Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-12-02 08:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !plot: as i lay dying, arielle chiaro, aspel cassul |
"Your hope dangling by a string, I'll share in your suffering to make you well."
Who: Aspel & Ari
What: Sickness, trips & a trunk.
Where: Aspel’s apartment.
When: BACKDATED: 11/27/2013 - Evening.
Rating: PG
Status: Complete!
The network messages had given her something to do. Perhaps, this would be a mistake, perhaps, she hadn’t a clue what precisely had brought on the sudden need - or even remote desire - to share this secret with someone outside her own head. Mag most likely knew, there was little way that the other woman didn’t but… At the same time… Aspel didn’t speak of it, and only when asked would have briefly answered. Yet… Mag had been out of the city for years, and… Well, there was little reason for her to really be checking under the bed. Either way, the smith had agreed to this meeting, and to showing Ari precisely what was in the trunk. Maybe it was because of the uncertainty of her current place in life. The White Mage had seemed so… Assured. Yet not, at the exact same time. What was she to do? Mag insisted she would be fine, as had Ari. Yet…. No one could be sure of that. Though, Aspel couldn’t even be assured that they couldn’t be assured either. Regardless, thoughts haunted her how befitting this end would be. No honorable falling in battle, no long life that came to a finalized end, no chance to fully repent or… Maybe she was simply doomed to death without salvation. It was certainly beginning to feel that way. Bundled up layers of clothing - a foolish attempt to fight off the chill that had settled into her bones - Aspel had shuffled her way down into The Armory to assure she was there when Ari arrived. The knock at the door was met with a stiff, and pained standing before the smith forced a weak smile with her pale and clammy complexion while letting the other woman in. A brief gesture would be offered before leading them back up into her apartment. The doors were locked behind them, but by the time they finalized their ascent into the apartment, Aspel couldn’t help but look pensively confused, a hint of worry starting to creep through. Had she remembered to lock the doors? Her brain had felt so stuffed full of haze and disconnection it was hard to remember even the smallest details. Slowly, the discontent was shrugged off, and tired, worn eyes with bags under them wandered up to meet the bard’s. “Your day?” Ari had prepared herself for the idea that Aspel would not look good. She had been to see Audrey earlier in the day, and now that she was aware of this accursed illness it seemed to be everywhere. Not good seemed the least she could expect. Still, she was not prepared for Aspel’s pale face, the signs of pain on her features, a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead even as she was wearing so many layers. She almost said, I wish I had insisted on letting myself in, but she had wanted to be respectful -- if she had known things were this bad, she wouldn’t even have asked. Her fault, that. But it would be all right, she reminded herself as they proceeded slowly up the stairs to the apartment. She was going to ensure it would be all right, wasn’t she? “Long,” was her answer. She hadn’t really slept the night prior, and this afternoon, with its visits to various places in preparation for her upcoming journey, had been busy and fretful, crowned with a visit to Audrey, who had been nigh delirious, and whose sister seemed to be coming apart at the seams. And now here was Aspel, looking very much the worse for wear. It was going to be all right. But it was apparently going to be pretty awful, first. She reached out to take Aspel’s hand -- it was cold and clammy to the touch -- and give it a squeeze. “Shall I ask about yours?” she said, doing a fair impersonation of cheer. “I am certain you are not enjoying your time away from your papers. Why don’t you go back to bed? Would you like some tea? I’ll join you, I think. It’s cold out there.” It was almost hot in the apartment, but never mind. “Mm.” Was the confirmation of response Aspel managed. “I am sorry to hear such.” Focus was challenging, and if the way she was feeling was any indication, then perhaps it wouldn’t be long before keeping herself together entirely would simply wind up impossible. Her perceptions of time had already been slipping, and the smith was trying to chalk that up to the hours spent in bed, to her time in and out of sleep, but… Aspel wasn’t dumb, she knew far better than to fully believe her own lies on these things. Then there was something touching her, and the slightly confused and disoriented state took a moment to shake as she realized Ari was holding her hand. A strained smile was offered and a rather weakly attempt at returning the squeeze was had. Normally, Aspel’s actions were firm, strong, yet measured, this one was… Well, at best pathetic. Was she really that far gone? So much energy expended for such a… Miserable amount of action. “Ask of my…?” Confusion was present again, as it would seem like one could watch the gears turning, trying to work their way through what was going on here, how she could answer and how… “Oh.” Another strained smile. “Long. It is a good word.” The faintest shake of her head would be given as Ari suggested the smith make her way back to bed. Though, something in what the other woman spoke seemed to catch her attention. However, the words were hard to find, they did not come until after the bard had finished her speech. “Tea is good.” Faram, had it always been so hard to keep a coherent train of thought together before? Eyes wandered away, seeming to linger across the living room for a moment and stayed that way, even as she spoke again, the word barely a whisper and tone absent. “Armor.” A hard blink was taken, Aspel seeming to struggle to pull forth whatever reserves of focus she had. “You are here for the trunk, no?” It was harder than she had imagined to keep her own expression from crumpling when faced with Aspel’s state. Not good, yes, but also clearly confused. Armor? Who had said anything about armor, and why did it matter, really, considering Aspel’s current state. She didn’t let go of the older woman’s hand as she said, simply, “I’m here for you, Aspel. The trunk is an afterthought.” Her curiosity was nowhere near as strong as her concern right now. “Come on,” she said, using the hand she held to tug Aspel towards the bedroom. “For my sake, let’s get you horizontal, hmm? Otherwise, how am I going to make tea if I’m worried about you falling over? Me and my irrational concern -- indulge me, won’t you?” “For me…?” There was an odd - mildly baffled - hint to her tone as eyes fell upon the other woman. “I am always here.” A faint smile. It was an attempt at reassurance, a try at conveying something other than just the words she lacked, though… Somewhere in the back of Aspel’s head, she had a feeling that something about it was likely not quite right. Perhaps, if her mental facilities hadn’t been quite so impaired she would have added words like ‘I promised not to let you fall’, or even ‘I will always come to you’, but… Now was not that time. “Mm.” Ari’s urging would be met with a somewhat limp hold, and the other woman being followed through the apartment, back to the bedroom. “A pity.” Came absent words to the silence that had preceded them as the smith sat upon the bed. Eyes remained lost, off somewhere in the distance as she bent forward to rest her face in her hands for the moment. “Tea, no?” The words were muffled, and her speech aimed away as hands covered her downward pointed gaze. She’d have to get up at least once more before this was all done. “Tea,” Ari said. She only released Aspel’s hand once the other woman was seated on her bed. She suspected this was as close to horizontal as she was likely to get for the moment. It was a start, anyway, and besides, she doubted that the tea would be left to go cold tonight, unless Aspel fell asleep while she was in the process of making it. “Here,” she said, moving to fuss with the pillows, setting them against the headboard so that Aspel could sit back, at least. “There’s a first time for everything, and today, I think we will finally get to drink our tea. I’ll be right back.” With that, she left the room, heading to the kitchen. Eyes raised, watching Ari move about the pillows, but somehow, the connection with what Ari was doing, and how the bard was trying to indirectly hint towards what Aspel should do was not made. “Mm.” Again the noise was her only confirmation to the other woman’s words. Strange how disorienting this whole thing could seem, and realistically, be. However, when Ari exited the room, it would take a moment of the smith attempting to carefully lower herself before hitting the floor a bit harder than planned with one knee. A low grunt would be all that was earned by the sudden contact. Then, after a few seconds, hands would reach under the bed, grasping at the handle on this side of the - rather large - trunk. Leaning the weight of her body back, the heavy container would be pulled out from underneath her bed. The scraping noise was lost on her but before too long, and with her own breathing grown heavy, Aspel found herself retrieving the keys for the trunk from her night stand. They’d still need to open it when Ari got back though… Maybe it’d be better to let the bard handle that. Besides, the floor was beginning to seem a terribly comfortable spot. The making of tea had been a quick venture, fortunately. Ari was quite accustomed to the layout of the kitchen by now. Not ten minutes later, she returned with tea tray in hand to behold... Aspel on the floor with the trunk. Immediately, she was sighing and rushing over. “Aspel!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “I could have done that!” She wasn’t as strong as the sentinel, perhaps, but really now. It was quite large and appeared heavy, and it seemed that Aspel had been somewhat winded by the strain of getting it pulled out from under the bed. “I told you,” she said, “the trunk is an afterthought.” As if to prove it, she set the tea tray down on top of it so that she could kneel on the rug (which was no longer giving her palpitations; she had bigger concerns) and attempt to help Aspel to her feet. “Why is it,” she asked, “that you are so stubborn? Come now, time to get into bed. Can you get up?” In the interim, Aspel had pulled her knees up to her chest, and curled in on herself. This was utterly miserable. Perhaps, more so than any other illness she’d ever encountered before. At no time could she recall feeling simultaneously miserable and hopeless. With most illnesses a quick esuna or cure from a white mage, and it made the world a better place. It was just a matter of waiting for someone who had the right skills to come and assist. This however, was…. It was soul shaking. A disease the mages couldn’t cure, and she had somehow obtained it. Though, they had no idea how. The exclamation of her name roused the smith from the relatively depressing thoughts and her head was pulled away from her knees, arms unfolding from around them, and letting her legs slide down to the floor. “I wished to.” Maybe, if she could do this, it would prove she wasn’t so terribly ill, so utterly useless, so miserably doomed after all…. It was unfortunate that didn’t seem the case. A hand with keys in it was offered up to the other woman, the offering was feeble at best, especially with how she felt at this time, both mentally defeated and physically drained. Aspel would wait until the keys were taken before responding or beginning to move. “It is what has kept me alive.” A faint smile. “And it is a bit of a familial trait.” A hand reached up, grasping at the nearest piece of furniture in hopes to help give herself enough balance and leverage to stand. “I believe I can.” With a strained tug, slowly, she began to rise. Ari took the keys in hand before helping her as best she could, attempting to assist until Aspel was once again on the bed and using her hands to push, gently but firmly, until the pillows she had arranged were used to the effect she had originally intended. “With that sort of stubbornness,” she said lightly, “I am surprised you have not yet willed yourself well. But never mind that.” It would be all right soon. They were going to go and get that cure in just a few days, after all. “Teatime.” She removed the tea tray from the trunk to place it on the nightstand, pouring half a cup -- just in case Aspel’s hands were unsteady as well as cold -- and held it out. “Here. It’s hot. That should be nice; you seem cold.” Only once the cup was taken did she pour her own tea, which she would drink in the guise of medicine -- for her nerves and worry. The trunk was as good a place as any to sit; she wanted quite a bit to clamber onto the bed, but it was, perhaps, not the time for that. “So,” she said, “how sick are you of people hovering?” She had to wonder, though, whether Aspel would let her carry on any sort of conversation until the trunk got opened and its contents properly examined. She seemed quite fixated on the idea. There was little strength available to her for resistance, and considering that her night was not yet done, Aspel still had enough wit to realize perhaps at this point she should store in reserve whatever strength she could manage. It might be in rare supply before long. "Ah, but I must save such grand feats for the final act, no? Is that not what plays, and opera have taught us?" A faint smile was offered, something attempting to keep up, to try to maintain a sense of normalcy but... It was likely to fade fast. Regardless of her attempts to feign normalcy, and her obscene desire to at least seem somewhat okay enough, the tea was... Terribly welcome, if only to warm her hands and nothing else. "Thank you." Fingers, and hands quickly wrapped around the cup, savouring what warmth was offered from it. Faram, when had winter begun to be so cold? Though, between the time when the teacup was passed to her, and when Ari made her next inquiry, Aspel had begun to slip off into some foreign land of thought once again, only to be brought back - half disoriented for a moment - by the bard's voice. "Huh...? Oh." The briefest pause was taken before that faint, absent smile arose again. "Quite." “As long as this isn’t a grand tragedy,” Ari said. “You haven’t the high notes for the tear-wrenching death scene -- ergo, you aren’t going to die, of course. I’m in more danger of it than you, by operatic standards.” And, perhaps, by virtue of her mad volunteering, but that… was not a topic to broach here. She had thought to mention it, but seeing Aspel’s state had swiftly changed her mind. The last thing she wanted to do was add stress. “I would apologize,” she said, “for hovering. But I’m not really sorry.” I’m worried about you, she didn’t say. And she thought, once again, that Aspel simply was not allowed to die. She just wasn’t, and that was final. She could be stubborn, too. They would find some way to laugh about this later, even if in the moment that seemed quite beyond her capabilities. The tea was hot and bland and not really comforting. She drank it quickly, almost so as to get it out of the way, then gave in to impulse; setting her drained teacup back on the tray, she climbed up on the bed, placing her head on Aspel’s shoulder, one arm across her waist. She closed her eyes, tried not to worry or fret. “You seemed cold,” she said by way of explanation. “I’m not, for a change.” “Pity.” It was a weak attempt at a joke. Rather miserable in its own regard, but… It was something. Which was… Better than she had been doing to some degree. Though Ari’s lack of apology caused an eyebrow to be raised. “See how little I hover when you are next hurt.” At least, that made sense in the smith’s own head… Somehow. Though, when Ari climbed into bed with her, there was a definite level of comfort brought on with the action. Yet, at the same time, Aspel couldn’t help but let her brows furrow. “Your health.” It was the best protest she could offer in the moment. Another thought did rise though, as a hand rose, attempting to give the bard’s arm a squeeze, but the grasp was weak, barely able to administer any pressure at all. “The trunk?” Maybe that was the best way to get Ari to move. Even if Aspel - deep down - wished she wouldn’t. "Oh yes," Ari said, "that is indeed threatening. However will I cope if you don't hover?" Though honestly, she probably would miss it -- she was hurt rarely enough that a little pampering seemed pleasant (unlike Aspel, who was laid up often enough that it surely would have become an irritant of sorts by now). "You let me worry about my health, all right?" Ari asked in the face of Aspel's protest; besides, the faint, weak squeeze of her arm reassured her that the argument was halfhearted at best. And really, she was leaving in just a few days. Either she'd get the cure, in which case getting sick wouldn't really matter, or....... Well, there could be no or. So it didn't matter. She didn't explain this to Aspel, of course. She only tightened her arm around the older woman's waist and held on for another few moments. But at the subsequent words, she sighed and said, "All right, all right, the trunk. I'll get it." Heaven forbid Aspel try to drag herself from the bed a second time. She slid off the comforter and approached the trunk. She made quick work of the lock, as the keys had been provided for her, and managed not to grunt in opening the lid, which turned out to be rather heavy. Inside appeared to be... armor? Not the usual, shining mythril plate that Aspel favored, but another set entirely, black, with a familiar design on the breastplate. Two books were tucked into the edge of the chest, spines down. "Ah, but you see that was not what I threatened at all." The faint smile came again. It was always nice how well herself and Ari got along, even in the worst of times. It also felt a bit odd. How long had it been since a misunderstanding of that sort had occurred? Though the follow up from Ari regarding allowing the other woman to worry about her own health earned a low huff of air. While Aspel wasn't the best when it came to speaking about well-being often, it generally came to things regarding herself, not others. At least Ari would follow through with the other request, for whatever it was worth. With brow furrowed, Aspel easily watched, attempting to figure out what she ought to say next. However, she knew the words that made the most sense, even if she didn't want to remember them. "From my time as actively Fell." Something deep inside her chest ached, a longing she couldn't entirely deny would linger there regardless of herself for the rest of her days. “I see,” Ari said. She pulled out the books to look at them, one after the other -- not terribly surprising subject matter, under the circumstances -- then tucked them back into the trunk. She spent another moment looking over the armor before closing the trunk’s lid once more and locking it. Her expression when she looked back up at Aspel held nothing but mild curiosity. “May I ask why you kept them?” she ventured at last. Aspel did say that she ought to ask questions -- and she had been trying. Another pause before she added, “It’s the same as the symbol on your hip. Does it mean anything? I haven’t seen it before.” Though there was something at the back of her mind; hadn’t she seen something very similar somewhere? She couldn’t recall where, exactly, but… Something hurt inside of her as she watched Ari pore over the couple books she had of the dark arts. It was how she had learned of fell, and the dark magicks she knew so well. It was amazing how easily they had come back when they had faced the behemoth not long before. Just like it was yesterday and a deep longing pulled at her every day for more. Even though there should have been little fear of rejection, especially with what they had gone through so far, something within Aspel still was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Everything had gone too well thus far. "They are my history." The smith couldn't help but wet her lips. "To remind me of who," I am "I was." Though the next question was perhaps the most shocking. When had Ari.... Though... Aspel's mind shot in several directions before settling on the obvious. How many times had she passed out in the bard's company at this point? "It is the mark of an order that I once had sworn myself to." A pause as Aspel's gaze fell, eyes shifting back and forth for a moment before she spoke once more. "The Onyx Guard." “Memories of that sort would be hard to release,” Ari agreed. She herself had a tendency to hoard things that reminded her of times and places past, so she could hardly say much about it. “I might have done the same in your shoes.” The question came, but was not voiced: is it as sturdy as it looks? There were good reasons not to wear it, obviously, but Ari was beginning to equate mythrin to tinfoil where Aspel’s battle tendencies were concerned. The black armor had had the look of durability, though what did she know? Her idea of appropriate armor was an ill-fitting breastplate meant for someone of the opposite gender (on the other side of puberty). Get it looked over, her mental voice chimed in, before you leave. The thought of her imminent departure was depressing; she focused on the conversation at hand instead. “I haven’t heard of them, either,” she admitted, “aside from what little you’ve told me.” Aspel hadn’t named the group before, but Ari filed it away at the back of her mind. Perhaps she might indulge her curiosity sometime, to get a better idea of what Aspel still hid from. "Mm." At least Ari did not think her mad. That would simply be the last thing she needed in a moment as of such. Though, with the silence that seemed to fall between them for a moment, there was nerves that crept up, and also a strange hope that perhaps that would be the end of this conversation forever. Maybe, she would not need to say a single word more, and Ari would be satisfied, and... Oh. "It is... Not surprising that you have not." Aspel struggled to keep herself collected and calm. "They were a rangers of sort, and largely based in Kerwon. I... Believe they had only begun to seek some footholds in Ordalia when I left." Faram, that memory still left stabbing pains in her heart. Aspel had never viewed herself as a big damn hero. She had always been striving to be that, or striving to repent for her sins in attempting to become one it seemed. "They... Kept themselves largely unseen." “I am so ill-acquainted with anything that goes on outside of cities, really,” Ari said by way of explanation. “Unless they’d marched into Anjou proper and made a spectacle of themselves, I likely wouldn’t know of them even if they had been operating nearby while I still lived there. Though that was a long time ago, granted; I don’t go back often enough to keep as up to date with current events as I would like.” And by Aspel’s pauses and silences, it seemed that this group would not be the sort for spectacle. And as she also had to guess, this conversation wasn’t an easy one for the other woman -- which, considering her current state, meant it was probably adding unnecessary stress. “Let me top off your tea,” Ari said, the change of subject purposeful and abrupt. Though, having done so, she did say, very softly, “Do not feel obligated to speak of it, but truly -- do not concern yourself with my thoughts on the matter, either. The past is past.” She did not refill her own cup, instead giving serious thought to climbing back on the bed. Instead, she chose to ask a question. “I know that healing spells aren’t…” she trailed off, shaking her head, tried again: “It may not do much,” or anything, “but would you like me to sing for you? I can perhaps soothe your discomfort, a little.” And leave her to some peaceful rest, in the end. Aspel simply listened to Ari carry on about the attention she did, or did not, pay respectively. "The Guard may have been within your city, but you would have never known." Wetting her lips, the smith's gaze did not rise, even if it did shift. "We were quite well acquainted with operating... Under scope of those within," the law "power." A slight nod would be given, absent really to the cup of tea in her hands as it was filled up once again, though, Aspel could barely remember taking a sip at all. However, a world wearied smile did rise, one that was well worn with sadness at the bard's thoughts on her own opinions. "Ah," Aspel would shift, unsure if raising her view were the right thing or not. "but I do." Remaining quiet for a moment longer than generally appropriate within the realms of polite conversation the smith would give a nod. "Magicks or no," a sincere, yet faint smile was finally turned upon Ari, as Aspel raised her head. "Your songs are always," desired "welcome." Shifting a bit, an attempt to get more comfortable, a sip of the tea would be taken as it seemed cool enough at this point. I am beginning to doubt that you can disappoint me. It was a startling thought -- and one she managed not to voice. But the thought of it was enough; Aspel, who seemed so needlessly concerned with Ari’s opinion, had instead managed to earn the sort of trust the bard granted to very few. Life was a funny thing. She didn’t comment on the former topic again, saying only, “Finish up your tea, then, while I tune.” Her instrument was retrieved and she sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching to make sure Aspel put the cup away. She did not doubt the other woman would be sound asleep by the time she was finished, and no one liked wet sheets. “Just tell me when you’re ready,” she said, plucking idly at the strings in a half-formed melody. “Mm.” The tea would be regarded with a look for a moment, before it was attempted again. Another sip this time was taken. It had cooled, but not entirely enough to down in one gulp. Air would be blown over the top as eyes wandered, following Ari through her motions of obtaining her instrument and beginning to tune. Thoughts flickered off for a moment, considering if - perhaps - she lived through this, if it would be possible to convince the bard to learn more songs on the scheitholt. It was a pleasant thought, all other aspects of the situation aside. Though, it would not be long before another instrument would make its way in… Finally, with a bit more time passed, and the tea cooled further, Aspel finished her glass, reaching over and placing it upon the nightstand. “It is finished, as you wish.” With those few words, the smith would attempt to settle back, and listen as Ari began her song. The sounds were soothing, and the song - while not a cure to her current ailments - did assist in alleviating some of the stiffness and pain. The chords changed, as did the verses eventually, but with eyes closed, her mind began to blur the lines of each note, of each word. And before she even knew it, Aspel had drifted off to sleep. The final strains of the lullaby completed, Ari let the last chord fade into silence. She hadn’t asked before putting Aspel to sleep, but she felt no stirrings of conscience over it; the other woman clearly needed the rest, and there were very few things that Ari could do for her right now. She stood, taking her time packing away the mandolin. A few hours of rest would be the least the song could provide -- and possibly more, considering Aspel’s weakened state. Once the instrument was safely in its case, she folded the blanket over to cover the sleeping woman, then stood for a moment, looking down at her face, which had finally relaxed in a brief respite from pain. She didn’t need to speak quietly, she knew -- she could at this point start singing obscene and rowdy drinking songs without waking Aspel -- but even so her voice was soft and gentle when she spoke. “I will see you soon,” she said, “and when I do, I will bring you something better than a song. I promise. So until then, just hold on.” Unexpected tears pricked at her eyes as she bent down, placing a soft kiss on Aspel’s warm forehead. “You said you’re too stubborn to die, and I’m going to hold you to that.” And never mind that Aspel hadn’t said exactly that; it was the spirit of the thing, wasn’t it? “Be well,” she said; she did not add, I don’t know what I would do, otherwise. With that, she collected her instrument case and the tea tray; the former was slung by its strap over her shoulder, the latter deposited in the kitchen before she locked the doors on her way down. |