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philomelia asked:
❝ you look dreadful. ❞
Lost Meme -- @philomelia
Nico squinted at the speaker over his coffee. He couldn't be quite sure which cup of coffee this was, but he knew it wasn't enough, his body aching all over. Usually he liked to add something to sweet to his coffee, but even that seemed too much effort at the moment, even if the bitterness twisted his stomach uncertainly.
"Thanks."
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' all i remember are teeth and a whole lot of pain. ' ↪ @philomelia : dean.
that's not good. he's not shy when it comes to life and death situations, hands - on and unabashed in his checks. pupils aren't dilated, temperature only slightly above normal. not quite reaching fever territory, though that could come with time. who knew how long she had been out for. there's blood, plenty of it and darkened to a more subdued rust brown : he hasn't quite assessed whether or not it belongs to her yet. she's conscious, and speaking : short of overwhelming her, he has a burning question to eliminate first. and it's not what her name is.
❛ hey, look. listen t' me. ❜
a stoop of his head to meet her eye level, trying to ignore the dread and apprehension building in the pit of his stomach. like hell, he burns.
❛ were you bitten ? ❜
@philomelia: ❝ if i tell you my eyes are red from weed and not because i was crying will you do me the favor of pretending to believe me? ❞ accepting.
he's great at that. really, probably not anyone better that she could've asked. "if you give me some weed." but he's half-joking, honest, tucking his chin into the fabric of his jacket. ( he's not sure it'll really do much for him now, anyway. )
— 𝐌. | SHE IS A GREEDY WOMAN, IS SHE NOT ? it is a firm understanding of herself, of knowing that without this desire that burns within her chest, a ring of fire around her heart ---- she is nothing but a shell. selfishness crawls up her throat like a bug. it sticks to her body like old gore, all too familiar in its slip and slide, the way it conforms to her form as if it belongs there.... she is no bark, just mean bite. she has plotted her own championship before it has even happened. the bench she sits at is comfortably isolated in its own right: far enough from anyone walking by but close enough to the trail to remain a part of the atmosphere. she does not sit alone on it either, its right half taken up by a younger girl, more than halfway between adult - and childhood. they had been silent an hour or so ago..... one could blame the Saint for the conversation, the urge to chatter rising from her like a gust of wind, her tongue laden with syllables strung together as pearls. where the conversation sat now: it was turned towards the future, a loose and vague examination of their pasts. they toss morals back and forth, convictions - of - sorts shared to the air, then to each other.
the girl [ @philomelia ] brings a smile to the Saint’s face, after a moment of deliberation and a story of kinds. “ I realized winning doesn’t mean anything unless someone else loses. ” solemn in tone does she speak, head bowed low as if caught in a crime.
THE SAINT HUFFS A LAUGH, CROSSES HER LEGS AT THE KNEE. she is a greedy, greedy, selfish ( selfless. ) woman. it infects her like dirt in a wound, her desire. she is used to it and it is used to Her. ❝ welcome to this world of ours, ❞ she says clear as night sky. there is no malice in her tone, but rather a soothing sort of understanding. she has won, and she has lost, both at once. ❝ some day you must choose which you would like to continue to do, and how much it means to you ( ... ) some of us, we have no choice but to make sure we come out on the winning side. ❞
@philomelia : ❛ why are you really here? ❜ (prompts)
the question startles her, or perhaps just the one word. really. why are you really here? it implies something that alicent can't settle on. it's not said in a way that's particularly antagonistic, but if she's learned anything from being at court nearly her whole life, it's that something does not have to sound disgruntled to be so.
cassie's words had at least stopped her from continuing on in her flustered babbling. "oh, i was told that you were feeling ill." and being ever dutiful and seeking always to help, she had come to check in on the girl herself. "i brought a book with me. i thought i might keep you company, unless you would rather be alone or rest." she holds up the volume in her arm as if it were not clearly visible or would provide some clarity that her words could not.
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@philomelia said: “we need to get out of here , come on . “
{♠️ x Dire Situations || accepting x}
An ambush by the Dime Lions on his own turf. Kaz Brekker was beyond furious.
It wasn't that he hadn't known he was being followed. He did. They were so fucking loud and clumsy that he'd been able to tell from a mile away. And Dirtyhands had been ready, waiting; cane clutched in his hand and just itching to swing. They wanted a fight? He'd give them a fight.
The ambush failed, and the first guy went down without a problem. So did the second, the sound of bones breaking echoing in the small alleyway and only drowned out by the screams of pain. Kaz easily kept the other three at bay, as well, dodging and using his cane to keep them at arm's length at all times. At least until something hard hit him in his bad leg, not only knocking him to the ground, but the air out of his lungs as well.
It took him a while to recover, made even more difficult by the flurry of blows that followed the second he was down. Then, suddenly, something distracted them. Just long enough to give Kaz a chance to get back on his feet. It wasn't until after he'd returned the favour to the Dime Lions that he saw it had been a girl.
Running away, especially in his own territory, wasn't something the Bastard in the Barrel was known for, nor did he want to be. But the pounding pain in his leg made him think that it might be for the better before they all got back up. So, after muttering a threatening 'you're lucky you're alive' to them, Kaz turned around and followed after the girl that had somehow managed to show up just at the right time.
It wasn't until they were a good distance away that he allowed himself to slow down and lean heavily on his cane. "You're the girl working at Madame Turney's, aren't you?"
quotes that broke me starters
@philomelia asked: ❛ there is a home for every departed thing. ❜
HE NOTES the almost haughty tilt of her chin , even if it lacks a certain anger . at least , that's what he reads anyway . he's well - aware that most people of the barrel rarely show on their face what they're thinking in their head . he'd have fit in just fine in a different life , he thinks .
❝ grisha rarely leave the little palace , though . why did you ? ❞ there is no accusation in his tone ; he isn't here as the prince of ravka . and even if he was , he'd hardly force her to go back . conscription of grisha into the second army has always been a point of contention between him and aleksander . but that is neither here nor there .
@philomelia said, “why do you have that look on your face?”
it's become more common lately --- her inability to stay focused on anyone or anything around her, wrapped up in visions from her dreams that she still can't make sense of hours later. her sketchbook is filled with incoherent drawings of monsters from her dreams, the kind she can't figure out nor decipher whether they're trapped there or have followed her out of her sleep, too. she barely snaps out of it when she hears cassie's voice, her head turning a moment later and her hand holding the book to her chest tighter. ❝ what look? ❞ she's oblivious to the hollowed eyes ( a mixture of lack of sleep and a drifting mind. ) she's always been a bit distant in conversation, but it's different now, and she's not used to people noticing anything with her. ❝ sorry--- i guess i'm just . . . tired. ❞ she's quick to find a deflection, a small smile just barely tugging at the corner of her lips. ❝ um, are you okay? ❞
