Let Me Be

[Ambrose Kain]

Fall 37th, 511 AV Just before sunset. Eventime, or close to it. The sun still poked her head out past the horizon, but she was not long for this side of Mizahar. Ambrose would miss her warming rays, but at least he was assured of her return on the morrow. Besides, the night had its own pleasures to be offered--some of Alvadas' busy attractions came alive only under moonlight, and even those places he visited in the daylight sometimes underwent a drastic change. The House of Broken Mirrors, for instance... No. He still wasn't feeling quite brave enough to face that nightmare of a place. The rest of the day after his parting with Laszlo had passed with surprising grace, given how awkward it had begun. Ambrose had spent most of his time at the marketplace, or the "Bizarre," as the locals charmingly put it. There were plenty of stalls stocked with exotic and exciting wares from all over, and Ambrose spent a good portion of his traveling funds purchasing himself a few new outfits--his favorite was a soft, velvety overshirt that was as much robe as tunic, and made him feel quite regal wearing it--and several oddities and knick-knacks he was sure would thrill the folks at home if/when he ever returned to Zeltiva. The people were as interesting as their products, if not more so, and after forcing himself to put his money away, Ambrose spent the rest of the day chatting with a wide menagerie of visitors and learning many interesting stories and tidbits about places he was likely never to see. There had even been a symenestra, a sly-looking woman with almost pure white skin and hair of a lighter silver than Laszlo's, but she'd shyly ducked away when Ambrose tried to engage her in conversation beyond the nature of her wares, so he quickly gave up. His impressions of the other races shifted based on his experiences, too. Of course he would never say that all members of a race must be the same as the ones he'd encountered, and the humans were as varied in culture and temperament as could be imagined. Overall, he felt he'd quite adequately made use of his day, and went back to the inn gratefully as soon as the city decided to let him rest. The following day had been less successful. Rising bright and early, Ambrose had made his way to the Garden of No Return. What a fool he was for entering a place with such a foreboding name. Yes, the garden rightly boasted of many interesting plants and flowers, some of which looked too vibrantly colorful and delicate to be real. Yet as its name implied, even after Ambrose had finished his tour of the garden and sought to head out of it and find a spot for brunch, the garden had other ideas, and he found himself on what was apparently a never-ending loop. By the time he broke down and begged the garden to let him out, he was quite ravenous, and was seriously considering leaving Alvadas the very next day. Perhaps the city could read his mind and didn't want him to go yet, as it finally let him escape. He went straight back to his room, or as straight as the roads would let him, where he changed out of his mud- and unknown substance-caked boots to a pair of slippers that were more gentle on his feet, all the while sulking. It wasn't until hunger got the best of him that he crawled out of his room in search of food. Of course, the only place he could think of where he was guaranteed to find a hot meal was the Withering Rose, but he hesitated to go there. Not that he was afraid of succumbing to the roses' influence and falling for another traveler--he wasn't that incapable of keeping it in his pants--but because he wasn't sure the city would be so kind to him and even let him arrive at his destination. Maybe he'd just wander along with no particular goal in mind and let the city decide where to drop him off. Yes, that sounded like a good course of action. At that point, he was so hungry, he'd have been happy eating raw fish.*

[Laszlo]

The black varnished face of an old abandoned building stared down at him, nestled snugly between two similarly designed, but tannish colored condominiums, making the contrast a bit unnerving. Laszlo was used to it, now that he'd walked past this building at least seven or eight times in a tenday. It wasn't the most attractive piece of architecture; in fact it was rather worn with age, sporting chipped wooden siding and old, yellowed windows. It was pitiful in comparison to the creature of divine beauty standing before it.

Soon enough, however, the sun would drop below the horizon, and he'd resume his earthly form as the Widow. The scene would change then. A tall, willowy thing like him, with his spidery limbs and colorless skin, would blend right in then.

He'd first found the place entirely by accident during a late night of shenanigans with a human called Victor Lark. It had mesmerized him then, but not in any way he hadn't been captivated before. The fisherman's daughter, Duvalyon's intrigue, the whimsy of Dor, the tragedy of that ghost in Kalinor, they had all affected him in a greater way than this place had. Yet here it was, day after day, begging for Laszlo's companionship.

Sometimes Laszlo would pretend not to notice it and simply move on past. Other days he would give it a nod of acknowledgement, pause in appreciation, and then continue about his business. On days like today, when Laszlo had finished his day's tasks and had nothing better to do, he would stand with it in a staring contest, until it convinced him to come back inside for another look.

Before anything especially exciting could happen, Laszlo paused to casually survey his surroundings, gathering his bearings as he made a note of the passersby ambling along the Alvad street. One particular head of hair struck him as immediately familiar, but it warranted a second look before Laszlo could be sure.

The Zeltivan. Laszlo felt the butterflies stir in the pit of his chest, his lips slowly parting in the desire for something to say. They hard parted on such tense terms before. The Ethaefal had regretted that he'd probably left the human with such a sour impression.

He should say something.

"Ambrose?" he called out cautiously, pocketing one of his hands and turning to face him. The wool cloak that hung from his shoulders seemed a little unwieldy on his broad form, but he'd worn it in anticipation of the evening. "It is you! I'm glad to see you again. How are you doing?" Well, that sounded a bit shallow, but what else was Laszlo going to say. Swallowing the awkwardness with a bit of a wince, he sent an arbitrary glance around the road. "The roads have you going in circles today, don't they? They've been cruel to me all afternoon."

[Ambrose Kain]

Weary beyond belief and in an uncharacteristically sour mood to match, Ambrose snapped his gaze upward at the sound of his name and glowered. His foreboding expression faded as he recognized the ethaefal. The enthusiastic greeting startled him, and he found himself smiling, feeling immensely relieved for reasons he didn't care to explore. "Yes, exceedingly cruel," he agreed, and lifted a foot, pointing to the underside. "You'd be horrified to see how many new blisters I've acquired." Briefly, his gaze lifted to the building behind the ethaefal, more to give himself something to focus on while he summoned together his composure rather than an active interest in the structure. He still felt tired, of course, but unexpectedly meeting Laszlo again, and with the ethaefal in a much better mood than when they'd parted, gave him a second wind. He felt a little awkward, standing in the middle of the street and facing Laszlo while others passed by, so he slid forward, keeping a respectful distance between them but leaning his shoulder against the building. He didn't want to risk passing the ethaefal's boundaries and reiginiting whatever strange coldness had possessed him two days ago. "Uh...how are you?"*

[Laszlo]

"Good," Laszlo intoned flatly, hardly bothering to put any conscious effort into his reply. After giving a parting glance to the sinking red-golden sun, which had begun to disappear behind the shadowed, misshapen horizon of Alvad architecture, the Ethaefal turned back to the gloomy structure in front of him.

Ambrose remained there in the side of his vision, and while Laszlo was pleased to see him again, he had not anticipated being unable to come up with anything adequate to say to him. An uncomfortable, awkward cloud pervaded the moment as they stood there, making Laszlo's gut tighten. He narrowed his eyes in frustration at himself and looked down at the ground, toeing at the dirt.

"I was heading back to my room at the Inn, but this place stopped me." Laszlo turned his eyes back up at the black varnished building, his irises glimmering like amber pools in the failing light. "It often does. I see it nearly every day. You know how this city is, by now. Even if consequences exist, I don't think Ionu allows them to here." He rolled his shoulders in a mild shrug, sliding his eyeline off somewhere else to push Ambrose out of his peripheral vision, so he wouldn't have to see the look on the Zeltivan's face. The soft brown hue in his eyes looked a bit grayed and jaded, and Laszlo wondered selfishly if he was the reason. After their last conversation…

"I was also waiting." He retracted his hand from his pocket, allowing his wool cloak to fall crisply around his tall form. "The sun is setting. I like to be outside when it happens."

[Ambrose Kain]

His abrupt change in manner left Ambrose nonplussed, though he masked his own discomfort with his usual pleasant smile. Of course, he supposed there was reason enough for them to feel awkward around each other, yet it was the ethaefal's apparent immunity to such awkwardness that had been the original bone of contention. "It," Ambrose echoed almost soundlessly, his eyes fully resting on Laszlo, as he felt there couldn't be any harm in just looking. This side of the ethaefal's being was undeniably beautiful, radiant and gilt-skinned like the personification of the sun that he was. Yet there was something very human about his expression, especially as he stared off into the distance, giving Ambrose unspoken leave to study every detail. "Does it hurt?" he asked suddenly, then cringed, wondering if he'd broken past the buffer of polite indifference he'd tried to build up between them. "Ah...nevermind. Not my business." Finally, even he began to grew uncomfortable watching Laszlo so closely, so he shifted his own gaze towards the dying sun. Many claimed it was a sad event, plunging the world into cold, dangerous night. But Ambrose loved all the versions of the world and her being, night or day; it made no difference to him. And Laszlo...Laszlo was an embodiment of those two dualities, was he not? But unlike Ambrose, Laszlo seemed to regret the oncoming of night. Could that mean he was ashamed of being half-symenestra? "I hope...we can still be friends," Ambrose said slowly, struggling not to set off Laszlo's coldness, but discontent to leave the awkward silence in place. With someone he was a little more confident about, he might have tried to hold their hand. While he wanted to do the same with Laszlo, he resisted, more than certain it would only annoy the ethaefal. "Really. There's no need for all this...distance. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, and it's absolutely fine to leave it at that. You seem to have many other good qualities besides your looks, and I'm eager to find out about all of them." There, that was neutral enough, wasn't it? Ambrose wasn't professing his love--he was doing the opposite in fact, or so he hoped. He wanted to subtract whatever guilt or anger Laszlo was feeling so they could stand at ease beside once another again. If such a thing was even in his power to do.*

[Laszlo]

Surprised by Ambrose' sudden question, Laszlo swiveled his head back to the Zeltivan. The whites of his eyes were a little more visible than before. Friends? Of course he'd like to be friend. But as Laszlo studied the expression on Ambrose' tanned face, and listened to what he said, he realized what was implied. The Ethaefal felt a minor sting of guilt, knowing that the human had been the first to address the awkwardness between them. He had meant to, but… it was difficult to see a point to it.

Ambrose was misinterpreting Laszlo's silence. He had taken it personally, not realizing that Syna's fallen had larger worries than awkward relationships. Or perhaps Laszlo wasn't worrying enough about his relationships. So often, it felt as though his life were a never-ending dream, that the people in it were unimportant and transient. Dream or not, Laszlo still found genuine comfort in companionship, and this reality still had its consequences.

Laszlo's features softened suddenly as his façade relented, leaving vaguely pained look on his pearly countenance. A helpless, glottal sigh escaped him.

"Ambrose…" he started to reply, but chose the wrong moment. He paused as the sun finally set and his body was engulfed in a flash of radiance. It flickered across his entire form, rapidly from head to toe, as a mirror would glint under a flash of bright light. In a matter of seconds, his transition was over. Where the Ethaefal once stood, there was now a lanky Symenestra, impossibly pale and under a stringy main of dark gray hair. Golden eyes were exchanged for violet.

Seeming to have lost his track of thought, Laszlo averted his gaze downward in apparent regret. Lifting one hand, now tipped with long, black nails, he briefly examined his change with a soured frown. "So much for my looks," he laughed bitterly, forcing a small smile. Dropping his hand, he gave Ambrose another difficult glance. "I had hoped to see you again, Ambrose, to speak with you at length and… apologize." Though Laszlo paused, he didn't insert said apology. "Would you follow me? I'd like to talk with you, but let's continue this inside."

Reaching behind his head, Laszlo untied his daytime ponytail, loosing his thin, graphite locks and allowing them to rest upon his shoulders. He didn't pull up his hood to conceal his face; it was just them, after all, and Ambrose had already seen his face, and so much more. The Ethaefal knew the building would be empty, having entered it so many times before.

The door yielded to a firm push, after having to turn and then jostle the doorknob and release the latch. It gave an irritated groan in complaint as a it swung inward, leaving a flurry of dust that erupted in a short-lived cloud. Laszlo ignored it and stepped inside. Oddly, he found himself bathing in a peculiar light, hued with an orange tint.

It should have been dark and grey inside what appeared to be an abandoned pub, the only light barely being allowed in by a single small window caked in grime. With the sun set, not much light could penetrate the cloudy glass anymore, yet a light glow settled on the dusty interior of the long, spacious room. It wasn't much, and Laszlo doubted Ambrose' human eyes would find it adequate to see well in, but it wasn't the power of the light he cared about; it was the source.

Laszlo looked up.

Thousands of colored glass tiles clung to the ceiling, fitted together amid a gridwork of white mortar to form a masterful mosaic, creating a brilliant impression of the sunless, orange sky. The colors were so vibrant that they literally seemed to glow. That in itself should had been extraordinary enough, but if one looked long enough, it would be possible to make out the slightly shifting colors among the tiles as faux clouds writhed in a golden sky.

The mosaic was moving.

"To answer your question," Laszlo said, looking back down at Ambrose. "It doesn't hurt. Not in the way you're thinking."

[Ambrose Kain]

Ambrose hadn't the foggiest why Laszlo would want to enter a decrepit old building, but he followed anyway, as ever curious. Inside, he saw only grime and cobwebs, and coughed at the dust motes trickling through the orange light. After a moment or two, it finally occurred to him to wonder where that orange light was emanating from. He looked up. "Woah," he whispered, quite literally breathless. With his head tilted all the way back, his adam's apple stuck out, and quivered when he forced down a heavy swallow His mouth was slightly open, utterly dazzled by the unexpected mystery above. The strange posture strained his throat and made him a little dizzy, and he reached out without thinking, lightly holding onto Laszlo's shoulder for support. "Uh..." Belatedly, he realized Laszlo had said something, and with effort, he forced his eyes back to the now-symenestra's face. Even without holding it in his direct line of vision, he could swear he could still feel the mosaic glittering and shifting above him. Slowly, the meaning of Laszlo's words filtered in, and Ambrose smiled, feeling somehow relieved. "That's good," he said, his hand still lightly resting on Laszlo's shoulder. "Ah--I mean, that you're spared at least that inconvenience. Those shape-changers--what are they called? Kelvics?--I met one, and she told me changing form can hurt, sometimes." Feeling a little awkward after the unprompted admission, he performed a slow inspection of the rest of the bar. It literally paled in comparison to the mosaic, and Ambrose wondered at the history of such a place, why it would fall out of use for so long when it possessed such an obvious allure for customers. "What is this place?" he asked, with his usual rapidity in switching topics. At last, he lifted his hand from Laszlo's shoulder, and walked over to the ancient bar top, with its blanket of fallen dirt and ash from the braziers and lanterns that had once upon a time lit the room. He started to run his finger along it, then grimaced and carefully rubbed the filth onto a less obvious part of his skintight pants. Then he crossed behind the bar, making his way over a fallen chair that was missing a leg and had an arm that looked vaguely chewed on, and started to poke at the empty, sometimes broken, bottles littering the shelves. "Looks like something you'd find in a ghost town. Do you typically enjoy haunting places like this?"*

[Laszlo]

Laszlo contained his reaction as he felt Ambrose grasp onto his shoulder. The Zeltivan was so fond personal contact, of touch, he had been on the first day they met. It was something Laszlo himself wasn't used to. Intimacy of any sort was still novel to him, though that didn't mean he didn't enjoy it. He watched Ambrose until that hand released him, watching him and taking in his astonishment even as he wandered forward.

A cool draft entered the room, slipping in through the door they had left open. It teased at Laszlo's wispy hair, but wasn't powerful enough to disturb his cloak. He ignored it, thankful for the dose of fresh autumn air in this stuffy place that smelled thickly of mold and age.

"Not really," Laszo replied as he cracked a thin smile at Ambrose' partial joke. Glancing downward, the Ethaefal reached at an old chair with his long, thin arm, taking it by its backing and sliding it toward himself. Using his thick wool garment as a buffer against the accumulated layers of dust, he gracefully sat himself down in a naturally sweeping motion. He crossed his feet at the ankle as he leaned back, similarly folding his arms at his chest. "I found it by accident one day, when exploring the city with a friend. Ever since then, I keep seeing the place. I don't know why, and I don't know who owned it last. Seems as though it's been abandoned for a while."

Light sensitive pupils sat wide in Laszlo's dim violet rings, reflecting a particularly animalistic eyeshine as he slanted his vision across the room, spying the closed doors on the far wall. "I was… callous, the other day. On many days I forget I'm not the only one who exists in this world. Most of the time, it's even a struggle to truly believe that. I… like my privacy. I wasn't used to have someone in my personal space for so long."

[Ambrose Kain]

"Understandable," Ambrose answered from where he still stood behind the bar, his tone light and unassuming. Reaching upward, he took a strange-looking bottle off a top shelf and turned it this way and that for inspection. It was dark green in color, with a long, narrow mouth and squat barrel, and would have been pretty if it hadn't been dark with grime. Holding the bottle like a prize, Ambrose turned to smile at him. "Think the ghosts will mind if I take this?" He didn't know why he wanted the bottle--just a little memento of his sojourn into the unusual building. Plus it was odd. After that, he headed for the table Laszlo sat at, and helped himself to a chair across from the symenestra. Even in the dim light, his smile was radiant; he had new territory to explore, both literally and in his conversation with the strange creature he'd made love with two nights before. "To be honest, I wasn't expecting an apology. Really, it was my fault for misunderstanding. But thank you." Obviously feeling at ease, he leaned the chair back on its hind legs and rested his feet on the edge of the table, crossed at the ankle. "I mean, maybe I should have asked if you wanted me to leave right after, and usually I do, I guess I was just so tired that I--" Crack. With no more warning than that loud shatter, one of the chair legs, unused to bearing so much weight after so long, twisted suddenly from its base and jerked sideways. With only one leg left for support, the chair--and Ambrose--quickly lost balance, and both went collapsing to the ground in a large cloud of dust. The wind knocked out of Ambrose, and he landed with his hands splayed, the bottle shattered on the floor nearby and his eyes as wide as if he'd stumbled into a ghost. A few startled seconds later, he burst out laughing. "Well, that was embarrassing," he chuckled, not sounding at all embarrassed. "Tch. It broke..." Moving a little stiffly, he pulled himself off the wreckage of the chair and picked up a shard of glass, staring at it with some reproach. He was uninjured, save for some scrapes on his elbows and of course his mildly bruised pride. "Uh...what was I saying? Oh, yes. Normally I would have left much sooner. I guess I was just...hm." He trailed off, and looked over at Laszlo with a smile that was crafty and just a little sad. "Too worn out." That was a lie, and he knew it, but also knew better than to say what had really happened. I didn't want to leave.*

[Laszlo]

"Goodness, are you all right?" Unfurling his arms, Laszlo leaned forward in his own chair, which held steady under his lighter weight, passing Ambrose a startled look. The human had laughed it off, recovering smoothly from his minor fall. He maintained such finesse that it inspired a faint smile from the Symenestra, who appeared to relax.

Settling back in his chair, he considered Ambrose' explanation. There was a shadow in that winning smile, which Laszlo as an adept Hypnotist had keenly noticed. It left him with a flicker of doubt over whether his new friend was telling the truth. Laszlo had been a virgin, after all—innate memories and experiences aside. If anyone had exhausted Ambrose that night, it would have been Ambrose himself.

Yet, Ambrose was otherwise imperceptible, and Laszlo shrugged it off. He hadn't minded the Zeltiva staying over and warming his bed for him, at least not for the first few hours. It hadn't been long before their combined bodies, too much to easily fit on the Inn's small bed, had begun fighting unconsciously for their share of the mattress.

"You weren't the only one," Laszlo laughed softly, feathering elongated, bony fingers through his dark tresses and glancing downward. It was only as he did so did he pause to gape at Ambrose' leg. Beneath a torn patch of fabric was a dark, wet blotch, growing slowly outward.

"You're bleeding," he remarked suddenly, newborn concern in his voice. All at once, the tall thing rose out of his chair and stepped aside. "Here, sit. Roll up your pant leg. I can help that."