#& iconless

[agentinred]

You’ve got a strong grip. // Bosley

A SIMPLE GREETING for most—an unremarkable moment, forgotten before the next breath. But Suhara had taught her that nothing was simple, not even a handshake. She had been a child when he first placed his hands over hers, guiding them into the perfect clasp. A handshake is a declaration, RED he had told her. It is a promise, even when it is a lie. And when the world underestimates you, let them remember the way you held their hand—so that even when you vanish, they will swear they still feel your touch. Instinct always took over. Her left hand moved, almost imperceptibly, cupping the clasp of their hands, adding a warmth that did not quite match the circumstances. A fraction of a second’s pause, a gesture so brief it could be mistaken for nothing at all, and yet had the potential to change everything.

It was as if  Carmen could see the flicker of surprise in her eyes—"You’ve got a strong grip," Bosley had said. A smile, tilting her head, the brim of her hat casting a shadow over her eyes. "Strength is only part of it," she said, releasing her hand with the ease of someone who knew exactly when to hold on—and when to let go. "The TRICK is making sure they REMEMBER it."

She allowed the silence to settle, feeling the unspoken weight between them, like dust falling on an old map. People remembered touch before words, presence before intent. A name could be forgotten, a voice misremembered, but a handshake—done right—lingered like a ghost. If this was to be an alliance, however f l e e t I n g, it would start with that. A whisper of trust, even if it would not last, a suggestion rather than a promise. Adjusting her gloves with the same deliberateness, Carmen continued, "Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…" And just like that, she stepped past, leaving behind nothing but the faintest trace of warmth, a lingering sensation that, if Suhara was right, would stay far longer than the memory of her voice.

[twogoldenchains]

“Drink your tea. It’ll warm you.”

Close to a roaring fire, Shae felt her damp clothes clinging to her like the remnants of the storm she had barely escaped. The warmth of the flames licked at her skin, coaxing life back into her chilled fingers, but the chill in her bones was STUBBORN, as if it had found a home there long ago. & Her gaze drifted to the steaming cup set before her, and she frowned. Truth be told, she had never cared for tea. The aroma—delicate and earthy, whispering of herbs plucked from faraway hills—always seemed to promise more than it delivered. Sometimes, all it offered was fragrance without substance, a h o l l o w comfort in a cup. 

“Tea warms only the body, your grace,” she murmured, her voice roughened by the cold and softened by a weariness that went deeper. “And the body is a TRAITOR, no matter how much you coax it with comforts. It’s the soul that chills, that freezes when trust is thinned by the KNIVES of the world.” 

The fire was beginning to calm down, now crackling softly as Shae tilted her head, her dark eyes meeting Rhaenyra’s. There was no bitterness in her gaze, only the quiet defiance of a woman who had built her strength on the ruins of her faith in others. “But if it pleases you,” she added, her tone lightening as she reached for the cup, her fingers steady now as the blood had begun to resume its course. With a flick of her wrist, she lifted it as though offering a toast. “I will drink, and pretend, as all women do, that warmth is enough.”  

[twogoldenchains]

Shae first saw Amelia standing in the gardens, auburn hair catching the light like a flame BURNING in the cool morning breeze. There was something about her, a presence that seemed to draw everyone toward her, but it wasn't the kind that demanded attention—it was soft, inviting. People seemed to gravitate to her not out of duty or obligation, but because they wanted to, as if they sensed that in her presence, they would be truly seen. To Shae, it seemed that her thoughtful gaze lingered on each person she encountered, and it seemed like she didn’t JUST listen—she absorbed, reflected, and cared in ways that seemed effortless. It was a familiar dance for Shae, a reminder of Sansa…wherever she was now. That same auburn hair, the grace, the same way of carrying herself with quiet strength. But where Sansa had been forced to be molded by the hands of power and survival, Amelia seemed to wear her softness as armor, choosing kindness as her weapon.

&& For a moment, Shae felt silly—what did she know of this life? She had no place here, no understanding of the delicate curtsies and the layers of meaning woven into the words people exchanged like currency. Yet, she felt a pull toward Amelia, a foolish need to protect her, much like she had once protected Sansa, though she knew nothing of this woman beyond what her own instincts whispered. Perhaps that nostalgic memory of Sansa was what had then caused her to step forward, boots crunching on the gravel path, feeling clumsy in the presence of such people. Shae cleared her throat and greeted her, the words coming out stilted, awkward. A curtsy, even a small one, felt foreign, her limbs rebelling against the motion—and it made her feel even more out of place. Words seemed stuck in her throat, and for the briefest moment, she wondered if the other could see through her hesitation, could see all that she carried—the past, the scars, the instinct to protect. “I…you remind me of someone.” It’s a brief whisper, and perhaps out of place for such a lowly commoner as her. "I… I’m not good at this," Shae said, her voice softer than usual, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she glanced down. "The whole polite conversation thing. But, for what it’s worth, I can see why people are drawn to you. There’s… a kindness in you, the kind that makes it easy to trust. And I don’t say that lightly."

@wornkindness || SC

[twogoldenchains]

The apple was tart on her tongue, its juice sharp, grounding her amidst the bustle of the market. She watched him from a distance—Turstin Wymond, son of a lord, cutting a tall figure among the villagers. There was something unsettling about the way he carried himself, too composed, too confident, as if he belonged wherever he stood (at least too much for Shae). But none of that mattered here, not among the smallfolk. Words…they always came with words, these lords—promises wrapped in politeness, concern that dripped like honey. But what did they know of hunger, of choosing which child would eat and which would starve? At an early age she had felt the bitter taste of hunger—an emptiness that gnawed at her insides, sharp and unforgiving. The memory of it lingered like a shadow, always there, always threatening to resurface.

She turned the apple core in her hand, watching as he moved through the crowd, speaking with ease to the villagers. AND STILL she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too neat, too simple. “Here to solve all the city’s problems, are you?” she asked, her voice edged with a quiet challenge. “You might DROWN in them before you can even make a dent.” Finishing the last bites of the fruit in her hand, she finally tossed the apple core aside, gaze hardening as she continued to look at him. Perhaps he might have good intentions. Perhaps he truly thought he was here to help. But she had seen too many men with good intentions turn away when it mattered most. Words were wind, and wind did nothing to fill bellies or mend broken homes.

@ozgog | SC

[agentinred]

The soft glow of the chocolate shop’s lights flickered against the dark wooden shelves, casting a golden sheen over the rows of intricately wrapped confections. Carmen stood by the display, her fingers brushing lightly over a small, dark square of chocolate, eyes just barely catching sight of @publicneeded nearby. Without turning fully, Carmen spoke, her voice smooth, like the chocolate slowly melting into the air around them. “Do you know,” she began, almost as if continuing a thought aloud, “that the first chocolate wasn’t sweet at all?” She picked up the piece in her hand, letting it rest on her fingertips before delicately turning it, holding it up slightly between them as if inspecting the finish. “It was bitter ” Carmen continued, meeting her gaze, “used as a drink by the Native peoples. A drink for the gods--something sacred.” She paused, watching for a flicker of understanding in the woman’s expression, as though waiting for her to taste the words and respond.

[deoscuridad]

Salazar lingered in the shadows of the old theater, the all too familiar scent of damp wood and dust filling the air. He had not set foot in a place like this in years, and now, as he watched Boris move across the stage, he felt the same unease he had always known in his presence. Boris was a towering figure, even now--centuries seemed to have added to his presence, making him larger than life, more vivid in the fabric of the world. In contrast, Salazar had spent so long hiding, vanishing into forests and his personal gardens, but Boris...Boris was always there, standing where everyone could see him.

"Boris," Salazar said softly, stepping out of the shadows at the edge, his voice a whisper that somehow echoed in the vast emptiness of the theater. "You still play at eternity, I see." How many years had it been since they had last seen each other?

@ourcharade // Boris