[P] halfbaked ideas

[Rostislav]

The ground isn't quite thawed, thank goodness. Or I'd be sinking knee deep in the swamp muck. I keep my head low, trying to watch for any spots that are weak beneath me. Damaris seems to be doing a good job of finding the way, and I watch her as much as the ground. She's led me here to the Tinea Swamp, not that I've come unwillingly. I know her intentions and, subconsciously, I agree with her. There's shit going down and you haven't seen Weir in months. You need to figure this shit out. I nod at her reasoning.

There's much I missed, and Weir's apparent absence is part of the reason I left in the first place. I had thought we were building something together. A future. But then she disappeared. Maybe it wasn't meant to be the way I thought it was. Maybe she knew all along and I was too blind to see it. Different realms, different worlds? With all the madness that apparently is going on between Dusk and Night -- goddamnit Reich! -- it makes it even harder to see Weir. Or even to look for her. I may not be Sovereign, I may not be Emissary, but I can have a chat with Florentine and see what's going on.

So through the Swamp we go, hugging the edges by the Terminus Sea. It's dangerous business trespassing through the Bellum Steppe and over to Terrastella. But I feel like it needs to happen. Don't take credit for my good ideas, Rostislav. I chuckle and continue through the semi-frozen slop. Thank God I've sobered up enough now - enough - that I can have an adult conversation. I want to call out for Florentine, but that might not be the best idea if it attracts unwanted attention. Instead I'll just have to keep looking for her and hope no one tries to take me out in the meantime. Even better if I happen to find Weir along the way.

Tag: @Florentine @Weir
Rosti thoughts | "Rosti speech" | Damaris mindspeak

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool

x - x

[Florentine]

florentine

The tip of a dagger appears before Rostislav. It hovers, ominous in the cold air and glinting in the scant light filtering down through the dense swampland. After a moment it slowly begins to slide down towards the chilled earth. The cut it creates is black, black, black and as its edges ripple, as if a wind blows out from within. A slip of silvery moonlight passes through to gleam upon the sodden earth at Rostislav’s feet.
 
Suddenly the cut is filled with gold and, from its core, the Dusk queen steps through. The seam she had cut opens more to allow her through. It is a passage from one time into another and by it Florentine steps into the Swamp as if she were merely passing through a doorway.
 
It is unclear whether Florentine comes to the Night Warden from the past or the future. Her gaze suggests the latter, for it meets Rostislav’s with no hint of surprise. The flower girl watches him as if she has always expected Rosti to be stood there with his lupine familiar.
 
The girl is quiet for a moment, merely letting her eyes draw over him before sweeping away to his hellhound. Green meets amethyst and still Florentine does not stir, but within her chest she wills her heart to slow. It is a fitful thing now and it longs to flee from its cage of bone and blood.
 
Slowly Flora forces her gaze back to the Night Warden, “Rostislav.” She acknowledges him softly, at last. But there is nothing soft in her gaze. Her gaze is stone, rough and ragged – a contrast to the petals that cling to her mane like butterfly wings.
 
This might be the first time they have met, but no one would ever know, with the way she looks at him full of knowing. Yet, maybe it was the smell of alcohol that still clung to his skin? Rostislav had a reputation that preceded him, after all.
 
A moment of silence passes, fleeting and fragile against the Swamp’s many voices. “If you have come with a message from Reichenbach, you can leave.” The flower queen breathes with a voice so guarded and rougher than the silk it had once been.
 
With that, Florentine turns, stepping by where her cut had once been. It had healed so swiftly and was gone, as if the worlds had never been cut… if only a heart could heal so easily.

@Rostislav - yaaay it has been too long since we have written together my lovely <3
 

[Rostislav]

And just like that, I shit myself.

Damaris growled quietly, hackles raised at the rip in the space-time continuum (though I wouldn’t know enough to call it that). I step to the side as inconspicuously as I can, away from the steaming pile of oh-shit! My eyelids are peeled back as I try to understand what I’m looking at. A rip in the air, though I wasn’t aware that air could rip. Before I have a chance to begin comprehending or coming to terms with such an anomaly, a beautiful cream mare steps through. Flowers decorate her mane and accentuate her beauty and curves. The knife that cut through the air finishes and returns to her, its owner.

It takes considerable effort for me to keep my jaw off the ground, and I’m thankful that the exchange of gazes between her and my still-unsettled hellhound gives me a chance to recover. When she turns her eyes upon me, I find nothing soft or lovely in the amethyst cores. She’s polite enough to greet me with a modicum of respect, simply in how she says my name. Though they may be like steel, I can see the pain and anger in her eyes.

“If you have come with a message from Reichenbach, you can leave.”

Damaris returns to my side, no longer growling at the Queen, but neither has the tension left her maned body. Not that I blame her. Still, the movement has broken my own stillness enough that I can breathe again, even manage a laugh. “I am his Warden, not his Emissary, moy suverennyy.” I dip my head slightly, but courteously. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Florentine. I did not expect such an entrance, however.”

I raise my head and feel much of the tension leaving my body. She may have cause to be upset and on edge, but I don’t. “Reichenbach does not know I’ve come, actually. I am here both as an ear to listen, to your side of the story, so to speak, and for my own benefit. I suppose I’d like to know more about how the hell you just appeared out of thin air, too. Let me be up front, before I hear your tale: have you seen Weir?” I try to keep the ache from my words. A weakness, to care about someone who is not your family. Someone you have no ties to. The words “I miss her terribly” sit in the edge of my lips, but concentrated will keeps them from being vocalized. The feeling is probably clear enough on my face, though I try to mask it.

Tag: @Florentine
Rosti thoughts | "Rosti speech" | Damaris mindspeak

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool

x - x

[Florentine]

florentine
There was a smell. The Dusk girl’s nose wrinkles and her eyes fall to the spot the Night Warden awkwardly shuffles from. If the future had heralded any hint that this would happen, Florentine does not display it. Rather, a soft exclamation passes her lips, her head tossing lightly as her fringe tumbles forward to shield her eyes.
 
Between the tangle of threads and amethyst flowers she watches Rostislav. Relief sweeps into her veins when he affirms he has not come with Reichenbach’s business. It was short lived, however, for a damnable part of her still aches for his love. If Reichenbach sent no news - did not come to find her – did that mean he did not care at all anymore? Her eyes close against the thought, hurt burning in her chest.
 
Yet after the Night King’s actions, his hypnosis, Florentine did not wish to be anywhere near him. Such conflicted feelings have the flower girl tied in knots. They have her heart bleeding for too many things – those it desires and those it does not.
 
Rostislav had not expected such an entrance... Unable to stop herself, Florentine’s eyes sweep down to the offending dropping. She blinks before her head tips up. “Apparently so.” There is a smile that threatens at the corner of her lips. A laughter that bubbles in her throat and it is, all at once, such a relief and a hurt to laugh with a Denoctan again.
 
Florentine stops the smile and its laugh before they can truly take hold, before the tears (born of anger and betrayal) hiding behind her eyes, begin to fall. “Come, Rostislav, if you have so many questions we had better find a more comfortable place.” The flower girl turns, leading him on through the swamp, away from the smell. Ahead is a boarded walkway, leading out into an open expanse of swampland. Her feet clack over the boards and her amethyst gaze peers back over folded wings to check he is still behind her. Not that he could possibly lose her, for petals fall to make a trail in her wake.
 
Florentine stops in the open, lifts her eyes to the sky and the sun that shines down upon her golden skin. She begs for strength and that Lysander is still alive. The moment passes in the beat of a heart and she turns to the Night Warden.
 
“Firstly, you asked after Weir… I am sorry, Rostislav, we have not seen her for a while now. I know you were both close and so, for all our sakes, I hope she will return to us soon.” Flora’s eyes drift out across the swamp. There were so many she wished would return soon, and as she looks into the shadows, she almost hopes to see them returning.
 
“As for surprising you, I am sorry. I recently got my dagger’s magic back.” She raises the gilded blade hung about her neck. “It allows me to travel anywhere in Time or space but cutting between worlds. I hope next time won’t take you so much by surprise…” A small smile, shy and quiet fleetingly drift across her lips.
 
But then, she could avoid his other reason for coming no longer. Her eyes closed, golden lashes pressing against her cheeks. Anger awoke like flames within her chest. She ached and a shiver rocks through her body, she can still feel the press of Reichenbach’s magic both wonderful and controlling. So terribly controlling. “What is it you wish to know? Or more specifically, should I ask: what is it you have already been told?”

@Rostislav
 

[Rostislav]

Bless her flowery heart, Florentine manages to resist outright laughter at my nervous shits. Thank the Gods, because I don't think my male ego could handle it. I sense that there's no humor in Damaris either, who has to have noticed with her excellent sense of smell. A smile instead, from Florentine, reveals a crack in her stiff exterior. It's clear the shell she's built around herself will remain strong, but it isn't so impenetrable as to prevent a small lightening of the mood. 'Who knew a good gut could be such a relief.'

But the smile freezes and falls, the brevity fades, and she's turned, beckoning that I follow so we can talk further. I oblige, following without asking any question. Damaris tags along at my heels, eyes keen for any more trickery of nature. (Or any ordinary surprise danger that might stumble upon us.) We follow the queen up a boardwalk, and while the boards clack under her footsteps, they seem to creak more under my own. Creak, but they hold firm. Flowers are the trail between us, and I can't help but wonder how flowers can possibly continue to fall. Does she not run out? Do they come out of her butt like fantasy rainbows?

Flower turds. Better than mine.

But I'm distracted from such ridiculous, childish thoughts when she speaks again. Her words are sobering, turning whatever amusing thoughts I'd held in my head to misery. Missing. I don't know what I had expected Florentine to say. That they were hiding Weir away just to torture me? Whatever the angst between Dusk and Night, I would never expect that of her. Of Florentine, Reichenbach, or Weir. Pain grabs my heart in its grubby hands and starts to squeeze, crunching the delicate organ. I feel real, physical pain, and turn my head suddenly toward my shoulder, as if to scratch a sudden itch - instead biting hard at my flesh as a distraction. I turn my head back, a thin, nearly invisible line of blood coating the crown of my teeth. My hide twitches in response to the small, fresh wound.

Florentine's gaze is out across the swamp, thank the Gods. And just like that, attention is focused on her dagger. Time-space continuum. Cutting between worlds. My stomach flips at the thought, and I push the urge to ask more down inside. 'Damaris, we must have that conversation with her another time. There are many questions to be asked, answers to be had.' Florentine is on to the remainder of my quest as well. Unfortunately.

Florentine's tone sets me on edge, if I wasn't before. Damaris is tense but quiet. "I know that you and Reichenbach were romantically involved. And then you weren't. And now he and Isorath...." I tilt my head with a curious smile tugging irresistibly on my lips, for I had not known that my King had any interest for more than females. Quickly it fades. "And there have been some terrible fights leaving more than a few poor comrades in bloody rags. And Day Court hates Night Court and vice versa, and we are all quickly descending into madness." I conclude firmly and sardonically. What a mess.

Tag: @Florentine
Rosti thoughts | "Rosti speech" | Damaris mindspeak

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool

x - x

[Florentine]

florentine
Flora watches as the pain dims his eyes, sinking down to capture the breath in his lungs. She says nothing, for there are no words that would make hearing this any easier. Weir was absent and Florentine could only hope she was partaking of some wonderful adventure, carrying a part of Terrastella’s heart – and Rostislav’s- with her.
 
Ruby red blood glints upon his teeth, fresh from a wound. He makes his pain a physical thing,  no longer just emotional. “Does that make it better?” The flower girl whispers before she can stop herself. It was no judgment. Maybe worse is the fact that she is curious… What could ease the pain of a broken heart, of an ache that just will not ease? Time they say. Time.
 
Well, Florentine has an eternity of lives, but the pain was now and it was so very real. It sank into the open ruins of her heart and threatened to stay forever.
 
A dangerous part of her, as fleeting as a butterfly’s wing, but as terrible as a yawning sinkhole, questions just what she could do to ease her own pain - a reckless part of her wonders.
 
Then, because the affairs of her heart were so frightfully unavoidable, Flora hears her past, retold from this stranger’s lips. Oh what has come to pass? It is all so real now: a terrible truth. Florentine’s pain is a weight about her chest and it smothers her. The Dusk girl might have hoped his retelling was wrong; it wasn’t.
 
She fills her lungs so deep, they stretch and stretch and stretch. They press against bone and sinew and it will never be enough, she wants to swallow the stars, just to find another galaxy to call home – just to be big enough to overcome her hurting heart.
 
“…are in love.” Florentine finishes softly for him as her gaze escapes into the Swamp again. It seems Rostislav is not the only one avoiding eye-contact today. Though strangers, they meet upon common ground this day and together, their hearts bleed a red, red river between them.
 
Madness
 
“I cannot disagree,” Flora’s honey voice whispers, warm with sorrow. “Your story is accurate, Rostislav. Reichenbach and I were together, but when I became Queen, we saw less of each other. When I saw him at the Winter’s End Festival, he was with Isorath and their feelings were obvious between them. I had brought an old friend to introduce to Reichenbach and… it inspired Reich’s jealousy. He hypnotized me.“ Her voice is bitter, her breath ragged in her lungs. Betrayal, a terrible, horrible feeling sinks deep like bitumen into her soul and she chokes deep, deep within herself. “I am not sure the answers he got from me were of anyone’s benefit.”
 
Her eyes seek out her castle that tends the boy so close to death. “But then Reichenbach attacked the friend I introduced to him. With his Crows they have brought Lysander to death’s door and I will not tolerate it.” Dusk eyes become as hard as the stone from which their amethyst is forged. “I cannot help you with the troubles between Solterra and Denocte or the madness you speak of. Reichenbach has made his feelings known and I will protect and get justice for my people where I could not before.”
 
Shame rises like lava within her. It burns for how she could not protect her people, for how easily she was used by the Night King’s magic and for how a traitorous part of her heart still aches for him despite it all. Ah Florentine fights to tamp it all down, to ease that fire it lights within her.

@Rostislav
 

[Rostislav]

'Does that make it better?'

I ignore the question. It seems more rhetorical than an actual question she expects me to answer. I'm not sure what I would say. In some ways it helps because it distracts me from the pain in my heart. But it doesn't make the emotional hurt fade. No, it only changes my focus. I struggle to bury my pain, to pretend that everything is alright. If I just keep smiling, surely I can convince myself as well.

Isorath and Reichenbach - in love? Curious. I noticed their flirations but it didn't seem... Well I wasn't sure that it was that deep of an emotion, but perhaps that was just me being drunk enough to not notice. I'm not always the most observant. (Especially if that 'being drunk' is more like being completely and utterly trashed.) That's not the craziest thing the queen says, however.

"Hypnotized!" I bark in shock. A frown clouds my expression. I did not know that Reichenbach had the power to hypnotize, and that he would choose to use such powers on a friend, a previous lover.... I can only hope that there is more to this story that my king has chosen not to share with me. My heart - already in pain - twists just a little bit more. And attacking her friend?! It does not sound like my friend, the king I know and love.

My insides boil. Confusion, rage, pain. Weir, Reichenbach. "I am sorry to hear of -- of all that's transpired. That does not sound like the King I know and love." I am not skilled in wordplay, of being delicate or tactful. I will say what I think and that's that. I take a swig from my flask - a BIG swig - and cherish the burn down my throat. "I wish that I could provide some explanation, or offer some way to patch up the chasm between you two. I have not been around to do my duty as Warden or even stay aware of the goings on in Novus." The burn is not as strong as my precious vodka, and I wish that physically I could match the tumultuous feelings inside me.

I turn my gaze away, gazing as she does into the distance. "I hope that in the future, I can be of assistance. My loyalty lies with my King, and I must support him. But please, do not think this leaves me without sympathy for you or your Court." I want to say that I'll do what I can to mend the rift, to keep Reich in line. But there are no promises I can make, and to say any of this without surety that I can follow through feels just like a big fat lie. I sigh heavily and hang my head.

Finally, I answer that rhetorical question. "No, it does not make it better."

Tag: @Florentine
Rosti thoughts | "Rosti speech" | Damaris mindspeak

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool

x - x

[Florentine]

florentine

Florentine looks over this Night Court boy as he stands before her. She watches as her words sink into the heart of him. She studies the way his eyes widen with her revelations. Was that how she had looked when the same realization dawned upon her? No, her eyes had been a mirror to her breaking heart, for that man she loved, that King of Crows, was far more ghastly than she ever realized. She knew this now.
 
And yet she cannot stop the yearning of her heart.
 
Insects dance across the swamp. They jump and skitter over still water and sodden leaves. Lily petals sway with the fluttering of insect wings and Florentine watches them all - just to keep from looking at the Night Court’s Warden.
 
“I don’t want your apologies, Rostislav. Not when the sins are your king’s and his alone.” The fae-girl says at last with a voice as soft as the flowers in her hair. Yet the tongue from which they fall is sharp as a razor and, as her amethyst gaze lifts to Rostislav’s it vows to cut just as hard. “He is not the king I knew and loved either, Rostislav, which makes me the fool for thinking he is anything but a man of monstrous deeds. Protect yourself, his desires are his own and his heart a selfish thing.” Now those fae eyes are hard as they hold Rosti’s gaze. Petals bow to soften them, dew clings to her golden lashes to brighten them, but nothing can rid her gaze of its anger.
 
Though Florentine is ever measured. She is the girl who bled to death a child and returned a second time to watch herself die and did not shed a tear. There is a hardness within the soft of her. It is a coarseness grows and grows, it is diamond and it will not break. It turns her eyes to freshly mined stone, glittering and bright. She will become the fae queen with a dagger about her throat and retribution in her heart.
 
The Dusk girl’s ears fall to her skull like crumbling spires and her gaze sweeps away. The sunset snags her fleeing attention and she makes no move to fight it. Rather she watches the sun falling from the sky, watches the world as it falls to black and the stars rise from their beds. It would be night soon, a place full of shadows and whispers. A part of her still yearns for the black, the part of her that drew her to the Night Court first and into the arms of the Night king. Oh how she resents that part now and watches the moon ascend with serpents in her belly.
 
He speaks of his unwavering allegiance and gilded Florentine is not stirred. She listens with her fallen ears, tangled in their vines of gold. She is the ragged temple, stone crumbling and breaking beneath an onslaught of time and weather, sorrow and fury. She was sacred and beautiful once and will be no longer, but to trespassers who stumble upon the ruins of the Dusk Queen.
 
“Will you take a message when you return?” Florentine asks of Rostislav, as her eyes still watch the setting sun. But the nymph queen does not wait for his reply, saying, “Tell Reichenbach that I have seen the fallout of his sins and I will be coming for him.”
 
Except, Florentine does not say how and she does not say when.

@Rostislav - sorry for the decade of waiting <3 <3
 

[Rostislav]

Though her eyes hold mine as I react to her news and offer my own sympathies, it would seem she cannot bring herself to maintain eye contact. Her gaze wanders, finding any microcosm to hold her interest. To distance herself from this painful conversation. I don't blame her. But I keep my pale gaze fixed on her. Her delicate beauty, the flowers that frame her face, her neck. Everything about her is gentle -- except the dagger at her breast, even more so the fierce rage that burns inside her. She is a false spectacle in this way. The beauty that masks the rage, hurt, betrayal. It's tangible in the air around her, almost suffocating. How can she breathe?

Her warning is fair, deserved. She's kind to hold me blameless in the ordeal. Though just by association I feel guilt. The tainted queen. Disillusioned and jaded against love, kindness.. and if I have to guess, certainly anyone from Denocte. It's probably unwise for me to be here, dangerous for me to even stray too close to the border between our courts. The sun sinks down across the horizon, illuminating us with its harsh evening rays. I turn my head slightly, so as to shade my eyes from its glare. The hardness in Florentine wins out over the pain.

The message she gives me is clear. Reichenbach is not wanted. Not forgiven. Not forgotten. And it likely won't be long until we all pay for his mistakes.

I incline my head toward the floral queen. "Of course I shall deliver your message. And I hope that the next time we meet, it shall be under more pleasant circumstances. Stay well, Florentine." I turn and begin my return to Denocte. But just before I leave the boardwalk, I call over my shoulder. "If you see Weir..." Hesitation, because I'm not sure exactly what it is I want. "Please tell her I miss her."

And with that last glance, a sad smile, I leave to return home.

Tag: @Florentine
Definitely had muse for this one! She almost made me tear up! Poor Flora
Rosti thoughts | "Rosti speech" | Damaris mindspeak

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool

x - x

[Florentine]

florentine


Everything had turned to sun-fire. Golds and reds bathed both Florentine and her Night Court visitor. That dying light of day, gleams down the long, fine horns rising from Rostislav’s crown. She watches the glimmer and thinks, for a moment, of her dam. Her gazelle mother, wherever she was, whatever new, strange wonder that the Riftlands might have thrown her way.
 
She wished she was too hardened to feel the warmth of his sympathy. But Florentine isn’t and a part of her uncoils from where it wound itself tight like tangled twine. She unravels before Rostislav’s eyes, but it is all kept within her.
 
His sympathy is so very welcome and she does not think she wants to live without it.
 
“of course I will.” A pause, a breath, for where her own heart lies in aching pieces, she does not wish it upon any others. “If I do see her Rostislav, I will send a message to you too, count on that.” Friend She does not address him so, but the word is upon her lips, daring and desiring to be spoken.  There will be a time for friends one day, when things are a little less ragged.
 
Then he is gone, his wolf too, with her green eyes no longer there to light upon Flora’s skin. The fae-girl watches them go until shadows drown her, until the sun’s setting is over. Only then does Florentine turn for home.

@Rostislav - wrapping this up since i forgot it >.< <3