Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-02-23 01:28:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aspel cassul, magnolia paget |
I think I’m going under – tell me now can you help?
Who: Aspel & Mag
What: A talk.
Where: Aspel’s apartment.
When: Today!
Rating: PG? (WARNINGS: Talks of death/suicide, self-hate, religious zeal)
Status: Complete!
The fight with Ari had happened two days ago. Since then, Aspel had pressed to be left alone as completely as Mag would allow her to be. In the times in which the other woman had insisted on being around, the smith had mostly remained quiet, lost inside her own head and thoughts, not seeming willing to come out. It wasn’t just about Ari though. It was about everything. And everything felt like it was about to swallow her up, to destroy her. The dark magicks pulled at her, the fight with Ari distressed her, her friendship with Mag, her relationship with Ric, Dullahan, Faram, her sins, Drake, her thoughts of how she should be dead, how other lives held more value than her own, Vivi, her regrets, and fears…. Maybe she was better off dead. Some days, her soul felt half way there already. Ari had told her to think about what she was doing, had asked her if she were trying to get herself killed…. Maybe she was. Honestly, Aspel had never thought of getting herself killed before, had never intended to become suicidal, but at the same time, when you thought any life - every life - valued more than your own, was it surprising when others could perceive you in a suicidal way? Maybe Ari was right, maybe she was. Maybe….. They were better off not together. It would save Ari from the frustration, the pain. If this was all the bard was going to think of Aspel as, if Ari couldn’t take what had happened, what was bound to happen most likely with Aspel’s class combination, with…. She’d cried. At a point when Aspel was left to her own devices, she’d broken down into a sobbing mess. Bawling until it felt like there was nothing left inside for her to possibly get out. There was no way to save herself from hell, there was no redemption, there was no moment that she would realize everything was just some horrible nightmare with glimpses of hope, with angels from Faram - Mag, Vivi, Ari, Rictor, Seloria, Drake - sent to save her. Aspel was damned. She was damned from recovery, she was exiled from heaven, she was bound to hell, and there would be no coming back. Ari deserved better, as did everyone else in her life. They all deserved the person she could never be. The smith’s thoughts continued, they weaved in, and out, frantic, chaotic, and unorganized. She had tried to organize them, to make a list of how each thing intertwined, and played against her (Ari’s words, Mag’s frustrations, her own sins, how the dark called to her, how she was falling back into her addictions and felt like she was barely holding on, how she was collapsing under the demands of Dullahan to be released, how Siri had needed to be protected and Aspel never felt like anything she did was ever good enough for Rictor but this was a chance to save something - someone - he loved, someone that Aspel cared for too, and she would not fail him, would not fail Siri like she had the both of them in the past, how the weight of council work and her hidden double life - her lack of care for law half of the time - was tearing her apart, how she was no hero, how she would never be a hero, how…). They flew by so fast, slipping from one form of emotional self-torture to the next so quickly Aspel could barely keep up with what she ought to be punishing herself over now, or next. There was no way to cleanse her soul, to purge herself of these sins, so a broken body would have to do. Her desire to keep others safe, to save their bodies, and minds so that they would not have to endure the pain, the poor choices, the condemnation of herself, her decisions… Maybe she just needed to drink all this away... In the end, Aspel was her own worst enemy, and no matter how nice she was, no matter how many people she saved, or protected, it would never be enough. She could never do enough, be enough… Aspel Cassul would never find redemption for herself, even if her god had given it to her long ago. There was an omen in the set of Aspel’s jaw when Mag arrived. Not for a moment had Mag expected this to be an easy conversation, but no matter how difficult, it could be put off no longer. The expression on Aspel’s face told her friend that, one day more, she may have preferred to be left alone, to wallow in the image of herself that she entertained deep inside, some sort of monster who deserved none of the good things that may accidentally happen to come into her life. The look that said she was teetering on the edge of running away and leaving it all behind, as she had talked about doing many times over the years. Yet this time, perhaps, was different. Because this time, it seemed Aspel’s guilt had turned Mag into one more thing that had to be escaped, perhaps to be saved from her influence. Had she not come here today, uninvited after days with barely any contact at all between them, something told Mag that Aspel would not have sought her out. A fine plan, wanting to escape from everything and running someplace far away. But if Aspel was going to include Mag in the list of things to be escaped, she shouldn’t have given her a key to her apartment all those years ago. “A good day to you, my lady,” Mag greeted, but beyond the usual joking tone there was no room for doubt that the conversation ahead of them would be taken seriously. She left two grocery bags on the kitchen counter, one of them containing dinner and the other two bottles of cider. No doubt Aspel had mead somewhere in the house, unless she had polished off her stash in the last week. “How are you feeling today?” The greeting would faintly pull her from her thoughts, a low hum in the smith’s throat, and a faint bowing of her head was all that was offered in response initially. It was still hard to move without spikes of pain shooting through her, but somehow Aspel had managed to cause minimal additional problems. With how harshly Ari had come against her, it left the smith with little will to do much of anything for herself. Though, the desire not to be a burden was still obscenely high. “Better.” The word was mostly emotionless, no hint of amusement, no attempt at a joke, just a plain statement of how the world was. Perhaps, that was the best she could do. Mag stopped rummaging in the grocery bags to flash her friend a smile. "That's good. I got us dinner, by the way. And you should take your potion, too, if you haven't already." She had considered setting the food aside for after their talk, but perhaps it would be better this way. If Aspel had trouble putting her worries into words, she could simply take a long time to chew, and put her thoughts in order. It was a kindness Mag had no problem giving her friend (and also herself, perhaps). By some miracle, the food was still warm, and so Mag poured the soup into two bowls and the steamed vegtables on a plate, and those on a tray, along with the necessary utensils and two glasses of water. She left it on the tea table and sat on the couch. "Ari seemed less than happy with you," she said after a moment, testing the waters. She gave Aspel an apologetic look. "She's a very talented bard. Voice powerful enough that I could make out the words from the forge." Fingers of her good hand - the other one half splinted from fending off a blow without aide of her sword at one point in the fight - trailed along a hem that had began to wear, eyes distant, and her mind obviously visiting other places between the instant where Mag had welcomed herself, and when she spoke now. Dinner was uninteresting, her potion even less so. The words were heard, but not confirmed, and barely acknowledged at all. The nod of her head so faint it could barely be classified as a moment at all. The mention of Ari caused her jaw to tighten, seeming to lock in place, an emotionally pained look shooting through face for a moment before it only minimally lingered, most of the hurt having settled deep down in her heart. “Mm.” Confirmation of speech more than anything, and Aspel’s gaze - which had not been on Mag to begin with - shifted further away. She’d failed. There was no other way to put it, even Mag must know that by now. Mag had known it wouldn't be easy, getting Aspel to discuss this, but she had clung to a sliver of hope that her hunch would be wrong. It had not, it seemed--but for good or bad, she was stubborn, and she had dragged Aspel out of similar moods before. She would simply have to do it again. "She's just worried about you. As I am," she said. "It's because we care about you, and we see you getting hurt, and we're powerless to stop it." The smith’s jaw tightened further, eyes continuing to linger low, and her mood - though mildly lifted by the insight to Ari’s process - rose before diving again as thoughts churned, making things worse by process of elimination. If she was causing the bard’s concern, then clearly she simply ought to remove herself from the equation. Aspel should have known she’d always cause the other woman pain, somehow she’d just… And Mag was…. Her heart sank deeper than before. A sigh slipped out, and with a shift, Aspel’s glance was cast towards the window. The cold would probably feel nice right now. Maybe once she was better, it would be time to leave. “Hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Mag said, smiling in spite of herself. “Travelling in the winter is miserable. That year, on nights we had to camp outside, I’d wake up with my fingers so cold I almost couldn’t move them at first. And that was Ordalia.” “I always enjoyed the cold.” The comment was absent, passive really as her gaze remained upon the window. Really, the cold was preferred to the heat though her tolerance for both was fairly significant from working in the forge night, and day for years at this point. Though, in her older age, the cold was getting a bit harder to deal with than when she gallivanted about through Kerwon and Valendia in her twenties… This city life certainly was softening her up it would seem. Mag let out a sigh and, after a moment, took Aspel’s abandoned bowl of soup and sat closer to her friend. “But if you leave,” she said, “who’ll pester you to eat your food and take care of yourself?” She looked down at the bowl, swirling the soup around with the spoon. “I could make airship noises every time I feed you a spoonful. I’ve become pretty good at it this past month.” Eyebrows furrowed, Aspel’s jaw shifting at Mag’s attempts for levity in their talk. Though, there was an undoubted hint of seriousness there too. It was hard to miss, and not all that surprising really. Though… Was that what people thought of her at this point? The reckless fighter who threw herself mindlessly into danger, and then was incapable of recovery unless others attended to her every need?.... It was a miserable thing to think about. Why was it that everytime she thought she had something figured out, thought she knew how to handle things, or could face down a foe on her own, it seemed like everyone around her was busy telling her after that she was wrong? “No.” "All right." Mag placed the bowl back on the tray and sighed again. Suddenly, the urge to bury her face in a cushion and scream was overwhelming. "Listen, I just want you to talk to me about whatever it is that's going through your head. Preferably in full sentences." There was no anger, only exhaustion. First Lavitz, now Aspel, and she had no idea what to do for either of them, to get them back on their feet. Perhaps there was nothing she could do, and it didn't matter how hard she tried. But the alternative--giving up on her friends--did not bear thinking about. The good hand was raised, moving up to rub over her face for a moment before a sigh escaped. How was she… What did Mag… Honestly, she didn’t want to talk about anything, or be around anyone really. With a huff of air she let slip the first thing that came to mind. “Everything hurts.” And it was true. It seemed like even living hurt as of late. Though, how to explain that to Mag…. She hadn’t the faintest clue. Maybe if she just gave some details, but not the complete story, Mag would view it as enough, and back off. “Everything.” The word was repeated to accent the point as her tone dipped, depression dragging up into her speech once more. She really should have known better than to think Mag was going to let her deflect the issue when it was so clear something was wrong. Mag reached out and placed her hand over Aspel's good one. "When you say everything, I assume it's not just about your injuries," she said softly. "Care to tell me about it? I want to help, Aspel." “No.” Aspel added on, confirming Mag was correct when she assumed that the injuries were not the only pain which the smith had incurred. Though, when asked for elaboration, a cross between confusion, and frustration - some vague attempt at trying to work through whatever it was in her own head - crossed Aspel’s face. “Just… Everything.” A pause. “My pride in my work as a smith does not pain me.” Because it was one of those nights that it was easier to name the things that didn’t hurt than the ones that did. Just that? was the first question that crossed Mag's mind. "Well, I suppose that's something. You're a damn good smith, for the record." She laced her fingers through Aspel. "Also a good person, but something tells me you're about to disagree with me there." There was a silence from Aspel, but it would seem as though she were beginning to come out of her depression induced stupor at least a little as her attention shifted to fall on their mutually laced fingers. Fingers flexed, tightening the hold a little before settling into something more comfortable. “Mm.” Was all she could really offer, as there was no energy for words, and any of the words she could think of didn’t feel right anyway. "I'll take that answer over a straight-up no any day," Mag muttered and gave a soft smile. "I was hoping you'd feel better if we talked about whatever's troubling you. No matter how bad, you're still my best friend." It was hard for Mag to believe that Aspel's worries were entirely justified. She had a tendency to take on the weight of any situation or blame on her own shoulders--but this was just one more sign of her kindness, not that Aspel would see it that way. The concern from Mag… Hurt. Would it be easier if they hadn’t gotten to know each other all those years ago? Certainly if she left the other woman now it would cause pain, but might that pain be less than what Aspel was surely to inflict on her in the future if they continued on with this charade? All valid questions, but there was little she could do about not forming the friendship now. Though, perhaps she could… “I fear I am uncertain it would make a difference at this point.” This was a conversation they needed to have, and Aspel needed to understand that shutting herself away wasn’t the answer―but if pushing her to talk about it right now made Aspel retreat even further into her shell, would that not make things worse? Her only option seemed to be to keep the conversation going and pick up any cues about Aspel’s mood and thoughts that her friend was willing to let drop. Maybe from those she could build some sort of plan to get Aspel out of her fuzz, and maybe not―but she had to try. “All right.” Mag nodded. “If talking wouldn’t make a difference, then what would? I’d offer to take you out for drinks, but your wounds are still healing.” A heavy sigh, the broken fingers twitched, causing the briefest grimace of pain to emerge before it disappeared once more. It was a valid question, one she couldn’t blame Mag for asking. One she herself would likely ask if the tables were reversed, but… Could she even possibly answer? What could Mag do? Was there anything, anyone could do? Well, there was…. No. Mag wouldn’t listen to that sort of answer. Well, she would listen, but there would be nothing within it that she would abide by. Another sigh was earned, and Aspel’s eyes pensively turned off to one side. “I fear I know not.” Aspel’s sigh was echoed by her friend. “Well, if you do, when you do, tell me. And if you still think this is the end of the world and the only thing you can do is skip town, tell me so I can come with you.” A teasing smile appeared on Mag’s face. “Roaming the world is all good and all, but you’d be crap at flying an airship.” “Thus why an airship would not be taken.” The words came out more serious than she’d really intended, but… Well, the idea of running off never left her mind, it simply had periods where it abated for a bit longer than not. So, of course, she’d figured out how she’d be likely to go about it at least three times over long before this day. Though, where to run to… Well, that was a question in of itself. Maybe she’d just go where the wind took her. Mag laughed. “Well, you’ve thought of everything. I was hoping to convince you to take me along that way, but alas.” Efforts at levity notwithstanding, it was hard to dispel her concern at seeing her friend like this. Beating herself up, but that was not new. Closing herself off was. “I’m serious, though,” she said. “I’m here, whatever you need. Don’t shut me out.” “Mm.” The closed off hum was followed by a sigh, and a slight squeeze of hand. Mouth opened, as if to speak, before it closed again. What could she say? There was nothing there that hadn’t already been said. Everything hurt, nothing felt good, everything was being torn apart in her mind, and it was beginning to feel like none of the pieces would ever fit back together ever again. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough for this, maybe she was destined to fall. It was better if she didn’t take down anyone with her when she did. “Just remember that, whatever happens.” Aspel’s hum hadn’t been a yes―but it hadn’t been a no, either. Things were getting to the point where Mag would take what she could get, and that seemed like plenty, for the time being. Slow, but not easy. But she’d find a way. Her gaze turned to the abandoned bowl of soup on the table. “Are you hungry at all? I should probably reheat this.” A sigh, which was immediately followed by a furrowing of her brow. What had she done? What could she do? Why did her mind keep working in circles against her like this? Why did she even bother at all? “I will.” The response was weakly offered, a confirmation in words more than tone, or emotion, but it was something. More than had been given before, even if her heart was barely half in it. “No.” Once again, the word was lackluster, depression haunting around its edges as Aspel’s eyes glanced at the bowl, Mag, and then shifted away in turn. “I fear I am not.” “All right.” Her own food was likely cold by now, as well, but rather than stand up to reheat it she placed a kiss on Aspel’s cheek and remained sitting next to her, leaning against her and holding her friend’s hand in hers. “It’s all right.” |