remind me of what I really am.

Taken from everyone.

What color is your soul painted?

Grey

Your soul is painted the color grey, which embodies the characteristics of elegance, humility, respect, reverence, stability, subtlety, wisdom, strong emotions, balance, and cancellation. Grey falls under the element of Water, and symbolizes the moon, tide, ebb and flow.

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That was unexpected.
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    calm calm
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honor.

WM Topic: Shrewd.

It was on the first blush of the sunrise that I had received request from Monsiuer de Tréville for my presence alone in his hotel. What was to transpire did not become much of a surprise to me, you see, as it was the morning following the eventide I had pledged my loyalty and allegiance to Monsieur de Tréville, to His Majesty, and to France. It had become expected of me. My blade, my life, and the very essence of my existence belonged to them; to wield in any way they deemed necessary. If they had asked me to plunge myself to my own demise from the edge of a cliff I would have done so with little complaint. I was my own man no longer. It was as I saw fit to serve something greater than myself. An inner retribution, perhaps.

I forbade any further onward steps from my mute servant, Grimaud, at the entrance before I presented myself in my higher officer's hotel. It was completely barren, unlike the many days I had witnessed the floors being stampeded by footsteps and the air boisterous with laughter from fellow Musketeers who had made Tréville's hotel their own. It must have been a meeting he wished be completely discreet if he had barred his own Musketeers for the morning, whom were very much like his own children through his eyes. I had donned the Musketeer tunic less than a day and already I was beginning to wonder if it was to be stripped from me for some unforeseen reason, after I had spent the last two years working to achieve it. What else could have been so urgent and so secretive? To have your tunic taken away was the lowest dishonor a Musketeer could forego. It was as painful an action as it was, in contrast, a grand honor to earn it. Tréville had been known to be a man honorable enough to undertake this punishment without the company of invasive ears.

With a pounding heart, I knocked my fist timidly against the large oaken door.

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amused.

Surprise, surprise.



Your Heart Is Blue



Love is a doing word for you. You know it's love when you treat each other well.

You are a giving lover, but you don't give too much. You expect something in return.



Your flirting style: Friendly



Your lucky first date: Lunch at an outdoor cafe



Your dream lover: Is both generous and selfish



What you bring to relationships: Loyalty



Once again I am given the color blue! Can you imagine?
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    relaxed relaxed
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burning out.

Not to veil the sight of a cold world. (for allfor_god)

The wind swept through his golden streaked hair, sending its strands flagging upon the mild breeze much like the waves of growing grass that decorated the field. His ice blue eyes carried across the plain without a word. Men fought here once, he thought to himself. Brave men whose only drive was their belief in what they were fighting for was right. Those who would uphold justice in their own right. Swords would clash, spears would shatter, and blood would spill. All upon the land over which there was now barely a trace.

Athos closed his eyes and raised his chin, inhaling a slow breath of the sweet-scented air. Behind the darkness of his eyelids, he listened to the memory of the sounds. The cries of war and pain, the horses, and the carnage that was once considered a great passion for the man. With one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sheathed rapier, he reopened his eyes to behold what it was for which he had come to create. A single spot, adorned crudely with two sticks to form a cross, and a blue strip of torn, velvet cloth flagging in the whispering wind; the last remaining memory of the once coveted Musketeer tabard. The memory of a place where a great soldier fell.

"D'Artagnan," he heard his breath's word carried away on the wind.

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stand up.

Interesting.

OOC: Life, I think, has finally had its fill on biting the mun in the toosh. It's been a crazy year for me and while it's still a little chaotic, it's enough for me to finally breathe and say GUESS WHO'S BACK OMG. <3 How I missed you, LiveJournal! Details on the comeback and such will fill out while I get caught up everywhere and update the actual personal journal.

A curious little bird whispered in my ear earlier in the evening. What I'd like to know is: who was it that actually missed me?

The length of my disappearance isn't acceptable. This is something that I must change.
reckoning.

TM Topic: What is your worst quality as a significant other?

I was not meant to love or be loved, simply stated. Not now will I once again elaborate of the misery that consumed me and my bride when I finally decided to wed her. What was designed to be the happily ever after ended to be a feigned mask that eventually led us on a journey that would make even Hell itself envious. I loved the woman to the point I practically worshiped her, but that apparently wasn't enough for me when the time came I was needed most as a husband. Stinging tears streamed down her rosy cheeks, her horror filled cries begging for me and our love, and I did nothing more but wrap the noose around her neck and turned away without offering my wife a second glance that I deemed undeserving for her.

From that day forward I no longer possessed the ability to hold anyone with a full, bleeding heart. I speak little when it comes to women because I bear no trust for them and why, I ask, should I? Women are often deceitful, lost creatures that wield and flaunt their beauty until they wrap their prey of choice around their finger; be it at that moment or later when they leave you with nothing. There are exceptions to everything, mind you. I have discovered that every once in awhile a rare angel will come into my presence. Madame de Bonacieux Constance is a fine example. She was neither mine nor did I harbor any intention or yearning to be the man to share her bed with, however she was truly an angel sent from the heaven to walk on earth. The exception, as it were, that I permitted at the very most my respect for the madame, so it was no wonder why my grief was neighbored to D'Artagnan's when the pair of us bore witness to her final breaths. She was the heart's beat for my dearest friend and the way she cried for D'Artagnan's embrace so that she could die in the arms of the man she loved? It was as though my heart broke with his as I wept the words, "God would not permit such a crime."

Ironically, she became a victim of little else than falling upon the destructive path belonging to the demon that became my wife. A cup filled with poison given to her from whom she trusted as a friend was the pair of culprits who had been discovered to commit this heinous act. I watched the venom slowly eat her soul and it was then, as I held a weeping D'Artagnan in my arms, I swore I would take responsibility for Constance's killer and track her down to finally put an end to her wrath regardless of whatever tenderness I may still have carried for her; that which prevented me from putting an end to her life in the first time we were reunited. Seeing Constance's warmth fade under the rain of D'Artagnan's love murdered whatever shadow of care I still had. The fate of Milady de Winter became all the more clearer to me; I had to stop the monster I'd created.

If you have not already gathered what is, decidedly, my worst quality, it is that I will sacrifice love for honor without hesitation. I am too dedicated to my brothers and my blade that there is no room for the manipulatous repertoire of a woman to be in my life. Love is a dying flower that blooms only for a few blissful time before it dies while honor is a powerful foundation meant to be built upon. But even then where is the line drawn when the worlds between those two bleed into one another? Is self-honor sacrificed when you betray love?

A curious question, that.
rapier.

TM Topic: Athos vs. Comte de La Fère Olivier; it's war!

The thunder clapped after a blinding bolt of lightning flew down from the black cloud overhead which was pouring its soul down upon the castle wall on which the two men stood, facing each other, separated only by the full rising moon that had just crest the horizon, not high enough yet to be concealed by the overbearing storm. Dampened blades singing their metallic war cries was the only sound that contrast the growling roll that dominated the sky when the two men squared with each other, boots brushing across the stone floor upon which they fought. Though all features of the pair looked reflectively similar, their clothing was the single thing that set them apart. One bore the honorable symbol of the Musketeer, background by the rich blue tunic that expressed the type of elite loyalty confessed by he who wore it. The other boasted garb of a noble: vibrant colored, expensive fabrics dyed with imported inks. Yet when a wrist cross lock brought the pair nearly nose to nose, only their crossed blades between them while they snarled their hatred for each other, one would notice that their faces were identical.

The bitter ring of blade-on-blade depicted the separation of the men and once again they faced off, aiming the sharpened tips of their polished rapiers at the ready toward each other. The man dressed in the Musketeer's uniform clutched his side desperately from the wound that was inflicted upon his shoulder earlier, the blood seeping and paling his skin from the pain. Every injury that the man of his past scarred him with had the opposite effect of what Olivier desired; his resolve was strengthened rather than his spirit weakened.

"You grew into an utter fool, Athos," the nobleman chuckled with his bloodied rapier in hand, evidently amused with the entire confrontation. It made the Musketeer's brow twitch. "You can't kill me. I'm too much of what you are. I'm what makes you."

"You're a baseless, detestable illusion, Olivier," Athos retaliated toward the nobleman, his face wet and streaming with rain. He should have expected no less but the brutal force that was against him, he pondered, for Olivier was always a man of competence. "I've already defeated you, dear Count. You simply boast the inability to realize when you've lost."

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OOC - with camera and sunglasses.

OOC: Turkey Day!

Tags and replies will be scarce for the next few days because the beginning of the Holidays are finally here! I plan to spend it to the fullest with my family and relax. If the opportunity opens, I may be able to do a quick reply and write here and there (maybe do a topic? *gasp!*), but don't be expecting much.

Athos hasn't forgotten his threads. psyche_soul, the dinner thread, givenmylife (I think that's everyone) -- he promises to tend to his lovelies when we return.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it! *humps the friends list*

(also x-posted in not_headvamp)
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    jubilant turkey sandwiches!
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