apassingafternoon | Don't Leave Home

Don't Leave Home

The day before Claude had shown up at the doorstep Nariko had been something of a mess. It was true that she had always been a mess, had been since her grandmother died, since the feeling of being abandoned had begun to eat away at her in a manner that Kaine couldn't do anything about. After all, Nariko didn't feel abandoned by her best friend, and Nariko wasn't here to confirm what was happening. In a sense Kaine didn't need it. They'd had an extra day, she had the morning with Bert to let him sleep in a little while before people came looking for him and he needed to be woken up. She took her place just behind, beside him, and tried to do her best.

But that feeling of being a mess, of something bad coming this way had been unbearable. It had forced her to make sure that Yonah was fed, all of her things were gathered up into one big bag and ... She found somewhere to hide her. It was off in lower town with Eunyce, Kaine had argued with her often but in this they seemed to be of the same mind. If something terrible happened Eunyce would take the baby back and run to Arcadia, if everything panned out Eunyce would come back with Yonah and they would figure out some way to move forward. Of course the younger cousin hadn't enjoyed the idea of leaving her family alone on the battlefield, especially with her skills, Eunyce had agreed. Though Kaine didn't feel right saying it out loud they both knew that baby was important to the one person they had in common. She was worth protecting above all else.

As the beating started up Kaine found herself relieved that soon Eunyce would be gone with baby Yonah who, despite how much she tried to avoid it, instantly reminded her of Nariko.

Kaine didn't know these people, didn't know Farson, the history, the need to fight this until the last instant.

She knew she wanted to live above everything else, and that she needed to find Bert.

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"I can see you've never tried to make Cuthbert rest when he doesn't want to," Alain said, with a tired smile. He looked exhausted, pale and wan, dark circles under his eyes. "As for me, I'll speak you honest, sai Johnson: I'd sooner not sleep, and if I stay still too long in this state, then sleep I will."

And sleep, he thought, would bring bitter dreams with it. He was sensitive, more than most, to the bonds of ka-tet, and losing Jamie had felt like having his heartstrings broken. It still ached, that dull emptiness where Jamie's life should have been. He didn't want to dream, not now.

"Then do not sleep, but stay in bed." Which he obviously wouldn't do, judging by the weapons he put around his hips. "You talk about Cuthbert as if he is the only stubborn one of your pair." She noted this dully, and looked down at him with muted hazel eyes that were both knowing and mildly exasperated. "There are things that can keep you awake, or things that keep you from dreaming, the body needs what it needs for a reason."

Her eyes slipped over to the book, which seemed intent on keeping itself near Alain like a protective companion. "... Magic like that will wear out the soul if you don't mind it properly."

Alain nodded slowly, looking down at the book. "Most magics will, from what I've heard," he said at last, tracing one fingertip over the book's spine. "I kennit, but I thankee for the caution. I'm more frightened of it wearing out my conscience."

Because it had been... exhilarating, when he thought of it. Knowing that he had that kind of power. It made it a great deal easier to see how people like Marten or Rhea came to be as they were, and that frightened him. He'd rather it killed him than led him down that path.

Sighing, he set the book aside, settling back on the bed. "As for stubborn, it's a hard habit to break, and one we've all fallen into of late. But again, thankee."

She smiled and it was quiet, near secretive. He must have come from a simple land if he thought magic so easily organized. Since that could easily become a long and very spirited discussion Trish kept her lips shut and was grateful that he didn't look ready to jump out the door into the unknown.

"If you'd know something, I'll answer what I can." In the meantime she knelt to the ground and lifted one of the floorboards that, for her people, counted as storage. From it came two sizable mugs, and a jug of water.

"I suspect I have more questions than you have time in the day," Alain responded with a little smile, and then fell silent, thinking. That pause also gave him time to push down the tears still threatening to well up, and to pull himself together. But it was hard to think through his pounding headache and dry throat - he felt, in all honesty, as if he had the worst hangover of his life. Even with what he'd said, there was more than a little temptation to crawl back under the covers, bury his head in the pillows, and sleep until it all went away.

Instead, he settled for taking one of the mugs and trying to moisten his throat a little. He felt better for it, and, after a moment, said, "I guess I ought to start with the most important. We're looking for our friend, and his wife. Have you seen them, or heard word of them?" Another sip of water. "I don't doubt you'd know them. Roland is tall and thin, with blue eyes you'd not forget in a hurry, and Nariko small and dark, very beautiful, very sharp. Both would be carrying guns, and maybe injured."

While the young woman had no way of knowing what Alain felt or went through she was more than willing to offer him all the water and food she had. The latter of which she bent to retrieve after setting the tray off on the bedside table since it was now free of weapons and dangerous books. Up came another tray of wrapped, square pastries that looked like an awkward cross between a biscuit and a chocolate chip cookie.

As he gave those descriptions she paused in mid-lift. "Ah, the rowdy woman, yes, I know of her." Trish's expression once again relayed disapproval, but she answered him clearly. "I'd also say your measurement of beauty is a tad odd, but each man has their tastes." Alright, now she would get on with it. "I can't report that I've seen her myself but Aelious did mention her when he visited this morning. Tinsley Addams also remarked upon seeing a strange man two days ago, but whether it was your Roland? You would have to ask him yourself." Finally she stood and unwrapped the treats for them both. "But it isn't very often we see new comers outside of Arpagio itself so there's a high chance of it."

"Thankee-sai." Both for the food and water, and for the information. He felt his heavy heart lift a fraction. He hadn't really thought Roland was dead - he felt sure he would have felt that, even with worlds between them - but it was still a relief to know that Nariko, at least, was here and, if not alive, then at least a reasonable facsimile of it. That was good. Roland had lost too much already, he ought to have at least that much joy.

He considered his next question just as carefully as the first, swilling water around his mouth to try and clear out the acid, dry taste left there, and took the pastry from her with a smile and another "thankee-sai." He wasn't hungry, or at least his hunger was buried under pain and nausea, but he nibbled at the pastry anyway, as much to fill his mouth with another taste as anything else.

"You called Kaine a halfling, earlier. What does that mean, exactly?"

Trish replaced the boards for good and placed herself back into her chair, and though his question entirely fair it did rid her expression of any immediate positivity.

"This world is probably very different from yours, it's a graveyard of sorts, for one thing. We constantly see fractions of other places arrive, whether those fractions are people, locations, animals, or new trade doesn't matter. Nothing ever remains steady here for very long. So we have many natives but just as many foreigners, so to say. None of us really mind them, of course. And none of us really know what brought the Spectres, either, or what began to change people into them. Some will tell you a very long and involved legend, and many more will tell you that your Nariko and that woman fought that Shadowlord and her concubine themselves, that much is true because we all saw it."

"But no matter what good dead that girl tries to do she's still half a Spectre. It shouldn't be possible but there she is, looks perfectly normal but at the drop of a hat she gains unbelievable strength and if angered enough turns into an unstoppable behemoth. Since she was vey young she could always see who would die and who would become a Spectre." Trish shook her head as if clearing out the doubt in her heart. "I know all of this because she and I were from the same town. Aerie, which Kaine destroyed when she got out of hand. She is something that should not exist and that most everyone here would rather," What was a nice word for it? "Avoid."

"Not so long ago, we met the man you call concubine," Alain said thoughtfully. "He summoned those things into our world, and before he died and they faded, they tore apart walls that had stood a thousand years and slew men who had faced demons and ghosts. We have learnt to fear them, never doubt that. Yet I do not fear her." He put his pastry to one side in favour of another mouthful of water, and leant in a little way, meeting her eyes. "I have met monsters, sai Johnson. I have met things that should not exist. And though I've seen what she can become, I stand by it; sai Kaine is not such a creature." He shrugged, just slightly, and closed his eyes. The light was making his head ache all the worse. "Until the very last, until it overtook her, she fought for us. If any of Gilead's folken survive, it will be down to her. I'm not blind to the poison she carries in her, but I do wonder if you may be blind to her humanity."

Even with just one glow light to cover the entirety of her humble abode Trish's dark color was very easily seen on olive toned skin.

"If she's done you good then I can hardly flaunt you for your ideas but I watched her decimate whole families in rage. There are whole native lineages wiped off this land because of her. I've the decency to be scared of something that shows such outright hate to anyone that crosses her, if she has humanity than I have never witnessed it."

Alain considered this for a moment, then shrugged, setting his mug aside. "I'm sorry for your loss. And I won't pry further," he assured her, then added quietly, "but I'd advise against saying such things to Bert." This whole situation was enough of a mess, without him having to break up a fight. And, while he was a good man in many ways, Cuthbert didn't have a fraction of Alain's patience.

And it was patience, not trust. The hairs on the back of Alain's neck were prickling; he didn't think Trish was about to attack either him or Bert, but he didn't think she could be trusted, either. He didn't need the Touch to tell him that.

"You seem to know a lot about magics," he said eventually, and gestured to the book in his lap by way of illustration - she'd talked about it sapping his soul with a great air of knowledge. "Are such things common here?"

Edited 2015-03-01 05:48 (UTC)

"Here, yes, everywhere else? It varies. We live in nature, and all magic comes from nature in one form another. Human emotion and intent, or the living things around us." As such to Trish and most everyone in Mystic magic was not an inherently terrible thing but people could be bad and so their magic would be, too.

"If all else fail we, in this town, are very good at assessing unnatural things such as that book, not that said items are particularly commonplace by any means. Even Wrathion doesn't turn up a rarity such as thought." She stared at it long and hard, and then added slowly, "It does seem quite fond of you, Alain-sir. You might not ever be entirely rid of it, or the person who it is originally meant for."

Alain gave this due consideration, looking down at the book. On one level, it made his skin crawl. He wasn't a wizard, but a gunslinger; magic wasn't what he was built for. And yet it had saved them, probably saved Roland and Nariko too for that matter. Could Prim-magic be turned to the White? Was this of the Prim at all? It was all a tangled knot of riddles.

Alain Johns had always had a flair for riddles.

Turning his face back up to Trish, he gave her a rather thin little smile. "Then at least it's more loyal than some magic I've known," he said eventually, and put the book aside again. "I guess I've got some reading to do."

She misunderstood his smile entirely and smiled right back, the brightness in it was disproportionate to the situation they were in. "Suppose you do! But, if anything, it might help to do so with a clearer mind and a rested body. Less likely to end up in another world that way. Head magic is finicky that way."

After taking another second to make herself some tea, heating her cup of water with the same magic she cautioned Alain against.

"Do you two aim to go home?"

Again, he was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he was looking down at his hands, a fine crease deepening between his eyebrows. "We won't know until we find Roland. Where he goes, we'll follow." Then, looking up, "But not home, no. There's no home left for us. Only ruins and an army of the Crimson."

He surprised himself with how matter-of-fact he made it sound. The grief was still there, raw and hollow, but somewhere between his heart and his tongue, it stilled into cold calm. Maybe it was because he didn't trust her, certainly not enough to bare his soul. Or maybe it was just too great a loss to be spoken without that distance.

No, they wouldn't go home. But he thought they might end up heading back to their world, once they had found Roland. The Tower was still calling, and that call had been held back too long by responsibility. Now that was gone. The quest would start again, the wheels of destiny go back to turning.

That wasn't exactly a comfortable thought, but at least it was a solid one.

It was a very sad thing to hear, especially when Trish had always possessed a home in some form or another. Whether it was his caution or the enormity of what had occurred it was probably for the best that they didn't speak too thoroughly on the subject. She wouldn't be able to understand, not the way Alain needed to.

"Well, I can't say I blame you with something like an 'army of Crimson' waiting." It wasn't said lightly. It felt, to her, as if a terrible weight came with that one word and that was always a feeling worth noting. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like Alain-sir, you're as foreign to this world as it is to you, but many work out a relationship rather quickly."

As with almost everything Trish had said there was almost an ulterior motive hiding in the comment, covered only by a thinly demure smile.

"I'm afraid we've no plan to stay, sai," Alain replied politely, shaking his head. "Roland will be looking for his own way home. We ought to find him before then, or this whole journey will have been for naught. And after that, well." He half smiled, rather sadly. "The road awaits. Though if you'd lend us food and water for the journey, we'd be more than grateful. I have coin, though I fear it may not count for much here."

Nor, in all honesty, did he have much of it. He'd packed the bare essentials, and most of them hadn't come through with him; his gunna was still sitting on the assailed walls of Gilead. That brought its own pang, but he shook it off quickly. Bedrolls and flints, blankets and purses... all those were easily replaced. There were bigger concerns.

"That's a shame." And she really meant it, though Trish was quite obviously taking it a little too deeply. His request seemed to put the tiniest bit of a frown on her, but it passed quickly. "Well, we don't generally help outsiders but ..."

But a dramatic pause could get her point across.

"If you might visit before you leave again," And she hardly meant a platonic visit. "Then it would only be a fair trade."

Alain blinked owlishly. He wasn't entirely clueless, but he hadn't really been paying attention to the Touch - which felt strained and aching, like a muscle that's been overused - and that forwardness took him by surprise. Especially aimed towards him. Cuthbert or Roland, sure. But him?

He cleared his throat, going beet-red. "Ah. Um." And there went the ease he'd managed to find somewhere inside himself. So far as he could see, there was no way to extricate himself without lying or hurting her, and neither was something he wanted to do. At last he settled, rather stammeringly, for saying "...Coin I can give, promises I can't. Cry pardon, sai. I guess we'll make our way alone."

That extended silence was enough of an answer, enough time for her disappointment to show on her face. But then he blushed so fervently and Trish couldn't quite help herself, he looked cute enough that she didn't have it in her to hold anything against him. Maybe later she would be upset, or feel that she could have done more to try and make him stay, but tomorrows problem wasn't today's burden.

"You shouldn't be wandering around on an empty stomach. Hold, for a moment." Again she took to the floor, this time pulling up a different board, pulling out a small, latched box. "Four days worth of water in bottles, and dehydrated fruit." Essentially her own emergency rations but she could replenish them later.

Alain smiled, more than a little awkwardly, scraping both hands back through his hair. "Thankee-sai," he said, clearing his throat, and fumbled at his belt for the little pouch that held his money. "I fear this is little more than curiosity to you here, but 'tis what I have. Had I more, I would give it. You've been more than generous."

Rubbing the back of his neck, his face still flushed, he leant over to deposit the pouch on the table beside her tea. He couldn't quite bring himself to make eye contact, though. "I... cry your pardon. That I refused you."

"What?" She sounded as incredulous as she felt but her smile wasn't cruel. "Alain-sir, I've no right to you anymore than you have one to me. I certainly hope that isn't how things work where you are from." She stood and placed the box near him on the bed, only turned slightly pick up what likely held his money.

"You'll need this in Arpagio. The Picker, Wei, accepts all currency and I have heard that he often has most everything a person could need to get started here. Take your money back." He didn't want to meet her eyes and that was fine, maybe it was easier. He wouldn't see how genuine she was, that way. "You're very handsome and very sweet. When you have an opportunity, you can't let it pass you by. There are less regrets that way."

And she left it at that.

"Your friend will probably return soon. If you want to go from here, you need to leave before night fall."

He thought of telling her that it wasn't that he thought he should have agreed, only that he was sorry to have upset her. But it seemed better, all things considered, to drop the subject. Shifting a little awkwardly, he took the pouch back and fixed it onto his belt again.

"Thankee," he mumbled, again, and cleared his throat. "We've been told this place is dangerous after nightfall, aye. And we'd be best not to linger overnight, if we're all in fit state to travel." Which he wasn't at all sure he was; his head was still pulsing fit to burst. But Roland was out there, somewhere, and the longer they waited, the harder he would be to find. "Arpagio is the place to start a search, then?"

"Actually, seems the place to start a search is Kaine's house." Bert leant in the doorway, arms folded across his bare chest. "She says it's a few hours hard march. Probably a while longer, when you're both in such a goddamn miserable condition. Got all you need, Al?" He turned and gave Trish a flinty smile. "Cry pardon for the interruption. But, as you seem to both be aware, we ought to be going."

"I owe you a debt of kindness," Alain said courteously, pushing himself to his feet and bowing shallowly to Trish. His head felt like it would split, but there was no putting this off. Not now Bert had it in his head to go, anyway. "And if ever ka allows it, I hope to repay it. Until then, long days and pleasant nights, sai. Thankee for all your generosity." Scooping up the box and the book, he settled them against his chest and gave Trish a rather strained smile, heading towards the door.

"Thankee for not strangling him," Bert added brightly. "Gives me time to do it. Farewell, sai." And, taking Alain's arm - anger wasn't enough to stop him feeling sympathy at his ka-mate's obvious pain - he strode away, humming under his breath. Maybe a little more piercingly than was strictly necessary.

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Don't Leave Home

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