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ximilialog2022-05-04 06:56 pm
- ! event log,
- altered carbon: takeshi kovacs,
- doctor who: clara oswald,
- doctor who: the doctor (11),
- fear street: ziggy berman,
- fire emblem: yuri leclerc,
- grishaverse: malyen oretsev,
- grishaverse: the darkling,
- gundam seed/destiny: yzak jule,
- mcu: daisy johnson,
- mcu: natasha romanoff,
- mcu: peter quill,
- mcu: shang-chi,
- naruto: kakashi hatake,
- star wars: finn,
- star wars: rey,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the gifted: clarice fong,
- the old guard: andromache,
- the untamed: lan xichen,
- the untamed: wei wuxian,
- the witcher: yennefer of vengerberg,
- towards the terra: soldier blue,
- transformers: drift,
- transformers: megatron,
- twisted wonderland: deuce spade,
- yakuza: zhao tianyou
MISSION: 4:50 TO VREFESEA
● ● ● M I S S I O N 6 . 0
This time, after a mission well executed, the weeks spent on the station might feel more restful than they have before before — but whatever the case, and whatever any orber might be occupied with, it is near midday when they all receive a file titled Steamhallow Express. The name might make you guess what the mission will be about before you even open it, but as always, Viveca’s familiar voice accompanies the file’s arrival shortly after.
It’s an alien planet, but one without any magic, so those of you who have any abilities won’t have access to them during your time there. Don’t worry, you won’t suffer any side effects, it’ll be just like you’d never had any in the first place. Also, though the technology is rather advanced there, they don’t have any concept of robots or droids, so those of you will have to be masked with an illusion that gives you an organic appearance.
You’ll leave late tomorrow evening, so take this time to prepare — and remember, anything that is magic won’t work. That goes for items, weapons, anything.
The news may come as something of a shock and concern to some, and many will have to make some mental adjustments before the day of departure. Eventually the day turns to night, and then to morning, and time seems to move even slower still when evening approaches. Finally it’s hour one, and everyone on the team will arrive at the teleportation platform — there, the little cleaning bot is furiously scrubbing at a stain left on the floor from their previous mission. Beside it, Viveca floats in her robot body, smiling at each Orber.
The loud hum of the teleportation machine is a comforting sound to some by this point… and if it isn’t, well, not to worry — soon, you’ll feel a tug somewhere behind your stomach, and the machine pulls you away, and it won’t matter anyway.
Yet again for a heartbeat, you simply hang there waiting… and then: the chorus of voices speaks and whispers in your ears the goal you must complete in exchange for the power waiting for you —
Without any time to answer, you open your eyes to the loud ambience of excitable chatter and the bustle of commuters moving to and fro within the busy terminal. Welcome to Craemore.
The Craemore Terminal spreads in all directions around you: its glass ceiling filters multi-coloured light from the outside, filling the entire, large hall with a beautiful, almost ethereal glow. A giant, mechanical clock in the middle of the Terminal chimes with a strange melody, signifying that it is 2:30 — and, according to the sign that shows the arrivals and departures, the Steamhallow Express departs from platform 338 at 4:50.
1.0 What this means of course is that there is plenty of time to visit the ticket office to reclaim your punchcard, and maybe even pop into some of the stores before finding your way to the right platform. There are stores selling food and drinks if you’re feeling peckish, and some clothing and accessories stores for those who want to make sure they arrive at Vrefesea looking their best — and maybe also for those who want to make sure they fit in with the locals…
2.0 At the platform, some might witness a varied group of alien-looking passengers, all well dressed, the youngest girl still being a teenager and the eldest looking somewhere between his mid-to-late 30s by human standards. Some of them look more alike than others, and their loud exclamations carry over to where you’re covertly listening to them.
As they grab their bags and head towards the train, you realize it may be an opportune chance to follow a little ways behind … or maybe you’ll hang around on the platform for a while longer anyway, waiting for your fellow Orbers to arrive and board the train together with them.
3.0 Once inside the train, it is impossible to notice just how big it is: 120 cars in length, there is something for everyone: for the hungry, there are several cars lined with tables draped in silken cloths to cover them, servers in fancy suits delivering the highest-quality foods and beverages to you and your dining companions while a lounge singer croons a sweet tune in the corner of the room. Some cars are dedicated solely to dancing: the performers there have a larger stage to perform on, decked in velvety curtains and sparkling spotlights; and the floor, polished and shining, invites listeners to spend their night — or day — dancing it away. There are even cars for those looking for a little excitement in the form of games: the world’s version of pool, played with mechanical sticks and where the talent lies in being able to adjust the springs at just the right moment before a hit — easy enough to learn but difficult to master. There are also numerous card games played on decks that have different figures instead of single numbers and can be picked up through observing a couple of games beforehand. No matter your preference of entertainment, it shouldn’t be hard to find something to do.
And when you want to retire for the day — well, whether it’s a luxury cabin with a king-size bed, an armchair and even a little bookshelf of your own, or it’s one of the more worn-down cabins that you’ll share with anywhere from one to three other passengers … it all comes down to your luck and what level of punchcard you’ve been dealt. But there’s no need to despair if you’re one of the people with the cheapest ticket: you may have a friend staying in one of the better cabins that you can bunk with … or maybe you’ll get lucky and find an empty cabin whose lock you can pick to claim it for yourself. Just, you know, make sure you don’t get caught …
… especially when you see Valacar Pinot walk past in his bright shirt — because, harmless and sweet as the man may seem, you overhear him speaking with Helios Day:
Pinot and Helios walk away, chatting still, their voices growing fainter, but leaving you at least a little bit wiser — there’s a detective on board now, so being on your guard is not a bad idea.
You may be fast asleep in your designated car, or you might be having a quick night-cap or midnight snack in the dining car when you suddenly hear the screams. Dragged from your night activity, whatever that may be, you’ll shuffle out in your night-clothes (or your clothes from that day) and find some of the Day family looking utterly distraught. Luna is crouched by the corridor of the car, her arms around her knees, expression frozen in shock as Marshall hovers around her, looking gaunt. Goldie is in tears, making attempts to speak through the sobs wracking her small frame while Pinot in his loud-patterned robe tries to console her through awkward pats and equally awkward There, theres.
4.0 If you decide to investigate a little closer, you’ll find Oden standing right by the door, arms hugging his chest. He looks like he’s about to be sick as he stares at the lifeless body of his brother, Jove, lying sprawled over the carpeted floor of their shared car. Jove’s condition is grim. Without touching the body, you might notice that beyond the blood-soaked robe of his night clothing, there are a series of stab wounds just under his ribs, each stab just a little more careful than the last. There is a crumpled up letter squeezed between the fingers of one hand, bits of broken wax seal under them. The other looks dirty with blood caught beneath the nails, the tips broken from struggle. The rest of the room seems untouched, a small box of toiletries in one corner, next to a lamplight, and a set of neatly folded clothes. It’s as though Jove hadn’t even had the chance to settle in for the night before his attack.
This is confirmed by Oden, who, turning to a pale Terra, says:
She trails off with a choked sob, Helios stepping closer to wrap her in a hug.
Indeed, all the Day family are present and they all look some form of shocked and upset, which isn’t a surprise considering one of their siblings has been so brutally murdered. You might try and speak with one of them or have a look around the car — but be respectful, of course. A murder has just happened.
You can hear the way the Steamhallow Express slows to a halt, pulling in to a station much smaller than the one you just came from, the rhythmic chugga chugga coming to a stop. The mood is solemn and everyone aboard the train is still silent, keeping to themselves in light of last night’s events. A horror, really, you hear Terra whisper to her brother Helios, and from across the car, Luna and Marshall nod their heads in agreement. They look as though they haven’t slept a wink, faces waxy and wane, the circles under their eyes darker than they should be.
If you look out the window, you’ll see craggy rust-coloured rockfaces surround you that cast a warm shadow over the train. But just past the edge of the station platform is a metal-grated pathway leading directly into a cluster of individual buildings made of wood and steel and packed mud, and strings of colourful flags overhead flapping in the pleasant, cool breeze overhead. The sun overhead is bright and ever so inviting, reflecting off of the white walls and orange-red roofs. This is the trading city known as Qririe Cliffs, an in-between place that feels more old-school than any other location on Novis Nox.
5.0 Before any of the passengers, including you, are allowed to leave the confines of the train, a voice comes over the speakers in a tinny deep boom. The conductor’s voice is just a little too cheerful, given what you all remember transpired — but that’s just his job.
But until then there are still beverages and food in the dining cart, and why not catch up on your reading? Let us know if you require any assistance and a steward will be along shortly to help. Thank you, and we hope you choose to ride with us on the Steamhallow Express again in the future.”
The engines have now fully stopped with an exhale, and the voices of your fellow passengers and crew-members of the Ximilia sound louder than ever now, amplified in the silence. You might find you’ll need this moment to recount the events of last night alone, or find someone to speak with, to reassure yourselves that what happened really did happen. Perhaps some of you will take it upon yourselves to get to the bottom of what happened now that it’s daylight. Whatever the case may be, you don’t have much time.
6.0 In what feels like forever and yet no time at all, there is a loud banging from the outside of one of the cars, followed by a hollow, “Open up! It’s the QCPD,” as the authorities have finally arrived. That figure sitting by himself, arms folded across his chest, begins to straighten, scratching at his chin. The deep purple of his eyes blinks once, twice, and then he lets out a sigh.
“Well, it’s about time, boys. I’ve got a train to catch, after all!” he says, and you watch as Detective Pinot pushes through the crowd to get to the door, pushing it forward to reveal an organic with bright pink skin peering into the car. Pinot laughs at his own joke as the officer removes their hat and takes a few steps up to enter. And then the blue-skinned detective immediately gestures with a hand towards the cars towards the back. You might decide to follow them if you’re curious, but there isn’t much of a point before Pinot and the officer disappear into the crime scene, shutting the door and making it clear that this is now official business. Occasionally the detective will poke his head out and a couple of the Day family will be ushered in to clear up some of the details and to build the case. Some of the other passengers follow suit for witness statements.
It feels like hours have passed before the officers and the detective re-emerge. With solemn steps, they approach the car where most of the Ximilia crew (and some of the Steamhallow’s other passengers) have gathered. Detective Pinot remains silent — thoughtful and serious, which contrasts greatly to the print of a colourful deck of cards adorning his button-down shirt today — before the QCPD point in the directions of Clara Oswald and Peter Quill, and call their names out. A small folded sheet of paper, torn at one end, is held in the hand of one of the officers. There are a few gasps in the car as all eyes turn to Clara and Peter — or you.
Before anyone can react, the pink-skinned officer, joined by their partner, steps forward to detain the suspects in question. If it’s you they’ve arrested, it’s best to go quietly while the rest of your fellow crew members try and quickly sort this whole mess out. If you’re watching your friends being escorted off of the train, you still have some time to quickly try and investigate the crime scene now that the light is better. Pinot appears to be thinking the same thing, hanging back for a moment.
What you do with this limited time is up to you — what will you do next?
7.0 You might be a little shaken, but there is simply nothing anyone can do at the moment. Pinot might assure you that your friends aren't being imprisoned, and as long as the facts line up, the truth will come out in the end, and Clara and Peter will have their names cleared soon enough. He encourages you to go into the city for a couple of hours and lets you know that there are items here you’ll probably never see in Vrefesea or Craemore. It’s worth a look at least, isn’t it?
If you do decide to go into the city, you’ll find that the energy here is cheerful and bright and freeing. The people of this city have their wares out, spread across blankets and set up in tiny shops. Some of these items include: pottery, jewelry, small trinkets, collectibles, statuettes and prayer sculptures. There are more higher-tech items as well: gadgets and unfinished inventions, household appliances and even some small weapons. Some shops can barely fit more than two or three customers at a time; others are more like stalls with items set up under the shade of an awning. There is music in the little square and people are dancing — if they aren’t hanging out by the outdoor tables, enjoying delicious sweet and savoury foods and drinks. Something colourful and effervescent swirls in one woman’s glass; and a younger organic with bright green skin slurps up at what anyone from Earth might recognize as a frozen popsicle (or something very much like it). You might eventually see some of the Day family there too, Luna and Oden walking past you, and Terra by the edge of the waterside, solemnly watching the waves and the horizon.
You might nearly bump into Goldie Day who dips her head and apologizes, and then shuffles off towards an alleyway nestled between buildings, eyes glassy with unshed tears.
You’ll remember that the Steamhallow Express is set to disembark for Vrefesea by the evening, and hope that your fellow crew members are released from questioning, but you’ll want to make your way back to the train when the sun looks to be setting and people slowly begin to gather their wares back up for the night. There is still music and dancing and the lights from within buildings start to glow, lighting up the town in a different way — it’s beautiful, really, despite the events on the train — but this short reprieve must come to an end.
That evening, the Steamhallow Express leaves once more for Vrefesea. It will become more important than ever for the team to pull the information they’ve gathered together, whether through investigations on their own or speaking with Detective Pinot who seems surprisingly amenable to working this case with you. It might be the eagerness in your ambition, or the fact that he’s never had any kind of partner or team to work with before.
Or perhaps you want to investigate the dead man a little closer: kept in its own car separate from the main passenger baggage (something about the presence of mind, and perhaps the smell), Jove’s body is to be kept in some form of stasis before it’s transported to Vrefesea for an autopsy and investigation in another 36 or so hours.
There’s no guarantee that the body will be so easily accessible, however, and those of you more determined to get down to the truth might need to cause a distraction of sorts to gain access into the otherwise locked room.
F Y I
• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.
• To submit a search request regarding any clues, or to speak with any of the NPCs mentioned in the log, trying to overhear conversations, or exploring any specific place during any of the prompts, please do so HERE.
• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪
7.2
Getting away to find the steel core that will carry him through the mission, and all the missions that will follow, despite the hollow-feeling that eats away at him from the inside out. The sore, raw ache that echoes every time the shadows enfold him but do not obey his commands.
Walking quietly, he is already close before he recognises her, the fading sunlight sparkling in her hands and that too brings a clench of emotions, before he ruthlessly stomps them in to submission.]
no subject
it strikes her as fitting that he would obscure her view of the light, even here, towering behind her as a hulking figure. over the bend of her shoulder, alina aims a furrowed glance his way, confirming what her bodily instincts had already predicted.
it's nearly a relief to not so strongly sense his presence. to not suffocate in the strange, unbidden hyperawareness of him it brings with it. a dull tingle at the nape of her neck replaces it, now — an animal reflex, fine hairs standing on edge to warn her. nothing so interwoven as their small science.
her chest wars with it. oscillates wildly between hollowness and liberation. none of the casualness in her posture would suggest as much; alina's palms flip down, curving her palms over a fishnetted knee, as she directs her eyes back to the stretch of water in front of her, closing her eyes against the wayward breeze cooling her cheeks. ]
Are you going to stand there and skulk?
[ maybe sulk would be a better word for it than skulk, alina muses to herself. but if the loss of their power is not predictable, at least his habits are proving to be. ]
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[She looks different, her hair pulled back in a new way, the clothes that wrap around her frame look nicer. Wealthy. A layer of riches smeared across all of her, and there might be a story behind that, a cover or another little lie to help her blend in to the tapestry of people of this world.
He doesn't know, and he doesn't ask. Just stands there, hands clasped behind his back, aching and longing for something that he hoped will return once he's back on the station.
Temporarily, Viveca had said, to be powerless.
Perhaps this time, the power of the orb that makes this possible will keep its promise. Or whatever power allowed this to happen.]
Are you going for a swim?
[There is no unnatural pull towards her, no sign from the Making forcing him forward or to give away another piece of himself to her just to keep her for a little while longer.
She's pretty, all dark haired and slender, seated on the ground in her finery, facing away towards the water and the endless stretch of an alien world beyond that.
There would be no rising sun of her Small Science if he touched her, no answering call to his own passive power and he doesn't want that. Doesn't want to know what that might feel like - slimy, like dead flesh under his searching hands, he thinks- and he stays back, watching her watch the lake.]
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it leaps to her tongue like a dagger poised between skilled fingers, ready to dart out and strike him. she must be effectively useless to him, now. a favored toy that's lost her shine, without the allure of any power.
she scoffs out a little breath instead, only distantly amused. it's an easier sound for her voicebox to form, more than that, than any exclamation that would imply she cares. that her existence won't matter, as she'd always accused him. that he's only stumbled on her by coincidence, only spoken to her once called on his sauntering about.
her toes kick, venting it out on the placid lake they're submerged within, instead, creating little splashing waves. ]
I don't know how to swim, [ she says drily, predicting that he's mocking her in some way. surely he must have guessed at that, with her dismal background, from orphan rat to first army peon. she leans back on her palms, frowning up at the sky. ] I've never even seen a real ocean until today.
Not really interested in drowning myself this evening. [ glibly, ] We'll see how I feel about that tomorrow.
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He never asked, and Alina certainly never willingly gave him any information about her life before the Little Palace - he'd seen glimpses in her dreams, had seen her hoard food and smuggle it away in her pockets and he'd noticed the streak of independence that ran through every last one of her words.
That made her obey, but only barely. That made her stand up straight and face adversity head on, shoulders back and a sneer on her lips.]
I hope that you feel the same way tomorrow. [There is no offer to teach her, and no move to get closer than he already is. Too close, really, since he can see the freckles on her exposed skin] That drowning would be a waste of your time.
[Kilnan isn't that long ago] You're alone here.
no subject
but the truth, she finds, can be given sparingly. creatively.
beneath the crystalline surface of the lake, alina's submerged calves propel themselves in tiny kicks, sending a beaded curtain of water misting down onto her. ]
And?
[ she prompts, her confusion teetering on impatience. she's always disliked this — aleksander's way of phrasing that makes his questions resemble an interrogation, like he's leading her into a confession she doesn't want to give, a secret she hasn't openly flaunted. it's a snare she always steps into, left to be irritated with herself in the aftermath, once she realizes what she's done. ]
What's your point? [ her solitude hasn't escaped her notice. clara's absence gnaws worry into her, and wherever rhys and mal have run off to ... that's its own set of complications she isn't eager to consider. but if aleksander is going to point out his glaring observations to her, then — alina stubbornly resigns herself to doing the same when she provides, a little emphatic with defensiveness, ] It's peaceful here.
[ well. it might be an excuse rather than an explanation, but it's not a lie. ]
no subject
Or Rhysand.
[My friends call me Rhys and he had made a point of never calling the other shadow summoner anything but his full name since.
Petty.
Yet so satisfying.
Resentment churning in his belly, as he watches her. The carefree way she chooses to ignore him, to watch the water instead. Shutting him, now that she has a chance to. When he can't find her by feel alone, when there's nothing between them but shared history and the memories of them.
Another sword to balance on, the fall in to broken glass and fractured promises on both sides- she tore down the shields he spent centuries building, and he blamed it on the Making, on fate and destiny. On her Small Science.]
My point is- don't drown, Alina.
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one that's so childishly petulant that she nearly doesn't consider the possibility at all, at first; it's a ridiculous suspicion to entertain. surely he believes envy is a human emotion so far beneath him as to stomp it into the dirt, an itch at his pride that's not to be trifled with. alina's gaze swivels toward him with a skeptic incredulity that slowly gives way to ...
the faintest aura of smugness curling her mouth. never mind that she and rhys are teetering on a cliff's edge, too complicated and shattered to call what they have a relationship. never mind that her year aboard ximilia has created a chasm of distance between herself and mal she isn't sure how to bridge yet. what's important is that he's slipped and given her his own secret, without her needing to dirty her hands by prying. ]
Aleksander, [ she says, slow, like she's sounding out a sentence to a toddler. ] Jealousy is such a base emotion.
[ it's what she can imagine him claiming, at any rate, as if he's convincing anyone but himself. ]
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He has lived a thousand lives, had held a hundred names and he has been so patient, waiting. Bidding his time and makes plans, moving people around like pieces on a chess board.
He is eternal.
Inevitable.
The rising tide of change that will forever move Ravka in to a future of peace and prosperity.
And he still sucks in a breath, jaw clenching and nostrils flaring.]
What did you- how dare you- [The broken words of denial]
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alina does no such thing, almost defiant in how unthreatened her posture appears, immovable against whatever tantrum he's throwing. her palms flatten behind her, reclining as she crosses one leg over the other. as far as protests go, she is ... utterly unconvinced she hasn't landed the mark, aimed and directly hit a bullseye. ]
I do dare.
[ the triumphant arch of her eyebrow, the tilt of her head that sends a curtain of hair over one shoulder — all of it reeks of casual daring, as if to say what are you going to do about it? ]
Are you really that hard of hearing? I said — [ her mouth moves like molasses to shape the words, deliberately goading: ] you're jealous.
no subject
Nothing.
Wanting is weakness and he fully expected it to fall away as soon as the magic from the station washed over him, when his own Small Science vanished, leaving him feeling too cold and too empty.
But looking down in to her pretty face, to the fall of dark hair down her back and the glimmer of pale skin at the base of her throat, he doesn't feel... that.
Not when his hands still tingle with the ghost of her, with the last lingering touch before they were whisked away from the station. Not when he can still taste her.]
Wishful thinking on your part, I'm sure.
[Deflecting from the all too obvious truth in her words, as he turns, and it's not running away, when he never expected to see her. When her voice and her words and her everything was all out on display like this and staying would mean taking a closer look at himself.
So, he walks away, leaving her to sit by the water- picture perfect and all too real.]
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it never comes. maybe it's the sheer ridiculousness of his claims when the imprint of his touch on her still lingers like the caress of a ghost — or maybe it's simply how absurd he looks. the great illustrious general, fleeing from a tiny slip of a girl as though she'd promised to cast a curse over him. it does nothing to dispel the impression he fears her the way mankind fears a disease; does nothing to ruin the childish impression of a tantrum from an ancient man, in her eyes.
the scoff of her laughter trails his retreating form. it's juvenile and petty, on her part — but she's none too keen to let him have the last word. no, that's too close to thinking he's won by leaving her behind, for her tastes. if nothing else, she can assure herself a way to nag at his pride, even once he's alone.
and so, she calls over his shoulder as he begins to disappear into the distance, forever impertinent the way only alina starkov can be: ] Coward.
[ it's loud, unabashed enough, to echo after him. he must be one, to run away like that. ]
no subject
Nothing of this matters in any way- road blocks or stepping stones until he can find the way back home, to undo his regret and do it all over again. Before the mistake that ravished across his homeland, before the deaths and the merzost and the uncontrollable sea of darkness.
Nothing.
But her single word still stops him in his tracks, back straight and shoulders pulling back.]
Careful, Alina -[There's little pride in the fact that his voice doesn't break, as something too close to fear churns in the pit of his stomach. She doesn't matter, none of this does - it's a distraction, it's a lie, it is something the Making made him want, by placing someone so perfect (his equal, his balance) right in his path and then, making her so... her.
But there are no threads that bind them, here. No call to answer, no higher power.
Just her.
Alina.
He swallows hard, glancing over his shoulder at the figure she cuts against the water. Alluring and tempting, like a cool glass of poison in the sweltering desert.] or I might start to think that you want me to be jealous.
[Turning fully, and knowing that there's too much weakness in even asking, that he's giving away pieces of himself that should be long dead, that should not exist anymore but they're still there, despite everything. Burning and writhing inside of him, a small flickering flame of warmth.
Watching her, laid back and stubborn, the remnants of a smile still on the corner of her lips. It feels like-
home] Do you?
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for all that he's cloaked himself in shadow, alina finds that this man she'd thought of as a fathomless mystery — like a stack of matryoshka dolls, opening him up to find more secrets nested inside — is so ...
predictable. so known to her that she'd been anticipating the moment he turns, lured back by the challenge to his pride. so known to her that she's hardly surprised when he tries to aim the arrow of focus back onto her, angling at her wants. her emotions. as if, by unveiling them, he can prove she's the weaker of them for wanting anything at all.
she deliberately doesn't give him the satisfaction of sending her into squirming. instead, she latches onto the swell of something that feels unkind for how pleased it is to evoke that ugly wound of envy within him, lets her small victory march the words forward when she shrugs a lackadaisical shoulder.
the curl of her lip ticks up higher. she sweeps her legs out of the water, tucks them to the side of her, like a mermaid's tail flipping out to sun itself.
unfazed, unbothered, she quips back: ] Well, it's certainly satisfying.
no subject
Perfect as always.
As if she's not missing something important, the Small Science that the station took away in a cruel twist of fate. Not that, no. As if there's nothing missing at all and that turns the corners of his mouth down, brows pinching and hands clenching.
She never wanted to be Grisha.
Whatever resentment that used to seethe in the pit of his stomach at the sight of her, from the power she yields so effortlessly over him. Over him, and it pales in comparison to the roiling emotions that bubble to the surface from her easy retorts, from the dismissal in her voice.
That he is alone in this, in still longing for her, with everything else stripped away and he still wants.]
You have everything you want now. No powers, your tracker by your side and I am powerless. That must be close to your regret. Your wish.
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it wouldn't be so shocking to her, if his only goal is to make himself feel powerful by venting out his impotency on her, making her suffer alongside him. she doesn't bother pointing out what he's failed to see — her years of experience in feeling feeble, feeling powerless. why should she waste that breath, expose that part of herself, to a man that's fooled himself into thinking he knows all there is to know of her?
the accusation only proves how little he's bothered to know her, beyond the image he has of her in his head. she narrows her eyes, accusive in her own right. ]
What would you know about what I want? You've never bothered to ask.
[ would she have wanted him to ask? she grapples with that impossible question. once, perhaps. now, she expects she would shrink away from it like a burrowing mole, afraid of what it must mean for him to want to dig up her dreams. ]
You're wrong, by the way. [ solid. forceful. he's wrong about all of it, if she's being honest with herself — her regret, her wish, having everything she could want. but it's not a desire to be seen by him that has her gritting it out — only the satisfaction of rubbing his nose in it. ] Not that it's any of your concern.
no subject
You don't want words, isn't that what you told me. On the network, calling for me in the middle of the night and you don't want my pretty words. Only action.
[But he makes no move to step up closer, he had been too close before and got burned. Not like the ring of barely healed burns around his wrist, the scarred and scabbed skin that he strokes in the middle of the night, remembering her face in the ring.
Somewhere along the last year, he's remembering her not as she was in Ravka, dressed in his colors and cursing him out. No, he sees her as she looked in Braccia- liquid gold and crimson lips. How she looked in Gyeongje, with her hair loose in the wind and fighting to right a wrong done by someone else. How she looked naked, spread out on the desert sands of Scorpion's Bend, with the pale light of the moons shining down on her skin. How she had looked in dreams and how very real she felt on the station.
How she looked in the red lights of Sedorum, her face tilted to his- looking from the grimy streets or hovering above him and all of the power held in hers hands. Both places.
The memories of her betrayal in Ravka and how she ran away is fuzzy around the edges, overlaid with how she looks in sleep, how warm she is when she's curled up against him and how easily he found sleep in her arms.]
Words could be lies, wasn't that the sentiment behind your little dare back then? But now you want more words.
[It would be funny, if looking at the sour look on her face didn't bring an echo of the same emotion to his own chest. If he didn't want her already, if she didn't carry all the hope for his dead future in her hands.
If the thought of her with the tracker didn't make his blood boil and the thought of her knowing it, and not caring, made it that much worse.]
I suppose you're right, it is none of my concern. Goodbye, Alina.
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You think you know so much, Aleksander, but all you're proving is how little you actually do know. Though I suppose I should congratulate you on proving my point; here you are, assuming to know what I want without ever bothering to ask. Again.
[ goodbye, he'd said — but she isn't so content to be dismissed as though nothing she says is of consequence. isn't so willing to let him hear whatever delusions he wants and run with them. she scoops up her wayward shoes, tossed so carelessly to the dirt at her side, and moves to stand abruptly. any of the tension that had worked its way out of her shoulders during their time away from the train knots back into her shoulders, puppets her spine into a rigid line.
there's a surprising lack of hesitation in how quickly she marches up to him, whether he moves to turn or not, having to hasten with how short her strides are comparatively. but whenever she does make it to him — she shoves her hands (still full of her stupid shoes) into his chest, winded from an effort that does nothing to budge him at all.
it'd be a little comical, like a tiny bird trying to puff its feathers up to look threatening, if she weren't so exasperated. ]
What is this really about? You're miserable about feeling powerless, so you have to make yourself feel better by making sure I'm just as miserable? Because I think you're a little too old to be having tantrums.
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Another picture to carry with him, as his eyes fall on the narrow street leading to this place. The deceptively harmless looking one that lead him here, to this.
Assumptions. As if she's that different from everyone else that he's had the pleasure of meeting through his long life. As if she, above all else, would be so different that he cannot even begin to guess the content of her desires. What words might be tattooed to her heart, the promises she would never break.
Still grumbling to himself, he is unprepared for her to spring up in front of him, her small hands and her pointed shoes pushed against him before he has a chance to step back.]
Speaking of assumptions.
[As if she isn't close to guessing why he's out here, alone and away from the train. Away from the people who press against him, the cloying scent of perfume and too much skin to brush against his own and the hollow feeling that brings with it. Away from the empty shadows and in to the light of the sun.
When did that happen? When did the power shift from him and in to her, so much that his ability to follow the flow of it had been blunted until it was near useless around her?
When his gaze falls to her mouth, moving through her words. The shadow of her tongue behind her teeth, before snapping up to hers.]
You know me so well, surely you know what this is about.
[And he doesn't even bother to hide his snide reply inside a saccharine smile, lips pulling back as he sucks in a breath, and the air this close to her still tastes like ripe peaches.]
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that, she's certain, would start a scene. ]
At least I bothered to ask you.
[ it doesn't feel like the leg up on him she wants it to be. no, she has the distinct impression it only makes her look — pathetic. insane enough to invest the effort in chasing him down just to tear the truth from him, as painful an effort as ripping off a fingernail. ]
I think you're angry they took something from us, and you're deciding to punish me for it because you can't punish the actual culprit.
[ she's confident in that unfaltering interpretation, and though there's so much more she could assume, so much more she could poke and prod at to unnerve him — she's already bristling at the test he's given to her. ]
I think — [ her chest heaves and falls as she pulls in mouthfuls of air, blowing out a heavy exhale to try to shove the messy sheet of dark hair out of her eyes. ] — you're acting like a child. But if you want to pretend I don't know what I'm talking about, fine. Make it someone else's problem, then.
[ ... not that she's any better in the "acting like a child" department. her lips purse with an impotent frustration, lower lip jutting out petulantly. she tosses her shoes to the ground at his feet and turns to begin stomping down the road without them, damp and barefooted, apparently forgetting they're on the same route back to the train in the middle of her own fit. ]
action + network (never worry! I love every tag, missed sentence or not)
The world he grew up in, the reality of how the whole world saw him - how it would always see him and those like him - like someone other. Like something is discard and set on fire to keep the demons from howling at the closed doors in the dead of winter. As if him and his Grisha hadn't saved Ravka several times over. Had saved villages from starving, from freezing to death- from floods, earthquakes and hail storms and they had been there, saving lives only to reap the only reward the world ever had for people like them; a painful death.
Everything had lost the glitter and the complex hues of the breaking dawn as he worked so hard to build them a place, to carve it out of the unwilling dirt with his own hands, that it had turned everything upside down to watch the sun rise from her skin. It brought back everything he hadn't known he had lost along the way.
Touching her now, would bring nothing of the sort, as he bends down to pick up the discarded shoes. Sharp heels and black leather, they click as he lets them dangle from fingers stiff with indecision and anger.
Alina.
Who wanted action and questions, who resents that he never asks with words as if his arms around her in the dark nights means nothing. As if all of his answers were not readily available in that action alone, in the restful sleep he found in their nights.
As if he isn't trailing behind, his long legs eating up the distance between them until he's close enough to hear the rustle of her dress and the crunch of her footsteps.
He clicks the network on, watching the back of her neck.]
Is that want you want, Alina?
sobs thank you, let's pretend i'm secretly a genius who never typos or forgets words
it's not a kind interpretation of his intentions. maybe it's only his need for privacy, wary of the nameless faces that politely skirt by her on the narrow street, but she's in no mood to dole out kindness. that well has run dry for the evening.
sullen, alina's arms fold over her chest, hands wrapped around the willowy bend of her arms. for a stretch of time, there's only the wet slap of her heels against sun-baked cobblestone, refusing to flinch at how it sizzles unpleasantly against her skin. taunting her, almost, with a power that's been drained from her a second time.
that, at least, she can take pride in &mdadsh; ignoring him for a few heartbeats when her awareness of him is prickling the back of her neck. when he's caught up to her enough that the heat of his breath fans out against the nape of her neck, as though even his exhales refuse to let her forget his presence.
does she want to foist him on someone else, make him their problem? yes. no. the darkling is only another responsibility of her own that no other soul can handle. another burden on the long list of being the sun summoner. especially when it includes deciphering his actions — as she is now, trying to calculate whether he's truly taken her words to heart and course-corrected, or if this is another trick.
both, perhaps. with him, she finds it's rarely one or the other. ]
What I want? [ she grumbles, uncaring or simply unaware that she sounds so huffy. ] Right now, what I want is to shove you into the dirt.
[ ... well, never let it be said she isn't bluntly honest when she's in the mood to be. ]
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[Least of all because he doesn't know if he wants it. If he could stand to touch her and find nothing, to grip her warm flesh and feel her only as a man would.
When that cursed weakness was still there, still this living, breathing thing inside his chest, even when it should by all rights have been removed when his Small Science had been.]
You wanted to know me. [I can't know you if you're going to snap at me every time, but does he want her to know him? The real him, the one that still eyes the darkness with suspicion, that tiny piece that still holds hope for the world and for his people in it?]
You want a lot of things, Alina, and I have tried to give them all to you.
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a reminder of why she's never given voice to her desires, her dreams. if not his hands, there would be another set ready to disperse them like cloud fluff. ]
You don't want to be known. Not by me.
[ no, that isn't right. he's a mess of his own contradictions — demanding she shine the light of her understanding upon him, only to flee from it when it uncovers the glint of another secret he's stashed away. she's never known a man who has so desperately commanded she see him, just to affix a new mask to his face, sinking back into the comfort of pretense.
a vigorous shake of her head. a passerby openly gapes in alina's direction, puzzled by the one-woman conversation — and immediately ducks around the bend of a corner, once they take note of alina's acidic glower aimed right at them. she amends, staunch, ]
Not by anyone.
[ or he wouldn't continue to be a snake in the grass within the ximilia's crew, hiding the venom that drips from his fangs, pretending to wear different skin and different scales. ]
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As long as he does what's requested, his regret will be undone and nothing, nothing, nothing matters. Except he finds that some things do, looking at her angry face, so set in stubborn lines and the frown around her mouth.
Swallowing, he tilts his head.]
Only by you, actually. You are the only one could possibly understand.
[He's still holding her shoes and the whole spectacle of them facing each other on the near-empty street, him silent and holding her footwear and her, raging at him, would be funny.
Could be funny.
If they were not who they were.]
You know what it's like to be on the outside looking in. You know what it is like to be lonely.
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