Almalexia. (arithmeticks) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-06-12 23:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, almalexia lliryn, rictor cassul |
But don’t take it easy on me, ‘cause I don’t know how to take it.
Who: Korporal Rictor Cassul and Almalexia Lliryn.
What: A meeting that's purely business, until it isn't.
Where: Cathedral, Lex's room.
When: Sunday, after this.
Rating: PG, some language.
Status: Complete!
Her current and primary concern was that she had, perhaps, agreed to this plan much too eagerly. But it was far too late for her typical doubts and misgivings regarding the individual now consuming her thoughts, especially when something potentially vital to their recent predicament was now involved. A possible clue, Lex thought and hoped, and so what if Rictor just happened to be attached to it? Not that she would prefer to gain information in this particular way, of course. Simply the thought of being unable to comb through the scene of the crime herself had caused her enough ire of late. Stiffly redirected toward other tasks by others, her mind had filled with scenarios in which she was able to find clues about their culprit independently of, not only Rictor (she could plainly see that insufferable smile of his already in her imagination), but of anyone else residing in the Cathedral. Her superiors would call it being prideful, perhaps, jealous at the very least, but she herself argued it was simply a matter of personal independence. Going over the details of the crime again in her mind, Lex sat hunched over seriously at her desk with one palm against her forehead, the pen in her other hand tapping a steady beat of poorly-restrained anticipation. Whatever she had been working on before, delicate mathematical calculations in need of more than half-hearted attention, became now little more than abstract scribbles on the page, foreign figures now wiped cleanly from her mind. Lex tossed her pen aside with a sigh. She stood up and, with a great deal of internal effort, attempted not to pace with feet the circuitous path of her thoughts, for the small room offered very little in the way of proper space for such an activity. Or much of anything else, really, save for the typical sparse decor of every other nearby room--blank walls and empty floor and a smattering of borrowed books littering the desk and floor and even the narrow cot that served as a bed. A carved wooden rood hung nailed on the wall near the door. Rolled up parchments leaned against the cold stone walls, some fallen flat on their side, offering clutter without much honest creature comfort. There was a brief, bizarre urge to make an effort of tidying but it was quickly pushed aside for other, more important concerns. Was that the echo of footsteps, she wondered? Lex stepped toward the door with no amount of energy even resembling excitement (how absurd) and reached out to open it. Her movement was well-timed, precisely anticipating his approach – the door was pulled open to reveal the knight standing there, nonplussed, fist raised in the air to pound on it by way of greeting. Self-conscious, Rictor silently lowered his hand and tucked it behind his back. There was the fleeting thought of How did she know?, but it was obvious: he never had much cause for secrecy or stealth, and tended to announce his presence with clinking metal and a heavy tread in the hallways. The knights were not nimble-footed thieves; they expanded to fill the available space, swaggering taller and bigger than their actual size if they could. “Nicely done. Did you have a Sight spell cast on me or something?” Rictor took a step forward, as if to muscle his way past her and into the room, but something made him stop in his tracks and hover on the threshold instead. His eyes were fixed on the room behind Almalexia’s shoulder. It was filled with slightly more ephemera than his own, but that said little: Ric lived in a cell and left Emillion for months at a time, his room accruing dust and spiderwebs in his absence. Lex took a deep breath and stood up to her full height, which was, unfortunately, paltry at best when in the presence of he who towered ever over her. Reminding her fully of her own short and unintimidating frame, she nevertheless failed to shrink back as he tried for a brief moment to move forward. Mostly, it ended up with her slightly frowning at his chest, but she raised her head as he spoke, acknowledging his presence, she hoped, with at least some form of dignity. Her hand lingered slightly on the doorknob. "I doubt your activities are anything I should want to be so familiar with, Rictor," she countered in lieu of a more polite greeting. Polite meant she encouraged his presence, after all, which was hardly the typical case. There was some thought to keep him out in the hallway, of course, and that small moment was bittersweet and short-lived, for Lex was aware of the limits of her resolve and moved to the side to allow him passage with as much of a neutral expression as she could muster. "Don't linger in the hallway," she encouraged grudgingly, waving him forward while attempting to avoid any unnecessary contact. Rictor was rather large, after all, and would most likely take up much of the room in any case. Which he did, immediately making himself comfortable by settling on the side of her narrow cot. The wooden frame creaked beneath Rictor’s weight as he shifted, leaning forward to rest elbows against his knees. The man looked at ease, making this space his own despite it being the first time he’d ever visited here – and the first time he’d seen Lliryn in her own private space. Not hidden behind the library stacks, or waiting beside the pulpit in the cathedral proper, or striding quickly through the hallways like some small, brisk, efficient animal scurrying on to its next appointment. He hadn’t even hesitated before taking the bed rather than the chair. Her desk was overflowing with the trappings of a church mage, and the piles of scrolls gave him a distinct sense of unease, like being faced with an unfamiliar weapon or some obtuse relic he didn’t know the use of. They meant something, Ric knew that much – but the significance was lost on him, a foreign language strange on his tongue, a tangling of glyphs and symbols that seemed to swarm before his eyes. That was the reason why he was here, wasn’t it? Lex was studious; she knew things. (It was the only reason, he told himself.) “I don’t know, my activities are plenty interesting,” Rictor said. Then, like a cat toying with its prey and batting it around with huge, clumsy paws: “Take, for example, getting to see that vile scene a couple days ago. Shame you couldn’t come take a peek. Do you get out of this little room enough?” Empty politesse was lost on the both of them. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Lex shut the door and lingered there for a moment, watching as Rictor immediately decided to make himself comfortable--on her bed no less, and she could practically feel the venom against her tongue begin to truly manifest. He really had no concept of sacred personal space, that much she was sure of. But she also felt no great urge to sink back in the corner of the room like a shrinking mouse in his presence either--and it was with a quickly strengthening resolve to not allow him the pleasure of getting the better of her that Lex took firm strides over to sit beside him. She was certain to make sure there was a clear and definitive space separating them, of course, but anything less and she was sure he'd find some new way to be smug with himself. "My daily comings and going aren't any of your concern either, I should think," she pointed out, feeling bitter when presented with the truth of his words. Of course Lex wanted to know about that, and of course she was loathe to admit it so directly. This whole situation was difficult enough as it was. She cast him a sideways glance. The small bed was not nearly constructed to so easily hold his weight, and sitting even where she was, she felt the obvious creaking and slant of the mattress downward where he sat. Lex leaned almost imperceptibly the other way. "Now, I believe there was something you were going to show me?" “Oh, right.” He patted absentmindedly at his trouser pockets, and for one horrifying moment, it looked like he was going to have to pull out a thrice-folded, crumpled, and utterly ruined piece of paper – but then Rictor went for his shirt pocket instead and fetched a neat pad of parchment, folded only once. He opened the page and flattened it against his knee, smoothing out the crease before casually dropping it into Almalexia’s lap. He could feel her presence beside him like a stone dropped into a still pond, the ripples reaching him with each little creak and shift of the straw-stuffed mattress. The periphery of his vision was all blonde hair and knife-sharp cheekbones. Instead, Rictor’s attention honed itself in on the parchment: it depicted an assortment of foreign, unreadable characters that had been assembled into one intricate glyph, sketched out in painstakingly accurate lines. Not his own work, evidently – another of the Pharist mages had penned this copy for him with mathematical precision. “Voila. The only calling card left by whichever foul–” Fell? “–perpetrators slipped past the Necrohol’s supposedly-fucking-vigilant guards.” Lex's attention went immediately to the paper tossed ungracefully into her lap. Her first reaction was, unfortunately, to be vaguely horrified that this object Rictor had just pawed his hands all over had been tossed in her direction--as if the inanimate object had some possible invisible curse on it. But the reaction was brief, fortunately, and with delicate fingers she held the paper out in front of her to inspect. Her focus was drawn fully and purposefully toward the drawing, the weight of Rictor sitting beside her becoming nearly nothing as she traced each outline with the tip of her forefinger. A small noise escaped her lips as she did so, and it was easily defined as the hum of one overcome with curiosity for the puzzling glyph now before her. "Are you sure this was copied properly?" She asked (mainly to herself), tilting the page this way and that in the light of the room. "No, this isn't even," and the words were only fragments of thought as they arose in her mind, one hand moving up to her mouth in a show of deep consideration. "Not Kiltian, as I would've expected." Her shoulders drooped for a moment, and Lex allowed a silence to fall across the tiny room before she spoke up again. "But the structure is similar enough, isn't it?" Lex pointed at the center of the glyph, clearly expecting him to understand even a tiny portion of what she was currently mumbling to herself. Rictor’s hands had steepled under his chin as she went on, watching Lex descend into some sort of internal consultation-slash-dialogue rolling out faster than he could follow. Snippets of words and bitten-back mutterings, a furrow of the brow, little twitches of the hand – he could practically see the cogs and gears turning industriously onwards, all spurred on by this cryptic little scrap of paper. Her mind was a machine that he had inadvertently set in motion. And, of course, could hardly hope to keep up with. “Similar enough to what?” Ric repeated, a small thread of irritation working into his voice. Faram, he hated letting on how little he knew. “It’s like none of the old Kerwon scripts, and the other mages didn’t seem to have a clue either. Maybe a little like the stuff at Bur-Omisace, but...” He shrugged. It was grasping at straws and straining for the few cultural experiences he had to relate. Rictor never bent his head over crumbling books and scrolls to study dead languages; no, he caught accidental glimpses of them carved on pillars and monuments over the course of his journeys, all academic learning incidental. "Older than that," she replied quickly, an unusual lightness in her voice building as she continued to speak. With her eyes still on the paper, Lex unconsciously started to tilt slightly toward him as she attempted to explain more clearly. "This easily predates most anything I've even seen, but--" Caught in her own musings, she failed entirely to catch any hint of his possible dismay and when Lex looked briefly up to him, it was with even the slightest indication of a smile. This truly was more than she had hoped for. For a single moment, Lex felt as if she was on the precipice of discovering something useful. That she possessed, perhaps, the ability to contribute in this difficult situation, even if she hadn't been able to investigate the scene itself. "The composition of the magic is similar, if just enough. I believe this was how they were able to transport the bodies, Rictor." Lex looked back down to the paper she was holding, her voice distant and thoughtful once again. "These sorts of spells can only move things at a limited distance of course, even when used profanely. If I'm correct in my assumption, I'd say they most certainly remain within the city." Her eagerness kindled something, then, that turned his discouragement into alertness. It was a slow transmutation that seemed to seep through his body, jogging his brain, making him sit up straight and cast Lex another look. “Magic?” For some reason, the very option hadn’t even occurred to him; the symbol had seemed a preposterous boast at the time, a signature to denote ownership, an arrogant gesture of I was here; look upon my works. But of course they hadn’t done what he would – he wasn’t a grave-robber damned for blasphemy and spitting in the face of Faram. Of course it would have had a practical purpose beyond pomp and circumstance. All the gentle teasing seemed to dissipate, swallowed up in what was suddenly the iron shell of a templar like an assumed skin, an invisible set of armour that he slipped back into. For a moment, Rictor had the sudden, mad thought to grab her by the elbow and steer her out of the room, dragging the girl straight to the Cardinal’s office. But no. There was an order and regimen to these things. A method, a chain of command. He balanced his next words carefully, crisply: “A transportation spell. You’re certain?” “Of course I am,” she said without hesitation. The theory seemed perfectly reasonable to Lex, of course, and if she was allowed proper time to study the glyph further, there would surely be enough quantifiable evidence to back up her reasoning. "Here," she offered Rictor his sketch back finally, the paper held gingerly between thumb and forefinger. "Have one of the senior mages look it over, if you somehow need further convincing." Lex offered up a scrutinizing gaze at the thought, her eyes slightly narrowed as if to challenge him silently, go on then and do whatever you please. The man accepted the piece of paper, their knuckles not touching. Perhaps he did require further convincing, when this bit of news came from a student and not even a proper arithmetician. But then again, knowledge was esoteric and strange; Rictor’s impression of Pharist studies was that they ranged far and wide, and one was lucky to stumble across a bit of history or scrap of magic that corresponded to what you were actually looking for. “You know that other – fully trained – mages looked at this and didn’t didn’t come up with anything?” It was mentioned offhand, nonchalantly; it was as close as he could get to praise. Rictor waved the paper dismissively before tucking it back into his shirt. (Did it mean she was more likely to be incorrect? Did it mean he’d tip her name especially towards the Hauptmann, a bit of credit for a job well done? Only Faram knew.) But at least they had a lead now. The needling of anger rose in Rictor’s throat once more at the thought of tracking the missing bodies. Finding the thieves. Enacting justice. These evil crimes would not be tolerated, the cardinal’s impeccable script had said, the indictment pinned to the cathedral door with force and looking ominous and foreboding. He shouldn’t feel this vengeful – it was not seemly, it was not kind – but the emotion sat there nonetheless, foul and patient, like a wolf squatting and waiting for its prey. The knights would find them. Yes, they would. Lex watched as Rictor tucked the paper away in his pocket, her eyes lingering on the folds of his shirt. She was ready to respond to him, of course, or at least in a fashion that she was by far most accustomed to--with scathing wit and quick rebuttal. Back and forth was expected, and when presented instead with a response less familiar, well, she sank into a loss of words. A conflict blossomed forth, on whether she should take it as some form of compliment to her skills, or as something else with a different and less obvious meaning, something that required better analysis. Either way it didn't sit entirely well with her, and Lex crossed her arms over her chest and tried with great difficulty to think of something appropriate to say in response. After all, hadn't Lex herself insisted on how much she was improving in her studies? Wasn't it her purpose to prove how useful and competent she could be in difficult matters as these? "Yes, well," she began to say, trying to sound just as confident as she had been only moments before, "Obviously if you..." Lex paused ungracefully mid-sentence, and as quickly as the suggestion began to spring out of her mouth it just as quickly extinguished in the air between them. Her gaze sank even lower, lingering on Rictor's hands--distracting herself with the faint scars and imperfections as she warred with her (highly inconvenient) loss for words. “If I what?” An eyebrow arched. The caustic Almalexia Lliryn, rendered mute and dumb for the first time in his recollection? Two years’ worth of exposure to the blonde had taught him that the woman always had a rejoinder at hand, another set of words calculated to flay and scrape and tear. It must have been a momentary hiccup, a shudder in the mechanism, a pothole in the road. But with the usually parrying back-and-forth gone, Rictor realised that he may have chosen the wrong seat in the room. It had been a tactical choice, and in the end, a tactical error, because she was small and slight beside him and was that the scent of vanilla from her soap— Distracted with this line of consideration, he decided to look past Lex, at the small window looking out onto the courtyard. There wasn’t much visible. The cathedral was a grand sight, of course, but one’s eye tended to weary of cold grey stone and sunlight through tinted windows, day-in and day-out, years on end. “You should get out more,” he blurted out. “See the sights a little. It was a good catch, but we don’t want you becoming a withered skeleton in here, do we.” “I have,” she blurted out just as quickly, which of course made her argument sound a bit less than credible. “I do.” Lex kept her arms crossed and looked all the way down to the floor, hearing the sound of uncertainty in her own voice and suffering the slow, drowning sensation of remaining at a loss. Discussing her own personal habits wasn’t something she was prepared to do with any amount of grace, for after training and long hours of study, there was often little time for personal recreation, as it were. Surely Rictor had some advantage in this arena as well, and Lex was not pleased to admit it even to herself. “I attended the Founders’ Ball this year,” she added, believing it to be at least some mark of accomplishment. Surely he wouldn’t need to know any of the truly honest details, of how she slipped in and out of the inn like an unassuming phantom, hardly acknowledging any acts of drinking and other revelry--and aside from the accident on the balcony, carefully avoided unwanted interactions. Nevertheless, Lex considered it a bold action on her behalf and wanted it to sound as such. She nodded to herself wisely. “It was very informative.” “‘Informative’.” No one else would have described a party with such a term. His incredulity melded into a wry grin, all the various angles of Rictor’s face settling back into the look of bemusement that, in his opinion, suited him far better than the loss of equilibrium just a few moments earlier. “Do tell me more. I missed it, was still crossing Ordalia at that point.” Lex gave the answer some thought. "Well, I arrived in the early evening, by which time the Riskbreaker and the Judge Magister were busy making a scene for the other guests to gossip about," she began to explain earnestly. Her tense posture began to loosen up as well, as her hands fell from her sides and instead folded neatly in her lap the longer she continued talking. "It was a very convenient distraction, though I doubt the nobles in attendance gave much interest to my presence regardless. As for the rest, I believe they were very content to position themselves near the alcohol or at the dance floor." She gave him a sideways glance, looking more at Rictor's shoulder more than anything. "And the balcony certainly had the best visual advantage of the ball." Lex shook her head. "Although I was certainly not the only one in attendance to think so." There was a brief moment where she considered asking him if he'd ever gone to similar parties before, but the innocent curiosity was quickly pushed aside in lieu of better sense. “Be glad they didn’t take much interest.” Ric’s voice canted itself into an exaggerated simper: “‘Are you planning to summer by the seaside this year? We took a skycruise over Kerwon, it was ever so nice. My husband’s work with the magicite mines is so important this year. We had lunch at the Magister’s home last week. I commissioned a painting of the jagd, I bought it for twenty thousand gil. Why haven’t you gotten betrothed yet? Have you seen my prize chocobo stallion?’ Nobles can be a pain, trust me.” He leaned back and settled against the wall, cool stone pressing against his back. Rictor was busily taking in the mental image of Lex, trying to excise her from these surroundings and imagine her at a ball. The hair primped and coiffed and styled, the demure clothing replaced with a gown. He couldn’t see it. “Some people like to be on the balcony, watch everything like a sniper. Me, I station myself by the food tables,” he said, tongue-in-cheek. “Say one thing for them, they sure know how to put on a feast.” “How terrible it must be, My Lord,” Lex agreed, her smile hooked sharp once again, “to be shackled to so many horrid social responsibilities. You certainly have my sympathies.” If there was genuine amusement had at Rictor’s imitation of nobles then she was not at all keen to display it as such. Watching as he made himself comfortable against the wall, there was the feeling that, if he were somehow bodily able, Rictor would attempt to contaminate all things with his presence at once. Fortunately the room wasn’t quite that small, and Lex shifted her own position on the bed to watch him carefully over one shoulder. Effort was made to ensure their legs in no way brushed against each other, but the situation felt increasingly more casual than she was accustomed to. Not that she was accustomed to having a man in her quarters for any purpose or length of time--let alone one that felt the need to go so far as to situate himself on her bed of all places. Lex tucked her long hair behind one ear in an effort to watch him more easily. “Fortunately, I was prepared to transport foodstuffs as well that evening. I suppose there are benefits to being mistaken for the help staff when trays of pastries are being passed about the room.” The man’s grin widened. Now that, he’d have paid to witness. “Thief,” he said, and it sounded a bit like playful crowing. “Perhaps I should report you to the Oberst.” Self-awareness came slowly; it realised, at an almost sluggish pace, how satisfied he was in this position, sitting here and delaying his departure as much as possible. What are you doing here? a small voice chided in the back of his head. The paper was folded away and burning a metaphorical hole in his pocket. He’d already obtained the lead on the glyph. There was nothing else to be found here, no further necessary information to wring out of the white mage – what use was there in learning about Lex’s party-going habits? And yet— “Next time, I’ll contract you to rob the place blind of desserts for me, if you’re so good at it. No one would suspect your being my accomplice.” "Keep your gil, Rictor, I take desserts only for myself," she said confidently. "But I suppose you could prove to be something of an adequate distraction at least." Lex was leaning on her arm now, looking pleased with herself. And though he was always bothersome in her opinion, in that singular way Rictor always showed himself to be, there was, surprisingly, little urgent cause to start shoving him out of her quarters. Whether it was due to distraction or naivety, she seemed content at that moment to humor his presence. "Or cover, what with your size," Lex added, trying to imagine him lumbering around a food table and making small chat. Her smile lingered on as if she'd forgotten entirely it was there. “You’re always making reference to my size. At this rate, Lliryn, you’re gonna make me sensitive and self-conscious.” Rictor’s mouth twisted, giving a fake moue of disappointment, hand splayed against his broad chest as if he’d been shot. “Must I cut back on the salted ham? But I love it so!” "You're ridiculous," she scoffed at him. "Completely." Lex rolled her eyes at his dramatics and did not, in any way, shape, or capacity, even consider laughing. Not by a fraction, but there was a long, drawn moment where she seemed to consider his words despite herself. Slowly, and with a visible measure of hesitation her arm raised and she, very gently, prodded at Rictor's leg with her finger. "I suppose I could attempt to be more gentle for the sake of your sensitive feelings," she offered with a shrug. "If only so you don't try to cry all over my sheets." “It would be blubbery,” Ric promised, the corner of his mouth quirking up even further at her slight – ever so slight – foray into his personal space. (Usually, it was the other way around.) “Snotty. Snivelly. Very fucking unattractive. So yes, you’d best not. We of the Silver Blades are more delicate than we let on, all iron on the outside and jellied mush on the inside.” The joke was droll for its inherent contradiction and its flat lie. But there was a grain of truth in it: sitting here, he didn’t carry himself at strict angles. Outside the sight of his squire, his gardists, and his captain – all save Faram himself and, of course, Lex – he had allowed himself to slump against the wall, cutting the strings that normally held the Korporal at military attention. A brave attempt was made, with back of palm covering her mouth and head turned away, to hide her reaction. And Lex might've been successful in masking her laughter if it wasn't for the telltale movement of her shoulders. It was terrible and undignified, but the thought of Rictor blubbering and wailing in tears was too absurd--far too absurd that the laughter bubbling in her throat was more than she could fight back. He really was the worst, she reminded herself, trying to gain some kind of composure if only for the sake of her pride. "Of course you presume you're attractive even outside the sniveling," she said, or tried to. The sight of her resolve cracking lit a surge of unexpected delight in Rictor’s chest, hovering somewhere behind his ribs. Success. He’d finally achieved something he hadn’t even known he was striving for. Which threw him momentarily off-balance, the sight of those shaking shoulders making him break into a laughing fit of his own. “Of course,” Ric said matter-of-factly, answering a thing he took for granted – and he knew it. “I’ve had enough independent confirmation of it. So you could call it an educated assumption, I suppose.” And a moment after he said it, there was the briefest sting of shame. Teasing was one thing, but the Pharists spoke against pridefulness, didn’t they? Chiefest of the sins? It wasn’t actually in the Blades’ chivalric code, strictly speaking – he had memorised it to the letter – but there must be something against such vainglorious strut. Pride was useful as a weapon in these playfully barbed back-and-forths, and knights looked highly on glory, but vanity possibly went too far. Faram would simply have to forgive him, Rictor thought. Lex took a deep breath and fought to regain her composure. She supposed this would only come back to haunt her, but for the moment her mood was lifted high enough that she allowed herself to feel comfortably amused when Rictor's laugh followed her own. "In the spirit of being gentle," she said without the fits of laughter in between, "I suppose I shouldn't try to disabuse you of your beliefs." Not that she had much of a desire to place Rictor and attractiveness in any kind of serious comparison. The further she could remain from those lines of thinking, the much easier her dealings with him would be, and dismissing the subject was no doubt the safest approach. She glanced over her shoulder again, her eyes still shining. "For today, at least." “Eh, it’s the most I could ask for. A temporary ceasefire, hm?” After a second’s reconsideration, Rictor extended his hand for an overly-solemn handshake, the punchline to the joke. She raised her eyebrows and regarded his offer incredulously at first. He was ridiculous, Lex thought, but found herself, of course, relenting anyway. She extended her hand for him to take. There was little harm Rictor could provide in that, she decided. "A truce." |