Allumin Etsija (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
voidtransport) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2021-08-16 09:29 pm
voidtransport) wrote in faderift2021-08-16 09:29 pm
Entry tags:
OPEN | Messages from broken bottles fall on black sandy beaches
WHO: Allumin and YOU!
WHAT: A fresh new rifter arrival & Quarantine time (+ A little bit after)
WHEN:Backdated to early-to-mid August (so he can partake in tourney time) just the WHOLE MONTH, really
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains, Gallows
NOTES: info page here and permissions/opt-out here - some spiciness happening in the bene thread
WHAT: A fresh new rifter arrival & Quarantine time (+ A little bit after)
WHEN:
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains, Gallows
NOTES: info page here and permissions/opt-out here - some spiciness happening in the bene thread
i. Arrival / early in the month (this ended up so long, i thank anyone who reads this) - to skip dream segment, go to (@)
It would come as no surprise to Allumin that his dreams would lean the way they do considering the events leading up to sleep, and it's a welcome break from his usual nightmares. It's actually probably better it wasn't his usual nightmares that brought him here filled with black sand and being hunted, but that doesn't mean the dream doesn't give him a measure of anxiousness regardless. Instead he unfortunately gets to relive the greatest hits of his Embarrassing Moments with Diabhall Minett, famous arcane architect and long-time crush. Learning that his curiosity and attraction to the man predated his void vacation and resulting amnesia from his brother's weary sigh as they saw each other again for the first time in 13 years is part of this wonderful collection as well. Great!ii. Courtyard, night
There's the lovely moment where he was pranked into drinking blood from a wine glass at a masquerade party... Finding the sketch he'd done of Diabhall from a lecture at the Observatory and how it had been tucked until the rug of his room and then later hearing from Diabhall himself that he'd investigated the room after Allumin's disappearance and saw the sketch. Of course, offering the man a funnel cake after a spontaneous encounter during the attempt to liberate his falsely imprisoned friend and fumbling in such a way that Diabhall ended up wearing powdered sugar and funnel cake as a result of his clumsiness. And then… the family dinner.
His brother's offhand joke about spilling mashed potatoes all over Diabhall, who happened to be a guest at the reunion dinner with his family haunted him that whole day and he'd hoped against hope that there would be none at dinner (there were). He did not, in fact, accidentally spill anything all over the object of his attraction but the fear he'd felt was so strong that now he gets to live with his brain being like "hey, but what if you had?"
He could be having nightmares about almost being killed by a professional hitman or the newly learned implication that he's probably a living tether of the void plane to the material plane and that may end up destroying him from the inside, but no. No… It's funnel cake and mashed potatoes, and his unfortunate butterfingers dropping them as he tries to give them to Diabhall Minett…
(@) And then it's not - or it is, and isn't - as something unsettles him from outside of the dream, like waking up to a spider crawling on your arm or something akin to it. The deep roar and rumbling of heavy footsteps on the earth beneath him however is definitely not a spider, and he snaps awake on the sandy ground of somewhere completely foreign to him with a plate of mashed potatoes to one side and a funnel cake on the other.
His little drawing of Diabhall is also here, drifting on the wind in an almost lackadaisical fashion, until… it lands on the chest of the source of what pulled him out of his dream. If it were anything other than what it was, he would be grateful. Unfortunately, whatever it is is big, very intimidating, and like no demon of the seven hells he's ever seen in books. Overhead, a green glowing mass(?) of some kind shifts and crackles with energy, and if he were of a mind to simply not panic he might theorize that it was a portal responsible for bringing him wherever he is.
He is not, in fact, of another mind at the moment though, terror plain on his face as he scrambles to his feet and starts to run from the towering horned creature and the foods of his embarrassment. He tries to pat himself down as he runs (thankfully dressed but not in what he'd worn to bed…?), trying to find his wand on his person in his panic before his hand meets the bag hanging from the belts on his waist. Oh, right, in his bag! He fumbles with getting it open to reach inside and fetch it while running, made worse by the way the ground shakes under the footfalls of the demon(??) behind him, the pain in his left hand (which has some Concerns of their own he can't think about right now), and enough sand to make traction on the more solid ground underneath tricky to find. After managing to get his wand out from his bag, he tries to stop and turn to cast something to distract, maybe slow the creature chasing him down for enough time he can at least find somewhere to hide until it's safe. What ends up happening is not so graceful as he'd hoped, sliding along the sand and falling over somewhat on his knees.
Oh boy, that thing is so close and so big and could probably crush him in one hand -- there's no time to scramble to his feet he thinks, so instead he just tries to cast something from his awkward and undignified position. He focuses on Snowball Swarm - maybe it would also kick up some of the sand in its flurry of snow and be enough to keep the imminent danger occupied to escape - and follows through with the incantation in Sylvan, raising his wand to gesture out in practiced fluidity the movements to cast it.
...
Nothing happens.
Oh no.
[The insomnia isn't new. He's not sure if that should be a relief or not, that it's consistent and familiar or that he should be bothered that he can't sleep. But, rather than dwell on it, he decides to borrow a couple of books from the library and go out to the courtyard to read under the night sky. The cool air helps him to feel calm at least, and reading is something productive he can do with his time if he's going to be awake anyway.
He gets rather into it too, his attention fully on the book for about an hour until he hears the cracking of loose bits of rock underfoot on the stone ground of the courtyard break the silence that he had become acclimated to that everything outside himself and the book was briefly oblivion. His head snaps up in alarm at the sound, staring directly up at whoever is the source of the sound. And then he sighs, an "oh" of relief carried on it out of his lungs.]
You startled me - sorry, is it too late for me to be out here? I can go back to bed, I just couldn't sleep, so...
[ If you prefer brackets over prose or vice versa and a starter is written the opposite of your preference, please feel free to switch to that! I have no problem following suit. Also, if you'd like a custom starter please let me know! I can be reached through this journal, at
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Fortunately, the coffee is done. He pours two cups and hands one to Allumin in apparent peace offering, only taking a moment to rinse out the urn and return it to its place so he can use it later for Byerly's.
"I know somewhere quiet, if a bit of a walk up," he remarks, gesturing toward the hallway once they've both doctored their coffee to their liking.
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The trick is how to cast it without being noticed - the spell requires an incantation and a gesture of his hands after all.
"That's no problem - I've got very good stamina when it comes to walking," he says, 'among other things' a little unsaid suffix to the sentence.
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It's a space containing a hookah in the center, surrounded by pillows and the occasional blanket here and there. Its fireplace is unlit, morning light streaming through the slightly-ajar window at the back.
There's no bed, no washbasin or other accoutrements to suggest that someone lives in here; it was a storage room, and now it stores something very specific.
"Do you smoke?" Benedict asks, carefully seating himself on one of the pillows, though he doesn't move to light up the hookah-- it's a bit early for that, even for him.
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This feels like a place where things certainly happen.
He has to force himself not to be paralyzed near the doorway as his imagination runs away with him. After a moment of just staring around the room, he manages to get his legs working again and approaches to sit on one of the pillows beside Benedict.
"On occasion," he answers, and then looks between him and the hookah. "I haven't from one of those before."
He can't recall if he's ever seen one up close before beyond passing by one in a shop. But then again, he can't recall a lot of things in his life. Maybe he has actually enjoyed a leisurely time with someone (or more than one someone) and a hookah before and it's just buried in the recesses of his mind. Before he can get too caught up in imagining what might or might not have been, his eyes flutter back over in Benedict's direction.
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And me, is the implication, and he has no doubt that Allumin will. Who wouldn't?
"What sort of world are you from?" It's becoming something of a common question.
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He considers, for a moment, trying to say something suggestive in reply but he's still a bit too nervous from earlier to come up with anything particularly clever. It can wait. He can think about things to say for later. In the meantime Allumin would much rather answer his question.
"It is simultaneously very similar and very different from here," he says, taking a sip of his coffee as he looks him over. Admiring, for sure - his smile is very charming, he thinks.
"Magic, spirits, and demons do not have the same negative contexts for one."
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That has his attention, and Bene's dark eyes meet Allumin's curiously over the rim of his mug.
"How could a demon be a positive thing?"
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"It's not a world completely free of demons and devils with malevolent intentions, but humans, elves, dwarves - among other races unique to my home - are not free of having evil hearts either. There are demons that crave love, family, adventure, and to better the world for the future like many who are not." He gets particularly impassioned the more he goes on.
There is definitely a personal investment.
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"But demons are... they're not people, they're malevolence incarnate. They're a living thing's worst impulses."
On the one hand, it might seem unfair to draw a hard line; on the other, a demon-sympathizer will find little love in Thedas.
Though about to say something, Bene suddenly pauses. "...you're not a demon, are you?"
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But then he has to remind himself of his brief fear of openly being a "mage" because of the overall societal fear of them... He has to remember that he should have a measure of patience and restraint when having these conversations, especially since he probably shouldn't have them at all. He'd hoped that perhaps Benedict might be an okay person to talk about this subject with though. He takes in a deep breath.
"I'm not, if you're willing to believe it. Technically I am a half-elf. Or was," he says, with a more calm tone this time. "My best friend was part-demon. There is a whole race of people who are half-or-part-demon and some other parent."
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"Well," he says after a brief pause, "if you were, you certainly wouldn't be so defensive. You'd try to tempt me, and if you succeeded, you'd possess me and wreak havoc all over the Gallows."
He sips at his coffee again.
"So I'm assuming half-demon doesn't mean an abomination." He stops to clarify, "someone who's let a demon take control of them."
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His eyes linger with intensity on Benedict as he speaks, taking a drink of his coffee as he listens. Then, after a moment of silence, consideration, he sets his mug aside. His movements are slow, deliberate, as he moves to kneel in front of Benedict and lean down over him. Placing a hand upon the one holding his mug, he gently lowers it away from Benedict's face.
"Are you saying I can't tempt you, Benedict?" His voice is low, a latent reverberating tone not usually present in his conversational stammers and flighty babbling deep in his words.
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This one's full of surprises after all-- it's like the twitchy little oddball was never there. Benedict's eyes widen slightly, his lips curling into a pleased little smile; he'd thought they'd have a quick chat and he'd be off to work, but... there's plenty of time yet.
And besides, Byerly can hardly give him shit for showing up tousled, if that's how this should go.
"I'd like to see you try," he says smugly, both of them already knowing full well the battle's already more than won.
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"Regarding your earlier assumption," he says, hands lightly drifting onto his shoulders with a heaviness that increases as they drift from outward in to the collar of his shirt, "about where half-demons come from..."
He grabs Benedict's shirt and pulls him close, lips barely touching.
"A demon and a human fuck, of course."
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