[High Court Oblivion Pools / Post event part two /Open]
A thousand twinkling glass stars had become more akin to predatory eyes and the illusion of mirth and distraction had dissolved into a thick shadow with the claws of a beast and a blood-starved maw hungry for something vile. Madness, revenge, chaos; all were one and the same when it came to it, when the ground could not soak up the crimson that had decorated it. Washing it away for the sake of pretending the whispers weren't laced with venom in the wake of trading one death for another wasn't going to stop them.
He hadn't dared to linger too far from his own, from the Court, not when the past few days had shaken to the core far too many things taken for granted and in blind comfort. Try as he might, and Cal had done so desperately just to put some sense to the lunacy, there was nothing good to be found in the events. For once he had nothing but a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, twisted into a knot and a distinct cold sensation settled in his chest.
Finding himself alone, a moment of forced separation from his post so that matters above his allowance of knowing in those tension times could be attended, had left him choking on the distance. There was little pleasure in wandering the towering halls and the glittering spaces of the High Court; every spot his eyes trailed to turned red with blood and the unspoken possibility of so much more ahead. A fool, himself, what sort of soldier balked at the possibility of war? They were supposed to be made for such things and all Cal felt made of the past days was mirrored glass; reflecting what was expected of him but dangerously near to shattering. And he loathed it all; the ambitions that had led to such destruction, the rage that had demanded debts paid and hated it all the more for forcing him to look past the shine around him. .
Couldn't even find peace where one like himself should have done so with ease, that instinctive draw to the rippled surface of the strange pools. Water, of course that would be where his scattered thoughts guided his feet. Any other day perched at the edge just short of contact with the glossy surface, any other happy moment, he would have found them enchanting. Still wished he could have.
A poor guard, perhaps, he would confess it at times, and that moment he was so deeply wrapped in the cocoon of his thoughts that he failed at first to hear footsteps until they were too close to his back to avoid. Only a turn of his jaw, barely, towards the sound, the intrusion; that savior who rescued him from his own tumbling mind. “If you’re trying to sneak up on someone to stab them you’re doing a poor job of it, but you picked a good time to practice.” He muttered, and if the words were meant to be humorous his tone certainly didn’t offer it, flat and worn.
