#waxcdwings

FATM -- accepting

❛ you worry me. ❜ he answers almost immediately, sips the drink she offers him without ever touching the glass.  if icarus were human he would fall to mickey again and again.  as it is he’s immortal and only falls to her every five years or so.  she strews chaos and infatuation around her and refuses to attend to the fallout.  he would admire her, if she didn’t outright terrify him.

❛ do you atone, for your sins? ❜ his tone is curious, but his eyes are sharp.  ❛ do you feel guilty for them? ❜

    “DO THE FATES FEEL GUILTY for measuring out lives? for cutting them short? it’s in their nature, icarus. it’s in mine.” if she tries she can remember her life as a maiden, all soft and preened and golden. touched by the sun, her father used to tell her. by phoebus himself. 

“It was never my intention.” Apollo’s words are small, guilt ridden as he always has felt towards Icarus, since the moment it all came to pass. Since he’d reached to--since he had attempted to show his affection only to watch his touch bring ruin. Where healing brings pestilence, he is the god of plagues as he is of medicine and he had never intended---. No, the fates were cruel castors upon those Apollo loved, had never favored him in anything but grief. A god so filled with art and vibrance could not shine so without the darkness that existed in his  heart, where sadness and grief roamed free. 

                                            ❝   DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WORK  it  was  dragging  your  corpse  in  off  my  doorstep ?  Talk about DEAD WEIGHT.  I  think  you  need  to  go  on  a  diet.   ❞ 

                            ❝  ARE YOU CLEAR HEADED YET ?  ❞       KNUCKLES TUCKED BETWEEN CHIN AND CLAVICLE ,  DARK EYES UNREADABLE ,  cool as the shade beneath oaks in the Dodona    ( portents of calamity       Meg lean, sculpted as the prow of the Argo ).  She watches him from her seat on the edge of the sink; Icarus the matchstick man in his worn-too-long attire and soaked hair      and shoulders and chest and all else besides       drip drip  d r i p p i n g  against the porcelain of her tub as he surfaces from a hard come down. He’s an expert in those.

“I cannot imagine what it is exactly that possesses you to believe this idea is one of BRILLIANCE but I am imploring you to STOP.”

OF COURSE in his early life as a mortal he wouldn’t have heeded his own warnings, but he’d found that many people OFTEN didn’t adhere to the advice they themselves gave. HE DRAWS in a quiet breath before tilting his head slightly and cocking a brow.

PANIC! AT THE DISCO STARTERS! 

   “YOU DO WRONG YOUR HAND TOO MUCH.” of all the visitors their little island got, none have been such as him. he bears the mark of the gods, one of her maids whispered to her when he was brought to the palace, a modest sort of court for a king, though her father would not have had it another way. our palace is the land we are given by the gods – the sun we bask in, grow under.

    he’d been washed ashore, mostly unhurt but for a few bruises, scrapes. the closest isle was delos though maaike doubted he came from the birthplace of phoebus. he had not the look of a temple boy, nor could he very well be a priestess. perhaps he was on a ship – a scholar, a traveler, a pirate.

    icarus. that was his name. icarus.

    “forgive me for saying so, but i am far more wary of your words than your touch. i sense in you a kindness but your speech – evasive, dancing. you must have studied with some philosopher, some great teacher? the way you speak is like you are trying to fly.”

    maaike turned her face to the sky then, closes her eyes in the sunlight. in the distance she could hear the call for dinner, knew that their time alone was soon to end. “is there a conversation up there i cannot hear?” eyes open to pierce him, questioning, demanding. “what libations must i send to partake in it? what tribute shall i give just to catch a moment, a phrase?”

    the calls echoed closer, maaike’s gaze wavering on icarus’ face. stepping closer, she reached out, deliberate, and took his hand. her grip was strong though her fingers trembled. “we will meet later, and you will tell me, won’t you? there is much outside of this small place i have not seen – you would do me a service to speak even a fraction of it.”