#succiducus

[opalnoble]

° • — CLOSED starter for cathair ( @succiducus ) ° • — café do paço, dawn

aurora did not need to be told twice about the small kitchen in the gardens, seemingly offering hot chocolate and various treats. it was dawn, the sun was just rising and she was dressed — dressed and seated in one of the areas just outside the cafe's kitchens, with a cup of hot chocolate she had added strawberries to and a pastry to go with it. it was exactly what she needed to calm her nerves.

when someone approached, aurora smiled sheepishly from behind the mug. placing it down, " forgive me, i know it's awfully early for so many sweets but — it helps my nerves. " she admitted. " cathair, right? you're cailean's brother? " aurora asked, " i'm aurora. "

[thenxghtwemxt]

@succiducus | Rostam and Rahmi, A Private Terrace Near the Grand Breakfast

This was how the story was meant to end; with Rahmi carrying his disgrace into a far-flung, misnomer town to live off his days in genteel poverty. He would grow old and grey, surrounded by the ghosts of his former home. Never to feel the warmth of forgiveness, or the scorch of due rage. Rahmi would spend banishment the same way he spent the first forty years of his life; caught under the weight of other's intentions for him. But by the grace of a higher power, or more accurately, the Ratsifi's... The cycle breaks. Rahmi does not find peace, but he finds purpose. A place. A life. A voice.

Only for that voice to become small, in the presence of his brother's eyes.

His heart beats rapidly against his chest. The palms of his hands growing clammy as he feels, not sees, but feels Rostam's presence. Brotherly intuition, or the pain of a guilty soul. Whatever the case, Rahmi is hyper-aware of the new Sultan upon first arrival. Polite company keeping them apart, though eyes inevitably follow. The former Sultan, the current Sultan. Brothers once, strangers now. If this were the Rahmi of years ago, he would run from this. Hide beneath the regalia and his wife, until he is safe. This, however, is a due argument... And whatever else, he owes Rostam his due.

"Brother." Rahmi calls upon him, eyes wide and burning with meaning. He approaches Rostam from behind, forcing a straight spine and an unwavering approach. "Is that really you?" He looks different. Changed by hard times at Rahmi's own hand. Then again, didn't Rahmi look different as well?

[bourgeoning]

in  spite  of  relaxed  stance  ,  he  observes  the  dancers  with  divided  attention  .  "  we  have  a  similar  dance  at  court  .  "  head  tilted  to  the  side  ,  sylvain  leans  just  a  bit  closer  to  @monarhrh  @succiducus  @thenxghtwemxt  @thcrnedthrones  @whispcrings  next  to  him  ,  so  as  to  be  heard  over  lively  crowd  ,  music  ,  and  cheers  .  "  i  would  join  in  ,  but  i  fear  i  would  confuse  one  for  the  other  and  embarrass  myself  entirely  .  "  a  partial  truth  ,  as  court  dances  are  his  least  favorite  aspect  of  nobility  .  in  truth  ,  though  ,  the  names  tied  to  french  nobility  among  the  accused  are  at  the  forefront  of  his  mind  ;  what  that  might  mean  for  him  as  their  peer  .

[thenxghtwemxt]

@succiducus | Abdullah and Santiago, The Sharma's Apartments

If he feared making enemies, Santiago would never venture into politics to begin with. Still, the stakes grow higher with his new position as head of the French government. And so too do the adversaries. Unsurprising, then, that the Sharma's take personal insult to his military's intrusion. Chief among them was the commander themselves. Though the fighting has seized, the quiet battle lingers as Santiago's militia searches Lal Qila. The new Prime Minister standing in the center of the Sharma's grand apartments, keeping a steady eye as his people worked. "Commander." he clears his throat, breaking the silence and the steady glare directed by Abdullah. "Surely you have other duties besides glaring at me and my soldiers."

[thenxghtwemxt]

@succiducus | Halil and Blair, The Royal Boat Parade and Spectacle

He's no stranger to the game of politics and power. Although he is a poor player, Blair was raised with it the same way others breathe in air. Belief is what keeps him going, even after the worst hits his home country of Scotland. That, and a belief that not all goodness is lost. He need only look at the Abdul's, with their generosity and kindness. Whereas the world played to win, the Turkish royals played to help. As both the people's Prince and a man of integrity; Blair cannot help but marvel when he sees the Sultan stride towards the dock.

"Your Highness." The prince interjects politely. "A moment?" Waiting until it's given, he adjusts in his stance. "We do not know each other well. But you know my Queen, my sister." Clearing his throat, he lowers his eyes in respect to Halil. "However, I would remiss not to say - thank you. For all your kingdom has done, in aid to Scotland through its... Troubling time."

[bourgeoning]

in  the  lull  between  races  ,  hazel  orbs  flutter  toward  @succiducus  seated  next  to  her  .  "  i  have  never  been  much  of  a  betting  woman  myself  —  "  never  had  much  time  for  it  ,  more  accurately  ,  but  people  she's  observed  certainly  could  be  .  "  —  but  the  sailor  there  appears  to  be  hiding  a  sore  arm  .  should  really  have  it  looked  at  .  "  the  latter  half  of  her  words  spoken  more  to  herself  than  the  other  ,  isra  nods  to  one  of  the  competitors  on  the  water  .  a  small  twinge  here  ,  a  pause  to  regain  focus  there  —  mental  notes  taken  as  both  field  agent  and  physician  .  "  if  that  influences  your  choices  at  all  .  "

[thenxghtwemxt]

@succiducus | Midori and Your Choice! | At the Grand Breakfast

"No, thank you." She answers with a soft shake of her head. Hands rested upon her lap, rather than flailing at her sides. Once upon a time, Midori would speak loudly and gesticulate furiously. Now, however, she's the picture of propriety. Fake it until you make it, they say. "It's a bit early for me to be drinking." Pausing, she turns an apologetic eye back at her new companion. "But please-" She gestures to the fizzy concoction of juice and wine. "Be my guest."

[bourgeoning]

upon  their  return  to  the  french  wing  ,  sylvain  notes  @bxrnfrxmashes  @succiducus  in  the  sitting  room  with  a  passing  glance  .  with  a  few  more  steps  taken  ,  realization  strikes  .  they  wheel  back  around  ,  "  if  you  wish  for  an  audience  with  his  excellency  —  "  already  ,  they  could  hear  him  whinging  about  the  title  ,  "  —  i  fear  you'll  have  to  wait  .  he  is  out  .  "  it's  an  assumption  on  sylvain's  part  ,  a  result  of  being  asked  some  variation  of  a  question  about  the  prime  minister's  whereabouts  one  too  many  times  as  of  late  (  as  if  they're  santiago's  keeper  .  is  that  not  what  an  aide  is  for  ?  )  .  with  that  assumption  in  mind  ,  the  cavalryman  tries  to  keep  annoyance  from  trickling  into  their  tone  .  "  but  i  will  relay  a  message  ,  if  needed  .  or  if  i  might  be  of  assistance  instead  …  "  they  shrug  , allowing the other to fill in the blank .  sylvain  may  not  be  valet  ,  may  feel  aggrieved  at  the  idea  of  being  viewed  as  such  ,  but  anything  reflecting  well  on  their  intended  also  reflects  on  them  .  it  pays  to  be  helpful  ,  literally  or  figuratively  .