abraxaslogs

[ Alina taps the charcoal idly at the edge of the parchment, the light filtering in through the high window of their small apartment in Cadens quickly fading. She presses her hand through the orange beam fingers mirroring how she would summon the light if she had to.

Mal isn't back from his day's work. A little late, but not so much that she worries. He takes the extra work when he can, and she uses the privacy to practice bits of summoning. She hasn't puzzled out how he feels about it yet. Antlers around her neck, her light burning his meadow in the Horizon, she can't help but think the reminders of her power are not exactly comforting.

Stretching on the bed, she toys with the light in earnest now, twirling it around her fingers like fidgeting with the charcoal. Little tricks... how is she supposed to push herself to something more.

Closing her eyes, she focuses herself, breathing deeply. She thinks of the antlers around her neck, a power knocking at the base of her skull, dulled tones of what it felt like when she touched Kirigan's skin. She screws her eyes more tightly closed, if only she could unlock it.

There is a shift in... something, like the air moves around her. She sucks in a breath, eyes opening to a blurred room and a figure coming into focus.

He's polishing his shoes.

She's not sure why it amuses her so much, to see him doing something so painfully normal, the combination of confusion and amusement dousing out the immediate fury she might have felt. Is this even real? ]

I would have thought you'd find someone to do that for you.

Edited 2021-10-01 02:33 (UTC)

[He stops.

Seated there, brush in hand, boot on his knee, Kirigan becomes very still. The edge of a covered bed, the rug immediately beneath his feet—beyond these islands of clarity there is only suggestion, dark and light forms, faded colours. The general himself, he is—

—well he's dressed, at least, if not prepared for company.

He looks first to the door, reflexively, and then to the impossible shape caught in the periphery of his attention. Beneath the frown of his brow, his bright, dark eyes have widened just enough to betray his bewilderment. Behind his lips, his jaw slackens. While he seems stunned into paralysis, the minuscule movements of his eyes betray rapid calculation. What is this? A native trick? A feature of the Horizon? How infuriating it would be to learn such a thing so late.

Through the palm of his hand comes a dull feeling of awareness—some remnant of unconsummated ambition. His knuckles have gone pale around the brush. He says nothing.]

[ There's something satisfying about rendering Kirigan speechless. Likely it has to do with that he's a man who has had multiple lifetimes to see just about everything. It makes an odd, immature sense of pride rise in her. A twist on not many people surprise me, Miss Starkov.

So her curiosity fills all the spaces his might have occupied. Swinging her legs over the side of her narrow bunk, she leans forward, squinting as she surveys the space around him but it never materializes into the same focus as him.

The distance, the uncertainty surrounding this, the absolute absurdity that it's even happening and confirmation that it wasn't something he has orchestrated (he may be well practiced at telling half a story, but she does not think he would ever act unaware) lulls her into an unwise sense of security. There are no shadows to hide in here, so she might as well be bold. ]

Don't let me keep you from important business.

[Important business. Kirigan's reaction to this nonchalant disrespect outstrips the thing itself; he isn't irritated by it, and that in itself is irritating, even over and above whatever it is Alina has done. Is doing. What he'd been planning, before—the similarity is truly bizarre—

But perhaps it ought not be so surprising.

After perhaps too long a pause, he glances at the boot, tilts it on his knee. (Checks the back of his hand.) While his attention is down there, he remembers his feet are bare—and of all things, thinks of how few people have been allowed to see him without shoes.]

How gratifying this must be for you.

[Expertly casual. One might scarcely suspect his pulse is only just winding down.]

[ Yes. Extremely.

It's hard not to say such things, an aimed dagger meant specifically to provoke him. Her face says it all for her though, so this is not a real well-earned victory in restraint. She folds her legs, crossing them in front of her. Her eyes follow his, back down to the boot on his knee, then down to his legs. To his bare feet. Not... undignified. Just... so abruptly casual to see him in any state of undress.

Although she supposes she wasn't so far off from achieving that. But she is isn't a game she intends to lose, not when she already has the upper hand, so she throws her thoughts to the opposite side of that. ]

You are the last person I want to see in my bedroom right now.

[The abruptly casual factor could be worse: she might have caught him shirtless and in comically high-waisted pants.

That they're each perched on the edge of a bed, in their respective rooms, does make this somehow more intimate than invasive. The sense of it creeps in as he watches her legs move. So informal—so contemptibly endearing. Rotten girl.]

So you'd rather visit me in mine?

[In case she's unaware.]

Even young habits die hard, I suppose. So, tell me— [He sets the brush off to one side; being similar in tone to the bedspread, it all but disappears when his hand leaves it.] —are the Cities as free as advertised?

Edited (no, shittier) 2021-10-16 07:18 (UTC)

[ She supposes there are logically few other places he would be without his boots, but her spine still stiffens. Not at the fact that she has made her way to his quarters, but that it is an again, that she can make no excuses of chance of the previous times that she had visited him. ]

Why? Are you thinking of moving? I can find you a job shoveling horse shit in the local stables.

[ So defensive, it isn't just about a dig at her own habits. Not all is well in the Free Cities, a place she still knows so little about except that they have a very distinct opinion about the Singularity. ]

Edited 2021-10-17 00:12 (UTC)

No, thank you.

[Like this conversation is happening across a table, not a continent.]

That's more your loyal companion's speed. Given how handy he is with a shovel. [Ha ha. We have fun here. Next he sets the boot aside; it becomes a dark smudge where it lies.] How is he?

Edited (dw please) 2021-10-17 02:42 (UTC)

[ Man she walked into that one. At least the clang was satisfying. It's seared itself into her memory. ]

Quite well, thank you. [ Somehow, she doesn't think he's actually interested. And she really isn't interested in saying anything about Mal too him. She would like to keep Mal as far away from this fight as possible. ] I hear you're making friends as well. Or errand boys. A Mr. Ralston came to visit me in the Horizon on your behalf.

[ Did they really have a deal? No matter, she thinks Ralston would have thrown her under the carriage just as quickly if he needed a quick exit from a topic. ]

[Whatever progress he's made toward true nonchalance, what remains after this news is, again, only a likeness of it. Tension in the curious little turn of his head, the way his lips press. His hands settle on his thighs with deliberate care, as if he's being posed.]

Did he.

[He sounds collected enough.]

Well, I hope you found Mr Ralston's company pleasant. He can be a bit— [of a c-word] —challenging.

The company you keep usually is.

[ To say nothing of him. Like calls to like. The lack of reaction is more than a little disappointing though. Ralston had abandoned his lie about being there as a courier for Kirigan quickly enough, but she's happy to borrow it for now in this little game of scheming. Alas, she is still such an amateur. ]

Curious too. He thought I might be able to tell him more about you.

That is curious, considering I'm already aware of of everything you know.

[About him, he means, but making himself seem omniscient has always been useful.

Fortunately for Michael Ralston, that's only a bit of propaganda, bolstered by spies—and that lack of omniscience would give the man a head start, were he looking for a good hiding place. Which he should be, and likely isn't. Because he thinks he's clever.

That Alina thinks she's very clever, too, is markedly less insulting—mitigated, at the very least, by territorial impulse. Even the vehicle of their discussion is eclipsed by it. For a moment he just stares at her.]

What did you tell him?

[It's too bad she can't see into him; she might be satisfied by the anger that's begun to seep up from that seething black place beneath his humanity. Or perhaps not that horrible thing itself, but that she summoned it.]

Edited (icon) 2021-10-17 20:21 (UTC)

[ Look at him, bolstering himself up like the villain in a children's story. Then again, who can really say when he's lurking in the shadows. Her shoulders curl forward, guarding herself. ]

Nothing.

[ Liar. ]

I figured I'd let your actions speak for themselves.

[The way his black eyes narrow, mostly by the lower lids bunching, suggests some private working of his intuition. Amusement—not the kindly sort—begins its slow creep into the subtleties of his face.]

I don't believe you. But that's fine. Mister Ralston [—the name crisply articulated—] is due a meeting, anyway; I'll answer to him then.

[Yes. That is exactly what will happen. During that meeting.]

[ Her lips twitch, the beginning of a petulant sneer. ]

I suspect you'd do whatever you wanted regardless of what I did or didn't say. I suspect that is a very old habit of yours.

[ And clearly still a sore point for her. ]

Tell me something not dreamt up in misguided idealism, [he says, rising,] and I might listen.

[The bed fades into a greyish slab of suggestion. The rug's fine pattern becomes clear where he steps, murky when his foot leaves it. He's coming nearer, and taking in all the edges of this vision she's delivering to him, judging by the movements of his eyes.]

You might start with why you're here.

[ She's half listening as he moves, less interested in a chiding that seems more appropriate for if she'd pocketed sweets from a merchant in town than a difference in philosophies when there's something far more curious. Not just objects disappear, but the furniture as well. She squints, trying to hold onto it but fruitlessly it all fades. She can't brush it away as some tricky bit of place-based magic.

It's him.

The skin around her collar feels itchy suddenly. She fights the impulse to curl forward, hunching, but she cannot afford to be small around him. She forces her spine straighter to meet him. ]

You never told me if you got my letter.

[ As if such a short note could be considered such. ]

You know I get all your letters.

[It's offhand, like this precision taunt requires only half his attention.

Less than half, actually; nearly none. This apparition, this strange window to her, has him enthralled. The closer he comes, the brighter his eyes are, not with wonder, but study. He's looking for the fabric of it. For the seams.]

The Singularity, it granted me a gift, [he says, implicitly ignoring whatever Alina's reaction might have been to explain to her this thing she didn't ask.] I can see things I couldn't before. [The particular way his mouth holds on to the shape of his last word—the fierce intent in his stare—

Abruptly, his focus shifts to her. He's right at the window. He's lifting his hand to it.]

[ She walked into that, but it doesn't make the reminder sting less, her hackles less prickly.

Before she can think better of it, she lifts her hand to push his away. Or perhaps it was yielding to a pull that pulsed in the back of her mind this whole time. Either way, the effect is immediate, power rushing to meet its match where skin meets skin, accompanied with an unfortunate memory of a kiss shared, a loneliness abated for just a moment, a request (Stop that or don't maybe) already forgotten.

Her hand lingers too long before she purposefully wrenches it back. ]

How lucky for you. [ Aggressively trying to seem like she does not care when she in fact cares very much. She darts to the side, scrambling to her feet, eyes darting around the room she assumed he could not see, but now she's not so sure. There's a thin knife for skinning hides around here somewhere she thinks, unwise taunts to distract him flowing out without much thought as she fixes her eyes on a drawer, and her mind grasps onto the idea of shutting a door. ] You can help the Queen find her lost jewelry. Or I'm sure they'll find some other use for you in that large castle.

[Alina touches him, the world beyond them both becomes trivial in his awareness, and the moment hangs in perfect stillness—until that distant ache comes rushing up on the current and crashes between them, louder than anything else. His fascination and suspicion, the pleasure of seeing her face, even the frustration that blooms after it like a dark stain: all of it, muted by that exquisitely loathsome ache.

In the liminal instant before their hands jerk apart, that black feeling shudders and spreads in an aggressive streak. He snatches after her, but she's too quick—]

Alina—

[No. Some shrill fragment of thought jerks his awareness like a rein, stops him following her directly; he can manage his impulses better than that.]

You shouldn't have left.

[ A flinch at her name, it almost sounds like there's something genuine behind it. Something she recognizes. Longing?

It's a distraction. Something false, something he's feigning on purpose, and something she can't afford to fall for. She hurriedly searches for something, anything. In her haste, she knocks a bottle of ink onto the floor, shattering. The metal nib pen is hardly a weapon, but it's the best she's got.

Turning on her heels, her knuckles are white around the pen, holding it more like it's a deadly sharp knife than something she had spent her meager wages on. It's hilarious to think it's even a useful in this case. ]

No. I'm safer here.

[ Maybe? Marginally? But it's not hard to figure out that she doesn't think that's true either. ]

[When she whirls on Kirigan, she'll find him no closer than where he'd stopped. His attention's just come up from the fallen ink, he looks ready to say something—and whatever that something was is summarily abandoned when it registers that she's wielding a pen like she's going to shank him with it. His posture briefly takes on the mildest slouch of exasperation: Really?]

What do you think I'm going to do, exactly? This is a window, not a door. [After a pause,] You really have no idea what you're doing, do you.

Edited (mm no) 2021-10-31 08:28 (UTC)

[ He's far too close, but she's far too stubborn to step back even if there was space for her to do so (her rear may or may not only inches from the short wooden dresser if not already skimming it.)

Her mouth opens ready to protest, but he is annoyingly correct. ]

Let me guess. You'd be willing to help me.

[The general's entire mien settles into reserve. Nothing eases his temper like being told he's right, even indirectly, but the way she's told him is like a needle. A trifling sting. Annoying. He need only wait a few seconds for it to subside and go on as if it were nothing. And so, at length:]

No... actually.

[That dull gleam in his eye, that's casual spite. He's enjoying this answer before he's even given it in full.]

I might have, but you broke our accord when you ran.

[He's keeping her letter; he's read it a dozen times, even smelled the paper it's on.]

So no, I don't think I will. If you want so badly to be on your own, then so be it.

[ That is... not what she was expecting. Alina looks a bit like she's had a foot fall through a patch of ice or missed a step coming down the stairs.

She's used to being told no, but... not by him. ]

Fine. [ Fine, she finally manages. ] I'm used to being alone anyway.

[ Used to it, but that doesn't mean she likes it. Her knuckles twist around the pen, a simmering anger threatening to spill out, but chance saves her from facing her own violence. As quickly as he had appeared, he is gone, the space empty.

And she is alone. ]

002

kirigan (tether)

at last

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