"Will you hold me now my frozen heart? I'm lost in deep winter sleep; I can't seem to find my way out alone. Can you wake me?"
Winter Sleep / Olivia inspi` Reira.
| rebecca from kingdomofastelle |
His bedroom is unsurprisingly empty and a tad more disorganized than he left it. When he’s gone for extended periods of time, his wife settles in to the all-too-familiar mindset of living by herself. He understands it, and for that reason he doesn’t demand anything of her or their room. Most of his personal belongings still reside in Astelle, anyway.
At first it seemed as if he’d fully transitioned from Astelle to Earth, with work days spent in Astelle and nights spent at home with her. It became exhausting, however, to transfer between worlds so frequently, so after fourteen months of back and forth, Lei started staying the night in Astelle. Then days became weeks and weeks became months, and despite having three kids, he continues to slip into this pattern.
He picks up the assorted papers that flew from his wife’s desk when he entered through the portal. She’s been writing again. There are notebooks stacked on the side of the desk next to reference books and a colorful arrangement of pens. Ignoring the urge to read through her latest piece, he neatly squares off the loose sheets and places them beside the notebooks.
09:56.
Before he has a chance to step into the hall, he can smell the aftermath of a wonderful breakfast wafting from downstairs. He can imagine her preparing enough food for five, though only four are present. He sees the twins scrambling to assist her even though they can hardly reach the counter.
When he reaches the kitchen, it’s empty, save for dishes that have yet to be cleaned. As he thought, a plate is set out for him, a sheer piece of plastic wrap snug tight around the food to keep it fresh. He peels back a corner of it and smiles (he’s missed her cooking), then tears a piece of the roll off to taste it.
As he secures the wrap once more he feels a tug on his pant leg. His youngest reaches up to him, wide-eyed and eager to see him though he can hardly speak. Lei kneels down to pick him up and greets him.
“Lukas, where’s your mother?”
Lukas doesn’t respond, but instead buried his face in Lei’s shoulder. Sometimes Lei wonders if Lukas will forget him or resent him. He’s not sure which is worse.
The microwave blinks 10:00. He holds Lukas with one arm and walks into the living room.
“Daddy!”
His daughter, Clarissa, jumps up from the wrapping paper mountains that surround her and collides with his legs. He runs his fingers through her hair and laughs gently, then sets Lukas down beside her. Kneeling, he hugs his daughter and peers over her shoulder at his oldest son. He gestures for the boy to join them and, though hesitant, Eritas sets his new toy down and runs to hug him too.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Lei murmurs, kissing their foreheads.
“I thought you weren’t going to make it.”
Lei lifts his gaze to meet his wife’s and he gets to his feet. The children step back toward their toys as she approaches. Lei frowns apologetically. “I know. I should have come sooner.”
A moment of silence passes, then she steps forward to embrace him. “I’m glad you came at all.”
Lei smiles faintly and presses his chin into her hair. He stares ahead at the tree he didn’t get to decorate. There are new ornaments on the tree this year, popsicle-stick creations courtesy of his children. A lightbulb is out near the bottom of the tree. He’s so happy to be home with his family that he can’t even be bothered to point it out.
Instead, he kisses his wife’s hair and leans back. “Merry Christmas, Mika.”
“You’re so careless,” he breathes. Biting the inside of his lip, he reaches up to dab the end of his sleeve against his companion’s forehead. This tunic is a gift from his prince, but in the moment it is all he has to tend to his wound, small as it is.
Dardanos snorts in opposition. “It’s your fault,” he says, looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes. Christopher doesn’t have to look at him to know he is pouting.
“I am not the one who decided to wrestle,” he says, smirking.
“You asked for it.” Dardanos is teasing now.
Christopher smiles and pulls his hand back, taking a moment to press his thumb against the fabric of his sleeve in an attempt to rub out the freshly formed stain. It smudges deeper and he drops his hand. He will have to wash it when they return.
“It doesn’t even hurt,” Dardanos continues. He flops back on the grass and looks up at the sky, arms tucked beneath his head. It is cloudy today. The sun pokes through every few minutes.
Christopher does not lie down, but sits beside him, gaze lingering on the small scratch that lines Dardanos’ temple. “If it did, we could go back,” he suggests.
Dardanos scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. Christopher smiles and looks out at the hills. He likes it here, too.
A few minutes pass in silence before Dardanos says, “That cloud looks like a dragon. Doesn’t it?” He points to the sky and Christopher lifts his head.
He frowns. “Which one?” There are so many.
“That one—right above us.”
“They’re all right above us,” Christopher mutters.
“Just—come here.” Dardanos pulls him down by his arm, tugging on his sleeve so hard that it nearly falls off his shoulder. Christopher does not complain. He settles down beside him and adjusts his sleeve mindlessly as he looks up at the sky. Dardanos is pointing again. “See it?”
The brown-haired boy smiles as he spots it. The dragon seems to inhale as it glides slowly overhead. He half expects it to breathe out flames or ice, but nothing happens. It is only a cloud.
“It looks like the ones in your books,” he says. He had always wondered what a real dragon would look like. Such curiosity was sparked by the many books in Dardanos’ palace. He hoped to someday read all of them.
“A bit,” Dardanos says. There is another pause, then the prince snorts loudly enough for his companion to flinch. He takes no notice of Christopher’s wide gaze, and instead points directly above them. “That one. It looks like you.”
“What?” The boy frowns and lifts his gaze, attempting to follow the guideline set by Dardanos’ finger. His brow furrows tight and he says with frustration, “I don’t see it.”
“It’s right there!” Dardanos sounds like he is stifling his laughter.
Christopher sighs and says, “It’s just a cloud! It doesn’t look like anything.” When he looks back toward Dardanos, the prince is grinning. For some reason, that smile makes the boy’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. “You’re seeing things,” he accuses, because he cannot see anything in the clouds now. Even the dragon has seemingly flown away.
“It was just for a moment,” Dardanos explains. Christopher cannot tell if the prince is messing with him. “The light hit it just right and I swear it smiled like you do.”
The boy’s cheeks flush and he looks back to the sky again in a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse of that smile. His lips part as he searches the sky, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
When he finally gives up and lowers his gaze, he catches sight of his prince. Dardanos is no longer looking at the clouds, but it is Christopher he now looks at with wonder. He looks away, sure that his face is as red as his sister’s hair.
As his prince speaks once more, ready to move on to another topic, another cloud, Christopher struggles to fill his lungs. They constrict pathetically and it feels as if they’ve collapsed under the weight of an invisible force. Above him, the sky seems to turn at a strangely quick pace—he’s lightheaded, but Dardanos doesn’t seem to notice.
Dardanos’ smile flashes in his mind amongst a flurry of clouds. He’s pointing.
Christopher grasps desperately at the grass around him in hopes of grounding himself and returning to reality.
Shuffle your iTunes and write a small drabble for the first five songs played.
These Streets - Bastille
Each time I cross these brick paved streets, I am reminded of the stunning violet rings that engulfed me and suffocated me all at once. Like water rushing into my lungs, I gasp at the memory of her skin beneath my fingers, her disheveled hair falling in her face when we made love. I find oxygen in the way she said my name, and choke on the way she said his. Within seconds, I’m drowning and I find support on the bench where we spent our last moments together—before those eyes released me from my dream, her nightmare.
Each time I visit these brick paved streets, I expect to see her, a beacon guiding me back to warm caresses and gentle words. Instead, I am surrounded by strangers and darkness, left alone to wander eternally in yearning for the one woman who pretends I never existed. I want to leave these streets, leave them for her, force her to take them and drown in memories of me while I allow myself to catch my breath.
Who Am I? - Lily Frost
Seven years have passed since the accident, and for Klaus, she never left. Her scent still lingers on her clothes, her voice still echoes through the rooms of their home. Sometimes, when he is so deep in the bottle, he swears he sees her standing by the window. It always plays out like this, and even the happiness he feels with family is temporary when he remembers that, because of him, she is unable to share in it too.
Vegas Lights - Panic! at the Disco
“Are you falling for me?”
Her voice teased him, and he could sense both amusement and judgment in her tone. He laughed and looked elsewhere, anywhere but at that smile, but she leaned over to force his attention. “You are!"
“I am not,” he assured.
“Uh-huh.” She leaned in to kiss at his neck and he could smell vanilla in her hair. Her lips brushed against the edge of his jaw, and her voice came out a melodious whisper. “Be careful, Tomas. You know I’ll break your heart.”
Dispossession / Piano Version - NieR OST
“Niklaus?”
He stands, frozen in the foyer, staring at the ghost of his wife—only she isn’t a ghost. She’s alive, her cheeks flushed with excitement and nervousness, her eyes alight with love. For him.
Too often he’d dreamt of this moment, of her return, streams of “I’m sorry”s and “I love you”s falling from their lips as they held each other. It was perfect, every time, until his eyes opened and he was alone in their bed, once more.
He waits, waits for the ball to drop, waits for his eyes to open to an empty room. She speaks again, “Nik, it’s me,” and nothing happens. Their daughter stands near her, worried. “Dad? Say something.”
This isn’t the perfect situation—in his dreams he would have picked her up, they would have laughed and cried, but now he stands still, unable to take his eyes off her. She steps toward him and he doesn’t flinch as she reaches up to caress his cheek. She smiles, and he doesn’t wake up.
The Dark Colossus Destroys All - NieR OST
Blood runs down his cheek, the gash at his head deep enough to cause his vision to blur. He steps back to regain his composure and wipes the blood away as the wound begins to heal. Vesper stands roughly eleven feet behind him, and on all sides they are surrounded by shadows of their enemy. She calls out to him, but he can’t hear her, his ears ringing as he’s thrown to the ground. He groans, and nearly laughs at the knowledge that he once paid people to treat him this way.
He sluggishly gets to his feet, and Vesper is calling to him still. He can’t make out her words, but if he had to guess, it sounds like she’s shouting his name. They’re losing, but he won’t die. Vesper, however—
Her voice comes in hard and clear, “Dorian! Get—“ and then it’s gone again. Cut off, and when he lifts his gaze to see her, he sees the stake protruding from her jacket, and her eyes flash violet once last time.
Calloused fingers tapped along the edge of a ceramic mug, a sign of nervousness. When Dean Winchester came across the country to see his estranged “brother” he had it all planned out in his head. Both he and Sam would walk in, but Sam would greet the boy first. They would hug, Dean would smile just barely from the door and say something snarky - to show that he’s not mad at him anymore - and Haneul would smile back. They would make up without actually uttering any apologies, hug it out, and Sam would offer to cook up some of his disgusting rabbit food for the three of them. He just never took into account unexpected visitors.
Sam was in the other room being the better Winchester and catching up with their long lost friend. From the bedroom where he sat, he could barely hear her laughter echo through the halls. Oh, how he missed her laugh. He missed everything about her, but he couldn’t bare to be around her. The guilt over her death had built up for years and years, so much so that looking at her made him feel sick. Desperate to avoid such an ill feeling, he sat alone in the guest room like the pathetic asshole he knew he was.
“Dean,” Sam called from the door. Dean looked up and made a face, having not realized that the distant conversation had stopped. He cleared his throat and sat straighter in his chair, hoping they had some other supernatural jerk to deal with (so he could get as far away from his personal troubles as possible).
“Sammy,” he smiled almost wearily. “Shouldn’t you be catching up with the others?”
Sam frowned and sat on the edge of the bed across from his chair. “You’re being immature. You know that, right?”
“Ha,” he scoffed, leaning back in the chair once more. He took a drink of the crap Haneul poured for him - the kid didn’t have any beer; figured - and looked aside. “I have nothing to say to either of them.”
“She misses you. They both miss you.” With no response he stood up, and Dean finally lifted his gaze to meet that of his brother’s. “Besides. We might have a case. You’ll have to talk to Jo about the details if you want to be a part of it.”
Of course he would. How like his brother to push him onto the things he wanted to avoid. “Sammy.” Sam ignored him and stepped out of the room, leaving the door wide open for him. “Sammy!” Silence. With a sigh he set down the mug and got to his feet, taking a moment to swallow his nerves. “I hate you,” he murmured. With a sigh, the man walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
—
A questionable feeling stirred through Dr. Spencer Reid’s core as he walked along one of the hallways in Lyle House. The house seemed normal at first glance, but even he could tell something was off. Perhaps his dreams of the shadowhunter Michael spurred such uncertainty in him, or perhaps it was the familiarity of places such as this — either way, he trailed a few steps behind his partners as they conversed with the nurse who led them on their pseudo tour.
They stopped in front of a room, once belonging to the young Chloe Saunders. “May I look in here?” he asked, cutting the nurse off. She seemed hesitant, but the authority their job granted them was enough to convince her to utter a small affirmation. He opened the door and took a step inside, the others lingering in the hall behind him. It looked as she had described it in her journals, though the wallpaper looked even more dreary than he imagined in his mind. It struck him that anyone living here might hate it, despite whatever else they had to deal with. Nothing about the room brought him joy, and if anything he could almost feel the negative energy surrounding it. With a frown he stepped back out and closed the door gently behind him.
“Dr. Reid?”
Spencer shook his head at his senior agent and looked to the nurse. “My apologies. We’d like to see the rest now, if you don’t mind.” She nodded and started down the hall again, and like before, Spencer followed behind, ignoring the curious looks directed his way.
As they walked, more and more rooms came into view, but a few of the adjoining halls seemed cut off. Agent Derek Morgan spoke up on behalf of the three of them. “Why are these areas closed off?”
Whether or not everyone saw, Spencer definitely caught the hesitation in the young woman’s demeanor at the inquiry. “We’re renovating. It is our goal to make this home more hospitable for the individuals staying here,” she said. She smiled as sincerely as she could manage, it seemed, but he could easily read through it. He wasn’t sure what their actual plan was, but he knew something was wrong here.
At the end of their excursion, the three agents walked down the steps leading to their vehicle. When they reached the doors, the other men turned to look at their younger companion. Without any need for provocation, he said, “There’s something incredibly suspicious about this place.”
Derek Morgan looked between them before settling his gaze upon the older agent. “Do you think they’re really renovating in there?”
Aaron’s frown was enough to assure them he didn’t trust them either. He opened the driver’s side door and look up toward the building. “Call Garcia and see if she can figure out what they’re planning. We may need to speak to the Chloe’s friends again. Hear them out one more time.” He shifted his gaze toward Spencer. “We need to make sure they’re being one hundred percent honest with us.”
Spencer nodded firmly before climbing in the car. He felt no closer to finding Chloe Saunders than before, but his determination seemed only to grow stronger with each step they took in searching for her. There was something about all of this that wasn’t connecting: the motive. The reason she was gone in the first place. Something in his gut told him she had no choice in the matter, but why? The answer could lie among the secrets that Derek Souza and his friends kept from them when they visited before, it was only a matter of dragging those secrets out.
The prince shot up in his bed, all but screaming Raz’s name in desperation. Panting, he took in the room around him and slowly reclined on the various pillows that were previously situated at the backboard. He was back in the guest room offered to him at the Zerothuhian Estate, much to his relief. Never in his life had he felt so afraid of the sand that coated the vast deserts surrounding this place. Even now, as the wind blew in from the open window, he felt no fear for the sand that lay illuminated on the ground below. He knew that the feeling he had in his slumber was related solely to his cousin and the idea that he wouldn’t care about his death.
Despite the fact that earlier that day the desert prince clearly countered Jeile’s ridiculous notion that he could care less about him, Jeile’s doubt still lingered. Among said doubt was a never-ending jealous rage that continued to boil inside him. It would be wonderful to say that he had let his sour emotions go and instead went back to play with Raz and his servants. That would be the mature thing to do, after all, and it likely would have ended in countless hours of pure fun.
However, he did no such thing, for his emotions were difficult to bury or cast aside.
He could hear the echo of his cousin murmuring his name in a hopeful attempt to calm him down. It almost made him smile now, to think of the effort the younger man put forth in maintaining Jeile’s trust. “I just thought that I was of little consequence to you,” the man had said.
Jeile had scoffed in response, drowning in his disbelief. Regardless, he let the other man talk, considering the guilt from his previous outburst already weighed heavy on his mind. It was the confession of Raz’s envy toward Lei that surprised Jeile the most. “Lei?” he immediately questioned. Sure, Lei was a close friend, but his priorities always lied with the young Prince Aram. Jeile could never win against the tot, and even now he certainly was not the first Eucalystia the blond man thought of. He would always be second-best to his solemn friend, and had long since accepted that.
For a moment, the crowned prince had considered a chance to make up with Raz, yet again. But, of course, the thought only lingered for a brief second. Soon after admitting that he didn’t hate his older cousin, Razalude confirmed that they would make no progress. He was a liar and would continue to lie - continue to act as if he didn’t care about Jeile. Jeile couldn’t handle that.
“So that’s it, then?” he had said. “I came here in hopes that we could fix what was broken, Razalude. I came here to mend a friendship that you - that you so clearly denied - and yet you ‘don’t know how to stop lying’.” Jeile frowned and stepped back, his chest tightening. “I can’t do this, Raz. I can’t sit here and try while you would rather sit back and be content with not knowing - not fighting to make this better.”
Shaking his head again, he reached up and brushed his fallen strands behind his ear. “I implore you to return to your games. I need some time for myself and .. and perhaps, when you finally do know how to stop lying to me - to yourself - then you can come find me. I truthfully await your knock on my door.” Eyes red with the threat to shed tears, he turned away and quickly strode off to his room again, willing himself not to cry.
But he did cry. When he closed the door behind him, tears fell down his reddened cheeks in defeat. How silly of him to try and speak with his cousin. How foolish it was to try and mend a friendship that the boy so adamantly fought - and how dare he turn around in the last moment and claim it was all a lie! Did he think Jeile would so easily forgive him? Did he think Jeile would dismiss all of the negative things he said, all of the glares, all of the sneers and snide remarks?
Oh, but he wanted to. He wanted to let it all go, to just walk back there and apologize. He wanted to express his tears and hold nothing back, lay it all out on the line. “I’m sorry I lashed out at you, I’m sorry I walked away. I was hurt - am hurt - but I desire nothing more than our friendship. Please, will you take me back?” It sounded pleasant in his mind, but a prince’s pride would allow no such defeat. Besides, Razalude was the one who put their relationship in danger, not Jeile. After all, he was the one that fought Jeile off, that ignored him and neglected any memory they had together ..
How pathetic of himself to stoop to this level; deep down, Jeile knew not to blame this all on his younger cousin. He was at fault, too, of course. Now, as he lay in his bed, cloaked in the sweat of a dream gone awry, he felt more deeply rooted in his guilt. He was nothing but a child in the face of conflict, it seemed. Perhaps Raz would forgive him if he came to him .. perhaps. But the coward inside him urged him to turn on his side and pull the blankets up, leaving that confrontation for another day.
Spencer Reid hurried over to the table, opening the journal he acquired from the home of Chloe Saunders to a page he’d previously bookmarked. Overnight he’d read several of them in their entirety, before his body finally forced him to sleep. Today, he was intent on finding any information that remained in the off-white pages, so that the team could locate the missing girl. “In one of her journals, she describes the manner in which she and her friends were treated at Lyle House,” he said.
“The boy, Derek, said that Lyle House was a cover,” Aaron Hotchner commented thoughtfully. Since the team received a call that morning, nothing about this missing person’s case was falling into place. Nearly all of the children had a documented history of mental illness, yet each of them denied it when asked. That wasn’t unnatural; of course it was understandable for teenagers - especially under the stress of losing a dear friend - to deny accusations with such negative connotations. But from the small interviews each of them did, said illnesses showed little to no symptoms. If that were the case and they were not actually ill, then perhaps what the boy said was true. Hotch frowned as he considered this.
A dashing young agent walked over to them, eyes narrowed with doubt. “Do we trust him? They all act like they’ve got something to hide - they could be shifting the attention.”
“I don’t believe that’s true,” Reid countered. “Based on the writings of Chloe Saunders, I find little reason to believe she is truly schizophrenic. There are a few strange points, but for the most part it follows like an average teenage girl’s diary.”
“OK, let’s consider the idea that they’re being honest. What kind of place would falsify documents like that?”
A short silence lingered amongst them as the gears shifted in their heads. Hotch glanced at the other two and nodded with certainty. “Alright. The three of us will check out Lyle House. Morgan, get Garcia to see what she can find out about the place. If what they said is true, it might lead us closer to figuring out where Chloe Saunders is—”
“Or who took her,” Reid added quickly. Though there was no legitimate proof that anyone took her - other than a few loose strands of hair - Reid was certain that this girl wouldn't have run off on her own. Anyone with a support system like that of her friends would never risk leaving them. Not after the treatment she received in such a place, as was scribbled in vivid detail on the worn out pages of her journals.
-
Being the underling of an all-powerful vampire and his mighty gang of irritating immortals was hardly how he imagined his life. The Pravus himself was worth following, and he would do anything he could to please him. The rest of the merry gang, however? He would rather run a stake through their hearts. Silas was a selfish prick, Sebastian a narcissistic princess. The only decent one there was Maxence - who made him wonder why he was even in that group, since it seemed like ‘asshole’ was a necessary trait for entry.
Regardless of the people, irritating or otherwise, Joel’s biggest complaint was that he never knew what was going on. After spending the day digging through soil with his bare hands - (Joel always disliked plants in his human life; they died too soon for the amount of work put into them) - he witnessed the reveal of a necromancer named Chloe. She was young and beautiful, and seemed far too innocent to be in a place like that. In a way she reminded him of his sisters, but as far as he was concerned, they weren’t able to raise the dead - and thank goodness for that.
When the other immortals started discussing plans, Joel was often sent to wait somewhere else. Most things were not his business, and as far as anyone was concerned, he was there only to do whatever the Pravus asked of him. He was content with that, mostly, but at times he couldn’t help when his ears picked up various tidbits of conversation.
“We have someone for you to raise.”
“Oh, do you carry around dead bodies in your pocket, Sebastian?”
Joel’s eyes narrowed as he leaned against the wall outside the study. He folded his arms across his chest and sighed, willing himself to focus on something else. His sisters. Jane and Nes were eleven and thirteen when he last saw them a year and a half ago. They were staying at their aunt’s house since their mother’s health failed her and she left them parentless. Not a one of them liked their aunt, and in fact Joel couldn’t stand her. She may have fooled the social workers, but he recalled vividly the way she would down several glasses of her favorite alcohol when they so much as struck a nerve. Aunt Cass had a habit of snapping at Joel when she was drunk, and he feared that without him there, her anger would turn on the girls.
Initially he left so that he could find help; he had saved up whatever money he could find and planned to locate his cousin Andrea in Louisiana. “I’ll come back as soon as I find her, I promise,” he told the girls. He left in the middle of the night with a backpack full of essentials and went on his way. Unfortunately, he never made it so far south.
Meeting the Pravus was both terrifying and enthralling. He was captivating, with eyes that pierced like a knife, but the more he looked into them, the more he desired the blade. Joel knew when he was thirteen that he preferred men over women, so there was no doubt in his mind that the Pravus was the most attractive man he’d seen. There was something about him … something that he would later learn was the absolute magnetism a vampire of his caliber possessed. Even now, he could recall the bittersweet taste of the man’s blood on his tongue. Only when he turned did he get a sample, but lately he found himself wanting to be bitten more than he wanted to bite.
Since that day, Joel had been the Pravus’ willing slave. Every day he thought of his sisters and of his promise to them. He thought of Jane going to high school and Nes excelling in math class. He tried so hard to think of them living normal, happy lives, only to watch as the thought became drenched in the drunkenness of his aunt, her shrieks echoing in his ears. Now that he was a vampire, surely he could get rid of her - perhaps rip out her heart the way he’d seen other vampires do. But his first priority was to his Pravus. Only when he was no longer needed could he return to his family. They would understand.
Joel flinched at the sudden scream that echoed from the other room. He recognized it as Chloe’s voice, and frowned at the idea of them hurting her. Turning to face the door, he placed a hand on the wall aside it and considered running in to grab her. If he could just get her out, convince them that they should find some other way of getting what they wanted .. but the disapproving look of his Pravus flashed in front of him and he stepped back. Another scream rang from behind the door, but it went unacknowledged as the vampire walked toward the back patio, away from the dull reminders of a life he knew he was neglecting.
To think he had the gall to follow him. A bitter laugh escaped the prince's lips as he slowed to a rigid stop. Pivoting on the heels of his shoes, he could feel his jaw tighten with both anger and pride, and remarked the ease in which he held his head up to assert his dominance. "Your friends?" he all but hissed. The amount of jealousy that cloaked that one word made him cringe, and he felt himself step back in preparation to escape. Heavy brown locks fell from his ponytail as he shook his head and instead clung to his rosy cheeks. "Razalude, please," he started, "Whatever you have to say is better left unsaid."
He was unused to expressing his negativity in front of others this way. Yes, sometimes he complained or acted childish, but it was never so serious. When he truly felt upset or angry, he could keep it in and maintain a suitable demeanor. But for some reason, knowing that Razalude would rather be friends with a handful of servants than befriend his own family - (then again, they weren't really family, were they?) - made his blood boil with rage. His fists tightened at his side as he struggled to keep his expression and tone level, and for a brief moment he regretted shedding the jacket that would have hid the way his nails dented his palm.
When Razalude stepped toward him, his viridescent eyes blazed with disbelief. He actually took another step back, as if there was some invisible force between them that required they stay several feet apart. "No you wouldn't," he countered almost immediately, "You couldn't." He fought back a bitter laugh, just barely catching it in his throat as his lips curled upward in a pained half-smile. As he watched his cousin, he could see the way he struggled to back up his plea. Of course. All he could bother to manage was sending his fr - no, wait, his servants (did he really find Jeile so stupid that he wouldn't catch that little slip?) back to their quarters.
"You had no problem shoving me aside before I got upset," he snapped, eyes narrowing in a pathetic excuse for a glare. Naturally his tongue decided to act before his brain could tell it not to, and already he would be unable to catch it. When an angry Jeile got started, he was hard to stop. "You have been avoiding me ever since I came here - and even before then! I have not forgotten the way you cast aside our entire history, Razalude. The way you claim you remember nothing from our childhood, none of the games we played or the conversations we had." He snorted indignantly and placed his hands on his hips, gaze cast aside. "Truthfully, I have long since been aware that you would rather I somehow manage to end myself, whether it be through faulty magic or," he stilled, struggling to come up with another situation. "Or - or even getting lost in the desert to starve and crumble under dehydration - oh I bet you would just love that, wouldn't you?" The last few words echoed off the walls, and his tone reeked of accusation in a way even he would find unfair, but the image of Raz laughing at his despair formed much too clearly in his mind and only drove his unhappiness further.
Angry still with Raz, and even moreso with himself, the prince licked his lips and stared down the hall, jaw shifting as he willed himself to regain his composure. "I just think," he began, struggling to maintain a suitable volume, though it was more quiet than necessary now, "that you should stop lying to me, and I should stop lying to myself." Brow furrowed tight in that way that so often made women swoon for him, he stared down at his cousin - his cousin that he couldn't help but adore despite everything; his cousin that would definitely not forgive him anymore. Now, when he spoke, his voice fell defeated, his eyes narrowing with a sadness that would be difficult to perceive. "We are not friends, and we have not been since our youth. Go," he gestured past him toward the desert prince's chambers. "Go and be with your real friends. I will leave as soon as my business with your father is finished, and then you won't have to worry about me intruding anymore."
"Can't you be more useful?" Silas sighed, arms crossed over his chest as he supervised the amateur vampire's gardening. "Honestly, I would rather work with a wolf than deal with your lack of finesse."
Joel bit his tongue and dug his fingers in the soil as he relocated one of the plants. He had no intention of fighting back, for any trouble he took part in might result in disappointing his Pravus, which he would not allow. Silas rolled his eyes and stepped away, taking a moment to gaze out past the glass at the snow in the yard. Winter was bitter and depressing, but in the comfort of his little greenhouse, he could attempt to maintain an air of spring.
He'd begun a habit of planting both food and flowers since he and Maxence started hanging around the others. "Perhaps you should find something that calms you down," the man had suggested. When he was young, Silas worked hard in the fields, plowing and managing the land; it was hard work but it was rewarding. Repeating the process now was usually relaxing, but today he couldn't seem to calm his nerves.
With a glance back to the vampire, he sighed. "Oh, come on! You're mixing the plants," he said.
Joel met his gaze with a cutting glare. Silas had been harping at him all morning about the flowers and the shoddy way in which he put them together. "And here I thought you would be grateful that someone even bothered to assist you," he nearly hissed, but even still he turned back to the soil and shifted the plants to a more appropriate position.
"You say that," Silas started, moving to tend to some of the flowers that recently bloomed, "but I know you're only doing this to please your darling Pravus."
Joel nearly flinched. His feelings toward the Pravus were entirely private, and yet they were constantly mocked among the others in the group. His jaw tightened as he willed himself not to snap back. Vladimir would never approve of that. A heavy silence fell between them, leaving only the sound of leaves rustling and thin fingers sifting through soil.
"Whatever. I'll get you a nice meal later. Thanks," Silas finally said, deft fingers working the base of a plant. "You can go. I'll finish this up." At a glance, he could see Joel already heading to the door, hands clapping to get rid of the dirt. The elder immortal fell still as the door closed again, and considered his prior attitude. Something about all of this was putting him off, and he couldn't quite figure it out. He could only hope it wasn't another tragedy in the making.
-
Nights like this, sitting out on the back patio where the yard stretched on for what seemed like forever, Silas was reminded of his home in Greece. Things were simpler then, quieter even. Streets weren't as crowded, not where he stayed, and the earth grew lush and beautiful - much unlike the trash humanity replaced the land with today. He found himself always irritated with people, with buildings and business, with every little thing this world had to offer these days. Everything except Maxence, his one escape from such a wretched world. But even Maxence couldn't offer him the peace these nights did.
The cool air seemed to reach an uncomfortable cold as the sun set, and already he found himself missing the foreign light. For an immortal, he felt incredibly disconnected from it, and even more so bothered by the frigid air he so often felt in the tomb he was buried in. It seemed the relief he felt had reached its peak, so he rose to his feet and rolled his shoulder to stretch.
Inside, he could hear the faint echo of the television. The Pravus was watching one of those ridiculous sitcoms again - whatever he saw in those was beyond Silas - which meant that no one else had a choice in programming. With no reason to rush - he didn't care to join the others, after all - he casually stepped toward the den, half-regretting his decision not to smoke when he was still in the back. It was the familiar voice of Sebastian that caught his attention and urged him forward with more speed.
Hazel eyes narrowed at the sight of the girl in his arms, his curiosity evident in the way he slowed to the back of sofa and parted his lips. "The necromancer," he mimed, leaning over the cushions to get a slightly better look at the girl. "She doesn't look like much." A dangerous assumption, even he knew that. The frailest looking individual could be stronger than the most intimidating - but even still, this girl was bordering pathetic. "Is she even aware of her power?" he inquired, stepping around the sofa to sit on its arm, "From the looks of it, I'd say she was oblivious to it."
Of course, looks can be deceiving, and it would be later that her power would surprise them all.
The more he considered the situation, the more he found himself at ease with it. Perhaps it was a bit much that his cousin would sleep around with a bunch of servants, but at the very least he had good taste. Thin fingers curled against his chapped lips as he eyed Shani, whose youthful gaze was both refreshing and distracting. It had been a while since he met a new woman, but the feelings he had developed for the last one he invested time in was enough to make him push those thoughts away. (Even still he found himself wanting to present her with a flower, perhaps a castilleja chromosa, the desert indian paint brush - beautiful, radiant, but able to poison a man if he treaded where he shouldn't.) Vered, whose exuberance was infectious, quickly caught his attention. His eyes widened at the realization that she was with child, and he had half a mind to question Raz's fetishes. But Jeile was a gentleman at heart, and he found himself smiling warmly to her, as a mother was something to be respected.
"Ah," Jeile exhaled, caught off guard by the persistent manner in which his cousin urged him toward the door. "Eager to get back to your activities, Razalude?" The comment came out with something of a snort, but he didn't fight him to stay. If his cousin wanted to return to his folly, he was in no position to get in the way.
He was not betting on the opposition from the servants, though, and glanced toward Vered, whose objection was surprising to both princes. As the others spoke up in defense of their 'game', he straightened, a curious smile quickly forming on his face. Only then did his initial assumption seem slightly off, and he quickly considered the idea of another sort of game, one that a person would play with friends. He wondered what it was, tempted to join should he have the chance, but it was Razalude's defeated tone that made him choose, even now, to walk away. How interesting that this boy, the one whose friendship he came to fix, would rather play games with a bunch of servants over him.
"Raz."
Jeile's eyes widened in shock at the informal way Shani, his castilleja chromosa, called for the other boy's attention. He was no longer full of excitement or curiosity or even envy - instead, his gaze was hard and serious, if not judgmental. "'Raz'", was all he could say when his cousin finally caved and invited him to stay. Even the delightful reminder of a card game they once shared only made him feel worse, now. He stared at him with disbelief, his voice threatening. "You let your servants speak to you so casually? You let your servants speak in such a manner." A dull laugh escaped his throat as he looked back to them. "I see. No, I will not be joining you. I apologize for interrupting." He mustered as much sincerity as he could considering the jealousy that boiled inside him. With a quick glare toward his cousin he turned and walked out, head held high in representation of whatever pride he had left.
In the few minutes it took for Raz to open his door, Jeile went through a number of emotions. He started with anticipation, eager to discuss their relationship, to mend it and restore something that had long since been neglected. It was the fear of being shot down that made him quiver. No more than five seconds after he knocked did he shift his weight, his feet turning just slightly as if to lead him back across the hall. He stood his ground even so, his thin dark eyebrows knitting together in determination, but even that wavered a few seconds later when his impatience allowed his uncertainty to grow stronger. Just as he was turning again to leave, falling prey to his doubt, the door opened.
Pale green eyes immediately gazed upon the desert prince, and Jeile found himself straightening as only the future king could. "Nothing," was the first answer that came to mind. He nearly grimaced and willed himself to relax before trying again. "That is to say, are you busy?" Missed the mark again, but it was better than nothing. At the very least, Razalude answered the door and had yet to slam it in his face. That was comforting.
As if aiming to answer his own question, Jeile leaned forward with a natural curiosity to peer into his room. "You took quite a while to answer. I was afraid you might have been elsewhere," he commented. "However, it seems ..."
His voice carried off as he took notice of movement past his cousin's frame. Eyes narrowed, he reached up and pushed at the door with a strength that most would not expect, and almost shoved his way past the other. The room was just as he remembered, but with a sense of maturity and class that a much younger Razalude surely lacked, yet it was the wide-eyed individuals staring back at him that he found most unnatural. "You have company," he started again, surveying the four servants--and they were definitely servants--who lay sprawled around his cousin's room.
Needless to say, he was shocked. To have so many servants in his bed--there was only one explanation. He gasped softly, a hand moving to cover his mouth as his cheeks turned a gentle pink. His innocent cousin, stooping to such acts as this! Why, it was simply inappropriate, far too risqué for such a young, respectable man. And yet a part of him couldn't resist the images that flashed through his mind. Razalude, surrounded by these young men and women, garments falling about them, his lovely skin bare as they sat in such close proximity, touching--
He caught a sound in his throat and tried to compose himself as he glanced back to his cousin. "What is going on in here?" he asked through his palm, almost too ashamed by his thoughts to uncover his face. It took everything in him to seem pure of mind, but his struggle was evident. It was not unknown that Jeile himself took part in improper activities such as this, but for his much more serious cousin to also find enjoyment in these things? It was a side of him he'd never known before.
There was something positively uplifting in hearing Raz speak so confidently--perhaps a reminder of their childhood together. Before Aram had even been fathomed, Jeile spent several summers with his cousin in his secluded home. Though he always dreaded the desert heat, he found more joy playing with his younger cousin than complaining about the inescapable climate. Even then, despite the lack of trees and other various flora, the sand was still somehow remarkable when the two of them spent hours in it.
Alas, those times were long gone, and it pained him to see how their relationship had withered. He smiled anyways, thankful to his family for welcoming him with such open arms. "I thought that might be the case, but it would be incredibly rude of me to assume," he said with a teasing smirk, bowing his head just barely to his aunt.
It was the suggestion of living opposite his cousin that surprised him, though. Eyebrows raised, he glanced between the two of them for a brief moment before any words dared escape his lips. "If .. you are certain," he said hesitantly. Would Razalude be alright with him staying so close? Surely he wouldn't. The expression on his face said it all; Jeile could almost hear his cousin's thoughts from the depths of his mind.
"Surely you're mistaken, mother. Jeile? Next to me? Did you want me to wring his neck?"
Jeile reached a hand up to his neck mindlessly, looking a bit uncomfortable. When he snapped out of his silly reverie, he cleared his throat and stood at attention. "Sounds lovely." He quickly corrected his previous reaction with a smile, and considered the positive outcomes of this. Perhaps being so close to Raz would allow them time to talk, if nothing else.
As Razalude moved past them, so did Jeile's gaze follow. He was unaware of the pain that flittered across his own expression at his cousin's cruel words. At a loss of what to say, he stood silent until the boy was out of sight, but quickly put on a façade for his aunt, already moving on to tell her of one of his and Aram's silly escapades.
-
Settling in was much easier than he anticipated. The room was glorious, set up with furniture much different than his own in the Capital, yet somehow just as comfortable. Jeile could argue that his stay here was more pleasant than any night spent asleep in the royal palace, for no other reason than he felt more at home. But of course he could never admit that out loud; he shamed his family enough as it was.
Settling on the bed, his clothes strewn haphazardly amongst him, he exhaled out of exhaustion. The sun had been beating down on him since his arrival, but despite his aunt's concerns he denied its wear upon him. His clothes felt heavy and unnecessary, and he could just faintly remember the coolness granted him under the thin, protective layers he wore so often while visiting their desert home. With a groan, he shrugged off his jacket, and already felt a huge weight lifted off him. "Much better," he sighed, and as if talking to another presence, "Now imagine if I had brought you here, Maruru."
He left the fairy girl back home in the cool temperatures of the palace. Not once had he allowed her to visit the Zerothuhias, for the temperatures would surely exhaust her frail body. "A flower is not meant to blossom under so much sun, else she will surely wither," he had told her. She no longer protested after that.
It didn't take long for his thoughts to shift toward Razalude again. "I remember nothing," he had said. Such cruel, cruel words. Raz was a decent liar, but even Jeile knew that deep down, the boy remembered those days all too well. He longed for them to return to that state again, but his chances of mending their relationship seemed more slim by each passing minute.
Perhaps he was in his room--it seemed about time that Jeile took some action, anyway. With a huff, he pushed himself up and entered the hall. There was no guarantee Razalude was in his own room, but having no other place to start, he knocked.
Between the two of them, there wasn't an ounce of sincerity in the room. Jeile saw through his cousin's smile and tone just as easily as anyone here could see through his own. The situation involving them was far too unpleasant for either to actually seem happy around the other, yet even still Jeile could feel a slight tickle of relief at the sight of him. At the very least, he looked healthy.
As his aunt questioned the boy's motives, Jeile took notice of Magellan. At this point, his uncle had grown more rigid - which was a feat to be noted, considering his already stiff demeanor - and cast his gaze aside to a point that made it clear he was avoiding the presence of his son. Jeile almost frowned (what would make you ignore your own son?) but before he had the change to ask, Magellan cleared his throat.
"If you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to." He lifted his gaze to Jeile and bowed his head. "We'll talk more on this later, Your Highness."
"Yes, of course," was all he managed in response, still blown away by the way in which his uncle was carrying himself. Before leaving, Magellan placed a hand on his wife's shoulder with a gentleness that Jeile found almost contradictory - but even he could admit that the fondness between the two Zerothuhians was stronger than most; it was something to be admired and even coveted, in his opinion.
At his uncle's escape, Jeile glanced toward Razalude. He knew all too well what it was like for a parent to avoid you or disappear on you. Between his mother's death and his father's busy schedule, the only parent he ever saw often was his step-mother, and even she treated him unkindly at times. He found it difficult to love her, but necessary, and even if she treated him like dirt in comparison to her all-too-perfect Aram, he had no one else and would settle for the woman who raised him, reluctantly or not.
There was a brief pause as Jeile considered the boy's greeting to him moments before Magellan dismissed himself. He straightened, willing himself not to be awkward, and smiled again - this time with more sincerity. "Hello, Razalude. I hope my being here will not burden you. In fact, I was hoping the two of us could spend some time together. I'm not in any hurry to return home, and I was under the impression that I get to stay at least one night?" He flashed his aunt a smile, both asking and suggesting he have the ability to, whether she offered it in the first place or not. It was expected that he wouldn't be able to fly back over night - Jeile wasn't suited for long distance flying - but regardless, the Zerothuhias were pretty welcoming when it came to visits from his family.
A grin fell on his lips as he looked back to Razalude. "We can go outside and play in the sand like we did as children - do you remember?"
It had been some time since Jeile focused on the affairs of the kingdom. He was head of the Astellian military, but he had been so distracted by his mountain lily - perhaps she was no longer to be considered as such - and all of the happenings on Earth that he neglected his duties in Astelle for far too long. After a long and painful lecture from his mother and father, reprimanding him for his childish behavior, he decided it would be in his best interest to regain his focus. "You can be so dedicated and studious," his father said. "The kingdom will only benefit from a king who thinks of her first." Truer words had not been spoken, and so he chose to shift his attention to more important things.
Naturally as the heir to the throne, it was his responsibility to maintain healthy relationships with the other royal families. The Eucalystias were viewed with respect, for the most part, and it would be a pity if he managed to ruin that. Even he could admit he spent too much of his time flirting around and ditching his duties. Such behavior would certainly take a toll on the kingdom - not that he hadn't been told that countless times by his mother, but only now did he bother to take her seriously - so it was his duty to make a more positive name for himself as the future leader of Astelle.
His first obligation was to improving the military situation in the many separate territories of Astelle. Certain areas lacked the security and skill that the palace had, and if anything he aimed to balance the power out between the lands. His first stop would be the desert lands, to the home of the Zerothuhias, though he would be lying if he said the trip was strictly for business.
His second obligation was to his cousin, whom had recently been brought back to Astelle under sour terms. He always knew Razalude to be something of a troublemaker, but it was the depth of his crimes that surprised Jeile. When he brought him in, Razalude grew cold toward him. Now the two of them weren't talking, and while they were never too close, they were friends in their youth, and letting the relationship go without mending was not an option.
-
His flight to the desert was long and dull, and he was uncomfortable in the clothes he wore. The weather was drastically different from what he was used to, but as the prince, he was expected to dress as usual - which was simply unsuited for the desert heat. Even still, he landed with a smile and greeted his aunt and uncle with nothing but cordiality. Business came first, as it should, but once they met their terms, Jeile finally had time to speak casually with his family.
"How is he?" For some reason the first thing could think of after the small talk was his cousin. Nothing else seemed to plague his mind the way he did. It was stuck in the back of his thoughts, lingering around for whenever he had free time to drown under the weight of his conscience.
"Razalude is quite fine, thank you," his aunt offered.
A pleasant lie. He smiled thinly and nodded. "Naturally. Perhaps I could see him? I haven't spoken to him since we brought him back ..." His voice carried as he averted his gaze, but it was the subtle movement in his peripheral that had him glance up again. Squinting just barely, it took him a moment to recognize the face behind the pillar.
"Razalude," he spoke. Regardless of his surprise, he felt his shoulders lift up as he inhaled with relief. It was good to see him. "What are you doing, hiding back there?" He forced a loud laugh, as grand as any other. His eyebrows raised inquisitively. "Surely you came to greet me?"
