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Played by Offline Syndicate [PM] Posts: 79 — Threads: 14
Signos: 205
Day Court Sovereign
Male [he/his/him] // 5 [Year 500 Spring] // 15.2 hh // Hth: 12 — Atk: 8 — Exp: 19 // Active Magic: Solar Transformation // Bonded: Ariel (Sun Lion)
#1

YOU ARE A GOLDEN THING
IN A HEAVY, HEAVY WORLD


The sensuality of the sea draws ardor from him in the same way a fresh wound draws blood; it dances; it covets; it rises in eagerness only to withdraw with shy sensualism. Perhaps Orestes asked her here for that very reason. The fickleness reflects their tentative affection; bold to reticent, outright to withheld. There are questions he assumes she will ask, perhaps on his prolonged absence or distant nature. It is not her, but a part of him riles with envy and the question whether her skin will smell like salt.

Orestes might explain more if only he knew how; if only he understood it himself. Instead he waits, and hopes she comes. Instead he waits, and stares at an impassive sea, one that flirts at his ankles, one backed by Terrastella’s ominous cliffs. They are just dark enough to evoke something primitive within him; a visceral fear, tied in no comprehensive thought, only the feeling he should be afraid of such a height, such a jagged edge…

Yet Orestes waits at their base, on a small beach that during high-tide must become nothing more than more sea. There is no sand; instead, rocks shift under-hoof. His eyes follow careening gulls; and then the sea; and then the sky. Ariel lounges on a distant rock spire; he, for once, is not luminous. Out of Solis’s territory and beneath the undercast Terrastellan sky, the Sun Lion looks nearly nondescript. He says nothing, but Orestes knows his thoughts are dubious. Matters of romance, to the lion, appear a waste of time. But Orestes cannot agree—although there is a part of him deeply uncomfortable in front of the spring sea, in another Sovereign’s land, with a creeping apprehension of the cliffs shadowing him.

Please come, he thinks. The invitation, sent by raven, had been brief. But they had minimal interactions since Orestes—

Well, since…

He swallows. The gulls careen overhead. The sea goes shush, shush, shush.  


  “speaking" || @Marisol

"SO EDEN SANK TO GRIEF

SO DAWN GOES DOWN TO DAY

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY"
CREDITS






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Played by Offline RB [PM] Posts: 229 — Threads: 26
Signos: 470
Dusk Court Sovereign
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 6 [Year 498 Fall] // 16 hh // Hth: 26 — Atk: 34 — Exp: 52 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: Anselm (Ibizian Hound)
#2

"Good sense comes the hard way.
And the grace of the gods
(I'm pretty sure)
is a grace that comes by violence."

When the raven arrives, it feels like nothing more or less than a bad dream.

How can Marisol be sure she is awake? Already night is here, the world gone silent, and the sky steely with a thick film of clouds and foggy rain. The candles in her windowsill barely make a dent against the darkness. She is reading when it comes, but dozing off, only retaining bits and pieces, the pages and the carefully printed words swimming every time her eyes flutter open and closed. The soft drumming of the rain is better than music; her heartbeat is slow, so slow, and her blood has finally ceased boiling.

But then there is a sound. A sharp, hard knock. Mari startles upward, and from the other side of the window a bird is staring with beady dark eyes, a limp letter tied to its leg. Rain sloughs off all those layers of black feathers as it sits impatiently on the windowsill. A moment of dark, cool silence, then—of candlelight flickering, of the sovereign’s heart pounding in her chest. 

Another knock of the beak against the glass. 

She shoots up, pushes the window open and somewhat carelessly pulls the letter from the birds leg; within a heartbeat the bird is off again, frazzled and maybe a little irritated by her unusual shortness. But Marisol is already distracted by the loopy script and the name signed at the bottom.



You have many questions, Anselm remarks as they pick their way down toward the stormy beach. More than usual, sighs Mari. 

The sky is still overcast, the world colored in moody mauves and grays. On the thin strip of sand below, Mari’s pulse races at the sight of Orestes, an ambiguous dark blot   buffeted inconsistently by the rolling waves. Her heart beats a warning against the inside of her throat. Her blood races; by the time the Commander hits the sand her whole body is on-and-off, patchily numb, strangled by adrenaline and pain and anger. 

Marisol is trembling when she comes to a stop, overwhelmed and underimpressed by the sight of him, nothing more than a man with his feet in the sea.

“Where,” she asks softly, “have you been?”

“Speaking.”
credits





[Image: ddg6quy-9d15dab5-339c-4b09-8b57-20a99fda...jvUop12efQ]

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Played by Offline Syndicate [PM] Posts: 79 — Threads: 14
Signos: 205
Day Court Sovereign
Male [he/his/him] // 5 [Year 500 Spring] // 15.2 hh // Hth: 12 — Atk: 8 — Exp: 19 // Active Magic: Solar Transformation // Bonded: Ariel (Sun Lion)
#3

YOU ARE A GOLDEN THING
IN A HEAVY, HEAVY WORLD


Orestes does not expect her to arrive.

It does not suit a king to pine so, Ariel comments as Orestes catches sight of her, a dark silhouette nearly indistinguishable from the cliffside. He watches steadily as she nears. I cannot help it, Orestes thinks. You know that.

And Ariel, from where he lounges, rises only to recline again on his haunches. The lion possesses enough impassive majesty for the both of them, as he appraises Marisol’s gradual approach. A bleeding heart for anyone and everything.

Orestes says nothing; whatever courage he possessed drains from the expression she wears, the slight and nearly imperceptible tremble of her limbs. He would like to convince himself it is the brisk breeze that evokes such a reaction; he would like to convince himself it has nothing to do with him. But everything is in her voice when she says where have you been.

Although the golden sovereign cannot pinpoint how he knows or when it happened, Orestes is quite certain this is not the first time in his life he has disappointed someone he cares deeply for. It will not be the last. 

  “I have no worthy answer.”

Nothing more than a man with his feet in the sea.

It is true. 

Orestes feels very small beneath the cliffs; he feels even smaller beneath her gaze.

At last he sighs and the sound is quiet, broken.  “I woke up one day this winter and couldn't remember where I came from.” Orestes glances towards the sea, unable to hold her gaze. He is not the same man as when they first met.   “My memories were tied to magic belonging to a different world and… they’ve been fading all along. Now? I only remember waking up on the shore. I’ve been trying… to remember… and the harder I try the more it seems to vanish...”

Orestes trails off, a dreamer’s voice—and then abruptly he is brought back to the present. When he glances at her, his expression is raw.

He has mentioned this to no one else. That vulnerability frightens him. But rather than voice the fear, he says:


  “But that does not excuse my distance from you, Marisol.” He would apologise, but Orestes knows there are things that cannot be said sorry for. There are things the only answer to is ownership and so he stands, ready for a storm.

  “speaking" || @Marisol

"SO EDEN SANK TO GRIEF

SO DAWN GOES DOWN TO DAY

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY"
CREDITS






Reply




Played by Offline RB [PM] Posts: 229 — Threads: 26
Signos: 470
Dusk Court Sovereign
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 6 [Year 498 Fall] // 16 hh // Hth: 26 — Atk: 34 — Exp: 52 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: Anselm (Ibizian Hound)
#4

"Good sense comes the hard way.
And the grace of the gods
(I'm pretty sure)
is a grace that comes by violence."

Marisol does not meet Ariel’s eyes—she is too distracted by the sight of the golden sovereign—but the weight of his gaze drags her further and further down into the sand, until she is not sure she is breathing at all, or even that she can. His look is cold, judgmental; he must be thinking of her with disdain. Who is this girl that thinks she can kill a king, or bring him to his knees?

When she swallows, it is painful against the dry scratch in her throat. The sky, a dark blue-gray, presses in far too close for comfort. And Marisol is not sure she has any right to feel this way, but she feels it anyway: heartbroken. Lonely. Even though he is standing but a few yards ahead of her. 

I don’t know you at all, she thinks, and the realization—true or not—sends a spear of ice all the way through her chest and out of her ribs on the other side. 

Marisol flinches. Her eyes half-close against the cold, dim light that streams from overhead, and in her vision Orestes suddenly is little more than a puddle of gold, burning bright against the muted, pale sand. The roar in her ears might be the sound of the waves tumbling over one another, or it might be blood. The difference would not really matter.

She would like to be angry. She is, a little. But oh, the look in his eyes—how could anyone ever be mad at him? He is at least as heartbroken as she is, maybe more. He is the only person she has ever met who understood at first glance that underneath the steel-gray eyes, underneath the battered skin, she is softer than almost everyone. He understands this because he is the same way, and how can she fault him for that and still want to be loved? 

His eyes will kill her. The sad, tired turn of his lips. The way his ears fall back, the very small sound of his voice. It will all kill her. 

I couldn’t remember where I came from, says the small voice. The harder I try the more it seems to vanish. The hinge in Marisol’s jaw is aching now, her eyes are prickling with unwanted warmth; she thinks of her mother in the slums, of gravestones, of rose bouquets, of thunder and Asterion. But that does not excuse my distance from you.

“Well,” Marisol says quietly. Her mane, grown out longer than she ever meant to let it, grows snarled in the salty wind, and she blinks hard to clear her vision. “Of course it does. You only have to tell me.”

And she steps close. 

“Speaking.”
credits





[Image: ddg6quy-9d15dab5-339c-4b09-8b57-20a99fda...jvUop12efQ]

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