. (singapore) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-02 23:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !plot: saint namorados day, rictor cassul, siri d'albis |
WHO: Rictor Cassul & Siri D’Albis
WHEN: St.Namorados
WHERE: Around the city.
WHAT: Reconnecting & Feels
WARNINGS: Tame
STATUS: Complete
It is still fairly early on, signs of St. Namorados spill out into the street, screaming for attention and for a need to make them make sense. This is not a holiday that is quite within her grasp, though she can appreciate the need to make friends feel loved (beyond that, lovers? romance? well, that was something else). Waiting for Rictor was a practiced art, she had waited for him and Caspar for months after they had left (and knew they weren’t coming back) but that was all in the past, wasn’t it? She hadn’t picked a special outfit like others had, but she was securely wrapped in her red cloak keeping the cold at bay from her seat outside. A bench in the Noble’s District. She had purchased a small corsage without fully understanding that it was a gift meant for women, convinced that the white flower suited Rictor just fine. White Calla Lilies, whatever they were called, Siri hadn’t really paid attention to the name. They fit, she liked them. Simplicity at its best within the constant madness. The woman (though he often still thought of her as a girl, a mere little slip of a thing, bare-footed and wild-haired and ever so slightly wrong after the Feywood) waited on the bench like a small patch of stillness in the rest of the bustling street. Carriages, bundled-up nobles with servants trailing after them and carrying their shopping, the occasional courier or messenger. And then Rictor, turning the corner from the direction of the Cathedral district, his hands knotted in his pockets for warmth. He grinned when he saw her. It was a long day—he’d carved out a corner of it for Siri, carefully setting aside those hours to spare for a friend before dedicating the rest of it to something a bit more complicated. By way of greeting, he glanced at their surroundings. “My sister suggested I move here. Seloria, I mean.” (It was an unfortunate old habit; it took Rictor a moment to backpedal, to remember that he had two, that Siri knew more than most.) “To the noble district. Not my scene, though.” "Cas lives here." Siri frowned briefly as if the memory of that was twisted, maybe more dream than truth; however she recalled something, he had shown her something. "I could not see you here." Rictor was himself but not the picture of lavish parties and fine silks, Siri had always liked that though. He reminded her of forest and stone; damp earth beneath the snow. Siri mouthed the name. Seloria, yes, another sister. Siri remembered that but had trouble putting a face to it. In the end she reached out towards Rictor, fingers seeking the stability he provided, wanting to tug him down to sit with her. He let her catch his hand, obediently planting himself on the bench (though it merited a shiver as he came in contact with the cold slats, a ripple that started at the base of his spine and moved upwards). “How about you? How’s staying at the monastery going?” Ric asked, sinking in beside her, bumping his shoulder against Siri’s. After three years, catching up was still a novelty. Their fingers were securely locked together, and he brought everything to a steady pace; rustling leaves and the scent of pine. Letting go was easier now, a companionable bump that caused her to smile widely. "Tower. It is cold and tall and full of books." "Oh, I bought you-" Siri dug her free hand into a pouch resting on the bench alongside them. "-this." There was childish pride in the acquisition, even if it was not an appropriate gift for men during this holiday. Rictor squinted at it, lifting the delicate white flower and twirling it back and forth between his fingertips. It took a moment for the word to come back to him—it had been years since stilted, formal dates to noble functions, he hadn’t been forced to entertain eligible young bachelorettes ever since enlisting—but eventually it made its way back. “A corsage?” he said, amused. "Yes. That." Clearly the name of the thing was unimportant to her; the flower itself was very deliberate, carefully picked out, it was not her fault the only right flower had been in corsage format. Siri beamed at him, tugging his hand gently. "It is the holiday to give gift to friends too, right? I've never given you one before and it suits you. Haven't found anything for Caspar yet." If she even found him today, Siri had the distinct memory of him being particularly busy on this day. “Yeah, he’s probably pretty busy today.” He gave a crooked smile, unintentionally echoing her thoughts as he pinned the corsage to his collar, right by the templar’s cross. “But yes, it’s more than acceptable to give gifts to friends too. Think you can pretty much just use the holiday to appreciate any loved ones in your life.” His hand floated over the corsage, remembering something. “Sorry. I don’t have anything for you, Siri.” The words made her smile and she shook her head, her grip tightened briefly. “You always have something for me.” The way he held time for her and handed it back; though his leave from Kerwon had stung deeply she found it right now in her not to be angry. She was angry about it, no mistake, but whenever they spoke Siri felt something in Rictor’s words that made her less so. The line of her mouth tensed, the unspoken: He should make time for us lost before it was even out of her lips. Siri drew her attention to the now, the corsage pinned neatly next to the templar’s cross. “You have plans?” Half questioning amists the anxiety of feeling forgotten. Another ripple ran through him, a humming thread of anxiety that was quickly squashed and suppressed. “Some, yeah. I’m taking Almalexia out for dinner tonight.” Ric’s eyes were fixed on the ground now, the patches of snow still piled up in corners of the streets, the shape of their boots resting in parallel. Siri’s eyebrows rose, her lips twitched struggling to contain a smile and a soft laugh — never mocking, one of pleasant surprise. She had never known him to do romantic gestures like this. Her fingers tightened and she tugged his hand as she turned her body towards him. “I’m happy for you.” And there was a warmth in her eyes and tone, “You can take her to dance too one day, on the edge of a bridge and watch the stars crash down.” “We’ve already danced, though not on a bridge,” he said, smiling before instinctively switching the subject. “But unlike the good mister Vaux: my day’s open for you, if you want to take a walk.” Even in this, he and Caspar were still subconsciously warring, a subtle vying for the lion’s share of attention at all times. The mention of Cas had Siri hunching in a little, warmth gone as she stared at the templar’s cross, “He always leaves.” An afterthought, an ache, then a spark of anger that she quelled with a shake of her head. “It’s okay, he is busy and I’ll find him. It’s fine.” Maybe repeating it enough times would make her believe it. There were thoughts she didn’t want to deal with, she still was upset and scared and — lost. “Let’s have a walk then.” The tension wasn’t missed; Rictor felt it as if someone had plucked a string between them, sending reverberations running through Siri’s tightening hand, her voice gone steely and distant. Through mere old habit, Rictor leaned his other arm across her shoulders and pulled the woman into a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He wouldn’t ask and he wouldn’t pry—but he could pull Siri away from it, redirecting her as a boulder thrown into the river would. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go.” And he tugged her to her feet, and off they went through the snow, a welcome distraction from Rictor’s nerves and whatever had happened between her and Caspar. |