[ P ] She'll drink from his cup

she has little innocent demons inside her eyes—

Daylight was a dream, a far reach. There were cracks in the walls and foundation that light would trickle in from, teasing the souls that were locked up in the confines of a deep and dark Jacobite jail- or rather: pit, crowded hole, barbaric abyss of dirt and rot. Battered and bruised were the other tenants of their new home, they were no longer members of the Imperial Army: that mattered not, for the second they were all placed in this pig's pen they were prisoners of war.

Too many familiar faces- or, rather, voices- were picked apart and sorted out by her in her head. Her head, how it fucking ached. There would be moments of panic, confusion, anger, and rarely: silence. However, none of voices belonged to her brother's or father- and that was all she cared about. She could hear one that made her wish her own ear drums were dug out from her skull, and it belonged to one that she would have never guessed to have landed in here. Illaria. And if she was here it would mean two things: she wasnt with Nalik, and she also wasn't with Nalik. Her father, hopefully, made it out unscathed and if not, sought the proper attentions needed to take care of himself. However, this also meant if her father made any attempts at a bargain or rescue attempt, he'd likely come for his only daughter and Illaria. That thought alone made her want to chew her way through the rock floor she was sitting on, and now until her teeth were ground and gums were bleeding.

It was that thought that kept herself tied to a darker corner that put her between the cell walls and the bars that kept them locked in. She wanted nothing to do with that woman, nor anyone else that was stuck in here. There was but one man she'd spend her breaths on- White Timber: a beast well worth provoking if it meant his rage could find them a way out of here. Though, with his current state of physical being, she wasn't sure how useful an aching giant would truly be.

She was left alone, to sit in her mistake and seeth at the wounds that she was ever impatient to see heal and disappear under the fibers of her coat.

"the venom"

—and they recklessly play with matches

code // art

Noctis


Lévesque

It was no secret that the Jacobians had been victorious. Successfully driven back interlopers from the south and kept their foothold upon fae touched lands. And with it had taken the fallen into their clutches, just as others had done before them. Strategies of war. Prevent those freshly scorned beasts from rising in coming battles, gather information from loosened lips… at least if cell doors could hold them that long. All creatures could be slippery things while others gave in, became desperate for any means of gaining their freedom.

But who of the caged could be bargained with? Which of those fine soldiers had been taken? Which of them had not fled when they grew weary and remained until they had no resistance left? How many fools were now left battered and broken in a derelict cell? Questions which teased at a haunted mind, brought lips to turn at the edges as thoughts swirled over endedless possibilities. Of the very opportunities in store for not only he but the soul his sights may set upon.

Entering the fortress was easy enough when he held an in - a guard he’d dealt business with - and the foreign perfumes carried upon his pelt. An outsider with no clear connection to any crown laced with dwellings of the lowland hills, the crisp air of a winery and the very plant life which flourished around it. Softened phrase bid him to be swift before the hound was left to his own devices. Allowed to meander along the edges of a cell to peer between bars at each of the unknown housed within.

So many faces, so much potential brimming behind those sullen and fiery eyes, however, there was but one he found fixation on. A divine soul he had not anticipated discovering here but - then again - she had not stopped by the winery once the battle had commenced. Perching within offered shadows opposite the bars she sulked at, piercing seafoam hoped to beckon her focus with a steady purr, “J'espère que votre feu n'a pas été apaisé par ces conditions inconvenantes Madame. Un oiseau en cage souhaite toujours voler, non?” (“I do hope your fire has not been quelled by these unseemly conditions madam. A caged bird always wishes to fly, no?”)

she has little innocent demons inside her eyes—

Her corner was exactly that: her's. There was little to no space, but she preferred the cell walls on either side of her than she did another bloodied and reeking body. Others shuffled and staggered through or over one another, whilst ivories flashed a warning of eagerness to any that paid little attention to her in the corner. She hadn't slept much, and while she ignored the pangs of hunger that grew from grumbles in her stomach, she was spending more energy fighting the idea of food and sleep than anything else. Little sleep, zero sustenance, and disgustingly close proximity to strangers and acquaintances alike: a deadly concoction to be conjured up for a woman who already kept a fuse so short.

She recalled the voice of a few frantic soldiers, desperate to figure out where they were and how they would find a way home: one of all easily triggered the hate she stored away specifically for said voice. Illaria was poking and prodding, actually expecting to find a way out by just herself. While she coildnt exactly see her I'm the dimly lit holding area they were in, she coild still follow her whereabouts whenever she spoke. It was an easy distraction from the everything she was feeling. While she was buried deep in her hate, another voice would pull her from the crypt she locked herself away in mentally.

“J'espère que votre feu n'a pas été apaisé par ces conditions inconvenantes Madame. Un oiseau en cage souhaite toujours voler, non?” Amethysts shot towards the space inwhich the voice was muttered from. The twisted tongue that was common here was far from the one that she just heard; it was less complicated due to its familiarity and warmth would wrap her up in the whispers that reminded her of home, all of which was only recently discovered through one being: Noctis Lévesque.

Her own tongue would eagerly begin to drip with the man's name, but was held back in a single breath she used to correct her approach: she didn't want to reveal his name, not with likely enemies and allies so close to them, she didn't want to shine a light on her own little secret she was ever slowly beginning to adore.

All the while, she was nearly left speechless,;everything she'd been feeling up to this moment was all tangled and knotted up in her throat. And to be in such a position left her with feeling less than what she so boldly displayed any other time.

"Un tel feu rivalise avec celui de mille soleils, et même l’humidité et l’obscurité de cette cage ne pourront jamais l’éteindre." (Such a fire rivals that of a thousand suns, not even the dank and dark of this cage will ever extinguish it.) she drew in a quiet breath, replaying the tone of her voice in her head to pick apart any signs of defeat: and yet she found little to none. Her crown would duck past the small cracks of light that seeped in, her hues fixating on his figure. But, with the shadows cast as his cover she was hardly successful in seeing his face, only a glint of sea foam following her. "Cet oiseau en cage vaut-il la peine de soulever le loquet de sa porte, Monsieur ? Le retour de telles générosités serait décuplé."(Is this caged bird worth lifting the latch on its door for, Sir? A return of such generosities would be tenfold. ) Pride was always so hard to swallow, but she had little choice. She wasnt making it out alone, if at all. If this man was the key she needed, she would do whatever was needed to use the way out.


"the venom"

—and they recklessly play with matches

code // art