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

Kora thought she’d chosen her words poorly with the way he repeated that word. Kindness. It wasn’t a word usually reserved for Gradans, but in her gut, she felt that maybe, just maybe, it was still right. And as he heaved a miserable sound, she didn’t think he could crumble more than he already had. There were depths to his misery she was being allowed glimpses of. It was more than could be truly understood in a conversation. Maybe it was more than anyone else had been allowed to see before. Was she the right person to be seeing and hearing all of this? She absolutely did not think so. But she wanted to try her best and honor this brief trust in being allowed here in this moment with him.

”Oh, Kora, oh... Oh, I cannot continue this way. I cannot. Bashirah was cursed with me. Cursed."

Kora’s brow had pulled together into a series of knots as she listened, never taking her eyes off of the prince. She had never been either a curse or a blessing to Zaara. At the end, she had simply been someone occasionally in the same space, desperate for a connection. No matter the kind. Just to have her near.

"I want her to live.”

It was a flex of her fingers at first— cautious and unsure. But once the decision was made, there was no more hesitation. It was a soft gesture where she reached out and put her hand over his, but the clasping of her fingers around his was firm. Maybe he would disappoint her. Maybe she was wrong in reaching out. Maybe he really was everything he and everyone else thought he was. Maybe… Kora was exhausted with the ifs and maybes. She would rather try. She would rather know.

“You want her to live.”She repeated, her grasp on Kunal’s hand tightening to punctuate that last oh so important word. “And there it is. Isn’t it? Even… if it’s not who you think you are now. It’s who you want to be?”

“You say you’re cursed. You say you’re terrible. But… look how it crushes you. Even if you truly believe those things to be true, that other fact alone means they are not your only truths. The heart of who you are and how you want to live… it can be complicated… and messy. And… it’s not a story that’s over. Not yet.”



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[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

Gentle, fierce Kora, Kunal thought as she spoke, eyes glued to every stitch and arch of her features. Her wine colored irises, her heart-shaped face, the soft, sweeping jawline. That she could spend such dulcet sentiments on him, minutes after scrambling up his backside like an angry cat... Kora was more than he had ever cared to acknowledge, and in such a state he found it odd how much he noticed about her. The world felt paused, waiting, to give him time. The both of them.

Not the one they are waiting for...

"People do not always know what they wait for," He said, his reply disconnected outwardly from what the princess had just spoken. Internally, it flowed in a perfect line of - logic? No, emotion - in his mind. Kunal did not wonder if she could follow. "Sometimes, we do not know what we need, and I think... it is seldom what we expect." There was a sage wisdom to his tone that had never saturated his words before, but in this dreamy, heart-drunk, self-shattering exchange, it all made perfect sense. "You will be worth the wait. I know it. I know it..."

His voice faded away in a tired, assured whisper. Kunal felt the weight of her hand on his, and for once the touch of another did not repulse him. Warm, connecting... he had never experienced such a sensation with anyone save Bashirah. He knew he should slap her hand away from his, or at least he would have, in any other circumstance. But now... now, what did it matter? Kunal understood without thought that Kora saw him at his lowest, twice or thrice over, second only to his sister - his hands clinging to her throat.

Complicated. Messy. And the story was not over.

"Yes, I know it."

[iamtherealgiz]

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

’You will be worth the wait.'

Kora fixed him with a puzzled look, even as something in her chest pulled tight at those six little words. A response to something she had felt in her heart for some time now, but not one she had ever even remotely conceived to be a possible outcome. Part of her welled up in protest– an instinct to protect herself from a truly foolish hope before it could take root in her mind. He had no idea what things were like in Shazgard, what her life had been like, how she had always been perceived… and the deep care that had been taken to remind her of that. But… at the same time… Her mouth pressed together tight in a firm line as heat welled up in her throat, briefly stealing her voice away from her. It would be… so nice if that could be true. And maybe, in this dream of a conversation between them, it could be– for just a moment. Enough to lay a seed in inhospitable earth to see what might happen.

“You should apologize to Jean,” she managed a beat later, clearing her throat. “And… Thank you. For everything you’ve said. I know… I know it’s not easy.”

“... however, if you raise your hands to Jean again…” she let her voice trail off, not quite sure what words to apply to that truth inside her. Her tone was still soft, but there was something firm and sure behind it. Any shake to her voice was forgotten with those last few words. Not a threat or an accusation, but a promise all the same. While she had no idea what would ever be within her power, she knew all of it would be dedicated to protecting Jean if something like what had happened earlier came to pass again.

It was an undeniable fact that both the Gradian twins were beautiful. But to her it had always been in the way a tomb can be beautiful. All that care and dedication poured into every perfect arch and curve. But ultimately it was cold and unchanging— not a place to house the warmth of life. Seeing them depicted in the art of other countries always reminded her why her people scattered the ashes of their dead instead of imprisoning them in stone. Now however, with that strangely soft look, eyes bloodshot and the remnants of tears still staining his skin– this was the first time in all the time they’d been traveling together that she genuinely found him handsome. Flushed and alive, and truly present beside her– and somehow still letting her hold his hand.

Looking up at Kunal– at this new expression that she’d never seen before, she did find hope as well. Hope and a desire to genuinely call him ‘friend’ one day. That feeling felt just like another promise– just as intense, but so much more fragile. She wanted to see a mosaic of expressions and emotions on that handsome face. She wanted that for Bashirah too. That would be something truly worth the wait.



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[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

Like the dusting of fine earth, Kora's words settled upon Kunal.

While some aspect of his ego recoiled at the thought of apology, he understood her wisdom. Kunal had done something wrong - a lesson he seemed in perpetual learning of. There was only one way to rectify such misdeeds, and even that was not a sure thing. Jean-Baptiste had not... He knew not what he did; Kunal, for his part, knew neither. Instinct. Reaction. Survival. Honor was above life; reputation was above life; to tarnish one's Perfection was to die. That was the only lesson. That was all his father ever taught him, what his mother reinforced. He wondered, momentarily, what Eston's life in the commons taught him, and then the thought disappeared.

Focusing on Kora, Kunal's gaze sharpened. Narrowed. This, he understood. The threat. The promise. Violence as payment; violence as salve and savior. A bristling sensation waded over him, the pressure of his blood rising, and he sat up from where he rested against the railing. His hand withdrew from Kora, languid but intentional. Kunal peered back at her and witnessed the resolution in Kora's eyes.

She had lost a sister; she would not lose a brother.

Yes. This, he understood. The threat. The promise. The warning. Jean-Baptiste was under her protection, as Bashirah was under his... and he, under hers.

There was a dangerous, happy glimmer behind his eyes. He nodded his affirmation to the princess. Kunal had received the message.

"I will remember that."

[Ariiadne]

вαṡhïɾαh❁
『 ℘rincess oƒ GRADIUS 』

An awkward dance played out between Bashirah and Jean as the former tried to pass the latter. But such sudden movements on a boat that still rocked was still too much for the seasick royal; the ginger could only do so much. Her stomach remained settled but her brain swam wildly. The vertigo won. She fell back onto her bottom, the slosh of the slop in the bucket only barely remaining within. Regardless, she persisted.

"You will take me to him, Jean-Baptiste," she stated with as much strength as she could muster. Her tone, however, was not unkind. "You will, and you very well know why."

[SheIsCursedTea]

𝐸𝓁𝓎𝒶 𝑀𝑒𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇

My 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓈 surround me like Lions in a den

"Deep breath, cher."

Elya hardly heard the words that were spoken to her. Everything felt hazy and a little like she was wading through thick mud. But everything came back into a sudden, sharp focus when she felt someone's hands on her, pulling her hair back out of her face.

When Elya whipped around, hand closing over Samedi's wrist tightly, her eyes were wide and wild, her face was pallid and she looked like a cornered animal, ready to make its final attempt to flee from death. Her breath cleaved in and out of her chest, still struggling to properly take root in her lungs.

"Swish and spit first, then drink,"

Her eyes darted to the canteen and then back to Samedi's face, the words washing over her unheard. In response, her grip on Samedi's wrist tightened, but there was a shake to her entire body that showed she was one move away from breaking. Darkness began blurring the edge of her vision, and with her free hand, she clutched desperately at thin air for her staff.

"Ya gon' be alright."

Finally, the words being spoken to her pierced her consciousness. In a swift motion, Elya released Samedi and scrambled backward, a tortured laugh dragging through her lips.

"Alright? Alright! What part of any of this is alright?!"

She attempted to push herself up to her feet, but her legs just gave way again under her body, and breathing was becoming painful. A noise halfway between a laugh and a sob broke through and her cheeks were wet with tears she hadn't realised she was shedding.

'She didn’t know how long she stood there beating into the carcass of the fish. Her kicks had turned to punches, a fury welling up from somewhere deep inside of her chest until it exploded out. She was powerless against its onslaught. Her fists hit the rotting flesh again and again sending viscera flying around her, covering her hands, her arm, her damp face.'

She was falling apart, crushed under the weight of her responsibilities, beneath the mountain of her failures. She couldn't breathe.

"I can't breathe ..."

And I feel like I’m 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 with what I am again

[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's sea legs weren't entirely out of order, honestly. As the boat swayed with the rocking of the water, it wasn't the waves that took him out. It was the insolent elf knight Elya who shoved past him that put him on his a** at precisely the same time as Bashirah. Had she shoved the princess too? It was hard to tell in the cramped space, but he was sure that Elya was rotten enough to do such a thing.

"Hey!!!" What was her problem? If he had to guess, he'd have said that it was yet another landsman running to upchuck off the side of the boat. Well, she didn't have to be so rude about it even if Bashirah did take the last available bucket.

"Ack!"

The two of them both hit the deck in unison, and subsequently scrambled back to their feet at the same time too, almost as if the whole ordeal was choreographed to the second.

He was about to ask if she was alright, even opening his mouth to do so, but she beat him with her own point. Bashirah, always straight to the point. No ******** around. He appreciated that about her, although it seemed that her bluntness always hit him where it hurt. The order that was issued from her lips caused Jean-Baptiste to tilt his head with regret. A sigh huffed from his pink-flushed nose. "Do I have to?" He pouted, feeling a lot like a schoolboy in trouble with his teacher, knowing that fighting was futile.

As he looked into her sickly face framed with a mass of frazzled black locks, and the weary, yet ever unyielding look in her dark eyes, Jean-Baptiste cursed under his breath. The way his name left her lips sounded too pleasant to his ears. There wasn't a world where he'd have said 'no' to her. In fact, he wasn't sure if he was even capable of it anymore. For Goddess' sake, he wasn't one of her subjects! And yet... He yielded, but not without a visible slump and heavy groan. "Fiiine."

Then straightening up, with his best bad impression of a royal attendant, he stretched his arm out towards the narrow, rusty ladder with a sardonic grin. "Right this way. I'll be following right behind to catch you if you fall again, your, heh... grace."

[Professor-Zeitgeist]

Ƀΐʝɸυӿ ☠ Șᾰɱєɗΐ

Samedi doesn't flinch when lithe, strong fingers close around her wrist. She gets the feeling that this is less of a threat, in spite of appearances, and more the act of a sailor clinging to the mast of a sinking ship, trying desperately not to drown. The anger she sees is a life preserver.

And then, suddenly, it isn't enough. A pained furrow comes onto her brow when Elya lashes out, stumbles back, crumples to the deck, bowled over by the wave of emotion that crashes over the deck of her ship. Ordinarily she would back off, give some space, but that doesn't sit right with her. What this girl needs is a hand. She can slap it away if she so chooses, but Samedi knows she has to try.

"When did I say t'ings are alright?" she asks as she approaches. One footfall, then another, then she's crouching down in front of Elya. She leaves a measure of distance, for the girl's sake. "I said they gon' be alright. Not now, not dis second, but they will be. You will be."

Samedi shifts, her jewelry jingling softly as she sits cross-legged on the sand-worn deck of her ship. "Ya don' 'ave to like me, cher, but listen." Her voice is settling into that low, smooth tone again, warm, silken sand and tea sweetened with honey. She's trying to help. "Deep breath, much as you can manage. It don' 'ave to be much. Keep it in ya lungs until it starts ta ache. Den let it go."

[K33LA]

In the rippling, murky depths, in the strange, stagnant world of water... she moved. A lurking predator, or a helpful guide? It was not for anyone to tell but her. Like some great ray, she billowed beneath the boat, unfurling and undulating like a flower. Her robes rippled, back and forth, to and fro, as she snaked along - all the while inhaling, drinking in, their scent. The lot of them. Every royal, every guard, every follower, she had come to know each in her own, unique way. It was in her best interest, after all.

Her laugh bubbled like the song of a whale, arcing outward in that ethereal way water carried a tune. The turmoil was delicious. Their pain, their pleasure, their joy, their sorrow. She loved it all, as the ocean waves could nurture or destroy. Most of all she felt a single member among them. The stink of blood. The scent of death, of corruption. Blindness.

She lusted for those unseeing eyes, though her lust was... detached. Incomprehensible to most; perfectly sensible to her. She was neither heaven nor hellfire, nor of this earth. Not entirely. She would leave that to those who oversaw one or the other. She simply was. Everchanging. Beautiful. Terrifying. Frigid. Longing and pining and full of romance and depth.

She tickled the butt of the boat, she flittered around it, but she dare not splash above the surface of this foreign, salty river. It was not her place, above the waves. Not in this moment, at least. She would bide her time. An eel, waiting to strike; an anemone protecting her symbiotic clown.

She would wait and wait and wait and wait, until the moment was right. Time was of the essence.

[iamtherealgiz]

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

And just like that, the magic of the moment was gone. When he pulled his hand from hers, she felt the absence more acutely than the actual warmth and pressure when it had still been there. The glimpse of the almost boyishly handsome prince had slipped away– replaced by a hard look that was much more familiar to her. But… perhaps it was not so familiar. She couldn’t quite place it, but something it did still feel different. How much of that was genuine, or some bias invented by the strange intimacy created by this conversation, she couldn’t say. She wanted to believe she was right. How would Kunal have reacted to her before? Would he have scoffed? Talked down to her? There was a respect in the way he acknowledged her in this moment, and that alone felt like a step towards… something. She nodded back to him from where she still sat with her back against the side of the boat. “Thank you.”

“And… I’ll remember too. All of this. I think…” she paused, unsure if it was wise to put her voice to sentiments that might not be so readily received. “I want to call you a friend. One day. If you’ll allow it.”




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[Ariiadne]

вαṡhïɾαh❁
『 ℘rincess oƒ GRADIUS 』

Precariously setting the bucket on the ground, Bashirah stood up a little too quickly and stumbled. She caught herself on a nearby beam and doubted she could make it to the ladder in a straight line. So, as Jean held his theatrical pose, she took the opportunity to reach to his nearest shoulder. With a few absent -- or, maybe, delirious -- pats to the prince's head, Bashirah climbed to his outstretched arm and ran its length, her hand loath to leave his as she stretched across the final gap. The ship lurched against another large wave and pushed her the rest of the way.

Bashirah shook off the impact and dutifully began to ascend. She had tunnel vision for the remainder of her journey, barely registering anything or anyone else until she had set sights upon Kunal. The situation, however, was not as sticky as Jean implied. Kunal and Kora merely stood side-by-side and spoke. Her expression scrunched in discomfort and confusion. The energy was... strange. Finally she saw fit to clear her throat and do her best not-seasick impression.

"I... I heard a commotion. Is everything alright up here?"

[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 would become a handsome fixture of the ship for Bashirah to cling to as the waves tossed the boat about, on her way to the ladder. He wouldn't complain about how terrible she smelled, or the fact that there was probably vomit on her hands that was now in his hair, no matter how disgusting it was. This would become his life for the moment, and he found himself strangely content with it. There were worse things in life than being the railing on a boat for a princess to cling to. He would be the best railing there ever was. He'd dedicate his life to service. Jean-Baptiste was sturdy as Bashirah used him to steady herself on her arduous path to the ladder. He was happy to let her use his body in any way she wished, even if it meant having the contents of her stomach smeared on his clothes.

"Careful, take your time, princess!" He said, glad that his experience made it easy to keep balance on a swaying ship. It took everything in his power not to erupt into a fit of giggles at the poor princess clumsily navigating her way. He so wanted to poke further fun at her. "You don't have to move so fast."

And after she finally let go of him and he was relieved of his duty, Jean-Baptiste watched her ascend the steps and wondered if he could really catch her if she actually did fall. His lips were set in a crooked line as he watched her go while he floated the decision of whether to follow her or not.

Frankly? He could have gone a very long time before seeing her brother again, and he was sure that Kunal felt the same way. Even though the thought of staying as far away as possible from him was tempting, the alternative was staying below deck with no one to talk to except himself and a bucket of upchuck. He really did want to be on hand in any case Kora or Bashirah needed him. He would probably be needed... Eventually. Maybe.

While Jean-Baptiste had no desire to 'be a man' as they say, he considered them friends. And friends stood by each other.

"Damn it. Sometimes I hate how kind I am." The prince muttered as he went on to ascend the ladder after Bashirah had gone.

He returned to the fresh air and was not quite refreshed nor comforted by it. Jean-Baptiste spared a glance towards an oddly calm and regal-looking Kora, but avoided Kunal. Quietly, the Zuleidan placed himself at the rails just as he'd done before Kunal's assault of him, some steps behind Bashirah and out of the way of any further wrath. With his eyes toward the water and his ears keen on hearing the other royals, Jean stood by for support.

[t o d a y YESTERDAY]

█████████████████████████

ADELE MARIE VANADIS

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xxxxxxAdele perched atop the main mast, her figure hidden to those below by the canvas of the sails- or so she hoped. She had needed to be away from the others. Or as far away as one could get on a boat that could barely hold the small group that had decided to risk the sea. The gentle sway of the ship beneath her offered a comforting rhythm as she stared up at the twinkling stars, each one a reminder of the vastness of the world and the weight of her responsibilities.

For a moment, she left herself think back to that sailor boy from her younger years who had taught her the names of the constellations that he had used to navigate, his kind smile and gentle demeanor a stark contrast to the harsh realities of the world she had found herself in. He had been a beacon of hope through out a period of grueling training, a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, there was still beauty to be found. But, him, like everyone else they had known back home were likely dead.

After what they had seen in the other kingdoms, Adele was under no false notions that Zuleidi had simply just been reclaimed by the sea. Who knew what matter of beasts or monsters had descended upon their people as soon as the waves had overcome the castle walls. With the water as high as it was even below them now, who knew what lurked underneath their boat at that very moment. As they continued on with their journey, a part of her felt as if they were simply rushing towards a funeral.

She was aware of voices below her but she tuned out the words, only paying enough attention to ensure that there were no sudden drastic changes in tone that hinted at any serious emergencies. At one point she had thought she had heard a scuffle, the familiar tone of Jean and Kora cutting through. Her body had tensed then, instinctively wanting to jump down but she hesitated and internally weighed if their distress might be so significant as to want her help.

The death of Zaara still weighed heavily between them all. While Kora had not said as much, Adele knew that Jean still saw her as the cause of it. It was a heavy burden to bear, knowing that the one person she was meant to protect now saw her as the enemy. She could feel the weight of the guilt pressing down on her chest at all times, as if it were a living thing trying to crush her. But Adele couldn't blame him for his anger. She knew that she had failed them all, and no amount of regret could change that fact.

Her breathing had stilled as she had waited for more yelling or any other sign that she would have to push through the overbearing anxiety of actually looking her charge in the eye, but whatever noises that had been soon melted back into the wind coming off of the water hinting that the issue had resolved itself. She let out a steadying breath, knowing it was selfish, but grateful to not have to leave her perch.

She tried to focus her thoughts back to finding the different star clusters and reminding herself of the story behind each one, while the sounds of the ship and the sea faded into the background. She tried to push aside the memories from Gradius, to focus on the present moment, but it was no use. The past haunted her every thought, a constant reminder of her failures.


I'll hold on to this.
So, open up unclench your fists.
We'll sing, look through this bliss.
But this time don't you dare feel missed.

[K33LA]

Kunal Sa'ir Mahapatra

I want to call you a friend. One day. If you'll allow it.

The indigo sky - lush as she was inky dark, decorated with her evening finery - felt expansive and endless above him, as if it might swallow him body and soul if the air did not press him to the earth. Or maybe it was the stone and the rock that hugged them tight - Gradians and all other peoples alike - so they would not float off into that great, glittering abyss.

Kunal blinked languidly in response to Kora's words, but at first he could only stare upward. Those words he could hardly understand. Words he... was not sure had ever been spoken in his presence. Not in earnest.

And what was a friend besides some device, some arbitrary label, applied to the heroes in Gradian epics? He might have laughed or raged or ignored her statement had it not so thoroughly caught him unguarded. There was no sense in it; even if there were, why ever would she desire so cumbersome a... one such such as him?

"I want," Kunal began, his voice an unsure, dreamy rumble, but wherever his lips would have taken him, he never knew. Bashirah's cool, even voice cut across the deck - gentle and clear, firm, the commanding, well-trained voice of a Gradian princess. Every eye within her radius glued to her, and Kunal's most of all. He went rigid and pale, his expression that of a little boy caught in the midst of something shameful. Quickly his gaze flicked to Jean, then back to Kora, and he rose to his feet as a veil of serenity shrouded him. Kunal tempered his panic and stood as fluidly as he could so as not to advertise his embarrassment, his self-imposed guilt. He suddenly felt very wrong for confiding in Kora; that part of him - the part he had kept even from his sister - did not belong to the Shastan princess. It should have been Bashirah's, only. Clearing his throat Kunal answered her inquiry.

"Everything is fine," he informed her. Kunal peered at Jean-Baptiste again briefly, his face heating, and he was grateful his complexion did not betray him. He took a step forward before he abruptly stopped, cutting himself off with a sigh and a downcast expression. "I simply-- " Kunal's eyes met Bashirah's - two matching pairs of irises, dark and clear - and he knew there was no point to his lies. How could anything ever be fine again? "No. It is not fine. I am... not." His expression slackened, his rigid brow now relaxed and pliable, and the corners of his mouth sagged. It was nearly funny, he mused, that he would hide behind his airs even now. There was no use pretending anymore. Everyone already knew he was not fine. "I am tired, sister... I must rest now. Let us rest now."

It was more question than statement - barely short of a plea asking for her leave. Kunal moved past Bashirah then, though he would not brush her aside if she sought to stop him. He kept his focus firmly ahead, unable to look upon Jean-Baptiste who perched against the railing.

[SheIsCursedTea]

𝐸𝓁𝓎𝒶 𝑀𝑒𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇

My 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓈 surround me like Lions in a den

"I said they gon' be alright. Not now, not dis second, but they will be. You will be."

Elya's gaze flitted up to Samedi's, eyes meeting eyes. For the first time in she didn't know how long, she paused. She couldn't explain why those words touched her when none had before it. As Samedi continued to speak, Elya tried to follow her instructions.

The first breath she drew in was short and shallow, and her lungs began burning straight away. But, as instructed, she tried again. The first few breaths were much the same as the first, but finally, after what felt like several long minutes had passed, she pulled in a breath and felt her lungs expand just a little more.

Elya continued to breathe, eyes never leaving Samedi, almost as if the woman was now grounding her. She almost felt like if she looked away in this moment, all her hard work would be for nothing and she would break apart again.

Time continued to pass, and Elya continued to just breathe, each breath finally starting to feel easier than the one before it.

A cool breeze passed over her skin and Elya shuddered violently, feeling the sweat on her body cooling. Her face was sticky with tears, her throat ached and her muscles groaned in protest as another sudden ran through her.

"I ...." Her voice cracked and broke. She coughed and tried again. "Thank ... you ..."

And I feel like I’m 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 with what I am again