The First Dance
Characters: Tommy, Desmond@Th3King0fChaos, Edyta Laska@Force and Fury, Riu Kai-Tan
It was bound to be Tommy that was fashionably late out of the Raffscallions. He'd perused the drink list on the invitation, and found it sorely lacking. So, he'd taken Talkahn's invitation for 'hooch' as predrinks for this belated affair. Little did he know that these drink were powerful, mana-altering bastards of shots. He'd thrown up a couple of times, but he'd eventually settled a couple before Talkhan had told him that he'd had enough for the night, and so he sauntered to the party, a little tipsier than he should have been. At least this way, he wouldn't have to get toasted off wine and other fancy shit. That stuff was meant to be swirled, right?
Upon arrival, his eyes searched for his buds. He saw Johann at the buffet(obviously, boy liked his scran) and Abdel, the one who'd saved him from a grisly death at the hands of a snake, but he was with his missus and he respected that. So, albeit early, he went to chat up a lady. He was wearing his only nice piece of clothing for the affair, after all.
His eyes settled on... Laska. He had no idea who this particular girl was, but there was something about her that was eye-catching, like she could kill you if you wanted, but there was also the sweet innocence of a village girl. A different sort of danger from the ladies of Barrowton, and he was fairly sure she had all her teeth about her too. He went to the buffet table, picked a couple glasses of the expensive wine he couldn't pronounce and went over to the girl that was still on her own.
"Drinks are better in company, y'know." he said with a wink, handing her one, before continuing. "I've uhh.. not seen ya round here before, but I reckon you're strong. Was ya in the trials?" he asked, not knowing who the pale beauty was.
The greasiest-looking Enthish lad she'd ever seen made his way over to Edyta and she clenched up in apprehension. What was she doing here like this - dressed like this!? She swallowed and tried to make herself small and unnoticeable. Then, it became clear that... he didn't recognize her! He bought her a drink! Now, carnal pleasures weren't explicitly forbidden by the church, but those outside of one's specialty were discouraged as a distraction. She accepted the drink. "Oh," she laughed sheepishly, fiddling a bit with her hair, for she did not often leave it free and loose like this, "I've been around for a while, actually. I s'pose I'm one of those people who just fades into the crowd a bit, even in the Trials." She took a sip and imagined that this was a strong drink. "Oh, I didn't get your name, by the way!"
"How'd a girl like you fade into the crowd?" he laughed and clinked their glasses together gently, taking a sip himself. "I'm Tommy, was on the team with the tall girl over there. Not ta brag, but we won the thing." he said, honestly pretty proud of the accomplishment. "And what's your name, darlin'?" he asked, wondering if there was some protocol here. She didn't seem noble, but did he have to do the thing where he offered his arm? Or was it kissing the hand? Ah, maybe he was back with people who were easier to talk to. She smelled nice, and looked clean and pretty. He was just... so glad to be alive.
Edyta blinked. "Oh, I normally don't dress like this. My um... attire is relatively distinctive, I guess." She sipped some more from her glass. "I'm Edyta," she mumbled into it, feeling a warmth rise in her cheeks. "I brought... cupcakes, but... they feel a little stupid, you know? A little out of place over here."
Tommy, for the first time in a while, blushed himself. This girl was the sweetest someone could be without being sickly, and he honestly did a double take. "Well, Edyta, I don't think somethin' bein' outta place makes it stupid. I feel outta place here myself, but I don' feel stupid. After all, I ended up meetin a lovely girl 'ere." he said, slightly cringing at himself, but not showing it outwardly. Why was he getting self conscious? He'd done this a hundred times? "Can I try one? Hell, we can pass 'em out if ya want. Less nerve-wrackin' if ya do it with someone else, right? I reckon Zazzy and Raffie'll love em’." He spoke with a genuine smile, honestly a bit taken with the lass and not realizing how much he was talking. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't put a finger on it.
Edyta's face lit up a bit. "Really?" She swallowed, face earnest and apprehensive. "You're not just saying that to.... you know..." She glanced down at her lap and then away for a moment. She'd been warned by the Bishop about how some men were.
He paused, and flinched. Had he? Was he attempting to take advantage of her? A thousand guilty thoughts ran through his head before he settled on a decisive answer at once: He hadn't. Recently, he'd experienced a lot of firsts, but this was something entirely new. It wasn't lust that drove his motive here, she was just.. pleasant. He felt endeared from the moment she started speaking, and so, he cleared his throat.
"I... no. Maybe on another day, but no. You're a sweetheart, Edyta, and I'm not just tryna get into your pants. I'm wondering how I hadn't noticed ya before." he said, scratching his hair and looking away himself. How was he folding to this girl?
With that, she sprung to her feet, seizing the basket with one hand and his hand with the other. "Well then, Tommy-boy, lets hand out cupcakes," she giggled. "Oh Ipte, I can't believe we're doing this." She started walking, before pausing abruptly and furrowing her brow. She nearly lost her grip on him. "Before we do, you should try one." She released his hand momentarily to pluck a cupcake from the basket. "If it's bad, you'll tell me honestly, right?"
Was he a little boy? Why was he so... happy to simply hold hands and walk with this girl? His slightly tipsy thoughts swayed before he found himself smiling at her giggling face and the offering of a cupcake. "You got it. Honest as can be." he grinned, popping it into his mouth. He found the taste... did not mix well with the brews and the wine that was still lingering in his mouth, but he forced himself to swallow it.
"Y'know, I don't think it agrees with this fancy wine. Wait till the desserts are bein' brought out?" he said, a moment of half honesty. They weren't disgusting, or bad, but they didn't sit right. But he'd be damned if he'd break this girls heart with a bold faced lie, or open honesty.
"Heh." For a moment, her face fell. "Well, never was much of a cook as the other girls, even though I tried." She perked up and smiled at him, squeezing his hand. "Thank you for trying to spare my feelings." She swung the basket gently and set it back on the table. "I suppose we can foist these on people we don't like later, hmm?" She started to grin and then paused, as if too embarrassed to speak it.
He felt a pang of regret as he watched her face drop, but she was a bundle of positivity right now and it was like his emotions were crossed with hers. Then she unveiled a 'trickster' streak, and well, his heartstrings were pulled even further towards her, as he squeezed her hand back in turn. "I didn't think you'd do somethin' like that... I'm IN." he said grinning at her, the flush from his cheeks fading and returning as often as her own despite their differences. "But, Edyta, who here d'you not like? I think they deserve worse than a cupcake not matchin' the drinks." he spoke a little more confidently.
"Oh, but..." She paused, caught between her true self and this girl she was playing the role of. "Well, come to think of it, nobody here has been awful enough to deserve it."
For a moment, it all faded away: the alcohol, the party, and then last of all, Tommy. Edyta Laska - the merciless 'Sister Mercy' - sat alone with herself and the truth of her words: nobody here has been awful enough to deserve it.
She shook her head as if to clear it and was back. "Well, I'm sure some will be by the end of the night, Reshta knows." She rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her drink. It felt bad and... good all at once and she paid it no heed. Edyta left the basket behind and took Tommy's other hand. "You know, there's some very decent music playing and I sense you're no rich nabob here, are you?" She winked. "I'd like to dance the way rich people don't."
"Bound to be someone doin' somethin' stupid at the end of the night. Usually it's me." he said, telling on himself a little and looking conspicuously to the side. He wanted to play a joke, pretend to be offended at her comment about him not being a 'rich nabob', but he was lost in her gaze, the slight chill to her hands and the ghostly beauty her skin held. She wasn't this striking when he'd started the conversation, was it beer goggles or something else. He simply nodded his head.
"Yeah, y'know what, I've missed it! Let's rock, darlin!" he spoke, taking her hands in stride and letting her lead the dance. He didn't want to let go, even if his hands were sure to be clammy. Because hers weren't what he'd expected. He'd always had a premonition about people, and he could tell a lot about ladies from their hands. At this school, they were usually soft. But these, he could sense the roughness of the skin. Not the type you'd get from being a farmer, but from swingining a weapon. His own fingers and palms had them. And that, for whatever reason, made his heart skip another beat.
♫
She led him out onto the dance floor and, indeed, there was something about the way that she moved: light and graceful, but not effete, not ladylike. She leapt and twirled and raced about in a sort of giddy haze, sometimes being led, as was proper, and sometimes leading. And when he pulled her close, she smiled coyly and spun back out to arms-length. "You can move, Tommy-boy!" she exclaimed, winking at him over a shoulder. "But next comes the cantrava. Can you cantrava?" she giggled.
She moved well - far too well. He was no slouch when it came to a good boogie, but she was something special. And he was shocked, quite frankly, that he hadn't noticed her. Just who was this beauty? And how had she evaded his gaze this entire time. He was laser focused, and his brain, ever loud and interrupting, had finally quietened down. The music, the feel of her hands, the note of her smile, everything seemed to move in still frames as he attempted to match her in this cantrava - a dance unbecoming of the fancier folk here, but one he took great pleasure in joining good Edyta with. Great kicks of the legs, twirling, the sorts. He was free. And even with this blessed body of his, and the reflexes it possessed, she still outclassed him in this field.
"You're amazin! Haven't met anyone who moved as well as you, y'know!" he shouted gleefully, a bead of sweat running down the back of his neck as he continued to spin and twirl, pulling her close and returning that wink, this time flustered before pulling away himself to the next segment.
Sometimes, in moments like this, he wishes it'd last forever. He owed Zarina a big thank you, for putting this on. He'd never forget this, for whatever remained of his life.
"I can see those lil' wheels turning in your head," Edyta said when they were finished and headed back to their table. For what it was worth, the furniture of her mind was being moved about wildly as well and she didn't quite know what to make of it. "Mine too," she giggled, and then she shook her head. People were everywhere, talking, dancing, playing with pets, stuffing their faces. She breathed it in. She breathed it all in and... This is what I am sworn to protect. This is what's sacred. She thought it out loud in her mind's ear, trying to feel some sense of satisfaction but, instead, it felt... wrong. The very person who'd brought them all together, who likely also didn't recognize her lest she'd not have been allowed in, was a wildblood Edyta had tried to... kill. She shook her head as if to clear it but it all came crashing down. "You're amazing too, Tommy-boy," she replied belatedly, a faint smile on her face. She was a killing machine: a killing machine who was going to die by before her fortieth birthday and, if the strange dreams were right, perhaps even sooner. "I... have to go to the privy," she chirped. "I'll... be right back." She squeezed his hand uncertainly before letting go. (edited)
Tommy had the dance of his life, and as it came to the close, he took in a deep gulp of air and the rest of his wine when he got back to the table. He smiled at her in return, but sensed a sadness in her eyes, a pang of regret, an inability to live in the moment any further than the dance. Being called amazing by her felt amazing, but it also rang hollow for a moment, for she wasn't able to enjoy this any longer. He returned the little squeeze, with his own. He wanted to say something romantic, something special, but the only thing that came to mind was something his mother would say to him when he was a youngster. "Don't fall in." he said, shaking his head at the own stupid comment. If that was the last thing he got to say to this girl, he'd go and jump off the arch the moment this party was over, at least that's how he felt watching her walk away.
Once she was out of sight, he simply stared at the tablecloth. He wanted to bang his head against it for all the flounders he'd had, all the loose comments and jokes he'd made, but he simply sat and well, thought to himself for a moment as he loathed to do. The voices that told him he was a failure rang out. He'd died twice before coming here for some stupid gambling prize, and if he'd truly met his end, he wouldn't have met her. He wouldn't have had the time of his life. He wouldn't have been able to go back home and tell his family about all the awesome shit he did in the trials. About how the commoner lad from Barrowton had won 5 bouts of single combat against some of the most prodigious mages of the academy.
Why couldn't he let go of it now? Why was his enjoyment dependant on another person being at his side at this event? Hadn't he always lived as he pleased, and did what brought him the most enjoyment? Couldn't he have moved on, as he always did? She'd only gone to the bathroom, for dami's sake. He covered his head with his hands, trying to hide his anguish as 'taking a breather'. The laughter, joy, sounds of chewing, everything swarmed into him until his head was a vortex of chaos. So sick was he, that he couldn't even down this expensive wine that he'd normally have drunk by the bottle.
And the little wheels in his head had jammed shut.
♫
Did they start back up? Was there grease to be applied? In any event, standing there, in front of a mirror in the dressing room, a pale skinny girl with humble little breasts poking up her shift, unfamiliar red hair, and poxy freckles, stripped of all that made her grand and gave her purpose, Edyta Laska was in the midst of her own crisis. She made the pentact again and again, fervently, in front of that mirror, hoping that it might absolve her of some unnamable sin while knowing that it would not. "This is not you, Mercy." She shook her head and there was that hair again - that harlot's tool. She could swish it back and forth or tuck it behind an ear and corrupt the reason of that dear sweet boy.
The tears just came. They spilled from her eyelids and traced lines down her cheeks. She watched them with dull blue eyes. All at once, she crouched down on her haunches and wrapped her arms around her legs. "Why, Mother Oraphe?" She sobbed bitterly. "Why did you have to make me this way?" She pressed her head against the tops of her knees, drawing shuddering breaths and just... feeling. "Why can't I be like them?" she mewed. "Why can't I have a future." She thought of Tommy. He had a future. In twenty years, when he was fat and middle aged, sitting by a roaring hearth with children on his lap and food in his belly, would he think back and remember her?
But this had been nothing so romantic. They had never even lain together. She had just been some girl at a party when he was drunk. Mostlike, he would not even remember her tomorrow, she counseled herself and, with that grim thought foremost in her mind, Edyta began to steady and Sister Laska began to return. In stages, she uncoiled, the desperately miserable creature she was. She dressed herself properly, in this harlot's getup, and slunk out the back quietly, back in control of herself again and eager to be away.
And yet, that was a lie as well. I'm sorry, Tommy. Be well. Find someone better than me. She couldn't help but think it. She had to think it to leave it behind.
A battle against the Fist of the North
They had split up momentarily, with Yvain, Trypano, and Leon going one way while Desmond, Tommy, and Edyta had gone the other.
Then, from around a bend in the hallway, the latter trio sensed it all at once: a mind-numbing agglomeration of energy. Edyta's eyes went wide and she faded into greyspace, drawing her twin sickles.
The Fist of the North, Arch-Zeno Riu Kai-Tan, emerged from around it and stood directly in their path. The sheer power rolling off of him was phenomenal: like trying to stand directly beneath a waterfall.
He regarded the youths with his customary sternness. "I am sorry, but I cannot let you go any further." He was not yet in a fighting stance though, if they could sense anything at all through the maelstrom that enveloped him and - indeed - them, it was that every fiber of his being was ready for a fight.
Standing in the path of the hurricane, the three who encountered him held up surprisingly well, but for Edyta. Even through the veil of greyspace, she felt it, her entire world warping. She staggered out into reality, fell to her knees, and retched upon the floor. Tommy could feel his colonies roiling inside of him, one much worse than the other, and Desmond squinted and took a few steps back, feeling lightheaded and queasy.
"You have no path to victory," the Arch-Zeno warned, taking his first step forward. "Nor do you want to win this fight."
He took a second step.
A vortex of air rushed toward him. For a moment, wind howled and lashed at the biros. Then, there was stillness and silence. Riu Kai-Tan slid one leg out in front of him and raised his guard, sinking into a Long high-back stance. The air exploded outwards. While the greyborn rushed into the VOID, the other two were not so fortunate.
Tommy was thrown like scrap into a pillar. Desmond was hurled, tumbling down the hallway.
PaleGreen"You are not very strong,"[/color] the Fist of the North remarked, perhaps a bit... disappointed? Then, from the void, materialized the Red Rezaindian, her twin scythes glinting in the dim light, her eyes gleaming with predatory hunger.If a hand shot up into her path, none of them saw it, least of all Sister Edyta Laska. The girl was hurled away, tumbling down the hall before coming up on her feet between Desmond and Tommy. "We are here to bring justice to a tyrant," she snarled, wiping blood from her nose with the back of her hand. "You defend her, you are our enemy."
"You speak much and know little," the Arch-Zeno replied. He had not taken so much as a step since sinking into his fighting stance.
"It'll take all three of us -" The nun spoke through clenched teeth, eyes searching her opponent for any opening, any weakness. "- In perfect sync, to have a hope of breaking through against a monster like that."
An overwhelming use of the gift. He had drunk the tea that Tku had given him, twice in fact. A vile brew, no sugar or milk to make it taste like it should - but it was still nothing here. Desmond had more than him still, and it had not been enough. They were flies to him, gnats in the wind. His hands were trembling - whether in excitement or fear he didn't know - and before he knew it, they were both sent back. His head split against the back of the pillar, and he felt blood trickling down his scalp. Still, he was alive and that was good enough.
The nun launched a counter attack... the nun... she moved so gracefully. A reminiscence of the past occurred in his dazed, shaky state as he began to rise to his feet and something he should have realized a long time ago still had not come to mind. For what filled his mind was anger. They were not weak. They were victors. He wiped the blood from his head and nose, and looked at Desmond. If they needed to do it again to get a win against another abnormality, then so be it.
"Sorry Edyta. Fightin' like this probably isn't the cool way ta do it, but, these fuckers are outta my league currently." he muttered to himself as the nun spoke, not realizing they were the same person. He nodded at her after, before giving a final glance to Desmond. He pulled the earrings from his pocket and tossed one to him.
"Not very strong, eh? Yer talkin' to the champs. Think we were lucky or somethin'?" he grinned through the pain, blowing the blood out of his nose onto the stone floor.
Desmond finally got up from his tumble, half of which was him laying there thinking as he adjusted himself, then finally answering Edyta, "You think?" The magusjaeger got up as he looked at Riu, "Let's see what we can do" Desmond threw a glance towards Tommy, then a smile as he snatched the earring from the air, "Let's entertain the old man for a bit, see if we can get his old bones moving again"
Riu Kai-Tan straightened. "Do what you must." The rest was left unspoken: 'As shall I.' Edyta's eyes searched the other two, a hint of curiosity sparking behind them. "I-" she began, but then she went silent and simply nodded. "I will distract him if needed." She rolled one of her shoulders tenderly and applied some healing to it.
Suddenly, her arms shot out to the sides and touched both men. They could feel their wounds close, their blood pump with renewed vigor, the throbbing in their heads and ringing in their ears abate.
♫
He nodded at the nun. "Cheers luv." before turning to Desmond. The idea of doing the dance in this situation was utterly ridiculous, but he cleared his head. They had a show to put on, and the pride of being champions to maintain here.
"Ready for it? It's fookin' showtime!" he grinned as he got ready to fuse.
As Desmond stood up, he felt his wounds heal as Laska healed them. A smile came to his face as he put his hands in front of him and stared right directly to Riu while saying, "Ready as always"
The two clicked the earrings after their pre-fusion ritual, and at first, it was ugly. It switched and swarmed a couple of times before the two fully came into synchronization. Out emerged a different fusion than last time, one that looked distinctly more like Desmond. Two colonies became an overwhelming strong singular, kitted out with a myriad of items. A supreme magusjaeger had been born from the fusion, rippling with far more power than both individuals could ever hope to have on their own. In either hand set the rewards from the trials that they had obtained, a strange Sirrahi tech revolver in one, and a masterwork of Kagemitsu Kenshin in the other.
"Sorry for the wait" both hands of the man rose as he leveled the weapons upon the Arch Zeno, "Let's dance", as a small smile crossed the man's face
He did not wait for more than a second after they'd finished their ritual. Riu Kai-Tan was upon them before they knew it.
And so, a fierce battle ensued. Blow after blow was exchanged, but no matter how hard they seemed to try, the trio(or duo, in this case) were always on the back foot. The difference in power was immeasurable, for this was a Arch-Zeno and the title was not for show, nor was his title as Fist of the North. Still, to not be instantly obliterated by the power of this man was a testament to the strength of the champions of the trials, and of the Mano-e-Mano tournament. This fusion which has wrestled with Chad fought until its last breath.
And that last breath came. Thankfully, due to the designs of Isabella Lowell, the anchor held and they remained alive, two halves of the whole they once were, but the punch that Riu Kai-Tan threw was so potent that it damaged them even through this. Desmond and Tommy were sent flying by the impact, dazed. Laska remained in grayspace, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike but so perfect was the mans stance that they could find no purchase.
"Why're you tryin' so hard? Thought you was a decent bloke, not one who'd defend the crazy fuckers who put people in jail for throwin' paint."
Desmond stood up, his face wincing in pain, "Damn-" he winced, as he began coughing. His hand reached for his helm as he put it on and said, "You wanna give us a lecture during this fight?" The helm slammed as the eyes flared to life as he stood and he took up his pistols, "You must really think little of us huh?"
In one hand was a gorgeous black pistol, the same one Tommy had. The other was a gaudy and strange pistol that spun and squealed as every now and again a vibrant and brilliant red 7 appeared.
Riu Kai-Tan shook his head tightly. "It is my duty to protect people from the harm that their actions may cause." He bowed his head in apology. "It is my duty and I shall not neglect it."
Tommy retorted "Fair enough. Then I'll tell ya - it's my duty to stand up to tyrants as a student. You lot taught us as much - schools only about the gift, not about this political bullshit"
Riu bowed his head. "Then we are at an impasse. May your gods protect you where I cannot."
The battle continued, and although they had begun to make purchase onto the man, they had still not wounded him. Perhaps they had made him feint an attack, or reveal a new move or technique, but they were unable to hurt this Arch-Zeno. And it was their stamina running out first. Desmond attempted a brave gambit, an all or nothing attack to force the man to do something, but it was too soon and the pistol they’d been charging up failed to find its mark.
He was blindingly fast, stepping over to Desmond and knocking the youth out with a brutal chop to the neck."You fought well."
Still, the battle was not over. Tommy saw an opportunity in the knockout of his best friend, and that was the Sirrahi-Tech revolver that had been spinning since the start. A magic of gambling, an essence of risking it all. He lunged for it with all he had, but he was still slower than Riu Kai-Tan who was there already. Seeing his intentions, the Arch-Zeno kicked it away from the Enthish brat, only for it to fall squarely in the hands of a Red Rezaindian Nun. Sister Laska held the cards, and the Wheel of Fortune. A last gambit for an impossible foe.
She could feel it: destiny building behind the trigger. She could feel Ahn-Eshiran willing her to pull it. A soul would be coming her way. Edyta exhaled, cleared her mind, and fired.
A blazing apparition of death, it rode towards its target on a trail of fire both holy and unholy.
But it was already there.
The bullet had traveled the distance between the firearm and target so quickly that not even Riu Kai-Tan, Fist of the North, could make a mockery of it.
This was Desmond's finest.
It was Tommy's finest.
On it rested all the hopes and fears of the three young people who'd fought the Arch-Zeno to a standstill but still, maddeningly, failed to leave so much as a mark upon him.
He got a hand up, in the very nick of time.
Preternaturally quick, that hand made a flicking motion.
Such was the power of the shot that every bone in that hand was broken. Such was the power of that shot that Riu Kai-Tan's arm and flank were covered in sickly red and blackened burns and blisters.
Yet…
The bullet turned
He did it without thinking. It was... reflexive after sixty years of training.
The shot that had been meant to send a soul to Lady Eshiran headed for the one whom Edyta Laska loved, though she could not admit it to herself.
Tommy, with his reflexes nearly the equal of the famed Arch-Zeno, could see it coming too. It was sudden - incredibly so - but he could see it. His hand shot out, thinking to stop it, catch it, and turn it back, just like Riu Kai-Tan had. It was an achievement just getting there on time.
Edyta Laska barreled forward, habit fluttering free of her tangled red hair.
The last thing that Tommy Kavanaugh saw was not the woman he loved, however. It was the bullet, meeting his hand and piercing it. It filled his sight for one hundredth of a hundredth of a second. He didn't even have time to feel pain.
Appeal to the God of Death
♫
Edyta was there a split second after and she knew what had happened.
Like claws, her hands shot out and grasped Tommy, desperately, before he even hit the ground.
And there she was - a girl who had scarcely felt anything her entire life, or who had at least lived in strenuous denial of such. There she was, in so much pain that she was not numb by choice.
She knelt there with Tommy's body in her hands, shaking so viciously that it would have been comical if not for the context.
There was no shout of "Tommy!" or anything like that. She had dealt in death for long enough to see its actions wrought irreparably. The bullet had gone through his skull and destroyed everything that was Tommy: his thoughts, his dreams, his memories.
She crumpled there, utterly beyond words, her face melting into a mask of forlorn horror.
The Arch-Zeno stood there, dazed and burnt, all of his supposedly wise words stripped away, all of his pontificating and grandstanding ripped free. He was exposed for the charlatan he was: a pompous old fool whose only true virtue was that he was strong.
There was no proverb for causing the death of a student.
And then came the scream.
Yet, to call it that would be to fall back on language tired and unimaginative, for it was not a scream so much as it was a noise: a thing of animal grief escaped the girl known as Sister Mercy.
It was a choked, bereft, ugly noise.
The tears flowed out in constant streams for an indeterminate amount of time.
She buried her face in him.
Then came the words.
"Tommy. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I..." She sobbed some more.
Riu knew better than to speak and so she wept alone. (edited)
"It's me, you know. It's me, Edyta, not just Sister Laska: Edyta!"
His blood was on her hands and so she cried some more. (edited)
She cried for the years she hadn't let herself cry before.
"You were good. You were good. You loved me and I should've loved you."
She pulled him close and lost herself again.
"I should've..." They were entwined there.
She shuddered and breathed as misery held her hair aside for her so that she could vomit it all out.
"This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't..." She forced the breaths in and out of her body. Desmond lay on the floor nearby and she could feel his heart still beating with the Gift: funny, loyal Desmond, with his schemes and wacky inventions.
It struck her, then, how horrible this all was: how horrible death was.
It took these people from the world. It removed the light and warmth they provided. It... ended their stories: hopes unmet, dreams unfulfilled, loves left behind and jokes left unsaid.
It was a wretched thing.
And, gradually, the grief turned.
She wasn't sure when it happened, but it turned.
"I..." The Arch-Zeno began, and her head jerked up like that of a cornered animal. Had she the ears of one, they'd have folded back.
"I'm sorry," the Fist of the North apologized to the common girl. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't -"
"Just go away," she said with quiet finality, turning back to Tommy.
He was going cold and rigid in her arms.
There was blood all over his face and she did nothing so trite as to kiss him. She reached down, closed his eyes, and rested his head on the floor.
Then there was nothing: nothing there for her.
She could not even imagine what to tell Desmond. She could not imagine waking him up. How might he react? Would he hate her? Would he blame her? Should she lie?
But that was not Desmond.
That was not him and she blessed him for it.
But she could not bring him that pain - not yet. Let him sleep a little bit longer. Let him rest in ignorance. If it wasn't bliss, it was better than what she was now feeling.
Out of - was it truly instinct - she went to pray, as she always did, but Edyta Laska stopped short.
She knelt there on her haunches, staring up at the starry sky where the ceiling had broken open and, for the first time, she felt as if she understood something: about herself, about the Gods, about the nature of it all.
"Mother Eshiran," she began, but it was not a prayer. "I ask you to listen to me."
There was no soft rain to fall upon her and wash away her tears. There was only the distant echo of death - horrid death - and faint illumination of a hundred fires as Ersand'Enise burned.
"These ten years, I have given all that is myself to you."
"I have loved only my work. I have lived only for you. I have done horrible, horrible things."
How many dreams had she ended? How many books shut?
"I have believed," she proclaimed with trembling conviction.
"And now, I ask that you, in your black majesty -" She remembered the first time, as a girl of five, when she had been to the cathedral in Tarwałki and gazed upon the calm, peaceful face of the statue of Ahn-Eshiran there. How beatific its expression. How serene its visage. How it had comforted her to know that death was like that.
But it was not. Death was an ugly thing.
"I ask that, in your infinite power and mercy, you bring him back," she choked, the last words barely audible, spoken with shame.
She cleared her throat, fists clenching. "I ask that you bring him back," she declared more clearly.
"Please," she squeaked.
She knelt there, staring up at the sky, daring to believe.
Her heart raced. Please, Lady Eshiran. Please!
She knelt and she waited. Maybe the Zenith fell. Maybe she didn't. Maybe there was a revolution.
All that greeted her was a vast and cruel silence, and it broke every bit of her, once and for all.
Her fists clenched, now, in rage instead of anticipation or anxiety.
Her fists clenched and her face reddened. She shot to her feet. "Bring him back!" she screamed, voice ragged from an eternity of tears.
"Bring him back!"
"I've given everything to you! I've murdered for you: good people as well as bad!"
Helplessly, she turned to regard Tommy. She couldn't lose him.
She couldn't.
She didn't want to be who she was.
She could be Edyta: a girl who burned too easily in the sun, who went to parties and danced, who baked terrible muffins. She'd been ready to be his Edyta and just be... happy. Once more, she sunk to the ground, fixing his clothes here and there, dabbing at the blood on his face and his shattered hand.
She cast about for a cloth to wipe it up with and her eyes fell upon…
A scarf, silken and shiny but dulled with splatters of gore. A beautiful piece of artisanal work, made of Godsweave, in tragic irony. A crumpled piece of parchment lay next to it, a note. Part of it was damaged, soaked crimson red from the splatter of the impact, burned in other places, but it was still mostly legible, even with the poor handwriting of the lad.
"Thank you for the dance. Even if that was everything we'll ever have, I'll never forget y.."
She pulled it into her chest and held it tight. She reached for the scarf and draped it about her neck.
She tied it tightly and pulled on it some more, until it was uncomfortable.
A dark impulse overcame her, then: to just keep on pulling.
Maybe she could... not breathe anymore.
It fled quickly enough, for Edyta Laska was not one to give up.
Please, Mother Eshiran, I ask you, once more, to let me, your faithful servant, return this man to the land of the living. She closed her eyes and prayed fervently. "I know now that death is not beautiful. This is a lie that we tell ourselves so we don't fear it, but I also know that it's necessary, and I thank you for taking on this difficult and thankless job." A tear slid down your cheek. "In some ways, though I am as an insect before you, I think I understand. I think I can feel it too, and so I thank you with all of my heart and humbly beg you to grant me this one thing: one thing for the rest of my days and I shall be forever yours. I swear it. I shall serve." She wiped her tears dry but did not dare turn her face to the heavens.
From above, the moons and the stars lit her little patch of misery where lay an unconscious Desmond and what had been Tommy. Their faint light seemed hardly adequate and she could not lift her eyes from either the ground or the man she'd wanted to love.
She tried to think nothing for, once more, she knew that she would be disappointed. Either the gods were not real or they did not care.
So it was that she stared at the stones, trying to find both something and nothing in their bleak surfaces.
She turned her gaze downward so that she could not see what lay above.
A soft, pale light fell upon Edyta Laska then, and she sniffed and gathered Tommy up, once again, in her arms.
She let the tassels of her scarf dangle into his face, tickling his nose.
A single black feather drifted down lazily into her vision.
She blinked.
There came a second.
It landed within arms' reach and she picked it up off of the ground.
Edyta Laska looked up as Ahn-Eshiran, the goddess of death, alighted softly on the ground before her.
Great black wings folded noiselessly and, for a moment, the apparition made not a sound.
For the second time this day, the girl was past speech. She gazed into the perfect, porcelain face of her goddess. Awe, fear, wonder, joy: none was the word.
Then, the goddess of death knelt. She knelt beside Edyta Laska and held out a single bright red apple.
Curtains of black hair spilled down the sides of her face like curtains.
"You are right, my child," she said tenderly.
Edyta cried.
"You are right and I love you for it."
She spoke, but her face did not move. With a start, Edyta realized that it truly was porcelain.
"I love you too, Lady Eshiran."
The apple waited on long, slender gloved fingers.
"Death is an ugly thing, so please, Edyta, take this."
Quietly, with a nod and a mewed "thank you," she did. Then, she furrowed her brow slightly. "But you are not ugly, Lady Eshiran. You are beautiful."
The goddess tilted her head to the side and then quietly shook it.
The mask began to come apart: first, little pieces that flew away as if in the wind. Then, splinters. Finally, the last few large chunks fell away and... what lay behind it was... horrible.
For a moment, Edyta recoiled at the sight, for the being was hideous and twisted: lipless, eyeless, and gnarled.
"You see," she rasped, "we are what people believe us."
And in that voice, she sensed pain: pain from a goddess, but also...pain from another human being.
Without really thinking, she leaned aside and enfolded Ahn-Eshiran in a hug. "I am sorry for cursing you in anger," she murmured into the goddess' shoulder. "You are everything I hoped you would be were I ever blessed enough to meet you."
Gradually, the arms of Eshiran closed around her and she shook with a light snort of ironic laughter. "You are hardly the first."
Edyta drew back and gazed upon the horror visage. Then, the mask returned. It smiled in an uncanny way. "Well, I shall never do so again. I promise."
Ahn-Eshiran rose, solemn and beautiful: black and white in this place where she had yet so much to do. "Until I see you again, Edyta Laska." Vast black wings spread, stretching from one wall to the next, and the goddess turned her head upwards. "Eat the apple, dear. You will save him." Then, with two mighty beats of those angelic wings, she was gone.
Edyta gazed upon the fruit with wonder. You will save him. She turned it over in her hands.
She did not have long to simply kneel there and ponder, however. Desmond began to stir and she knew her duty. "Don't move," she said softly, scooting over and calling upon the Gift.
The gods themselves had blessed her, and Edyta felt it. Effortlessly, she found all of Desmond's wounds and healed them.
However, when she looked down, there was a second apple, occupying her other hand, and she knew what it meant.
"Desmond," she said softly, "don't get up too fast. You were almost dead."
She smiled ruefully. "Kind of a regular occurrence for you, I'm beginning to see."
Then her face turned serious.
"But Tommy wasn't so lucky."
Before he could do anything, she held a hand up to forestall him. "I know that we hardly know each other, but I'm the girl: the one I'm sure Tommy's told you about. He and I danced at that party, in Zarina's backyard."
"So... I'm asking you to trust me."
She held out the apple. "This is a gift from Ahn-Eshiran, who I serve with great faith."
"She told me that, if I eat it, I may save him." She cradled hers in her hands. "Then, when I healed you, there appeared a second. It must be for you."
Desmond had awoken and began to nod his head slowly, "I...see".
The man looked at the apple. He felt...strange. The Gods were real. He knew this for long enough now. Yet still. All he could do was sigh and ask the same question every time.
Why?
Why now?
Why didn't he ever get this before? Why not when he lost his own? Why not when he cried out? Why not then when he still had some love of his own? Why not when he had slivers of himself left?
Desmond lightly sat up and said, "Well, I guess we know what that means.".
He took it into his hand and nodded, preparing to take a bite. As a thought crossed his mind, and a smile appeared.
Never worry about yesterday. Be thankful for today.
The past can't be changed. And tomorrow is always ready to do the same.
The past may be painful. But this woman's future doesn't have to be the same.
Live in the moment.
Live for what can be changed.
Leave nothing for tomorrow.
Leave nothing to the whims of fate.
Set a path forward.
Where nothing is left to what-ifs.
Edyta offered back a nervous, supportive smile. She raised the apple to her mouth. "On three," she said.
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