#tarnished metal (valere)

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

“There really aren’t any good people in the world, are there? It’s almost like people just pretend there are to feel better about themselves.”

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

"How do I know you won't take the one dollar you asked for and split?" With a huff, he pulled two crumpled dollars out of his pocket, holding them up for the other to see.

"Count of three?"

3000yearmonarch​: 

“…Know what? Sure, I’ll bite. I’ll give you two dollar, even.

You first.”

“Hhmmmm, but how do I know I’m going to get the two dollars?

How about, you give me one dollar and then I take off my mask, and then I get the other dollar?”

[books-of-the-great-leviathan]

Chapter 17- Alois

***

Bellana save me, Alois thought, quivering like a child as he walked between the guards. I'm going to die.

They'd come for him while he was trying to sleep. The sound of the key in the lock had roused him, and he'd scrambled to his feet as the cell door swung open to a half-dozen royal Falcii. He'd gone with them. He'd been waiting. He was ready for this. He thought he'd been ready to die for a long time. Escorted out of the cell blocks, he'd expected to turn toward the Palace agora, for a gibbet and a noose and the beating Lapidaean sun, for blue flags snapping against a blue sky to be his last sight. Instead, they'd turned deeper into the Palace.

"Where are you taking me?" he'd asked as they led him upward, his voice a dry whisper. The walls here were high and lofty and made of stone pale as milk, conducting echoes through the maze of corridors and broad stairways. He glimpsed hidden courtyards tiled with scenes of pagan legend, glimpsed statues on balconies through elegant arched doorways, wings of stone hawks cut sharp against the sky.

It was like a street magician's globe filled with fireflies, light trapped within white walls. Alois itched for the close darkness of Pavaloir Tower, the shadows he could hide in when his father entered one of his rages. Too many times he'd heard the king's voice crack like a thunderbolt, echoing down from the throne room, with its blade of a throne and the stare of Bellana, always. There, he had at least an illusion of escape. Here he was exposed, vulnerable as a fledgling tipped from its nest.

The guards gave him no answer, not so much as a glance from under the lowered visors of their helmets. Alois settled his gaze on the blue and white marble of the floor, his mouth dry, his pulse distant, like it belonged to someone else.

"Here, Highness," one of the Falcii commanded him, Lapidaean accent heavy on the word. "Through the doors."

Alois was ushered through a pair of cedar doors and into the cool darkness of a room beyond. The drapes had been drawn. Dimmed sconces provided the only illumination. No white stone or sunlight here; this was a soldier's office, spare and restrained. Panels of ammonite stone made up the walls. A massive desk, each corner supported by a winged female figure, dominated the room. Swords gleamed from racks mounted on the walls. Alois recognized an antique Estaran saber, its curved blade enameled with entwined serpents, a collection of Buyani ritual knives in bronze and human bone, even a short dagger made from star iron, a rare and sacred metal that plummeted from the sky at the hearts of falling stars.

Each glinted with evident care, edges kept honed and deadly. None looked as sharp as the eyes of Isabella Valere as she sat behind the desk, watching Alois enter. Behind her stood Enzo Acier, captain of the royal Falcii, tall and silent, one hand on the back of Isabella's chair.

"Leave us," Isabella said, raising a finger from the desk's surface. At her fingertips lay a whaleglass knife. It looked ancient, silver tarnished, jet dulled by time, but the blade was unmarred, rippling with light and translucent as crystal.

The guards bowed, retreating. The doors settled shut, and silence rushed in, fraught and tense. Alois stood, spine rigid, hands clenched at his sides.

Isabella surveyed him. One blue nail tapped the hilt of the knife. Her eyes were steel-gray, unblinking. She wore shirtsleeves rolled to her elbows, exposing corded, scarred forearms. Her fitted waistcoat was the dark blue of a soldier's uniform, her shoulder-length hair shining like buffed gold. Alois was over-aware of his filthy clothes, the suppressed tremble in his legs.

He forced himself to stay upright despite the bitter taste in his mouth. The world pitched and tilted around him; he'd been so long in the cell, so long in the dark. He'd already begun to forget what freedom felt like. Maybe he was a fool to pretend he'd ever known.

"Sit down, Prince Alois," Isabella said at last.

Alois paused, then sat, slowly, in the chair opposite her desk. Pain flared in his aching muscles; he let his eyes drift shut for a moment, savoring the chair's padded leather, the cool breeze teasing aside the drapes. When he opened his eyes again, a servant was bringing him a cup, Buyani porcelain painted with a delicate design of leaping fish.

He could have wept at the sight of water, but paused before he drank. It wasn't water inside the cup, but dark liquid that smelled of unfamiliar herbs.

"What is it?" he rasped, glancing up at Isabella.

She arched an eyebrow. "Tea."

"What's in it?"

"Leaves," she said. "And a squeeze of lemon. Don't worry. We tend not to poison our prisoners here in Lapide."

At the mention of poison and prisoners, Alois's pulse jumped. "Where are my guards?"

"Alive."

Alois let out his breath, relief flooding through him. At least his guards hadn't had to pay with their lives for his father's ambition. "Are you going to execute me?"

"Do you want to be executed?"

Alois held her gaze, tried to stay aloof, but it was useless. Poisoned or not, he couldn't go a moment longer without a drink. He raised the tea to his lips and drained the cup in two long swallows. The tea was chilled, flavored with mint and rich spices, so good he thought about asking for more. He fought off the impulse and lowered the cup.

"I don't know," he said, after a moment. "Maybe I should be."

"Because of my sister?"

Ache twisted in Alois's chest. "I swear to you, I swear on Bellana's mercy I did not know what my father was planning. I want peace as much as I know you do. I want Lapide and Estara united. I didn't want...I never wanted..."

His traitor eyes blurred, and Isabella dissolved into smears of blue and gold. Alois lowered his gaze, unwashed curls falling over his eyes. He clenched the Buyani cup so hard his hands hurt, knuckles white through his skin.

"I am not going to execute you, Prince Alois," Isabella said. "Because I believe you."

Alois jerked his head up. "What?"

Isabella drew a long breath, then reached into the desk. She emerged with a small enameled box. A hand seemed to tighten around Alois's heart as Isabella opened the box and produced a tiny bottle of clear liquid from within.

"This was in your trunk," she said. She set the bottle onto the desk, next to the knife. It caught a glint of lamplight. "Hidden in a panel at the bottom."

"That's..." Alois started. His mouth was dry again, a high ringing in his ears. "You...you can't. Please-"

"It's medicine," Isabella said. "A tincture of moon tears and laylock. For the eyes, isn't it."

Alois couldn't lie to her. "Yes."

"You're going blind."

Her words were a strike to the face, his father's palm cracking against his cheek. They were shame, black and hot and unending, a howl inside him that threatened to consume him. The room seemed at once airless. Like she'd summoned them, gray spots swam in Alois's vision, a haze that grew larger each time he suffered them, eating up more and more of his sight.

"Yes," Alois said again.

"Estaran customs are strange and violent beasts, especially when concerning kings. No matter how suited you are to the position, Prince Alois, this-" She tapped the vial. "-qualifies you as unfit to rule. Am I wrong?"

"No."

"Your father has remarried, yes? Had another son? Another heir, more to his satisfaction than his first attempt?"

"Marin." Another fist around the heart, another pang of pain. Where was his little brother now? Safe, he hoped. Let him be safe, let him be well, let him be free of their father's plans. Frustration built like a scream. He felt so powerless.

"How tidy for him," Isabella said. She plucked up the whaleglass knife, turning it this way and that. "To hamstring Lapide and be rid of you in the same maneuver. Brilliant, I would even say, if it weren't so monstrous."

"He's right to want Marin on the throne," Alois said quickly. "I am unfit. This...affliction, this curse-"

"Curse. Like Cereza was cursed?" Her tone was sharp, knuckles white on the knife's hilt. Another wave of shame crashed across Alois. He wished he could curl in on himself, to cancel his own flesh and make himself nothing. "Don't mistake me, Alois. You are on enemy ground now."

Captain Acier shifted slightly, his signet ring chiming against the hilt of his sword. He had an quick laugh in the Palace gardens the evening of Alois' arrival, had kindly teased Cereza and Luca as much as they'd done so in return, had greeted Alois with an easy smile, no trace of mistrust. A careful show, maybe, but Alois had been relieved nonetheless. All of that was gone now. From the chill in his eyes Alois knew it was only his princess's command that kept him from drawing steel and running him through where he sat.

"I realize that," Alois said carefully. "And I am...grateful for your mercy. I only wish it weren't necessary."

"I know," Isabella said, and for the first time Alois heard a trace of softness in her voice. "That's why you're alive now, Highness, and not swinging from a sea gibbet for your countrymen to find."

Alois swallowed. The tea tasted bitter on the back of his tongue.

"I have no desire to see Lapide consumed in your father's fires," Isabella went on. "And I am not so naive that I don't see my mother's lapse into despair. I must rectify what has been done, as I cannot count on my queen to do so for me."

"There's no lifting the curse," Alois said.

Isabella's eyes narrowed. "I'm not speaking of the curse. Not entirely."

"Then what?"

"My brother," Isabella said, "has stolen Cereza, the shadow-thief assassin, and a treasure of the Valere house in a madcap mission to find the Great Leviathan."

Alois dropped the cup. The crack of breaking porcelain startled him from his chair. He stood as the servants swooped to clear away the shards. Isabella had not flinched. When the maids were finished, she dismissed them with a nod, and they retreated into a hidden door in the paneling of the walls.

"No," Alois said. His head swam, but he fought for clarity. 'That's...no, that's impossible..."

"My thoughts exactly."

It's gone, Alois. It's been gone long before anyone alive was born. If it is returning, it's not in these times. His mother's face, her amber eyes sorrowful, looking not at him but past him. He'd followed her gaze across the sea, to the point where sky and ocean met. The stars had been fires, then, a thousand thousand of them, so bright and heavy they might have fallen to the waves, sinking to the depths of the dark water.

These are no days for gods.

She might have dreamed of the Leviathan, she might have ached to see it, but now she never would. Maybe all the secrets she'd craved had been answered for her, when she met Bellana's light. Maybe the goddess whispered the truths in her ear. Alois didn't know. He didn't lately have much trust in gods.

"What's to be done?" Alois said.

"I cannot afford to send men after him. Lapide is full of rot. A crack in our country, made by war and widened by the events of the past weeks. I need my strength gathered here, in Lapide's heart. And if my mother will not stand strong, I must in her place."

"Unrest?" Somehow Alois didn't think she meant riots.

Isabella's face was a mask, but a flicker passed through her eyes. Fear, Alois thought. Somehow that was worse than the news of Prince Luca and his madness, Cereza's curse and their loosed monster.

Rot, Alois thought. Like dread marrowworms that ate a sea-ork beneath the skin, swimming in its brain until the beast was no more than a parasite's puppet. A whole and hale thing, turned black and crawling on the inside.

"What I say now remains here, in this room," Isabella said. She set the knife down. "Do you understand me?"

He was in no position to deny her. He was in no position to deny anyone anything. He was not prince anymore; he was nothing, a game piece that had expended its purpose. Had the Witchhunter known, too? Somehow, that was worse than the knowledge his father had betrayed him. Had Azare plotted this scheme with King Daval, heads bent together, constructing their new empire on foundations of his blood?

Of course he had, Alois told himself, bitter. He was the Witchhunter. His loyalties were to Estara, not to him, no matter how many times he'd shielded Alois from his father's wrath.

"Yes," Alois said. "I understand."

"There is a traitor in Lapide," Isabella said. "I don't know who. I don't know for what reward. But locks were left open, and correspondence given of the Palace's layout, that allowed the assassin access to Cereza. This has been planned for far longer, and with far greater reach, than I originally could have anticipated."

A muscle twitched in her jaw. "I had thought Lapide impermeable, its people united. I was wrong."

"Loyalty only goes so far."

"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I was...naive. But no longer. I do not intend Lapide to float belly to the sun, helpless to hungry gulls. I do not spare mercy for traitors. When I find who allowed this, who conspired with Estara, who betrayed my country, I will burn them out."

"You sound like my father."

Isabella narrowed her eyes. "I don't want an empire. I only want my country united. I only want this war to end."

We all want what we think is best, Alois thought. And did he want the same? Or did it go deeper, further, a desire to be born again and live in a different skin, to stand without fear? Or to cut down his fears, to look into his father's eyes and hear him beg forgiveness, to look into his father's eyes and watch them dull as he slipped a knife into a king's heart?

Vengeance and violence, blood in the water. That was his father's way, and he was his father's son. Maybe it was his way, too.

"And what do you want with me?" Alois said.

"Your help," Isabella said. "And your support, when the day comes that Lapide and Estara are united again. Not under an empire, but as allies."

Allies. What a sea of jagged rocks lay between reality and her dream. But deep inside Alois, a spark guttered- not fear, not acceptance, but defiance. His father had thrown him to the sea-orks, and he had survived.

He rubbed his thumb over the scar on his palm, the one he'd inflicted himself, healed to a shadow by the power of the Belmont cup.

To heal, not to hurt.

I am your heir, Father. This is what you have made.

He would not be Daval's game piece. He'd see the world Isabella spoke of made real, the world his father would have broken. He would not simply see it. He would make it so.

Alois lowered his eyes, brow furrowed, then raised them and met Isabella's steel gaze once more. Not friends, but allies.

He nodded. "I can start with that."

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

"Come ta think if it, there's a certain little witch I haven't pissed off in awhile, either. Wonder if she missed me."

@corvidmagicae

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

((Okay so I need help with Val.

So I’ve mentioned a few times now that I essentially want to make him something of a demigod...but I don’t know what powers to give him. Combine this with my concern of making him too much (which I know he’s my OC and and I can make him as OP as I want, but it’s still a weird adjustment), and I’m really at a loss. So I’m looking for suggestions.

So far, he has teleportation and can create illusions (the boundaries of which I have yet to establish). But beyond that I’m stuck. Maybe telepathy, or the ability to manipulate something?

Basically I’m saying please throw ideas or suggestions at me.))

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

“So...anyone up for a night of drinking, skinny dipping, and general debauchery?”

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

@imbicilite​ asked: "I've never met a royal like you before."

Royalty AU Sentence Starters

“Thanks, I guess. Means I’m not a bastard like my brother.” To be fair, he’d never felt he had much reason to behave like a royal-he was the fourth child, after all, and his achievements would never outshine those of, say, Faren. So why bother trying to behave all noble-like.

“Although I’m assuming you didn’t mean that as a compliment, did you?”

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

frostbittxntrainer-returned​:

Kalos was so, stunningly beautiful. Red had visited, for once not on a direct effort howard's recovery, but to just take a break, and sightsee like a tourist and not a trainer.

Red usually rose with the sun, and that in turn left him more often than not going down with it as well, but not tonight. Tonight, Red had gone out with his travelling companions, seen some sights, gone shopping. A busy day winds down to a meandering night, leaving Red comfortably wide awake long past dusk.

Alone on the public rooftop of the hotel he was staying at, Red looked out onto the lights of Lumiose City. They were so bright in the dark backdrop of the night, and the warm summer night air put him at ease, even as a gentle breeze rolled in, rustling the leaves of the trees below on the nature strips. Very few cities back home gave off this warm glow in the night, beckoning Red to step into it's embrace and see what the evening had to offer, and none were as starkly beautiful.

Pikachu, having climbed up onto the half wall encompassing the rooftop boundary, gazed out towards the Prism Tower. Red smiled, and pet his partner on the head, before taking a step back to take a picture of the pokemon, facing towards the gym and backlit by the lights of the city. It was a habit that Red had gotten into, and it made him feel more like a tourist to take photos of clearly obvious landmarks like that. A degree of seperation between him, and the gym. Maybe on his next trip, when he was ready, stronger, he would try his hand at the challenge, but not tonight.

Tonight, Red looked out on the city, and for once, felt like he had gotten away from what was chasing him. Finally, he had a little peace of mind.

He really should have known someone would be up here on a night like this.

Still, the fact that it should have been obvious didn’t abate the sense of frustration that reared its ugly head. Valère glared at the back of the boy’s-the tourist’s-head, grimacing. Sure, it would be easy enough for him (especially for him) to find somewhere else to be alone, but he didn’t want to do that. Simple as that.

So he was just going to have to get this kid to leave. Also simple as that.

From his experience with tourists, just telling them to leave wasn’t going to cut it. If anything it made them more annoying, with their picturesque vacation ideas and not wanting to have that ruined. Plus, that just wasn’t his style.

“Oi.” He finally disrupted the silence after a long moment, casually crossing the distance between them to lean against the half-wall and glower at the scenery with his head in his hand. “I’ve got to smoke. Do you mind?” 

As he said this, Valère fished a full pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. No lighter in sight. His lips quirked up into something of a grin. If his behavior didn’t drive the kid away, well, maybe he’d just have a little fun with him.

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

“Is there really any point in celebrating another 365 days? Seems kind of pointless at this point.”

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

@lifehealed​ continued from [x]

Another night in Lumiose, wandering the streets and looking for just about anything to keep himself occupied. Truth be told he was getting tired of the city, but it was easily one of the busiest places in Kalos, and always seemed to have something going on. While it was entirely possible for him to head out to a different region for awhile, it didn’t feel like it was time yet.

He passed by countless shops and bars, nothing quite catching his interest...until he caught sight of a peculiar pair out of the corner of his eye.

They were spaced too far apart to really be considered ‘together’, but the man was clearly tailing the girl. And, judging by the sharp turn she took down a side street, she was aware of it, too.

There were a couple of possibilities as to what was going on-all of them interesting. With that in mind, Valère followed suit, keeping to the shadows and just out of sight. Not that it seemed he needed to; the man was intensely focused on the girl. Down one road, then another. And when they reached a dead end, and the girl made her declaration, the pieces started to fall into place.

A robbery. He grimaced.

At first the girl seemed to have a handle on things, trying to slip past, but the would-be robber grabbed her...and Valère noticed the knife. Disgusting. He didn’t have much of a choice but to step in.

Slipping from the shadows, he was between them in an instant, his own hand gripping the man’s wrist and squeezing until he was forced to let go of the girl. There was a rush of wind as something sharp sliced past his brow, just barely missing his eye. His other hand lashed out to squeeze that wrist, too, until the knife went clattering to the ground. From there, it was just a matter of kneeing the man in the gut, sending him reeling backwards. It was apparently enough for the stranger to get the message and skitter off down the street.

Pity. He would have like to fight a little longer. Men like that deserved worse than a warning.

Heaving a sigh, Valère turned to face the girl, who sounded...surprisingly calm for this whole situation. At her question, his hand went up to his forehead, coming back with blood on his fingers.

“Just a scratch. How about you?” It was hard to tell in the dim light of the alley, but something seemed vaguely familiar about her, in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. “Who cuts down a side street to lose someone, anyways? You should’ve gone into a shop and gotten help.”

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

“So, if you’re human and you get turned into an immortal as a teen...are you stuck with all the hormones? Because that would suck.”

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

@imbicilite​ asked: wildcard!

Have my muse say--

25

“You lied to me.” If he was angry, it was a surprisingly controlled anger. The prince spoke with a calm but firm voice, staring out from the balcony towards the woods. “I thought you said you were going to keep this a secret.”

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

“...What if I’m not immortal? What if I’m just a ghost that thinks its still alive? If people can see me, is there a difference?”

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

“Or consider: you can deal with it yourself and not go owing favors to tiny witches.

Take dethroning the monarchy into your own hands.”

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

@komala-scientist​ asked: Muguet, eating a cookie larger than herself, decides to sit on Valerie's head. Get crumbs in his hair. Floooo

@fluereternelle​

Really? Really?

Valère frowned, reaching up and plucking the cookie from her tiny hands. The problem was what to do with it now that he had it. Was he immune to the effects of fae food? Was this even fae food? Should he just eat it?

Just to test he reaction, he held the cookie up to his open mouth, as if going to take a bite of it.

[3000yearmonarch-archived]

@lifehealed​ asked: “You can’t see the stars from here…” She seems genuinely disappointed. /to val, whichever verse you'd like!

Late Night Wanderings Sentence Starters

“Yeah, light pollution is kinda shi-I mean sucks like that.” Following her gaze to the near pitch-black sky above Lumiose as they walked, he pursed his lips together. There was something he could do, but did he really want to reveal that part of himself to her? There’d no doubt be questions.

“...I’ve got an idea. Gimmie your hand.”