the fresh prince and the pauper —; alm & faye
( Starter for @gratuitii ) —
Pulling away from prying eyes that were glued to the unveiled true heir of Rigel, the grand feast sapping energy from his body. His right shoulder’s stiff and sore for reasons unknown. Rigelian food was an odd delicacy from what little bites he had — anxiety of all the Rigelians’ perplexed eyes on him as he tried to have a taste of his meal had sucked out his appetite. Sure, Alm had been complimented on what a well-mannered commonborn ( or believed ) he was at the table, but he has seen how the nobility eats. How the backwater noble Lukas’ differs from Clair’s, the primitiveness and particularity could not be matched. The regality and not the boorish manners they expect from him.
It did not help they were also at a loss like he was. Although his close companions tried to persuade him to relax, it couldn’t vanquish the ringing in his ears, his soulless stare ( and their soulless stares ) at every one of their faces—all of them the same. Disjointed, hesitance, awed disbelief, lost—a mirror reflection of his own’s one face. Except with an addition of stage fright on Alm’s end.
The dead silence. The thick air weighed heavily on Alm’s shoulders, and he wanted to excuse himself from the mess hall as soon as possible. It was a stark difference to the usual rowdiness back in Zofia, people danced and played music beats within ten minutes of a supper gathering there and hardly quietened down after someone suggests card games or poker later on in the evening.
Once free, he considers approaching his friends all the way across the hall yet they felt distant once he laid his searching eyes upon them—are they avoiding him or is it just his imagination?
Slipping into a room with a parted door after shuffling past many rooms with closed doors—felt it invasive to peek what areas lie beyond. A soft glow of flickering flames from a fireplace lights up what looks like a common room, the sky outside pitch dark of late winter through high small-framed windows. Not even moonlight or the shine of snowfall is visible.
He spots a small figure tucked away at the far end, and it takes him a few moments to realize who it was judging from their back and the faint glow to their hair.
“Faye? How come you’re in here?”
