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!

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[ ~~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. ]

[ Hey! He can feel the slight tremble which is definitely not synonymous with actual tremors. ]

Is something wrong with that? [ A small huff. Then, he feels those fingertips lightly touch along his ear, which makes a smidgen of heat rises to his cheeks and his voice soften: ] When you're younger, it doesn't really hurt that much to get ears pierced.

[ Or it didn't for him. One of his fingers still against the other's back carefully winds a strand of long hair around it, just a bit. He's feeling a little bit bolder as well, though he considers that maybe they should sit down on the bed at some point. It's probably not going to be good to stand in this position for long—well, they're in a game and all, but still. ]

Yes, I did. I liked to take care of the animals on my farm, but I always knew from a young age what I wanted to be. When you were a child...did you imagine anything? Anything at all?

[ All children have dreams, right? Even if they may, in fact, be fleeting ones... ]

No. There isn't.

[ There's nothing wrong with that at all. It's sweet, how much Ganymede cares about his family, and his parents. And it aches -- in more than one way. Michel thinks Ganymede accompanying the red-haired man who'd just murdered his brother in order to protect his father.

He's so absorbed in thought that for a second he barely realizes that the gentle tug on his hair is the brush of Ganymede's fingers against it. That, for a moment, shortcircuits all other thought; the pause before he manages to rally enough to answer drags longer. ]

...So, you really were a country boy.

[ The "I knew it" in Michel's voice is what it takes to get him onto a more even keel. This is... fine. Soothing, even. He shifts his weight a tiny bit, trying to ignore the feeling of his bones settling from standing in place for so long. He hadn't thought anyone could give or receive a hug for this long... but after what he saw, maybe it's expected. ]

I wanted to be a soldier.

[ Comical, for so many reasons. Not the least of which is just how bad he is at standing to attention right now. He finally decides himself and gives Ganymede the most tentative of nudges towards the bed. Hopefully Ganymede doesn't think he's being pushed away. ]

Oh...and yes, I was.

[ Don't mind his mind catching up after the affirmation that Michel gives...it's embarrassing. In a way that makes him feel a bit grounded.

Even in the wake of the recollection again of the tragedy that made him believe that there was no point in struggling. That threw cracks and shattered everything he knew, when his footing became ever less so. When he lost his brother, what happened after... ]

A soldier? I can see it. You do seem like someone who would value that kind of strength that a warrior would have. Even though children are impressionable...it feels like a quality that would stick with you.

[ Even if Ganymede is better at keeping position better than Michel, which doesn't exactly cross his mind. Though, he does receive the nudge, pulling back for a moment, backing up a little, before plopping himself down on the bed. Still, he reaches out to Michel afterwards. ]

Edited 2023-08-30 00:52 (UTC)

[ It's such a gentle smile. Ganymede, beneath the light layer of indignant defensiveness, is unapologetic about who he is. Softer than he seems.

For a moment it makes Michel want to bolt. If Ganymede really is as gentle as that then he should find comfort from someone who isn't entirely icy, sharp edges. And if he isn't, then this is all... Michel stares at Ganymede's hand in silence before slowly, as if in a trance, reaching out to take it and sitting down beside him again. ]

I wanted to be strong, yes. It was a child's daydream.

[ There's a note of finality in that that he doesn't know how to soften. But the look he turns towards Ganymede is just a little lost, and the hand that isn't holding Ganymede's slides towards Ganymede's back before faltering again. Talking is hard. Gestures like this are harder. ]

[ There is a lot Ganymede still wishes to hide—but he can't refrain from being true to himself. Even when he places up walls of some sort—a defensiveness that obscures some of those efforts. But in his own heart, he can't deny the answer when he feels the compulsion to finally begin to show those sides he thought had eroded in his capture.

The truth paints a different picture. Those pieces of him that once shattered like glass have steadily been finding their way together again.

It's strange, he thinks. How he can feel it within himself to smile, after someone has witnessed one of his most painful memories that makes him feel small, weak, and insignificant. Maybe it's because he witnessed Michel's. Or maybe...it's because despite that, they're here together. That they're able to weather it slowly. Not completely. But bit by bit. And that makes a world of difference. ]

...Sometimes people think little of what children desire or say. But, in Greece, I know for a fact that my people consider being a soldier a great honor. My brother, Ilus, was one too.

[ Ganymede sounds a little wistful, sad notes echoing in his tone, but even so, even if Michel's hand falters, with the one he's still holding the other's, he holds on firmly. Even when he feels weak, newly reopened wounds slow to close even now. Still, he gives the hand within his a squeeze. ]

I don't know if I could say anything congratulatory, but I'm glad you told me. Not even because you wanted to be exactly that. But because you unrepentantly wanted something and told me that you did. Even if that's changed now, I think saying that...takes strength.

[ It's the mention of Ilus as much as the gentle pressure against his hand that seems to tip the frozen balance and set Michel in motion again. How much does it hurt Ganymede to recall his brother right now, with those memories so fresh? Michel's fingers flex a little against Ganymede's, holding on more firmly as he finally completes the arc of the other hand to slide it through Ganymede's hair and rest on his back again. ]

In your memory, he was... the way I imagined them as a child. Brave, and steadfast.

[ Standing firm to protect someone vulnerable. The way he had always seen Didier. To be able to be someone like that ideal image would have been a great honor, if Michel could have been that kind of person.

The memories are old, but too raw, clawed-over by seeing them again. With that body? Pathetic. You're sobbing again...

He closes his eyes, his jaw going tight as he wills himself to empty his thoughts. It's old. Long-gone. What Ganymede had gone through, then and now, seeing it again -- that's so much heavier. And yet Ganymede is still finding words of encouragement for him, warm enough that he can almost believe them. ]

Wanting things takes strength. That is... [ Is he calmer in the grips of his nightmares? He can feel his words starting to falter again the moment he tries to express it. His hand on Ganymede's back tightens a little in nervousness and frustration. ] Wanting... to leave the past behind, and looking towards the future i-is... incredibly courageous.

[ Terrifyingly strong. Terrifyingly honest, and bright. ]

[ He feels the fingers move just a little against his own, the touch so gentle that it is like an angel's feather that has nestled its weight right in that spot—a childish thought almost, and an embarrassing one perhaps, to make such a comparison. Yet, there is another thought that persists still—is it incorrect? Ganymede can't exactly find it within himself to consider it such, the feeling of that other hand laying where it is feeling nothing less than comforting.

Warm, yet soft. Steadying and grounding.

Michel states that Ilus is brave and steadfast. In that very moment. He is glad, and yet he is angry, and sad all at once. It's not something that conjures a wealth of indignation to be brought within him, but all the same it doesn't give him relief to the point where he believes he'll be complacent...it's why he can cherish such words, wanting to hear what Michel says next. ]

When you say that...I think, just maybe, I can start to believe that.

[ Even when he makes those statements about looking forward, he always felt so hollow inside. Like he was moving for the sake of moving. But, in reality, something pulled him back down...back into the past, the one he has forsaken, because he wanted to get over that pain, yet did not know how. Maybe, he still doesn't know how.

But he wants to. He shifts so he is closer, and closer, and so he can lean a bit—against the other man's shoulder. ]

[ "Start to" believe? From Ganymede, who had said those things with such a fierce, vibrant determination? It's hard to grasp, but at the same time — thinking of the emptiness of that memory, the weight of Ganymede writing "four years" — perhaps he can begin to see the edge of desperation in that forward momentum. The need to move, if only because the place you were was so unbearable.

His thumb slides lightly over the back of Ganymede's hand at the thought, tracing over his knuckles. Even desperation holds a spark of hope.

Hope has a way of forsaking those who give it a home... ]

I pray that you can.

[ I pray that it doesn't betray you, he thinks but doesn't say.

Michel almost startles when Ganymede leans against him. It's a strange feeling: not comfortable, but not unwelcome. Warm. When had he become tall enough to be this kind of support for someone else? He feels his worldview tilting, realigning, coming that slightest bit more into accord with what he felt in his heart should have always been true. In a way... it's the deepest refutation possible of everything in that memory.

Careful, cautious, awkward, he winds his arm around Ganymede to just hold him there. ]

[ The concession might be almost too much, Ganymede feels. Perhaps enough to make the other think of him differently, which he wouldn't be surprised. There's a rather cynical part of him that has come to view most people to behave in certain manners, and yet how is he to give blame to that? It's just what he has come to expect.

But maybe he wanted to show a bit more vulnerability. To someone he feels he's started to truly trust, even if the word 'trust' has not been voiced out loud by him that he can remember or recall. Maybe he already has said it to Michel.

It doesn't matter, though. Michel grants voice well enough to his own thoughts, which make him feel...comforted. And he is afraid to even say it but, 'safe', as well.

Something he hasn't felt in a very, very long time.

And for awhile, Ganymede has no other words, letting the other hold him still. Until the other says something, or maybe until he doesn't. But whatever the case, the blond manages this: ]

...I won't forget you've said that.

[ It's frightening, isn't it? Admitting that something hurts is as good as telling someone just how to hurt you. He knows that entirely too well. And because of that, he's painfully aware of the trust that's been placed gently in his hands, like a gift.

He's... afraid, he thinks. The way he had been the moment Ganymede collapsed, or the night Neige messaged him. It's the awareness that after so long, there are still things he could lose. The pressure of that weighs down his tongue. But he can at least do this much. He holds Ganymede in uncomfortably comfortable silence until Ganymede finally breaks it and Michel stirs like a man waking from a dream. ]

...Good. You boasted about that memory.

[ So, he hopes Ganymede remembers. As much as he fears it. He lets out a slow sigh and leans back very slightly as he runs his hand over Ganymede's hair once more. ]

Do you... need to be returning to Thanatos?

[ Real world comforts, and real world needs. Michel has long since lost track of time while they've been like this. ]

[ They've been going through the entirety of this for what feels like ages. But, as momentous as this has been, there is no way they can continue this chat for any amount of reasonable length.

Though, that said, when the other states that he boasted about the memory, there is a trace of embarrassment. It's fine. After all, there's something else happy about it too. That Michel recalls that. ]

I do.

Not to mention, if we're not careful, we could both be finding ourselves asleep in the middle of playing a game.

[ He tries not to lean into the hand, and fails.

Also, he's not exactly looking forward to the idea of seeing if the game can invade their dreams too. That said, the blond gives the other male's a hand another squeeze, before letting go. ]

You better take care...alright? I will see you again, Michel.

[ It's just the two of them, so, saying Michel's name comes easy. So easily, when he knows it now. After waiting to hear a parting, he smiles just a little, and then logs right off.

Good thing too, because Thanatos was about to pounce him IRL. ]

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

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