TEST DRIVE #6

[fairyfoes]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The Seelie and Unseelie courts welcome you with mirthful revelry and hearty food. After you have been briefed on your purpose here, you will find an endless feast and a night filled with entertainment to placate your concerns. Mingle with new arrivals, sneak down the castle halls and make sure your eyes are always on your glass; fairies and imps have no bias when it comes to tricks! 02. THE STATION. Looking for a little slice of home? The Station gives you all that and more. Take advantage of the wifi, have a cup of fairy-brewed coffee (the one they didn't spit in) or sit back and relax on the patio. You can even move your things into one of the available rooms! 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld or simply take advantage of your Locket!

Comments

one. ( also know as I DO WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT )

[seidhe]

[ He appears shortly after the camp is established, emerging from the surroundings with a purposeful heavy foot ─ a early warning she'd likely recognize by now. As somewhere along the way he began bringing her food during her movements, if she was nearby of course.

Nothing is said, no other sound save for the noise from the Station and Iorveth's heavy footsteps, and he simply... deposits two rabbits down for her. The kills had been clean and swift, leaving the pets undamaged. If he hunted for himself, it is hard to tell, there is no smoke smell on his clothes, only to fresh scent of pine and dirt.

With that done he sets himself a short distance, pulling his bow from his back, resting it beside him. ]

my favourite kind of prompt

[darkborn]

[ She flinches a little as she hears the sound of his footsteps and, were she unused to it, she would have turned to aim something rather vile at his face. Luckily (for him or for her, she cannot tell) she is used to how he walks, at least when he approaches her, a lesson hard learned for the two of them together. Lauralae doesn't know enough of him to say much or do much other than let her gaze flick to his; their conversations have always been short and the trust between them hard won.

The rabbits, however, are welcome, for all that she once loathed the idea of eating meat, and she reaches for them and draws the small knife she wears at her side. She can use the pelts, he knows this, and she finds his consideration as charming as she can find anything; all she does is begin to skin them, her fingers moving nimbly. She has been alone for so long that tending to her own meal is second nature now, she barely needs to think.

Eventually, however, her eyes turn to him, gaze careful and measured. ]

You were successful, then.

B)

[seidhe]

[ Truly he had not expected to gain her trust, nor for her to gain his. Their initial meeting was full of venom spat at one another, to wound, to frighten. Both so full of pride and anger and a great amount of hatred for others, he for humans, and her for her own kind. Ironic, then, that somewhere along the thing they went from spitting cats to this.

He has pulled out his pipe as she begins to skin the rabbits and lit it, inhaling a herb he refuses to name. His lungs seize against it, threaten to cough, but he ignores it. Something he has gotten good at over the years. ]

You had doubts?

[ Iorveth's singular gaze flicks to her, eyebrow raising from behind his head scarf. ]

[darkborn]

[ Her eyes flick to his and her lip twitches, ever so slightly. ]

No.

[ For she knows that he is skilled, just as she is, and they share talent as much as they do nature. If there is anyone she would put her trust in to do any kind of scheme it would be him - and that is not something she would say lightly. Indeed, her trust is hard won and difficult to maintain, her skin crawling at the very idea of someone having enough of her to know what to say and do.

One rabbit is done and she moves, drawing a cloth and dropping the meat upon it before she turns to the next. She'll have to cook it, or perhaps salt it, to keep some for later; there will be more journeys ahead and strips of carefully preserved food will do her some good. ]

I was curious.

[seidhe]

[ He scoffs, the noise more an exhaling of breath, followed by a trail of smoke.

It may have been that that drew him, the difficulty of gaining her trust, a mannerism he too shares. He yells his hatred for humanity, curse them, insults them, though they are not the only people who have burnt him. It had been one of his own who traded away elven lives, one of his own who paid for the elven state in blood. It has made him a difficult man, hard to get along with and even harder to gain his trust.

But since then a hand full of people have managed it, all in different ways. From the white haired Witcher, to her. ]

About what?

[darkborn]

[ She sniffs; this is how all their conversations go. It's like pulling teeth from one another at times, neither of them keen to spend any amount of their day speaking on matters that they hate. Most of their time together is spent in silence, she will happily admit that, even when they sleep (she is still getting used to waking up in her other form, her face buried in his neck and his hand touching her, careful).

Together, they are a dangerous mystery.

She takes a moment to peer down at her rabbits before she continues to speak, nonchalant and entirely unconcerned with his lack of response. ]

How well you did, evidently, or I wouldn't have asked.

[seidhe]

[ There is something comfortable not being expected to speak, though he is a man with much to say, something comfortable about her expectations of him in general being as they are. She does not expect him to rant or rave, or speak of his people, or be the vicious murderer many of his land say that he is.

He does not admit it, of course, as he does not speak of the mornings where he wakes with a wolf draped over his chest, head buried against his neck. ]

I have hunted for my food for a hundred years or more. A clean kill is an easy feat.

[darkborn]

[ She shakes her head, lifting her shoulder in an absent gesture. The ease of their friendship - can they call it that? She's not entirely sure - has startled her and her nose wrinkles. Lauralae knows what he is; he is part of the groups that she tries, sternly, to avoid, but he cares for her as she cares for him. A reflection of veiled interest in one another tied with the knowledge that they have an uneasy accord.

She moves once the meat is cut, moving to scrape the last of anything fleshy from the pelts. Maybe she can leather it, turn it into another pelt to tuck something small into. Perhaps she will give one to him - there is not much, but there is enough. For now. ]

You are cleaner than I am.

[ Because she hunts as a beast, snapping their necks with a powerful jaw. ]