futurology | Entries tagged with asher millstone (htgawm)

ay yo ladieeeeez 😜 hay hay hAY hayyyyyy ✋✋✋ if any of u girly gals need a STUDMUFFIN ✔️✔️✔️✔️ 2 help sell the whole baws asssz upper class B I A T C H than g thang thaaaaang 💁 dis boi got an 🍑 dat won't quit and a lotta lurve ❤️❤️❤️ 4 his new teamies so holla atcho homie if u need a little man 🍭 hangin around while u strut ur stuff

*and PS NO 🐵 bidness, i'm taken, ok? yee thnk u

skeet skeet

sadgay

[When the video feed flickers on, the team will see Asher and Connor side by side, sharply dressed and poised to deliver a pitch. Around them spans the castle’s library, its shelves looming and brimming with books and its lanterns glowing in the dimness that encourages a studious sort of quiet. A quiet that is about to come to an end as Connor opens his mouth.]

This is a public service announcement from the offices of-- [He cues the other man.]

A-Milly from over the hillyyyyyy~♪

--and Connor Walsh, attorneys at law.

[*They are not real attorneys. They have not passed the bar exam in any state, country, planet, or dimension.]

Welcome to Espionage 101, or as we prefer to call it--

[They part to reveal the easel chalkboard that waits behind them, across which Asher writes with gusto:]

--How to get away with lying. Responsibly! And not like a lil’ bitch.

[Asher finds it necessary enough to add their addendum to the title in tiny parentheses.]

Now, seeing as most of you are totez clueless when it comes to this whole fake identity thing, we’d like to give you a couple of pointers to start, so you uh. Don’t blow the whole operation and risk Zymandis kickin’ our keisters, ‘cause if ya ask me? Those guys are the definition of cray cray.

[The look Connor gives him is only half as judgmental as it could be. Why does he insist on resurrecting the most ancient of lingo… Nevertheless, he continues the spiel.]

The most basic rule of lying is: keep it simple, stupid. Elaborating doesn’t make your lie more believable, it just makes it more likely that you’ll shoot yourself in the foot by saying something moronic. Remember, anything you say can and will be used against you in space court. If these guys even believe in giving a fair trial, which they probably don’t, seeing as they’re supposed to be the bad guys.

Anyway, if someone starts asking questions, give as little as possible. You don’t have to plead the fifth, because let’s be real, most of the time that just makes you seem more shady.

[The doughier of the two nods vigorously in the background, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and casting a shadow over his face, in an effort to provide an illustrative example.]

And because we’re the nicest people ever, we’re offerin’ our services to all of our Audentes homies, free of charge.

So. You in?

ofobedience

[Something like this-- it's really not his style. He's more accustomed to keeping his thoughts to himself, to keeping his own council. But bit by incremental bit, things have been changing in him, a slow and gradual unfurling towards greater acceptance of their situation, towards being a part of this team. He's accepted that he'll never see his world again - something that, rightly or wrongly, he believes down to the core of himself - had believed that, despite the hollow rawness it leaves him with, he's made an uneasy kind of peace with this 'knowledge'.

Only, the recent transfers have led to a renewal of his tendency to withdraw, and he's kept to himself since learning that so many of those he'd finally come to consider something akin to friends have now departed for other teams. It stirs up all the old feelings in him, a misplaced sense of betrayal-- more than anything, his own betrayal of himself for allowing these attachments to form. Everyone leaves, in the end-- it's something he should have known.

Still, it means something, perhaps, that he eventually brings his concerns here, rather than allowing them to eat away at him indefinitely. Even if he ends up doing it in a roundabout manner.]

I have some questions, if you will.

Why forge connections with others when they're only going to end up severed? What could you possibly stand to gain from it? Isn't it preferable, ultimately, to keep oneself separate from all that and thereby avoid the messy business of emotional baggage?

Such things surely only weigh one down. Create unnecessary complications. Weaken you.

predomination

[The magitek isn't pointed at Urahara, but rather filming the area around him, but even if the username didn't give him away, the lilting overly exciteable terrier voice of his does.]

Good morning, everyone~

I know we're all very tired of this maze and whatever might be waiting for us once we get to the end, but it didn't feel right not to show you all this.

[The magitek shows one of the walls of the maze where an engraved bull's head stands out. Yeah.] I thought this might have been a bit of gallows humor from some of the previous inmates, but it's a reoccurring motif throughout the maze around here.

[A dry chuckle as he turns to face the camera, hatless and exhausted looking. Goddamn he misses his hat.] And if you're not up on your Greek mythology... Well, let's just say this situation could get even more frustrating. It's a shame Achilles-san has left us- perhaps he might have appreciated this in an odd sort of way.

selfimage

[ waiting and watching, that's Loki's ultimate goal. there's opportunity somewhere in here, but while it waits for itself to rear its head, he has his own means of entertainment. ]

Hello Audentes, isn't this a pickle we're in? Metal bars are a tad bit extreme, IMHO. Stealing what's already stolen is hardly a crime. I know, I know, I'll save the argument.

Regardless! I've done my share of exploration in our rather crampy quarters, and I can say that we're at a serious lack of entertainment. In order to keep our sanity with the limited reading materials available, I'll be taking commissions for fanfiction.

Terms below:

- Please message me through the jewelcomm - or this post, I'm not picky. I don't have to say "don't make video/audio messages", do I? No video/audio messages.
- Writings usually take from an hour or two to a day depending on the mercurial nature of our fellow inmates or possibility of escape. (Note: all requests not fulfilled by the time we leave will be done in a timely manner.)
- Please specify the popular media, possible pairing, and plot highlights if you'd like to detail them. Our teammates are fair game.
- 1,500 - 20,000 words.
- Trust me on my prose. :)
- I can make it salacious on a scale of prude to Fifty Shades.
- Payment can be negotiated.

And there are five current slots!

Slots:
1. Odinson
2. Sieglinde
3. Genos
4. Skeleton Fellow
5.

First come, first serve! Toodles!

blarblade

[So, there he was. Sitting at a table. Accidentally ordered all of page two and apparently page three of the menu. Had way too much food. And then up came a centaur, one who has two stomachs or whatever and could, in theory, take care of his surplus food problem.

There's just one problem.]

I offered to split lunch with someone and I think she's going to try to kill me. I might need some help.

[Yes, yes it's real now.]

grunehexe

Good evening. This is Sieglinde Sullivan, the Green Witch, with two questions of great import.

One. Are there any among you who have experience in the permanent inking of flesh?

Two. Are there any among you in possession of a diamond, preferably high quality, that you would not mind donating to the cause of our next mission? In the process of studying the diamond's structure I cannot guarantee it will not be damaged, so please discuss with me your compensation beforehand if you desire such.

Thank you for your attention to these matters.

pummelling

[After a long morning of repairs, Jin's feeling chatty: he's taken shelter under the spontaneously sprouting tree in the Oska gardens and sitting with his legs folded. With an eyebrow raised quizzically, he peers into the magitek's "camera".]

So. How many ALASTAIR agents does it take to steal a diamond?

[you're not funny jin.]

Seriously. Seeing as we've all rested up and done our homework-- assuming that you've all gone through the dossier already [with all the intonation of the high school teacher who is definitely expecting you to stay on top of the readings, or so help him]-- we've got some work to do. We've only got a couple weeks to meet up with our analyst on Leramzen, get in, and get out with the diamond. I don't doubt we can manage, but I also know we're a pretty eclectic bunch.

That's a nice way of saying 'crazy mismatched', by the way.

I'm curious, though. How many people have experience with-- let's call 'em requisitions? A mission like this is familiar enough that I'm almost getting nostalgic here, and I feel like some of us might be in the same boat. [He huffs, in what might be the beginnings of a sardonic-sounding laugh.]

It might help us get our plans in order, but if you're sworn to secrecy or don't feel like fessing up for whatever reason... [he shrugs a bare shoulder, head tilting a little,] I get it. It's not the lightest of topics for everyone.

cassieology

hello my little sibs!! i'm afraid i have some bad news o(╥﹏╥)o

as u know our dearest oska is typically invisible to the bad guys!! this usually works out super well and in fact it still does but ... BUT (∩︵∩)

OK so

remember those slug people you brought back from your last mission?? the people with slugs in their heads i guess that is more accurate and sensitive. we managed to save a lot of them (▰˘◡˘▰) and that's good!! but then, before we finished, some of them got out!! and that's bad. they just slipped right out of our hands, like slippery fish

or ... slimy slugs ◔_◔

so they got free before their heads got fixed and THEN THEY WENT ON A RAMPAGE ヾ(ﾟдﾟ)ﾉ

long story short: cloaking devices disabled from the inside!! reinforcements called!! chaos!! madness!! lots of fighting for like,, the past week

(seriously it's been sooo bad lmao)

and, well, we need help! initially we shut it all down so that these nasty zymandis slugs couldn't call for more fucking backup AND so we could give the other teams a proper warning (like this one, lol) before we let you in again

so get your knives out or your spells or your swords or whatever cool thing you have in your armory bc it's time to kick some ass ᕙ(⇀‸↼)ᕗ

(mostly robot ass)

(but still)

we'll call you in soon, so finish up with all those cute kitties and get ready to roll out!!

CASSIE, OVER (►.◄)

gutpunching

[To absolutely no one's surprise, Jason is not really a big team player when he's got a choice. But after some re-evaluation of where they stand and some gentle ("gentle") urging on Lucina's end, the network pings with a short call for volunteers. (The hard truth of it is he can't flat out count on himself to be reliable for very much longer. So, even more clipped than is characteristic—)]

If anyone's still interested in where Dr. Percy disappeared to, we could use a few more sets of eyes down in the sewers.

[What follows is a short attachment of information for interested parties. Including an image of an odd metal door with alien symbols on the combination lock, open to reveal a network of matching metal-plated tunnels. The coordinates one would need to find it in the sewers ping in soon after.

For those who need a little more context before volunteering, soon after the post hits, it gets a clarifying (and politer) addendum from Lucina.]

(OOC NOTE. Jason and Lucina have a (suspected) lead on Percy's hideout in the sewers but the maze of metal tunnels it's hidden in are too much for two people to cover, so it's time to alert the rest of the crew. Responses to this post may come from Lucina or Jason, BUT feel free to threadjack/use this post to plot if your characters are inclined to help and/or get info out in preparation for the 3/25 log.)

heelies

[There appears the grave countenance of Achilles, son of Peleus, his princely features marred by grief. His eyes are rimmed red and below them sink dark purple hollows. His beard is untrimmed and his golden curls, once long and flowing, hang choppy about his ears, hacked off by his own hand. Yet still he stands with shoulders squared and chin held high, as befits one who speaks before the assembly, and still his voice rolls forth like the iron-grey clouds that fill the sky before a storm falls.]

I come bearing unhappy news amidst a sea of unhappy news - but for me, no news could be more unbearable than this. An honorable man lies dead, overpowered in all his power, victim to one of the flesh-hungry who strike fear in the breast of this city. This was Menoetius' son Patroclus, my dear brother in arms...my partner in life. He was not long among this crew, and thus if you have no other cause for lament, then lament that you are robbed the opportunity to know him for a friend.

Yet now you might meet him through my words, I who have known him for the better part of my life and love him as I love my own life. Among the Achaeans there never was a kinder man: he cared more for the man beside him than for himself, and what he had he shared generously with friend and stranger alike. Almighty Zeus, bright-eyed Athena, and Apollo the lord of light always received supplication and libation enough from his hands. With so worthy a man gone down to the House of Hades, the country of the living is left far poorer.

In this nation flung so far from my fatherland, strange enough that the shores of windy Ilios seem almost friendly, I have not the riches I once possessed. I cannot give so grand a funeral as I would wish, as great-hearted Patroclus deserves, like that which I gave on the headland over the Hellespont. There a thousand men harnessed in bronze bore the son of Menoetius to his pyre, each one's heart filled with a dirge, while my deathless mother and all of the daughters of Nereus rose from the sea wailing and beating their breasts - but who in this land shall mourn him so? The honors I heap upon him here shall be only a pale shadow of all that he is worth, and for this my grief grows twofold.

If you have any respect for the dead and for the laws decreed by the gods, then hear my plea. A pyre must be built that my dear friend may pass proper into the House of Hades. At present he wanders lost by death's gates, the Acheron's distant shore far out of reach. How can I rest while he who is dearest to me suffers unwearying? Thus, his pyre must be built today. There is more than space enough in Oakwood Park, which lies to the west. I need strong men to stack the timbers, whatever wood can be found, and others to assist in the slaughter of the oxen, that the rich blood may make sacred the flame. None need worry about drawing the curious eyes of the Woodhurstians, for Sieglinde the Green Witch shall shield the area from sight by her clever magic.

All who come to honor Menoetius' gallant son are welcome to feast afterward. To fill my stomach when my heart is so empty is hateful to me, but what food and wine I have I shall freely share with any who proves a friend to my dear companion even in death.

[CLIFFS NOTES VERSION: His not-at-all-platonic life partner is dead (again), so anyone who lends a hand in performing Ancient Greek funeral practices shall be fed a hearty dinner of oxen kebabs. I will post a log for the funeral this weekend, but that will mostly provide narrative for the various rituals and handle the aftermath. You are more than welcome to assume your character's involvement there or in the feast that follows. If you have any questions or would like to plot, please PM this journal or find me on Discord at aristosachaion#4902!

EDIT 3/15: I have come down with a fever and am slightly dying, but nevertheless I will do my best to persist in answering these tags. Sorry for the delay!]

cachemoney

[Fiona is a little out of breath, like she just hustled very quickly away from somewhere. Which she did, but that's neither here nor there. The background behind her is some innocuous wood panelling; she's in a house.]

Okay. So. Crunch time. Things are getting nuts out there, if you didn't notice. We are gonna wind up super screwed if we don't hop to figuring out what the hell to do.

[She holds up a vial. It has some alien writing on it, as well as a familiar symbol on the label.]

We found this inside the hospital. A shit-ton of them, actually. So who wants to find out what Zymandis asshole is responsible for this mess and beat an antidote out of them?

[ ooc. PS, maya, hanzo, and mccree might show up in your threads. feel free to threadjack as well! ]

ex_mettacrusher33

Well, Audentes. Things have certainly taken a turn towards Sweeps Week, haven't they?

[Who's this stunningly handsome, yet unfortunately badly lit human...? Obviously, it's Mettaton, darlings, learn how to read. But wherever could he be with such hideous lighting?]

Riots, infected, and secrets, oh my... While we're out here doing our best to keep both the townspeople and ourselves safe, I thought it'd be a good time to share with the class what we might have found. And without having to play me for it!! Lucky you. [Wink.

The "camera" gets turned away from Mettaton (a crime, he knows), now clearly showing the inside of Woodhurst Watch HQ. Specifically, inside the head editor's room. He expertly pans it from the mess on the floor that the infected and townsfolk left in their rush to head out towards the top of the desk he's sitting at. On the desk, next to where he's perched his legs (you're welcome), are some scattered sheets of paper. He's focusing his communications jewelry on one in particular.]

"Local cancer patient attacks doctor during regularly scheduled chemotherapy appointment." How dramatic. But certainly interesting, isn't it? [He's audibly tapping his fingers on the desk, just out of frame.] Can't say I know entirely what to make of it, but I'm sure checking any records in the hospital would be a good start.

Also. [He turns his necklace back to himself.] Since I and, I'm only assuming, the rest of those inorganic among us aren't particularly interesting to those infected, we might prove ourselves useful when it comes to... Well. Anything. Can't be infected, won't even attract attention... [He puts a hand to his chest and sighs.] I never thought I'd find an audience I couldn't captivate. But! Here we are and the show must go on.

[Slightly more serious. It's obvious there are specific, less fortunate people on his mind.] If there's anyone out there that needs help, let me know. I'm no superhero, but...

...Why waste a talent when you have it?

competing

[ with the new mission on the horizon, and a rather desperate need to keep busy and distracted, lance has decided to put together this informational psa for all those who may benefit from it.

so. like. maybe two of you. ]

Yo! So with Woodhurst coming 'round the corner, many of you probably haven't had the chance to brush up on all six films of the Brawn of the Dead series but that's okay! Your resident Zombie Apocalypse Expert is here to help you out.

[ he's watched pretty much all the zombie films available on earth, ok, he's practically a PhD. ]

While it's pretty much impossible to gain my level of expertise in the single week we have left, I managed to break down the most important things to remember during a Zombie Apocalypse. [ complete with handy, dandy infographics! (blame whoever got them the drawing app ok.) ]

( cut for length )

pummelling

[The magitek's pulled back far enough to feature not one, but two members of Audentes... or, rather, one of them striving vainly to nudge his teammate out of the feed. It's the tail end of the struggle, though, and Kung Jin is fighting a losing battle. It takes half a second for Asher Millstone to shove his way into view, taking up half of the screen and speaking up before Jin can truly get a word in.

The law student looks more excited than ever when he starts speaking, and even lifts his arms above his head in a “raise the roof” sort of gesture.]

It’s time to get wiggity wiggity whack, yo!

Don't. [He nearly slaps a hand over his friend's mouth, but reconsiders, elbowing him back instead.] So, Audentes. Since we're almost all set to leave on our next assignment, it's come to our attention that not everyone here is from a world that people like Asher or I consider "modern day".

Whoa, you? Wait a minute. Last I checked, there was nothing normal about you, man. People in your world, like, rip dudes’ spines out through their mouths and crap!

[After he says this, Asher immediately turns from Jin back to the camera, and waves his hands emphatically in its general direction.]

Don’t try that.

[Jin casts a dubious glance at Asher and moves right along in spite of all the interruptions.]

Even if you look the part, you’ve still got to play the part, too. If you're looking for any advice or tips to blend in properly on-planet, we’re pretty much experts-- so let us know if you need a hand.

[The paler of the two pops up right behind him, leaning on the other’s shoulder.]

That’s right, baby! We’ll teach you how to be 90s.

moneyballer

[Asher is decked out in the gaudiest holiday apparel you may ever see, addressing the network after months of ~~terrible~~ seemingly good behavior.]

Happy birthday to the original g-

[He raises a glass full of something suspicious in color, as if to make a toast.]

Je-

[The law student then proceeds to down all of the liquid at frighteningly quick pace before continuing.]

Sus Christ. Hundreds of years later and he’s still got bitches out the wazoo, stringin’ up lights on trees, prayin’ 2 his likeness, ‘n shit. I-D-K how I feel about the actual religion, but if ladies still want your dick after you’ve been dead for friggin’ ever you gotta be doing something right, right?

Anyways, I ain’t about to go to this holiday shindig sober, if y’know what I mean.

[And if you don’t, he’s about to explain it to you.]

I’m all for gettin’ slizzered in this blizzard, gettin’ some ice all up in my grill, and maybe if I’m lucky somebody’s balls’ll be getting jingled TONIGHT, y’all.

If you’re over 18 and are more keen on bein’ naughty than nice, come find me and we’ll pregame the party.

[As if this little broadcast wasn't unnecessary enough, Asher feels the need to get far too close to the camera and exclaim:]

Merry Christmas, bitcheeeeeeeez.

[*Please note that this post represents the feelings of a fictitious character about a somewhat religious holiday, and in no way is a reflection of the actual author's perspective, thank you.]

heelies

[As when storm-bruised clouds cast their dark pall over the sky, a harbinger of the torrent and tempest to come, so appears the countenance of Peleus' son. He is harnessed in the glorious armor that lame-foot Hephaestus did forge for him, and upon his head fiercely glints the golden helmet which once served as a beacon to the Myrmidons and all of the vast host of war-loving Argives. Like the thunder that is hurled by almighty Zeus who bears the aegis, his voice roars out over the network.]

Koltira, you whose heart is blackened with vile hatred! Hear now the son of Peleus, Achilles, best of all the Achaeans - I whose pride was rent by your blade when you did raise arms without first issuing a proper challenge as is honorable between warriors. I demand that you meet me in single combat, that I may avenge myself and slake my spear upon your blood. Meet me then to the east of the town ere the sun touches the far horizon, where it settles for the night into the couch of the desert - unless the worm of cowardice burrows deep within your breast to weaken your fighting spirit!

It is for this reason that I give my challenge in this public forum, that others may bear witness and hold you accountable to this duel. What say you, Koltira? Recoil not from the bloodshed you so take pleasure in! Long has my anger rankled in my breast, and long has my pride festered without salve potent enough to soothe it, for the cure lies only in victory by dint of my spear. Thus, today I wait no more!

[In the colloquialisms of the locals: This town ain't big enough for the both of us.]

fateality

[Despite what the username displays, the video very clearly seems to show Jin with his hair down. Who is grinning, as if smug.]

Good news, everyone. No one needs to worry about the hair tie problem anymore.

[He holds up a pair of scissors.]

I was thinking I could lighten the load anyway.

[After grabbing a handful of hair on the right side, he cuts off a giant chunk in one dramatic snip.]

forcevisions

[ Everyone's camping. That's fun, isn't it? Well, before people get ahead of themselves, there's some more news that's waiting. Following Keith and Rey's conversation—and Keith being set right about their shared misconceptions thanks to some clarifications from ALASTAIR—they've finally regrouped enough for … this. If you've ever wondered how good Keith is at sharing information, it's probably along the lines of "not good."

So, this should be good, basically. (At least he has Rey to back him up.)

The two of them are sitting side by side on the outskirts of camp so that they can make their announcement undisturbed. Keith's sporting a warmer jacket and Rey was all but swallowed in the hood of her ALASTAIR uniform, which fit ill now in the light of the doubts that the holodisc shed on them.

After a beat of them … sitting there, Keith awkwardly clears his throat in what sounds like an ineffectual manner: ]

Uh, hey. We have something to tell you all today. [ A beat. Another beat. He glances toward Rey, as if he suddenly feels like she's the one who should talk.

While Rey clearly doesn’t appreciate the hand-off, her shoulders rustling as she composes herself, she can’t deny the responsibility. She directs her gaze towards him for a moment, wrestling with something, before she relents. ]

I made a mistake. [ It seems the simplest place to start when most of them had seen precisely what happened with the Reverend. ] We need to make sure that none of you repeat it. When I killed … [ She can’t muster that admission, not properly, not in this context. So she starts again. ] When the Reverend died, something came out of him. Some kind of parasite.

[ Right, he knows Rey's body language enough to realize where he should probably help. If if were anyone else, that might not be the case, but somehow, they've become friends. It's an odd thing for him, and when she finishes speaking, he preps himself. All right, he can do this. He can do this. ]

The parasite is called the Taraxa. I didn't get a chance to look at a holodisc I found until after the fighting war over, and um, I'm sorry for not coming forward sooner. We wanted to check back with ALASTAIR first. [ He pauses here, but briefly. ]

Anyway, the Taraxa are supposed to be a peaceful group now. They've worked with ALASTAIR via some temporary hosts as spies, but obviously, none of us would call the Deemers peaceful. Rey and I don't know what happened, or if these are some … special branch that decided to go rogue. I don't know. But I think we've got a bigger mess to deal with here than just the mines and mining. [ He offers Rey a brief glance. Keith can't even begin to guess what the Deemers are really doing. He can't. But between the fires and disappearances, he figures they can't just ignore this. ]

They’re also supposed to have hosts that they build instead of steal, but that’s obviously not the case. It’s possible but dangerous to communicate with them because they follow a hivemind they consider their Mother, which is red instead of ... [ Grimly, she raises the dessicated carcass of the beige slug she’d evinced from the Reverend’s corpse. It seemed an odd thing, now, to hold onto it like some kind of trophy, but she hadn’t been ready to let it go, as if holding onto the horror of what she had done. ] Though there’s no clear way to tell when you’re dealing with a Mother while she’s in a host, as far as I can tell.

Until we know more, travel in pairs, and try to avoid lethal force; the Deemers aren’t acting of their own free will.

Or … their hosts aren't, anyway. I guess it's really the same thing, huh? Most importantly, if you have a way of scanning people's brains, let us know. It wasn't clear in the file how to stop them exactly, but heat and salt seem like our best bets. Uh, death and decapitation work, too, but I think we're gonna try to avoid that from now on.

[ Sulky silence quieted Rey, on that note, and she ended the transmission abruptly. ]

[ ooc; if it isn't clear, Rey and Keith. ]

respired

[ Koltira's sitting on a flat rock, long legs stretched out, a bottle of something dark and high proof in one hand--a souvenir from the remains of the saloon. He's surrounded by cacti and tall, spiky yucca plants; the silhouette of Perdition's Rest is not far behind him, due west. He's close enough to reach by a quick walk, but not so close that he's in the middle of everyone and their campfires and their singing and their camaraderie and so on. A thin dusting of snow coats everything, though close inspection reveals a mirror-like sheet of ice slowly crackling its way into being over the rock, as though animated of its own accord.

A few people have seen him since that terrible week, but not many. He's cleaned up since then. No more chains. Back in his fine, planet-appropriate clothes--long, black coat, stylish hat, boots with sharp spurs. He has new, red tattoos on one hand, and his pale hair is done up in a thick braid that falls over his shoulder.

He leans forward, pulling his right leg up and draping his arm over his knee. He looks miserable. And a little drunk. ]

No one regrets what transpired more than me. I was not in control of myself, though it's no excuse. An apology feels weak and inadequate, but you have it from me, a hundred times, a thousand times.

[ He takes a drink from the bottle. A long drink. ]

I will do what I can to atone, within reason. If you wish me never to look your way again, I will not. If you wish to strike me, you may, though I will defend myself against a lethal blow. If you have something else in mind, tell me.

I will work with Sieglinde, for whatever fruit that bears. It may bear nothing, but I'll endure the attempt.

[ The guilt in his expression, pulling at his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows, hardens. He clenches his jaw. ]

Yet, understand this. I will never be a slave again. Not to any of you, nor to anyone else. I will not beg, and I will not scrape. I will not kneel. And you do not have the right to decide my destiny. None of you do. That's my decision, and mine alone.

[ He sets the bottle down. Shuts his eyes. Last time this happened, he had given a lengthy explanation. He had laid bare the facts of himself: what he was, how he came to be that way. But not this time. He will not open a vein for nothing; he will not suffer dismissal on top of scorn. Not over his past.

Besides, as guilty as he is, as deeply and truly remorseful, he's still angry, too. ]

I have nothing more to say.

FUTUROLOGY NETWORK.

Entries tagged with asher millstone (htgawm)

text | UN: A$HMON3Y

( video ) un: wtfwhocares

✘ text | un: hound ✘

video; un: urahara

TEXT. UN: LOKI

TEXT; un: DARK AVENGER? (ambiguously during the 'let's chill' part of the diamond thing)

text | un; sieglindesullivan

video; un: white_lotus

text || un: Q♥EEN

text. @red (& responses from @lucina)

( video ) un: achilles

video; un: fiona

[Video | UN: METTATON]

video | username: xXx_trueblue_xXx

video; un: white_lotus

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