Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-01-28 11:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aspel cassul, magnolia paget |
And I'm haunted, By the lives that I have loved, And actions I have hated....
Who: Aspel & Mag
What: Memories.
Where: Aspel’s apartment.
When: BACKDATED: Jan 5th
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Fingers stroked over each bump, ridge, plate, and notch upon the sleek, black armor. The box which had become its home for so many years, lined with the softest material she could find had been pulled out, and unlocked, letting doors to the huge container easily fall to the sides. This of course, only served to reveal the entirity of the chest’s contents. The secrets she kept, the things she hid, and prayed that so many would never find out. Her armor, the book she owned regarding summons, and the notes and information Aspel had held onto regarding dark magicks all resided in one place. The texts would always be there, and the knowledge held within them had been committed to memory long ago from the sheer number of times she read through them. Why she did not set the whole chest aflame, and watch as it melted and burned still remained a complete and utter mystery, even to herself. Logic always kicked in when thoughts like that occurred. The metal was valuable. The book was priceless. The information on dark magicks would help her identify when others started edging towards becoming possibly users…. Every time she thought of getting rid of all of it, all these reasons popped up, and the smith found herself - after some hours - tucking everything back into the box and sliding it underneath her bed once again. Yet today, with each stroke of the armor, with each lingering glance stolen of its black gleam, thoughts stirred she’d only idly mused on before. Now though, now, each look, each touch, and each moment longer passed, those easily dismissed considerations of the past seemed a much firmer reality. They were backed far more solidly with what her reality had become, what it was turning into with each passing day and… A heavy sigh fell from her lips as a gauntlet was gingerly pulled from the box and turned over in her fingers. When was the last time she had actually fully removed a piece of the armor from the box? When had she allowed her thoughts to go this far? When had…. And while only half thinking, her hand shifted, folding in on itself while the other positioned the gauntlet. The last time the smith had pulled this armor from its storage space was to clean it. Recollection of the cool metal exterior was easy, it paired up with how it felt even now perfectly and… That was when it hit her, like a sledgehammer to the chest knocking all the wind from her lungs as fingers curled within the gauntlet. It still fit. Notifying of a visit before it happened was a custom long left unpracticed where Aspel and Mag were concerned. They both had a key to the other's apartment, and with it unspoken permission to come and go as if each other's apartment were their own. Mag let herself into The Armory and—in the absence of clothes discarded on the counter—the apartment upstairs. The house was quiet. She wondered if Aspel wasn't home after all, but then heard a soft metallic clink from the bedroom, and called a greeting as she made her way over. The scene that greeted her in turn wasn't one she had expected to see, but who was she to point fingers at others for dwelling on the past. She hesitated in the doorway, wondering if she should leave. Some moments were not meant to be interrupted, even by the closest of friends. The greeting nearly faded into the din from the Bazaar outside her bedroom window, and the gravelly, metallic grind of the voice within her head, as Aspel’s eyes remained locked - hyperfocused to a degree - on the gauntlet that now was equipped to her hand. Fingers curled in, and then unfurled again before the greeting fully sunk in, and seemed to knock her back into the reality of their time. “Good eve.” The response was sterile however, and it nearly made the smith flinch at her own words. When had she, how had she… Aspel’s wrist rotated in the gauntlet, and it fell from view, left to rest against her leg for the moment. Letting silence fall between them a moment, the smith wasn’t sure how to continue but eventually pressed forward with a strained smile. “Your day?” The movement to hide the gauntlet did not go unnoticed, but Mag made no comment. She returned Aspel’s half-hearted smile and said, wry, “Okay, but there’s some room for improvement.” Her eyes took in the open chest and the black armor. Aspel had favored this armor when they’d met, already six years ago, but it had been hidden away after the class change. Some things, it was necessary to leave behind in order to move forward—it was a truth Mag knew well, if only because she realized her own failure in that area. Unbidden, her hand went up to feel the amulet underneath her clothes. After a pause, she said, “I could go back home and cry about how terribly I lost against Foxe in our spar today. If you want me to leave.” “Such as?” Gauntlet covered fingers tapped absently against her own thigh. Faram, it felt so familiar. The suit had been such a tremendous fit, and the material…. It was far better than what she wore now. Aspel hadn’t had the time, or money to make a better suit since her days with the Guard. Every cent she hadn’t spent on getting the shop up, and running remained in the couple weapons she kept, and this suit of armor. The one that felt like a second skin. “There is no need.” The gloved hand raised, waving off the idea before eyes fell to the flash of black, and a slow inhale occurred. Something pensive ticking away in her head. “There are days when I reconsider.” The words come out automatically, they are practically unbidden, but at the same time they are true. “Well, isn’t there always room for improvement? I could have been told I’d be getting a raise, but alas.” The joke was tempered by her concern. After hesitating a moment, Mag sat on the floor near her friend. The armor glinted a deep black in the light of the room. They had not discussed this for years. Back when Mag had first arrived in Emillion, a couple of months after Aspel, they had talked about their respective class changes at length, but it was a topic that had fallen by the wayside as they both settled into their new classes. Or, perhaps, got better at ignoring the what-ifs. “Reconsider?” she asked softly. “The Fell Knight thing?” “I suspect you do have a point.” The words came a bit carefully, as if she were considering them as she spoke. “Though, the raise is a bit of a complicated matter, have you appropriately logged five years of service, and submitted form 99-B?” If such a form ever existed, it would truly be the death of her, Aspel was sure. “There is a waiting period after submission.” A hand idly waved, as if Mag must of course know the story by heart at this point. The story of paperwork and wait times, it must be an infamous one, right? Though… Eyes shifted, dipping back down to the armor displayed before them, the suit she’d known for so long, the suit that… “Yes.” The word was low, seeming like her mind was somewhere else, but still in this time enough to be able to respond. “I miss how it…” The word died in her throat, and her head snapped up, a forced smile instantly offered to the other woman. What was she going to… No, Aspel knew exactly what she had been going to say. “I was quite skilled.” Thoughts for another sentence died in her throat, Mag couldn’t handle that, not right now. “Oh, I see how it is,” Mag said, pretending to be giving it serious consideration. “In triplicate, I assume? And do you realize how much trouble you’re going to be in if that form actually exists?” Smiling, she added, “You might have to pay me off to get me to keep the secret if it does. Soon I’ll have effectively taken over the guild.” The usual laughter that would have accompanied her words was tempered by her concern. She considered Aspel’s words. There was no denying that she was a skilled Fell Knight; Mag had seen her fight with the skills of that class, cutting down several men with one attack (and destroying herself in the process). “I know. You were pretty badass,” she said with a small smile. “Not that you’re not now.” A pause, and then, “Do you miss using the Dark when you fight now?” “Triplicate is a minimum, I would advise further copies to assure that you are capable of handing them out as templates for others who wish to attempt to follow in your footsteps, of course.” There was a soft smile that rose, one that didn’t completely reach her eyes, but it attempted, even if it failed. Consideration was given to chiming in, to giving in to the nostalgia of their shared past, but it didn’t quite seem appropriate. It didn’t quite… The question struck like a ton of bricks, and the honest answer wasn’t one she was ready to face yet. A huff of air was let out, before a strained, yet forced smile emerged. “Would you like tea, perhaps?” The gauntlet was grasped, being carelessly yanked off and dropped into the trunk - a drastic change in emotional state, and care from what had been happening just seconds before - before it was kicked with a foot, and Aspel moved to head towards the kitchen. Mag could not help a moment of surprise when the pensive mood that seemed to have gathered around Aspel shattered around them. And she knew, without a doubt, what had caused the sudden change. Too direct a question. She let it go. “Sure,” she said, and followed Aspel toward the kitchen. Wondering if, perhaps, rather than help she had succeeded in making things worse. |