Despite Veitaru’s seemed haste, Zephyrus made no efforts to keep her pace.
He followed at his own, leisurely tempo, a good few feet behind her: “The sea need not rush to meet the shore,” he’d reasoned.
Archer walked in his shadow, arms folded as he accompanied his brother in silence… or at least, that had been the plan, anyway.
“I’m ignoring you, by the way,” Archer had eventually informed his older sibling.
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything? Like sorry, maybe.”
Zephyrus contemplated this for a moment, “I was enjoying the peace.”
Archer paused, frowned for a few long moments, and then relented and chuckled lightly.
“You’re a pain, you know that?”
“One day you’ll learn that not every problem can be solved by bitterness. If I teach you one thing, let it be that.”
“Yeah, well… being a push over won’t help anything, either.”
“And I am neither, nor,” Zephyrus assured him, before turning back to look at Veitaru, and readjusting his scarf.
“I try to adapt to every new situation, there is no guaranteed path. To achieve success, we must-”
“Let me guess: Be like water?”
Zephyrus nodded sagely.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m more of a ‘flaming fists’ type of guy.”
Zephyrus shook his head, “One day you will understand that the water is a metaphor. The same could be said of air: It’s all about being malleable. Violence will not resolve every situation.”
“But neither will playing it peaceful!”
“And that is why I carry a weapon.”
“… ah,” Archer nodded, “Speak softly and carry a big stick. I can get behind that.”
“If, indeed, that is how you must view it.”
“Haha, look at me: I’m a veritable zen-guy. When do I get my guandao?”
“… perhaps you should go back to ignoring me, brother.”
“Can do!”
The two lapsed back into silence, and continued on their path to the graveyard.
Captain Jenno Member
Waltzing for Zizi
STATUS: "Gee Sam, this seems like the kinda case that requires the gentle, safe-cracking touch of the sociopathic, sausage-fingered freelance police." 9 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Captain Jenno
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 809 (0.20 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Captain Jenno 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
ButtsnBalls
Status
Recent Statuses
9 yrs ago
Current
"Gee Sam, this seems like the kinda case that requires the gentle, safe-cracking touch of the sociopathic, sausage-fingered freelance police."
1
like
9 yrs ago
Blue in Dallas
Bio
Rain pattered dismally against the office’s windows, made liquid brass by the faint glow of the streetlamps below, and streaked against the glass like tears. Once, the words “Jennofski & Jennofski” had been painted in gold across these jalouises… but now there was only an outline, a ghost that had lingered, long past its time, when the acid rain had taken the rest to its grave.
The Octo P.I. could sympathise with that.
But as long as he remained, those names would never be forgotten. Not in this, the office that had been his home, his sanctuary, and his prison.
A perfectly preserved memory, kept sealed within the bell jar of personal tragedy.
OctoP.I. sighed, deeply.
“Of all the octopode's profiles in all the world… you had to read mine.”
Hi all, Jenno here! Or Captain. I'm your resident blues harpist, and part time octopode! (But let's keep that between you and me, eh? Nobody suspects a thing.)
If you want to know anything just drop me a line via DMs and I'll get right back to you!
The Octo P.I. could sympathise with that.
But as long as he remained, those names would never be forgotten. Not in this, the office that had been his home, his sanctuary, and his prison.
A perfectly preserved memory, kept sealed within the bell jar of personal tragedy.
OctoP.I. sighed, deeply.
“Of all the octopode's profiles in all the world… you had to read mine.”
Hi all, Jenno here! Or Captain. I'm your resident blues harpist, and part time octopode! (But let's keep that between you and me, eh? Nobody suspects a thing.)
If you want to know anything just drop me a line via DMs and I'll get right back to you!
Most Recent Posts
Oliver was well aware that his team mates were saying something, as he climbed slowly out of his chair, and stepped gingerly over Kira’s toppled form.
Hell, he imagined he probably even knew what it was: “Oliver, what’s going on? What’s that on screen, Oliver?”
Oh yes, he knew: But he didn’t hear it.
No, as he threw his eyes up onto the Moderator’s logo, the only sound he heard was the thundering of his heart in his chest; The relentless pounding of adrenaline as it surged through his veins like lifeblood, and the rattle of his hurried breath as it quaked his ribcage in short bursts.
This was it. This was their time.
He lurched and staggered unsteadily over to the opening wall platform, in silence, with his chest constricting and his eyes obscured by the glare of his glasses.
Then, he leaned against the sliding wall panel, rigid and still as the door slowly slid aside, to reveal the secret HQ had dared not speak of…
It was a corridor.
A sleek, black tunnel: Long, trim and extending further than the eye could fathom, as though it were the base of a fallen skyscraper.
All four surfaces were gleaming ebony, lustrous as a maiden’s hair and prettified further by the addition of deep, pulsating grooves of golden light, streaking across the hall like the burning flakes of dawn and fading slowly into the dark distance.
This was a thing of myth to most, a network through which people- converted momentarily into data- could travel hundreds of miles in moments.
An artery, fed through the heart of every major city in secret.
“An Ethernet Corridor,” Oliver breathed.
And then he knew what they had to do.
A few seconds passed, before Oliver pushed off of the wall, and heaved a few deep breaths, steadying himself, and his vitals.
Then, he turned to his friends, and took a resolute stance, slamming his foot into the floor in the process.
“What’s going on?”, he parroted, clearly fighting still to keep his voice from shaking.
“We’re Moderators is what’s going on,” he began, shrugging off his leather jacket and dropping it to the floor behind him, revealing his sicklier frame in a little more thorough a light.
Then, he lifted his arm skywards, revealing his Initialiser, which was exuding a faint red aura, “And we just got our first job.”
He then lifted his other arm horizontally, placing two fingers against his Initialiser’s touchscreen, on which a light-red power symbol lingered, glowing softly, fading in and out.
“Moderators? It’s time to log in!”
”Initialiser Activated: Issue Voice Command.”
“Red 101, Logging In!”
And with that, Oliver was gone.
Or at least, his features were: From his wrist there spread a searing red light, so very bright and pure that it seemed almost to make the shadows of their headquarters cringe upon their retreat…
And it engulfed him, his body made smooth and featureless, like a doll not yet painted: Glowing as though filled with energy, and levitating just a few inches from the ground.
Oliver found himself floating in the ceaseless void: A black space, extending into the infinite and unnervingly motionless, and still.
At first, there was nothing.
And then, there was everything.
From seeming nowhere they came: Streams of data, of binary, code and captcha, flowing past him in all directions.
Every single IM, every phone call, text message and key stroke was here: All in the form of number upon number, surging past and tinted- for him at least- in a very vivid red.
Then, it started to disintegrate, crumbling before his eyes and taking the form of small, red, translucent cubes: Pixels, the building blocks of all data.
And they sped to him, and lingered, orbiting him like water does a maelstrom.
This, too, was momentary: Soon, they’d begun to rush together, clustering around him and thriving like one large, moving organism.
Suddenly, Oliver found himself stripped bare, before the pixels overwhelmed his form, surrounding him and spreading, filling him with warmth.
In moments, he found himself in a silken red suit: Strong enough to deflect bullets, and yet so thin as to be mobile.
Then, a gauntlet in two parts formed at either end of his left hand, and hovered there a while, before clamping suddenly and down sealing itself shut around each digit: The same happened to his right hand, and then his boots formed in a similar manner.
Oliver turned his head, and wiggled his fingers very faintly: There was a warm sensation in each of them, a tingling…
And then suddenly, euphoria. A surge of total ecstasy passed through him, climbing up his spine and arching his back.
Oliver threw his head back, as a red visor formed across his eyes, and clamped itself around his ears.
When he lowered his head again, this moment of intensity finally passing, he found that- now- all the data made sense…
Now, he was a Moderator.
In one hand, a brassic, basket-hilted broadsword formed slowly from data of a bluer persuasion, and in the other, a familiar looking Hookshot made its presence known.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was all over…
Oliver dropped to the floor, fully clothed in his new Moderator’s gear: The whole transformation had taken only seconds, but done him years of good.
As Oliver got back to his feet, it became clear he’d been empowered: The Moderator’s Suit would raise its wearers strength to up to twenty times their average, and render them fit and quicker for it.
He grabbed his leather jacket as he got up, throwing it back on over his newly acquired outfit, adding a nice contrast to the bright red of his garb.
Then, he took off his glasses- the visor correcting his sight- and put them into his pocket, before turning to face his team again.
“Moderators, follow me,”
And with that, he backed into the Ethernet corridor, and was gone in a bright flash of golden light.
Hell, he imagined he probably even knew what it was: “Oliver, what’s going on? What’s that on screen, Oliver?”
Oh yes, he knew: But he didn’t hear it.
No, as he threw his eyes up onto the Moderator’s logo, the only sound he heard was the thundering of his heart in his chest; The relentless pounding of adrenaline as it surged through his veins like lifeblood, and the rattle of his hurried breath as it quaked his ribcage in short bursts.
This was it. This was their time.
He lurched and staggered unsteadily over to the opening wall platform, in silence, with his chest constricting and his eyes obscured by the glare of his glasses.
Then, he leaned against the sliding wall panel, rigid and still as the door slowly slid aside, to reveal the secret HQ had dared not speak of…
It was a corridor.
A sleek, black tunnel: Long, trim and extending further than the eye could fathom, as though it were the base of a fallen skyscraper.
All four surfaces were gleaming ebony, lustrous as a maiden’s hair and prettified further by the addition of deep, pulsating grooves of golden light, streaking across the hall like the burning flakes of dawn and fading slowly into the dark distance.
This was a thing of myth to most, a network through which people- converted momentarily into data- could travel hundreds of miles in moments.
An artery, fed through the heart of every major city in secret.
“An Ethernet Corridor,” Oliver breathed.
And then he knew what they had to do.
A few seconds passed, before Oliver pushed off of the wall, and heaved a few deep breaths, steadying himself, and his vitals.
Then, he turned to his friends, and took a resolute stance, slamming his foot into the floor in the process.
“What’s going on?”, he parroted, clearly fighting still to keep his voice from shaking.
“We’re Moderators is what’s going on,” he began, shrugging off his leather jacket and dropping it to the floor behind him, revealing his sicklier frame in a little more thorough a light.
Then, he lifted his arm skywards, revealing his Initialiser, which was exuding a faint red aura, “And we just got our first job.”
He then lifted his other arm horizontally, placing two fingers against his Initialiser’s touchscreen, on which a light-red power symbol lingered, glowing softly, fading in and out.
“Moderators? It’s time to log in!”
”Initialiser Activated: Issue Voice Command.”
“Red 101, Logging In!”
And with that, Oliver was gone.
Or at least, his features were: From his wrist there spread a searing red light, so very bright and pure that it seemed almost to make the shadows of their headquarters cringe upon their retreat…
And it engulfed him, his body made smooth and featureless, like a doll not yet painted: Glowing as though filled with energy, and levitating just a few inches from the ground.
Oliver found himself floating in the ceaseless void: A black space, extending into the infinite and unnervingly motionless, and still.
At first, there was nothing.
And then, there was everything.
From seeming nowhere they came: Streams of data, of binary, code and captcha, flowing past him in all directions.
Every single IM, every phone call, text message and key stroke was here: All in the form of number upon number, surging past and tinted- for him at least- in a very vivid red.
Then, it started to disintegrate, crumbling before his eyes and taking the form of small, red, translucent cubes: Pixels, the building blocks of all data.
And they sped to him, and lingered, orbiting him like water does a maelstrom.
This, too, was momentary: Soon, they’d begun to rush together, clustering around him and thriving like one large, moving organism.
Suddenly, Oliver found himself stripped bare, before the pixels overwhelmed his form, surrounding him and spreading, filling him with warmth.
In moments, he found himself in a silken red suit: Strong enough to deflect bullets, and yet so thin as to be mobile.
Then, a gauntlet in two parts formed at either end of his left hand, and hovered there a while, before clamping suddenly and down sealing itself shut around each digit: The same happened to his right hand, and then his boots formed in a similar manner.
Oliver turned his head, and wiggled his fingers very faintly: There was a warm sensation in each of them, a tingling…
And then suddenly, euphoria. A surge of total ecstasy passed through him, climbing up his spine and arching his back.
Oliver threw his head back, as a red visor formed across his eyes, and clamped itself around his ears.
When he lowered his head again, this moment of intensity finally passing, he found that- now- all the data made sense…
Now, he was a Moderator.
In one hand, a brassic, basket-hilted broadsword formed slowly from data of a bluer persuasion, and in the other, a familiar looking Hookshot made its presence known.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was all over…
Oliver dropped to the floor, fully clothed in his new Moderator’s gear: The whole transformation had taken only seconds, but done him years of good.
As Oliver got back to his feet, it became clear he’d been empowered: The Moderator’s Suit would raise its wearers strength to up to twenty times their average, and render them fit and quicker for it.
He grabbed his leather jacket as he got up, throwing it back on over his newly acquired outfit, adding a nice contrast to the bright red of his garb.
Then, he took off his glasses- the visor correcting his sight- and put them into his pocket, before turning to face his team again.
“Moderators, follow me,”
And with that, he backed into the Ethernet corridor, and was gone in a bright flash of golden light.
Oh my God don't let KitKat hear you say that.
“One small meeting with the dirt won’t make it blunt,” Archer answered in Zephyrus’ stead, getting to his feet again.
He chuckled, “Besides, it’s mostly there for show: Zeph here’s one of those neutral-types.”
“I’m a none-lethalist whenever it is an option,” Zephyrus explained, withdrawing his weapon and returning it to its resting place on his back, “The Sheikah are not a race that revel in bloodshed and chaos.”
“You aren’t a race that revel in many things,” Archer observed.
“Oh, so you’re no longer a Sheikah, are you not?”
“It’s no longer convenient, so no.”
Zephyrus closed his eyes and exhaled, “You test me,” he sighed.
Archer nodded, grinning.
Both fell silent again as Veitaru spoke of her plight, though, and of how one fairy had asked her to retrieve another.
That, alone, was enough to spark up some concern betwixt the siblings: Zephyrus turned to Archer with a thoughtful frown, and Archer reciprocated thoroughly.
Zephyrus knew of few incidents in which a fairy had willingly approached another species, and none that had ended favourably for said fairy: Because, of course, their healing properties were so potent that they were immediately captured, and sold.
Archer, too, knew this well: He’d once been in competition with a fairy salesman, and he’d been a most unsavoury character.
For these reasons, neither brother had ever much favoured their use.
Still, no major alarms had been rung yet: There was a mild disconcertment between them, but it seemed miniscule. They returned to Veitaru.
"I mean, what am I supposed to say? Hey, I've just met you, but you wanna come play in the Shadow Temple because a fairy threatened me to get you there?"
They then both immediately turned to one another again.
In a rare display of overt emotion, Zephyrus’ eyes widened suddenly, and Archer’s face dropped into a fearful scowl: In the same breathe, both spoke.
“The Shadow Temple?”
Then, without missing a beat, Archer turned, and began walking away.
“Byyye!”
Zephyrus reached out, and caught him by the collar of his jacket: Archer struggled against his grip.
“Hey, let me go!”
“And where is it you believe you’re going?”
“I know where I’m not going, and that’s The Shadow Temple!”
“And who says we’re going to The Shadow Temple?”
Eventually, Archer stopped, nodding as he came back to his senses.
“Yeah… yeah, you’re right. No need for us to go make a house call.”
"…And after THAT, I'm supposed to find a reliable Shiekah wearing a cream colored scarf and a guy with mahogany eyes, dark hair, who's a trickster. Last I was in town there were like, what, three or four Shiekah still around and none of them are what I'd call respectable, stupid twins... And on the other spectrum, there are so many tricksters in this town that I'll probably never find the right one!"
“… byyye!”
“Get back here.”
“Let go of me, I am not getting involved in this!”
“By the Goddess, are you not a performer? Can’t you at least act brave?”
“Oh yeah, I’m a performer alright! I’m a magician, in fact! Let me go, and I’ll disappear.”
“I’m not going to do that, Archer. You can’t solve every problem by running from it.”
“Maybe not, but you could at least let me try!”
Zephyrus’ grip remained steadfast, and- after a few moments of unenthused struggling, Archer sighed.
“Fine, fine… but I am not ‘tricky’. I’m crafty, like a fox.”
“You’re amoral, like the snake.”
“Snakes’re cool, too.”
Zephyrus hesitated, opened his mouth to comment, then decided it was better not to waste his time, and returned to Veitaru.
“I’m afraid we haven’t any formal training in the tracking of fairies. However- if I might be so bold- I believe you may have found your Sheikah, and your trickster, too. But… I fear we may need more to go on.”
Archer folded his arms unhappily, his mouth slanted into a half-frown. He knew little of The Shadow Temple, and it still unnerved him…
He knew Zephyrus knew more, too, and couldn’t quite imagine how he remained so calm.
In truth, calm was not the word for it, although there was barely unrest beneath Zephyrus’ cool exterior, either.
The Shadow Temple, to the Hylians, seemed to be some sort of curiosity: To them, it was all they’d ever know in regards to the Sheikah.
Their places of worship, their architecture, their culture…
But for a Sheikah, The Shadow Temple meant something different: It was an ill omen, spoken of rarely and never in a favourable light.
Although the nature of these omens changed from Sheikah to Sheikah, their themes were recurrent: The Shadow Temple was a place of death, a burrow for an evil so old that even they did not truly understand it.
A secret even they did not possess.
And that terrified them… and fascinated them.
“Tell me… could you lead us to this first fairy you spoke of?”
He chuckled, “Besides, it’s mostly there for show: Zeph here’s one of those neutral-types.”
“I’m a none-lethalist whenever it is an option,” Zephyrus explained, withdrawing his weapon and returning it to its resting place on his back, “The Sheikah are not a race that revel in bloodshed and chaos.”
“You aren’t a race that revel in many things,” Archer observed.
“Oh, so you’re no longer a Sheikah, are you not?”
“It’s no longer convenient, so no.”
Zephyrus closed his eyes and exhaled, “You test me,” he sighed.
Archer nodded, grinning.
Both fell silent again as Veitaru spoke of her plight, though, and of how one fairy had asked her to retrieve another.
That, alone, was enough to spark up some concern betwixt the siblings: Zephyrus turned to Archer with a thoughtful frown, and Archer reciprocated thoroughly.
Zephyrus knew of few incidents in which a fairy had willingly approached another species, and none that had ended favourably for said fairy: Because, of course, their healing properties were so potent that they were immediately captured, and sold.
Archer, too, knew this well: He’d once been in competition with a fairy salesman, and he’d been a most unsavoury character.
For these reasons, neither brother had ever much favoured their use.
Still, no major alarms had been rung yet: There was a mild disconcertment between them, but it seemed miniscule. They returned to Veitaru.
"I mean, what am I supposed to say? Hey, I've just met you, but you wanna come play in the Shadow Temple because a fairy threatened me to get you there?"
They then both immediately turned to one another again.
In a rare display of overt emotion, Zephyrus’ eyes widened suddenly, and Archer’s face dropped into a fearful scowl: In the same breathe, both spoke.
“The Shadow Temple?”
Then, without missing a beat, Archer turned, and began walking away.
“Byyye!”
Zephyrus reached out, and caught him by the collar of his jacket: Archer struggled against his grip.
“Hey, let me go!”
“And where is it you believe you’re going?”
“I know where I’m not going, and that’s The Shadow Temple!”
“And who says we’re going to The Shadow Temple?”
Eventually, Archer stopped, nodding as he came back to his senses.
“Yeah… yeah, you’re right. No need for us to go make a house call.”
"…And after THAT, I'm supposed to find a reliable Shiekah wearing a cream colored scarf and a guy with mahogany eyes, dark hair, who's a trickster. Last I was in town there were like, what, three or four Shiekah still around and none of them are what I'd call respectable, stupid twins... And on the other spectrum, there are so many tricksters in this town that I'll probably never find the right one!"
“… byyye!”
“Get back here.”
“Let go of me, I am not getting involved in this!”
“By the Goddess, are you not a performer? Can’t you at least act brave?”
“Oh yeah, I’m a performer alright! I’m a magician, in fact! Let me go, and I’ll disappear.”
“I’m not going to do that, Archer. You can’t solve every problem by running from it.”
“Maybe not, but you could at least let me try!”
Zephyrus’ grip remained steadfast, and- after a few moments of unenthused struggling, Archer sighed.
“Fine, fine… but I am not ‘tricky’. I’m crafty, like a fox.”
“You’re amoral, like the snake.”
“Snakes’re cool, too.”
Zephyrus hesitated, opened his mouth to comment, then decided it was better not to waste his time, and returned to Veitaru.
“I’m afraid we haven’t any formal training in the tracking of fairies. However- if I might be so bold- I believe you may have found your Sheikah, and your trickster, too. But… I fear we may need more to go on.”
Archer folded his arms unhappily, his mouth slanted into a half-frown. He knew little of The Shadow Temple, and it still unnerved him…
He knew Zephyrus knew more, too, and couldn’t quite imagine how he remained so calm.
In truth, calm was not the word for it, although there was barely unrest beneath Zephyrus’ cool exterior, either.
The Shadow Temple, to the Hylians, seemed to be some sort of curiosity: To them, it was all they’d ever know in regards to the Sheikah.
Their places of worship, their architecture, their culture…
But for a Sheikah, The Shadow Temple meant something different: It was an ill omen, spoken of rarely and never in a favourable light.
Although the nature of these omens changed from Sheikah to Sheikah, their themes were recurrent: The Shadow Temple was a place of death, a burrow for an evil so old that even they did not truly understand it.
A secret even they did not possess.
And that terrified them… and fascinated them.
“Tell me… could you lead us to this first fairy you spoke of?”
HeilixAxel42 said
Edit: If that still troubles you, I can work on another post that takes advantage of his posse of drunk goons that are always telling him to chill.
We would prefer you edit the mention of Gilford out all together, if possible. It's not really necessary for him to be around, considering Sir Halbert is in charge of overseeing the festivities and is more likely to be the one in command of the guards there.
Why would he be telling Kaiver to return to his post, anyway? Surely Kaiver's post is in Castle Town.
Feel free to head off! Sorry if you've been waiting all this time, I posted in the early afternoon with the intention of spending the rest of the day doing research for work.
On the subject of the city guard...
Helix, whilst there's no rule against making NPCs (that's A-Okay, folks!), there're certain rules that need to be kept in mind.
Firstly, if you're going to make an NPC that's bestest buds with another NPC (a la Gilford and Sir Orca), or establish a relationship like that with anybody, you need to run it by the other person, first. I think Baklava has already explained this, hasn't she? You can't establish a history between two people without the one party knowing about it, that's going to make for some very confusing conversations.
Secondly, Captain of the Town Guard is a pretty important and influential position, perhaps so important that it might one day matter to the plot. If you're going to establish a high ranking NPC, it's very important you come to either me or Baklava first so we can okay it.
Whilst we encourage immersing yourselves with NPCs if you'd like, you can't just go and make your NPC Captain of the Guard, you know? That's a very presumptuous move.
Also, just a lore-minder: Queen Laruto does not live in the Water Temple, nor did Princess Ruto or King Zora before her. The Water Temple is, well, a temple, not a palace.
The Zora monarchs still live with their colony as they did in OoT.
Loving everyone's characters so far, though! Man you guys post quick.
Helix, whilst there's no rule against making NPCs (that's A-Okay, folks!), there're certain rules that need to be kept in mind.
Firstly, if you're going to make an NPC that's bestest buds with another NPC (a la Gilford and Sir Orca), or establish a relationship like that with anybody, you need to run it by the other person, first. I think Baklava has already explained this, hasn't she? You can't establish a history between two people without the one party knowing about it, that's going to make for some very confusing conversations.
Secondly, Captain of the Town Guard is a pretty important and influential position, perhaps so important that it might one day matter to the plot. If you're going to establish a high ranking NPC, it's very important you come to either me or Baklava first so we can okay it.
Whilst we encourage immersing yourselves with NPCs if you'd like, you can't just go and make your NPC Captain of the Guard, you know? That's a very presumptuous move.
Also, just a lore-minder: Queen Laruto does not live in the Water Temple, nor did Princess Ruto or King Zora before her. The Water Temple is, well, a temple, not a palace.
The Zora monarchs still live with their colony as they did in OoT.
Loving everyone's characters so far, though! Man you guys post quick.
“So it’s jealousy, right?”, Archer had asked, as Veitaru had begun her journey towards them, “You secretly just want to learn how to stack the cards for yourself, don’t you?”
“I can most assuredly say I’ve no interest in learning to be deceptive as you.”
“Deceptive?”, Archer heaved, leaning back and placing a hand to his breast in melodramatic mockery, “You think I’m deceptive, brother?”
“Most certainly,” Zephyrus replied, voice unwaveringly tepid in tone.
“Well… can you blame me? I mean, I am a Sheikah.”
Zephyrus, suddenly, stopped in place. Archer did the same, albeit a few feet further back.
“You are half a Sheikah,” Zephyrus explained to him, coolly, “And only cite that fact when it’s of convenience to you.”
“And how often is that? The people around here look at us as if they’ve seen a ghost or s-”
“Hm?”
That was when Veitaru finally arrived, bumping innocuously against Zephyrus’ right shoulder, and drawing the attention of both brothers.
"Oh! Sorry. I uh.. Have you seen any..." she’d begun, before Zephyrus had bowed towards her in a mannerly fashion, offering her a full view of his guandao in the process.
“There’s no need to apologise,” he assured her, “The error was mine, for remaining stationary in a place of such keen movement.”
“Yeah,” Archer agreed, “Isn’t he just the worst? So impolite.”
Zephyrus turned to face him, coldly, and Archer raised his hands with a gentle laugh, “I’m kidding.”
With a sigh, the Sheikah straightened up again, acknowledging Veitaru’s ethnicity only after first realising how very young she was.
"OHMYGOSH! That…” As she spoke, he threw his eyes about the place, surveying for any sign of parents on her trail.
There were none.
"…Banner is AWESOME!"
Then, resultant of her outburst, Zephyrus turned his head to instead examine the pole-arm he bore, and Archer chuckled again: “Looks like you’ve got a fan, Sethy-”
“Zephyrus.”
“- See what I meant, now? Just let me teach you a couple of tricks and we’ll run this town.”
Zephyrus shook his head without another word, and turned his attentions back to Veitaru, whom seemed almost elated at his “banner”-‘s presence.
Archer found her enthusiasm to be quite heartening, but his brother was still wracked with silent concern.
"Oooh.. Uh.. Have you seen any fairies? I'm looking for one."
“Little one,” Zephyrus began, tone slightly more tender, “Where-”
And it was at that point Archer stepped between them, smiling some warm, magnetic smile.
Whilst it was true, both Archer and Zephyrus, too, were orphans, Zephyrus had been in the fortunate enough position to have his mother pass when he was of a fairly responsible age.
He hadn’t an inkling what it was like, then, to be ten and without a home nor a family, scrounging for your next meal: But Archer did.
And he knew that it was depressing enough as it was, without some socially inept giant of a man reminding you of it.
“Where…” Archer continued, from where Zephyrus had left of, “… did you get the idea that it was a banner? That right there is a guamdoe-”
“Guandao.”
“- is what I said. A guandao, a really good looking weapon! Show her what I mean, Sethy.”
“Zephyrus.”
Archer threw Zephyrus a somewhat irritated look, and- without needing to speak a word- Zephyrus suddenly became very aware of his brother’s intentions.
“… of course,” he relented, drawing his weapon slowly as Archer stepped to the side.
Zephyrus held it out at arm’s length, and the red rag which’d been coiled around the guandao’s body unfurled itself, like the ragged flag of a desolate ship.
Then, he span it in three quick circles- releasing a few short rushes of cool air in the process- before stabbing it into the ground, for Veitaru to examine.
Archer put his hands on his waist, unimpressed.
“Is that it?”
“I am not a patron of theatrics, as you are.”
“You mean you can’t look good, like I do?”
Zephyrus stared at Archer in silence for a few long moments, before Archer relented, and made his way to Veitaru. He knelt beside her.
“As for seeing any fairies… I can’t say we have. But if you’ve lost one, we can help you look for it, if you’d like. Isn’t that right, Sethy?”
Zephyrus didn’t respond: His eyes had settled on the hasty retreat of a very specific Hylian.
“Zephyrus?”
“That gentleman looks somewhat dubious.”
“You mean he looks suspicious?”, Archer asked, following his gaze. Zephyrus nodded.
“Why do you think that?”, Archer pushed further.
“The way he was walking is most suspect.”
“How so?”
“Because he was walking like you would.”
Archer opened his mouth to protest, hesitated, and then sighed, lowering his head.
“Screw you, man,” was all he mustered.
“I can most assuredly say I’ve no interest in learning to be deceptive as you.”
“Deceptive?”, Archer heaved, leaning back and placing a hand to his breast in melodramatic mockery, “You think I’m deceptive, brother?”
“Most certainly,” Zephyrus replied, voice unwaveringly tepid in tone.
“Well… can you blame me? I mean, I am a Sheikah.”
Zephyrus, suddenly, stopped in place. Archer did the same, albeit a few feet further back.
“You are half a Sheikah,” Zephyrus explained to him, coolly, “And only cite that fact when it’s of convenience to you.”
“And how often is that? The people around here look at us as if they’ve seen a ghost or s-”
“Hm?”
That was when Veitaru finally arrived, bumping innocuously against Zephyrus’ right shoulder, and drawing the attention of both brothers.
"Oh! Sorry. I uh.. Have you seen any..." she’d begun, before Zephyrus had bowed towards her in a mannerly fashion, offering her a full view of his guandao in the process.
“There’s no need to apologise,” he assured her, “The error was mine, for remaining stationary in a place of such keen movement.”
“Yeah,” Archer agreed, “Isn’t he just the worst? So impolite.”
Zephyrus turned to face him, coldly, and Archer raised his hands with a gentle laugh, “I’m kidding.”
With a sigh, the Sheikah straightened up again, acknowledging Veitaru’s ethnicity only after first realising how very young she was.
"OHMYGOSH! That…” As she spoke, he threw his eyes about the place, surveying for any sign of parents on her trail.
There were none.
"…Banner is AWESOME!"
Then, resultant of her outburst, Zephyrus turned his head to instead examine the pole-arm he bore, and Archer chuckled again: “Looks like you’ve got a fan, Sethy-”
“Zephyrus.”
“- See what I meant, now? Just let me teach you a couple of tricks and we’ll run this town.”
Zephyrus shook his head without another word, and turned his attentions back to Veitaru, whom seemed almost elated at his “banner”-‘s presence.
Archer found her enthusiasm to be quite heartening, but his brother was still wracked with silent concern.
"Oooh.. Uh.. Have you seen any fairies? I'm looking for one."
“Little one,” Zephyrus began, tone slightly more tender, “Where-”
And it was at that point Archer stepped between them, smiling some warm, magnetic smile.
Whilst it was true, both Archer and Zephyrus, too, were orphans, Zephyrus had been in the fortunate enough position to have his mother pass when he was of a fairly responsible age.
He hadn’t an inkling what it was like, then, to be ten and without a home nor a family, scrounging for your next meal: But Archer did.
And he knew that it was depressing enough as it was, without some socially inept giant of a man reminding you of it.
“Where…” Archer continued, from where Zephyrus had left of, “… did you get the idea that it was a banner? That right there is a guamdoe-”
“Guandao.”
“- is what I said. A guandao, a really good looking weapon! Show her what I mean, Sethy.”
“Zephyrus.”
Archer threw Zephyrus a somewhat irritated look, and- without needing to speak a word- Zephyrus suddenly became very aware of his brother’s intentions.
“… of course,” he relented, drawing his weapon slowly as Archer stepped to the side.
Zephyrus held it out at arm’s length, and the red rag which’d been coiled around the guandao’s body unfurled itself, like the ragged flag of a desolate ship.
Then, he span it in three quick circles- releasing a few short rushes of cool air in the process- before stabbing it into the ground, for Veitaru to examine.
Archer put his hands on his waist, unimpressed.
“Is that it?”
“I am not a patron of theatrics, as you are.”
“You mean you can’t look good, like I do?”
Zephyrus stared at Archer in silence for a few long moments, before Archer relented, and made his way to Veitaru. He knelt beside her.
“As for seeing any fairies… I can’t say we have. But if you’ve lost one, we can help you look for it, if you’d like. Isn’t that right, Sethy?”
Zephyrus didn’t respond: His eyes had settled on the hasty retreat of a very specific Hylian.
“Zephyrus?”
“That gentleman looks somewhat dubious.”
“You mean he looks suspicious?”, Archer asked, following his gaze. Zephyrus nodded.
“Why do you think that?”, Archer pushed further.
“The way he was walking is most suspect.”
“How so?”
“Because he was walking like you would.”
Archer opened his mouth to protest, hesitated, and then sighed, lowering his head.
“Screw you, man,” was all he mustered.
Baklava said
Please note the addition of Archer and Zeph! C:
Haha, liking it! Very fitting nicknames, I think.
It was with a peculiar sense of inhibition that Zephyrus perused the manifold of stalls and kiosks which made up the bulk of The Hero of Time festival, stalking betwixt them with protracted movements, and silently drinking in all he saw through his cardinal lenses.
Yes, beneath his calm features- Unrelentingly soft and neutral, save for a small smile he wore only for the sake of politeness whenever some passer-by offered him theirs- there was a prowling unease.
Because, although they did their best to remain deferential, Zephyrus was aware of the lingering eyes of those Hylians which passed him by, and they made him feel bare.
It was an uncommon union, that of Sheikah and Hylian: To them, his culture was an enigma, a mystery living amongst them.
“Shadow Folk”, that’s what they called him. “Red Eye.”
And that was problematic, because for every pair of prying eyes, Zephyrus felt as though his presence were taboo: As though their seeing him somehow betrayed centuries of foregone wisdom and confidences.
Of course, he knew this wasn’t truly the case: Their curiosity was understandable, and no crime, nor was his being there.
His brother’s, on the other hand…
“C’mon!”, Archer enjoined from his flank, having been forced to follow his elder sibling through veritable warehouses of cheap, pointless tchotchkes, “All I’m saying is that if you were to work that shadow voodoo that you do, I bet we could triple the amount my act usually pulls in.”
Zephyrus came to a stop before a stall that alleged to sell antique scrolls, and glanced back over his shoulder, to meet Archer’s eyes.
“I’ve no interest in helping you commit petty crimes.”
“Who said anything about crimes?”, the Hylian gasped, feigning offense, “Are you calling me a crook?”
“Our meeting was not, on your part, a lawful one.”
“Hey, that was then! But then you showed up, and brother, you sure set me straight.”
“… still no.”
“Damn it. You’re such a killjoy!”
“I’m trying to teach you responsibility, Archer. There’ll come a day when I’m not around to shield you from the consequences of your actions.”
“You kidding? Your ghost’ll be nagging me until we’re both dead and buried.”
“That’s the best I can hope for.”
They lingered there for a few moments more, as Zephyrus took in the scroll stall’s stock, estimated it to be illegitimate and moved on, Archer in tow.
“What are we looking for, anyway?”, the younger brother asked, sliding his hands into the aegis of his leather jacket.
“I cannot readily say,” Zephyrus replied in turn, “All I know is that whomever called us here said-”
“That we need to be here today, and that Hyrule’s wellbeing depends on it,” Archer paraphrased, earning a concurring nod from his Sheikah brother.
Yes, both had heard it vividly: It had been a message spoken in a whisper, but had travelled through them like a great shout.
Zephyrus had risen that moment, for ‘twas the nature of the Sheikah to become active when danger was about: But upon inspecting his quarters, he’d found them devoid of any troublesome whisperers.
When Archer had awoken several hours later, he didn’t even need to inform his sibling of what he’d heard.
Somehow, both knew.
“So, we’re just going to stand about until the universe explains itself, are we?”
Zephyrus nodded, “If that’s what it takes. The stream needn’t ask questions to find its way to the ocean. It takes only patience.”
“That’s your problem, Sethy-”
“Zephyrus.”
“-You’re all watery, and passive. I’ve gotta ignite a fire in your heart.”
“You are welcomed to try, should you ever stop wasting your powers on simple trickery.”
“Hey, magic is an ancient tradition!”
“You know very well which tricks I’m referring to. The lawless sleight of hand.”
“O-Oh,” Archer chuckled, nervously, “That one.”
Zephyrus stopped, and frowned at him for a long couple of moments, before the two moved on again.
Yes, beneath his calm features- Unrelentingly soft and neutral, save for a small smile he wore only for the sake of politeness whenever some passer-by offered him theirs- there was a prowling unease.
Because, although they did their best to remain deferential, Zephyrus was aware of the lingering eyes of those Hylians which passed him by, and they made him feel bare.
It was an uncommon union, that of Sheikah and Hylian: To them, his culture was an enigma, a mystery living amongst them.
“Shadow Folk”, that’s what they called him. “Red Eye.”
And that was problematic, because for every pair of prying eyes, Zephyrus felt as though his presence were taboo: As though their seeing him somehow betrayed centuries of foregone wisdom and confidences.
Of course, he knew this wasn’t truly the case: Their curiosity was understandable, and no crime, nor was his being there.
His brother’s, on the other hand…
“C’mon!”, Archer enjoined from his flank, having been forced to follow his elder sibling through veritable warehouses of cheap, pointless tchotchkes, “All I’m saying is that if you were to work that shadow voodoo that you do, I bet we could triple the amount my act usually pulls in.”
Zephyrus came to a stop before a stall that alleged to sell antique scrolls, and glanced back over his shoulder, to meet Archer’s eyes.
“I’ve no interest in helping you commit petty crimes.”
“Who said anything about crimes?”, the Hylian gasped, feigning offense, “Are you calling me a crook?”
“Our meeting was not, on your part, a lawful one.”
“Hey, that was then! But then you showed up, and brother, you sure set me straight.”
“… still no.”
“Damn it. You’re such a killjoy!”
“I’m trying to teach you responsibility, Archer. There’ll come a day when I’m not around to shield you from the consequences of your actions.”
“You kidding? Your ghost’ll be nagging me until we’re both dead and buried.”
“That’s the best I can hope for.”
They lingered there for a few moments more, as Zephyrus took in the scroll stall’s stock, estimated it to be illegitimate and moved on, Archer in tow.
“What are we looking for, anyway?”, the younger brother asked, sliding his hands into the aegis of his leather jacket.
“I cannot readily say,” Zephyrus replied in turn, “All I know is that whomever called us here said-”
“That we need to be here today, and that Hyrule’s wellbeing depends on it,” Archer paraphrased, earning a concurring nod from his Sheikah brother.
Yes, both had heard it vividly: It had been a message spoken in a whisper, but had travelled through them like a great shout.
Zephyrus had risen that moment, for ‘twas the nature of the Sheikah to become active when danger was about: But upon inspecting his quarters, he’d found them devoid of any troublesome whisperers.
When Archer had awoken several hours later, he didn’t even need to inform his sibling of what he’d heard.
Somehow, both knew.
“So, we’re just going to stand about until the universe explains itself, are we?”
Zephyrus nodded, “If that’s what it takes. The stream needn’t ask questions to find its way to the ocean. It takes only patience.”
“That’s your problem, Sethy-”
“Zephyrus.”
“-You’re all watery, and passive. I’ve gotta ignite a fire in your heart.”
“You are welcomed to try, should you ever stop wasting your powers on simple trickery.”
“Hey, magic is an ancient tradition!”
“You know very well which tricks I’m referring to. The lawless sleight of hand.”
“O-Oh,” Archer chuckled, nervously, “That one.”
Zephyrus stopped, and frowned at him for a long couple of moments, before the two moved on again.
© 2007-2024