Enoch (
warriorscribe) wrote in
towerofanimus2013-12-15 05:44 pm
Entry tags:
A couple promised closed (or semi-closed) logs
Characters: Enoch and Lucifel, and anyone who would visit his room too. Just let me know! Also, Enoch and Lancer.
Setting: Dorm 3-18 backdated to November 1st, Floor 62 backdated to December 1st
Format: I'll match!
Summary: Enoch has had something very unpleasant happen to him as a punishment for too many failed riddles. That is an understatement. Also, he and Lancer agreed to a sparring match.
Warnings: Talk of being flayed may happen if you press for information. (If this is one of your listed squicks I'll actively avoid it coming up), maybe blood or broken limbs in the sparring match? There is a tangent involving sexual discussion.
Dorm 3-18, November 1st
He woke with a scream.
Or tried to. In his sleep paralysis it was only a choked sound as he stared at the ceiling wide-eyed. Unable to move or speak, all he had was the nightmare he'd just lived, punctuated by Eleven's shrill screaming. All he had was that he was not in pain. Parts of him were still numb from revival, but he was not in pain.
An involuntary, low, distressed moan was what told him he could move again. Shaking and pale, he pushed himself up. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and his gaze was unfocused, glazed-over. He raised a hand, still numb and tingling, and pressed it to his own chest. With something between a laugh and a sob, he curled up on himself, a tight human ball on the bed.
Unlike the time that had given him such an adverse reaction, there was nothing driving him to keep going. Only the horror of what had happened.
Floor 62, December 1st
The beach had always been a calming place for him. That is, until his return to Meridian. As he waited for Lancer, he watched the waves, arms folded as his thoughts wandered. Mostly, they wandered to Armaros, and their time in Meridian. Time spent there, he on a large dune watching as Armaros swam.
And now, he was here. Torn apart. In so much pain he could only blame him.
A nautilus shell washed up against his foot. He bent down to pick it up, idly playing with it as he waited for Lancer, stewing in his own thoughts.
Setting: Dorm 3-18 backdated to November 1st, Floor 62 backdated to December 1st
Format: I'll match!
Summary: Enoch has had something very unpleasant happen to him as a punishment for too many failed riddles. That is an understatement. Also, he and Lancer agreed to a sparring match.
Warnings: Talk of being flayed may happen if you press for information. (If this is one of your listed squicks I'll actively avoid it coming up), maybe blood or broken limbs in the sparring match? There is a tangent involving sexual discussion.
Dorm 3-18, November 1st
He woke with a scream.
Or tried to. In his sleep paralysis it was only a choked sound as he stared at the ceiling wide-eyed. Unable to move or speak, all he had was the nightmare he'd just lived, punctuated by Eleven's shrill screaming. All he had was that he was not in pain. Parts of him were still numb from revival, but he was not in pain.
An involuntary, low, distressed moan was what told him he could move again. Shaking and pale, he pushed himself up. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and his gaze was unfocused, glazed-over. He raised a hand, still numb and tingling, and pressed it to his own chest. With something between a laugh and a sob, he curled up on himself, a tight human ball on the bed.
Unlike the time that had given him such an adverse reaction, there was nothing driving him to keep going. Only the horror of what had happened.
Floor 62, December 1st
The beach had always been a calming place for him. That is, until his return to Meridian. As he waited for Lancer, he watched the waves, arms folded as his thoughts wandered. Mostly, they wandered to Armaros, and their time in Meridian. Time spent there, he on a large dune watching as Armaros swam.
And now, he was here. Torn apart. In so much pain he could only blame him.
A nautilus shell washed up against his foot. He bent down to pick it up, idly playing with it as he waited for Lancer, stewing in his own thoughts.

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The archangel held the bottle against the scribe's lips again as soon as he was done. "Tell me when you're ready."
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Might as well test his limits today.
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"You're a good friend..."
While I write that essay... and I can't stay serious. XD
"No, you're a good friend Enoch..."
pffffff, how can you when they're acting like this?
Though, at the moment, Enoch was treating Lucifel more like a giant stuffed animal, the way he was latched onto him. He looked up at him, saw he was getting drunk, and couldn't help but start laughing.
Good answer XD
He couldn't care less about being treated like a giant stuffed animal at the moment. When Enoch started to laugh Lucifel laughed with him. Even though he didn't really get what was so funny in the first place.
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Oh, but their bottle was empty. And he wasn't anywhere near drunk enough - he could still hear Eleven clearly, after all.
"I'm going to get more wine..." And he attempts to break free from Lucifel to get more. Another half a bottle should do it...
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However when the scribe moved to get them another bottle - Had they already finished all three? - Lucifel pouted and let himself fall on the other.
"No, it's all fine, like you always say!"
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"It's not...I can still hear her, Lucifel."
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"Enoch, I got a suggestion... And I'm sure, you'll like it." Talking always seemed to help the other rather well. "When we saved the worlds, let's go on vacation... in the future."
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Enoch grabbed another bottle of wine from beneath the bed and climbed back in, managing to stumble over Lucifel in the process of getting himself seated against the wall. Unless Lucifel moved, he'd find himself a leg rest for the scribe, his back to the wall and his legs hanging over the angel's chest.
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since he hadn't moved from his spot he ended up being a leg rest, making only a small sound of surprise. After a moment the archangel decided to make the scribe's legs his arm rest. While he managed to move one arm and have it rest on the other's legs, the other seemed stuck under the scribe's body.
"Hmm...? What's that...?"
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"What's what?" he asked between sips.
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"Oh... just your butt I'm feeling with my arm..." Lucifel blinked a few times, not seeming too shocked by that. "Hmm... not as squishy as I thought it would be... it's really firm actually."
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"Of course it's firm, it's a muscle."
It's difficult to lift himself with just one arm anyway - he's not letting go of that bottle unless Lucifel asks for it.
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Lucifel looked a little thoughtful, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "So... Is this what humans call 'second base' already?"
He raised an eyebrow and turned his head to look at Enoch. "If so, then... then I think I might be doing something stupid. Not like I wanted to, you've placed your butt on my arm."
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"It's a metaphor, for touching erogenous zones. ... Actually, why haven't I given you armor that covers all of your butt, come to think of it...?" The archangel looked at the blond for for a few seconds before he had something else to say.
"Enoch, is your butt an erogenous zone at all? You didn't react when I moved my arm."
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But then there was the second comment, which got Enoch to lower the bottle and look at Lucifel curiously. "Ah...sometimes? Only when I'm..." a vague hand motion that indicates he doesn't know the word he's looking for, but he gives up. "But if that's second, what's the first?"
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He looked back at Enoch and patted his legs. "It's fine, say it when you remember." He might remember if he wasn't trying too hard to think of what he was trying to say. "The first base, Enoch, is kissing."
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