You know, this whole disappearing thing is becoming way more common than it ought to be. Let's count on our single toes how many times I've just vanished. Lots of fucking hooves. At least all ma feet. I think. Ok I haven't kept track but it's been too many. And this is just the latest. Where have I been this last whoknowshowlong? Good question. I'm not actually sure so DON'T ASK ME. It's just a bunch of random snapshots all hung up on little clothespins, little fairy lights in between them like your favorite college collage.
I sit my ass down in the courtyard of the Night Court, cobblestone under my heavy ass. In a dramatic, Oscar-worthy slow motion shot I slump to the ground and belch like I just drank a can of pure carbon dioxide. My eyes stay open but are all glazed over (not that you can tell because let's be honest they're all white). I'm aware that there is some sort of "room" for me in this castle. But I'm not really used to rooms. And honestly, before I went on this sabbatical (ok you can ask a little bit) I barely walked through the place. I didn't even see my living quarters.
Perhaps having not seen them keeps me from entering. Or perhaps I'm too drunk, too tired, and maybe a little bit of a cold. Funnily enough, booze doesn't make that go away. Fuck. Damaris is nowhere around, and I probably deserve that. She came with me on said sabbatical, but that doesn't mean she had any fun. Or that I treated her well. Or that she'll forgive me. I dunno maybe I'm being dramatic. Or not dramatic enough. Am I rumbling? Rambling.... Fuck.
Where's Reich? Camdis? Aislinn? .. Weir?
A pathetic groan slips out as I recall part of the reason that I left Novus to go binge-drinking in the first place.
— and I sank beneath the amorous sadness of night.
Walking the halls of the Grand Keep now came with a sense of freedom, relief washed over him like gentle waves upon the shore, each wave gentler than the last. He smiled a smile that was caught between amusement and quiet adoration, lilac eyes hidden beneath long lashes of pristine white.
How long had he had such tension in his bones? Dancing the fine line on porcelain hooves, lines taut and warped beneath silent suffering? It had been torture, to put duty before the ruined remains of his heart, each beat of their splintered visage in the presence of the King of Thieves had twisted them in their shackles. Now? Now he moved sinuous and light, dancing across the ground in dancers steps, elegant and poised like his Princely blood decreed him to be.
He saw Denocte in a new light, and it's equines too. It felt like home, even if he had worn the colours of dusk a handful of days before, close like his satin sheets and expensive silks — Calligo's fit him just as well. Her shadowy visage and luminous stars wrapped around him like a lovers embrace. Like home.
The Courtyard was brisk as he stepped out into it, Spring had ushered much of Winter away save for the nip on the breeze and the kiss of frost which lined the statues and the fringes of the steps, threatening to turn his already pink nose a deeper shade of rose. Though the Dragon he spied in the distance, as his lilac eyes turned skyward, might be the cause. Aether always brought the chill of Winter with him, the blizzard wild in his wings and Winter's breath exhaled with each rumbled breath.
Yet, the sky didn't hold his attention for long, a rather ungodly groan reached his ears which caused his antlered head to turn back toward the ground. A curious look peppered his features when he spotted the large stag sat sprawled on the Courtyard stones, a man who looked a little worse for wear, and not just from a particularly bad morning. Alighting from the steps near silently, he drew to a stop a short distance from the man, if only for the fact the strong scent of alcohol assailed his nostrils like a thug would it's unsuspecting victim; a punch in the gut to make the eyes water. Momentarily thrown from his train of thought, the Herald stood as still as a marble statue one might find in ruined temples and grand halls alike, caught between being mortified on the stag's behalf and all consuming amusement.
He settled for a mixture of both.
"Bad morning?" He offered with a quirked brow, a fine smirk settled on his sharp features.
A good brawl always did that for him; he never wanted to go too long without smelling just a little bit of blood. Seeing Reichenbach back in action, now, that had made it so much the better. It had felt like old days – before kings and crowns and all the heaviness that came with it.
It had helped him forget, too, the bit of trailing guilt (like a shadow, or a ghost) that he felt about Bexley Briar. The last he’d seen her, her face had been a rivulet of blood and the cave walls had been coming down around them; for all he knew she was buried under Solis’s stones. A fair funeral for a sand-snake, maybe, but something low in his gut still twisted when he thought about it.
But he wasn’t thinking about it now. Now he was thinking about the breath of spring on the air, and the pleasant soreness running through his muscles, and –
Their Warden, reclining on the cobblestones, unmistakably hungover (Acton is nowhere near the expert Rostislav is, but he he is at least an acolyte).
The buckskin swept forward with a laugh, pausing long enough to incline his head toward Isorath. Then he stretched his muzzle toward the Warden – and retreated almost immediately, shaking his head like he’d caught a whiff of ammonia. “Calligo’s tits, Rosti, you smell like the bottom of a barrel.”
Even the summer breeze didn’t chase it away, and Acton was tempted to cough, but gamely swallowed it down with a flick of his tail.
“You’ve also missed a fair amount of excitement, but I bet Isorath here can catch you up.” His grin was wicked thing, then, as he sought the kirin’s lilac eye, one of his brows arched. Acton had never kept much track of Reichenbach’s love interests – they came and went with the seasons, as he’d pointed out to Raum when the silver Ghost was concerned over Florentine – but the night of the Midwinter festival wasn’t one he was soon to forgot. If nothing else, he was grateful to Isorath’s place in the King Crow’s life just for that little bit of excitement.
His voice rumbled through the winter-gripped courtyard like thunder, neither welcoming nor damning but hovering somewhere in between. It was not a pleasant place to be. His muscular body followed soon after, silver eyes narrowed as he took in the remnants of his Warden, slopped against the wall like a sack of liquor. Gods, he stank like he'd taken a dive into all the liquors Denocte had to offer — and looked about as ready to be a Warden to their Court as Reichenbach had been to come face to face with Florentine only nights before.
His gaze flicked to Isorath first, a pleased gleam in his silver eyes as he allowed them to linger for a few more moments than necessary, then to Acton. As if a switch had flicked, he grinned, laughed, and made to help the drunkard up.
"Stars above Rosti, you're lucky you can fight as well as you can drink."
Once his staggering drunk of a friend had managed to stand straight on his own, Reichenbach released him and leaned into Isorath's pale side comfortably, argent gaze intense and keen upon the Warden. A casual grin gripped his black lips as his heat began to permeate the space between them, though he looked to Acton as he remembered the crunch of Lysander's elegant face underneath that first blow.
"Food first, then you can learn what has happened in your absence."
The King Crow paused for a moment, frowning ever so slightly as he said;
"I'm afraid it might be difficult for you to see Weir for a while."
@Rostislav @Isorath @Acton ew post but wanted to welcome Rost back!
I don't even hear him coming because I've drifted off into a troubling, alcohol-induced sleep. Snoring like I'm trying to bring down the whole place, it's only when he speaks that I start to awaken. Not that I've woken in time to actually catch what he said. I grunt and start, my legs shifting awkwardly as I try to make sense of the falling asleep, snoring, and waking up to find myself with a companion. Wait there's more than one.
Blinking several times to make sense of the picture does me a deal of good, but I'm still trying to match the faces I see with any names stored somewhere deep in my memory. The one who woke me - he looks familiar, but I don't think I ever learned his name. But I think.. I think we met. When? Where? The other -- the buckskin, the youth that seems to know me and is both making fun of me and.. congratulating me? Balls. I don't know him for sure. Gods, how have I missed so much. At least he gives me a tid bit of information. Isorath. The young one talks about missing much and I have no doubt I've missed a fuck ton. (Scientific terms, yo.)
But I can't seem to motivate, can't manage to get the will to lift myself from the cobblestone until the one and only shows up. His bay form gives me a heave and a ho, shoving as much as lifting me to my feet. Without putting in at least a little effort myself, I doubt any of his struggle would have helped. "Reich! Comrade. You give me more credit than I'm due." I chuckle deeply, hoarsely. "I drink far better than I fight!" I keep all four hooves firmly planted, knowing that, although I got here in one piece, taking advantage of that fact might lead me to become fewer pieces in short order.
I look at the three of them and motion toward the building. "Well you all can lead the way, don't you think? You know it better than I do, I'm sure. And I'm starving. What vegetarian deliciousness is hiding inside?" Or whatever. Feed my belly.
— and I sank beneath the amorous sadness of night.
It doesn't take long for another to join them, heralded by the laughter which rang behind him, the Kirin's gaze diverted easily to Acton. A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, amusement written clearly as a summer day in it's fine details. His own antlered head dipped to return the greeting and followed with keen curiosity as the stallion dared to inch closer.
He had not seen how many Crows had entered the Winter Festival, not that it mattered now. Acton's own reaction earned an unstifled laugh, and his retort a snorted breath. "It's enough to make you grow a winter coat in summer, no?" It was why he hadn't dared to get closer to help the felled stallion, for the fear of going cross eyed with every step aimed toward the unicorn's vicinity.
You’ve also missed a fair amount of excitement, but I bet Isorath here can catch you up.
A silver brow quirked in response as he allowed the buckskin crow to meet his eye. What a tale it would be, to tell the hungover stallion, and the rest of the Court when the time came. A time that was inching steadily closer the more and more Isorath thought about it. As soon as his thoughts began to spiral, he stopped them, and with an incline of his head he regarded the two. "I'm afraid there is not enough tea in Sunsyia, or alcohol in Dencote, to go with that story. However, if you do find enough, I'll tell you." He replied in good humor after a moment, and a wink for good measure.
Rostislav.
An all too familiar voice echoed out in the Courtyard next, and pulled him away from Acton and Rostislav, searching until his lilac gaze found and settled the owner of it. Fondness ran it's unmistakable paint brush across his sharp features before the spell is broken. Reichenbach made to pull the hungover stallion up, while Isorath resumed his post, an elegant bystander to a rather humorous situation. While he's certainly no stranger to the hungover and the washed up, after a particularly good night of reverie and festivities. He's never had the pleasure to witness a King help a Goliath find his feet.
"There should still be breakfast being served, if not, I can ask the kitchens to make something for us all." He offered with a shrug of his scaled shoulder, more interested in the press of Reich's own shoulder to his, his teke absently reaching to thread through Reich's hair but for a moment. He relished in the closeness for a moment, before he pulled away and began to lead the way inside. There was no sense is staying outside now, with Rostislav on his feet and talk of breakfast, among other topics. By now the fires would be stoked to their potential, ready to chase away the nipping frost which lingered in the spring air — and Aether's chill brought by the dragon's mere presence.
At the singular thought spared to the Dragon, and the mounting anticipation of what words would be shared, Aether swooped closer. Drawn in by their bond as he landed upon the ancient stone walls of the Courtyard, rumbled breath tumbling smoke and frost down the dark stones. The dragon's pupiless gaze lingered on them all and no one in particular, horned head tilted to better gaze at the equines beneath his shadow. He paused himself at the top of the old stone stairs, his head elegantly arched over his shoulder to regard the King, his Crow and his Warden.
"Difficult, yes. Terrastella I fear is no longer safe for any who fly Calligo's colours."
Acton wasn’t surprised by the arrival of his king, but he did cock a brow at the tone of the Warden’s name, ringing out like a warning bell.
It made him consider the slumped stallion again – he was still laughing, under his breath and in his spark-bright eyes, but he wondered, too. In his mind, Denocte was doing just fine with an absentee warden, but the buckskin’s mind wasn’t a terribly logical, organized, or safe place to be. With Dusk irked at them (Acton could not imagine it going so far as outright war) and Day always an enemy, maybe it set a bad precedent to have a defender so frequently in his cups.
Or maybe it just allowed for other, more creative responses to political tensions.
Luckily it wasn’t a problem the buckskin had to consider. He only watched as Rostislav staggered to his feet, bemused at the lack of recognition in the Warden’s eyes (not like Acton had been a member of the Night Court longer than Rosti had, but enough high-proof alcohol did have a way of eroding certain memories).
Breakfast – that was a good start to any day, and no part of him wanted to miss out on the conversation that was sure to accompany it.
But then there is a breath of cold, a beat of wings, and Acton’s attention is caught rapt by the dragon.
He said nothing, just stopped in his steps and stared, admiration etched in every line of his face. Here was a magnificent creature, elegant and deadly and impossible to ignore. The pungent scent of liquor was washed away by a breath of winter and for a moment Acton forgot his companions. He stood below the archway and stared up at the dragon for a long moment, until Isorath’s words caught his ear. Then Acton dropped his gaze, shook his head, and laughed.
“I don’t think we have anything to be afraid of,” he said, and cast a last glance at the dragon before following the other three inside.
His laugh boomed across the courtyard, conceding even as he heaved his muscular friend to his hooves;
"Perhaps you have me there... you do drink all too well"
"There should still be breakfast being served, if not, I can ask the kitchens to make something for us all."
Isorath's regal voice sounded, his tine sliding through Reichenbach's ebony curls so intimately that the Sovereign felt his flesh tingle slightly — it was all so new and so different with Isorath, and yet he fit in so well here within Denocte. Perhaps his porcelain lover had been destined for the Court of Stars and Smoke, always fated to find himself amongst its people. Too soon, Isorath's shoulder left his own, leaving behind a chill that made Reichenbach frown and follow until..
The roar and clatter of Aether landing made The Night King grin, buoyed and ecstatic whenever the King of Beasts drew near — he was completely wild, wholly vital and beautiful... not to mention utterly murderous. Reichenbach could not help but to wonder if this was a part of his Isorath, whether Aether held that part of his Kirin's personality that was so icy, so vicious and brutal. The thought made him grin, though that grin grew ever wider as he spied Acton's reaction to the beast.
For if Reichenbach was wild and chaotic, Acton was even more so. He must have been so drawn to the icy beast, his gaze straying and sticking to the dragon in awe. Reich glanced back at Aether and then to Isorath, brushing a kiss to his scaled cheek and passing Acton as the boy continued to stare, his laugh following them through the archway.
Warmth enveloped them as they walked inside, the fires stoked and blazing away from Aethers chill breath.
"I don't suppose you know where you've been all this time, Rost?"
Their steps echoed around them as they drew closer to the kitchen, the scents of baking bread and other deliciousness startling his belly into rumbling. The Night King paused on the threshold, saying before he entered;
Despite my drunkenness, I feel my mind starting to waken. Enough that I can see clearly, hear clearly, understand what's going on. Isorath begins to lead us inward toward the castle. My belly grumbles, clearly the thinking organ in my body. But even though I am thinking about food, I'm curious about Isorath's comment that there is not enough tea nor enough booze for the entire story. What is this crazy tale?
Before we can pass into the castle there is a great roar overhead of wings, and a chill that permeates my hide. A glance upward reveals the source -- a great, huge dragon. I'm man enough to avoid cowering, but a shiver still runs through me. I notice Acton's gaze also angled upward, and for a moment we both stare at the dragon. Since no one seems to be panicking, I assume this is a friend. I glance at Isorath and Reichenbach. "A companion?" I need not have asked, for Reich's reaction toward both Isorath (a kiss!) and Acton tells me all I need to know.
One last snort at the dragon who peacefully watches us, and I pass into the castle. We head toward the kitchens (or what I assume is the kitchens, based off the delicious smells wafting past my nostrils). I offer Reich a smile. "And I'm glad to be back. But as for where I've been...." I trail off, chuckling deeply. "I haven't the foggiest. Not Novus. Much booze, much tasting. Much sleeping. A sabbatical, Rostislav-style." That's the best I can offer, to be honest.
— and I sank beneath the amorous sadness of night.
Isorath cannot hide the blooming pride Aether's appearance has on the rest of them, his own gaze is drawn back to the magnificent creature, allowing a smirk to dance sharply upon his scales features. Aether too, seemed all too aware of his effect among Isorath's company, the mental preen is enough a indication as any. The dragon's scales and frills ripple and raise beneath the awe-inspired gazes, his wings lifted and outstretched toward the morning rays in a proud, regal display.
'Show off' Isorath's off-handed comment drifted between them like lazily curled smoke, to be swatted away by the Dragon's exhaled snort.
The brush of Reichenbach's velvet muzzle pulled him from his thoughts, the tenderness of it caused his skin to flush beneath his porcelain fur. Such affection had been so absent from his life, that his heart gave a pitiful thump when the King drew away. Fleetingly, his telekinesis reached out to tug playfully at the Monarch's shadowy locks before he caught himself.
"A companion yes. We Taeryn's built a whole civilization based upon our bond with Dragons, and our capability to fight alongside one another. If it comes to it, I will not hesitate to set him loose." Isorath elaborated with a tilt of his head, before he too followed the faint tendrils of warmth until they were enveloped by it. It had been something he had pondered on his midnight flight from Terrastella, should things devolve to a state where mere words alone would not suffice. But, he could muse over that at a later date. Instead, he lapsed into a comfortable silence, his body easily gliding alongside Reichenbach's. Content to let the conversation drift to where the Warden had disappeared to, something which he listened to with a keen interest.
"At least you managed to make it back, I don't know many stallion's who can do that." Isorath mused, electing to ignore the alarming admission that the man drank far too much. Tensions were dancing on a thin line, and having the an inebriated warden working with their champions, it caused an itch to develop beneath the Kirin's scales. Momentarily, he detached himself from Reichenbach's side in order to catch the attention of a nearby kitchen servant to request food be brought to them, before settling down by a nearby table. "So," he began nonchalantly, gilded talons tapping playfully against his scaled sides, "what was this about a story?"
