Sighing, Messalina blew a strand of ice-blonde hair from her eyes (how had it escaped from her carefully woven plaits already?) as she pondered the places the newly ascended Regent would go.
Somewhere well secluded, perhaps? She suspected that Ipomoea would seek the quiet after it all – the moment the meeting had adjourned, the new regime had been swarmed by a mob of eager citizens and fussy nobles alike, all vying for a chance to voice the thoughts they hadn’t already expressed.
She, on the other hand, had kept to the fringes of the jostling crowd as always. Fighting for an audience with the Sovereign and his Regent was a battle she’d wished to avoid. Though Messa was far from meek – 'submissive' was not a quality Mother had thought favorable, ironically – the slender dancer was soft spoken by nature and much preferred to keep her nose out of troubling affairs.
And as it turned out, she hadn’t needed to. For Somnus had come to her.
Even now, Messalina still found herself wondering whether the encounter had even happened. To say that she was shocked when the emerald-eyed King had offered her a position as Champion of Wisdom, his voice just as lilting as she remembered, would be a drastic understatement. After an unbecoming moment of silence, the pale-haired girl had recovered enough to accept the Sovereign's proposition with a smile and a graceful curtsy – what horrid manners to keep a King waiting – but in truth, her mind was reeling. Why her, and not one of the many accomplished sages who called Delumine’s libraries home?
She still could not make sense of it at all. And it was that very confusion that brought her thoughts full-circle, back to her original purpose – seeking out the flower-wreathed Regent. Besides congratulating him on his ascension, perhaps he would know what to make of her new role.
The citadel was eerily empty. Most of its inhabitants were still in the willow-shaded courtyard, no doubt offering their gushing congratulations as they attempted to sway Somnus into appointing them a position at court. Messa’s admiration of her king’s bottomless patience grew by the hour.
Down she walked, corridor after empty corridor. Her neck was beginning to stiffen from peeking into every room she passed. “But hopefully I will find him,” she sighed, cerulean eyes roving over every shadowy corner with haste, “before someone else reaches him first.”
Stimulated by a renewed sense of urgency, a sudden realization hit her square in the head. The one place she hadn't checked: the gardens. It was at the other end of the castle, and she wanted to pinch herself for not thinking of it sooner. If there was any place the Regent would go to for a moment of peace, it would be among the flowers he cherished so much.
Swiftly, she broke into a trot (no one was here to see) as she wound her way to the sprawling gardens nestled along the back of the castle grounds. She burst through the heavy iron gates wholly out of breath, strands of ivory curls flying like silk ribbons in the breeze.
Yet before she could catch her breath, a rare laugh bubbled from smiling lips when she found him there, among the roses.
“Ipomoea!" Cerulean eyes settled softly into pools of gentle carmine. Like they were home. "I've found you."
eyes so blue, I drown.
@Ipomoea
observe messa's 180 degree change in personality around po ;D
he garden was exactly as it was when he’d left it this morning: full of sunshine, full of peace. It was as if a snapshot had been taken of it and immortalized, rendering it immobilized in time despite the whirlwind of events taking place just outside. As he drifted through the rows of fauna, running the invisible fingers of his telekinesis over every leaf, every petal, feeling the plants lean subconsciously into his passing frame, he had half a mind to believe, naively, that it would always be this way. The colors would never fade, the stems might never wilt. Never would the fires of Solterra or the betrayals of Denocte come close enough to bring sickness and disease to his garden. It was his refuge, a quiet escape for Ipomoea to lose himself in when he needed a reprieve, a break from the fast-paced world he’d found himself thrust into.
Was it really so wrong to lie to himself, just this once? To fool himself into thinking he could be safe here, his flowers untouched by the offenses of the outside world?
Parents let children believe in fairy tales; he would let himself believe in this.
It still shocked him, just how quickly the day had changed. It had been only this morning when he had listened to the gentle buzz of hummingbird wings and bumblebees, had watched the butterflies drift lazily from one budding flower to the next. There had been no urgent news, nor impromptu meetings on his mind. Only the lovely fragrance of a hundred spring blossoms, the air alive with bird song and laughter.
He couldn’t hear anyone laughing now.
It would be a welcome change. All day he’d spent around people, but all of it was business and politics: Congratulations, King Somnus, Regent Po. Might I have a word with you about my rank? and I’m so sorry to hear about Kasil… if you need any help don’t hesitate to find me! I think I’m particularly suited to lead the Caretakers as their Champion… He thought he had known most everyone in their Court—so why then had he found himself surrounded by strangers, with Somnus the only comfort pressed against his side?
’At least now you’ll be stationed home more often. Perfect for learning their names.’ Leave it to Odet to be the voice of reason within Ipomoea’s chaotic and wandering mind. He agreed soundlessly, his stride slowing to a stop on its own accord.
He hadn’t been aware of the circles he was walking in until he found himself back at the same rosebush he’d started at. His breath deflated in a sigh, plucking a delicate yellow flower and holding it up to eye level with his telekinesis. Several already decorated his forehead and his mane in plaits—but what was one more to add?
“Ipomoea!”
The interruption was a welcome shock, the familiar voice kickstarting his heart into a higher gear. “Messalina,” he greeted her warmly, turning to meet the freckled mare and her sky blue gaze. Without thinking, he extended the flower to her, hesitating only a moment so that it hovered in between them. “For you, yellow is far more becoming on you than I.” He most often saw her dressed in red—he hoped she would accept this one from him.
And just like that his earlier musings were gone. He brushed a stray lock back from his eyes, tucking it neatly behind his ear as he willed his heart to settle, for his mind to focus. But it refused to settle agreeably, collapsing in upon itself like pudding. And he couldn't help the way his heart fluttered at the realization that it was by no accident she'd found him.
“You said you were looking for me?”
@messalina | "speaks" | notes: finally got this done <3
She couldn’t help the delicate smile that bloomed like silk-petaled carnations at the sight of him, peering up at her from a sea of dew-soaked flowers. It was how she’d always pictured him, whenever her thoughts had strayed to the Regent and his rose colored gaze (which was maddeningly often, lately).
Dipping her crown in polite greeting, Messalina stepped lightly across the paved stone path towards Ipomoea, stopping just a few feet shy from his slender, painted frame. Despite the many months she’d spent in his presence, the ever-proper dancer was still careful to maintain a respectable distance between them whenever they’d met. She hadn’t wanted others to get the wrong idea, of course — no, Messalina could not possibly involve the Regent in matters that would bother him and his authority.
Yet lately, the distance had become less of a formality and more so because the thought of being so near to him brought a strange stirring of nerves to the girl’s normally coolheaded demeanor.
“For you, yellow is far more becoming on you than I.”
And that certainly did not help in preserving the integrity of her already paper-thin composure.
For a moment, she merely stared wide-eyed at the offering, all the training and eloquence Mother had ingrained in her dissipating like sand in a summer breeze.
“Oh — thank you,” she said at last, wincing at her less than stellar reply as she sank into a hasty curtsy. It was entirely too formal, to curtsy to him as the yellow rose remained hovering uncertainly in mid-air. She knew that, knew it before she’d bowed and knew it bitterly when she rose again.
But Messa was too flustered to do anything else, because no one had ever gifted her with anything before and if only her heart would stop pounding like a storm in her ear.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, a tendril of her own telekinesis reaching out to place the bloom delicately against her curls. Finally, cerulean eyes ventured upwards to peer softly into the Regent’s hopeful gaze.
“You said you were looking for me?”
With a short nod, Messalina forced the breath from her lungs as a wave of placidity once again washed over her features like a tide against the shore. “Yes, I was. But before that — congratulations on your ascension to regency.” She punctuated her words with a smile, because that was the proper way to congratulate someone, was it not? Unfortunately, Mother’s training had not extended to include handling situations like these.
“As for what I sought you out for… well, it seems that I am the new Champion of Wisdom.” Her gaze drifted to settle thoughtfully on a bumblebee buzzing lazily amongst the buds. “Somnus approached me only a short while ago. I — I’d never expected for him to ask me, and was so caught off guard that the only one I thought would know anything about the matter was you.”
A note of uncertainty wavered in her voice as she looked up towards Po through a fan of white lashes. “I'm at a loss for what to do.”
er smile ignited his own, spreading like wildfire across his lips: reckless, unbidden, illuminating the fine bones of his face and setting his eyes alight. His flowers were quickly forgotten as he stepped closer to the freckled dancer, his heart leaping like grasshoppers inside of his chest. It was a strange sensation… but not unwelcome. He was becoming used to the way his stomach seemed to twist itself into knots whenever Messalina was near.
For a brief, terrifying second, he was afraid she wouldn’t accept his offering: silence stretched between them like a chasm, causing his heart to stammer to an unsteady halt. ”It’s beautiful.” Those two words were enough to kickstart it back into rhythm, and he let out a shaky breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “The garden is filled with beauty today.”
The roses were in full bloom—but he wasn’t referring to them. His cheeks were bright, red against the rosy hues of his coat, and he averted his eyes quickly, suddenly afraid of what he might see in her’s.
Po brushed his shoulder gently against a nearby rose bush, feeling the plant’s slow-moving thoughts meld itself to his. A trickling of sensations flowed through their connection: peace and contentedness and… anticipation? Humor? The flowers almost felt amused, as if they were in on some loosely-held secret that he himself was not privy to. The plant’s subconscious held no true rhyme or reason, much less words, but the impression of emotions was unmistakable the longer the connection was open.
With a quiet snort, he leaned back away from them.
“Thank you,” his voice was still hushed, but sincere. ”That means a lot.” He’d heard a hundred congratulations today—but her’s felt so much more important. As if her’s was the only one that really mattered to him, without Po having realized it before now. He smiled back at her, small and shy-like.
“Oh, Messa! That’s wonderful!” He couldn’t help the enthusiasm from spilling uninhibited past his lips, his smile growing until it was broad and split nearly ear to ear. “You must be thrilled!”
Only, she seemed so…melancholic wasn’t quite the word, but Po couldn’t quite place her mood. He listened to her next words carefully, ears pricking forward in interest. Somnus hadn’t told him about the promotion—but the news made his heart leap a little higher all the same. He trusted the dunalino, and besides that, it felt simply right to him.
Even if Messalina appeared far less certain herself.
“…Why not?” After an entire day of careful rehearsals and speeches and “business talks”, his tact disappeared in the blink of an eye. With a start, he tried to regain his composure. “I mean… what part makes you so uncertain?” He wondered if she had accepted the position yet; almost selfishly, he hoped she had, if only because it would mean she’d be home more often in the coming weeks.
“…For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be great. You already are,” the words slipped out uninvited, but oddly enough, Po found he didn’t want to take them back. His eyes looked shyly up at her from beneath a heavy layer of dark lashes, wishing only to see her smile again.
The flowers always seemed to brighten whenever he was near.
Messalina was certain she wasn’t just imagining it — the first time the girl had noticed was when she had stumbled upon the then-Emissary tending to the gardens one summer evening. Peeking slyly (she would’ve felt guilty for spying, had she not convinced herself afterwards that she’d been wandering the gardens anyway, and had merely decided not to bother Ipomoea when she’d spotted him) from behind a rose bush, she’d noticed how the blooms clung to him like how her hair clung to the satin shifts she oftentimes wore.
She hadn’t thought much of it at the time — there had been a gentle, almost melancholy breeze that evening — but the observation had stuck to her like a dandelion seed, and as Messa watched the Regent now, the thought bloomed and bloomed until she felt compelled to act upon it. Her lips parted —
“The garden is filled with beauty today.” — and closed again as cerulean eyes darted towards him in fluttering surprise. Is he...
Ivory curls rustled as Messalina waved the ridiculous notion aside with a withering smile. Impossible. Surely Ipomoea was referring to the flowers, and rightfully so — they were in full bloom today, lovely and pristine. And… on the off chance he had been referring to her… empty compliments had always followed the pale dancer to every gala, every dinner she’d attended by Mother’s side. How many times had she done the same?
Empty words, empty eyes. Empty hearts.
“Surely they only bloom so well because of a certain someone,” she responded at last, a teasing smile dragging the corners of her lips up, up, up. She was careful to keep her tone steady, her brows smooth. She was careful to overlook the Regent’s flushing cheeks, the way his eyes refused to meet hers.
Casual smalltalk — that’s all this was. That’s all this was.
The yellow rose felt cool against her neck as his voice pulled her from her thoughts. Messa. No one except for Po ever called her that, and hearing it never failed to spark a jolt of tingly pleasure to spread like hot butter through her bones. She bit her lip to keep the burn off her cheeks. The effect he had on her would never cease to bewilder her.
Ivory hooves echoed against the stones as she began to walk languidly down the path, her muzzle ghosting over the petals of the flowers she passed.
“… I haven’t ever been entrusted with anything before.” She paused under a patch of warm sunlight. The bright rays bleached Messalina’s curls a blinding white, and her lashes sparkled like gossamer as they fluttered softly closed.
“My mother — not my real mother, I was orphaned at birth — despite raising me as her own, never truly trusted me, I suspect. Even after I obeyed her every wish, met her every expectation, it was never… enough.” She hated the sound of her voice, how unsure it was, as the words poured unbidden from her throat. “And after everything, she still…”Betrayed our kingdom. Left me behind to burn.
Her tongue clamped down on the words. What would he think if he knew what Mother did? If he knew how much Messalina still wished to see her again, despite everything?
He will begin to hate me, like they did. Like everyone did.
Her eyes were as hard as sapphires when she opened them. “If one tries their hardest, and it is still not enough, maybe it means they can't be trusted. Maybe there's a reason they never deserved it.” If even Mother never trusted her, how could Somnus do the opposite so easily?
She couldn't understand.
eyes so blue, I drown.
@Ipomoea
her feelings are all over the place, it gave me whiplash writing it
e loves the way her eyes flicker up to meet his in surprise, how the blue seems to brighten and brighten until they match the sky overhead. His smile is shy, but he doesn’t take it back - won’t take it back. The words had surprised him nearly as much as they had surprised her, but he meant them.
His heart flutters in anticipation, waiting for her reply. For a moment he’s afraid she won’t, and his brain scrambles for something else to say, something that wasn’t quite so bold as what he’d already said. But then she saves him, and her smile is teasing and light and pulls the corners of her lips up high.
And was that a blush he saw, creeping across the pale skin of his cheeks?
He brushes the notion aside. Perhaps it’s the heat of the day, or merely his imagination.
But when she stepped into the sunlight, he couldn’t help but catch his breath. It crowns her in a halo of gold, turning her hair pale as snow and her eyes warm as honey. She’s dressed in light, with sunbeams for eyes and a captivating aura, and even for all the love and care Po has put into his garden, she’s still the brightest flower to be found.
Even the sadness in her tone, the pensive way she studies the flowers, draws him nearer. Her voice trails off, leaving more unsaid, but he’s afraid to ask. He can only watch her from behind his dark lashes, stealing glances, patiently waiting for her to go on. He hopes she doesn’t notice the way he drifts closer then stops; the distance is unbearable, but he gives her her space anyway.
And his heart wants to break inside of his chest, but he won’t let it, willing it silently to keep beating, if only to hear her say more.
"Maybe not," he says slowly. "Maybe it just means that all they need is a little more time," As he speaks, the magic is trickling slowly out of him. He reaches for a nearby flower, not to pluck, but simply to hold. Its buds are still tightly closed, as if afraid to open, hiding their beauty between folded petals.
But at his coaxing, they begin to unfurl: slowly at first, hesitant even, but still they fall away one by one.
"-And a little help." He peeks at her again, willing her with his eyes to understand, to see what he could see. "You don’t have to do it alone; we could help each other."
@messalina | "speaks" | notes: better late than never c’x
