she walked in moondust
and stars were sprinkled in her hair
Her gypsy, wandering heart nearly danced out of her chest when she had heard of a festival. A feast, a celebration in the nook of a kingdom she had not yet traveled; in a place that was still blissfully unexplored. Her nomad, Rahilah soul glowed warmly at the very thought. The delectable, unspoken invitation to the Court of the Rising Sun teeming. Wondrously accepted by the stormsinger whom called the beautiful darkness of Night home. She had just returned from the outer reaches of her homeland when she heard the whisperings through the capitol city; that Dawn hailed a harvest festival, to beseech the patron god for bestowing his gifts upon the land for them to reap.
Aislinn's blood had sang a sweet, sweet song, and at once, her wings craved the chilled air through every feathered plume. Aching for flight; to lift off and soar to an unknown land and join in the festivities. A foreign, brand new court, a land she hand not once set a delicate hoof upon their soil.. the temptation was almost too much to bear. With half a thought, she had decided; her hooves having pounded upon the stone of Calligo's city until the wind whipped at her starlit hair and autumn's cold sun dappled across her skin. She flew, straight and true, elated and high on the drug of excitement lacing through her blood and bones.
The smell of rich apples and burning pyres smoked across the expanse of sky; a cool backdrop of autumnal gray and gilded gold set against the faded blue of dusk. She spiraled once her orbs caught the sight of a gathering crowd, a smile tugging at her lips as she dove. Gracefully, her knees slightly bent, the Child of the Night landed upon soft earth with her legs cantering to absorb the shock, until at last she slowed before a large, smoldering bonfire. Cinnamon and pumpkin and liquid sugar filled the air with a sweetness and tartness that touched every nerve ending on her tongue; the wood smoke of the fires lighting the trees ablaze in their painted hues of orange and crimson. Music.. sweet, thrumming music beat against her chest as drums and pipes filled the air with song and the laughter of merriment.
Her gypsy heart danced with every beat of the drums, as her orbs of brightest blue widened with wonder and shock as she tried to absorb it all.
The often quiet Delumine was a bustle of activity as the first day of the festival came upon them. An invitation had been sent out to each and every Court, insisting that all come to the prosperous land to celebrate the changing of the season and share in their abundant resources.
When Somnus had approached him to first speak about it all, Ulric had assumed he’d be assigned to protective detail and nothing else – and in a way, he’d been right, but his gilded friend had insisted that he join in on the activities where he could. A part of the roan didn’t like it, allowing literally everyone across Novus to step freely into Delumine, coming and going as they pleased until the end of the festival. They lacked an appropriate number of warriors to properly secure the area and assure the safety of all in attendance, especially with Kasil’s absence. If anyone planned to carry something out against peaceful Delumine, now would certainly be the prime time to do so, but…
It had always been Somnus’ job to fret over every little detail, not his.
So, while he kept his eyes peeled for any suspicious activity, Ulric had every intention to make the most of the celebration. The music that lilted softly through the air, the sweet aroma of their brew, the gentle murmur of greetings; it reminded him fleetingly of his previous home in Vhallen, the simple reminders enough to bring a soft smile to his dark lips. If only it could be like this every day – simple, peaceful, and pleasant.
But that was not the life of a warrior.
Up ahead, eyes of gold landed on a shocking form, one of the Dawn Court but one that he still found himself recognizing. They had battled on the steppe only a short time ago, and though neither of them knew the other’s name, Ulric had found a certain kind of camaraderie in the mare back then. She had fought with fierce passion, keen mind and practiced prowess that many seemed to lack. Slowly the corners of his lips upturned in a friendly, cordial smile as he approached.
“Surprised to see a familiar face amongst so many strangers,” he remarked as he drew to a halt before her, dipping his head briefly in welcome. “Delumine welcomes you. Please, help yourself to anything and everything you see; we should have a few events starting soon.” It was then that he paused, as though realizing a mistake, and quickly tacked on, “Name’s Ulric, warrior to the Dawn Court.”
There is still a part of him, even with Florentine at his side, even with the autumn sun low and golden and the air sweet and crisp, that expects the day to turn. To become something dark, uneasy with feral magic – a threat, a challenge, a mystery. It’s the only kind of gathering he knows, and so he does not stray far from his half-sisters side, despite her assurances that this was nothing like the places they’d come from.
There has been so much change since first he set foot here; the twilight bay still feels like he’s wandering through a dream more fanciful than any he could manage. This place – the Dawn Court – only adds to those thoughts; the sky is streaked with pink and dusky blue, and there is a sound like hoofbeats, a sound like humming, a sound like he’s never heard before.
Asterion has never experienced music made from instruments.
He feels half-wild himself among the festivities, dark eyes wide with wonder, an uncivilized pilgrim. Everywhere there are horses with adornments beyond any he’s seen, with braids and shorn hair, with cloaks and weapons. It smells like woodsmoke, which makes him think of her. Aislinn.
He has told Florentine nothing of that moonlit meeting by the lake, but each night he’s dreamt of the down of her feathers, the curve of her jaw, the blue of her eyes. He flicks a look, a smile, toward the golden emissary, and then away again –
And then he sees her, as though he’d conjured her himself.
The boy falls still, forgetting all the strange and lovely things around him in favor of the loveliest of all. Oh! She looks like she belonged here, with this music, these people. His heart is a bird beneath his ribs, and he is already stepping toward her uncertain as a fawn when another stallion reaches her first.
Uncertainty makes him hesitate, and he swallows down his jealousy (where had it come from? They are nearly strangers; he only has her name) at her greeting with the other. He was striking, dark and handsome, his dark points a perfect counterpoint to her light ones, and again Asterion realizes how terribly out of place he is, in this world.
Even so he motions to his half-sister, forgetting the feast and the festivities. “Florentine,” he says, voice steadier than he feels, “Come with me, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Without waiting for a response he presses forward, walking through drifting smoke, slipping through twirling dancers, until he stood between the two warriors. The bay gives a cursory glance to the other stallion, a polite weighing, and then his dreamer’s eyes are only for the gypsy girl, as lovely when lit by bonfires as she had been by fireflies.
“Aislinn,” he breathes, and his lips shape a smile, remembering. After a heartbeat too long, he gestures back at Florentine, hopeful that these new pieces of his life might fit together. “This is Florentine – my sister.”
@Aislinn @Florentine and apologies to @Ulric for the drama he's unwittingly present for xD
Pan felt so light as he danced back home from the beach, slipper pink shell in hand, nestled deep in the folds of his satchel. He could not explain this new and strange sensation, only that he felt more alive than ever, and rejuvenated from his time along the shore. Nevermind that the reason had been Oriens gift of immortality – Pan would never pretend to understand such things… but he knew (as he always had) that he’d never grow up – now, it was only confirmed by the magic that Oriens had bestowed on him. Drunk off the feeling of invincibility that washed over him, he hummed as he wandered back through the commongrounds to his home.
As the green boy stepped into the clearing, his eyes grew wide with delight. Music wafted from between the buildings, bright lantern bobbing gaily in the breeze. He smelled the sweet delights of cinnamon and spices, a perfect pairing with the bite that fell on his skin from the autumn air. Making his way past pumpkins which had been carved in tribute to Oriens, he grinned and began to nibble on the crust of a delicate pastry, inadvertently smearing the pumpkin-gold jam over his lips. Delerious and oblivious as he ate as much sugar as he could hold, Pan didn’t even realize that others had started to come to this place from other courts, until he started to hear their muted voices behind him.
Stashing a couple of snacks away in his bag, and stuffing his mouth with as much as he could, he made his way toward the procession while happily munching away at his delectable snacks. His eyes fell on several strangers – some who smelled of faraway places, and others (like Ulric) that he’d seen from a distance but never really talked to. Curiosity piqued, he stepped closer and tried to swallow down the jam-filled pastries to join the conversation, balking as Asterion introduced himself as Florentine’s brother.
Flora, I didn’t know you had a brother!?! His sticky mouth struggled to form the words as he gulped down the rest of his dessert, wiping his mouth against his scaly breast to offer the dark stallion a grin. Any brother of Flora’s is a friend of mine. I’m Pan!
Plague was everywhere. He found solace in exploration, as he had not found a fight in some time. He longed for it, to add another scar to his collection. His black coat was littered with hundreds (if not thousands) of scars, each one telling of a fight he had been in – battles won and lost. But this was not a night for fighting, it would seem. He had followed the crowd here, to this strange land, hearing whisperings of a festival about to begin. While he wasn’t necessarily in the festive mood, what better time to get to know your enemy than when they are unsuspecting and inviting you through their gates?
And this is the life of Black Plague. He is always the thinker, the plotter. He is a warrior through and through; born and bred. He is many things, but he is not stupid. And so he comes here, to this new herd land, getting to know each smell, each new sound, each nook and cranny so that if it came down to it, it could be used later. But for now, the raging monster is peaceable.
His head is held high as he walks in; all 18 hands of him standing proud in the mix of moonlight, flickering fires, and starlight. He is a handsome beast – tall and sturdy, yet refined. It is hard to tell what his lineage is. Some would say he is quarter horse with a touch of draft and Arabian; but not even the gods know for certain what mixture is in his blood. His eyes are dark and watchful, moving as often as they can, taking in everything – the other horses, their outlandish looks; wings, horns, colors. He wants to know who the enemies are, who the friends are, and which mares are open this season. He cares nothing for niceties. Once you’ve been hurt as deeply as he has, there is no room for feelings any longer. But before you judge him and cast him aside, perhaps you should get to know his story.
All in good time, my friends.
He saw the winged mare, and she smelled vaguely like his home. Perhaps she was a herd mate that he had yet to meet. He would keep an eye on her and find her later, when this commotion died down. Shortly after, another approached, boasting himself a warrior of this court. Plague would keep him in mind later. He always enjoyed a good fight, and if this smaller male was a warrior too, then perhaps they could meet soon. More and more horses seemed to gather around the black winged mare; a newcomer nearly falling over himself to see her. Plague was intrigued now, wondering who this mare was that so many flocked to her. This next male spoke in a breathy tone; as if he were afraid a normal voice would shatter her existence. Curious. Finally, a child approached, speaking to another youth. There was something familiar about the way he carried himself – so full of life, much like his own children; but no. Plague refused to think of them now. It wasn’t the time or place for such memories.
He stepped out into the moonlight, letting it cascade off his black coat; black like velvet, or a moonless sky; but it shone with such vitality that one would almost think he was glowing. His dark eyes touched each horse in turn, though he did not speak. He was uncertain if to join the group, or remain slightly outside. Was he welcome here? He doubted it; but then again, he never much cared for the opinions of others. He was here because he was summoned to be; and as a warrior, he felt it was his duty to be available at the whim of his commander.
An almost undiscernible nod of his head was given; the only indication that he had a civil bone in his body. And remember, friends, know him before you judge him – you might just find the monster has a soft side.
@Pan @Florentine @Ulric @Asterion @Aislinn
I have Plague muse and needed to get it out. He's just chilling, watching what's going on for now. He doesn't mean any harm. :D
10-21-2017, 10:38 PM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 380 — Threads: 45 Signos: 25
Florentine keeps close to her brother as he leads her towards Delumine. The sounds of jovial folk songs and thrilling dance seep across the valley and twine themselves around the Dusk girl’s limbs. Each step of her slender limbs grows lighter with the festivities, each step begging to dance. The music compels and tugs at the flower girl and with a laugh she sashays in her place beside Asterion. A wing nudges his side calling for him to dance too but it is fleeting for at once they are here, upon the cusp of Dawn’s Harvest Festival.
Flora’s eyes are feverish with the festival atmosphere. The scent of sweet foods and fire smoke curl her lips into a smile that just grows and grows and grows. Together the girl and her brother weave through the crowd where bodies bustle and sticky drinks spill. Studiously the Dusk Emissary follows along behind Asterion for he is taller here and his vantage point better. Yet in his wake, coasting along in the path he forges for them, Florentine smiles and greets and curtseys for familiar faces as she passes.
Yet at once her brother’s demeanour changes. Florentine wonders, if she could feel his pulse, would it be faster now as he indeed asks for her to meet a certain someone? Scattering petals, Florentine keenly pushes forward to draw level with her brother once again. Her bright, bright amethyst eyes peer up at his to see the emotion glittering there.
He pulls her forward and as one they move through this sea of bodies and it is only as they fall to a stop that Florentine finally sees the person, no, the girl who holds her brother so enraptured. Her dusk heart stutters and stops. She waits and waits for it to start again, but it has dropped so low within her chest she is not sure it could ever beat again from where it lies. This was the girl upon the cliff, the girl Florentine’s love has slain: Aislinn.
“Oh.” Dusk breathes and there is no hint of a smile upon her lips, no sound of laughter whispering through her sighed acknowledgement, “I know Aislinn already...”
The flower girl draws back from her brother, from the Night girl. Enough to place some space between them, enough to let her eyes begin to wander, away, away, away from this girl she has no idea how to talk to. Was there still such anger here to burn her? Florentine can still feel its acid rain falling upon her spine, her wings. In its wrath it has burned through her wings and grounded her with fear and wariness. There is another step that carries her back, it is a step that half begs her to sink into the crowds and disappear.
But it is the gaze within her brother’s eye that anchors her here. It is a look so filled with desire. Flora knows now what such a look means and her eyes return to the Night Court Champion. “How do you two know each other?” She asks as her eyes flit and dance between them. There is a deadly quiet that awakens in her voice and seeps like poison through her veins. Was this some-
Her thoughts are halted by a dash of green and all at once there are more than just the three of them here. Pan and Ulric and a black boy she has never known, they filter into her focus. How long had they been there? Had they always? Their presence scatters the burgeoning darkness of suspicion from her heart and her smile grows, genuine, but weak, in the wake of such revelations.
“I only found out recently that we were siblings,” Flora answers Pan as her gaze drifts back to Asterion and she wonders what else she may learn about her star-strewn sibling.
Finally her focus settles on Ulric and in a moment she peels herself from her brother’s side, stepping close to the Dawn boy as she seeks his comfort (for what bond could not be forged by traversing a dangerous maze together?) and turns her amethyst gaze upon Asterion and Aislinn warily.
What fate was this that her brother should long for the girl whose heart his sister had so inadvertently broken?
@Aislinn @Ulric @Asterion @Pan @BlackPlague - lets do this! Tag for @Reichenbach too if he wants to join in with the drama llamas!
she walked in moondust
and stars were sprinkled in her hair
The music thrummed, her blood boiling, the drums sending shivers down the length of her spine and each individual feather of her great wings. Her mouth watered as her senses were overloaded with the sweet sound of pipes and the layers of smells of sugar and pumpkin pastries, woodsmoke heavy in the air from the multitude of burning pyres. As the sun began to sink lower, heavy and drifting into a deep slumber, the stars began to shimmer awake high above them. Her orbs of blue blinking upwards to welcome those shining stars; the only touch of Calligo that she could claim besides the gathering darkness and shadows.. and then suddenly, she realizes something. That Denocte's nights were truly uncompared by any other kingdom.
A knowing smile tugs at her lips as her heartbeat thunders, happiness flooding in her in a warm, yellow glow. Her hooves craved to prance through the embers of the many fires, to join in the passion and throng of dancing through the blazing flames; but instead, she weaves through the crowd, slowly taking in each and every detail. She was overwhelmed by the joy of it all; the bliss lacing her blood a most welcome drug that she had not felt in too long. Aislinn found herself beneath a beautiful tree burnished in gold and burnt umber, the heat wafting from a nearby bonfire singing her skin in lovely tingles. She was about to give in to her desire to twirl with the other dancers, to be free and one with the building music, when a familiar winged shadow joined her.
Surprised to see a familiar face amongst so many strangers.
Her crown quirked to the side as she turned to take in the silver-blue warrior, her smile widening as her orbs glimmered in greeting. Ulric, a face to the name. She did not forget him, or his bravery, when they had battled on the Steppe nearly a full moon ago. Aislinn recalls how she foolishly flown to the plateau, her instincts screaming for spilled blood, sweat, and tears; her silent call answered by no one other than the warrior who stood before her now. Looking at him through the flickering firelight, she notes the speckled wings at his sides and the handsome air that followed the smooth planes of his face. Details that she did not notice in the shadows of her crimson fury and ravaged emotions when they had met for the first time. @Ulric
She did not let her untamed grief and anger taint her vision now, as she dips her crown and gaze in mutual respect to Dawn's chosen protector. "I know your face," she admitted through smiling lips, "I'm pleased to meet you outside of the battlefield. I'm Aislinn Stormsinger, Champion of Battle of the Night Court." She did not bat an eye at the thought of her introduction; her true name accompanied by her given kinvadantee title that was as much apart of her as Calligo's sea of stars winked in the night sky. Words of thanks nearly touched her lips as she was about to breathe them to life when a bay prince — her prince — stepped into the boundaries of her fiery blue gaze.
Her breath catches in her throat, oxygen burning in her lungs as he emerges from the fray. He is just as she remembers; the slithering shadows of night that cling to his dark coat, and the kiss of twilight that touches the smooth line of his neck. Warmth floods to her cheeks, blushing her skin rose underneath the ebony of her coat. A shred of guilt pierces her lungs as her attention is suddenly grabbed by the stranger who had walked out of her daydreams and danced with her beneath the summer stars so many nights ago. Aislinn nearly sighs as she is transported back into the field of sweetgrass, fireflies fluttering around them like floating pixie dust and glowing faeries. But now, her eyes brightened like little blue flames as she sees only him and the beautiful tilted star on his forehead that shines like a beacon of ivory in the growing crowd. @asterion
Aislinn..
His lips breathing her name has her mending heart pause, beating madly against the dusk-colored threads that are slowly glueing each shredded piece to wholeness. She is about to step forward, to close the ocean of distance that lay between them, when her ears finally catch the last of his words.
..this is Florentine, my sister.
Reality shattered like broken glass all around her, the mirrors of her dreams crashing down in reflecting pieces. Her eyes widen in shock as realization sets in, as slow and painful as a well-tinkered poison as her prince — the man she was beginning to helplessly fall for — was joined by a familiar golden girl. A girl of milk and honey, intoxicating lavender blossoms tangled in the silk of her hair. She was the same spring goddess she had met on the cliffs overlooking an angry sea; the same girl who had brushed soft lips through the starlight of her mane; the same girl who had draped a wing across her back as the cliff drank in her tears. The very same girl of amethyst orbs and gold-dusted lashes that held the heart of her king.. the one who was responsible for the bleeding ache that had cleaved her into a million pieces. @Florentine
Her lungs were ablaze and scorching, her tongue dry as she stared at the girl now as she suffocated her gaze of blue. Desperately, she steps back, wanting nothing more than to escape this wretched reality, to breathe. She, the girl who had taken what her maiden heart had wanted most of all, and now she was.. she was.. kin to the stranger she was tumbling into the depths of galaxies and dreams for. The blood in her veins ran cold as ice, freezing each tender muscle, tightening and bunching beneath her skin as her body shook in shivers. Not angry, not grieving.. but anxious; her heart a caged bird that fluttered violently against her ribs.
She needed out.. for her heart could not take another moment of pain that tore through every chamber with each pump in her chest.
Aislinn did not notice the boy of green scales and eternal youth join them; did not hear his words. She did not notice the man of obsidian shadow that watched the events unfold from afar. Instead, her entire body, her heart, even her soul was hyper-focused on the bay prince before her that had happiness turning her into a lovely mess, and the sister of gold who's purple blossoms were thick and heavy and coating every inch of space in her lungs. @pan @blackplague
With a sharp inhale, she blinks and looks to Ulric. "I'm sorry, I just.. I.." her breath comes in shudders, unable to catch any oxygen. She cannot breathe, her chest heavy, as if a small dragon had curled up and fallen asleep in the cavity of her lungs. Now, she is caught; agonizing over the primal need to run away, to put oceans between her and the girl who had nearly ripped out her bleeding heart, and wanting nothing more than to dance in the wild flames with the prince who she no doubt was beginning to love.
Unable to process her feelings, her emotions, as they swirl and rage as threatening as a summertide hurricane, Aislinn stands there, her body trembling as words failed her completely.
@Ulric @asterion @pan @blackplague @Florentine <3 Each one of your babes is tagged where they are mentioned c: "Aislinn speech."
A Delumine party was much more civil than the pounding, wild nights in Denocte - but it still set his merry blood thrumming, his enigmatic smile alight with joy and pleasure as he arrived. The Court of warmth and knowledge had been transformed since his last visit, decorated to celebrate the Harvest - welcoming hundreds of outsiders into their city of parchment for the first time since... well, as long as he could remember. He had come with the Crows, joking and laughing and teasing those he had grown up with, grinning at the taunts his orphans threw back at him, his booming laugh announcing their arrival to the bustling festival.
On entrance he had thrown a look over his shoulder, noting the mischief abound in his charges eyes - but what was he to do? It was how he had raised them, how they had learned to survive and to cope, his family of thieves and assassins that could not help but to perform and steal the things that caught their eye. He grinned, eyes flashing, then vanished into the throng of excited bodies. The Crow's would cause their own mischief, and he had a girl to find.
Florentine had to be here - on the one hand, it made sense that the Dusk Emissary would visit the festival, pay her respects and so on... but in truth Reichenbach knew his beloved would be attending simply because she could not resist the pound of Denoctian drums. It was perhaps one of the reasons his eyes had never been able to leave her, watching the fluidity with which she moved and imagining the song to accompany it, the movements graceful and unbound. Florentine didn't care whether she danced with beauty or grace, she simply moved with the music, and captivated Reichenbach when she did so.
He sought her out among the bodies, silver gaze flashing over face after face, seeking the one that made his heart pound and his blood thrum. The drums of Denocte followed him, laughter and merriness awakening as he passed. The Night King ignored the Dawn girls as their eyes lingered on him, ignored them as he never had before - he saw nobody else in the wake of Florentine. Still they stared, still there was a trail of meandering party-goers following him as he searched.
He found her.
A broad smile swept away any concern that may have lingered upon his handsome brow, a lightness filling his chest and gurgling in his belly. It was the same every time he saw her, a rush of pride and happiness as he devoured her creamy skin and violet eyes, the waves of her honey-gold hair. Then something almost like fear that gripped him, the worry that she would leave, that he couldn't protect her. Regardless, she lit him up from the inside, warming his soul as he neared, ebony curls bouncing around his face as he pressed swiftly to her side.
He pressed his lips to her neck, swift but intimate, fighting the urge to brush the line of her sharp cheekbone. He had been so engaged with Florentine that he had not paid mind to her company, now lifting his roguish grin to them.
Aislinn looked as if she would rather be anywhere but there. Reichenbach's grin did not falter, for he refused to apologize for loving Florentine, would not allow her to see their love as anything but what it was. Yet... had Florentine not appeared at the Temple that day... It would be Aislinn that he treated so lovingly, Aislinn that he pressed his smokey lips to and Aislinn that held his tremendous heart. For the sake of normalcy, Reichenbach greeted his Champion with ease, his musical voice enticing and alluring despite the amount of noise around them.
"Aislinn, a pleasure to see you enjoying the festivities."
He followed the sentence with a warm smile, heat roiling through his muscular body as he did so. Then he turned to address the rest of the group, most of which he had yet to meet. There was Plague, whom the Night King knew was a new recruit of his own, then Pan and Ulric, distinctly smelling of The Dawn Court. Then there was that boy that pressed awfully close to Flora... Reich shifted closer to his flower girl, his mahogany shoulder dark against her creamy skin.
"I'm afraid I have not met the rest of you, though congratulations on throwing such an excellent party"
He aimed his last words toward the two obvious Dawn Court members, warmth emanating toward their soon to be allies.
ooc; bit shite but here's some Reich involvement!! @Aislinn @Asterion @Ulric @Florentine @Pan @BlackPlague
10-24-2017, 11:46 PM
Played by
Dingo [PM] Posts: 82 — Threads: 5 Signos: 0
A single breath passes from his lips, and suddenly the two of them are swarmed.
Strangely enough, one of the first ones he lays eyes upon is a familiar face of honeydew tresses with eyes of brilliant amethyst peering out from beneath them. Ulric recalls their adventure through the maze with fondness; he and Somnus both had made quick friends with Florentine, and it was a pleasure to see that she had made the trek to Delumine in order to celebrate with them. Accompanying her is a rather anxious looking bay, and as they make the briefest of eye contact, the roan offers the Dusk man a polite nod of his head to acknowledge him. He speaks to Aislinn, proclaiming that Florentine is his sister, and as gilded eyes shift back to the golden mare in question, Ulric watches as the mirth drains from the mare’s eyes entirely. Dark brows furrow with concern, but before he can speak, he’s beaten to it, and even more seem to pour in around them.
And he is far from prepared for the tense air that instantly begins to form around them.
A young colt splashed with scales of vibrant emerald joins next, all childish bewilderment as he looks between their Dusk visitors. By his words alone does it become obvious that he knows Florentine, and Ulric only stands in silence as he soaks everything in – the tension, the subtle cues of discomfort, the way that yet another slipped into sight just within his peripheral vision. As Florentine shifts close to him, Ulric can’t begin to fathom what history has been shared between her and the painted Champion of the Night. Craning his head to the side, he presses a velveteen muzzle briefly against her neck, a silent promise that he was there and had no intentions of leaving.
Again Aislinn speaks, but this time, the words are strained, hurt. She stands trembling and ready to flee, and Ulric finds himself nonplussed. ’What am I supposed to do?’ His mind races as he struggles to find a fix to the situation, a way to keep them all afloat as it becomes increasingly clear that the two girls are beginning to drown right before his very eyes. “Please,” he speaks at last, hoping his voice to be a gentle balm again the chaos that seems so imminent if he doesn’t try something. “No apologies. This festival is meant to bring everyone together, if only for a short while.”
The warrior aims to say more, but before he can, a towering man of mahogany steps into their circle and occupies the empty space at Florentine’s side opposite of him. Ulric knows him not, but his scent is reminiscent of Aislinn’s own. Night Court? Breathing easy, the roan is thankful for the warmth which flows from the stranger’s voice and radiates from his entire being. The tension remains, but the warrior’s hope is that a dash of normalcy will help to ease it all.
“The festival is only as excellent as those that come to enjoy it,” the roan offers with an upwards quirk of his dark lips, eyes of gold shifting to roam over each who have gathered around them. “Delumine is pleased to welcome you all with open arms.”
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?”
