open ❄️ and a song someone sings

[peasant]

CHARACTERS: alina & you!
LOCATION: various places on the station
DATE: throughout december
CONTENT: december catch-all. christmas antics, mistletoe madness, possible stupidity.
WARNINGS: will update if anything comes up!

I. COMMON AREA

[ bedrest hadn't suited her. freshly released from the infirmary, alina finds herself restless for a change of scenery — for a splash of color that isn't sterile white walls and beeping machinery. it doesn't take long for her to grow tired of seeing that same starkness reflected in the station's walls, spaces that hardly look lived in despite the time they've spent aboard.

maybe it's the inherent desire to create a home, to leave her little mark somewhere. maybe it's her drive to add color, unwilling to live in a dull and gray world. maybe it doesn't matter, in the end, when the result is the same — alina taking the skill she had spent time practicing and polishing in braccia, grateful for the peace that painting brings her.

she begins her work in the common area, first — ignoring the unnerved fluttering in her stomach at the thought of sharing a piece of herself so openly, so vividly, when she's gone unseen throughout most of her life. still, she won't allow self-consciousness to hold her back; with a paintbrush in hand, alina dapples it along the wall, rich colors in shades of hazy reds and neon blues that map out a mural.

— it's a messy affair, too. covering the floor in tarp has spared it from the same streaks of paint that have found themselves across alina: flecks across her knuckles, dried in strands of hair messy spilling out of the bun at the back of her head, smears on her shoulder from where an oversized (stained, now, with a dapple of green paint) dress shirt hangs loosely.

she doesn't seem at all bothered by it. in fact, she's so engrossed that she startles, the moment anyone makes noise in the room, nearly jumping out of her skin. once she recovers, she turns an apologetic grin toward them, biting it back with a nip to her bottom lip as she holds the paintbrush a little protectively to her chest. ]

Am I in your way?

II. CHRISTMAS CHEER.

[ keramzin's orphanage had never looked so festive. alina can only remember the gloom that had followed the feast of sankt nikolai — another holiday to remind them all of what they had lost, the lives they might have had if fate had been kinder to them. another day alina and mal had spent searching for peace in their meadow, finding the only family they needed in one another.

it had almost been enough to ease the ache in her chest. almost. it isn't quite enough to soothe it, now; it feels traitorous, somehow, to share in the celebrations without mal at her side. decorating the halls is a pleasant distraction, at least — another outlet for an artist, making the most of what she had never had the opportunity to indulge in.

alina lingers in the hallways, stringing along tinsel into spaces that have been left bare, sprinkling mistletoe and wreaths from doorways. what she hadn't accounted for, however: her own height, hopping and failing to reach closer to the ceiling, with a puffing huff of frustration. when she catches sight of another orber in her peripherals, she turns to them, decoration in hand — opening her mouth, hesitating with the words, before they come. ]

You're tall. [ it doesn't matter if they're tall or not. most of the ship seems to tower over her, regardless. her hands jut out, offering up whatever happens to be in her hands. ] Hang this for me?

[ if it happens to be mistletoe dangling from her fingertips, she breathes out an embarrassed laugh, reassuring them with, ] I'm not trying to trap you. Promise.

III. SUNLIGHT ROOM.

[ the flurry of snow that greets her in the sunlight room would put ravka to shame. much as alina knows it's an illusion, she's grateful to viveca for bringing her that slice of home, feeling the wintry air nip her cheeks into a frostbitten pink as she soaks in the sight, tipping her face toward the sky to invite a dusting of snowflakes to collect in her eyelashes.

it's with a carefree spirit, feeling lighter than she has since returning, that alina loses herself in packing together an arsenal of snowballs. waiting for the opportunity of an ambush, she lurks until she catches a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye — and sends a snowball soaring through the air, striking them on the cheek, before ducking behind the nearest trunk of a fuzzy pine tree.

or, for those she knows well — they'll find the surprise of icy fingers at the back of their neck — and snow that follows suit, shoved down the back of their shirt. sneaky is hardly a weapon she can wield well, however — alina's girlish laughter rings out as she makes an attempt at an escape, chiming in the air as she moves to dart away, rabbit-hearted and breathless.

maybe you've found yourself on the lake with her, frozen over and slippery. it's new — the ice skates on her feet, leaving her as graceless as a newborn fawn on jittery, shaking legs as she stands. it's inevitable, really, that she would come tumbling down — knees buckling from momentum as she reaches out to steady herself, tangling her fingers in the fabric of another's sleeve.

— only to inadvertently tug them down with her in a tangle of limbs and a surprised yelp, the breath crashing out of her with a small, ] Oof. [ as she's sprawled out, blinking up at the sky with a dizzied grimace on her face. ] Sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass both of us.

IV. WILDCARD OPTION.

[ all of the above prompts are open to anyone and everyone, including mistletoe shenanigans, bc i have no shame. but feel free to shoot a PM my way or find me at nereids if you want to hash out a closed starter! or just throw a prompt my way and i'll gladly go along with it. c: any variations you want to do on these prompts are open game, too!

planned closed starters will be found below in the comments. ♥ ]

Comments

i'm gonna cry do you want to make me CRY

[peasant]

[ of all the challenges she's encountered, all of the obstacles barricading her path — she's certain carrying rhys is as impossible as moving mountains and commanding raging rivers, bending nature to the whims of a small insignificant speck of a woman. keramzin may have taught her to to raise her feets for schoolyard scraps, to not topple when pushed, but — ravka had imparted its own lessons. pick and choose your battles. what point is there engaging in a war you can't possibly win, in trying to change minds that are as set as sturdy boots digging into the earth, refusing to be pushed?

she eyes him for a moment longer, mouth wrapped around a ridiculous smile, as though she's genuinely considering how to overcome life's newest trial, how to uproot the tall tree that is rhys — another aspect of mother earth that cannot be bowed or broken, unless it chooses to be. but if she can't raise him to the skies, then —

lowering him to her level is the next best thing. he has only a moment to spy danger, the knife-quick flash of a weapon gleaming in her eyes, before she stretches to the tips of her toes. raises herself higher, so she can bring him low by latching onto the tips of his twitching ears — and tugging like he's led by a rope, leaving him no choice but to bend toward her. ]

Mercy, [ she says simply, dripping with indolent smugness. a droplet of a kiss punctuates that promise, brushing his nose with the light swish of fluttering snowflakes. ] No saint is going to spare you from your fate tonight. Don't expect me to take it easy on you after all of your misbehaving.

If I told you the rest of your prophecy, you would have time to prepare. [ an omen glints in her smile, going giddily lopsided. ] Let's leave it a surprise.

no do you want ME to cry??

[business]

Youch.

( it doesn't actually hurt, namely because his ears are so numb from the cold that he feels the pressure of alina'a heat like some distant whisper in the back of his skull — mostly it's just a weird sensation, his pointed ears being used as reigns, flickering uncontrollably in her palms like the batting of a cat's. he bows, not wanting to fight her grip, and especially not wanting to deny himself the kiss she grants him.

neither the kiss he steals himself, tilting his chin to rob her entirely blind — a quick smack of a kiss, her lips still summer warm despite the snow. )

Oh, so no different from usual then.

( in his experience thus far, saints are plenty merciful after you beg them. alina has never been mean enough to tell him no when he asks for something politely. )

Or the difference is, this time, you won't immediately give in to my charms? I warn you, I'm very convincing. ( mischief is alight by twinkling stars in his eyes, a usual expression for one as tricky as rhys — his hands reach forward and cup her hips, giving her a sharp tug inward to his bent over body. ) Let's go have a burning hot shower and soothe our aches. It's traditional. Well — usually it's a bath and it's full of naked, exhausted Illyrian males, but I can only provide one of those for you, for now. Sorry.

yes ofc who do u think i am

[peasant]

[ no different from usual. it oozes with an arrogance that narrows her eyes to arrowpoints, now firmly set on their target. their conflict in the snow might have ended, but his cockiness has ensured that the battle has spilled over into full-blown warfare, her mind feverishly trying to tally every weak point in his defenses. every helpful piece in her arsenal, waiting to be fired to send him toppling and off-guard.

he's right, of course, that she is predictable in her pattern. but she lacks the drive to see shadows haunt his eyes, if she were going to admit the challenge she faces in straddling the line of his comfort, a balancing act in her uncertainty. how much is too much? how far is too far? will he mistake her for amarantha above him, if she were to use him as she pleases, taking what is owed to her? it's made her hesitant to deny him his requests, softened by the pleading plight in his voice, but —

maybe this is an act of trust on her part, too. having faith that he will warn her if she presses on any sore wounds, that he would not agree if he were sickened by the idea of becoming alina starkov's personal toy for the night, ridden with ruthless determination to chase what she needs from him. ]

You're underestimating me, kotyonok. I am notoriously immune to charm. Who said your mouth wouldn't be occupied, anyway?

[ she is not so unaffected by rhysand's brand of charming, bubbly and bright, but for the night? for the night, she can find an antidote for it. it shouldn't be difficult, she tells herself; he won't be capable of charming her if he can't speak. for now, she lets herself by swept away by his convincing hands, stepping into the lines of his body. mercifully, her fingers release his pinched-pink ears, smoothing over his shoulders. ]

Not too sore and exhausted already, I hope. [ a playfully pointed promise of what's to come when she slinks out of his hold, slippery, to brush past him. only to have a sudden change of heart, turning to him with a demanding raise of her arms. ] As champion, I'm owed the rest of my victory lap. Take us to our shower.