Exactly how long are you planning to sit there, Altway? Are you waiting for a chance to unleash a mudslide or some other nonsense?
[he sure got plenty of time to get lost in the void of his thoughts, what with it taking some time for her to be home and passing by that particular window to get a glimpse of him. she'd been checking the sky for signs of rain, not for chance sightings of him! he haunted her enough, gods dammit!
...admittedly, the first glance she just assumed it was her imagination; it wouldn't be the first time her imagination had played tricks of this sort on her. but that was usually after a particularly gripping fiction, not a long day of work and vetting strangers. it's unsettling, considering neither Molly nor Adam warned her of his approach. so, of course he wasn't really there!
except he was the third and fourth times she checked. with a growing weight in her chest, she realized she wasn't kidding herself, and went out to check.
and that's where she is now, standing several feet away with her umbrella, clutching a shawl to herself and glaring at him warily, unsure of what to make of this.
he COULD still be just an apparition, after all...]
[she doesn't respond right away, having to very quickly keep from visibly showing how spooked this sort of response is to her. already, her pulse has quickened and her hands gone cold, but by the gods if she dares to bat even an eyelash in alarm she'll be done for.
so she doesn't! instead setting her expression as stonily as she can, even as the grip on her umbrella tightens while she considers the question -- and the state of him.]
There are many reasons and times for such a thing. The world...doesn't always need or want what a person can fully be at any given time.
[a long beat.]
You didn't find your answers in this realm, I wager.
[His voice hardly carries over the intensifying rain, but with her hearing, there's no doubt she heard it. His voice is...subdued. Alarmingly quiet. Like he's on the precipice of something but can't break through.]
[For a few minutes, there's nothing but the sound of the rain; the low rumble of distant thunder rolling over Appalachia.]
I'm...I can't shake this feeling that something's wrong. That I'm missing something. It's like there's a fog at my peripheries. And I always hated tunnel-vision. Especially when there's so much to see in the world.
[again, she doesn't answer right away, trying to quickly process his words, the state of him, and the dozen-plus hypotheses she can whip up in a whirl to try and explain it. most of them are nonsense.
[There's a moment where he shoots her a look over his shoulder, clearly bristling with defiance. Like striking a flint, there's a spark there, something warm and familiar...]
[But it fades and his green eyes seem muted in comparison, like the leaves at the turn of autumn.]
[So, begrudgingly, he stands and trudges inside, his robes and clothes soaked through, hanging with a weight that seems to bow his shoulders.]
[she was just as primed and ready to clap back about how dare he assume her heartless enough to leave him like that or shoo him away -- honestly, a little too primed? she's conditioned to be combative and defensive.
so she winces a little and hastens her steps to get well ahead of him inside, to stow her umbrella away and start a lengthy walk down the hall of wall-to-ceiling windows before veering into a sitting room of no small scale. honestly, the interior of this place dwarfs its outside; magic shenanigans do that.]
Here. [she gestures near the hearth -- she'll light it when she actually passes it.] Sit. I'll be back shortly.
[maybe too shortly? she moves briskly; any slower and she'll catch up with reason and question her actions.
[For a moment, he's caught off guard. He would have never pegged this place to be so spacious, and he'd never known magic that could warp space. So, for a moment, he awkwardly standing in the foyer, dripping all over the place. He'd never been allowed inside here before and a great discomfort overtook him.]
[He should leave.]
[But before he could turn to go, she was already gesturing for him to sit. To get comfortable. And when he feels the heat of the fire on his face, the chill seeping in is unmistakable. So he does as instructed.]
[When Cecelia returns, she'll find that he's stripped his robes and boots off, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire. At least he's staying in his pants. He's currently rubbing his neck and shoulder, rolling his arm and stretching the chill out of his muscles, letting the heat seep in, his jagged scar almost weirdly bisecting his torso. He's too intent on the fire to notice when she returns.]
[it looks the same as before, doesn't it? in the other world...she's fairly certain. not that she can really speak to ogling the man that intently in her youth, just! that it's something so distinct as to not forget.
they're alike because Darin is still Darin. it's something that is both profound and painful, and she suspects any ache in her heart is barely a grain worth anything in comparison to his own share of troubles.
after all, he can smirk and snark and tease all he wants: she knows him. of him here, anyway; trying to keep the line from blurring between what she knew before and what is now is hard.
especially right now.
trees and bees is he ACTUALLY NUDE ON HER FLOOR AN--oh. alright. no. just the top.
gods.
she unceremoniously plops a towel on his head. it's for everyone's sake.]
[He reaches up with both hands and scrubs at his hair with the towel, attempting to leech the water out of his thick hair. When he's done, he lets the towel fall around his shoulders, the usual lift that his spiky hair has temporarily dampened. He almost looks like a normal person the way the blue hair droops and frames his head.]
I want impose long. Once the rain stops...I'll be on my way.
[while he's doing that, she's folding another towel on the floor beside him before folding her skirts to sit down on it. she fusses with the fabric for a bit -- it's a convenient outlet for anxious energy -- before forcing herself to fold her hands in her lap and actually look up and examine the state of him.
and feel strangely aggrieved all over again.]
What was it that cast you into the fog so suddenly? If it was sudden at all. Or were you just wandering blindly until you couldn't stand it?
[Cecelia's hands grip tighter as she quells a hot surge of fearful anger. she likes to imagine much more fanciful feats of his sort of wizardry, but the truth is his work is invisible, and that makes it more insidious to her.
carefully:] Can you still feel his hand? Even this far away?
[flatly, with a note of derision:] I very much wonder about that.
[she huffs through her nose, closing her eyes; it's easier to keep from running her mouth if she's not looking at him.
even so, she lifts her chin haughtily:] I wouldn't discredit one's instincts or conscience so quickly simply because someone has done you a favor or three, but that's hardly my business, now is it?
[Frustration tears at his senses and he begins running a hand through his damp and disheveled hair; a move she might remember from long ago. Whenever he was anxious or unsure, his hand always found its way to combing through those blue locks.]
...Ce...
Lady Ardenbury...
...I...feel as though I owe you an apology.
[He struggles with the words. Not because they're painful to say or there's no truth to them. It's because natures are conflicting inside of him. He's losing a sense of self. That fire is trying to flare up but the air keeps being sucked away.]
I've caused you no end of trouble and here you are...giving me shelter. I'm...I'm sorry for always interfering in the privacy of your Vale...
Are you apologizing for yourself or the man who orders you here?
[there's a bitter bite to her words, quiet though they are. apologizing for himself...or his master...does it even matter to him which one it is? gods, this is infuriating; she'd love to torch the Skywalker would it do much good, but...dominoes. she can't. she's learned.
such stakes care not for the things she cares most for, after all.]
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[he sure got plenty of time to get lost in the void of his thoughts, what with it taking some time for her to be home and passing by that particular window to get a glimpse of him. she'd been checking the sky for signs of rain, not for chance sightings of him! he haunted her enough, gods dammit!
...admittedly, the first glance she just assumed it was her imagination; it wouldn't be the first time her imagination had played tricks of this sort on her. but that was usually after a particularly gripping fiction, not a long day of work and vetting strangers. it's unsettling, considering neither Molly nor Adam warned her of his approach. so, of course he wasn't really there!
except he was the third and fourth times she checked. with a growing weight in her chest, she realized she wasn't kidding herself, and went out to check.
and that's where she is now, standing several feet away with her umbrella, clutching a shawl to herself and glaring at him warily, unsure of what to make of this.
he COULD still be just an apparition, after all...]
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[And when he does respond...it really doesn't answer a question. He poses a question of his own.]
...Have you ever felt like...
... ... ...
Have you ever felt like you were 'bottled up?' Like part of you was in some sort of corked up container and you can't explain why?
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so she doesn't! instead setting her expression as stonily as she can, even as the grip on her umbrella tightens while she considers the question -- and the state of him.]
There are many reasons and times for such a thing. The world...doesn't always need or want what a person can fully be at any given time.
[a long beat.]
You didn't find your answers in this realm, I wager.
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[His voice hardly carries over the intensifying rain, but with her hearing, there's no doubt she heard it. His voice is...subdued. Alarmingly quiet. Like he's on the precipice of something but can't break through.]
[For a few minutes, there's nothing but the sound of the rain; the low rumble of distant thunder rolling over Appalachia.]
I'm...I can't shake this feeling that something's wrong. That I'm missing something. It's like there's a fog at my peripheries. And I always hated tunnel-vision. Especially when there's so much to see in the world.
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not all of them, though.]
...And?
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So I needed to come to a place I felt familiar with.
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[familiar how? why? she can't honestly believe there's true sentiment for her in this; he said place, after all.
she sighs, turning around.
with a gesture:] Come along, then. You may as well dry off.
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I'm not so out of it that I don't realize that my presence here is often an imposition.
...I appreciate the offer but...I'm fine here.
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Get up.
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[But it fades and his green eyes seem muted in comparison, like the leaves at the turn of autumn.]
[So, begrudgingly, he stands and trudges inside, his robes and clothes soaked through, hanging with a weight that seems to bow his shoulders.]
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so she winces a little and hastens her steps to get well ahead of him inside, to stow her umbrella away and start a lengthy walk down the hall of wall-to-ceiling windows before veering into a sitting room of no small scale. honestly, the interior of this place dwarfs its outside; magic shenanigans do that.]
Here. [she gestures near the hearth -- she'll light it when she actually passes it.] Sit. I'll be back shortly.
[maybe too shortly? she moves briskly; any slower and she'll catch up with reason and question her actions.
for now, though, she's off to fetch towels.]
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[He should leave.]
[But before he could turn to go, she was already gesturing for him to sit. To get comfortable. And when he feels the heat of the fire on his face, the chill seeping in is unmistakable. So he does as instructed.]
[When Cecelia returns, she'll find that he's stripped his robes and boots off, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire. At least he's staying in his pants. He's currently rubbing his neck and shoulder, rolling his arm and stretching the chill out of his muscles, letting the heat seep in, his jagged scar almost weirdly bisecting his torso. He's too intent on the fire to notice when she returns.]
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they're alike because Darin is still Darin. it's something that is both profound and painful, and she suspects any ache in her heart is barely a grain worth anything in comparison to his own share of troubles.
after all, he can smirk and snark and tease all he wants: she knows him. of him here, anyway; trying to keep the line from blurring between what she knew before and what is now is hard.
especially right now.
trees and bees is he ACTUALLY NUDE ON HER FLOOR AN--oh. alright. no. just the top.
gods.
she unceremoniously plops a towel on his head. it's for everyone's sake.]
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[He reaches up with both hands and scrubs at his hair with the towel, attempting to leech the water out of his thick hair. When he's done, he lets the towel fall around his shoulders, the usual lift that his spiky hair has temporarily dampened. He almost looks like a normal person the way the blue hair droops and frames his head.]
I want impose long. Once the rain stops...I'll be on my way.
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[while he's doing that, she's folding another towel on the floor beside him before folding her skirts to sit down on it. she fusses with the fabric for a bit -- it's a convenient outlet for anxious energy -- before forcing herself to fold her hands in her lap and actually look up and examine the state of him.
and feel strangely aggrieved all over again.]
What was it that cast you into the fog so suddenly? If it was sudden at all. Or were you just wandering blindly until you couldn't stand it?
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... ... ...
I was reprimanded for doing my job. He...used his abilities. Knocked me to the floor so that I was forced to kneel.
[Even recounting it seemed to pain him. Like bile rising in his throat, like trying to choke out water filling the lungs.]
I felt...angry. Like I wanted to...to...
[He drags a hand over his face, the haze setting in again. He needed to recalibrate.]
I felt this defiant surge but it ended so...abruptly. I don't know what came over me. I don't know what's wrong with me.
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carefully:] Can you still feel his hand? Even this far away?
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...I've never stood in defiance of Lord Sywalker before. The man's done so much for me and...and I know that what I'm doing is good...
[He wants to believe it's good. He needs to. If he doesn't, he'll unmake himself in an instant.]
I'm...just doing my best. If I failed Master Skywalker in any way, I deserved being put down the way I was.
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[she huffs through her nose, closing her eyes; it's easier to keep from running her mouth if she's not looking at him.
even so, she lifts her chin haughtily:] I wouldn't discredit one's instincts or conscience so quickly simply because someone has done you a favor or three, but that's hardly my business, now is it?
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...Ce...
Lady Ardenbury...
...I...feel as though I owe you an apology.
[He struggles with the words. Not because they're painful to say or there's no truth to them. It's because natures are conflicting inside of him. He's losing a sense of self. That fire is trying to flare up but the air keeps being sucked away.]
I've caused you no end of trouble and here you are...giving me shelter. I'm...I'm sorry for always interfering in the privacy of your Vale...
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[there's a bitter bite to her words, quiet though they are. apologizing for himself...or his master...does it even matter to him which one it is? gods, this is infuriating; she'd love to torch the Skywalker would it do much good, but...dominoes. she can't. she's learned.
such stakes care not for the things she cares most for, after all.]
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I know I'm disruptive but...I actually have a little fun here. And as safe as the Empire has been made to be, it's sorely lacking in fun.
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a dry-sounding hmph.] So which part are you apologizing for, then?
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[her mouth tugs slightly, briefly. some things don't change.]
It's been heard, then. Perhaps that's some solace for you, since you've other things to be concerned with.
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