AGE
24
GENDER
Female
FACTION
Grimm Troupe
OCCUPATION
Leader - Byzel
UNSORTED
|
Post by Poltergeist on May 27, 2019 2:29:23 GMT
 i'm biting
i'm teething
i ' m b l e e d i n g She had gotten so much stronger since the last time they saw one another. The story of those facts was stretched across Mordred’s body. Numerous holes and slashes that bled more with each step, but Mordred had to keep walking. It was a stalemate that left two people clinging to life. The Black Market was filled with enemies licking their chops over the chance to kill him. He gritted his teeth as he held the open wound on his ribs. If he dug his finger into the cut, he would have felt his rib—he almost did it just to see the severity and validity of his thought. The coldness of the rainfall did its part in making his trek worse, clouding his vision under the veil of natural darkness. He didn’t detect anyone around him, meaning that there may have been people overturning their presence.
Mordred’s body began to give way, no longer standing the coldness and the rising pain. Falling against the brick wall of a building, he made sure to press his hand there, the one that wasn’t stained in blood. He didn’t need a trail, not even in the degradation around him. Before beginning to observe what the building exactly was, Mordred tore off a piece of fabric and used as a tourniquet around his arm. Every other wound wasn’t allowed to seep blood beyond the thick clothing he had over himself. More so, he reached for a dagger, one that had been lodged in his abdomen. Luckily, it was a shallow pain, one that didn’t force him to the damp ground. He gritted his teeth again and made his way towards the door.
If the person could help him, fate was kind to him.
If he had to kill the person afterward, fate was testing his fortitude.
He wanted to throw up.
Weakly, the Grimm Troupe leader banged on the door. He tried the doorknob before he fell face first into the hard-oak door. His brain told him a useless fact; the door was recently replaced. The coughing resumed, trying to stop excess blood from going down into unnecessary places. He hacked it up into his hand, and the effort forced him to the ground. He felt warm for a moment before the reaching hand of cold death began to curl around his form. Mordred stabbed the door with the last embers of his strength. He hoped that the dull sounds would rise someone awake.
Someone that could help.
Anyone.
Mordred felt the corners of his mouth move. Though unable to stay focused, his eyes noted the environment. It was a shop, Mordred thought. He couldn’t exactly measure what kind it was, but he smirked at the notion of dying at the doorstep of some shopkeeper. Were the proper thoughts one should have while their body began to shut down? Perhaps it was just the hysterics of a dying mind giving its owner something to feel joyful about.
|
|
AGE
26
GENDER
Female
FACTION
Grimm Troupe
OCCUPATION
Seamstress
UNSORTED
|
Post by Razivia Tichy on May 31, 2019 1:34:03 GMT
[attr="class","vacantwraprt"] [attr="class","vacantborderrt"] [attr="class","vacantbordertwort"] [attr="class","vacantpatternrt"] [attr="class","vacantlyricsrt"]My mother told me
that the world has got it's plans. I wanna hold 'em 'til | [attr="class","vacantholderrt"] [attr="class","vacantlyricsrt"]they burn right
through my hands
Don't ask me questions
cause I'm tired
of confessing
And I know that
it's not much
to say but I
swear that I'd
like to change
| [attr="class","vacantspacert"] [attr="class","vacantpostrt"] [attr="class","vacantdecort"]☼ She was tirelessly at work. Tread and needle in steady hands, wild isabelline strands tied high on her crown and wrapped. She couldn’t tolerate it in her face as she pieced together the fabrics she worked on. She kept the door tightly locked at these times, where she was too focused on a piece and couldn’t trust whatever ruffian that may enter while her attention was consumed. If they needed her attention bad enough, one could simply knock. Since, well, locals learn of what happens when kicking in her door. Over, under, tighten. Centimeter forward, a mere fraction back, then forward again. Rinse and repeat till she needed to retire the length of thread for a freshly waxed one to keep the garment going. Silken fabric passed over her fingers and oiled light flooded her vision. She almost in a trance of working herself when the rattling doorknob, freezing as she intently listened. It wasn’t unusual for people to try an unlocked door and move on. And she wasn’t about to raise herself from her work to be greeted by nothing on the other side. Tap tap. Tap taptap. Tap. tap… The sound made her ears twitch till she was pulling herself away from her work for the odd sound still carrying on at her doorstep of her home away from home, the shop she spent most her time in. A slow slide of the bolt holding the door and it was pushed itself open with barely a twist of her hand on the knob. She was surprised at first until she realized the reason it popped open so easily was the bloody mess of a man there that took her attention next. In all the hells she imagined coming to her door, it wasn’t someone clinging their life that ever came to her mind. Mostly because people seemed to be the type to just… finish their work. She was only staring in her shock before she putting herself into motion. She reached down and hefted off the ground, dragging him up to carry him. It wasn’t effortless, but she didn’t have so much struggle that she couldn’t kick the door closed behind her and bring him to her workbench. She was no doctor. She knew this. But the chances of finding someone in time was well… bleak from his general state of being. And she did know quite a bit about sewing. It wasn’t going to be great. It wouldn’t be perfect, but if she worked fast enough she would have at least saved something. She didn’t know if what he got was deserved. She didn’t know enough. But she wasn’t someone to just witness. Actions were louder than any words she’d have as she grabbed a needle that was unused and grabbed the thread she had on hand the closest to suture. Her mind was racing, scattered though as her hands grabbed for the shears, her outward cool remained as she grasped for what her mind demanded for. This was her first time dealing with an injured person, but never so closely. Her family, her traveler family had a dedicated doctor of sorts. She’d fetch the buckets of water sometimes. Bucket. Cloth. Water. She tore the scissors rather roughly through a chunk of her fabrics, fraying it some and all too big to be a washcloth, but it will do. She grabbed her dying bucket, dipped it hastily into the basin for clear water before bringing everything with her to the table he was left on. It felt like minutes, but it was just seconds that seemed to drag on. “Hold still. It’s not about to feel any better.” Was all she could say to him, whether he was still with it or not before she was bringing the scissors to the shirt to stitch at him freely. | [attr="class","vacanttabrt"] [attr="class","vacanttabhovrt"] [attr="class","vacanttokenrt"]👤
[attr="class","vacantmovert"] [attr="class","vacanttabrt"] [attr="class","vacanttabhovrt"] [attr="class","vacanttokenrt"]🎧 [attr="class","vacanttabtextrt"]broods - conscious
[attr="class","vacantmove2rt"] [attr="class","vacanttabrt"] [attr="class","vacanttabhovrt"] [attr="class","vacanttokenrt"]💬 [attr="class","vacanttabtextrt"]she tryin' to be mr. fix it she hopes [attr="class","vacantimgborderrt"] [attr="class","vacantimgrt"] |
[googlefont=Gruppo][googlefont=Mallanna][googlefont=Bilbo][newclass=.vacantwraprt] --vacantAccent1: #d18c60; --vacantAccent2: #dd4f1a;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantwraprt]background-color: #030303; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(0% 92.5%, 100% 175%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(0% 92.5%, 100% 175%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); padding: 3px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantborderrt]background-color: #252525; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(0% 92.7%, 100% 176%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(0% 92.7%, 100% 176%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); padding: 17px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantbordertwort]background-color: #373737; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(-1% 92.6%, 100% 174%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(-1% 92.6%, 100% 174%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); padding: 10px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpatternrt]background-image: url(https://k.nickpic.host/bMCBmn.png); -webkit-clip-path: polygon(-2.5% 94.3%, 100% 177%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(-2.5% 94.3%, 100% 177%, 100% 0%, -100% 0%);[/newclass][newclass=.vacantholderrt]position: relative; left: 8px; top: -30px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantlyricsrt]color: var(--vacantAccent1); font-family: Bilbo; font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; letter-spacing: 2px; padding: 5px; text-align: center;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantlyricsrt b]color: var(--vacantAccent2);[/newclass][newclass=.vacantmovert]position:relative; left:56px; top:-14px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantmove2rt]position:relative; left:112px; top:-28px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabrt]position:relative;z-index:8; top:-122px; [/newclass][newclass=.vacanttokenrt]height:24px;width:24px;font-size:20px;text-align:center;margin-top:-4px;color:var(--vacantAccent2);[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabhovrt]background-color:#000;height:200px;width:24px;left:-3px;top:164px;position:absolute;z-index:14;transition: 0.5s linear;-webkit-transition: 0.5s linear;padding:5px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabrt:hover .vacanttabhovrt]top:-10px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabtextrt]transform: rotate(-90deg) translateX(-50%) translateY(-50%);line-height:1;width:175px;position:relative;top: 50%;left: 50%; text-align:center;font-size:8px; color:#999;[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabtextrt a]font-size:8px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantimgborderrt]background-color: #000000; height: 200px; width: 150px; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(-9% 91.5%, 115% 175%, 105% -30%, -30% 0%); clip-path: polygon(-9% 91.5%, 115% 175%, 105% -30%, -30% 0%); padding: 6px; position: relative; left: -13px; top: 43px; -webkit-box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px 1px var(--vacantAccent1); -moz-box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px 1px var(--vacantAccent1); box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px 1px var(--vacantAccent1);z-index:15;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantimgrt]background-image: url(https://k.nickpic.host/BcOTMz.png); height: 200px; width: 150px; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(0% 80.5%, 100% 151%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(0% 80.5%, 100% 151%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%);position:relative;z-index:15;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantspacert]background-color: #141414; height: 500px; margin: -2px 18px 3px 5px; padding: 6px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt]background-color: #141414; color: #999999; font-family: Mallanna; font-size: 12px; height: 476px; line-height: 11px; overflow: auto; padding: 10px; text-align: justify;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt b]color: var(--vacantAccent2); font-size: 13px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt i]color: var(--vacantAccent1); font-size: 13px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt::-webkit-scrollbar] width: 8px; border: 0px; background-color: rgba(0,0,0,0)!important;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb] background-color: var(--vacantAccent1); border: 2px solid #141414;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt::-webkit-scrollbar-track] background-color: #373737!important; border: 3.4px solid #141414;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantdecort]color: var(--vacantAccent2); float: right; font-size:56px; height:50px; padding: 6px 14px 2px 2px; margin-bottom:-9px; text-align: center; transform: translateX(10%) translateY(20%); width: 50px;[/newclass] |
|
AGE
24
GENDER
Female
FACTION
Grimm Troupe
OCCUPATION
Leader - Byzel
UNSORTED
|
Post by Poltergeist on Jun 3, 2019 18:37:34 GMT
i'm biting
i'm teething
i ' m b l e e d i n g Fainting with his eyes open, Mordred had to come back to reality. He crossed over for the briefest moment, teasing the boundary of death. An ethereal hand grasped onto him and dragged him back over to the living side of things. When he came to in that instant, he felt his new location--a workbench. His vision flickered, capturing sights of where he was in a desperate attempt to identify anything. The sound of someone busily making their way throughout the location. He saw numerous outfits, many were complete--others were in process. There was one haphazardly placed to the side away from the blood that was leaking out of Mordred’s body. He blinked steadily, surely getting his bearings but as slow as a person of his status could. Finally, he noticed that he was horizontal, not vertical.
Whoever was within the shop had brought him in. He could detect only one person, the tone of the breath told him that they were panicked. The source entered the room, carrying a bucket of water. Had she dragged him in by herself? Mordred didn’t linger too long on the thought. The world of Eos was full of strong people, and he noted the definition of her physique immediately. Before long, she was administering stitches into the wounds. As skin and flesh were pulled together with rudimentary string, the wounds began to close as per his regeneration. It was weak, faint, but it was working its process. Nevertheless, Mordred didn’t utter a word, a noise, anything in response to Razivia’s actions.
He never broke gaze with her, watching as she took aim at each puncture. At that moment, he felt okay. The pain of his wounds began to fade away in favor of the warmness returning to his body. His mind had begun to switch to its other process, realizing that registering the endless pain would only cause future problems. Though she needed to adhere to something else. Mordred reached and grabbed her wrist, making sure not to add force. He brought her hand up to another wound, one fixated around his lung. It looked shallow from the outside, but Mordred showed a glimpse of the deep agony that it caused him. It was much more fatal than the other ones that she was stitching up.
He let go of her wrist and laid back down on the table, his energy giving way. He had to wait to use his magic when she was done. Until then, he would have to stave off the hand of Death. A part of him wanted to laugh, but it might bother the woman helping him. There was a question tugging at the back of his mind. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t challenge fate while she was stitching him up, saving his life.
Why?
Mordred pondered, and it was the thing that helped him stay tied to the earth. |
|
AGE
26
GENDER
Female
FACTION
Grimm Troupe
OCCUPATION
Seamstress
UNSORTED
|
Post by Razivia Tichy on Jun 15, 2019 4:35:16 GMT
[attr="class","vacantwraprt"] [attr="class","vacantborderrt"] [attr="class","vacantbordertwort"] [attr="class","vacantpatternrt"] [attr="class","vacantlyricsrt"]My mother told me
that the world has got it's plans. I wanna hold 'em 'til | [attr="class","vacantholderrt"] [attr="class","vacantlyricsrt"]they burn right
through my hands
Don't ask me questions
cause I'm tired
of confessing
And I know that
it's not much
to say but I
swear that I'd
like to change
| [attr="class","vacantspacert"] [attr="class","vacantpostrt"] [attr="class","vacantdecort"]☼ The calm that washed her body never came until she the makeshift washcloth and needle in hand, bent over her workbench as she would be despite the disturbing sight of blood pooling and running in rivulets every which direction it could find. That calm only washed on her because the needle in her fingers was a familiar feeling. She can do this. This is fine. It was her specialty, after all, sewing. It was just a macabre fabric for her to think of as she bore focus into work. Razivia was silent as to took to the wounds as she could see were the worst as she patted away blood, threading him close as closely to sutures as she could to her knowledge. She could only hope it was good enough to spare a life as she felt how different it was to stitch skin from cloth. She was focused, finishing a wound and keeping the string taught, knotted and clipped, when the hand grabbed her wrist. If it wasn’t for her already being startled since she discovered him at her door and if she was more easily spooked, it could have been guessed she would have flown out her skin. Even if there was barely strength in that tug as he brought her attention to a wound that she was worried about for last. She merely blinked over at him to see him looking already more aware than moments ago. She took a moment to make sure she still had plenty of line before she went to work where he directed her. She could only assume he knew something she didn’t. Then again, he could be delirious, but she was no doctor to argue truly. She just knew to work. And to work in this case was to make sure everything was closed up and that he still wasn’t close to a death bed anymore. She kept lacing him closed through all her racing thoughts that debated if she was truly helping or making things worse. Well… It couldn’t really get worse, could it? Dying is pretty high up there on the worse things that could happen. But that did all depend on the circumstance. She kept her focus on the wounds though. Making sure all the closed tight, free of blood and whatever else could have gotten in them. She didn’t leave anything unchecked. If it wasn’t superficial then she makes sure it was met with the thread. Even to go as far to nudge him up enough to check his back, that she wasn’t missing anything before she slumped back in her seat, the creak of its aged wood being the first noise she truly hears and acknowledges since his tapping. It was all a piercing ring in her fresh memory. She felt the blood rush inside herself slow, color returning to her from her grim work as she tensed and rushed. She didn’t even realize she had paled till she saw the skin of her arms slowly warm between the swipes of blood on them. Things are fine, she told herself mentally as she returned her gaze to her impromptu first patient. Hopefully, the only patient. He’s going to be fine, she told her mind as she dipped her arms in the bucket nearby, chilled water freeing her from the mess that wasn’t spared her work area. Cooling and calming her, ground herself as she wiped the tinted water off her skin. The panic rolled away with it as her nature expression returned with the tossing away of now wasted cloth. But such trivial in the scope of everything. It was just more work for Raz to deal with before she could slip back home herself. She definitely couldn’t leave the shop in this state, even if her strange company survives. She had to be sure of that, as she moved to peer over him once more. | [attr="class","vacanttabrt"] [attr="class","vacanttabhovrt"] [attr="class","vacanttokenrt"]👤
[attr="class","vacantmovert"] [attr="class","vacanttabrt"] [attr="class","vacanttabhovrt"] [attr="class","vacanttokenrt"]🎧 [attr="class","vacanttabtextrt"]phantogram - run run blood
[attr="class","vacantmove2rt"] [attr="class","vacanttabrt"] [attr="class","vacanttabhovrt"] [attr="class","vacanttokenrt"]💬 [attr="class","vacanttabtextrt"]And the calm returns [attr="class","vacantimgborderrt"] [attr="class","vacantimgrt"] |
[googlefont=Gruppo][googlefont=Mallanna][googlefont=Bilbo][newclass=.vacantwraprt] --vacantAccent1: #d18c60; --vacantAccent2: #dd4f1a;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantwraprt]background-color: #030303; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(0% 92.5%, 100% 175%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(0% 92.5%, 100% 175%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); padding: 3px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantborderrt]background-color: #252525; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(0% 92.7%, 100% 176%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(0% 92.7%, 100% 176%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); padding: 17px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantbordertwort]background-color: #373737; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(-1% 92.6%, 100% 174%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(-1% 92.6%, 100% 174%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); padding: 10px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpatternrt]background-image: url(https://k.nickpic.host/bMCBmn.png); -webkit-clip-path: polygon(-2.5% 94.3%, 100% 177%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(-2.5% 94.3%, 100% 177%, 100% 0%, -100% 0%);[/newclass][newclass=.vacantholderrt]position: relative; left: 8px; top: -30px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantlyricsrt]color: var(--vacantAccent1); font-family: Bilbo; font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; letter-spacing: 2px; padding: 5px; text-align: center;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantlyricsrt b]color: var(--vacantAccent2);[/newclass][newclass=.vacantmovert]position:relative; left:56px; top:-14px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantmove2rt]position:relative; left:112px; top:-28px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabrt]position:relative;z-index:8; top:-122px; [/newclass][newclass=.vacanttokenrt]height:24px;width:24px;font-size:20px;text-align:center;margin-top:-4px;color:var(--vacantAccent2);[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabhovrt]background-color:#000;height:200px;width:24px;left:-3px;top:164px;position:absolute;z-index:14;transition: 0.5s linear;-webkit-transition: 0.5s linear;padding:5px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabrt:hover .vacanttabhovrt]top:-10px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabtextrt]transform: rotate(-90deg) translateX(-50%) translateY(-50%);line-height:1;width:175px;position:relative;top: 50%;left: 50%; text-align:center;font-size:8px; color:#999;[/newclass][newclass=.vacanttabtextrt a]font-size:8px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantimgborderrt]background-color: #000000; height: 200px; width: 150px; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(-9% 91.5%, 115% 175%, 105% -30%, -30% 0%); clip-path: polygon(-9% 91.5%, 115% 175%, 105% -30%, -30% 0%); padding: 6px; position: relative; left: -13px; top: 43px; -webkit-box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px 1px var(--vacantAccent1); -moz-box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px 1px var(--vacantAccent1); box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px 1px var(--vacantAccent1);z-index:15;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantimgrt]background-image: url(https://k.nickpic.host/BcOTMz.png); height: 200px; width: 150px; -webkit-clip-path: polygon(0% 80.5%, 100% 151%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%); clip-path: polygon(0% 80.5%, 100% 151%, 100% 0%, 0% 0%);position:relative;z-index:15;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantspacert]background-color: #141414; height: 500px; margin: -2px 18px 3px 5px; padding: 6px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt]background-color: #141414; color: #999999; font-family: Mallanna; font-size: 12px; height: 476px; line-height: 11px; overflow: auto; padding: 10px; text-align: justify;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt b]color: var(--vacantAccent2); font-size: 13px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt i]color: var(--vacantAccent1); font-size: 13px;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt::-webkit-scrollbar] width: 8px; border: 0px; background-color: rgba(0,0,0,0)!important;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb] background-color: var(--vacantAccent1); border: 2px solid #141414;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantpostrt::-webkit-scrollbar-track] background-color: #373737!important; border: 3.4px solid #141414;[/newclass][newclass=.vacantdecort]color: var(--vacantAccent2); float: right; font-size:56px; height:50px; padding: 6px 14px 2px 2px; margin-bottom:-9px; text-align: center; transform: translateX(10%) translateY(20%); width: 50px;[/newclass] |
|
AGE
24
GENDER
Female
FACTION
Grimm Troupe
OCCUPATION
Leader - Byzel
UNSORTED
|
Post by Poltergeist on Jun 21, 2019 3:44:28 GMT
i'm biting
i'm teething
i ' m b l e e d i n g A fight.
A fight that led to the current circumstances in which Razivia and Mordred met. There weren’t many words shared between them, outside of what she originally said. Fortunately, it wasn’t needed--Mordred could tell her that he wasn’t much of a talker. The joke might not have gone over too well, and he ran the risk of going under. Mordred rested his head back on the table, relaxing for her to do her work. He didn’t make a peep or recoil at any of the punctures. It was his fault, really. He was weak for one moment, and it allowed the enemy to do the damage that Raz now had to adhere to.
Mordred spent the time reflecting on the mistakes he made during the battle. His opponent was rabid, but he left them as injured as he was. If he knew them as well as his memory pieced together, then they would be fine. As Razivia finished on one major wound, Mordred’s magic began to take hold. Flesh began to intertwine with one another, grasping each other in a loving embrace. Mordred let a low groan at the feeling, knowing that the wound still had to heal over time. Razivia was doing a wonderful job with little preparation that she had.
As he studied her, he realized the awful irony. A person dedicated to ending the lives of others in the most artistic of ways was being treated by someone entirely unknown. Fate must have had found humor in his condition. Yet, Mordred himself found beauty in the matter. He was certain of it by the way that Razivia pushed through the carnage. She was focused on saving Mordred but she must have known the pain that she imparted onto the man. It was a duality that Mordred ate up, to the point of even letting a small smirk break through his stoic features.
It was going to be okay now.
He was in good hands.
It was now a matter of figuring out who she was. As he laid there, his vision inverted, he tried to study the surroundings more. She was a tailor, obviously, but who was she? A name would be nice, in order to properly thank her. He found no conclusive evidence to the existence of a name, which in some places wasn’t uncommon. Nevertheless, he came to another thought as Razivia made another pinprick in his anatomy. He took a soft breath, one barely audible but all too important.
“What is your name?” came a voice that wasn’t used too often anymore.
|
|
AGE
26
GENDER
Female
FACTION
Grimm Troupe
OCCUPATION
Seamstress
UNSORTED
|
Jun 22, 2019 20:13:18 GMT
Post by Razivia Tichy on Jun 22, 2019 20:13:18 GMT
[attr="class","vacantwraprt"] [attr="class","vacantborderrt"] [attr="class","vacantbordertwort"] [attr="class","vacantpatternrt"] [attr="class","vacantlyricsrt"]My mother told me
that the world has got it's plans. I wanna hold 'em 'til | [attr="class","vacantholderrt"] [attr="class","vacantlyricsrt"]they burn right
through my hands
Don't ask me questions
cause I'm tired
of confessing
And I know that
it's not much
to say but I
swear that I'd
like to change
| [attr="class","vacantspacert"] [attr="class","vacantpostrt"] [attr="class","vacantdecort"]☼ It came as a rhythm after a while. Things were okay, fine. It wasn’t like the person still breathing on her work table was dying moments ago. The groan caused her to pause as she slowly decided that was a good sign. Dead people didn’t make noises. She didn’t believe otherwise even if the world that Eos brought on wasn’t always purely simple. Between her mind’s chant and clearing off the worst of the staining off herself, she was able to actually think less about failure and take her time in making sure the sutures she planted into his skin her better than the last. It was nice having her nerve back as she was able to back burner the idea of having to deal with a body instead. No instead it was having her fingertips tap their way out of the needle to keep from pricking herself as she’s done so many times before when she learned to stitch the first time. The woman didn’t envy him one bit, not only for nearly dying, but having to be so… aware while she worked. She didn’t even have so much as a simple pain killer in her shop. She saw no need for that, but luck or karma or… something of that nature just had to play against her in rather odd ways. But who’s to say really that was for the better or worse. Everything works out how it’s supposed to be, sometimes. Albeit it’s willed that way more times than not, conflicting that idea. But such as life. It was all in all a conflicting idea. Her eyes flicked up when she heard his voice, weak. Well, not exactly weak, but it was clear to her that he was still not completely okay. Not that was too surprising to her. What did was that he was already speaking, all too used to the idea that people would just want to rest in silence after such an ordeal. There was no doubt in her mind that he was attacked, or at least was in some kind of fight. Him asking her name did make her raise a light brow before her eyes were back on her the patchwork she was doing. “Razivia.” She just stated plainly, to the point. She wasn’t really expecting thanks or anything in return. She didn’t expect anything. Really, she was only doing what she’d want from another if she was in the same shape, even though most the world rolled to another path. “What about you?” She mumbled out as she returned her attention to piecing together his skin, ears twitching now and then, almost like subtle cringes at his predicament. It almost felt off to her though, to have such an exchange while she worked on fixing him up. Raz wasn’t particularly a conversationalist at the best of times. But it didn’t seem right giving her name to not know who will be knowing hers, as he doesn’t seem as out of it as he was moments ago. But she’d take this over having someone dead at her doorstep. | [attr="class","vacanttabrt"] [attr="class","vacanttabhovrt"] [attr="class","vacanttokenrt"]👤
[attr="class","vacantmovert"] [attr="class","vacanttabrt"] [attr="class","vacanttabhovrt"] [attr="class","vacanttokenrt"]🎧 [attr="class","vacanttabtextrt"]chase holfelder - blackbird
[attr="class","vacantmove2rt"] [attr="class","vacanttabrt"] [attr="class","vacanttabhovrt"] [attr="class","vacanttokenrt"]💬 [attr="class","vacanttabtextrt"]boop [attr="class","vacantimgborderrt"] [attr="class","vacantimgrt"] |
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AGE
24
GENDER
Female
FACTION
Grimm Troupe
OCCUPATION
Leader - Byzel
UNSORTED
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Post by Poltergeist on Jul 2, 2019 4:14:06 GMT
i'm biting
i'm teething
i ' m b l e e d i n g “Razivia,” when he spoke the name, another voice seemed to mock him. It was something he decided to ignore as anything acknowledging the new voice would only encourage worse things to happen. Mordred took note of his other wounds closing up, thanks to the combination of his magic and Razivia’s handiwork. As he looked around again, he finally gathered fully what she was about. He had disturbed the sanctity of her workplace, somewhere that she had put all her efforts into. He could see it in the works of magnificent art around him, the clothing that she left many hours of her life in. His features softened upon realizing that.
Naming himself after what the people called him may have incited panic, he thought. He didn’t need her to run out into the street, potentially attracting Council cretins. Even worse, he couldn’t possibly risk another encounter with--
There. Mordred saw her. Darting around the corners of the household at any place that Mordred’s eyes would fall on. No reaction came from the Grimm Troupe leader, instead opting to return his focus to what was important. A pinprick brought him back to the life-saving efforts Razivia was committing. At this point, he was going to be fine, but she wasn’t keen on his abilities. To which, Mordred blinked, recalling a time when he may have known someone that considerate. For whatever purpose, she had looked past the tattoos and the smell of bloodlust to aid him in his time of need.
So what did it matter if she knew his name?
“Mordred,” he said, as she completed on another stitch, “and I’m sorry.”
“For…” he had to get used to speaking again. When he attempted, he saw what he did earlier. A woman that traversed Razivia’s shop with a teasing frolic. The sight was enough to make Mordred stop in his place. He watched as black locks faded behind a door. Once she was gone again, Mordred tried to speak once more, clearing his throat.
“For all of this.”
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