Brutal Honesty

by **Laszlo** on March 10th, 2012, 4:37 am

Spring 44th, 512
Twenty-first bell.

Releasing his hold on the Red Strand Road, Laszlo touched down again on solid "earth", now standing before the mouth of the Meadows Public House. He dusted himself off for perhaps the fifth or sixth time that hour, his obviously foreign clothing still clinging onto bits of mountain dust and campfire ash. A motley collection of creatures passed by him, from Symenestra and humans to Konti and one familiar Eypharian. There were other races Laszlo saw that he couldn't even name, such as one short-statured, but intimidatingly muscular fellow with skin that almost seemed to be made of metal.

An insistent wave of fatigue poured over his limbs like warm water; he was beyond exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Despite Duvalyon's invitation to stay at his home, Laszlo was tempted to just purchase a room here so he could pass the next fifteen hours with Abalia lying beside him.

She was waiting for him inside the Meadows, where Laszlo had left her shortly after arriving in Kalinor. With a long, delicate hand tightly fixed on her shoulder, he'd leaned in close and spoke directly in her ear. "I'm going to leave you here for just a moment. I need to talk to Duvalyon and let him know we've arrived. If anyone asks, you're waiting for Vethis Orthilia. Otherwise, don't speak to anyone." A clawed thumb traced over her shoulder's curve, and he'd kissed her cheek.

The mercenaries who Laszlo and Abalia had traveled with were also present in the Meadows, obscuring Abalia's presence with the crowd they created. It was unknown what could happen to her if any native Symenestra realized her condition, or if they knew that an Ethaefal was her unborn child's father. If she was for some reason transported to the Place of Purging, it could complicate everything beyond repair. The Eypharian Kazhi would not respond well to an order to watch her, and might further charge him. Laszlo needed every rim he had if he was going to charter travel elsewhere.

On Laszlo's way to the exit, he had paused to softly touch the arm of one of the attendants. She had turned and smiled at him, which he mirrored wearily, her gold eyes glittering beneath a well groomed curtain of blackish gray. He spoke to her in Symenos, "I need to run an errand. I will return for that." Laszlo lifted his clawed hand to gracefully gesture toward Abalia, whom he had left near the hearth. "She shouldn't be a problem, but please feel free to restrain her if she tries anything." She is accounted for, Laszlo inserted into his words' meaning, the djed piquant on his tongue. It would be best to dissuade her doubts.

A bell had passed since he left. The meeting with Duvalyon had taken longer than Laszlo had expected, and left him feeling as though everything inside him had been neatly scooped out, leaving an empty shell. He wanted to collapse, and for a few fleeting moments, forget everything as his mind drifted into dreaming. Not yet, though. There was still work to do.

It was brighter inside the Meadows House, despite its warm, easy lighting, reminding Laszlo of the eternal, moonless night contained within Kalinor. The chestnut coloring of the walls made him think of his tavern in Alvadas, run now by only Victor and Seven, and whomever they might have hired in the recent months. The fireplace was the strongest reminder, yellow and soothing to surface-dwellers, almost painfully bright to every Symenestra in the room. Laszlo was already accustomed to it.

Finding Abalia almost where he left her, seated on one of the sofas near the hearth, his slender frame eased itself down to sit next to her. With a clawed hand, he pulled a dilapidated pillow from between them and let it drop near his feet.

Treat her like your horse, not your wife, Duvalyon had told him. Laszlo stared pensively at the flickering firelight lapping at the floor, wondering how long he could keep up that charade.

He laid his hand upon her wrist. She would know his gentle touch as loving, but to others, it could be mistaken for a gesture of control. "I've arranged somewhere for us to stay. We don't need to buy a room here," he said in a hushed tone, indulging by tracing a fingertip beneath the crook of her wrist. "Abalia—" He swallowed, feeling the guilt prick him past the weight of exhaustion. "How are you feeling?" he asked reluctantly, fearing the sort of answer he might receive.

by **Abalia** on March 15th, 2012, 4:50 pm

Being left behind while Laszlo went on errands was certainly not something that fell into the realm of Abalia's approval. For so long she had lived a life completely under her own control, with no one to order her about. There had been Roxanne, but she had never demanded anything. Abalia had operated as she had wished, entirely. Now, this? It was startlingly different, and she chafed beneath the change. But, she loved him. That was the truth of it, though sometimes it seemed a regrettable thing. What if she'd been able to walk away so many nights ago, in that tavern? She'd still be in the city she loved, without an inevitable death looming over her.

But she wouldn't have him. That was the trade off, wasn't it? A world of misery for the pleasure of his company, his arms around her, his love. And a fair trade it seemed, most days, difficult though it may seem. And so when he'd left her in such a frightening place, Abalia had been content to sit and stare at the fire, wrapped in layers of clothing that nearly completely obscured the pretty swell of her stomach and the life that squirmed there.

When he returned to her, she didn't look up. She hated this charade, but she knew it was dangerous, and so as much as she wanted to curl up like a pet at his side and put her head against his shoulder, to take her comfort from him, she had to accept the light weight of his fingers against her wrist.

"I am tired," she admitted softly, as quietly as he spoke, still staring at the flames. Tired of being awake, tired of walking, tired of sitting. Tired of existing in a world that seemed to never change, tired of worry. When, at last, Abalia turned her dark eyes to regard him, she couldn't help the small smile which she afforded him.

"When can we rest, Laszlo?"

by **Laszlo** on March 15th, 2012, 8:31 pm

Her soft little smile broke Laszlo's heart. It sent a tremor through him and tightened his throat, and he turned away from her, though his fingers squeezed her wrist. Abalia might have wondered if this was part of his act, but in truth he just couldn't stand to look at her and see the pain that he was causing her. All of this was his fault.

Abalia was out of her precious Lying City, where nothing was ever simple, cold-cut, and unforgiving. Things always changed there, for better and worse, and living within Ionu's malleable reality became a rhythm of push and pull. The happiest Alvads rode the Trickster's whimsy like a cormorant on the rolling waves of the ocean, willing slaves to an ever evolving set of rules. They lived in a relationship with the city as if it were a living thing, an eccentric parent.

Outside of Alvadas, the world was dead. There was no partnership between the earth and those who walked on it. They were simply two separate entities, each one trying to harvest life from the other. Survival was not only about adaptability, but how fiercely one was prepared to fight for it. It wasn't impossible. Anyone might be fascinated enough by the adventure of it all to leave home and see the world. But Abalia had been pulled away from Alvadas, almost against her will, to stay in the company of a man who was eventually killing her. She had her death think about, and was in love with her murderer.

"Soon," Laszlo responded quietly, not looking at her as rose to his feet. Gently, he pulled Abalia up too, then encouraged her to walk in front of him toward the exit. A pale hand remained on her arm as if to guide her.

Once outside, Laszlo led Abalia to a large basket hanging from one of the strand roads, very similar to the one they had rode to the Meadows on. This one had no guard to operate it, so Laszlo had to work it himself. This was something he hadn't fully mastered. Despite his temporary comfort with heights, he suddenly feel more apprehensive about falling into the gorge than if he were dangling by just a few fingers.

The sounds of mingling and life slowly faded as the light of the Meadows House grew gradually smaller and dimmer. It was as if they had left Mizahar, and were now drifting into the night sky; the distant lights of other hanging Kalinor structures played the role of large, lopsided stars. Ruining the romance of the metaphor, the unnerving sound of grinding metal gears and stretching rope filled the silence, keeping the pair grounded in an unwieldy and graceless actuality.

"I'll go back for our things," Laszlo told her suddenly as he operated the gears, his voice having lost its harsh, forced edge. He was sure by now that they were out of earshot. Abalia was likely drowning in the blackness, like Laszlo had when he first traversed this oceanic void as Syna's fallen. "You'll be safe with Duvalyon. I would trust him with my life. He doesn't… he doesn't much care for humans, but he is enduringly polite. I told you before he once kept a Kelvic around. She was very fond of him." Laszlo paused, conscious of his wording. "She didn't belong in this place, just like I didn't. She left, but I'm sure she misses him."

by **Abalia** on March 15th, 2012, 10:31 pm

As if suspended in a strange dream that she couldn't wake up from, Abalia followed along. She didn't regret leaving the uncomfortable place behind at all, but once she found herself in a darkness so thick it felt as if it would suffocate her, she began to rethink that. At least there had been the fire, then, the warmth that wasn't so different from what she had known for the rest of her life. This kind of darkness, though, Ionu had never thought to fashion for her. It was strange and foreign and entirely disconcerting.

And then Laz was speaking of a friend, of a kelvic, and of belonging. Gods, but those were terrible words to string together. She missed Roxanne every single day, and knowing the truth of her demise had only made that worse, not better. As far as friendship went, Abalia trusted Laz's judgment about as far as she could throw him, and she didn't relish the thought of meeting another. This was all for Laszlo, really, this great escapade. To make him feel as if he'd tried everything, done everything; an attempt to absolve him, to lift a bit of the burden of her death from his conscience.

"Laz," she spoke softly, abutting his words with a silent plea. Her small hand shot out until she could feel the sinewy strength of his calf beneath her fingertips, and she held it there for support. Was this what it was like to be blind?

Comforted, apparently, by the simple touch, Abalia released a heavy sigh and tucked her head against his thigh. It felt safe to speak, somehow, since she was unable to see a threat around them.

"I don't like this place," she admitted softly. "It's so frightening. Please don't bring our child here, Laz. I don't want it to grow up in darkness."

by **Laszlo** on March 16th, 2012, 12:09 am

The gears of the basket stuttered, and then stopped. For a lingering moment, there was almost complete silence. Whispering echoes washed through the Kalinor caverns like the breeze that wasn't there. Traces of muffled voices, dripping water, and pattering that might have been footsteps drifted in the darkness, beckoning the attention of eyes that could see nothing. The black of the cavern was a living creature, breathing and watching, always there.

Laszlo's leg moved away from Abalia he turned and shifted, causing the basket to gently sway in the air. Another moment later, a pair of long, slender arms were closing themselves around the Alvad's shoulders, easing her back to Laszlo's chest. He sat down behind her in the basket, pulling her body into his as he leaned back against the side. Together, they hung there silently, soaking up Kalinor's shadows.

"It's not dark to me," he told her softly, clawed fingers drawing her long, auburn hair from her face. His careful, precise amethysts watched her own unseeing eyes, wide and begging for light. Laszlo kissed her temple, sweeping his fingertips over her forehead and touching her eyelids. "I can see perfectly. Better than I could even on the surface, with the blinding moon. The Symenestra prefer it here. No storm or army could ever harm this place. Semele protects against the wind and any enemy would be blind. Kalinor is a safe place."

Our child. Laszlo was still not able to admit to himself that that the creature growing in Abalia's womb came from him. Some part of him knew that he would have to face it eventually, but not now. There was so much time left before…

"I know it's frightening to be blind. I lived here for a year. But half the time, I wasn't me anymore. I was… someone else." A warm breath passed over Abalia's cheek. "The city really is beautiful." It wasn't, really, not by any human standards. Structures clung to the ceiling like a horde of bats and wasp hives, decorated in silk and jeweled lighting. The strands that connected them crisscrossed like thick cobweb. To a human it might be foreboding and dark, even if it were properly lit. But how would she know? All she could see were dim, floating lights. "I wish I could show you. It hangs from the ceiling. Like… crystal. Maybe I'll hire an artist."

by **Abalia** on March 16th, 2012, 2:33 am

There was a compatibility between Abalia and Laszlo that made, at least in her perception, their partnership as easy as breathing. Even when they disagreed and argued and their tempers butted one against the other, the coming together again was as easy as her next breath. For all of that, though, they were still very different creatures who just couldn't share some views. Abalia thought there could be nothing beautiful about this horrid place, and she longed for Ionu and his city of illusions even as Laszlo had come to despise them. Even the thought of crossing the path of the slanderous idol she'd made efforts to avoid for most of her life was more appealing than this. She thought, as he wrapped his arms around her all the more snugly, about the day the city had tipped into the sea. The day she'd forgiven him for sins so minor compared to those to come, the day she'd told him how well they fit together, how they belonged together.

That had been the day they'd created the child inside of her, who squirmed and kicked to a rhythm of life that only Abalia could feel and know. What she wouldn't give to go back to that city, to walk on streets made of gold coins or beneath a purple sky. How she missed the malleable nature of that reality, the wonder of each new day, of what it might bring. She found the world outside Alvadas stagnant and cruel, and the young girl inside of her wept for home.

That young girl was a mother now, though, if a frightened and untried one. She wasn't sure how to convince Laszlo of all the things she felt she must, and in time, when he wouldn't even acknowledge that the swell of her abdomen had nothing to do with her diet. She'd yet to convince him to unfurl those long, graceful fingers across her belly, to feel the life within her as it moved with all the innocence of the unborn. It felt hopeless, but her time was limited and she knew she couldn't give up on him. She had no choice.

"I think... I think Symenestra are beautiful beneath Syna's light. Or Leth's moonlit kiss. Something almost fragile and delicate but so strong and brave. Here, it doesn't seem beautiful, Laz. It seems ... it feels like death here. Like the grave. Is it terrible that I cannot wait until the hours pass and you're Syna's golden son again? Then I will not be so alone."

Her eyes were suddenly burning with tears, and Abalia swallowed in frustration. As if being a woman wasn't hard enough, the hormonal chaos of creating a child meant that she had little control over her tears anymore, and for her emotion to be so vulnerably displayed was often a point of agitation for her.

by **Laszlo** on March 16th, 2012, 6:28 am

"You're not alone." Then Abalia's words began to sink in. Her meaning gripped at his throat with soft, warm fingers, and squeezed. Laszlo's cheek lifted away from hers, and she could feel him looking at he. "I'm—Abby, I'm still the same person. Night or day, I'm still just me." Was he? "I'm here. I won't leave you, and I won't let anything happen to you. I'll keep you safe." His arms tightened around her, perhaps more for his sake than hers. Goddess, he wished he could protect her.

There was a time Abalia preferred Laszlo's Symenestra form, or seemed to. Perhaps it was the element of danger, or the memory of a lost lover. Understandably, his night phase had lost much of its appeal. Now here, in this city where Abalia somehow sensed the death that truly did exist here, she knew where Laszlo's pale, moonlit face had come from.

Abalia was on the edge of tears, which seemed to choke Laszlo even tighter. His head rested backward on the side of the basket, blinking back shame and frustration.

"Besides, I'm grumpy when I don't have sunlight. And depressive. I'll probably spend the entire time moaning about Syna and some existential crisis. No one wants that." In honesty, Laszlo wasn't looking forward to the feeling of weariness waiting for him at daybreak. Without the sky, he felt like a wilting flower. No amount of food or sleep could cure it. He could take short trips to the surface during the day, but he was trying to maintain a low profile. "We'll only be here for a couple of days, to rest and resupply. Duvalyon says we should go to Lhavit. It's only twenty days from here." Oh, right. Should probably mention that the Symenestra would be coming with them. Perhaps after they get acquainted.

Seven was from Lhavit. Laszlo briefly thought of mentioning that, then quickly remembered that it wouldn't help in the slightest. "It'll be alright."

by **Abalia** on March 16th, 2012, 1:41 pm

If his words gave her any small comfort, she gave no indication of it. She couldn't help but smile ironically at his reasons, the logic against the joyful welcome of his ethaefal form. While she didn't have a divine link pulling at her soul, torturing her as this confinement must him, she was human and innately built to glory in both Syna and Leth, and this underground furlough was terrible to her, too. At least in his misery they would be able to appropriately commiserate, and perhaps his divine misery would blind his eyes to the supposed beauty of this place. Abalia realized that this wasn't the best attitude to have, but misery loves company, and she felt so very disconnected and isolated in the strange and eerie caverns around them.

"Lhavit," she murmured, some form of acceptance. She could survive a few days here, she supposed, if that is all they were to spend. Hell, she felt as if she could sleep for that long easily, and so at least she could cope that way. She had met travelers from the place, when it had been so very far off from her own beloved city. Mercifully, she didn't recall Seven or his profession of hailing from there. It was better not to think of him, or Lark, at all. She had enough to deal with at present, and Roxxie's beautiful face haunted her every day as it were.

"I'll be glad to travel again," she asserted, lest his concern for her physical state require that they tarry overlong. In truth, she was bone weary, but keeping active did help, in a way. And if they were walking away from this place? Abalia could only imagine the pep in her step.

"Is your friend... is he giving you what you wanted, Laz? Why we came?

by **Laszlo** on March 16th, 2012, 10:08 pm

Laszlo's chest swelled and sank with a long, loud sigh. "Nrgh. That makes one of us." He hated the mountains, even more than Alvadas. His body was still covered in scrapes, bruises, and burns. He was tired of every breath tasting like dirt, and filling his lungs with dust. The scent of pine and rock was not refreshing. It only reminded him that there was no roof over his head, no hearth to warm him, no bed to sleep in. His palms would forever be rough and callused from clinging to rope and rocky ledges. "Every part of me hurts. My joints ache. I must be the only Ethaefal who knows what aging feels like."

It was a joke in poor taste. The way things were looking, not even Abalia would ever learn what real aging felt like. Laszlo cringed. Angry at himself, he lifted his head to smack it again against the basket wall.

He couldn't let himself think like that, though. Abalia's death was very possibly imminent, but she was still alive now. Still here, breathing, warm in his arms. Laszlo couldn't allow himself to begin grieving before she died. Slender, clawed fingers dug into her thick hair and guided her head to his chest. He could still feel her hot breath, her eyelashes grazing the thin fabric of her shirt. This was now, the time that really mattered. Though he worried deeply for the future, the way her body fit into his made it feel impossible to think he could ever lose her.

"Yes, he is." The Ethaefal stared up at the cavern ceiling, which glittered with streams of moisture, while he smoothed Abalia's hair. "Duvalyon is going to help us. He offered to do anything he could to save your life." And he had the child in mind as well. More than Laszlo did. "I didn't expect him to be so agreeable, but he's always helped me, when I needed it. Without a single thought of reward. I owe him so much…"

Shifting his weight, Laszlo sat himself up properly, with his hands on Abalia's shoulders. "The sooner we get there, the sooner you'll be lying in an actual bed. Are you ready to go?"

by **Abalia** on March 17th, 2012, 3:02 am

No. No, she wasn't ready at all. Because this suffocating darkness was more bearable, with Laszlo's gentleness and warmness like a blanket over her, than any destination could be. Here, at least, where he became so aloof with eyes upon them, even if necessarily so. It was a bitter pill to swallow, the detachment, and Abalia imagined that when Laszlo was stunningly beautiful and horned that he wouldn't fit in, either. Maybe then she could rest her head upon his shoulder without worry, or slip her small hand into his.

As it were, she realized she couldn't really stay in this odd basket forever, and so she did what she had been doing for weeks now. She scrounged up strength from somewhere, and nodded. Realizing it was incredibly dark, or perhaps as a result of her own human uncertainties in a field of black, she thought to vocalize it too.

"Yes. Okay."

A bed. A real bed. Would there be soft, clean sheets? Could she curl against Laszlo's too lean frame and find comfort in the bony jut of his limbs against and around her? She thought better than to hope for as much, but with a weariness that went as deep as theirs, such dreams were the things that kept her going, striving, moving.

"I'm ready."