Another fucking sovereign. How many of these did Delumine have to go through until they got it right? Apparently, no one was any good at the job so it made Sloane wonder how well this new asshole would do. He seemed the least terrible out of the group, though that wasn’t saying much. Somnus and Ipomoea were far too soft. However, people liked soft. People liked knowing they could come to their king or queen and bring up an issue without getting their heads shopped off. Sloane rather liked assholes, they didn’t take any bullshit. Some people needed to have their asses handed to them from time to time. Would Andras have the balls? There was no telling.
After the final ballots had been cast, Sloane was one of the first to come up to her new Sovereign. She had a very important matter she needed to discuss with him, something that could not wait until some coronation or party of some shit like that. Sloane didn’t give any fucks about that sort of stuff. Then again, Sloane didn’t really care much about anything except herself, so really, it’s not a surprise that her need to speak to Andras involved a personal matter.
Sloane weaned through the crowd, pushing past the ones who didn’t get out of her way. She wasn’t here to stand around and look pretty. In fact, she was on a mission. The streets were crowded and she hated crowds. People were brushing against her side and stepping on her toes. It was awful. How people lived like this was a mystery to her. She hated everything about court life. Perhaps that’s why she loved her island so much.
Finally, she managed to make her way through the crowd and came marching straight up to Andras. She looked rather determined with a scowl on her face. Had most of Delumine been ignorant of her citizenship, then her approach might seem a little forced and threatening. Thankfully, most of Delumine knew enough to keep out of her way and she wouldn’t bother them. "Look buddy." Her words came out short and forced. Nothing about her greeting was kind or welcoming. Sloane didn’t have time to try and paint some false picture that she actually cared. "Let’s make one thing clear. Somnus gave me my own private island years ago. I expect my privacy to be respected. Stay the fuck away from my island and I'll stay out of your hair." Was this any way to speak to the new king, no. However, Sloane wasn’t here to play nice…then again, she never was.
i am angry.
i have nothing to say about it.
i am not sorry for the cost.
I
t's a strange feeling, being called by name, staring into the face of your god and feeling a rotten mix of fear and anger and joy that churns the stomach. Andras wonders what Somnus feels when he looks at Oriens. It cannot be the same thing. There is no way it's the same thing.
Stranger too, when he is called by name, on the tongues of the gathered crowd, as they practically scream it into the fog and the mid-morning, yellowed light. Sovereign Andras. King of Delumine. His mouth has gone suddenly dry. Telling, too, I suppose, is the silence that falls when every other voice has died down: no crackle of electricity, no sparking blue light-- Andras cannot find it in him to be angry. He is not so sure he can feel anything at all.
He tells them--all of them, men and women and children gathered in the glow of the rising sun, the castle thrust up in the background like an omen--that he will do his best. Andras does not say much else. He bows, and ducks out of the center, and leaves the crowd to their roaring. Every step he takes someone claps him on the back and whoops. It is a sea of necks stretching to touch him and invisible hands reaching out for relief.
From their grief, and their tiredness, and the fear and the need that go with them.
Andras sets his face in a grim, stern line. They do not know their grief and fear is his own. He still feels like skin wrapped around a hole. The disappearance of Delumine's previous regime, while he stood, alone, to watch over their kingdom-- it is like a knife.
He is glad for it, then, when the crowd parts and a dark shape swims through it, all but crackling herself with the same feral, wild anger that sits in his chest. Listen, buddy, she begins, and does not physically touch him, but the words do the jabbing, each one prodding at his chest or his ribs until he aches with it. It's... freeing, almost. Almost.
"I don't know what you're talking about, but sure." Andras says. His smile is not forced but it is toothy and white, more of a snarl than anything else. "Island's yours. Wouldn't dream of interrupting whatever you're doing."
There is a thing in him asking to snap, tapping against the back of his tongue. It tastes like lightning. "So, who are you?" He likes her.
”Whatever you’re doing” She wasn’t really doing anything. It was more that her island was her safe haven where she could get away from the bullshit of court life. She didn’t have to see anyone, speak to anyone, or even think of anyone. Her island was relatively peaceful, unless you count the squirrels that were contained on the next island over. Those little bastards lit bonfires all night. It was a surprise the island still had trees to burn.
She studies him, the way his mouth curls into a toothy grin. It’s ugly as hell and she can’t help the disgust that paints itself on her face just as plain as day. Sloane had never really been good at hiding what she was thinking. She’d been told her eyes were expressive, whatever the hell that meant. Her eyes were simply eyes, genetic created for her to see the world around her so she didn’t have to stumble her way through. They held no emotion because they were just eyes. The people in this land seemed to personify everything and quite frankly, it was annoying as hell. "I’m not doing anything. I just don’t have to deal with obnoxious, curious people. Unlike the place you have here crawling with people and packed like a sardine can, I’m quite happy with my deserted island, population: One." She didn’t have to deal with people looking at her, touching her, or god forbid trying to talk to her when she didn’t want to be talked to. If she were a religious person, which she isn’t, then her island might be described as heavenly.
With her business settled, Sloane was just about ready to turn and leave. She never was one to entertain or have idle chit chat. Such things were fucking boring. She honestly didn’t care who he was or the kind of person he hoped to be. As long as he didn’t fuck with her island, he could be Hitler and she wouldn’t care.
But then he asks who she is and Sloane cannot help the way her eyes roll back into their sockets. The dramatic action meant to show her disdain for the turn of events that lead to an extended conversation. Honestly, she didn’t want to talk to him, or anyone for that matter. But, she supposed it was better he had a name to put to a face, in case anything came up. "Sloane." She wasn’t champion of anything, entertainer, healer, nor soldier. She was just a leech that wasted Delumine’s resources and offered nothing of substance in return. Yes, that was who Sloane was: a leech, or perhaps even a diseased tick.
