Sea of Diamonds

[Laszlo]

Too many relationships, huh. Glancing upward, Laszlo gave fleeting consideration the others he'd met and gotten to know during his time in Alvadas. The list was surprisingly long, and at least half of the people he'd met had somehow ended up in his bed, figuratively or literally. Even Victor had playfully propositioned him, only to retract the offer with a cruel measure of glee. He never planned for any of it to happen, it just seemed to do so on its own. Laszlo had no complaints. It was a stark turn from his more virginal first year-and-a-half of life, but he found it to be a very pleasant distraction. The word "baggage" was unfamiliar in the way Abalia had used it, but he surmised meaning from context. Laszlo wasn't sure how to define any of his relationships. The line between friend and lover had been crossed frequently. Though he knew he was inexperienced, he didn't reasonably foresee any difficult snags or complications regarding anyone in the near future. "I'm sorry," was all he could produce when Abalia mentioned her late friend. He thought of asking her whether she'd found her raccoon yet, but was beginning to think that asking so often would only serve to make him look more suspicious than caring. He'd felt a need to say something, knowing that she'd never find her friend again, and that her life would experience a potentially jarring change. Especially if Roxanne had been all she'd had. "You can, if you like. They're not poison, or anything." Laszlo sent a vain glance sideways, catching the blurry view of one shining horn just at the edge of his peripheral vision. The red hue in his glassy ornaments of the divine was beginning to lose life and give way to his shades of Winter. An auburn curl shifted to block is view and he relaxed his eyes. Leaning his head back against the varnished, black façade of his tavern, Laszlo gave her other request some thought. The glittering surface of the Suvan Sea did provide him with some limited inspiration, the ever shifting waters and shimmering strip of sunlight gleaming brightly enough to sting his eyes. "I've never told anyone about my real name, so pardon me if this is lacking. I'll do my best to describe it. Close your eyes." Laszlo looked down at her, giving her wide browns a scrupulous look. Arming an subtle, playful smile, he tilted his head in insistence. "Go on, then. I can't just tell you. You have to see and feel it to understand." Exploiting his hold on Abalia's shoulder, he squeezed her arm and drew her in closer, until he could draw his hand across her upper back and take a hold of her opposite arm. Laszlo held the girl's small frame against his broad one, in a way that seemed forward, but he didn't think she'd mind. There was an ulterior purpose; Hypnotism would make this feat easier. As he held Abalia in his arm, he could more easily convey the proper thoughts through touch, as well as his words. His hand meanwhile stayed clasped in hers, idly moving his fingers against hers. "I was wayward for a long time. I was not embraced by Syna until the last thirty years or so, while others like me had walked her domain since before the Valterrian. I'm prone to being fickle, sometimes altering my path away from the Sun Goddess in pursuit of new experiences. My name reflects that." Tracing his fingertips in a pattern over Abalia's shoulder, he rested his head back again and closed his eyes as well. As he spoke, he pushed his own thoughts through his skin in the form of djed, leaving a prickling sensation as he felt them pass onto her. "Imagine a brook that cuts through a forest so thick that the canopy nearly blots out the sun. Most of the water flows under the shade, dull and wet, over a bed of smooth pebbles and rocks. In the morning, however, the sun is rising and sending piercing rays of orange light through the tall, leafless tree trunks at the base of the forest. That light reaches the brook, lancing through the water, and striking the rock bed underneath. The flowing water distorts this light and makes it dance, never staying still but never losing its radiance." Laszlo opened his eyes. "The way the light moves, over the rocks under the water, is what my name means." Sighed. "I wish I could speak it. Pronounce one, single syllable." Perhaps he could, through hypnotism, but worried he'd only mutilate it just as badly. His fingers stilled over Abalia's shoulder as he returned his half-lidded amber gaze to the sea, his liquid irises appearing to lose some of their glimmer. "I want to go back."

[Abalia]

Abalia did not hesitate. Given bemused permission, she lifted a slender arm so that her fingertips could stroke the smooth perfection of his horns. It was strange, and just another point of fascination. Her exploration didn’t last long, though, before he had changed his posture, and their position. His arm wrapped across her slender frame, tugging her into him, and Abalia offered no resistance. It was an intimacy, a warmth she had not known with a man since Dolvich had left and, even then, had he ever seemed so kind? The ethaefal was warm, and smelled of spice and ale, at least to Abalia. It was something akin to comfort and a warm fire, or the pleasant heat of alcohol on a full stomach. Small hands, which had lifted of their own will as he pulled her close, curled against his chest, into the fabric of his shirt. Her gaze was transfixed upon him, absolutely unable to look away. Syna gave her children an unfair advantage. When Laszlo prompted her to close her eyes, her brows furrowed in skeptical indecision. That smile, though, was all the weapon he needed to slice through her hesitance. With a feigned sigh, her pretty features relaxed again and with the sweep of dark lashes against fair cheek, she obeyed. As his voice became something molten and hypnotic, she dropped her brow the few inches it took to rest against his chest. She could hear the patient thud of his heart in his chest, feel the strength of his arms around her frame, and for the first time that she could ever recall, she felt separate from Alvadas. As if Laszlo had created a universe all his own. That universe was forested, with a bubbling brook and fickle sunlight. It was amazing, with words that she felt as much as she heard. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath all throughout until his wistful words broke the spell, and the beautiful vision dissipated like early fog. She didn’t move, at first. It felt profound, listening to his heart pound and imagining the name that couldn’t be spoken. At last, though, she leaned away – but only a little. Just enough to peek up at him, with an awed little smile that was one of the most honest she’d given him yet. There was no playful deflection here, no shields. “No,” she said softly, clearly affected by what he’d shared. “Words would mutilate it. Don’t you think? Words are ugly and coarse, compared to that. It must be enough to know it. Until you go back. Can you go back?” Abalia made no move to extract herself from his arms and, given the flow of her words, apparently had no intentions of doing so.

[Laszlo]

It was one thing for Laszlo to admit begrudgingly that any spoken sound would ruin the beauty of his true name. To hear another person not only agree, but understand that any mortal's effort would fall short was… Laszlo swiveled his golden eyes toward her, half hidden under exhausted lids. His lips parted, showing the barest hint of his upper teeth, though he otherwise kept his expression carefully neutral. The Ethaefal couldn't hide his exhaustion—not physical, but worldly. Under his angular, well-sculpted brow, there was a long shadow that enveloped his eyes, tired of seeing, feeling, moving. He was a creature never meant to be given flesh, weighed down by foreign pull of gravity and smothered by every sensation. And she saw it. For the first time since Kalinor, at least, Laszlo looked into a mortal's thick eyes and perceived a modicum of understanding. Only Duvalyon had shown anything like it before, but his observations were cold and educated, delegated to the academic. This human girl, despite her natural inclination to be dull and short-sighted, now began to see the truth of Laszlo's existence. "I don't know," he murmured, his eyes hardening. He pulled them away, finally, settling back on the blinding, shimmering diamonds on the surface of the Suvan. "I don't think…" Laszlo's arm fell away from the girl, the last of the tingling sensation of djed wearing off as his blood recirculated freshly through his skin. He ran his fingers through the front of his hair, combing into dull brown, then feiry auburn as his strands gradually cascaded back around the sides of his face. "I try not to think about it, anymore. There are Ethaefal hundreds of years old. I've only been in this world for less than two." Turning away, Laszlo stooped down toward his pail of water, retrieving the towel from the murky, gray water. With a quick twist between both hands, sending the excess moisture noisily back into the pail, he pressed the cloth to the window again. The brisk, early winter air chilled his fingers again, but this time he ignored it, focusing more on wiping over the warped, uneven surface of the smooth, shining glass. "I run my tavern, I pray, I sleep, I wake up." Laszlo sent a peripheral glance at the wispy girl, a sense of reality returning to him. She'd lost her friend, and it was his fault. "What else is there to do in this existence? We move on. We have no other choice." We. What a loathsome concept.

[Abalia]

Abalia was left rooted in place in his wake, watching him channel frustration into cloth and water. She could still feel him against her but, more importantly, could still imagine the scene he had planted into her mind. It was moving, even now, moments removed. She felt pity for him, an emotion Abalia was not overly familiar with. Life was what it was, especially in Alvadas, and she rarely felt sorry for someone. But to glance at his beautiful face in Syna's light, his brow furrowed in barely disguised upset as he scrubbed stubbornly at glass that would never yield, she wished he could go back. For his own sake. If she could feel that allure so strongly as a mere human, a mere observant on a single thought, how must he feel? Thinking such things made her feel soft and, to some extent, weak. Abalia lifted her chin a little when his voice at last broke the spell and she was free to move again. She adopted a position within his line of vision, leaning against the tavern just on the other side of the window he was attempting to purge of it's filth. "To whom do you pray, Laszlo? Syna? I can imagine it, now. Like this," she said, her fingers splaying against a forearm that reflected the golden beauty of his Goddess. She stalled his work by doing so, and stole his gaze with wide brown eyes. "But you hardly seem pious at night." There was no insult hidden in her words, nor was there even the twinge of playfulness which was common to nearly everything Abalia said. For better or worse, he had sparked her interest in a way that went far beyond her flirtatious little game. By doing as much, by holding her in his arms and sharing that small measure of himself with her, Laszlo had stripped away part of the illusion, part of the disguise. He had a moment, now, with Abalia at her truest, though it was impossible to predict how long that might last.

[Laszlo]

"Why?" Laszlo asked cautiously, lowering the dripping rag at his side. His fingers were freezing as he held onto it, the cold air mercilessly chilling the soiled, soapy water. The towel became even colder as he held it still in the open air, but he dutifully ignored it to aim a sharp, impatient look at the woman standing in his way. "Because I don't look like this after the sun sets?" He wafted his free hand toward his face, indicating his perfectly symmetrical features and the sunny, bronze sheen of his skin. "I still honor Syna even when she's hidden from the sky. My beliefs don't require me to be fanatically religious at all times." Briefly, Laszlo considered mentioning his brief deviation from Syna's path, when he'd become disillusioned by the darkness of Kalinor. Viratas had offered such a willing and gentle hand of guidance, and Syna had been nowhere to be found. He extended himself to any creature that bled, and it wasn't as if Laszlo had been rejecting Syna in favor of a new god. It had just helped to have a… divine surrogate, so to speak. Speaking of faith to someone who might not understand, however, wasn't worth the effort. Laszlo didn't want to endure a naïve lecture from a simple, self-absorbed human if she had some opinion on his questionable piety. "What about you, Abalia? Do you have faith?" Laszlo shifted his weight, considering the girl in front of him, studying her large, brown eyes. There was something so innocent about them, except not—she looked too intelligent to be completely harmless. Laszlo's own golden pools somehow retained some of their glimmer, even though the sunlight was at his back. His horns still shone brightly, almost translucent on the edges as Syna poured over him, but the rest of his form was colored in shadow as he stood over her. A sudden, playful twist of his lip appeared in his otherwise stoic expression. "Perhaps you believe in the God of Freezing Wet Towels?" With that he moved forward, half-heartedly aiming the towel at her small, round shoulder, more intending to scare her off than to actually touch her with it. His hands ached to be busy. It was easier to converse when he had something to do, like clean a window. Abalia's questions were piecing and personal, and he didn't like that she was trying to analyze him, or his day and night halves. Laszlo wondered if she was only sating her curiosity with him so she didn't have to think about that dead kelvic, who was supposed to be 'all she had.' Poor thing.

[Abalia]

In a pensive, thoughtful mood as she was, Abalia did not expect the breathtaking ethaefal to turn and essentially drench one half of her with a soaking wet cloth. As such, she made no move to retreat or dodge. She simply stood frozen in chilled horror as he made his move. Her sleeve was soaked, and the droplets of water that ran free across collarbone and exposed chest were icy. "You ass!" she exclaimed, other hand lifting to squeeze at the fabric of her shirt, to wring as much water from it as she could. Despite the absolute conviction in her tone, and the dark glower she fixed him with, the aura of comedy lingered still. In fact, it was but a moment before a snorting giggle parted lips she was trying so valiantly to keep pressed together in a straight line. "I hate you," she quipped, lifting both hands to shove at his shoulder. She was laughing as she said it, though, and the light in her eyes was hardly hatred. Amused mischief, playfulness, surprise. Something pleasant, however he chose to view it. Abalia returned her attention to her wet clothing for a moment and then she stepped closer to him. She bent to submerge her small hands in the freezing water and when she straightened, it was a lovers pose she adopted. One leg insinuated it between his own, allowing the warmth of her slender frame to press as close as it may to his frame. Then, before too much of the water trickled down her arms towards her elbows, she lifted her hands to cup his face. "So pretty," she cooed teasingly, almost mockingly, except that it was ridiculously true. Her wet hands left the uncomfortable chill of moisture in their wake as she stroked back along his perfect cheekbones and down to the side of his neck. There her palms had lost their weapon, and so she turned her hands over to dry the backs of them against his golden flesh instead. When one arm tightened around her waist, Abalia murmured something incoherent and then danced out of his arms with a laugh. She expected reciprocation, and thus eyed the bucket warily. It hadn't occurred to her that Laszlo might not have someone he played with thus. She'd always had Roxxie, after all, to romp around with as if they were two kittens free on the streets of Alvadas. "Don't!" She threatened, when he moved, whether it was towards the cold water or not. "Don't do it, Laz! I've not answered your question!" Her voice was higher than the sultry purr with which she usually addressed him, her eyes bright, cheeks flushed with amused abandon.

[Laszlo]

"Nng—!" Wet, cold fingers ensnared Laszlo's face before he could think to move away. The cold shock sent a powerful shiver down his spine, sending him staggering backward. Dropping the wet towel, he groaned and ducked his head into the crook of his elbow, wiping away the freezing water with his sleeve. No matter how dry his cheeks felt, the Fall air still felt cold on his skin, and he could still feel the memory of Abalia's sticky, wet fingers. Despite how unpleasant it felt, he found himself laughing heartily—merrier than he could ever remember being before. A wide grin split his face, a row of white teeth bared and shining. It was strange to see a smile so genuine on his face, usually so mellow. Though he grabbed for her, she twisted away and stood out of reach. Feeling that she'd only dart away if he lunged for her again, Laszlo remained where he stood. At an impasse, the two of them regarded each other warily. Laszlo had the physical advantage, but Abalia had dexterity. His only weapon was the bucket of murky, gray water at his feet. His smile suddenly seem to darken, while a mischievous light began to sparkle in his golden eyes. He regarded the pail with a lifted eyebrow, nudging it with the toe of his boot. He stooped over to pick it up, the metal handle creaking in noisy complaint as it turned in its hinges. The water inside sloshed about briefly as he shifted the wooden pail in his grip, holding its bottom with his other hand. From this position, he could easily hurl the water at her, if he wanted. "Ah." Laszlo leaned back on one foot, tilting his head at her. Wavy locks of half auburn, half brunet shifted around the sides of his face, pouring around his shining horns. "So what's the answer? Must be important, if you're hesitating." The water in Laszlo's pail licked over the edge.

[Abalia]

His laughter washed over her like a soothing balm, and Abalia couldn't not grin too, despite the blossoming horror as those eyes filled with intended mischief. The water was freezing, and it would be a very uncomfortable day if she had to walk around soaked in it. She couldn't bring herself to doubt that he would do it. The tilt to his lips, the light in his eyes. It was all too incriminating. "Ah," she hedged, with a little step backwards. Small, still chilled palms were held up towards him in useless defense, her big browns dancing between the bucket and Laszlo's face. When her hesitance made his muscles coil, made him seem ready to act, her pretty eyes widened further. With a snort of laughter she answered in a panicked voice. "Ionu! Of course, Ionu. You cannot spend your entire life in Alvadas without worshipping Ionu. Unless you want to be miserable, that is. And, there are other gods I think highly of." A pebble skittered away from her foot as she dragged it backwards again, water spilling over his fingertips where he held the bucket. Abalia made a girlish noise and shook her head, dark hair spilling in an unruly cascade over her shoulders. "Laszlo, I don't care what you are," she threatened, without ever losing her smile. "If you dump that on me, I'll make you regret it."

[Laszlo]

A boot twisted against the loose gravel of an honest Alvadan street. Human fingernails dug into the soft, waterlogged wood as he squeezed his hand against the bucket, the murky, gray contents disturbed at every slight movement. His golden eyes hardened for a moment as he considered her words. Spend your entire life in Alvadas. Laszlo hadn't given much thought to how long he'd be in Alvadas. If he was ageless, certainly he wouldn't be here for his entire life unless he met his death here. Arrow, another Ethaefal in the city, was well over four hundred years old and had traveled the world. If Laszlo's life was going to be that long, it wouldn't be spent in this tavern. This was just a starting point. Ionu was a powerful and intriguing god, but he'd never be Laszlo's. "I've been a lot of things, Abalia," Laszlo cooed, considering the pail of water in his careful hands. One foot dragged a few inches across the ground, crunching against the dirt. "But as you see me, at least, I'm not cruel." Pivoting on the ball of his foot, Laszlo turned back toward the tavern and swept the bucket in a low, underhand arc. A shimmering mass of water momentarily floated through the air, opaque and shapeless, until it splashed across the face of the window. The glass sparkled cleanly as the water ran back down in waves, rinsing away the streaks left by the towel and the remainders of dirt rubbed lose from his scrubbing. Several droplets came back to meet Laszlo's tall form, one of them spattering itself on his eyelid. He wiped it away with a single finger. "Not while the sun is shining." Laszlo couldn't speak for his earthbound half. There was no saying what his Symenestran instincts were capable of, but he felt cruel, sometimes. Craved women, even craved using people. Not so much lately, with his seasonal temper flaring. He couldn't feel clever, when he was dealing with an onset of rage. All he craved then was to hurt someone. The Ethaefal stooped over, lifting the wet towel from the dirt with two, deft fingers, plopping it in the empty bucket. Shaking his hand dry, then carefully dusting himself off, he straightened and placed a warm look on Abalia's young, narrow face. Her eyes were so large and vulnerable, shimmering a fiery shade of burnt amber. She was a pretty thing, like a flower bursting through the crust of a heavily trodden path, but it wasn't her beauty that he noticed. There was something about her, a vulnerability disguised by a fragile shell designed to look stronger than it was. He never had any intention to throw that freezing cold water on her. Laszlo had already done enough, hiding her best friend's death from her. Quivering just beneath her surface, he presumed, was a lonely, suffering girl who missed her friend. She clung to him, he realized because she had nothing else to hold to now. Nowhere to go. They'd made some sort of the connection a few nights ago at the tavern, and now it was only strengthening. This feeling of tingling pressure welling up in his chest, however… it didn't feel so much like pity or remorse. It was something much less understood. It reminded him of the way Ambrose looked when he met eyes with him. Laszlo sighed, opening into a frustrated smile as he rubbed at the back of his head, curling his fingers in auburn curls. "What am I going to do with you, Abby?" He instantly regretted the use of a nickname. It sounded so informal and forced. It had been meant as revenge for "Laz", which had been strange at first, but he'd grown gradually fond of it. Perhaps it would be the same with Abalia's newly coined moniker. Taking a few steps closer, both hands visible to show his good will, he closed the distance between them. A stray glance slanted off the tavern, unable to pierce the shining window to check whether anyone was watching. Despite the uncertainty, he turned his eyes back to her, reaching forward with one hand and sweeping the girl's long, straight hair away from her face. He watched with care as he pushed it behind her ear. "Your friend is still missing, isn't she?" he asked slowly, then closed his mouth in a grimace. "I'm afraid no one here has seen her. How are you doing?"

[Abalia]

The anticipation of a frigid dousing had filled Abalia with the tremble of pent up adrenaline. When that glossy water ran in wild rivulets down the window instead, his offensive aborted, Abalia let out a heavy sigh of relief. She felt almost weak with it, the tenseness of muscle coiled to dodge or flee suddenly released at once. Her mood was light, pleasant. It was a very comfortable place from which to observe this version of Laszlo, all sunlight and beauty. She could not reconcile the two images of him and, as she watched him smile towards her, she could not decide which she preferred. His darker presence reminded her of things lost, precious things. She was playing pretend, mostly, when she adored those dark nails pressed into her skin. Pretending he was someone else, before all of the hurt and abandonment. But this Laszlo... well, he was his own identity. She had no one to supplant him onto, no former acquaintance with which to equate him. He was beautiful, unearthly so, and he laughed, and he smiled, and when he looked at her just so she could feel her heart flutter strangely in her chest. It was his kindness, oddly enough, that shattered the almost innocent observation she was making. The girlish adoration with which she had fixed him, in that odd moment of reverie. Only Roxanne had ever called her Abby, had ever been allowed. To hear it fall from those lips made her sigh, without the note of whimsy. And then, insult to injury, salt to the open wound, his fingers were brushing through her hair. Gentle enough to deliver his words with more sure footing, to make her chest ache even as his fingertips brushed the shell of her ear and then skimmed the soft warmth of her throat. He was close enough to touch, if she'd just lift her hand, rest it against his chest again, where it looked so appropriate. His words had frozen her, however, sapped the unadulterated joy from the moment and reminded her of why she had felt so cold, and empty, when she awoke that morning. "I think she's gone," she confessed at last, too-moist eyes dropping beneath her dark lashes. "Gone." As for how she was holding up? Abalia didn't respond. She wasn't quite certain yet.