Choices

[Elyna]

43 Ashan 716

Elyna had always thought the world was strange in the way that things could sneak up on her. Things were generally good. She hadn’t need to see Vaughn again, she had spent time with her few remaining friends and for the most part, assisted the Knights in an investigation and continued her training. Life was moving forward. Her days were busy, the long and restless hours filled with whatever she could do to exhaust herself and wake the next morning to do it all again. But that day was looming, like a dark cloud on the horizon. No matter what way she turned, she couldn’t avoid it.

The day after investigating the body on the steps and blundering through questions with the general public, she hadn’t been able to sleep. In the early bits of the morning she’d returned to the training grounds long before first light and stayed until the day’s work was done. So she had returned home and fallen into such a deep sleep that she’d been late this morning. Agitated and rushed, she’d made it through a day of duties and the additional rosters she signed up for and stumbled home. She’d eaten and sat alone in her bedroom as the night moved on outside.

Then she had given up and set out on a walk through the city streets. Her feet led the way over paving slabs and cobbles, she knew where she was mostly through her boots by this point. It had been over two years since she’d last been home. She wondered if the city was becoming more of her, or was she merging into the city?

It was late when she tramped down the steps to the Blacksmiths Arms, hand trailing on the stonework as she descended. She wove through the patrons without paying them any attention, ignoring any glances that followed a young woman alone. She ordered her liquor and sat. With her arms resting on the table and her feet crossed at the ankle she watched the amber liquid swirl and settle. It smelt of cinnamon and sweet spices, she took a sip, enjoying the burn at the back of her throat and finally looked up, trying to shake off the feelings of nostalgia. They were dangerous. Memories could pull you into even darker pits than this one.

[Qaerris]

It was the essence of Qaerris' current existence to live in the moment. Hundreds of arcs into his life and he found little in his past to be proud of. Memories whirled about endlessly, vivid at times and obscure in others. But, by this point in his eternal life he had seen things that pushed him away from pursuits of grandeur. The world about Qaerris was ever-changing. The people were fleeting, destined to end and in that vein, they lived their lives destructively, knowing their end was to come. The Mortalborn, whose life was without a natural end, was more careful. He wanted to live forever, to weave through the annals of time and emerge as one who remained. Was he a keeper? No. In truth, the mortalborn cared little for the world around him, taking from it what pleasures he could revel in.

This night was by no means an exception. The tavern was incredibly noisy, a plethora of people circled about both Qaerris and an opponent, seated in front of each other, hands locked with one another as a vivid show of strength was at work. The mortal across from the harlot was straining himself, sweat rolling in beads across his features as the Mortalborn seemed to yawn. Qaerris was not an incredibly powerful man, but his toned musculature, forged and maintained over time, would not surrender to the fruitless attempts of some out of shape human. Shoving forward, Qaerris' hand slammed the other man's to the table, the Mortalborn taking a single gold nel that the other man had bet. He'd seek to use it to pay forward his tab for the evening, but first, there were bragging rights to be had.

Ordinarily, to Qaerris, winning this sort of game was trivial, meaningless, but to the drunkards, himself included, in this bar, it was a feat to be in awe of. Qaerris let out a yell, screaming out his victory as he rose from the table. He beat his chest with his left arm, pointing at his defeated foe as if he had been felled in a grand coliseum. When the novelty of his victory had passed, the Mortalborn retreated from the table, raising his arms to slide on the shirt he had removed to engage in the challenge. A collective groan of female onlookers seemed to reverberate, Qaerris letting out a chuckle. A wink was sent to each woman who had let out the sound in turn, the Mortalborn making his way towards the bar to continue his night of drunken debauchery.

When Qaerris arrived at the bar, one of the only seats he found empty was next to a rather fetching young woman, whose familiarity did not escape the Mortalborn. Had he seen her before? Looking forward as she was, Qaerris could not get the entirety of her face to turn in his direction. Letting a shrug move his shoulders, the son of Zanik lifted up his drink, bringing the ale to his lips as his gaze moved to the side in an effort to catch Elyna's.

"Are you alright? You seem quite... morose?"

Qaerris would do his utmost to cheer a lonely woman up. After all, it was his job, in a way.

[Elyna]

The shouting had caught her attention, even now, with a few good gulps of strong drink in her near empty stomach, she tried to remain aware of her surrounds. But it was getting harder, the edges were growing fuzzy. That, afteral was the point, to forget. She’d turned to watch the final stages of the bout only to realise with dismay, who the victor was. Scowling she turned back to her drink and finished it. Watching as it was refilled. Her hands curled back around the warm glass and she tilted her head back, surveying the ceiling, watching the firelight flicker.

It had been her choice to come here, no one elses. She couldn’t feel irritated that Quentin Alvina had returned to tavern, she knew he frequented. She could only call herself an idiot, because that was how the world worked. If there someone you didn’t want to run into, inevitably you would. Her shoulders hunched on reflex as he sat down beside her. Eventually she looked sidelong at him, raising a brow.

“Fine, thank you,” she coughed, the words catching on the liquor lining her throat. She straightened, no point hiding anymore and forced her shoulders back, lifting her chin with a forced sense of pride and dignity.
“Have you come here to annoy me, or just to get a drink? Is it your special trick of the evening?” It was downright rude, but she didn’t care. He’d either just walk away, or he’d argue back. She felt itchy, restless. Quietly angry beneath all her attempts to be and act normal and do what was expected. They were sneaky, those emotions. One day you thought you were fine, the next…running around setting yourself up to play with fire.

[Qaerris]

In the Mortalborn's drunken mind, he had never met this woman before. However, when she lashed out at him with such ferocity, he was reminded of another woman. When he thought on it in finer detail, this woman and that one looked the same... they sounded the same...

Idiot. It's the same one. What was her name? Actually... I don't know if she ever introduced herself. That skyrider from the other night... Did either of them bother to share their names?

When he recalled it that way, it was quite a relief that he had the foresight to guard his true identity. Not that his identity would truly give anything about him away in Rynmere. Perhaps if he were a life-long inhabitant, or if he were notable in his own right. However, the only thing notable about the Mortalborn was the perfection of his physical form, for any other sort of edge he might have over other people was kept, as his name was, discrete. A small smile cast upon the harlot's lips as he listened to the woman's questions. A light shrug moved his shoulders, the courtesan carefully considering his next words before he let himself speak.

"Oh, dear skyrider," Qaerris' words were but a whisper, the man leaning forward so that his lips were nearly to her ear. His efforts to keep his words discrete necessitated a closeness to the woman, a closeness that he did not regret in the slightest.

"I do have to apologize for the way I treated you. Law enforcement has never been a profession I make nice with. However, from now on, I can make an exception for you, if you are so inclined to forgive."

The Mortalborn, due to his heritage, held an allure to his person, a natural inclination to attract and earn the approval of others about him. Perhaps he had wounded this mortal too severely to let it shine through, but he did not believe this one so fragile as that. However, with her current state of mind, perhaps he was simply being overly optimistic.

"Perhaps, we can start over. I never did catch your name."

[Elyna]

Elyna resisted her natural inclination to lean away in parallel to his approach. She let the words fall before edging to the side, away from him. Her ear tickled so she rubbed it, hard. The hairs rising on the back of her neck again. He had this effect on her, making her skin crawl and at the same time she couldn’t quite just get up and walk away. The Skyrider lifted her shoulders in a shrug, what was there to forgive? She shouldn’t have lost her temper. She should have been in control.

“Call me Quintina,” she flashed a forced smile in his direction, reminding him of the name he’d given her. If his name was truly Quentin then she was a Queen. The young woman realised the ridiculous nature of her retreat. She wasn’t going to run away from a stranger. She turned suddenly to face him and finished the new drink, setting it down with a bang on the bar. Physical retreat wasn’t going to work, time for a verbal offensive.

“I don’t want to be nice to you, I don’t care if you’re nice to me. I am here, alone. Because I want to be alone. Go back to conning the drunks,” she nodded her head towards the table, “they’ve got more coin than sense.”

[Qaerris]

Qaerris jumped back at the hostility that this woman was letting loose upon him. Eyebrows arched as a laugh parted the Mortalborn's lips. What business was it of his if she refused to be civil? Collecting himself, the Mortalborn physically took a step back, making his way off of the stool and tuning his body around so that he faced the mortal properly. Qaerris had loosed an apology as an effort to 'forgive' and 'forget' the verbal assault she had set loose upon him. Was it necessary? No. Was it advised? It was, but no longer. The Mortalborn found rage begin to break at the surface of his calm facade, whiskey-brown eyes devoid of the mirth usually set upon them, his ever-grinning lips set to that of a scowl.

There was no need for Qaerris to stand for a verbal assault. Who was this being, this speck of dust to address him in such a way? A skyrider? A woman of the law? No. She was insignificant.

"Fine, then. Be alone. Wallow in whatever world of misery you seek to create for yourself, you cretin. Just know that I extended the olive branch to you."

Once the Mortalborn had said his piece, he went back to the adoring crowd he had been mixing with just minutes before. A new drink in hand brought with it a new opportunity to delve deeper into the stupor he so wished to experience. An easy laugh again found itself upon his lips, for friends were far too easy for the Mortalborn to find. 'Friends.' Facades. Illusions. In the end, they withered away. But, the enjoyment he derived out of them was more than enough to revel in for as long as they were there to share it with him.

[Elyna]

His visceral reaction surprised her, but she folded her arms over her chest refusing to back down. She waited for his retort before shrugging it off, turning back to another drink. Her fingers shook though as she raised the glass and set it down after a more moderate sip. She let out a slow breathe. Shame came easily to the Skyrider. He was right, he had offered a branch of peace and she’d turned around to hit him with it. But she had what she’d wanted, didn’t she? She was alone.

The guilt didn’t sit well with the liquor and it twisted her insides. Well, the choices were to either carry on drinking alone, or to try and offer an apology of her own. She bared her teeth at her own reflection, that wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t have to like everyone, and they didn’t have to like her. Yet, there was still the unhappiness that came from lashing out at someone without provocation. She looked back once, over her shoulder as she carried on with more moderated sips.

***

The night moved on and the candle stumps burnt low. By the time she stood, she felt as though she was walking on a boat with the floorboards rocking back and forth beneath her feet. It took a concentrated effort to stand up straight and put one foot in front of the other and walk in a reasonably straight line towards the door.

By the Sacred Seven, she thought, she’d have to sober up before walking up, or she’d be an easy target. She paused in her journey and blinking looked to her right. The man she’d offended was sat with less of his giddy crowd. Her feet turned of their own accord and she gripped the chair before sinking down to sit opposite him. She lent forward, elbows on her knees and wondered if this was exactly where she’d sat three days before when they had first met.

“I’m sorry,” she started bluntly and without really knowing if he was paying her any attention, “I should have accepted peace between us…I’m not…” she wasn’t very good at apologies. She sank back, pushing her fingers through her hair as she inhaled. What could she say? Where to start?

“You remind me of someone I used to know…and I am…I am so angry at him…” her voice trailed at the end and she sat up abruptly, clearing her throat, “but that’s nothing to do with you, it’s not your problem,” she raised her hands, defeated, “so I am sorry.”

[Qaerris]

How long had it been? Qaerris had spent the past few hours reveling to the extent that time had simple fused into itself. A drink had turned into two, then next to five and beyond. The gold nel that the harlot had won in his bout with the drunk from earlier was well and gone, and the Mortalborn couldn't help the grin that cascaded upon his features. In the time, rather contrary to expectation, he had not found someone who wanted to take him away from the tavern. No, he was still there, changing places as the time passed, but he did not leave. Several drunks had either walked their way out of the bar or passed out in a stupor on the floor. The Mortalborn was about halfway between the two, and ended up conscious and not crumpled on the ground, but quite unwilling to leave.

When Elyna moved forward to occupy the space across from the harlot, he seemed to stir from what was likely a very short slumber. His vision did not unblur, catching two different visages of Elyna before slowly and surely the two fused into one. Though Qaerris' body seemed to fail him, his mind was listening to the woman's words as she began to utter her apology. It was the first step to righting her many misdeeds against him. The arrogance of the mortal before him at last seemed to subside, perhaps tempered by the alcohol in her own system. But, did it matter? Qaerris was hearing what he wanted to hear and more.

He reminded her of a person she once knew? A male who she was angry at? The Mortalborn could not figure that it was anything aside from an ex-lover, and judging by her tone and the nuanced discomfort of her reaction of her own admission, he could not be wrong. Qaerris cleared his throat, the man leaning forward and settling an arm upon the table. A hand extended fingers so that he cupped his jaw in his own hand, glazed over eyes filled with the intoxication he still experienced cast upon the woman as at last he found it proper for him to speak.

"I can understand the frustration. Clearly, you have some things you need to work out with yourself. If I remind you of someone you once loved, which is most likely the case, then don't be reminded. I don't have the will to fight back comments that are best left bitten back. If you truly mean your apology, I will forgive you."

The Mortalborn's lips managed to form a smile, the expression closer to a grin in his drunken mindset. Whiskey-hued eyes gaze along Elyna's features, examining her as if he had never seen her before.

[Elyna]

Elyna rubbed the back of her hand against her eye, he made it sounds so simple. It wasn’t simple. Don’t be reminded. Who could turn that kind of thing of? She would have paid blood for the chance to turn off the endless sense of desolation. Well…wasn’t she already? Her body was a battlefield. You couldn’t train so much and spar so much without picking up bruises, cuts and scrapes. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone of her rank and ability to pick up such injuries. She was often afraid that someone would notice that perhaps she had too many such marks; or that she was found too regularly at the training yard. Usually it worked, usually she managed to escape her own mind, but not this week. Not now. Apparently not even alcohol.

“You are gracious in your acceptance,” she offered him a smile of her own, ducking her head in the mockery of a bow, determined to move on from her own thoughts.

“I mean my apology,” the young woman lent forward but focused on the bridge of his nose instead of meeting his gaze, “but it is perhaps safer to remember, no? Not-” she hastened to add “so that I can be so irrationally angry at strangers but,” she frowned, it was hard to hang onto a direct thread of thought, “but safer…” her frown deepened. Why was it safer? Because he looked like Yorath and he moved like Yorath and he had that confidence and a bright smile…and he was not Yorath and Yorath was never coming back.

“So,” she edged forward on her chair, “you say don’t remember. How do you forget?”

[Qaerris]

Did Qaerris feel sympathy? The Mortalborn had never known what it was to love another, romantically, that is. He'd known only a mother through his adolescent life, which had been spent as a slave. When entering adulthood, he had been too busy, and upon realizing that he would never age, had strayed away from seeing mortals as anything that could ultimately receive any kind of true, emotional dependence.

Could he even feel sympathy for them?

It seemed that the question was answering itself, unraveled in the cesspool of Qaerris' inebriated mind as he listened to the woman's broken speech. She seemed to get off track, but so did the Mortalborn. His mind wandered into and out of streamlined consciousness, his ability to folow her every word hampered. However, Qaerris understood enough to know that Elyna, too, was struggling.

When the mortal leaned forward in her chair, asking the harlot what it meant to forget, a light chuckle escaped his lips. Shifting his chair over, Qaerris had it that he was sitting next to her. An arm moved to wrap about the woman's shoulders, his lips settling close to the woman's ear as he divulged to her a secret. He made a show of unveiling it, as if a powerful truth was falling from the sky to present itself to her.

"Create new experiences. With new people. Create stories with new endings to replace those that had the finale you were not wanting to remember."

A light chuckle parted the Mortalborn's lips as he slowly removed his arm from round the woman's shoulders, his fingertips lightly caressing the flesh of her jawline before he kept his hands to himself once more. A slight slur had embedded into Qaerris' words, though he remained somewhat eloquent.