#castpray

@castpray; ❝eternity is not mercy. it is echo.❞

— @castpray .

“have you come seeking fortune, or fleeing something?”

the smile he gives her is tinted with embarrassment. lysander lets go of his twin brother's hand in order to bow, curt but polite. "i suppose you could say we are... fleeing. in a way."

next to him, wyatt huffs as he wipes the sweat off his brow. "illuminati bastards. they never know when to stop."

lysander exhales a sigh. they've certainly bit off a little more than they can chew this time, though the goblins, at least for the moment, have stopped their pursuit. just in time to not cause any additional trouble for the kind woman before him. "we do not wish to intrude, miss. we need only a moment to catch our breaths."

there are many sorts of folk on the black whale. he has no time to become acquainted with them all, only note them in passing as the voyage passes by⸻ most commonly from balcony seats during banquet-time. occasionally, he will catch a glimpse of something unfamiliarly sinister, and wonder vaguely to himself; if i were to face something i could not comprehend, could i win?

that is why his reaction to the note pressed into hand is so strong. for someone to seek him out, in particular, must indicate something heavy. perhaps it's a threat. whatever it is, he must investigate, lest it prove a valuable lead in the war. it has only simple instructions (3rd floor. 12:00), the exact time at which he eats each day. fifteen minutes of freedom. he sits at the bar, chain hand tucked into his jacket, fingers tapping an iced gin. where are they?

❝ are you alright, miss? ❞ one of the things fionn loves about london is how easy it is to be in woodland without having to travel any distance at all. he'd taken his horse out early this morning, shaking off a late night with far more ease than he used to—no longer suffering the after effects of drinking too much has many benefits, it seems. and it was good to clear his head, to feel nothing but hoof beats and the wind on his cheeks, but now he wanders back on foot, leading saoirse by the reins, pausing occasionally to pick a wildflower and tuck it into her bridle. maybe he'll braid her mane, later.

he'd not expected to find anyone else in the woods, if he's honest, and certainly not a woman alone. but he can't walk by without at least ensuring that she's not hurt, nor on the run from someone. he smiles at @castpray, as gently as he can manage. ❝ are you injured at all? ❞

aoife has always enjoyed a market; the one near all the big houses in london is a wee bit bigger than the one in her village back home, but she enjoys wandering the stalls, looking at fruit and ribbons and trinkets. sometimes, she's even got a few extra pennies to buy something, though she's saving as much as she can, just in case things get worse and she has to flee again. and flora is constantly growing, and in need of new clothes when aoife can let a hem down no more. but still she can browse, and look out for familiar faces among the crowds.

❝ good morning, aerith, ❞ she greets when she spots one such face, weaving her way between people over to the flower stall; the scent is wonderful, like summer in a bottle, and aoife can't help but smile. ❝ are ye well? ❞