Brutal Honesty

[Laszlo]

"Alright." Squeezing Abalia's shoulders, Laszlo leaned forward and kissed her firmly. It struck him, then, that he hadn't felt her lips against his in what must have been weeks. They had been too busy traveling, too weary to be tender. He pulled away slowly, resting his forehead against hers as he sighed, drawing his clawed, wicked hand across her soft cheek. "Everything will work out. I promise. You are so very important to me." I promise? Should he really have said that? Reluctantly, Laszlo let go of her and stood again, working the basket's mechanism to bring them further through the blackness. It was slower and more arduous than traversing the ropes by hand. His arms were quickly tired and aching, his endurance sapped by the exhaustion that already ate at his being. By the time the lights of Duvalyon's home came within view, he was panting. "There," Laszlo said breathily, gesturing forward with his head, then afterward remembering that Abalia couldn't see him. "The lights in front of us, that's his home. We're almost there." Anxiety welled in the back of his throat as he began wondering what would happen next. How would Duvalyon even treat her? He was going to be an ass, wasn't he? And Abalia, full of pride and fear, would she hate him? Or would she warm up to him quickly because he was Symenestra? Laszlo didn't have a good history of making his friends get along. Either Abalia would love him, or hate him, and the Ethaefal wasn't sure if he preferred either option. Duvalyon would either be indifferent or cynical, and it would be impossible to tell which. Neither would be helpful. "Tomorrow, I'll take you to the Blue Grotto. It's an underwater lake here. You'll love it. I'm dying to get these mountains washed off of me." Gods, Laszlo, did you really say that? "Er… we're here." The basket swayed as it stopped, but Laszlo gracefully retained his balance. He reached for Abalia's hand, standing her up next to him. "Hold onto me." Anchoring her tightly against his side, he lifted her out of the basket and helped to the opening near the top of the structure, the entrance to Duvalyon's home. With one claw on the wall, and one holding onto Abalia, he paused there. "Reach forward. There's some fabric over the entrance. Can you push it away for me?" Once she did, the lights of Duvalyon's home would pour out and greet her from the darkness of Kalinor. Laszlo eased her inside, then quickly followed in after her. He knew, remembering from his time here as a dayside Ethaefal, that the room would still be very dim to her, but there was at least enough light to prove that she was no longer blind. Laszlo stood next to her, draping an arm around her waist to remind her that he was still here, protecting her. "It's alright," he told her one last time, before glancing around the room. "We're here, Duvalyon," he called tentatively.

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

It was a home, a strange one that toyed with different notions of gravity and height, but still a home. It was lived-in with the accumulation of useful and slightly macabre bric-a-brac. Fabrics the dim and depth of dark jewels made walls, doors and cozy layers on the floor. There were deep and shallow niches in the wall, some curtained, others exposed with softly glittering objects. Two opalgloams were balanaced on the only collection of human furniture: a table and chairs. The glowing stones were obviously for the human's benefit, touching the room with vanilla shades of moonlight. The way Laszlo spoke about the Symenestra, Abalia might have assumed he would be stately with the authority of gray at his temples. What appeared from behind the curtain to the pantry, though, was a young man within grasping range of her own age. Their similarities ceased there. Though he had forced twilight illumination into his home, he was still a creature built for the dim. Mild surprise flicked his burgundy eyes, but rapidly diffused to something almost pleasing. Though his arms were full, he inclined in a polite quarter bow. "Hello," he said in fluid common. "I'm Duvalyon. I assume you are Abalia. Laszlo has spoken of you with uncommon warmth." The man's voice lacked any trace of levity or brightness, but there was a soothing depth and hum to it. He passed the pair to arrange his armful of objects on the table. Some it was the familiar globes and jars of food fit for humans, the rest, a few fastened parcels. Duvalyon began to deftly unlace the tied parcels. Fifteen years of experience with a full set of claws showed. He blinked at the bright contents of the sacks, his pupils struggling to adjust to the sudden wash of light. Instinct made him subtly wince when he withdrew more opalgloams, but courtesy had him immediately mask the reaction. His long fingered hands were protectively wrapped around the stones as he arranged them in the small space. They were guiding lanterns for Abalia, marking the nook where she and Laszlo could sleep, the pantry and the way to water. "You are welcome to anything here." He smirked with a touch of self-deprecation. "I have the terrible distinction of being both a bachelor and a Symenestra though, so I would discourage you from any food you don't immediately recognize in the pantry." The Symenestra stopped his circuit around the space, content it was navigable for sunborn eyes. He paused at the table, using it like a protective barrier between him and the couple. Whether it was for Abalia's or his comfort was murky. "I am aware this is not the setting you're accustomed to, Abalia, so I ask your pardon."

[Abalia]

With Laszlo feeling more like Laszlo to her now, and less like the aloof stranger he played at when they were under the scrutiny of Kalinor itself, Abalia relaxed into the familiarity of his side and waited for their host to emerge. And when he did... well, at least he didn't remind her of Victor or Seven, even. Duvalyon was far too pure of a thing to bring to her recollection the lanky murderer who only shared a part of his blood with the Symenestra, and for the human who had been through far too much in the span of a year or so, it was a pleasant sort of relief. He was beautiful, of course he was, in that eerie and horrible way that only the Symenestra could possess. Abalia knew that a lot of humans reacted with fear or disgust around the elegant, strange race, but if Duvalyon expected as much from her he would be disappointed. She seemed perfectly at ease with his essential existence, but that made sense, didn't it, since one who looked so similar had a gangly arm wrapped around her waist at that very moment? "Oh, those are so very thoughtful," she said, smiling her approval. Some women had a way of being trite, whether they meant to or not. Some women were too much sugar and honey when meeting someone new, an annoying gush of false emotion that could only seem, well, false. Abalia was none of these things. Perhaps it was that she was too tired to try so hard. Perhaps your impending death dulled the edges of such motivations at their very genesis. Whatever the case, Abalia seemed genuine, even as her dark eyes followed the cool light created as he spread the orbs about. It was the first place she'd found in all of Kalinor that seemed pretty. She thought better of telling him that, since a self-professing bachelor who laughed at the fact probably didn't strive for beauty in his living quarters. But the richly hued fabrics and the glimmering, curious objects all around her made it feel almost like something from Alvadas, something from home. It was entirely too static for that comparison to go very deep, of course, but still. It was nice. "Pardon? For welcoming us to your home, for offering Laszlo your continued friendship and support? Oh, gladly given," she said, flashing a smile first to Duvalyon and then upwards towards the spider who had gotten her into this mess in the first place. It might have been the first time he had seen her behave playfully in a long while.

[Laszlo]

Gently, imperceptibly, Laszlo released the breath he was holding. Only Abalia would notice as his body lost its tension and he began to relax. Everything was going as he'd hoped—more or less. Laszlo and Abalia had made it across the mountains to Kalinor, despite the Storm that tried to kill them. Duvalyon had offered his help, only after Laszlo made an ass of himself (which was perhaps more out of the shock of incredulity). Now, the final hurdle was surpassed: Duvalyon and Abalia didn't immediately want to murder each other. Honestly, that was what Laszlo had feared more than anything. They were polar opposites, these two, and Abalia had good reason not to trust anyone Laszlo referred to as "friend". She was scarred by the recent happenings in her life, and on top of that forced to deal with the dread of her impending death. It made Laszlo nervous, watching her keep herself together. Duvalyon, on the other hand, was a man who admitted to leading women to their death, and had helped many others reach it. Laszlo hadn't expected Duvalyon to treat Abalia any differently from another surrogate. She was human, pregnant—what else about her would matter to him? And yet he was cordial and inviting. Almost suspiciously so (later it would be amusing, in retrospect). That certainly wasn't the Duvalyon Laszlo had argued with just a short time ago. Idly, Laszlo wondered if Duvalyon would have treated him any differently were the Ethaefal instead a woman. He was more or less certain that no Viratas-fearing Symenestra would take a Sym-Ethaefal as a surrogate, so he would have been safe on that front. But would Duvalyon have been so charming and accommodating? Considering Dor, probably not. Laszlo had shifted when Duvalyon had described his demeanor as "uncommonly warm". Despite that friendly mask, he wondered how begrudgingly he forgave Laszlo's earlier outburst. "Ah," Laszlo's voice halted when he tried to speak, realizing his throat had gone dry. He paused to rewet his tongue. "Yes. I'm extraordinarily grateful. To both of you. I really don't deserve your patience. Ehm." He lifted a hand and rubbed his forehead. Now the courtesy phase was over. Let us move quickly onward. "Duvalyon, you're due at the Purging in a few hours, aren't you? I've been keeping you from sleep then, probably. Is there anything I can do to help, so you can actually get some rest?" The question was directed at Duvalyon, but soon after asking, he turned to Abalia at his side to extend it to her as well. "Abalia, I know you're exhausted. Once everything is settled here, I'll return to the Meadows for our things." Wary, violet eyes flicked to Duvalyon. "Don't worry, there isn't that much." He turned to one of the newly placed opalgloams, testing it with a claw to remember that they were actually stone and not the glass lanterns from the Surface. Did Duvalyon just have a box of these somewhere? It was comical to think that there was a crate somewhere at the back of a room, draped in a thick tapestry to conceal the glow. "I'm sure there will be time for us to get more acquainted later." Because Abalia and Duvalyon had so much in common. Laszlo couldn't have felt more like an idiot.

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

Duvalyon had expected a measure of acknowledgment from Abalia, but in timid or reserved tones. She answered with bright gratitude, and Laszlo's name was still wreathed in affection when she spoke it. The girl was either very forgiving or very dumb. He quietly cleared his throat, but prompt was no longer needed. Laszlo had begun to bridge the new silence. It was terrible to watch the Ethaefal fumble through gratitude marked by shame. Duvalyon looked in Laszlo's direction but tricked his burgundy eyes into seeing nothing. A question had been directed towards him. Mercifully his subconscious had been paying enough attention to recount it back to him. "You? No, certainly not." It came out a little quicker than was polite, as he suspected Laszlo's help might be worse than his hindering. "Just get settled," a poor amends, "I will leave you both be and sleep a little at the Purging before I need to work." An odd thought. Many who claimed an acquaintance with the medic would easily believe he needed neither food, sleep nor air. Those elements were for the living. Duvalyon managed to endure purely on knowledge and scorn for others. A sudden impulse struck Duvalyon, as he clearly began to address Abalia, but in Symenos. The natural accent glided more from the throat, as if the words were in no hurry to reach the tongue. Laszlo would notice the marked simplicity of Duvalyon's phrasing. "Laszlo has taught you a little. Yes?"

[Abalia]

Laszlo's emotional state was almost tangible, a heavy blanket that hung in the air all around them. She wondered over his discomfort, but with only a measure of concern. Frankly, she was too tired to invest much more in it at present. She would curl herself up in his long, protective arms and burrow her face into the familiar crook of his throat. She would sigh, and sleep, as her bodily busily exhausted itself in the never ending creation of their child. And then, when she awoke? Maybe then she'd think to ask him, with affectionate concern, what unsettled him so. Maybe then she'd run her fingers through the hair that Syna blessed, trace the curve of his perfect horns, and draw the truth from his lips with her own. Or, perhaps those kisses would distract her towards a more physical resolution to his melancholy. She wouldn't mind. Because Laszlo knew, as well as she did, that the whole of her belonged to him now. She loved him blindly and completely, regardless of whether or not that disgusted the other Symenestra in whose presence they now stood. And though she might not always ask the right questions, or say the right things, he'd have long since realized how irrevocable and pure those feelings for him really were. Abalia was Laszlo's, more than any of the pitiful women at the purging could have ever been. The Symenestra might steal lives and bodies, but only a woman could freely give her heart. As it were, Abalia opened her mouth to speak, to attempt to share some of this burden of conversation with the man who had caused her inevitable death. Before she could manage, however, that silky smooth language was given birth and Duvalyon was obviously addressing her. The truth was, she did understand some Symenos, but not because Laszlo had taught her. She had learned it from another Symenestra altogether, one who hadn't signed her death warrant with his embrace, but gladly would have. It hadn't really come up between herself and Laszlo, except for the time she lay against his bare chest, their bodies still warm and glowing from their lovemaking. She'd asked him how to say 'baby' in Symenos. He'd answered her with kisses, with his body, and distracted her from her query. Sharing that part of himself wasn't something Laszlo seemed eager to do, and so Abalia dropped it. She understood Duvalyon in the brittle way a toddler might understand when their parents used words too large for their comprehension. They were awkward and heavy in her mind, but they quickly rolled into one another, her mind sluggishly translating and piecing together inflection, expression, and the words she did know until she thought she had a basic idea of his question. He wanted to know if she spoke his language, if Laszlo had taught her? "No," she said simply, with a nonplussed smile. Better to let them both believe she was entirely ignorant. They would feel more at their leisure to talk to one another near her, then, and she might just overhear things she could comprehend. There was no lack of trust between herself and Laszlo; she knew he'd do anything to keep her alive. But she also felt justified in believing that he would keep things from her, if only to protect her. Wasn't Roxanne testament to that? "But I could learn," she said, with a glance towards Laszlo. "If it'd be useful."

[Laszlo]

"There's no use for it," Laszlo replied with surprising sternness, unlike his usual, gentle character. The idea of Abalia learning Symenos was unexpectedly uncomfortable. He found himself clinging to his knowledge of his once-native tongue, not wanting to share this secret, cherished piece of his lost Symenestra identity. If Abalia learned their language, then it would somehow cease to be sacred to him. "We won't be in Kalinor long. There are no Symenestra in Lhavit"—presumably—"and Duvalyon speaks fine Common." He stopped himself there, because he hadn't yet told Abalia that Duvalyon would be coming with them. Now wasn't the time to talk about it. They could speak in private later. In this room, there stood the two people who could speak for the separate halves of Laszlo's existence. Duvalyon was everything Symenestra, and understood more than Laszlo could about the culture he'd once belonged to. Abalia knew Laszlo for the creature he was, not the one he pretended to be. For once, Laszlo was in the company of people who came the closest to understanding him. He was among trusted allies. Hopefully it would remain that way. This front of courtesy Duvalyon was offering for the human's sake was generous on his part, and Laszlo wondered how quickly the Symenestra would tire of it. Feeling secure enough to leave Abalia on her own, he curiously wandered toward the nook where he and Abalia could rest, lifting away a portion of the silk curtain. It was the same place he'd stayed two years ago when he first came to Kalinor, and Duvalyon had offered him room to stay, temporarily. His violet eyes scanned the modest space, as the weight of his short life pressed down on him. How had it come to this? Laszlo turned back to Duvalyon, who was probably damn eager to get to the Purging, now. "I think we're all set for now, then. We'll try not to break anything in your absence, Duvalyon." He attempted a small smile, thinking of the last time the Symenestra had left Laszlo alone with a young woman in his home. No such promises could have been made for Dor.

[Macabre]

Thread Award

Laszlo
XP Acting +1, Climbing +3, Hypnotism +1
Lore Masking Discomfort

Duvalyon
XP N/A
Lore The Whimsy of Alvads

Abalia
Lady be gone.

Notes
How badly did I want to award Duv hospitality experience, just to see it on the dour man’s character sheet? Very badly—(un)fortunately, I abstained. I enjoyed this thread, what with the drama and dark comedy that I’ve come to expect from you guys. Really, Laszlo and Duvalyon should just up and go on globe-trotting adventures. They’re Bonnie and Clyde, Lorraine and Shirley, Pinky and the Brain (OH GOD) …
*the list deteriorates from here in a mixture of giggling and snorting*

… Good thread. If you have any questions or comments please PM me.