The Mood is Write

Mom-de-Plume
Original poster
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FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Looking for partners
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per day
  2. Multiple posts per week
Online Availability
It varies wildly.
Writing Levels
  1. Advanced
  2. Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Nonbinary
  3. Primarily Prefer Female
Genres
I'm open to a wide range of genres. Obscenely wide. It's harder for me to list all I do like than all I don't like.

My favorite settings are fantasy combined with something else, multiverse, post-apoc, historical (mixed with something else), and futuristic. I'm not limited to those, but it's a good start.

My favorite genres include mystery, adventure, action, drama, tragedy (must be mixed with something else and kept balanced), romance (again must be mixed, and more.

I'm happy to include elements of slice-of-life and romance, but doing them on their own doesn't hold my interest indefinitely.
High altitudes stole her breath from her. How she arrived in this place, she wasn't sure, but she lacked the strength to rise from alongside the river-like green gem road. She'd not seen anyone pass this way in some time, and began to accept that, if they did, it might be too late for her.

Hunger gnawed her insides, nearly driving away all other thoughts, even as her nose bled, sluggish, from one nostril.

Laying on her side, the strains of her previous travel throbbed in muscle and bone and too-tight skin.

She laid there, unsure how long, in a pool of her own long, black hair, as she closed small and slanted eyes, unsure if she would open them again.

Any who stumbled across her would discover a woman with a body twisted and scarred, and so severely malnourished she should not have been breathing, and yet the weak ripple across the blood from her nose remained—a sign of continued life in the near-corpse.

She wore jeans and a cotton tank top, both of them worn and stained. Her flat slip-on shoes, formerly like ballet slippers, had become mud-encased and threadbare. The only part of her outfit that look intact anymore was the unstained and sturdy leather duster, with an abundance of pockets.

The woman opened her eyes and summoned up her energy.

"Need... food...!" It was barely a whisper from the tiny woman, but it was the best she could do as her eyes slid shut again.
 
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Joan Drazelan
She had to get away. Away from the chaos and political turmoil that had become her life. Even if it was only for a few hours, even if she got shit for it later--she couldn't handle it anymore. She had to get away.

A tall, draconic woman with green scales walked down the side of the shining Hzaroch road, hands stuffed into the front pockets of a light grey backless shirt made from some kind of reinforced, plated cloth material. It moved and adjusted with her as she walked, giving it a sort of fluid appearance. Her pants were brown and made of the same material, and her feet were booted, though the boots were shaped for clawed feet. Her wings were folded on her back, and her long tail whipped around anxiously behind her.

Ever since the war ended and the Council had been overthrown, everything had changed. Suddenly, she was the center of a whirlwind of attention. Where she had previously been fighting for pure survival, she was now fighting to keep her head above water in a political environment. Where she had been trying to uncover a conspiracy, she now fought to make sure the new government was properly formed. Where she had been struggling to overcome her own deeply embedded xenophobia long enough to open her eyes to what the Shiren had to offer, she now struggled to show the rest of her people that the new races were not to be feared, but to be befriended.

She was tired of it. So damn tired.

She would take walks like these to calm her mind. She always got yelled at when she got back, of course. Layen was more often than not concerned for her, while the rest...they expected her to be some kind of leader, to set an example. But she was no leader. Just because she had stayed alive long enough to find the truth didn't make her any sort of leader. Far from it.

If only they would find somebody else to focus their attention on, if only--

She froze.

In front of her, a human woman, starved to near-death and passed out. Joan wouldn't have known she was alive from this distance if it weren't for the faint shining of her Hzar. After a moment, as the human remained unmoving, Joan took a cautious step forward, then broke into a run, reaching the woman in a matter of seconds and kneeling next to her. This woman had been fucked up, that much Joan could tell. Her clothes were covered in dirt and stains, with the notable exception of her jacket, and she was twisted and scarred, bearing the signs of some horrible abuse or torture. The only outward signs of life were the shining of her Hzar and the faint ripple across the blood from her nose. This woman still lived, but she was not long for this world. If I can get her back, maybe...

As Joan reached for the woman's shoulder, she stirred, and Joan pulled back abruptly. The woman's eyes cracked open, and she looked weakly at Joan, her mouth moving to speak.

"Need food." The woman's eyes closed again, and Joan hurriedly reached into the small pouch hooked onto her waist, manipulating the Hzar technology within with her fingertips. She produced a bar, loosely wrapped in cloth, stained brown, and broke off the end of it. The bar remained fairly intact as she held out the broken-off piece and gently slipped it into the woman's hand, although the broken edge of it crumbled as her fingers brushed it. If the woman was able to accept it, she would find it nourishing, with a slightly nutty taste and a dry, vaguely crumbly texture. It was followed by a bottle made from a clear, gemlike material, containing simple water.

Joan set the rest of the bar on the ground beside the woman and tapped an implant in her neck, only barely recognizable by the slight discoloring of her scales. It sent a signal to Draco, who immediately responded, forming a long-distance telepathic link between them. Technology was a remarkable thing.

"Joan, what's wrong?" The familiar voice of her partner filled her mind, and she relaxed slightly. "You feel anxious, and you don't usually want to talk to anybody when you're out."

"I found a human woman, nearly dead. I have no clue what happened to her...see for yourself." The link opened further, and Draco hissed slightly as he saw what she saw.

"Ah, hell...you're thinking of bringing her back, yeah?" A pause, and when he detected her thought to the affirmative, he continued. "I'll do what I can, but be careful. People are already unhappy enough with you for pushing the idea that the other species deserve our respect and alliance, and this could--"

"I know, I know. Just be ready when I get back, yeah?"

"Of course."

“Thank you." She allowed the link to drop, and turned her attention back to the woman to assess her condition. If she had regained consciousness enough to see what was going on, she would have seen Joan hunched by her for a moment, silent and eyes half-closed, before opening her eyes fully again and looking back toward her.
 
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The power of Hunger brought the food to her lips, and gave her the strength to chew and swallow, but she had to stop and catch her breath when she was done.

It took only moments, but that small bite was enough to give her more strength, enough to pull the rest of the bar toward herself and begin to eat it, movements slow and careful as the act of eating took every bit of her focus.

The crumbs that fell into her blood, she picked up and ate as well, before her dry tongue licked her lips, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on breathing.

Already, she felt stronger, but not enough. With the food gone, she reached for the water, uncaring if the dragon-like creature before her was offering it or not. She needed it.

And then their eyes met as the starving woman looked up at her benefactor, and something about the reptilian gaze seemed far too intelligent for a mere lizardman.

This was some form of dragonoid. Often prideful, and for good reason—dragons were as often powerful as they were prideful. It could mean anything, but based on the stranger's willingness to feed the woman, she assumed it meant something that wasn't immediate death or torture.

Reading reptilian emotions was... difficult, at best.

"Thank you," she breathed, deciding that respectfulness was the best way to go regardless in order to get more food and a chance at that water.
 
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Joan Drazelan

When Joan turned her head back to the woman, she saw the bar gone and the woman reaching for the water. The woman looked up at her, their eyes meeting, and the woman hesitated before pulling her hand back. She seemed anxious, even as she thanked Joan. Probably scared.

"There's no need to worry. I'm not going to hurt you." It had been a bit since Joan had had to speak one of the human tongues, and she was grateful she had a good memory. She picked up the bottle and handed it to the woman, making sure there was no ambiguity. "Drink that, please."

She waited for the woman to finish the water before pulling out another bar and handing it to her. In the state the woman was in, Joan figured she could use the extra food. After handing the bar over, she watched the woman for a few moments longer before speaking again.

"What's your name?" Hopefully, the question would set the woman at ease. Just in case, she added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, of course. I'd just like to know what to call you."
 
The woman drank, her arms awkward due to torture's deformity, but with some squirming, she made it work. The bar, once opened, she ate from the ground itself, staring at it and eating her own nosebleed as much as the bar.

Once it was gone and she got every bite (including a bit of dirt and blood), she looked up to find the strange reptilian staring at her.

Even if she couldn't read reptilian emotions, she could understand offerings of food and water—actions spoke loudest, after all. She panted quietly as she stared, and then the question came of her name, followed by assurances that she didn't need to give one, but the reptilian wanted to know what to call her.

Her eyes turned away as she pondered what to be called. The old her... died when she woke up. Just like her child self died when she was taken from her mother. Now it was time for a new self, and she knew absently that there was a K on her jacket.

"I... call me something... starts with 'K', I guess...?"