sometimes i don't wanna be here
it's a living nightmare, i don't wanna be scared
looking at myself in the god damn mirror
things will be alright, you just gotta say a prayer
Panic clung to him, choking up his throat and drying out his mouth for every second he was here. It had been eighteen minutes, forty-three seconds, and four milliseconds since Syn had forcefully pulled him into this 'outing'. All kinds of lies about him needing to make friends and be social. So far, he was hiding in the shadows while Syn continued to pour drinks down his throat. Attempts to loosen him up apparently. Foolish attempts they were. He has had five shots, two beers and three random fruity drinks shoved onto him so far. And the bitch he called his best friend didn't look ready to stop either. He'd passed the last fruity drink to a flighty dame who had slobbering a kiss to the exposed ebony of his right cheek before staggering away. Disgusting.
He shot a sneer at his best friend, eyes harsh in their dual color, one pastel pink, the other a rich baby blue. "Absynthe. I wish to retire for the ni-" He wasn't given a chance to finish his sentence as he was pulled onto the dancing by the fae, "Absynthe!" He hissed in dismay as she kept him corralled, even as he stood awkwardly among the dancing crowd, "I absolutely despise you, Absynthe Rose Froste." He snarked as he finds an opening and escapes.
He loses sight of her for another thirty minutes, but is still being passed drinks by the bartender he suspects is in cohorts with his best friend. He finally chooses to escape, stumbling through the crowds, searching for Syn. He was going home damn it. She appears out of nowhere, cooing concern and he suddenly finds himself set down by the bonfire, heat reflecting off the charmed cloak he wears like a safety blanket, and he glares as she passes him another drink, "Absynthe, I do not wish to ingest more alcohol, I wish to retire for the eveni-" He is startled when she tries to tug at his hood, "It is staying on, Syn." He warns before his muzzle drops open in shock when she informs him that she was off to spend some time with a stallion, and expected him to mingle.
She disappears, leaving the mage slack jawed, his blue and pink eyes wide, and a mixture of black, purple and blue locks slightly visible from the edge of his hood from wherebSyn managed to flip it back enough to expose a little of his cream and onyx face. "By the grace of Lady Morrigan, I'm going to turn that fae into a newt." He huffy, pushing the alcohol away with one pale blue hoof, but staying down, eyes staring at the bonfire, attempting to sober up a little before he would try to journey back to his workshop. At least by the fire there appeared to be less bodies to press close to him. And as those odd eyes swept the crowds, he did have to admit the men flashing about wasn't so bad to look at either. But that was likely the alcohol talking. He didn't need relations anyway. It would just distract him from his work. He was better off alone. His gaze returns to the fire with a shake of his head, feeling his horns catch on the fabric of the enchanted hood, annoyance crossing his face as he restraightens the cloak, hopefully before anyone could catch sight of his unfortunately memorable looks.
everything is more beautiful because we are doomed
The Night Court is full of many people and colors and, most of all, it is full of many parties. Every night is a celebration of life and rebirth and friends and who knows what else. The stalls are brimming with activity, the dancers hum and twirl gaily in their viper dens, the people are laughing on the streets. Some days, it is hard to tell if they are drunk or not, but in a world so whimsical, he is not entirely sure if that really matters.
Winter, Alecto would tell you, is the favorite of the court. Night, you see, is long. Caligo is closer under the cover of stars that watch as she does, and when the moon is silent or close to – tonight it is barely a sliver of a smile in the sky above – they are the loudest. The merriest. He does not know if Caligo is a deity – she is not his deity, nor would she ever truly belong in his pantheon. But he knows the way her people love her, and that is inspiring. What figure she must be to cause such a stir in their breast, such warmth in their faces when laughter flows as easily as the alcohol and good cheer. It is easy to think her holy then if nothing else.
He moves between bodies like a snake, winding easily among them and through them, pressing against those with charming smiles and even more charming skin. Some notice, some do not. He does not mind being a shadow merely passing by. They all wear their secrets as silk gloves, present for parties, and never talked about. Tonight, they are hidden deeper, for there is no room for fine dining and silk gloves. Tonight, there is color that fills the streets and it is bright and it is beautiful and it screams of life being lived, not hidden away and left to rot. Not stuck behind ornately carved marble doors that are barred every eve for fear of usurpers and other unwanted scum. (Those days he does not miss the most.)
Where there is so much color, it is the softness of one, the absence of another, that pulls him closer and snags him nearer a fire. Just a glimmer of pinks and creams, a flesh of curling horns and then nothing – the absence of it all behind a draped cloak that would be better on a frog’s bride than it would whoever that is – has Alecto veering to the left. He comes up beside the other like a spring shower – quickly and gently and ever so sweet. Peppermint, cinnamon, clove, something foreign and strange and warm radiates from him. It is the smell of home. It is the smell of his mother and his sister and his dreams as they died. It is Alecto in all his mystifying glory as he pauses near enough to Savannah to catch the last of his words.
Should he balk? Magic, it is not so uncommon a thing that one could not turn another into a newt. However, a newt did seem a bit…extensive. One golden brow raises as he looks sidelong at the cloak. "And then what should you do with her? There are little dragons that would love a newt, and I do imagine it has been ages since they’ve been so well fed.” Serious. Everything about him is deadly serious as though they are talking of something like a funeral or a wedding, a celebration that requires all their attention to plan and make just perfect so that whoever she is (the newt, he would guess if he had to – which he does not care to go so far as to do) does not have to worry about a single detail of it. ”Or perhaps you’d keep her as a trinket? I could make her into the most lovely brooch for your…” another sidelong glance down his nose, a slight grimace, and then ”clothes…” That is, unfortunately, all he could call it other than a rag. One should not insult another entirely if they were proceeding in a verbal exchange. Well, not usually.
And there was something of pink and cream that could be lovely underneath it all. Something that he now cannot see, but would very much enjoy learning more of when given the chance. It is an opportunity he, selfishly, will not let go, not yet, and so he proceeds to keep to himself the way the cloak is unsightly and unshapely and all-around unflattering. All in all, it is a disaster forcing him into grabbing some sort of cider someone is carrying on a tray that is passing all too quickly by them. If he must be near such a mess, he’d rather not remember the details too clearly, just enough to be charming about it should he ever have the unfortunate meeting again.
sometimes i don't wanna be here
it's a living nightmare, i don't wanna be scared
looking at myself in the god damn mirror
things will be alright, you just gotta say a prayer
Where one may find a charming array of characters interacting, laughing, dancing, drinking and celebrating, Savannah felt them closing in on him. He felt every press of a body briefly against his own like some sort of hellish nightmare threatening to burn him alive. Some were made for this scene, and perhaps, had he been raised by his parents, a social creature may exist in his place. Instead, the stallion had been raised all through his foalhood in literal isolation. Some days he hadn't even seen a maid. Just books, and studies, and magic.
Socializing is an art form that requires talent, practice and comfort levels large enough to succeed in most social settings- Savannah's upbringing saw him with a distinct lack of both. Sure Syn had her heart in the right place, wanting to see him happy, making friends, getting out of his workshop. But her 'throw him in the deep end and he'll learn to swim' method was a bust. There was no way he would approach anyone.
The sudden arrival of a stranger proved he may not need to. The stallion peered from beneath his hood at a being who wore gold as if he'd showered in it, a bespeckled arrangement upon his pelt as if someone had grabbed a handful of gold dust and blew it in his direction, painting his ebony hide with luster. What was a man like this doing so out of the fold of the crowd where he must surely shine Ike a star among peasant, a priceless gem among mere rocks.
Did he know, sense,, Savannah himself was but a geode, unopened and hiding his own sparkle deep with in? He suspects this won't be a brief encounter when this galactic being turns his attention towards him, though Savannah is startled enough to snort in laughter at the man's words. Feed Syn to the dragons? Wait . . . "Forgive my deplorable lack of knowledge on a new location, but did you say dragons? There are dragons here?" There was a brush of restless excitement at the thought, despite being delivered in a cultured tone with an accent so old it had been locked away by time. Messy work, time travel. Especially when it involved dimension jumping. "I don't imagine it would be dreadfully poor for the dragons to stomach such a thing, and I would be a rotten friend for subjecting her to such a gruesome demise." As if it would be a truer crime that he wouldn't be able to feed her to dragons, his tone rueful.
The idea of turning her into a brooch how ever. He did pause, quickly checking his appearance, alarmed at the use of the word clothes, "Clothing? You must be referring to the enchanted cloak I don in public. It should keep my appearance as well as attire proper obscured from the public eye. Regardless, as tempting as it is to permit you to fastener her as a brooch, I fear she'd never shut up about the indignity of it all." He sighed, faux forlorn, "I would hate to waste an enchantment on her anyways, in this lesser powered stage."
He was surprised this being had settled by him, and now as he had a moment of silence, fetching his own drink, another already; from a passing wait staff, he quietly observed the stranger. "You'll have to forgive my confusion, but you strike me as the sort to be the life of the party. Yet you've settled over here where the air is quieter. The number of individuals, few? Why?" The mysterious being asked. Raising his glass to his muzzle, sipping the alcohol even as he made a face at the sting. Couldn't there be just one bar that served old fashioned mead? He distracts himself from the strong alcohol by stealing another glance at this glorious being, before awkwardly taking a stab in the dark, "My name, by the way, is Savannah." The mage added, words more casual than his pounding heart and struggle to socialize would suggest. So he threw back the rest of his cup of liquid courage, wondering how much he would need to keep up with the godly being who had chosen to rest near him.
Likely not enough, even now Savannah suspected they were too different, a shade all but blurred out before the glory of a sun.
everything is more beautiful because we are doomed
A slight start shows in the shiver of the cloak as it slides against what Alecto can only assume is the rest of this creature’s body. Quickly following is that wry half-smile, one edge of his mouth turning up in amusement, even as his eyes wander back to the people they both now watch. Bodies press nearer; Alecto moves to stand slightly more forward than Savannah, turning him just so, preventing further jostling and alarm until at least part of the mystery is solved. No matter how much of an eyesore it may turn out to be in the end. He is, if nothing, curious for the evening and entertained. Alecto lives for that rush, for something to pique his curiosity and pull him from the monotony of whatever is left in and of his life. One should not live a life so mundane and quiet – he aims not to whenever he can.
So he says nothing as he blocks the people (save those with libations for grab), and instead looks to the other when soft words tumble from softer lips. It is a mouth half shadowed, darkness its only defining feature despite the shape that can be ferreted out if you squint your eyes just right. He does not squint his eyes. At the end, a nod, ever so slight so that Savannah would strain nearer and wonder if it was imagined or not. ”Caligo is fond of them, and they are fond of our markets. It is said they bring luck to Denocte. Our little guardians. Once, there was a king with a dragon who set fire to the Arma Mountains and stopped passage to any who wished enter. There was a woman in red once who spoke of it, but the whisper of her is gone now. A mystery – like you.” Another sip, another glance, and then a guffaw.
Laughter mixes with the smoke and sound, drifting off and eaten by the stars. “Turning a friend to a newt! You grow more fearsome by the second. And you are so panicked at your clothes. Is there some sort of dress you’d keep hidden underneath?” Another long look, this one sweeping brazenly from the top of the cloak arcing over his horns, warmly down the unseemly spine of it, and at last down to the ground where hidden feet should be. Nothing left to know of him save the darkness he shows. Unfortunate given Savannah’s alarm. Lips purse in thought. "You are a mage then seeking greatness through your study and diligence?” And he wonders if it is a magic that would aid him.
What magic would he need save that to bring back a little princeling so set on running. How foolish – both he and time will never stop in their quests forward.
Pulling himself from memories of ivory skin and a crowned head, Alecto merely hums and looks to the people who revel in the press of another’s skin so near theirs. Woodsmoke toils with their hair, he knows the scent will cling to them until they bathe once more or smother it in some ungodly amount of perfume. It is not a terrible thing to smell, he imagines, if he must smell it for hours.
The silence holds until a name is offered, lips tilt upward – marginally – in what is a small victory. “Savannah,” the word settles in his mouth, is rolled around like some rich flavor he would savor for an eternity if only time would let him, and then it comes out as a secret for only the two of them to enjoy. "Do you judge so easily on looks and yet hide your own, my mysterious friend? People are not so much their appearances, are they?” And what a rotten hypocrite he knows he is, for he came purely out of the curiosity of another’s appearance. The people who are so much more physically – he craves their company and good knowledge as dearly as he craves the taste of life itself. Could he swallow it down by the spoonful, he would never stop that meal. “You,” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “intrigue me.”
“Am I so awful a companion you must not remember when I leave?” Alecto looks to the empty cup pointedly and then away. “You need only send me on my way and I shall leave all the sorrier for it.”
sometimes i don't wanna be here
it's a living nightmare, i don't wanna be scared
looking at myself in the god damn mirror
things will be alright, you just gotta say a prayer
The mage is surprised with the fellow appearing from nowhere, and from the corner of one pastel pink eye, he notes the half-grin of amusement at the start. Savannah bites back an annoyed look, but it is the action that follows next that startle him more. At that moment, as more bodies press in, as Savannah starts to flinch back, this stranger moves, his body more forward, turning slightly, so he's between the mage and the crowd. The mage tilts his head, glancing curiously at the stranger before finally nodding his head in thanks. He can't imagine why this being would offer the faintest of shelters for the socially awkward hermit magician, but he would accept it nonetheless.
As he speaks, he thinks he sees a nod, his eyes narrowing slightly, tilting his head, but the words from the muzzle of this celestial being (for surely no mere mortal would wear the pelt worthy of a god), the mage is filled with excitement at the idea of small dragons made a home in this land. What magic must layer itself in this world for it to be filled with such wonderous creatures? Well, he knew that already, likely more than others. The soft glitter of gold that clung to the rare few, and the more extreme amounts that seemed to hang in the very air, the very earth of this land, "I do not know why I am surprised. This land is drenched in magic. Of course there would be dragons here." He responds quietly, not bothering to explain his assumptions on how much magic there was around them.
Most didn't understand when he tried to explain anyway. He does glance curiously at the stranger when he's called a mystery, and the mage can't help but grin in response, "Most mages work with an air of mystery about them, do they not? Keeps one guessing . . . wanting more." He responds airly. His master had been plenty vocal about that 'never admit your limits.'
The laughter turns his gaze, and he grins slightly at the fellow's words, "I would hardly call myself fearsome. It would be a rather deserving use of magic, I assure you. A friend, she may be, but she oversteps boundaries just to see me flinch." He shakes his head slightly, and for a moment, a glimmer of pale blue is seen as a lock of hair falls free of his hood before it disappears back inside the depths once more. "I am not the sort to wear a dress, I assure you. But that doesn't mean I'm not aware of my own ability to be rather . . . recognizable in appearance. My cloak, while plain to the eye, is heavily enchanted to allow me the anonymity I prefer to live life by." He explains simply. He liked being a fleeting memory of obscure appearances. Forgotten in an instant.
Usually, at least. He would be the first to admit a subtle shift of intrigue for this stallion who wore the stars as if they were a conversational piece. At the fellow's next question, the mage really smiled, "I was a mage who achieved greatness before losing it for attempting to meddle with powers beyond what I should have controlled. My abilities may be stunted now, but I hardly call myself seeking greatness today. I've developed a preference for tinkering at this point. Enchanting crafted items. A fireplace that lights itself with a command, for example." He shares before he can stop himself. If there was one way to get the stallion settled, ask Savannah about magic.
It was a rare moment of sociability that allowed the male to offer his name. However, he does duck his head with a rush of embarrassment at being called out for judging another by their appearance when hiding his own, "Of course, forgive me. Perhaps I was too forward." Vannah offered, before a slight smile tugged at his lips, "Though that hardly denies my assumptions, does it? I've been told I am a rather talented judge of one's character. Have I presumed wrongly, stranger?" He asks, his tone a little coyer, a little more curious.
Never had he imagined his anonymity would cause intrigue. He had kept his appearance, this enchanted cloak dull for that very reason. So he pitches his voice low, "And what, stranger, is so intriguing about me?" He asks quietly, before blinking in surprise when the other suddenly offers to leave him in peace. He snorts once, tilting his head to the side, "You're an amicable company for now. I suppose I shall allow you to remain, provided you consider refilling both of our drinks." He tilts his head, tone coy once more, a touch playful, "After all, you intrigue me as well."
