cormac hier ; the chemist (chemist) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-11-02 15:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, cormac hier, cyclone kapur |
log; cormac & cyclone
Who: Cormac & Cyclone
What: Cyclone tells Cormac she's leaving which he takes horribly rather well.
Where: Cormac's Study.
When: Scorpio 1 (Oct 24)
Rating: PG-13.
Status: Complete
She’d wrestled with the piece of paper for days, rereading its text over and over and over until she had the whole thing memorised. It went under her pillow at night, and into her pocket during the day. Cy had dragged her heels on contacting the admissions advisor from the university, instead mulling over her options and watching Cormac with a hawk’s eye, trying to judge his current state of mind/emotional equilibrium/psychological stability/etc. Could she go? Would she go? Saying no would be spitting in the face of the board’s generosity. She hadn’t expected them to give her the grant, not really, not choosing her over all the various other bright academics the city had to offer. But still… Finally, her tossing and turning led to ambushing her employer while he was mid-dinner, eating off a plate perched atop a pile of papers and in the middle of the experimentation space. She cleared her throat in the doorway, rapping her knuckles against the wall to announce her presence. Cormac had food in his mouth when the knock came. It wasn't uncommon for something to come up while he was eating, though he wished it was. The look on his face was clearly unhappy. If it was a patient that needed help while he had just gotten around to feeding himself, well... "Yes?" There was a clear who not what is it in his voice. “I need to talk to you, Cormac. Can we talk?” The ire in Cormac's brows died down and he went back to poking at his food. "Sure," he said putting a fork full of food in his mouth, an obvious sign that Cy should continue. She stepped into the room, lightly shutting the door behind her and pulling up the nearest stool she could find, though it meant moving a box of tools onto her lap. They were a pair of perpetual multitaskers, these two. “I’ve been in touch with the University of St. Iocus,” Cy said, her voice as careful as if she were picking her way across a frozen lake, feeling out each step. “And they have this research grant, to go out and study magic by the jagd. It’s an incredibly unique opportunity. Some of the most magicite in the world is out there. And I’ve been considering working on mysticism studies for a long time, since I’m so lousy at negative status effects – I mean, we saw what happened the last time I went into the field.” Her hands nervously traced the lines of the scar on her forearm, a reminder of the chocobo’s talons. “So I suppose my point is that, um. I wasn’t expecting them to, but they offered me the grant. And I’m going to take it.” There. She’d said it. Like ripping off a bandage. Cormac was listening to her ramble about the university. It was a respectable place. He'd visited once or twice in his younger years and had always considered just moving there from Emillion himself. But you couldn't outshine people who were brilliant and adept at magic, could you? So he stayed in his comfortable home here in the Commoner's District. As she continued, his dinner was slowly disappearing off the plate into his mouth. And then she said something about getting a grant and taking it. His jaw, which had been rhythmically chewing his food, had come to a complete stop. Then he chewed a few more times. Then he swallowed. She was going. She was leaving. It didn't matter that it was a once in a lifetime offer or the fact that she'd actually gotten in. A normal man would have been pleased for her almost automatically, wouldn't they? He just stared, fork, slid under the greens on his plate. He strongly considered putting the next bit of food in his mouth and going back to his work like he hadn't heard anything, but that only meant she'd bring it up later, continue talking...or just leave. "When?" Her next words came out slightly squeaky, wincing: “Next week? Enough time to get packed and go, basically. There was supposed to be more advance notice, but there’s something about a mist storm mucking with the route to get there, so the airship had to be pushed up. I’m aware this leaves you a bit in the lurch – I wanted the two week’s notice, or even a month’s notice, really, to get things squared away first – but you’ve got Emily here,” and Cyclone never thought she’d be glad of that breach in her territory, “and you can probably get someone from the Tower to cover until you can find a more longterm replacement. If needed. But again, you have Emily.” Cy was still toying with the box on her lap, holding it as if it were a lifeline. “It’s only a year, to get the mysticism framework down. And then I’ll be back.” The more she talked, the more his brows began to furrow, resembling something of the original ire he had when she walked into the room during his meal at the beginning. This was a meal he could forget about actually finishing by the time he was done. A week. Cormac had to find someone to replace her in a week. And she was going to be gone for a year. He had Emily? Emily wasn't like Cy. Emily was a noble. Yes, she played at taking care of people, but she wasn't someone he could… no, he couldn't fault her for believing that Emily would care for him as she had. He wouldn't ask it of his fiance, because he honestly believed, crazy homicidal tendencies aside, he didn't deserve her. All he could say was, "I do," to help keep up the facade the woman had created for herself. "And, I can." hire someone incompetent and... He was so tempted to read this manual that Cy had left. He'd meant it when he said that removing her would be like removing his liver. He was going to have to actually face the day without her being the excuse for him doing it so efficiently. He'd have to make an effort to see patients on time and go out and get supplies and deal with... It took everything in him to keep from shuddering, but who was he to tell her she couldn't go. She'd given him five years of her life, not that he wouldn't have minded the rest of it. That thought gave him pause. "Good luck with your studies," he said abruptly and possibly far too sharp. That could have possibly came out smoother. That’s it? she thought, staring at her (soon to be former) employer in incredulity. Was this announcement going to pass by so quickly, so unceremoniously? But then again, he hadn’t been unkind. And it wasn’t going to be permanent, after all. If she kept mouthing off about how it’s only a year, it won’t be that long at all, blink and you’ll miss it, then she had to bloody well believe it herself. And if Cy squinted, she could perhaps recognise the tell-tale signs of his gates slamming down again, the familiar brick-and-mortar he’d used to wall himself off for so long. At least he’d wished her luck. That was better than she might have expected. And it’s not like she needed the man to gush about his feelings, spilling every detail of his emotions out to her — otherwise, he simply wouldn’t be Cormac Hier. Not the man that she liked. “Thank you,” Cyclone said, each word enunciated and with perfect sincerity. “Thank you for understanding. I’ll—” A hesitance, before she tripped onwards into the obvious: “It goes without saying that I’ll miss you.” Cormac hardly ever expressed his gratitude for her sticking around and putting up with his shit. In fact, he usually did quite the opposite, even if he did leave her some sort of gift here or there to show that he did appreciate her efforts. He disliked stupid people and always felt her a fool for not letting him run her off, but she did her job well, and that always deserved some sort of reward. He hadn't thought of it before, but it was all coming to the surface now. "Give it a week. You'll forget you even knew me," he said with a wave as if to physically dismiss the feeling she was attempting to convey to him. That's probably not what she wanted to hear or see, but it was what she needed. It was what he needed. He needed her to leave the room. Cy tried not to smile, a small and strained ghost of an expression on her face. “I highly doubt it. Who else will I spritz with water in the mornings? That sort of experience is irreplaceable, mate.” But then she was back on her feet, neatly setting the box back on the stool in exactly the same position as before. As if she’d never been here. The place might fall apart without her, of course. The clinic falling in on itself, its fragile sense of order disturbed, Cormac wouldn’t be able to find his supplies or even his shoes, and even a fifty-page handbook on ‘How to Handle Cormac Hier’ (chapter five: he prefers Ordalian prostitutes, don’t send him a blonde Kerwonian) couldn’t contain all the intricacies and nuances she’d picked up over the past five years. It might fall apart. But that was a risk she was going to have to take. She needed this. There’d be time for another goodbye later, next week, once her bags were packed and tickets purchased. Cy left the room without another word, shutting the door behind her as she went. "I suppose not." His tone was thoughtful, a lot steadier than he'd expected. It seemed to take her forever to leave, but the moment the door shut he exhaled. His hand went slack, allowing the fork to slide more into his now cold food. The utensil now released, he wiped his hand with his face. A moment later, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle. He took the small glass off the top and pulled the cork before pouring himself a shot of the amber liquid. Cork replaced, callused fingers gripped either side of his drink before he knocked it back, letting the contents burn his throat. It did nothing to fill the empty pit that had opened in his stomach. Usually when he felt like this he could bury himself in a woman, but he couldn't use Emily that way. He'd sworn off the Sapphire House since her return. So he was stuck with the one thing he didn't want to do, and that was dealing with it. He couldn't make her stay, though. That would be unfair to her. When the fuck had he started to care? |