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willowgust · 5 years

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Bullying isn’t okay.

Under any circumstances.

^-- See that? That’s a period.

I’m honestly really disgusted I need to say this.

No, I’m not using a “read more” line. I want you to fucking see this.

Let’s say you’re in an e-sport. It’s for fun. You’re not getting paid. And the people running it tell you that the only way to get cutting-edge players is to make them not only constantly scared that they’ll be swiftly replaced if they slip up, but to resort to name-calling and personal insults via public humiliation if the leaders get mad enough at them for making too many mistakes. Your crime is under-performing in a game. You’re apparently supposed to have the understanding that it’s “not meant to be personal” and you can be buddies afterwards, but if you do take it personally, their justification is, “Good! Maybe they’ll learn. They sure as hell won’t make that mistake again.”

This is not okay. This is childish, unhealthy, toxic, and abhorrent. This. Is. Wrong.

Bullying has stained my life, and it will continue to until the day I die. I have C-PTSD from being bullied for what is now approximately half my lifetime (I’m 31), and that doesn’t even include bullying I encountered as an adult. My brain - an actual organ in my body - is physically altered from the severe magnitude of bullying I endured. This damage is permanent. Side effects include but aren’t limited to trust issues, abandonment issues, rejection issues, exacerbation of already-existing chronic depression and anxiety, panic attacks mild to severe, fight or flight responses, flashbacks, and self-harm; all of these are risks, particularly if I’m in a very bad situation that causes regular psychological triggers, until I die. While I have the ability to lessen it with extensive therapy and medication, this is a disease I will have for the rest of my life, because of bullying. It is not only equivalent to the effects of PTSD in a war veteran, but allegedly harder to treat because of the prolonged nature of the smaller-scale traumas. So when you tell me something like this? You are telling me that you’re okay with my suffering. That you endorse it. That had you known me when I was a child, you would have been one of the torturers who nearly killed me, enemies whose weapons I was tough enough to brave through but nearly destroyed me.

Do you call yourself a friend? Then to gaslight me, or to do nothing when you know that you have the power to make any kind of difference, is an act of complacency. First of all, to gaslight me outright is to discredit and dismiss my perceptions and feelings, which shows me you don’t care about them. Secondly, you are showing me that you are okay with this behavior, so in a sense, you are also showing me that you believe my suffering is okay. So I may just cut you out of my life, too.

I’m passionate about this because the result of bullying almost killed me. I almost killed myself, a few times. I almost died. I am alive today because I’m one of the hardiest motherfucking warriors you’re ever going to fucking meet. And now I have a lifelong wound on my brain that will never go away. Just being alive sometimes feels like an act of bravery. So if you defend this kind of behavior under any circumstance, then I don’t care how much you claim to care about me. You do not. You are my enemy. You are the enemy of victims everywhere. And if you don’t defend bullying, but you do nothing to stop it when you know you have the power to influence? You are a coward. Rest assured if you do nothing because you don’t believe you can influence, I hear you, and we should both stay away from these people if at all possible.

I don’t care how stupid that player’s mistake was. I don’t care how many times they’ve repeated that mistake. I don’t care how angry you are. Not everyone deserves respect, but even the abhorrent don’t deserve to be bullied. Give them constructive criticism all you want, reprimand them if you’re respectful, be angry, swear, and if you do bully then apologize and try to ensure it doesn’t happen again. Fair enough. But name-calling? Insults? Public humiliation? For doing poorly at a hobby? And not only being okay with it, but defending its use? It’s a gross understatement when I say that this is very unbecoming of any officer, or instructor, or leader. A leader who supports it is a disgrace, and a leader who is complacent is a disappointment.

So if you call yourself my friend, and you support these acts, and you don’t own and apologize for it? If you have the power to defend the vulnerable and don’t because you’re a coward? Then unless you try to rectify yourself which would be totally fair, the friendship is over. And I will not forgive you.

#ooc #bullying #PTSD

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willowgust · 5 years

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My loyalty is not easily lost, nor easily won back. It takes much time and many actions from consistent behavior to accomplish either one. So be careful what you think is small today, because it could become another stone in a mountain of yesterdays that I’ll leave behind tomorrow. Then it would take you the time to build another, different mountain to see me come back.

(via aranyaphoenix)

#ooc

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willowgust · 5 years

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I have a perspective you could totally use for Dice’s story if you want! <3 I hope it’s okay if I offer it.

Personally, I never appreciated the expectation that once a spouse dies, you should move on. You don’t have to. It might even be wrong. It entirely depends on your own truth.

It does work like that, for some. Not everyone sees death as a break-up or divorce. It’s okay to believe that you (general you) have a monogamous romantic soulmate that transcends lifetimes, and that you’d already found them in this one. It’s okay to believe they’re watching and waiting on the other side. In that case, there’s no reason to seek out less meaningful romances that may betray them, and make the new partner feel like second banana. You found them. You’re just temporarily separated. You can be happy with memories, and anticipation of reuniting with them in the afterlife someday. Whatever you and your late spouse would be comfortable with. Whatever you guys believed.

Or, maybe this isn’t what you believe in. Maybe you don’t believe in soulmates or an afterlife. Maybe you believe you have more than one romantic soulmate. It depends on whatever truth you and your partner had.

Like I said, just an idea. ^^ Take it or leave it!

Has it really sunk in yet that he's free to start relationships or have one night stands again with no serious pressure to get back home?

Nope. He keeps telling himself that he is ready but when it comes down to it he continues to retreat. Maybe if he tells himself often enough that he is ready it will eventually become a reality, he just needs to take the plunge.

Moving on is a scary thought, he’s tried it before a couple times but neither his mind nor his heart were really into it and he doesn’t want to do that to someone else. Even though he knows it is not the case, he feels that somehow moving on would betray his late wife’s memory, or make him forget about her. It doesn’t work like that, he gets it, but it’s still a hurdle to get over.

ty anon

#RP

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willowgust · 5 years

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SUCCULENT TART FIRE FEST

Mar’at, Uldum Wyrmrest Accord All times listed in WrA/Pacific time*

FRIDAY, JUNE 21st 9:30pm (Or immediately following the raffle drawing) until whenever. Bella will be playing music at the Drum Circle!

Bring or borrow a drum/guitar/other instrument or just bring your dancing shoes and give yourself over to the beat! *Please watch your alcohol around the bonfire!*

We will have some communal tents available for camping if you don’t mind sharing, but feel free to bring your own and camp with us!

You can find our music link —> HERE

#Succulent Tarts #Seo-yun will be there!

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willowgust · 5 years

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Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion.

Bonus points if you include a topic. ( IE. shipping, roleplaying, ect. )

#ooc #i don't post here much anymore but why not?

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willowgust · 5 years

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This is just my opinion, but I believe this may be bad advice.

Self-control is ideal and we shouldn’t encourage its loss, but any imperfect human being will lose it once in a while. This is regardless of how controlled or strong we are. We need to forgive ourselves for that, so long as it isn’t an issue that’s common enough to make us toxic.

If someone else’s actions affect your mood, then there’s a reason. It is significant on that merit alone. A politician or employer could degrade your quality of life. You could be trapped in an abusive situation. Someone could trigger a traumatic memory. Disallowing your mood to shift because of another person’s actions isn’t necessarily a sign of enlightenment. It may be disassociation from reality, or unhealthy emotional repression. It may also stop you from having the gumption to stand up for what you deserve. Negative emotions aren’t inherently bad by themselves; they simply indicate to you that something is wrong.

Everyone has buttons. I don’t believe life is about ignoring them when they're pressed. It’s about allowing yourself to experience your truth, with self-awareness being your source of control. It’s about managing your emotions with maturity and understanding that all of them exist for a good reason, even when you’re not sure what they are yet. It’s about discovering and confronting what they are. I think the moment you stop being affected by other people’s actions is the moment you deny yourself and stop paying attention. It’s the moment you discontinue your growth as a person.

This is why calmness can be mastery - sometimes. Other times, it’s a self-destructive weakness. Other times still, it shouldn’t be seen in this light at all.

I don’t think the idea that all human beings on earth have 100% control of their life’s direction from others is being entirely fair. Take societal oppression as an example. Someone from the lower class doesn’t have the same opportunities as someone in the richest elite. Or just look at the laws that have passed recently in Alabama and how many lives that will change.

Lastly, I don’t think it’s always about emotions overpowering intelligence. I think life is best navigated with a balance. Sometimes your head is the wisest source of guidance. Other times, it’s your heart. Logic is like emotion in that it’s a gift that will sometimes fail you. I think it may be better knowing how to decide between them instead of believing that logic is always superior.

Like I said though, that’s only my two cents. I hold absolutely nothing against the OP or the person I reblogged this from. In fact, I happen to know that the latter is really awesome and you should totes follow her at @safrona-shadowsun if you haven’t already. This is just my perspective. <33

#ooc

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willowgust · 5 years

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The Performer

I don’t post here much anymore, but I had some thoughts that I think are worth talking about. I decided to write it here so I could share them, particularly with @succulent-tart, because they’re like-minded.

We’re performers. There’s an inherent insecurity and ego that defines our mentality, but in the end, it’s not the only thing that does. I think that’s something we can hang onto. To explain where I’m going with this, I need to reveal something very personal.

I've always been... different. Not better, not worse, but without an easy label. I was a walking relic of weird, like a wide-eyed alien from several galaxies and two dimensions over. Not the Disney-socially-acceptable-still-relatable weird. I mean the weird that makes the whole world torture you for having the audacity to breathe, the kind of trauma that morphs your actual brain structure for life. A life I almost ended. Then, when I was 9, I sang publicly. Suddenly people... cheered? I found the compliments coming from the mouths of my peers too foreign to be genuine. I was confused and suspicious, until I realized this wasn’t another cruel joke. They stopped torturing me quite as much. They began to regard me as something possibly more than a sub-human mound of gross alien flesh. Why? Because of what I could make my voice muscles do. I didn’t care. Hell wasn’t as hellish anymore.

This branded an unfortunate lesson into my psyche: Be perfect. Don’t sacrifice who you are, but learn how to make it palatable for your audience. Work not on changing yourself for them, but on changing your presentation. Perform... perfectly. Strive to be among the best. Only then will people love you. Fail, and return to the wretched hell you came from, where people rejected, abandoned, betrayed, and tortured you, and believed you deserved it. I learned this so profoundly and early in my development, that it has taken me about 20 years to not entirely unlearn yet. It will probably require the rest of my life. I still have so much further to go.

Validating yourself is hard. No matter how good or bad we are at it, no human can do it in a vacuum.

This brings me to my point. As much as we don’t want to admit it, that is ultimately why we all perform, isn’t it? I bet you have a story, too. We all crave outside validation. Somewhere inside us, we’re starved, no matter how shallow that affirmation from an audience may be. If we only sang because we love singing, we could sing in the car and be happy. If we only wrote because we love writing, we could save a Google Doc and never publish. If we only acted because we love theater, we could take an acting class and not perform in front of hundreds. If we only streamed because we love gaming and community, we could just game with a guild of friends, and not dedicate a whole community to watching us play on camera as we market ourselves with flashy graphics. And so often, we assign too much of our value as human beings on our talents, and how much validation it garners us.

You can justify it with “but I like inspiring others” or “others need to know the beauty of this art form” or “I can connect with more people” or “I like making people happy” as much as you want. Maybe those things are also true. That doesn’t change this, and there’s no sense in going on the defensive with “Maybe that’s true about you, but not me.” No one looks good on that self-imposed pedestal. We do perform to feel important. We need to feel valuable, to have our egos stroked, to have our personal brands of individuality appreciated, to not feel like we stand in shadows cast by our peers. The thrill of a huge audience gives us that validation we can’t 100% provide for ourselves. There’s a reason it’s intoxicating. There’s a reason we want to hear people scream when they hear our names, a reason we secretly want as many people as possible to think we’re sexy, or talented, or an inspiration. We can get drunk or be undone by it if we’re reckless. Claiming we don’t perform for these reasons, or that nobler ones eclipse them, is a delusion that only serves to make us look like self-oblivious douchebags. But hold on a tick before you dismiss this as a cynical rant, okay? There’s a bright side.

I think that “inspiring people” or “bringing art into a bleak world” or “telling an important story” or “making people happy” is the other side of the coin. An equally true side. Those things don’t have to be lies or justifications we tell ourselves so we don’t feel bad, if we know in our hearts that they’re true. Maybe there’s meant to be a duality of flaw and humility in us. Sure, performing nurses our starved egos and we should be careful not to make them too fragile or starving, but it also provides an outlet to do sincere good.

I decided that maybe the thing that makes someone a commendable performer, and not a self-inflated asshole, is acknowledging that double-sided nature instead of denying our universal itch. So yeah, I’ll say it. I do crave outside validation. I do seek a sense of value and worth from applause, likes, views, numbers, subscribers, tickets sold, 5/5 stars, when I perform. I also know I need to work more on seeking that validation from within. But I know that. That means I have control. Self-awareness. Even if those things are the “wrong reasons” to perform, write, stream, draw, whatever, they’re the core reasons we share. We can embrace that while also refusing to make it our biggest motivation.

We can all prevent ourselves from being big-headed while also acknowledging our insecurities. All it takes is being big enough to admit to them and supporting each other. It takes being honest and open about our struggles no matter how dark, but not allowing them to hurt our relationships, our integrity, or ourselves.

So now I’mma be a little sappy. @succulent-tart, I see you as a model of support and sincerity. You care about making each other look good, not just yourselves. You remind each other regularly that we’re friends. I love you, and I’m sorry if I haven’t expressed that gratitude enough.

#ooc #succulent tart #nothing bad happened to make me write this #it was just something i thought about on a long walk

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willowgust · 5 years

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anyway, the 8 hour workday and the concept of “8 hours work, 8 hours rest, 8 hours recreation” is outdated and based on the lives and needs of married straight men who had a wife at home doing all the unpaid domestic labor, childcare, and elderly care. We should all be fighting for a 4 hour workday tbh

#ooc #YES #4 hour workday

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willowgust · 5 years

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lmao

Thanks @sayrihaamberstar!

A helpful guide to some common birds here in the western US

#ooc #birbs

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willowgust · 5 years

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You Conquered

[[WARNING: References self-harm and fighting depression, anxiety, and CPTSD. I have my fears about sharing this, but it was very therapeutic for me to write, and maybe there’s someone who might feel better after reading it.]]

Colorful lights flooded my periphery as I stared at my lap. My head swam. I felt clogged with exhaustion, as though something rammed stuffing through my ears. After hours of hyperventilation, of thrashing my body against the ground, of my brain preying upon my body like a wild tiger, I felt… calmed. It was the same drained tranquility one might feel after catching breath from a marathon. The gentle, symphonic beeps in the halls had a way of soothing me.

With sullen eyes, I stared at the feral streaks on my arm, jagged, red, pink, raw. I usually took pride in being high-functioning, level-headed, rational, in control. How would the Vulcans on the ship judge me now?

“Fennel?”

I glanced up at the deep, gruff voice that greeted me. It was hinted with concern. The Starfleet-decorated Klingon didn’t move.

My lips tightened into a half-smile, tense, but warm. My forearms were concrete over my knees. “Lieutenant Qur’plak.” I sounded quieter than I wanted. “Is something on your mind?”

I honestly felt more comfortable opening up to Qur’plak than other Klingons I’d met. He grew up with Humans all his life, so he had a better understanding of how we worked. Despite this, a part of me always feared his judgment anyway. The idea of being seen as weak or cowardly made me sick.

Qur’plak narrowed his eyes. “Is it not you who just left the med bay?” he pressed.

I felt my mouth twist. “I–yeah.”

They narrowed further when he saw my arms. He lumbered toward me, then turned to sit his massive form beside me on the bench.

I met his stare openly. I could feel him searing into the raw redness of my old tears, and the tired strength I was becoming absolutely sick of needing to use. Unspoken meaning softened his gaze. “You were challenged by the three beasts who lurk in your head,” he conjectured. “The ones who presume to punish you with your own claws.”

Bitter shame contorted my face. “Yeah. I lost. Luzanon practically sensed me from across the ship and had me lugged over to medical.”

His posture hardened, and his expression grew stern. I locked my jaw to brace myself. Here it comes, I thought. He’s about to call me out for being weak. Useless. Pathetic. Hysterical. “The Betazoid, I see. Do you breathe?” he asked bluntly.

Then I blinked. I could see the point he was about to make, and felt an odd relief. I nodded with a long sigh that quivered with fatigue, “Yeah. I still breathe.”

“I know you, Fennel,” his tone lowered. “You are not a Human of dishonor. Injury is not loss. I myself bear many scars. They remind me of my conquests. Of battles that were glorious… and others,” he gently gripped my lacerated arm, “that were not.”

I stared at him, so flabbergasted by this intense display of empathy that I didn’t really know how to respond.

He paused. “You know as well as I do that glory cannot be found in all battles. In many of them, there is but one concern: survival. You survived. You survived a noble battle that you are, ultimately, always forced to fight alone, even with allies at your side. Every day you battle these three beasts that attack you without form. Some days they are weak, and some days they are more than worthy. For that, I have always respected you. It’s true that the three beasts were too mighty to go unscathed - this day. But you did not lose, Fennel. You conquered. This,” his grip tightened fiercely, flaring the pain of my new scratches with poetic nuance, “is proof of your victory.”

For a few seconds, I was too stunned and heart-warmed to move. A steady smile slowly spread over my lips. “Qur’plak. Thank you.”

“There is no need for thanks,” he shook his head, firm. “You have a bad habit of accepting shame where there is none, Fennel. You deny yourself the credit you deserve of your conquests. It grates me. This is no time for shame. Be proud. Q’plah!”

“Q’plah,” I asserted, a sudden resolution unearthed in me.

“Better!”

I breathed out a chuckle, “You know, for the longest time, I thought you might think I was weak for the kind of ‘fighting’ I do.”

“What?!” He barked. Then he boomed out a long belly laugh, “HAHAHAHAH!” His hand barreled into my back, jolting me slightly. “Fennel! You think simply because it’s not a fight of the flesh, because it evokes Human tears, that I would think you weak?!”

“Well, yeah,” I replied frankly.

Qur’plak leaned back to let out a “PFAH!” Then he faced me straight on. “Fennel. I’ve known not one other Klingon with an affliction that would force them to do battle with no glory to be had, every day of their lives, with beasts who outnumber them three to one, that seek to destroy them by dishonorably seizing their minds. I’d like to see them try it once.”

I blinked again. “I gotta say, I’m surprised. Pleasantly surprised though!”

“We underestimate the warrior spirit that some Humans can possess. It’s all the more impressive when they are not conditioned as we are, to glare down a knife pointed at our throats without fear. Many of my people understand what it is to be dauntless, but not brave. I do not fear a blade or a gun. I do not know how honorably I would compose myself if I were faced with the strange beasts you fight.” Qur’plak released my arm to point a rigid finger and growled, “But don’t tell anyone. Or I’ll gut you.”

I smirked. He laughed, gave my back another wallop, and stood up.

“What do you think the Vulcans will say?” I rolled my eyes at the thought.

“What?” he stopped. “Now that is weakness you must be rid of, Fennel. I wouldn’t say you are a coward exactly, or you would hide from the Vulcans. Yet you fear their opinion. LET them see your scars. With their insipid rambling about science and medicine, it is their own fault if they do not understand. You show far more control of your battles than you give credit for, and that’s credit you are owed. So stop treating yourself like a pitiful dog, and start treating yourself like what you are. A…” He grunted, the dark brows below his crest furrowing in thought. “What was it you called it?”

“A Judoka?”

“No, no, the other word in that other Human language. Your rank.”

“Oh. Shodan.”

“Fennel! Get your gi uniform. Come with me to the holodeck. It’s time you remind yourself of that. A friendly duel, with or without weapons.”

Despite the skin that felt so heavy all over my face, I smiled again, and stood up. I felt bizarrely invigorated. “You know I think you have a point. Now that it’s passed, I think I need this. How’s hand-to-hand sound?”

Qur’plak grinned. His two rows of dull, pointed teeth bore unintuitive warmth. “As you wish. Shodan.”

#random therapeutic Trek fic #pride not shame #we are fighters #q'plah

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willowgust · 5 years

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why isn’t anyone allowed to be wrong anymore? it’s okay to be wrong. no one should be terrified of every tiny little mistake they might make. being wrong, and realizing you were wrong, is how you learn and grow and change.

#ooc

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willowgust · 5 years

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✿ Send this to 10 other bloggers that you think are wonderful. Keep the game going, make someone smile! ✿

#prompts #Safrona #ooc

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willowgust · 5 years

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Sungrass Oasis

{Rp between @beamgully and myself. Thank you for reading if you do!}

The arid sun beaming through the purple Tanari sky began to dip westward, just barely considering its retirement. Gadgetzan was somewhat quiet. Many of its denizens were likely enjoying dinner. Amidst a cluster of adobe buildings there was one with a desert-blush sheet serving as a door. It complemented the sunbaked hue of the clay it rested against. Artful script flitted above the small foyer entrance:

Sungrass Oasis -Tea Lounge-

The void elf that stepped into Gadgetzan may have been more of an odd sight had the importer not been a known personage among several traders. What did draw a few eyes was the glowing scythe carried on her person, indicating that she was something more dangerous than a simple ‘delivery girl’. Yet, with a blink of an eye the ethereal blade of the Black Harvest was dismissed to a pocket of the Void, returning Safrona to her shades of nuanced professionalism. Stranger things had happened in the little desert city, perhaps.

Her eye was caught by the shift of the sheet that seemed to beckon her to an entrance she’d never stepped inside before, the written word of ‘tea lounge’ murmured soundlessly between her lips in consideration. Her step inside was preluded by her curious smile, tucking away the black shard between her fingertips. Tea sounded more cleansing against the trinket’s corruption than her usual glass of bourbon.

Though a hole-in-the-wall, it was contemporary chic and polished. The floor was tiled in sleek black. Voguish artwork brought the white walls to life. Framed in thick, black frames, the paintings were as soothing as they were stylish. They depicted modern abstract, turquoise beaches, and desert blossoms. A few were pieces that might have been pretentious in another setting, but somehow felt innocently trendy here. Two of them were offset by equidistant sandstone bowls resting in tasteful square impressions on the wall. Sweeping glass sculptures ribboned with solid colors - some glittering in the light - added bold character to the lounge. Most of them were feet tall and stood on the floor.

On each chair was a pale yellow cushion. Filled with sand, sea glass, and shells, a candle resting in a glass bowl embellished every table, along with a daisy in a white vase. A handful of firebloom petals were strewn about them. Each table was large enough for two guests, with a pair of long, slender menus. At the far back was a bar (of sorts), near another curtain which supposedly led to outdoor seating. It offered several stools should anyone choose to be in company with the Sin'dorei woman behind it. She scribbled something down with a quill, a gnomish-styled calculator beside her hand.

One look at her sleek, leggy physique and one might already imagine her at an amateur marathon. Yet she had a breezy posture as if vacationing somewhere nice. Her clothes paralleled the establishment: contemporary chic with painted, manicured nails. A sand dollar rested below her slim neck, joined by two silver starfish on a sterling chain.

Her tawny skin was mottled thick with freckles. Coffee brown hair, streaked subtly with caramel highlights, draped either side of her thin face like a square curtain - save the asymmetrical chunk knifing a few inches above her collarbone. Her nose was sloped, and her wide, pale lips coated in gloss. Smoky lavender makeup embellished the golden lights of her eyes.

They were upturned, and cheerfully lean in shape. For now there were only two separate couples occupying the lounge as guests, far too engrossed with each other to notice anything outside of themselves. It was the apparent owner who looked up from her work at the scarlet-haired courier, and spread a sunflower smile. She had a neighborly and wizened kind of charisma. Even her breathy, sand-like voice conveyed warmth: “Welcome! Please, take a seat anywhere you’d like.”

The Courier took her study of what could have been considered a diamond in the rough of Gadgetzan as she walked, violet pupils glinting in low light approvingly of the little secret she’d stepped into. That arresting, otherworldly gaze eventually drifted to the desert flower that was the owner as she was greeted with warmth. She offered a practiced smile of her own, pulling away the burgundy hood that matched the long spirals of her gathered hair a little too well.

“I will. Quite the lovely place here,” she spoke, her silk voice pleasant, if not a touch unsettling with its residual echo of the Void. “Almost Ramhaken in appeal. I’m surprised I’ve never found it before, actually.” The scarlet importer took an elegant seat of a nearby barstool, a long leg flattered by the cut of her skirt as she’d cross one over the other. “Do you own this little gem in the sand?”

“Thank you!” the owner beamed. Her Muppet-esque friendliness was simple, but not patronizing. Pure, yet the opposite of naive. Her affable smile only broadened as the new guest drew back her hood and made herself comfortable. The tell-tale echo didn’t appear to inspire any hesitation in the server whatsoever. She reached under the bar to procure a menu, then offered it.

“Oh, we’re very new,” she explained. “We opened weeks ago. I’m Colpeia, by the way! Let me know if there’s anything that catches your eye.” She nodded at her question. “Yes, I do! Though I couldn’t have done it without the help of my tribe. A few continue to help as waiters, cooks, and business assistants.”

The void elf inclined her head slightly with her gratitude as she took the offered menu, swiveling readily in her barseat to face Colpeia directly. “Ah, that explains much of why we’ve not met. Safrona. Safrona Shadowsun, importer of many of a needful thing. Maybe business will get us better acquainted, yes?”

Mystery was weaved beneath her try at simplistic professionalism, lending to the idea that she had not always been this simple importer she wore. She was too practiced, an enigmatic charm pooled there to her merlot smile. The emerald eyes of a bronze scarab trinket glinting in her gathered hair, set apart from the scarlet and shadow she wore. It seemed she favored this scarab theme, another design dangling prettily from the lace at her throat.

“I’d say let’s see what I can help you with…but.. ” she opened the menu as her eyes flowed down the lists inside. A breath of a chuckle unraveled beneath her next words. “Maybe I should just be the customer today for a change.”

“Well it’s an honor to meet you, Safrona,” Colpeia dipped her head, with her own brand of flourished, Cheshire, yet plain charisma. “And sure! Actually, I know one way we may be able to help each other. My parents own a glass business called Beamgully Crystal. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s been around for a long time. Their wares range from windows and vials to extravagant art. Much of what you see in this shop was crafted by their hands. They have me acting as their personal courier at times, so I would be very surprised if they wouldn’t welcome a charming new courier like yourself.”

A brief fondness flashed across Colpeia’s features when she eyed the diplomatic woman’s scarab motif. It reminded her of a friend. Her smile grew. “I think that’s a great idea. We all need to treat ourselves sometime.” The elegant script on the menu displayed prices that - while not dirt cheap - were reasonable.

“You as a courier, when you have this fine place to run?” Safrona lifted her eyes from the menu to connect her gaze to Colpeia’s once more. "Well, we can’t have that, lovely. All you need to do is give your parents my name, and I’ll come do my job. I can handle fragile glass well enough too with the travel, and fees can also be settled on before I come for pick up. My specialty’s actually connecting businesses and filling client bases, so maybe we’ll see both the Oasis and your parent’s glassware business growing, yes?“

Her eyes returned to the menu then and began to settle on a decision. "Mm…my inner wine importer is telling me you could use more alcohol for this menu, but let me slide away from that and take some of your Sweet Spice Tea. And…I’m tempted by Desert Dumplings, but I’ve….” she chuckled. “The meat choices are….different. What do you recommend to pair with the tea?”

Colpeia shrugged a shoulder. “It’s something I’ve done for many years,” she replied. Her dark brows lifted at the proposal. “What a generous offer! I’m certain they’ll be very happy to speak with you about it. Perhaps they can meet you at a neutral location that’s easy to get to?” She chuckled. “I have thought about it. I wanted to focus on tea, but some alcoholic options might be a good idea.”

An unsurprised, but somewhat amused glint couldn’t help but touch her eye as Safrona ruminated over her meat choice. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d heard similar remarks about Tanari cuisine. “Well there’s no arguing that,” Colpeia agreed. “Desert meat is unique. The sweet and spicy flavors of the tea may go well with something that’s subtle and light. So I would recommend the sandworm meat. Silithid is bold, and hyena is milder than lamb but more robust than beef.”

“Dalaran is the easiest for me to arrive to as far as neutral cities go. And seeing as much of my business brings me there, I’m there often enough for the odd appointment. They can simply place a reservation at the Ledgermaine Lounge with the barkeep and I’ll meet them there and take care of the tab.”

Safrona nodded her acceptance on the suggestion, folding the menu to offer it up for the collecting. “Being a courier is…not a very satisfying lifepath to wander for the long run. Take it from me,” the Void elf chuckled witheringly. “A good spring point for a while, but even I don’t see myself playing delivery girl forever.” Her violet gaze took its run down the dusky skinned Colpeia, tilting her head slightly as she did. “You look like you belong here in your little cafe. Not running around about out there making sure people receive their packages on time.”

“That’s great!” Colpeia smiled. “And so generous of you. I’ll tell them. I think they’ll be very happy to meet you.” She gathered the menu, stowing it somewhere underneath the bar.

She listened patiently. Her gaze on Safrona was deep and open. When the worldly courier finished speaking, Colpeia gave another sincere smile. “Delivering packages for my parents has been something I’ve done for a long time, but only as an occasional side-job when their schedules were very tight,” she reassured. “I’m actually a freelance mathematician. The cafe has become a side job for me, but one I hold dear in the short amount of time it’s existed.” Her pause was pensive, her golden eyes falling briefly to the floor.

“Our world still bleeds and everyone is tired.” Colpeia looked back up at her. “I built this lounge to offer respite, even if for a little while. We all have a role in a time of war. Some believe theirs is to fight in it. Others to heal wounds and keep their friends alive. I think people forget that we need ways to find solace in these times the most, not the least. We all need to be reminded what we fight and are alive for. So I guess for that reason, I absolutely agree with you, Safrona. For now my place is here.”

Colpeia’s reasonings had the world-worn courier closing her eyes briefly with a small, warmed smile. When she spoke again, another piece of the professional that tried to take over had taken a back seat, letting someone more genuine and perhaps even a little bitter through. “It’s true, isn’t it? We’re all a little predisposed to war like a bad habit. Consistently assigned our roles and thrown at one another for a battle cry in honor or glory of this or that. Told our lives won’t be the same if we do not fight for the little piece of land we were born to. Some become weapons. By the time they come home…do they even know how to live anymore? Or is normalcy stripped from us and replaced by the cycle of conditioned violence? As much as I can tell you that war is profit, most of the time its empty gold put right into a cycle, breeding more machines.”

The Courier shrugged as her eyes veered away with the same bitter smile. “I don’t think war will ever change. People will always have something to fight over, and something will always be trying to deaden Azeroth, because other forces decide our only real, true mercy is the idea of death, or some degree of unified mindlessness. And honestly there are days I wake up and can’t find a legitimate argument against that when we are faced with the same old rut, over and over…”

Her unearthly gaze floated back over to the golden-eyed Colpeia with a withering chuckle. “But…that is perhaps more the Void talking than I. And its quieter here, in many aspects. Finding a place like yours, people like you…? It does remind me that some things are still worth putting in the fight for. Living for. Strange that, the little things, yes? Little mortal things like the delight of an oasis in the middle of the desert. A family trying to make the best of things, apart from the call of nations of war. It’s important, keeping those little things running. The bakers must bake, the teachers must teach, the vintners must make their wine. The midwives must welcome new life, the pallbearers must put their dead to rest.”

Safrona rested her heart-shaped face in the cradle of her fingers, her eyes still alight on her hostess. “I may be a little outside of the cycle of it all, but I find some strange satisfaction in helping keep that quality and culture of life for others in its order more than anything, as a courier. So yes, very much agreed. And I need more people like you in my life, lovely girl.”

The air grew pleasantly cool as night fell outside the lounge. Colpeia briefly dipped behind the bar to obtain a clear kettle and cup. Placing them on the countertop, she released a folded pellet of herbs into the kettle’s basin, then aimed her curved fingers. A stream of cold water materialized from her palm to trickle inside. It stopped when it was full. Since then, her gaze was present and sincere, never drifting from Safrona’s thoughtful monologue. If anything, it deepened. Her manicured palm rested on the kettle’s underside while she used subtle magic to heat it.

Safrona’s last sentence softened Colpeia’s eyes. A smile warm enough to rival the sun from hours ago beamed back at her. “Thank you. I feel lucky to have met you too, Safrona. I think you’re doing something important. Couriers help keep the poetry of our world alive.” The smile dimmed. “I wish I had reason to disagree with many of the other things you’ve said. People don’t like to see themselves in their enemies. War is easier when you’re blind.”

A reflective glimpse landed on the back of a human Shafisian waiting a table. “My tribe has a saying for feeling stuck. ‘The mind wants to heal.’ A lot of people forget how to live normal lives after surviving hell. They don’t heal until they decide they’re ready. It’s a hard journey that often takes a lifetime, if they ever accept it.”

"Death can seem like an easy answer, but I’ve seen secondhand that it doesn’t give us peace. We can’t control wars or the mindlessness behind other people’s eyes. All we can do is create a mindfulness in ourselves. I think that helps when peace is hard to find.” Colpeia’s polished nails clinked as she removed her hand. Bubbles and steam now clung to the kettle walls, a vibrant flower blossoming in its pinkish water. Another server reappeared from behind a curtain. He balanced a platter of dumplings in his hand, which he served beside Safrona’s now steaming hot tea. Colpeia exchanged nods with him.

The teaflower blooming its gift of bounty for her was it’s own touch of magic Safrona had never gave her attention to before no matter how many teahouses she had visited and supplied before this one. Perhaps there was this small, simple meaning now in the generous courtesy of being served by Colpeia and her tribe that gave the moment its credence. It had been a time also, that

Safrona sat to let the steam and its delicate floral aroma caress her face from the teacup. Little cleansing rituals seemed to fall aside her, a deeper bottle of sin the default to reach for by habit in the knowing of what she was. “It’s good,” she murmured with a smile after that first sip. The little things. “I think…I simply want to go back to knowing nothing tonight, lovely girl. Other than the fact that I need to come here again, and more often, yes?”

Colpeia smiled. Watching Safrona enjoy her tea gave her a certain warm pleasure. She dipped her head in a sincere bow, her hand raised in a cheshire-esque gesture. “We will always be happy to see you, Safrona. I certainly will.”

#RP #Colpeia #Safrona #this was fun!

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