Khu Ioduan Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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archishellago2018-01-05 10:58 am
khuimods) wrote in archishellago2018-01-05 10:58 am
Entry tags:
Test Drive Meme #001
KHU IODUAN; TEST DRIVE MEME #001    | |
I. THE VERDANT SENTRY - Attention, New Recruits! It's clear that all of the city's law enforcement is handled by the various branches of the Sentry: from Mounted Division handling street patrol, to the Aerial Corps provided airborne support for tactical and rescue operations, to the Nautical Branch undertaking regular sea patrols as the first line of defense along the archipelago's borders. But everyone interested in joining up has to go through their basic training program, and that starts today with a general skills assessment. There's quite a mix of attendees today, spread across nearly every race represented in Aifaran and including other Dreamfolk, but whatever the recruiter is saying is getting lost in the two chatty Igheeri who seem to think they're too good to listen to the standard welcome speech... time to interrupt by signaling the person in charge? Take care of it yourself? Gripe about it to the person in line beside you? II. KIRIN RODEO - Place Your Bets! At the end of every month, the Mounted Division of the Sentry holds their skills competition. When they're not on the field, their steeds are often the subject of much admiration from children and more than a few adults. Astride many breeds of kirin, some lithe and fleet, some stockier and stronger, these off-duty officers demonstrate their control and bond over the notoriously strong-willed and intelligent creatures with complicated maneuvers. There's a surprisingly in-depth system for betting on one's favourite to win the various matches, and just about everyone's willing to explain the odds to newcomers. There's only one rule: all proceeds go to funding of the city's charities. (Bragging rights on winning are still yours to keep.) Two bells ring loudly over the crowd - last call for wagers! III. WE HAVE REGULATIONS ABOUT THIS - Munga on the Loose! Munga are ill-tempered, rat-sized spiky lizards with a gift for camouflage, and whose venom in their spines and teeth is also highly hallucinogenic. And... they're on the loose. Fortunately, keeping them is highly regulated, and pretty much everyone in Aifaran knows about them, but loose Munga are uncommon enough that the reaction is more likely to be startled flailing at a hint of spines and skittering. Today someone's exotic pet has slipped out of their hands, and it's trailing a harness and lead as it zigzags away, prickling and hissing and going for the ankles. It's given a wide berth, except by those who don't notice until it's too late or those too preoccupied by something else. Hopefully the proper authorities have been notified to catch and return the creature, but maybe someone helpful can keep it from getting too far away? IV. A SURPRISE WINDFALL - Officer, This Isn't Mine... There was a loud thud as someone tosses a heavy bag from the window of a dilapidated building. Five seconds later there’s smoke pouring out the windows and your holding what seems to be someone else’s luggage. Opening it, you find carefully wrapped bricks of some very illegal drugs, and someone down the side alley is pointing at you and yelling. A mounted Sentry officer is giving you a rather peculiar look as well while he calls in the fire brigade. And among the people fleeing the building, there are five Kin’nal looking at you, wide-eyed, as it suddenly dawns on them that they messed up. Take your new prize and split before reinforcements arrive? Try to explain the mistake? Take note that the building is still on fire? V. INTO THE UNKNOWN - Watch Your Back Out There The sea patrol discovered the new irregularity a few days ago, reporting that it looks like a series of tall and jagged stone towers rising up from the ocean. It's incomplete as these planar-shunted locations often are, as if something massive had taken a bite of some mysterious city and then spat it whole into the seas of Konryu. Having been chosen as part of the exploration team, you've been working your way through the complicated labyrinth of stone tunnels and dead ends, searching for what the Opara engineers had enthusiastically described as a potential new power source. "Trace the green glowing power lines," was their (sort of helpful) instruction. However the lean, dark and toothy thing you've just glimpsed should probably be a more pressing concern... warn others? Take it on yourself? Pray it hasn't spotted you? VI. WILDCARD - Because You're Not The Boss Of Me Anything else that doesn't fit the above prompts is welcome, just keep it within the game setting please! Applications • Reservations • Taken List • Game Navigation |
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Yet the Fool had never set any limits upon that love--and no expectations, either.
It takes a great deal of his courage to roll over onto his side so that he faces Fitz, to prop himself up one one elbow, and gently frame his face with both gloved hands. There's tenderness in the touch and in his eyes, but great sorrow, too.
"I will stay here," he assures him softly, gently, "just as you must go." Then he nearly laughs, but it is a quiet, pained-sounding thing. "As you have described it to me, it seems that I already wait for you to return to me in Buckkeep Castle." His eyes soften with regret. "It would not do for you to keep me waiting. If I know anything about myself, it is that I will long for you always when you are gone."
'Me,' he says, 'myself,' he says, but he isn't who he means. The Fitz in front of him is no more his beloved friend than he is his Fool. He knows that.
And yet...
The Fool's amber eyes have grown wet with feeling, and he takes a breath, starts to draw his hands away.
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He should tell the Fool that no, he is wrong, that he must follow his path otherwise the future will fall apart. He should tell the Fool that it is not up to him, as it never has been, to see all possible futures and to move time's great wheel in its track. He should tell the Fool that he will tell him nothing of what he knows, as it is not fair to do that to him given his life's work to protect the future.
...he should take the Fool into his arms and keep him safe, forever, away from Clerres, away from torture and brokenness and despair. He should protect him. He should...
Ha. As he has protected Bee? And Molly? And the Fool himself, near slain by Fitz?
The Fool cups his face with clever long-fingered hands, and Fitz relaxes into the touch almost entirely involuntarily.
The Fool speaks about the two of himself, and Fitz wonders if there is another of himself, also, about to endure so many long years with no word from the Fool. "I am so very confused," Fitz admits. "Surely you are you, and I am myself, and yet this makes no sense."
He catches the Fool's birdlike wrist with one hand. "No, please-"
On 20 January 2018 at 04:00, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org</p>
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"You mustn't make this harder than it already is, Fitz," he tries to say so gently, so tenderly, but already emotion makes his voice weak, unsteady. He struggles to take another breath and touches Fitz's hand with his own, working to loosen his beloved's grip from his wrist. "I am a prophet out of my time. There is no place for me in the world that I've left behind--not if, as you say, you left me waiting for you in Buckkeep. I must still be waiting for you there, waiting for you to return, to fulfill your role as Catalyst again."
He sits up now with his back to Fitz, turning to face the fire again. This is too much, it is too painful, it would have been less agonizing if they'd never seen each other again after that fateful, final visit to Aslevjal--
Another breath and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly. "I cannot go with you," he whispers, "and I cannot keep you here with me."
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Fitz... lets him go. As he must. He will not force the Fool to touch him. Duty has always had too great a hold on both of them, for all that the note in the Fool's voice makes Fitz's heart break.
For all that Fitz wanted to ease the Fool's sleep, he has managed to do entirely the opposite. There is nothing but tension in the lean line of the other's back. "I understand," he says, and it is simultaneously a lie and one of the harsher truths of his recent life. "We will - we will manage, as ever, Beloved."
On 20 January 2018 at 12:20, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org</p>
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"...Beloved."
He turns, then, at the sound of his name, and meets Fitz's eyes. That name had been such a source of torment to him while he lay suffering under the Pale Woman's knife. Still, it made an old ache twinge in his heart--but to hear the name from Fitz's mouth soothes the pain. He was always insufferably gifted at saying just the right--or just the wrong--thing.
Wordlessly, he lays back down onto the sleeping pallet and opens his arm to Fitz, a silent invitation for him to come, to be close, in what little time they may have left. "Sleep next to me," he pleads softly.
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He leans his cheek on a fist, watching as the Fool turns. Oh, this is such a gentle torture. He cannot stay, he cannot make a home in this place. He must go home to Bee and to Buckkeep. He must report to Chade, and check on the Fool himself, and strengthen his sometimes difficult relationship with his other daughter.
Fitz moves instantly closer, tugging his own blankets with him. He settles down with the Fool, exhaling softly at the feel of the other's lean strength against him. He has always felt like a blundering ox next to the Fool's grace.
(He enjoys feeling like a blundering ox next to the Fool's grace.)
On 20 January 2018 at 12:49, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org</p>
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(Fitz seems to crave it, too, some part of him realizes. The realization gives him pause, fills him with some inexplicable dread, some premature loss--)
"Fitz," he murmurs quietly, his eyes on the stars overhead. "In your time... what am I to you?"
("I will never desire you," the Fool remembers those biting words so clearly, even now, and he cannot put them out of his mind.)
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The Fool holds onto him like he's something precious, and while Fitz cannot believe it, for a time he can believe that the Fool thinks it so. His head is tucked beneath the Fool's chin. The Fool's scentlessness is in itself reassuring.
...oh. Oh, the tenderness in the fingers through his hair.
"...what am I to you?"
There's a jolt somewhere inside him at the Fool's words, as though the Fool himself is more aware of the shifting sands inside Fitz than he is himself. This would not be the first time that the word 'close' is laughably inadequate to describe what they are to each other, how well they know each other. What- what has the Fool sensed?
"Very dear to me," Fitz murmurs against the delicate skin covering the Fool's collarbones, aware that the answer is somehow gapingly insufficient. Has the Fool sensed Fitz's guilt over near murdering him? Or... is there something else?
On 20 January 2018 at 13:21, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org</p>
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"Very dear to me," Fitz had said.
The Fool sighs and gives in to some long held impulse to kiss the crown of Fitz's head. "I will miss you so," he confesses softly, "when you are gone."
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This is perhaps the closest they have been without catastrophe. Without a wild attempt at Skill healing, or a combining of their spirits as they travel through a pillar. Fitz has not slept with anyone holding him in such a tender manner, or he them, since - since Molly.
It is a luxury, and it is quite possibly entirely stupid, for once he leaves here neither of them can have this once more. The Fool who awaits him in Buckkeep can barely stand to be touched, after all he has endured.
Fitz won't move away, however, and he exhales a tiny sigh at the Fool's words. "And I, you," he responds, lips against the other's skin, in what is as much a kiss as speech.
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Fate can be kind, sometimes, even as it must be cruel.
Breathing is so hard, so difficult, all of a sudden, and the Fool's eyes grow wet with tears. He's weeping before he realizes it, tears stinging his eyes. "Fitz," he starts to speak, but his voice breaks before the rest of his words can leave him. He just shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut.
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Ah.
Those miniscule shudders are not his pain. He protests wordlessly, softly, moving up to hold the Fool against him. It is such a punishment that the Fool should be crying, but it is such a treasure to be able to hold him. He presses his lips to the Fool's forehead, to comfort and soothe. To each cheek. Finally, unthinkingly, to his lips.
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Even if it is pity, it is more than he will ever have again.
"Fitz," he breathes at last when he draws back, just enough so that their lips touch, "what are you doing?"
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What there is, however, is simply a feeling of unutterable correctness, as if the dunderheaded child has finally understood that when figuring, one plus one equals two instead of thirty-seven. A feeling of yes, finally.
It is not the greatest of kisses, as Fitz did not plan this in the slightest, but it is simple, and sweet, and short. The Fool stills, then accepts him.
(The Fool has always accepted him.)
(...the Fool's acceptance is precisely why he must be enormously careful here, for he has his friend's heart in his hands.)
"It felt right," he says, awkward and heartfelt. "Fool, I... if I am to lose you, yet again, perhaps there are things I would not deny you."
(Careful. Be careful, you cretin, that you do not make him think that you intend a dalliance only.)
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He swallows hard and makes himself meet Fitz's dark eyes. "Your love is all I have ever needed. It won't ruin me, to continue on without your desire, too."
Yet his breathing comes a little faster, his eyes gone a little darker; no, he doesn't need it, but oh, how he longs for it. How transparent his desire is--
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What does he even mean by what he would not deny the Fool?
Some things are crystallising, and Fitz curses himself for an idiot. This is entirely unfair to the Fool, to be thinking frantically, to try to find the words to define his heart. Far better to present the Fool with a firm understanding so that he might say yea, or nay, as he wishes.
The Fool's gentle fingers press against his heart.
"I have never been wise," he quotes softly. "Oh, Fool, I... there is too much in our current existence to consider deepening our relationship, too much pain and distress and guilt, for it is my fault that you are near death. Perhaps I must explain, first, before anything else."
The anything else... can he even ask the Fool this?
On 22 January 2018 at 02:57, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org</p>
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Breathing room. Space to clear their heads. (To let his blood cool, some part of the Fool chides him.)
"I don't understand," he replies, his brows drawn into a furrow, and watches Fitz with open, trusting eyes. Loathe to completely be part from him, he takes hold of his hand and strokes a thumb across his wrist. "Tell me what eats at you so, Fitz."
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...it is easier to not be as close, and Fitz wonders at himself even as it feels right. He has not had such a strong physical reaction to the Fool's presence in many, many years. Not since he was in his teens and also had a strong physical reaction to, well, wind.
"I was out," Fitz begins, watching the Fool's graceful fingers on his skin. "With little Bee, and a few others. Purchasing supplies for Winterfest. After... after a difficult few months, with Molly's passing, with a distressed messenger from you who subsequently died."
He does not tell Lant or Shun's stories just yet. Too complicated, and he suspects irrelevant.
On 22 January 2018 at 10:42, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org</p>
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Mention of a messenger causes him to sit up some. "I sent you a messenger?" he repeats, baffled, but not dubious. Then he shakes his head, waves off any clarification Fitz may offer. "My apologies, I should not have interrupted. Please, Fitz, go on."
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(He should allow the Fool to sleep.)
He continues. "Indeed. To warn me of the Unexpected Son. And," he swallows, images of her tears of blood from sightless eyes flashing across his mind unbidden, "to ask my help."
He stops for a moment, overwhelmed by what had been done to the Fool in his time. How reduced he had been, to call Fitz's name.
"Interrupt if you need to," he says gently, once his voice is under his control once more. "There was an incident with a man being cruel to an animal. I stopped it. Shortly thereafter, Bee left our company and when I discovered her, she was being held tightly by a crippled beggar man. He did not hurt her. Still energised, I did not take the time to assess the situation, and st-stabbed him."
A deep breath.
"That was you."
On 22 January 2018 at 11:11, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org</p>
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A crippled beggar, holding tight to Fitz's small child, and yes, of course, it would make sense that Fitz would plunge in the knife, to act before thinking--
Still, he moves a hand to cover his stomach and takes a breath. He looks away, wordless.
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It is palpable, when his words hit the Fool.
Fitz gives both of them a few breaths.
"Given your already weakened state, the injuries from my attack were enough to near push you over the edge. I took you to Buckkeep immediately, and sent Bee home with our companions. I performed a Skill healing on you, of sorts. You are still in a difficult state, both physically and emotionally."
He shakes his head. "Oh, Fool."
On 22 January 2018 at 12:00, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org</p>
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His whisper is gentle, but unyielding, and he lifts up a hand as though the gesture alone is enough to silence Fitz, to stem the tide--the truth--of what he says. He closes his eyes; the trembling, the shaking of his slight limbs, is not from anger, but fear. "Enough--you mustn't tell me more. You mustn't endanger the future."
This is his future, he realizes. If he returns home to his time, to his place, to finish making his journey with Prilkop back to Clerres and the land of their birth and learning--all of it will inevitably end with him, a crippled and unrecognizable monster, blind and riddled with injuries, and with Fitz's knife inside of him.
Somehow, it is worse to think of this fate than it is to think of his long walk to Aslevjal, knowing what would await him there.
He lowers his hand to his lap and stares down into the fire. "I... was wrong. I must go back. If I don't, it will all have been for nothing."
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Fitz nods, and the movement is far more shaky than smooth. He does not reach for the Fool, to give him time. To give him space to adjust. To acknowledge that he himself has caused a great deal of pain.
......except that is ludicrous. If the Fool does not want to be touched, he will indicate, and Fitz cannot sit here with his friend in pain and not reach out. He touches the other's shoulder, gently, then grips.
"No," he says. "You do not even know that you have accomplished anything of worth, Fool. You should stay here, where you may not be safe, but at least you will be spared the end of my knife."
On 22 January 2018 at 13:10, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org</p>
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"Not accomplished anything of worth?" he repeats Fitz's words back to him coldly. He gestures around them, a wide arc of his arms. "No, perhaps not. I only changed the world." There, he leans in closer, but not seeking intimacy as before, but so Fitz can see the certainty in his eyes. He points a finger at him. "Your knife did not kill me, by your own admission. That means there remains work to be done between you and I."
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