"Rock Bottom"
Some women are lost in the fire.
Some women are built from it.
- Michelle K.
Location: The Castle - Third Corridor off the Long Walk ⇢ Infirmary
Skills: Perception
Rainbrook looked at Lyra for a moment, his head tilting to the side like a confused dog. He wasn't really sure if she had meant it just to be polite, if she was blowing off chores, or if she was interested in him. Romantically. He wished that his dad had given him more advice in this arena - his mother, well, sometimes he found it was a miracle she even took her nose out of a book in order to meet his father. "Uh...." Rainbrook stammered, tripping over his legs as he moved backwards and fell to the floor.
A look of bewilderment crossed Lyra's features at the man's reaction. Had he been so engrained in thought that her mere voice had startled him? Was it something in her demeanor? Or was it something she had said? She couldn't understand what on earth it was...
Then Skaoi came out and gave Lyra a list of chores, disappearing but not before suggesting Lyra was looking for a husband. He didn't know what to say or do as he picked himself up, but one thing came to mind. "I'm so terribly sorry, miss...I think I'm gay."
Lyra looked over her shoulder at the sound of Skaoi's voice. Her pale brows shot up at the woman's words. Her gaze then flitted between Skaoi and Rainbrook, before she suddenly burst out laughing at the absurdity of such a suggestion.
Her flirting, and at a time like this? Surely, they were joking. However, her laughter quickly diminished into an awkward chuckle, before ceasing altogether as she realized they weren't joking whatsoever.
"Oh wait, you're serious," she remarked in astonishment. Her brows promptly furrowed in confusion.
"I beg your pardon, but I'm uncertain how what I said could have been misconstrued as such. I was just asking this man if he needed help," she explained, before turning back to Rainbrook.
"Forgive me, sir, for any confusion." Rainbrook was still looking at her, feeling awkward and not really sure of what was going on. "Um....Sure..."
"O-kay, well, I guess if you don't need anything then...Uh, I guess I will just go," she replied, giving the man an awkward smile as she slowly inched away.
"Sorry to bother you." "...Don't you have a job to do?" Rainbrook asked, confused as to why she was trying to help him. She didn't even know who he was. He hadn't introduced himself to her and he wasn't a known person around the Palace. Was she just trying to be nice? Did she have some other sort of motive? He shook his head slightly. "I-I'm flattered but... I am quite gay... As gay as a dragon..." he mumbled. Rainbrook then nodded at her slightly apologetically.
"Yup, going to go do that now..." she muttered, her traitorous cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Ducking her head, she then spun on her heels and walked off as quickly as she dared. She had perhaps never felt more embarrassed in her entire life than she did right then. She was normally so composed but certain things, little silly things like being accused of flirting, could be her undoing. Anything related to romance wasn't exactly her forte.
She shook her head as she rounded the corner, her platinum blonde locks lightly swaying with the movement.
"Idiot!" she chided herself once she was certain that she was out of earshot.
She let out a sigh as she made her way through the corridors to the infirmary. She had a job to do. The job of a servant once again. Don't get her wrong she loved serving others, but the thing was that it had always been
her choice. It had never been forced upon her, and certainly not in a degrading fashion such as this. There was a certain element of injustice to it all that caused a storm of emotions to once again buzz around inside her like angry bees. And a part of her was afraid that if pushed too far, she would split open, and then everyone would feel the sting.
Their ideals did not match her own, that much was becoming clear to her. It made her question why she had even wanted to come to the Castle in the first place. Why had she aspired to be the warrior servant of the Queen? Perhaps in her naivety she had thought that she could actually change them. That she could soften the cold ways of royals. Her hand paused on the doorknob to the infirmary.
Is this even the right place for me? Or should I just spare myself the future misery and move on from here, start my life anew again? She questioned herself. She turned her head to look down the corridor. There was a certain longing in her blue-green eyes. She felt trapped, and she desperately wanted a way out. But, she ultimately decided that it was selfish of her. She turned the doorknob, pushing the door open to walk into the infirmary.
Her gaze took in the room with a sweep of her eyes. She gave Becky a small, demure smile but didn't try to strike up a conversation with her. In Skaoi's eyes, she had already wasted enough time, and surely if she took any longer the
Physik woman would think she was flirting with someone else. Lyra mentally winced at the thought. She shook her head.
It's my mess to clean up, she thought to herself.
She went about the room searching for the herbs that Skaoi had requested. She found them with surprising ease thankfully. As she did so, she also noticed that some of the patients appeared to have worsened in condition, meaning they would need to be tended to. She bit her lip. She knew next to nothing about healing, so she didn't really know how she would be of much use to the woman, other than for running simple errands and washing linens. Perhaps Skaoi could teach her some healing, but given recent circumstances, she highly doubted that the woman would waste her time on that.
As she left the infirmary with the supplies in a small basket, she was once again hit with that desire to flee. Shutting the door behind her, she glanced back down the corridor, to the way out. She shook her head, ripping her gaze away and with it those thoughts of fleeing.
"No," she told herself firmly.
"Prove them wrong. You're made of tougher stuff than this." She raised her chin, a certain intensity present in her blue-green eyes. She then made long, purposeful strides down the corridor.
"Home Alone"
Fate throws fortune, but not everyone catches.
- Polish Proverb
Location: The Castle - His Bedroom ⇢ Outside Infirmary
Skills: Dexterity
Tristan laid sprawled out on his bed, his fingers drumming an unintelligible beat on the sheets as he tried to process all that Princess Luna had said. Her family had a history of mental illnesses? Why hadn't he ever been told that? Surely it was of great significance to him considering he was, presumably, marrying into the family. Or she was marrying into his. Or they were both marrying into each other's. Oh whatever with the technicalities. The point was that he had a right to know that his wife-to-be and his...
children. His children could have a mental illness too.
He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Too fast. Everything was happening too fast. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to stand by her side, but at the same time, he didn't know the first thing about mental illnesses. And the way she was so certain that this voice would drive her mad, it honestly unnerved him. She had already lost control once. What's to say she wouldn't again? What's to say that next time she wouldn't cause more than just emotional harm? He hated that he had so little faith in her, but the truth was that he barely even knew her.
Yet he felt duty-bound to marry her, if only for the sake of his kingdom. Then again, what good would it do for his kingdom if the queen went mad? He let out a groan of frustration and covered his face with a pillow. He honestly didn't know what to do. He wished Fyror was here. The man always knew what to do...
He let out a low growl and made to chuck the pillow across the room.
"Agh! Gods!" he suddenly cried out as he pulled a muscle. The pillow did an unremarkable arc to the floor. Meanwhile, he was doubled over on his bed, clutching his throbbing bicep. He gritted his teeth as he got a Charlie horse.
"Stupid pillow," he grumbled irritably as he worked to rub out some of the tension in his muscle. He stared up at the ceiling, his face contorted into a grimace.
He let out a breath of relief once the pain finally subsided. However, his relief was short-lived. Now that he was not otherwise preoccupied, the weight of reality came crashing back down on him. It was suffocating, the responsibility on his shoulders as the heir to the throne of the Land of Long Nights, let alone in a time of war. Perhaps a part of him understood, and could even empathize with his sister Ragna, despite how much he still resented her for abandoning her kingdom and leaving him to do the dirty work.
His lips thinned, his brows furrowing a touch. He didn't know what to do. He needed some advice, and he knew exactly who would be willing to give it.
"NO! No. No, I'm not going to go see him," he told himself. He tightly shut his eyes, as if that could rid him of the thought of seeing the ghost of his recently slain best friend. Fyror's death was still too raw for him, yet who else was he to talk to? He had no friends or allies here. Well, maybe save for Lyra, but try as she might, she couldn't fully understand him. No one got him like Fyror got him. Or rather did get him...
Tristan let out a huff of frustration, pushing himself up out of bed, and before he could change his mind, he left his bedroom to go seek out his friend. He made his way through the corridors for the place of Fyror's death, just outside the infirmary. The closer he got, the more his steps faltered. His hands were shaking by the time he rounded the corner and laid eyes on Fyror's ghost.
"Uh...um..." he stuttered, trying to find his voice.
"F-fyror?" Fyror's ghostly form turned to face him, his harsh features softening a bit. However, his lips soon tugged down into a frown as he looked Tristan over. "What's wrong? What happened?" he questioned.
Tristan paled.
"Y-you're dead, dude...Y-you know that, right?" he stammered.
"Huh, I thought the air did seem a little off. Yes, I know I'm dead. Now quit evading the question you really want to ask."
"Gods, you're just as annoying as you were when you were alive," Tristan remarked. However, his facial expression sunk the very moment the words left his mouth.
"Breathe, Tristan."
Tristan nodded his head as he took in a shaky breath and found his voice again.
"I-things have gotten more complicated with Luna. I can't talk about it in public like this, but long story short, I don't know want to do anymore." "Yes, you do. You just don't like the answer. Hard work. It was never really your strong suit. But you've got to man up and do it anyways. The kingdom is counting on you."
Tristan slowly nodded his head.
"You're right, as always," he admitted.
"Pinch me. I must be dreaming."
"Oh, shut up." Tristan rolled his eyes, but there was a smirk on his features.
"One other thing before you go."
"What?" "I have to say that that was one epic fart."
Tristan let out a loud groan.
"BYE!" he yelled and quickly ran off. He could hear Fyror's laughter as he disappeared around the corner.
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