#classiqals

If not for his new bridge, Angelo and Ariyan could keep their encounters congenial. Two like-minded, ambitious snakes like themselves had more to admire than fear. Especially, when they were not diametrically opposed. Alas, he is a husband now. And what good is a husband, if not to fight for his wife's honor? Having caught sight of regent from the ways away, Angelo waits until the opportune moment. Their guards remain - hidden in plain sight, but seemingly in a pattern. With a slick nod, he walks forward, fingers wrapped around the jade-encrusted walking staff. A gift from my wife, he says to anyone who inquires.

"How goes it, keeping my wife's seat warm?" Angelo inquires with a click of his tongue, a placid look that fails not to instigate. "Or her brother-in-law's, for that matter..."

aurora was sick of being inside the palace — if it wasn’t judgmental eyes on her due to the staggering number of french criminals; it was eyes that pitied her for the loss of her cousin. it was nauseating, being perceived in a land that wasn’t her own. she should be of little significance here and that was precisely what she wanted. giving excuses to her ladies, aurora ducked away — to the market streets. there, she was away from the drama and could perhaps pretend everything was normal.

though, even here — nothing felt normal. she found herself looking at various silks and fabrics, all in bright or deep tones of red; and still, she felt sick to her stomach. red, why red? it was the color of blood, and felt so garish to look at when dressing her deceased cousin — but she had promised elliott she would secure a red dress for martina’s memorial. gods, did she never want to do this again.

the princess walked away from the stall, back towards the palace until she found a tree close to the gates but still not inside palace grounds. she sat down— hoping to wait out this strange mood she was in. it was like a cloud over her, and that was so unlike her. aurora took out a pink journal from her silk bag, age clear on it’s spine. with it, she had a small, thin piece of charcoal she used to write it in when she was without ink. then she’d go over the charcoal later. the dyed leather cover and pages of the book were stained as such — it was clearly something she had taken great care of yet kept with her at all times. she had nothing to write in it as of today, but it brought her comfort, so aurora turned to a page she had counted days on, doodling small flowers and such in between the lines. a bit of cheer to an otherwise depressing record kept.

when she felt the presence of someone seated beside her, she did not look up; instead choosing to continue smudging her fingers with charcoal as she drew. “ — is it time for me to be dragged back already? “ aurora jested, knowing it was her cousin sitting there beside her. “ i believe this fresh air and nature is doing me good. “ she said softly, finally looking up from the somber journal. “ — and i think some time away could do you some good, oui? “ she had not hardly seen much of maceon since they arrived to brazil. he was surely busy, as many of them were — but she worried about him just as she worried about elliott. he was harder to track down, and her time was quite preoccupied these days. “ you look tired, maceon. “

she  falls  back  into  the  rhythm  with  ease  ;  contrasting  chaos  with  calm  ,  for  others'  benefit  .  in  spite  of  a  continuously  pounding  heart  ,  and  fear  gnawing  at  her  stomach  .  nails  rapping  against  the  table  ,  isra  replays  the  bedlam  in  the  grand  jury  hall  ,  hoping  to  achieve  any  sort  of  understanding  of  the  tangled  mess  left  in  its  wake  .  but  the  memory  ebbs  into  the  background  when  she  hears  approaching  footsteps  .  reflexively  ,  she  sits  up  ,  offering  a  warm  smile  to  @classiqals  @flcralhaze  @umitvar  @verenduss  @monarhrh    @whispcrings  , "  how  can  i  help  ?  don't  be  shy  now  .  "  almost  a  joke  ,  or  ,  rather  ,  an  attempt  at  bringing  levity  .

Leave it to a small, velvet box to put her nearly thirty minutes late for the deceased, Queen's memorial. The weight of the ring; French design, with a simple band, heavy in importance and looming promise. After a prolonged reverie of heavy breathes and pulsating sweat, Midori speeds with haste to the Cathedral. But those in attendance were already seated, the Japanese contingent in too prominent a place to be discreet. Her eyes move to the back pews, filled to the rim, save for one spot.

Gods and their explicit irony.

Walking towards the corner, Midori is quick to cast a quick look at Tian Feng. Unseen beyond that grotesque display at the bath house, and several instance of flirtation with his new betrothed. Lashes long and cheeks high, Midori stares down at him. "Well?" She nods expectantly, at the only open place by his side. Without waiting, Midori settles into the seat. A feigned eye at the service, as if she cannot feel his breathing.

"My closest friend? Really? You could have fucked anyone." She whispers haughtily against Tian Feng's shoulder, eyes remaining steadfast on the altar.

A few drinks were had well into their first night in Brazil. Frankly, if Elliott were feeling more creative, or in the spirit of another's company, he'd search out hallucinogens from some of Brazil's horticulturalists. But as it stands, they had to make do, with Scottish whiskey, German ale, and even an unsuspecting pitcher of sangria with double the usual helping of alcohol. When the Bonaparte men were tasked with debauchery, well... They certainly rose to the challenge.

"You know, it's funny.." Elliott begins, lost somewhere between the drink and the late hour. His voice loud and brash, filling up the space where their sister's cutting wit would usually live on. A levelled eye on his brother - his favorite, his most despised, his only living sibling left. It's true what they say, grief brings people together.

"At least this time, I can confidently say one of my siblings is dead." The proof was in the coffin, smeared with Elliott's graceless kiss before being duly transported for the wake. Clicking his tongue, he licks the last remnant of sangria from his lips. "Another?"

If the powers-that-be had a sense of humor, it is most evident in the location of their reunion. Under the cacophony of incense and regret, he finds the familiar long tresses and square shoulders. Marriage - what an odd institution. The place where one's most viperous self emerges, under the guise of being man and wife. Then again, it had less to do with the institution and everything to do with the wolf in fine clothing.

History would dictate the flow of their reunion. Rahmi would appear, tender-voiced and desperate with longing, only to feel her cool refusal to entertain him. Inevitably, Haspira would walk away. That's what his wife did - walk away. And in the last few years of their marriage, she walked away with more and more of him. Until, inevitably, there was no Sultan Rahmi to find.

But history is rewritten with the loss of his prior self. So it is he who makes himself known, standing tall and lean and thick-bearded in front of her knelt figure.

"There is no peace to be found in your prayers." Rahmi greets, voice low and sure. So unlike the tentative, nervous tonality that once existed. Looking down at his wife in name alone, he licks his lips. Determined as anything to get what he needs, and nothing more. "I require a moment of your time." It is not a question. It is a statement, uttered with unflinching certainty.

her eyes glanced around the room, looking for familiar faces — that seemed to always be what she was doing. however, it didn't take long before aurora decided the room was stuffy and quite frankly, far too crowded with people trying to enjoy their breakfast. it wasn't worth searching the crowd for someone to talk to. the princess grabbed a plate with some fruit, some cheese and a hearty slice of bread before slipping outside to a quieter, more . . . well, breathable area.

aurora's shoulders relaxed and for a moment, she felt at peace while walking down a path, munching on the fruit in her hands. it was simple. calm. everything she wanted. a sigh passed her lips, realizing perhaps it wasn't ever meant to be hers. on her walk, the princess's eyes landed on an individual sat underneath a tree. she recognized the silhouette, and without any hesitation — the princess sat beside her cousin.