. (siri) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-28 20:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, caspar vaux, siri d'albis |
WHO: Caspar Vaux & Siri d’Albis
WHEN: After this and this.
WHERE: Caspar’s home in the noble’s district.
WHAT: Kerwonians have a lot of feels, seriously.
WARNING: PG-13 for violence
STATUS: Complete
He had sparred, he had run and he had drank, but Caspar still couldn't get her words out of his head. Hours of fruitless distraction had brought him back to his place and into the dark corner of his closet where the overstuffed bag lay forgotten and unused. He put up the bag and started in on it without bothering with gloves, ignoring the thick layers of dust that came unsettled with every punch. Tonight, the Sentinel needed to go on the offensive. I'll wait for you to leave again. That's all he was to her — another ending waiting to happen. One stupid mistake and he had lost her faith forever. No matter what he did, he couldn't undo the choice he had made at 22. That alone, he could have lived with. Ric — always stays longer. She had said it. She had actually said it. All these years Siri had been so careful never to let either Ric or him win, and now she had come out and said it. Cas had left, Ric had stayed. She thought he cared for her less than Ric did. This was the Caspar Vaux Siri saw. Every thought released another bout of blows, his frustration and pain and helplessness made physical, laid bare against on the only thing that could take and take take all that he could unleash at it. At some point his skin split and splatters of blood mingled on the surface with the dust, but Caspar neither noticed nor slowed down. This was the Caspar Vaux Siri knew. What she thought he saw and knew but did not really understand — understanding was a subjective action, trapped in-between synapses of the mind. Despite the factual logic of her words, there was so much more left unsaid between them and Siri knew (part of her did) that there were things she ought not to have said. It was too late to take back things and (part of her) wouldn’t want to — not due to truth but simple anger; the simmering pressure in her ribcage that threatened to make her heart explode. And how she hated his dismissals (goodbyes) and how she hated it when he didn’t understand. (And what was more, what the lapse in her constant keeping the even scores meant, for them and for herself. A slow deconstruction of her self, piece by piece; scampering to bring back what Caspar and Rictor had known back in Kerwon. Siri by now, was a pale imitation of that memory). The edges of her clothing slightly damp from the snow outside, from dancing on rooftops with serpents and snakes; it was all silent in her head after that. Siri was exhausted from those games, but she still had come here. It was not a conscious choice but when the Bazaar district was left behind for the nobles one, Siri knew very well where she wanted (needed) to go. She waited, fingers tapping on the door and hoping (praying) that Faram had led her to the right door and not another trick of the mind. A man greeted her, not who she had come see but Siri recognized him as he ushered her in and took her damp cloak and gloves. This was not a labyrinth even if she was not completely familiar with the layout, but she remembered enough; now, faced with his door she waited. A pointless exercise since she had already come this far and she knocked with a little more forcefulness than what was considered polite. It was a good thing that the knock had been a little louder than what would have been considered polite for the hour, as anything more meek would have been lost among the sounds of the Ranger trying to punch his frustration and resentment out of his own body. As it was, Caspar stopped dead in his tracks, stilling the swinging bag with still-bleeding hands before moving towards the door. His manservant would be long asleep by this hour, which could only mean that this was someone else. Somewhere deep down, Caspar had hopes for who that might be, but admitting the truth to himself was something he was never going to do. He pulled open the door with a harsh and sudden swing, hoping to catch the knocker off-guard. Standing there in his loose pants, sweat-soaked undershirt, and matted hair, Caspar stared at the small figure on the other side with momentarily disbelief before stepping back towards the interior of the room. He made no effort to greet her, or comment on how cold she must be. The niceties were all gone for now, replaced only by the self-loathing and pain her words had cut into him. Sudden swing, off balance and straightening — a feeble attempt at preserving some dignity. How little did those niceties matter when faced with him like this. They were not for them, they (Cas, Ric, Siri) were so much more than those polite words, they were tangled up and meant for more. Heaven whispered so far away from this — Taking him in, disheveled and himself to the core, Siri could never deny the weakness her friends from Kerwon were. However, friends seemed too mild a term — there were family, friends, acquaintances, strangers and then them something much more elusive and important. (Weak, weak, weak, weak) her mind hissed and reminded her that she had a much higher purpose than weak, weak, weak emotional entanglements. The sane part of her was stirring awake, berating the half who had even dared to make the remarks she had. Caspar hadn’t deserved her anger (but he had, the other reminded, he had, he had abandoned her). Stepping back was taken as an implicit ‘come in’ that was pounced upon and followed through. Siri took two steps into his room and then she veered sharply off track and crashed into him. Cold and hot. And the ever burning yearning for someone, anyone, to put her right to make sense to keep her fingers holding onto the ever widening cracks. Caspar instinctively caught her as she collided against him, the weatherworn cliff face to her cresting wave. He held her against him for a brief moment, her damp clothes icy cool against his sweat-slick skin. For that instant, where instinct was the ruler of emotion, she was still Siri, he was still Cas, and all was well in the world. But the hurt that vibrated under his skin grew stronger and louder as he held her against him, filling the room with an angry buzz until he had to step away again. Between them once again was that line in the sand she had drawn with her words, the decade old scoreboard on which he had ultimately fallen short. The tense vibrations spread hot fire across his body, leaving him with bitter questions he would not have bitten his tongue against as a teenager — Why did you come? Why didn't you go to Rictor? He cares more, doesn't he? Oh, did you come here to watch me leave again? But Caspar was no longer sixteen and years of training had (somewhat) beaten the headstrong brash youth out of him. He wanted to be callous and hurt her the way she had hurt him. He did. He truly did. But he couldn't. Because at the end of the day, she would always be right. He had left. Ric had stayed. Even though she was wrong in thinking that she was more important to Ric than she was to him, she had every reason in the world to think so. This was all his fault. Caspar had made a decision at twenty-two that had hurt one of the most important people to him in the world, and this was his price to pay. With a sigh Caspar sank down on the edge of his bed, neither noticing nor caring about the bloody stains his hands left on both sides of him. "I…" the words died before they ever came. For once in his life, the smooth-talking Sentinel was utterly speechless. For one moment it was fine again (as it ought to have been) and she fit in his arms, cheek against his chest; soaked in his warmth, the familiar scent. If she tilted her head, rose on tip toes and licked his collarbone would he taste of metal? Siri rolled that thought in her mind, pure curiosity but before she could decide whether or not to do so Caspar had pulled away. The line might have been drawn and she moved on her side, careful, quiet footsteps as she made her way towards him. Expression carefully shielded but Siri was shaken to see him wounded in such a manner; she hadn’t intended for that at all — she was angry, and what had been said was not a lie — and yet, a vice closed around her throat at seeing Caspar like this. However, the decision to cross from her side to his was the first step of something; she ought to apologise but the distance didn’t allow her to do so. The scores had to be evened out, and there was one thing that could be said but Siri couldn’t bring herself to do so. Touching Caspar was apparently going to be done as many times as he allowed it tonight, so Siri did not pause to take one of his bloodied hands in hers, fingertips brushing the blood gently. Her heart began to race, evidence of violence on his fingertips and Siri felt — something. And yet there was also the terrifying reminder that Caspar was human and he bled and he could die. A well placed dagger in battle could do it. Her bloodied thumb was brought up and she brushed it across her lips, no thought behind it. Siri didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to explain. The instincts that had set him on the punching bag hours ago still played just under the surface of his skin, making him want to flinch away from Siri's touch, to ask her to leave him be. But he forced himself to sit still, to wait and let her say what she had come here to say, what she had earned the right to come here and say. He watched gentle fingers run across his bruised, bloodied, raw hands, long since numb to actually feel anything. He followed the thin hands that painted the swatch of red, his red, across her lips, and continued to watch as they fell still once again, waiting for him to say something, do something. Caspar grabbed a corner of the rumpled sheets behind him and reached forward without thinking, wiping the blood away from Siri's lips. She was a vision with her dark hair and tan skin and sodden whites — the red simply didn't belong. The feel of silk on her lips, the way he wiped the blood (his blood) and Siri felt a surge of affection. Emotion constricted her insides, as if caught in the coils of a serpent and it hurt. It didn’t burn, it just hurt and yet — it also felt right. For no better words: bittersweet and addictive. Every time she saw Cas or Ric, Siri was always hit with the nostalgia of Kerwon and just the desperate need to grab them; being left behind would not happen again, this time Siri would fight for them. “I am sorry, that was unfair of me to say. I don’t think — I don’t think more of Rictor because he stayed longer.” Which was true, in the end they both had left. Seeing as Caspar was far taller, it made it slightly awkward but Siri straightened her spine and kissed his jaw lightly without thinking. "I wouldn't blame you if you did," Caspar said, his voice dry and hoarse, his hands clutching the bloodstained sheets by his side once more,"you have every right to." Guilt at seeing him like this and knowing she had caused it was suffocating, Siri shook her head vigorously, “No, no, no, I knew you would leave before you did and I know — I understand why you left. You didn’t leave because you didn’t care about us anymore.” More or less. Accepting it wasn’t always easy but could she blame him for wanting to run away from his family’s grasp? No, she couldn’t. “I just.” Siri, ironically, choose that moment to stand up and move away from Cas, gesticulating with her hands, “I wish you had brought me with you.” It would have been impossible though, an unmarried nobility mage running off to Emillion with an also unmarried noble Sentinel? Even if they could’ve gotten away with that, she was still a prophet and Helios had in those years, controlled her movements with a iron fist. “I know it couldn’t have been that way.” But wishing never hurt anyone, though wishing was hard when you knew things. The fire below rose higher and higher, could he smell the smoke? Feel the ash settle like ice on the skin. “Still, I am — angry but I understand. Sometimes, you and Ric had to go, you both care, yes - yes, I know.” Stopping her pacing she stared down at the floor, “I love you both equally.” The scores were even, numbers slotting in the right place. “Now.” Siri paused, shook her head as if unsure, “There are snakes, serpents and wolves — what to do with that? I don’t know what to do.” And then there was that desperate acknowledgement that she was getting worse, though she had steadied a little bit now in Emillion with new and old anchors to sway in-between. “Please, don’t leave me again. Promise —” Even if Siri couldn’t bring herself to go near Cas or look at him while trying to extract that promise. Caspar let out his breath when she told him she understood why he had had to do what he did, but his relief was short-lived. "I'm sorry," he repeated, both because he wished he could have brought her with him, and because he knew it could never have been done. Being friends who were attached at the hip was one thing, but two young, single nobles leaving together for lands unknown would have caused a scandal he would never have let Siri suffer. "You can be angry with us. I'm still angry with me. I don't think I'll ever stop being angry with myself." His heart leapt to his throat as she fell back into speaking in tongues, a sure sign (as loathe as he was to admit it) that she was slowly, but surely, slipping. He rushed to his feet and took her hands in his own, as though he could be a humor anchor for her sanity, permanently affixing it to this world. "I will never leave you again," he said unthinkingly, making a promise he knew he would move heaven and earth to keep. Caspar pulled her close, wrapping his hands around her, neither considering nor caring about ruining her dress in the process. "Wherever we go, we go together." “Oh.” His hands on hers silenced whatever else Siri might have been about to tag onto the promise, instead she seemed to fluctuated between lost and aware of the moment, then aware that Caspar was here. Which was right, this was not a dream (his blood was bright and warm) her fingers were sticky with it but before she could remark on that he was embracing her and she unthinkingly sunk. The Sentinel was holding her, but for a terrifying few moments Siri didn’t feel anchored by him, simply trapped between his and her anger. “You’ll regret it.” Her fingers snaked upwards from his back, along his shoulders and then his neck; lacking a distinct gentleness as she pulled his face down towards her own. His forehead was warm, “Cas, Cas, Cas —” she breathed him in. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life." Having Siri here, safe in his arms, felt so right that it made the rest of the world fade away. Caspar could no longer remember why he had been so upset, why they had fought, or why the fuck they had thought it important. Years would come and go and small differences would fade away, leaving only the truth standing — the truth that could be found in their bond and what they meant and would always mean to each other. Caspar, Rictor, Siri — they were bound together and they knew it, even if the boys would never stop trying to fight it. Caspar closed his eyes and breathed in her sweet scent, so distinct from the metal of his sweat. "I have known a lot of regrets. This won't be one of them." He gently pulled away from where she had pulled him down, pressing his warm lips against her cool forehead. "I promise, Siri. I promise." Savouring the grounding feel of that touch against her forehead, Siri shuddered slightly, drawn away from abysses, monsters and the Feywoods. You’re going to regret it. Caspar for making the promise and she for allowing them to become her main binds again. Caspar drew sanity back, winding up a broken-doll to give it second life, Siri just basked in it for a few moments before the sticky feel of her fingers (which by now she had smeared against his neck) woke her up from that comforting solid, yet limbo-like state. “You have to get something for your hands.” You’re bleeding, we are bleeding. Silk, sweat, blood, damp — Siri was not uncomfortable or bothered by their states, all she wanted was to curl up by him and go to sleep, now she felt so tired. Caspar looked down at the offending extremities at Siri's mention of them. "Oh, yeah." He sounded almost puzzled, the hot red stickiness grounding him again. "Yeah, you're right. I should." Stepping away from her, he opened a drawer in a chest in the far corner of the room, pulling out clean rolls of bandages. As a Ranger he had come home with many a wound too minor to require serious attention, and his manservant had long since decided that it would be easier for everyone to have basic supplies at hand for such occasions. Bringing the bandages back with him, he quietly held them out for Siri, unable to let a small smile from crossing his face. Wasn't this a familiar sight? Siri tried to suppress the smile but couldn’t do so as he offered the rolls of clean bandages to her: familiar, calming, pleasant — happy. Taking them carefully in her hands, she gave an exaggerated sigh and nodded towards his bed, an unspoken sit down while she moved with brisk efficiency around the room. First to set the bandages down by the bed and then by pouring water onto a bowl with a cloth which was then moved to the table by his bed. Boys Siri thought with no small amount of fondness, recalling the weight of his hand in hers, and the feel of his blood. First she would have to clean his hands, then bandage them. They were not serious enough to cast ‘cure’ and a part of her wanted to do this task by hand, as she had so often helped Rictor and Caspar patch up after causing trouble or more often than not, after they went too far in one of their spars. Feeling the cool cloth against her skin as she rinsed away the blood (the anger) and bound it by wrapping his hands securely, their fingers touching (a steady contact that kept her there, lucid for the most part). And it was strange how such a menial task could bring her back to herself, to this moment. The new sense of purpose seemed to transform Siri, and Caspar couldn't help but take some pride in seeing her return fully to her own. He was only too glad to sit out of her way, allowing her to move across the room as though she owned the place. The was no hesitation, no self-doubt in the fingers that moved briskly around his own, and Caspar found himself to pay attention to anything but her face as she focused on her task. Here she was, the Siri he had seen less and less, the Siri that had tamed two wild jackasses all those years ago. An idle part of his mind proposed getting hurt more often if that meant seeing this Siri more, but he ignored the suggestion without taking pause. Caspar was so lost in thought that he didn't realize all the ministrations were complete until Siri looked up at him once again. "Thank you." His voice was a little dazed, his attention still not quite back from his musings. "It always looks so perfect when you do it." Lucidity seemed to be an increasing norm with her oldest friends around, never perfectly there but as much as she could manage to be. She leaned down to kiss his brow, and then moved away to put the bowl and cloth back on the other table so Caspar’s manservant could take them away easily in the morning. “I’ve had practice.” Even if the mind forgot, her hands followed the same patterns, unwinding and binding securely minimal injuries. Wiping her damp hands on her dress, which was the last step in making the stains of it unwashable, Siri relaxed feeling a clarity of mind not felt in a long time. There were other dresses and a closet to fill, Siri was would discard this when she stepped back in the tower, but for now she wouldn’t go anywhere. There was no desire to allow distance between them, especially when their peace (as real as it was) still felt precariously frail, butterfly wings at the mercy of the storm. |