Iseult (iseultthefair) wrote in mythologs, @ 2011-12-29 16:46:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !event #016, iseult the fair, tristan |
be cruel to me 'cause i'm a fool for you [CLOSED/COMPLETE]
Characters: Iseult (iseultthefair) & Tristan (ofmisadventures)
Date/Time: December 21st
Location: The apartment building
Rating: PG
Warnings: Arthurian angst
Summary: The mistletoe in the Manager's office has it in for star-crossed lovers.
It wasn't so bad here, considering all the things those strange individuals could have done to them. No monsters and no getting lost. There was just the suspicious mistletoe and the flashes of memories, some that Tristan was sure were very false. It was strange but not as bad as it could have been.
And he would be grateful for that over annoyed. It was the Christmas season and, though far from family, he would make the best of it. Optimistic Tristan, staying hopeful.
Naturally something would balance out all that positive energy. But, for now, he was just observing what appeared to be a cardinal in the Christmas tree. And his little missus, tweeting away from a very branches higher.
§
Iseult hurried down the stairs, although she was brought up short by a brief flash of an untrue vision (a happy marriage, though she could not recall if it was to Tristan or to Mark). She stepped across the lobby carefully in her stockinged feet (the better for dancing, as she had discovered three hours ago on the second floor).
Without even a word of greeting or warning, she slipped her hand into Tristan's. "Happy Christmas," she said, squeezing his fingers lightly as she looked up at the tree. "Huh. Weird. Is that a real robin?" Her eyes flickered towards the chirruping cardinals. "Cute."
§
She'd surprised him with her presence but a smile was flashed her way easily. "And a Merry Christmas to you as well, Iseult." His attention was directed back to the tree at the mention of the robin as he looked about for it. "Apparently. There are a number of birds that might be living with us."
Attention removed from the tree, he glanced down at her and noted those stockings. "Your feet aren't cold, are they? What were you up to?"
§
She reached up to give him a (mistletoe-free, unsolicited) kiss on the cheek and then she stepped away. "I was dancing," she said, loftily. She shot him a cheerful smile. "Though I had no choice in the matter." She skirted some mistletoe and pointed up at it. "Dangerous, I'm telling you."
Iseult walked over to the revolving doors that revolved nowhere but back into the lobby and she sighed, though she had not been very hopeful to begin with. She looked down at her toes. "They're a bit cold, I suppose."
§
"I've no doubt it is dangerous. Something had to be wrong with this place and mistletoe would do the trick."
Tristan watched her, amused by her moving about here and there. It was good to see her in such a pleasant mood. "We'll request some shoes if you're lacking them," he assured her. "We can even check the manager's office and see if anyone's there now."
§
¯
With a bright smile, Iseult stepped carefully back to him, planning her path along the side of the carpet and avoiding those sneaky little plants.
"Lead on, good knight," she said. "Do you suppose they have Christian Louboutins in there?" She made her way back to his side and looked up at him expectantly.
§
And so he led her, avoiding any plant that he could spot. It wasn't too hard in a lobby, though. "I don't think so but we can always make a request and find out. The important thing is that your feet are warm."
The office was easy enough to find and even unlocked. Was that suspicious or just something to be accepted? Tristan reasoned it in a way that they were already so trapped that it was perhaps overkill to lock an office. And when a being could toy with your life so easily, being cornered in an office just sounded impossible and silly.
Still, he knocked out of politeness before pushing open the door wider. "No one appears to be in but I suppose we could poke about?"
§
"For warmth, always Uggs. They look totally ridiculous and I'd never be caught dead, like, wearing them outside," said Iseult, giving every indication of post-teen solemnity on this important topic of footwear. Her eyes sparkled, though, in the way that they did; telling of a wry-humoured princess whose luck did not always follow through.
She poked her head around the office door and took a cautious step in. "No underfloor heating here," she said, sounding very mournful. Her toes curled. It was cold. She stepped further in, looking for a lightswitch, which she duly found. Flooding the office with light, it seemed that there was nothing untoward in here. Iseult turned back to Tristan, unaware of the perfectly ordinary-looking mistletoe hanging from the lightshade.
§
"We'll ask for Uggs," he said with a small chuckle, moving to her side, equally unaware of what threatened them from above. Perhaps he would have moved about a bit more, perhaps he would have even examined the desk he noted but something dangling not-so-innocently over his head had worked its magic.
His fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose at that odd feeling, something familiar about it from so long ago. And that feeling was not welcomed, not when it reminded him of the days when a potion that should never have been crafted ruled him.
"I think I'm in trouble," he replied more calmly than he felt.
§
Iseult looked at Tristan. She couldn't look away but she knew precisely what was happening. There was a strange mixture of heart-sinking and elation. She was angry, too.
"Oh," she breathed, even as her hand floated up, her fingers coming to rest on Tristan's cheek with all the tenderness of a woman in love. This was not what she wanted, or this was precisely what she wanted, unbeknownst to herself, but she'd have preferred it to have been her choice. Her expression was sad; for once, she should have liked to have kissed Tristan without feeling that it was a compulsion outside her control.
He was so much taller than her and shoes still hadn't materialised so she had to reach up, both arms wrapping around his neck. Tiny tears dampened the very edges of her eyelashes and, if she was going to make a fool of herself, she could only hope that her mascara held up its end of the waterproof deal. Her lips brushed his, a trembling, tentative touch.
§
They would both be fooled by the time this was over. Choices were stolen, urges were pushed upon them by a being that had to be stopped somehow one day. God Himself would not be this cruel but that was the religious side of Tristan, the hopeful and believing in something better.
God could intervene now, he thought with some warranted pessimism, all while his hands came to settle on her lovely little waist. He'd seen her tears and felt like a monster for being unable to stop. The touch her lips didn't say "she's as caught as you are" but "you should have prevented this for her sake".
"I'm so sorry" were murmured before his mouth closed over hers more firmly, delivering the kiss the mistletoe demanded.
§
The tears spilled freely now. It hurt Iseult that apparently she was not allowed to choose with whom she was to fall in love or who she was to kiss.
She kissed Tristan with all the familiarity and passion of ages past. There was no other way. Not when she had loved him so deeply; it had seemed that she had loved him so deeply. There was a flourish of something within her, some emotion that was not ugly or falsified, unfurling little wings of hope. Of course she loved him and she hated that it could not be her choice.
Finally, she felt able to pull back, a little breathless as she hid her face against his neck, clinging to him like a shipwrecked sailor. "I'm so sorry, Tristan," she said, her voice husky and unhappy.
§
They needed space and, he stepped back, just enough without intending to seem impersonal. He said nothing, not until he found a handkerchief for her to use. A woman in tears was a painful sight, especially one that he knew.
"I know. I am as well," the once-knight replied quietly, handkerchief held out for her to take. "But that was not your fault. Believe me, Iseult. Just believe me. I will never hold this against you or believe it was your choice."
§
"We are doomed, Tristan," she said, rather faintly. Having wiped the tears from her eyes and smudged her mascara desperately, she began to wring the handkerchief in her hands. "We can never choose to love each other, can we?"
Her laugh was soft and humourless. "You and I - I might have loved you, you know, and they keep taking it away from us." She bowed her head, looking down at her toes. "Or from me, I don't know."
§
Did she want to love him? If so, how he had he missed this? Needless to say, he looked startled. But it would be an assumption if he accepted that as truth. Perhaps it was just a reference to their misfortune?
What to say, what to say... "Nothing can be taken unless we let it be," he said, hoping to assure her. "But, Iseult, what did you mean you might have loved me?"
§
"There was a splinter. That's all it might have taken. A brave man come to vanquish dragons. I didn't need a king." Iseult's words were a rush now as she tried to make sense of her thoughts. "But I can't know. I can't ever know if I might have fallen in love with you of my own free will."
She had not yet raised her head. Her golden hair concealed her face and her fingers still twisted around the handkerchief. She sounded wistful when she spoke again. "I think I should like to know, that's all. How I can possibly love when I have loved like that." Finally, she looked up, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. "We were a great love story, Tristan, and we were a - a fucking lie." She rarely swore and now her Brooklyn Irish was showing but what was a girl to do when faced with the very real likelihood that her heart was damaged beyond repair?
§
Sorrow filled in him for the poor girl who didn't know if she could live on her own. It was a terrible curse and wished to God that her mother had never thought a potion would make Iseult's marriage more bearable.
"There will be a time when you'll know. When you'll be sure from the start because it'll last and it will end well. It's faith that you have to keep if you can. Without faith, without hope, what do we have?" He touched her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers, wishing there was more he could do. "You will find someone to love. One day, you will love and be loved."
§
Iseult reached up and clasped his fingers so greatly. She didn't know how to articulate it and it frustrated her. She had no faith and she had no hope; any love she found in this life would naturally be compared to that great love story and would naturally fall short. She tried to smile. She was partially successful. "We're in the twenty-first century, Tristan. I hear it's full of independent women who don't need a man to be complete."
She wasn't quite sure if she believed it (not yet). Still with that gentle hold on Tristan's hand, she raised his knuckles to her lips. Her eyes flickered closed and she tried desperately to ignore another unwelcome and false memory; of her and Tristan grown old together, in Cornwall or France. "Keep the faith, Tristan," she whispered as she stepped away.
§
"Then you could find a woman," he replied mischievously, lips curving slightly. "But I never said anything about feeling complete. You can live happily alone but feeling loved and being loved is nice. You have to just figure out what makes you happiest."
As his hand was released and she stepped away, he still felt pain for her. It was unfair. He didn't doubt that she could be alright on her own but to never know if a feeling was real or not? It was just unfair. He himself had great confidence, a refusal to allow anything to control him.
"Just find happiness, Iseult. Whether it involves love or not."