Cian (thebettingsort) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-04-12 22:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !plot: founders festival, aisling wilde, cian wilde |
Who: Cian & Ash
What: Fireworks!
Where: A rooftop
When: Tonight
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: Complete
This strange in-between place they’d landed in wasn’t something Cian liked at all. They were in a holding pattern of sorts -- hadn’t the prophetess said as much? -- but they weren’t really moving in any particular direction. (Maybe, he thought, neither of them really knew where to go now that all the cards were on the table.) Still, he’d agreed to the fireworks, even if he’d held firm on the fucking ball. A compromise (they said relationships were supposed to be about compromise; it wasn’t his motivation, but it made his life easier). Hopefully, they could watch the damn things and go their separate ways, but he wasn’t really naive enough to believe it would go down so easily. Still, he’d given his word. And so he swung down near the Theatre District crystal as darkness fell, idling the bike as he waited for her to appear from wherever the hell she’d been rehearsing, and tried not to think that all of this felt weirdly familiar, even a decade and a half later. She’d twisted her ankle. Her partner had misjudged the lift and she’d come down wrong. Annoying, considering the performance was the next day and he hadn’t fucked the lift up previously, but this was his first show and she could tell he was starting to get jitters. There wasn’t a mage on hand, but the choreographer had a potion, and while her ankle wasn’t entirely healed, it was good enough that she could walk on it with only a slight limp. He’d told her to go home and rest - she’d flipped him off and left. She’d take another potion after she got home and one when she woke up. It wasn’t the first time she’d injured this ankle, and she was getting older - it wasn’t going to be the last. Rehearsal had kept her mind off of her evening plans, which had meant she didn’t have time to think about what she was doing or what she’d suggested. It was all too similar to when they were younger - Cian grabbing her after rehearsal while her father thought she was out with friends. When she saw him, she felt that little thrill she’d used to get but squashed it. They were just going to go see fireworks. It didn’t mean jack shit. “Hey,” she said, careful to keep her limp from being noticeable. “Hey,” he responded, wishing all of this didn’t have to be so fucking awkward. It had almost been easier when they’d fought all the time. The in-between suited neither of them, but you didn’t unring some bells. “Hop on.” He noticed she’d been walking strange, chalked it up to exhaustion. He had bigger concerns now, like the deja vu of her settling in behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. They were both more solid than they’d been as teens, and this bike was a hell of a lot nicer than his old one had been, but still. “Hang on tight,” he warned before taking off. She was right -- he flew like a maniac (once, she’d claimed to enjoy it). Still, he didn’t take the turns as sharply as he could have, didn’t rise as high as he might have. No need to have her clinging, and he was distracted, anyway. He’d picked a rooftop at the edge of the Bazaar and the Tenements, a tall building containing mostly residences. The rooftop had no door from below, which suited him just fine -- the people below might have to watch from balconies and windows, but they’d have a view of the entire city here. (And, part cowardice, part hedging -- he didn’t own this place, had no way down but to get back on the bike. It wasn’t his rooftop with its excellent view, his apartment empty and inviting just below -- in case either of them got stupid ideas because of nostalgia or who knew what else.) As soon as he’d parked, she immediately climbed off the bike; no reason to linger any longer than necessary. The rooftop he’d chosen gave them a good view and she limped towards the edge before taking a seat. She leaned back on her arms and looked out over the Bazaar. The crowds were starting to gather; she’d normally be down there, crowded and annoyed, waiting for the show to start. (They’d always used to watch the fireworks on top of roofs, and she had refused to do it for years. When the sting had finally worn off, she’d just gotten used to being a part of the crowd.) She swung her legs over the side, careful to not smack her injured ankle against the side. “Nice view,” she said, looking back at him. She considered asking him to join her, but this was already awkward enough. Too nostalgic. If he wanted to sit with her, he could. (Her conversation with Siri from earlier in the day came back to her. He is yours, but I need him. The prophetess was wrong about that.) It took a few moments before he settled -- on the edge, but at a distance. Somewhere between, again. He looked out over the lights of the Bazaar, the faraway dark treetops of the park. “Best views in the city from this district.” Good things were often hidden in the muck and dirt, why should this be any different, after all? He paused a minute before venturing, “Thought you were tired, but looks like you hurt yourself. You going to limp onstage tomorrow?” Not that he would go, he thought. Too much nostalgia for one weekend. But he had to talk about something before the fireworks started and he could reasonably be quiet without adding to the overall discomfort. She noted the distance, but stayed where she was. It was a rare warm evening, and she wasn’t sixteen (or seventeen, or eighteen) anymore. “Partner botched a lift. I’ll be as good as new in the morning. Just have to take a few potions.” And stay off my foot. “No limping onstage for me.” Even if it was still tender after the potions, she’d danced on this kind of injury enough to know she could power through it. The routine wasn’t too long - just under five minutes. “Go see Hier,” Cian suggested. “He’ll patch you up better than whatever you’re planning on taking. Tell him to put it on my tab, since he managed to dig himself out and now I’ve got to pay the bastard. Miracles do happen,” he said with a shake of his head. Before he could come up with another neutral topic, though, the sky exploded in the first series of colored lights. He turned his head slightly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. Familiar, all of this. And yet so different. “Looks like they went all out this year,” he commented as the fireworks continued, increasing in intricacy and intensity. She didn’t say anything about going to see Hier - no way was she going to put anything on Cian’s tab. If she went, she could pay for it herself, but this was an old injury. A few potions would be more than enough. When the first of the fireworks went off, she grinned. There was something about watching the sky light up with colors and patterns that had always seemed magical to her - moreso than the magicks she mimicked. It had always been that way, ever since she was a kid and watched them from her father’s shoulders. It was the one thing she enjoyed most during festivals - that one way to feel like a child again, seeing fireworks for the first time. She turned to look at Cian, the grin still plastered on her face. “Yeah, looks like they did.” He felt something undefinable as she grinned up at him, such a hopeless mix of emotions that he doubted he could give them names. “Didn’t realize you were still this into the fireworks,” he said. Somehow, he’d expected that to change about her. Should have figured he’d accidentally agree to the one thing that meant more to her than the damn dancing. (Should have figured she’d probably planned on his refusal to invite him to do this instead, really. Even if it was a little bit too much like a walk down memory lane for his comfort, he had to give her credit for setting it up. And the truth -- now out in the open -- was that he didn’t mind spending time with her. It was his own conflicted feelings he minded.) She sat up straight and shrugged. “I’ve always liked them,” she told him. He used to know that. He used to know a lot of things about her that he probably didn’t remember. Or maybe he did remember. She never could read him, no matter how hard she’d tried. “I never miss a display unless something is keeping me from them.” Her head lifted to the sky, watching the bursts of light. “Guess some things don’t change,” he said, and regretted it moments after. That was the behemoth in the room, wasn’t it -- that some things hadn’t changed, while others had. He’d half expected her to push, to tell him, once she’d sobered up, exactly what she wanted from him. He’d halfway expected to give it to her even if he thought the idea was doomed to spectacular failure, but she hadn’t pushed, and he wasn’t offering. Above them, fireworks bloomed. A trapping of romance, used to his advantage countless times (some of those times with her; those memories had stayed vibrant for years). Now they just made him irritated, a defense against other things he might feel instead. “Glad you got to see this one, then.” Surprised you didn’t find more pleasant company. His sudden irritation was noticeable, but she kept her eyes to the sky, remembering. After a moment, she slid back, pulling her legs up from the ledge and tucking her uninjured ankle underneath her. The urge to slide closer to Cian, to put her head in his lap and watch the rest of the show from there was strong, but she remained where she was, the distance he’d put between them intact. She wasn’t going to push. “So am I,” she replied quietly, turning to look at him just as another display burst in the sky. “Thanks for coming with me.” “Sure,” he said. For a moment, her face for lit with pink and orange and yellow, the cheer on display in the sky splashed across her features, and he thought of asking her, what the hell are we doing? But then the darkness came, and the impulse fled from whence it came, somewhere deep, deep down in the part of himself which he kept carefully leashed. Sympathy's considered a character flaw for world serpents, he’d told the prophetess. And love? The sort that dug its claws deep and settled in for years, decades? The sort that made you stupid, impulsive, reckless, and worst of all, selfless? That wasn’t ever supposed to happen. “You’re welcome,” he said, his own voice as quiet as hers. I can’t give you much, and I’m not sure I should give you anything, but I’m willing to give you this. Her smile softened and she returned her attention back to the fireworks, silence settling over them. |