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Entry tags:
- ! mod event,
- arknights: shalem,
- bleach: grimmjow jaegerjaquez,
- bleach: jugram haschwalth,
- danganronpa: fukawa toko,
- encanto: bruno madrigal,
- ennead: set,
- fe3h: claude von riegan,
- fe3h: felix hugo fraldarius,
- ffvii: vincent valentine,
- genshin impact: tartaglia (childe),
- genshin impact: the traveler (lumine),
- hades: zagreus,
- htwmho: rudbeckia de borgia,
- jjk: fushiguro megumi,
- jjk: itadori yuuji,
- naruto: uchiha sasuke,
- orv: han sooyoung,
- orv: jung heewon,
- shadow and bone: the darkling,
- stranger things: steve harrington,
- the last of us: joel miller,
- vld: keith
(no subject)
I. PUSHING UP DAISIES
cw: depiction of hanahaki, mention of blood, mild body horror
The Frightful Harvest ended on a bloody, eerie note, but the Respite's most welcome interlude has proven exceptionally fruitful. The sky's darkened again, moons struggling to glow through turbulent clouds, but crops all over Stygia have grown dense and healthy, herbs and plants and flowers aplenty. Normally, it'd be a time to rejoice, even as sleet pours and winds grow bitterly cold -- and it might have been, had greens and stems and petals NOT elected to blossom inside you. Your lungs, specifically.
It's an uncommon side effect of the Harvest, affecting those who foster affection or attraction towards another, triggered only by a stray thought. Almost as if punished by Oblivium for harboring any kind of positive feelings. The worst part is that the object of your desire doesn't even have to be in the Netherworld for you to be afflicted. Over the span of three months, you'll gradually experience various degrees of the "harvest's curse", depending on the source of your feelings:
II. DO NOT PASS GO
cw: mention of blood, torture, branding, violence, forced captivity
Full-swing investigations concerning the Harvest's murders have begun, though the mysterious rider has yet to resurface. The day is young still, but no matter; the Hierarchy firmly believes that the creature was summoned by a group of renegades, fully intent on finding and dismembering the organization. Perhaps even literally.
If you've spilled blood not your own in the previous event, the Hierarchy finds you. Do they know? It doesn't really matter; they've targeted you for reasons they won't divulge, persuaded of your involvement -- and off to the Gallows you go. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive, held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with the letter F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’, and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the Hierarchy's hospitality. Writhe and scream and glower as much as you want; next thing you know, something heavy hits you across the head, and you collapse.
When your vision slowly creeps back, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit stone cell. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain, and you lie in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. It's dark; the air is bloated and filled with agonizing shrieks. Dead vines scrap the walls of half-crumbled buildings, weather-worn stone pillars surrounded by withered clumps of grass. You may converse with your cellmates: the guards patrolling the Gallows couldn't care less, convinced that no one could possibly escape anyway.
III. TO THE RESCUE
cw: depiction of hanahaki, mention of blood, mild body horror
The Frightful Harvest ended on a bloody, eerie note, but the Respite's most welcome interlude has proven exceptionally fruitful. The sky's darkened again, moons struggling to glow through turbulent clouds, but crops all over Stygia have grown dense and healthy, herbs and plants and flowers aplenty. Normally, it'd be a time to rejoice, even as sleet pours and winds grow bitterly cold -- and it might have been, had greens and stems and petals NOT elected to blossom inside you. Your lungs, specifically.
It's an uncommon side effect of the Harvest, affecting those who foster affection or attraction towards another, triggered only by a stray thought. Almost as if punished by Oblivium for harboring any kind of positive feelings. The worst part is that the object of your desire doesn't even have to be in the Netherworld for you to be afflicted. Over the span of three months, you'll gradually experience various degrees of the "harvest's curse", depending on the source of your feelings:
► PHYSICAL/EMOTIONAL ATTRACTION & REQUITED LOVE
It starts with an itch. Your throat tickles, an odd sensation in your lungs, slightly constricted. Allergies? Not quite. It worsens overtime, and days pass by, perhaps weeks. You cough, a little more every day, a little deeper, and then it happens: petals, stuck to your lips as you wheeze and try to empty your chest. Marigold, carnations, daisies, peonies... Thankfully, for you, it's more of an annoyance, sporadic at best and leaving you exhausted at times, but you're in no immediate danger. Unfortunately, not all Restless share the same luck.
► UNREQUITED LOVE
It doesn't matter whether it is truly unrequited; as long as you think it is, whether you're fully convinced or distantly resigned, you get the whole package. It starts the same way the lesser variation does, gradual, and with unsavory (!) additions: lilies and dark red roses. The first slowly spreads its poison in your body, inducing fevers, skin rashes, blistering in your mouth and stomach aches. The second pricks your throat bloody, making speech difficult and breathing even more so. It spreads throughout Stygia, and if most wound up meeting their end in the past, some speak of a highly hypothetical cure. It's believed that if the object of your affection confesses equally strong feelings for you, the curse should rapidly subside. If this option isn't viable, Doran promises that all Healers in Hale are working extremely hard to find a solution. In the meantime, symptoms can be partially soothed with poultices and spells that you can find in the Marketplace or in Serene. Some merchants might even take pity on you and offer them for free.
It starts with an itch. Your throat tickles, an odd sensation in your lungs, slightly constricted. Allergies? Not quite. It worsens overtime, and days pass by, perhaps weeks. You cough, a little more every day, a little deeper, and then it happens: petals, stuck to your lips as you wheeze and try to empty your chest. Marigold, carnations, daisies, peonies... Thankfully, for you, it's more of an annoyance, sporadic at best and leaving you exhausted at times, but you're in no immediate danger. Unfortunately, not all Restless share the same luck.
► UNREQUITED LOVE
It doesn't matter whether it is truly unrequited; as long as you think it is, whether you're fully convinced or distantly resigned, you get the whole package. It starts the same way the lesser variation does, gradual, and with unsavory (!) additions: lilies and dark red roses. The first slowly spreads its poison in your body, inducing fevers, skin rashes, blistering in your mouth and stomach aches. The second pricks your throat bloody, making speech difficult and breathing even more so. It spreads throughout Stygia, and if most wound up meeting their end in the past, some speak of a highly hypothetical cure. It's believed that if the object of your affection confesses equally strong feelings for you, the curse should rapidly subside. If this option isn't viable, Doran promises that all Healers in Hale are working extremely hard to find a solution. In the meantime, symptoms can be partially soothed with poultices and spells that you can find in the Marketplace or in Serene. Some merchants might even take pity on you and offer them for free.
if your character has heard of similar diseases in their home world, they're absolutely welcome to share their insight on the netherwork or anywhere else
the evolution of the disease can be as gradual, as fast or as severe as you wish it to be
a mini quest to retrieve ingredients for a cure will be available in december or january
by february, all characters should be cured
II. DO NOT PASS GO
cw: mention of blood, torture, branding, violence, forced captivity
Full-swing investigations concerning the Harvest's murders have begun, though the mysterious rider has yet to resurface. The day is young still, but no matter; the Hierarchy firmly believes that the creature was summoned by a group of renegades, fully intent on finding and dismembering the organization. Perhaps even literally.
If you've spilled blood not your own in the previous event, the Hierarchy finds you. Do they know? It doesn't really matter; they've targeted you for reasons they won't divulge, persuaded of your involvement -- and off to the Gallows you go. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive, held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with the letter F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’, and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the Hierarchy's hospitality. Writhe and scream and glower as much as you want; next thing you know, something heavy hits you across the head, and you collapse.
When your vision slowly creeps back, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit stone cell. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain, and you lie in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. It's dark; the air is bloated and filled with agonizing shrieks. Dead vines scrap the walls of half-crumbled buildings, weather-worn stone pillars surrounded by withered clumps of grass. You may converse with your cellmates: the guards patrolling the Gallows couldn't care less, convinced that no one could possibly escape anyway.
► Ironically, a magical barrier around the Gallows prevents magical/spiritual abilities from functioning. However, characters who roam free still can absolutely sneak in! Be careful not to get caught, though!
► Loud disagreements might attract unwanted attention. A single guard will come, and if he finds nothing else amiss, will threaten them to be quiet. A second violation earns the offender a rap on their bare feet with a club. A third violation will cause the offender to be gagged. Note that in order to beat or gag the offender, the guard must first open the cell.
► If you share affinities with Gargoyles, incapacitating a guard in any way will draw the attention of one. It'll show you to the gates where you'll be able to escape, taking care of sentries on your way. You should probably keep a low-profile from then on, and avoid showing-off your brand.
► A secret passage may be found through a mausoleum nearby; an arrow of flaking red paint marks the entrance. Or is it blood? Inside, it's nearly pitch-black. Perhaps, if you're lucky, your vision extends as far as 30 feet in front of you, but occasionally, the darkness is broken by clinging phosphorescent fungi or crawling luminescent creatures, and from out of the silence echo sounds of dripping water. You're underground, and Abysmals can be encountered here if you're too loud. You should also watch out for cave-ins, but as you get farther away from the general region of the Gallows, your magical abilities gradually come back.
► Eventually, a long, broken staircase will lead you to Hale. If you're injured, you'll be sent to the main infirmary; characters with healing abilities or knowledge are super welcome to help!
Luckily for you, there are so many prisoners it's a difficult task for the Hierarchy to always keep track of all of them. Your brand, however, is a dead giveaway, so you might as well try and find a way to get rid of it; you might hear through the grapevines that the dead skin of Badaliscus can be used as bandages, and overtime, the brand will fully heal and disappear.► Loud disagreements might attract unwanted attention. A single guard will come, and if he finds nothing else amiss, will threaten them to be quiet. A second violation earns the offender a rap on their bare feet with a club. A third violation will cause the offender to be gagged. Note that in order to beat or gag the offender, the guard must first open the cell.
► If you share affinities with Gargoyles, incapacitating a guard in any way will draw the attention of one. It'll show you to the gates where you'll be able to escape, taking care of sentries on your way. You should probably keep a low-profile from then on, and avoid showing-off your brand.
► A secret passage may be found through a mausoleum nearby; an arrow of flaking red paint marks the entrance. Or is it blood? Inside, it's nearly pitch-black. Perhaps, if you're lucky, your vision extends as far as 30 feet in front of you, but occasionally, the darkness is broken by clinging phosphorescent fungi or crawling luminescent creatures, and from out of the silence echo sounds of dripping water. You're underground, and Abysmals can be encountered here if you're too loud. You should also watch out for cave-ins, but as you get farther away from the general region of the Gallows, your magical abilities gradually come back.
► Eventually, a long, broken staircase will lead you to Hale. If you're injured, you'll be sent to the main infirmary; characters with healing abilities or knowledge are super welcome to help!
III. TO THE RESCUE
As you attempt to escape, or perhaps once you’ve successfully snuck in, you come across a terrifying spectacle: in front of you, impaled through the shoulder by a spear, a weary humanoid figure covered in blood. The body is being restrained by additional shackles on each arm and leg, which are linked to chains anchored within the walls. There's a guard nearby, armed to the teeth… and still you decide to free them.
The guard’s magic is just as useless as yours, and while impressive in size, dexterity definitely isn’t his main strength. He hits hard — with brass knuckles, a chain mace, and a sturdy shield — and his stamina almost seems endless, but it’s not. Keep evading, and he’ll eventually tire enough to topple over. It’s also possible to have him chase you around if you don’t go too far, which would allow someone else to grab the spear. Once he’s too exhausted to go on, you can either kill him or chain him to the wall. The keys are in his boots, and you’ll find a bottle of water as well as a small vial of ointment in a satchel on the ground, where he previously stood.
The prisoner is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s. Once freed from his shackles, he immediately keels over, though he’s not unconscious. He thanks you with a deep and raw voice, begging for water. You can tend to his wounds if you’re able—the ointment quickly soothes—and when he finally stands again, he asks you a question: “I’m a stranger to you, and you could have died. Yet, you chose to free me, unaware of my past. Of my crimes. Of my virtues. Why?”
Regardless of your answer, he smiles, a private understanding that turns the stretch of his lips enigmatic. There’s a bubbling chuckle in his throat, very hoarse, and then he hisses, touching where you’ve helped him apply the ointment on his body. “You know what they say. If it stings...” He looks at you, deliberately pausing there and staring bold into your eyes. “... then it must be working.”
It might feel like there’s more to what he’s trying to say, though it’s pointless to ask: he bows, and then he slowly inches away from you. “Until we meet again.” White and thick tendrils of smoke envelop him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and then just like that, he’s gone.
The guard’s magic is just as useless as yours, and while impressive in size, dexterity definitely isn’t his main strength. He hits hard — with brass knuckles, a chain mace, and a sturdy shield — and his stamina almost seems endless, but it’s not. Keep evading, and he’ll eventually tire enough to topple over. It’s also possible to have him chase you around if you don’t go too far, which would allow someone else to grab the spear. Once he’s too exhausted to go on, you can either kill him or chain him to the wall. The keys are in his boots, and you’ll find a bottle of water as well as a small vial of ointment in a satchel on the ground, where he previously stood.
The prisoner is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s. Once freed from his shackles, he immediately keels over, though he’s not unconscious. He thanks you with a deep and raw voice, begging for water. You can tend to his wounds if you’re able—the ointment quickly soothes—and when he finally stands again, he asks you a question: “I’m a stranger to you, and you could have died. Yet, you chose to free me, unaware of my past. Of my crimes. Of my virtues. Why?”
Regardless of your answer, he smiles, a private understanding that turns the stretch of his lips enigmatic. There’s a bubbling chuckle in his throat, very hoarse, and then he hisses, touching where you’ve helped him apply the ointment on his body. “You know what they say. If it stings...” He looks at you, deliberately pausing there and staring bold into your eyes. “... then it must be working.”
It might feel like there’s more to what he’s trying to say, though it’s pointless to ask: he bows, and then he slowly inches away from you. “Until we meet again.” White and thick tendrils of smoke envelop him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and then just like that, he’s gone.
so you’ve chosen to free him, which in turn has generated a future plot point that’ll occur some time in february. some of you WILL see him again.
what he says to you is a clue.
you can answer his question OOCly right here. it’ll have some bearing on the way your character will be approached re: future plot point.
if you've voted no and would still like to participate, you could always allow your character to be convinced or reluctantly dragged by another!
ooc note
► As always, check out the Notice Board if you'd like additional prompts! Older quests from previous months are always available as well. You'll also find the Calendar right here.
► You'll find already answered questions just here, and if you'd like to ask new ones, ask them here!
► For fun's sake and similarly to the puck adventure, you may play it out in different groups or on your own, and still obtain the same results as everyone else whether your characters threaded together!
no subject
Are y-you serious? [What was the difference again? She peers over his shoulder and upon (begrudging) inspection, realizes it only has two legs.
Right. Fine, whatever. It was still a giant flying lizard beast and it shouldn't exist. Claude swings onto its back like he's doing nothing more dangerous than boarding a bus. Fukawa looks to his outstretched hand with a full-on grimace.]
Um. M-maybe I'll walk. It's not that far.
[What was that sound? People talking? Are the street lights turning on down the road?
Fukawa wheezes and snaps her hand onto his.]
Okay nevermind! I'll come! I'll come!
[Getting onto this monstrosity now, this had better be the shortest trip of her life.]
no subject
It is a jarring sensation at first, though one he's gotten used to, of suddenly going up. There's an unsteadiness that accompanies takeoff, her body bobbing up and down as she gains altitude, and he can see why someone would find it unsettling or nauseating. ]
What injuries do you have?
[ It's not a long flight to their complex, and he suspects that their first priority should be getting Fukawa patched up. ]
no subject
How many times will Claude be swooping in to save her from danger? He's making an awfully steady habit of this. And she definitely doesn't deserve such generosity, especially not from someone this beautiful, this kind, this majestic—
He asked her a question? Oh, oh right. Um.]
J-just bruises, mostly! A few sc-scrapes, I think on my feet too. [Which worries her, you could easily get an infection in a place like that.] And they b-branded me. On my arm.
[Which worried her most of all. She sucks in a deep breath and wills herself not to look down.]
It w-won't do flips or anything, right?
[PLEASE NO.]
no subject
He's glad the damage doesn't seem to be too excessive, but he frowns as he glances down to her arm to where the brand is, jaw tensing.
What was the point? ]
She does like to show off usually. [ He managers to keep the anger out of his voice when he answers, forcing in some levity as he sighs. ] But I think she'd hate being thrown up on more than she'd enjoy showing off.
[ He gives the wyvern a little pat with one hand as encouragement. Wyverns are built to carry single passengers most of the time, and while she could carry two for short distances, he makes a note to give her a treat later. ]
You're rooming with Lottie, right? Was she also taken to the Gallows?
no subject
[How much control does he have over this thing? He's patting it like a horse. Was his home just like this? People riding flying beasts everywhere? What happens if they shit on someone?
A thought that does nothing to abate her mounting nausea. Fukawa squeezes back against him to brace herself. She can't even enjoy sitting snug against a handsome man like this, what a rip off.]
Lottie? No! N-no way, she wouldn't l-last a day in prison! [She's seen her morning routine.] Th-there were lots of people taken, but I don't know who all was there. Do you know of anyone else th-that got arrested?
no subject
Quite a few from our apartment: Dimitri and Felix. Joonghyuk and Sooyoung. [ Sorry to anyone else that was locked up. ] The complex is remarkably empty lately.
[ It was kind of unsettling. Even if Claude is someone that values his space, he's gotten used to the liveliness of a camp, or the shuffling of the manor staff moving about. He's not used to empty places. ]
Hopefully she'll be there so you won't be alone when we return, but if she's not I'll keep you company. Unless you'd rather get some time to yourself.
[ He can imagine there wasn't much privacy in a prison cell. ]
no subject
What? Felix too? [She'd known of the other three, but by god. How many others were there in total? Was it only the recently awoken Restless they targeted? It seemed none of the senior members of society had shown up. Thinking about beautiful Felix in chains, valiantly straining against his oppressors, his lovely face twisted in righteous indignation — it's almost enough to make her forget her nausea.
Almost.
Fukawa gives a weak little groan. Her eyes wrench shut and her grip below tightens. Do not hurl. Do NOT hurl right now.]
No...N-no I don't want to be alone... [She might argue more fervently if she had the mettle. The weariness combines with her spinning head, her empty stomach and days of pent of miseries, dragging her down like a naval anchor. She wants nothing more than to feel safe, sound, and on solid ground.] Wh-what if they come back? You c-can't just leave me there.
no subject
For now, he just nods, leaning back and being grateful at least that the night is calm while they sail through the sky.
Soon enough, they're touching down on the rooftop of Soupyoung's building. Claude slides off the wyvern first before helping Toko, patting his mount's flank and murmuring thanks. ]
She'll keep watch a while, so there's at least that security. [ And, as they walk inside, ] Do you have a weapon, by the way?
no subject
The ride is finally, blissfully, unequivocally over. Fukawa more slumps off the beast than dismounts, needing all the help Claude can offer as she goes. While he pats the wyvern and gives thanks she's half-crouched and holding her knees, panting and suppressing the urge to vomit.
Luckily they weren't being fed much in prison, so there's nothing to upchuck! Small miracles! Fukawa leans on him shakily as they enter, stolen clothes draped over one arm. Beautiful solid ground. She'll never take you for granted again.]
I st-stole a pair of scissors on the w-way out. [Said with a grimace.] I couldn't find my things. I just wanted to g-get out as quickly as possible.
no subject
[ He had noticed that she fought with a pair of scissors. Which is... interesting. He didn't doubt her ability however, given that he'd seen first hand how she could take down a giant monster with them.
He waits patiently as she fights with the contents (or lack thereof) of her stomach, settling an arm around her back as they make their way back inside. He's sure that as soon as the adrenaline of the escape wears off, that she'll lose what little strength she has to remain upright, so they need to get her some clothes and some food before that.
He takes them both to her suite with Lottie, leaving her to get dressed on her own while Claude steals some bread and butter, grabbing some water as well.
Heading back to her room, he knocks before entering. ]
You should probably get some sleep, but it's better if you eat a bit before that.
no subject
The air is stiff and stale in their apartment. Lottie's out. But her things have been moved around and not in any way that arouses suspicion, so Fukawa will just have to trust she's all right.
When he comes knocking, it's a freshly washed Fukawa who pries the door open for Claude. She'd made hasty work of it: her hair hangs ragged and limp off her back, and her stolen clothes have been shucked on before she's fully dried. She can hardly stand bathing on the best of days, but even she can't wallow in prison filth for long.
She takes the offered plate gingerly, in silence, though the way her eyes linger on his might imply her thanks. She steps aside to allow him in.]
As if I c-could sleep with the whole force out looking for me... [Was it even wise to be here? The arrests had seemed uncoordinated, but they might check the apartments first.
She picks a corner of the bread off and presses it between her lips.]
...Aren't you afraid for the r-rest of them?
[She's not sure they're friends. But there was some link implied in the way everyone had talked around each other on Syo's post. If Dimitri, Sylvain and Felix all knew each other and hailed from the same vaguely medieval land, then was it a stretch to think that Claude might know them too? If they're not from the same place, then he would at least connect with them being in the same building. From a similar mindset.
Weird that he's wasting his time here with her. She's been nothing but a burden to him since she got here.]
no subject
He blinks slowly at the question, pausing as he stretches out his legs and starts to gently massage the muscle. ]
Mm, it is pretty worrying. I hope that they were all able to get out of there, and will start to return here soon.
[ It's probably not great for them to all congregate in one place, but it's marginally better than being spread out and picked off one by one.
In any case, he doesn't doubt that Dimitri, Felix and the others would escape when the time came. It doesn't quite occur to him that she's wondering why he'd be here rather than looking for them—the thought doesn't even cross his mind. They might all be from various versions of Fodlan, but he holds no affection for the Faerghans, and they're all strangers to him, the same as all the other Restless. ]
Don't worry too much. [ He smiles a little, misunderstanding her question as an expression of her own concern for the others that live in this building. ] We'll hear them stomping around soon enough.
no subject
There is a chair, next to the wee desk she'd salvaged for writing. Speaking of which, the place is positively teeming with papers, pens, and tomes alike. Some purchased and some from the library, all thick and bookmarked. There's two mismatched vases of flowers (both dead by now) and a blanket draped over the back of the chair.
Fukawa herself takes a modest seat at the edge of the bed, legs cinching in as she tears away a piece of her donated dinner.]
Y-you make it sound like they're coming b-back from the bar.
[Okay. Not close then. She frowns. Well, it's not like she wants to open the topic too broadly. They've been through enough tonight without tossing speculation about Syo and the medieval lads in the mix.
Still, she worries. For them, but mostly for herself. Even if the atmosphere Claude's setting is suspiciously relaxed.]
Did you p-pull a muscle?
[She gestures to the leg in question.]
no subject
[ Much like the atmosphere! There's plenty to worry about: the safety of the others who were imprisoned, the safety of those that broke in to help with the escape, and what the retaliation awaits them from the Hierarchy to name a few. But there's no benefit in running on fumes and so little to go on. If this were Fódlan, Claude is sure that he would've spent the entire night trying to account for their losses, and having meetings with his allies to plan and plan again. He could go months without a moment to breathe.
But well, what good did that do him? He hadn't accomplished a thing, or even seen the end of the war.
He sighs, leaning back in the chair. ]
This has been a pretty shitty afterlife, hasn't it?
no subject
Wh-why didn't you say anything? [She raises a brow.] Were you trying to suffer v-valiantly in silence?
[And he'd still come over to babysit her, offered a swift rescue, free food. Maybe some people would call it simply being decent. Fukawa's seen enough people look the other way to know better.]
I'm still not sure it is an afterlife...
[Case in point: injuries. He's left it alone now, but her eyes keep darting over. She recalls Sakura's advice, how the bandages wound around the joints, the gratitude of that woman who'd offered herself as guinea pig.
Weird that the only injury she's learned how to treat is the one presented to her now.]
I c-can bandage it for you.
no subject
It does hurt like hell now that he's stopped running around the city though (and likely because of it too), a sharp and persistent ache thrumming with his heartbeat. ]
I'd really planned for you to get some rest. [ He glances around as if the medical supplies would suddenly appear in front of him. ] Do you have bandages?
[ He'd taken his boots off at the entrance of the suite, not wanting to track the grime of the Gallows inside, but his feet are still covered in socks. He eases the one on his injured leg off, the ankle bruised and swollen, tugging his pants higher up the leg as well. ]
I'll go get them if you don't mind patching me up.
no subject
Don't be stupid. I'll g-get them.
[Has the dour drag in her voice been kicked away at last?
Fukawa scuttles out of the room, and in short order she's returned with bandages and a safety pin. She didn't need to go as far as Claude's room, thankfully. There'd been some in a cupboard below the sink. After all the wild catastrophes they'd weathered Fukawa thought it wise to keep at least some supplies on hand. Good thing, too.
She settles on her knees beside him, unwinding the spool of fabric with a smug little smile.]
Here. N-now you can't say I never repaid any favours.
no subject
He stays put when she scurries off, a little relieved by the amount of energy that she's showing—hopefully a good sign for her recovery—and just offering a smile of his own in return of her smug comment. ]
Is that what this is? I'm hurt- I thought we were becoming friends.
[ His tone is clearly teasing. ]
no subject
What? [She gives him a befuddled look.] D-don't throw words like that around so casually! I'm — I still don't even know your whole name!
[How comical that two complete strangers should keep sweeping each other off death's door and still know nothing beyond looks and a name.
It's a conundrum vexing enough to distract her from the carnal act of binding his sleekly-muscled leg. Instead of blushes and covert glances she sets to her task with a petulant frown.]
Like...h-how did you get that wyvern in the first place? I haven't even seen a creature like that around.
no subject
It's not as though he can't relate. He's just a good faker. ]
She was my companion while I was alive. It could be that she died after me... She appeared here a month ago in the Shadowlands.
[ It's bittersweet to have her here; sweet to be reunited with an old friend, but bitter to know that she's trapped here, the same as him.
He holds his leg steady as she works, not flinching away despite the tenderness in his ankle. ]
My full name is Claude von Riegan, by the way. [ Since she brought it up. ] You've got a book from Fodlan here, was that on purpose?
no subject
Y-you mean animals can show up here, too? [One would think this shadow and oblivion horseshit would be a cruel trial to put an animal through. Imagine soul-forging a dog. And how do you measure the moral merit of something whose entire personality is scrounging for food?] Th-that's...Well! If she d-died quickly after you then she wasn't dragging on for years alone. Right?
[Is this?? Comforting? Blink twice if you need help Claude.
Round and round the bandage goes. Should she have cleaned something before wrapping it up? There's no open wound or anything. Maybe just...let that slide.
She glances up when he gives his name, which is appropriately regal. Whether she notices her own lips mouthing after is debatable. Quickly:]
I'm F-Fukawa Toko.
[And with a slight delay:]
Fodlan? What's that? [On purpose for what?] There's a humongous c-collection at the library, you know. They have books from all sorts of realities, I c-can't ignore that kind of possibility! The first part of being a g-good writer is becoming an avid reader.