Tales of the Betrothed (closed)

[iamtherealgiz]

x x x x x x x x x ✗ K o r a x Z h a d d a g h

“Right, of course.” Kora almost flinched at Kunal’s initial tone, realizing how she may have misstepped. How could she talk of cold after what they’d just been through? What had become of his home? Though it was too late to wish she had been more careful with her words. Having never been to Gradius before, no matter how terrifying those icy tunnels had been for her, the sight surely could never be as shocking as it was to someone who had been raised there. When he asked her about the cold of the desert at night she nodded, a little surprised. She was never sure how much the Gradians or the Supreme really knew about the other countries before leaving their own.

The princess offered a small smile when Jean asked her to join them, stepping in to make a small circle between the three of them. She didn’t think she had ever heard him speak so fondly of her home, and the part of her that had grown up with his torment couldn’t help waiting for the punchline, but it didn’t come. There was an earnestness in his tone that she wasn’t used to, but found herself trusting completely. And how could she not? After everything?

Jean was so sure that they would succeed. The Shastan princess couldn’t help a small smile softening her pensive expression. She wanted just a bit of that confidence, and not to worry that they would fail like they had in Laelie—or succeed like they had in Gradius, where the land and its people were forever changed. Not unlike the rest of them she supposed. With a steadying breath, she reminded herself that this was not just about her country. All of them had been dealt the same hand. All of them were experiencing loss.

Allowing herself to briefly let go of her gloom and get caught up in the energy of Jean’s words, a true smile edged into her features. For just a moment, she let herself believe in a future where they would save everyone, and no one would get left behind. “If you’re not prepared for the cold at night, it can be dangerous. In the city proper, fires keep everything warm, and from far away the glow just—”

Cutting herself off, Kora found herself looking up into the hard lines of Kunal’s face. Doing so was much easier now than it had been before. His fits of anger and rage made it hard to look him in the eye for very long whenever she had been in his presence. But there was a change there now, however subtle and new. When he looked at her, she actually felt observed. She wasn’t sure how else to explain it. She wanted to know what kind of man he would prove to be in the days to come.

“You will always be welcome in my city. And you should come during the festival season. Even with certain brat princes trying to make it miserable, it was always my favorite time of year.” She smiled through the ache in her center. Memories of the festival came with so much weight now. Adele and Jean tormenting the siblings with pranks, with the sisters being just as much of a headache for their caretakers. As the years had gone by and she and Zaara had grown more distant from each other, it was sometimes the most time they got to spend with each other. And by the end, it was the only time.

While everything they had seen on this journey thus far had been strange, it hit differently here and now when they were so close to her home. She had been eager to get back from the start of all this back in Bhegin— to see what had befallen the city she’d loved so dearly, even if it wasn’t mutual. Now that they were here though, or nearly so, there was a shameful part of her that wanted nothing more than to run away. How could she face her father and tell him what had happened to Zaara? Dinora? Especially if it were true that she had been a part of this. Her people? Kora knew she was not the one they wanted to return home. What good was the spare who had spent the majority of her childhood playing with lizards and rocks, while the heir had been training dutifully for years?




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[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

You will always be welcome in my city.

The princess -- or queen, perhaps -- stated this plainly, almost in passing. A matter of course. As if he had the need, as if he would have the need... Perhaps he would. The looks he had received in Gradius, after everything. Kunal hid away for as long as he could, but eventually... he had to leave that room. His room.

Distaste. Disgust. Pity. Shame. Disbelief. Sorrow. Hope. That their prince was not perfect. That the Supremacy of their people was, in truth, a lie; for if their prince was not - their Twin Phoenixes, really - then none of them were. Humiliated. Broken. Whatever he was, his sister was, they were. Every last one of them.

The memories angered him. The notion that he could not return to his home after all this... Did he even want to go home after this? A life in Shazgard... What would that be like?

His hands gripped the railing of the boat, knuckles paling. An ugly, snapping reply was forming on his lips, and something told him not to let it free. Instead he listened... and hoped they would continue talking between the two of them as they recounted their shared nostalgia.

[Rada Han]

When I turned my head, to cry
I had to dry my eye
I saw the tortoise from the sea, bringing you back to me.


The ominous feeling in the air was almost tangible to Jean-Baptiste, who also couldn't fully shake his anxiety over the whole affair. Still, despite the grimness hanging over them, and his guess that his own beloved kingdom was also in dire straits (and so far away still,) Jean was still optimistic. It showed in his smile as he huffed a laugh at Kora's clear reference to him.

"Of course! It wouldn't have been nearly as fun without me."

There wasn't an inkling of a doubt in his mind that they weren't going to hold festivals again. One could not tell Jean-Baptiste that they were not going to return the world to normalcy and peace would not come again. He was sure more than anything else at that point in time that someday they would fix the world, someday they would be able to go on with their lives, and someday everyone would be happy.

He feared for Kora the most now. In a way that was always growing, she was dear to him and also one of the few remnants of his ordinary life. Her elder half was gone, leaving an unprepared girl who never thought that she would be next for the throne. There was also the ever-lingering fact that the two of them shared a common problem - their respective kingdoms conspiring to destroy all others for some unknown reason. In pledging to remedy the calamity, Jean-Baptiste had also pledged to solve that problem too. Somehow he - or they - would. He was sure of it.

He didn't feel alone at all in his efforts, moreso than ever. He looked at Kunal once more and noticed that the man had clammed up again. Or perhaps he was simply thinking ever so tensely like he always did. Jean-Baptiste wasn't interested in making the Gradian the third wheel of the conversation.

"Are there any festivals in Gradius, Kunal?" Chimed the prince. "What are they like? I would love to go to one!"

[iamtherealgiz]

x x x x x x x x x ✗ K o r a x Z h a d d a g h

Engaged and distracted by the conversation as she was, the prior seasickness that had awoken her finally settled– hopefully for a good long while. It made it easier to appreciate how lovely the moonlight was reflecting off of the water, even with all the connotations of its presence here in what should have been desert still lingering in the back of her mind. Kora’s smile shifted to a proper grin briefly as Jean stated with the utmost confidence that the festivals wouldn’t have been nearly as fun without him. He was right of course, and didn’t yet regret telling him so back in Laelie– when he’d asked her if Zaara had hated him. She remembered his face then, so heavy reflecting the glow of the pyre, and found herself comparing it to the lightness in his expression now. She didn’t know what it meant, but knew it was something she wanted to hold on to.

The Shastan shifted her gaze to the Gradian prince, and noted the way his hands had tensed on the ship railing, though did nothing to draw attention to this observation. For the first time, it struck her just how young Kunal looked. Well, he was young. They all were. But something about him had never really registered as such. The way his features tightened, it reminded her of moments passed when she’d held her tongue in front of Dinora when she was small. A child. But maybe another lonely one.

She was glad when Jean spoke up, asking about Gradian festivals. Under the burdensome pressures of the ‘Supreme’ Kora wondered what effect that would have on art. What she had seen of Gradius after the ice had been so beautiful– so many immaculate details in the architecture, clothing and tapestries, that she had to believe there was some measure of love in their creation– even if it was called something else. “There must have been a favorite. Something you looked forward to?” she prompted. As complicated as his relationship with his home was, she could only hope there could be some measure of love there too for him.



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[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

Kunal's annoyance at this line of questioning was palpable and he struggled to speak as his teeth gnashed together. A vice grip clamped at his lips, xenophobia rang in his ear like a bell chime, as did the loathing he held for these people - or had held, for now he was unsure. It was difficult to see past; he was not sure he could. And who were these two impudent fools to question him?

They are the fools that have fought and lived beside you. The fools who journeyed to your kingdom to save it in spite of the bile you spat at their feet.

"Such splendor you have never seen. I daresay your 'festivals' would seem rather pitiful were Gradius ever to host you during one of our celebrations." The words were sharp, but halfheartedly so. A blunted knife. A puppy's bite. He felt ashamed twice over. One, that he could not shout and flee, or did not want to. Two, that even now he saw fit to maintain such airs. "I... There are many such celebrations in Gradius, though the exact timing fluctuates depending on the season or the stars." The Lunar and Solar Eclipses. Gentle flames and dark moon sweets. Frenzied martial artists, wild displays of fire. The Week of the Phoenix. Intense and sad and joyful - perhaps the most joy their people were ever allowed to experience. And... "The Artisan's Festival. I suppose I... always looked forward to it the most."

There was no doubt life was hard in Gradius. It kept their people strong. Focused. Restrained.

Yet there was beauty, too; where displays of passion were heavily policed, deemed appropriate or inappropriate, beauty remained; avenues to channel their passion, to create as deeply as their fire destroyed. He wondered, almost absently, if this beauty was the love of their gods, whispering to his people through the ages. A remnant of their happy origins.

"Less was expected of me. I seldom had to perform. The odd showcase of spear or sword, perhaps, but... otherwise, I was free to do what I wished. Less... eyes upon me." His tongue felt fat and languid as he tried to speak coherently. "It was also a time of great pride. Bashirah's dances were often the festival's crowning glory, or... so it was for me." He cleared his throat and relaxed his grip on the rail of the ship, though he did not let go. Not yet. The stability was comforting. He breathed a little deeper. "She was perfect. She worked hard for perfection. Admirable, always. I would watch her practice - every day if I could. We used to dance together when we were younger, but once we grew older..." He missed that connection, that trance, that combination of athletics and art. "I would watch her until I learned the moves like they were my own." A deep exhale. Resignation? Submission? No, not submission. Never submission. "And then on stage she was perfect." Kunal remembered her blistered feet. Her blood in sweeping trails on the floor. Bruises and bandages from trial and error and effort. Whirling and crouching and swaying, arms poised. Crafting her own little world with nothing but her body and her spirit. "She never disappointed."

Kora and Jean-Baptiste felt less real now. As if they were not even there, and all Kunal had to keep him company were his memories. Just like that he tumbled away into years past. A moment closely guarded, deeply cherished...

The final showcase. The fires blazing, the crowd enraptured, the steely gazes of their mother and father. And Bashirah, in all her finery, alone upon the stage. She was wild, yet controlled. The arc of her frame, the curve of her ankle, the tilt of her head or fingers - all drilled to precision.

She was Supremacy personified, as was he, and all who witnessed her knew it. These dances often extended several minutes. Five, or ten, or thirty - it did not matter - she would continue until her artistry had run its course. Sweat dripped down her forehead, down the curve of her nose or chin, and fell. But she never stopped. Never missed a beat.

Until she did.

Imperceptible to most, the stage slick from her falling sweat, her foot slipped ever so slightly. Her knee dipped just a little too low, her pose just off center of sublime asymmetry. Kunal felt the dark tension rolling off his mother - more than usual, at least - from their place at the stage's side. She knew.

A muted panic drummed in his head as he watched Bashirah, holding her pose, rigid, and though she remained still as marble, he knew a chill was creeping up her spine. Kunal had seen how this would end. The hammering heart, the shallow, gasping breaths, the awful shaking - as if her very bones sought freedom from beneath her skin. It always started so softly, so veiled, and only he could see the signs.

He had to do something. Normally, they would run. He would spirit her away quietly, gently, like silk whispering upon silk, but this was not an option. Not when everyone was looking. When all eyes were glued to her form.

These short seconds were eternity, but before he knew it, his own feet were moving to the music. Parroting her dance as if it were his own, he rose from his seat in a flourish and continued her movements. The crowd made an audible noise, as these solos were held in the highest esteem; she would likely be disqualified for his decision, he knew, but that shame was better, far better, than the alternative. Their parents would be furious.

Kunal was Bashirah’s echo. Spirit to her statue, as mutable as she was immutable. Like a helpful shadow he hugged close to her form, his hands grasping thigh and waist, and tranquility descended upon him. The peace of purpose. He had always been here with her on stage, this had always been the plan. This was the intended path. She would feel this, he knew, as she felt so much.

And just like that, they were a duet. She lifted in his arms, mighty and graceful, as if nothing had happened. Kunal sharpened his mind, and knew she too would follow suit. Together they cut across the stage like a blade, lilting and hopping, splaying arms and legs in tandem like the petals of a lotus. And when the last stroke of their dance was done, they stood poised, united.

The audience - scandalized, awestruck - cheered. Their perfect children. The ultimate assurance of Gradian beauty, splendor, and art. Twin Phoenixes.

Bashirah gripped his hand and raised their arms, enjoined, above their heads - as this was their plan all along - and her hand held his so tight, so hard, but it did not hurt. How ever could it hurt?

It was the only thing here that never did.

Kunal’s memories faded, his gaze far, far away, ensorcelled. It was hard to believe how far they had fallen since.

Though he did not smile, there was a brightness to his face, a happy ache in his eyes, and with nary a beat from his last word, the prince added, “She never disappointed me.”

[Rada Han]

When I turned my head, to cry
I had to dry my eye
I saw the tortoise from the sea, bringing you back to me.


Jean-Baptiste expected to be chided for his prodding and as such, his smile ticked up once he got it. Kunal's arrogance had always been somewhat amusing to Jean-Baptiste. Now, he believed that he saw it in a different light. The barking seemed flimsier than ever; a defense against a vulnerability that Kunal was frankly terrible at masking.

Instead of interrupting him with questions about the festivals themselves (which he was still curious about,) he let himself be carried along into Kunal's contemplative tangent. Rather than describing any of the many Gradian festivals in detail, Kunal took to talking about what he obviously remembered the most about them: Bashirah.

He spoke of her with a reverence Jean-Baptiste had never seen from him before. The Zuleidan was simply enthralled by the Gradian's unexpected candor. His eyes were glued to him as he spoke, drinking in the new look on Kunal's face. The sound of his voice. Well, it almost seemed as if he'd become a different person altogether. Jean would never forget it. That glimpse of Kunal beyond his wall.

It was also moments like that where Jean wished he had a sibling to cherish, as Kunal did Bashirah and Kora did Zaara. No, he was alone, except for...

...For a second, he glanced towards the hatch on deck where the others were sleeping (or trying.) Then, when all went silent, he was slightly colder and felt the overwhelming need to fill the empty space with words.

"I find it hard to believe that anyone could ever be disappointed in Bashirah." Jean said, his words emerging gently, almost cautiously, but honestly. "She's the loveliest person there is."

He meant it. Bashirah had always been gracious and kind. He also thought that she was brilliant. It was almost unfair to the rest of the world for someone so beautiful to also be all of that.

"I saw her dance. I mean, I think I did. In a vision. I mean, it seemed real." Jean had practically blurted that part out and felt the immediate need to clarify such a ridiculous claim. Or perhaps it wasn't that ridiculous, considering what all of them had been through. "When we were in Gradius and all was frozen over, we saw her. Or at least an illusion of her. She was a lot younger and she was dancing. Except... it wasn't beautiful or glorious at all. It was sad and frightening, and... she wouldn't stop for anything no matter how hard we tried. She cried and spun and thrashed until her feet left blood everywhere she stepped. It was awful."

He didn't know what possessed him to say all that. He supposed that the experience had shaken him to the core and he wanted to talk about it with someone, anyone. Part of him wanted to believe that it wasn't all true when he knew not so deep down that it had to be. There was an upset stitch in his brow and nary any hint of a sarcastic grin to be found on his face.

"At the time we thought it was all some wicked magic show to keep us lost underground, but... Were things really like that?"

[iamtherealgiz]

x x x x x x x x x ✗ K o r a x Z h a d d a g h

Disappointment started to creep in at the initial harshness of Kunal’s tone, slipping back into the superior airs they had all grown so used to over the course of this journey. However, the lessened bite behind his tone tempered this emotion as she allowed him to find his words, and listened as he slowly shifted from talk of Gradian festivals dwarfing their meager celebrations, to something much more personal.

"The Artisan's Festival. I suppose I... always looked forward to it the most."

The way his words came a bit slower signaled a tonal shift that had her full attention on the Gradian prince. An artisans’ festival sounded so lovely, and while she wanted to ask more, there was something in his tone that told her to listen and let him work through what he was trying to say. Just a little, some of those walls he kept up shifted– enough to try and peak through even if they had a long way to go before they could ever truly crumble. She never disappointed…

Just by the brief light in Kunal’s eyes as he described his sister, Kora’s own mind floated with images of what Bashirah’s dancing must have looked like. The future queen of Gradius was beautiful, elegant, and still, even after everything, a bit of a mystery to her. Not unlike her own sister. She saw that monumental effort and dedication in Bashirah that she had seen in Zaara. She thought of the two of them being queens together, and how their peoples would flourish under individuals who had already given so much. Maybe too much. If things had been different—if she and Zaara had remained close—would their bond have been as strong? She didn’t know. There was no honest answer she was satisfied with. The ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ were all she had to accompany the image of a person she could only really guess the thoughts of in the end. Would Zaara have disappointed her in the end? Would Kora herself be the disappointment? The rising feeling in her throat told her well enough the answer to that question.

The shastan princess had no idea what was going on behind that faraway look Kunal wore on his face, but she thought she saw just a glimpse of genuine warmth there. No– not thought, she knew. It was there. There was a part of her that felt as though she were intruding on something deeply personal where she did not belong. But she also didn’t want to leave this rare moment of earnestness lest it wouldn’t happen again. She couldn’t shake the feeling that both the siblings needed people around them. Unsure of how much worth her own presence could ever contribute to that, she still found herself drawn to the both of them, wanting to reach out. ”Come to one of ours, and we’ll attend yours. Maybe then we can start talking comparisons.”

It was all lovely… and then Jean started to speak.

Her brow furrowed as Jean described the images he’d seen of Bashirah in the ice. A vision? The imagery Jean described brought back ghosts of her seasickness. She thought of the Bashirah she’d seen on the floor of that kitchen in Dradecus, which true to her word, she’d never breathed a word of. Dancing was near to sacred to her own people, but the idea of someone being pushed so far– to feel the need to push themselves so far… ”...Kunal?”

There was no hiding the horror on her face as she looked from Jean and then to the Gradian. The sickness in her throat and stomach didn’t back down as she held her breath and waited for Kunal’s response. She had known things were difficult for them, and that the Gradians were subject to what she genuinely thought were insane levels of pressure, but… As someone nothing was expected of, it was nearly impossible to wrap her mind around what it must have felt like to have perfection expected of everything.





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[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

Nothing but vibrations in the air. That is all it was; that is all there is to the spoken word. And yet…

Like a spider climbing up his neck he felt its presence, its approach. Fear. The fear of being caught, of being seen. And for Kunal, fear only pushed him in one direction.

He was very still, until he wasn’t. Tranquil without peace, jaw locked, eyes forward. There was a quiver upon his lips, hardly there - a phantom in the night.

Kunal snapped suddenly to look at Jean-Baptiste, a wild quality blazing behind his dilated pupils. Expression twisting, animal-like, he did not appear to be of this world. A demon. An angry ghost. His hands like claws gripped the Zuleidian by his collar, lifting his pitiful frame off his feet and slamming him against the railing of the modest ship.

He knows, he knows. No one can know. Silence him forever, or they will all know her shame. YOUR shame.

He pressed Jean-Baptiste into the grains of the wood, leaning his body over the railing as he locked eyes with him, as if he was promising to throw him over the edge (as if that would hardly matter to a fish).

Kunal then became aware of Kora. Some noise. Some action. It was far away, but it was there. His arms shook with tension and effort, and slowly Kunal’s grip on the scruff of Jean-Baptiste’s shirt relaxed. He held the boy, stone silent, for one or two ragged breaths.

He knows, he knows, he kno—

And of course he did. Kora did, too. She had seen him in his room. His kingdom had seen him battered, humiliated, his sickness laid bare. Of course they knew. Of course…

You have no more secrets left to hide.

The realization washed over him and soaked into his skin, saturating his blood and pumping through his heart outward. Everywhere.

He made a strange sound. A whimper, or a moan. Eyes wild but less so, he stepped back from the edge of the ship with Jean-Baptiste in tow.

“Yes,” Kunal answered, very softly. And then he gently set the Zuleidian prince back on his feet. Kunal’s gaze was hollow now, and utterly foreign.

[Rada Han]

When I turned my head, to cry
I had to dry my eye
I saw the tortoise from the sea, bringing you back to me.


Jean did not see it coming. In a series of quick movements that were nothing but a blur, he was in Kunal's immovable grasp like a sheep caught in a lion's jaws, being throttled against the cold, hard railing of the traveling vessel. He was eye-to-eye with a raging beast with his back to the sea.

"What?! What did I--- Kunal!"

He thought that there wasn't a world where he was frightened of the Gradian. He'd all but shrugged off every one of Kunal's tantrums in the past. Even the one where he'd been hit square in the face, but this felt different. Jean didn't know what he'd done to elicit such an attack. He was confused and shocked down to his very bones.

"I was just- agh!" The hard wooden railing dug mercilessly into his back as he was shoved against it. Kunal was so, so strong. Jean-Baptiste had his hands gripping the other man's wrists and could feel the muscles, as solid as steel beams, tensing tightly under his fingers. His green eyes were fixed on Kunal's, wide and frantic, as he struggled in vain against the strength of his hold. Those dark eyes looked as if they were filled with pure hate.

"Ku-Kunal, don't..!"

For a moment, just by the rage he saw in the Gradian's eyes, Jean thought that he might really do it. Throw him overboard to be swallowed up by the vast blackness. For a few beats they stared at each other, with Jean-Baptiste desperately urging Kunal with his eyes to stop the madness.

It was over in moments that felt far longer than they were. After that display of vitriol, it didn't matter how Kunal answered. Jean felt like an absolute fool for thinking that he could have even some vague semblance of camaraderie with Kunal. He hadn't deserved it this time. Not in the least. He was sure of that. Kunal had made his point entirely clear; they could not be friends. Not ever.

Jean felt so foolish. Shaken and angry, he walked away quickly, sorry to leave Kora but eager to put space between himself and the brute. "What the [********] The blonde cursed through a breathless heave as he rushed toward the hatch to the lower decks.

[iamtherealgiz]

x x x x x x x x x ✗ K o r a x Z h a d d a g h

Kora had held out hope and belief that they were reaching common ground– that maybe they had all been through enough together that they could maybe start the slow process of peeling back years of trauma and hardship to become something a little closer to the team they needed to be if they were going to save the rest of their homelands. After a beat of silence where she expected Kunal to say something abrasive and storm off, things started to happen far too quickly for her eyes to follow. One moment, the three of them were standing together, and then the next the Gradian prince had grabbed Jean, dragging him off his feet, and slammed him into the railing. Oh gods, he was killing him. He was going to throw him overboard. Stop, stop, stop, STOP!

Had she screamed? She wasn’t sure. But she was on him in a moment. Heat radiated up her chest and into her throat as her vision tunneled on Kunal’s back. Her hands were balled tight into the fabric of Kunal’s shirt, ready to jump and do anything that was still in her power out here surrounded by all this water to make him drop Jean. With no earth or stones around her, she’d use her teeth and nails if she had to. All logic fled completely in one moment of pure panic and two words screaming in her head… not again.

Before it came to that, Jean’s feet were once again secure on the deck of the boat, and Kunal’s hands were no longer fisted into the collar of his shirt, though Kora’s didn’t budge. Only when Jean was storming away, and out of reach of Kunal did she release the Gradian prince’s shirt, taking a half step back herself. In her mind she recalled the image of him surrounded by the feathers of the destroyed pillows in his chambers. An act of destruction that had harmed no one, truly. But this? She forced her eyes shut briefly, taking in a deep breath that did nothing to calm her. She felt hot, and could tell that she was tense and shaking all over as she opened her eyes again and forced herself to try and make eye contact with him

“Is this your decision then? This is what you want to be?” It likely wasn’t wise to antagonize him further after that display, but the fury she suddenly felt kept the words bubbling up and out of her throat.




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[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

None of it felt real. Not Jean-Baptiste's response, not Kora's biting question; it was a dream, surreal, even as he knew it was not. The severity of what he had done, the sudden onset, echoed in the chambers of his mind. It was something someone else had done. Removed from him. Like some other person inside him, pulling his strings, guiding his hands. Face hot, heart beating, arms numb he stood still with his back to the Shasta girl for a time. One, two, three breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out.

"I... I don't know how to do this," Kunal said drunkenly, as much to himself as to Kora. "I don't know how to be any other way." There was a lofty quality to his voice. Higher pitched than either of them were used to hearing, and raw. Not raw with anger, spite, nor hatred as was common to him, but something else. "They never... I never learned how to be... a person." The boy who looked like a man turned to Kora then, that odd quality in his voice upon his face, too. Not a demon nor a ghost. A child. "I don't know if I can do this." His voice crackled and a shiver passed up the lines of his body. Silent, errant tears welled up in his eyes and fell in languid arcs down his face. "I think... I need help."

Kunal felt ashamed. Ashamed to act like this. Ashamed to be vulnerable, ashamed to be violent. That violence was armor. His armor. It had always protected him, and it protected his sister in turn. He needed it to protect his sister. To protect himself. He did. She did.

Is that why you choked her, Kunal? Why you tried to kill her?

No, not armor. A weapon. A double edged sword. Kunal sat - strangely carefully - against the side of the ship as the gravity of what he had done to Bashirah hit him once again. The only good thing in his miserable, useless life.

"I need help."

[Ariiadne]

вαṡhïɾαh❁
『 ℘rincess oƒ GRADIUS 』

Somewhere, below deck, a princess hugged a bucket she did not remember finding in a cobwebbed, mildewed corner. It was difficult vomiting secretly, she mused, all the while strings of spit and bile dangled from her lips. She could hear the choppy waters slapping against the hull. It was as if these unnatural desert waters, young and restless, were still gauging their own strength. A child playing with a toy it did not yet know it could break.

She had heard of seasickness before, but to the Gradian, it was no more than fable. And why would she ever expect herself to fall victim to it? Surely others were already prone to dizzy spells or perhaps possessed a weak stomach. As many steps she had taken down from her high horse, Bashirah was still only ever convinced that those grips of panic were her only weakness.

The lessons were many. She wiped the water from her eyes and the snot from her nose. Not an unfamiliar practice, but rather a very different set of circumstances.

Another heave, but the patter of approaching footsteps found her swallowing that which had fought its way up. Curling tighter into herself, Bashirah did not even breathe, waiting for them to pass.

[Rada Han]

When I turned my head, to cry
I had to dry my eye
I saw the tortoise from the sea, bringing you back to me.


Between the adrenaline running through him and the sharp, regrettable pangs of both anger and hurt, Jean-Baptiste was reeling. He went below deck muttering hotly to himself.

"How dare he put his hands on me? That's the last time I ever attempt to get along with him. I was a fool to ever try..."

The latter was hard to admit, but Jean-Baptiste was convinced that not a bit of it was his fault. At least not that time. He had tried to bridge the gap between them, taken the first steps, tasted what he thought was some inkling of success, only to be wrangled against his will against the edge of the boat. The sting of rejection was something Jean never thought he would feel from Kunal, and yet there he was, openly cursing him with legitimate rage. The pink lash of color across his face betrayed every one of his feelings.

"Putain!" The man hissed under his breath. He kicked a barrel in his frustration.

Compared to the outside, the air below deck was thick and dank with the presence of so many others. The sour smell of waste didn't come as any surprise to Jean, nor was it something that he wasn't used to smelling, however unpleasant it was. Being on a boat was one of the more ordinary experiences of their journey for him.

There were very few places on the glorified ketch for anyone to hide, so it shouldn't have come to anyone's surprise that Jean's attention was caught by something glittering in the shadows of a dark, solemn corner.

He wouldn't have noticed her if she didn't look so entirely out of place, like a jewel lying on a heap of scrap.

"Who's there? Bashirah..?"

Without pause, he approached, and at once all anger melted away from his features. The prince crouched across from her, keeping his distance while he looked on with concern. "Are you alright?" Clearly not. He'd seen that same look before on the faces of so many others.


Quietly, he spoke to her. "You're seasick, aren't you? Well, that's understandable. Don't expect you've been on many boats before. Bijoux said that she was a decent cook, so she might have something around here that can help you. Wait here."

The Zuleidan didn't wait for an answer or any reply at all, verbal or otherwise. He was off on a new mission for someone decent, who actually deserved all the kindness he could offer. He didn't travel far to find what he was looking for (it was impossible to, anyway.) Guided by his nose, he found a small knob of ginger root in the stores near several other provisions and returned with haste with it in one hand and a dull paring knife in the other.

"This'll help calm your stomach. Old sailor's trick. You won't find a Zuleidan ship without it." Jean sat where he had been before, a proper distance away from Bashirah, and took a moment to peel and slice off a sliver of the pungent ginger root, which he in turn proffered to her. "You chew on it."

[iamtherealgiz]

x x x x x x x x x ✗ K o r a x Z h a d d a g h

The anger coiling in Kora’s stomach generated a sick heat that reached every corner of her small frame as her wine red eyes bored holes into the back of Kunal’s shirt. Would he try to throw her overboard too? Let him try it. She was done seeing harm come to her family. But as the first broken notes of his voice reached her, she stilled, and she became aware of the almost piercing of her nails into the palms of her hands. The chopping and crashing of the water against the side of the boat were nothing compared to the sound of the man’s voice, no… the boy….

It was a boy who finally turned to face her, and to her shock, let tears start to fall down his face. Rage still boiled inside the tiny princess, but its borders started to close in around it. She took a deep breath of her own. Empathy and anger not exactly coexisting peacefully inside her, but she let herself look him in the eye and really hear what he was saying.

Kora took a slow step and let herself lean back against the railing beside him. This time she took several long moments to stare at the deck of the boat ahead of her, needing to sort and calm her thoughts before she spoke. “You need help…” she repeated slowly. Even through the haze of her anger, there was a bitter heartbreaking quality in that final plea. “But do you want it? Is it something you’ll accept?”

”You still haven’t told me what you want. But I’m not the one who needs to know that— it’s you. And it’s okay if you don’t know all the facets of that right now.” Part of her couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a hypocrite as she spoke. There was still so much she didn’t know or understand— so much she was afraid of.

The hard edge of her voice had continued to soften as she spoke. And her eyes found the prince beside her again. ”I don’t know if any of us are equipped to help you, but I want to try.”




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[Ariiadne]

вαṡhïɾαh❁
『 ℘rincess oƒ GRADIUS 』

Bashirah did not know why she thought she could hide on her own. It was never her but Kunal that found her safe places and kept guard. But she could not, in good conscience, demand his time for this, either. She would not subject him to the sounds, the smells. Jealousy stirred there, too. Why her and not him? How is one twin affected but not the other? Her faults showed in multitudes. And he always knew. None of his secrets, his fears had been shared with her. She observed no real weakness on this journey apart from when he became blinded in Laelie. And that was out of his control.

With a wince she wilted into the mouth of her bucket as Jean spoke, left, and reappeared. Eyes, still damp from tears of exertion, could not hold his. This would be the second time one of her companions found her in such a pathetic state. It seemed the universe would not stop until each one had their own special moment to see her like this. What more creative ways would it find to humiliate her? Wasn't Gradius enough? At least, for now?

The idea of tasting anything triggered a reflexive gag. She slapped a hand across her mouth, mortified. But, after fighting back more bile, Bashirah sent Jean another glance before snatching the piece of ginger from his grasp.

"Tell no one," she managed, voice deep and dripping in discomfort. The taste of ginger was not new to her, though she mostly enjoyed it as tea. In its raw form, the flavor kicked her in the teeth and fizzled into her sinuses. Slowly, its juices made their way into her stomach, and -- surprisingly -- calmed it.

Bashirah took a deep, weary breath. Her shoulders sagged both out of relief and defeat. Head resting against her bicep, she finally dragged her gaze to meet his, brown eyes studying him for a long moment. "... Thank you."

It was genuine, but coated with a film of shame just as thick as the one at the bottom of the bucket.