The Outcasts // space idiots exploring the galaxy // Group RP // 5/5 {CLOSED}

The dungeons had silver paneled floors and walls, half of them built in with censors. A specialized key pad sat by the door as he entered, hazy blue eyes taking the familiar surroundings.

“If it isn’t the prince?” A voice snarled out from behind glowing bars. An old woman, a servant turned thief, glared with the simmering rage of injustice. Her red scales lined patches of exposed skin like a furious rash. “Come to visit us again? The worst torture of all.”

A few others grunted in agreement, but all Caelon did was grin. It was a cold and wretched smile, too empty for its own good. “Ah! So I see you’ve all missed me. How delightful!”

“Can’t you let us sleep?” This voice was younger, perhaps of teenager of the sort. The familiar sound of a cracking voice had Caelon’s vision spinning.

“If I cannot rest, than neither can you.” He snarled, fangs bared once again. “I spend my days underneath my own Sisyphean curse, getting so little rest that each day melds into the next in an agonizing blur— bound to mediocrity and so deeply ensnared by my own sins that I am vexed by even the simplest moments of clarity. I will sink and sink and sink and sink until my own madness overtakes me and whatever beings oversee our universe seek to end my pitiful existence! Does that please you?! Can you leave me to rot in peace or have you no respect for the waking dead?”

Silence fell over the dungeons like a blanket. Moments later he quelled. He was shaking from the outburst, empty blue eyes widened and fretful. Leaning back against the cold wall, he sank down into a seated position, finned ears pricked up and listening intently for a voice that wasn’t there.

Caelon heard it, a frustrated voice from a cell nearly across from him. Summoned like a ghost, he got to his feet, drifting over to the bars of said prisoner. A floor length gown pooling on the floor behind him as he walked. He blinked in surprise as he spotted the occupant. “Human?” He breathed out the word, almost curious. “I haven’t spoken human in years. Odd language, very elegant.” He cleared his throat, mind fumbling to recall the ancient volumes deep within the castle library.

“Holla, I am Prince Caelon. I has't not spoken this language since I wast a but a bawbling issue. Can thee und'rstand me?” He blinked again, staring through the bars owlishly.

Caelon squinted at the prisoner with a mix of confusion and disbelief. “I suppose the translation is old.” He fishes around in one of the gown’s pockets, pulling out an old book labeled Works of William Shakespeare. “I was lead to believe this is how most humans spoke.”

He wrapped his hands around the bars, peering inside the cell. “Your hair…? You seem quite young to be married.” Her hair was short. Not as short as his, but still short. A sign of marriage in the Somi culture.

Caelon couldn’t wrap his head around this human. He flinched a little when she had started yelling, ears drooping down. He took a step back from the bars, uncertain if approaching was a good idea at this point. “If you are… underage than why do you dwell here?” He gestured to the dungeon.

Theft… Caelon realized, studying the human. She was different, certainly, very confusing. It was hard enough for him to make sense of his surroundings on a good day, let alone while this human seemed to be bombarding his senses. But she was quite the opposite of the same. Of the usual fog and haze he spent the days stumbling through. “Your intentions were… honorable? You are an honorable thief?”

Saral glanced over at Zanna, her smile saddening as her shoulders dropped again. Back to that weariness. She couldn't seem to escape it, and being around the others was only helping in brief spurts, before returning to somewhat making it worse. Was it ever going to end? The cycle of TV static and drowning?

She tapped Zanna's arm, once, twice, three times, before letting her hand drop again. It was the most she could offer beyond words of comfort, and she knew Zanna wasn't much one for those.

Maybe that was the secret. Knowing the people around her so well, knowing what they could and couldn't handle. Maybe the trick was sticking together, even when she could barely stand to look at them without her heart shattering again, before the cheap glue she'd used to piece it back together could dry. They had been through so much already, hadn't they? Couldn't they face this, too? Together?

It might have been a stupid thought. But it sparked a different feeling, something she hadn't felt in a while. The feeling was barely a glimmer, but it was there. Hope. A resigned sort, but still.

Hopeful.

(Hey guys! Just passing on a message that Topaz has been sick all week. She’s going to try and be on as soon as she can but she still needs some time to bounce back.)

((i hope she gets better soon! beings sick is the absolute worst))

"I wasn't stealing… just… permanently borrowing," Charlotte explained. "Which reminds me… you're different than I thought you would be. Curious as ever. We've all been told stories of your 'terrible acts' back at home," she added, making quotation marks with her fingers. "But… it doesn't really seem like you're that bad, to be honest."

Caelon flinched and immediately recoiled, tripping over his gown as he staggered back from the bars. Eyes widened and teeth clenched. “The people speak kindly of me.” He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as tightly as possible. “I am the sullied blood of this family. I have brought rot upon the good name of our house.”

His eyes flew open now, wide once again, glazed over and hazy— reliving another time. A boy, green scales, laughter and calm. Death, devastation, locked away behind invisible bars.

“If you are looking for the only royal worth serving, you ought to speak with Princess Tallona.” He rasped, barely able to breath. “There are murderers in our court. Liars on the throne. Blood stains our curtains and taints our words.” His hands shook violently, as though the mere thought of it all was tearing him to ruins again.

((i hope she gets better soon! beings sick is the absolute worst))

(I’ll pass on the message! And Ikr :( I hate being sick.)

Zanna looked up as she felt Saral tap on her arm. They gave her a weak smile trying to tell her that they were okay. She couldn't do that, lie to her friend. They couldn't tell the truth either. She felt hopeless right now, but she knew it was temporary. They took a breath in and out before quietly saying, "Everything's going to be okay. It has to be."

Saral nodded, looking down at the ground. After a beat, she held out her hand, palm up, offering a simple form of comfort that had worked in the past. She hated not being able to do more, but she wasn't even sure how to do more. Or what that entailed. A hug, maybe, for someone who needed those. But Zanna wasn't the hug type most of the time. So Saral offered her hand instead. "It will. Eventually."

Zanna took Saral's hand with her prosthetic one after a moment of thought. They could tell Saral was trying to offer comfort and while it wasn't like they needed it, they really did need it, it couldn't hurt to accept the offer. She gave the hand a light squeeze silently telling Saral this was fine. They were all fine.

A cold sweat beaded on Caelon’s forehead as the prince snapped back to attention, hands still shaking. He moved without a word, gliding across the room to the keypad in a flourish, leaning over it and fumbling through a series of codes emblazoned into his brain. Charlotte’s cell door slid open moments later, bars deactivated. He stared at it for a moment before starting to make his way towards the stairs, slowly, as if uncertain of his own footsteps.