Morons and Monarchs

Chapter Fifty-Three: Bricria🛀

I look back at the hotel we will be staying at, it is almost as bland as Branwen is.

Maybe blander, and that is saying something.

Branwen seems okay with it though, as okay as she can be. We split up into two rooms, since we found enough copper to situate ourselves so. It is Branwen, Brishen, and I in this room, and across the hall lays Bayou, Thanatos, and Ahmya.

Branwen gets the bed, we all agreed, and Brishen quite unshamelously told me I should join her, but I said I will sleep in the bathtub. And it is rather comfy, contrary to belief. Brishen gets the lone chair next to a desk. Everything is brown and black, nothing white- and if the pillow is supposed to be, it doesn;t show, since it is more dust and dirt than fluff.

I don't really sleep, instead I ponder the day ahead.

Our mission is to be as quick as possible without being suspicious. Only problem: Stealth is something I do not excel at. Anything else, I can do easily. Stealing? Easy. Hate? Easy. Run? Easy. Jump? Easy. Love-

I take that back. There is one other thing I can't do. Love.

LOve is such a foregin concept, one nobody (Not even me!) can grasp truly, and I have learned through trial and error that it is not only ungraspable but also indestructible. Impossible to defeat, love will crawl into your mind and seize control. Make you think things that are not possible.

It makes scars feel rather shameful at the same time as making them trophies- and sometimes love makes things such as scars seem unendurable. I have felt the latter the most when dealing with such a banishful feeling.

I walk out of the bathroom, my black robe cascading. My clothes are hung over the basin, along with the others as well, drying.

Branwen is hogging up the entire bed, and if someone would have laid with her, they would have probably been kicked in the face or have in the least a fist shoved into their eye socket.

I shiver. Even in sleep, she could knock a person out. Actually, I bet even knocked out herself she would manage. But despite the ludicrous violent downturn to her lips and crinkles in her eyes, she looks rather peaceful. ALmost shockingly so. As if she was painted by a sadistic artist who wanted nothing more than to fool those willing to get close enough to his painting. His sculpture.
Because really, she couldn't have been anything else than a sculpture, yes, maybe by a flawed artist, but a sculpture nonetheless.

Of course her under-eye bags didn't help, but the way her cheekbones correlated with her whole "Dark raven" theme worked quite well.

I glance at Brshen, his woodland skin oddly smooth-looking, even though I have no doubt it would give one splinters. No wonder he never had a girlfriend, I wouldn't want to date somebody that would harm you that much by just holding your hand!

But, I could pity him. He had a kind soul, Brishen did.

Somebody groans and I quickly crouch low to the ground, watching as the sheets rustle softly on the bed.

Branwen is awake.

I glare at her before pressing my back against her bed frame, hoping that if I keep my head down she wont see me.

I hear Branwen yawn and I cringe at the sound.

"Ow!" Something pecks the back of my head. Hard. I swat at it, and my hand only meets a pile of feathers before something flashes and settles down beside me.
"What are you doing, Stalker?" Branwen asks, picking a few feathers off of her forearms and shoulders.

"Nothin-" Fire crawls up my throat. "I was doing absolutely nothi-" I cough. "I sincerely apologize, my voice isn't cooperating."

"Definitely," She sounds as if she does not believe me.

"Okay," I finally say after I watch her pluck another feather off of her own robe.

She looks up at me through her lashes. "Okay." That one look may have seemed submissive on any other person, but on her it seemed like she dared a war by wearing her expression.

I stand up quickly, backing towards my 'room'. I salute her, and she rolls her eyes back. When I walk into the bathroom, I have the goofiest grin on my face.