the festival of northern lights [m]

i used to dream in the dark of palisades park

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Endless

The Nightingale
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Isra Nightingale
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Jan 25, 2020 9:13:41 GMT
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[attr="class","isratalk"]

Isra drifts away, ignoring the vendor and replaying the scene in her head to determine exactly what she hadn't caught- no what she had chosen to ignore. Because she had ignored it, in favor of humoring Remiel. Tonight was not meant to be an exercise in what she was after all, but rather in what she isn't. Eyes drift back over the stall and she's certain of it now.

His voice pulls her back into reality and out of her head, watching him with interest. She can't help but think he plays his part well and she silently appreciates it. She loathes leaving things unsettled and watching him, she begins to grin.

If he had not won her over yet, he had now.

She turns to hide her face in her shawl, some might think it out of horror but Isra is not the sort at all. She hides the devilish grin of approval, stifling the laugh at the vendor's expense in cloth because simply covering her mouth with her hand won't be enough. "I don't think you're in much of a position to be asking such questions." she chimes in.

"I am curious though." a hand settle's against her dark-haired gentleman's back (and he is her's, at least for the night, whether he likes it or not) and it's almost affectionate. Isra does not generally exhibit such a thing, only obeying the compulsion for touch because she can't help herself. "I'd wager it's an espeon, it's one of the 5 fastest psychics but of them, the smallest. Easy to hide in a stall like this."

"If I lose, I'll let you off easy."

She glances at Remiel, something mischievous in her grin.

"But if I win, he gets to decide instead. If he's willing to play along too of course."

After all, tonight was supposed to be fun right?



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oslo

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Remiel Calcifet
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Jan 26, 2020 6:23:30 GMT
Remiel Calcifet Avatar
ROYAL
Royalty is wasted on those who don't achieve definition in conflict and build their own legacy.
POKÉMON


NOTES

a gaggle of nervous laughter and sweat on the brow
The ball drops, bouncing on the floor several times before rolling out of view somewhere beneath the display.

The vendor appears equal parts baffled and insulted by the strange woman's words. Remiel, on the other hand, calmly sets the gun down on the counter before turning to Isra. "Brilliant." He utters, holding out his hand as a summons for his attentive Sinistea to place itself in his palm. Turning back to their host, he continues. "Let's see what's behind the curtain, then." He speaks, the teacup glowing a malevolent purple as it sat in his palm.



"I-I... I don't know what you're both going on about! Sounds like a couple of sore losers to me!"


There's a disconcerting pause... then, without warning, a chill seems to occupy the stall. One could be forgiven for having trouble designating the source of this intense aura, as it seems to emanate from both the Sinistea and its master as one whole. Isra, with her hand on the gentleman's back, would be able to feel the depth of it closer than anyone else. Just before the violent act it predicted came to pass, however, an Espeon sauntered out from behind the red curtains of the stall. Dirty and dull-eyed (uncommon for one of its species), the psychic cat loyally took its place besides its trainer before sitting.

The man snarled angrily as she looked up at him. He raised his foot and readied it backward for a kick. "You dumb bi— ACK!" Just as the Espeon flinched away from the strike, the man's unsuccessful kick would suddenly swing him upwards until he was left dangling upside-down in the air, kept aloft by the Sinistea's ghostly power.

"It would appear like the lady wins," Remiel nonchalantly states, observing the man's futile efforts to break free of the Sinistea's supernatural hold. "But here's the thing, Mr. Mickey," The man appears visibly shocked by the fact that the black-haired royal knows his true name. Remiel notices this and leans forward, his hands resting idly in his pockets. "All I want is for you to pay what you owe: to our mutual benefactors and Miss Nightingale here. Understood?" He concludes.

Despite the blood rushing to his head, and the dizziness that comes with it, their host suddenly adopts an expression of remorse and clasps his hands together pleadingly. A far cry from his irate behavior earlier.



"Y-Yes, of course! You tell them I'll have the money by tonight, and that I promise! A-As for the lady, p-please! Take any prize you want!"

MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

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Endless

The Nightingale
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Isra Nightingale
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Jan 26, 2020 7:35:07 GMT
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[attr="class","isratalk"]

Isra is delighted when he agrees, less so by the vendor's choice to try and keep up his charade. At this point she thinks he's getting what he deserves, seeing the look of the Espeon when it emerges she thinks he deserves worse than that. If it were up to her she'd let her dragons terrorize him, a taste of his own medicine. If only the setting were different.

But it would seem Remiel is intent on keeping her attention, fingers curling around his sweater as the chill settles into the area around the stall. There is a difference between a natural and unnatural cold, one that Isra knows well. The cold is invigorating, this is no different. He manages again to leave a spark of interest in her, something that seems inevitable at this point. Things to bring up after.

"Three for the three tries I was supposed to have right?" she grins, hand releasing Remiel's sweater and stepping back to look up at the prizes. A slender finger taps her lip in thought as she decides, though there's no real contest. The only one she has to think about is the third one and spotting a small little plushie in the line up she grins.

"Banette, Froslass and...." she glances over at her dark haired counterpart and his little cup of tea, almost as if they hadn't been something so menacing mere moments ago. Not forgotten but not capable of rocking her boat either. "That little sinistea one you've got hiding in the electric types over there." There's no hiding the source of the influence.

Isra anticipates that the psychic type will be expected to bring them down from where they hang, and she's content to let it leave them on the counter because before they go she has something she feels compelled to do. The woman doesn't hesitate for a moment to hop up on the counter, swinging her legs over it with obvious care to the fact she's in a dress and hop down behind the stall. She couldn't care less for the vendor, ignoring him entirely as she approaches the Espeon. A hand digs around in the bag hidden under her shawl and finds the treats she always carries. It's a small offering for what it must go through daily, she spares a moment to rub its ears and offer it an affection it rarely receives. It's evident in the flinching.

It is a feeling she knows, to be a creature in a cage. Perhaps that is why she finds it so easy to all but ignore her curiosities about Remiel and leave her prizes behind for the moment. She knows what a small moment such as this means because no amount of raising her to hate it has ever been enough to make her truly believe it does not have its place just like everything else.



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Remiel Calcifet
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Jan 30, 2020 19:37:19 GMT
Remiel Calcifet Avatar
ROYAL
Royalty is wasted on those who don't achieve definition in conflict and build their own legacy.
POKÉMON


NOTES

we'll cut to them continuing to walk through the festival after this
Remiel doesn't need to say anything to convey that he approves of Isra's method of recompense. When her hand leaves his back, however, the feeling is noticeable. It's almost like someone unhooking a leash from the collar. He suddenly feels unrestrained, and unpredictable. Like a prisoner who had just regained freedom he'd never even realized he'd lost... yet not knowing what to do with it. But this feeling passed after he gathered himself. It left him wondering if Isra had been conscious of that this entire time. And he turns to look at her as she selects her prizes, knowing there is much more beneath that facade.

Or, perhaps, nothing at all...


When she requests the plush Sinistea above, however, it isn't the Espeon that brings it down for her. No, instead, Earl Grey drops the man he's been keeping afloat this entire time. After the heap of gangly legs and arms hits the ground, the uncaring teacup floats over to the imitation toy before using its ghostly telekinesis to float it over to the counter for Isra. Only when it completes the gentlemanly gesture does it realize that she's already hopped over the counter... to offer the Espeon affection.

Yes, well... a gentleman doesn't succumb to feelings such as jealousy. So the Sinistea quietly takes its place back by Remiel's side as he walks around the stall, wades through the red curtains, and approaches their former host from behind the counter as he staggers back up onto his feet.

It was only when he got close that he realized the man's toupee was slipping off.



"So this is over, right?! You'll leave?!"


Remiel's blue-grey eyes briefly shift over to the abused Espeon as Isra cares for her... then his ears hear the murmurs of curious and slightly worried passerby's as they go about their night at the festival. There are certain things the black-haired royal would like to do. Certain messages he would care to deliver. But drawing attention to themselves here would certainly not behoove them.

"Shut this down," He finally spoke, turning back to the disgruntled man. "Get that Espeon to a Pokémon Center and leave it there." They would take it to a shelter and find a more adequate trainer for it. But if they saw the man leaving the Espeon there, they would likely charge him with abuse and lock him up. And prisoners normally did not have the means to pay what they owed.

But Remiel didn't expect a man like this to have a long, happy life anyway.


"Afterwards, you'll meet with one of our mutual contacts to deliver on your promise. My Sinistea will ensure all of this goes by smoothly." He added, casting a single nod before the possessed teacup swiftly floated over the other man's shoulder. "Understood?"
MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

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Endless

The Nightingale
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Isra Nightingale
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Jan 30, 2020 23:41:59 GMT
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[attr="class","isratalk"]

Rarely so impulsive it is only after the fact that she realizes how she'd made a very poor decision. Normally one to avoid anything that might catch too much attention or make a scene she realizes they have done exactly that, eyes prying away from the Espeon at Remiel's approach and looking up at him. She is not so oblivious to herself as to not think it's possible she's feeding off of him, something she does with most people, but this is most unexpected.

Isra senses that the scene is complete and stands, reaching out for Remiel just as she had before. Her hand settles on his back to get his attention back on her. The even look on her face should be enough to imply it was time to leave but if he looked for any sign of disapproval he wouldn't find any. Isra found she quite enjoyed his willingness to do something, even if it had produced much more excitement than she had initially bargained for.

With a whistle her watchful companion slips from the midplane, claiming her little prizes for her before disappearing into the backdrop he lurks from. The woman trusts him to resume his post tailing her when she moves her hand from her gentleman's back to his hand, fingers lacing together again just as before, and pulls him away from the scene. She walks with no real direction in mind, distance being of the utmost importance in that moment with the knowledge that any who might pay too close attention to them will find shadow licking at their heels, ensuring the pair will go undisturbed.

The woman lets silence settle between them, because when she deems it worthy to be she is surprisingly patient. Though she lets it hang between them in a stark contrast to the festival ambiance on either side of them she does not find it uncomfortable. There is a stillness in her silence that is neither expectant nor unsettled, only waiting. Isra is watchful, and only speaks when she is certain he's not so riled up.

"Well, you're a bit more exciting than what I was expecting." she teases with a matching grin. "We'll start with the easy question." she's quiet, wanting to keep the conversation between just the two of them. Whether he likes it or not he's given her plenty of questions to ask.

"I'm assuming you're one of Hoenn's favorite trouble makers, or are you just a very determined hoodlum?" In truth, she probably shouldn't be so playful about her inquiry, but to ask indirectly is in her nature, especially when you could never be sure which ears were listening a little too close.



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Remiel Calcifet
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Jan 31, 2020 1:55:49 GMT
Remiel Calcifet Avatar
ROYAL
Royalty is wasted on those who don't achieve definition in conflict and build their own legacy.
POKÉMON


NOTES

why, i never *gasp*
The man understands perfectly fine. At the very least, his incessant nodding seems to want to convey such a thought. Regardless, Remiel trusted Earl Grey to carry on just fine with his orders. The man and his bafflingly loyal Espeon would proceed to close down the stall while the possessed teacup watched, ready to act at any moment, but sensing that the man in question had already submitted to his fate. With that out of the way, Remiel allowed himself to get tugged away by Lady Isra.

| | |

The silence between them was hardly noticeable. In fact, it was comfortable. And Remiel was in no particular mood besides that. His eyes flitted between all the sights the festival had to offer as they walked through it, his ears drew in the variety of sounds and voices, and his mind dwelled briefly on the state of his Sinistea, future projects, and the mystery behind the woman holding his hand.

When she finally spoke, however, the black-haired royal snapped out of his daydreaming and people-watching. "Am I now?" He replied, waiting for her question after. Starting with an 'easy question' denoted harder ones to come. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little impatient.

But, oh, was he pleasantly intrigued anyway.

Though Isra played it a little coy, Remiel easily understood what she was trying to convey: she knew. Well, she knew he wasn't as upstanding as most people assumed he was, but couldn't definitively pin him to the infamous organization that had turned the state of Hoenn upside-down in the past. "Hoodlum? Troublemaker? I couldn't possibly be either of those things." He nonchalantly responded, knowing full well she wouldn't take the bait. "I'm just an immigrant looking to carve out his own piece of the Hoennian dream. And I've aligned myself with an assembly of people who can help me achieve that. Why? Do you find my tasks unsavory?" He asked, shifting his eyes towards her own.
MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

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The Nightingale
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Isra Nightingale
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Jan 31, 2020 8:09:33 GMT
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"Yes, you are." Isra states, quite decisively. Almost as if she had made a final decision on him because in a way she had. Though it was not a full answer to one of the many in her head a partial one led to the rest. There was always much more to learn than one could in the short time they had met, but it did not change the fact that he got something out of her most people never did.

There is another moment of quiet after that, during which Isra contemplates his answer. A very clear play off her own question, something she had expected to a degree even if she had been hoping for something more definitive. He hasn't seen enough of her to know to expect anything less than her playing along, regardless of what he might suspect Isra settles on changing her tune for a more direct approach.

Isra changes her stride to step out in front of him, turning to face him and if he stops short he'll soon find her unnecessarily close when she steps into him. She deliberately seeks to put almost no space in between them, eyes on his when she speaks again. "Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't." the shrug is slight, but there. Isra is indifferent to his 'tasks'. "Those are neither here nor there."

"There are two ways we can play this Remiel." she continues. "We can either dance around each other the rest of the night which I have all night to do and I doubt you can say the same. Or, you can answer my question and we can get this over with and go back to enjoying the rest of the night." by no means is she demanding, but there is something surprisingly firm in her tone while she speaks, hidden beneath a layer of frank politeness.

"You're either a member of rocket, or a member of something else." and Isra likes knowing what she's getting into.

Because something tells her Remiel won't be someone she gets away from any time soon.




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Remiel Calcifet
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Jan 31, 2020 20:42:04 GMT
Remiel Calcifet Avatar
ROYAL
Royalty is wasted on those who don't achieve definition in conflict and build their own legacy.
POKÉMON


NOTES

R
Oh, she took the bait— only to figuratively throw it back in his face and put a halt to their proverbial dance.

They're close enough to see each other breathe now. Remiel notes the details in her eyes, and the fragrance from the lady's perfume. She's shorter than him, but her suddenly candid attitude makes her a brick wall. He doesn't back away, though. He's curious, and being this close means he can even hear her whispers amidst the discord of noise filling the festival like rampant locusts.

When she mentions the name 'Rocket', however, there is a slight change in the mood hanging in the air between them. Remiel's own eyes become firm, narrowing slightly before he reaches over her shoulder... and plants his palm against the funnel cake sign behind her. Leaning forwards, and lowering his head so as to align his mouth perfectly with her ear, the black-haired royal finally replies. His voice is a whisper. To any bystander, it might look like a boyfriend whispering sweet nothings to his love. 

But it's hardly that, of course.

...

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know... but I suppose satisfaction brought it back... Executive."

And, for the first time in a long time, the disowned royal smiles, his other hand tracing an 'R' on top of hers.
MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

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The Nightingale
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Isra Nightingale
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Feb 1, 2020 5:34:07 GMT
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[attr="class","isratalk"]

Her gaze is almost overbearing as she watches him, waiting for him to say something. He reaches over her and hair stands on end, instinctively aware of the increasing closeness but she doesn't move, she doesn't give him any reaction at all. Eyes don't leave his until they're barely in view, following the movement, down the contour of his neck to his shoulder. They settle there, listening for the small nuances of his voice when he speaks:

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know..."
He says to the ghost of a dragon.


"but I suppose satisfaction brought it back..."
Satisfaction eats it alive. Satisfaction is never enough.


"Executive."
She grins. Hungry. Satisfied.


Her forehead touches his shoulder, but only for a moment, an instinctive need to hide before pulling back. She's laughing. It's not mocking it's not fake, it's surprisingly and undeniably happy.

"How beautifully dramatic of you."

She means it, in the best way possible.

"That was very well done."

She likes his style.

"Next," she makes a point to lean in, lips brushing his ear ever so slightly. A purposeful tease, simply because she could. (Or perhaps a warning, too close, watch yourself.) "What exactly were you planning to do back there to that vendor?" she pauses, but only for a moment.

"It's not that cold tonight."



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Remiel Calcifet
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Feb 2, 2020 0:09:36 GMT
Remiel Calcifet Avatar
ROYAL
Royalty is wasted on those who don't achieve definition in conflict and build their own legacy.
POKÉMON


NOTES

the long game
The trill of her laughter both amused and surprised him. The black-haired royal almost expected a knife to the gut instead. Perhaps a part of her had expected the same as well. But the imagined risk only served to stimulate his senses. He takes her compliment in stride, keeping still as he hears her whispers travel closer and closer to his ear. When he feels the tender brush from her lips, an electrifying chill runs down his spine. The fingers on his free hand briefly dance with her own, then tenderly they find their place along the contour of her waist.

His hand keeps itself there. Perhaps, on some level, it's meant to keep Isra in place, too, as he pulls back over her shoulder and stops inches away from her face. The tip of their noses so close that even imagining the two touching makes the sensation feel real. His blue-grey eyes, partially obscured behind black bangs but fixed and as close as ever to her dark hues, seem to look past their external veil. His lips are a mere moment away from her own, the odd smile on them slowly fading but powerful nonetheless.

"Is that so?" He coyly replies, the chatter of festival noise, and the very world around them, muted. "If you permit me the suggestion, I'd recommend looking less at what I didn't do, and more at what I did." The black-haired royal whispers, his eyes suddenly breaking away from her own before he continues. "Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy." The silence between them that follows is almost palpable. His eyes return to hers with a knowing look, searching to see if she understood. Just before long, however, he pulled back.

Dropping his hand from the sign he'd propped it against and sliding the other off of Isra's waist, he seamlessly reached to hold hands with her once more before gently pulling her in close so she could hear. "There were a thousand things I could have done. But only so many that fall within the statues of our... burgeoning employers." Just then, the reverberating percussion of drums and people cheering nearby draws his attention.

He turns back to Isra, his traditional nonchalant expression now settled back into face. "Now, shall we go ahead and enjoy the rest of the festival? Or do you wish to interrogate me further?" The latter could still be arranged, of course. He was curious to see what kind of methods Isra would employ to get him to talk freely.
MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

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Isra Nightingale
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Feb 2, 2020 21:26:30 GMT
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[attr="class","isratalk"]

It's hard to say what Isra expected but this is not it. His fingers flutter away from her's and land on her side with the last thing she anticipates. Tenderness is surprising and she despises the sensation that crawls across her skin from it, the fact he pulls it out of her, how she knows it will eat at her the rest of the night and yet she allows it. Her now free hand seeks somehow to go and finds itself on top of the hand at her side, whether its to keep his hand there or so she can pull it away at a moments notice is up for debate, for now it only serves as a reason for her to stay still when he leans back until his face is both too close and not close enough to her's.

Her eyes return to his, seeking them out beneath black bangs and the longer he stays so close the more it bothers her. He speaks and it makes the almost-there between them intoxicating. Little does he know he's found one of her favorite things and she withholds the smile that tries to tug at her lips. She prefers committing just his to memory. She gives him nothing more than a small hum of approval at his coyness, the words of his suggestion tumble around in her head for a moment before she quietly decides he has missed the point of her question, though perhaps not entirely. She knows what he did but it paints a picture incomplete in her head and it bothers her.

The woman only moves because his eyes break away from her's and she tilts her head ever so slightly looking to find them again. He returns them to her willingly and he'll find she's not so unwilling to accept his words. They are something she will mull over later, when she is seeking something to entertain her mind, picking them apart to see more than the surface of them that she sees now.

Isra is silent, when he pulls away from her and the absence of him is noticeable now even if it's only for a moment before his hand is in her's again and he pulls her back in close to him. She doesn't speak still, watching him too close and waiting. Only with the crashing of drums and cheering does she realize how she's allowed herself to become too focused on him, forgetting the rest of the world around them.

She does not answer right away. Pushing aside the weight he's left behind with his presence. "I do wish to question you further." interrogate sounds far too aggressive, she thinks. "But that can wait, I would hate to leave what we started unfinished after all."

"Besides, I think I like the idea of having an excuse to speak with you again." it is the same well practiced grin as always, but somewhere bellow that is something a little bit mischievous, like perhaps she means it just a little bit.



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Remiel Calcifet
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Feb 3, 2020 3:04:20 GMT
Remiel Calcifet Avatar
ROYAL
Royalty is wasted on those who don't achieve definition in conflict and build their own legacy.
POKÉMON


NOTES

her point-of-view is too interesting
If smiling wasn't so inherently difficult for Remiel, he had a sneaking suspicion he would be right now. "I can assure you: I would never leave my business with you unfinished." He replied, looking over his shoulder at her as he lead them back into the thick of the festival crowd. Perhaps she was perceptive enough to catch the gleam of amusement in his otherwise indifferent blue-grey eyes.

When she continued, however, he looked away and said nothing. But the gentle squeeze of the hand he offered her hopefully said more than any words ever could. Seeing her again was something he'd naturally subscribed into.

| | |

After following the sound of banging drums, rattling, chordophone strumming, and peculiar tribal throat-singing, Remiel and Isra stopped at the fringes of a large crowd surrounding a wide dance circle. On the stage, the band of fur-laden musicians seem in a trance as they play their rhythmic melody. At the very center of the dance circle, there was what appeared to be a large wooden Dewgong statue engulfed in flames. Its horn, however, appeared abnormally longer than that of the typical Dewgong.

The tribal men and women, and even citizens from Hoenn, stomped and danced around this flaming statue at a safe distance: the range of this 'safety' put in act by a velvet rope that was held together with metal poles around the totem. People toting tall, upright staffs with long ribbons that flowed in the air at the end of them also participated, gently swirling around. Though nearly translucent, every ribbon was tinted a color one could see naturally in the northern lights, and looking up one could imagine themselves gazing at the real thing in the frigid north.

Yet, despite the beautiful sight, the flaming totem, and the sound of loud drums that seemed to demand attention from everyone, Remiel set his gaze upon the fair-skinned woman beside him instead. When he knew he could speak without being muted by the loud music or chanting, he did so. Though his question could be considered unusual.

"... what do you see?"
MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

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The Nightingale
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Isra Nightingale
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Feb 3, 2020 5:24:30 GMT
Isra Nightingale Avatar
[attr="class","isratalk"]

The way he chooses his words stand out to her, there's something in his eyes that she catches but hesitates to name. It's only when he squeezes her hand that it makes sense in her head but it's not just now. It's all the way back to the beginning of the night. How he had pulled the seat out for her, patting it like he simply insisted she join him. He'd been happy to see her.

Isra smiles because she was right, she wasn't going to get rid of Remiel Calcifet any time soon.

***


They grow closer to the source of the drumming and the sound is almost overbearing. She finds herself distracted by the beat, following the pattern in the sound until she finds it easy to follow and another distracts her mind. Eyes flit about the scene from one thing to another, watching it both perplexed and amazed.

It's so all together new to her in a way that leaves her feeling like she's drowning in curiosity. She wants to inquire about too much but that could take hours to answer. (She'll save that for later, for a day she cannot sleep on and she'll spend hours looking for information,feeding the constant need to know) The dancing in particular seems to attract her attention. Watching the movements, eyes tracking them with a familiar look, taking note of every little movement.

"What do you see?" she looks at him, a little surprised by his question and not entirely sure how to answer. It almost feels too vague and she wonders if that is one purpose. She wouldn't be surprised if it is.

"Something that doesn't belong to us." She's a little quiet, like she's not entirely certain of her answer. Almost hoping he doesn't because it is something she doesn't expect anyone to understand. "Warmth and celebration." and it is fascinating. It strikes her with an interest she's been told much of her life to never pursue. Isra opens her mouth again to say something and hesitates, because she thinks by experience that what comes to mind next will only end awkwardly.

"Trespassers in the night. But perhaps..." she watches the colored ribbons, eyes tracking their movements. "They belong here a little bit too."

"What about you?"



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played by

oslo

the crown prince
masculine
twenty-eight
may 20
hammerlocke, galar
heterosexual
archaeologist
aqua/ex-admin
born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes
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4,739 posts
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Remiel Calcifet
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Feb 5, 2020 0:38:22 GMT
Remiel Calcifet Avatar
ROYAL
Royalty is wasted on those who don't achieve definition in conflict and build their own legacy.
POKÉMON


NOTES

a peek into his psyche
Remiel watched with rapt attention as the people stomped around the fiery totem, their forms making dark silhouettes against the blazing orange light. The long ribbons of color above, hues of green, blue, purple, and pink, stirred gently over it all, a stark contrast to the rhythm-fueled commotion below. He could feel each drum beat reverberate throughout his bones. Even from afar, the warmth of it all reached them with little effort.

And sent a chill down the spine, too.

Isra had been right. The cultural practice wasn't theirs, not by blood or even familial ties. But, despite that, something about it still managed to reach them on a deep— almost primordial— level. Remiel hesitated to call it 'spiritual', even in the ultimate privacy of his mind. But hearing the music and the chanting, and feeling the raw energy that emanated from this intensely juxtaposing scene, easily brought to mind flashes of the ancient world: the kind of world where survival was a daily, difficult challenge.

He stared into the carved eyes of the flaming totem. "I see a monument to the world as it once was. And I don't give credence to the idea that the people present truly understand what this festival was meant to celebrate. But I can appreciate it as the echo of something legendary nonetheless."

Those blue-grey eyes of his shifted back towards his raven-haired date, sharp and analytical— always analytical. "One could say we live in a world echoes, Isra. One could even go as far to say we're echoes ourselves: living in a world fabricated from the decisions and whims of people grander than you and I." People who had lived their life with a roar so loud it transcended time and space... he envied them. 

The black-haired royal then calmly turned away from her, only to glare at the shadowed human silhouettes afar.

"... I don't intend to be another nonentity in history. And I will never be complacent."
MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW

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Endless

The Nightingale
She/her
Twenty four
November 11
Slateport
Heterosexual
Assistant
executive
Defiance in her flesh, her blood, her bones; written on her soul
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Isra Nightingale
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Feb 5, 2020 10:08:05 GMT
Isra Nightingale Avatar
[attr="class","isratalk"]

For just a moment, Isra almost envies him.

Watching him, picking his words out against the backdrop of noise, even as the beat keeps her attention she can't help but feel this should carry a weight it does not. She cannot say the scene resonates with her enough to draw such a feeling out. She cannot say his words hold a meaning she feels they probably should, one others might be able to understand. Something others might even be able to say they feel a little themselves. She is reminded that she is different, that she's out of place here, even with his hand keeping her with him like an anchor.

It's just a dream. A shadow of nothing.

"There... is a truth to that." her eyes don't linger on him longer, taking instead to the dark sky above and away from everything. Looking to avoid the sight of the flaming totem and colored ribbons, trying to block out the sounds of the drumbeat and the thumping feet despite how strongly they stand out to her.

Isra doesn't realize she's holding his hand a little bit tighter than before. "There is little in this world that is like it once was, even then it lurks in the corners and the dark because as it is now, this world has forsaken much of that. Much of what used to come from that." Her eyes search for nothing in the unseen stars, something lost to the fire before them, blanketed by the city light beyond that. Or perhaps she was searching for everything she knew lurked beyond them, sleeping in places they could not yet reach. "Even the want for it has been lost to time, slipping away a little more every day."

At first her eyes return to the totem, the dancing flames more so the progression of them. How far they've climbed along its surface while they speak and the pattern left behind in the wood. She can't help but wonder just what echoes lay waiting in the shadow of its ashes at the end of the night, where the beginning and the end were. The colors catch her attention again next and she followers them back to the dancers. His words tumble in her head but she can't find new ones to give him now.

"I can't say anything else to that." she finally looks at him again. She almost doesn't say anything else but glancing at their hands, the fact that even now she's letting it happen- she changes her mind. Realizing how her grip has changed Isra relaxes again."I've never considered myself part of this part of the world. I can't say I've ever been allowed to feel the same."

Not in the way he's talking at least. Her world exists in the corners, lurking in the darkness, and she has always been meant for grand things. It's always been just a matter of time.

She approves however, and it shows in her face when she looks at him, the hint of curiosity and interest in her eyes with a ghost of a smile on her lips.



[newclass=.isratalk b]color: #8e4e5d;[/newclass]
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