Open  The Prince ((Wheatley Funeral))
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Ghost he/him
Long live the King
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#1

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News spreads quickly, bad news, even quicker. Like a forest fire so hot, and angry it travels through the roots underfoot. This news, was no different, the voice came... He didn't know who delivered the words as they backed away quickly. "Sir, Prince Wheatley is dead." Leaving the giant man who suddenly felt like a small boy, by himself. Eyes widened, blurring with emotion as Ghost quickly darted to a bush and heaved the contents of his stomach. He'd lead back, queazy and shaking of his limbs growing more violent in grief. Ghost allowed himself to curl down in on himself, and sorrow crashed over him in whips of searing fire.

A hour passed as Ghost lay there, feeling vulnerability as he rose on deer legs to drink, clean up and push water through his fur to straighten up the mohawk Wheatley teased him about as children. A lump formed back in his throat at the memory. Ghost then moved along, beckoning anyone he came in contact with to stop their tasks or play follow him. For the company, but also for the support of what they must now do for a Prince gone too young. He felt as if he would be sick again. "Dad?" A strong voice, as Elias' attention was caught by the heartbroken King, she stuck to his right side. Following in silent concern. He did shift his head to push his nose into her cheek as they walked, don't leave.

As they arrived to the open space, he'd glance to whomever followed to wait here. Ghost continued on, he didn't know how long he numbly walked, but he found himself where they'd held Wheatley's body. Tearfully taking in whomever stopped him from getting to close to what had been the cause of his untimely death. "We need to honour him, please call for me... When he is ready to cross." Ghost said crisply, his voice growing thick toward the end. They would do something they never got to do for Sage, or Moons, or individually for the many lost to the war.

With that the King would turn back to where hopefully pack members would be waiting, and sat amongst them instead of up above them. Addressing them by their sides, leaning closer to his Daughter for strength he didn't know he needed in this moment. "We lost Prince Wheatley, t-today we'll honour him. As well as the many we've lost too soon." Said with his sad features glancing around to those around. With that Ghost tilted back to let out a long sad call to those not present to join them.



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Pareidolia she/her
Haute femme
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#2

What did the young princess know of death?

The answer was fairly obvious just by observation. She conducted herself with the sort of reckless confidence of someone who simply did not realize how fragile her thread of fate really was. Just a snip — no more Pareidolia. It reflected kindly upon her parents and her home how she had been sheltered from horror thus far, but innocence was invariably finite in this world.

Perhaps some of the veterans here might envy or resent her privilege. Others might just tell her to enjoy it while it lasts. Kashmir, well... she was his queen’s daughter. Here was just here to play the safe escort.

“Who died?” asked Doli, a little too casually, looking for extra crunchy leaves to step on as they walked. Already she was his size at not even a year old, a shaggy preteen.

“... Prince Wheatley.” The jackal masked a wince at her candor. He had never been too familiar with the absent royal child, but he had been Inarian like them and that was enough. “We’re going to honor him and those we’ve lost in —”

“He died? A prince died? Why?” She seemed incredulous. How could Inaria let that happen...?

“They say he fell ill. There’s King Ghost — go give your respects.” He nudged her a little, as one would a cub, though she almost definitely outweighed him at this point. She went ahead and did so, bowing like a lady should and hoping her face looked sufficiently sad.

“King of Shields, I’m sorry for your loss,” recited the princess dutifully enough. Elias caught her eye and so she bowed to her agemate as well. “Um, you too. I’m sorry.”

Kashmir followed, mirroring her bow and setting the small something he’d been carrying in his teeth at Ghost’s paws. It was a makeshift bouquet, threaded with lilac and white arum. A solemn nod, my condolences, before he gave the grieving family their space and took a seat next to his charge.

Sometimes these things happened. It was still pretty fucking rotten when it did.


 The sea waves are my evening gown
and the sun on my head is my crown
I made this queendom on my own
and all the mountains are my throne

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Amando He / They
Anyway, here's Wonderwall.
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#3



The timbre is no stranger to death. He's both taken life, and brought it into the world. Sometimes, between the trees, on the edge of sleep, he imagines he can hear them. Amando is even more uncomfortable than usual, because the jacarandas have gone quiet. He doesn't yet know the purpose of Ghost's silent entourage, but he knows what it means to be lonely, and-- contrary to popular belief-- how to be quiet.

There weren't burials, in IvyPack. The groundcover was so thick, you had to strip your kill the same day, or it would be lost in the leaves by next morning. Wakes, however, he's handled. His name was Wheatley, the King says, and a Prince at that-- and it couldn't have been long, because they still need to deal with the body. Amando didn't know him-- he doesn't know any of them, even now-- but grief is universal. He squeezes his eyes shut, and sighs. There's nothing words can do now.

He's heard plenty of condolences, and they never helped.


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Blaise He/Him
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#4
(This post was last modified: Yesterday, 05:27:19 PM by Blaise.)

Blaise had never known Wheatly all that well, merely who he was and enough to recognise him in passing. His death still came as a shock. It was supposed to be the old that died, not the young. Perhaps he should have been pleased to see such a blow struck against Haylyn, but even his bitterness could muster no pleasure in this. Though he could not help but wonder if karma had a hand, he let out a small, resigned, sigh. Kita had loved the young Queen like a daughter and that love had been torn into little pieces and spat back at her. They were dead to each other from that moment. Now Haylyn knew the pain of loosing a child too. The scales were balanced a little - But even so Blaise thought karma was a bitch. No parent should ever have to bury their child.

He had wondered if he should come at all or if his presense would be seen as some attempt to rub salt in the wound. His enmity towards most of that family was no secret after all. In the end he decided it was only right and proper to pay his respects to a fellow Inarian, one of the few times he was actually able to. At least Wheatley had a finite ending, so many others did not and their many, many, names and faces flickered through his mind until it settled on the two he missed most Moons and Gin, mother and son, both vanished. He liked to imagine they had set out to start a new life somewhere... But with out so much as a goodbye? His and Moons friendship had its rough patches but it endured through everything, through so many dufficult years. He knew she wouldn't have just left like that, but if he knew that then he also knew that she must be- He pushed the thought away. Better to leave a shred of hope.

He brought a gift, lightly held in his jaws, a Jacanda sapling dug from his garden. Soil still clung in a ball around its roots and the delicate purple leaves quivered with his breath. He laid it gently before Ghost. "To mark his grave. It's mother was one of the trees just beneath Whitewind's hill. It seemed... fitting." He smiled sadly, unsure what to add to such a somber occasion as one who apparently held so little love for the bereved family. "I am sorry for your Brother, I would not wish this on any family." And he meant it, truly he did not. He nodded his head to the King and sat quietly to one side, if they asked him to then he would leave quietly too.













Send me a wish or give me a sign
Even though you're gone I'll always call you mine
You said I'll always be with you
Said I'll always be with you.
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Hashmal He
Inaria
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#5




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#7c0a02

Him and his wife both had to calm down a teary eyed Leonora, a shaken and stammering mess, just as hysterical as Haylyn had been, so he heard. The red male's heart sank, he had been surrounded by death at a very young age, and each time was never easier. Emotions crept and bubbled to the surface, but he silenced them as best he could. This wasn't a day dwelling on that past.

When he had heard King Ghost's call, he was in the gardens. How long had it taken for him and Leo to find all sorts of new herbs and flowers to replace the ones that were damaged, his heart gave a twist as he plucked one for his own and turned on his heels.

The wind pulling through the trees with a sad rustling song, like some kind of dreary tuned woodwind instrument. He was not the first to arrive, blue gaze eyeing the group of mourners before him. Hashmal stepped forward, tail limp and steps careful, as if he was afraid of interrupting them all. Eye would anxiously catch Blaise in attendance to this, but he didn't have the courage nor willpower to approach the male. The last time he'd seen him was during one of Cappella's outbursts, it wasn't a day he ever liked remembering.

But as the large, rotund fringe made his way forward, he'd pause a little ways before the King. Peace lily in his jaws, he'd place it at his own feet. He was my brother too, he was...  His heart wavered, and he did his best to keep himself composed, but the tears welled up in his eyes. Quickly, Hashmal looked to the ground. "I'm so sorry." His voice trembling on those words, deeply pained. Spathiphyllum on his grave.





When I'm older, I'll be silent beside you
I know words won't be enough
And they won't need to know the names or our faces
But they will carry on for us
« aesthetic profile played by: waka »



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