the fool
Milo had been sleeping quite happily under a tree all day. He'd meant to come out here to read up on his powers, learn more about Restoration, all that other mumbo jumbo. He'd gotten about three pages in before flopping the book aside and "resting his eyes for just a moment". In fact, he had no idea there was a meeting going on at all. Fleet had of course come to get him, telling him all about the meeting in the courtyard. Milo had sat up, nodded to him, told him he'd be there, and promptly dozed off again. If you asked him if the exchange had ever happened, Milo would tell you no. He could never remember the things that happened when someone attempted to wake him up. Luckily, only a few minutes later, he awoke to a sudden gust of wind and had sleepily plucked himself off the ground, rubbing the corners of his eyes and yawning. "Mmm," he'd hummed as he patted his skinny little butt. It had fallen asleep.
Without purpose or aim, he began to wandering around until he'd only kind of stumbled upon the meeting by chance. He was a lucky kid. He got out of most of his trouble by subtle accidents like these. Seeing the huge congregation of people, he assumed something must have been happening, so he approached in his slow, steady, lackadaisical pace. His eyes flashed around everyone there, deciding who to affront, before he saw Aaron and Seph sitting down already. "Sweet," he mumured, happy that he had friends he could sit next to, though he didn't even note all the other people who crowded around them, too. Smacking his lips and still trying to rid the sleepiness from his being, he slowly crouched down next to them on his haunches, nodding in their direction as a friendly greeting. He began to contemplate moths. Were they the same as butterflies, only uglier? Did they start as catepillars? Did they go into coccoons? Could they bite-
Then Michaela's beautiful voice was ringing in his ear, and his attention was, for once, directed towards one specific thing. ”I know you’re all probably wondering why you’re here, in this courtyard," that much he could say he agreed with for certain, seeing as how he had just sort of found this congregation, "but more than that, why you’re here. On The Isle. With everyone finally settled in, it’s high time that you learn the purpose of this place, one of the world’s last bastions of magic, and your purpose in this place.” she had said. Milo looked around at the other people gingerly, looking lost and confused. Is that something people were worried about? Did anyone actually care about that kind of stuff? Based on the intense gazes and curt nods, he guessed that was, in fact, a thing. Huh. He plopped down onto his butt and curled his arms around his legs, placing his chin atop his knees.
THE PRINCE UNCROWNED
Elvis was writing, cooped up in his top bunk bed and scribbling furiously onto paper, hunched over, hair messy, one sock off. Elvis did this a lot, but no one was aware of this fact. Not a single soul on the Isle had seen this side of the fae blooded boy - the side that had vanquished mostly all of his well-tuned control. If someone were around, certainly he'd be poised and refined, and his sock would still very much so be on. He did this routine everyday, going out and acting as Elvis did, telling tall tales and spouting out erroneous compliments, before he'd eventurally have to go back to his room and recharge. The only time he told the truth was when he wrote. Metaphors spilled from his pen onto parchment, and he felt a little piece of him go back normal. He wrote almost as a way to prove that he existed- to show that despite all his pretending, he was still his own being.
Elvis wasn't shy about publishing his work. He had no qualms about sharing it once it'd been edited and presentable. But he didn't think he could ever trust another person enough to let them watch him as he wrote. That said, when Fleet appeared before him, hollering about a meeting in the courtyard, he practically spit venom at him. He didn't even dignify the man with an answer, only scowling and curtly nodding his response. After stashing his journal under his pillow, in one move, he swung from the top of the bed and landed the several feet below with ease. He pawed through his hair, spritzed on some deodarant, rolled on a sock and put on his shoes. Then he was out the door and on his way to the courtyard.
He got there relatively early, and sighed a deep, heavy, unamused sigh. This had better be worth it. He coudln't think of a single thing they could say to him that they hadn't said time and time again in the past three months. His gaze pricked through the crowd, searching for anything remotely interesting to toy with, and was left empty handed. No one seemed, at this particular interest, to catch his attention. "How boring," he thought to himself with another heavy sigh, pocketing his hands and glancing at his peers with distaste. Normally he would have had a field day with these people, but when he was just out of writing mode, he had a hard time getting out of it. Then Markus appeared, looking damp and uninterested. The smallest of smirks trailed its way onto his face, glad that in the moment he had arrived, so had someone interesting. He slunk over to where the other man stood, and said nothing - no hello, or "how are you?" - merely co-existing next to him during the presentation. When Michaela began to talk, her charms blasting at the students, Elvis turned to Markus and murmured wryly "Damn faeries and their glitter." referring to all the pizzazz Michaela was currently shoveling down her student's throats. The flowers were a nice touch. He found himself scoffing at the show, though somewhat amused by Michaela's way of manipulating those around her while still seeming like the sugar plum princess. Still, he was interested and listening to what she had to say. His intrigue had been especially piqued by the promise of a surprise. He loved a good surprise. Hopefully it was something catastrophic.