You Should See Me in a Crown

[Rosalind Smith]

Prompt List

• Welcome
• Blood
• Family
• Neutral
• Shadow
• WORDS
• WORDS
• WORDS
• WORDS
• WORDS

[Rosalind Smith]

W E L C O M E

Rosalind's kitchen was what one would describe as 'cozy'. The cabinets had glass windows where one could see the neatly lined rows of mugs, cups, plates and bowls, and the weathered white paint on the wood seemed brighter somehow against the myriad of plants that hung from various spaces in the room. A string of off-white lights (fairy lights, they were called, ironically) were pinned over the window at the sink and beyond, giving the space a pleasant warm glow. There was only a single hanging light fixture positioned directly over the table providing light at the moment, where Rosalind currently sat, papers with notes on them strewn about as she worked in near-silence. The only sound came from the rain as it tapped against the skylight; sometimes loud, sometimes not. Currently, it was a steady drizzle, but rolling thunder in the distance suggested that peace may not last for very long.

She set her pen down after a while, sitting back on the stool to stretch. How long had she been working? She must've lost track of time, but she was going over notes for her newest greenhouse additions. As the seasons changed, so did availability, and she needed to ensure that she was stocked up on what she wanted before she had to resort to going against the natural order of things. It wasn't that she couldn't, but she preferred not to. Rosalind felt that too many of her kind didn't respect the things they wielded dominion over, and it lead them down paths of destruction in the end. Honestly, it was not hard to tell that she was royalty - Rosalind had a way of looking down on others, even other Fae, and it was something that had been ingrained into her from birth. And that was a long time ago. 

Rosalind got up finally, going to the cabinet to get a mug for some tea. As she closed it, she caught movement in the reflection of the glass on the door, and whipped around quickly, mug released as both of her hands raised. The ceramic shattered against something and every plant in the kitchen was tensed and strained, a violent overgrowth just moments from bursting out of their pots.

"That was a little dramatic, don't you think?" Taranis asked, arms up to shield himself against the mug unsuccessfully. He lowered his first, brushing himself off. "You throw a lot harder than I recall," he said smoothly.

"Why are you in my house? Uninvited?" she asked, emphasizing that his presence had not been requested. She still didn't lower her hands, but the green in her eyes became less vibrant, the colour returning to the hazel they usually were.

Taranis chuckled. "Well, your policy, as I recall it, is that I am always welcome, so I didn't think I needed an invitation. Certainly didn't think I'd be received quite so violently," he added.

"My policy is that all Fae are welcome, Taranis. Not you exclusively," she said. She did drop her hands then, realizing that if he meant to start a fight it would have already started. "What do you want?" she asked with a sigh, hand raised now as if to say 'what the fuck'. She walked past him to the small pantry and pulled a broom out from it, ushering him out of the way so she could sweep up her mug.

"Just thought I'd pop by for a visit is all," he said, narrowly avoiding getting smacked with the broom as she began aggressively sweeping. "Do you want me to fix that for you, or - Oh, okay then," he said, as she stared directly at him and dumped the dust pan into the trash and let the lid slap down as loudly as possible.

"That act may work on some of the younger Fae, but I'm not them," she reminded him. "Now come on, what do you want?"

He stared at her for a moment in silence. On one hand, it was irritating that she felt the need to inform him who she was; he was older than her kingdom, older than most of Fae written history. And yet, of all the royals, and Seelie, he'd dealt with over the years that were long lost, she was probably one of the ones he had the most... amicable thoughts about. It wasn't a friendship by any means, but Taranis respected someone who knew what they were about, and Sorcha Blackwood, or whatever she chose to call herself these days, definitely knew what she was about.

"Alright, I need a f-", he started, and then stopped himself. He shook his head, a wry smile on his face, and then looked back at her, fixing his green eyes firmly on her. "I need some assistance, Rosalind. If you're willing."

"Hmm, you really almost fucked up there, for a second," she said, smirking. "Wouldn't want a repeat of the last time you asked someone for the f-word, would we?" She folded her arms, but didn't come any closer to him.

"Yes, I don't need any reminders," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Will you sit with me?"

"Sit with you?" she parroted.

"Yes, sit with me. And talk. Discuss this thing I may have need for. I'll make it worth your time, even if you say no," he offered. He held his hand out, gesturing to the stool that she'd been sitting in.

"I always feel like I'm in talks for a bargain with the devil when you ask me to sit and talk with you," she said pointedly. Rosalind felt no need to hold back from him; she never did with anyone. The reason they came to her was usually for healing, which typically meant they were not coming from a position of power. With Taranis, obviously that was not the case, however it didn't change that critical way she stared at him or how she chose to speak.

"Lucky for us, we don't believe in the devil," he said. "Now please, sit?"

[Rosalind Smith]

F A M I L Y

"Can I ask you something without you getting mad" Cory said, leaning forward on the dark wood of his aunt's kitchen table. He was seated atop a chair with a shaggy off-white cushion on it, something that looked more like it should be on the floor in front of a fireplace than on a chair, but it somehow complimented the decor. Across from him sat Rosalind, perched on a wooden bench that didn't match the wood of the table. It was like her entire home had been decorated by some fairy-cabin-cottage-aesthetic-loving Brownie. Cory had never seen anything quite like it. Nothing matched, but everything somehow went together.

Rosalind nodded, reaching for the tall glass of ice water she'd brought out for them to have with dinner. Cory had, of course, timed this loaded question when her mouth was full, knowing she wouldn't have a chance to shoot back an answer. Of course, that wasn't her style, but since he was only just getting to know her for the past few months, he assumed she was more like his father than she really was.

"Why don't you and dad talk? I mean, I understand what happened when you were younger, that there's bad blood. I know that sounds like I'm drastically summarizing, but what I mean is, like. I don't know. He's not... all bad. He tries. I think, especially with the way things are now - " he stuttered, then shrugged. "I haven't always been the best son, and I was pretty hard on him. Some of it was deserved, but you know, I'm trying. And mom and him can be in the same room now, you know. I just thought, maybe... " he trailed off, looking down at his plate. Cory had all the makings of a grown Fae, but he was still adolescent in so many ways. At the moment, the scene was more like a teenager talking to an adult than two Fae on equal footing.

Rosalind set her glass down, and said simply, "Hm." She knew the question would come eventually. When he'd first showed up at her doorstep it had been unsurprising; Cory had been following her around for weeks, trying to work up the courage to approach her. Emma had warned her he might, because to the knowledge of absolutely nobody, she still kept up with her ex-husband's estranged sister. She'd told her Cory had started asking questions about their family history, and the Unseelie side had been shockingly less full of scandal than he anticipated. She had told him that the Seelie court was far more clandestine with information than hers had ever been, which naturally inspired him to go digging around all sorts of family history documents. Rosalind had known it would only be a matter of time.

"I'm not like - please don't think this is me pressuring you to, you know, talk to him or anything," Cory said, attempting to talk and fill the empty space that hung between them.

His need to not sit in silence and let people have their thoughts made Rosalind laugh. "You are your father's son," she said with a wry smile and a shake of her head. She reached out now, not for the glass of water she had, but for a wine glass that had until this point sat unattended, and pulled it towards her by the stem. "Hand me that?" she said, gesturing to a bottle of red wine behind him on the kitchen counter. He, with his massive reach, barely had to turn in his chair to seize the bottle, and he handed it to her wordlessly.

Rosalind grunted in thanks, popping the cork with ease and allowing the room to continue to hang in pause while she filled her glass about halfway. Once she had done that, she took a long drink of it, then sighed. "I understand that you aren't pressuring me," she said, knowing that reassuring this boy who was still in development mode was probably paramount. It was clear, without him even having said anything, that he and Alistair had a tense relationship. When he said they were both trying to do better, she understood from Emma, and from his own indications whether he realized it or not, how recent that change was. This kid had only ever known instability. Rosalind could relate.

"And I don't feel like by you being naturally curious that I am obligated to act in any way that would be harmful to me. But, Cory, as much as my brother and you are working towards healing and mending your relationship, he and I do not have that same common goal." It felt strange to say it out loud. She had always known there was never any going back, but so much time had passed that she rarely probed at those feelings.

"Never?" Cory asked. He looked more confused than disappointed, though that was probably there, too.

"Never is a long time to our kind," she said, "but I don't foresee any future where that changes. And I don't want to give you false hope by saying otherwise."

Cory sat with that information for a moment, like he hadn't expected her to be so direct with it. Alistair was so much more diplomatic and tended not to answer things except in roundabout ways. He was truly a product of his court. Rosalind might have been, too, if she'd stayed, but she was so divorced from that reality that she didn't know if she'd ever be able to go back (this wasn't an entirely true assessment; she had been able to slip right into the steely coldness that was the Seelie way as effortlessly as ever when confronted with threats from Taranis).

"I guess I had just hoped maybe there was some thing that you could hear or know, or something he could say that would make you come back," he admitted. "And, it does suck to hear that there isn't. I just..." he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "I wanted to have a family."

"Cory," she said, her voice flat. "You do have a family."

"Well, I don't think it's fair that you should feel like you can't come home, you know? I want a more better family," he spat.

Rosalind tried not to laugh, but her expression made Cory laugh at the way he'd phrased that, and so she did. "Just because Alistair and I don't speak doesn't mean that I will ever stop being your aunt, or loving you so much, Cormac. I am so very glad that you found me. Nothing, no time or distance, can erase our blood. We are still family, even if it's not all in one place and as perfect as you'd have hoped."

Cory got up from the chair and came to sit next to her. "I just don't want dad to find out and run you off, again," he said. His facial expression was hard, but she could see his eyes get a little glassy, and she held her arms out to him, where he swiftly dove in, more reminiscent of a child hugging a parent than the rigid teen he was.

  Rosalind almost told him that Alistair physically couldn't, but realized that it wouldn't do any good. "He won't," she assured her nephew, patting his back gently as they hugged.