mage-laurent

[mage-laurent]

Curb Your Enthusiasm, I’m Begging.

starter for @forlornwyvernrider

ᵃ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁿᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵒʳʸ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶜʰᵒˡᵃʳˢ ᵃᵗ ᶠʰⁱʳᵈⁱᵃᵈ’ˢ ˢᶜʰᵒᵒˡ ᵒᶠ ˢᵒʳᶜᵉʳʸ ˢᵘᵍᵍᵉˢᵗˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ’ˢ ⁱⁿⁿᵃᵗᵉ ᵉˡᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ᵃᶠᶠⁱⁿⁱᵗʸ ⁱⁿᶠˡᵘᵉⁿᶜᵉˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ˢᵖᵉˡˡˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˡᵉᵃʳ��, ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃᵗʰ ᵒᶠ ʳᵉᵃˢᵒⁿ ᵐᵃᵍⁱᶜ. ᶠᵃᶜᵘˡᵗʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵘᵈᵉⁿᵗˢ ⁱⁿᵗʳⁱᵍᵘᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱᵈᵉᵃ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵍᵃᵗʰᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ʰᵒˢᵗ ᵃⁿ ᵉˣᵗʳᵃᶜᵘʳʳⁱᶜᵘˡᵃʳ ᵖᵉʳⁱᵒᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵘʳᵖᵒˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵘᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵒʳʸ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵉˢᵗ—ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵉˢˢ ᵐᵃᵍⁱᶜᵃˡˡʸ ⁱⁿᶜˡⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵃʳᵉ ʷᵉˡᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵗᵗᵉⁿᵈ ⁱᶠ ᶜᵘʳⁱᵒˢⁱᵗʸ ᵖᵉʳᵐⁱᵗˢ. ᶠⁱʳᵉ, ᵗʰᵘⁿᵈᵉʳ, ʷⁱⁿᵈ, ⁱᶜᵉ, ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ, ᵈᵃʳᵏ… ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵈʷᵉˡˡˢ ʷⁱᵗʰⁱⁿ﹖ [ᵍʳᵃⁿᵗˢ ʳᵉᵃˢᵒⁿ +¹]

Talking to Laurent about his own honed skill and trade was not exactly a death sentence. He was devoted to magic, cultivating whatever might he could muster towards the art every day he could. Yet, this seemed to be the one thing he bit his tongue about, perhaps out of fear of being too cocky in his own work.

This said, it must have barely come up in passing conversation, but when Gerome stated he was to be tested for a magical affinity by the hands of the Fhirdiad school, Laurent was enthralled to know more. He could have smothered and suffocated Gerome with inquiry then and there, but Gerome would also probably never speak to him again if he did.

So, instead, Laurent offered himself as a well versed companion while Gerome was to be evaluated.

And time passed, no one can halt that, as the two found themselves pulled from their regular schooling schedules to pursue the theory to it’s fullest.

“I mean no intention of unnerving you, Gerome,” Laurent said, a slightly pessimistic look on his face, “but have you learned any sort of means as to how this all works? I definitely have coincided more credit towards Fodlan’s odd system of magic, yet...”

Laurent trailed off and thought over his options. If this went as planned, Gerome might have some sort of interest in magical teachings. But, at the same time, Laurent was a skeptic to it all.

“It seems somewhat too good to be true?”

[mage-laurent]

displaced-tactician​:

“Hmmmm….” Morgan responded, deep in thought. She had only just started translating her own tome, after all she only just started having the free time. But she knew not much of it ended well.

“My tomes don’t have good information Laurent. I’m still deciding quite a bit but I don’t think you’ll be comfortable with what’s written inside it.” Morgan replied, taking her tome back and sliding it into her sleeeve.

“My world didn’t end well. Or perhaps you could say it did in fact end. To my knowledge, I’m the last of it.” Morgan responded honestly.

“So to avoid a more emotional outcome, I think it’s best you don’t use my tomes.” Morgan responded.

“How about this! I bring the good stuff to you after I do some more research! All that nerdy science arcana stuff you and your mom love. Then we can talk about it in the future. How does that sound?” Morgan reassures with a thumbs up.

“And of course I’ll bring you information about the other you.”

“Morgan?” Laurent asked, “does this information not alarm you?” He tried not to sound disrespectful, Laurent’s main worry was offending her after he exploded for the same reason. “Your world ended, supposedly by your own logging’s information, and yet you still press on as if just investigating for a historical lesson.”

“I need not negate anything, but how do you manage? Even with amnesia, I worry about if this bothers you at all?” Laurent had that familiar concerned expression on his face. It was a face saved for instances such as mother’s seeing their children crying, knights watching their dear steed grow sick and weary, and Laurents on a daily occasion.

Past that, ignoring the off hand comments about his own mother, Laurent nodded in agreement with the terms. “I appreciate the sentiment towards my own well-being, as I also fret for yours,” Laurent stated, “But, pray tell, why precisely is this alteration so fascinating to you?”

“Initially, I believed you were mocking me, pointing out what I lacked in comparison to the ideal soldier,” he explained himself, bashfully red faced when stating he was far from ideal, “So you claim the truth, what makes us so different? Perhaps inform me of some background before I am to learn the full record you have?”

[mage-laurent]

windsheedme​:

How About a Calm Magic Chat For a Change || Merric & Laurent

The gentle smile Laurent offers him awakens a feeling akin to relief in Merric. Perhaps this little chat the Altean had offered really was of some use and made the other Mage feel a bit better, even if the subject matter ended up more serious than he had originally envisioned.

Laurent’s words once again give him the topic of the danger of Mages to think about. Perhaps it was thoughtless and reckless of him to never have considered himself a threat before. He tends to think little of himself and his skill, but if anything, that is even more reason to pay due care with the kind of power he wields, lest he cause unnecessary damage or injury.

He certainly has a long way to go, huh.

And yet, it would appear that Laurent might not entirely agree, as he yet again surprises the Altean with words of praise he does not really think he deserves, though he supposes disagreeing might be rather rude, so he merely chuckles sheepishly in response.

“Oh, thanks. You are impressive as well, I do not recall having many conversations like that even back at the magic school.” He leans back relaxedly. “Honestly? I am open to talk about magic anytime, anywhere. I mean it. You could come to my room in the middle of the night and I would be down for a discussion. But naturally, I do not mean to stop you here right now if there is something you must attend to.”

He offers Laurent one of his gentle yet cheerful, friendly smiles. “I would be delighted and honored to discuss these matters with someone as informed as you.”

“Well, I mean, I don’t think I ever was in a proper school house,” Laurent said very bluntly, “you’re better spent having debates of meaning with people who care to know you and not need to inform you.” He laughed again, oh how little Merric knew about the truth! Surly he had some secrets and further ordeals he overcame, but at the end of the day they were just getting started.

“Open door policy, I have familiarized myself with such before,” Laurent pondered into his palm. Doors have always been open since the day the sky turned black with terror and anguish, yet another bit that Merric didn’t quite need to hear about just yet. “A dangerous offer to take me up on.”

Laurent rose from the bench, and the grin on his face was almost like that of a demon’s. He meant no nefarious intent, but he knew how he could be when given proxy to prattle, “A man who always thinks has no open time to rest Merric.”

With the turn of his heel however, he musters up a more friendly affirmation to him, “I’ll spare you so be it your sanity, I’ve been informed lately that I sap it so intently.” Laurent caught how much farther down the sung hung in the sky, and he realized that time would have to come to return and be shamed for what he did.

“Your time was well spent Merric, thank you,” with such, Laurent proceeded back the way he came so many hours prior.

[mage-laurent]

amnesiac-pawn​:

The Equanimity of the Middle Ground (Closed: Morgan and Laurent)

“Be quiet!”

He didn’t mean to yell, but with how hard it was to speak, the only way he could is if he forced it out—and applying such force meant more energy, and so he raises his voice.

“I— I— I’m trying to help you, but you’re just brushing me aside like I’m nothing! Nothing to you! Do you want me to leave?!” Because that’s how it felt. That’s how Laurent was making it out to be.

“Yes, I’m mad at you! Yes, I think you’re a complete moron—you and Inigo both! But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my friend and I still care for you.” The tears spill over, and try as he may to blink them away, they fall in tin rivulets down pale cheeks.

“You’re right. Your body will heal with time, but I want you healed now. So, we’re going to the infirmary whether you like it or not. Stop fighting me and just let me care for you, dammit!”

His voice cracks. Laurent is hurting him, but Morgan can at least recognize that he’s not the one that needs coddling right now. Not when his dear friend is in such a state. Trembling arms hook underneath Laurent’s and, slowly, he helps him to his feet.

“Come on,” his voice is softer now, though with that comes more hesitation, more cracks. He cares. He cares so much. Just let him help.

And thus trembling knees rose to a stance which Laurent believed he could not so muster. Morgan poured with his full throttle of emotions and grief, and in theory it should have been per Laurent’s grim sounding expectations. Yet, it wasn’t, because the honest blunt of Morgan’s likely torn head right now was still a kind and gentle young man which he almost admired the optimism of. He could care for a fiend like Laurent.

But, perhaps not a fiend so much as to keep to his decrepit ways as a beloved nearly wailed so pitifully against the near bare of his aching. Scream and rage as Morgan did, there was still a boy inside who must have hated seeing this, sides taken or non.

Morgan was hurting.

He wrapped an arm snugly around the back of Morgan’s shoulder and palmed the soft, mop of a head he had dived into Laurent’s body. “Weep not for me,” Laurent assured Morgan, “it’s the last thing I could stand anymore.”

His eyes drifted ahead, expression somehow both vacant and taking the full force of human emotion with no buffer. “If it is so to prevent your distress, you may investigate my wounds, my permission,” Laurent told Morgan this. 

“Your critical view is just,” he hesitated, “it strays drastically from my expectations. The moronic tendencies, the anger shown per my reckless thinking, so much so is what I have been prepared for.”

Laurent’s chin leaned comfortably onto the crown of Morgan’s hair, his voice down to but a murmur. He sighed, “What sort of friend do you wish to keep whom snaps to near homicide at the sound of a viable accusation?”

[mage-laurent]

forlornwyvernrider​:

» back to work

“…” Gerome falls silent, but doesn’t move away from Laurent, nor does he give him a chance to escape, both arms still extended seemingly caging him, grip loose enough to not hurt, but tight enough to keep him in place. 

“I cannot change how you see yourself if that’s what you truly think. If you yourself think it’s impossible to resolve, than I’m in no position to say otherwise. Regardless, freak or not, it changes nothing of our relationship. I would not have invited you here if you weren’t wanted.” Gerome lets out a defeated sigh, quickly running out of words for the other, but still full of sympathy over what he must be feeling right now. He can’t fully imagine what must be going on in his head. He was smarter than him, and a smart mind can be dangerous, especially to its owner. 

 “…listen, Laurent.” He lets go of his shoulders, not wanting to restrain him further. He doesn’t force him to look back at him, and instead, just stays seated close to him. It’s all he can do, all he can offer. “Should your mind ever change and there is something – anything – I can do, all you need to do is ask. If you’re pent up and need a form of release, at least do it to those who can take a beating.” He wasn’t arrogant about his martial skills, but he is aware of his own constitution compared to the others. That, and he he wasn’t conscious of appearances for it to matter if he ever did get injured. For an outgoing, all smiles man like Inigo, it was different.

He was complacent last time and didn’t even intervene, thinking it was just a simple fight that could be resolved easily. This time around, he knew better. “…but if it happens a second time around, I’ll be the first to stop you. You have my word.”

With enough force one could break Laurent in two, like snapping brittle hay in between two molars. That’s what it seemed like at first, perhaps the pain in his body made him flare up in fear, or it was the guttural feeling of a need to be punished, but Laurent was, from the jump, scared. There might have been a point to that, Gerome was not the type hold and comfort still, maybe he was more concerned for the well being of his friend.

Yet, the confusion died down after the initial shock of it all, and Laurent awoke to his reality. Even in the hypothetical moment of Gerome calling him freakish or not, Laurent raises a stray hand and cups the arm holding him close and captive. Perhaps he realized he didn’t have much a chance to live this exchange, and Laurent brought himself forward and returned the sentiment, arms wrapped in remorse and head bowed to his friends sternum.

Twas that lowered expression that persisted when Gerome let him go for a moment of space. For someone who is always so quick to speak his entitled mind, Laurent has known only hesitation in recent days. He takes a moment to reply, “I need not ask; whom is to care for the person who tries to care for all?” His musings die down quick yet again though, “Even when my track record now shows that helping is a relative condition,” his grumbling sounds frustrated at himself, “success for me is only in lettering.” 

“But I never wanted to see the ones I loved hurt, not again so long as we know peace,” his statement was quite drastic, all things considered. He brings himself to posing upright, as if he had not been near to bawling prior. Mustering any sort of calm energy he had left was all he could do. “There is no purpose for me to harm any of you, no good reason of frustration or self-hatred to subject you all to physical battery!”

And yet he pauses. Laurent seemed to ponder on the conversation momentarily, and his mixed up emotions probably were still at work. But, he laughed, laughed heartily at Gerome’s offer to get in a fight if so needed, “What trouble.” He stifled his chuckle with the back of his hand, “What trouble because I would deny even the slightest impulse against you, but I wholly would welcome your retribution so needed brought by nothing but a poleaxe.”

“Even I think I’m strange, huh?” 

[mage-laurent]

theindigoflirt​:

night crawlers (future-past thread)

False hope was a terrible, terrible thing to give to someone. Hackles rose before the ambiguity coloring Laurent’s voice registered. Inigo still bristled a little at the phrase. “When you see it, please, let me know.” Releasing his death grip on the thin mattress, he fell onto his side, knees still curled up close to chest.

How could he be so confident that this would end? That the same war the claimed their parents lives’ wouldn’t claim their own? Inigo strained to hear the mage’s quiet voice over the racing of his heart. “What if we don’t,” he replied flatly. Preparing for every eventuality included coming to terms with the fact that they will never be normal if and when this infernal war came to its bloody end.

Home? “What are you talking about?” Inigo fired back, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Our homes were destroyed! Burned to the ground or overrun by Risen. There’s nothing easy about marching past the smoking remains of our lives, Laurent.” Something cold and wet landed on his arm.

That’s right foolish child cry throw a fit push them away. “I would give anything to go back before I watched my mother die in front of me. Before I…I…” Before I became a burden no one asked to bear. Before I ruined any friendships.

Inigo lowered his head, chest heaving as he tried to compose himself once more. If you realize that than just LEAVE! He nearly yelled at Laurent, considered barring the door after he’d left. And yet. Isolation wasn’t good either. Inigo felt like he was trying to clear a snow-covered path in the middle of a storm. No matter how hard he tried, nothing worked.

Head hit the pillow again. Drained, he closed his eyes. “Then tell me what is.”

Something about the way Inigo burst with rage, it wasn’t yelling or screaming, but just the anger of it all was overwhelming to the senses. At first Laurent just flinched, surprised that Inigo could sound so passionate in his vitriol. And yet, he persisted and spoke the obvious about their traumas, and Laurent felt horrible even so much as bringing it up. By the end of what he was saying, Laurent had lowered his head into his hands, tucked over his ears in discomfort.

It was not that he was mad, he truly could not bring himself to feel malice towards Inigo’s hurt self. Just, something did not persist, and it was difficult to keep chasing one another in circles. Laurent tried to gently touch on something bothering them, and Inigo crushed it like bone under a steel hammer.

Laurent’s voice was weak, he wanted everything to go back to silence. It was the whole reason why he made his intrusion. “Why not something we can both listen too?” His posing was more meaningful than material, “Something concrete enough to make some sort of logical difference, and yet,” Laurent paused briefly unsure of what to say, “something to advise with enough time and leniency for us to move on.”

“We can’t have that can we?” Laurent looked upon Inigo’s pessimism and ate right into it. “There isn’t an ounce of kindness or sense left in this world, even if you, me, or anyone else tries to brandish it.”

The words lingered for a moment of silence as Laurent knew there wasn’t much he could do. What could he expect, he wasn’t capable of a break through. But, he wished he could just say one thing to lull Inigo to sleep better at night.

He couldn’t, when did he lose his reason to be helpful?

“We can hold one another and run as we please, but we can only hope it’ll end.”

[mage-laurent]

amnesiac-pawn​:

The Equanimity of the Middle Ground (Closed: Morgan and Laurent)

“I’m not wasting my time,” he huffs; though he’s worried, Laurent is upsetting him. If he’s just going to sit here and brush Morgan aside like he’s some sort of annoyance for caring for his friend, then perhaps he should leave and spare them both the pain—

He was hurt.

Laurent was attacked after the fight was already over.

Morgan barely hears the injured mage’s next words. Jumping to his feet, he approaches Laurent quickly and reaches to push up his shirt, hesitating only slightly to gaze up at the other for approval. When amber eyes lock onto a sea of purples, blues, and yellows decorating his torso, he can’t stop the tears that build.

“Laurent,” he chokes out, suddenly losing his voice in his throat. A tentative finger ghosts over his skin, afraid to apply even the slightest pressure. “Why haven’t you asked for help?”

Even if he fought it at first, Inigo got help and was able to be healed. Laurent deserves the same; they’re both victims in this battle.

Pulling away suddenly, Morgan digs his hands through the pockets of his uniform, searching for something, anything that might help. A soft curse under his breath, he speaks with a shaky voice, as though mere seconds away from breaking down.

“I’m not a healer, so there’s not much I can do—I don’t have any elixirs? Damn it all—! … Come on, Laurent, I’m taking you to the infirmary. This is heinous. You must have those wounds looked at.”

“I think it not a waste of your time and conscious, you deserve to have your own answers. I know mine.”

This said, Morgan’s eyes danced with pity under the guise of emotion wishing to break free. Laurent asked for no aide, but leaving Morgan in such a spot of utter disbelief would be another shortcoming. “A beg for my honesty and proof does not signify a boon of pity.” This said, Laurent allows Morgan to lift his dressings and see the gauze and bruise marking his already well mishandled body.

And Morgan almost spills from his sides there on the instant, despite the feeling in Laurent’s gut that he could have ignored all this; Could have comforted his brother dearest in title alone and left Laurent to stew. He posed a question, “Why help when I should be the one getting hit with the back side of the steel door on my way out?”

He watches Morgan scramble, still slouched limp like a corpse on the ground. It just was not in him to insist he would fix this, or convince Morgan to quit his haste and worry. He simply was glazed with a feeling of indifferent patience, waiting for whatever was to come to land it’s shot.

“The wounds recover either way, the pace solely is different,” Laurent uttered, “This isn’t trauma worthy. My body will mend with time and endurance.”

[mage-laurent]

irroche​:

But that’s mine-

How fortuitous it is that she may sigh.

It is a privilege that she takes with great honor, though she does so at the reluctance of her upbringing. A lady of House Nuvelle does not slouch. She does not whine. She does not conduct herself in such a matter unbecoming of her breeding. So should it be, but no such abstracts exist—her house long felled, her title torn away. All that remains is Constance, a reminder to the Adrestian nobility of what fate waits them when they think for themselves. So, with that in mind, she sighs. Constance sighs as if all the weight in the world lies upon her shoulders. Sighs, as if drawing the air back into her lungs is a greater chore than it is to exhale.

The disdain comes in waves. Though, the longer she stands there, the darker the shadows cast across her features grow. Her shoulders falling one after another before her arms come to cross on the edge of the wall, dark lids lowering in defeat. Another sigh, another pause as she slumps. Her shoulders meet the wall, her knees to the floor and her head atop gloved hands. There is precious little that she is capable of doing in her situation. T’would be simpler to merely accept that her fate was written, her hands were tied and that she could want for nothing.

This was all that she would amount to.

It would save them a great deal of trouble. She sighs, again, as she forces herself from her knees to her feet, but this breath is wrenched from her lips with the greatest agony that she can manage. ( A Nuvelle woman is never loud for loudness’s sake, but she had never been good at keeping herself from being what her mother might have once ridiculed her for being entirely too chatty. ) The least of this is that she is alone, she thinks, but as it turns out; it is entirely too much to ask for that she may be granted a moment’s respite from society.

Or anything, really.

She turns, slowly, to face the stranger, donning a mage’s hat and the robes accompanying it. Her eyes lift, then they fall, and Constance casts her gaze aside to the stone beside his feet. “You needn’t spend your precious hours fretting over me.” She replies. “A thousand pardons for distracting you so. I did not mean to inconvenience you. Please, direct me to the nearest puddle and I shall lay myself across it for you to tread without muddying your boots …” A pause. “Ah, it has not rained … the slush will do just as well …”

“Ma’am you’re scaring me,” Laurent told her incredibly frankly, “and the boots are already tarnished with blood and soil.”

“Erm, maybe this could help.” Laurent removed his cap from the front of the brim and gently draped it over the poor woman’s head. “It helps to distract from rain, sometimes I’m frankly disillusioned to a storm over head completely.” He paused after saying this, and groaned a bit in clarification. “It also deals with sun stroke, and I’m far from a holy man but I believe you’re suffering from some sort of affliction.”

He was careful not to tamper much with her hairstyle. Folks like Severa hated when you touch things like their hair or bonnets, and this unfortunate soul did still appear a bit catty. This so, he still offered an empty elbow to elope and take her away from her spot of light torment. “I fret you’re unwell, to go against your wishes.”

Laurent smiled, a bit unused to the wind sweeping through his thin laced hair. “Might we make for else where on account of your well-being?”

[mage-laurent]

maesterofmagic​:

Oh gods it’s on fire.

“I— Uh… You see…” Mae starts, but doesn’t have a clear explanation or solid excuse for that matter, to back her up, so she accepts defeat for now. 

But maybe she spoke too soon about defeat. He really had the nerve to scold her? Last she checked, she didn’t ask for his help. She appreciated it, but the initial attitude makes her roll her eyes. You make one mistake and have people down your throat. 

“Okay, sir,” she spat back, “I don’t really need a lecture right now. In case you didn’t notice, there’s a bigger matter here. You can berate me after we’re not burnt to crisps. Or if we don’t get a heat stroke.”

Mae wipes the sweat from her forehead and huffs, blowing a piece of her bang out of the way. Despite her unhappiness with this stick in the mud, she listens to his suggestion. What else could go wrong at this point? 

Her finger snaps into a gun shape and points at him. “Water! Of course, that’s a natural opposite to fire, right?” Or was it ice? She had thunder magic, not blizzard magic, so water would do, hopefully. “Doesn’t hurt to try.”

She begins to crawl away, but stops to look over her shoulder at him. “Oh, no. I’m not doing this alone. Come with me to get buckets of water, it’ll go by faster if we’re both trying to extinguish it.”

“Tis not berating if I’m in as dire of stress as you!” Laurent berated her promptly. “Perhaps your cooperation and some level headed thinking would, potentially, not set half the dining hall ablaze ma’am.”

“And absolutely not! Do you understand that this isn’t something to leave unattended?” Laurent was closer to actually yelling now, “I mustered myself into here to assure you would be fine and there would be enough cooperation to secure you and what hasn’t been scarred to a crisp. The water can be your responsibility, making sure this nightmare does not tremor once more with crackling sparks can be mine.”

He backed himself from Mae even more so to cement his stubborn position in this crisis. Yes, simply leave a blazing flame on it’s own for a moment, it absolutely will not swallow the whole building by the time you can attend to it again. Horse shit.

This said, the roar of the source was growing louder, and action was well needed. Thinking impulsively, Laurent grabbed a metal sheet from inside on top a shelf beside him, and pressed it against the front of the flame. “Suffocating it should work momentarily, water, please hurry now!” 

[mage-laurent]

displaced-tactician​:

mage-laurent​:

You Used to Be Swole || Morgan and Laurent

“Lucina has a brother?!?!” Morgan asked shocked. “Wait…. the other Morgan right? He’s not in my notes at all. I had to make a new page for him. Honestly, it’s a bit boring. He can really handle sour foods, and wears glasses. Those are the important things I’ve learned about him.”

“Oh Laurent you got it! Naga definitely messed up.” Morgan responded. In reality, she was happy he seemed to piece it together soon but her tone was certainly a mix of sarcasm and playfulness. In reality, the rest of the group just accepted her as a mystery, but Laurent came to her own conclusion.

“We definitely don’t share a future. Just as an example, my Cynthia died fighting Grima. But we have one bright and living here.” Morgan responded, going off before Laurent could even get to saying that he really didn’t want to talk about it.

Once he did though, she sighed gently. There weren’t many people to talk about this to, and even she didn’t want anyone to feel like a ghost. In a way they all were, but still she wasn’t mean enough to make people think she thought they were. She thought Laurent might be detached enough to speak with her about it, but he didn’t seem to be.

“Hmmm….. well we can keep your conscious nice and safe. I’ll find other sources to work with.” Morgan replied, patting his big goofy hat and subsequently his head. She was a hundred percent sure he’d hate it. But still, she did want to know what that hat felt like…. she never felt it before and in reality it looked uncomfortable but maybe….. maybe it was of the smoothest silks.

“Morgan, wait now,” He tried to interject, getting his hat pushed down over his eyes by her pats. His need to clarify outweighed his need to yell more, lucky for Morgan. “I’m not saying I do not wish to participate in the theorizing of your origins,” Laurent stated, “I just, wish to try and detract from my own painful memories and to focus more of deciphering the remnants of your own.” This said, he motioned to her note filled journal.

“The conundrums and miscalculations of the universe, time and space itself,” he prattled for a moment, “it is deeply comprehensive, and surely tied to the mysterious circumstances surrounding your being. If you are to be an alternative of our young Prince Morgan, and perhaps there is an alternative to me, this is something I’d deeply desire to investigate.”

He muttered very deeply, “Pray tell, on account of my own misfortunes with the Goddess.”

Laurent waved a hand, and spoke to her sternly then. “This is, on one condition,” he laid out his ultimatum, “I will request your full patience, attentiveness, and respect for what I may be able to show you as insightful.”

With a breathe from his hardy monologue, he let the words settle and merge for a moment of peace. He motioned again to the journal and notes Morgan kept. “Slowly, lets analyze what you have, yes?”

[mage-laurent]

heroineofdarkness​:

» kitten of darkness

     “ I am not certain if she did… but, my theory is that she perceived that the power of darkness surrounding me and her are one and the same so she feels at peace with me. ” or, it could just be that the cat had wanted to nap at the same spot where she had set up her gemstones for meditation— but, she’d rather believe the former. 

     for the time she has enrolled in the monastery, it seems as though most people are too serious and are often busy. it would not be an exaggeration to say that she finds it a little hard to fit in so she takes the time to be alone, to meditate so that she can continue to face the day with a smile on her face. 

    ophelia didn’t quite know what to make of this young man before her as he certainly gives off an indifferent aura but, if that were truly the case, she figures that he wouldn’t have bothered with coming up to speak with her to give her some advice— nor would he have offered to take up her offer at small conversation. regardless, he was the first person to approach her of their own volition and she would like to believe it was because the stars had led him to her. 

     “ Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way and Ophelia Dusk are quite the perfect pair~! ” she declares happily, before turning to meet him with a serious expression. “ Do you think it’s possible to shelter her in the dormitories— ”

     “ Oh! If you would be so kind, I’d appreciate your offer. ” she certainly didn’t mind the way her precious gemstones were placed around her but, if she were to have company, it would be the polite thing to do to keep the area tidy. “ I do not wish to awaken her from her peaceful slumber so if it’s possible, could I ask you to pick up the ones at her side— ”

     “ Ah, introductions! I am the chosen heroine, a maiden of darkness, Ophelia Dusk! ” the smile on her face widens as she bows her head slightly at her introduction. “ And, you are? ”

Well Owain’s last name definitely wasn’t Dusk. Yet, twas not “Dark” either, and he quite liked that alias. A smaller, premature Dark would be Dusk in the sky; It reminded him of when his mother would hypothesize the origin of the terms sun rise and the like.

In his moment of recollection he completely zoned out until Ophelia asked his name. “Ah, me? Well of course me,” he awkwardly stammered in the situation. “Laurent... Molineaux. Middle name Titanius, I need not think titles are proper in as modest an interaction as this.” Contradicting himself however, Laurent offered his hand to shake. 

“You have gifted Miss, erm, Dementia Demon Weigh quite the hefty one,” he eyeballed the playful little furball with a confused tilt of the head. He sounded unsure of her choices, “I’ve never tended to a pet, nor even so much as a mount for combat, but have lacked to see names like that.”

Mentioning the idea of war horses however lead Laurent to a connection. “This said,” he said in a hypothetical way, “I did have a companion who bestowed outlandishly long titles towards his weaponry.”

He eyes Ophelia’s face for any sort of change, did this ring a bell? Would she remark that she knew someone of similar disposition?

For the love of the Goddess woman, please, say no.

[mage-laurent]

yowindsheedme​:

How About a Calm Magic Chat For a Change || Merric & Laurent

Merric goes silent for a longer while, giving Laurent the time and space he needed to give voice to his thoughts and opinions. The sudden compliment Laurent directs at him admittedly catches the Altean by surprise, so he feels the need to let the other Mage speak his mind without interruptions from his side.

He can certainly still feel a fair amount of frustration and somewhat sour mood from Laurent; he has no doubt that the recent past events have not had a good effect on him. Not to mention, Merric has no clue about whatever life experiences the other Mage had been through.

Should he say something about it?… No, probably not. He had offered this discussion to Laurent in hopes that he could help by providing a distraction, something else to think about. Laurent might not even know that Merric saw his argument with that other guy. The Altean makes a mental note not to bring up that topic himself.

For now, he plays along with the hypothetical situation Laurent sets up.

“… Perhaps it’s naive of me to say, but I would hope that a magic user, regardless of experience and the degree to which they had mastered their craft, would be aware enough of the danger they pose and the damage they could inflict to realize that, unless it’s a matter of life and death, setting another person on fire or shocking them with electricity is highly inadvisable”, he winces as a few images from his past flash at the back of his mind. “I believe that anyone who misuses their strength or skills can be very threatening, but what makes tome-less magic users stand out in this regard is that they need no equipment or tools whatsoever to utilize the power that makes them deadly.”

He shakes his head. “There is nothing absurd about it in my personal opinion; hypothetical as it is, such a situation is very authentic and could easily take place in reality. One is forced to rely on the magic user’s awareness of the danger they can pose in hopes they will refrain from using it carelessly.”

Something you did, for example. You did not give up to your anger enough to set your friend aflame. Merric leaves that part unspoken, however.

“Merric,” Laurent says after the other speaks hypothetical tongues tied in past experience. 

He mulls over it, drudges his mind in the gutter of his decrepit guilt for an answer. He was just talking to an arcane bloke on the street corner, why be so philosophical? Merric seemed to like the deep and mental however, it seemed to stir him like it stirred Laurent to muscle and tendon.

“Perhaps the inherent guilt of being a dangerous person is mere modesty and self control,” he posed to the other mage. Laurent smiled gently, giving Merric probably the most heart warming look he could manage in his pessimistic dwelling.

“Tell you what,” Laurent used the slang in an off hand slip of genuine thought, “You, something about you, is utterly insightful to me, so much so that the words do not align proper. The repertoire of you study, the concern of your handiwork, quite admirable is it.”

“Yet,” Laurent muttered a bit less enthusiastically, “I fret to take up all your day in my presence. If thou so desires, I would love to make time to discuss our passions further.” Sheepishly, Laurent rubbed the back of his neck with his eyes down turned, “Ashamedly I can only read and read for so long, and my companions of the magical sorts is... dwindling.”

“Would this suit you?” he asked permission so gently.

[mage-laurent]

amnesiac-pawn‌:

“I understand that it was necessary. That fight was a long time coming.” The words are nearly spit out. The venom isn’t meant in earnest, but drips from his tongue nonetheless. “You two never liked each other.”

Gaze is averted again, head drooping down once more. “… Sorry,” he mumbles. “That was uncalled for.” ( Even if it was correct. )

“No matter. You’re lying to me; do you really think you’re in the position to do so?” A moment’s pause is taken to survey the other, eyes looking the beaten and bruised mage up and down. “Why are you sitting like you can’t move your torso? I don’t recall Inigo hitting you there. Did I miss something?”

He fled immediately after Inigo retreated. Morgan missed the most integral part of the fight—missed Laurent getting squashed like a bug. Had he seen it, surely another fight would have happened, leaving then two mages battered and bruised. Really, it’s a good thing he left when he did.

The words didn’t scar akin to a tap on the wrist. Morgan was right, and even if the feeling of being shamed wasn’t pleasant in the pit of Laurent’s stomach, it didn’t offend. Morgan was right, such a clever loving boy who was always right.

Not to be subtle, Laurent choked out, “It’s not a lie. I feel alright, and the presence of you fretting over me is... You need not waste your time.” He didn’t mean to be too sharp in tone or anything, but the feeling of winning Morgan’s pity was annoying. He had not earned it.

“This said,” Laurent mumbled, “aggravating an already exhausted crowd of people can make them turn quickly to a violent mentality too. A woman took the sole of her boot to my sternum before I could crawl away; I’ve learned her name was Tiffany.” As much as this sounded traumatic, Laurent had to insist to himself that he was alright. He couldn’t beg for help, not like this. Pointing attention to it though, Laurent did readjust himself to feel better fit, struggling to even stay seated. 

“Pain is pain,” he retorted, “I’ll recover and it’s the least I deserve for assaulting our frie--”

He cut himself short because, once again, Morgan was correct. Inigo was never his friend, be it years prior or now. In the past few days, he wasn’t sure if any of the others would so much call him a companion. “Your friend,” Laurent corrected himself, “sorry.”

The Equanimity of the Middle Ground (Closed: Morgan and Laurent)

[mage-laurent]

theindigoflirt‌:

He heard the question. But explaining his feelings required organizing his thoughts and sifting through everything he strived to keep buried. So he let the silence drag on.

The entire reason they’d decided to band together was so they wouldn’t be on their own. No one deserved to face this wasteland of a continent alone. You hope everyday they’ve left you alone to fend for yourself they are better off without you.

Sympathetic tones rose above the bitter murmurs. (I don’t want sympathy stop it stop it stopit.) Does Laurent ever actually hear himself? Imperative to be well by morning was another way to say suck it up we’re all in pain but we must ignore it. “I’m not strong enough for either, Laurent.” Let the pain consume him. Let it eat him from the inside out, feasting on memories turned nighttime horrors.

Inigo wasn’t blind. He saw the empty beds whenever he woke from a fitful slumber, the dwindling supply of training weapons as they hammered them in to splinters. Purple bruises like thumbprints lined everyone’s eyes.

What if you could do something about that? What if I don’t want to get involved? They’ll get killed if I care.

“What’s the point? Even if you distract yourself, everything just comes back worse.” Inigo’s voice cracked on the last syllable. He’d tried last night to dance, make good on his vow to wake up every day and choose to be better. He wrongfully thought it would help lift his shattered spirits.

He only got as far as first position before he collapsed in a pile of tears.

As if dancing will make any of this better you idiot child it won’t bring her back leave her memory a l o n e she is gone leaving you behind. What would they say, knowing you believed dancing to be a cure?

A shudder ran through the mage. Memories of his own, perhaps? Laurent’s quiet admission confirmed Inigo’s own observations.

“This is never going to end, is it?” He doesn’t expect an answer. Voicing the thought is enough for him; no power on earth will ever return their lives to normal.

“What part do you mean?” Laurent asked, not much hope to his voice, “There will be a day where this is considered all over, there has to be.”

There was a slight lump in his throat, and he tried to speak softly to mask his pitiful voice. “But, when we resolve from all this bloodshed,” Laurent tried to muster some sort of logic, “who knows how and when we will see the light of recovery.”

He looked dejected, “I wish it simply could all just be better for the rest of you.”

“How it would be easy,” Laurent cupped his mouth to swallow the quiver of his voice, “for it all to just return home.”

He didn’t want Inigo to be spiraling into a unstable mess of emotion. The way he talked, switching from aggression to complete passiveness, it was all too concerning. Whatever was left of him was nervous and fading, and it wasn’t something you could just fix.

And, odd as it was, Laurent looked up to Inigo in a way. He was still here despite everything, there had to be some will and resolve to him. Yet, given the chance for once, he could do nothing to aide him.

“I’m not helping,” Laurent out right admitted. “This isn’t good for either of us.”

night crawlers (future-past thread)

[mage-laurent]

forlornwyvernrider‌:

There was a moment Gerome thought he reached him. In the silence that came after what he said, Gerome could only wait. There was no use forcing this out of the mage. So when he does speak, he does not interrupt. He listens. He observes.

Each twitch, each hint of hesitation, he tried to take note of. Right before him, Laurent breaks. Gerome prided himself for being an observant individual. Laurent might have been the one checking in and ensuring everyone was well, but Gerome took his time to observe and look out for the others too, albeit, less directly involved. To prevent what they could… to lessen the already long list that they have all lost… He thought it was all for the best. That everything was accounted for. And yet how could he not have foreseen Laurent unhinging?

Were they blind all this time? Was… he?

“…I apologize.” He didn’t know what else to say except admit that Laurent is right. “I placed that job on your shoulders due to my own incompetence. What the others saw as unnecessary, I deemed of importance. You know this. It was for everyone’s sake.”

That was what they agreed upon, did they not? 

Everyone they came with from the future had their own interpretation of what they must focus on. Their goal always aligned– to seize victory and fight fate. But the intricacies… the fine details… all of them coped and fought differently.

Gerome wonders when he and Laurent started fighting different fights. They communicated every day for the sake of everyone’s well being, yet he failed to see this until now.

He reaches for the mage, hands gripping his shoulders as tight as he could. He was never the type to comfort others. He was not equipped for this. The best course of action would be to let someone more experienced and capable take on this role. Perhaps Morgan, or Cynthia. They were more sensitive. More likely to connect to him more emotionally…

But neither of them were here and Laurent’s pleas ring loudly in his head.

“Not once did we– did I notice.” He really must stop speaking for everyone. And he might be a hypocrite in this regard, but, “If you are troubled, speak. If you are in pain, reach out. For what purpose do we insist our doors be always open if not for this? We have suffered enough for us to keep to ourselves, Laurent. Who else are we supposed to depend on if not the very people we fought with?”

Even Gerome crumbles and relies on others – not just Minerva– when he cannot bare it anymore. The relief he felt upon seeing them here in this foreign lands was proof of it.

“I… cannot offer you words that can ease what you are feeling. Even now I still lack in that regard.” He pauses and grips his shoulders further. “But for what it is worth, Laurent. I never intended to ignore you. Late as it may be, let me help you.”

“Don’t fault yourself for the misdemeanor of my personality,” Laurent muttered. Something rose in his throat, but died away just as fast as he thought to say more. It wouldn’t be anything like this given just Gerome was acting on his initiative. The check-ups on people was not even an issue, it was just him.

Gerome placed his hand upon Laurent’s shoulder, and had he not more restraint he would have begun sobbing on the instant. He had his share of hugs and so forth from the usual suspects many times, but Gerome wasn’t for the touchy-feely type emotional moments. So, simply just the palm against his back, Laurent understood the level of sympathy from it all.

His words made sense, they were kind and he could see the other’s agreeing with Gerome’s rationale. It was a shame he didn’t talk much, because he could be truly insightful when he needed to be.

Laurent sighed, folding his hands together and trying to find the words. It wouldn’t take much to send him spiraling again, “This isn’t something of ignorance. My abnormal nature... is all clearly brought upon by something going wrong.”

“I could never blame anyone for not speaking up or addressing my faults unprovoked. I,” Laurent’s polite tone was dripping away, “What do you say to someone like me?”

It was hard to even so much as look at Gerome, he simply felt guilty of being a nuisance. “What’s pitiful about me is hard to address and even impossible to resolve, and what’s solely the symptoms of that,” Laurent hesitated on the words, “that’s what eventually gets me to almost murder someone I’ve only ever wanted to take me in as a friend and not a freak.”

“Guess that that’s all I am, however.”

back to work

[mage-laurent]

the room that lest burns might as well be vacant.

Tired.

He caught the sight of tired eyes and pale skin through his looking glass as he checked up on the blemish of his face. He could likely place the time at 2, the night sky and moon reflecting dimly through the cell window of the dorm. 

Laurent was feeling better, sort of. His condition was better, since everyone and their mothers were trying to not-slap some sense into him. Rest, don’t take this like I hate you, you need to calm down, all the rest of the mantra.

Easy to follow, harder to believe.

Pinching the sagging skin under his eye gently, Laurent snickered. It wasn’t playful, no, for he laughed because no one ever tried to fix the tired circle under his eyes. Surely, even upon just meeting him and seeing his stern expression, everyone knew this was an imperfection that could not be fixed. “How it would be so pleasant to try,” Laurent mumbled to himself.

It was sad to consider, but Laurent wondered if he was a lost cause. Yes the others were insomniacs by trauma too, but it wasn’t about that. It was about Laurent, and how specifically he had come to the worst of conclusions.

Everyone, or moreover, what felt like the extent of everyone due to his dedication and sheltered world view wanted to help. They were all different shades of furious to annoyed, but they wanted to help. This was surprising, because at this point they could have thrown Laurent away like scrap without consequence, right? There’s no more war, and he has all the more prowess to make something of himself in Ylisse.

This was his reasoning for why he felt so deserving of everyone’s rage, but there was a layer more to it. To them, they could get rid of Laurent and likely move on just fine. For him?

Laurent would return to nothing. He would be faced with losing the only peace he had ever known and the only family he had left, all while being told to make it work like always. Regrettably, they had every right to do such a thing no matter how he felt it would leave him in further ruin.

The thought alone left Laurent in a state of utter distraught. Sitting backwards in the hardwood chair, he buried his eyes and arms into the headrest. There was an utter ache to his bones, a frailness of worry and doubt the likes he was all too familiar with. 

“You’re a grown man Laurent,” he scolded himself without much feeling, “there’s no reason why you cannot tolerate something like this.” It wasn’t surprising that his cold words of “encouragement” only upset Laurent further. It was a problem that they surely all faced, but Laurent felt especially troubled by his lack of an answer.

What do you say when someone asks what’s wrong with you? Was Laurent to deny that he was struggling? Was he supposed to lie or dance around the details of everything to every new person who dug into his skin?

It was impossible for him to tell, because the thought of unloading the massive hassle of his past onto someone made him sick. It was such a slew of noncomprehensible fear, personal grievances, and all the more that someone will never just be ready to listen without warning. 

He was trapped, unable to scream his regrets out due to the fear of losing what he had and scaring away the rest. Not an uncommon thing to be wary of, but for uncommon reasons in Laurent’s case. It was a disgusting feeling, as Laurent opened his eyes; Not a trace of tears along his face.

The light of the night sky had grown even dimmer, now 4 on that cold morning. Laurent glanced at the dark walls of the dorm room, and took his glasses from his face. Standing up slowly, he berated himself, “This is why you never sleep anymore.” 

Perhaps with good luck, Laurent could manage the last fleeting hours before sunrise. Yet, laying down to finally rest, he knew it would be terribly unlikely, posing himself the worst question.

Remember when he had been happier?

[mage-laurent]

“What happened to your face?”

Laurent’s gentle attitude dissolved day by day in the means of strangers. the sudden attention of the strike on his face was unwarranted, and god forbid a student at a military academy have a blemish.

Surely Alphonse meant not harm, he seemed to have a reputation with making lots of friends off of sheer luck and chance. But his concerns were placed along side a moment of annoyance from Laurent, mayhaps he was lamenting not being able to sit down for more than thirty minutes anymore.

“Pleasure to meet you as well,” Laurent said, “is it humble consideration and modesty to remark upon my complexion?” He wasn’t being rough in tone, sure, but the words out of Laurent’s mouth were enough to sell his irritation.

He grumbled, “I got hit, and if further rumor and gossip reaches you I would believe you could comprehend why I find myself bothered by the means of discussing it.”

Laurent left the conversation at that. With this, the monkey’s paw of a god curled it’s finger. Some place, some where, in a land full of warmth, cold, dreams, and men that look shockingly like Gerome, Laurent would never be allowed entry at the sound of a gun shot. Whatever that was.