a catchall through the end: fall and winter

[bluminescence]

WHO: Kaspar Blumlund + others
WHAT: some ota, some closed. auction date and effects prompts, whatever makes sense to put here
WHEN: throughout February-March
WHERE: varies
WARNINGS: mind the headers


autumn
plotting | event
bug eater farm ic inbox

Comments

open prompts [ota]

[bluminescence]

other open top levels

[bluminescence]

autumn | event

[ autumn ] [ borrowed power + auction date ] [ ota ]

[bluminescence]

to fly without wings

[ Early in the morning one day, Kaspar finds himself on the beach. In the chillier air, the full swing of autumn lightly flushes his cheeks as he jumps to shift his weight from foot to foot, bare chested with muscles shifting as he stretches. Like the crack of a starting shot, his next jump to a single foot becomes a stride. A transition into a full out run. Full speed, not unlike his usual morning run through the forest or along the beach.

Until he transforms into a horse, large and sturdy, with a cascade of flowers braided into an otherwise flowing tail and mane and sprouting along his back. A brand in the shape of a strange wispy flower darkens the skin on the point of his hip. He doesn't break stride as his form shifts. His swift gallop down the stretch of beach speaks to every bit of strength and grace one would expect of a horse, not even slowed when his whims carry him into the forest. He is going so fast that by the time he sees a person in his way, instinct and experience horseback riding have his back legs digging in as he almost sits. Front legs straight, he slides to a halt kicking up a wave of dirt and rocks.

Later, he does slow to a more polite gait in town or by your farm, even snorting happily in the direction of anyone he knows as he trots past. He'll even spend some time grazing around the island. Strange, it's almost as if this horse is foraging, with that nice pile of finds nearby. Mushrooms, herbs, flowers, whatever might be around. ]

a date on the arco lunar.

spa
[ Kaspar, chest already warmed with feelings that are conflicting, soothing, and exciting all at once beneath the still surface of his posture, finds himself at the spa more than once during the day. A break for a facial, a massage, mostly enjoyed on his own until the prospect of having color put on his nails for the first time calls his attention to the selection of colors. Dressed in blues, whites, and paler golds, he frowns slightly at the small, metallic silver bottle he holds up to his nails. Tilting his head, he can't quite decide if he likes the way it flows with the colors in his outfit. Perhaps white or clear, his gaze says as it wanders. ]

bugffet
[ The buffet is the most impressive display of food he's ever seen. Perhaps not in quantity alone. While the food stalls of the dance were charming and the food delicious, seeing it all in one place like this strikes him into pausing. His gaze drifts just to appreciate the view, the smell of hot food, and the tender ambiance of romance in the air.

Kaspar pauses before most dishes, eyes bright and fixated on whatever it is. Every new one to him inspires awe and curiosity, working his way through sampling the full menu with small portions. He arranges his selections with the care of someone that has no idea what they are putting on their plate in most cases. Kaspar is fearless about trying everything offered at least once. And if he knows you, and sees the same thing on your plate, he might even ask what it's called in a whisper. Of course, if anyone tries any of the dishes from his home he will give them a knowing look. Those are the pale and slimy offerings with simple eyeless fish that look as though they share parentage with a worm. Colorless moss garnishes complete the platter on offer. Only one serving of Groscian food makes it on one of his plates, for nostalgia's sake. And the fish isn't half bad, despite the texture.

Oh, but is that something unique to your world that he hasn't seen on the island? Feel free to warn him about whatever mistake he is about to make. Whether it's something like a large spoonful of wasabi, poisoning himself, or any other consequence his ignorance might feasibly rain down on his head. Or into his stomach. ]

well before midnight
[ Later in the evening well before midnight, when most have drifted off to their rooms instead of wandering, Kaspar sprawls out languidly on a deserted part of the deck. His glowing form, a suite pillow beneath his head and legs dangling off the edge, is hard to miss. After a day spent indulging his senses, his limbs are boneless and his glow is soft and hazy. Loose hair windswept and tousled, the white flower from the beginning of the voyage now behind one ear. Kaspar stays like this for a long time, quiet with eyes half-lidded or closed, depending on the breeze and the view of the sky when he opens them. He flows wherever his whims pull him as he slowly winds a single curl around his finger, occasionally swinging his legs with the rock of the boat.

The sensory adventure of a spa like that, fine food with a fine date, and learning the word aphrodisiac, have swirled exquisitely to tip the scales heavily toward a grand mood. Riding out the very end of a truffle, just enough in his veins to feel warmer and cozier than normal in his own skin, despite the new autumn air. But it still brushes color over his cheeks, easily missed if not for the slightly brighter glow across them.

On the ground staring up at the stars, head cradled by a pilfered pillow and the rest of him by the coat beneath him. If anyone spies Kaspar here, it will take him quite some time to notice or react. But, eventually, he will. Absent a judgmental look greeting him when he glances over, Kaspar will offer a smile and swing his arms to let the momentum carry himself up into a sitting position. Only to let his arms take his weight, hands against the inside of his coat.

If they've talked, he offers more than just that subdued but warm smile before turning his attention back on the sky. They also receive a gesture to join him. ]

wildcard
[ Hit me with anything really, here is my plotting post if you have have any idea/questions/etc first ]

well before midnight

[winebar]

[Being unable to sleep was nothing new for van Zieks. He'd spent enough time poring over documents or even simply restlessly pacing the halls that the lack of sleep was probably the main contributor to his worsening pallor over the years. Between a aimless urge to keep working to make up for some unnameable failure and avoiding the spectres that visited him in his sleep...

Well, it wasn't nearly as hard to sleep in Crescentview. Until his most recent failure, that is. That all said, even if they weren't currently in a weird argument sort of situation, van Zieks would have been loathe to disturb Kaspar as he is in this moment, both figuratively and literally radiant, so clearly content and enjoying himself. All he could serve to do in this moment is to ruin that, and who is he to take that away from Kaspar, especially after what he's already done?

Really, he should turn on his heel and distance himself immediately. Find somewhere else to brood and think again about throwing himself into the sea. But he can't, really. It feels very blatantly like witnessing an angel on earth, thanks to Kaspar's literally glowing features and general personality. To look away feels like blasphemy. To say anything similarly feels like blasphemy, Kaspar extended that hand of friendship to him in an act of undeserved benevolence, and all he did was take advantage of the man's kindness until he'd unsurprisingly made a misstep.

When Kaspar notices him anyway, he can't even find the right words to excuse himself.]

My apologies, I didn't mean to disturb you.
[Since surely that's all he could possibly be doing.]

[bluminescence]

[ Kaspar's glance is barely that, considering the subject that it grazes. It lingers, thinking for a moment this is a spectre of the longing that haunted the days since the auction, before this night soothed some of the burn.

His little gifts to Zieks's windowsill have ceased since then. Things that made him think of the other man, unsigned gifts; flowers, pressed and fresh, whittlings, and lovely smooth stones. Like a dagger to his heart, he remembers perhaps, those had all been annoyances.

This van Zieks is real. Kaspar can hear it in his words. Day dreams don't touch his skin from so far away with the timbre of their voice. Kaspar's breath catches in subtle surprise at the man that most recently taught him new pains that can twist in his chest. They'd played a dance aboard the ship, perhaps an unintentional one, largely avoiding one another most of the day. Kaspar, holding Steinbeck's hand and van Zieks doing what he wishes from the corner of Kaspar's eyes. He found out van Zieks was on board only after it was too late.

Calm follows surprise as he turns away. Buried hurt, muffled thunder after lightning; obscured in the hum of gentle rain that is his voice when he responds-- ]

... Do your terms allow you to join me?

[ His word choice is far sharper than the warm and inviting way he delivers them. ]

[winebar]

[He's really never going to be allowed to forget that phrasing, is he? If he wasn't used to barbs, he'd have visibly flinched. Even still, it blisters him more than years of unsavory rumors.

Part of him almost wants to say no, half out of pettiness, and half out of not fully trusting Kaspar's ability to not humor his presence out of politeness.]

They may, though I can hardly see why you would want me to.
[He's already ruined Kaspar's good mood, he can tell, even if the tone if his voice hasn't really changed.]

[bluminescence]

[ Kaspar is quiet for a beat, eyes for the moon. ]

Though... you may no longer enjoy my company, I did not believe you would deny me.

[ Quietly, he considers throwing the horse figure into the sea without his smile wavering. ]

I will not press it.

[winebar]

That-

[Completely throws him off. That's what Kaspar thinks? He had been cross in the moment, but it hadn't been that at all. It could never be that.]

There has been no point in our time here that I didn't desire your company, Kaspar.
[WAIT NO THAT SOUNDS WAY TOO FORWARD THAT SOUNDS ALL WRONG. He clears his throat loudly, taking a few steps closer to Kaspar but still keeping his distance.]

You are the one who should have reason to no longer desire mine.

[bluminescence]

[ Kaspar catches the other man's reaction from the corner of his glowing eyes. He is still mad, but van Zieks is making it increasingly difficult to stay that way with those honest words fluttering in his stomach.

A little dangerous, but he would never deny he can be selfish. So, his gaze falls like shooting stars onto van Zieks. He is done looking away after such an admission. His voice carries well on the breeze despite his low, steady tone. ]

... and what reason should I have?

[ He clearly knows the answer already. It would be easier to find the words closer, to watch the other man's expression. But at least it's still just the two of them. ]

closed starters

[bluminescence]

[ auction date ] [ closed to Steinbeck ]

[bluminescence]

[ Close to departure and once the crowd has begun to thin, Kaspar arrives. Unhurried as ever, hands clasped behind his back, he seeks his date's side wherever he may be. He's done himself up for the day. Styled hair, his loose curls frame one side of his face, the other seemingly pinned and held back by the dam of a single white flower. He's forgone the waistcoat for his well tailored, formal attire while adding a touch of blue at his throat and in his choice of socks. The rest of his layers are mostly white and accented in golds, suspenders mostly hidden by his coat.

There is no belted holster today, lightening his step as much as the way his awed gaze drifts over the boat itself. Eyes a little wide, it is one more thing he has never seen. Boats he knew, but never one like that and he can't keep his eyes from wandering back to it as he searches. Until it lands on Steinbeck himself once found, a smile dawning.

He pulls a small object from his sleeve, carefully crafted, whittled wood. The smoothed yet unpolished surface folds in on itself in a circular, twisting shape; emotive over practical, waves that call fingertips to ride them. A flower, a twin to the one in Kaspar's hair, sits in its center. The stem itself is nestled into the carved grooves for a pop of green against the light wood and lighter petals. Simple to tuck or pin, Kaspar steps close to affix it with a soft smile and eyes that seek the other man's reaction before he makes the attempt. ]

[graftage]

[Meanwhile, Steinbeck is not as fancy here - his look is a little more formal, but still understated here. No matter how much he had been paid before, he almost never elected to do much for his own looks. For him, overalls and a collared shirt were enough for the day to day. Even so, effort must done, especially for someone like Kaspar, and he's done his best.]

[Its funny, how his heart does a little flip in his chest when he sees the other man as he waves with the small bouquet he's holding. Even if its hardly night, he's just as dazzling, somehow, the radiant twist of those curls making him glance away before offering a sheepish grin. He meant it then when he said he looked gorgeous, he'll mean it again now:]

Kaspar. You're looking handsome.

[And then comes the small pin to his chest - he didn't expect it, his mouth opening slightly - but its a pleasant, happy surprise that comes.]

Oh, wow. That's gorgeous. [And his free hand moves to gently rest against Kaspar's, as if to reassure him that he's more than happy with the gift.] Thank you. You made this? That's amazing!

[bluminescence]

[ Judging only by the look in Kaspar's warm and drifting gaze, Steinbeck might as well be dressed just as formally. This suited him, his pleased expression says, as one hand escapes the rough hand over his. Warmed sunlight against his own skin, chilled by autumn, heats his face like a summer afternoon. The kind that bleeds across hours, tangled limbs, and calm pools; letting the scent of summer hang between them.

Kaspar's look is subtle as usual, naturally so, as his escaped hand reaches for Steinbeck's bouquet hand in turn. Eyelids dropping halfway, he leans in to guide both flowers and man smoothly a measure closer. Kaspar pauses to inhale, hand remaining in Steinbeck's turning in his hold to thread their fingers. Appreciation, seen only by those close enough to find it beneath white blond lashes in light grey pools pouring over petals.

His exhale is a pleased sound, moving to work his fingers alongside the other man's and ease the flowers from his grasp so he can dip to press his lips briefly to Steinbeck's cheek. That does nothing to help his flush, calm as he is in accepting its warmth on his face.

Softly, he admits with a small smile. ]

... I did.

[ He turns, then, playfully hiding his smile behind his flowers, to face their destination. A lean towards him, one hand still in his, Kaspar's wet eyes linger off in the ocean and his mouth speaks into the minature garden clutched at his chest. ]

Did you pick these?

[graftage]

[Kaspar may not say anything about his looks, but the expression on his face, paired with that wonderful dusting of color over his cheeks like red pollen against bright petals, is enough to say it for him. Its something new to Steinbeck - he's never thought of his own looks like that, more accustomed to people seeing the round cheeks and bright eyes and calling him cute.]

[His fingers interlace with Kaspar easily, standing obediently as the other leans up to kiss his cheek - he lets out a light huff of a laugh, charmed. The flowers in his hand are easily taken, a wild bundle of flowers seen here and there in the forest and along the farms. Nothing too grand, but a bouquet nevertheless.]

Yeah, I sure did. I hope you like them. I think flowers suit you.

[He says, grinning, as he swings their conjoined hands a little.]

Are you excited for the date?

[bluminescence]

[ Cute is a thought too, but it feels too limiting a word after everything between them. A paragraph would barely do justice for his well of emotions and thoughts on Steinbeck's appearance, a manifestation of the soul and the depth beneath round cheeks and bright eyes. Far too many expressions to keep Steinbeck's roots confined to a single pot. There are still too many people lingering, lowering Kaspar's voice and reducing his words. Not that Kaspar is much for them when others are around.

So, he makes another soft, pleased sound. Instead of words, he nods instead. To which sentence of Steinbeck's? Probably both.

Blinking his eyes dry at the swing of their hands, he is already taking a step towards the ship when he glances warmly back to him. Using their intertwined fingers as leverage, letting their connection stretch if Steinbeck delays, he takes some more. But he has no intention of losing his grip on him. Kaspar's palm is too warm, well after his flush starts to fade yet refuses to fully die.

With a tilt of his head-- ]

What first?

[graftage]

[Kaspar's hand feels so firm in his - its a nice reminder that this, all of this, isn't just some dream concocted for him in some weary break from a road trip. The man is here, and they'll enjoy themselves for the day. Its something Steinbeck wants to linger on for a good long while, until bittersweet reality pokes its dark little sprout through the soil.]

[Happy with the answer, he keeps his grip firm and reassuring as he walks along, ignoring everyone else.]

Food first, I think! I heard they've got some good stuff to offer.

[And he isn't wrong - after they make their way to the buffet, and Steinbeck has only broken his grip momentarily just to pile his plate high before waiting for Kaspar to do the same. After that, he'll gladly take them to a table, before beaming over at him, warm as anything.]

I didn't expect this much! I think I could eat enough for several days.

[Which seems like a casual comment, but there's a little bittersweetness to it, all the same.]

[bluminescence]

[ Kaspar's hand remains warm in Steinbeck's, warmer still when he steps closer and his free hand joins the first. Though eventually it seeks to rest up his arm comfortably as they go. There is a warm relief, in being able to dull the feeling of eyes as if Steinbeck's were the pair on him.

The smell of food is the first thing to draw his gaze away, to unwind his hold and loose his fingers in favor of grabbing a plate. There are so many things that catch his eye, but he pauses at the food from his home in all of its pale and slimy glory nestled among moss garnishes and displayed on platters.

His plate is simple, one eyeless, worm like fish a half moon filled in with the vibrant colors of whatever else caught his eye. Smaller portions, no piling, but no judgment as he lets Steinbeck guide him to their table.

From beneath it, at the bittersweetness, Kaspar extends his foot to try and gently nudge his date's. Leaving it there to rest against him, Kaspar leans over to ask about one section of Steinbeck's pile. ]

... what is that?

[ auction date ] [ closed to Sylvie ]

[bluminescence]

[ The day gives way to night, Kaspar's skin already glowing softly by the time he needs another break. It is a large enough boat, a short enough swim to shore, that Kaspar does not feel trapped.

Having a date that understands his need to wander and spend time on his own is a blessing, even when he's lost track of time looking out over the railing with a nearly finished drink in his hand. Champagne.

He's gotten bolder with his own fashion choices since the dance, though it is largely made up if the same pieces. Forgoing the waistcoat lightened it for the summer, as do the few open buttons and sky blue fabric at his throat. He didn't know what autumn was until this week.

Every lesson he learns about himself only aids him in feeling more in his own skin around so many people. The very same skin he'd struggled to define while dancing with Sylvie. At least with that, unlike putting words to feelings or remaining in crowds for too long, Kaspar is a natural.

It is not hard to find him in this secluded spot, even when he sits to let his feet dangle. His trousers are well fitted, rising with the bend and revealing a pop of blue color trapped between an expanse of white linen and leather dress shoes. ]

[hypnowhip]

[With how the auction left them, it almost felt like fate that Sylvando and van Zieks would find themselves on the boat at the same time as Kaspar. As much as he'd wanted to lecture van Zieks over his destructive behavior, the desire to check in on Kaspar was even stronger. After all, he'd all but bowed out of bidding—out of any potential relationship—until van Zieks...well, happened. It has since thrown everything into question.

It's a tangled mess that needs to be sorted out before it begins to fester.

After finding a lull in the date to break away for a little bit, Sylvando goes searching for Kaspar. It doesn't take very long- that gentle glow coming from Kaspar's skin is like a lighthouse's beacon against the dark waves.]

Hey, Kassie.

[His approach is a gentle one. It's not the right time for the usual high energy that he tends to bring to any occasion.]

Can I join you for a little bit?

[He isn't sure what to expect as an answer, but he's prepared to graciously accept whatever it may be. Kaspar has every right to be mad at him too for how the auction ended up going.]

[bluminescence]

[ Kaspar turns to look, loose curls shifting as he tilts his head into a small smile. He holds no ire for Sylvie, even the situation itself is awkward. Kaspar swallows the lump in his throat and tries not to notice the little things. His curiosity is there, for better or worse.

The gentle approach relaxes his shoulders, and beckons the words quicker. Sylvie tended to have that effect even now, after everything. But he does not raise his voice much farther than a whisper. He may be ready for this conversation, but he is not ready to be the one that starts it. ]

... I welcome it, Sylvie.

[ To make it clear in so many words, for once. Kaspar looks back out on the water, the sky, and will only bother to stand if Sylvie is not inclined to sit on a deck beside him. ]

[hypnowhip]

[Just like that, those words make him feel like all of the weight has been taken off of his shoulders. His trademark smile returns as he gets down to meet Kaspar on the floor.

As Kaspar watches the horizon, Sylvando's eyes remain on the glowing form beside him. It's hard not to be captivated by such a pretty view.]

Have you enjoyed your date so far, darling?

[He's not going to launch right into what he wanted to strike up a conversation for, especially with some of the tension immediately out of the air. He can ease into it.]

[bluminescence]

[ Kaspar hums softly at the question, smiling to himself a moment. In the wait, he offers Sylvie a sip from his champagne glass even before his gaze wanders back to him.

The look on his face may be subdued, tired even, but it is genuinely content by the time he finds the words. His date has been lovely, drama aside. ]

I have. [ His eyes fall, but his small smile does not. ]

And... have you, enjoyed yours?

[hypnowhip]

Aw, thank you, honey.

[He'll happily accept a sip, gently receiving the glass before bringing it to his lips. The thought of a little indirect kiss makes his lips quirk up in a brighter smile.

But, ah. He should return the glass now.]

I'm glad to hear it! They really went all out to give us plenty of options for a good time here. [Even with the drama looming ever so present in the distance, the activities on the boat have made it easy to keep it at bay in the meantime.] I think you made a great choice with Johnny, too. He's a bit hard on himself, but I always knew he was a sweet boy.

[He breathes out an amused noise when asked about his own date.]

I wouldn't say it's been the fairy tale date of my dreams, but it's been nice. Barry, he's...well, I know he feels terribly about what happened. I've been going easy on him because of the circumstances, but I did make my piece known.

[He turns his gaze toward the ocean.]

I'm really sorry this didn't turn out as planned. I knew you were excited to go with him, and...

[Well, here they are.]

[bluminescence]

[ Kaspar takes a sip of his own once returned. Holding the glass loosely, he may be quiet through most of Sylvie's words, but Kaspar listens actively despite his gaze drifting off again.

He hums, expression openly fond as Steinbeck gets mentioned even before he nods his agreement. His little smile is otherwise hard to read. The warmth never really fades again, even when the discussion heads in the direction Kaspar helped lead it down. It feels natural, when Sylvie trails off and Kaspar still hasn't the words, to reach over and try to calmly cover the other man's closest hand with his own. Warm, calloused beneath softening efforts, and as undemanding as the silence that accompanies it for a stretch. On Kaspar's end, it is a comfortable quiet broken only by the sound of the ocean.

But Sylvie needn't be as patient as most, since he filled the time before this with so many words. Talkers, ones he cares about hearing, lend him more. ]

I was... but I wanted to go with someone I care for, who cares for me. And I believe he outbid me for you, for a reason.

But... [ If his hand was accepted, it tightens and warms now like the slight flickering of his glow. For as polite as he is, his most genuine thanks are generally earned. ]

Thank you, for worrying about my feelings. About... our feelings over your own. You deserve a fairy tale too.

[ Kaspar still isn't quite used to this. ]

memories (please don't reply)

[bluminescence]

one

cw: oppressive government things, otherwise a sweeter childhood memory

[ The dimly lit office is quiet, save for the ticking of the clock on the far wall and the soft scraping of a man at his desk. Broad shouldered and dressed in simple clothes, his blond hair was slicked so thoroughly that it reflected the hazy light of the round fixture above like pools of white gold. Hunched over the desk, white glowing fabric held carefully between rough and mangled hands. There is something lovely in their deftness as they quietly worked the mundane into delicate, beautiful flowers. Finer fabrics than his own, hot iron presses, and careful stitching, there is nothing of his work in the white and dark browns he wore.

Familiar grey eyes glow brightly from the corner. They dawn over the cover of an old leather book and belong to a young boy whose skin glows just as dimly as the man's. His hair is white and cut short; defiant front locks already beginning their curve into a curl. The boy takes long breaks from reading to watch the man with matching grey eyes work. Quiet, legs folded in where he sits on slate boxes, the only space free enough from the clutter of the room.

One flower falls, light enough to flutter and spin in the boy's direction. It lands before his perch. His father does not turn for it, but the boy only stares as if some invisible force prevents him from reaching for it. ]

two

cw: well intentioned traumatic parenting directed at a child (a potential slap)

[ A single stripe of light spills into the hallway as a tall blond woman exits the room. Her hair is done up in clean curls, her white blond hair carefully pinned out of her face. Powdered, plucked, and painstakingly filled in, her arched eyebrows curve over hawkish eyes that refuse to be softened under her subtle efforts at thickening their thin lashes. Her mouth is small but plumped by the even subtler addition of color to them. Light red eyes, their glow almost pink, sharpen as her expression sours.

Morten, she hisses through clenched teeth as she gracefully storms down the hallway. Her white gown flows with her, tight bodice intricately brocaded in golds and covering her pale skin up to her neck. The skirt falls in thin layers nearly to her ankles, white stockings minding the gap between linen and leather.

A young boy's face peeks the corner just as the woman disappears, softly glowing grey eyes wide and fixated by the gap in her door. Fear lives there too, but there is little room for it with the awe on his round little face. ]

three

cw: bittersweet love / violence / homophobia

[ The dorm was empty during this bell. Metal bedframes and simple mattresses lined either wall of the plain, square room of smoothed stoned. Kaspar, almost as broad shouldered as they may remember him, slips inside. The light of the hall is a blip in the dark, illuminating the immaculate and stark whites and grays.

With careful, silent steps a young Kaspar's dimly glowing form marks a familiar path to a familiar bed. His hair is slightly whiter, cut so short that there is barely a curl to be seen save those that shift atop his head as Kaspar brings a small folded note to his lips. Joy fills the flush on his face. As he leans to hide the square beneath a pillow, Kaspar runs his fingertips across the bedding and leans far enough to inhale the scent of whoever last slept in it. In his hand upon its retraction, a new note. This one, addressed with a small but beautiful flower sketched on its front. Underneath it, in Groscian, is his name, shortened sweetly and written delicately. Kaś.

A chime has him jump, tucking the letter into one leather boot before nearly running on clouds from the room in his haste. The hall light illuminates him briefly, lessening his glow before the door shuts just as quietly behind him. ]

four

cw: child being treated for serious injuries ( from fighting other children) / mention of implied needles/medical adjacent

[ The young boy needs no restraints, though the sturdy leather belts hang ominously from the chair he sits in. It is the only seat in the smooth white room, grated drain beneath it with floors sloped toward it. A handful of softly glowing men robed in white, surround the boy who doesn't wince when the heavy black arm of one machine is strapped to him, the glint of sharpness hidden beneath straps as red fluid fills the thin tubes sprouting from the other end. The boy's one good eye, light grey and listless, follows the color's path as empties into a gilded cannister. His gaze remains there as they roughly assess him.

He can't be over seven, far too young for the warrior's state of his pale skin and bloody, matted white hair. Littered with bruises, cuts, they narrate the violent story of the his defense and his far more brutal and unforgiving offense. The marks are easy to see, blood pooling beneath skin and brightening the glow of bruises as they blacken for every punch, stab, and kick endured.

His angry red knuckles, caked in his own and others drying blood, are a swollen mess. The men lift one arm to assess the smears of dark red that extend to his elbows, in smudges and splatters. Thinner lines of red, scratches, defensive wounds sustained from others scrambling for mercy. For his broken finger, a snap rings out as they break it again without warning. There is a contraption for that too, glowing as one robed man rights his bones with his own blood.

When the boy gasps quietly in pain, another man takes the chance to address the injuries there. Gloved hands force his mouth open by the jaw. The probing split his painfully swollen lip again to inspect his chipped tooth and the damage done by his own teeth to bloody the inside of his mouth.

The boy is silent, expressionless in the face of their rough and clinical treatment. It's hard to tell with one eye forced shut and both on their way to blackening, but his expression is distant. They are not comforting or gentle as they treat his wounds with loud machines, heavy black irons and smooth metals, unearthly powered by the blood and light of whichever robed man found his specialty in its operation.

Kaspar, in this moment, is not so much a person as a thing to be repaired, tuned, and documented in their reports. For the excess grime of the fighting to circle the drain. Eventually, the loss of blood is sedative enough that he passes out, and the world blurs at the edges before going black. ]

five

cw: war setting with no violence, just darkness and leaping from high places

[ Kaspar stands at the edge of a hole at the end of a dark tunnel. The soft glow of himself and the men around him do nothing to pierce the pitch black of the depth before him. The seemingly unending darkness threatens to swallow them whole.

Expressionless, he loads his rifle. Other men with glowing eyes in light shades of blue, red, grey, and yellow all remain squarely on him. Kaspar is the tallest among them all, towering a foot over most of them. Their matching white uniforms are stark against the tunnel walls; collars illuminated by the glow of their skin and cloaks obscuring their forms.

A circle of them take their stations around the same edge as Kaspar, summoned by a single hand gesture from him. Like Kaspar, their collars are gold and their harnesses strapped about their torsos. The lines of sturdy cables attached to them are manned by silver collared men.

Kaspar is sixteen and baby faced despite his strong jaw and broad shoulders, aiming Thyra quietly into the darkness for the first time. A breath, a shot, and Kaspar's eyes slipped closed as the bullet flies unseen. There is no sound, just the collectively held breath before Kaspar's fist raises in the air. A man behind him diligently translates the hand signals that follow into the heavy, black iron winch anchored into the tunnel opening.

Shouldering his rifle and securing it, Kaspar glances back to his engineer. The other man's glowing thumbs up is all Kaspar needs to tug once against his harness before spreading his arms and breaking protocol to free fall from the edge and down into the depths with eyes wide open behind his goggles.

Captai--! A man to his side cries out. But there is no stopping his descent now. ]

six

cw: eventual bloody and claustrophoc tunnel fighting / violence / death

[ The tunnel is dark as the men trudge along its winding length. Illuminated only by the soft, organic flickering of the single thin line of light installed into the hard stone above them, casting blurry shadows that dance in the corner of eyes. Every few meters, the twists and turns raise the number on the markers.

A line of men hug each wall, two by two, the glow of their skin an answer to the glow above as they move silently along the path. Until the lights end. Abrupt darkness ahead calls the tallest man among them to raise his fist in the air. It halts the entire procession, the few hundred men in the company behind him like lights strung along the path left between the two rows.

Near the front, stand the eager and well armed. Broader shoulders and bearing weapons as finely crafted as Kaspar's. The tension in the air thickens the farther back in the company, where the most simply armed men are also the most burdened with equipment and munitions for those without bloodletting weapons. The end, hidden around the curve, is capped by the taller rear squad.

In the stillness, only the brave or the stupid whisper amongst themselves in clipped Groscian.

What's he doing? ]

seven

cw: this one is tame! come learn about Groscia.

[ The chime of the Church bell echos through the smooth stone complex from small boxes like the one affixed to the hall filled with neat rows of slate tables and young faintly glowing men eating. The sound draws Kaspar away from the bowl of white porridge he leaves for the even younger cadets to converge on as he takes his leave. The bells are pleasant the first time they grace most ears. Before they become the yoke of monotony by sound alone, calling all in its range not only to service with early waking, but to work, rest, and slumber.

Kaspar slows on the path that winds from dormitory to Temple core, the full city coming into view. Flickering lights mark the sheer size of the massive interior mined out over thousands of years only to be filled in again with structures that spiral or line the walls with feats of marble, stone, steel, and other metals. Years of creation, upheaval, advancement and decline are written in the variations of design. Banners of white silks and golds hang from the complex that circles the uppermost ring of white marble and smooth gray stone. Intricate facades of gold, and the white statues of the saints speak to the age of this place. How out of place then, are the banners of the current Avus, hung from them with the looming figure of a dragon imprinted down its length. Hung at an angle, a reminder to any who dare look up from the deeper belly of the city. Everything is contained under the mountain.

Like the inside of an egg, the inner walls painted in glowing whites and golds, dotted like stars and full of life and movement. Streets and shops are visible in the ring below, humming to life with the early bells and the first train of the day pulling into the station. Everyone here glows in the dark, slightly dimmer than the hazy lighting of the paths, like bioluminescent flowers encased in lovely glass.

Rising from the very center of the large cavern is the massive skull of Orm. The truest, purest source of white light in Kaspar's existence. One single, menacing tooth could fit multiple grown man within its cavity. The bones of the skull produce a unending white glow, pulsing with the heartbeat of the whole nation. Kaspar follows his path as it hugs the high walls of the cavern in which the massive city sits. Old murals and reliefs, long forgotten by the current regime, scale the old stone in a broader palette of dulled colors than the whites, golds and silvers of the upper levels.

Kaspar pauses by an opening in the stone, an ancient archway. He glances this way or that, before stepping over the signs that indicate this pathway is closed off for a reason. Of course, he is staring too intently at something glowing softly in the darkness as he moves forward. His head audibly greets the stone archway, a few inches too short for him. ]