Who: Ari & Drake What: A Monk Moping in a Manly Manner (and how to curtail it) Where: Drake’s apartment When: Tonight Rating: Tame, mentions of family member death Status: Complete
In her defense, she had knocked first.
She knew he was there, even if he hadn’t answered. And Arielle Chiaro was not a stupid woman -- she could add two and two (Drake’s clipped network messages and his current silence) and get four (his family issue had not been resolved happily). She’d done this herself, hadn’t she? Locking the door and keeping out the world sometimes seemed like the most attractive option, but the difference between Drake and Ari was that Drake considered locked doors deterrents. Ari considered them challenges -- in this case, not even that. She had opened this particular lock a handful of times already, so it was practically rote, and did not take much more time than if she’d had a key.
And there he was, as she tucked away her picks and stepped over the threshold, just as she’d thought he’d be -- on the couch, staring at the ceiling as though it held the answers to his problems (she had tried this method herself and could say with certainty that it didn’t). He turned to look at her when she entered, though, and even annoyance was better in her book than blank-faced misery.
She closed the door behind her as though she belonged here, then set down the bag she had brought and made her way over to the couch. “Hello, darling,” she said.
“You know,” he said, voice resigned - he should have known that she wasn’t going to go away if he ignored her, though he’d stupidly hoped it was Aspel or Merri; they’d have left him alone - but trying for something other than miserable, “you can’t just break into people’s houses.” Not that it had ever bothered him before, but right now, all he really wanted was to be alone to try to work through the thoughts whirling through his head.
But he knew Arielle Chiaro - she was not a woman to be denied, and so he slowly brought himself to a sitting position to make room for her on the couch. The cup of tea that he’d poured for himself sat on the table; he knew without touching it that it was ice cold. He sighed, considered making a new cup (tea, he firmly believed, solved everything) but decided against it. He lifted the cold cup and took a sip; it was bitter and cold.
Maybe he should just have some water.
“I just did, so clearly I can,” she pointed out. It wasn’t a very warm welcome, but that was all right -- Drake always wore his emotions plain for everyone to see, and right now, the sadness was all but palpable. It wasn’t about her -- it was about being disturbed mid-wallow.
So she settled on the couch next to him, leaning against his side as she wrapped an arm around his waist. “You could have told me to go away.” She paused, adding after a few moments, “I might have at least considered it.” Though in the end, she probably would have let herself in anyway.
That got a weak laugh from him, and he wrapped an arm loosely around her shoulder. If she was going to stay, well, at least it would be a distraction. He could get back to whatever thoughts he’d been sorting through later. Not even Ari could be around at all times. They both had lives that they had to live and if that wasn’t just a depressing thought right now.
He did what he’d been trying unsuccessfully to do for weeks now and pushed it away.
“How was Ordalia?”
The laugh was a good start, even if it wasn’t particularly hearty. “Hot,” she answered promptly. Then, “You know, I could ask you the same thing. I… do know how to listen.” Even if I am not as skilled at it as you. “But if you’d rather have a distraction, I can provide that, too. I brought food.”
“Food is always welcome here,” he intoned, making grabby hands at the bag. Especially food that didn’t require him to prepare it himself or leave his apartment to retrieve it. “And it was what it was,” he continued, quiet. “Grandma died.”
Ah.
She turned her head to place a kiss on his cheek, tightening her arm around his waist for a momentary squeeze. “This definitely calls for food.” She eyed his teacup (she hadn’t missed the grimace) but didn’t think she’d do much better if she tried to brew a replacement. She rose from the couch to fetch the bag though, hauling it over and beginning to pull out its contents: a mix of fruit, a wheel of soft cheese, a baguette (inferior by far to the sort she could get back in Ordalia, but it would do in this case). Clearly his sort of meal rather than hers, but then, it had been meant as an offering just in case she did have to break in, so of course she had chosen things she thought he’d enjoy.
Once the food was unpacked, she settled once more against his side with a peach in hand, snuggling close and setting her head on his shoulder. “‘I’m sorry’ always feels so empty.” How many people had attempted to console her with those inadequate words when Ancelot had been murdered? They had never penetrated her grief and anger.
He awkwardly shrugged the shoulder she wasn’t resting against, popping a bit of bread into his mouth. “As she said, she was old and had lived her life. She told us we were allowed to mourn but we could, under no circumstances, mope.” Of course, she had directed that at him. And she’d also said something about not seeking imagined revenge, but, like many of the things that had happened while he was at home, he had no clue what that had even meant.
Revenge for what? On who? Faram?
“Somehow, I was the one who had to pick her successor, though.” Nia, his utterly infuriating step-sister, hadn’t liked that. Had kept saying that he was unqualified.
“Because that isn’t at all stressful considering the circumstances,” Ari said wryly. Drake had spoken to her of his grandmother on a few occasions -- he had painted her a businesswoman of some sort, but Ari had read between the lines of what Drake considered his grandmother’s eccentricity and seen something else altogether. She was no stranger to shady dealings, and Drake’s grandmother had been neck-deep in them, as far as she’d been able to figure.
Trust her to pick the most honest man on the planet to pick the successor to some sort of criminal syndicate. She could appreciate the humor of the situation, even if she doubted Drake could do the same right now.
“I suppose I will take it upon myself to help honor her memory by keeping you from moping, then,” she said, taking a bite of her peach. Then, softly, “I’m glad you got to see her, at least. That’s better than the alternative.” Drink with someone one night, laughing about a recent job gone horribly awry… attend their funeral the next.
“Yeah,” he said, giving her a small smile. “Anyway, aside from hot, how was your trip?”
“Quiet,” she responded after a moment. “I suppose, in its way, very uneventful. I needed both.” She finished her peach, went for a cluster of grapes. “I think I will have to make up wild stories for the benefit of others who ask; I’m quite certain many people will wonder if I am ill if I tell them the truth. Maybe I’ll invent some fabled treasure I tried and failed to fetch from an underground temple. The Warrior Queen’s crown, perhaps. I was in that general neighborhood.”
“There’s nothing wrong with getting away for some quiet,” he said softly. It was something he could probably benefit from, but there just wasn’t any time. He’d been gone for longer than he’d thought he was going to be with the succession debacle. And that was something that he still didn’t really even understand, or why he’d even had to be the one to pick. “But a story about hunting down the Warrior Queen’s crown could be fun, too.”
Certainly something people would expect of Ari.
“I might have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that sandwyrm,” she quipped immediately, the tale already taking shape in her mind. “I had no choice but to turn tail and flee heroically with nothing but my life to claim as prize, alas. And the temple sank beneath the sand, to slumber below the dunes for a century or more until some day in the distant future, the next brave adventurer stumbles upon it.”
Drake laughed. “And you came home empty handed. Well, I guess alive isn’t empty handed, but you could have at least gotten me a shiny bauble. It would make your story more realistic.” He nudged her in the side before ripping off a little more bread and popping it into his mouth. “So, how long have you been back, anyway?”
“Maybe I did get you a shiny bauble,” she responded promptly, offering him her most enigmatic smile. “Maybe I intend to ambush you with it when you’re least expecting. You never know.” With that threat delivered (not even entirely untrue, if she was being honest, even if he was unlikely to know whether or not she was bluffing), she replied, “And -- only yesterday.” She thought of her early morning visit to Aspel and the hope it had inspired, but now didn’t seem the time to mention. “So far, everyone seems to be doing well, so if there have been any disasters, no one’s informed me of them.”
So, she hadn’t been back much longer than he had. He wanted to ask if the time away, the silence, had helped her or not, but she didn’t seem any different now than she had before everything, and he really wasn’t capable of meaningful conversations at the moment. They always had the tendency to turn around on him, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about himself any more than he already had to.
“Yeah, I haven’t heard of any walking towers leveling any of the city districts, but then, only you and the Council knows I’m back.” And Aspel hadn’t really been keen on talking business over the network. Not that he’d asked. He’d simply wanted to let her know that he was back. “I take that as a sign that my curse has been lifted.”
“So there’s the silver lining,” she said. She doubted he felt like much was going right just now, but it was something.
She looked again at the untouched cup of tea (he wasn’t eating as much as he usually did, either), and asked, “Do you want me to make you another?” nodding her head towards it. “I’ve gotten better, I promise.” And it was, however small, an offer to take care of him, if only a little. She had no doubt that he thought he didn’t need it, but she offered anyway.
He looked back at the bitter, cold cup of tea. “Sure,” he said, blinking at it slowly. He had forgotten about it, but now that she had mentioned it, a cup of tea sounded like a good idea. Rather than pick at the food she’d brought, he could slowly sip a cup of warm liquid and ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since before he’d gotten on the airship, and he hadn’t had much of an appetite since before that.
At the agreement -- received far more quickly than she’d anticipated, without the token teasing protest -- she stood, then after a moment leaned down to kiss his forehead lightly. “Eat,” she told him, settling back on her heels and picking up the cup off the table. “It helps, I promise.” Her smile was sympathetic as she added, “Even if you might not feel like it right now. I’ll be right back.”
With that, she headed to the kitchen. As always, it seemed she could never navigate the relationships in her life the same way. She supposed it was fortunate that she was quick on her feet. Think of it as a challenge, like the lock.
By the time she came back, a steaming cup of tea in hand, he had managed to finish off some more of the bread and a few little chunks of fruit. It all tasted the same, but at least there was something in his stomach now. He took the cup from her and took a sip. It wasn’t bad - a tad bit oversteeped, but not unpalatable - and he sighed, content.
She settled herself back on the couch and against his side, and he sipped his tea and listened as she chattered. Once the cup was drained, he tried to suggest she go home, but she stubbornly shook her head and declared she was staying the night.
He didn’t have the heart or energy to protest, so he shook his head and let her lead him to the bedroom. “You know, some people might say that you’re being very presumptuous,” he said once they’d settled into bed. “First, you break into my apartment, make me tea, and then tell me you’re staying the night. Are you going to make me breakfast too?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice, and he yawned as she snuggled up to him and placed her head once more on his shoulder.
If she replied, he didn’t hear it because he had fallen fast asleep.