i'm a pretty flower girl
check out my pretty flower curls
There is a quiet here, one born of respect and wariness. Divinity is an essence Florentine can taste upon the air. It is an elixir upon her tongue, sweet, enchanting and as electrifying as the four eyes that watch and blink and watch again.
For all of Tempus’ divine presence, her heart does not fear him. It beats slow and steady, thrilled for only a few rapid beats before it calms again.
She had left behind paintings, sculptures - a myriad of art - of Vespera, yet as the Dusk Queen stands here, before Tempus, she knows this is the only got she might ever show adoration for.
Time twists and weaves about her skin, it’s morphs and turns, slows down and speeds up. She feels it all as a whisper along her skin, a static that rouses her own time-traveller’s magic. Her dagger grows light and ready.
In silence she feels the warmth of her brother and her sister; one by blood and the other by devotion to their people. Terrastella’s trio are bound by love.
In silence she watches as the Night Court regime arrive. Her eyes drift over each of them in turn but then her gaze returns to the alive statue.
She meets the stare of the greater god and she wonders what changes might come. There was always change, nothing was ever still. Existence was to forever be in a state of flux.
There is little more she can add to what others have said before her. This is not the place for petty squabbles. ‘I echo the words of the Dawn and Day regimes. I have been to enough worlds, enough times, to know that peace - however much we strive for it- is rare. Between circumstance, not loving enough and hating too readily, there is always unrest.’
Her amethyst gaze drifts briefly to the King of Stars, then to Somnus and Seraphina. ‘Our Court’s have worked together. We are moving more toward a time of peace - despite recent events.’ Then her eyes stray to Asterion, her lips smoothing along his shoulder. ‘Indeed, tell us, so we might be ready.’
florentine rocking your pretty flower world
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
06-15-2018, 08:36 AM - This post was last modified: 06-15-2018, 08:38 AM by Florentine
As stated previously in the Discord chat, this round has been extended until Saturday, June 16th at 11:59 PM EST. Tagging @Cyrene, @Aislinn and @Isorath! Due to an unforeseen circumstance on Spaced's end, @Reichenbach is not required to reply this round.
IPOMOEA
she said lay me down in golden dandelions
-- ❀ --
W
hen the statue moved, Ipomoea looked to Somnus.
He was looking for reassurance, for affirmation; for confirmation that someone else had seen it this time, and it wasn’t simply his mind running rampant on him—as it tended to do. But a quick glance around the room showed copies of the same expression, written in twelve different ways upon the Regime’s faces.
He listens as they all speak; as his own Emissary and Sovereign voice their opinion, but also Seraphina and Eik, and Florentine and Asterion. They echo each other, content to blame conflict on fate.
But Po had traveled to those same Courts as them. He had been both welcomed and shunned in his lifetime. He had made his own decisions on who to trust and who to talk to, and had seen others do likewise. ’Isn’t that all this is? A decision?’ How was it they all could agree, and still speak of the difficulty of achieving peace? Of being friendly? Of letting bygones be bygones? If everyone desired peace, as Asterion claimed, why was peace still not to be had?
Perhaps Po was simply cut from a different rock. He couldn't hold grudges, couldn't see when it might be beneficial. So young and naive still, he was convinced the answer was as simple as the question--all they had to do was choose to be kinder.
He shifted uneasily, feeling his wings flutter and the dandelions creep up his fetlocks. Magic spilled from him without his consent: the longer he stands, the more flowers bloom beneath his hooves, crawling out from beneath him to twine up his legs, as if attempting to consume him alive. He inhales deeply, the edges of his nose quivering, tasting their scent on his tongue. Without a second thought to consider what he was doing, he presses his shoulder into Somnus’ own, drawing strength from the golden frame.
“I agree with Seraphina,” he said at last, his voice shaky. “Who we are, who we choose to become, is based on the choices we make. Peace is a choice, as is war.” He looked first to Somnus, then further to Orion, before continuing. "As for me and my family, we choose peace.
The room quakes with the voice of gods, ancient and thrumming through her blood and bones. There is no fear that rises in answer — no, nothing at all. Her heart roars, drumming wildly as the build of anticipation is finally snapped.There is a silence left in its wake, and before her, before them all, the god finally speaks. And she could not help but feel disappointed. This was their creator? This was the puppet master behind the crossing of the sun and moon and stars across their skies? This was the father of her goddess?
She couldn’t help but stifle a huff of ignited breath in her lungs.
The Regent’s gaze flickered to each sovereign as Tempus spoke, even to the flower queen. She was a statue of silence, of storm-wrought rage barely contained in ebony skin. Only the warmth of her family cooled the hurricane that screamed at the god’s words, at his divine games. Is that what they were then? Chess pieces in the gameboard that was their squabbles created from his children in the first place?
If that was what they were, then gods be damned.
A bittersweet calmness washed across her in lilting sea waves as one by one, those gathered answered. This was what they all desired after all — a promised peace. Something seemingly unattainable, yet a wish all the same.
She dared to meet the eyes of the statue without falter nor shiver as she spoke. ”I think we can all agree that peace is what we all have wanted. Whether some have done questionable things to attain such peace is in the past, and the present and future of our courts is all that matters now. We all choose peace.”
empus spoke with the voice of millennium, of galaxies and infinite futures.
Cyrene’s blood pulsed to the staccato beat of a long forgotten melody, her muscles drawn as tight as a bowstring. Amber eyes flashed like cut topaz, flitting from stone statue to grim gazes like a cat’s twitching tail.
As a child she’d never had much luck with settling, her heart running as wild as her curls. Even now — especially now — Cyrene shivered like a marionette with its strings on the verge of snapping.
One by one, the members of the regimes spoke. She did little else than listen as she ought to, her lips quirking with Bexley's fire, and stilling with Asterion's hurt. Seraphina was as stoic as her pelt was steel, and Aislinn (though they had never met, Dusk's regime seemed especially intertwined with the Rahilah warrior) as ferocious as the storm raging in her electric eyes.
Their voices were like vials poured into a witch’s turgid cauldron; each addition drew a puff of glittering smoke, a wave of bubbling froth, and Cyrene wondered, with morbid curiosity, if they knew how close it was to bursting.
She wondered, with mocking innocence, if one more vial would do it.
“If there is anything us mortals are good for,” she dared, amber eyes almost aflame, “it is change.” Cyrene’s smile, when she gave it, was a soft, furtive thing. It danced across the courts, lingering on none, not even her own. Her agitation, a prowling lion, was not directed at any of them. What Tempus spoke of... it was not about them. It was not for mere mortals to understand.
Change? Let it come. Her grin was potent as it beamed towards Tempus' stone likeness, rigid with blooming defiance. They were immortal. They could not die, would never die. The gods lived vicariously through their worshippers, dangled them all like squeaking mice to a round-bellied tiger.
From his place at the head of the table, Tempus watched.
He saw them. He heard them. He knew them, perhaps more intimately than they yet knew themselves.
Their disrest had been growing for years, the tension seeping between the Courts becoming palpable. Within each of these Sovereigns, Tempus saw his own children's’ reflections: Somnus, with his bid to be fair, his reluctance to get involved in disputes for fear of destroying the peace of his own Court. Seraphina, with her discipline and work ethic, her determination to do whatever it took to ensure the safety and longevity of her Court. Florentine too, with her bleeding heart and empathy, the way she ruled with her heart and stayed true to herself despite her adversity. And Reichenbach, with his darker side that was understood only by himself and his fellow herd members. They were imperfect, each of them, and that was what made them so similar.
Their likeness to their gods and goddesses was precisely what made them each so fit to rule the Courts. But Tempus knew: it was also what caused their dissention.
He did not need to see Bexley’s scar to know of her interaction with Acton. Nor did he need to hear Florentine’s words to know the betrayal she felt. He knew the struggles of Seraphina, her attempt to rebuild her court from ash not once, but over and over again. He knew of Somnus’ solitude in the east, the dawn’s unwillingness to become involved in the strife but falling also to mediate it. He knew of Reichenbach’s passion, the wild, uncontainable love he held not only for the kirin at his side, but for his court as a whole.
Tempus knew. He ached with them, and with his children. But he could no longer stay silent and watch the equines of Novus destroy each other--and also themselves.
The God of Time became aware of the presence of his children joining the meeting, one by one. From atop their respective pillars, they too watched the Sovereigns below. They could not be seen by the mortals--for they still lacked substantial forms--but they were present. Clouded as they were by their own bias, favoring their Court and their Sovereign’s arguments above all else, they grew uneasy.
It was Solis who spoke first.
“Why are we worrying ourselves with their matters? They made their bed to lie in.” The God of Day resented the Courts for mixing once more; he found insult in their decision to leave the safety of their own realms.
Oriens chastised him. “They need us, brother. They quarrel because they are lost, because of the mistakes they’ve made; but they look up to us. Why should we abandon them?”
Next was Vespera, defending her like-minded brother. “Oriens is right. I fear they cannot reach peace without us guiding them. Without us getting along and showing them the possibilities.”
Caligo was quiet in the background, keeping her eyes trained on the gathering below. While their voices remained confined to only their own ears, the wind began to pick up, throwing the trees to and fro in its gust. Clouds began to gather overhead, swirling above the clearing.
“We owe it to them. It was our own feud that started their divisions.” At Oriens’ admission, Caligo finally broke her silence.
“Our feud? Shall I remind you each of the cause of it all?” the demi goddess glared at her brothers and sister, the wind picking up speed and force, commanded by her words.
“We all must learn from our mistakes,” Oriens chided her gently, but his words only fueled the Night Goddess’ anger.
“Naturally that doesn’t include you, Oriens, having never made any mistakes before--”
All four gods raised their guards against each other, the air became a cacophony of voices that filtered in bits and pieces down to the mortal Sovereigns below:
“They can figure it out themselves--”
“No, we have our duty--”
“Our duty is to the sun, not to them--”
“You would abandon your own people--”
“”My people” abandoned me years ago--”
“We never should have opened those gates--”
“STOP.” Tempus’ voice boomed throughout the entirety of Novus, shaking the pillars surrounding the Sovereigns. Even the wind stops at his command, and all falls silent. Slowly, slowly, as if in slow motion, the rock lining the entryway to the meeting begins to crumble, collapsing in upon itself. A pile of rubble is all that remains, effectively blocking the way in--and the way out.
“The sun does not stop because it disagrees with the time of day. You have forgotten a piece of yourselves.” The God does not show himself to the mortals waiting below, but his presence is commanding and undeniable. He looks at them in disappointment, casting his gaze over each of his children in turn before turning back to the Sovereigns. “Go now and regain it.”
The ground continues its shaking, mild tremors repeatedly running through the ground. Tempus closes his eyes, the light and animation fading from the statue. It would seem the Regimes are now alone--and trapped.
This round will end on June 24th, 11:59 PM EST. There are special requirements to this round:
- First each character is allowed a maximum of 2 posts! Please wait for at least 2 people to post in between your post.
- Second, only one person from each Regime is required to post. It is highly encouraged that everyone should post, but understandable if you cannot! It is highly encouraged you talk with the other members of your Regime to coodinate.
- Third, your characters are welcome to explore the blockage--but they cannot find a way out in this round. They can discuss it amongst everyone, or only their Court, or they can go rogue and try to do their own thing! Feel free to bounce ideas--the RE will provide a series of escape options based on what you mention in your posts in the next round for exploration.
(as a quick note, the four gods are present but unseen; they lack substantial forms at the moment, so while bits of their conversation can be heard, the most you may see is a white flash above the meeting! c: )
ALSO. Four new subboards have been revealed in each Court! Go ahead and check them out OOCly--they're currently closed to posting, but will open on Monday, 06/18 with prompts that anyone can participate in!
To tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk.
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
06-17-2018, 12:56 AM - This post was last modified: 06-17-2018, 12:23 PM by Random Events
and you're on your knees and your faith in shreds, it seems
A council of deities, somewhere above. Night, Day, Dawn, Dusk. She listens to them all, particularly her patron, with a shock and awe that is quick to dull. They quarrel. Of course they quarrel. As she hears the dull, fuzzy sound of their voices, like a scene from a faraway, barely-discernible play, she is put in mind of four youths. She asks herself how the problems of immortals could ever compare to those of their mortal children.
They have nothing to lose.
Even as the light fades from the statue’s eyes and the ground shakes with tremors, she draws forward, ears snapped back against her skull and lips curled to reveal a viper’s snarl of teeth. Her body shudders with ill-contained venom, and she raises her eyes to stare – but they are not cold. They burn. “All of those years…” Barely a whisper, then louder, louder, louder. “All of those years, you remained silent, and now you show yourselves?” The gods are gone, the statue cold – but she knows they are still somewhere, listening. She had been understanding, but now…what could she ever hope to understand? They wouldn’t tell her. “And for what? A lover’s quarrel? A few meaningless squabbles that have killed no one?” She is suddenly aware of heat dripping from her eyes, down her cheeks, molten trails of salt water; but they are tears of rage where grief was, the last fragments of her faith manifest. She is no longer blind. “Where were you when our people starved in the streets? Where were you when our king paid slavers to kidnap the citizens of other courts? Where were you when Zolin and his father waged a pointless war against Denocte for nothing more than their chance at a bloody glory?” Oh, she had told herself that she could not blame the gods for the actions of mortals, but it is not their actions that are the crime – it is their inaction, their absence. She raises her chin, and the silver burning around her throat catches in the light. “Where were you when he collared our children and sent them off to war? Where were any of you when Solterra burned?” She remembers fire and blood twice over. She remembers. She remembers. She remembers. “I cannot fathom how you witnessed such destruction and decided that we are closer to devastation than we have been before. Why intervene now?”
Of course, there is no answer. Nothing, nothing at all – just a tired, tired girl, left to search for an explanation that will never come.
One long, rattling breath and she turns back to face the others. Her posture – her stare – is as cold and mechanical as it has ever been. “It seems…that we are trapped. Perhaps we could clear the rubble…” With that, she moves to the collapsed doorway and sets to prodding at some of the fallen stone with her shoulder, as though to test its weight.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
06-17-2018, 12:12 PM - This post was last modified: 06-17-2018, 01:27 PM by Seraphina
It is nothing new, only his hopeless dreamer’s heart leading him into trouble once more – but he had truly thought the god had called them there to help. He knew the distrust that lived, well-earned, in Calliope’s heart, the warning that flashed in her eyes as they made their way up to the mount. He knew the war she had raged in Ravos – freedom for the mortals from the whims of careless, cruel gods.
But he had known those gods. The water-gods had been there when he needed them for advice, and never punished him for his questions, for his unwillingness to belong.
There had been an instinctual worry in him, as they each stepped into the meeting-place. A prey’s concern of being trapped.
Surely, he had thought, surely this god would not do that. But as he listened, aghast, to the squabbling of unseen figures as the wind began to whip and howl and lash the branches of the trees, he began to wonder if he was wrong. And he was not entirely surprised, though he pressed up against the golden side of his sister, to see the stones cast from their places. There is something in him then, dark and ruthless and secret, that says You fool - you should have known.
Well. Now he knows.
As the gray mist of rubble and dust settles around them, dusting them like ash, the bay watches Seraphina step toward the statue. Each word of hers is a lash of rage, dripping with disdain, and Asterion agrees with every one.
Oh, he is a fool to have thought these gods were anything more than what they’ve shown themselves now to be. And he thinks with grim satisfaction of Calliope, just outside these god-shaped walls, and the wrath she must be feeling.
When Seraphina addresses them he nods, thinking of what they had spoken of at the festival. She is a far different creature now, and he suppresses a shiver as the ground trembles again.
The bay moves toward her, but casts a glance back at the rest of them before setting his shoulder to any stone. There is too much of it, and nowhere for it to go.
“Does anyone have magic that can help?”
Perhaps they had been trapped here to starve, so Tempus might begin anew. Perhaps he did not think of them at all, or had questioned them, chastised them, provided no answers and then abandoned them for his own amusement.
Whatever the reasoning, Asterion vows he will never again bow to the whims of a god.
In the dimness, so much blue and gold. So much just-restrained violence, pulling with titan strength at heartstrings, and at damaged tendons.
When the first piece of rubble drops, Bex flinches so hard she thinks she might fall over.
Panic sets in. All at once she is damaged again, is struggling for breath at the bottom of the pool, is cognizant of their impending doom, and her vision goes black at the edges with that fuzzy near-fainting; her heart pounds in her chest at the furious pace of something rabid, her pulse goes wild electric-shock in her soft throat. This is a horrific mirror image of what happened in spring, the same blooming of rocks and the promise of burial, of bruises, and when Bex sucks in a breath, it rattles and hurts.
More rocks. And dust. And the room shakes and cracks under her, and before she can stop herself she steps sideways to lean against Eik, every muscle in her body melting. The whites of her eyes shine moony and feral.
This cannot be happening. Please, not again -
Her skull is still ringing when Seraphina begins to speak. Bexley’s eyes, cloudy with relived trauma, can barely take in the novelty of emotion on her sovereign’s face, and yet through hazy layers of paranoia and confusion she is still stunned by the sight of Seraphina so human - so enraged. Where were you - where were you - the cacophonous sound of voices overlayered, of new arguments stirring. The world turned upside down, then, with Bexley the one subdued for once. Trembling in place. Frightened and girlish. Across the room, her eyes meet Florentine’s, and something like pain blooms in her chest.
Perhaps we could clear the rubble -
For the first time Bex blinks and sees clearly, and what she sees in Seraphina (something animal and emotional) is so strange it’s almost painful to watch.
Unusually meek, she follows the Sovereign to the collapsed doorway, steps carefully placed and head lowered despite the buzzing, tooth-sawing electric hum in her muscles. With Herculean effort she stills her shaking breaths. Torchlight flickers overhead, though not enough to really illuminate the the scene they gaze down upon, and Bex decides now might be as good a time as any to let Seraphina now that something’s changed - she blinks. Gold overtakes every part of her eye but the pupil, an aureate madness that spreads in seconds, and slowly a warm near-white light spreads from her skin in a halo to light the rubble and the devastating scene around them.
At least He’s good for something, Bex mumbles, and a sheepish smile spreads across her face as she flicks a glance up to the statue of Solis still looming overhead.
06-17-2018, 01:39 PM - This post was last modified: 06-17-2018, 01:40 PM by Bexley
There is no answer, and somehow, that's something that weighs heavy on his shoulders. Orion frowned as he looked at the statue, and his head tilted. There was a side glance to Somnus, who had offered him nothing but a distant look, and Po, who was scared more than anything. He could not blame the latter, really, it was a tense situation that seemed to fizzle and spark.
It was time they simply took it all in to their own hands.
Flashes of white suddenly sparked above, and voices were beginning to filter down. Small clips of words that jolted out of thin air, there one moment and vanishing the next. They seemed to come in and out of existence, passing between planes as voices strengthened, grew more guarded. The tension moved from between the mortals, to the ones above, a thick veil in the air. The wind picks up, lashing about them, and the Dawn Emissary's ears went back, though he does not take a step back. It seemed to grow and grow until --- until the boom of a voice.
The wind died almost immediately, and the pillars shuddered. Orion felt himself wince slightly from just the sheer volume of the tone. The ground under his hooves shuddered, and he blew out a breath when the voice died out as well, the statue itself going inert once more. Nothing but stone. Leaving them where they were, covered with a fine dusting of rubble, and the shudder of the earth beneath them dying.
Abandoned.
Coolness rolled over him, and Orion turned away from the statue, from the deities, and felt his ears go down as he walked for the archway instead, where a few had already stepped up to inspect it. "We can work together. Our telekinesis is weak individually but certainly if we double up, we can move some of this." It was a civil offer as he looked at the archway, lifting a hoof to pick at a lower portion and send flakes of stone skittering away, loose and chipped.
Even if his Sovereign demanded it, he would not show up to a meeting like this again. The gods had their petty squabbles, and were dragging them in to it once more. They didn't need that. Any of it.
The Night King's eyes did not stray from the statue as Tempus' voice echoed around them, focused entirely on what their worlds creator had to say. His silver gaze narrowed at the condescension in those words, then flicked casually to each Sovereign within the room — Seraphina, Somnus and the flower girl turned Queen. He lingered thoughtfully on her honey gold skin before returning his keen eyes silently to Tempus. A brow quirked at the mention of change, a faint smile touching the corners of his lips — he could handle change... Denocte could handle change. It was one of the reasons he loved his home and his people so dearly.
The Night Regime listened carefully to each word spoken in the chamber, until finally their own Stormsinger stepped forth and spoke her part. Reichenbach dipped his chiseled head in agreement, his skin warm with Isorath's touch. He could not help but to think that peace was a fragile thing, though... and very breakable. Reichenbach could not help but to lift his long lashed eyes upward in a momentary silent camaraderie with Caligo, his fierce hearted Goddess.
Then came a long silence as those gathered awaited Tempus' response. His eyes slipped back to the glowing stone of the Father God. Silence stretched on and on until — the voices were faint at first but grew stronger as if with emotion. The Night King glanced upward once again, this time hearing the cool caress of Caligo's voice with a shiver of satisfaction. She's here.
"STOP!"
The King of Thieves watched their exit disappear under rubble and frowned, glancing carefully at Aislinn — a storm could not be caged within a mountain. Reichenbach watched Seraphina address the vanished God, then pick her way over to the rubble, and remained where he was. As the others made their way toward the caved in entrance, he shifted to face his Regime, asking in a lullaby-murmur:
"Ramuh... Gilgamesh.. See if you can call them. They may be able to help clear the entrance."
He glanced toward the gathered Courts, then grinned as he turned to his family — "Let them never say Night Court doesn't do their part."
With those jovial words, he made his way over to stand surreptitiously next to Orion, pushing with one broad shoulder even as his telekinesis pressed and prodded for weakness within the rubble.
