REX QUONDAM REXQUE FUTURUS

@geased // nonverbal rp starters. (accepting)↳ 💃 Pull my muse onto a dance floor/up to dance

       What good is a sovereign that can dance upon a battlefield if she cannot dance elsewhere? Surefooted is she, as is to be expected of the renowned King of Knights, yet something in her falters here as warmth stems from the steady arm resting at her waist. One misstep and the dance is paused and not for the first time, cheeks rosy and head dipped in an attempt to hide such embarrassment. She had not said no to Diarmuid’s sudden insistence to a dance for a reason.

       Arturia is not unfamiliar with dancing, no. But this one… rather, this man…

       ❝My apologies,❞ she excuses herself in breathy exhale, emerald finally darting upward to peer into honeyed amber. A tentative smile breaches her lips, chasing away what color still lingers on her countenance. ❝I do assure you that I am not typically so terrible a dance partner.❞ Perhaps a lady’s floundering isn’t wholly unfamiliar to him, she muses as fingers gently tangle in the dark locks at the nape of his neck, but it is uncharted territory for her. Ah, it’s surely the difference in height. Yes, that must be it! That is what she will assure herself; even if she were in her boots, it seems to vanquish little distance between them. Gentle laughter stirring in her, she ushers Diarmuid down and leans up all at once, meeting him so she may press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Her reward for his patience.

       ❝I did not think one needed permission simply to aid you, Gilgamesh -- as is the duty of a chivalrous knight such as myself.❞ Arturia was more than that, and still she offered kindness and reverence... for now. Emerald twinkled as the King of Knights tilted her head in every effort to be disarmingly charming; where was the nearest lake again? Their ventures through this Singularity had led past some, she was certain.

@daingniu // nonverbal rp starters. (accepting)↳ 😈 Jump out of the shadows to scare/startle my muse

       One would have quite the difficult time scaring Arturia Pendragon – or so she would like to think, perceptive as she is. Rather, perceptive as she could be; aimless wandering did little to bolster cognizance, especially within halls which she’s wandered just as well as the corridors of her own castle. Though however lackluster she may have been in a failure to discern the shadow that lurks and pounces out before her, her reaction time surely makes up for it.

       Excalibur’s weight in her hands shares a similarity to the rise and fall of a chest that heaves with breath. Gales rip and swirl in their bite, eager to cloak golden blade and rend foe alike as Arturia lifts her sword until its invisible tip is even with her offender’s throat–

       Golden tresses wreathed elegant features oft twisted, guarded so; only in the reprieve of accompaniment by those held dear or the release of sleep did such even out to a duplicitous gentleness. Though Arturia may have held aspects which softened her, so too was she iron – so too was she a hardened warrior.

       Under this touch, however, such melted away. There would be no stirring, only the imperceptible catch of breath in her throat as fingertips painted love across porcelain in a way that was heartrendingly unfamiliar and terribly perfect all at once. The soft bite of nail against her lower lip was brief as the sudden shift left her with an absence of warmth and a deep wanting. A flicker of emerald, a moment of adjustment to the silhouette a pool of moonlight created of her wife; with a gentle heave, Arturia propped herself up enough to lean in and rest her chin against Guinevere’s shoulder.

       ❝Guin.❞ Voice gentle, she tipped her head to press a soft kiss against the skin she found there – trailed them against the subtle arch until she was forced to nose through a sea of moonlit gold in a chase of more skin. With the column of Guinevere’s neck claimed as purchase for King Arthur, said sovereign nestled close and snaked an arm around her queen’s waist.

       Dead. Merlin delivered the sentence in a chipper tone, young girl hanging head that would surely be removed from her shoulders were it a true battle. Even wooden swords could leave welts, bruises welling under the surface of skin – having been primarily delivered in the face of overzealous desire to face her brother who went none so gently on her as Merlin did. Occasionally, she bested Kay; occasionally, Kay bested her.

       Steady hand upon Arturia’s elbow guided her to correct posture once more, fingers flexing around the hilt of her wood weapon as she grasped it properly. Part of her – right. The sword was to be an extension of the self, that with which to mete justice to foes whose evils were unforgivable. A deep exhale deflated her shoulders, loosened muscle where it had been drawn taut.

       With emerald gaze steeled, she awaited Merlin’s advance once more.

       “False” blade came to meet her left shoulder, parried with enough ease to afford a delighted breath. No, she could not falter to giddiness here! Wood scratched against wood, Arturia dipping shoulder back as she chased momentum in a fluid motion. A single tap against Merlin’s shoulder signaled the completion of her riposte, smile gracing her lips. ❝Bleeding.❞

       Duel became dance, young girl fleet of foot; blue ribbon caught air in a swirl, wooden sword searching for purchase as owner spun the opposite way in search of an attack upon Merlin’s opposite flank. Ah, agility did not make up for difference in expertise, however, and Merlin afforded perhaps the greatest of it. Wood kissed again, mentor rotating offending weapon away before his own met skin at her collarbone with a gentle tap resounding in Arturia’s ears. Blood drained from her cheeks, blanching away even the exertion – yet violet hues boasted pride, fond smile set upon his countenance even as he declared her state.

arthvriana replied to your post: ❝Merlin said I am the favorite. I thought you…

but I want yours, too.

“No, she belongs to me.” 

There is a soft ‘hep’ as he lifts her, arm hooking beneath as if to seat her whilst other settles upon hip. For once he finds himself looking up at her, a notion he finds truly fitting as something in him softens at it. Softens to her, all tender and easy in a way he recalls scarcely being. “This must be quite the vantage point for you, hm?” Comes gentle tease, eyes creasing in open amusement. 

@arthvriana

       It is a smooth, effortless motion in which he picks her up; enough to bring a dusting of crimson to pale cheeks, in spite of Arturia’s soft laughter. Hand finds shoulder in an attempt to help steady herself, bracing against him with equal ease, until she’s aptly settled. Only then is a featherlight touch allowed, calloused pads of fingers brushing against Diarmuid’s cheek.