#1

08/19/2019, 5:12am

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i thought that I heard you laughing
i thought that i heard you sing



He was no stranger to panic, but this didn’t quite feel like what he was used to whenever the rush of hysteria or frenzy would take over. This felt like something more, something drastic and sudden and terrifying. Tristan couldn’t explain it, not really, not with words, so he spent the brisk walk to the Living District channeling what he felt through that mental bond to the female voice that oftentimes spoke to him and sang him to sleep.

’Help me’ he cried out to her, throwing every feeling of fear, of yearning and terror and need for help through whatever mysterious force that tied them together was, ’Please, please, I don’t know what to do.’

There was no answer. Why? Why now, when he needed her most?

With his shoulders hunched and his chest heaving, unshed tears burning at his eyes as he gasped for breath, Tristan shouldered his way through the diminishing crowds of people, weaving in and out of the streets towards the lavish manor he had been at only once before. With every step the anxiety took hold, the panic rooting itself deeper into his brain; was he really welcome? Would he be imposing? They were hardly friends, yet Prudenzia had claimed that he was welcome anytime.

But was he really?

The encounter with Cesare had left him shaken, uprooting the already tumultuous foundation that Tristan had managed to craft after waking up with literally nothing to his person. No name, no history, no home. Ever since leaving the hospital the brunette had slaved and struggled to build a new life for himself, crafting his own mountains out of molehills. He had been happy, but now… Now he didn’t know how to feel, and so that was why he found himself standing outside of the Moonflower Chateau, seeking the only person in this world he might be able to call friend.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tristan hesitated before knocking upon the door. Even though he hadn’t cried he still wiped a sleeve against his eyes, heaving in a deep, long breath and holding it for a good few minutes as he tried to steady himself and calm his trembling. Showing up in disarray in a place like this was a little. He wasn’t even wearing anything fitting, but….

Prudenzia wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t. Eyes falling closed, lashes dampened from the tears he had forced himself to not shed, Tristan lifted a fist and knocked upon the door. It echoed briefly, and then crossing his arms in front of himself as though in a pathetic mockery of an embrace, he took a step back and waited. As it turned out he wouldn’t wait long. The staff of the Moonflower Chateau were nothing but punctual, and when the door opened to reveal one, the young blacksmith forced a smile and did his best to hide the emotional sniff.

“Good evening. Um. I was hoping to speak with miss Delaqua, please? It’s… Rather urgent.” It wasn’t, not really, but Tristan didn’t want to face this uncertainty alone. He just hoped that he wasn’t making a grave mistake, coming to someone who he knew so little about to talk about the plethora of feelings and thoughts that not even he understood.

The member of staff gave a warm smile and then stepped back, giving a nod. ’Please come in, and I’ll fetch her.’ Doing as they instructed, Tristan thanked them gently and stepped inside, hesitating a moment to wipe the bottom of his worn, dirty boots on the porch so that he wouldn’t track anything unwanted inside. Once inside he was directed to sit, and that was what he did as the staff departed, presumably to fetch Prudenzia. To keep himself occupied and his thoughts distracted, Tristan focused on admiring the very large manor that he suddenly found himself in, feeling oddly small and simple in the majesty of its extravagance and finery.

@Prudenzia Delaqua

Tristan Black

CREDITS

#2

08/19/2019, 9:07pm

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in the valley of the exodus
in the belly of a bowl of dust

As fate would have it, she does not have a flight to maintain tonight, nor does she have any other engagements.  Really, it is quite rare that she is home during the evening, as she so often sees herself out and about, rather for business or pleasure.  Instead, she's at home, lounging in evening wear and mulling over some text that she reasons will be useful for her ventures.  It's nice enough outside that she has the windows in much of the house open.  The fresh air is doing her some good, especially considering she normally loathes being cooped up.  An idle smile blooms at the corner of her mouth.  Perhaps an occasional night indoors isn't so bad for her.

Lost in thought, Pru is leaning over the table of her study when she hears some minor commotion at the front of the manor.  Initially, she doesn't even look up.  She's so accustomed to individuals coming and going that a mild intrusion isn't out of the ordinary whatsoever.  It isn't until there are footsteps swiftly approaching in her direction that she even lifts her head, the palms of her hands holding her up from her current position.  Shortly thereafter, Gerard - the youngest of her house staff (and one of the only men) - arrives, slightly out of breath.

"My lady," he greets, bowing his head briefly in a gesture of respect and pardon for interruption.  Pru has never been keen on her staff feeling obligated to do this in private; however, she appreciates Gerard's attentiveness to protocol, nevertheless. "You've a visitor:  the blacksmith from The Iron Fox, a Mr. Tristan Black.  He has informed me that it is urgent." This strikes Pru as peculiar, certainly unexpected.  She is unable to mask the confusion that crosses her features, incapable of tempering the spectrum of thoughts masquerading as emotions that follow the bewilderment in hot pursuit.

"Thank you, Gerard," she smiles kindly to him and nods, effectively dismissing him.  Without wasting any time, she quickly grabs a dark overcoat to wear over her midnight purple evening gown.  While the gown itself is by no means malapropos, social convention dictates in a high-end society that if one is to greet company in their home in such wear, the coat must accompany the dress.  This is how she had been raised, at least.  Pru isn't certain she comprehends the self-imposed requirement.  Even so, old habits die hard.

Gerard is barely down the steps when Pru appears in his wake, the coat and dress billowing softly behind the socialite in her haste.  She isn't sure what she expected by 'urgent,' but seeing Tristan in such a state absolutely provides preliminary perspective.  In a knee-jerk reaction, her own emotions are tucked safely in her chest under tight lock and key.  Then, with little effort, the distance between them dissolves as she moves to receive him where he sits.  If he allows her to do so, she intends to press a greeting kiss to each cheek, as is customary in Sunnarst.  Her familiarity with others has followed her to Kastali, much to the chagrin of many.

"Here, sit," she guides him back to his seat, assuming he moved preceding her arrival. "Gerard," she calls to her staff next. "Will you please bring us some black tea and a bottle of Sunna wine?" The young man nods and briskly excuses himself to fulfill this request.  Pru then returns her full attention to Tristan, concern clouding her expression.  She spares no moment to silence.

"Are you unwell? Has something happened?" Seemingly useless questions, yes, but she wants to get him talking.  As if on impulse, she feels compelled to remind Tristan: "You're safe, here."

CREDITS

@Tristan Black

#3

08/29/2019, 7:58pm

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i thought that I heard you laughing
i thought that i heard you sing


The more he sat and thought about it, the more Tristan realized that he was being positively foolish. Was this really something so important that he had to seek out Prudenzia within her very own home, rudely interrupting her evening for his trivial problems? He was a man and should have been capable of handling this himself, should have had the ability to compartmentalize all of this startling information he had learned and at the very least sort through it all on his own… But even as the shame filled him, knowing that he was seeking out someone he hardly knew to help him when he lacked the knowledge to help himself, he remained sitting in the cushioned seat where the butler had left him.

His attention was stolen only by the sound of approaching footsteps and he lifted his head, icy blue eyes peering up the stairs to see the butler as he returned to the foyer. In his wake was the woman he had come here to seek counsel from, the coat she wore billowing out behind her as she moved down the stairs with a grace and confidence that he could never even hope to emulate. In a rush Tristan pushed himself up to stand and tried to smooth out the creases and folds in his simple clothes, hoping to at least look somewhat presentable amidst a place so splendid.

There was a look within Prudenzia’s dark eyes that he couldn’t place, an expression of concern, of determination warping her beautiful features. Before he could even think of the right words to speak, the apologies nearly pouring from his lips, she reached him. Despite the fact that he stood nearly a foot taller than her Prudenzia remained the mightiest thing in the room as the mistress of the manor, reaching out as though knowing just what he needed. In greeting she pressed a kiss on each cheek, and there was something strangely familiar about the action that tugged at his heartstrings, but still the young man found himself unable to speak.

How could he? What could he say?

Instead of saying anything he simply allowed himself to be guided back down into his seat, helpless but to only nod and follow Prudenzia like the lamb follows the shepard. He watched as she requested the butler, Gerard, to fetch some tea and Sunna wine for the occasion and offered not a single word of complaint. The moment that he left the inquiries began, curious and concerned, but it was the reaffirmation that he was safe that caused him to finally speak.

Ice blue eyes fluttered closed and he inhaled deeply, holding the breath as he collected himself. While he typically wore his heart upon his sleeve, Tristan still found himself struggling to open up to others. Pride had absolutely nothing to do with it, and instead he just found his problems trivial when compared to the other travesties within the world. Being safe, though… There was something so very important about being safe, especially when it felt as though the world had pulled the ground out beneath your feet.

“Thank you, miss Prudenzia, I… I’m so sorry for interrupting your evening.” Shifting where he sat, Tristan clasped his calloused hands in front of him, unconsciously beginning to wring them in anxiety. “Please don’t worry, I’m not ill. I just had an interesting encounter in the markets and I’m afraid it’s left me rather shaken, and before I knew it I came here.”

He attempted to grin, boyish and charming, but it fell flat and instead resembled more of a grimace. “You mentioned that I was welcome anytime, and I have no one else to turn to, so I was hoping that…” That what? She cease her surely busy, productive evening to counsel him? To babysit? Gritting his teeth, he pressed on, shoving away the anxieties and self-doubts into the dark recesses of his own mind. “I was hoping that you might lend an ear. And perhaps advice.”

@Prudenzia Delaqua

Tristan Black

CREDITS