disgracedvessel

[disgracedvessel]

"The Emperor... he is my father." It's not really an answer. Do you like the Emperor? Julius isn't sure what to make of that question. Weren't all subjects supposed to like their Emperor? Weren't all sons supposed to like their fathers?

"He's quite busy," he amends, as if it offers any clarity to the swirling, inarticulate thoughts the man stirs in him. "But the country loves him. Whenever we go out to the city, someone will stop him just to thank him for the good he's done. It makes me proud to be his son." And that's probably the closest he can come to how he feels. His father is good, loved by all. He can ignore the way his father sometimes looks at him. Sad. Distant. Like a man on the other side of the world. Not like a father. Perhaps only an emperor.

Julius strokes his chin, but he hasn't let his smile falter too much. "I'd be an emperor who carries on his legacy, of course. What is this talk of gods and crusaders?" he scoffs, but follows it with a boyish laugh. "I have the blood of both."

"Lord Julius!" someone calls from the other side of the garden hedge. Julius glances over his shoulder, then back to Sara.

"It sounds as if they've prepared the reception. I have to be there to smile at the guests." He holds out his hand again. "Come with me. I'm sure Manfroy will be quite pleased to see you by my side."

“I know warp magic,” Julius shoots back, accompanied by a sharp glance and a frown. He’s a prodigy. She says it herself, and he balks at the idea of someone his own age teaching him anything, especially something he already knows. Or should, as her use of the spell - however clumsy the execution - seems to imply. If anything, he should be teaching her (except for the fact that, in truth, he has never attempted such a spell himself).

But then she says something interesting and the petulant scowl that would one day become common on his face unwinds into amazement as pieces click into place. A mage who is close with his father - there was only one in the emperor’s court that Julius could think of, but the resemblance between that decrepit old man and this girl is non-existent. Nevertheless, he has no reason to doubt her.

“Do you mean Manfroy?” He blinks. “He rarely leaves my father’s side. When would he possibly have time to teach you–” It’s too late by the time he realizes what he’s said and stops the thought just short of its natural end. A frown, this one more apologetic than the first, flashes across his face as he looks to Sara for a reaction, but shifts swiftly into interest, her previous offering now cast in a new light.

“Actually, there may be some things I can learn from you after all. Even my father respects your grandfather’s ability.” It was the only reason he could think of for why his father would bow his head to that man, anyway. Returning both toy and vial to the box, Julius glances back up with renewed smile and offers his hand.

“I do believe we will be fine friends, Sara. Perhaps when I’m emperor, you’ll even be my advisor, like your grandfather.”

#shadoll #mini : sara2

[disgracedvessel]

One brow lowers even more sharply, the other rising with skepticism, exaggerated to mask the curiosity Rosado's enthusiasm begins to stir up inside Julius.

"Hah! If the secret is one worth keeping, it will be safe with me," he promises, although anyone who knew the Prince of Darkness knew that any such promises were often made with his fingers crossed behind his back. Rosado seems to trust him implicitly, however, and that had been true ever since they met. (And maybe, although Julius wouldn't admit it even as he marched a half-step behind his bounding, overjoyed guide, the trust was mutual). They come to the menu board, and Julius, arms still crossed to prove that he has no stake in this, scans over the dessert selection as Rosado reads them off one by one.

"A new menu item, surely." Because Julius, a connoisseur himself, would have sampled all the rest of the desserts by now. "We'll get it," he decides resolutely. "A rare creature ought to appreciate a rare gift. But--" He steps closer and drags a the nail of his index finger down the handwritten list, stopping near the bottom. "A chocolate tart as well."

Tried and true is his reasoning. Not simply because it's among his favorites.

Without waiting for agreement, Julius turns on his heel to place their order with the kitchen. The woman behind the counter seems surprised to see him here a second time in the same hour, but he pretends as if he doesn't notice. Surliness melts into a syrupy sweet smile, and he waves for Rosado to come to him.

"He'll pay, of course." And then turns away from them both to make his way to the other end of the counter to wait.

　✩ .　A WONDERFUL LIFE.

　　　　　　　　　　❪　mission ,　fracture　/　flying point　❫

#rozyrne #thread : a wonderful life #mission season: fracture #// baseball bat noise

[disgracedvessel]

"I don't understand what has you so fascinated by a herd of flying horses," Julius says, but tucks a smile that looks less scornful than excited for once into the corner of his cheek. He'd wondered about them, too, truth be told. Not a single rumor had included a description of wings, for one, but more tempting than the prospect of catching some unnatural rarity in the wild is the promise of a wish. For years since his exile, he'd yearned for his throne. His power. His country. Even simply his place in Velthomer again, protected by the portraits of the men that had come before him. And every year they seemed to grow more and more distant. If something - anything - could return his life to him--

"Only a fool would believe that they attend to some all-powerful master. If they exist," he scoffs and crosses his arms, but keeps pace with his new (subject? ally? pawn?) friend despite it. The other student had found him at the end of a lonely lunch in the midsummer sun, lamenting his inevitable return to the damp and dark, but even had he other plans, or a more positive relationship with his shelter, Rosado's invitation would have still been tempting. Or rather, the sliver of childish hope that so often made the foundation of such rumors would have called to him all the same.

What if?

"But it sounds like you may have some sort of lead." Julius' brow furrows as he closes his eyes to try to imagine where such creatures may have been spotted, and what they looked like. Then they blink open again to accompany a sneer he throws at Rosado. "Unless that's just your regular brand of blind confidence."

　✩ .　A WONDERFUL LIFE.

　　　　　　　　　　❪　mission ,　fracture　/　flying point　❫

#rozyrne #thread : a wonderful life #mission season: fracture #// julius admitting that he believes in fairy tales like this? lmao #// the terrible besties saga continues #// except I feel like this one will be more wholesome #// not word counting but mental reminder to keep these replies short HA

[disgracedvessel]

“You can’t conjure ink from nothing?” Julius quips. It’s light enough to sound like any old joke, but his eyes dart from table to table in search of materials anyway. If Rosado had managed to create a beautiful crown from ordinary trash, then surely their hands contained a magic unfathomable even to a prodigy such as himself, capable, perhaps, even of alchemy. Such a belief is high praise from the former imperial prince, but he keeps it locked tightly away where it won’t accidentally slip out. To acknowledge that someone in this world was more skilled in the arcane would be to relinquish the last of his defining features and collapse into mediocrity. 

His cursory search turns up nothing but a piece or two of leftover charcoal on otherwise empty tables. The creation of the dragon puppet had been the last thing holding everyone else in this cathedral, it seemed, as the groups that had been clustered around each earlier are now gone or dispersed to other corners, and the full brunt of winter rushes in to occupy the empty space. Stone walls are colder now, the windows backlit with the last embers of sunset, and Julius wraps his arms around himself to fend off the chilly draft as he finally stands up.

“I told you that I was not one to waste my time with such frivolous pursuits,” he answers, ignoring a stray spool of thread that rolls off the edge beside him to bounce across the marble floor. Disappointment and, faintly, indignation still add an edge to his voice, but it’s simply the fact that he had not been the one to collect the materials in the first place that stays his hand from helping (and, even if not for that, he would find some other excuse ultimately boiling down to status and status alone).

What had he done with friends though? His memories of Belhalla are seared in too many places, like a table runner that’s had a lit candle knocked over it. Holes and tears blot out most of his childhood - had he any friends at all? He shuts that thought down at once - of course he did - and thinks of Ishtar.

“We would spend afternoons in the royal garden when we had the leisure, eating cake and talking about whatever we wished. Hm—“ A crease marks his brow as he tilts his chin downward to look at the tabletop, trying to visualize those halcyon days. “I suppose painting was not entirely out of the realm of possibility back then. I’ve never been interested in art, however. If you intend to make good on your promise, then we shall do it in a similarly picturesque garden. The drab backdrop of this hall would not suit its subject, after all, and I will merely watch you work. I have no need for your lessons.”

A pause, one final attempt to recreate something that holds together like smoke, and then Julius glances back up with a newly-painted sneer.

“Shall I assume you to be a practiced court painter then? Or will this be the work of an amateur who fancies himself a professional?”

✩ .　BLIND HUBER'S HONEY

#rozyrne #thread : blind huber's honey #mission season: snowglobe #// julius agreeing to rosado's invitation but twisting it so it's his idea #// I think we can probably start wrapping this thread? pick up later with a portrait date

[disgracedvessel]

Some jewelry. Gold and silver. A pegasus. A sword. Julius measures his value from the trinkets his rescuer throws to the ground like they aren't valuable at all and feels the heat of indignation flush across his cheeks. That's all? That's all!? he tries to scream through the filthy hand clapped over his mouth but tastes salt and something bitter, and the the knife presses against his neck as his captor tries to subdue him again. Where was the cashmere? The solid gold? The diamonds? Belatedly, however, he recognizes the sword. He'd heard of a Jugdrali sword imbued with light, and its inheritor-- His eyes shoot back up to the student's face as he works his way through the negotiation.

Was that--?

Eyebrows knit together, blood turns cold, but the world is in motion before he can act on his own. He's shoved, stumbling forward, and then thrown to the ground by his collar as bright light fills the woods. With his hands still bound behind his back, Julius struggles in the snow for a moment to right himself.

Did he think he could fight?

He'd have to.

"Obviously," he shoots back testily, managing to inch his way up to a sitting position in time to catch the sigils of a second spell forming around the two brigands. "I'd melt them down to charcoal were it not for this rope."

There isn't time for grousing though. Julius staggers to his feet, shaking away the dark motes of a headrush that come to dance in front of his eyes, and turns his back swiftly on the fight to direct his magic with his hands.

He knows magic like the back of his hand. He could do this with his eyes closed. That's what he'd always told other people. He believed himself, of course, but for a split second he fumbles and his control over the Meteor spell falters dangerously. Fire explodes from the ground all around them, running up dried tree trunks and devouring winter-brittle leaves in an instant.

"Leave your worthless trinkets," he hisses at his rescuer as he stumbles away from his own inferno. "But take your pegasus. We will escape to the sky."

crownfall

#diadic #thread : crownfall #mission season: snowglobe #// rolled an 8 for the attack so decided to have it go sort of wrong

[disgracedvessel]

Julius hits the ground before he can even realize what's happening. His shoulder hurts, he knows that much, and his lungs hurt as he breathes in a mouthful of dust then expels it with a series of violent coughs. The light had gone out as he had fallen, and the darkness that followed behind to swallow them up is impenetrable, almost tangible. By the time the rocks settle, and Julius' coughing fit has subsided, realization sinks icy tendrils down through his heart, into his stomach, and his hand trembles when he raises it up to reignite its flame.

He doesn't like what he sees when the light flashes over the crumbled wall, and for a moment he remains on the ground, leaning on his elbow and staring up at it in disbelief. Caeda had pushed him out of the way, Caeda herself narrowly evading the rocks as well, but if Julius cares for her wellbeing, it comes out only in the way his eyes flicker over her for a second. He doesn't say anything right away, chest heaving with mounting panic, but then he pushes himself to his feet and marches to the wall.

"This can't be happening." He beats against the rock with the palm of his free hand as if that would get him anything more than a new scrape, then starts to wedge his fingers between the the debris to dislodge smaller stones. They skitter down the side of the rubble but comparatively make little difference.

"No, no, no no no no--" The panic he had tried to mask with outward frustration adds a hue of desperation to his futile digging. When he stops to turn on Caeda, his eyes are wide and furious.

"What are you doing?" he snaps. "Get up! If we're to have any hope of escaping, you must help." Now 'we' enters the picture, and the glory of the many-pointed buck Julius had chased this far falls to the wayside.

Siren Song [Julius & Caeda]

#arcaeda #thread : siren song #mission season: snowglobe #// how fast he changes his tune

[disgracedvessel]

“Shh, shh,” Julius soothes and shakes his head. “You didn’t know. That was my intention.” That he had not known that Ishtar was still alive either is brushed to the background as he pets her cheek and hushes her. Lending credence to this, his hood remains shadowing his eyes and the red cross that has stained his forehead for all these years, but he fixes her with a steady gaze. If she would collapse in disbelief, then he would be there to hold her is what it says. No longer the exiled prince or the hated rat, her presence transforms him instead into the proud pillar upon which her ivy could cling. He fashions himself her prince, her king, her god. And she is the last of his followers, so he would not forsake her.

However, their lives remain at risk here, he knows, so he bows his head and lowers his voice, the hand pressed against her cheek now turning to weave their fingers together. Fluidly, he uses this hold to lead her to the cover of a bent myrtle tree, their cloaks eddying dried brown petals in their wake. It is not far from the altar he has yet to recognize, but provides them an unobscured look at the double gate down the hill.

“The continent believes I have died and that is how it will remain for the foreseeable future. That is, until I amass a following great enough to challenge Seliph on his stolen throne.” The words come out between bites, but his expression softens back into admiration when he turns to look at Ishtar squarely again, unable to resist the compulsion to brush a stray hair across her forehead back into place. She could be nothing less than perfect, even in mourning, and in rapture.

“By some miracle, you have survived as well. The gods still bless me, even if the rest of the world spits on my name,” he says proudly, admiring her as he would a beautiful doll. The rest of the world is wrong. Blind. Blasphemous. His own penitence unjust. Ishtar is proof, a glimmer of hope. Gold and amethyst tucked away at the back of his emptied treasury. His fingers tighten excitedly around hers, and the dark half-moons that had come to settle under his eyes these past few years seem to lift for a moment.

“How did you escape? Do tell me. Whatever scheme you used to outwit my foolish half-brother’s army may have its use again.” Delighted by the thought, his smirk snakes across his lips.  “I had full confidence in you, you know. A shame that it has taken us this long to find one another again.”

˗ˏˋ꒰ the garden ˗ julius & ishtar .꒱

#deamare #thread : the garden #// truly a talent the way he manages to make everything about him or his own brilliance

[disgracedvessel]

As before, Julius watches Rosado go to work, but a little more openly, a little more eagerly this time. He had challenged the other student to a game he believed they would fail, or, if not that, then the creations they invented would be laughably childish or amateur, only to be thoroughly surprised by the beauty of the crown they had woven from scraps. Even as he stood, still posturing behind his chair for the onlookers - most of which had lost interest in him the moment Rosado set to work again - he could hardly hide the excitement in his frequent glances. How would he be surprised this time? What sort of fearsome beauty could this student fashion into the likeness of a dragon? A brooch to match his crown, perhaps? A stole, not unlike those of mink and fox worn by the ladies in winter? Or maybe a statue of faux gold, like the only trophy of its kind, awarded to him and him alone?

What begins to take shape, however, is more akin to the toys Julius had imagined made up the majority of Rosado’s repertoire, and his eagerness cools on his face until it sets into neutral lines. He feels a draft, he thinks (or maybe it’s the emptiness that rushes behind the absence of attention), and draws his cloak around his neck as he glances away from the juvenile papercraft. How could paper measure up to precious metals and jewels? It didn’t. Nevertheless, what he sees on the faces of those who have knitted a tighter circle around their table - around Rosado, that is, leaving Julius at its edge - is just as much awe, if not more than that which had glowed on their faces when Julius had strutted before them with his crown. Somewhat sullenly, he pulls out his chair, pointedly bumping the foot of another student who murmurs a quick apology before stepping around to Rosado’s other side, and drops down into it, fabric billowing briefly around him as he crosses his arms.

“Do you not have expert artisans where you come from?” he challenges the crowd, catching the eye of one of the girls. She smiles brightly despite the hard edge in his voice - a subtle get lost that misses its mark - and shakes her head.

“I’ve seen plenty of handmade crafts but the process is fun to watch, wouldn’t you agree? Especially when the artist is so passionate.”

Julius hums. He’s not displeased with the answer, but the fact that the girl, like all the others around her, seems not to have realized that they should be seeking his permission to gaze upon his artist makes a downward arc out of the thin line of his mouth. She doesn’t catch the hint, however, and keeps watching with those covetous eyes.

It isn’t much longer after that when Rosado finally presents their finished product. A dragon - undoubtedly so - hangs from their fingers by fishing line, but the should-be terrifying god is instead a cute paper caricature. A child would not fear such a thing, much less any nation, and Julius does not bother pretending that he is not somewhat dissatisfied by the results. Arms crossed, his assessment silent and passive until a child indeed approaches and begs for a toy just like it. Without looking at him, Julius stands and snatches the puppet from Rosado’s hands, face now alight with interest and pride. The dragon hangs from his fingers with wings rising and falling with each movement.

“What a cute toy,” he praises condescendingly. “You have indeed made a dragon—” It did not resemble Loptous in any other way but its color, but a dragon it was, “—but what empire would bow its head to this?”

With a disdainful sniff, he passes the mobile to the child, who gasps with surprise as he catches it between his arms. Delicately though, so as not to collapse the cardstock that makes up its body.

“This would be better suited for a child’s hands.”

“Wha—!? Thank you, thank you!” the boy beams up at Rosado, as if for approval, and then at Julius, who hardly looks at him. In fact, he waves him away with a dismissive hand and continues talking to Rosado as if the child and the toy did not exist at all.

“You satisfied only part of my request. But fear not, my friend, you have one last opportunity to redeem yourself. Now then—“ He taps his finger to his chin. This final trial would have to be something for him and him alone. “You can craft, but can you paint? The final challenge is a portrait of yours truly - the kind you might find decorating the halls of a grand castle.”

✩ .　BLIND HUBER'S HONEY

#rozyrne #thread : blind huber's honey #mission board: snowglobe #// me starting this: this isn't going to be that long #// the coffee I had at 3pm: bet #// also I love the progression of this thread hahaha #// julius making rosado jump hoops to be his friend when in reality he's desperately clinging to him like a prized gem

[disgracedvessel]

Julius never thought he would step foot back in his homeland again. His exile thus far had seemed a permanent alternative to the death he had managed to outwit, dooming him to live the rest of his miserable life a pauper far from the world that had borne and raised him. Yet he had not shed tears when, wrapped in rags and hidden among the cargo, the familiar skyline of the royal palace and his former home rose out from the forest and into view. It had tormented him for so many nights that he could scarcely believe that he was not dreaming still. Striped across the countryside were the fading scars of a war driven on by his own hand, and they had sobered him only a little.

He had returned for neither homecoming nor penitence, he reminds himself as he draws his cloak close to his chin and ducks his head past the carriage driver. He is still a fugitive prince, loathed by the populace, acting the part of the rat who slips into the pantry while the cat dozes elsewhere - here, his half-brother, and those who knew his face and held the power to do something about it, had left their posts entirely. Wryly, Julius thinks that he is likely safer here now than in the place that had been his prison. This thought, however, does not last when the iron fence enclosing the royal cemetery finally comes into view. Whether he is safe here or not, he has been granted a rare opportunity to confirm the truth of a waking nightmare: the return of both of his parents from the grave.

The grounds are deserted and the dense clouds that have rolled inland to blot out the spring sun shroud them in a desolate melancholy ordinarily reserved for places condemned and abandoned. Even the wrought-iron gate forgets to creak when Julius nudges it open and shut again. The dream sensation has not yet released him, so he does not reflect on the state of disrepair within, or how it mirrors his own life, even though his eyes linger on the decayed remnants of some now-unrecognizable flower left in a stone urn, merely looking, unable - unwilling to piece together a thought.

The urn, he realizes as the crunch of dry leaves brings him closer, marks an altar dedicated to the Crusader Heim. It had been a controversial idea in the not-so-distant past to honor carriers of Lopt blood alongside one of the Twelve. Julius knows that his father had clawed his way to Grannvale's throne to change such prejudice, among others, but it is perhaps here the man's only legacy remains: his cursed blood laid to rest alongside those of nobler lineage, the same honor that had been hard-won for his wife many years prior. Spitefully, Julius plucks the dried offering and scatters it to the wind.

Onward, he weaves between headstones and altars. Sentimentality does not slow him quite like recollection does - or the lack of it. He hardly remembers visiting Deirdre, and had only overseen the placement of his father's memory before he faced his own death, but he sifts between the holes hollowed out by Loptous nonetheless for a hazy map to guide his way.

Suddenly he stops, registering a second cloaked figure at the end of this row of grave markers a moment after. So the cemetery had visitors after all, he thinks dimly before the mourner drops her hood and reveals a cascade of silvery lavender. Whatever notion Julius had to hide until she left disappears instantly and shock threatens to strangle him. He's moving toward her before he can think.

"Is this another ghost to torment me?" he challenges, nearly voiceless, in lieu of a greeting, but when he grasps her wrist to turn her to face him, he feels the pulse of life beneath his fingertips. Then porcelain face beset with dazzling amethyst captures his attention just as it had every day for nearly a decade. He reaches delicately for her cheek, almost afraid that his touch would dissolve her into smoke.

"Ishtar..." he breathes like a witness to the end of the world. "You're alive."

˗ˏˋ꒰ the garden ˗ julius & ishtar .꒱

#deamare #thread : the garden #// this got so rambly I'm so sorry hahaha #// thank you again for writing the starter! #// very excited for this toxic mess #// threw in a bunch of funerary HCs for the royal family with 0 input from any other mun in TOA so these aren't set in stone

[disgracedvessel]

“I know warp magic,” Julius shoots back, accompanied by a sharp glance and a frown. He’s a prodigy. She says it herself, and he balks at the idea of someone his own age teaching him anything, especially something he already knows. Or should, as her use of the spell - however clumsy the execution - seems to imply. If anything, he should be teaching her (except for the fact that, in truth, he has never attempted such a spell himself).

But then she says something interesting and the petulant scowl that would one day become common on his face unwinds into amazement as pieces click into place. A mage who is close with his father - there was only one in the emperor’s court that Julius could think of, but the resemblance between that decrepit old man and this girl is non-existent. Nevertheless, he has no reason to doubt her.

“Do you mean Manfroy?” He blinks. “He rarely leaves my father’s side. When would he possibly have time to teach you--” It’s too late by the time he realizes what he’s said and stops the thought just short of its natural end. A frown, this one more apologetic than the first, flashes across his face as he looks to Sara for a reaction, but shifts swiftly into interest, her previous offering now cast in a new light.

“Actually, there may be some things I can learn from you after all. Even my father respects your grandfather’s ability.” It was the only reason he could think of for why his father would bow his head to that man, anyway. Returning both toy and vial to the box, Julius glances back up with renewed smile and offers his hand.

“I do believe we will be fine friends, Sara. Perhaps when I’m emperor, you’ll even be my advisor, like your grandfather.”

“Do you have eyes?” Julius responds incredulously. He was different from every other kid in every way. Even his twin sister didn’t possess the same glossy crimson tresses, the bright ruby eyes, and the beautiful vests of silk and velvet that he had. And eventually he would find the gap between the two of them, and everyone else, broaden into an endless canyon when the red cross of his birthright manifested like a mark of wisdom (or one of sin) on his brow. But that is still some years away, and for now his differences are perhaps too subtle for Sara’s untrained eye. He believes this, anyway, and has more to say, but she disappears before he can launch his lecture. A gasp catches in his throat despite himself and he rushes forward as she reappears and careens for the ground.

The gift hits the grass before he notices it, his hand instead around Sara’s wrist with unabashed worry writ large upon his face.

“What was that supposed to be?” he asks, releasing her to inspect what she had dropped. Only then does childish selfishness push selfless concern aside and he joins her to peer into the box.

“You haven’t dirtied it, have you?” Without waiting for an answer, he takes it from her to examine the plush dragon himself. It’s free of the garden’s dirt but most importantly well-made, and a smile once more blooms across his lips.

“What a fine gift,” he hums and withdraws the vial to turn it in the light, casting prismatic rainbows against his palm. “Now I must know your name, and whose family you belong to. It’s almost as if you knew exactly what I would like.”

#shadoll #mini : sara2 #// the days when julius actually believed in teamwork (somewhat) #// there's a timeline where julius ended up choosing sara to be his fiancee over ishtar #// rip jugdral in that one #// this is in legacy editor now for some reason and I can't trim it #au : pre canon

[disgracedvessel]

To be captivated by Rosado's artistry would not do for a prince who had seen it all, so Julius busies himself with a small notebook he fished from his pocket while the other student works. Within its pages are various diagrams, incantations, and the names of important individuals within Abyss, all interspersed between his class notes. He rarely looks at them, having little need to study, so he only pretends that they are more engrossing than Rosado's project. Page by page, he works his way through the filled part, stealing glances every so often at the crown as it begins to take shape, and catching himself - more than once - staring for too long. From discarded bits and pieces of what Julius had assumed to be useless junk grows something of beauty. Indeed, a crown fit for a prince.

Were it not for the spectators gathering around their table, Julius might have let awe shine plainly on his face, but they are, in some ways, a welcome distraction. Between his furtive glances toward the haloed half-sun in Rosado's nimble hands, he spends longer stretches glaring at the onlookers who appear too openly covetous or greedy (which is, to Julius, all of them). This creation and its creator both belong to him, he tells them with hard stares and curling lip, like a wolf defending its rare meal in the dead of winter where such things are scarce. He is the prince who had won over the fairy who could spin silk from wool and turn rocks into gold. Exclusivity, after all, made him valuable, just like friends.

(although he had never had to defend against thieves who would steal his friends before, he realizes, quietly, when his eyes alight on an old engagements list in his notebook)

When the crown is finally finished, Julius shuts the back cover down over the page and sits up straight, hands in his lap, chin lifted just slightly in challenge and in triumph for their audience. With it rightfully placed (returned, rather), Julius stands and flourishes his cloak. The audience is now no longer competitors, but subjects, and he struts before them to show off the enviable magnificence Rosado has bestowed upon him.

"I can tell by their eyes that you have made something truly astonishing," he says to Rosado. "You have met my expectations." Exceeded them, even, but he would not say so. Hand on his hip, he turns and circles back around the table to his chair with all the majesty of his station. The impressed whispers satisfy him even more than the crown itself. He had once been someone; they remind him that he still is.

"Next," he commands Rosado's attention back to him, one hand resting on the back of his chair as he stands behind it. The other one he raises palm up toward the ceiling in a theatrical gesture. "Make me a dragon god. Its scales must be as dark as stormclouds, its head horned for an unmistakable silhouette. This god made a deal with humans so that they would raise an empire in its name."

Realization quiets him for a moment. The people of Fódlan worship a humanoid goddess. Perhaps Rosado does too. Julius looks at him.

"You do know what a dragon looks like, do you not? This is not the same as those rugged wyverns."

✩ .　BLIND HUBER'S HONEY

#rozyrne #thread : blind huber's honey #mission season: snowglobe #// julius: describes sombron #// julius @ rosado: you probably don't even know what a dragon is lmao

[disgracedvessel]

Arvis didn't know it - he couldn't possibly have - but he had just handed his son a weapon of a different kind. Julius weighed the questions like he had weighed the book he wielded, staring up with eyes that had gained a reputation for being serpentine over the years - cunning, treacherous, but above all, captivating. Not unlike the eyes of his father, who had pulled the strings of Grannvale's court to win the title he now lorded over him; the title that, in all but name, would eventually be wrenched from his hands by his own kin. The devourer to be devoured. Serpentine. Ouroboros.

If the thin smile across Julius' lips seemed to grow a little broader, a little more sinister, it was only because of the erratic shadows thrown by the sputtering candle.

"Of course, Father," he answered, honey-sweet. "Had I known that you would arrive at this monastery, I would have prepared a reception for you. It would have been a finer atmosphere than the confines of a stuffy library late at night, and we could have spoken at length about all that is new to you here."

Born and raised in court, Julius could talk circles around anyone. Wasting time, distraction, subterfuge - all were well-worn techniques honed and sharpened again and again to be used against other nobles. Arvis, former Duke of Velthomer, Emperor of Grannvale, was still just another nobleman, and one Julius had wrestled with his whole life. He eyed him carefully.

"Unfortunately, I do not have the time to idle away with catchup like you do this evening." He held up his book. Embossed in gold leaf was the title Men and Stars, and beneath it in smaller print "How the Saints Named the Moons." "As a student, I must not neglect my studies. As for why I am studying here, and not at the prestigious Belhalla Academy, well--" He stopped himself and smiled coyly. "Why should I spoil the surprise? You had a hand in it, I will say."

A half-turn took him a step toward the door.

"The destruction of your empire, that is."

The Unending Past [Julius & Arvis]

#valflaame #thread : the unending past #// it's been a while since I've been able to write julius being this much of an infuriating little shit :)

[disgracedvessel]

For a moment, Julius seems to consider Caeda's caution and leans closer to examine the wall for himself. Cracks do indeed mark the packed earth and stone, but is that not normal? He thinks so, anyway.

"You're imagining things," he decides in a condescending tone he does little to hide. Another check over the quite-normal wall assures him that it is indeed exactly that, so he turns away from it and holds his light back out toward the deeper parts of the cave, from which he had heard sounds.

"I have no intention of spending longer than necessary in here anyway. The sooner I capture my prey, the better." Any whisper of "we" or "us" is absent, as Julius assumes this excursion to be his alone. Caeda is here in the same way that squires had accompanied Julius' retinue to Belhalla's royal forests, tasked solely with the retrieval of their quarry. He would give her no more recognition than that.

Taking the lead again - naturally, as he carries the light as well - Julius ventures deeper, though he places each foot softly to muffle the echo of his heels against the frozen ground, ears straining all the while for that sound again. When they reach a fork, he spends only seconds deciding on the direction and takes the right tunnel.

hhurrroooooh

That sound again. This time Julius freezes in place, flashing a look over his shoulder for Caeda to remain silent. It sounds closer, more defined, but still impossible to determine whether it belonged to beast, man, or something else entirely. For several seconds after it fades back into the darkness, Julius keeps listening, waiting for another round. It never comes.

In a hushed voice, he urges Caeda from over his shoulder: "This must be the right way. Move swiftly now."

Siren Song [Julius & Caeda]

#arcaeda #thread : siren song #mission season: snowglobe

[disgracedvessel]

"Indeed," Julius bolsters Merric's suggestion with a knowing nod, schooling his expression into one of sagely seriousness despite the way a smirk keeps pulling at the corner of his mouth. Whether or not the professor knew of Jugdral's history, his innocent (or not) questions build a second pitfall that the wrong answer would send the king stumbling into again. One that would not be so easy to climb from either, if only Julius could line it with metaphorical stakes.

"I'm sure Seliph would be overjoyed to see that you are still alive. This 'state' you find yourself in - out of sorts and at the mercy of a pair of strangers - would not surprise anyone more than the fact that you draw breath."

There is a short, constricted gasp from the bottom of the hole, but Julius turns away to join Merric on the other side. Perhaps the man was finally realizing the fate of the character he portrayed, or that he dared continue his charade for someone who knew the real Sigurd well enough to see instantly through his shoddy disguise. Still, Julius has no qualms allowing the man to tarnish the late duke's reputation for the rest of Fódlan, and plans to let him continue to do so. For a price.

Taking up a length of rope behind Merric, he tests its knot around the tree with a hard tug. The coarse hairs that grate his uncalloused palms, unaccustomed to carrying anything more than leather-bound books, force him to loosen his grip, however. He values his own comfort more, and would not return to the monastery with uncomfortable abrasions if he could help it. Whether or not they could save this man did not matter to him. His generosity had stretched this far already.

"Ready," he informs the professor, and they both tug in a concerted effort. By some miracle, a head of blue hair peeks up past the edge of the pit, followed by an arm, then the rest of the white-suited king as he rolls out, disheveled and panting, and onto his back.

Julius drops the rope immediately, a smirk and a scathing quip ready on his lips, but a slip of paper on the ground nearby catches his eye instead. As Sigurd sits up to recompose himself, Julius kneels down beside the drawing. Curly, lilac hair. Silver dress. Lavender eyes. Those are the only distinguishing features he can make out from the rough lines and crude colors, but he guesses it's supposed to be Deirdre. With a frown, he swipes up the paper and holds it out for the king to see.

"Your wife?"

Back on his feet now, Sigurd works over his suit, brushing out wrinkles and scrubbing futilely at dirt stains. He stops to glance up, then shakes his head with an apologetic smile.

"My sister."

What? Julius frowns even more sharply now, and the man takes it as criticism of his artistic ability. He quickly takes the drawing back and tucks it carefully into his breast pocket.

"I am no artist, I fear. She has gone missing, you see." A rueful sigh. "Have you seen her? Some have called her the Purple-Haired Maiden, but to me she is simply Deirdre."

Julius crosses his arms in disbelief. "I know only a Silver-Haired Maiden."

"Ah? Too bad."

Sigurd Hate Group || Merric & Julius

#ventusanimae #thread : sigurd hate group #mission season: racketeering #// oop sorry for taking so long with this reply #// and also writing so much #// the dialogue in this thread really gets away from me ha

[disgracedvessel]

No sounds but that of their footsteps over gravel echo from the back of the cave as they venture deeper. Julius strains to listen to the darkness beyond his sphere of firelight for anything - the drip of water, the sigh of death, even a whistle of wind from some hidden crevice - but nothing answers save for the flame in his palm that hums in time to the rhythmic pumping of his own heartbeat. His eyes sweep from side to side for other signs of life marked onto the cold cave floor until suddenly a low whine crawls out from one of the tunnels up ahead, so quiet that it's nearly lost beneath the light clatter of a stone rolled by his own boot. He freezes to listen.

Caeda calls for him.

"Shh!" he hisses back, and strains his ears in the silence again. A few more moments and

Nothing.

With an unhappy huff, Julius turns and marches back to where Caeda had stopped to examine one of the walls.

"What?" He holds the flame up to spill its light over the rough surface. It catches on one long, deep shadow, but he pays it little mind, his ire directed instead at his hunting companion. "There is something in here, but I lost the direction of the sound thanks to you."

Siren Song [Julius & Caeda]

#arcaeda #thread : siren song #mission season: snowglobe #// there's a crack there but julius isn't paying attention haha

[disgracedvessel]

“Do you have eyes?” Julius responds incredulously. He was different from every other kid in every way. Even his twin sister didn’t possess the same glossy crimson tresses, the bright ruby eyes, and the beautiful vests of silk and velvet that he had. And eventually he would find the gap between the two of them, and everyone else, broaden into an endless canyon when the red cross of his birthright manifested like a mark of wisdom (or one of sin) on his brow. But that is still some years away, and for now his differences are perhaps too subtle for Sara’s untrained eye. He believes this, anyway, and has more to say, but she disappears before he can launch his lecture. A gasp catches in his throat despite himself and he rushes forward as she reappears and careens for the ground.

The gift hits the grass before he notices it, his hand instead around Sara’s wrist with unabashed worry writ large upon his face.

“What was that supposed to be?” he asks, releasing her to inspect what she had dropped. Only then does childish selfishness push selfless concern aside and he joins her to peer into the box.

“You haven’t dirtied it, have you?” Without waiting for an answer, he takes it from her to examine the plush dragon himself. It’s free of the garden’s dirt but most importantly well-made, and a smile once more blooms across his lips.

“What a fine gift,” he hums and withdraws the vial to turn it in the light, casting prismatic rainbows against his palm. “Now I must know your name, and whose family you belong to. It’s almost as if you knew exactly what I would like.”

@disgracedvessel:  Ordinary.

It sounded coarse and ugly, like a shattered window and the whistle of the invading wind. Julius had been called many things in his few years - special, beautiful, talented, a scion from birth, a long-awaited messiah - but never ordinary. He stares with the faintest wrinkle in the otherwise smooth skin between his eyebrows as if he’s never even heard the word before. The one who had uttered it looks like his sister, so he can’t call her ugly too, but he doesn’t recall having seen her face around the castle before, and for a fleeting moment they each try to figure the other out.

“You must not understand what that word means,” he settles on a reasonable explanation, and he smiles radiantly, eager to help, eager to show off. He is, as his tutors have told him time and again, quite bright. A reader by the age of five.

“Ordinary is the opposite of what I am,” he says with the guileless arrogance of children, the kind yet to grow thorns. “The whole country wouldn’t bring me gifts on my birthday if I was ordinary. Didn’t you bring me something, too?”

He reaches out his hand, still smiling, his eyes sparkling. “Usually they’re left in the parlor, but if you wanted to give this one to me in private, then I won’t tell. Then I’ll send you along to my sister.”

Most who found him were looking for her. She could be so terribly elusive.

Sara shakes her head longer than strictly necessary, insistent, “I’m not here to see your sister.” 

Though the boy does not know her, she has heard enough about him to fill several pages of memory. She is sure that there must be something special about him despite how he appears because Sara’s grandfather would not lie to her. He lies only when he must.

“And I meant what I said, but I guess I was just surprised you don’t look very different than any other kid.” Her shoulders lift in a small shrug, decidedly unapologetic.

Having cleared that up, she allows him a glimpse of her smile before it disappears. The rest of her follows in a feeble flash of light that blinks in then out of existence, leaving Sara standing in its wake. 

Transportation magic - an advanced technique - is the newest addition to her ever-growing repertoire. She likes to get in practice where she can in anticipation of the day she is skilled enough to accompany her grandfather wherever he goes.

…Except she doesn’t quite stick the landing, one foot catching on the other and his present tumbles from her hands onto the grass, jostling the contents inside. Miraculously, the box rolls onto its side with the lid in tact. 

Out of equal parts duty and curiosity, she inspects what is inside for damage. Her fingers knead the soft fabric of a plush toy fashioned in the likeness of a dragon as she lifts it into the sunlight. She covetously stares at the large, round eyes gazing back at her before noticing the second object hiding in the corner: a glistering vial of Pure Water. Both are handsome gifts, by her standards, however Sara wonders still if a prince who already has the world was even interested in the same things as her.

#shadoll #mini : sara2 #// I've always liked the idea that the mark of loptous didn't show up on him until later #// also more than happy to continue this little scene with you!

[disgracedvessel]

Julius waits with chin in hand, eyes tracing the fluttering path Rosado makes between tables. If ulterior motives lurk behind the other student's kindness and eagerness to please, he does not see them for the tributes offered rightfully to him instead. He watches because curiosity compels him, and can hardly wait for Rosado to return to see what sort of materials he saw fit for the crafting of his requests. Silver thread? Gold leaf? The finest cashmere? Ruby beads? No, the monastery likely couldn't afford any of that.

He sits up as Rosado drops his new supplies onto the table, peering into the boxes to make his own assessment, a smile snaking back across his lips.

"You certainly do look ready for anything," he notes approvingly. Many of the knickknacks inside hardly resemble anything he's seen before, and the other half he'd mistake for common junk or forgotten trash if he didn't know that they had been procured for him specifically. Rosado's voice rings with confidence, and Julius wonders if he believes that his hands can turn whatever they touch to gold. He settles back in his chair again, arms folding over his chest.

They were just going to have to find out then.

"Let's see..." Julius taps a finger to his chin, eyes rising to the high, vaulted ceiling. When an idea finally strikes, they drop back down to Rosado again, bright and eager. "Make me a crown. But--" He lifts his finger from his chin to the air. "--not just any crown. This one must be fit for a prince named the savior of a lost empire and the liberator of an oppressed people. A prince whose birth bowed the heads of all six kingdoms across his homeland." Studying his challenger's face for a moment, he tilts his head with a honeyed smile. "That ought to be easy for one with your talent, right?"

✩ .　BLIND HUBER'S HONEY

#rozyrne #thread : blind huber's honey #mission season: snowglobe #// they're just both out here patting each other's asses and loving it hahahaha