arabella alaire. (corsaired) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-12-07 19:11:00 |
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Maybe it isn’t too late to cancel, Arabella thought darkly, inspecting her wool coat for lint for the umpteenth time that evening. But it was already 7:30PM sharp (the agreed upon meeting time) and she was already waiting underneath the flickering streetlight outside The Tipsy Sheep (the agreed meeting upon place). A nice stroll around the Theater District so Rictor could terminate the arrangement they had seemed like the worst way she could spend her evening. The smiling, carefree couples shuffling in and out of the tavern did nothing to improve her mood. She shifted uncomfortably in place, the gaslight above her making her feel as if she was pinned underneath a spotlight. Look, everyone. Here’s the woman Korporal Cassul is ditching in favor of a threesome with some bloody Valendian Rangers. Despite all this, the faintest smile blossomed on her face when the holy knight finally arrived. “Evening, stranger.” As careful as she was to make sure her expression didn’t give away her worries, there was no hiding the anxiety in Arabella’s body language. This wasn’t an area she had a lot of expertise in; casual relationships usually ended on her terms. “Evening,” he said, smiling. The playful nickname revealed an edge of truth, however: it had been a while since they’d seen each other, and even longer since they’d spent any significant time with each other. Rictor had been busy and then she’d been skirting him, the knight receiving more of a wall of silence from the corsair than he was accustomed. Which led to We need to talk, the death knell of all laidback arrangements (and words he was unaccustomed to delivering). But like ripping off the bandage, it was a thing that needed to be done. They faced off beneath the gaslight, hovering uncertainly, no longer able to fit themselves into a simple category. Were this a few months ago, Rictor would have immediately folded Bella into a hug and a kiss. Tonight, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “How are you?” he asked lamely. Beside them, another couple swanned down the street, dressed to the nines for the Sphere Theatre (and he felt a guilty twinge, as he thought of the winter shows he’d considered taking Lex to). Aye, yes, this was a conversation they had to have. “Shall we just skip the small talk, darling?” Bella asked with a resigned sigh. The corsair didn’t have the patience for it under the best of circumstances, there was no way she could tolerate it now. Tilting her head to up to meet his eyes, she gestured toward the cobblestone street in front of them. “Let’s get this walk over and done with. The night is still young after all.” And you have your multitude of lovers to get back to, she mentally tacked on, her thoughts poisonous. Rictor might have winced, but he had enough self-control to avoid that, at least. Instead, he fell in beside her and they started walking, an easy stroll that would allow for this laboured conversation. Nothing had ever been awkward between them before. Face this head-on, address what he should have weeks ago, and hopefully it wouldn’t be that difficult. He’d fought fucking Adamantitans and elementals and Lichs and the undead and cultists, for Faram’s sake—one angry corsair shouldn’t be anything to quail at. (And yet, somehow…) So he took a deep breath. And began. “You’ve probably picked up on the fact that things are a bit off,” Ric said slowly, “so I wanted to clear the air and do you the courtesy of, I dunno, making it official so you know what’s going on. And hey, maybe you don’t even give a shit, but I needed to say it anyway. I still really like you, and it’s been a lot of fun, but I’m…” Unavailable? Turning over a new leaf? Fuck. “Well, I mean, we can’t keep going with our arrangement. Is what I’m trying to say, I guess. Circumstances have… changed.” With each subsequent word that came halting out of his mouth, Rictor knew he was digging his hole deeper, that it sounded terrible and nowhere near as effective as it did in his head. Faram, speech was never his strong suit. Arabella held her tongue as she listened to the holy knight’s rambling apology, trying and failing to keep her temper from rising. All the usual warning signs were there: her whole body stiffened, her jaw tightened, her mouth pressed into angry thin line. She didn’t take rejection well under the best of circumstances; handling this situation with anything remotely resembling civility was beyond her. Circumstances have changed. She immediately wheeled on him, her eyes flashing with anger. “Oh, I’m very well aware of the circumstances, Cassul. I’ve heard all about your two new Ranger girlfriends. You could’ve at least had the decency to tell me yourself! I’d rather have disappointing news from you than the damn gossip mill.” —Well, that was unexpected. Rictor stared back in mingled surprise and confusion, faltering mid-step and almost tripping on the uneven cobblestones. Having assumed this conversation would go one way (who is she, what do you mean, etc etc), he’d dropped wholly and completely off Bella’s train of thought: been flung off it, in fact, and was perhaps bouncing his way down the tracks as they spoke. “My two… what?” Ranger girlfriends? His mind trundled along, trying to connect the dots. The closest thing he had to a Ranger girlfriend was Zacheus, for Faram’s sake. “Dire and Uppsala,” she fired back, stepping forward to furiously jab a finger at his chest. “Everyone knows about your little ménage à trois. I would be impressed if it didn’t mean you were cutting me out of the picture.” Each jab was another little concussive prod to his chest, more startling due to her sheer fury than the impact itself. Rictor took a step back, then another. “What in Faram’s name are you talking about?” he asked, raising his hands in an attempt to stave her off. “There’s nothing going on with me and those two.” Although Eden had tried to… no, he couldn’t mention that. Bella would probably stab him in the neck. “I’m pretty sure Uppsala hates my guts, even.” Arabella was not convinced. “Yes, I think they mentioned something about that. Something about hate-sex, hard sex, whatever. I’m just telling you what I heard, Rictor.” Every sentence was punctuated with another step forward, another jab to his chest. “Why else would you be breaking things off with me?” A pair of women standing across the street were staring at the scene, watching the knight’s constant backpedalling as the corsair advanced on him. His confusion—and now mounting horror—doubled. “It’s not anything like that! I don’t have a ménage whatever!” (His Anjou pronunciation was horrible.) Finally, driven into a lamppost, Rictor came to a halt and caught her hand. Urgency made him blurt out the truth, possibly faster than he might have otherwise: “I’m breaking things off because I’m seeing someone else. One person. One. I’m trying to make a go of it and that means not sleeping around anymore. That’s all. I swear. Heart crossed to fucking Faram.” Anger turned to disbelief, then something approaching calm. Arabella was not instantly mollified, of course, but her expression softened, and all the tension went out of her body in one go. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place, darling? That I can understand. It’s fine!” There was a beat as she considered the reality of what the Korporal was saying: he had a girlfriend. That was a hard thing to comprehend (could Silver Blades even have girlfriends?), but it was a much easier pill to swallow. Ric wanted to settle down; that was a lifestyle she had no interest in. At least she wasn't being dropped for another casual relationship with two women. “Strange, but fine.” Arabella stepped back, breaking free of Ric’s grasp in order to brush some invisible dust from the front of her coat. The corsair only looked half as embarrassed as she ought to have been, but shame wasn’t something she was all too familiar with either. She suddenly became aware of the women across the street, and shot the oglers across the street a sharp look that clearly read go on with your business if you know what’s good for you. Looking affronted, the two of them promptly scuttled off and disappeared. Turning her attention back to Rictor, she gave the holy knight an amused smile. “Who’s the lucky girl? She must be something if she managed to pin you down.” “Something, yeah.” And even amongst all this mortification and horror, Rictor still instinctively smiled, an irrepressible fondness sinking into his tone. “I’m still not entirely sure what we’re up to. But it’s—” Before he could deliver a name, his mouth already shaping an L on the tip of his tongue, someone stepped out from the shadows beyond the lamppost, brandishing a dagger. “Your gil or your life!” the scrappily-dressed thief hissed. They both turned to survey the new arrival. Rictor frowned. “For fuck’s sake, we’re in the middle of something.” Rictor’s words fell on deaf ears as the thief took another step forward, the metal blade flashing as he thrust it in the holy knight’s direction. He only spared Arabella a single glance, obviously writing her off as a non-threat. “Your gil! Don’t make me repeat myself again.” The corsair arched an eyebrow as she pursed her lips. “With that form? Darling, please. You wouldn’t be able to get gil off a toddler.” The thief seemed to flinch under her scrutinizing gaze, but the knife didn’t waver. Watching the tip of the weapon, Rictor stepped forward; tempted by the movement, the thief tried to swipe at the knight. Ric knocked the arm aside with his own forearm, then yanked the man’s elbow forward, throwing him further off-balance—their would-be mugger landed on the cobblestones with an ignoble thud, leaving the pair eyeing him from above. Rictor grinned, crossing his arms in front of him. Arabella made no attempt to stifle her laugh, her eyes lit up with amusement even as she extended a hand to help the man to his feet. He blinked up at her, confused, before he warily accepted her assistance. “Stance is everything, darling. Even a man armed with Excalibur can be easily knocked over if he has a poor stance.” “Oh,” the thief muttered, his cheeks flushing red. “I’ve never done this before. I’m no criminal, I’m just—” Arabella’s smile widened. “That much was obvious.” Then, without warning, she snatched the knife from the man’s hand; it quickly vanished into one of her coat pockets. The thief’s eyes widened in shock. “Best if I take that, don’t you think?” “Uh,” he said, blinking at his suddenly empty hand. With a snort, Rictor turned his back on the man; he obviously wasn’t a threat, especially with his dagger living a lucrative new life in Bella’s arsenal. The corsair delivered another coquettish smile over her shoulder as they sauntered away, leaving the disarmed thief shoving his hands back into his pockets and trying to look nonchalant. They walked off together, the awkwardness sliced through by the robbery (really, Rictor owed some thanks to the stranger, or perhaps to Faram for sending the timely interruption). He already knew Bella could take care of herself, but the reminder was always enlightening—and much better when she didn’t seem on the verge of attacking him, either. “Well, that was interesting.” They exchanged a sidelong look. Not as comfortable with each other as they might once have been, but the situation certainly wasn’t hopeless: their smiles were a mixture of relieved, perplexed, bemused. Until a subsequent thought occurred to him. “Wait a sec,” he said. “What the fuck made you think I was involved with two rangers, anyway?” |