awashlogs | Event Twenty-Five.

[ When his hand takes hers without any prompting, without having her to ask, it's then that she feels as if the worry from before, the gripping chill that he might have refused, dissolves like ice in midsummer. Her entire body seems to become more relaxed, her smile becomes much less shy, and for some amount of time as they walk... she doesn't say anything at all, simply enjoying his company. Has she ever held hands while walking with someone? No. Because she had no one to walk with like this before.

She can hardly describe how happy she is-- how excited she is at such a simple gesture, and because of it she almost trips. She doesn't-- thankfully-- but the stumble does cause her to bump into him, her arm brushing more along his... and she doesn't make an effort to return to their previous distance. It occurs to her again that he really isn't wearing his platearmor. ]

I... ah. Earlier I found it odd that you're not wearing your armor, but didn't want to pry. [ She steals a glance at him from the corner of her eye, noting what she can of his vestments once more. With his armor, he looks as if he's about to head into battle. Without it, he looks... he looks.....

...She staring, oops. Quickly correcting her gaze to look forward, she clears her throat. ] Was it too warm to wear out today?

Edited 2019-07-14 08:21 (UTC)

[ His snap heads toward Pyra when their arms brush. He quickly turns away at the mention of his armor, self-conscious of his appearance now that he knows she's looking. He fears that she'll only see his inadequacy the longer her gaze lingers on him.

After all, what can he give her? Especially here in Chroma, where his unremarkable standing means nothing. Nothing. ]

Chroma is warmer than the Empire, but that was not the reason. I . . . simply didn't wish to put them on today. They were too heavy.

[ He doesn't mean that in the literal sense. He's long grown accustomed to the considerable weight that armor carry. No, it's the responsibilities attached to them, knowing that he'll only be humiliating himself by pretending he can shoulder them. ]

[ She's none the wiser to his reasons for not wearing them, and while she does catch the hesitation in his answer, it doesn't make her question further. ]

Your wear your armor so... easily, as if it is your second skin. [ She comments, idly. ] I wouldn't have ever guessed it was heavy to you.

[ In any case, she decides that it's much easier to talk about him and speak anything of herself. ] But even without it... [ Is it so much as stealing glances at him now, when she does it so often? She likes looking at him, watching him, all of his expressions, the way his hair moves when he turns his head, the set of his jaw. ] You seem... different, but not in a bad way. [ He looks softer, more approachable, but she doubts he would be keen on those compliments.

.....And so she looks forward as they walk, stepping over a few flowers. She still wants to compliment him, and the first thing that comes to mind is: ] You still look quite handsome. [ Still, as if she had thought that of him before! ]

[ His breath catches at the compliment. Still? Does she really mean that? Berkut can't help but to smile a little. ]

. . . Not nearly as you are beautiful. Both of you.

[ He still doesn't understand what she meant by other self, but he understands enough to know they're one and the same. How can they not be? He wants to know more—to learn everything about Pyra, from the flowers she likes to the things she dislikes so that he might do something about them—but he must be patient. Nothing as he is and has now, he'll need to earn those answers.

Perhaps if it's for Pyra, he can do something. Succeed, for once, in her name. Wouldn't that be grand? ]

O-Oh, that...

[ Beautiful. He's called her beautiful-- the both of them. ] We, ah...

[ All she has to say here is "thank you", just as she's always done when others have mentioned something similar to her. A thank you, and she'll move on. But when he say it, her world has completely stopped and all she can hear is that same word in his voice repeated to her over and over again. Beautiful, beautiful, she's not even sure what it means anymo-- ]

[ And that's when she sees his smile.

Oh, yes, he's smiled before-- in this very same conversation in fact-- but just then a soft breeze has picked up a few petals from around them, swirling them up into the air. She catches the scent of lilacs and bluebells, violets and roses. They dance and twirl behind him as he smiles at her, lyrical in their descent. ]

--Ah, Lord Berkut... [ She comments quietly, her footfalls slowed to a near stop. ] You're-- you're smiling. [ And for as long as he smiles, there's nothing in the entire world that could get her to look away. ]

[ Now she's at a complete stop, and her free hand is back to reaching up to him again. ] You're smiling. [ She repeats, this time her voice more breathless. She sounds-- excited, somehow. Hopeful? Very much pleased and happy.

She doesn't know what has made him smile, she's simply happy that he is able to. ] M-my apologies. [ A bubbly giggle escapes her, soft like champagne, and with the apology she withdraws her hand. ] I'm... glad, that I've gotten to see your smile not once, but twice today.

[ How do such simple things make her happy? She's not even sure herself. Maybe because his are so rare, or perhaps it's because she's so used to seeing him scowl. ]

[ There is joy in her words. Did he do that? And with nothing but a smile, to boot. Perhaps he should do it more often to make Pyra happy. Then again, how can he not smile when he's being blessed by her tender presence?

Oh, but he must maintain some level of dignity if he's to be worthy of keeping it. Berkut straightens, though his free hand itches to reach up so that he can hold both of her hands in his. He has to look his best. She deserves only the best. ]

If it pleases you, I will smile every day.

[ Only for her. ]

Shall we?

[ The garden awaits. ]

[ If he smiles every day, she would melt into the earth. She feels as if she's melting right at this moment by his smile alone, and if her legs become putty, would it be so bad if he would carry her? ] Y-yes! It... does. But only if you truly are happy. [ She wouldn't want him to smile just because. Never. ]

[ Cheerily she resumes in their walk, keeping a casual pace with him. To get to her house, they'll have to move away from the canal and further into the district where the enchanted trees populate the land more than the residents of Chroma themselves. ] I'll... [ More softly now: ] ...Have to find reasons to make you smile. Keeping you safe, or-- i-if you'd like, I'll make you your favorite meal, or... [ What else, what else? What else can she do for him? She seems to be almost at a loss. ]

Your being here is more than enough.

[ Years ago, he lost his father. His memories of the man are few, whereas those of his mother are abundant. Yet he lost her, too, and for a while he was left alone in court with only the Emperor's cold gaze and the sneers of the Faithful to keep him company, sustained by the hope that his uncle might accept him as a son. Then came . . .

If he were stronger, he'd dare to anoint himself the one who keeps Pyra safe. He has seen Pyra's power, however, and he'll never measure up to that. Is there anything that she can't do?

Is there anything he can do? He remembers the lessons both his mother and father drilled into him since childhood. Thinking back now, he's failed every single one of them. Pyra, though . . . She gives him that kernel of hope to dare to try again.

So preoccupied he is with looking at Pyra, Berkut hardly gives the trees a second glance. They've been encroaching too deep into town, but so what? ]

You needn't find a reason.

[ Because she is the reason. ]

[ Her being here is more than enough? A comforting thought, yes, but one that also reminds her that their time here is fleeting, far more fleeting that she would have had with anyone else upon her own world, mortal as they are. He could be here only for the next few months, days, or... minutes, and then he would vanish.

Suddenly him being here, her being with him, alongside him, becomes much more of an imperative. She's lost so many already, she's hurt so many already, and the thought of him disappearing terrifies her. She's spent so many months away from him, that she never truly got to know him, and now it's all she can think about to learn everything she can of this man, his likes and dislikes, his wants, his hopes, his past... his future.

And they would wish to change his future, using her power, if the one they gleam through their foresight isn't one he should have. ] No... reason? [ She chuckles softly, going on playfully but no less sincerely: ] What made you laugh as a child, what comforted you as you went to sleep. What you enjoy to do now, what makes you feel safest.... No reasons like those?

[ Her hand squeezes his gently, affectionately. She wants to be the reason he might feel safe, someone he can trust. She wants to take all of his burdens and help him, she wants to tell him that everything will be okay. ] This may be selfish, but I want to know-- all of these things about you, and--

--Ah! [ TRIPPING because a root from one of these trees has moved right out at their feet, and they're just a block from her house!

What cliche is this again? Number three? WE BE HITTING ALL OF THEM. ]

[ What made him laugh as a child, comforted him as he went to sleep? Nothing, really. His mother made it a point not to coddle him, so he wouldn't be teased for being fatherless. He's about to open his mouth and say as much when Pyra trips with a gasp, to which his eyes widen.

Down they go, with Berkut under Pyra—which, it turns out, isn't the most ideal order.

Berkut hits the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Then Pyra lands on his chest, and he wheezes with what little air is left in him. Huh? It feels like an anvil just dropped on him. He brings his hands up to support Pyra by the shoulders, but there's little strength behind the gesture. He can't breathe . . . ]

Urgh . . .

[ It takes a moment, two moments, three for her to come to after having smacked her nose onto his chest so thoroughly. That definitely hadn't been the most graceful of topples, after all, but then again they never are. She would have gotten off of him as quickly as she could have normally, scurried away and left. But today has been anything but normal from the flowers to walking the canal with him, and being tripped by a tree isn't a standard in any world. There must be some dramatic irony or fate at play, that this happens after declaring that she wants to keep him safe.

Pyra places a hand upon the ground, fingers pressing into the soil just to the side of his chest, and she uses that to lift her top half just enough to ease the pressure off of his torso. This also means that her lower half is pressing just a tad more down upon him, but hey, you win some, you lose some.

Getting a good look at him, however, and making sure that he's alright, she draws in a quick breath as she flushes. ] ...Lord Berkut?

[ Also normally, she would have been immediately apologized. However it seems that her affection has made her so blind that she's momentarily captivated by how close they are, stricken by him beneath her, and beckoned by his warmth. She doesn't-- want to pull away further, and she doesn't want to apologize for being close to him. ] Are you hurt...?

I'm fine.

[ He coughs. Sweet air fills his lungs, though there's now an uncomfortable weight pressing down on his legs. Well, breathing is more important. ]

Are you . . . ?

[ Is she all right? He thinks he took the brunt of the fall, but one can never be too sure. Blinking, Berkut peers up at Pyra. His hands fall away to the sides, and he thinks for a split second that he wouldn't mind staying like this for a while longer. Alas, he greatly minds that Pyra has to touch the soil and dirty her hands. ]

Can you stand?

Oh, yes, of course.

[ Stammering, she pulls away and off of him, one leg then the other, to kneel beside him. To make up for her delay in removing herself form him, she even moves to help him, bringing a hand behind his shoulders to prop him up. ] Here...

These trees are pests, aren't they? [ See, she's trying to make light of the situation. She just really doesn't want him to be angry and start hacking away at the trees in response! ]

Is that what felled you?

[ Nodding in gratitude, he climbs onto his feet. He looks down at the root that must have ripped them, then promptly back to Pyra. ]

So long as you weren't injured, it matters little. Your house is close, correct?

[ While his words are beginning to resemble his usual way of speaking, his voice remains softer than the norm. After that embarrassing tumble, it would be best to leave this behind and see to Pyra's lovely garden. There, perhaps they can . . .

Either way, this has jarred him enough that he keeps his hands to himself. It took more courage than he'd like to admit to have held her hand the first time. He'll have to save what's left for when they reach their destination. ]

[ ...But she still wants to hold his hand. What little disappointment she has with that thought, though, comes as goes as quickly as spring, soon replaced with the summer of being able to walk with him. It's just the simple things for which she can be grateful; no-- she must be grateful, even if it's only this, only being beside him. ] Mm, it's this way...

[ They'll pass a block and then turn a corner, and-- there it is, her townhouse in Bluo, looking as remote and neat as ever. It looks exactly as any other occupied house might from the outside, well-groomed, some flowers planted on either side of the door. She doesn't lead him in, but rather around to the back. ] This way.

[ The garden isn't visible from the front, and it's the single contribution she's made to make any changes to her own home. Various colored (and miscolored) flowers have been planted into strict, neat arrays-- only two of each exist within the garden, as if Pyra had only planted it to showcase whatever samples of flowers she could find. In truth, it had been an experiment: one of the first things she did when she had made the crown and discovered its properties, she had tried it out on all sort of samples of seeds she could find. The result is two very meticulously plotted rows of flowers, humble and simple, as if daring to break out of the mold she's made for this formation would be taboo.

Yup, this is what she's calling a garden.

....However, bringing Berkut to this reminds her of the time she had entered his heart and had seen a true garden. ] ....I... suppose it's not much, is it? [ She links her hands behind her back, glances away. ] Compared the ones you would be used to in palaces.

[ He looks down at the modest assembly of flowers with an expression of mild surprise. It doesn't grow beyond that. Given limited resources, Berkut supposes he should have expected this. Although it isn't what he had picture din his mind, he doesn't feel any disappointment.

Rigel has no palaces, and gardens as people tend to picture them don't exist in the castle. No, the most beautiful garden he's ever seen lies elsewhere in the Empire behind a manor, cared after with much love by—

This is perfect. If the garden were too beautiful, he might still be hesitating. As it is, Berkut shifts to face Pyra. ]

It's enough. You've done a fine job.

Pyra . . . If I may—

[ The words catch in his throat. Swallowing, he extends a hand. ]

May I have this dance?

[ She's holding her breath, watching him as he looks around the small not-quite garden, thinking, fearing for one moment that he'd be far more disappointed. But instead he praises it, he turns, ...and he extends his hand. He could be asking her anything at all, and she would still be staring at him, enchanted by his eyes on hers. ]

A.... dance?

[ Here? Without music? Without anyone else around? With... him?

He's asking her, he wishes to dance with her, and she answers. ]

Of--.... of course.

[ Her cheeks color already.

The matrix of energy within her flutters nervously-- no, excitedly? She's not even sure anymore. She has no heart, no lungs, but her breath still catches within her throat, and she's sure that a real heart would be beating rapidly within her chest for each inch she moves nearer to him. She outstretches her hand, placing her fingers within his palm, enjoying the feel of his hand within hers once more.

She knows how to dance, and indeed she's already shared a few dances with others within Chroma. But this is... it's different. In a private setting like this, this is something that only the two of them will have together. ] It would... be an honor, to share a dance with someone like you.

[ Ah, that sounds too formal, too impersonal. And the feelings within her that are so much stronger than that. ] ...No, that's not it. [ She smiles to herself, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, her expression softens further. ]

I would love to share a dance with you.

[ I would love to dance with you, my lord.

Just like that, the fear that she might reject him dissipates. Berkut's smile widens. He doubts she'll ever know how happy she has made him with her acceptance; but she has, so much so that he forgets his words.

They will dance here on their own time, away from the prying eyes of the derisive Rigelian court and those prone to gossip in Chroma. Here, he needn't be concerned about how others judge him—for here, there stands the one person around whom he can be himself . . . no matter how much of a disappointment he's shaped up to be.

His once pounding heart now rests within him, contented, as he falls into position. He's danced many a time, so he can't make a mess of this. It's perhaps the first time since this encounter that he's moved with anything resembling confidence. ]

[ She hand going to his shoulder, the other outstretched with his, the dance begins with a single step followed by another. They are not guided by music itself, but by the melodious emotions within-- rather, she is. And rather than any drum or brass, the energy within her feels like a cello, a piano, a harp, one note or hum echoing into the other. Their steps become seamless, synchronized, soft upon the grass, quiet like the world around them, until everything else fades but them.

She cannot tear her eyes from his own, his smile-- who knew he could smile like that? Certainly not she, and how blessed she is to be able to see it. He seems more at ease than he's ever been, as if he were suited for secret dances in a ~~not~~garden just as much as he is for conquest...

And the most shattering change these flowers bring is that suddenly she wants to help him obtain that goal. That if she could be the weapon he wield to conquer the land, if he would ask, if he would accept her aid, she would not say no. She would do all in her power to help him obtain the throne. For the feeling that is within her heart, this consuming, burning, blinding emotion, is none other than...

She falls into whatever last turn or spin he leads her into, and when pulled back to him, she stays closer, the hand falls from his shoulder to his chest, her movements slow, her gaze lowered, distant, reserved-- scared?

If what she's feeling here is-- for him, then... then she really hasn't learned anything, has she? But now that she has these feelings, she cannot think of any other way of living. ] ....Lord Berkut. [ She calls his name, timid, swallowing. ]

[ Berkut spots the shift in her mood as soon as her hand slips from his shoulder. Concern rolls over him in waves and he furrows his brow. She seems cagey all of a sudden, and he hasn't a clue as to why. Why does she hesitate to look at him?

His hands, tingling and warm with anticipation, still rest on her arm and waist. ]

What troubles you?

[ It's... comforting, to feel his hand upon her waist, she can feel a part of his gloved hands upon her skin, holding her steady. ]

I... [ She can't in good conscious simply-- dance with him, smile with him, and pretend that none of what she is doesn't matter. Not when she feels as if she's about to say something she shouldn't, the words feeling as if they're becoming butterflies upon her tongue, just ready to take flight and let lose.

But she feels as if she speaks, she will ruin everything.

They continue to sway in their dance, turning every so slightly, and her fingers curl upon is chest, bunching a bit of the thick fabric into her grip. ] You... might have guessed, that I am not human.

But you should know that I am... a weapon.

Edited 2019-07-16 02:38 (UTC)

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