Mumu for darkskiesrpg penned by Sushi

Hours of wandering had carried from the road that emptied out between the swamps of the bayou and the Falls district, and into the heart of the latter. A quaint little town sprawled around him with small homes and a few shops that had remained standing. Had he not known any better, the Summer Lord would never have guessed that it was stitched together with a second, entirely different city just across the City's square.

Ronán found himself watching a couple of children kick a leather ball back and forth between themselves. "Even in this broken city, youth and innocence finds a place for itself." He remarked and chuckled to himself in gentle admiration.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

The corner of her mouth tugged upward.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “It does.”

She stood beside him without ceremony, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, eyes on the game instead of the ruins around it.

“Kids are stubborn that way. World can end, cities can break apart, reality can decide it's having a nervous breakdown...” Her gaze followed the ball again. “They'll still find a way to turn an empty street into a soccer field.”

A laugh erupted from the children as the ball bounced off a mailbox and rolled into a flower bed. Neither seemed remotely concerned about the score anymore.

Charlie shook her head fondly.

“Honestly? That's probably why this place is still standing.” Her voice carried that quiet certainty she reserved for truths she'd lived. “Not the magic. Not the politics. Not the people with power.”

She nodded toward the kids.

“The people who wake up and decide life's still worth living in.”

For a moment, she simply watched them play.

Then she glanced sideways at Ronán, catching the note of admiration in his expression.

“You know,” she said dryly, “that's the nicest thing I've heard you say about the city since you got here.”

A beat.

“I was starting to think you'd mistaken it for a personal insult.”

The tease was gentle, lacking its usual edge.

Charlie looked back toward the children as one of them scored between two backpacks serving as goalposts and immediately celebrated like he'd won a championship.

“That's the thing about innocence,” she murmured. “It doesn't ignore the broken parts. It just refuses to let them be the whole story.”

Unfortunately, that routine hadn't seemed to stick when it came to Dagger's daily coming and goings. He found that he still lacked a real sense of direction; some sort of guidance telling him where he should be going or what he should be doing with himself now that their operations had settled into a more covert lull.

It was that directionless wandering that had carried him across the city, traveling along the civilized outskirts of the Bayou district before rounding back towards the Falls. Dagger walked until a teal-skinned fae traveling from the Summer Court road caught his attention and he slowed to a lazy crawl as he watched them for a few moments.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

Not unusual in itself. People stopped for all kinds of reasons in the Broken City. Strange architecture. Passing dragons. Arguments that looked like they might become somebody else's problem.

A teal-skinned fae, however, was admittedly less common.

His gaze followed the same figure for a moment before settling on the man who seemed equally distracted by them.

"Dangerous habit."

The words arrived without warning but without hostility, delivered in the same tone someone might use to comment on the weather.

Evander slowed to a stop nearby, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. The evening air was cool enough to be pleasant, carrying the scent of damp earth from the Bayou and woodsmoke from somewhere deeper in the city.

"Staring, I mean," he clarified after a beat, a faint curve appearing at the corner of his mouth. "People either think you're interested in them or planning to rob them. Sometimes both."

His gaze drifted briefly back toward the departing fae.

"Though in your defense, they're probably used to it by now."

He shifted his weight, posture relaxed and easy despite the fact that he recognized the face. Not personally. Just enough.

Dagger.

"You look like you're trying to decide whether to keep walking or follow them," Evander observed. "I'm curious which one wins."

Although much of the Dawn Court's healing craft involved their magic, there were aspects that Marshall found comforting and familiar. The wrapping of bandages and gauze were one of those comforts and something he fondly recalled watching father do on several occasions throughout his life. It hadn't taken much thought to step forward when the female asked for a volunteer for the demonstration. "Good. For a mortal male, you have a gentle touch." The female smiled at him.

Marshall gave a soft, shy chuckle. "Thanks. My dad's a surgeon - a healer, of sorts, in our lands." He explained with a small hesitation. The female's nod of understanding brushed that hesitation aside. "Thank you for the demonstration and letting me volunteer even without any magic." He said. Marshall gave one more nod of appreciation before waving goodbye to the female and stepping away from the small crowd as she prepared her next demonstration.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

That had been the plan, anyway.

Walk through the plaza, grab something sugary from one of the vendors, maybe make fun of a few overly serious Dawn Court nobles from a safe distance, and continue on with his day.

Instead, he'd somehow ended up lingering near the edge of the crowd watching a healing demonstration he had no business finding interesting.

Mostly because the volunteer looked like he was trying very hard not to be the center of attention.

Which, unfortunately, only made him more noticeable.

Griffin caught the tail end of the interaction, listening as Marshall thanked the healer before slipping away from the gathering. By the time the younger man had taken a few steps, Griffin was already falling into stride beside him, a paper bag of candied almonds dangling from one hand.

"You know," he said casually, popping one into his mouth, "I think you've officially got better bedside manners than half the healers I've met."

His grin came easy as he glanced sideways.

"Meanwhile, if they'd picked me for that demonstration, there's at least a forty percent chance somebody would've ended up with the bandage wrapped around their face."

A beat.

"Maybe fifty."

The wolf extended the bag toward him in offering.

"Candied almond?"

The scent of sugar and cinnamon drifted between them as Griffin studied him for a moment.

"You looked like you knew what you were doing up there." His tone softened slightly, genuine beneath the teasing. "Not many people stay that calm when they're suddenly volunteered in front of a crowd."

His grin returned almost immediately.

"Either that, or you're really good at pretending."

Zach carried a bag of his own in one arm, but kept his pace lazy as he watched the younger wolves make their way back towards the bayou - if only to make sure they did, in fact, take a little more care with their steps. Satisfied, the wolf rolled his eyes and dug out a small jerky stick from his bag - ripping it open with his teeth and quickly taking a bite.

It was only a few days away from the next full moon cycle and there were a handful of younger wolves nervously awaiting their first shifts. True to character, Zach had immediately rounded them up and convinced them that the best way to calm those nerves was tons of junk food and crashing with one another until the full moon had passed.

As he rounded a bend along the sidewalk, Zach felt someone's presence two seconds too late before his body bumped into theirs. To his credit, he managed to stay upright and keep the paper bag from toppling out of his arm, but whirled to angle his free side in the person's direction. "Totally my bad!!" He exclaimed quickly.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

Years of navigating packed bars, crowded dance floors, and the occasional supernatural brawl had given him excellent balance. His coffee sloshed dangerously close to the lid before settling again, and the paper bag hooked over his arm remained mercifully intact.

The first thing he noticed wasn't the impact.

It was the scent.

Wolf.

The second thing was the trail of nervous younger wolves disappearing down the street carrying enough snacks to survive a minor apocalypse.

Griffin's mouth immediately twitched.

"Well, now I'm disappointed."

His gaze dropped pointedly to the bags before lifting back to Zach.

"Here I thought I'd just interrupted a highly sophisticated black-market jerky operation."

The grin that followed was effortless.

Easy.

Dangerously charming.

He shifted the paper bag tucked beneath his arm and glanced toward the teenagers again just in time to catch one nearly trip over a crack in the pavement.

"Ah."

Understanding dawned.

"First moon crew."

There was immediate affection in the observation.

The kind wolves reserved for younger pack members trying very hard not to look terrified.

"That explains the emergency snack stockpile."

Griffin took a sip of his coffee.

"You know, when I had my first shift, nobody gave me dried fruit."

A beat.

"I got locked in a shed with three cousins and a lecture about not eating anybody."

His expression remained perfectly serious for all of three seconds before breaking completely.

"Honestly? Your approach seems healthier."

The wolf extended a hand.

"Griffin Hale."

His eyes flicked toward the retreating group again.

"And for what it's worth, threatening them with a noogie was probably more effective than anything involving actual wolf wisdom." His grin widened. "Fear is a powerful teaching tool."

"And you say all of your friends have these vines in their hair too? Some sort of Fae gift?" He picked his words with a practiced ease and allowed his smirk to settle upon his features. "That's right. All of us have them, but the flowers that bloom are unique to each of us so it's still something we can call special and ours." The female explained with a purr. "And we've never seen a... what did you say you were again?" She questioned.

"Werewolf. We look the same as any other human, usually. Except on the full moon." He explained once more. And except for us Crescents. He thought to himself, but choose not to add.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

Not because Oliver was doing anything wrong.

Because the second Dawson realized who he was talking to, every immature instinct he possessed woke up at once.

The fae woman was pretty. That much was obvious. Auburn hair, flowers woven through the vines tangled around it, bright eyes fixed on whatever conversation she'd been having before Dawson arrived.

Which meant there was still time to ruin it.

Perfect.

He drifted over without invitation, stopping beside the bar and taking a pull from his beer before speaking.

"Question."

His attention landed squarely on the fae.

"Has he gotten to the tragic werewolf backstory yet, or are you two still in the fun facts portion of the evening?"

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"If we're still early, you've probably got moon phases coming up next."

Dawson lifted his bottle slightly.

"Don't get me wrong. Love wolves. Big fan. Five stars. But we really overshare as a species."

His gaze flicked briefly toward Oliver before returning to her.

"I figured somebody should intervene before you accidentally left here knowing the entire history of Crescent territory."

A beat.

Then, with complete sincerity:

"Also, for the record, the flower thing is objectively cooler than anything we've got going on."

He leaned casually against the bar.

"So. Dawson. The old man here's son."

A small gesture toward himself.

"And before either of you continue whatever this was, I need to know if those flowers bloom when you're happy, angry, or if they're just making the rest of us look bad on purpose."

At least, that was as far as Arynn could tell as he sat at a small shaded table just off to the side of the town square's market buzz. The witch nursed a fresh lemonade he had procured from one of the Summer vendors and quietly drifted his gaze from person to person.

It had been several weeks now since his magic had slipped from his control. He had told his younger sister that it was time for him to come clean about everything - the magic-for-hire hustling; the dark magic experimentation and studies - to their elder sister. Yet, he had done just about anything he could to avoid having that conversation whenever they spent time together. He supposed there would always be a part of him worried about disappointing Aliyah. Swirling the ice cubes within the citrus-flavored drink, Arynn shifted his weight upon his seat and quietly gazed towards the market stalls.

"Hard to believe markets like this became a rare event instead of the norm for us." He mumbled to himself and lightly chewed upon his straw.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

Not intentionally. The market was crowded enough that conversations bled together in a constant hum of bargaining, laughter, and music drifting from somewhere deeper in the square. Still, the remark managed to cut through the noise.

"Hard to believe markets like this became a rare event instead of the norm for us."

A snort escaped him before he could stop it.

"Tell me about it."

Balancing a paper plate in one hand and an iced coffee in the other, Griffin slid into the empty chair across from Arynn without much ceremony. Like a man who had never once worried about whether he was invited somewhere.

"Couple years ago, my biggest concern at a market was whether somebody was overcharging me for peaches." He shook his head, taking another bite of the beignet. "Now every time I see a crowd gathering, I spend the first thirty seconds wondering if we're about to get attacked by cultists, dragons, rogue witches, angry ghosts, or some horrifying combination of all four."

His grin flashed easy and crooked.

"Honestly? The fact that today appears to just be people buying vegetables feels suspicious."

The wolf leaned back in his chair, stretching one arm across the backrest as his gaze swept over the bustling square. Families moved between stalls. Fae merchants haggled with humans. Children darted through the crowd with sticky fingers and pockets full of sweets.

For a moment, the sight softened something in his expression.

"Nice, though." His voice dropped slightly. "Feels normal."

A beat passed before he glanced back toward Arynn, finally studying him properly.

"You look like you've got about six different things chewing holes through your brain right now." Griffin lifted his coffee in a casual salute. "Which means either you're planning a crime, hiding a crime, or avoiding a conversation."

His grin returned immediately.

"My money's on the conversation."

"I'm sorry." He gave them a genuine smile and sheepish look. "I'm just talkin' and ramblin' your ear off. You can tell me to just 'shut up'. Promise, I won't bite ya for it." He held his hands up and chuckled.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

By the time Travis apologized, Saint was already shaking his head.

“First of all,” he said, pointing a fry at him like it was evidence in a court case, “you absolutely would bite somebody. Maybe not hard, but let’s not spread misinformation.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“And second? They told you to take a day off because you’re the kind of idiot who’d show up to work with one arm hanging on by a thread and call it a minor inconvenience.”

He popped the fry into his mouth and sat back in his chair.

“Trust me, if Naveen got hurt, they’d bench him too. He’d just be more polite about complaining.” A beat. “And I’m pretty sure they’ve tried to send me home before. I’m just harder to kill and significantly worse at following instructions.”

Saint took a sip of his drink before fixing Travis with a pointed look.

“You know what your problem is?”

The question hung there for exactly half a second.

“You don’t know how to rest without feeling guilty about it.”

His tone wasn't judgmental. Just matter-of-fact.

“You got told to sit down, eat a sandwich, and let somebody else handle the emergencies for one afternoon, and you're acting like they sentenced you to exile.”

A laugh escaped him, low and warm.

“Which, for the record, is exactly why they made you take the day off.”

He nudged the basket of fries toward Travis.

“Eat your food, man. The city will still be broken tomorrow.” A pause.

“Probably more broken, honestly. Gives you something to look forward to.”

"I'm sorry." He gave them a genuine smile and sheepish look. "I'm just talkin' and ramblin' your ear off. You can tell me to just 'shut up'. Promise, I won't bite ya for it." He held his hands up and chuckled.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

Respectable until Travis started talking.

By the time the rant reached OSHA, emergency calls, and the apparent injustice of being forced to sit down for one afternoon, Ares was already fighting a smile behind the rim of his cup.

When Travis finally stopped long enough to apologize, Ares looked up and immediately lost the battle.

A laugh slipped out—warm, quiet, genuine.

"Absolutely not."

He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest as he studied the other man over the crowded food stall tables.

"You've been medically ordered to rest for what—" he pointed vaguely with his cup, "—six hours? Maybe seven?"

His brow lifted.

"And somehow you've managed to make that sound like a human rights violation."

The amusement lingered in his eyes as he shook his head.

"Saint and Naveen aren't being told to take the day off because Saint would ignore the order and Naveen would somehow convince the person giving it that they needed a day off instead."

Ares took another sip of coffee before adding:

"You, unfortunately, made the mistake of being responsible enough that people know you'll actually listen."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Mostly."

His gaze dropped briefly to the sandwich and fries in front of Travis before returning to his face.

"Besides, you're terrible at doing nothing."

It wasn't an insult.

If anything, it sounded suspiciously fond.

Ares had noticed it weeks ago—that restless energy Travis carried around like a second heartbeat. The way he was always moving toward a problem before most people had even realized one existed. The way helping people seemed less like a choice and more like a reflex.

It was admirable.

Also incredibly annoying.

"Let me guess," Ares continued. "You've already checked your radio three times, considered sneaking back to work twice, and spent the last hour convincing yourself that lifting heavy things is technically different from lifting patients."

A beat.

Then, softer:

"You know they're not benching you because they think you can't do the job, right?"

The humor eased from his expression, leaving something steadier behind.

"They're doing it because everybody else can see you're running yourself into the ground."

His eyes held Travis's for a moment before the seriousness broke beneath another faint smile.

"Which means, for today, your heroic responsibility is to finish your sandwich, complain about it if necessary, and let somebody else save the world for a few hours."

Ares reached across the table and stole one of Travis's fries without asking.

A completely shameless act.

"There," he said, pointing the stolen fry at him. "Now you've got a real problem to focus on."

And judging by the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, he wasn't remotely sorry about it.

As the host rounded back and fell once more into a loose formation, Caelius let out a frustrated growling. "We will keep at this all night if we have to! Come on! Your descents are too slow and your perimeter circling isn't tight enough! You go into any patrol with that kind of maneuvering and a skilled enemy will be able to slip through your guard!" He shouted in a firm tone.

Unintelligible grumblings rolled through the host, but one Ecosian glided forward and scoffed. He was an older male and his age had started to show visibly upon the unnatural beauty of his fae heritage - especially around his eyes, which tightened into a sharp glare in Caelius' direction. "We handled ourselves just fine without you, General. While we were training and managing to keep the Night Court protected and managed, you were off where exactly? Gallivanting around the mortal world with our High Lord." He snapped.

Within a moment, Caelius closed the distance between them and hovered mere feet away. "Excuse me?" He questioned in a tone that made it all too clear he was giving the elder male a chance to correct his tone. The older male made no effort to do so, however, and continued glaring.

Down below, the breeze drifted lazily along the ground and the few civilians that wander the edges of the area glanced occasionally at the collective beating of the host's wings. At least, until the older male's figure came barreling into the ground. As the stirred dust settled, the male spit to the side and rose to his feet as he dusted himself off. Caelius drifted down from the heights above and snarled. "Get back in formation. Now. Or next time I'll do more than knock your disrespectful ass on the ground." He ordered and kept a dagger-like glare upon the elder fae as he rejoined the host and they resumed drills. The General landed himself upon the ground and let out a slow breath to reign himself back in.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

He stood near the edge of the training grounds with his arms folded loosely across his chest, dark coat stirring in the mountain wind as the host repeated the same maneuver again and again overhead. He hadn't interrupted Caelius once. Every barked order, every frustrated correction, every muttered complaint from exhausted wings trying to keep formation had been allowed to run its course. Sometimes leadership meant letting people work through their frustrations. Sometimes it meant letting them fail until they understood why they were failing.

When the older male finally made his comment and found himself knocked from the sky for it, Kaidan didn't move.

Because Caelius had shown considerably more restraint than most would have.

The Night Court's High Lord only pushed away from the stone railing he'd been leaning against once the host resumed their formation and Caelius settled back onto the ground. Civilians gathered near the outskirts of the field instinctively stepped aside as he crossed the training area, shadows trailing lazily at his heels.

He stopped beside his General and lifted his gaze toward the sky.

For a long moment, he simply watched.

"The eastern perimeter is still too loose," he remarked calmly.

One of the younger fliers drifted too far from formation during the banking turn.

Kaidan's eyes narrowed slightly.

"And they're compensating for poor descent angles by widening their circles."

A pause.

"They'd lose a target."

The assessment was delivered with the detached precision of someone who had spent centuries studying battlefields.

Only then did his attention drift toward the elder Ecosian laboring to keep pace with the rest of the host.

The male refused to look down.

Kaidan wasn't surprised.

"No," he said quietly.

The single word carried enough weight to feel like an answer to a question that hadn't been spoken aloud.

"He wasn't angry because you left."

His gaze remained fixed on the formation overhead.

"None of us left."

There was iron beneath the statement.

Neither he nor Caelius had abandoned the Night Court. Neither had Tairen. Neither had Gwendolyn. None of the Inner Circle had chosen to disappear into the mortal world for a year. The Convergence had stolen that choice from them.

But grief was rarely interested in facts.

"The Court lost its High Lord. Its General. Its Spymaster. Half its leadership." His jaw tightened slightly. "And for a year they had no answers."

Above them, the host banked around the perimeter once more.

"They adapted."

A beat.

"They survived."

Another.

"And now we're back."

The words carried no pride.

Only understanding.

"That makes some of them grateful."

His eyes briefly tracked the older male again.

"And some of them angry."

The mountain wind shifted around them, carrying the rhythmic thunder of wings overhead.

Kaidan folded his arms.

"Not because we abandoned them," he continued. "Because they spent a year learning how to live without us."

There it was.

The real wound hidden beneath the disrespect.

"They spent a year carrying responsibilities that weren't supposed to be theirs. Making decisions they never expected to make. Burying people without knowing whether help was coming."

His expression remained thoughtful as he watched the patrol formation struggle through another turn.

"Now the people they spent a year replacing are standing in front of them again."

For the first time, he glanced toward Caelius.

"He wasn't questioning your authority."

A pause.

"He was questioning whether it still belongs to you."

The honesty landed cleanly between them.

Then, unexpectedly, the corner of Kaidan's mouth twitched upward.

A faint trace of amusement.

"Fortunately for him, throwing himself into the dirt wasn't the smartest way to test that theory."

Above them, the formation broke apart again during the descent.

Kaidan sighed.

"They're still sloppy."

The criticism carried far more irritation than the confrontation had.

His gaze followed the host as they regrouped overhead.

Then he lifted his chin slightly and called toward the sky.

"Again."

This time there was unmistakable humor beneath the command.

"Because if we're reclaiming this Court, I'd prefer our patrols stop flying like drunken geese first."

As the host rounded back and fell once more into a loose formation, Caelius let out a frustrated growling. "We will keep at this all night if we have to! Come on! Your descents are too slow and your perimeter circling isn't tight enough! You go into any patrol with that kind of maneuvering and a skilled enemy will be able to slip through your guard!" He shouted in a firm tone.

Unintelligible grumblings rolled through the host, but one Ecosian glided forward and scoffed. He was an older male and his age had started to show visibly upon the unnatural beauty of his fae heritage - especially around his eyes, which tightened into a sharp glare in Caelius' direction. "We handled ourselves just fine without you, General. While we were training and managing to keep the Night Court protected and managed, you were off where exactly? Gallivanting around the mortal world with our High Lord." He snapped.

Within a moment, Caelius closed the distance between them and hovered mere feet away. "Excuse me?" He questioned in a tone that made it all too clear he was giving the elder male a chance to correct his tone. The older male made no effort to do so, however, and continued glaring.

Down below, the breeze drifted lazily along the ground and the few civilians that wander the edges of the area glanced occasionally at the collective beating of the host's wings. At least, until the older male's figure came barreling into the ground. As the stirred dust settled, the male spit to the side and rose to his feet as he dusted himself off. Caelius drifted down from the heights above and snarled. "Get back in formation. Now. Or next time I'll do more than knock your disrespectful ass on the ground." He ordered and kept a dagger-like glare upon the elder fae as he rejoined the host and they resumed drills. The General landed himself upon the ground and let out a slow breath to reign himself back in.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

Really.

She'd been leaning against the fence line for the better part of twenty minutes, arms folded across her chest, watching the drills with the detached expression of someone who absolutely had opinions and was choosing, out of extraordinary generosity, to keep them to herself.

It had been going surprisingly well.

Then the older Ecosian opened his mouth.

Stasia closed her eyes briefly.

“Ah,” she muttered. “There it is.”

The universal language of someone about to make a bad decision.

She watched the exchange unfold with the weary resignation of a woman who had spent years around military officers, hunters, alphas, generals, and every other flavor of stubborn authority figure the universe could invent.

The male hit the ground.

Dust flew.

The host immediately found religion and got back into formation.

“Mm.”

Stasia popped her gum.

“Effective.”

She waited until the drills resumed before finally pushing away from the fence. Boots crunched softly against the dirt as she approached, hands still buried in her jacket pockets.

The air around the training field thrummed with the beat of wings overhead.

“You know,” she said conversationally as she stopped a few feet away from Caelius, “for someone who complains about other people being dramatic, you do throw Ecosians at the ground with impressive theatrical timing.”

One brow lifted.

“Very inspiring leadership. Nine out of ten. Lost one point for dust cloud.”

Her eyes flicked briefly skyward toward the reforming host.

“They are tired,” she observed.

Not criticism.

Just fact.

“Half of them started anticipating the maneuver instead of executing it twenty minutes ago. The older one especially.” A pause. “Which means his mouth got ahead of his judgment.”

Stasia tilted her head slightly, studying him.

“You okay, Big Bird?”

The question came casually.

Too casually.

Like she wasn't asking about the tension still wound through his shoulders or the fact that his patience had clearly been stretched thin.

She glanced toward the sky again.

“Because if you keep glaring at them like that,” she added dryly, “they're either going to improve very quickly...”

A beat.

“...or start placing bets on who survives training.”

As the host rounded back and fell once more into a loose formation, Caelius let out a frustrated growling. "We will keep at this all night if we have to! Come on! Your descents are too slow and your perimeter circling isn't tight enough! You go into any patrol with that kind of maneuvering and a skilled enemy will be able to slip through your guard!" He shouted in a firm tone.

Unintelligible grumblings rolled through the host, but one Ecosian glided forward and scoffed. He was an older male and his age had started to show visibly upon the unnatural beauty of his fae heritage - especially around his eyes, which tightened into a sharp glare in Caelius' direction. "We handled ourselves just fine without you, General. While we were training and managing to keep the Night Court protected and managed, you were off where exactly? Gallivanting around the mortal world with our High Lord." He snapped.

Within a moment, Caelius closed the distance between them and hovered mere feet away. "Excuse me?" He questioned in a tone that made it all too clear he was giving the elder male a chance to correct his tone. The older male made no effort to do so, however, and continued glaring.

Down below, the breeze drifted lazily along the ground and the few civilians that wander the edges of the area glanced occasionally at the collective beating of the host's wings. At least, until the older male's figure came barreling into the ground. As the stirred dust settled, the male spit to the side and rose to his feet as he dusted himself off. Caelius drifted down from the heights above and snarled. "Get back in formation. Now. Or next time I'll do more than knock your disrespectful ass on the ground." He ordered and kept a dagger-like glare upon the elder fae as he rejoined the host and they resumed drills. The General landed himself upon the ground and let out a slow breath to reign himself back in.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

The barked again carried across the training grounds with enough force to send a flock of smaller birds scattering from the trees beyond the perimeter. She followed the sound more out of curiosity than intention, emerging from the forest's edge just in time to watch a host of Ecosians bank sharply through another aerial maneuver.

Or attempt to.

Her gaze tracked the formation once.

Twice.

Then drifted upward to where Caelius hovered among them like a storm cloud that had learned how to wear armor.

The older male's challenge earned her attention. The resulting impact earned something closer to approval. Not because she enjoyed violence. Because she appreciated efficiency.

By the time Caelius landed and the host resumed their drills, Lyric had wandered close enough to observe without truly joining the scene. She leaned one shoulder against a weather-worn post, arms folded loosely across her chest as she watched the formation climb back into the sky.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then—

"You're getting sentimental." The comment arrived without warning. Without explanation. Dry as autumn leaves.

Her eyes remained on the formation overhead. "They're flying poorly." A beat. "They're disrespectful." Another. "And yet you've spent an hour trying to teach them instead of replacing them."

Only then did she glance toward him, the faintest hint of amusement lingered around her eyes.

"Ten years ago you would've thrown three of them into a lake by now." She tilted her head slightly as another sloppy descent drew a visible tightening of her expression. "Though, to be fair..." Her gaze tracked the offending flyer. "...you still have time."

The corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Definitely not sympathy. Just enough humor to make the observation dangerous.

After a moment she looked back toward the sky. "They're watching you more than they're watching each other." A quieter observation, more thoughtful than teasing.

"That's why they're failing."

The wind shifted through her hair.

"They're trying not to disappoint you."

Her eyes found him again.

"And unfortunately for them, you're terrifying."

As the host rounded back and fell once more into a loose formation, Caelius let out a frustrated growling. "We will keep at this all night if we have to! Come on! Your descents are too slow and your perimeter circling isn't tight enough! You go into any patrol with that kind of maneuvering and a skilled enemy will be able to slip through your guard!" He shouted in a firm tone.

Unintelligible grumblings rolled through the host, but one Ecosian glided forward and scoffed. He was an older male and his age had started to show visibly upon the unnatural beauty of his fae heritage - especially around his eyes, which tightened into a sharp glare in Caelius' direction. "We handled ourselves just fine without you, General. While we were training and managing to keep the Night Court protected and managed, you were off where exactly? Gallivanting around the mortal world with our High Lord." He snapped.

Within a moment, Caelius closed the distance between them and hovered mere feet away. "Excuse me?" He questioned in a tone that made it all too clear he was giving the elder male a chance to correct his tone. The older male made no effort to do so, however, and continued glaring.

Down below, the breeze drifted lazily along the ground and the few civilians that wander the edges of the area glanced occasionally at the collective beating of the host's wings. At least, until the older male's figure came barreling into the ground. As the stirred dust settled, the male spit to the side and rose to his feet as he dusted himself off. Caelius drifted down from the heights above and snarled. "Get back in formation. Now. Or next time I'll do more than knock your disrespectful ass on the ground." He ordered and kept a dagger-like glare upon the elder fae as he rejoined the host and they resumed drills. The General landed himself upon the ground and let out a slow breath to reign himself back in.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

That was the first lie.

The second was that he hadn’t been watching for ten minutes already.

He stood at the far edge of the training field where the terrain dipped into broken stone and scrubby grass, hands loose at his sides, hood half up but not doing much to hide him. The wind here always carried altitude in it—thin, sharp, like the sky had teeth.

And above it all—Caelius.

Again.

Darien’s jaw flexed slightly as the formation tightened and broke and tightened again. Clean, repeatable failure dressed up as discipline. He’d seen worse. He’d been worse.

The shout rolled across the field like a blade being dragged over stone.

“Again.”

Of course.

Darien exhaled through his nose, almost amused despite himself. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s going to fix it.”

He shifted his weight when the older Ecosian stepped forward—watched the exchange without moving, expression flattening in that familiar way that meant he was calculating outcomes instead of reacting to them.

The moment the insult landed, Darien’s head tilted slightly.

Not surprised.

Just… tired.

When Caelius dropped the man without hesitation, Darien let out a quiet, low breath—something between approval and resignation.

“Subtle,” he murmured.

The formation reset. The tension settled back into something controlled. Or pretending to be.

Only then did Darien step forward.

Not into the center. Not into the line of command.

Just close enough that Caelius would notice him without needing to look for him.

“You’re going to burn them out before you fix them,” Darien said calmly, gaze still on the host above rather than the General beside him. “Or they’re going to start listening to the wrong kind of voice just to avoid yours.”

A beat.

His eyes flicked up toward the circling wings, tracking the timing of the descent with quiet precision.

“The pattern’s not the problem,” he added. “It’s the hesitation in the drop. They’re thinking instead of committing.”

Only then did he glance sideways at Caelius—steady, unflinching.

“And before you say it,” Darien added mildly, “no. I’m not volunteering to fix it for you.”

A faint pause.

“…unless you’re going to keep them up there all night, in which case I might start charging admission.”

He didn't know much about the 'Triad' organization that primarily settled the district, but the few things he had managed to pick up from conversations with some of the mortals as he worked hadn't painted them in a favorable lighting. They were supposedly a ruthless organization with a strong disdain for anything or anyone from the various supernatural communities. It was a little sad, Soren thought.

He was fae - lesser, of course, but fae nonetheless - and yet, the mortals and mortal-adjacent supernaturals of the Broken City had been accommodating and welcoming, for the most part. They allowed him to go about his work without giving him too much trouble. If anything, he was met with curiosity and had returned the favor in turn. The various mortal species were interesting and he couldn't wrap his head around an organization like Triad ever having formed in the first place. Perhaps he was simply naive. It wouldn't be the first time being accused as such, he supposed.

Pausing momentarily to check the stability of a ley line a few yards into Triad's district, just off the road, he remained aware of approaching footfalls. "Everything is functioning as it should. It was better to check and make sure instead of just ignoring it though." He spoke without looking away from the shimmering strands of magic he cradled between his hands.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

Not because he was cautious—but because the sight in front of him didn’t fit neatly into any of the usual categories his brain defaulted to. The shimmer in the air, the way the ground itself seemed… layered with something else.

He stopped a few paces back, hands still in his pockets.

“That’s not something you see every day,” he said, voice even. Observational. Calm.

His gaze tracked the movement of the ley line rather than the man at first, like he was trying to understand the system before the operator.

“Functioning as it should,” Evander repeated, a faint tilt to his tone. “That’s reassuring. I think.”

A beat.

He finally looked at Soren properly then—took in the focus, the lack of hesitation, the way he didn’t seem particularly concerned about where he was standing.

“Most people don’t stop just off a road like this to… check the infrastructure,” he added. “Especially not in Triad territory.”

No accusation in it. Just fact with context.

Evander shifted his weight slightly, still not closing the distance, but no longer just passing through either.

“You’re not local,” he said—not a question.

Then, after a pause:

“And you’re either very confident,” a small, dry pause, “or very unaware of where you’ve wandered.”

His eyes flicked briefly back to the shimmering strands of magic.

“Which one is it?”

Klaus dipped his brush into the vivid oils on his palette and furrowed his brow with intense focus. A dab of coloring here. A streak of contrasting shadows there. The arrays of silver, grays, and rich navies were beautiful - but there was something... missing. The artist couldn't put his finger on what exactly the mystery element was, though.

"Trying to encapsulate the beauty of the Courts in mortal artistry might true and well be a hopeless endeavor." He finally admitted with a small huff of frustration as he sat aside his palette and wandered to the open balcony's railings. He gazed at the people wandering below and acknowledged a few passing glances upwards in interest at the musical assortment.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

Which, honestly, was never a good sign when it came to Klaus Mikaelson—because it usually meant he’d decided the world needed to be aesthetically reorganized at the expense of everyone else’s peace.

She stepped through the doorway like she belonged there, because in practice she did, even if she didn’t always feel like it. The brush of classical notes spilled over her as she paused just inside, taking in the setup: canvases, oils, the controlled chaos of someone trying very hard not to be bored and calling it “art.”

“Hopeless endeavor?” Hayley echoed, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe as her eyes flicked over his work-in-progress. “Wow. And here I thought you were having a relaxing afternoon. Didn’t realize we were spiraling already.”

She pushed off the frame and crossed the room at an easy pace, not bothering to be quiet about it. Klaus would’ve known she was there anyway.

The balcony doors were open to the city below, music drifting out like the compound had developed opinions about ambiance.

Hayley stepped up beside him at the railing, glancing down at the people in the street before looking back at him.

“You’re overthinking it,” she said simply.

A beat.

Then, dry:

“Which, I know, groundbreaking observation. I should write it down.”