[Closed] Jus' a Prelude
Posted: Mon Jun 18, 2018 12:15 pm
20th Bethas, 2718
Late Afternoon | On the Arova River near Surwood Isle
Late Afternoon | On the Arova River near Surwood Isle
The dark-haired passive smiled into the lovely witch's hair once he'd pulled her away and her arms wrapped around him,
"Oes, y' ent used t' bein' in th' open at a real caoja anymore. I chen. Th' Queen weren't nothin' but a sad imitation. S'fine. These tekaa don't know where you've come from, so they don't mean any harm." Aware she'd perhaps had more to drink than himself, Tristaan knew that chan had its own strange effects, especially in a crowd. He chuckled at her question, "We're no' under Teira's watch, Sarinah. You're a free rosh an' can go where y' want now. Remember?"
He tangled their fingers together and tugged her away from the bonfire and the music and the dancing crowd. If he gave Teira or Farhid a smile without the lovely witch noticing, well, it was just to let them know things were fine. The passive supported the inebriated witch and offered her the same soft smile when she apologized for feeling strange in the middle of a party organized for no other reason other than to have a good time.
There was no structure here, just pure enjoyment, a sense of celebration that wasn't present in a brothel nor most of the Harbor for that matter.
"Oes. Hawke's business be stealin', macha. No' jus' ging, neither. Lives, too." He breathed quietly despite her grin, aware of how many lives had been stolen in front of him before his own was spared for whatever nefarious price he found himself indebted to. Sarinah slipped away from him to step closer to the river bank and his grey eyes watched her warmly, shaking his head at her words,
"Ne. Talk all y' like. It's fair with me." Tristaan grinned at her then, watching the ripples her feet made in the water while he hovered somewhat aloof by the shore, having spent enough time in the chilled waters with bochi just a little while earlier. Her question caught him a little off-guard, it was true, but the chan had blurred his thoughts and removed much of the filter that her very presence already seemed so capable of doing,
"A fami 'f m' own? Oes, I've thought 'bout such things ... who doesn't? But, it's illegal for me, Sarinah, as a passive—all 'f it: marriage an' children. Should I get caught—"
His grey eyes looked past the lovely witch and he stopped his words abruptly, hesitating, aware that he lived a life outside of galdori purview on purpose, that ever since he'd fled the Soot District of Vienda, he was more a wick—a parse—than the scrawny, magic-less son of a galdor he'd been born as. He sighed, calloused palm running over his stubbled face before curling fingers into his dark hair, "No' that it matters, I s'pose. I ent in Brunnhold. I ent under th' thumbs o' gollies here as tekaa. But—"
There was always a but.
As a scrap, as galdori garbage, as factory trash, Tristaan couldn't see his worth to anyone in the long term, let alone as a father or a husband. He was dangerous, he was rejected, and no matter how accepted he'd been into the Crow, he couldn't quite feel like one of them. He knew how his people, how the galdori who'd once called him a son, felt about wicks, felt about half-breeds, felt about passives. How could he bring children into a world that hated them? How could he attempt to provide for a family when he was either hunted by Hawke or at risk of arrest for being a free passive?
He sighed, leaving the space between them awkward and empty for a moment too long, not ignorant of the reasons for her questions, not ignorant of the way her company made him feel in the more unspoken depths of his scarred chest. Her words revealed she felt the same, or similar, that their friendship didn't feel so coincidental and their shared experiences had brought them closer than expected in a short period of time, a traumatic period of time,
"It ent a trivial thought, it's jus' a hard place—th' Harbor an' th' Kingdom in general." Tristaan willed his hesitant self to step closer, feeling a mixture of things twist his insides and dig at sore places inside his mind. His smile was different but genuine, and he met the rich darkness of her brown eyes with an almost tangible fear. Had he possessed a field, surely, it would be heavier, but he didn't and so his emotions could only be read in his expression and in the waver of his voice, "I ent made t' sit still, but that don't mean I ent able t' settle down."
He grinned at her laughter, but it was an awkward, shy expression as if he recognized who her words were meant to be directed toward—himself. Did she know, too? Or was she really just making conversation for conversation's sake?
"I'm afraid—'f who I am an' what I know I can do. I've always told m'self that there's ent gonna be anyone who could see all o' me—m' diablerie, m' bein' a passive an' no' a wick, an' m' bein' jus ... a broken thing, really, scrap—an' really want t' take that risk in a Kingdom that doesn't want me, either. So, oes, I've thought 'bout fami, but that's 'bout 's far 's I've gotten. I'm afraid 'bout th' rest."
It was Tristaan's turn to laugh, almost coyly, looking down at their hands together and stepping closer so that more of their bodies touched, biting his lip for a moment while he did his best not to hold her mahogany depths for too long lest he disappear in them, and he all but whispered his last collection of words, free hand brushing her lovely face, lingering with a warm palm,
"It'd be nice, though. Don't get me wrong. I'm jus' afraid, t' be a bit more honest than I'm usually with folks. Must be th' clockin' chan." He almost giggled, but it was perhaps just to hesitate, just to keep himself from kissing her instead, so many feelings pressing against his tongue with his quiet words, "You're th' first t' know all m' secrets an' stick around, Sarinah."
"Oes, y' ent used t' bein' in th' open at a real caoja anymore. I chen. Th' Queen weren't nothin' but a sad imitation. S'fine. These tekaa don't know where you've come from, so they don't mean any harm." Aware she'd perhaps had more to drink than himself, Tristaan knew that chan had its own strange effects, especially in a crowd. He chuckled at her question, "We're no' under Teira's watch, Sarinah. You're a free rosh an' can go where y' want now. Remember?"
He tangled their fingers together and tugged her away from the bonfire and the music and the dancing crowd. If he gave Teira or Farhid a smile without the lovely witch noticing, well, it was just to let them know things were fine. The passive supported the inebriated witch and offered her the same soft smile when she apologized for feeling strange in the middle of a party organized for no other reason other than to have a good time.
There was no structure here, just pure enjoyment, a sense of celebration that wasn't present in a brothel nor most of the Harbor for that matter.
"Oes. Hawke's business be stealin', macha. No' jus' ging, neither. Lives, too." He breathed quietly despite her grin, aware of how many lives had been stolen in front of him before his own was spared for whatever nefarious price he found himself indebted to. Sarinah slipped away from him to step closer to the river bank and his grey eyes watched her warmly, shaking his head at her words,
"Ne. Talk all y' like. It's fair with me." Tristaan grinned at her then, watching the ripples her feet made in the water while he hovered somewhat aloof by the shore, having spent enough time in the chilled waters with bochi just a little while earlier. Her question caught him a little off-guard, it was true, but the chan had blurred his thoughts and removed much of the filter that her very presence already seemed so capable of doing,
"A fami 'f m' own? Oes, I've thought 'bout such things ... who doesn't? But, it's illegal for me, Sarinah, as a passive—all 'f it: marriage an' children. Should I get caught—"
His grey eyes looked past the lovely witch and he stopped his words abruptly, hesitating, aware that he lived a life outside of galdori purview on purpose, that ever since he'd fled the Soot District of Vienda, he was more a wick—a parse—than the scrawny, magic-less son of a galdor he'd been born as. He sighed, calloused palm running over his stubbled face before curling fingers into his dark hair, "No' that it matters, I s'pose. I ent in Brunnhold. I ent under th' thumbs o' gollies here as tekaa. But—"
There was always a but.
As a scrap, as galdori garbage, as factory trash, Tristaan couldn't see his worth to anyone in the long term, let alone as a father or a husband. He was dangerous, he was rejected, and no matter how accepted he'd been into the Crow, he couldn't quite feel like one of them. He knew how his people, how the galdori who'd once called him a son, felt about wicks, felt about half-breeds, felt about passives. How could he bring children into a world that hated them? How could he attempt to provide for a family when he was either hunted by Hawke or at risk of arrest for being a free passive?
He sighed, leaving the space between them awkward and empty for a moment too long, not ignorant of the reasons for her questions, not ignorant of the way her company made him feel in the more unspoken depths of his scarred chest. Her words revealed she felt the same, or similar, that their friendship didn't feel so coincidental and their shared experiences had brought them closer than expected in a short period of time, a traumatic period of time,
"It ent a trivial thought, it's jus' a hard place—th' Harbor an' th' Kingdom in general." Tristaan willed his hesitant self to step closer, feeling a mixture of things twist his insides and dig at sore places inside his mind. His smile was different but genuine, and he met the rich darkness of her brown eyes with an almost tangible fear. Had he possessed a field, surely, it would be heavier, but he didn't and so his emotions could only be read in his expression and in the waver of his voice, "I ent made t' sit still, but that don't mean I ent able t' settle down."
He grinned at her laughter, but it was an awkward, shy expression as if he recognized who her words were meant to be directed toward—himself. Did she know, too? Or was she really just making conversation for conversation's sake?
"I'm afraid—'f who I am an' what I know I can do. I've always told m'self that there's ent gonna be anyone who could see all o' me—m' diablerie, m' bein' a passive an' no' a wick, an' m' bein' jus ... a broken thing, really, scrap—an' really want t' take that risk in a Kingdom that doesn't want me, either. So, oes, I've thought 'bout fami, but that's 'bout 's far 's I've gotten. I'm afraid 'bout th' rest."
It was Tristaan's turn to laugh, almost coyly, looking down at their hands together and stepping closer so that more of their bodies touched, biting his lip for a moment while he did his best not to hold her mahogany depths for too long lest he disappear in them, and he all but whispered his last collection of words, free hand brushing her lovely face, lingering with a warm palm,
"It'd be nice, though. Don't get me wrong. I'm jus' afraid, t' be a bit more honest than I'm usually with folks. Must be th' clockin' chan." He almost giggled, but it was perhaps just to hesitate, just to keep himself from kissing her instead, so many feelings pressing against his tongue with his quiet words, "You're th' first t' know all m' secrets an' stick around, Sarinah."
Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
— Passive Proverb
to doors we were not meant to open.
— Passive Proverb