sir rictor cassul, korporal. (templars) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-07-07 00:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !plot: the festival of lions, almalexia lliryn, rictor cassul |
I feel the push and pull, keep saying that it doesn't mean much.
WHO: Rictor Cassul & Almalexia Lliryn.
WHAT: He's her chaperone to the festival. It isn't a date. Of course not.
WHEN: Backdated to July 4th. Afternoon & evening of the Festival of Lions.
WHERE: Just outside the monastery, then the city square.
WARNINGS: it's really long lkadjfgaøldkg
STATUS: Complete.
The city was bustling for the Festival of the Lions, and had been almost since dawn, when the bakers and vendors came trundling out to set up shop in the streets. Even the Cathedral saw its share of movement, slowly emptying itself of knights, servants, and parishioners as the festival swallowed them up. Young, old, rich, poor, religious or not: all savoured an opportunity to cast off responsibilities for a while. A constant stream of people headed towards the central city square. Meanwhile, a man stood by the gates of the monastery, leaning against the warm stone. He wasn’t wearing plate armour, but there was a palpable air of holy knight about him regardless: there was his rigid posture, the dogtags and silver rood on a chain around his neck, the white trim and decorative red cross on the edges of his clothing. It was a national holiday and their duties were temporarily suspended for the day, but Rictor Cassul was still a Silver Blade despite the casual dress. His companion, on the other hand, was sweating in the afternoon sun – Balder was slowly cooking in his armour, helmet balanced under one elbow. The two Blades would occasionally crane their heads to each other, say something, laugh. But Rictor was watching the crowds over his friend’s shoulder, keeping an eye on the monastery gates and only half-listening to the other man. Most of his attention seemed wired to something else instead, waiting for the appearance of a particular mage. Each glimpse of blonde hair in the crowd made his head jerk, glancing up to confirm that it was(n’t) her, then back to his conversation. There was a sudden movement at the doors of the monastery, and Lex walked out into the sun with no small amount of anticipation. Completing the last of her short list of tasks for the day, there was something of a scramble to see herself gone from the tall shadows of the Cathedral, even if it was for only a short time. Even if, of course, she'd agreed not to wander into the thick of the festivities by herself. A manageable compromise, she thought to herself at the time, to ensure that she could join the festival without attracting an unnecessary amount of trouble. However, as the expected day was now upon her it quickly became impossible to ignore the fact that she'd made such a bargain with Rictor, of all people. Concern bubbled up as she walked over to the gates of the monastery, that the entire thing was a horrible scheme she'd failed to realize, that she had behaved herself for weeks over nothing, that the gil spent on the demure, cream colored dress she was wearing was not only selfish but wasteful--after all, there was nothing particularly offensive about the clothing she'd worn to the Founders Festival, something just drab enough to ensure she wouldn't be noticed by anyone. That gil could've gone to something far more reasonable than toward a personal outing, after all. Caught up in these sudden worries, she failed to see Rictor and his companion. Eyes down, hand absently touching her neck, she was set to walk right past them both. Until a hand snapped out to catch her shoulder, lightly turning Lex back towards her proclaimed escort for the evening. Rictor had straightened to attention as soon as she appeared, and compiled all the details in a few flash glimpses: her dress, so unalike the no-nonsense uniform or bulky robes she normally wore; the long hair she brushed out of the way; and, of course, his looming awareness of Balder stepping up behind them, suddenly intrigued. “This is who you were waiting for?” Rictor couldn’t see the expression on his comrade’s face, but he could hear the bemusement behind him as if it were a palpable thing in the air. “Thought it was the Cardinal and Faram himself, the way you were fidgeting.” “Alright, go away,” Ric said, his voice exaggeratedly amiable. “You’ll miss your carriage otherwise.” Balder made a noise – a harrumph before he cast another sidelong look at the pair, then nodded at them and stalked off. The knight shoved the helmet back on his head, readjusting it with one businesslike twist before he disappeared into the street. Leaving Rictor shifting from foot-to-foot, looking greatly diminished in civilian attire and trying his best to appear nonchalant. Why, in Faram’s name, had he ever suggested this? He was no babysitter, and the alternative was— “Trying to slip away already, are you?” Lex startled and turned in place, giving Rictor and his comrade a skeptical look. Her patience for holy knights and their daily banter wasn't exceptional, even on a beautiful summer day, and so she waited for the other man to wander out of earshot before she spoke up, her arms already crossed. Whatever their exchange had been about, it clearly meant nothing to her. She sighed. So here Rictor was then, and even outside of his armor, she noted, he always managed to tower over her. Lex gave him a thoughtful once-over, her gaze resting eventually on the silver rood hanging from around his neck. While she should've felt relieved to know that he'd kept his word and waited for her outside, she didn't find any convenient end to her feelings of anxiousness. Eventually she decided that it was simply a matter of her unfamiliarity with the situation and thought of it no more (or at least she tried). "Not yet," she replied, looking up. "It wouldn't be fair, after all, if I didn't at least allow you some opportunity to prove intolerable before doing so." Not that she was particularly planning on stranding Rictor anywhere--Faram only knew what would happen to him if she did, but there was no dire need for him to be aware of this. "Are we ready?" “Aye, unless there’s anything you’ve forgotten.” A beat, as if he were wavering on the edge of doing something else – and then Rictor turned abruptly and started walking, long strides leading them both down the street and towards the city square. But moving around during the Festival of Lions was harder than he’d anticipated, the thoroughfares clogged with people and carts, and Rictor found he couldn’t go quite as quickly as he liked. So his speed flagged, and he found himself forced (yes–forced, let’s go with that) to move at a leisurely saunter beside the blonde. And despite himself, the knight kept watching their surroundings with more than a little curiosity. A small child passed them clutching an over-large stuffed lion. “This is my first year at the festival,” he said, offhand. “I was out of Emillion for it last year.” Perhaps, Rictor thought, this was part of the reason he’d offered up this impulsive plan in the first place – he wanted an excuse to go with someone and see the festival afresh. "Something, clearly," Lex said under her breath, giving her best effort to follow behind. Rictor, as tall and athletic as he was, didn't need to try very hard to keep his pace well ahead of her, and she had to put in a noticeable amount of effort to keep up. As the streets were already packed full of other people, none of this proved easy. Weaving between other pedestrians, trying not to brush into anyone, she had half a mind to throw something in Rictor's direction before he finally managed a tolerable pace. She took a deep breath to steady herself, trying not to show her exasperation. Distracted by the efforts of keeping a steady pace with Rictor and dodging strangers as they attempted to knock past her, Lex's mind was only vaguely lingering on the activities they would share ahead. "Did you have a plan in mind?" She asked when she was able, her eyes kept on the crowds ahead. She hoped that he did, for this was to be her first genuine outing to the Festival of Lions as well. Running dull errands for the clergy certainly couldn't be counted, she thought. Now left to her own devices, even with Rictor as chaperone, she had no clue where to begin. “Not set in stone. I don’t really do the organised itinerary thing when I’m off-duty, though I’m sure you’d prefer it.” The dig was lighthearted, and Rictor shifted his walk, edging sideways in order to grin at her. “But I have a few ideas. Do you like plays?” The People’s Hero was a quiet favourite, a story he’d carried with him for years, ever since childhood. No need to say all that, however. And then his sideways crab-walk – an attempt to keep stride and look at Lex at the same time – led to Rictor colliding headlong with a grocer who’d paused in the middle of the street. An indignant oof, breath driven out of him, and Rictor rebounded off the other man with a flare of irritation. But he bit it back and turned what would’ve been an explosion of profanity into an apologetic half-bow, before returning to Lex’s side. His face reddened. Lex gave him a sideways glance at the mention of plays, noticing that insufferable grin of his immediately and not finding it a bit amusing. "You're not still considering The People's Hero, are you?" She raised her eyebrows and tried to sound skeptical, but the idea that she might go to a genuine play, and at a popular festival no less, was more than a little thrilling. How normal the day would be, she thought, even if she was accompanying Rictor. Readying a comment on the obvious inaccuracies of the plays during this holiday, Lex only looked on in surprise as he collided with the grocer. She had already half-reached out by the time of impact, and there was nothing else to do but give the man a sympathetic shrug as they kept on walking. "Have I told you of the bard I've met recently?" Lex asked, keeping the conversation moving and apparently deciding not to comment harshly on Rictor's blunder. It wasn't a matter of diplomacy, however, for it was quickly being decided that something needed to be done to make sure her “chaperone” didn't collide with everything else on their way. She looked down briefly, and with a great deal of personal effort, took Rictor's hand to guide him. In reality, it was a pathetic, uncertain half-grab at his forefinger, but the effort still remained. If the knight froze at the contact, then it was a quick recovery, at least. He’d considered extending the crook of an elbow to her, the gentlemanly offer of an arm to guide the girl – but she’d already beaten him to it. He consented to the touch, catching her hand and, as if on an afterthought, squeezing briefly before he caught his step and kept walking. And truth be told, it was useful: they had to duck around the occasional cart, or dodge a pile of street refuse that a sweeper hadn’t reached yet, or maneuver around a clustered group of chattering women. Ric matched his pace to hers, and the going was easier – more agile when Lex’s light tug at his hand could steer him past an obstacle, or he could gently lean into her shoulder to guide her around another peddler selling wares. Rictor tried not to look at their linked hands, instead intent on carving out a path for them through the crowds, to reach the heart of the celebrations. “The bard you’ve met?” he asked, a gentle prompt for more information. "Yes," Lex answered, feeling slightly breathless. She was not used to allowing others to lead her around by hand, as it took Rictor only a short amount of time to adapt and begin to navigate them. It was going to take some time to grow accustomed to this, she realized, acutely aware of how warm his hand was, of the callouses and, when she moved her thumb, perhaps even a scar. Her face was turned away as she spoke, over toward one of the louder groups of people. “A woman named Ari, she sought my help with her song scroll... and other matters. I wonder if we won’t see her out today as well.” There was so much to consider, enough at least to distract her a little. Once they got closer to the lines of food venders, Lex made a motion toward them with her free hand. “Do you have any other ideas, by chance?” “Ari Chiaro?” Rictor asked, surprised. “I know her a little. She’s a friend of a... friend.” (There was no way to graciously explain his relation to Arabella, and so he neglected to do so.) “And she seems to know my sister,” he added dryly. All the threads of his life were starting to tangle and overlap, and he wasn’t entirely sure he appreciated it. But those thoughts were dragged away by Lex’s next question, and so he tried to skim past the topic as soon as he could. “Let’s get some food,” Rictor proclaimed. Following Lex’s gesture, he led them towards the rows of stalls set up in rings around the square. He could hear the first recognisable strings of The People’s Hero starting up in the distance, its overture like a long-familiar beat in his pulse – instead of hurrying towards it, however, he lingered, disengaging from her hand long enough to fetch his gil and eye the stand selling funnel cake. Your sister? Lex wanted to ask, but she reminded herself firmly that it wasn't any of her business really, Rictor and his family (his sibling?), and so she reworded her next response to a vague, "I see." She hadn't expected any such connections, but then, she supposed being sociable wasn't something she was very adept at--certainly he would know more people in any circumstance. More women, at that. Lex made a face at her own line of thinking and allowed herself to be brought over to the food stalls. Once Rictor drew his hand away she straightened her posture, listening to the start of music nearby and wondering what it was. The smell of treats and confections was alluring and everywhere, and these things drew her attention away from what her companion was doing. "Careful," she said casually, "eating too many sweets will make you sluggish." “Ah, that’s right,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And this in preparation for our footrace later today, correct? You’re gonna lull me into a false sense of security and then go tearing off like greased lightning.” Rictor’s now-empty hand flexed – the same unconscious motion he did whenever he let go of the gunblade and found himself missing it. "Everything in its own time, of course," she reassured him, or didn't, giving a small shrug of her shoulders. Lex thought about crossing her arms, the longer she stood there, feeling somewhat adrift now that she was no longer tethered to anyone. "I won't dissuade you too roughly, however, from whatever you plan to purchase." Which at the moment appeared to be funnel cakes, but from the look of things so far, there were an innumerable amount of other foods to sample, and if he was set on trying at least a handful, well. There might be some advantage to that, she considered. With her dubious consent now given – as if he needed it, he told himself – Rictor fished out the money-purse and started roaming the stalls, his height granting him an advantage in peering over other patrons to examine the handwritten menus. Funnel cake, caramel apples, candied almonds, smoked sausages, spun sugar... he’d held off on lunch for this very reason, starting the day with a meagre breakfast in the refectory because he knew the festival and its variety was waiting. Gil and food exchanged hands at another stall, and Rictor promptly wolfed down a hot dog before even making it to the front of the funnel cake line, still keeping an eye on the woman by his side. After a slight pause: “What would you like?” he asked, perhaps a mite too casually. Her attention had briefly wandered to the stall selling candied almonds, that was, in between watching with sideways interest as Rictor devoured his first item of food in a manner of moments--which wasn't even the slightest bit humorous, she admitted to herself. Not at all, in fact, which was why she allowed herself a moment to compose her thoughts before responding. "I've no preference," she declared, one hand up toward her mouth as to appear thoughtful and not as if she was holding back something else entirely. "Please, do continue on, Rictor." Lex nearly allowed herself the urge to suggest they might share something, before shaking her head and allowing the thought to dissipate. Of course not. The man watched her reaction closely, bemused. “What?” Ric asked, after swallowing. He’d been this close to talking with his mouth open, muffled and utterly disgraceful, but thankfully he stopped himself in time – she would have called him a beast, or an uncouth brute, and possibly said something about how he lacked basic table manners and human decency. And at this exact moment, it seemed somehow preferable to stave off such jokes. He could be a gentleman, for fuck’s sake. He’d prove it. Of course, he wasn’t very good at this. “Alright. Funnel cake it is. I’ve been craving it all Faram-damned morning.” More gil was handed over, in exchange for a paper-wrapped slab of fried dough, covered in powdered sugar and strawberries. Balancing it delicately in one hand, Rictor slung his other arm through Lex’s elbow once more and off they went, away from the stalls and to where the crowds opened up a little. Emillion’s largest city square gave the population some extra breathing space, even with the stage and benches set up on the other side for the ongoing stage performance. “What other matters did Ari ask you about?” he asked suddenly. Lex’s dragged-out pause had indeed been noted. His curiosity wasn’t so much about the bard – she and Aspel could do what they liked, so long as he didn’t have to have his nose rubbed in it – but rather what possible use one might have for Almalexia Lliryn. (Apart from healing, of course, and research, and protective spells mid-combat, and valuable clues regarding teleportation sigils, and a scathing wit—) While Rictor was busying himself with buying his desired funnel cake, and there were no words of disapproval regarding his choice from her, Lex took the brief moment while his back was turned to allow herself a deep, much needed breath to steady her reactions. Not that she was about to laugh, of course. But she found herself suitably serious-minded once again, utterly so in fact, and as he turned back to regard her she offered the slightest look of interest to the treat in his possession and nothing more. Once he'd entangled their arms together and set them on a forward path once again, there was little to do but follow along beside him. Lex shifted her arm slightly to make herself more comfortable (as if she'd be comfortable when practically forced to lean into him, but she refused to allow something so small to distress her). The sight of the city square soon caught her interest, and she looked on with great interest at the stage performance and the variety of spectators gathered around them. "She required my skills in translation," she admitted, her eyes narrowed for a moment as she recalled their last meeting of business. "For something new she seemed to be working on, from what I was told. Monsters working together with humes, elementals, and other similar things." Lex mused on the memories briefly, but there was the matter of the funnel cake, however, and a hand slowly raised up to take a piece. Lex’s stealthy movement triggered what seemed like old muscle memory, and he instinctively raised the cake higher, lifting it out of her reach with the perennial playfulness of older brothers and jerks worldwide. But it was only a half-hearted attempt at warding her off, and he soon lowered it back into reach. “Is there any limit to the end of your esoteric knowledge?” Rictor asked, as he obligingly held the dessert out to share. “Someday, I’ll have to come to you ‘cause a friend in the Blades’ been turned into a toad or something. Little miss know-it-all.” To say that Lex was dismayed at Rictor's attempt to refuse her the funnel cake, and really she would've been justified in that moment if she had fled (regardless of the fact that their arms were still entwined), it wouldn't have been an entirely false assessment. Baited, she reached up in spite of herself, before realizing what it was she was doing and giving the man an affronted face. He really was the worst, she reminded herself again. Being even slightly lulled into thinking otherwise was obviously a grave decision. "She came to me for help," Lex argued, feeling mocked, "and so I offered my skills." Ruefully taking a piece of the dessert now offered, she took a bite for herself and turned toward the stage. He could mock her all he liked, Lex decided, she would pay him no mind at all. And if she'd taken any effort to pull herself away during this entire spectacle, it no doubt would've proven a more effective effort. “Valuable as they are.” Delivered at a deadpan, it was hard to tell whether or not Rictor was being sarcastic – he’d had more than enough occasions of availing himself of those exact skills, after all. There was another soaring trill of live strings from the pit, and he rose up on the balls of his feet to try catching a glimpse of what was happening onstage. His heart lurched, and when he shot a glance to the side, it did so again. “Let’s get seats. Because yeah, I am still considering The People’s Hero, and it’s a great play.” A beat, and then the grudging admission: “It’s one of my favourites,” before Rictor headed straight for the stairs – up towards the nosebleed seats and the backmost row, where they could be guaranteed a measure of privacy and an ability to carry a conversation, but they could still keep an eye on the last act unfolding before them. "Valuable indeed," she agreed, unimpressed with her own view from the crowd. She had no height advantage, here or otherwise, and whatever Rictor saw she herself could claim only a fraction. Lex doubted at her odds of being able to see another performance of this play, even if it was highly inaccurate to historical accounts, and the thought made her heart sink slightly. She was about to offer a scathing remark about the supposed "greatness" of this particular play, the words "subject to personal opinion" nearly slipping from her tongue as the truth of the matter was suddenly laid out before her. Lex looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Oh?" She followed along up toward the back row of seats, her mind going over this new information at whirlwind speed. "So how much of it have we missed then?" “We’re after intermission,” he said, taking a seat and wriggling to make himself comfortable. It required bodily nudging another theatregoer further down the bench, to general grumbling and complaints, but it created enough space for him and Lex. Crammed a bit closer than they were accustomed to, but they would simply have to survive. “It’s the last act, which is always the most exciting anyway. All the threads are coming together – Haeralis the Brave is presumed dead, but he’s about to return and fight the corrupt duke. Betrothal’s soon. Not like I get much opportunity to stop and catch a play while travelling, so this is a bit of a treat.” He passed over the cake, watching Lex out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction. The logistics of the walk, maneuvering a crowd, and obtaining foodstuffs had successfully distracted him so far, but when Rictor finally settled down on that lofty bench beside Lex, there was no avoiding the fact that she was still here and hadn’t gone running. For the first time, they weren’t anchored by the requirements of a healing session, or needing to pick her brain for arcane histories beyond his ken, or standing close thanks to the necessity of battle. Emillion had its share of strife lately, but the well-patrolled festival was surely one of the most secure locations in the city by now – his ‘chaperoning’ was barely necessary. And that very realisation was currently trying its very best to nudge past Rictor’s most hardheaded, wilful self-denial. The more nagging the thought became, the more Rictor wanted to let loose an exasperated groan. Instead, he marshaled himself together and tried, once again, to make himself comfortable. Lex took a seat with some hesitation, the forced proximity giving her a small but notable amount of pause. She put forth effort to avoid these sorts of things when possible, but here, amidst this great number of people it now became impossible. A test to her limits, this day seemed, and she scooted gingerly beside Rictor, aware of every nudge and bump of limbs as they occurred. It was nothing, she told herself, for simply a look around her would tell her that everyone else, these normal women with their normal lives, could easily put up with such things without trouble. Sitting up straight, taking a breath to ease herself, Lex ignored the heat and presence of the man beside her as best as she could. Instead, she focused on Rictor's words, trying to place each character on the stage with his descriptions. The costumes weren't quite what she imagined, but it was captivating nonetheless, with the force of the music to guide the actions on the stage. She took another piece of the offered dessert, taking small bites as she concentrated on the play. It wasn't completely terrible, she admitted to herself, even if it wasn't true to the history books she'd read. Certainly far better than anything else she did the years before, sighing and hoping pitifully to herself that one day she would get an opportunity like this. An opportunity given to her thanks to Rictor. Lex shifted in her seat uncomfortably, and with the movement her hand brushed his again, this time by accident. Caught up in her own thoughts, she didn't immediately pull away. Lex was quiet so far; she wasn’t criticising the play nor its portrayal of historical events; she’d settled down with the snacks; her attention was rewired to the faraway stage below them. So Rictor tried to do the same. He tried to focus on the play – it was his favourite, he had most of the dialogue memorised, and it was one of the few guilty pleasures he would admit to. Swashbuckling heroics and exhibitions of valour and defenses of honour were unfolding beneath them. Ordinarily, he’d be completely fixated. But something was knotting up his attention instead, dragging his mind inexorably away from the stage – and it had something to do with her hand on his, and that tension wound into his shoulders, and the frustration-slash-anxiety currently taking up residence in what felt like his lungs. It was there, and it was not going away. So when he glanced over at Lex one more time, it was like probing a wound or testing for a missing tooth. Rictor was checking on something, grudgingly and reluctantly – and the answer he found within himself was not entirely to his liking. Well, fuck. Hesitantly, as if he were (for once in his damned life) afraid to break a companionable silence, Ric spoke up again. “Not a reeking pile of shit, then, is it?” Broken out of her thoughts by the sound of Rictor's voice, Lex became aware of herself once again and promptly pulled her hand away--a near useless gesture at this proximity, but the accidental touch came to an end regardless. She gave her answer a half-hearted attempt at thought, clearly hesitant to pull her full attention from the actions on stage. "I am capable of suspending my disbelief," she said, her chin jutting out slightly as if to prove a point. "For a short while." Whether or not this was meant to be a declaration of approval was anyone's guess. Mulling it over again, she leaned over a slight fraction and pointed to one of the knights on stage. "The emblems are wrong, however," she added, feeling slightly smug and taking another small piece of funnel cake. Without taking the opportunity to look over at Rictor and assess his own reactions to the play, she only assumed that he was enjoying this far more than she. “‘Capable of suspending disbelief for a short while’. What high praise from a discerning audience member.” Rictor rested his chin in his hand, and if he was also hiding a smile, then so be it. “But do the emblems even matter? I mean, they’re taking the general shape of the story. The big picture. The forest, not the trees. So what if they get the details wrong? The events stay the same regardless.” The man shifted, elbows leaning onto his knees, shoulders hunched as he tore his gaze away and back to the stage. He squinted at the knight she’d indicated. He had no idea what the emblem was supposed to look like. “... Although you’re right, it does mean that someone fucked up their job in the production.” Though she felt as if she could make a lengthy and reasonable argument as to why it mattered whether or not they played loosely with the facts of history, Lex bit back the urge to attempt such here. And if the effort was met with a tiny quirk of her lips, then so be it. "I suppose it matters somewhat less when for the sake of entertainment," she replied casually. Admitting in some way that she was correct about the costume details, however, must've been a move in the appropriate direction, for Lex followed suit with a similar sitting position, as if it would offer any better vantage to the actors in front of them. "A minor oversight," she conceded, well, vaguely. It was a nice compromise, the both of them meeting in the middle. And as they watched Act III unfurl, the play began meandering towards its close with a triumphant battle, a tearful reunion, a coronation, and a marriage, like most non-tragedies tended to. Everything wrapped up neatly, the loose threads snipped off, the characters settled in their just and deserved places (bar one heroic sacrifice in Scene IV). The good end happily and the bad unhappily; that is what fiction means, Rictor thought. It was convenient and simple, and that was why he liked it. It was the last performance of the afternoon, with the sun slowly paling and setting behind the rooftops of the city, sparing the next show from performing by risky lantern-light. The Festival of Lions at night was reserved for other things. Like bardic music. Fireworks. Dancing. “Someday, you’ll have to see it in its entirety,” Ric said as the last trumpets went off again. He chewed over the next question before it slipped out. “Have you seen many plays?” Lex watched the play's final act with mixed feelings. Knowing, or at least believing she did, the reality of the events portrayed on the stage, and allowing herself to put faith in such a neatly optimistic ending was a difficult challenge. Most of her wanted to rail against it with logic and documented facts, but now that she was finally able to see the play for herself, there was admittedly a small and guilty part that enjoyed the diversion. With the sun beginning to set, heralding the evening and soon to be end of the festival, Lex couldn't help but feel wistful. Her time, she knew, was running out. Soon enough it would be back to the monastery and back to her usual duties. "No," she admitted, looking down and brushing at the folds of her dress. "Of course not." Lex attempted to keep her voice measured, but the tiniest sliver of bitterness slipped in regardless. She shook her head, dismissing the topic of herself. "And you?" And because he was listening – carefully, at that – Ric caught that edge of bitterness, and it made his lips purse. The last several years had been spent in hard training as a holy knight, and childhood as a Cassul had prioritised blood, valour, and knighthood... but it didn’t fully pardon what was a privileged upbringing as a noble. He’d learned that upon coming to Emillion. If an expensive production ever passed through the nearest Kerwon town, the family could afford to put everything on hold and travel to see it, doling out for pricy tickets. Rictor’s current monk-like quarters were a far cry from the imposing family keep far south of here. “More often than most,” he finally admitted. It took some steeling. “The Cassuls are—” There was little way to say this that didn’t sound like empty bragging, and for a change, Rictor had no interest in doing so. “We’re rather well-off, in Kerwon. Wasn’t sure how much you knew.” Humility, by Faram, an inner voice chided him, and it sounded a bit like the Hauptmann. And so, disoriented and kicking himself even as he said it, Ric blurted out, “I could take you, the next time an act comes around. I think The Marriage of Fedoro is opening soon at The Sphere. Ari’s in it, we could stop by and see her afterwards.” Lex listened and took the information with a careful expression. She nodded her head as he spoke about the wealth and privilege of his family, but with every small piece of information it was as if a new and troubling fissure solidified before her, unasked for and unwanted. She understood that while she could guard herself with wit and bravado on most occasions, reality was what it was. At the end of the day, the two of them would never be as equals. Life in the monastery, unfortunately, made it very easy to forget. Following these thoughts was a murky avenue at best, however, and when the offer followed Rictor's admissions, Lex quickly took the opportunity to avoid them. She watched him, unsure what to think at first. He surely wasn't jesting, not if this day proved any indication, but her own eagerness to accept the offer was more than enough to make her hesitate. "Perhaps," she replied, her lips turning upward slightly as she tried to imagine such an outing. “After all, I bet she’d appreciate the visit,” Rictor added almost as an afterthought, redirecting the request – think of how much Ari would appreciate it, yes? He was bullshitting now, leaning on a connection that was absolutely tenuous at best. He might even have to go through Bella or Aspel to contact the bard. Even Lex presumably knew her better. But it was what it was. Meanwhile, the finale finished playing with a flourish, and the audience around them erupted into applause. Not quite the jubilant whooping of an audience who had paid through the nose for tickets – they were mostly casual festival-goers who had wandered in for the last performance, munching on caramel popped-corn and spilling their drinks in the outdoors seating – but it was enthusiastic enough. With an amused look at his companion, Rictor rose to his feet, clapping. The others started filing back out of the bleachers, trundling down the stairs – on the other side of the square, Ric could already see a space being cleared for the dancing. Another idea was forming in his head. He did say he had a few. "That might be so," Lex conceded with uncertainty. Though they had only met together a small handful of times, Ari did seem quite friendly in her estimation. While she thought this over, The People's Hero finally came to its end, and when Rictor stood up to give applause, she did likewise. Her applause was genuine, more so than she once assumed it would be, as was her enjoyment of the play itself--or the few parts she managed to see of it, admittedly. Once everyone around them started to file out of their seats and down the bleachers, Lex moved along as well, giving Rictor a look over her shoulder as she carefully worked her way around the other people. "Is there anything else to see?" She asked, her curiosity evident. “There’ll be some fireworks to cap off the evening, from what I’ve heard,” he said, following her easily down the stairs. The stage was being disassembled remarkably quickly, the crew scurrying across it and dismantling props, taking the scene apart. “And, well—” Rictor’s next question was blunt, a sudden twist of the subject: “Do you dance?” And if there was a glint of mischief in his eye when he said it, then that was perfectly true to form. The idea of fireworks was certainly appealing, and Lex was about to say as much when the topic of dancing was broached. She could've easily blamed her sudden lack of sure-footing on someone else rushing past her, but suddenly she found herself stumbling down the last few steps, her hand white-knuckle tight on the railing. Eyes now wide, she looked at Rictor with an undoubtedly startled expression. "Pardon?" Was all she could manage in response, as there was still a narrow chance that she might've misheard the question. His hand instinctively darted out, on the verge of trying to catch her, until he saw that Lex had already recovered her balance against the rickety railing. Rictor struggled to school his expression, tamping down the small burst of delight he felt at her shock. Successfully shaking Almalexia out of her studied calm and chilly rationality was a triumph every time. “There’s dancing as well. Do you dance?” "I don't follow you at all, Rictor," she insisted, eyes narrowed as if he suddenly started speaking gibberish. Lex wasn't sure how to answer the question, what it was referencing specifically, or how it applied at all to the situation at hand. Her mind darted warily around the obvious, and she looked up to Rictor with an expression that quickly turned skeptical. There was that feeling once again, that he was terrible and plotting something equally terrible. "Dancing?" She tried looking over to where they were setting up the event. "Why should I know anything about dancing, other than by observation?" Rictor shrugged and continued stepping breezily down the stairs, and with a hand to Lex’s shoulder, he nudged her along to keep walking. He was a man of constant movement, and the scales had started tipping back into place now that they were on the move again. Ric was regaining equilibrium, less rattled than he was earlier, sitting motionless beside her and suffering far too much telling introspection. “There’s city-wide festivals, a few opportunities to pick it up. I mean, there’s this, Saint Ajora’s Feast Day, the Harvest Festival... maybe someone at the monastery taught you. Maybe a friendly bard gave lessons. The monks aren’t the best at it, but a few people around the cathedral do know how to. I mean, hell, even I could teach you.” He tipped his head towards the circle that had been cleared. People were already coalescing into little groups and lines, the musicians tuning up their instruments. Walking with Rictor over to the dance area, Lex was slowly overcome with a sense of dread. As he listed, with logic or something resembling, the long list of reasons why she should learn to dance, the sinking feeling that she was about to agree to something dubious only grew stronger. Was there a convenient way out of this, she wondered, briefly and uselessly imagining making good on her threats to flee. Lex sighed. No, she thought, that would give him far too much satisfaction, and she could already imagine him grinning endlessly over it if she did. Her shoulders slumped. "You?" She asked, sounding very unconvinced. "Are you suggesting that--" Lex closed her mouth. She wasn't about to say it. “Maybe.” A wariness crept into his tone, and a caution that Rictor normally never exhibited – the man was ordinarily devil-may-care, confident, blasé. But negotiating with Lex was like standing on a shifting sand dune, feeling the ground lurching beneath his feet, perpetually trying to adjust on the fly and keep from slipping inexorably backwards. "Maybe...?" Lex stopped walking and turned to look at him fully. It wasn't the most strategic of moves, surely, for her hard, skeptical expression cracked within moments, but there was no calm redirection of her actions this time. Feeling silly and vulnerable, she crossed her arms as a defense. Whatever he was going on about it, she was determined to get to the bottom of it--even if she was forced to say it. "Are you asking to dance with me, Rictor?" “Yes.” This time, his answer was immediate, with no hesitation. And when the smile came, it made him look younger – less the indomitable holy knight in the hard angles of armour, contrasted in the white light of magic and the deep red of blood. More a young man delivering a boyish grin and a hopeful invitation. “It wouldn’t be the worst, would it? I think you’d live. You’re a tough one.” Ric dusted off his hands – much like he did after battle, but this time it was due to powdered sugar, not gunpowder – and held out his palm. Lex wasn't impervious, far from it to be sure. Rictor's earnest, hopeful expression cut through her own misgivings like a sharp, practiced knife, and whatever fears and doubts that warred within her found themselves weakened in the face of his request. Standing there in front of him, looking now at his offered hand, she found she needed to ask herself. Is this what I want to do? Surely, if she denied him the world wouldn't come to an end. The fireworks would burst up above them, they would return together to the monastery, and life would continue as it should. There was no obligation she felt she owed him at all, and yet. Lex took a deep breath and, with another show of great personal effort, lightly regained his hand. Her gaze settled on where their hands were now linked together (and carefully away from his searching eyes) as she replied, "I suppose we'll see, won't we?" With that, and the decision now settled, Lex turned forward and nudged Rictor slowly over to the dancing grounds. |