ph_logs | [July/August] Dog Days

Who: River la Croix and YOU

What:
Getting a summer log up god fucking damn it
When:
July & August
Where:
Check prompts
Warning(s): Relationship arguments, potential violence and/or curses, bitching about the heat, and whatever you take with you (check individual posts/threads)

Dying In This Forge | Infernal Arms And Armor

The only mercy about running a smithy during the summer is that River has never had to experience air conditioning and therefore has no idea how much better it could be. The pace of the work here at Infernal Arms and Armor has slowed considerably; every door and window is thrown wide open, hydration and shade breaks are mandatory, and no less than twice a week River's apprentices and customers both arrive to find the forge locked up with a sign posted outside which reads:

Fucked off to go swimming If you need us, don't.

Still, if there's work to be done, here's still the place to order it. Just expect River to be pissy about it, she's a bit on fire, y'know?

Cooling Off | Beach

River's desperate to not die of fucking heat stroke and it's an uphill battle. While she usually enjoys the hot springs, right now the beach is a more likely bet, even with the crabs. Friends might be invited to an afternoon crab roast down by the water, or you might find her swimming in a soot-stained shirt too ruined even for forge work these days. Either way, it's not hard to spot River. Look for the steam coming off the water. No, really. It's not a joke. Look for the steam and you will find an elf and friend.

Fire Dancing | Nighttime

It may be hotter than a succubus's asshole from River's perspective, but that's no excuse to slow down her studies. A couple nights a week, towards the bridge over the river into the woods, one can find River practicing her pyromancy. She doesn't take much with her, just a brazier, some coals, and a MASSIVE stone jug that formerly housed whiskey and now contains a great deal of water with lemon juice mixed into it, for hydration. Oh, right, and an undead dragon. It hovers ominously near her, a passive protection against oncoming monsters while River strips down to her shirtsleeves and goes dancing amidst ribbons of tame fire, flickering in many colors while they shift and twirl, never quite kissing her skin, her arms smoldering coal-bright.

You'll never get her to admit it while the sun is up, because she's fuckin' dying in this heat, but these are the moments when the world falls away, and River can lose herself in her art. It feels remarkably freeing.

Blunt Love | Closed to Ruby

A hand on Ruby Rose's shoulder, during a work day. River's sweating buckets, panting like a damn dog, and if her ears drooped any lower they'd fall the hell off, but still the expression on her face is gentle concern. "Lunchtime," River says, with a little shrug. "C'mon, you're eating with me. We should chat, O Mine Apprentice. Plus I got those meat pies from Max that never go stale and girl lemme tell you, my ambition when I bought 'em? Vastly exceeded my grasp."

Wildcard

Fuck me up.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"The first step is to figure out what you want, Fever. What's the power for?"

Now is when her eyes flick back up to River's, then down again, to the side. Someone self sacrificing and noble might say it's for shattering the barrier, or something like that. Some task appointed that must be fulfilled. But she's not. The most she can do is resist what in her mind screeches that the power is for laying waste to everything that yet lives, hatred and contempt for life itself. No. No, if that was the case, she would not have asked people to stop her should it be needed.

(There is an answer, but looking too closely at it is like looking into the sun. She turns away her gaze to save her sight.)

"...I don't know."

"Those words are the walls of your hole and the heart of your rot, as they were mine." From the lotus in her hand River plucks a single petal, and it ought to burn her. Her fingertips should blacken; her flesh should split, revealing bloody bone that scorches and chars, but no such thing happens. This she holds up, almost as if offering it to Fever. "If you take this, it will burn you. You are not fire's friend, I think, not yet. But maybe...maybe, courting it might help you figure out that 'I don't know' and come back with a better answer."

It's an offer, frank and without judgement. River has found why she felt so uneasy around Fever, and the answer was simply a mirror. Who can see that, and not be moved to help?

It may work. It may not. She might be as unable to look at that answer as ever. But all the same, there's something to it that feels like she might as well. It's not as though she's ever stopped improvising, making up her moves as she goes. The pain of getting burnt isn't a deterrent to going and trying. If she is to get scorched, it will happen.

So, now, Fever nods. If River is still offering, she's accepting.

"Tell me about fire. No wrong answer; I need to know how you see it."

There's another one of those silences, but it's born of contemplation. Wanting to sum up feelings into words.

"Fire is something that causes great destruction. Learning to use it to harm is one of the simplest things a magician can do, if they're putting any strength into it. It says burn, and things do. Fearsome and relentless, not something to be bargained with when it comes to set you aflame. But it's not just something dread - the same fire lights up a camp, cooks food, offers warmth and safety. The fire that sears the flesh from my enemies' bones is the same fire that gives the smith the ability to forge. Causing chaos or lighting a lantern."

She could go on in that vein, but her point's been made.

"A good start," River says with a solemn nod. "The fundamental principle of pyromancy is this: all fire is the same fire, even when it isn't. The second is sympathy, to find the parts of yourself that are fire. I took up smoking to build up that sympathy, like many pyromancers do. For you...for you I have another suspicion."

The petal flickers and gleams in River's fingers.

"This will hurt. Do you accept it?"

Red eyes meet green. Only the slightest pause.

"Yes."

She's borne pain before. She can do it again, as many times as her life will need her to.

The hand holding the lotus closes, crushing it into mere flame once more that River casts back into the brazier. Still, her palm is so very warm when she cups Fever's cheek in it, to hold her steady; she presses the petal of flame, soft as a flower, bright as a candle, to the sorcerer's other cheek.

It needs to leave a scar.

In that moment, Fever understands, and her own hand darts out to grab River's wrist and pull it back. No. She accepts the terms, but this - not on her face. Surely it's the experience that matters, not the location.

"Not there. Don't need anyone asking what happened."

"Pick your poison then," comes the reply, nice and calm; River's pulse barely quickens under Fever's fingers. "Somewhere you'll think about it often, is all. Even after it stops hurting."

"That won't be difficult to do."

Stepping back, she turns around, and undoes the fastenings of her shirt enough until she can pull it down, bare her shoulders and upper back. Anticipation makes her skin prickle.

"Back of my shoulder."

Edited 2024-07-24 06:58 (UTC)

A deep breath in; a steadying breath out.

"Fire can be hard to be friends with," River whispers. "But it's worth it."

She lays the petal against Fever's flesh, and sears it into the back of the sorcerer's shoulder.

It hurts, as she expected it might - but it's somehow worse than when she'd taken the Absolute's brand. That was a thing of heat and magic, shocking but over swiftly, soothed away by magic and adrenaline. This reaches deeper, and she has no choice but to cry out if she's going to keep her legs steady and not falter. It radiates everywhere, across her back and down her arms, floods her entire body and Fever feels all her muscles tense, overriding the inner instinct to get away.

She can do this. She can bear with it. However much is needed, until River decides it's enough.

[July/August] Dog Days | OTA

By tradition I declare: damn OCs and their one-liners

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