sans_harmony: (Default)
Shaper Master Diwaniya ([personal profile] sans_harmony) wrote in [community profile] faderift2017-05-08 12:55 pm

[OPEN] no such winds blow hither

WHO: Diwaniya and anyone who'd be in the vicinity of the garden.
WHAT: Plants vs. Rifters
WHEN: At...some point after Di's arrival.
WHERE: The Gallows herb garden
NOTES: None atm.




It's been a long time since Diwaniya last stood under the shade of a real live tree. It's been a long time, come to think of it, since he even saw any sunlight strong enough to produce shade. Or flowers, or stone buildings, or people who looked at him with anything but mingled fear and loathing.

It's nowhere near enough to make up for the way this place has crippled him. He can't shake the feeling that no matter how green the garden blooms, it's all a facade, a sterile simulacrum of life and health, frozen and unalterable and doomed to stagnate with no Shapers to tend it. But it's something, if a very small something.

The herbs are all distressingly foreign to him. He could identify any one of the eighty-seven plant species unique to the Ashen Isles from across a room, fresh or dried, but even something as ubiquitous as elfroot looks utterly alien to him. He reaches for a plant growing in a pot, meaning to pluck a leaf for further examination. It doesn't occur to him that he might not be perfectly entitled to manhandle the flora.

aforethought: crying for three days (Default)

[personal profile] aforethought 2017-05-22 07:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Oops.

See, this kind of thing? This is why no one likes mages. When they’re on your side, it’s one thing, it’s a damn sight useful then. But how often are they ever on your side? The world doesn’t stack up that lucky that often. Not with the past few years spent loading the dice.

The flicker of fear across her face is instant, obvious — can’t be entirely swallowed by the fury that follows. She shoves him back free with a snarl, beating the heat from her sleeve with the dangling ends of the other.

"Think you’d be the first one they killed here?" Melys hisses, draws a sharp line across her neck. "Go on, keep it up."

But it’s plain from the angle of her stance (drawn rough now, defensive): She wants no such thing. Perhaps it's not so difficult, to guess what she might fear. Not so difficult, but he's found it all the same.
aforethought: crying for three days (pic#)

http://catbearding.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/cat-hate-it.gif

[personal profile] aforethought 2017-05-23 07:44 am (UTC)(link)
"You don't look like piss in the sea."

Her eyes are still shot too wide for it to come off properly vicious. The solidity of the Gallows around her, the weight of all that history and stone — it's a silent promise: This fucker won't last, not forever, not like this,

But he could last plenty long enough to be a problem. Loathe as she is to retreat, time's past-due for an exit; if she need do that, best to make a petty little point of it.

Melys reaches out for the pot of elfroot, smacks it deliberately aside from its perch. Ceramic shatters out on the ground below, sends earth and stem sprawling. She holds his gaze, squares her jaw,

"But I guess we'll find out."

And turn, and prepare to flounce —