therookery | crystal |

Entry tags:

crystal |

FORM: crystal
SENDER: Matthias
RECIPIENT: Riftwatch EVERYONE LISTEN UP
NOTES: friends don't let friends get extradited

So what is Riftwatch, right. Like, I know what it is. But I know what it ought not to be as well, and if someone comes along and says oi, I'm come of some king in Nevarra and we say we've a right to carry off and arrest one of your members--well, then, that's an easy one. We tell 'em no, and piss off.

'Cause we can't let that go on. Right? Not that we're opening up jail cells and inviting in every prisoner to come in and join up, but-- well, we're none of us perfect. Everyone's come from something. And it's not always so simple as they say it is. People get hanged for nothing, or maybe they did what they're accused of, but there's more to it that no one's saying. And we--Riftwatch, I mean--we're not held to the same diplomatic shit that the Inquisition proper is, not any longer. That's part of how come we split off, I thought. So we can be what we want, and say for ourselves what we'll put up with and what we won't. And who we'll put up with, and who we won't. Make our own policy so we can protect our own people, no matter what.

At least, that's what it ought to be, I think. I didn't come here and join up just so someone could hand me over some day the first time some messenger comes calling. Don't think anyone ought to be worried about that. Like--there's diplomacy, and then there's acting a white liver coward, you know?

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[At the sound of Laura's voice, Matthias stops throwing pebbles at the wall opposite him. And there she is, stood right by him, with her hood pulled up and casting a shadow over her face.]

Hey--

[He drops all of the pebbles that he'd been holding, waiting to chuck, and-- well, he begins to reach for her--arm, or hand, or something--but then pulls up short, twists his hand and grabs ahold of his own shirtsleeve instead.]

Hi. Erm. Are you-- all right?

No.

[She's watching his hand, brow furrowing slightly. It doesn't occur to her to lie in response to the question--he already knows that her circumstances are not ideal.]

Are you?

[Matthias always has energy, but it seems more nervous to her today. (Or perhaps she is nervous and seeing it in him.)]

'Course I am. Yeah. I'm--

[He shakes his head, and casts his eyes down to his boots instead.]

Sorry. That was a stupid question. I know it was. And I know that you're not-- Look, what I meant to ask was, that you're not hurt, or anything. Or no one had said anything to you.

[The way he looks down makes her stomach clench. Her intention was not to convince him he should apologize to her--but he has, and Laura dislikes the idea of it. She has misspoken, and she doesn't know how it happened.]

I am unhurt. [And people have only said things about her, not to her.] But I wished to see you.

[Matthias looks up so quickly he nearly snaps his own neck.]

I wanted to see you too.

[Hang on. Just hang on, there. It's not right, to feel--cheered by that sentiment. That can't be what's needed, not by her or anyone. He leaves his fingers twisted in their grip on his shirtsleeve. It wouldn't be fair, to grab her hand. But the feeling is there. Sometimes that helps, doesn't it? To have that grip. Maker knows he's felt unteathered himself, and this never happened to him, whatever this is. Whatever part of it is the truth or a lie or a story or something twisted-up, it doesn't matter. She's standing here, and she's his friend.]

Like--I know I said it, before. Just wanted to tell you myself as well, that I'm, you know. On your side. No matter what. I don't care. And I'd help you--or I will, I mean--whatever you need, I'll do it.

And besides all that, I s'ppose I just--wanted to see you. So. There's that, as well.

[Perhaps it isn't right to be cheered by such a sentiment, but something in Laura lightens at the sound of it. After so many reminders of the ways in which people have found her useful, the reminder that some people simply find her acceptable...it is something she needs. And she nearly realizes so consciously.

Nearly. As it is, she mostly feels the overwhelming desire to look at Matthias and let him talk. Eventually, she is aware that he will expect some kind of reply, when his own words peter out and quiet settles between them again.]

Thank you. [He is not the only person who on her side, or even the only person who matters and is, but no one has been as insistent upon it as him. And that is why he is the one she is here to see--it is easier to truly believe he means no matter what. And why, moreover, she adds tentatively:] You had questions.

[If he is going to defend her to others, he deserves to know what he is defending.]

[He nods, first, quickly--yeah, of course--with a little redness in his ears that, blessedly, stays there, doesn't spread to his face and make him look a right idiot. And then--]

Oh, yeah. Er--

[He casts a look about them. There's no one lingering in the courtyard save for the two of them, which makes it more or less private. Matthias shifts his weight, pulls up his shoulders. Right.]

I wanted to ask, if-- well, if the list was real. That you really did what that messenger'd said, and killed those people.[He says it with simplicity, matter-of-fact. Because it is.] And then... 'cause I think it must be real, right? So then I wanted to ask... well, why. 'Cause I reckon there must be a reason. There always is. Even if it's complicated, there's a reason.

[Her eyes have been sweeping the area, too, mindful of the possibility of others hearing. (Others will hear, regardless, and already have. But this is only for Matthias.) She is tempted to suggest they sit down someplace, but it is an uncomfortable conversation. It will not change if they themselves are more comfortable.

So she stands there, and she explains.]

That is why they made me. [Laura does not want to look at Matthias. She suspects she has to. There are other ways of judging his reaction, but it will be most evident in his face. Her own expression is slightly drawn around the brows, but otherwise deliberately empty.] To kill for them.

[Matthias looks back at her, easy, though with a crease of trepidation between his eyebrows. The fall of his hair hides it, mostly. He needs a trim.]

They-- made you? What d'you mean, exactly, like... the claws, and all?

[Made is such a clear way to say it. Matthias finds he doesn't know what to do with that. Like it was deliberate. Everything he is--well, it's half accident. Half accident to even have been born. Never a thought.]

[Laura nods: that is exactly what she means. This time, she cannot stop herself from looking slightly past him--if she stopped to think about it, she'd tell herself it was to ensure no one else approached. But it is not.]

It was like a Circle. [He will understand that. She listened to every bit of chatter she could through the crystal, when he talked about them a few months ago. Isolated, indoors, a place to learn things but also to be hurt in the name of learning.] But there was only me.

[Maker, but that’s horrifying to think. The only thing that made the Circle anything close to bearable was the others. Everyone suffering together was miserable, yeah, but you weren’t alone. Isolated sometimes, kept apart, punished alone, kept quiet so sedition didn’t spread, but they weren’t always watched. There were times to talk, at least. Sitting next to one another at meals. Two by two, walking down the corridor.

And then Laura, alone. She’s looking away from him now, over his shoulder, elsewhere.]

Who were they?

A mage.

[Troublesome, saying that to Matthias, more than it was to Derrica. Laura's not sure why. But if she can tell one, she can tell the other; outside of Mhavos, they are the most important people she knows.

(She has avoided Mhavos since the messenger's arrival. It seems all too possible that he will be disappointed in her--and if he is, she does not want to know.)]

And people who paid him. And my mother.

[Her voice drops softer with every word.]

[Matthias does flinch at that, a little. A mage. It already reminds him of what Kitty had said, about evil, and people, and power. But he doesn’t know anything, he reminds himself, he doesn’t know what she means or what happened, not properly, and besides—

Well, her mother. That one ought to be worse. And it is, in its way, and he doesn’t know what to say to it. But then, he doesn’t know what to say to any of it.]

Your mother— [How is the wrong word. He knows how. Nearly been there himself. So he doesn’t bother with it.] Was she a mage? I mean, even if she was— Why? Not just her, but why, any of ‘em? You were a kid. You must’ve been.

[Slowly he realizes—]

When did they—do that to you? The lyrium?

I do not think so.

[It occurs to Laura now, with someone else there to ask the obvious questions, that her mother could have been any number of things she never knew. She does not think she was a mage. But how could she know? Added all together, she spent months of her life in an empty room, unaware of what Reis or Sarra Kint did outside of it.

Why is not a question she knows how to answer. So she disregards it. (She has to think about the lyrium anyway, try to remember exactly when. She remembers a life before claws, of course, but it is difficult to remember what it was like not to have them.)]

I was ten. [At some point, her arms ended up crossed around her middle. She did not notice it happen, but she feels her fingertips dig in now.] I think.

[Ten was the Circle, for Matthias. He has the thought in passing. Dark rooms and sour fear. He's focused on Laura, on trying to make sense of all of these pieces of her story he's now gotten, and it's through this lens that he is looking at those pieces. Setting her in one of the little cell rooms at Tantervale, with the doors that have knobs only from the outside.

So it's not pity that he feels. More sadness, and familiarity, and then a kind of hate, too, particular to seeing someone shut away. The unfairness of it all, a sting that he's never gotten over.]

Why? I know bad things happen, I'm not thick, but this isn't-- [Her fingers are hidden from view, her arms wrapped around herself. He thinks again about taking her hand. It would be too much right now. He should have, before.] This is different. They did this to you, and then...

Is that how you ended up killing those people as well? Is it to do with them? Your mother, and-- and the mages?

[He comes back to why and a part of her resents him for it. The why makes her want to go somewhere dark and silent and scratch at her arms and legs until she no longer has to think about it. So does the rest of it, but this much feels self-evident, and her jaw does not want to speak it.

But she does not want to be alone--most of her does not. She just wants whatever swamp of feeling is mired inside her to recede again. Matthias always makes the world feel like something that can be owned, in spite of its cruelties; around him, it becomes a place to discover, not just one to defend against. There's safety in listening to him talk.

Laura will not resent him later. But she does not like talking about this now.]

They wanted a weapon. [The why, and the how, all tangled together in a thorny patch of ground: they created a murderer who murdered for them. She shifts a little, pressing the knuckles of one hand against the crook of her elbow. The promise of claws, if not the actual pain--and the overwhelming temptation to pull one just a little way into the world, not enough to be seen. If only Matthias didn't know the scent of lyrium.] Not a person.

That's--

[So many things, and all of them horrible. He was a weapon too, during the war. But he chose it. Wanted it. And they were fighting for something proper and real, for freedom and no control by the templars or the Chantry, for rights and a voice and not getting caged up when you were small.

That's nothing like what Laura had by all accounts. By her account, which is all that Matthias needs. He was on her side before. Now he's as good as stitched to her, unbreakable. It's shit, what she had. That's all there is to it. Full of pain, full of nothing her fault or making, all misery and darkness.]

How did you end up here? How'd you-- get away?

I killed them.

[This requires looking at him. When people look away, it is taken as a sign of dishonesty--even if Matthias might not say so, others have told her as much.

He has asked two very different questions. He might not realize it. But Laura does, and her stomach knots at the idea of responding to how did you end up here in any detail. When Matthias looks at her, he will already see a murderer, even if he doesn't mind it; she does not want him to see the things she did in Cumberland, too.]

Please do not make me answer more questions.

[One claw materializes just enough to slice, into her sleeve and just past it. It is not satisfying, tearing a sharp little hole in the fabric and the skin below, without motion or repetition. It is not the claw she usually employs for this purpose: it's the one above her little finger, one she's hoping will be hidden by the fabric of her sleeve and the flesh of her fist and forearm.

But it hurts. And that is all Laura wants.]

I won't, [Matthias says, quickly,] if you don't want to answer anymore, I won't ask anymore, I only want to understand, what's--what's happened.

Can I--

[He reaches for her. Can't resist any longer. That urge is like one to protect, to make things all right, even though he can't. It was the past, who knows how long ago. Maybe her mother and the mages are on that list that the messenger read out, folded up and and disguised among the dead. Maybe no one knows about them yet. It doesn't matter: Laura is here, and that's what he will say to her next. She did it. And she's staying for as long as she likes.

Only it's as he's stretching out his hand to her that he notices it. Something particular and faint, this little itch of a smell. Like when you get ginger in your nose, only colder, somehow, and he looks down on instinct and she's got this rip in her sleeve. And a little dark dot--blood--and he looks around before he begins to put it together, and his gaze jumps back up to hers, to meet her eyes. His own are wide now, he can feel it, round like saucers, you're goggling, Matthias, but he can't help it.]

Can you give me your hand?

[His is there, waiting.]

[His gaze has a weight to it--or a heat, the one warm patch of sunlight in a freezing, empty room--and Laura does not want to feel it on her arm. Once she realizes, when he goes from looking stricken at her body to looking stricken at her face, the air seems to vanish from her lungs.

She swallows hard before she answers. There is only one answer, if she wants to escape this moment, this sensation of her ribcage crushing down everything inside it.]

Yes.

[The claw is gone, and if she lets her hand drag against the dark fabric of her sleeve, there will be no evidence left--she hopes. Her last two knuckles have the faint, reddish tinge of blood that hasn't been rinsed away, slightly darker in the creases of her skin. And he will notice, if he already has, but if she makes any show of seeing it as well, then she thinks they will have to talk about it. Matthias talks through everything.

She does not wish to talk about it. Looking steadfastly at his waiting hand, she sets her palm upon his.]

[His hands have a roughness to them, peasant and fire-worker and fool. Fire has always been his friend. And now Laura's hand is in his, and he thinks, out of place, of the dance they'd shared. Her hand is cool against his. The little smears of blood stand out like swipes of paint, down in the creases and lines of her skin. Matthias looks at them. Then he covers that hand with his other hand, holding them between.]

You haven't got to do anything any longer. Not kill anyone, not hurt-- [Anyone, yourself; he bites at his lip.] None of it. No one can make you. And if anyone tries, I'll be there with you. You're here now.

[He looks back down at her hand, then. If he lifts his away, the little smears of blood will have transferred to his palm. Her arm must still be bleeding, delay in all.]

If it hurts, I can heal it. With magic. I didn't want to just-- do it, I want you to know first. But I can, if you like. You can say no.

[Laura is here now, everything around her drawn out more sharply when Matthias hides her hand between his own: lyrium and blood and the wool of his trousers, something at once gentle and insistent in the way he talks, the warm press of his palm against the back of her hand. He trusts that she will not use the claws on him, even though it would take no effort to run his hand through. She could mangle his hands before he had time to react, if she wanted to.

She does not want to. But the fact that he does not seem to consider the possibility at all is...she keeps looking at his hands in mingled surprise and uncertainty.

The desire to draw crosses into her skin is not gone. It is not lessened so much that she can bury it back inside herself entirely. But, at least for now, she can think beyond it, long enough to answer Matthias. She is here now, in a courtyard with someone who makes promises about letting her choose things and means them, and she does not want to walk away from that.]

No. [Laura swallows and, after a moment, draws her hand away. If she decides she wishes to take hold of his again, he will let her--she is nearly certain of it.] I heal quickly.

[He doesn't cling to her, when she pulls her hand away. He doesn't feel any sting of rejection when she refuses his offer. Instead he nods, and looks down at his hands. There's the little smear of blood that he'd known he would see.]

I'm a shit healer anyways. Probably for the best.

[So. He cracks a little smile--sort of a joke, that, the type that you make when your post-battle handiwork gets shown off, put a wrinkle in my leg, and there's a wicked scar instead of the good clean ones.

It's not surprising she'd refuse him, considering what she's been through. It's a miracle she'll even stand here with him. Only once before has it occurred to Matthias, that people might not trust mages for reasons beyond that they could go off like a bomb. That's a big one. But, broadly, mages are brilliant, as far as he's ever known. Better, even, if he's put in enough of a frenzy of self-congratulation and powerful thinking. More skilled, more special.

There's another side to it. Painful, when he thinks of it that way. But it's as he said to Kitty: it's not because they were mages that they did it. A mage did this to Laura. A bastard. Not Matthias. He twists his hands so he can grip at his shirtsleeves again, folding them in on themselves.]

You're a person. [--is all he can think to say, next, and it sounds small and inadequate, so he says, more firmly, digging in to the point--] You are, you know. I know it. That's the last thing I want to say. They tried to fuck you but they couldn't, because you're here, now. And you're loads more than a weapon. Weapons can't breathe or talk or think or anything and you can do all of those things and more. You're brilliant.

[She doubts he's anything of the sort--what little magic she's seen him do has been harmless and well-executed to her eyes--but she cannot find a way to say as much in a satisfying way. Fortunately, she does not want to keep talking about healing anyway, if it means continuing to think about why. This particular mistake, she would prefer Matthias forgot.

But it seems unlikely he will. Especially when he speaks again and Laura doesn't know what to do besides look at the floor. He listened to her, heard every word and kept all of them. And she will have to face him, knowing that he remembers this conversation, every day she is here.

Some kind of feeling is swelling inside her, one that might demand satisfaction from her claws--or might not. It's hard to tell what it wants of her, how to name it, even what it might be woven out of. A sort of dire embarrassment, but affection, too. The desire to run or nod or hug Matthias, all at once, and the distant awareness that even if he is wrong, she hopes he isn't.]

I want to be.

[She does want to run, she realizes, inasmuch as standing here and answering impossible promises--you're a person, no doubt whatsoever in the way he speaks--brings discomfort. But she has run from Matthias before, in hopes of evading discomfort, and the outcome was unfavorable. Trying something new may be required, if she wants new results.]

You are.

[As stubborn as he is certain. Matthias grips harder at his sleeves. If he was looking at his fingers, his knuckles, he'd surely see them having turned all white.]

And you're my friend. That's--second to being a person, 'course. But still. So, [and here they have arrived at the sum total of the words and thoughts that Matthias has prepared, and he looks down at their feet instead, taking some of the intensity of his gaze off of Laura, releasing her from his attention,] yeah. That's it, then. That's--all I wanted to say, so.

[He kicks the heel of his boot against the ground, chipping at the soil.]

If you want to stay. Right now, I mean. Or go somewhere else, or--whatever. I could stay with you. If you like. Just so you're not, you know, on your own. I promise I can shut up even, for a bit. Probably sounds impossible but I can.

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