TEST DRIVE MEME #4

[fairyfoes]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The Seelie and Unseelie courts welcome you with mirthful revelry and hearty food. After you have been briefed on your purpose here, you will find an endless feast and a night filled with entertainment to placate your concerns. Mingle with new arrivals, sneak down the castle halls and make sure your eyes are always on your glass; fairies and imps have no bias when it comes to tricks! 02. THE STATION. Looking for a little slice of home? The Station gives you all that and more. Take advantage of the wifi, have a cup of fairy-brewed coffee (the one they didn't spit in) or sit back and relax on the patio. You can even move your things into one of the available rooms! 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld or simply take advantage of your Locket!

Comments

[noirant]

:Heavens, I hope not.:

He doesn’t bother to explain, too caught-up to consider that he ought to — or that one of them may not be so unwelcome at all. Felix doesn’t understand how the courts take their division; he’s met the pleasant and the irritating in both, and talk of order grappling chaos only stretches so far when both sides fling fiercely towards war. Of course Gideon would be Unseelie, with him, and never mind how little of the circumstance supports it. They’re too much alike, aren’t they? Certainly they argue, but it always balances out. They balance each other.

:But the entire affair’s a greeting, it might as well be one for us.: Felix smirks over his shoulder to Gideon, then offers out a hand. A rare thing, and he halfway hopes he won’t take it; even if Gideon does, Felix doesn’t intend to hold on long. The gesture’s not for his own sake. :If their library’s anything like the other, you’ll adore it; we absolutely need to make a stop after.:

Gideon can help him 'borrow' books. Right?? That’s definitely what’s going to happen, because they’re both 100% on the same page in this conversation, he’s sure.

[thraxios]

Gideon doesn't know how to interpret this place or the souls that surround them. Felix's unspoken explanations would be of some use, but given what a dilettante the man can be in the best of times, Gideon would likely need to do some research of his own, anyway. A pity (and a relief) Simon and Rinaldo aren't here.

He wants to take Felix's hand, but in the presence of the castle's residents--and worse, in a death's-land that looks nothing like the oblivion he longed for--is begging for trouble. In private, perhaps, when he finds out exactly why Felix is showing him such kindness, and when there's no one to witness the terms of their relationship.

(And perhaps after Felix gives him a reason to absolve him of the events of the last few weeks. Gideon hasn't forgiven, nor has he forgotten, and as drawn as he is to Felix, he isn't pleased with him.)

He shakes his head minutely at Felix, a silent refusal of his hand.

:I could meet you there after.: He can think of little he'd like less than to accompany Felix through plates of food and conversations, in neither of which he can take any part. Gideon doesn't envy Mildmay's place as Felix's stoop-shouldered shadow, and he won't take it. :I'll only slow you down here.:

[noirant]

“I wasn’t aware that it was a race."

Felix frowns, all of Gideon’s earlier suspicion suddenly colouring his own brow.

Gideon hates publicity, and he knows how to hold a grudge, but he’s not half so good at refusing comfort. This is a real cloud, and Felix can’t think what he’s done to earn its downpour. Certainly, the circumstances could be more pleasant (hadn’t he spent most of the first night shouting at Nerdanel?) but Felix is doing his best to make them so. He can’t remember if they’d argued before he left, but he thinks things had been good. Perhaps some minor squabble fermented in his absence, or --

-- Or saints, what if something had happened to Mildmay? He’d been so sick.

:Gideon,: An intake of thought, if not breath. :What’s going on?:

[thraxios]

Gideon tamps down any desire to frown back, keeping his face schooled in a solemn expression that approaches neutral. It takes no effort, but he suspects it will in a few minutes.

He doesn't want to have to ask this here and now, but he can read the demand in Felix's expression. Resisting the man's ephemeral desires can be a near-impossible task. Even now, after everything, part of him wants to give Felix the things he wants--the things that he should have, at least. Plenty of Felix's whims should be indulged by no one, least of all Felix Harrowgate.

:How did it happen?: he finally asks, never letting his gaze drift from Felix's. He stops walking; perhaps for him, this could be a conversation for an easy constitutional, but it isn't for Felix. :Who killed you?:

[noirant]

Felix gapes.

“What?” He’s never had a face for cards, and it’s plain as day that the question’s taken him blind. Exasperation and faint amusement swim into his expression as he recomposes. “Saints, no. We’re not dead. It’s more of a headache than that.”

But — Anthony’s dead, and he’s not the only one. And why leap to murder? His hands unconsciously drift to his pockets, lingering uneasily over the rubies hidden there.

:Perhaps you should answer my question first.:

[thraxios]

The tense line of Gideon's body relaxes slightly at the response. Whatever else is true of their current condition, Felix is still alive. It means more to him than he can express to know the White-Eyed Lady has only claimed one of them--and of her choices, she selected the man better fit for her embrace.

Perhaps they haven't yet found his body; it might be some time, considering where it happened. Perhaps Felix was dragged into this half-death before he was informed. Macabre though the thoughts might seem to someone else, Gideon is curious to know how things proceeded after his part in the play was finished.

:I don't think you'll like the answer.: He watches Felix with dark, solemn eyes, wishing he could reach out for his hand. As ghosts go, however, he's all ragged edges and weary isolation, a bearer of ill news rather than a lover's touch. :And I think you can guess what it is.: