. (siri) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-17 11:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, rictor cassul, siri d'albis |
WHO: Rictor Cassul & Siri d’Albis
WHEN: After this.
WHERE: Grande Cathedral
WHAT: Kerwonians have a lot of feels about each other.
RATING: Tame
STATUS: Complete
He hadn’t been nearby when it had happened—could only hear the screaming in the distance, the throat-wrenching noises that Rictor knew, always knew, without a doubt, were Siri d’Albis. He’d heard her wake from enough nightmares, after all, the sheets tangling until he bustled in and tugged her free and crushed her into a hug: an older brother’s care and concern in Reinberg, where she had no one and his own sisters were long-gone. Today, he’d seen signs of the disturbance ripple through the crowd, the heads turning, the frowns and whispers as someone helped the offending party outside. Rictor waded through the jostling church-goers until he eventually burst out into the brilliant sunshine, squinting against the light. She sat on the cathedral steps like a doll with its strings cut, crumpled and legs tucked under her, the blue-and-white dress reminding him of healers’ robes. Rictor sank down beside his friend, dropping to the stone stairs and resting his elbows against his knees. “Hey,” he said. The waking world could be as terrifying as the nightmares that came and went; people who had something in them which was crooked and frightening, who carried secrets and shame that stung. Those were the types she avoided without any pretence at politeness, ignoring her noble upbringing in favour of shielding herself. Today another person had been added to the list. Siri was staring at her lap, blinking slowly as the world came in and out of focus, burn subsiding thanks to the distance between Ash and herself now. There was only that weariness that settled in, likely to keep her sitting there for a long while. His voice was both distant and muffled to her ears. Admittedly, it was both familiar and strange to find Rictor Cassul by her side once more; many years had passed until there were only fragmented ghost-like pieces when she awoke from her nightmares. Yet here he was, solid enough for her to automatically lean against his side, relaying on his strength (it came by reflex, like breathing — an uncontrolled and necessary response). “Hey.” He let her lean against him, casting her a quick look before staring off into the street instead, as if the passing people and carriages were the only thing in the scene of interest. Siri seemed to have quietened down, ebbing into an exhausted calm, all her manic energy dissipated with that raw screaming fit. He knew there was very little required of him now except to be here, to be present: an anchor with voice, a steady bedrock with lungs. Even after three years apart, it was easy to sink back into these old rhythms, like a dance they’d never quite left. Caspar and Rictor’s endless combative back-and-forthing had taken on a different tone once their missing third returned to them, a stabilising influence for the two men. Just as they all were for each other. “Wanna talk about it?” Rictor asked. Madness could manifest in many ways, but it always left her exhausted in the end; broken, sleepy and wanting to crawl off somewhere until the world settled (nothing ever really settled in her madness though, it ebbed and surged like the tide, but never completely left — how long had it been since Siri had been truly, completely lucid? Even she could not say). Each and every anchor Siri established helped navigate this city; however Rictor and Caspar were the ones who always knew what to do, what was wrong and how to keep her (or the situation) from growing worse. “There is a woman who makes choices that hurt her on purpose.” That was as much sense as Siri could make of what Aisling did or didn’t do. She hated feeling that, being injured by it as if it had been her own choices. Two months after three years separation and Siri found herself surprised at how easy it was to fall back into old patterns, yet also question them. Every single time Caspar or Rictor appeared, she couldn’t help but ask: “You are here, Rictor, yes?” His full name, not his nickname, as if this were but a vision she spoke to (and visions were never able to compare to the actual person). That finally made him break his false reverie with the street, turning to meet Siri’s gaze and give her a thoughtful frown, his own eyes pale and blue and assessing. “Yes. Of course. You’re in my stomping ground, after all.” A wry smile, a nod to the shape of the Grande Cathedral looming behind them in all its majesty. If I go anywhere, you’ll be one of the first to know: Rictor toyed with those words, balancing them on his tongue, before banishing them just as thoughtfully. It would be disingenuous; it wasn’t worth upsetting her over, reminding her of the possibility that he might leave; the Silver Blades’ Hauptmann could bark at any moment and he would heed the order, possibly carried off on another assignment for a month or two or six. A pause, then: “It’s shitty, but a lot of people make choices that hurt ‘em on purpose.” For the best to pretend he would not go anywhere; while she might understand that Rictor and Caspar’s assignments could have them leaving Emillion for a prolonged period of time, it didn’t mean she wanted to think about it. Denial served many well, and in this case it helped calm the anxiety that undermined the happiness of being reunited with her childhood friends. Yeah, that sounded like Rictor and not his shade, Siri turned her face towards him and gave a small smile. “Which would be fine, if I didn’t have to see them or feel them.” She was no saint, her visions were always used with heavy personal bias (her own or the one who wanted them). “I cannot help them.” A sigh, air no longer coming out in puffs — a sign Winter was leaving, slowly but surely. “I’m not even sure Faram can.” Those types of people who had nowhere to go but down. “Faram can’t always help everyone.” The admission came out tight and strained from Rictor; the cross on his pauldron almost seemed to burn when he said it, the stained-glass windows of the cathedral glowering down at the pair for the conversation they were having right on their God’s doorstep. But he bouldered right through those reservations, despite the knot that tightened in his chest. A lifetime of serving as Faram’s sword had taught him to be realistic. Not all could be saved; not all deserved to be. “All you can do, Siri, is try your best regardless. Who was she? D’you know her?” For a moment Siri tensed at the words, she wanted to rebel she didn’t want to save everyone, she wanted to save herself from the voices in her head. However, she like Rictor, had learned realism with time and she settled down again, pressing a little more communicating with that — the three Kerwonians didn’t need words at times. “Spoken to her on the network, introduced herself as Ash.” A little shrug, “She doesn’t want my help, she won’t listen.” That was the most frustrating thing of all, when she stated things so clearly and people didn’t listen. “I like seeing you more often.” Siri changed the topic and smiled up at Ric, “I like that I can post on the network and talk to you and know you’ll come see me.” Caspar would too, and the memory of the accusing words she had hit the sentinel with made her ashamed. He had not deserved that, even if he had left. Both of them had. “In a fuckin’ heartbeat,” the man confirmed, now directing a lopsided grin to his friend. He bumped into her with his elbow, an affectionate jostle—he still hadn’t tired of being able to see her at the drop of a hat either, rather than having thousands of miles and continents separating them. “And Caspar, too.” We won’t let you down again. Siri laughed, eyes bright and clearly lucid, it had been a while but there she was peeking through to nudge Rictor back, requiring more force on her part to even move the Holy Knight a little. The mention of Caspar had her smile fading, avoiding Rictor’s eyes as she stared out onto the street. “I’m scared you both will go somewhere else.” Siri began carefully, “I got very-” frustrated, upset “-angry with Cas, said things -” Siri shook her head and let the sentence hang unfinished. Rictor could probably piece together what she might have said to Caspar, knew better than anyone the frustrations she carried wrapped around her heart. Any other time, any other subject, and Rictor might have bandied back with something like Aw man, what the fuck did he do now? But any disagreements between the three of them were jarring things, sending ripples throughout their entire dynamic; Siri being angry with either of them was still a strange, foreign, and frightening concept. So he answered softly instead, carefully, respectfully. Ric had learnt patience at his friend’s elbow; where he’d been a hot-tempered and callous teenager with anyone else, this was one of the few places where he knew to wait. “What set it off?” Anger was not a distant emotion, but being angry with Ric and Cas was and it was unavoidable — the happiness at seeing them was sometimes diminished by the irrational fear they’d leave and the anger at the fact they had left. “Doubted he would come if I called him. Promised he wouldn’t leave me again, I couldn’t believe him.” She eventually had accepted his promise but was certain he would regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life. There was still that lurking voice in the back of Rictor’s head—the same one that, in quieter moments, rattled off his lists of failings and how he had not met Faram’s expectations today, had not stood true to the holy ideal that dangled in front of him at all times. It was convinced that they would still let her down, that they were not good enough, that they would inevitably break their promises as their work carried them away. But it was that same voice he could never, ever let Siri hear. “All roads lead to Emillion,” he said instead. “I mean, look at how many of us have ended up here: Aspel, Caspar, Seloria, me, you. Now that we’re all here, it’ll be fine.” It’ll be fine. If they said that enough, perhaps it would come true. Yet it rang so hollow to her ears, Siri had eventually believed Caspar, in the same way she believed Rictor’s promise but the fear was ever present, a weight that could not be easily discarded. Actions spoke louder than words with them. “No, it’s not just that.” All roads lead to Emillion, perhaps, but she had upset the careful balance by her harsh words. “I told him that you stayed longer than he did.” That you care more than he does. Rictor’s lips pressed tight and he went still, letting those words sink in. He knew their significance, knew what they implied. Again, it wouldn’t do to admit part of the truth: that he lagged a year behind because he’d failed his initial holy knight exam, that he was constantly running to catch up with his rival-that-wasn’t, that he’d leapt for Emillion the very second he passed the Silver Blades’ entrance tests. That he practically fell all over himself to press his knee to the sun-warmed stone of St. Dalmasca Courtyard, and bow his head before the Cardinal, the sign of the holy rood enscribed over his shoulders. “It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care,” he said. “You both left.” Siri’s tone was sharper than intended, still aching from that and she had not really confided in them what it had been like without them. She wasn’t ready to share that without exploding in frustration and ranting, and knowing that she would regret it. “It is past, however.” She amended, and nudged Rictor to indicate that she was upset but it did not outweigh her love for him. “And you both promise to stay now.” Siri believed that promise, but realistically knew that she needed more anchors, even if not as effective or solid as Cas and Ric. “I know he cares, he just.” Siri shrugged again, attempting to feign nonchalance “Aye,” Rictor said. It was a useless agreement, agreeing to nothing much in particular, but it was a worthwhile substitute nonetheless: words weren’t often needed between the three of them anyway, communicating in small gestures and bare hints. He knew. They both knew. Siri shifted to give Ric an awkward, brief hug, eyes falling on his cross as she pulled back. Her fingers smoothed it out, tracing the edges with her forefinger letting her touch linger there as the Cathedral still stood behind them, casting its shadow across the pair, heavy and waiting. |