Snippet #2571383

Note: This post is going to be a big skip briefly going over some of the weekend’s events leading to the ceremony thing. Hooray~~~

Tallyho was able to force tears back into her head. But this didn’t stop her mind from wandering in the night. They had found her. And under any circumstances she might have been upset about this, yet she felt happy to know that they found her in this state. Mounted on the kings horses, celebrated by the oppressors. Imagine that—a sun person—a month warrior.
The next couple of days had the same glamor and appeal that the parade day had. But it seemed that as each day zipped past the total luxury of the events and all of the work put into them became more obvious. Tallyho thought that the parade came across as a bit disorganized (and oh, when in Goddess’ name did she start critiquing organized celebration anyway?) but she came to realize the next day that getting the performers in line, their costumes, and the military men out of their drunken stupors from a night of debauchery really had Mildred running. Even though the month warriors did their final measurements for their custom made gowns and suits, Mildred still had to find clothes for them to wear at other events. Saturday before the mass, the king requested a sudden breakfast with the month warriors—a get to know you of sorts. Mildred seemed to come up with clothes for that and had them sent to each warrior and guardian’s door early in the morning.

King Rembrandt wasn’t what a naïve girl like Tallyho would imagine a king to be. To Tallyho, Kings were disgustingly pompous, self-serving, stoic figures of power whose life objectives were to squander and steal land from opposing kingdoms and bend the tax system in the favor of their gold pouches. Rembrandt was almost a horribly done parody of such a figure and Tallyho thought this in the nicest way possible. Every time he started to say something pompous—something that could also be accompanied by an upward pointing pinky—he did something ridiculous: A large crumb of bread hanging very obviously from his rusty beard or a ridiculous belch escaping him. And every time it happened, he recognized how stupid he seemed. And instead of getting mad about it, he laughed it off. Tallyho could certainly see where Morgan got her jolly disposition.

The way that Morgan interacted with her father was also an interesting sight. While most girls might be embarrassed of their father’s gas, Morgan laughed giddily with him. At some point during the breakfast she attempted to make herself burp only to be scolded by a very stressed Mildred. During the meal Morgan and the King spoke fondly of a missing family member. A brother—Tallyho couldn’t quite remember his name off the top of her head—who was the head of the military. The blonde’s thoughts instantly turned to Trent but her speculations were squashed when Morgan clarified.

Trent was the official head of the military while her brother was off on a military campaign. He was her cousin—the first born and only son of King Rembrandt’s younger brother.

Trent came in to eat with them a little bit later but he was unusually detached. It was almost as if he was bored with taunting the month warriors which, knowing him, wouldn’t be that far from the truth. He did however, to Tallyho’s surprise, greet Dorian by name upon sitting down. He didn’t sit next to the March warrior, or even continue a conversation with him, but the fact that he recognized Dorian in a respectful enough way baffled the blonde. She wasn’t sure if Dorian would catch her gaze, but after the fact she turned to him, green eyes full of confusion and interest.

Later they had to change again. For mass, Mildred made sure that everyone wore white. However, she didn’t bother to make that a requirement for party members like Dae, Liam, Mori, and Karma. Tallyho had never done anything like it before, but the mass was exactly what she would expect. It took place in the same great chapel where they tested themselves as month warriors. It was funny to Tallyho, being there again. And what killed her the most was that there was still a sizable amount of people hovering around the building, claiming to be month warriors!

Even though the event was supposed to be highly spiritual—a candle lit sermon and prayer with all the pews filled armrest to armrest with international royals and diplomats—Tallyho could feel nothing at all. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to worshiping like this (or worshiping at all for that matter) but the entire display just went over her head. But there were some that seemed to genuinely immerse themselves in the experience. Haru—who was very noticeably not sitting next to Ryou—seemed like he would fall to pieces if his attention was taken away from anything the Harbinger had to say. And she couldn’t blame Haru for listening so closely to him. The Harbinger wasn’t a screamer or a preacher but he spoke with such an ethereal presence that it felt like he was telling you the meaning of life and that everything he was saying was indisputably true. It was just too bad that Tallyho couldn’t bring herself to become as involved as Haru. She only hoped that the goddess wouldn’t smite her.

Hours before the party, Tallyho decided that it would be a good idea to bathe before squeezing into yet another dress. She was a little surprised at herself for bathing so frequently considering the fact that the Month Warriors had done without regular bathing for quite some time since the academy was burned down. And even at the academy they only managed to get a bath every few days just because the lake would get a little too crowded or they had training or chores. After a servant woman warmed and filled the tub, she helped unlace Tallyho from her constraining dress. As this went on, Tallyho appraised her body. She wasn’t one to look in mirrors but she couldn’t help but notice a few changes since the last time she observed herself. She always had a more angular face than most children, but these days her jaw and cheekbones seemed to mold into straighter angles, her face more feline like, more womanly. She looked more like Lillian, not that Tallyho particularly minded, but it was…different. Where Tallyho had once developed a tan back in her days at the academy and on the ship, she was now fairly pale from being trapped underground in prison—probably paler than she was when the journey first began.

Her corset was undone and the servant left. With little effort, Tallyho shed the dress like a snake from its old scales, seething and hissing with mild disgust at the contours of her figure. How the outlines of ribs ran so close to the surface of her thin, cold skin. She stepped into the water. Never before had she noticed herself having body issues. So why was it now, after achieving a comfortable living condition and nothing to do but eat and be praised, that she was beginning to swallow these spoonfuls of self-loathing? She had only been living this way for what? A week and a half? So why was it that in the days of struggling in that goddess-forsaken prison, on the boat, at the academy, goddess, even in the days prior to the adventure, that Tallyho hadn’t thought twice about her own quality? She usually resigned to knowing that she was good enough. Period. And on the battlefield, while some quivered about what a liability they were for the team, she threw herself into the fray blindly. Not because she was more capable or more of a hero but because what else was she supposed to do? She felt that she was capable so she did it! And now that she’s here, taking a bath in an actual tub of all things (what a daisy she’s become) she has nothing better to do but suck her teeth at how the shadow of her ribs are superimposed on her much-too-pasty figure? And oh! She was doing it again.

Perhaps people were happier when they had something to work for…

As she pondered, a streak of blood wiggled down and pooled at her mouth’s cupid bow. With a disinterested movement, she swiped it from her face with her thumb.

/Not this again…/

She was tired of these things—whatever they were—that had been plaguing her body since the ship. These wretched, pointless seizures! It was embarrassing enough to have one in a prison bed. But did they really have to follow her everywhere she went? As she moved to step out of the tub, which she had not yet descended into, a gasp escaped her. Her muscles, all at once pulled tight and she lost control and thrust herself onto the floor—chin first—her wet feet slipping under her velocity as she tried to catch herself on hands and toes.

/Not this again. Not this again./

“Miss are you alright? I heard something fall.”
This was the servant through the door, not yet opened.

“I’m fine,” Tallyho hollered. By then she had regained control of her hands which were splayed below her, attempting to push upwards.

The knob turned.
“I SAID I’M FINE!”
“Are…Are you sure miss?”
It was all over now.
“I am… I am…”
“Yes miss…”


By no means was the small gathering a small gathering. The King wasted no time in bringing notable people from the western hemisphere, though a few people from Eastern Isle and Ira managed to make it. Tallyho, now over her instance in the bath, was just happy to find that there was unlimited alcohol being walked around by servers across the dancehall. And best of all, Haru didn’t seem like he was going to limit the amount they drank. They were in now, and they could be fools as long as they weren’t fools to the wrong people.

Haru begrudgingly came to this event. Having had his fair share of international relations when he was alive, he had no interest in the event at hand. He wasn’t even particularly keen on his face being publicly associated with the whole month warrior thing. Not that he was ashamed of the kids (okay maybe a little) but he was more content with being behind the scenes at this point.
Haru sat in the corner of the dancehall at one of the small, sparse tables available and drank idly. He watched as Tallyho downed drink after drink as she spoke to those who made conversation. He wondered if she knew that she was talking to the elderly Duke of Le Fay. Nonetheless, she held her alcohol well so he wasn’t so worried.

There were more pressing things for Haru Karokav to worry over and one of those was fairly obvious. Haru watched Ryou attentively, waiting for a moment when he wasn’t occupied by a diplomat, or his students, or Karma. Karma was probably the most trying obstacle. The young one, who had never heard the classical instruments live before, used all of her pent up energy to engage Ryou in a very intense dance completion. Well at least she considered it a competition. So as Ryou danced with her, Karma danced against him. And even though their motives for dancing were different, they seemed to enjoy themselves all the same.

When the time was right, Haru set his empty glass on the table, dusted his coat, and meandered over. He kept a distance, not sure how startled Ryou would be by his sudden approach from behind. And then he spoke.

“Sorry about the other night.” Well that was cliché. “I didn’t mean to come off so…so cold.”
One thing about Haru was that he rarely apologized.

Meanwhile on the dancefloor, Morgan scoped the crowd. She had no interest in sharing words with the diplomats as she found their company ordinary, tedious, and a little too boring for her attention span. She meandered towards a small group of month warriors (because let’s face it there are bound to be a few of them clustered up together somewhere) and offered a curl of the lips.

“Why, I do hope you lot are enjoying yourselves,” her neck cocked forward, “And if any of you are hungry, we can get them to circulate horsderves! My favorites are the little crab cakes!”

Without any room for silence she pitched in again.

“How about we all dance, huh?” She hummed as she did a little jig with her arms. Her optimism was…endearing.

Since the beginning of the cocktail, Trent gravitated to Dorian. Dorian, he decided, was the least annoying person he’d met thus far. And that was saying a lot considering Trent hated and considered most things extremely annoying.

He made his presence known, tossing Dorian casual conversation:

Attempting friendship through mutual disdain:

“The alcohol here is wretched!”

Attempting suggestive humor:

“The arms on that lady…” [Insert snooty chuckle here]

Attempting to be complimentary:
“I like your shoes… I have five pairs of them.”

And even trying to learn more about Dorian himself:

“So…Are you excited about the ceremony thing tomorrow?”

By the end of it Trent finally resigned to inviting Dorian to join him in what he knew best.
“Listen. Parties aren’t necessarily my thing. Me and a few of my men are going to ah… hit the town. I’d like it if you came. I mean, think of the fun we’d have with an actual month warrior in our crew.”
That was about as nice as Trent was getting. And with a curl of his brow he lifted his glass for a toast, waiting for Dorian’s reply.

Tallyho watched the Trent and Dorian exchange closely, meandering nearby so that she could hear just enough of their conversation to be a little embarrassed at Trent’s attempt at socialization. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of Dorian befriending Trent. Dorian was… well Dorian. A stone-faced sweetheart who gave Tallyho his banya just because he knew she liked it and showed her art on his cellular device. And Trent was… Trent. No explanation needed. Effectively tuning out the elderly Duke of Le Fay she too waited on his answer to Trent’s invitation.