Ask! Meme! Tuesday!!!! For things you said: Glade 15, 22 Sarril: 3 (oof ouch!) 13 and then 2 for whoever will have a good Comedy Prose after all that angst :)
Since this is a million years old I'm splitting up these last three numbers into three different guys! Glade still gets his because I'm trying to make Lex get a Lent mishie.
15.Ā Things you said because youād made a promise
There is a bouquet on the kitchen table, lovingly arranged into a vase, and the petals haven't even started curling.
Because it hadn't even been a week since Relentless came home and told him the happy news, and she is already making plans to leave again.
Glade is... angry. So angry, the kind of angry that makes him avoidant in case he actually says the ugly things he's thinking. Lent can tell he's angry, both because he's made no real move to hide that he's avoiding her and because when she'd confronted him about it, he'd told her he was angry, and needed time to put his thoughts in order.
It's a pretty good way to keep Lent from pushing him on it. It's also a good way to keep himself from burning their relationship to cinders on mostly-accident.
It's not that he's angry at her. Or, rather, he's not angry at the fact that she is the way that she is. He is, though, angry, at her, and it's a new, sort of vindictive thing, ugly and snarling. He's not used to being angry at Lent, and it sits wrong in his chest, but any time he tries to move it, it bites him back with she's pregnant and she's going to kill our fucking kid doing this. So.
He's tried out the whole litany of logic. That's not likely to happen but it could. She'd be careful but it's not up to her. She felt a duty to help people as long as she could to the best of her ability but this is meant to be important to her too. And, the ugly part, the one he didn't even believe, really, but laid pretty and untouchable in the middle of the whole mess, she doesn't want it, any of it.
Which wasn't true. Glade knows that, because Glade knows where Relentless' cracks lie, and if he let himself be angry, he could say, and be right, that's not true but I'd only know it because Amaunator still hasn't taken you back.
Glade huffs out his frustration with himself, with his wife, curses under his breath, and glares at the flowers. He got them after she told him she was pregnant, with a promise of a better present to come later. It... he was still thinking on it. He's been ruining the announcement with his anger, and he knows it.
So, logic. What's he going to do about it? He can't stop her, can't trap her. Not really, certainly not physically. If he put down an ultimatum, maybe. He's not going to do that, because he's her husband, not her shitheel of a goddess. He can guilt her, sure, or manipulate her, but again, he's her husband. She has her reasons. They don't even really have anything to do with him.
Glade casts his eye down to his left hand, and unclenches his fingers so he can twist his wedding band around a couple times. He takes it off. He puts it back on. Takes it off again, then stretches his fingers out. His hand feels naked and cold.
It soothes his anger, a little bit. "Lent, baby?" he calls, finally, twisting his ring back on. He's her husband, not her jailer, not her torturer, not her goddess. "Hey, I'm ready to talk if you are. Fair warning, I'm not- I'm not gonna yell, but I'm still not happy."
Relentless, a little too quiet in the living room, reading without having turned all that many pages, calls back, voice already moving. "I'm ready! I'm ready. It's okay, I get it, I just- I'm glad we can talk."
Glade manages a small smile for her, which further brightens her scarred face. He moves the vase out of the way so he can better see her when she sits.
22.Ā Things you said after making a bad decision
(This is Aladdin AU which is crazy but I want to write it. Who's gonna stop me.)
Glade wipes his hands over his pants. Princes don't get sweaty palms.
Unfortunately, the pants of princes don't seem to absorb sweat well either, so maybe that's why princes aren't sweating all over the damned place. Or maybe most princes have servants for that. Glade doesn't know; he felt kind of awkward around all those real-looking people, and the faerie only said some vague arcane gibberish when he asked where the people came from, so... he'd just said they could mostly stand around, and he'd do most of his work himself.
So he's nervous. It's... you know, he's only got a couple weeks ("Seven, is a nice round number") before the contract runs out and the contract stipulations switch to chain him and free the faerie, so. Yeah, nervous.
Luckily, though, Iris seems nice. She hasn't laughed him out of the palace yet, at least, and Glade, if nothing else, is enjoying the food here immensely.
Speaking of. Footsteps, down the echoey hall of the palace, magnified by Glade's nervousness. Because- Iris seems nice. But he's not meeting Iris.
Relentless is still in her armor, even though she's no longer on active duty. Glade isn't having her leave the grounds, so that makes sense. As far as he can tell, neither of Iris' guards are ever really off-duty. Which, hey, probably is the case for most guards. Still, it's a little different, when it's a personal guard.
Gods, but this was a bad idea.
And then Relentless smiles at him, and Glade smiles back, and he pushes that out of his mind. "Hey," he says, moving to meet her halfway.
"Your Highness," Lent replies. "You're going to have to explain, now, why I'm here."
"I promised, didn't I?" Glade asks. He gestures her to follow, which she does, and goes to open up the door to his guest rooms.
Lent flicks her eyes around his room, and Glade is grateful her eyes don't linger anywhere, especially not his bed. He doesn't know what he would do if they had. They're already-
He takes a few determined steps through the room to the balcony, opening the doors. It's roomy outside, with a large carpet lying placidly in the middle. Lent looks down at it, and he catches the sides of her mouth go up.
"I thought I could show you that it's safe," Glade says.
"There's no rails, or handholds," Lent replies. "It's not safe enough for you to give to her."
Glade kind of figured that would be the reply. But he's not here for Iris. Not really. He takes a breath, a shallow inhale. "Okay. But do you want to try it?"
Lent looks up at him. He spreads his hands to either side of him, and catches her eyes glitter. "How does it work?"
"Come on it with me. I'll show you."
3.Ā Things you said before leaving
"Wonderful to see you, as always," Caeleana tells Lord Greene, who gives her a charming smile and a kiss to her hand. He's quite the flirt, and Caeleana is a little too used to it by now to let it make her blush. Still, he's a handsome man, and Caeleana watches him go for just an extra second before turning back to the greater festivities.
She is, technically, one of three of the party's honorees. Iagora Edlynne's naming day, after her own surname and dynasty, opened the palace's doors to the public, spread out a feast fit for the multiple kings who had held the Edlynne name, and played music and games for an entire twenty-four hours.
It is... Caeleana checked the nearest clock. It is fourteen hours in, and she is flagging quite terribly. Her father had slipped away for a short nap a few minutes ago, and she considers whether she can do something similar, when he's back, and decides that she should probably wait at least an hour after he's back. To distract herself, she drifts towards the gardens, the ballroom doors wide open with children darting back and forth between inside and outside. The children's games are right outside, within easy view of a few other stations, so parents can keep wary eyes on their offspring while still participating themselves.
Caeleana waves a delighted hand to a baby with some of the chubbiest cheeks and widest blue eyes she's ever seen, and the baby doesn't blink. She takes a look at the stroller the baby is in, and hazards a guess as she passes the parent, "She's gorgeous. How old?"
They startle a little, but smile, and tell her, "Five months. Thank you."
Caeleana gives them a smile, and is about to continue with another question when she's interrupted by a delicate touch to her shoulder.
She nods to the parent, apologetic, and turns. The attention-seeker is a young man, perhaps just out of his teens, with a crooked smile and startlingly brown eyes, caught in the sunlight and turned gold. He's tall and a bit gangly, and shrinks away when he has her attention. "Sorry, um, Your Highness. Is it okay if I talk to you?"
Caeleana forgives him the rudeness immediately. "Of course. What can I do for you, Mr...?"
He shakes his head. "Oh, that's not... I just sort of wanted to meet you. If that's okay. I kind of wanted to see the king and queen too."
"Of course it's okay," Caeleana assures him. "This is a public holiday. I'm here to talk to, really."
The young man's smile gets more crooked. "Yeah? 'Cause your grandfather helped with the dragon?"
Caeleana nods. "My great-grandfather was the one who put the enchantments on the dragon Cierran, yes. Almar Edlynne. It's how Iagora got its current surname."
The man bobs his head. "No help?"
"Well, some, of course. He didn't do it all alone."
"Inialos, if I remember correctly. And... Sillavana? The pretty one."
Caeleana shifts. "I don't remember off the top of my head, unfortunately."
"No? It's part of your history."
"It just seems odd for you not to remember. You're taking the credit. It's your party." The young man's smile crooks even more. It seems sharp, now. His eyes glint. They aren't brown, just gold. Caeleana keeps her smile pasted on, takes a step backwards. He steps forwards. "Oops, be careful of the baby," he tells her.
His teeth are sharp. Caeleana gestures behind her back for a guard. "I suppose you're right," she says, diplomatically. "That is a fault of mine. What did you say your name was, young man?"
His chest rises, and he takes another step forward. He's uncomfortably close, now, but he was right, Caeleana is a bit too near the stroller to keep stepping backwards. She edges sideways. The parent behind her moves the stroller, perhaps noticing the exchange, perhaps noticing the guard that is probably hurrying their way over.
His teeth are definitely sharp. His eyes are definitely gold. The pupils are- Heart. His pupils are slitted. Caeleana's stomach sinks. When he breathes out, it stinks of magic so strongly that Caeleana's eyes burn and her head swims. Like rotted flowers and electricity, he tells her, "You wouldn't recognize your dynasty's worst enemy? My name is Cierran, Your Highness."
Like the name is a spell in itself, Caeleana's eyesight starts to go dark with it. She feels herself start to fall, thinks, but elves can't-
13.Ā Things you said that were important to you
Sarril can't disguise his annoyance, but he steps over the puddle in the middle of the road and jogs to keep up. Ayen is bouncing as she walks, which makes her seem even younger than she already looks. She's still pretty fast.
The sky's still misting down rain, and Sarril just knows it's going to soak him to the bone by the time the sun comes out again, even though there's no raindrops to avoid by pulling on his cloak. Just the thought makes him sigh.
Ayen doesn't seem to notice. Her bag clinks a little as she walks. Her face is turned up towards the sky, eyes mostly closed, ears twitching. Sarril swings his attention to the ground in front of her, so he can watch for any deep puddles or tripping hazards and pull her out of the way, since she's not looking for herself.
"How often does it rain here?" she asks, after a moment. Her elbow bumps against his, and she doesn't open the gap again. Sarril fixes his pack on his back.
"I don't know, depends on the season. At least once a month, probably? Maybe more?"
"Couple of days. Depends."
Ayen blows all her air out past her lips. "I like it."
"You'd be the first." She's getting up on the long muddy rut in the road from a carriage wheel. Sarril draws a little bit away, and, predictably, Ayen drifts closer. "Shadowfell doesn't have rain, either?"
"Mm-mm. Not really weather. Just dark and more-dark, and then less-dark, I guess, but only sometimes."
Sarril's never been and doesn't expect to ever be, so he grunts acknowledgement. Ayen keeps talking. "I keep hearing about snow. I'm pretty excited for that, too."
"You're gonna be here that long?" Sarril doesn't know if his dread comes across. Ayen just laughs.
"Yeah, maybe! Or not. Might depend on what Mom wants. Obviously I'm gonna have to get back for at least her birthday, but she'll get it when I want to leave to see snow." She nods to herself, her faith in her mother absolute, just like that.
Sarril flicks his eyes to her face. Her eyes are fully closed now, and he wonders if that same faith is being put in him, that he'll keep her on the road, that he'll just be there when she comes back. He looks down at the path in front of them, splashes through another puddle, and nudges her to the left a bit so she's not trudging through a huge patch of mud. He swallows thickly. "That'll be a couple months. How long are you planning on your mother's birthday taking, a weekend?"
Ayen shrugs. "I'll ask her. Maybe a weekend?"
2. Things you said when you were a few drinks deep
Arthur is swaying, though there's not really any music reaching this far up. It makes Break a little nervous regardless. The railing is pretty high, and Arthur isn't so drunk he's testing anything about it. He's not like Day or Kez who think they're invincible when they're drunk. Break probably wouldn't be leaving them alone, except Callie's down there, and she's much more responsible than the both of them combined, even better than Thorn, who needs to be in the right mood to be responsible.
Break hip-checks Arthur when she comes up behind him, and he laughs, and leans in, the line of his body warm against Break's clay. They press a kiss to the top of his head, and he bids them to lean against the railing. "What's up?"
"Checking on you," Break says. "You're good?"
"Even though you're checking on me?"
"I'm only checking on you because you weren't down there," Break insists, putting her hands up in surrender. "I promise. I'm having fun."
"Good." Arthur nods to himself, then returns to looking to the distance. He's stopped swaying.
Break follows his gaze. Miles and miles away, down the coast and miles offshore, there's a twinkling red. From here, it looks almost benign, like a constellation is. There's a dark smudge underneath it, though - Hiphate's navy blockade, trying to pick off as many devils as they can before they're able to get ashore. It's not perfect. They've seen posters, advertising gold for any devils killed that do make it ashore.
"I'm not sure I believe you," Break tells Arthur.
"Wha- C'mon," Arthur says, and hip checks them. "Do I seem melancholy?"
"Alone up here in the dark and quiet? Yes."
"I'm not alone. You're here." Arthur twists away from the horizon, turns to Break. "Soooo."
The way he rolls out the word does convince Break, and she shoots him a grin. "Expecting someone else?"
"Figured someone would come looking, didn't know if it would be you."
"No!" Arthur tells him with a little bit of real incredulity. "We haven't hung out in a while. This is great. I mean, alone."
That's true. Callie's just now started to detach herself from Arthur's hip, and though Break hasn't picked up on any problem from him about that closeness, it's probably good for the both of them. Break spreads his arms. "Well, I'm here, yeah? Let's go."
Arthur shakes out his arms. Thinks. Shifts his weight from one leg to the other and back. "...I've got nothing."
Break snorts. "Nothing? That's not like you."
Arthur shrugs. "I'll be honest, man, I drank a little too fast. I'm a bit..." He trails off, sways a little, then looks up to Break, like that's an illustration.
Arthur barks a laugh. "Dude!"
"That or you're being responsible. What, you don't want your girlfriend to see you a little sloppy drunk?" Break pokes him in the stomach. Arthur recoils like he's been shot, and he laughs again, before pouncing.
It's something between a tackle and a hug, and even though Break is taller than him, Arthur has enough bulk and muscle on him to get them staggered backwards a little. "You just wanna embarrass me."
Break shifts their weight, but the drinks they've had already make them stumble, and Arthur's weight is leaned against them enough that it topples them both to the floor. They both laugh, tangled, and Arthur shifts to prop himself up.
"I don't need to embarrass you, you're doing plenty yourself," Break tells him.
"Says the guy who just fell over. Are we wrestling?"
Instead of answering that verbally, Break grins, and pushes him over.
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