Open RP Post

[wuzzafuzzle]

↪ Pick one of my characters (make sure to specific which version) OR drop any character of yours in and get a random choice.
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[cicatrize]

[ 'Enemies I understand. You - I don't know what you are.' The words echo in his head as Jack holds himself under the blazing hot water of the generous tub. He thinks, sometimes, if he should just stay here. The sounds and sights of the world all drowned out - no crown, no kings, no lies and wars and masks to wear and secrets to carve from himself and bury. Just floating, ambient and silent. Only him and those words, turning them over and over again in his mind.

He does know. He's felt that before - that ache and bright burning admiration. That urge that has his eyes lingering over David Shepher, our savior, overlong. Telling, if anyone caught him doing it, but no one looks at the prince anymore. Not long enough, not deep enough. Not when he's given them so much else to get tired of. He knows what this feeling is and he knows it's dangerous. It's lethal. It's some sickness that grows in him that he has to suffocate or bleed out. Or suffer in silence and abscene of any that might witness and sneer. That's what he's doing here - sunk below the scorching water of Shepherd's bath, given to him in the palace once he gained all his fame. Shepherd himself is off on one of his errands, supposed to be gone for another week, and he can't help the want to covet what's not being watched, while he's not being watched. These small things make the rest lighter. If only minutely. That's about when he hears the door creak open, and sees the very man he's coveting in thought standing in the doorway, looking equal parts shocked and confused. Ah. Awkward. ]

Shepherd. You're supposed to be gone. [ He's a little shellshocked for a moment, caught in something like that, but jack clears his throat, his act sliding easily into place, as an empty smile pulls his lips the country finds so pretty, as it spews lies with them. ] They always give the heroes the nicest baths. Silas can't help it. Has to pamper his pets while his children get cold shoulders and impossible expectations.

Sorry. [ It's a sorry that's pretty obviously not that sorry, as he skins back in the wide, spa like tub, kicking bare feet up on the edge of it to look settled in. He's really so good at wearing these masks these days. ]

[reclaim]

[ shiloh paints him in hues of gold, welcomes him into their homes, into their families — for every layer, his missions become rougher, more dangerous. david returns triumphant, if the word meant much in the scheme of things, and shiloh becomes more and more suffocating each time he steps into the city. it's large, sprawling, and yet david can't remember ever having so much trouble simply breathing at home.

( home will always be his family's farm, the fields he remembers playing in with his brothers, the garage he worked out of. it was a modest life, but it was his. he's not so selfish away from port prosperity, with little to no leaning towards personal needs in the face of his king.

in the face of jack. )

this time, like the rest, he returns a success, another notch to his pedestal to raise him up to impossible heights — he doesn't look the hero, though. he rarely if ever does when he first returns, dirt smudged and clothes a mess. david has designs on bathing as soon as possible, smoothing away the mission that mars his skin, but still walking away with the bitter taste in his mouth. for king and country — for the people of gilboa.

jack believes himself overshadowed, but david remembers watching him on television, eyes wide and naive with the promise of hope and faith. he remembers the awe, still feels a flare up of it now, despite the differences they've had. idolization, respect, the want to be close to a star without taking into consideration it's a cluster of fire — volatile, all consuming, dangerous. david sees him, knows him for his various layers, doesn't hold any of them against him, and can't imagine ever doing so. ( maybe david is, in the end, still that awed, wide-eyed boy watching through glass and wires. he doesn't know all of jack's layers, doesn't think he ever will. )

but he's still surprised to see jack lounging in his bathtub. his room is spartan at best; a bed, television, and piano with minimal furniture and even fewer personal artifacts. david can't imagine what jack would find here that he couldn't in one of the many rooms belonging to him, and then— ]

How is it the crowned prince needs to steal away to a farm boy's bath? [ if david is angry, it doesn't show. it's interesting, the way jack's mask slides neatly into place and they make quite the contrast — jack, polished and clean, and david, dirt streaked and a mess. he leans against the door jamb, a small smile curving his lips. ]

If you'd wanted my bath, you only had to ask. [ because david would have given it to him, no questions asked. both twins are endeared to him, but he met one of them first. it doesn't quite come from a place of sentimentality, more of a place that the bath was never his in the first place. ]