I've gone a million miles
With the same crooked smile
He’d only heard of her, mostly in passing and in the whispering of the trees, and even captured a glimpse of her once before on his journey to the capitol. An enthralling woman of creamy gold, fair and just in her rule from what he’d been told. Florentine was her name and she was the mortal Sovereign of Vespera’s realm, and it was she that Atreus sought as he wound his way to the lush fields.
Standing beside a roaring flame that spread a brilliant sheen across her gilded hide, Florentine was easy enough for him to locate, but… But she was not alone. He didn’t know with whom she stood with, but they did not hold Atreus’ interests, not now.
A scowl contorted his face, but the expression was muted enough, gone just as quickly as it had appeared. Although Atreus quite enjoyed himself an exquisite celebration every now and then, his desire laid within the Sovereign and picking her brain. So many questions still remained, of what had changed in the span of five years, where the whole of Novus now stood, what he had missed in his time away… If the Ilati still called Terrastella home, or if he and Turhan were all that remained of the peculiar group.
Breathing deep, Atreus turned his back to the pair and set his sights on the other party-goers. He found himself floating adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces, but the fact didn’t faze him. Maybe Fiona would pass him by and he could exchange words of thanks for her illustration? Perhaps, while he waited, he would find another captivating individual with knowledge to share, secrets to pass along? He was a sociable creature, after all, to the extent that some may label him as nettlesome. The man bore a mask of genteel and solicitous tendencies, an old and wizened master of concealing his true intentions, whatever they may be. Hell, sometimes even Atreus wasn’t sure what they were – but in due time, under the proper circumstances, all would be revealed.
For now, the poison master made his way to the tables that had been set up to fill a plate, that perpetual, facile smile snaking its way across his lips once more.
And I always give you all you need
But I can see that you're dancing with the devil
Open to any! <3
be careful with that one, love, he will do what it takes to survive
all contact is permitted and encouraged
06-08-2018, 08:28 AM - This post was last modified: 06-08-2018, 08:38 AM by Atreus - Edit Reason: me a derp -
His heart is lighter on the way to the woods as he walks beside his sister, with Cirrus perched on his back. He is not yet familiar with the slight weight of the gull (nor of the way she shares his mind), but it is a comfortable strangeness. When they reach the clearing, all shadow and light, it is almost a magic thing: a setting for a fairytale. Florentine separates from him, off to meet her own strangers, and for a moment the bay only walks the perimeter of the gathering, his gaze slipping over each gathered member of the court.
Sometimes he still wonders at how he is able to care for so many, to hold such a thing in his heart as a home. The fact that most of those gathered are strangers doesn’t change anything; there are enough friends among them, after all.
Closer to the food, Cirrus whispers, and tugs at a strand of silver in Asterion’s dark mane. He laughs but complies, wandering nearer to the low wooden table to let her get a glimpse, though the ram-horned stallion catches both their gazes. The Regent pauses for a moment, and then steps nearer.
Mind that one, the gull murmurs, and then pushes herself from his withers and into flight. For a moment, as the brief pressure fades, Asterion images what it might be like to be able to join her.
And then he turns his attention back toward the stallion. He looks a fae thing in the firelight with his curving horns, his strange eyes – not a tame creature at all. The bay knows he’s seen him once before, brief as a passing shadow in the background of the city, but he doesn’t have so much as a name.
“I can’t decide,” he begins, and drops his gaze to the food laid out before them, “whether I’m in the mood for something more bitter or more sweet.” Truly there were options enough before them: cinnamon baked apples, and oat cakes drizzled with honey, and salads of dandelion and radish.
It is not food that the Regent is truly hungry for, but he is learning to pretend. Conversation, like battle, could be aided with a feint every now and again. Such is one of many lessons he is learning from Raymond.
“What is it you’re having?” He lifts his dark-eyed gaze again, meeting that striking golden eye. “I’m Asterion, by the way. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
I've gone a million miles
With the same crooked smile
No more than a minute could have passed before he’s joined by another. It isn’t the gilded Sovereign he’d been hoping for, and although he doesn’t immediately realize it, this bay stallion may be just as good.
His smile tugs wider in response and he chuckles humorously from beside the man doused in twilight. “Why not both? This is a party, after all,” he reminded as he plucked a tightly condensed ball of oats, smothered with honey and who knew what else from the table and onto his plate, ”There’s no shame in indulging a little bit. As for me, I believe I’ll try a bit of everything.” Half of what was displayed across the draped table he had never seen, and he had no intent of letting anything go untasted.
With his plate filled, Atreus urged it to rise from the tabletop and only because this man called Asterion had piqued his interest, albeit slightly for now, he lingered long enough for him to fill his own. ”A true pleasure to meet you, Asterion,” his response came rolling off his cut-glass tongue, “I am Atreus.”
Only when his newfound companion had finalized his choices did Atreus turn, abandoning the table in favor of one of the gently crackling fires setup nearby. It illuminated the area around them fairly, casting flickering shadows on those standing close. The roan basked in its light, taking a moment to first inspect one of the oat balls before taking a bite out of it. It was sickly sweet, but as he would find out later, horridly filling. With it gone, Atreus finally lifted his gaze to rest it upon Asterion, that eye of black reflecting little of the light cast upon it.
”I’m certain I’ve seen you before in passing, but I regret to say that’s it. Tell me, Asterion, what it is you do here in Terrastella?” His eyes wandered fleetingly as he truly took in the form of his company. Tall, lithe, a face that appeared to lack the hardness of a battle-weary warrior, and dark eyes that seemed to hold a certain, wizened look. A sage, perhaps? Or maybe another healer in the broad ranks of Terrastella?
And I always give you all you need
But I can see that you're dancing with the devil
@Asterion :D
be careful with that one, love, he will do what it takes to survive
The stranger chuckles like a stream over rocks, smooth and rolling, and Asterion bids himself to forget his unsettling eye. What control, after all, did a man have over his appearance? (And there beneath the dusk and the canopy of trees, with darkness creeping up on them, the shadows are thick enough to disguise the sinister map of black veins that trail from the man’s other eye).
Instead he credits his unease with how uncomfortable it still feels to wear the mantle of Regent, a cloak his shoulders don’t fit. Sometimes he thinks they are too narrow, sometimes too broad – but here it doesn’t matter. He must at least pretend.
“Excellent advice,” he says, and grins in response, piling his plate with whatever was nearest. His own appetite was a lean thing at the best of times, but Cirrus would be glad to finish anything the bay didn’t. “I admit I’ve never been good at indulgence. I’ve never been somewhere with such…wonderful excess.” Even after more than a year here, there were days where Asterion missed the leanness of his wandering life, his belly taut and ribs just-visible, summer-fit and strong. It is hard not to wonder if Novus has made him weak.
But he shakes such unsuitable thoughts away and meets the other’s glance once more at the sound of his name, his ears pricking at the stranger’s own. “Ah,” he says at once, “the healer. I’ve heard some of you from Florentine, and I’m glad to put a face to the name.” Indeed, he knows more than the name – he knows that Atreus was soon to be appointed a Champion of Dusk. He smiles now, a truer thing, and follows the man to the firelight.
Distracted by food (some of which he makes quick work of) and the dancing fire-light, he does not study the roan. But when he glances up again, he arrested by the sight of him: a red glow on the dips and valleys of his horns, the straight strip of white down his face, and those strange mismatched eyes.
An odd thought catches him then: how might his life be different if he looked half so striking (so intimidating)?
Oh, hush, came the rough, fond rebuke of Cirrus from somewhere above him.
Atreus’ question makes him unconsciously draw himself straighter, and he shapes his lips into an easy smile. “I do whatever Florentine asks of me,” he says, casting his gaze over the crowd for a flash of gold before turning it back. “I serve as Dusk’s Regent – which lately includes an awful lot of parties.” He takes another bite of whatever’s nearest to him then, and it is both sweet and salty on his tongue, a taste like autumn. “Not that I’m complaining,” he adds with a grin.
I've gone a million miles
With the same crooked smile
Joined by his star-flecked companion around the fire, Atreus took brief note of the contents piled upon his plate, that unyielding grin of his ever upon his face. “What good is a life without a little bit of indulgence? I don’t anticipate our ‘excess’ to go anywhere any time soon.” Only then did he pause, taking the time to make work of the honey drizzled oats, each bite precise so as not to make a mess or, more importantly, appear uncivilized. He may be of Ilati blood, but he is a refined, proper man nonetheless.
What comes next is most curious to the poison master, and he looks on at Asterion with a quirked brow, his interest genuine. ”Oh?” There are many things he has carried out in his lifetime – he’d helped welcome new life into the world, cured wounds that should’ve been fatal and procured miracles – but his hands are also steeped in blood. Atreus believes himself to be safe, yet still he can’t help but wonder to what extent his name has been spread about Terrastella in his absence and the brief weeks since his return.
He hums warmly and takes another dainty bite, seeming amused. ”I hope you’ve only heard the good bits.” A joke, it may seem, to any who do not truly know him.
Their conversation moves along and the poison master’s gaze follows Asterion’s own as he looks out across those gathered, fleetingly searching for Florentine’s form to see if she had yet to become free – but alas, she is not, and he finds himself leveling his eyes on the bay’s own of umber color. Then, he shares a shred of information that captures Atreus’ interest all at once and causes his eyes to widen in surprise. “Oh, Vespera has certainly blessed me tonight – the Regent, you say?” He tucks his chin as bows ever so slightly so as not to make a scene, crossing his front right leg over the left before straightening. ”You do have a regal air about you; I should’ve known better.”
In truth, Atreus could care less about the titles of those he spoke to. To those of power he would always show utmost respect and wear a mask of joviality before them – but to him, it was all just a game. One of his favorites.
”Well,” he continues with Asterion’s final statement, ”It’s a comely party; enchanting, even. I commend you. But… surely, a man with such status as your own is burdened with far more toilsome tasks than mere parties?”
And I always give you all you need
But I can see that you're dancing with the devil
@Asterion sorry he's a weirdo
be careful with that one, love, he will do what it takes to survive
all contact is permitted and encouraged
06-28-2018, 10:31 PM - This post was last modified: 06-28-2018, 10:32 PM by Atreus
He laughs in return to the ram-horned man’s comment, unaware there was any truth beneath it; for all that Asterion’s impressions of people have been wrong, on Novus, he has still not learned caution first and trust second. “Just that you are recently arrived, but widely knowledgeable in the herbal arts.”
It is a lucky thing he isn’t capable of blushing, because otherwise Atreus’ bow would have him flushed crimson; it doesn’t matter how many times something similar occurs, he will never be used it. It only reminds him how out of place he is here, among parties and parapets, but Asterion smiles demurely and hides his relief when the other man straightens again. “I think you’re the first to say so,” he says. Other than Flora, he thinks he might be right – and as his sister, her opinion of him was happily biased.
As the man continued speaking, the twlit bay couldn’t help but think that here was someone far more suited to politics. He spoke like an upbeat piece of music, or like writing from a book; his words were wielded with ease.
At least it makes it easier to respond, and the bay shakes his head, dismissing the other stallion’s assumption. “Oh, I can take no credit for the lovely setting. That’s due to Fiona’s work, I think, along with some others.” Yet another names he knows but has not yet met; the paint woman is also set to be rewarded tonight for her work. Asterion chides himself; busy as he’s been, he needs to make more of an effort to meet the city’s citizens. “I just get to reap the benefits of attending. But yes, I keep busy. Audiences with the public, sitting in on committees, making sure Terrastella runs smoothly.” He is almost surprised with the ease of the answer – until he wonders if Dusk is running smoothly.
Certainly there has been no more talk of war since that meeting in Tinea, and no word has come from Night since the closing of the gate. For now, that was near enough to peace.
But his thoughts are running away with him again – Asterion blinks, and refocuses his attention on his companion. The fire crackles, casting its glow of shifting, seething shadows, making things just a touch of strange. “But I would know more of you – what brings you to the Dusk Court, and how did you learn so much of healing? That must be years of study.”
over the moaning bones
of those who quit and chose to remain
An amused sort of grin carves itself into his crimson façade, one that cares not to try and hide his sense of pride in himself and the things he’s accomplished. “I am quite talented in my field,” he conceded, lids falling briefly over his eyes as he raised his porcelain cup to take a long drink of the steaming, spicy liquid which warmed his belly pleasantly, ”Thank you.”
Asterion seemed to grow flustered at his compliment and the formality of his bow from before, and this time Atreus’ smirk is one of true amusement, widening in its place across his dark maw. “The first, perhaps, but certainly not the last, Majesty. One must show respect where respect is due – such as now.”
Their conversation shifts back to the party around them, and when the starlit bay mentions a familiar name, the poison master’s interest is piqued at once. He takes another sip of his drink, but this time his gaze doesn’t stray. As interested as he may be in the mute woman, now is not the time, and here is not the place. Instead, he listens as Asterion speaks of his role as Regent, which is described far more vaguely than he had been hoping for. Later, he promised himself.
Unsurprisingly, the knife is turned on him next, and he weaves his lies with just as much ease as he would crafting a deadly poison. “My mother was an accomplished healer in the Kingdom of Saseasha,” he explained patiently and without an ounce of hesitation, “And as she tended to the Royal family, I was given the opportunity to learn and join her when I became of age. It captivated me in a way nothing else has since. She met an untimely demise, unfortunately, but after that, I traveled to as many lands as I could to learn different methods so that I might extract my own. We had traveled through Novus previously, and I had enjoyed our visit immensely; so I chose to come back to it.”
There was a grain of truth to the statement, but nothing more.
Swallowing the final drops of his drink, Atreus cast his gaze out across the meadow which glowed in the firelight, the masses still gathered around the many tables and piling their plates as high as they were able. “… You said earlier you have audiences to hold with the public,” he said as he set the now empty cup gently atop the table, tipping his head to gesture off toward the rest of the party-goers, “I would hate to keep you from them any longer than I already have. I’ve appreciated your time, however, Asterion – I hope we can exchange pleasantries again soon.”
“Well, I certainly give my respect to healers such as yourself,” he says, and is glad when that seems to be the end of it.
(He cannot know, of course, how soon he must grow accustomed to being called majesty - for tonight, during a party only for themselves, the worries of the Summit and all the unraveling to follow are still a few days’ dreaming away.)
Better to listen to Atreus answer the question he had posed - and Asterion’s expression is one of interest as he does, his dark-edged ears tipping forward. He nods despite not recognizing the kingdom’s name; save for the seasonal courts, which he has heard of only in passing, the bay is still unaware of the other worlds around them.
“How lucky for us that you chose to return here,” he says with a smile, and pushes away the thousand other questions he might have asked. Of course, he does not suspect what lies beneath the thin veil (thin as new ice on a November lake) of truth that the healer spins for him.
He is almost relieved when the winged man takes his leave, noting again how adeptly the stallion maneuvers the conversation. Asterion could learn much from him, he thinks.
“I would like that very much,” he says honestly. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Atreus.”
@Atreus this is a terrible post but closed! they should catch up again sooooon
