paradisalogs | she's seeing too clearly what she can't be; {open}

Who: Queen Anne Boleyn & YOU
What: Late night drunken wanderings in the snow. Who knows what will happen.
When: Tonight!
Where: Anywhere between the castle and in the City Royale.
Rating: PG, for now???

She feels ill. That is the only word that can describe it. Not just in her belly, but in her mind, her soul. She is ill with grief, and with longing. She is ill with knowing.

Anne stands before her glass mirror, darkened gaze staring at the flatness of her stomach. It carries nothing, she knows, but her shame. Will I never have a son? It is God's will that he ought to have a boy, for there must be a living image of his father. Of course, she thinks. Elizabeth had said her brother ruled.

But she had never said who the mother was.

Ill, ill, ill. She weeps, satin skirts wrinkled from her tight grips and tugs, so distraught there is nothing to do but tear at herself. She doesn't mar her own skin, her beautiful skin, because Henry would want her to stay beautiful. He would also want her to smile, but she cannot force it no matter how often she practices before that mirror. Even the wine doesn't help, and she drinks until her lips are stained as if painted rouge.

I am cursed. God has abandoned me, and my child.

But Anne doesn't want to think so. She wants to continue believing that this is naught but a dream. She wants nothing more than to hold feasts, to dance and laugh and be merry. To play with fairies and rule these people and be respected and loved. But she would have none of that. Not in England, and not here. She has only her daughter, and even that is now denied her. The childhood has escaped her, the ability to guide and love. Elizabeth is a woman grown now, with secrets that Anne can only dream about. And oh, does she dream, stretched out near the hearth in her drunken stupor. In her dreams, in her nightmares, the dragon eats her every time. And when she is consumed, Henry stabs the dragon through the heart as if to save her. But inside the beast's gut, she hears her daughter's scream, and she echoes the cry when the steel impales her as well. He is not aiming for the dragon, but for his forsaken wife. No, not forsaken. Null and void.

She is a bastard, and you are not my wife!

She awakens sweat soaked and shivering, gasping for breath and holding one hand over her heart, the other over her neck. Behind her, the fire has dwindled, and she can once more feel the cold creeping into her bones. But she ignores it, standing and reaching for her favorite cloak, the dark blue velvet lined with pearls. It comforts her now, and helps shield her disheveled appearance, as she steals out into the night.

Anne doesn't know where she is going, but she knows she cannot remain here. This castle is born of magic, of curses, and it's infecting her. So she seeks out the city, despite the late hour, hoping to clear her head in the frigid air. Her steps are slow, unsteady, but she carries on, her eyes unseeing while her feet blindly guide her through the streets.

Someone will have answers, or someone will be punished. For the moment she would find pleasure in either goal.

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She just has to favor him with another laugh at his admission of ignorance. Well, it is good, because it would never do to act equal for too very long before a queen. Liking this fellow more and more, nevermind the alcohol's influence, she tilts her head in exaggerated thought before once more tugging on his hand to pull him further down the street.

"Perhaps while you walk me back to the castle, yes? Or was that an empty offer?"

Edited 2013-03-10 00:32 (UTC)

He thought he must have done something right if she was agreeing to go back to the castle. It came as a relief actually, since he didn't have many other options for her out at that hour. Not to mention the generous switch to a more casual tone.

"No, I can handle that." Spike probably wasn't the kind of company she usually kept, but even after spending the night in a bar, he knew how to act like a bodyguard. "We might even beat the sunrise."

Slowing again once they reach the more well-worn path of the street, knowing of the larger ice patches now, Anne naturally slows even in this state, letting go of his hand just long enough for her to loop her arm through his.

"Is the hour truly so abysmal? Perhaps we might simply be seen as early rising, devout Christians."

That got an honest laugh out of Spike, so hopefully she meant it as a joke. He had nothing against religious types, but the activities he'd had in churches didn't have a lot to do with the Bible. "Maybe if they don't get within ten feet."

Nothing was said about her attaching her arm to him, or the different impression it gave to anyone walking by. He didn't really care what anyone thought in the first place.

While religion is no laughing matter, anything can be funny when drunk. And this is no exception, as she chuckles alongside and peers around them on the occasion they might pass an alley or particularly dark section of street.

"They ought not to question our pairing, do you think? Royalty always needs an escort. Are you not dressed well for your time?"

It was funnier that the way he was dressed was the first thing she thought of, when he was talking about the alcohol that anyone passing by could smell. He didn't bring it up beyond an amused shrug.

"I'm sure they won't say anything about it."

Hey she is certain she smells lovely, thank you. You know, before all the alcohol. But that affects a great many things, including both her whimsy and paranoia.

"Do they ever say anything about anything?"

Spike tended to be quieter the more he drank, so she might have had him beat there. It wasn't really fair that he had a high tolerance though. That also excused him less for anything he was doing there.

"What do you mean?" Generally, she was right, but he seemed to be more invested in her musing than he was when he first ran into her.

"I mean it can be difficult to tell which people are all the more queer; those from the castle or those from the city."

He hummed to himself, like he was really taking that observation into consideration. Almost all of them had something off as part of the price of admission.

"Being from the castle, I guess we should judge the city folk."

"But they are my subjects as much as any, are they not? Their lives are worth protecting, and their security worth guaranteeing."

Still, they are queer, and it's going to infuriate her somewhere deep down that they don't acknowledge her as their matriarch until the day she leaves.

She pats his shoulder.

"I need them as much as they need me."

"You're going to need a bigger army." An offhand remark. Protection isn't something so easy to come by for any of them. Although, to be fair, they'd never had a queen take the thrown either.

The comment makes her bite her lip, though it can hardly be felt for all she is numb. Another pat against his shoulder, though harder, almost followed with a disapproving tone.

"Can the castle residents not be considered the army? I have seen how many unique individuals there are, all with differing levels of useful powers and abilities."

Being a perceptive guy, Spike picked up on the subtle hints to stay off the subject. Since he was being nice, and since he was used to keeping his controversial opinions to himself, he didn't mind giving her a break. Better not to get into his view on the castle's residents with 'powers and abilities' anyway.

"Yeah, they're something else."

Anne raises her eyebrow in his direction before lifting her other hand to tug her hood back over her head. "You are not excluded, bounty hunter."

"I'm afraid I don't have any powers," he mentioned, just to get that on the table. And maybe hint at his own unwelcome subject.

She's quick to shake her head, her hand moving from his shoulder to tug her falling hood back up once more to shield her profile somewhat.

"I speak not merely of magic powers, sir. Any brute can smash things. Resourceful skills are most required."

He could tell what she was doing, even if it wasn't entirely successful in hiding her face. It was smart, so he tried not to take offense. She didn't know about the handful of people here who would be happy to see him stay dead. Image aside, she should keep her associations minimal.

"Glad to hear it."

His minimalistic response seems well enough to her, so that she just continues to stare ahead, sometimes glancing around at the occasional sound or odd shadow, and loses herself in thoughts long since proven useless or fantastical. Some involve returning home, others concentrate on what to do here, including either slaying the dragon or protecting it. Anything for Elizabeth.

She finds herself humming a the beginnings of a foreign lullaby to herself, something Elizabeth had liked, though considering she soon rests her cheek against his shoulder, it's easily heard by Spike. Anne is no amateur in the arts of music, and it isn't just limited to instruments. Though unsteady, she has no issue with keeping in key and rhythm, so soothed by her own thoughts and hardly paying any attention to the man at her side.

His own thoughts were drifting somewhere less pleasant in the silence, at least until he heard a sound. The music seemed to come from far away at first, but by the time she rested her head, it occurred to him that she was humming. It was a pleasant enough melody. Sweet and nostalgic for something that was past his recollection.

He did nothing to interrupt, just kept his eyes in the direction of the castle, and walked her silently through the street.

she's seeing too clearly what she can't be; {open}

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