bar et dîner de fae
Jess, pls 



  
Soudain, je ne suis pas la moitié de l'homme que j'étais.
Il y a une ombre au-dessus de moi.
Hier est venu tout à coup.


Les implications de son association avec Jessamine impliqueraient certainement le manque d'inquiétude de Phillip au sujet de ses relations passées avec les fées. Comme n'importe quel cours de la vie, Jess a prouvé une exception à sa règle. Bien que le ton de la voix qu'elle a souvent utilisé en conversant directement avec lui dénote la pitié, Phillip ne l'a pas tenu compte de son utilité. Cela et sa gentillesse générale; il était impoli de manquer de respect quelqu'un avait les moyens de ne pas prendre de merde, si elle trouvait bon.
"Je suis un homme de routine," a menti Phillip, agitant une main dédaigneuse, "Je prends réconfort dans ce que je sais. Oui, comme d'habitude." Il s'est évanoui sur le dernier morceau, il l'a laissé mâcher dans sa tête. Serait - ce simplement une autre fausse alarme? Quelque chose qui a fait trébucher les paranoïaques dans leur petit refuge. Peut-être que Lucy, la seule lucide, avait succombé à la peur qui grinçait dans leur esprit. Mais, Phillip réfléchit, le froid qui a coulé ses griffes dans ses os et traîné le long de sa colonne vertébrale se sentait certainement réel. L'atmosphère a considérablement changé dans toute la petite partie de la ville qu'il a traversée. Un brouillard ne s'est pas seulement accroché sur lui-même et les autres autour de lui, mais s'est aussi accroché aux rues sinistres de Mystvale.
Phillip a grondé, se poussant vers l'avant et exerçant une pression sur ses bras. « Je ne sais pas quoi en faire », a-t-il dit, finalement, en évitant le regard de Jess, « Sans pouvoir, je suis probablement incapable d'assister au travail - si j'avais l'intention de le faire, de toute façon. Il ne serait pas mal de trouver du temps pour la réunion; nous verrons comment ça se passe. Je ne suis toujours pas convaincu."
Après un moment, il regarda vers la fenêtre où il s'était assis. "Avec certitude, au moins : Dorothy est morte et partie."
16 h sur le point.
À la bibliothèque
Pour ceux qui ont oublié le temps
@Tout le monde, en gros, mais en particulier Lucy Pevensie, 




Chérie, tu connais mon miroir il y a des années.
L'idéalisme est assis en prison, la chevalerie est tombée sur son épée
Innocence est morte en criant, chérie, demande-moi que je sache.
Je suis venu d'Eden pour m'asseoir devant ta porte.


Avant-hier soir... 
Les nuits consistaient à gribouiller des notes sous le clair de lune; une simple collection de mots dans un journal alors qu'il regardait la lune et les étoiles environnantes. Ça l'a frappé comme ça sortait, ils s'étaient enfuis dans ce monde, pour ne pas voir le ciel que Narnia avait peint pour lui. Des coups et des fouets de lumière qui parsèment le fond huileux d'une cachette céleste dont ils n'avaient aucune idée. Ici, ils avaient un semblant de ce qu'il impliquait: un immense néant, dans lequel leur insignifiance a quelque peu trébuché sur la chance de la vie.
Il grinçait à Pierre, conduisait des coins dans les articulations de ses os et le forçait à s'allonger sur l'herbe dans une pétulance réservée aux enfants. Pourtant, cette nuit, il s'assied croisé sur une colline surplombant leur ville endormie. Une ville endormie, par quelque nom que ce soit - juste un nulle part que les gens n'ont pas vu sur une carte pointillée, rempli de pins et de vieux bâtiments scintillants avec assez de lumière pour mépriser les étoiles qui pendaient au-dessus de lui.
Ses mains trouvèrent de nouveau la page, brouillant des mots qu'il assembla en strophes et en strophes avec lesquelles il saignait les pages blanches. Il ne l'intrigua jamais à journaliser, ni n'écrivit aucune forme de mots en anglais, contrairement au terne tedium des essais en internat. Pas comme Lucy, dans sa plume et son anglais. Pourtant, le stylo a encore trouvé le papier et les mots coulait ensemble, ni la relecture et tout à fait hasardeux. Comme les morceaux de son cœur qu'il saignait à l'encre noirâtre.
Comme les étoiles qu'il a tellement manquées, Peter a plongé dans l'herbe déjà trempée de rosée, laissant les plaisanteries de sauterelles le rassasier pour dormir.

les étoiles portaient un poids lourd -
leur fardeau ne peut pas être partagé et le poids des mondes repose sur un simple ensemble d'épaules.
ils tombent de leur perche en gouttes de ficelle argentée.
abattre, démêler une corde de l'univers par une corde.
Ils s'installent dans des gobelets de neige noire qui recouvrent l'herbe de suie et de goudron.
Le cœur de Peter s'ébranle contre sa cage thoracique. Il porte du bois dans le rideau de noircissement qui frappe sa maison.
ce qu'il a travaillé pour venir shambles dans les ombres tachetées qui dansent et course contre les pins couverts.
sa couronne se brise
et son trône craque
et ceux qui sont à peine lucides ont jeté leur blâme
Peter Pevensie - longue vie le magnifique
bourdonnements de trilles dans ses oreilles

Vers 5 h ce matin-là... 
L'électricité a poussé dans les veines de Peter, vibrant sa peau et rampant dans ses os. "Shit", son sifflement, s'écoulant de l'herbe, mouillé et trempé à travers. Son téléphone a continué son long trill de bips constants, vibrant un battement dans sa jambe. Les griffes couraient dans sa poitrine avec chaque respiration qu'il sucait, la respiration se dissolvant dans les crises de toux. Le téléphone est resté silencieux un moment, puis un autre, jusqu'à ce que Peter soit certain que ça s'était complètement arrêté.
Un froncement creusa les lèvres, allongeant les traits de ses joujoux, les yeux qui creusaient à travers la croûte et la lumière d'un soleil à l'aube, voilé. Une autre profonde respiration a brûlé ses poumons avant que Peter ne s'empare de lui-même. Le téléphone a trouvé son chemin dans ses mains, avec le stylo et le journal. Il avait trouvé les clés du véhicule qu'il a appelé un camion. Le froncement n'est jamais parti et ses yeux se sont finalement retrouvés le long du brouillard nuageux Mystvale, un linceul même pas marbré avec la lueur faible des lumières du matin. Ses sourcils sillonnaient alors qu'il se rendait à sa voiture.
Le bruit de sa porte de voiture s'est senti eerly final - accepter son destin. Pierre a creusé le talon de sa paume dans son œil, écoutant le bourdonnement du matin et bourdonnant autour de lui. La douce pluie l'a surpris, et il s'est soudain rendu compte qu'il avait dormi dessus. Un soupir laissa ses lèvres, et ses yeux traînèrent l'humidité de ses vêtements perlés sur les sièges en cuir. Il s'inquiéterait plus tard, pas nécessairement en ce moment avec le sommeil qui brouille encore sa vision.
Sur fond de pluie battante, Pierre pressa le téléphone à l'oreille, mauchant les premières pages de son journal pendant que le message criait. Il ne voulait pas ça. Il ne voulait pas ça. "Je ne veux pas ça," murmura-t-il. Lucy savait à quel point il devenait un satané coup de pied; cela n'avait aucun sens qu'elle supplie qu'il assiste pour le bien de l'avenir de Mystvale.
Et ce mot qu'elle avait utilisé. Celui qui sifflait dans ses oreilles. C'est passible.
Le cataclysme.
Le moteur du camion rugissait à la vie, s'éloignant du pavé de gravier et sur l'asphalte noir.

vers 16h00... 
Wiling le jour avait été le plus dur à faire; près de douze heures de absolument rien à passer le temps. Pierre dormait dans les marges de son carnet, assis contre le mur de la bibliothèque. Il avait fait une dizaine de siestes de chat avant de conduire ici, vers midi alors, et a pris un nombre plus dans sa forteresse dans le coin. Scheherazade ne semblait pas s'en soucier, il a vérifié la dernière fois. Bien sûr, tout cela empiéterait sur les suppositions que Pierre faisait quotidiennement, mais il pouvait s'en soucier moins. Lucy avait besoin de lui ici et pour le faire arriver à l'heure, quatre heures plus tôt semblait approprié. Au moins, approprié à la nécessité toujours grinçante de se lever et aller - la simple attente n'a pas fait de bien et l'anticipation a augmenté avec chaque moment passé au ralenti. Peter n'avait pas besoin de l'action, mais l'inévitabilité avait sa façon de conduire des aiguilles dans son dos jusqu'à ce qu'il s'en aille finalement.
Après un autre moment de griffonnement, Pierre jeta son journal au bord de la route et s'engagea dans le hall de la bibliothèque. Il n'avait pas encore repéré Scheherazade depuis ses heures d'entrée plus tôt, apportant un pli à ses lèvres et aux sourcils. Pierre n'avait aucune idée de se plaindre, et il a simplement mis les chaises, les tables, et tout ce qui se trouvait sur son chemin vers le côté, laissant l'espace près du bureau principal de la bibliothèque sans encombre - elle pourrait le gronder plus tard. Il a tout ajusté pour s'adapter correctement, chaises et tables face au milieu, où Lucy serait probablement assis, Merlin et Lancelot présences solides à côté d'elle. Peut-être qu'elle le traînerait dans le mélange. Peter s'est moqué de l'idée.
Maintenant, il attend simplement la mesure allouée pour que tout le monde s'accumule. Il aurait probablement les citoyens de haute énergie, paranoïaque, schizophrène d'abord (il n'a utilisé schizophrénique que légèrement; il n'était pas un médecin, donc il pouvait prescrire, mais il était assez certain que quelques denizens correspondent à la facture) et puis les individus léthargiques, légèrement sceptiques après. Pierre se contenta de soupirer et de se pousser sur le bureau, se branlant d'avoir laissé son journal et son stylo, puis faisant due avec le bloc-notes jaune et (un magasin de dollars) stylo à côté de lui pendant qu'il jota des notes, dessina des doodles, et attendait tout simplement Lucy.
"I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer." - F. Scott Fitzgerald




 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ N A M E 
Phillip Sommer
 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ S T O R Y 
Sleeping Beauty
 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ B I R T H P L A C E 
Bellegarde
 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ M A G I C 
No
 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ A G E 
31
 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ R O M A N T I C I N T E R E S T S 
Well, there's obligation and then there's something else.
"Father, this marriage has no meaning. A marriage that will not last is built without love. I say the same for a kingdom."
And yet how does a boy differentiate between love and fantasies? Fairies have a certain way about them. Whether it's filling a quota, like some, or truly believing in their own work. Whether it meant either is another matter entirely. Phillip does not approve much of meddling, but in the throes of his own passion, he cannot see the strings forcing him along. Love, to him, had only been in his dreams and in a girl who wiled her worries away in forest songs - a girl he'd barely even met.
Now, older and wiser - or, perhaps, just more cynical - Phillip finds the approach of fancy skeptical. More so, he requires a lot more than dreams and whimsy to connect with an individual. He may not care for gender, but he certainly cares for more than a strange meeting and the possibility of fate as the lead in an ever complex scheme - nothing to do with love. Phillip needs that more than ever: love for love's sake, and nothing else to complicate matters.
 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ A T T I R E 
Before everything, before the Cataclysm, before the fairies and the curse, Phillip's attire never really consisted of outwear or armor of any kind. Knowing only royalty meant only the finest in tailoring. Custom made capes of fur and finery wrapped around a broad set of shoulders, along the silk of a shirt tightly woven across his torso. In his father's kingdom, and adjacent kingdoms, royalty dress code tended to range from extravagant to slightly impractical (especially when concerning women's dress). However, that quickly changed into attire that he deemed more comfortable on horseback, out in the woods for both hunting and scouting. It became a dire need for Phillip to let himself slide further and further away from his family - their ideals never matched his own as he grew older.
Now, without royalty and his own namesake backing him up, Phillip's resorting to comfortable attire. Things less likely to chafe and constrict, often going for plainness and comfort over anything else. He's never been the type to want the attention, nor to call for it, and thus he strays from flamboyance more than anything. However, hats tend to be a thing of his and he's grown accustom to wearing a ball cap or a regular flat cap, all in varying colors with varying logos.
When asked about his favorite team, he usually just points to his hat and smiles. The inevitable barrage of questions often come at the exact time he decides he really needs to leave, sorry, good bye.




 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ H E R O ' S N A T U R E 
Every hero needs a counter balance. In this case, the balance tipped all the over to his side. Love had been a driving force for Phillip in many ways and in many ways love also betrayed him. In that, Phillip has develop and molded himself into what he sees today. Perhaps it's not that simple, however, even tho he wishes it so. Things that revolve around the choices we make and why we make them seldom do. For Phillip, much of his decision lie in emotion and impulse. If he felt it right, he would consider it with his whole heart and leave none of it undone. And many, many times has Phillip come out of a situation lacking another piece of himself. Certain actions demand tribute. If he had taken the time to sit and think, instead of constantly leap to aid, many of these situations would cease to exist and Phillip would perhaps contain more pieces of himself he had so willingly tossed away.
Now, in a world driven made and torn at the seams, Phillip tends to perceive things in a calculated manner, often looking toward logic to make the decision for him. And yet, two extremes don't necessarily make a whole person. Many of Phillip's life, now dictated by facts and skepticism, has gone under a far grayer lens that the ones he'd accused his father of looking through. Most of what he does now includes his self-interest as a number one priority, rather than the well-beings of others. Perhaps feeling scorned far too much has spoiled the heart he once wore on his sleeve.
 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ R E N O W N E D S K I L L S 
Fit for a king. Or rather, a prince. On the surface, nothing seems oddly striking about the young man, royalty or not, and yet interest piques without much provocation. Perhaps charisma has been far kinder to the prince in his younger days, but a man with words is a deadly man no doubt. Knowing trades and tricks often associated with diplomats and negotiators comes in handy in quite a lot of situations. Those situations, however, tend to vary and come few and far between during times of strife - when self-preservation trumps all. Not necessarily where this prince shines, he seems a solo operating man, tending to traverse areas alone with a perceptive eye and a knack for explaining in curt detail things of import. When all else fails, a sword in his hand is no deadlier than with a knight.; however, a shield finds no better master than he.
 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ F A T A L F L A W 
Nothing kills a man quicker than falling on his own sword. Before it had been impulse, spontaneity, leaping without thought that endangered the prince. Now it remains the opposite: fleeting cold calculations, logic, over analysis, indecisiveness. Most of all, a selfishness that presents itself at every corner. A question, "how does this benefit me?" at the tip of his tongue no more and no less than three times within the span of a few seconds rattling his brain. Even before, it's been selfishness that has cost him dearly. Selfishness of his thoughts and a freedom of his emotions; now, a selfishness of his heart and a freedom for his hardened mind.
 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ O N C E U P O N A T I M E 
Prince Phillip's upbringing didn't venture far from the usual 'royal prince' regimen. At a young age, many things had been expected of him: to eventually lead a kingdom, to marry, to sire an heir, to win wars, to negotiate treatises. Even early on, Phillip hadn't known much beyond the lessons he'd been given and going from one lesson to the other as the days rolled on. Proper etiquette, proper speech, knowledge of his kingdom's history inside and out. Obedience was an expected trait in order to properly fit into the mold accustomed to him and his kingdom.
However, Phillip quickly grew out of any box they'd attempted to put him in. Emotions guided him first and foremost. As a young teenager, he grew quite rebellious for his age and often took long hunting trips in order to safely distance himself from his duties. Eventually what became a solace for him became a nuisance for his father. It quickly led to Phillip's eventual arranged marriage. His outburst had woken the entire castle and Phillip quickly escaped to the confines of the forest.
During this retreat, he'd happened upon a dream, one influenced by a fairy worried for the future of this portion of Bellegarde. It was fast approaching the event that would topple an entire kingdom and desperation had driven the magical being to ruthless manipulation. True love's kiss would awaken the sleeping beauty, but whether Aurora considered it true love or not didn't matter - as long as this Prince designated to kiss her believed he loved her hard enough. Truly loved her. And that was quite easy regarding young, testosterone filled prince's wandering the woods.
The dream had ended abruptly, with Phillip dancing in the woods with a fair young maiden. Fortunately, his dream had been interrupted with the same singing he'd heard in his dream. Driven to find the source, Phillip happened upon a young princess, of which he found was 'Aurora' of the kingdom close to his own borders. They'd spent the day talking, dancing, generally 'falling in love' as it were. As the forest grew dark, Aurora quickly left with no true promise of return. Of course, Phillip hadn't minded then, too entranced to truly care as he left for hom immediately.
When he arrived home days later, he'd heard of the unfortunate news that befell the kingdom over. It wasn't until his father uttered her name did Phillip jump to their aid. Though young and brash, Phillip had an inkling of an idea in his mind of how to get rid of the course. Unwilling to share with his father, he took up arms that night and plotted his advance toward the tower the princess resided in. Word had it that the keep was guarded by a powerful dragon, one that spit green fire and was nearly invincible.
Upon arrival, however, Phillip saw no sign of this monster and he quickly scaled the tower to his awaiting princess. He lay one kiss upon her lips in order to awaken her, yet, after moment nothing happened. He attempted one more and still nothing. After a few moments of confusion, Phillip heard stifled grumbling in the room adjacent. Inside was a small lady with a pair of translucent wings and a wand, dressed in orange. Her scrunched up face looked up at him in surprise and he demanded an explanation. She told him of the spell she placed on his dream, that she intended for him to fall in love with the princess and didn't realize that it would backfire like this.
At that instant a deep rumbling shook the tower and green fire flashed against the windowpane. Wanting more than just her flimsy few sentences, Phillip rushed the fairy out of the keep and rode off into the forest before the dragon could sniff them out. There, the fairy explained her plan in full and apologized for the making him just another tool to use, much like his father did and much like his kingdom expected of him. Coming home, he soon learned of his soon to be betrothed, though misfortune tinged the news. His betrothed had been Aurora and with her kingdom in shambles, they had nothing to do but wait and wait until someone could eventually lift the curse from their lands.
That never came. So many years after the curse had settled, the eventual Cataclysm tore Bellegarde to shreds. A great wall of thorns ran through the entirety of their kingdom, leaving Phillip's people in perpetual shadow. With it came the once slumbering citizens of the kingdom over, of Aurora's kingdom. These people had the curse twisted and run foul by the ambient magic tearing their world apart and they were now tasked to walk these lands in a slumbering haze, hurting and harming anyone who obstructed their path.
Being of royalty and having a few skills abound, Phillip was quickly rushed out of the kingdom, though he escaped his own parents' custody to assist his kingdom's people as they were left to fend for themselves in this crisis. Unfortunately, before he could take a step back into his home a figure whisked him away. Finding out that it had been Merlin, the grand wizard himself, Phillip succumbed to his own fate and followed the crowd of people into a new haven, of sorts, a new world.




 ⦿ ⦿ ⦿ A N E W C H A P T E R 
The potential of going back ran rather high, even in the five years they've spent in Mystvale. That is cause itself to keep Prince Phillip safe, as he is among the few with any knowledge of negotiating and diplomacy, something that would likely do them well when it comes to aiding the various nations in their home world. Here, though, it still provides a good use, as Phillip using his skills in order to discuss and negotiate with those not like him - even if plain humans don't know, it's good to keep them on their good side.
Of course, Phillip takes his new found freedom to heart. He doesn't see himself as royalty in this world and thus wishes not to be treated as such. If anything, he prefers earth to his home world, as it lacks any restricting laws and rules that keep him from living a full life.
Mostly, Phillip does what he thinks is best for him and, in the long run, it may or may not affect Mystvale in a harsh manner. He's in it mostly for his own self-preservation, though here's to hoping that eventually he comes to his senses. He is among the few that wish to start over on Earth, rather than fix their home lands. Now it's a matter of survival and keeping this new home in tact.