July TFLN Time

[folkie]

Texts From Last Night

Welcome to Folkmore's Texts From Last Night meme! This meme can be used as a branch off from our Test Drive Memes and be used as game canon or just for casual fun in the setting! You do not need to be in our game or be invited to play on our TFLN. This can be a great way to meet current players for future invites, get a feel for the setting, or just have some fun.

This can be used for samples on our applications and used as spoons for players accepted into the game!

TEXTS FROM LAST NIGHT GENERATOR

Comments

[modestpurpose]

Oh, you're so mean.

[He clutches one hand to his chest dramatically (and yes, he knows full well he's being dramatic) and then pushes himself up onto his elbows, lowering his foot back to the floor. The expression on his face can only be described as plaintive, his lower lip stuck out in a tiny pout.]

All right, all right.

[The one that doesn't hurt first, then. He kicks his boot off across the carpet and then turns his attention to the other, making a face as he works the zip down and his entire lower leg seems to throb.

Ouch.]

I'll... take that ice, if you'd be so kind. [Look at that pleading face.] And the toast?

[recreator]

Am I, now? Truth be told I much prefer to use the words callous and despicable.

[And here he is the one so often accused of being a drama queen! He averts his eyes from the plaintive, forlorn expression upon his friend's face, determined not to allow himself to feel guilt over something he had no hand in causing. Emet-Selch leaves him to go about his own task - which is helping a dear friend, of course.]

Yes, yes, I hear you. I trust you will not be moving from that location until I am finished.

[And he won't take long. The oven itself is simplistic in its design, and he sets it to heat with relative ease. Using the interim to gather together some ice from the ice box into a shallow bowl, he makes his way back over to his pitiable charge with a towel draped over one shoulder.]

I trust you can take it from here whilst I prepare your meal.

[He really is quite cruel, isn't he? But at least he is efficient.]

[modestpurpose]

You can trust me with both of those things.

[He waves one hand in Emet-Selch's direction as he goes about trying to figure out how to take his boot off without it hurting too much. Ah, the price he must pay for the clothes he chooses to wear... this would never have happened in the hupodema he wore back home.

Something he's sure Emet-Selch knows he's very aware of... and he's a little grateful that it isn't being pointed out.

While his friend is so kindly preparing some toast for him he does manage to work his way out of the boot and tosses it unceremoniously to one side once he does. Freed, his ankle is positively throbbing, and he scoots himself back on the bed so he can get some ice on it without having to lean forwards.

When Emet-Selch returns to him he'll find Hythlodaeus barefoot with his knee bent, ice in the towel pressed to his swollen ankle, with his chin resting on his knee and eyes closed with his brow pinched in a faint frown.]

Gently, now-- [He murmurs when he hears the other man.] The room is spinning.

[recreator]

[A defeated sigh follows Emet-Selch's footsteps and at last the man relents, setting the plate of toast down on a nearby table as he sinks onto the mattress next to him. The motion will unlikely help with the dizzy sensation, but at least Hythlodaeus will find an arm wrapping around his back to hold him steady.]

The only thing spinning is that beautiful head of yours.

[He says it as if he's filing a personal complaint against the Bureau of the Architect rather than delivering a compliment.]

Give it here. The last thing we need is for you to faint away on an empty stomach.

[modestpurpose]

[Ah... that's quite nice, actually. The warm arm around his back and the feeling of something solid in the middle of the quite miserable way that his head is swirling in dizzy circles now he's trying to settle himself. He leans into it, just a bit, and moves his hand away from his ankle to let Emet-Selch see to it.]

Thank you.

[A far more genuine - and quieter - thanks than he might have got had he acquiesced to his earlier demands. Hythlodaeus puts his arm around Emet-Selch as well, gripping lightly into his clothes, partly aware that this will do nothing to assist their situation but finding it a comfort regardless.]

I could stand to hear you call me beautiful more often. [The statement is followed by a mild chuckle.] Though perhaps not in such a tone as to suggest that the fact offends you.

[recreator]

[The ankle doesn't look amazing. But then again, he's seen far, far worse in his time on the battlefields of Ilsabard. The towel with the ice is gently pried from Hythlodaeus's fingers, and he returns it to its place against the angry, swollen skin.]

[He says little about their current position, nor about the way Hythlodaeus's grip curls into the folds of his robes. It's quite warm, however, and pleasant despite the circumstances. Too long has it been since he last sat side by side with someone he considered a companion; a friend.]

And what if it does? Besides, if I said such things all the time, would they not lose their impact?

Stay still until the room stops turning. Then, we'll see to the toast.

[modestpurpose]

[It could be a lot worse and Hythlodaeus may be milking it a little, but he's also very much enjoying having Emet-Selch's undivided attention and how gentle he's being right now. He shifts, resting his head on his friend's shoulder and tucking himself there, determined not to say anything about their current position either because it might ruin it if he points it out.]

Yes, all right.

[That reply could really have been to one or the other, or both, and he sighs as the cold of the ice sinks into his ankle and numbs away the dull throbbing.]

This is nice. All unfortunate results of my hubris aside. [He hums, nudging the top of his head against Emet-Selch's jaw.] Don't you think?

[recreator]

For you, maybe.

[A noncommittal reply if ever there was one, and yet the ice pressed to his ankle and the presence of that arm wrapped about him remains steadfast and unyielding. The only movement is in the way Emet-Selch's head rises and leans askance of the playful intrusion, though all he seems to have achieved in doing so is baring his long neck and allowing Hythlodaeus room to nestle against him.]

[Hardly his intention, but he cannot truly say that this is an unpleasant affair, either.]

Though I suppose you have been left to deal with the consequences of mine own hubris more than once.

[A pause as he glances down at the top of his friend's head.]

Still spinning are we?

[modestpurpose]

[Hardly his intention, perhaps, but something the somewhat inebriated Hythlodaeus takes full advantage of as he nestles in closer and finds some security in the solid warmth of the other man's body.]

Somewhat. I would like to assure you that I've learned my lesson but I fear we would both know I'm lying.

[He lets out a wobbly little titter at that, tilting his head up to press the bridge of his nose to Emet-Selch's neck.]

Have I ever told you... that you smell absolutely divine.

[Someone probably needs to be put to bed.]

[recreator]

Indeed we would. False assurances will avail you naught when we both know this won't be the last time I'm forced to coddle you whilst you recover from an evening of merry-making.

[Will his grumbles never cease? Unlikely. Yet despite it all, Emet-Selch removes the ice to examine the affected ankle once more. Without preamble, he lifts the other man's leg carefully and drags one of the pillows over to prop it up.]

[If the act jostles Hythlodaeus from his affectionate burrowing, then it's hardly his fault. His nose is cold against the sensitive skin of his neck, after all, even if the giggly breathing is warm and very nearly intoxicating.]

And no, I believe that revelation is new. Have I ever told you that you are utterly insufferable in this state? Your ankle cannot possibly be bothering you any longer if you've the energy to involve me in your flirtations.

Now get some rest. It will do you far more good than ruminating over how I smell.

[modestpurpose]

[Hythlodaeus just titters softly at the implication - and the grudging acceptance - of how likely it is that this is going to happen again. Emet-Selch may grumble and grouse about it but he knows he isn't really all that annoyed or the man would most assuredly not still be here with him and coddling him so very willingly.]

I'm sure you've told me such a thing before, and I'm sure that I forgot it then as easily as I will forget it this time.

[He chuckles, leaning back just enough to look his friend in the eyes as he seems to think something over for a long moment and then nods.]

But you might be right. Some rest may be the best option before I wear out your considerable patience.