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ID.  @activscenev 
            
            * ╱╱  something inquisitive

wait bye notifs aren’t even working

*     or he. idk

@kimaquare ⠀ ⠀      [     the untamed gross of red hair at the back of her head all but rises. sybil assumes the position of a stumbling fledgling at the sound of the damned three syllables otherwise regular to the average joe:  ja—me—son.     ]     nu—uh..   no,  she’s not.     [     though it comes out akin more to a prayer than it does a statement with any real purpose.     ]

ID.  @activscenev
            
            sozzon && i have no need for company .  we have each other && that is enough .
            
            *  a pause ,  before the rider looked at the other with intrigue .  based on appearance alone ,  this looked a wanderer -  one not of a high pedigree && bolstered by the sheer mentioning of a dragon .  did she wish sozzon for herself ?  did she wish to take his teeth && scaled to be turned into weapons or ground into alchemical matter ?  she didn't seem much of a threat && the rider knew it was easier to cut someone down than it was to keep them alive .  *
            
            even if you managed to ride on dragonback with me ,  there is a chance the journey would be treacherous .  you would die ,  alone && surrounded by the wilds .  the frontiers would claim your form as sustenance for roots ,  for grains ,  && you will be forgotten .  is that a life that you yearn for ,  stranger ?

@dracaenis ⠀ ⠀      really?!     [     she orbits around the circle consisting solely of the other, in all of her otherness. rusted and used for all of its might and power, much akin to her attire. as if sybil’s own was any better. had it seen better days, she wondered. when its wearer did not speak so bleakly of dragons. or had longer hair.     ]      (ahem.)   i am a fair maiden——     [     lie.     ]     of the finest breeding, tutelage, and pedagogy.     [     lies, one after the other. denounced simply from the visibility of half—chipped front tooth, duck—footed stance, and untamed volume of diction echoing from nearly all the leaves of the trees around. not to mention the horrid footwear, nearly drowned in mud & greens and nearly outgrown by big toe.     ]     should ye—  you and your dragon desire my company?  at all?  please,  oh,  please do     —!     otherwise, otherwise      —   ..     erm,      (   …   )       please?

ID.  @ACTIVSCENEV
            
            such an honor wasn't bestowed upon me as a child .  i do things that are less reputable among the people .  
            
            *  she took a look at her armor ,  dragon-scaled && pinched to mimic the reptilian skin of her sozzon .  a hue of copper ,  of blues && of pinks .  this was not her standard uniform ,  but more formal appearances call for the hallmarks of her esteemed family -  or remnants of such ,  now that she was aged && sentimental .  she moved to the grinding circle ,  placing her blade upon it in efforts to sharpen its' edge && stepping on the petal .  it was after a few minutes that the other spoke again ,  this time attention entirely to the other .  *
            
            the sparks are nothing compared to the flames of a dragon .  i am a dragon rider ,  perhaps the last of this land that is known .  the beasts that used to fly freely through the skies are held in captivity ,  used as weapons of war .  they hide from humanity .  when i am not flying on dragonback ,  i seek coin through bounties .  many have attempted to take my life to steal my dragon .  they never succeed .

@activscenev     i think it’s the complexity they like──the way he draws it is so uniquely him, it’s incredible.   [her room was full of it.  either for decoration or simply because of her interest in the history behind such pieces.    pablo picasso, frida kahlo even older artists like michelangelo and da vinci──they all had something that was their own from each other. even if all they did was apply paint to a brush.  to be so similar yet so different .. ]    and here,   clara peeters..       far older than picasso.  see the brush work?  it’s like i can almost grab it from out the canvas..  you think she was fond of pies?    [picasso’s work is abandoned,    the older pieces from clara was her new obsession.  a simple table with foods fit for a family it resembled some kind of holiday feast──like the ones grandmother ashara would host, she wasn’t all that fond of them.   too much food even for the wealthy,     and her cheeks ached from fake smiling]

@beastshe ⠀ ⠀      [     her hand traces over the page, bleak and plastic to the feel as opposed to the vibrancy illustrated in the stamping. she thought of dallens too statuesque, the very same way she found the art. null of life, merely an imitated reflection of it. clea, however, she found breathed life into the most mundane of tasks, no matter just how upright she sat. a perfect ninety degree angle, she’d once peered closely like some teenage boy deviant.     ]     how are these any better than the real stuff then?    —  you’d stamp on a rotted orange in the road, but have it staged on a canvas and it’s applauded.     [     her head turns, a good neck—breaking degree to gaze upon the work once more in renewed light.     ]     looks weird. too many shapes. as if you’d breathed in highland weeds before taking the sight of it. 

they have a heart for artwork in that world,  historical..    modern. 

@brrrat ⠀ ⠀      [      perseus graves made her huff and puff. he knew how to get to her. pulled at her heartstrings like ever—growing ivies in the wild. spare the machete. the pink hue sprawled across her cheeks arose from the rush of blood, from either the cold or the late—night run to the greenhouse. what a romeo. she nearly scoffed in good humor.     ]     i’m a very, very busy woman,   sir, graves sir.     [     a finger ghosted to ring around the curl ends of her hair. a complete bluff, knotted and half—undone from braids they were.     ]     no time to spare for childish past-times. or rendezvouses. or knights in training. heartbreakers, they are.  word says. 

@activscenev          d’aw,   ain’t got time for me anymore,  love?     [ it’s all on purpose.  from the slip of ripped parchment to the too slow strolling within aisles.  the smell of (dragon) earth and her flora filled his longs.  from the growing mudwick berries to the honeyweed that was close to it’s due date.  it’s a one big—- snail paced circle he makes.  stomping his foot the moment he is at where he had began. behind,   now facing]       wait──    let me think on it..     hmmmm

@brrrat ⠀ ⠀      so, spit it out.   i know why you’ve asked us to meet so late,     —   i’ve promised elopement to say, five other students for tonight and tonight alone.     so you better pitch yourself quick and pitch yourself hard.   one warning is,   i’ll be saying no. 

@brrrat ⠀ ⠀      [     sybil giggled, the bells in her voice, as if from distant childhood, rung with it. it nearly echoed off of the leaves of the trees.     ]      he’s   unique!   what is it, graves?  you don’t fancy him as i do?      [     but her brows do not cross. she’d never thought of herself cruel. perhaps simply deemed percy an easy target from her childish affections toward himself whilst blooming into girlhood. nevertheless, she looked to him, a perpetual victim, with a grin walking the thin line between affectionate and joshing. a finger moves up to rest on her lips, poking in not—so deep thought.     ]      then my affections shall be spared toward the reptile and the reptile alone. 

@activscenev             it’s hideous    [ did he truly look like a turtle ? it was it done all in affection.  to name something she loved so dearly after him.   he should be honored.    he would be, had it been the pup of a labrador ──not even a snake would receive such an ugly look that graves had offered the title so..  /generously/  ]       oh,  yeah..        /real/    charming..    [the damned thing had a staring problem.  his legs move away before his eyes do. hands finding comfort in the pockets of his uniform pants]    

@brrrat ⠀ ⠀      he’s just jealous, sir darwin.      [     the uncommon turtle visitor to the pond’s been held captured.     ]      he hasn’t got your eyes.     [     ogled and gazed and viciously patted and wildly adored in the hands of her girlishly untamed grip. she leans forward,     ]      (oh,   what?)     yes, his name   /is/   perseus.   nooo.. i haven’t the heart to tell him that’s why ladies do not fawn over him as they do you.   look how cutely he stares! how charmingly he charms by just looking your way. 

@brrrat ⠀ ⠀      the moooon may be hiiiigh,   but i can’t see a thing in the sk—yyy.     [     she’s clearly enjoying herself, sybil looks the most like herself when she does. white face brightened up, eyes closed in almost confidential enjoyment. curled ends of rapunzel hair tossed from one side to another in slow tempo. her eyes escape his, almost shy. her, of all people.     ]     iii only have   —      [     before they do land on him. she brushes past him, still in song.     ]     ..   how handsome. 

Sybil Rigunth, born Aslauga. Orphan, rider to Yggdra. Gone missing in academy grounds, search amongst greenery. 
            
            “. . .of moderate stature, round-mouthed, and auburn-haired. her eyes flashed. she knew the future.”