it scares me half to death
*Note: Keeping it vague, set after the war so his injuries are not fully known yet

He is a fool. A court jester to the crowning of a kings arms, pulled from the lowest of seals and poised to be the damned stature of what a cursed and damned child is. If there were ever a better time to seek repentance for the actions that he has conflicted against the ones he loves, now would be the time, and yet, for some reason. He cannot help but to feel guilty deep within for what he has burdened her with. She was angry with him...He did not need to see her face to know these truths like the gospels. They spoke to him in ways that only divine ears could hear, and their honey scented tones had now taken a sour tune to his ears. Icarus does not know what now to do. He is running. Running far away from all that is, was, and could be. It is all he ever seemed to be able to do, run. Run from his problems, run from his punishment, and yet running still never got him as far from judgement as he had hoped. For no matter how fast, how far he ran, he always seemed to be trapped in his own perpetual cycle of endless damnation. Until, eventually - there is no where left to run.

He is stagnant, a crater, a gargoyle to repent fort he sins of Olympus as Icarus falls far and few in between of his mistakes. Reprimanding oneself for the selfishness, greed - perhaps, even overprotectiveness of the heart. It is all too much to bare, too many of sins to account for even in the lofty caverns of the grotto. They speak to him, taunting him from the corners of clay and soot. Ravenous hands caressing his wounds with reckless abandon to poke and prod at the stitching of muscles and grit that would in time, come to find healing. "I'm sorry." He speaks blindly unto the wind, unsure of if the patter of carnage comes from that of the dripping stalactites or of his greyscale counterpart. Would she even put effort unto seeking him out for reprimanding, or would she court to the wounds of the seer he had so blindly marched into battle with? He does not care to know...But, the silence seemed more suffocating than anything else.

@Septima

image by rabs || code by saph

Things had not gone.. well, to put it lightly. She had been itching for a fight, but the fight she received was not what she intended whatsoever. Prometheus had risked himself to defend her, and yet another chivalrous man had come to take the job. She still wasn't entirely certain why @Icarus had believed her to be in danger from the boy who was standing by her side. It was something she wanted to know, something she had to know. The apology didn't feel like enough. "It's not me you need to apologize to," she said with an irritated sigh. "He was trying to keep me safe and now I can't blame him if he never speaks to me again." The yearling pouted, flopping onto her haunches with pinned ears and a grumpy expression plastered on her face.

it scares me half to death
There is guilt...It comes in waves and never seems to wane as she settles upon his side like a distant ghost. Her pallor figures a stark contrast to the darkness that swallows him whole like the caverns of Hades. There is something different about this reprimanding though, it does not seem likewise to that of a mother courting her child for doing something articulately wrong that they just knew was not right. This reprimanding seems to hit deeper than any other before, perhaps, it is given the circumstance. For where they stand, she is the final remaining member of his brood. The one thing that remains through seasons of loneliness and war. Searching for yourself was never an easy thing to do, but to do it alone was another thing. He could not count how many times he had spent in the wilderness searching for that little splice of home that Cassandra had told him about, the times he had wavered amongst their borders and cornered the sanctions of their desires and even called for the man she had been bred from. Yet - nothing ever seemed to work for his wandering heart.

Like a disdained puppy being scolded by its master, Icarus settles. Inky frame collects dust upon the cavern floors as he curls amongst the starkness of stone. With a heavy sigh, the creature rests his head upon the tips of his toes. Arms fold inwards as he sinks into the depths of shadowy despair. "You are...all I have left." It is not reasoning to justify the actions of a brooding and selfish man, for he takes regardless of the desires of others and then repents in the actions of their scolding. A pattern that is so frivolously followed, and yet never seems to bring glory to what he has done. "I-" Nothing. There is nothing that he can say that will make things better. "I did not mean to hurt you..." I didn't mean to hurt him. "Times like these are crucial though Septima..." He is a healer, not a warrior - since when were motivational speeches his specialty. "War...Is not a gentle thing. It takes mercilessly and does not apologize for what happens afterward." He is a victim of merciless theft and damnation, a sire to the cullings of inner and outer war. Violence was not a language spoken so fluently from the lips of a poet fallen from heaven, and yet, it is what is thrust upon his bosom many times over. "I did not know his intentions with you." Icarus does not know the intentions of many, and yet still falls blindly within the traps of their wrongdoings. "I did not know if he was going to take you from me too"

@Septima

image by rabs || code by saph

You're all I have left.

Septima blinked, shifting uncomfortably on the ground. The weight of the words settled heavily around her, but she couldn't quite grasp them entirely. She had learned Aido had left Amaryllis through the grapevine (she wasn't blind to the fact two of her father's wives had abandoned their brood, a bit suspicious) but didn't know why @Icarus hadn't simply gone with her. It seemed a favorable option to hailing a lone yearling girl as the only thing he had left. Had there been a falling out? Septima canted her head, brows knitting together in thoughtful confusion. "Why me? What about Aido's kids? Shouldn't they matter more?" Her lips pressed into a thin line as she sorted through things and, unfortunately, she came up empty.

She squinted at the discussion of hurting her, of warfare and crucial times. "I'm not hurt. Prometheus is hurt." His actions had been brash and irritating, yes, but she hadn't been hurt in the process. "Take me from you?" The yearling frowned, her piebald coat fluffed out in annoyance. "Why me?" she repeats, attempting to drive the question home. What about the rest of the pride? His actual family? What made Septima so damn special?

code by Cloudy

it scares me half to death
Her anger is justified, and although he cannot quite place his paw upon whether or not it is genuine. Icarus can still feel the rage of the woman scorned by fire and bloodlust. By the unholy promises that made her a princess at such a young and unforgiving time, and all that she had once been hailed to hold within the grasps of a crown. It is unforgivable. The sins that he commits against their bond, against her friend, against her security. He cannot blame her if there ever were to be a moments timing where she wishes not to see him anymore. It would kill him, and yet - if it is the fair-maidens wishes. He will oblige with obedience in ten-folds. Why had the world chosen to be so cruel to a man that only wished the best for his own? Or - perhaps, it had been he that chose to be so cruel to himself by wearing his heart upon his sleeve. Icarus will take the latter and run like hell.

"I-" He does not know how to answer. Backed unto a corner of his own selfish greed, and emotion. There is a moment of weakness between his brawny façade that fades in the moments that they share. "They should. You are right." He accepts defeat as if it was made for him to wear proudly like a cape, but it is not something that he takes with pride. "But, they are not you Septima." What more does it matter? "Aidoneus is gone. Again. She left me with nothing to give for the ones like us." I don' even know them. It hangs upon the tips of his tongue with defeat, perhaps a bit of guilt and anger as well. It is too much like her to run. Run without word, run and leave them without any sort of footing to fall on. He can only handle the leaving so much before it becomes resentment. "You are...special Sep" So, so special. She holds everything that he wishes, dreamed he could've been for Aidoneus when they were younger. He see's himself within the girl in a sense that is almost suffocating.

"You have more strength in you than Aido and I combined." He searches desperately for the right words, clambering upon the glass floor that shatters beneath the only willing sense of comfort he holds. "I don't know why you." Hook, line and sinker. "But you are...home. More home to me than Aido ever could be, more home to me than any of her children." A deep breath rattles the ghosts within his chest as they threaten to break from their cages in a deep and guttural sigh. "Home is not a place I have felt in a very long time. And yet, you - the little girl upon the dunes that day." He remembers almost as if it were yesterday how she had eagerly accepted his queries. How she had given him the key to a door that otherwise would be...unopenable. "reminded me of my purpose, and gave me the strength to carry on in a life that I otherwise would not want to live in." Everything that I do is for you.

@Septima @Poe

image by rabs || code by saph

The more he spoke, the less Septima understood. She couldn't recall another time when she had been so downright confused; Genya's abrupt departure had made more sense than.. whatever this all was. To make matters worse, @Icarus downright admits that he doesn't care for his own flesh and blood as much as Septima. Hearing him admit that he cared more for her, his sister's stepdaughter, put a bitter taste in her mouth. What on earth was going on?

He went on, calling her special in a way that made her stomach twist. She had never once meant to be special to him, nor did she feel anything remotely similar in return. Icarus was nice. He was Aido's brother. Other than that, she didn't think about him in the least.. and she didn't feel badly about it, either. Whatever relationship was being forged was one-sided, and Septima didn't know how to politely (or rudely) tell him so.

"You were jealous of Prometheus," she said with a distasteful curling of her lip. "I'm not your home, Icarus, your own family is. Have you tried getting to know them? You're just.. confused." He had to be confused, because if he wasn't, Septima didn't know what to do. "Don't pledge your allegiance to me so blindly. I don't need a bodyguard." Or.. whatever he was offering to be.

code by Cloudy

it scares me half to death
It comes apparent to him all too quickly that he has fallen a victim once more to his own selfish greed. The flights rising was far too enticing for one to ever turn back in the eyes of danger, so, he had treaded. Aimlessly, carelessly across the threshold of a horizons boundaries once more. Exuding that determination that had plagued him with damnation at such a young age - it had taken him once, and now comes back to haunt his memories in the images of a child. A woman. It is like a morphing nightmare, in the ways her lips curl and she spits accusatory claims. They are nothing more than daggers to his heart - a gut wrenching, chest constricting feeling. Icarus had drowned before, remembered the feeling of water overtaking his lungs and white-noise filling his ears. How his chest had constricted, and his heart threatened to burst from the seams of it's cage. Somehow, this feels worse. In that moment, Icarus decides that he would rather drown a thousand times over than face his demons.

The beast recoils at such accusations, cringing and flinching from her words as if they could do anything more than mar his heart. As if she were waiting on the other side to deliver a punch straight to his gut in an ironic seal to say; Look what you've done. Poor Icarus. The flight was always too enticing - he could never prepare himself for the fall. If there are words to be exchanged, he cannot find them - instead, he says nothing. Recoiling unto the pits of his own sadness before dissipating from the air before them, see-through and transparent. He feels empty inside. Broken. Hollow. Much like Apollo had left him before his exile. If there was anything that he could earn from this. Them. It was one thing. When all is said and done, grief is the price he would pay for love.

@Septima

~ Exit Icarus You Big Wimp ~

image by rabs || code by saph