Duvalyon's explanation of their relationship, as it were, didn't help lessen Laszlo's confusion. Think of me like family, he'd said. Despite having no blood relations in the strictest technical sense, it wasn't as if Laszlo didn't understand the concept. Over these past two years, however, the difficult associations Laszlo had formed with others had left him disillusioned and cynical. Friendships formed were usually conditional; Seven and Victor became tied to Laszlo through a financial agreement. Siofra was an Ethaefal, and possibly the only reason he'd paid her any attention. Ifran was always conveniently present, though there had been the potential for something deeper and stronger. Though some of these relationships were dearer than others, Laszlo had thought of none of them like family. That concept had become something more like fantasy. For Duvalyon to insinuate himself as such was deeply flattering, though Laszlo was not about to say that much. The source of his confusion wasn't about the notion of family, but rather what Laszlo had done to deserve that level of inclusion in Duvalyon's life. Really, the Ethaefal had almost literally just fallen into the doctor's lap, and then followed him around like a lost puppy. Then again, there had also been Dor. It was amusing, if not absolutely ridiculous, to think of Duvalyon as having an emotional soft spot for azo strays. Laszlo almost laughed, then. Laszlo's question remained, but he sensed that Duvalyon had no wish to continue clarifying what he meant. The Ethaefal decided to simply accept it, appreciate it, and move on. "Alvadas gets under one's skin," Laszlo explained, as if Duvalyon had never been there. The Ethaefal felt a juvenile need to defend his choice of friends, remembering that not all of them had tried to kill or injure him. "Even those who immigrate there become part of the illusions. The greatest one being that anyone there is trustworthy." Including Laszlo. Not even he was immune to the hex of Ionu's city. Everywhere else in the world, he was Ethaefal. In Alvadas, he became another lie wrapped in a glittering enigma. Even when Abalia decided to love him, he became her killer. Hopefully, now that they had escaped the Gaping Maw, the world would regain a bit of logical consistency. A long, slender hand reached out and carefully lifted the cup that Duvalyon had served him. Lifting it to his face, Laszlo sniffed at it once before taking a tentative sip. He allowed the flavor to mature on his tongue before an eyebrow flicked upward in apparent approval. The flavor was enjoyable, and more importantly it was alcoholic, but just about anything tasted delightful on an empty stomach. He was sure he didn't want to know what was in it. "Thank you," he said simply, holding Duvalyon's eyes for a passing moment before taking a longer drink. He hoped the Symenestra understood that he was grateful for more than just the drink. Duvalyon seemed to be avoiding referring to Abalia by name, which didn't escape Laszlo's notice. That was the physican's job, to avoid humanizing or sympathizing with his patients. Although he understood, his indifference still stung. Laszlo was consoled by the knowledge that Abalia was not by any means simple, and fully expected that she could disarm Duvalyon the same way she had done to him. The thought came and passed to defend her, quickly realizing there was no need. The doctor would see her for himself. Although… "I will. Don't worry. She's been unimpressed with my friends so far." And family, he thought warmly, then felt childish for doing so. He took a sip of from his glass. "Though I'd be cautious about using pain. If you aren't careful, she may end up more fond of you than she is of me." The trip to Lhavit sounded mercilessly less grueling and eternal than months-long "adventure" to and from Alvadas. Laszlo nodded, relieved. He was already growing very comfortable with the idea of traveling there, despite knowing next to nothing about the place. The Cribellum would probably offer some information, if it was that close. Duvalyon's question struck him by surprise, though it shouldn't have. Laszlo cringed, as if he'd swallowed something bitter, then looked down. Duvalyon had forced Laszlo to abandon the casual reverie of ignorance. As long as he pretended that Abalia wasn't carrying what was potentially a death sentence inside her, he found it much easier to operate. "Um." Sharply adorned fingertips felt at his forehead as he tried to think back to early Winter. "Since the… the eleventh, I think. Of Winter. You wouldn't know it, if you looked at her." Goddess. That had been such a beautiful night. She had been so stubborn and offended, and Laszlo had been so stupidly awkward about the topic of monogamy. All this seemed like such an unfair price for the passion they'd both rightly deserved. |