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@hearkenedsouls
HEARKENEDSOULS - rebooted sideblog of @apurekindness
Independent, semi-selective, low-activity multimuse sideblog. Current active muses include Icarus from Greek mythology, Prince Caspian from The Chronicles of Narnia, and Queen Anne of Austria from BBC Musketeers. Multiverse, AU and OC friendly. Mun is 25+. Follows back from @apurekindness.
Rules / About: Icarus
Nárnia Pack.
“ i should have known. ” the words ricochet louder than he wants them to. they sting on his tongue; a metallic taste that begins in one place and then spreads invasively, permeating the palate until it feels like it is seeping into the very back of his throat. they feel wrong, sound wrong, too. “ i should have known, cas. i had every warning and i still let it happen. you could have g- ”
a particularly deep push drives into his ribs, sending a sharp jolt of pain rippling up from his gut to his frazzled nervous system. narrow shoulders draw in tight, jaw locks, then grinds some, teeth scraping against each other.
and although edmund feels light-headed, he yields without resistance. the shirt is worked free, its marred fabric sliding loose and discarded onto the polished floor before he even fully registers its absence. only then does the air finds him – biting sharp and cold against the freckled expanse of his flank.
“ urgh-!. . . be quick, if you would. this is worse than i'd reckoned. . . does it look half so grave as it feels. . .? ”
As Edmund stops abruptly mid sentence, his eyes flickers away from the steady flow of blood to meet his fellow king's gaze, his expression soft. "You cannot blame yourself, Ed," he quietly reassures him. "I have been too lax these last few years, Narnia has been at peace for so long. I would never have imagined an ambush so close to the palace..."
He trails off, wincing apologetically at the pain he knows he is inflicting. Still, it is easier to work without the sodden material of Edmund's shirt in his way and as he assess the extent of the wound, his expression turns grim.
"You'll need stitches. Do you want to wait for the physician? I can do it myself, but my handiwork won't be nearly as neat," he warns, quickly returning the blood-stained cloth to try and slow the continual drip of blood. Could they wait for the physician? He had been summoned as soon as they had returned, but as yet there was still no sign.
@narniianblood continued from here
At his hiss, Caspian pauses in his gentle tending of the wound to give him a decidedly unimpressed look. As tempting as it is to snap back, he knows that Edmund - the warrior king of legends - must be feeling mortified by his injury.
His expression softens, however, at his further admittance and Caspian presses the cloth more firmly against the weeping wound.
"You couldn't have known, Ed," he reassures him, "nobody could. There were no signs."
Caspian had only escaped unscathed as he'd been several paces further ahead, and so had a second longer to pull his weapon before the group of Calormen were upon them.
"You're going to have to take this off," he warns, tugging at the blood-stained fabric of his shirt. "I'll try and bandage the wound tightly enough to stop the bleeding."
ALEXANDRA DOWLING as ANNE OF AUSTRIA THE MUSTKETEERS (2014-2016)
I feel the beginning of a new hyper-fixation and an acute lack of content with casmund😭 so using my powers as an artist I will create it myself
@hearkenedsouls / starter call for caspian.
he never thought he would return to narnia. that last adventure had ended with the knowledge that he and susan were not to return. and yet, here he was again. in the beautiful, vibrant world he considered home more than earth. "caspian?" voice soft, no longer harboring the jealousy it once had. "what's happening that you would need me to return?"
At the familiar yet unexpected voice, he turns and his lips part in shock. "Peter?" he laughs. Quite some time has passed since their last meeting, and Caspian has certainly grown. Gone is the nervous young prince that the Pevensies helped to restore Narnia to its former glory; instead, stands a confident, competent ruler. "Nothing is happening, at least nothing I am currently aware of. Narnia has been at peace for years," he assures, offering him a bright smile. "But It's good to see you."
how long has it been? a fair question, just not one he can answer as easily as caspian did. he tries anyway, mumbling a firm, “ ah, i've certainly changed since then. ” while the horse at his side huffs, demanding more of his attention. but caspian is like a magnet, pulling him in like gravity, and edmund finds himself caught there, noticing him properly for what feels like the first time.
he turns back easily, letting that warmth draw him in again, and flashes the man a crooked grin. his touch is warm and familiar — something he had not realized he could miss until he felt it again.
“ that's all i can tell you. it all went by in a blur, i'm. . . not who i was when you last saw me. yeah, i think the paleness speaks for itself. ”
narnia is a peculiar place. while time is, possibly, a human construct, narnian time is not bound to earth — it moves as aslan wills it to. edmund has never been able to grasp its inconsistency.
three times he had fallen out of it.
once through professor kirke's wardrobe, once at the old strand london underground station, and once again at eustace's.
a whole life lived behind starry eyelids. he'd grown into a sense of self and into his own body, learnt when and how to make decisions like an adult would. all of it gone when he would return again and again to a body that felt (and still feels) wrong.
oh, aslan! let it be right this time. “ i hope not! i'm not really in the mood for another one, and. . . i would rather just enjoy being back. ” edmund deadpans, falling into step beside him. “ but, if it did come to it, i think we'd be alright. ”
a huff follows. “ you're lucky it's just me this time, cas. peter wouldn't have been too pleased with that information. ” then again, nothing ever stays the same for long. “ i will say, though — talking about renovations as if it's nothing. . . cair paravel was my home. try not to disappoint me. ”
@hearkenedsouls
A furrow appears between his brows as Edmund speaks, his lips twisting in concern. There seems negative undertones to his words; he is a changed man indeed, but perhaps not for the better? Still, he is hopeful that time in Narnia can only help.
His smile is quick to return as Edmund turns back to face him, and a wave of near giddy excitement courses through him. He can barely believe that Edmund is truly here with him, and with no imminent disaster to abate.
Perhaps they would have more chances for fun, like the moments of joy he had cherished on the Dawn Treader all those years ago.
"Well, I am glad indeed that you are here. Narnia shall do you good," he insists, squeezing his shoulder again before letting his hand drop to his side. He clicks his tongue as they start to walk, and the horse follows obediently behind them.
A chuckle rumbles through him at Edmund, and he glances towards him as the trees dance eagerly around the two kings.
"You're forgetting that Cair Paravel was in ruins the last time you were here, no? We started rebuilding shortly after my coronation, and it's taken the best part of a decade to restore the palace to its former glory. We've had to go off drawings and historical accounts, as nobody alive is old enough to remember the original palace," he playfully nudges Edmund with his elbow. "Now you're here, though, you can tell us everything we've got wrong."
“ edmund!? ”
he should be used to being flung around through space and time (it had happened a few times) but somehow it never fails to shock him. one second, he was shelving books in the uni library; the next, he was sprawled ass first on a soggy mess of wood and wet green grass. and for a heartbeat, he is no longer just edmund pevensie, but one of the four ancient sovereigns of narnia.
the trees hum a jubilant tune of ‘welcome back, your majesty!’ ,and for the first time in ages, he truly feels at home. he is home.
edmund stills.
@hearkenedsouls stands tall and broad-chested before him, like a living reminder that time is unforgiving and inevitably slipping through your fingers, and that it is beyond your control. threaded through those luscious brown locks (longer than he remembers) and the stubble on his jaw are the subtle touches of age.
“ . . .caspian—! ” he echoes, sporting a half-crooked smile on the quivering lines of his mouth. it has been a while. “ bloody hell, it really is you, isn't it? i must've nodded off back at the library or something [...] i didn't think i would ever walk through these forests again. ” and he wheezes — the kind of sound that settles deep in your belly, slithers up to your chest, tugging at it with incredulity.
a tiny twig perches on his head still, but he flicks it away with a lazy flourish. his freckled cheeks and big brown eyes are warm with satisfaction the moment he steps forward and gingerly caresses the horse's muzzle.
“ how long has it been in narnia? all going well? there must be some trouble waiting ahead for aslan to have brought me back here. ”
Doubt lingers for a fraction of a second - he has seen just how convincing magic-induced visions can be - but it vanishes when Edmund speaks, and his hand lifts from the hilt of his sword. There is surely no spell that could capture his voice and mannerisms quite so accurately.
A bright grin unfolds on his lips, and as Edmund steps forward he claps his fellow king on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, my friend. It has been over ten years since the voyage. And you? How long has it been?"
He takes a step back to examine him more closely; the same freckled cheeks and warm brown eyes give him an air of almost perpetual youth, but it is no teenager that stands before him now. "You are looking well. A little pale, perhaps, but the Narnian sun will soon set that right."
His smile dips at his second question, his lips twisting thoughtfully. "Everything is well, Narnia is at peace. I hope your arrival isn't the precursor for an impending invasion." But his expression lightens quickly, excitement thrumming through him at the realisation that Edmund is truly back in Narnia, with him, regardless of what the future may hold.
"Come, let us head back to the palace. You'll have to tell me what you think of the renovations to Cair Paravel, and how it compares to the original. Unless we need to check the forest for any of your siblings?" he huffs out a laugh, glancing casually around the small clearing.
@0paliite gets a starter for Lucy from Caspian!
When his knights returned from patrol, excitedly declaring they had found a new cave a short ride away from the palace that they insisted hadn't been there just a few days ago, Caspian clearly had no choice but to join them. It took them just fifteen minutes to ride out into the forest from the newly refurbished Cair Paravel, and towards the huge slab of rock which - until yesterday - had seemingly been a blank expanse of cliff face.
A perfect archway had been cut out of the rock; the cave was too deep and dark to see more than a few feet inside, and Caspian lit a torch before stepping through the entrance. The flickering flame illuminated the moss-covered cave walls, and for a few minutes the king and his men walked deeper into the mountain without speaking.
"Did you hear that?" Caspian asked, pausing as his head tilted to one side. He could have sworn there was a woman's voice, calling from deeper within the cave. Exchanging a wary glance with his men, he held the torch up higher and let his other hand rest on the hilt of his sword, as he picked up the pace. "Who's there?" he called, and as they rounded a corner, the king saw a shockingly familiar figure...albeit looking quite a few years older than their last meeting.
"Lucy?!"
@narniianblood
After a seemingly endless morning of discussions with his council regarding the growing unrest of the Calormen, Caspian is more eager than usual to feel the sun on his face and the breeze in his hair. His favourite stallion is saddled and waiting for him, and bidding the stable boy a grateful thank you he gallops out of the palace grounds and into the nearby forest.
Lord Drinian would be unhappy about him riding alone, but Caspian cannot truly see the harm in it; the alleged discontent was happening across a vast expanse of desert. Narnia has been at peace for years.
Caspian rides further into the forest, gradually slowing his horse to a walk and taking a moment to admire the sunlight flickering through the leaves, and the birdsong filling the air. He dismounts on the edge of a small lake, patting his mount's flank and murmuring encouragingly as he leads him to drink.
A crack of twigs underfoot attracts the king's attention, and his keen eyes scan the treeline. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, as he steps towards the source of the noise. "Who's there? Show yourself," he orders. A figure emerges from the forest, and it takes Caspian a long moment to understand why the man seems so strangely familiar; he's noticeably older than when he had last seen him, but then Caspian is too.
"Edmund!?"
“It couldn’t hurt, at the very least it might earn you a little more coin in the meantime.” Mal mused with an easy shrug, slathering the thick, rustic slices of homemade bread with a generous helping of butter and snorting his amusement at Icarus’ observation as to how bland and lacking in flavour much of the food in the village was compared to what he was used to; he supposed he could attest to that much when he’d also sampled the tough, colourless fare the innkeeper tended to favour. “You may be right about that.” He admitted, lips curling in amusement as he joined him at the table. “But this looks delicious.”
Eagerly delving into the hearty breakfast that Icarus had prepared, Mal hummed his approval as he sampled a mouthful of the eggs and bacon together, stifling a soft huff of laughter behind his hand as he promptly tasted another mouthful, swallowing it down before speaking again. “Oh, you’re most definitely invited back.” He assured, flashing a playful grin the other man’s way. “You know, there might just be a florist in the village with some work for you — or who maybe just needs a personal chef, when this is already world’s better than anything he could make.” It was a jest of course, but only in part when Icarus seemed capable of turning his hand to most anything; he’d even be wasted lugging about buckets and helping him with his own work, when he seemed to have a mind capable of far greater and an eagerness to match, but Mal was soon distracted by the soft, ticklish brush of something against his freckled arm where his sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, his smile not fading for an instant as he realised it was the tips of his feathers, reaching out almost like a hand might.
“The feathers are so soft.” He mused, idly reaching out towards them to touch with the lightest brush of his fingertips and then stopping himself short before he could — he hardly wanted to be presumptuous after all. “May I?”
He nodded, his expression turning thoughtful even as he shovelled forkfuls of egg and bacon into his mouth. If he did decide to put off the voyage back to Greece, it would certainly be helpful to have extra coin in his pocket; he would be able to find somewhere nicer to live than the tiny room at the inn, for a starter. "I'll ask around," he decided. "You don't happen to know of any other cottages hidden in the woods that I might be able to rent, do you?" he teased, humming happily as he took a bite of the thickly buttered bread.
He grinned as Mal assured him he was invited back, and a quiet chuckle escaped him at his suggestion. "I'm glad. I would be very happy to help," he assured, and his smile dipped into something more sincere, "but I could never take your coin. You saved me." Without Mal imparting his knowledge in Faerie - even though it had felt a little like a lecture from a disappointed tutor at the time - he would never have found his way back into the human realm. He noticed his creeping wings just as Mal did, and he would have pulled them back to his sides, a little abashed, if it hadn't been for the fingertips reaching towards them.
"Of course," he smiled, his half-eaten breakfast momentarily forgotten as he stretched out his wings. "The feathers on the underside are the softest...and they do an excellent job of keeping me warm."
Fortunately the small matter of his other unexpected houseguest did not seem to perturb Icarus too much, something a relief given the other man’s rather sensible fear and mistrust of the Folk, the tension visibly melting from his shoulders as he lost himself in his cooking; Mal couldn’t help but savour the view just as much as he did the salivating aroma of the bacon as it sizzled away in the pan, pleased that Icarus was so at peace pottering about his kitchen, his contented humming joining the distant trill of birdsong and the crackle of the flames.
“That’s no surprise to me, apparently he’s always been cheap.” Mal scoffed, huffing his amusement at the innkeepers offence when it was suggested that he ought to take on an actual cook as he hopped down from his perch on the edge of the dining table, rooting about in one of the lower kitchen cupboards for two plates. “If this tastes as good as it smells he missed a trick not letting you cook.” The florist hummed, eagerly peering over one of Icarus’ broad shoulders for a moment, watching as he sampled a bite of the scrambled eggs and then began to dish them out along with the perfectly cooked rashers of bacon. “I’ve got some bread if you want a slice or two?” He suggested, busying himself with buttering a piece of the thick, crusty loaf for his own meal; it was nicer than Mal cared to admit, how warm and companionable it felt with the two of them side by side.
"So I am beginning to see," he chuckled, as he began plating up their meal. "Perhaps I ought to start asking around the village if anyone else has work for me," he considered, as he scraped the last of the scrambled egg out of the pan and laid the sizzling rashers of bacon on top. "I hope you like it. The English are rather scared of flavour in their cooking, it seems. Although perhaps that is only the innkeeper?" he smiled, before nodding eagerly at his offer. "Yes please. Will you butter me a slice?" he asked, as he picked up their plates and moved them over to the table.
With all the delicious smells, his stomach was now realising just how long it had been since his last meal, and it rumbled loudly as he sat down at the table, letting his wings drape gently over the back of the chair. He made the perfect forkful of both eggs and bacon, and slowly savoured the buttery flavours on his tongue. Before taking a second bite, however, he watched eagerly for Mal's reaction. "What do you think? Am I invited back again? I could cook you something more elaborate, if I had a bit more time," he quickly reassured, with a warm smile. One of his wings stretched out, involuntarily, and brushed the achingly soft tips of his feathers against Mal's arm.
“Technically one still is.” Mal admitted, a faint twinge of guilt to the admission as he flashed Icarus a wry smile. “You won’t see him, and there’s nothing truly to be afraid of — it’s a brownie of sorts, you see. A very cantankerous one when I first arrived, but that was easily remedied.” It was perhaps a tad hypocritical for him to tolerate the presence of one of the small folk in his own home given his insistence on keeping himself far away from other creatures of their ilk, but the occasional offering of milk and honey was a small price to pay to keep the peace. “But I’m glad you like it here. You’re always welcome, even more so if you’re going to spare me the job of cooking.”
Happy to step back and allow Icarus free reign in his kitchen, pleased that he seemed comfortable enough to shed his cloak and have his wings out on full display, Mal perched on the kitchen table nearby and watched on with a smile as he rooted through drawers and cupboards for everything he needed, directing him to where the knives and cutlery were kept and pointing out a wooden rack filled with small jars of spices. “I’m certainly not complaining.” He insisted, an impish glitter in his gaze as he idly swung his legs, basking in the morning sun that poured in through the windows like honey. It was a pleasant change to have company, he tended not to have much in the way of visitors after all, but fortunately Icarus seemed right at home. “I imagine whatever you’ll make will be better than what the innkeeper serves up too.”
He froze for a moment at Mal's admittance, his eyes flickering around the house more nervously. The small folk were quite different to Rosehip and the others he'd been trapped with for months, but he still had no desire to interact with anything Fae-related at all. "Really? That certainly explains why no-one else was living here," his smile returned, particularly when Mal assured him he was always welcome, although a hint of tension remained.
It was easy to forget about the brownie once his attention was focused on cooking, and he efficiently chopped up the garlic and herbs - throwing them into the pan with a lump of butter and several thick slices of bacon. "Oh, I certainly hope so," he chuckled. "I asked if he was thinking of hiring another cook - I'd be quite at home in the kitchen, - but he seemed to take offense to that suggestion," he admitted, with mild amusement. If there was one thing he missed about Faerie, it was the food; even though Rosehip was the opposite of generous, the hosts were often intent on showing off and throwing elaborate feasts for everyone. The innkeeper had no such desire. Once the bacon had nicely browned, he turned his attention to the eggs, happily humming a quiet tune to himself as he scrambled and seasoned them, careful to ensure they didn't burn.
"Here we are! That didn't take too long, did it? Where are your plates?" he asked, taking a small bite of the eggs and humming his approval.
The look of wonder in Icarus’ gaze as he drank in the cottage and the garden surrounding it was well worth the early start, and Mal beamed as he watched the other man drink it in, nudging open the creaky wooden gate painted the same shade of green as the grass beyond and leading the way down a pathway of crooked steppingstones to the front door. “I don’t take for granted how lucky I was to find somewhere like this.” He hummed, pleased that they had been treated to such joyous weather when it meant that everything looked its very best. “It was a little run down when I first moved in and people in the village were convinced there was one of the small folk already living here, so really I was the only person mad enough to take it on.” Fortunately it hadn’t taken much effort to charm the handymen in the village to help him restore it to its former glory, once they’d grown accustomed to his presence anyway.
Right when the florist had been convinced his guest couldn’t impress him any more he went on to insist that he could cook too, and though his brows shot upwards in mild surprise Mal certainly wasn’t about to turn him down. “If you insist.” He chuckled, happy to allow him the run of the kitchen, a cosy little space painted in emerald green, glass bottles filled with flowers cut from the garden adoring the wooden countertops. There were similar vignettes of garden blooms just about everywhere in the cottage, which was warm and eclectic and softened by layers of rugs and throws and embroidered cushions — though he didn’t have much in the way of guests, it was homely indeed.
“What do you fancy?” Mal asked, leading the way inside. “I’ve got some fresh eggs, some bacon, a fresh loaf from the market — oh, and you can raid the pantry and use whatever you like.”
"Was one of the small folk living here?" he asked, with a quiet chuckle. Nothing would surprise him anymore, where the Fae were concerned. He followed Mal inside, his expression alight with interest as he slowly spun around to admire the beautiful, homely décor. His fingertips reached out, before he could help himself, to brush softly against the flower petals of one of the many small vases dotted around the room. "It's wonderful," he smiled, a little awestruck. "You've made it so homely. If I lived somewhere like this, I don't think I'd ever go outside," he admitted, with a chuckle.
He quickly shrugged off his cloak, spreading out his wings carefully, to ensure he didn't knock over any of the flower-filled glass bottles dotted around. "Eggs and bacon sounds perfect. Can I see what herbs you have?" he rolled up the sleeves of his tunic - he had decided to wear one today, he needed to stay warm when flying - and started rummaging around in the pantry. Grabbing a few fresh leaves of basil, an onion and a clove of garlic he grinned excitedly as he moved towards the kitchen fire. "I hope I haven't forgotten how to do this," he considered, as he rummaged around for a knife. "Sorry. I'm rather making myself at home here, aren't I?" he grinned, but didn't seem abashed.
“You don’t?” The rolling hills and farmland surrounding Grasswick were a familiar patchwork now, swathes of green interspersed with ancient woods and winding rivers, and though Icarus had spoken briefly of his beloved Athens and its seemingly perpetual warmth, it was difficult to envisage what it might be like there when this was all Mal had ever known. The village he had grown up in had been much the same, as had Faerie with its forests and dappled glades; the other man’s homeland seemed the more foreign of the lot, sun-drenched and faraway in a way that he could be barely conceive. Though he was reluctant to leave Icarus longing for his home any more than he already was, the florist couldn’t help but be curious.
Speaking of home, down a winding lane a quaint little cottage at last came into view, the path trailing along beyond it and then further still, into the woods that Icarus had seemed so wary of. Surrounded by an old stone wall, even at a distance the garden contained within looked vibrant with colour, the sweet musk of garden roses whisked along on the breeze as they approached. Mal braced himself for yet more of that infectious excitement on the part of his guest, shaking his head in fond, knowing amusement as he admitted to not having eaten amidst the distraction that was his impending visit.
“I can make you breakfast.” He assured, huffing a soft breath of laughter. “I’m not much of a cook, but I’m sure we can cobble something together. There are even strawberries growing in the garden, they spread absolutely everywhere this time of year so you can help yourself.”
"We have some trees, but they're much smaller and grow sparsely...not in forests like this. We have huge cactuses though, that are almost as tall as trees," he shared, his expression softening as he thought of home. However much he missed his birth city, he could not deny the beauty of the English countryside - so vibrant with emerald life, compared to the rugged, dustiness of Athens.
"This is your house?" he came to a stop at the wall surrounding the cottage, his gaze full of wonder. Truly, it was like something from a fairy-tale; the vibrant, colourful flowers in such brilliant contrast to the darker stone, and he grinned - ignoring the stab of longing. How had Mal managed to find this incredible place, when he was stuck in a room that was barely large enough to spread his wings? "It is so beautiful. And your garden is wonderful, I am sure I will find enough pigment for my paints," he enthused.
His expression turned sheepish at the shake of Mal's head, as he followed him down the garden path. "I do sometimes forget to eat when I'm focused on something else," he admitted, as though the florist wasn't already quite aware of the fact. "Oh, I can cook for us!" he enthused. "I always used to cook for my father, since my mother passed. I quite enjoy it, and I haven't had a chance to cook for...well, ages."
There seemed to be a restless sort of impatience fizzling away beneath the other man’s skin like champagne, visible even at a distance as the florist approached the inn, and as he was immediately greeted with two brisk, warm kisses to freckled cheeks Mal’s smile of greeting broadened to a grin, an amused chuckle slipping free as Icarus suddenly thought better of his enthusiastic greeting and promptly apologised, adorably abashed; it was perhaps an unfair comparison to make, but one glance at Icarus and he had been immediately reminded of an eager puppy, greeting a visitor with its tail wagging and eyes bright.
“Good morning to you too.” He countered with a playful flash of a wink, his good natured laughter echoing out into the peaceful morning. It seemed they had no company but the birds at such an hour, their cheerful songs piercing the stillness of the air as they darted overhead and then dove into the hedgerows as Mal led the way back the way he’d come, falling into step beside Icarus with a smile. “Of course I do.” The florist insisted, almost matter-of-fact as blue eyes glittered with thinly-veiled mirth. He had been trying to imagine what it might be like to experience flight for himself, to be buoyed on the breeze by those extraordinary wings tucked away beneath Icarus’ cloak, and truth be told he was eager to see if the reality matched up with his expectations — he could only imagine the feeling of freedom.
It was not far to Mal’s cottage, but he was content for them not to rush the walk, meandering along the cobbled streets and out towards the outskirts of the village, leading the way over an old stone bridge with dainty maidenhair ferns tucked into its crevices, a crisp, clear stream trickling along beneath it. “Hopefully it won’t disappoint. It’s a perfect morning to show you it, at least.” He hummed, sighing happily as he basked in the warmth of the rising sun. “Have you eaten this morning? Perhaps we should harvest what you need for your pigments before the sun is at its peak and then have something to eat before we think about flying?”
The wink sent a rush of heat to his cheeks, and he was certainly relieved that Mal did not seem taken back or offended by his effusive greeting. The florist's laughter was contagious, and he grinned at the sound - still a tad abashed by his own lack of restraint. His impulsivity was particularly hard to rein in when he was this excited, and he had to stop himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet as they walked.
Mal seemed to be happy to meander at a leisurely pace through the cobbled streets, and it took an effort for Icarus to breathe and notice the beautiful surroundings instead of already imagining himself flying in the sky with the florist strapped to his chest.
"It is," he agreed, turning his face up towards the sun with a smile. "It's almost like being back at home. Although we certainly don't have such green, beautiful countryside like this in Athens." He had to pause for a second at Mal's question, his head tilting to one side as they walked. Had he eaten anything? "No...I was a little too distracted to eat," he admitted, running a hand across the back of his neck with a huff of self-deprecating laughter. "But that sounds great. I should probably make sure I keep my strength up, so I can fly us for longer," he teased.
