#flywithabrokenwing

[uneasyliesthehead]

♆ ✄ ✚

Send ♆ for something my muse hates.

Julian really hates state clothing.  Which is, of course, unfortunate, given that he already has to wear it frequently, and that frequency is only going to increase after his coronation.  Nice clothing is all well and good, but once it starts being covered in enough jewels and other embellishments to start feeling like armor, he is not at all a fan.  The heat and unnecessary weight of such things annoys him, but it’s the movement restriction he despises the most.

Send ✄ for a favourite movie (play?) of my muse’s.

He appreciates dynamic comedy far more than high drama - his favorite play involves a comical love dodecahedron involving, among other things, a female protagonist masquerading as a stableboy.  

Send ✚ for one of my muse’s prized possessions.

For all he isn’t a naturally studious sort, one of Julian’s favorite (and most secret) possessions is the nondescript, leather-bound volume that serves as his diary.  It’s rare that he writes a great deal at a time in it, but there are doodles interspersed with words, and clippings of paper from other things, as well as a few miniature paintings, even, stuffed between its pages.

[chinupeyesdown]

✿ ♆ ✚

Send ✿ for a happy memory.

His mother and father singing in unison, their voices twined together like a spell, as they put him to sleep.

He can't remember what they looked like anymore.  Not really.  He has pictures in his mind but were he to see a portrait of them he imagined it would look different.  He can't remember his nursery or his crib or his nursemaids.

He can't remember what their voices sounded like, speaking normally.

But he can remember the singing.  Just a few notes.  

Send ♆ for something my muse hates.

Leeches.  Worse than figs, even.  Sometimes in monsoon season, the market streets flood and fill with mud, and as though having sodden shoes weren't bad enough, his legs come out of the flooded areas covered in leeches.  Awful.

Send ✚ for one of my muse’s prized possessions.

Miraj has, in his pocket, a small gold button.  If he sold it, it may buy them a few meals.  He's a practical young man but he's never been able to muster up the courage to get rid of it.

It's one other little memory he has.  It was from his father's tunic.  He always used to play with it, as a baby, and was scolded to stop as he got a little older.  But when they were led into the castle to meet the Earth King, his father knelt, ripped the button from his jacket, and handed it to Miraj.

He'd pocketed it.  And had carried it ever since.