#ircnwrought

"So I've heard, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the younger sister of Mrs. Bingley, has been very lately engaged to——"

At least one of Mr. Darcy’s five senses had failed him ere the latter portion of the gossipmonger’s statement could be distinctly overheard. The second subject did not matter so much as the first. Elizabeth Bennet, lately engaged. Such a revelation was sufficient to send the aching heart in his breast plummeting into the depths of his hollow stomach. The gentleman had long known that this day must arrive; yet nothing could have adequately prepared him for the news—least of all from the lips of a stranger. Why had such tidings not been communicated to him by his dearest friend Charles Bingley? The news must have indeed been recent; more recent than the post could deliver such a missive overflowing with the dreaded details.

For a brief moment in time, Fitzwilliam had wholly lost himself, standing amongst a throng of souls, none of whom suspected the havoc their half-concealed whisperings had wrought upon a man so generally accounted as impenetrable. He was not so. Their unintentional darts had reached their target, leaving him bereft of speech and motion, until by some miracle, he recollected himself to retreat a step, and remember his situation. If he was to crumble beneath the weight of his uncertainty and hesitation robbing him of one final opportunity to make the Hertfordshire beauty his wife, it would have to be in a place of much needed solitude. Not here.

The tall gentleman at length turned aside, resigning himself to a place against the wall; partly from a sudden necessity for support, that he might remain steady and upright, and partly from a desire to collect his thoughts without intrusion. In the latter case, he was foolish to believe that any such reflection might take place at such an assembly. Certainly not when his station had once again placed him in the company of a fresh acquaintance whom offered him the most quizzical of looks. As though he had interrupted her own time of contemplation with his undesirable presence. He hadn't, in that moment, had the common sense to procure himself a drink, let alone find an unoccupied corner to sulk in.

there was a ring on his left hand, third finger. it was a plain band, nothing flashy, but it meant everything. it hadn't been there long, but it symbolized so many years of his life, so many years with her. years that began in...this tower. he hadn't been in titans tower in so long now, but it all still felt the same. they'd all been together here, dick just couldn't understand how he'd gotten back. he'd gone to sleep in bludhaven, next to kori. and now he was in titans tower. he was moving around, trying to figure out what was happening, when-- ' starfire. ' he'd practically run into her, his hands on her arms to steady them both. she-- she was so young, just like she was when they'd first established the titans. how--

lois lois lois. he'd been consumed with worry for her ever since she'd almost been squashed by one of toyman's creations. he'd taken her to the fortress without thinking, and then returned to metropolis to finish the fight. he'd gotten back as soon as he could. ' four! ' he called out, because he couldn't call out for lois, he wasn't supposed to know who she was. ' four, is our guest alright? '

seeing @ircnwrought again had been surreal , the red of life tinting the tips of her cheeks ; features that were all too familiar even after centuries apart. ( features he'd carved into stone with a reverence none would believe capable of the god of death. )

perhaps some part of him had hoped she'd recognize him / but that distaste , that hatred filled his mouth & he knew she didn't --- so fragile & mortal. looking at him with that same spark of intelligence , the same damned determination that had ended with her sacrifice the first time. looking at her hurt , a wound that had never entirely healed dug into anew / but gods above if he wouldn't let her dig her fingers in & rip him apart again & again.

it's a bad idea , xaden knows it , just like he knows she has to be the key to this all again --- but he'll be damned if he lets that happen. he should stay as far away as possible until he can untangle this mess , figure out some way to keep her safe. but like a moth to a flame , he finds himself moving towards her / ready to burn.

A loud blast rattles the windowpanes in their fittings. Shards of RED HOT cast iron go flying throughout the room. It’s a wonder neither of them were hurt. As far as Merlin can tell, the only casualties were a few jars on the far wall and his favorite caldron. A pity, really, it was so PERFECTLY SIZED for this work, well-seasoned and reliable. An unfortunate sacrifice he was willing to make. Morgan was worth more than the caldron, worth more than the shattered jars of tincar, worth more than the mess some palace servant would have to clean. This was one of the most important lessons any student of magic must be taught.

"We could... but honestly, I like holding grudges."

it's late when the train drops him off &* leaves him to walk home. HE DOESN'T MIND ; quite likes the smell of sea salt &* fish. people are fed -- here , they stand a chance. finnick's mind wanders away as he makes his way into the village. a step into his own mansion , then he rights himself , easily shifting his path to annie's mansion. HE AMBLES A BIT , always lost in a fog after too much time out of his body in the capitol. he slips his shoes off at the door &* finds more steady footing as he goes to her bedroom. just like he thought , she's curled up for the night. he also notes the level of sleep -- hardly dozing. WAITING FOR HIM.