faderift | 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]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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?”

open | back in the atmosphere

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