#teniras

@teniras​ sent:  'You are an embarrassment. Gawking at a woman's body so shamelessly. Hah. So little it takes, to distract you from your job.' So. Camus is not a thighs person???

Prompt: "The fires of rebellion must be lit and a new age must begin!"

'Silence,’ He snaps, loud and clear, his voice cutting through the man’s words. His irises cool where the others are such an uncanny, bright flame; as if Xerxes’ eye is a premonition of what he intends to bring upon his nation. He narrows his eyes, full of contempt and suspicion; his judgement comes swift.

‘Hold your tongue, traitor.’ Black or white. With or against. Xerxes has chosen to side against. ‘Even as a child you had foolish, dangerous dreams that would be this nation’s downfall. You are one of them, then.’ It is not a question. He must be involved in the plans to dethrone the queen. Allow her to succumb to her illness -- or, make it appear as if she has. ‘You come here only to sow discord and violence with your wicked tongue. Leave. A country you abandoned is a country you have no right to reclaim.’

‘Traitor?!’ Xerxes laughed, rolling his neck as he marked his distance from Camus, pacing his approach. He had a rolling, playful gait. It was hard to catch how he kept his feet spaced so that it would be easy to fall into a stable fencing pose.

‘My dearest brother, your Queen had every opportunity to take advantage of our need. We sent how many letters proposing that she head an elected government? We sent her how many entreaties that if only she would take our side against the nobles, we would take hers? I may have insane dreams, brother, but it is nothing to the collective royal fantasy that the Silk Palace may continue to ignore the workers outside and their suffering. It’s not a question of my reclamation of the kingdom, but the people’s.’

:scorn:

@teniras​ said, "Are you Ryu?" Andrea calls to her from her motorcycle, face hidden by her helmet. "--Your friend said you needed a drive home," A wave of her hand, "--Rudy," Or, that's the nickname she's given said mutual friend. It's all a perfect half-truth lie, because she really just wants an excuse to drive a cute girl home, proven when she takes off her helmet and reveals, with a swing of her head, the dyed-red hair, on-point eyeliner, matching with her leather jacket. Dressed for the occasion.

A hand fishes within her pockets idly looking around the vicinity. She produces her phone, brows pinched together when the screen lit up to unveil the time. Just a little after twelve. It wasn’t horrific; certainly earlier than most nights, but to her dismay most of the trains near her apartment had already ceased operations for the night. Her thumb treads the screen, momentarily checking for missed messages and phone calls. Every so often she’d peak her head up from the phone to wave goodbye to her coworkers exiting for the evening. She vaguely registered the sound of an engine stopping short of the doors as she reads her last email. “   Alright, I’d better start wal—   “ She begins to mutter to herself, arms stretching above her head when someones voice beckons for her attention. An uncertain smile curves at her lips, eyes squinted as she works to focus on the source. A friend?

The Knave of Hearts nodded at her remark. He had wrote it without any prompting. Still, somehow he felt he needed to let it out. Even if it was only in front of a stranger he only met this instance - a character from Caterpillar’s book, no less, and not the real person he’d arranged the words for. (Even if she might be a real person, everyone is a character of this predetermined story, including him. The dichotomy between a character and a real person is, in essence, useless.)

     When she posed his question at him, he blinked slowly at her, as if it had dawned on him that his words, spontaneous as they were, actually held meaning. Since he didn’t truly intend his words for her, her question caught him a bit off-guard. Not that he didn’t expect people from the book to talk back to him, anyway.

     ...I admit I didn’t really say it for you. I’m sorry. was what was written on his signboard. Beneath it was written: Though it’s not quite to comfort myself. There’s... someone I’ve wanted to tell these words to, yet I haven’t got the right chance. 

slaps u

Perhaps the green eyed male could see the other’s point of view, at least when pacified and able to fully regard another’s opinion. At the moment, however, Melle finds himself coming dangerously close to annoyance once again, his attempt at polite conversation rejected with a higher than thou attitude. He should have guessed the supernatural never had it in them to see anyone capable of understanding anything besides themselves- the half-elf has spent far too many eons with humans, his fault that he was now expecting one of them to understand basic human manners.

“One does not need to abide by what they received at birth. Some change, for the better or worse. It might be strange for your eyes to cast away one’s nature, but for me, that’s just a detail. I see not the wonder in it, for I take it as minor detail as a change of garments.” Melle has never been one of the elves or one of the djinns; were it not for the blood in his veins cursing him with power and far too many years for a single being Shahzad would have sworn he’s human. He had no great warmth towards any other immortal anyhow, just the fair share of cordiality and polite gesture until the last piece of his patience managed to be shattered in pieces.

“Any substitute?” A sly grin makes its presence onto the white haired male’s visage, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. He feels much younger for a second, as if he was back in a palace long forgotten and destroyed, accompanied by a brother long lost in their goal of pure mischief, so characteristic for a rebellious young prince and his inseparable companion.