NONNIE, NYX
HE/HIM
27
December 12
Ballonlea, Galar
andressexual
Enforcer
GRUNT
in the low lamplight i was free, heaven and hell were words to me
TAG WITH @straub
onyx straub
hold me (like a grudge) [m, c]
POSTED ON Jul 26, 2023 19:38:35 GMT
[nospaces] [attr="class","onyxbar"] [attr="class","onyxbarw"] The cove cut deep into a large rock formation along the Hoennian coast; the ceiling was earth and stone, jagged and uneven. Long pieces of board and various other floating, pilfered trash was assembled in the rough estimation of a system of docks leading towards the back of the cavern; the water was deep enough to cover his head, but as he stepped into the cave, he could just barely touch the bottom. [break][break] A motley assortment of canoes, rafts, kayaks, and lifeboats painted dull green or gray were tethered at points along the makeshift dock, and at the farthest point, a huge, black yacht-type boat (Onyx didn’t know a damn thing about boats beyond fishing speedboats and pontoons) floated with its sharp front-end (there was a special word for it but he didn’t know it) pointed towards the mouth of the cave. [break][break] Light danced and jumped beyond this big black ship, the brightness of it jagged against the dark. Onyx realized it was a campfire with a number of forms around it. That would be where the people were, then. He took a quiet breath of air and dove, swimming around a canoe and pulling himself up onto a little pebble beach-type thing around a rocky corner from the drunken, laughing thieves and their fire. [break][break] He starts, at first, to quietly root through the trash they’ve accumulated. There’s quite a large stock of alcohol; a small pile of plastic ziplock bags full of jewels (he pockets a few of these); some guns (he never put much stock in guns); amongst other things-- a fancy digital camera, a few cell phones, some clothes laid out to dry. He rounds a rock and hears a voice-- an achingly familiar voice that stops him in his tracks. [break][break] He doesn’t really think it’s andres buenaventura, at first. He imagines it’s just another figment of his imagination come to torture him; he’d been plagued with them, since their fight. Visions of what he could’ve done differently, dreams of how he could make it better, all stacking up against him and forcing him into the shadowy corner of his cowardice. He’s sure he just heard a voice from around the way where the pirates were all celebrating and his brain had twisted it into some amalgam of Andres’ voice. [break][break] But he rounds the big bolder anyway, and it's only a lifetime of instincts honed into him that stops him from swearing aloud. The very brief moment’s shock that freezes him on the spot is broken as he’s sliding a knife out of a sheath at his hip and moving to free Andres. He holds a finger up to his lips to caution him to silence, though the expression of concern is written all over his face, and the fear of finding Andres, here, like this, is warring with the disbelief, the shock, and the anger, and he stoops to start working at the ties on his legs and lower body. [break][break] “What-- the-- fuck?” he whispers under the sawing of rope beneath his knifeblade, eyes flicking up to Andres’ abused face. 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