asterion*
It’s the hush that makes him turn first, the silence that had swallowed up the room when only a moment ago there had been the background-noises of talk, of laughter, of clinking glasses and footsteps on stone.
But when Calliope approaches, there is only the snap and hiss of the fires, and the battered king turns to see his unicorn, yellow light flickering over blood that looks black in the dim. Almost it could be mistaken for mud – save for the sharp copper, a tang he can almost taste.
You’re alive, she says, and he wonders at the glint of lightning in her eyes. Is she surprised, is she sorry? She had left without a goodbye, and he searches his heart now for feeling but finds only more weariness, an empty well.
“For now,” the bay says with a grim smile, and he does not reach out to touch her the way he had before. So many things have changed he can’t track the pieces anymore.
Once they’re through this, he promises himself, he will gather them up again.
Her statement then is not only for him, but he continues to watch her (is unable to do anything else,) the way her electric gaze touches the others in turn. Asterion speaks before either of the others can offer an answer, guilty for the way he wants those eyes to turn to him again.
“A rain that can’t be anything but god-sent.” There is a bite to his tone; he remembers well Calliope’s lessons on gods. Her distrust does not seem wrong to him, now. The details he does not go into – surely she had seen them for herself on her way to the capital.
“Why did you come, Calliope? It looks like your court is no more free of disaster than ours.”
He thinks that theirs must be worse – for no rain would cause such blood and scars.
@Raam @Relic @Calliope
But when Calliope approaches, there is only the snap and hiss of the fires, and the battered king turns to see his unicorn, yellow light flickering over blood that looks black in the dim. Almost it could be mistaken for mud – save for the sharp copper, a tang he can almost taste.
You’re alive, she says, and he wonders at the glint of lightning in her eyes. Is she surprised, is she sorry? She had left without a goodbye, and he searches his heart now for feeling but finds only more weariness, an empty well.
“For now,” the bay says with a grim smile, and he does not reach out to touch her the way he had before. So many things have changed he can’t track the pieces anymore.
Once they’re through this, he promises himself, he will gather them up again.
Her statement then is not only for him, but he continues to watch her (is unable to do anything else,) the way her electric gaze touches the others in turn. Asterion speaks before either of the others can offer an answer, guilty for the way he wants those eyes to turn to him again.
“A rain that can’t be anything but god-sent.” There is a bite to his tone; he remembers well Calliope’s lessons on gods. Her distrust does not seem wrong to him, now. The details he does not go into – surely she had seen them for herself on her way to the capital.
“Why did you come, Calliope? It looks like your court is no more free of disaster than ours.”
He thinks that theirs must be worse – for no rain would cause such blood and scars.
@Raam @Relic @Calliope
