#int ft. aiyla

[erenozturk]

setting: the wolf bbq, in the timey wimey soup that is after capture the flag

featuring: eren öztürk & aiyla baysal @aiylabaysal

He did not wish to linger for long. It was not because of some disappointment over losing — that was just the nature of games, someone would be victorious and someone would be the loser. Eren didn’t care anymore about the loss, or any sourness that came before it. But he had overextended himself the past couple days, pushing his comfort limits in certain games and tiring himself using his powers where he could to help his fellow court members. He knew he did not contribute much, his discomfort enveloping him in many of the group activities. Dodgeball was an extra hell as both balls and bodies chaotically moved about him. It gave him a heightened level of anxiety, to the point he began to wonder if he’d ever be okay again. And after capture the flag, and all the mental and physical exhaustion it brought… Home, where his records and hi fi awaited, sounded very nice about then. With his car back in commission, Eren was debating seeking out his beloved Peugeot and dipping from the barbecue, but then his eyes landed on Aiyla, seated alone, and he felt an uncomfortable tug in his chest. He heard through whispers about what happened, and given he’d stopped by when Van Doren had been sneaking out of her cottage before, he had an inkling about what transpired. While she could be so graceful, so kept together, he feared there was more going on behind her dark eyes. Just stay a little longer, he told himself as he looked at her. Say hi. With a sigh, Eren approached.

“Aiyla,” he started in a soft voice, approaching the lonely table where she sat. He decided to not come empty handed, stopping at a dessert table and grabbing what looked safe and not potentially laced in something, to bring for her. “A gift,” he said politely, placing the small paper plate and dessert on the table, just beside her so she could decide if she wanted it or not. “May I sit with you?” He asked. When she gave him confirmation, he slid into the chair beside her, careful so as not to bump shoulders. With his gloved hands neatly folded before him, Eren settled into a comfortable silence beside the Fae Queen, watching the merriment around them for a stretched moment. He was not talkative by nature, something she knew about him. He found a comfort in the stillness of the quiet, one he thought often helped him through hard feelings. But he knew this wasn’t so with everyone. Still, he wasn’t sure what to say, and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he debated how to approach the subject.

“You know,” he started without thinking much, “He has a mug shot from a trip to Ibiza. From about 18 years ago, early into his college years. Got into a fight at a club, nasty thing…. Hadn’t fully grown into his ears yet. So it’s just this narrow face with a big swollen eye, then two saucers on the sides of his head.” He motioned to his own face, sucking in his cheeks to make his face slimmer, sealing one eye shut and cupping his hands behind his ears to illustrate. “Found it for a cocktail waitress, about a year ago. She printed a ton and plastered them all over his car… I don’t think I had ever heard a grown man squeak before that day.” He made the smallest bemused noise, a sigh of a breath, while recalling it. How many spurned lovers asked him to look into the gallery owner in the past two years? One too many, he reckoned. “…I might still have it, if it would amuse you to see it,” he shrugged, “We can print even more copies and make an art installation out of it.” Falling back into a stretch of silence, he moved one of his gloved hands over, ghosting over a moment before gently lowering it onto her hand. He could feel the warmth of her, even through the leather. Still just a vague impression of body heat, always so vague. “Are you okay?” He lowered his voice then, only audible to the two of them, switching to their mutual native tongue to keep it as private as he could.

[jroycethethird]

setting: aiyla’s home, the night of the masquerade

featuring: royce van doren & aiyla baysal @aiylabaysal

In the dark quiet hours that followed such catastrophic events, there was a restlessness that kept the town from truly sleeping. Royce’s restlessness gave way to fast driving, speeding down the streets of Lunar Cove in his 1970 Porsche Coupe as he tried to make sense of all that happened. The masquerade, the hellish auction, neighbors turning on each other and voting each other away to be harmed by their adversary, the torture which proved to be just in their heads. It all consumed him, focusing on specifics here and there. The money he lost, which could be recouped, in part, he knew by taking one of his collections and a few of his extra cars to auction, but still a loss nonetheless. That soured his mind so he thought about other things, better things. A kiss instantly crossed his mind, one from a doe eyed beauty, a kiss his usual cowardice and refusal to try and do something did not deserve. And yet he relished it, fingers brushing over the lips that had just hours ago been touched by another’s. He made a promise, should they survive, didn’t he? Before long he was speeding towards Aiyla Baysal’s home.

Wearing still his tuxedo from the night, though he left his jacket in the back seat, lost his bow tie in the ruckus, and his shirt and waist coat were rumpled from everything that happened, Royce made his way to her door, taking a breath before knocking. Aiyla being home was a surprise — he knew how the night ended, he knew how the catalyst twisted things on them. One of her own was badly injured, he didn’t need to read her mind to know her thoughts were likely consumed by it. So when the door opened, Royce had an effortlessly charming smile, though it was smaller and softer than he’d usually spare, tired from the events of that night still, and he ducked his head in a sort of reverent greeting. She was royalty, or something of that kind.

“Hey,” he said in a voice so low and deep it served only to be heard by her as he drew just a bit closer. “I wanted to check on you. After everything, and after what happened to your own,” a vague reference to Leyla, who he suspected had a long road ahead of her if recovery was even a thing for the damage that had been dealt. But he didn’t want Aiyla to focus on that now, and he didn’t have that much sympathy to also care so much himself. He had his motives, had wanted comfort for himself as much as for her. So he stepped closer to her threshold as he added, “And I believe we have some unfinished business, you and I… Unless that wicked woman made me imagine that kiss. Though after that night in my gallery… I suspect it was the most real thing to happen tonight.”

[jroycethethird]

The soft squeeze of her hand on his thigh would have normally invited him to take a hold. To pull her hand to his lips where he’d press the softest kiss to her knuckles, just as he did whenever they were like this driving together, typically to or from council meetings or the gallery. On their way to her place or his to enjoy an evening uninterrupted and alone. When he pulled up to her cottage, but did not shut off the car, there was a split second where he thought about what it may have been like if he did. If he’d let things be, put the confrontation with his father behind him, and did what he wanted to in that moment. Follow Aiyla up the walk to her door, lose himself in her arms and bedsheets until dawn broke. Arrive to the next round of activities sleepy but satisfied, meeting her eye across the way with a wonderful shared secret stretching out between them.

He leaned into her touch, eyes closing briefly when she called him baby in that soft voice. When he opened them again, he was staring forward, back at the road. Royce swallowed at her words, not meeting her eye as he gently shook his head. “I’m really tired,” he finally said, his voice surprisingly even and calm despite everything warring within him. “Big day tomorrow.” He spoke in short spurts, small phrases which didn’t really indicate much at all. He wasn’t tired, not really, and tomorrow wasn’t that much of a big day. But he couldn’t go in with her, not if he wanted to spare them both a scene. One that wasn’t just said in his father’s head. He swallowed back another response, the desire to say maybe next time, and instead waited for her to climb out of the car.

Royce hadn’t expected for her to lean back in, to take a hold of his face and pull him in for a gentle kiss. So soft, he didn’t register it fully. She was whisking away by the time he reacted and leaned back in for another kiss, blinking at her and the question on her lips. “Of course,” he replied, hands gripping the steering wheel tight to keep from reaching for her. He watched her silently as she left the car and walked to her door. Eyes on her as she looked back, waiting until her door closed behind her before he sped away, back to his lonely bed in his lonely house in Celestial Hills, a thought itching at the back of his mind as he drove off into the night.

I should have gone inside.

[ capture the flag ]

The days were stretching before him and all Royce wanted was for things to be over. Not that he wasn’t having fun — mishap between a delicate part of his body and a dodgeball aside, the Field Days had been a great time. He’d seen the coven in victory after victory and took immense pride in their group. The way they came together and worked despite the odds to achieve a unified goal. After being the brunt of jokes in the council room, on the receiving end of some rather large tragedies, and fearing the morale dipping in the group, there was nothing he wanted more than to see them succeed. And seeing each of them step up, seeing how they strategized and worked together, watching in moments that each individual shined with their skill and magic, he thought maybe things could be looking up for them after all. He thought they were a truly remarkable group of people.

When the Capture The Flag teams had been laid out, he saw another hurdle looming in their path. Vampires and Faeries were a devastating pair to come up against. The speed and agility of the first, matched with illusionary abilities and flight of the second, alongside the pluckiness of the humans grouped with them, meant they had to be cunning as a group. Brute force wouldn’t be enough — ingenuity was required. Royce had thought as much when they began strategizing what to do, knowing at his core that the other team would place their flag in a high place and use their shared abilities to keep anyone from reaching it. And the more he tried to anticipate their plans, the more he figured one thing to be true: a sure part of a winning strategy would likely involve those portals being used to keep the enemy team away as much as it could be used to bring Team Lunar’s flag into their own territory. He knew he could do little about the vampire abilities, or the fae illusions, the sheer determination of the humans, and the like… but he could stop one useful trick.

If only he’d more properly thought his next steps, and their likely after effects, through.

When he’d jogged onto the pier, his heavy breaths were as much from the exertion of a long run as they were from overextending his duplication abilities. Truly, he wasn’t sure he’d made as much duplicates of himself before then, but he needed to in order to trick his way to the end goal. He was gambling off a hunch, and put every shred of his magic on the table. Luckily, he’d always been good at poker. Seeing her there, he’d almost given up his resolve all together. The wall he’d put up between them, deigning to push her as far as possible over this week until his family returned to their gilded prison and he could go back to his life without their eyes on him. It was a ridiculous plan, perhaps as much as the one which propelled him across the pier and towards her. What was if he not cocksure?

Seeing her pull up a portal that would whisk him far from there, he’d not been given a chance to unpack why it shrank when her eyes crossed his face. There wasn’t much on his mind as a smile he hadn’t expected himself to spare grew over his face upon his approach, seeing her struggle but ultimately manage to pull up a new one. His smile faltered at her words, but did not drop entirely. Déjà vu was funny like that. Chest heaving with a deep breath, he looked up at the woman fluttering above him with his usual charming smile, but it was softened at the edges as it always was when he smiled for her. Impressive and beautiful, her wings spread proud at her back. He had a vision of his father’s unimpressed face and it only caused his heart to skip a beat as it galloped in his chest.

“Looks like it is,” he finally responded between slightly labored breaths. He was getting too old for all this running, it would seem. Royce shook his head as he held out a hand towards her, beckoning her down as he stood still and resolute on the pier. “But I’m not here for what you think I am,” he lied so easily, perhaps the glorified trait to being what he was and not what she was. He didn’t have to cleverly bend the truth, he could just deny it outright. “We both know I’m not getting up there,” Royce pointed with his other hand, not stretching out to her, toward the top of the Ferris wheel where he could see their flag waving in the ocean breeze. “I came here for you,” he finally said, exhaling slowly. This was where the truth became muddled — because he had his ulterior motives, he had his plan, but… When he saw her, something flickered inside of him, and Royce wasn’t sure what he was feeling then. Don’t kid yourself, he’d thought privately, You had told her once you weren’t bred to be sentimental. You know you’re not truly capable. He tried to bury whatever was weighing in his chest, stretching out both hands towards her as he signaled for her to float down to him, into the circle of his arms. “Come here… Please,” he urged in a soft voice. “I just want to talk.” There was a small beat before he added, “I miss you.” For a flicker of a moment he registered just how honest the words had been.

If there was a way to portal them back to before JR Van Doren showed up, Aiyla would have taken his hand and pulled him through without sparing his father a passing glance. She did not know this man who took up space with every word he said, seeming to stretch him out bigger and bigger until Aiyla thought maybe his words could suffocate her. He was kind, or so it seemed. He was polite, but perhaps just in the way he twisted his words. She wasn't sure of anything about him, as if something slithering and sharp was beneath the surface of a polite, concerned father. Something she couldn't pluck from him but could see in the way Royce shifted into some version of himself she did not know.

Aiyla wanted nothing more than to reach out and tell him it was okay; she was there. Whatever it was, be it embarrassment at being caught or maybe something more, she couldn't tell, and he couldn't answer. Her chest tightened around the things she wouldn't dare say aloud. Her brows furrowing together as she looked between father and son and decidedly to Royce. Her Royce...well, no, not really. Not hers, no. Mon beau, my beautiful, beautiful boy, she thought with a soft sight, her eyes sweeping up his face and back to his father's, an almost accusing look in her eye that she blinked away quickly. "It reminds me of the Baysal Estate in France," she replied, "I feel fortunate to have been able to be one of Verdant Vales's select visitors," Aiyla didn't give more away, her tone remained polite, guarded in some ways as she tried to figure out what sort of man JR was. Aiyla wanted to ask what he meant if he was speaking plainly as she so often felt Royce did, or if there was some depth hidden in his words. A meaning she wasn't privy to.

The way he said best had Aiyla's fingers curling into her palms. She smiled over at Royce, genuine pride briefly eclipsing her concern, "I agree, the best," she tilted her head back to JR, her smile dropping, "Faeries," she said plainly, the term your kind making her nose briefly twitch. "If you're curious, the town hall has pamphlets, but if you're more into close-up learning, Pucks Luck is always happy to accept clients," Aiyla smiled invitingly, though she wasn't sure she felt hospitable. "As I said, a great man," Aiyla did not hide the emphasis on the term man. He was not a boy or a child; maybe JR meant nothing by it. Perhaps it was a father's affection for their child, but there were only so many maybe's Aiyla could take after hearing the phrase your kind used in such a way it made her skin crawl. "Oh? I thought he spent a lot of time at boarding school?" Aiyla smiled, unsure why she couldn't just let JR take credit for the man Royce was, "That level of early independence must require so much efficiency. Though, a good education is priceless," Aiyla tacked on to soften the double-edged meaning of her veiled accusations.

He finally spared her a look, her brows furrowing. Are you okay? She thought, her chest tightening while she held his gaze for as long as he would allow. "Pragmatic," Aiyla corrected again, twirling a curl nervously around her finger, "It'd been a long day. Had I known your family was here, I would have invited you all along for a better view," Aiyla explained. She tilted her head towards her shoulder, deciding she did not like Royce's father. He didn't seem the sort of man who listened to anything you said; she'd asked him to call her Aiyla, only to be disregarded in that polite tone once again that she knew, like her own mind, the French practically invented pretenses. She gave him a slight nod, "I'd never deny him a perfect view." She wanted to ask him to stay, to not go with him if only to save him from whatever thing between father and son that had turned him into a shell of himself. Aiyla pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, "not you, Royce," she said the name flatly, without any emotion or tone; it wasn't the name of her Royce, her head tilting towards the man she was seeking, "Royce," she said again gently, the reverence of a name that mattered, his father damned she wanted to understand, to bridge this gap and run away.

Aiyla took a small, shivering breath, her eyes lingering on Royce after he looked away. "I am a Queen, Mr. Van Doren," she fell back into saying his surname, her dark eyes trying like hell to look through him, to discover who the hell this man was beneath the fake pleasantries, "A portal hardly exhausts me, but of course." she conceded despite wanting to fight for him more. Aiyla's expression soured, watching how he led his son away without a parting word. This was more than embarrassment at being caught kissing. Look back she thought, I'm sorry, followed in the silent stretching of her mind. Aiyla stood alone, her arms wrapped around her, watching them go further down the beach. A swell of confused emotion tangled in her throat; she couldn't look away.

Aiyla did not leave the spot where she stood, not even after they had gone, and she was left with a sick feeling in her stomach. Her legs wobbled under the unspoken weight, and slowly, she folded herself to the sand, eyes dropping to the crash of waves. Again and again, she watched sea foam race in and out, sticking to sand and washing away. She couldn't bring herself to look to the sky, watching the dark water reflect bursts of light. She wished herself bolder and different instead of shivering alone in summer breezes.

a short time later-

By the time she realized the fireworks had ended, the beach was mostly empty; unfurling herself from the place she'd taken in the sand, Aiyla stood half in a daze, no closer now than before to understand what had transpired between them. She was strolling away from the beach, weaving in and out of the thinning crowds, giving her parting goodbyes to friends when she caught his eye, a small returned wave and a private smile that remained with her after the majority of the people had left. Aiyla strolled easily to him, "Hey," she whispered warmly, her fingers brushing slowly up his arm, her chin tilted up as he ducked as if he would kiss her. Her eyes fluttered as if they would close, her heart turning over when he did not close the space and instead opened the door.

"Thank you," Aiyla replied politely, her doe-eyed gaze lingering on his face a moment longer before she quietly sighed and slid into the passenger seat of her favorite car. Buckled in, she leaned back, her head pressing into the back of the seat, her face turned towards him as if the silence would somehow magically be filled with answers simply because she willed it so. Aiyla turned her gaze to the passing scene, the dark town streets of their sleepy town lit with neon diner signs and the warm glow of street lamps that passed them at a slower pace than usual. The radio filled all the silence between them, and the longer it stretched, the more Aiyla hoped this drive could go on all night. The closer she came to her cottage, the more she feared that this was something she didn't understand. Wordlessly, she reached across her hand resting against his thigh; she squeezed as Doris Day sang

mine to hold as I'm holding you now and yet never so near mine to have when the now and the here disappear

As he stopped in front of her cottage, the prolonged rumbling of the engine felt like an answer to a question she wasn't brave enough to ask. Slowly, she removed her hand from his thigh. Turning to face him, her brows furrowing, Aiyla frowned, sweeping her fingers through his hair, "Baby," she started as if she would ask him what had happened and hope he would tell her and put this unfamiliar ache to rest. B "You're not coming in," it wasn't a question but an acknowledgment that pained her to address. Aiyla nodded, though she did not understand. Her fingers dropped down the side of his face. As the song was coming to an end, she got out of the car, lingering a moment before leaning back inside across the seat, Aiyla took his chin in her hands and very gently pressed a kiss to his lips, "I'll see you later?" she asked before she left the liminal space and made the slow walk to her front door, looking one last time over her shoulder before disappearing inside.

-Capture the flag-

After the fourth unanswered text, Aiyla had resolved not to reach out again, despite her longing for answers that only mounted the longer time between them spread. The silence was an answer; flirting blatantly with Daphne Bishop right in front of her was an answer. Watching them disappear together was an answer. Reminders that what she thought she meant to him and what she did must not have aligned. Aiyla shoved it all into neat boxes; she had grown weary with the mounting anger that had been failing to suffocate all the soft feelings she had nowhere to put down. One careful look at her, she feared anyone could see right through her and discover the truth of all her misplaced affection.

It was easier to focus on winning than the tremble in her chest whenever she thought of him, opening portal after portal and sending people who would snatch their flag as far away as safely possible. A strategy that served her well as no one had made it close enough to the Ferris wheel yet to take their victory. Her gaze shifted upwards a moment, and briefly, Aiyla wondered if they should have hidden it lower to the ground to throw the other team off. Yet, there was no time to contemplate already planned out strategy when she heard the tell of footfall growing closer. Aiyla readied a portal just in case, back to the opposite end of town, only to watch it flutter around the edges when a familiar face that felt too strange to be seen now made himself known.

Her portal shrank; Aiyla frowned, her eyes not leaving his face as she struggled briefly to pull up a new portal, "I think this is you," Aiyla nodded towards the new one she had managed to pull up. Her guard up as she spread her wings at her back, fluttering just a few inches above him.

[erenozturk]

setting: aiyla's cottage

featuring: eren öztürk & aiyla baysal @aiylabaysal

Eren paused a brief moment, straining to hear. The last few times he’d been by, she had either not been home or she was entertaining. The latter had brought a warmth to his cheeks, the embarrassment of what he possibly overheard. Eren shook the thoughts away and turned back towards the street, confirming once again that there wasn’t a ridiculously priced and outdated car parked nearby. He would not judge one of his very few friends her taste in companions, but he did question what level of insanity one had to be in to stoop to that particular low. He had poked his nose into J. Royce Van Doren III once or twice for scorned lovers before, and it was never a joy. What was she thinking? It’s not your place to judge. And yet judgy he was. Whatever, there were more important things at hand, as he reminded himself while shifting the large file from one arm to the other.

He should knock, but he had remembered that these days people used another form to announce their arrival. Eren probably should have texted Aiyla before coming to her door, but cellphones were not his forte, especially this new one. Pulling out the thin device, he used his mouth to tug off the glove on one of his hands, dangling between his teeth as his bare fingers pressed against the cool touch screen. A quick text: Hey Aiyla, it’s Eren. I’m in the neighborhood and thought to drop off those documents about the Catalyst to you. Are you home? He had been told that regular people use this thing called an emoticon at the end of their texts. “They’re all the rage, very fun,” said his secretary as she explained how they work. “Just don’t send the eggplant emoji.” He didn’t know why he couldn’t send an innocent vegetable and hovered over the various emoticons before deciding against it. These were just not him. He sent the text as is and put the device in his pocket, taking a second to pull his glove back on before he then knocked on the door. Like a normal person, because he thought that was more normal than text messages and eggplants.

[erenozturk]

setting: on the streets of sunny harbor

featuring: eren öztürk & aiyla baysal @aiylabaysal

A cool midwinter breeze rolled off the nearby body of water, salty and icy. It prickled the exposed skin of his face and neck, the rest concealed behind layers of thick black wool and leather. Eren didn’t usually find himself in Sunny Harbor, not unless work or the court required it. Luxurious and close to an endless body of water which seemed to always call him away. How long had it been since he first stumbled into Lunar Cove? How long since he left behind those new horizons across the ocean? In truth, he missed his nomadic days, early in his youth when he barely understood what he was. As things turned bleaker and stranger here, he wondered if maybe it was time to leave Lunar Cove behind and seek out some of the old groups he once travelled with. But it wasn’t safe, or so they said. The world outside the town borders isn’t safe. Lunar Cove didn’t seem very safe anymore either, but whatever.

Eren was eager to go back home, to that lonely apartment across the hall from his cluttered office, to his massive collection of records and that half finished pack of cigarettes he swore would be his last forever. He craved the sweet burn of nicotine, to be lost in new wave tunes, and to kind of forget the world for the rest of the evening. Work was drying up — it usually did this time of year — locking up at home was the closest he had to a vacation lately. Perhaps he was overdue for alone time. Between the council stuff, trying to make face at the holidays, and closing up some leftover 2023 cases, he hadn’t had that. Then again, when wasn’t he alone? Sighing at the thought, he was slowly becoming married to the idea of hiding away for a full weekend starting right then and there, until his eyes settled on a familiar face.

A not so happy looking one.

Not that Aiyla looked mad — to the passerby, they may not think twice of the fae queen’s expression, but looking closely, Eren could sense something off in the set of her brows, the slight curve of her lip. She didn’t seem particularly well, but then again who was after New Years? Lunar Cove sure knew how to herald in another year — by letting the previous erupt into chaos and fear at its twilight. It was a busy day, a busy street, he didn’t think he should stop to ask what was biting the fae queen. Then again, it wouldn’t be particularly neighborly to cross the street right now. Why must you have some sense of nobility deep in there? He chided himself as his shoulders sagged in a sigh and he moved to approach her. He felt his lips curl up into some semblance of a grin, something he hoped was approachable, warm, likely tinged in awkwardness. “Aiyla,” her name came out flat, and he tried to redirect to a more welcoming tone, “How are you?” Nice, greetings are coming along. Redundant a question it was, he thought it was a good start. But by god he hoped this wasn’t the opening of the flood gates to too much conversation. He had very big plans on the horizon after all, big big plans of being alone with a smoke and good music. Please keep this brief.

[erenozturk]

Sleepwalking was just another in a daunting list of fears Eren kept hidden behind sullen stares and disassociation. It wasn’t so much the act, or the fear of hurting himself, it was the fear of being jolted awake by some stranger, their grubby bare hands on him. He didn’t like being touched, and he only allowed it during deeply necessary interactions. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he willingly touched another person outside of a professional capacity… the fear of unwanted touch lingered in him always. Padding down the streets of Lunar Cove, he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the solace of his home. He was fortunate that it wasn’t a stranger to wake him from his sleepwalking that day. No, it was the poking and prodding, followed by the low growling and eventual nipping of a Dobermann Pinscher who dutifully followed his aimless fae father out the door what must have been a short time ago. If only Hardy had snapped at him sooner, then maybe Eren wouldn’t be walking barefoot down the sidewalk, wearing a tank top and boxer briefs and not much else. No armor to protect him, not even his treasured gloves. His bare fingers shook where they sat on his biceps, hugging himself as he walked along, Hardy trotting happily at his side. If it weren’t for the dog he’d have taken flight, but Hardy couldn’t follow him into the sky. “We’re almost home, it’s okay… nobody will stop you, nobody will touch you,” he breathed repeatedly to himself, a mantra to calm the rapid beating of his frantic heart. But it did little to soothe his deep rooted anxiety.

It wasn’t far now, just a few blocks before he’d see the familiar neon sign of the Tower Treasure Detective Agency, and Eren was ready to book it the moment it would come to view. He was so singularly focused on making it home, he almost missed the whines and growls of his canine friend. It wasn’t until the dog let out a rumbling bark that Eren spun on his bare heels in Hardy’s direction. “Quiet, boy, we’re almost home now, what could be…” He trailed off as his eyes followed the line of the dog’s sight to a familiar figure ambling aimlessly in the street. “Aiyla?” He called out, unsure at first that it was the other banshee. It didn’t take long to register her odd dream like movements, the way she moved so unaware of the world around her. She was asleep, just as he had been. “Shit,” he cursed between grit teeth, half caught between continuing his walk home and stopping to help. She is your Queen. But I have no protection against touching her. She needs your help. Swallowing back his anxiety, he nodded toward the dog. “Stay here,” he said sternly, wrapping a hand into the hem of his tank top as he bent down, allowing the fabric covered limb to touch the dog’s back. “I’ll be right back.” Trying not to second guess himself further, he jogged over to Aiyla, hovering just a couple feet behind her.

“Aiyla… Aiyla? …Aiyla, can you hear me?” It was no use, even raising his voice above the low, almost whisper like tone he tended to use, would do little to wake her. He needed to do more, needed something more. But here, in the middle of the street, not too far from Downtown… there wasn’t much at his disposal. Flexing his bare fingers, he stared between his shaking hands and the ground. There wasn’t even a rock he could use. You would really throw a rock at your leader to wake her? The ridiculousness wasn’t lost on him, but he hadn’t known what to do. You have no choice. No, there must be another way. There isn’t. He let out a shuddered breath, blinking through the haze and looking at Aiyla. His hands, cool without the usual second skin of leather choking them, palms facing the fae queen and just barely hovering a few inches away. They trembled in the air between them, Eren’s gaze focusing on the knobby knuckles in each hand and finger as they reached anxiously towards her. “Just a shove… that’s all. Just ove shove… God, I’m sorry,” the apology wasn’t for her but it did little to calm his jolting nerves as Eren reached out and grabbed her, his hands curling around Aiyla’s slim shoulders which he jostled just a bit roughly. His palms, slick with sweat and fear, pressed against her skin, twisting her towards him as he attempted to stir her from her stupor. “Wake up,” he raised his voice, stern and loud for a fleeting moment as he attempted to speak again. His next attempt at words was drowned out in the air evacuating his lungs as the sensation of touch quickly washed over him. His bare hands were on her — on her bare skin, a sensation he avoided so much it always felt so shockingly foreign and horrible when it happened. Vision clouding from discomfort and a tinge of fear, knowing there lay a possibility of receiving a haunting memory of death just then, Eren shook her once more before practically jumping away from Aiyla, his arms curling around himself as his breathing shallowed. His jaw dropped open, dry heaving in a panic as his knees buckled and Eren sunk down towards the ground. His wings, long and webbed, dark shades of purples, blues and greens shimmering even in the darkness of the eclipse, unfurled from where they lay at his back, standing sharp and on alert as his forehead met the hot asphalt of the street, a trembling mess on the ground. That had better done it, you’d better be awake, he wanted to say but all words were caught in a tight knot in his throat, where it constricted and closed against his windpipe, cutting off the air flow to his lungs. He could hear barking as Hardy barreled towards him, worried for his person, and his eyes clenched shut as Eren mentally counted down from 100, trying desperately to even his breaths, to forget the feeling of warm bare skin against his palms, to forget the shock of touch, the way he wanted to crawl out of this skin which now felt tainted. It brought back memories, those that haunted him when he was alone in the recess of his mind. Falling, tripping down an endless hole until the deep, wet earth found him, and his hand, plunging and sinking into rot. The visions that came to him, the feeling of being so unclean and crawling in filth up to his ears. It all rained down on him and threatened to drown him in an endless sea of discomfort and anxiety. “It’s not happening, you’re not there, you’re not in that ditch, it’s over, you’re fine, that was so long ago,” he repeated hoarsely, the cracked asphalt biting into his forehead as he begged for the ground to swallow him whole.

Anywhere in town during the solar eclipse

Aiyla had developed ways to keep herself out of harm's way when sleepwalking. She had set up bells around her house, little warning systems that would hopefully wake her if she found herself in an aimless dream-like stupor, and up until now, it had been successful. Exhaustion and the unknown of the town's recent happenings...constant happenings had worn her guard down, and now the Fae was gliding aimlessly about town. Her shoes were long forgotten, and her wings folded at her back as she moved in her dreamy daze foot after foot, muttering what sounded like nonsense but was truly the memorized text from her mother's (the late fae queen, Hazal) diaries. Standing in an ebb and flow, she began to cross the street, "The cakes were terrible- I didn't think so." She sighed her shoulders heaving. "I should have told her. I can tell her. We have time."

[jroycethethird]

A smirk on his face, Royce swiveled on his heels, facing the fae queen with a brow raised. He didn’t even spare a backwards glance at the woman he’d just been flirting with, swishing her hips purposefully while walking away from him. “I’d say,” he replied to her question, holding up a cocktail napkin between his fingers, where a small note and phone number were scrawled beside a lipstick stain. Call me tomorrow, we can get some coffee. Royce crumpled the napkin before depositing it into a nearby half full glass, the ink and lipstick stain spreading and smudging into something unrecognizable. “Unfortunate for her, I’m not a rebound,” he said as he slid into a stool right beside her. Not that he minded, things were looking up again with another pretty face to admire. “So tell me… If you’re the fae queen, does that mean I should be referring to you as ‘your majesty’?” He raised a brow as he accepted his drink from the bartender and took a slow sip. “I just want to get my formalities right, but let the record show… You are free to call me whatever, and more importantly whenever, you’d like, your highness,” he bowed his head and raised his glass, a half bemused grin gracing his lips. “…or is it your grace?” Damn, he knew he should have watched more Bridgerton.

OPTION 1

Aiyla watched from a seat down as Royce flirted with someone Aiyla knew was waiting on a date. Only because she'd been sitting there for roughly an hour nursing a drink just to see if, in the meantime, she'd be struck with muse or desire to begin editing her next project. They were waiting for someone arguably on thin ice, but as per their words, they were great at making up for it, if you know what I mean. It'd been a while, but Aiyla knew what they meant. Anyone in ear shot had known what they meant. She did wonder if it would deter Royce had he known the empty seat next to them was being held for someone. Either way, she watched it unfold before approaching a small, amused smile hidden behind her drink. She'd listened to it all unfold but she did enjoy perspective and once the seat was emtied she poured herself into it, "Any luck?" She asked as way of greeting.

[jroycethethird]

He chewed over her comment for a quick second before quipping, “I’d agree if we were doing something else right about now.” It was in Royce’s mind the best hour to be rolling in the sheets, and he thought he’d have her there if they both weren’t recovering from frightful experiences. “Semantics,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, if it weren’t real then it wouldn’t be your official title. And I like calling you things like your majesty and highness. A reminder you are above me,” Royce paused before adding, “Well, I wish you were above me.” He smirked and allowed that comment to sit in the air between them for a lingering moment. He was a shameless flirt when he wanted to be, and he fancied himself a purveyor of beautiful things. It gave him a knowledge to point them out wherever he went, and this moment he felt was no different. She was attractive, he’d mentally noted that at many a council meeting that he felt droned on and often times sloppily with less than satisfying results. At least he got a chance to see her pretty face at them, or whatever. “Yes, but I have many ulterior motives,” he replied, not even bothering to hide it or be coy. He did just say he wanted her on top of him, after all. “But I also came here because you tripped my alarm system, and I guess I’m supposed to be concerned when that happens. At least it came with a pleasant surprise. Unless you are here to rob me blind? In which case I’d like the record to show my clothes cost just as much as some of the offerings here.” Another cheeky bastard grin slipped out once more. “But I also would rather not electrocute you before I’d had a chance to really get to know you, so maybe don’t try to steal from me.”

Home was difficult. He had purchased a townhome of his own when he returned from school all those years ago with a wife on his arm. It remained his home since, even after she left him, and became his quintessential bachelor pad. But since the accident, his family had tried to keep him back at the large home they owned. The one he stood to inherit once his father passed from this life, the one they called Verdant Vale Hall. That hadn’t felt like home. A futon in his office here felt far more like home, had less hovering blonde heads and heated arguments between his stubborn father and bratty little sister. “And miss an opportunity to see you? Please,” he scoffed, “This is practically home.” His smirk returned as he replied, “Even if you’ve heard better, I doubt they came from a more charming and attractive package.” He was ever arrogant, not even an accident such as one that happened at Starlight and left him slowly healing and with gruesome wounds would stop Royce from peacocking and trying his best with someone. He felt particularly sure of himself in that regard. It did help he could read minds too, and he listened intently to what he could glean from hers. The horror of what happened to her was instead more prevalent and he fought from allowing the knowledge of it to show. For one, very rude to be thinking of such dreadful things when he was there looking this good despite his accident. Though, and he hated to admit this to his own egotistical self, he could get it.

He listened to the words she wasn’t saying, caught then off guard by her voice filling the space. Twirling the cane in his hand he nodded, “Oh, yes, I did. Though my assistant is… slow to get things to me. New kid, takes some time to break in so to speak.” If he hadn’t felt some sort of responsibility over Todd, or found him and his face too infectious like he did, then the guy would have been out so fast. Luckily for him, Royce had a secret penchant for poor little things. And he had a nice face. “I quite enjoyed it, though I think some important things were missing from the basket. Your number, namely.” Did he already have her phone number? Probably; Royce only appropriately named important business contacts on his phone, and threw relative caution to the wind with anyone else. “Or maybe just you, in general,” he tacked on. He was laying it heavy, but it wasn’t like he would have brought her to bed in this state he was in. He just wanted her to think about it, plant the seeds for come harvest.

He flashed a wide grin, all pearly white teeth and completely not innocent intentions. “Who’s to say I don’t have one on the way? Though, now I could give it to you in person. But whatever I have to offer for a get well basket wouldn’t be here,” he waved a hand around the dark gallery, “We could skip all the pretense and just go back to my place. I do have a wine cellar with far too many bottles for one man to enjoy, some incredible chocolates and cheeses from my last visit to Switzerland, some other high quality creature comforts…” Royce mused before shrugging a shoulder, “The best thread count as far as sheets go, which you’re more than welcome to test out if you fancy.” His eyes flickered over to her sordidly, but his smirk melted into something friendlier after a moment. Yes, he was coming onto her but he also cared that she went through something. Or tried to, whatever. “Are you going to invite me to sit with you, or would you rather an injured man stand for you?” He asked after a beat of a moment, his smile amused more than anything. “I’ll suffer for you if you want, you just tell me which you like more, your majesty.”

"The best hours," Aiyla replied without looking at him immediately. She wanted a moment longer before she needed to smother all the terrible things that made a storm of her once calm interior. It was only a few beats of her heart before she turned to smile up at him, "You do know I'm not a real queen?" She said, smiling at the antics. However, she never grew tired of the implications many in the town made. It was like some inside joke that meant she belonged. "I only wear a tiara on special occasions." Usually, it was her birthday, but this year, it had been celebrated with a bottle of wine and a book she wouldn't read in public. She shifted over to make room for him beside her should he choose to sit, "Did you come here just to tell me I'm pretty?" She asked, not at all bothered by the flirtation. It was a welcome reprieve from the fretful worry and pity. She would rather not have anyone look at her as if she were about to break down at a moment's notice. Maybe she was, maybe she'd screamed bloody horror when a nurse tried to adjust a pillow at her back and clawed out nearly clawing the mans face. They made a note in her chart and Aiyla checked herself out of the hospital the very next day.

"I thought you'd be home." She answered honestly, "But I do welcome your company. You can try your lines on me, and I'll tell you if I've heard any better before." She teased, tilting her head towards him, her eyes flitting back towards the art once he had mentioned what happened. Her body stiffened a bit. She could still feel the iron burning, sawing, and tearing at her wings, which she had now hidden away for the first time since arriving in Lunar Cove, coming up in a decade. She shivered her fingers curling into the fleshiest part of her thigh as she took a deep grounding breath. She wondered if they'd meant to kill her as they had her mother? The thought spiked her heart rate, and Aiyla stared so diligently at her photographs that the images blurred into a swirl of shadows, light, and hidden silhouettes of her muses.

Her body was healed as much as it could have been; she had taken the vampire blood when usually she wouldn't have, but the idea of sitting there while the slowness of healing fractured her more was not a reality she could face. A small nod as she blinked was all the acknowledgment she could muster. She tore her eyes away to look at him, "Did you get my get-well basket?" She asked. It was rather personable, and she had spent a great deal of time picking a nice basket and filling it with handmade treats and art. Aiyla raised a shoulder, punctuating her question with a dazzling smile that betrayed all the internal aches and wound-up traumas she'd bury if only she had the right distractions. "If you were really sorry, you'd have made me one." She teased, making light of her suffering was easier than the sorrow that threatened to pull her under the tempestuous waves.

[julianrchandlerx]

It felt often times like Julian Chandler had been lost at sea. Caught by a riptide and dragged out into the far depths, nothing but sky and water for miles and miles. A daunting metaphor for a boy who was scared of open water, but it often felt adequate for the complicatedness and insecure moments of adulthood. Jules had a tendency to get wrapped up in things — pursuits, relationships, emotions. He’d get so wrapped up in things, he’d often lose himself. And when he suddenly realized how far out the current took him, there was often only one thing to anchor him and bring him back to shore: Art. The grand dream. The thing he always aspired to and yet could never quite reach. In all his experiences when he reached a moment of struggle, this was the thing to center him. Aside from a beautiful redhead who he tried not to burden with his insecurities and fears, of course. Art was vital to his being, like his blood was actually made of watercolor and ink.

Figure drawing class was always a good place to start. Classes in general were good — like all skills, art needed to be worked on and practiced diligently, in order to keep cultivating and growing. Julian was a landscape artist, but he loved drawing people as much as he enjoyed a gorgeous nature scene. And so a figure drawing class was a great chance to break out the tools and get to work. Finding a spot in the circle of artists waiting on their model, he offered a bright smile to a vaguely familiar face who found herself next to him. Around town she was known as the Fae Queen, which Julian thought was kind of metal. Most of the titles were pretty cool — Alpha, but not in an “alpha male” incel way, was baller, Supreme made him hungry for pizza but was pretty sweet, but Queen? That was straight up royalty, and a great band, so he had some level of respect for her. And maybe needed to bite his tongue from making an is this the real life or is this just fantasy, or is the fae queen sitting next to me joke. Half because it was lame, and half because it maybe sounded flirty and he was a super taken guy. He’d have to pass it on to the next hopeless nut who wanted to get in with her majesty the Queen. And by impeccable timing, it seemed there was a nut with some interest.

Or two nuts.

When the model had revealed himself — like, literally — Julian fought his expression from twisting in reaction. Amusement? Fear? Shock? He wasn’t sure what he felt at the geriatric cowboy in nothing but a hat and boots choosing his spot at the center of the artists, the spurs on his boots clicking as he sauntered by the stool at the center… Only to lift one leg upon it, spreading himself out. And standing directly in front of Jules and Aiyla. Julian wanted to sink behind his sketchbook, but he was rather tall and broad, and couldn’t hide. Instead he just had to make eye contact with Saggy John Wayne and the one eyed snake. “That’s a really nice way to put it,” he whispered back to her words, pressing his pencil to the page to quickly draw the man before them. The faster he drew, the faster time would go by. And then he could go home, show Briar, and they could laugh about it. And—

“Say, little lady, you got a name? ‘Cuz I just think yer the purttiest thing I ever laid my eye’ on.” For a flash of a second, Julian came so close to saying his own name, not realizing that the comically fake accented voice was not being directed at him… but at the young woman beside him. Blinking, he turned his head to look over at Aiyla, who was being addressed by the old naked man before them. His jaw nearly dropped. Was this guy serious? Was he seriously about to do this? It was then Julian made another realization — Aiyla was the only girl there. And that’s why he was so spread eagle there in front of them. Jules didn’t know whether to feel horrible for her or to find the shameless nature of the man admirable. That’s when he noticed the guy cocking a brow at him. “This here big feller yer mister? He seems real jealous,” the man said with a wiggle of his hips to emphasize the last word. Jules did not hide his grossed out expression this time.

On the corner of his paper, Julian swiftly scribbled a note, tilting his sketchbook enough for Aiyla to see as he subtly turned towards her. Draw a check mark on the corner of your page if you want me to be the liar and say we’re dating. He didn’t know a whole ton about his fellow supernaturals but he’d learned things here and there, one of which being the fact that Faeries could not lie. She’d have to be so clever to get around things, but Julian could straight up lie if she needed him to. Mentally he apologized to Briar for the potential fake boyfriend scenario he was walking into, eyes shifting to her page to see if she would doodle in that check mark and give him the okay to step in and intervene.

“If he ain’t, I know where we can get a fine cup o’ joe after this. Show me how well you drew me and my assets,” the cowboy chuckled, hands on his hips as he leaned back a bit on his boots. They had to have a flirty shameless old guy model today, didn’t they?

Julian & Aiyla - figure drawing class @julianrchandlerx

Between the ebbs and flows of time, Aiyla had seldom had a moment to herself to do one of the hobbies she had collected over the years like pebbles of a person she could have been if she wasn't this. If life hadn't had other plans, pushed her towards another path that oftentimes felt predetermined for her despite her best efforts to deny fate; home was home, and in every life she had ever had, something pulled her here, like magic to leylines, moths to the moon or flames depending on how she looked at it; she was always destined to be here. Banshee Queen.

She had her rebellions, and she collected tokens of who she wanted to be: watercolor paints made from things around the house for the resourceful mountain woman version of her, winged specimens of ethically sourced insects she had collected as a girl, the first a butterfly she had hit by mistake with her tennis racket. Rather than leaving it out to be picked apart, she laid it in satin and carefully displayed it. A pebble belonging to the wealthy French girl she was, full of hope and curiosities. Her life was littered with hobbies like these, baking, because she once wanted to own a bakery. Aiyla dreamed of the smell of vanilla and café au lait, a dream she shared once with Defne. Before, she could no longer pretend that she was human. Before, the pull of this life demanded her physical form.

Sometimes, now, it felt like all she had were stolen moments for herself, woven into the fabric of responsibility. This day was one of her stolen moments, a clean piece of paper, the tools she would need at her fingertips, and a figure model, nearly as naked as the day he was born, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and boots, sauntering into the room of sketch artists looking to learn the human form. Stopping facing nearest herself and a man she had known in passing as Julian Chandler, the naked cowboy tipped his face to her in a grin as he set his leg up on the stool, leaving himself on full, unabashed display. Aiyla furrowed a brow, tilting her head towards Julian, cutting a curious glance his way before gripping her pencil, "It's a choice," she whispered low enough she knew only he would hear before dutifully setting to work, trying not to think too hard about the absurdity of what she was putting to paper; this was a token of the life she would have had if she were only an artists, nothing more.

[jroycethethird]

Wind howled against the window panes and the torrential rain beat down on it, fighting for dominance in who could aggressively abuse the glass more. Royce liked the sound of thunder clashing in the clouds, mixed with the rest of the elements barreling down on Lunar Cove that dreaded night. He could feel the electricity in the air, buzzing through his finger tips and along his arms. It had been the second of his witch abilities to manifest, the way to bend and manipulate electricity coming second to the maddening onslaught of hearing every thought and whim around him. The first he mastered, but the last he ever really used. When he’d felt that shift, along with the oncoming weather reports, he had been quick to tell his staff to take the night off, return to their homes and spend the remainder of the storm with their families. He promised they’d be paid for their normal hours and then some if the weather proved a deterrent the next day. He coined himself an incredibly selfish man, but he wanted his workers safe and happy. He could handle himself for a night.

And once fully alone, Royce did something he only did when he was completely free of the scrutinizing eyes of others — he took off his refined clothes, folded neatly and tucked away, and pulled out an Oxford Boat Club t-shirt and a pair of race car printed pajama pants which had been hidden in the farthest corner of his walk-in closet, and settled into his arm chair with a glass of wine in one hand and his most favorite cherished book, a beat up copy of The Little Prince, in the other. He was alone, no thoughts or disruptions outside of the weather beating down on his luxurious Celestial Hills home.

Or so he had thought.

The knock was a surprise, but it had turned pleasant when he saw who stood on the other side. Shivering, drenched through, she looked like a fragile thing but he knew better. She was formidable and strong, but clearly in need of a distraction. “Come sit by the fire,” he’d said as she dripped in the foyer. “Let’s get you warmed up.” Well placed comments about how drenched clothes would do her no good, and that perhaps they should get close and let their body heat mingle, gave way to the inevitable entanglement they found themselves in. The crackle and pop of the fire roaring in the fireplace, second in volume to the noises she made. It was a pleasant way to spend a stormed in evening, a better plan than his original, but all good plans it seemed would be ruined as the night progressed. Royce hadn’t a single clue what was happening when her hands clamped down over his ears suddenly, her wail heard but luckily not harming. He still winced against the volume of it before leaning his forehead against her collarbone. She had released his ears and spoke, and he pressed kisses up her neck in response. “Sounds like a ‘them’ problem,” he murmured, not ready to let the reality of her ominous words sink in. People died all the time, he reasoned, why should that stop their fun? His lips trailed to her ear, brushing gently against her skin as he spoke. “Bunny,” he sighed, “You came here for a distraction didn’t you… Let me distract you.” Taking a gentle hold of her chin, Royce turned Aiyla’s face to his and captured her lips in a slow and deep kiss.

Nothing should ruin their fun… until something did.

With a strong arm winding around her slender waist, he had every intention to lay her down on the plush rug before his fire place, but Royce felt something odd. His breath hitched slightly as he felt the ever present hum of static electricity slowly but surely leave his skin, her thoughts faint muffled words he couldn’t decipher as he felt a strange almost empty feeling sink in. Beneath his skin, below the muscle and sinew and beyond the bones into whatever remnant of a soul existed within him he felt he always burned with magic. But that fire that was within was being choked, barely flickering. Royce’s arms shook and the fluid motion of which he was rolling them over became awkward and jilted as reared back into an upright seated position with Aiyla still locked on his nap. His lips had left her as he blinked and shook his head, trying to make sense of the draining haze within him. Something happened. Something happened in the coven. He could hear then the buzzing of his phone on the coffee table he’d shoved back against the wall, the incessant vrrb vrrb of someone desperately trying to reach him. He ignored it, blinking up dark eyes at the woman above him. “Some… Something’s not quite right,” he mumbled, and with a great amount of hesitation he began to untangle their limbs. He couldn’t quite rise to his feet, a mess of wobbly knees and odd feeling limbs as he did so, catching himself on the table and grabbing his phone. One missed call from Kathryn Van Doren. He blinked at the screen, registering a second later that his younger sister had tried to reach him. But why… Something is happening in the coven. Royce let out a groan, running his hand through his already mussed up dark hair as he called her back. “Kathy. I missed your call,” left him in a low murmur when the call was picked up.

“You felt it too then,” was Kathy’s hazy response, her stern vocal fry softened at the edges. An exhale was the telling sign she was smoking, and likely in the foyer. Father would be so angry. “Tripp, we need you to come to the big house, and quick.” He blinked, hearing a commotion in the background as Kathy sighed into the receiver. “It’s mother… she’s fainted.” Ah. Ever the dramatic. He registered then Cecile’s high pitched wails of panic in the background. “Cec is going absolutely mad, someone needs to slap some sense into her and it ought not to be me. Oh — and father’s unreachable, naturally… say, did someone do more dark magic? Are we doomed, twice over?”

Royce pawed at the half filled wine glass he’d abandoned in favor of Aiyla’s sudden visit, taking a sip before offering it to the fae queen. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he finally said, soft and even toned despite his knees wobbling. He braced a hand on the coffee table as he barely stood upright. “Listen, Kath, I’ll be there soon, just have to navigate this storm. In the mean time, make sure Blythe is as comfortable as she can be, find the smelling salts, give Cec a task—”

“I told her to put a pail outside and to collect the rain water to rouse mother awake with,”

“…Diabolical, but don’t douse your mother with rain water. She’ll never forgive the mess you’ll make of her hair. I’ll be there soon, and I’ll take care of her. Do try and get in contact with the old man. I suspect you can find him if you give Sinners a ring.” He hung up before hearing the undignified snort Kathy released, and twisted back toward his guest. A groan left Royce at the realization that their evening was shot, positively ruined by whatever was happening now. Sliding down to his knees, he crouched and slumped back toward her. “Something is happening with my magic,” he flexed his long fingers, expecting a crackle of electricity but feeling barely a buzz. “This usually means something happened in the coven. A separation of a member, dark magic…” He didn’t voice the other thing, her scream was a similar signifier but he wasn’t ready to count the other two out. He probably should be calling Poppy. He didn’t pick up his phone again.

After a contemplative moment, the man grunted and got back to his feet, gathering up their discarded clothes and placing them in a somewhat dripping heap on the table. He’d have to go get dressed in acceptable wear if he was going to Verdant Vale Hall at this hour — not hot wheels pajama pants, which he’d never be caught dead wearing outside of nights such as these when one was meant to be totally and completely alone. Turning back to Aiyla, he offered up both his hands, palm upwards. “You get two options,” he started, lifting his right hand and nodding his head as he continued, “Option one, the far better option, perhaps the only right one, is you stay here, stay dry and warm, and wait for me to come back. Read a book, raid my fridge, curl up in my bed, take a hot bath, I don’t care what you do, just relax and enjoy yourself until I return… Then option two…” Royce frowned dramatically and shook his head as he lifted his left hand, the clear bad of the choices he was giving her, “You venture out into this storm with me… and come with me to my family’s home…” His tone softened, as did his eyes, just a smidge as he added, “My stepmother and sisters are alone and they don’t appear to be doing well… I need to check in on them, make sure they’re okay.” Make sure Blythe truly just fainted, and nothing worse. How grateful he was to be the telepath in the room, that she couldn’t hear his thoughts. “…But you should choose option one, get all cozy and take a fluffy bathrobe from my guest bathroom, have some wine, while you wait for me to return… then we can resume what we’d been doing before the powers that be so rudely interrupted us.”

ROYCE & AIYLA - full moon May 23rd, 2024 @jroycethethird

Lunatic, moonstruck…a siren song, and a wolfs howl, that was the expectations on nights like this. Once a month when, the moon phase reminded all of Lunar Cove that they were bound by something greater than them, for better or worse. The pull of alertness had Aiyla coming in and out from the storm like a restless ghost haunting the streets of Lunar Cove. She could not settle, she could not rest. Her mind was driven to the maddening alertness the full moon brought, fretful alertness took control on nights like this. Wondering the streets in thick sheets of rain, she was looking for something a miss when she realized her wondering had led her to the door of someone who could ease her mind, if only for a while.

He had found her shivering, curls sticking to her cheeks and bare shoulders as she shivered outside his front door. She did not ask to come in only gave him a knowing look as she thought of what she needed before he invited her to warm by the fire, a promise of warmth and distraction she was grateful to accept.

Time had passed, warming by the fire, tangled limbs and an easement of her mind. The night was moving onward, the end in sight. Aiyla had said something in French, the words lost on her now. Before him when the telling build of an incoming warning climbed up her throat. Her features were stricken into the face of panic and fear. The urge to scream filled her chest. She wanted to warn him, to say his name, to untangle herself from where they were positioned, but time had not been in their favor. Aiyla quickly pressed her hands over his ears and threw her head back with a harrowing wail she controlled to keep from shattering his ear drums or worse. She released her hands from his ears, "Someone may be dead..." She furrowed her brows; death sometimes came naturally. It could mean nothing, it could be nothing. She hoped it was nothing.

[jroycethethird]

He followed her thoughts, a smirk quirking on his lips as he saw the memories playback. The night they crossed paths at his gallery was memorable to say the least, Royce’s heartbeat quickened as he recalled a certain moment in vivid detail. He paused and listened to her like of thoughts some more, raising a brow at the unsaid things. “I did make some promises,” he said out loud, giving himself away but she knew he was a telepath. Most everyone did. Surely she would have suspected he was listening in. He drew close to her, ducking down so his nose brushed against hers. His eye lashes fluttered as he glanced down at the lips that were now so close to him again. He could have kissed her so easily at this close distance, but he hadn’t closed the gap. Instead he whispered, “Maybe tonight… We could make good on that.” He let it hang in the air between them before pulling away, motioning around. She had a tour to take him on first.

“We have all night,” he assured her in a low hum of a voice, sidling up beside her as she began her grand tour. His dark eyes were mostly locked on her as they floated around, taking appropriate measures of time to observe everything around them. “More private, hm? I suppose I understand. Some scenarios beg for a bit of seclusion.” He knew he was laying it on a bit thick as he looked at her, but wasn’t that his intention all along? He would tell anyone he was there for selfish reasons, that after what they’d been through the promise of following up on that kiss felt more comfortable than being alone. He knew she could sense where his mind was at, and she clearly wanted the comfort too. So he followed her around, and he took in her quaint home with its sunset colors, the art and other pieces of her.

When an appropriate surface presented itself, Royce slowly slid off his blue vest, draping it over the back of a chair before reaching up to unfasten the top few buttons of his shirt. His cuff links were next as they walked past her dining room turned art studio, slipping them into his pants pocket in hope they wouldn’t be lost as the night progressed. He made mental notes to ask about her garden, what she grew, something small and shared in common which he figured gave him an upper hand, and if Royce sought out anything it was useful information to be used to his advantage.

Seeing her leaning against the arm chair, he quietly drew closer, eyes locked on hers before he twisted just a bit to peek the book she left open. His fingers glided over the page, reading a brief paragraph. “No,” she says, drawing back her hand. “You are not capable of love because you cannot understand what it is to care for someone else more than yourself. If you loved me, you would have let me go by now.” He bit back a frown before turning his dark eyes back on her. “You have a nice home,” he commented with just a slight raise of his brow, “I can see why you’d prefer it to a suite at the Emerald… Less chaotic, more comfortable… Quiet, free of unwanted eyes and guests.” He couldn’t help but wonder how sturdy the armchair was, thinking of sitting on it and pulling her onto his lap for a bit of harmless closeness.

He opened his mouth to say something he perceived as charming and flirty but stopped short as he listened to an errant thought again. The gallery, he felt a heat rise under his collar but didn’t let it show as her head fell against his chest. His hand lifted, long fingers wrapping around the back of her neck as she looked back up at him, shrugging. “If it helps you smile, I’ll provide both as long as you need,” he promised, though he didn’t mean it. Not without another end goal in mind. His thumb brushed up the side of her neck and he searched her face and mind for a stretch of a moment before saying, “That doesn’t have to be a one time thing, you know. I’m more than happy to lend a hand to your comfort.” He paused before adding, “Well, a hand and then some.”

Smirking at her, he was about to continue on the lurid thought but she was reacting to his asking about Leyla, and he read her thoughts when she didn’t voice things. Rio. His employee… He made a mental note to check in on her and Todd, but didn’t stay on that train of thought. He didn’t actually want to worry or think about others right now. “She’s well taken care of,” he commented, “in good hands. You don’t have to worry about her tonight. In fact, we ought to take your mind of it...” Royce leaned close, allowing his lips to barely brush along the line of her jaw, towards her ear. “I can help you change, take you there in the morning, but I should admit… I didn’t come here intending to let you sleep tonight.” His voice was low, heavily laced with his intentions against her ear before he pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. Aiyla’s fingers were in his hair, her words heavy with the invitation he’d been seeking. He licked his lips slowly before giving her the faintest grin, “As you wish, your Majesty.” He glanced up just a moment, trying to discern the way to the next stop on this tour before stepping back and giving her his hand. “Lead the way?”

Her face felt warm, a flush of pink color in her cheeks as their kiss parted. If she had no self-control, she doubted she'd have ended the kiss there. Found it utterly distracting the way it felt to be held, to be left wanting. For a moment not at all long enough and seeming to stretch through several heartbeats she held his gaze her mind falling back in time to the art gallery. A time before the extra ache of torture and suffering plagued her. A time when all she had was her own suffering to hold- to when he'd offered her a distraction from her swell of sadness. He'd made plenty of promises that night, things they'd not made good on thanks to the hell of a night they'd found themselves in sleepless, and maybe not that she wasn't alone any longer for a good reason. Eyes traced his features before looking away and playing the part of the host to the man who she'd invited into her home.

She'd flexed her fingers as he'd dropped her hand, the cool absence of touch made her flush a slight chill as she looked to him, "Oh-" She had an idea of what it was he was referencing, "Not too long I hope." She responded, swallowing down the horror in favor of the wonder before her. "I wanted something a little more private than the suite at the Emerald." She couldn't stand to be there any longer tonight anyway. "I could give you the grand tour." She suggested, spinning slowly, "The entry and kitchen..." She gestured to each of the spaces, her home painted in inviting colors of creamy sunset tons. Muted and chic, each space was decorated with art and little touches she'd begun to add only in recent years. She pointed out the guest bathroom as she slid the star-embellished socks from her feet, folding them neatly and putting them in a basket with the head covering and the rest of her accessories. "The dining room I've essentially turned it into an art studio...and my living room leads into the garden." She continued explaining as she leaned against the back of a plush armchair, the latest book she'd been reading still open to the page she'd left on sitting on the arm; The Invisible Life of Addie Larue.

She spoke to keep her mind from slipping into something explicit or worse horrifying. The distraction of him kept her from teetering too deeply into her grief. Showing her home and realizing how well lived in it was with pieces of her strewen about. There was no moment to second guess it as he'd pulled her back in, her hands on his chest, chin tilted up at him, he spoke of sturdy shoulders, and her thoughts slipped again to a time in an empty gallery where he'd been a support for her. She'd laughed quickly as the thought had come, her head dropped forward against his chest. "Support and shimmying." She mused with a sigh, lifting her head back to admire his face.

Hand in hand, her chest tightened like a coil, her stomach aching. Aiyla could not stop the deep, worrisome frown from shadowing her face. She could have cried if she'd allowed it. Cried for her friend with her broken bones and damaged wing. Aiyla nodded, words escaping her. Ken, her sister, and Rio. She'd been sure to make sure she'd made it to the hospital okay. "I'm going to go back in the morning. But I needed to change. To try and sleep..." She shook her head, closing her eyes and allowing herself to feel the comfort of his touch. The warmth it built up inside of her. "I have nowhere to be." She spoke, her eyes still shut, letting the weight of her sink, wanting against his frame. "Be here." She said after a quiet beat, her fingers snaking through his hair, her eyes meeting his. " Stay. I've not shown you my room yet."

[erenozturk]

“I’m not good at banter, and I don’t quite care for it,” he responded as flatly as ever, eyes locked on his cuffs and gloves as he readjusted everything. It was a slight distraction from the discomfort admitting his faults sometimes gave him. He wasn’t the most outgoing or polite person around, honest and blunt to a fault and incredibly grouchy and introverted. “I didn’t say you’re bad company,” he countered, “I just don’t like talking about frivolous things when it’s obvious there’s something more important to discuss.” He was quiet a moment before looking at her from the corner of his eyes, “…Is that not okay?” He nodded sharply at her words, simply replying, “Noted. I’ll try to only ask when it truly matters.” He didn’t register how rude that sounded, but he nodded nonetheless. His brow arched slightly at her, slowly echoing her words. “Persisting,” he tested it on his tongue slowly, as if saying the word for the first time. Then he half shrugged, a barely there gesture. “I suppose we all are, if it helps to not feel alone.” He thought he was as well, going through motions and going day after day. His nights he spent obsessively going over everything he knew, trying to wrap his mind around the mysteries. The why’s, the who’s, trying to think of what could possibly come next. As if it could be predicted, as if that could help them somehow avoid disaster after disaster. He didn’t envy her position in town, the responsibility that rested so squarely on her shoulders.

Eren nodded slowly to her words, a quiet validation of her feelings. In truth? He didn’t think anyone could. No matter how small their interactions may have been in comparison, it was no easy night for anyone to go through. He’d had bruises from being flung against buildings by the Supreme of all people, he knew that while they faded from his skin there were still memories of that night that would likely linger for time to come. Even now, as the town twisted to reds and pinks and hearts and chocolates in the name of Saint Valentine, Eren couldn’t feel any better about the events of the past holiday. “I don’t think anyone expects everyone to move past things quickly, including the fae queen. At least, for what its worth, I think its fair for this have such a lasting impression on you.” He drew in a quiet breath before adding, “I can only imagine as a council member, this will continue to weigh heavily for you for sometime to come.” It wasn’t optimistic, but then again Eren wasn’t the type to give out fanciful words of hope.

Her next words felt like a bomb being dropped, but Eren was silent as ever. Taking in the confession with studied silence and care, noting that in the reverent way she shared this information it was likely meant to be held deep under wraps. “He was a bigger threat than any of us figured, than any of us saw coming.” He tried to reassure her, but a thought lingered at the back of his mind. How had he come into this town unnoticed? Newspapers quoted his escape, and yet hadn’t published photos? Surely his mugshot should have been plastered where the residents could see and recognize this “Reed cousin” he presented as as the dark coven leader they discovered him to be in the worst possible way. Perhaps he was mad at himself for dismissing the Reed patriarch’s breakout and not trying to look into it himself. But he knew it was better to not dwell too deeply in the what if’s. “It’s not your job to ease their guilt,” he said after a measured moment. “The only person who can do that is the victim and the transgressor.” He knew this intimately, it was his job to seek the truth and often times to find crime and guilty parties. It was never his job to mediate between those involved, only to find the truth. That was for them to do, and in this case he felt the same for Aiyla. It wasn’t her job to soothe these people, it was her job to lead them. To represent them in town. She couldn’t hold their hands through everything. “Is that why you have that?” He motioned to the journal, “Seeking advice from she who came before you?” He understood it, wasn’t it history’s job to inform what could be done when difficulties repeated itself again and again? “Maybe you feel inadequate now, so close after how things went down… it’s easy to see things in a negative light. The truth is, you are more than capable of walking that line but you are also new to this. You are going to say the wrong thing, and there are times you will make the wrong decision. You just have to be open to learning from those moments, growing. If this tragedy should account for anything, it should be that we need to take more actions to better prepare for the next wave. As you said, it’s not over. It’s time to get to work so we don’t get caught surprised again and again.” Perhaps easier said than done, but Eren couldn’t imagine the council sitting on their hands and not making moves after this latest holiday shenanigan.

How to go on enjoying the moments in between… Eren wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He was the last person who understood how to enjoy himself. To others, it hardly looked like he ever had fun. Fun to him was jogging in the park with Hardy, or reading mystery novels, listening to records for hours, or even sinking into a crossword or sudoku. Mostly it was solitary, away from the town and it’s going ons. This holiday was another never ending list of social scenarios Eren wanted nothing to do with. “Maybe…” he started, unsure of the words he would say next but deciding to roll on instinct. “Maybe those moments are just what is needed to carry on through horror after horror. As hard as it may seem now, in the long run having such moments of brevity may be what helps you carry on through all the bad.” He shrugged, still unsure of himself. “Maybe it’s best to see it like that. But, even then… I don’t really know. I’m always in a sour disposition, horrors or not.”

Aiyla's tongue moved across her bottom lip in thought, honesty was somewhat of a double-edged sword. She gave him a taciturn smile and held her book close to her chest as she gave him a once over she sighed, "Why keep of pleasantries do you enjoy it?" She asked another question knowing that the likely answer would not be one you'd hear from those concerned with coming off as polite company. "Tell me, Eren is it me or the threat of small talk that leads you to your current disposition? I have often been told I'm great company." She explained a moment of thought. "I don't want to be asked things just because they're expected or polite. I don't care for things like that...but I appreciate your sentiments all the same." She thought of the last few weeks, of the last council meeting and how out of place she still at times felt. Her attitude, her experiences it made it obvious how she was new to this- new as they all were but there seemed to be an advantage to being more or less local. She smiled a small thoughtful and fleeting expression, "I'm persisting." She said with a sigh her fingers absently drumming on the spine of her mothers journal.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to totally stomach all of what happened, Eren." She admitted without a hint of beating around the bush. She had been attacked more than once. Even by the very man who had caused all the chaos. A fact she'd not shared with anyone despite his face haunting her dreams. The sinister echo of his voice whispered in the back of her mind. Sometimes she jumped at her own shadow fearful he would return make more of a mess of this place she loved and take all that she had left to give. Aiyla swallowed the lump that had begun to press at the base of her throat and put on her best poker face. Tho she had always been an open book and never quite mastered the indifference when there was a storm of feeling inside of her.

A darker part of Aiyla understood the measured meaning and intent in Eren's distance. They were both the same sort of Faerie. Banshee. She still remembered the first time she'd been told what she was- the iron slick smell of blood had clung to her, the fresh loss of life and she'd been so confused so terrified for why this kept happening to her. The explanation had not made it any easier to understand nor did it prepare her for the rest of her gifts. She could see how quickly what they possessed could start to feel like a curse. She walked slowly, careful to give him his space- could Banshees predict each other's deaths? If they'd bumped would she see the distant death of his or could he see hers? She wasn't sure, but given her track record for entering an early grave Aiyla had no intention of finding out- sometimes it was better not to know.

"Silas Chamberlain attacked me that night." She said quietly something she meant to share between the two of them only. "Unprovoked before I had even a faint idea who he was. And I could not defend myself against him. He was intangible and impervious to anything I could have done. I was too weak. To afraid." She admitted blinking hard as if trying to force the memory away. "I can deal with that. I've been hurt before. I'm sure I'll be hurt again. But I don't know how to navigate it. The after part where my neighbors hurt people hurt people I care for, how do I ease their guilt for things out of their control while also caring for the people hurt?" She expressed solemnly. "It's a thin line and I worry that I am to unsteady to walk it well. I say the wrong thing. I do the wrong thing and it's my position at risk. It's the Fae at risk." She paused briefly to watch the last traces of sun dip behind the tallest buildings in the west of town. The sky still purple and pink with the last breath of light. Once she made out the first stars in the sky Aiyla begun to walk again. "I know it's not over. Silas, the Catalyst, and I don't know how to go on enjoying the moments between the horrors."

[jroycethethird]

She was a vision in starlight and sheer fabric and Royce had to fight to keep his thoughts gentlemanly. He came there to be a good friend before his ulterior motives made themselves known, and he was dedicated to doing this right. Her eyes scanned him and Royce listened into her mind, trying to make sense of her reaction to him. Seeing he was in one piece, a clear relief which would have warmed his heart if he had one. But she was quickly thinking about Leyla and what happened to her, giving Royce a gruesome mental image to see into. No, that wouldn’t do. He came here to comfort her, not let her relive the horrors over and over again.

When her fingers wound into the fabric of his shirt, he turned to putty in her hands, allowing her to pull him in and close, to do whatever she wanted with him. His hands reacted in kind, finding her slim waist and anchoring her close to him. Her words caused the corner of his mouth to lift into a smirk, lost in the moment that her lips met his. Not exactly a surprise, but welcome nonetheless. This kiss was different from the last, less urgency but still just as passionate. A hand cradled her cheek while the other pressed into the small of her back as he let out the softest of noises against her lips, not ready to break away just yet. He met her slow, smoldering passion with his own and held on as long as she was willing. When she did pull away his hand slid down her shoulder then arm, playing with the fabric of her dress absentmindedly as he looked down into her eyes expectantly.

The invitation he smiled at, stepping further into her home as she guided him, the tips of his fingers barely interlocked with her own. “There is definitely something I want, but I believe it can wait,” he said so matter of factly, gaze slowly soaking her in from head to toe. “I’m glad to see you made it out okay, as well,” his words said, but his gaze said something else entirely, though only for a flash of a moment. Dropping her hand, he looked about her place as they settled deeper inside, his first time within the walls of her home. He was intrigued by what he would find under the low glow of a lamp, what he could glean about her. And oh how he’d use it all to his advantage.

“Can I do anything for you?” He said after a moment, his hands returning to her waist as he pulled her close. “I figure as fellow council members, it’s the least I can do. Offer you some support… I’ve been told I have nice, sturdy shoulders to lean on.” He twisted and shook one such burly shoulder as if to emphasize his point with a dazzling and charming grin, sobering up a little as he took a hold of her hands.

“Is she being looked after?” He didn’t want to broach the subject, but he figured he should. This would be talked about amongst the council eventually, and those meetings always turned out messy and full of finger pointing at times. He could give her a boost of confidence, before whatever dramatics could potentially present themselves at a meeting. “Do you have somewhere to be tonight?” He was fishing for something, details that would tell him if this was the right time to stop by, the expectation that he wouldn’t be walking out that door until the morning sun shined down on it. His thumb brushed over her knuckles in slow circles, holding her gaze as he gently pulled her in closer. “I can take you somewhere if you need, even if just for a drive. Just say the word, I’ll be whatever you need tonight.”

The Catalyst had gotten what they wanted in the end; terror could be felt as thick and sure as Aiyla could feel death. It hung in the air like a threat sleep could not shake, so she didn't even attempt it- not even when her mind had exhausted all the terrible what-if scenarios that had demanded her attention. She'd wanted to go to the council now; they couldn't keep doing this around and around, never quite ahead of the ones who seek to harm them. The ones who had harmed Leyla. Her stomach twisted in a sickening ache, the brokenness of wings and bones, and Aiyla wanted to wail to anything that would listen or answer.

It was not supposed to be this way. She was supposed to be smarter than this. Smart enough to know when they were being manipulated. The confusion of how Hande manipulated them all perplexed her and sent her to another rabbit hole with no foreseeable end. Around and around, they went. Something needed to give, an answer aluded her and Aiyla knew she would not find it tonight. Not in her sleepless terror where she wanted nothing more than to go to Leyla's bedside to promise her things would be set right. But, Aiyla knew better, she knew once horror was known you could not unknow it.

The how, the when, and why plagued Aiyla as she continued to pace her cottage, dark except for a lamp illuminating her worrisome pacing, a shadow of death and grief in a ball gown of silver stars cursed to sleepless fits and a storm of worry, and visitors? She ceased her pacing, her guard raised as she glided towards the door; untrusting the visitor to be a friend, she wrapped her hand around an umbrella she'd wield like a weapon should she need and opened the door. The object quickly fell from her hands and her eyes roved urgently over his frame. She knew it was a torturous mind trick, no one had been tortured and yet her mind had told her to check for missing limb...or wing. He was whole and her shoulders dropped as she leaned against the open door, a thankful smile meeting his.

She nodded, a frown in response; she closed her eyes to the painful imagery of her best friend's broken body and held her breath a moment to quiet the buzzing in her mind. The company hadn't been expected, but as Royce stepped closer, she felt her heart race quicken the longing for distraction too sweet a temptation to shy away from.

Aiyla closed the space between them, grabbing a hold of the fabric at his chest, and pulled him into her home, "You didn't imagine it." She promised, "I'm happy to see you're in one piece." She said, without letting go of his shirt, and Aiyla kissed him again. Without the threat of torture, without the fear of what was to come, she indulged in it, slow and searing, before pulling back with a breathless sigh, her head tilted back to look him in the eye. They'd all survived the night, and if she could find comfort in the distraction of him then maybe something other than grief could find her as evening gave way to early morning. "Come in." She invited a brief smile as she released her hold on him and locked the door behind them. "Can I get you anything? I have tea, coffee...liquor?" She explained while walking backward, her eyes following him as she ambled deeper into her home.

[jroycethethird]

He had dismissed his assistant and staff hours ago, and now sat alone in the office space he had at the very back of the gallery. Royce stayed there under the guise he had work to do, assured the family staff member assigned to tail him that day that he would go straight back to Verdant Vale when he was through, but they needn’t stick around until then. Verdant Vale, the ancestral home that felt more like a cage as of late, where his overly dramatic family fought endlessly and where the air was stale and heavy with fear. The fear of an impending death, the repercussion for dark magic. The Van Dorens lived life so deliciously, enjoying all the advantages wealth brought them, they didn’t know how to handle inconveniences of any type. Now here they stood, at the precipice of life and death and woefully unprepared to handle it. The last thing Royce wanted to do with his potential last days was spend them in that depressing parlor night after night while Blythe coaxed the girls into bridge and JR waxed poetically and indignantly over a glass of brandy.

He also didn’t want to spend it doing paperwork, despite the lie he gave that persistent assistant. Standing, though not very well, before a full length mirror in his office, he winced as he carefully plucked the buttons of his shirt, sighing as he loosened his tie and pulled the cloth back just enough to get a look at a slither of exposed skin. It was red and mad, peeling and blistering. He let out an irritable groan. “Well that’s not sexy,” he groaned. Scars he could work with, he had one over his brow that made him roguishly charming at times. This was a different story. Fastening his buttons and pulling the tie off completely, because what was the use in redoing that this late at night, he was about to slump back into his chair and focus on something else when he heard a beep from one of the monitors in his office. Eyes flickering over, Royce frowned at the notification flashing on the screen. “Motion sensors? That’s impossible, no one’s here…” His voice trailed off as the security feed played over the monitors, and he watched curiously as a familiar banshee roamed the darkened halls of the gallery in high definition. “Hmm, looks like we have a little visitor,” Royce murmured, watching her take a familiar path to a photography exhibit.

Grabbing the ornate cane he’d taken to using as he still struggled to walk with his injuries, and looking less dressed than usual in a pale blue button down and charcoal trousers, Royce made the slow walk towards where he suspected Aiyla was headed. He remembered when she loaned out some photographs to the gallery, and how they had (for now) a rather permanent residence in one of the wings. Having memorized the various showcases and where things were kept, the witch was there soon enough, a surprisingly warm grin on his face as he carefully wobbled towards her. “Well, well, unless my eyes deceive me, I believe it’s her majesty the fae queen herself, gracing my humble gallery at such… Interesting hours,” Royce’s tone portrayed no malice as he stopped some feet away, leaning on the cane to bow. The smile on his face portrayed it as just fun and games, twirling the cane one full rotation in his hand before he began to close the distance and draw in closer. “Normally, people visit during operating hours, but I can’t complain. This is a place of beauty, for works of art, and I think you may be the prettiest thing around — Unless you’re actually more interested in the other art rather than their proprietor… in which case, I have to call foul.” He flashed a final amused grin before dropping the jokes and smoothing his features to a more calm ease. “It’s good to see you up and about, Aiyla. I heard about what happened… I’m so sorry that happened to you,” it was said in the most sincere way he knew how to speak, though he wouldn’t deny any ulterior motives to his kindness. She was pretty, he was bored, what the hell was he gonna say? “But I am glad to see you in one relative piece.”

Art in motion - @jroycethethird

Sleep was impossible. Every noise that whispered in the darkness sounded like a threat coming to finish the iron blade job that had carved out a piece of her, and no matter how tightly Aiyla closed her eyes, she could not get it back. The night was suffocating her, and no place felt safe...no where was safe, not here. She had half a mind to portal herself into the thick of mountains that were no longer home. Rather than run, Aiyla called a car and pulled a heavy sweater over her lithe frame, shielding her wings in heavy cotton before shrinking into the car's back seat that let her out outside Art in motion at half after two.

She took slow steps, her head on a swivel when she came to a known security guard taking a smoke outside the back entrances- she laid on the smile and let him look at her with pity that made her stomach turn- it must have been the secret to getting whatever she wanted, letting people look at her as if she was something to pity. She wanted to bare her teeth. She could be fierce. A wild thing that belonged to death as much as she belonged to it; she hadn't. Instead, she disappeared into the darkened halls of Art in Motion, moving through the halls like a ghost.

She found it peaceful in the dark. Void of any other person, she followed a well-worn path she'd taken a hundred different times until she came to a series of bright photographs she'd loaned out months ago. They didn't feel like hers anymore. She knew she had taken the photos, yet they felt torn from her. Her wings vibrated painfully at her back; she had no one to ask why as her legs shook under the weight of suffering grief, and Aiyla collapsed onto the bench before the photos. She kept a glossy-eyed gaze on the photos and allowed silent tears to roll down her cheeks. Hearing the descent of footsteps, she white-knuckled the bench, "I'll only be a moment longer." She answered, assuming the security guard had come to usher her out so they could return to their quiet night.

[erenozturk]

Curiosity was an unfortunate trait when you snooped for a living, Eren’s dark gaze sliding over the book in her hands which she closed once he greeted her. It was not his place to ask, and Eren did not cross boundaries. It was out of necessity, to make sure boundaries weren’t crossed where he was concerned. So he let his eyes fall away, dancing across her face in search of hints of what to expect. A frown twisted to a warm smile upon greeting him, a sign that she must have been lost in unpleasant thoughts. Perhaps because of those most recent events which closed out 2023. It was likely the Fae Queen had a better idea of what went down than he did, thought Eren had his private thoughts and ideas on the matter. What she knew must have been disappointing, or perhaps just the leftover guilt and mixed emotions of the night twisted her expression so. Curious, curious…

“I’m being polite,” he said almost too quickly. Blunt and honest, as he would be without the added fact that the fae could not lie. He saw no reason in lying, or even cleverly bending the truth the way others of his kind may have crafted and diligently learned over the many years. He was forthcoming in whatever relationships he held, though he could be sarcastic when he wanted. Sarcasm of course often held a grain of truth, so either way Eren always spoke with an almost robotic truthfulness. An authenticity which sometimes felt not human. Then again, he wasn’t human so perhaps it worked. “But the intention is still there,” he’d said after a breath. Polite was polite, after all. Late Queen’s thoughts… His eyes fluttered to the book now identified as a journal in her hands. That made sense, given the connection there. One he knew a bit more about, given her mother hand asked him to find Aiyla. And he had, with help of someone he had not contacted in years. His lips twitched momentarily as he shook away the thought, expression as impassive as always.

“‘A whirlwind of an answer’, hm? I take it we’re still digesting recent events, then.” Not a question, an observation. As he looked around at neighbors, at people wandering by on the streets in a completely normal way, he could see a slight edge to everyone. The way neighbors warily eyed one another on the streets, the suspicion in their gazes and the set of their bodies. The witches and vampires and their displays of power struck fear into some, even now when things were presumably normal. He could see it, anyone could really. It was as plain as the nose on your face. Eren cast a sideways glance at her as he walked beside her, close enough to make it somewhat obvious they were walking together and yet still with a measure of distance between them. He never drew close to anyone, not even in a friendly way. Any chance of accidental bumping, or grazing which often triggered an uncomfortable sensation within him, he spurned. “So let’s hear it then,” he said in a huff that anyone who didn’t know Eren may interpret as impatient and rude, but someone who had spent even a small amount of time would know was just his odd way of encouraging someone to continue while he intently listened. Never mind the fact that he no longer held her eye contact as they walked.

She had taken a brief break from reading her late mother's journals finding the words struck a cord within her more than she had cared to admit. Despite Hazal not being her mother in this life, she had been the first. Her DNA made Aiyla's features had been formed in Hazal's womb and had come back to her in every single life she'd lived like some string of fate that would always lead her home to relive the tragedy of loss time and time again. History would have said it was her who should have been the one to die- after all the first time, the second third time was compiled of near misses. Aiyla would almost have rather it have been her than her mother. At least then she wouldn't have to suffer this knowledge of knowing she had a mother's love out there and never being able to experience it in the knowing way all daughters are deserving of feeling.

Aiyla had started reading these journals in hope of figuring out how to be a leader. She had years as an advisor but even that time didn't feel like enough to properly prepare her for all she was meant to do. She found herself putting her foot in her mouth more often than not. Asking the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing unable to stay singularly focused. She didn't turn the pages expecting to find out Hazal was her mother. It had taken her weeks to recover from the revelation and as she did she discovered this was her third regeneration.

Born to Hazal only to face death, reborn, reunited, death a second time, and by the time she had been born for her third go at life Hazal had made the choice to love her from afar unable to face another death. It made sense then why Hazal had been so cold towards her. Close and cold- she had never been able to understand the elder Fae at least not until she read these journals. She had been unable to read much about herself; and made considerable effort to skip over the happenstance of her previous deaths finding it all too macabre to read her mother's grief and horror surrounding the details. So Aiyla skipped it, turned away from those pages, and came across others learning Hazal had eyes on her most of her life. This blossomed a new sort of anger in Aiyla, a pain that was sharp and knowing and bitter that Hazal had all this time to know her again and again and Aiyla had the unreliable memory of being reincarnated, a few years of distant advising and journals that so full of love for her that it contrasted Hazal's typical regal and distant demeanor so harshly that it was hard to believe they were the same person.

She had been multitasking, reading the same page of the most recent journal for the fourth time, digging into a bag of pastries she'd been absently eating only to come up empty handed the moment Eren greeted her. Aiyla's disappointed frown shifted to a warm smile, "Eren-" She greeted, closing the journal with a snap and balling the empty bag up as she tossed it in the trash, Aiyla tilted her head, "Do you truly wish to know or are you only being polite?" She asked swaying in place, "My answer would largely depend on that as I don't believe in placating and I'd hope you know you don't have to here." She said gesturing between herself and him, "But I'm out of pastries and reading the late Queen's thoughts so I fear it's a whirlwind of an answer."