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You gotta walk in rooms like God sent you

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Venice

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Soni snorts again. "And here I thought these prudes all but creamed themselves over how highbrow Altissian culture is. Guess it all flies out the window the minute they hear an accent, huh?" He's sneering, but his expression softens at Arctus' offer. "I appreciate it, but the suit isn't mine. Roommate borrowed it for me so I could blend in tonight."

“It’s a party at the Citadel, and I’m the ‘immigrant prince’“ He said the last sarcastically. “If I misstep, It turns into six articles about how terrible Altissians are.”

He double checks his sleeve, and then glances at Soni’s clothes. He gets the feeling the man might prefer something better fitting. He remembered seeing him with his family at his mother’s openings back home.

“You want me to tailor that? I’ve got a machine in my room, it won’t take more than a second.” He offered.

#ardynzunia #rp: perfection

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Sonitus keeps fathomless black eyes on her for one heartbeat. Two, three. Then he shakes his head slowly and gestures for her to put the trident away.

He needs pen and paper for this; her rapidly-improving sign isn't up for the conversation they need to have. While their traumas and pressures are similar, hers run deeper and she's not dealing with them.

To emphasise his refusal to carry on, and his desire to converse properly, he walks to her and wraps one hand around the shaft of her weapon, pressing gently down to encourage her to lower the weapon.

The problem is that they're equally stubborn, so if she gets the bit between her teeth they will be here awhile.

Her own trident is held fast in both of her hands, grip tightening briefly, white-knuckled.

Why?

A simple question. A million answers, half of which might not even be relevant anymore. She has to be perfect. She's the Oracle, the one who is supposed to see the king to his destiny.

She's supposed to be perfect, so the Empire doesn't destroy everything she loves (and it's too late for that, not with Ravus vanished and a messy, slow-scarring wound in her side, and Ardyn's cruel smile the thing she sees in her dreams.

She has to be perfect, so that the world might come out of this mess nearly intact, even if she's not alive to see it.

"I must. If for nothing else than to prevent any of you from getting hurt in my name."

She has a duty, a singular purpose. Stop the Scourge. Aid Noctis. Die the prophecised death that she is supposed to. But is duty still even relevant, when no one else seems to be playing the same game anymore?

"I won't lose anyone else."

Her mother. Her brother. Nyx Ulric.

Insomnia, razed to rubble because she had refused to follow obligation.

Lunafreya thinks she might double over with the pain of it. Instead, she shakes her head, takes all of those feelings she doesn't yet want to feel, and raises her trident.

"Again. Please."

Again and again until she can't practice anymore. Perfection is fought for, earned, and usually in sweat and blood.

#hearthandhomeward #rp: in need of something good

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Glauca be like

This bitch empty

Y E E T

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why. why is this happening. i havent murdered anyone in WEEKS i dont deserve this

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God I wish there was a wasteland I could banish people to.

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Sonitus Bellum and the Cult of Leviathan

A goddess as merciful as the sea is wide. May Leviathan long protect this land. Peace be unto the Province of Accordo.

               – Iedolas Aldercapt, Emperor of Niflheim

Almost anyone who worships Leviathan would agree:

She is less a goddess and more a force of nature.

There is no mercy in her, for you must be human in order to have it; to wake the Leviathan from her slumber is to call disaster. And thus was the Cult of Leviathan formed around the notion of keeping her asleep. Most traditions, such as the worship of Bismarck and of never dumping one’s garbage into the ocean, sprang from older rites, to ensure the seaside populace wouldn’t disturb her.

But humanity is nothing if proactive, and thus was created the office of Harbinger – akin to a priest or a priestess, the first duty of a Harbinger is to offer their songs to Leviathan, to lull her to sleep.

The second duty arises if they fail in the first, and that is to serve as the Leviathan’s voice in the absence of the line of Oracles.

As such, Harbingers are chosen from the finest singers in the land.

Sonitus Bellum, rising opera prodigy, was one such candidate. Unfortunately, due to his eldest brother’s murder at the hands of the Empire, Sonitus never underwent the Rites of the Harbinger.

Still, even after his escape into Lucis, Sonitus has occasionally displayed signs that Leviathan is not finished with him – the ocean, after all, is loathe to give up what is hers.

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okay i’ll bite. chomp even. kill perhaps. maybe even maim

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did someone say sinday?

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Personality Starters

@empatheticscientist asked:

❝You’re really brave.❞

"There exists a fine line between fear, bravery, and stupidity. What sucks about that line is that not only is it so fine you can barely see it, but it wriggles like a serpent and refuses to go through needle's eye."

#empatheticscientist #soni have you been drugged

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perfection {is a pitiless thing}

@ardynzuniaunia | Arctus asked:

❝I have to be perfect.❞

Sonitus' snort is an inelgant thing, not unlike the size-too-large clothing he's currently wearing. They'd look better on a larger man, but beggars can't be choosers and he already owes Furia thrice over. "This isn't the stage, or an atheletic event. What has perfection to do with anything?"

#ardynzunia #verse: tbd #rp: perfection

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“you should be the bigger person” absolutely not. i’m cursing his entire bloodline.

#queue line