#♚ ➢ FAR FROM EMPTY HEADED. - musings.

[aamaranthiine]

♚ from mihawk :eyesemoji:

( from manhandling starters. - accepting - for @seashanties' Mihawk )

♚ - put a hand on my muse’s knee while sitting next to them, to discourage them from standing up

A crowded tavern rife with noise and merriment, bodies and tongues lax from watered down rum and tangy-sharp sake. The thrum of voices and movement - hands slapping tables, boots stomping worn wooden floors - a rhythm that made the nerves stutter. At the far end of the bar counter Thea sits alone and seemingly unseen by the masses, content to exist in the noise without adding to its discordant orchestra.

Loose whisps of white hair peek out from beneath a dark floral print bandanna, a violet blossom tucked behind an ear that had yet to lose its luster. She palms through a worn deck of cards in a game of solitaire, until a shadow skulks into the corner of her eye and someone occupies the empty barstool adjacent to her.

In setting down a three of spades, she just barely turns her head to catch familiar golden eyes under the brim of a cavalier's hat. She doesnt say anything. Even during their last encounter, she hadnt spoken a single word to him. Maybe spared a secret smile for the turnaround in her offering a flower to him.

The game is a bust though, nimble hands sweeping up the cards into a pile and she turns the stool around as if to depart. Only for the warmth and weight of a hand settling on her leg to forestall her exit. The chair is turned slowly back around, bringing Thea to face Mihawk properly. Frosted white lashes flutter and her wine-dark eyes meet his sharp yellows.

His lingering touch and the slight press of his weight on her knee has tension crawling up to her shoulders, unused to anyone being as direct, or as perceptive of her elusive presence. Still the woman says nothing, giving the swordsman an expectant look. He had her attention, that is certain.

[arcgeminga]

ANSWERED ASK from  @starlightofdream​​​: Aspros+Grief (for Aspros) ♚ Meme:  Send me a number + an emotion and I will write a drabble/starter of my muse expressing that emotion!

               — UNSPECIFIED AU/CANON DIVERGENCE: Every Day A Little Death

   The entire week before felt as if he had been drowning.

Sisyphus had tried to check up on him every day, but the content presence of the Sagittarius Saint didn’t pull him from the water--no matter how hard his friend tried. Hasgard had tried making himself the clown of every joke in attempts to cheer him, but the humor had failed to reach the Gemini’s ears. Even the most basic of tasks was too difficult to figure out--and the feeling of inadequacy only added more cracks in the shattered pieces of his heart.

The usually charismatic Gold Saint of Gemini--brilliant and kind-- had locked himself within the deepest parts of his temple. Most people passing did not even have to ask for his permission--he had just given up.

He was drowning and he was allowing himself to. There was no point in fighting it. There was no reason to.

The death of his precious little brother Defteros was a mortal, invisible wound. 

Master Hakurei’s reasoning for not allowing the younger twin to live was reasonable. After all, he wanted to preserve the laws of Sanctuary--and the fact that Defteros had managed to live and travel through Sanctuary was already a dangerous precedent. If a Gold Saint plea for his stowaway brother to remain with him in Sanctuary and that request was received, the rest of the Saints might do the same. In regards to keeping an iron fist rule and setting an example, Hakurei was doing his best to protect Sanctuary. And Sage couldn’t make a decision. Ultimately, what had to be done was for the greater good of Sanctuary. But it killed Aspros.

As soon as Defteros’ head rolled onto the marble floor, he blacked out. It was more than just a shock--his soul was ripped from him. He felt dead. They didn’t even give Defteros a proper burial, since he was an outlaw. At least... he didn’t remember if they did. The first few days after the sentencing, Aspros felt as if he wasn’t really here. He couldn’t remember what the night of that day was--and he barely recalled his automatic handling of a small mission that was assigned to him. It just felt unreal. His breathing body was empty. 

He would hear words so far away even though Sisyphus would be talking in front of him. The only thing that sounded crystal clear from the muddied mess of a week was what Hakurei said to Sage when the two elders were arguing in front of him:

                                “Every day, he is deteriorating.”

Yeah... Aspros silently agreed, even though his dead expression remained unchanged in front of the arguing brothers. Perhaps he was.

It was the beginning of the next week. Forcing himself out of bed and properly ready before Sisyphus could come over and drag him out was too difficult. His room had become significantly untidy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had numbly mumbled some words of promise to Hasgard to clean up someday, but the energy to move wasn’t there.

It took way too long for Aspros to drag his feet to the door, and even longer to open it and exit his shadowed room... Aspros couldn’t bring it in himself to light a candle anymore, finding very small amounts of comfort in the darkness--the only thing that had made him feel anything... 

“Aspros!” Sisyphus had called out to him as he approached from the end of the Temple, though the words were muffled in Aspros’ ears. Sisyphus gave him the wide-smile expression, as he did when trying to lightened the depression. “How are you feeling today? Did you eat yet?”

“...no,” Aspros’ voice held no emotion as he grunted the single syllable. However, it didn’t seem to affect Sisyphus. 

“Ah. Then no problem. Kardia and Manigoldo suggested a banquet at my temple. Maybe later tonight?” although Sisyphus’ words were meant to try to encourage a bright mood, Aspros’ eyes only dropped lower; the proposal was meant to reconnect the dispirited Gemini Saint to the others, but they weren’t reaching him.

“...oh.” 

“Ah, and... um, Sage wanted to talk to you,” Sisyphus seemed uneasy, and Aspros missed the glitter of anticipation that alighted the Sagittarius eyes. But Aspros didn’t respond. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than a mute, slight nod. With movements that felt too mechanical, Aspros started his sluggish ascent to the Papal Chambers. 

When he pushed the grand doors open, his eyes were lowered. He didn’t know if Hakurei was already here--in a way, he couldn’t bring himself care. The creak of the large doors were already enough of a signal of his arrival, so he his lips stayed sealed.

“Ah, Aspros,” Sage was the one to close the distance between them. He felt a kind hand reach across to rest upon his shoulder, but the light weight felt as if it was assisting those bitter waters of despondency suffocate him. “I was hoping to discuss a certain subject with you, if you are fairing well today.”

Aspros remained silent as he couldn’t bring his eyes up to meet the Pope’s expectant gaze... He was so tired. 

Sage heaved a heavy sigh before his hand slipped from its place. A long, heavy breath of silence fell upon the two men. It goes on for a moment... then a little longer, before Sage broke the silence with a question too clear, “Aspros. Do you wish to continue being a Saint?”

He didn’t know why the words cleared through the muffling sounds, but the implication of the Patriarch’s question was clear. Although Athena, Sisyphus, Sage, and the others were fighting for the sake of the world--Aspros felt disconnected from that goal.

This fight... wasn’t worth fighting anymore.

His lips stalled before they could part to utter a request. Sage took the opportunity to say with his patient voice heavy with remorse, “Before... Defteros had been dragged out and executed, I had made my decision. Aspros, you are to be my successor.”

He had finally achieved that life-long dream... and it felt as if his weak arms didn’t want to embrace it.

Blue eyes finally trailed up to the remorseful, old man--a bit of light glossing over the dullness. With painstaking slowness in his rusty, barely-used voice, Aspros said, “I want to leave..”

Sage took the rejection with as much grace as he could. A hapless smile touched his worn lips as he accepted the resignation of the Gemini Saint. “...I understand. You have my permission to leave when you are ready. Just leave your Cloth when you leave Sanctuary.”

The visible traces of strain on Aspros’ grief-struck expression slackened as his desire for disengagement had been recognized and granted.

Aspros was drowning, but--just as the weight of responsibility slipped from his shoulders--he felt at peace with this slow and painful death.