I BLAMED THE BIRDS FOR A LONG TIME

imagine that the world is made out of love. now imagine that it isn’t. imagine a story where everything goes wrong. [...] as safeguarded by jude

[wasendured]

#wasendured ——— a dependent, private, & mutually-exclusive portrayal of SIR CAI for grimsbyfm, written as a study in: destiny, duty, damnation, and the near-incomprehensibility of absolute good and evil in a postmodern age ——— c'mon, you've heard all this before, haven't you? but come closer: i'll tell you a secret that nobody knows ——— it will always be your fault, all of it

TRIPURANENI DEV NAIDU ⁄ sir cai, arthuriana

. ————— intro / dossier / threads

“    we   have   been   rather   busy   around   here   .    ”      she   asserts   ,      smile   tightening   slightly   .      she’s   used   to   it   now   ,      the   way   the   people   in   town   look   at   her   so   differently   than   they’d   looked   at   queen   snow   .   she   shifts   in   her   seat   ,      her   royal   training   coming   into   play   as   she   sits   up   straighter   .

“   and   i’m   sure   they   would   ,      but   i   know   a   little   something   about   governing   people   too   .   ”     if   reigning   over   kingdoms   could   be   considered   ‘   a   little   something   ’   ,      at   least   .      “    so   i’m   happy   to   hear   them   before   you   bring   your   ideas   to   them   .   ”

[wasendured]

with ——— CHARIYA SOPHON

there's   a   look   that   passes   on   dev's   face,   inscrutable,   but   then   it   vanishes,   and   the   smile   that   replaces   that   erstwhile   glance   is   enough   to   wipe   away   all   slivers   of   doubt.    ❛    this   is   the   one   place   that   i   hope   ought   to   be   always   busy,    ❜    dev   says.   he   points   towards   a   chair,   looks   at   her   as   if   to   ask   for   permission,   but   then   swiftly   makes   himself   comfortable   on   it   far   too   readily,   and   without   waiting   for   her   response.

❛    then why   don't   we   start   with   what   you   think   ?    ❜    dev   asks, quirking up a brow.       ❛  with   all   the   snobby   brown-nosing   douchebags   coming   in   and   out   of   that   door,   you've   doubtless also developed   a   sixth   sense   for   these   things.    ❜    it's   questionable   whether   he   places   himself   amongst   the   number   of   brown-nosing   douchebags   that   he   so   bitingly   describes   —   and   whether   or   not   he   actually   feels   some   amount   of   pride   in   the   possibility.    ❛    tell me, what   do   you   think   needs   most   changing   in   this   town   that   i've   been   forced   to   pay   a   visit   ?    ❜

[eddyxftzz]

It’s A Match || Closed Starter for @wasendured​ || 

Edward had only really downloaded the dating app as more of a game, something to distract himself whilst he drank alone every night. He knew no real romance or spark could come of it, but he tried to remain optimistic things would change. He found himself chatting to a handsome lawyer, a man truly out of the woodsman’s league in more ways than one but one thing led to another and they had set up a innocent little date, and Eddy saw no harm in meeting the man.

Tripuraneni had given Eddy an address. A place the forest dweller had truly never heard of but he had let his date decide on a location for tonight. He followed the directions on his phone and found himself stood outside a well lit, shiny, fine dining establishment. Having to double check he had gotten it right. Glancing in through the large window he knew he didn’t fit in here.

He entered nervously, standing by the podium at the door in his plaid shirt, blue jeans and work boots(that he had scrubbed clean as much as he could). Soon he was joined by a man in a black tie and shirt, who seemed to give the lumberjack a slightly confused look, but Edward pretended not to notice it. Clearing his throat nervously “Hey, I think I have a table booked….” he spoke softly. Already receiving more strange looks from other diners as he was led to a table set for two. Before the waitress could even hand him a menu Eddy cleared his throat again “Can I please get a whiskey while I wait, cheapest you got. Thanks.” He said taking the menu from the young woman before turning and staring at the seat in front of him. Half expecting his date to not show, for whatever reason, Edward could think of many if given the time. 

[wasendured]

with ——— EDDY FITZGERALD

there   was   nothing   wrong,   or   so   dev   had   assumed,   with   sticking   to   the   usual   ———   and   if   the   usual   just   so   happened   to   be   the   same   place   where   they   wined   and   dined   clients   for   the   law   firm,   then   surely   there's   just   something   to   be   said   about   consistency.   being   a   familiar   enough   face   might   stave   off   question   and   attention:   two   things   which   they   most   decidedly   did   not   want   to   court   today,   though   they   are   most   decidedly   going   a-courting;   which   perhaps   surprised   dev   most   of   all,   having   found   the   time   to   go   on   a   date   amidst   all   the   paperwork   and   late   nights.

they   almost   ran   late,   but   got   to   the   table   in   the   nick   of   time,   armed   with   a   wide   smile   and   an   abashed   expression,   glance   sent   towards   the   other   as   if   asking   for   forgiveness   for   cutting   it   too   close:   a   grievous   offence   workwise,   but   ———   well,   the   whole   point   of   this   was   to   not   think   about   work,   was   it   not   ?    ❛    apologies   if   i   made   you   wait,    ❜    he   says,   contrite.    ❛    perhaps   a   better   gentleman   might   have   picked   you   up   but,   well    ❜    ———   you   got   stuck   with   me instead   seemed   to   be   how   the   sentence   would've   ended,   but   self-pity   on   the   first   date   was   too   gauche,   even   for   someone   like   dev.

❛    work   is   ...   y'know,    ❜    dev   ends   up   saying   instead,   dismissing   the   notion   with   a   wave   of   his   hand;   shaking   his   head,   as   if   trying   to   banish   the   thought.   it's   bad   manners,   he   thinks,   to   have   even   said   the   word   work   in   the   first   place.    ❛    but   i   hope   the   whiskey   was   at   least   charming   company   in   the   meanwhile.    ❜    the   smile   turns   genuine   now,   softer,   a   bit   fuzzier   around   the   edges;   relaxation   loosening   his   body   language   as   if   he's   taken   a   shot   of   the   alcohol   himself.   his   hand   waves   towards   the   menu,   look   on   his   face   slightly   inquisitive.       ❛    are   you   all   ready   to   order   ?    ❜    not   even   bothering   to   take   a   look   for   himself,   he's   been   here   enough   times   that   he's   practically   memorised   the   whole   thing.

[lvndersbloom]

“    i’m   sorry   ,      but   if   you   were   looking   for   the   mayor   -   they’ve   actually   just   stepped   out   .      i’m   really   not   sure   when   they’ll   be   back   .    ”

she’d   heard   something   about   taking   lunch   ,      hopefully   a   long   one   ,      but   she’s   not   so   sure   .      never   a   quiet   moment   when   dealing   with   a   town   full   of   cursed   inhabitants   after   all   .      even   now   she   has   a   pile   of   requests   for   a   meeting   with   the   mayor   filling   up   ,      more   than   she   can   handle   in   one   day   .      “    but   i’m   happy   to   try   to   help   you   out   ,      if   i   can   .    ”    

[wasendured]

with ——— CHARIYA SOPHON

gaze held for a beat too long, as if caught between disappointment and the tantalising possibility of asking do you know who i am ? not that dev ever made a point of wielding privilege the way one might wield a sword, but the temptation is there all the same, even if easily quashed through years of ruthless self-discipline ——— and the self-aggrandising desire not to be thought of as an overprivileged asshole.

nevertheless ——— ❛ is that so, ❜ and it's not intoned as a question, more like a challenge; but of what, they don't entirely say, much preferring to keep silent. ❛ well, i had a passing thought that the mayor might think to hear suggested changes to some of the ordinances personally ❜ ——— here, a scrutinising gaze on the other ––– ❛ but if you insist... ❜

[wasendured]

(  RAM  CHARAN  .  CIS  MAN.  HE/THEY  . THIRTY-EIGHT  )  SIR  CAI  from  the legend of king arthur  has  found  themselves  trapped  in  grimsby.  though  here  they  go  by  TRIPURANENI  DEV  NAIDU  .   they  reside  in  sumner  heights,  and  have  been  passing  time  working  as  a  LAWYER  at  CAMELOT & ASSOCIATES.  according  to  the  people  around  town,  they're  often  seen  WINING  AND  DINING  POTENTIAL  CLIENTS  AT  THE  LOCAL  HIGH-END  RESTAURANT  and  they've  also  mentioned  that  they're  just  as  -  derisive  &  tormentuous,  but  as   +  loyal  &  adept  as  ever.   +  strong  notes  of  patchouli  and  cacao,  an  olfactory  signature  signalling  their  presence,  telling  people  i’m  here,  i’m  here,  i  was  here,  won’t  you  think  of  me?  /  paperwork  stacked  high  on  mahogany  desks  topped  with  vintage  ormolu  clocks,  gold-fringed,  like  the  legacy  left  by  a  father  who  always  had  a  better  option  on  his  other  hand  —  childhood’s  painful  lament    /    battle-scars  from  a  battle  never-fought,  leading  to  a  death  that  isn’t  quite  death:  how  does  it  feel  never  knowing  how  your  story  ends?  how  does  it  feel  to  get  pulled  apart?    /    restlessness,  always  restlessness  always  seems  to  remind  people  of  them.  i  wonder  how  well  they'll  do  around  here.

. ————— dossier

tl;dr —————

former knight of the round table with an acerbic tongue and a haughty attitude, DEV is a workaholic with, paradoxically, too much time and privilege on their hands. an unabashed nepobaby, they still don't quite know what they're there for, but they participate in the daily grind all the same. day in, day out: clock in, clock out, have dinner, go to the bar, get home. life's pretty empty when you don't have your hands full from slaying (metaphorical & actual) dragons, but they won't have it any other way.

the application —————

YOU ARE NOT THE HERO OF THIS STORY.

the story starts, and you are not fated. the story ends, and you die unchosen. this is what life is like at the sidelines: you are brave, and you are courageous, and you are — above all else — loyal. your father plucks a stranger out of nowhere and consecrates him as your brother. that day, you come to learn the meaning and weight of devotion, what it means to want to die for someone, kill for someone — because one look at him, and you’re gone. you had resolved to be the best knight in the world, the stuff that songs are made of, but these are the whims of children, you come to realise. that day that arthur comes into your life, you are transformed into a planet in orbit, rotating around a sun that burns bright: he, the stuff of light and brightness; you, the space-dirt twirling ‘round. 

this is not to say: it was easy to learn your place. the day he pulled the sword out of the stone, you claimed the effort yours; but you are not a villain, not truly, nor are you a scoundrel. you give in eventually, proclaiming the truth and and letting the true king of the britons rise to his throne. in time, you become your brother’s most loyal servant, his seneschal, and one of the first in his round table. there’s a time where you might have been talked of in whispers, where they talk of you like a god: capable of inhuman feats of daring, of being something almost preternatural; but that time is past before it could even bear fruit. there are no songs sung for the chosen one’s brother. there are no songs sung for you. whenever they now talk of sir cai, they always talk of you in relation to your brother. 

yet as sir cai, you were used to questing. the curse was supposed to be but another one in the long list of long journeys you undertook for the further glory of your brother’s kingdom. you slew giants, consorted with powers beyond this earth, and it was once whispered that no wound from your sword would ever heal. what was a witch to a knight of camelot, the greatest kingdom on earth? but there is something you’ve forgotten, something important, something pivotal—

YOU ARE NOT THE HERO OF THIS STORY.

this is the story where nothing you do matters, and there are no kings nor knights nor swords in stones waiting to get pulled out. this is the story where you become a man, nothing more than a man, and it bores you. it saves you. it annihilates you, turns you inside out, and makes you question everything you ever thought about yourself. you are sir cai, the unchosen, the braggart, the scornful & the contemptuous; you are dev, the son of a father who is both ghost and memory, who raised you up and gave you everything he had because you are his first and only son. this is the same story but with certain names crossed out, not in anger or jealousy but in resignation. this is the story you’ve written at the back of your head where no one could pluck it out and lay you bare, not even wizards with all their unnatural powers, and you nourished it like you would a babe of your own blood.

this is the story where finally nothing is asked of you and you are you and you are alone. there are no grand battles here, no lines between good and evil, no beasts to slay with your sword from which no wound can be healed. this life is something messy and crumpled and incomprehensible, where it’s all just people in rooms, trying their best to be happy — and who can fault them for that? who can fault you for that?

this is the story that scares you the most, you think, because this might have been the story you were waiting for all your life.

 YOU ARE NOT THE HERO OF THIS STORY.