✨ you only get one chance...

[liltuna]

THE FIRST IMPRESSION MEME   You only get once chance to put your best foot forward. Screw that up, and you'll be forever seared in someone's mind as the person who had spinach in their teeth, or worse! ✨HOW TO PLAY 1. Drop a top-level! 2. If you have previous CR with someone, you'll have to let them know what your first-impression of them was. If this is your first time meeting, you'll be compelled to share what kind of vibe they give off. It's okay to be honest! Are they gross? Do they seem approachable? Do you find them incredibly hot?  3. Find out if your first impression was correct! Maybe that strange loner actually has a heart of gold? You'll never know unless you talk to them!

Comments

[sleepfan]

That is a very generic thing to say.

[Linhardt smiles. His smile isn't as harsh as Madge's, but he doesn't shy away from the eye contact or the chill underlying the man's expression.]

Which does not mean I assume it's inaccurate. I am torn between being thankful there is no millstone around my neck as I feared and offended at having any part of my life be so pedestrian.

[And that isn't even getting into the possible metaphorical meanings. Love? Actual love or marriage? There isn't a shortage of nobles who have been killed by their own spouses, including a few Hevrings.]

If you weren't clearly a devil spirit, I'd think you were flirting with me.

[Something in his tone suggests that Linhardt finds the absence of this possibility disappointing. Is Madge seducing him into deal-making or just seducing him?]

I would, because you're handsome and intelligent.

Although you give away more information than you intend to, I think.

[Linhardt's eyes dance. Word and information games can be delightful if they aren't related to politics or infrastructure or other boring topics.]

[chirological]

[ A huff of amusement, perhaps satisfaction. It is always satisfying to be seen and recognised and understood. To be understood beyond your own understanding, even. Madge hasn't had that particular experience for a long time now. The last one ran away, didn't it? Hmm.

He smiles, slowly, warmer this time. Although his words are casual, nonchalant, he doesn't dismiss the other man's conclusion as wrong. He won't betray himself like that. ]

We all give away more than we intend. It is not in man's nature to hide himself away.

[ Do you hear, James? This far away, still, do you hear? His expression darkens for a moment, then he shakes the mood off, running a hand through his hair and catching the man's eyes, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Well, two can dance that dance, of course. ]

Do you think a devil spirit wouldn't flirt with you? Really, how many have you met?

[sleepfan]

[Why would he run away? Linhardt never runs away from things - or people - that are interesting. Is Madge dangerous? Most assuredly. But finding someone of Linhardt's acquaintance that isn't dangerous would be difficult. So it's hardly dissuading.]

Do we?

[Another tilt of his head.]

What do I give away?

I would disagree with that: I think that's it's foolish to assert that man has a singular nature. I have met people who would prefer to never speak to another living soul, and others who wither if they go an hour without another.

[Linhardt's eyes are watchful. Interesting. An indication of feeling. Perhaps not a devil spirit then. A spirit of a different kind?

The question gets a laugh out of him. It's a fair point, but there aren't many who argue with Linhardt well: That is to say by questioning his logic or the data he's using.]

None that have revealed themselves as such to me.

I would just assume they're more interested in power and my soul than my body. I'm not the sort to be distracted by such attentions.

[Indeed, it's something of the opposite. Linhardt's devotion to his own presentation is partly to satisfy himself, and partially to spitefully comply with his father's advice to always have a distraction ready. People who are wrestling with how pretty the Hevring heir is are easier to 'persuade' into acquiring things for him or to look the other way.]

[chirological]

Behind your wit lies a curiosity that might be the death of you before love gets the chance. [ Madge lets his eyes run over the man's face, his features pleasant and symmetrical, soft without being weak, attractive, alluring. James had carried the same kind of beauty, apparently it's Madge's purpose in life, chasing after young lads too beautiful for this world. He doesn't preserve himself better than that, it seems.

His voice hardens when he continues: ] Do not think of it as a strength; I will tell you, nothing makes you more vulnerable than wanting. [ The soft wave of a hand, the bend of a wrist. ] Wanting knowledge, wanting understanding, wanting others.

[ Stepping a little closer, Madge can sense the other man's energies, colourful, strong, stubborn. They ignite his own and he feels invigorated by them, enchanted, tempted.

And people say he's the devil. Have they not met men like this before? Devils. Why has nature put such beauty in existence, it's hardly fair. ]

No, I'm no devil, I bleed like a man and I want like a man, exactly like you. [ Another step, even closer and Madge reaches up, brushing his fingers over Linhardt's forehead, up to his hairline, pushing a stray strand out of the way. ] It wouldn't distract you either, if I were to take my drink off the sweat of your brow as I made love to you?

[sleepfan]

But an interesting death, one with purpose.

[Madge isn't wrong: some of the reluctance of Linhardt's compatriots to allow the man to truly explore wherever his mind takes him is due to the fact that the healer is less than mindful of what the results would be.

Linhardt doesn't deny what Madge points out. Madge is right: He would give his life in exchange for knowledge. What is the alternative? Not knowing? That is not acceptable. It's his life. He chooses how to live it. So what if he dies in the pursuit of knowledge? It's better than dying for love or politics.

He sighs, a small, almost silent exhale, forced to accept the truth of the man's words.]

You are not wrong. It is infuriating to not be able to quell the questions in my mind. It leads to me making poor decisions. I need to control myself.

[Words Linhardt says as though they are a recitation. They are. He's heard it his entire life. "Control yourself, Linhardt." "Pay attention, Master Hevring." "Don't use the Adrestian army for personal reasons."]

Exactly what a devil would say.

[The banter slips out before Linhardt can stop them, a pre-emptive defense against too much sincerity. Linhardt leans into the touch, taking the opportunity to close his eyes, part his lips slightly, and tilt his head so that his silken hair falls over his shoulder while exposing the pale skin of his neck above his collar.

He enjoys being touched and isn't the sort of man to deny himself.]

That depends entirely on how skillful a lover you are. Can you distract me?

[chirological]

Get me invested enough, and I can work magic.

[ Slipping his fingers through the other man's long hair, feeling the soft smoothness of the strands, Madge steps so close that they're chest to chest, front to front, all but nose to nose. When Linhardt breathes out, Madge only needs to breathe in to taste him. He holds himself back from simply devouring him, not because he cares about manners, but because he cares about pleasure. The longer you prolong, the greater the satisfaction. The surrender.

He bends his neck a little and runs his half-open mouth over the other man's jawline, just a brief pressure of lips. Exhalation. He moves up to Linhardt's ear and whispers, grabbing him a little harder by the hair, if only for a second: ]

Not a devil, a witch.

[ And he steps back, releasing the other man abruptly, in no way gentle. Never. ]

[sleepfan]

Oh.

[Linhardt makes a small noise in the back of his throat when Madge tugs on his hair, holding him still, breath hitching. Nobody touches him like that. He can tell that some people want to by how they watch him, but everybody knows who he is. So they don't.

Feeling no shame, Linhardt takes the opportunity to press his clothed torso to Madge's.]

Me too.

[Linhardt's lips curl back up into a smile of his own, one hand reaching out for Madge. He holds the other man's hand, his thumb pressing against Madge's wrist. And then he searches for the magical energy in the air around them, generating a wisp of heat from his thumb, sending warmth up the arm nerve, his eyes holding contact with Madge's the entire time as the small fire burns.

Delicate, he is not.]

[chirological]

[ The whole cosmos seems to suddenly align around them, when Linhardt grabs his wrist and sends the fire through his arm. These are not powers like Madge's, who can make potions and charm and glimpse the future in lines of a palm. These are powers unlike anything he has seen in another person before. He stares into the other man's eyes, gaze intense and his whole body feeling overheated from the points of contact. Then, he blinks and smiles and leans his head back, laughing manically. Two seconds, three and he catches Linhardt's eyes once more. ]

Fate had our paths cross for a reason, I see.

[sleepfan]

[Linhardt watches Madge as he laughs. Interesting. He should be careful that this isn't a Dimitri situation. On the other hand, is anyone he spends time around truly sane? At least this insane person shares Linhardt's interests and priorities.]

Indeed.

I'll show you my magic if you show me yours. Time has always vexed me.

[By which he means ever since he realized the Warp math suggested certain facts about time that make it almost tantalizingly tangible. Could time be reduced to elegant mathematical equations just as they do for battlefield terrain?]

You must explain.

[chirological]

[ Another huff of laughter, but this time Madge wrestles free of Linhardt's grip, stepping forward to grab his chin between thumb and index finger, tilting his head to the side so he can with no problem lean in and kiss his cheek. A kiss and a lick. Heavy. He breathes him in, a fellow magic wielder. Who would have thought? ]

Ask for me when the distance gets too distracting, I'll come for you. I'll explain, then.

[ He steps back and releases him, turning his back on him, leaving with a lift of one hand. ]

For now, have a good day. It's in your hand.

[sleepfan]

[Linhardt makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, deep and appreciative of Madge's assertiveness, closing his eyes so that he can appreciate all the information he's taking in: The scent of the other man, the feel of his lips on Linhardt's skin, and of course the dazzling life energy, life humming beneath the surface of Madge's skin as fish do beneath the surface of a pond.

He doesn't hide his disappointment when Madge pulls away.]

How long must I wait? Is an hour sufficient? Is there benefit to restraining myself?

[Linhardt is still young. Patience is a virtue he has not yet developed. Wait. He can't just leave! Damn it. Damn dream not-devils. He's already gone...]