LIMINAL EMPIRES

Régulo nearly jumped out of his skin when Ren poked his head through the doorway. He was, once again, avoiding the anger of his antagonistic older sibling.

ren stops in the doorway, scratching his temple with the kunai he'd been spinning idly on his thumb. the way the young lord seems to panic, the paranoia seething off of him in black, susurrous tendrils — what the hell was going on here? a part of him considers just finding another place to crash, but the louder, drunker voice in his head pushes all that aside. he crosses the room, giving the young lord a quick side-eye as he passes.

If she was going to find out any information, Saylee knew she needed to speak to as many other fae as possible. While she knew not everyone would be receptive, it still meant that she had to try. Winter had been through enough already, and she wanted to be sure that she could do it justice with information. Being a high lord had its perks, but it also had it's downsides, knowing that other fae wouldn't necessarily open up to her. Or perhaps it was that they'd feel the need to. Saylee relished in the fact that others underestimated her and never expected that with a soft spoken attitude that she could unleash a completely other personality underneath her.

"as above, so below," he agrees. "it would be interesting to see how the data correlates. if there are mirrored patterns." a pause. "if you don't find it too presumptuous, have you considered hosting a council with all the high lords & ladies present? since this is your court, you likely know the safest, most private space to gather. i think it would feel most natural if the invitation comes from the high lady of this court." do-hyun closes his book, hand resting slack upon the worn, leather binding. the thought occured to him that archivists and commanders alike should at least entertain combining their efforts — if a great, fell swoop would destroy them in their divided, scurrying state.

astoria would prefer to go fly with the birds, disappear into the skies. and yet, she will not. because this is not her home, where her best friend is safe, where they are free. this is not her home where she is one of many seraphim, but instead she is one of few — noticeable. so wandering up to the aviary, where her own crows have made friends with some of the birds of the winter court, is the closest she will have to flying with her own birds back home.  she has not seen another soul in this space, for the majority of her time here, and when she has, she has often remained hidden, preferring the company of the animals, rather than her fellow faeries.  animals are familiar, predictable, trustworthy.

the spymaster's attention drifts down from the heavens, his focus like a falling feather, until it lands on the second of starlight's court. she seems to fit here among the winged souls, and just like those creatures, she is an ancient presence. an old soul. she is bound by gravity, but bears it with grace and strong shoulders. in his own way, he admires her — in the way he might admire a new sky, pink & blooming with uncharted stars.

trying to pretend that she’s fine is exhausting. she hates having to put on a brave face every time she has any risk of being around anyone else, that she can’t just be. her family had all known she would be the high lady. her parents had prepared her. but they were supposed to live longer. they shouldn’t have gone when they did. her mother had deteriorated once her father died, had faded away until she was skin and bones. and perhaps it makes her a bit jealous that they were so in love, when every time she starts to feel like she might find someone, they die. and if they don’t, she runs. because of the stupid curse. and while she’d had her handful of flings, she tended to grow attached in one way or another, even if just for the friendship involved. and when she’d taken her father’s place, she’d stopped, focusing all of her energy on taking care of her court. now, she stands across from a row of targets, probably not intended for visiting high ladies. certainly not for high ladies who snuck away from their guards. she tosses knives. she’d trained in hand-to-hand and with swords, but her father had been nervous, when she’d been young. he’d decided she’d have to learn to fight after she’d been taken, but always wanted her main weapons to involve longer distance. so she’d learned archery, but when she’d taken a liking to knives, he’d just insisted on she learn to throw them. even though she was inclined to fight in closer range with them as well.

taking a leisurely stroll across the rooftop of the barracks ( it had proven a great place to nap, eavesdrop, and provided a rare perspective of which others rarely took advantage ), ren spots movement in the training yard. it had been largely unoccupied in recent weeks, which the swordsman found strange, considering the circumstances. part of him wondered if a lack of trust between the courts discouraged training in common, open areas. that question was probably above his paygrade; his experience came down to: we give you a target, and you bring them down.

omar tries to linger around with his court as they all are gathered together, he really does, but after a second it's hard not to want to stray and find some peace and quiet. he's quick to slip out and he thinks that he's lucky enough not to catch anyone else's eye while doing so, but the immediate stiffness that usually follows when usually realizing he's not alone melts away once he recognizes the voice of the other. if it were anyone else the man would have been a bit exasperated at being followed. he felt as though he had been bumping into almost everyone while they were all here in winter, it was a bit much for the introvert to take. but his third had seen him through a lot so...he had his privileges...whether the fae would actually admit to them or not. that didn't keep him from letting out a deep sigh, though, trying hard not to let the other see him crack a small smirk at the comment, trying to save it by crinkling his nose a bit at the thought. "uh...don't think tonight's really the night to put them all to...shame like that just yet...you, um...are you holding up?"

the end of his pilfered cigarette sparks to life on inhale, embers blazing red. ren's eyes narrow on the commander, his head tilting to the side as if he's trying to read fine print situated a mile away. without being able to name them specifically, ren is aware that he and omar share some similar wounds. similar threads tugging at their viscera, deviating their programming. but there are differences, too. while ren knows how to disappear in a crowded room, and conversely, how to draw everyone's attention, omar simply retreats. seeking solace.

CLOSED: @liminalempires

the thousand headed dragon had few blind spots, but reading was a skill he'd never actually acquired. sure, he could fumble his way through his signature when an 'x' wouldn't do, and he recognized common words one often sees in cities and towns: tavern, no entry, closed. one of his fellow soldiers had started teaching him, but the times they could meet discreetly were so ..inconsistent, ren gave up in frustration. thus, his reading level remained very elementary.

Her aching body protests as she drags herself into the bar. Liv hurts in all the best ways, but it doesn't make moving in this state any easier. Already swinging a bottle of bourbon by her side, she gives a sloppy salute to the barman, along with a sultry, half-lazy smirk. Looking around, her eyes land on Commander Lasher and her mouth goes dry. She couldn't say when the exact moment was, or what exact day he had caught her eye, but she couldn't have waited any longer to approach him if she tried. And when she'd seen him fight for the first time... well, let's just say she almost jumped him right there. Liv wasn't much of a beggar, but she'd even considered begging mercilessly on her knees to see the way he moved in the sheets.

the commander lifts a stark eyebrow as liv slumps into his lap, weaving herself around him like a snake in a pomegranate tree, a dangerous feline toying with her prey. the smell of alcohol on her breath, the unfocused gaze — it had worked on lasher as a young man, before he'd built a bastion around his heart, before he'd pulled away from the precipace of a first love with singe-marks on his palms.

THE WORDS STILL ECHOED IN HER EARS - RICOCHETED IN HER SKULL. night runs deep, but enemies delve deeper. once you hear us, you will never be sane again. It did not leave her. It's been a night and a day - the majority of which she'd spent in her chambers, sobering up after the lengthy visit to a tavern with Penélope. She had half a mind to spent tonight in a tavern, again - but, she never ran from her problems.

chatoyant eyes follow her movements — drawing her furs around her in defense, the twitch of a hand undoubtedly testing the presence of a blade. she is an asp, coiled and ready to strike, and yet dohyun sees blooming sadness in her eyes. she is haunted by the events that have transpired, possessed by them. compromised?

IF IT HAD BEEN ANY OTHER SITUATION, SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE GONE TO PESTER HER SECOND IN COMMAND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. But, to be entirely fair, this was no normal situation. What made the matters worse ( or perhaps better? she couldn't tell. ) was the damning fact they were on foreign soil. This was no Night court. These walls did not comfort her, these beds and chambers and drinks did not soothe her. Even their nights were different. More muted compared to those in Velaris and Hewn city.

the storm raging inside of her is immediately apparent to vyros. in the palms of his hands, he feels the cold pooling, a physical manifestation of his need to act, to move mountains, to chase this foul energy down and rend it into ash. the part of him borne to a ruinous winter house feels somehow responsible — that he should be able to name this fell magic, understand its origins, its weaknesses, its motives. but the great well of strength and determination in him is not enough.

At this point, Saylee was getting frustrated, unable to find answers. Each fae that approached her made her nervous, tugging at that gnawing feeling of anxiety she tried so hard to hide. Winter was her home, and here it was being used for some nefarious plot, one that she couldn't push aside. She couldn't simply use her powers and end it, or hold a conference and convince everyone that nothing would shatter their perfect image of Prythian. They had zero answers, nothing that could guide them to an understanding of what exactly to do next. This frustration burned inside of her, like an icicle threatening to melt. Saylee was feeling helpless.

when the high lady of winter stops at his side, do-hyun stills. not because he is intimidated by those that hold power, but because the woman beside him is at the heart of this court, the court in which they are now trapped, suspended, cursed into helplessness. while he's not ouright suspicious of her, he cannot dismiss her as a cynosure in this chaos. a focal point around which everything else spins into madness. what strings has she tugged from her seat of power? if she is not a player in these wild circumstances, she has been poised to struggle in the aftermath.