splintered

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activity: beading & jewelry

feet growing tired of walking the markets, malaika thought it best to take a seat, discovering she'd sat at the beading table when she'd accidentally knocked over a bowl of small glass beads - feeling almost indistinguishable from the the pebbled ground. they insisted she not worry about it but unfortunately, malaika felt worried at the mess she could not hope to tidy herself. still feeling mortified at the embarrassment, "i'm sorry," she says, cheeks red at her simplicity, "i don't know too much about gems or anything like that. i don't know if i have one."

She gave him nothing. No flinch, no spark of irritation, barely even a flicker of acknowledgment. Typical. She was nearly impossible to rattle, the complete opposite of Gaeul. Where Gaeul burned with sharp edges and shadows, this one radiated warmth, soft and sunlit in ways that made Ares squint when he looked too long. Once, long ago, she hadn’t seen him through a lens of disdain. There had been something gentler there, a reminder that there was light at the end of whatever tunnel he’d crawled into. He envied her for it, and he’d sooner die than admit it.

“You? Scared?” He drawled, his mouth quirking into something that wasn’t entirely a smile. “What’s this, an attempt to stroke my ego or just a little free entertainment?”

No trace of Gaeul, no Aerin clinging to her skirts... not that it mattered. Conversation with this one was better than talking to himself before he slunk off into the crowd again, eyes peeled for trouble like always.

unimpressed by the prodding, she scoffs, folding a delicate pair of palms against her knees. helene had never thought ares to be bad, but she hardly believed him to be good. his attentions and alliances were too fleeting - a stain upon satin being far more constant than he. ares was only forced to be bound to them for the love of the littlest ashway.

he grates on her nerves - the steel of his stance against the softness of her rind wins as she forces herself into battle with him. she hardly stands a chance against metal. "i suppose someone must at the end of the day. be it my tongue," (in his wildest dreams), "or your own lonely hand, yes?"

by the burn! she was foul for saying it - the uncharacteristic words sit heavily on her tongue. of all fae in prythian, ares rang in on the bottom of her list - just between a suriel and the gap of parchment, awaiting for the continuation of ink. although slim, the possibility of revisiting his placement still existed, it simply had yet to come.

"oh, you think? is that how you found your way into my sister's bed?" looking for the weakness in his defences, the fae twists her knife deeper, her smile saccharine as always. "tell me, ares, what good is watching if you can't tell left from the right?"

the press of his palm against hers sees the high priestess melt into her husband, allowing her brain to rest for a moment. oh, how good noah was to her! "you're no distraction, my love." her head comes to the broadness of his shoulder as they walk along the trodden path, well-worn and known. she was happy to walk it by his side, content to be hand-in-hand at last. lavinia did not know how to slow down - an unfortunate side effect of the sisters' competition. thankfully, noah did. solid and steadfast. "you are the calm and everything else falls under the noise. i feel so tired and the day has hardly begun."

their smile softens for a moment. "that i am." even away from dusk, from the land that used to be their entire world, they are both here. if there's to be a constant, a foundation to rely upon, perhaps this is it.

the soft edges of rahim's lips are like a shot of caffeine, yìzé's own smile growing brighter. dumbly, with a dumber grin, "indeed you are." it'd been so long since he'd felt free to do such a thing, too tense at the precarious state of their court to let loose. but, rahim always had the remedy.

the commander's steps quicken, following along to the rhythm of the drumbeat underneath it all, matching rahim's every step and jump - going so far as to cheer along with the crowd. knowing the next move is a spin, yìzé reaches for rahim's palm once more, pulling the healer into a dizzying twirl as he laughs. even if yìzé was an expert, "a dancer is only as good as their partner."

nor resists the urge to roll their eyes, russet orbs losing the sparkle of humour. lips quirking upwards in a dry humour as she chews the wad of taffy, "it's no implication," nor responds. lolling her head towards the summer lord, the length of her hair swings in its lengthy braid, neat and secured with a dark ribbon. "it's a fact, actually. i have no desire to offend your hospitality, lord dragomir. i simply feel as if you serve fish - in celebration and not. difficult to peel apart of the difference."

when it came to the responsibility of the acheson line, roland himself never thought of what it would mean to have extended family involved. his siblings lined up as the part which he raised, and he thought his job was done. then iain came along, in a quagmire of parentage, and denial of claims, and one thing progressed from each other, and he resigned to the role. at first, it was true resignation: an eye roll, an apt excusing of why those who should have raised iain never showed up quite as the high lord saw them fit to. and from all this, tangential to the moment now, when he gives into his nephew's ( as good as one's ) devices and whims, and sits, rather regally, upon the stool across from him. has his eyes closed as if resting.

the line delivers itself like a dog delivering the hunted pheasant. roland's right brow is the first on-duty soldier to respond: quirking towards his hairline, leaving the left behind. that same eye cracks open, peering at iain. "is that so?" quipped. "and dare i ask where this idea sprung from? your well of creativity, your need to forge alliances?" who could say? perhaps it was due to a dream iain had, where he became a knight in shining armour, and wrangled with one of dusk's dragons to smite the king himself. anything was truly possible within those thinking walls. "please do tell me the match candidates."

"candidates? no, you misunderstand me." they saw him as nothing more than a child. which - as younger than even willow - was somewhat understandable. but, the full depth of his emotion was incomprehensible. impossible to put into words. there's no way to fit lighting into the bottle of a boy, the electricity fighting to discharge. "i am not so disloyal that i should suggest marriage with any number of ladies for an alliance. and, admittedly, i do not believe myself to be so important that i would make a good match for any of the sour faced dusk ladies."

iain leans on the edge of his seat, much unlike roland's relaxed posture, energy running him rigid as he tries to translate the severity of this matter. although dismissed often times as childish, iain was an adult indeed - legally able to make his own decisions on marriage and home and the like. "i've decided that no other should do except for our lady tyanna zarathin, whom i love and have already married."

"So, when were you going to tell me your married cousin? Or are you still holding a grudge against me?" After their heart-to-heart, the two had kept some distance. It felt rather strange not being able to run ideas by Iain as he regularly did, but the tides were turning, and Tiernan would no longer be passive in interfacing with these rapid changes. "You'd better treat Tyanna well."

"by the bloom! of course i will!" iain says, shushing his cousin with a firm finger pressed against his lips. "don't say it so loud! it's still a secret, tiernan. i told you in confidence." his ears tip pinkly. speaking it aloud is fresh and new, like a bud whose rose petals are only just starting to peek out. it was an olive branch of sorts despite the discomfort of their previous conversation. "i'm not holding a grudge. i told you in the end, didn't i?"

oh, his sigh is a long one. not that he'll deny the order, nor is this the craziest request he's ever received, but there's --- it's simply ---- he'll just get distracted. he'll drift, thinking of a certain pair of bat wings and leather gloves and then santino will ask why his ears are blazing red and ---

maybe he should just slip back into the cauldron he birthed from.

licking his lips, he taps at the parchment. "i'll split this fifty-fifty with you if you carve it. i'll provide the base you carve, and then seal when you're done."

his eyes linger on the parchment another moment, considering the request. money, or his soul? "alright," he shrugs. "that's business."

although his retirement was spent following his passions - chevalier wasn't too precious about what work he did. it kept his hands busy, so he was happy to work. even on the stranger requests.

"thankfully," which was debateable, "the madame left a very detailed drawing for us to get started."

it had been exquisitely made.

"I'll take this one. But, only because it's so very beautifully made & because you made it yourself." plus, it would look great on her writing desk, with all the pretty candles & fountain pens, feathered quills & exquisitely made silver inkwells. The mahogany figurine would fit right in. "How much for it?" Ara asked, reaching for her pouch. She'll give him her entire daily allowance, if he asked for it.

sagely, chevalier replies, "it's hardly a rip off when every good follower should have their own figure of the mother."

although ara was an easy target because of their relationship, a sale was a sale. "i'd offer you a discount but who could fault me?" he heaves a heavy sigh as if it the money truly mattered. it did in someways, but he carved for the love of carving. "you and your cousins spend more on a single dress alone than i could hope to earn on one measly day."

"but, i shall offer you an exchange of the reasonable cost of a single gold coin." and at that chevalier smiles, happy with the sale. which was indeed a proper price for an idol of the mother carved in such detail it was as if the goddess had sat for the portrait herself. "is that fair, little ara?"

Now  more  striking  than  the  waterfall,  Santino  looked  at  his  companion  with  doubt  washing  over  his  face,  as  if  he  had  not  understood  any  of  the  words  the  healer  had  addressed  to  him. 

"It’s  possible  to  sweat  out  the  drunkness  in  the  hot  springs?  I  didn’t  know!  This  fae  I  talked  to  didn’t  mention  it⸻what  was  she  called?"  He  pondered  the  name  of  the  fae  who  had  sold  him  the  idea  of  that  place  over  the  course  of  a  simple  conversation;  the sole  reason  he  was  there.  He  nodded,  satisfied  with  that  newly  acquired  knowledge  about  hot  springs,  which  made  the  second  fact  a  bit  confusing.  "So…  does  it  work  or  not?  It  sounds  dangerous  to  pass  out  in  the  hot  water.  I  hear  you  can  float  better,  though." 

her lips quirk upward, amused by the wonder in his tone - had he been born yesterday? it was rare to find one so bright-eyed and fresh faced. it was refreshing against the bitterness inside her. "yeah, belly up like a dead fish." now, realistically, the amount of alcohol one could sweat out was not nearly enough to sober you up. however, "you can certainly try. but, it's not all that efficient is what i mean to say." the healer's gaze moves towards the water, spying the steady downward stream of water. "because you could pass out. so, be sure to keep your wits about you."

great points were being made, but who knew when left up to fate! iphigenia had faith in the mother, but she was still weak, recovering from the battle as imagined from the lack of communication on her side to the temple. "well, surely the high lady and her wise ambassador will think to devise a plan to send along our things if we're unable to pack them ourselves." but, truthfully, iggy can't even recall what she'd left in the dusk court, or even the capital. "i feel as i'll get my trunks back and it will be a time capsule of a girl i haven't met in many moons."

brows raise in surprise for a moment, but a smile settles soon after. "i don't think it's only meant for children. it can be decorative, like the paints and shadows used for an extravagant ball." the child pulls at his sleeve, and a flicker of concern washes over his face as he peers down at her. "though perhaps it should be done by better hands." the child shoves the mirror closer to her face, free hand still wrapped in his sleeve. zacarías tries not to grimace, pointing --- out of the girl's sight --- and mouthing to the newcomer, does she look okay?

jia despite her sharp wit,   could not stand to use the sword against a child. “you are the prettiest little flower i’ve seen today!”   behind the toothy grin the child shares with zacarias,   jia throws up a thumb,   nodding.   it certainly didn't look as bad as it could, but not as good as she expected. when the girl scurries off, her eyes trail back to the palette, skeptical of his work. "are you volunteering to do this? the court didn't have the budget to hire a professional?"

"Hello, sweet Jia," he said, offering her an apologetic smile. "I certainly could have provided some correspondence saying I've missed you and have been wanting to see you," he says, approaching her and taking her hand. "Please forgive me. I've been busy with my mother and other matters." Tiernan intended to keep her out of harm's way, yet in the process, he failed to prioritize their relationship. Despite all the charm and suavity he carried in his body, this was newfound territory. He felt inadequate standing before her, but he wanted to see this through. "How about breakfast by the beach in the morning? Undisturbed time to catch up, yeah?"

scylla,   the traitor,   purs.   he remembered my name!   she gushes,   chirping happily.   a well-manicured hand comes between them,   putting space between the drake and the male   —   putting an early stop to any chance of alliance between them.    “don’t try to soften me up with sweet words.   one word from me and she’ll bite your head off.”   to which scylla barks her disapproval but   —   unfortunately   —   jia was the conduit between them,   allowing her unfaithful translations.

still, her own traitorous nature allows him to take his palm in hers,   soothed by the gentleness of the gesture.   oh,   how easily won jia was.   “where have you been?”   she manages to ask,   keeping her wits about her (which was increasingly difficult around tiernan). jia had a natural distrust for a male's charms, and yet, somehow the springtime fae had find the chips in her defences, forcing her walls done and creating this bizarre dependancy on his company. he seemed to find quarter in every corner of her mind and yet... mothers?   jia understood mothers.   but   —   “yeah? other matters?" every word of his mouth offends her, almost pissing her off further.   "tiernan,   i cannot stress enough how distressing it is that you find other matters more pressing than me. unfortunately, i cost more than a consolation prize.”

jia wouldn't mind a set of new riding leathers, having been unable to bring any of her clothing from the dusk to summer. but, how much did she trust someone who'd never seen a dragon up close to make her something to wear? "let us go for the skirts then," jia sighs. "anything but a buttercup. i detest yellow."

"sometimes, i simply wish to test you. after all, you could surprise me on that front." her laughter, a softer, deeper sound, entwines with the general's. she takes the proffered hand. "please, if you would. silly as it is, but i want to avoid blisters for the closing ceremony. may the mother bless the effort and have it be as flawless as possible."

ulka helps the high priestess step into the boat, fussing over her to ensure she is set-up before taking her seat on the opposite end. despite her relationship with faith (or lack thereof), ulka liked the fae. "your wish is my command," she says with a smile. "i don't find it silly at all. your hands are the mother's hands, after all. i think that would be offensive to be blistered and bruised."

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ullka snorts, "must you always think the worst of me, ruan?" the day general comes to the bench, smile wide and breathless as she takes a seat. her chest heaves, unsubtle as she catches her breath from all her dancing. the fae's bare feet are dark with dirt, her imprint left in the earth around the fire. "i shant be using my brother's money to galivant around the markets, so fear not. i have no work for you to do." their master of coin worked far too hard (not that ulka made it any easier). "however, i do have a request!" she bats her dark eyes prettily. "may i have a sip of your water?"