hugtopia_logs | catch all for march!

[ Their new house is spacious but not luxurious, with both its exterior and interior conservative, minimalist, and clean. While the layout is a bit much for two people (and one bird), and made to look even more empty with a lack of furniture save for what they've transferred over... It's perfect. Settled in at last, she guides him by the hand through the foyer into the house proper, where the wide living room-- sparse with but two couches and a low table-- faces out to floor-length windows that open to their backyard.

There will be a mews there, they've decided, as well as a garden, if she can find soil. That will be it. That is all they need, for it will be the both of theirs, a small area of peace, something they might share together in world separate from the both of their own. And with such an empty space yet to be touched upon, it is their hands and heart that will build the future there together.

She smiles at him, her hand squeezing his as she leads him past the living room to the doors. ] Somnus.

[ She turns, she looks up at him, eyes bright and with adoration, hope; she repeats his name, softly and adoringly. She stays grounded yet feels as light as clouds, sighing as if she might will herself to descend. His hand tethers her, warm and real. Somehow, she cannot help but speak his name again. ] Somnus.

...It's going to be beautiful. The future here. [ It already is beautiful, the present. Perhaps it's beautiful because it is him that is here, or perhaps it because he has given her the chance to have hope finally buffer the exhausting wariness within her heart, after months of living in fear. ]

[ His covetous hands have long toiled away for a future of hope. Because of its price, it's a future that he and his line will never be able to enjoy for themselves. Somnus knows this, and he has no complaints to voice when he recalls his duty as king.

But the future of which Pyra speaks is a humble ambition, and one that appeals to him as just a man. It's a future that he can attain in a flesh body and turn into the present with her by his side. The future of hope is close, but this future that's only just started has already drawn closer. This is a future he'll live to see, no matter how briefly.

Rendered quiet by this awesome realization, he looks at her with a softened edge to his features and faint contentment alight in his eyes. He holds onto her hand for not only the gods, but for himself and her as they stand by the doors that lead outside to the awaited yard. Although there's nothing there right now, that emptiness is going to be filled shortly, little by little.

Looking back, they were both bogged down by a bone-deep weariness when they resided at the townhouse. It was a relatively smaller space, packed with lies and unspoken burdens. While there's still much that goes unspoken between them, the air in this larger space already feels lighter in comparison. And with her here, the same air becomes warm and inviting.

It's nice. Restful. He hopes she feels the same way. ]

So it is. Have you considered other projects for the yard?

A garden... is all I have in mind. One with flowers. [ The juniberry flowers that she's been safekeeping for Honerva are some plants she's already grown fond of. When they bloom, she would like to cultivate their seeds to plant for herself there.

And then there is the matter of the poinsettia they've discovered in the beast-skull outside the barrier. Alone and severed, it seems rather tame and harmless, and beautiful in its own way. Would she dare grow reserve a section of those flowers here? She'll have to think further on this, after further analysis of the sample. So long as Horus does not peck at the flowers, she's sure it will be safe. ]

Oh, and... [ She tilts her head, looking at him pointedly interested as she says: ] Perhaps a small deck, where we might dance together again?

[ The mews will keep Horus secured within its walls. Moreover, he preys on other birds, so a flower likely won't draw his attention. Nevertheless, Somnus will take additional care to ensure that no unpleasant surprises befall Pyra's garden, poinsettia or no.

He glances out the doors to the yard before turning back to Pyra. ]

Once the mews' construction is complete, I'll arrange for a deck.

[ Whether he has to build it himself or get it commissioned, he'll see it done. ]

[ Love languages. She shouldn't be surprised that his are acts of services, gifts...

She's noticed the change in him since-- well, that one morning. How wonderful that she didn't need to see into the future to know that her affection would only grow. When she looks at him and notices the softer features of is expression, she feels as if she could melt. ]

...A deck would be good for... training, too.

[ Of course she would have told him by now, that Noctis has extended his power to her. While she's still pretending with his descendant that she's not a warrior, with Somnus, she doesn't need to as much. ]

Because even when you practice with your techniques, it still looks like you're dancing. [ Saying so, she takes his other hand in hers, beginning to sway idly to a silent song. ] Graceful on the ground, graceful on the air...

[ She's gotten more and more liberal with her compliments since that day. And ever since that day, he hasn't argued. It's a form of expression for her, and he's resolved to accept it and her for what they are.

A deck in the yard would be good for many tasks. Training for Pyra, in particular, will benefit in a private space where passing eyes can't pry. Here, she'll be able to exercise her grace as much as she desires. And if she wishes to go further in her practice, but finds herself shying away from Somnus' watchful eyes, he'll divert his gaze: After all, even he doesn't know the true extent of her abilities.

While he can't hear the song in her heart, her hands guide him through the silent beats. He shifts to face her body with his. ]

Is it a dance that you want?

[ Her smile turns affectionately coy as she looks at him. He's been far too considerate of her, all poised and ready to give. He gives so much, and-- really, she still can't think of one thing he hasn't given to her, that she did not enjoy.

What does she want from him? She wants him to be content, that is all. And, perhaps, just a little more selfish. So on that note-- ]

Only... [ She lifts a hand up to him, lightly pressing her finger to his bottom lip. ] And only, if you want it, too. [ Because if not a dance, then there are other things they can enjoy together, so many. She would enjoy just about anything, so long as he is there, she believes. ]

[ He wants what she wants. What's more, acting on that want will benefit the gods and thus this world. There's no reason not to dance, nor does he sport a particular dislike for it. This is something that will satisfy all involved parties; most of all, it'll bring joy to Pyra.

He reaches up to take her hand and bring their palms together in preparation for what's to come. Let his actions be his answer as to whether or not he wants this dance. ]

I would hear it—the song that plays in your heart.

[ He would hear her song... or just the song she is willing to tell.

His hand takes hers, and the other finds itself climbing up to his shoulder, stepping closer and beginning to sway with him. This dance has neither history nor setting. It is solely for them, without a song any others might hear, without any eyes upon them, and one that gently carries them through the motions. It is not rushed, but something that easily allows them to move as they please as if they're stepping, arms about each other, through a river that they only occasionally guide themselves through. Should he lead with it, she'll spin beneath his arm, slowly and with a shy laugh. Should he not, she'll be just as content. The dance is casual, and as improvised as rain...

At the end of it, she's left with both arms about his neck, with the two of them swaying there.

She only has one question for him, as if their slow dance is enough to take her breath away. How he does that so often, she's's not sure. She doesn't even have lungs! ]

Why are you so wonderful?

[ The song she's willing to tell is more than enough. Any more may be too much for his mortal mind to comprehend.

There's no strict movement to follow—only the beats in her layered heart that reach him through their physical connection. There are times when she leads; other times, he takes the reins in leading her through a spin. They do what feels natural and right in the privacy of this newly moved-in house.

The song seemingly comes to an end when she loops her arms around his neck. He rests a hand on her waist. His other hand hovers on the other side before reaching up to fall on one of her arms.

What's wonderful is her undying light. Even should he forget just as Regis forgot upon returning to Eos, her love will never die. Her own destruction can't undo the warmth left behind by her touch and words. He pulls away, his fingers grazing her exposed skin as he steps away and out of her embrace. ]

I've something for you.

[ He goes out to the yard, where he set aside something from home earlier when they were apart. Plants fare better under the light of the sun, after all, no matter whether it's genuine or artificial. Handling the stems with care, he straightens and turns back around with a bundle of sylleblossoms in his arms. They come in a variety of colors: next to its white and blue counterparts, the red sylleblossoms number the greatest. These flowers may resemble Pyra in their coloring, but perhaps the most meaningful thing about them is that they're alive. ]

[ His fingers have seemed to have left a trail of lingering warmth upon her skin, and she takes a few steps to follow him out into the yard, naturally inclined to follow his touch as he goes.

When he returns, it looks as if he's carrying nothing but a lavish amount of petals within his arms, some white like snow, others blue like his eyes, and most red like life, like blood, that which sustains so many lives she regards as precious. ...Only then does she notices that it's not just petals-- that's silly-- but flowers whose blooms are like loose silk flowing beneath water tucked into their stems. It gives the illusion of free petals. For the white and blue ones in particular, they remind her of a cumulus only beginning to gather rain; for the red, it is the same cloud but at sunset. They're sorrowful, in a way, yet undeniably beautiful. ]

...Somnus... what is..?

[ What is this? Where did he come to acquire these flowers? They are not of any she's seen in the botanical gardens. Her question dies upon her tongue as she steps forward, lifting one hand to delicately caress one of the petals on the tip of her fingers. Her other arm comes up to to press her palm beneath of his forearms, as if helping to cradle the bundle between them. That touch, too, is delicate.

It surprises her. He had parted from their dance without a word, then returned to her with all of this. Sometimes, she believes she knows him. Other times, she's not sure she know anything at all. Her eyes lift from the blossoms to him. It's clear than anything she expects from him is not a gift. ]

[ Her touch is delicate under his arm, and he knows it to be for the flowers. She's careful to handle the life that rests in them. He allows for a moment to pass before he extends his arms halfway, moving the flowers close to her. ]

Sylleblossoms—a flower favored by the Oracles of old and new alike.

[ He lifts his head and neither takes offense nor feels surprise at the curiosity in her gaze.

Truth be told, they weren't his idea. Somnus is not a selfless person. His actions bear motives, and he's aided the gods of Aellyn in exchange for the salvation of two worlds. He's single-minded in that way. Material rewards never occurred to him until they were delivered to him from the temple.

Now that they're here, he knows better than to carelessly toss them aside. While he has no green thumb of which to speak, he's sure that Pyra can appreciate these flowers from his world and derive a joy from them that she's long since earned. He didn't have to think twice about what to do with them once they were in his arms the first time around. ]

[ She is neither an Oracle nor one to deliver he messages of her Father to the earth, and of the two Oracles of his world she has met here, she's been nothing but impressed by him. Aera had been whimsical and full of enthusiastic life; Luna, more reserved but carrying unyielding, obvious resolve. These woman were powerful and beautiful. They, too, shined: not with a literal light, but with their humanity. She could never compare to either of these mortal woman, for all that they are. Never. Yet he would offer these flowers to her regardless. Why?

Sylleblossoms. She will remember this name. She will plant these in their yard. She will grow them, care for them as if they were of her own world. That he thought to give these to her is almost too much, too flattering, too overwhelming. She feels happy, especially so as she cradles them between them, keeping her hand beneath his arm. ]

Like everything of your world... Like the Oracles, like yourself...

These flowers are too beautiful to comprehend.

[ And so soft to hold, to behold, to be in their presence. These flowers seem delicate, like the stroke of watercolor upon tulle, but they are anything but.

Another piece of his world, finally, here-- that he's found the grace to share with her. She feels as if she could cry, holding them with him. ] Th...Thank you.

[ Under the ray of her love, the flowers will prosper. This, Somnus knows. Already she cradles them as if they were her children. The Oracles have nothing to do with them or Pyra's worth.

A singular word stands out to him amid her gratitude. His eyes flit down to the sylleblossoms, then back up to Pyra's face. ]

On the day of our summons, you suggested that I bring back what I thought was beautiful.

[ At the time, he thought it wholly unnecessary and paid heed only to what was necessary, even as he committed the suggestion to memory. Now he recalls the proposal as he reaches out with a hand to tuck a stray strand of her crimson hair behind her ear.

It's no correction—only an alteration, for she's resplendent as she is. ]

There was never a need. What's beautiful has stood beside me all this time.

[ Her head dips to his touch with her hair, just as he had done a few months ago, eyes fluttering shut. She could stay like this, just like this, for as long as the deities allow them and be content as she listens to him speak. What is he saying? Something about beauty--

What's beautiful has stood beside me all this time.

--Ah. Her. He's calling her beautiful.

With a snap her eyes open, and she stares at him in surprise, wide-eyed, before her expression melts into a bittersweet but content smile. She never thought it would be so satisfying, to be called beautiful by someone, and not just someone, but someone she loves. Her eyes mist not out of melancholy but joy, and she quickly looks away before looking back to him, away, then back again, this time with a smile. As difficult as it is for her to take such a sincere compliment, she allows herself to accept his words because he had been the one to say them. ]

Th...Thank you.

[ Beneath the bouquet, her fingers brush over his arm. Rarely does he voice his feelings or opinions. That he's said something so kind to her... she cannot deny it at all. It makes her immensely happy, to actually hear him. ]

Oh... you're making me blush, Somnus. [ She smiles shyly, casting her eyes down to the flowers. They're lovely. They're alive. And he thinks she's beautiful, just like them? Incredible, that she's heard this kindness. ]

[ His words bring her joy, and he in turn derives a humble sense of satisfaction from it. His word has been law since he reigned as king, but this is different. Pyra isn’t beholden to heed his words, yet she drinks them as if they were nectar. When he speaks, she smiles as if every word bears meaning. The strange reality is that something he’s said has brought that lovely expression on her face.

The one to say, “Thank you,” should be him. There’s so much for which he hasn’t thanked her between now and then.

He lowers his hand, which comes farther down to rest under her elbow, where it lingers before falling back to his side. As appealing as the idea to prolong this moment may be, they’ve matters to which they must attend. Once she lifts her head and their eyes lock again, he nods, but not coldly.

It's time to head back inside. The flowers will benefit from being potted in soil and watered, too. ]

[ His his final touch upon her elbow is brief but tender. She knows it to be drifting, lightening its pressure upon her arm before he parts from her completely to enter their house. Always so fleeting, this man, but completely right.

She follows him into the itching, appropriating the supplies necessary, soil, a pot, and... Yes, that's all.

...But she beckons him over, as always asking for his permission, ] Come stand with me? [ There's something about him that strikes her as reserved more than most, and should he follow her wave, she'll take his hand in hers, then gently guiding it set about her waist. With a slow pat of her fingers over his own, she secures his touch there.

There's no reason she can't work with potting the flowers while he holds her from behind. It will be like a reverse embrace. ]

[ He follows. Always, he follows.

When she asks him to stand with her, he understands once she’s guided his hand to her waist that she means behind her. He brings his other hand up to rest on the opposite side of her waist, holding her with his chest pressed to her back and relishing the brush of her fingers against his knuckles, as he prepares to watch her pot the flowers.

Everything she does, she does with grace. There’s no such thing as wasted movement. Everything bears meaning. Here and now, she has his undivided attention. ]

[ His hold upon her waist is neither too much nor too distant; it's secure, present. She wonders if without her invitation to hold her, if he would have initiated on his own, if he feels too reserved to do so. But perhaps that does not matter. Now that his palms are holding her, his touch is enduring, here to stay. He leans against her, his chest pressing against her back, and she leans slightly to the side to allow him to watch over her shoulder.

She angles her head just enough she might see his profile form the corner of her eyes. ] Comfortable?

[ Careful of their delicate petals, she turns back to her work and begins to spread the flowers out from the bouquet onto the countertop. ] These flowers... [ She wants to plant them in the garden. But would that be too much for him? ] How do you feel, when you see them? [ She hopes they do not evoke too terrible or melancholy a memory for him. ]

[ There’s nowhere more comfortable. As for the flowers . . . ]

Though its colors may change, life finds a way to persist.

[ They remind him of the past and the present both. Sylleblossoms have followed the Oracles for millennia, and they symbolize persistence—that, no matter what, the noble duty to see the Light restored will prevail. While these flowers don’t symbolize hope, they embody the means toward it.

There’s melancholy, to be sure; however, that’s not all that he feels when he sees them in Pyra’s arms. Somnus meets her gaze. ]

Inspired.

[ Inspiring in only ways that he could be, she thinks as their eyes meet. Every thing he says rings true to her. He speaks still of life persisting while he is long deceased, of no longer being mortal. It is for those that still live that he persists, for he fights for them to have a future... or at least, the opportunity of it, despite all obstacles, personal or otherwise. That duty and dedication is one that speaks to her.

She hopes to keep such inspiration with her for as long as these flowers last. All that she is doing here is to return to her world; but to have found his light, to have him share it with her, she is forever grateful for this opportunity, this peace in the meantime that eases the strain of guilt and despair with touch and comfort, with his quiet respect, with his mindful gestures, his understanding and acceptance. With no other has she found this acceptance before, and it causes her to feel as if she's on the cusp of some sort of discovery within her, a memory, a name, before it fades.

Inspiring is what these flowers will become, then, and hopefully this meaning will persist. She looks back down to the flowers spread out upon the kitchen countertop, soon beginning to appropriately pot them. ]

Huh?

[Touma turns his attention away from his communicator and towards the person who just spoke. His first inclination is to assume she's talking to someone else. After all, what reason would an unknown beautiful woman have to ask someone like him to sit with her? He looks over the area in search of this 'other person' only to discover nobody else around besides himself.]

Are you talking to me?

[OCC: Pssst... Hey, would you mind taking a look at this Permission Post? Thanks!]

[ Noticing his baffled expression, she waits patiently for his gaze to return back to hers, at which point she inclines her head slightly to one side, curious, parsing his reaction. If she's not mistaken, it's as if he didn't expect her to speak to him...!

Which, of course, is something she must absolutely correct: of course he is the one with whom she wishes to speak. She's always grateful to converse with another.

With a hint of playful mirth glinting within her crimson eyes, she nods. ] Yes, you.

[ She offers her hand. ] And... this, too. [ Holding hands. ]

Eh?!

[Touma stares at her with a wide-eyed expression. Being the teenage boy he is, the proposal to hold hands with a woman makes his heart race and cheeks turn a crimson red. It takes a couple of seconds for the more rational part of his brain to remind him the reason behind her action and why he was brought to this world.]

O-O-Oh, right! Of course! We have to touch each other to save the world! Ha, why else would you be asking me! Ha. Ha.

[Once his nervous laughter subsides, he awkwardly sits next to her.]

I'm Kamijou Touma! It's nice to meet you! Please take care of me!

[ As soon as he sits next to her, he will feel her hand lie gently over his, fingers sliding over his knuckles to clasp his hand. It's not too firm, yet not too slack. It just is, a touch, offered to him lightly and sincerely.

She appears much more at ease now that they are joined by their hands linked together. ]

My name is Pyra.

[ Her own introduction comes with a smile, smoothly. No awkwardness, here! ] Do you prefer to go by... Touma? Kamijou?

Touma! I'm perfectly fine with you calling me Touma!

[He stiffens a little at her touch, but the tension in his hand slowly eases away after a few seconds.]

Umm... So, is there anything else I need to do? The idea that hand holding can heal the world is something I would expect from an overly cutesy magical girl anime. Is there some sort of symbolic meaning behind it that...

[His voice trails off as a horrible realization dawns on him. He manages to restrain his urge to yank his hand away from her out of fear of accidentally hurting her.]

Hey, this isn't going to force me to use magic, right?

[ "An overly cutesy magical...." Her brow raises at this, but she seems more pleasantly amused than confused by his reference. He has doubts about the touch benefiting the world, here. This is understandable; she, too, had them when she first arrived... ]

...There is power, generated by touch. [ She begins softly, keeping her gaze level with his. It could very well be magic, for how little the otherworlders understand it. She herself has never encountered any such thing in her world, that is for certain. ] Somehow, we believe, it goes to the deities here.

You're making that energy now, even without you knowing. [ No force involved! ]

What!? Really?!

[Using his free hand, he begins to cautiously pat his body down in random spots. No sudden wounds. No signs of bruising or internal bleeding. No feelings of nausea or pain. His body is in perfect working condition.

Touma lets out a breath that he didn't even realize he was holding.]

Whatever this 'power' is, it must be fundamentally different than the magic in my world. For a second there, I thought I was going to die.

[ From his words, from the breath of relief he lets out, and from the conspicuous way in which he begins to check over his own body, her puzzlement only grows.

Now she has to ask-- ]

...I-- I'm sorry, "die"?

[Hearing the concern in her voice, he suddenly realizes that in his panic to ensure his safety he made Pyra worry about him. Making someone as sweet as Pyra worry is a massive sin in his book and one he plans on correcting.]

Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I was just exaggerating when I said I would have died. If our hand holding ritual did cause me to unintentionally use magic, it would have hurt a little, but I would have been fine.

[He tries to give her a reassuring smile, however, it's easy to see that it's a forced one.]

[ While he assuages some of her concern, she still appears puzzled. Her head cants the other way. ]

Magic... hurts you, when you use it?

[ It's not the first she's heard of such a thing. Sometimes, magic comes with a price-- if that is the system to which he refers. ]

I don't completely understand it myself, but I'll try my best to explain.

[He goes silent for a moment as he tries to think up of a good way to explain it to her without spouting out a bunch of meaningless terminology.]

Back home, I went through something called the "Power Curriculum Program" and became an Esper as a result. You can think of an Esper as someone who has the potential to change and distort reality to bring about a supernatural phenomena. Due to the differences in how Espers and magic operate, whenever an Esper uses magic it creates a backlash that hurts them.

Did any of that make sense to you?

[ She listens carefully to his explanation, and for a moment or two afterwards she appears think through his words. All in all, it is a good explanation: succinct yet thorough, and it also gives her a better picture of him. He is a student, and he, too, is learning about his own powers. ]

So... you were worried about the magic or, ah, energy generated through touch... would effect you. [ She parses slowly as she looks away, bringing her free hand to her cheek in thought. Then, she nods. ]

But it hasn't.

[ Clearly not, anyway. She turns her head, looking back to him with a gentler expression, the corners of her lips curling into a relieved smile. She has more questions, of course, but that doesn't mean she cannot say this first: ] I'm glad that you are not hurt, Touma.

catch all for march!

for somnus

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