hugtopia_logs | Open Catch-All Post

Entry tags:

!: era ra (warrior of light)

Open Catch-All Post

♥ Who: Era & OTA
♥ Where: Various
♥ When: December 16th onward
♥ What: catch-all
♥ Rating: PG-13

•••••

I. Various Locations

It is cold, the weather is not exactly predictable, and Era hates it. From the base of her horns to the tip of her tail she is cold, though stubbornly refuses to tuck the offending appendages beneath the warmth of a hat (not that her horn would fit beneath a hat) or her jacket. With Ainea's priests continuing with their offensive 'festivity' Era is loath to do anything that would jeopardize either her spatial awareness or her balance.

Her Carbuncle is able to relieve the worst of the bitter chill, pressing in close to her except in those moments when it needs to chase off a priest or two. Ardbert, too, is a boon during this season, acting as a particularly warm and soft scarf, snuggled up as he is in the collar of her jacket. They make things bearable as she skulks around the city, searching for things that she could put to good use for the upcoming Starlight Celebration.

II. Shopping District

Era cannot recall a time where she ever wanted to be anything other than what she was, not even when being the only Auri woman in a nation would have put her at great risk. She had always been able to find clothes that fit her (more or less), with accommodation for her tail at the very least. And after she reached the Far East it became even easier to find clothes tailored for an Au Ra's needs: reinforcement where the friction of the scales is particularly troublesome, necklines made to adjust so that horns won't get in the way of dressing...

Here, however, Era finds herself eyeing clothes made with only a Hyuran (or native robot) shape in mind. The selection of actual clothing has improved since she had first arrived, but there was never anything she could buy, or even try on. A Hyuran woman on the shorter end of the spectrum still tends to be half a fulm taller than she is, and even if Era were interested in clothes tailored more for children nearer to her in height she still has the curves of a fully grown woman.

It leaves her feeling almost jealous, of women able to buy beautiful things for themselves without needing to worry. Era would like to add some beautiful clothes to her wardrobe — a dress cut to flatter her modest bust or the shape of her hips. Pants that hug her rear snugly, and won't be ruined by her adding a hole for her tail to slide through. She is all for comfort and practicality, but she would like the chance to feel pretty again. She would like the chance to dress up beautifully for Hades. A skirt that makes lovely shapes as she dances for him, or with him.

She misses having options.

III. Housing District

Having successfully decorated the interior of their home for the holidays, it is well past due to decorate the exterior as well. Her inadvertent 'return' to her own world and time was more than long enough of a delay, and so now Era finds herself hanging rather precariously from the rooftop with one arm, using the other arm along with her tail to place a twisting string of garland and fairy lights across the top of a window frame.

Her dream guide, Ardbert, helps as well by bringing her new lengths of decorations as she slowly begins to run out, in addition to running along the decorations she's already placed and assuring everything is adequately secured.

IV. Botanical Gardens

Era has always liked to dance. It wasn't something she meant to pick up, it just... happened, as with most things in her life. She needed to learn a dance to aid one person, and then later another to help more... Every now and then throughout her adventures she would learn a new dance to add to her repertoire, and it felt oddly fulfilling. Satisfying. It was a nice feeling, dancing. Even when she was hidden away by cloak and hood it felt freeing, like she wasn't forced to hide who she was out of fear. Better yet, it served a practical purpose as well — she knew various dances that worked well to stretch muscles prior to training or combat, which made it an indulgence she had no guilt over.

It's strange to think of how she's changed during her time in both Deerington and Havenwell. Even after the events of the First, Era would have balked at the idea of doing something merely for her own enjoyment. It's something she still struggles with, certainly, though not to the same extent as she does at home.

The Era of home had needed to be shown that dance could be a viable discipline of war before putting the whole of her efforts into studying it.

The Era of the here and now would have been willing to indulge in dance without dwelling on what advantage it could provide her.

The end result has been the same: Era is a dancer. Even stripped of the ability to channel aether with her movements, she can still dance. There is a melody in her soul and a song in her step that no god can steal from her. What she cannot articulate with her words she can articulate with her body; feelings that refuse to spill from her lips instead flow from limb with an ease and grace she carries in few other aspects of her life.

The knowledge that this love that has blossomed in her soul will wither and die without a trace the moment she returns home. The resentment that festers within her over the lack of autonomy she has. How she aches to be with her family again. How homesick she is, and how heartsick that makes her. The crushing weight of her duty.

In the relative privacy of the botanical gardens, she dances to the tempo of her heart and the rhythm of her breath, expressing what she will never dare put to words.

The Echo

{{ if you want Era to experience one (or a few!) of your character's memories just let me know and we can plot accordingly! there are two variants: 1) experiencing the memories as an outsider with a dissociated sense of what your character was feeling, or 2) experiencing the memories first-hand as your character did. }}

Wildcard

{{ feel free to create your own prompt, or mix-and-match! whatever you like! more prompts to be added later.}}

(( Things to Note:

• Respond in whichever prose format you are more comfortable with! I'll match to your choice.

• Please note if you want her Carbuncle to be around, if it isn't otherwise specified in the prompt. Hers is currently in its Ruby (Fire-aspected) form, and is very determined to protect Era from handsy priests. It doesn't like being touched by people, but is quite friendly and playful.

• Era is a 4'8" tall Auri (Raen) woman. Reference imagines/more details on her species can be found in her journal!

• She has an accent that is British with an undertone of Irish.

• Those sensitive to the element of Light will be able to notice she contains a great deal of it.

• Those sensitive to Darkness may notice a trace of it on her. She wears a pendant under her sweater that has a small fragment of a Dark presence inside of it.

• Her dream-guide (similar to a daemon from His Dark Materials) is also often curled around her neck. He is a white weasel that lets off a soft golden glow, and it's hit or miss whether he'll interact with your character or not. ))

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Most times when Era wakes it is a sudden thing; one moment she's asleep, and the next she's alert. Sometimes she will choose to linger in bed a while longer, but that difference between a dream and wakefulness is always very clear.

This time, however, consciousness returns to her slowly. It is a disorienting struggle, for she cannot recall falling asleep. Neither can she recall where she is. By all rights she should be in her room in the Pendants... Or in home she shares with... Hades?

Era groans quietly, dragging heavy hands up to press the heels of her palms to her eyes. Memories begin to roll in like a tide, slow, steady, and overwhelming.

There is a certain amount of waiting that he has done, largely in the depths of night when the priests are more absent and his own ready wakefulness becomes wearing. But there is always, on some level, a part of him watching for that blue. His nights at Rawna's temple, of late, have left him in a ready position to keep watch.

When that light returns, he goes, not knowing what it is to expect. So he appears at a safe distance and waits, until she reacts to his presence and finds herself centered again.

Her senses are still muddled — particularly the aethersense she has begun to develop in these worlds without aether, and so she does not note his presence right away. The auracite pendant that hangs between her breasts is of no help, exuding the faint aura of Hades that she has grown so accustomed to over the past month or so while on the First.

One hand slides free of her eyes to reach down and wrap itself around the crystalline shard, facets softened by the fabric of her sweater. The other soon shifts to help push her upright, painfully slow as her memories work to slot themselves into some semblance of order. There was the Ghimlyt Dark, followed soon after by Deerington, then her travels upon the First up to the slaying of Titan, and then a few more weeks in Deerington, and then this place... Then home again, to the Source and the First. The Rising Stones and Estinien. The state of Garlemald. Souls and Nu Mou and Porxies. The Chais and Eulmore. Dancing. A pair of dwarven siblings, giant machines, and an android.

Havenwell feels so different than home. Smells so different. It sounds different, too.

She feels different.

Era shivers, from the circumstance as much as the temperature. It is odd, to be able to so distinctly note how different you've become in such a short span of time. There are many feelings she has a hard time putting words to at the moment, too preoccupied by the new-old feelings that dwarf the rest — this warmth that stirs in her heart and soul at the thought of Hades. Simultaneous joy and anguish. Love, she thinks. All-encompassing; powerful.

The source of her anguish takes her longer to pinpoint, but soon enough she realizes.

She sighs, pulling on the intricate chain that hangs around her neck until the shard of auracite is free. Her shoulders sag, and she presses her forehead to the pendant, curling up around it, eyes closed as she is left with the heavy burden of knowing with utmost certainty that this blossoming love in her heart is doomed.

Heartbreak.

Edited 2019-12-20 21:42 (UTC)

At first, there is only the shifting of fabric, but once she pulls out that pendant - uncomfortable a thing as it is for him to regard at times - Hades settles to the edge of the bed, by her side.

"Weep if you must, but do not regret," he says, quiet and still. He may not know exactly what bears upon her mind, but he can guess well enough why she might pull at that particular touchstone, ever the reminder of that which cannot be changed between them.

They both knew this to be fleeting, by either of their standards.

His voice is unexpected, and she visibly startles; tail raising in sudden alarm, muscles tensing, all while all but jumping free of her earthly skin for the fright of it.

"Seven hells," Era intones, still clutching tight to the pendant she holds. Slowly, she relaxes again.

Then, as something occurs to her, she grows tense once more and asks most urgently:

"Did I miss Starlight?"

And that - once she relaxes, he is free to roll his eyes, and does so with a faintly indulgent, exasperated smile.

"You've the strangest priorities at times, dearest."

"That is not an answer, dear heart," she huffs.

The endearment had not been one she meant to say, but it is what felt right in the moment and so Era will commit to it... Still, at the reminder of her heart she can feel a throb of anguish, and for all that she keeps it carefully away from her expression there is no hiding the way it lingers in her eyes.

"...I had important plans for Starlight."

"Worry not, you've some days yet," he says. A scoot closer onto the bed, that they might lean against each other, if she desires that comfort. "Now will you tell me what weighs you so?"

She leans against him readily, happy to bask in his presence after the memory of lacking it so completely. It also helps stir her aethersense back to some semblance of function, though it will take more than a handful of minutes for it to return in its full capacity.

"...Not here, in this godsforsaken temple."

"That is rather a contradiction in terms," he points out, still seemingly amused. "But fortunately, this is no inn, and we need hardly check out with the priests."

Just try and stop him from teleporting them out of there, roboclerics, because that's exactly what he does.

The way she lifts a hand to cling to his robe as he teleports them, closing her eyes to help with the disorientation that strikes her once they're back home.

"...It has been a few months, Hades."

The place has barely changed since she was last in it; the carbuncle hair has been cleaned, leaving it somehow lonelier, but aside that, it is all the same. Hades hasn't much customized their living space in the first place.

Her words at first only bring a hum, as he settles into a seat. "...Tell me of it, then," he says, finally.

Era trails after him of course, settling into the seat alongside him, fervently ignoring the concept of 'personal space' as she remains stubbornly glued to his side.

Where to begin? So much had happened in such a relatively short period (as has always the case with her life), and she hasn't any idea where to start.

"...We have discovered a method to treat those souls so heavily touched by the Light, though it is still in its earliest stages of testing." Some of the tension eases from her as the words begin to flow out, leaving her to sink more of her weight against Hades. "I caught the eye of a Thavnairian dance troupe's principal dancer, Mistress Nashmeira, and she is now instructing me in the war dance of her ancestors."

For all that it was unexpected, there is no hiding the joy and excitement that creep into her voice. While she makes no secret of enjoying dance, it is never a subject that really comes to light, nor is it one she advertises.

"Gaius and Estinien snuck into Garlemald's capital and..." The memory of those memories tumble through her mind's eye. "...Your grandson is dead. Zenos reclaimed his body, then promptly continued the Galvus legacy of familial betrayal."

She doesn't bother to elaborate on the aftermath.

Era leaves a stretch of silence, familiar enough with Hades by now to know that he was fond of his grandson to some extent. Eventually, she speaks again:

"I returned to the Crystarium, and welcomed a newborn to the world..." Awe and wonder fill her voice. "...Are they always so small, Hades?"

He settles an arm around her as she speaks. The matter of restoring the souls tainted by Light draws his eyebrows up, in unmistakable curiosity; Era's recount of her dancing instruction brings him a smile.

A smile that is all too quick to vanish, becoming a small frown at the mention of Gaius, and then Varis... His grip over her shoulder goes slack, the arm almost sliding off. For the time being, it seems, he cannot process her last, awe-filled question, so difficult is the one that settles into his own mind.

"Ah," he whispers. "What a terribly short-lived dynasty. How embarrassing."

They are words to defend his heart, absent the sincerity of tone she has come to expect of him. Because in this moment, the place where he stands, already on the edge of being set adrift in long-held convictions, collapses under him like a cliff in an earthquake.

"...They are," he finally says. "Even Varis, large as he grew to be - I can recall so clearly, holding him."

Another child in another of his bloodstained legacies. And now there will be no more.

Era is not deaf to the shift in Hades' tone, and it fills her heart with sorrow. While she had no fondness for the man herself, nor can she comprehend the love a parent has for their offspring — for regardless of what Hades has told her, Era knows he must have experienced it before — she understands the pain of loss. So too does she understand denying oneself such emotions, to protect one's own heart and continue forward without faltering.

But this doesn't help her know how to respond here. Comfort doesn't seem fitting, she thinks, and so in the end decides not to bring attention to his emotions.

"...Did he also look like a large, malformed popoto? All ruddy and lumpy and ugly, but... So much more beautiful than anything that could grow from the earth."

Long indeed has he closed himself off. But now... What fails, should he falter here? The many burdens upon him are gone.

He withdraws, hands folding over his face. Intentionally or not, Era's wonder at new life has just brought forward more pain in the grief. For now, he does not have it in him to answer.

It is strange, that this one should cut so deeply. Perhaps it is that the Galvus line is now his last legacy; perhaps it was that Varis was the first of his descendants who knew him for what he truly was, or at least anything approaching it. (Perhaps it is regret for his own coldness towards the boy; for the fact that out of all of his children and children's children, Varis was the one most transparently and directly a tool to be used to wind the gears of progress, such as the Ascians view it.)

Emet-Selch draws a breath in and out between his hands. To another lifetime, then.

"I almost wish that I had told him the truth."

She shifts as he withdraws, allowing him as much space as she can without rising to move further away. Era gives him this space, and a few long moments. She listens to his wish, and only once his words have hung heavy between them for enough time to truly sink in does she invade his space once more.

There are no words she can offer, even if she had any skill as a wordsmith. Instead Era reaches out, fingers stroking through his hair, tucking one loose strand behind his ear. Gently, she pulls him the slightest bit closer to her, inviting him to rest against her if he would like, but not forcing it. She may be small in many ways, but her lap is warm and her chest is soft, and he hasn't any horns to make positioning difficult.

He exhales, slowly, and allows himself to be pulled into her lap, resting against her chest.

He does not weep. He might have once, but it has been a long time since he wept for anyone. Even Lahabrea's fate did not draw tears from him, for how very exhausted he has been.

"This is why I try to avoid growing attached to mortals," he finally says, quietly. His eyes remain closed. "It is unspeakably exhausting how quickly they die."

Era shifts, accommodating his change in positioning, and resumes stroking her fingers through his hair. She hums a soft, sad note of acknowledgement. To her, who sees even a decade as a vast expanse of time, it is hard to truly comprehend the fleeting nature of a mortal's lifespan though she does make an effort to try. What if she remained the same as she was, while those she loves all wither and die? An endless cycle of love and loss, turning so quickly the two blur together.

She tries to imagine losing Haurchefant again and again. One a moon. Once a sennight. Once a day.

Era exhales, shaky and slow, and resumes her task of stroking Hades' soft hair.

"...I think I've a better idea now," she murmurs. "Of just why so many tales speak of immortality as a curse."

He tilts his head slightly into her fingers, still with closed eyes.

"In Amaurot, such loss was rare," he says. "And for most, it was something that could be prepared for. There were some few occasions where an accident in creation would claim life or limb, but most of those who passed did so with knowledge of its coming, whether that was by age or by giving of themselves unto some masterwork. Such was the case with my predecessor in the Convocation - all knew of their intentions, for the planning of such a thing oft took years."

When all live for the same ages, then it is not strain. To be alone in your agelessness, or nearly alone as he is, is whence comes such deep pain. His eyes crack open, then, with the weakest of smiles.

"And I can't even claim to have penned all such tales," he says. "'Tis why I've a fondness for wandering viera - they are oft the closest of the Sundered to understand."

She always does her best to listen as best she can when others speak, yet whenever Hades speaks of Amaurot it suddenly becomes a monumental task, for no matter how painfully fascinated she is by the Old World, Era finds her thoughts drifting away to wisps of barely-remembered memories she knows aren't her own. They leave impressions in every tale Hades tells her of Amaurot, and while she thinks it should concern her...

It causes no harm. If anything, it brings Era an odd sense of comfort, not unlike the childhood she knows she had and yet cannot recall.

"I wonder if I've ever read something of yours," she muses, relaxed and content as her fingertips apply careful pressure to his scalp, his hair gliding against her skin. Era moves her tail to curl around his side as best it can in a firm, protective grip, with the tip coming to rest at the base of his sternum. It shifts back and forth slowly in an absent, rhythmic motion as she continues on.

"Most of the tales I read were of that world called Earth, where magic was most oft naught but fantasy. Those that sought immortality would perish, and those tales where they succeeded... They would find out for themselves just what a curse it truly was. I believe I read more than one story where they were described to be cursed with a 'half life'."

She bends to press a kiss to his brow, lingering with her lips against his skin.

"...We are sorry for the loneliness you've endured, Hades."

"Well, I can't say that I do not understand that," he says. "After all, all these ages I lived only through flesh not my own." The life of an Ascian is certainly one that could qualify as incomplete, in many ways; a price he pays for the wholeness of soul.

He sighs quietly and relaxes under her hands, seemingly content to remain there for some time. Even as he does, his thoughts are still playing out behind his closed eyes; the immediate emotion past, his thoughts now turn to the practical.

"Zenos has no care for the throne," he says at length. "No doubt the civil war is begun even as you heard the tale. And no doubt that means you've another war in the offing, for surely the Alliance will wish for its champion to capitalize upon the chaos."

"There was already unrest amidst the provinces. Once news of the capital reaches them I fear there will be many casualties in the ensuing chaos."

The thought causes her to tense, always concerned for those lives that may be lost. Era has little care for politics, but she loves the people deeply, no matter their creed.

"We were already at war, Hades. The Exarch all but ripped me away from the frontlines, leaving my friends to handle it on their own." She may not regret helping the First, but that doesn't mean Era isn't still disgruntled at G'raha's horrid timing. "I've little idea what will happen next. I believe Gaius would be best suited to take the throne, though I'm certain that suggestion would be met with objections."

She sighs, weary; so tired of political conflict. The First was a wonderful break from the wars of the Source, even if it did almost kill her.

"I imagine I will need to play the role of messenger until the Scions are able to return home. Alphinaud has ever been the politician of our group."

"Oh, certainly, but a war at a standstill is a different beast, as I'm sure you know. Far too much waiting for the taste of most mortals."

Terribly short lives drove them to live them as hard as possible, that they might see everything they dreamed accomplished by the end of them. Hades, as ever, remains a creature of ageless patience.

He hums. "And I'm sure the fact that Baelsar is the only candidate who might prove an obstacle to our plans has no merit in your considerations?" His tone is just a bit teasing, enough to soften the confrontation of their reality outside of this house, this world. "Your friends in Ala Mhigo will like it naught; they recall his hand on the whip all too well. The other legatii are like to see him as a failure if not a traitor, and so unworthy of the throne by the proclamations of his own ideals of strength. And the Alliance, even should you convince them, dare not support him too eagerly or obviously."

At a remove now, where it is no longer his personal project and tool, Hades can enjoy the possibilities presented by Garlemald's succession war in a way that Era cannot. The smile of faint amusement down not leave his face.

"On the other hand... He is likely one of the few who might be able to take the throne and hold it, not by force of arms, but by his intelligence. And he has the will; a true believer in the fate of his nation. If one's goal is stability for the Empire, then there are far worse choices. However, he will not be wont to cede land to the Alliance, and shall prove a difficult opponent if the war continues."

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Open Catch-All Post

closed to Emet-Selch

been trying to tag this for three days like an asshole

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5.1 spoilers

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GO TO SLEEP