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notes for zara.
fey: the crescent knight.
cyon: edge of eden florist.
the dynamic.
some writing...
PLEASE DON'T FEEL OBLIGATED TO READ THIS DSLFKJ but in case it might help in getting a sense of their personalities and dynamic?!
The slow, stinging burn of exposed injuries paled in comparison to the excruciating way that time seemed to eke by so slowly, but it was the combination of them both that harshly poked at Fey’s temper like a red hot brand. Each moment crawled onward painfully, achingly.
Blue eyes fixed on the training fields below, where grunts of exertion and effort from all the other soldiers drifted upward into the air, reaching her ear. Or maybe she was listening for them more closely than she wanted admit, looking for any company against the silence. Yvie’s tutoring had only intensified since their trip, leaving the two of them separated for longer periods of time - a planned, calculated move, Fey thought.
No need for the princess to get any closer to her commoner than she already was - no matter what feats the commoner may pull off.
A small frustrated huff escaped her lips. Well, it wasn’t as though recognition was what moved her feet to begin with. All it had taken at the time was for that brief flash of fear across Yvie’s expression and before Fey knew it, she had already thrown herself back onto her feet and forward, ready to cut down any in her path to get to--
“Oh Miss Knight. Is anyone home?”
The gentle yet insistent tone, like having your hand held with a firm and warm grip, alerted Fey to exactly who was talking to her long before the words did.
Immediately her shoulders straightened, spine straight, and she turned in the direction of the one who called her. Her gaze was alert and dignified as she faced none other than the Queen herself.
Painted lips parted into a smile, gentle and teasing as she reflected, “What a far cry your visage is now - you were pouting not but a moment ago, you know.”
The desire to childishly deny the allegation welled up in Fey automatically, but instead she chose to bite her tongue. The Queen was every inch a Mother - comforting and honey sweet, and certainly in the years that Fey had been at Yvie’s side, Her Majesty Rosemary had practically treated her as a second daughter. It was far more than could be said of the King or the Princes.
… still, such kindness was never guaranteed to last forever.
“I shall try to keep my countenance from bringing dishonor upon the Royal Family and its Guard, Your Highness,” Fey bowed her head in response, letting stray strands of hair fall past her face, obscuring her expression. Even so, she kept it so carefully curated.
Let them think her a doll or a puppet - until the day she would take these very strings and wrap it around their necks.
Yet as Fey opened her eyes and glanced up at Queen Rosemary - wincing only a moment when the right side of her face began to ache with the movement - she could’ve sworn that a flicker of concern passed over the royal’s expression. Her eyes fell upon Fey’s face - her neck, where the burns disappeared underneath her clothes, and to her right hand still raw.
“... I don’t think that we will ever have to worry about dishonor from you of all people, Fey,” she said finally, voice soft and wondering. “A knight is in their countenance, not their title, after all.”
What an oddly reassuring thing to say. It would almost be considered kind.
Rosemary spoke again before Fey could formulate a response in the face of such sincerity. “Though I understand you must be feeling restless as you have been barred from returning to training until you recover… but I believe you can still run other errands, can’t you?”
Fey allowed the warmth of the moment to pass, instead rising to her feet and straightening. The pain of her injuries ached, but her desire to constantly be moving, to feel as though she could continuously take steps forward to something, ebbed.
“I am at your command, Your Majesty.”
May her mission bring her ever closer to being able to leave her name etched on this earth as proof of her existence.
Fey stood in front of the flower shop.
In truth, to her, it felt less like a flower shop and more like an atelier that just so happened to make it very clear that it dabbled in flowers. From every crevice and corner, bouquets bloomed in bright, vibrant colors. Vines curled along window panes and made her wonder if they could even be opened without disturbing the flora. Butterflies made their home in the space, apparently so in love with the banquet of scent and petal options that they didn’t care they had to wander into the heart of the marketplace and all its dangers for the reward.
Even now, a small child cooed happily over a sunflower taller than she was, where the tips of the golden petals turned crimson.
This was not a place for a knight. Some part of her wondered if the Queen was being dismissive, making some distant comment on how a woman would enjoy a visit to a garden.
And while it’s not as though Fey did not enjoy beautiful things - for this place was gorgeous, stunning even - she could not help but feel in her fiery youth that she still had so much left to prove.
There weren’t exactly enemies to be found in a flower shop.
“Careful not to wander too far from your mother, sweetheart, or the lion lily will eat you right up!” A young man crouched by the little girl who wanted to be a sunflower, baring his teeth comically and bringing both his hands up into claws.
“The lion lily isn’t real!” the little girl yelled back - even as her hand reached for the long skirt of her mother’s dress.
“Ohoho.” A false, intentionally evil laugh escaped the young man as his lips pulled back into a grin to replace his snarl. “Bold words… I’ll have to report back to the lion lily myself. If I don’t get eaten on my way!”
The little girl squealed a sound somewhere between fright and delight, even as the young man procured the bottle from his waist and spritzed a fine mist in her direction. His noise of laughter joined hers, and his attention was only diverted when the child’s mother turned in the direction of the two and asked a question.
Fey found the corner of her lips twitching at the exchange. So perhaps the lion lily might be an enemy to be found in the flower shop.
(Idly, she could not help but wonder if that was an exchange similar to what sibling relationships were meant to be like. Larger than life elder brother figures who play kindly with younger sisters, but ultimately would never allow a hair on their head to be misplaced from a threat.
She thought briefly of nervous, dainty hands running through intentionally lightened, intentionally flattened hair - stripped of all its character and wild charm.)
Eventually, she strode into the flower shop, hand resting idly on the grip of her sword - just in case of lion lilies. And perhaps, in part, to hold onto some part of her authority even in this space that reeked of daydreams.
The mother and daughter pair walked out of the store each with an item in hand - a paper bag of goods for the mother, and the little girl cooing over a packet of sunflower seeds.
May she grow as tall as her hopes.
A whistling melody that fluttered through the air drew Fey’s attention to the young man from earlier, who she imagined to be the owner of this daydream. The flower shop was made mostly of glass, likely reinforced by magic to ensure its durability, but the clear nature of the walls allowed the light to refract beautifully, catching against the the colors of the petals and leaves. The young man in front of her was similar - with hair so pale that it caught a million colors in its strands, and a countenance that made you think that what you saw was what you got.
Fey understood clearly why Queen Rosemary would likely favor this shop over others, if this was the atmosphere it held year round. Royals had the privilege of always living in a world that felt idyllic.
“I come as a messenger from the castle,” Fey stated plainly as she walked further in, the clicks of her heels a steady tempo against the young man’s wandering harmony. More than anything else, she was grounded - someone whose ambitions were on this earth, not in any clouds.
“Oh! Welcome, welcome.” The young man’s smile was just as sincere as when he flashed it to the child, even if his new audience was considerably different. Though as if to make play at some deference to the grandeur of the castle, he let one arm cross against his abdomen as he fell forward slightly in a bow. “This is Edge of Eden - I’d say that I hope that you’re in the right place, but I don’t know how to mistake us for any other shop.”
He raised his head, straightening his posture and letting his arm - etched with different patterns, just as colorful as the rest of the shop - outstretch to the left like a magician introducing his props. “The carnations are a bit of a giveaway.”
If Fey’s lip twitched, she assumed it was simply a compulsory movement because of her injuries. “Yes, this is the right place - there should be an order placed on behalf of Madame Lily.”
Lily. The name fell from Fey’s lips without any indication of irony, no matter her own personal opinion. Her Majesty Rosemary must think herself so very clever.
“Oh!” The young man snapped his fingers again, the little marks on his skin dancing with the movement. “The bouquet - yup, my mother took care of that one personally. Though I’m surprised, normally Madame Lily just sends Ellie to—”
The realization that the usual correspondent to the castle was not the one procuring this particular delivery, he stopped as his eyes fell on Fey, and lingered.
Though she knew that this was no compliment, no astonishment or recognition - only the delayed grasping that the marks on her own skin were not voluntary, nor were the colors quite so fun or vibrant. The burns were healing well enough to scar over and no longer need bandages, but they were hardly pleasant to behold. Staining her right side in odd spotches, though her uniform covered most of it - the way that the fire climbed as high as her face was impossible to hide from anyone who looked at her for longer than just a glance.
Still, she merely said, “I’ll send your regards to Ellie, if you wish.”
“… sure.” The words fell a little awkwardly as he continued to stare - and Fey did her best to mask her annoyance at his boldness. “Tell her Cyon says hi.”
“The bouquet, Cyon.” Clipped, simple, orderly. This was business now - no time for pleasantries or fairy tales. The sooner that she got what she came here for, she too could leave his daydream unmarred by her scarred reality.
All he could respond with was a small, affirming noise even as he began to take a step backward, and then turned finally to head past the welcoming alcove. While the walls were made of glass and could easily be seen through, a number of dense plants with sprawling, fanning leaves were arranged as a clear divider between the ‘back end’ of the shop and where customers were allowed to tread.
Only once she was certain that he was gone did Fey allow her lips to crease into a frown, reminded again of how she did not belong in this space. A love for beautiful things did not promise that beauty would love her in turn.
Though it had been quite a long time since she hoped for such a thing - in the end, she did not need beauty nor the understanding of strangers. A soft sigh escaped her as she glanced in the direction of the castle. Perhaps this trip at least occupied enough time that Yvie may be done with her studies, and Fey could greet her lady again with a cup of tea upon her return, or…
The longer she stood amidst the blossoms, she thought that perhaps she could bring another gift back to her lady. Certainly the Queen would hardly be opposed to her daughter being spoiled with just one more trinket.
Fey automatically reached out to the flowers of warm hues - before she realized that thoughtlessly, she had reached out with her dominant hand. Against the soft pastels of flowers in bloom, the splotches of burn scars and the clumsy movement of her injured hand couldn’t be called anything but—
“Beautiful, right?” Cyon’s voice broke her focus - and she made a note to herself that she would have to be careful about getting lost in thought like that. Just because she wore these scars did not mean that they should open her up to new weakness.
“Everything looks well looked after,” Fey said simply before pulling her hand back, letting it rest back against her side where it would not offend anyone.
“They say that flowers do better when you talk to them, and lucky for these guys, I’ve always got something to say.” A laugh escaped him - and looped around from behind the large bouquet that he carried. Fey could only just barely notice his pale green eyes peering over the petals, watching her. Gently, he placed the flowers down on a table nearby - the glorious white, yellow, pink mess of it truly stunning. “What people don’t realize is that flowers have an awful lot to say too, sometimes.”
“Do they,” Fey intoned flatly. She did not think it would be polite to mention that he seemed shocked into silence earlier at the sight of her burns, so she moved onto more important matters. “You have received your payment from the castle already?”
“Yup! Thank the madame for her business.” Cyon stepped behind a counter despite the fact that there was no exchange to be done. “And let me throw in something…”
“The castle has no need of charity,” Fey interrupted. No matter the rudeness earlier, she would sooner endure a thousand piercing glares than let the people think that they needed to give anything away to the ruling class for free.
“Oh trust me, I’m well aware,” Cyon responded with a speed that Fey did not anticipate. But he sounded much more pleased as his fingers pinched something from behind the counter. “There it is! Here you go.”
Caught between his thumb and his index finger, he held a small bottle containing a blue-silver liquid. It was viscous, shifting slightly inside the vial as he tilted it lightly in front of her. Looking as closely as she was, she noticed that even his fingers were tattooed with curling vines, as if everything he touched had the chance of blooming.
She did not reach out to him.
Still, the curiosity in her voice couldn’t be obscured. “Here I go?”
“Mm-hmm - based on the rate your burns are healing, it’s been a few weeks, right? I think that’s one of the most awkward times for recovery.” He winced, as if in solidarity with her. “No more bandages since they’ll just irritate the marks, but exposure can still smart and runs a risk of infection between cleanings. So just apply this morning and night - it’ll keep the points of contact clean and soothe against some of the pain.”
The surprise stole her response off her tongue, and perhaps it was only because her usual carefully crafted and neutral statements had abandoned her that she voiced her suspicion more directly, “Are you a doctor as well as a gardener? Why should I believe you?”
Why would anyone be kind for free?
“And what, I’m supposed to just let you waltz out of here with a bouquet back to the castle? If I can help and it doesn’t put me out too much, why shouldn’t I?” Cyon’s pout was pathetic. Fey nearly avoided telling him so. Regardless, he uncapped the vial and tilted it ever so slightly until a small drop just the size of a pea fell against the back of his hand. “There, now if it’s poison, I’m poisoned first.”
As if to drive the point home, he massaged the tonic more into his skin. “Wow, so poisoned.”
Then, he held his hand back out to her, vines and all. “Try some - just on your hand. You only need a little bit of this stuff anyway.”
Instinctively, Fey’s fingers curled further in, as if to hide from his gaze which now felt less rude and more piercing. However she caught herself a moment later and as if irritated from the idea of backing down from a challenge, she held her hand out to him insistently.
The movement pulled a slight sting from her arm, but Cyon only smiled.
Carefully, he repeated the same motion. Fingers outstretched, one hand hovered below hers, palm up as if to steady her. In his other hand, he poured just a pea sized drop from the vial onto the back of her hand and she found it impressive, how it was already cool to the touch. The same sensation spread as he lightly smoothed the balm over the back of her hand with a featherlight touch.
She had already stilled her breath to prepare against the sting - but when none came, her shoulders relaxed.
“… I’ll tell people you poison your customers.” She eventually broke the silence.
Cyon’s brow furrowed - before his lips broke into a smile even as his fingers continued their diligent work to spread the balm over her hand. “Is that a joke? I didn’t know the Crescent Knight could tell jokes.”
“No one will believe you if you tell them,” Fey spoke confidently - as if to mask her own slight awkwardness. It was an odd thing, to have one’s suspicions and assumptions made so clearly false. He was truly trying to help her. “… So you know who I am.”
“Besides being not-Ellie? Yes. Your story is rather distinct… Though your title precedes you, I don’t think I even know your name.” Cyon reflected on it as though it was a predicament - though he also was beginning to reach the end of exposed skin on her hand, having spread the balm all the way up to her wrist. His fingers began to still, and linger not unlike his gaze searching hers.
She pulled her hand away. “Fey.”
“Fey…” He repeated her name thoughtfully even as he offered the still quite full vial out to her, waiting in his open palm. “Nice to meet you.”
Taking the small bottle between her fingers - surprised at the only slight pressure against her fingertips, lacking the sting of typical movement - she looked up at him and found surprising sincerity in her own words.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Cyon.”
The chime of the clock tower in the distance pulled her attention to the time - funny, how slowly it crept before, but now she was losing track of it. “I’ll take the bouquet and this - but I’ll find a way to repay you.”
“Oh! And one moooore thing,” Cyon pulled the syllable like putty, reaching past her to the flower that she had been reaching out to earlier. “Take this with you.”
Her brow furrowed. “No, I couldn’t - you’ve already given too much—”
“No, no, I insist,” he slipped the flower lightly into the bouquet - tucked off to the side, where it could easily be plucked later without disrupting the rest of the arrangement. “It’s a beautiful thing, but I’ve been at a loss of how to incorporate it into an actual piece for weeks. You’d be doing me a favor if you ran off with it.”
“… if you insist,” Fey said slowly, tucking the vial into her uniform pocket and then reaching to gather the bouquet in her arms. “… You said something about the flowers talking earlier, right? Was this one standing out too much?”
Cyon laughed at that, crossing his arms as he canted his head to the side. “No way, I love uniqueness more than anything else. More like all the flowers come with a message - there’s a whole language to them.”
“Is that so… And what does it mean then, if uniqueness isn’t a problem?” Fey questioned even as she knew her feet should be headed for the door so she could at least try to be prompt.
“That one…? Ah, well,” Cyon laughed out the words. “Of course it could be nothing other than ‘faraway love’.”
“You should come to the festival.”
The statement was bold and careless at the same time in the way that only Cyon could truly manage, drawing Fey’s attention away from the latest addition to his menagerie of plants. The specimen was a plant that supposedly ate whatever carelessly rested on its lapels, so she couldn’t say that Cyon’s words were more interesting, but he claimed her attention nonetheless.
Lately, he had a talent of doing that.
“The Founder’s Day Festival?” She questioned idly, though she already knew the answer. It would be hard to miss the way that the city was even livelier than usual - music caressed the streets in a way that it did not dare during other seasons. Certainly, it would be a party - one of the most joyous nights of the whole year.
“I cannot,” she stated simply, folding both of her hands over the hilt of her sword.
“What? Why on earth not?” Cyon questioned, brow furrowing. “You’re not on night patrols.”
It amused her gently how he could say that so factually - but she supposed he did earn that authority now. Ever since her recovery and clearance to return to the knights, she would conclude her afternoon patrol shift with a visit to the Edge of Eden. At first, it was to inquire about more of the balm he’d developed - and she was certain to pay him each time now, with tip - but at some point it became… well, a habit.
Fey didn’t know what to do with how easily he pulled conversation from her, like she was just another flower for him to tend to. But it was simple, and she did not have to hold her tongue in the same way that she did in the castle or even amidst the knights.
Among the ranks, she was not a noble son fulfilling a few requisite years of service before taking on the family title and land, nor was she a talented young man who would be praised for his boisterous nature. The line she had to walk was finer, and the drop much higher if she ever missed her step.
Stepping into the greenhouse each day - it was like letting her bare feet enjoy the cool, crisp grass for the first time in years.
“Knights have additional duties during festivals - the pay is better if you take shifts during them,” she explained easily. At the end of the day, so many of the ranks were motivated by nothing more than shiny pieces of currency. “As such, I have a responsibility.”
Of course, her responsibility was not tied directly to the festival, nor was it motivated by greed.
(“Perhaps next year, darling,” Queen Rosemary ran her fingers through Yvie’s hair, gentle and soft as the three of them sat in the young princess’ bedchambers. In the distance, the lights, music, and laughter were so bright that they drifted all the way up to the lady’s balcony. Fey made a point to get up and shut the doors.
“Take care, Mother,” Yvie had said so softly but sincerely as the Queen was called - she would be accompanying the King to the festivities. The princes were working as Knights and already further in town. They’d determined Yvie too young and too reckless to be amidst the festivities - it was too dangerous for her.
Fey thought that letting a young miss feel caged and forgotten was considerably more harmful - but she sat with Yvie the entire evening regardless, even as the fireworks boomed in the sky overhead.)
“Is that so… Guess you’re a duty above all else kinda person then, huh.” Cyon let the words leave his lips slowly - like he was trying to form his own opinion of that. He always seemed less easy - like his stream of consciousness way of speaking encountered brief droughts every time he had to articulate a thought about duty or loyalty.
“That’s not the case.” Fey set him straight regardless, even as she reached for a mister, giving some flowers a few spritzes of water. “Duty does nothing for me.”
“Oh - “ Fey wondered how Cyon could make a syllable sound so relieved, but she did not ask. “Then how come you’re choosing to work instead of enjoy the party with the people?”
“I enjoy revelry - but I think I enjoy it more with those I care for. The people of this kingdom are kind, and I am fond of them… but we’re still largely strangers, you know.” Fey didn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on the bursts of color from each flower. “I like seeing people happy - but there is simply someone who needs me more.”
The beat of silence that passed prompted her to look over in Cyon’s direction, finding his expression to be almost comically puzzled.
Defensively, Fey frowned. “What?”
Did he have issues with loyalty to one person to be disagreeable too? Even if he had commentary on the structures of the kingdom or criticisms of the crown, Fey didn’t think that the idea of being bonded to one person more than another was all that bizarre—
“Do you think we’re still strangers?” He asked her point blank. “Aren’t we friends?”
Everything in her brain stalled out temporarily - and all she could do was spritz the mister in his direction by reflex.
“Hey!” He burst into laughter, eyes bright with mirth. “Seriously? Fey!”
“Isn’t that a bold assumption to make?!” She questioned, alarmed at how the pitch of her voice rose in embarrassment - that’s what this feeling was, right? Embarrassment. Ah, she hadn’t felt this in so long that she wore it uncomfortably.
“No!” The laughter turned into outright cackles now, Cyon clutching onto his stomach, ignoring the way that she continued to spray at him - “Stop spritzing me! I know I’m nice to look at, but I’m not a flower, jeez! Let’s focus on how most people don’t need verbal confirmation of friendship…!”
Mortification crawled up Fey’s neck, and she couldn’t help but liken the sensation to burning. She hated it. “And what if I were to say that we’re not friends?”
“I’d call you a liar, Miss Crescent Knight,” Cyon teased back, all confidence as he crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “You’ve beaten out most of my regulars for how often you come here now. I’ve thought briefly about charging you rent.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Only a little.” Cyon grinned at her, this carefree thing that made her stomach twist. “But hey - I don’t expect it to change much, but I hope you’ll think about an invitation from a friend to the festival, instead of just parading around with a bunch of strangers. I can tell that you’ve got something important on your plate but - even for just an hour, I’d love to see you.”
The burning got worse. Fey huffed out a breath, aggravated as she placed the mister back on the counter.
For much of her life, her priorities were simple. Yvie was her dearest person, someone that she’d cross the world for. Even if Fey tended to keep to herself, she was still capable of being sociable — those in the palace were friends, even if most were the fair-weather sort. The type that you could be with when everything was going well, but knew would be missing in action at the first sign of storm clouds. She did not begrudge them for it. Everyone did what it took to survive.
But between Yvie and the castle staff, Fey never once had to consider alternatives. Invitation that drew her further away from Yvie, rather than closer still.
Cyon was like broad, blue, open skies.
“… I can make no promises,” Fey said, even though she knew her answer was rather clear.
Because Cyon was bold and bright, he would draw company and attention like moths to a flame. Even if he requested her company, she was merely one option of many.
For as long there was the slightest chance that a young girl might be left alone on a night of revelry, somehow on the inside looking out, Fey knew that there was a place she needed to be.
Still, he took this answer in stride, letting his chin rest on his hand as she departed. “I don’t mind taking my chances. See you later, Fey.”
aesthetic.
☾ picrew reference
☾ body: petite, pale complexion, has burn scars on the right side of her body. they're in splotches but they're up the side of her neck and the side of her face.
☾ outfit: x x x shorts, high boots, and military jackets!
personality.
☾ in the castle she is a quiet knight who is charged with serving the princess, serious and steadfast. while she's sociable with the castle staff, she doesn't get too close to any of them, and is untrusting of nobles even if she plays along obediently
☾ so she's VERY OPINIONATED but she keeps it to herself, biting her tongue unless she's around Yvie (the princess) or Cyon
☾ she has a strong sense of justice, but is more of a survivalist who focuses on what to do to keep her life comfortable and her most important people safe
☾ slow to warm up to people, but a very wonderful friend once you've gotten through to her. snarky and a bit of a bully to her friends.
☾ a deconstruction of the "Ice Queen" concept - she has a stoic wall, but it's just a front
☾ likes: alcohol, training and meditating, dogs, dragonflies, moon viewing, flowers, festivals, beautiful aesthetics
☾ dislikes: every royal but Yvie, explosives, indirect people, formalities, hypocrisy
☾ strengths: swordplay, dance
☾ weakness: people who try to make the spaces around them better, because she wants to protect that light they carry
cyon: edge of eden florist.
aesthetic.
☀ body: tan complexion, lots of tattoos especially circling around his arms and up his shoulders and back. tall!! i don't know how to ask for a prettyboy that also very clearly spends days carrying around heavy bags of soil and giant plants.
☀ tattoo details: very colorful, nature-inspired like flowers, clouds, ocean waves. in particular there are simple vine tattoos curling around his index and middle finger.
☀ hair: vague reference. wavy! with an undercut and a braid. the type of hair that would be nice to place flowers into. also pale, very light color.
☀ outfit: GIVE ME THE XIAOSLEEVES - or something with "cold shoulders" like this. i like the idea of shoulder cutouts...
personality.
☀ literally just one of the friendliest people in existence. easygoing, open-hearted and playful.
☀ has a pretty intense distrust of authority and government. doesn't agree with a lot of the choices of the royals, but he tries to express kindness to people who wander into the shop.
☀ ultimately takes a "live and let live" approach - people who come into his shop are ones that he tries to understand, even though he'll also rob a corrupt knight or government official blind because he thinks they're crooked.
☀ tries to get along with everyone, but has a hard time really trusting people until he gets to know them
☀ likes: flowers, drink, festivals, hyacinths specifically, Fey, kids
☀ dislikes: taxes, capitalism, paying money for goods and services, most bugs
☀ strengths: dance, drinking, medicine crafting, pickpocket, sleight of hand
☀ weaknesses: impulse decisions, weaker constitution, bugs
the dynamic.
» stray italian greyhound by vienna teng. lyrics.
» (bassboosted) WHAT DO I DO WITH A LOVE THAT WON'T SIT STILL?
» a bright clear weather day meets a cloudless moonlit night.
» fey is steady when cyon is not, and he thinks that her willingness to live with her ideals is admirable and he wishes that more people were more like her.
» cyon is easygoing but not in a way that's disingenuous - he's generous for the sake of generosity, and she thinks the world would be kinder if more people were like him
» cyon is friendly but in order to get money for medicine for his mother, he sells drugs and engages in illegal activity on the side. even though fey is a knight and has to uphold the law, she doesn't think that people should be punished for trying to keep their loved ones alive and doesn't judge him for it.
» (chiaki voice) EVEN IF ALL THE WORLD THINKS YOU'RE A MONSTER, I'LL BE YOUR HERO
» the first time they met was shortly after fey got her burns (she was caught in an explosion when trying to protect the princess) and when running an errand, she met cyon and he gave her a balm for her injuries so she'd heal faster
some writing...
PLEASE DON'T FEEL OBLIGATED TO READ THIS DSLFKJ but in case it might help in getting a sense of their personalities and dynamic?!
The slow, stinging burn of exposed injuries paled in comparison to the excruciating way that time seemed to eke by so slowly, but it was the combination of them both that harshly poked at Fey’s temper like a red hot brand. Each moment crawled onward painfully, achingly.
Blue eyes fixed on the training fields below, where grunts of exertion and effort from all the other soldiers drifted upward into the air, reaching her ear. Or maybe she was listening for them more closely than she wanted admit, looking for any company against the silence. Yvie’s tutoring had only intensified since their trip, leaving the two of them separated for longer periods of time - a planned, calculated move, Fey thought.
No need for the princess to get any closer to her commoner than she already was - no matter what feats the commoner may pull off.
A small frustrated huff escaped her lips. Well, it wasn’t as though recognition was what moved her feet to begin with. All it had taken at the time was for that brief flash of fear across Yvie’s expression and before Fey knew it, she had already thrown herself back onto her feet and forward, ready to cut down any in her path to get to--
“Oh Miss Knight. Is anyone home?”
The gentle yet insistent tone, like having your hand held with a firm and warm grip, alerted Fey to exactly who was talking to her long before the words did.
Immediately her shoulders straightened, spine straight, and she turned in the direction of the one who called her. Her gaze was alert and dignified as she faced none other than the Queen herself.
Painted lips parted into a smile, gentle and teasing as she reflected, “What a far cry your visage is now - you were pouting not but a moment ago, you know.”
The desire to childishly deny the allegation welled up in Fey automatically, but instead she chose to bite her tongue. The Queen was every inch a Mother - comforting and honey sweet, and certainly in the years that Fey had been at Yvie’s side, Her Majesty Rosemary had practically treated her as a second daughter. It was far more than could be said of the King or the Princes.
… still, such kindness was never guaranteed to last forever.
“I shall try to keep my countenance from bringing dishonor upon the Royal Family and its Guard, Your Highness,” Fey bowed her head in response, letting stray strands of hair fall past her face, obscuring her expression. Even so, she kept it so carefully curated.
Let them think her a doll or a puppet - until the day she would take these very strings and wrap it around their necks.
Yet as Fey opened her eyes and glanced up at Queen Rosemary - wincing only a moment when the right side of her face began to ache with the movement - she could’ve sworn that a flicker of concern passed over the royal’s expression. Her eyes fell upon Fey’s face - her neck, where the burns disappeared underneath her clothes, and to her right hand still raw.
“... I don’t think that we will ever have to worry about dishonor from you of all people, Fey,” she said finally, voice soft and wondering. “A knight is in their countenance, not their title, after all.”
What an oddly reassuring thing to say. It would almost be considered kind.
Rosemary spoke again before Fey could formulate a response in the face of such sincerity. “Though I understand you must be feeling restless as you have been barred from returning to training until you recover… but I believe you can still run other errands, can’t you?”
Fey allowed the warmth of the moment to pass, instead rising to her feet and straightening. The pain of her injuries ached, but her desire to constantly be moving, to feel as though she could continuously take steps forward to something, ebbed.
“I am at your command, Your Majesty.”
May her mission bring her ever closer to being able to leave her name etched on this earth as proof of her existence.
Fey stood in front of the flower shop.
In truth, to her, it felt less like a flower shop and more like an atelier that just so happened to make it very clear that it dabbled in flowers. From every crevice and corner, bouquets bloomed in bright, vibrant colors. Vines curled along window panes and made her wonder if they could even be opened without disturbing the flora. Butterflies made their home in the space, apparently so in love with the banquet of scent and petal options that they didn’t care they had to wander into the heart of the marketplace and all its dangers for the reward.
Even now, a small child cooed happily over a sunflower taller than she was, where the tips of the golden petals turned crimson.
This was not a place for a knight. Some part of her wondered if the Queen was being dismissive, making some distant comment on how a woman would enjoy a visit to a garden.
And while it’s not as though Fey did not enjoy beautiful things - for this place was gorgeous, stunning even - she could not help but feel in her fiery youth that she still had so much left to prove.
There weren’t exactly enemies to be found in a flower shop.
“Careful not to wander too far from your mother, sweetheart, or the lion lily will eat you right up!” A young man crouched by the little girl who wanted to be a sunflower, baring his teeth comically and bringing both his hands up into claws.
“The lion lily isn’t real!” the little girl yelled back - even as her hand reached for the long skirt of her mother’s dress.
“Ohoho.” A false, intentionally evil laugh escaped the young man as his lips pulled back into a grin to replace his snarl. “Bold words… I’ll have to report back to the lion lily myself. If I don’t get eaten on my way!”
The little girl squealed a sound somewhere between fright and delight, even as the young man procured the bottle from his waist and spritzed a fine mist in her direction. His noise of laughter joined hers, and his attention was only diverted when the child’s mother turned in the direction of the two and asked a question.
Fey found the corner of her lips twitching at the exchange. So perhaps the lion lily might be an enemy to be found in the flower shop.
(Idly, she could not help but wonder if that was an exchange similar to what sibling relationships were meant to be like. Larger than life elder brother figures who play kindly with younger sisters, but ultimately would never allow a hair on their head to be misplaced from a threat.
She thought briefly of nervous, dainty hands running through intentionally lightened, intentionally flattened hair - stripped of all its character and wild charm.)
Eventually, she strode into the flower shop, hand resting idly on the grip of her sword - just in case of lion lilies. And perhaps, in part, to hold onto some part of her authority even in this space that reeked of daydreams.
The mother and daughter pair walked out of the store each with an item in hand - a paper bag of goods for the mother, and the little girl cooing over a packet of sunflower seeds.
May she grow as tall as her hopes.
A whistling melody that fluttered through the air drew Fey’s attention to the young man from earlier, who she imagined to be the owner of this daydream. The flower shop was made mostly of glass, likely reinforced by magic to ensure its durability, but the clear nature of the walls allowed the light to refract beautifully, catching against the the colors of the petals and leaves. The young man in front of her was similar - with hair so pale that it caught a million colors in its strands, and a countenance that made you think that what you saw was what you got.
Fey understood clearly why Queen Rosemary would likely favor this shop over others, if this was the atmosphere it held year round. Royals had the privilege of always living in a world that felt idyllic.
“I come as a messenger from the castle,” Fey stated plainly as she walked further in, the clicks of her heels a steady tempo against the young man’s wandering harmony. More than anything else, she was grounded - someone whose ambitions were on this earth, not in any clouds.
“Oh! Welcome, welcome.” The young man’s smile was just as sincere as when he flashed it to the child, even if his new audience was considerably different. Though as if to make play at some deference to the grandeur of the castle, he let one arm cross against his abdomen as he fell forward slightly in a bow. “This is Edge of Eden - I’d say that I hope that you’re in the right place, but I don’t know how to mistake us for any other shop.”
He raised his head, straightening his posture and letting his arm - etched with different patterns, just as colorful as the rest of the shop - outstretch to the left like a magician introducing his props. “The carnations are a bit of a giveaway.”
If Fey’s lip twitched, she assumed it was simply a compulsory movement because of her injuries. “Yes, this is the right place - there should be an order placed on behalf of Madame Lily.”
Lily. The name fell from Fey’s lips without any indication of irony, no matter her own personal opinion. Her Majesty Rosemary must think herself so very clever.
“Oh!” The young man snapped his fingers again, the little marks on his skin dancing with the movement. “The bouquet - yup, my mother took care of that one personally. Though I’m surprised, normally Madame Lily just sends Ellie to—”
The realization that the usual correspondent to the castle was not the one procuring this particular delivery, he stopped as his eyes fell on Fey, and lingered.
Though she knew that this was no compliment, no astonishment or recognition - only the delayed grasping that the marks on her own skin were not voluntary, nor were the colors quite so fun or vibrant. The burns were healing well enough to scar over and no longer need bandages, but they were hardly pleasant to behold. Staining her right side in odd spotches, though her uniform covered most of it - the way that the fire climbed as high as her face was impossible to hide from anyone who looked at her for longer than just a glance.
Still, she merely said, “I’ll send your regards to Ellie, if you wish.”
“… sure.” The words fell a little awkwardly as he continued to stare - and Fey did her best to mask her annoyance at his boldness. “Tell her Cyon says hi.”
“The bouquet, Cyon.” Clipped, simple, orderly. This was business now - no time for pleasantries or fairy tales. The sooner that she got what she came here for, she too could leave his daydream unmarred by her scarred reality.
All he could respond with was a small, affirming noise even as he began to take a step backward, and then turned finally to head past the welcoming alcove. While the walls were made of glass and could easily be seen through, a number of dense plants with sprawling, fanning leaves were arranged as a clear divider between the ‘back end’ of the shop and where customers were allowed to tread.
Only once she was certain that he was gone did Fey allow her lips to crease into a frown, reminded again of how she did not belong in this space. A love for beautiful things did not promise that beauty would love her in turn.
Though it had been quite a long time since she hoped for such a thing - in the end, she did not need beauty nor the understanding of strangers. A soft sigh escaped her as she glanced in the direction of the castle. Perhaps this trip at least occupied enough time that Yvie may be done with her studies, and Fey could greet her lady again with a cup of tea upon her return, or…
The longer she stood amidst the blossoms, she thought that perhaps she could bring another gift back to her lady. Certainly the Queen would hardly be opposed to her daughter being spoiled with just one more trinket.
Fey automatically reached out to the flowers of warm hues - before she realized that thoughtlessly, she had reached out with her dominant hand. Against the soft pastels of flowers in bloom, the splotches of burn scars and the clumsy movement of her injured hand couldn’t be called anything but—
“Beautiful, right?” Cyon’s voice broke her focus - and she made a note to herself that she would have to be careful about getting lost in thought like that. Just because she wore these scars did not mean that they should open her up to new weakness.
“Everything looks well looked after,” Fey said simply before pulling her hand back, letting it rest back against her side where it would not offend anyone.
“They say that flowers do better when you talk to them, and lucky for these guys, I’ve always got something to say.” A laugh escaped him - and looped around from behind the large bouquet that he carried. Fey could only just barely notice his pale green eyes peering over the petals, watching her. Gently, he placed the flowers down on a table nearby - the glorious white, yellow, pink mess of it truly stunning. “What people don’t realize is that flowers have an awful lot to say too, sometimes.”
“Do they,” Fey intoned flatly. She did not think it would be polite to mention that he seemed shocked into silence earlier at the sight of her burns, so she moved onto more important matters. “You have received your payment from the castle already?”
“Yup! Thank the madame for her business.” Cyon stepped behind a counter despite the fact that there was no exchange to be done. “And let me throw in something…”
“The castle has no need of charity,” Fey interrupted. No matter the rudeness earlier, she would sooner endure a thousand piercing glares than let the people think that they needed to give anything away to the ruling class for free.
“Oh trust me, I’m well aware,” Cyon responded with a speed that Fey did not anticipate. But he sounded much more pleased as his fingers pinched something from behind the counter. “There it is! Here you go.”
Caught between his thumb and his index finger, he held a small bottle containing a blue-silver liquid. It was viscous, shifting slightly inside the vial as he tilted it lightly in front of her. Looking as closely as she was, she noticed that even his fingers were tattooed with curling vines, as if everything he touched had the chance of blooming.
She did not reach out to him.
Still, the curiosity in her voice couldn’t be obscured. “Here I go?”
“Mm-hmm - based on the rate your burns are healing, it’s been a few weeks, right? I think that’s one of the most awkward times for recovery.” He winced, as if in solidarity with her. “No more bandages since they’ll just irritate the marks, but exposure can still smart and runs a risk of infection between cleanings. So just apply this morning and night - it’ll keep the points of contact clean and soothe against some of the pain.”
The surprise stole her response off her tongue, and perhaps it was only because her usual carefully crafted and neutral statements had abandoned her that she voiced her suspicion more directly, “Are you a doctor as well as a gardener? Why should I believe you?”
Why would anyone be kind for free?
“And what, I’m supposed to just let you waltz out of here with a bouquet back to the castle? If I can help and it doesn’t put me out too much, why shouldn’t I?” Cyon’s pout was pathetic. Fey nearly avoided telling him so. Regardless, he uncapped the vial and tilted it ever so slightly until a small drop just the size of a pea fell against the back of his hand. “There, now if it’s poison, I’m poisoned first.”
As if to drive the point home, he massaged the tonic more into his skin. “Wow, so poisoned.”
Then, he held his hand back out to her, vines and all. “Try some - just on your hand. You only need a little bit of this stuff anyway.”
Instinctively, Fey’s fingers curled further in, as if to hide from his gaze which now felt less rude and more piercing. However she caught herself a moment later and as if irritated from the idea of backing down from a challenge, she held her hand out to him insistently.
The movement pulled a slight sting from her arm, but Cyon only smiled.
Carefully, he repeated the same motion. Fingers outstretched, one hand hovered below hers, palm up as if to steady her. In his other hand, he poured just a pea sized drop from the vial onto the back of her hand and she found it impressive, how it was already cool to the touch. The same sensation spread as he lightly smoothed the balm over the back of her hand with a featherlight touch.
She had already stilled her breath to prepare against the sting - but when none came, her shoulders relaxed.
“… I’ll tell people you poison your customers.” She eventually broke the silence.
Cyon’s brow furrowed - before his lips broke into a smile even as his fingers continued their diligent work to spread the balm over her hand. “Is that a joke? I didn’t know the Crescent Knight could tell jokes.”
“No one will believe you if you tell them,” Fey spoke confidently - as if to mask her own slight awkwardness. It was an odd thing, to have one’s suspicions and assumptions made so clearly false. He was truly trying to help her. “… So you know who I am.”
“Besides being not-Ellie? Yes. Your story is rather distinct… Though your title precedes you, I don’t think I even know your name.” Cyon reflected on it as though it was a predicament - though he also was beginning to reach the end of exposed skin on her hand, having spread the balm all the way up to her wrist. His fingers began to still, and linger not unlike his gaze searching hers.
She pulled her hand away. “Fey.”
“Fey…” He repeated her name thoughtfully even as he offered the still quite full vial out to her, waiting in his open palm. “Nice to meet you.”
Taking the small bottle between her fingers - surprised at the only slight pressure against her fingertips, lacking the sting of typical movement - she looked up at him and found surprising sincerity in her own words.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Cyon.”
The chime of the clock tower in the distance pulled her attention to the time - funny, how slowly it crept before, but now she was losing track of it. “I’ll take the bouquet and this - but I’ll find a way to repay you.”
“Oh! And one moooore thing,” Cyon pulled the syllable like putty, reaching past her to the flower that she had been reaching out to earlier. “Take this with you.”
Her brow furrowed. “No, I couldn’t - you’ve already given too much—”
“No, no, I insist,” he slipped the flower lightly into the bouquet - tucked off to the side, where it could easily be plucked later without disrupting the rest of the arrangement. “It’s a beautiful thing, but I’ve been at a loss of how to incorporate it into an actual piece for weeks. You’d be doing me a favor if you ran off with it.”
“… if you insist,” Fey said slowly, tucking the vial into her uniform pocket and then reaching to gather the bouquet in her arms. “… You said something about the flowers talking earlier, right? Was this one standing out too much?”
Cyon laughed at that, crossing his arms as he canted his head to the side. “No way, I love uniqueness more than anything else. More like all the flowers come with a message - there’s a whole language to them.”
“Is that so… And what does it mean then, if uniqueness isn’t a problem?” Fey questioned even as she knew her feet should be headed for the door so she could at least try to be prompt.
“That one…? Ah, well,” Cyon laughed out the words. “Of course it could be nothing other than ‘faraway love’.”
“You should come to the festival.”
The statement was bold and careless at the same time in the way that only Cyon could truly manage, drawing Fey’s attention away from the latest addition to his menagerie of plants. The specimen was a plant that supposedly ate whatever carelessly rested on its lapels, so she couldn’t say that Cyon’s words were more interesting, but he claimed her attention nonetheless.
Lately, he had a talent of doing that.
“The Founder’s Day Festival?” She questioned idly, though she already knew the answer. It would be hard to miss the way that the city was even livelier than usual - music caressed the streets in a way that it did not dare during other seasons. Certainly, it would be a party - one of the most joyous nights of the whole year.
“I cannot,” she stated simply, folding both of her hands over the hilt of her sword.
“What? Why on earth not?” Cyon questioned, brow furrowing. “You’re not on night patrols.”
It amused her gently how he could say that so factually - but she supposed he did earn that authority now. Ever since her recovery and clearance to return to the knights, she would conclude her afternoon patrol shift with a visit to the Edge of Eden. At first, it was to inquire about more of the balm he’d developed - and she was certain to pay him each time now, with tip - but at some point it became… well, a habit.
Fey didn’t know what to do with how easily he pulled conversation from her, like she was just another flower for him to tend to. But it was simple, and she did not have to hold her tongue in the same way that she did in the castle or even amidst the knights.
Among the ranks, she was not a noble son fulfilling a few requisite years of service before taking on the family title and land, nor was she a talented young man who would be praised for his boisterous nature. The line she had to walk was finer, and the drop much higher if she ever missed her step.
Stepping into the greenhouse each day - it was like letting her bare feet enjoy the cool, crisp grass for the first time in years.
“Knights have additional duties during festivals - the pay is better if you take shifts during them,” she explained easily. At the end of the day, so many of the ranks were motivated by nothing more than shiny pieces of currency. “As such, I have a responsibility.”
Of course, her responsibility was not tied directly to the festival, nor was it motivated by greed.
(“Perhaps next year, darling,” Queen Rosemary ran her fingers through Yvie’s hair, gentle and soft as the three of them sat in the young princess’ bedchambers. In the distance, the lights, music, and laughter were so bright that they drifted all the way up to the lady’s balcony. Fey made a point to get up and shut the doors.
“Take care, Mother,” Yvie had said so softly but sincerely as the Queen was called - she would be accompanying the King to the festivities. The princes were working as Knights and already further in town. They’d determined Yvie too young and too reckless to be amidst the festivities - it was too dangerous for her.
Fey thought that letting a young miss feel caged and forgotten was considerably more harmful - but she sat with Yvie the entire evening regardless, even as the fireworks boomed in the sky overhead.)
“Is that so… Guess you’re a duty above all else kinda person then, huh.” Cyon let the words leave his lips slowly - like he was trying to form his own opinion of that. He always seemed less easy - like his stream of consciousness way of speaking encountered brief droughts every time he had to articulate a thought about duty or loyalty.
“That’s not the case.” Fey set him straight regardless, even as she reached for a mister, giving some flowers a few spritzes of water. “Duty does nothing for me.”
“Oh - “ Fey wondered how Cyon could make a syllable sound so relieved, but she did not ask. “Then how come you’re choosing to work instead of enjoy the party with the people?”
“I enjoy revelry - but I think I enjoy it more with those I care for. The people of this kingdom are kind, and I am fond of them… but we’re still largely strangers, you know.” Fey didn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on the bursts of color from each flower. “I like seeing people happy - but there is simply someone who needs me more.”
The beat of silence that passed prompted her to look over in Cyon’s direction, finding his expression to be almost comically puzzled.
Defensively, Fey frowned. “What?”
Did he have issues with loyalty to one person to be disagreeable too? Even if he had commentary on the structures of the kingdom or criticisms of the crown, Fey didn’t think that the idea of being bonded to one person more than another was all that bizarre—
“Do you think we’re still strangers?” He asked her point blank. “Aren’t we friends?”
Everything in her brain stalled out temporarily - and all she could do was spritz the mister in his direction by reflex.
“Hey!” He burst into laughter, eyes bright with mirth. “Seriously? Fey!”
“Isn’t that a bold assumption to make?!” She questioned, alarmed at how the pitch of her voice rose in embarrassment - that’s what this feeling was, right? Embarrassment. Ah, she hadn’t felt this in so long that she wore it uncomfortably.
“No!” The laughter turned into outright cackles now, Cyon clutching onto his stomach, ignoring the way that she continued to spray at him - “Stop spritzing me! I know I’m nice to look at, but I’m not a flower, jeez! Let’s focus on how most people don’t need verbal confirmation of friendship…!”
Mortification crawled up Fey’s neck, and she couldn’t help but liken the sensation to burning. She hated it. “And what if I were to say that we’re not friends?”
“I’d call you a liar, Miss Crescent Knight,” Cyon teased back, all confidence as he crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “You’ve beaten out most of my regulars for how often you come here now. I’ve thought briefly about charging you rent.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Only a little.” Cyon grinned at her, this carefree thing that made her stomach twist. “But hey - I don’t expect it to change much, but I hope you’ll think about an invitation from a friend to the festival, instead of just parading around with a bunch of strangers. I can tell that you’ve got something important on your plate but - even for just an hour, I’d love to see you.”
The burning got worse. Fey huffed out a breath, aggravated as she placed the mister back on the counter.
For much of her life, her priorities were simple. Yvie was her dearest person, someone that she’d cross the world for. Even if Fey tended to keep to herself, she was still capable of being sociable — those in the palace were friends, even if most were the fair-weather sort. The type that you could be with when everything was going well, but knew would be missing in action at the first sign of storm clouds. She did not begrudge them for it. Everyone did what it took to survive.
But between Yvie and the castle staff, Fey never once had to consider alternatives. Invitation that drew her further away from Yvie, rather than closer still.
Cyon was like broad, blue, open skies.
“… I can make no promises,” Fey said, even though she knew her answer was rather clear.
Because Cyon was bold and bright, he would draw company and attention like moths to a flame. Even if he requested her company, she was merely one option of many.
For as long there was the slightest chance that a young girl might be left alone on a night of revelry, somehow on the inside looking out, Fey knew that there was a place she needed to be.
Still, he took this answer in stride, letting his chin rest on his hand as she departed. “I don’t mind taking my chances. See you later, Fey.”