O+ Major Scale

seungie-ia:

It was so rare for anyone to mention family at the academy that he found himself stuck imagining the scene. It was interesting to try seeing her younger, though he didn’t have any reference for what a younger Elf even looked like. He did know what a badly played fiddle sounded like, however, and the wince articulated in his face was a gentle one. Rival inhaled, settling back against his chair and smoothing his gloved fingers against his knees. “I played the cimboa. Not particularly well, but not a lot of people would be able to tell. It’s not common.” His fingers settled and his gaze followed someone entering the tent and filling the last seat before falling back to her eyes. They were startlingly green. “It’s also a string instrument,” he offered. “It’s best paired with the voice, but I my voice hardly makes the cut.” It really didn’t—he tried not to sing in the shower if there was any possibility of anyone hearing him. It simply wasn’t courteous.

There was a loud, gruff clearing of the throat at the far head of the table. There was a smallish person there who looked of no apparent gender and held an apparent amount of authority. Rival leaned forward to see them better. “Place your tickets in front of you.” He fished his ticket out from his pocket obediently and saw it vanish as soon as it hit the wood grain. In the next second, it was replaced with a thick cylinder of wood, a knife, and an empty bowl, a few vials of pale powders, and paintbrush. Fascinating. “If you don’t have tools in front of you, leave the table,” said the authority, and someone sheepishly stood and left.

próprio do homem

ronan-ia:

Drawing in a shuddering breath, he let go of the mug with his one gloved hand and cradled her fingers in his palm. “I don’t want to die,” he said softly, as if it was a justification. “That’s all.” His brows drew together, expression crumpling. “I hate considering it, but I don’t want to die.” Holding back tears was one of the harder bits. The starvation from touch was getting to him again, but he had insofar been able to keep himself from stealing anything from her, and he wouldn’t break it for that.

Ronan seemed okay with it now, but would she be disgusted with him if he followed through? Out of everyone, she had been the one to stay. She had been there from nearly the beginning, and he had had a few people to come back to, and he still did, but she made the idea concrete. She made it harder to accept that he’d have to give in and be gone.

Some part of this still felt like a rash decision—like the darkest, most selfish corner of him was taking the shots. It felt wrong. And he still didn’t agree that he deserved it. He gave her a watery smile. “I’m not sure I can go through with it, but if I disappear and come back, I suppose you’ll know.”

The Answer Is No

leejieun-ia:

While ‘bag a soul’ was a somewhat detestable phrase to him, he didn’t possess an inch of a lasting ability to be irritated with this woman. He listened to her, palms pressing into the earth and mind registering the hush of wind just under her words. The conversation felt somewhat surreal. “What happens to the soul?” he asked when she was done, and it was a horrible question because he felt as if it signaled some evident give. I’m not considering it. I’m not. “Just—” he swallowed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are we talking about this again?”

próprio do homem

ronan-ia:

Rival hesitated, lips pressing almost too hard into the rim, now. A dozen different answers to her question flipped through his head and all of them had a tinge of dishonesty to them—he wasn’t so fond of that in regards to Ronan.

“Yes,” he said, because that was the simplest and most honest answer he could give. He was considering it. That didn’t mean he wasn’t disgusted with himself for it, but it was honest. “My father is dying,” he whispered, as if it was an excuse. It was an excuse. “I wouldn’t have to kill anyone.”

But it was inexpressibly dark, this notion that his father owed him his soul for making him die in the first place. It was a thought he didn’t like—it was the reason he came to Ronan in the first place, probably. The tea started to ripple with the shake in his fingers. “I’m considering it, yes,” he reaffirmed, and half of it was for himself.

Never Where

nicolette-ia:

It was glaring proof of how little he expected a response that he started, shoulders tensing before he managed to eke out a laugh. “Sorry, you scared me! Yes. Your roommate in all his absent glory.” He gave a small bow of courtesy before shrugging off his jacket to put on the hook. “You can call me Rival, if you would like.”

The dorm was colder than he ever remembered it while Yoon was there—he kept forgetting that he could probably have kept his jacket on. It was odd, being in his own dorm and not knowing quite what to do with himself. Did he have tea that he could make? That was a sufficient excuse to mask his mix of awkwardness and anxiety, right?

Rival smoothed his gloved palms on his legs before moving into the kitchen area, flicking a light on. “Have you moved in alright?”

próprio do homem

She smiled, nodding slightly and going over to the little kitchenette.  As he said her name, she looked over at him with a curious expression, her hands automatically preparing the tea as the water heated.  “Yes?” Ronan replied, furrowing her brow as she heard his question.  “Hmm, isn’t he that demon guy that some of the students ask for favors?” she mused, pouring the tea into two mugs.  She brought them over, handing one to Rival and sitting down on the couch beside him, careful that they didn’t touch.  

Ronan blew over the top of her tea, feeling the warmth of the steam envelope her face for a moment.  “Why do you ask?” she inquired, tilting her head a bit.  She didn’t really know much about Hank or his policies, but any deal with a pactdemon could be very dangerous.  

She wasn’t wrong. He watched her, pressing his cheek to the back of her couch and not really sure where to go from there. “Yes,” he finally said, but it was after some time and was only as she handed over his cup. Holding the mug with one hand, he shook down his sleeve of the other and bit the tip of his glove’s middle finger to tug it off. The heat of the porcelain bit into his bare fingers and he pressed his lips to the rim. 

He stared at her with eyes wide following the question, internally choking on his own words. Gaze dropping, he swallowed back a burning sip of tea to counter the freeze of his lingual faculties. “A friend mentioned him to me,” he mumbled, the gloved hand bringing out his book to pass over. “And I looked him up.” With a nod, he gestured for her to take it. “The page is bookmarked,” he said, and sank quietly back into the cushions again.

próprio do homem

Her smile broadened as he took her hand, and she felt a tension leave her chest that she hadn’t even noticed before.  Being it the first time they had really seen each other since the horrifying Valentine’s day affair, she casually brought her arm up to give him a hug.  But then, remembering that they were no longer powerless, she blushed and  let it drop back to her side.  Ronan settled for gently squeezing his hand, still resting in hers.  “Sorry, I suppose it became sort of a habit,” she said, closing the door behind him.

She raised an eyebrow slightly as he mentioned having a purpose here, but shook her head.  “Don’t be silly, I always have time for you, Rival,” she replied, gesturing for him to take a seat on the couch.  “Here, sit and tell me what’s going on.  Can I get anything for you? Wine, tea, some food maybe?”

Her motions brought a fluttering smile to his features, if only because it seemed absurdly relevant given his choice to go to her as well as a hugely complicated, if not convoluted, memory of contentment and distress. “Don’t worry about it.”

Detached, somewhat, he went to go sit as he was told, sinking into the cushions—his hands immediately laid claim to fiddle with the book in his hands, though his eyes were still on her. “Tea,” he murmured, turning slightly to keep her in his sights better, “if that’s alright.” Food wasn’t something he thought he could stomach at that moment. “Ronan?” he began, then blinked, mind rifling through the rehearsed pages and coming up blank. “Have you heard of Hank before?”

próprio do homem

Marking her page, Ronan set the book down and tiptoed over to the door, standing on her tiptoes to look through the peephole.  Her face broke into a smile as she saw Rival standing outside, and she was about to turn the knob when she remembered something.  “Just a minute!” she called, rushing to quickly blow of the flame.  Then, she went back over and opened the door with a smile.  “Rival, it’s so good to see you,” she said, stepping aside.  “Please, please come in.” 

Every knot of tension sagged at hearing her voice, relief pulling him thin and worn until she opened the door with her smile and courtesy—he remembered her touch. It had set his hands back on the ledge and he could almost see beyond what was beneath him and the fall he had dropped too many times. “Ronan,” he sighed, and reached out almost childishly for her hand. The room had a soft, mellow smell that he knew had been burning, but the lack of a flame was nearly as touching as he was touched by her comfort and peace. She was his panacea in ways he sometimes forgot. “I have a reason for visiting,” he promised, “but if you’re busy, then—” Rival paused, weighing returning another time against a sort of desperation he couldn’t stave. “—I can wait, if that’s alright.”

Helium Is a Limited Resource—

Nodding, he smiled, then glanced around. “First mission: finding somewhere less crowded,” he proposed, then reached out to collect two balloons just an arm’s length away. “And same. I think the last time I did it, I was ten. Might as well take advantage of them while they’re here.” Rising onto his toes to see above the people and the balloons themselves, his smile widened. “The roofs are the only things with no one on them. How well can you climb?” Maybe that was excessive, but getting through a building and onto the roof sounded just as difficult as scaling walls.

“Did you?” he said with interest, eyes tracing his two hands with more attentiveness, now. “I didn’t even notice,” he mused, and flexed his burnt hand on instinct. Again, he could almost feel how incredible it would be to have the skills of the magical world applied to the real world—he’d gotten enough of an impression that the two didn’t mix well, however. Maybe it was horrific of him, though, that he had never fit in with the Trekkies or the Star Wars fandom. “I have no idea what that is,” he admitted sheepishly.

Reunitions

The infant crawled on the ground with happy screams showing how much fun she was having while an enormous scaled body also sliding on the same ground followed her. The dragon opened his mouth sparkles already appearing in his throat… when the little girl with a joyful shout jumped onto it’s neck.

“Baba!” She chuckled trying to climb up on the scales not shocked by the dragon’s appearance at all. 

This picture could be oddly frightening to any outsider but was an average situation in Heechul’s apartmen especially when Li Hua wasn’t around to control their fun. Or rather spoil it as he liked to tease his girlfriend. But now she was busy in the kitchen getting ready for the dinner they invited over a guest and so she couldn’t see when the mighty chinese dragon turned so that he could gently lift her up by her diaper with his mouth and with a nice throw shift her to the top of his head to the baby’s biggest enjoyment.

He was giving her a piggy back ride other children could only dream of when suddenly after a light knock the front door opened and he raised back onto his glory to take up a protective pose though the tiny human like girl sitting on his head may take back from the strength of his appearance. But still he growled as a sign to Li Hua while eyeing the somewhat familiar looking man with mistrust in his old eyes.

@rivaldinovondila-ia

@yoxzakura

Never in his short life had he been remotely near where Li Hua lived, so he didn’t dare to traverse the Imaginary Realms. Instead, he had spent days getting a week ahead of his work—not because he expected to stay so long, but so he wouldn’t have to worry about any of it—and then planned out the long way.

The streets weren’t silent on the way there, but he was. The day had been warm, humid, but he hadn’t dared to wear something lighter than a sweater. Not when there was a child around, and there was one thing he knew he didn’t want to see—if her child had suffered in any way. He had his qualms. He was sure he wouldn’t be so open as he always was able to be with Li Hua when he was watching himself, keeping his mind blank when necessary, but he was on the verge of decisions. Of dying soon, or not dying at all, and both were starting to terrify him.

He checked that he was at the right place some five times before slipping off his shoes and approaching the door, knocking tentatively, then opening it gently. She had told him to come right in initially—but again, he had his qualms. His quiet was profuse that day, so the sight of a dragon startled him, yes, but instead of a gasp, a flinch, he tensed. A dragon. He’d never, ever seen one in reality, but he wasn’t stupid. Li Hua had spoken about her lover, and he could recall Heechul in age-old memories.

Dropping into a bow as soon as he registered the information, he could barely hedge his silence. “Thank you for inviting me to your home.” At this point, he held out a box of Songpyeon, Chuseok drawing nearer. He had thought about bringing Soju and getting over his issue with drink in favor of being polite, but they also had a daughter. He opted for the dessert instead.

@yoxzakura

@tianxlong

One like me || Rival & Dylan

“That is because you’ve only managed to make it even more uncomfortable?” he simply stated. He was being irritated and his emotions were starting to become a huge mess. Something that was clearly in no one’s favour. Once he lost control of those, there was no way to tell how he would respond. Even worse, probably hurt people no matter what.

He crossed his arms in front of him, actually partly glaring at the other male. “Well that is just bull shit. Because you were just fine before. And now suddenly you are awkward and passive?” he stated, eyebrows raising and he had to resist to make even more comments about it. Dylan was already suspicious of people in general. But sometimes it seemed as if people were willing to prove him right in that. “heh, yes sure,”

What in the holy hell was he supposed to do in this situation? Stuffing his hands in his pockets, his eyes narrowed—less out of irritation and more out of a lack of surety. It was assessing, if anything, but the only thing he could gather was that he had made a right mess of things. Hands coming up to rub uncomfortably at his neck, he let his head rock, trying to ease out the tension of awkwardness. The battle was between honesty and leaving—he would never have to see this person again if he just left, but at the same time, the other was become agitated, he knew. It wasn’t hard to catch that, feeling it bite into his emotions himself.

“You reminded me of myself,” he said finally, looking up at the other from the bend of his neck, then straightening. “I guess. For a moment there. Lost a grip on the conversation,” he continued haltingly, breaking eye contact to adjust his gloves uncomfortably. “Then I was wrong and wasn’t sure where to go from there.” Still unsure what to do with his hands, he slipped them into his back pockets, then was abruptly reminded of months back, cradling himself in a trembling world of horrors. He shuddered.

The Answer Is No

“No no no,” she shook her head trying to remember the facts nd information she had been able to scrounge up in the library about this Hank fellow. “He doesn’t want your soul, he just wants a soul.” When said alive like that it did sound weird, something to be wary about and yet compared to the other items a person could ask for in this realm and the others that existed a soul was practically like taking candy from a baby.

The question of his first born again had her pathetically throwing a handful of grass at him as she rolled her eyes. “I heard about him through meticulous observations, research and drunken stories told by former students. Then once sober I was still curious so I did some digging and he isn’t just a fairytale.”

“A soul,” he repeated, expression bland and blank. A short laugh was pulled from him at her tale, but then he was falling back into the implications of ‘a soul.’ A scrawl of irritation struggled to be suppressed on his face. “Jieun, you know I can’t kill anyone, right?” He turned his head to her, eyes searching her delicate features. “I’m not going to kill someone just so I can live. That’s even worse than the condition I’m in now—” Which was fairly impressive in his terms. “It’s not like I need to add on people’s suffering with death. Christ.” His fingers began to pluck jerkily at the grass blindly again, a sigh climbing out of his chest. 

The Balloon Plague

Johan nodded in response. So he was like her then. Nowhere to go so he came here. She could respect that. Especially since he was so keen to respect the fact that she herself wasn’t all that inclined to share her own story. Everyone had some sort of silent battle they were fighting, each of them obviously did.

“Trust me,” she scoffed, “it’s all the same God. Your God, my God, any of them Pagan gods, it’s all just…euph-e-misms for the same thing. What ya wanna call it, how ya wanna imagine it, it’s all the same thing. Whether ya find comfort in this thing some call God, some call the Great Spirit, that’s your business. Some people would rather not think about it at all. I just happen to feel drawn to the path of serving Him. That’s all there is to it.” That anyone would try to have any say in another’s religious beliefs and observances royally ticked her off. Even within her own religion, she hated when others like her tried to convert others. That wasn’t the point of it.

As she watched him open the door, irked by the self-deprecation he was obviously displaying. She wasn’t sure why she cared, she just knew that she didn’t like it. In a small act of vengeance, the girl kicked several balloons in through the doorway while looking directly at the other, then followed them int the building. “God made you like He made us all, mister. And He made you just as you should be. But ya don’t gotta be that way forever. They make Play Doh in them Play Doh factories, but that don’t mean Play Doh stays the way it came out of the container forever. The first thing them kids do is squish it up and make some weirdo shapes out of it. Then they start makin’ real stuff out of it. Be a little kid playin’ with Play Doh. If you don’t like who you are now, change it. God made ya perfect, but that doesn’t mean he made you the best you could be. You gotta do that yourself.” She turned away from him, proceeding farther into the building before turning back to grin at him. “And that’s your sermon for today. Church starts at 8a.m. on Sunday, don’t be late.

That was one way of looking at it. He rather thought he was saying roughly the same thing—just differently—so he made no effort to dispute her. Apparently treading carefully hadn’t worked so well. She appeared to be just as irked, if not more, though in his eyes, it seemed rather harmless. It wasn’t the destructive kind of irritation—more the petulant kind that reminded him of how he and his sister had interacted when younger. This was okay, in his opinion, though he did mourn the fact that she kicked so many balloons in with her. He could only hope his roommate wouldn’t bring any into their space, or else there would be no places without this glittery scourge.

Rival resisted letting any emotion show on his face as she berated him. He only closed the door quietly and considered her, her expressions, but he could not admit to considering her words. He felt the emptiness in his chest yawn and crawl up his throat, sucking out the wrinkles of a smile from his features. God had made Rivaldino Vondila perfect, perhaps. Rival was a shadow, a shade of that, created by human pain, and what he hated about himself could only be changed by leaving—by dying. He sucked in a breath as she began to leave and finally uttered a response. “No promises.”