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@SELFCROWNED
[The boy's dorm room in Abyss hasn't gotten any less messy in the seven months since the war started.
In fact, some would argue it's only gotten worse. (Some being Constance, primarily, in a forty minute tirade that only ended when Yuri threatened to surface for some sun.) He's commandeered the back shelves to transform them into a makeshift desk, littered with papers and books and maps and quills, organized in a way that seems to only make sense to Yuri. The colorful bottles that used to be strewn about here haven't been tidied up, just pushed to one side. He's nesting, Hapi titters whenever she's within earshot. Yuri wishes he had the energy to jab back.
He doesn't have the energy for anything other than Abyss, right now. And for that, just barely. He's added up the budget four times now and still can't get it where he needs. Yuri knows why, can't fool himself. They just plain don't have enough funds. So many mouths to feed, and so few hands to feed them. The cost for food is sky-high, and most merchants don't even make it close to the hollowed-out shell of Garreg Mach monastery-- deserted, supposedly. And it is, save for the forgotten that inhabit its basement. There's hardly even a soul to steal from. Yuri is used to solving difficult problems, enjoys the puzzle of it, but... he's nearing the end of his frayed rope.
He sighs deep, buries his face into his hands. There's a dull, throbbing pressure that's started to well up in his temples, refusing to dissipate even when he presses his thumbs into it. Maybe if he skips dinner for a week, there'll be enough gold to replace the most tattered of the children's clothing.
Maybe he's accidentally bet on something that can't win, this time.
Without realizing it, Yuri has begun to find the surface of his desk rather inviting. His head keeps tilting down every few minutes, hair falling into his face. And then, with little fanfare, Yuri's slumping forward onto his notebooks, falling asleep right there with his face buried into his arms. There's only so much avoiding sleep he can do before his body forces him to catch up like this.]
In fact, some would argue it's only gotten worse. (Some being Constance, primarily, in a forty minute tirade that only ended when Yuri threatened to surface for some sun.) He's commandeered the back shelves to transform them into a makeshift desk, littered with papers and books and maps and quills, organized in a way that seems to only make sense to Yuri. The colorful bottles that used to be strewn about here haven't been tidied up, just pushed to one side. He's nesting, Hapi titters whenever she's within earshot. Yuri wishes he had the energy to jab back.
He doesn't have the energy for anything other than Abyss, right now. And for that, just barely. He's added up the budget four times now and still can't get it where he needs. Yuri knows why, can't fool himself. They just plain don't have enough funds. So many mouths to feed, and so few hands to feed them. The cost for food is sky-high, and most merchants don't even make it close to the hollowed-out shell of Garreg Mach monastery-- deserted, supposedly. And it is, save for the forgotten that inhabit its basement. There's hardly even a soul to steal from. Yuri is used to solving difficult problems, enjoys the puzzle of it, but... he's nearing the end of his frayed rope.
He sighs deep, buries his face into his hands. There's a dull, throbbing pressure that's started to well up in his temples, refusing to dissipate even when he presses his thumbs into it. Maybe if he skips dinner for a week, there'll be enough gold to replace the most tattered of the children's clothing.
Maybe he's accidentally bet on something that can't win, this time.
Without realizing it, Yuri has begun to find the surface of his desk rather inviting. His head keeps tilting down every few minutes, hair falling into his face. And then, with little fanfare, Yuri's slumping forward onto his notebooks, falling asleep right there with his face buried into his arms. There's only so much avoiding sleep he can do before his body forces him to catch up like this.]
no subject
[Using his gift with words not to cheat, coerce, or wrap up slimy nobles with silver-tongued tales-- but to negotiate a deal to help Abyss, and then to toast over the victory. It's... fulfilling.
Yuri's mouth curves up into a soft smirk, eyes bright with the shine of mischief. He drinks to give himself another beat of pause, then his head tips to the side, hair cascading over his shoulder.]
Up to bleed you dry, you mean? Is the answer ever no?
[The nostalgia of Balthus offering a bet isn't lost on him. He's heard every story Balthus has to tell and then some, because Yuri is both incredibly lucky and a little cheat. That doesn't make their games any less satisfying. It's become their thing, in a way, even if they haven't had much time for it in a while. And there's a thrill in risking Balthus getting something out of him, some day. Unlikely as it is.]
I know neither of us have much of physical value to put on the line, so... play for truths? We'll throw dice. I'll even let you pick the set.
[Because both of them know every die Yuri owns is loaded.]
Whoever wins gets to ask any question. If it proves too tough to answer, [Yuri raps his knuckles against the side of his mug,] the penalty is to finish your drink. Thoughts?