Who: Carabosse and Oberon
When: takes place a day or two after this thread
Where: The Sleeping Woods
What: Old friends meet in the woods


It was perhaps long overdue. She hadn't seen him since their youth, spent in darkness. They had much in common then. Her strength and her darkness, her deep yearning for knowledge. She stood near his bower, observing his surroundings. Still a spoiled brat, she thought, though she knew he had earned much of his spoils. He was a king who worked for his people.

He sensed her and his disappointment was dual fold. "Cara," he said darkly, slipping from his bower and into the shadows of night. He had expected and longed for the woman in his dreams. Carabosse was a pale replacement for those burning eyes. Though she certainly looked better than he remembered. Her chosen dress was dark red, so dark it might be mistaken for black. Her hair lay in smooth waves over her shoulders. Her faint smile painted red and drawing most of the attention from her pale featured face, but for her eyes. They were not soul searing, not the eyes he wanted to drown in, but Cara's eyes had always pulled his attention. They were dark, deep wells peering into her soul.

"Oberon, Faerie King," she said, her tone not so reverent as her words. He looked like hell and she wasn't sure what to make of that.

"What drags you through my woods?" he asked, still moody as he stood opposite her.

She laughed, a strangely light sound. "I have missed your mood swings when I thought I never would."

Oberon rolled his eyes. His old friend was the only person he felt that was darker than he, except perhaps his dream woman. "Even if I am in a mood what is it to you?"

"Puss tells me she has arrived," Carabosse said vaguely. She knew enough about Mabb's sudden disappearance and her previous relationship with Oberon that she found it curious that he had not reacted to her return sooner.

"What do you know of it?"

"Nothing other than that," she said, her tone silken. "I thought perhaps you would be interested." She did not know that his memory had been erased, or that his vagueness came from his lack of knowledge and not his desire to avoid the subject.

He eyed her cautiously. "Is that all?"

"Perhaps I missed my old friend," she said easily. "I have not seen or heard of you since my god-mothering days."

"And how does that fare?" he asked, an amused smirk replacing his moody visage.

"I believe those days are long since past me," she said. "I find myself gardening to occupy the time."

"You and your flowers," he commented, leaning back against a tree, tall and lank. Strangely enough he relaxed around Cara. He had forgotten that she had that affect on him. They hadn't talked in such a long time, so many things had passed between them that he didn't even know where to begin.

"I trust that you spoke to the black blooms," she said conversationally. She looked around his bower. "Puss was reluctant to inform me, but he's planted the majority of them here."

"They were your flowers?" he asked.

"Who else would grow flowers of Sleeping Death?" she asked in return, mostly amused. "Though they were not used for my own purposes. He would say no more than that."

"Still hanging out with that mangy flea bag," he said, though the insult was tossed in a teasing tone.

"Who else can I trust?" she asked, her eyebrow arched curiously.

"Who indeed," he replied, as if that were a real answer.

She observed him a moment; his tall length looked gaunt, his cheeks too thin. Of course, it was no longer their season, but she knew him well enough to know that spring did not usually have him so unraveled. "Dear king," she said as if that were a common greeting she often used with him (which is was not), "whatever is the matter with you?"

He huffed and looked away from her. "It is none of your concern Carabosse."

"Probably not," she replied with a yawn that practically screamed: your excuses are boring. "I merely observe that you are not yourself. Is it such a crime to be curious as to the state of my monarch?"

"I could write that into law," he offered with a flippant gesture of his hand.

"How generous to base one of your..." she lifted her fingers and ticked them off, "one, two, three laws on me."

He didn't care to talk with her about laws or anything that truly concerned him. "How would you feel if I banished you from Pentamerone?" he threatened idly at her taunting. Carabosse was much like Puck in that regard; she could tease to a point before he'd get serious.

"I imagine I'd go back to faerie god-mothering," she answered crisply. "If you don't want to talk about it you need simply say so instead of dashing under all of my questions."

It's not that I don't want to talk about it. It's simply that I don't know how to talk about it. "Then we won't speak about it," he said simply. "And I ask that you stop pestering me about it."

"Of course your majesty," she replied with a slight bow. "Should you require council, or simply a friendly ear," she added in a whisper that his servants would not hear, "I am taking up residence in Pentamerone. Until such a time as you banish me," she added her tongue firmly in cheek.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, tone drenched in sarcasm, though he smiled as he shook his head.

Cara smiled in return. "It's good seeing you," she said. "Do take care?"

"Of course," he said lightly. "You as well."

She nodded and saw her way back through the woods with little more ado. She wasn't one to dwell when there were no more words to be shared.

He watched her as she slinked back the way she came. Even she knows of her arrival and I have yet to see her. Will I be the last person she seeks out? he wondered, returning to his brooding and bower as if he'd never been interrupted.

Tags: oberon, carabosse