Throné Anguis

[rosebleed]

🐍🥀

Comments

WEEK 0: First Saturday

[rosebleed]

Hello! Hello again! Miss?

[PATTER PATTER PATTER. There's little princess feet catching up to you.]

It's so good to see you again! Are you well? [And more hushed, once she's drawn close enough.] Did you get a chance to speak with those strange "senior" crew-folk?

[She asks, having damn well seen the woman conversing with one not long before.]

[naeddre]

[she startles a little when she hears footsteps running up to her, but when she realizes who it is, she relaxes a bit.]

I'm fine. [she says, bemused.] It's Throné.

[and - once the hushed tone starts, she folds her arms.]

I did. I assume you did as well. Why?

w0, FRIDAY

[naeddre]

[WELL WELCOME TO MG I GUESS!!!

she's still in the observation room, just kind of. sitting here, but she does look up at rosamund if she's nearby. the emotion here is just absolutely despondency, like - she's sad normally, but this is so much worse. it's not the first time this has happened - it's not the first time she's seen someone die right in front of her and it won't be the last. it's not the first time she's made friends with someone to lose them immediately. it's not even the first time it's been two people at once.

it's kind of going through her head, as she sits here, but. she doesn't say anything, she just makes room for rosamund to come sit and cry if she wants to.]

[rosebleed]

[Rosamund has stolen a towel again, this time to dab at her neck and brow as she returns from her mad dashing and frantic upturning of every table and nook and cranny in the joint. There must be something she's missed here on the first look around. There can't be nothing.

Her emotions are more akin to a simmering boil. She's never met a crisis she couldn't tackle, and to find herself absolutely ineffective is a first. She doesn't like it.

Then she catches the waves coming off the young woman still sitting here, and wonders if this time she has to reverse her order. Fight later, comfort first.

Rosamund sits without a word, watching her. She swallows thickly.]

I'm sorry.

w0, SUNDAY

[naeddre]

[brings you a preorder

throné is chilling in the bar today, reading. the emotional vibe today is just... somber, and thoughtful. less sad - though that's always present, it never goes away - and more like she's calculating something. thinking, thinking.

when she sees rosamund, she actually will call out to her.]

Rosamund. [come talk, girl, this weekend was a nightmare]

[rosebleed]

[i eat it immediately]

Hi.

[Definitely many degrees more glum than usual.

Rosamund does accept the invitation though, dripping into the seat beside the other woman. She meekly orders a tea and does her best to maintain her good posture.]

How are you?

WEEK 1: Friday

[rosebleed]

[It's the Stasis Bay tonight for her. Rosamund can't claim any sort of closeness to the man. They'd chatted at parties and never caught each other between. Still, she's got her hand on the glass lid of Viktor's pod when Throné steps in, and turns slowly to meet the other woman's gaze.]

Hello, again. [She wears a small and weary smile.] Looks like we were right to worry after all.

[naeddre]

[she's - not doing great, but she's moving.

no smile today, no nothing - just slightly red-rimmed eyes and a hardened, icy expression. but - it eases, just a little, when she sees rosamund. she's not angry at her.]

... It appears that way. [silence, and then:] Rosamund - if someone kills another person, what do you think the punishment should be?

WEEK 2: Thursday

[rosebleed]

[Beats you up

Anyway she has been sitting on the floor next to Throné's pod for ages now, waiting on her to stir. Unsure what she'll do if she doesn't.]

[naeddre]

[hehe?

but WEEHHH rosamund!! she's like, conscious, after a while. it takes a bit. but even so, she doesn't move, just stares at the ceiling, like she can't see the point in getting up.]

WEEK 2: Sunday

[rosebleed]

[Sunday funday, am I right?

Rosamund catches her in the void, not long after the execution has ended and her composure is regained.]

Throné, hi... [A beat.] Thank you for earlier. I didn't mean to make you — not when you were already feeling unwell. But I appreciate it.

[naeddre]

[she glances over at rosamund with a raised eyebrow.]

... You didn't make me do anything. [she says, shifting. i can't remember if i ever linked her cool new leg so here it is.] It isn't your fault I'm hungover.

[she was probably talking about your stab wounds throné but ok]

You aren't... experienced with this sort of thing.

w3, MONDAY

[naeddre]

[hey what's up THE VOIDRIFT SAYS HELLO, we're just starting off at top speeds.

you are seven years old. maybe six. you can't remember exactly.

you are standing in the sewers under new delsta. a man is standing in front of you - you don't know his name, or even what he's done wrong. father didn't tell you, and you didn't ask. he said you had a job to do, and you didn't argue. you're not supposed to. and he said - he said he'd get you your favorite after this, so you go along with it.

the man in front of you whimpers, and stumbles back, falling to his knees. he's terrified of - well, probably not you. he's probably scared of father. a lot of people are. you are too, sometimes, when he looks at you like he does. one time, you watched a pack of wild dogs tear into a rat on the street, and watched the way they salivated and growled, the way they ripped it apart with a sort of gleeful air. the way father looks at you sometimes reminds you of that.

"Go on, give it a try," his gentle, encouraging voice comes from behind you. you frown, looking at the man in a crumpled heap on the ground.

"I can't do it," you say, quietly, shaking your head.

"You're still young and naive, Throné," he sighs, exasperated. "You're wasting your sympathy. He's the worst sort of scum there is."

he tells you this like he's coaxing you to eat your vegetables. you think this is very different, though. you don't want to. you hesitate.

"Come now, Throné. Once you kill him, you'll understand," he continues, putting his hand on his hip. his eyes never leave the man on the ground, and his voice gets a little lower. wistful, almost. "You'll see how intoxicating the smell of blood can be. Soon enough you'll want to spread it on your bread like butter."

you... frown even harder. no. that doesn't sound good at all. you're not sure.

"I'd rather have raspberries..." you mumble, rubbing at your eye.

he laughs. like it's a silly thing you said, that you want to have fruit to eat instead of blood. of course, of course, you amusing child.

"Everyone is born with a gift," father says. "The gods bestow us all with a job only we can do. It is our fate. Your gift was wielding a dagger, Throné. If you want to live, you must learn to kill."

you know, as his tone gets a little harsher, that he's reaching the end of his patience. you're not supposed to say no this much. so, you bite your lip, and shake your head to clear it. the dagger in your hand feels familiar, but... you've never used it this way before. not on a person. you know how to slice and dodge and you know where all the best spots on a person are to kill them, but you've never actually done it. until now.

you take a few steps forward. and without a word, you shove it through the man's throat. he tries to get away from you, and in the seconds that pass you realize he's afraid of you. this doesn't make you feel anything. maybe a little sad. but father said. and you have to. so - you do, and he slides off your blade and gurgles, eyes glazing over. you step back a few times so that the blood doesn't get on your shoes, and you feel a little like crying. you don't, though.

"Very good. Just as I expected," father says breathlessly, moving forward to marvel over your work. "How was it, my dear?"

you stare down at the body, and you mumble:

"The smell of blood... I hate it."

and the memory ends. :man_standing:]

This tag got eaten three times

[rosebleed]

[She can still smell the hot iron on the knife. Buttered with blood, as her father had put it.

Not her father.

Rosamund blinks herself back to reality. Her ears prickle. The man's face is gone but the squelch of his flesh under her knife remains. A knife held in the softest and smallest of hands.]

Throné...

[She looks to her, heartbroken.]

Your own father?

w3, THURSDAY

[naeddre]

[laser eyes

no, she just comes up to rosamund after following her down the hallways, and then:]

... You don't need to pretend to be alright.

[rosebleed]

[jumping a little]

Did you follow me?

w3, SUNDAY

[naeddre]

[hello, it is after execution, and throné can be found curled up sleeping in the observation deck. she is. holding her dagger tightly in her hand while she sleeps. that might be kind of dangerous.]

[rosebleed]

[hello

Rosamund sees a familiar pill bug on the cushy observation deck seating. She draws closer, wondering if maybe she ought to find Temenos or Arthur, or grab the girl a blanket? Or...oh.

That sure is a knife.

She frowns. How to best go about this?]

Throné? [Said softly, from a short distance. She moves, not directly in front of her but to the side, where the arm of the chair plays cushion to her head. From there, she takes a chance and taps lightly at the girl's shoulder. Theoretically this angle should be a harder to get knifed from.] Throné?

WEEK 4: Monday

[rosebleed]

[They're in the ballroom!!! Fantastic!!!

She is struggling to contain her hype about this.]

Isn't it lovely, Throné? [She does a spin around. Because she's wearing an appropriately floofy dress it's ~*~majestic~*~.] Have you been to a ball before?

[naeddre]

[help this is cute. she's wearing this today, equally as swishy. she steps out into the ballroom with rosamund, watching her spin.]

It is. [she says, soft, with a little smile.] ... I don't think that I have, no. There wasn't ever much time for it. Have you?

WEEK 4: Thursday

[rosebleed]

[While chatting with her in public there is a sudden direct ping.]

nyquil
Where are you on the ship?

You're not near Nero or Bradley, are you?

[naeddre]

lostseed

The dog park. They aren't here, no.

I have no idea where they are. Do you?

WEEK 4: Friday

[rosebleed]

[She's all but drifting through the halls, ashen at the edges and wide eyed.]

Throné. Did you...

[Dare she say it out loud?]

[naeddre]

[HELP I KNOW WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE]

No. [she says, with a firm look. she holds out a hand to rosamund.] I didn't. I don't know what happened. I promise.

w4, SATURDAY

[naeddre]

lostseed

Are you awake?

[rosebleed]

[after some time...]

nyquil
yes.

w6, SATURDAY

[naeddre]

[ALIVE ALIVE ALIVE

she's going to bring rosamund a water. here you go, sweet princess.]

[rosebleed]

[She takes the water, but is immediately back to holding her tight. Sorry. This is a lot and she is a needy little lady.]

You can't imagine how I've missed you.

WEEK 7: Monday

[rosebleed]

[They are at the Machine. It is time to stare at the cursed water.

Rosamund leans over the ledge. Prudently of course. The machine (or whatever it is) is in the centre of the grand vat, and the smell is wretched, rusty and rotten. She can't say for certain that it's a kind of blood, but her stomach churns in a way that suggests it may be.]

You wouldn't have an ability to get us over there, would you?

[naeddre]

[yay! cursed water!

this place smells fucking awful, and throné looks vaguely ill as they make their way in. her thoughts are a jumble of hate this smell, I hate this smell so much - but she ignores that in favor of shaking out her fingers. a little spark of darkness curls around them.]

... I can try to make a platform of some kind.

w7, SATURDAY

[naeddre]

[wherever rosamund is, throné just runs across the ship to her, and hugs her? hi, hello. we did it! and i'm taking advantage of the last bit of affection week that's circulating so she can do this.]

[rosebleed]

[No affection week needed here!

She bursts into the brightest grin and gives her SUCH a squeeze.]

I knew we could do it! No matter how ridiculous it got, we could absolutely do it!