faderift | open | back in the atmosphere

Entry tags:

open | back in the atmosphere

WHO: Lexie, Loki, Lea, Yseult, you
WHAT: complaining, spy things, catch-all for all your Lexie-based needs
WHEN: Presently, just after her return from Val Royeaux
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Hi again <3

Loki:
The carriage is unloaded, its driver paid, and its riders retired within the estate to trade their road-dusted travelwear for something eminently more comfortable. Tea is made and delivered to the sitting room followed closely by a robed Alexandrie finger-combing her released curls who disdains the other plush chair beside the small tea-bearing table in favor of wiggling herself into the space between the long droll stretch of her husband and the arm of his chair, tucking her head beneath his chin and sighing with gusty finality once settled against his side.

“Merde.”

Leander and Yseult:
It’s easier this way; all three of them, in Yseult’s office late on the evening of her return, Alexandrie still standing, uncorking a bottle of exceedingly fine wine retrieved from the family’s cellars in Val Royeaux to soften the frustration she brought back along with it for them—and to soften whatever local frustration she’s to be briefed on.

“Shall I begin?” is her query over the quiet pop of the cork releasing, “It will be a thing of depressing brevity.”

Wildcard!
[Come at her wherever; home or studio in Hightown, Gallows office, library, somewhere completely different!

Alternately, come at me, and we can figure something out if you like.

shaestorms or shae#7274 on discord]

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There is silence for a moment, and her face changes to something softly sad.

"I am grateful for your naïveté, but cannot share it," Alexandrie murmurs, shifting her gaze to the meal Colin had been making. The relative simplicity of food, its smells, the physical creation of something warm and filling sitting next to the complications of war. "It is a kind thought, that all might be achieved by loving method, but I fear it unrealistic. We employ spies to lie and manipulate and steal, assassins to kill those in our way who cannot be otherwise removed, soldiers who maim other soldiers. Those we fight have families, dreams. I imagine most are not 'evil', although it makes it simpler to do what we must if we think it so. Some may simply have been misled by the thought of glory, but we mark them enemy, and we do what we judge best must be done to address the threat we believe they pose."

She sighs as she moves past him to take hold of the spoon still in the pot to take up the stirring he had left off when she'd interrupted him, and it is a tired sound. Quiet for a moment and then, gently: "I know what it is, to share softness with a man marked an enemy in potential. I should be as furious as you, should it come to pass he be treated with any roughness under suspicions, and no explanation nor offered excuse should ever satisfy me, for I have known him in wonder without mask or pretense and there is nothing he could do nor accusation that could be levied against him that could shake the bright clarity of the love I bear him.

"I think I cannot satisfy you either, cher. Will you still love me, if sometimes even my attempts at mercy end up unkind? It was not meant to be so, nor do I think Leander meant to be. It is only that we are harder than many, and often do not think things cruel that others do." She taps the spoon at the edge of the pot.

"But that matters little to the wounded. And so I am sorry."

The room goes from cold, to hot, to...nothing. The energy goes out of the fight when the other person refuses to engage. It leaves Colin adrift and confused. Contrary to his usual nature, he wanted this to hurt, a verbal equivalent to the fistfights he got into as a youth. He knows before she is halfway through her speech that this was always going to require a different action on his part, because she is right. That's what spies and assassins do. What truly disturbs him isn't only that Leander made Benedict take that tone and look that hurt, but that in another situation, it might be him doing it. It could have been his job, and he would have botched it because, really, he was never cut out for this kind of job.

He absorbs the rest of her words, shaking his head at some--particularly the bit where she clearly thinks he's in love with Benedict--but he has deflated so swiftly she could practically hear the air hissing out of him. A few heartbeats after she finishes, he walks forward to wrap his arms around her and press his cheek to her hair.

"I'll always love you," he says. "I just...I knew that look in his eyes. When he talked about it. Where he wasn't sure if he should even complain, because he thought he deserved it, or that I'd tell him he did. And I couldn't stop thinking what would have happened if Leander had been a different sort of man, someone you'd misjudged even a little. I...can't make people feel like that. I really would lose myself if I tried to be that. You were right all along. I can't stay in Scouting."

Edited 2019-11-13 18:04 (UTC)

Alexandrie's smile of relief is small and wistful as Colin moves to hold her, as she feels the familiar weight of his head resting against her own. She continues to stir for a moment, and then lets the spoon fall against the side of the pot, turning to embrace him in return. To kiss his cheek again, now that he won't dodge it, and then resume the gentle touch of their heads.

"I am glad to hear you say so, if not glad to have brought this realization in such a way." She leans back so she can look at him, hands moving to frame his face, tilt it so he will look at her as well. "We need you kind, mon cher. I need you kind. So that even if I do not choose it, I will never be let to forget that there is a choice."

"I need me to be kind," he says without hesitation. "I didn't quite realize that, till now. And I'm sorry. I don't mean to say you should...be me, or do anything I say. Knowing the kind thing isn't the same as knowing the right thing, which...that's it's own frightening thing, but your job is to look at the kind thing and the cruel thing and all the medium things and decide which is the right thing, and that's not something I can do. I went for years without any kindness in my life, so I want to...I don't know, I want to champion it. I don't want to be balanced. I want to be what I didn't have."

What fills her is something like pride, and something like compassion, and something like a fierce protectiveness, and almost before Alexandrie knows it she's raised on her toes and her arms are thrown around Colin's shoulders to hold him with a strength that would be surprising had he not been on the receiving end of her more vehement embraces before.

Years without kindness. So much unbalanced cruelty. He is deciding to be something she, too, did not have.

"I love you." Her chin tucked over his shoulder, head pressed against his such that the jewel of her earring is undoubtedly uncomfortable. "So very much."

If he were shorter than she, it would be his earring, so he doesn't care at all. Since her arms are above his, he does the only thing someone taller than the other hugger can do: he picks her up for a moment, gently swinging her feet over the floor, before placing her back down.

"I love you so very much," he answers in kind. "I'm sorry I acted out. You did the best you could, and he needed the push you gave him."

He straightens and places his hands on her shoulders, breaking the hug. He beams down at her for several seconds before his brow slightly furrows.

"Going to bed with him...it was just a bit of fun. It was a little after I tried to, you-know. He didn't know about it then. But he asked me about the Circle, and after we talked about it a little, he said he'd take me to Tevinter with him so I wouldn't have to go back. And I kissed him. You know how I always wanted to be rescued, well, he was being unrealistic, but he was offering. But now, it's all flipped on its head. I went to visit him the first night he came back, and I thought I was angry with him, but he thought he was going to be executed in the morning. So I stayed with him all night. And since then, all I've wanted is to save him. He's not like he was before, when he was so selfish and spoiled. He didn't ask me for anything, and he was so worried I'd get in trouble for being kind to him. And I know, in my head, I can't rescue him. Only he can do that, and it's good he knows it. But I want..."

His gaze drops to the floor.

"I'd do almost anything to help him. To see him start to wake up, and smile, and be alive again. To find the good in himself I keep catching glimpses of. I want whatever it is that's best for him. Is that wrong of me? Wanting that for a traitor?"

A girlish giggle is the response to her lifting, a warm look of gratitude to the apology. Alexandrie covers one of his hands on her shoulder with her own as he speaks, tilting her head to the side with a small conspiratorial smile at the question.

“If it is,” she says, “you should never hear so from me.” After all, Colin knows well enough what waking smile brightens her skies at morning, the reputation and observable action of the man whom it belongs to. Even unspoken, the thought of it changes her, softens every line with a reverie so closely held to her heart as to be nearly trespass to witness, even as she allows it to be seen.

She returns after a moment, turns her head to kiss the knuckles of Colin’s other hand lightly enough to avoid marking them. “Sometimes the finer things are difficult to find in oneself. Sometimes you must believe for someone until they are able, and there are precious few willing to do so for men as he is.” Whether ‘he’ is Benedict, or Loki, or both, she leaves to interpretation.

“There were precious few willing to allow for my gentler self. And look, see?” Alexandrie straightens, poses herself in the way that she knows to show her to best effect, “She is wed now, and for love. Friends, true ones, grace her home. Sometimes, when she smiles, it comes from her heart rather than her ambitions, and this all she owes, in part, to the brighter, kinder mirror of a man who looks fine in green tunics.”

Colin blushes at that. "I don't reflect anything that isn't already there," he says gently. "But I do think most good people only see the bad in themselves."

He pulls her into another hug, less tight but just as sincere. A few heartbeats pass.

"And it's not like that," he says suddenly, "between me and Benedict. It hardly could be. He doesn't even know who he is right now."

Inside the gentle hold as she is, he won't be able to see her 'of course, dear' smile.

Perfect innocence: "What is it like?"

But he knows her well enough to get that tone. And he trusts her, which is why he doesn't bluster and deny and backpedal insincerely. He does pull back long enough to give a subtle eyeroll, but that's as insulting as he gets.

"It's confusing," he admits, reaching to scratch the back of his neck. "For me, anyway. I don't know what it is for him. Though, he has bigger problems. Very big problems. And I have no idea why I'm, I'm feeling things about a man locked in a cell who very much put himself there and has every emotional problem imaginable, but I am, and I don't know what to do about it."

Alexandrie smiles impishly at the roll of Colin's eyes.

"'Why' is such a difficult question, mon chou. The notions of the heart often have so little to do with those of the head. But if you like," she says, retrieving the spoon from the pot and offering it to him with all the ceremony of a high court ball, "I shall tug at the ends of it and we might see what unfolds."

Blink. Blink blink blink.

He takes the spoon, looking puzzled.

"Tug at the ends? What do you mean?" He turns to start stirring the paella again, though the burnt bits have already ruined most of it.

“Often I find that such feelings are much like a knot in ones embroidery thread. Some strands, when pulled upon, only make it tighter. Some loosen it.” She watches the little burnt patches surface and recede as Colin stirs.

“Whatever you have no doubt been repeatedly asking yourself has done little to provide an answer you are at peace with, no? Perhaps we might come up with a better question.”

After a moment of consideration, Colin nods. He trusts her. Whatever this exercise entails, he’ll play along because she has his best interests at heart.

“What do you want from him?” is her question, posed simply and with a sort of innocent curiosity.

"I want him to be happy," Colin says after a moment. "I want him to be free, and I want him to earn it. I want him to--"

That's what he wants for Benedict, he realizes. From him? What does he want from him?

"I..." He finds a chair and sits, putting his head in his hands. "I want anything he wants to give, I suppose. But not, not...I don't want it to be because I'm one of his only friends. I don't want it to be because he wants to keep me around. I want it to be because he feels the way I do. And I don't...I don't know if that could ever happen. It certainly can't happen until he's whole, but even then, it might never happen. I want...I want him to be the person I've seen him be. He's...he's awful at lying, at being underhanded, and I like that. I like that he can't help but react honestly. I like that he gets passionate about art and beauty. And ultimately, deep down, he's very protective. I've told him he can be whoever he wants now, but selfishly, I want him to decide those things really are him because I want to keep those things with me. Is that...anything close to answering your question?"

Alexandrie tilts her head and smiles. “Is it anything close to answering yours?”

After a moment, a twinkle of a light comes on in his eyes. "Maybe," he says softly. "But the answer says more about me than it says about him. That I...want someone with all those things. And maybe that won't be him. If he doesn't know who he is, who am I to tell him? But I've looked at him, and I've seen those things I'm looking for, and I'm...I'm...I don't think I could just find someone who already has those things and is as ready as I am to be in love. Which, I didn't think I was, until now. Benedict certainly isn't. And that doesn't really matter to me in terms of wanting him to be happy, and wanting to be his friend and be there for him. This, this separate thing? I don't really think I could find someone like that who would also want me. Which, I've no indication he ever would, aside from our bit-of-fun months ago. So it's completely possible I finally know what kind of thing I want, but it's never going to want me back."

Now she stirs the paella, more for something to do with her hands as she thinks than in any attempt to cook. Her fingers drum once, lightly, absently, on the handle of the spoon.

“To him... well. No matter what it is you believe of him, you cannot tell someone when their heart is ready any more than you can tell them who they are. You can only decide if it is right for you to accept what is offered. And to you?” Alexandrie lifts her shoulder and smiles slightly, looking over at Colin. “Mais oui, it is possible. But all things are possible. You find the sort of love you wish for, or you must wait for it.” Her smile spreads a bit farther, and her murmur is half to the pot. “Perhaps you give up and it finds you. It is a strange world, and our hearts make it stranger.” She taps the spoon against the inside of the pot for emphasis.

“What will you do with this newfound insight of yours?”

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