wakingthedead | waking the dead 1.0r :: the ides approach

waking the dead 1.0r :: the ides approach :: look out at the darkness

WEDNESDAY, 14 MARCH 2012. THE SMALL HOURS BEFORE SUNRISE.

[ The flashes came to him at around ten in the evening. Right in the middle of a conversation he was having with Riley Falner.

At first it was the image of Hikaru waking up, followed by a sharp stab of certainty that he wasn't thinking of his boy just because he missed the Blade King; that the image was exactly what the Seer was seeing or had seen, from all the way in Hirato. And that instead of the routine updates made through calls, Alistair had resorted to this because words and explanations would take up too much time.

( Tohru. Hikaru had asked for Tohru to be sent in. Hikaru turning as soon as the Assassin stepped past the doors. Then those ominous red rings around the irises of his boy's violet eyes, dark in the late hour.

"I know," Hikaru had said.

Then suddenly all hell broke loose and in the mix and jumble of it all, all he could see/feel was death and fire and the Wind moving to contain the situation, Alistair on the phone his lips shaping Setsuna's name as he reloaded his gun--

--then nothing. )

He doesn't know what it was that Riley saw on his face, only that the Daywalker had already turned to call for Gio Malaahas to rally Wolf's Choice.

He was still reeling when he felt vibrations beneath his palm, Yulia's name blinking almost angrily on the screen.

He doesn't have much to say when she informs him that she and Makoto are to go. His limbs feel like he's slogging through water with the resistance akin to all of him weighed down.

What can he say when his knuckles are white? When where he's sitting is suddenly quieter and much colder, even if all the lamps this side of the estate are turned on.

He thinks he manages to tell her to take care -- that they both do. He's not sure if he said it. He prays that he did.

He's not sure of anything. And it's far too quiet. Like the quiet of the dead. ]

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[ And upstairs, at her desk in the office that Riley has furnished for her, Liandrin is calmly setting her laptop screen down, calmly pushing back her chair, calmly leaning back, and calmly shutting her eyes.

mayaNET might be deathly quiet on the Philippine front and most other locations beyond Japan's shores, but the channels of the network devoted to Zangyaku's main bases and the conspiracy's upper echelons have been on fire. She's been up here for some time now, monitoring everything on top of handling her own business at Falner, dispatching people, making arrangements, and keeping up a near constant conversation with Setsuna Shinta. Setsuna, however, has just told her to take a break.

"Rest, and if you can bring yourself to... please check on Joshua. I am certain that he, above anyone else in positions like his, must want to know what is happening. I trust that you know what to offer him."

She wants a cigarette. She decides to save it for later.

Heading down and out of the house, to the gazebo in the South Gardens where you and Riley had been smoking through cigars and drinking before things had started falling apart. She is not surprised to see that you have not moved.

Stopping a respectful distance away - right at the foot of the stairs leading up to the gazebo - and lifting her chin. ]

Commander.

[ She's addressed you as such since the two of you started working in close quarters ~~and even after that rather tense conversation you both had, on certain marriage arrangements and attempting to reach an understanding~~. ]

[ The first sign that he's heard you shows in the line of his shoulders. He has his head bowed, his thumb rubbing along the grooves on the side of his phone case.

He hadn't actually heard you coming.

Glancing over at you now, Miss Delacroix, and clearing his throat for a bit. ]

Am... am I needed?

[ Because Riley and Gio have gone, which means that as the Daywalker's second, in spite of the godawful early hour, there must be something here that requires his attention -- right?

He looks tired. Worn. Maybe a little lost. Or perhaps it's just the way the shadows fall across his face. ( It isn't. He feels like a truck hit him square in the face. ) ]

Edited 2016-06-29 04:31 (UTC)

No. Oswald and Virginia have been handling things.

[ Which goes without saying that Amadeus was preparing to join the Daywalker already. Else, she would have said where the ex-Malice King was. ]

Have you slept yet?

[ There's no accusation, no nothing in her tone. It's almost as if she's asking him what he thinks of the weather. ]

Edited 2016-06-29 04:41 (UTC)

I-- [ he glances at the watch on his wrist, frowns and stares at the time, like he can't quite reconcile that he's been out here for more than a couple of hours.

Shaking his head now and rubbing one hand over his face. ] No.

[ And then softer: ] Apparently I lost track of time.

[ He needs a cigarette. ]

Edited 2016-06-29 04:51 (UTC)

I see.

[ Again: no judgment. ]

Breakfast is in a few hours. I'll make you something.

[ That statement, though, isn't a question. Neither is this one. ]

Let's go.

[ A little force is necessary. She'll ease up on it if she sees that she can afford to. ]

[ It's the last statement that brings him back to himself. Easing up now and making his way down from that gazebo to follow exactly where you decide to lead.

If he's stiff, it's because he's gathering his wits about him. He doesn't, admittedly know how to move around you, or let a fraction of his guard down in the way that he might with his own people or individuals he's more or less got a handle on. ]

[ That's fine. Now she has more time to draw further into herself and make it look like she's not frightened of you at all, she's perfectly in control of the situation. The smaller kitchen and dining area that was reserved for the servants of the estate is a bit of a way's from where the both of you are, which works for the both of you.

The few people who are in the area clear out the moment Liandrin pushes the doors open and enters with you close at her heels. There are no questions, no comments, only furtive looks as they leave. That means that you're getting one of the tables all to yourself.

Liandrin, in the meantime, is moving off to the pantry in a quiet swish of skirts over tile. The pots, pans and other tools she'll be using are already moving of their own accord, silently and efficiently.

Another thing that moves? An ashtray. That one is dutifully setting itself down close to wherever you've chosen to sit. ]

Would you like anything to drink?

Edited 2016-06-29 05:10 (UTC)

[ He shouldn't be surprised at the skill that you display with everything suddenly springing to movement at a simple thought. You're a Malice King, and to say that you're a powerful mage is like stating that the sun rises in the east.

He reaches for the ashtray absently, before realizing that it's settling right in front of him. He's taking the far end of the table from where you're moving about. An act of consideration. Riley did tell him once that you felt discomfort around him. ]

I'll have whatever you're having.

[ Are you seriously going to cook? ]

[ No words from this one at first, then; just the sound of her rifling about in the pantry. When she returns, she's setting a pitcher of cold water down together with a tall bottle of Jack Daniel's.

You're pretty sure they don't sell vintage that old.

The glasses follow, then the Lady Swallowtail is off towards the stove.

She's going to make crepes. American folk like you probably don't eat things like that very often. ]

[ Excuse him while he stares for a bit on the date of that bottle. ]

Thanks.

[ Nevertheless, he'll also go for the water first, then light up a cigarette because the ash tray is an indicator that you don't mind him lighting up while you're busy at that.

This is probably the part where the two of you ought to fill the air with idle small-talk. Except what is there to talk about? All the business of the council here in Falner's sorted, at least, until the Daywalker returns.

Taking a drag of that stick now. ]

[ She'd like to think that the silence between the both of you isn't anything to think too hard on. You have to gather yourself, maybe enjoy that cigarette. She has to focus, lose herself in domestic minutiae.

The stuffing for the crepe is getting prepared first, along with the omelettes. She's quiet all the way until she's letting the pan heat up. ]

I know what it's like, feeling like you have to hide. Feeling like you have to be busy with something. [ A beat. ] I'm hiding away myself.

[ Low and quiet again, as if she is not talking about anything emotional. The weight of it, though, is in her words, and just beneath the surface of them.

She isn't looking at you. She's a coward that can't quite bring herself to do that yet. Besides, she did say she was going to make breakfast for you. ]

[ He doesn't expect you to break the silence -- then again, he doesn't actually know what to make of you ever since you two found yourselves on the same side. What he is aware of now however, are the little signs he used to miss or interpreted differently.

It's not good manners though, to point out that you know someone's a little frightened of you. So he won't. Instead, he takes a drag from that cigarette and lets out a small, tired sigh. ]

I feel like I've spent the last two decades doing just that. [ He's looking towards one of the windows; pouring himself a drink. ] It's just been one thing after another.

[ His voice drops. ]

Hard to say with absolute certainty that the choices I've made were the right ones.

They always talk about hindsight being 20/20. They never talk about how it's also a royal bitch.

[ Keeping her hands busy and her eyes elsewhere, even when she's leaving things at the counter for a bit. She'd like a cigarette herself now. ]

You'll always end up believing that you could have done better or chosen different when you look back.

[ Click. Drag. Eyes towards the stove. She tells herself it's because she made herself responsible for breakfast today, it's only proper to be mindful. ]

Most of the time, though, you couldn't have, or wouldn't have.

[ She'd know, wouldn't she?

She's a bloody expert at making excellent choices. ]

[ Picking up on that and then reaching for the free glass so he can pour you a bit of that scotch. ]

Here. [ Nudging it your way with his fingers. ] You sound like you need it as much as I do.

[ What he doesn't say, of course, is that the invite is open because given the way he feels, he doesn't want to drink alone. Not when he doesn't know what's going on down in Japan, to the he people he cares about. ]

[ ...And that is what gets her to look up at you. She was perfectly prepared to serve herself. ]

Thank you.

[ Gently clinking her glass against your own before bringing it to her lips. She stares down at its contents after, the pads of her fingers worrying themselves around the circumference of the glass. ]

I'll pass down everything that I can to you.

[ It's something that is within her power to do. You may be respected by Zangyaku's oni-tsukai, but you are ultimately an outsider. Times like this needed the Wolf's own to close ranks and respect protocol.

She and Setsuna, however, were the leaders of the conspiracy now. They were the only ones who could make calls like this. ]

[ Now you see, now he can articulate to himself what about the last half-hour has felt surreal: You coming to get him at the gazebo and making sure she came along. The food. The booze. Words of compassion and comfort.

You'll be able, perhaps, if you're paying attention; to see how those shoulders of his deflate as he ducks his head; the a crease deepening between his brows as the corners of his mouth turn heavy. ]

I'd... I'd appreciate that. [ He says that quietly, for your ears and his. ] Thank you... Liandrin.

[ He doesn't actually trust himself to speak any louder than he is, given the mess of feelings that's settled in his chest. So you'll probably need to forgive him, if he can't quite look at you. If that gaze of his ends up fixed on the contents of his glass for a lot longer than he intends.

There are a handful of things through which he views the certainty of his universe: the conspiracy his family has given blood, sweat and tears to; the people he considers it an honor to fight beside. His faith that he can leave what is completely out of his hands to a higher power, and the safety and protection of the two people he would gladly burn the world down for.

None of that is working out well this time around.

The next inhale on his part is shaky. And then he's knocking back that glass and pouring himself another shot. ]

Edited 2016-06-29 12:55 (UTC)

You deserve to know.

[ Because she'd be lying if she defaulted to safer responses, like how helping one's allies out is the logical thing to do. It's far more complicated than that --

-- or was it really? Perhaps it was just too simple, and the rest of the Fifth World made things complicated.

She takes another sip from her glass before focusing on her cigarette. Once that's done, she's moving back to tend to the food. ]

[ His mouth starts to twist into something that's more of a grimace than a smile. ]

Thank you, [ that's spoken low and quiet as he nurses his drink.

Perhaps, if you both knew each other differently, he might open up to you about how helpless he feels. Instead, he says nothing as you move off to see to the meal, content to remain quiet until you return. ]

[ And she won't deign to fill in the silence with useless words either, just like earlier. She has said what she has had to for now, and the purpose of this exercise is to give you some breathing room.

She comes back around the table for two reasons: first to put out her cigarette, and then later when she returns with breakfast for you both. You're getting your plate first.

Feel free to start whenever you like, Commander. She's already digging in. ]

[ He's familiar with crepes, though he's admittedly never had someone actually make them for him before. His meals, with the exception of formal dinners that usually have to do with the politicians at Capitol Hill, tend to be less fancy in comparison to this.

He's already wishing that he were in a better mood the moment he takes the first bite. A crappy mood does good food like this a great disservice.

On that note, he's quietly musing that he hadn't quite expected you to be proficient in the kitchen... or maybe he should. You Mastigoi like to know as much as you can get your hands (and brain) on.

He should... also probably not think so loud in your presence.

Anyway. ] Who taught you to cook?

[ P.S. He's pretty lousy at small-talk.]

[ What you don't know (and what she actually plans on NOT telling you until she's sure that it's safe) is that the Grail makes it particularly hard for people to read your mind, even Mages as powerful as she is.

You're getting a delicate arch of eyebrows in your direction at the question. Under normal circumstances and perhaps with better company, she'd have something witty to respond to you with. But here you both are. ]

I taught myself. Hikaru, though, taught me how to cook well.

[ And she can't quite stop her voice from dropping low, weighed down by too many heavy things. ]

Edited 2016-06-30 03:19 (UTC)

[ ...Ah.

He should probably just stick to not making small talk. Too many landmines is an apt metaphor when he thinks about how talking with you makes him feel. It isn't as if you two actually know each other well enough to go into fond discussions concerning the men you both love.

Focusing back on his plate, and then pouring you another glass of water when he notes that yours is running low.

He'll polish it off with almost military efficiency and light up another cigarette as his gaze turns back to the window and the lightening sky. ]

[ And after noting that small collection of tells, she almost wishes that she had lied to you.

She'll focus on her food as well, murmur a "thank you" when you pour water for her. Once she is done, though, all she has is her cigarette and her Scotch, and --

-- and there's a polite knock on the door before it's swinging open. One of your men, who probably would have spoken up immediately before noticing that you have company. ]

Yes?

[ Putting that in before you can speak. Her expression schools itself, going cool with a hint of exasperation. The message is clear: it's best if nobody disturbs you.

"Ah... apologies. It can wait." ]

Good.

[ And just like that, she's turning away. An unspoken dismissal.

Yes. Part of the reason why she is keeping you company is to play guard dog. She has had time to observe you. You're the sort of man who'd throw away his own needs only too quickly for his duties. ]

[ You're close enough ( and observant enough ) to have caught the tension that immediately lined his shoulders the moment he caught sight of the uniform. He's looking over your shoulder at the young man, offering a stiff smile and nod from his end, a quiet acknowledgement to support your dismissal.

When that door finally closes, the thin line of his lips stays even after the footsteps have faded away.

He needs coffee with his Scotch.

Getting up at that and rummaging through the cupboards for what he needs in relative silence. When he finds a kettle, one of the cups, the coffee, he sets everything out and rests his palms atop the counter. ]

They mean well.

[ He only half-glances back at you as he says that. ]

[ She doesn't respond immediately. The contents of her glass suddenly look so interesting. She could make it even MORE interesting for herself with a little magic, but -- ]

I hope you'll forgive my indiscretion, then.

[ How does one say to the man who nearly killed her in the name of the two people she loves the most that she'd only like to show her concern for you in a time like this? ]

[ He stiffens, because--

--well, what the hell did he mean? Of course that would come off as an admonition.

Taking a breath, he starts up that pot and makes his way back to join you at the table. ]

There's nothing to forgive. [ Gently now, Josh. ] I appreciate the concern.

[ Ducking his head a little as he folds his hands quietly on the table. After all, what do you say to the woman who you nearly beat close enough to death about two years ago. A woman who the two men you would do everything to live for, still happen to love. Because dying is not the way of professing your own love to them. ]

[ Nodding, because words are suddenly difficult. She'll just... stand up and take her plate to the sink. Yours too.

She can drink after she's done cleaning everything up. (She can drink and not think about the fact that the phantom pain's spreading up her leg again. She could dispel it: it ought to be easy. But powerful Awakened like herself have their own moral codes. She should not have to use magic to put a band aid on the shotgun wound of her memories.) ]

Edited 2016-07-01 05:31 (UTC)

[ He stands and finds himself reaching out for his own plate, and offering his hand out for yours. ]

Let me handle that. [ His voice is soft, ] You already cooked. I should handle the dishes, and you can enjoy your drink.

[ He genuinely wants to do this. It's the least he could do after you checked up on him and made sure he was fed. ]

All right.

[ There's a small smile and a flash of eyes in your direction before she dips her head back down. She's arranging herself back in her seat, and reaching for the bottle.

Time for a refill. The glass is almost empty anyway. ]

[ Cleaning up the dishes and the movement that entails warms the cold he hadn't realizes had settled over his bones. He doesn't linger too long on doing that either, one eye on that pot as well as the periphal note of whatever your movements tell him.

When he's done, he sets everything aside to dry and then snags an extra cup which he'll gently set down where your can see him.

On a semi-related note, he makes sure to steer to the opposite side of the arm and leg that bother you. ]

Would you like some?

[ Coffee, he means. ]

I'm not sure where they keep the tea.

[ She knows where it is (she already knows where everything in the Estate is, and occasionally? Where everyone of importance is too), but you are not her errand boy. Besides, it wasn't as if coffee was a bad second choice. ]

Yes, please.

[ And there's the first time you might have heard Liandrin say "please" politely since the two of you started working in close quarters. That want all that long ago, but the Mage conducts herself in a rather forceful fashion on a usual basis. That much, you would have picked up on way back. ]

[ God's truth, he wouldn't have minded digging up the tea if that's what you preferred. Nor would he have thought that you'd turned him into your errand boy. But coffee it is, since it doesn't look like you mind -- he'll retrieve the sugar from the counter and some milk from the fridge a little after he's got your cups all fixed up.

Don't mind him as he pours an additional shot into his cup. ]

I hope I'm not keeping you from anything.

[ Yes, he knows it's godawful o'clock, but still. The sentiment stands. ]

You're not.

[ There isn't anything for her to do. Riley is gone, and she's not part of your Council. Setsuna is holding the fort, and already told Lia that she wanted her sister right where she was: with Netsach, where she could coordinate with the Daywalker and his men directly and be an extra pair of eyes for her. The Wind were the ones on the front lines with the Seer. (Her Seer, once upon a time.) ]

As things stand, I don't think I could sleep even if I needed to.

[ There was no telling what was going to happen tomorrow. She wanted to be vigilant.

She also wants to do this small thing for you, if you'll let her. ]

[ There's a soft sound of assent from his end as he stares into the liquid in his cup. Sleep, he would tell you wryly, if the both of you were actually friends, is overrated in the Vigil lifestyle.

Then again, that might just be his own anxiety speaking. Sleep hasn't come easy for him in a while. The bed is too soft, too big, and altogether too empty. ]

I... [ shifting a touch uncomfortably in his seat. ] I'm piss-poor company to be around though. My apologies for that.

Edited 2016-07-04 14:36 (UTC)

[ Her lips quirk at that. She's relaxing ever so minutely now. ]

I'm rather accustomed to stiff sorts, Commander, especially when they have not had a very good day.

[ She is allowed some humor in an attempt to lighten the mood, she hopes?

But, really. You don't have to apologize. What she's admittedly more concerned about is that at the end of it all, her presence and her attempts at keeping you together without really being so direct about it are welcome. ]

[ Excuse him as he chokes a little on his coffee.

Hold up. He'll reach for a glass of water first to clear his windpipe. ]

I don't suppose that was a dig at anyone we both happen to know?

[ Okay, so maybe he's a little curious over who exactly you're drawing comparisons with. ]

No. Just a result of living rather long and not deviating far from one's calling in the Vigil.

[ Although, well... there are a number of people she could think of that you both know.

Another time, perhaps. Given that you're not so stiff around her and she's finally starting to ease up, she'd like to not risk stepping on a land mine. ]

Truly, though, it's no trouble.

[ He folds his hands around his cup and cants his head with a small -- if grateful -- smile.

You're not so bad yourself, he thinks. But he'll elect to just sip from his drink and feel the warmth and the bite of that booze go down.

His gaze wanders back towards the window. The sun should be up in another hour or so. ]

The waiting's the part that I hate the most.

[ He takes a breath, looks down. ] It's always the same, no matter the war.

That's the tragedy of it, isn't it. The reasons change, but the dance itself is almost always the same.

[ She won't insult your intelligence by assuming that you don't understand. She might be far older than you, but the experiences you have had surpass the stases of many functional immortals that she's become acquainted with.

Taking another sip, and smoothing her fingers along the rim of her cup before reaching over. She'd like an extra shot in her coffee now. ]

We had enough time to prepare. [ A beat. ] Things will work out somehow.

[ "We", because you had your pieces and she had yours. Because you know, as well as she does, that Alistair's reach goes far. Because maybe she needs to say it in order to believe it, and maybe you need to hear it too. ]

[ You reach for the bottle and he nudges it a little towards you, even as he's lifting his cup to his lips.

The only acknowledgement he has to your statement comes in the faint twitch of his brow and the brief nod of his head as he takes a long draught from his mug.

He never says it to anyone, but Alistair's reach has always left him with a healthy amount of fear and perhaps the word is concern. It doesn't in any way interfere with the trust he has in his man and the belief he holds in the Mordechai brother's vision -- but a healthy amount of respect for his betters has always done a body good. ]

[ Noting that down. She does not say anything until after she finishes boozing up her coffee. ]

Was he the one who pushed you? To become a King, I mean.

[ She's been under the impression that the title chafes at you. ~~She knows the feeling.~~ ]

[ This is him freezing -- much to his internal chagrin -- in the middle of a second sip from that cup when you ask the question.

Setting the mug down now. Offering a quiet nod. ]

We had a-- [ here is a telling pause as he tries to draw up the right word for it ] --conversation on the subject.

[ Here's the sight of him slouching some; a breath expelled thinly between his lips as he looks down at his drink.

It doesn't rest easy on his shoulders, this whole 'King' business. He's been a soldier all his life, from a family who has served since the first World War. He has been a captain of a squad and making hard calls is not something new to him. But to have people look to him -- to view him as something more than another soldier right alongside the rest of them? That's something he never wanted for himself. ]

A conversation suited to his timing, no doubt, and on his terms.

[ Perhaps she is overstepping again, but it will be hard for her to regret saying it. The Seer is not an easy man, and from what Lia can tell? He's only gotten more intense since his rebirth.

(She used to call him out on those moments when it seemed like he had forgotten that he was not moving pieces into place, but people. She is not sure whether she's allowed to do that again.

All she wants at this point is that he'll come out of this mess alive.) ]

Oh, yeah. [ That's not so much spoken out loud but whispered--

--followed by a huff of breath and this one reaching for that bottle again.

( Dammit, Alistair. )

Time for a refill. Hold that thought, Miss Delacroix, while he downs the shot he added to the remains of his coffee.

Okay. There. ]

He better get his damn ass out of this alright because I have words for him.

[ Did his voice break a little? Maybe. In any case, there's a wry, raw kind of quality to this one's voice -- and he's not hiding it from you. ]

[ And the smile she's sending you at that moment is small and brittle at the edges. Vulnerability, from the unflappable, ruthless Lady Swallowtail. ]

I will make sure that you are first in line.

[ She has little doubt that there's a queue for that sort of thing. ]

[ And if he ends up watching you a little longer than he normally does, it's honestly because he's realizing that he's never seen that look on your face before. Not ever.

Looking away now and clearing his throat, before he's tipping the bottle over your cup. ]

Refill?

[ Today warrants it and all. ]

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waking the dead 1.0r :: the ides approach :: look out at the darkness

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