awashlogs | Event Twenty-Five.

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Event Twenty-Five.

I'd like to creep into the wood
And see the bonnets blue,
And hear the bluebells ringing loud,
I wish I could -- don't you?

t's another day, another month, and another time for people to show up in the well. You'd better go rescue them! Never mind the fact that you woke up with a flower in your hands.

It's probably fine. Don't mind it at all. It's not like it's hard to ignore a little flower.

(At least, not until the effects start to kick in. Better go rescue the people in the well before they do.)

Oh, right. Even the people in the well have flowers, so... things are going to be a little ridiculous very quickly, when all of those side effects kick in. Have fun!

Welcome to Awash's Twenty-fifth event log, everyone! Further information on this event can be found here at the OOC post. You are welcome to make your own logs and posts for this event!

If there are any questions, please ask them here. Thank you!

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[ It's her turn to look confused at his own refusal, and... yes she can't help the flash of hurt that crosses her expression. ] Ah-- [ Others have told her that she's more than just a tool or a weapon, but the same coming from Berkut herself, muddled as her mind is because of the flowers, the sentiment that he views her as a person in her own right strikes deeper than before.

One in body and soul.

That is what Addam had said-- and she... wants that connection with Berkut.

But she reminds herself that even if she has asked...he, too, has a right to refuse. ] We... only wish to give all that we are to you.

[ She seems at a loss, looking at him. How can she say to him that she'll be better able to protect him if they resonate? That he, too, will acquire her power when he wields her? Strength that doesn't come just from him or from her, but by their bond? ] Is-- being by your side... enough?

[ Such humility. It draws a warm smile out of Berkut again. How can he take all that she has to give when he can only give back so much in return? No, her worth is not measured by what she can do for him. She doesn't owe him anything. Simply being is enough.

He slips his hands out of her grasp so that he can wrap them around hers, squeezing gently as he speaks softly. ]

It is.

[ His hands squeezing hers might as well have been another warm embrace; Pyra is consoled and reassured just like that. Her smile returns— meeker, yes, but still there.

It’s not as if she cannot lend her power to him in other ways, and her mind is already reaching and racing for possible methods in which there might be some hope she can return to his world with him. (the question of should she because she is dangerous is conveniently washed from her mind.)

They have to make the most of their time. She wishes to know as much as she can about him, learn what she may, and appreciate it all. ]

Lord Berkut... [ Stepping away, she takes his hand to guide him into her house. ] Would you like— to come inside?

I... wish to know more about you. Your hopes and dreams and— about your family and home.

[ She’ll make him tea or food or, or maybe even she’ll ask him if he wants to rest his head in her lap!!! ]

[ Head in lap!!

Usually, he's the one who leads others into battle with a reckless charge. But here she guides him, so gently yet irresistible, and he allows his feet to shuffle forward as he nods. ]

Of course. I'll tell you everything you wish to know.

[ And he would be pleased to listen to anything she has to say, if she's willing. Hopes, dreams, home, perhaps even family—those are all things he wants to know, too. ]

[ Leading him inside, she invites him by hand into the living room to the couch situated there. He'll find that it's dismally empty save for two pieces of art: one that appears of her in foreign robes, and a portrait of Tristan-- if he can even tell from how poorly it's drawn (and that 2/3rds of the painting is just blue paint up to his eyes). There would have been a wooden statue of Nero right in the center had they met earlier in the week, but she's since moved it elsewhere. ]

Well, I....

[ She seems rather excited to be able to speak with him some more; it's not often that she has company. Her roommate had left the month prior, and it's just been... unpleasant, being alone. ] I've always wanted to know... [ When he's made himself comfortable on the couch, she takes her seat beside him, hand still in his. ]

When you become emperor, would you change anything of Rigel?

[ Berkut is unable to stop himself from glancing around when they enter the house. It's surprisingly bare, but the first piece of art is interesting. And the second . . . is a painting. Once seated on the couch, he freezes.

Can he become emperor? He remember his uncle's disapproving glower, wonders when was the last time he heard anything positive from the Emperor. It's been too long, and the blame for that lies with him. Even if he were to become emperor, what can he do?

He thinks back to Valentia. His last memory is of—a battlefield, at the end of which he'd done a terrible thing. ]

If it were within my power . . . I would dismantle the Faithful.

[ She thinks back to when she had entered his heart. The Faithful-- he had mentioned them before, but all she could understand had been that they were part of a religion.

What were the names of the gods he mentioned-- ah, yes. ] The Faithful serve... Duma, correct?

[ He's not smiling anymore, she realizes. But she's curious and-- she wants to support him. ] They are unhelpful to the empire's cause?

Duma wished for his people to be strong. Rigel was established on harsh lands to make this wish a reality. But the Faithful are different; they gain strength by offering the souls of their children while enslaving the minds of others.

[ There doesn't have to be any blood relation for the sacrifice to take. Jedah just happens to be the most prominent Faithful to come to mind. But something else is at the forefront, and he drops his troubled gaze. ]

The power they wield . . . Duma's power . . . It's hideous.

...How horrible. [ Her expression turns from wary to horrified at the mention of sacrificing others-- children or not-- to gain strength. Berkut would never fall to such tactics; he is right to be disgusted by the ritual. ]

Wh--....why are they allowed to practice such a terrible thing in Rigel? Surely the Empire doesn't... need a strength that comes from... [ Killing children. ]

[ In his right mind, he might have expressed his disgust. Recalling the moment he witnessed that power for himself, though, he feels only dread as he looks down at his hands. ]

I used it.

[ Heat spreads throughout his face from shame. The Empire doesn't need strength like that and he, the fool, had taken it. ]

In my desperation to prevent another loss, I borrowed that power when it was given to me. I didn't realize its nature until then . . .

[ ...Ah, so he did use it. Shows how much she knows of him, which should be a cause for concern and an obvious sign that something in wrong with how enamored she is of him.

Yet.

Yet-- ]

....I'm.... so sorry, that you used that power. [ That he felt the need to use that power. That he was desperate-- he must have felt cornered, trapped, that he had to overcome whatever obstacle had been in his path.

She gives his hand a sympathetic squeeze, as if to let him know that she still accepts him, that she will stay here. She knows that mankind is capable of doing terrible things, when desperate. And sometimes, she wonders if their captor here, Mr. F, is one such desperate being in wanting to take people from their homes...

While she cannot condone the use of the power, she can empathize and understand the reason why. ] It must have been... No, was is frightening? I'm sorry, you had to endure such a terrible thing.

Frightening? No . . .

[ What frightened him more at the time was squandering the chance he'd begged from his uncle; and the horror that overtook him when Alm somehow dispelled Duma's spell, claiming something or another that still doesn't seem plausible. A peasant with the Brand and the ability to negate the War Father's power—is there anything more far-fetched than this?

Perhaps it's fate's way of doing away with his incompetence. Thinking about it all renews his fears. Pyra's grip grounds him. ]

The one who should be sorry is me. It was my choice to break the mirror. If I were stronger, I wouldn't have resorted to such terrible means.

[ He lifts his head. The motion is a bit slow, but full of thought. ]

Power that's borrowed won't give me strength. In order to be worthy of you, I must gather my might.

[ She listens to him quietly as he speaks of power, thinking that his view of it is... rather novel.

Power corrupts. Power overtakes. Power changes people. Power, when not in control, brings ruin. But instead of thinking of any of this, he wants to refuse power until he can build it himself— even if that might be a lengthy process, even if he might still be susceptible to acts of desperation to obtain that power. ] In.... my world, when I am bonded to someone, I can lend them my power. And that strength increases when working together. But I won’t pretend that it’s not something that is purely— wonderful. It can be dangerous. It can... destroy. [ Although she tells him this, she has no doubt in her mind that he would be able to wield her power. ]

You say that you are not worthy, but... it’s saying that itself that makes you worthy already.

[ She looks at him in earnest, leaning forward. ] You have doubts, but... please, believe in yourself a little more.

The great man that is sitting next to me— his name is Berkut, Knight of Rigel, heir apparent. [ The small smile that forms cannot be helped; she adores him, she believes in him. ] And this great man... is intelligent and honorable, regal, and someone I love.

Your greatest strength is... [ Pyra lifts a hand, reaching over to place it upon his chest. Although her touch is light, he’ll still be able to feel the warmth of her palm through the fabric of his tunic. ] In here.

Pyra . . .

[ There are so many things he can say to everything that's been said. For a while, he doesn't know which part to address. He opens his mouth, but closes it when no words come to mind. In the end, he decides to be as honest as possible. ]

My mother used to say that my heart was weak. She would remind me time and again that I needed to be strong for the Empire . . . If she were to see me now, she might deem me in need of another reminder.

[ And how it hurts, knowing that she would probably be disappointed in him. A widow left to groom a timid child for the throne, she'd slaved away to prepare him for the world and died an early death for her efforts. Now look where her son has ended up. What has he done for her in return?

The weak, treacherous part of him reaches up to clasp Pyra's hand. His cooled heart warms from the touch, swells with adoration for the first person to have ever called it strong. He wants to hold onto her hand and never let go. ]

But if you say that this heart of mine is my greatest strength . . . perhaps it's true.

[ His smile alone could melt the poles. It outdoes her own warmth, it makes her breath catch in her throat.

She's told others her how wonderful they are, how much they impress her, how much she believes in them and sees potential in them. How good they are... and this is the first time someone has ever said that perhaps it's true. Perhaps he actually believes her words instead of dismissing them, perhaps he accepts them.

Wordlessly, Pyra scoots herself closer upon the couch. Leaning in slightly, just enough that she may place a hand upon his thigh for support, she dips her head and.... kisses him upon the back of hand-- the one that holds hers to his chest, the one that is over that very same heart of his of which they speak. Affectionate and tender, her lips linger there upon the back of his knuckles for a moment more. She only pulls away just enough to raise her eyes to meet his, looking up through long eyelashes. She blushes again at their closeness, and at her own forwardness, but she... doesn't want to back away, either.

Does she need actually say, of course it is in response to his words? Because of course it is true, of course his heart is strong. ]

[ Dimly, he wonders when the last time someone was this close to him was. Someone who didn't wish him harm, who isn't Pyra. It's been a long time, and her hands leave behind a tingling sensation where she touches him.

What he wouldn't give for this moment to last forever.

With his free hand, he reaches up to cup Pyra's cheek. Caught up in the moment as they are, he dares to push his luck. ]

I would know more about you, too.

[ She tilts her head, leaning into the sweet caress of his palm, sighing as she's supported. When has someone touched her cheek so... tenderly, and with such affection in their eyes for her?

She's lost to him even as he speaks, and as she opens her eyes to look once more upon him, her eyes drift to his lip; ah, she wishes-- ] I wish... I could kiss you again.

[ oh oops did she say that out loud ]

[ Chuckling softly, he leans forward as he guides Pyra's face closer to his. ]

As you wish.

[ He thought that he would like nothing more than to learn more about her. Foolish, he thinks now. There's nothing he wants more than to grant her wishes—all of them. This kiss is his to initiate; and it's a slow, chaste affair that he doesn't rush for a second. ]

[ A flush crawls to her cheeks when she realizes that she's-- actually said one of her wishes aloud. How could she be so bold, how could she ask for something that she wants, how could she dare--

But his lips find hers like the satisfying last piece of a puzzle, coming together so clearly and wonderfully that she almost feels complete.

Warmth flutters over her skin like rain during summer, and she kisses him back...indulging in the slowness, adding a firmness to it herself, a sensuality that hadn't been there a moment ago. She inches closer to him, her hand lifting from his chest to his shoulder, bringing him closer in return, the other upon his knee shifting as well. She wants to say, I wish I could kiss you more but-- isn't that what she's doing here? ]

[ Her actions speak louder than her words. He returns her passion, though reciprocating is just about all that he's capable of as he brings his freed hand up to caress her neck. He's unable to remember a time he ever went beyond a modest kiss, and never in such abundance. But if it'll bring a smile to Pyra's face, he'll kiss her as many times as she wants. ]

[ She's breathless in a way she could have never been before, and his hand upon her neck, keeping her position secure, feels as if it's hot enough to leave a burn upon her skin. And if it actually did, would he kiss to sooth the ache of it?

Would he be opposed to her doing the same to him?

And-- as to the question of if this will bring a smile to her-- she is. She is smiling, smiling even into their kiss, with the clink of teeth, with them grazing along his lips, taking in a quick breath of air before she returns for more, this time more open, a need begotten from her flower. Her hand upon his knee lifts to be over his shoulder instead, pulling his body to her on the couch.

She loves him. She loves him, and she doesn't know how when she had thought she was being more careful about her feelings, when she was telling herself that this isn't for her, that this is not part of her purpose. And yet--

She loves him, and she wants him.

Earlier, she had said she wanted him to know everything about her, and she about him. Now she realizes she's just as curious to learn him in this way as well. ]

[ He would grant each and every one of her wishes—and yet, even as he allows himself to be pulled over by those tender hands, he can't help but to feel a spike of something familiar to unease.

This is all a little too fast, a little too much. Never has he been so lost in his passion. He fumbles.

He reaches out to find purchase on the couch's armrest as he parts from Pyra—just by a bit, for he'd never stray far from that smile—and searches for her eyes, wondering what he might see in them. ]

P-Pyra. Is this . . . Is this what you truly want?

[ A part of him isn't sure what he's asking. This, he said. What exactly is this? ]

[ It's too easy to fall into the swift spiral downward, the maelstrom of love, even when she's repeatedly told herself that this isn't for her. This, being in his arms, being with him, having her affections returned, having-- a sense of security, of feeling safe, of feeling like she belongs, of feeling that she's actually worth something by how he looks at her, that she's wanted, by the tender way he holds her. That she's... beautiful, that he thinks he's beautiful and worthy of being loved. It's not anything she's felt before.

How could she forget herself, how could she ever tell herself that she can speak of what she wants, how can she ever want something--

Her hand upon his shoulder stays there, as does her eyes on his; now parted, she's able to focus upon his face, his eyes, his lips, taking in the way he looks at her, hearing him stutter her name, him asking about this, all of which causes her cheeks to flush, for heat to craw up her spine.

This.

Her answer is a whisper, but no less resolved, inviting than it should be, her smile appreciating, happy: ] ....Yes.

[ Yes, to wanting to love him, yes to wanting to protect him, yes to wanting to give him anything he might need to achieve his dreams. Yes, to this and... wherever it might lead, because there is no time, no telling when either of them might leave or when they might forget each other, never to see one another again. She can't bear the thought of getting to love him in every way possible, including this. So within her eyes he'll see her wishes, her desires, and the sorrow of knowing that it cannot last forever. ]

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Event Twenty-Five.

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