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@whatsbehindthefacade
Independent Private Multifandom Multimuse RP Blog. Penned by Misto. 28. Selective.
Carrd (under construction - full muse info, rules, connections)
Muse Cheat Sheet (basic info)
Memes
Fandoms include: West Side Story, The Hunger Games, Newsies, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, House of the Dragon, Cabaret, Moulin Rouge, Bridgerton, RENT, & Juliet, Bat Out Of Hell, Sweeney Todd.
Medium-Low Activity. They/them pronouns.
just being able to have her baby this close made her realize how poorly she felt. perhaps it could be a longshot, but she had an idea to try later. she would bring it after she hoped to see her daughter have something to drink. the maesters had told her of the tea they prepared and seeing it still there gave her some determination. she'd try her best to even get a single sip to stay down. even just the one could help, but she'd take it as slow as possible if need be. anything to try and make vaella feel better.
she gently reached out to grab the cup, lifting it to her nose. once the scent hit her nostrils she recognized the smell of mint. perhaps there was also some honey, but it made her feel better about offering it to her child. she gently rubbed vaella's back with her other hand as she held the cup down towards her. "it smells a little sweet and sharp. but it should feel good to drink. just remember, sweetie, only try to drink what you can."
A thin cough sputtered free from the little princess, causing Vaella's shoulder to tremble a little as she curled tighter against her mother. She didn't like being sick, didn't like it at all, and she just wanted it to be over already so things could go back to normal. It made her sniffle a little, bottom lip quivering, a mixture of sickness and exhaustion and just sheer overwhelm wracking her.
Shaky hand reached for the cup, though it takes her mother holding it too in order to bring it to her lips, the strength not quite in her to manage it alone. It doesn't taste icky, but it does taste a little funny, and it makes her nose wrinkle. She's able to choke about half of it down before she shakes her head, turning her face into her mother's side. "Don't want no more, mama..."
she wants to celebrate, to revel in the knowledge of her past, and the brighter future now assured by the mere power of a name. the strangest thing about learning her truth is not the revelation itself, nor the dizzying array of answers flooding into spaces once occupied by questions. it's the realisation that she spent her entire life without the certainty that most carried as effortlessly as breathing; never understanding how profound it was to belong to an identity larger than the one imposed upon her by cold laboratories and colder men. jane ives is at last reborn! the name cycles endlessly throughout her, each repetition uncovering some new layer of wonder, as though the title itself possessed an array of secrets that waited years to reach her. words of gratitude nearly fall from her lips in an excited trance, but his following question changes her train of thought. although his expression is carefully neutral, she knows him well enough to recognise the vulnerability lingering beneath.
"yes. you do. you have a name. like me." she says firmly, without room for argument; the conviction she poses is so powerful it borders on indignation. how could he possibly think otherwise? did he imagine that he emerged into this world as number ten and nothing more? the idea offends her, because she once felt the same. she understands his plight, the look on his face — it's the look of somebody standing over an empty space and wondering whether anything ever existed there at all. of somebody who had been denied answers for so long that uncertainty became second nature. jane reaches for his hand in order to cement her point, moving to lace shaken fingers inside a protective grip. "we can... find out together?" she offers gently, "sam might know. have records. certificates. important things."
she thinks of her mother, of the years before her twelve year cage, and the proof that pain isn't the entirety of her story; it barely scratches the surface. if that's true for her, it must be for him. jane feels a familiar stubbornness ignite inside her, the very same which supported her through monsters, fear, and dimensions of darkness; which drove her to search for answers no matter how impossible and far away they appeared. "if you want to look, i will help. i promise." she absent-mindedly notes the hint of a smile growing across her features, warm and tender, touching her eyes — because somewhere out there, hidden within buried paperwork and years stolen by cruelty, another name awaits. and unlike her, he won't have to seek it alone.
It is a strange question, but it is one that has floated through his mind more than once since Jane had discovered her name, discovered her past. What if he didn't have one? What if all there had ever been was number Ten, if there was no past to be found save the lab. Jane's mother had loved her, that much is clear, but what if his own never had? The thought is a little frightening, that there might truly be nothing there, nothing more than a number. Three little digits that had defined who he was for so long, that even despite being free, it was still so difficult to comprehend.
And yet Jane seems so certain. She wants to help him find out. She's right too, Sam seems like a good person to ask. If there's anyone close at hand that might be able to give them some clue, it's likely him. Ten gives a quiet nod, clutching onto her hand a little tighter. They'll find out, they will. Perhaps, like her, he still has family out there somewhere. It's not that he doesn't like it here, he does, but there's that craving for something more.
Then another question goes through his head, and Ten pauses for a moment, a little hint of worry showing in a furrow of his brow, a twitch of his lips, "Can...Can I still be your brother?" Of course, he knows they're not actually brother and sister, not really, but for so many years they had been treated near enough as it, and a little part of him still wants to cling to that familiarity, if she'll have him. If she doesn't...well, he understands. "It's...it's okay if you don't want."
Valarr couldn’t help but feel immense joy whenever he saw his little brother without a care and enjoying everything he could. There were times that he’d had something vaguely like that but he was always so duty bound for as long as he could remember, always wanting to learn and be the best he could for their family, for their father. Of course, he’d play with Matarys and it wasn’t until his little brother had come that Valarr acted like a child, it was nice to have someone around.
Since he asked a question, Valarr listened keenly to the words from his brother's mouth and considered every syllable of them. “Do you crave peace, brother?” No judgement from the prince, instead, the words were covered in understanding and a touch of concern that Matarys had pressure on him from anyone or anything. It was strange to have his heart feel so heavy and so touched by the deep nature of Matarys words and it was a time when Valarr thought he saw their father in him. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone talk so beautifully about trees before,” his voice was encouraging and proud. “I didn’t know animals came here. Do you see a lot of them?” How kind and sweet he thought Matarys was.
“Maybe one day we can explore somewhere new for real and not pretend.” Excited at the thought, Valarr became lively, his eyes wide and smile stretched out over his face thinking of all the places they go together and explore for the first time. “The Wolfswood of the North would have more trees like these, I expect, animals, too.” Exploring new places, or reading of ancient ones, and then actually seeing them felt like it could be something both of them could enjoy. “Even better,” Valarr says, climbing over the branches and roots with ease even though he has to duck and twist his body more. “How about we explore Mossovy? There’s meant to be shapechangers there and the very end of the world! Or the Kingdom of the Ifequevron! Another Essos forest but its meant to have carved trees!”
Do you crave peace, brother? Matarys considers the question for a moment, expression pondering. "Sometimes it gets a little loud. And stuffy." Like when the sun is shining so brightly and the outside looks so inviting to play in and explore, but the maester is droning on about something or other. The little prince knows that he should be paying attention to his studies, and he does for the most part. There is not the same pressure on him as on his elder brother, after all, he is not the firstborn son, but still there are certain...expectations of a son of Baelor Breakspear. Diplomacy, wit, skill with a blade and on a horse. He's not so bad at the sword, but the red-haired prince has already found that he prefers a bow. "Perhaps you might find it peaceful." Matarys is no fool, he can see the weight that rests on his brother's shoulders.
"I like the trees. They're very good at keeping secrets. Like this glade!" Out of the thickets, Matarys grins and spins around on the open grass, a laugh escaping his lips. Spins and spins and spins, hair whirling around his face, until the dizziness has him tumbling over in a giggling heap on the grass. The question about animals has him grinning, nodding his head, "Mhm. Lots of them. There's all sorts of birds and squirrels and rabbits, and some foxes too. I found a badger sett once, but I haven't seen one of those in person. And one time, there were even some deer!" He's always had rather a fondness for animals, loves seeing them and watching them and reading about them.
"Do you think so?" The thought of exploring some far off place is rather an exciting one, and it has Matarys sitting upright, hair tangled across his face, though it doesn't seem to bother him much. Getting to explore with his big brother is simply a bonus, and he is sure that they would have quite the grand time of it. "Do you really think the end of the world is in a forest? I mean, how does anyone even know? Does it just stop or drop off?"
"Come here, sweet one," she requested, wrapping an arm around Daeron's middle and pulling him onto one of her knees with a groan of discomfort, as she nursed little Daella in the other arm. It was clear the boy wanted to get another peek at the babe, and Dyanna would not begrudge him that. Daella was his first little sister, after all.
"Oh darling," she soothed, kissing his temple surely. "All mothers feel pain when their babies are arriving. It's simply part of life. It's the same for all animals, I suppose. When we hear the mares foaling from the stables, that's because it can hurt them," she explained. "But it matters not. The love we mothers feel for our little ones when they arrive makes us forget about the pain almost totally. At least, it makes the pain worth it."
With a little wriggling, and with her help, Daeron clambered up onto her lap, immediately curling into his mother's embrace, lilac eyes watching his baby sister curiously. Having a sister was new, he'd only had brothers before this. He hopes that Daella is as quiet as Aemon was, and not like Aerion, who seemed to screech constantly from morning till night and who has, if truth be told, still not entirely grown out of such tendencies.
"I don't want to hurt you..." Daeron's bottom lip quivers at the thought that he had made his beloved mother hurt. He hadn't meant to, he didn't want that. Not his mama. It was the last thing he would ever want. Blonde head turns into the crook of her neck a little, "I'm sorry mama..."
Her soft smile wavered only a little. “Me too,” she said quietly. How she wished their father would find a different way of showing his feelings and care. Daella had no doubt that it would make things easier for them – it certainly seemed as if it would be the case for her and Daeron. Perhaps she could convince their father to go on a hunting trip with her; maybe then she could try to talk to him. Although she had a feeling it wouldn’t go all too well. A sigh.
Daella continued to gently dab her brother’s face with the damp towel, cleaning him up enough before putting it away again. “You should see a maester. I know you will argue that it is nothing but please do it for me if not for yourself.” One less thing to worry about, that was all she wanted. She took a seat across from him then, reaching for his hands and taking them in hers. “You look tired, dear brother.”
"I am not harmed, sweet sister. Some bruises and a twisted ankle, nothing more, I promise," Daeron protests quietly. He and the maesters...well, they do not always get on the best. Perhaps because their usual presumption is that he is merely drunk, which, for the most part, is not entirely wrong, but it is still rather exasperating to have every single ail waved off as a result of the wine when he knows it to not be the case.
Still, Daeron lets Daella take his hands, giving hers a gentle squeeze. It never fails to amuse him how his two sisters are like night and day when it comes to their personalities, and yet they are both so incredibly dear to him. Her words draw a soft laugh, a hint of melancholy in the tone, though he swallows it down, "You know me. I'm always tired."
"- just like any fine knight does!" Daella finished excitedly as she looked at her cousin. Truthfully, she admired both her cousins so dearly. While not all her brothers were like Aerion, she had always found it easier to connect with Valarr and Matarys. She didn't know what it was, but they simply seemed to understand her more.
@whatsbehindthefacade : "Well, I’m not a knight. Not yet."
Daella stopped then, eyes widening a little. He wasn't wrong but she didn't think it mattered. "But you will be. Soon. And a fine one as well, I have no doubt!" And there would also be no doubt that sweet Daella would be his biggest supporter.
"Do you really think so?" He is still just a squire after all. Matarys likes squiring for his brother. Valarr is patient with him, and a good teacher as well, showing him everything he needs to know and learn, practicing swords with him, giving him tips he had learned himself when he squired. His brother, he thinks, is a great knight, he is sure of it. Just like their father is. It makes sense. Father will be king one day, and Valarr too in the far future, of course they should both be fine knights.
Admittedly, Matarys is perhaps a little less martially inclined than his brother. He is not poor with the blade, though any skill there comes primarily from practice as opposed to natural talent. He can manage his horse well enough. But he prefers the bow to the sword, and prefers the lyre above both of those things.
Daella had not been expecting company any time soon. In fact, she had thought to end the day on her own, quietly heading to bed without anyone noticing. It seemed to be her new standard now. But her oldest cousin wouldn’t have it as it seemed. A smile appeared on her lips when he presented the small plate with some dessert on it. How thoughtful he was! Daella carefully took the plate, picking up a piece to take a bite.
A pleased hum fell from her lips.
“Thank you, Valarr. This is delicious.” She chuckled then although she rolled her eyes. “Of course our brothers would do that, but who won? I believe if you tell me that Aegon won this challenge I will find him sick later tonight.” She shook her head at that. Her youngest brother surely didn’t know when a limit was reached.
Daella set the plate aside then before looking at her cousin again. “You did not have to do this for me, but I appreciate it a lot.”
It had been of little hardship to bring her the dessert, and Valarr hoped that it might help to raise her spirits just a little. There was truly not much he could do, but this he could manage, and it was worth it to see the small smile that appeared on her face. A simple gesture, but a worthy one nonetheless. His father would often say that those simple gestures were in fact the most important of all, even if they didn't always seem that way.
"Matarys, but only just. I am of little doubt that I shall likely find him in a rough state myself tonight." His brother was a sweet boy, but when it came to their family, he also sometimes had a rather competitive streak. And perhaps, Valarr suspected, Matarys had thought that it might also help take his cousins' minds off everything. It certainly seemed to have worked.
"I did not have to, but I wanted to."
"Thank you, Matarys." he reached for his son's hand, taking it in his own. Matarys was still a boy, no matter how quickly he was growing now.
"You and your brother have been so good to me. What would I do without you both, hm? Your presence is a comfort." Baelor squeezed his hand. "Will you help me to the chair by the window?"
Matarys gripped his father's hand tight, taking comfort in the familiar grip. Things were different now, he understood that, but his father was still his father, and he loved him dearly, injury or no injury. They would get through this, though it might not be easy. But they were strong, and they had each other, and really, that was what mattered most, wasn't it? Being there for each other?
"Mhm!" Helping him to the chair was no difficult task, and though Matarys was slim, he was steady, supporting his father carefully as they made their way over to the window. The sun was shining outside, barely a cloud in the sky, and a gentle breeze wafted through the window as the boy peered out of it, across the city below. A bird soared somewhere high in the blue, and he watched it for a moment curiously, "It is sunny today, but Maester Yormwell said he believes there may be a storm soon."
It wasn’t often that Valarr thought himself plagued or even feeling the smallest bouts of jealousy. It was rare for people to even think a prince who would one day be King would be jealous of anyone but he was in some ways, of his eldest two cousins, but in different ways. There’s no hatred or even annoyance. Not for Daeron and Valarr knows of all his cousins it is Daeron who he gets on with the most. When they were children, he would imagine them growing together and becoming the images of their sires in battle and that there may be a song about them or some nickname that they say draw similarities. No such thing happened.
“I hope so too and it’s what my mother said when I spoke with her about the arrangement,” he answers with a short nod as his eyes follow Daeron’s thumb across the cup, already concerned but never knowing how to take the drink away from his favorite cousin. “I knew it would happen eventually but I always thought that you would be matched first.”
The young prince moves to take a seat with his cousin but does not take a glass of wine and just sits to listen and look at the reaction and the way his face moves, catching the bitter look and scrunching his mouth as he’s in thought. “I would take them from you if I could, cousin. I see how they plague you.” It would be done in part out of kindness to Daeron but mostly because the dreams were something that he wanted to have.
Often had they played together as children, in the corridors of Kings Landing, and on the beaches of Dragonstone, and the halls of Summerhall, wherever they happened to be at the time. He had been a carefree child then, the dreams still merely a whisper in the back of his mind, at least for a time. Fantastical games they had played, dark and light heads bowed together over whatever it was they had created, envisioning everything that might be. Most of those ideas had not come true, at least not for Daeron. Valarr though had lived up to many of the expectations.
"Me? Who would have me?" Daeron cannot help but snort a little at the thought. Perhaps he might inherit Summerhall in the future, but he is the heir of a fourth son, and a drunkard at that. What appeal can there possibly be in that to the ladies of the realm? "You are the catch amongst us, dear cousin. And not just for your place in the line of succession."
A faint smile plays on Daeron's lips. Valarr is one of the best of them, of that he has no doubt. Brave and kind to boot, with a clever head on his shoulders. He will make a wonderful king, that he is sure of. "You would be quick in returning them were you to witness them, of that I am sure." No one would want them, not if they knew what they were like.
@misvos | continued from here
The immediate response does not surprise Daeron. He knows his cousin well, knows that outside of the expectation of an eventual heir at some point, that Valarr will mind neither son nor daughter, so long as the babe is healthy. He deserves as much. Daeron has no doubt that Valarr will be an excellent father; after all, while he is brave and bold, he is also kind, patient beyond measure, with a good heart. Any child would be lucky to have him as a father, to be sure.
But grief clouds his cousin's mind, and Daeron cannot fault him for that. It clings to his own, along with the guilt that curls in his belly. He had seen it all coming and yet he had not understood, not until it was too late and the blow had come. He holds blame, he knows that he does, and lips purse together, unsure of what to say to offer any sort of comfort.
"I cannot claim to understand the ways of any Gods, old, new or otherwise..." A hand wave, religion has never been of great importance to him, much to the disdain of the septons, "But I think that any child should be lucky to have you as a father, cousin."
He had come to get her when likely everyone else had forgotten about her for the moment. It was easy to remove herself from a situation when barely anyone paid attention to her. It was a blessing and a curse at the same time. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, Daeron had come after her. "Why aren't you with Rhae or Egg? Why are you here with me?" She asked him them, genuinely curious why he had sought her out.
@whatsbehindthefacade : "Do you realise just how much you mean to me?"
A quiet gasp escaped her. She didn't think that Daeron hated her but she had always thought she was not high on the list of favored sibling. But here he was, telling her something else as it seemed. "I..." Daella was left speechless which was rare. What was she supposed to say anyway? Whatever she had on the tip of her tongue would surely just disappoint her older brother. "I did not think anyone would notice my absence. I did not thing... You never..." Speechless.
Daeron loves his siblings, he really does. Even Aerion, beast that he is, though perhaps a great deal of that is the nostalgia of the boy he once knew, the boy who had clung to him, rattled on about fishing and dragons, with grand notions of who they would be when they grew up, notions that neither of them have particularly fulfilled. It is true, that perhaps Daeron focuses the greatest on his two youngest siblings. They are small, after all, and frequently troublesome, both individually and together, and as such, they do tend to take a fair chunk of attention. But Daella, sweet Daella...the elder of his two sisters has always been a gentler soul, quieter, and in turn, much to his own guilt, it was easy for her to slip through the cracks. That she is so surprised at his choice to be here with her makes his heart ache.
He may be no great knight, but Daeron has always had rather a gift for being able to get right to the heart of a problem with a single sentence, just as easily as he can be horribly vague when the mood strikes him. Quietly, he moves, sitting down beside her with a quiet huff and reaching to take her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Did you know that I was the one who named you when you were born? I thought it rather delightful, and of course, as many small children would, chose something akin to my own name." After their mother had explained that Daeron was not a girl's name and more over he could not share his name with a sibling anyway. "You hardly ever cried, even then. I remember telling mother that Aerion must have already done all the screaming for every possible baby. It seemed true until Egg came along and chose to show off his screeching."
There is no denying that his grandchildren seem to be the only joys left in Maekar's life. He dotes on him in his quiet, stoic way with which he already raised his own children and Rhae knows he adores them all equally. Despite having many offspring himself, there are few grandchildren, but those are cherished greatly. "Oh, of course she does. He keeps telling me that Aelia is just like me and I think he means that in a good way. I was his baby once upon a time, after all."
As the youngest of the siblings, Rhae always had the pleasure of being coddled and doted on by Maekar, especially after his wife had died and left him with so many little ones. Rhae barely remembers her mother now, but she vividly recalls how her father allowed her almost anything in the wake of Dyanna's death, just to see her happy. The downsides of being the youngest came later in life, when all of her siblings had moved out and on, while she remained on her own, responsible for their father and the estate, because he had fallen deeper and deeper into his own brooding and thoughts, barely emerging from his solar most of the time.
"But he is king now, so his time is limited. I do think that the duty has done wonders for him, though. He was quite reclusive in the last few years. Now he has a new found purpose and has come alive again." Summerhall had been left in Rhae's care when her father went to live at the Red Keep, so their contact has been minimal. She longs to live at the capital as well, where life has always been grander and more entertaining, but someone has to look after their home, she assumes. Might as well be the least important one of his heirs. Sometimes it feels a lot like an exile.
"You still are his baby. No matter how old you get." Just as she would always be his baby sister, despite having children of her own now. He doubted he would ever look at her and not see the little girl who was practically his shadow, with her hair all askew and a twinkle in her eyes. She was still there, just older, a little changed by the world perhaps, but still his Rhae. Of course their father would feel the same. And he is right, Aelia is just like her mother.
Daeron lets his gaze drop back down to his nephew, who's tiny hand comes to clutch the tip of his finger with that iron grip that all infants seem to have. He seems a sweet boy, and he prays to whatever gods might exist that the world sees fit to be kind to him. Let him have peace, certainly more peace than his namesake has ever been granted.
Their father has indeed proven himself to be a steady king. His heirs are more shaky though, and Daeron does not doubt that there are plenty of eyes that look towards Dragonstone and the crown prince with disdain. He is not fit to rule, he knows that as well as they do. He is sure that father likely knows it as well, though he does not say as much. "The first time he smiled at Vaella I almost fell over in shock."
marley laughed, shoveling another mouthful of food into her mouth. the community home kept them well-fed, sure, but it wasn't anything like this food. this food was flavorful, tender, well-cooked. it was basically the opposite of the food she'd had all her life, and she was going to savor it for as long as she could.
“he's probably real bad at knots, too. i bet his big dumb fingers can't tie rope worth shit.” she doesn't have the grudge against cato that her district partner does, but nothing cato has done so far has particularly endeared him to her, so she was more than happy to go along with it.
around a mouthful of bread, she asked, “what do you think of the rest of them, though?”
The food was good, there was no denying it, but Caspian couldn't help but miss his grandmother's home cooking. It would be waiting for him, he told himself, after all this was over. He was sure of it. No point in thinking otherwise, no point in thinking off the odd look in his grandmother's eye, nor the little knit starfish that she'd slipped into his pocket that looks about as old as she is. There seems something she didn't say, but he has no idea what that thing might be.
"Everyone or just the-" he gestures a little, "Pack?" Between the parade and the training, he's gotten a decent look at most of them. At least half don't seem like they'll pose too much of a threat, like the little girl from Eleven or the boy from Three. Others are older, but still hardly intimidating, like the boy from Ten who, despite having a lean muscle, has a limp that says to Caspian that he's unlikely to get anywhere fast.
"The girl from Two is one to watch," he muses. Vicious little demon by the looks of her. "And if either of the Ones check their reflection in a weapon one more time, I'm gonna puke." Doesn't mean they're not dangerous, of course, but he fancies his chances.
“Aemon would be my first choice, too,” he agrees, thinking how the boy's bookish nature and clever mind would be the best cousin to turn to should there be an ailment or an illness. Even though a boy, Valarr thought how soft spoken Aemon was and how all of that and his nature would make for a good maester. “He’s ten and in Oldtown so you’ll have to suffer with me.” Valarr can’t help but laugh at the response about Maekar but mostly because he agrees with it. “Hurling yourself out of the window would be far kinder, I’d imagine.” It wasn’t like that with his own father, Baelor had a much better bedside manner and way about him than Maekar did.
There’s not much skill that the young prince has when it comes to healing but he knows enough from tourneys and other ways to give him enough to make do and help ease his cousins suffering. “Half right or completely right, it’s not the cause of your ailment now and they should have listened to you.” It seemed cruel that they didn’t.
“Ghosts are everywhere, cousin,” he offers with a warm voice and squeezing Daeron’s shoulder for comfort. “You are not the only one to find it so haunting, I know others do too. It’s home to me. I was born there as were other princes and even Matarys. Dragons, too. When you next visit we should explore the Dragonmount together.”
"A smart first choice." It is still strange in Summerhall without his bookish baby brother under his feet, no matter how much time passes. And yet if there were any of them suited to the role of a maester, it is certainly Aemon, of that there is no question. No doubt he is filling his mind with as much knowledge as can possibly fit. Daeron is proud of him, though he misses him dearly. He is not the only one, he knows Egg misses his playmate, and Daella and Rhae too.
"I'd certainly get more sympathy from the ground." A quiet snort. Sympathetic does not come easily to his father, or at least not visibly so. Any time he'd fallen as a child, Maekar had told him to get right back up. No time for snivelling or crying, that was for sure. And as for the maesters...well, they are more than used to him by now, "Can't say I blame them. There's not much worth listening to."
Lilac eyes flicker to meet his cousin's as hand squeezes his shoulder. Home or not, there is always something about Dragonstone that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "Perhaps." A faint smile. Whether they will actually do so or not, he cannot say, but his cousin has always been dear to him, and he would not dampen spirits any more with his own melancholy.
they run until they can't anymore, which is a good long while. district four's got good lungs on em, marley had overheard the old ladies at the docks say once, and she'd never understood it until now, with the two of them having made it out of the forest and across the cornucopia clearing in what had felt like minutes. she had no way of knowing what time it really was, not in the arena — shit, she had no way of knowing that the day and the night were the same length, here in the arena.
the two of them stood at the edge of a golden field of corn, or wheat, or maybe grass. it was taller than they were, and marley shuddered to imagine what might be inside. she looked at caspian.
“do you think we ought to go in?” she asked.
it didn't seem like the kind of place the rest of the school would go, but cato didn't seem like the kind who would take their betrayal well. he might be angry enough to follow them inside.
With any luck, the rest of the pack will keep sleeping for another bit, allowing them to put more distance between them, as well as figure out their plan going forward. With what they've done, Caspian knows they've put targets on their back. They're a threat, and the easy pickings are all but gone now, which means it's only a matter of time. Cato won't take their abandonment lightly, even if, realistically, it's just practical. The pack always fractures at some point. They're just getting ahead of the curve.
The field before them unsettles him, in truth. He can't see a damn thing in it, and he doubts the visibility is much better among the stalks. On one hand, if Cato follows them in, he'll be blind. On the other, so will they, and there's no telling what lurks inside. Mutts maybe? Something poisonous? Some of the other tributes, lying in wait? There's only one real way of finding out.
"I don't like it," he mutters, chewing on his lower lip, forever on his guard. Hand reaches up, bending a stalk back and squinting a little. They didn't really have anything like this back home. Then again...he would presume Cato didn't either. "You think the big guy is in there? From Eleven? Seems like the sort of ground that would be familiar for him."
@withouthonour asked: ❛ You weren't going to bid me farewell? ❜ for matarys from baelor or valarr
The red-haired boy needed no encouragement to dart forward, practically slamming against his father's middle, arms wrapping around him as best they could and holding on tight. Of course he would never forget to say goodbye. If anything, he's rather reluctant to let go, a faint frown playing on features that usually hold a bright smile, hair tousled from where he'd been running about outside.
"I still don't get why I couldn't come too..." the boy grumbles a little, even though it's been explained to him more than once. It's a diplomatic visit, or so they say, and his father will make the trip, and Valarr, as his heir and second in line, will go with him. Matarys, all twelve years of him, will stay at home. On one hand, he's aware enough to know he would likely find it dreadfully boring. On the other, he also knows he will miss his father and brother terribly.
