Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-01-28 11:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aspel cassul, magnolia paget |
And I've been a fool, and I've been blind, I can never leave the past behind....
Who: Aspel & Mag
What: Shopping!
Where: Streets of Emillion.
When: BACKDATED: Dec 22nd
Rating: PG
Status: Complete.
The lights inside the store lit up the display wonderfully, and while several of the stores before had been passed up under the guise of window shopping, this one had particularly caught Aspel’s attention. It seemed a store of oddities, antiques, and other collectables, but the wares displayed in the window alone had brought to her a sense of marvel. If one wasn’t paying close attention, the odd writing might have been written off as simply a pretty font, or in the worst case scenario perhaps gibberish, but there was no way that Aspel would ever miss anything Kerwonian that passed her eye. It always inspired a warmth within her, the good memories sparking nostalgia seconds before the deep seated yearning in her heart began to ache for all she missed, all the smith had never had. Fingers raised, gingerly pressing to the glass which separated her from items on display as eyes wandered over that specific item, and the smith pieced together from the worn cover, and where the writing dipped off on the edges that it was…. Oh. That hurt a little bit more. Though, footsteps were fast approaching, and certainly Mag would be caught up in any second. With an unintentional hesitance, a reluctance, Aspel attempted to pull herself away from the window, to put on her best bit of cheer, even if the other woman was sure to see right through it. After the on-going joke about finding a ring to make their marriage official, a shopping trip in the Bazaar had been practically a requirement. With Aspel back to full health it was a relief to fall back onto the old teasing and banter, and forget about the shivers provoked by the lingering memory of Aspel's eyes looking at her without a trace of recognition in them. For days after Aspel's recovery, Mag had wondered whether she should ask about the voice Aspel had heard while delirious. As far as she knew, the yearly trip to blunt the edge of Aspel's summon’s battle thirst hadn't happened yet. Perhaps it would be a good idea to bring up the subject, but that was a consideration for another time. For now, they had the right to enjoy an evening out without entertaining any concerns more complex than what to have for dinner. Mag tore her eyes away from a battered first edition of The Count of Pentecristo and walked over to Aspel, who was staring at an ancient tome with a crease between her brows. An educated guess told Mag this was Kerwonian; not because she could identify the script, but because little else could put that look on her friend's face. "Changed your mind about the specifics of your engagement gift?" Mag asked, to cheer her friend up. “Ah.” Aspel’s tone came out light, a bit removed, and heavy hearted even if she was trying not to allow such. “Perhaps.” Fingers removed from the glass, curling back into the palm of her hand easily, and a faint smile - one that barely seemed to exist at all - emerged. There was no need to get into that now, no need to send herself tumbling back down the rabbit hole of emotion and frustration that she often spent so much time climbing out of as it was. “Have you seen anything that has caught your eye?” Aspel stepped up, moving to hook her arm through Mag’s. It would be a simple gesture to walk arm in arm, but contact with the other woman always did bring her an odd sort of comfort. Perhaps that was because they were both fairly affectionate with each other, or perhaps it was just the fact that she could be so free with such an old friend. Mag smiled and placed a kiss on Aspel’s cheek. She led her friend away from the tome on display, to stand in front of a mannequin wearing an ancient-looking, yet remarkably well-conserved, velvet gown and a golden tiara. A small sign marked it as Kerwonian, once worn by the unspeakably beautiful women of some noble family or other. “What do you think of this?” she asked. “I suppose it’s not the best outfit to train in, but don’t you think that’s my color?” It was, of course, all in jest. The thought of even trying to train in that made Mag want to laugh; no matter what the devious minds of book cover illustrators dreamed, fighting in long skirts (ripped up to the thigh on both sides, mostly, but still) was just not feasible. “Perfect for church, no?” Aspel’s teasing didn’t quite have the normal kick it might. “For the wedding, perhaps?” Her attempts at upping the ante, and amusing them both a bit would never end regardless of her own mood. A slight cant of her head allowed for eyes to wander up over the design. It was a rather pretty dress for all its faults in some regards, and, perhaps, Aspel did somehow recognize it. Though if from seeing it at some fancy ball, or another, or perhaps just something similar in a storybook somewhere. “Though, I would wager a dozen apple turnovers and a case of cider to see you attempt to train in it.” Faram, Aspel’s mother would have her head for even suggesting such a wild idea. Though, her mother would have her head for a great many things in her life, so what did it really matter to add a few more onto the plate at this point? Mag laughed. “For the wedding, hmm.” She put on a mock-thoughtful expression. “But then we’d have to find you a matching outfit. And I was planning on us riding into the church on a white steed. We’ll have to hike up our skirts.” The mental image was more than a little amusing; she could picture the look of horror such an entrance would put on Cardinal Belmondt’s face. Or Father Luscini’s, for that matter. They’d probably be kicked out for covering the Cathedral floor in muddy hoofprints. The proposed wager put an impish look on her face as she said, “Well, Lady Cassul, you drive a hard bargain. I would, you know.” Especially if it helped dispel the somber mood Aspel seemed to have slipped into—and really, how could it not? Mag would look downright silly attempting to train in that outfit. “I suspect we would.” Aspel couldn’t help the idle slip of comment, eyes lingering over the dress. It really was quite beautiful. “Certainly, there must be some sort of device to assist with the task of skirt maintenance whilst riding at this point in our lives, no? Perhaps, a pin, or clip of some sort. Ah, maybe we could simply slip them underneath the wing of a chocobo, no?” A preposterous notion, and she had certainly known it, but really, wasn’t that half the fun? “Would you?” A curious lift of brow was earned. “Ah.” The simple expression fell from her lips as naturally as waking up after a long slumber, and Aspel’s head turned, taking in the dress once more, this time a quiet consideration following. “It would look beautiful upon you for balls.” And admittedly, selfishly, she’d quite like to have more things of Kerwonian influence in her life. It hurt, but often, it also still felt like home. “We could just pin them up and show off our wonderful legs,” Mag said, laughing. Really, what else could she do? “It might actually help divert attention from the fact that we were riding into the Grand Cathedral on chocoboback.” How their conversations always somehow ended up painting these surreal scenarios was a mystery to Mag, but she would never stop being amused by them. Mag had not looked at the price tag on the dress, but she suspected it was hardly something she could afford, if it had such historical value. But Aspel seemed to have taken a liking to it and so she thought that, perhaps, she could humor her friend for a while. “Then, do you want to go inside and take a look?” She gave an impish grin. “I am sure the moment the owner sees the way the fabric looks upon my fair visage, he will all but beg me to take it.” “But of course.” Really, was there any other response that could possibly work for them in this time? “Though really, there is no way in which my legs could compare to yours. You shall undoubtedly steal the show.” A soft laugh was offered. “Perhaps, your radiantly glowing skin, and toned calves can distract them whilst I steal away the priest for our secret ceremony amongst the trees of Emillion’s forests.” A soft smile was offered in response to the jest of her friend. The real truth of how deeply pained the dress made her could be hidden, and would. There was no need for this discussion. Whatever yearning, whatever strained longing she may hold, it didn’t matter. Things would never be okay, they would never be right. There was nothing Aspel, or Mag could do to fix it. “I fear the price tag may set us both into catatonic stupors. I believe it may be best if this dress is left to knock some poor other helpless sap from their shoes, no?” And with that, a hand would be offered out to the other woman so that they could continue upon their way. |