for stripartist

[actus]

[ he isn't sure why his parents insisted on this. he knows it's a rite of passage, a family tradition, a ritual, but he can't help the way it makes him itch. the way he feels dirty because of it. he already knows he's the black sheep of the family: he doesn't fit in, doesn't understand why an entire kingdom needs to be controlled by one family. he doesn't want to inherit the throne, doesn't want to be a leader. he wants to be his own person, to rebel. but what exactly can he do? he's a kid. a scrawny, quiet kid who likes books too much and can't seem to find his place in the world.

so he begrudgingly heads to the gardens. his outfit is scratchy - he's not used to something so filled with feathers and velvet - and he finds the temptation to shrug it off extremely strong. usually when he's wandering the castle grounds, he's skipping rocks or heckling one of the (friendlier) guards. he isn't parading around like a kid playing dress-up in his dad's clothes.

still, an excuse to visit the gardens is nice, and even if he has to suck it up and deal with being painted for the day, at least he gets to be surrounded by nice scenery and fresh air. it isn't an everyday occurrence. ]