Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-05-27 19:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aspel cassul, magnolia paget |
You and I; we share the same disease, Cover up; compromise what we grieve...
Who: Aspel & Mag
What: Changing the locks.
Where: The Armory
When: BACKDATED: 5/7/14
Rating: PG
Status: Complete!
She’d gotten the locks changed. It hadn’t been malicious, in fact, in some queer and twisted way, it had been done to benefit everyone involved. Aspel was falling apart, and everyone had their own problems, their own struggles to deal with. No one - especially Mag - needed to be dealing with the disaster Aspel felt herself becoming. Other than trying to make things better, some distant mention she’d heard of a passing conversation between two strangers at the Bazaar about how it was good to change your locks, especially after things like this, and a creeping fear for what might be around the corner as word leaked about Emillion regarding her… Darker affiliations, Aspel had called a locksmith up, and had all the locks on all the doors replaced. If she could get it done now, that would save her from struggling to get things scheduled when things got worse. Which… They would get worse, this she knew. It wasn’t a tremendous cost financially, but something inside of her felt like it changed emotionally with the new locks - studier, more complex ones - were installed. While the fact that Mag no longer had a key registered in some dark, far reaching corner of her mind, the implications of such a thing didn’t fully compute. The knowledge was there, but not, like so many other parts of her feelings, and mind as of late. Surely, the locks could be picked, shot off, or even simply shouldered through if someone found themselves determined enough. Another option was tossing bricks, or rocks through windows, but in some strange way, knowing that these locks were better than the ones she’d had before, knowing that she was the only one who could get into her quarters, brought an odd sense of… Comfort. Now no one would see her fall apart, now she couldn’t be a burden anymore. Aspel would have a refuge from herself, from her fears of how she might impact those around her, about how…. She’d been home for a few hours, and gone in and out of daze over that time. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t be handled, but in fact, it felt a bit less of a problem than it had been before. Maybe simply cocooning herself tightly into some small space may be the best thing she could do in the end, away from all other hume interaction and response. Though, it wouldn’t last for long as a pounding on the door roused her from a period of disconnect. What…. Was that? Eyes blinked, attempting to clear the cloudiness from her mind. There was… Something. Someone. Who required her attention at this time. With a huff, and a slow groan, Aspel dislodged herself from where she had come to rest on the couch. It would be best to investigate what it was. The moment that Mag had seen the lock, she had known something was off. She knew that lock better than her own--she'd had the key to it for six years--and even so, she refused to believe the voice inside her head was right until trying to insert her key into the lock proved a futile effort. The thought Aspel wouldn't have changed the locks without telling me was immediately followed by be grateful she hasn't skipped town entirely. How many times had Aspel talked about running away from Emillion? Under her breath, she muttered, "You big idiot. If you've left, I'll find you and kick your ass." Then, hand balled into a fist (her useless key forgotten) she pounded on the door, temper beginning to rise. If Aspel had decided to shut everyone out and fall on her sword, then Mag would simply have to find an accessible window to break. "Aspel! If you're there, let me in!" It would take a bit to clear the haze from her head enough to fully comprehend what was going on, what was being done to her door, the words being yelled in her - in a sense - general direction, and who the person yelling was. Mag. Right. Why was she yelling like that though? A few blinks attempted to clear the rest of the haze from her mind - not possible - as she descended the steps, and slowly meandered out into the front room of The Armory. And there Mag was, in all her redheaded, fist pounding against the door glory. She was easy to spot through the window, and Aspel’s brow furrowed. Why was she…. Oh. Something settled deep inside her chest, an attempt to suss out how best to move forward with this situation - both mentally and physically - before a few steps forward were taken, and the new lock was flicked open without much thought, the smith holding the door open. “Good eve.” Mag stared at her friend, torn between her rising sense of betrayal, her relief that at least Aspel hadn't left Emillion (yet) and her frustration at the business-as-usual greeting. "Aspel," she said, "for the love of Ajora's beard, what the hell is wrong?" The outburst caused a slow pause, along with a couple blinks as the smith attempted to clear the cobwebs from her head, tried to understand just what was going on here. A part of her felt like she should know, but at the same time, she just couldn’t put two and two together. “Pardon?” "The locks," Mag said, swallowing past the knot in her throat. "You had them changed. But you didn't tell me." A beat fell as the words were processed, her brow furrowing for a moment before her jaw began to slightly work, almost as if beginning to form words but not quiet before they were banished from her mind again. "I.... Did." A pause as she seemed to try to puzzle through something that wasn't quite there. "Yes." A beat. "The locksmith said it was a wise time to have them changed." "Who even cares about the locksmith," Mag said; then, taking a deep breath, she held up two fingers and continued, "I have two options: one, to believe you changed the locks because someone unwanted tried to get into the shop, or the house. Two, to believe you changed them and I'm the one that's unwanted." Her voice wavered on the last few words. Three, her mind supplied, that you're so far gone into your spiral of misery you didn't even make this connection. After a moment, she said, "I don't know which is worse. Which should I go with?" “I….” A pause as she tried to consider between the two options, her eyes growing a bit distant with attempts at thought. Had anyone tried to get into the shop? No, she was nearly certain no one had. Though the locksmith had made a rather convincing case that the councilwoman ought to be more careful with the potential rise in burglaries that were likely to occur from the recent devastating destruction of nearby structures in the city. “No one has attempted to breach The Armory, no.” But, that meant she was indirectly admitting to second, now wasn’t she? However, that was more true than anything else presented at this time. “I have never lied to you that drastically before.” Were the next words out of her mouth, as Aspel was struggling to make sense of the situation at hand. If Mag could catch on in implicit unsaid fact that the smith had lied to her before was another story altogether right now though. Her mind flickered, and her composure broke slightly from an emotionless facade to something scrambling, confused briefly before shifting back to the first state. “You are better not here.” This time, her tone was more removed, muted in some regards unlike the searching, and uncertain commentary of moments before. Mag would be better without her, even if it was hard at first, it would be better in the end. Before Aspel could close the door, Mag stuck out her arm to push against it if she had to. "I've always had this troublesome tendency to not listen when I'm told what's best for me," she said. "You'll have to give me a real reason." “Your life is going to become much harder if you stay.” The words were stated plainly, no confused distance in them like those previous, yet Aspel did not try to force the other woman away, or shut the door in face either. She didn’t have the heart to do it, because once again, in the end, she was weak. Which, the reason was clear, wasn’t it? Mag knew the type of city this was, and she knew what Aspel was, and now, well… So did others. This was likely going to be an uphill war depending on how things continued over the course of the next few months. Mag didn't budge; her only reaction was to roll her eyes. "Yeah, well, you let me worry about that. Are you going to let me in so you can try to send me away again, or are we doing this out here?" “I believe it may be best for you to leave.” The words were firm, but her tone depressed even with her best attempts to sound assured. Hell would soon come demanding to be paid, and it needed not rain down upon the other woman’s head as well. “I am certain you have other things that need tending.” “Plenty. But they can wait.” Mag crossed her arms. “Until you're done being dumb and realise I'm here because I want to be, and if you," her voice wavered, but she continued stubbornly, "want me out of your life it better not be because of some stupid sense of nobility." As the words left her mouth, she feared that Aspel would meet the challenge, that she'd say she did want Mag to get out. She feared that that was the meaning behind the new locks, or that Aspel would mask her misguided sense of self-sacrifice as an actual desire to terminate their friendship. That there was such a desire, she refused to believe. “... Leave.” The word would come out before Aspel’s eyes would rise to meet Mag’s. It was a command, a demand. If it were one that would be listened to, or obeyed would be another topic, but it was there regardless. “Now.” The smith nearly choked on the word, almost, but not quite, as it came out, and she stood in the doorway, attempting to firm up her stance. “Go and figure out you do better as a Dragoon for yourself.” It was a low blow, a harsh one. A blow that she hoped - prayed - would drive the nail she needed in the coffin of their friendship so Mag would leave. So Mag could come out better, healthier, safer on the other side. One of them was going to hell, it was better to keep it to that one as well. Mag had been torn between obeying and staying, and being stubborn, and Aspel's next words decided the balance. The amulet under her clothes seemed to burn cold on her chest as she said, "I'll have you know, I'm doing just fine as a Knight." Her anger triggered the next words, before she could consider them, "But what about you? You wear that flimsy mithril thing into battle, and now you might not be able to hide behind it you cower and drive everyone away. The Aspel I met in Ordalia wouldn't recognise you now." “Fine is not excelling.” The words were detached, and in some regards painfully - bluntly - honest. “As a Dragoon, you excel.” A hard statement of truth with a removed tone. Aspel’s jaw shifted, but her stance remained as firm as she could manage in the doorway barring Mag out. “The Aspel you met in Ordalia was suicidal, and a fool.” Another statement of fact, one painfully close to her own world, but true regardless of how well Mag had ever realized it or not. “I asked you to leave.” "I heard you the first time." But this time Mag did not give even the slightest sign of moving. "I'll take that compliment, Aspel, and maybe you're right about the woman I met in Ordalia, but if she was suicidal you're self-destructive. The only reason I'm not dragging you half-conscious to safety after every battle is I haven't been able to locate you in every battle." She shook her head. "And if you think you deserve to suffer and crash and burn all by yourself, then you're still a fool." It was clear that this would not end so easily, and Aspel’s jaw shifted. She’d hoped for a quick end, one that would allow her to close the door, walk away, and cry herself to sleep. Clearly, this was not going to be that sort of night. “We have different goals.” Her jaw tightened, and she attempted to level an even look at the other woman before her. “Stop keeping your feet upon the ground. Warwick would wish for you to fly.” The only option she had right now, was to keep turning this back on Mag, to ignore the barbs being delivered to her own psyche, and pride, and push back. Which, if that was what was needed, as heart breaking as it was, then that was what she would do. For a moment, Mag looked as though she’d been slapped, but she recovered before Aspel could use that chance to shut the door. “If he wanted me to fly,” she snapped back, her voice raw, “then he shouldn’t have died, don’t you think?” There was nothing she would have liked better than to go back to her own apartment and cry, but something told her if she walked away now, then it would truly be the end. “I believe you need to stop blaming someone who no longer lives for your own mistakes made after their death.” There was a bit of a bite on those words, this was getting harder, and harder to keep up, and… Aspel wasn’t sure where she could go with it anymore. It had been brought up to push Mag away, to make the other woman back down, and go lick her wounds, but now there was something… Bitter in it. Mag had held herself back for so long when… When she needed to fly, and Aspel had done everything to support the other woman but nothing was getting better. It wasn’t out of anger, or a desire to hurt Mag, but to protect her, to help her, to… Give Mag a chance at a better life than Aspel would ever have that she spoke such harsh truths. Perhaps, if Mag took the words to heart and walked away now, she’d be better for it in the end. “Leave.” “No.” Jaw clenched, prepared to stand her ground no matter how much she wanted to run away, Mag said, “I thought you’d know, I can’t bring myself to blame him, not really. Maybe I’d have an easier time of it if I could. But if someone was at fault for what happened, it wasn’t him.” She shook her head. “But you’re one to talk about blame, Aspel. We’re not that different, in the end.” “Leave.” Aspel repeated, starting to feel tired of the word, already, and exhausted by this fight. She had enough of a hard time keep herself together through work as it was, pulling it together to try to go on the offensive, and fend off potential attempts at attacks against herself was nearly impossible, but somehow she managed. “Take your misguided judgement, and find something else to do with it.” Mag’s hand on the door twitched, as though she had been about to shake Aspel but thought better of it. Then, she took half a step back and threw up her hands. “Sure you’ll be getting plenty of misguided judgement hurled your way soon,” she said. Her voice was quieter now, and the anger had dulled. “I won’t be adding to it, Aspel. I guess I’ll just be waiting for you to decide if you still care to be my friend. Hope you’ll tell me straight out when you do.” She nodded at the lock and then, with a snort and a shake of her head, turned around and headed away down the street. She paid no mind to the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered to observe the fight, and did not look back. Another barb, and Aspel’s jaw locked into place, hand having tensed on the door handle that Mag couldn’t see to the point of her knuckles turning white. It was better this way, it was safer, things would be easier. At least, those were the things the smith kept telling herself as she watched her best friend - former best friend - walk away. Watching one of the people she cared about the most walk away, even if it was of her own doing, was a suitable punishment for what she’d just done as the onlookers, and the muted form of Mag slowly disappeared. People turning their backs on her was something she’d have to get used to for what was to come. ‘Best to start it now came the pained, defeated, and self-loathing thought as she turned, closing, and locking the door - the one that had caused so much trouble - as she went. |