garrettirvine-blog

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I love being a pest...

Melissa | photographer

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(Amazing writing :D)

Sha’Nara had a ritual, a burning journal, if she told anyone its name. She took the synthetic fake paper with neat small hand writing and burned it, watching the ends curl up and turn to ash, holding it over the bowl she burned incense in. Now that she was on her own the companion was only able to do it on a weekly basis. The ritual had helped her with the turmoil inside her, the haunting flash of light in the man’s eyes there one moment and dead dark the next as she extinguished his existence. As a pacifist her morals were in grave jeopardy and it shook her to the core, even now her hand trembled thinking about it. She let out a heavy sigh, not realizing she held her breath as the vision of her victim invaded her mind. She knew there were steps to healing, but she didn’t know how many. Her talk with Garrett helped, but the gunslinger’s view on it was so mater of factly that Sha’Nara envied him. The companion lifted her chin in defiance, she’d get through this and that’s what she told herself all the way to Dell’s shuttle.

(Burned Letter, writing on both sides)

Well, it’s over…the Gala, the event of the year…and well, Niska in true form had to make it the event of the decade. I shudder to think what the world would have been, had he been alive to sear it more. A man like that isn’t easy to kill, just like a man like Spencer wasn’t easy to keep alive.

That insufferable ruffian was like a pit bull and trying to stop him was like hitting my head on a brick wall, so I had to do what was planned. Not that I was against it, I just got so caught up in it and forgot. No warrior am I, I leave that to Garrett, and to true Hero form, he came out of the dark and into the light when I needed him the most, bullet holes and all. Another lesson learned; where there is leaking blood and broken bone, there is the Doc. An aristocrat with spunk and determination, only where she differs from her opulent kin is her dedication and proficiency to her craft. I’ve seen her work miracles on the operating table, but at the Gala she gave it her all…and not just her heels and dress, though those were the most noticeable offerings.

Offering, hum that brings me to Jala…not to say he was Bing’s offering, but well that was the plan, for him to be the distraction. Though I was busy I had time to look around, before the pitch hit, and that sneaky man was hidden well…save for the time the pilot spot lighted him, I thought that was the end of the encrypted technician and had to scream to get Bing’s attention. I think his beating form River softened him to the notation of staying alive and focusing on things at hand and not the spy that ran off with his hyper drive secrets. I bet that is why Leyvan was left behind, to break into Jala’s laptop, though I know all that’s in there would get a person killed just for the looking.

Which brings us to the good Captain. Aloof and arrogant at first meet, but surely there is more, but one won’t know as closed off as she is and only time will tell I guess. I know she has entanglements with Niska, an unwilling partnership with him and for him to contact her and swat and poke at her, it seemed they had a long history and well that’s not a good end to be on, it’s a deadly one in fact, it’s a slow agonizing one. So her utter disappearance was surely what aided in Niska’s death, that and the way she swept past us as we were hauling unconscious and bullet riddled bodies…she was avoiding Bing, didn’t want him to read that she had helped end Niska. Though I think Bing didn’t miss that, he is a thorough man and I imagine that’s why he’s now a part of the crew, well that and to determine what Jala knows. At least there will be peace while Jala is on the Whimsy, Shepherds are their word, so he won’t attack Jala while on board….of course, I can’t say the same of Jala, though he gave his word as well. I think the tech is too weak to keep it, not by way of will but of vengeance for his former murdered crew mates.

I lock my door at night, pull the heavy tapestry over it and put glass on the floor. I know Spencer has given his promise Bing will protect me, but I have a feeling that might mean severing my pretty head, if my mind is filled with anything that would put the Alliance in danger. Make no mistake I appreciate the comfort of Bing looking out for me when it comes to others outside the ship…inside however is a hornets nest, huddled together for warmth, but any sudden erratic moves and you might get stung.

And to think I pay to rent for all this…and I have yet to turn a profit for the clients I am able to book being attached to the ship…

pic is: peacock_feather_gown_by_vani-d6cspgh

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"You know, I really wanted to slip you out of that dress... But not until later that night... And not to save you from being stuck in an air lock... Fuck, I'm going to miss that dress. What happened to the heels anyway?"

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It took me longer than I previously calculated to find something to wear. There were too many possible options. Thank goodness for Garrett’s opinion.

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The taste of bacon butty mixed with the heat of the cigarette was starting to bring him out of the hangover. Drinking meant he didn’t have to think anymore. Not thinking helped make the headache die away. Of course, it only came back with a vengeance the next morning, talk about borrowing time from your future self. Still, the dog still enjoyed his company. Little Rose was the happiest out of them all, bounding across the garden, exploring flowers she had taken a sniff at hundreds of times by now. Everything always seemed new and exciting to her. Garrett caught himself smiling like an idiot as he thought about it.

He removed the cigarette from his lips, thumb flicking the filter to dispose of the collection of fag ash on the tip. It soon fizzled out to a used stump, added to the pile in the disused plant pot. The elementalist groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes and jabbing a thumb to the muscles of his left arm. A new bruise was starting to become pronounce; at least he didn’t have a black eye again. A quick flick of his arms added enough momentum to help bring him to his feet, bare footsteps guiding him back to the kitchen door. The two women barely glanced towards him as he walked into the wall of tension and room elephants. He couldn’t do this anymore, the headache starting to cover his mind, like a shadow moving over his scalp. A rasped cough into his hand wasn’t the introduction he was hoping to have, but beggars can’t be choosers sometimes.

“Dell. Are you ready to talk to me now?” He blinked as he looked to her, “What I mean is, we need to talk now. This is starting to kill me...” He trailed off.

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“I think she’s just happy to be out walking with her Mum.”

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There's only so much time you can spend in a house of silence. That is before you sit yourself outside at 5am with the dog in your lap. He felt like he was on pause until Delilah could talk to him again. Garrett knew how stubborn she was going to be. Knew the fight he had on his hands just to wrestle soke semblance of... A confession? Confessing to what? Stress? You see, this is the issue, and something he realised very early on in the situation they found themselves in (months of missing time, lost words and now a deadly withdrawal case), is that he didn't really know how to set it right. Go in swinging? Where does the blame lie? Nowhere. So how do you gain perspective on things? How can you move past the distance, to pick up a movie after such a long pause? Of course at this point his mind set was breaking some walls down somewhere. Still motion rolling film was still a young technology after all. It was then that it clicked! He blinked. 'Sometimes, when you've put the book down for too long, it's fun to skip back a few pages. This way you get to read the emotion again. To understand the story fully before you take another step forward.' An explanation she herself had given him on the novel's collecting dust in the 'to continue' pile. The stories were maturing turning into something new and exciting again. Perhaps this wouldn't be a curse. Perhaps a chance of rekindling. A chance to turn into a blaze rather than a petrol flame. Something long and fulfilling, or destructive depending on your pessimism towards relationships... "Hurry the fuck up and wake up...." He murmured to himself, palm still massaging Rose's head.

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The missing time ate at him. Continuously playing torment as he laid back against the side of her bed, flicking through his mind as if reading short magazine articles. All the time away in espionage had cost him, and looking back he realised that he’d done it ultimately against his wishes, and that would cause any man to doubt himself. For now though, he made himself focus, trying to figure out how to fix the situation, for both of them. Delilah and Morganna.

The Elementalist had rarely left Delilah’s bedside. She’d been asleep for over eighteen hours now, something which felt an eternity. Dr Abdel Auxillius had reassured them that it was a good sign, Delilah’s body working to repair itsef through the withdrawal and the shock. Garrett found his head turning hazy. Fatigue had started setting in hours ago, though his mind couldn’t find time to rest. Too much to think about. On the other hand, his body disagreed. Having had enough, his head began to lull backwards, neck resting against the mattress. His movement had been so slow that he never even realised. His eyes were next to join the protest, wrestling with his willingness to stay awake. Intentional blinking could only hold out so long, shaking his head could only provide temporary reprieve. ‘Just one more hour. Keep blinking, she might wake up.’ He thought to himself, a futile attempt to keep his mind active. He’d blink, again, and again.

Suddenly Garrett jumped out of sleep as if his brain had kick started his body through shock. He sat frozen, cursing himself for drifting off, listening out for movement. It was possible to make out footsteps in the room below, the kitchen. He made the assumption that Morg was also struggling to find rest. The window told the story  of a moonlit night, romantic if circumstances were differnetHis body groaned at him, stiff and uncooperative, as he used the edge of the bedframe to haul himself to his knees, turning to check on the woman in her bed, sound asleep. No change. She hadn’t even moved. The Rogue took that as a sign to see to himself first, silently padding over to the door in order to head downstairs towards the Kitchen. The scent of rich coffee had filled the hallway, dim light from a candle created a faint glow from behind the kitchen door.

Garrett wasted little time, the rustic wooden door gliding past him as he stepped through to speak to Morganna. The usually stalwart woman looking less than stable after the events of the last few months. His neutral gaze engaged hers, demanding attention. “I have been away, something I regret and I wish had never happened. But I’m back. And I know you have never put much respect towards me, I could tell when we met in the wastes. But I’m here. So lets at least get onto the same page. What has happened since I was away?”

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A courier delivered the flowers with a positive smile,

“For you Miss!” He beamed, handing over the bouquet to buddingflowerdell at her doorstep. He quickly started up his run, continuing his delivery route.

A rustic tag had been applied to the side of the cloth wrap.

“Hey girl,

I hope you like them. A mix of all the desert flowers you pointed out whilst we were out there. I hope it reminds you of the high times (Maybe even literally, wink wink) we had, no matter how harsh it was out there.

I’ve been missing you. I’ve got a new employer, an old acquaintance from back when. He runs a semi clean business. Wealthy little shit actually. I’ve been running some tasks for him, it’s not criminal work either! I hope I can make you proud!

I love you.

GI . x .”

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Good. He felt good. For the first time in awhile he felt good. He loved istening to her read. The cart was a rough and rugged ride through the desert. The air was dry and hot. His clothes were still relatively dirty. The rough stubble cried out for a shave, though he bet she secretly loved it. All he could do was smile and feel his consciousness drift. He watched her flip the next page.

The three of them travelled at the Dolyak's pace to the main encampment. He wanted the journey to last as long as possible. He felt like any worries had dissappeared in this limbo of transit.

"You really are so special." He whispered barely, to himself.

Garrett had no idea how he had managed to find himself in a warzone. A criminal turned volunteer fighter. And now he was travelling with a general? Life is crazy sometimes.

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Send me a...

♗ for a tip for getting my muses romantic affection ♖ for on of my muses guilty pleasures ♞ for something that my muse wants to do ♟ for something my muse admires ☁ for something that make my muse sad ☂ for something my muse wants to protect ♨ for something that relaxes my muse

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Please reblog if you're a Guild Wars 2 blog.

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His skin was coated in a fine layer of dust, a gift and a curse of his magic. Armor of earth helped to protect him from the sand filled winds and harsh sun though it left his skin dry and any semblance of broken skin suffered from irritation. He found he had channeled earth more and more over the time he spent in the wates. He had recieved tips from the Pact elementalists and he was amazed with what he could manipulate within the magicaly charged plains of Mordremoth's desert,

He popped the cap of his waterskin. Cool fluid felt as though it fell through his dry mouth, his thrist absorbing water as fast as it could. He drank until he was satisfied, refilling his skin using a nearby cactus to save his energy. Everyone out here was turning into a survival guru. Each volunteer could teach you a new trick, something they had picked up when helping with the fight. Always a sense of comradery in each camp, every single one he searched. Soldiers treated volunteers as equals, it was quite revealing to him.

He'd been out here two more days since he visited home. Though a dark trip, it had only encouraged him to carry on his desperate search. He had travelled from camp to camp, people were starting to call him the Pilgrim. The same response at each one. The only people they would see before returning to the main bastion were those in the team, that or another team passing by or those that had gotten seperated. They were all in a similar condition, he learned he didn't need to ask what that was.

His eyes stung harshly as another gust filled the air around him. He squinted through the dust, forcing his body onwards. He followed the rusty compass like a lifeline, combined with the crude map of the main canyon systems. He had one more camp to visit, one last hope for the day before tomorrow. He always held hope, even when the soldiers at the camps doubted his search. They never said, they tried to help him, water, rations if he needed them, but there was always the look of sympathy.

Five more miles. Five miles of marching. He could do it. Even the Mordrem weren't in his way now.

Morocco by Trysk on flickr

(via Pinterest)

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It was the dogs fault! I swear!

This is basically me right now. What do you do when your OTP is NEVER CONVENIENT?!?!?!?

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Robo-Princess Forever... o.o