That’s a shame. Have a good one, friend
HereComesTheSnow Member
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STATUS: Just ran a stale yellow. Nobody on this website is doing it like me, sticking it to the man like me, blazing a trail against tyranny like me. the only thing revolutionary about you is your rhetoric 21 days ago
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Just ran a stale yellow. Nobody on this website is doing it like me, sticking it to the man like me, blazing a trail against tyranny like me. the only thing revolutionary about you is your rhetoric
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2 mos ago
Takeru Segawa is the type of man they made myths out of. Intensely privileged to be able to say I watched him burn so bright as he did before going out with a win. I’ll miss you, hero.
3 mos ago
a frayed thread on the colorful tapestry of our existence, begging to be yanked until the whole thing unravels, a suggestive, inviting golden glow around the idea of leaking my buddy's DMs to his wife
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I'm like the "conspicuously modded with multiple trojan backdoors skyrim save on your friend's screenshare stream" of white boys
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5 mos ago
Completely fucking up my field sobriety test as i clamber out of the honda fit i've wrapped around a lightpost, staggering everywhere, before finally scoring a big fat goose egg on the breathalyzer
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@PaulHaynek missed this tag, need to stop posting when halfway comatose. been a long day, my b
@jdh97@VitaVitaAR
He took it in silently. The Knight-Captain, numb to the world for a moment, had not responded to anyone save Aria Larette's almost mercifully direct query regarding what was obviously dominating her mind. He looked downward to the bisected man, regarding him with a solemn neutrality.
Sir Rickart...
He hadn't known him well. Perhaps they had traded a few passing blows on the training grounds, or greeted eachother amiably when their paths through the many halls of the Iron Roses compound crossed, but for all of Gerard's contemplation, he could not truly speak of the man knowingly.
It was a shame. An uncomfortable inevitability in the theatre of war that each man who made it their trade was forced to accept, but all the while a shame. Men he would never know lost their lives on the same field as he. Men he would never get the chance to properly remember. It was the reality of being a mercenary, and it was a reality that he had known would extend to knighthood. Hardening one's heart to the guilt of not knowing was a skill he had to learn quickly. Without it, anyone would break.
His eyes flitted to the Captain for a moment, before settling back upon Rickart's body.
If I can spare a thought for hardened criminals, however, I can surely offer the same to a comrade, known or not.
May the Goddesses bring your soul a peaceful rest, Sir Rickart.
I'm sure you've earned it.
With orders to carry out and nothing left to merit his idling, he then pushed off the branch, and set himself to work.
The ride back was, all told, a slow and quiet one. Luckily enough, his earlier assessment had proven largely correct— no lives lost within the number of knights assigned to him, and comparatively few injuries atop that— the most major of which being Sir Jerel's shoulder. Beyond that, nothing of real note— everyone was able to fight, to say nothing of ride or march. Including, he noted with some amusement, the girl he'd found and armed. He owed the aforementioned older knight an apology for her nearly taking his head off, but was glad that he'd all the same ensured her safety as things drew to a close.
Finding Sir Jarde a horse had been mercifully easy once that was all said and done— a simple matter of convincing one of the bandits' to carry the young man. Thankfully the blonde didn't wear much in the way of armor, so his weight wouldn't prove too unfamiliar to this undoubtedly less trained animal. Once they were satisfied with how that had played out, Jarde more or less managing to strike up a kind of understanding between himself and his new horse, it was time to depart.
...He had been very fortunate indeed that it all went so smoothly, he realized in review as the first glimmers of dawn peeked above the horizon. Both in that none in his command had been grievously wounded in spite of his singular determination to fight, and that he himself had not suffered any harm in the face of that recklessness— even the bruise he'd suspected to be upon his shoulder had faded from his senses as the hours had passed. All that was left then were his thoughts. His singular understanding that he had much to learn from this mission.
He turned his eyes upwards towards alabaster towers as they passed through the mighty oak and steel gates of Aimlenn. The Capital city was still a somewhat awe-inspiring sight for him, a man hailing from much further north, close to the border with Velt. To think human hands could build structures so massively high, and yet at the same time so elegant... It boggled his bumpkin mind to this day. He knew of cities, of fortified, high walls of stone. He's seen plenty with his ragtag band of sellswords, and was no stranger to the concept itself— but nothing could match the capital's scale. Aimlenn absolutely dwarfed anything else he'd ever known.
Yet more proof that the world was still far bigger than him.
Not to mention, this Order as well. He thought, offering a wave to awestruck children that watched their passing. It's strange how being the one gawking at knights feels so simultaneously a short and long while ago.
That used to be me down there. I wonder if they would follow my path, should it mean a chance to ride with us?
He hoped not.
He wouldn't trade the opportunity nor the honor for the world, nor even the much larger weight of time that he had experienced in an unscrupulous trade to lead him to them, but he hoped not.
He hoped that any prospective Knights would be far better prepared than he for many facets of this. That they would be stronger in body and mind than he. That they wouldn't make so many mistakes, whether he had escaped consequences this time or no. He had much more work left to his name before he could truly become the knight he decided was his goal, seven years ago. Far from mastering himself to the degree it required, half the time he wondered if he had truly earned the right to step foot into that hallowed compound.
The Knights entered the Candaeln, their home base, and the tiny Captain stiffly ordered them to disperse towards either healing, or some rest. That they'd earned it.
That much was true. They, collectively, had earned more than their share of a good morning's sleep. A surgical night raid that had resulted in a dominating victory, vanquishing a scourge upon the land's people as well as a fairly powerful enemy fighter at its head. Good work by any metric, regardless of how disdainfully they had all entered the mission. She, as much as anyone, had done enough to merit such. Looked for all the world to be ready to follow her own advice.
But Gerard, inexorably, found himself drifting towards the Training Wing rather than his quarters.
His mind had not yet settled. He intended, in the simplest terms, to hone himself until fatigue would do it for him.
He took it in silently. The Knight-Captain, numb to the world for a moment, had not responded to anyone save Aria Larette's almost mercifully direct query regarding what was obviously dominating her mind. He looked downward to the bisected man, regarding him with a solemn neutrality.
Sir Rickart...
He hadn't known him well. Perhaps they had traded a few passing blows on the training grounds, or greeted eachother amiably when their paths through the many halls of the Iron Roses compound crossed, but for all of Gerard's contemplation, he could not truly speak of the man knowingly.
It was a shame. An uncomfortable inevitability in the theatre of war that each man who made it their trade was forced to accept, but all the while a shame. Men he would never know lost their lives on the same field as he. Men he would never get the chance to properly remember. It was the reality of being a mercenary, and it was a reality that he had known would extend to knighthood. Hardening one's heart to the guilt of not knowing was a skill he had to learn quickly. Without it, anyone would break.
His eyes flitted to the Captain for a moment, before settling back upon Rickart's body.
If I can spare a thought for hardened criminals, however, I can surely offer the same to a comrade, known or not.
May the Goddesses bring your soul a peaceful rest, Sir Rickart.
I'm sure you've earned it.
With orders to carry out and nothing left to merit his idling, he then pushed off the branch, and set himself to work.
The ride back was, all told, a slow and quiet one. Luckily enough, his earlier assessment had proven largely correct— no lives lost within the number of knights assigned to him, and comparatively few injuries atop that— the most major of which being Sir Jerel's shoulder. Beyond that, nothing of real note— everyone was able to fight, to say nothing of ride or march. Including, he noted with some amusement, the girl he'd found and armed. He owed the aforementioned older knight an apology for her nearly taking his head off, but was glad that he'd all the same ensured her safety as things drew to a close.
Finding Sir Jarde a horse had been mercifully easy once that was all said and done— a simple matter of convincing one of the bandits' to carry the young man. Thankfully the blonde didn't wear much in the way of armor, so his weight wouldn't prove too unfamiliar to this undoubtedly less trained animal. Once they were satisfied with how that had played out, Jarde more or less managing to strike up a kind of understanding between himself and his new horse, it was time to depart.
...He had been very fortunate indeed that it all went so smoothly, he realized in review as the first glimmers of dawn peeked above the horizon. Both in that none in his command had been grievously wounded in spite of his singular determination to fight, and that he himself had not suffered any harm in the face of that recklessness— even the bruise he'd suspected to be upon his shoulder had faded from his senses as the hours had passed. All that was left then were his thoughts. His singular understanding that he had much to learn from this mission.
He turned his eyes upwards towards alabaster towers as they passed through the mighty oak and steel gates of Aimlenn. The Capital city was still a somewhat awe-inspiring sight for him, a man hailing from much further north, close to the border with Velt. To think human hands could build structures so massively high, and yet at the same time so elegant... It boggled his bumpkin mind to this day. He knew of cities, of fortified, high walls of stone. He's seen plenty with his ragtag band of sellswords, and was no stranger to the concept itself— but nothing could match the capital's scale. Aimlenn absolutely dwarfed anything else he'd ever known.
Yet more proof that the world was still far bigger than him.
Not to mention, this Order as well. He thought, offering a wave to awestruck children that watched their passing. It's strange how being the one gawking at knights feels so simultaneously a short and long while ago.
That used to be me down there. I wonder if they would follow my path, should it mean a chance to ride with us?
He hoped not.
He wouldn't trade the opportunity nor the honor for the world, nor even the much larger weight of time that he had experienced in an unscrupulous trade to lead him to them, but he hoped not.
He hoped that any prospective Knights would be far better prepared than he for many facets of this. That they would be stronger in body and mind than he. That they wouldn't make so many mistakes, whether he had escaped consequences this time or no. He had much more work left to his name before he could truly become the knight he decided was his goal, seven years ago. Far from mastering himself to the degree it required, half the time he wondered if he had truly earned the right to step foot into that hallowed compound.
The Knights entered the Candaeln, their home base, and the tiny Captain stiffly ordered them to disperse towards either healing, or some rest. That they'd earned it.
That much was true. They, collectively, had earned more than their share of a good morning's sleep. A surgical night raid that had resulted in a dominating victory, vanquishing a scourge upon the land's people as well as a fairly powerful enemy fighter at its head. Good work by any metric, regardless of how disdainfully they had all entered the mission. She, as much as anyone, had done enough to merit such. Looked for all the world to be ready to follow her own advice.
But Gerard, inexorably, found himself drifting towards the Training Wing rather than his quarters.
His mind had not yet settled. He intended, in the simplest terms, to hone himself until fatigue would do it for him.
Jonas blinked, momentarily baffled by her words, before spotting the connecting thread.
A wry smile followed, heralding a shake of the head and a turn back to the kitchen, headed towards the fridge.
"If you want a second helping, I'll gladly make one." He began, welcoming the outward flow of cool air on his skin as he reached for the package of bacon, encased within a ziploc bag. Gotta keep that environment sealed to maximize fridge life— Unless it was gonna all get used up before the days was out. "But that's not what I meant."
He was far more satisfied with his handiwork than he was the meeting. He had believed that much to be obvious, but evidently he had shown a little too much humility about his own cooking. Either that, or Cross had made a rare misstep in reading his implication. Dana did mention she wasn't much of a morning person.
Maybe you really do need coffee?
He turned the knob of the burner beneath the pan, welcoming flame back into the kitchen without fanfare. Waving the back of his hand to get a read of the temperature, he promptly laid two more strips onto the still-reasonably warm metal. Hadn't been too long since he'd taken it off heat, all things considered.
While he watched them fry in their own fat, he spoke once again, now choosing his words a bit more carefully. None of them needed any more wrong ideas today, even minor and benign ones such as this. He doubted she'd been quite so earnest as she appeared in her deduction that he was in high spirits. Fine by him. It wasn't wrong of her to look a little closer.
"Do you know of any legends brought about by fleeing, Rebekah? I don't mean like Marathon— I mean like what they demanded of us back there."
He halfway expected an actual answer in return from the de facto leader of the unofficial Olympus Book Club, but she was doubtlessly sharp enough to get the point he was driving towards. His composure was long-practiced under emotional and situational duress, even without the backing of his inherent divine ability. Each word was delivered with a level frostiness that had no business matching the smirk they had just seen him turn away with, and if they paid attention to the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders they would note that even the breaths preceding them were decidedly measured.
He continued to neutrally regard his bacon as his hand slid over to ignite the burner beneath salted, vinegary water.
"In all of your years and all of your texts, who is a hero for running fearfully for the trees? I can recall none."
groovy
I do everything in one sitting and shoot from the hip, editing mid post as it feels right
Sometimes you just gotta get one out there to get the gears turning
i know what you mean
A hit.
Spirits lifted.
Brawny arms folded atop his chest, Jonas looked on as he was awash with spoken and unspoken praise for his effort, unable to completely hide a smirk of self-satisfaction. To bring all those he cared for together like this and enjoy something— there was nothing better he could have done. He had begun cooking at an early age; his mother often worked until it was nearly time for him to sleep, and his was a hungry mouth to feed. What he had simply picked up to survive, he now used to enrich the lives of others, even in the face of their little world turning against them.
It felt like the journey had lead him to something beautiful.
"Well, I've been practicing." he replied noncommittally to Rebekah, throwing in a casual shrug of the shoulders— a bit off-base from his previous bombast, but there wasn't any sense in outright preening. It wasn't as if he did this to fish for compliments. No truly good cook did. Honesty was what made or broke your dish. It was an expression of wanting to make people smile, and to see that wish fulfilled was an honor in a class of its own.
Well, mostly.
He turned to his sister next, and found himself laughing even in spite of the fact that her chipper tone hadn't fully reached the rest of her face. Sometimes, she played the stoic just as he did. Maybe it was something they'd gotten from their father, so earnestly working to master his infamously explosive emotions.
"「It's my pleasure, Dana-chan.」" His grasp on her mother tongue was... passable, at least for now. The cramming session on the drive was still fresh in his mind, so hopefully more usage would simply lead to more comprehensive crystallized vocabulary. He would be certain to make the effort to meet her on her terms. Luckily, she wasn't trying to give him a hard time understanding her. "「Though, honestly, I thought he was kidding about that. Don't worry. I'll make whatever you want.」"
Dangerous promise, Highwind.
It was amazing how their simple jests made it so much easier to brush aside all that was wrong with what happened that morning. Even when conveying that he shared much of their sentiment, it was done all the more casually.
"I'd be lying if I said I was happy with how it turned out, Bekah. To tell the truth, I'm wholly dissatisfied—"
A knock upon the door— Liam was here. Despite it being open for convenience's sake, the guy still felt the need to politely announce himself before waltzing in. He appreciated the thought, even though he'd also spent the past year trying to get the Son of Zeus to drop some of the formalities.
They were friends. He didn't need to address Jonas as anything more. Even if that was just how Liam was (and it seemed the case), he hoped that one of his most upbeat training partners was aware of that.
"Don't go hurting yourself on my account, man." Rushing through weights was an excellent way to forget your form and go on a one-way trip to Snap City. "And dig in. Good to see you."
He got the distinct feeling he'd need to have another batch in the works soon.
@PaulHaynek@VitaVitaAR
He chuckled in kind with Sir Jarde, before giving a small nod to the blonde jokester knight.
"I'll see to it, then."
He was fairly certain he'd noticed at least one or two tied up near a fence, but if push came to shove— his own was well-behaved enough to manage a different weight on his back without trouble. Walking alongside the caravan wasn't something Gerard would mind overmuch— a long march in armor was, in a way, good for the soul. Nice and humbling. Good time for introspection.
Though he would certainly miss the wind through his coal-colored hair. So sticky...
He returned his gaze to Captain Fanilly, meeting her eyes for a moment before he spoke. They seemed... searching. As though attempting to puzzle out an answer that continued to elude her.
So that was what it looked like from the outside, then?
Probably not. Her responsibilities were a wholly different beast from his idly daydreaming.
"As for our flank, we largely fell upon them like wolves, Knight-Captain." he began his report with an affirming nod, in spite of his mouth having settled into a much more stoic line than moments prior. "No real unexpected resistance, and nothing I believed any one of our number couldn't handle. I'll have to verify it wholly now that the battle is done, but before I..."
It fell further, into a bit of a frown. He'd lost sight of his position quickly. Worth acknowledging, but he didn't need to put distrust of her own choices in the girl's head. Not now,in the direct aftermath. Emotions ran high, everyone questioned whether their decisions could have been made better... it would be ill-advised to press the issue before she had a chance to really process everything. He had seen companies of fighting men fall apart many times when their leaders hadn't the necessary faith in their judgement.
The Iron Roses would not be one such.
"...rushed to be the tip of the spear, as it were— we suffered no casualties to our number. None that I could see. If that's all you need from me right now, ma'am..." he started forward, stepping one leg up onto the ashen log before looking back towards her. "I'll get a certain number back to you as soon as I can. Additionally, we did find one of their prisoners— I'll check on her as well."
He chuckled in kind with Sir Jarde, before giving a small nod to the blonde jokester knight.
"I'll see to it, then."
He was fairly certain he'd noticed at least one or two tied up near a fence, but if push came to shove— his own was well-behaved enough to manage a different weight on his back without trouble. Walking alongside the caravan wasn't something Gerard would mind overmuch— a long march in armor was, in a way, good for the soul. Nice and humbling. Good time for introspection.
Though he would certainly miss the wind through his coal-colored hair. So sticky...
He returned his gaze to Captain Fanilly, meeting her eyes for a moment before he spoke. They seemed... searching. As though attempting to puzzle out an answer that continued to elude her.
So that was what it looked like from the outside, then?
Probably not. Her responsibilities were a wholly different beast from his idly daydreaming.
"As for our flank, we largely fell upon them like wolves, Knight-Captain." he began his report with an affirming nod, in spite of his mouth having settled into a much more stoic line than moments prior. "No real unexpected resistance, and nothing I believed any one of our number couldn't handle. I'll have to verify it wholly now that the battle is done, but before I..."
It fell further, into a bit of a frown. He'd lost sight of his position quickly. Worth acknowledging, but he didn't need to put distrust of her own choices in the girl's head. Not now,in the direct aftermath. Emotions ran high, everyone questioned whether their decisions could have been made better... it would be ill-advised to press the issue before she had a chance to really process everything. He had seen companies of fighting men fall apart many times when their leaders hadn't the necessary faith in their judgement.
The Iron Roses would not be one such.
"...rushed to be the tip of the spear, as it were— we suffered no casualties to our number. None that I could see. If that's all you need from me right now, ma'am..." he started forward, stepping one leg up onto the ashen log before looking back towards her. "I'll get a certain number back to you as soon as I can. Additionally, we did find one of their prisoners— I'll check on her as well."
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