fighting_mad | Mirrorverse AU

Mirrorverse AU

Isplourrdacartha steps through the door first, wearing the less formal gown that she had changed into for the reception. Her arms are toned and a simple necklace with a purple stone hangs in the hollow of her tanned throat. Her shining red hair has been wound into a crown about her head, and she has a gorgeous purple flower tucked into it.

She looks around the spartan royal apartments as she steps farther in, seeing her new home for the first time since she'd married their current occupant, who is only a step or two behind her. The windows are open to the warm night air, and the sound of the nightbugs chirping several stories below can be heard.

She's smiling.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She takes a sip of her drink -- and her eyes water and she barely contains a cough or two.

It's a little strong.

Just a little.

He's not standing far from her, and it takes only a sideways step (under the pretense of looking at the same stars he's looking at) for her to be within arm's reach. She holds there, within her own space, and she says, "Does it taste better that way?" with a low chuckle and a nod to the bottle.

Anything to get his eyes off the stars, and on her.

"Mmm?"

He glances down at her face, a half-grin twisting up the edges of his mouth. "Oh. I don't know, I just don't usually have company here. Old habits."

"Have to make new ones now," she teases, lightly bumping him with her elbow and leaning on the rail again, just a little closer to him. She takes a larger swallow of whiskey.

She's - mm. Yes. Getting quite close. Rial clears his throat, half-shifts away. "Ah...I suppose I will, yes."

A quick drink from the bottle.

Forcedamn it, he's closing up on her again.

Plourr swirls her glass a little, and she looks up. "Do you know that constellation?" she asks, tracing one with a finger.

"Syian." He relaxes slightly, gaze going back to the stars. "Uh, Syian the Wise, right? His knowledge helped bring peace to the people, and as a reward, he was let up into the stars when he died."

Rial likes the old lore, and still half-remembers it, bits and pieces from when he was young.

"You just answered my next question," she says with a laugh. "Recognize any others?"

He points, squinting down his index finger.

"That's Charre and Mirket, and right next to them there - see the tail - that's Arganete."

"No, I don't--" She steps closer without so much as a look at him, letting her shoulder rest against his as she leans over and peers up at the sky, sighting along his arm. "What tail?"

Rial stiffens when she leans on him, hesitates, and then shakes his head as if to clear it. It's fine. She just wants a look at the stars, yeah?

"That there, that little line of stars going up in a big swoop, see?"

"Yeah," she says, her manner of speech less formal. "Yeah, I see it -- and those--" She points, her arm extended beside his. "Those are Charre and Mirket?"

"Yep. Famous lovers, actually, and their faithful, magical thak."

Old, old stories, but still his favourites.

She smiles softly. "They couldn't be together in this life. Mirket went through hells and back in order to keep Charre here with her, and when he did die in the end, the old ones allowed her to join him in the sky, so that they could be together for all eternity."

She lets her arm fall to her side again as she watches the stars, glass hanging from her fingers. "The old tales are the best ones."

"They are, aren't they?" He smiles faintly, still watching those stars. "They seem different, you know. When you're up there. They're not stars anymore, as such, they're just...things."

A quiet sigh, a long drink.

"And then you come back down to the world and they're all brand new."

"I've never had that," she says, glancing at him. His face is near to hers, handsome under the moonslight, but she doesn't so much as breathe in his direction. "When I fly -- they're beautiful. They're like -- living creatures, organic." She smiles quietly, to herself. "I always half-expect them to start breathing."

She shakes her head, and looks to the sky again. "But I've only ever flown recreationally, and not to far-off places."

He nods, silent, bottle hanging loosely from his fingers, staring at the stars with regret open on his face, longing to be back there. To be somewhere other then the ground, somewhere free and away from the politics, the anger, the millions looking to him for answers.

But he's tied here, heart and soul, so that he thinks maybe when he dies he'll be a constellation, way up high, watching his planet forever.

Rial may be watching the stars, but Isplourrdacartha is watching him.

She can read his face, for once; can see the yearning and the heartache and how he wishes he were away from here, and she glances away, briefly, unshed tears stinging her eyes and burning in the back of her throat.

But she composes herself, she swallows the hurt, even if she can't cover her sorrow for him, for all he has lost. She lays her hand on his opposite cheek and turns his face to her.

"My prince," she says softly, and she rests her brow against his, giving everything and asking for nothing in return.

What she gives, he cannot take.

Rial remains where he is, silently standing with her, her hand on his cheek, face to face, for a long, long moment. It feels right. It feels comforting, and perfect, and it's where he wants to be. His eyes slide shut.

And then, just as quickly, they snap open and he wrenches himself away, leaping back. The bottle shatters on the stone of the balcony as he half-runs backwards four or five paces, stopping to put his hands up as though warding something off.

"I can't," he says, and the frustration (at her, at him, it's hard to say) is clearly evident in his voice. "Countess - Isplourr - I'm sorry, I cannot."

And then he's gone, sweeping into their quarters, the bedchamber door hissing shut.

Isplourrdacartha stands frozen, her hand outstretched to him, 'Rial, wait--' dead on her lips.

She wraps her free arm around herself as she pours what remains of her whiskey out on the stone. She sets the cup down and crouches beside it, and silently, methodically picks up the pieces of broken glass and drops them into her empty cup.

He doesn't love you.
Tink.
He doesn't want you.
Tink.
He doesn't care for you.
Tink.
He wants to leave you.
Tink.
Does he even respect you?
Tink.

She is crying, before she has picked up all of the shards, sobbing for breath as she covers her mouth with one hand and folds the other into the train of her wedding dress. The city lights shine, and the stars hold steady, even if the bride does not.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mirrorverse AU

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject