— you will ache as I ache—
tenderly, tragically, beautifully.
The baths are blessedly peaceful, save for the quiet conversation which eminated from the kirin's currently occupying it as if they owned the place. It reminded Isorath of an echo of his life back in Vectaeryn, of the days spent beside spa's and pools much grander than this, in good company where the laughter is oh so very light.
But this is decidedly not Vectaeryn, and the times are not sweetness and light, and they would have to make do.
Steam curled and wisped from the surface of the large bath, as the mild scents of Eucalyptus and Lavender permeated the air pleasantly. Isorath languidly shifted, his head pressed against a towel wrapped pillow as his hair splayed in lazy curls around him as he peered at his other two companions.
Stress washed off him as water did upon the shore, slowly reclaiming bits of himself that had been lost. In the company of his nearest and dearest, he allowed the walls to come down, just for the moment. Here he is just Isorath, not Emissary to the Night Court, not the paramour to he Night King.
Today it is just them. Enjoying themselves like they used to, deliberately and pointedly ignoring the world of woe that awaited them outside.
"Enjoying yourselves?" He hummed pleasantly, a forelimb pulled to rest against his chest as he moved to better look at them from his chaise. "I have missed this."
NOTE; set a day or so after the closing of the Gates. SPA DAY. TAGS: @Jude @Vaella
"this here is your speech colour!
A day of relaxing was just what this small group of kirins needed. Her head rested atop a towel shaped into a pillow as her eyes semi drooped, the steam and heat washing over her pale body. She idly listened to the other two that were near, taking note of her cousin for a moment. He did not mention the stress of his job as Emissary or the troubles she so clearly could tell were on his mind. Still Vaella did not voice her concerns just yet..let them relax a bit longer.
A long breath left her lips as she lifted her head slightly to glance towards her cousin when he spoke. A faint smile gracing her lips and a chuckle left her. "I must admit I've missed days like this." She agreed with a subtle nod as she shook her head a bit to get parts of her long mane from her eyes. The young woman didn't pretend to understand any of the business between Denocte and the outside courts, she also didn't rightly care. She was comfortable here so if the gates were closed it just meant no riff raff could come through and ruin her peace. If a war did happen she'd be rightly annoyed, she did not come here to conquer as was her birthright. No..she was simply here as a personal spy for her aunt and King.
But today was not a day for war or closing gates, no today was about relaxing and reminding her cousin he was not alone.
My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.
It seems an age ago that they had last done something remotely like this.. Jude had been in dire need of a bath upon his arrival to Denocte and he had scrubbed away the first layers of fitlth the night prior, but it never felt quite enough. At the mere mention of a spa day, he had leaped at the thought. His tears were replaced with smiles and and he felt for the first time in a while, truly relaxed.
Whilst his companions lounged, Jude enjoys the warmth of the baths. He rests submerged with merely his eyes and nose surfaced. There are no flowers entwined in his hair, he is entirely bare and exposed. Tendrils of pink float on the surface of the water and his breaths come in slow and easy. It eased the aching of his bones from the days of travel between Terrastella and Denocte. He absently lowers his nose and begins to blow bubbles, listening to the noise that is almost cathartic.
When Isorath opens his mouth, his eyes slowly open and he stares at his friend. It is good to see him relax, to see him tucked away from a world that demonized him for sins he never committed. Though his feelings have settled into something more steady, less obsessive he doesn’t admire Isorath any less. He blinks a couple of times and then lifts his face from the water to take a breath.
“Reminds me of home,” he says softly and absently shifts his position, letting his tail lift briefly out of the water only to fall back into it. “I needed to get away from them.” He murmurs and turns his head towards the door, prejudice slipping through the surface as he thinks of the meeting in Dusk, but decides to push it from his mind and he turns towards Isorath. “I think I want to take up painting again.” He muses, not having touched his brush in the long months since his departure from Vectaeryn.
— you will ache as I ache—
tenderly, tragically, beautifully.
There is an amused look, in those lilac pools of his, when the sound of bubbles eminated from Jude's spot within the bath. His head tilted a fraction to the side to better look at the petite Kirin. Here surrounded by steam and walls which keep prying eyes away, they can shift out of the skin they have had to adapt in a World that is not Vectaeryn. Where their royal blood counts for naught, the history of their ancestors erased in the ignorance and unknowingness of strangers they are forced to co-exist beside. Their achievements are just words, clever things written haphazardly on corners of books or said in idle conversation. For a moment, he felt that Rael was right, to close of his borders and keep them sheltered.
The World is far too cruel, even for the most stalwart of them all. They do not understand, they cannot understand, and their is something painfully tragic in this knowledge. As he looked out at Vaella and Jude, that they are relics and trinkets in this place. Unappreciated and villainized.
I must admit I've missed days like this.
Reminds me of home.
Home.
Something constricted painfully in his chest at the word. Home is the smell of ocean wind and myrrh, the crackle of magic skittering across the spine and dragon song. It's marble halls and velvet banners. It's the sound of Naehra's laughter and Thalsian's raucious gruffaw, the clatter of cousins young and old filling the vacuum that would be oh so deep if they were not there at all. It's Aesthia's sly smile, beneath the curls of her silver gold hair, as she looks out at her family with pride and love.
Tighter and tighter, like a vice, do those slithering vines wrap around his lungs and his heart, uncaring in their thorns — that when Jude mentions them, the huff of laughter from his pale lips is choked and sputtered. All at once he's tired and alive, so very glad and so very sad the next. He would laugh if he could, but he's afraid that the cadence would be all wrong, warbled and disjointed. A dragon plucked right out of the sky and sent hurdling to the ground.
Home.
Home away from home was supposed to be Terrastella, and then Denocte. But it is a poor substitute of his land shrouded in a smoking sea and filled with music, magic and dragons.
I think I want to take up painting again.
Isorath has never cried, well, he has. Once or twice. It is not a pretty thing, it is ugly and raw, and it comes now unwanted and uncaring. Pandora's box opened, the maelstrom in the middle of the sea, a swan singing it's last song with it's head atop it's mate. Fat teardrops in the shape of pears well at the corner of his eyes as his breath is forced poorly into some kind of thing that is decidedly not calm, sucked between set teeth and a bitten lip. Not by a long shot, is this calm or slow, it is fast and brutal. His heart recoiled and a part of it snapped, a whip which struck at his insides again and again. He would rather be angry, a part of him wailed. Anger is what he can deal with, anger is what he knows best.
In anger he can function and find some semblance of even footing, he can wrap himself in his silks and gold and sneer, channel the worst of him into barbed remarks or into the edge of a finely crafted blade. In sadness, all he can do is lay there, and allow the ugly, ruined and damaged parts of him to bleed out upon the floor for others to slip upon. Others may have found solace in crying, theraputic and healing. To Isorath it is a sword across his throat, a spear within his chest again. A weak thing fashioned to be exploited.
The last time he had cried, Attune had come to him upon his pyre and made him anew. Would she be laughing now? A sad and worrisome thing, that he seemed to have ended right back where he had in his last life?
At least here, he thinks, he will not give them the satisfaction of seeing him splintered and cracked. His ichor is gold and red, the colorless tears which stream from his face, the clenched teeth and set jaw.
"...Y-you should paint me like one of your Sunsyia Girls, Jude." He managed to get out between sobs, distinctly remembering that Jude had mentioned painting. He is grasping here, for anything to stop from from the onslaught that washes up cruelly on his insides and pours out of him. Anything at all.
NOTE; woops. TAGS: @Jude @Vaella
"this here is your speech colour!
Vaella did not have to look at Isorath to know that he was in tears. No she could hear him. The young princess turned her attention away from Jude to look upon her cousin, more like another brother to her and her heart ached. It started to crack for him, to hear him like this and see it. She couldn't even remember the last time she had ever seen him cry, it was as foreign to her as these Novus natives were.
She wanted to reach over and touch his cheek with her own but instead she simply raised her tail and gently touched his foreleg. It was a silent act of comfort, being one more of action than speaking how she truly felt. A trait she had inherited from her parents.
"Be sure to get his good side, Jude. I'd hate to have to stare at his ugly mug for very long." Vaella gently teased as she glanced to Jude for a moment, a slow smile forming across her lips. She did not know how to help him except to be here for him, even as she tried to think of a distraction..it occurred to her what to do. With a soft breath she started to hum, a low and soft song she used to know from her childhood. A lullaby that was well known in Vectaeryn and one Vaella's mother used to sing to her when she was restless or upset. She hoped it would calm Isorath this time instead.
My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.
Jude has had different perceptions of Isorath through the time they’ve known each other.. But this, this is never something he has seen before. Tears are familiar.. But not on the features of his sunburst prince. He can remember that smile.. That smile that could shine so brightly it would render Caligo terrified, light that the sun envied. Now.. He is draped in starlight and darkness. Darkness doesn’t suit Isorath. He is gilded and shimmering, sunlight spun into white. Divinity isn’t even a word that comes near the beauty of Isorath, but Jude is not a poet.. But Jude has certain things he can fathom. As he watches the feral fire of Isorath simmer down into an ember gasping for air, he draws onto his own memories. He is accustomed to being porcelain and easily shattered.. But he becomes an ironhide.
He lifts himself from the baths and lets the water drip off his hide. Jude shakes and then doesn’t waste time moving towards his friend, even as he splurts out a weak attempt at a joke. For a moment he considers focusing solely on Isorath, to fully give into his need to nurture and care.. But he instead nods and moves to be near his friend, moves to bury his tiny body into his larger one.. I am here… I am here.. An unmuttered promise, a unspoken vow.. He is there and he sees Isorath, every gorey bit with the smoke and splendor peeled back. Jude has never been brilliant. He is a stitched something with bleeding edges.. And he bleeds in a way so different than each of his companions.Both are proud, stalwart figures, whilst he crumbles at the wrong look. The moments of razor blade edges have always been few and far between, but his friends are the fastest way to sharpen his temper.
“I will paint you so magnificent that the stars will be shrouded,” Jude whispers, “Capture every edge of your firespun self..” He isn’t good at offering distraction, so instead he offers weak attempts. “Make it something to rival the beauty of the muse.” He looks down at his friend and then reaches to offer a brush against the side of his face, a tender brush of his lips. He continues speaking, letting his voice be the distraction, to try and pull Isorath out from whatever webs clamor over him. “I think clothed in sunbeams and starbursts is the only appropriate way to depict you, no?” He looks at the prince and smiles, tender.. Tender and soft as he is. While Isorath thrives in rage, Jude thrives in his weakness and it shall all he knows.. And he knows the vitality of weakness.. That is now a lesson he wishes to teach. All he will offer is the safety of his small embrace and the brush of his lips.
“I think as well I will paint you on a backdrop of the morning sun,” Jude says and looks towards Isorath. “For darkness doesn’t suit you, Isorath.” He offers the smallest ebb of a smile, “you are far too bright.. It will help you stand out against the shadow of your king.. And then I will capture Vaella.” He says and smiles towards his other friend as he tries to keep his voice going, keep the sound of a distraction. “You I think are suited for lavender sunset, the hues of a final light casting on your white flesh. Wings spread wide and smirking, for we all know you are never without a quip or retort.” Yes he can keep talking, of course he can.. He can keep his voice steady. “You’re not sunbeams but you are twilight.. Beautiful, resonant, and a mirky in between.” He says and keeps his eys on Vaella.. But internally he can’t help but wonder.. What is he himself exactly?
— you will ache as I ache—
tenderly, tragically, beautifully.
Crying had never suited him, Dragon's do not cry. They do not shed tears and let others see their weaknesses, their fractured bodies or their frustrations. They bottle it, they swallow it down and make it insignificant to their existence. Crush it beneath talon and dragon flame and let it serve as a warning.
But there is something in the audacity of it all, the situation he had found himself in. The ridiculousness of it all, that forced the tears out of him without permission. Let them come out as wretched and horrible. The Prince is embarassed most of all, at how sudden he had plummeted toward the earth, unable to catch himself before he inevitably crumpled into it.
How dare, he wanted to rasp. How dare he be brought down from his throne. How dare they try and smudge his immaculate visage with dirty smears. They do not get the pleasure to watch the hairline fractures opening up upon his immaculate visage, and for that he is grateful. He will pour molten gold into them and rise because he must, because it is not in his nature to lay in his own ruin. But it is hard, right now. In the maelstrom of it all.
It started with the delicate, soft touch of a tail against his hind leg, and instinctively his own leonine tail coiled — searching until it found, and wrapped itself around Vaella's own. A familiar song is hummed to life between them all, and it brings memories of nights spent curled up in chambers with his cousins, restless and energetic until one of the adults had come to them and sang them the very same song.
It's a comfort, and for a moment his tumultous heart slowed it's lament within his chest. Instead, pressed against the ivory bars to better hear the sweetness.
Skittering skin is calmed by the feel of a small body pressed against his own, soothing and warm and gentle. Jude is rose petals in summer, the cherry blossoms over the water gardens in spring. Water color paintings carefully breathed to life. Isorath's eyes remain squeezed shut all the while, not daring to crack open. Not yet. In the self-made darkness things are better.
Never in his life has he been more grateful for them, how effortlessly they float to him to pick him up. To return the love and protectiveness he felt for them so openly. His heart sighs and his breathing stuttered, as Jude's words reach his delicately curled ears. They pick the shards out of his skin with such care, tell him that he's firespun and greater than the muses. A part of him wanted to quip, you flatterer, in his usual tone. He can't, not quite yet. Even as he tried to get up, his eyes do manage to finally open and stare into those spring green hues that the blush kirin has.
Wings spread wide and smirking, for we all know you are never without a quip or retort.
A snort of amusement finally broke through the sobs, and the larger kirin moved to pull Jude into a full embrace. Coiling around the smaller body and allowing his rivers of silver hair to pour over them both, a white wing wrapped tight around the petite frame as he smiled. And smiled. And smiled. A shattered thing, but there are cracks of sunlight there. Lilac is brighter now, even if the white around them is red, the color of wisteria flowers in the sun. His face felt puffy and blotchy, but he cannot bring himself to care. Later he might.
"...Perhaps you know me a little too well..." Isorath breathed, fond and tired. A wing tightening it's embrace around Jude for a second before it relaxed once more. "But, dear Cousin..." He began in the next hastily sucked in breath, his words aren't even, nor are they perfect. They do however, carry a shred of his usual cadence and for that he is grateful. Urged by the love he is surrounded with, he tried. "I have no bad sides to capture. I'm flawless head to toe, fortunately."
He noticed how Jude did not include himself in his paintings of the Royal kirins in his presence, and his face twists. Jude is near and dear to them both, he cannot ascend both of them without expecting them to exalt him in return. "And you, you are the gentleness of spring." Isorath began slowly, as he mulled over his words in his fractured and scattered mind. "The blush which coats pale petals, the dew upon the grass. Dawn as it wakes on a cloudless day upon the water. The smell of blossoms and fresh honey, and watercolor paints upon the canvas. But you are also her ferocity, the thorns hidden beneath the rose, the spines upon a delicate stem, unafraid to bite if you must." Again he smiled, and it's faint and gentle and unlike the sharpness of him.
"I will make sure you have your gardens again, and your paintings." His gaze turned to Vaella, his tail giving hers a gentle squeeze as it curled around hers further. "And I will make sure that we practice like we used to out in the courtyard, with our swords and magic. It will not be home...but we will make it work."
NOTE; woops. TAGS: @Jude @Vaella
"this here is your speech colour!
Vaella felt Isorath's tail wrap around hers and smiled just a tad, continuing to hum the familiar song. Her eyes closed for the moment as she just let the song carry between them all, not a big person on emotions just as much as her cousin but..this was different. For Isorath and Jude she could be like this, vulnerable..soft even. For the outside world she was distant and cold as steel, with a hidden fire that showed in her eyes constantly to her enemies.
Then it was Jude who came to comfort Isorath next, her eyes opened slowly to look over to the blush colored kirin. Her friend and family. Each of them were hers and she'd sacrifice much for them if it meant their happiness. The realization of that hit her like a ton of bricks, her song coming to an end not that she noticed she had stopped. She was very quiet, her ears twitching every now and then to listen to Jude's comforting words to Isorath. How..poetic they sounded.
With a start she snapped her head to look over at Isorath when he spoke to her, orange-gold eyes watching him quietly. "Flawlessly flawed perhaps. But that is one of the many things I love about you cousin." Vaella's response comes soft and with a tiny hint of a smile, there was no teasing in her tone this time. Just honest truth. Flawed her cousin may be but that did not shatter her love for him. The same could be said about Jude as she turned towards her friend.
"I am not a poet by anyone's standards and Isorath pretty much summed up how we both feel. But..you are so much more than how you see yourself, Jude. Both of you. As big as our family is there are only a few I ever felt I could open myself fully to..and they are here with me right now." She looked between them both with yet another soft smile pulling across her lips. "I'll hold you to that dear cousin. It's been far too long since we practiced together."
Could've built a garden from all the flowers that you gave me
· · ·
They are good people.. Good people who deserve reprieve from the atlas burden resting upon their shoulders. Each of them has seen a cruelty, each of them had wickedness manifest but they would not bring up such things now.. This is a sacred place and the ghouls did not belong here. Jude did not think of the poison prince that sunk his teeth into his mind and let his venom destroy the soft petals of Jude’s bloom. He had never spoken of those days, not even to his most trusted companions.
Jude feels the embrace of Isorath’s wing, once that might’ve caught a breath in his throat, seized his chest and the walls would’ve closed in.. He watches as Isorath’s eyes remain sealed, blocking out the light of the room around them. For a moment he contemplates weeping as well, to let the tears roll easily in an empathetic fit for his friend. He contemplates kissing the tears but then he remembers that is not his place.. That is the Night King’s duty and he still cowers in the shadow of Reichenbach, a shadow who’s name he’s only heard and a face he’s never seen. So instead he lets the smallness of his body rest against Isorath, a soft I’m here.. You are no Atlas, the world is not your weight to bear.
“Is there such thing as too well?” Jude asks lightly and a smile peels over his lips. That gentle grip is comforting.. Isorath is returning to himself. The fractures will surely fill in with gold and he will be more bright and beautiful than before. Nothing can burn them, nothing can tarnish them.. They are flame, they are dragons and the world shall cower in the shadow of their wings. Even in the land of smoke and stars, they shine.
When Isorath speaks of Jude, he might have turned more pink than his hair. He will never see what they see. His own reflection is distorted in the green of his eyes and contorted into something hideous. The winged ferocity of his friends cast a shadow so long he felt he might never break out from under it and he is comfortable there.
“I’m sure even the flawless Isorath has a side that is slightly less flawless,” Jude says with a smile and then stares ahead until he hears Isorath speak again.. Promising him paintings and gardens. His mind begins to wander, wander towards the idea of gardens.. Of potential and he ruminates on these thoughts before speaking.
“I wonder if I can converse with the other healers here.. Imagine if we could craft a greenhouse,” Jude says and looks towards Isorath. “It would certainly make it easier to grow herbs.. Among other things.” Poison and roses he muses.
