Roleplay

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/0lJQlAr.png[/img][/center] Fortune did not smile upon him, as Pasque's memory returned in a flashed. Josurr smiled what was more of a grimace, though before he could reply, Pasque was darting down the corridor towards the looming doors that marked entry into the Afternoon Court. "[b]Pasque![/b]" he shouted after him, feeling abruptly responsible for the young fae despite having met him moments ago. He would have been ashamed to be associated with Pasque in front of anyone important, though on the other hand he didn't trust the flora to not run headlong into danger — as he was surely doing now. The Afternoon Court had not been very welcoming when he'd come by three days prior, and had brushed aside his issues and set him up in one of the guest rooms to rot. "[b]They could already be gone![/b]" he tried to remind the other fae as he gait slipped into a half-jog to pursue him. With any good luck they would be, though Josurr severely doubted either of them would even be granted audience with the Afternoon King. There was no way Pasque could wiggle his way into the Afternoon King's chambers, and this little adventure would meet its end at a guard. Josurr felt silent as they stepped into the Afternoon Court. It was intimidating, particularly compared to the serenity of the Morning Court. This was how he would have pictured the Four Courts to be designed: showy and excessive. Everything was decorated in antler designs lest anyone forget who ruled over the Afternoon Court. Josurr had never seen Goldhorn in the flesh, but everything he knew about him thus far screamed that he must have antlers. The fauna was quietly stepping after Pasque as the other fae strode right on up to the guards and asked them in a dear voice if they could have a pass. Josurr colored, looking else where and leaving space between him and Pasque, acting best as he could to not be associated with the flora. However one of the guards spoke in a gentle timbre and Josurr's head snapped back as he [i]bowed[/i], addressing Pasque as [i]sir[/i]. The fauna's lips parted in shock. No one would even think of referring to him this way, and while it was clearing up that Pasque wasn't a baseborn, his parental couldn't possibly be as impressive as [i]his[/i]. Josurr muffled his shock beneath a light laugh, jerking as Pasque patted his shoulder. "[b][i]Sir?[/i][/b]" he murmured as they walked inside, doing his best to iron out the jealousy in his voice and try to sound playful. Pasque bravely asked an attendant where to find a license signer, and as they'd gotten this far, it was little surprise that the attendant simply waved them towards the majestic middle door. He followed Pasque within in the room, beginning to feel the pinpricks of fear as the door closed behind them. They shouldn't be here. This was very, very bad. Josurr's heart pounded and he crossed his arms tightly across his chest. There were muffled voices coming from one of the rooms, and dread poured through him as Pasque made a beeline for it. As Pasque's hand hit the door Josurr jolted. They couldn't be doing this. "[b]Pasque—[/b]" he started, the word frantic and trembling, though the flora fae poked his head right on inside. Josurr could barely look, but he had no choice but the follow. He gripped his sleeves though his fingers trembled regardless. The vision pulled his confidence beneath him and he felt so nauseous he might have hurled, if only that wasn't the one thing that would make the situation even worse. Standing in the room was Goldhorn, of course, dressed in gold with giant antlers branching from his temples. His face was pinched into an expression of fury and Josurr was certain there was no worse time they could have intruded. The fauna's face was paler than usual and he felt so small, so far away from home — which is what he had wanted, but not like this. He could barely look at the fae beside Goldhorn, his pale eyes lighting over the Night King before immediately looking away. Blackthorn looked exactly as he had always known. Imposing and terrible, the picture of an Unseelie, some sort of yawning open splitting his throat. His white eyes were the only familiarity about him and Josurr dug his nails into his sleeve, staring pointedly at Goldhorn's shoulder — a safe place to look. "[b]I will [i]not[/i] be hasty—[/b]" Goldhorn's voice attempted to roar over Blackthorn's, though bit his tongue as a thicket of brambles overtook the Night King's body. As Blackthorn vanished, Goldhorn snarled, his head whipping towards Pasque and Josurr. Josurr managed to lift his gaze to stare into the King's golden irises, though his mind was utterly blank. Blackthorn had been here and then gone, and the overwhelming nature of his presence made Josurr want to be alone and collapse. Now that they were here, there was no going back, despite how little Josurr cared about that damned certificate any longer. Goldhorn regarded him for scarcely a moment before his eyes flashed to Pasque. "[b]Hawthorn's child,[/b]" he stated tersely, brow still furrowed and nose wrinkled in latent fury. The King's shoulders lifted in a sigh and he exhaled slowly. "[b]What do you need?[/b]"

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/0lJQlAr.png[/img][/center] Goldhorn's words echoed through him and Josurr turned his head expectantly to Pasque, his plain face screwed up in confusion. Hawthorn — the Morning King. Josurr didn't have a face to fit the name, but he knew of Hawthorn's reputation. He was the spineless King, the one who had originally served in the Seelie Court opposite of Blackthorn and had been subjected to the Nightmare's domination. The name didn't leave a good taste in Josurr's mouth and he didn't have much innate respect for Hawthorn. But still, Pasque being his [i]son[/i] was a shocking enough revelation, and it settled uncomfortably on top of glimpsing Blackthorn for the first time. Josurr typically found his energy in flitting between social groups, but abruptly he was drained, at a loss for words for once. A soft voice made him jump; he hadn't even noticed the fae breach the room, his frame was so small and his presence so delicate. The new fae was rather simple in his physique though he most certainly wasn't a servant. Goldhorn's irritation had been swept away the moment the flora fae had spoken, replaced by a look of longing. "[b]Rowan,[/b]" the King murmured, and the way his throat tightened as he did so made Josurr want to bolt immediately. They were intruding upon something very severe, something which they never should have walked into. Rowan addressed Pasque but not himself, a fact which normally would have stung, though Josurr had grown so anxious he scarcely minded. The flora fae's voice was a leaf in the wind, so hollow that it made Josurr wary. He wanted to know nothing about him. All he wanted was for him to go away and to be out of Goldhorn's presence. Not even the Afternoon guest rooms were feeling safe right now, and Josurr was beginning to wonder if he would have really appreciated the Courts after all. Fortunately Rowan seemed to recognize the horribleness of the situation and bid them to leave. Relief flooded Josurr and he hastened to bow after Pasque did so, rising as the flora fae turned to shove him out the door. Back out in the room, he felt like he could breath again, but only marginally. Josurr gladly sunk down in the chair Pasque had directed him to and he stared distantly past the other fae. Pasque was prattling about the odd fae Rowan, to which Josurr could only give a numb shrug. "[b]I... don't know,[/b]" he replied, before remembering that he was supposed to be some sort of medic. Josurr shook himself back to the present, away from his thoughts of Blackthorn. "[b]It's nothing like I've seen before. He's just... lifeless.[/b]" It truly wasn't anything he'd even glimpsed before, or hoped to see again. Everything about the scene they'd observed unnerved him; it was too much to take in. As soon as Pasque mentioned [i]that other guy[/i] Josurr jerked. "[b]The Night King?[/b]" Josurr asked sharply. He forced a shaky grin to his face, resting his chin on his hand. "[b]Not all fae with white eyes are related, Pasque,[/b]" the fauna teased, though beneath his words his heart clambered. It was impossible for him to know. The flora fae had asked with such strange certainty; no one else would have ever made the connection that their white eyes linked them, as it was strange to group progeny based on physical features. He hardly looked anything like Blackfeather, or anything like Blackthorn save for the coincidence of the eyes. Of course, he wasn't the one who should have been defensive about his parentage. "[b]What about you?[/b]" Josurr prompted, flashing Pasque a look. "[b][i]Hawthorn's child[/i], [i]Sir[/i]... were you planning on mentioning you're what... a prince?[/b]" Even saying the word caused the seed of jealousy to sprout within him. The fact that the guards and Goldhorn and the fae Rowan had known who he was meant that Hawthorn had claimed him in some way. How fortunate. [center]~[/center] He had reached the end of his rope in dealing with Blackthorn, and they had not even embarked yet. If it was not for the Unseelie's expertise, Goldhorn would have refused to tolerate his company; Blackthorn had never cared for Rowan, and were it not for his influence they never would have been in this scenario. It was still difficult to swallow that he had lended to Rowan's deterioration as well. The fact would hit him whenever he was left alone with his thoughts and it was crippling. He would have never hurt Rowan. He was his protector, his guardian. It was Blackthorn who had corrupted them, and the Nightmare King had no stake in whether Rowan lived or died. He would let Rowan fade just to watch Goldhorn crumble, the fae was certain of it. On top of that Hawthorn's spawn had picked the most inopportune time to bother him. Rowan, who was beloved by the attendants, had told him Hawthorn had taken his child to Court — a handsome young flora, though Goldhorn had promptly ceased to care after that. He was accompanied by an attendant or serving boy or some sort who was entirely inconsequential. Only for Hawthorn would Goldhorn had attempted to tame his temper to cope with whatever it was the boy needed from him, but Rowan's soft voice had stolen all of his rage from him. The children forgotten, Goldhorn's eyes had locked upon his Counter's delicate body, so different from how he remembered Rowan in his mind. How many years he had taken Rowan's voice for granted, never realizing it was the most beautiful sound he knew. A world without it felt hollow, impossible — it was not a possibility Goldhorn was willing to let himself admit, though the longer Rowan lapsed into unconsciousness, the more the reality choked him. "[b]Rowan,[/b]" he breathed, stepping to the flora fae. Rowan, so sweet and so diplomatic even with the few breaths he had, dismissed the pair of boys from the room. Goldhorn didn't watch them go, instead reaching out to cup Rowan's cheek, gazing into the other fae's eyes. The infinite whiteness now seemed blank staring back at him. "[b]I didn't want to wake you,[/b]" he said softly. Blackthorn had been badgering him to go, but the thought of leaving without bidding Rowan farewell terrified Goldhorn. It wouldn't happen — he wouldn't let it — but the idea he could come back and Rowan would never wake up haunted him. He drifted his hand to the back of Rowan's head, delicately pulling it closer to him to press a kiss to his forehead. "[b]I will be leaving with Blackthorn soon,[/b]" he murmured after allowing the kiss to linger. Rowan's pith was not there to calm the anxiety that tore at his stomach, though Goldhorn wasn't sure if it would have helped regardless. "[b]I don't know how long we'll be gone,[/b]" he said, his throat tightening again. His words were a rasp, the emotion scraping him raw. "[b]But there will not be a moment I don't think of you.[/b]" It was pointless to ask Rowan to hang on, but the silent plea lingered beneath the surface. He only needed a little more time, a little more to fight for what he hadn't before.

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/0lJQlAr.png[/img][/center] Pasque's childlike ignorance was more concerning that whatever fate befell the fae inside the room. Josurr stared at him as the flora fae pondered so calmly about the nature of death. Josurr had never witnessed anyone die, but he was certain it couldn't always be like that. He had never heard of his ancestors becoming husk-like and slowly drifting off to death. Even Blackfeather who was mad, catatonically so, was not said to be in the grips of death, if Josurr had understood well. He didn't often like to think of death and he certainly didn't like to think of it like this. The dying fae made him uncomfortable and he was grateful they'd left the room, back immersed in an air where they didn't have to stare such horrible things in the face. But it was Pasque's odd words that confused him so. "[b]This world?[/b]" Josurr echoed, utterly lost. There were two realms about them, the Eins and the Drei, though the Eins was a distant world filled with all-knowing souls, and the Drei was a glorified dumping grounds that Blackthorn had been locked in. Josurr lifted his head from his fist as Pasque drew closer. His curiosity was odd and infectious, and it was difficult to resist taking on a teacherly voice. There was little Josurr knew that everyone else didn't, he'd admit, and Pasque's oddities made him feel more mature and wise. "[b]No, most definitely not. Death can happen in a moment. He must be... very sick.[/b]" Though even as he said it, it made no sense to him. They were in the [i]Courts[/i], and the fae seemed beloved by a [i]King[/i]; surely there was an appropriate healer that could be fetched. There were very few illnesses that were beyond hope for a cure, and it made Josurr nauseous to see someone who had perhaps contracted one. They sounded so distant in the realm he had grown up in. He had not been expecting Pasque's outburst and Josurr jumped in his seat as the other fae whipped about so abruptly. Josurr's jaw dropped as Pasque asked if Hawthorn was a [i]king[/i] — there was surely, [i]surely[/i], no corner of the world that did not know the name Hawthorn. And yet Pasque's shock was so earnest. "[b]An [i]accountant[/i]?[/b]" Josurr squawked. "[b]How could you think he was an [i]accountant[/i]?[/b]" If Hawthorn was going to hide the truth from Pasque, an accountant seemed like the most ridiculous career to select. There was no part of ruling and being an accountant that overlapped; moreover no reason why Hawthorn would be kept away from home and could not attend to his child, and it then occurred to Josurr that perhaps Pasque was not so wanted after all. Despite the sadness of it, the thought warmed him. It was not so unusual for kings to not want their children, then. At least his father did not lie to him that he was an [i]accountant[/i]. Josurr frowned when Pasque said seven years. "[b]How old are you?[/b]" he asked. The other boy looked similar to him; seven years ago he was nine, and that was plenty old enough to realize the gravity of his father's job. "[b]So you came here to... see your father, the accountant? Why were you knocked out?[/b]" Nothing in Pasque's story made any sense, but at least they were starting to get somewhere. If Hawthorn was as spineless as his family said, perhaps there was some prodigal resemblance after all. [center]~[/center] Rowan's voice tore at him from within, a sort of pain that he had not felt since so long now. How often had Rowan spoken his name; it seemed countless, entirely inconsequential, though always brimmed with admiration that had sated him. As weak as it was now, he could still feel the emotion underneath — or perhaps that was what he wanted to hear, to hold onto Rowan's love and strength until it was forcibly pulled from him. Rowan's touch was so light upon his arms, but it was everything. Goldhorn didn't dare to move as his sleeves were gripped, as if the slightest tremor would be enough to shatter Rowan. He had never been able to touch him as he now yearned to. Every time he held him, caressed him, Goldhorn was gripped with the fear Rowan would crumble in his arms. Breaking things had always come more naturally to him than fixing them. Rowan's body leaned into his and Goldhorn gently wrapped his arms around Rowan's feeble form. Already Rowan felt like a spirit, impossible to cling to. Emotion seeped through him at Rowan's words. Goldhorn almost didn't want to hear it. He'd been aggressive the entire length of Rowan's fade, refusing to listen to those who wanted him to prepare for the worst. He even swatted away the words when they came from Rowan's tongue; he would not treat him like he was gone when he was still alive. Though now they felt more poignant, more real. Rowan had deteriorated so much even since he'd returned to the Afternoon Court. Every sentence felt like a farewell as Goldhorn didn't know if there'd be another one to follow. He felt strangled, running his fingers against Rowan's back. "[b]I will return as soon as I can,[/b]" he promised, not willing to acknowledge that they could perhaps be missing one another far beyond the length of his journey. From Rowan's voice he could tell that the smaller fae was crying and Goldhorn had to blink to contain the tears himself. There was no need for them. Things had not ended yet, and he would not allow Blackthorn to see the destruction he had wrought. "[b]No,[/b]" he rasped, attempting to cut Rowan off. He had apologized so much, apologized for absolutely nothing. There was no point in regret. Goldhorn could have wallowed in the wrongs he'd committed, though none of it would remedy Rowan's fate. There could be no dwelling upon it. "[b]None of this is because of you.[/b]" His tone took on an edge. Rowan would not fade carrying the burden of Blackthorn's sins. "[b]And I will fix it. I will protect you, I swear.[/b]" He would protect him, as he always thought he had. Goldhorn stilled as Rowan mentioned the day they met. Admittedly the memory was fuzzed, ravaged by grief and fury. Rowan had been a mere servant's child then, somehow unremarkable. It was not the tender first meeting Goldhorn wished it could have been, and guilt seized him as Rowan proclaimed he had always known. Whatever Rowan had felt, he couldn't imagine. Perhaps the same emotion had been within him as well, just buried beneath the pain. Even if that was the case, it didn't matter. He wished he could have told him that he had always felt the same, but the words would never come. Goldhorn would lie to anyone else, but it pained him to lie to Rowan. "[b]It won't go away,[/b]" the king asserted. "[b]I will never let anyone take it away. I want... this.[/b]" The words came out choked. "[b]I want every memory of you.[/b]" It was hard to look into Rowan's eyes. They were an empty winter within his sallow face, a mere glimmer of the Rowan he had known. "[b]You have not failed,[/b]" Goldhorn whispered back. "[b]I have failed you, in not realizing that happiness sooner.[/b]" Once, he would have felt pride at being called the Sun, being told his purpose was great. It was what he had been born believing. Yet now the words were hollow. He felt neither bright nor strong, as if there was no purpose to shining at all. He wouldn't burden Rowan with his sorrow. If it made Rowan happy to believe he would still shine after his death, Goldhorn wouldn't argue. Giving Rowan peace was the only thing left for him to do, as the time had long faded where he could have brought him happiness. He said nothing and shut his eyes as Rowan pressed their lips together. Rowan was cold but it was all too easy to imagine him warm, to imagine his face healthy and glowing when he opened his eyes again. When Rowan spoke he blinked them open, and it wasn't so. "[b]I have,[/b]" Goldhorn said softly. Rowan was still concerned for him, as though Goldhorn wouldn't have walked through the mire with his feet bare. The next comment made his brows furrow — the simple boy Hawthorn's son had been with, waiting on a signature for his certificate. Had it been anyone else he would have bellowed, but Rowan softened him, and the king gave the slightest of nods in agreement. "[b]I will before I go.[/b]" All of the healers in the world meant nothing to him if they could not cure the fade, least of all this one, fresh-faced and intrusive. Goldhorn tensed at the word [i]Blackthorn[/i] and his fury bled into the sorrow. Had it not been for Blackthorn none of this would have been necessary; Rowan would have been at his side, and even if they didn't have love at least they would have had peace. Rowan was right in that Blackthorn was what he had always been and always would be. It would be thrice now that Blackthorn had robbed him of what he loved. Goldhorn had been powerless to save the first two, though the third was not yet beyond his fingertips. He was not so delusion that he'd think Blackthorn's presence on this trip had anything to do with sympathy for Rowan or even Blackfeather. The Night King was cruelty and insanity, and nothing would change it. Goldhorn didn't respond to the statement, merely giving a long exhale. Blackthorn would always haunt him, twisting him with his words and turning the days to night. It was inevitable. A lump formed in his throat as Rowan promised he felt well. He did not look well, and each time he fell into somnus it was longer and longer before he awoke. Goldhorn reached up, brushing his thumb against the dried tears. "[b]Please wait for me,[/b]" the king husked, feeling tears finally prick his eyes. "[b]I will do everything for you, please... wait.[/b]" He had held on so long, if only he could for a little longer still. Goldhorn swallowed thickly, finally unwrapping his arms from Rowan's body lest he cry. With Rowan no longer against him felt as though something had been taken from him, the pit of his stomach once again sick and empty. Goldhorn held onto to Rowan's upper sleeve, unable to pull himself away completely. "[b]I love you,[/b]" he said, and regretted how watery the statement was. It was not how it should have been.

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/0lJQlAr.png[/img][/center] Josurr had never heard the phrase [i]Zwei years[/i] in his life, or [i]Drei years[/i] for that matter. "[b]What?[/b]" he said flatly. This was probably the simplest question he could have asked, and still Pasque made it convoluted. Though as he stared at Pasque, the gears began to turn. Nothing Pasque said made any sense; he was completely clueless, didn't know Hawthorn was a king, didn't know how fae [i]died[/i] ('in this world,' of course) — he was an inexplicably odd individual, though really so was Hawthorn. The former Seelie King had sent himself into exile rather than continue to serve opposing Blackthorn. He'd cast himself into the Drei world, which was a realm Josurr knew little of beyond that it contained much less powerful creatures who could shift between forms but were pathetic with magic. "[b]Did you live on Drei?[/b]" Josurr asked him, studying Pasque's expression. His thoughts ran rampant through his head; if he was [i]conceived[/i] on Drei, it would make sense why he counted his age in Drei years. Of course that would also mean that Hawthorn coupled with a drey to produce a child, though that only invited more questions as Josurr hadn't a clue how a drey-born could survive in the Zwei world. Pasque certainly looked fae and was named appropriately too. However it was not enough to patch up all of the inconsistencies in Pasque. Josurr tilted his head as Pasque's pleasant mood faded. Clearly they were touching upon something personal and Josurr hungered for more. Pasque's parental issues drew him in like a flame. No one in his youth had ever sympathized with him — nor would he have asked them to — and to stumble upon someone who hurt in the same way made his wounds feel better. Josurr didn't feel guilty in the least for profiting from Pasque's pain, and readily prodded. "[b]What did you think his name was?[/b]" he asked, all the while feeling the relief that such an atrocity had not befallen him. At least he was not so bad off that he knew [i]nothing[/i] of his parentage, not even their names or what they did. Of course Pasque's had brought him to Court which was something, but did it really remedy all Hawthorn had done to him? No, of course not. It couldn't. Josurr wouldn't lose his compatriot in wallowing. [i]What was he liked[/i], the flora fae asked. Josurr contemplated; the things he knew about Hawthorn were not terribly flattering, and he didn't want to chase Pasque from his side. "[b]Well, he's a Seelie fae,[/b]" the boy began. "[b]My family are Unseelies. They're very different.[/b]" It was hard to tell Pasque that Seelie fae had rather weak willpower and were bound in a hive mind to tradition, which was something that typically went without explanation. "[b]I've never met him. I've heard he's quiet, though. Not good with war, or making decisions. He didn't want to fight the casteless, even though they were about to attack.[/b]" Josurr shrugged. "[b]He likes plants, and he rides about on a peryton.[/b]" It felt as good of a summary for Hawthorn as one could get. Josurr frowned suddenly. "[b]You have met him though, haven't you? What was he like then?[/b]" It couldn't have been much different. No one ever really changed. He nearly jumped out of his skin as the door opened. Josurr's hands gripped the arm of the chair as the Afternoon King stepped into the room. The fury had been sapped from his expression and he looked tired, not tired as the lifeless fae did, but worn. His golden eyes flitted from Pasque to Josurr, and though he paused, Josurr got the inclination he was looking through him rather than at him. "[b]You have a certificate?[/b]" Goldhorn asked, weary. Josurr didn't know how he'd known. Still, he wouldn't miss this opportunity. With the King right before him Josurr's heart was pounding again and he hastily dug the certificate out from his back pocket — it was wrinkled by now, but the time tables were clear and signed, which he assumed was what was most important. Josurr handed it to Goldhorn, the lump in his throat strangling him. "[b]Thank you,[/b]" he forced out, averting his gaze else where. Regardless of whether or not it was rude to stare a King in the face, it was hard to look Goldhorn in the eyes. However the long silence caused him to sneak a look back. The King's face was unreadable, his lips parted and his stare locked upon the front page. "[b][i]Josurr[/b][/i]," Goldhorn finally read his name in a sneer and it made Josurr's skin prickle. Goldhorn flipped the page to look over his tables, his nose wrinkled as he stared at the numbers. "[b]Impressive experience for someone so young,[/b]" he said. Cold slipped into Josurr's blood. He hadn't thought he'd be scrutinized; all he needed as a simple signature. Goldhorn's eyes came to rest upon his face and Josurr felt like a pinned specimen between them. "[b]How old are you?[/b]" the King asked him, though it sounded like more of a challenge than a question. "[b]I'm sixteen,[/b]" he answered, though it was plainly listed on the form. The honesty was an oasis. "[b]Sixteen, that's right,[/b]" Goldhorn purred. "[b]And what makes you think you should be a healer, [i]Josurr[/i]?[/b]" He was flipping through the pages again, a cruel smile upon his face as he did so. Josurr had heard his name spoken many different ways during his life, though this one was new. There was no indication that there would be an interview portion for this and Josurr struggled for words. Why [i]did[/i] he? It was freedom. It was something far removed from the scope of his family and there was no chance he could be lumped in with their influence — for better or for worse. It was a sad answer in response to a King however, and with his licensing on his line, Josurr tried to summon something that would appeal to a Seelie. "[b]I-I want to help. I've seen — tragedy, and death, even here, and I... want to make it better, somehow.[/b] "[b]You aren't ready,[/b]" Goldhorn cut him off. The dismissiveness of it made Josurr's chest tighten. Even though he hadn't really done anything he'd claimed to, the idea was offensive, that Goldhorn could decide just from [i]glancing[/i] at him that he wasn't ready. The entitlement began to roar within him, though the King continued. "[b]But, I have a proposition for you,[/b]" Goldhorn began. "[b]You will stay here. You will serve the Afternoon Court. Cassio will oversee you and I will review you again in a few month's time.[/b]" The fae's face split into a grin, though it was a tense one. "[b]Think well, Josurr. Not many are invited to serve in the Courts, and not at sixteen. This would be good for you.[/b]" Josurr's heart pounded, torn between the horror of potentially being caught and the truth of the statement — he was right, the genuine experience and leverage it would afford him would be invaluable. The fact it was being handed to him on a silver platter was unreal. He hadn't intended to stay in the Courts any longer than necessary, but there would be no better place to gain the respect he yearned for. The clarity of it was certain. "[b]Yes, I... I accept,[/b]" he replied. His hands were beginning to sweat and he was eager to bolt from the room. "[b]Good,[/b]" Goldhorn said. The King strode across the room to a table pushed up against the wall, stooping to sign the form. He straightened after he did so, inspecting the signature before stepping back towards the young fae. Josurr eased up from the chair, reaching out as Goldhorn handed him the certificate back. "[b]A provisional signature, permitting you only to act within the Courts,[/b]" he said and his face pressed into a smile. "[b]You are decisive, Josurr,[/b]" the Afternoon King murmured. "[b]A fortuitous trait. You will earn your license soon, I am sure.[/b]" "[b]Thank you,[/b]" Josurr managed, regaining his composure. Goldhorn had already turned to depart. His eyes lingered upon Pasque for a moment though he offered the flora fae but a cursory smile before that all but vanished from his face, a storm again beneath his weary features. Josurr swallowed as the door shut beneath the Afternoon King, though the tension had not yet faded. "[b]Well,[/b]" he started, staring at the signature now upon his papers, "[b]I suppose that went... alright.[/b]" It wasn't exactly what he anticipated, though his gut nagged him that this was good; he had something better now. The fauna fae exhaled, letting his shoulders relax. He flashed a grin at Pasque, who, son of a king of not, was infinitely less overwhelming than Goldhorn. "[b]it is definitely time to go,[/b]" Josurr asserted, playfully nudging Pasque with his elbow as he walked past him. Who knew what else they'd find the longer they lingered behind the golden doors, and Josurr had had his fill.