quiet, but whatever else he had been about to say dies upon his tongue. Her heart is not the only thing that is golden about her, from the hair that frames the angles of her face to the gaze with which she observes him. Only a fool would not see how her eyes are that of the earth cast in the amber light of dusk.

Only a fool would think her less striking than twilight itself.

It hurts to behold her, and slowly, he's beginning to understand why. Somnus dares to speak, although he remains as still as he can, not daring to remove her hand from his forehead, lest he not wish to let go. ] You needn't concern yourself with the dead.

[ ...Yes, they've already discussed this once, and he acknowledged her point that she can care for anyone she wishes, even those who have passed. But he's faltering hard, mind uneasy, and she'll likely be able to tell the words are uninspired, distracted, and likely said only to buy himself some sort of time. ]

[Well... at least he isn't feverish. It alleviates some of her concerns, at least enough to lower her hand again, though she lingers close to watch him. She's halfway concerned he might fall over. He looks so pale and stilted, which for him (a dead man, as he says) is saying something.

His comment has her shaking her head, smiling weakly, with her expression a mixture of fondness and exasperation. Honestly, why is "don't worry about me" the default answer for so many people she knows? As if that has ever in the history of her life made her stop worrying about someone who looked like they needed it. And people who normally run solo the way he does very often need someone to do the worrying for them.]

Even if I don't need to, whether or not I worry isn't something you can control. Though I would worry less if you were honest with me.

[They're not the closest of allies at this point - she's not even sure if he would call her a friend - so she wouldn't blame him for keeping mum. On the other hand, she's been around him enough to recognize certain cues and consistencies within his behaviour. This... this is not normal for him, and it draws her attention like a spotlight.]

[ Weak smiles are terrible, tragic things, and it's like watching the brilliance of the sun be obstructed by winter clouds. She will worry, and she is all the more wonderful for it. How terrible is he to covet one of her true smiles, and worse, still, to be the reason for its absence.

Meanwhile, his expression remains tightened into a grimance. Clearly, something is causing him pain, and he appears to be restraining himself from both moving, speaking, or reacting. Her palm had burned, indeed, but the relief is short-lived. Now he longs for its warmth, if only to hold it within his own. Despite his control, his fingers twitch at his side. ]

You wish... for my honesty. [ He asks the question slowly, as if the words themselves are difficult to parse, scratching at the back of his throat. The logic is simple, but conflicting: state what ails him, thus being truthful for her favor, but forfeit all-- or worse, insult her with the disservice that the truth would be. ]

[He is doing a very thorough job of keeping her confused. Were she not so confused, she'd have started to think he was being obtuse to make her go away or something. He's usually quiet and resolute in his words. It's rare for him to sound so... stilted, for lack of a better word. Like he's struggling to speak.

She hesitates, just a moment of confused uncertainty, then nods.]

Of course. It's better to be honest, isn't it?

[Even if he doesn't want to share it, don't lie so obviously. He can't possibly be fine, looking the way he does.]

[ It is in her nature to help others, but she cannot help with this. Kisara is gracious to all, and the fault lies with him for cherishing it more personally.

By that same patience and kindness alone, she could have him on his knees. No blade could do such damage, and his defeat is imminent. By all accounts, terror should accompany the great pain he feels within his chest at this realization, but mystifyingly, it doesn't-- at least, not to an extent that leaves him frozen.

Somnus' fingers curl into his palms, then relax. She wants honesty, and he struggles. Surely it is not the time, the place. It is too sudden, unnecessary, and undoubtedly unrequited. Not all truths lead to good outcomes, and how he has fallen...

And so, his reply is no more than a forlorn murmur, ] Mercy, Kisara.

[Her eyes widen at once. Mercy? Mercy from what? He makes it sound like she has him at the edge of a knife. All she'd done was ask him to stop pretending he's fine when he is not. Is it that bad? She hadn't realized she was pushing him so far with just a simple question. His voice was so soft she'd nearly missed it. Since when was he so hesitant to be heard?

More unsure than ever before, she backs up a step, her hand hovering uncertainly against her chest, like she needs to keep her hand in check lest she reach out to try and help him again only to make it worse somehow. Is it his pride? Is it her? She doesn't know if he'd been like this before her arrival, so it's impossible to tell. Clearly she'd done something to make him plead (plead!) for her to back off.]

I'm sorry... I didn't mean to upset you. [He'd wanted to leave, right? Maybe her company is just unwelcome right now.] If you'd like to head home and rest, I can finish cleaning and lock up for you.

[ At her apology, his head snaps up, and he looks in her direction, eyes widening briefly. Of course she volunteers to do more work-- which is the exact opposite of what he should be facilitating, especially since this is his own problem. ]

--No. [ He's quick to dismiss the idea, and just as quickly, he repeats himself in a softer tone, correcting for the sudden, snappish tone. ] No. You've done nothing wrong. It is... [ At last he animates, raising his hand up to jaw, palm partially covering his mouth. Another pause follows, and his hand lifts further to card through his hair. The strands fall haphazardly back over his pinched brow.

He could say that she needn't do more work, but how would that come off as, firing her? He's already stumbling over his words, no need to throw more misunderstandings into the mess.

Somnus looks at her. ]

Let us walk.

[ Ah.

...Hm. This is probably a mistake on his part for asking. ]

cupid's pranks because im terrible

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smithy

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cupid's prank - hostile

<3

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