Sea of Diamonds

[Laszlo]

Fall 90th, 511 Thirteen bells. Alvadas was relatively sane this afternoon. There was no upside down rain or lakes of fires burning in the place of the roads, and the buildings weren't whispering to each other. The sky was inversed, with blue cottony clouds upon a backdrop of soft white, but as far as illusions went, that one was pretty tame. More importantly than anything else, Syna was out and singing brightly. Not a single azure cloud could stop her today. Real sunlight. Laszlo had grown so used to the mosaic sky inside the Sun and Stars tavern that he sometimes began to forget that the real one existed. Most days, he didn't even get outside in the daylight hours. His work in the tavern kept him primarily nocturnal. He served drinks in the evening hours, followed by arduous cleaning, so that he by the time he found his bed, dawn was beginning to creep on the horizon. It was thankless work, and being without Syna so often made him weary, but to his bewilderment, it didn't ultimately bother him that much. There was a strange sense of fulfillment in having responsibilities to see to, being needed somewhere. Today, he needed to be outside. It was arguably fortunate that in the Sun and Stars, there was always something to be done. The singular downstairs window of the tavern had been clouded and yellowed since before he'd bought the building. Though Laszlo doubted that running a damp cloth over the glass could do much to change that, here he was anyway, with a soaked towel and pail of water. Sending passing glances to the horned silhouette in the glass, bordered by the hazy reflection of the city street, Laszlo contentedly absorbed the daylight as he scrubbed over every pane. In the final days of Fall, the Synaborn's reflection of the seasons was beginning its transition. His glassy horns, which before had boasted a vibrant shade of red, were now halfway dark green—the color of pine needles. His curling hair, tied back in a short tail for convenience, was gradually losing its vibrant mahogany luster. A much duller shade of brown descended from his roots, leaving his red dwindling at the bottom half of his tresses. Although all Ethaefal went through this change, so far as he had learned, Laszlo had learned to use it as an indicator for his Symenestra side. Usually, as long as he was in his seasonal transition, the Widow in him would be inordinately irate at everything. Thank the Goddess he could retain his sanity in the daytime. Brief flashes of the night before and the disheartening reality of his situation passed through Laszlo's conscious memory, lasting only for a moment before the Ethaefal forcefully brushed it aside. A bitter chill sailed on the autumn wind, licking coldly at Laszlo's wet hands. He shivered, pulling away from the window and dropping his towel back into the pail. Craving his own warmth, Laszlo shoved his hands into the toasty confines of his deep pockets, shrugging under his thick, brown coat. The soft wool of folded collar pressed stiffly into the back of his neck, nudging at his ponytail and the tiny, sensitive hairs on the nape of his neck. He turned to lean against the building, deciding to take a moment and simply stand in the sunlight. The Suvan Sea opened wide before him. Alvadas had lately placed the tavern next to the waterfront, across the road from a perilous ridge of rocks that separated the city from the rolling water. Whether it was the real sea or just a trick of Ionu's, Laszlo didn't mind either way. A unconscious smile played on his opalescent features as he watched the sunlight glitter off the sea as if it were made of diamonds. Laszlo needed to get out more.

[Abalia]

Abalia had dreamed of Dolvich. It only made sense, given the company she was keeping, the company she was pursuing. When she had curled up to sleep at last, she had thought of the intensity burning in Laszlo's eyes when he had glowered at her. She thought of his rough fingers on her skin, those dangerous claws so very close to slicing through. He was dangerous, and she knew she should be more sensible around him, more careful. But, even as she thought such logical things, she knew they'd pass with her mood. She couldn't help herself. Half of it was the resemblance, she knew. She saw the lover who had left her behind in him, and it was almost a second chance at a reckoning. Last night, standing in the rain, Abalia realized it couldn't entirely be blamed on that. Laszlo was a stranger to her, but there was something fascinating and magnetic about him. About Laszlo, not the man who resembled Dolvich. In her dream Dolvich had held her again. He had been a master of words, leaving the tiniest trail of crimson the length of her back, courtesy of one sharp claw, while he murmured against the shell of her ear. Promises about all the things he would do to her, all the things he would give her. Abalia had come to associate the edge of pain with pleasure, a brush of misery with ecstasy. She'd come to love the conflicting messages he sent to her mind and body. And, when all was done, and she curled into his arms and felt safe, she would forget the pain. She would only know the pleasure of companionship, the joy of being adored. She knew better, now. In her dream, though, it had all been so real. So tangible. She awoke with a sigh upon her lips. It was another day, and she was simply out of ideas regarding her search for Roxanne. Her best friend had simply vanished and, living in Alvadas, Abalia knew that didn't bode well. Roxxie was likely gone, but Abalia didn't feel strong enough to accept that on her own. She didn't feel prepared to open her mind to the concept. And so she ran. Into sunlight, into Syna, into day. She ran into fresh, clean air and the promise of living to see nightfall again. Ionu seemed mellow, Alvadas calm, and Abalia spent the better part of her morning picking pockets and wandering about her home and playground. People who knew them both called after her, asking where Roxanne was. They were scarcely ever apart. She had no answers for that, and so her initial plan to go through the bazaar was quickly modified. With a wayward step she moved away from the crowded throng of people and allowed her feet to lead the way. Without thinking much about her direction, Abalia eventually found herself standing across the street from the tavern to which Laszlo belonged. "Figures," she murmured to herself, crossing slender arms across her chest. Her own dark hair was swept away and to one side, revealing the elegant column of her throat and the pretty boning of her face more fully as she pursed her lips and considered. People milled about everywhere in Alvadas, so she thought nothing of the man using the building proper as support. She didn't notice him properly, or perhaps she would have been affected by his staggering appearance. She was glaring at the door as if it held answers for her. Given the morbid circumstances, her expression might have been misconstrued as something more purposeful. In reality, she was simply trying to decide whether she should go in or not. Somewhere in the midst of her deliberation a dog found it's way to her feet, a stray no doubt. It was white with freckles of brown all throughout it's short fur, and Abalia dropped a hand to scratch him between the ears. "If only men made as much sense as you," she cooed to the beast who tipped it's head up with a wide open, wagging smile.

[Laszlo]

On the cusp of Winter, the warmth of Syna couldn't permeate well through the chilled air. The white sky only seemed to make the day feel colder somehow, but when Laszlo closed his eyes, he could pretend it was a summer's day, that the light of his goddess was pouring down in golden abundance. Leaning his head back against the wooden siding of the Sun and Stars, he could feel the sun kissing each of his eyelids, and breathing softly upon his face and hair. A girl's voice roused his attention, visiting him with a sense of dread instead. He already knew that voice very well, that maddeningly coy inflection she placed in just about every sentence. A plea for mercy escaped him in the form of a sigh as he opened his molten amber eyes to spy Abalia, the dead Kelvic's friend, paying her attentions to some other bland animal. He gave her a moment of pause; she looked different in the sunlight. Younger, bolder, and more alive. The sunlight played off the barest hints of gold in her gentle brown hair, glinting like threads of steel wool. Had she actually come to find the Symenestra she had become so infatuated with? Or was this Alvadas playing its usual games with his head? Ugh… damn this city. "Abalia?" Laszlo called out unsurely, pushing himself off the wall and wandering a few steps closer to the girl. He kept his hands pocketed, but reminded himself of the absence of his claws by brushing the edges of his fingernails into the heel of his palm. "Uh, good afternoon. What are you doing here?" The Ethaefal sent a wary glance back at his tavern. He'd left the door slightly ajar. A careful shadow crept along its edges. "If you came for lunch, I'm afraid we don't serve food entrees."

[Abalia]

The man who had her name upon his tongue was intruding, really. She was quite content with the fur between her fingers, and her own drifting thoughts. Laszlo was on her mind, and Roxxie too, a strange and nonsensical pair. She was hardly one to overthink a situation, and going inside wasn't really that big of a deal, but she felt a bit off today. She wasn't certain she had the mental fortitude to battle against his will and wits as she had the night before. She hated moments like these because they made her feel so feminine and fragile, but the whole ordeal with Roxanne was taking it's toll upon her. She was just considering whether or not she might manage a more mellow conversation with him, as they had shared at the bar, the stranger made a shuffling approach. Big brown eyes swiveled up to acknowledge him. "Ah..." she said, not making the connection at all. He was beautiful, in a stunning and surreal way. Beautiful in a way that could only be god breath upon him, the kiss of the divine. It was startling, at first, and she could only blink those wide eyes. In another breath her polite half-smile returned and she glanced down to the dog, which could have looked like hers, for all the comfort it seemed to find at her feet. "No, I didn't come for food. You work here? With Laszlo?" Abalia unintentionally imbued his name with a warm familiarity that made it sweet on her lips, almost dreamy. A faint breeze danced through her dark tresses, and she seemed a different girl entirely from the one who had provoked him so in strange rain the night before.

[Laszlo]

"Do I—" Oh, this was awkward. It was disarming, the way Abalia now seemed to regard him as a stranger. Even when they had first met, the girl had been full of wine and regarded him with unwarranted familiarity. She had been so willing to lean in close to him, to touch his hair, and even the day before, she'd eagerly invaded his personal space. Now she didn't seem about to do anything like that. She was stiff and polite toward the Ethaefal, now that he was no longer a Symenestra. Maybe she really did have a death wish. A Suvan breeze pulled at Laszlo's hair, loosening an auburn curl that lighted on the side of his young face. The same wind tugged at Abalia's long, dark hair, drawing it across her face in fleeting, stringy chaos. His mouth hung open briefly, as his liquid amber eyes pulled away and turned toward the sparkling sea. The stare lingered for a short moment, searching and cautious. "You really don't know what an Ethaefal is. I suppose that's all right, most people don't." He looked back up at her, balling his cold hands in his pockets. "I am Laszlo. I told you that I wasn't a Symenestra. I only look like one after the sun sets." Taking a casual step backward, Laszlo turned toward the tavern again. He and Abalia's reflections stood in the hazy window, easily visible to whoever dwelled inside the place. Seven would know that she was Roxanne's friend, and might start to wonder why she was back here again. Victor wouldn't know anything, but Laszlo didn't want to let him anywhere near the girl. Seeing that he'd left the door slightly ajar, he reached over and pulled it shut. The silver letters painted across the wood flashed briefly under Syna's glare. "Well, it's more than appearances, I suppose." Laszlo leaned against the façade again, shrugging against the cold in his crisply shouldered jacket. "I owe you an apology. This time of the season, I get a little… My temper flares as a Symenestra. It's a biological cycle, so I'm told. Not dissimilar to your…" Very awkward. "I'm a child of Syna, to put it succinctly. As long as her light shines, you see me in my truer form. At night I become something more worldly." Maybe he should start wearing a sign. He'd had to explain this too many times. "I fell out of the ukalas. It's complicated. There's probably something about it in the library."

[Abalia]

Abalia gave him rapt attention as he spoke. The dog at her side whined when she neglected to pet him, but she was too focused to give the animal much care. Elegant eyebrows arched upwards in surprise, first, and then furrowed with her brow. Pretty lips pursed, and the gaze she fixed him with was speculative at best. There was no real reason to believe him, in a city of illusions. A statue had tried to convince her that it was Roxanne, once. Outrageous and ridiculous it had been, but the point stood. Alvadas was cunning and sometimes mean. Abalia left behind the dog and closed much of the distance between them. The proximity did little to solve the mystery. He still didn't look like Laszlo, nor did he sound like him. She was clearly wrestling with whether or not she'd even believe his story, rocking back on her heels as slender fingers lifted to brush errant locks away from her eyes. "Mmm, Laszlo... tell me something only you would know," she demanded lightly, challenge dancing in her big brown eyes. She bit at her lower lip, the one that still had a healing cut from where he had struck her. It, and the bruise that lingered high on her cheekbone, only made her prettier somehow. It was like art on the canvas of pale skin, a splash of color that accentuated the balmy perfection that surrounded it. Abalia wore her wounds well. "Something Alvadas wouldn't think to trick me with."

[Laszlo]

There she was, the fiery little thing that Laszlo had met several nights ago in his tavern. He straightened against the building's wood paneling as she drew closer, sufficiently eliminating his comfortable personal space. Humans did so seem to like their intimacy. Though he was uncomfortable, his golden eyes darting aside in a futile search for a quick escape, he was beginning to get used to her method of dealing with him. And with the bruise on her cheek, she couldn't seem that intimidating. "How would you know anything I knew? You don't even… uh, know me." The awkwardness of the situation was robbing his ability to word anything with any finesse. That was lovely. Or perhaps it was just the day; he didn't retain any of his natural Symenestra charm. He turned his eyes back to hers, his gilded stare shimmering with quiet uncertainty. Then again, as she said, he didn't even know himself. "But, fine. If you're so fond of games, I'll play this one with you. First, come here." Prying his hands free from their pockets, he unabashedly reached forward with one to take an insistent hold of the girl's shoulder. With the other, he nudged the girl's stubborn curtain of hair away with the backs of his fingers, in the same motion running the pad of his thumb over the tender gray of her bruised cheek. In another wispy motion, he grazed the back of his trim fingernail upon her lip. The flesh of his hands were chilled by autumn, a slight shock to her warm face. As he retracted both arms to his sides, he sent another gold onceover across her face, appearing partially satisfied that the cut had healed further, and the bruise began to lose some of its color. Another pang of guilt washed across him as he glanced away. She wasn't the first person he'd harmed. It seemed a theme for people who got close to him to be hurt by accident. Somewhere in Syliras, the first man who had taken him in was now leading his life without the use of his eyes. "Something Alvadas wouldn't think to trick you with, hm?" Laszlo continued forcibly, failing to see the point in apologizing to her out of obligation. She didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed from her injury. "I told you before that no one knows my name. Laszlo is the one I chose roughly two years ago. Vethis Orthilia is the name that once belonged to the face you met last night, but Syna herself gave me, my soul, a more perfect title. I can hear it when I dream, and I can hear it in my thoughts, but these fleshy lips can't produce the adequate sounds. However… I can still tell you my name is supposed to mean. Would that suit?" Laszlo turned his eyes toward the sky, skirting the glare of the actual sun. "Ionu has power over Alvadas and illusion, but I don't think even this place could fake my name. That's Syna's domain."

[Abalia]

His hands were chilly against her skin. The combination of that and the familiar tingle of his healing touch caused a shiver to course the length of her spine and instinctively she stepped closer, if only a little. Much of the ache was relieved with this, his second touch, and her own small fingers lifted of their own will to touch the wound he had both given and taken away. "No," she objected, with that ambiguous smile of hers dancing upon ruby lips. "Don't tell me yet." She didn't explain her aversion to hearing his explanation, his words. Instead, she reached for the hand which had blessed her with healing or, at least, the hurrying on of her own bodies ability to heal. She turned it, palm up, and traced her fingers across the lines there. Flipping it over, she did much the same, her fingertips tracing the length of his own digits until they tapped against his very ordinary fingernails. "How peculiar," she surmised, with some bemusement. "You're two in one. Vethis, with a wicked aim," she said, shooting a crooked grin upwards at him. She clearly held no ill-will towards him over their scuffle. "And this," she continued, her voice softened with something akin to fascination. Her eager gaze drifted over his form, his handsome face, the curve of his horns, and back to his fingernails again. "Something so special that the name cannot be spoken, beloved of the gods. How peculiar." Abalia, having learned it was Laszlo, seemed to have no hesitance in standing so close. To the passerby they may even look intimate, what with the way her small hand cradled his, the way she smiled upwards at him. "Are you as much fun as this godchild as you are at night, Laz?" Laughter threatened her tone, her words, but died on the tip of her tongue. A sultry smile would have to suffice.

[Laszlo]

Laz again. The sound of it made Laszlo feel so plain, so mortal. Surprisingly, he was beginning to grow fond of it. "I'm more focused," Laszlo replied with the hint of a smile. Without thinking, he gently returned his hand to the soft, rounded curve of Abalia's upper arm. Though the chill of his fingers bled through the thin cloth of her sleeve, and he visibly realized a moment later that the gesture was unusually intimate for him, he showed no sign of removing it. Her arm fit so well into the crook of his hand, like it was the most natural place for it to be. "So, probably not." The Ethaefal turned his head to gaze down at their hands. Their fingers had become ensnared in each other, his skin warm and tingling from her earlier inspection. Even in this state, she seemed drawn to him, eager to close the gap between them physically as well as in other ways Laszlo couldn't exactly define. It occurred to him that she would probably never again view him the way she would a stranger, as she had just a few minutes ago. Laszlo had no third form to disguise himself. She would know him now in the night or day. Not many people did, and Laszlo realized, despite having associated with Victor and Seven for so long, that he grieved for that loss of anonymity, the ability to keep someone at arm's length. Still… this wasn't altogether unpleasant. He closed his fingers around the bulk of her hand, watching in fascination as his thumb traced a gentle line across her smooth, yielding skin. She was so soft, so small, so pliable. He'd felt this before, but never in the day. Laszlo had turned others away when his eyes were golden and his hair had color. It was odd to feel so relaxed and comfortable when his Symenestran instincts weren't aching to bend a woman to his will. "Two in one," he repeated curiously. "Sometimes it feels like it. Vethis thinks differently than I do. He's had longer to establish himself. I became… acquainted with him, in Kalinor." Laszlo turned his deepening gaze toward her again. "Abalia… is there something you want from me? Are you so alone, or do you stand this close to everyone?" Loneliness, at least, was something Laszlo intimately understood.

[Abalia]

There was the general sensation of acceptance, at least that is how Abalia interpreted it, with each little touch. His palm against her shoulder, his hand intentionally reciprocating the hold she had on him. It would have been difficult to resist under any circumstance; his face was so lovely in this form it was hardly fair. Designed to awe her, Abalia couldn't help but give in. Even so, it was heightened by the fact that there lived, inside there somewhere, an identity that she had connected with already. It was terribly complicated, somehow, and yet so simple. Simple enough, to watch as his too-perfect fingers were tangled with her blatantly human ones. Simple enough to exult in the way his thumb traced a small path against her shoulder, so minute that she wondered if he even recognized he was doing it. In the rain, on the streets of Alvadas the night before, this would have felt wrong. She had wanted to feed his fury, if only to see it flare. She had been as grateful for the throb of her wounds as she was now for the gentleness with which he regarded her. Abalia almost felt like a different person, too, having to respond to two entirely different people who were somehow one. His question, then, was far too pertinent. It was jarring, really, how he voiced her scattered thoughts aloud in a question that was clearly not rhetorical. She shrugged one shoulder evasively, and chose that moment to peek up at his horns again. Anywhere but the golden eyes. "No. I really just have Roxxie, but that's because I chose it that way. She's enough. Too many relationships are just baggage, especially in a place like this," she said, deflecting the crux of the question, if only a little. Abalia's cheeks were flush, pinkened a little. Despite her very feminine response to the overtly personal query, she didn't retreat. Not when this position felt so very much akin to a hug, even if it wasn't one at all. "Laszlo," she murmured after a pause of only a few breaths, ready to carry the conversation into other waters. "Tell me what your name means. Your real one. And, can I touch your horns?" Big brown eyes were brave enough to meet his again, playful words a shield behind which she could hide.