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Entry tags:
- !event,
- arcane: silco,
- arknights: gavial,
- black butler: sebastian michaelis,
- culture (the): demeisen,
- divinity original sin: fane,
- enderal: jade the prophetess,
- expanse (the): amos burton,
- fate grand order: tezcatlipoca,
- fate/: rin tohsaka,
- fate/: sakamoto ryouma,
- fire emblem: shez,
- fire emblem: yuri leclerc,
- forgotten realms: raphael,
- howl's moving castle: howl,
- jinba: hayame,
- legend of zelda (the): link,
- life is strange: chloe price,
- oc: liem talbott,
- oc: matt jamison,
- pumpkin scissors: alice l. malvin,
- suikoden: yuber,
- terra e: tony asuka,
- tsubasa reservoir chronicle: subaru
THE ADVOCATE ORACLE - A RIP VAN WINKLE IN TIME
Sweet dreams are made of Bliss
As the twilight falls, and bearers begin to tuck in for their evenings on the night of the 15th of March (OOC time) and whether they tuck themselves into bed fully, or simply drift away in the middle of their dinner, work, indulgences, or what have you; bearers will fall into a deep, deep sleep. Perhaps you slump in your chair, or you wrap your arms around a teddy bear, or partner, or cup a precious shard in your sleep, it doesn’t matter, because as you drift away, into a sleep that seems to tug you under like the undertow itself, a question will echo in bearer’s minds: “If given the choice, would you show compassion in the face of adversity?”
It sticks with you, even as you fall into a dreamless sleep. As if it rotates in your mind, over and over, letting you worm over that. You know for certain what it is, that it is the calming, soothing voice of the Oracle, reaching out to you across the ether, telling you – promise you – that if you accept its promise, you will find that the Oracle could be in your hands. That thought leads you to dream of something else – of home, or your loved ones – of what you are fighting this war for. Even as you dream, you feel a presence next to you, and unlike the Harbinger’s winding, rough digging, this is more akin to a friend, who is asking you soft, coaxing questions. Things like: what was your childhood like? What were your friends like? What did you do? You cannot help but think of them, think of your home and your loved ones. Of where you came from, and how it made you what you are.
The advocate seeks to understand you, and where you come from. You can feel it, that overwhelming Acceptance and love from it, even as you reminisce, compelled to answer the multitude of questions, you can feel something building behind you, around you. “Don’t you want them all to understand this?” the impression is given through communion, and you cannot help but answer: yes.
It sticks with you, even as you fall into a dreamless sleep. As if it rotates in your mind, over and over, letting you worm over that. You know for certain what it is, that it is the calming, soothing voice of the Oracle, reaching out to you across the ether, telling you – promise you – that if you accept its promise, you will find that the Oracle could be in your hands. That thought leads you to dream of something else – of home, or your loved ones – of what you are fighting this war for. Even as you dream, you feel a presence next to you, and unlike the Harbinger’s winding, rough digging, this is more akin to a friend, who is asking you soft, coaxing questions. Things like: what was your childhood like? What were your friends like? What did you do? You cannot help but think of them, think of your home and your loved ones. Of where you came from, and how it made you what you are.
The advocate seeks to understand you, and where you come from. You can feel it, that overwhelming Acceptance and love from it, even as you reminisce, compelled to answer the multitude of questions, you can feel something building behind you, around you. “Don’t you want them all to understand this?” the impression is given through communion, and you cannot help but answer: yes.
Click your Heels together, Dorothy!
As you awake for the first time, it’s alien, the world that meets you. New smells fill your nostrils, new sights, the gravity is perhaps different than you’ve gotten used to on Kenos, even those slight shifts enough to make the world feel wholly different. You remember the advocate’s words, and it wants you to feel what it feels. Understanding. Compassion, and perhaps there is a sense that doing so would hurt yourself in turn, if you understood too much. That is the advocate’s way, after all, isn’t it?
You feel an inexorable, slight tug in your chest. Something subtle and gentle, the slightest of sensations, that gives you a direction. You know it, your mind only just now comprehending the advocate’s confusing impressions via communion, that there is something of this world’s… Soul/center/heart or whatever word you want to use for it. Something about this world that will help you along your path, and help you with the results you so desire. You know it will not guarantee a victory, but surely it will help. Especially as your numbers dwindle from world to world. You are left with an impression from the Advocate -- if you die, they cannot bring you back. There is apology in this, but alone, one oracle is limited. Only united, can they truly change your fate.
The lingering presence of the advocate starts to fade. You know this is a bearer’s world, if not your own. You look around, to see perhaps a familiar face nearby? Or perhaps you are alone. Does it matter? You know that this place belongs to a bearer, but whether they are a friend or an enemy, one has to begin to determine that. You’ll need your wits, you’ll need your strength and resolve to make it to the end of this, won’t you?
After all, as bearers were recently reminded: this is War. This is not simply the fate of this world, but perhaps all, as it will require you to find the answer to this question. So you start to move, you start to look around, explore, and search. For the soul of each world, for the bearers that lie dreaming within, and your foes that will seek you out. Stay steadfast, for the way out will come, if you make it to the end. The longer you spend in each world, however, the more the shadows look darker, and deeper. Hungrier. The more the spaces seem smaller or compressed. As if there is something gnawing away at the sides, making their way to the heart.
You feel an inexorable, slight tug in your chest. Something subtle and gentle, the slightest of sensations, that gives you a direction. You know it, your mind only just now comprehending the advocate’s confusing impressions via communion, that there is something of this world’s… Soul/center/heart or whatever word you want to use for it. Something about this world that will help you along your path, and help you with the results you so desire. You know it will not guarantee a victory, but surely it will help. Especially as your numbers dwindle from world to world. You are left with an impression from the Advocate -- if you die, they cannot bring you back. There is apology in this, but alone, one oracle is limited. Only united, can they truly change your fate.
The lingering presence of the advocate starts to fade. You know this is a bearer’s world, if not your own. You look around, to see perhaps a familiar face nearby? Or perhaps you are alone. Does it matter? You know that this place belongs to a bearer, but whether they are a friend or an enemy, one has to begin to determine that. You’ll need your wits, you’ll need your strength and resolve to make it to the end of this, won’t you?
After all, as bearers were recently reminded: this is War. This is not simply the fate of this world, but perhaps all, as it will require you to find the answer to this question. So you start to move, you start to look around, explore, and search. For the soul of each world, for the bearers that lie dreaming within, and your foes that will seek you out. Stay steadfast, for the way out will come, if you make it to the end. The longer you spend in each world, however, the more the shadows look darker, and deeper. Hungrier. The more the spaces seem smaller or compressed. As if there is something gnawing away at the sides, making their way to the heart.
Around the world in 60 seconds 12 hours
When you find yourself at the end, when you close your eyes – only a blink, but it hangs, as if the momentary motion is enough to suspend you into a suspended space before. You can see the two options stretched out before you – metaphysically – the impression of it. A long, long shadow cast over one. As if there is a presence hovering over and above, like waiting jaws, ready to strike. In the other, there remains…nothing. It is not pleasant, it is not comforting, it simply… is. A sense that there is now a lack of anything, almost like it had never existed before.
Does this world have value? You can feel the Advocate ask. Do you want to give them a chance to live? Or does should this world cease, is there nothing here to save?
And though you are compelled, required to answer, you know this question for what it is. Short-sighted. Both, in the end, will lead to its destruction, but which will you choose? Will you allow the world to continue, even with that long shadow cast, like a hungry beast with snapping jaws; or will you erase it from existence and spare it that oncoming apocalypse?
Does this world have value? You can feel the Advocate ask. Do you want to give them a chance to live? Or does should this world cease, is there nothing here to save?
And though you are compelled, required to answer, you know this question for what it is. Short-sighted. Both, in the end, will lead to its destruction, but which will you choose? Will you allow the world to continue, even with that long shadow cast, like a hungry beast with snapping jaws; or will you erase it from existence and spare it that oncoming apocalypse?
Catch [???] Winks
The last world’s fate decided, bearers float in an endless sea of stars. You can see them all, spread before you. Intermittently, they wink out, swallowed into the darkness, consumed as the shadows, that inky-black nothingness grows ever-larger. It looks upon you, bearers. It is nothing, but you have its attention, and your blood runs cold, your limbs frozen. You cannot move, you cannot speak, you cannot breathe. You feel it, the power of being drawn into it, like it wants to consume you. Like it knows you.
T̸̢̼̯͓̬̘́̀̋̆͊h̷͔̣̱̝͍̬̣͕̄̂͗̆͒͌͜ͅẹ̶̱̩̅͒̿̇͠ ̵̭̹͇͖̔̀ṃ̸̢̧͙̟̼̜͌͆̍͝͝ͅo̴̟̞̓̆̇̐̆͊̽͆̂̀r̶͈̺̮̠͙̗͌ę̸̤̻̈́͐͂̓̊͐̂͆ ̵̡̛͎̩̳̤͔͚̱̼̆̒̓y̴̺̞̹̺̝̤͂ǫ̷̡̣̱̥͊̈́̓͑̕͘ű̵̼͜͜ ̶̨̨̝̟̘̱͇̲̻̪̊͂̽̈̒͊f̴̱̐͌̌̓̋̔́̀͝i̶͖̤͎̬̝̦͒̂g̸̳̰̟̀̓̽̈́̐h̸̼͍̮͎̊̅͗͊̈͋̽̀͘t̴͔͚́̓,̷̨̧̱̠̙̠̙̱̒̍̽̾ ̷̖̰̼̬̟͐̊̂t̶̖̄͂̅̃̍͐̊̑̅͜͝h̴̢̛͙̪̞̫̝̺̋̅̿͛̇̚͝͝ͅͅȩ̶͉̤͍̠́̈͑̏͋̚͘͝ ̸̢̨̧͚̖̤̪̬̪̀̉̐͗̂͆͑̚̕̚c̴̠̩̳͎̲̪͔̟̈́͂̉͑́l̶̡̲̻̣̘̏́ͅo̶̢̧͔͈̬̳̰͈̝̻͌̋̆̃͒͗̏͘ş̴̪̺̣̥̎̽̿͗̒́͛̕̚̚e̴̺͍̤͖͂̇͑͂̋͂̆̾r̴̨̩̈́͋͠ ̷̧͚̲̩̖̋͒̉́͗y̶̘̖̝̑̈͊ǒ̵͚̽u̵͎͍̇̀̏̊̕͝ŕ̷͎̜̘͙̀̋ ̶͇̲̝̞̖̝̣̘̝̬͋d̷͔͈͔̀̿õ̴̝̯͇̹̘̏͗͜ö̵͚͓͆m̵͉̦̫̥̦̞̫͐̆͐̿͊͒͌͋͜.̷̼͈̻̥̜̾̏͐̾̐͆͘͜
You gasp, as you startle awake, and open your eyes for the first time in a long time.
T̸̢̼̯͓̬̘́̀̋̆͊h̷͔̣̱̝͍̬̣͕̄̂͗̆͒͌͜ͅẹ̶̱̩̅͒̿̇͠ ̵̭̹͇͖̔̀ṃ̸̢̧͙̟̼̜͌͆̍͝͝ͅo̴̟̞̓̆̇̐̆͊̽͆̂̀r̶͈̺̮̠͙̗͌ę̸̤̻̈́͐͂̓̊͐̂͆ ̵̡̛͎̩̳̤͔͚̱̼̆̒̓y̴̺̞̹̺̝̤͂ǫ̷̡̣̱̥͊̈́̓͑̕͘ű̵̼͜͜ ̶̨̨̝̟̘̱͇̲̻̪̊͂̽̈̒͊f̴̱̐͌̌̓̋̔́̀͝i̶͖̤͎̬̝̦͒̂g̸̳̰̟̀̓̽̈́̐h̸̼͍̮͎̊̅͗͊̈͋̽̀͘t̴͔͚́̓,̷̨̧̱̠̙̠̙̱̒̍̽̾ ̷̖̰̼̬̟͐̊̂t̶̖̄͂̅̃̍͐̊̑̅͜͝h̴̢̛͙̪̞̫̝̺̋̅̿͛̇̚͝͝ͅͅȩ̶͉̤͍̠́̈͑̏͋̚͘͝ ̸̢̨̧͚̖̤̪̬̪̀̉̐͗̂͆͑̚̕̚c̴̠̩̳͎̲̪͔̟̈́͂̉͑́l̶̡̲̻̣̘̏́ͅo̶̢̧͔͈̬̳̰͈̝̻͌̋̆̃͒͗̏͘ş̴̪̺̣̥̎̽̿͗̒́͛̕̚̚e̴̺͍̤͖͂̇͑͂̋͂̆̾r̴̨̩̈́͋͠ ̷̧͚̲̩̖̋͒̉́͗y̶̘̖̝̑̈͊ǒ̵͚̽u̵͎͍̇̀̏̊̕͝ŕ̷͎̜̘͙̀̋ ̶͇̲̝̞̖̝̣̘̝̬͋d̷͔͈͔̀̿õ̴̝̯͇̹̘̏͗͜ö̵͚͓͆m̵͉̦̫̥̦̞̫͐̆͐̿͊͒͌͋͜.̷̼͈̻̥̜̾̏͐̾̐͆͘͜
You gasp, as you startle awake, and open your eyes for the first time in a long time.
no subject
Except he just grabs her waist. The moment of confusion when she feels him start to lift turns to panicked fluster, concerned that he was about to hurt himself straining to lift her, she weighed half a ton— !
… Except she doesn’t, and the sun-dappled courtyard becomes a whirl of colors, or maybe that’s her clothing, and though she had stiffened up in consternation, gripping at his arms, it all comes back in a sudden set upon the fountain rim… and yes, it seems to have been a good idea to hold on to her waist, because she decidedly puts her weight too far back, used to having a heavier, longer lower body, and still defaulting to those motions when in new situations. Like being twirled.
She definitely would have ended up in the fountain.]
Adorable is not-
[Just because she is shorter than him now? She was a perfectly average height for a human woman (of her world and time)! But she bites her lip, face red, looking down at his face. … The looking down felt familiar, but.]
Cetina gave it to me so that I could be of more use to Meridian… The goal is to be more… I could step into Kowloon, now, or Highstorm, and we could… I could be more… compatible…
[Is that the right word? It doesn’t feel right, none of them do. … It isn’t as if she is dissatisfied with how they fit together naturally, she doesn’t want him to think that she is after she has assured him that she wanted him as he was, after they’d proven to each other their willingness to do what needed to be done to overcome certain differences… and it begins to show on her face that she might regret trying to phrase it at all, that feeling of wanting to do things with him that she could not in her natural form, even at the risk and nagging fear that it might awaken some new insecurity. Her fingers dig in to his arms, tight, to make sure he wouldn’t let go. And not for balance.]
Y- you can spin me again, if you like. I am ready this time…
[If he wanted to… ignore that, he could just. Just spin her, and pretend she hadn’t said anything at all. Maybe that was best, she was messing it up—]
no subject
He picks her up again, but doesn't twirl her, hooking his arms under her legs to bring their faces close.]
You were already perfect as you are, you know. Changing for a mission is one thing, but don't ever feel like you have to do it for me.
[Unless she wanted to, of course, but listing it in the same breath as her mission objectives makes it sound an awful lot like another obligation.]
no subject
She grips his arms at first, instinctively afraid she was going to crush him until she remembers again that... she is barely eight or nine stones heavy now, and he is holding her up so easily that it's strange, it's so weird, but-
Her hands clasp his face, her own expression muddled with insecurity. But not in him. In her, and her ability to express herself, to use words even though she always felt her skills lacking. But even if its hard... She's been honest with him before. She can be honest now.]
I didn't feel like I had to do it for you.
[... Simple. Clear. (It was clear, right? As clear as how much she wanted to kiss him because they were so close and she had a bad habit now of using kisses to stall or distract him when she felt like she didn't know what to say.)]
But I... if I had to get used to this weird body so that I would be convincing during missions...
[Sorry, humans. Weird... because it wasn't her natural body, and there weren't enough organs, and her senses felt all dull, not... because humans were weird- !]
Then I want... I want to do human things with you, too. Things we can't normally do.
[She only has one eye that she is willing to let anyone see (or let anyone else be seen by), but that one... is soft with a desire not to hurt. To be understood, despite her fumbles. To make this strange thing into something that instead... could be made good if they did it together.]
no subject
All right. When we're done here-- [He stops, thinks to correct himself.] When we win the Oracle, we can do anything you want. Weird or not, I think you'll like it.
[If only they had all the time in the world to enjoy the palace together. But perhaps, someday... For now he sets her back down on her feet, brushes aside a few strands of her hair to presses a kiss to her forehead, a much easier task now that she's smaller than him.]
And I'm sorry for doubting you. I know you always make your own choices, so I shouldn't forget that.
no subject
Well, like she still very confused by having to look up at him, but.]
... We have half a day in these... whatever these are.
[Whether they were just visions, hallucinations, madness... they seemed real enough. They felt real, and smelled real, and looked real...]
So if we find the shards quickly...
[They would have the rest of the time for... for anything they wanted to do. He could show her everything he loved about Almyra, the desert, the people, the food... and her face heats just a bit more as his lips press to her forehead. (Why always--) But she nods, when he apologizes. Now that she could make her own choices... Even if it was hard, and even if it sometimes left her in knots, unused to doing anything but serving...
She had chosen this. Just like she chooses to tentatively wrap her arms around his neck from that unfamiliar position, physically discombobulated by how she needs to lean up to do it.]
... I told you I would fly on Naira with you, didn't I? If I ever had two legs.
[And sure, when she'd said that... It was the equivalent of a human saying "when pigs fly", she had never actually thought it would come to pass, but... It had, and she was a woman of her word. One who chooses then to tug with embarrassed insistence so that he would lean down far enough for her to kiss him.]
no subject
Of course, she's only off the hook temporarily, and once they part comes the inevitable teasing.]
--And here I was hoping to surprise you by suggesting it later, but I guess you've been thinking about it this whole time. Naira will be happy to hear it.
[Or confused as to why Hayame is suddenly a different shape, but as long as she gets treats and attention out of it, she won't mind the new passenger, he suspects.]
Then I guess we should get moving, right? We have a lot of ground to cover.
no subject
But his kiss feels the same. Warm. Familiar. A little playful, in how she just knows that he is going to tease her because she can feel the corners of his mouth curling upwards against hers. Even though she wants to believe that the last trial being broadcast was the work of the Harbinger Oracle's nature and not something that would repeat itself, that surely she could expect privacy and did not need to worry for being seen... even if it wasn't...
So be it. She kisses him anyway. And just as predictably... she blushes deeper when he speaks, (she wasn't thinking about it the whole time!!!), muttering her paltry reply of,]
Just because I remember the promises I make...
[But he's right. They have a lot of ground to cover. There are other wings of the palace, so many rooms, following the vague sense of growing warmer and warmer as they seek out the shard of his world to keep it safe from harm throughout the trial. Along the way, Hayame admits that Yuri and Liem had helped her practice things as she demonstrates her acquired skill in walking. She grumbles about how soft and weak the bottoms of human feet are. He mentions his family, and she... she thinks of how she will attempt to excuse herself after the necessary bows and names. (She doesn't... she doesn't know to meet someone's parents, how to be a woman introduced to parents, even false visions of them.) It's good they have the shard to focus on--
And then they find it. It's safe, there is relief-
Oh. Except now... now she has to fulfill that promise about flying. Which is how they end up in a stable full of mounts, both wyverns and...]
- What are those things, anyway?
[The weird... lanky horses with sheep faces and hunchbacks?]
no subject
So he takes her to the palace stables, where there are wyverns, horses (bearded and long-eared, much like their Fódlan counterparts, albeit with finer coats), and... yes, the even weirder, hunched horses. He walks over to one munching hay, and as he reaches to pat it on the neck, it swings its head to look at them both and lets out a grunt of acknowledgement.]
This is a camel. Pretty cute, right?
[He's already sure Hayame doesn't think so, but he gestures for her to come over and say hello anyway -- weird as it looks, like the wyverns, it's fully domesticated.]
If you need a pack animal for a long journey through the desert, these guys are your best friend.
no subject
But it does spare them from the potential scandal of King Khalid's new something? punching a prince in the face. So. There's that. (But she is... sad. For him. That he could not see his parents, or the general who he seemed to respect so much.)
Within the stables, the horses ("horses") she recognized from Byleth's world brought to temporary life in that strange domed building, but these... "Camels"...]
I do not know about... "cute"...
[She sidles up to the creature with the same general distaste that seems to be her general reaction to most horse-like animals, the result of a life being compared to horses and desperate to separate herself both mentally and physically distant from beasts. Pack animals sounds useful, sure, they were required... but she hesitates halfway to reaching out to touch the thing. What if they bite? Also, what's with-]
Are you bewitched by it because it has thick lashes?
[- Seriously, why were they so thick and full, like those women who wore makeup on their eyes???]
no subject
[He laughs out loud, and looks at the camel, who dips its head to mouth at Hayame's hand curiously, mistaking her hesitation for a treat offering. He'd always taken how they look for granted, but now that she points it out...]
You have a point that they're long, actually. I guess it's good for keeping sand out -- that stuff's a nightmare if you get it in your eyes.
[She might have experienced that herself firsthand at the beach, come to think of it, though even then that's a far cry from the difficulties of being struck by a sandstorm.]
1/2
And so... Hayame smiles. Just a tiny bit, a little twitch upwards in the corner of her lips that came with a single "hmm" in an upward tone that was... the first sound of a potential laugh.]
You are the one who called them cute when they look like the spawn of a goat and a...
[A... crap, this isn't going to work, medieval Japan has so few large mammals.]
Something.
[Amused by her own joke, she lets out another muffled little half-laugh, reaching to finally force herself to try and touch the thing-]
no subject
Except she doesn't.
Which means she is rather unprepared for a camel to suddenly spit in her face.]
no subject
Whoa there! [He speaks to the camel, patting its neck to try to placate it.] Sorry she spooked you, but that's not how we treat a guest.
[So he says, but he's trying his best not to look at Hayame and laugh. Maybe he should have warned her about that part...]
no subject
Gods, what did camels eat for this to smell this foul- ?!]
Khalid…
[It’s barely discernible, because she does not want to risk opening her mouth! Or her eyes! This is not happening… it’s definitely not happening…]
Which… of these garments can I use as a rag… ?
[She doesn’t want to use some sort of special sacred scarf to wipe spit but also please get it off???]