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❨ king & lionheart ❩

— romanmontague:

Roman chuckled faintly, a wry yet weary sound, shooting Pandora a look that was halfway between bewildered and apologetic. If it were any other day, he could laugh off her reaction with more nonchalance and geniality, but the evening was proving to be more trying than relaxing, what with Marcelo acting so strangely and the threat of surveillance hanging over him constantly. He trusted himself not to go overboard with his drink or his luck, but he didn’t trust anyone here not to thwart the latter.

Pandora’s presence was a welcome one, and Roman was glad to have grown closer to her more than ever in the past few weeks, her strictness and ferocious loyalty complementing his eagerness to learn, to become stronger and to have someone trustworthy he could lean on, and he could wax poetic about her mind and her beauty (the latter most likely to her chagrin). But in the moment her frustration reminded him of what more he could have done wrong, not just to her but in at the masquerade as a whole, and he scratched his head when she pulled away, his smile becoming strained for the briefest moment before returning back to a benign state.

“No boner here, Dora - I was only joking. My apologies.” He began walking ahead, digging his hands into his pockets and watching his feet as he walked. “I take it you’re not enjoying yourself, then? A ballroom isn’t quite the same as a battlefield, I suppose, no blood to be had - only wine. How terribly dull it must be for you, my little condottiere.”

The look he shot her was an apologetic one, and it proved to be enough to ease her down from her spike of frustration — but her glare remained scrawled across her face, and even if she wasn’t able to bring herself to hate Roman for long periods of time, she had no quarrel with making it known how annoyed she was with the party. Only weeks had been spent in her new position of captain, only a handful of years being trained as a soldier, and the war between the Capulets and the Montagues was an even fresher concept for the young woman to grapple with. And yet she dove into her title without hesitation and wrapped the newfound purpose around her entirety, losing herself to the strategy and the rush of battle. And as far as she was concerned, her care for Roman was the same as if she had been raised alongside him, and she would risk her life to protect both him and his family’s cause.

Her fingers began to itch as he started to walk away, his smile straining for only a moment, but it was there long enough to leave her wondering if she had stepped out of line. She’d sooner croak than admit to being mischievous — apathy and restrain were her closest friends, after all — and her nose crinkled at the thought of what Roman brought out in her; that childhood innocence that she never had the chance to explore. She thought she had escaped it, that she was born too old for her age and would die just the same, but maybe she’s the successor of Benjamin Button — maybe she’s backwards.

But Roman was there to straighten her, sending her right back on her path, and she bit her lip with a whimper. She didn’t want to chase after him, to scold him and pull his mask back over his face, but she’d already taken steps forward before he spoke, leaving her stuck right in her tracks and glued to his words. And she appreciated his apology, but he was right back to his crude jokes, and he should have known that his nicknames for her were like a hammer against the ice of her heart. She wondered if he thought thawing her would be pleasant — because it wasn’t.

“Apology accepted, Ro, but now I need you to say sorry for calling me Dora — and damn right, I’m your condottiere. So, how about you listen to me for once? Put that mask back on, and don’t bring up that I was the one who took it off. My mistakes are yours to fix, bambino.” She laughed in spite of herself, smirk creeping up the side of her face as she flashed her teeth. “How about you give me something to enjoy, then? Shall we go share a glass of wine together?”

She winked at him, giving in to his influence over her. ——— “I won’t make you spike it with your blood.”

#{ ✗ | the knight ' & her prince -- roman }#roman #roman001 #gc #event: masquerade #date: december 26th #location: museum #i hate you even more wtf #you flawless little witch

( h-godrej )

Date: December 26th Time: 8:00pm Location: museum ( next to that open bar ) Open: all

The joyful atmosphere, matching the crescendo of the music, made Hiran feel as if he had been staring into a painting. The figures moved around him, vivid with color – with life – and yet he felt no desire to jump into celebrations. It felt … odd, attending such a grand event without, without his father. The numbing realization only causing him to take another sip of his whiskey.

Perhaps he was much rather suited watching from afar than mingling. Or perhaps people were finally able to enjoy themselves behind the safety of a mask. Montagues and Capulets. In one location, without an ounce of bloodshed? Oh, the odd were rare. It almost became a game, to seek and identify which one of his soldiers had been waltzing around the room. What masks would they wear? What masks wouldn’t they wear? People were fascinating creatures all around, even the enemies.

With that thought, he took another sip.

Despite her upbringing as a daughter of wealth, Pandora found the event to be an uncomfortable one — she was little more than a wolf hiding within a dress of wool, smiling sharply at a flock of lambs and trying hard not to frighten them. Medusa had been remembered only as a monster by the men who recorded her in history, no one ever addressing the innocence that was left untouched before her curse — so what was the point in Pandora trying to subdue herself? In trying to feign a false enjoyment?

{ What becomes of a phoenix’s fire when she lets herself drown? ——— Pandora doesn’t know. }

She made her way over to the bar with an anxious sigh, ordering a drink with a curl of her fingers and an inclining of her head. Waiting, she leaned her form against the counter and turned to look at the man standing across from her, and although he was not facing her or addressing her in conversation, the way he carried himself was almost the equivalent of him screaming out his name for all to hear. She grew up with the man, going from girl to woman — from soldier to captain — with him always by her side, and a bitter taste starts to build in her mouth at the thought of their crumbling relationship.

{ What they both seek cannot be shared, ——— and if achieving her goal means losing him, then so be it. }

“Are you playing their game? Following the rules and keeping your identity secret?” she asked him with a smirk, known for her habit of playing with her food. “Or do you want to drop this charade and suffer together? As Hiran and Pandora, of course.”

#( ✗ | athena rises ' & heroes fall -- hiran )#hiran #hiran001 #gc #event: masquerade #date: december 26th #location: museum

pandorarhee-blog

❨ king & lionheart ❩

pandorarhee-blog

— romanmontague:

It was strange, forcing oneself to grow. A year ago, the glitz and the booze and the beautiful men and women opening themselves up for him in one way or another would have sated him pleasantly, but now Roman could feel it all closing in on him, threatening and tempting. He’d found himself in the midst of a conversation with masks he did not recognize, nodding and drinking and going through the motions, when a sudden sharp tension pulled at his neck and literally dragged him away.

“What—,” Roman cut himself off with a cough, only just managing to keep a grip on his glass as he forced himself upright and see who it was who’d thought it wise to take him away. A woman, he realized with raised eyebrows, slim and slight, possessing of porcelain skin from what he could see, stunning in her dress that resembled ancient armor. Wise indeed.

The breath of fresh air would have been nice if he had a chance to breathe it, but his mask was off before he could, and blue eyes widened when he heard his name spoken. How would she have known? Was it obvious even with the mask? He supposed it was of no consequence now, and clearly his identity was something more of a… stimulant for this woman than a repellent. Who was he to deny her that?

“Oh, signora, if I were to agree, I should think I ought to find out for whom I’m keeping company, no?” Roman’s lips curled, his eyes half-lidding as deft fingers tucked underneath the stranger’s mask and carefully pried it up and over her eyes. “… Pandora?” he huffed in disbelief, eyebrows knitting together. “Damn it, Pandora.” He laid her mask on top of her head with a disbelieving, wry smile and patted the hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “If you wanted to talk to me, you could have, I don’t know, tapped on my shoulder. I thought a dominatrix was about to take me for a ride in the gardens.”

His words are honey running over chapped lips, a soothing comfort that lulls her down from the spike of her anxiety, but she finds herself taken aback by the undertones of sensuality in his voice. When he inquires about her identity, fingers coming up to her face in the cautious manner that all men try to ensnare emotional women, she realizes that she’s made a grave mistake — he doesn’t even know that it’s her.

Shit, she thinks to herself with a wince -- they were all right; we really do act like an old marred couple. Awkward flirtation and all.

He removes her mask, speaking her name with an honest and justified surprise, but she still feels the urge to punch him square in the jaw for embarrassing her -- or more accurately, for being there when she’s embarrassed herself. He pats her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze and smiling at her with a quiet playfulness, but right when she thinks he’s going to ignore the situation and shift the conversation to a more comfortable topic, he addresses the similarities between her earlier actions and the sexual aggressiveness of a dominatrix -- and that’s more than enough incentive for her to act on.

She pushes against him with a disgusted grunt, rolling her eyes like a schoolgirl that’s been called out on her crush. “Va' a farti fottere!” she wails, crossing her arms and pulling back her lips to accentuate her frustration. “Is this what happens when I open up to you? Hide the boner, Roman.” She steps away, still holding herself tightly, and she only looks back to her friend once she’s made it a good distance from where he’s standing. The scenery of the garden is breathtaking, accompanied by the distant sound of a trickling fountain, but all that she’s able to focus on is him.

“That’s the last time I get soft on you.”

#{ ✗ | the knight ' & her prince -- roman }#roman #roman001 #gc #event: masquerade #date: december 26th #location: museum

❨ king & lionheart ❩

date: december 26th time: 9:12PM location: the gardens status: reserved for @romanmontague

Pandora winces in annoyance as a weight presses down against her shoulders — but it’s not the armored layers of her gown that are at fault for the inconvenience. A blur of clinking champagne flutes and fluttering dresses surrounds her, and there are many unwelcome memories to be found within the fray -- of a childhood that had been wasted choking on silver spoons; of a former innocence that was once sheltered by the false security that comes with growing up in a world made of paper. If the younger version of Pandora still lived, she would have been right at home with the night’s festivities — but the woman she is today is a harsher breed of creature. She feels only a sense of detachment as she makes her way through the evening, like she’s a warlord that’s been forced to play the part of royalty.

She sighs, glancing around for something that can distract her from her anxious thoughts, but when she spots the familiar dark hair and lanky body of her superior, a relieved smile spreads out across her features. She makes her way over to the masked man, not even bothering to greet him before grabbing his tie and jerking it with a sharp tug. She drags him behind her as she walks away, dodging servers and squeezing through the crowd of anonymous elite. She doesn’t stop until she’s reached the entrance of the gardens, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the comforting shift of atmosphere.

She turns to face her captive after making sure that their space is shared privately between them, removing his mask before he has the chance to process what she’s doing. “Roman,” she breathes, glad to know that her recognizing the Montague heir hadn’t been an embarrassing mistake. “Could you keep me company? Please?” she asks him with a softness that few know, placing a hand on his arm. “The party’s getting to be too much for me to handle -- the buzz of everything; all of the pretending. I’ve never dealt well with the unknown.” She grins, tightening her grip with a playfulness that has always been shared between the two of them.

“But I know you.”