Light conversation between friends leads to a heavy evening exchange in the water they'll never forget.
Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 9:06 am
talking★thinking
He hummed the lyric to a trench song but held a note while the fire from his lighter brought the end of his cigarette to life. 'Hello, sweet burn that fills my lungs, how we meet again.' The lighter was slipped back into his pocket with a satisfying clink of the lid and he resumed his tune. Graham had little issue with the cooling weather but the way a cancer stick warmed him in the winter months was never an unwelcome sensation. From where he stood he could see where the trails started but it would be untouched by him today. A change in routine was always healthy right? The fact that there were less and less ducks at the pond he frequented may have been more in play than he’d admit. What a traitorous avian species they were, being enticed away by warmer climates so easily.
Graham pulled the cigarette from his mouth and looked over to the greenhouse he was smoking outside of. It wasn’t a place that held any interest for him until he spotted the painting in the art gallery where all of their projects were on display. Viridian’s group crafted that one with the green house on it. His own group’s painting turned out fine but at the cost of his patience on part of his collaborators. Well, one of them. The eyeroll at the thought of that week was long and dramatic from him, and he pulled his smoke up for another puff. The other male in his group made it worth staying. He stayed out there until the thing was out of fire and ashes, then went inside.
Seeing all the green in the Greenhouse reminded him of how brown his thumb was when it came to gardening. Succulents and Shahitian fly traps had the highest survival rate out of what attempts he ever made at keeping plants alive. White hair fell back as he lifted his head and looked at the uniquely shaped dome roof while he walked. He had to give credit to whoever designed it as they’d gone all out with stone steps, winding cobblestone pathways and the exquisite furniture he didn’t expect to be in there. With a spin on his heels he was turned back in the direction he started, and he tucked one hand into his jacket pocket. The other hand rubbed against his chin while he considered the ones back at home, only to be rudely interrupted by the faintest sensation of facial hair against his fingertips. It was trying to infest his otherwise perfect epidermis, like it owned the place? Preposterous. Graham's lips twisted. "Aaaagh..." This was going to be rectified at his earliest convenience.
The greenhouse at the castle was hauntingly beautiful, one of the few places touched by his brother’s insanity thanks to the efforts of his own mother and surely at least one of his sisters-in-law. Graham wrongly believed that with him and the perfect dark angels known as his niece and nephews being in Utopia, the King’s decrepit claws wouldn’t be able to reach them. However, in spectacular ******** fashion, he managed to make a move that put Kieran and Violetta in a serious position of check. Violetta was promoted to queen, while Kieran was forced to remain a pawn on the chessboard from hell they were trapped on. Graham laced his fingers together behind his head and he looked at a selection of flowers while he remembered that day in the meeting room. Kieran’s unhinged laugh, Violetta’s wild-eyed stare. Both of them took that news so well. 'As well as a hornet’s nest takes a foot.' For Graham, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The base of his neck tensed thinking about it.
He stopped and inhaled again. 'That fragrance...' It had been one committed to memory for Gods’ knew how long, and the name associated with it wrapped around a vital chest organ like a wire. Sure enough, blue eyes found a pillar nearby that had the sneaky culprit climbing up it. cestum nocturnum. Jasmine. A closed smile reached closed eyes as he recollected the time he got to spend with her now. They’d seen one another at their highest and lowest moments as friends, but he was still reeling internally from being so shitfaced when she first showed up. 'She is too forgiving.' The smile faded with a sigh and he lingered a moment longer before his feet went forward, wondering if it was easy to grow the plant on his own.
Graham picked back on the humming just to fill some of the quiet that was in the greenhouse. Usually he didn't mind the quiet, especially on days when the classes were extra boisterous. It wasn’t such a bad place to hang out in and could be an alternative in the coming winter months, presuming the winters there weren’t as harsh as the ones in Shahiti.
Ophelia drifted through endless halls, each step echoing softly against walls cloaked in the heavy sleep that eluded her. Every so often, curious fingers brushed against cool surfaces of shifting glass, polished granite, and weathered wood that guided her wandering. Feeling the textures as though each held a story waiting to be told or a memory she might find in her mind. Yet she never lingered, moving with purpose, only allowing herself moments of stillness to strain her ears for the faintest whisper of sound. But silence continued to envelop her like a cruel, thick fog, undisturbed and tranquil. Solitude, she mused as she paused, could be such a bittersweet companion--seeing as her heart once yearned for the warmth of being surrounded.
And with those haunting thoughts, it returned, a dense, unyielding pressure swelling around her throat like a vice that sapped the strength from her knees. Gods, she hated it. Slumping against the wall for support, Ophelia fought to contain it. Nadine bumbled closer, worry glittering around her, and instinctively, Ophelia’s lips curved upward into a brittle smile— that glorious, honorable façade she liked to use as armor against the weight of her spiraling. She clung to that notion and set her jaw against the encroaching darkness swirling in the pit of her stomach. Yet, the crisp winter air filtering through ancient stone walls that seemed destined to close in around her did little to quell the tremors rippling through her being. Taking a steadying breath, she threw her head back, blinking away the moisture in her waterline and clawing at the skin on her chest to spell a name in the red streaks forming there. This sensation was grief. She remembered, forcing herself to recognize what it was. Naming it sometimes brought a flicker of clarity, some semblance of control. She was… coping. Or so the well-meaning voice in the back of her mind assured her.
Since Kieran had first opened her eyes to the unyielding darkness of the world around her, and Oliver had proven even the kindest people could betray one another. Since her brother… well, she couldn't linger too long on him right now— Ophelia felt herself becoming a specter to her former self. She would never dare label it a shadow. No, not even in the sanctuary of her thoughts. So a ghost was more likely. And if this were a competition, which it surely was not, she might label her recent nocturnal wanderings a hauntingly effective imitation of the living dead. Somewhat. If exhaustion-laced eyes, tear-crusted curls, and paper-thin skin counted. Clint had once granted her the opportunity to glimpse ghosts, after all. And something she failed to properly imitate was their unvarnished truths beyond the Veil, how they contrasted sharply with the delicate façade she portrayed on her side. Or… perhaps it was just Nadine who embodied the more expressive spirit. The spirit attached to her had words that erupted like vibrant echoes in a vast, darkened void, but they were never heard. Only witnessed and understood by her, but never dissected by others.
It brought a tight pang of jealousy to Ophelia’s gut, twisting as it squeezed. The people who moved through the waking world had no trouble perceiving how she glided among them, listening for the melodic tremors in her voice, witnessing her attempts to present a façade of normalcy. They were so. Dang. Perceptive. It was exhausting. She could see when the worry spiked through them. So each day she drained herself by smiling brighter, hoping to shroud the turmoil that simmered like a tempest beneath her ribcage. If only so they would turn a blind eye to the chaos left her floating, unsure where to land. A more empathetic soul might have wallowed in the flickers of pity or concern that danced around those closest to her, maybe clung to them for support. But at this moment, Ophelia wasn’t equipped with the proper words to share it. What if she dragged them down with her? How did you tell others your life is in shambles, that the one person you wanted to be there to crumble into couldn't hold you, because his hand was tied to a kingdom? That someone you thought you knew was wearing a mask the entire time... and the one person who had always been in your corner, who taught you to be good, was the furthest from it-- and gone before you even had the chance to scream at them.
With a measured breath, Ophelia scrubbed her eyes and resumed her stride, each step a shaken reminder that the world would continue to turn, and thus, she would have to, too. The sun still embraced the horizon each dawn, painting the sky with muted hues of orange and gold. Tea still arrived steaming and fragrant, awaiting its honey. Classes flowed onward in a relentless river of routine, and air still filled her lungs, albeit through a pinhole. She was… fine. Like an eggshell. Yes—eggshell fine. A fragile entity, seemingly whole, yet easily broken.
To prevent such a mess, though, Ophelia sought out a space to submerge herself in. The lake was too cold, the pool too tight and enclosed-- she walked in circles before finally settling on an indoor space with nearly as much life to hide in. The greenhouse. Now that would be an escape. And it was, the moment she broke through the threshold, warmth—humid and sticky—brushed against her skin like the hug she longed for. Magic settled sweet and tangy on the back of her tongue, likely the groundskeepers who kept this space untouched by the icy bite of winter. She had never seen it in the daytime, but she imagined it was beautiful by how people talked about it, and glorious life could be heard in every direction: bugs and critters chirping, the subtle flutter of wings, the sound of small figures scurrying through the brush, having found shelter from the cold outside. It brought a true smile to Ophelia's lips at the imagery. They were much the same, weren't they? Hiding from the brutal reality beyond these walls.
What cowards... She hoped they were comfortable here.
Far too much time was spent with Ophelia floating between flower beds, testing her memory of feeling and smell before letting Nadine illuminate the answers. It was a great distraction, preparing for the worst-case scenario. At least her memory would always serve her.
It was while she moved from one batch to the next that Ophelia’s heel caught a rogue vine destined to make the duchess well acquainted with the ground. Anticipating the harsh impact of unyielding earth beneath her, Phi stifled a yelp. Yet instead of solid earth like she assumed, she plunged into a fluid embrace, water enveloping her to swallow her desperate gasp. The sensation was familiar, frigid pressure clamping down around her, cutting off her air supply. And for a brief moment—just one—Ophelia hesitated, suspended in the depths as she contemplated surrender. Would it be so bad to let go? The weight of her dress pulled her further, the temptation to abandon the struggle against the fabric that encased her hardening her joints. What if she allowed all the air to escape her lungs? Would it then extinguish the fiery ache within her chest? The swirling shadows below would remain hidden from her gaze… wouldn't this be peaceful?
No. No— What? Eyes snapping open, Ophelia let out a piercing scream, rounded in frustration, and louder than she’d granted herself since the rug was pulled out beneath her. Are you <********> insane?! Letting yourself go out this way? In water!? Her safe space? Rage boiled from the bottomless pit in her stomach and out through her lips in a flurry of bubbles. Please. Ophelia Akimi survived, mother damn it all. After everything that had happened in the past five years, thoughts like those had no right. She may be shattered and stomped into the ground, but damn it if she didn't die by Kieran's hand, she would <********> grow into the ground if she had to.
Her body jerked, abandoning her shoes while thrashing. Phi clawed for the surface, breaking free with a roaring gasp. Extended toes struggled in their search for purchase at the bottom, and only once dipping back beneath the surface did she realize it was only a couple of inches deeper than she was tall. Damn her height. If her brother hadn't convinced her it was fineeee to skip out on bitter leafy greens, she might have been able to reach the bottom. A sunrise cursing was due for his ears tomorrow morning.
Guided to the edge, Ophelia followed the wall, working against the current like she would in the rivers back home. She found she had fallen into a watering system of some sort, small tunnels branching off every so often to feed different areas of the garden-- or so she hypothesized. And the further she worked upward, the steady thrum of water turned into a roar. A fountain, she realized, once her fingers found the raised edges that opened every so often to waterfall heated water into the stream.
She hovered beneath it. For how long, no one could say. But she didn't move. Not until the warm water washed away the tightness in her shoulders, her skin, her bones, her soul. Not until Ophelia felt light and clean again.
Lost in the numbing crash of water, while Ophelia slowly drew in another breath, her nose began twitching. Something was burning. Glittering eyes snapped open to find Nadine’s light skittering near a shadowed figure walking along the pathway. She hadn't even noticed his humming, too lost in her zen to catch him coming. Cold fear tightened her chest, pulling her down so only diamond eyes were visible above the surface. Ophelia sat still as a statue, watching. Holding her breath was a cake walk, and it was dark here… what were the chances she’d even be found like this? The figure looked rather preoccupied anyway, tendrils of deep crimson dread slipping along his spine to settle on broad shoulders, then curl into the abyss around him.Oooo… Was he okay? All of that looked so heavy… He was likely stuck in his thoughts, seeking refuge much like she was. That feeling had been all too familiar to her recently. Then, all at once, something drew his attention. Shock pinched Ophelia’s brows while she hovered closer to the edge to investigate what could honor such an abrupt shift.
“Well, I for one have never seen such a reaction to flowers before.”
Her teasing voice came out low, husky with neglected use. Pulling herself partially onto the ledge, her chin came to rest atop her hands as she cast the figure an innocent, teasing smile that said: 'Yes. I am in the water. Please don't ask why.'
“ Apologies, I don’t mean to intrude upon your late-night rendezvous with the garden. But as you can see, you’ve wandered into the area I had reserved for mine. So I hope you don’t mind my voicing some curiosity... Is—” Wide and hollow eyes skipped to find a shrunken, light bug-sized Nadine— who was blending so seamlessly with the other glowing critters in the space— to help Ophelia gather what hints she could of the flower type. “—Ja.. Jasmine, particularly important to you?” She already knew it held some significance, being something that could churn his emotions so thoroughly. There was always something to appreciate in moments like those, watching the way people reacted to the world around them. How easily it could snap others from their turmoil. Just what could such a smell signify to him? And why didn't he let himself bask in those brief moments of joy longer?
“You know, outside of its wondrous scent, medical properties, and remarkable flavor.” She added, scrubbing away any opportunity to use those answers. However, men were fickle, tricky creatures, never quite honest.
OOC: Listen im so sorry lol ; u ;
Posted: Mon Sep 15, 2025 6:37 am
talking★thinking
“Well, I for one have never seen such a reaction to flowers before.”
He didn’t know he had company. The utterance, pleasantly feminine though grainy at first in delivery, gave him a reason to stop in place. Graham looked in the direction it came from and found a vision that had his eyebrows hiking upward. A young woman with bright hair and a playful look in her eyes that matched the tone she’d just used was in the greenhouse with him. But those were not the most glaring details of this whole scene, no. What stood out was the fact that she was in the damn water fountain, in the beginning of winter no less. So nonchalant about it too, as if she were a duck in the pond! He was no stranger to diving into ice water from time to time when his upper back called for it but whoever this rosy-haired maiden was, she looked too much the type to be cossetted.
But she remarked on him looking at the flowers. He paid her a raking look before he looked over the rest of the area to figure out what all she could have been witness to. There was no out of the ordinary reaction he made with one display of flowers. It wasn’t like he made a show of being there or some delightful sound. “Beg your pardon?” Graham looked back at her questioningly.
His head turned in the direction she was looking midquestion, but outside of glowing bugs he saw nothing unusual. They were nothing more than a brief shiny distraction. Her question did not go unheard though. His stance shifted at the combination of it, the odd territorial claim and the increasingly personal question that followed. The urge to outright counter her question with some colorful language remained an urge. Well, mostly. What did come out did so as a mutterance in his native tongue with a hint of irritation. “Cad é an diabhal é sin ar fad?” He didn’t see any sign-up sheet anywhere, unless she was making use of the ye ol’ ‘I calleth dibs!’ practice. That part he spent no more time pondering on as it wasn't something worth the words wasted.
He moved to close the distance between them and put his hands in his jacket pockets. Again, with that question about flowers. Just as he was prepared to give a generic answer about its good scent with nothing more than a shoulder shrug, she plucked it away and if he didn’t know any better, she did that on purpose. Not only that, she mentioned their flavor.“‘Remarkable flavor?’” Graham pulled his chin back and peered at her. “You mean to tell me you’ve eaten–” No no, she was on to something there, hence why he cut himself off and threw a hand up to wave his question away. Outside of teas, flowers were a stupid froufrou garnish but nonetheless a real thing. That, and he literally dealt with the byproducts of a very lucrative species of flower. He just never thought of some flowers like jasmines or poppies being consumable like that, and he wasn’t going to start eating them anytime soon. He eyed Ophelia again and wondered if she were from the Water Kingdom, with her swimming in the fountain, sounding whimsically siren-like, eating flowers, and all that…
“You believe there to be more reasons I may like a flower?” He felt as stuck on her line of questioning as she was on questioning him. Still, thinking again on earlier, there was nothing peculiar in his actions. Had he not viewed the Thah jungle orchids or Ulium elektron peonies in the same fashion? He considered there was little difference despite his inclination toward the flower in question. The fountain mermaid was only trying to start trouble, but that conclusion didn’t sit completely right with his gut. Had she truly seen that deviation in attention when he thought he was alone in the greenhouse? The outer corner of one of his brows twitched at the thought of that.
It didn’t matter. Graham had his reasons and they were seldom brought up, even with people in his own circle when he could help it. Not even with the one at the center of those reasons and like hell he was going to start talking to a stranger about them right now. He wanted to take another pass at the jasmines but he tucked that away, instead keeping a sharpened gaze in the direction of the fountain. “Those sound like good enough reasons for something to be important to me.”
”But since we’re in the business of voicing curiosities…” Graham put a hand on the front of his chin, eying her again. “What possessed you to take an evening swim in a dirty water fountain with winter moving in?” His face was straight at this point but only so he didn’t start gagging at the thought of what was crawling and growing at the bottom of that fountain. Sure, there was probably a wishful coin or two, but they had to be surrounded by algae, trash, and Gods knew what else. Leeches, more glitter?
”And don’t say it’s because you ‘just felt like it’ or needed a bath.”
OOC: Cad é an diabhal é sin ar fad? = what the ******** is even all that?
ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: Utopia - Green House★ᴍʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ: Opheilia ★ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ: Xena (not by name) ᴀʟʟ ᴅʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ:pants, sweater, jacket★ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ:'oh no sister, you're not getting anything out of me '
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