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peacockstop2025-09-15 09:00 pm
goldmods) wrote in peacockstop2025-09-15 09:00 pm
Entry tags:
TDM 011
【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
We are thrilled to announce that the Golden Peacock will be embracing autumn with a special outing. Current and new guests are invited to join us for a refreshing outdoor experience where participants can unplug, unwind, and connect with nature. During this time, all Watches will be disabled to the most basic functions (texting, calls, checking chip account) in order to encourage guests to disconnect.
Please look forward to two weeks of finding yourself amongst the trees. We hope you enjoy your stay, and have a fan-CAMP-stic time. 】
CAMPING
GETTING OFF THE GRID
As the resort moves into what it claims is autumn, the days grow shorter. The projected sun in the Vale sets in the afternoon, after which a faint chill falls. Then there’s the most excessive transformation of all – a portion of the Vale has transformed into a campground complete with a scenic lake, seemingly overnight. Statues nearby have been dressed up with flannel jackets and suspenders. Folksy banjo fills the air without any discernible source.
A section of the campgrounds have been reserved for tents. These tents vary in size, shape, and supplies. All tents, regardless of quality, are supplied with sex toys and lube. Staff and long-standing guests all agree — pretending to live in the wilderness and 'rough it' for a while is thrilling. This is what the peasants feel like all the time!
A section of the campgrounds have been reserved for tents. These tents vary in size, shape, and supplies. All tents, regardless of quality, are supplied with sex toys and lube. Staff and long-standing guests all agree — pretending to live in the wilderness and 'rough it' for a while is thrilling. This is what the peasants feel like all the time!
HOME ON THE RANGE
Welcome to the Peacock Campgrounds! Nicknamed the Stomping Grounds by long-standing guests. Rustic and right off a sparkling lake, guests will find everything they need to live in the wilderness. Staff have expertly set up fire pits, benches, hammocks, and a wooden shed to act as a tool depository. There's even an outhouse, which is a real novelty to many of the long-standing guests. Do they just... squat over that hole and do their business? How wild!
Unlike previous resort-sponsored excursions, guests are expected to manage without the help of staff. That pile of wood won't be replenished once used; guests will have to go chop down trees and split their own. Food won't magically appear in their tents regardless of rank. Camping is all about living off the land. Though staff make themselves scarce to make the experience feel real, they lurk in the shadows, discreetly providing necessary tools and fixing broken equipment so guests won't struggle too much. It isn't fun if it's real hardship, after all!
Unlike previous resort-sponsored excursions, guests are expected to manage without the help of staff. That pile of wood won't be replenished once used; guests will have to go chop down trees and split their own. Food won't magically appear in their tents regardless of rank. Camping is all about living off the land. Though staff make themselves scarce to make the experience feel real, they lurk in the shadows, discreetly providing necessary tools and fixing broken equipment so guests won't struggle too much. It isn't fun if it's real hardship, after all!
ACTIVITIES
TWO WEEKS OF ROUGHING IT
Camping can't be all about survival. Where's the fun in that? Before 'leaving', the staff arrange activities and events for guests to enjoy. A wooden bulletin board outlines times for group hikes, camping experiences, and wilderness delights. Adirondack chairs line the edge of the lake and a few tire swings hang over the water, tied to strong tree branches. For the first week and a half the weather is pleasant and sunny. Perfect for camping.
At night, acoustic guitars and other wooden instruments come out so that guests can make music around the bonfire. Projected stars dapple the night sky, forming various constellations sourced from guest worlds. The moon enters a different phase each night, shining a gentle silver across the campgrounds. Why not pull your sweetheart in and cuddle beneath the night sky? It's so romantic.
At night, acoustic guitars and other wooden instruments come out so that guests can make music around the bonfire. Projected stars dapple the night sky, forming various constellations sourced from guest worlds. The moon enters a different phase each night, shining a gentle silver across the campgrounds. Why not pull your sweetheart in and cuddle beneath the night sky? It's so romantic.
HOWLING
CALL OF THE WILD
Temperatures drop drastically at night as the camping excursion nears its end. Nights become so chilly that morning dew frosts over, crunching beneath guest feet. Every day the light and its warmth set a little bit earlier. Staff remain elusive and do not provide warmer blankets or clothes for guests, leaving them to cuddle for warmth or find other ways to sleep comfortably during nightly cold snaps.
The moon hits its apex on the final night of camping. Unlike the other nights, this full moon shines blood red. The Vale stills under this ominous sign, silent. Snowflakes begins to fall, spreading an endless clean sheet across the campgrounds. That reflected pink hue is inescapable.
The moon hits its apex on the final night of camping. Unlike the other nights, this full moon shines blood red. The Vale stills under this ominous sign, silent. Snowflakes begins to fall, spreading an endless clean sheet across the campgrounds. That reflected pink hue is inescapable.
OOC NOTES
▶ BLANKET CW: altered states; eyes (descriptions only, incl. eye injury); exhibitionism; hunting (incl. hunting fantasy creatures); orgies; public sex; survival; temperature play; tentacles; transformation; violence
▶ 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. This TDM acts as the game's September event. Camping will ICly begin September 15th and end October 3rd.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ 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.
▶ 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.
▶ 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. This TDM acts as the game's September event. Camping will ICly begin September 15th and end October 3rd.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ 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.
▶ 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.
no subject
But it is a little funny that he's been dragging Mydeimos to the baths twice a day for how long? One might have thought this inevitable, but here they are.
...Ready to start fighting over a broken camp chair. Some of the argumentativeness is sapped from Phainon when Mydei is caught unprepared for his weight, his other hand reaching instinctively to catch him as he sinks. His hand is still on him when they're both back on their feet, and it's with this hand that Phainon gives his chest a shove, immediately stepping into the territory he gains. ]
I don't know how you use chairs in Castrum Kremnos, but everywhere else they're used for sitting? Not like... [ he visibly struggles, realizing palanquin are absolutely a thing, and adjusts vector ] -luggage!
[ Nearly chest to chest, he doesn't have distance to put between him and the ache that wrenches at him. A year - a meaningless drop in a vast sea of epochs - a year he had felt his absence like a jagged hole torn out of the world. It had never scabbed over.
Mydei had descended in glory, the terrible embodiment of Strife reborn, only for him to turn his back and abandon the Guardian of Amphoreus to the battlefield again- but he had never expected to see his fate from that accursed perspective.
Self-loathing bubbles up, venomous and acidic; it peels his lips back from his teeth when he shoves him again. Bracing his forearm against him one more time - as though he means to shove harder - his head droops, white fringe falling over his grimace. ]
... [ Though that arm remains braced against Mydei's chest, the slight push he gives it has far less fight than the first two. ]
no subject
Mydei means to contest, his lips already parting and hand raising to catch Phainon's. Before he can, something in the air shifts. Not due to Phainon's obvious struggle with soliloquy, but something else. A thing harder to spy than the frantic redirect, that started more as a gentle nagging in the back of his head than a genuine observation. He thinks... it may have started a moment before Phainon spoke, sometime, maybe, between the hand shoving at his chest and the way Phainon crowded close to his body. In the wake of it, its density, its depth— his mind fills with unease so profound it prickles his skin.
The passing seconds only deepen his unease, and though he isn't one to back away—he almost does, if only to gauge what may have shifted or if he's instincts are mistaken. Phainon's moods are never hard to read, or at least... they very rarely are. It's only when the topic shifts just so, touching on a wound not yet healed that he becomes completely indecipherable. Beyond him, and beyond his ability to know how to console.
Mydei's lashes flick, his troubled gaze falling between them to take in Phainon's insistent palm. It gives another prod, restrained and yet—somehow firm.
Again—that sense of unease arises, and along with it a question he can't entirely dismiss. Maybe he's wrong? For Phainon's mood to change so abruptly is odd—and he can scarcely wrap his head around the dissonance between their banter and this new, uncertain atmosphere. Not even a beat later, he catches the droop of the other man's long bangs, fringe cloaking his face in shadow.
For the third time, there's a push to his chest, albeit lighter than the last. That's when he knows—he isn't wrong.
...What will happen if he steps away? He feels a pulsing in his veins that reaches his ears, and knows right away.
If he does, he won't be able to take that step back. The path of retreat isn't one he can bring himself to take, anyway, so his hand finally falls onto Phainon's. ]
There's no need to second guess. [ He breathes, voice soft and head tilting low enough for the tips of his bangs to brush Phainon's. He puppets the white-haired man's hand, letting it brush over his exposed skin before gently working his fingers apart. Palm now open, he presses it into his chest—directly over his beating heart. ] Feel it for yourself, Deliverer.
OH FUCK OFF (lovingly)
It's because the tumultuous storm of everything he feels - his grief and his loneliness, self-loathing and joy, the wrathful fury that blazes as violently as a newborn sun - is too great to be contained. He cracks like an improperly cured dolium in a kiln. His eyes, hot and stinging, blur over, agony condensate.
When that spill crests over his lashes, it evaporates into steam before a single trace can ever land on bare skin. His breath shakes out through gritted teeth that almost chatter with the venomous ferocity that fills him to the brim - almost, but not quite soundless.
Never in a million years did he mean to dishonor Mydei's sacrifice with tears, nor can he be redeemed for all he has done. He drags in air, steeling himself as though he can clap a cover over it all as it boils over, his throat tight as that breath seeks to claw its way back out.
He doesn't trust what it might sound like. ]
flies into the stratosphere, burns into a crisp
When he was nothing but a helpless child adrift in the endless sea, the world beneath his feet slipping further and further away. Like then, he floats without direction, bearings gone—lost amid an invisible tide, his only recourse to follow the whims of its ever-flowing current. Too startled to even breathe, or even feel the air in his lungs, he only stands frozen in place. It seems absurd, but there's no mistaking the light catching the corner of Phainon's eyes. Transfixed, he watches the tears form; watches them wetting the other man's lashes, following the arc of them until they threaten to spill onto his cheek. However, rather than wet his skin, they disperse—fading into nothing.
In all the time they've known one another, he's never seen Phainon cry. He knew the man could, that his heart was more delicate than he ever wanted anyone to know. But to think he'd fall apart like this...
Mydei's lips move, though in truth it's more of a tremble.
It takes what feels like an eternity before he blinks, all sound still caught in his throat. Slowly—then, frantically, he looks around, making sure no one's seen them. He's far out of his depth here, so far he can't free his knotted tongue, but at least no one seems to be around.
That's... good. Good.
Whether it really is or not, he doesn't know, but his hand squeezes around Phainon's all the same. Slowly, he places his other hand on Phainon's shoulder, urging him backward. If Phainon allows it, he follows quickly, keeping close as he nudges them both to the privacy of the tents. ]
cw: gently implied emeto, sorry
Stripped of inhibition, afflicted with the amplification of both sentiment and sensation - these might be a tried and true recipe to encourage intimacy if there isn't more powerful ammunition in the proverbial chamber than attraction. Don't put before him the very catalyst of his growth and not expect him to feel every hateful regret that sits between parting after parting. Don't expect that this rage, burning futilely for thirty million epochs, would not readily turn back inward at the reminder.
The last thing he wants is to fall down before him. Before anyone. He has relinquished his role to another, yet still comports himself as though he has the ideal of the Deliverer to live up to. He needs this to stop. He needs this to stop. So why..?
Why can't he-?
Scarcely feeling the canvas flap brush his shoulder as he stumbles backwards into the tent, Phainon shoves a hand over his downturned face and strikes his chest with the other fist, once, twice, like there's something he means to dislodge.
Which is a hell of a time for him to twist away from Mydei and lose his lunch. ]
...
[ Eyes red-rimmed and his face pale, Phainon sits on the ground at the other end of the tent, his head propped up by one hand. After a lengthy and painfully awkward silence, he glances aside at Mydeimos. ]
...Sorry.
[ He's- he's good now, honest. ]
cw: above emeto (i was just out here having a good time making mydei fold phainon into a chair)
Means to rip the very heart from his chest. ...But why? His brows furrow, but frankly questioning won't do him any good here. He doesn't have to understand, only act. The second pound is enough for Mydei's hand to draw Phainon nearer, for a step to bring them closer together—only for Phainon to twist away in the very same instant. The sound wrenching itself from Phainon's lips is enough to provide an answer to that particular mystery, at least, but his hand hovers anyway. He reaches, almost brushes his fingers across Phainon's back, but... that's all he does. Reach.
After a long, tense exhale he decides—this won't do Phainon any good.
Quietly, he turns and pulls the tent's flap closed, sealing the both of them in. He waits restlessly, listening to the sounds filling the tent until he can hear the shuffling of Phainon's flannel robe, then his hoarse, low apology.
...Does Phainon even have anything to apologize for? This was unexpected. Strange, incomprehensible, and so much more, but he can hardly say it's Phainon's fault. It's—
Mydei's breath stills, catching in his throat as he tries to force himself to think. To find an explanation for himself, or a way to soothe Phainon that doesn't seem hollow. "It's all right" seems too tame, too easy. Asking what happened, too soon and personal. Anything else... too insincere, or perhaps too reckless when even a mention of what happened might worsen Phainon's already unstable mood. So for a while, Mydei only stands stiffly, chin lowered as he thinks and occasionally steals a glance at Phainon's face. ]
...Even the most hardened warrior would struggle with that much poison coursing through their veins. [ Since he's already hovering close, there's no need to approach. He doesn't sit yet, though, it isn't long before he makes a decision, marked by the click of his tongue against the back of his teeth. Barely a moment later, he drops to the ground, sitting right next to Phainon. Though he doesn't obviously offer his hand, he rests it on the knee closest to Phainon—palm up and fingers outstretched. ]
no subject
That swift unraveling has left a proverbial crater, and questions undoubtedly threaten to mount and fill the empty space left behind. Phainon rakes his hair with a hand, ignoring the strange and quivery weakness that lingers after ridding himself of that toxin.
He'll recover. His pride, on the other hand... ]
I recall hearing a boast that you could stomach nineteen of those berries, [ needling his friend surely will help re-establish some kind of equilibrium. ] It's not like you to back out on a challenge, Mydei. Getting cold feet?
[ Mydei's continued presence is a boon he doesn't deserve. But it's different than usual; it's not that Phainon doesn't see the wordless offer for what it might be, but he refuses to trust the hopeful lurch in his chest enough to take it. He's made enough of a fool of himself.
He thinks, continuing to make a damn fool of himself. ]
no subject
Mydei's hand sits leaden on his knee, its unbearable weight driving his fingertips to twitch just once. Comfort, console, these are things the Deliverer needs, no matter how he presents himself. The problem is, the man is as much a warrior as he is. His weaknesses aren't shared freely, no matter their source—physical, psychological. They both keep themselves contained, always projecting the image of stable strength for sake of the people around them. And... their own pride.
He can tell without a telegraph that Phainon might need a hand on his back, on his own. However, he didn't reach out. Mydei's gaze, averted to distant corner to offer Phainon some modicum of privacy, moseys toward the other man's knee, staring at it as his brows crease. What he can't tell is why Phainon didn't take his hand. The pride that leads them to hide their weakness, that he didn't see the gesture for what it was—if it was too subtle, if he didn't reach far enough, then that would be his failing.
Mydei's fingertips curl into his palm, his eyes straying toward his own hand.
...If it's Phainon, then. It could simply be because he doesn't know how to reach back, finding the desire too selfish, too painful to act on. For a time, Mydei sits like that, thoughts drifting through the murky depths of his mind. If he knew that was it, if it was because of something as foolish as not feeling the gesture was deserved... Reaching for Phainon would be easy. Unfortunately, it isn't so clear-cut, and Phainon gives him no cues. He only prattles on in his usual way, and Mydei's hand retreats, folding under an elbow as he crosses his arms. ]
When have you ever known me to break my word? I'll have those berries, and a dozen more just as soon as you have a drink.
[ He rises quickly, walking to grab a pitcher from atop the stacks of luggage nearby. Returning, he holds it out to Phainon—and no, he didn't bring a cup. ]
Water.
no subject
[ It's probably among the wreckage of the camp chair, honestly. He lost track of it when he fell straight through to the ground. It's for the best; even if Phainon leans towards challenge when he really should have leaned toward an offered hand, he doesn't want that spiraling madness for Mydeimos.
Besides, if his own reaction was anything to go by, he'd worried the shockwaves of Mydei's outburst might flatten the whole Vale.
The bitter taste of his guilt follows him, as he steals a glance at the warrior's retreating back. Not even that feels the same. It's as though an effigy has been dropped from a height, chipped, but not broken. Irreparably changed, even if at a distance, not much appears different. Where once he could look at Mydei's back with admiration, respect, and even a longing for just one more minute, one more battle-
He sees untarnished gold behind his eyelids, enough to fill a sea.
Mydei should have never told him his weakness.
He should have taken his hand.Angling his face as Mydeimos turns back around, he has to turn it back when he realizes he's brandishing a sloshing plastic pitcher. Speechlessly, his hands move before his brain catches up, clasping it by the bottom with one, the other around the side of it, under its handle. He tries not to think about how he can feel the warmth of his knuckles not even centimeters away.
Phainon eyes him a little suspiciously, ] Don't tip it.
[ Please, tipping Mydei's cup when he tries to drink from it might be on-brand for a provocation from Phainon, but Mydeimos isn't one for such dirty tricks. He'll drink straight from the pitcher, albeit a little messy for the quantity of water and the width of the pitcher's mouth. And the fact that, one swallow in, he realizes just how parched he is, and stops at three more only because his lungs are burning for air.
He drags the back of his hand across his dripping chin with a pant. ]
no subject
Phainon is nothing if not adept at hiding his pain, his scars. It's only because he knows the man as intimately as he does that he's able to see through his facade.
At least in the wake of Phainon's sudden crash, he has time to think. To work his dizzied mind, searching for a reason behind the sudden shift. Fortunately, it isn't difficult to find one. Unfortunately...
His chest lurches, the warmth of Phainon's hand over his heart setting his skin ablaze. He'd intended the gesture to soothe Phainon, to show him that he survived what must have seemed like a doomed encounter. But if Phainon reacted so violently, then the man must have seen something—and he can't imagine that "something" was limited to only his fight.
Mydei exhales slowly, his shoulders rising with the quiet sound. They lower quickly after, as does his hand as it tips, bending so the pitcher might meet Phainon's lips. This shameless man... Turning a prince, a god into a waterboy? He, with a single furrowed brow and a downward tick of his lips, stares down at Phainon, his eyes smoldering. ]
Hmph. Only a scoundrel like you would consider depriving a parched man of drink. [ Just as only a scoundrel like him would be so bold as to make his rival into a glorified cup handle. Mydei wastes no time dragging the pitcher away, placing it on a nearby chest before he sits back down, taking up the very same spot he abandoned a moment ago. ]
no subject
Maybe, [ Phainon breathes a single, mirthless puff of laughter. Wouldn't be the worst thing he's done. He lifts his head, pushing the damp back of his hand over his brow under the fall of his white hair with a smile, ] Thank you, in any case.
[ Paltry words that don't even begin to scrape the surface of his gratitude and guilt. There are others, too - the ones he doesn't say, built up brick by brick into this mountain he must scale if he ever hopes to join him at his side the way he used to.
...The way he used to? That's impossible. And yet... after losing so much, getting back even one sliver of light, these stained hands want to grasp it tightly, with an all-encompassing ferocity that could make him shake.
He's made enough of a fool of himself. Perhaps he could use that and distance himself from his embarrassing display by supplying another.
Clearing his throat, Phainon projects his voice, pressing his fist to his heart as he dredges up from the primordial chaos of his memory a few pithy lines from a story, adapts them for the situation, and gives Mydei an earful of that eyeroll-worthy melodrama he's so fond of. ]
I pledge to you a return of your gift, God of Strife. Even if I have to squeeze a hundred pomegranates and milk the goat myself, in Kephale's name, it will be done.
[ Professor Anaxa may have been the performer, but Phainon's not too shabby at hamming it up, either. ]
no subject
[ Despite the snort, there's not a hint of remorse or scorn to be found in Mydei's voice—or on his face, for that matter. His lips curve in a smile, warm in the afterglow of Phainon's own attempt. The man hasn't entirely recovered, he can tell. What he saw back in Okhema must weigh heavily on his mind, but the smile itself, the way he gave that puff of laughter, mirthless as it was, begins to ease Mydei's mind. There's familiarity in this, in the way they banter toothlessly, that frays edges even Mydei didn't realize he had.
Phainon will recover slowly. He may never hear what happened from the man himself, not without prodding—and he might, in time—but right now that wound doesn't need to be shared.
Slowly, he reclines, pushing the bulk of his weight onto a single palm. His leg extends while the other raises, his hastily made skirt sliding off his knee from the slit, revealing his muscular thighs but maintaining the rest of his modesty. His gaze has drifted now, settling on a random point in the tent rather than the allure of Phainon's face with its damp, tousled strands—for a second there, he was quite the sight. Handsome, even if his smile didn't quite reach his eyes—and every bit the Deliverer he's come to know, and... come to miss over the past year. ]
...By the way, the traditional Kremnoan way of preparing pomegranate juice differs by occasion. For an act as sacred as a god's tithe, that would be... Hand-picked pomegranates, a drop of honey to pay homage to Phagousa's first gift, an iron chalice, and a blessing from a priest—if you can find one.
[ His head tips, braid swinging idly in the air as he leans the slightest bit closer to Phainon. ]
But seeing as you're a companion of Strife... I guess I can let you get away with a mere hundred pomegranates and freshly squeezed goat milk. [ ...That's his favorite anyway, so like he was really going to say no. ]
no subject
Deliverer. Companion of Strife. Can he still keep these titles without sullying their essence? Despite the burden of buried truth, Phainon reservedly basks in Mydeimos's hard-won trust; that Mydeimos reclines in his presence, that he permits Phainon to occupy space within five paces of the man, is a testament to it. He sits almost shoulder to shoulder with him, one leg pulled up, an arm draped over his raised knee, propped up by the straight line of the arm closest to him, palm pressed to the earth. Even without looking, Phainon can register the sway of Mydei's body by his fingertips alone. ]
Then, in the name of 'Worldbearing', [ he says, jovial and quiet, leaning towards him with his chin down, a wry smile curving his mouth, ] I swear to you, Kephale will remember this.
[ A little equilibrium has been restored. A companionable silence settles in, a welcome change. Not that it's quiet outside the tent, where he can hear someone stomping through the woods several yards away, and voices in the distance, the steady hammering of someone attempting to stake down a tent even further away. Sounds of life, removed from the little theater for two.
His eyes are downcast, thinking, angled more towards Mydei than the space between them. ]
...Miss Cipher is here, [ Phainon confides, taking a little longer than he means to on the journey from the other man's sturdy thigh to meeting the flames of Mydei's gaze. ] As is Dan Heng.
He tells me he's been here for nearly a year by the Light Calendar, but before my own arrival, it hadn't been but an Hour and some quints since I had eyes on our friend.
[ He's fishing, hoping to coax Mydeimos into sharing his own experience, or at the very least, to engage him in a subject adjacent enough that he can inquire without being too pointed. ]
no subject
Mydei takes in the vow along with the name, his lashes slowly lowering. Jovial as the man's voice is, he has no doubt of his sincerity. This old tradition, one holding no value to anyone here save him, will be remembered—etched into the annuals of the historian's mind, sharing space with every other piece of Kremnoan history and tradition he's learned. Warmth unexpectedly rises in his chest, tightening it. But what causes Mydei's mind to truly swirl isn't the quiet promise and the swell it causes, but the name. Kephale, the Titan bearing the final flame of the Flame-Chase Journey.
Did Phainon make it through his trial? He'd bought time, but he could hardly call it enough. If Phainon reached the basin, he had only one chance to inherit the Coreflame and Kephale's might. One, when that hadn't been enough for Strife.
His gaze returns to Phainon's dazzling features only seconds before the man speaks. He catches the vivid blue of his eyes just as they ascend, but he thinks little of it. Their gazes keep straying, just as they keep drawing back together. But all it means is there's too much for them to process, and even more they need to eventually discuss. ]
A year? [ Mydei's brows furrow, his fingers curling loosely into his palm. Does that make sense? Honestly, he isn't sure. Time may stop for the dead, but the same can't be said for the living. It marches on, relentless in its inexorable flow. However... one thing he does know is this. This news brings with it a new possibility, one that explains the reason behind Phainon's violent reaction.
He hates to consider it, but what if his entire concept of time is off? If their farewell in Okhema wasn't a year ago like he believed—or their next, brief exchange not minutes ago, then... ]
It's been less than that for me, though you couldn't call our encounter much of a conversation. It seems I'll have to track down our trailblazing acquaintance myself to have a word with him, but that can come later. [ Cipher, too. For now, however, he has one Heir right next to him.
He's silent for a moment, eyes studying the fine contours of Phainon's face. He senses more than knows there was more behind the other man's statement, a leading question he didn't have the courage to ask outright. Mydei doesn't particularly want to ask it, either. Yet it sits in the pit of his stomach, a heavy weight that can't be shaken or removed. ]
How long has it been since we saw each other?
no subject
He never loses his edge. ]
About as long, [ Phainon answers. His arm lifts from his bent knee, starting to reach across his body, as he seeks to reassure him. ]
I see your meaning, [ his hand falls on Mydei's shoulder, ] And I owe you an apology. Though we've clashed countless times, I should not have laid a hand on you in anger.
[ The hand resting on his shoulder squeezes it, punctuating his sincerity. His thumb shifts. ]
I'm sorry, Mydei.
[ He's slower than he'd like in retracting that contact, selfishly reluctant to relinquish his hold. For as long as he's known him - for the many versions of him that Phainon has encountered, countless times - Phainon still cannot say he understands Mydei's inner workings, but he knows him well enough to guess that Mydeimos takes everything at face value, and this would be no different.
Phainon should put this to rest. His arm retreats across his body to rest once more on his bent knee, a sigh caving his chest. ] What I meant to fight back wasn't you, but... my regret.
[ He lifts his head and with it, his tone, although split by a crack of sentimentality. ] Given the choice, the chance, I would have preferred a happier reunion. But I'll take what I can get!
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Anger? [ When? Not in Okhema, there hadn't been time for that. Not after the trial, or during their adventure in Castrum Kremnos. So... here? Logically, it's the only place that makes sense.
Mydei's fist raises toward his chin, his eyes straying to the hand squeezing his shoulder in comfort. He watches Phainon's thumb as it shifts, gliding across the bright red of one of his tattoos. Here. It takes longer for Phainon's hand to retract than it does for him to recognize what Phainon means, and when he does... The corners of his lips curve, the line of his frown subtle.
The shove?
That isn't what it felt like at the time. Bewildered as he was, he hasn't forgotten the sight of the other man. How his brilliant blue and honey eyes turned from his gaze, hiding beneath a veil of white. How his hands pressed at him, forceful and rough, but his feet closed any distance gained. How at the end, his efforts tapered... his hand pushing but without sincerity, as if what he wanted was to pull, not shove. That—was anger?
Mydei's skin prickles, starting at the tip of his scalp and spreading past the back of his neck. The sensation overwhelms, and as Phainon continues he can't help but recall the shift of Phainon's thumb to his shoulder, though at first he can't put to words why. ]
...I almost made a mistake. [ He breathes, his voice impossibly quiet—and... leaden with reproach. Unfortunately for him, his held breath isn't the only sign of his shame. Warmth gathers in his face, reddening the tips of his ears as his embarrassment builds, more realizations slowly washing over him.
When he pushed Phainon back, when he nearly pulled him into his arms. That... would have been a mistake. His stomach churns, unsettled by his misstep. No wonder Phainon pulled away as quickly as he had, Mydei hadn't thought... Well, it doesn't matter. His eyes close and he exhales, slow and steady. In the end, he hadn't embraced Phainon, hadn't made things worse by bringing him closer in a fit of uncertainty. The distance Phainon gained was purely motivated by the berries, throwing the both of them off.
Mydei means to sit up, only to find he already has. His head shakes from side to side before he tips it back. ]
It isn't like you to be so coy when you want to fight, Phainon. Those berries must have done a bigger number on you than I thought. [ Dispelling his disquiet, Mydei rises to his feet and drops a hand onto his hip. ]
A happier reunion is made, not given. Let me find something for you to eat to settle your stomach once and for all. After getting rid of those accursed berries, you must be hungry.
[ Food will do the both of them good, anyway. After all, what's better than sharing a meal together? ]
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Phainon's eyebrows lift. Did Mydei say something? It's also possible that this was the sort of thing - such as a personal reminder, or another comment - unintended to be heard. Curious, he only tips his head, surreptitiously scrutinizing Mydei's pensive expression.
Except what he sees isn't what he expects to find there. If anything, instead of reassured, Mydei looks... - maybe not agitated, exactly, but he recognizes the dusting of pink on the tips of his ears. He's-- flustered?
As Mydei shakes his head, Phainon's gaze retreats, searching the floor to the opposite side, his brow creasing. His distraction doesn't last; Mydei stands, and Phainon lifts his head to track his movements. Out of respect for him, Phainon doesn't press - he doesn't know what about his explanation prompted that reaction, but he'd rather spare his dignity than do him the dishonor and disrespect of wounding his pride.
Phainon pushes himself to his feet, spreading a palm over his own chest as his eyebrows arch into his damp fringe. ] What's this?
Further blessings? I could get used to the perks of being a "Companion of Strife"!
[ Standing must have reminded his stomach of its emptiness, because the snarl it emits prompts him to drop that hand to his middle with a lopsided smile. ] Haha, uh... I don't suppose you've come upon a surprise windfall of provisions? [ He had to forage for a reason! ]
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For now, Mydei's content to let his comment go unnoticed, and just as content to forget his earlier embarrassment. Let it remain in the past, even if "past" in this case amounts to scarcely more than a minute ago. ]
Use your head. Obviously, I mean to forage for supplies. [ A task he's much better equipped for, given Phainon's earlier blunder. And, yes. His tone makes his opinion on this exceptionally clear. ]
I saw mushrooms in your bag, so I'll make that the foundation of my dish. Wait here, I'll return when I've made something worth eating.
[ In fairness, he isn't going to be horribly picky about what he puts in his soup. And in fairness, no matter what he manages to find? It'll probably be tasty. Just, you know, it might also have a surprise aphrodisiac in it. ]
... with a lil timeskip
I'm not one to remain idle while you do all the work. I'll catch us some fish. [ He playfully knocks his shoulder into Mydei's on his way past him, turning around to flip his hand in a wave-salute as he backs out of the tent. ] We'll see who returns first with the spoils of our efforts.
(Later, at sunset...)
[ Something smells appetizing enough to make his mouth flood, and he needs only spy that red-tinged mane of blond hair to know the source. Phainon returns triumphant from his fishing expedition, a couple of fat fish hanging motionlessly from a stick piercing their gills, already gutted and cleaned as well as one could manage without a blade.
He is... absolutely soaked. But no longer out of breath! ]
I don't think I need to warn you, Mydeimos, against swimming in the lake.
[ Phainon lifts the carrying stick and its fishy prizes with a wry look that gives way to a triumphant smile. Look! He brought back dinner! Don't ask him what it cost, he's busy compartmentalizing his harrowing battle. Look! Fish!! Has Mydei ever caught any this big, he thinks not! ]
But just in case I do... don't.
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Naturally, that will be me.
[ Fishing is a battle of attrition. It tests the limits of the fisherman, pitting their patience against the nature of the fish. Whether it bites can be decided by whim or by chance, not necessarily hunger, so when all Mydei has to do is go around foraging as Phainon whiles away his time, watching his reflection in the water... Well, of course he's going to win.
Match already decided (as far as he's concerned), they part. Mydei spends the better part of their time alone meticulously gathering fruits, vegetables, and whatever else seems of interest. There's a surprising variety of vegetation here, all waiting to be picked. He barely has to root through the earth as he walks through the forest, though he still does to find a few roots, wild garlic, and wild onions—all integral to a good soup. Of course, it doesn't necessarily have to be good.
Sustenance is sustenance, but when there's an abundance of spices and flavors? He might as well aim for something worth eating.
By the time Mydei returns to his tent with his gains, he has a decent collection—which includes everything he needs to cook, including a long blue cloth hastily fashioned into an apron. Though it may not seem it given the variety of vegetation, he tried to be discerning as he foraged. Anything he recognized as toxic he left behind, and anything dubious? The same, albeit after several minutes of consideration. Naturally, he left every berry on its bush, if only to avoid tempting fate. He peels, chops, minces, and makes use of fresh water—another foundation of a good soup—and staggers what he puts in, when to best highlight each ingredient's individual flavor.
The aim is a mushroom soup, as he suggested before. Something easy on the stomach but rich and full of protein, which should be enough to fill even Phainon's stomach. Mixed in is the garlic, the onions, some greens, and, mostly for himself, some thinly sliced apples to bring a hint of sweetness to the entire thing. Other ingredients, like the spices he'd picked and the hazelnut, are thrown in for flavor.
As for what he's working on when Phainon finally comes back... That would be an apple glaze for the fish, because while roasting it would be fine? He might as well put in more effort.
He's about to open his mouth and comment on his overwhelming victory, but the sight of Phainon dripping wet in only a scanty flannel robe makes his mouth snap shut. It takes him a moment to recover from the image, and even longer for his skin to stop tingling. ]
What happened? [ He wasn't planning on taking a swim, not anytime soon. Or... anytime after that. In fact, if he can avoid the lake altogether, he will. It isn't like he can't take a wet cloth to his skin, if need be.
However, it's one thing to avoid it of his own volition. It's another to be told to, as if he's some child that needs to be told to avoid a current. ]
hdu make me hungry irl
Phainon almost hesitates to name it, the warmth of this tiny, feeble spark of a feeling. Was contentment... always like this? So simple? So... accessible?
Hold the teleslate, is Mydei wearing an apron? It's less this than the fact that the color - a very different look on him, whose
half-nakedconspicuous body is usually garbed in black, red, and lustrous gold - is so striking against the fire of his eyes, the red-tipped gold of his hair.It's a good look.
Phainon is caught smiling
foolishlyat him for a moment, before his question prompts a lift of his eyebrows, the universal (nonverbal) hm? Oh, right! Right.The lake. The handsy lake monster.
He has the weirdest feeling that he actually hurt that creature's feelings, rejecting its dubiously well-intended advances as firmly and decisively as he had.
LoveLife is tough even for monsters, huh.There's no way he's giving Mydeimos, of all people, that play-by-play. ]
Nothing of consequence, just a friendly warning. -Here!
[ If that had been Mydeimos... Phainon might shudder to speculate. He's aware enough that Mydei and deep water don't really mix. And while it didn't seem to stop either of them from their daily routine of Phainon tracking Mydeimos down and together heading to the baths at Marmoreal Palace, he can guess at how deep his unhappiness would go if some tentacled creature tried to drag him into the depths.
So, if it hadn't been him, there might not be a lake left standing. As Phainon pushes the stick at the Kremnoan warrior (with the two cleaned fish hanging from either end), he leans past him, hoping to snatch the spoon from the pot to sneak a taste.
He might burn his tongue or get cockblocked before he can manage it; there's ample time to stop him on the way, of course, but it smells so good! He's got to try. ] Regretfully, I must concede victory to you, this time. [ There's a slight dip to his voice at the end, just a little disappointed in his performance.
If nothing else, the brief field trip seemed to have done him some good. ]
meanwhile clutching my chest, phainon, bro.....
The thrum perpetually sounding in his chest quiets, awed by the sincerity of Phainon's smile. Mydei's expression softens in turn, but it isn't long before his face turns back to the pot. He listens, but mostly attends the broth, stirring it with a wooden spoon.
A friendly warning. Mydei snorts, resolving to head to the lake later to see exactly what Phainon faced. All he knows is, there's no way it's "nothing of consequence." Not if Phainon came back like that, dripping wet in his already immodest lounge wear. ...Speaking of, he'll have to do something about that.
Only half-attentive, he takes the line of fish in one hand—and barely a few seconds later, his other hand rises up to grab the air near his shoulder. Only, what his fingers meet isn't air, but a solid jaw. He blinks, looking back to stare quizzically that at the face hovering behind him.
After a second, his arched brow drifts down, as if to say, "Who taught you to eat straight from the pot?" ]
Blow on it first. [ ...They're the only ones eating from it, anyway. Besides, Phainon's hungry.
His shoulder bumps Phainon, not quite in reproach but not necessarily affection either, and he abandons the wooden spoon. The soup is basically done anyway, so it should be fine to eat. Leaving the rest of it to Phainon, he turns his attention to the fish. ] Hmph. I said it from the start, this victory was always going to be mine. However, it seems you ran into some... complications, so, I'll show you leniency. Besides, such an easy victory would only tarnish the name of Strife.
Let's decide the real winner tomorrow.
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Phainon's already reaching for that wooden spoon, now that Mydei's hands are preoccupied (or well on their way), leaning so close that he's one wobble from brushing up against the man and giving himself away. Neither of them, clearly, expects Mydei's other hand to catch Phainon's jaw like it does. Mydei's burnished eyes stare at Phainon, baffled, and the white-haired man can only lift his brows, grinning, as if caught red-handed.
Not an inaccurate description of this theft in process, actually.
Mydei's arched brow grants him another reminder. Audata's voice rises, distant and chiding, in the confines of his own skull. 'I taught you better than that, Khaslana! Now wash up after your father-'
He twists his eyes away, softly laughing off the jostling of Mydei's shoulder. As bidden, he blows at the steam rising from the spoon, the tantalizing scent even more mouth-watering now that he's this close to a taste. Mydei's speaking, and his attention is wrenched away from the soup, Mydei's grip still somewhat squashing one cheek. He sees what the Kremnoan is doing - this leniency is a consolation prize, dressed so as to preserve his pride - and he can't complain. Rather, his eyes light up. ]
I'm holding you to that! [ he replies hurriedly, before hastening to his delayed taste of soup. For something he'd thrown together not terribly long ago... it has a surprising depth and complexity of flavor.
Excuse the gratified noise he makes, while he wags the spoon in his hand, trying to nod into Mydei's grasp with his eyes closed. ]
Incredible... [ And in case he thought that compliment was going to be paid gratis... ] Who would have thought that all those missing words in the Kremnoan dictionary had been to save slate space for recipes?
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Mydei's thumb and ring finger squish into Phainon's cheek, forcing them to puff and bloat like a blowfish. There are plenty of words in his people's dictionary, thank you! Including ones for gratitude, a thing that Phainon seems to be sorely lacking in. ]
Use your brain. [ Mydei's hand draws away, releasing Phainon's jaw so he can indignantly cross his arms instead. ] How could a meal foraged from this strange place have a recipe?
[ Much less one from Kremnos. Not that the vegetables are all that unusual. Everything he tested himself tasted the same as back home, but that isn't the point. The point is, there's clearly something unusual about the produce here.
Mydei drifts away, gesturing to the fish and the glaze. ]
Finish the rest. Here. [ He has something else he wants to do, as evidenced by the way he eyes that sad, drippy little robe. Without waiting for a question, or even a protest, Mydei unties his apron and passes it over to Phainon. Blue is more his color, anyway. ]
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This time, the thought - that he missed this - doesn’t skewer the warmth with the cold arrow of guilt. It might not miss next time, but for now, he can have this laughter bubbling up from the kind warmth in the cindered hollow of his breast. ]
Leaving already? [ he teases, though he’s already slipping the protective cloth over his body once he’s set down the spoon. Mydeimos is planning on busying himself with something else, he predicts, so he needlessly shooes him from the vicinity of the bubbling soup and fresh fish.
The fish aren’t large, but they’re plump and the fat on them will make a tasty addition with a bit of salt.
But after rubbing an herb left behind with his fingers and inhaling its savory scent, he decides to stuff the cavity of each fish with them before placing the skewered fish by the shimmering coals.
Whenever Mydei finishes with whatever he’s set off to do, he’ll find Phainon squatting by the fire, waving at the coals with a broad leaf. The skewered fish are browned and crispy on one side, the other roasting in the heat that has his pale hair sticking to his face on beads of sweat.
The aroma of roasted fish is both buttery and smoky, with a touch of green fragrance from the herbs. Together with the earthy aroma of the mushroom soup, it’s little wonder that Phainon’s stomach is rumbling. ]
You know, if only Oronyx’s Miracle could speed up things like this, I might consider joining the priesthood.
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