altimit | .:First Party Run, Recreational Runs & More:. [closed]

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dungeon

.:First Party Run, Recreational Runs & More:. [closed]

Who ⬤ Ganymede and Co.
What ⬤ Dungeon-crawlin', exploring, talking with people. What can go wrong?
Now featuring some potentially cw-worthy memshares, or content involving that.
When ⬤ Following first meetings, and anything related to the below subjects.
Where ⬤ Coiling Friend's Tiny Beast, ΔHidden Forbidden Holy Ground, Root Towns
Content Warnings ⬤ Mentions of drunken behavior.
Further mentions and displays of captivity, kidnapping, stalking, and subjects relating to suicide.

[ Following some enlightening discussions that have more or less blossomed into actual plans, an unlikely band of four adventurers assemble!

Names added to friends' lists, details hashed out, which means one thing and one thing only, that the next point some adventuring is happening. Though, given that it is everyone's (probable?) first time, it seems that there is no way for anybody to choose specific places or areas they might like!

Thankfully, that's what the random Area Exploration mechanic is for.

Ganymede steps forward, and just decides to select a perfect set of coordinates for everyone...

...Not! As if even he can be decisive at this point. He lets everyone know that these are the keywords they'll be working with. "Coiling Friend's Tiny Beast", that is.

So once the Chaos Gate is utilized for them to all cross over...

Welcome to the wonderful location of Coiling Friend's Tiny Beast! Apparently it's an area that has a rocky desert-like appearance that stretches out for miles on end. Not to mention, there is a wonderful-looking flesh wall that is the proper beginning of the dungeon crawling, and entry point into the actual dungeon that is bound to be teeming with treasure and creatures.

But, they're not inside that wall as of yet. ]

RESULTS: Can be viewed here, for our reference!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ With Ganymede's head leaned against his chest, he's probably perfectly positioned to hear the way Michel's own heartbeat picks up. Warm? Him? Even before... everything that happened, no one would have called him that. And he's well aware of how bitter and cynical he's become.

Does he want to change? Everyone who feels can be hurt. The idea that he could be a source of comfort to anyone else is... terrifying. And maybe, a tiny bit exhilarating. Slow and tentative, he wraps one arm around Ganymede's waist and lifts a hand to hover just over Ganymede's hair in indecision. ]

It was. An accident. But maybe, ah...

[ It was a little bit of good fortune. He doesn't think he would have reached out for someone else of his own volition. And he's not certain Ganymede would, either. So maybe, this one time, the scales of fate tipped just a little into something — silly and wonderful.

Michel finally makes up his mind and winds the other arm around Ganymede as well, tilting his head to press his cheek lightly to the top of Ganymede's head. Is this too stifling? Is he holding him wrong? His posture is a little stiff with uncertainty. But still, he doesn't intend to let go until Ganymede is ready. ]

...There isn't much I can do for you. But at times when it hurts more keenly, or on days when you feel all you can is force yourself onward, I— I can at least do this.

[ If Ganymede is always this honest with him about his feelings, at any rate. It's giving himself a little too much credit to think he could realize otherwise. ]

[ Absolutely perfectly positioned—the realism of the game strikes back! But that just means the other man isn't close to being unaffected. Not that he suspected as much, considering the words and actions of Michel thus far. No, it is the exact opposite, and that certainty which leads him to this point now.

But, true confirmation lies within the fact the taller man reaches to encircle at least a singular arm around his waist. Those movements which inspire something else within him—relief? Yes, perhaps, but it feels like more than that as well.

Enough for him to reopen his eyes, thinking of tilting his head upwards, only to then feel the light bit of physical contact to the top of his head. Next, the fact the other arm joins the initial one, closing him in even more firmly to the other man than before. ]

Of course you can. [ His words are spoken softly, and gently, not unlike one giving benediction. But, Ganymede's arms slip out, sneakily, if only to find their way around Michel's waist in turn. ] And I can do this too. You don't mind, do you?

[ Just like this, he feels cozy, even if it feels like it still hurts, there's another comforting warmth, that makes his throat feel tight. And yet, there might be the hint of a small smile on his lips, unseen in his current position. ]

[ It would be nice if he could see Ganymede's expression from here. That would be the surest way to know if he was doing this wrong. Having to interpret body language is a challenge he doesn't need, on top of his own fundamental clumsiness with people...

But Ganymede's voice is soft. And then Ganymede is reaching out to wrap him in an answering hug that makes him freeze in place in surprise yet again. It feels like a gesture meant for someone else, but at the same time, surreally natural. If he had been born into a world only slightly different than the one he grew up in... by this age, this kind of thing would long since have been trivial to him, wouldn't it? ]

I-I...[ He clears his throat, as though that were the problem. As though it's impossible that something this simple would fluster him. ] ...I don't mind.

[ He can't relax. But despite the unease, the tension isn't unwelcome, either. The warmth of Ganymede snuggled against him, the rise and fall of each breath, the knowledge that -- inexplicably -- Ganymede seems to feel better like this... it's all so painfully gentle. ]

[ Ganymede feels the temporary bit of tensing from the other freezing where he is, and his heart beats as quickly as Michel's; a quagmire of trepidation where his reaching out is pretty much very much on the contained side. If, somehow, his unreasonableness and swimming in the midst of his trauma means that he's the one who crossed the line.

All things considered, he doesn't know what he's doing. Or maybe even what he has done. But, those concerns cease to matter, considering Michel's response. It fills him with more than a semblance of joy and surprise. ]

You don't? Well...that's good. A good thing.

[ They're both doing well here, fam.

He's going to close his eyes, remain comfortable as possible. And, a part of him thinks, if the other can give him that, then even in this tentative clash of emotions, Ganymede believes he can very well do the same. Albeit with some awkwardness, but the both of them seem aligned in that. ]

[ The faltering words, Ganymede's own awkward hesitation, feel so familiar that Michel almost has to laugh. It comes out as a wordless little huff as he presses his cheek more against Ganymede's hair, slides his hand very slightly up Ganymede's back.

It's a little comical. Despite everything: the memories, his own and Ganymede's, still raw as an unhealed cut directly in his heart. It still hurts. On that, they're in accord. It might make it impossible for them to ever truly be at ease, their guarded natures compounding. But it might also mean that they can understand that fully from each other. ]

Perhaps we aren't so opposite as I believed.

[ Maybe they should sit. But the bed seems too far away, and once Michel steps back, he's not convinced he has the courage to give another hug. So for now he'll just stay like this. ]

[ They really do make quite the pair, don't they? He hears the sound of that amused noise—like the ghost of a laugh, but he doesn't mind it any. Neither does he seem to react adversely to the feel of the hand that moves a bit more up his back.

Ganymede is realizing once again how far he has come so far, to be able to allow someone this close, to want another to hold him like this at all. To ask for that, and not want to back out of it immediately, making up some kind of excuse of some sort.

In the end, their awkward turtling towards this sort of display is something revolutionary to both of them. And though Ganymede feels there is still quite a road ahead, it doesn't feel like quite an unreasonable distance. ]

...No, I don't think we are.

Maybe we should list our differences and similarities? Put together some kind of chart?

[ A light jest. Truly, they should sit down, as probably defined by normal social conventions...but eh, fuck that. ]

...Ridiculous. [ But even Michel's deadpan tone can inflect a little bit of warmth sometimes. ] That would be one difference.

[ Michel isn't ridiculous, after all.

For just a moment he closes his eyes. Now that they're finally at rest, it's like the exhaustion of all of it is settling over him at once. As absurd as it is, he almost does feel like he could fall asleep standing up. A good thing he has the soft pillow of Ganymede's hair to rest his cheek on. He can't remember the last time he was this unguarded near someone else. He never realized how tiring that was, too -- the constant state of alert, waiting for breezy words to turn to violence.

And he's never been close enough to someone to touch them like this. No one would ever have wanted him to. He thinks with a little bit of wonder that he can feel Ganymede's heartbeat against his palm if he just rests it on his back like that. Is it calming down now? He likes to think so. ]

[ Ganymede can certainly hear it!! ]

Are you trying to say that I'm ridiculous and that's one difference between us? I'd have to disagree, if that's the case.

[ Falling asleep standing up is truly a real danger for them both. Ganymede is very used to remaining upright on his feet for hours on end—to say that he can manage it is understating it. But, considering the events that have come to pass, he is far too awake to be in true danger of it at all. He's busy musing about how startingly real the warmth from the other man feels.

How it feels some of that warmth emanating from Michel is also continuously making its way paradoxically out from his own heart, to the rest of his own body. ]

But then again, I could always point out some times when you have been exactly that as well.

[ When Ganymede says that, Michel can practically see the montage of it before his eyes. Letting Ganymede talk him in circles at the party. Whatever nonsense he'd been talking at the possibly slightly tipsy dungeon run. Nearly falling off the gondola trying to dodge Ganymede's retaliation... ]

...No, you're misremembering.

[ If he says it firmly enough, Ganymede won't think of any of those things either. Except...

Are those memories strong enough to overwrite what Ganymede had seen from him in the mirror? It's a naive, wistful thought. But the present moment is still so much more concrete than memory. He can feel Ganymede's breaths, warm against his chest, and Ganymede's hair tickles the back of his hand. He brushes his fingers against it as if he might comb them through it before he settles his hand flat again. ]

[ A lovely montage that is a splendid catalogue of their most memorable moments (no) already, am I right? But, Ganymede certainly knows better, especially given the slight bit of hesitations in the other's tone there.

Yes, there is a bit of firmness he detects, but Ganymede has already managed to take to like a shark that gets a whiff of blood in water. ]

Am I really though?

[ Ganymede asks, while the memories of their trauma still remain fresh. But, he can feel those fingers brush against his hair just a bit, and tries to lean a tad into the gentle touch. Too brief to cherish, and yet definitely memorable enough to commit in his own head that it happened at all. ]

[ Ganymede definitely leaned into that, didn't he? Michel flexes his fingers a tiny bit, but the memory of the party slows his hand. What had possessed him to say so much then? Or to talk about Aimee even obliquely? Now it will look like he's flirting if he starts stroking Ganymede's hair, even soothingly...

The slow-grinding gears of his thoughts delay his response a moment, and he has to blink a few times to get himself refocused. ]

Yes. ...And you're trying to talk me in circles again.

[ Maybe. Probably. Maybe he'll let him. Maybe he should let him. It's easy to talk to Ganymede, almost. Or, at least, to let this directionless banter cover the fact that he has no idea what he's doing. ]

[ He absolutely did.

As for where they are in all this, that is the question, isn't it? The both of them are stumbling around, in the aftermath of previously unknown—still new—territory. ]

I suppose I was caught.

[ He admits to that, since that is definitely easier than anything else. But so is poking the other male (metaphorically, this time) in some manner of banter. He has no problem engaging in such, even if Michel's still embracing him tightly. Maybe he's testing his luck...! ]

But, I would like to remind you that I do have a good memory. There isn't much I'm likely to forget—or remember incorrectly. I'll be happy to continue pointing it out in this instance—or I suppose I could mention that we both have a hard time conceding defeat in disagreements. That'd be two similarities, wouldn't it?

You aren't particularly subtle.

[ Banter... is good, Michel is deciding. A fixed point of normalcy while other things still seem to be shifting under their feet. It still feels unreal that anyone could see that memory and still want to touch him, and yet, Ganymede hasn't yet signaled that he's ready to pull back. ]

And I'm clearly nowhere near as stubborn as you. [ That, he thinks, may actually be correct. ] But... my memory is quite good as well. So that should make two after all.

[ There are more differences than similarities, he thinks. But even so -- and even though some of the similarities don't bear looking at -- he feels strangely reluctant to put more distance between them by pointing that out. ]

I appreciate your vote of confidence.

[ A little bit of normalcy in otherwise almost complete abnormal absurdity of the fact that such scenes are possible to have been viewed before people's eyes...

Either way, Ganymede doesn't think he has changed his opinion of Michel yet—not where it counts. It is inevitable that upon knowing more about another individual, it brings another new point of view, but he will never allow what he viewed to diminish the man's being to him. ]

You're not? ...You have your own determination to see things through. Different from my own.

[ So is that considered a difference after putting together those two similarities? ]

We're both quiet people. No one would call us the life of the party, I'd think.

[ Considering how proud Ganymede had seemed before of being stubborn, that's probably a compliment. This time Michel decides to think it over seriously rather than instinctively brushing it off.

He has his own principles he's held firm on. He won't say that isn't true. Very carefully, he slides his fingers down a long strand of Ganymede's hair. He's finally decided that it feels strange to just stand here unmoving... or, something like that. ]

Perhaps... I know what ground I can't give up at any cost.

[ His stubbornness is in enduring, rather than moving forward. But just possibly he can count that one for both of them. He tilts his head a little at the next, though. ]

Is it different for you when you're dancing?

[ He can't imagine that, personally. The thought of having so many eyes on him makes his skin begin to crawl. ]

[ Feeling those fingers slide down a bit of his hair is almost like a victory in of itself; his hair is definitely not short of long strands, and if he were some kind of hamster, he'd probably be wiggling his nose in happiness. Or something. ]

So, we're at four now, right?

[ Also, that is very much a fair question. One he sees fit to answer easily. ]

Yes. I am used to dancing in front of crowds; I think the sheer number of them at times might make you a bit antsy to imagine. But, as a theatre dancer, you can say I'm used to it.

[ Just people better not expect him to go socialize freely with a bunch of others in 'parties' or festivals nowadays unless it has something to do with dancing. ]

[ ~~This had better not be the way to make a flat Ganymede...~~

It seems like he's going to get away with that. Or, maybe he's doing the right thing? He repeats the motion, touch as light as a butterfly alighting, not really daring to do more than that. ]

You seem to be rounding up.

[ Although Michel also isn't feeling much in the counting mood. He closes his eyes as he tries to picture it, the pressure of a crowd; despite himself, a tiny shiver passes through him.

Still. He might brave being part of a crowd to see Ganymede dance. ]

I would despise it. But, you... what drew you to it?

[ ~~Flat Ganymede: Coming soon to a universe near you!~~

Ganymede tries very hard not to lean into the touch but he does just a bit. If Michel notices that, well. It is what it is. ]

I assumed I was counting in whole numbers all along, actually.

[ Ganymede considers counting as a veritable way for them to help pass the time in each other's arms...and maybe his heart skipped a beat at that kind of thought falling into his head with those exact words. ]

All those in my family know how to dance. Having that kind of talent is something to be proud of. But, even if its tradition to pick up the act, I developed a quick fondness for it.

My father, my brothers, everyone...I remember how many times they remarked on my skill. It actually took me awhile to accept it, you know? That I was as good as they said I was. Some things seem unbelievable no matter how many times another person says it to you and they're an absolute fact.

[ He was far too humble at the time and even then, Ganymede thinks he's the type who at times be slower to believe things that most people would. It's always been in his nature, he supposes. ]

[ He's incredibly tuned to Ganymede's reactions right now, so it's impossible not to notice. His heart gives a nervous little jolt in his chest. Perhaps if he'd actually had a cat before, per Ganymede's suggestion, he wouldn't have to think about each movement now. But he does; each brush of his fingers over Ganymede's hair is slow, a conscious decision punctuated by a brief moment of hesitation. ]

You love dancing itself.

[ And maybe also the connection, being a part of a family and a tradition. He can't see Ganymede's face like this, but his voice has that kind of warmth to it. Like Georges when he talked about his art, or Didier about the rescue missions the army had been a part of. ]

Did you think they were coddling you with their praise? One or two people might flatter you, but surely once everyone says something...

[ What everyone says must be true. Becomes true. But he hadn't expected this side of Ganymede, either, with the proud confidence he can project. It's... sweet. ]

[ With each touch, Ganymede can relax into the welcome touch, more comfortable than not. It's something a part of him hopes foolishly can happen again; the feel of those fingers, and the fact that he's letting someone get this close to him.

Already has, given how they're standing, arms around one another. ]

I do.

[ He responds, earnest with his affirmation of the statement, leaving no room for doubt. But, he's sincerely, truly happy to say as much. ]

...I don't think I was that cynical at the time. I simply wondered, 'Can such a thing be possible, when I didn't think so?' It was as if I knew there was a possibility what they were saying was true, but I couldn't reconcile it being as a fact.

I suppose when people are that young, they tend to still act foolish. But, it's also true that when people are older, that can happen too.

Though, I wonder...if someone told you that you were the most skilled in a hobby of yours, out of everyone in your town, would you have believed it? Whether it was a long time ago or now?

[ It's another difference between them, he thinks but doesn't say. That Ganymede has things he feels so passionately about. Pride and simple joy in his unabashed happiness. It's so warm. ]

More often, children trust their parents and siblings without question. Their word is reality. Or... so I believed.

[ Perhaps it's different, with praise. Can any artist objectively assess themselves? Michel shifts just a little, adjusting his arm around Ganymede's waist. He's in no danger of going numb yet, but he wonders if he should move them eventually — or if that would break the moment. ]

...Hm. [ If someone told him he was the best at anything... in Strasbourg? In Paris? He lets out a quiet snort at the absurdity of that. ] I must have been born cynical. If anyone told me something like that, they would be flattering me too clumsily to be worth listening to. I've never been...

[ Talented, exceptional. Correct. He doesn't have Georges' daydreamy eye for beauty or Didier's unfailing strength. But it isn't as if he's ever wanted to excel at anything — least of all, the things he was supposed to apply himself to. ]

I have never met the expectations placed on me. Let alone exceeded them.

Well, I was also in my teenage years. Maybe that was my form of rebellious teens.

[ There is perhaps surprisingly a bit of amusement to be gleaned from his tone, though. He wonders, what did Michel look like when he was a small child? He knows that his brothers seemed to at least be dear family members to him.

Not that woman, though...as for him, when the other shifts, so does Ganymede, a little. ]

Never? Why do you think that is? You seem like such a hard worker. I don't think I could become an...er, engineer or something? That means you have at least ten of my brain power, I'd think.

[ He says, unironically. Talented is something possible by genius, but true skill is cultivated, whether one has a natural inclination towards the matter in question, by those who work hard. ]

[ Michel picks up on that amusement, arching his eyebrows just a little in answer. It's funny how his impression of Ganymede has shifted already. When he had first met him, that would have sounded more believable — that aloofness, the prickly demeanor. Now, hm. ]

...not piercings, or dyeing your hair?

[ As close as they are, it's unlikely that Ganymede misses the way he tenses and his heart beats a little faster for the next question, this time in unease rather than excitement. ]

It's nothing like that. Logical puzzles always came naturally to me... that's all. It isn't on the level of genius, and it isn't hard work. It's a field with acceptable hours that will pay reliably.

[ Had it been an accomplishment to exert even that much effort? Maybe. But the idea of feeling proud of it feels more pathetic, somehow. ]

[ No!! He is a feisty, aloof young man... ]

...Why would I get either of those? Piercing anywhere other than ears sounds like it might hurt. And dying my blond hair when I was that young? I think my parents would have definitely flipped.

[ That is exactly the point, though. Ganymede clearly never was a rebellious child. Not really. The ~~brattiness~~ sullenness only came after the terrible things that happened in his life, ironically enough.

As it is, Ganymede doesn't know why Michel's heart speeds up. He still thinks being engineer needs at least a great amount of intelligence that he doesn't possess, but he thinks on the other hand, his own point about praise might be proven. Unless no one compliments Michel on his smarts regularly, hmm... ]

Did you ever imagine yourself doing something else?

[ ...Yeah, that's exactly what he thought. The shift in the conversation makes Michel relax a little again, shoulders shaking momentarily with a soundless chuckle. ]

So you were always an obedient child. [ He absolutely knew it. His fingers lift to comb through that blond hair again when Ganymede mentions it, a little more confidently this time, the pads of his fingertips brushing Ganymede's ear. ] It's not as if ear piercings don't hurt...

[ Wouldn't they all be about the same? But he gives a slight shrug for that question. It's not as if he even imagined this job, precisely. Just that the parameters met what he needed. ]

I didn't. Unless you mean when I was a child. Did you?

[ Opposite, again, he thinks but doesn't say. Ganymede probably hadn't, because he had something he loved that he would have pursued over all else. Michel hadn't, because he simply hadn't cared about anything. ]

.:First Party Run, Recreational Runs & More:. [closed]

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same expression in icons ftw

FJKLDSFJS MATCHIES...

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