kingdomsofrain | word/quote prompt meme

Edited 2018-03-16 07:43 (UTC)

[1. adamantine 2. logastellus 3. arcadian]

Edited 2018-03-16 09:04 (UTC)

1) matutine - just before the dawn

2) sehnsucht - the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what

3) cicatrize - to find healing by the process of building scars

4) pareidolia - the instinct to seek familiar forms in disordered images like clouds or constellations; the perception of random stimulus as significant

These days, it can be hard to see the light in the world. The way everything's been crushing down on him, the way he's been losing clients in a slow trickle, the way his head aches and he just... he loses spaces of time, loses the way names and faces are supposed to join together, loses spark and sense of purpose.

But there are good days. There are bright moments. And Eda, Eda's very presence never fails to remind him that things can be okay. Things are okay. He's grateful for her. Lucky that she's stayed around, though in melancholy hours he can't imagine why she would have. He's knows he's wronged her. Knows she's more than he deserves, especially after he'd been with Isolde and been back with Isolde and returned once again to Isolde. And now that he's begun running low on money (now that his name no longer sings as strong as it used to, now that he can no longer perform in the ways he used to), what is there to keep her?

Still. She's been remarkably steadfast. And whatever happens tomorrow, she's here right now. Here and asleep in his bed, while he paces quietly near the window, glancing at her, looking away. She's beautiful as ever, will always be beautiful through and through. He's suddenly glad he couldn't sleep last night; it's worth it just to see her here and now, glanced gently by the early morning sun and nestled in the warmth of (he hopes, he would almost pray it) peaceful sleep.

He loves her. He's wild about her. And she is, she truly is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

See, this is why he doesn't drink and smoke and take whatever the fuck pills those were at the same time. Because then you wake up in the middle of fuckever-knows-where on some shitty, suspiciously stained couch with no idea how you got there and nothing to ease the stabbing goddamn pain in your pounding goddamn forehead.

He doesn't think he's ever seen this place in his life. It's nowhere he recognizes, anyway. Aside from the couch, it doesn't look half-bad. Shit, there's a pristine-looking couch across the room. What the fuck'd he gone and fallen asleep on this piece of fucking garbage for?

Yeah, well, that's just his luck sometimes. And all the more reason he shouldn't drink and smoke etc. etc. etc. you get the goddamn idea.

He's about to close his eyes again when he realizes he's not alone. Someone's nearby, watching him or staring at not much of anything or who the fuck knows what. Okay, so who the fuck's this chick supposed to be?

"You just gonna fucking stand there, staring at me? Do I look like a picture or some goddamn thing?"

Life under the sea is getting to him. At first it’d seemed a fine opportunity: start a new career, charm crowds in another way, make a brand new life without worrying about the mess he’d left on the surface. (Take himself away from Agnes and the girls. Let them have their life back, so they don’t have to worry about what kind of trouble he’s going to get into. So there are no more journalists hounding them, trying to get a new angle on the story of a lawyer falling from grace. Not that he had fallen from grace; that was just the way they liked to spin it.)

Nothing was as bright as he’d hoped. He’s made a mark for himself as a performer, sure, but it's just as glum a life as some of the girls had told him. And it isn’t the same; he misses the thrill of the courtroom, the way he could spin the rules on their head and give the people a show they’d never seen. He misses Eda, too. Misses her in ways that pull his heart and sometimes nearly left him sobbing. He should’ve given up on this endeavor as soon as he’d heard she wouldn’t come. Should have known every wrong would feel ten times worse without her.

It doesn’t help that he hasn’t felt well since arriving. Hasn’t felt like himself since before the trial, and it’s getting harder and harder to recover from drinking, harder to function without drinking and harder to focus when he does drink. And there’s that, too: with and without alcohol, it’s getting harder to think straight, harder to remember what he was doing five minutes ago or who he’s supposed to be. It’s a terrible feeling, though he won’t speak of it to anyone.

Tonight’s particularly rough, and he’s asked Phoenix to his rooms intending to announce that the kid’ll have to take over tonight. Fallon’s head is just too much of an ache, and he feels down, too far down to perform in front of anyone. Besides, the kid’s got talent, and it’ll be good for him to get out of his shell.

Pouring himself another drink (they’ve got plenty of booze at the bottom of the ocean, and thank god for that), he rubs his head and waits.

Edited 2018-03-17 05:46 (UTC)

1) desenrascanço

2) fernweh

3) accismus

There’s no better place to catch the filtered sunlight than in Rolling Hills, and Julie’s invited Aramat to a well-hidden secret of the park. It’s a place few people ever discover, a place Julie had planned for while designing the plants for the gardens/park. Getting to it takes some work - crawling under a set of bushes, making a close brush with a thorned Pyracantha, battling through an undergrowth of Juniperus horizontalis - but it’s worth the mess. The way the sunlight filters from above and through the trees. The almost-silence of the place. The roses - uncommon, varied - branching at the outskirts. The feeling that you’ve made it to another world, almost, leaving the city’s absurd politics behind.

Julie doesn’t share this place with many people, but she finds Aramat Drawdes suitable. Interesting, even, and worthy of her time. The woman’s love of plants first drew Julie’s interest, and it doesn’t hurt that she’s wonderfully attractive. The one flaw in the woman, so far as Julie’s seen, is her boyfriend. That she has one at all, and that it should be this particular twit. Julie can’t see the use in such a creature, but it’s clear Aramat’s enamored with him, and sometimes there’s no accounting for taste.

In any case, Julie could use a break; lately, she’s hardly left the lab to sleep, let alone to simply be among her plants or clear her head. And she’s looking forward to spending time in the company of an intelligent woman who doesn’t seem wrapped up in Ryan’s more nauseating ideas.

Now Julie’s sitting in the middle of the glade, legs stretched out across a blanket. Beside her sits a basket of supplies: weed and wine, some halfway-decent food, some bandages and antiseptic in case the thorns proved rough on Aramat. She’d given the woman distinct directions, with instructions to text her if she found herself lost. Now all that remains is to wait, eyes half-closed, thinking through her latest projects while enjoying the distant sun.

1) wakerife - wakeful; indisposed to sleep

2) youster - to fester

3) horrisonant - dreadful-sounding

The place in which Mr. Pink wakes up in is pristine, almost ascetic in it's whiteness and cleanness, the blank spaces in the walls only broken up by plants that grow. The couch nearby is pristine and white, the girl didn't want to ruin it, so she brought the couch Pink was sleeping on to her house. Made sense right?

The girl tilts her head in wonder. "I was waiting on you to wake up." There's a metallic feel to her voice, also no trace of emotion in it.

"Wasn't that sweet of you." Okay, maybe it was considerate of her to let him sleep or someshit, but Mr. Pink doesn't like being watched, and he's not exactly in a mood for giving thanks to strange women.

Strange women with strange voices. No trace of emotions he can deal with; he's heard that kind of thing before. Usually doesn't mean anything good, so he'll have to be on his guard, but it's something he understands. It's the sound of... what is that, is that fucking metal? That's what weirds him out. He figures it's something to do with him being hungover or maybe being fucked up still. Because people don't talk like that, right? And he just isn't feeling great. Not like he's gonna fucking vomit or whatever - not yet - but definitely not great.

"Jesus it's bright in here."

When you want to make someone have a epiphany about their life, you could do worse than threatening them with death. (I mean it's usually one of the first things a potential victim does.) Still Eda is bit confused by this. (And it does ruin a potential fun of this job quite a bit to her.)

"So, you want us to threaten his life, but not kill him in hopes that he won't take like for granted?"

"Yes."

Eda shakes her head. "I need my partner's opinion on this..."

Eda still can't really figure out why she agreed to get in his apartment tonight. His money is running dry, he drinks far too much for his health, often reeks of someone else's perfume when he talks to her, and overall just seems dim compared to her shine. To be honest, she has no use for such dull things... and people.

But... she went to him anyway, she straight out begged for her and... well she can't really say no to him he's like that. He's pitiable as hell when he's like that.

Eda agreed to an hour of talking, but it turned into sex and an entire night. And that is now Eda is sleeping in his bed.

This city displeases him. It's too cramped, too crowded. Full of gawkers and raucous laughter. The neon lighting offends his eyes. He grits his teeth against the metallic soundscape of the casinos. Meanwhile, while he doesn't condemn the city's ceaseless activities - the gambling, the flagrant sex, the excessive drinking - he cannot approve of them, either, and feels assaulted by their presence. Every object in this city reflects the reasons he stays away from people, from settlements. Every object in this city makes him long for Zion.

And being here, in the Mojave, reminds him too clearly of the monster he had been. The monster he still is, if he doesn't watch himself; how easy it is to fall into old habits, how far he would have fallen if the Courier hadn't intervened.

It's the Courier who brought him here. Sent word that she needed him for a mission, and he'd come. Joshua owes her... Well. For his soul, he doesn't doubt. And perhaps for something more. It seems the Mojave as a whole owes the Courier. It was she who'd ended the war, breaking up the Legion and pushing the NCR back from the city. It was she who'd led the efforts to revivify New Vegas, to make it more accessible to Wastelanders and to make it more attractive to travelers coming from the East. Joshua might not like the city, but at least it's a reminder that good things can grow in the desert, that even in the wake of war regrowth is possible.

It's still hard, almost impossible to believe that the Legion was defeated, though of course it never could have remained without Edward; once he'd gone, there'd been no leader that could hold them firm in all of their absurd beliefs. It had lasted longer than it should have, and while Joshua sometimes tells himself it'd had its positive impacts, he knows the Legion never should have grown in the first place. They should have altered its course, he should have altered its course.

That's all in the past now. Nothing to be done for it. The best he can do is try to make some small amends for what he'd done.

Which is why he's here, sitting in a corner of The Lucky 38, the casino's sounds clattering against his head as he waits for the Courier to appear. He should have insisted on meeting outdoors. Well. He'll make it through these distractions; he's made it through far worse. He's casting his gaze over the room when he feels a tingle along his neck, the sign of someone watching close. It's hardly an unusual sensation here; his story - The Burned Man's story - is too familiar, the Strip-goers too inebriated to withhold their casual scrutiny. Happily, more don't linger long, and no one's been foolish enough to speak to him.

The one, though. This one has not yet looked away, and Joshua turns his attention toward the figure. "Is there something you need?"

He's been watching the boy for three weeks now. He's been watching, gathering information, and his Whalers have been watching. Their continued interest in the boy depends on Daud's opinion, but he likes to hear the input and observations of others, as well. Sometimes they'll catch a sign he hasn't noted, or they'll find the link to understand some piece of a potential recruit. His judgment is what counts in the end, but he's not about to neglect their talent, especially since they'll all need to live and work with the new candidate.

There's also the matter of safety, of course. The more eyes Daud has on a candidate, the better the chance of discerning whether they might turn on the group, whether they might pose any kind of danger. He once had to end a young man who accepted the offer, only to attack Thomas and start shouting about going to the authorities. That was it, though; Daud's been pulling young men and women from the streets for years now to form his gang of Whalers, and aside from that young man, there have been no upsets.

Truth is, there have been questions about this new boy. Oscar. Questions about whether it's too late, whether what he went through so recently has left him unsuited for their group, maybe unsuited for anybody. Billie in particular has questioned Daud over and again about whether the boy is the right fit. He's too much of a risk, she'd said, there's too much anger and we can't say where it'll come out.

The objections were legitimate, yes. But the boy has talent. But he could be great. Maybe not quite at Billie's level (maybe?) but certainly close. And as soon as Bridge had let him to the candidate, Daud had seen the potential. There's a deep resilience to him. A capacity for doing what others might consider immoral (really, it's only business, one way to make a living in a corrupt city). If stories are correct, the boy's shown a strong streak of loyalty in the past. And it doesn't hurt that he appears to be a lone. Thoroughly, utterly alone.

Still. The potential in the young man is too much to pass by, and the early evening finds him tailing the boy. (There are questions to be asked about why he's flaunting warning signs. Of course it could turn out all right, but it also might now. There are questions to be asked about why his own behavior has been erratic of late. Questions about why it's becoming harder and harder to hold any sense of what's best for the Whalers, for himself, for Dunwall. He doesn't want to dwell on any of those questions.) Slipping across rooftops and balconies, Daud follows Oscar to a near-deserted section of dockyard. It's here that he finally moves down to the street, landing several yards behind Oscar, scarcely making a sound.

"Oscar. I'd like to speak with you."

If the boy recognizes him - from the wanted posters plastered around Dunwall, from stories and descriptions (the scar alone is a major giveaway) - fine. If not, Daud will introduce himself when he feels the time is right.

He used to shine. He used to flare across a world of nobodies. How's he supposed to find that again?

He knows the answer, that there's no finding anything at all, that it's going, almost gone. Knows the answer but won't think about it, doesn't have to think about it as long as he lives. Because what's the point in dwelling on what's lost, right? If only it weren't so hard not to dwell these days. If only his mind and mood didn't fuzz over, anchor him in glumness, downness, moods he's rarely and maybe never felt in his life. He doesn't know what to do about it. He mostly closes his eyes and tries to barrel through. Because there's always a brighter side, isn't there?

And there's Eda. Right now, there's Eda. He keeps almost steady watching her for five minutes, ten, he doesn't know how long. And then there's the itch. The pull toward the bottle of scotch left on the bureau. He'd told himself he wouldn't. That he'd wait until she woke up and they had breakfast (he assumes, lets himself assume she'll stay for that much longer, though really, she shouldn't have to). But he knows from experience that the itch will only become more persistent, the need harder to ignore. And anyway, isn't it better if he has his drink before she wakes up? He knows she doesn't like it; this way, he's at least not doing it in front of her. (As if it won't happen again before she goes. As if there's any way of avoiding it.)

So he pours himself a drink, tries to make it last.

He knows it's a shame to keep her here. To call her back time and again and hang onto her when there's so much for her beyond these walls, beyond him. He should let her go. Tell her to go. Stop begging on and off his knees for her to come back.

But what else is there? He can play at courtroom exploits and sharp banter (harder and harder to do even that, to hold onto a conversation, to remember the ways words can soar). And yes his work still matters, from time to time he feels the accustomed flash of it all and from time to time he's lucid, so clear and so clear to everything he's been and can be, everything he hasn't yet become–

All of that fades, so quickly.

The morning is becoming melancholy, and suddenly it's hard to be alone while she sleeps, hard to let her rest, though he wants to and knows that he should. Her presence here is a gift; he ought to respect that. But he's lonely. But he doesn't want to lose her, and right now she seems too far away. Then, too, because he knows he needs to part with her, a piece of him tries to hold on harder still.

Fallon sets his glass aside, making a vague effort to place it out of sight. "Eda?

"Hey, baby?"

Edited 2018-03-20 16:39 (UTC)

Opinion? He's got a few.

"Bullshit."

The value of life among the intellectual variety is, in his opinion, time wasted. All the bells and whistles of meaning and purpose create their share of anxieties and sheer foolishness. In the animal kingdom it's kill, eat and live another day.

Simple.

"Unless you're paying double. We're doing twice the work with you pussyfooting around."

"Yeah. Fine."

He agrees to the job. Some guys would be apprehensive of last-minute plans, but there's still a thrill in it for Malvo. He's always prided himself in his ability to think on his feet.

"My cut and 10% of yours. You'll get something extra for getting it done quick. Not like you're missing out on any money."

The places Ritchie wishes to travel aren't easily accessible to a human. Dimensional travel takes time, practice and a level of discipline that he has thus far reached only under great duress and circumstance. A little reading may do him some good which prompt his visit to the library.

"Fuck," it's admittedly louder than the standard inside voice, but he continues flipping through his pages anyway should he have missed something.

Nothing.

Slamming the heavy book on ethereal dimension aside, he slides it across the table and picks up another beast of a book which he starts flipping through and pouring over, mumbling loudly to himself. It's the only way he can think with any clarity.

"Right."

Albert's reply is dry. Nothing about the explanation is sufficient to his questions. Still, the stupidity that has caught them here in his phone conversation that has, somehow, been redirected to him twice is too much to overlook.

"Let's try this again but with the understood parameter that your bullshit is eating up my time. I'll ask you one more time: why did you call the Federal fucking Bureau of Investigation this evening?"

word/quote prompt meme

no subject

Phoenix Wright | Ace Attorney | OTA | dgaf

Aramat Drawdes | Alabaster | OTA | come one, come all

Oscar | Lupin The 3rd | OTA | yolo

Eda | Black Lagoon | OTA | /shrugs

2

NONA1 | OC | OTA | #thristy

for that obstinate jerk, achilles

let me know if this is too soft and going nowhere or anything

i should probably just apologize for everyone who tags your kids

you get all the fun fallon

for cannibalartist

honestly julie and isolde should just bond over their confusion/disgust re: mickey

for the artful dodger

plz don't teach her to take drugs, she's an innocent robot girl. T_T

but it's what he's good attttt

no subject

no subject

have one crispy man who does not want to be here

you know what have this fucker too (let me know if this ought to be edited)

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1

2

3 aaaaa I WANTED TO USE ALL 3 WORDS they fill me with joy