Even without the spirits of the Interstice hounding him, Guts would find sleep hard to come by in the Queen's residence. The expectation of battle that came with every sunset plagued him like the ache of a phantom limb. His restlessness would send him sneaking out into the streets, full gear and all, despite the sting of his still-healing wounds. Figures he’d have the luck to hop worlds and keep every slash, puncture and burn he got while hunting his last apostle.
Maybe it was the eagerness to release some of that tension that motivated him to stick around when a child ran into him full-tilt, clinging to his greaves. Maybe he just felt like being helpful that night. The boy saw the glint of the opal in his hand and assumed he'd found safety, and Guts supposes he did. Tears were streaming down the child’s frightened face, which signaled trouble was going to follow him. Seven or eight bits of 'trouble', running down the alley to meet their prey.
The brief glimpse of excitement in Guts' eyes wasn’t the reaction that belonged to a wounded man - it was more like the twitch of a mad dog. Nestling his jewel beneath the metal of his armor, he waits for them to turn the corner, the fist of his iron arm ready beneath his cloak. The healers that were patching him up were going to be pissed in the morning, but a part of him needed this.
"Stay out of the way, kid."
b. Poisoned Gnature
As soon as his wounds had closed enough, Guts would be found kneeling in the stables, helping slather paste on flanks and backs. He’d left his armor and much of his equipment behind in lieu of more suitable working clothes, though he couldn’t quite get himself to stay more than a few feet away from the colossal Dragonslayer.
The sword would be found leaning against the walls, easily towering just over seven feet. His iron forearm prosthetic, too, was left hanging on a hook. The last thing he wanted to do was end up having to scrape stinking animal mud out of the joints, and it’s not like he could grab anything with it, anyway.
He works quietly and diligently, looking more comfortable tending to the animals than he ever did in the court. In fact, little seemed to grab his attention aside from getting a glimpse of Fayura and some of other Princes down there in the grime and dirt with them.
That sight was utterly alien enough to make him pause, thankful he was far away enough that his own staring wouldn’t be so immediately obvious.
"Never thought I'd see a Queen tendin’ to livestock," he says to no one in particular.
c. Weather - Psychic Thread / Farcaster
[A tiny, talking metal box seemed just as magical as Craft did, at least to Guts. Most of the conversations were nonsense he would never listen to on his own, but the novelty of the device kept him plugged in longer than he'd first expected. Useful, if slightly annoying.
There were helpful reports once in a while, weather forecasts certainly counted as one. This particular report elicited a reaction that was less calculated psychic connection and more blurted thought available for any passersby to hear.]
The hell did they put in the water?
d. Wildcard [Hit me up with whatever! Feel free to PM here or at hematite]
Guts | Berserk | Opal
Even without the spirits of the Interstice hounding him, Guts would find sleep hard to come by in the Queen's residence. The expectation of battle that came with every sunset plagued him like the ache of a phantom limb. His restlessness would send him sneaking out into the streets, full gear and all, despite the sting of his still-healing wounds. Figures he’d have the luck to hop worlds and keep every slash, puncture and burn he got while hunting his last apostle.
Maybe it was the eagerness to release some of that tension that motivated him to stick around when a child ran into him full-tilt, clinging to his greaves. Maybe he just felt like being helpful that night. The boy saw the glint of the opal in his hand and assumed he'd found safety, and Guts supposes he did. Tears were streaming down the child’s frightened face, which signaled trouble was going to follow him. Seven or eight bits of 'trouble', running down the alley to meet their prey.
The brief glimpse of excitement in Guts' eyes wasn’t the reaction that belonged to a wounded man - it was more like the twitch of a mad dog. Nestling his jewel beneath the metal of his armor, he waits for them to turn the corner, the fist of his iron arm ready beneath his cloak. The healers that were patching him up were going to be pissed in the morning, but a part of him needed this.
"Stay out of the way, kid."
b. Poisoned Gnature
As soon as his wounds had closed enough, Guts would be found kneeling in the stables, helping slather paste on flanks and backs. He’d left his armor and much of his equipment behind in lieu of more suitable working clothes, though he couldn’t quite get himself to stay more than a few feet away from the colossal Dragonslayer.
The sword would be found leaning against the walls, easily towering just over seven feet. His iron forearm prosthetic, too, was left hanging on a hook. The last thing he wanted to do was end up having to scrape stinking animal mud out of the joints, and it’s not like he could grab anything with it, anyway.
He works quietly and diligently, looking more comfortable tending to the animals than he ever did in the court. In fact, little seemed to grab his attention aside from getting a glimpse of Fayura and some of other Princes down there in the grime and dirt with them.
That sight was utterly alien enough to make him pause, thankful he was far away enough that his own staring wouldn’t be so immediately obvious.
"Never thought I'd see a Queen tendin’ to livestock," he says to no one in particular.
c. Weather - Psychic Thread / Farcaster
[A tiny, talking metal box seemed just as magical as Craft did, at least to Guts. Most of the conversations were nonsense he would never listen to on his own, but the novelty of the device kept him plugged in longer than he'd first expected. Useful, if slightly annoying.
There were helpful reports once in a while, weather forecasts certainly counted as one. This particular report elicited a reaction that was less calculated psychic connection and more blurted thought available for any passersby to hear.]
The hell did they put in the water?
d. Wildcard
[Hit me up with whatever! Feel free to PM here or at