|| had a busy morning. Went to the gym (now a daily Must), cleaned out my fridge/cabinets of things I can no longer eat, did some grocery shopping, tried to pick up my contacts (closed til the 5th), and ate lunch. also the air quality sucks, so i’m staying indoors for the weekend.
-cracks knuckles- okay who do i owe and who’s wanting?
"Do you enjoy carnival rides? Or are you more of a games sort of person?"
Dressed impeccably in purple velvet and gold brocade, Horst appeared at Riona's side-- bringing with him a localized draught of spring breeze.
The sun had only just set; burnished oranges and purple fading upon the horizon, the calliope beckoning as the twinkling lights of the carnival lit themselves beneath a star-studded sky.
[in the shadows between the concession tents, other things lurked]
White-gloved hands performed a small flourish: his smile devilishly sharp as he seemingly produced a set of tickets from thin air.
She faltered a little at Horst’s question. “My parents never took us…me to these sorts of things. They believed carnivals and circuses and fairs were hotspots for the Devil. I’ve never done games or rides like this.”
But she brightened at the appearance of tickets.
“Would you like to help me find out?” she asked.
“Well, it sounds like your parents are wise people, if not a little boring.” Horst winked, not wishing her to think him disrespectful for his little joke at her parents’ expense. Then he made a show of looking around the surrounding concessions and rides, as if just noticing them for the first time. Ever the clown, he adored cheering up pretty ladies.
“Though, I think you’re safe with me. I am, ah, co-operator of sorts.” His smile widened again, and he bowed with a top-hat flourish.
Incapable of understanding the source of her oncoming fit, Cabal does not save her from her tears, but only urges them on. They slip from her eyes, even as Darcy tries to desperately blink them away, mascara and eyeliner running down her cheeks, leaving streaks of watery gray and lines where her blush and foundation have been cut through. She had not expected this, could not ever have expected this outcome.
Certainly, Cabal had taken the pocket universe he had once gifted her with him – but Darcy had thought, surely, he must have dumped the goats somewhere else. At best, on some unsuspecting farm where their new owners would have the knowledge and supplies necessary to care for the rambunctious creatures; more likely, in Darcy’s opinion, he had dropped them inside the home of a rival or nemesis, leaving them to chew leather books and consume errant papers with forbidden knowledge critical to expanding the boundaries of some cursed field of study.
But she had given him far less credit that he had deserved. Or perhaps he had risen above his base level antagonistic nature.
Five generations. He had looked after five generations of her beloved goats.
Darcy can’t help but sniffle as he leads her by their tightly held hands, wanting to say something, to do something that she no longer had the comfort to casually act on a whim for. Casual affection had always been a sparsely used tool between them, even at their best, even at their closest – to simply pull his lanky form into hers and squish the air from his lungs in a hug would be unacceptable to him and Darcy is well aware of this.
As aware as she is that he does not tolerate crying, and her desperate attempts to stem the flow of her emotions only furthers them.
“Don’t call me Fräulein, like I’m just some basic bi–”
Her argument, weak as it is through her tears and sniffles and emotional dampened voice, falters entirely as she tilts her head back, looking above them into the boughs of the tree. Golden apples catch the dappled sunlight, and she gasps.
“You didn’t, you little shit. Cabal, come on, you can’t– How could you… the atmosphere…
You burned them down, didn’t you?”
She should be looking at him, should be inspecting his face for any signs of deceit, but Darcy cannot look away from the fruit, her free hand reaching up up up like Adam reaching out to G-d. Her finger nail brushes the flesh, firm and ripe, before her whole hand curls around it and twists.
Cabal followed Darcy’s gaze as she finally beheld the product of his secret labors, and felt a swell of satisfaction at you little shit. It did not feel like an insult, and he might have smiled slightly at her astonishment. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light filtered through shifting leaves.
“I burned my research, yes, but not until I had discovered the final component– —oddly enough, the goats provided me with that. The methane they produce.” He shrugged. “As for the rest, well, once I knew what I needed, it was simple enough to alter the Garden’s architecture.”
As he spoke, Cabal’s eyes followed Darcy’s hand; her fingers clasping one of those great fruits above her head. In this, he thought, she would be disappointed: he had spent weeks trying to devise a way to harvest the apples while they clung, impossible to separate from the branches. He had tried brute force, surgical instruments, magical charms and, briefly, had considered fire.
Nothing could budge them– not even an industrious goat could nibble them from the boughs. Cabal had, on occasion, found one of the animals stubbornly dangling by it’s teeth from the ripened fruits. But even those attempts were unsuccessful– —the apples only ever fell once overripe, mealy and good for little but hard cider or goat feed. He was about to stop her; to tell her of the impossibility of her action.
“Once here, the tree rooted far more quickly than I had anticipated, but harvesting the fruits has proved–” Cabal trailed off, looking at Darcy in slack-jawed shock. At the apple in her hand: shimmering as if made of gold–
independent multimuse blog written by Ben (he/they) featuring Copia/Papa Emeritus IV of the band Ghost, as well as muses from Marvel, DC, Dragon Age, Star Wars, and assorted others. Canon and OC friendly. Multiverse. Promo by @mysteriary, as always <3
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