Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

Lanira flexed her fingers with the memory of her claws tearing through scale and flesh and scraping against bone. "We have never done so with violence. Until now." She studied her hands for a moment. "It simply was not done," she said, and sounded a little lost - as though despite her lack of remorse, she still couldn't believe her grab for power had worked. "It is the strangest thing - when you are told you are worth less for so long, when it has always been the proper way to duck your head and do as you are told, you...forget the strength in your own limbs. That your teeth are as sharp as any Elder's." Something fierce and defiant crept into her tone. "It is time we remembered."

[The Kingpin]

"Indeed," he said, if perhaps a bit hollowly, lost in thought as he was. He wanted to think he felt uneasy about that. That a drive to acquire power was wrong and that only bad would come of it. He had seen so himself with Draxon. But then, that was the folly of mankind. To not recognise when change was needed and concede to the greater force. To continue fighting even after their defeat. It was why the Draxon Kingdom dissolved as it did. To a Hueilin, such a conflict was just a part of every day life. For had not the Hueilin Clan Lords, as well as the Appointed among them win their places through just such violence? By defeating their predecessors, often times with lethal consequences? For all their sophistication, the Hueilin were still violent and aggressive creatures, to others, to themselves. They cooperated when such a path was the most convenient, but he knew that if conflict ever became an easier option, they would not hesitate to take on the identity by which the ancient tomes knew dragons; the ruthless fire-breathers of old, the death of kingdoms and ruin of civilisation.

It made him wonder if taking Syria to Drakhunmiir was really such a good idea.

Wanting to steer himself away from such dark thoughts, he decided to address something not so violently inclined. "I do not think there is much I will be able to stir in the hearts and minds of men in regards to your diet. Cuisine seems not to be a thing that means much among the Oniare," he noted, nodding towards the youngsters and the helpings of desert hare they had just eaten. "Understandably, of course. I cannot imagine you would be able to cultivate much in this climate, even if you needed it," he considered. "But what of music? At these festivities towards Sethis and his daughters, is there any kind of cultural activity akin to the humans and elves? Music, dance, perhaps poetry? A demonstration of prowess that does not require you to expend your natural weaponry?"

[Hopeflower]

"I am unsure if you would recognize any but the last," Lanira hissed. "Our tongue is not one that lends itself well to what others would consider music." And to demonstrate, she lifted her chin and made a noise that wasn't quite a trill - there was a hard, clicking edge to it. Septimus might have recognized the phrase we give thanks to our father buried within. The sound was picked up and passed around the cavern by a few other Oniare, some repeating it higher, others lower. "But we retell the history of our people in song and dance. Our mistakes, our triumphs. Without this, they would be lost, as we cannot keep books with us."

[The Kingpin]

"You cannot keep books?" he asked, somewhat surprised by the statement. "What prevents you?" he asked, already considering potential alternatives to that problem.

[Hopeflower]

"Lack of materials, for one thing," the skinwalker replied. "For another, even if we had everything we needed to make books that would last, especially in the more humid environments our kin prefer, not everything translates. Our tongue has no written equivalent. And of course, in the event that we need to move dens, we must carry everything we need with us." She shrugged again. "Our history is long. It would take many books to hold what we can retell in a day."

[The Kingpin]

"I see. Would you be willing to tell me that history?" he asked, tilting his head slightly in thought, his eyes glimmering slightly more vividly purple. Smiling a moment later, he added in the Oniare's own tongue, "Perhaps...if you did not need to worry about translating?"

[Hopeflower]

The sound Lanira made was a wordless expression of surprise and needed no translating - and was one of many similarly shocked vocalizations that broke out around the Elfskin. Some voices rose above others in admiration, in angry questions, and all were silenced when the scarred matriarch finally leaned forward and patted the sandstone floor in invitation to sit with her a while.

"It will take some time, Elfskin. Get comfortable."

[C S]

Glaring light turned his eyelids red, and Chuckle awoke recoiling from the assault on his senses, groggy and in pain. A hand was lifted to block the white light shining from the crackling crystal, the shadows of bars falling over him. Squinting, he was able to just about focus the man standing outside of the cell. The door into the room closed behind the man in green shortly after, another person taking their leave.

"What the hell is this," Chuckle rasped. One of many questions. Another was why did he sound like and feel like he had the worst case of the flu in history. He could see in the lowermost peripheries of his vision, a pale wrap, and then became aware that the bandages were tied all the way around his head, covering his cheeks. They were maintaining a pressure on his nose, along with some kind of small brace set against his face.

And then it was as if the memories of the previous night were coming back to him to the rhythm of the throbbing in his head. Chuckle reached out to his side and found nothing but empty wooden bench. He started getting riled up then, a combination of not knowing where he was and the sense of impending danger causing him to drunkenly rise from his seat and throw himself against the bars before thrashing wildly.

Johnathon only watched the deranged antics with a mask of an expression, replaying the sequence of events in his mind. The suspect woke, reached for something, and was now lashing out violently. The detective looked to the table where Snicker's knife used to be, replaced with the jester's hat. Next to it was a tray with a bowl and a cup on top.

"Are you looking for this?" Johnathon asked, his voice raised to overcome the banging against the steel.

Chuckle did not respond immediately, beating his fist against the unflinching bars in a senseless passion. It took him a moment to realize the other man had said something, and when he did, Chuckle did not know what it was he had spoken. He followed the Green-Coat's gaze to the hat and then threw his weight against the gate, rattling the bars in one last defiant show.

"I did not mean to start this off on the wrong foot," Johnathon began as Chuckle went back to the bench sluggishly. "I have some breakfast for you, if you wish to partake."

"Where am i?"

"Somewhere safe," Johnathon assured him. "You're in protective custody; no one can hurt you here." And you can't hurt anyone else, but that was something the suspect didn't need to know to make things go by a little smoother.

"Who are you?"

"I'm someone who wants to listen to stories. Do you have a story to tell?"

"My head hurts and someone in a stupid outfit is bothering me." Chuckle made a sound that was a dark rendition of his namesake.

Johnathon ventured that this one did not have the same haughtiness that Natalie -- Snicker -- had. "I'm sorry for that. Maybe breakfast will improve things...?" He ran through some possibilities quickly. Names. "Fury?" It was an educated guess. The runner up was Sarcasm.

"Did you drug the breakfast?" Chuckle replied curtly.

"No," Johnathon replied. Seeing an opportunity to steer the direction of the conversation where he wanted it, he followed up with, "that's something more in line with your own skillset. That's an interesting story, to me."

Chuckle stared at Johnathon coldly. Silence lingered between them and the Green-Coat seemed perfectly content in waiting. He had to hand it to him, or whoever else was working with him, they did seem benign, patching him up as they apparently did. A nice ruse, or foolish kindness. "Give me the food and I might talk."

Johnathon obliged with a bow of the head, sending the tray through the slot at the base of the cell. Chuckle dropped onto his knees and lifted the bowl to scarf down the pulpy meal.

"Pardon the lack of presentation. It really is meant to be good for you," Johnathon said. Chuckle said nothing, deliberately making a most offputting ordeal out of eating, while simultaneously stalling the Green-Coat. Johnathon caught on with a cloaked sigh of disappointment that the suspect was more interested in making noises and throw his spit around than any serious negotiation.

Eventually, Chuckle realized he was not getting any reaction from the officer, and stopped. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and revealed his punchline with a scampish grin, "It's bad manners to talk with your mouth full."

"Quite." Not Fury. Jester, then, on account of the hat? It seemed too straight forward for these people. Johnathon thought back to Snicker. "Are you satisfied, Laughter?"

"The name is Chuckle. Laughter is someone else."

"My mistake." Johnathon tucked that information away to be written down later. "Life's been hard on you enough. You don't need me and my mistakes nagging at you."

"Will you let me go?"

"I can't tell you that until you tell me my stories. The nonfiction sort, but nothing you wouldn't feel comfortable telling a friend."

"You aren't a friend of mine."

"Only if you make it so," Johnathon countered, pulling out his pocketwatch.

"And what's that?" Chuckle hissed, glaring at the item.

"Something to make the pain go away. As a friend, I don't want you to suffer." Johnathon started swinging the watch from side to side, directing Chuckle's eyes and pulling him into the trance. "As a friend, I want to know how you pulled off the trick with the hat. It's pretty funny how you brought this big scary guard to his knees without any effort."

"Ah, that's a bit of a lecture. It'll bore you."

"Bet'cha it won't," Johnathon retorted.

"I used to make plant fertilizer. I've put people to sleep talking about that job. I couldn't get a date for it, too."

Johnathon pried just a little more, "You used to be a farmer?"

"Farmer's aid. Farmer gives me some raw material and in exchange, he gets a way to keep his crops nourished season-round. People assume it's some kind of alchemy, but it's no different than the things a blacksmith uses to get the best steel from iron. Well, a little different. Mix things the right way, and you can make a powder than burns, or one that puts people to sleep for a little while. Blacksmith can't do that."

This wasn't a soldier, or trained assassin. Moving right along, Johnathon broached, "You're pretty good with a sword. Fighting off miscreants is a part of the planting life, I take it."

"Miscreants gutted the farmer's boy right in front of him before cutting him down. I could only watch it happen from afar before running off. I started practicing the way of the sword to stand a chance should I find myself in that same place, but things were hard. I couldn't find another farm that treated me as well as my old buddy did, and his estate was doing all they can to pick every bit of worth he had as their own..."

"And that's when you found Snake." Johnathon was careful with his phrasing. Only Viho could say what kind of manipulation Xilo used on this man wronged by the world so, exploiting murder to twist his morals to serve him.

"Snake found me," Chuckle said. Tears were gathering in his eyes.

"I've heard a lot about him. Seems to know what he was talking about. Anything he mentioned to you inspired you to pull the helmet stunt?"

Chuckle shook his head and wiped the tears away. "Nah. I'd just heard there was a mind-reader working that the magic-school thing. He seemed to be close to the one Snicker went after a while back. Snicker's gone, but the cat is still around. Decided that the best way to get even with the two of them would be to cut down the elf, no different than the people who decided to kill a kid and his father and throw his wife to the streets. That's all it is in the end, you know. Snake knew it. It's just how you hurt people that matters. I thought that if I was going to be going against head-magic, I needed to protect my head. The guards, conveniently, have some good helmets."

He gingerly touched the bridge of his nose.

"Too big for me, though."

Johnathon replied with an understanding, "Mm."

[Hopeflower]

Another day. The usual challenges.

Viho sat up slowly, rubbing his neck gingerly and taking special note of the way his body responded to last night's magical exertion. He was feeling stiff and sore but thankfully headache-free - more like he'd spent the previous day running everywhere he went and doing heavy lifting than like he'd drank himself stupid. Good to know.

Much as he wanted to linger in bed, his painkillers were across the room, and he desperately needed something to eat. So with a quiet sigh, the psychomancy instructor dragged himself up to get his day started. He did, after all, need to inform a few people of what had happened, if they didn't already know, and drop in on the Green-Coats to see if their guest was awake.

No doubt rumors were already starting to spread, thanks to the curious bystanders...so if Viho had put a target on his own back, it was only fair that he gave his students what he knew, so they knew enough to get themselves out of harm's way, if they wished.

Viho pinched the bridge of his nose and knocked back his brew as quickly as he could, to avoid tasting it. Knight of Brodudika. What a mess.

[The Kingpin]

Arashi stood in his laboratory, his forelimbs busily working with several materials spread across a stone counter. His wings were pressed against the ground, their knuckles serving as an extra pair of legs to support him and free up his taloned paws.

An orb of light, made up of several rings that themselves were made up of tiny runes, undulated and rotated wistfully before him. At its centre was an odd construct of iron and vitorite. It looked like some form of oval cage, but with two different loops where a chain or rope would be attached. Connected to these loops was the construct itself, built around a central rod that narrowed off against hollowed out points in the base of the oval cage, which when combined with some support struts extending from the arced bars, allowed for the construct to rotate freely.

It was a spiralling thing, made of several strands of flattened ore bent in such a way that it looked as though it would probably catch the air and rotate if it was exposed to a draft. In the middle of it, a bulbous orb with several long slits exposing a hollow centre could be seen. A glow within revealed that a powerfully charged vitorite crystal was located within. Runes began to zip inwards from the rotating orb around it, carving themselves into the blades of this oblong object. All in all, it seemed to be somewhere between a weathervane, a pinwheel and a wind chime.

As soon as the runes completely covered the construct, a chain of braided steel, simultaneously sturdy and delicate, floated over to the construct. As if metal had suddenly turned to silk, the glowing orange chain links on either end bent and contorted, threading the loops and closing around themselves once more, cooling soon after.


"This will do...what, exactly, Arashi?" questioned Cyndeyrn as he observed over the Stormweaver's shoulder, somewhat lost with what the Experimentalist was doing. It was strange magic woven into those runes, the likes of which he had never seen.

"Septimus is gifted with a very powerful artefact; something crafted by an Elemental as old as Leyuna itself. With it he can converse with others at any distance, seek knowledge from those he knows but cannot speak to but with a mere thought," explained Arashi as he stepped away from the counter, carrying the artefact in hand, its runes and crystal glowing faintly. Walking on his wings and hind-legs, he steadily strode over to the centre of the chamber, where Buruq and Tanwen sat, observing in silence, the former with a look of intrigue, the other, one of scepticism. "I do not have such an artefact. So in order to contact him I must...improvise."

"Wait, so you're expecting to be able to reach any being in Leyuna...with that?" asked Tanwen, a ridged brow arching, unconvinced.

"Not anyone in Leyuna. This is designed to reach him specifically. Or rather, it will be, once I am finished with it. The crystal at its core is tuned to his unique mana signature...His Hueiurr, I suppose you could say. If I wanted to contact someone else, I would have to re-tune the crystal to match someone else," corrected Arashi as he halted before the massive black vitorite platforms.

"Why do you want to contact Septimus in the first place?" asked Cyndeyrn. "Such a young drake couldn't possibly know much about Onokruun magic. Much less a sufficient amount to reverse a curse."

"Unlike you, Cyndeyrn, I do not hold my son in such low regard. He may not know much Onokruun magic, but he is a resourceful young Hueilin. More so than most of our kind. I am confident that if anyone can help us solve our problem, it will be our Scholar." It was with some muted sense of smug satisfaction that he saw the former Lord of Maelgwyn shrink away in shame at that.

"Siraakh!"

It was a harsh, snarling command, a vocal spell that sounded like a bark or snarl more than anything else, echoed in the room, the black platforms lighting up until they each looked like windows to the cosmos, opposing nebulae that seemed to form some vaguely geometric pattern coming to life at their centres.

"Is that even possible?" asked Cyndeyrn, somewhat bewildered. All his life he had lived with the fact that souls were untouchable, induplicable, and completely immune to any influence of normal magic.

"If it were not, I would not be doing this. Nor, for that matter, would I have been able to bind the souls of a legion of demons to my will. I assure you Cyndeyrn, this is one thing that I am very well versed in," retorted the Stormweaver somewhat impatiently as he shifted his gaze from the large white drake down to the object hanging from his paw by a chain. Furrowing his scaly brow in concentration, he spun the object once, twice, and released it on the third, a wailing sound coming from it like a squall passing through a hallway as it flew forward.

Tanwen ducked as the object flew right at her, only easing somewhat when it stopped dead once it reached the middle of the platform, floating in mid air. "What kind of game are you trying to play with me, Arashi? That wasn't funny," she growled, an irritated look crossing her features as the Stormweaver's thus-far blank expression curled into a smirk.

"I found it rather amusing, myself," he commented, shrugging as Tanwen's expression soured further. "That said, it was unintentional that it would startle you so. I tend to forget that not everyone knows the logic by which my laboratory works. I had to get it into the middle of the platform, and stepping forward into it myself right now would be a very bad idea," he explained.

Even as he spoke, the jewel within the oblong chime began to light up, lances of blue and gold shooting forward and casting a glow on the rest of the room. The mana field within the room rose to what would be dangerous levels had the Stormweaver not chosen that moment to raise his arms, a white barrier warbling into existence all around the platform, extending from ground to ceiling.

"What in the Qudumakhriini's name is that?!" gasped Cyndeyrn, stepping back, as had Tanwen.

"That certainly is quite a bit of power, there, I will say," commented Buruq.

"That is the power of the Mana Well, being channelled directly into this chamber through the platforms. We would all likely be considerably hurt if that barrier were to fall before I stopped the flow of mana into this chamber. We could be stricken much like Elwen, horribly disfigured, killed outright... Or perhaps even merged into one abominable monstrosity. I have seen examples of all these things happen," explained Arashi matter-of-factly.

"...How did you happen to see that?" asked Tanwen, both angry and alarmed at the implications.

"Not what you are thinking, that's for sure," retorted Arashi flatly, shutting down the White Flame's train of thought before she could follow it to its furious conclusion. "Traversing time gives one a window into many realities, particularly those close to oneself," he explained, his eyes growing brighter and brighter as the runes across his form lit up in a wave extending from his arms to his tail, his entire form beginning to crackle and spark with arcs of electricity. "I have seen myself become the victim of all those fates in the course of my experiments across the realities that exist, that do not exist, that could have existed. That may yet exist. Such memories are...a blur for me, I must admit. Normally I do not recall what I saw there. But sometimes I get moments of...clarity, of that time," he concluded, with a non-committal tilt of his head. "Now, if you are done asking unnecessary questions, rulukhiir, I would like to focus my attention on not seeing one of those potential fates striking now," he stated. That was what ultimately silenced Tanwen's concerns, the others following in kind as his tone took on an eerie droning nature, an electric buzz seeping into his voice as he became lightning incarnate.

Several verses of what seemed to be some long and complex spell were recited from memory then, each verse ending with a zap of electricity that cast yet another layer of runes on the object. It was after several minutes of this that the Stormweaver finally concluded with another "Siraakh!", the powerful glow of magic fading from the two platforms as the aura of power filling the room faded from them, leaving only the Stormweaver's imposing magical presence behind, until he too allowed his aura to dissipate, the electricity taking on a form of flesh and scale once more, his runes fading, his eyes returning to their sapphire hue and finally, his protective barrier falling.

Only when he was certain it was safe did he step forward onto the platform, noticeably weakened from the performance. He used his wings less like extra limbs and more like crutches now, helping him reach the artefact and claim it from its spot in the centre of the platforms. With his claws firmly wrapped around the chain, he slowly turned away, towards a pool of water shining blue with the mana that saturated it.

Tanwen followed closely, lunging forward to help him as one of his wings momentarily gave out, bringing her neck up under his chest and helping him back up to his feet as he walked the rest of the way. "I can manage on my own, Tanwen," he insisted.

"Manage to eat the stone floor, perhaps," she retorted.

"I am fine," he stated firmly as he brought his wing back under him to help him back up.

"Enough ox-headedness from you, Arashi. Please. Just accept the assistance for what it is, for once?" she pleaded with a sharp look.

The Stormweaver looked at her for a long moment, looking like he would dismiss the very notion of it as an insult. But then his expression softened. With a nod, he lifted the wing and rested it on ther dragoness's back, allowing her to help him to the pool where he finally let himself drop to all fours, his muzzle sinking itself almost up to his eyes in the mana-infused pool. The Stormweaver gulped down massive mouthfuls of water that seemed to replenish itself from slits in the stone all around it, continuing to do so until he had finally had enough to drink.

Once he had regained his strength, he straightened, lifting his head and looking to the others. "Let's check in on Septimus, shall we?"

[Hopeflower]

That morning saw a break in the routine gentle bickering between Vix, Rowan, and Arsenic. He hadn't been getting ready to head out the door early - instead, Rowan found him staring into his mug of cooling tea, looking like he was lost in thought. Or maybe his memories. So instead of teasing him about being able to see his handsome face, as she had been since she'd cut his hair, Rowan reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He didn't even put up a token protest that he was fine, so she leaned down to press her forehead to his.

"Hey, kid," she said softly.

She got a quiet hum in response, but he leaned against her a little, closing his eyes. To most, it wasn't much of a request for comfort, but to Rowan it came through loud and clear.

"Another year older, hm?" Her thumb rubbed small circles against his shoulder. "Man, that makes me feel old," Rowan half-joked.

'Not until tonight,' Arsenic corrected. He pulled away slightly to take a small sip of his tea. Made a face at its temperature and took another.

Rowan nudged him gently. "You know, you're not supposed to want to put off your birthday until you get to my age."

A sound that was almost a snicker. 'You're not old, Rowan.'

"Sure I am," she said, perfectly straight-faced. She nudged Arsenic again and held out her forearm so he could see it clearly. Where her burn scars showed, they were pale against her normal skin tone. "Just look at all this gray...uh, skin." The mute elf arched an eyebrow at that, but when Rowan went on giving him a deadly serious look, he cracked a half-smile. Encouraged, she smiled back and added, "C'mon, have some breakfast with us. You'll feel better."


Elsewhere, Viho was skipping most of his breakfast himself in his need to get out the door. He still wasn't as fast at strapping into his new gauntlet as he would like to be. With so much running around to do - much to the displeasure of his stiff muscles - he'd have to eat something better than a few pieces of bread later. He could already tell it was going to be a rough day.

With that in mind, he started for the school. First things first - he needed to deal with his students, whether that meant a full day's class or not. Then he could go and deal with the man he'd caught last night.

[The Kingpin]

Andruil was settled in an armchair in one corner of the room, a slice of bread with butter and some marmalade spread across the top of it. On a side table he had a mug of tea, helping warm him up after leaving the warmth of his bed. For the time being, he was remarkably quiet, rarely lifting his gaze from his breakfast between bites, though the sight of Vix certainly helped him get over his dissapointment with having to get out of bed on such a cold day.

[Hopeflower]

"I got him," Rowan announced as she led Arsenic over. "And he didn't even bite."

The mute rolled his eyes as he let Rowan push him into a chair. 'As if I would,' he retorted. Or seemed to. His tone lacked its usual dry edge, and instead sounded faintly tired. The dark shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, if any.

Mischief glinted in Vix's eyes as she lowered her mug of tea. "I seem to recall you do on occasion," she teased.

Arsenic's spine stiffened, but he managed to avoid choking on his own drink and his voice was even when he replied, 'I'm sure I can be forgiven for not tolerating idiots well.'

[The Kingpin]

"And they call me the wild one," jabbed Andruil between bites of his slice of bread, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

[Hopeflower]

'Don't try to tell me you wouldn't snap at someone for dry loosing,' Arsenic shot back. He seemed to come back to himself now that conversation was dragging him away from whatever thoughts, dark or lonely, might have been occupying his mind.

Seeing this, Rowan nudged her plate and what was left of her breakfast toward him. "Note made," she joked. "Use that fancy new bow responsibly." She raised her eyebrows pointedly when Arsenic didn't immediately appear all that enthusiastic about food. He fidgeted, then started picking at the food halfheartedly.

[The Kingpin]

"To be fair, if you did that to that bow, I would be rather upset. All jokes aside, it is a marvel of a weapon," agreed Andruil. He took note of Arsenic's fidgeting reluctance as he looked over the brim of his mug, taking a sip of the tea slowly.

[Hopeflower]

Rowan barked a hearty laugh. "Indeed. Almost guaranteed to stay in such fine condition, too." She exchanged Arsenic's cold tea for her still lightly steaming mug and downed the minty drink in a few very unladylike gulps. "I'd never hear the end of it if I mistreated it."

'Damn right you wouldn't,' Arsenic muttered, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Vix gave him a playful nudge. "Saw that. You know you love us."

[The Kingpin]

"Or, you know, at least you don't completely hate us," quipped the Knight in response.

Tap.

Tap tap.

Taptaptap.

Andruil looked up to the window to see Shiryaz, neck extended in a hunched position as he pressed his head against the window. Knowing they would have no peace until the bird was on the other side of said window, he got up and let in the raptor, closing the window right afterwards to keep out the cold.

Shiryaz, as he was prone to do, promptly hopped up onto the arm of the chair Andruil had been sitting at, staring at him as he sat back down.

"No, Shiryaz, I have no food for you," responded the Knight as though this was a common occurance. Which it was. A protesting nip followed that. "Look you silly bird, it's bread and marmalade. You don't even eat bread, or marmalade!" said the Knight as he dangled the bread slice in front of the bird.

Shiryaz defiantly nipped at it, tearing off a fluffy mouthful of the bread, swallowing it before the Knight could do much to stop him.

A frustrated sigh escaped the Knight as he proceeded to finish off his bread. "Ever get that feeling that one of your friends can be an absolute child, sometimes?" he asked the others jokingly.

[Hopeflower]

There was a long moment in which Arsenic gave Andruil a pointed stare, slowly sipping Rowan's tea. 'Can't imagine what that feels like, no,' he deadpanned.

Vix buried her face in her hands, failing to contain a fit of giggles.

[The Kingpin]

Ah. "Well...I suppose you have a point there," conceded the Knight with a shrug to the backdrop of Vix's giggles. "But the difference is that when I do it, it is specifically to tease you. Shiryaz here's only doing it because he's selfish," he argued, getting a nip on the sleeve for that. He chose not to include the fact that his own antics were specifically meant to lighten the mood on one of Arsenic's off days. To try and use a bit of normalcy to remind him that things weren't as doom and gloomy as he may have perceived them to be, perhaps even remind him to smile on occasion.