crescentview | Town Hall Meeting The Second

Town Hall Meeting The Second

WHO: Everyone willing
WHAT: van Zieks trying to catherd, again, in order to Establish Law & Order.
WHEN: Sometime in the Summer between the various events.
WHERE: the forest, outside van Zieks' farm.
WARNINGS: chaos mostly, more will be added if needed.

[A week or so after the chaos of Hot or Not, each farm will recieve another missive from Barry Z himself, chief buzzkill, who clearly learned nothing from how things went last time. It reads as such;]

To All Parties Brought to the Island by the Harvest Goddess,

Tomorrow at 11AM sharp, please arrive at the location indicated on the map shown of the reverse of this document. The topic of discussion on the table is the potential establishment of some form of social contract and body of law. As before, I cannot force attendance, however, I would again hope everyone sees the benefit in being involved in this discussion.

Sincerely,
Lord Barok van Zieks, Esquire

[And again as before, there's a map on the back. This time leading one to van Zieks' residence, an orderly forest farm with a nice stable currently housing the horse van Zieks rode in on to make himself the boss of things, apparently.

At the time of the meeting, there are two tables that were clearly brought out from inside. There are... snacks? Van Zieks is not a chef, you will have these strawberries and fried mushrooms and you'll like it, I guess. There was an attempt. Van Zieks himself is still dressing in his less fancy- but still absurd for this weather- three piece suit.]

Than you all for coming. I understand that the topic I have put on the table may seem... needlessly dire to some, however, in the case that something does happen, it would be far better for us to already have a system in place. I do not think we currently require any sort of active police force, but rather that we should have some sort of agreed set of behavior in place, and then elected individuals to adjudicate any potential disagreements.

As far as a social contract, on Mr. Trahearne's advisement, it would follow thusly; [He pulls out another paper to read from.]
- Do not cause unsolicited physical harm to one other.
- Do not harm or otherwise disrupt another person's farm.
- Do not damage, destroy, or unlawfully take possession of another person's property.
- Do not vandalize or otherwise disrupt communal spaces for us or the townspeople.
- Do not behave in such a manner that would elicit broad reprisal against the group as a whole from the townspeople or the goddess.

If anyone has any other thoughts, feel free to share them. I feel that this is basic enough that even those of you more prone to... rebellion can agree to it.

The second matter is to discuss how to handle if someone does break these rules. While I have made clear before my prior experience with the law, I understand that a system like this can only function if there is trust in those enforcing it. Thus I think that the authority should be given to whoever the group as a whole feels most comfortable entrusting it to. So I open the floor to nominations for that responsibility.

Finally, I'd like to make clear why this is necessary. I have spoken to the goddess, and as long as it does not directly interfere with her and her means, she has no intent of intervening if something were to happen to one of us. We are not her "people," the residents of the town are. Therefore, it is imperative that we work together to protect ourselves.

[And now he will step back and hope that some productive discussion happens.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( Underground... interesting. He nods. )

We do wend from the same world, as it were. He was - is - a student of mine. He might be of particular temperament, but I do hope you can get on with him. He's hardly terrible, at heart.

[ Trahearne tilts his head, a little smile growing on his face. ]

Fascinating. He seemed rather standoffish, but I can see that. [ He lifts his glass, pointing a finger at Mishka. ] Not everyone has close friends from home here. Count yourself lucky.

That's certainly true! And I am pleased to see him, all told. I had not left him in favorable circumstance when we last parted - at least, in my memory...

( Normally he's a lot tighter on that kind of info, but not 9 shots in! )

If you don't mind me asking... I mean, if it isn't all that rude to assume - are you a familiar with a Syrlya, yourself?

[ Syrlya's mention widens Trahearne's smile into a bright bream.

Sorry, he's a little drunk. He's not worried about keeping that in check. ]

I am! I suppose it's not hard to put two and two together. [ They are the only plant people, after all. ] Funnily enough, I would call him my protégé as well. And we did not part under favourable circumstances, either...

[ He trails off, thinking of the last moments they spent together in Tyria. There's a faint cloud that crosses over his expression, but it vanishes rather quickly. His smile is back as he focuses on Mishka again.

And now he's full projecting. ]

I hope you find happiness together.

( Ah, hm,

Mishka smiles, but shakes his head. )

I'm only his teacher to him, really - but I'm certain Adelis is to find happiness. He has grown surprisingly social since coming here, and, I suspect, may have found someone he is partial to.

It is very well, though - our paths have already split, prior to our coming. ( A beat. ) Ah, but don't mention that to him, if you would.

( Clumsy... But nailed it... Yeahhhh... )

I'm certain you and Syrlya have promise, however?

( Testing... )

[ "Found someone he is partial to" brings a vivid flashback of Adelis and Syrlya holding hands in Trahearne's mind. His smile immediately drops; as does his gaze, watching the ripples in his glass. ]

Syrlya...has spent many years without me. Sometimes I think he's grown past needing me, so to speak.

[ Part of him is proud, but another part of him wishes his affections returned. ]

That is to say... [ He looks up, lopsided smile unfocused. ] ...I don't know.

( The cause of his reaction is not lost on him, nor is the drift of his words. They ring familiar in some uncomfortable way, and while normally he might divert from his own heart - well. His tongue is that much more loose with alcohol, and the sight of Adelis and Syrlya's casual affection is fresh, too, in his mind. )

... Well, then, you are in similar company.

( He lifts his glass, as if in half-hearted toast, but it's not much a gesture of celebration. He lifts it to his lips to sip a little more, though he really shouldn't still drink. )

I do introduce Adelis as my student, but he has not been under my tutelage for some time. He has graduated into a fine man already.

( He lets his glass rest on his lips, repeating again the thought that the trajectory of Adelis's life has always meant to lead him elsewhere - as if he means to convince himself of it. )

My attachment is... certainly one-sided. But one cannot easily look away, can they?

[ Trahearne watches, gaze unfocused. Despite how his mind moves slower with the alcohol, his heart is still keen, almost sharper without the logical barriers keeping himself in check. It's in this moment he feels an unshakeable kinship with Mishka that, despite how much he's drunk, he will surely remember in the weeks to come.

He nods at the half-hearted toast and brings his glass to his lips, but doesn't drink from it. Either because it's empty or he can't bring himself to drink anymore. ]

...No. Not at all. [ And as if to literally bring Mishka's words to action, he lifts his head and searches for Syrlya. There he is (probably holding hands with Adelis or smth slutty like that). When he looks back to Mishka, his expression is pained. ]

You have my sympathies, my friend. Because that makes two of...

[ Oh. Oh no. Against his will, he feels a sudden well of tears in his eyes. Surprised and embarrassed by the sudden display of emotion, he whips his hand up to cover his eyes. Do not perceive him. ]

( Ah...

Though he hasn't the words for it, he feels acutely how this feeling in his chest - is mirrored, when he sees how Trehearne's eyes wet. That Trahearne articulates his heart in some way he has struggled.

He doesn't want to look for Syrlya and Adelis. He doesn't want to see - again - what he knows is true. His smile curves into something bitter, seeing Trahearne, and seeing himself. It is a wry sympathy. )

... I may not be him, but... ( with care, he lays a hand on Trehearne's wrist, stepping that much nearer, his voice falling lower, as if in invitation: ) ... If our hearts are twinned, we do not have to be entirely alone, do we?

( Perhaps not with the company they'd rather be with - not that Mishka admits this to himself in plain words - but it is something. He has known the depths of quiet isolation, and he has known how far he wishes to be kept from it. )

Edited 2023-01-20 02:02 (UTC)

[ The gentle touch on his wrist is enough encouragement for Trahearne to lower his hand, an unwilling tear spilling from the corner of his eye. He blinks, as though to spare himself from the rest, and amber eyes settle on Mishka. ]

...No. I suppose not.

[ It's strange--he's never met anyone that so readily sympathized with him, and vice versa on such a powerful one-sided affection. He exhales briefly in a little scoff. ]

I would offer we move this conversation to the tavern so we may drink to our sorrow, but I think I've had far too much to drink already.

[ He is very drunk. He doesn't really notice how close Mishka is to him. ]

... I can only imagine how lovely it must feel, to be loved by you.

( Trahearne's hand lowers, and Mishka lets his hand linger there. He brushes the tear from his the corner of his eye lightly, his knuckles lingering there against his cheek. )

I suppose we could always move indoors, if we wish for a more private conversation... ( In Van Zieks's house??? Yea. His voice falls lower. ) But I don't mind, if we stay here like this, either.

( He laughs lightly. He is, if anything, gently testing the waters. Intimacy wouldn't, really, fix anything - but it wouldn't hurt, either. In some strange way, he's offering Trahearne what he does to try and keep his mind off matters; because thinking on them, reflecting on them, only really strains the heart, just as Trahearne's heart strains now, too. )

[ I can only imagine how lovely it must feel, to be loved by you.

That catches Trahearne by surprise, and he gazes absently into Mishka's eyes. There's a dull ache in his chest again, but he knows this is not from his wound. He feels the faint warmth from the other man's hand on his cheek, and in his intoxicated state, he finds it hard not to tilt his head in that direction. ]

...I live nearby. [ A part of him tells him he shouldn't, considering the intensity of what he feels right now. That it would only betray Syrlya further. But considering their similarities, what harm could a commiserating talk do?

With a shuddering breath, Trahearne steps back and nods with his head in his intended direction. He's sure they have at least a half bottle of wine somewhere in the house. Not that he needs to drink anymore. But maybe his guest does. ]

( What did Mishka intend with this? At his level of inebriation, nothing deeper than he feels - and what he feels is both familiarity and sympathy, and perhaps a wistful sense that Trahearne is so strikingly certain of his feelings.

His own feelings are - nebulous, in his heart; he has tried to get them sorted and labeled, but they don't wholly feel right; they don't wholly fit. But even if he should know the name of them, he is certain they would be an ugly thing.

Trahearne speaks so nobly of Syrlya. Mishka knows he, compared to Trahearne, is worse. )

That would be for the best, I think.

( He nods, in agreement, and will set out to follow him - his movements broader and a little bit looser than they should be, but years of practiced movement has made his dampened form still considerably dexterous. It's deceitful enough to fool himself, that he hardly thinks on how he's drunk much too much. )

Edited 2023-01-20 11:50 (UTC)

[ Surprisingly, after this many drinks, Trahearne is upright. The world spins and at times, he feels unsteady, but he is not incapable of walking. He knows where his farm is.

Acknowledging how much he loves Syrlya leaves a gaping hole in his spirit. He doubts Mishka will be able to fill it, but--perhaps that's exactly why Mishka has propositioned him in the first place? Because he knows exactly how he feels.

He does live nearby--it doesn't take long to get there. The door swings open with less grace than usual, and he immediately spots the half-empty wine bottle on the kitchen counter. He cradles it, turns around, and leans against the counter, absently watching Mishka as he follows him in. ]

( Mishka enters without particular ceremony, though he does spin on his heel once he slips in, leaning back on the door to close it shut behind them; a cursory intake of the home. How rarely did he enter homes through the front door in Ostoya - it is a novelty for him, still.

His gaze eventually falls upon Trahearne, and he elbows himself up off the door and slips over, the loose flow of his movements not unlike the slinking motion of a coiling predator. )

Ah... It's cozy, in here.

( Much better than the hovels common in Ostoya, certainly. He rests his elbows on the counter, leaning a little heavily into them. Cheek set on his palm, he looks up at Trahearne. )

Come, let us split the drink. ( Says local man who really shouldn't be drinking any more. ) Unless you'd rather do it without cups.

( At this he laughs. He knows there's no real salvaging what either of them feel - clearly, they had made their choices, and their protégés (sentiment mutual or no) had made their own, and so it was what it was.

This, Mishka always told himself, for all things. Things were as they were, and to convulse against it would yield him nothing. He had tried.

He doesn't know if his last stand had done anything to help Adelis, in the end. Perhaps it had ended as all things did - ineffectual - and Adelis fell victim to Alexei not long after.

It's this thought that haunted him, throughout that timeless stretch in the dark. )

... You know, I envy you for recalling how to cry. ( His cheek sinks from his palm, resting against his slanted forearm. ) These days, I only rot.

[ Trahearne is too drunk, too deep in his pining for Syrlya to really notice how Mishka moves about him like a predator; it's a wonder if he would even care if he were sober. He idly eyes the other as he unscrews the lid (cheap wine).

He honestly can't be bothered to remember where they keep the wine glasses. He isn't sure if he can be bothered to pour themselves equal amounts and find a nice place to sit. So he takes the honors of taking the first swig directly from the bottle.

As he drinks, what Mishka says to him ruminates in his mind. He's been doing a lot of crying lately, and nothing to really remedy the pain. As the days pass, he thinks it's getting worse. Is he rotting, too?

They have a lot in common, surprisingly. He never thought he'd meet someone who understood him on such a visceral level. And with their counterparts engaged in...whatever that is, it only makes sense for them to do the same, right?

Wine still in his mouth, he turns cup Mishka's cheek to steady him as he forcefully presses his mouth against his. He forces the other's mouth open, resistance or no, and lets the drink pour into his mouth. They'll make do without cups. ]

( Ah!

He hadn't known for certain what Trahearne might do, but a part of him had hoped for this - maybe because he, too, was flitting through his feelings by taking comfort in near anyone else. Still, it leaves behind a sense of dissatisfaction, to fool around with people who don't quite know - who don't quite understand why you do as you do, and to whom you can't, or may not want to, explain what the matter is.

There is nothing to explain to Trahearne. Every half sentiment he expresses, Trahearne completes. How strange it is, to have his unhappiness dueted by another - and yet, comforting.

So he's pleased when Trahearne takes his face and kisses him, and without resistance he lets the wine spill in, swallowing - messily, kissing him in turn. His hands slip up along the back of Trahearne's neck and press there, as if asking him not to keep indulging. A wave of dizziness strikes him when the wine settles in, but doesn't deter him, though it really ought. )

[ It wasn't like Trahearne had any plans on pulling back, anyway. He messily rolls his tongue against Mishka's, lapping up, tasting whatever remains of the wine in his mouth. He tilts his head, deepening their contact, letting the other man hold him as close to him as he likes.

But it isn't enough—he doubts anything, save Syrlya's returned affection, could ever be enough—so he reaches to the other side of Mishka to put the wine bottle down. And with his now-free hand he braces himself against the cabinet above. The other drops from Mishka's face to the edge of the counter and grips at it, effectively pinning him there. He presses his body against his.

He isn't sure if he really likes being intimate with someone this similar to him, but never has he found someone who understands him in such a way. Mishka seems to have ways with dealing with love unrequited. And so, if he's offering to share, then Trahearne is taking. ]

( He really shouldn't have taken in the wine. He'd been already on the precipice of - something with all the shots he'd taken and all the alcohol he'd had in between, and the wine is that final push telling him - this was too much. All of this has been too much.

And still, he doesn't stop. He feels how Trahearne pins him and he feels like an insect pinned to a wall - it is reminiscent, in a way, of how things were once in Ostoya. He had had his mentor, and then he had taken on Adelis, and things had flowed in tune. Then things grew complicated. Then he began to feel— what, exactly?

Where his hand caresses Trahearne's neck, the other finds purchase along his shoulder, gliding slowly down the strange rivets of his chest. He runs his tongue along his lips, his tongue, in turn, finding the wine gone - but finding it still burns sharp in him, a wild buzz of insects only he can hear blurring in his head. )

We don't have to stop here, ( he murmurs, messy, into the kiss, ) if you...

( He doesn't finish that - it doesn't matter, really, what Trahearne wants to do, because they both have someone they'd rather be with, and here they are here, instead. )

[ They both have people they'd rather be with.

There's something empty about this whole thing. The part of Trahearne that's still sober knows he's going to feel worse after all this. Yet the drunk part of him is desperate for anything to fill the void that has now been ripped open for all--for Mishka to see. And Mishka is here. He may as well fill it.

His eyes remain closed as lips move against his own; he shudders. A part of him pictures Syrlya speaking against his lips like that, and his breath shortens. But Mishka's voice reminds him of what is truly going on; thus, he remains grounded. Not totally lost in fantasy. ]

I said nothing about stopping. [ He speaks back against Mishka's mouth, his own voice low and of gravel pronounced. The heel of the palm against the counter shifts to press against Mishka's hipbone, holding him in place as he rolls his hips against the other.

Who cares at this point? When they're this drunk and this upset? ]

( Good.

Unlike Trahearne, who has the luxury of imagining Syrlya below him, no part of this fantasy applies well to Adelis— and that's just as well, because he doesn't want to picture himself with Adelis, right now. His thoughts may wander somewhere strange, and he does not want those to steal him awayhim.

As long as he has someone beside him - that is enough. He just cannot be alone in his worries, because that - he knows, has lived - will consume him entirely.

He doesn't speak again once he receives his confirmation - neither, he knows, is in much mood for murmuring given the air about them. Still, there is something striking about the way Trahearne, his voice and demeanor, that runs down his spine like a shiver and affects him - not Trahearne as he was, lamenting over Syrlya, but his low, pronounced tone, and how he grips him - it's familiar. He rolls against Trahearne's hips in turn, his arousal apparent, and he takes his lips again as if in affirmation; a thoughtless, deep kiss. )

[ no thoughts only rucking

It's an affirmation Trahearne has come to understand well; not that he has the experience that Mishka likely has. He's found himself far behind in comparison to those he's been with thus far. But it's evident enough. No longer does he have to pull back and keep asking, to watch curiously and try and decipher facial expressions anymore.

Perhaps it is a bad sign that he's gotten this far without once experiencing it with Syrlya? He doesn't know.

While the heel of his palm presses into Mishka's hip, his fingers dig into the soft flesh of his hip, still surprised by how readily it gives under his touch. He can faintly feel the arousal through the dulled sensations the bark on his groin offers him, but it's enough to feed into his own. All of his walls are down with all this alcohol, anyway.

The hand slides down Mishka's thigh, grabbing at him and pulling his leg up around his waist; at the same time, his head dips from the messy kiss to Mishka's neck. He exhales, a faint growl behind his breath as his teeth scrape against skin and his tongue rolls messily in their wake. What does Adelis's mentor taste like? ]

( Mishka is quiet.

He breathes; of course he does. His legs hooked around his waist, his arms slip easy into a loose wreathe around Trahearne's shoulders, his nails digging lightly into skin, teasing light along the spine, as Trahearne's lips escape his, and Mishka's breathing, quickened by arousal, is voiceless.

Where his voice fails him, his shuddering breaths tell of a sort of pleasure wrought from the faint cut of Trahearne's teeth against his skin, his body an almost neurotic clean and yet, faintly, tasting of forest.

His cheek presses against his opposite shoulder, exposing his neck to him as he kisses him. How vulnerable this is; how he hates it; how he's missed it. Not the act, not the position, but this particular style of feeling. )

[ There's a brief pause in Trahearne's movements when he feels nails tease his skin; he shudders, the sensation sending a ripple of ecstasy that pools in the pit of his stomach. Lips hover over Mishka's pale skin as he lets the feeling wash over him, eyes fluttering. That's a first for him. And he doesn't hate it.

But besides that, besides the quickened breath on Mishka's skin, he makes no other noise. It seems they're both the quiet types.

As thanks, he seals his lips onto his skin and begins to suck. Hard. His tongue gently glides over the skin within its enclosure, a stark contrast to how fiercely he digs his teeth into the other. Will it leave a mark? He's not sure. A flash of Syrlya and Adelis holding hands crosses his mind, and he bites harder in his frustration.

The hand at Mishka's waist lets go and drifts to his groin; when his palm feels the arousal through his pants, he presses into it, firmly massaging it. Though he isn't entirely sure what this is--he's far too drunk to think about it--he still wants it. ]

( Ah, mmh, where Mishka is hush, his body is far more expressive. Thin-skinned as he is, he jolts with every particular bite, his breathing quickening at the sharp violence of it. It grows louder, still, as Trahearne worsens the heat between his legs with his palming, growing harder against his touch. Embarrassing.

Enough, he wants to say, but he doesn't want to speak. There's just something dire about the way the sound of their breathing seems to mix, and he doesn't want to lose that. His nails dig along the ridges of Trahearne's spine, but one comes loose to pull at Trahearne's wrist, teasing the fingers below the waistband of his pants (probably a loose, breezy thing for summer).

If Trahearne looks at all, he can already see how the red marks take on his skin; but, given how quickly his chest rises, he seems to like it. )

Town Hall Meeting The Second

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nsfw warning now...? i guess??

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