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    Beasts of Beyond Other Archived Roleplay The Typhoon saving your troubles for the day ❍ soup ?

    saving your troubles for the day ❍ soup ?
    Grimm
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      rhett bett
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      cheyne.
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      harland m.
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      kasper.
    #1
    04-29-2021, 07:17 AM
    [align=center][div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; max-width: 65%; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]You do not belong.

    Dry against tongue held treat, slight pressure enough, overworked the fragments that fell away. Too much, overdone in a time long past, repetitive motion enacted not out of desire, more natural, the gentle ghost of memory playing against muscle. Speckled with fallen crumbs the book before, opened on an unknown page. Little the importance of which, ivory adorned not with words but shifting shapes, apart breaking and rejoining, meaning taken. Thickly he swallowed, jagged edges scraping, scouring flesh, untouched yet it ached as though asunder torn.

    Dull the closure, a flutter of pages and the heavy settling of leather bound cover. Breath accompanied closure, tight lids sealing aching golden depths, paws rising, harsh the rub. Distant a notion sleep, abandoned in the same moment it is addressed, too long squandered in this bed. Chorus of groans it gives as he shifts, blankets away fallen, cool wood swaying. No, that is wrong. Still the ground beneath, paw and subsequent limb beset by tremor, exasperated as it is joined. The moments pass, slow and thick, akin to syrup as each sip of stale air bypasses his teeth.

    Against sliding, no true step but momentum all the same, next following. Enough to begin, confidence guiding rise, still minute the distance, better simply for having been capable. Sustained this slow method, interspersed between the drag a step here and there, the build frustratingly sluggish, finally culminating in small steps for each. Of course, different the story as stairs were caught in his vision, inspected with distaste. He must handle them, rich the ripe desire to be rid of this place, claustrophobic grown the wooden walls pressing in on him.

    Desire may only assist so far, almost beyond him a task once deemed trivial, rough each breath as landing was reached. Back ears pressed, frantic the sweep, space inspected. None present, too late the hour, or maybe early for rosen the various windows that allowed strengthening illumination through. Relief a temporary balm, thoughts turning elsewhere. Meagre that eaten in the past days, even further between the instances any fluid had been ingested, tongue flicking forth, the realisation of how dry his lips were bringing forth a wince. Understood that the space behind the bar was not often occupied by any besides the small rotation of bartenders, their lack of presence quelling any notion of heeding such. He would be quick, and understood that cleaning up after himself was polite, they'd surely not mind.

    That thought led to a scenerio Harland misjudged. Simple thought the reheating of a small pot of soup, issue identified in his lack of knowledge or experience handing any equipment of a kitchen. Thick the smoke that hung in the air of kitchen and tavern beyond, rough each cough, muffled around handle. Harsh the manner door was pushed open, rebounding off exterior wall, time enough thrown out a pot that spilled a thick sludge heavily blackened with charred hunks across the cobbles. After he followed, eyes watering, struggling to breath.
    VAYNE CIPHER-VANTAS.
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      VIGENERE CIPHER.
    #2
    04-29-2021, 11:58 AM
    [glow=white,1,400]LIKE WE FORGET WHO WE CAN TRUST ! — 。+゚.[/glow]
    Smoke. Smoke was bad. A bad sign, one that made Vayne alerted to the Tavern pretty quickly, wondering what was going on and if she needed to rescue someone. But no one was panicking, at least from what she could tell, and she couldn't hear the crackle of fire. So what was smoking...?

    Harland soon came tumbling out of a room in the Tavern, the smoke following his body and him coughing. "Shit, Harland, are you okay?" Vayne asked as she rushed over to him, wrinkling her nose at the sharp smell of smoke and something being burnt. Whatever Harland was trying to make in there, it was certainly ruined, to say the least.[glow=COLOR,1,400] ━ ✧*:・゚[/glow]
    YOU PULL THE STRINGS AND I OBEY !
    bio ★ female ★ privateer [hp] of the typhoon ★ tags
    michael t.
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    #3
    04-29-2021, 11:24 PM
    ALL I FOUND THE SPACE BETWEEN THE SPACES
    STANDING IN THE NOTHING, AND TIME RECLAIMS YOU
    Michael had been rather quiet, as of late. That statement alone was quite the surprising one, given the dealer's history. Usually he was out and about, extroverted and charismatic as ever, even if it was in a rat sort of way. These past few weeks hadn't been the same, however. Not because the bobcat had lapsed into his old depressive states – although that had indeed been a worry once or twice – but merely because there wasn't much going on. There was no reason for him to go bolting from place to place, when he could enjoy some quiet time inside his home, caring for Franklin and cleaning up.

    It had been a while since he had laid his paws on anything within his family's large hut, far too afraid of finding something else that brought back a rush of memories. Something else that would leave him in a heap on the floor, desperately missing Trevor and all that he had lost. Enough time had passed, though, that he felt confident he could manage. So, with Franklin by his side and a steady supply of music and stories in the background, Michael had finally managed to clean up his home. Indeed, it had been like a sort of miniature vacation.

    It was time for him to once again venture out into the land of the living, however. He had duties to take care of, and honestly he was missing the company of anyone besides himself and Franklin. Roxanne, Diya, Vayne, hell, even that Danny kid... he missed them all. There was one face in particular that he was eager to see again, however – Harland. His relationship with the other feline very much still remained in the "undefined" category, but that was fine with him. As long as he got to enjoy the other's company and spend time with him, he found that he was happy, and content. He had honestly been a little surprised that Harland hadn't come to visit him during his impromptu sabbatical within his home. He knew the other didn't like intruding, but he had also figured that the smaller feline enjoyed his company in the same way that Michael did his. Of course, the bobcat had little idea of the issues that Harland was facing. He didn't know about the hardships that Har was trying to navigate, and the way that his body felt as though it was fighting against him.

    What the dealer certainly hadn't been expecting was to find Harland at the tavern before anywhere else. He had known the other male to avoid the building like a plague, not exactly appreciating the torrent of noise that it usually represented. Still, Michael supposed it made a bit of sense, considering it was still fairly early on, and there was no one else there for their usual drinks just yet. Instead, there was just Harland – looking rather defeated, and coughing harshly. Michael's ears were pinned back as he approached, quick to rush over after Vayne. He carefully avoided the charred concoction that had been thrown onto the ground, his focus solely on Harland as he questioned, "Har? The hell were you doing in there? You should've asked somebody for help!" His tone wasn't really an admonishing one, however. Instead, he merely seemed worried. Shifting a little bit on the spot, the dealer spoke up once more, his mismatched blue gaze darting between Harland and Vayne, "Do you think I should go grab Roan? I don't know how much smoke he inhaled..." The soothsayer would know what to do, surely.
    — Reggan
    A BROKEN MIRROR ONLY SHOWS AS BEST IT CAN, R U N N I N G IN SHOES THAT SHINE WITH BLOOD THAT ISN'T M I N E
    ➾ TAGS ➾ TYPHOON ➾ COYOTE  ➾ DEALER
    — Reggan
    Keona.
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      tove.
    #4
    04-30-2021, 01:49 AM
    [table][tr][td]
    keona sibéal ní faoláin.
    the typhoon.
    the blind dealer.
    information.
    [/td][td]
    [div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #2a4971; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 13px;"]Idir brí is idir muir, Tá mé i dtiúin
    Walking down from the Sky Parlor to inhale smoke was... Unusual.  The weight of the air foreign and heavy to the wolf.  Sightless hues sharpening in alarm.  Trotting down the rest of the steps and out the door, ears perked as she caught the sound of concerned voices.

    The dealer coughed softly and turned, unable to gauge health aside from the sound of Harland's own coughing.  Was anyone burnt?  Something smelled burned but... It wasn't flesh, she didn't think.  Thank the seas.  She took a deeper breath, and did her best to begin moving the air.  Less familiar with this connection than to the water.  Attempting to pull the smoke towards her and push it away, upwards to dissipate.

    A faint headache pressed against her skull.  Reminder that she really should practice more but... Well.  She'd give it some time later, intent towards the sound of Harland's rough breath.  "It should be clearer now, breathe slowly."
    [/td][/tr][/table]
    © MADI
    [Image: lZWb1ER.png]
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