solmate | open post

(ooc: continued from here)

[ Alina's exasperation petulance is only a touch exaggerated as she pulls a face at him. Of course she's immeasurably thankful to have found a friendly face, so much so that she chooses to take his arm without argument to stroll back through the market. ]

Do you ever worry that the king's crown might not fit if you let your head get too large?

[ Well. Mostly without argument. Although the quip had come faster than she could really think, and the reality of three years difference causes her face to pale with the thought of what might have changed. She had left just on the cusp of something, and for all she knows the Darkling rules rather than a Lantsov. ]

I was worried about what might have happened to you. [ Her words are soft and genuine. She pauses, looking at him sidelong, searching for any indication of a change in a reaction in him even if she knows he wears his mask well. He isn't totally free from an interrogation, but the banter is a comforting balm for her as much as him, even if she won't admit it. ] I suppose I am glad to see you came out unscathed, ego included.

The afterlife is louder than I'd imagined.

( there's a rare tint of amusement to the words, despite the way he holds himself back from her. as though uncertain of what to make of this display.

and, rightly so. the last time they'd seen each other she had been trying to kill him — had come close enough to succeed that he had spent those first, frantic days journey believing he was truly dead. )

I'm almost disappointed.

[ cont. ]

if it wasn't you it'd be someone else.
people love to talk about the sun summoner. there's no beating it.
they've been doing it since i showed up.
and nothing i do is going to change that.

[ cont. ]

among other things.
you sound very confident that i do.

[ she does but she can't TELL him that. ]

can i have a hint.

[ from here ]

knowing that everyone's watching me? knowing that you're watching me?
it's somewhere between performing in the sankt nikolaus pageant and what i imagine it would feel like posing nude for the queen's life drawing class in the palace gardens.

[ from here ]

without vegetables, agreed. i don't think you need them.

[ She writes as if she's an expert sext-er and not awkwardly fumbling through this, unused to being seen in such a way. maybe it's time to forge her own path instead of the one charted out for her though. ]

that's a good start. my mind always wanders when i'm on the cusp of sleep. it's harder to remember why you shouldn't want certain things.

[ cont. ]

[ Alina has the distinct feeling that she is in danger. But that's never stopped her before and she isn't about to let it now. ]

Unfortunately I've left all my blessings in my chambers.
Somewhere along the way I got soft.
Warming stones and silk sheets aren't necessities but that doesn't mean I'd say no to them.

Is that a promise?
I should have figured you'd like the hunt.

Edited 2021-06-26 21:16 (UTC)

[ cont. ]

I didn't know you concerned yourself with the petty affairs of who's exiting whose chambers, but I'll be sure to find something extra scandalous for you to carry with you.

The boat to Novyi Zem is overcrowded. Cramped and damp, with the miserable murmur of voices from every corner as a dull susurration accompanying them night and day. The tenor changes along with the sea; panicked scatterings of prayer when the waters are rough, pattering, easy conversations when waters are calm.

Their trio of companions make themselves at home one way or another. There are days when Mal joins Jesper to gamble on the deck, or observes Kaz making a circuit of the deck, or climbs up into the rigging alongside the sailors. The restless prickle of anxiety he'd carried out of the darkness with him has settled, grown muted in the course of their crossing; there is only so much planning to be done aboard this ship.

It still circles at the edges of their conversation. A snippet of when we disembark— or we must be sure to—

But there is not yet conversation tonight.

There is the two of them, tucked close on deck. The sea is choppy, and their cloaks are damp, and Mal stands very close to her, arms bracketing her to keep Alina steady as the boat plows forward towards the uncertain future they've chosen for themselves.

"Are you tired?" is an idle question, perhaps not worth breaking the quiet over. "It should be safe to go down. Madame Apolena should be asleep by now, so we won't hear of her bad knees and neglectful sons."

( continued from. )

Alina looks somewhere between a drowned cat and a furious rusalka, dark hair plastered against her skin, and he feels a vicious satisfaction at having reduced her to his level of embarrassment. One must relish the little things.

That smugness is banished quickly, however, as she lunges forward and locks her fingers around his throat — and yet there’s an unexpected flicker of pleasure at it, her thumb pressed against his larynx and pinching his airways, and he finds that he likes it. The sting, that crystalline little burst of pain, her hands on him no matter the context. But then, too quick, Alina’s moved away.

What is wrong with you, she demands, and he retreats back into his own corner of the communal bath. (A sullen sea serpent, slithering away.) His gaze lingers and trawls down what he can see of her body above the water, because he’s an asshole.

“How are your Grisha abilities here?” Aleksander asks, instead of answering directly. “What are your capabilities? I’ve tested mine. They’re not what they once were.”

He can’t tap into that ink-deep reservoir anymore, those centuries of strength. He hasn’t been certain if his amplification still worked — he hasn’t let anyone close enough to try, no experiments done with a local mage — but it doesn’t seem to be there.

no subject

night garden

sunsoldier i cry every time

no subject

tfln cont

tfln cont.

@ my personal thirst

@whisperedshadow tfln

1/2

2/2

tfln cont.

bath time tantrums