ber3ave

[ber3ave]

      vasalisa's encroaching only pulled an instinctual eyeroll out of them, a mere gut reaction that came with the other's presence. since their meeting, her own disdain felt instinctual, a product of natural interactions that bordered on kinship, as much as they'd hate to admit. children weaned on venom know not the taste of warm milk. conflict feels natural, perhaps even necessary. they could go so far as to say that the maiden had reminded them of their own ismene, in all her fairness and propriety, so much that it forced their skin to feel prickly, nudging at the arm band that sat high upon her bicep in order to feel some sort of cool relief.

      " ah, i take it i am not the only one who feels such an affinity towards you ? " a snarky, childish comment at best, her gaze remaining fixed before her, and stubbornly so. only a certain type of person could reduce antigone to a former self, these days. " then what reasons behind your attendance, if you are in such opposition ? " duty. optics. all of the motivations behind her own presence, too.

The thrum of the party had dulled, as she had taken to hanging on the fringes of it. Vasisla did lazy circles around the room, not quite a wallflower yet not seeking to join the fray. Eyes flitted from one face to the next before alighting on one in particular, Antigone directly in her current path. To this day she still couldn’t say what exactly she had done to earn the girls ire, but she had done it quickly and completely. It was luck that she hadn’t been seen yet, she could slip into the crowd and avoid the headache that would undoubtedly ensue. Yet she continued towards her, grabbing a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray. Fully aware that she may possibly come to regret this decision. 

“I think most have just wandered elsewhere. Getting all of us fables into one room is like herding cats. Given that many can’t stand each other in the first place,” Her voice was cool and even as she made the pointed comment. “I’m not surprised that many would flee to far flung corners of the penthouse.” Vasisla took a sip of her drink, looking at the crowd rather than Antigone. “It’s the day, a party is thrown to remember all that was lost. Personally I could do without the ceremony of it all.”

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      it pleased them to lay witness to the other's bespoke ensemble — a carefully pluck'd attire that, despite not fully knowing them yet, antigone felt strongly captured their character. hard to look away, hopefully sovay would be gracious to pay no mind to the indulgence of their eyes. in ages prior, she would have relished in finer tastes, perhaps indicative of the more shallow parts of her rearing that antigone so desperately wants to deny, viewed as shameful amidst her years of rooted teen angst. today, it is art — they are art, and it is surely a much more pleasing view than their otherwise deserted surroundings.

      " and you ? are you not one of those people ? those who stray ? " the inquisition was more playful than anything, gentle in tone as deft fingers toyed at the rings gracing her other hand, finding solace in the cold surface of glass inlays. " surely these swans and gargoyles and fauna you speak of pose much more interest than this sight before us now. " even now, their judgment was knocking at the doors, virtually whiplashed at how such an occasion could be usurped by nothing more than ambition, the same fruit that had led men she had known dearly, far, far astray. " had i gone through as much strife as he, i would be vying for more than just deputy mayor. " they shrugged, an offhand comment more so than a viable threat. " perhaps he is itching for just a taste of those glory days he so speaks of. fabletown is hardly comparable to the seas. "

sovay  could  scent  it  in  the  air:  a  certain  agitation  in  the  attendants  which  they  could  not  place  as  either  malign  or  benign.  it  was  tangible  as  their  own  gloved  hands  and  starched  attire:  a  power  suit  of  exemplary—and  utterly  mundane—make,  replete  with  large  lapels,  sharp  tailoring,  and  cast  in  ivory.  they  had  fetched  it  some  weeks  prior  on  a  day’s  trip  to  the  crooked  mile  as  a  reprieve  from  their  managerial  duties  on  the  farm,  and  on  an  uncharacteristic  whim.  it  was  a  magnificent  thing,  but  so  thoroughly  singular  to  the  mortal  world  (they  had  on  occasion  seen  it  on  the  frames  of  mundane  women  and  college-going  girls  on  the  upper  west  side)  that  sovay  could  not  have  fathomed  why  it  struck  them  so  profoundly,  why  they  took  so  much  pleasure  in  it  tonight.

“and  there  are  more  wandering  about  in  the  gardens  below,  playing  games  and  instruments,  or  admiring  the  statues  of  swans  and  gargoyles,  or  the  flowerbeds  that  bloom  in  perpetuity—there’ll  always  be  those  who  prefer  to  stray.”  they  glanced  sidelong  yet  with  open  interest  at  antigone,  marked  their  affinity  with  the  wall;  a  creature  enclosured,  drawn  and  quartered.  “it  has  been  so,  don’t  you  think,  since  bluebeard  wrested  the  mantle  of  deputy  mayor  from  ichabod  crane?  it  was  no  accident  that  all  of  his  indiscretions  came  to  light  in  such  rapid  succession.  no,  i  think  this  is  precisely  what  bluebeard  designed.  the  town,  a  transactional  affair,  with  his  money  as  its  kingpin.”

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      these days, antigone's usual inquisitive nature has found itself subdued, much of it chalked up to the centuries decades of constantly chomping at the bit, and its eventual burnout, finally catching up to her. despite comments made, more so rhetorical and observatory than previous snobbery, they haven't approached today with the intention of judgement — people watching, absolutely, there is no world in which antigone could resist being privy to such advertised momentous occasions, but none with the err of judgement and a snubbed nose of days past.

      " so you see it too ? the falsehood. " they shook their head, amusement painting the upturn of rosied lips. " the reclamation, rather — a war dwindled into a costume party. it is what i have never understood about society. the, um, " antigone paused, aiming to search for the words. " i'm not sure how to say it other than the human need to feel included, perhaps, but maybe that is rude of me to assume this is not an important day for people not involved, too. " they only shrugged, unable to dawdle on with such theories. the psychological aspects only ever seem to come out around specific individuals, sara being the main proponent of such thinking. strange. " the office, for one. the queue for that surely droned on for hours. i've unfortunately procrastinated on other errands so i thought that i might as well get that done too. but, my timing was poor, it seems. i take it i didn't miss much ? "

"oh, these things often are."  bemusement colours her voice, rich and low and glossy, words meant only for antigone's ears as she comes to rest beside them against the wall, a champagne flute dangling from the tips of her fingers.  "consider it statesmanship poorly disguised as something bright and shiny. the carrot dangled before the donkey."  has she always been this cynical? it's difficult to say, in truth: perhaps centuries have that effect as they pile on to a person.

there is the gentlest jingle-jangle to be heard over the din, her bangles sliding up her arm as she sips at the middling champagne provided for them tonight—then again, it would be difficult to satiate one's taste for luxuries when they were an empress in a previous life.  "i suspect many simply reaffirm their commitment to the compact and leave it at that. the office was simply buzzing with activity today, some faces i don't think i've seen in decades."  a feat in and of itself, considering her position in both fabletown and the homelands. the hallowed role of narrator, storyteller, raconteur ... it's one that sara takes incredibly seriously, even still.  "what kept you so late?"

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open to. anyone — come one, come all ! setting & notes. remembrance day gala event, well into the night. feel free to assume connections if not plotted yet, or this can be their first interaction if you'd like.

      while their current environment deeply constrasted their homeland of thebes, the sheen of tonight's event, gilded in excess and glamour, was, truthfully, nostalgic to antigone. colonades and open corridors were traded for sweeping hallways, lined with glass, reflecting the twinkle of its surrounding kingdom. all of it conflated into a pool of guilt-ridden nostalgia, one that pooled deep within their gut, diminishing them into a former form, a mindset arguably foreign to whom they have become. perhaps it reminded them of better days, or rather easier ones, a childhood of royalty, nobility as their norm, only turned upon its head when the self became a pawn — coward. alas, tonight wasn't the occasion to dwell, to seethe, every other day is wrought with such distress ... would it be so wrong to indulge, just once ? even if so, tonight was for celebration, for others, for the kingdom.

      they positioned herself tacky-stuck to the wall, perpendicular to the spanning ballroom, eyes flicking between clumps of assumed friendships and pockets of comfort. she merely lingered, sips of a cocktail between curious glances. only the click of a heel upon polished wood forced their attention to waver, " the attendance is abysmal, or perhaps it's my doing, for being so late. " despite judgements, their tone remained unwavering, only characterized by its usual deep, billowing timbre. " i've seen more people wafting about in the corridors outside. — more so a business meeting than a ball, no ? "

[ber3ave]

✶ ◟ king roberon cole welcomes antigone to fabletown—or, as they were once known, antigone from the theban plays. before the magic mirror, they come glamoured in the mirage of a mouth open in prayer that emits no sound, grief being the form of everlasting love, skin being scratched by even the finest of silks, the taste of rotten fruit. the tale from which they hail exalted their + sanguine and + resolute, but decried their - anarchic and - turbulent in equal measure. no matter; this time, they shall write their own. in accordance with the fabletown compact, they are granted amnesty for any and all transgressions, even that which is little known: they were aware of a proposed scheme to dethrone her brother, polynices, and did nothing to stop it, ultimately resulting in his death on the battlefield.

PART #001 : the basics.

full   name.   just antigone   nickname(s).   none, but they wouldn't mind any if they came up, except tiggy   age.   eternally 27 yrs old, 500+ in actuality   birthdate.   redacted   gender.   demi woman  pronouns.   she/her/hers & they/them/theirs   orientation.   unspecified   language(s) spoken.   english, greek occupation. proprietor @ the lucky pawn

PART #002 : the specs.

faceclaim.   courtney eaton   height.   5ft 10in   hair   color.   soft black   eye   color.   brown   scar(s).   horizontal gashes across their palms, a knick at the tail end of her left eyebrow, other random marks littered across their skin   piercing(s).   none   tattoo(s).   none   other   distinct   feature(s).   dark eyebrows that cast shadows upon their undereyes, the faint indentation of smile lines that are rarely etched into, grown out hair that is usually unkempt as if she had just awoken from slumber   style.   a modernized adaptation of what she had worn in decades past characterized by flowing linens and expertly-chosen cotton and wool fibers that hang loose on their silhouette, gold jewelry - notably intaglio glass for pops of color as well as a gold arm band that sits on their upper right arm

PART #003 : the relations.

parent(s) or guardians. oedipus ( deceased ), jocasta ( deceased )

sibling(s) in order. eteocles ( deceased ), polynices ( deceased ), ismene ( alive / estranged )

other(s) of note. a sighthound named despina — her pride & joy

PART #004 : the story.

CONTENT WARNING(S) brief mention of death, talks of grief.

even a silver spoon tarnishes with use. antigone, the youngest of four, raised in a family of governmental pillars — subservient, believing, naive. black sheep would be too much of an understatement to encapsulate their relationship to their family. for most of her life, it felt suffocating to be tethered to such responsibility, and more so the people who held it. if she were close to anyone, it would have been her brother, polynices, always the mediator within such a full house of folks who only knew power. he, too, shared her streak for rebellion, dreaming of greater pastures that surpassed the confines of their kingdom. she initially admired him for that, but admiration soon soured as the days continued and his complacence morphed into, in antigone's eyes, cowardice. a quarrel between hotheaded siblings resulted in a loss of contact, with hallways and corridors feeling like countries in-between. bitter contempt had gotten to her, easily. a gash had severed antigone from their family. pettiness and contempt ruled their heart now, levels of disdain rivaling that of the tensions on mount olympus. battle struck, and so did news of polynices' death, a quick aftershock to the initial tragedy. the worst part : she knew of it all. haughty conversations in alleyways and enclaves she once thought of as secret, brushed off as lofty conspiracy, a welcomed demise under the haze of their anger. but when it happened, a scream with no air. complacence. cowardice. it runs in the family, apparently. if she could not honor him in life, perhaps they could in death. the exodus was a blur — one cave to another, it seems. not much has changed between then and now, but surely the next step is therapy ! the same stubbornness remains their hamartia, though age has done a lot to help soothe the more prickly parts of their personality. anger morphed into exhaustion, with days seeming to drone on and on. the lucky pawn is ample distraction, focusing on others instead of herself — supposed altruism behind a glass counter. but with trouble looming, and no oracles to confide in ( none they believe in, anyway ), their sanity is quickly wearing thin.

[ber3ave]

bring my brother back from the dead

(sophocles' antigone trans. lewis galantiere, crooked kingdom, anne carson's antigonick, crooked kingdom, antigone by frederic leighton, shadow & bone season 2, sophocles' antigone trans. woodruff, crooked kingdom, six of crows, antigone and polynices, lytras nikephoros)

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Good Will Hunting (1997) Dir. by Gus Van Sant

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YELLOWJACKETS — S3E4: 12 Angry Girls and 1 Drunk Travis

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Lottie Matthews Yellowjackets 3.03 "Them's The Brakes"

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YELLOWJACKETS — S3E9: How the Story Ends

[ber3ave]

BEREAVE ( v. ) to be deprived of a loved one through a profound absence. a study in : losing faith in all systems you once coveted, grief as an everlasting form of love, choosing between nihilism and hope, & redefining oneself as an individual than part of a whole. dependent muse blog for grimmertales, written by jo, they/them. please do not interact if you are not part of the group.

* continue : introduction. mirror. musings. dynamics. threads.