Neverwhere;

[Castile]

and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was

”I try,” he humors with a rolling shrug of his shoulders, his hooded eyes gleaming with a flicker of amusement. ”What fun would life be without some complications?” He has experienced many, perhaps too many in comparison to his age, but each one has been a lesson. Not that he always learns; his stubborn and proud nature often derails the steady flow of learning opportunities. But her, this newly-ascended Queen, is just beginning her high-ranked place. The time still lies ahead of her during which she will face trials and tribulations. That was him once, seemingly so long ago.

Yet she doesn’t possess the same air as most leaders. In her uniqueness, Castile finds fascination that he masks behind a reserved expression. New Queens, even Kings, often raise an amiable façade and smile, even when it isn’t warranted. Over the years, Castile has built up that small wall, facing outsiders with a glance of mistrust. There are no true friends, he has painfully discovered. At least, not in politics. For this reason, he does not bombard her with niceties or rambling small talk. A deep appreciation surfaces for her bluntness, but it spurs light-hearted responses from him, as though accepting the challenge of breaking past her barrier and bringing light to her chapped face. ”A bit rude of Heartfire to thrust someone onto a throne they didn’t want,” he pauses to observe their nearby area and take note, ”unless there were no other options?” Which, quite frankly, happens rather often. ”I’m assuming leading a kingdom isn’t your thing? Or just leading in general?” Curiosity rises in his throat when his mismatched eyes return to her from their aimless sweep of Nerine. His lips purse tightly together. ”You’re the only one I’ve met that outwardly hates a throne,” and then, just to mirror and reflect on her primary statement, he adds, ”One word. Impressive.”

She isn’t a warmonger like him, not ambitious warlord.

She is simply Neverwhere.

”Neverthere,” the drawl of his voice would indicate a serious mishap of her name, but the quirk of a brow, hidden underneath his forelock, betrays the humor. ”A couple reasons, actually. The most important is simply seeing Nerine again. It has been quite some time, and I’ve admittedly missed her.” It will always hold a piece of him, but he gathers Neverwhere is disinterested in sentimentality. A bird of a different feather. ”I can show myself around since you don’t exactly strike me as a tour guide.” A corner of his mouth flinches, a shadow of what would be a boyish grin as their eyes level on one another – hers impassive and aggravated, his fairly bright with coy humor. ”The other is an idea, a proposition, that we feel out.” Shifting his weight, he allows a brief moment of quiet, a fleeting taste. ”So, we can either touch on that now or you can attempt to prove me wrong about your touring skills first.”

castile