-The Mythics RP-

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RDchicken99 said:
(Proofreading back on this, Cyrus sure zooms in and out of there lol 🤣)

The flame bloomed with a wave of the quartermistress’s hand. “Thank you, Ember,” said Cyrus, adjusting his spectacles to examine Lyra’s wrist under the warm light.
Under gentle extension and flexion there was no sound of crackling, which affirmed Lyra’s assumption that it was not broken. Iodine was poured onto a rag and lightly pressed to the few places where flesh was torn, Cyrus made note of the swelling and the bruise that had since darkened considerably from when he last saw it.
Lyra’s arm still clasped, with his spare hand Cyrus retrieved the bandages from his bag and began to evenly wrap the thin wrist with quick, sure motions. He spoke assuredly as he worked, “the bones themselves are bruised. In overuse they could fracture, and in that instance we would have a far greater problem to address—“ upon taking the bandage over her palm and back to her forearm, he pulled the fabric taut, securing it with a small clasp— “therefore, you must avoid strain and most motion all together. The bandage will keep it stable, but you will task yourself to ensure it stays that way.”
Cyrus straightened, loosing his glasses from his nose and folding them neatly, “tomorrow, if the bustle of the day permits, I will show you how to wrap it yourself.”
Some brief moments passed, and the contents of Cyrus’s bag were assumed back into their original order, and his overcoat was donned.
“Now, is that all understood, miss Lyra? I’d best be on my way, the morning will be demanding on all of us,”he made towards the exit, stopping in the doorway to nod his farewell, “good night, God bless you both.”
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Lyra nodded, eyes on the floor as she stood. "Many thanks, sir." Her nose ran, but she dare not counter it.
Ember's temperament was equivalent to a pot of coals, and Tay did not anticipate decent sleep for either of them.
Cyrus left.

With her weight in it, the bed was a loud thing. She lay stiff, silent to the absolute.
Her mind ran.nThere was no sleep on nights like these. She stared into the shadows, and tried to keep up.
 
Lacy Duckwing said:
The evening's cool breeze was greeted with the sailors' singing below. A voice from the crow’s nest above joined in unison, reminding Jintao that he was being watched, even here. He looked over his shoulder, Coal's song echoing in the darkness, and despised the joy he heard. He'd never be allowed the such pleasure of joy again, not even here.
Everything was dark and against him, even the depression that made its home deep inside his soul. Jintao turned back to the waters, his eyes focusing more on the shadowing depths than the reflection of the stars. Nothing more could be said about the situation and with the ship already at sea, turning back was no option. Nautalis wanted him to stay longer, but he made up his mind that as soon as they reached the Undermine, he was gone.
The distant flicker from the Captain's cabin caught Jintao's attention. Cyrus headed below deck, most likely in pursuit of rest. Jintao's dagger would be left with the Captain, locked away in her desk or hidden safe.
Jintao shook his head, leaning further down the taffrail. He pulled off his hat and slammed it at his feet. If Captain Mavyak had acted like Vhanya, would her first mate not have risen against her? Killing her not single-handed but with abuse from specifically chosen members- one of which that was Jintao? Chosen in lead and favored by the cruel Nahash Ammoni.
Jintao squirmed against the rail, clawing his fingers through his coal-black hair as sickness stirred his empty stomach. Vhanya is an idiot! the thoughts screamed. Why would she set me as first mate without knowing my history? I'm worth nothing but dead to her and her ship!
Jintao curled. His thoughts wouldn't leave him. Alcohol couldn't kill them, but even if it could, he wouldn't touch it. Too many times he was included in the death of rebels like Captain Mavyak, and every single one of them he was too drunk to even know his name.
Jintao's hand freed itself from the tangled black strands and he straightened himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing the day he was born. Tay's words of mercy should have never come. He should have experienced the Captain's wrath, even if it was with the hands of Ember and a lashing. He was such a fool, he shouldn't have accepted such an easy way out.
He let go of his bridge, the constant singing of joy becaming more of annoyance to him. He scooped up his hat, placing it over his brows- a little lower than it was when the Captain scolded him. It didn't matter. She was going too easy on him. He deserved worst for what he had done, including for the crimes that was encouraged on the Destruction.
The boards creaked under Jintao's heavy footsteps. Darkness of depression filled his head with all the reasons why he deserved death more than anybody as he made his way down the stairwell. Voices in song grew louder, coming out in rolls of laughter as means of control and torment. Jintao shook his head. It was as it always had been. Nahash had taught his crew the value of mockery and the great damage it caused their helpless victims.
The Quartermistress' cabin door was open with the haunting flicker of light. Jintao turned away from it, fearful of seeing Tay in the state  he had put her in.
You'll never change, you'll never change, like a shadow of a man, his thoughts hung over him, digging his pit deeper. All you do is bring pain. See? You couldn't even hold it back from Lyra. She never meant you harm, and to think, you might of even been falling for her. Shame on you! You'd even hurt someone you love!
Jintao rushed to his cabin, hoping that somehow Cyrus wasn't there. It was dark and without breath. He closed the door behind him, holding it shut to keep the thoughts on the other side. It was useless, he told himself. He left the door, lit the lantern on the desk, and sunk down on his hammock. His breath was heavy and slow. He laid back, watching the lantern's flickers on the ceiling above. It offered odd soothing, soothing he wasn't sure he should accept.
Jintao sat up, wanting the comfort but refusing to enjoy it. He stood up, removing his coat and placing it on his hammock. His thinness poked his conscience, warning him that Cyrus was sure to judge that was well. He pulled the spare shirt from his empty sleeve. He had refused too many days without food, a simple punishment of pure laziness; laziness often occupied with depression and self-guilt.
Jintao threw the crumbled up shirt onto his hammock and a piece of parchment escaped upon its landing. He opened his mouth slightly, closing it in caution. Sloppy cursive stood against the crinkles, inviting him to read it. He picked it up, eyes scanning the words.
Thus saith the LORD, The people which were left of the sword found grace in the wilderness; even Israel, when I went to cause him rest. The LORD hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea, I have...
Jintao closed his eyes. He had written this just after his amputation. Each word was copied from the book that the kind guard had given him. Why? he asked. He wasn't sure anymore. At the time it offered him both a new life and hope, but now, he had forgotten it.
Jintao opened his eyes. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to read the rest of the words on the page. He was too far gone; returning to his vomit and in the place that'd get him killed. He shoved his shirt under his hammock, hiding the parchment in its folds. Sitting his hat on of the pile, he turned away, pushing any hope far from his mind. He laid down on his hammock with his back facing the outside and covered himself with his coat. The lantern could flicker. Cyrus was sure to come in soon, and he could blow it out when he was ready.
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(Don't mind me catching up late... unfortunately even stalkers have lives occasionally 🥲

Lacy, your writing is incredible ❤️)
 
Somewhere_In_The_Clouds said:
(Don't mind me catching up late... unfortunately even stalkers have lives occasionally 🥲
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😱😱😱
Somewhere_In_The_Clouds said:
Lacy, your writing is incredible ❤️)
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It really is. Up your vocab, and dude, your prose would be elite.

Speaking of the good ol prose- so, since last December, I stripped down my writing to its bare bones. I began mimicking other authors prose, compiling and compiling- ever since then, it's been a painful process building up to how I desire to sound. I think smooth, clear-cut, simple, and profound are all things I strive for. Not too much character feedback, I like it to run like a movie, more show, less tell.
I know I need to work on incorporating description more. I know my strung together 'and' sentences truly damage a slow-paced moment, and I must use them wisely. And I know I need to depend more on body language. I do not believe my dialogue to be awful, but correct me if I'm wrong. Dialogue I have written has always seemed to be natural, curious, plainly awkward, and real.
But I'd appreciate hearing from you all- in what ways could you see my writing mature? It would be wildly helpful to hear your opinions. I must grow my collection of writing knowledge. You all are trusted resources of encouragement and input. Thank you in advance!
 
_-Captain BRM-_ said:
😱😱😱

It really is. Up your vocab, and dude, your prose would be elite.

Speaking of the good ol prose- so, since last December, I stripped down my writing to its bare bones. I began mimicking other authors prose, compiling and compiling- ever since then, it's been a painful process building up to how I desire to sound. I think smooth, clear-cut, simple, and profound are all things I strive for. Not too much character feedback, I like it to run like a movie, more show, less tell.
I know I need to work on incorporating description more. I know my strung together 'and' sentences truly damage a slow-paced moment, and I must use them wisely. And I know I need to depend more on body language. I do not believe my dialogue to be awful, but correct me if I'm wrong. Dialogue I have written has always seemed to be natural, curious, plainly awkward, and real.
But I'd appreciate hearing from you all- in what ways could you see my writing mature? It would be wildly helpful to hear your opinions. I must grow my collection of writing knowledge. You all are trusted resources of encouragement and input. Thank you in advance!
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I don’t think I’m a good enough writer to critique you honestly but I’ll pay more attention if you desire **hides**
 
_-Captain BRM-_ said:
First of all- FALSO, second of all, I'd rather you analyze as a reader, and you're a good reader, so you're perfectly qualified. Tada.
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Dude, the ONLY thing I’ve ever wrote down and felt good about was the beginning segment of Blinded by the Dark and even that’s like eeeehhhhhh

But yes
I won’t deny I read a lot.
And you’re right
I’ll tryyyyyy
 
_-Captain BRM-_ said:
😱😱😱

It really is. Up your vocab, and dude, your prose would be elite.

Speaking of the good ol prose- so, since last December, I stripped down my writing to its bare bones. I began mimicking other authors prose, compiling and compiling- ever since then, it's been a painful process building up to how I desire to sound. I think smooth, clear-cut, simple, and profound are all things I strive for. Not too much character feedback, I like it to run like a movie, more show, less tell.
I know I need to work on incorporating description more. I know my strung together 'and' sentences truly damage a slow-paced moment, and I must use them wisely. And I know I need to depend more on body language. I do not believe my dialogue to be awful, but correct me if I'm wrong. Dialogue I have written has always seemed to be natural, curious, plainly awkward, and real.
But I'd appreciate hearing from you all- in what ways could you see my writing mature? It would be wildly helpful to hear your opinions. I must grow my collection of writing knowledge. You all are trusted resources of encouragement and input. Thank you in advance!
Click to expand...
Personally, I'd love to hear a little more Sol depth conflicted chaos brain thoughts from Tay, but aside from that, your writing is peak Cap.
 

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