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[sterngaze]

I love me some gen threads, especially funny or drama-filled ones, but I am also shamelessly here for shipping AUs. The general Liem-shipping vibe is "I want more than this, but I shouldn't & they can't possibly want me back," so if you're into that, I've got what you need. His default setting is very D&D-like high fantasy, but I'm comfortable playing him in modern fantasy settings as well. Pretty much any prompt can also accommodate Liem being a full vampire instead of a dhampir, if that's your thing. Prompts for inspiration: • Arranged Marriage: Liem's shady vampire family has arranged his marriage to you, but he seems a rather reluctant fiance. • Bodyguard Shipping: It's Liem's duty to keep you safe and out of trouble, possibly despite your best efforts. • Companion to Royalty: Reclusive vampire king Liem and YOU! Are you a gift from a local power? Sacrifice from the townsfolk? Or did you just stumble up the road to his castle during a storm? • Enemies to Lovers: Maybe Liem is a foreign agent trying to sabotage your country or organization. Or maybe you're rebelling against the current regime and he's trying to take you in. • Fake Dating/Fake Married: A relationship is your cover story while you're travelling for some secret reason. Gotta keep up appearances. • Hunter & Hunted: Are you a hunter trying to track Liem down? Or a snack that proved more than he bargained for? • Hurt (Comfort Optional): Whether he's hurt, sick, drugged, or just upset, two things remain constant: Liem needs help, and he doesn't want to accept it. But maybe you don't want to fix him anyway; maybe you want to make him worse. • Living a Lie: Whether you're undercover on a mission, or you lied to cover something up and now you have to commit, you're stuck playing a role until you accomplish some secret objective — or until you can shake off your nosy company. • Loss of Control: For whatever reason, one of you is struggling not to go berserk — or perhaps has already failed. If it's Liem, can you help him come back to himself, or are you the one pushing him over the edge? • Out of the Frying Pan: The classic "tried to help someone in trouble, ended up with a new and possibly worse problem" situation. But at least you're in it together! • Priest/Celibacy: Default here is that Liem is the priest, but it could go the other way. Smutty, or just laden with UST? You decide. • Texting: Stupid TFLN-style text threads, my beloved... • Random Scenario: For if none of the above tickle your fancy. contact. Sporelett | info. Link | permissions. Link

CODE BY TESSISAMESS

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🍃 FAKE MARRIED

[lumberlady]

[Konoha was quite pleased with her current contract. Escort a Taldan priest of Abadar on a pilgrimage to Goka? She could do that trip with her eyes closed! ... Not that she would, though, because this priest's church has hired the great Sha Gozen to arrange his passage through the centaur-controlled lands along the way, and Konoha wasn't about to let her boss down or risk tarnishing her reputation amongst the status conscious businessmen of their highway border town. She'd prepared enough food to get them across the plains to the next village with a decent market and inn, they'd avoided any danger along the first leg of their journey and even dodged a storm brewing on the horizon, so as long as they could restock their provisions and get an early start the next morning...

The only problem is... She seems to have lost her charge while haggling over the cost of salted meat and wheat cakes.

Looking around the bazaar, towering over the fewer, non-centaur heads around her, the mare casts about for the priest's silhouette... and doesn't spot him. She lifts her nose, but there's too many scents about in the crowded early evening bustle... and normally she wouldn't be that worried, he was a grown man, she'd just assume that he wandered off attracted by a bargain or an interesting bauble, but there's been so much tension between the various centaur clans lately, and Sha had warned her it was spilling over to how they were treating humans and the other races, too, especially though that were providing business to rivals, so-]

- Father Talbott?

[Konoha calls out for him, retracing her steps through the market and growing more worried by the second. Surely he hadn't been foolish enough to go far on his own? She'd warned him to stick close...

Raising her voice, she tries a different approach, picking up her pace and lifting curtains, peeking into dark stalls, and poking her head into alleyways as she searches.]

Liem?

[sterngaze]

[When the desperate Basilica of the Last Man contracted Oppara’s Abadaran church to recover their temple’s most “sacred” relic—these days the Basilica was a memorial at best, and a tourist attraction at worst—Liem’s superiors had been pleased to accept the gold that the superannuated clergy had managed to unearth from their dwindled coffers. They had promised to send their most experienced Taxmaster to recover the item, proclaiming that he would see it returned even if he had to pursue it halfway across the globe.

He’s sure his colleagues had a good long laugh about that after he’d followed the trail out to sea, heading for the far distant continent of Tian Xia.

Since then, he’s followed the thief from town to village to hamlet, and he’s plotted their most likely destination: Goka, the most thriving trade city on this side of the world, and home to one of Abadar’s most resplendent temples. From what he’s been able to glean from certain locals, it’s also the home of Tian Xia’s largest black market—but he hasn’t been able to learn much more than that. Fortunately, most of the people he’s tried speaking to have spoken at least some dialect of Tien, the only local language he speaks a word of; unfortunately, his grasp of it is rudimentary at best. His ability to grasp nuance in this tongue is almost non-existent, which has made staying on the thief’s trail a gruelling ordeal. In the interests of getting the rest of the way to Goka in good time, he ended up parting with some of the money he brought for his mission in order to hire a guide to take him there on his “pilgrimage.”

So far, he’s found the investment to be a good one. Not only has their progress been swift, but Konoha has proved quite helpful in enlightening him about aspects of the local culture, which he was embarrassingly ignorant of. His only difficulty is in finding moments away from her to ask the occasional question of the locals in towns they pass through; there is every likelihood that he’ll need to kill at least one person when he tracks down his quarry, and if his identity comes to light in the process, he doesn’t want her to be implicated. It’s best if he remains a simple pilgrim to her.

So he slips away for just a moment when she’s haggling for supplies, just around a corner to duck into an open-fronted tavern, its uncluttered interior clearly designed to accommodate four-legged patrons. The man behind the counter is human, and it’s him he approaches with a few questions about a traveller who might have passed this way—or he tries to. He’s interrupted before he can even finish his first query, boxed in against the counter by a pair of rangy centaurs with a bone to pick with… humans? Foreigners? Possibly it’s both, but his command of the language doesn’t allow him to guess, and the centaurs aren’t inclined to explain.]

I’m a priest, [he says hurriedly as one of them looms further into his space. Most of his combat equipment is packed away for now, and he just points at the humble, carved wooden key hanging against his chest.] I’m on business. Ah… <honest?> … Good business.

[lumberlady]

[In the end, what helps Konoha locate her lost charge is not his wide brimmed hat, his distinctive paleness, his height, or his scent, so much as… his boots. While most of his clothing that he’d brought with him across the sea had been appropriate enough for travel across the plains, (even the layers and sort of hat he insisted on even at times she felt it had to be stuffy to dress that way), his boots had been the one thing she’d insisted strongly that he change to the local fashions, and so she’d picked them out herself not long after She Gozen had entrusted her with the job and his care. She’d gone to a leather craftsmen her boss preferred that she entrusted with her own accessory work, so she knows well the sort of hide and stitch…

And those boots are in a tavern. One she knows had a human barkeep depending on the day, so perhaps he’d gone in for some camaraderie… ?

The problem is, those boots (er, the man) are surrounded by eight hard, slightly cracked hooves. Big ones, too, far heavier and taller than her own relatively petite build, even with the distant draft blood of more mountain-dwelling cousins still showing strongly in her frame. Showing fear or hesitation wouldn’t get them anywhere, though, not with the local tribes in this area who preferred strength to wit, and so when Konoha steps into the bar-]

Excuse me!

[Her tone is already scolding, hands on her “hips” before she points at Liem and then points at her own chest as if reminding them of what the smaller man was attempting to show them.]

Where do warriors get off hassling a priest, huh? Leave him be!

[Attention at least successfully diverted to her and away from the Taldan, she draws up to as much height as she’s capable of, switching from the slightly (cutely) accented Common tongue she used with Liem on this journey to her more natural, somewhat rougher Tien dialect.

The problem is… the two males don’t seem very impressed. They size her up, (not foreign, no, but dressed a bit different, the coat of her rump clipped in a pattern unfamiliar), and they have questions. Questions like what a proud centaur was doing sticking up for a shrimp of a man like this one, whom they were just having a nice discussion with… which is accompanied by a heavy, “friendly” cuff about the priest’s head, nearly knocking off hat and glasses in the process.

Prepared for this possibility (and aware that they were armed with rough blades while she only carried a knives for hunting and utility), Konoha pulls away a loose scarf around her neck to reveal the crest emblazoned on her robe, the one that marked Sha Gozen’s business and was used by her employees for safe passage…]

And if I told you that he was under my protection? Under the protection of the great Sha Gozen?

[In other places… that tended to work out very well. Here, when they pull their own scarves aside to flash the crest of one of Sha’s biggest competitors, one she certainly hadn’t expected would have agents out this far from Goka…

Oh. Ohhhhhhh no… She might have made it worse.]

[sterngaze]

[Liem knew as soon as the hooves clomped to a halt around him that he should give up on asking his questions, and start thinking instead about getting back to the market before he ends up bruised and shaken down for everything he's worth. (Well, okay—most of his worth is still sitting back home in business investments, so shaken down for the worth he's brought with him.) His bespectacled gaze flicks with relief over to Konoha as she steps in off the street, and he tries to affect a posture of modest, unthreatening dignity as she scolds his aggressors. Nobody is making an effort to include him in the conversation, and he only catches about every other word, but he has no choice but to trust Konoha to disperse his new "friends."

He just holds his tongue, and adjusts the hat on his head with as much gravity as he can salvage.

He does hear the name Sha Gozen when she displays the crest on her robe, but all it seems to achieve is to change the strange centaurs' attitudes from incredulous to openly predatory. One of them steps forward to place himself between Konoha and her charge, while the one who had cuffed Liem now fists a hand in his collar and hauls him up by the scruff, saying well then, why don't they take a little walk outside? Liem's hands fly up to clutch at the stallion's arm, trying to keep himself from being strangled by his own collar as his boots leave the ground completely.]

[lumberlady]

[A walk outside is bad. A walk outside is very bad.

Despite how innocuous the words sound, they put Konoha into a state verging on panic, even if she does a decent job of clamping down on those emotions and keeping them contained to the quiver of her balled fists and a quick quake in her knobby knees. If they go outside this tavern the superior speed and strength of the two larger centaurs will be even more easily brought to bear, and if they were able to simple gallop off with her charge to their encampment or an unsympathetic village?

Konoha gulps as she repositions herself to try and more fully block the exit, struggling for a solution that didn’t end with violence or a shakedown they couldn’t afford this far from Goka.]

You put him down this instant, he’s-

[Her brain races. Should she claim he’s a far more important Taldan than he actually was? No, that would just make him ripe for kidnapping. How about trying to invoke local law? No, if these men were already the ruffian type then what was the point of that? The only thing that comes to her mind is to rely on a taboo far more intrinsic to their culture—]

He’s my husband!

[Though her skin was darker to match the bay of her coat, the flush of color is still slightly visible when she half-shouts her proclamation, accompanying it with a stomp and kick of a back leg that hits the doorframe of the tavern and rattles loudly, making it all the more shamefully clear that more than half the patrons inside are now shocked into confused and suddenly interested silence. The two rival centaurs, too, are stunned for a moment, the one holding Liem cocking his head while the other looks somewhat disgusted. But before they can open their mouth again she jumps in with a far more important clarification-]

My tent husband!

[There was a difference in the plains centaur thinking between a “tent spouse” and a “war spouse”. Technically, you could even have both if you were a strong enough stallion that could be trusted with keeping them all safe, but what mattered in this moment… is that it was considered shameful and cowardly to hurt a “tent” member of a community, even those of your rival or outright enemy.

And she gambles on it now, attempting to catch her charge’s gaze with a pleading look while the two men are distracted. Is it sacrilege to an Abadar priest? Is it as disgusting an idea to him as it seems to be for at least one of his would be assaulters?

Oh, gods, she doesn’t even know whether to pray that Liem did know that word in Tien or didn’t.

… Actually, shit, she needed him to get in on this act, please know it.]

one royal consort AU coming right up

[leetle]

On a certain day, in a certain kingdom, a carriage makes it way inexorably toward a castle. It is drawn by four horses, with three huge trunks strapped to the top, accompanied by two armed guards, and containing one very small, very blue tiefling. Precious cargo, that much is clear. One of the heavy velvet curtains covering the carriage window shifts aside as she peers through the pain, her freckled nose pressing against the glass as she squints doubtfully at what is to be her new home. It looks pretty gloomy, and the King's new consort has a grim feeling she's going to stick out like a sore thumb here. What if people don't like her?

What if he doesn't like her?

No, she can't bear to think of it.

Before very long at all, they're pulling up to the castle's front steps, and Jester Lavorre, better known as the Sapphire, is escorted down from the carriage. She's dressed all in pale lilac, layers of chiffon and silk ruffles cascading to the floor, the silk bodice with the exposed boning that frames her décolletage like a painting, sheer sleeves that flare out wide before gathering above her wrists. Her curly little horns, her pointed ears, and the toes of her shoes are adorned with clusters of tiny jingle bells. All of this contrasts strikingly with her skin, a very vibrant shade of blue, a shade or two lighter than her hair which falls in ringlets around her shoulders.

She definitely sticks out like a sore thumb.

She's escorted by some fancypants guy or other to the throne room immediately, which has Jester's guts twisting beneath her tightly-laced corset, and for the first time since she was a girl she's a bit worried about fainting. It's really no big deal, she tries to tell herself, she's just a nice gift for this weird king. Nothing strange or unusual is going on here. She just has to keep King Liem company, try to make him smile. That's what her mother had said, anyway. Just be yourself, and he is certain to adore you.

The doors creak open slowly, and Jester takes a deep, shaky breath as she steps through. She really hopes her Mama is right.

[sterngaze]

The last few decades of Liem's reign have seen a long, slow procession of consorts grace the echoing halls of his gorgeously-wrought tomb of a castle. Companions both old and young, male and female, vampire and human have taken up residence in the lavish, ghost-ridden chambers beneath his roof, rarely for more than a year or two before being discarded (though there was one man who made it almost six before he ran afoul of one of the castle's haunts). It's been almost a year since the last consort was sent back home, and the King's next choice has been the subject of gossip all over the country. Thus far, however, the true identity of his intended consort has been kept almost entirely quiet.

The castle is a beautiful, cobbled-together corpse of a building. Its black stone spires and arches hail from another era, worn, tarnished opulence that has gone flat and cold. The seneschal who greets Jester at the door is every bit as desiccated as the castle itself, though he moves with the spry alacrity of a man a mere quarter his age, and his eyes have a bit of a strange yellow look to them. He shows her into a wide throne room that appears at first to be thronging with nobles in finery of all kinds—but a moment's glance shows that only a scattering of people are actually within, most of them pale and still as they talk quietly amongst themselves. All of them look at Jester when she enters, announced by a gargoyle perching above the door:

“The Sapphire, Miss Jester Lavorre!”

At the far end of the throne room, seated on a throne of pale ivory, is a man. He is dressed exquisitely in midnight blue and gold, his clothes tailored in straight lines down his narrow frame. Gold glitters at his ears and the fastenings of his jacket, and in the circlet resting across his brow. His hands are gloved.

When he sees her approaching, he rises from his seat and descends the dais to meet her at the base of the steps. Up close, the king is a pale man of exceedingly average height, with stern, aquiline features and eyes like chips of ice floating in pools of inky black. His manner is effortlessly courteous as he greets her, unbothered by the veiled stares of the assembled court.

“Welcome to my home, Miss Lavorre. I hope your journey was pleasant.”

[leetle]

Jester keeps her chin proudly level as she walks through the strange, pale assortment of people occupying the throne room, her gaze sliding left to right just once before she decides to focus her attention on the man on the throne. She regrets all the bells; they're jarringly loud in the quiet room, and she quickly tries to couch her steps so as to minimize the noise. She watches the King descend from his throne to meet her, trying with all her might not to let her anxiety show in her expression, and when she finally reaches him she dips into a low curtsey, her face bowing before she looks up at him through her lashes, surprised to see the intense blue of his eyes piercing through her.

He's so handsome, she thinks, and so very pale. But his manners are good, not stiff or awkward, and her lips turn up at the corners as she straightens.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. The trip was very nice. It is an honor to be here, and—" She pauses. Was there something else she was supposed to say? "Oh! The Nicodranian Ambassador sends his kind regards."

After all, however unofficial and hush-hush it may have been, her presence here is something of a political affair. She doesn't pay very much attention to politics, but with her mother's position as the highest-paid courtesan on the continent, Jester herself made for quite the glittering prize in any agreement.

[sterngaze]

Liem had heard plenty of things about the Ruby, but even after he agreed to seek the companionship of her daughter to please his advisors, his knowledge of the Sapphire herself continued to be shrouded in mystery and rumour. He can see for himself that she is lovely, in that luscious way that only those in the bloom of life can manage. She certainly has the attention of all of his courtiers, this intriguing, blue little jewel with her assortment of bells. But he wonders what she'd left home expecting, and how much she truly understands about this place. The castle is no place for the faint of heart.

“I will be sure to give him my appreciation when we next meet.”

Liem spares a brief glance for the clusters of ashen faces shooting coy looks their way, speculating in hushed voices about what Jester's arrival will mean for court politics. She'll have to learn to navigate the sea of sharp eyes and cool smiles at some point, but he'd rather not subject her to the whims of his man-eating court right in her first five minutes here. With barely a flicker, he glances back down at her and turns slightly to offer her his arm.

“Might I give you a brief tour? You must be tired of sitting in the same carriage all day.”

[leetle]

Jester has long been considered Nicodranas' best-kept secret; her existence was completely unknown to all but a few souls until her sixteenth year, when she'd been introduced to society at a rather lavish and now-legendary masquerade ball. Nicodranians are fond of pageantry, and Jester is no exception, especially when the potential for mischief arises. Now, at twenty-five, she enjoys a popularity rivaling her mother's as a courtesan, seen only by the wealthy elite. Until now, of course, when she is to be seen only by the King.

She had thought, when moving through the assorted courtiers on her way up here, that she would find it difficult to keep from looking at them all, knowing they would surely all be talking about her. Gossiping, speculating, all of the usual tawdry court nonsense. But now Jester finds that the King's piercing gaze has her quite unable to look away, and she's grateful for it. She bows her head, displaying the petite curves of her horns as she does. "I'd like that very much, Your Majesty."

Arranged Marriage

[greenbriar]

[ It cannot be that bad, Cardan thinks, in the days and weeks prior. It cannot be worse than Elfhame.

He doesn’t say it out loud, because Faeries cannot lie.

He arrives at the manor with a party of significant size; they descend from the sky on carnivorous Faerie horses and giant moths. Some will pitch tents on the manor grounds — the easier to revel into the early hours, to gossip and cement alliances. Cardan and his oldest sister, along with their immediate retinue, settle within the manor itself.

The wedding of a prince, even a disfavoured one, is an extravagant event.

There is a flurry of introductions: lords, ladies, Talbott family members and significant allies, and at some point, at some time– the son of the lord of the manor, whose name is Liem and who looks as weary as Cardan feels.

They all smell faintly of blood, he cannot help but notice. It reminds him of his brother.

Not that it matters. He bows and clasps hands with a courtier’s easy grace, exchanges pleasantries and witty repartees – easy enough to go through the motions when the dance is so familiar. Even so, his gaze keeps returning to Liem, to his pale throat and steady hands.

Cardan wonders if he should try to talk to him. But he can feel the weight of half a dozen expectant gazes on the both of them, and the petty, angry part of him bristles at the thought of giving them the thing they wish for. He gets drunk instead, and when a guard helps him under his lush down duvet later that night, decides that he was right about everything.

It is not worse than Elfhame, despite the weird pang of emptiness in his chest.

The next day, he attends his own wedding. The customs are largely unfamiliar to him. He arrives dressed in black except for his gold-embroidered coat, which is the colour of dried blood. Here, too, his interaction with Liem is scarce; neither of them is the most important person at their own betrothal. Eventually, an officiant has them stare into each other’s faces as he reads off some meaningless words, and then – as per Faerie custom – directs them to move to a private place where they may exchange their vows.

It is only when the door falls shut behind them that Cardan realizes: this is the first time that they have ever been alone.

He has the distinct urge speak, to fill the silence... but he doesn't. Instead, he forces himself to shut his mouth and chase all anxiety from his expression, glad that his twitchy tail is -- as usual -- hidden beneath his clothing, lest it betray his nerves. Even though he does not feel it, his black gaze is languid when he looks into Liem's face.

But then, why shouldn't it be? They are both of noble blood. These sorts of arrangements are laughably common. ]

[sterngaze]

[Liem has never had any desire to marry a prince—especially not as part of a union chosen and arranged by his father. He hadn’t made a secret of this fact to the man, expressing his refusal of this idea in no uncertain terms. But the senior Talbot’s response had been to force his pleasant compliance the direct way, so in retrospect, that conversation had gone about as poorly as it was possible for it to go.

Bound by his sire’s command, Liem is present to receive the Faerie guests with all of the requisite courtesy, if none of the passion that might be expected before a wedding. The manor is prepared to accommodate the swell of Faerie and vampire visitors, and the grounds are transformed from peaceful gardens to a kaleidoscope of partygoers, ornamentation, entertainments and edible delights. The Talbott Estate is no stranger to parties of this kind, but even by Liem’s rather jaded standards the festivities on this occasion seem almost outrageously lavish.

Over the course of the night he makes polite conversation with just about everyone present, except for the prince himself, who seems content to attend to his revels. God knows Liem’s lord father loves a good party, so perhaps this is just the start of a beautiful father–son relationship between them. The thought makes Liem want to drink himself under a table—but he doesn’t. In fact, by the end of the night, he’s one of the few people left completely sober, which leaves him plenty of free time to steal furtive glances at his fiance instead of actually going over and talking to him.

He greets the following evening with apprehension. Tonight he is going to be wed to a man he doesn’t know, whose family the senior Talbott has courted assiduously, and who was presumably weaned on Faerie politics. Given the character of many of his father’s chosen associates, he’s expecting his new spouse to be as slippery as an eel and probably morally bankrupt as well. The esteemed Lord Talbott would never knowingly marry his son to someone he might actually get along with.

The ceremony itself passes in an interminable rush, but Liem—looking like a svelte, immaculately-tailored thundercloud in silver-embroidered black and grey—pastes a confident look on his face and goes through the motions as though it was someone else’s wedding entirely. Like hell is he going to give his father the pleasure of watching him sweat. But once the words are said and libations shared, for all his grudgingly-thorough preparation for this day he finds that once he’s alone with the prince, he suddenly doesn’t know what to say. He looks up at a face as perfect and impassive as a painting, and after a slightly wary pause, he says with a lift of one eyebrow,]

Well. To business, yes?

[greenbriar]

[ Business. Liem isn't wrong -- that is what this is, and it is how Cardan has been treating the whole affair in his mind. Men like them hardly have the luxury of romance, and he'd always known what his eventual match would be like. Perhaps part of him had hoped to like his partner, but what worth have a boy's foolish hopes?

Still; the moment Liem speaks the word -- with the dry cadence of a clerk, at that -- something brittle and angry inside Cardan clicks into place. He smiles: a crooked, sharp thing, without any of the polite polish he had so carefully worn through the proceedings.

He hadn't had a plan for the vows. He'd avoided thinking about them at all. Now-- ]

No.

[ Even though it is just business, even though there is no other name for what their families are doing--

He cannot squash the urge to be contrary, if only in this small way. ]

No, I do not wish to treat my marriage vows as business.

But if we must--

[ Must they? It does not matter. Cardan steps close, closer still, into the other man's physical space. Close enough to breathe his scent, and there it is again -- citrus and the faintest hint of blood. It makes his heart jump in his throat, pang against his ribcage. ]

--then tell me your terms, Liem Talbott.

[ This is, perhaps, an unfair thing to demand, but charity has never been one of Cardan's virtues. ]

[sterngaze]

[As soon as the words leave his mouth, Liem can tell he’s said the wrong thing. Maybe there wasn’t a right thing to say in this context; maybe that sharp, bitter smile was waiting behind Cardan’s expression all evening and he’d been looking for any excuse to set it loose. But the polish wears away in an instant, and Liem’s spine stiffens as the Faerie prince prowls closer to crowd into his space. If not for the ceremonious occasion, he’d think the man was spoiling for a fight.

But today is a poor day for him to use the vampire to blunt his temper. Liem has been wound tight ever since preparations for the festivities began, obliged to play nice with his father’s guests so his investment—which is what Liem is, he’s forced to acknowledge—pays off; he doesn’t feel like being diplomatic while some elf prince makes demands of him, even if the man is meant to be his husband. Especially if he’s meant to be his husband.]

No? [Oh, he is very close now. Close enough for Liem to hear his pulse skittering in his throat; hell, almost close enough to taste. Not that this seems to have given Cardan any pause at all.] What a shame for both of us.

[He’d spent hours of preparation working on his vows for the ceremony. He had them all planned out; they were painstakingly thorough, elegantly worded, precisely considered. He’d been rather proud of them, even. Now he looks up at Cardan, irritation simmering beneath his skin, and decides he doesn’t have the patience for any of that. He just wants this to be over.

(Though even after today it won’t be over, of course. That’s the entire point of a wedding.)]

I, Liem Talbott, commit myself to you, Cardan Greenbriar, as husband. I promise to be honest with you, to keep my word to you, to guard your life as though it were my own, and to respect you in all things as an equal partner for as long as you keep faith with me.

[greenbriar]

[ The vow surprises him. It is both lengthier and more earnest than he would have expected, though the delivery could use some work. But, truthfully, he can hardly blame his groom for a lack of enthusiasm. ]

Those are lovely words.

[ He eyes his groom for a moment, as if committing his face to memory for the first time. Liem is a handsome man -- with strong, noble features, almost as a lord of Faerie might have. Cardan has many complaints, but none concern his prospective husband's looks.

Though he thinks irritation suits Liem better than weariness did. ]

I cannot say mine will be as pretty, for I am bound to the truth.

[ Which is to say -- his faith in Liem leaves much to be desired. It makes Cardan itchy, the knowledge that no matter how earnest his partner sounds, no matter how nice the words are, they are ultimately binding to only one party: Cardan, who cannot make empty promises.

Still: he will reach out to take Liem's hands in his. Cardan's fingers are soft and unblemished -- the hands of someone who has never so much as tacked up his own horse for a leisure ride. It's an incongruously romantic gesture, especially given the absurd situation they are in.

He exhales, and then begins. Even. Measured. ]

I, Cardan, son of Eldred [ who has notably not bothered to attend the wedding, ] take you, Liem Talbott, son of Iago, to be my groom and my husband.

Let us be wed until we grow bored with each other, and wish for ourselves to be otherwise.

[ This is the way of faerie marriages: a promise with an escape clause, meant to last only so long. The fey live long lives, and see little value in squandering them on unenjoyable tasks. ]

HUNTER & HUNTED. 8)

[unforgivable]

— I did warn you, [ the first words he utters, upon their second meeting.

( The first was under friendlier circumstances, after all. A pair of tisane teas, warmed for proper consumption in the crisp, frost-laden airs. Even in the city, the environment had begun to edge towards the wintering side of the season; fresh fruits becoming rarer and rarer in favor of hearty grains, chilled summer meads yielding to the popularity of spiced rums and cinnamon-heavy tonics. They had met at one of the many street stalls, a seemingly chance meeting during an early morning, before the markets had truly woken and the city had converged upon them to fill the gaps in their larders and freshen their winter wardrobes.

He had worn a handsome surcoat, lined with tawny fur and tailored for utility rather than to be ostentatious. Broad shoulders and strong thighs, the line of his stance possessed of the capacity to make a delicate lady swoon with the thought of a predatory man like him come to rummage with strong hands under her petticoats. I didn't think anyone else came here so early, he'd laughed as the other man had approached, as if startled by the idea that his favored haunt for teas and tonics could be appreciated by the palate of anyone else.

He had bought Liem a drink, the same as his own — a lavender-toned tisane the same shade as his eye, toasting winsomely to the city, to those who kept little stalls like his favorite in business, one tea at a time. And they'd spoken, modestly, for an hour and a half about the world. About the people coming into the market, the observances of the day, the brief-and-waveringly-shy brush against the topic of faith, before he had realized the time, seemed to realize his own hesitant unveiling of self to another, and begun to make unpolished excuses.

You're an easy man to approach, Father Talbott. He had said, a half-crooked smile upon his mouth. I think we'll see one another again, soon. ) ]

Father Liem Talbott.

[ He had done his research. Designated the opportune location and time to approach the storied inquisitor in a way that would invite less suspicion, and played up a persona that would naturally be possessed of secrets, behind which the lies would be hidden. Confirming Liem's identity had been the most important step, for all others would follow as the result. From tea stall, to work, from work to home. In the breadth of a single day, he observed the routine of an orderly man — his haunts, his comforts, the citizens most familiar to him and those who knew of him, the posture of his form, the gait of his step — and it was in the evening, in the place he walked most comfortably, that the hunter came to him. ]

You are a very easy man to approach, one might think you were used to serving the sensitive needs of others. Please put your hands behind your head and kneel on the ground. I really don't want to have to damage your handsome face in the process of subduing you. I'd rather do that on purpose.

[ The man in the surcoat, tall and lean as a hunting animal, comes upon him with practiced steps and concise commands. White-haired, with a dark eyepatch covering the left half of his face ( old scars like melted candlewax below it, down the length of his long throat ). A bow at his back, a cruel dagger at his thigh — the predatory gait of one well-practiced in his craft, for he approaches with empty, open hands. ]

I come on behalf of my client, to acquire you and escort you south. I know who to hurt to make you yield to me, and the guards have been paid to look the other way, so I hope you come willingly.

[ Though, by the unearthly gleam in his lavender eye, the thin, golden pupil of something mottled with holy energy, it seems he would not mind it if Liem fought back. Might even find it exciting. ]

[sterngaze]

[From the occasion of their first meeting, Liem presents the very image of modest prosperity and tidy civility. His clothes are handsomely made, but serviceable, and in some places even subtly mended to prolong their useful life; the wool of his long fall coat is an enviable quality and colour, the garment tailored to fit him perfectly, though the style has started to fall a little out of fashion. The wink of gemstones at his ears suggests luxury, but the practical make of his boots says that he spends his days on his feet.

Though that much, his new acquaintance could surely tell just by staying on his tail.

Liem likes his early morning visits to the market. The vendors all know him by sight; he is a regular, and no matter how late in the year and how dark the mornings become, he is never without his dark lenses when he visits. He enjoys perusing the day's first offerings in peace before he turns his attention to other matters, and has made more than a few canny deals as a result of his familiarity with the flow of the city's commerce. It is pleasure and business both to him; it is also one way that he finances his particular favourite frivolities on the rather unexciting salary of a working inquisitor.

For him, the interlude with the stranger is a pleasant way to begin his work day. He has the foreign speech of one who has travelled far to arrive here, which is always of interest to Liem. Also of interest is the generous way his shoulders fill out his coat, and the burnt look of the skin not covered by the patch hiding his eye. But he does not think that he will seek the man's company again, even if they cross paths.

It is not his habit to pursue relationships with those he has no business with.

Of course, the man is right. Hours later, after visitations to other businesses, to his temple, to the homes and haunts of those in need of a polite visit from their neighbourhood taxmaster, they do see each other again — and the chill that settles in Liem's gut at the word acquire outstrips any that the cooling season has to offer. Behind the round lenses of his sunglasses, his eyes flicker about — looking for accomplices, assessing the streets around them.

He does not wish to know who the man would harm, in order to coerce his cooperation. He has no kin, no partner or children or childhood companions — deliberately, he has kept things thus. If there is someone else whom a hired blade imagines he might betray some special fondness for, he has no want to prove him right. So he does not bother to even deny the assertion, doesn't dare entertain it for a single second; instead, as the hunter advances on him with empty hands, Liem picks a route with which he is well familiar.

And he runs.]

[unforgivable]

[ Actually, he's glad when they do not listen. When they run, it is a challenge — an exciting thing that brings up all sorts of urges within him, to stalk, to rush, to pin down, to hear them gasping for breath and maybe, maybe. If he's lucky, they might even cry. Not that he thinks his most recent target is the type to cry. He has one of those faces that would look good doing it, though. Maybe he'll set it as a personal challenge. One of those little things people do, when they are infinitely alone and only have their own limits to challenge.

As Liem takes off, wordless and driven, the hunter counts to three.

One. His fingers drumming upon the width of his leg; dark breeches form-fitted and tailored to the broad muscle, the lean sweep of his calf tucked within worn leather boots that hug him from ankle to knee. He rocks to his toes, a sprinter preparing for the reverberating blast that signals the start of the race.

Two. The assessment of route. Where will Liem Talbott go next? Will he dive into a crowd? Not likely, as the idea of him is one who avoids others, as unreliant on the compassion of others as he was unwilling to give room to foster connections. Yet, the hunter has no doubts that were he to pluck a particular type of stranger off the street and threaten them ( a child, most likely; people tend to have such vulnerabilities when observing a child in peril — ), he might regain control.

Three. He pursues.

Liem is just out of range, but not entirely out of sight. And perhaps, with abilities such as his, the priest might feel a sensation grip him. It might feel like the tightening of noose around his throat, manacles around his wrists, a knee in the small of his spine as weight bears down upon him, the fixation of something watching him unseen in the dead of night — predatory, marking him. He will feel the weight of a hunter's gaze sinking into his person. ( The casting, maybe, of a spell. ) He does not rush upon Liem immediately, following at a healthy clip behind him instead.

Toying with him, really. Fucking sadist. He wants to know what he'll do, after all. ]

[sterngaze]

[Vaati is right to suppose that Liem wouldn't seek safety among a crowd. When he flees, it is in search of distance, not citizenry; he takes off down the road like a startled hare — with a spry alacrity almost reminiscent of one, and decidedly beyond what one might expect from an ordinary man.

Of course, chances are that his pursuer already knows quite well that Liem isn't an ordinary man at all; if his quiet observation had not informed him of such, then surely the description given by his client would have. He is a troublesome quarry, like a speedy little bug that's liable to disappear into a crack given the slightest chance. In this case, it's likely for the best if the man hired to acquire him isn't above relying on underhanded tactics to come out ahead.

Liem feels the weight of magic upon him as a prickling at the back of his neck, and spares only a glance back at the larger man as he races for an intersection, the heavy fabric of his coat snapping behind him like a ship's sail. Ahead, a side street slices through the row of shops crowding his escape. His booted footsteps rattle on the cobbles as he careens around the corner, leaving businesses behind for modest townhouses that march down towards a canal further on.

But he doesn't have any immediate interest in the houses, or in the canal. As soon as Liem turns the corner and leaves the hunter's line of sight, he grasps the silver key pinned to his coat and growls a short incantation. Magic blooms around him for just an instant; then, the shimmer of it fades and takes him with it, leaving no hint of his position but for the scuff of hurrying boots on stone, the rustling of his clothes, and the harsh rhythm of his breaths.]

[unforgivable]

[ To turn a corner and find no trace of one's quarry could be startling, to some. To him, it is enticement — temptation, flirtation, challenge, a crooked finger and surreptitious smile — of the highest degree; he's a rotten sort of man, after all. And an experienced tracker, be his prey mundane or magically gifted. The priest has managed to throw him off the visual trail, forcing him to be reliant on his other skills and abilities. So, he rapidly concludes that the man has either managed to teleport a distance away using a skill or artifact on his person, or has used either of the same to render himself unseen by the naked eye.

It's a logical leap, and Vaati is unwilling to let the lack of visual lock harry him. Instead, he comes around that corner, takes stock of what's missing, and begins to turn to his other senses: his mouth parting and tongue briefly curling as he inhales deeply to scent the air, his hunting mark thrumming faintly to aid his stupidly good passive perception ( an 18 of all things ), his ears listening out for scrabbling and scraping. He playacts at being lost, though; dives into the crowd with a furious sort of energy, head dipping and darting as if to sort through the bodies and locate the one that's his.

It carries him a little distance from the invisible(?) priest, giving the man some extra distance — the likes of which Vaati would love him to feel reassured by, as his form, too, vanishes from sight. Swallowed by the ebb and flow of the crowd alongside the canal, the hustle and bustle of carts laden with high-seated crates and goods, jostling elbows and waterfront workers weaving to and fro. The hunter also vanishes from view, seemingly frustrated by his loss — ]

oops all kenos au ft. set's continued odyssey in taldor

[redsoil]

[ We're just going to say that Meridian won and the world(s) are a bit Frankenstein-y and never will be 100% back to normal or uniquely whole, but ultimately an acceptably imperfect conclusion that everyone has to grapple with the weight of in their own time. Yippee! Continued conflict for our emotions. Egypt's back ( and the only piece of "his" world that made it because Set probably went feral for its existence at the end of Kenos ), but he's also taking a sabbatical in Liem's neck of the woods because they need to figure out their relationship ( shock gasp awe ) before anyone fucks off and damages something irreparably. They are both the type to interpret things in the most depressing and self-flagellating way, ESPECIALLY YOU, FATHER TALBOTT.

Which brings them to where they are now.

With Set, arms full of sun-warmed laundry, finding his way into a seat close to Liem to dutifully fold up linens and tidy up any creases and folds in the fabric with a small fire-heated iron. The act itself is casual, habitual, perhaps even intensely domestic as he works around fine embroidery and buttons, testing them for give and monitoring the seams for wear and tear. While he can't tailor worth shit, running them out to one is the sort of mundane act he actually enjoys. One shoulder hikes high, as he leans his body's weight against Liem's side — the precursor towards a conversation, maybe.

( Knowing Set, it's a doozy of one. )

]

— I apologize for my belligerence, at the end.

[ Set, you probably had a paranoia explosion and yelled "I would burn all your worlds to kindle mine" at Meridian, and "I will never let you go" at Liem in particular. It sounded a lot like a manifesto from Silco, and nobody liked your freaky extremism. Ruby was probably chill with it, but everyone else?? BAD MOVE. Also, fun meta: Meridian and Zenith probably still exist in the rekindled worlds, just for a traumatic reminder and mechanics and lingering pockets of resistance. ]

I could blame Meridian, but it only brought out what was already within me. In my head, I knew that we could be parted at the time of victory. I was ready for it. Yet, my heart was unwilling to accept your potential absence.

[sterngaze]

[Being back home after the world-ending turmoil of the past couple years is a strange experience. It is strange because Liem is a different man now than he was when he left, and because the country he has returned to is not in the same state that he remembered. Schemes have flared up and been quelled in his absence; the princess he’d once served is now Empress. And although Taldor’s slow-moving bureaucracy meant that his death had not yet been officially processed and reclaiming his possessions had been mostly straightforward, he now finds himself somewhat at loose ends, temporarily between duties as the land of the living finds a place to work him in.

So it is that he has returned to his old townhouse in Oppara’s Canal Row district, trying to make the place feel lived-in again, laundering and sorting and casting a keen eye over clothes he hasn’t worn in years. It’s the kind of mundane, domestic chore he’d also done all the time in Kenos, but the change of scenery has it suddenly feeling strange.

But perhaps his company has something to do with that. Whatever end he had envisioned when seeking Meridian’s victory and the return of their lost worlds, Liem had never imagined Set in his home, his true home, helping him do laundry.]

Belligerence doesn’t trouble me. [What else should he expect from a god of chaos, of storms, of war? It is natural that Set’s tempests should scour those around him, and anyway, his passion is one of the things about him that Liem finds lovely. But he does frown still, and though his eyes stay on the laundry spread out before him.] Only, it was… [frightening] unsettling, to feel like it might all come undone at the last moment.

[To feel like he might in some way be the impetus for such betrayal, and to contemplate a future in which he was more pet than anything else, robbed of the purpose he’d chosen for himself. That very future is one he’s come to dread; he does not think he would hate it less if, in this future, his master was someone he loved.]

[redsoil]

[ Once, Set had a wife. Nephthys had been the woman he'd yearned for, as far back as he could remember; marrying her had been both the realization of his love for her, as well as a shackle that Osiris had signed off on the creation of — because he'd needed to ensure Set was kept close. That Set was kept rooted to a given variable, a family that he would feel responsible for and love. Osiris had coveted ownership of him, and in a terrible way, Set — whom had always sought independence and functioned under his own will — had taken a similar, desperate stance towards Liem at the end.

The hot, ugly thing inside of him was half-mad with it. And he'd used the language and felt what Osiris must have felt towards him, when he'd spoken so blisteringly toward the other man. Now, he was stewing in it. The understanding of what Osiris must have felt. The horror of it. The way he'd been willing to inflict that same horror on the man whom been utterly undeserving of it. He says as much, to Liem, with his thumbs working along a stitched seam for want of something to do — a subtle tic, in his own discomfort. ]

I had thought from the start that I had found you only so that I would lose you later. That I had come to want to love you, because I knew I would miss you terribly. I was ready to one day part...

[ It is the way of a god, to adore a mortal so passionately while also understanding it was impermanent. ]

But in that moment, it was like an abyss opened inside of me. I wanted to swallow you whole.

[sterngaze]

[Liem frowns down at the laundry he’s folding, scowling fretfully at it instead of at the man beside him. He doesn’t want to direct such a frown at Set, who has been so faithful and devoted to him. Even though his actions nearing the cycle’s end had shaken Liem, and made him fearful of Set in a way he had rarely felt the need to be.

He did not want to be swallowed. Even the part of Liem that had always secretly wished to be so desperately desired shrank back from it, because this was the opposite of what he had silently, selfishly yearned for in his more wistful moments. He had wanted to be desired enough by someone that they might sacrifice something important to be with him; instead, it was something important to Liem that was placed on the altar. He had been important, desired, but only in the way a prized possession was.

He realized he did not want this kind of love: this desperate, destructive thing. It was disillusioning, degrading. It flew in the face of trust.]

The more I considered it, the more sure I was that in order for us to stay together, at least one of us would need to lose something precious. So I knew we would have to part eventually.

[The thought had lived uneasily in him, had made him feel terribly lonely as the end approached and he couldn’t help but contemplate it, but he had accepted it as truth. In the end, it would still be worth it. He would still have loved and been loved, and that was more than he ever thought to have, no matter how many lifetimes he ended up living.

Now he does glance over, though only at Set’s hands. Warm, beloved, dangerous hands.]

If things had gone as you said… I don’t think either of us would have been happy.

[redsoil]

[ As dear as Liem was to him, in that place, he was not someone who would love Set forever. The closest that he would have had to that would have been Quetzalcoatl, or perhaps: Amos, at the end of all things. It was Liem he had wanted, though. Pursued with a single-mindedness and a bold desire that had surprised even him with its fervor; the hunger that had possessed him toward the end, he feared, was not solely the work of Meridian's brilliance within him. It was some deficit within his soul, as well. Like his brother, he was just as poisonous while in love. Now, he reaps the simmering mistrust and guilt between them, despite that the imperfect, living world created in their wake presented them with the best future for their affections.

Set cannot bring himself to reach out to Liem's hands, working dutifully on the laundry. His fingers visibly twitch, as if he yearns to seize the other man. Considering the topic of their conversation, it doesn't seem appropriate to do so just yet. Instead, he twists his fingers into the seams of cloth a little harder, like he might tear them apart in his strange, violent state of honesty. ]

I knew that, too. My affections for you were given with that in mind, of course.

[ That was the responsibility he had toward their relationship: to not lose perspective on that, even as he'd given so much of his heart and trust to the man seated alongside him. ]

— Liem, I am glad it did not come to pass in such a way. It is one thing to understand what will be faced when things come to an end, and another to be genuinely faced with that end. [ In the end, was it any wonder if was Meridian? Defiant of endings, willing to claw and bite to revive that which he wanted? ] I fear that I could have deluded myself into being perfectly happy with the outcome that made you most miserable.

[ After all, he was a great deceiver. None better an example than when he'd ruled Egypt, and pretended to be powerful, tyrannical, untouchable by all things; best at deceiving himself, really. Set's jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as he frowns deeply. The self-reflection he pours forth is an ugly view of his depths, perhaps even a self-abusive openness of his greatest faults and the true hideousness of his mien. That he feels he has to remind Liem of his worst traits, before he broaches any further question of whether they — still could be anything to one another. ]

The fact is that I considered it. And I am sorry. And I worry now that your fear might outweigh your love.