#orion001

A visit to the seedy stalls in the baazar were usually for entertainment in seeing what the people from the Outside considered to be illicit goods. But this time Wren's visit was purely for business. Wedding business of course. She was well aware of how Nick could be, and an event where he was the main event? What kind of groomsperson would she be if she wasn't making sure He and Mik were getting the perfect gifts that they desired off their registry.

Wren had gotten to know Orion thanks to her desire to make sure she had someone bigger than her to accompany her on scavenges around the island, and because he was willing to be another pair of eyes looking out for her parents when stepping through a teleport. That was why he was her first stop to question for this very important matter.

"Hello sir. I am here on behalf of none other than Nick Ambrose, groom of the hour. " she began, sounding overly formal. "I see you've collected many interesting items for trade, but have you even bothered to think about the grooms and their special day yet? Do you have any idea what will happen if Nick doesn't get his way?"

This week had been shit. 

The darkness still hadn’t cleared, and as much as Mercy loved the nighttime, even she was getting tired of it. She missed the sun. Is this what vampires felt like? Living without daylight all the time? Fuck, that must suck. Ha. Suck. Vampires. Mercy laughed to herself. It wasn’t as if anyone else was around to hear the stupid pun. 

Arthur might’ve laughed. But he wasn’t here, was he? 

No one was. 

Here being the archive she’d come into possession of a few years back. The room at the top of the spire had an excellent view of the stars, and Mercy stayed there sometimes, when things got too loud. It was far enough way from the main part of town that the city was just a dull glow on the horizon, and the only sounds were the forest below and the creatures in it. 

So when there was movement down below, among the rose-brambles, Mercy leaned over the balcony rail to watch the figure that was approaching. Curious. No one had breached the forest barrier in... well. A long time. Only once or twice since Mercy had been here. And they’d never made it past the roses. Yet this person was walking right up to her tower as if it was on the local sight-seeing map.

Very curious indeed. 

Well, it had been awhile since she’d had this particular type of fun. Lets see what they’re made of, the Fury thought to herself. A moment later, her longbow was in her hand, and an arrow - the tip alight with flame, because why the hell not? She was bored. - was drawn back, aimed, and released. It shot towards the ground, flames and feathers whistling a warning, and buried itself (with purposeful accuracy; she wasn’t looking to do bodily harm) in the dirt at the intruder’s feet. 

Mercy snorted, trying to control her amusement before she spoke. “Who-” She cleared her throat, trying to sound more menacing (and less... giggly) before going again. Her voice echoed strong and clear out into the crisp, cool night. “Who comes to seek the knowledge of the Tower in the West?”

At mornings, witches and wizards from all over Britain either celebrated or mourned the taking of the Ministry, whereas at afternoons and especially nights, the Three Broomsticks welcomed anyone who longed for a wishful safe spot to quite literally drown their sorrows - no matter Ivy took enough care to stop those who were already too drunk. 

Truth be told, not only those who were preoccupied by recent actions found themselves in a position of fear and misery; even some in favour might have their own worries over what just happened, or, stepping outside of that bubble, maybe felt uneasy by other problems. Ivy herself wasn’t at all comfortable, but she kept her mouth shut; no one needed to know her opinions, unless of course the person already did from times in the past when she didn’t have to worry about making or not making herself heard. In the end, what mattered was business.

Everyone knew the pub considered itself a neutral spot, openly offering a place where people wouldn’t have to worry about such things as fear and the war. Of course, this could change rather quickly should anyone, for whatever reason, decide to attack it, but at least Ivy held enough respect and consideration to understand this might only happen should something else enter the equation - after all, many did consider her a pureblood. Shops and markets closed all the time in Hogsmead now; many feared what was to happen, and Rosmerta understood their concerns. She couldn’t, though, simply close what was her life because of danger; such luxury was only given to those who didn’t adore their business as much as she did.

“There you go.” Ivy smiled warmly at the sight of an old friend, a Hufflepuff a few years older than her. Yet she couldn’t keep her company, which wasn’t a problem given there was someone else at the table as well. “Now I believe you still owe me those sickles.” This time her face took a more serious expression; business were business and she wasn’t at all interested in being owned, at the very least not when related to the money. At those days, it was best to make sure she wasn’t losing any. No more than a few seconds and it was all resolved, plus - even if she didn’t show it - if did give her some relief to see her friend was ok. She was a muggleborn and Merlin knew many were being aimed to. There was, of course, a question of the people behind those attacks - death eaters, they called themselves. Her group fought them. 

At a few meters from her, there was Orion Black, a guy she had known too well in times when he kept going there to drink, and even if sober now, it was easy to know if they were friends, acquaintances, or even enemies.

Maybe crossing the last option was the right thing to do, given he had no idea she was sided with Aversio - and she didn’t plan on letting him or anyone else know about this anytime soon. “Are you planning on going back to old days or just passed by to say hi to a friend?” Not at all interested in asking whether or not she could sit there, Ivy pulled a chair and accomodated herself. The sight of Orion there did make her worry - not that she was afraid of any attack, it was more like she wasn’t interested in having him going home extremely drunk or staying there to sleep because of his intoxication. Those times were over and six years sober were bad for business, but good for the man. 

“It’s been awhile, Black.” She let a smile show, yet her features remained solemn. Untroubled, too. Later on she might call him Orion, but Black did sound nicer than the constellation - a bit more powerful, like her own relation to Ivy and Rosmerta.

Though they were few and far between, there were nights when Augustus couldn’t close his eyes without thinking of his mothers. One, lying cold in a bathtub. The other, ever disappointed in his choices. Even if they had handpicked him when he was much younger, it seemed as if he would never live up to their expectations. After a few minutes, he realized there was no point in him lying in bed and staring at the sterile white ceiling for hours on end. Quietly, he climbed out of his bunk and started towards the galley. 

The galley wasn’t large by any means, but in his second week aboard the Concord, Gus had found the tea kettle. Tucked away in a cupboard, the kettle had become his companion on the late nights spent trying to distract himself. He was never one to enjoy the taste associated with dire sling, but a mug or two of chamomile tea often helped him relax. As he pulled the kettle from its place in the wall, he noticed his hands shaking slightly. Of course, he saw the irony of the psychologist on board not being able to handle his own mental health. He figured if no one saw him slink out of bed once every few weeks, there would be no harm done. Besides, the tea helped. He knew how to cope, unlike most of the crew. Sometimes, he even felt as if he was failing them.

It was silly, he told himself, to feel so indebted to a crew that couldn’t care less what happened to him. There was still the fact that he made a commitment to them, and knew that there was no way out of the mission. He would either see the mission until the end, or die trying. Honestly, he was hoping it was the former. With fluid movements, he filled the kettle with enough water for a few mugs of tea and then set it to warm before taking his seat at one of the many tables scattered throughout. 

Only then did he see a figure standing in the doorway, one he had become accustomed to seeing over the past few months. A small smile grew on his lips, though he wasn’t sure they could see it in the dim light. “Nice timing. I just put the kettle on, if you wanted to join,” he said, his voice soft.  Orion was one of the few crew members that seemed to want to get to know him, and it was a welcome change from the rest of the hostile bunch. “Any particular reason you’re still up?” There was no reason to push, he knew that Orion would talk to him if they wanted to. He just couldn’t help the part of him that worried about the crew far more than he worried about himself.

o  ritmo  latino  ecoa  pelo  salão  do  bar,  praticamente  pulsando  numa  energia  que  contagiar  todos  ali.  até  as  luzes  parecem  mais  vibrantes  que  qualquer  outro  lugar,  queimando  em  cores  variadas  junto  as  estrelas.   alek,  que  não  sabia  se  a  festa  de  aniversário  da  ex  cunhada  seria  o  melhor  lugar  após  o  dia  anterior,  agora  não  pode  deixar  de  se  aliviar.  é  o  tipo  de  atmosfera  que  convida  a  se  perder,  para  distraír  sua  mente  e  escapar  dos  problemas   ——   confie  em  elena  bourbon  para  criar  um  verdadeiro  espetáculo.  com  um  copo  de  uma  bebida  forte  em  mãos,  ele  observa  preguiçoso  um  grupo  em  roda;  tinha  alguém  no  meio,  vendado,  e  outra  pessoa  que  se  aproximava  para  tocá-lo.  o  russo  arqueia  uma  sobrancelha,  curioso,  quase  certo  de  ter  ouvido  algo  sobre  um  jogo  vermelho  assim.  atraente  para  chamar  sua  atenção,  mas  não  o  suficiente  para  arrastá-lo  para  aquela  vila  pobre  para  brincar  de  heresia  com  a  plebe.  mas  já  que  está  rolando  ali....

observa  quando  o  próximo  jogador  é  selecionado   ——   o  duque  de  alba  y  valdegracia.  deus,  ele  deveria  se  manter  longe  dos  castilhanos,  a  cabeça  já  dói  suficiente  por  causa  de  uma.  no  entanto,  a  verdade  é  que  ele  precisa  de  uma  boa  distração  e  há  algo  no  suposto  centurião  que  o  faz  levantar  antes  mesmo  que  perceba,  se  enfiando  na  frente  de  alguma  outra  nobre  sem  qualquer  preocupação.  sob  a  meia  luz,  o  mais  novo  parece  quase  inocente,  esperando  pelo  que  aconteceria.  aleksei  começa  devagar,  um  simples  deslizar  da  destra  que  sobe  pelo  ombro,  o  roçar  do  nariz  contra  seu  pescoço,  respirando  o  cheiro  de  orion.  em  tese,  poderia  parar  por  ali.  mas  não  é  o  suficiente  para  apaziguar  a  fome  que  sente.  sua  mão  se  afunda  pelos  fios  curtos  e,  sem  aviso,  alek  puxa  sua  cabeça  na  direção  da  própria,  esmagando  sua  boca  contra  a  dele.  o  beijo  se  inicia  já  exigente,  impaciente;  a  língua  tomando  controle  num  embate  quente,  quase  brutal,  como  se  o  príncipe  buscasse  devorá-lo  pela  boca.  sua  figura  larga  se  sobrepuja  sobre  a  menor  do  galeno,  e  não  demora  para  que  a  diferença  comece  a  incomodá-lo;  e  tão  rápido  quanto,  suas  mãos  encontram  figura  do  outro,  erguendo-o  contra  a  parede  mais  próxima.

   ᘛ     featuring    :    @orionversion    ᘛ     scenary    :    galeria  dos  pactos    ᘛ     prompt    :    i've  dealt  with  enough  pain  over  the  years

íris  negras  percorrem,  curiosas,  pela  pintura  antiga.  o  cenário  se  move  em  puro  caos;  aqueles  que  lutam  tomam  frente,  um  ato  de  bravura  que  não  esconde  completamente  o  medo  e  o  desprezo  que  se  alternam  entre  as  faces  dos  guerreiros.  no  plano  de  trás,  entre  fumaça  e  sangue,  há  aqueles  que  tentam  fugir,  os  que  agarram  aos  seus  falecidos…  e  ainda  que  não  consiga  nem  imaginar  esse  tipo  de  dor,  pode  escutá-la  ecoar  na  fala  de  orion.  instintivamente,  ela  vira  o  rosto,  distanciando-se  do  quadro  para  então  focar  nas  feições  dele.  o  azul  não  parece  muito  mais  velho  do  que  ela   ——    nunca  pareceu,  realmente,  mesmo  que  por  vezes  lena  tentasse  correr  atrás  dele,  louca  para  saber  as  histórias  de  suas  vidas  passadas.  agora,  no  entanto,  a  rouquidão  em  sua  voz  parece  carregar  o  peso  de  cada  uma  delas.          ❛  dizem  que  a  dor  é  a  antítese  da  felicidade    ——    como  se  só  através  dela  pudéssemos  dar  valor.  ❜          a  princesa  comenta,  em  tom  baixo,  retornando  o  olhar  para  a  pintura.  um  suspiro  se  enlaça  entre  as  palavras,  escapando  sutil,  pesado.          ❛  pra  mim,  soa  como  uma  grande  merda.  mas  ainda  é  melhor  do  que    ‘toda  dor  tem  um  motivo’.  ❜          ela,  particularmente,  não  enxerga  que  motivo  poderia  ter  por  trás  de  algo  assim.  talvez  fosse  ingênua  demais,  ou  quem  sabe,  apenas  protegida  o  suficiente  para  não  ter  que  lidar  com  algo  assim  diretamente,  não  sabe  dizer.          ❛  é  alguma  das  suas  vidas?  ❜