#but then just returns to who he always was even before kinghood. someone who so! wholeheartedly believes!!

[pestilight]

[sits upright in bed as though waking from some prophesied dream] rau.ru as flavour text

#* brightbloom / ooc. #as in he can't help but embed himself into the narrative in such a pervasive way #1. because he's bound himself to li.nk so tightly in his attempt to help and guide and make a start at atoning for his failings #2. because 10k+ years of being 9/10 sealed and 1/10 subliminally aware hasn't actually let him process things in a healthy way and he #copes with it the way he's always turned to cope with being left adrift. with being at. a loss you could say (is smote) #this is half a joke and half me wanting to combust at how badly this guy wants to finish this story he's helped woven with his own hands #but then just returns to who he always was even before kinghood. someone who so! wholeheartedly believes!! #FINDING PEACE THROUGH THIS BELOVED FUTURE YOU HELPED PAVE THE WAY FOR. SELF-FULFILLMENT IN PUTTING A LEGACY TO REST #maybe this is a study. [tags it as one because there are Things i must think about should i make a further in-depth post in the future] #also good eve! gonna round off the interactions call then scour for a good ask meme...then back to my birds sdflkj i miss them #* light of blessing / study.

[celesticidal]

pre-pre-pre-pre cornyx snippet

this morning was a monstrously shitty experience, so I figured I’d try to cheer myself up a bit by working on some scenes from my canonverse cornyx library of wips

this wip business is kinda getting alarmingly out of hand but whatever, whatever

have a momentous first meeting, set during Cor’s first (and only) visit to Galahd 

"Hope you brought a change of clothes," says the island boy whose stare Cor has deliberately been attempting to ignore for the last several minutes while he watches Regis and the head of their Galahdian escort converse. Cor ignores him for a few seconds out of nothing more than sheer irritation at the entirety of the situation, but finally relents, turning to catch a glimpse.

Tidal pool eyes beneath a slicked back mane of dark hair shaved down along the sides in the local style, beads hanging from a handful of small braids behind his ear that clack softly in time with the steady gait of the mud-hued chocobo beneath him. Deeply tanned shoulders, leanly muscled in the way that promises future breadth in the next few growth spurts; Cor estimates him to be fifteen, sixteen at most. And -- judging by that fierce grin as he stares Cor down -- absolutely brimming with attitude.

Cor's attention slides to the blade sheathed at the small of his back, the length of it almost as long as the boy's forearm, then returns to watching Regis's back. "And why is that."

"Because you're gonna roast in all that black, obviously." Cor supposes he should have expected precisely that; even Regis had shucked off his suit jacket once they'd left the last of the coastal breeze behind, draping it over his sweat-stained saddlehorn like he was still the careless princeling Cor had been introduced to all those years ago.

He huffs a vague sound through his nose, that he supposes could be interpreted as amusement in a moment of charity. "Are you always so helpful?"

Beside him, he senses that knife-edge grin growing wider. Cor gets the feeling he's being teased, and considers the novelty of the sensation for a moment. Few dare, these days. Regis, certainly, who does and says he considers it a perk of kinghood. Monica, who saves up for those moments when she can truly catch him with it.

"Heard the other hunters say you were some sort of big shot. Just, y'know, figured it'd be a shame to watch someone like that keel over from heatstroke."

Cor shifts the reins from one hand to the other. "Didn't realize the entertainment around here was in such short supply. Next time, I'll bring a sack of rocks.  Just for you."

That seems to catch the boy off-guard, and he sways slightly in his saddle before breaking into a peal of laughter loud enough to send a few heads turning their way, Regis's included. Cor offers his king a noncommittal shrug, and sees the boy wave in his peripheral vision. "Next time, huh? Could be entertainment all by itself."

"Don't get your hopes up. Neither of us do tricks."

The boy hums. "Dunno about that; magic seems like a pretty neat trick if you ask me." He punctuates it with a wiggle of fingers in Cor's direction, leaning back just a little at what he sees on Cor's face in the silence that follows.

Finally, Cor sighs, as irritated by the disintegration of this odd little conversation as he is by the fact that he can feel the sweat trickling between his shoulder blades and down his spine. "Hope you never have to see it, kid. Means shit's hit the fan, and you're about to get splattered."

"My name's Nyx, you know."

"I do now, yes."

"I can--"

"Nyx, by the gods' infinite mercy." Another rider steps up into the space between them, and Nyx's chocobo shies its head away from an aborted attempt to grab at his reins, the bird nearly slipping off the narrow, muddy track in the process. "I hope my chatterbox nephew isn't bothering you, Marshal."

Cor looks at the Galahdian, a whip-thin man with soft black eyes and a startlingly quiet voice, who looks worlds away from any sort of relation whatsoever -- and Nyx, currently peering around his his shoulder to flash Cor another one of those grins. "It's no bother."

"Sorry 'bout that," the man says, as if he hadn't really been listening at all. "C'mon, Nyx, you're on point to the Breakfalls."

#my work #cornyx #snippet #a moment to define lifetimes