shri: (Default)
lakshmi· ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴅɪsᴀsᴛᴇʀ · bai ([personal profile] shri) wrote2017-07-14 07:52 am

STATION 72 ; mental link









KALI
She Who is the Great Destroyer ; She Who wears a Garland of Skulls



LAKSHMI
She Who Believes in Truth ; She Who is the Mother



DRAUPADI
She who was Born of Fire Sacrafice;



DURGA
She Who is perpetually endeavouring to protect the weak and the poor and remove their misery.






servitor: (sus as hell)

[personal profile] servitor 2017-08-20 05:38 pm (UTC)(link)
[Once he's in, once the door's closed and locked and all that has to be done, he starts to pull off the scarf and his hood that obscures his true nature. By now, his hair has grown out some, unevenly at that, thanks to the shaved sides of his head. He's made do as best as he can. His beard is much fuller too these days, but still short cropped.

In all of this, there's a sense of... exhaustion. He hasn't slept very much, doesn't know how to keep a sleep schedule anyway, doesn't see a point when there are rotating guards and people he has to keep tabs on that might blow their lid while he looks away.

Still, he sits down with as much care as possible to not disturb whatever order she has in her room.]


Guess this is the first time we've really met. Name's Nyx.
servitor: (soldier)

[personal profile] servitor 2017-08-21 02:19 am (UTC)(link)
[There's something about the woman that marks her as distinct. Already he can tell that she doesn't follow the mold of royalty he's come to know, the long lines of the Lucis Caelums, a family granted power by the gods since who knows how long. A line of history that would break by prophecy, if he and Noctis could get back to their respective times.

She has the looks of royalty, the particular features of stress that could only be brought upon by war and rule. He'd seen it enough in the former King Regis, despite his features being warped by his magic, aged too rapidly and making him seem a man closer to his 70s than his 40s.

But she has a hardness that mirrors her earlier words. She is a beauty that is cut in rubies and diamonds, with an emphasis on the flat surface, the sharpened points. Nyx could measure and weigh her all day, for all the good it would do him, but it came down to just one thing.

There was a fight and a chaos in that order of hers. He'd know something about it.

As for his own good looks? Well. He'd certainly received hatred, certainly based on his looks, but not necessarily his beauty.

He scoffs lightly, thanking her with a simple bow of his head.]


We could've gone the whole mission without ever seeing each other, you know. Probably longer, if these people are anything to go by.

[He'd mentally spoken and challenged enough people without ever really meeting them properly. Likely they'd get a whiff of the particular brand of fire and electricity that made up his headspace and know this was Nyx Ulric.]
servitor: (pawns)

[personal profile] servitor 2017-08-24 04:43 am (UTC)(link)
[For better or for worse, Nyx doesn't know how to back down. So when her gaze settles on him, still demanding, still expectant of something he hasn't quite figured out yet, he only holds it, unflinching. She's not the first, nor the last, to ever try and get under his skin.

Though he is of wildfires and thunderstorms, he remains steady and true. Elemental, in a way. Count on Nyx to be the man who keeps himself anchored by his ability to remain the purest element possible: himself. Somewhere in there is the earth and the stone that never cracks, never yields, always holds true despite the wear and tear.

He takes the cups, the warmth seeping through the gloves. He had a mind to take those off, too, but he didn't want to risk an emergency and needing to dress himself all over again.]


I don't even think we'd be talking if I were in your presence in your home. [He knows what he is, where he stands. A nothing. A speck of dirt in the passage of time that would likely be forgotten. And if that weren't enough, he's a foreigner without a home and barely anything to his name.] Some people here, they're not willing to work together. If it were up to them? They'd keep themselves separated, probably never see or talk to anyone else. It's only going to hurt us when it comes down to it.
servitor: (no mincing)

[personal profile] servitor 2017-08-26 04:06 am (UTC)(link)
[Precious is... not the word he'd use, not for war, not for sacrifice. He's seen and been through too much to call it "precious."]

I hope you mean your duties, not the whole standing in a pool of your own blood part.

[Because even for him, that's pushing it. He's willing to sacrifice, willing to let himself be the least important factor of an equation, but he has no notions that his sacrifices are beautiful or precious. They're necessary, and most of the time, dirty.]

Besides, you've got a one-up on me still.

[He grins that half mischievous grin of his, still sincere all the same.]

I don't remember my father. A mother and a sister, that's all I had, with our backs to the forests. Couldn't say we had much either, even when I was working.

[And then the war came to their footsteps in full force. That part of him, he carries it with him everyday. There is nothing else but himself and his past to propel him towards the future.

For a brief moment, he wonders if his mother got out of the city in time, wonders if she was able to get far out enough to avoid the Nifs.

And then he realizes, it would've been the second time she'd seen the Nifs invade. Once, their homes. Once, the last place they could call a place to live, but never home.]
servitor: (not a bad way to go)

[personal profile] servitor 2017-09-01 04:20 am (UTC)(link)
[There's something about how adamant she seems to be, in her own space, the one he doesn't tread further past the borders. Something that continually shifts and blocks. A separation.

All he could ever do was embrace the pain and make it a part of him, and learn to live with it. What good would it do him to deny that anything ever happened, when it was in his face over and over again, every day of his life?]


Looks like we come from the same place.

[And yet, not quite. He and what was left of his family didn't simply leave, out of some necessity. It was life or death. They could stay and die now, or hope to die later and survive.

Help mother!

The voice shoots through his mind, as it does, except these days, the world outside can hear it too. He only inhales sharply and says nothing. He won't deflect the question, but he's not entirely willing to dive headfirst into his loss.]


We were whole in our own way. We had everything we needed with each other.

[And how could he have known anyway they were broken or missing something? It had always been that way. Nyx couldn't really remember asking about a father. He was raising so much hell it never occurred to him to stop and wonder if there was something missing in his life.]

Now, it'll just be my mother, if she made it out.

[When he drinks from his tea, he realizes something that hits deep and hard, makes his eyes visibly flicker and the link of his mind skip a heart beat, the mental forests shudder and rustle as if each leaf could fall in fell, heavy swoop.

He was dead. His mother, without children, without their bodies, would be mourning, if she survived the attacks.

The Ulric children were gone without graves and the bodies that went with them.]
Edited (haha i made myself sad) 2017-09-01 04:44 (UTC)
servitor: (betrayal)

[personal profile] servitor 2017-09-13 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
[He sighs loudly, his chest rising and falling just as visibly. It's always like this with him. Always. He can't control his mind, can't control what he says, and what he's come to learn is that people prefer lies and shields to honesty and swords.

It's tiring. He's tired of needing to be extra cautious. Tired of fighting it out with everyone to deal with each other and work together. Tired of pretending they can't all see and feel everything.

He's only 32. He feels like he's aged two lifetimes. Days when he thinks it's better to accept defeat and surrender, instead of remaining resilient and fighting for what's left and what's to come.

Too many times has he seen the effects of grief denied. And it haunts him. Grief wasn't an emotion meant to be locked away. It was meant to be set out into the world.

Nyx does begin to rise. His intention hadn't been this, but when had his intentions ever really ended well? Not since he got here, at least, did he ever see his own intentions not take a turn for something painful and dark instead of sincere. He couldn't help it.

If only he could block out his emotions so easily.]


I'll tell you the same thing I told Noctis. You don't grieve, you don't give yourself the time, you'll hurt yourself and everyone else around you. I don't care what happened or what you did. Just know it'll start to swallow you whole.

[It almost sounds like he knows what he's talking about. The purples of his mind sink lower, into lilacs, glacial ultraviolent, flickers of black and blue. Even a fire sometimes wavers and starts to die down sometimes.]