archishellago | Test Drive Meme #001

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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 who awaits him does not love him any less than the Fool who holds him now. It is with that Fool that Fitz truly has a future, a chance at that love that has always twined itself around him throughout his lifetime; the Fool knows this. He knows it as keenly as he has ever known the truth of his own prophesies. Their paths here have converged by chance and providence, but this is not their new beginning. It's a final goodbye.

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.

Why cannot the Fool be unhurt? Why must there be difficulty for him at all stages, why must there be so much duty and pain keeping them apart? - and now, even, there is time, of all things. Fitz closes his eyes in pain.

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.

His lips taste of salt, from his tears, from the nearness of sea spray as they'd crossed the water to the ruins. The Fool is motionless at first, eyes wide, lips soft but still under Fitz's. Then his fingers curl in Fitz's hair and he tilts his face, accepts the kiss, warms to it, to the comfort of, just once, being held like this by the one he loves. The one he has always loved.

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?"

There should be chords.

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.)

"Deny me," the Fool argues softly, firmly, but it is telling that even as he speaks, he holds Fitz close. "Deny me a hundred times, Fitz, if this--if I, am not who you want. Don't give me your pity, please, I beg you--I'd never ask anything of you that you did not want to give." His fingers trace down to rest over Fitz's heart, feeling where it beats. He doesn't let go of him, continues to card his fingers through the dark curls of his hair, to trace his fingertips over the face that, even with marks of age, is still so precious to him.

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--

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

"Guilt?" the Fool repeats aloud, though whatever else he may have said is muffled as Fitz continues to speak. Gentle as can be, he presses up against Fitz's chest to coax him into a sitting position, so that they no longer lay twined so close together on the sleeping pallets.

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."

...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

He listens, as he always has, and says nothing as Fitz speaks. Indeed, there is much he would question--had Molly only been gone some months, then, how new was his grief? How fared little Bee in her mother's absence, and Nettle? Yet he quiets the instinct to speak, and listens only.

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."

(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

There is a flicker of some recognition in the Fool's amber eyes this time. The Unexpected Son--where had he heard that before, it had been so long ago--but quickly he focuses on the tale as it unfolds, listening raptly.. until the end. Until the grisly end.

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.

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

"Enough."

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."

Edited 2018-01-22 02:10 (UTC)

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

Now the eyes that the Fool fix upon Fitz are sharp and hard. He has gone from doe in repose to wolf in a moment; Nighteyes would be proud. Love must often be fierce.

"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."

Oh, he is indeed ferocious.

"By being so hurt!" Fitz hastily appends to the end of his statement. The Fool has accomplished much, much of worth in his time. "You can change the world here, Fool, you can help people who would otherwise not have it, you can set this place on its correct path. Surely this is also important. More important than you being tortured and-"

His ears scramble to catch up with his mouth, and he stares at the Fool. He swallows, wishing very much not to discuss the Fool's plea to take him to Clerres.

On 22 January 2018 at 13:44, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org

"How, without you here with me!" The words bursts out of the Fool angrily, and with such ferocious energy that even he lifts up a hand to cover his mouth. He stares at Fitz without words for a moment or two, then gathers up his cloak around his shoulders and rises up from the pallet to take a few paces away from the warmth of the fire. He needs that distance, needs it just to clear his head, to regain his composure--

His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, but his face remains hidden from view in the dark.

Then, measured, "If I do not go back to my time, then there is no guarantee that you and I shall meet again, in your time. No guarantee that the suffering I endured will serve any purpose at all. I cannot--I cannot conscience it, Fitz. I cannot."

Slowly he turns around again; the anger is gone from his eyes. There's only sadness there now. "You were right. We must go back--but I cannot go back with you."

This is all they have left.

Fitz's own temper rises, in frustration and grief. He gets to his feet, folding his arms. He will give the Fool his distance, for now.

"You did not contact me for many years," Fitz says roughly. "You must have managed, at that time, Fool. Please -! You asked for my help when you were hurt, and this is the best way I can give it, to stop you from returning to that place! At least stay here for some years, at least enjoy this relative peace."

Yet he is adamant, is he not. Fitz's shoulders slump. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

On 22 January 2018 at 14:11, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org

"You did not contact me for many years," Fitz accuses him, and all the Fool can do is closes his eyes. He has no memory of those years, but he knows his intent, he knows what Prilkop had warned him about, of Prophet and Catalyst too close together for too long--

"It was for the best," he whispers softly, but Fitz is still speaking, and the Fool does not stop him.

"You must have managed, at that time, Fool. Please -! You asked for my help when you were hurt, and this is the best way I can give it, to stop you from returning to that place! At least stay here for some years, at least enjoy this relative peace."

Silence follows those words. The Fool is still where he stands across from Fitz, holding his cloak around his shift, his amber eyes gone distant and far some way's beyond Fitz's shoulder. At length they return to Fitz's face, and it's the sight of his clear distress, his pain, that moves him. Letting out a soft breath, the Fool takes a few gentle steps closer to Fitz, hesitates, then reaches out to curl his fingers around both of his beloved's wrists. Tenderly, he coaxes them down so that their eyes can meet again.

"Perhaps," he begins softly, hesitantly, "if I remain but for a little while.." The words are leading, edging towards compromise.

"It was not," Fitz contradicts flatly. "My life has never been 'best' with you removed from it."

He doesn't usually speak so baldly. He understands duty, and has offered his death for others when he's felt it necessary. He's 'allowed' others to do the same, others he cares for dearly. He's allowed them the respect of their own choices. But there must be limits to that. Duty can have his death, if necessary, but not his life.

There is a long silence. Fitz fights to regain his composure, knowing that the Fool could have walked away at any moment, suspecting that he will not.

Gentle fingers on his skin, tugging his hands down. The tears have not fallen, not quite, but they stand in Fitz's eyes.

"....oh." Fitz inhales the clean cool air, and chews his lower lip for a moment. "I would like it if you did that."

On 22 January 2018 at 14:39, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org

A gentle release, of some kind, of tension being cut by softness. The wetness in Fitz's eyes are enough to leave the Fool undone.

"Fitz," he whispers softly, but whatever words he would share next, they seem to abandon him when he most needs them. Instead he strokes his fingers tenderly down Fitz's cheeks, searching his eyes for... something. They'd been so close, before, so close to giving voice to something that has dogged them both for decades.

He takes a breath and offers, with a weak, almost hopeful smile, "Perhaps when we meet again in your time, I will remember this." Almost hesitantly, his fingers brush across Fitz's lips, before starting to draw away.

And this is the center of the matter between them. That there are no shields, no guardedness, they are always only too aware of the other's emotions and vulnerabilities... and nevertheless must sometimes disagree, must sometimes hurt. With no other but Nighteyes has Fitz had anything resembling this kind of closeness.

The Fool's fingers trail down his face, then across his lips. Fitz catches his wrist very lightly once again before he can turn away.

He wonders at himself.

With his knowledge of both the Fool's soul and his body, with the wholeness that the Fool's presence brings him, with the fire stirred in his blood by the Fool's presence... how can he claim that there is no desire?

He knows enough of himself and of different forms of love, these days, to know that it need not be limited as he had assumed in his youth. He knows enough of general society's misguided ignorance about something which is seemingly 'wrong', which deviates from the norm.

To love one such as the Fool, who defies norms, and to desire him?

...is not difficult.

He swallows, then turns the Fool's hand over in his. He places a kiss in the very center of the Fool's palm. "If it would not hurt you further, I would give you more to remember."

On 23 January 2018 at 03:25, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org

Again, his wrist is caught. Again, he does not pull away. This time the Fool watches Fitz's face with rapt attention, his pulse a swift and fluttering thing under the touch of his fingers. And then his lips, warm against his palm, his skin warm, the chafe of stubble rough, and the Fool catches his breath audible.

There can be no misunderstanding his meaning now. Somehow, that makes it all the harder to believe, all the harder to trust that it is happening, that this is not some wild, juvenile fantasy that he'll awake from at any moment--

"Tell me that you want me," he pleads softly, taking a fraction of a step nearer to the warmth of Fitz's body. He can't look away from his dark eyes. "Don't touch me out of pity, Fitz, I could not bear it--"

The Fool is limned by firelight, and starlight. He is a slight, ethereal figure.

...not that it was entirely needed, but there is his consent.

"No pity," Fitz says. His voice is low, and there is gravel in it. "I have ever been foolish, and I wonder that you continue to forgive me for it, over and over. I wonder that you continue to be so very beautiful, and I wonder that you are not in my arms, FitzChivalry Farseer."

He names him Fitz, and names himself Fool, and catches the Fool up in an embrace. Fitz bends his face to the Fool's, kissing him soft and sweet. There is a quiet huff of approval from the wolf. Incipient pleasure begins to thrum sweetly along every one of Fitz's nerves.

On 23 January 2018 at 13:58, afoolsgold - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org

"Beloved--" the Fool has time to breathe before he's caught in that kiss, and there is no hesitation in it this time, not tentative fear of rejection, of being pushed away--of waking up. They're both dreamers, here, and this is their dream. Let them dream together.

He leans his slighter form against Fitz's, the contours of their bodies fitting together neatly; bits of flint from the same stone finding their partners at last. (Perhaps one day, they will carve a dragon together--)

Though his fingers tremble, he brings Fitz's hands to the fabric of his cloak and shift, a clear invitation to remove the fabric that covers his skin. He breaks the kiss long enough to request softly, "Take me back to the fire, Fitz, I would be warm if--"

If? When. He almost laughs.

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