craycousinray-blog

[craycousinray-blog]

Please put the why in there with the symbol if you do.

Put an '♣' in my ask box if you like my RP style and tell me WHY.

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A frigid breeze sent its whimper past the young soldier, tugging at hair and attire alike and causing his march to come to a brief halt as he lifted an arm to shield himself from the onslaught of biting snow the wind brought. Raymond could barely fathom how people were living in these conditions, but he reminded himself that the same was said about his own country whenever someone not native to it graced the sands with their presence. He was simply not accustomed to these dreadful weather conditions, and decided to count himself lucky that there was little need to extend his stay for very long. When it came down to it, making progress and being of use took a winning spot in the ginger's list of priorities - and this would have far outlived any complaints about the cold, should he have considered this trip worthwhile.

Playing the part of a messenger when that torch had already been passed on to someone wasn't the most uplifting of notions, nor did it at all feel very essential to begin with. But whether Raymond agreed or disagreed, he was but a servant at another's whim, and that role was his to perform, with or without a rewarding treat.

The appointed time hadn't yet arrived, however. Raymond considered heading to the inn himself, but didn't want to risk missing the team supposed to receive him. He supposed they would be a while, though...

A voice stole his attention away from any speculation in the end, a slow turn depicting his utter lack of interest, but the glance suggesting a bell had rung in Raymond's mind. This woman was familiar, but anything further from this, he was unable to place. Either way, she was likely not of importance if he couldn't be bothered with recalling even her name. Her rather direct question made him compelled to speak with her, at least, but he hoped it wouldn't take long.

"The Lieutenant is busy with matters of greater importance", he breathed, his voice somewhat dragging as if the man was bored. It was only how he spoke normally, however. "I was sent in his stead."

It occurred to him now that this might be one of the people Raymond was supposed to speak with, giving him reason to alter his approach and polish any lack of manners that might have been portrayed. Then again, she could just be a regular Amarcian rather than a representative, but he couldn't be too sure.

"I'm sorry, who might you be?"

Doctrine @green-genius

Fourier huffs as she trudges through the snow-covered street, impatiently smoothing down her hair (which the wind had displaced). Despite living in Fendel for the entirety of her life, the Amarcian was still unused to the frigid temperatures and sharp winds. She had never really grown accustomed to any of it – and had never actually given herself the chance to do so with her preference to instead remain within her research facility.

As she passes by Fendel Tower on the way to her Facility, she can’t help but to stop in her tracks, captivated by the sight of a very strange man.

Her eyes narrow as she attempts to assess him, her expression as glacial and uncompromising as Fendel’s winter chill. The soldier before her didn’t seem at all impressive, although he did elicit a peculiar feeling of familiarity in her. So perhaps she had seen him before? His uniform at least was something she was certainly acquainted with – and it would be difficult not to, in her opinion: the attire of those in the Strahtan Military was difficult to miss, considering how ostentatious its design happened to be…

But where could she have ever seen this person? She hardly left her lab after all, save for few occasions…

The Amarcian steps closer to get a better look at him, if only to satisfy her curiosity: the man’s sun-kissed skin was characteristic of those who came from Strahta, given its location, but his hair certainly was not. Since when did humans have dual-colored hair?

Rather, since when did they dye it to possess such an appearance?

“Oh! I remember you…” She murmurs to herself, her eyes scanning his face as she tries to recall his name. Fourier can vaguely recall his presence, but not an interaction between them both in particular, while last at Lhant.

“Just what are you doing in Fendel? Don’t they usually send that… blue-haired one with the glasses to represent Strahta?” The biologist sets a hand on her hip, an amused sort of smile on her face; she actually couldn’t remember much of that man either, save for her sister’s incessant ramblings of him.

[craycousinray-blog]

Send me a "＊" if you'd ship our characters [romantically] together.

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Another drabble prompt~? Young Ray meeting little Hubert for the first time.

[Drabble: I carried a droplet to the beach and it created the ocean]

No matter the backs turned, the harsh words, the punishing glares and tensed jaw hinting at disappointment, there was some admiration for his uncle in comparison to Raymond's actual father. This man urged him to push himself harder, to become better and grow into a respectable man for a rewarding sake. This being the one thing repeated to him in constant resonance throughout his childhood and up. The Oswell family. The Oswell family. The well-being of Strahta was the well-being and prosperity of that very name. And Raymond carried its impressive weight with swelling pride. He was part of the generation that would come to carry those pillars above their heads. And it was wonderful. It was worth any beating, any seemingly significant drops of his heart. As Raymond saw it, if he was getting disheartened or despaired, he was not trying hard enough. He was not doing a good job, and he was being mentally punished for it. It only served him right.

Raymond had always been one to go the extra mile when it wasn't necessary. To stand out, even if only a little, to do as good of a job as possible and then some. This often led him to his own little agendas, ones that were seldom rewarded as the poor bespectacled ginger wasn't the brightest sort when it came to devising things on his own. Upon outside observation, it was rather clear to others that this would only give him positions suited for following rather than leading. Hence, at a very young age, Raymond's future and intertwined fate had already been decided for him.

But it was alright. It was fine. He was still able to serve the country of his origins, the pride and perfection of his name, the thing he truly was nothing without. The one purpose of his life. This led Raymond to think of little else, his mind drilled to insane amounts with what was supposedly the only matter of importance. And he coud be used and abused however often was necessary to shape him.

But as much as Raymond looked up to his uncle, the man himself did not see him. As something expendable, if anything, someone who no doubt worked hard and would do as he was told. But nothing that stood out from the rest. A dyed fringe would do nothing to assist him in terms of simply having a soul people could be drawn to. This was decided upon birth. And little did Raymond know that his own hard work would come to fuel the recognition and soul of someone not of his blood.

And he would be the first moth in this experiment.

There had been talk about it. An adoption had been a necessity, and that factor was understandable. Raymon was of the presumption that this wouldn't make the child an Oswell, nor would it make him appreciated or loved. He would need to work hard like everyone else, perhaps even harder. The notion had put a smile on the eighteen-year old soldier-in-training at the time.

But as the little boy had arrived, shaking like a wind-beaten doll, he was indeed treated with everything but mercy, and pity plagued Raymond's features. During their first meeting, he had been cold, said very little to the other, a condescending glare whispering that this boy would never rise above him. That now, Raymond wasn't the underdog anymore and never would be.

But the poor boy was put through the same ordeal as him, if perhaps worse. Everyday he cried, never a smile on his face. As soon as he spoke of something irrelevant, nay, spoke at all without first being spoken to, he was ruthlessly shot down. Raymond, having been assigned to teach the boy and take care of him in his uncle's absence, thought this would be an enjoyable thing to watch. But he only saw a weaker version of himself, curled up on the floor, knowing not what was so important about this family that he would need to suffer for it. But Raymond knew better now. This boy, Hubert, did not.

And so he taught him.

One day, Raymond, as if struck by a simple decision, entered Hubert's room as usual to teach him. But an impulse had been carried at his side that day, and his voice had taken on a gentle, albeit awkward, tone. He came to the boy with tips and tricks, teaching him how to stand and how to walk, clever things to say to win approval as well as things a few of the higher-ups liked. These were things he had learned over the course of many years, through trial and error, in order to win himself a more favourable spot. He now passed it on to Hubert, thinking it harmless as it was only a boy of ten at most who would likely not be able to remember it all sufficiently enough to perform it.

And little by little, as Hubert got more and more closed off, Raymond opened up. He barely noticed the transition himself, simply enjoying the other's company and being someone another could look up to for once.

But it turned out all his teachings had been a complete success. Hubert basically swept the military off their feet with his smarts, technique and skill, being not only a quick learned but a fiery spirit as well. People were quickly drawn to him, and he disregarded this, making them only further intrigued. He earned spot after spot, praise after praise, only disappearing more and more into himself and away from that shy little boy each time.

And as such, so did Raymond.

In the end, one not of his blood was more worthy of the Oswell name than Raymond himself. And the fact that he had allowed himself to be the stepping stone for this achievement only served to throw him deeper into this internal dungeon of his own construction.

[craycousinray-blog]

Also a drabble prompt: Raymond's thoughts on Hubert being together with Pascal while Raymond is still forever alone.

[Drabble: Contrast]

There had been a component regarding anticipation. And yet, it had not. For the Lieutenant as a person was rather predictable, not at all impossible for his cousin to decipher. However, the adjacent role in the story brought complications to such premonitions. Raymond didn't know the young amarcian with the odd disposition, but he was fairly certain she was not even of an understanding in regards to the concept of love.

So then, why?

Even Hubert should understand the issues surfacing from conjoining with such a character. But as previously stated, the young Lieutenant cared not for the Oswell name - his duty lay in Strahta. However aggravating, Raymond couldn't act against it. It wasn't his place, nor his way. Seeing his adopted cousin steal glances with that enamoured expression just sent jolts of exasperation and venom into his senses, something the ginger had to swiftly swat away before pulling it in for dangerous contemplation.

Raymond didn't particularly think that love was a fool's notion. It simply wasn't for some people. It was, in fact, rather wasted on them. He had long come to terms with this being the case, his very birth educating him on the ways of a soldier and a dedicated member of a family tougher than the surface of Duplemar. The realization had come early, and with much indifference, little to no interference being the case until recently.

And yet there he was, a boy raised in the same environment, the same terms provided, allowing himself to flutter away into oblivion with a girl of an ancient race who likely would bring questionable births when one kept in mind her ways as well as her appearance. It was truly irksome how Hubert refused to take note of this, to remember what he had been taught. It wasn't difficult.

But he didn't. Wouldn't. Even then, he wasn't branded as a failure, a disappointment or a traitor. He was rewarded. Placed in higher regard, status considerably raised. Again. In spite of someone else's efforts. ... Again.

This was when Raymond further came to the comprehension that the two of them had always played under a different set of rules. He had been the one to fan the flames of Hubert's success from the early beginning, the boy having been entrusted to his care more often than not. Determination had brewed, Raymond knowing of the strenuous growth the Oswell name provided, intending to make sure the other wouldn't crumble underneath it, only to watch himself take the part of the fragmented being under another's heel.

But Raymond had been born into this family. There was no reason to be lenient with him, and there would be no escape. And Hubert... he was free to do whatever he pleased at this point. Gain back his family, be with the woman he loved, surrounded by friends who embraced him despite his place of growth.

Because, of course... He had still been fixable.

He hadn't been born with any taint.

[craycousinray-blog]

The assistance provided by the Relief Organization was greatly beneficial at a time like this where the enemy was not to be seen in the people around oneself. Ever unrelenting, the spirit spread across the countries from every extended hand was acknowledged even in the heart of the Strahtan military. Having known of their arrival beforehand, it was imperative that someone receive the Relief Organization so as not to simply let them wander about on their own when they would most certainly be in need of rest. While they indeed set off on this excursion in order to help others, little help would be given should they be plagued with exhaustion.

Raymond had volunteered. This wasn't a common occurrence, despite his impulses and habits of heading into things on his own. He had made a promise to think before leaping headfirst into such matters, after all. Some things required more initiative than others, and this was one such moment where Raymond wouldn't usually emerge. Normally, he would simply wait for orders, as was expected and demanded of him. Even still, now he found himself requesting permission, akin to that of a child excitedly raising his hand in school when knowing the answer to a question. After a questionable glance from a superior officer, he was granted acquiscence.

Upon exiting the office, Raymond's eyes were fixed on an invisible spot on the ground as he walked, attempting to gather his thoughts and find some composure, fairly certain that his heartbeats were audible from a distance. Exhaling into a puff, he moved part of his fringe out from behind his glasses, where some had slipped in, straightening out his back and making for the gates to receve the group. His timing was impeccable, as they appeared to have only just arrived. Picking up the pace, he managed to join them, giving a slight bow before accidentally locking gazes with someone he knew would be among them.

Just a visit||craycousinray

The morning sun was shinning down with it’s intensity as it always had as the Relief Organization was doing it’s rounds across the lands to heal all those wounded in the battle against Lambda and just battles against monsters in general. The always known pinkette on the field named Cheria Barnes had been trying her best to stay strong during the ordeal,she wasn’t bothered by the battle field it was more of her personal problems at home she felt as if she was too slow,she hated focusing on the past now for she had a job to do.

Her title as the,”Angel of the Battlefield”,was wide known to all the soldiers especially those in Strahta…which happened to be their next location. She swore she would never get used to the blazing climate of the desert like land but she knew she would have to.

“…Ugh…”

She said to herself,but luckily her team decided to make a stop for the next few days in the captial city of Yu Liberte.

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Life

"Dedication."

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Water

"Arch."

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Servitude

"Necessity."

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Asbel

"Incompetence."

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Cheria

"... Compassion."

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Discipline

"Worth."

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Pink * v*

"... Ribbons."

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Word association time! Send me a word and my muse will say the first word that comes to their mind.

[craycousinray-blog]

Send me a "◆" if you like RPing with me or want to someday!

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What's something about the way you play your characters that's unusual when compared to the way you've seen others play them? Is there anything different about your perception of your character? Why?

I'm going to be very boring now, but I really cannot say since I have seen no other portrayal of Raymond. Naturally, everything about the way I perceive the character is different, because no one can play him like I do, and no one can play him like someone else does. Whoever picks him up will carve their individual path for him no matter how similar.

But in all honesty, I can't say.

EDIT: As for my other muses, seeing as you did say "characters", a large amount of them are currently in use and I don't want to write about them on a blog not dedicated to specific muse.

[craycousinray-blog]

Voracity (M!A Open)

Control. It was forced onto you from birth in this family, consequences at every corner should you not take steps resounding in utter mastery of yourself. It was taught as a manner of life and survivial, a basic instinct to keep things at your own reigns, never relenting lest it be by your own choice.

Of course, nature required challenges, but they were very ascendable mountains. It wasn't uncommon for Raymond, as he was both a man and was in possession of a fully functional body, to experience this distant voice urging him to let go of the control. But it was a mere whisper, barely ever overpowering, its existence petty in comparison to current priorities. Everything be damned, should it be lost to anything that would be of no benefit. Even by his lonesome, Raymond rarely exhaled into comfort, unless it meant slowly pacing back and forth with a book in his hand. Anything involving vulnerability that wasn't deemed necessary, would be dismissed right then and there.

So then, why? What was happening to him?

Raymond wasn't so childish to think it a disease, or the blazing sun of the desert laying its caress a bit rougher than usual. He knew of the feeling with certainty, but never before had it been so prominent, so intensely sharp that it sent tremors throughout his entire self. Signs of heavy breathing surrounded his frame now, fogged his vision as well as causing his very senses to electrocute him. Thankfully, there was no protrusion, at the very least, and so anyone looking upon the scene would simply consider it a man out of breath or struck with sickness. Should one look closer, however, the faint look in those golden eyes might tell them that Raymond was in a desperate demand. Want. Something his skills regarding self-control did nothing to prevent for the first time in very long.

As the bespectacled ginger leaned onto a wall baptized in shade, still susceptible to eyes from various residents should they only turn their heads, he made the attempt to calm himself, to not make any eye contact, fearing deeply what his lack of control might make him do.

This insatiable, voracious urge prodding at his every sense in the middle of the street, could very well be the end of him.