On a related note, I'd planned on posting tonight but my job gets really demanding when there're politics afoot so I'm afraid I'll have to postpone until tomorrow. Sorry!
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
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ButtsnBalls
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"Gee Sam, this seems like the kinda case that requires the gentle, safe-cracking touch of the sociopathic, sausage-fingered freelance police."
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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
The weight this place bore overcast the cavalcade of characters filtering in through the gates, once Zephyrus had adequately taken in his surroundings.
It was a place of death, and of un-death. But that was true to anyone, be they Gerudo of Goron. For the Sheikah, it inspired a secondary layer of unease: a weight in the chest that threatened to drag the unprepared to their knees.
He raised his eyes toward the graveyard’s flank, and the relics buried behind its walls. The Shadow Temple, one of his kind’s ugliest and most sacred secrets.
Other people knew of it, naturally: even Sheikah weren’t adroit enough at what they did to make you doubt what lay right before your eyes. But its gory history, and the purposes for which it was built- what it was meant to contain- were burdens only the Shadow Folk shared. Whispered between them as though the information were alive, and prone to outrage when mishandled. Far too dangerous to be written down.
Within their culture, The Shadow Temple was an omen much worse than that of Griz. It precluded death, but more than that: it prophesised great, hungry darkness. Inspired legends that that the Shadow of Hyrule might someday swallow the caster whole, if its secrets were not held in sacred silence.
Or so the folk wisdom would suggest.
But despite its grim history, it was not a place Sheikah reviled. It was a place all their own. Their creation carved straight into Hylian stone. Watching over the dead. Sacred, but seldom seen: and never visited.
In Zephyrus it inspired dread, yes: but also a peculiar sense of awe. Its very presence sang to him, a mute dirge both tragic and beautiful, which made his head buzz.
He knew, somehow, that he would soon be there, in one of the only intact relics his race had left. And above the trepidation, he felt excitement, strange and foreign.
This was tempered, however, when he saw the sorts of people he would be watching – if it was the will of the Goddesses they enter the temple, he would not let them uncover his people’s secrets.
A burly Hylian and a Gerudo came bounding in, as he left his introspection. The former large, strong: a forged warrior, surely. The other small, at least in contrast, and gold of eye.
Zephyrus felt a strange kinship with the Gerudo. They shared a common trait: being incredibly suspicious to the Hylian people.
It was peculiar, that they would do business with Zora and live at the foot of Goron land, but a man with red eyes or a girl with gold might be cause for great fear and suspicion.
”… I am Jaege of the Lange family!”
The Hylian seemed of a good nature, and Zephyrus was pleased. Only kindly folk should be bestowed strength: that was how justice would be best sustained. It lightened his heart.
"Did he just say the ‘Large’ family? Because… ten for foresight."
Nevermind, mood ruined.
"Veitaru. Pleasure."
A childish gesture, a mixed response inside Zephyrus’ head. For a moment he remembered that he, too, had been so carefree and impolite, once. Before his mother had broken him, and rebuilt him anew. Rebuilt him ‘better’.
He wondered if Gerudo were as strict and ruthless a group of trainers – or were their eyes the only similarity? He wondered if, one day, respect would be instilled into her, and the fight drawn out like the ore from the stone.
A passing thought. Veitaru wasn’t his child to wish discipline upon, after all: that was his trainer speaking. His mother.
He turned attention to the other denizens of the cemetery, and felt the optimism Jaege might have inspired drain from him. He noticed the Skullkids, first. Of course he did. They were hardly a people known for their subtlety, if they were a people at all. They were loud and chaotic creatures of habit, or so he had heard. Young, ignorant and perpetually causing trouble.
Zephyrus was certain Archer would get on famously with them.
A man in a darkened hood took issue with one, and Zephyrus thought him even stranger than they. Even by the standards of The Sheikah, whose aesthetic standards were frankly extraordinarily low, he looked shady. Unnatural.
Like something out of a legend he just couldn’t quite remember.
When the Poe made itself known, Zephyrus didn’t flinch. But from the graveyard entrance, his brother was another matter.
"Is that a GHOST?!"
Exasperated, Zephyrus turned his head to the last of the discernible posse. Hylian, young. Looking about enthused as his brother had this morning.
Was this the band The Golden Three had put together? A rag-tag team of monsters, men and children?
Perhaps Archer had a point, after all. Although Zephyrus’ faith was unwavering, it didn’t mean he wasn’t starting to believe that this truly was madness.
Speaking of Archer, he- after settling his nerves- was still talking at Griz, with all the suave sophistication of a man who only alleged to have had success in the past.
None.
"You have beautiful… eye… s? I mean I bet they’re both beautiful. If you have both. If not I bet you look great in an eyepatch, right?"
An awkward pause. Unflinching silence on Griz’ part.
"… Not much of a talker, huh? Heh. Yeah, me neither. Man of few words, over here. They used to call me No-Talk Archer, back on the street. It would have been my middle name if I’d known my last one, haha. But yeah, they’d say ‘Get Archer talking? Hah, impossible!’ and I’d…”
He stared into Griz’ eye and saw nothing. Hrmph.
"I’m, uh. Really bombing, huh? Look, maybe I’m not much of a smooth talker when the voices in my head are leading me to beautiful women… uh… question mark. But I am a totally cool guy, alright? Look, do you wanna see a magic trick? I’m a magician."
Archer reached into his satchel, and rooted around until he took out a set of playing cards.
"Just, just watch this, alright?"
Archer stretched both thumbs up, and then- with one hand- began to push cards from the deck with one thumb, and balance them on the other. At first it was a flat facedown, and then another right on top of it. In a bizarre feat, dispensing the third card at an angle lifted the second until both of them formed a triangle, balancing on Archer’s thumb.
He balanced a forth card on top of that, and then--
”H-hello... hello... HELLO! I AM GRAHAM!”
Cards flew everywhere, the whole deck spilled from Archer’s hand and scattered across the floor, pouring out into a disorganised mess. The shape he’d been balancing fell apart and its constituents floated slowly to the floor. The longer they fell, the worse Archer felt.
He turned away from Griz for the first time since he’d entered the graveyard, and- with his hands on his hips- narrowed his eyes at Graham’s distant form.
"Buddy!", he yelled back, in a tone that suggested buddies was something the two of them were most certainly not.
It was a place of death, and of un-death. But that was true to anyone, be they Gerudo of Goron. For the Sheikah, it inspired a secondary layer of unease: a weight in the chest that threatened to drag the unprepared to their knees.
He raised his eyes toward the graveyard’s flank, and the relics buried behind its walls. The Shadow Temple, one of his kind’s ugliest and most sacred secrets.
Other people knew of it, naturally: even Sheikah weren’t adroit enough at what they did to make you doubt what lay right before your eyes. But its gory history, and the purposes for which it was built- what it was meant to contain- were burdens only the Shadow Folk shared. Whispered between them as though the information were alive, and prone to outrage when mishandled. Far too dangerous to be written down.
Within their culture, The Shadow Temple was an omen much worse than that of Griz. It precluded death, but more than that: it prophesised great, hungry darkness. Inspired legends that that the Shadow of Hyrule might someday swallow the caster whole, if its secrets were not held in sacred silence.
Or so the folk wisdom would suggest.
But despite its grim history, it was not a place Sheikah reviled. It was a place all their own. Their creation carved straight into Hylian stone. Watching over the dead. Sacred, but seldom seen: and never visited.
In Zephyrus it inspired dread, yes: but also a peculiar sense of awe. Its very presence sang to him, a mute dirge both tragic and beautiful, which made his head buzz.
He knew, somehow, that he would soon be there, in one of the only intact relics his race had left. And above the trepidation, he felt excitement, strange and foreign.
This was tempered, however, when he saw the sorts of people he would be watching – if it was the will of the Goddesses they enter the temple, he would not let them uncover his people’s secrets.
A burly Hylian and a Gerudo came bounding in, as he left his introspection. The former large, strong: a forged warrior, surely. The other small, at least in contrast, and gold of eye.
Zephyrus felt a strange kinship with the Gerudo. They shared a common trait: being incredibly suspicious to the Hylian people.
It was peculiar, that they would do business with Zora and live at the foot of Goron land, but a man with red eyes or a girl with gold might be cause for great fear and suspicion.
”… I am Jaege of the Lange family!”
The Hylian seemed of a good nature, and Zephyrus was pleased. Only kindly folk should be bestowed strength: that was how justice would be best sustained. It lightened his heart.
"Did he just say the ‘Large’ family? Because… ten for foresight."
Nevermind, mood ruined.
"Veitaru. Pleasure."
A childish gesture, a mixed response inside Zephyrus’ head. For a moment he remembered that he, too, had been so carefree and impolite, once. Before his mother had broken him, and rebuilt him anew. Rebuilt him ‘better’.
He wondered if Gerudo were as strict and ruthless a group of trainers – or were their eyes the only similarity? He wondered if, one day, respect would be instilled into her, and the fight drawn out like the ore from the stone.
A passing thought. Veitaru wasn’t his child to wish discipline upon, after all: that was his trainer speaking. His mother.
He turned attention to the other denizens of the cemetery, and felt the optimism Jaege might have inspired drain from him. He noticed the Skullkids, first. Of course he did. They were hardly a people known for their subtlety, if they were a people at all. They were loud and chaotic creatures of habit, or so he had heard. Young, ignorant and perpetually causing trouble.
Zephyrus was certain Archer would get on famously with them.
A man in a darkened hood took issue with one, and Zephyrus thought him even stranger than they. Even by the standards of The Sheikah, whose aesthetic standards were frankly extraordinarily low, he looked shady. Unnatural.
Like something out of a legend he just couldn’t quite remember.
When the Poe made itself known, Zephyrus didn’t flinch. But from the graveyard entrance, his brother was another matter.
"Is that a GHOST?!"
Exasperated, Zephyrus turned his head to the last of the discernible posse. Hylian, young. Looking about enthused as his brother had this morning.
Was this the band The Golden Three had put together? A rag-tag team of monsters, men and children?
Perhaps Archer had a point, after all. Although Zephyrus’ faith was unwavering, it didn’t mean he wasn’t starting to believe that this truly was madness.
Speaking of Archer, he- after settling his nerves- was still talking at Griz, with all the suave sophistication of a man who only alleged to have had success in the past.
None.
"You have beautiful… eye… s? I mean I bet they’re both beautiful. If you have both. If not I bet you look great in an eyepatch, right?"
An awkward pause. Unflinching silence on Griz’ part.
"… Not much of a talker, huh? Heh. Yeah, me neither. Man of few words, over here. They used to call me No-Talk Archer, back on the street. It would have been my middle name if I’d known my last one, haha. But yeah, they’d say ‘Get Archer talking? Hah, impossible!’ and I’d…”
He stared into Griz’ eye and saw nothing. Hrmph.
"I’m, uh. Really bombing, huh? Look, maybe I’m not much of a smooth talker when the voices in my head are leading me to beautiful women… uh… question mark. But I am a totally cool guy, alright? Look, do you wanna see a magic trick? I’m a magician."
Archer reached into his satchel, and rooted around until he took out a set of playing cards.
"Just, just watch this, alright?"
Archer stretched both thumbs up, and then- with one hand- began to push cards from the deck with one thumb, and balance them on the other. At first it was a flat facedown, and then another right on top of it. In a bizarre feat, dispensing the third card at an angle lifted the second until both of them formed a triangle, balancing on Archer’s thumb.
He balanced a forth card on top of that, and then--
”H-hello... hello... HELLO! I AM GRAHAM!”
Cards flew everywhere, the whole deck spilled from Archer’s hand and scattered across the floor, pouring out into a disorganised mess. The shape he’d been balancing fell apart and its constituents floated slowly to the floor. The longer they fell, the worse Archer felt.
He turned away from Griz for the first time since he’d entered the graveyard, and- with his hands on his hips- narrowed his eyes at Graham’s distant form.
"Buddy!", he yelled back, in a tone that suggested buddies was something the two of them were most certainly not.
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¢σмє qυι¢кℓу.
тιмє ιѕ σƒ тнє єѕѕєη¢є....
¢σмє qυι¢кℓу.
тιмє ιѕ σƒ тнє єѕѕєη¢є....
"So explain to me why we’re doing this again," Archer asked, for the seventh time that long, bustling morn.
They were wading through festival goers, bright, lively and oft not paying attention to their purses at all. Archer, reformed only in his brother’s watchful red eye, was unamused by how easy he might have turned a profit.
They were pacing up towards a narrow path, the stretch of silent green which broke the line of sight between Kakariko and the graveyard beyond. One of them vibrant, and lively, especially today – the other a place of stillness. Of death.
Zephyrus was totally serene about this: as calm and mild as the breeze. Archer, however, had been on edge for the best part of a month. This, he had concluded after a long talk with himself in the mirror, was madness. Complete and utter.
"I feel like I needn’t," Zephyrus replied, nodding politely to a bemused Hylian child as he passed them by, "You have both seen and heard everything that I have."
"That’s just it! Are we really headed to a cemetery because a voice in my head said we should? That’s crazy!"
"I heard them too, brother."
"Hey, I hear it runs in families!"
Zephyrus slowed their pace to a crawl, then a stop, and gazed into Archer’s eyes with the sort of guilt-inspiring look only a pacifist could give. No tears, no quivering lips: just disappointment, radiating out from his unwavering red stare.
"Our dreams have brought us here, and now our thoughts will guide us onwards. Have you no faith?"
"In the voices I hear in my head? What sort of question is that?"
Zephyrus shook his head. How disappointing.
"You must learn to trust, Archer. The river does not ask why it must meet the ocean, it knows only that it must."
"Yeah? If water’s so smart, why’s it let me drink it?"
"I’m not even going to dignify that with a response."
"Milk, that’s the liquid to learn from. Curdles at the first sign of trouble."
"Your heroism is met only by your valour," Zephyrus chastised, sardonically but nonetheless in his usual, unwavering tone.
"Hey, I never signed up to be a hero, okay? Is this what heroes do?"
"Heed the call?"
"No. Do whatever the voices in their heads tell them to. Do you do everything the voices in your head tell you to do?"
"I don’t often have voices in my head, Archer."
"… huh."
"Do y—"
"No. What? No. Shut up. What? Let’s just get this over with."
Zephyrus stared down at him in silence for a few moments. Archer looked back defiantly, although with a height disadvantage it did nothing but confirm to Zephyrus that he was, in fact, a petulant child.
"Contain your enthusiasm," the elder brother murmured, before they continued on their path.
Soon they breached the membrane of the festival, and filtered out towards the quieter corner of town. Cuccos crowed restlessly from their pens, away from the noise of the fete. They had the right idea, thought Archer: he was considering screaming, too.
"It’s dead over here," he noted, aloud.
"Everybody is involved with the festival."
"That’s right, there is a festival going on today! In fact, you should be going and saying hello to… what’s his name… Halibut, shouldn’t you?"
"Halberd? You loathe Halberd."
"What? No! I just love his… speeches? Is that what he does? I feel like that’s what he does."
"Last we spoke of him, you called him a pontificating dunce."
"I said ‘pompous asshole’, and that was before I learned to appreciate his… again, is it speeches? You’ve gotta give me something to work with, here. Something with swords? Is he the mayor?"
"You don’t know who governs Castle Town?"
"I… yes. Of course I do."
Zephyrus quirked a sceptical brow.
"It’s, you know… somebody else. Not Halberd. Or it is Halberd? Please emote once, you’re giving me nothing here."
Zephyrus sighed heavily, and creased his brow. Momentarily, he cast his eyes skyward.
"I know they chose you, but I can’t imagine why."
"Right? Me neither! I’ll just get out of your hair."
Archer turned to make a hasty retreat, took three steps South, then realised that Zephyrus had him firmly by the collar.
"You cannot leave now: fate has cast the die."
"I cheat every time I gamble."
Zephyrus tightened his grip. Archer smiled sheepishly at him from over his shoulder.
"Which is… never?"
"Come on," Zephyrus tugged him back towards their destination.
Although Archer lagged greatly behind, they eventually found the path they sought. A stretch overlooked by ledges, a ribbed valley that ought to have funneled the town’s racket. Instead, it was quiet, and still.
Archer didn’t like it at all: "This is a great plan. One of your best."
"Why do I get the feeling that was insincere?"
"Well, I said it with scorn and derision, so."
"Ah. Naturally."
Zephyrus laid his foot over the line, and then- too close now to surrender- the two pushed onwards.
[Introducing one of the DM's official NPCs!]
A shuffling sound then drew attention to a somebody atop the rocky cliff face that made up the shallow chasm of the graveyard path. In a blur of signal orange and midnight blue, the person leapt with great dexterity off the edge and into the sunlight. Upon landing on the path just before Archer and Zephyrus, it became immediately obvious that the person before them was a shiekah.
The shiekah wore standard black and blue shiekah armor-- unremarkable, but practical nonetheless. A long signal orange scarf, wrapped around their head and pinned at the shoulders, spilled behind them almost like a tail as they landed with barely a sound. Bandages engulfed the stranger’s forearms and hands and a pair of intricate twin blades, one noticeably larger than the other, gleamed at the men from the stranger’s back as s/he faced the other direction. For a moment it almost seemed as though the brothers had gone unnoticed, but such speculations were soon dashed as he—or she-- turned to face them.
Beneath the scarf, bandages could also be seen wrapped around the forehead and crossing over the right eye. The left eye, bright red with long lashes, stared placidly. A black mask completely covered the rest of the strangers face from the bridge of their nose down. The Eye of Truth in red marked their leather breastplate-- eery as ever. It was nigh impossible to determine whether the shiekah was male or female. Their frame was very lean and muscular with legs that seemed to better resemble bamboo poles than human appendages. From what little skin could be seen, they seemed almost sickly fair. Nonetheless, the shiekah seemed to demonstrate strength as they stood there openly, rigid as a tombstone with head held high—taking in the appearance of the pair.
The eye widened with recognition and the shiekah seemed to motion towards the graveyard by looking ahead and looking back. Without a word, they turned once more and took off down the path, crouched and wary—running beneath the shadow of the cliff face beside them.
As they made their retreat, they left the brothers in total, unerring silence.
Archer watched their feats in awe, jaw ajar, eyes narrowed at the retreating outline of their mute, beckoning guide. Zephyrus, stolid, frowned thoughtfully, thin lips pressed into a narrow line.
"I am beginning to empathise with your hesitance, Archer. That, was a bad omen indeed."
Archer, star struck, didn’t respond, not until Zephyrus clasped his shoulder, and motioned for him to keep walking.
"I finally figured out why you’re so gung-ho to do this," Archer eventually mustered, as his rigid form bent to Zephyrus’ will, and the two resumed their journey, "All Sheikah are insane."
"Their name is Griz," Zephyrus explained, beginning that familiar ritual in which he totally ignored whatever it was Archer had been saying, "And even amongst our kind, they are… anomalous."
"Why?"
"They have never spoken a known word to anybody. Even their name is an assumption."
"A mute Sheikah? Goddess, where do I go trade?"
Zephyrus offered him a look that suggested he’d asked himself the same question, more than a few times. Archer cleared his throat, awkwardly.
"So… what? Why is… Griz… a bad omen?"
"It depends on how inclined you are to believe gossip."
"Always and without question."
Zephyrus side-eyed Archer skeptically as he spoke on.
"We are not so inclined to wild bruits, but what little I have heard from other Sheikah would suggest that Griz is a spirit of vengeance, sworn to silence until they can slay their parents’ killer."
"Yikes. Sounds like her life is even more messed up than ours is."
"At least we have each other, brother."
"Yeah, you’re right… she still has it better."
The two lapsed into quietness, and Archer watched as Griz moved on. Dazed by the fluidness of their movement. Their grace and poise.
He smiled, nervously. What was this strange heat, rising in his throat? Surely it was no magic of his.
"Hey, uh… Zeph?"
"Yes?"
"She sure is… lithe, huh? Toned, too."
"I... beg your pardon?"
"Griz. She’s… you know. All… fit, and stuff. And narrow."
"It is expected of Sheikah to be fit,” he explained, missing the point in a way only Zephyrus seemed to be able to, "All of us are in the peak of physical health. Even our elders treat their bodies like temp-"
"Not like that," Archer hissed, and motioned for Zephyrus to lower his already rather quiet voice.
"Oh? Oh. Oh dear."
Zephyrus took a moment to look from Griz, to Archer, and then back again.
"You have a very… peculiar type, Archer."
"What?"
"Griz is hardly a conventional target, is all I mean to imply."
"Target? I’m not hunting her… y’know, yet."
"Your charm truly is fathers."
"Worked on our moms."
"Unfortunately."
A pause. Awkward, unnatural.
"… what?"
“What?”
“You’re being weird. Weirder than usual.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you could be implying, brother.”
“What are you hiding? Is she a black widow, is that it? Am I going to die on our third date?”
“Are you already thinking that far ahead?”
“As we’ve established, I’m very charming-- and don’t change the subject.”
“I assure you, I know nothing of Griz being a ‘black widow’.”
“Then what?”
“It’s just that… hm. Well. Nobody is entirely sure whether Griz is…”
“Into puckish rogues who can perform neat magic tricks on a whim?”
“A woman.”
“What? No, me.”
“No, nobody is sure if Griz is a woman. Their features are rather perfectly androgynous.”
“I’m pretty sure you made that word up.”
“They’re not indicative of gender.”
“But her legs—”
“Like bean poles.”
“Her figure…”
“Without a curve.”
“… this adventure is going to suck.”
Zephyrus tilted his head to the one side, an indicator that he was inclined to agree, now.
“Of course, Griz might not be as interested in you, regardless.”
“What? What are you talkin’ about? I’m a catch.”
“You are an undisciplined child."
“A free spirit, one of my many desirable features.”
“And it is not… conventional, that Sheikah should seek companionship outside of our own kind, either."
“But dad—”
“Was an honourless scoundrel. Perhaps that might be a point in your favour.”
“So I guess he wasn’t all bad. But what you’re sayin’ is that it’s rare?”
“Exceedingly.”
“So what you mean is…” Archer trailed off, as- still walking- he turned away to think aloud, “I’ve got a chance.”
“I wonder, do you listen to me at all when you set your mind to things like this?”
“I should take the plunge, I’m still willin’ to put my money on her bein’ a girl!”
“Archer, father was a Goron.”
“And I’m fit, y’know? I’m good looking…”
“He sold magical utensils to dogs. They were very grateful.”
“Y’know what? I’m going to do it, I’m goin’ to talk to her.”
“He was a travelling eunuch, we are miracle children.”
“Good talk, Zeph – I think I’m gonna go for it!”
Miracle children or not, Zephyrus thought sometimes that he had a saint’s patience. Who else would put up with Archer for so long? Certainly, he imagined, not Griz.
A short walk later, Griz led them straight and true to the graveyard, a place which seemed to ring with the threnody of total silence. A place where even the dead were known to mourn.
In a more literal sense today, perhaps: Zephyrus made note of a lantern’s presence as they entered. A Poe, at this time. Whatever had the Goddesses in store for them?
Griz separated from the Anders brothers the moment they passed the cemetery threshold, breaking off in order to stand sentinel by the gates. Zephyrus, head high, made for the graveyard’s centre: Archer lagged behind, walking backwards so as not to break line of sight with Griz.
“I bet they’re really pretty under that mask."
“I struggle to discern, sometimes, whether that assumption makes you more or less shallow.”
“Oh, definitely more shallow. I’m thinking, like… 11/10.”
“You are a joy.”
Zephyrus watched disapprovingly as Archer broke off, and made his way, without poise or style, to Griz’ side.
“Tell me you drink wine.”
Without a last name, the whispers might get delivered to the wrong person, it'd be chaos.
Grand! I'll move them to the character tab in a wee while.
Presenting Hyrule's two most annoying brothers, back and ready to squabble. I'll proof read these tomorrow, I spent an hour trying to figure out why the tags weren't working and my eyes are on strike. Tell me to fix anything that needs it.
.::𝔹𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪::.
Daddy issues or abandoned orphan dude with a bad 'tude. Take your pick.
Oh damn, I've got them both.
That's actually just what normal, untainted Arby's food does.
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