Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-28 07:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aspel cassul, siri d'albis |
In your deepest pain, In your weakest hour, In you darkest night, You are lovely...
Who: Aspel & Siri.
What: Muffins.
Where: Ringwyrm Hall
When: BACKDATED: March 7th!
Rating: PG-13? (Mentions of violent little fantasy creatures, it’s cool)
Status:Complete!
The invitation to make muffins had been… Surprisingly accepted. Perhaps, Aspel underestimated what her memory told her had been the case, but at the same time, the smith couldn’t help herself. With all of the negativity in her past, with all of the damage, and all of the pressure, and abuse, somehow, magically, some things seemed to hold true. Siri - strangely - had never turned away. It seemed she still wouldn’t. Though, precisely what was going on with the young woman, what caused her to speak in such twisted tales, and odd demeanor was still… Hard to grasp. Her discussions with Rictor had turned up some clues, but at the same time each piece seemed to… Not quite fit. Not perfectly at least. Not in away that Aspel had been able to fully grasp. Regardless, Siri was Siri. Perhaps she would no longer hold the innocence Aspel recalled her for, perhaps she was no longer a little girl, but that did not change the fact that Siri was someone Aspel knew long ago, in a time that nearly felt like an entirely different life, and… Maybe glimpses of that would help, maybe it could do her heart a little good instead of hurting all the time like it often did of late. Maybe… Maybe just being around someone who had never seemed to fully shun her, before or - maybe if she were lucky - even now would help to fill the wounds that time, and countless mistakes had left her mind and soul riddled with. With that, Aspel had gathered up her supplies, and brought them off to the appropriate hall, prepping everything so that upon Siri’s arrival they could simply begin to make the dough, and bake. All 17 - or more if Siri changed her mind - muffins worth. Aspel was Rictor’s sister, an extension of him and of their past in Kerwon. Siri couldn’t really remember Aspel so well, mostly there were impressions, feelings, blurred images. Not until that day outside the city where she by chance has stumbled upon the Smith and she had protected her beyond duty (at least Siri thought so). There had been no obligations but Aspel had stood with her anyway. Siri made her way, cobbled streets and snow to the appointed meeting place. She was unintentionally late, having gone down the wrong hall at first before someone redirected her. It was hard to keep track sometimes, very confusing when turns looked the same (to her perception). Two left, one right, left, right right. True right. “Aspel!” She briefly tapped the wooden arch at the entrance of this hall and rose on tip toes, not approaching, just waiting. At the call of her name, Aspel’s attention would immediately snap up from the sifting of flour that she’d started. Surely, Siri could stand not to be bored with the minor details of baking. There would be enough of that with the mixing, and waiting for things to settle, and bake. “Siri.” Aspel’s face lit up some - a certain tiredness threatening to creep in around the edges - and her tone picked up a hint of joy. How long had it been since she’d seen the other women? Well… She knew how long but… Faram. “How you have grown.” A short laugh was offered, and Aspel gestured with a sweeping motion of her arm for Siri to enter. “Come in, come in. I was simply preparing for you. My apologies for not having things more in order before you arrived.” “No apologies,” Siri shook her head and crossed all proper boundaries to bounce up to Aspel and just throw her arms around the older woman. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. Aspel made her think of the changing seasons, with their flow from one to the other, abrupt at times in their arrival but always certain and steady. Once upon a time, before madness consumed her, she’d look at Aspel and liked her (had she been mad, she would’ve called her Spring at that time, hope for renewal, the hope for more). “Have I grown much? I feel the same, bare-feet and wild hair. When I ran around the courtyard chasing Ric and he me, playing tag.” And those days had ended, not just by Aspel’s absence but by the arrival of a priest who saw something divine in her. Whose ambition was matched by the brokenness instilled in her. “Are you recovering well?” she ploughed on, without wishing to release her hold (unless of course, Aspel removed her). The hug was unexpected, pleasant, but not something the smith had planned on. If she had known that the interaction would involve a physical aspect, she would have endeavoured much more thoroughly to keep herself clean of flour. Admittedly, the spots here and there that she’d managed to get on herself weren’t a fraction as bad as they could have - and had - been in her baking adventures in the past, but still. Regardless of herself, Aspel wrapped Siri up in a tight hug. “Indeed you have.” A soft laugh emerged, one filled with a fondness of the past before she would loosen her grip but not letting go of the hug, she leaned back just a bit to get a better look at the other woman. “I remember when you barely came up to my knees.” Admittedly, Aspel always had been tall. Siri beamed up at her, “Metaphorically, you can still say that.” Grounding was part of the greeting, and so the hug, the way her fingertips momentarily tightened on Aspel’s clothing — all to verify that this was happening. Relieved when reality was confirmed for the moment, Aspel was here. The smile didn’t diminish a bit, covered in a little bit of flour or not, Siri seemed to have a penchant for getting dirty, especially since arriving in Emillion. Back in Kerwon she had always struggled to be presentable (a proper prophet, Helios always reminded her, must carry his or her responsibility with dignity>) on top of being a girl (preeny by nature) and a noble (taught to preen by habit). She had discovered that things were rather interesting when her clothes got dirty. (Separating Ric and Cas from a fight once had ended up with her muddiest clothes and a long lecture. She was twelve.) “I suspect I can.” The smile, and soft laugh - while reminiscent in its own regard - was also amused, and still shined of fondness for the younger woman before her. A soft pat was given to Siri’s back, careful of any harm that could potentially be done, and unsure of how badly the other woman’s wounds had been. Finally, after leaning in, and giving Siri another tight squeeze, Aspel would finally step back. “What type of muffins would do you wish to make today?” A hand came up, brushing over the spot of white here, and there for flour in attempts to dismiss it, even if the action was foolish in of itself. “I have brought items for several variations, but if we do not have what you desire it would be no burden to venture out and acquire what we need.” Never a fan of letting anyone go, Siri let Aspel pull back only by carefully having trained herself not to cling onto anyone. Not unless the situation was truly dire. Contact was not comfortable for everyone and she had at times misjudged how much touching she was allowed, in Aspel’s case she had been slightly apprehensive but that had been overridden by their past bond. “Muffins, we can make any kind.” On her toes she stepped over to where Aspel had been carefully preparing things. “A little faerie pricked me.” Loathable creatures, always stinging and pulling and dragging &mash; a net of mettle that couldn’t be torn. Little fingers clawing at the thorns. Siri had seen that all, felt it, dreamt of it often (and so much more, back in those Feywoods). “Yes, seventeen we must make, a little trail for them to follow.” Muttered quietly as she stared down at the counter (but it wasn’t really the counter she saw, but more — made of bone and writhing vines), before the moment passed and she seemed back in the present. “Do you have any particularly strong taste preferences?” Aspel had heard whisperings, things that had changed over time and space but… Wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. Of course giggles, and words did not a truth make but… It was hard to deny that something was different… Perhaps even wrong, but… Who was Aspel to judge of good and bad? Surely, she had lost that right long ago. “Then seventeen we shall.” Though the measurements for that would be a bit odd. A hand moved, gesturing in front of Siri towards the flour. “I am unfamiliar with your skill in baking. Is there anything in particular that you would prefer to do?” Her skill in baking was restricted to mud pies with cinnamon on top, sometimes a pebble or blade of grass as decor. “No, they like simple flavours. Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry.” Those faeries did, back in the Feywoods liked those they had said, alongside the taste of flesh. “Fill them with bone marrow, then they’ll eat them right up and follow the path.” And that should answer any questions about the wrongness or not of this girl. “I don’t know, I can do whatever you like.” Her fingers traced the countertop lightly, “If you instruct I can follow well enough.” “Ah,” A pause as Aspel attempted to figure out the best way to approach a response. “I fear I am,” Another pause, consideration given to the words. “lacking, in that particular ingredient at this time. My apologies as they will need to settle for vanilla chocolate chip.” Really, was there any other appropriate response to a statement as such? A brief thought of how they next time they fought a beast they could drag its carcass back, and harvest the marrow if Siri so desired floated through her head but… Perhaps it was best that, that was territory left untouched for now. And her question once again seemed evaded. Maybe a different approach would help set this conversation at ease. “I am particularly fond of a wide assortment of muffin types” really it was the only way she ate breakfast most days with her… severely lacking ability to cook… “Perhaps a nice banana nut?” She was not sure of this conversation at all, Siri swayed from one to the other statement, unsure on what she ought to reply and how to do so. Conversations could be so complicated and difficult for her, “Banana nut and vanilla chocolate chips sound good. They’ll like that too, yes, yes, I’m sure.” Clasping her hands together Siri swivelled to face Aspel and smile up, a little girl still looking admiringly at the taller woman. “Then teach me what to do, and I will follow the muffin type you wish to do. This is new to me.” Who would ever leave someone like Siri in the kitchen? She’d probably end up making mud pies for all involved and try to bake them and — it would end up being a small disaster. “Certainly.” Aspel smiled, happy to assist in providing direction on how things would go. “First we must mix the dry ingredients.” A hand gestured to the various bowls laid out in front of them. “And then the wet.” Several containers had been set off to the side, unopened and clean. “Then we will need to divide the batter so that we can have an appropriate ratio for the vanilla chocolate chip, and the banana nut.” Pausing a moment, the smith would move retrieving a metal mixing bowl from a cupboard below their feet and holding towards Siri to take. “Would you care to begin by dumping everything that’s laid out on the counter into here?” This already had ‘disaster potential high’ written all over it, but Siri seemed to understand the gist of what was required of her. The bowl felt cool in her hands as she took it from Aspel and set it on the counter by the other ingredients. The dry first and not the wet, the wet came after the dry. Yes. It made sense. The flour and sugar were dry so Siri went first for those. Eggs were not dry, right? Mostly she kept glancing back and forth between bowl and Aspel, searching her expression for approval or disapproval. As Siri moved forward with mixing together the dry ingredients, Aspel stepped up next to the other woman, collecting and measuring out the wet items into a different bowl than the one she’d handed Siri just moments before. “Have you enjoyed Emillion thus far?” An eyebrow quirked up, a glance given to how Siri was handling things to assure it still was going smoothly before her attention shifted back to her own bowl and a whisk was snatched up. “You have not been here long, no?” “Month? Two months now, I think?” Maybe more or maybe less, it was difficult to say; time was a measurement that she did not always feel or follow. It could be lost or found, speed up or slow down, much like a dance. “Rictor knows, he keeps time for me.” Always had, still did and it was more comfortable for someone else to do so, less for Siri to worry about. Had she enjoyed Emillion? The question was chewed, spat out, turned inside and outside as she thought long and hard - ingredients were forgotten amists this. “Yes, I think so. Rictor and Caspar are here.” Which really was the highlight for her, the stability they provided was invaluable, “You, and other new people.” She supposed she liked it well enough, though it was not the city but the people residing in it which were her point of interest. “Mm.” Aspel confirmed with a throaty hum. How had she not been notified earlier than her talk with Rictor was still a mystery. Perhaps it was because he had always been Siri’s friend, and Aspel the stiff outsider. Even to this day, as much as she took joy in seeing Siri, in finding the younger woman well, she still felt… Out of place in any of their worlds, regardless of how desperately she wished to be within them. “Ah, as good an answer as any.” A smile was offered to the mage next to her. “People make a home as much as any location, or belonging.” And it was true for Aspel as well. Admittedly, she found it possible to pick herself up by her roots and move on, to discard what she had created - she’d done it twice before - but it didn’t stop her from feeling the pain associated with the action as well. Whatever transpired between Rictor, Caspar and Siri was a world of its own. Tied as they were, any shift reverberating across the three; strings plucked, they moved in unison, discord an unwelcome intrusion. Something that none of them understood well, but a simple fact: they were, are, would be. Siri returned the smile warmly, leaning to press against Aspel, as if the pain felt by the smith drew her near, reeling her in by a hook. “Anchors make home.” Which absolutely made sense to Siri, because without them she was but lost to time and reality, and now, as she pressed her weight against Aspel she placed her own ties and binds. “You’ve seen much.” Half-stated, half-asking. “They do indeed weigh upon one.” Now, if they held someone down enough to keep them in one place, that was another story. Sometimes, it was the anchors that broke you, instead of helping you stay whole. Aspel leaned back slightly into Siri, taking the action as a sign of affection from the other woman, and thinking little of it besides that simple notion. “I suspect in some ways.” Was the only confirmation she could offer, as her hands picked up the bowl of wet ingredients and a whisk, beginning to quickly blend the lot together without much thought. “Have you been able to travel much?” An eyebrow raised, a glance given towards the other woman as a sign of polite conversation, and in an attempt at figuring out if she was treading on thin ice. Answers came easy, a conversation that was comfortable for the prophetess. “I have not.” Kerwon had held its restrictions and now out of there, here in Emillion she had not had the chance to explore the area beyond the city. It was important to note that Siri herself was not unhappy with this. “That’s okay, because I like staying close to what keeps me home.” Each person, who like Aspel, held a piece of something familiar. That was enough. Siri stopped what she was doing to observe as the older woman mixed in the ingredients, she smiled, “You make it look easy. Do you do this often?” “Mm.” A nod was given with the singular confirmatory sound. That was unfortunate really, while there was many things Aspel had regretted in her life, the fact that she had picked herself up, had moved around, had gotten to know other people and cultures hadn’t been one of them. The new question earned the raising of a brow as she let the information sink in “Ah,” A pause. “Yes, I do.” A soft smile. “I…” Another beat. “Do not have the funds to hire help as I opted to invest my gil in my shop, and I am not…” How to phrase it… “A particularly skilled cook.” That was an understatement. “Thus, I bake often in order to assure I have a varying means of nourishment within my quarters without having to order out for all of my meals.” Which honestly? The whole thing made her feel a bit lame, but… What could you do? “I take you do not?” Siri shook her head, “No.” She didn’t cook, she went out to eat whenever she recalled that yes, eating was an important part of life. “I like this though.” There was something calming about watching Aspel take charge of the kitchen and lead — that precious comfort that control brought her. Even in small things, Siri could fall back and watch. “The faeries will like the muffins.” Another soft smile emerged as Aspel shifted, gesturing for Siri to take the bowl so that the wet ingredients could be mixed with the dry. The direction easy as a gesture of hands and a nod of her head. With the ingredients added together for the base mixture, it would be simple from here. Whisk everything together, portion out the right parts, add the appropriate extras as required and bake. “I am glad to hear so.” Was offered with a certain ease the smith wouldn’t have been sure she had if it had not come out with such simplicity. “We can certainly do this again if you so desire.” And secretly, greedily, Aspel prayed Siri would latch on to the offer with as much selfishness a Aspel wanted to have her there. “Hopefully, we will as well.” With that, an easy continuation of the simple actions would go on. With muffin types mixed, separated, and baked, Aspel would leave the ones made for the faeries up to Siri on how they should be handled next, and simply accompany the girl as she desired. They were a long ways away from the smith prompting the younger woman to stand on her feet while they danced, but… Somehow, with this, even that didn’t feel that far away. |