Rhys 0 Posted October 5 #1 Share Posted October 5 There was something bittersweet about the skies being so impossibly azure. It stretched endlessly above him, like a gentle stroke of a paintbrush dipped in the finest of blues - so utterly pure. Bright, fluffy white clouds drifted aimlessly, with little kisses of white in a sea of open sky. What seemed to be sunlight gentle peppered its whispers with a gentle warmth that might have felt comforting to literally any other player. Yet to fresh meat Rhys, it felt distant. Mocking, even. Every detail of this place seemed meticulous. He could feel the air, nearly tasting it on his tongue - crisp and without fault - as though the weight of reality was immensely lighter here. His attention ravaged over the intricately bladed grasses, the brightest green he's ever seen, and the cobblestones that hit the soles of his boots. The towering semi-circular walls in the distance cradled Floor 1, meeting his peripheral vision in nearly every direction. The soft rustle of leaves reached his ears, his jawline tensing at how pristine everything seemed to be. Everything was so vivid, rich with the breath of life, despite the fact that none of it was genuinely real. Aincrad, Rhys once read in passing, with its endless layers of purgatory-- or a new chance at living. What was a prison disguised as paradise intrigued Rhys the moment he spawned in. The thought caused his jaw to briefly tighten as he navigated through his surroundings, fists clenching lightly at his sides. This world, with all its alluring beauty and attraction as an escapade from reality, should have been a place for new beginnings for losers like him. Or at least for some form of respite. To Rhys, however, it only served as a reminder that he chose this life to flee the previous one. Each breath he took felt too simple, too easy. The warmth on his skin felt like a lie - one that made his stomach churn with frustration. It all made Rhys angry. For fucks sake, he shouldn't feel this warm. He couldn't quite place a finger on when his anger had begun. Perhaps when his eyes opened immediately after logging in... or when he thought the menu screen wasn't closing properly; perhaps it was the way it had crept in slowly like a spider upon his neck, little by little, as the reality of his situation set in. This wasn't just a game, and he couldn't leave. With polished stone and essentially pixelated skies, he had no way out. This was it, a new chance at life, but everything seemed to bother every corner of himself. Crimson irises flickered upwards again, toward the impossible skies. That bitter knot in his chest tightened, full of past regrets and mistakes that haunted him like every yokai he had read about in those legends. He wanted to scream, to tear this perfect illusion apart brick by brick - to dismantle every pixel of this damn fantasy until nothing remained but ash. Instead, he shoved his hands deeper into the thick silks of his pockets. Just barely did the new material brush against his knuckles - foreign and unfamiliar. A frown just barely tugged on his lips at the feeling of pleasantry. Maybe if he kept moving - kept exploring Aincrad - the anger would slowly fade and he could accept the scars that he bore. If he kept walking through the endless floors, surviving them all, the anger would ebb. Maybe it would bleed out slowly, quietly, leaving behind only an ache that was so dull and rusted that he could at least live with. Embrace the new, even if he couldn't return home. Eh, who knows. He pulled his attention elsewhere, forcing himself to focus on figuring it all out. His menu had blinked into view before him, an endless log of quests unfolding before his very eyes. Though, it didn't help that he was the most uneducated out of every player in SAO. He scanned the lines with little amusement; every player, despite many being anxious, seemed to know what they were doing - already organizing themselves into guilds, chatting about strats and leveling up at a rate that left him completely in the dust. Rhys, on the other hand, had barely scratched the surface. The mechanics, the monsters, the floors... all of it was overwhelming; he wasn't a gamer, and he certainly wasn't prepared. In this death game, he was completely blind. Still, he needed to start somewhere. He couldn't afford for his feet to remain planted, frozen in time, and he certainly couldn't present himself as the cowardly type. This was the mere beginning of all the floors in the game, and he wasn't going to chicken out and stay where it was safe. His finger hovered over one of the quests - simple enough, a starting task. Hardly glamourous, but it was a stepping stone. There was a minor issue that he wasn't exactly certain where he was going, but he'd figure it out eventually. With a resigned sigh, Rhys finally set off for Tolbana, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his growing frustrations unnecessarily against the world. Traversing the labyrinthine streets felt like a cruel joke being played on him, and it was certainly nothing he was used to. Buildings twisted and turned in a maze of unfamiliarity, the alleyways and thoroughfares blending together into an awful piece of art. Every corner seemed to lead to nowhere, and every wrong only pushed him further toward implosion. By the time he reached the outskirts of town, he felt as if every muscle and tendon in his body was about to split into two. A faint hope of progress. Tolbana wasn't much to gawk at. A town that might've felt charming on any other day, now felt hollow in comparison to the attraction he felt upon first spawning in. The initial wonder had long since faded, leaving him with nothing but a creeping sense of monotony. Everything was rather ordinary and disgustingly modest - nothing about it eased the churning in his core. As he wove through the town, Rhys felt eyes on him. A strange sensation of being observed, like someone was waiting for him to arrive. So, his gaze snapped toward the source - a figure standing off to the side, staring at him with unnerving eyes. His eyes were pale, catching the light, and reflecting the faint reflection of a monocle. Something was oddly precise, like clockwork, about his posture. Every movement seemed calculated. Rhys, ever the pain in the ass, called out bitterly. "Got a staring problem, pal?" his voice wedged through the air. His jaw lifted in challenge, pointing toward the other in a gesture that mirrored the bluntness in his tone. The ever-brewing hurricane inside him, however, stilled for a moment in time as the figure moved toward him with an almost mechanical grace. Step by step, he closed the distance, moving with precision. Rhys' breath hitched just slightly, an exhale seething through clenched teeth as their figures met. It was a man - older, judging by the aged lines on his face and his gray hair, though his movements practically defied his age. Each step exuded a poise that felt out of place in this chaotic environment. And it was extremely unsettling. Rhys' brow furrowed, a spark of hesitation flickering in those crimson irises. Was this an...NPC? He ravaged through the archives of his brain for the right acronyms, the mechanics, anything that could explain who he was looking at. The term slipped awkwardly into his thoughts, and a wave of embarrassment flustered him for a second. Nice going, Rhys. Dumbass, he thought, his cheeks heating with a faint flush. The figure - no, NPC - clearly didn't give a damn about his internal turmoil. Then, the man proceeded to speak, words spilling from his lips straight from a script. Dorian, his name was. As he began to lay out the logistics of this quest, Rhys waved a hand in front of his face. He parted his lips in order to retort - to argue, even, about how boring this quest sounded. Yet Rhys shifted uncomfortably, the realization of everything sinking in. Great start, Rhys. Spoiler STATS Rhys | HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 4 SKILLS SP 4/5 Thrown Weaponry R1 INVENTORY SET D: Support Package (3) Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP) 2,000 Col and (25) Materials Link to post Share on other sites
Styx 0 Posted October 29 #2 Share Posted October 29 >> STYX has: attached file(s): [STATS] Styx - HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 4 Spoiler EQUIPPED GEAR: SKILLS: > R1 | Thrown Weaponry > > EXTRA SKILLS: MODS: CONSUMABLES USED: > x3 Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP) BATTLE-READY: BUFFS: It’s sunny out today. Styx’s thoughts momentarily strayed away from the shop vendor he had been speaking to as his head tilted up. Whisps of clouds streaked across an ever-expanding sky reminiscent of cotton being stretched thin, as if there had been an invisible hand softly pulling at the ends of a fraying string. Placed flawlessly on top of the blue backdrop was a picture-perfect sun; its warm rays lingered on his dark skin– too consistent to be considered normal yet too pleasant to be uncomfortable. Were he not already accustomed to the sensation after two years of residing on Floor One, it’d be an uneasy sensation that’d send his rational mind haywire. It did not make it any less confusing, but by now, he expected to have more questions than answers by the time he died. “Ah– I’m sorry, what did you say?” Before his thoughts could linger on his eventual demise, he was pulled back to the conversation he had been nodding along idly to. The shopkeeper– a kind and graying woman with a lack of a cursor– thanked him for his patronage with a wrinkled grin. He smiles back, just like the day before, and the day before that. His own question had been more out of habit than of any real concern. Her exact script and dialogue had wormed their way into his brain after their first few encounters, and after realizing that she would not remember him as soon as the sun rose across from above the horizon on a new day, Styx has started to regulate the length of their identical conversations to a healthy three minutes maximum. With a practiced farewell, he sets out. The bag of groceries the woman had handed him sits heavy in his arms as he walks down the cobbled paths of the street, but he finds the weight to be negligible, seemingly more focused on his surroundings. He’d been a resident of the first floor since Kayaba had announced their containment in this digital world, and while he’s definitely seen his fair share of familiar faces, there were always some that proved to be foreign to him. Most of the newer faces around Tolbana only came for the quests– the town itself wasn’t anything special compared to the Town of Beginnings– and they often didn’t intend on staying for long. He could only assume that was the case when he saw a man standing almost hopelessly in front of Dorian. His frustration was palpable, and by his irritated expression, Styx could only assume the poor stranger had no idea what he was doing. Though he found it odd that this was the case for so many players. Why even bother playing an advanced VRMMORPG if you don’t even have the basics of RPG games down? The answer to that question was most likely beyond him, but he resigned to help the guy out anyway. He won’t be the first player Styx has aided and her certainly will not be the last. “If you don’t reply, he’s going to explain the quest again,” came a monotonous voice from behind Rhys. Styx steps up, arms still cradling a bag of fruit. He tilts his head towards the stranger, who appears much taller face to face. Void-like irises meet crimson ones before they look him up and down, as if analyzing something. And then abruptly, Styx turns away. He utters a few quiet words to Dorian, who replies with a boisterous laugh before sending Rhys off with instructions to meet a man named Zackiriah. Then that’s it. Dorian turns around to go back to walking aimlessly, most likely going on the prowl for more players who’ve yet to complete his quest. With a resigned sigh, Styx glances at the unnamed stranger next to him. “Most NPCs will continue to talk if you don’t say anything– especially the ones involved in quests. It’s better to at least say a simple okay if you plan on getting the quest anytime soon.” The words flowed out of his mouth with practiced ease, as if this isn’t the first time he’s had the absolute pleasure of explaining how NPCs worked in the game. He holds the man in a stare for a while before letting out a short exhale. “Okay. Bye.” He turns around, seemingly content– or rather, disinterested– with his lack of a farewell. Link to post Share on other sites
Rhys 0 Posted October 29 Author #3 Share Posted October 29 (edited) A complete mist of confusion clouded Rhys' mind as he struggled to make sense of the NPC’s use of eldritch tongue, each strange syllable only adding to his exasperation. When hope was all lost as he struggled to respond to the NPC, Rhys’ shoulders tensed immediately at the approach of another. He immediately guarded his true emotions, despite how frustrated he became with the script. When he realized someone else was approaching - hopefully to help - a quiet sigh of relief escaped him. He turned to face the newcomer, only to blink in surprise at the unexpected sight beside him: a smaller male, tanned but with the appearance of a small blue kitten, eyes dark at the iris but slightly dulled. At least to Rhys, this player could be compared to a kitten. The stranger seemed like a parallel of himself, crimson and red-horned, if he had somehow ended up reincarnated in blue instead of red. “What-” Rhys muttered under his breath, flustered and barely suppressing his irritation as the other player immediately launched into an informative spiel, practically scripted in its abruptness. There was no casual greeting, no aura of friendliness, just a detached efficiency that left Rhys feeling more irritated than before. Was this guy an NPC too? Rhys quickly dismissed the thought; there was something unmistakably intentional in the way this player operated. It almost felt like the mechanical nature of someone else he knew once upon a time. Yet Rhys muttered a few swears as he was suddenly dumped a significant amount of information from the NPC. Zackariah’s shop, or some shit. Should be easy enough, right? The NPC forgets who he lends his loan to, despite the fact he should certainly know exactly where it went... and now Rhys has to play fetch. Well, if the reward is plentiful, he supposes it shouldn't be that annoying. This...other player, though, could bring him an advantage. So Rhys sits there, listening to the more experienced fellow talk. But this player's demeanor seemed absurd, even as he held his bag of groceries so close to his chest - an innocent look on his face. As Rhys took in the cryptic advice being given with the casual authority of a seasoned player, a sense of awe washed over him. It was as if the gods themselves had handed him sacred knowledge, delivered from the least likely of messengers. A sense of amusement brewed within him; he worked hard to mask his surprise, responding to the other player's advice with a casual shrug and a slight pout. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that this player knew exactly what he was doing. And then immediately Styx turned on his heels as soon as he gave Rhys a pointer. What the hell was that? “Hey, hey, wait a damn minute!” Rhys called out as the other player turned to leave, entirely unaffected by Rhys’ gruff appearance. Jogging to close the distance, Rhys darted in front of the smaller figure, stopping him in his tracks. The shorter male bumped into him, and a few pieces of fruit tumbled from the bundle he carried. Rhys caught one of the wayward apples mid-fall, a bright pop of bright red against his hand. Without missing a note, he pressed it firmly back against the other player’s chest, locking eyes with a determination that refused to be shrugged off so simply. Despite Rhys’ challenging stare, the player beneath his gaze remained entirely unfazed, as if he were dealing with a very minor inconvenience rather than a tall, intimidating figure. There was a confidence, almost a calm detachment, in the way he held himself. And this pissed Rhys off. "You aren't going anywhere, pretty boy. You should share more of that knowledge and prestige of yours," Rhys drawled deeply, smiling slyly with a brief flash of fanged teeth. "You think you're better than the rest of us?" Rhys spent an awful amount of time searching for any slight movement in Styx's face, yet there was absolutely nothing. Was this guy an airhead? His words dripped with an edge, yet the other player was so utterly calm and composed. As if Rhys were simply another curiosity in his path. It was slightly unnerving, even for the renegade. This unshaken composure left Rhys feeling as if he were the one under complete scrutiny, yet he still let bitter words leave his tongue - with an aura of nonchalance. "How about we take a walk, hm?" Edited October 29 by Rhys Link to post Share on other sites
Styx 0 Posted October 29 #4 Share Posted October 29 He had barely registered the baffled sounds escaping the stranger before he ran into its source. He stumbled backward, of course, and some wayward fruit piled on top of the bundle fell out of his bag and onto the ground below as a result. A splatter of irritation crossed the canvases of his eyes before he resigned himself to picking up the rest without a word. Just as he stood back up, a grunt of effort left his throat as an apple was suddenly thrust into his chest. He blinked at the fruit before peering past it, and once again his eyes locked onto those crimson irises. The silence was palpable, but he made little effort to react in any other way short of unfazed. Styx’s expression barely faltered as his stare washed across Rhys’ impish expression. “That wasn’t my intention at all,” he said bluntly, face not betraying the shock he felt in reaction to Rhys’ words. How had his advice led to such a ridiculous claim? He was more than aware of how he talks and how it could be considered rude to not mince his words, but it wasn’t often that it was taken as condescending– especially when he himself was a low-level player as well… How confusing. “Did I do something wrong?” Styx asked, suddenly hyperaware of how familiar this situation felt– to be accused of something he did not understand. The man’s visage remained unwavering, but the familiar crawling of ugly, mangled hands clutching his clenching heart resurfaced from his subconscious in a silent but deadly blitz. The stare he had pinned on Rhys shifted to look at a particularly interesting stone brick on a nearby wall as his thoughts hit an uncomfortable roadblock. How unfortunate to be thinking of him now. At the abrupt request, Styx finally turned back to look at the stranger, an ounce of confusion showing in the way his brows furrowed. “A walk.” He repeated the words slowly, as if trying to comprehend why– why pin such an unfounded accusation against him in one moment only to suggest they spend time together in another? He pauses, as if contemplating. Then, he lets out a small sound of realization. “Ah.” Styx’s thin fingers wrapped around the apple that had been pushed against his chest before gently placing it back in his bag. “You want information, is that it?” he asked quietly, and those night-colored eyes averted away once again. He was not an info-broker– far from it, in fact. Most of his game sense had come from the long days and nights bedridden with nothing more to do but fill his limited time with meaningless content of all mediums. “I hope you are aware I have no information valuable enough for you to suggest that we have ‘a walk’,” Styx began, tilting his head as he studied Rhys’ reaction through the lashes that curtained his perceptive gaze. “If you lack rudimentary knowledge of fantasy RPG games, however, then that is another ordeal.” He quiets, and a short but affirming hum escapes his throat to fill the second-long silence. “I would be amenable to helping you with that if you are as well.” There was never much to do in Floor One, much less in Tolbana. Life had only grown more stagnant with every new floor discovered as more and more players fizzled out of the beginner floors– like dead water. It felt as if he was stuck in a lake that was incapable of forming ripples, and all he could do was stare into the vast horizon and hope for something to change. For fear of what change would bring, he does not leave, but he wishes for it nonetheless. “I hope you are aware of the concept of equivalent exchange,” Styx added, his tone offering no form of leeway. “Should you agree, I expect to be compensated something of equal value.” It’s not often that Styx asks for something from others, but he was at least astute enough to recognize that his services had a value, small or not. Though perhaps the chance to do something new was valuable enough for a doomed man like him, but the sensible half of his brain begged to differ and encouraged monetary gain. It was confusing, to say the least, but he nonetheless appeased the clashing thoughts by just doing both. “So do we have a deal?” Link to post Share on other sites
Rhys 0 Posted October 29 Author #5 Share Posted October 29 Shot through the heart. It was as if this blue kitten had peeled back layers of Rhys' bravado with a single, unwavering stare. Like a knife to butter, Styx's words caught him completely by surprise. His perceptive gaze held a sharpness that axed through every defensive stance, every calculated smirk Rhys wore upon himself. Rhys found himself completely vulnerable and exposed, shifting unconsciously on the balls of his feet. He felt his carefully crafted facade waver for the first time; the tension in his jaw only grew as Styx mentioned what Rhys was unwilling to admit: he lacked the knowledge on all of this. He was stumbling, lost in the intricacies of the game. "So you do understand what I'm trying to say," Rhys replied shortly, a sly, fox-like smile forming as he leaned down, his smirk charming. His eyes painted in a dazzling shade of ruby, however, betrayed none of the humor in his smug grin. "And here I thought I was talking to paint slowly dripping down a wall." The jab was extremely hollow, hiding a vulnerability Rhys was completely unwilling to show. Rhys was a new player - a renegade with zero grounding in this permanent VMMORPG and no understanding of the world surrounding him. A memory began to tug at the thread of his mind, a voice from the past suggesting he try this game. A friend told me to be here once, he remembered, though the why of it all had faded into hazy morsels. He was merely a musician before all of this. Rhys could almost hear the melodies of his own songs, memories of a life unraveling to a time when he refused to share his burdens. His stubbornness had driven him here, it seemed, to a new life he struggled to grasp fully. Styx spoke with such a measured detachment, outlining his terms and conditions with a very calm authority that Rhys could almost respect. The beast was tamed, temporarily, leaving him to listen to his words despite how frustrated he was becoming. Rhys clenched his jawline, forcing himself to remain quiet, though his heart was tangled in not only irritation, but also desperation. He'd hoped, even expected, that Styx might show a bit more compassion - a player in the aesthetics of a cute innocent kitten, merciful to a wounded coyote like him. Instead, Styx's terms struck like lightning, a challenge and a reminder of how much he had yet to learn. What a bastard. Perhaps he was as feline and deceiving as he appeared. Equivalent exchange, huh? The hell am I good for? "Tch- unbelievable," Rhys muttered breathlessly, rubbing his forehead with the Achilles heel of his hand, his eyes squeezing shut. He dragged his hand down his face, as if he was trying to rub away the reality of this situation. But the truth still lie still, gnawing at his core and demanding he accept the offer. With a resigned sigh, Rhys turned sharply on his feet and began walking in the direction he guessed would lead to the next part of the quest. His calloused, veined hands lifted up in surrender as he agreed to the exchange. "Fine, whatever you say." In truth, Rhys had no idea where he was going. The path stretched far ahead, winding into the streets of Tolbana full of shadows that seemed to mock him. He swallowed his pride and casted a sidelong glance of finality back at Styx, half-hoping he'd follow, half-expecting him to suddenly say farewell and leave. But Rhys needed to pick up the pace and figure something out, or else he would be stuck in isolation on the first floor forever and a day. "All I have to offer you is my strength and my charming personality when it comes to women," Rhys called over his shoulder, feigning confidence. "Are you coming or not, little treasure?" Link to post Share on other sites
Styx 0 Posted October 30 #6 Share Posted October 30 “You are free to refuse my offer.” Rhys’ displeasure was obvious, and Styx would swallow down the itching feeling of hurt. Jabs at his personality and mannerisms were not a welcomed experience, but it was common nonetheless, and he had simply learned to not care for them. Despite a part of him hoping that the other would refuse his lackluster offer so that they could resume their days like nothing ever happened, Rhys’ resolve was stubborn, and he was already walking off in another direction by the time Styx had properly comprehended his acceptance. Ignoring the sudden use of the nickname,– he’d spend too much time picking it apart otherwise– Styx instead reached forward to grab Rhys by the arm before tugging him backward. His grip was weak, and Rhys could easily tear it away if he wanted to. “You’re going the wrong direction,” he murmured, just loud enough for the other man to hear, and his gaze flickered to Rhys’ indiscernible face as he gestured down the street behind them. If he hadn’t been forced to already, he’d let go, hand settling back to his side comfortably. “It’s down here. Stay close.” Styx’s head jerked, a motion for his newfound partner to follow him. “I don’t believe I have any use for your… skills right now,” he said uncertainly as he led the stranger to Zackariah’s shop. His voice trailed off into quiet breathing while he contemplated his next words carefully. Part of him considered voiding his offer to help after it was made clear that Rhys didn’t have much to offer outside of a few suave words, but his other half reasoned that it’d be a poor reflection of his character to suddenly abandon a player in obvious need of assistance. And then another tiny fraction also believed that this man would no doubt start a public dispute in the middle of a crowded town over something as mundane as a refusal to cure his own ignorance. “Just consider it a favor owed,” Styx said after a few seconds of silence. He did not mention how it would be relatively easy to avoid each other for the rest of their lives after today, and that their “agreement”– if you could even call it that– was only bound by word. If he chose to do so, Rhys would never have to repay him for his assistance, and Styx trusted that the other player knew that fully well. Perhaps it was naive of him to think that he knew enough from first impressions, but Styx hoped there was at least some form of ethical reasoning in that pretty head of his. Regardless, he’d attempt to take preventative measures by at minimum learning the stranger’s name– to track if he needed to, of course. Idly, Styx’s hand lifted to fiddle with a few buttons of his menu before a small screen appeared in front of Rhys. STYX has requested a party. Do you accept? [Yes] [No] Dark eyes glanced at the man beside him. “A party invitation,” he explained unenthusiastically. “That way, we can do the quest together.” Styx failed to add at some point in their conversation that he himself has never done the tutorial quest despite his apparent knowledge of how it worked. He didn’t find it important enough to mention when much of the experience he had accumulated over the last two years has been directing the surprisingly large amount of clueless players to various locations in the questline– it was only natural that he picked up a thing or two eventually. However, it seemed like this new face would need much more than simple directions to a house or field. If Rhys were to accept his invitation, the two would finally have access to the other’s username, planted clearly in the corner of their peripherals just beside a new healthbar under their own. Link to post Share on other sites
Rhys 0 Posted October 30 Author #7 Share Posted October 30 (edited) Rhys' heavy footfalls came to a very abrupt halt as he felt the subtle tug on his wrist. A quiet whisper brushed through the air, urging him to hold completely still. Nearly dragging Styx a few more paces in his reckless stride to nowhere, he finally stopped when his attention collided with deep obsidian. Realizing his misstep, Rhys turned to face the shorter man, a slight pout formulating on his lips as he absorbed the silent message. Wrong direction-right. "I...definitely knew that," Rhys evidently fibbed, offering a grin that revealed his pointed canines once again. "Just testing you. After all, I am totally the greatest player to ever grace this realm." With a wink in Styx's direction, he attempted to soften his blunder with an evident mix of swagger and charm. Rhys had the spirit, at least. Socializing with someone as dismissive as Styx was another issue entirely, despite his background in performing. Yet, Rhys wasn't quite disheartened by Styx's cool demeanor. He followed suit, hands curled tensely at his sides, occasionally crossing his arms and shifting impatiently as they navigated through the winding alleys and scattered players of Tolbana. "You'll need my skills eventually, little treasure," Rhys eventually quipped in response, casting Styx a confident, albeit slightly exaggerated, smirk. Doesn't need his skills? Ha! What a silly little blue kitten he was. Despite his verbal teases, Rhys felt an odd mix of intrigue and exasperation toward his new quest companion. Something about Styx's stoic, narrow approach to small talk was a challenge in its own. Not that Rhys blamed him. Whenever Rhys peered in the mirror, he immediately grew tired of his own reflection. Rhys' musings were interrupted when Styx suddenly lifted a hand, the slight gesture drawing his attention. With practiced ease, Styx tapped through his menu, fiddling with it. Rhys watched as if he was witnessing some shadow wizard gang casting spells, his expression completely transfixed. STYX has requested a party. Do you accept? [Yes] [No] For a slim moment, Rhys was completely frozen as he stared at the screen prompt. His normally confident and relaxed posture faltered; he blinked, feeling his chest tighten as a familiar, taboo thought surfaced. I knew someone with that name once. The resemblance in name struck him like the gods had smote him, fueling a fleeting concoction of hope and pure delusion. Logic told him this Styx was entirely different, a new entity, and that the player before him couldn't be the Styx he once knew outside of this virtual reality. Yet still, his finger hovered over the screen, a slight tremor betraying him. RHYS has joined the party. He swallowed any remaining hope. Clearing his throat, Rhys masked his reaction with a quick, disarming smirk. "Easy enough," he croaked, then fell into step beside Styx, determined not the linger on the overbearing jar of memories that threatened to spill. He focused instead on the quest, his pace overall steady as if he had suddenly grasped the task at hand with newfound purpose. When they reached the shop, Rhys' mood shifted again, his shoulders growing tense as they entered the space drenched in glimmering baubles and a dizzying array of lights. The merchant NPC - Zackariah, if Rhys remembered correctly - immediately launched into his script about gathering materials and offering fondue. Rhys barely registered the words, his gaze flicking over the cluttered shop with an air of aloofness. Rhys perked up at the sound of fondue, however, a playful gleam in his eye. "Let's just get this over with," he finally said, his voice low and exasperated. "That fondue sounds nice as hell, though." He shot Styx a conspiratorial look, slight mischief dancing in his eyes. The thought of indulging in this fondue, harboring a potential reward, was awfully appealing. Maybe there was something worth pausing for after all in this world. He nudged Styx's shoulder briefly. "Come on," he sang lightly. "Fondue sounds good to you too, right?" Edited October 30 by Rhys Link to post Share on other sites
Styx 0 Posted October 31 #8 Share Posted October 31 (edited) RHYS has joined the party. All over again, Styx’s feet were swept from under him, and it felt like his whole world had been submerged under an endless, cold ocean. Leave me the fuck alone. Leave me the fuck alone. Leave me the fuck alone. It no longer felt like a game. His limbs ached and his vision blurred. Motor functions seemed to cease as he instinctively tried to flex his hand, only for there to be barely a small twitch. There was a moment where Styx opened his mouth to say something before it snapped shut, afraid that the few words he had left to say would come out slurred and uncontrolled. His body was crumbling in on itself, wasting away to dust like it had been before– like it was now, in the real world, where he couldn’t see it. The effect of Rhys’ parting words still lingers after so many years, and it sent him spiraling back into a time when control of his body was out of the question. His skin felt clammy, like it had been glued to hospital gowns for weeks. If he had listened close enough, he could hear the murmur of a monitor, buzzing with life and electricity while his own body grew weaker and weaker in a sterile white room, more alone than ever. Styx– Keitaro– never cried. Not when he was teased for being a foreigner. Not when he had incorrectly tuned the peg on his violin, causing it to snap in his face and leaving a sting that would last for weeks. He had even somehow managed to avoid shedding a single tear when he had first gotten his diagnosis, something that should’ve absolutely ruined him like it ruined his life. Everyone seemed to cry for him then, weeping for the son and friend they had yet to lose, but Keitaro never cried. Until Rhys finally got sick of him. He had refused to look back on their chats after that late night, but he could assume it was a decision that had been in the making for a long time. Only he was to blame for not noticing the signs earlier. Perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt as much if he had steeled his heart beforehand. He should’ve, but he didn’t, and it resulted in him falling into a state of complete disarray until the sun rose beyond the horizon a few hours later. He cried until his lungs hurt, sobbed and wept until the only sounds that came out of his hoarse throat was the pitiful warbles of heartbroken despair and pleads for why. Head to toe, his body tingled due to his violent exertions before inevitably growing numb of all feeling, and he had refused to sit up the whole day following their falling out. Keitaro’s heart had been inconsolable, and just when he started to think it was healing, the stitches were ripped out of them once more. Rhys would never know what Keitaro sounded like, not when he was too far gone in his condition to make proper sentences without stumbling on his words, but the lingering memories of their one-sided calls still haunted Styx’s thoughts. Every word, hum, and lyric uttered into Rhys’ crappy phone mic was ingrained into his head like a brand. He sounded different now, though. Without the barrier of communication between them, Styx could hear the tenuous flaws in his tone he had yet to notice before. It hurt. It hurt to uncover such unnoticeable and obscured details about the man who’d torn his out of his chest and ripped it apart in his face. Would Rhys even remember doing that? Styx’s thoughts fell deeper, darker. Would Rhys even remember me after what he had said all those years ago? In his spiraling panic, Styx had failed to notice the subtle tremor in the man’s breaths or the way his hand shook as it tapped on the window– what would’ve been answers to his undying questions would remain shrouded under a veil of unseen actions. Time resumed as Styx once again felt Rhys’ presence beside him, and both of them continued to walk like nothing had ever happened. Each of Styx’s steps was methodical, as if his entire body was operating under written commands. Inside, however, he was falling. Did he mean it? What did I do wrong? I’m sorry. Can I fix this? Does he remember? Does he want to remember? Did he forget me? How could he forget me? What do I do? What can I do? Why did he say that? Why is he here? Dangerous thoughts crept up in his desperation. He doesn’t remember me. Why can’t he remember me? It’s better this way. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t want to remember. That’s okay. We can start over. He doesn’t have to remember. The two entered the shop with Styx unaware of how he even led them there when his head was all scrambled. Fortunately, the clutteredness of the space distracted him from his thoughts for a few minutes as he made note of every odd thing out of place, but his straying mind always went back to the man beside him. “Aren’t you supposed to eat fondue with other things?” he muttered under his breath in response to Rhys’ goading. His shoulders squared at the sudden contact, but he remained silent otherwise, not trusting his words when thoughts of their failed friendship echoed in his mind. He’d fix this. He’d start over. If the bridge of their relationship had been burned, he’d build another one. Even if Rhys couldn’t see that it was crafted by the hands of the man whose heart he had broken, he’d do it again and again, until he drew his last breath. The destructive thoughts eventually faded into silence, and Styx would finally nod, albeit stiffly. “Fine. Okay.” He still eyes the melting pot warily, unsure if such a thing would be safe to consume if they were not in the confines of the game. Regardless, it seemed like something he wouldn't like. Zackariah seems pleased with his resignation, and he hands the two a pair of long-tonged forks with a chunk of bread stabbed between the prongs. Hesitantly, Styx took a fork between his fingers, twirling it around as if to stall for time. He made a disgruntled sound before looking up at Rhys hopelessly. “You first.” Edited October 31 by Styx Link to post Share on other sites
Rhys 0 Posted October 31 Author #9 Share Posted October 31 (edited) “Brother!” “Aki? Oh no, no… Why are you crying?” Kazuki’s voice is gentle, almost fatherly. The little girl stands completely still in front of him, her eyes red and cheeks puffy. He slowly kneels, his large hands lifting to cradle her face, catching her tears as they fall and dry into his hands. There was a boy who loved his family. A boy who promised to protect his family without a father to take care of them. In a world where his father stepped down, Kazuki had taken a step forward. “Lost my bear…” she hiccups, her words tangled with sniffles. Kazuki’s thumbs slowly brush beneath her lower lashes, wiping away her remaining tears. He then stands and extends a hand to his little sister, his fingers warm and steady, an anchor for her to always tie herself to. She grasps his index finger first, then wraps her tiny hand around his entirely. His heart softens with the humility of his childhood promise. Protect her. Always. “We'll find it together. What do we say when we get scared, Aki?” Kazuki asks, sliding open the back door as they step outside. To find the lost bear in the garden. “I can brave what I most fear…” “That’s right.” Suffering, or the memory of it, is like clinging to a teddy bear made of shattered glass. The tighter he clings to it, the deeper it cuts. Memories should just be a mere fragment of the past. So perhaps Kazuki should practice by putting the teddy bear down. Perhaps then, if he puts it down, the teddy bear disappears. Just like how little Akiko lost her teddy bear in the garden. If he is willing to put it down. Yet Rhys holds the teddy bear close to his chest, the glass seeping into his skin. He refuses. Rhys denies the pain of shattered glass, even as the knife edges nearer to his heart. He’ll never reach for the hand of grief from a lost lover drowned in the depths of his self-destruction. The hand was extended toward him just so he might admit his fault in the breaking of another’s heart. Despite the fleeting, haunted look in Styx’s eyes as Rhys accepts the party, he never asks. Though every instinct within him cries out, pleading for him to finally acknowledge the truth surfacing between them – he won’t. Never again would Rhys live through the everlasting torment of addiction. Never again would he reread those messages he wrote in a drunken stupor. Where his words became riddles. Where the words of “I love you” were replaced by weapons of bitterness. In truth, he never hated the Styx he once knew on the other side of his phone screen. Not once. Rhys had taken those painful memories and placed them into a box. He put them there alongside the photographs, the rings, and the past message threads. This box is his coffin for the past, laid to rest with all the reverence of a farewell to the dead and the living about to die. No funeral accompanies it, for there is no time to mourn; he has buried them all in silence, and now, the wake is his alone to carry. Yet he still holds the teddy bear. Even as Styx desperately tries to rebuild the bridge between them–laying down plank after plank–Rhys continues to knock it down. He kicks aside every log, every cobblestone, every plank that once kept their foundation steady. And with each piece dismantled, he clutches his broken teddy bear closer, the pain dulling any trace of emotion he might still hold. In that numbing embrace, he convinces himself it’s safer to carry the shattered pieces than to ever let them go. This Styx in front of him wasn’t the same person, and that was final. The hourglass had once again begun to fill the bottom with sand, as time began to turn once more. Zackariah had just offered the two of them a pot of fondue, and Rhys had somehow convinced Styx to partake in it. Despite the look of unease that plagued Styx’s features, Rhys paid it no mind for the time being. Perhaps he was a germaphobe…or hated random offerings of food. On the contrary, Rhys accepted the NPC’s offer with pure delight. His lips were practically drooling with saliva, his little white fang peeking out from his bottom lip. Styx gestured for Rhys to go first, his entire demeanor suddenly shifting in the same way Rhys’ had. “Oh, come on,” Rhys smirked, shaking his head. “Don’t give me that look, little treasure. This fine-ass dish might be sketchy as hell to accept, but food’s still food, no matter where we end up.” He gave a casual shrug and popped the bread into his mouth, the rich, warm flavor flooding his senses and easing a bit of the edge off his hunger. “Besides,” he went on, words muffled as he chewed, his right cheek puffy with bread and cheese, “there might be a crazy reward for all this, right? Maybe a castle or some shit. ‘Rhys, King of Aincrad’ has a ring to it.” He mused, glancing at Styx with a glint of mischief in his eyes as if daring him to join in on the joke. Yet Styx’s expression didn’t waver, his gaze hard as metal. Rhys sighed, the smile on his face softening. “Look, if nothing else, at least we’ve got something good to eat while we’re here. It’s not every day you get to enjoy a random pot of fondue in a shop like this. And I’ll take what I can get.” He stabbed another piece of bread, swirling it through the cheese with slight theatrics. “So, you planning on just sitting there brooding, or are you going to join me? I know we’ve got things to gather, but you should enjoy the moment.” He shot Styx a lopsided smile, trying to break through the thick tension lingering between them. And to ease his burdens. A long-winded pause fell between them, stretching into long, lingering silence. Rhys let his gaze drift, stealing glances at Styx beneath lowered lashes, his curiosity simmering beneath his casual demeanor. Finally, the renegade broke the stillness, leaning forward slightly as if to bridge the gap in their unspoken tension and his awfully loud chewing. “You know your way around this place better than most, helpin' people when they need it,” he mentions, his voice light, yet definitely probing. “So... why stick around down here instead of climbing the floors?” Rhys kept his tone playful, but his question carried a sharper edge, a subtle tug meant to pry at the puppet strings into whatever Styx kept hidden behind that unreadable, beautiful expression. Consumes Zackariah's Fondue: +3 LD Rhys | HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 4 | LD: 3 Edited November 1 by Rhys Link to post Share on other sites
Styx 0 Posted October 31 #10 Share Posted October 31 (edited) Styx watched closely as the bread flew into Rhys mouth, who was obviously the more eager one out of the two to eat some random fondue from a pot. “We technically do not need any form of sustenance to maintain our bodies in here,” he countered weakly as he turned back to the fork of bread between his hands. With all his knowledge of this quest, he knew you did not have to consume whatever concoction Zackariah conjured in that pot of his. He also knew that there was not a castle waiting to be claimed at the end of it– which will most definitely disappoint Rhys when they finish it. He holds his tongue, however. From experience, his bluntness is likely more trouble than what it's worth, and he wanted to avoid souring the already broken relationship both he and Rhys shared. Tense shoulders he didn’t even realize he had been holding gradually loosened under Rhys’ reassurances, but the aura of hesitance still lingered in his posture. The sudden softness in the other’s smile did more to the broken man’s heart than he thought possible. Unfortunately, it was as comforting as it was bitter. He doesn’t remember, Styx tells himself over and over again. He doesn’t remember and that's okay. Still, his thoughts backpedaled. Styx wondered if Rhys would’ve looked at him like that all those years ago, lighthearted and relaxed, or if that was only reserved for the people that “did understand”. You never fucking understand anything. It was silly how simple Styx’s mind was. Surely, he thinks, he would “understand” if he did just as Rhys asked and enjoyed the moment. So, with great reluctance, he dipped the bread into the simmering pot, barely making an effort to get the actual cheese on before pulling it out and shoving the fork into his mouth without a second thought. It wasn’t pleasant. Far from it. The tanginess of the fondue enveloped his tongue like wet cardboard, and the dry bread didn’t seem to make it any better. It was a mess of textures in his mouth… but it was palatable enough for him to put aside his preferences for once, as much as it made his stomach churn. Styx continued to nibble on the cheese-covered bread, his gaze just barely flickering to Rhys through his lashes before it trailed back down to the ground. Small talk was not his forte, but he’d at least attempt it. For his sake. “I don’t want to,” he said simply. There was no tinge of deceit in his words, only an air of indifferent confidence. “The Frontliners seem to be doing fine. There’s no need for me to join their ranks,” Styx continued, “and it’s safer down here, isn’t it?” It wasn’t a total lie. Apparently, there was a greater chance of finding a friend-turned-stranger from years ago than being killed by a random boar– according to Styx– so he assumes that he’s relatively safe for now. He wouldn’t mention how he was unfit for combat. He wouldn’t mention how walking, much less running, had itself been a struggle for him when he first emerged in this new world. Styx was not prepared for such freedoms after years of his own body failing him, and he certainly wasn’t prepped for the rigorous lifestyle of those who worked hard to leave the game. He shifts his weight on his legs as if to remind himself of the struggles he had overcome. His limbs no longer felt like weights strapped to his form, nor did they shake with every minor movement. His reflexes felt normal enough, if not slightly delayed, but still a massive improvement since he first began the game. Running was still a fickle thing; he couldn’t quite get the hang of both of his feet leaving the ground at any point even after two years. With his relatively peaceful life, however, he didn’t find much purpose in refining it. So no, Styx was not qualified to climb the floors, and he told himself that it was probably for the best. “... so what about you?” Brown hair swayed gently as Styx finally lifted his head to meet Rhys’ expression. His question felt uncertain, as if he was out of his element with just a few simple words, which to be fair, he most definitely was. “Why start now?” Why show up now? “You had two years, so why now?” It’s been three years since we’ve talked. Why now? It was unreasonable for Styx to ask what brewed in his thoughts when he knew full well that the answer was not under Rhys’ control, no matter how much Styx wanted to scream and cry that it was his fault that they ended up like this– lost, heartbroken, and completely alone. But, he surmised that Fate was a cruel thing, dishing out punishments and gifts whenever it pleased. It’s only unfortunate that they were one and the same in Styx’s case. POST ACTION: Consumes Zackariah's Fondue: +3 LD Styx - HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 4 | 3 LD Edited October 31 by Styx Link to post Share on other sites
Rhys 0 Posted November 1 Author #11 Share Posted November 1 (edited) It’s supposed to be safer down here? Rhys had never really thought about safety before–not until he heard the word leave Styx’s lips, slipping out with a straightforward, almost indifferent tone. His rubellite eyes flickered between the warm fondue and Styx’s borderline unreadable expression as if weighing the unexpected concept now hanging in the air. Rhys had hammered on the nail that attempted to reach into Styx’s mind, but despite his simple answers, Rhys just couldn’t read him. He grew frustrated, albeit just slightly. His shoulders slumped, his tall frame casting a shadow over the table as he hovered over his long fork, absentmindedly popping the last piece of bread into his mouth. Safety. It wasn’t something he aimed for; he lived on instinct and aggressive impulse in his adult life, trusting in his luck to carry him through, unscathed–or at least alive. But he wasn’t quite certain if alive was the right word for how he was before jumping into the game. His gaze lingered on Styx, partially wondering if this man, with his mechanical demeanor and gentle resolve, had always seen life through the lens of caution. In contrast, Rhys felt his approach was all force and defiance, testing limits without much thought for the cost. Safety, he kept reminiscing, chewing slowly on the warm bread as if the word itself were foreign. He wasn’t sure what it meant for him, exactly – just that he’d somehow scraped by until now, relying on chance, and mostly his wit. But he was almost desperate to find out how long he could go without dying. It wasn’t the first time he had offered Death his hand, stepping into a familiar, dangerous waltz. With each reckless step, he’d feel the thrill of serotonin, as though Death were both his dance partner and his shadow, lingering just close enough to remind him of the thin line he danced upon every day of his life. There was a strange comfort in it, a sense of freedom in surrendering to the reckless sway, and the way his hand felt on the small of Death’s back. In moments like these, safety felt like a distant language he never spoke, irrelevant in the face of the thrill. Yet Styx threw the question right back at him…as direct as ever. Rhys was going to have a hard time dealing with this. He felt the weight of the burning question sink in, lingering. He had two years. Two whole years to get his shit together. So why now? Don’t pry into my business. His defensive walls had immediately thrown themselves upwards, barricading any sense of vulnerability. It was a question Rhys didn’t intend to answer right away, nor did he want to face the truth – not to Styx, at least, and not even to himself. The truth was woven in an ugly web of silk, tangled somewhere deep in a mess of reasons he wasn’t ready to unpack. He had just gotten started, he didn’t need to provide an answer as to why. He hesitated as he placed down his fork, feeling the intensity of Styx’s eyes watching him, waiting. For a moment, he forced himself to meet Styx’s gaze, searching for any clue that if he answered truthfully, he might understand. But the answer was locked, and Styx didn’t wield the key. “That’s none of your concern,” Rhys replied in defiance, his expression restrained as he slid back, putting more distance between the two of them. Rhys crossed his arms tightly around his chest as he peered at the remnants of the fondue with a hardened look in his eyes. He gave Styx a very flat glance, his demeanor changing entirely from its relaxed state prior. The weight was something he could barely handle. “Let’s keep things simple between us, shall we? You ask about my past, I don’t answer.” He hit a sore spot. It was such a simple question, yet it irked Rhys with an irritation that was not quite personal. Yet it felt like he took a tub of salt and rubbed it on every scar that burned through Rhys’ skin. So Rhys turned toward the door, his gaze fixed on it as a firm reminder that they had a job to do and rewards to claim. He didn’t bother waiting to see if Styx would follow. In a motion that bordered on a silent, stubborn tantrum, he spun on his heels and strode forward, his posture completely tensed up like a jack-in-the-box ready to burst. “Let’s just get this shit over with,” he muttered beneath his bitter breath, jerking his head toward the door of Zackariah’s shop, his voice tight. He didn’t look back to check Styx’s reaction, the words serving as much for himself as for his party companion. With each step, he tried to shrug off the weight of Styx’s question even if he was a hypocrite for asking first, determined to keep his focus on the task ahead–no matter what ghosts lingered behind. He knew he was a hypocrite, a man who was a mere touch away from destroying everything around him once again. The wilds – that’s what Zackariah had mumbled between lines of his endless NPC spiel. Rhys squinted as the sunlight struck his eyes, stifling a yawn as he stood with his arms coiled against his chest. His thoughts drifted reluctantly to the task at hand: gathering materials first and foremost. That’s all I need to do, he reminded himself, shoving aside the familiar, sharp-edged thoughts that lurked in the back of his mind. He let out a heated huff and stepped forward, his soles colliding against stone. “Keep up, Styx,” he called over his shoulder with the roll of his tongue, the first time his name ever left his lips. Rhys’ tone was laced with exhausted nonchalance as if he could shed his frustrations as easily as shrugging off a fluffy winter coat. He didn’t even look back, though he felt Styx’s steady presence close behind, then eventually beside him. “These materials might have razor-sharp teeth, you know,” he added with the ghost of a smirk, his voice a dry mutter, more to himself than anyone. Why do you hurt everyone around you? Edited November 2 by Rhys Link to post Share on other sites
Styx 0 Posted November 2 #12 Share Posted November 2 (edited) Rhys’ demeanor suddenly shifted in the span of a few seconds, and Styx felt his heart sink as he watched it happen in real time. The carefree soul that had been so outwardly vivacious had receded, revealing a distant, out-of-character expression on the man’s features. Once again, just like all those years ago, Styx was shut out. This time, however, he did not have the solace of being behind a screen; dark brows pinched together in a rare display of hurt, and a brief flicker of defiance lit his eyes aflame– only for it to fizzle out into pitiful embers, leaving an utterly dejected and hopeless look in its stead. He doesn’t get it. Rhys seemed to go against every rule of social protocol Styx had so dutifully committed himself to learning. No matter how hard he tries to just understand, he’s pushed back two steps before he could even realize why. Confused and aching, Styx’s barriers too began to fortify themselves, so soon after he had taken it upon himself to open up to an unlikely face. The bright sheen of hope in his eyes darkened into shadow as his gaze started flickering between the wall and floor– anywhere that wasn’t Rhys. It hurt to swallow with the lump in his throat, so he set down his fork down on a nearby table, having lost his appetite. “Right,” he croaked, voice exhausted yet filled with an anxiety so foreign to him. “I’m sorry.” So rarely does Styx apologize for things he can not understand, but the desperation he faces when it comes to Rhys forces his hand. Whether or not Rhys had heard his apology, however, would seem to remain unknown as he was already spinning on his heels and halfway through the door. It only served to further the beaten man’s panic. Styx stumbled for a second as he watched the other’s retreating back– like he was losing the feeling in his nerves all over again– but he managed to catch himself with stuttered breaths. In his small moment respite, he turned to Zackariah, offering a half-attempt at a polite apology and thank you before dragging his feet after Rhys. He purposely lagged behind in his steps as he followed after his supposed companion, keeping a gap that he didn’t want but most likely needed. Styx knew he needed time for his thoughts to simmer, to be brought down from the boiling point that their sudden distance had caused. Does he hate me? What did I do wrong? Why does this keep happening? A whirlwind of emotions and questions swirled around him like he was in the eye of a raging typhoon. Regret, sorrow, anger– his panic only spiraled out of control the more he replayed their interactions in his head. I should’ve asked something different, he thought with sweating, twitching hands. I should have never said anything at all. It was always better when he gave the answers people wanted to hear, never asking anything of his own. A naive part of him had hoped Rhys would’ve been different… But he was a fool to believe that twice. A poor, lovestruck fool. The damage was already done by the time he was pulled out of his thoughts with the familiar call of his name. It felt like centuries since Styx had last heard Rhys address him by his username, and what would’ve normally given him butterflies in the past only made his heart sink even deeper; he would’ve preferred a silly pet name or even nothing at all to the detached way the word came out of the other man’s lips, like Styx was a stranger barely worth noticing. With his eyes still downcast, he hastened his steps warily, as if being just side to side with Rhys was enough to have him anxious. And even as they fell into synchronous steps, he remained just a few, barely noticeable inches behind. “...’m sorry.” His voice was meek, lacking any of its usual composed quality. By now he wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for, but the barely audible excuse would be the last thing he’d say for the rest of the short journey. Styx wouldn’t answer any of Rhys’ half-hearted quips, both out of inability and exhaustion. His tongue sat heavily on his jaw, and he couldn’t even hear his own thoughts with how loud his heart was beating in his chest. As they approached the grassy fields, Styx cleared his throat. It took a couple of tries before he could voice any words, however. “... it won’t take long to find what we need,” he said quietly, as if reminding himself that there was a high chance he and Rhys would part ways after this quest and never look back. “Just–” he breathed in, just barely being able to calm himself before continuing, “– just look around. If anything catches your eye then there’s a good chance you could use it.” Unfortunately, it was easier said than done; Styx’s own searching would come up fruitless, furthering his already miserable mood. POST ACTION: Gathering Materials ID: 237248 | LD: 1+3, fail Edited November 2 by Styx Link to post Share on other sites
Rhys 0 Posted November 2 Author #13 Share Posted November 2 (edited) Beneath his guarded exterior, Rhys felt a very faint prick of guilt rising within him as Styx's voice suddenly softened. Following the shut down of their previous conversation, Styx had an air of broken vulnerability around him. There was an unexpected faintness to his voice, or the way he lagged behind Rhys' towering presence as they walked into the wilds. Each word seemed to land heavily between them, hitting with so much more vibration than Rhys had expected. An apology wasn't necessary, and Rhys knew that whatever chance of camaraderie they had was shattered by his own bare hands. It was always him who fumbled, letting his own issues and insecurities get in the way of something beautiful. Rhys knew that Styx had done absolutely nothing to deserve Rhys' sharp edges or the walls he put up so voraciously. And yet, here this man was, apologizing anyway beneath his melancholic breath, as if the missteps between them was somehow his fault. Rhys knew better. He swallowed, feeling the very gentle whisper of regret as he kept his face impassive and nonchalant, though the weight of his own guilt was awfully difficult to shake off. "Whatever you say, little treasure," he murmured, turning on his heels as soon as a pause lingered between them. He had to be on the hunt for materials as soon as possible. Perhaps it was a way to clear his head, or fight the demons in his mind begging for him to shut Styx out as soon as possible...once again. Rhys weaved through the dense greenery and overlaying canopies of the wilds, eyes scanning the ground with mild disinterest, hands as empty as his bounty, which amounted to a big, fat zero in bold letters. Not a single material had caught his attention, and his instincts felt as quiet as the empty space between the shrubs. He rounded a gnarled trunk, catching sight of Styx beneath the sheltering canopy, still tense and frustrated by Rhys' attitude. Which beneath all the layers, Rhys understood him for a mere moment. Stepping out from the shade and tall-grass, Rhys approached with a slightly silent gait in contrast to his usually heavy footfalls, his presence barely stirring the air surrounding them, likely catching Styx off-guard. Rhys' paler, empty hands stretched in front of him, fingers spread in a display of their utter uselessness. A cautious aura hung around him as he stopped a few steps away, as if keeping his distance might somehow preserve any strings that were still left attached between them. In his own way, Rhys was trying to thaw. He can admit his failures when it comes to his gathering skills; however, he was as stubborn as a mule when it came to a simple apology. Rhys’s gaze shifted downward, his eyes flickering toward Styx’s hands–they were just as empty, equally barren of any fruit. The intensity in Rhys’s eyes softened, widening into a look of bewilderment as he stared at his new quest companion. He looked every bit like a deer caught in the headlights or a pleading puppy in those elongated moments. But as the silence stretched between them awkwardly, a grin broke through his shock and shot through Styx's miserable demeanor. And Rhys burst into laughter for the first time. Deep, hearty laughter that echoed through the wilds like a burst of unfiltered joy had completely and uncharacteristically erupted from his lungs. His amusement was palpable, his laughter so genuine that even he might've scarred himself with how much he was entertained. Rhys' head tipped back, the sunlight catching on his muted white fangs as he laughed, his shoulders shaking from the sheer bizarre nature of their shared failure. It was unlike any laughter that rang from his lungs during their calls and his sweet nothings exchanged through voice memos. This was his gentle apology. "Don't look at me like that. I swear I tried," he wheezed, leaning over to clutch his knees as his chuckles spilled out of him, completely unrestrained and genuine. Rhys' cheeks were somehow flushed, every few breaths punctuated by another trail of laughter. "So much for our stellar skills," he managed with a flash of his slightly longer fang on his lower lip. He glanced up at Styx, his grin wide and completely playful, breaking through his usual guarded, bitter nature. "Maybe these materials were just too intimated to show themselves, huh?" Rhys straightened up, shaking his head, still chuckling a bit as he fought tooth and nail to catch his breath. "What the hell do we tell that guy? That they took one glance at us and bolted?" Rhys jabbed behind the two of them with a point of his thumb, toward the direction of the shop. There was a gentle glint in his eyes, a lightness that softened his gaze, unmistakably there. For just a moment, it was like looking at the Rhys from before, the one who hadn’t yet weathered the storms that had completely hardened him ice cold. In that fleeting instant, it was a reminder of a warmth he’d once known well, a warmth that still flickered somewhere deep beneath the scars. GATHERING MATERIALS: ID: 237250 | LD: 4 + 3 [FAIL] Edited November 2 by Rhys Link to post Share on other sites
Styx 0 Posted November 2 #14 Share Posted November 2 (edited) As Rhys ventured off on his own, barely acknowledging Styx’s advice. Now alone, the shorter man found himself sinking down to sit under the trunk of a spiraling tree, eager to get off his feet and be left in solitary with his thoughts. Half of him debated not even following through with the rest of the quest after the air turned sour, but if Rhys was barely able to handle the first NPC, Styx couldn’t even imagine how he would fare when facing actual combat and fishing. So for the other painfully smitten half of him, he stayed. He knew it’d hurt more, but he stayed. Styx wasn’t sure how much time had come and gone since he sat down, only that he had passed it by fiddling with the blades of grass and patches of dirt under him. Just as his fingers caught on something rigid and hard lodged deep in the soil, the feeling of eyes staring holes into the back of his head caught his attention. Styx had barely shifted a few inches to turn around before he jumped back, completely unaware of how close Rhys had gotten to him. A retort sat heavy on his tongue as he gazed up at his companion, but he thought better of saying anything lest he want a repeat of earlier. Unfortunately, Rhys seemed to have similar plans, and an awkward silence filled the air as the two continued to lock gazes. To say that Styx was unnerved was an understatement of the century, and his thoughts were already brewing possible scenarios for whats to come. Was he going to get yelled at again? Was Rhys going to declare that this whole quest was a monumental waste of time and ditch him here? Why was he just standing there? Nothing could have prepared him for Rhys laughing. Once again, Styx was rendered speechless. It was unlike anything Styx had ever heard; joyous and far from matching the tense mood. It was so unexpected and boisterous that he initially thought the man had been laughing at him. For what, he wasn’t sure– it really could’ve been a plethora of reasons– but he quickly figured out that wasn’t the case anyway. No, such vivacious laughter couldn’t possibly be at someone else’s expense. So he stared, wide-eyed and completely, utterly infatuated with the man before him. A barely noticeable heat rose to his cheeks, darkening his already golden skin in shades of red. He was falling, and he was falling hard. He’s beautiful. The realization had Styx sucking in a sharp breath. Still, he unconsciously leaned forward, as if hoping to have that honey-sweet melody fill his ears even more than it already was. Rhys’ laughter was an addicting saccharine, intoxicating in every way. Styx so desperately wished to give in and let bygones be bygones, but the sobering reality of how fucked up their situation was cleared the fog in his head. Rhys had abandoned him, coldly at that, and no number of fond looks and genuine laughter could ever change what happened. The awe in his expression was unfortunately short lived, and what remained was Styx’s passive eyes lingering on Rhys’ lighthearted expression, an indecipherable emotion etching across his face. Finally, his mind got the better of him, and he blurted out: “Do you hate me?” Seconds of silence ticked by before he looked down at the grooves in his palms, eyebrows drawing low in evident confusion. It was a few more moments before he could muster up the courage to continue. “I… your words and body language confuse me, and I’m not sure if I am interpreting it correctly,” he whispered, shaking his head. Styx was at a complete loss, and he was growing sick of the uncertainty that festered every time they interacted. Like rolling a dice in a grand gamble, he had no idea what face Rhys would land on, and the odds terrified him. “One moment, you act like everything is fine– and then in another, you barely speak to me. You repeat it all over again and I don’t know when it’s going to stop.” It was much less of a burning fury that his words were born from– and more of a pure exhaustion, like he wasn’t sure how much longer he could handle hanging onto the thin thread of this relationship before it snapped and threatened to send him hurtling. Styx was tired; tired of living, tired of dying, but especially tired of trying yet failing without knowing why. Clutching at the hems of his cardigan, he very woefully asked, “...Did I do something wrong?” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed down the nauseating bile rising in his throat. “We just met,” Styx emphasized despite knowing that it was far from true, “and I already feel like I have done something to wrong you.” A sickly part of his mind wondered if there really was no hope in reforging their broken friendship– that the two were forever destined to be incompatible no matter what persona they hid behind. Rhys doesn’t even remember him yet he still has a reason to push him away. Was it truly not meant to be? Styx tried so hard to fit the mold, but it only resulted in an unsightly disfigurement of himself. In the end, he was no closer to Rhys than when he was simply just a passing thumbnail in a sea of images on Styx’s phone. POST ACTION: ID: 237290 | LD: 15+3, success Edited November 3 by Styx Link to post Share on other sites
Rhys 0 Posted November 4 Author #15 Share Posted November 4 (edited) Rhys' seemingly everlasting chuckles and playful remarks trailed off as his gaze settled on Styx, catching sight of the subtle flush coloring his usually nonchalant expression. Styx molded into the trunk of the winding tree, the green canopy casting a shadow on the two of them; yet the faint hue painted maroon creeped across his golden skin, completely unmistakable. For a moment, the memory of Styx's earlier stiffness replayed in Rhys' mind – his shoulders slumped, carrying a weight that Rhys knew was completely caused by his doing. Yet Rhys was a man of so many complexities, desires, and delusions that even he couldn't figure out his own reasons for his actions. Even he knew, better than anyone, that his existence was mere whiplash for everyone around him. He tilted his head, studying the strange, almost vulnerable image of his companion. The sight was oddly out of character – so unexpected – enough to make a soft unfamiliar note ring in Rhys' heart, catching him momentarily off guard. The feeling bloomed as quickly as it faded, slipping back into the guarded cages of his genuine feelings. He forced himself to smother the strange warmth, burying it as reflexively as he might any undesired thought that may pass by. A light smirk tugged on his lips as he began to tease him lightly, "Relax. Your face looks like a strawberry–" But his words were cut short before Styx, in a very uncharacteristic burst, blurted out the most weaponizing question that hit Rhys straight through his core. "Do you hate me?" Rhys had stilled, completely frozen in his stance. The question hung heavy between them, sharp and jarring in its simplicity. His smirk faltered, his breath catching as he processed the completely blunt force of Styx's words. For a moment, Rhys' normally playful and relaxed expression drained from his expression. Blood left his face, making him a lot paler than how his skin normally appears beneath the sunlight. He hadn't expected this, not from Styx, and certainly not here. He shifted his weight, glancing away as if searching the towering tree for an answer. The laughter he offered just moments before now felt so hollow, and the apology had clearly not reached him. He found himself at a complete loss for words. The question was a loaded gun, and Rhys was practically digging his own grave by not answering. His heart throttled faster than he'd like to admit, and as Styx began to express his thoughts about him, Rhys attempted to glue his gaze onto Styx. He watched carefully as Styx tugged aimlessly at his cardigan, his dark eyes completely avoiding him. Rhys then knelt down into a squat, words dying on his tongue for many moments. "Look at me," he murmured, his voice gentler and stripped of its usual guarded tone. He waited patiently for Styx's eyes to meet his. Rhys tried to convey something that words couldn't capture. For a few moments, he simply looked at Styx, searching for whatever unspoken questions that lie beneath that disarming phrase. "I don't hate you. I don't have a reason to." Rhys huffed, looking away from him for a few moments. His teeth grinded, evidently shifting his jaw as he debated on whether or not to express any sense of vulnerability or not. Yet he still met Styx's eyes no matter how uncomfortable he became. "Sometimes, you may throw yourself into a world like this without any sense of who you are or who you were before." His voice was hesitant, but each word was chosen very carefully. He had paused, his gaze distant and slightly vulnerable, as if looking through Styx and into something buried so deep within. "Maybe you're just trying to outrun whatever you may have left behind, and sometimes you fuck up along the way." Rhys steadied himself, his gaze lingering on Styx for a moment longer before he shifted, standing up completely straight. Without another word, he moved to a nearby tree, plucking a low-hanging fruit that had caught his eye for once. The smooth, weighty feel of it – despite being pixelated at its origin – grounded him in the heat of the moment. He turned back toward Styx, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "I just need to figure it out on my own," he said back to him, his tone quieter than usual, but no less vague and resolute. Admission hung aimlessly through the air, his usual guarded bravado completely softened, offering just a glimpse of what lies beneath. He'd opened the door, just a little, and left it at that. GATHERING MATIERALS: ID: 237313 | LD: 13 + 3 [SUCCESS] Edited November 7 by Rhys Link to post Share on other sites
Styx 0 Posted November 7 #16 Share Posted November 7 (edited) Styx counted the seconds of silence in his head. Each mental tick went by in agony, but it seemed like the only thing he had control over in order to ground himself. The lackluster respite was short-lived, however, and by the time he reached the twenties, Styx had half the mind to take back his question and act like he had never asked it to begin with. It was stupid. He was stupid. It would’ve been easier if he had just kept his mouth shut; Rhys would’ve been happier, and Styx wouldn’t have had to watch the smile be wiped off his face like a rag to charcoal. He opened his mouth, only to slowly close it. He had no words left to give, surrendering to whatever fate was left for him. The damage was already done even if they agreed to forget everything. Styx has said his peace knowing full well it would change whatever dynamic was between them. It didn’t ease his anxieties, of course, but he reasoned with himself that he needed the truth; he needed it more than air itself– which was a metaphor that seemed to grow more and more real the longer he stayed in this game. Styx’s days were numbered. With each passing minute, his physical body grew weaker. And Keitaro didn’t want to cross that river without knowing what had made him so unlovable. … That was the case, wasn’t it? No matter how much he faked being a different person– a different Styx– it will always be Keitaro under the facade. Each mask was a reflection of himself, and if even they weren’t enough, what did that mean for him? The dark eyes that had been trained on anywhere but Rhys’ face faltered as Styx watched the man slowly lower himself to the ground. Even if they were face to face, the carmine irises that gazed at him like he was the only thing in the world remained unreciprocated. Styx couldn’t help it. It was instinct to look away, to prepare himself for a blow that he knew was coming because he had seen it all before. “I’m tired of you.” “I was better off without you.” “Get out of my life.” “Look at me.” Styx’s breath hitched. The three words had been uttered so softly that he was almost sure he had only imagined it, like something he’d only hear in the fictitious scenarios he’d conjured in his mind following their falling out. Styx was a weak man then, and he was a weak man now. Like a moth to a flame, those honeyed words compelled him to go against his better judgment. A second of hesitation passed before Styx would finally look up, round eyes shining with an unsaid grief. A patient gaze met his own, and for a moment, the two only stared at each other. Styx’s discomfort was visible; he curled inward and his shoulders hunched forward, as if bracing himself for a disaster that was yet to come. But the disaster never came. Rhys spoke his truth, a truth that went against all of Styx’s expectations. For once, the stoic man’s face betrayed his thoughts as he sat there, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide with incredulity. Then… Styx swallowed, confusion replacing his shocked features. “... Why?” he croaked, shaking his head as if it didn’t make any sense. “Why did you…” His unfinished words meant more than what appeared on the surface, but perhaps that was knowledge for Styx and Styx alone. Do you still hate me? He wouldn’t finish the question out loud regardless of his brewing thoughts, choosing to let it fall into silence while he watched Rhys struggle under his inner turmoil. He eventually gave his answer, in a way that Styx couldn’t personally wrap his head around but respected nonetheless. Even if it confused him, Styx could still see the demons that lingered on Rhys' shoulders, see the way they haunted his every action like heavy weights. For now, understanding just that was enough. “Okay,” Styx finally said, swallowing, “I believe you.” He shifted his weight onto his palms, pushing himself up. “You don’t hate me.” It was reassurance for himself more than anything, and the same words echoed off the walls in his mind like a perpetual alarm just to make sure he knew it. Even if it wasn’t intended for this Styx, it was easy to delude himself into thinking that it was. His posture was still rigid as he walked over to where Rhys was, but it was a far cry from his state a few minutes earlier. The ice was thawing, even if it was slow. “I wish you luck then,” he said quietly, reaching up to pluck a similar-looking fruit (which was a significantly more difficult task for his shorter stature). “... In ‘figuring it out’, I mean.” He paused, rotating the fruit between his thin fingers before tilting his head towards Rhys. There was a ghost of a smile on his face, just barely evident by the twitch in his lips and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He'd stand outside the door until it fully opened, no matter how long it took. POST ACTION: ID: 237349 | LD: 13+3, success 2/3 Materials Gathered Edited November 7 by Styx Link to post Share on other sites
Rhys 0 Posted November 7 Author #17 Share Posted November 7 (edited) Rhys exhaled softly, a faint sigh of relief slipping between his fangs as he saw the shift in Styx’s eyes. The hint of trust was settling in as Styx slowly thawed in Rhys' fiery presence. The tension that had wound him so tightly finally eased even just a little, and he felt himself relaxing, his usual swagger comfortably sliding back into place. Mentally, he dusted off his hands–finally, they’d moved past that impending emotional cliff that threatened to explode. Thank the gods above. “I’m glad you’re believin’ me, little treasure,” he muttered, the nickname slipping out as a quiet, almost affectionate farewell to the previous heated conversation. Damn, that was enough vulnerability for one day. He glanced back at the tree they’d gathered around, rolling his shoulders as he caught Styx struggling a bit with some of the branches. Rhys couldn’t hold back an entertained chuckle. Styx, shorter by a few inches, was tugging at a particularly stubborn piece of fruit, and Rhys, finding a strange warmth in the scene, instinctively reached up to help, slowly handing it down to him. One by one, he picked a few more, filling his arms with the bounty. Each time his gaze drifted back to Styx, he felt the tense edges within himself soften a little more, though he hid it behind playful glances. With his arms laden with their bounty, Rhys’ stomach churned in protest–despite the fondue they had just indulged in–and it took every ounce of restraint not to bite into one of the fruits right then and there. For once, they’d gathered more than just supplies–they’d taken an unexpected step toward something resembling companionship, or at least a white flag of surrender between them. “Hell yeah,” he mused with a relaxed smile, his tone lighter and evidently smoother, as if he could finally breathe through his lungs again. “That Zander guy is going to love this…” He paused, casting a quick, slightly nervous glance at Styx, his crimson eyes slightly widened. “That was his name, right?” For a moment, Rhys looked almost sheepish, a rare crack in his confidence. But he quickly shrugged it off with a small shake of his head. Didn’t matter. This part of the quest was complete, and he’d rather bask in the strange contentment of their small victory. “Come on,” he flashed a fanged grin, nudging Styx lightly with his elbow. “Let’s go cash in these treasures before I eat them all.” His voice softened as he caught Styx’s eyes on him. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they could become allies – maybe even friends. Yet Rhys, ever the stubborn devil, quickly suppressed any hope that could bring him joy. He straightened up, shifting the weight of the fruit in his arms as he prepared to head back to Tolbana, half wondering if Styx felt the same about their kindling flame, though he’d never ask. The thought was almost laughable. He took a few steps forward, his strides long and laid-back. They traced a familiar path back to the shop, the crunch of leaves beneath their feet the only other sound alongside Rhys' casual whistling. It was a light tune from one of his old songs he used to play on the acoustic guitar, cheerful enough to fill the quiet that hung between them. Every so often, Rhys would glance sideways at Styx, half-checking to see if his companion was still in step with him, half out of nonchalant curiosity. The ease of their silence felt new, almost comfortable. Rhys let his gaze drift to the trees around them, taking in the light filtering through the canopy as he kept his tune steady, an occasional hum escaping his lips when he let the notes trail off. Once back at the shop, Rhys wasted no time, throwing his shoulder into the door with a dramatic flamboyance, practically barreling through. “Old man!” he called, his fanged grin flashing as he held up the armful of fruit. “Brought your goods!” The NPC turned, expression shifting into one of programmed gratitude, and began reciting a well-rehearsed line. Rhys nodded, bracing himself for the next part of the quest–yet as the NPC continued, Rhys found himself hesitating to trigger the dialogue prompts, mentally sifting through the choices that lay ahead. With an almost horrified glance at Styx, he waited for a hint or nudge, only to find his companion standing there with the worst stare, evidently content to let Rhys stumble through the options on his own. Rhys muttered a few swears under his breath, a little flustered as he tried to remember the proper response to keep the quest chain going. He threw a look of mock irritation at Styx, knowing that he was probably watching him fumble just for the fun of it. “So… about Dave? Dorian? He’s searching for the individual he loaned money to, or something. Because he forgot.” Just like how I forgot your name already. The NPC rambled on, brushing off the suggestion that he’d ever borrowed the col as if it were a ludicrous accusation. With a dismissive wave, he directed them toward the blacksmith instead, muttering something that might "shed light" on their quest. Rhys’ crimson eye twitched, and he barely contained an urge to groan–or lunge at the NPC in protest. This wild goose chase felt like a comical waste of time. This entire quest felt like a waste of time. He exchanged a look with Styx, dark eyebrows raised quizzically as if to ask the very eager question, Are we really fuckin' doing this? “Of course,” Rhys sighed, the sarcasm dripping from his voice as he plastered on a grin. “Because why just hand over the reward, right?” The renegade nudged Styx as they turned to leave, muttering in a low voice toward the latter, “Fucks sake. Old man’s gonna make us visit every merchant in town at this rate.” They walked away from Zackariah’s shop, Rhys casting a dramatic look up at the pixelated sky as if it held the answer to all his grievances and vendettas. “Is there any NPC in this game that can just give me my money?” he muttered, exasperation clear in his voice. “Seriously, we might have to organize a coup or something.” He turned his gaze down to Styx, eyes studying him with a sudden heaviness… as if some invisible weight had settled onto his shoulders. “So… do we part ways now, since you’ve, you know, helped me during this part?” But the words felt wrong even as he said them, his tone lacking conviction. He realized, with a surprising pang, that he didn’t really want Styx to leave. The idea of walking the next leg of the journey alone felt more hollow than he’d expected. So he lingered there, eyes meeting Styx’s, almost as if searching for a reason to keep him around. GATHERING MATERIALS: ID: 237350 | LD: 15 + 3 [SUCCESS] | 2/3 Edited November 9 by Rhys Link to post Share on other sites
Styx 0 Posted November 16 #18 Share Posted November 16 “I don’t have any reason not to believe you.” The confession came with a soft mumble with Styx just staring at the fruit in his hands for a few seconds. Then he tilted his head, looking up at Rhys with a puzzled expression as if asking, should I? For a moment, his eyes shot right through Rhys’ own, seeing past the brazen exterior and into something more. They were one and the same despite their differences, after all, and Styx understood enough about himself to know a bleeding heart on a sleeve when he saw one. They had their secrets, sure, but neither held them against the other’s neck. He was okay with secrets. The edges of his mouth quirked up just slightly at Rhys’ slight mishap of memory, and Styx turned away with a rare, wordless smile. “Zackariah,” he supplied helpfully as he followed after Rhys, who had already started making his way back to Tolbana. They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked before an easygoing tune filled the air, courtesy of Rhys. It was a sheer contrast to the drowning, almost dead-like air that came with them into the wilds. As he listened, Styx’s chest had felt lighter than it had in what felt like centuries, physically and metaphorically– as if years’ worth of burdens had been lifted off his shoulders temporarily. He’d forget about his woes or what future lay ahead of him for now and take refuge in the sanctuary he had been deprived of for so long, even if it was in silence. He didn’t trust himself to not hum along with the melody otherwise. Styx remembered this song in particular though; he remembered every song Rhys played for him like the notes had been engraved into his retinas, so that even when he closed his eyes, he could still hear the soft voice and strum of strings in his head. Strings… Styx gave a soft, almost inaudible sound at the thought as he glanced over at Rhys still idly whistling. I wonder if he has a guitar in here too. Then the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. Probably not. It was unlikely considering how Rhys didn’t even know how to interact with NPCs before today, so Styx made a mental note to introduce him to <<Earning a Living>> when they were done with this quest, and another mental note to visit a local artisan to commission a new guitar. He held onto that thought as they approached Zackariah’s shop almost ceremoniously, with Rhys barging in through the doors and a big wide grin plastered on his face. Styx winced on his behalf, gently closing the door behind them so there wouldn’t be an audience to witness whatever fumble was going to happen next. And what came in the next few minutes was indeed a fumble. Styx didn’t think it’d be that hard to continue the quest dialogue considering how NPCs were pretty lenient as long as you didn’t disappear in thin air, but the panicked look Rhys shot him begged to differ. The shorter man merely blinked, half committed to letting Rhys learn through experience and half finding amusement in the regret pooling on his face. He stifled a chuckle into the back of his hand as the scene played out before his very eyes. Styx could only offer a helpless shrug when Rhys turned to look at him incredulously, now knowing that this wasn’t even half of the quest done. “It’s only two more,” he reasoned, silently ushering out the now annoyed man lest he go back and strangle Zackariah to death. “I’ve heard it picks up after this; the next two objectives are more…” Styx trailed off, wrists rolling in clockwise motions as he thought of the word to use. “... fun, I suppose.” He tried recounting some more tales from the people he’d helped before, but it all came out blank. It wasn’t until there was a convenient Rhys-shaped hole in his peripherals did Styx realize that the other had stopped a few paces back, and he turned around with a perplexed look. “Ah.” Styx straightened up, posing his hands behind his back as they fumbled together anxiously. He wasn’t ready to let go so soon, not when it’s been so long. “... I wouldn’t be opposed to continuing to help you,” he replied quietly, head dipping down as his eyes averted, unsure if this was Rhys’ own way to break the news that he didn’t want his presence anymore. “As long as you’ll allow it, of course,” Styx added wearily. Link to post Share on other sites
Rhys 0 Posted November 17 Author #19 Share Posted November 17 (edited) Fun. It was a word Rhys held at arm’s length, laden with more apprehension than necessary. The concept had twisted into so many shapes throughout the seasons of his life, each one leaving a different mark. With some branding his skin more than others. As a child, fun meant playing in the gardens with his sisters, their laughter floating like wind chimes in the summer air. That was innocent, uncomplicated fun. Later, his music career had seemed like it could have been fun – a dream with the potential to be everything he wanted. But somewhere along the line, the joy was swallowed by pressure and pain. And then there was the what could’ve been. The moments he could have shared with the person he had once yearned for, the stolen glances, the lingering touches – that could have been fun too. A different kind of fun. Something real, vibrant, and exhilarating. But like everything else, it had slipped through his fingers without him fully realizing it, leaving behind nothing but questions and the bitter taste of regret. Yet Styx loosely used the term with nonchalance, hinting that there was something more to gain from this quest they were dragging themselves around for. Rhys nodded, humming a bit in intrigue at the potential of the next steps. And those eyes. Something about Styx’s eyes tugged at a thread of Rhys he didn’t fully comprehend – something divine, carved by the gods themselves, utterly impossible to ignore. Even as a few steps separated them, Rhys found himself helplessly drawn to their depth. They were a deep onyx sea, with streaks of bioluminescent blue threading through the irises like whispers of planktonic light in endless darkness. His gaze caught on them far too often, and it drove him insane within the short span of them knowing each other, especially amid the chaos and uncertainty already pressing down on him. Now this? It was one more enigma to add to his ever-growing list of problems. Rhys tilted his chin slightly, lifting it in a gesture that almost seemed suspicious, a habitual defense against the unexpected. “I find it oddly hard to believe you’d be willing to stay, you know,” he said, his voice teasing but with an edge of genuine disbelief. He searched Styx’s expression as if looking for the catch, the bait at the end of the hook – some hidden motive or reason behind the loyalty Styx seemed to offer without hesitation. With a resigned huff, Rhys bridged the gap between them, his boots crunching softly against stone as he took a few purposeful, swaggering steps forward. He matched Styx’s pace, walking side by side as they headed toward their next destination. Rhys crossed his arms over his chest, coiling them around himself like a warm embrace, with the occasional glance sideways at his companion. An almost imperceptible grin wrenched at his lips. “So, are you sticking around just to babysit me like the rest of the newbies? Or do you literally see potential in this wild goose chase of a quest?” he asked, his tone light, but laced with a bit of genuine curiosity. It was easier to lean on humor than to admit how much he appreciated the company. Hell no, he would never admit that. Despite their differences – Styx’s quiet, tender resolve clashing against Rhys’ fiery and brash, chaotic nature – Rhys couldn’t shake the quiet hope lingering at the back of his mind. Oil and water, he had thought. But until now, he changed his mind. Maybe this partnership would offer him more than just a handful of rewards and some extra coin to line his pockets. He often glanced at Styx out of the corner of his eye, his usual smirk softening into something quieter, more pondering. There was a part of him, buried deep beneath layers of self-preservation, that wondered if this strange companionship might fill some of the emptiness he carried. Maybe, just maybe, he’d walk away from all this with more than just loot. As they approached the blacksmith’s shop, the raspy voice of the elderly man–Lyle, if Rhys remembered correctly–greeted them with the charm of a bag of rocks. Rhys clenched his jaw, narrowly stifling the intense groan bubbling up for what felt like the fifth time since the quest began. He managed to hold it in, though, mostly for Styx’s sake. Instead, he let his frustration simmer behind a thin veil of composure, occasionally nudging Styx’s shoulder with a wide-eyed, exaggerated look that screamed, Are you seeing this? Lyle wasted no time with pleasantries, delivering a curt, no-nonsense scripted spiel that ended with a flourish of weapons unceremoniously dumped onto the table before them. His gruff demand was immensely clear before they started talking business. Rhys’ thick, dark brows shot up in disbelief, his lips curling into a pouty frown as he tilted his head toward Styx. “Now these NPCS want us killing shit? Little beasts?” Rhys' voice dripped with sarcasm as he flicked his fingers toward the array of weapons like they were Lyle's personal charity handouts. “I swear, if I’m swinging swords for this guy, I might just grab his throat first. I swear to God–” His muttered complaint hung in the air, but his hands itched to reach for one of the weapons. Like kunai... If he had to deal with this nonsense, he might as well do it armed – and maybe with a little theatrics. Edited November 17 by Rhys Link to post Share on other sites
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