Expatriate Darkleer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aim_exorable) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caughtinanetwork2012-04-25 04:48 pm
aim_exorable) wrote in caughtinanetwork2012-04-25 04:48 pm
Entry tags:
7 ♐ Dreams ♐ A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams
[Dreams are a foreign thing to Darkleer. When he was young, he had them- nightmares of death and insanity and blood, foreign things no troll was supposed to see, tentacles creeping, snatching- but they always faded, perhaps too quickly, coming night when he arose. As he got older, they eventually faded entirely and whenever he slept, even outside sopor slime, it was nothing but empty blackness.]
[But Vatheon, like always, has seen fit to change this part of him.]
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[The first dream...]
[The first dream is all about inner demons. About failure. About uncertainty.]
[The room you are in is dark. Low lights hum against the walls and the walls are made of cold, unfeeling stone. It could be a cave. It is a cave, even if finely carved for habitation. Loneliness creeps in every space, every crack and shadow. It eats at you as you hunch over your workbench, large hands working at something, something- it doesn't matter what. You are too filled with tension, a tension that thrums through you and leaves even your bones on edge. You are waiting for the inevitable. You are waiting, you know, for your punishment.]
[The voice suddenly snaps out is as sharp as a knife, cutting through the heavy silence with no care.]
You killed me.
[You flinch and your hands shake from fear. It floods your veins, this fear, and it mingles with all the regret you have ever carried. You hate him. You hate him so much, but.... but...]
[You answer in a whisper.] I know.
You destroyed everything. Everything I worked for, everything I tried to do, all the changes I tried to make... you killed them the same way you killed me, didn't you? Torn them all to pieces and scattered them to the four winds.
[There's no point in working any longer. Your hands are frozen in place, shaking so violently you would break something if you tried to touch it. You want to defend yourself; you feel you should. But right now, your words are trapped in your throat. All you can do is shake your head. It would have been better if you had killed them, you know it, because there are fates worse than dying.]
[You know that well.]
[The answer doesn't satisfy your specter. There's a low growl that has your heart leap to your chest.] Get on your knees. [You could refuse. You should refuse. He is dead, dead and a monstrosity, that is what all logic and Imperial teachings have taught you and- Before you can make up your mind from the conflicting feelings inside of you, quick footsteps sound across the floor and there is a pressure around horn. You are tugged out of your seat and, perhaps too easily, you crumple to your knees.]
[You need this. You hate yourself, and you NEED this. But you can still not look up into his face. That doesn't please him. The pressure on your horn tightens. The smell of blood and burning flesh is filling your nose and you want to empty the contents of your stomach onto the floor. It doesn't matter that you have faced worse and know it; this smell still strikes something deep inside you until it twists painfully.]
Look at me, you coward! Look. At. ME!
[You bite down on your tongue until you can taste blood before speaking- no, just mumbling, frantic and desperate. You need this, but you don't WANT to need this. You know that if this continues, you will have to face something you don't think you are ready for, something that confuses and terrifies you and goes against all you know.] No, no, no, please, go away, you're not real, leave me be, you cannot be real- [You killed him.]
[He interrupts, his voice loud and enraged.] I WAS ALWAYS REAL! [Your skull pounds and aches as he uses your horn to jerk your head back. There is no choice, now. You have to look upon him: the tattered cloak covering his body, his hooded face with teeth bared and mutated red eyes searing in the shadows, the horrible sickening burns on both his wrists that go down all the way to the bone-] I was always real, my message was always real, and you really destroyed it! [His other hand presses forward, short claws pressing lightly against your face, and that burned wrist is closer, now.]
This was real too, Executor. This is what your Empire does to peaceful trolls who never harmed anyone.
[You whimper- a treacherously weak noise, weak like you have always tried to avoid for your entire life- and the words which leave your lips feel clumsy, fake, plastic.] I've already killed you, I have already suffered for it, please, please, go! You don't know what you would have done to everything!
[A dark laugh, a snarl, and then your face is stinging. You were wearing glasses, before- dark and protective, your only defense against anything. Against him. But they clatter against the ground and you wheeze in a breath, trying to shrink back. Your hands are held up slightly, but you don't do anything with them. You don't think you could. You stare with wide eyes up at the man- no, not a man, no troll, more like a force of nature- with terror making your heart beat faster and faster until it feels ready to leap from your chest. You have to squeeze your eyes shut just to deal with it.]
You don't know what suffering is, Executor! You don't know what it's like to watch everyone you love fear for their lives, for the simple crime of caring about you. You don't know what it's like to be tortured to death, knowing the whole time that it's meaningless, that they'll still do horrible things to your friends when it's all over. You don't know what it's like to watch from beyond as their lives are destroyed, as they are torn apart and turned into nothing, all to satisfy the whims of a capricious, insane empress! [His breathing is hard and deep as he leans in- a contrast to your own frantic and light, bird-like breaths. His voice is a low purr now. That scares you more, you think.] Open your eyes, Executor. Open your eyes and look at me.
[You don't want to, and for a few measly, pathetic seconds, you resist. You just whisper- you plead.] Please, please.... [But you finally obey, because you are a coward, you know, but you cannot run forever even if you would want to.]
Please what? [He seems calmer, now. A bolt of relief quivers in your chest. For some strange reason...] I only want to know one thing, Executor. One thing, and you can go. Why?
[You know what he's asking. Even still, you ask, like a fool-] Why what?
Why did you let her go?
[Her. The lover, the writer, the disciple, the woman who tore through crowds too late to see one of the most important people in her world.... You know that feeling so well. Being too late for someone you love, and being unable to do anything against those who took that light from your life.]
I... I don't know.
That's not good enough, and you know it. [That angry, righteous fire in him seems to fade away, and the grip on your horn loosens. There's just fingers, stroking through your hair. Resting. You could rise now, you're sure, but you don't. You merely sit there like a scared child eager for approval.] You had executed hundreds, if not thousands, before. Why was I the last one? Why was I the last to fall to Executor Darkleer of the Archeradicators?
[You shouldn't say it. You shouldn't. You should keep the words locked away deep inside themselves, no matter how they constrict around your heart, around your lungs, digging into you until it feels impossible to breathe. To even get them into your throat makes it feel as though you have gargled broken shards of glass. Yet still, when they click against your teeth and trip from your lips, they feel more real than the flimsy defense you gave earlier, and that is frightening.] It... It wasn't fair. [The hand just strokes through your hair more, and you shudder. You wish, so desperately, that he still hated you, that he still screamed at you for your failures. It is your hand which struck him down; it is his hand that should do likewise to you.] Please please please, no, no, do not make me say it, please. I have lived this long without it, haven't I?
You've survived, Darkleer. But that's not really the same thing, is it? You need to say this, and make it true.
[You make a choked, pained noise, because it's true, and it's burning away at you. The noise bursts into a low sob, and then those hands are sliding down until he is pressing against you, and it hurts so much. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve any of this. Because you have doomed yourself either way. You've ruined everything in your life because you are too foolish to commit to one side- pick one, and it is betrayal, failure to accomplish orders, loss of prestige and the honor of your blood. Pick the other, and everything you have worked for in your life so very desperately for will mean nothing, and you will be the one responsible for destroying the one person who could have changed everything.]
[But you cannot hold this in anymore. It is killing you, this self denial, this lie you cling to, and as he simply strokes your hair and back, you find ice cold tears slipping down your face. You cannot say your words beyond a whisper.]
We were wrong.
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[And Darkleer jolts awake for the first time that night. It takes a moment for him to stop shaking and he sweeps both hands through his hair while staring blankly at a wall. Everything was too sharp and vivid, too... close. Shakily, he goes to get a glass of water, paying no mind to the Dreamberry near his bed. After a few minutes of remembering just what dreams are, Darkleer finally convinces himself to go back to sleep]
[And the Dreamberry records this one too, the little shit.]
[The second dream is about outer demons. Creatures that can't just be restricted to the mind and locked away, out of sight, out of mind. This is the kind of demon that tears and bites and hurts.]
[And you're fighting it.]
[It is massive, with large claws that are already dripping multiple colors of blood, colors you see and connect to people you care about, and it makes you sick. Despite the fact that this is a monster, there is something deep in you that fights to make you kneel, to surrender, to give up to that vicious too wide smile full of sharp teeth.]
[But you stay right where you are. You stay and take each slash that tears through your armor like paper, each punch that seems to break another bone. You stay, and you fight back, feet dug into the ground and your own fists flying, each hit making the wild, indigo-eyed monster snarl with pain.]
[There is a part of you that wants to surrender, but it is nothing to this overwhelming need to protect something- someones- behind you. Their presence makes the pain feel dull, makes your heart beat strong and twist with something so utterly beautiful it rather hurts.]
[You keep fighting. You have to, because you have something you need to protect.]
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[In his sleep, Darkleer jolts again, just slightly. Not enough to wake up fully, but enough to disrupt the previous dream. He tosses and turns in his sleep, eventually settling down... One last dream. One that others may find themselves wandering through, if they so happen to.]
(INTERACTIVE)
[The third dream is about old friends and times long past.]
[There are people, gathered around a campfire. Shoulder to shoulder, comfortable and in a kind of perfect union. Comradery and friendship, loyalty and respect, all binding them all together. Unlike the previous dreams, there is no tension here. It is just a squadron of Archeradicators, traveling, maybe, and taking camp beneath the Alternian sky where the stars shine bright above and two different colored moons glow softly. There is soft, casual chatter among the group, each doing their own thing. Somehow, you know all their names. You know their ranks, their specialties, everything. Their glasses are all pushed upwards, resting against their horns, or just on their forehead.]
[Darkleer is amongst them as well. To anyone who knows him, the look of relaxed, gentle happiness is no doubt rare. It is open and sweet, different from his usual locked self. There's no lingering misery, no regret.]
[He missed these trolls, you see. More than maybe you would think.]
[Should you enter into this dream, you might find yourself not quite yourself. You may find yourself wearing the same lightweight, durable, and dark armor of the Archeradicators. If not already a troll, you may find yourself with gray skin and a set of horns, yellow sclera and highblood irises- teal, maybe, or cerulean, but more likely a simple steady blue.]
[And there will suddenly be a space open for you in the circle. You could sit, if you like, and perhaps you may be greeted with a slight smile, or maybe just a nod of the head, depending on those you are lodged between.]
[Only Darkleer will shift from the relaxed, happy atmosphere, blinking as he stares in your direction, smile fading slightly in preference to confusion.]
[That finally seems to keep Darkleer quiet for the most of the night, until he arises, bleary and confused, too many emotions in him for him to settle on just one or two.]
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[OOC: TL;DR-
First dream, nightmare about Signless/Sufferer. Ayzee gets credit for Signless' words.
Second dream, nightmare about some big creepy monster who smiles too much and with giant claws.... Wonder who that is.It's the Grand Highblood.
Third dream is interactive. If the player chooses (and they are not already a troll), they may find themselves shifting slightly to fit into Darkleer's Alternian dream. They will look like a troll version of themselves, and be wearing lightweight and flexible Archeradicator armor. If they're already a troll, then they just get the shiny new armor. Both are, however, optional.]
[But Vatheon, like always, has seen fit to change this part of him.]
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[The first dream...]
[The first dream is all about inner demons. About failure. About uncertainty.]
[The room you are in is dark. Low lights hum against the walls and the walls are made of cold, unfeeling stone. It could be a cave. It is a cave, even if finely carved for habitation. Loneliness creeps in every space, every crack and shadow. It eats at you as you hunch over your workbench, large hands working at something, something- it doesn't matter what. You are too filled with tension, a tension that thrums through you and leaves even your bones on edge. You are waiting for the inevitable. You are waiting, you know, for your punishment.]
[The voice suddenly snaps out is as sharp as a knife, cutting through the heavy silence with no care.]
You killed me.
[You flinch and your hands shake from fear. It floods your veins, this fear, and it mingles with all the regret you have ever carried. You hate him. You hate him so much, but.... but...]
[You answer in a whisper.] I know.
You destroyed everything. Everything I worked for, everything I tried to do, all the changes I tried to make... you killed them the same way you killed me, didn't you? Torn them all to pieces and scattered them to the four winds.
[There's no point in working any longer. Your hands are frozen in place, shaking so violently you would break something if you tried to touch it. You want to defend yourself; you feel you should. But right now, your words are trapped in your throat. All you can do is shake your head. It would have been better if you had killed them, you know it, because there are fates worse than dying.]
[You know that well.]
[The answer doesn't satisfy your specter. There's a low growl that has your heart leap to your chest.] Get on your knees. [You could refuse. You should refuse. He is dead, dead and a monstrosity, that is what all logic and Imperial teachings have taught you and- Before you can make up your mind from the conflicting feelings inside of you, quick footsteps sound across the floor and there is a pressure around horn. You are tugged out of your seat and, perhaps too easily, you crumple to your knees.]
[You need this. You hate yourself, and you NEED this. But you can still not look up into his face. That doesn't please him. The pressure on your horn tightens. The smell of blood and burning flesh is filling your nose and you want to empty the contents of your stomach onto the floor. It doesn't matter that you have faced worse and know it; this smell still strikes something deep inside you until it twists painfully.]
Look at me, you coward! Look. At. ME!
[You bite down on your tongue until you can taste blood before speaking- no, just mumbling, frantic and desperate. You need this, but you don't WANT to need this. You know that if this continues, you will have to face something you don't think you are ready for, something that confuses and terrifies you and goes against all you know.] No, no, no, please, go away, you're not real, leave me be, you cannot be real- [You killed him.]
[He interrupts, his voice loud and enraged.] I WAS ALWAYS REAL! [Your skull pounds and aches as he uses your horn to jerk your head back. There is no choice, now. You have to look upon him: the tattered cloak covering his body, his hooded face with teeth bared and mutated red eyes searing in the shadows, the horrible sickening burns on both his wrists that go down all the way to the bone-] I was always real, my message was always real, and you really destroyed it! [His other hand presses forward, short claws pressing lightly against your face, and that burned wrist is closer, now.]
This was real too, Executor. This is what your Empire does to peaceful trolls who never harmed anyone.
[You whimper- a treacherously weak noise, weak like you have always tried to avoid for your entire life- and the words which leave your lips feel clumsy, fake, plastic.] I've already killed you, I have already suffered for it, please, please, go! You don't know what you would have done to everything!
[A dark laugh, a snarl, and then your face is stinging. You were wearing glasses, before- dark and protective, your only defense against anything. Against him. But they clatter against the ground and you wheeze in a breath, trying to shrink back. Your hands are held up slightly, but you don't do anything with them. You don't think you could. You stare with wide eyes up at the man- no, not a man, no troll, more like a force of nature- with terror making your heart beat faster and faster until it feels ready to leap from your chest. You have to squeeze your eyes shut just to deal with it.]
You don't know what suffering is, Executor! You don't know what it's like to watch everyone you love fear for their lives, for the simple crime of caring about you. You don't know what it's like to be tortured to death, knowing the whole time that it's meaningless, that they'll still do horrible things to your friends when it's all over. You don't know what it's like to watch from beyond as their lives are destroyed, as they are torn apart and turned into nothing, all to satisfy the whims of a capricious, insane empress! [His breathing is hard and deep as he leans in- a contrast to your own frantic and light, bird-like breaths. His voice is a low purr now. That scares you more, you think.] Open your eyes, Executor. Open your eyes and look at me.
[You don't want to, and for a few measly, pathetic seconds, you resist. You just whisper- you plead.] Please, please.... [But you finally obey, because you are a coward, you know, but you cannot run forever even if you would want to.]
Please what? [He seems calmer, now. A bolt of relief quivers in your chest. For some strange reason...] I only want to know one thing, Executor. One thing, and you can go. Why?
[You know what he's asking. Even still, you ask, like a fool-] Why what?
Why did you let her go?
[Her. The lover, the writer, the disciple, the woman who tore through crowds too late to see one of the most important people in her world.... You know that feeling so well. Being too late for someone you love, and being unable to do anything against those who took that light from your life.]
I... I don't know.
That's not good enough, and you know it. [That angry, righteous fire in him seems to fade away, and the grip on your horn loosens. There's just fingers, stroking through your hair. Resting. You could rise now, you're sure, but you don't. You merely sit there like a scared child eager for approval.] You had executed hundreds, if not thousands, before. Why was I the last one? Why was I the last to fall to Executor Darkleer of the Archeradicators?
[You shouldn't say it. You shouldn't. You should keep the words locked away deep inside themselves, no matter how they constrict around your heart, around your lungs, digging into you until it feels impossible to breathe. To even get them into your throat makes it feel as though you have gargled broken shards of glass. Yet still, when they click against your teeth and trip from your lips, they feel more real than the flimsy defense you gave earlier, and that is frightening.] It... It wasn't fair. [The hand just strokes through your hair more, and you shudder. You wish, so desperately, that he still hated you, that he still screamed at you for your failures. It is your hand which struck him down; it is his hand that should do likewise to you.] Please please please, no, no, do not make me say it, please. I have lived this long without it, haven't I?
You've survived, Darkleer. But that's not really the same thing, is it? You need to say this, and make it true.
[You make a choked, pained noise, because it's true, and it's burning away at you. The noise bursts into a low sob, and then those hands are sliding down until he is pressing against you, and it hurts so much. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve any of this. Because you have doomed yourself either way. You've ruined everything in your life because you are too foolish to commit to one side- pick one, and it is betrayal, failure to accomplish orders, loss of prestige and the honor of your blood. Pick the other, and everything you have worked for in your life so very desperately for will mean nothing, and you will be the one responsible for destroying the one person who could have changed everything.]
[But you cannot hold this in anymore. It is killing you, this self denial, this lie you cling to, and as he simply strokes your hair and back, you find ice cold tears slipping down your face. You cannot say your words beyond a whisper.]
We were wrong.
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[And Darkleer jolts awake for the first time that night. It takes a moment for him to stop shaking and he sweeps both hands through his hair while staring blankly at a wall. Everything was too sharp and vivid, too... close. Shakily, he goes to get a glass of water, paying no mind to the Dreamberry near his bed. After a few minutes of remembering just what dreams are, Darkleer finally convinces himself to go back to sleep]
[And the Dreamberry records this one too, the little shit.]
[The second dream is about outer demons. Creatures that can't just be restricted to the mind and locked away, out of sight, out of mind. This is the kind of demon that tears and bites and hurts.]
[And you're fighting it.]
[It is massive, with large claws that are already dripping multiple colors of blood, colors you see and connect to people you care about, and it makes you sick. Despite the fact that this is a monster, there is something deep in you that fights to make you kneel, to surrender, to give up to that vicious too wide smile full of sharp teeth.]
[But you stay right where you are. You stay and take each slash that tears through your armor like paper, each punch that seems to break another bone. You stay, and you fight back, feet dug into the ground and your own fists flying, each hit making the wild, indigo-eyed monster snarl with pain.]
[There is a part of you that wants to surrender, but it is nothing to this overwhelming need to protect something- someones- behind you. Their presence makes the pain feel dull, makes your heart beat strong and twist with something so utterly beautiful it rather hurts.]
[You keep fighting. You have to, because you have something you need to protect.]
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[In his sleep, Darkleer jolts again, just slightly. Not enough to wake up fully, but enough to disrupt the previous dream. He tosses and turns in his sleep, eventually settling down... One last dream. One that others may find themselves wandering through, if they so happen to.]
(INTERACTIVE)
[The third dream is about old friends and times long past.]
[There are people, gathered around a campfire. Shoulder to shoulder, comfortable and in a kind of perfect union. Comradery and friendship, loyalty and respect, all binding them all together. Unlike the previous dreams, there is no tension here. It is just a squadron of Archeradicators, traveling, maybe, and taking camp beneath the Alternian sky where the stars shine bright above and two different colored moons glow softly. There is soft, casual chatter among the group, each doing their own thing. Somehow, you know all their names. You know their ranks, their specialties, everything. Their glasses are all pushed upwards, resting against their horns, or just on their forehead.]
[Darkleer is amongst them as well. To anyone who knows him, the look of relaxed, gentle happiness is no doubt rare. It is open and sweet, different from his usual locked self. There's no lingering misery, no regret.]
[He missed these trolls, you see. More than maybe you would think.]
[Should you enter into this dream, you might find yourself not quite yourself. You may find yourself wearing the same lightweight, durable, and dark armor of the Archeradicators. If not already a troll, you may find yourself with gray skin and a set of horns, yellow sclera and highblood irises- teal, maybe, or cerulean, but more likely a simple steady blue.]
[And there will suddenly be a space open for you in the circle. You could sit, if you like, and perhaps you may be greeted with a slight smile, or maybe just a nod of the head, depending on those you are lodged between.]
[Only Darkleer will shift from the relaxed, happy atmosphere, blinking as he stares in your direction, smile fading slightly in preference to confusion.]
[That finally seems to keep Darkleer quiet for the most of the night, until he arises, bleary and confused, too many emotions in him for him to settle on just one or two.]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[OOC: TL;DR-
First dream, nightmare about Signless/Sufferer. Ayzee gets credit for Signless' words.
Second dream, nightmare about some big creepy monster who smiles too much and with giant claws.... Wonder who that is.
Third dream is interactive. If the player chooses (and they are not already a troll), they may find themselves shifting slightly to fit into Darkleer's Alternian dream. They will look like a troll version of themselves, and be wearing lightweight and flexible Archeradicator armor. If they're already a troll, then they just get the shiny new armor. Both are, however, optional.]
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Of you could sacrifice our time together you would?
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You're meant for something great. I would be doing something unforgivable if I held you back from that.
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You say that knowing what greatness I aspire towards.
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[If there's anyone who could inspire another rebellion back on Alternia... Darkleer knows this is the troll to do so. He's scared of it, it's true... but Darkleer is also resigned to it. He knows he can't keep a hold on Summoner like this forever. Either he will leave or he will be taken away...]
[And all he can do is try and pretend that future doesn't exist so he can enjoy what little time they have left.]
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[Still he finds himself with him, despite knowing this will end, unless somehow he's stuck here for the rest of his lowblood life... Though he shudders to think of such a thing happening.]
[Lysunder pulls in a deep breath, his eyes move, trying to get eye contact with the taller troll, and he pulls a hand up to curl a finger around the other's chin. A little push to try and tilt his head, he wants to catch his gaze, he's not an idiot, he realizes how Darkleer might feel right now... his tone, this topic.]
That-
[He starts, glancing away before looking back to push their forehead's together, noses almost touching.]
That means a lot... Accepting me for that, especially coming from you, Tink. Heh- [He feels a pull in his chest and stays quiet for a moment before finally finding his words. Everything is hard to approach with this... He's always unsure about just how much Darkleer accepts or what he's merely tolerating...]
It's still a part of me... Even if it's not here.
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[Accepting or tolerating... More like trying to deny its existence. He doesn't want to face how far he has strayed from his path as a loyal soldier to the empire. Taking in two children, falling for the leader of another rebellion, growing close to so many he knows he shouldn't, fighting against his superior in both role and caste...]
[But right now, pressing against his matesprit in the dark, he knows that he is so much more scared of losing it all now.]
...I just want you to be happy, Lysunder. That and nothing more.
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[A small smile, moving his hands up to take Darkleer's hair in both at either side. He pulls the locks of hair around and strings all of it in one hand, holding it behind Darkleer's head to expose his neck.]
What I'd do to see you happy, Blue...
[His voice his hushed, moving to hide his face against Darkleer's neck, pressing his lips softly to the now exposed skin, still holding his hair back.]
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This is more than I ever would have gotten back on Alternia... I could not possibly ask for more.
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[A snicker, kissing his neck again, his free hand brushing a thumb over Darkleer's ear.]
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You are so unbelievably egotistical.
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Arrogant. [Oh.] Reckless. [Oh.] Foolish. [OH.] Amazing...
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[He chuckles, the hand curled in Darkleer's hair behind his head snarls tighter.]
Maybe that's just because you're tired. [Beat.]
Heh, who am I kidding. I am just amazing.
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Mmmmn, I would say the former is more correct than the latter. As I said, arrogant.
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Confident. [Grazes is fangs over his skin.]
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[Another way is how Darkleer arches his neck against those sharp teeth and licks his lips.] My.... I might dare to call you vain.
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[His fangs graze again, clamping down a little harder to pinch skin.]
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[Pressing forward to press one knee onto the cushions of the couch, he noses at Summoner's horn.]
I could have sworn I came here to simply keep you company...
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And keep me company you are, I'd say you're uh, heh, doing a pretty swell job at that, eh?
[A chuckle, leaned back against the couch, arms stretched on the backrest, head tilted a little to the side.]
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[But there's obviously no bite to the complaint as Darkleer notices that sigh and decides to kiss at the base of the horn.]
I won't be able to stay and "keep you company" for the entire night, you know.
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[A smirk, moving his hands down to grab at Darkleer's hips, trying to direct him forward onto his lap.]
I know, I would've been fine with just a short greeting, a minute even. So this is already exceeding my expectations.
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[That doesn't mean he's resisting the pull to Summoner's lap, mind you.]
If I wanted to speak to you for just a minute, I would have stayed on the communication device.
srefkjerh;ioagregr
Not the same as seeing you. [A smile, moving a hand up to pull back some of Darkleer's hair.]
8>
Mmm, and it is much better to be able to reach out and touch you, I must admit. [He presses his nose amongst the cascade of red hair near Summoner's horn.]
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[A purred sound as he nuzzles into Darkleer's neck, taking in a deep breath.]
[This is a hell of a lot better than watching people's dreams and feeling uncomfortable about it.]
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