The atmosphere has been tense in both cities ever since the new batch of refugees were shot down out of the sky. Natives and refugees alike will note that things are steadily growing worse and worse... until suddenly, the tension snaps. Chaos erupts on one seemingly ordinary night and will continue until early March, when it all comes to a head. The question is, as always... what will you do?
You may submit an AC-eligible thread set in either Olympia or Wyver for 1 OLYMPIA REP POINT OR 1 WYVER REP POINT respectively, HERE or HERE, so long as the thread involves your character complying with their faction of choice's goals and responsibilities.
As a note, faction compliance in this case refers to actions that benefit the faction in the long term. Meaning that while citizens might be revolting against one another temporarily, assisting their fellow people and business will be considered as faction compliance for the purposes of submitting REP. (For example, raiding the palace in Olympia would earn 1 Wyver REP, whereas helping put out the fires in the palace would earn 1 Olympia REP.)
You may write threads and prompts in both cities, but ICly, they should take place on different days.
Please also note that travel between factions is heavily scrutinized during the events of this log. If your character travels between cities, please report it here. EMBERS IN OUR BLOODLINES
CHAOS ERUPTS. The city hasn't been exactly peaceful for some time — discontented grumbles have been directed at anyone who exhibits even the slightest amount of pro-Wyver (anti-Olympian) sentiment — but now, the tensions have not simply worsened: they've outright snapped.
It wouldn't be unusual to start your day to the sound of breaking glass. Perhaps it's a neighbor's window, or if you're truly unlucky, it's your own. Regardless, it's clear that there are a number of people who decide that violence is the answer. Well-armed shops such as The Sharper are left alone, but The Silk Wyrms, The Wyvernest, and other smaller businesses aren't so lucky. Visit the tailor, and you'll find that someone has broken in and slashed many of the in-progress custom orders; at the dragon cafe, someone has set many of the miniature dragons loose in a bid to purge the city of anything tainted by Wyver's influence. Many shopkeeps are fearful that the culprits might return. They're offering good silver for anyone who will retrieve stolen goods, round up the missing dragons, or find proof of who the culprits were — and for protection in case the culprits return. Linger, and you'll be in a position to potentially stop a repeat attack when the rioters come back with torches and bricks.
Members of the Royal Guard have their hands full with the fights breaking out to attend to every instance of violence against the businesses. Shouting in the squares escalates into bloody brawls — and if you spend any time outside, you'll soon see why. There's a strange mist in the most populated parts of the city, which you may recognize as having similar effects to the waters of Flona Cove that lower one's inhibitions. It spurs those who would usually agree to disagree into shouting matches, and influences people who would normally shout into throwing punches. Members of the Guard, usually a mediating force, are joining the fray themselves.
Even you aren't immune to the mist's effects. Whether you're protecting your home or place of employment, chasing down vandals, rounding up escaped dragons from the dragon cafes, or even just observing what's going on with someone else, you're likely doing it much more aggressively than you typically would... but then, this level of aggression seems to be becoming Olympia's new normal.
SINNERS TO PLAY AS SAINTS. The theaters are miraculously untouched, but The Life and Death of Nithor the Exalted is no longer being put on. Instead, passers-by are being pulled onstage to play out other scenes from Olympia's glorious history. Those who don't want to play along don't have much of a choice; those orchestrating the scenes have people out in the crowds to bring people up by force if necessary.
The base scenario is simple enough: the noble Olympian puts the pathetic Wyvern in their place. Perhaps it's a fight scene: the Olympian comes out on top, of course, and the crowd roars for blood. Wyver weapons are only props, however, but the Olympian weapons? They're very, very real. Or perhaps it's a callback to when the Olympian people marked captured Wyverns with brands to assert their dominance — there is real fire, and real brands, on stage.
If you pass as Olympian, you may be pressed to perform. If you don't want to really hurt someone, you'd best learn how to fake it — refuse to play your part, and the crowd will very quickly turn against you. If you're too obviously not Olympian, or if they recognize you as someone who went off-script last time (and they have very good memory), you'll likely be pressed into the role of an unfortunate Wyvern. Hopefully your co-star is gentle...
Break a leg. Literally, as the case may be.
CRITICAL CONDITION. With all the chaos, it's only a matter of time before people start to seek medical attention. However, along the way to The Sanctuary, they'll be faced with an almost insurmountable barricade. It isn't immediately obvious who put it up, but it's clear that nobody will be getting through it without significant effort.
Approach, and a voice will ring out warning you to keep back. It's one of the employees at the clinic; she has a crossbow in her shaking hands, and if pressed, she'll admit that they put up the barricade to keep out rioters. She understands that there are people who need their help, but the decision was made to keep themselves and their supplies safe so that when the dust settles, they can set out en masse and help more people than they could if they were raided.
If you're accompanied by someone with grievous injuries, or if you're terribly injured yourself, you may be able to convince her to let you in for a quick patch-up, but they're not giving any medicines out. If you need more supplies, you'll have to figure out another way of getting it — either by overpowering the woman on watch and raiding the clinic yourself, or distracting her so that other members of your group can sneak in and take what they need.
Making matters worse is the gigantic vulture-like creature, much larger than the birds in Murkwell Hollow... and much meaner. This beast doesn't wait for eye contact before it attacks: it swoops down out of the sky when people are gathered at the barricade, snatching up anyone it can grab in its talons, fixing on whoever's closest. However, if someone who killed a vulture is present, it pursues them with relentless determination. If not dealt with, it will attempt to eat the dead and the injured without discrimination. It can be driven off with high difficulty using weapons, magical abilities (except fire, which doesn't affect it), and the terrain to your advantage. It will retreat before it can be killed, presumably so that it can regroup and harry the next batch of people to get close to the barricade.
As it retreats it will drop feathers that can be sold to the Institute for study for 100 silver; one feather per character, please. Sales can be reported here.
PALACE BURNS. Chaos reigns for the better part of a week, and toward the end, it escalates past the point of rioting in the streets — the violence reaches Empress Simwe's palace. In the gardens where Olympians and refugees alike had lit lanterns in unity and remembrance mere weeks before, one careless (or perhaps not so careless) flame catches, spreading to the rest of the grounds and to one of the palace walls. The members of the Royal Guard, already stretched thin, are too preoccupied with trying to contain the blaze to stop anyone from pouring in through the breach.
It's an opportunity that looters and dissidents do not pass up.
Follow them in, and you'll find the elegant surroundings being torn apart. Many of the rioters are those who have it out for Simwe and are hunting for her. As she's nowhere to be found, they settle for the next best thing: setting torch to her portraits. Portraits of the late emperor, on the other hand, are left untouched. The vandals are incredibly vocal in their displeasure with Simwe's policies, and almost fanatical in their opinion that life in Olympia would be much better if Simwe had perished in her husband's place. They turn to violence when the frightened maids and other servants don't have the answers they want as they leave a trail of fire in their wake. Will you use them as a smokescreen for your own venture, or will you intervene?
Further inside, the sticky-fingered will find furnishings, clothing, jewelry — anything that isn't bolted down is fair game. In the library, the gilded titles of priceless books glitter on the shelves; in the wine cellar, Simwe's personal collection of extremely fine vintages waits to be sampled; a mirrored room furnished entirely with pillows is draped in lacy underthings; fragrant salts and bottles of perfume sit in a steam-filled bathing room; in the treasury, looters are hard at work squirrelling away silver and carrying off golden baubles. Nobody looks too closely at anyone's face unless given a reason to, but in the morning, heads will certainly roll. You could make off with your own treasure from the palace with none the wiser, or you could stop one of the looters — maybe it's even a fellow refugee — and turn them in to the guard to help restore some order to this night of chaos.
In the depths of the treasury, there is a group trying to get past a sealed door. They're an unpleasant, volatile lot, and they make a lot of noise about how if they can just get their hands on the heart of the legendary dragon, they'll be able to wipe Wyver from the map once and for all and put someone competent on the throne. After multiple failed attempts, they start offering a reward of 50 silver to anyone who makes an attempt at opening the door.
ABOUT THE DOOR: The inner treasury door is enchanted to stand up to all manner of assaults, both magical and physical. Any attempts to dispel the enchantment will fail, but characters are welcome to make attempts in exchange for cash. While minor force will be harmlessly absorbed by the shields on the door, anything of great strength will be reflected back at its point of origin — so be ready to dodge!
Whether you help the Guard put out the fire, steal from the palace, try and get past the enchanted door, or make attempts to stop the looters, your actions may have consequences later. Please report any significant actions you take here.
NOTE: Characters are welcome to steal a single minor, setting-appropriate item from the palace. Mod approval is not required. Any items of greater import in the palace are locked in a vault and inaccessible.
BLOOD ON MY HANDS LIKE THE BLOOD IN YOU
FOR GLORY. Meanwhile, in Wyver, the holiday celebrating Nithor's death may have finished, but the spirit is still high. The citizens, eagerly awaiting the results of the contest from earlier in the month, congregate at a large stadium in the East End on the morning of the 21st and encourage refugees to join them — not only will the contest winner be announced, but there will be a series of physical trials to select Wyver's best and brightest.
This yearly event is considered the true end to the holiday. They honor those who excel at the arts — whether they be standard arts or the art of combat — and with these trials, they will honor those who excel on the battlefield. King Shanrian himself speaks to kick off the festivities, holding a distinctly human skull in his hands the entire time he's in view.
 Everyone, join me in praising the winners of our citywide contest! I was, heh... quite delighted with the meat jelly dish submitted by citizens Clair and Frederick. Such creativity! Meanwhile, dear Shenya loved hearing the beautiful music provided by Diva and Tani Umenosuke. And as you all well know, his vote is my vote.
Now I speak to you on a more serious note: I encourage all of you to join the legacy of those who helped bring down the mad and oppressive Nithor. I ask you all to join the trials. Show the world that we are a people of honor. For we do not seek glory, but fairness, liberty, and truth. Citizens, do you have what it takes to represent your home?
Signing up is simple. Interested parties are to submit their name at the registration desk, and by high noon, the festivities will kick off in full.
First up is a tournament — to thin the numbers down and ensure that only the best of the best make it to the end, participants are matched to a fight until one side is incapacitated. The air is thick with excitement, and bouts continue all day and through the night. Vendors have set up temporary stalls to sell food, toiletries, pillows, and blankets for those who don't wish to miss even a moment of the action.
If you're participating, you will take part in three fights before the finalists are determined; if you are not, you will be free to watch from the audience or, if you're acquainted with people who are fighting, to go behind the scenes to assist them by bringing them water or medicine between matches or even just give them moral support. Either way, you'll notice a slight shift in the air as time goes by.
Midway through the preliminary matches, the atmosphere changes from enthusiastic to outright bloodthirsty. Observers who were content to see a knock out will call for blood. People will start to clamor for the losers to lose their lives, and audience members will find themselves itching for a fight. One wrong look and the fighting might not just be constrained to the ring.
Make it through to the finals, and your trial will be more focused on teamwork: after all, the assassins who took down Nithor had to work together to get their job done. Finalists are paired off to face a variety of beasts, some from Wyver, some from Olympia, and some from other, far-flung parts of the isles. There is no set number of winners — anyone who performs well will be honored with a prize of silver at the end — but the beasts are ferocious, and it will take coordination and exceptional skill to make it out unscathed.
Either way, it's sure to be a spectacle.
HEARTY DIETS. The city's atmosphere does not become peaceful with the conclusion of the trials. Wherever you turn, the people around you seem to be more combative than usual - and in this city, that can be quite the feat.
To mark the end of another successful set of trials, the shamans of the Altar of Volkkra make dragon's blood, which they partake in for one of their rituals, more widely available to the public. Most drink it straight, although there are some who take it mixed in with other drinks. Either way, the effects are the same:
Drinking dragon's blood will feel like drinking liquid fire. It will burn the entirety of its way down and leave you with a presence in your chest that you will carry with you for three days before wearing off. It is a warmth that seems to imbue you with the strength and confidence of the dead dragon. The adrenaline will minimize any great pains, and you will have the sense that the path you choose is right.
Unfortunately, there is a downside. The dragon blood will keep you restless until the effects wear off. Confidence will turn into mindless arrogance. If you and your companion both drink the blood, you will butt heads because you will believe the other is wrong. Additionally, you may experience the need to hoard. The shamans say it is a trial you must endure to learn not to overindulge, but to someone who has never drank before, the feeling will be overwhelming.
Dragon's blood isn't the only variety to partake in. This time of year, the blood of a variety of monsters can be found to drink; it's said that consuming a creature's blood will imbue you with that creature's power. Whether this is true or not remains to be seen — some insist it's a rumor, while others swear its veracity — but fueled by the confidence the dragon's blood has drawn out of them, the natives are very insistent that you try it out, and some may even challenge you to a blood-drinking contest.
There are some who say that they've managed to procure the blood of Olympians, and that ingesting it will sap the strength of the Olympian people and bestow it upon Wyver instead. Some Wyvern natives aren't willing to allow the blood of their most hated enemies past their lips and would instead use Olympian blood to paint out scenes of their destruction, either on the walls like the murals or on charms from the Altar of Volkkra, as it is said to have the same effect. If you're offered some of this "paint," it's probably better to accept. After all, refusal would be very un-Wyvernlike, and you wouldn't want to be marked as the next target for someone hoping to procure Olympian blood, would you?
FANNING FLAMES. Since the trials, natives have lit bonfires throughout the city as a way of showing support for their favorite contenders; the belief is that as long as the flames continue to be fed, the contender will continue to fight well. Even now that the trials are over, the flames burn bright. These contenders are Wyver's hope of victory over Olympia, after all; isn't it better to keep the fires ablaze until they've brought the Olympians to their knees?
But it isn't just wood that they're using for kindling. This time they want a more personal offering. Many of the natives will shed their own blood to throw into the fire, and still more roam the streets in search of people to feed to the flames. You might find yourself one of their targets if you've been too noticeably traveling between the cities on a regular basis, or if you've made the mistake of donning the Olympian colors of white and gold even in a subtle way. Perhaps you come off as a loyal citizen of Wyver, and they've tapped you to assist them with feeding a person to the flames — If you refuse, you might face scrutiny yourself.
Chaos is on the rise. It's a bastardization of celebration that has long since gotten out of hand, although few seem inclined to try and contain it. Those who do are mainly shouted down or silenced by other means, and if you're looking to assist them in quelling the unrest, you'll have to be subtle lest you wind up facing the citizens' ire.
Luckily, there is something to provide a distraction: a gigantic vulture-like creature, much larger than the birds from Murkwell Hollow, has come to hunt . When it descends, it makes to grab anyone with its talons, with one exception — if anyone who killed a vulture in Murkwell is nearby, it will ignore the others and focus its attempts on tearing them apart with a relentless, single-minded determination. If not driven off, the dead and the injured will become its next meal, and it has no qualms about diving into the flames to snatch up bodies, as it's unharmed by fire. It can be driven off with high difficulty using weapons, magical abilities (other than fire), and the terrain to your advantage, but will retreat before it can be killed so that it can regroup and make another attempt at snatching up bodies later.
As it retreats it will drop feathers that can be sold to the Altar of Volkkra for experimentation for 100 silver; one feather per character, please. Sales can be reported here.
BEASTLY EXHIBITS.The shamans of Volkkra, perhaps under the influence of dragon's blood, have their own way of dealing with the unrest. Throughout the week, those protesting the chaos start to vanish, and either from rumors or direct observation it will soon become obvious why: they're being brought to the main Altar of Volkkra, all the way up on Namarak Summit. If you have been attempting to calm people down, you might just find yourselves taken; otherwise, you can tail the shamans to the summit to find what's going on for yourself.
Those taken to the main altar are blindfolded and thrust into the labyrinthine halls without a flame to guide their way. Shamans guard the entrances and exits; inside, all light but that of the Eternal Flame have been extinguished. Other shamans, who take part in the rumored experiments, roam the halls with wicked-looking knives in search of new test subjects. If they come across you, you'll need to either fight or run.
It is possible to escape this, either by overpowering them or by using your wits. It's even possible to find your way to the entrance and fight your way past the shamans guarding it — but the when the first person sets foot out of the halls, the shamans call for backup. Menacing shrieks and roars sound from inside the mazelike halls, and strange, mishmashed creatures emerge from the darkness.
They're angry, and they're willing to lash out at both refugee and shaman alike.
ABOUT THE MONSTERS: They are amalgamations of people and creatures from all over the isles, and each one is different. One might have the head of a Duldrum, the torso and arms of a man, and the lower half of a Glowing Snake; another might look like a Wispurr with a second head of an Unlucky Cat grafted onto it, and the abilities to match. The shamans seem to have been mixing and matching the features and abilities of both named and unnamed creatures as they see fit, and they've whipped them up into a frenzy — these chimeras crave blood, and will not stop until their targets are dead, or they are.
They can be killed with medium difficulty using your own weapons, supplies from the Altar, and any abilities you might possess; survive, and the shamans will let you go with 200 silver as compensation, having decided that you've proven your worth and that your strength may be an asset to Wyver in the future. If your character successfully kills a chimera, please report it here.
An AC-eligible thread in which your character complies with their faction's goals for 1 REP POINT FOR EITHER OLYMPIA OR WYVER may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD FOR OLYMPIA OR WYVER HERE OR HERE RESPECTIVELY BY MARCH 14th 11:59 PM EST.
We will no longer be providing overflow posts. In an event where the post hits CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals or create their own catch-all post. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP.
1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR.
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Top of the stairs, room on the right. Make yourself at home.
[ Since he's not being the best host at the moment. He'll apologize for that later. For now, he tarries no longer in the living room, making a beeline up the stairs towards the bathroom. He can't get there soon enough, and already he has to wonder if the smell of blood will ever leave his nose and skin.
What a nightmare. ]
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Two people, she thinks. Or one particularly large person. That is, if they bled them out entirely before tossing them on the pyre . . . but why not? The point was to torture them, after all; to make it into some ritualistic sacrifice. Bleeding them out was surely part of it. It fits in so perfectly with all the idiocy they do here, but it isn't as if Olympia is any better. Just a different flavor of the same idiotic, human foolishness.
She wonders for a moment who the person whose blood she's scrubbing off her was, and then chides herself for such a thought. It doesn't matter. Not really.
She tries not to look around too much as she heads into Prompto's (and, presumably, Alisaie's) room. She's nosy on the best of days, but right now, she's tired. She wants nothing more than to change and sit on something soft, ignoring the outside world for a blessed few minutes.
She shifts through his clothes until she finds something long sleeved. Trousers are easier; he's taller than her by a few inches, so it's just a matter of picking. Her clothes, bloody and dirty, are gathered and folded neatly, and then Rosalind heads back downstairs, filling the sink with cold water so she can soak them.
Very sensible. Very neat. And the facade would almost work, really, were it not for the slight trembling of her hands and the tightness of her mouth as she sets to her task.
(The awful thing: she isn't moved to emotion entirely because of what's happening outside. Or rather: she isn't moved because it's happening to others, but rather because it's happening while she's still here. Vulnerable, weak, able to die, able to be harmed and hurt, able to be tortured in the worst ways, and she doesn't care about some unknown Olympian bled out, but she can so perfectly picture herself in his place).
She's curled up on his couch when he returns, reading a book. Where had she even found that? Somewhere in this house, anyway, and it doesn't really matter, because it isn't as if she's focusing on the words. Just occupying herself while she waits.]
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He's so weary of it. It affected every corner of Eos, and it will do the same to this world. He doesn't have it in him to be the optimist right now. Not when they're on the precipice of something that will destroy the only semblances of peace they've been able to grasp since their worlds were destroyed.
The blood doesn't come away easily. It's in his hair and the creases in his skin and the beds of his nails. The clothing he'd been wearing is stiff and caked with it. He cannot clean it from himself quickly enough, cannot expunge the memory of it coating him from head to toe. He scrubs at his skin until its raw and pink and stinging, and even then, he can still smell it. His stomach churns again, and he stays under the spray of hot water until it begins to run cold.
When at last Prompto emerges from the shower, he feels hollowed out and empty, but at least his hair and his skin are clean, as is the fresh set of clothes he puts on. He checks himself over in the mirror to make sure the blood is well and truly gone, and collecting himself with a deep breath, he trots downstairs at last, giving Ros an appraising look before he speaks. ]
I see you raided Alisaie's library.
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[She closes it with a snap, setting it down so she can give him her full attention. He's scrubbed the blood from himself, and that's good. He still looks fragile, but less so than before. She'd been worried the boy before might have burst into tears; this one looks more in control of himself.
Good. That's the first step.]
You've seen war.
[It isn't a question. Rosalind tucks a bit of her hair behind her ear with her left hand and nods, inviting him to sit next to her.]
Have you ever seen devastation like that?
[A beat, and she reaches for her cigarettes. Hopefully he doesn't mind.]
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He glances at her cursorily, but decides it's easier to speak if he stares at the floor, where Peo is trotting over to curl up at his feet. Prompto reaches down to scratch the pup behind the ears, his answer low and murmuring. ]
Insomnia. My hometown. We weren't there when it happened, but... [ He sighs. ] Saw it on the news before we even saw it with our own eyes. Can you believe that? The city was attacked, buildings burned, people lost their lives, but somehow the news goes on.
[ He never even knew if his parents made it out alive. ]
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[She keeps her eyes on him, but her gaze lacks the usual severe edge it normally has.]
. . . the world I lived in, the city I lived in, went through something very much like this. The downtrodden were led by one of their own in a revolution-- very much deserved, frankly, but it was a bloody one. Half the city was destroyed, and when a city floats twenty thousand feet above the earth, that's saying something. Columbia was torn apart, street shattered, buildings burned, and the bodies strewn about the streets.
Half the city's population was slaughtered, some in the most particularly brutal fashions. Scalpings, torture, pyres . . . well. You can well imagine.
I watched it happen a hundred and twenty-two times.
[A few seconds pass, and she sighs.]
People are the same no matter what world you find yourself in. Ardyn so lovingly emphasized that lesson to me a few days ago, but he's right. There's something wonderful and awful about how predictable humans are.
This will pass. And the world will become sane once more. We simply have to endure.
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It's so senseless. It's so...pointless.
He glances up at her once more. ]
Not all people are like that. That's not...human nature. [ Gods, it feels audacious, even now, for him to suppose that he understands human nature. But he has accepted himself as one, and so he must trust his heart in this. ]
I don't want to just endure, Ros. I want to...make things better. It's what...it's what Noct would do.
[ And he will always follow his friend's example, even if it's been months since Prompto last spoke to him. ]
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It's what Noct would do, Prompto says, as if it's a guiding light.]
Ros . . .
[She echoes it softly, something odd in her expression.]
And what will you do when you go out there?
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I...I don't know. But I have to do something. Even if that's just saving one person.
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[She says it more briskly, uncurling one leg from beneath her.]
I shan't waste your time and mine by telling you it's foolish to go out there, but if you're insistent upon it, do it wisely. What skills can you offer out there?
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A little hard to translate into their current circumstances. ]
I can shoot. I have my guns. But I...don't want to shoot civilians. Violence isn't really the answer to violence, y'know?
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[It's a real question.]
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I'll disable first, if I can. If there's no other way...then yeah, I'll shoot to kill.
[ But it's not a decision he makes lightly, and not one that will soon leave him afterwards. ]
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All right.
[At least he'll be armed, and ready and able to defend himself. He's a little less eager to whip out his weapon than she'd like, but one can't have everything.]
Well. You might do what you did during that plague, and act as a runner. I'm certain there are doctors who need a pair of strong legs to race around the city, getting supplies and what not.
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Running - running I can do. [ A slight smile. ] We'll see if I can track down a pair of wheels again this time.
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[She points a finger at him, stern and commanding.]
And don't overexert yourself. That could mean the difference between life and death in times like these. Am I clear?
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Have I ever let you down, Ros? [ There's something of his usual energy in those words. ] Don't worry. I'll watch my back so long as you do, too.
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[She trusts him. He has an odd desperation to help, but she trusts him to keep his word. Rosalind sags back, resting against the couch, and adds more casually:]
And when did that start? Ros. Is that my name now?
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What, you don't like it? [ A light chuckle. ] I can go back to Madam Lutece, if you rather.
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Rosalind would be acceptable.
[She wonders if he realizes just what it is she's saying. If he understands that in her old world, she would have snapped and snarled at him the moment the first Ros had slipped passed his lips. That even that permission would never have been given, but things have changed over the past six months.
Why don't you call yourself doctor, he'd asked her once, and she's never forgotten that. He'd been so willing to accept that, just like that.]
Ros on occasion, though neither of those names at work, please. But never Rosie.
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You got it, Ros on Occasion. [ Cheeky. ] But I gotta ask...why not Rosie?
[ Too childlike? ]
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[Other days, other times, she'd be embarrassed, but she's too tired to bother. Rosalind simply smiles faintly, tired and bittersweet.]
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Say no more. I know exactly what you mean.
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Tell me of her. I've only ever met her the once.
[And that was hardly a meeting. More like an unfortunate run-in, where she'd only seen half of the girl's face because someone was all up in her business, macking on her like there was no tomorrow.]
I'll tell you a bit about Robert in exchange.
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Now he just looks starry-eyed as he leans back, sighing softly. Honestly, this is probably once of the best balms she could give him to help him recover from what happened today. A chance to talk about love, instead of senseless hate. ]
Ahh, she's...somethin' else. If you can believe it, she was the one who kissed me first. ...Actually, that's probably not that hard to believe. And she did it right after I told her about...y'know. Where I'm from. And that...says a lot about the kind of person she is. She's about the smartest person I've ever met — no offense — and as fierce is she is kind. She's sharp as a tack, witty, a little too good at winning arguments — but she's sweet in a way she doesn't realize.
[ And then he closes his eyes. She asked for this!! It was bound to get sappy. Or, well...sappier. But he can't help it. Alisaie has done so much for him since they met each other here. Had they become just friends, he would have felt extremely privileged, but that they fell in love and now are to be married...it's more than he ever could have dreamed of. ]
She...pushes me to be a better person, to be more...accepting of myself. She would do anything to keep me safe, and I'd do the same for her. We're different. Really different, if I'm bein' honest. But it's...never been a problem. I guess we just compliment each other. We just...fit.
[ He opens his eyes again, chuckling lightly. ]
Sorry. Can't help it, you know? Anyway — tell me about Robert!
[ Her turn to dish!!! ]
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