Soren Silverpine

Lesser Faerie | 24 Years | Winter Court | Closed Blog for Dark Skies RP

[traegics]

Evander slowed before he spoke.

Not because he was cautious—but because the sight in front of him didn’t fit neatly into any of the usual categories his brain defaulted to. The shimmer in the air, the way the ground itself seemed… layered with something else.

He stopped a few paces back, hands still in his pockets.

“That’s not something you see every day,” he said, voice even. Observational. Calm.

His gaze tracked the movement of the ley line rather than the man at first, like he was trying to understand the system before the operator.

“Functioning as it should,” Evander repeated, a faint tilt to his tone. “That’s reassuring. I think.”

A beat.

He finally looked at Soren properly then—took in the focus, the lack of hesitation, the way he didn’t seem particularly concerned about where he was standing.

“Most people don’t stop just off a road like this to… check the infrastructure,” he added. “Especially not in Triad territory.”

No accusation in it. Just fact with context.

Evander shifted his weight slightly, still not closing the distance, but no longer just passing through either.

“You’re not local,” he said—not a question.

Then, after a pause:

“And you’re either very confident,” a small, dry pause, “or very unaware of where you’ve wandered.”

His eyes flicked briefly back to the shimmering strands of magic.

“Which one is it?”

[sorensilverpine]

"No, I would imagine not. Most people don't go actively seeking the leylines of this world. Even most magic practitioners merely draw power from them." Soren explained a little too stiffly before glancing up from his work and over at the male. The tiniest of smiles flickered on his features in brief recognition - the male from the drink shop, whom had been as equally perplexed by the fae concoctions as he himself had been over the mortal ones.

"I am not." He agreed and let the leyline fade back into obscurity now that he was content with its functioning. He turned to face the male properly. "I am fae - lesser born, from Winter Court." He explained casually and paced a few steps closer. He took a look over his shoulder at the mention of the organization that claimed this district though. "I do not know much about this 'Triad' group except what has been spoken in passing. There are despised, that much is clear." He remarked. "I was confident I could handle the leyline. It was not malfunctioning terribly." He added.

[sorensilverpine]

The walk through the Broken City to the southern road that gradually turned from cobblestone into snow-dusted trails never failed to settle a knot of unease into Soren's stomach. The southern road out of the city ran between the NOLA District and the Triad District, and it was from the latter that Soren's uneasiness seemed to creep.

He didn't know much about the 'Triad' organization that primarily settled the district, but the few things he had managed to pick up from conversations with some of the mortals as he worked hadn't painted them in a favorable lighting. They were supposedly a ruthless organization with a strong disdain for anything or anyone from the various supernatural communities. It was a little sad, Soren thought.

He was fae - lesser, of course, but fae nonetheless - and yet, the mortals and mortal-adjacent supernaturals of the Broken City had been accommodating and welcoming, for the most part. They allowed him to go about his work without giving him too much trouble. If anything, he was met with curiosity and had returned the favor in turn. The various mortal species were interesting and he couldn't wrap his head around an organization like Triad ever having formed in the first place. Perhaps he was simply naive. It wouldn't be the first time being accused as such, he supposed.

Pausing momentarily to check the stability of a ley line a few yards into Triad's district, just off the road, he remained aware of approaching footfalls. "Everything is functioning as it should. It was better to check and make sure instead of just ignoring it though." He spoke without looking away from the shimmering strands of magic he cradled between his hands.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

[vilisisms]

élodie smiled at that, something a little softer settling into her expression as she leaned her shoulder more comfortably against the stone. “that makes sense,” she said gently. “wanting to understand instead of just observe… it’s a better way to move through a place like this. people can tell the difference.” her gaze drifted briefly to his hands against the fountain, then back to his face. “and for what it’s worth, you’re doing better than most. curiosity without distance is… rare.”

she huffed a quiet laugh at the mention of his parents, head tilting slightly. “yeah, that tracks too. families tend to notice when you start choosing somewhere else over home.” a small pause, thoughtful but not heavy. “but i think this city has a way of holding onto people once they’ve started asking questions here.” her lips curved faintly. “if you’re going to keep exploring with intent, i’ll upgrade my offer—i know a few places that feel a little less overwhelming. good cider, quiet corners, people who won’t mind if you’re still figuring things out.” her brows lifted just slightly, easy and open. “consider it a local guide perk.”

[sorensilverpine]

Soren remained silent - listening as the young woman spoke, but quietly filing away the words she said as if each one might hold a deeper meaning he would need to recall at a later moment. When she paused for just a moment, before complimenting his curiosity, he let out a tiny breath and smiled softly. "Thank you." He offered.

"I do not know how many families are here in the mortal realm, but for my own - once I came of age, my mother and father took a step back to allow me room to find my own path. Even though I went into the same line of work as they - which, is common for us lesser fae - we often spend more time as professional colleagues back home than a family raising their young son." Soren explained. "Yet, I know that my mother would worry most about my time being spent among mortals she knew so little about."

Her offer peaked his interest a little more. "I would appreciate that, thank you." He smiled wider.

[traegics]

Dominic registered the shift in Soren’s stance—the move to stand beside rather than opposite—with a faint recalibration of his own posture. Shared vantage was an invitation to cooperation; he accepted it without ceremony.

“Polite does have a habit of outsourcing its consequences,” he agreed quietly. “Stability borrowed is stability owed. The bill simply arrives later, and usually with interest.”

He reached into his coat and drew out the folded map again, this one marked with a tighter, more clinical hand than the one he’d given Aelin. No wards this time—just precise notations, marginalia tracking oscillation rates, stress blooms, dates. Dominic held it between them, angling it so Soren could read without crowding.

“The worst of them isn’t loud,” he said. “It’s under the transit spur by the old Foundry. Constant foot traffic, layered workings from half a dozen factions, and a ley knot that’s been ‘temporarily’ redirected three times in as many months.” A pause, dry. “Temporary tends to become permanent when paperwork is involved.”

His finger hovered over a small, circled mark. “You’ll feel it as a drag rather than a surge. People report headaches, misfires in low-grade workings, fatigue they blame on the city rather than the ground. It’s polite in the same way a cracked beam is polite—still holding, until it isn’t.”

He glanced up at Soren, precise and intent. “If you loosen your stillness there by degrees, you’ll see the system try to overcorrect. That’s your warning. If it snaps to compensate, we’re past the point of elegant fixes.”

A beat. Then, restrained British understatement softening into something like trust:

“I’d rather you saw it with me than read it in a report after the fact.”

[sorensilverpine]

Soren stepped in closer - not crowding, but narrowing the space enough to read the map with the same quiet precision Dominic had used to mark it. His eyes tracked the annotations first, not the streets, following the pattern of thought behind the ink rather than the ink itself. Oscillation rates, stress blooms… his focus lingered there a fraction longer, committing the rhythm to memory.

"Temporary redirection layered three times," he murmured, more to the structure of the problem than to Dominic himself. "That would explain the drag. It isn’t just resistance - it’s conflict. The leyline is trying to reconcile multiple instructions that were never meant to coexist." His gaze lifted briefly, meeting Dominic’s with a flicker of recognition.

He shifted his stance subtly, as if already accounting for the space they weren’t yet standing in. "If it’s compensating quietly, then it still believes it can recover," he continued, voice steady, analytical but not detached. "That means we have a margin. Small, but usable." A pause, then, more deliberate: "If it begins to snap, it won’t be the knot that fails first. It will be whatever it’s been borrowing from."

Soren let the silence sit for a beat - not empty, but measured - before inclining his head once, a decision settling into place. "Then we go before it decides to correct too quickly," he said, calm as ever, though something sharper now threaded beneath it - focus, not urgency. His attention shifted toward the direction of this Foundry without needing to look back at the map. "And we watch how it breathes before we touch it."

[traegics]

Laikyn followed his attention to the leyline without trying to understand it. She didn’t need the math to respect the work. Cracks were cracks, whether you named them magic or infrastructure.

“Second nature’s still a nature,” she said quietly. “People get hurt when they forget that part.”

At his question, she went still in a different way. Not guarded. Just… older. The kind of pause that meant she was deciding how much truth a stranger had earned.

“Before?” she echoed, then let out a small breath through her nose. “Before was… louder in a different key. Less glow. More sirens. Fewer doors that went places they shouldn’t.”

Her eyes tracked the edge of the stillness, the way the city’s noise pressed against it without quite breaking through.

“It was a city you could pretend was normal if you stayed in the right neighborhoods,” Laikyn went on. “Problems were smaller. Or at least they stayed in their lanes. Monsters didn’t file travel plans.”

A beat. Her shoulders eased.

“This place?” she gestured vaguely at the Broken City around them. “This place doesn’t let you lie to yourself. Everything’s too close together. Worlds, consequences. You can’t pretend the cracks aren’t there because they’re glowing.”

She glanced back at him, tone even.

“So yeah. I came from somewhere. But I don’t miss it. This city’s honest about being broken. That counts for something.”

Her gaze flicked to the frost again, then back to his face.

“Good to know it holds as long as you do,” she said. “Means I won’t blame the quiet if it suddenly lets go. I’ll blame the guy standing next to the fault line.”

[sorensilverpine]

Soren listened quietly as the woman explained to him - in vague terms, at least - what life in the city was like before it had wound up as a centerpiece between the fae Courts. His brow furrowed involuntarily as he tried to sort and file away the bits of information she gave him, but he couldn't help finding confusion at the lack of deeper details. She had answered him, but she hadn't. Humans were particularly good at that, he was coming to learn - or perhaps just the ones that carried upon them more than they let on.

"And this city now..." He started. "It cannot be found to be normal?" He questioned next. He glanced around at the broken architecture and settled his focus back on the leyline spark. "I suppose, when everywhere you look is a reminder of what was, that would make it difficult to do so." He concluded. The fae's lips twitched into a tiny smile as she remarked about holding him to blame should the quiet falter. "Don't worry. It'll hold."

[vilisisms]

spencer let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when the voice came from the open instead of the dark. his shoulders loosened a fraction, the tension in his stance easing without fully disappearing. “no harm done,” he said quietly, turning this time — slow, deliberate — so he could actually see who he was talking to. fae. he clocked it easily, not with fear but with that careful awareness you developed when the city taught you what not to underestimate.

“yeah,” spencer agreed after a beat, gaze lifting to trace the crooked lines of the buildings the same way soren had described. “it’s holding together out of spite, i think. or momentum.” the corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “either way, someone has to keep an eye on the seams. figure out which ones are pretending they’re stronger than they are.”

he shifted his weight, mirroring the open posture without crowding the space between them. “quiet like this usually means something’s deciding whether to fall apart,” he added, voice low but steady. his eyes flicked briefly to the street behind soren, then back. “i don’t mind the quiet. i just don’t trust it.” a pause, thoughtful rather than tense. “architecture’s a good thing to get lost in, though. gives the city fewer reasons to surprise you.”

[sorensilverpine]

Soren inclined his head slightly as Spencer turned, acknowledging the care in the movement - the kind learned, not assumed. "Momentum is an underrated adhesive," he said, tone mild, almost conversational. "Spite, too. Cities survive on both far longer than they should." His gaze followed Spencer’s up the jagged skyline, tracing where old lines should have met cleanly and instead overlapped like badly healed fractures. "Most of the seams here aren’t strong," he added. "They’re stubborn. There’s a difference."

He shifted a step to the side rather than forward, keeping the space between them open and unclaimed. The quiet pressed in again as he did, a held breath rather than peace. "I learned as a child an important lesson that stillness and quiet were two different things." Soren explained. "Quiet is what happens when competing pressures reach a temporary agreement. It looks like stability until something external gives them a reason to renegotiate." His eyes flicked, briefly, to the street behind Spencer this time - not alarmed, just checking the balance.

At the mention of architecture, something thoughtful settled into his expression. "Structures tell the truth eventually," he said. "Load-bearing elements always do. People, less so." A faint, wry curve touched his mouth and was gone.

[traegics]

Dominic considered the flicker of amusement with the same care he gave structural feedback—acknowledging it without encouraging it. Interest was useful; indulgence less so.

“Yes,” he said to the explanation, dry but not dismissive. “There’s a peculiar vanity in presenting oneself as impregnable. One advertises the very thing one hopes no one will test.” A pause. “My family specialised in discouraging tests. Not eliminating them.”

At Soren’s description of being lesser fae, Dominic’s expression remained neutral—no condescension, no reflexive diplomacy. Simply acceptance of a classification offered without apology.

“Flash is inefficient,” he replied. “It attracts attention. Attention attracts interference.” His gaze returned briefly to the quieted seam beneath the pavement. “Stabilisation, on the other hand, tends to be appreciated only when it’s absent.”

He inclined his head a fraction. “Your stillness is… well-tuned. It allows for variance without permitting escalation. That’s not a common balance.”

At the question of leylines, Dominic’s eyes lifted again, precise and intent. “Yes. In theory and in fieldwork. I don’t manipulate them directly—regulatory magic behaves poorly when you try to redirect primary flows. But I track stress patterns, harmonics, points of oscillation.” A beat, candid. “Mostly to predict where intervention will be demanded and pre-empt the paperwork that follows.”

He shifted, angling his stance so he could better sense the seam Soren indicated, careful not to intrude upon the stillness shaping the space. “If this corridor continues to accumulate tension, you’ll see micro-fractures before any visible rupture. Minor surges, misfires in nearby workings. The city tends to cough before it bleeds.”

A pause. Then, quieter, with that restrained British understatement:

“If you’re inclined to compare notes, I have three other seams mapped within a six-block radius. None are as polite as this one.”

[sorensilverpine]

Soren listened without interruption, head angled just enough to suggest complete attention even as he continued working. The city’s hum pressed faintly at the edges of his perception, but Dominic’s words slotted neatly into the framework Soren already maintained for people who understood systems instead of simply surviving inside them.

"Flash is often a compensation," he said after a moment, tone even, thoughtful rather than corrective. "At least, that is how most of the louder Winter fae who possess such magic in my home tend to present themselves." His gaze dipped briefly to the pavement seam, tracking the subtle rhythm beneath it; the tension there pulsed like a muscle holding too long without release.

The compliment, such as it was, earned the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth - not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment filed and accepted. "Variance requires patience," he added. "And a willingness to let instability show itself before you try to correct it. Most systems fail because someone panics and forces equilibrium too early." He crouched slightly.

At the mention of the other seams, his attention sharpened - not curiosity alone, but calculative interest. He straightened, brushing dust from his fingers in an absent, precise motion. "Polite usually just means borrowing stability from something nearby," he said, almost to himself. "Which means something else is paying for it." He stepped back from the corridor’s edge, letting the stillness he’d been maintaining loosen by degrees instead of snapping off.

He moved to stand beside Dominic rather than opposite him - shared vantage, shared problem space - eyes already scanning the street grid beyond as if he could see the hidden lattice beneath asphalt and foundation. "Show me where the worst one is." He said, calm and certain; then, after a moment's pause, added, "Please."

[traegics]

Laikyn tilted her head a fraction at the honesty in his answer, not in challenge—more like she was recalibrating the read she’d taken on him. People lied a lot. Not always maliciously. Sometimes just because the truth felt like too much work. The fact that he hadn’t tried to soften it or dress it up made her relax a notch she didn’t advertise.

“Doesn’t bother me,” she said, then amended, because she was trying to be better about precision. “Doesn’t hurt me.”

Her eyes tracked the faint fog of his breath, the way the frost on the railing held its shape instead of creeping. Controlled. Contained. That mattered more to her than what he’d called himself.

“Winter fae,” she echoed quietly. Not with awe. With filing. A label you stuck on a drawer so you knew where to reach if things went sideways. “Figures the calm comes with a maintenance schedule.”

She shifted her weight, boots settling into the cooled hush of the ground like it might remember her if she left too fast. For a second, she let herself stand inside the stillness without scanning for the catch. No trick. No pull. Just a pocket of quiet in a city that rarely allowed it.

“City’s loud because it doesn’t know how to sit with itself,” she said. “Everything here vibrates like it’s afraid of stopping.”

Her gaze lifted back to his, steady, not confrontational.

“So no. The stillness doesn’t bother me. It’s the part where stillness usually comes after something goes wrong that makes me twitchy.”

A pause. Then, almost wry:

“If you’re setting these up to work, I won’t step on your process. I was just… passing through. Found a place that didn’t ask anything from me and didn’t want to waste it.”

She glanced once at the frost, then back to him.

“You got a time limit on this pocket of quiet,” she asked, “or is it one of those ‘as long as I’m breathing, it holds’ situations?”

[sorensilverpine]

Soren smiled softly. "We're not all stillness and calm. Just like the flurrying snow, some of us draw more attention to ourselves. Others... stick to ourself normally." He shrugged his shoulder once. He was quiet for a moment as he checked a few more points of the leyline fracture in front of him and looked back at the woman. "What was the city like before? You had to come from somewhere, right? This city clearly wasn't always here nor always like this." He explained.

Another smile played at his lips. "Until my concentration slips up. Or I get tired. Whichever comes first." He responded lightly. "Usually the former. It doesn't really take a lot of effort to maintain. It's kind of... second nature, really."

[vilisisms]

aelin’s smile didn’t disappear — it simply settled into something smoother, easier to wear. charm slid back into place like a practiced habit, bright enough to deflect without inviting another cut. “you’re persistent,” he said lightly, almost fond. “i’ll give you that.” his gaze stayed on soren, warm and teasing, even as something in him pulled its edges inward. “but not everything needs to be pinned down to behave.”

inside, though, the question scraped. what are you doing here? it echoed too close to other questions he’d learned not to answer out loud — about sunlit expectations, about warmth that was supposed to mean belonging, about a court that loved him best when he fit its image. summer had always been loud about what it wanted from him: brightness, presence, loyalty that didn’t waver. the broken city didn’t ask for any of that. it let him be untethered, let him exist without performing heat for anyone else’s comfort. explaining himself would mean choosing a side he wasn’t ready to claim again. so he hid behind the thing he knew how to wield.

“if i start giving you answers,” aelin went on, lifting his glass in an easy, almost careless motion, “you’ll start putting me somewhere i don’t want to be tonight.” his eyes flicked to soren’s, still warm, still amused. “and i didn’t come here to be sorted.” a pause, charm holding steady while something quieter stayed buried beneath it. “let’s just say i’m exactly where i need to be right now — and enjoying the company.” his smile lingered, bright and disarming, even as he leaned back just enough to keep the line intact. “you can keep wondering,” he added gently. “i’m very good at living with unanswered questions.”

[sorensilverpine]

"I don't know..." Soren started and he felt his lips twitch into the faintest of smirks. "You don't seem like the sort that ever really behaves." He stated short and simply, as if it was an observation, and quickly returned his gaze and attention to the empty glass in his hands. He waited for a few moments before raising his gaze once more just as Aelin began speaking once more.

"Oh." The word was abrupt and almost confused. Aelin's response wasn't an answer - the opposite really - and it knew exactly what strings to tug on inside him to irritate him just the right way that it wasn't quite frustration. Yet, almost as quickly as it had formed, Aelin dismantled that irritation with the quiet steadiness that lurked beneath that insufferable charm he exuded. The bright smile brought heat back to Soren's cheeks and he chuckled to himself in shyness as his gaze fell back onto the safety of his glass. "I suppose the company's alright." The Winter fae jested softly.

Silence settled between them once more and Soren took the opportunity to glance around them. He took in the subtle roar of the bar's other patrons and fidgeted once more. The instinct to dip himself into steady stillness lurked right beneath his surface, but he was too stubborn to let the Summer fae in front of him have the satisfaction in him failing their little 'challenge'.

"I need more drink." He finally said at length and slid the glass - that had been a security blanket of sorts thus far - towards Aelin.

[vilisisms]

élodie listened the way she’d been taught to listen — not just to words, but to the spaces between them. soren spoke like someone who had weighed his answers before letting them leave him, and she respected that kind of care. “exploration with intent,” she echoed softly, a hint of approval warming her tone. “that actually sounds like the healthiest way to approach this place.” her gaze followed his gesture to the streets around them, the fractured edges softened by life continuing anyway. “most of us didn’t get the luxury of easing into it. the city just… happened to us.”

his observations about mortal habits drew a quiet smile from her — genuine, amused. “iterative is a polite way of saying we learn by breaking things,” she said lightly. “but yeah. we keep what feeds us. we share what keeps us warm. bread’s kind of sacred that way.” at the mention of cider and coffee, her smile widened just a fraction. “those get everyone eventually,” she assured him. “coffee’s a rite of passage here. cider’s for when the weather turns and you need something to remind you you’re still human — or close enough.”

she studied him for a moment, thoughtful rather than wary now. “standing in more than one place at once… that resonates,” élodie admitted. “a lot of us are doing that now. past and present, mortal and not, home and nowhere all at the same time.” her fingers relaxed against the stone, the tension in her posture easing. “it’s uncomfortable. but there’s something honest about it.” her eyes met his again, warm and open. “i’m glad it hasn’t felt like an imposition for you,” she said. “and i’m glad you’re taking the time to actually see us, not just… catalogue us.” a small, friendly curve touched her mouth. “if you ever want recommendations — places, food, quieter corners that still feel alive — i’d be happy to share.” a beat, then gently curious. “does the winter court miss you yet?”

[sorensilverpine]

A soft roll of laughter escaped the fairy and he nodded once. "Yes, you learn by breaking things." He chuckled out and offered a sheepish grin for just a moment. He listened to her words about bread and smiled once more at the mention of the differences in ciders and coffee. "I have never been a very large fan of coffee, even back in my home Court. Ciders are very common, however. As you might expect, the Winter Court is rather... cold." He chuckled once.

As they shifted topics, Soren adjusted his seating upon the stone rim of the fountain and danced his fingertips over the cool surface. "I want to understand mortals, not catalogue your people and move on. Mortals are new and unknown to me - and I don't really do the greatest when there's something unknown at play." He remarked lightly. At her question he shrugged his shoulders once. "My parents probably wish I spent some more time at home these days rather than this city."

[traegics]

Dominic absorbed the refinement the way one absorbed a well-executed correction—without comment, without offence. The calm didn’t press. It accounted. His wards adjusted minutely in response, not retreating so much as aligning, and he allowed the interaction to settle without interference.

“Good,” he said quietly at Soren’s explanation. “Rebound stress is how cities end up pretending damage is an anomaly rather than a consequence.”

At the technical assessment of his wards, Dominic’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, quickly disciplined out of existence. Compliments about structure were rarer than praise, and far more welcome.

“They’re Rosethorne anchors,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “Intent layered beneath protocol. I was taught that shielding invites challenge. Discipline… tends to be left alone.” A pause. “Usually.”

When Soren spoke of the fracture seam, Dominic’s attention sharpened, gaze angling toward the pavement as though he might see through stone by will alone. He committed the information to memory, filing it alongside three other stress points he hadn’t yet reported.

“That explains the variance,” he said. “Transit corridors are always the first to misbehave. People carry too much expectation with them.”

Then Soren’s observation landed—not accusatory, not curious in the ordinary sense. Simply precise.

Dominic lifted his gaze again, pale eyes steady. “I’m not fae,” he said. “Nor do I borrow from them.” A beat, then a refinement. “I’m a witch. Present-born. My magic isn’t expressive by nature—it’s regulatory. It exists to notice problems before they become… dramatic.”

He hesitated, just briefly, then added with careful honesty, “I’ve found most fae don’t mind that. Order is less threatening than control.”

He shifted his weight slightly, still well within the calm, making no move to leave it. Respect without submission.

“You’re welcome to continue,” Dominic said evenly. “I’ll be another constant in the equation. If anything spikes, I’ll feel it—and if I don’t, that’s data too.”

[sorensilverpine]

"Really? 'Rosethorne anchors'... Interesting." Soren remarked and for just a moment there was a flicker of genuine intrigue and amusement that flashed across his face. "I understand that concept, actually. It's similar mentality shared among some of my kin back home. When someone presents themselves as impregnable, it is sometimes taken as an invitation and challenge for others to prove them wrong." Soren explained and the tiniest of scoffs left him. "A baseless need to sate one's ego, I always thought." He commented briefly.

"Witch magic." The words were spoken as matter-of-fact rather than in accusation. "Your magic is not so dissimilar to my own, you know." He turned away from the leyline fracture and faced the male more directly for a moment. "I am what my people refer to as a 'lesser' fae." Soren explained; the term spoken without any ounce of disdain. It simply was what he was. "For us, our magic is considerably less... flashy, than member of our 'higher' society. My own is what you feel around us now - stillness. Control. Stabilization." He explained.

At the assurance he could continue working, Soren gave the male a small nod and glanced at the leyline he was examining. His gaze lingered for a moment before he looked back at Dominic. "Do you have familiarity with leylines?"

[traegics]

Laikyn felt it before she understood it.

Not cold — not exactly. More like the world had decided to stop fidgeting.

The city usually pressed in on her like a crowded room: neon buzzing behind her teeth, engines coughing down side streets, magic she didn’t have names for sliding past her nerves like oil on water. She’d learned to live inside that noise, to sort it into useful and dangerous and ignore this if you want to sleep tonight.

This place wasn’t any of those.

She stopped at the edge of it without meaning to, one boot scuffing over the line where ordinary pavement softened into something quieter. Her shoulders dropped a fraction. The kind of reaction she hated having in front of strangers — body answering before brain got a vote.

“You sure about that?” she asked, not unkind, just careful.

Her eyes went to the railing first — to the thin glaze of frost blooming under his hand, deliberate and neat as handwriting. Power that didn’t shout. Power that folded its coat before sitting down. That alone told her more than any title would have.

Laikyn didn’t step closer right away. She hovered at the border like someone testing the depth of water with a toe.

“Most things in this city say that,” she added. “Right before they do the opposite.”

But she came in anyway.

Not bravely. Just practically.

The stillness touched her like a cool palm at the base of her skull, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. No alarms in her head. No itch between her shoulders. Just space that didn’t want anything from her.

“That’s… new,” she admitted, glancing at him sidelong. “Usually calm here means someone’s already dead.”

Her hands stayed visible out of habit, fingers hooked loosely through the strap of her bag. She took in the lanternlight behind him, the way the air seemed to mind its manners around his presence.

“You doing that on purpose,” she asked, “or does the ground just like you?”

A beat. Then, softer, honest in spite of herself—

“Either way, appreciate the warning. I’m not built for surprises that feel polite.”

[sorensilverpine]

Soren took another few moments to focus on the leyline he had been examining before turning and glancing over his shoulder at the woman. "I have no reason to lie to you." The fae spoke honestly. "Stillness is... a comfort for me. It also serves its practical uses though. Your city can be rather loud and busy." He explained. He watched her for a while longer before finally shifting his position and more properly facing her.

"Yes." He answered her question. "I am a Winter fae. Frost, stillness, entropy - those are the fundamentals of my Court's magic. I create these pockets of stillness whenever I'm needing a more controlled environment to work in." Soren explained, as effortlessly technical as ever. There was a small flicker of emotion across his face, as if he wasn't sure which expression he should wear in the moment before his lips parted once more. "Does it bother you?"

[vilisisms]

˖✶ ݁˖ ― spencer cross / open starter / @darkskiesrpgstarters

spencer cross learned the broken city the way you learned a scar — by touch, by repetition, by knowing where not to press. he took the long way everywhere, not because he liked walking, but because it gave him time to notice things: which streets felt tighter after dusk, which buildings hummed just beneath hearing, which people looked through him and which looked at him a second too long. tonight, the air felt wrong — thinner, like the city was holding its breath. he paused near the edge of a half-lit block, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders loose in a way that read casual if you didn’t know better. if you did, you’d notice how still he was. like he was waiting for a cue he didn’t consciously remember agreeing to.

he shifted his weight, eyes tracking a reflection in a cracked storefront window — movement that didn’t line up with the rhythm of the street. “you can come out,” he said quietly, not turning around. his voice was calm, unassuming, almost tired. “i’m not looking for trouble.” a beat. softer, more honest than he intended. “and if you are… i’d rather know now.” he finally glanced over his shoulder, expression open in the way people trusted without realizing why — the kind of face that didn’t look like a weapon until it was already too late.

[sorensilverpine]

"Apologies." Soren's voice carried on the breeze as he stepped out from around a bend in the road. "I did not mean to startle. I lost myself in the architecture of the two cities being mashed up in a way that both worked, but remained misaligned. It's honestly... fascinating, how this city holds itself together." The fae explained with a small, sheepish smile that flickered onto his lips before disappearing for his neutral expression once more.

"It's quiet tonight." It was more of a statement rather than a question. It wasn't the same kind of quiet that Soren was used to, but a quiet in its own right. The magic keeping the city held together at its seams hummed with a faintness that was almost imperceivable if someone wasn't paying much attention to it. Soren, of course, was always paying attention - listening; analyzing; examining.

[vilisisms]

aelin noticed the pullback immediately — the careful inch of distance, the way soren’s attention sharpened instead of fading. he let it happen. leaned back just enough to prove he’d clocked it, heat easing into something quieter, more deliberate. “acceptable,” he repeated, mouth curving. “i’ll put that on my résumé.” his gaze lingered on soren’s fingers at the glass, the way the chill traced the rim, before lifting again — curious, unhurried. “you analyze everything like that,” he added lightly, “or am i getting a special demonstration?”

when the question veered toward summer — toward sunlight and assumptions — aelin laughed, soft and dismissive, and shook his head. he didn’t bristle. he didn’t correct him. he simply… sidestepped and caught the question the way you caught a thrown knife — by letting it pass just wide enough to miss. his smile didn’t fade, but it shifted, slower now, deliberate. he leaned back an inch, heat easing into something lazy and contained, eyes flicking over soren with open intrigue.

“is that what you’re picturing?” he asked lightly. not defensive — curious, amused. “me out there somewhere, spinning around in the sunlight?” his gaze dipped briefly toward soren’s glass, then back up. “because i hate to disappoint, but,” he lifted his own drink, turning it slightly as the light caught the glass. “this,” he added, tone warm and teasing, “feels a lot closer to the truth.”

his attention stayed on soren, steady, unmistakably present. “you talk like someone who’s been imagining it,” aelin went on. “sunlight. dancing. the summer heat glistening.” a faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “makes me wonder what you do when you let your mind wander.” he took a slow sip, then tilted his head, eyes bright. “tell me,” he said softly, flipping the weight of the moment back where it belonged, “is that what you were doing just now — picturing me that way?”

[sorensilverpine]

The question felt like it peeled back another layer from the walls and protections Soren wrapped himself up in. He felt seen in ways he had not ever been given a chance to be accustomed to. His gaze dropped to the glass twirling softly in his fingertips and he swallowed some as he worked himself up to answering it.

"I... yes. Kind of. I don't analyze out of mistrust. Winter - it finds stillness by understanding everything else in motion. I find unfamiliar things, or things that intrigue me -" He paused for a brief moment to meet Aelin's gaze, "- deserve to be met accurately. If I misunderstand or misjudge something... someone... then I risk damaging it. Or myself." He explained. "The unfamiliar creates... instability, in the stillness." The male added softly and gently sat the empty glass in front of them. There was an instinctive pull in him; telling him to unfold the stillness around them - yet, he resisted the temptation.

Soren didn't miss the way the male once again skirted around his questioning, but Aelin's soft laughter at his assumptions was almost welcome - the sound warm in his ears and filling space within him in the moment. "I..." He hesitated and that was all the answer he needed to provide. A faint rosy color rose in his cheeks and he reached for his empty glass once more, desperate to provide his fingers something to fidget with. "This?" Soren questioned curiously. At the more direct, second accusation, Soren released his own soft laugh. Words failed him for a moment, but slowly he nodded. "Yeah." He said simply. "Okay? Yeah, for a moment, I wondered how the sunlight looked in your hair." He answered - honest as ever.

He hesitated for just a moment longer, as if weighing and calculating some unseen equation before finally lifting his gaze and locking it with Aelin's own. "You didn't answer my question though." He said simply.

[vilisisms]

aelin caught the name like it mattered — because it did. “soren,” he repeated, slower, deliberate, letting it settle between them before his mouth curved again. “silverpine.” his brows lifted faintly. “good. i’ll try to remember that when you’re pretending not to be responsible.” can you? that did it. aelin’s laugh was quiet, warm, the kind that slipped out before he bothered to stop it. “oh, i can,” he said lightly, eyes flicking over soren with unmistakable interest. “the question is whether you can handle me doing it without supervision.”

he didn’t miss the smirk — awkward, tentative, but real — and when soren folded up the stillness and retreated to his corner, aelin read the look perfectly. your move. “yeah,” he murmured to himself, amused. “thought so.” he ordered the drinks without ceremony, two glasses set down moments later — clear, cold, unassuming. aelin picked one up, tested the chill against his palm, then carried it over, sliding into the booth across from soren with unhurried confidence. he didn’t crowd him. didn’t poke at the quiet. just existed there, heat leashed low, eyes bright.

he lifted his glass in a lazy toast. “to sitting still,” he said. “temporarily.” a sip. clean. honest. approval flickered across his expression. then he leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the booth, posture relaxed like he hadn’t just dismantled soren’s composure one careful step at a time. “so,” aelin said, voice pitched low over the hum of the bar, “what actually pulled you in here to the falls district tonight?” his gaze drifted briefly toward the windows, the falls district beyond them, then returned. “don’t tell me coincidence. you don’t strike me as the type who wanders into bars without a reason.” a beat — teasing, curious. “was it the promise of bad vodka and worse decisions,” he added, “or did you follow the quiet and pretend it wasn’t curiosity?” his eyes held soren’s, warm and patient, utterly certain this wasn’t just a drink. “your turn, silverpine.”

[sorensilverpine]

Something in the way Aelin had spoken his name sent a chill through even his spine. As he waited in the corner, his fingers laced together nervously and he spared a glance every now and then out the window nearby. When Aelin slid into his seat, the first thing Soren noticed was the distinctly controlled heat.

Soren accepted the glass with deliberate care, the cold biting pleasantly into his fingers. He didn’t rush the first sip. Instead, he let it settle, eyes unfocused for a heartbeat as if he were listening to something beneath the taste itself. “Clear,” he said at last, almost to the drink. “Low interference. I can see why it passes for functional.” His gaze lifted then, catching Aelin’s expression, and something shifted - subtle, but there. “Acceptable,” he amended, the word warmer this time; a concession.

At the question, he paused longer than was socially efficient. His attention drifted to the window, to the fractured glow of the Falls District beyond it - the restless magic, the uneven cadence of a place that never quite slept. “I had no further obligations,” he said carefully. “Stillness tests differently when the environment resists it. High noise, unstable currents, mortal unpredictability.” His mouth twitched. “This location qualified.”

He adjusted his posture, shoulders easing back against the booth, as if acknowledging the experiment had progressed further than planned. “It was not the vodka,” he added, tone dry. “Nor the decisions, poor as their reputation may be.” He spared a glance down at the glass, then back up. “Just me, being responsible.” He remarked; adding just enough inflection on the word to tease back. His fingers traced the rim once, unconsciously cooling the glass a shade colder. “I... didn't expect you to be here. I figured you'd be at your home. By the river.”

Where he had specifically avoided wandering.

When his eyes met Aelin’s fully this time, the careful distance faltered; not gone, just… thinner. He sipped the remainder of his vodka before speaking again. “So, uh,” Soren fumbled through the words - the lack of rigid technicality to shield him left him in uncharted territory. “What's a Summer fae doing living in a place like this? I always pictured you folk as dancing in the sunlight or something.” His lips twitched once more and he couldn't help but wonder how the sunlight looked in the curls that adorned the male's head.

[vilisisms]

élodie’s brows lifted a touch at that — not surprise exactly, but interest sharpening into focus. winter court explained the quiet way he carried himself, the measured curiosity instead of the usual brash awe or fear most newcomers brought with them. it explained the way he looked at the city like a puzzle instead of a threat. “a perk, huh,” she echoed softly, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “that tracks. the broken city does feel like something people are sent to study rather than stumble into by accident.”

his comment on her name earned a brief, almost shy exhale — not embarrassment, just a warmth she didn’t bother hiding. “thank you,” she said simply. “my mom picked it. she has a talent for names that sounded gentle even when the world wasn’t.” she shifted her gaze when he spoke about the districts, following the line of his finger toward the road that led back through the veil. the cold beyond it felt different even from here — sharper, cleaner, like a held breath instead of a bruise.

“no,” élodie answered honestly. “most mortal cities don’t look like this. they’re usually built to grow outward, not… fold in on themselves.” she glanced back toward the fractured streets behind them. “this one was stitched together after everything broke. new orleans, mystic falls, pieces of elsewhere — all forced to coexist. it works, mostly. until it doesn’t.”

at the mention of the winter court, something in her expression softened into genuine curiosity. “i’ve only heard stories,” she admitted. “cold that bites, but not cruel. quiet that actually means quiet.” a beat, thoughtful. “it sounds… steady. i envy that sometimes.” she looked at him again, eyes warm but searching. “leaving home for the first time is a lot to carry. especially when home is a court instead of a place you can just… walk back to.” her fingers pressed lightly into the stone. “does it feel like exploring to you?” a pause. then, gentler. “or does it feel like standing in a doorway you’re not sure you’re ready to step through?”

[sorensilverpine]

Soren considered her question with the same care he gave most things, eyes drifting briefly toward the road before returning to her. “Both,” he said finally, precise but unguarded. “My presence here is… duty-bound. Observation, stabilization, understanding how mortal systems adapt under pressure.” He paused lightly. “But it has not felt like an imposition.” His shoulders eased as he spoke, the admission settling into him rather than weighing him down. “There is value in seeing how things function without Court scaffolding holding them upright.”

He tipped his head, a faint smile threading through his composure. “Exploration has followed naturally. Mortal habits are… iterative,” He noted, almost fondly. “You refine what works. Discard what does not.” His gaze flicked briefly to a nearby vendor stall, the memory clearly recent. “Your food is unexpectedly comforting. Bread, especially - so warm, shared without ceremony. And certain drinks.” There was a quieter, amused pause. “Cider. Coffee. I was not prepared for either.” The confession felt small, human; but, he did not retreat from it. “We have similar food and drink back home, of course - flavorful, rich, and delicious in its own way. ”

When he met her eyes again, the steadiness she’d named was there, but not rigid. “Leaving my home felt like stepping into a threshold I could not see the far side of,” Soren said. “But here -” he gestured lightly at the stitched streets, the hum of life around them, “- it feels less like crossing a line and more like learning how to stand in more than one place at once.” He inclined his head to her, respectful and sincere. “Exploration with intent. Duty with room to breathe. I think… that balance matters.”

[vilisisms]

marcus didn’t shift when soren finished — not a nod, not a step, not even the courtesy of breaking eye contact. he took one last drag from the cigarette and flicked it aside, the ember dying against the wet pavement. “you talk too much,” he said flatly.

his gaze cut over soren again, slower this time, not curious so much as unimpressed. “and you’re wrong about choice. most people don’t choose the margins here. they end up in them because the center chews them up and spits them out.” his voice stayed low, rough, edged with a warning he wasn’t bothering to dress up. “anyone who tells you different is selling something.”

he pushed off the brick ledge just enough to straighten, not standing fully, not offering ground either. “as for learning?” a humorless smirk tugged at his mouth. “this isn’t a classroom. and i’m not interested in being your field guide to surviving the city.” his eyes narrowed, sharp, assessing the way predators did when something didn’t quite fit the ecosystem. “you’re not lost. you’re touring. and that makes you a liability.” a beat. quiet, heavy. “so here’s the lesson you get for free,” marcus finished, voice hard. “keep your distance, keep your curiosity to yourself, and don’t mistake my restraint for welcome. this city eats the polite ones first.”

[sorensilverpine]

The man's harsh words and sharp personality instinctively made Soren tighten his grip on the edges of his sleeves; which were just a few inches too long for his arms, and had been bunched up into his palms as he spoke to him. His expression didn't harden or sharpen in response, however. Instead, he continued to regard the man with the same quiet look. "I get that a lot." He acknowledged the flat remark about his long-winded nature.

"Apologies. What I meant was that I come from a society where everything has its place. The High Lords and Ladies; the High Fae; and the lesser fae," He moved his hand like stepping down a ladder. "Like myself." He added lightly and dropped his hand back to his side.

"I am touring and working." He clarified - words stern enough to make his defiance of the accusation clear, but softened enough to lack the sharpness of hostility. "The two go hand in hand." The fae remarked. He regarded the man for a few seconds longer before speaking once more, "I think keeping my distance from anywhere within the city is unwise. This city is unstable, at best. My job as assigned has been to mend the places where it is fracturing the most. I work to keep your city intact." He explained in one slow breath. "Sir." He added once as a sort of emphasis.