pepperboxed-blog

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@commaless ( tm9-specific starter call )

Percy’s workshop is his oldest sanctuary. These days, it is not his only one: he can happily take solace in his wife, and in their children, and even below the Sun Tree ( though, sometimes, the latter seems to whisper about the fruits that once hung from its branches ). The room remains a holy place, though. It is a temple to the few accomplishments he has achieved on his own.

That is why it is normally locked.

That is why, when Percy sees the door slightly ajar when he knew he left it closed, he puts a hand on the gun at his side and pushes the door fully open while holding his breath, irrationally expecting Delilah Briarwood to have risen from the grave for a third time.

No necromancer waits for him on the other side. Instead, he sees the small, humanoid shape of Nott the Brave, a goblin he met only the other day, along with the rest of her adventuring party, the confusingly-named Mighty Nein ( at least it’s better than S.H.I.T.s ). She is hunched over something, and he can hear the clinking of metal against metal. Gods damn it. Kids these days.

“I don’t know what Wildemount etiquette is like, but I doubt it is considered polite to rummage through a stranger’s personal affects.”

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you know what i imagine rly fucks w percy, post-campaign ?? the fact that delilah rose from the dead twice. like. theres no way he doesnt have bad ptsd days sometimes and is straight up convinced shes back again

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hvadeina‌:

she’s being careful to not imbibe as much – it muddles the details and her sharp senses need to remain so. the twitch of his lips or the quirk of his brow, the breathy chuckles and very, very eloquent answers. it’s all very endearing, quite charming, and it’s both fortunate and not that vax’ildan has rather good taste.

that’s neither here nor there, however – she is acutely aware that bringing someone causal home during the holiday is not just a whimsical happenstance. percy is here for vax, certainly, but also for his trouble - making - and - still - very - much - in - hot - water - with - their - asshole - father sister. she smiles politely, and knows damn well that the twinkle in her eye gives away each and every one of her intentions.

her brother is her world, the person who means the most to her – truthfully no one is good enough for him, but percy is enjoyable company at the very least. she grills him before she busts vax’s balls as he so kindly puts it, because now she has ammunition. it’s her way of saying thank you, too, but it’s only subtle hints that show themselves as she leans forward from time to time, smiling slightly and hmming and ahhing when she is supposed to – vax isn’t here to protect you from these people and their judgment, so allow me… at least a little.

of course though, she couldn’t have known what that question would bring; vax has said nothing about this casual affair, not even to vex. ( which she is still quite bitter about and why she’d generous in raking this poor man across the coals. ) still it kills the mood, and vex holds percy’s gaze when he finally looks back up, but only for a moment. somewhat sheepishly does vex bite her lip for a flicker with a quick glance askance, “oh, shit… i’m sorry. i didn’t realize.”

still there is camaraderie in his answer, at least somewhat. she sips her wine, and decides that, for now, it wouldn’t hurt to stop the interrogation – he deserves that much. her features shift from their guarded politeness and thinly veiled contempt that only practiced nobility can muster to a more genuine smile, “i take it you’re the black sheep as well then; it might be vax’s color, but don’t let that fool you.”

Like the loyal, loving brother Vax’ildan is, he has said very little about Vex’ahlia’s reputation within the Vessar family. Absolutely, Percy is here to distract those snooty family members from Vex’ahlia’s drama, but he is not exactly sure what that is. He understands the proclivity for privacy. Nevertheless, he is curious. One is not a scientist and inventor without a thirst for knowledge, and Percy now feels this as acutely as though he were wandering through a desert.

If Vax’ildan is not the black sheep, with his elaborate pranks and antisocial personality, Vex’ahlia must be quite the storm to witness. He wonders what she has done: dropped out of school? Gotten pregnant? Developed an opioid addiction? If the latter, they will have something to compare notes on. It has been two years, five months, and three days since he got clean. He counts the time whether or not he wants to. It is a wonder he managed to stay in school -- a testament to what a ludicrous inheritance can achieve.

I suppose I am the black sheep, he thinks to himself, but doesn’t say it out loud, if it really matters what color you are when there are only two of you left. He has had enough of talking about his trauma tonight. And Vex’ahlia looks so beautiful when she smiles, he has no interest in making her frown.

It has not gone unnoticed that her smile has blossomed into a genuine one. Percy is quite familiar with the polite-but-entirely-fake grimace that is the dress code at these types of households. It is nice to see it slip away, revealing a very attractive glint in her eye. Oh, Sarenrae, he needs to stop thinking about Vax’ildan’s sister as alluring ( which she definitely is, but nevertheless... ), it can only end catastrophically.

"Miss Vessar, are you implying that you are improper? I’m afraid I’ll have to stop talking to you, lest my impeccable reputation be tarnished.” He is not flirting. He is just being friendly. Having fun. Enjoying a bit of back-and-forth. That’s all.

[pepperboxed-blog]

so! hello. i wanna write with tm9 muses. well, i wanna write w everyone, i essentially havent rped for like . a year, but i thot it would be nice to set out 2 types of aus for tm9 muses, & have this act as a starter call: like this post for a starter. write either “A” or “B” in the comments, if u have a preference for the following aus (otherwise i decide) :

A. tm9 need a bunch of residuum. when they can’t find a local-ish supply, they decide to go directly to the source: whitestone. with the help of allura, they show up on lord & lady whitestone’s doorstep. they have a few tasks for tm9 to do, in exchange for residuum. percy finds time between his kids and his clocks to interact w this band of adventurers that reminds him of his youth. (canon-ish compliant)

B. percy went to wildemount in search of dr ripley and was imprisoned in trostenwald. he is found by tm9, and joins them on their adventures. (tm9 member au)

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👀...

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@hvadeina ( plotted )

Alcohol is a dear friend to Percival, who is nonetheless an easy victim to its effects --- or perhaps he is just too eager in his consumption and pours it down his throat faster than any other. In any case, he happily accepted the Courage when Vex’ahlia offered it, and now his mind is pleasantly humming, while his tongue lazily obeys her every wish.

What is his intention in dating her brother? Percy almost laughs, but remembers how important it is to Vax that he keeps up the farce. So, fine, he answers very seriously that his and Vax’s relationship is just casual; that he doesn’t know what the intention is, but it’s definitely not to hurt him. ‘Casual’ is an overstatement, he thinks smugly to himself.

Does he study? What does he study? What does he do in his free time? Vex’ahlia grills him expertly, too polite and interested to be called out on what she is doing. So he just answers. There is no point in being secretive anyway.

What do his parents do? The question is sobering. It hits him somewhere in his gut and forces him to stare straight at the floor. His glass is empty within seconds. As he sinks back into the cushion of the ridiculously expensive couch, he feels his hidden necklace knock heavily against his chest. “Roll in their graves a lot, I’d imagine,” he finally answers, aiming for gallows humor but landing in a deep sea of bitterness. “They died a while ago. Five years, to be exact.”

As those words set in, he looks up at Vex’ahlia. She looks a lot like her brother, of course, but her face is distinctly her own. Her features are more angled, but her nose is softer. Although her hair is done in a braid, the few, free tufts frame her face nicely. Gorgeous. That is what she is. It is very inconvenient of Vax to have a beautiful sister.

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I AM BACK! and i’m ready 2 write. please consider this a STARTER CALL! as a note, i’ve watched all of the recent vm one-shots, and im currently (just over) 2 episodes behind on tm9 rip yasha

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hvadeina‌:

trinket groans in a way that vex’ahlia likes to think she understands completely. it’s when she hears the quiet murmur of percy’s voice that she feels she can relax – only she does not. she cannot. still, in case there are more she hovers over the gunslinger like a cornered den mother. they need to leave, to find camp now. she takes inventory of each and every one of their band of misfits – and they know the usual teasing they reserve for cases will no longer be funny, at least, not for quite some time.

trinket nudges himself down, offering a snout and head for percy to cling to before he lifts up the wounded man to carry as his mother requested. it’s when vex’ahlia stops her sharp warning glare at vox machina to stare down the de rolor. sharp brown eyes bore into blue ones, and despite the way her brow has furrowed her hardness is gone, replaced with nothing but confusion.

it also is a warning – that they will talk about this later, in private. where percy does not have to explain whatever this is to the lot of them. only vex. at least for now. she stops her boring into him to look back towards her worried brother and company. her features lighten again – being stern takes more energy than she is used to.

“everything’s alright, dears. percival and i were both shot, but –”

and she feels dizzy of all things – suddenly, like it’s caught up to her, faster than it has in such a long time, and she grasps at her wound with a wince – one that feels nothing but the flow of hot blood. “if you could, pike…”

but she can’t finish the request with a please. she leans against trinket and shuts her eyes slowly. she hears everyone distantly – vex is tired, but she’ll be fine. she has to be. pike’s healing touch gives her a second wind, and thankfully so; wanting to get percival alone to interrogate him is all she can focus on. as soon as they make camp.

It is hard to meet her gaze. He only holds it long enough to understand her warning; then he flees, eyes seeking out Trinket instead, as though the bear would do anything but mirror his mother’s attitude. Still, it’s easier to pretend with Trinket. Pike’s magic floods into him with a touch from her, and for the first time since before their initial battle, Percy feels alright. He isn’t dizzy, at least. On the other hand, he feels like emptying his stomach and running all the way to Whitestone and let the Briarwoods finish the job.

Desperate for a reason to not look at Vex or even acknowledge her existence, he goes with Grog to gather firewood for their camp. It’s not like the literal goliath needs much help carrying it, but Percy’s eyes are keener (at least, behind a set of glasses) and he knows enough about trees to guide Grog to the least smoke-producing sorts. Together, they make quite the team, actually. Not to mention, Percy can purposefully lead Grog much further than what is necessary without the brute knowing the difference, giving Percy more time to stew in his nerves.

Eventually, though, they must return.

Despite the lack of firewood, most of the others have laid out their sleeping bags and settled in. Keyleth is still gnawing on a ration pack, which must have been what the others have decided to eat for dinner, too, too exhausted to go hunting for game. As soon as Grog has thrown down the firewood in a semi-decent pile, he goes to pass out on top of his own sleeping bag, leaving Percy to ignite the fire.

It normally wouldn’t take him more than a few seconds. But he wants to make sure that the others have settled in by the time he and Vex must eventually speak, so he puts on a bit of a show of trying and failing to start the fire. In the end, he manages to stretch it a good 10-15 minutes. When he looks up, the vast majority of Vox Machina already looks passed out. Adventurers fall asleep easy.

Left is only Vex’ahlia.

He swallows. This will be quite alright; he can lie to her. Perhaps. She’s pretty good at seeing through people, though, for all that he likes to think he’s a decent liar. At least he doesn’t have any moral qualms about lying to her. That’s something. Not that he has moral qualms about a lot of things. Those tend to take the backseat once you strike a deal with a demon.

Even though the evening is getting cold, he slips off his coat. He spreads it out on the ground next to her. Without a comment on how the right sleeve of his white shirt is covered in congealed blood, he sits down, and begins unbuttoning it. There is no point hiding it from her; she is not completely idiotic.

“Grog kept picking up pine,” he says nonchalantly as he shrugs off his shirt. Ice-cold night air hits his chest, but he swallows a hiss. The shirt is drenched with the help of his waterskin. It is ruined anyway, so he uses it as a cloth to wipe away the blood still stuck to the skin of his right arm. “Apparently, he doesn’t understand the concept of sap.”

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spelldreamer‌:

the question has her laughing, more than she probably should be. “a woman like me?” she asks, eyes wandering around the corner, searching for any figures that might be on the lookout for - wait. her eyes narrow as she swings her head back around, noting that bright white hair that can be seen from a mile. “you might want to try and cover that up,” she suggests, before looking back out, satisfied with the quiet and taking a few steps forward. 

“and, what exactly is a woman like me supposed to be, percival?” she’s got to admit, he has a nice name - it rolls off the tongue (even if she can’t remember the other seven that follow behind). “and as for what i’m doing here - following some business.” aka, poking her nose where it doesn’t belong - a simple soothsayer, that’s all she’s supposed to be. and yet she still manages to find herself trying to do good, when all she should be trying to do is stay hidden. “question for a question - how’d you manage to make friends like those?”

‘Cover that up’? Percy scrunches up his nose in offense and touches his hair. What’s wrong with his hair? Sure, it’s fairly characteristic, but she makes it sound as though it’s an inconvenience. Of course, she can’t know that he generally seeks out attention, quietly hoping that his ghosts will come fight him themselves instead of having to come to them and face the rest of Whitestone.

Nevertheless, he doesn’t want to argue, so he pulls out a hat -- a cloak isn’t something he owns. By the gods, he may be poor, but he hasn’t lost his sense of fashion! So, now hatted, he follows Cat and is satisfied with how quietly he moves. See! He’s perfectly capable of being stealthy, thank you very much.

“Hm,” he hums, “well, it’s much the same for me: business. Unfortunate how business takes people to these places, huh?”

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MODERN VERSE INFO

NAME : Percival  MIDDLE NAME : Frederickstein  LAST NAME : von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III AGE : 23 GENDER : cis man SEXUALITY : bisexual FAMILY : Frederickstein ( father ), Johanna ( mother ), Julius ( older brother ) Vesper ( older sister ), Oliver ( younger brother, twin to Whitney ), Whitney ( younger sister, twin to Oliver ), Ludwig ( youngest brother ), Cassandra ( youngest sister, youngest sibling ) BIRTHPLACE : London, England  HOMETOWN : London, England CURRENT LOCATION : thread dependent NATIONALITY : English  ETHNICITY : white  SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, French, Hebrew RELIGION : atheist HEIGHT : 6′3″ / 190 cm BODY TYPE : tall, slightly lanky but toned, not very impressive unless you see him in action HAIR COLOUR & TYPE :  originally brown but it has gone shock-white with stress, thick and straight EYE COLOUR & TYPE : blue-gray, average white boy lol TATTOOS : i’m torn between no way ever and like a giant raven’s skull chest piece PIERCINGS : nah altho my heart says prince albert SCARS : a ton of very small, very insignificant ones on his hands and arms as a result of experiments gone wrong; circular scars from gunshot wounds on his thighs and upper right arm; a long, jagged scar running along his chest, not dead center but slightly to the left, beginning an inch or two under his nipple and running to his naval. EDUCATIONAL BACKGROUND : a first-class honors degree in physics from oxford university, currently working on a dphil ( phd ) in ‘autonomous intelligent machines and systems’ also at oxford. PETS : nah CAREER : owns shares in his deceased parents’ company and otherwise lives off of his inheritance -- though, this is filtered through the briarwoods first, as according to the super sketchy will his parents left behind. SOCIAL MEDIA USED : linkedin, facebook but with minimal posting. SMOKING : never / occasionally / party smoker / often / in the past DRINKING : never / occasionally / party drinker / often / in the past ( *sober for <1 year ) DRUGS : never / tried it a few times / occasionally / often / in the past IF THEY DO DRUGS, WHAT KIND? : he only rly smoked weed ATHLETICS THEY ENJOY? : weight-lifting. used to do fencing HOBBIES : visiting the shooting range, brainstorming inventions VIRGIN? : yes / no IF NOT, HOW OLD WERE THEY WHEN THEY LOST THEIR VIRGINITY? : 18 FAVOURITE DRINK : coffee, now that he doesn’t drink alcohol anymore FAVOURITE FOOD : probably something very specific from a very fancy restaurant FAVOURITE MUSIC : mainstream pop tbh FAVOURITE MOVIE : the shining or some other classic horror movie FAVOURITE TV SHOW : house of cards, probably FAVOURITE BOOK : he’s honestly not that much of a fiction reader CLOTHING STYLE : very posh and proper, wears a lot of dark blue suits, def has a sense of style but a pretty classic one UNDERWEAR TYPE : boxers

TAGGED BY : stole it from @hopedancing TAGGING: chase ur bliss

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faitaccomplied‌:

Cassandra’s not entirely sure why she’s here. It seemed like a good idea to have a talk with her brother, but she’d lost her nerve halfway down the stairs, shuffled around the main floor for a while, before deciding it would at least be a good idea to bring him some food. She remembers how he used to forget to eat when he got too invested in a project, and mother would have to send his dinner down. Which is how she’s found her way here with a bottle of wine and a plate of various snacks, not sure if she should knock or just walk in, when she manages to fumble and creak the door open. She doesn’t miss the surprise that flickers across Percy’s eyes when he sees her.

“You don’t have to use titles with me, brother. You’re still a lord.” Quietly she shuffles in closer, setting down the tray on the edge of his work table and fidgeting with the bottle still in her hands. “Not entirely. Well, yes, but I couldn’t sleep and…” she pauses, not wanting to get into the details of how she keeps waking up from nightmares, pacing the halls with restless energy until the sun comes up most nights. She thinks, though, it is possible her eyes give her away; the deep set circles etched under them. It’s been worse in the week since she’d seen her brother just on this side of death; in a way she is grateful she hadn’t been there any earlier, although she regrets not being there for him, to at least offer her help in some way. It feels entirely selfish to be so relieved that her own feelings were spared.

“I just wanted to make sure you had something to eat, since you didn’t show up to dinner earlier. And, well, we really haven’t had any time to talk. Not that we have to. I just thought I’d check in.” It’s exceedingly awkward, at least on her end. Percy has been risking his life fighting dragons to protect the world, and she has no idea how to repay him, to be the kind of sister he deserves. She wonders if they will ever not be compelled to be so formal with each other. He is more familiar with the people he brought home, his new found family, than with her. In her less kind moments she resents them for it.

Couldn’t sleep -- yes, he knows how that feels. The two of them aren’t quite so different from each other as they might feel. In fact, Percy quietly believes that it is their similarity that makes it so hard for them to properly connect. Paired with the fact that he abandoned her, of course. He is the reason she has those nightmares, he mustn’t forget. It pains him to remind himself, but he has to. Anything else isn’t fair to Cass. It’s hard to look her in the eye, though.

“You’re welcome,” he tells her and despite his apprehension, it is the truth; it is not her he is upset with. Quickly putting aside his project, he stands and carries the tray to a smaller table to the side. It is equipped with two chairs. There is a reason why he wasn’t at dinner, and it is, for once, not his mind. No, he had a private dinner with Vex’ahlia. Though, he should not linger for too long on those thoughts, otherwise his pale face will quickly go red. At least they didn’t eat very much, so he is actually quite hungry.

He takes a seat and waves his hand to indicate she can sit on the other. “Thank you, it���s ... quite thoughtful of you. I ... don’t exactly think that I deserve it; you constantly do so much for the rest of us, but particularly me. Once all of this is done, it’ll be my turn, I know, and I will be happy to take some weight off your shoulders. For now, though, I ... need to see this through. I’m not sure how much the others told you, or even how much I told you, my memory is,” he laughs, humorlessly, “not exactly perfect. But in case you haven’t heard, we killed Ripley. Ripped her asunder, that’s what the others tell me.”

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hvadeina‌:

Keep reading

There is nothing he can picture in his mind’s eye that will ever come close to the wonder of Vex’s pink lips wrapped around the length of him. Just the sight is enough to make him breathe heavily, but the feeling of her tongue against him and the insides of her cheeks and her firm but comfortable grip is soon the only thing in the world that exists. Pleasure and aching want build and build in the pit of his stomach as he moans whenever she moves her tongue in a certain way --- months upon months of marriage have given the both of them practice in how to please each other, and each could probably map the other’s body with their eyes closed.

Her long neck is exposed by the hand that holds up her hair, and in the middle of the building tension and pressure and fuck fuck fuck, he finds that a sliver of his mind manages to remember a phrase from a long-dead bard: look how she pulls her hair with her hand, o, that he were that hand, that he might touch that hair ( artistic changes applied ). But he is very, very quickly brought back to the present when her tongue sweeps across his sensitive head and his whole body feels on fire and he wants her further, down, down, down, and his hips buck, chasing her warmth, and that is when she disappears.

Again he has closed his eyes without realizing it, but he snaps them open and looks down at her, lips parted around his heavy breathing. The look she sends him almost does it; without even touching him, she almost manages to send him over the edge --- and with just one look. He isn’t surprised, not really, it’s what she does, it’s what she’s always done to him, even when he didn’t want to admit it. But it doesn’t do it and he’s left with the almost painful buildup of pressure in his groin, orgasm purposefully denied. Despite his desperation, a thrill runs up his spine; his body screams for release, but what little sliver of mind remains intact knows that the delayed release will make everything else pale in comparison -- and there is nothing more appealing than Vex having complete and utter control.

He breathes heavily while she waits, can almost taste the numbers on her tongue, and stays quiet, hands still trapped under his head. And then, faster than he expected, she returns, and he gasps and unclasps his hands, too overwhelmed by the sudden stimulation to keep from reaching for her. Right before he touches her, though, he remembers himself, and puts them back in place -- though, not without groaning loudly in complaint. This time around, the pressure builds quicker than before, having not had much of a break, and he feels his legs twitch. “Fuck, Vex,” he breathes, unable to keep quiet ( that is, he has not exactly been quiet for any of this, but these are his first semi-coherent words ), “please-please-please.” He’s so close, seconds, milliseconds, whatever the fuck the thousandth of that is.

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hvadeina‌:

there is something otherworldly about just how powerful love can be – the very fact percival is so intent on saving her from the fear she feels has her wanting to push him to the bed and make love to him while the people downstairs are stuck wondering about the location of their hosts. she doesn’t, however; she’s resolved herself to this. the fear she feels is internal, and he’s right. the first step of facing a fear is to simply do it. to bullshit deeply. she laughs a bit, the breathy sound lifting the weight on her heart a touch.

none of them are worth you.

a role she always admired from afar – watching her father and his guests from the banisters at night. imagining what it would be like to be there, among them. it’s difficult now accept she has the right to descend those stairs, to claim her place beside the love her of her life. with percy there, she can do anything. she will make them both proud. not because she must to make him happy, but because she loves him, and cassandra so dearly. whitestone deserved the best of her – she was damned ready to give it all that and more.

she rests her hands atop his own, running her thumb across his knuckles as she returns his gaze with glistening eyes, ones filled with gratitude and adoration. she smiles, relaxed and not only content, but happy. it was implied, always implied, that their search for another half was over. they had found it in each other. saying it in earnest was another thing entirely. the admission elates vex and still does wonders to start a fire in her belly, one so giddy and eager at the very prospect.

how she wants to marry this man. she grasps percy’s hand within her own, shifting it from resting along her cheek to rest it along her lips. she kisses it gently and does not let go. don’t get married without me. she can her vax saying it now. still - she wants to. waiting any longer sounds like bullshit. perhaps something small – the pomp and circumstance isn’t necessary. no fancy gown and lavish meal. as long as percy is there, she will be content.

“you’ve shared this home with me. it’s ours, now. your sister is now mine as well. i love this place. darling, i love you. if i have to suffer a million boring parties to wake up beside you every day then this shall be my first one – let’s go down there and charm the shit out of each and every one of our fancy guests. then we can talk smack about them later like proper nobility.”

it’s not a traditional acceptance of marriage, but nothing about either of them was very traditional.

Heart in throat, Percy swallows and attempts to properly parse her words. But he is fairly certain he understands: she has heard his question, and she has answered --- positively. It still takes a moment for this realization to take root in him, but when it does, his face lights up with happiness he has not felt ... perhaps ever in his life.

Although he wants to show her how precious she is to him, his hands move to the back of her neck with such determination that there can be no talk of gentle care, and his lips crash down on hers and one of his hands slides down her back to intertwine its fingers with the strings of her corset and as soon as he has the opportunity to, he sweeps his tongue inside of her, heart beating faster than it ever has in any of their battles alongside Vox Machina.

On his nose, his glasses have been thoroughly knocked askew.

Before he can forget himself in her lovely breath and mischievous lips, he pulls himself away, though with his hands still firmly on her. His neck already hurts from straining to kiss her, but he smiles widely down at her and kisses her nose.

“I think that sounds like an excellent plan. If you see any rings you like, be sure to get the name of their jeweler; I will want to talk to them.”

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hvadeina‌:

so much can happen in a mere matter of seconds.

she feels helpless and guilty all at once. the arrow in her hand nearly splits in half just due to the way she squeezes it; if she were stronger, it certainly would. vex doesn’t understand how or why – perhaps a hag? a curse of some sort, certainly. why is he bleeding? why does he wince and pretend like he isn’t mortally wounded? what the fuck do i do?

yes, she was shot – she reaches across her arm to touch the spot – it does not hurt, even though it bleeds, and she finally screams his name in shock and worry as he slumps against a whining trinket – the poor dear doesn’t know what’s going on, not fully. it’s not incorrect to say his mother is in the same boat.

the rest can take care of themselves. there can’t possibly be that many left, can there be? she reaches down to try and staunch his bleeding, resting his tired head in her lap as trinket circles around them to shield both the half elf and the gunslinger. with no more potions in her bag, all that remains are her paltry spells. her hand reaches across his wounds and her weakest arcane talents only manage to due the bare minimum. it’s enough – it must be.

she hears her brother ask, ‘what the fuck is happening over there?’ from his hiding place, and keyleth stammering out her own lines of worry that mix in with other concerned sentiments. she waits until she sees percival is still breathing before doing anything – when he does, vex does not bother to answer. she pulls out her bow, pops up from behind trinket, and shoots into the fray with an angry scream.

Reality doesn’t come creeping in: it crashes into him. After only a moment of darkness, Percy comes to consciousness, heaving loudly and coughing. He is horizontal, now, and his body aches from the fall --- most of all his hip and his head. A primal cry emerges from above and he nearly rolls away, but then he realizes that he knows that voice.

Still breathing irregularly, he opens his eyes, and stares directly up at Vex’ahlia. She towers above him, the only parts of her readily available being her legs. Feeling exhausted and pitiful, he rolls to the side ( the one that doesn’t have a wounded shoulder ), coughs into the grass, and closes his eyes.

Not a minute later, all sounds of combat fizzle. From the shouts of his friends, he can deduce that there were only two remaining thugs, and now they have fallen. Behind him, Trinket grunts. Then he feels a disgusting, wet tongue on his face. He splutters, and raises a hand to push Trinket’s face out of his. “I’m fine, Trinket, I’m fine,” he protests, eyes still closed.

He has to think of an explanation, but his head hurts and his mind is fuzzy and he honestly cannot come up with anything that explains why he would take Vex’ahlia’s damage, out of all of them, in a way that makes sense. Will she connect the fact that she feels no pain to this? Or will she just think it’s a coincidence? Will she even think that this has been going on for as long as it has, or will she assume that it is a recent development? There’s no way to prepare for all of her questions without knowing what her assumptions are. Whatever they are, he must play to them.

One thing is certain, though: there is no way in the Seven Hells that he is telling her the truth.

[pepperboxed-blog]

hvadeina‌:

the way towards the entrance of their home vex’ahlia is careful to tread. she knows where the rest of their group had been before she braved up enough to approach percy’s workshop door. they must be scattered about to the four corners of their keep by now – at least, she can only hope. they aren’t two teenagers sneaking away into the night, but in some silly way it feels like that’s the most apt way to describe this.

( as she rounds a corner she sees vax, silent and hiding as if in plain sight as he is prone to do. she shoots him a look, and he slips back into the shadows of the hallway before disappearing entirely. )

vex holds his hand like a vice grip in case he changes his mind. hopefully the fresh air will do wonders, offering a bit more clarity than a small room with no windows and the heat of fire sucking away air in desperate need. percival needs it more, to catch his breath finally. there is time to think, to figure out the best way for percy to escape his thoughts. talking about them? he’s far too reserved. to work himself to death? he’s got that squared away as if it’s a talent. sex?

keyleth was far softer, better when it came to this sort of thing.

it’s about now that vex realizes he does not have his coat. to go back and get it seems like it will be the end of this before it even begins. she has her own cloak, however, and with the layers of her armor she’s certain to be able to manage just fine without it. the cold reminds her of the years of homelessness.

for a moment she falters, looking both ways down the streets slowly thinning. she thinks about taking him to a tavern, or the promenade, and promptly decides against it. crowds are most certainly not ideal. with a resoluteness she pulls him towards the port.

“so, dear – what were you working on down there?” she doesn’t expect him to answer, but with the open air and privacy perhaps he will; it’s a start.

As they make their way out of Greyskull Keep, all he focuses on is her braid. It sways gently with her every step. The feathers stuck in it wave in the wind. At first said wind is comforting. It brings him out of his fuzzy mind and into his body. But after a few minutes, it begins truly seeping into his flesh and settling there, rudely reminding him of how thoroughly mad he has gone now that he cannot even remember to grab his coat.

Her hand is warm. It doesn’t much to heat the rest of him, but it is enough. And, honestly, he deserves the cold. Perhaps he will catch some illness that will keep him in bed for a few days. That would serve him right.

He has no idea where they’re going. He just follows that pendulum-like motion of her braid, until she has pulled him up next to her, after which he does his best to stare ahead but not see. Out of habit, he sticks out his arm for her to take, as opposed to his hand, a nobleman’s gesture.

Vex’ahlia’s voice breaks through the fog in his mind, as it so often does, though never as obviously as now, when the fog has never been thicker. Dear. He likes it when she calls him that. ‘Darling’ is better, but it is usually something one has to earn somehow: either by looking pathetic or by giving her something she wants. At least he doesn’t look that pathetic.

“Something new,” he manages, wetting his lips. “It’s... if it works, it should give me an edge in close quarters. It probably won’t be much good against the Briarwoods, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

[pepperboxed-blog]

theystories‌:

        dav - ead towers above the rest of his company , a giant’s frame dominating the space , but alas he’s not the one who seems to be doing the actual fighting . instead , he walks unbothered by the tussle , picking fallen coin as one would have picked daisies on a calm sunday stroll . not that he’s ever been on one of those - he’s just heard the saying somewhere . his fellows in arms quickly clear the room of life , busying themselves with scrounging whatever they can grab while filling the deathly silence with noisy excited chatter . circling the dungeon dav kicks the rusty metal of hanging cages , some in which the remains of long - since dead prisoners rattle out from between the bars . “  ‘scuse me , “ the low baritone of the giant’s voice drums above the sound of the guild as long legs step over the pile now resting in peace on the floor .            suddenly , a cage speaks . interest thoroughly peaked , dav bends with his hands against his knees , squinting into the dark . “ well by the gods i’d be damned “ he chuckles as one large finger taps against a metal bar the way a child would tap against the glass of a shop window .  “ there’s a live one ! and it wants to deal ! “ suddenly , his feet are swarmed by his cloaked companions , all curious as to see what he has unearthed from the darkness . “ say , little prisoner , “ he begins in a voice half of feigned gravity and half amusement , “ what deal would you like to test my interest with ? “

Considering that Percy is face-to-face with a whole band of strangers, including a man much, much taller than himself, despite his own fairly impressive height, it is perhaps surprising that he doesn’t feel nervous. In fact, there is an easy smile on his face. This is what he knows: deal-making. Diplomacy. And nothing speaks clearer than gold.

Slowly pulling out ten gold pieces out of his pocket, he lets them glitter in the light. Hopefully the big oaf will be impressed with the shine -- the birds, too. They almost look like magpies. “I offer you money,” he says, voice calm and clear. “Twenty-five gold pieces for my release from this prison cell -- and a further ten pieces for you to leave me unharmed.” He raises his eyebrows. “Or, if you are interested in a very lucrative deal, I can offer you more if you agree to escort me out of this city. What do you say?”