⛈️ ((angst. hehe))

He's such an embarrassment. Lelesu rolls her eyes, but doesn't protest, because better this than him *sleeping on top of the fridge*. Honestly. "Fine," she agrees. "But I want a cut."

Lelesu smacks his hand ineffectually - more of a token protest and a warning than anything else. "Behave," she scolds, giving him a glare. That she doesn't immediately zap him and snap about respecting her boundaries is a sign of their friendship. "What's this for?"

((🌸 or 💧, whichever one calls to you more? may be on and off in replying but i want to,, secret extra angsty option is 🤲))

gently through his hair over and over again, brushing it back from his face. "Are you alright?" she asks softly.

It can't be too comfortable for him, sitting on the floor to rest his head in her lap - she knows the pain he suffers on a daily basis. But it warms her chest, that for once she can be in this position - an unexpectedly-frustrating consequence of her height - and she strokes one small hand+

"It's not uncomfortable, is it?" she asks, a hint of worry creeping into her tone. She'd made the stone as smooth as she could, and wide enough not to be constricting, but even magic rock is still rock, and this had definitely been an *experiment*.

Lelesu offers Haurchefant a small but bright smile, rather pleased with her handiwork. "I doubt this was what X'rhun intended when he taught me red magic," she observes wryly, glancing at the verstone shackles that'd done what she's too short to do herself. Yeah, definitely not. +

((this is so good!!! you look amazing :O))

I don't mind earl grey, if I have to, but I actually prefer coffee! Though the Chai we had in Thavnair was quite good.

“Fandaniel struck down the manifestation of the star’s hope with his own hands. What else could there *possibly* be left but this?”

((Whoops. That one was longer than I realized LOL))

and curls forward, pressing his free hand into the dirt, and continues to laugh (or maybe it’s a sob). He knows what’s happening. He knows what form the terminus beast will take. What other despair is so fresh in his memory but this?
“Don’t be a fool,” he gasps out. +

yet. Breathe.”

Not finished? *Not finished?*

The sick horror and despair and numbness in his chest rips itself out of his throat in an ugly, wheezing thing that is too bloody to be a laugh. He can feel aether draining out of him alongside it - he closes his eyes +

2. Raha takes one of his hands and moves it to his own neck, brushing up against the Archon’s mark in its crimson ink as he seeks out his own pulse. “I’m alive, Hades,” he says, voice as firm as crystal but desperation in it all the same. Is his hand trembling? “You’re alive, we are not finished +

to taint even these most precious and ephemeral memories. Perhaps it has. And does *that* not just bode wonderfully for his ability to rebirth his city and his star in truth, when his toil is at long last complete.

sighing and turning to the window to draw back its curtains. The view would be a lovely one, were they not on the ocean floor, opening out onto the city streets. Instead, the heavy blue tint layers over everything and leaves it dark and pallid, like all his loss has spilled out of his chest +

1. Fabric rustles behind him as the Exarch stirs, slow, his aether flaring as he attempts to reach for the Tower to steady himself. “...Emet-Selch?” he murmurs, low. “What…?”

His voice trails off; Emet-Selch does him the service of remaining silent to allow him to regain his bearings, instead +

"Of course," she agrees, reaching up to absently brush his bangs from his face and tuck them behind his ear. "It's too cold to leave the blankets, anyway - I think I might freeze, if I tried."