Almalexia. (arithmeticks) wrote in emillion, |
“A fantastical theory,” Lex replied, her expression softening. Certainly she must’ve seemed rather strange to most, being so attached as she was to the Cathedral. She was not unaware of the baffled expressions and wariness of other to rectify her situation, as if it was some sort of tragic affliction. Perhaps there was a strange relief then, when Rictor did not appear to fully share in this response. Though she knew little of his own upbringing, as hesitant as she often was to ask him about personal matters (a hesitation that went beyond a simple attempt at politeness--a strange thing for one who sought knowledge), Lex did know enough to imagine the great and many differences between them. “I’ll assume that satisfies your curiosity?” As if she could assume anything at this point in the conversation, with whatever strange directions it had managed to veer already. Attempting to make sound predictions this evening seemed to be beyond her. “Never.” It was a quick response, delivered with all the flippant cheer Rictor could muster, but there was a grain of truth in it too. Like an exposed vein of ore glinting in buried earth. “But that’s okay. There’s always another day. Another night to crack the code.” Ric shook off his discomfort like a dog shaking off water, now shoving the empty tankard aside (somewhere along the way he’d drained it after all, a reflexive self-defense mechanism). On an afterthought, he patted Lex’s hand, palm resting against the back of hers a bit too long. There was the temptation to curl his fingers around hers, to grasp knuckles and trace the lines of her thumb – and because he’d had a bit to drink, he did exactly that. It was a reassuring squeeze, a gesture of some sort: perhaps it was another show of gratitude for stopping by, perhaps a goodbye, perhaps it was something else entirely. Letting go, the man swung his legs out from the bench and rose from the table, “We’ll do something for your birthday,” Rictor called out as he took one step away and then another, backwards, slowly retreating into the crowd. “Even if it has to include some studying for your exam. I hear I’m advantageous to keep around, sometimes.” In her state of surprise, there was little to be done but allow her gaze to be drawn to the sight of their hands now, briefly, entwined. Lex, cautious, drew up a breath and held it as her own hand remained perfectly still beneath his. And even as Rictor drew away, she felt acutely the warmth and the weight of his palm lingering on her skin--as if such a simple gesture of affection had somehow branded her. She watched Rictor rise at last from the bench and make his departure, throwing out a promise that turned to warning in her ears, and offering only an uncertain nod as a reply. There was little to say--little that she could say in return, even if she had attempted to raise her voice against the swell of revelry around them. It was a stark, helpless sensation, as if she had swam too far out to sea, blind and searching, and the pull of the tide was now carrying her suddenly and swiftly underneath its ancient depths. Lex looked away at last, to the table, to the bench where Rictor had sat and finally, to the hand he had touched as it clenched itself into an uneasy fist. She rose from her seat quickly after that, moving through the crowd with the speed of regained purpose, careful not to shove into anyone as she passed, disappearing into the crowd of patrons like a phantom. |