sir rictor cassul, korporal. (templars) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-07-12 16:02:00 |
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Two months. It had been two whole months since everything came to a crashing halt in Rictor Cassul’s life (an unpleasant litany in the back of his skull, Zacheus—Cressida—Aspel), finally leaving him no choice in the matter. Rictor’s usual habit of skirting around subjects that bothered him would do no longer, finally succumbing to that steady, beating desperation to talk things through with another Cassul. They’d always exchanged letters over the years, when they were younger, Seloria pouring her heart out onto the paper for her older brother to read through. It was finally time for him to repay the favour. It was a warm night, and they were strolling to the Bard for dinner, and Ric was rolling the subject around between his teeth, utterly failing to think of how to broach the topic. Like ripping off a bandage, he reminded himself. (Bearing no end of physical pain and injury while on the job was nothing compared to this. Nothing.) “So,” Rictor finally said. “Have you heard? About her.” A beat, and the name came out like poison: “Aspel.” Seloria was quite pleased at the idea of having dinner with a sibling who wasn’t proving to be a constant disappointment. There was much for them to talk about, even with the clear elephant in the room. It had to be the reason he’d called her out, because it had been the first thing he’d asked her. Had she spoken to their sister. No. No, she had not. While she normally did not put much stock into rumors, when one heard the same thing from enough different sources, one had second thoughts about proving them wrong. Her brother’s words were the last nail in that coffin. Her expression changed almost immediately. Where it had been warmer, with the thoughts of good food, drink, and conversation, it immediately chilled over. She wanted him to say that the rumors were false, that her sister had not turned her back so far on their family for it to be unforgivable. She also knew that she had to steel herself in case the rumors were true. The only answer Rictor would get was a single word. “Yes.” The silence fell back between them for a moment while he considered. Asking Do you believe it? was a moot point, a non-entity in the discussion: Rictor had seen it with his own eyes, felt the Dark prickling its way up his shoulderblades and lodging behind his eyes as Aspel invoked that fell magic. “It’s true,” he finally said, wearily. “I saw it myself in battle. Her and the fucking Dark. And I’d recognise it everywhere, after—” After all his training as a holy knight, everything he’d done to fight such forces and pit himself against them. Just about the main loyalty he had left was that he hadn’t breathed a word of it to Kerwon, refusing to tell Eriks or Selene of the road their eldest had gone down. “I haven’t spoken to her since.” Seloria was silent for the longest time as they continued their walk. It was something she would have preferred to discuss after they had dinner as she now had no appetite. Perhaps the wine, women, and song would distract her from the truth after they arrived at The Spoony Bard. For now, she was struck with the reality. She knew and understood, but had never fully accepted the truth. There was no denying it when it came from her brother. Her brother had seen. “Ah,” the word drifted softly on her breath. “You are wise not to do so.” She’d started avoiding her once the rumors had hit her circle of nobles. People were looking at her differently. Some gave her glances of disgust. Others eyes held only pity and she couldn’t stand it. It’s why she chose to forego the Blue Wren for the night. Hopefully, Aspel would not be there with her friends, but it was a risk she was willing to take. She’d look around and leave if there were any signs of them within. Rictor was watching his younger sister now, desperately searching her face for an indication of her reaction, her deeper thoughts—but Seloria was adept at concealing her emotions in a way he wasn’t. Had presumably picked it up during her training at that bard’s academy. “What do we do?” he asked, and despite the fact that he was older, had always been the one to protect her, to stand aggressively in front of any suitors or aggressors back home, Ric now sounded a little lost. “Just… avoid her now, never speak to her again? It was one thing when we were scattered across the globe. It’s so fucking hard here in Emillion. She’s in my guild. She’s a councilor.” (And our sister, a small internal voice added. They’d only just repaired that bridge and started remembering what it was like to be a family again. Fuck.) “I cannot speak for you,” she said stopping and placing her hand on his elbow. “You will do what you must, because you must.” She was his councilor and the position held weight between them that she did not have to the luxury of refuting. “If she comes to you as such, you should react in kind.” Her voice was not soft, but almost clinical. The instructions were mechanical, before her face softened. It wasn’t fair for him. She could easily run away where he could not. She could duck and avoid, where he could not. “Or you could become a dancer,” she said reaching up to cup his cheek. The man barked a laugh, a strangled noise. “Brother. I do not know what to do with any of this, for her either,” she took a breath not wanting to say it. She wanted to say nothing at all and just let it all go and pretend it wasn’t happening, but that would help neither of their situations. She wanted to look past the discretion and look at all the good she had done, but it was… Her lips pressed together. Her heart ached. They had just had a proper family dinner together. They’d laughed till they’d cried over good food and drink. She had already planned out how to petition for her mother’s forgiveness, and now this. “She is lost to us. I have let her go.” Hearing those words spoken aloud, it was as if his opinions were finally validated, strengthened, and buoyed. It stiffened his resolve like iron and steel; he could feel it practically knitting into his skeleton, making him sterner, harder, stronger (and, perhaps, crueler). “Got it,” Rictor said, exhaling a long and low and rattling breath as if he’d been holding it in for years, decades. “I—” Before he could continue, however, someone fell upon the expensively-attired pair where they’d stalled by the side of the street, in the puddles of shadow between gas-lit streetlamps. “Your gil! Now!” a gruff voice barked from the shadows, the dim outline of a gun gleaming at them. “Your gil or your life!” “Are you fucking kidding me,” Rictor spat at the night sky, turning away from Seloria’s hand to glower incredulously at the intruder. It was a replay of his and Bella’s attempted mugging back in Scorpio; clearly he had to stop roaming the Theatre District after sunset. There was no fear in the holy knight’s eyes, only glinting anger and exasperation, as if this were one more tedious chore on top of everything else bogging him down. “Buddy, you chose the wrong fucking time to—” Before he could do anything, however, Seloria had already moved. The jeweled chain hung from the end of the knife that sat in her fist. The other end was embedded inside of the neck of the man who had ignored her and put his attention on her brother. Everyone always ignored the smaller one. The one they believed to be ‘weaker’, but she was not weak. He’d made the mistake of viewing her brother as the immediate threat, but no one was going to threaten the only family she felt she had left in this city. “Funny. I do not feel better.” Not that killing people made Seloria feel better, but the action, she rationalized, was still an outlet for all the negative emotions that had stored up in her during the conversation. Removing the knife from his neck, she somehow also managed to keep the blood from getting on her clothes; she wiped the blade down on his shirt and stuck it back in the… hairclip that Aspel had given her. She’d worn it without thinking. Even now, she wanted to take it off and throw it across the alley or leave it on the corpse as a reminder to her when she got word, but she wasn’t stupid. “We should not dally.” “You—” His jaw dropping, Rictor stared agog at his little sister. (She’d played with dolls, she’d invited him to make-believe tea parties under the dinner table, he’d carried her around Cassul Keep on his shoulders, he—) It wasn’t for nothing that the man was a Silver Blade, however; he instinctively sprang into action and hefted the dead man under his arms, dragging him deeper into the alleyway and depositing him (it) behind a nearby dumpster, safe in the gloom. The physical activity kept Ric busy, even while his head spun and spun and caught on this new revelation. They started walking at a brisk pace, striding rapidly (but not too quickly—it wouldn’t do to break into a run) down the cobblestoned street, Rictor’s hand tight on his sister’s arm. Once they were a safe distance away from the incident, he let out another breath and hissed, low and horrified, “What the fuck, Seloria? What the hell was that? Where the hell did you learn how to do that?” What had they taught her at that dance academy? He was staring at the hairclip, a slight trace of blood still caught on the handle, which she then discreetly brushed away. Ric was learning a great deal of things about his sisters lately, it seemed. "I was a young girl alone in a big city. You learn a lot of things." Seloria may have been in the care of the Bard's Guild, but she had been alone. He wasn't there to care for her, nor any of her other family members or friends. She'd been sent away. So far away. "I cannot always wait for someone to come and save me," she said, ignoring the pain mounting from the grip his hand had on her arm. It was starting to hurt, but only because he was not relaxed. "And stop dragging me, or we will look suspect," she stated calmly. The death did not seem to bother her much. Rictor, meanwhile, was gritting his teeth, though he did loosen his grip. There was an art to thieving and that person had not displayed it. A finesse, a brush of fingers, a bump, a brush of skin. This man had threatened them. She thought about how she'd reacted, probably too rashly, but she did not want to think too hard on it now. There was too much thinking. Too much was happening at once. She suddenly felt tired. "School your face, people will think you are cross with me." He probably was if she were honest with herself. "Do you think we should get our meal to go. I know a good spot on a roof someone once showed me where we can watch the sun set." The air was warm, but it would be better than sitting in a room full of people reading his face while hers stayed impassive. The contrast would be too much in her opinion. They had both been put under a lot of scrutiny after her sister’s "reveal". He really always had been miserable at marshaling his reactions. Even the Feldwebel had schooled him on it once, chiding him for letting his composure be shattered so easily, wearing his emotions on his sleeve. Rictor took another deep breath. Tried to remember how to look easy, calm, relaxed, and utterly unfazed. His heart was pounding too heavily in his throat, and he kept looking at Seloria, this impassive creature beside him with her face smooth as glass. “This fucking city,” he finally said, shaking his head. He seemed to have forgotten about her suggestion about the food, at least temporarily. “I need a vacation. I’m going to take a vacation.” Over the course of the last five minutes (somewhere between wiping off a thief’s blood and having to look at his little sister in a brand-new light), he’d made up his mind. “I need to go home for a spell. I’m going back to Kerwon. I’ll invite Lex. D’you wanna come with?” Seloria wanted to stop. She wanted to turn and embrace him and assure him everything would be fine, even if she wasn’t certain about it. She didn’t know who that man was, but he had threatened her and her brother at a very bad time. It had been a very bad time. She didn’t bother to correct him about which city she’d learned it in and considering how much stuff they’d both had to deal with over the last year, she didn’t feel the need to do so. “Lex?” The name had a familiar ring to it. She was sure he’d mentioned it before. “That is your… friend? You are taking her to meet our parents?” Did he discuss how things worked with their family with her. An arithmetician was not a dancer. How would she feel about her child, if a daughter, being shoved into that role as she had. Seloria berated herself for not having met with this person sooner. “Yes,” Ric said, distracted, combing his hands through his short-cropped curly hair. With each passing moment, thankfully, he seemed to regain more and more of his composure: his breathing leveling out, the anxiety ebbing away from his face. A vacation would do. It’d fucking do nicely. “My—girlfriend. Yeah.” It was one of the few times he’d ever said it aloud to someone else, pinning it down aloud for Seloria’s official confirmation. “She likes travel but hasn’t gotten to do it enough. I’ll take her to Kerwon. Reinberg. The keep.” Seloria looked up at him. She blinked. He was serious. He was going to take this woman home with him. "I hope you've already informed mother," she said as if she hadn't just murdered someone in the alleyway just moments before. "And I have to at least see her once before you leave." It wasn't a demand so much as stated as fact. "Mother will have my head for not telling her all about her if I don't." A turn of phrase, but the woman was an ear grabber. "Sadly, I cannot leave right now. There is far too much to be attended to here." As much as she wanted to go home and just lay in her bed and forget this city and its problems existed, she also had a duty that she'd undertaken since her arrival. She was going to elevate the status of those abandoned children. "You will give mother my regards… and not mention..." she couldn't even bring herself to say it. The man nodded stiffly. “I won’t.” He wouldn’t even know where to begin—that was a box he didn’t particularly care to open, especially with their parents. “Maybe you can see us off at the Aerodrome, if she says yes. I’ll pass you the date later.” The more they spoke of normal things, it was becoming easier and easier to shift that mask of normalcy back onto his face, trying to forget the heavy dead weight of a man’s body in his arms, the mangled mess that had been his neck. It required Rictor borrowing some of his mannerisms as Korporal, settling on old habits and iron reserve. But then, looking down at Seloria, he suddenly remembered something. “You mentioned a rooftop spot,” Ric said, scrubbing at his face as if he could wipe away all his exhaustion and what had just happened. With enough effort, it seemed they could—the Cassuls were very good at it. “C’mon. Let’s get our dinner to go and you can lead the way.” His arm instinctively looped through hers as Seloria fell into perfect step beside him, a touch of affection in the midst of everything. |