margaretofwales

[margaretofwales]

AN ANNOUNCEMENT!

Malle has had her baby, a healthy girl. Her name is Nora Tierney-Davies. Any threads prior to Malle having said baby will be considered completed. Malle would like to drink heavily now.

fyi @captaingraves

[margaretofwales]

captaingraves​:

Jacob focused on Malle’s voice, his eyes never leaving Hale, as the sound of his own pulse loudly pounding in his ears. The adrenaline made everything sharp, his senses attuned to every sound in front of him–behind him, too, but that was not where Malle was.

Hale stared back at him with an enraging familiarity. He slowly raised his hands. A bullet between the eyes would have solved the issue of Hale’s loyalty, and it would have been easier than trying to trust him. Just a pull of the trigger and Malle would be safe.

Even with his eyes trained on Hale, Jacob could still see Malle, standing with her hand on the railing, her presence enough to tear away his focus. He inhaled. Malle was calm in a way he wasn’t, reasonable in ways he’d never been taught. 

Jacob had always been told to shoot.

“If I may,” Hale said carefully, “I actually have two guns.”

The only part of Jacob that moved were his nostrils, flaring in annoyance.

“Your Majesty,” Hale nodded to Malle. “Inside of my jacket, left side.”

Jacob really wanted to pull the trigger and drop the man for inviting his wife inside his jacket. He sighed, his shoulders relaxed only slightly, the gun still raised unless Malle moved in front of him. There was little time to debate Hale’s loyalty as gunfire started again, louder, closer. Another sound drew his attention away.

A helicopter?

Jacob had left the open door to the roof unattended for too long. He stepped back and leaned out of the doorway. Figures shrouded in darkness were returning gunfire from below, distracted enough not to notice someone peering out from a door they thought was guarded.

Wind rushed over the rooftop as the helicopter swooped in low, a spotlight roved over the line of gunmen on the roof but landed somewhere on the ground. One of the men on the roof–Jacob recognized him–

“Dad?” His arms went slack. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Jacob was a live wire, coiled and built into the shape of a man. Malle knew it the moment they met. What she didn’t know -- what she had learned -- was how to interact with it and not be burned.

Her steps echoed against the solid stairwell as she passed her husband and stepped over to Galen. The scent of him startled her. Where the whole night was metallic, blood in her mouth from biting her tongue, the acrid scent of a discharged gun -- Galen smelled like pepper and fig. Sophistication. Like he was preparing for a party, and not a war.

Malle’s hand was inside and outside his jacket within a breath, the gun familiar in her hand. She did not immediately relinquish it, and then--

Her instinct was to shrink back, to make herself small. Easier said than done. Malle settled for stillness, her back pressed against the stairwell, closer to Hale than Tierney. Her fingers curled around the handle, forefinger fitted to the trigger. 

Dad.

Malle’s head spun back to Galen, dark eyes inquisitive. She seemed to ask in perfect silence: did you do this?

[margaretofwales]

captaingraves​:

Jacob’s former life brought him from one near-death experience to another, and the experience of living in full survival mode for days at a time stayed with him. But time had softened him a bit and the flow of adrenaline had him more tired than alert. Malle’s presence, her arms around his waist, dropped his guard easier than he wanted.

Her hands wandered and confusion took over, but he realized what she was searching for. If only there was a place to hide a knife where it would not have been found by their captors. He said nothing, hands resting on her arms, hoping no one had noticed that his very pregnant wife tried to find a weapon on him. Smart. She’d always been smart.

When Jacob looked up, his heart began to race again. Malle was here, and she should have been somewhere safer, not with him. He looked over her shoulder at Hale with a glare as the man looked back up at him.

“What’s the meaning of all this?” he asked.

“Well,” Hale began, but in the distance outside the stairwell the staccato rap of gunfire interrupted.

The door above to the roof was opened by the guard there, whose yelling was lost into the wind. Gunfire continued, from more than one location. Jacob needed a gun, so he took the stairs two at a time and grabbed the muzzle of the guard’s rifle while punching in his knee as hard as he could. “Malle! Get–down–”

A gun went off in the stairwell and Jacob’s ears rang, just as he wrestled the guard to the ground and knocked him in the head with the butt of the rifle. Was he shot? Was Malle–

Hale stood with his gun aimed down the stairs, his body between Malle and the now-shot guard reeling in pain down below.

When Hale looked up, Jacob had the rifle trained on his head. “Get away from her. Now.”

Get down. Had her heart not been in her throat, crouched as low as her body would let her, Malle would have scoffed. She knew well enough what to do when there was gunfire.

She was the youngest, the smallest, the least-likely of her siblings to make something of herself. Their parents made it clear her entire life. And yet -- Malle alone wore the crown. She knew only a little about what that meant, but she knew exactly how to survive. Jacob’s voice ricocheted off the narrow stairwell, and she felt him brush past her. That was, after all, how they had met.

It took a moment to stand. Everything was swollen, all of the time, like she’d eaten six packs of crisps and an equivalent number of lagers. Malle’s knees creaked as she straightened, her spine flexing to support her stomach. Her vision crystalized on the sunburn peeking out of Jacob’s collar. She had such high hopes for France.

“If he was going to kill me,” Malle’s lilt was soft, like the edge of cream on a sharp tea. Her voice held endless patience. “I expect he would have done so already.”

An exhale, like steam releasing into the air.

“And if you’d like to kill him, it seems likely we’ll start a blood bath.” Malle kept her attention trained on Jacob, reading the lines of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw. She wanted to go to him, pull him back and catch his focus, create the soft, warm space that only existed when they were hip-to-hip. Instead, her hand fitted against the railing. “And you only have the one gun.”

[margaretofwales]

captaingraves​:

“Malle, Malle–it’s me.”

Jacob didn’t let her push him away, his arms grasping around her shoulders. Disbelief at her presence quickly turned to suspicion and danger–Malle needed to be far away from him, not led around under gunpoint like he’d been. 

His mind jumped to conclusions for why Malle had been brought here, to him, and none of them were good. He didn’t let go, looking at the man–Galen Hale, if he recalled correctly–standing behind her with his hand on the banister of the steps.

“You,” he said to Hale. “Why did you–”

“Her Majesty was adamant that I brought her here,” Hale said, matter-of-fact, borderline amused.

Jacob could have pushed him down the stairs. He wanted to, but he refused to let go of Malle. The landing led up one half stair that ended in a closed door, presumably the exit to the roof. At the top of the steps was an armed guard, and at the bottom of the set of stairs below was another armed guard, who Hale brought Malle past. 

Jacob had been waiting for several minutes, just out of reach of the guards to make any moves before getting shot. The thought crossed his mind, letting some low level thug shoot him and taking the glory away from their boss.

“Are you all right?” he whispered to Malle. Oddly, Hale backed down the steps and averted his attention, or maybe Jacob imagined that. “Llyr is here,” he added with a frown. “He went on to the roof.”

Her heart flew into her throat, the tension in her shoulders ready to strike when the scent of pine and amber fell over her, two solid arms wrapping around her back. Malle’s cheek landed on the soft slope of his neck, and a soft sound escaped at the sheer joy of it. Jacob. Home. Her home. Safe and standing. 

Malle’s hands fell between them, wrapping around his torso and holding him close. He spoke past her head, his words rugged and rough in comparison to the clipped, cold-water answers. Galen. Turning in Jacob’s arms, she gave the man a look over her shoulder -- the amusement not lost on her.

Returning her attention, Malle’s hands dipped lower, running along his belt. Her fingertips stretched, seeking a familiar bulge -- the handle of a knife, strapped against the small of his back, or perhaps a gun, if he’d managed to take one. Only skin, warm and slightly damp from exertion, greeted her. Malle lifted her head, doe-brown eyes searching his. Her head tilted. Nothing? It seemed to ask.

Llyr. The name stirred nothing on her, and the absence of fear, of empathy, of a heady rush or pang of worry left a chill across her skin. Malle’s hand fell away from her husband and went to rest on her stomach, protective. “I am fine,” she said, her voice even. Almost crisp. Frustration lay beneath the surface. Neither of them -- not Jacob nor Malle -- had time for this. “I should like to go home soon, Jacob.”

[margaretofwales]

Lockdown night.

“Fine,” Malle snapped, exhaustion evident in her voice. The night wore long, and the heated confines of the palace caused a sweat to dampen the dark wisps along her hairline. “Then I will take the stairs.”

That proved to be difficult, each successive half-flight an aching strain on her swollen ankles, her hips and lower back aching for the relief of her bed. Doggedly, she continued, if only because if she was climbing, then she was not being held hostage.

As she reached a landing, she collided with something warm and -- solid. Malle tensed from head to toe. “Let me go!” She demanded, her hand reaching out and shoving against the mass.

@captaingraves

[margaretofwales]

Carey Mulligan | Harper’s Bazaar UK

[margaretofwales]

CAREY MULLIGAN in PROMISING YOUNG WOMAN (2020)

[margaretofwales]

galen-hale​:

-

“No, of course not, Your Highness. I’m not going to hurt him.”

The plan for what to do with Tierney seemed to change by the minute. Galen wasn’t overly concerned with what happened after they found him. Although he didn’t anticipate conversing with the man’s wife who also happened to be a queen and pregnant. Of the royal leadership, Queen Margaret had earned a small place of respect in Galen’s eyes.

“Do you think that’s a good idea? I’ve got a lot of ground I need to cover.” Was this a trap? Possibly. Galen couldn’t quite rationalize how Queen Margaret would get the upper hand in this situation, though. And wouldn’t it be interesting for her to meet the leader of the Outlaws. All while pregnant, too.

“Well, all right, but I should explain that not all of my colleagues feel so generous toward your safety. I can try to keep you safe from them, but I have my limits.”

She meant you in a broader sense, of course. This man was no match for Jacob Tierney in a happy mood, much less in a tirade. He would break Galen down to bone and, later, drink whiskey to forget it. But Galen was not alone, and this was the crux of their standoff: for he had all the power in this moment, and they both knew it.

Malle rose, acknowledging his protests with only a faint smile. There was no debate in this: where Jacob went, she went too, and she did not feel so delicate or compromised as to give it a second thought. Standing at the door, she wanted for him to open it.

“I am not asking you to keep me safe.” Malle said, gently. “I’m better at that than you might think.”

[margaretofwales]

galen-hale​:

The queen’s placid explanation for her husband’s whereabouts either indicated a great amount of trust or denial. Galen did not know Jacob Tierney personally. But if Galen had to use a single word to describe the man, it would be scoundrel. (Galen would know, being one himself.)

Even if he felt the need to critique the trust Queen Margaret had in her own husband, Galen could not help but feel at ease in her presence. Oversharing was one of his weaknesses, but he liked to think he could get out of just about anything by talking. “Everything is just fine. Going very swimmingly, actually, thank you for asking. There was a running bet about who would find Tierney first. Your husband Tierney, I mean.” As if there was another Tierney, which there was, but anyway. “So I thought to come here and find him, but who knew the old devil would be out at this hour?”

Galen let out a little sigh. “If it doesn’t make a difference to you, you can go back to bed, Your Highness.”

It took a moment for her to catch on, her own refusal to recognize the situation lending a preternatural calm to her movements. Malle tracked him, her mind sorting his words, trying to imbue meaning in them. She remembered this place, the lack of control, the scant and winding answers. It made her feel small, and perhaps that was the cruelest part of the island: the unending helplessness that tracked them, everywhere. Even Lecia, ready to fight, had only wound up punished, her knives taken back.

What had been permissible when Malle was only responsible for Malle felt impossible, then. Her heart lived outside of her body, and her body was not her own, entirely. She split between three people, and realization gave way to pain, tight and acute in her chest where her heart should have been, but was instead in the courtyard or the gardens or -- she stopped. She could not think about that.

"Are you going to hurt him?”

She could go back to bed, he said. Malle gave him a small, sympathetic smile.

“I’m coming with you.”

[margaretofwales]

captaingraves​:

Jacob pressed his lips together to suppress a smile when Malle apologized to him. It’s okay. He knew Malle would elaborate, as an explanation often followed an apology, so Jacob watched her with the extra attention paid when his mind was buzzing. Processing her words with a half second delay. 

Gareth and Rhedyn, he knew the names well. The troublemakers of the Welsh clans that hadn’t given the queen a moment’s rest for all of her reign. Rhedyn’s tactics, prodding at Malle to see how she would react, were all too familiar to Jacob. Growing up, just about every member of his family or person of authority was tested too. Often brutally.

His hand moved to Malle’s side, his arm firmly planted around her back. “I can go up there. I’ll do anything you need of me. And I’ll try not to enjoy it, only for you.” Confrontation was not Jacob’s forte, but ending them was.

“You’re doing great. For what that’s worth, coming from me.” As if Jacob could judge how a country was being ruled. Jacob looked down at her with an adoring smile. “I’m proud of you.”

She looked up at him, in that way she always did, a little soft-eyed and adoring, and then she used his shoulder for balance as she lifted on her toes, ever so slightly, and kissed him.

“Thank you.”

He knew -- and she knew that he knew, for they’d spoken of it often enough -- that it wasn’t easy to feel that way. And he knew -- just like she knew that he knew, for she’d shown it time and again -- the only opinion that truly mattered to Malle was his. She smiled, reaching past him for the paper-wrapped block of cheese on the counter, and began to slice it. 

“This is a long way from that island,” Malle mused as she worked, casting just a quick glance at him. They spoke of it rarely, and perhaps it was the aftershock of adrenaline, or the sheer glitz that surrounded them, then, but it all seemed quite distant. “You clean up nicely, Mr. Tie--”

The knife hit a particularly tough crystal and slid sideways, slicing against her forefinger. “Shit.” Malle set it down, lifted her finger to her lips. The cut wasn’t deep, but bloody.

👀 for catching your muse in/leaving/entering their room. (Molly!)

The hallway just outside of their quarters was brightly lit, making the adjustment to darkness even harder. Whiskey didn’t help, either. Jacob certainly wasn’t drunk but he’d been slinging back drinks for hours now. It was past midnight and he’d just added a couple cigars into his system, too. The day had been long and not enough of it was spent with Malle, and even if she was asleep, he needed the calm of being near her.

Jacob tried to navigate the unfamiliar room as quietly as humanly possible, but seeing as ‘stealth’ was not very high on his list of skills, he knocked right into a table with his knees only a few steps in. “Shit,” he swore under his breath. He refused to turn on a light and risk waking up Malle, even though his blundering around was definitely worse. He heard the bedroom door open and a soft light poured out of the doorway. “Malle? … Did I wake you up?”

[margaretofwales]

galen-hale​:

“Looking for him? Me? No, no. Asking for a friend.” 

There had been bets placed on who would get to Tierney first. Rumors that the man had been spotted in the gardens or by the main hallway. Galen had thought for sure that the honorable Jacob Tierney would have been at the side of his very pregnant wife at this late hour. How wrong he was, and now his reward would be to remain here to guard the queen. 

Queen Margaret had the utmost poise considering her current situation. Unlike her aide, Galen had to give the queen credit for not dissolving into tears at the first sight of armed guards. This was likely not her first time being around pirates brandishing weapons. The island fiasco felt so long ago.

Galen hadn’t gambled on his part of the operation being a queen’s companion for the duration. He imagined himself tussling with irate royals and throwing them head first into locked rooms. Alas. Until he received other instructions, he’d remain here. Maybe Tierney would show up. 

A text arrived as if on cue. Tierney had been found. “Ah, shit!” he swore under his breath. His hand covered his mouth as more words fell out. “I mean, fuck it all!–Excuse me, Your Highness.” Galen sighed and sent a quick text back in acknowledgement. “Nothing to worry about. Your husband has been found wandering about. I wonder where he had to go at this time of night?”

It was difficult not to feel a little amused by this man, who had so brazenly entered and commandeered control over her visiting apartment and now seemed to be peppered with inane questions. She watched him, a little curious, a little anxious. The smart watch on her wrist did not vibrate with a call, the screen did not flicker with a message.

At this point, she didn’t expect it to. Jacob would come bursting through the doors before he would remember to use his phone.

“He likes to look at the stars. Have a cigar. The gardens are quite unique here, it would be a shame to spend all his time sleeping, just because I do.” Malle smiled, and then looked to the phone in his hand with a small nod of her brunette head. “Is everything all right?”

She looked, somehow, innocent.

“You seem upset.”

[margaretofwales]

captaingraves​:

margaretofwales​:

“No,” Malle answered. Her silhouette blocked most of the light from the doorway as she stepped into it. When she last remembered, she was reading,  though the splayed-out book across her chest implied that she’d fallen asleep. A wrinkle in her nose, she stepped forward and switched on the sconce by the kitchen. A yawn, stifled in the light of the refrigerator as she opened it and began searching. “I was reading. Sort of.”

She glanced sidelong, smiled.

Finding the other half of her pre-bedtime sandwich, Malle began to peel back the paper off the honey wheat when she remembered, and slowly glanced up “Don’t–” her tone belied a previous debate, one about deli meats and cheeses. “–it was grilled.”

Returning to him, she took a bite and offered the sandwich to him. “Were you out causing trouble?”

Jacob settled on the edge of the sofa in the sitting room, watching intently as Malle searched the refrigerator. “Reading” at this time of night usually meant dozing off with the book still in her hands, but at least Jacob hadn’t woken Malle up from any official bedtime. “Yeah? Are you on to the next book now?”

He took the sandwich and bit into it rather than answering the question, his reply coming at first in a grin. “Trouble is a strong word. I might’ve dropped a few ashes in the garden. On accident.” Jacob took one more bite before offering what was left back to Malle. Even though he was ravenous, he had enough since not to deprive Malle of the rest of the snack. “It’s been an open bar all night, hasn’t it? Or else we’ve stolen some beer.”

Unable to sit still, Jacob returned to the kitchen to poke around the fridge. “What about here? Did I miss a big party? … Is all of the cheese gone?”

He was all questions, in a strange twist of character. She rarely knew Jacob to be peppery; he tended to observe, think, internalize before he spoke. But this was all immediate, the book, the bar, what she’d been up to. Malle leaned against a cabinet in the small, marble kitchen. Watching him, his silhouette in relief from the refrigerator light, she worked at a smile.

It was all questions without asking the one question she owed an answer to. Where were you? And she was tired of questions, of answering them without getting her own met, of having to arch her voice loudly to be heard by her lords, of the questions in her mind that didn’t even make it to her lips -- but she owed it to him. She knew. 

“I’m sorry that I was so late tonight,” Malle answered. “It wasn’t going well. It isn’t going well.” She exhaled, slowly, like a pressure valve finally released. “Gareth and Rhedyn--” Two clans, two leaders, nestled in the mountains away from the coast. “--are plotting something. I need you to go up there, when we get back. Rhedyn is testing me, and I can manage that. But Gareth--” 

The Pers were an unruly clan, far away from the softness of Cardiff. Nestled into the crags of the Berwyn mountains, she remembered skirmishes along the border of their land and Snowdonia as a child. Harmless, usually, just a few wounds on either side was enough to satiate both clans. But there were others, with casualties, bloody, gory matches set against the dull reeds and stones. 

Malle came back to the present, stepped over to him. Pulling a plate down, she worked next to him at the counter, glad for the closeness. “Gareth needs to be taught a lesson.”

👀 for catching your muse in/leaving/entering their room. (Molly!)

The hallway just outside of their quarters was brightly lit, making the adjustment to darkness even harder. Whiskey didn’t help, either. Jacob certainly wasn’t drunk but he’d been slinging back drinks for hours now. It was past midnight and he’d just added a couple cigars into his system, too. The day had been long and not enough of it was spent with Malle, and even if she was asleep, he needed the calm of being near her.

Jacob tried to navigate the unfamiliar room as quietly as humanly possible, but seeing as ‘stealth’ was not very high on his list of skills, he knocked right into a table with his knees only a few steps in. “Shit,” he swore under his breath. He refused to turn on a light and risk waking up Malle, even though his blundering around was definitely worse. He heard the bedroom door open and a soft light poured out of the doorway. “Malle? ... Did I wake you up?”

[margaretofwales]

galen-hale​:

He’d been in this room before.

While the guards shoved the queen’s attendant toward the bedroom, Galen’s attention pulled him toward a built-in bookcase. He scanned each title until landing on the only book in English, The Rebel by Camus, and peeled it open to a page where a ballet ticket had been pressed inside in lieu of a bookmark. The Paris Opera Ballet’s La Bayadére.

Noise from the door leading to the bedroom startled him out of the decades-old memories held in his hands and he snapped the book shut. “Your Majesty,” he addressed Queen Margaret with a bow. When he rose, he was smiling. “Hello. I’m Galen. Please, sit. Rest your feet.” Galen shot a scolding look at the guards as if he had not ordered them to rouse the queen. “There’s no need to for all of this. Go.” Galen waved them out of the living space with a shake of his head.

He sat in one of the parlor chairs and crossed one leg over the other. Hours ago he’d been the recipient of royal honors, and he didn’t feel the need to explain the complicated plot that brought him to Queen Margaret’s quarters. “Is your husband out?” he asked.

Everything about it was so familiar. The ceremony, the coyness of his movements, the pretend formality of his speech. They did this dance on the island, treating their captives like guests, parties every night. Like any amount of flavored rum could detract from the truth: that they were captives, kidnapped, and any turn of the knife could bring their death.

Malle motioned the maid back into her bedroom, her gesture a gentler shade of his dismissal, a nod to the frightened woman to tidy the bed and prepare her rooms. For her part, she sat.

Before, Malle would have held her hands in her lap, shy and scared. But she was a queen, now, and that came with some command. Her arms rested on the armrests, her expression curious, dark eyes tracking even the smallest movement of his form. Unthreatened. Amused, almost. Her head tilted to the side, soft brunette waves on her shoulder. “Are you looking for him?”

[margaretofwales]

“Goodness.” Malle murmured, halfway ready to roll over before she remembered that she couldn’t. She caught herself against the pillows and slowly opened her eyes to the soft face of Sara Wynn, her second attendant, and not the bright eyes and ruddy cheeks of her husband. She blinked, twice, and propped herself upright. “Well?” She prompted. “Whatever is it?”

It was deja-vu, the icy chill in her veins, the way her spine seemed to stack precariously straight. Malle dressed meticulously. She paid careful attention to layers, parted her hair and pinned it back. And finally, once she was satisfied, she motioned to shaking Sara Wynn to open the door.

“Hello.” She greeted the room simply. Her stomach didn’t twist or turn, but instead filled with lead. “I’m Malle.”

Hell all over again.

@galen-hale​

Queen Margaret’s Quarters

Shouting from the adjacent room came as a prelude to the lights flicking on in Queen Margaret’s bedroom. An attendant of the queen’s staff, shaking like a leaf, explains in a quaking voice that the queen’s presence is requested in the suite’s parlor. Immediately. When the attendant tries to explain further there are men with guns, they are interrupted by a threatening Shut up! from the other side of the door. Please, the attendant whispers.

@galen-hale @margaretofwales

Anyone can start the thread. Please post on your own blog and tag your partner!

[margaretofwales]

infantacardoza​:

“No.” What need had she for a bulky wristwatch when she already her phone, and there were plenty of clocks around the palace. One or the other could tell her what she needed to know. But she didn’t think much more of the question, and didn’t pick up on any implication that came along with it. Down on hands and knees, Lecia began poking her arm beneath the settee.

“The clasp… breaks…” she said, struggling twice over. Both in reaching the back half of underneath the furniture and in finishing her thought while she did so. “I must hold it.”

Lecia had, as the saying went, one job. Clearly she hadn’t done great at it, but she blamed her current predicament on an unfortunate lack of pockets. Maybe she would have better luck if she retraced her steps. Lecia popped back up from the floor, and marched over to the door. Then she spun around, her skirt billowing up around her ankles.

“What you are eating over there?”

“Peanut butter.” She answered simply, though there was no disguising the guilt in her tone. In a past time, Malle would have been searching high and low for the wristwatch, if only because it meant something to Lecia. But now, instead, she just offered the jar and spoon to the other woman. “It’s got nutella swirls.”

And then, because she felt fairly guilty, she leaned over and opened the door to the washroom, flicking the light on inside. “Have you been in here?” She asked, her voice echoing against the marble. “Maybe it’s in the bin.”

In her clutch, the unmistakable sound of her phone chimed.

“Oh, is that Jacob?”

☎️ for one of our muses needing help finding a lost (cellphone, earring, watch, or other item). (lecia)

“Mm--” She caught herself making the sound and quickly stopped, guiltily pulling the spoon from her mouth. Peanut butter, the proper kind with a blue top in a plastic jar, was clutched in her other hand. Malle wasn’t being the most helpful as Lecia tore the suite apart. “What does it look like?”

She may have already said, and Malle felt guilty for that, but she also felt -- tired? Yes, but always. Hungry? Not more than usual. A cramp or a-- no, that was a kick. She shifted her weight and walked over to the wide bed, one hand pressing down and across the duvet, searching for a bump or a lump or a hint that --

“Are you sure Simon doesn’t have it on him?” The blue flowers on her robe turned nearly violet in the lamplight, the courtyard fountain gurgled merrily outside the tall windows. “Oh, no.” 

Visions of the island flashed before her eyes, a collection of knives and paper clips and other collected tools, the wide, earnest face of the princess before her as she hinted at her collection. “Lecia, you didn’t --”

Steal. 

Malle cleared her throat.

“Did you borrow it from him?”

[margaretofwales]

“No,” Malle answered. Her silhouette blocked most of the light from the doorway as she stepped into it. When she last remembered, she was reading,  though the splayed-out book across her chest implied that she’d fallen asleep. A wrinkle in her nose, she stepped forward and switched on the sconce by the kitchen. A yawn, stifled in the light of the refrigerator as she opened it and began searching. “I was reading. Sort of.”

She glanced sidelong, smiled.

Finding the other half of her pre-bedtime sandwich, Malle began to peel back the paper off the honey wheat when she remembered, and slowly glanced up “Don’t--” her tone belied a previous debate, one about deli meats and cheeses. “--it was grilled.”

Returning to him, she took a bite and offered the sandwich to him. “Were you out causing trouble?”

👀 for catching your muse in/leaving/entering their room. (Molly!)

The hallway just outside of their quarters was brightly lit, making the adjustment to darkness even harder. Whiskey didn’t help, either. Jacob certainly wasn’t drunk but he’d been slinging back drinks for hours now. It was past midnight and he’d just added a couple cigars into his system, too. The day had been long and not enough of it was spent with Malle, and even if she was asleep, he needed the calm of being near her.

Jacob tried to navigate the unfamiliar room as quietly as humanly possible, but seeing as ‘stealth’ was not very high on his list of skills, he knocked right into a table with his knees only a few steps in. “Shit,” he swore under his breath. He refused to turn on a light and risk waking up Malle, even though his blundering around was definitely worse. He heard the bedroom door open and a soft light poured out of the doorway. “Malle? ... Did I wake you up?”

[margaretofwales]

☎️ for one of our muses needing help finding a lost (cellphone, earring, watch, or other item). (lecia)

“Mm--” She caught herself making the sound and quickly stopped, guiltily pulling the spoon from her mouth. Peanut butter, the proper kind with a blue top in a plastic jar, was clutched in her other hand. Malle wasn’t being the most helpful as Lecia tore the suite apart. “What does it look like?”

She may have already said, and Malle felt guilty for that, but she also felt -- tired? Yes, but always. Hungry? Not more than usual. A cramp or a-- no, that was a kick. She shifted her weight and walked over to the wide bed, one hand pressing down and across the duvet, searching for a bump or a lump or a hint that --

“Are you sure Simon doesn’t have it on him?” The blue flowers on her robe turned nearly violet in the lamplight, the courtyard fountain gurgled merrily outside the tall windows. “Oh, no.” 

Visions of the island flashed before her eyes, a collection of knives and paper clips and other collected tools, the wide, earnest face of the princess before her as she hinted at her collection. “Lecia, you didn’t --”

Steal. 

Malle cleared her throat.

“Did you borrow it from him?”