[AW] october kiss. [festival]

[Asterion]

Asterion in sunshine and in shadow* He is not quite sure at what point it starts to go sideways. His dreamer’s eyes are only for Aislinn’s, and so he sees when her expression lifts, echoes what is surely on his own face (and certainly in his heart, light as cirrus clouds) – but oh, that only means he sees when it drops. He is at once bewildered, and hurt, and sorry despite not having a reason for it. The bay is glad, then, for the brief distraction of Pan’s appearance, but as his gaze shifts to the pale colt his brow furrows, something inside of him shifting, uncertain. He recognizes this boy, or thinks he does, and his obvious familiarity with Florentine only makes him more sure. You’re from Ravos, he wants to say; the names of the water-gods Selke and No dances and dares at the end of his tongue. But nothing feels right, now, and so he only tries for a smile, a nod. “Well met – I’m Asterion.” He will, he promises himself, press Pan later to answer the questions that had surfaced at the sight of him. @Pan Another arrives, a behemoth of a stallion that dwarfs the rest of them, but he says nothing and Asterion only spares him a curious glance and a return of his nod. There is too much, all the sights and sounds and scents of the festival on top of whatever tension has sprung up between the hurricane girl and his golden sister. @BlackPlague It is clear there is some wound between Florentine and Aislinn, but the bay can’t guess what it might be. He is too new to both of them; his memories are too brief and hold nothing that hints of the hurt in both their eyes. How do you know each other? Asterion does not know his half-sister well, but even so he has not heard that tone from her before. It is more befitting of his twin, and he looks at her, unsettled. “We met,” he says carefully, and though his lips long to say in a dream there is no dreaming, here, and he finishes “my first night here.” There is something terribly wrong; both the mares (far too common a word for them both) look to the dark Pegasus and Asterion feels trapped and uncertain. He is back in Ravos’s maze, between two corridors that stretch on to darkness, and knowing there may be no right answer. And so he only stands, his dark eyes full of Aislinn’s trembling, his heart begging him to go to her and misguided sense keeping him still. Before he can make up his mind to act another appears, laying immediate and clearly familiar claim to his sister. A drawn line in lieu of a smile joins Asterion’s furrowed brow. This kingly man is like a funhouse mirror version of himself: the blueprint is there, but the stranger is bold and muscular, a cup overflowing with confidence and mirth; he takes up space in a way that Asterion never has. They are similar in color down to the markings on their foreheads (his a fainter star than the man’s bright diamond) but where Asterion shapes himself to his environment, this man would expect the world to shape to him. Asterion has no doubts, even in these first moments of meeting, that it does. It is strange, to hear that rich and musical voice address Aislinn but give no indication of seeing her distress; Asterion searches her face, looking for hurt, and sees the echo of her expression on the night they met. The one of wounded recognition. His gaze flicks back to the other bay and he begins to wonder… But the boy is unused to putting such complicated puzzles together; life was much easier, when his problems were mazes and lions and dark magic. Then, at least, he had an enemy. The Dawn stallion does an admirable job of trying to settle the situation, but while Asterion has never been what one might call direct, he was not born for a world of societal subtleties. Court life and relationships are a dance he has never considered the existence of, much less the steps. At first he tries. “It’s magnificent, truly. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he tells Ulric, and clearly means it, even if his smile has trouble staying. But then he looks at Florentine, stepping nearer to Aislinn as he does (he cannot resist her draw, and feels worse than useless to see her shudder), and when he speaks again - directing the question at his sister - his words mirror the golden girl’s earlier tone. “What’s wrong?” Oh, he is such an outsider in this world. @Aislinn @Ulric @Florentine @Pan @BlackPlague @Reichenbach  jesu christo