SION ASTAL. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sunderings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pawnstorm2016-10-02 07:46 pm
sunderings) wrote in pawnstorm2016-10-02 07:46 pm
[CLOPEN] through the light that illuminates everything
Who: Sion Astal & You!
When: 10/3 - 10/8.
Where: Gammon & Caissa!
What: Kingly failure on the job, singing, and domestic affairs (oh my).
Rating: PG?!
October 3rd - 4th ⇰ Cochrane, Gammon | Photo Tour (Job/Open!)
[ He flies on high, La Vista's wings of light ablaze at his back, a camera in his hands as he photographs Gammon's natural treasures from a bird's-eye view, sailing effortlessly over the Emerald Lakes until....! There is murmurous protest from La Vista itself, and though it is far from the first time he's received complaint from his Hero's weaponry (it seems the curse of Kings, to be subject to tantrums of the weapons which they wield), this surely marks the very first instance when he hasn't been able to quell them...!
And so: he plummets, wings of light dispersing into a thousand filament-fine strands of aetherous nothingness as he falls, silvered hair streaking behind him.
Apologies, Hero, if you were enjoying a lake-side picnic directly below, this scenario may end in one of three ways: broken bones (yours, if Sion should land atop you—thank goodness he can heal!!), an expert catch, or the King's own show of grace (a wind spell, with which to break his fall, and accidentally blow your picnic away?!). ]
October 5th - 8th ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | M-m-manaplay?! (Open!)
[ Mana streams may catch the errant Hero's eye, should they find themselves wandering Caissa's coastal district in survey of the autumnal flush of color. The farmland nearest the coast is a patchwork of deep golds (barley, bending in the wind), brighter yellows (sunflowers, resilient of seasonal cold), and orange (marigold and an array of harvest gourds), all hues encompassed by mana-threads gathered not by the windmills, their sails catching mana from the ocean breeze, but by a King's song—an incantation which holds him still, amid the flowing, perpetual motion of farmland and field. Above the sussurating wind and distant sound of sea, his voice rises, and the world resonates with his melody—
(I see a spark of life shining; I hear a young minstrel sing. A beautiful roaring scream of joy and sorrow, so extreme. There is a love in me raging, a joyous magical feeling!)
—and the mana streams dance, coalescing into a magic which gathers the zest of fallen, dead vegetation and sees it flourishing within the bounds of the spell, and all those Heroes within its healing circle rejuvenated. For this is the power of King's rank magic: drawing upon mana from nature to revitalize allies...!
...even if acting as a channel, a living, breathing, conduit, should be more taxing than Sion had initially realized. His song cutting short, he falters—swaying—but catches himself (with grace), turning the motion instead into a pivot with which to face present company!
Why, of course he noticed you. ]
Shall I sing another song for you?
October ??? ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | CLOSED TO ALICE
[ He draws.
Inked quill taken to parchment, the Hero King's thoughts are elsewhere, far from the seaside cottage he shares with his Lady (his Lady who has been curiously absent for the vast majority of the day—wherever it is that her adventures have carried her, he knows that there will be a story to tell when she returns home, safe and sound!), adrift in a landscape which has come to life beneath his fingertips, illustrated with a cartographer's accuracy and an artist's flowing script.
He draws, and he thinks of how, nearly eight months ago to the date, he'd stood upon the edge of the Southern Country of Ali with all his Empire's might at his back, poised and at the ready to take the territories of the Republic of Belis. His campaign to see the world of Menoris united by love, all countries come together beneath a great flood of renewal, his kingdom's banner of white and blue...
Would he return to it? The vision which he'd glimpsed, burned into his mind's eye (as his own men had been, by his own hand; his own order), had it truly come to pass realms away from here?
Golden eyes narrowed, sharpened to gleaming knives in a fit of what could only be described as King's fit (of brooding), he does not sense his Lady's presence until Alice is close, beside him at the table, and there is the softest, sweetest sound--...
A kitten's mewl???
(If his eyes go wide, round as saucers in childish surprise, at least no one but Alice will glimpse the sight...!) ]
When: 10/3 - 10/8.
Where: Gammon & Caissa!
What: Kingly failure on the job, singing, and domestic affairs (oh my).
Rating: PG?!
October 3rd - 4th ⇰ Cochrane, Gammon | Photo Tour (Job/Open!)
[ He flies on high, La Vista's wings of light ablaze at his back, a camera in his hands as he photographs Gammon's natural treasures from a bird's-eye view, sailing effortlessly over the Emerald Lakes until....! There is murmurous protest from La Vista itself, and though it is far from the first time he's received complaint from his Hero's weaponry (it seems the curse of Kings, to be subject to tantrums of the weapons which they wield), this surely marks the very first instance when he hasn't been able to quell them...!
And so: he plummets, wings of light dispersing into a thousand filament-fine strands of aetherous nothingness as he falls, silvered hair streaking behind him.
Apologies, Hero, if you were enjoying a lake-side picnic directly below, this scenario may end in one of three ways: broken bones (yours, if Sion should land atop you—thank goodness he can heal!!), an expert catch, or the King's own show of grace (a wind spell, with which to break his fall, and accidentally blow your picnic away?!). ]
October 5th - 8th ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | M-m-manaplay?! (Open!)
[ Mana streams may catch the errant Hero's eye, should they find themselves wandering Caissa's coastal district in survey of the autumnal flush of color. The farmland nearest the coast is a patchwork of deep golds (barley, bending in the wind), brighter yellows (sunflowers, resilient of seasonal cold), and orange (marigold and an array of harvest gourds), all hues encompassed by mana-threads gathered not by the windmills, their sails catching mana from the ocean breeze, but by a King's song—an incantation which holds him still, amid the flowing, perpetual motion of farmland and field. Above the sussurating wind and distant sound of sea, his voice rises, and the world resonates with his melody—
(I see a spark of life shining; I hear a young minstrel sing. A beautiful roaring scream of joy and sorrow, so extreme. There is a love in me raging, a joyous magical feeling!)
—and the mana streams dance, coalescing into a magic which gathers the zest of fallen, dead vegetation and sees it flourishing within the bounds of the spell, and all those Heroes within its healing circle rejuvenated. For this is the power of King's rank magic: drawing upon mana from nature to revitalize allies...!
...even if acting as a channel, a living, breathing, conduit, should be more taxing than Sion had initially realized. His song cutting short, he falters—swaying—but catches himself (with grace), turning the motion instead into a pivot with which to face present company!
Why, of course he noticed you. ]
Shall I sing another song for you?
October ??? ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | CLOSED TO ALICE
[ He draws.
Inked quill taken to parchment, the Hero King's thoughts are elsewhere, far from the seaside cottage he shares with his Lady (his Lady who has been curiously absent for the vast majority of the day—wherever it is that her adventures have carried her, he knows that there will be a story to tell when she returns home, safe and sound!), adrift in a landscape which has come to life beneath his fingertips, illustrated with a cartographer's accuracy and an artist's flowing script.
He draws, and he thinks of how, nearly eight months ago to the date, he'd stood upon the edge of the Southern Country of Ali with all his Empire's might at his back, poised and at the ready to take the territories of the Republic of Belis. His campaign to see the world of Menoris united by love, all countries come together beneath a great flood of renewal, his kingdom's banner of white and blue...
Would he return to it? The vision which he'd glimpsed, burned into his mind's eye (as his own men had been, by his own hand; his own order), had it truly come to pass realms away from here?
Golden eyes narrowed, sharpened to gleaming knives in a fit of what could only be described as King's fit (of brooding), he does not sense his Lady's presence until Alice is close, beside him at the table, and there is the softest, sweetest sound--...
A kitten's mewl???
(If his eyes go wide, round as saucers in childish surprise, at least no one but Alice will glimpse the sight...!) ]
no subject
He jolts upright (perhaps too suddenly, for his vision swims; his head aches) from the ungainly way he'd landed atop a friend, the camera (how he'd cradled the instrument to him, shielding it from damage; the technology is a marvel to him, still, worth more to him than his own person) briefly set aside in favor of tending to Koumei who hadn't cried out, despite how Sion is terribly certain he'd heard the air go out from the man's lungs after his elbow had met squarely, soundly with ribcage. ]
Fool. [ Healing magic leaps to Sion's fingertips, summoned by way of gesture alone. ] Why did you not move out of harm's way?
[ Honestly (he is worried). Even if his voice is quick to gentle and to soften, the golden light of his spell suffusing from his skin to Koumei's own by way of touch—his hands pressed (gingerly) to the other man's chest, over a prominent ridge of scar tissue keenly felt even from beneath layers of clothes. ]
...this is a terrible habit of yours, catching me. [ A slow shake of his head, windswept hair veiling his eyes. ] This marks the third time in a row.
no subject
[The outcry was instinctive-- as one would cry when someone yanked their long ponytail or forcibly dragged them from the comforts of their own study. Koumei squirmed underneath the (incredibly impetuous) king who had dropped like a star from the sky. His chest ached from the impact of a single body, all bones and long limbs, colliding with his, but the pain itself was still well within his limits of endurance
After all, a single body falling with the force of gravity alone was nothing compared to a javelin that had been propelled by magic with a single target in mind.
Moving carefuly, so as to not strain anything unnecessary, he grabbed one of Sion's hands with his own and cast the man a firm, assessing look.]
You've a terrible habit as well, whether you realize it or not-- but this makes it the fourth time you've found something I don't ever recall telling you about.
[The fingers that constantly found their way to his chest, that is-- or the magic that found it's way to the injury that had long since been healed....albeit clumsily and inelegantly.]
Sion. Did we perchance meet at some point that I don't recall? Because I've told no one about it-- not even Kougyoku. My room mates may have seen it, but they haven't questioned it.
1/2
What is the other man thinking? Had it truly been so necessary to take his wrist captive...? Lifting his hand, Sion tests the manacle formed from his friend's fingers, all thoughts of mending the fractures of point-blank impact cast momentarily aside. Instead, he focuses on the bloom of mana bonds between them, borne first from close proximity, then by way of touch, the familiar sensation of Koumei's energy (hope, ever-distant, but still glowing strong) washing over him. ]
Nor would I have forgotten you, a man audacious enough to deem ensnaring a Hero King child's play, and so bold that I...
[ A wave of his wrist, trailing Koumei's hand along with it. ]
…cannot help but call that foolish, brazen man friend.
2/2
But what is it that your roommates have not questioned? What is this secret you would keep from your own flesh and blood? The scar which I felt...
[ Felt, for the briefest of moments. ]
...show it to me. [ ??? Sion. Are you still dazed from the fall??? ]
fdfdsfdfghjkhgsfdghjnk
For it was a scar, yes. A reminder of the mistakes made both by himself and the men he had followed, a reminder of his own personal shame.]
...Kougyoku didn't need to know about it, [he explained quietly, averting his gaze.] Her memories of home are from a time that is three years prior from when I came, and she was no where close to the battle it was earned in.....or to being forced to bear the aftermath on her own.
My hair was longer then-- longer than even your's is now, and that change alone left her with questions she didn't need to worry about. I simply didn't want to add to a burden she didn't realize she was carrying.
[Gazing upon Sion almost shyly, like a person inexperienced with such personal intimacies, Koumei canted his head to the side and quietly regarded the-- yes, impetuous-- Hero King sitting upon him with russet eyes that asked only for understanding.]
Perhaps we're both fools, [He decided, heaving a sigh and not bothering to hide a wince of pain at the motion.] For, though our acquaintance has been short, I would like to consider you a friend as well...
[The love that was ever present in Sion's mana whenever they touched, whenever they exchanged pieces of themselves, hadn't blinded him to the thrum of darkness that hovered in the background that Sion seemed so desperate to hide. Like the lingering notes of harp, the vibrations remained evident in the background in such a way that Koumei couldn't help but see themselves as kindred souls who had been destined to meet regardless of space or time.]
I'm your captive, for the moment, [He said.] Though I caught you, I'm currently trapped in such a way that I cannot retreat. All sorts of messes are expected when one falls from a great height.
[Ask away, tear away, do what you will; such an excuse absolves the both of them from any guilt that they could feel.]
(・∀・ )
...by way of touch.
Touch, inspired by the way Koumei yields, and a simple desire to know the man through and through. A hanfu is parted, layers of fabric pulled back one by one with a touch that is delicate (but unwavering), inexperienced (but bold). And to think, that the Hero King's first time undressing someone (someone who isn't his little sister, requiring aid to free herself of Petrosian corsetry) should be by the lakeside, in a location both open and remote, where the eyes of no other might fall upon the scar which Sion (carefully, with a measure of reverence) reveals. ]
So this... [ Is it, a jagged chronicle of battle visible upon Koumei's chest. The scar is easily larger than the flat of the King's hand, an impressive injury which sprawls over pectoral and abdominal muscle both, a wound which... appears, to a healer's discerning eye, as something which no man could recover from alone (in more ways than one). ] … is your strength, Koumei.
[ And great shame, as well.
Lashes falling to half-mast, Sion's eyes reflect a profound sentiment—an understanding, a knowing of what carrying such a scar meant—as his fingertips light once again with healing magic, this time sparing touch as he casts magic with which to heal ribs fractured and cracked by the collision of two so bound by some inexplicable, magnetic pull.
(Were he aware of Koumei's ability to sense the darkness of his mana signature, the King would have made to mask it, to pull that energy further into himself. He loathes it, as much as it is a part of him—and perhaps as much is why he loathes himself—the bleak, black, mindless touch of a God which could only do one thing by route.)
Truly, they are the moon and stars in the night sky, destined to rise (and fall!) with one another. ]
You lost the war. [ So the man has said himself. ] You cut your hair.
[ Though Sion should have liked to see the man with long, wild auburn locks. ]
...and you protected your sister. [ Altogether, Koumei is rather noble, isn't he? As much is befitting of a once-Prince, the man Sion continues to pour healing magic (warmth and light which thrums through the body like a thing alive as it mends, taking pain from wounds) into without heed or care for himself. ]
If this is to remain a secret, then it is— [ You are. ] —safe with me.
/screeches
...You flatter me,
[he accused, russet gaze tearing away from the golden eyes that seemed once more to be staring into his very soul. The wound had been terrible-- he hazily recalled the dutiful team of healers that had attended him round the clock during the first weeks of his exile. He recalled his youngest brother's angry tears when they were finally reunited outside of the battlefield. He recalled the regrets and sorrow that his Lord Brother and King had tried to hide weeks later, after his staged exeution so the world could finally have it's satisfaction.
...And after he had used the powers given to him by Phenex, a Djinn of life and healing, to restore the lost limbs of their adopted brother who had torn the empire asunder.]
It was a miscalculation. Had I not been blinded by my own feelings, I'd have been able to prevent so much heartache.
[Like his Lord Brother's sacrifice, the liberty of all of their retainers, the lives of the soldiers lost in that bloody civil war, and the very economic stability of the Empire itself. So many people had sacrificed so much...
All because he didn't anticipate that their adopted brother was being moved around like a pawn by an outside force.]
...I've made my peace with it, [He said after a moment, reaching up a hand to play with a lock of Sion's long hair.] A man can't live life by looking at the past, after all. I cut my hair to remember that-- and to remember one of the lessons I learned from a good man whose life was cut short far too early
My sister...she's the youngest of us all. [He twirled that lock of hair around his finger, as if it were his own, while he spoke.] She wasn't trained for any of this, and she chose the path of a warrior over that of a princess...
But she's Empress, from when I last remember seeing her. And she's struggling under the weight of all of our mistakes.
[He looked up at Sion, as one would when making confession to a priest.]
I may have saved her spirit a little in this realm, but I couldn't protect her in our's. Even now, I must abandon my name and hide my face just to begin making up for those mistakes, but that still can't heal her heart from all that she has endured.
[For, just like Shunsui with the Mistress in that Dungeon, Kougyoku had been under the influence of a certain someone for such a long period that no one could guess where it had begun. Koumei couldn't begin to imagine how much of her life was wrecked because of the collective mistakes of those who held power-- her two eldest brothers included.]
It isn't so much a secret here, now that she has returned to live out her fate, but...
[He took a breath and exhaled, an odd and bittersweet smile playing on his lips.]
Thank you. For listening.
[He shifted slightly, untangling his fingers from Sion's hair to instead wrap around Sion's wrist-- but, he didn't try to pull the man away. Instead he rested his hand atop Sion's and laced their fingers together]
...The weight of just one life, [he said, softly.]...it's so much lighter than that of an empire. I don't mind this at all, if it's the price of your friendship.
no subject
If Koumei had meant to dispel the words so this is your strength, the man had failed—spectacularly so. The tale he spins of miscalculations and of homage paid; of protecting that which one held most dear in all the realms at the expense of being stripped of identity, of one's face and name... there is only conviction, in the telling.
Though he has made his peace with the loss, Koumei (who twirls a silvered lock of hair about his forefinger; whose heartache even a King could not absolve) has not been buried along with it—the scar upon his chest is not his tombstone, but his spirit. It is unsung and it is dark, the path of a Prince who walks forward in exile, but it is beautiful (tragic) all the same, and Sion (with a gaze boring into the very heart of the man beneath him) is moved beyond words by Koumei's thanks.
(By the way his star laces their fingers together, Koumei's hand blanketing Sion's own in a gesture wholly profound on its own, with no need for the bonds of mana.) ]
You should know it by now, my scarlet star, that I am not one for flattery. Nor do I believe action taken on behalf of sentiment to be so grievous an error, so shameful a mistake. [ Regardless of what ruin had been sown because of it. Bowing his head, Sion's hair falls in a tumble over his shoulders, veiling his face as its silvered ends curl and coil atop bare skin and scar tissue—though the King wishes, in part, that he might be able to take both the wound and its memory away from his friend... who might Koumei be without it? To deny the old wound would be to forsake the feelings which had caused it. ] For as long as your heart remains your own, know this: you possess a power which no one can infringe upon, not even the Gods above.
[ Gingerly, gently, he reaches with his free hand to cup the side of Koumei's face, his thumb brushing along the slender rise of the man's cheek before falling away. Really, this is much too intimate, much too scandalous contact for anyone—let alone royalty—to indulge in beneath the slow rise of the moon and darkening skies, and yet... Sion seems either not to care (or not to realize). ]
Thank you, for telling me. [ For trusting in him. ] Since the day we first met, I had wanted to know your story, but Koumei...
[ It happens in swift succession, then: Sion, rising to his feet, pulling Koumei along with, their handhold steadfast—strong. ]
...you should know that my friendship comes at no price at all; that I wish only to see you lifted up.
[ A wish is innocent and earnest both, in stark contrast to the way he shifts close, his free hand righting the fabric of the hanfu he'd parted, pulling the material back up, over a pair of narrow shoulders gone exposed to the cold for much too long already. ]
Have faith, in your sister. She has chosen her path, as you have chosen yours, but until the day when you are able to return to her side, strive to live in a way which would make her smile.
You were not meant only for a life of atonement, Koumei. Your spirit... it is worthwhile, too.
[ Lightly: ] And this Hero King should hate to crush it, as impetuous as he is.
no subject
But a small, bittersweet smile lighted on his face all the same.]
Sion, I do not believe you're entirely seasoned enough a soldier to be giving me life advice-- although you voice a lesson I've been struggling to learn in recent years. Worry not over me or my family, for there is nothing I can do for the Empire while I am here...and I'm certain my sister understands that she can move forth on her own path now.
...The men who carved the path for the nation, in the eyes of the public, have perished; there is an odd freedom in that, you realize.
[Morbid as the topic seemed, there was an odd hope in his eyes that only one who had lived surrounded by the threat of death could understand. Weep not for this man, Sion. Although there were many parts that deserved tears, they had already been given a thousand times their worth and more.
Then, as if he were simply starving for the simplicity of physical contact, Koumei reached for Sion's hand once again and held it in his.]
You, on the other hand, are still a mystery to me. You seem a little like my youngest brother at times, with experiences that one with your youth shouldn't have seen.
[His youngest brother, who was barely considered an adult even now, had always seemed bent and twisted by the lot he had to bear in life. There were moments when he seemed too young and childish-- and other times when he seemed to have an uncanny wisdom that no young person should ever have to carry.
He canted his head to the side, regarding Sion almost innocently.]
I should like to hear your story some day as well....if you'll allow it.
no subject
You are not the first man to suggest that I am much too green to dole out good counsel. [ A brief pause, a moment taken to right himself—a hand, carded through an impossibly long fall of hair; La Vista's beaded necklace centered once again upon his shoulders. And when he turns to Koumei, the man may have very much been greeted by a (playful, outrageous, theatric) flutter of full, silvered lashes. ] But I am not so young.
[ Physical appearances aside, though he is cursed as his Lord Father had been, left frozen in time, immortal and bound to the fate of Menoris, his true age is...! ]
I will be twenty-one on the twenty-first of Chrysanth. [ In a little over a month, then—it is strange to think how time passes them by. (Intolerable, to think that he has spent nearly nine months in a foreign realm when his own hangs, suspended in peril, with only ten years time left in existence.) ] And I shall worry as I please for a friend.
[ A friend who has taken him by the hand for the second time in one night. Humming softly, Sion flexes his fingers in Koumei's grasp before brushing his thumb along the back of the man's hand, the caress a tender one. Over-familiar. But then, they have always been, Koumei's words from the day they'd first met lingering with him still.
Two of a kind. ]
Though... my mind is set at ease by the freedoms, now, within your grasp. While we are bound as Heroes, this realm is much kinder than the existences we have both known. [ His words are quiet, but spoken with strength; innocent but knowing. Always, he has been an odd juxtaposition of traits, a King who wished only to laugh foolishly and smile with others at heart, even as the weight of the crown demanded that he burn all the world before him. ] If I remind you of your brother, perhaps it is only because by birthright, we are meant to shoulder all the majesty and all the horror of the realm. We bear it, so that others do not have to. But here, in this place...
[ A little desperately (despite himself) he squeezes Koumei's hand, fingers curling about the older man's. ]
...I see flashes of the world I wish to create for my people. [ A soft exhale. ] A kingdom where everyone has the right to exist, to live in equality where they might spend their days as they would please, even if that pleasure should be something so simple as a lazy, afternoon nap.
[ And that is, perhaps, the only part of his story which is worth telling.
More importantly...!! ] But Koumei...
[ This is really..... serious...... okay........!! ] ...how old are you?
no subject
I ammend my remark, in that case.
[His tone was somber as he spoke, a touch too grave for the informal and painfully sweet cadence of this conversation. Speaking so plainly was as normal for him as a wrinkled overcoat and a lamp that had long grown cold from reading too far into the night. Formalities were sprinkled in for the sake of politeness alone-- and were not something he reserved only for those of equal status.
It was what had earned him the respect of the armies-- for, after the bowmen fired their bolts and the swordsmen finished their dire dance, they were all indeed the same.
Koumei squeezed that hand back, a teasing gleam in his eyes as he regarded Sion.]
You're younger than Kouha, for he is in his twenty-third year. Although I'm sure he would gladly show you how to dress properly, were he here.
[Whimsical and terrible-- a fan of high fashion and outcasts alike, a young man who chose to boldly live without defining himself by any of the shame that had been thrust upon him by the world-- Ren Kouha truly is a unique soul.
But Sion's words, as seemingly light as they were, had struck a note of clarity for Koumei. A peaceful world, where one could spend the day napping as much as they pleased...
Though he would never use words quite so fanciful, wasn't that the goal he and his brothers had always strode for? Wasn't that the goal set forth by the late Emperor Hakutoku and his sons, Hakuyuu and Hakuren?
He chuckled. How long would he spend living his life chasing after the dreams of those who had already perished for the light of the current world?]
Your dream sounds quite pleasant-- but, that isn't the reason I find the resemblence so striking, [He said softly, for that dream had never been Kouha's. He had worried after his mother, after the happiness of the rag-tag little army of outcasts he had collected over the years. The fate of the country was secondary to him.] If you don't wish to tell me right now, that's your right-- although I do hope you'll trust me enough to share it one day.
Unless... Hm. [He canted his head to the side, seeming like a curious bird.] Perhaps you find me too 'old'. I am a man of thirty, after all...
no subject
[ A slow withdraw, a cheeky grin. ]
Someone ten years my elder is bound to be fragile, after all.
[ And then Sion is laughing, stepping back, leading Koumei by the hand just as he had once upon a time, during their venture to Sparrow Town. But even as they walk, treading the path closest to the Emerald lake, Sion cannot forget that this is the third time Koumei has caught him (saved him), that...
He does trust the man, in the end. ]
Then... shall I offer the old man something in recompense? For his troubles, perhaps he can come to know a third thing about so humble a King. [ The laugh disappearing from Sion's voice, he glances back, over his shoulder, at his truly not-so-old companion. ] In my realm, a world known as Menoris, the sensation of touch was robbed from me.
There was a time when I would not be able to feel the brisk autumn breeze, the gentle warmth of sunlight, or know the true weight of a friend's hand in my own. [ And so it begins: a light swing of their hands, back and forth, to and fro. ] That is why... I must thank you, for humoring me and indulging my whims.
I am, perhaps, much too fond of hand-holds.
no subject
It was a javelin strike from across the battlefield, [He stated in a stilted, matter-of-fact tone resembling that of a put-out scholar making a quarrel out of semantics.] A blow intended for no one else but me. An assassination attempt, if you will.
A more fragile man wouldn't have survived such a blow.
[Had he his fan, he would have lifted it with dramatic flourish to hide all but his sharpened gaze. Instead, he allowed Sion to lead him along, following after these whimsies as if they were stepping stones along the path.
--The sudden outpouring of details, from a man who seemed to loathe speaking of himself, did take him by surprise. And Koumei, still unconsciously seeking the simple tactile assurance of not being alone in this world, lifted his brows in surprise at the apparent confession made in such a light tone.]
...You can be as fond of handholds as you wish, [He said soberly, playful agitation mellowing in the autumn breeze as Sion swung their linked hands as a child.]
The role of 'King' can be akin to a cursed position-- as you're targeted by all of your enemies with all of the weapons they have at their disposal.
I'm glad you've your sense of touch here. Regardless, was it illness or magically influenced?
[He regarded Sion carefully and, still not fully in control of all of his skills as a newly minted Bishop, unconsciously Scanned the man to satiate his own curiosity. His dark eyes, normally the warm color of the autumn leaves or the sunset, gleamed a pale blue not unlike the stars in the night sky for a heartbeat or two as he squeezed Sion's hand.
Even if no answers were to be had, one way or the other, he hoped Sion would understand that he didn't need to hide himself as he did.]
1/2
(No, for as long as Sion remained in Enprise, Koumei would never be left to shine in the night sky alone.) ]
It was a jest, my friend. I meant only that next time I should plummet from the sky to land atop your lap, that I should take appropriate precaution.
[ Whatever that might be. A wind spell, to cushion his fall. A barrier, to protect Koumei. Or... a warning, at the very least, for it had been odd, hadn't it? Though he'd fallen from such a great hight, Sion hadn't uttered a single sound of surprise. ]
No javelin shall strike you again, for you are under this King's protection.
[ From Noir and its assassins, and from— ]
2/2
[ Are like starlight, glinting blue. ]
What magic is it that you've called upon?
[ For the King can feel it, Koumei's mana actualizing into some manner of spell, the weight of the man's gaze becoming a tangible thing, whispers of that aura (hope, in the darkest of places) a caress against his skin. And unbeknownst to Sion, who has never before encountered a Bishop's scanning technique, something hidden to the naked eye becomes visible to the scholar, markings of runic gold visible now upon his person.
But what is their nature? This, Koumei has already unwittingly discovered, for when the word cursed had fallen from his lips, Sion had flinched back, shifted away.
(And the longer Koumei's gaze should linger upon them, the cursemarks which seem embedded into Sion's skin, a distinct air of anguish will settle upon him—the loneliness and despair of hundreds of vanished worlds and the people who had perished along with them.) ]
skjfhgjdfhgjfgd
Eyes widening briefly when he witnessed the nature of what Sion was hinting at, Koumei quickly averted his gaze once Sion's words called up what was happening.]
My apologies,
[He murmured, torn by the strange runes he had witnessed upon Sion's person and wondering if this was what that young Magi had meant when he referred to the Kou Empire's Oracle, Judar, as being like a 'black sun.' He could almost envision how this would look in his own world, with the bird-like streams of Rukh swirling uncertainly, shifting between light and dark like what he knew of his adopted brother Hakuryuu's true nature.
Koumei pulled back as well out of respect-- for such things didn't frighten him. No, nothing could. Not after witnessing the wrath of the veritable monsters he had helped tear asunder, nor after witnessing the painful realities of what comes when a single person, after a lifetime of fighting for a lost cause, finally gives in to Despaire...
He lifted a hand to his face, mimicking the way his unruly bangs used to fall, and the covering of mask he now had to wear just to aid his sister in helping their country recover some of it's former glory.]
Hatoha informed me the other day that I've been promoted to a Bishop, [he explained, recalling his Carrier's excited fumbling around the halls that morning.] I know not the extent of what a Bishop is capable of here or in those strategy games, but I was also granted a crossbow that I'm certain my retainer would appreciate, were he here in this world.
[To this, however, he bowed with all of the grace and dignity that an exiled prince could have, his fisted hands meeting across his chest in what was the traditional salute of his country.]
I did not mean to step upon something you didn't wish to be tread upon-- and my lips are sealed in regards to what I saw. We can act as if nothing happened, if that is your wish.
[For he could see now the truth: that Sion knew exactly how much of an accursed position the burden of Kingship could be.]