Racial Intolerance

[Laszlo]

Winter 11th, 512 AV After midnight. The Symenestra was becoming a fixture here of late. Every other night, he was showing up, wearing that hood as if no one knew what lurked underneath it. After ordering his drink, he'd find that table in the back and sit by himself. He probably thought it made him look inconspicuous, when in reality he was anything but. Being what he was was bad enough, and he made it worse by isolating himself and brooding, forehead resting on his clawed hand while he nursed his drink. It was getting more than annoying, watching him feel sorry for himself for whatever wreck of a life he must have been leading. To boot, he was scaring off the women customers. He made this place dreary and foreboding. Fia needed her space at night, however. Sakana was asking for Laszlo's help less often, and he could only do so much reading before it felt like his brain would turn to mush. The night seemed so long, especially in winter, when all he wanted was for it to end. So he frequented taverns more often, perhaps drank more than he should. How long would it continue like this? Then again, perhaps he deserved it. At some late bell, Laszlo decided it would be safe to return home. No doubt Fia was asleep by now. He could creep into his flat and silently make for his bed. The false Symenestra stood out of his chair, momentarily stumbling in mild inebriation, then finished off the contents of his mug. After visiting the counter to pay his tab, Laszlo stepped out into the colorful Lhavitian night. Were it not for the pints of ale he'd downed, he might have heard them coming. Something struck him on the back of the head, giving off a peculiar, glassy tone, and Laszlo's legs gave out beneath him. He was on the ground before he could realize what had happened. There was laughter, he thought, but mostly a ringing in his ears as Laszlo reached into his hair to cradle the base of his skull. Disoriented and in pain, he couldn't muster the wherewithal to get back to his feet or defend himself. A wine bottle clattered loudly to the ground in front of him, surprisingly intact even after hitting the cobbles on the road. As he watched it roll away, a boot crossed his vision and planted itself in his gut. Laszlo coughed and curled up. "Sick of seeing your kind around here," someone hissed. With his ears still buzzing, the voice sounded muffled, as if he were hearing a conversation through a wall. It was a struggle to make out the words. "You think I don't know what you're up to?" "Wait…" "That what my sister said, Widow?" Laszlo's cloak was pulled of his slender form, gagging him briefly as the silver latch snapped on his neck. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and rolled him onto his back, and another struck him across the jaw. He snarled reflexively, and began to pull his mind together to compel them a dose of hypnotism, but they hit him again, interrupting his thoughts. Half delirious, Laszlo's thoughts were far away and fragmented, and he could barely make sense of what was happening. He wasn't even sure how many there were. Where were the Shinya? It didn't matter. The only thing he could do was shut his eyes and anticipate the next blow.

[Johanne]

Johanne found that nothing could warm her up so much in the cold winter nights than a glass of warm mulled wine, fragrant with the scents and spices of distant places and exotic flavours. In the corner of this dingy little tavern, she pulled her cloak further around her frame, curling into the shadows and trying to drink her wine in peace.

Winters were a lonely affair for Johanne: the woman had left her home and family behind, and had nothing and no one in Lhavit who had taken their place just yet. Skulking in the shadows of bars, she could at least pretend she was a part of something, that she knew someone: the Ethaefal of Leth who walked so gracefully at night, the polite Lhavitians who never raised their voices to anyone, the foreigners who stood with their eyes cast to the heavens in wonder. Out at night, Lhavit glowed, and Johanne took comfort in the quiet light.

Johanne took note of the strangers in the tavern. She was one of the only women here, she noted, save the barmaids and one strong looking girl, tanned and muscled, who sat bent over papers with some other burly men. Everyone else looked the same: wrapped in warm cloaks, nursing ales and other fantastical drinks of Lhavit, the tavern was filled with a low hum of conversation. She watched silently, as she always did. Johanne liked to know people from a distance.

It bothered her, though. She could not pretend that it didn't. To be alone for so many nights on end, to wander Lhavit without anyone to guide her over the peaks and marvel at skyglass with her. She had been in the city for two years this season, and still, she had met no one who had made a lasting impression on her heart. No one wanted to know Johanne, no one wanted to see what was beneath the scarred flesh she wore so gracefully. The still-healing wound beneath her elbow seemed to sting a little as she lamented her loneliness: Dariel was inside her now. But for how long, and for what reason? Sighing, she downed the last gulp of the mulled wine and stood. The stuffy tavern did nothing for her thoughts. She placed the kina on the bar before the barmaid, and left the tavern, seeking fresh air and some respite to the thoughts that swirled within her head.

The cold winter air revived her. She had only had the one glass of the warmed wine, and what little effects she felt were washed away by the chill. She smiled into the stars, and began walking down the cobblestone street, back toward the Surya Plaza. The night sky was truly awe inspiring. The Gods, for whatever other faults Johanne could find in them, at least could create works of such utter beauty.

She would have kept walking home had she not heard the groans and the laughter. She whirled quickly, startled by the jarring sound of glass hitting the ground. There, a little ways off from the tavern door, lay one man curled up on the ground, and three men standing above him. And those three men were attacking him.

She could hear the men laughing at the fate of the one on the floor, and the coughs of the man who was having his health forced out of him. Without thinking, she ran off through the dark, back towards the group of men. If she had seen the race of the one on the ground, she might have hesitated, but the dark was what allowed her to gather the courage and intervene.

"Hey!" she yelled, panting as she ran, sprinting towards the scene. "What the petch do you think you're doing?" The men barely glanced up, it was just one spindly girl, and they remained bent over, slamming their fists into the poor man's chest and jaw. Uncharacteristically, perhaps driven by the loneliness and the plight of the man below her, she took a running jump and landed on the back of the one who was repeatedly punching the victim in the jaw.

"Get off of him!"

The man snarled at Johanne, straightening up, shoving Johanne off of his back, so that she felt with a clatter to the floor. "Don't interfere in what's not your business, girl," and kept attacking the man on the floor without a second glance at her. Johanne scrambled up, hurriedly getting to her feet, and darting quickly in front of the men, determined to say something.

But before she could, a right-hook from one of the other two burly men caught her square in the jaw. Crying out, she went down, the hard punch strange and unknown to Johanne, and collapsed over the prone body on the ground. Her eyes smarting, she curled over the man, protecting his weaker body with hers.

"If you want to attack him, you'll have to punch me first," she declared.

It was only then that she noticed the amethyst eyes, and the long black fingernails. Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

[Laszlo]

He kept waiting for his chance. A break between blows when Laszlo could muster up his reserves and draw on the magic he hadn't touched in months. The temptation to use his hypnotism had arisen now and then, but he had always swallowed it. The magic was poison. It was a wicked desire in his heart that would never leave. Duvalyon said it would inevitably kill him. Laszlo's apprehensions were gone. This wasn't temptation, this was an adamant decision. He would make these men know fear. He would shove it into their wretched minds. Unfortunately they were relentless. The Ethaefal gasped for breath, curled up on the ground. Lights flashed beneath his eyelids with every blow, and their voices were muddled from the ringing in is ears. At one point he thought he heard a feminine voice, but perhaps he was only losing consciousness and beginning to hallucinate. It sounded like Abalia. He'd almost forgotten what her voice was like. Then suddenly, the blows stopped. Laszlo realized there was a weight on top of him. Abalia shouted a bit more. Confused, he opened his eyes and tried to put his mind back into reality. He could smell her, feminine with the lightest traces of wine. Funny that his vision would be blurred and his hearing muffled, but his sense of smell was still in fine operation. Why hello, was Laszlo's inane thought. The men were saying something else. Arguing between themselves. Laszlo could not make much sense of it, but at least they weren't hitting him anymore. "The petch are you doing? Why'd you hit her?" "The bitch got in the way. And she's protecting him. She has no idea what he's doing. Trust me, this is kinder." "Zintila… You sound like one of them." A human woman had thrown herself between a group of angry men and a Symenestra—to defend him. In retrospect, Laszlo would find this tragically ironic. Foolish though it was, she gave him the opportunity he needed. He lifted one aching arm and put a hand on her waist, to show that he was still conscious and aware of what she was doing. "Don't worry," he whispered. He swallowed, tasting blood as he reached into himself for a power so neglected, it felt as though it has collected dust. The djed moved through his throat and tongue with tingling warmth that made him shiver. "The Shinya are on their way. I can hear them." In his state, he could not aim his hypnotism squarely as his assailants, so he convinced Johanne too. At least, he sounded convincing. "What did you say?" A boot hit the ground near his face. Laszlo's clawed hand moved swiftly, clutching at his assailant's leg. His violet eyes aimed upward, narrowed and vengeful. Djed burned behind them as well as his fingertips as he made eye contact. "I said the Shinya are coming and you know it." And what do you think they'll do when they see this? The attacker stumbled backward, out of Laszlo's grip. He seemed indignant at first, but his breath caught in a sudden gasp while his eyes widened into saucers. "No… they're already here… Shyke, they're already here!" "What are you talking about? I don't see anything." There was a moment of doubt. Inducing fear and hallucination in only one of the men might not have been enough, but Laszlo wasn't sure he had the strength to affect the others. He was in a bad enough state as it is. Already he was near his limit, and further use of djed could tear his mind to shreds and worsen his bleeding. Still, perhaps he had no other choice. He had already manipulated one of them. Why stop there? "Petch! Not again! I'm not fighting a wizard again!" Laszlo thought the human meant him at first, but of course all the Shinya were wizards as well. He remembered their magic. It was more terrifying than his own. "Rethan, calm down, just—Rethan, wait!" Pounding footsteps on the cobble roads. Laszlo's vision was still bleary, but it was easy to tell the first one was running away. A second set of feet followed after, shouting questions. The third shape in Laszlo's vision lingered. Perhaps he suspected something. "To Hai with this." Then he was gone, too. Laszlo groaned in pain, letting his eyes fall shut again. His heart was beating in his ears, in time with the throbbing of his injuries. Barely able to move, at least for the moment, the Ethaefal knew he was badly hurt, but at least he was alive. The taste of djed was still fresh on his tongue, intoxicating as the ale he'd drank, reviving old memories and horrible nostalgia. A small part of him regretted ever learning hypnotism at all. A very small part. This use of magic had a better purpose, he told himself. It wasn't entirely selfish. There was a girl to defend. A very foolish one, but he owed her still. Hopefully, she was alright. "Would you mind terribly," Laszlo croaked, coughing lightly. He tapped his clawed fingers against the woman's side, "getting off of me?"

[Johanne]

OOCOh god this is so long. Apologies. Also I'm sorry if I didn't leave you all that much to reply to...

Johanne could hear the angry mutterings of the men behind her, their voices coarse and their hearts callous, but she could not take in the words of the men who had hit her. Her eyes were too full of the amethyst gaze of the Symenestra beneath her.

She knew he, this man she had flung herself over with barely a second glance, was a Symenestra. In her homeland continent of Kalea, every child had been brought up on tales of the spindly spider men, the ones who crept into homes in the still of the night, crawling along walls and ceilings like the most miniscule of insects. With their long, black fingernails, they would snatch the women away, the beautiful ones, the ones with supple limbs and feminine curves, and take them to their caverns deep beneath the earth. Johanne had never worried for herself: why would a Symenestra want her? And although she had been taught to steer clear of the Widows with their snatching gazes, she could not help but have her eyes widen in absolute curiosity. Here, one of the Symenestra. Here, a strange story cowering beneath her.

In the brief armistice while the men conferred, she could do nothing but take in his pale skin, his violet eyes, observe one of those she had been told never to approach. And suddenly, unexpectedly, the battered spider raised his arm and put his hand softly on her waist. To her embarrassment, she flinched. The long black fingernails snagged on her dress, and she could feel his skin, cold in the night air, press down onto hers. Perhaps she hadn't been able to ignore the stories of her childhood and the fears of Lhavit completely, no matter what her rational mind would like to think.

She was surprised to hear the smoothness of his voice, so suave and caramel, even after being hurt so intensely by three men on one. In that moment, she felt safer, more content, even with three violent drunken men above her. "The Shinya...?" She felt a small lilt of hope, although the men seemed so small and inconsequential now. It was a relief to know that they were coming. She swallowed, nervously, hoping that she would not be at all implicated in the dramas of the night: she had dived in front of a Widow. She, a healthy woman had saved a snatcher of women. She couldn't hear them coming just yet, but at least the Symenestra could. The senses of the spiders were far more acute than hers, she supposed.

Johanne flinched away when the boot came close to her and the Widow's face, leaving a part of his chest unprotected. Realising her mistake too late, she waited for the inevitable blow, but the Symenestra flashed his hand out, stopping the blow. Johanne was filled with glee at his words, knowing that the throbbing in her jaw and the burning curiosity were the only scars she would attain out of this misadventure. But she stayed silent, still crouched small in the middle of the three men. Trying to small and yet trying to protect.

And in the middle of the chaos, in the confusion of shadows and night, Leth's light barely shining, the three men scattered. One yelled of the Shinya's arrival, and Johanne lifted her head, looking for the guards with her jaw still throbbing. She could see none of the Projection artists, none of those who were meant to protect the citizens of Lhavit, the Symenestra and Johanne. The three men fled, yelling after each other, chaos reigning, and Johanne slowly straightened herself into a kneeling position, looking around the empty street. The men were gone. There were no Shinya to be seen. It was just her and the Widow.

Johanne snatched her eyes back to the Symenestra, his groan startling her from her scanning of the area. Still leaning over his thighs, straddling them, almost, she could tell by the way he held himself against the stone floor that his injuries were severe. She could feel the throbbing in her jaw, knowing it was going to bruise, and yet she could not even imagine the extent to which he had been injured. She jumped when she felt the Symenestra tap on her side, hastily scrambling off his bruised and pained body.

"Petch! Yes! I'm sorry..." It was just Johanne and the Symenestra now in the silent night. The light from the tavern up the street spilled onto the cobblestone, but beside that, everything was Akajia and Leth. She winced at the way that speaking fast hurt her jaw. She took a few deep breaths before she scrambled to sit by the reposed Symenestra.

"How badly does it hurt? I don't think you should move right now." She fretted over him, her fingers twitching over his skin, and yet she was reluctant to touch one of his kind without knowing him. Ironically, this would be the safest time to touch a Symenestra, if she truly wanted to: he was too hurt to take her anyway. But she resisted the temptation, instead worrying on her bottom lip, looking up and down the street.

"Petch, where are they...?" she muttered to herself, her eyebrows furrowed. Her own injury would heal soon, she was sure, but someone needed to attend to the Symenestra on the floor. Even if the Lhavitians regretted doing so at the time. Raising her voice, she smiled anxiously down at the Widow. "Don't worry, the Shinya will be here soon. Just lie still."

[Laszlo]

Lie still. She didn't even need to ask. After the human took her weight off of him, Laszlo let out an agonized groan, then lost every slightest inclination to move. He stayed there on his back, one clawed hand over his abdomen while he paced his breaths. The ringing in his ears hadn't ceased; Laszlo was surprised he could hear the girl's voice above it. He was still swallowing blood, and the pain in his jaw and other parts of his face was remarkable. Closing his eyes at least kept his vision from spinning, but he knew it was a problem he would imminently face. Worse than all of it was the pain in his chest, as if someone was still lying on top of him. That's what kept him still. Gods, this was terrible. The humiliation was twofold with a woman having been witness to this. Laszlo hadn't even fought back, nor was he able. That first blow to the back of his head had all but done him in. If he ever retold this story to anyone, he would leave out the part where he didn't even put up a struggle. The girl hadn't left. Laszlo had half expected her to. Although he was clearly Symenestra, she remained with him. It was both valiant and stupid. "There's no one coming," Laszlo finally managed to croak. He winced as the pain his chest and jaw worsened with words. He could explain that he was a hypnotist. After all, he was legally registered as a mage at the Koten Temple, and this had been a perfectly permissible use of magic. Still, just the word 'hypnotist' sounded wicked. And even if he wanted to explain, brevity was his friend at the moment. "I lied." Reluctantly, Laszlo reopened his eyes and began attempting to prop himself up. A shock of agony exploded from his chest and rushed to every corner of the Ethaefal's being. "Petch!" Still, he managed not to fall back, rolling to his side instead and putting his weight on his elbow. Half-sitting was slightly more dignified than lying on the damp ground. He wheezed for a few moments, clutching his jacket and pulling it away from his flesh as if that would help. "I think my ribs are broken." Through his sliding vision, Laszlo spotted the woolen heap that was his cloak nearby. He felt a surprisingly happy rush of relief to see his assailants hadn't stolen it. It was one of his oldest possessions, dating all the way back to the poor Fenwick family. "Thank you," Laszlo rasped, staring at the street. His vision continued to warp and bulge. "For what you did. It was stupid, but brave. I may owe you my life." The main attacker had mentioned a sister. From what Laszlo knew of family, killing to avenge a loved one would not be so outlandish. Without looking up, Laszlo forced himself to continue. "What is your name?"

[Johanne]

Worrying on her bottom lip, Johanne knew there was very little she could do for the Symenestra. As he lay groaning on the floor, his chest nearly still, his expression furrowed in pain, she could only wait for the Shinya that he had heard approaching. It was taking them an awful long time, but she relied on what she imagined to be superior Symenestra senses. They had to come. She didn't know what to do otherwise.

Her eyes flickered nervously between the battered and broken man next to her, and the empty street that stretched on into the night. Johanne ignored the throbbing in her jaw. Whining about her own injuries would do nothing for the Symenestra. Widow or not, she had not been able to leave him to the wrath of the families of victims. Symenestra maybe, but not a monster. Unless proven otherwise.

When he spoke, his voice was strained, coarse, and by the way his eyes tightened and his jaw was set, speaking only heightened the pain that was throbbing through his body at that moment. "You... you lied?" Her eyes of their own accord flickered up to the street, looking frantically both ways. While it may have worked to scare their attackers off, and while if he had not lied they both would have been in a much worse state, it had been her main hope in getting the Symenestra somewhere safe without further injury to his body. She didn't know what to do. If she went back into the tavern, there could be more men, more drunk and more violent than the last, and even less tolerant of the spidery man.

"That's okay, that's good, you got them to disappear. We'll get you out of here and somewhere safe, don't worry." Her teeth were chattering as she spoke: now that they were alone, the cold began to get to her more and more, and so did the silence and the emptiness of the night. Lhavit was a bustling place at night, but in this corner of the city, not many respectable people wandered. Giving up on the Shinya appearing from around a far corner, Johanne turned her eye to the prone man. She had no option but to do what she could for him. Now that she had become involved, she couldn't leave him so badly hurt on the floor.

Johanne cried out when the Symenestra swore, not expecting the sudden movement, nor the burst of pain and noise that followed. Her hands flew out, resting gently on his slim fragile shoulders, supporting him in his position without exerting too much pressure on the man. "I said to lie still!" She did not mean to chastise or condescend: Johanne simply had no idea what would happen or what she would do if his injuries became more dire. Johanne winced on his behalf, imagining the pain he would be feeling in his ribs, though she could not truly empathise. "It's okay. Lie still and breathe slowly. Wait until you feel okay to move again. Don't rush." She paused, swallowing. "I'm not going anywhere."

"It wasn't a problem," Johanne said, blushing, looking down at the Symenestra's claws. Somehow, now they seemed less terrifying than they could have, knowing that he was in such weak shape and so unable to hurt Johanne. "It seemed the right thing to do." And it was. She couldn't have left him to die. Symenestra or not, he had a life.

"My name is Johanne. Johanne Verkir." She kept chewing on her bottom lip, the movement exacerbating the pain in her jaw, and yet it kept her alert and aware that his pain was much worse than hers. "And yours?"

"Is there anything I can do for you? Take you home? Call the Shinya? But don't rush, let's just lie here a little while longer, until you feel well enough to move. It would not do to stay out in the night until the dawn comes." Resting back onto her knees, she reached over and took the cloak from a little whiles off, where it had been dumped by the drunk men. She folded it on her lap but said nothing. She would give it to him when he felt well enough to take it.

[Laszlo]

"Laszlo," the Ethaefal breathed, staring at his cloak in Johanne's lap. He felt at neck mournfully, remembering when the clasp had snapped. It was such an ugly thing, that wool cloak, but it had been one of his first possessions. It was dear to him in some stupid, sentimental way. He was glad his assailants hadn't seen fit to destroy it. His violet scrutiny migrated to Johanne's jaw and neck. The skin had been reddened where one of the men had struck her. Humans were passionate things. Beneath the ire, Laszlo felt pity for the leading attacker's sister, but was grimly disappointed that he would see fit to harm another innocent girl while trying to avenge her. A clawed hand lifted itself, gingerly reaching forward and lighting on Johanne's chin. If she didn't resist, he was trying to turn her head just slightly so he could get a better look at the damage. Laszlo pressed his mouth into a solemn line as he withdrew his hand again. "Are you badly hurt?" Against Johanne's advice, he continued to push himself upright until he was sitting. For her sake, he managed to stifle any grunts of pain that went along with it—a surprisingly easy undertaking considering how difficult it had become for him to breathe. As he was not far from the outer wall of the tavern, he tentatively slid himself backward and gently set his upper body against the skyglass structure for support. For several moments, his eyes remained closed and his arms loosely hugged his midsection. It was difficult to tell whether Johanne recognized the creature sitting in front of her. There had been that moment, before it was over, when she regarded him with something like fear. When she saw his eyes and realized he wasn't human. If she was educated on the Symenestra, she might have joined them in their desire for persecution. This girl was either a sympathizer, like Abalia, or she was uninformed. Lhavit was a society that fostered tolerance for all races. Symenestra were a frequent exception, but perhaps she did not understand why. Laszlo couldn't help but wonder how a true Symenestra would handle this situation. Some might have taken advantage of her kindness. "I'll be alright," Laszlo whispered hoarsely without opening his eyes. "I just need a moment. The Shinya don't need to be involved." Eyelids peeled slowly to reveal his wide, amethyst irises once more. "You're very kind to sit here with me. But you…" It was a bad idea to show weakness to a Symenestra. He might have said as much, but couldn't help but feel that a direct warning would betray Duvalyon. "You should be more careful." His head leaned back, eyes closing once again. "Can you hand me my cloak?" A thin, long hand pulled itself from his ribs and offered itself out. "Johanne. I'm so sorry you were hurt for my sake."

[Johanne]

"Laszlo," she repeated softly, committing the sounds to memory. A strange name. One unlike those she had heard before; but then again, she knew very little of the Widow's and their naming rituals. Absentmindedly, she stroked her fingers over the tattered cloak that lay in her lap, feeling the softness of the fabric, taking comfort in the rhythmical movement of her fingers: something subconscious to keep her mind at ease. It was rare for Johanne to be in this sort of situation, one where she was required to take charge, to help, to save. She was trying desperately not to flounder in a sea of responsibility.

Johanne flinched when she felt the clawed nails caress along her cheek, and then silently swore at herself for doing so. Here she was, telling herself that saving a Symenestra was the right thing to do, and then letting terror overcome her and her humanitarian sensibilities with one clawed touch.

Swallowing her fear and everything she had been told, she smiled bravely at Laszlo, though the grin was strained. Turning her cheek slightly at his touch, she let him see the damage: her right jaw was reddened, and a bruise would undoubtedly form. The hit was hard. "No, not badly hurt, though I must admit it stings." Johanne shrugged, ignoring the blossoming pain in her jaw. She had been hurt, yes, and it was nothing she couldn't handle. Laszlo couldn't see, but beneath her cloak lay the residue of hours that she had spent carving and stripping away flesh. Her jaw throbbed but she was used to pain. "Nothing that won't heal with time."

This time, when Laszlo moved, Johanne kept her protests to herself. Laszlo was clearly stubborn enough to do so. His thin lips pressed together, she could tell the movements hurt him, and she did her best to support his shoulders as he moved to rest against the skyglass. In the silence that followed, she swept her eyes over his form. Tall, thin, lanky, his limbs unnaturally long, wrapped around his waist. "Where does it hurt?" It was not like she would know what to do with that information, but it was the very least she could do. To take account of his injuries.

With laboured breath, Laszlo spoke, and Johanne could not help but feel slightly uncomfortable at all his protestations of her involvement. For better or for worse, she had stepped in, and she felt a little indignant: where would he be now, if it weren't for her? Perhaps dashed on the rocks by a side of a peak. But he was hurt and she kept her feelings to herself. Now was not about her.

"If you do decide to involve the Shinya, I can come forward and let them know what happened. A second witness." She had a feeling Laszlo wouldn't take her up on that. But she offered nonetheless. "I am very careful," she said quietly, feeling berated, her eyes downcast to the cloak in her lap. "I'm glad I got involved." Perhaps glad was not the right word, but as she had said before: it had been the right thing to do.

Silently handing the cloak over, she shook her head. "I have been hurt far worse before, Laszlo. It's hardly an issue. I'm just glad that they cleared off." Worrying her fingers together, she wondered what he would do next. "Laszlo... I am sorry if this is forward of me... But I live not far from here, in the Solar Winds Apartment. I'd feel uncomfortable if you were to go home alone, so injured. I'd be happy to have you in my apartment, to clean up your wounds as best as I can. You can stay the night, if you wish." A Symenestra in her apartment? What would the Lhavitians think of that?

[Laszlo]

Where does it hurt? The question almost made him laugh. To save himself the agony, Laszlo settled for a quiet smile. "Everywhere," he mumbled dryly, glancing up briefly at Johanne to prove his spirit had not been beaten as badly as his body. He raised one long arm to smooth back his thin, silvery hair, producing a half-hearted attempt to make himself look presentable again. As an afterthought, he wiped at his mouth gingerly with his sleeve. A spotty, reddish smear appeared on his rolled, gray cuff, but it wasn't as bad as he thought. He used a dry spot on the same cuff to dab under his nose. "My ears are still ringing from that first hit. Ribs are the worst though." Johanne's offer to provide herself as a witness was a touching one. If Laszlo were truly Symenestra, his word might not old up against that of three native Lhavitians. However, he was Ethaefal, so his reputation would work in his favor. Still, involving the Shinya would be more trouble than it was worth. All Laszlo wanted, at the moment, was to go home where it was safe and familiar. He'd sooner forget this happened than pursue justice. If he met his attackers again… well at the moment Laszlo wasn't quite sure what he'd do. Still angry and somewhat inebriated, he wasn't in the best state to be thinking about it. "I appreciate that, but it won't be necessary." For a human woman, she was being uncommonly kind toward a Widow she had met on the street. After some hesitation, she even offered her home to him. Laszlo regarded her with chiding astonishment, as if the idea frightened him. He almost felt guilty. She would be such easy prey if he were truly Symenestra. "I live in the same apartments. And there's no need to worry. If I went home, I wouldn't be alone." Laszlo gathered his cloak into his lap, his claws catching one end of the broken chain clasp. Johanne said she had been hurt worse before. Immediately, his mind went to Abalia and the things he had seen done to her friend, Roxanne. Fia, too, had suffered abuse at the hands of a Symenestra. He didn't want to think of whatever had been done to Johanne. It severely worsened his nausea to even begin imagining what she had suffered. The Ethaefal sighed. "It's generous of you to offer to help," Laszlo said neutrally, training his violet eyes back on Johanne's. They had grown narrow and serious. "Although I am surprised you're willing to assist a Widow. I may not currently look it, but I am truthfully Ethaefal." He grimaced and rubbed at his aching jaw. "I doubt those men knew it…" The grimace became a wry smile. "Alas." Bundling his cloak under one arm, Laszlo decided he felt brave enough to stand. "I can find my way back home, but at the very least, I think I could use some help getting to my feet. If that's alright?"

[Johanne]

Johanne bit her lip, watching Laszlo swipe his hands against the bleeding cuts on his face, from where the impact had split open the Symenestra's fragile skin. Broken ribs, ringing head... she had no idea what she could do with injuries that lay so far inside of a person. She had no idea what to do with any injuries, really. But she'd read enough accounts and heard enough stories to know you were at least supposed to keep the wound from being infected.

"I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely: a pointless apology from a girl who had done nothing wrong. Perhaps it was an apology for Lhavit. Perhaps for his injuries. Most likely an apology for the world being the way it was. Her offer for the Shinya seemed so ineffectual. But it was all she could do, really, except offer her words and her weight to support him on his slow crawl home. "If you ever change your mind, please let me know."

She was slightly taken aback to learn he was in the same apartments. Two years there, and she'd never seen a Symenestra skulking around the place. Would the landlords have even been very comfortable with that? "I'll worry nonetheless, it's what I do." She sent Laszlo a soft, strained smile. "But now that I know we live so close to one another, please don't feel bad if you need to stop by. I'll likely be awake." It would be hard to get to sleep feeling so restless. And who was this mysterious person who would live with a Symenestra? Now was not the time to ask, but the storyteller in Johanne ached to know who would live with a Widow.

Laszlo's gaze, fixed on her doe eyes, made her feel extremely uncomfortable. He was appraising her like a child; like her professors had scrutinised her in the Academy back in Denval. Swallowing, she warred with two different emotions, still sitting on her haunches, still fiddling with her fingers: inadequacy and indignance. Again, he questioned her willingness to help a Symenestra--but ah, an Ethaefal. Johanne's eyes snapped back up to examine his form. She had met few Ethaefals in her time, but she saw them every day from afar, scanning the skies and looking for their lost home. "One of Syna," she breathed, almost to herself. "Not one of the spider folk, then." She internalised the information. How could it be that Laszlo was one so feared by night, and yet so awed by day? Her gaze was fresh and new.

"Of course, of course!" Snapping out of her reverie, Johanne hastily scrambled to her feet, moving over to where Laszlo--the Ethaefal--lay slumped against the wall. Reaching out her arm, she offered her forearm for Laszlo to take hold of, and pull himself to his feet. While he slowly stood, Johanne would wrap her other arm around his back and beneath his underarm, providing extra support. When he finally stood (and Johanne would help him at his own pace), she would give him a moment to breathe before taking slow steps.

"Laszlo," she began hesitantly. "I live just next to you. If you're in serious pain, please. I can at least walk you to your door. I could even clean those wounds for you. Please, just think it over." A pause followed. She did not expect an answer now. It was almost as though she wanted to apologise for what the world had thrown at him.

Quietly, beneath her breath, she murmured, "I'm very sorry this befell you, Laszlo." It seemed unfair that one of Syna's could be thought of so lowly.