paracetamol [closed]

[Shiva]

"the hate isn't fake it's just inferred" ☒ Zelenin ✐ 446/446 ✉ baby baby baby baby

Londinium–undeniably bearing a deficiency of contrast to the modernized version of London which it was based, was in no shortage of coffeehouses and or taverns. The humble primeval abode would cater to the tastes of any fellow fond of such antediluvian architecture, but frankly, the estranged enchanter did not care. The polished table which she indignantly sat before boasted a pair of meticulously crafted wooden chairs, one of which was currently occupied by the solitary enchanter herself. The prospect of a young, attractive woman's presence not being invitational in the midst of a metaphorical breeding ground for shameless flirts, no, the prospect of her being left alone was outrageous. However, anyone would be able to tell the primary contributor to the vacancy–the reason for the one empty chair at her table, and that was the fact she was indulging in a lovely conversation with the cloth puppets enveloping her fingers. If there was one good thing about being inexplicably transported from her oppressive reality and into a brand new one, it was that she didn't have to pretend she was playing with a full deck of cards–didn't have to go through the motions of being someone who had all of their screws intact–she could just be her traumatized self, she didn't have to make it seem like she wasn't a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Truly, being turned inside out and having her inner gender become palpable, many would consider this new world to be an absolute dreamscape for her–an oneiric, perfect world. In reality, before she hit the age of twelve and officious hormonal influence practically divided her mind into two different needs, desires, and wants, that would have been her thoughts. But now? She had been dwelling on the answer for a long time. “By the way, Mr. Panchamoorthy, you are looking quite swell today. Have you started to work out?” She posed the question to, presumably, the finger puppet encasing her right forefinger. There was a five second delay, as she nodded with periodic understanding, 'mm-hms', and her subsequent response, “Oh, you must tell me how you can eat like you do and keep in shape. If it were me, I would simply bloat. And I do not like that game...” Shiva's shoulders rose dismissively in a laconic shrug, before her emerald eyes loomed to the next marionette embracing her slender middle finger. “I know, right! I bet he has a bunch of secrets about keeping in shape because of how he fought in the Nameless War and all. I could never do anything like that. The red stuff is much too gooey and does not come out after just one wash.”

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Zelenin]

[attr="class","mischa"]

The Assassin was hungry -- hungry for something substantial, with flavor, and not gruel she had to force down for sustenance. Her own cooking was grossly inefficient for what she had in mind, and according to the laws of quality in this land, would not satiate her palate until level ten. She may be Russian, but that did not mean she had to remain stoic about everything. Good food was much loved when it could be had.

Aside from food, Zelenin was also starved for company. Other than making the acquaintance of a strange boy named Dorian, much of her time was spent alone. She was also concerned for the wellbeing of her dear friend Shiva, as she was known in this world. Enchanters could not effectively solo at her level, nor was it prudent to leave the girl alone for too long. She was easily confused, and as skittish as a young deer. In many cases, she could pass for normal if she tried, but… after you got to know her, it was obvious that she was “damaged goods.”

Zelenin had had a relatively tough upbringing, though she believed herself to be stronger because of it. She had to learn how to fight at an early age, just so she could protect the females of her family against her father. It was a lot of pressure at that age, and for a while she resented her mother for being so weak, for pushing the responsibility of protection onto her eldest daughter. The two of them had a rocky relationship until her late teens, until Darya finally broke down and scolded her for being so cold. Her mother was afraid the violence would escalate, and had no other allies to turn to for assistance. Contacting the police was utterly out of the question, which Zelenin could understand.

Her stomach softly rumbled as she stepped into the meeting place. There were several people crowded around at tables, chatting easily and indulging in food or drink. Seeing that only made her stomach angrier. Cupping a hand to her belly, Zelenin made a beeline for the one person sitting alone in the establishment. She did not need to see the finger puppets to know that the girl was at it again. "Bohze moi~." She gave a soft sigh of exasperation.

"I cannot leave you alone for two seconds, Котёнок." She dropped down into the vacant seat, hands reaching out to gently push down Shiva's. "Put your comrades away for now, da?" She tried not to encourage this behavior too much, if she could help it. Zelenin was no therapist, but she figured it was unhealthy to overindulge in such shenanigans. "Have you eaten yet?"

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[attr="class","babar"]

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

∝: 451
♫: Lyudi Invalidy
✏: Котёнок = kitten
@: Shiva

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[Shiva]

"and oh, i cannot give anymore" ☒ Zelenin ✐ 564/1010 ✉ štěně = puppy, wolf hair references kyaaaa ♫ clowns

Trapped by her trance-inducing indulgence in common banter with her insentient peers, the brunette initially did not heed the familiar new arrival. The enchanter wiggled her fingers and parted her lips to speak to them once again before a voice awoke her from her eccentric stupor. Had it not been so distinct and familiar, it wasn’t likely to snap her out of her conversation with her alleged companions. Her reactions were always unorthodox and abstract due to the duality of her mind, and this moment wouldn’t pioneer a change in that. She froze, before her gaze slowly shifted towards the blonde. Even the most proficient beautician would be incapable of replicating the sheer comeliness of her new company. As if the appearance of Zelenin pulled the black wool from over her eyes, she seemed to “snap out of it”. Her eyes regained their native zest, and she assumed a more flighty and anxious demeanour. At first, she looked like she didn’t know why she was wearing finger puppets. However, when Zelenin advocated the dismissal of her comrades, she guiltily lowered her gaze to the fabric enveloping her fingers. Shoddy at expressing herself in any way other than body language, the look in her eyes was that of a child who had done something wrong. Then, she realized two things: the placement of her hands—both her own and the assassin’s and the foreign word used to address her. Her cheeks flushed soft pink as if dusted by a layer of powderized coral. Call it a delayed reaction, but she’s done far stranger things. She knew the meaning because it wasn’t the first time it was employed by hers truly. When asked if she’d eaten, she lifted her gaze from the table and towards Zelenin. Her eyes widened with the epiphany that she had refrained from even ordering a beverage when she arrived—a testament to how lost she was in her odd habit. “Uh—no…” Formerly, the girl used to be prodigal at articulation. Dare she say, she could have been called silvertongued. That was before she hit pubescence, and her body’s native mannerisms and psychology waged a gruelling war against her comme il faut upbringing. She was always surprised and, even if she was a failure at showing it in any way that wasn’t awkward, appreciative of Zelenin’s benignity and patience with her. Other people weren’t as receptive to her disposition and quirks. Shiva fought a constant battle every passing day, a fight to determine just who she was. Raised as a girl without her permission, she eventually found slipping into the role second nature, but began developing qualms when she came of age. However, she was transformed into a girl and it was all she knew how to live as. She lived the first period of her life reversed, becoming somewhat of a boy with a female casing. It wasn’t a victimless war—whatever she was, it was fluid, and it resembled a veritable tomgirl. That is, when not succumbing to inner turmoil that, as previously demonstrated, could drive her into episodes of madness. “—this works out though, I think,” her own accent, Czech, almost sounded like a French-Russian hybrid. “Now that you are here, too—“ she looked to her side. It was time to stammer the usual thing she said in response to Zelenin calling her endearing things. “Štěně.”

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Zelenin]

[attr="class","mischa"]

"Ah. I thought as much." The table was devoid of even a glass, and the way Shiva behaved was telling. Had it even occurred to her to order a drink? Or had the freedom to daydream taken precedence over rational? Zelenin often wondered if being here was detrimental or beneficial to the girl's health. She considered herself fortunate enough to not have suffered gender dysphoria, and to have a mother who gave her plenty of breathing room -- perhaps too much, now that she thought about it. Aside from defying her father, she was not a rebellious child. Now, if you wanted to accuse her of being stubborn… Forced to be strong at an early age, Zelenin would have fought every step along the way if her mother tried raising her in the opposite gender.

She looked down at her hands, still resting on Shiva's. Such dainty hands, both hers and the Enchantress. These hands were so soft, compared to what she had to work with in the real world. They were good Russian hands: strong, large and bearing the wear and tear of many rough years. But best of all, they were hers. Comparatively, it was easy to believe that these had always been Shiva's. She was the kind of girl who received pictures of male genitalia from ignorant fans. Zelenin was glad to have the pleasure of holding them, even with the absurd finger puppets attached.

Zelenin closed her eyes, a hint of a smile threatening to break her otherwise stoic shell. The affection was heartwarming. She could feel it spread out like a wave of warmth in her chest, where it would gradually work its way down and out to her limbs, eventually escaping through her fingertips. It was a rare moment, one she had fought to ignore for years. The subject of homosexuality was more often than not riddled with accusations or cries of propaganda. You had to be in the right group to discuss it favorably, and even more caution was needed to ensure that you did not attract the ire of the old fashioned. She was secretive in nature, though felt safe enough here to dabble in minor displays of public affection.

One final squeeze was all she allowed herself. Any more, and people might get suspicious. She rested her hands against the tabletop, fingers neatly threaded together. "One day I shall cook for you -- a hardy meal of your choosing." Preparing anything at this stage was unthinkable. Her skills in the kitchen would need fine honing before she could serve Shiva anything above gruel.

A slender hand shot up into the air, to flag down one of the wait staff. "Two orders of fish and chips, please. As for a beverage, I would like a glass of apple and juice. And my companion here…" She glanced over at Shiva, which was her cue to speak up. The two of them could agree on fish for a meal, but drinks were a different story altogether.

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[attr="class","babar"]

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[attr="class","babar"]

∝: 502
♫: Cosmos
✏: ---
@: Shiva

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