【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system. We have arranged for a selection of basement suites to temporarily house new arrivals until reservations have been processed. We hope you'll join us in giving our new guests a warm and loving welcome.
We have an exciting announcement! The house will be hosting a carnival for all guests to celebrate the Golden Peacock's birthday. Please look forward to food, games, and attractions in the Cloud-Dwelling Garden. The carnival will be available for guests to enjoy for seven days. Happy birthday week, Golden Peacock*!
We hope you are as thrilled as we are! And, as always, we hope you enjoy your stay.
*Please note that this is an arbitrarily chosen date for the Golden Peacock's birthday, which is unknown. 】
▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon and this TDM acts as the game's July event. The carnival will run July 15th - July 22nd.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header. We also have a summer ATP / EMP where players can connect. Please feel free to utilize this for all of your peafowl needs!
▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort!
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate.
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
[There it is. There's the side of Estinien he's been baiting this whole time, the decisive man of action unfettered by common restraint. Mayhaps the tea does spill; it ceases to matter when Estinien's hands finally reach back for what it's clear the dragoon wants, and that flash of teeth leaves Thancred wearing an irrepressible smile.]
Indulge it, then?
[Gods, he's tall. Thancred's never one to think of himself as particularly short, per se, but there's something oddly satisfying about the way Estinien towers over him, forced to bend to tuck in where he wants. It's a pleasant complement to the way he's briskly pinned to the wall — it's rare to find a man strong enough to push him around, but Estinien is certainly one of the exceptional ones — the grasping hands and pointed teeth doing lovely things toward making him feel delightfully wanted.]
Needn't overthink it, 'stinien. I'm willing. Do whatever makes it abate.
[Close, he'd said. Well, he can think of one way to signal his openness to the idea, at least — by getting a leg up and hooking it around the back of one of Estinien's thighs, using the pressure of its press as a way of making even more room for the other man to take up his space.]
[The lazy shortening of his name makes him pause, lifting his head just a fraction, newly suspicious that he's not the only one who's carelessly fallen into some drunken trap—
—but then Thancred's leg is pressing against the back of his thigh, a brazen invitation, and it doesn't matter.
They are not, he tells himself harshly, going to give in to this magic here, now, without a shred of will involved. That isn't what the pull of the formless need in his chest seems to want, anyway: not a hasty fuck in an alley, not even Thancred's hand on his cock.
Arguably, what it seems to want is worse.
He leans back, grudgingly meeting Thancred's eyes.]
Have they given you a room? Mine is...far.
[In the lowest possible level, to the best of his knowledge, and that's too many damned stairs in this state.]
Nothing permanent of yet. The onsen has rooms, however. Not so very different in style from the Bokairo, as a matter of fact — which you're familiar with, as I recall.
[Because yes, he'd heard of how Krile and Tataru had chased him down while the rest of them were indisposed on the First. It's a nice choice, Kugane. He can't fault Estinien for it.]
A better question is, how do we intend to get there. I doubt you're like to let go of me long enough to walk.
[But he knows where it is, and knows it'll be faster by far than the long stairwell down to the very lowest floors.
It only takes him a moment to decide before he's shoving himself back, despite the way his entire body complains, and wrapping his fingers around Thancred's wrist.]
Say naught of this. I'll— explain when we get there.
[He starts to march away, pulling Thancred along with him at a frankly unfair pace, just for the chance to look straight ahead. He'd prefer to explain never, but once Thancred learns what he wants, there's not much chance he'll accept it without a single question.]
[Thancred is, after all, a man who knows how to choose his moments opportunely, and this is clearly not one where continuing to flatter or fawn over Estinien is like to bear out any particular fruit. It's oddly charming, anyway, the way that Estinien keeps hold of his wrist — as though he can't bear to break contact entirely, willing to embrace the indignity of looking like a haughty schoolgirl for the sake of keeping that desire sated.
Truth be told, he's not the only one mourning the loss of it. Even though he doesn't seem to be possessed with quite the feverish inclinations that Estinien is, 'twas still awfully nice to be properly backed up and penned in and nibbled at by someone with a proper enthusiasm about the whole business.]
Gods, what is this, a military deployment? At least let me run if you're that inclined toward haste —
[It's an empty complaint, more a token protest than anything else; he's keeping up just fine, and offers it largely to afford Estinien the impression of a sliver of control over their hasty exit. Upon their arrival, however, he moves quickly to do the talking in securing them a room, which turns out to be rather pretty, actually: a bath crafted to look like the natural rocks of a hot spring, pink flowers, and plenty of soft cushions strewn about on the treated wooden floors.]
[This is the worst thing that's happened in this accursed place yet, and now that they're alone, there's nothing left to do but confront it. Estinien doesn't turn to look at him, surveying the room like he's evaluating its worth for his purposes— and starts to wrench his silly inside-out diaphanous robe off without ceremony.]
Take your clothes off.
[Explain, he said. Estinien grits his teeth, hands pausing with the absurd pink fabric hanging around his elbows.]
It...has to do with bare skin. Whatever it is, it seems to subside for naught else.
[Later, Thancred will reassure himself that no one could have rightly anticipated the sort of effect that a demand like that, matter-of-fact and no-nonsense, might have on him. Seven hells. There must be scads of women and men alike who'd salivate themselves soaking over the prospect of hearing the Azure Dragoon insisting that they divest themselves of their garb. So what if he himself isn't quite immune? It's something in the voice, deep and throaty and gruff. No one orders him like that. Small wonder it might make his toes curl.
Not that he's like to show it, of course. He did insist that he's the best-suited to handle this sort of matter, and he stands by it. If skin contact is what Estinien craves, then so be it.]
Well, that explains why you were so reluctant about the alley.
[A covert dalliance is one thing, but if Estinien's obsession requires being full bare? Yes, the onsen is a much better choice.
Obligingly, he starts to remove his own robe and shorts; when he speaks, the tone he chooses is softer than his usual, patient without being coddling.]
This will go easier if you trust me. 'Tis just antidote to a poison, Estinien. An affliction and a remedy. I know this isn't you.
[Estinien freezes with his back to him, muscles visibly tensing as if to defend himself.
It's too close an observation; too knowing. He means to say something terse in answer, something like if I didn't trust you we wouldn't be here, but his breath is frozen, too, and his throat refuses to work.
He should've told Thancred to keep saying nothing.
Finally, he forces past his gritted teeth:]
'Twould be better if it were.
[—and resumes disrobing in jerky perfunctory motions, without charm or shyness.
He's slower than Thancred for the pause, and when he finally kicks the heap of his clothes away, he doesn't turn immediately, balling and flexing his hands.]
[Gods, but Estinien is a sight when viewed in the bare and from the back. Not that it's really the proper time or place to be ogling, of course, but — hells. Years of dragoon's training have done incredible things for his arse and thighs, and Thancred is nothing if not a man appreciative of a physique.
It's a thought he files away entirely for himself, then reorders his thoughts back to put business at the forefront. For someone else as skittish as Estinien, he might give fair notice of his aims and verbalize what he's about to do; for the man himself, though, he opts to let the sound of his footsteps do the talking. Estinien is far too able a warrior to be crept up upon, particularly when Thancred isn't making any effort to hide the sound of his footsteps.
Bare skin, he'd said. Well, that's doable enough, as he steps close enough to Estinien's back to touch and then reaches for him, arms sliding around his waist from behind as he presses himself full up against the planes of his back.
It's an embrace, of sorts, but less about tenderness and more just about maximizing the surface area of contact, and also a little bit to entrap Estinien in place lest he still decide to jump out a window or somesuch.]
Hush.
[That's all — directed as much toward Estinien's anxious fidgeting as at his commentary. A reassurance, mayhaps. I've got you.
For the whole of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, when has Thancred ever not?]
[That simple uncomplicated demand does more for him, and to him, than it should: he falls silent and still, tension easing, and swallows. It calms him enough, at least, to be able to think—
—and the first thought that occurs to him is immediately confusing. How was this so simple for Thancred, who's mentioned no unwanted enchantments himself? Where's his natural resistance to putting himself in a position like this with a colleague (of sorts)? They'll need to see each other again; they'll have to be aware that this happened. Floating in the back of his mind during strategy conversations and planning will be the knowledge that Thancred did him a solid favor— and that his skin's warm, and the pressure of it's nice, and he's obviously willing. He was all but demanding it, in the alley.
The second, and adjacent, thought is more jarring: has he done this before, then? Not for curses, not with strangers, but with one of the Scions? More than one?
Estinien half-turns over his shoulder, torn between curiosity and a reproachful voice in his head telling him that no matter the answer, he won't like it. There's no reason to know, at any rate; it has nothing to do with this.]
We may as well not just stand here.
[His tongue seems to move on its own, and he shuts himself up before he can make even a vague suggestion further. Thancred's the one doing this for his benefit; if he'd prefer the water — a little more impersonal, in some respects — the choice should be his.]
[A reasonable enough conclusion, given that Estinien seems to have the presence of mind to think about the way they're situated again, and not merely bracing himself against the amorous madness that threatens to overtake him. Thancred presses the flat of his hand against Estinien's middle in an affirming touch, acknowledging the suggestion without moving an ilm, not yet.
One problem solved, then. The clear next is, of course, how to conveniently allow them to keep this up.]
A pertinent question for you, then: is there any compulsion to touch me in return? Consider that next, and tell me if I need put myself within easy reach, as well.
[He can't answer for a beat, blindsided by the question: is there? his back tenses again, palpably— but it's fractional, uncertain, and it eases as a brief silence ticks by.]
Not...an obvious one.
[It's difficult to tell whether treating this as some kind of poison or venom to identify is making the entire thing better or worse, but standing like a marble statue with his hands at his sides is rapidly becoming not quite enough in a way he couldn't articulate if he tried.]
Which means if there is one, 'tis insidious indeed.
[There is, after all, a very distinct difference between "not one" and "not an obvious one". So he takes a quick survey of the room, with its bath and its cushions and its fragrant pink flowers, and kicks a few of the pillows until they're positioned in such a way that they roughly resemble a floor mat.]
Steel yourself. In a moment I'll let go, and when I do, lie down here and close your eyes. I'll put myself next to you and keep full silent, so you can simply do whatever sets the ache to rights. All right?
[Now there's no question about it in Estinien's mind: treating this damned thing clinically is making it much worse.]
You needn't act as though I'm made of glass.
[It comes out just a little rougher than he means it to; he grits his teeth at himself and shifts his weight, changing tack.]
Let's— say we go about it as though this hells-cursed place has naught to do with it, and it's no different from some frozen night in Garlemald, and we're the luckless fools sharing a shelter for one.
[Pure convenience, and no more damnably gentle talk.]
[...Well, Twelve be praised, now there's aught he can work with. Less tipped toward impersonality yet more skewed toward...well, not just mere practicality, but a sort of mutual understanding. Huddling together for warmth, bare to allow their garb to dry from its accumulated snow —
Aye, he can work with that.
And work with it he does: taking Estinien up on his demand not to be coddled by releasing him without fanfare, and instead going to work rearranging the various cushions and blankets the way a survivalist might build a rudimentary shelter against the elements. That the end result is a narrow fit for two men of their respective sizes is simply a lack of materials to do otherwise, clearly. They'll have to huddle close together to keep from freezing. There's simply no other way about it.]
Well, hurry up and get in, then. These gusting winds go straight through a man to his bones.
[In other words: yes, we can play that game, full certain.]
[Estinien squints at the haphazard nest, unsure, in hindsight, what he was expecting. Not that he could argue if he wanted to: the vague need to feel someone else's skin against his own is rapidly becoming a burning all-over ache— not pain, not really; but not something he can ignore for much longer, either.
Still, he thinks crossly, staring at the makeshift shelter: they should've gone back to his room, after all.]
A man ought've spent more time in Coerthas, in that case.
[It's the first thing that comes to mind to stave off an awkward silence as he settles onto his side, casually stretching his arm across the cushions.]
This man was once dropped into the Dravanian wilds entirely in the altogether, so he's had his fill and then some.
[He says, dryly, as he likewise finds a place in the little nest that just Happens™ to have him nudged up against Estinien, within easy reach to be —
Well. Not cuddled, obviously. But to maximize the sharing of body heat. Against the Coerthan chill. Obviously.]
The prospect of attempting to cross the Western Highlands was rather an unpleasant one. Given how fond I am of all my fingers and toes, to say naught of more sensitive bits that take unkindly to being bared to the elements.
[This is absurd and horrible. It'd be better if he did want to take Thancred to bed; at least there'd be none of this awkward pretense and forced friendly banter.
Estinien has a loosely-curled fist between them, at first, but that doesn't sate the damned curse; so he shifts to press against the line of Thancred's body fully— and it's so good, so much better, that he closes his eyes in pure relief, and forgets to say anything for a few long moments. When he does answer, his thoughts have wandered:]
Did you have aught that might have been...cursed, or enchanted, or what have you?
[Estinien is a man full of surprises, truly. Had you asked Thancred before this what manner of satiation the gruff, recalcitrant dragoon would've preferred, he would've bet all his coin and then some on the thought that he would've wanted it silent and impersonal and easily ignored. That Estinien has both shoved away that offer and continues to volunteer conversation of his own is...interesting.
A fragile thing to be handled delicately, he marks — not that he'd ever allow Estinien to think of it so.]
...When I arrived, the robe they gave me. 'Twas emblazoned with a word — of all the words they might've chosen, to have picked that one feels like little and less of a coincidence.
[He pauses, reflective.]
Not just any vice. One my old mentor specifically condemned. To find myself branded with it, here, in a place like this... [And then, a short laugh.] Small wonder I've been more than happy to shed my garb for sport, given the alternative.
[Well, he'd meant food or drink, and none of this answers his real question— but it's so specific, so deliberate, that he can't just scoff, dismiss it, and clarify.
He hesitates, eyes still closed.]
What was it? The word.
[Thancred wouldn't have volunteered so much, he reasons, if that were as far as he's willing to go.]
[How easy it feels, letting these small glimpses of himself slip. Later, mayhaps, he'll question that more. Examine it more deliberately in the harsh light of retrospect, see the threads of influence for what they are.
Right now, it just feels easy to find an anchor in the familiar. And if a secret or two slips, at least it's been entrusted to someone who can keep it.]
Indolent.
[He draws in a slow breath; he lets it out again slower still.]
A criticism of Sharlayan's isolationist ways, originally. Though now 'tis hard to help feeling as though it's a criticism of me, just as well.
What man could say that you or the others have been indolent? A rescuer of a hundred stars with five of your Archon's marks and a castle built stone-by-stone with his bare hands? You could all retire to seaside vineyards, if such a man existed, and leave the wars and calamities to him.
[Ah, Estinien. How could he not let a brief burst of laughter escape at the ornery candor of his commentary, however softly delivered? It really does make him feel better, at least a little. Better than a tender reassurance ever could've.]
Mm. That's precisely it, you know — retirement. I've been contemplating it. However little I may deserve it.
[A thoughtful interval passes.]
I envy you that, I think. Finding aught to do with yourself once your charge had been fulfilled.
I haven't the slightest. Take commissions until Y'shtola perfects her means of bridging the shards. Return to the First, mayhaps, after that.
[This is nice. Uncomfortably intimate if he thinks too long about it, but fortunately he's just pointedly not going to dwell on it. Compartmentalizing. It's one of those things he's always done best.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
goldmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
peacockstop2025-07-15 09:00 pm
no subject
Indulge it, then?
[Gods, he's tall. Thancred's never one to think of himself as particularly short, per se, but there's something oddly satisfying about the way Estinien towers over him, forced to bend to tuck in where he wants. It's a pleasant complement to the way he's briskly pinned to the wall — it's rare to find a man strong enough to push him around, but Estinien is certainly one of the exceptional ones — the grasping hands and pointed teeth doing lovely things toward making him feel delightfully wanted.]
Needn't overthink it, 'stinien. I'm willing. Do whatever makes it abate.
[Close, he'd said. Well, he can think of one way to signal his openness to the idea, at least — by getting a leg up and hooking it around the back of one of Estinien's thighs, using the pressure of its press as a way of making even more room for the other man to take up his space.]
no subject
—but then Thancred's leg is pressing against the back of his thigh, a brazen invitation, and it doesn't matter.
They are not, he tells himself harshly, going to give in to this magic here, now, without a shred of will involved. That isn't what the pull of the formless need in his chest seems to want, anyway: not a hasty fuck in an alley, not even Thancred's hand on his cock.
Arguably, what it seems to want is worse.
He leans back, grudgingly meeting Thancred's eyes.]
Have they given you a room? Mine is...far.
[In the lowest possible level, to the best of his knowledge, and that's too many damned stairs in this state.]
no subject
[Because yes, he'd heard of how Krile and Tataru had chased him down while the rest of them were indisposed on the First. It's a nice choice, Kugane. He can't fault Estinien for it.]
A better question is, how do we intend to get there. I doubt you're like to let go of me long enough to walk.
no subject
It only takes him a moment to decide before he's shoving himself back, despite the way his entire body complains, and wrapping his fingers around Thancred's wrist.]
Say naught of this. I'll— explain when we get there.
[He starts to march away, pulling Thancred along with him at a frankly unfair pace, just for the chance to look straight ahead. He'd prefer to explain never, but once Thancred learns what he wants, there's not much chance he'll accept it without a single question.]
no subject
[Thancred is, after all, a man who knows how to choose his moments opportunely, and this is clearly not one where continuing to flatter or fawn over Estinien is like to bear out any particular fruit. It's oddly charming, anyway, the way that Estinien keeps hold of his wrist — as though he can't bear to break contact entirely, willing to embrace the indignity of looking like a haughty schoolgirl for the sake of keeping that desire sated.
Truth be told, he's not the only one mourning the loss of it. Even though he doesn't seem to be possessed with quite the feverish inclinations that Estinien is, 'twas still awfully nice to be properly backed up and penned in and nibbled at by someone with a proper enthusiasm about the whole business.]
Gods, what is this, a military deployment? At least let me run if you're that inclined toward haste —
[It's an empty complaint, more a token protest than anything else; he's keeping up just fine, and offers it largely to afford Estinien the impression of a sliver of control over their hasty exit. Upon their arrival, however, he moves quickly to do the talking in securing them a room, which turns out to be rather pretty, actually: a bath crafted to look like the natural rocks of a hot spring, pink flowers, and plenty of soft cushions strewn about on the treated wooden floors.]
All right, then. Explain.
no subject
Take your clothes off.
[Explain, he said. Estinien grits his teeth, hands pausing with the absurd pink fabric hanging around his elbows.]
It...has to do with bare skin. Whatever it is, it seems to subside for naught else.
no subject
Not that he's like to show it, of course. He did insist that he's the best-suited to handle this sort of matter, and he stands by it. If skin contact is what Estinien craves, then so be it.]
Well, that explains why you were so reluctant about the alley.
[A covert dalliance is one thing, but if Estinien's obsession requires being full bare? Yes, the onsen is a much better choice.
Obligingly, he starts to remove his own robe and shorts; when he speaks, the tone he chooses is softer than his usual, patient without being coddling.]
This will go easier if you trust me. 'Tis just antidote to a poison, Estinien. An affliction and a remedy. I know this isn't you.
no subject
It's too close an observation; too knowing. He means to say something terse in answer, something like if I didn't trust you we wouldn't be here, but his breath is frozen, too, and his throat refuses to work.
He should've told Thancred to keep saying nothing.
Finally, he forces past his gritted teeth:]
'Twould be better if it were.
[—and resumes disrobing in jerky perfunctory motions, without charm or shyness.
He's slower than Thancred for the pause, and when he finally kicks the heap of his clothes away, he doesn't turn immediately, balling and flexing his hands.]
no subject
It's a thought he files away entirely for himself, then reorders his thoughts back to put business at the forefront. For someone else as skittish as Estinien, he might give fair notice of his aims and verbalize what he's about to do; for the man himself, though, he opts to let the sound of his footsteps do the talking. Estinien is far too able a warrior to be crept up upon, particularly when Thancred isn't making any effort to hide the sound of his footsteps.
Bare skin, he'd said. Well, that's doable enough, as he steps close enough to Estinien's back to touch and then reaches for him, arms sliding around his waist from behind as he presses himself full up against the planes of his back.
It's an embrace, of sorts, but less about tenderness and more just about maximizing the surface area of contact, and also a little bit to entrap Estinien in place lest he still decide to jump out a window or somesuch.]
Hush.
[That's all — directed as much toward Estinien's anxious fidgeting as at his commentary. A reassurance, mayhaps. I've got you.
For the whole of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, when has Thancred ever not?]
no subject
—and the first thought that occurs to him is immediately confusing. How was this so simple for Thancred, who's mentioned no unwanted enchantments himself? Where's his natural resistance to putting himself in a position like this with a colleague (of sorts)? They'll need to see each other again; they'll have to be aware that this happened. Floating in the back of his mind during strategy conversations and planning will be the knowledge that Thancred did him a solid favor— and that his skin's warm, and the pressure of it's nice, and he's obviously willing. He was all but demanding it, in the alley.
The second, and adjacent, thought is more jarring: has he done this before, then? Not for curses, not with strangers, but with one of the Scions? More than one?
Estinien half-turns over his shoulder, torn between curiosity and a reproachful voice in his head telling him that no matter the answer, he won't like it. There's no reason to know, at any rate; it has nothing to do with this.]
We may as well not just stand here.
[His tongue seems to move on its own, and he shuts himself up before he can make even a vague suggestion further. Thancred's the one doing this for his benefit; if he'd prefer the water — a little more impersonal, in some respects — the choice should be his.]
no subject
[A reasonable enough conclusion, given that Estinien seems to have the presence of mind to think about the way they're situated again, and not merely bracing himself against the amorous madness that threatens to overtake him. Thancred presses the flat of his hand against Estinien's middle in an affirming touch, acknowledging the suggestion without moving an ilm, not yet.
One problem solved, then. The clear next is, of course, how to conveniently allow them to keep this up.]
A pertinent question for you, then: is there any compulsion to touch me in return? Consider that next, and tell me if I need put myself within easy reach, as well.
no subject
Not...an obvious one.
[It's difficult to tell whether treating this as some kind of poison or venom to identify is making the entire thing better or worse, but standing like a marble statue with his hands at his sides is rapidly becoming not quite enough in a way he couldn't articulate if he tried.]
no subject
[There is, after all, a very distinct difference between "not one" and "not an obvious one". So he takes a quick survey of the room, with its bath and its cushions and its fragrant pink flowers, and kicks a few of the pillows until they're positioned in such a way that they roughly resemble a floor mat.]
Steel yourself. In a moment I'll let go, and when I do, lie down here and close your eyes. I'll put myself next to you and keep full silent, so you can simply do whatever sets the ache to rights. All right?
no subject
You needn't act as though I'm made of glass.
[It comes out just a little rougher than he means it to; he grits his teeth at himself and shifts his weight, changing tack.]
Let's— say we go about it as though this hells-cursed place has naught to do with it, and it's no different from some frozen night in Garlemald, and we're the luckless fools sharing a shelter for one.
[Pure convenience, and no more damnably gentle talk.]
no subject
Aye, he can work with that.
And work with it he does: taking Estinien up on his demand not to be coddled by releasing him without fanfare, and instead going to work rearranging the various cushions and blankets the way a survivalist might build a rudimentary shelter against the elements. That the end result is a narrow fit for two men of their respective sizes is simply a lack of materials to do otherwise, clearly. They'll have to huddle close together to keep from freezing. There's simply no other way about it.]
Well, hurry up and get in, then. These gusting winds go straight through a man to his bones.
[In other words: yes, we can play that game, full certain.]
no subject
Still, he thinks crossly, staring at the makeshift shelter: they should've gone back to his room, after all.]
A man ought've spent more time in Coerthas, in that case.
[It's the first thing that comes to mind to stave off an awkward silence as he settles onto his side, casually stretching his arm across the cushions.]
no subject
[He says, dryly, as he likewise finds a place in the little nest that just Happens™ to have him nudged up against Estinien, within easy reach to be —
Well. Not cuddled, obviously. But to maximize the sharing of body heat. Against the Coerthan chill. Obviously.]
The prospect of attempting to cross the Western Highlands was rather an unpleasant one. Given how fond I am of all my fingers and toes, to say naught of more sensitive bits that take unkindly to being bared to the elements.
no subject
Estinien has a loosely-curled fist between them, at first, but that doesn't sate the damned curse; so he shifts to press against the line of Thancred's body fully— and it's so good, so much better, that he closes his eyes in pure relief, and forgets to say anything for a few long moments. When he does answer, his thoughts have wandered:]
Did you have aught that might have been...cursed, or enchanted, or what have you?
no subject
A fragile thing to be handled delicately, he marks — not that he'd ever allow Estinien to think of it so.]
...When I arrived, the robe they gave me. 'Twas emblazoned with a word — of all the words they might've chosen, to have picked that one feels like little and less of a coincidence.
[He pauses, reflective.]
Not just any vice. One my old mentor specifically condemned. To find myself branded with it, here, in a place like this... [And then, a short laugh.] Small wonder I've been more than happy to shed my garb for sport, given the alternative.
no subject
He hesitates, eyes still closed.]
What was it? The word.
[Thancred wouldn't have volunteered so much, he reasons, if that were as far as he's willing to go.]
no subject
Right now, it just feels easy to find an anchor in the familiar. And if a secret or two slips, at least it's been entrusted to someone who can keep it.]
Indolent.
[He draws in a slow breath; he lets it out again slower still.]
A criticism of Sharlayan's isolationist ways, originally. Though now 'tis hard to help feeling as though it's a criticism of me, just as well.
no subject
What man could say that you or the others have been indolent? A rescuer of a hundred stars with five of your Archon's marks and a castle built stone-by-stone with his bare hands? You could all retire to seaside vineyards, if such a man existed, and leave the wars and calamities to him.
no subject
Mm. That's precisely it, you know — retirement. I've been contemplating it. However little I may deserve it.
[A thoughtful interval passes.]
I envy you that, I think. Finding aught to do with yourself once your charge had been fulfilled.
no subject
You're going to retire? From what? Doing good works?
[He closes his eye again, shifting just a tiny bit closer unconsciously.]
Well, if you mean to become some sort of...
[There was a dry joke there, somewhere, but the rest of it doesn't come. His brow furrows.]
What would you do?
no subject
[This is nice. Uncomfortably intimate if he thinks too long about it, but fortunately he's just pointedly not going to dwell on it. Compartmentalizing. It's one of those things he's always done best.]
Keep a promise. Something like that.