#* ━━ v. de la rosa › colloquy.

[aresenics]

 𝒻𝑜𝓇  :   @rcsplendent !

𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤  :   vero   &    diego   .

𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟  :  palace infirmary .

𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐌 thrown over the shoulder of a palace guard, gash from the hairline of his skull oozing out liquid rubies as he attempts to gather his vision; eyes being flooded by his own blood. vero's vision blurs in & out of focus as he mumbles something in native tongue, feet moving instinctually in tandem with the officer beside him. in conscious mind it'd been a reflexive action to shove them off, tell them that he's fine but as he protests the aid it's coming out in a slur, spanish vowels a mixture of quaint mumbles & furrowed brows. they enter the palace in a stampede of chaos, equally injured guests hobbling past & nurses flooding throughout to grab who they can in haste. the guard is calling for help as someone approaches, tensing as they reach out to take vero from their grasp, firm in their questionnaire: who are you ? are you in relation ?

[aresenics]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 for her new sister in law elicits a sigh as he leans back, fingers intertwining on the fall of his chest as he glances up at the ceiling. a time he needs to will himself to relax. he hasn't felt this stressed in years ( well, a lie, if you counted the decades of hidden scheme ) & he briefly wonders when his children will no longer contribute to the grey hairs that sprout in small tufts along the side of his head. ❛ lo que sea que te mantenga ocupado y fuera de peligro. ❜ a snort of laughter, head shaking in disbelief. ❛ o tal vez sea hablar demasiado pronto. los franceses no son muy práctico. y ciertamente ella no vas a tocar el barco. ❜ a genuine promise in lieu of harsh threat. even coming aboard would take months of trust. the switch of topic causes him to snap his head forward, eyebrows furrowing. ❛ nadie, preferiblemente. ❜ it's honest. his children didn't need anybody but themselves, fully aware of the consequences that may come with . . . love. ❛ creo que un gato pequeño está bien. tal vez un perro, pero eso es forzarlo. ❜ it's a territory he doesn't want to dive into. not now. not ever. ❛ desde cuándo te importa tanto el romance ? ❜

"She is..." Maria shrugged her shoulders. She had been kind enough to her sister's wife for her sister's sake, but the luxuries of royal life were beginning to take over to the point where even she wondered if she actually liked the French Princess or if it was all just an act to save her skin. "I look forward to turning her into a proper Sicilian," she said with a grin. Eleanor showed potential enough, with dirty hands and an aching curiosity for sailing. "She asked me if Zehra was ever going to teach her to sail, so that must count for something." With both her younger siblings already married, Maria was beginning to feel left out, left behind. Though, it was made entirely clear that she had no need to be, that didn't stop the obvious. "Papá... if I ever wanted to get married," she said very dryly as to not startle him with the idea, "what kind of person would you hope for me to be with? A king? A pirate...?" she paused, drawing in a breath, "or something else?"

[aresenics]

𝒻𝑜𝓇  :   @hcrexcellency !

𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤  :   vero    &    maria   .

𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟  :  palace infirmary .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 the sicilian only causes a fit of frustration among the nurses that attempt to clean the gash that sits across his forehead. a bark of orders, questions, fucking anything, for anyone who'll answer him. they continue to dismiss it all, an expression of discomfort for the unfamiliar spanish that rolls off his tongue — he can't think straight, can't translate his confusion to the english that they know best. makes him feel alien. lost. he's unsure of where his children are. the last thing he remembers is their fathers face, coddling & crooning for him to stand up, to keep awake long enough to get him to the medical building. doesn't remember anything else. doesn't remember if the search party had all arrived back. if they'd already told him everyone was fine. the moment is relived time & time again, the feel floating to the tips of his fingers. an out of body experience that sends him reeling for an explanation. ❛ dejame ! ❜ he shouts in a hiss, overstimulated by the palms that flatten against his chest & press him back down.

[aresenics]

 𝒻𝑜𝓇  :   @rcsplendent  !

𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤  :   vero   &    diego    .

𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟  :    de la rosa apartments .

𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 coat, spring showers in full force as his boots squeak against wooden floors — never one to pay mind to the civility of things: shoes & jacket off first before entering. no, instead, a dripping mess is left in his wake as he makes his way back to diego's office. a more pressing concern that awaited him before he'd left, who'd asked if they could speak about a certain something once he returned. he's turning the knob & entering, a troubled expression pacing across the room & suddenly vero is curious. a wet dog with its head tilted at the slightest change in atmosphere, curls flattened against his head, eyes alight. ❛ diego ? ❜ a purr of call to attention, voice accented by spanish tinge & low wonder, knowing better than to ignore the gut feeling that something was up. ❛ de qué querías hablar conmigo ? ❜

[aresenics]

 𝒻𝑜𝓇  :   @classiqcals   !

𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤  :   vero   &    zehab    .

𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟  :    ship dock .

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 stuffed under the ships base, the clang of metal & burning zip of rope a noise that follows along as he moves quickly to free any strain, chip & crack that threaten to dismantle the reputation of his most prized creation. for  this  hour,  it  seemed  the  gods  had  other  plans, what  with  the  spitfire  energy  that  motivated  him  to  abandon  any  other projects to tend to his ship — ceased by the creature that flies beak first into the sail, an echoing rip as it attempts to free itself. ❛ hijo de gran puta, ❜ he grits out, a sigh of frustration as hears someone walk near. ❛ mind passing me that, ❜ he juts his chin in the direction of the ladder; the english verbiage for it slipping his mind; quick temper hoping they can clue in on what he's asking for.

[aresenics]

𝒻𝑜𝓇  :   @bloodycrxwn   !

𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤  :  vero   &   santiago   .

𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟  :    up   to   you   <3    .

     𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊   𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄   𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒   𝐎𝐅   𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃   𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐇𝐎𝐋,  one   behind   the   other   was   but   another   nod   to   his   pastimes,   allowing   the   liquid   to   burn   the   small   of   his   throat   until   teeth   are   clenched   with   a   low   hiss   —   digits   curling   around   the   empty   glass;   an   anchor   for   reality.   the   creak   of   an  opening   door   elicits   tension   within   his   shoulders,  not   particularly   in   the   mood   for   conversation.  nevertheless,   he’s   moving   on   to   find   himself   another   drink,  hopefully   a   lure   for   oncoming   stranger   to   aid   in   his   search   or   leave.   eyes   flutter   toward   them,   taking   in   recognizable   figure   with   an   internal   breath   of   relief.   fortunately   enough   santiago   had   been   most   aware   of   vero’s   sudden   odes   of   silence,   but   with   familiar   face   the   will   to  avoid   communication   is   gone   momentarily.    ❛    tu   hermano   sera   la   muerte   para   mi.     ❜      he   muses.       ❛     puede   pararse    justo    en    frente    de   él   y   todavía   se   preocupará   de   que   algo   ande   mal.     ❜     sly   digits   continue   rummaging   through   oak   cabinets,   finally   rewarded   with   an   entirely   unopened   bottle   of    tequila,   a   fox   -   like   grin   sliding   across   his   lips.   the   seafarer   places   it   on   the   counter,   gaze   meeting   with   the   prince   that   stalks   further   in.    ❛     convincing   him   to   leave   is   a   mission   of   its   own.     ❜   

[aresenics]

" speak to him ? like this ? " he muses aloud, watching from the corner of his eyes as he's swayed back in forth by a man with cheeks reddened by the nectar of fine wine, grown with the same care as blossoming court gardens. " should i be jealous ? " diego's behavior under the influence is no stranger at all, always limber and happy to oblige each and every one of vero's requests. a stark difference to the man that brought him to his knees time & time again, reminding him of the punishment he were to receive once they'd made it back to sicily. dimples appear upon scruffy cheeks as memory serves. despite what could be described as improper guise, he's sure the french have seen it all. heard it all. a multitude of tones & a variation of offers, pleas, & the like. from drunken demands to dreaded curses damning them to hell for their lack of interest. the two have spoken of intent, of ambitions & what they truly want out of their time here. with every inquiry the response had stayed firm: not being party to either side, staying out of it completely to avoid scandal or any form of retaliation should an uprising occur once more. a twitch at the corner of his lip. a twinge of guilt. a former promise of betrayal that eats at his skull like a rotting amoeba. a parasite crawling in the shadow of vero's brain, waiting to swallow down every warm memory. a life he now knows to a life he once knew within a matter of seconds. a breath out, briefly making eye contact with the four - person crowd that spots them lurking in the corner. in the near two decades that they've sailed together, anchors in a tide that threatens to pull them away until they're nothing but dust & sand beneath the current, a darkness has always lurked within. even with all the treasures of a king at his feet, still remains an instinctive jolt in his fingertips at the sight of golden trim laced in the bodice of europe's elite. a display of rubies & jewels found on the collars of honorables, the rarity of gems found in one foreign country & never in another. dish by dish of riches whirring by, each platter as delectable & ravaging as the last; the feral nature to take everything & give nothing. " feels like asking for permission. going up to him like children begging for attention. " a shift in position as vero turns to face him, having to lift his chin up a little, though it does nothing but spring upon an expression of defiance. a habit of distracting diego from accomplishing any work ( albeit this time, intentions are motivated by what he deems selfless ). " si necesitas hacerlo ahora, entonces ve. " a shrug, strands of black becoming loose & slipping over the rim of deep hues. " pero creo que soy mejor compañía. " ring adorned digits slide up from diego's belt buckle, tracing the inner lining of emblazoned garments to the silk of his bandana, pulling the sicilian down inches from the gaze that stares through him. sharp & biting.

as  slim  fingers  card  through  his  hair,  diego  finds  himself  letting  out  a  warm,  gentle  hum  —  it's  comical  to  see  him  in  such  an  affectionate,  lax  state  ;  a  fearsome  lion  letting  itself  be  pet. he's  no  stranger  to  the  teasing  that  usually  comes  with  it,  either  from  his  crew  or  from  his  children,  astonished  to  see  such  a  stoic  figure  reduced  to  a  lovesick  puddle  of  a  man. over  the  years,  he's  come  to  pay  it  no  mind  ;  in  situations  where  his  younger  self  would  startle  away  from  his  lover  when  someone  else  entered  the  room,  afraid  to  be  made  the  butt  of  a  joke,  he  now  revels  in  the  affection,  basking  happily  in  his  husband's  glow. "  lord  knows  i  care  far  more  about  how  you  are  doing  than  myself,  hermoso.  &  besides  —  i'm  always  faring  fine. "   there's  a  playful  lilt  to  his  voice  —  he  knows  vero  could  easily  fire  off  a  dozen  memories  of  finding  the  king  distraught,  tense  all  over,  at  the  helm  of  an  off-course  ship  or  hunched  over  a  cluttered  desk  ;  smoothed  warm  hands  over  taut  shoulders  until  they  were  loosened  once  more.  regardless,  he  truly  is  feeling  fine  tonight,  humming  happily  at  the  tug  to  his  curls  and  pressing  his  face  into  the  gentle  slope  between  his  husband's  neck  &  shoulder.  he  huffs  a  laugh  there,  arm  slipping  down  to  lazily  wrap  around  vero's  middle,  bringing  them  ever closer.   "  llevarte?  "  he  feigns  incredulity,  as  if  he  has  to  think  about  it  —  as  if  he  wouldn't  do  anything  vero  ever  asked  of  him  without  so  much  as  a  question.   "  nunca  llegué  a  cargarte  a  través  del  umbral ... "  he  muses,  playful  &  warm,  allowing  his  hair  to  be  mussed  into  its  usual  unruly  appearance  &  giving  vero's  hip  a  gentle  squeeze  in  return.  his words  are  true  ;  they'd  been  married  at  sea,  &  never  had  a  chance  to  do  all  of  those  silly  marital  traditions.  aside  from  a  hasty  consummation  in  the  captain's  cabin. he  yawns,  then —  for  all  his  vivaciousness,  he  is  indeed  feeling  the  effects of  both  the  alcohol  &  middle  age. "  i  would  not  be  opposed  to  retiring  to  bed  soon.  although,  i  have  not  spoken  with  the  big  bad  yet. "  he  peeks  an  eye  open,  tossing  his  head  lazily  in  the  direction  of  the  french  royals  —  referring  specifically  to  the  king.  in  truth,  he's  not  entirely  sure  what  his  game  plan  is  with  the  french.  he's  plenty  suspicious  of  their  intentions  (  his  default  opinion,  at  this  point  ),  but  unwilling  to  launch  any  premature  accusations  of  unjust  governance  &  conquest  at  such  a  formidable  power  —  thoughts  &  hesitations  he's  shared  with  his  husband  time  &  time  again. 

[aresenics]

the building shakes as the kings of sicily depart from one another, diego making path to the french monarch & vero slithering off to partake in his own interests. within seconds shards of glass are grazing his cheek, not close enough to break skin but enough to make him hiss & drop to the ground at the burn of it, compressed air hitting the room like a tidal wave. pieces of metal are flung everywhere & wooden chairs are splintered among the crowd. steady eyes are concentrated on finding the culprit when bodies begin dropping, two right in his line of sight & that’s his opportunity to recognize what he’s in the middle of. another attack. quickly, he's standing up to search for his family, jaw clenched with the wrath that bubbles at the pit of his stomach. the sound of luca's voice lures his gaze directly on him & he's moving to cup the back of his head, free hand a firm palm against his chest. a simple & subtle act of affection. " te golpe�� algo ? algo duele ? " the release of some tension. that his child seems to be physically okay. " always, " he replies, lightening the mood with arrogant rise despite the anger that twitches at his eyebrow. " your siblings ? your father ? have you seen anyone ? " a breath. he has to remember to slow down. make certain that nothing is wrong with luca before he can look for anyone else.

@aresenics - vero

Seeing just how worried his father was, he couldn't help but feel the chills run down his back as he thought about the possibility of his family being in danger and him being unable to do anything. So, when he saw Vero, a breath of relief rolled over him and he jogged forward. "Vero," he said with a small smile, mainly one of relief, "you're okay, right?"

[aresenics]

𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 attempts to persuade diego. ❛ tu hermano ha casado a otra de mis hijas. entonces, cómo crees que te va ? ❜   it's a snap of attitude that's entirely unnecessary considering santiago is very much on the same page & he realizes the need to tone it down with a small curl of lip, a smirk as vero juts scruffy chin in his direction.  ❛ alguien te llama la atención ? podrías ser el siguiente ❜ he's two parts genuinely interested in anyone's business & one part joking, though with the younger man's persistence on a daily basis he wonders if there's a certain feeling he's trying to avoid.

Closed starter for @aresenics ( Vero de la Rosa )

Santiago let out a sigh as he entered the de la Rosa common room. He threw himself on the armchair, relaxing against the comfortable seat as he looked over at his brother-in-law. "So have you convinced my brother to leave this place already? What are we still doing here?" He was tired of being in dry land and he could not wait to get back in the sea. At the same time, there was a certain princess that did not leave his mind and he thought that putting some distance between them would make those thoughts and feelings go away.

[aresenics]

they're pulling away, inked digits lingering over diego's chest in a pleasurable roam, taking map of such vastness. doe eyes glance through dark lashes, a mutter of encouragement for the man that pauses with clear anxiety for oncoming declaration. ❝ digame, ❞ he coaxes, ears open & alight for the fire that threatens to burn the taller man's throat. still, vero had always been vero. without shame. with a shimmer & then a glitter refracting against diego's pupils, slits distinguishing growing lights that consume the ocean floor in a symphony of colors. like a kitten, bell jangling around soft tufts of spotted fur, flexing its small claws & ready to jump as a laser pointer flickers across wooden flooring, vero's gasping; leaving his lover's confession lost in the wind that blows synchronized sea creatures around in a ballerina's concierto. ❝ no mames. ❞ a low whisper. he's turning around with a hurried step of boots, nearly launching himself over the deck once more, eyes black marbles in the depths of his skull as he stares. a childlike wonder overtaking the usual salacious gaze reserved for those who pursued him in a carnal fashion. the real boy who had hidden himself for decades, uncaged & released back into the wild with a hearty grin: a wolf boy on all fours. ❝ mira los de ahí ! parecen un paquete de skittles ! ❞ as he points to the colorful group a few metres out.

closed  starter​​​​​​​   ⇢​​​​​​​  𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖔 𝖉𝖊 𝖑𝖆 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖆. ( @aresenics ! )

𝓼𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 . . .  summer 2006 on a borrowed sailboat, around 10pm.

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐁𝐎𝐗  𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐒  𝐀  𝐓𝐖𝐎-𝐁𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎  𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐄  into  the  place  where  it  rests  against  his  chest  even  through  two  layers  of  fabric,  tucked  safely  within  the  pocket  of  his  flannel  —  a  sharp  contrast  provided  by  the  press  of  cool  metal  in  the  form  of  the  cross  he's  worn  since  he  was  a  child,  nestled  just  a  few  inches  away  against  his  sternum.  the  difference  in  temperature  grounds  him,  keeps  him  tethered  to  the  here  &  now  despite  how  he  could  vibrate  out  of  his  skin  at  any  moment.  a  cool,  clear  night  &  calm  waters  set  a  serene  backdrop  for  what's  about  to  happen  —  what  vero  has  no  idea  is  about  to  happen.  in  retrospect,  this  wasn't  diego's  wisest  of  plans.  practically trapping  his  beloved  —  flighty,  uncontainable  vero,  skittish  &  wily  by  nature  —  on  a  boat  out  in  the  middle  of  the  bay  so  he  can  pop  the  question.  diego  knows  little  about  where  vero  came  from,  but  wherever  it  was,  it  ingrained  within  him  an  instinctual  need  for  means  of  egress  —  always  with  his  back  to  the  corner,  dark  eyes  flitting  around  in  calm  cautiousness.  it  should  chill  him,  but  instead,  diego  finds  a  warmth  flooding  from  his  fingertips  to  his  cheekbones  at  the  idea  of  vero  bending  one  of  so  few  rules  he  has  in  order  to  spend  a  night  with  him  on  a  borrowed,  worn-down  sailboat.  “  they  should  be  visible  soon,  ”  diego  calls,  voice  strained  as  he  pulls  the  last  sail  in,  stationing  the  boat  amongst  a  sandbar.  he  hopes  —  prays  —  that  he's  chosen  the  right  night.  it's  only  once  a  year,  &  he's  gotten  it  wrong  before.  meticulous  planning  &  several  pairs  of  eyes  (  in  the  form  of  his  meddling  sisters  )  keeping  careful  watch  of  the  weather  leaves  him  fairly  confident  that this  is  it.  he  moves,  perhaps  a  little  bashfully,  to  the  bow  of  the  boat  where  vero  stands,  leaning  over  the  railing  to  peer  into  the  water.  diego  —  still  shy,  somehow,  even  after  a  year  of  learning  each  other  —  sidles  up  behind  him,  curling  one  strong  arm  around  the  smaller's  waist  to  gently  tug  him  backwards.  “  i'm  afraid  you'll  fall,  ”  an  admission  that  comes  out  meek,  as  if  it's  an  apology  for  even  attempting  to  control  vero's  movements.  a  concealed  adjustment  of  his  shirt  serves  as  a  subtle  attempt  to  assure  the  ring  is  still  safe  in  its  temporary  home  —  the  press  of  the  box  into  his  ribs  assures  him  so.  a  careful  move  to  spin  vero  in  his  arms,  an  awestruck  little  smile  on  his  face;  he  wonders  if  his  eagerness  betrays  him,  if  it's  obvious  that  his  nerves  are  alight  with  anticipation.  regardless,  he  leans  down  for  a  kiss,  overcome  with  a  devotion  so  intense  that  he  simply  can't  go  without  verbalizing  it  any  longer:   “  mi  amor,  ”  words  pressed  almost  urgently  into  vero's  lips  before  he  pulls  away  to  speak,  forehead  resting  gently  against  the  other  man's  temple.  “  i  know  it  hasn't  been  long  .  .  .  ”  .  .  .  &  if  he  wasn't  so  enraptured  with  the  man  in  front  of  him,  he  might've  more  quickly  caught  sight  of  the  way  the  water  around  them  begins  to  glow.

[aresenics]

𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 & 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎 what he has to do in order for her to understand & get the picture, but instead he's met with a calm warning against those who threaten their kinship. bit by bit his sanity is unraveling. he knows that the longer they stay the more it's a risk of former business finding their way to them. in spite of every curveball thrown: the hands of his children being passed to another in proposal, he's still on edge by the constant need to look over his shoulder. watching. waiting for them to finally strike. still, he can't help but be impressed by her fierce devotion to make their presence known. a trait she's learned from her father, undoubtedly. which one, however, was to be decided. if it resulted in both, well, they were in for it. there's a flame of pride that he's never had the need to quell but the situation at hand has simply changed.  ❛ and is that all you choose to stay for, maria ?   ❜  it's not a low blow per say, but a sudden, perhaps invasive curiosity that comes out sharper than it needs to. ❛ tus ojos. pierden su luz cuando piensas demasiado.  ❜    it's unfamiliar territory, expressing sentimentalities with them, but it serves as distraction enough.

"Papa, no digas eso..." Maria can't stand the idea of being away from her family, especially now. More than they need her, she needs them. After what happened aboard the ship, watching the love of her life be taken while pretending it meant absolutely nothing to her, left her with a hollow feeling that only her family could remedy. "I have plenty of reasons to stay," she insisted, "Someone has to keep my sister safe. No tengo dudas de que puede cuidar de sí misma, pero... if they're after France, they're after her too. We should all be here to support her and show these people not to fuck with us."

[aresenics]

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 others to tell him what he wants, facial cues are effortlessly noted: the way she nearly leans forward with the desire to spill, her running thought of a reply so clearly a half - assed truth. if he were a different person, more gentler, more quieter, perhaps he'd allow this to pass as a simple defiance children planted in their chest, blooming as soon as they're able to decide on their own. as such, she decides that she's not swaying from the choice to stay & she is her father's daughter. her shift in topic elicits a look of curiosity. for the moment, he allows it. indulges in it. a common knowledge among the de la rosa's that any lieu of gossip lures the man far too easily than it should. smart. ❛ so i've heard, ❜ he says in a low mutter, a conversation had with her father & the way she'd properly introduced herself; ❛ she visited your father the other day. i haven't met her yet, but ella parece . . . decente. soft. ❜ it's almost a bile of offense at the tip of his tongue, a foreign addition to his vernacular. he's aware yes, that zehra's more than capable of handling her own. he made certain of that — that they could all handle themselves should it ever come down to it ( albeit not only physically, but with wit of mouth. a lesson they picked up on their own, unfortunately ). ❛ as any of the french are. s' not a surprise. your father seems to like her, which, is not a surprise either. incluso si es igual de crítico. ❜ —as me, is what he doesn't say; learning throughout the years to acknowledge his many, many flaws, though after two decades, it still remains a work in progress. it's his favorite pastime, after all. ❛ what do you think of her ? ❜ a watchful gaze. maria is the deciding factor of his already steaming judgement.

Maria almost blurted it out right then and there, almost let the whole story unravel from her mouth. I was in love, papá, I was so in love that I had lost myself in it and gave my heart to him and the sea, but he's is probably dead and it's all my fault. "I need my family..." is what she chose to say before swallowing the other half of the truth down, "and I'm enjoying my time here more than I'd though I would, spending time with Zehra and you and papi... Eleanor is practically shaking in her boots to be part of our family." It almost made her happy to see someone want this life, despite their reputation at court; the rapscallions, the thieves, the pillagers. Maybe someone could see them for being adventurous, fun, exceedingly loyal. Maybe someone could love Sicily just as much as they do.

[aresenics]

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 goes & with that, her first shout is but a far cry against the pounding that rattles his skull. it's her second shout that does it, lean muscles tensing for a moment as his eyes search for her in the room, relaxing suddenly as soon as they meet one another in a stern gaze; though hers is directed at the those that he's ripping off of him like a feral cat that's been trapped. he's only calming the temper that fuels a worsening nature in order to get a better look at her. ❛ maria, ❜ he responds gently, completely dismissing the demand with a curt breath. ❛ penso . . . ❜ an attempt to find the words to describe what he'd dreamt in the short period he'd been asleep — memory out of sorts. ❛ que lo paso ? venga. dejame ver. ❜ he coaxes, nurses flooding around to begin cleaning the bandages that need changing, grateful looks being shot her way as she serves the perfect distraction.

Now that Maria had accepted full care from the French doctors, she was making her rounds, first to see Jakob, and then her siblings. Finally, it all was in preparation to see her father, whom she knew was going to be the most difficult doctor's patient in all of Versailles. What she saw when he came into view was exactly what he had expected. "¡Papá!" she'd accosted him with no success, and so she hurried to his side, "¡Papá, deja de pelear con los medicos!" She scolded. "You will not get better if you do not hold still and let them fix you. They did the same thing for me and I am completely fine now."

[aresenics]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍, soft digits flexing on their accord & holding diego's cheek in a firm grasp, fitting perfectly under the space of his jaw. the privilege of being able to touch, feel without having to ask for it is something that he believes, wholeheartedly, to be a trick. a mistake of some kind. if the saints were real, they had missed his punishment & would snatch it all back the moment they realized. a sentimental thought that nearly distracts him before the first blow rings in his ears. he  decidido  que  maria  se  casará. dark hues flicker up to meet the expression the befalls the king. keep your cool, calmate. so she's found someone ? not ideal, though not terrible enough to cause such stress. hemos  hablado  de  ello.  ella  quiere  esto  más  que  yo. lips part as vero's stare roams from his eyes to his lips in an attempt to gather any more information, let his brain understand: it's not for love. no, it's for politics. his body barely registers the hands that begin undressing him, focused on the next words that leak in an oil spill of confession. a final blow.  hay  un  príncipe  de  austria  que  parece  prometedor. if one could hear the way he rips himself away from the older man, heart tattered with the seams of his dress shirt, voice painted with frustration, it would be akin to a startled horse throwing off its rider; a harsh oof as the pounding of hooves threatens to crack their skull underneath. ❛ no, no, no. no, diego. ❜ he refuses to plead, refuses to beg. it's everything he hates, everything that whittles a hellish web in the peak of his nightmares. it's a factual statement that their children were born not from them, not theirs to pick & choose who gets sent off. and even if they were, the strain from their difference in beliefs had come up, with vero counteracting the roles he had learned to play. still, learning. diego's reasoning only solidifies the built of temper, body moving on its own accord to get in his face, eyes wide with displaced laughter. disbelief. ❛ CLARO QUE SI ! por supuesto que quiere demostrar su valía de alguna manera. qué crees que es esto, diego ? sinceramente, piensa. realmente creo. esto no es algo que ellos sepan, que sea algo natural como lo es para ti. y qué ? qué pasa si termina encontrando a alguien más, y luego qué ? ❜ a pause for breath, shaking his head with droplets that pour down from the tips of each curl to the slope of his nose. a chilled breath in, always running rampantly cold; a searing burn from the blood boiling within that renders his fingers numb.

that  tone  that  vero  takes  is  an  exceedingly  rare  one  —  so  much  so  that  it  draws  diego's  gaze  up  instinctually,  spine  going  rigid  for  a  moment  like  he's  been  shocked.  he  doesn't  like  feeling  like  this  —  like  he's  been  caught,  like  he's  got  to  justify  himself.  he  spends  all  day  justifying  himself  to  people  who  couldn't  care  less  if  he's  right,  only  that  they  might  be  able  to  claim  part  of  any  spoils  by  agreeing.  he  knows,  though,  that  this  is  vero.  the  love  of  his  life.  if  anybody  deserves  an  explanation,  it's  him.    "  no,  no.  nada  como  eso.  tranquilo. "    he  murmurs,  placative  in  tone,  a  large  hand  moving  up  to  smooth  over  his  husband's  where  it  rests  against  his  chest.  ringed  fingers  slowly  curl  around  vero's  hand,  pulling  it  up  to  press  a  gentle  kiss  to  the  palm  of  it  before  guiding  it  to  his  own  cheek  —  a  silent  request  for  touch,  for  that  little  bit  of  intimacy;  an  attempt  to  self-soothe.  his  gaze  falls  absently  to  the  cotton  string  that  laces  the  collar  of  vero's  shirt,  his  jaw  ticking  when  he  clenches  his  teeth  together.  he's  sure  vero  can  feel  the  tendon  there  press  out  against  the  flat  of  his  palm.  out  with  it,  then.   "  he  decidido  que  maria  se  casará.  "    his  voice,  a  low  purr  by  default,  is  made  gravelly  by  the  tightness  of  his  throat;  he  clears  it  in  a  belated  attempt  to  maintain  composure.   "  hemos  hablado  de  ello.  ella  quiere  esto  más  que  yo. "    his  hands  move  to  carefully  begin  unlacing  the  string  at  vero's  collar,  loosening  the  fabric,  gingerly  untucking  it  from  the  waistband  of  his  pants  &  tugging  up.  he  doesn't  know  why  he  does  it  —  perhaps  this  half-hearted  attempt  to  undress  him  &  get  him  into  dry  clothes  will  lighten  the  weight  of  his  confession;  make  it  feel  more  casual.  (  he  can  try  to  convince  himself  of  that  all  he  wants.  in  reality,  he's  bracing  for  impact.  )    "  hay  un  príncipe  de  austria  que  parece  prometedor  ... "

[aresenics]

everything in him is screaming to move, like a fit of sleep paralysis; unable to so much as twitch, mind moving miles a minute in order to understand what's happening. the effort of doing so causes him to grit his teeth, tendrils of brown falling over eyes at half mast. being passed around is a situational trigger that heightens by the lack of control, but muscles suddenly loosen at the familiar touch of heavy hands & the support system of a man twice his size. his voice is a murmur, an echo that leads him forward in consciousness, blinking back the black dots that surge through his vision. there's a mumble that leaves vero's lips, something akin to being okay & fine. a firm hand comes up to grip diego's arm that's wrapped around his waist, the added movement causing a trickle of blood to drip from his hairline, mustering up the strength to make himself audible through the chaos. ❝ los ninos ? donde esta los ninos ? ❞ he repeats until he's heard, reflexive in the way his free hand moves up to his forehead to wipe it away like its a nuisance rather than something increasingly dangerous. ❝ tiene que buscarlos. ❞ then, like a rubber band pulling back, he's wrenching his neck up, not paying any mind to the blood that smears along diego's shirt as he grapples him closer, stains falling along his chin as he searches for any sign of injury. ❝ estas bien ? algo duele ? ❞

diego  is  not  a  violent  man.  he  is  not  even  an  angry  man  —  moves  through  the  world  with  an  almost  eerie  sense  of  calm  about  him.  the  eye  of  a  hurricane,  peaceful  amongst  chaos  in  perpetuity.  this  moment,  then,  signifies  a  storm  of  biblical  proportions:  dark  eyes  alight  with  fury  as  he  pushes  through  the  horde  flooding  the  infirmary,  moving  perpendicular  to  the  current.  a  self-critical  voice  in  his  head  rattles  within  his  skull:  what  were  you  thinking,  leaving  his  side?  nevermind  the  strain  their  bond  has  been  under  recently;  if  vero  was  injured,  &  diego  was  not  there  to  prevent  it  because  of  a  simple,  petty  argument,  he'll  never  forgive  himself.  his  vision  is  tunneled,  honed  in  on  his  husband  where  he's  being  passed  from  guard  to  nurse.  a  tidal  wave  of  worry  crashes  over  him,  but  it  is  not  out  of  protectiveness  for  vero.  it  is  out  of  concern  for  the  people  touching  him,  grabbing  him,  manhandling  him.  they  do  not  know  what  his  beloved  is  capable  of,  when  provoked.  he  worries ��for  their  safety.   " unhand  him. "    his  voice  is  a  lion's  roar  as  he  finally  reaches  his  husband's  side,  &  he  registers  a  dull  ache  in  his  own  injured  wrist  as  he  practically  rips  the  guard  &  nurses'  hands  from  vero's  body.  he'll let them take him in a moment — he just needs a moment.  he  turns  to  vero,  hands  trembling  as  they  move  to  cup  his  face,  holding  his  head  up  when  it  lolls  weakly  to  the  side.  a  harrowing  fear  rips  through  him,  then,  when  he  sees  no  trace  of  vero's  signature  temper;  the  constant  flame  in  his  eyes  reduced  to  coal.  "  vero?  mi  amor,  "    he  says,  urgent. one  arm  moves  to  wrap  tight  around  vero's  waist,  supporting  his  weight,  the  other  caressing  his  cheek, trying to assess the damage.  "  vero.  v  —  mírame.  please. "

[aresenics]

he's more than capable of working a crowd, giving them what they want out of conversation whether it be talk of fair trade, the ruins and rise of france, or simple eye candy they'd freely roam from head to toe. tonight he is fitting for the part, usually unruly locks combed smooth and slicked back in quaint visage. tattered, salt strewn clothing are replaced with tailored regalia, peppered in emblems of the sea — sole accessory worn the gaze beheld upon the crowd that bought them his attention, vero batting thick eyelashes in feign curiosity for their stories of "battle" or ventures through vast oceans. cute anecdotes indeed, unaware of what terrors were to be found if one sailed deep enough. oh, but it was home. hours of flocking soon finds his social battery dwindling, irritability closing in at the touch of too many roaming digits upon the meat of his bicep. soon enough he's excusing himself and striding off into a more secluded area, still at a distance where a watchful eye could be kept on his children although the silhouette of his husband was apparently nowhere to be found. shoulders tense at the sudden feel of warmth against his back, an ever familiar smell of wine and salt lingering form plush lips. vero drinks it in as if made solely for him, the notes of a flavor that none had attempted to dare try since their engagement. a snarl and glare for anyone who'd challenged the threat he posed. the king was his, and his alone. a primal instinct to lean his head over once diego's lips press against his skin, the mere difference in inches setting vero at the perfect height to reach back over their shoulders and run his fingers through the seafarer's hair, a rumble of content leaving his chest in the form of a hum.  "    cariño,    "  he   murmurs, a   shameless   smile as digits pull gently but   firmly   enough to drag down brushed curls. " i should be asking you that, no ? " he shoots back, english accented by the foreign verbiage of rarely spoken language. an eyebrow risen in interest, looking over his shoulder with knowing expression. his husband, easily fallen to the spell of good liquor, that stood ever more present with each and every event held by the royal family. it never fails to leave him loose - lipped and even better, loose - limbed. " i think my age is finally catching up to me, " he remarks, a tired huff spilling from his throat. " puede que tengas que llevarme de vuelta a casa, si no te fallan las rodillas antes. " a sly smile as he moves to ruffle up diego's hair into a bird's nest of locks.

closed  starter  —  vero  de  la  rosa. ( @aresenics )  

time  :  8:53pm.            location  :  edge  of  the  ballroom.

 broad  shoulders  push  through  a  densely  packed  crowd  of  people,  the  king  offering  each  person  he  moves  past  a  warm  smile  &  a  courteous  nod.  he's  been  genial  so  far  —  socializing,  politicking  —  and  the  night  is  still  young,  but  the  whiskey  he's  consumed  (  a  foreign  delicacy  compared  to  his  home's  infamous  amaro  liqueurs  &  honey  wines  )  has  warmed  him  to  his  bones,  making  him  sentimental  &  affectionate.  all  he  really  wants  is  about  twenty  feet  away,  handsome  as  the  day  he  met  him,  and  he  finds  himself  moving  in  his  direction  without  so  much  as  a  thought,  the  gravity  between  them  akin  to  the  moon  &  the  tides.  "  mi  amor  —  "  his  voice  is  low,  a  soothing  rumble  —  a  happy  tomcat  as he sidles  up  to  his  husband,  a  strong  arm  curling  around  vero's  shoulders  from  behind  to  pull  him  backwards,  into  his  own  chest.  "  —  mi  vida  —  "  he  noses  gently  behind  vero's  ear,  pressing  a  warm  kiss  to  the  tattoo  there.  he's  not  usually  this  cuddly  in  public,  but  they're  off  to  the  side,  mostly  out  of  sight  ;  plus,  of course, he's  had  a  bit  to  drink,  &  watching  his  family  amongst  the  crowd  has  made  him  softhearted.  "  —  mi  todo. "  he  presses  a  sleepy  kiss  to  vero's  shoulder,  then  ;  resting  his  chin  there,  head  heavy  with  alcohol-induced  drowsiness.  "  how  are  you  feeling  ?  "