Let Me Be

[Ambrose Kain]

Already pensive at the idea of murder, Ambrose was scowling by the end of Laszlo's recounting. Boundaries be damned, he put his arm around the ethaefal's shoulders, not caring one whit if that gained a few curious stares from passersby. "He was probably just crazy," he mumbled, knowing the words weren't very comforting, but not knowing what else to say. He drew Laszlo closer into an embrace, urging him to reciprocate. It was easier to do with Laszlo in his symenestra form--Laszlo was a bit taller, but much more slightly built. Almost fragile. It awakened something protective in Ambrose, making him want more than anything to ease Laszlo's troubled mind. "Listen," he said after a spell, slowly releasing his hold on Laszlo's shoulders, but not his hand. "Whatever happened, it couldn't have been your fault. You couldn't stop a madman, nor could I. There were no guards there to stop him? Then it is the fault of whoever set up the tourney, but not your own. Do you understand me?" Again, he stopped walking to maneuver in front of Laszlo, cupping his angular cheek with a free hand and lifting his chin to meet his gaze directly. "You were correct in what you said before; this is a temporary world, and everything is fleeting. That was a horrible way for that woman to die, yes, but horrible things happen everywhere--horrible and wonderful. That's the nature of the world the gods placed us in, and all we can do is account for our tiny share of it, to try our best to be good people and not inflict the harm on others that they're already sure to suffer elsewhere. "I'm speaking from the heart, here. For many years, I blamed myself for my mother's death. It was I who first became ill after all, and it was that illness that caused her to work herself to the bone taking care of me until she herself caught the sickness. I was young, and so was she, but already so tired that her body could not recover as mine did. So, as I said, I blamed myself. "It wasn't until the last few years that I finally realized that what my mother told me on her deathbed was true--that life is life, and no one can control everything. You will live in a constant state of disappointment and depression if you try. The best thing you can do is live as happily as you possibly can, and not burden yourself with matters you cannot affect. So, stop letting this woman's death affect you. It is not your fault." Once he'd finished his little speech, an overwhelming sense of awkwardness took over Ambrose, and he retreated several steps away. He had not meant to give breath to such a long-winded tirade, and indeed, felt guilty for unloading a lot of unbidden advice on Laszlo, who probably hadn't even wanted it. It was just an excuse for Ambrose to talk about his own past, he realized, and immediately he regretted saying it all in such a meretricious manner. Of course, Laszlo must think he was plying for pity--why else would he burst into an account of his mother's death with so little provocation? "Er...I'm sorry," he mumbled, immediately contrite and unable to look at Laszlo directly anymore. How quickly he changed from passionate reassurer to shamefaced lout. "I--uh... I didn't mean to go on and on like that. I just...don't want to see you suffering. I don't want to see anyone suffering, but especially not you. D-... do you understand?"*

[Laszlo]

Still feeling the warmth of Ambrose' arms around him, Laszlo stood there in front of the human blocking his path. At first he could only stare speechlessly, his mouth hung slightly agape in the desire for something adequate to respond with. He hadn't expected Ambrose to take such an active interest in Laszlo's petty problems, but the Zeltivan had, and then turned it personal. The man was confusing. He was earnest and alarmingly honest, and suddenly now he was so passionate. Not to mention, as usual, openly affectionate. As for Ambrose' mother… Laszlo didn't know what to think of it. He didn't have any family, not in any way that would make sense to the human. The idea of anything happening to Syna was absolutely unthinkable, but losing one's mother must have been painful, if she were the one person who would love and protect you unconditionally. His violet eyes softened, and for a moment Laszlo looked down with a mild grimace, closing his mouth as he realized he wasn't going to think of anything he could say. Laszlo's cheek could still remember the touch of Ambrose' warm hand, even if he had barely responded to the gesture beyond rapid blinking. A slow, thoughtful exhale slipped from his flaring nostrils when the Ethaefal finally looked up again. "Ambrose," he whispered helplessly, a small smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. Taking a few hesitant steps forward he closed the space between them again, lifting one pale, black-clawed hand and taking a gentle hold of Ambrose' forearm. The Symenestra leaned forward and kissed Ambrose' forehead, just along his hairline. "Thank you. Not just for what you said, but… for caring. You seem so… connected, to the world, to everything. It confuses me. I don't understand how you can tolerate it, but I like it." What Ambrose had said… was that how humans and their ilk rationalized their existence? Staunch perseverance through everything? Laszlo wasn't sure whether that blind resilience made them weak for their self-deceptions or strong for their ability to remain steadfast. In a reality like this, one would have to learn to cope with the darker truths of life, to find some way to justify them in a world they couldn't escape. Laszlo so often felt above it all, detached from the goings-on of the mortal world. And yet… he began to wonder if he was only being stubborn and conceited. Perhaps he should give in, become one of them. Assimilate into their sea of fears and hopes. The Ethaefal wasn't sure. Of anything. "I didn't blame myself for her death, but… I simply didn't know how to abide." Her death wasn't really the root of what was bothering him anyhow, but he was beginning to wonder if feeling bothered was worth the effort at all. Lifting his hand from Ambrose' arm, he drew the side of his thumb across the Zeltivan's cheek, then suddenly leaned down and pushed his soft, gray lips into his. He came away with the taste of Ambrose lingering on his lower lip. "Thank you for listening. It does make it feel better to talk a bit." Laszlo gestured forward. "Shall we move on? I'd be glad to have you walk with me."

[Ambrose Kain]

It was the first time, even including their one night of passion, that Laszlo had taken the initiative in kissing Ambrose. The effect was quite thrilling. The faint tingle of sensation that lingered on his lips made him want to smile, though the current subject matter wasn't something to smile about. Instead, he gave a soft laugh of self-deprecation, and bobbed his head in a defeated nod. The light waves of his auburn hair swept forward with the motion, and he reached his hand up automatically to tuck loose strands back behind the shell of his ear. "Yes, let's do that," he murmured, hesitating for a moment, then sliding his fingers through the ethaefal's. Perhaps his constant physical interactions weren't so unwanted after all. It was hard to think of food after such a heated discussion, but if Ambrose was any judge, Laszlo had put the matter to rest and had no desire to pick it up again. And that suited Ambrose just fine--he didn't want to risk slipping and giving breath to another long tirade. So he set his eyes on the passing scenery, tried not to be dismayed as they passed by the same buildings thrice, and slowed to a crawl when his nose picked up the scent of sizzling meat. Of course, in a town as strange as Alvadas, the smell was as likely to come from a flaming bush as an actual restaurant, but Ambrose decided it was worth pursuing. "How about this place?" he asked, nodding up towards what looked to be the front of a restaurant. "Alvadas seems to be recommending it. I'm hoping she feels badly for giving me such a hard time earlier and wants to make it up with some solid food. I hope."*