#jupiter (intro)

[dreadfulcry-blog]

@everykindoftouch

This ‘Halloween’ might be the oddest thing since hot-grilled fish sandwiches, but Meagan can’t help but feel a certain gladness for the celebrations. Not because she enjoys the noise, but because along with a fun fair and an outdoor stage, the mysterious ‘they’ who formed the ark have put in a greenhouse, full of the most exotic and lovely plants she’s ever seen.

Now, she’s no gardener. No green thumb, nothing. But it’s temperature controlled, and quiet. For a person like Meagan, those two things? Are phenomenal. She approaches the doors to the greenhouse and pulls them open just far enough to slip inside, old habit making her muffle the closing behind her.

There’s someone inside.

A girl, young. Scruffy, some kind of stress hanging around her shoulders like a blanket. It looks old, as close to comfortable as that kind of thing gets. She can recognize it, remember it from her time before the Whalers, before she found a purpose to steady her.

She clears her throat.

“Row behind you there are these gorgeous purple flowers, as big as your palm.” She approaches, smile friendly.

“I’m Meagan.” She gets close enough, she offers Jupiter her hand to shake. “Been here before?”

[twicereliant-blog]

@everykindoftouch

Laurence is strolling, at the best and most austere pace he can manage, about the confines of these new “Seas” in which he and his dragon have been confined. He cannot for the life of him work out what kind of devilry has managed to trap them so thoroughly, and it pinches no small amount to feel so helpless. Accustomed to the Navy from a young age, and a life actively on the move both in the Naval and Aerial Corps, this beautiful prison chafes at every nerve he has.

And tranquility is beautiful, gorgeous beyond measure, a scene straight from Eden. If he didn’t know better, if fear and rage weren’t still kindled in his breast, he might even have thought he and Temeraire dead in some skirmish, and this Heaven.

But he is afraid, and furious, feelings which curdle in his chest, ugly. He sees a young girl, looking lost, and for a moment he forgets his own circumstances, stepping up to her, but stopping a respectable distance away. He clears his throat.

“Are you lost, madam? You seem distressed.”