abraxaslogs

[ Even in the low light of the dungeon, he no longer looks like the ghost of himself, deprived of something that is his very nature. It itches at the back of her skull, her fingernails digging into her arms to keep her eyes steeled on the wall in front of her. She won't look back, she cannot look back.

Self-control is a fleeting thing, though, and Alina's reserve of restraint has been long emptied. The silence broken, she jerks up to meet his eyes. ]

I thought we left you.

How frustrating for you.

[His voice is as smooth as the gleam that crosses a turning blade. Whether she meant in the tunnels or in the Fold doesn't matter; the result is unchanging.]

Making the same decision, again and again, only to achieve the same result every time.

It's not a mistake I intend to make again.

[ Remembering the horrible sound of metal against flesh, how easily he crumpled to the ground makes her feel nauseous, but perhaps not as sick as the fact that she still regrets she wasn't the one able to deal the blow to his head. Would he beg the saints for mercy? ]

No? Planning a change in tactic? Or will your next attempt definitely be the one that works.

[That horrible blunt sound, and the ground rising to meet him—looking at Kirigan now, they'd might as well never have happened at all. This is the lesson she and her tracker have yet to learn. It wasn't a real question, anyway, so he leaves little room for an answer—]

Tell me how you imagine our future unfolding here.

[Not futures, plural; that would imply a divergence. There's just the one.]

[ It's a conscious effort, to not let herself be goaded into revealing too much information. Although that sort of hinges on her actually having some sort of plan or information to reveal. All she has is herself, Mal, and their combined resilience.

They're survivors. They'll figure out something.

It doesn't last for long, sitting up straight on her bunk, the low light illuminates the peaks of Morozova's collar poking out from her hair. ]

Since when do you care about what I think?

[ He's seemed perfectly content to make a path for the both of them regardless of what she wanted. Even if it resembled something she wanted. She doesn't have the luxury of forgetting. She's choked by it every moment of the day. ]

[That phrase lands sharp; she'll know it by the turn of his head. It's a shallow, restless movement, a frustrating thing that shouldn't need to happen at all, and his attention is a little sharper for it in turn when it returns to her in full.]

I am asking you to consider the situation. Our... situation. And whether mindlessly attacking the only familiar thing you see is really in your best interest.

[ She would be pleased at how her remark lands if the wound still wasn't so fresh. Our situation. She pushes out an exasperated breath. As if there was any our to be considered, the time for that having long passed. ]

What is our situation exactly?

[ She is not the sun summoner here. She is not Sankta Alina. She is just a nameless prisoner with a noose around her neck. ]

That you and I, [his mouth forms the next name with faint effort, as if it tastes awful and he's trying to be polite,] and Mal... we are each other's only links to where we're from. Where we truly belong.

[There was another, too, he thought—some boy with an overactive mouth—but he's since lost track of that one.]

Plus anyone else from our world who may yet arrive. Thorne won't stop at these numbers—they need more.

[ Alina is preparing to roll her eyes and resume her attempt at a rest while Kirigan continues... well, being himself, moving through whatever monologue he has prepared.

And then her spine stiffens when he says Mal's name. Even in the dim dungeons, her eyes are wide reflecting the lamps that flicker around them. There's a decision in front of her. Comfort covering the steel jaws of a trap, safety visible through the circle of a snare, his name dangled out like a lure.

If only she was wise enough not to bite. ]

You'll help me. And Mal. And anyone else from our world get back to Ravka.

[ That is absolutely not what he said, but the wheels in her head are already spinning faster than she can really examine it more closely. Clearly he earned some favor here to be on the other side of these bars, and if he can do that, he can get her and Mal out too, and then somehow she'll find a way to strand him here.

Not that she has any idea how to destroy the Fold without him (or with him, honestly) but that is future Alina's problem.

It's settled, except for one fact... ]

They let you summon.

[ Just confirming. ]

Edited 2021-07-23 02:39 (UTC)

[It really is remarkable how quickly Alina will pick the idea she likes most and rush toward it. All he needs to do is say nothing, or say very little of substance, and she'll convince herself that what she wants is true. That is her instinct. He wonders if she thinks she's good at reading people—or if she's ever thought about that at all.

Probably not.

Case in point: now that she's decided he's helping them and moved on to thinking about summoning, he doubts she will circle back. So he'll move on, too, and allow her to direct the conversation. This is more immediately relevant, anyway.]

I've yet to regain my full strength. But yes, provided I— [this part is bitterly amusing—] behave, it won't be long. So they say.

[ She closes her mouth, stifling a distinctly undignified noise of amusement. It is the only thing that keeps out the acute, piercing pain of jealousy, an empty void sitting where the light once did. She'll feel that later, without the distraction of him in front of her. ]

You'll be back in here soon enough then.

[Despite himself, what he's really doing here, everything, his mouth pinches against what might have become a smile were he not so quick to suppress it.]

I doubt that very much.

[So, not no.]

At the moment, the only currency we have in this place is how useful we can make ourselves to the [so-called] High Mage, and by extension the kingdom of Thorne. You recall how the Little Palace was built, don't you? The Second Army?

[ Oh boy. A history lesson. Alina folds her legs in front of her, leaning against the stone wall behind her bunk. Lifting her eyebrows, she presses a long breath of air through her lips. She knows where this is going, although it's more from experience than any formal lessons from Ana Kuya.

She lacks the patience to bide time appeasing the will of men. ]

If you are so eager to be obedient, maybe you should be the one wearing a collar.

[Now, it isn't as though he's forgotten what she's like. Anyone expecting to talk to Alina Starkov without receiving a bit of lip in return mustn't know her very well at all. It's one of the things he first liked about her, in fact—her ferocious honesty, her lack of fear in speaking it. Even to him.

Perhaps reminding himself of that will help unclench his jaw.]

We all do what we must to survive.

[ Ever mature, Alina is slightly disappointed her baiting didn't work. Her eyes flick to the side, shoulders slumping. Survival is an end she knows well; she's certainly been practicing it longer than the small sciences.

After a long pause: ]

I'll think about it.

[ As if she has a choice. ]

[Her baiting nearly worked. Continues nearly to work. I'll think about it, she says. The attitude. Little she-devil. If they weren't stood in front of a captive audience, he might make less effort to restrain his temper—]

You'll have plenty of time for that, won't you?

[His exit is markedly less dramatic without the fluid turn of a cape to follow him, or even the long cut of his kefta, but his own attitude more than compensates for that; by the lift of his chin alone it's easy to read the spiteful pleasure he takes in leaving her there in her little cage.]

001

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject