what does your oc like about the oc above them?

The knight had fondly smiled at them upon approach. Truthfully she hadn't seen NV in a while, duties of her own having kept her more than occupied and away. She was excited to see them, and enjoy their company for a bit. Though she can't help but be a little discouraged that it seemed like much hadn't changed for the figure in wraps, most of all in their demeanor since they'd last met. Back then, her heart had ached to see them tear themselves down at every opportunity. Some part of her knew then that there was something more to this than simple low self-esteem. A thing she'd sensed when they'd first met. Something that feels... dark, all-consuming. Malicious perhaps. It lurks beneath NV's surface, though from what she'd experienced with them... she couldn't believe that maliciousness was really what they wanted. After all, she'd rarely felt malicious intent from them, especially when she'd been vulnerable.

Perhaps it was a stretch to consider NV a friend. They'd only met a handful of times, mostly with her still unwell at the time. Illanya didn't really care though. Friend or not, it was part of her job to foster that light, that hope in others. The last she'd tried, she was certain that she'd somewhat missed the mark. To be fair, Illanya had been both drunk and a little... inebriated at the time. Now, with the advantage of a clear mind, and time to think? Illanya hopes at least this time her words will land. 

She greets them with a hearty clap on the shoulder, and a happy grin before stepping back and waving for them to walk with her. It was nice, not having to worry about navigating out of the woods sick like last time, instead taking the time to observe the scenery around them in relative silence that she felt comfortable in. Eventually though, the words she'd been looking for come to mind and she hums.

"I know I've said it before, but I've always appreciated your willingness to help me back then. Your kindness to me, a total stranger in the woods so close to the Feywilds. It's something I can't help but admire." She says, clasping her hands in front of her, pausing in thought. "Even though you were nervous about it you still tried to help, and you kept me company. I don't often meet many people like that on the daily. You're good company too." Illanya chuckles, glancing at them as the two of them walk the path together, and she pauses to tug on a flower with orange-yellow petals that are layered until it comes free, the plant blooming in more abundance at her touch. 

"I am... grateful to have a friend in you. I like that I got to meet you back then... even if I was a sick gross mess at the time. So, even though you're probably sick of hearing it from me..." The knight pauses and offers the Chrysanthemum to the sin with a smile, "Thank you... truly."

{{ Illanya rn lol She's so flattered, even though she's mostly also "Who is this stranger, hmmmmm."}}

Bump! 

Degare... maybe time didn't do much for him, or maybe he had simply forgotten as he did most things from then, but the woman before him... he felt there wasn't much wrong with her at all. She was plenty well-mannered, concealing a thin border that thus had behind it a difficulty in conveying oneself -- he understood that feeling, resonated with it, sat poised with her in the most courteous position he could manage, all polite. When he looked at her, he managed a soft smile.

"You have a sort of passion for life..." he murmured, "That, in small things -- it's pleasant to see such and-- and feel such interest, even in..." He trailed off, unwilling to finish his sentence. He set his cup of tea aside on the low table, steam rising from the top. "I have a friend who studies the ocean, its life and the waves and everything he can so long as it is so despised and feared by all... and, even my assistant, she... she just likes fish, but--" He once again cut himself off, trying not to ramble. "My apologies, but... what I wanted to say is that it's always felt like to me... a person who can remain fascinated by such things, their love for birds and sea life, and everything there may be, I've always felt it a minor trait of someone resilient. Everybody thinks to be strong you must forget about... everything that is kind and..."

And once again, Degare fell silent. A somber mood took him, as he picked up his tea again. "I can brew you a cup." he offered mildly, hiding now from the heightened emotion that nearly grappled him, "It's really just the caffeine on my end that's making me a bit... oh, but I have some good chamomile. Chamomile would be good for you, and throw in a bit of orange zest... here. Stay put, please."

     "You sure have grown."

     The air grew colder, the surroundings darkened until it seemed almost like nighttime, save the spotlight shining down on Degare. Approaching him was a figure built by the shadows themselves. It was--

     "Hi," Roy greeted with a half-wave. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his head immediately. "Sorry, I'm still trying to figure out these introductions. Uh, anyways, what was I saying... Right!" He snapped his fingers and pointed at Degare. "You. Marib-- Ah, Degare. You've grown. Not-Not figuratively-- I mean, not by figure-- Ah." He pinched the bridge of his nose and composed himself with a sigh. Let's try again.
     "You've gone through a lot in your life. You're still pretty young, too, but the things you've went through could fill up at least three lifetimes. The craziest part to me is that you still found a way to keep your head up. You've probably heard that before from someone, maybe someone that looks really tired and eats a lot of junk food, but he'd have a point if he said it. You found a way to keep going, to not let the past define you. You've even helped people-- you've helped my own s-- You helped a king! It's not an easy thing to do, but I don't think I need to tell you that."

     Roy looked over to the side and watched the shadows build up what looked like a cloak. He smiled and pointed at it, the cloak seemingly responding to his finger's movements. "The person before me used to have something to say at a time like this. He'd probably say something like--" He cleared his throat and tried to recreate an enigmatic voice. "--"Life is a winding road filled with obstacles and uncertainties. That makes the scenic route all the more enjoyable." Something like that."
     With the wave of his finger the cloak disappeared, and Roy smiled at Degare once more. "I like your strength. I wish more people had it." His eyes grew distant with a thought, but he turned away before it could be read. The shadows and cold air disappeared with his fading figure.

The old Witch Hunter rolled his neck around to loosen a knot that formed just between his shoulder and neck. "Hanuel, you are- respectable, I'll say that." Valnier looked down at his ashwood desk, a scattered mess of papers, books, and sketches of the embodiment of death. He had to admit; he much preferred this look to the God of Shyish, who was in a resurgence as more wars raged throughout the realms. But one who was just...this? This was perfect, to keep one person as death rather than a hive of souls he often heard stories about. But that was not the part Valnier respected; oh no, there were many layers to this being that he valued.

"Apparently- if my reports are correct, you don't just kill, do you?" He flipped the paper around and slid it across the desk—a report recording a particularly loud-mouthed Duardin warlord who was beaten and cut till bloody and broken. The only thing keeping him alive was the natural sturdiness of his race. An autopsy-style image was provided and labeled all the injuries. "This, this is impressive, as the Duardin said that it was the most beautiful man he had ever seen who beat him like this. At first, I thought some cult had started, but more reports of exclusive murderers and bloodthirsty generals being beaten like this. Well, one notices a pattern." 

Valnier leaned forward in his chair with a small glint in his eyes. "Your work? It is remarkable, I must request that you refrain from doing such actions within my city, but even then" he tapped the numerous reports on the table "you have yet to ruin someone who didn't deserve it."

Illanya would argue that she was fairly justified in her opinions of the old man. Cantankerous, for one. Generally unpleasant to be around and overall a stick in the mud. That was saying something, considering that it was an already grumpy undead saying so. He'd basically kidnapped both herself and her father to fight in a war that meant nothing to either of them. Hell, the first time she met Valnier, the old man was hunting her down, trying to cull the evil he perceived her to be. For all extents and purposes, she had no reason to enjoy his company in the slightest.

Experience does change a lot, however, and Illanya can't help but be glad for the odd friendship she'd formed with the older man. After all, now that he wasn't constantly trying to plant a bullet between her eyes, getting on his nerves had proved some small form of entertainment for the undead. Well that, and the city itself had grown on her, their plight striking an old, more altruistic chord in her dead heart. 

The kindly given medallion, which now sits proudly on her chest, is pinned to the blue cloak she wears. Though she'd been sure to thank the man for his kindness, Illanya had felt it wasn't enough. At least not for all the prickly kindness he'd shown her. Circling around her own thoughts, even as she stands next to him, the undead finally turns to him, something clearly on her mind.

"I forgot what I was going to say the other day when you gave me this. I remembered now at least." A gauntleted hand taps at the medallion, and she sighs. "We may not always get along, but I... I appreciate your honesty and steadfastness. It's sorely needed in times like these, especially when those around you are anything but. I know you don't think of yourself as a good man, and I won't try to argue it with you otherwise, but you have done good by these people. You've also done some good by me and my father, even if things were... rocky at the start."

Illanya hums, and the barest hints of a small smile, quirk her lips upwards. "That has to count for something, right?"

“Now just ease your fingers,” Xander said. His fingers rested around Illanya’s wrest, his fingers helping her with the difficult placement of her fingers on his lute’s strings. “Like that, my friend! Just like that! Do you feel the resistance in the strings?” he asked. Xander leaned back, giving Illanya space. His lute rested on her lap, its arched neck tilted towards her shoulder.
“Just try and move your fingers,” he encouraged her. “Don’t worry about breaking it, it’s resilient enough.” Xander smiled and then nodded. The singer now focussed on the horn that rested on his own lap. His fingers testing the many keys.
“I got that lute when I was around your age,” he said. “I bought with the money I earned as a stagehand. It was my first big purchase,” he explained. Xander smiled as he looked at Illanya. “I’ve got the neck replaced a few years ago. I snapped more strings than I can count.” He leaned forward. His fingers tapping the belly of the instrument. “There is a scratch here, in the wood, my friend,” he said as he leaned back once more and laughed. “It felt off a wagon, when I moved from Granietsheuvel to here. But even still, it still sounds as good as the day that I bought it,” he said. His smile grew softer as his gaze shifted back to his horn. “Maybe even better.”

The singer lifted his horn but paused before placing the mouthpiece to his lips. There was something on his mind. “You can lend it for a while if you want, if you want to practice,” he told Illanya. He smiled.
 “I think it fits right in your hands,” he said. “I don’t know many people that are as resilient as that lute,” he said. “But I think you are the only one that truly match its toughness.” Xander frowned slightly. “A quality that adorns you. Like it adorns my lute,” he added in a softer, thoughtful tone. He shook his head.
“I know singing is… A task, for you,” he said. His fingers slightly tensed. “I do understand if you… Mistrust music in general,” he added. “But, that lute got me through… The worst of it. I hope, that in some way, it can help you as well.” 

--

toyhouse user Fizz when reading that reply

( ^ HEHEEEE XANDER IS SO CUTE!!! )

Pony hears Xander before he sees him.

It's difficult not to be drawn to the voice, low and velvety. It's almost hypnotic, in a way, and it carries over a surprising distance. Pony continues on his way down the trail, the sound drawing ever-closer as the lieutenant approaches its source. On the side of the path, a clearing opens up, sunlight dappling the long grass. In the center a man sits on a checkered blanket, birdseed scattered around him. And sure enough, the birds are partaking, getting surprisingly close to him. It's a bit like a Disney princess sort of moment, and Pony feels almost bad for interrupting.

Having made his way here, the soldier can get a better assessment of the voice. It's certainly beautiful, and Pony feels a bit like one of the birds, charmed into coming closer. He gets a good look at Xander, too. He has a kind face, accented by a petite pair of golden glasses. It's odd, but Pony feels at ease. Normally he'd be reticent meeting someone new, and of course that introversion hasn't gone away, but something about the stranger charms him into relaxing. The stranger who, by the way, has stopped singing, leaving Pony standing there in a moderately awkward silence.

"Sorry for barging in on you like this," he says, feeling just now like he's interrupted some special moment. The birds don't seem to mind that the singing has stopped, and they continue their busy pecking at the banquet of seeds that has been laid out before them.

"Your singing is amazing," he adds quickly.

( v AHHHHH i love him, its more than alright )

(Trying my best to get back into writing lmao. Hope this is alright)

Parasite can't say he necessarily hated himself, but a part of him knew there was something about himself he wasn't fond of. His physique? His abilities? Whatever it was there was something Pony had that he was jealous of.

He tried to think on it longer. Parasite's body was frail and fragile looking compared to his. Practically nothing but bones and skin. And especially those weird nonsensical organs hanging about in his body. At first it never really bothered him, but he knew it wasn't normal. Sometimes he didn't even feel fully human. More of some creature. Like a glass frog or one of those mysterious sea creatures. What he really loathed about his appearance was people constantly asking if he needed help with things that seemed "heavy for him." Unfortunately there isn't much he can do about his physical appearance. He's a yokai and whatever body you had upon your death is the body you're keeping. 

But he wasn't envious. If anything, Parasite was pretty impressive by Pony's muscular body. He was curious and wanted to know how he even got it to this point. It inspired him to get stronger himself, despite his limitations. Also many may have say it as strange and mysterious, but Parasite really liked the mask he wore. He thought it was a nice piece of fashion. A part of him wondered if he can wear one as well...

"Hey sir," he said in his scratchy voice, "I just wanted to say that I really like your mask. It's cool." He tried to shoe off the best smile he could, even if it was small one.

        "I am so HAPPY -- I am so happy to meet somebody who also loves... plushies!"

        That was enough for Shrike to want to befriend Parasite. It wasn't uncommon to find people who had similar interests to herself, but she was always excited nevertheless, and more joyful to finally get to speak to the younger man. She did not feel patronized, speaking to him like this. That was best, unjudged by those who disdained such "juvenile" hobbies.

       Like a child, she kicked her legs in and out as she sat nearby, leaning forward to the point where she just barely clung to the chair. "Plushies... and Animal Crossing! It makes me wish that I had brought my Switch... or one of my dolls. Do you like Sanrio? I am a massive My Melody fan -- but Hello Kitty and all of them are very good, too!"

       And what else was there? ..She could envy Parasite's resilience as much as she liked it. She had seen the bruises and bandages all over his body, and though she had no room to question or doubt his strength, or really thought of such as the case, she was curious. Another time, maybe. Quickly, she smiled to fend off her thoughts, and to reassure him.

       "You should tell me about your island!" she piped back up, "I have Pierce and Gayle on my island, and they are my favorites! Oooh, and we! We should! Play! Together! Too!" If she was coming across as desperate or a little much, she couldn't help it. Reining in her happiness that she felt in Parasite's presence, even as softspoken as he was, was a task too difficult. She thought about not even bothering. "You should tell me all about what you like. Your cartoons! Other games! PLUSHIES -- I really like plushies. Will you?"

     "Oh my goodness, an actual superhero!" Ennette was delighted. Superhero films were on the rise, and though she didn't get much time to watch them outside of her duties, the few she saw were absolutely entrancing. To know that there was one in real life running around and saving others, it was enough to make her feel like dreams really could come true.

     Admittedly, she'd never heard of Shrike before. It wasn't the most eye-catching name. The person that had it, though, was more than eye-catching. She seemed strong and knowledgeable, and had a presence that practically radiated sunshine.
     "You have such a wonderful attitude," praised the princess, "Truly worthy of a hero! There's so much tragedy and sadness in the world lately, a smile like yours is enough to brighten anyone's day-- especially when fighting off bad guys! Oh! Ah--" She pat her dress down and pulled out a small notepad-- One she had to find a page that didn't have either important notes on or her name and other people's names in large hearts. Once a clear page was found, she held it out to Shrike and asked, "May I have an autograph?"