If Looks Could Kill, By Now He'd Be Dead Thirty Times Over, He'd Imagine.

If looks could kill, by now he'd be dead thirty times over, he'd imagine.

So maybe it's just dauntless pride in such a fact ━ or perhaps some fashion of exhaustion from seasickness, given how much running around, swinging, and jumping he's had to do lately, though he's been handling it like a champ ━ that the boy doesn't wilt away from her trite gaze, but the name ( or title, rather ) does get a displeased squint from him, thick brows furrowing in a mild irritation. he didn't much care for it, and such a fact he was not afraid to display, despite it all.

he huffs, looking off as he crosses his arms over his chest and puffs a lip only slightly in attitude, hair a tangle on the saltwater breeze. " as y'wish, captain, 'suppose I ought not tell y'what the crew broke on deck while y'weren't lookin, then. " ━ petty as ever, isn't he?

@quillheel : “ I see great rage in y'er future. ” // from WW link to tetra!

Mixed Starters || Accepting

▲☠️▲❝ It'll be in your future too if y'don't keep those comments to yourself, swabby. ❞

Ohhhh if looks could kill.

// at this point i really oughta note it, SO: headsup to all my roleplay partners! because of a lot of irl shit happening and stressors including financial concerns and losing two pets in the span of a few months, my brain's been really struggling with processing time and getting in the headspace to Be here beyond JUST writing (so DMs and the like), so if i don't respond, that is why, and i sincerely apologize! I'm trying to get back into the swing of Actually answering people but if I don't or it takes a while, that's why!

open starter! // goro akechi

somewhere in the city, a white crow looms, deathlike, over the bones of mouse. feathers like ivory, eyes like blood vessels, mind like something hungry wing into limbs built for it, gravity taking hold, and catching air in asphalt claws. Akechi feels the same, for a blinding moment, and wills himself to be unflinching after finding an anticipation of one less step than there was as he goes up the stubby staircase of his office, only realizing his error as his foot goes through the space where the ground comes up to meet him, just in the wrong way.

his balance threatens him like gunpoint for a moment, and some minor shameful part of him shivers with the fact he'd have preferred that opposed to someone catching him like this ━ an angry thrum behind his eyes making them feel tense and pained and dull ━ but the rest of him floods in too fast by the time he's down the stairs properly, releasing held breath only when he's halfway down the hall, and reminds it that a little humility/humanity is a good thing, as that minor shameful part mumbles under its breath that perfection is a virtue, or at least, it used to be.

he finds himself navigating the office almost blind as sharp pain crackles along the seams of the skull like an electric board, shuffling mindfully in some of the more cramped spaces as the brain struggles to consciously process the outside world, so instead it reverts inwards, leaves him on autopilot; on memory. Goro is lucky that while he had not memorized the stairs, he has with nearly the entire rest of the building, or at least the route to his office. some coworkers try and catch his sleeve in conversation as he passes, but he brushes them off, social and sweet, that he's very busy right now, perhaps later! and the mission resumes. ( perhaps it simply does not occur to him of how rushed his stride is, how his knuckles turn into angry white ridges on the grip of paperwork, how one eye on the left side twitches; how this would be worrying if you knew him well enough, and sometimes, if you didn't. )

and when he does get into his office, he shuts the door, turns off the light, and sinks into the feeling of plushed-out fabric on a relatively cheap but not terrible desk chair that offers what familiar comfort it can, and what familiar discomforts he knows which he can avoid and which ones he can't; precise poise not enough, where he imagines he could stay for the rest of the day. ━ he'd rather be lying down right now, migraine lashing into him where even the modest sunlight drips in behind him from concealing blinds is too much, but he takes what he can get with two sharp hands, nails digging into it, and he accepts that this; in all likelihood; is going to be the best remedy that he has for the majority of the day until he can snag a bottle of painkillers on the way back home. resting the cool gloved back of his hand overtop the skin of his eyes. best just to survive, for now, he quietly decides…

… and the peace he craves does not last as long as he so wished it would. minutes or hours, he catches footsteps outside his door just before his doom comes, jolting alive in his seat even to the chagrin of the flesh of the brain as the doorknob rattles, he's lucky he can mask the pain with the squint of trying to change out a lightbulb in his turned off lamp as he peers over to the opened door ( although, he can't hide the twitch ) part of him begs to swipe at them with large heavy claws and rip out anything foolishly not nailed down from his rude guest, fingers poised at the neck of the lightbulb and dexterous enough to turn them even if he was blinded by the light from the rest of the station sweeping into his own little room like bleeding an infection, but he carefully tucks the impulse back. at least, in part, to know who he was going to be clawing at in the first place; not really out of unwillingness to be ruthless, perhaps cruel.

Akechi's head pounds. He finds himself unable to remember the shape of their shadow through the glazed window that otherwise he should've caught. He resists a wave of nausea that threatens to sink in. ( easy, now… )

" Oh, hi! I'm a little preoccupied at the moment, so you might want to take up your problem with someone else if you're looking for speed, but what can I help you with? "

1. you've bitten every hand that has ever reached for you because pain is all you've ever known them to be capable of, and it's a lesson you won't suffer twice

2. they were warned not to stick their fingers through the bars of your cage, but not only did they not listen, they went and opened it up with their clever, gentle hands that not even your sharp teeth and terrible claws could deter from showing you what kindness could feel like, and crossed over the threshold to stand inside/on your side/by your side/all of the above

3. the difference between setting something free and setting something loose is a matter of definition

4. the definition of a monster depends entirely on where you're standing

tell link i said gaia says hi

Tell her he said hi, too.

Zagreus burns into Elysium like a scorch mark. ━━ hot iron on soft tender grass, turning it dark before it turns itself back. nothing allowed to die, a rule he knows better than anyone. nothing allowed to die and stay dead.

He feels like a burning mark too, this time. Olympian boons buzz in his collarbone like heavy radiant things, and he feels sharp with a bloodlust not his own; one that scared him, sometimes, one that fills the muscle movements in his veins. Makes him move before he thinks to, makes him want to keep moving, makes him tireless & exhausted & cruel & something else entirely, the War God and the Swift God tumbled together in a unique kind of hell that he chose nigh entirely. ━ his breath hot enough that even here in the pleasantly cool; pleasantly warm air it turns to fog, and he's so dead-set on continuing after a predatory flick of eyes for warriors over shades that knew better than to meander over; or perhaps simply weren't more interested in him than they were of their eternities here; he almost doesn't notice the girl.

Almost. Zagreus is lucky, he'll realize a little later, that he's fast. the approach triggers something in his muscles that wants to lash out, thinks her fiend instead of friend, doesn't care to think of her at all, but he cages it quick; masks the blade of his spear shuddering in her direction as only him stabbing it into the earth, like holstering a weapon, even if it might come across as slightly irritated at the speed and violence of which he does so ━ but the spear stands like a pole, upright, and he forces himself to let go of it, just in time for her to greet him. ( maybe he looks a little off-guard at that, too )

the first thing that comes out of his mouth, still too quick for his liking ( give it a moment, turn off the engine ), is by no means a human language. it's something chthonic, the tongue he uses at home or in the depths of Chaos' realm, and he realizes that there is absolutely no chance that she's going to know what he said almost as quickly as he says it. Zagreus almost winces at himself, and forces himself to calm down. ━ she's one of the newer era, right…? she sounds it, anyway. take a moment, ground yourself, echo it back.

" Hi, " Zagreus can't help the surprise at the sincerity of the question; child-like. she seems familiar, too, or maybe not her; just whats in her. " I'm just passing through. Sorry if I'm distracting, I don't mean to interrupt- " he pauses, abruptly a little uncertain on the realization that he never really bothered to learn; or be taught; what exactly shades do in Elysium, before making a small open hand gesture to the groups of other spirits with a subtle unknowing nonchalance to it. " Well, whatever it is you all do here to pass the time outside of combat…? "

@quillheel clicked the ❤️ for a starter!

Despite the beauty of the Elysium Fields, many of the days there were the same. The souls within spent much time laughing and playing, even as Calliope focused on her flute. Sometimes she accompanied the dances, joining other musicians to create lovely music, but there was part of her that wondered what it might be like to have a bit more variety in day-to-day life.

She'd just been settling in for another day when this time, there was something different. A young man, likely a godling, simply based on the power he radiated, made his way through Elysium…..only to vanish.

But he reappeared the next day, only for the same thing to happen.

By the third day, Calliope had decided that, if he appeared again, she was going to go talk to him.

And sure enough, the next day, he appeared once more. The moment she saw him, Calliope hurried over, not wanting to miss him again.

"Hello!" she greeted him, gazing up at the being before her. He was tall, with messy hair and mismatched eyes, and he seemed…..familiar, somehow, though she couldn't put her finger on it.

"What are you doing?" she asked, eyes bright and curious. After all, most people wanted to stay in Elysium when they got here, but he'd left twice, so far.