Work is hard. Distractions are Plentiful. Time is Short.

Pascal -- Fest thread

POSTED: Fri Jan 22, 2016 8:17 pm

[[Backdated to the Festival. :3 Shaa is at a party and all he can think is like... Did I leave the stove on? lol

WC: 643]]

If it weren't for Akantha, he might not have left Sapient for the novelty of festivals, but it worked in his favor either way. If he sought to be any form of figure for Sapient, his presence was necessary in these activities, just the same. As such, he'd have to present himself in their manner, as best as the beast possibly could. The dappled vest of a soft blue wasn't able to completely close over the growth of his coat for the winter, but the sash was tied about his waist in order to keep it on, and it made for a nicer appearance than the man would have presented himself without it. The scars that littered his frame, weren't completely hidden, but the worst of them were out of sight, save for the nasty flesh that crossed his bridge. That one wasn't so easily tucked away. Black harem pants had been cleaned and the long cloth that hung from the center of his waist offered a more noble look than he often gave himself. It was a sight to behold for any Sapient. He looked like a civil being. It was certainly a strange vista.

Pastel tipped muzzle moved this way and that, gaze sweeping through the people that crossed his path. He'd gotten looks, certainly, but not as many as he'd expected. The clothing must have sufficed enough to hold judgment at bay. Most faces seemed startled, and surely by his size alone, rather than Sapiens had greeted him with. After all, he didn't look homeless anymore. It was an improvement, for sure. He gave a mildly irritated flick of his tail as he minded to himself and looked over the heads to the decorations that surrounded the festival.

Smiles and food were passed around, jovial words and dances were had. It was akin to the first ball that he had only been present for a short time in Sapient, but that one was much more lavish, fake if you will, and certainly... more... exciting. Hopefully, this one wouldn't end in a death. It was certainly easier for the beast to adjust to the more loose atmosphere of this get-together, anyways. Akantha had also gone on her own to entertain herself, as she felt it was safe to do so, and Shaamah wouldn't stop her either way. There were masses of guests she was likely to greet, and masses didn't always agree with the brute. If she'd need him, he was certain she'd be able to find him, considering he towered over many heads here. He was much happier on the outside, looking in, anyhow. If he had to stop a tussle or disarm a drunken guest, it would be more simple to do it from this angle.

His mind wandered to several places while he made his self-appointed surveillance over the crowds. Firstly, to Gaspesia. He'd filled so many fire pits with wood already and still had nowhere else to put it. His work was halted for the time. Then, his thoughts touched on Midnight Shores and the letter he still had to send that way. The trouble in that lay, he was not home firstly, and secondly, he didn't know how to write at all. He'd have to have it made for him. He might be able to go to Max for that one. That brought about the idea that he'd be able to give wood to more of their neighbors, before winter was through. Heterochromic gaze followed a strangely dressed guest for a moment, a curious look parting his stoic features. He wondered with Krokar would be able to present him the armor he had commissioned. If it was anything he looked forward to, it would certainly be that.
Last edited by Shaamah on Sun Mar 06, 2016 2:21 am, edited 1 time in total.
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POSTED: Sun Jan 24, 2016 10:49 pm

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The festivities were well underway. Strangers swept each other across the ballroom floor, diplomats and scouts exchanged guarded intelligence, and extroverts made merry and chortled loudly over rippling wine in pottery cups. Odd scents clung to the corners of the ramshackle hotel, and among it all music welled into the hall -- primitive beats and simple melodies whistled or strummed, but something that called to Pascal and would draw him closer to the open doors before he shrank back again.

At one point the song called to him so strongly that he pushed aside his fear to follow it. Shiloh found him then, inviting him to dance, but he'd grabbed his hair and shaken his head, knowing that his presence here was difficult enough to stomach. Shiloh had touched his hand, then, gentle and smiling, and he didn't know whether to love or hate her for it. Instead, he rocked to reassure himself of the equilibrium of his body and waited until she went out to the floor.

Pascal watched the woman disappear into the crowd then twitched his nose when a familiar scent -- one that left him aching -- tickled it. Sapient had been invited to the ball among other friends and potential allies, and every moment Pascal feared -- and hoped -- he'd see Akantha. Even now, the thought made him tug at his curls, pressing an arm to a fluttering stomach, and he found himself wandering, half-sliding, along the back wall as his thoughts weaved and roamed, stumbling over one another in a drunken panic.

Surely she came to see him -- she liked him! Or if she had come and hadn't sought him out yet, perhaps that had been just a kindly lie. He was a broken man now -- or he'd always been, and the pieces had been splintered beyond repair in his captivity -- so why should she care? He wondered what she would look like, spinning on the dance floor, throwing her head back with her tinkling laugh and baring the pale of her throat with the trickling of her gold curls.

He stopped, abruptly, when in his distracted wandering he nearly collided with a stranger.

Immediately, Pascal's eyes darted down from the other's scarred face, and the fingers fisted in his hair tightened to the point of pain. His tail crept between his thighs, and he took a heavy step back, almost cringing. "Hi, sorry," he managed, flat-voiced, and wondered at how quiet the music suddenly seemed. He hummed a loud, droning note to make up for it, staring hard at his feet as if he'd already been thoroughly rebuked.
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POSTED: Sun Jan 24, 2016 11:50 pm

WC: 542

His attention had been stolen to the side as the festivities moved on. The pound and hum of the music hadn't called to him, as it had so many others, and his very appearance had done it's purpose in preventing fellow party-goers from heckling him with the frivolities or drunken banter. The soldier was having as pleasant of a time as could be expected. As long as he was left alone, to his own devices of monitoring and sentience, and without the chore of interaction, he'd continue to accept his presence here. It wasn't every the way it seemed to work out, as he'd often come to understand, as a body had almost stumbled right into him.

Heterochromic gaze snapped in the smaller male's direction, sights settling up on his dark taupe and chocolate frame with the intensity of his feral nature. Muscles tightened and hackles lifted, but his arms had kept their place, folded across his chest as hands gripped his biceps. Instinct had always been stronger in him than anything, especially pleasantries and outgoing conversations, but the soldier couldn't help by wonder how the slighter man had almost wandered into him. How it was possible to miss the fact that he was standing here, if not towering over a great deal of the attendees, and how his distance from the lot of them had been missed altogether.

The beast certainly didn't seem amused by any of this, and one brow rose in acknowledgment of the greeting, immediately followed by the apology thereafter. A slow breath drug from his lungs, not quite loud enough to be considered a sigh, but not completely absent. Looking down upon this sheepish male that knotted his paw into his hair and tucked his tail beneath himself, the beast opened his maw,” It is of no matter,” Because I am in no position to degrade you for your negligence, and Sapient calls for me to be an example of it's fancy, and socially elite, residents. When the short whiff of Cour Des Miracles came from the other, he realized he'd have to make do with a little more in offering than mentally cursing the shied man.

He clearly wasn't pleased, but the low, rough hum of his voice hadn't lifted in any sour note. The tension in his nape eased as he found filler for his lack of forgiveness and even greater lack in abrupt social pleasantries,” Sapient greets you. I am Shaamah,” Whereas some found pride in their name, this beast did no such advertising. It was as simple as something to call him, among what else could be said considering his award winning personality,” We appreciate your invitation to this gathering,” The words were almost rehearsed, but the soldier remained to keep his eye on the other's face, his words hopefully offering some semblance of peace between them, despite what his mind silently ventured,” It is decorated, and fitting,” There. He finished. See, you can prattle just as well as the rest of them. He thought while offering no real compliment save for recognition, but anyone who knew the man would understand that he was, at least, attempting social construct.
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POSTED: Sat Feb 06, 2016 8:55 pm

Had Pascal looked up, he might have began to fuss more -- but even without seeing the stoic face and raised brows, the great dark hackled hairs, he was deep in misery. Breathing softly through his mouth between grunts and hums, trying not to drown in the oh-so-recognizably Sapien scent, he fought to keep from bolting.

The giant spoke: low, stiff, formal. Pascal's gaze darted up then away just as suddenly, and he flexed agonized fingers when he managed to unfist them in his hair. He dropped his hands stiffly at his sides then dipped his body in a bow -- one suitable from host to gracious guest -- and drew in sharp breath.

"I --" he began, but nerves failed him an instant. He thought of Shiloh, saw her out on the floor with Linden. Fixing the image of the diplomats in his mind, he managed to stare at Shaamah's chin. "I'm Pascal Sadira, Margrave." There were other titles he could rattle off -- prince, librarian, chandler -- but it was hard enough getting the dull words out. He took another breath then nodded. "I, uh. We appreciate you coming. It's a nice opportunity for friendship."

One hand rubbed at his face, and he looked awkwardly at the other again. "Is, um, the Baroness Akantha with you today?" he managed. He knew that was not her title, but the thought of her conjured the image of burnished gold and swirling snow, the soft lull of her voice as she spoke of her own courtly origins.
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POSTED: Mon Mar 07, 2016 12:26 am

[[wc 277]]

The man barely seemed comfortable in his own skin, much less enthralled about the fact that there was a gathering like this and the poor luck he had of nearly running into Sapient's combat class. The hand that was crimping his hair had finally fallen with a quick glance up to the soldier, to which Shaamah breathed calmly with forced patience veiled in his gaze. A gaze that was only met with eyes upon his silvery bearded chin followed by a title, and what Shaamah could assume as a rank.

His submission was relentless, just as much as Shaamah's tense nature seemed to be, but even so, Pascal Sadria managed to utter not only once, but twice more to the soldier. Gratitude, followed by hollow words that didn't carry well over the crowd that mingled in the distance," Indeed," Shaamah found himself short of words until that quiet voice lifted again.

Baroness Akantha? Shaamah had never heard the rank in the caste of Sapient, but he didn't doubt that Akantha had offered a little more information to those that sought genteel conversation better than he was capable of," Akantha Amoranthe is here today, but not currently in my company," He offered the information to Pascal, knowing full well that the woman had likely come this way before and would certainly come again. The soldier couldn't help but find the question a little unsettling without further information behind it," How is it you know her?" His question, though quickly prompted, was not an accusation, not quite yet. Considering what had happened in Sapient's previous ball, however, it wouldn't hurt to know.
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POSTED: Mon Mar 07, 2016 7:42 pm

Sorry for the borderline insta-reply. <_<;

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Perhaps another would have found the stoicism unsettling, but the lack of nuances visible to the eye didn't bother Pascal, if only because his face -- other than the nervous twitches of his ears, the motion of his hand rubbing against his mouth again -- reflected that same stillness as the other odd-eyed man.

He was intimidated enough already, anyway.

His ears trembled to hear that Akantha was at the Court -- but she had not sought him out, not yet. The thought stung, but he knew too that he didn't have a right to the woman, regardless of what they'd been through. He shifted his weight, arms warpping around his middle, and grunted before answering softly:

Akantha... helped me. I had... I was lost, and she helped bring me home.

His words sounded simple, the story sounding like that of a wayward child -- but his eyes were haunted, and the odd thinness of the Sadira man's face that hadn't quite gone away told more than words could.

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POSTED: Fri Mar 11, 2016 6:20 pm

[[wc 311

ooc: No problem at all! I'm back on my game now, so it didn't bother me at all. :3]]

It was almost as if the man was struck by the words the warrior had spoken, but it wasn't any concern of his that the answer had brought something against the trembling man, though he might find that Sapient would lower it's brow and shake it's head at the warrior's lacking remorse for the internal battle that the fearful man was having. The beast, unfortunately, wasn't any good at smoothing out situations like these; the feelings of others were lost to him, even if they were recognized. Another of his social graces.

Pascal explained shortly how he and Akantha had met, and despite it's vague nature, Shaamah felt it was more honest than naught. The look on the poor male's face breathed it," It comes as no surprise to know that she aided you and that you arrived back to your lands," The soldier offered, the whispers of Sapient in his ears to act a little more courteously than he might have on any other occasion," The woman is a mighty creature in a different way."

Attempt as he might, the soldier just wasn't in the business of making the sorrows of others any less," You will be pleased to know that she is doing well. Her health remains as steadfast even despite travel," The beast offered, noting without words that her pregnancy might have made the travel difficult for her," It was a slow journey, but she fared very well, despite," He finished, dancing lightly about the facts. The soldier had just felt that everyone she had ever met knew of Akantha's current state, simply on the idea that she was such a high figure in Sapient, and that she spoke so freely. Of course, as round as she was, it wouldn't be an easy thing to keep from anyone.
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POSTED: Sun Mar 20, 2016 10:25 am

Can probably wrap this up in a couple more posts; Pas will run off once Shaamah explains. I know this is old. xD;

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Mighty, Pascal echoed softly. It was a strange word to use to describe the woman -- but suiting, too. She was a mighty presence in his heart like the sun in the sky, and there was a resolve behind her dreamy behavior that spoke of real strength. He did not disagree with the mercenary's assessment.

He pricked his ears and wagged his tail when the man explained that she fared well, though the deep words trailed off into vagueness and a sentence that dropped off. Sensing some conversational subtlety he wouldn't understand, he stared hard at the other's jaw, tugging at his curls again like the ache of his scalp would make his brain work.

Despite what? the Courtier prompted after a few slow moments.

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POSTED: Fri Mar 25, 2016 12:46 pm

[[Feel free! :D Enjoy Shaamah's subtle delivery. XD]]

It seemed he had agreed with Shaamah's wording, perhaps never thinking of Akantha in such a way, as denoted by his small reiteration. Though, as the soldier continued on, the quick lift of Pascal's harks brought a closer gaze to the ruddy haired man. He seemed pleased with the information until Shaamah had finished, staring at the soldier as if he was going to continue to speak.

The question peaked from the nervous man's curiosity, and Shaamah lifted a brow. Perhaps, not everyone was aware of Akantha's current condition, but it wasn't something that could have been kept a secret should you see the woman," She is with child," Shaamah said bluntly and his attention moved back into the crowd to survey. If there were any more questions to be asked, then Shaamah would answer them, but for now, he didn't have anything else to amuse Pascal with. The soldier certainly wasn't an entertainer.
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POSTED: Sun Apr 03, 2016 9:33 pm

Oh so subtle~ I'm gonna archive this now, though if you really want you can dig it up to post Shaamah's response, haha. Since he turned away and is... Shaamah I doubt that he would care that much. ;D

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A brow quirked over a bright-colored eye, mismatched to its partner in a manner like Pascal's and just as stone-blank, and the giant mercenary spoke in a soft, blunt rumble.

She is with child.

The prince turned and looked out at the crowd of Luperci as if he might see her with a little boy or girl there, not quite understanding -- but as his mind pondered over the statement the true meaning of the euphemism struck him -- hard, in the gut. He made a sound like he'd gotten hit, but a look to Shaamah's scarred face provided no answers, no comfort. There was no comfort in this.

She is with child.

He thought of how he felt when his father sat him down and explained that he had children by another woman, and there was a twist in his chest. He felt betrayed, but that emotion was not so agonizing as the shame that came on its heels.

You have no claim to her, you idiot, his thoughts sneered. He'd met her all of twice, and while she'd said that he was her friend and that she cared that meant nothing, nothing at all. She was a baronness' daughter, a diplomat of a pack far from here, and a golden rose so beautiful that it made the summer fireflies look like no more than motes of dust. Of course there was another man whose heart she would capture, and who could capture hers.

Someone better than Pascal -- someone better than slow, broken Pascal.

With another distressed noise, swallowed down this time, he turned and fled -- bumping into a wall hard enough to draw eyes his way, which only made his skin burn worse. Aflame, in pain, he staggered out of the ballroom and threw himself into the shadows, dropping onto his knees so hard it hurt and gasping once for air once he'd hidden himself away.

Broken, broken, broken, said the world, of course she didn't want you.

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