isleofavalon | May Catch-All Log [ota]

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May Catch-All Log [ota]

WHO: Somnus and You
️ WHAT: Catch-all, TDM prompts, etc.
WHEN: Month of May
WHERE: Around
WARNINGS: Individual warnings below

TDM Prompt: Casino Bidding CW: Alcohol, gambling

[ Do the rumors involving the existence of such rare hourglass coins have any merit? Perhaps not, perhaps so; whatever the case, it warrants investigation. Thus he ventures into the depths of the casino, where the atmosphere is heady and heavy with smoke and the clamor of clinking drinks and calls for bids. His usual attire, that of archaic robes, is met with head-turns of the younger fae and approving nods from the older misers of the club. It is with the latter that he interacts-- one old soul to others-- in a few rounds of card games involving a number of buffs and keeping one's visage as steel and unreadable as can be. He makes a sizable sum, because of it.

Somnus' alcoholic drink of choice is a deep, red wine, and he holds a goblet-full of it in his hand as assistants begin to set up the bidding stage. Dressed in gaudy, sparkling outfits, the fae parade the items one by one out to pedestals: the feather, the glacier, the flower, and so forth.

However, it is the first one that garners his attention the most, but rather than interest, he appears dismissive. Somnus frowns, speaking to whichever other-worlder has joined him. ]

A feather that may resurrect the dead... What nonsense.

TDM Prompt: KnotsCW: none

[ So.

You and he now have their wrists linked as one, and all thanks to one of the pesky fairies that are running this booth. Somnus tugs at his wrist, which may move your own upward with his to bring the linked limbs between you and him.

His voice, naturally deep and grim, carries fuel edges of disappointment and weariness to it. This isn't the first time the fae have played tricks, and it seems that even the markets are not safe. ] Their enchantments never cease.

Idle Training: Forward-Dated to May 9th CW: ig he's shirtless

[ The notably more pleasant weather of late spring allows for more outdoor, leisurely activities... for those who are idle. The one who is decidedly not is none other than Somnus Lucis Caelum. Outside of Camelot, one can find him on a field practicing the sport of javelin-throwing, and he seems to have a decent set-up. Nearby are a series of polearms wedged into the soft ground, and some meters away are markings on the ground to measure distance. An array of already-tossed spears, halberds, and javelins are already embedded near or past the furthest line. By now Somnus has worked up into a healthy, hearty exercise, although one might not know this by the serious, severe expression he wears, and his practice has gotten him heated to the point that he's already undone the upper half of his robes, allowing the fresh, cool spring air to soothe overworked brawn. As another sings silently through the air, it strikes right next to a previous one, but he is nowhere near done.

The muscles of his back and arms grow taught with tension, positioning himself as he corrects, then re-corrects his stance, and his eyes narrow to a dangerous, hunter's expertise as he marks yet another yonder goal. Without warning, he sprints and whips his arm forward, snapping the javelin into a ferocious torrent through the air. Sweat beads and breaks off the strands of his long bangs with the momentum, his chest heaves with a reactionary, much-needed inhale. A few seconds later, the toss ends its sail with a defeating crack as the weapon splits down a previously tossed polearm.

After sending another one flying across the field, he pauses to regain some of his disheveled composure, bringing his forearm up to wipe at the perspiration dotting his brow, then proceeding into a stretch of his arm crossed over the other. A soft exhale that may have been for relief doesn't appear to help whatever strain, mental or otherwise, has overcome him, and after a moment, he reaches for yet another javelin...

For those that know him, despite the immense focus require for the sport, he may appear more preoccupied than usual. While he may appear to be practicing alone, others are welcome to join in the sport or ask for instruction; alternatively, this prompt can be incorporated with the massage TDM prompt if one were to offer him a knot to relieve whatever tension wracks him. ]

Wildcard

[ Have an idea? PM this account, drinksteapots, or Jade294#6977! Somnus is also open to current Quests. ]

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No need to worry. I've enjoyed myself plenty. [Rinea's cheeks pink, just a little, at the sensation of Somnus's calloused hand atop her own. It was almost like being held. Rinea has held Somnus' hand before, but always with the expectation of formality, of being escorted. This brief envelopment had no higher purpose, merely a specter of intimacy.]

Laurel crowns... I'm sure they were pretty. Do you remember how to weave them? [Did he ever weave them himself?]

[ It seems that for every attempt to focus on the path before them, something calls his attention back to the woman beside him. This time it’s the promise of a smile in her voice, gentle as the first daybreak of spring thawing through winter frost.

His gaze lingers upon her visage— not quite meeting her eyes, but drifting to the hint of flush upon her cheeks, then dipping lower upon her face, for the same color is the tint of her lips… as well as the blush of flowers as they pass.

Pink is a lovely color on her.

He replies, thoughtful. ]

Allow me to weave you one.

Would you? [The mental image of Somnus solemnly crafting a decorative item is quite sweet. Sometimes the man is so stoic as to make him seem inhuman, but that impression is really starting to fade in the face of his increasing openness.] I would adore that! Thank you.

[Even if they're tied at the wrist, it's hard for Rinea not to feel pleased in this moment. The market was fun, the weather is nice, a pleasant breeze lightly blowing the willow tree's drooping branches and gently bending the flowers along the path... and she will always enjoy Somnus's company at her side, even mischievously forced as it is.

Ah, but she should ask him more questions to release the prank's hold. No doubt her companion is busy and has better things to do than be stuck here. Hmm, hmm....]

Did you celebrate other traditions back home, lord Somnus? [He hasn't seemed the festive type, but after his offer of a crown, she will believe anything.] Perhaps a birthday? Or... a coronation?

[Maybe not that one...]

[ Somnus recognizes the question for what it is, that Rinea is refocusing their conversation on the task of undoing the enchantment. Any other time, he would be grateful for it; this time, there is a treacherous beat within his chest that accompanies the thought of parting too quickly. ...But there is an excuse to stay: that he may be able to weave a laurel for her. Luckily, there are ample amount of flowers both in the boughs of the lower branches of trees.

This is just enough to offset the rather grim connotations birthdays and coronations carried for all of his descendants: that of being condemned to their fate. ]

A birth was a joyous triumph over death. [ In his time, children didn't always live until adulthood. ] The namedays of our descendants... I recall them. [ Being kept as a spirit within the Ring for two thousand years meant that he was able to memorize each and every one. ] They were always celebrated. [ He continues, raising his head towards a flowering branch of a willow. This one has a particularly peachy blush to its pink petals. ]

With chrysanthemums.

[ The tie loosens further. ]

[Somnus did not speak too many words, but there is much to learn from them. Rinea's voice is thoughtful as she turns the information over.]

Descendants...

[Now that she thinks on it, Somnus had been fairly natural with their lusine ward. All she knows of Somnus's family is that behavior... and his brother... and the throne room of his kingdom he lead her through, its oppressive atmosphere quiet and still.]

Then, you had a queen? Or perhaps, your brother married?

[ His wrist shifts against hers, testing the tautness of the thread that binds them. It remains intact yet, unsatisfied by what he has divulged thus far. It seems he must tell more.

Somnus's hand lifts to one of the wispier willow branches, breaking a part of it off. It will make a good base for a crown-- something that, in combination with her question, causes a memory to return to him: a courtyard with garden of blossoms, lilies, and vines. It had been afternoon, and she was draped in white silks.

No, this is not the first time he has made such a laurel for another. ]

I had a queen. [ After a moment, he replies, and the way in which he speaks of her reflects both a great deal of respect and distance. Perhaps because she has spent enough time with him, Rinea may be able to detect something else within the tone, small fissures running through granite, that of underlying regret and loss. ] Together, we had a son.

I had passed before long, however, leaving them both.

Pa-- [Rinea's head turns sharply to regard Somnus with surprise, eyes wide and mouth parted. Passed? Somnus is dead? Well-- he stands before her now, the proof of his life obvious in the heat of skin against her own. But then--]

I, I see. I am sorry to have asked such a cruel question.

[--Then, he is just like her.

Rinea falls silent, her gaze dropping away. Her head buzzes with the implications of his admission. When he was cursed, and raged at her-- that she caused him to forget his family-- this, then, was that family? If he recognizes the births of his descendants, plural, how long has he been deceased? Does he mourn for his family so greatly it anchored him to the mortal plane? And where does his brother fit into it? Would she even dare to ask?

...Still... for all of the questions Somnus's reply leaves her with, it does at least provide one answer.]

...I did think you seemed quite practiced. [With their little bear ward. She chances a smile again, small and fond.] I am beginning to understand the origin of your kindness.

[ To speak of himself and his history in such a mild way is not giving her the whole truth. If she knew, she would not say that he is kind. …Or perhaps by the grace of her heart, she still would. He unsure as to which option is worse: to continue to allow her to call him kind when she knows not all of the blood on his hands, or to reveal more yet still somehow garner her sympathy.

…Yet, surprisingly, she refrains from assuming too much of his past, and instead focuses on their recent encounter, recalling how he had cared for that fae-bear. In life, he had spent so very little time with his queen and child. Only upon his death, confined to the Ring, was he able to see them as time moved on. While under the curse of the fae, he had wanted to do better for both Rinea and that bear… as silly as it had been. ]

A family is a… precious gift. One that in life, I had been unable to properly attend.

[ As these thoughts come and go, Somnus, too, stops in their walk just as they emerge from the promenade of willows. On either side of their path are more green and flowering quads, and after briefly noting their species and color, he looks down at Rinea. ]

What of yourself?

[ He imagines her parents must be proud for having raised such a gracious and noble woman, to say nothing of being betrothed to what would have been the future emperor. ]

My family... I was an only child. My parents raised me well, though with much anxiety. Our house was not in good standing with the Empire's nobility, you see. Not until lord Berkut asked for my hand.

[Her smile is a little rueful now, aimed out at the flowers they stand before. Does Somnus intend to weave a crown for her now, with them? That would be difficult with their wrists entwined... so maybe he intends to stay even after they dispel it. The thought gladdens her.]

They were proud of me, but perhaps... not for the reasons I would have wished for.

[ After a moment of silent consideration, he gives her a small tug by way of their twined wrists, leading her off the path and into the green. Yes, she best believe that he’s going to make a laurel for her. Who is he to deny her such crafts, after she had shared her smile?

To represent a low-standing house, but still catch the attention of the heir to the throne… what parent wouldn’t be proud? Somnus, having been that king who had chosen his bride, doesn’t quite understand her meaning. Not until he gives it some thought, and chances a guess: ]

You… had wished to make a name for yourself, regardless of whom you wed.

Yes... something like that. [She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand, watching her steps and keeping balance with their connected arms so as not to crush any flowers underfoot.] I had not aspired for the Rigelian throne. I would have been happier without it, I think. But such notions were near blasphemous.

[The Duma Faithful and the Empire's throne were almost inextricably linked, both factions working under the dragon god's banner. Admitting her distaste for them earned her a swift and bloody end in exchange for Duma's favor.

Still... Despite the subject matter, Rinea looks content.]

I am not sure what god I should thank for being here admiring the gardens with you instead.

[ Is there a god to be thanked for either of their presences here? She is dead, and so is he. Rather than be cynical, once more she sees the fortune of their circumstance. Once more, his chest feels tight after speaks. Ever so softly, and with it in mind that admitting a truth may release their bonds, he say this: ] I, as well.

[ It is one thing to be cautious to even admit this. It is another thing to make oneself vulnerable enough to do so. Finally, it is something else entirely to trust another that, in light of that vulnerability, that they will not trample upon it. He knows not why he feels it is safe to admit anything in her company.

No, that is a lie. He knows exactly why.

Somnus rolls his wrist against hers, which undoes the last of the thread that binds them. It seems his confession, so benign a thing, had been grand enough to satisfy its conditions. ]

Would you care to sit with me?

[ Should she agree, he’ll unclasp his cloak and lay it upon the ground for her. ]

[Somnus's arm falls untethered, but his presence remains; the understanding that he doesn't intend to leave pleases Rinea more than she expects.]

I would be delighted.

[As Somnus prepares their makeshift blanket, it strikes Rinea that this reminds her, almost... of being courted? But that is a silly notion. Avalon has changed her understanding of human interaction, and so little of the traditions of her time apply. Still, the nostalgic acts of courtesy are comforting in their familiarity. She feels pleasantly warm even under the shade of the willow boughs.]

Hehe... [She smooths her skirts as she sits. ] Shall I leave the flower selection to you?

[ Given that he’s existed incorporeal longer than he had been alive, it has been ages since he’s weaved any laurel. Nevertheless, when Somnus sits beside her— with a courteous distance, on the soft ground itself— he begins plucking a few of the other wildflowers within reach, the muscle memory of the craft guiding his fingers. The willow blossoms he had taken earlier will make for the base, with the others will adorn it further, but he pauses before integrating the first flower.

Somnus’ eyes lift to meet hers. What a soft and pleasant sound, that laugh. ]

As you wish.

[ He’s ignorant of flowers’ meanings (save for two in particular), but in this moment, he considers that going forward, what they mean is something he should attempt to study if only to be able to converse with her about them. Somnus places one pink five-petaled wildflower into the crown, then a white, lacey-appearing one.

…He should try to say something. ]

During spring, Star comes alive with flowers. Do not fret if the laurel feels fragile… for just like the season, it is not made to last. Should petals fall upon one’s shoulders, consider it a blessing.

[ …Privately, of course, the look of flower petals dusting along a woman’s hair or shoulders is quite flattering to him. Seeing as there is no need to tell another truth, he will not be admitting this. ]

[Rinea listens carefully, but she watches perhaps moreso. The juxtaposition of a statuesque, austere Somnus against the whimsical flower blooms is... actually not as jarring as she expected. Perhaps that is proof of how much better she knows him, now? That she can see the man beneath the detached demeanor?

Though... if his minute expressions are anything to go by, the excessive amount of thought he's putting into the laurel is charmingly funny.]

Very well. I shall treasure it while it lasts.

[In preparation of wearing it, Rinea reaches up to unclip her hair ornaments from their customary position above her ears. Once she's gotten them both she pauses, her gaze arrested at the sight of them between her fingers. They... were a gift from Berkut, once. One of the first. Everything else she has put away-- even her ring-- but these yet remain. They are remnants of something lost to time... an old fondness she's held onto.

She places them in the pocket of her skirt.]

I hope you did not take offense to the longer-lasting press I made of your last floral gift. [A joke.]

[ Somnus’ focus remains upon the laurel as he weaves it. He selects another bloom, delicately integrating its stem into the braid of the others. ] It is a thoughtful… [ He turns his head to look at her, lips parted as the rest of the sentence fades from his lips. This is the first he has seen her without those hair ornaments; that he hasn’t is a reminder that their presence must be quite significant to her. ] …keepsake.

[ No doubt those flowers in her hair are a similar treasure. Perhaps offering a laurel is inappropriate, and the lighter jest at the end functions as a cover for her discomfort, as good as a conversationalist she is.

Somnus’ head inclines. Best to err on the side of caution, as a courtesy to her. ] This needn’t replace the ornaments in your hair, if you do not wish.

Ah-- not at all! [Rinea's fingers crumple into her skirt, anxious to reassure him. How astute of him to pick up on her undercurrent of nostalgia, though his conclusion is unnecessary.] I would not have accepted your offer if I did not wish for it, after all. Please.

[The twine bracelet no longer binds them, but Rinea feels almost compelled to over-explain herself, to admit the sentiment behind her decor. Still, the words die away in her throat. For some reason, she doesn't really want to let Berkut's shadow hang over them any longer than it already has that afternoon.

It's that thought that returns her strength: the strength of making a conscious choice.]

I do wear them often, but I shan't wilt without them. I promise. [It's a silly notion, but in the face of Somnus's inevitably solemn reception Rinea cannot help but titter at her own jest.]

[ He watches her as she speaks, noting the sincerity in her tone, and just like that she reassures him that this is neither an imposition nor overstep. And—

”—I shan’t wilt—“

”—wilt—“

He pauses in his task, bringing one hand up to his jaw, moving it as if he means to prevent some other expression from showing. But there it is: a twitch at the corner of his lips, so quick, so faint, that if she’s not looking it will be as if it never happened. His brow furrows afterward; very likely, that almost-expression had been foreign enough to be perplexing.

(When is the last time he had been amused by… anything?) ]

Very well.

[ A laurel is not full crown, and with one last pink blossom added, he holds the completed piece up, shifting the way he sits towards her. ]

May I…?

[Rinea is quite nearly convinced she imagined whatever emotion Somnus just had... but real or not, it seems she got her meaning across.]

Yes! It looks lovely... Please do.

[She sits up a bit, leaning in on one arm to offer her brow. Should she... should she close her eyes for this? The intrusion of a stray stem or petal might spoil things, so after a moment's pause she does so, eyelashes brushing over her cheeks.]

[ Her eyes close as he gently lifts the laurel above her head. This is a curse in itself, granting him a moment to study her features beneath the patchy shade of the willows above. He sees kindness in her features, innocence, and the beauty of one who understands and forgives, who gives to others, who overcomes her grief. This is a beauty unique; this beauty is hers. Would that be all he sees.

Treacherously, it is not. For that same moment is the only one he needs to memorize the length of her lashes, the smoothness of her skin, the delicate angle of her jaw, ...and, indulgently, the rose of her lips. The curve at the corner of them, the echo of her voice within his head, the smile she had given him but a moment ago, how lovely it is, how soft they appear...

Perhaps her closing her eyes is a blessing, too, for she will not know this moment, this weakness that has manifested in his hesitation. He's frozen in place as if he means to lean further in, but wills himself to not. The iron into which he casts himself makes the thunder of his heart resound louder within.

...

She'll feel the feather-like weight of the laurel positioned upon her head, blossoms curving up and above either side of her ears, his fingers working to secure stems into her hair. When he's finished, one hand falls away from her, but the other lingers at the side of her head. His finger crooks, moving to untuck a strand of her hair from behind her ear, allowing it to frame her face. There, his touch lingers upon the side of her cheek warm but distant for a moment, two moments too long...

When she opens her eyes, he withdraws his hand. A shade of peach dusts along his right upper cheek, slight but obvious against the pale tone of his skin. His gaze is thoughtful, reserved, and somehow-- more youthful than it's ever been, speechless as he gazes at her. ]

[Somnus's touch is impossibly gentle. The care in his work, each stem and petal dexterously placed, each strand of hair tenderly arranged, warms her to the bottom of her soul. How can such delicate intimacy exist in a person so determined to close himself off? It is enough to make anyone weep.

When his fingers finally fall away, Rinea opens her eyes. Her smile is arrested halfway by the sight of him. She cannot help but stare-- only for a moment, but it is as if time itself has slowed. She feels like she's seeing something she shouldn't. She feels like she should look away. She feels like Somnus should always look like this.

Her traitorous heart flutters. Her smile completes itself with embarrassment.]

Do I look... strange?

[ The laurel upon her head momentarily returns him to a different time, memories blended to one of fields of white flowers at dawn or of golden wheat at dusk, where all else is silent and nothing but the woman in front of him exists, so close yet so far. It is peaceful. With her it is peaceful.

Strange, she questions? Rather, extraordinary— and he’s just about to say as much when he reconsiders, tempering the enthusiasm that wishes to declare, righteously so, that she is nothing but wonderful.

As she holds his gaze, he struggles between faltering and answering, a turmoil of which is, by some miracle, not betrayed by his stony features. Yet the shy smile she gives him twists his heart, wringing it for every last drop, and the faint tinge of color to his upper right cheekbone remains. If he continues to look at her, he will surely fall further…

…Or he may do something he shouldn’t. ]

Daughter of Rigel… [ He speaks again, the usual steel smoothed over. ]

There are none fairer. If there is anything you should wish for in this moment, I would grant it.

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May Catch-All Log [ota]

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