Posts by .:dream

RAY BANNER

[size=7pt]They say t i m e heals all wounds, but that p r e s u m e s the source of the grief is finite. - Cassandra Clare[/size]

Azalea was a happy girl. She had a loving family, plenty of food and friends, and didn't have a care in the world. She used her grace for good, healing minor cuts that any of the small village's residents might have. Everyone in the town was kind to her, and her parents were able to trust them to not tell her secret. This allowed her to remain out of the Crown's eye for the longest time; no one would report on the sweet little flower. But it was that day that the parents realized that they shouldn't have trusted the village so deeply; money and power can always get a man what he wants.

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The eight-year-old's eyes were open wide, watering, trying to think of something she could do, anything she could do, that would fix what had happened. That would get the look of pure terror and loathing on her mother's face as she stood over the body. That would bring her father back to her, back alive. Back to his boisterous, raucous self. Instead of the body laying in the crimson puddle in front of her. The same crimson that stained her hands.

It had all happened in a flash. The king's knights had come to take her to the castle - to use her Grace for his own personal whims. Of course, her father had intervened; and when her father wouldn't let way, the knight he was arguing with did what he was trained to do: he stabbed her father and watched as he died in front of him. The knight knew that if he was gone, he could easily take the girl. It was just in his instincts.

Her father was gurgling on the floor, holding his hand out to her, whether in beckoning or in shooing, she would never know. She immediately ran to her father's side, placing a hand upon his chest, starting the flow of her power through her arm, down to her hands...

Pain shot up her arm, and she quickly drew her arm back, shocked at what she had felt. This was nothing like she had ever dealt with before. She wasn't used to big injuries like this. Small papercuts, maybe, but a stab wound? The poor girl wasn't able to handle the pain, even though she tried many times. Each time she could tell that her father was fading, because each time the pain was dulled by a minute difference. But she still couldn't hold on, not even for her father.

He died the next morning.

Her mother, in grief, was unable to do anything to keep the guards from taking Azalea to the castle, even if she had wanted to. She couldn't look at her own daughter. She blamed her for the death of her husband. So when the guard told her that if she kept her daughter, she would die too, she nodded, and basically handed her daughter to the knights.

Azalea's face was wet with tears, unable to understand why this was happening, why her mother seemed to not know who she was, hate her even, why she couldn't have saved her father. She wanted to stay there, be with her grieving mother, but the guards soon dragged her away, her mother not to ever see her again. She only ever had intermittent correspondence with her thereafter. And while their relationship weakened, Azalea promised herself this - that she would keep protecting her, so she didn't end up like her father.

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Azalea strode briskly through the market-place, her expression neutral, her eyes aiming at only one target. The king had let her leave the castle for it, and only for it. No detours. No straying off of her course. Just finding the herbs she needed to continue healing people when her power didn't cut it. She'd gotten better at dealing with pain -- she was up to broken bones now -- but she still couldn't deal with the more fatal wounds. The king, of course, didn't understand this. She was sure he believed that she was inhuman. But he still allowed her to take these trips, work her way up. She didn't know what he planned for her later, but she was sure she wasn't going to like it.

But it didn't matter. She was here for something else, as well. Something much more important.

Her blue hood waved a little in the breeze, her white dress barely affected as she drew the hood in closer, making sure she wasn't recognized for what she was. A Graceling. People almost always scorned Gracelings, and this town was far from an exception. Due to the king's hatred of Gracelings, this animosity was spread throughout the town, affecting people near and far with it's poisonous grip. She wasn't safe anywhere; she could get hurt anywhere. And she wouldn't be able to heal herself if she got injured.

But what was really worrying Azalea right now was the fact that she could feel that she was being followed.She could feel someone's gaze on her back, burning into her neck. It made her uncomfortable, but she also knew she needed to find out who it was before they attacked her. Which was why, as she was buying one of the herbs she had been allowed to leave the castle for, she surveyed the crowd, looking for any suspicious figures.

Her eyes landed on no one in particular, but Azalea drew her hood up, making sure her face was covered. Although she was out on an errand for the king, she was also visiting a friend for a specific item. Something that would help her plan. Something that would help her escape this wretched place, give her a new start.

She needed a dress.

And she knew exactly where to get one.

Ignoring the burning gaze, she blended back into the monotonous streets of the now-crowded town -- news of the party had spread fast -- she approached her favorite black-market dealer, whom she knew would have a perfect dress that she could pay for later, along with an appropriate mask. A large grin adorned her soft face as she ran up to him, wrapping him in what could be described as a bear hug.

"Ciry!" her soft voice rang out, high-pitched in happiness to see the man who was her only friend in this wretched place, "It's been too long! I haven't been to this town for months." The king had been on high alert, what with the rumors of other Gracelings. She blinked her heterochromatic eyes at him, a soft smile remaining on her face. "But I'm sorry that I don't have time for small-talk. I'm looking for a dress. One that will allow me to blend in with the other castle guests during the ball." A small wink, her pale hands moving to her face. "Along with a matching mask, of course. Can't give them to easy of a shot to spot me."

The man -- Cirion, as he was called, sometimes Silver due to the color of his hair -- grinned right back at her, as if he had been expecting her this whole time. "Azzy! Good to see ya', girl." His thick Irish timber roughened his words, although they were warm for her. The large, bear-like man nodded slowly as she told him what she needed, and turned back towards his cart, rubbing his beard as he inspected what was inside of it. "Hmm... We may need to take a trip to the warehouse for that one, lass." A big grin as he turned back to her, his sneaky eyes sparkling. "But don't worry, girl, I have exactly what you need."

[ i was thinking the gaze could be Aster, saireh. c: also edited this to fit the rp better. c: ]

[size=7pt]They say t i m e heals all wounds, but that p r e s u m e s the source of the grief is finite. - Cassandra Clare[/size]

Cirion was about to lead Azalea to his "warehouse" -- really just his house, but he liked to make it seem fancy to others -- when he saw a shadow of a person walking up behind her, reaching a hand out, about to place it on her shoulder. "Uh, girl, you might want to look behind you..."

But she already had. In fact, she had sensed it for quite a while; the person who had been watching her was closing in. His eyes had never left her as she moved through the crowd. That meant that this man was just as attuned to survival as she was. She had honed her senses since being captured; it was the only way that she would survive in a cruel kingdom like this. Especially under the power of the king. The man who controlled her. The man who ruined her life.

The man who she might soon get revenge on.

Which was why she had known exactly where the other man was, as he approached behind her. Why she waited with baited breath as the man rested his hand on her shoulder. Why she was able to so quickly use that hand to put him at her mercy, twisting his arm and pushing down on his elbow to keep him from moving.

"You say that like I'm some delicate flower in need of protecting." A faint giggle escaped her lips as she let his arm go, letting it fall where it may. "I would find it sweet if it weren't so funny." And ironic.

Azalea had fended for herself all her life; she had never relied on anyone -- except for Cirion, possibly, as he was the closest friend she had in this world -- and she didn't like to. Which was why she found it so funny that the man in front of her had thought she was some sort of noble; like she had any power in this cruel world that robbed her of the things she loved. Any power over the man who kept her prisoner. It was funny to her; and yet, it would soon become a reality, if her plan went correctly. She would miss only a few things here -- Cirion included -- but freedom would be so sweet.

Although, it seemed like he was genuine about it. She'd give the young man a chance, if that was what he wanted. He seemed harmless enough.

She sighed as she turned back toward Cirion, who was staring in disbelief at what just occurred. "I've learned a lot at the castle, Ciry. Things I'll need to know soon enough." The older man nodded in understanding, before he went back to his cart, looking through his things as the girl did exactly what he expected her to do.

She turned back towards the newcomer -- presumably a Graceling, she had yet to see his eyes -- and reached down to pull him up. If it had been that easy to topple him, there was no way he was there to hurt her. "I apologize, sir, but I do have to take my precautions." A sigh escaped her lips as she remembered that this man knew exactly what she was; this was going to be difficult to get out of if he decided to report her in the middle of her plan.

"If you know what I am, then I assume that means you're playing for the same team." Meaning that she knew that he was also one of them. Although he was probably in hiding, rather than forced to work for the king. He might come in handy, this one. He could do things that she couldn't.

She looked him up and down, examining him for a moment -- she noted his eyes, which were indeed distinctly different -- and nodded, glancing back at Cirion for a moment. "Ciry, add a suit to the list." she mused, before turning back to the bedraggled and tired man in front of her.

"So, you need help, do you?" She had her hands on her hips, giving him a snarky smile that showed her attitude towards the young man. "Alright, what is it? Money? A place to stay? Food? A way to get out of here?" A pause before she continued. "If you want any of that, I'm going to need your help on some other things."

She gestured to Cirion, who had been patiently waiting for them to finish their little conversation, who immediately perked up at the chance to do something. "You're going to follow my friend and I to his stockhold. We'll find something for you to look presentable in. I'll pay for it, of course..." a pause, "As long as you promise not to get into trouble. I'm taking you somewhere where the rules are much stricter than the streets."

She paused again, turning around to follow Cirion before turning her head to look back at him. "I know that this seems a little sudden, but... I think that us meeting is somewhat of a lucky break. For both of us."