Almalexia. (arithmeticks) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-26 17:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !plot: saint namorados day, almalexia lliryn, rictor cassul |
My care, my coat, leave on a high note, there's nowhere to go but on.
Who: Almalexia Lliryn & Rictor Cassul.
What: A few welcome surprises.
Where: In and around a Ganrajyan restaurant.
When: St. Namorados Day; evening.
Rating: Tame.
Status: Complete!
Despite Rictor’s best efforts to take this holiday easily, his mindset had indeed devolved into a series of Very Important Questions: should he dress more formally, should he wear a tie, should he have made reservations at the restaurant, what colour should he wrap the gift in, should he buy her flowers, was Drake’s suggestion of a scavenger hunt less stupid than it had seemed on the surface, and for the love of fucking Faram, what had become of Rictor Adelard Cassul? Loath as he was to admit it, Caspar was always better at the romantic sentiments; the ranger plied women with all sorts of gifts and enthusiasm before suddenly losing interest. Ric, on the other hand, rarely reached this point of even caring what a woman thought of him. It made him feel inept, a blundering bull crashing its way into a roomful of glass, trampling it all underfoot. But a day of wandering the bitterly cold city and touching base with friends (a distraction from the upcoming evening) had settled Rictor somewhat by the time he had to return to the Cathedral and get dressed for dinner. Tonight, he was in a clean, white, pressed shirt (but with no tie), dark slacks, and shoes (not boots) that looked a bit too slippery for Emillion’s coating of ice. It was semi-formal: a mere shade of his stiff attire at noble events, but the knight obviously wasn’t dressed for battle, nor a casual get-together. The silver cross glinting at his neck was the only hint of his profession sneaking in, the ghost of the Grande Cathedral following him wherever he went. Taking a deep breath, Ric waited in the cold outside the Ganrajyan restaurant, a quaint little place on the edge of the commoners district. They were treading a careful line—and as far as he was concerned, it was possibly time to adjust their terms—but walking here together would have raised a good number of eyebrows within their shared home, and that seemed less than optimal. So he waited for her. Lex spotted him from across the street, her brisk pace slowing to a hesitant shuffle. Perhaps she ought to have attempted to discuss the implications of meeting—not on any ordinary day, but on one with very particular connotations (those of which she understood only in an abstract sense), and so entirely out in the open at that. Even for her, who snuck into parties in disguise and out in dangers at her own apparent discretion, a sudden sense of risk bristled at the impending reality of the situation, an awareness of the possibility of being found out. By whom, and for what exactly, were details that seemed to grow more muddled by the passing of each week, but the need to discretion continued to guide her actions. Enough so that the mage warred, in the shortest of passing moments, with the urge to reconsider and turn back from whence she came. She took a breath (not to be considered as nervous per se) and watched him from across the street, as hovercars sailed between them, and as eager pedestrians, couples locked arm-in-arm with their eyes assuredly on similar purposes, moved around her in hopes of crossing at the nearest street corner. Life moved ever onward, and Lex reminded herself of the advice she had been given not too long ago. The mage shook her head, and it was with the words of experience from a certain individual in her thoughts that she moved along to follow suit with the other passersby, neatly walking across the street (no frantic jogging thus apparent) and slowly toward where Rictor waited. Bathed in the light outside the restaurant, she might admit, he did cut something of an acceptable figure, those jests of his ability to clean up not entirely without some merit (not that she felt particularly desirous to say as much). “I hope you have not waited overlong,” she greeted from behind him, steadying her breath and attempting to appear as serene as ever (an oft failing guise when in the company of this man in particular, one who had already glimpsed much beyond it). Lex wore the warm cloak Storm had given her, and underneath, a dress that was not entirely designed to afford her comfortable anonymity. Another strategic misfire in attempts to fight off suspicions perhaps, but her own considerations toward the holiday had not been lightly taken either. The man turned to scrutinise the new arrival, breaking into a smile and “No, not at all.” Rictor instinctively stepped closer, one hand brushing Lex’s hair back in order to press a quick kiss to her cheek, by way of greeting. (He’d shaved, evidently; the near-perpetual stubble was gone in favour of a clean, fresh jaw.) “The walk over wasn’t too cold?” he asked, and then he was holding the door open for her, opening up a gust of warmth and light and sound from indoors. “Not at all,” Lex managed to reply, somewhere in the midst of her surprise (certainly that had not been an ambiguous gesture). The significance of this particular day went without saying. Ric felt like a man muddling through a script, running blind without a guide to lead him, for who could he ask for advice on this matter? Aspel? Caspar? Heron? The usual routes of guidance had run long-dry, leaving just this holy knight fidgeting on this doorstep, holding the door open for an arithmetician and trying to grin without his nerves seeping through. Something fluttered in his chest, like some sea beast rising from the depths before sinking back down out of view. Somehow, staring down the eyes of a Lich was far less daunting than this. Lex’s own nerves remained jumbled as well, but the mage slipped quick-footed and courageous around Rictor and through the door, keeping careful not to budge into other patrons. “Have you been here before, I wonder?” A curious attempt at maintaining an unruffled appearance, the mage looked around the room with sharp eyes, attempting to focus on the clusters of patrons around the dining room, the restaurant's decor, and the pleasant aromas wafting in from the kitchen--and all the while, the majority of her awareness remained pinned to the spot beside her. She gave Rictor a sideways glance, apparently unable to help herself. He was a terrible distraction at the best of times, and certainly now proved no different, especially with the kiss to her cheek remaining hideously fresh in her thoughts. The consideration that she might have entirely underestimated Saint Namorados Day was quickly becoming apparent. “Nope, but I’ve heard good things about it.” Rictor was still trying to sound nonchalant. They’d seen each other in all sorts of settings before—in silent contemplation at Mass, bleeding in battle, sopping wet, on patrol, half-naked, disheveled, in servant disguise, in quiet study, navigating a bustling crowd with hands firmly latched together—but right when he thought he’d seen it all, this evening had tossed up further complications. Tonight, instead, Ric looked much closer to an earnest— Well, suitor. He almost tried to hold the chair out for her, grasping for the social etiquette taught by nobles, but thankfully the waiter beat them to it, effortlessly seating Lex without another glance. Rictor sank gratefully into his own seat across from her. It wasn’t a hole-in-the-wall (he’d taken her to a few of those) nor a bustling coffee shop (she’d taken him to some of those) but a respectable restaurant, the white tablecloths gilding the occasion with even more stereotypical significance. Dinner and a show, Drake had suggested first. They’d done shows before (the Festival of Lions and the Marriage of Fedoro, two occasions marked off their list), which just left dinner. “So I dunno how it measures up against the genuine article,” Ric said in a conspiratorial tone, once their waiter had deposited a set of heavy leather-bound menus in their laps and then discreetly disappeared. “We can measure its quality compared to Gokama, write up scathing reviews, then probably never be received here ever again.” “A severe forecast of the evening already,” Lex noted, sharing in Rictor’s conspiratorial tone as she leaned forward over the table, the heavy menu now spread out for her keen inspection. However, the mage did not appear to be entirely against such actions, as already she found herself quite interested in comparing the restaurant to the article already mentioned—for the sake of intellectual curiosity, of course, and not for mere personal nostalgia. “Perhaps we need not resort to such at all.” Eventually her attention moved from her menu over to his, focus shifting in a way that was becoming more and more a habit. She resisted the urge to attempt to inquire as to what he might order, resting chin on palm as to appear thoughtful (and not distracted). Her eyes scanned over the items, taking immediate note of what Lex recognized, her own decisions made, as one might expect, from a process of careful measurement and decisive elimination. Through the course of this studious activity, the waiter came around again, this time affording the pair (and whether or not the two could be seen by outside parties as a “couple”, Lex was entirely determined not to speculate on, lest her inner conflict grow increasingly more visceral) a bottle of wine to add along with the perfunctory serving of water. She had noted the formalities as soon as the waiter had held out her chair, and perhaps it was this that served to spark much of her comparisons. Certainly dining beachside with beers loosely in hand (amongst other recollections) was quite the contrast in appearance to this—well, this particular engagement, whatever it might suitably be coined as. “I suppose it might prove more advantageous to our endeavor if we were to share our plates,” Lex offered serenely (as if she did not already have her usual machinations towards whatever Rictor chose to order). “For the sake of academic comparison, of course.” He laughed, and as simple as that, Lex had loosened some of his nerves of the evening: it was a shift back towards the comfortable and familiar. For whatever confusion dogged their new status, they’d also fallen into a rhythm over the past several months; Rictor knew that familiar glint in her eye, had grown accustomed to Lex’s knowing smirks and deflections, and the more that time went on, the easier they worked together like a well-oiled machine. “Of course. Mere academic comparison,” Ric mirrored back. The wine was poured, and he was sipping idly at it as he examined the menu, instinctively tipping his sideways so she could steal a glance, following his gaze where it wandered across the page. “There’s a special,” he pointed out, nodding towards it. Lex soon glanced over. “Shared dinner, now that you mention it. We get our choice of two starters, two appetizers, main course, dessert, drinks.” For all that their progress had been untraditional, tonight seemed steeped in traditionality. He’d barely managed to escape from the cathedral unseen; if Balder had spotted Rictor in this attire and thus prepared for this evening, he’d never have heard the end of it. (But then again, was that so terrible? That particular question kept arising, again and again.) And while the decision to take up Rictor’s suggestion seemed entirely reasonable (and no doubt well-suited toward Lex’s usual dining maneuvers), it also served to further emphasize the pair’s precarious slide into these conventions. “I believe that sounds quite to our benefit,” she replied, offering a nod to their twin open menus. A gradual easing into familiar rhythms had begun to soothe the mage’s concerns as well, and soon enough, the hint of a self-satisfied grin peaked its way at the corners of her mouth. Eventually their waiter wandered back around, collecting their orders and politely disappearing beyond the clusters of occupied tables and into the mystery of the kitchens beyond. Lex allowed her gaze to wander around to the other patrons out of a brief and passing curiosity, but her attention was drawn inevitably back around to Rictor, and she decided to spend the time waiting to humor her usual urges to inquire on his thoughts and observations regarding a collection of recent events. (A distraction, perhaps, from how easily the pair began to fit in alongside the rest of the couples dispersed throughout the dining room that evening.) The rest of the world eventually receded from their attention, as it so often did nowadays. The pair soon spent less time eyeing the other patrons, more time suppressing laughter from their dinner partner and spearing tastes from each others’ plates. They settled into the wine, which draped a warm, pleasant, slightly tipsy haze over the surroundings. Lex didn’t think of who might see them and Rictor stopped considering the Blades, his duties creeping further away by the minute. Until dessert was safely put away, not without some wry comment from Lex on his tremendous capacity for consuming food, and the tab was paid (Ric had managed to subtly wring the bill from the server without her noticing, smoothly settling the tab under the guise of going to the restroom), and then they were tottering back out into the night. It was chilly outside the warmth of the restaurant, so after the briefest moment of hesitation, Rictor’s arm slid around Almalexia’s shoulder. It rested there with the weight of familiarity. “Thoughts?” he asked, and the question seemed significant despite its aimlessness. Its direction was unclear: thoughts on the dinner? on where they should go next? on something else entirely? There was a pause, a moment to adjust to that familiar warmth (not expected here, but not unwelcome) before Lex managed to rouse a response. “I believe dinner was,” her shoulders rose slightly, an effort made not to hide herself around comfortably vague answer, “most enjoyable. Certainly we need not go to the effort of penning our scathing review after all.” A genuine and ever-slightly smug cadence to her voice at the admission, the mage felt herself naturally lean closer beside Rictor, out of habit, or from chill, or even simply affection. It was a peculiar feeling, she decided, to walk together in this way, here, and in this city, but not an unwelcome one. The evening had done its work to pry them out from their usual shells of safety, and even Lex (cautious as she was) felt as if a burden had slowly been lifted from them both. She looked up to Rictor, nestled now rather cozily under the warm weight of his arm, a look of tender curiosity painted subtly across her features. “And you?” She asked in turn, wondering on his own opinions of the evening, the dinner, her company or how it seemed natural (again, at last) to carry themselves this way. Even if it was a fleeting gesture, lasting only for that moment. “Hm.” With the tables now turned, Rictor couldn’t simply marinate in that look she was giving him; he was forced to give his own question some extra thought, mulling it over. What was it he wanted, truly wanted, to say? In the meantime, they kept sauntering along. There no longer seemed any need to lurk in shadows, slipping from tombstone to tombstone, checking behind them to see if there were any watchful eyes about. “This wasn’t bad,” Ric said. Then, realising how ambivalent that sounded, the man backtracked. “I mean. What I’m trying to say is, the food was great and the company was even better.” And after a pause, he tried: “And the world didn’t grind to a halt or end because we were out-of-doors.” Privacy had always been an element of their time together. No idea which one of them first proposed it—perhaps both, at the same time, minds churning in unison to spout the other’s idea. A mad thought cooked up to cover something that lacked definition, precise borders, straight lines and exact degrees, or the convenient specificity of a mathematical equation. It was messy, it was sloppy, and it worked. But with that veil of secrecy ripped back, Rictor was pleased to discover that the world still looked the same: better, in fact, because Lex was still by his side. “I suppose it hasn’t,” she agreed, taking into visible consideration what one of them had finally voiced aloud. Lex, now presented with truth made material, no longer left to the vague ruminations of the solitary mind, quieter and easier to dismiss, kept close to Rictor and anchored herself to the warmth they now shared. Looking away as they continued to walk (for keeping her head raised so high was still bothersome regardless of aught else), she allowed time for the truth to strengthen her own resolve. Perhaps it wasn’t, as Rictor had put it, so bad after all. Eventually the two stopped at the end of the sidewalk, basking in the warm glow of the streetlamp above and, though there were people wandering by, out of shops and through the streets, moving forward with the minutiae of their own lives, it seemed as though there were no others about at all. That, perhaps deceptively and now somewhat emboldened by the night’s revelation, they really might be able to carry on as they pleased (and wherever they chose). As they had begun, moving forward boldly into the unknown, foreigners in a foreign land who traveled together into new territory, so might they continue to forge on. “And what now, do you imagine?” Here, then, another important question, a broad expanse spread out before them like an unmarked map. Lex, looking inquisitive and craning her neck yet again, tugged at the fabric of Rictor’s sleeve gently, that he might somehow make the effort less bothersome. He gave way willingly, obediently lowering himself like a tree might lean towards sunlight. Another kiss, then, and his hand tightening around hers in something close to relief. They were far outside his usual bounds, navigating in uncharted waters, but the holy knight was perfectly content to make it up as he went along. (There was more weight to a prize if you fought for it for over a year: a face and voice that had dogged Rictor’s memory and haunted his moods like an itch he couldn’t scratch, rather than the nameless pretty faces flitting to his arm at pubs in distant towns. None of them argued like Almalexia; none of them firmly slammed him back into his place like Almalexia.) “What now is that I give you your present,” he said, his free hand rummaging for the small weight in his pocket. Rictor extracted something delicately wrapped in blue ribbon: a small glass flask with an elegant black stopper. “Perfume,” he said sheepishly, fidgeting. “It, uh, grants the effects of Shell and Protect until the scent fades away.” Lex took the offered present without hesitation, her eager curiosity hooked by sight of both the tiny flask and Rictor’s expression. Almost having forgotten about the matter of this gift, she held the perfume cradled in both hands, turning it over in fascination and wondering at its scientific nature and magickal properties. Something new to examine and test, no doubt, and after several moments of inspection, the item disappeared into the folds of her cloak. She looked to Rictor with an expression of gratitude, but the gentle affection soon shifted, as it often did, to something more mischievous and self-satisfied. “Shall I assume this to be a token of precaution, perhaps?” Taking his hand, Lex began to lead them across the street and in the distant, general direction of the cathedral. “Under the assumption that I will somehow find myself in need of such measures, of course.” (Not an entirely unfounded idea, certainly, but Lex was nowhere near above prodding Rictor over his gesture—even if she was admittedly amused over it.) “Can’t have enough precautions,” he pointed out. “I’m slightly invested in your not turning up dead on the monastery doorstep. I mean, I’d have to think it over for a while, but I’m pretty sure it’d be a shitty day. Might even put me off my lunch and everything.” For the joke, he earned a jab to the ribs, which only made his grin bloom wider. The closer they drew to the cathedral, what should have been tension rippling down their spines and into their linked hands was instead stolid acceptance: the realisation that this is how it is, then, and an awareness of the world subtly rearranging itself around them. The definitions shifted, both of them fitting into each others’ lives as their fingers interlaced—falling into step beside one another, making their way back towards familiar ground and home. |