The shade of the forest was a welcome reprieve from the hear of summer, cool and dark and quiet within the foliage. It was as if Ipomoea had entered a whole new world, vastly different from the one he’d been in only moments before. This world was one filled with a hundred shades of green, and a thousand more vibrant colors shining in the petals and blossoms of the flowers crowded at the base of every tree, their heady aroma rising up to envelope him in a feeling he could only describe as safety.
For a moment, all he could do was stop and take it in with bright and eager pink eyes. The delicate skin lining edges of his nares quivered in anticipation, the speckled wings nestled upon his ankles fanning his legs with cool air in unrestrained excitement.
There were so many new things to see—so many distractions that tempted him, called to him, begged him to come forth and examine the spider web hanging between those two trees, or to inspect the strange, toothed plant that appeared to be eating flies and other insects whole. To find patterns which the leaves overhead cast with their shadows on the ground below, or to trace the petals on those impossibly large flowers with his muzzle to determine in they really were as soft as they looked.
But he resisted—with no small amount of effort. He had business today: he was looking for someone he’d only met once before, who had cried to him over the loss of a partner, who he had helped pick flowers with. He wondered vaguely how the slender man was doing, and whether or not he’d found whom he was looking for: Ipomoea had continued to look, in the time since they’d parted, but with no luck.
But he didn’t want to think on such things today, just in case the news turned out to be bad. He wanted to be happy today! That was what summer was about, was it not? The joys of freedom, of free-spiritedness.
The trail he was on weaved and dipped and climbed, seeming more like a random course through the trees than a deliberate pathway, stomped with the scarce hoof prints of the horses who had come before him. Ipomoea did not mind; it felt like an adventure, each new curve something new to explore. It kept his mind busy, but in an exciting way. Lately his life had been sorely lacking in creative outlets, prompting him to take full advantage of the quiet of the forest today.
A flash of white caught his attention up ahead, a body moving slowly through the trees. His ears pricked forward sharply at the observation, legs snapping up in a high-spirited trot to bring him closer, to close the distance.
“Eros!” he called out when he was reasonably sure of the figure who continued to walk away from him, the long yellow tail and the hairless crest sticking out to him now. “Is that you up there?”
Hopefully it was. Though if it wasn’t, perhaps he’d simply make a new friend. It was a win-win, really.
At least, that's how Ipomoea would choose to look at it.
"i walked into the room dripping in gold. a wave of heads did turn, or so i've been told"
EROS
A year has passed—more than, actually—since the first time he travelled through this forest; he’d gone with Ipomoea, in search of Aion and the Dawn Court. They had picked flowers, crafted a resplendent bouquet Eros had carried with him for months before it became so brittle the petals shattered. He’d tried valiantly to salvage them, unwilling to abandon the embodiment of his hope, but still they had blown away fragmented in the wind. Now, a year later, Eros returns, in search of a new bouquet and a new hope.
Dappled sunlight blankets the ground, ripples across his back as he wanders the forest. He lets instinct guide him as he moves from flower to flower. Color catches his eye, a sea of bluebells carpeting the forest floor beneath the canopied trees ahead. Eros knows this spot well: just beyond the bluebells lies a clearing he’s visited many times. There, not long ago, he had begun something special to him.
A few months prior, he’d travelled to the markets and, with what little currency he had, purchased a handful of perennial bulbs to plant before the first frost—a small garden of his own. Eros has returned a couple of times to check on them, but it is now early summer, and he’s come to see them in full bloom.
Eros first collects a few bluebells for his presently sparse bouquet, the constancy and everlasting love they symbolize a fitting addition to his arrangement. Under the sunlight they glow so violet they could be fluorescent; they’re some of the most beautiful wildflowers Eros thinks he’s ever seen. What if the ones I’ve planted don’t compare?, he worries. He’d be embarrassed to give Aion stunted or lackluster flowers.
But then he steps into the sunlight and sees them—vibrant daffodils, irises, and tulips of many colors have erupted from the soil.
Eros is drawn immediately to the tulips. They represent love, in its many forms, each color of tulip a different one. Love had once been foreign to him, or so he’d thought. He hadn’t loved his wife—at least not in the way he thought it mattered. But love isn’t just about attraction or passion, he realized; after all, he hadn’t loved Alek. Love can be thoughtfulness, protection, admiration, and he has a tattoo of a tulip to remind himself so. He picks three for his bouquet: a pink, a yellow, and a red one. Pink for care, yellow for happiness, and red for true love.
He’s filling in his arrangement with greens when someone calls his name, nearly startling the flowers out of his grasp. He turns to see none other than Ipomoea approaching. Eros rushes out to greet him, hoping he won’t notice the clearing quite yet. “Oh, hello, Po!” It’s certainly a surprise to see the appaloosa, Eros hasn’t since the Dawn Court’s meeting, and even then he wasn’t sure Po saw him. “What are you doing out here?”@ipomoea
His gut didn’t fail him: Eros’ face turned to greet him, with far more exuberance than he had once had a year prior, when they had first met. Po smiles in return, oblivious to the way the other man rushes - as if trying to hide something from sight. He’s only ever been naive and trusting, without a hint of suspicion tainting his rose-colored heart. One day, it could get him into trouble.
But today would not be the day. Eros was a friend, regardless of how little they actually knew each other.
”What are you doing out here?” Ipomoea comes to a stop, reaching out to brush his muzzle against his friend. ”Looking for you, actually!” he admits, his voice a little sheepish. ”How have you been? You look well,” he asks politely. But it’s more than just pleasantries that he might exchange; it’s been so long since he’s last met with Eros, he truly wants to know how he is - and how he’s been. Questions bubble through his mind - why are you so far from the Court? did you ever find your friend you were looking for? how have you settled into Dawn? - but he chokes them down and listens patiently instead.
He bobs his head to clear his thoughts. ”As it turns out, I actually had something I wished to discuss with you. Would you walk with me?” He turns, offering his shoulder to him.
And, unknowingly, begins his way towards the meadow Eros had just come from.
hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you
i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy
@eros together we make the slowest threads on Novus I think
”here am i!“
"i walked into the room dripping in gold. a wave of heads did turn, or so i've been told"
EROS
Eros meets Po’s friendly gesture with a smile. It belies his confusion; he finds himself fabricating all kinds of reasons Po might have been looking for him: some encouraging, some not quite. His first hope, of course, is that he had found Aion. But if he had, wouldn’t he have brought him along? Maybe Po had discovered his small forest garden, instead, and has come to scold him for not asking permission! In any case, Eros cannot help but wonder what Ipomoea could possibly have sought him out for.
“Oh, I’ve been alright?” And it’s not a lie, not exactly. A stretch of the truth, perhaps, but not a lie. Admittedly, he could be better, could have found Aion at last and been happy—but since he hasn’t, at least he has made himself a friend. And he supposes he’s been enjoying the warmer weather, as well, has been able to enjoy the sun, and blue skies, and fully-realized blossoms of summer.
Po turns toward his secret flower garden, then, and asks him to follow. “Something to discuss with me?,” he repeats, swallowing down the lump that forms in his throat. Surely if it were something pleasant he would have just come out and said it?, Eros worries. And in the direction of his flowers, too! He can only hope that isn’t the matter, that Po won’t notice them as they’re passing through, no matter their distinctiveness from the typical forest foliage.@ipomoea oh, undebatably
As they walk, the trees converge slowly in upon them. Sunlight filters down between their leaves, dappling the forest path and tinging the air with green. Po can hear birds and squirrels chittering and singing overhead; normally he might stop and cock his head to one side, listening to the songs of nature and enjoying its beauty.
But today he has business to take care of; it’s hard to ignore the flora and fauna surrounding him but somehow, he manages.
“That’s good,” he says cheerfully, although he’s only half listening. He shifts his bright eyes to observe his friend, struggling to focus. “How has Delumine been treating you? Do you like it here?”
The forest begins to change slightly the farther they go: it’s becoming less wild, more cultivated. Flowers dot the path they walk down, and it’s even more of a struggle to ignore them. Ipomoea shakes his head slightly. Just a little longer, he tells himself, then you can stop and smell the flowers.
He doesn’t know yet that they’re about to come across many, many more flowers.
”Somnus and I have been talking about you,” he begins slowly. ”We’d like to see you take on a bigger role in the Court; it may be good for you, and we think you’ll be good for the role.” Finally Po stops, only a few steps away from revealing the secret garden, and turns to face Eros.
”How would you like to become our Champion of Community, Eros?”
hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m right at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you
i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy
"i walked into the room dripping in gold. a wave of heads did turn, or so i've been told"
EROS
As they near Eros' garden, Po seems to become more distracted. He isn’t sure if he’s imagining it; it’s altogether possible that Eros himself is the one losing focus. He tries his best to ignore the rising worry that he’ll get in trouble for using Court property without permission, but the closer they get the more it needles at his mind.
What if he would be asked to leave Delumine? And after he’d finally made a home and friends here, too. “I really like it. It’s so beautiful, especially when all of the flowers and plants are in bloom.”
When Po speaks, though, he doesn’t ask him to leave, doesn’t even ask him about the garden. Instead, to Eros' surprise, he asks him to be Dawn’s Champion of Community.
“You—you think I’d be good for it?” he asks, tone undecided between bewilderment and gratitude. No one had ever thought him suited for any position of importance before, especially not a Court-related one: politics were Aion’s realm, not his. Eros was versed in fashion and art. He isn’t sure people will think a creative belongs in Court affairs; he isn’t sure he thinks he belongs, either. But Po seems to believe in him, and he’s motivated by the thought of Aion, if he were here to be proud of Eros in his appointment.
So he smiles despite the tug of that thought at his heart, and accepts. “I’d like that. I’m grateful you thought of me.” It reminds him that although he is without his mate, he still has friends by his side. @ipomoea yess we can do it C:
For a moment there’s only silence between them - it’s only a few seconds, but it’s more than enough time for Ipomoea’s mind to start churning. His wings flutter against his fetlocks, twisting around themselves in nervousness. Perhaps he’s read Eros wrong, and falsely interpreted his current place in the Court, perhaps this wasn’t something he would want -
You - you think I’d be good for it?” Eros’ eyes are bright, and he can see the surprise and confusion in them. It reminds Po of Messalina, the way she’d come to him after her own promotion.
He straightens his shoulders and smiles.
“I think you would be,” he says, but he’s grown enough to know that it matters more if Eros thinks he would be good at it. He would give his friend all the support he needed, but it would hardly do any good if he lacked faith in himself.
He studies Eros’ face, watching the bewilderment and apprehension slowly shift into a smile. Something in his eyes changes, and it’s reassuring; it tells Po he was right to trust him.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says, bumping his shoulder fondly against Eros’. “We’ll let the Court know soon.”
The wind dances along their backs as they start walking again, only Po doesn’t turn back the way they had come, not yet. There’s one other matter of business he wants to discuss, one that has been hard to ignore the entire way here.
“Now tell me - where did all these flowers come from?” he asks, his focus shifting now as he turned the corner and the hidden garden greeted his eye. The flowers whispered to him as he passed amongst them, but his easy smile told Eros that it was alright, he wasn’t going to tell anyone (or maybe not yet).
After all, Ipomoea could appreciate wanting to make something beautiful.
hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you
i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy
@eros ! finally closing this
gonna just assume they sit and talk about p flowers and love for the rest of the day
”here am i!“
"i walked into the room dripping in gold. a wave of heads did turn, or so i've been told"
EROS
Po bumps his shoulder against Eros’; it’s a simple gesture, but to Eros it means more than Po can imagine. It reminds Eros of their friendship, and it’s reassuring, to know that while he may feel alone, he has people like Po—ready with gentle smiles and kind words to comfort him. And now, he will have a new Dawn family, as well: the Court.
When Po starts toward his flower garden, Eros doesn’t feel the same worry gripping at his throat. Po is a friend, he assures himself. So when his friend asks, with a smile, what this is all about, Eros sighs in relief. “The flowers you helped me pick last year wilted. I thought I would plant new ones to make a new bouquet.”Maybe I can share them with more than just Aion, he thinks. @ipomoea after one year
