Post by Krakenbox on Oct 28, 2021 10:46:37 GMT -8
"Absolutely not."
Lucas' eyes shone, dark and sad as they dipped into his pint of beer, with the Elemental shutting him down before he even got started. That was just it, though—he had spent enough time with the other Winter to know if Fawkes always slammed anything unknown and anxiety inducing...until he got his rant time in. Glass didn't take a lot of pressure to start bending it, he just had to mind the jagged edges. Rapid fire back and forth between the handsome Fairests' radiating sadness over the loss of his community, and the Sunbanisher biting off how asinine it was for him keep poking at Afterparty continued for the half hour, as Lucas snagged Fawkes' guilt and conflated it as something positive for their Court. Literally all he had to do was hang out with an attractive performer for an hour once or twice a week and get better with his voice. Another thirty minutes were dedicated to the transparency that no—he had not shared with Riley that Fawkes used to be mute—Brunhilda offered it as a point of benefit, and no—there was no agenda with the Lady of the Inhospitable Chamber and he wasn't being punished or assessed. No, Archie Hartman would probably not be happy about it at all. No—they could both agree Archie Hartman wouldn't pull something dangerous, and was probably just going to be very concerned about the mental health and choices of his motleymate. And with those small nudges the Elemental was suddenly speaking on the subject like it was already happening, searching for signs that Lucas' mood was going to perk up or not.
Lucas suggested Eurydice's studio to ease tension with the Elemental, and offered to Riley that the Fairest of Ricochet wouldn't shit where she ate in terms of potential violence. The Dragon did indeed greet the men with warm enthusiasm on her way out, and intimate familiarity with the Gravewight before turning on Fawkes and snapping if he broke the kids' ballet mirrors, he would have to apologize to them tomorrow morning. The Elemental flatly quipped that she could afford the insurance claim, but as soon as his motleymate was gone he started noticeably fidgeting with the old seal of his former frozen expression.
Riley was on edge as well, and despite Lucas trying to act a mediator, the intense pressure of Freehold Forgiveness showed itself in rigid body language with bent antennae and folded arms as they paced and kept their distance. Fawkes offered a Pledge not to fuck with them, before apologizing that the Wyrd wouldn't take, and it was impossible to tell whether he was using cruel sarcasm or had a legitimate lapse in judgement as he offered their peoples' Go-To for basic trust. The awkwardness continued as he immediately dipped outside for a smoke, but it gave time for Riley to quickly review the notes they had made on their phone for a basic lesson plan. Lucas eventually tugged the Elemental back inside once time started to drag, and Riley led some basic warmups to see where Fawkes was at. He seemed familiar with the process, admitting he had done something like this before, and almost defensive as he cut Riley off more than once. Every time he fluctuated, the glass in the dance hall would ring until his own voice would crack like air escaping something pressurized, garbling into an inhuman thrum that whistled and split like someone had punched one of the Nazgûl. The mannequin became more and more stiff with every attempt, with the last forcing Riley and Lucas to flinch as the pitch got out of his control and hit a note that was painful to the human ear. One of the florescent light bulbs popped. Riley teared up, trembling from whatever seemed to have triggered them.
Fawkes called it a day.
The second lesson Lucas finally coaxed the Elemental to share physical limitations, and Fawkes went over how—at least from the mind of a Torrent closer to the Wyrd—he was essentially packed shards and a sandstorm with a melted carapace. Sure, his Mask let him exist, but he demonstrated with a crushed bottle what he was doing with his relationship with sound and anatomy. Manipulating the shards without gravity, they flexed and parted with air, similar to the function of what vocal chords should be doing, but the vibration was all manual. Riley's mind went to trying to match a frequency over a sequenced exercise, and Lucas offered his own skills to see if harmonizing would help. The three agreed to meet tomorrow after they got their hands on proper materials.
Third lesson went smoother, but the Twilight Dancer finally addressed one of the elephants in the room. Their time was dangerously limited, and the Elemental wasted a lot of time smoking and chatting with Lucas, who didn't seem to be in a hurry to stop him. The more Riley pushed, it was almost like Fawkes was purposefully dragging his feet to get a rise out of them. It was then Riley realized they were muttering out loud in a surreal moment of whether they were just dreaming, stretching out a pause as they waited to wake up until Lucas asked if they were all right. The ringing was loud today, causing Riley to zone out or scratch as something new wriggled beneath their skin and was waiting to sprout from the cocoon. The way the world vibrated around them invited shivering with silent anticipation, and when they were asked if they were getting sick, they were honest that this as as awake as they had been in a while. When Fawkes took the crack in the lesson to light up, Riley brought down the hammer, and was shocked and pleased at how well it seemed to work as the Torrent's grating storm seemed to still.
They had found a niche at that point—Fawkes seemed to respond very well to a militant attitude, and they adapted the affect of one of their harsher instructors. The shift in the dynamic encouraged the Moth as they flitted higher and closer to the humming lights that called them to Command, and they catch themselves seeing their new Crown in the mirrors. Finally. Lucas seemed annoyed, or maybe upset, asking them privately to maybe dial it back a bit: Fawkes was tough, sure, but he seemed to be locking up and simply responding to prompts. He was trying to help, and they got that, but they felt like the Fairest might just be a little scared at the changes that were taking place. A silent scream and desperate scraping of scales growled and hissed and whispered—no one likes being replaced, do they? Lucas' pained expression brought them out of the tunnel for a moment, shaking off their malefic instincts to thank him for the advice and time before excusing themselves to get a nap in before their evening performance.
The idea that Fawkes was locked up stuck in Riley's mind. As the lessons continued, the Mountebank's honed eye for the strange watched closely. Black voids dances across the lightning scars of the other's Mantle; Torrents really were so much potential sealed away in a limited skin. As the world hummed and sang around them, the inspiration for change and renewal warmed their spirit. Maybe it was Spring finally returning, but the dancing motes and graceful movements primed the stage as the Darkling reflected on just how far that had evolved past their Keeper. Here they could make a statement, where twitching hands and darting limbs would not hold a knife, but raise another. The burning silica between the cracks reminded Riley of a weak chick struggling with the shell, and their fingers laced into one of them to peel it back.
Fawkes' eyes were bright. Pain bloomed up their arm, and Riley gasped as they twisted and fluttered back towards the light, trying to free themselves from the supernatural vice that gripped their wrist. The only indication that the Elemental was upset was the sharp, garbled responses to Lucas' shocked concern. No bones snapped as Riley blinked back to reality, easily freeing themselves in the shimmer of glamour. Fawkes stepped away just as quickly, watching Riley carefully, before leaving the studio without another word.
Lucas' eyes shone, dark and sad as they dipped into his pint of beer, with the Elemental shutting him down before he even got started. That was just it, though—he had spent enough time with the other Winter to know if Fawkes always slammed anything unknown and anxiety inducing...until he got his rant time in. Glass didn't take a lot of pressure to start bending it, he just had to mind the jagged edges. Rapid fire back and forth between the handsome Fairests' radiating sadness over the loss of his community, and the Sunbanisher biting off how asinine it was for him keep poking at Afterparty continued for the half hour, as Lucas snagged Fawkes' guilt and conflated it as something positive for their Court. Literally all he had to do was hang out with an attractive performer for an hour once or twice a week and get better with his voice. Another thirty minutes were dedicated to the transparency that no—he had not shared with Riley that Fawkes used to be mute—Brunhilda offered it as a point of benefit, and no—there was no agenda with the Lady of the Inhospitable Chamber and he wasn't being punished or assessed. No, Archie Hartman would probably not be happy about it at all. No—they could both agree Archie Hartman wouldn't pull something dangerous, and was probably just going to be very concerned about the mental health and choices of his motleymate. And with those small nudges the Elemental was suddenly speaking on the subject like it was already happening, searching for signs that Lucas' mood was going to perk up or not.
Riley rolls 12 successes over an Extended Roll, with the Challenge Rating being 17 with Lucas' Exceptional Success to assist.
Lucas suggested Eurydice's studio to ease tension with the Elemental, and offered to Riley that the Fairest of Ricochet wouldn't shit where she ate in terms of potential violence. The Dragon did indeed greet the men with warm enthusiasm on her way out, and intimate familiarity with the Gravewight before turning on Fawkes and snapping if he broke the kids' ballet mirrors, he would have to apologize to them tomorrow morning. The Elemental flatly quipped that she could afford the insurance claim, but as soon as his motleymate was gone he started noticeably fidgeting with the old seal of his former frozen expression.
Riley was on edge as well, and despite Lucas trying to act a mediator, the intense pressure of Freehold Forgiveness showed itself in rigid body language with bent antennae and folded arms as they paced and kept their distance. Fawkes offered a Pledge not to fuck with them, before apologizing that the Wyrd wouldn't take, and it was impossible to tell whether he was using cruel sarcasm or had a legitimate lapse in judgement as he offered their peoples' Go-To for basic trust. The awkwardness continued as he immediately dipped outside for a smoke, but it gave time for Riley to quickly review the notes they had made on their phone for a basic lesson plan. Lucas eventually tugged the Elemental back inside once time started to drag, and Riley led some basic warmups to see where Fawkes was at. He seemed familiar with the process, admitting he had done something like this before, and almost defensive as he cut Riley off more than once. Every time he fluctuated, the glass in the dance hall would ring until his own voice would crack like air escaping something pressurized, garbling into an inhuman thrum that whistled and split like someone had punched one of the Nazgûl. The mannequin became more and more stiff with every attempt, with the last forcing Riley and Lucas to flinch as the pitch got out of his control and hit a note that was painful to the human ear. One of the florescent light bulbs popped. Riley teared up, trembling from whatever seemed to have triggered them.
Fawkes called it a day.
The second lesson Lucas finally coaxed the Elemental to share physical limitations, and Fawkes went over how—at least from the mind of a Torrent closer to the Wyrd—he was essentially packed shards and a sandstorm with a melted carapace. Sure, his Mask let him exist, but he demonstrated with a crushed bottle what he was doing with his relationship with sound and anatomy. Manipulating the shards without gravity, they flexed and parted with air, similar to the function of what vocal chords should be doing, but the vibration was all manual. Riley's mind went to trying to match a frequency over a sequenced exercise, and Lucas offered his own skills to see if harmonizing would help. The three agreed to meet tomorrow after they got their hands on proper materials.
Third lesson went smoother, but the Twilight Dancer finally addressed one of the elephants in the room. Their time was dangerously limited, and the Elemental wasted a lot of time smoking and chatting with Lucas, who didn't seem to be in a hurry to stop him. The more Riley pushed, it was almost like Fawkes was purposefully dragging his feet to get a rise out of them. It was then Riley realized they were muttering out loud in a surreal moment of whether they were just dreaming, stretching out a pause as they waited to wake up until Lucas asked if they were all right. The ringing was loud today, causing Riley to zone out or scratch as something new wriggled beneath their skin and was waiting to sprout from the cocoon. The way the world vibrated around them invited shivering with silent anticipation, and when they were asked if they were getting sick, they were honest that this as as awake as they had been in a while. When Fawkes took the crack in the lesson to light up, Riley brought down the hammer, and was shocked and pleased at how well it seemed to work as the Torrent's grating storm seemed to still.
They had found a niche at that point—Fawkes seemed to respond very well to a militant attitude, and they adapted the affect of one of their harsher instructors. The shift in the dynamic encouraged the Moth as they flitted higher and closer to the humming lights that called them to Command, and they catch themselves seeing their new Crown in the mirrors. Finally. Lucas seemed annoyed, or maybe upset, asking them privately to maybe dial it back a bit: Fawkes was tough, sure, but he seemed to be locking up and simply responding to prompts. He was trying to help, and they got that, but they felt like the Fairest might just be a little scared at the changes that were taking place. A silent scream and desperate scraping of scales growled and hissed and whispered—no one likes being replaced, do they? Lucas' pained expression brought them out of the tunnel for a moment, shaking off their malefic instincts to thank him for the advice and time before excusing themselves to get a nap in before their evening performance.
The idea that Fawkes was locked up stuck in Riley's mind. As the lessons continued, the Mountebank's honed eye for the strange watched closely. Black voids dances across the lightning scars of the other's Mantle; Torrents really were so much potential sealed away in a limited skin. As the world hummed and sang around them, the inspiration for change and renewal warmed their spirit. Maybe it was Spring finally returning, but the dancing motes and graceful movements primed the stage as the Darkling reflected on just how far that had evolved past their Keeper. Here they could make a statement, where twitching hands and darting limbs would not hold a knife, but raise another. The burning silica between the cracks reminded Riley of a weak chick struggling with the shell, and their fingers laced into one of them to peel it back.
Fawkes' eyes were bright. Pain bloomed up their arm, and Riley gasped as they twisted and fluttered back towards the light, trying to free themselves from the supernatural vice that gripped their wrist. The only indication that the Elemental was upset was the sharp, garbled responses to Lucas' shocked concern. No bones snapped as Riley blinked back to reality, easily freeing themselves in the shimmer of glamour. Fawkes stepped away just as quickly, watching Riley carefully, before leaving the studio without another word.
