if rinha were a war he’d be peak catering to my personal tastes. i must nerf him
if rinha were a war he’d be peak catering to my personal tastes. i must nerf him
every so often i make an attempt to stay on model for ffxiv but i always hate myself at the end of it. anyway sometimes i think rinha should be a warrior
i dont feel safe when all three of you like a post of mine
what is that awful smell
He freezes, and takes a whiff. The squid-stink clings to him, he realizes, but this man’s no narc. “I, um,” a pause, feigning embarrassment to give himself time to think. Oh, how perfect his performance; a hesitant hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck, his averted gaze. Yes, he’s selling it alright.
“Sometimes I get a bit musty. It’s… that time of year.” Nailed it.
Leaves a package of squid on his desk.
Just… a package of squid. On his desk. Leaking its foul juices everywhere and clearly not stored correctly. He’s been gone all afternoon and morning, and returns to raw squid – on his desk. Leaking. A package of tentacles and slime.
He sighs and fetches a bucket to dump it into before the local mudpuppies catch a whiff and start forming ideas.
in a world full of cats, be a cat tree.
𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞 !do you want a certain kind of ship with my muse ? check out the key below & send me a symbol to tell me what kind of ship you want ! note : my muse = blog owner’s muse / your muse = sender’s muses
romantic relationships !
💘 friends to lovers
❣️ enemies to lovers
💜 love at first sight
💙 slow burn
💚 skinny love
💔 exes to lovers again
🖤 on again , off again
familial relationships !
🌼 older sibling
🌺 younger sibling
🌻 friends like siblings
friend relationships !
☀️ best friends
🌦 enemies to friends
🌈 friends since childhood
⛅️ friends of circumstance
☁️ school friends
🌩 friends from traumatic experiences
enemy relationships !
🔪 friends to enemies
💣 stole something from my muse
🔦 stole something from your muse
🗡 bullied my muse
🔫 bullied your muse
⚔️ family feud
🛠 fueds between mutual friends
❌ guilty by association
thinkin ( shb spoilers )
rinha being killed during the events of shb is probably the most effective way of restoring the balance of his soul. im bending the rules and saying that his previous time between shards changed the properties of his soul to closer resemble an ascian’s, meaning he doesnt go to the. aetherial shore or whatever. he doesnt die permanently without being killed with some sort of catalyst like the white auracite
anyway that all’s been established but i have been thinking of rinha post death being brought back and not really remembering being killed. like there are glaring gaps in his memory but he does remember people, he only seems to struggle with remembering times of high tension and stress.
my point is: rinha forgetting to be cynical and returning to his stupid wholesome orange cat roots
The cold climes of Ishgard were something that Rham’ir found, on the best of days, disagreeable. As much as he preferred the cold to any kind of heat, Rham’ir found himself shivering at night and waking up in the mornings with a hacking cough. The abrupt change from Eorzea’s varied but relatively warm weather to Ishgard’s dry freezing cold sent his body into disarray. He decided after assisting Ser Artoirel in the Western Highlands, he’d take a few days to recuperate and try to better adjust to the unforgiving weather.
He looked forward to it–a day off meant pleasant company and, gods willing, Ser Emmanellain being as far away from him as possible. Pleasant company, however, seemed to be absent from the premises. And with few other than the Fortemps manservant to assist him, Rham’ir had little choice but to use what his mother gave him. He begins with a piece of Rinh’a’s clothes, bringing it up to his nose and taking a deep whiff. He had to stop himself from shivering, the fur along the bridge of his tail fluffing and sticking straight up.
Thankfully, there was little wind to complain about, and picking up Rinh’a’s scent was a simple task, following it in the most straightforward fashion he could manage with his nose in the air. More than a few Ishgardian nobles and commoners alike gave him strange looks as he passed by, sniffing the air and following what he could detect. Strange creatures, these Miqo’te and their habit of tracking one another.
When he does eventually find his wayward companion, he approaches him and cautiously puts a hand against his back, ❝ Thought to go shopping without me, huh? ❞ He scrunches his nose at the smell of the industry that surrounded the Manufactory combined with the various smells from the chocobos just down the way, ❝ Find anything worth getting? ❞
Rham’ir’s quite lucky Rinh’a’s sense of hearing is as keen as it is; a lesser man may have had to run back home to change his pants given how quietly he made his approach. A palm upon his back, slowly leeching heat into his cold coat, prompts his tail to flick in a wide arc, stopping and settling against Rham’ir’s thigh when it hits its mark. He turns his head, then his whole body towards him, taking a step back to allow him into his social space and not shut him out entirely.
“As it turns out, spending a year or two of hard work caring for a nation’s standing army fizzles away and is forgotten the moment you say to hells with isolationism and take your leave,” he scoffs quietly, definitely not still chuffed about the whole thing. “What’s there to do when you’re a humble outsider doing his best to not cause trouble for your patron other than stay out from underfoot of the temple knights?” His tail’s still attached to his person for such wisdom.
Still, his little visit to the markets and getting sidetracked (
lost) meant he could see more of what Ishgard became in his absence. Perhaps it’s nostalgia softening his sharp tongue. “No – I’ve taken the roundabout way, I believe.” His attention shifts from Rham’ir to the manufactory ahead, arms still crossed across his chest. “Meandering around like a stray, if you will. It’s been an awfully long time since I was a lad here.”
Most of his acquaintances from that period of his life, given that they were knights stationed in Coerthas, are dead or don’t remember him. His tone still betrays his fondness for the city-state. “I don’t remember the manufactory being here, but I can’t recall what was here in its place.”
Inability to come up with a satisfactory answer was what made him pause and consider going in to begin with, but he’s not sure he’s willing to drag Rham’ir into the machine-shop to peruse. Instead, he turns his attention back to him, arching an eyebrow. “Anyway, I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘getting’,” the way he says it is odd, like he’s playing at something, but surely it’s too early to be flirting. “I had a mind to leave you be and let you rest when you returned, but if you’ve a mind to shepherd me around I won’t say no to your company.”
You’re still you.
A small hiccup of a sob breaks from lips, Rothalion swiftly turning away and hunching his shoulders lightly. Nobody told him such things, he didn’t have anyone around him who seemed to care enough. Warrior of Light, to many that was all he was - or at least that’s all they seemed to show that he was. None had reached out, had talked to him. Were they afraid, or was his belief right in that he was not worthy of the care and love? He bit his lip hard, wincing at the taste of copper that sprung in his mouth in so doing. Would he even know what to do with actual care? As it was, Rin’ha’s words only made him near break - the sob he almost wished would go unnoticed as though it weren’t half as loud and obvious as it really was. He reached up to rub away tears with his forearm.
Even through his emotional outburst, he listens to the other man speak. He acknowledges with a silent twitch of an ear, notices the pause and the abrupt change of subject. Recognizes the hesitance, what feeling must be held to cause such a change. He wouldn’t question it or pry - he wouldn’t have even if he could’ve managed to speak on it.
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t expand or explain. Was it for his outburst, or his inability to reach out and comfort regarding the things Rin’ha has been through? Perhaps a little of both. He still avoids looking at the miqo’te as he drops his arm to his side.
“Journaling… It… it sounds relaxing,” he said slowly, hesitating. “I… don’t need to show anyone, right? I don’t think I’d feel any better about someone else reading my feelings and experiences, even if I don’t have to speak them…” The anxiety already coiling in his gut proved it. For people to know how much he’s been through, to possibly agree that he was bad and deserved punishment - his scarred psyche couldn’t handle it. He feared reaction and retaliation. He had turned his life around long ago, his theft was merely for survival and yet…
People still liked to look at him the same way sometimes. His title, it was the only thing that saved him from the looks.
“I-if we have any paper to spare, I’d like to try…”
It’s hardly the first time he’s seen someone have an emotional outburst at what he has to say and it’s extremely doubtful it’ll be the last. Still, it does bring him to wonder about the Elezen’s mental state, if such a brief statement drew such a magnitude of a response. They’re not terribly close, he realizes, having only been acquaintances over the past moon or so, and even then only in passing. Much as he wants to offer a kind, steadying hand on his shoulder, again, Rothalion’s volatile response has him sitting pretty and remaining quiet, allowing the poor man his outburst in peace.
Regardless, it’s not like he needs comfort, nor wants it. The past was the past and there was no changing what he’d seen and been through; t’was more prudent to look to the future. Or, maybe he just did not want to think about it longer than he had to. Either way, he shrugs to the other’s apology mentally fumbling his words for a moment. “Hardly any need to apologize,” he musters, tail flicking above the ground. He meant it, of course, even if it was an apology for his outburst, it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, like a healer hadn’t heard worse.
The willingness to try something new pulls a positive reaction from the older: his ears perk, gaze returning to the Duskwight after he’d canted to the side to give him some relative amount of privacy. “No, you needn’t share it with anyone,” his tone is gentle, attempting to accommodate Rothalion’s worries. “If you’re truly concerned about prying eyes, you could burn the paper after you’ve written your thoughts.”
He’s done similar.
“When we return, I’ll give you one of my spare books.” His legs, stretched out and starting to complain, relax as he stands and dusts non-existent dirt off his pants. Once satisfied, he offers his companion a hand to help him stand, signaling the end of their little break. “I’ve plenty, for note-taking purposes, though you’re free to help yourself to them if you’d like.”
Pondering a moment, he pauses, then tilts his head to one side. Sympathy works its way into his gaze, evidently unable to put the sniffling and choked sob out of his memory. “We needn’t… continue this now,” he offers, words slowly tumbling from his mouth. “I’d much rather you get your rest than continue rolling around in the dirt.”
you were meant to
it was built into you. designed for you. there is pain here because it was meant for you, and how fucking dare they. your suffering is not their right. you hurt because they gave you ways to suffer and carved it into you when you could not breathe, because the intention always was that they could weaponize your pain against you. it is Yours. You are Yours. How fucking dare they. they cannot make you theirs; do not let them try.
i reworded my rules to make this a bit more clear but to clarify smthn: i will not assume a romantic ship between our muses until it’s discussed ooc. it can be as simple as ‘‘hey i think our muses should kiss’’ and i’ll be like ‘‘oh right on, sure’’ even though they havent interacted. or if they’ve interacted a lot. my point is you must ask for rinh’a’s hand in voyage
rinh’a’s endgame? well it’s
i think rinh’a would like to retire and return to the hinterlands. idlyshire is Right There and needs more help with settlement stuff but the idea of rinh’a returning to the place he grew up and spending the last years of his life attempting to make it habitable again tickles me. he could go fuck off and live in a cottage in the wilderness and have a lil garden and fishpond to sustain him, but returning to the sharlayan colony and attempting to make it into something future generations could live in i could see him dedicating his life to
poor dude spends much of his life not really having a home to return to, just places, so the thought that he goes back and turns the ruins into a little town gets my goat
rinh’a’s endgame? well it’s
soft and warm like mashpotatoe
Does Rinh'a believe people can be redeemed?
( shb spoilers )
it would be shorter to list the things rinh’a would condemn than to list the things he’d freely and willingly forgive.
when he’s the wol proper, going through his journey, he really is the type of hero to believe no matter where you are in life, you can always turn things around. your circumstances do not bind you. he would’ve been willing to forgive ilberd prior to shinryu’s summoning, and even nidhogg’s fury was entirely understandable from his perspective.
hell, he forgives emet-selch for trying to turn him into a lightwarden shortly before turning into a lightwarden. even in his final mortal moments he’d sooner extend an olive branch than to snuff out an ascian’s life, even when that ascian has threatened to turn him into a weapon against people. he doesn’t really get to interact with elidibus all that much but the same mercy would extend to him too. when urianger lies to him, when the exarch lies to him, even when the burden of playing the hero drags him through grief and pain and death, he’ll always forgive.
this changes after he goes through his lightwarden tantrum. rinh’a doesn’t quite become bitter, but he is… cynical. he believes in the good hearts of people less and less, and cares less for helping people in the greater good and thinks on a smaller scale. so when people snub his family, his loved ones, he’s more inclined to snub them right back. which is not quite the same as asking for redemption, but in general he’s a much harsher person who doesn’t grant everyone the same mercy as he used to.
anyway. rinh’a is of the mindset that he’s not a person anymore, he’s sincerely a monster. a beast with a soul that sinks like a boulder, tearing through his body as it goes. he doesn’t think his actions can ever be redeemed, but he also thinks his actions and motives are inherently selfish to begin with, so he’s not really looking to be forgiven or redeemed.
A. ＣＨＡＲＡＣＴＥＲ ＩＮＴＥＲＶＩＥＷ. [ repost, don’t reblog ]
name. rinh’a moshantu
nickname. i’m not sure he has any but he’s open to them
age. early- to late-thirties (ish)
species. miqo’te / hrothgar
morality. chaotic neutral
sins. greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath
virtues. chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice
known languages. eorzean, dravanian, doman
secrets. like a million and a half my dude
build. scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average.
height. 6′2″/ 189cm .
scars / birthmarks. small, thin scar running from below his eye down his cheek. several nicks and gouges along his arms and back. deep aetherial burns across his chest, right forearm, and left shoulder.
have you fucking seen him, all of him is notablehis large stature, long tail tipped with a white heart, eyepatch, the fact that he casts no shadow
abilities / powers. utilizes astromancy to both heal and empower his companions. raw, brute strength. as a result of his soul becoming more dense, he’s more sensitive to changes in the aether around him.
restrictions. aetherial sensitivity extends to weaponized magic, too, meaning everything hurts all the time. lack of sense of time. non-combatant: doesn’t put up much of a fight on his own. has little to no feeling in his chest, meaning it could take him a while to realize he’s been stabbed.
food. literally any fruit or raw vegetable. especially likes fish soup.
drink. black tea.
pizza topping. pineapple.
colour. red and gold.
music genre. anything with a piano in it.
book genre. choose your own adventure.
movie genre. horror. he likes to make fun of everything and get kicked out of the movie theater.
season. fall, winter.
curse word. . i dont think he actually knows any curse words????? holy shit. someone teach him to say fuck
scent (s). spices, cinnamon, dried tea.
bottom or top. true switch. prefers bottoming but will enthusiastically top if u ask him to
sings in the shower. no
likes puns. he loves them honestly
tagged by. @lucanae
tagging. @culra (ul’seht lore please) @warriorsoftwiggenstein (whomstever u feel like lore please) @fenixdown (vnilla or alta or jade. oc lore please) @brokenxfragments (taiko lore please) @vierandancer (demanding meiko lore.)
“Hm, perhaps I will.” She smiled, though she realized how true the Miqo'te’s words rang true. Y'shtola and Krile well aware of how exhausted one could become from healing the wounded, Kjerstie learnt.
“But… that’s a perspective I’ll remember from now on, I appreciate it.” She added, watching Rinh'a scrub the last of the dishes. “I’ll try not to do something like this too often. Ah–I guess shouldn’t promise, though.”
Promises were made to be broken, and the path a hero must take wouldn’t be very heroic if they weren’t at risk of bodily harm or more. As long as she would make an effort towards not jumping in front of every loaded gun or bludgeoning companions, Rinh’a really couldn’t ask for, or expect, more.
The next day begins akin to the one prior; he wakes, does a lap, and reports to the central highlands for a briefing. As expected, he was not asked to partake in the melee itself, but to remain on the premises to offer aid to those falling victims to the more excitable combatants. Raubahn fixes him with a look, as though he wanted to drag him into the fray anyway, but either pity or pride gets in the way, and Rinh’a remains accosted. With the cyclops problem speedily dealt with, there’s nary more for the Keeper to do than to wait for things to draw to a close.
He could do with some companionship of someone his own age, much like Kjerstie could. “She does have that effect on people,” he responds, a half reply and little more. The Warrior of Light, a symbol for true goodness, inspired the people around them. So it goes. His ears hurt from the cold, unable to stand wearing any warm hat that would possibly shield him from the discomfort.
“Let’s hope that the growth is mutual, then.”
As the spectacle culminates in a grand showdown between Kjerstie and the Flame General himself, the Ishgardians finally deign to allow Rinh’a to give aid – his conversation with Thancred’s cut short by the sharp holler of his family name, and Rinh’a can only offer a quiet grumble of an apology before trotting off. His patients needed little by way of actual healing and more or less just needed an observant eye keeping watch over them, looking for signs of concussion and the like. It’s well into the afternoon by the time he hears the results, what he already knew.
Kjerstie won, and the Ishgardian morale was at an all time high. Even the soldiers he watched over seemed to thrum with a newfound energy, prompting a snappy response from their caretaker. He’d like to go and congratulate her in person, but duty called and all that.
for a dancer, he wasn’t very used to.. this. rinh’a’s presence is welcomed, though he can’t say he’s accustomed to the closeness. expression turns from one of a raised eyebrow to a concentrative frown as gaze lowers to the other’s chest.
“ you’ll excuse any stepping on your toes – ” a small smile accompanies the words, hands adjusting their grip on the older miqo’te’s shoulders. you’re overthinking it, he thinks. so he tries. small movements at first, hoping to follow the other’s lead in an unfamiliar dance.
They make an odd pair; Rinh’a towers over him, and the only thing he can do to compensate for their size difference is to make his own steps much smaller in scale in an attempt to match Una’a’s natural gait. Really, at this point he could just pick the other up and carry him around in a mimic of what the dance was supposed to look like, but that wouldn’t really help his form any.
“You’re doing fine,” he assures, only quietly grunting when the lad does, indeed, step on his feet. “If anything, you should excuse me for being the only one available to teach you – your arms’ll be sore well before your feet, I should think.”
As for why Rinh’a was the only one who knew how to ballroom dance amongst current company, well, he had a very enriched adolescence.
@eclipsewaxing im sorry
“If I knew you were going to react so harshly, I never would’ve done it in the first place!”
Her tail was still sending water droplets flying with each angry flicker, glowering quite harshly at the man as if he were in the wrong. Maybe she shouldn’t have looked a gift chocobo in the beak - he had gotten that Roe to leave her alone, after all …
But dumping her off one of the piers for some petty theft was cold.
Oh. He hadn’t quite expected her to track him down and harass him further, but if she’s such a glutton for punishment – well, he’s not going to indulge her fixation further.
Not that he’d ever been angry in the first place, nor had he intended to actually send her careening off the bridge; women getting close to him just startled the poor sod, and he sometimes forgot himself. His tail flicks, then lashes, before settling in close to him. “You shouldn’t be stealing from people in the first place – small wonder the Roegadyn gent should corner you like that.”
And his pockets are occupied by his hands this time, thank you very much!
🎁 Rham'ir was a terrible gift-giver. The concept of gift-giving wasn't introduced to him until very recently in adulthood, and since then, the thought had never crossed his mind again. This time, was different. After numerous attempts at prodding and prying as subtly as he could feasibly manage ( because simply asking was too easy and... Rham'ir simply didn't know how to broach such questions ) he was able to discern Rinh'a's namedate. This was an important date in Eorzean culture, right? Apparently so, although he supposed it was nice recompense for being brought into such an unkind world--We're happy you were born! but also, sorry about that.
Ah, but Rham'ir was being too cynical in his inward attempt at combating the general pain of existence with sarcastic humor. Perhaps it was just a bit of Rinh'a rubbing off on him, in more ways than one. Thankfully, the Ishgardians had a way of accommodating the Warrior of Light's apparent lack of cultural knowledge with input of their own. A strange and delightful creature, this Miqo'te, with such a bland view of a world that should instead be filled in rich with color and style. If what advice he was given was to be considered seriously, Rham'ir preferred to find something practical for his... dare he say it--beloved.
Practical, but heartfelt. Something he could keep forever but also have use for in multiple scenarios. The various merchants within the Jeweled Crozier flocked about him like crows with their various trinkets and baubles. Would this not suit his fancy? Oh, but the color on this is far better. Ah, sir! might I trouble you to look over these instead? It was all the Fortemps manservant could do to ward them away. Rham'ir simply didn't have the coin to buy anything shiny, and accessories just didn't... feel right. Not to Rham'ir. Soon as he spotted what he had in mind, however, 'twas as if the remaining merchants simply didn't exist. He didn't see them. Didn't hear them.
Upon his return, he would gently take Rinh'a by the wrist and pull him into privacy, heart aflutter with nervousness and... obviously something else, but was adoration the correct term for it? Not quite, but yes, in many aspects. Already, he feels his cheeks burning, as his mind races for what to say.
❝ I, uh--I got something for you. ❞ In his hands is a box, which he opens himself and from it, he carefully pulls a scarf, finely crafted of soft and warm fabric with a gentle turquoise blue color. Gingerly, he wraps it around Rinh'a's neck, securing it but not quite letting go, ❝ I thought it might... stave off the cold. ...And also for your name day, but I'm sure you already knew what day it was. ❞
Send 🎁 ( present ) to give my muse something for their birthday; bonus if you specify what the gift / thing is !
Alas, poor Rham’ir, agonizing over a date that meant little and less to Rinh’a. And why should it? It was merely the day he was given a name, the first gift he’d ever gotten since being born, and nearly the last meaningful thing his mother gave him. Not that he kept it. T’would be more appropriate to change his nameday to when he adopted his current name, the real one, the one he wore with pride, but it was too much trouble between changing the Sharlayan records and correcting the few people who did know it. Regardless, the point is thus: it was any other day to him.
So forgive his mild excitement at being suddenly whisked away to Rham’ir’s room. Perhaps he thought Rham’ir had finally gotten the courage to attempt to bed him, and was ready to provide whatever support he needed to follow through on it. Alas, physical touches would have to wait; the man has a box, an important box, drawing Rinh’a’s attention as he opens it. A gorgeous color, one he knew brought out the green in his eye if only because Tataru had yammered on about it, encompassing a swathe of fabric he could only rightfully assume was a scarf. Recognizing the shorter’s intention to wrap it around his neck, he leans down in an attempt to make it easier, the thought to kiss him and break his concentration passing without action.
When Rham’ir’s satisfied with the positioning, that it was secure, he leans back and reaches up to touch it, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. Insulating, in a word – something to keep him warm when it wasn’t prudent to huddle into Rham’ir’s form.
…. Alright, maybe he was more fond of the man than he thought.
It’s the admission of it not being a random gift that pulls Rinh’a away from dwelling on the thought of stealing Rham’ir’s warmth, romantically, and grounds him in the present moment. The mention of it being a nameday gift makes his mind go blank a moment, his singular eye squinting in something resembling disbelief. He supposes it was about winter, now that he thought about it, though it’s hard to tell if it’s colder than usual in Ishgard.
His tail flicks, a reminder to himself to focus, to turn his attention from the scarf between his fingers to Rham’ir himself. To him, he offers a sheepish smile, ears drooping a bit from embarrassment. “Ah – well, no,” he admits, finally letting his hands drop to his sides, then thinks better of it and reaches out to take Rham’ir’s wrists, then his hands, in his. “I hardly recall what day is half the time. Tataru or Minfilia had to remind me when it drew near in the past.”
A quiet chuckle, even as he squeezes Rham’ir’s hands in a brief display of grief. But grieving or not, he still leans back down to kiss Rham’ir’s forehead, his typical display of affection. A beat passes, then he leans down further to give the man a proper kiss, gentle and neither too quick nor too short. When he leans away, it’s only to press his forehead to Rham’ir’s, eyes shut as a reassuring purr rumbles quietly in his throat.
“Thank you. A year with you is well-spent.”
🎁 K'vishu offers one of her small floral tins, the inside of which houses an arrangement of small colored shortbread cookies, the smells all giving off fruity aromas. From the looks of them, there are even slices of fruit decorating the tops.
Feo Sul's gift is in a much more extravagant box, ribbons wrapped all around and flowers freshly plucked and wedged in between the ribbons to keep them in place. Inside is a large hunk of crystal, a possession Feo Sul has long since cherished since first finding it in the source, she feels the affection she finds for it perfectly sums up the way she feels about her dear treasure Rinh'a.
Send 🎁 ( present ) to give my muse something for their birthday; bonus if you specify what the gift / thing is !
The cookies would go well with some tea, Rinh’a would think – and K’vishu was coming with him to enjoy the fruits of her labor.
The crystal, on the other hand, draws something akin to a minute wince from the miqo’te; it rang too similar to the crystals he found on his journey, guiding his path and steering him towards some greatness he was all too willing to bear. T’was a melancholy thing, but the eager look to Feo Sul’s eyes warned him about giving into depressing thoughts.
So, he smiled, instead looking to the aspected crystal with a scientific eye. “It’s aspected to water,” he offers, tapping a finger to the smooth surface. The contact burned beneath his finger, as his own soul was typically drawn to lightning. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”