Red and Yellow

[Laszlo]

Spring 86th, 512 Thirteenth bell. From the day Laszlo had arrived, flanked by his lover and what passed for a friend, he'd been stunned by Lhavit's overwhelming brilliance and lighted splendor. It was a city built of diamonds and glass, draped in hanging gardens, steeped in climbing vines, and abound with flowering trees. Its people dressed in colorful garb and were bright and welcoming—in the day time, at least. Coming to Lhavit, despite his grim predicament, had helped to soothe aches he hadn't realized were there. The sun was abundant and celebrated in Lhavit. With the recent happenings in Laszlo's life, being so focused on Abalia's fate, he sometimes forgot that he was an Ethaefal. While before, his existence had been something that confused him profoundly, the comforts of their new home helped to tuck his fears away and ease the hurt of living. Occasionally he even enjoyed being what he was as much as the Lhavitians did. But today, as he chose his path through the Surya Plaza that sprawled out around him, a small parcel for Sakana cradled in one arm, he was distracted. Lhavit offered him security where Alvadas had offered him moral quandaries, Kalinor a sense of conflict, and Syliras a time of fear and regret. The Plaza was most beautiful now, in the early afternoon. Syna spilled her light more plentifully here than anywhere else in the city, lighting up the vendor tents like paper lanterns. The smells of cut flowers and cooking food drifted on the warm, late Spring breezes. He could hear faint music drifting from somewhere, and gaily dressed buskers were performing outside the Shooting Star Inn. It was nice, but all Laszlo could think about was Abalia. This morning she had not felt well. Everything had frustrated her, to the point where she became inconsolably angry. It was the child that grew in her, altering her moods, but also the fear of her impending death, eroding away at her sanity. The light that he loved in her could hardly be seen, and the dimness that remained had been torture to watch. He'd done this to her. Not paying attention to where he was going, Laszlo's tall form collided into a smaller one. Instinctively he pitched backward, trying not to hurt whoever he'd just run over, but lost his center of balance. He staggered ungracefully, and may have fallen on his backside, but instead stumbled into the trunk of a cherry blossom. His horn scraped against a low lying branch, creating a cascade of fluttering pink petals. Under the shade of the tree, Laszlo plucked the thin branch from the snaring corner of his horn, then turned quickly to see if his unsuspecting victim had survived his faux pas. "Sorry, I… oh!" The olive skinned woman regarded Laszlo with impossibly colorful eyes. The storyteller from the Basilika. "It's you. Hello. S… Suria, right? I liked your story." Laszlo stepped out from under the tree's shade and back into the light again. His horns took on a translucent glow. "I'm sorry my friend upset you before. You look like you're doing better." It was merely polite chatter, but it provided a welcome new distraction. Abalia waited patiently at the edge of his thoughts.

[Albireo]

Thoughts were cooking in the pleasant sunlight heating up pitch-black hair while more brooding matters sank into the background. Literally: recesses of a fractured mind. The weather lifted her spirits, almost by force, and olive hands were dancing over the package she was carrying. With true Lhavitian politeness she brought a present along for meeting a friend. Yet in a matter of seconds her hands grabbed thin air and all thoughts shattered on the ground. Half-hearted complaints of passers-by didn’t even reach her ears as she straightened and stared at the thing to her feet. Glass figurine of a dancing woman, perhaps a greeting from Wind Reach, in the past. Shards whispering of danger and broken secrets now. Brown fabric and fresh grass almost swallowed them. A familiar voice shook her out of lethargy and directed colorful eyes upwards: rainbows of violet, turquoise and orange, trembling with echoes of the crash nobody had heard. And a single word: Laszlo. Frantic search of the surroundings didn’t produce any pale flesh or piercing eyes. Not even behind the tree? No, only Syna’s sunkissed. “Sorry...” No repeating his words, not really. Blinking against the light in translucent horns, she made a second attempt. “If the first meetings are unlucky, it often means that the bond shared will be stronger later.” Did she leave her vows at home because of the friend’s nature? “I meant to return something to you...” Still standing in front of broken pieces, she buried her hands in pockets, all pockets one after another, before producing a coin. One kina. The one he had paid her story with.

[Laszlo]

The glass shards on the ground glittered brilliantly, like diamonds, almost beautiful, but at the same time jarring and tragic. Already laden with guilt, Laszlo's remorse for the broken item was only a shadow of feeling, but he stared down at the broken statue as if it had somehow offended him. How dare it throw itself in Laszlo's way, just to bring further pain for anyone? It was so unfair. Fortunately, Laszlo had been practicing at keeping his features blank and for the most part suppressed. Every day, he was terrified and distraught, but he lived with these things and learned not to speak of them often. While was angry at the thing for breaking, his facial expression might have instead been interpreted for shock or alarm. "I'm so sorry. I've got to be a complete idiot, not watching where I'm going." He sank down almost immediately, shooing away the irrational flare of angry. Carefully, he lifted a larger piece of the figurine that resembled a female's torso. It was headless, and severed at the midriff. Laszlo sadly realized there was no point in picking up all of the pieces; it was destroyed. A street cleaner would see to it. A colorful coin appeared before Laszlo's golden eyes. He lifted its head, needing a moment to remember its significance. Once it came to him, the Ethaefal shook his head and placed the glass shard back on the ground. The tall creature rose again, his shadow passing over the woman's face. "Come now, that's yours. It was for the story. Consider it a gift, if it makes you feel better. It looks like I owe you much more than that, anyway." He gestured down at the statue. "I'm terribly sorry about that. What did you pay for it? I'll compensate you. Or buy you a new one, if you like." Laszlo should save his money. He had a sick woman and a future infant to think of. "It's the least I can do."

[Albireo]

The Vantha stood as if striving to imitate the thing that was broken. Why did he bend down, why pick up the damaged torso? Contrary to her, he didn’t see the echo of the figurine it had been in the shards. Why care? Biting her lip, she watched him on the ground. Horns of pale lilac bent before rainbow eyes. What will come of it, she asked and, Lord, where did You leave Your Lady when it happened? Then he rose and the ghosts vanished. Words hit her like a punch. No hand took the coin out of hers, nothing to bring relief. They kept rotating in her head, doubts and vows and... “Apologies”, she performed a nod, a half-bow, ripples through jet-black hair, “I do not tell my stories for profit.” Pausing a moment, her gaze went up and plunged into melted gold. Surprise colored them violet with a dash of pink. “You owe me nothing. I give and you receive. Payment is not necessary.” Her tongue slurred her speech and burdened it with what seemed to be a slight accent of Vani. Lyrical language – only bits and pieces like lightning in overshadowed memories. No, it wasn’t Vani, not really. Olive hands fluttered through the air, creating a barrier. “No need, no need.” Then, as an afterthought: “I’ll keep the kina. It’s a compromise.” And hoped he understood. Fleeting glances went here and there and up to Syna’s insightful rays. They laid out time for them, the breeze cooled spring air and heated foreheads. An idea sprung up out of nowhere, sudden like glass shards. “Do you ever feel like it’s futile... to keep calling your Lady?” In a whisper it came over her lips. A step away from the shards as if to avoid injury, yet an invitation to follow through familiar streets as well.

[Laszlo]

Laszlo exhaled steadily, allowing the guilt to mingle with relief. It didn't sit right with him, not paying her for her loss. The statuette looked expensive, and real glass like that couldn't have been easy to come by this far up in the mountains. Grimacing, the Ethaefal gave its shattered remains another remorseful look. Silver cracks laced through the clear glass like wicked fingers. Still, remembering how light his pockets had been becoming since arriving in Lhavit, he thought it best not to argue with her. Her definition of 'compromise' was a funny one, though. The woman asked a piercingly personal question entirely without warning. Laszlo's brow creased, and a moment later, his warm amber eyes lifted to meet hers, then lifted higher, sending a cursory glance to the sky. "That's a bit forward, don't you think? Asking about my faith?" A quick, warm smile quickly abated any thought that the Ethaefal might have actually been offended. Suria began to draw away, but her eye contact lingered long enough that Laszlo recognized the invitation. She appeared to be headed in the same direction of Laszlo's own destination, so he was glad to follow her. Tiny crumbs of glass crunched beneath his boot heels as he stepped over the broken statue and fell into pace next to the woman. There was something sad about the destruction of the figurine, aside from Suria's loss. Despite it being very much inanimate, the humanoid shape made it had feel as though they were walking away from a death. Its broken corpse littering the streets were now the responsibility of Lhavit's caretakers. "I'm immortal. Everything in this world is comparatively fleeting," he said to her, after a moment of deliberation. "So many things could seem futile, from an objective standpoint. Personally I've found it difficult to remain objective about much of anything." He shrugged dispassionately, separating himself from that line of discussion. Faith and devotion to Syna lately had felt as much comforting as it did futile. Every god's domain was limited. "Your accent is very distinctive; I think I've heard it once before. Do you come from outside Lhavit?"

[Albireo]

Always watching, she interpreted his reaction in a different way. A careful glint came out of nowhere or maybe it fell from the stars just when their eyes met for a fraction of a chime. She heard no offense, therefore didn’t reply. Laszlo stepped over the shards, crunching sounds rising over voices and laughter. Strange personality. Suria had moved around the mess in an attempt to avoid sharp edges. Not exactly fear, more like unrest. As soon as they walked away though, it faded in memory and became less than the glittering stars. Zintila’s signs they still were, yes. The Vantha attached herself to his side without a word or any unnecessary move. Balance clad in mortal flesh and bones, painted olive. Jet black hair like a curtain. Immortal and fleeting he said, oblivious. Why did it always have to be...? Nevertheless she forced herself to answer. “My home is the same as yours, the other side of the coin. I fell too. How can we be objective about anything?!” The strange accent riddled her words or was it passion; stronger now, it broke her voice. Biting her lip, she tried to hold back a flood of words. Objective? Ha! Raw acid in the back of her throat. Objective! How, when calling and begging were the only possibilities before her eyes? The wrongness of it all shook up her split core, but asking questions remained as futile as ever. Where had she messed up again? Brows knitted in an attempt to see through the labyrinth. “It’s either everything or nothing. There is no half-faith... Forgive me for asking such things.”

[Laszlo]

The other side of the…? Oh. Laszlo turned his head to observe her as they walked, absorbing the unexpected passion in her reply. He recognized that accent now. A tortured spirit trapped in the caverns of Kalinor had spoken with the same inflections in her voice. Gods, she had been terrifying. Intriguing, though, that he'd met two beings oblivious to each other's existence who somehow shared an unknown cultural bond. He would have to inquire about it later. "You're Ethaefal," he stated, his voice carrying a note of surprise. Suddenly, the story about Syna and Leth that she had told at Basilika made a little more sense. As did some of her… quirks. Many Ethaefal seemed to have a few. "One of Leth's, I see. I'm sorry, I didn't realize." Laszlo's half-cocked attempt to sidestep Suria's question had been unsuccessful. She didn't allow him to change the subject. Now forced to give his answer some more thought, Syna's son let out a sigh as he looked down at his feet. This was the third Lethborn he had personally met. The first had ended up… "No harm done," he replied, shrugging his forgiveness. Siofra's memory put him on edge, but he would try to keep himself from jumping to conclusions, even if Suria seemed a little unsound of mind. "We Fallen are dealt a terrible hand, but I've come to learn that there are many mortals worse off than we are. Objectivity is important if we're to stay sane. We cannot be caught up in our own misery, or we end up causing it for others." The Ethaefal looked away, examining the skyglass structures along the road was they walked. They shimmered warmly, almost seeming to reflect the colors bursting from the Summer gardens planted in nearly every corner of the city. He should have brought Abalia here months ago. Things might have gone differently. "I'm not very good at separating for myself what is meaningful and what is…" He could envision Abalia's infectious smile. "…futile. But I try. My faith keeps me going. The sun always rises, and even in the darkest places, there is almost always some light."

[Albireo]

Leth’s daughter only nodded, nodded, as if an entire world was contained in that simple gesture. Of course he couldn’t read nearly as much in that face as quiet as night and sky, but it was better that way. No harm done on both sides. Fragile things they were… But his words confused like sounds of a foreign language. No Celestial dialect could unlock what he failed to convey. Stay sane? She almost blurted out laughing. Too fragile perhaps. “But only faith keeps me sane. What does He think when He does not answer? A vicious circle never ends.” Awaking from a half-trance of words, she stopped herself. That wasn’t for other ears, only for memory. Piles and piles of images, scenes, images, splinters in the flesh. “It isn’t I who causes my misery”, she added, almost like a pouting child. And then he raised her up from the pits of darkest mistakes to inhale fresh air. “The sun always rises”, she whispered, tasting the hope on wet tongue and lips. Looking up, ever-changing eyes took in the light and reflected: white, yellow and orange lightning. “Thank you, I guess. I’ll try to be good.” The next question came with hesitation, stuttering. “Has She ever… has She answered you before?” Curiosity trickled from between the lines and a half-smile fell from her lips. Even in silence, He was her beautiful Lord, after all. Surya Plaza lay behind, emptier streets and the silence of town outskirts embraced the two otherworldly.

[Laszlo]

She said she'd try to be good. Laszlo's brow creased as he considered her from the corner of his eye. She spoke strangely, evidently preoccupied with her own inner workings and describing thoughts he could only speculate on. This Ethaefal must have been young. Sakana never went on like this, and Laszlo had only recently stopped. Suria's next prodding question spawned a moment of hesitation. At first, it hadn't seemed as if Laszlo had heard her. He'd busied himself with studying the tall structures beyond the plaza—the Tower's Respite, a place where some of Lhavit's students stayed, particularly those who'd come from abroad. He hefted the small, paper-wrapped package in one arm, as if testing to make certain it was still there. "It's not our place to question the gods, or interpret their will." Laszlo's voice had lowered again. He didn't care to have Suria asking about his faith again, even if she was kindred. They did not honor the same god; this meant that they would not share personal philosophies. "You are what you are because you were resolute and unwavering. That should be enough for you. You needn't spend all your energy trying to understand the divine. Excuse me a moment." Laszlo sharply turned, separating himself from the woman with color changing eyes. He approached one of the three towers, where a small-statured, dark haired young man was already waiting near the main entrance. There was a brief exchange between him and the taller Ethaefal, ending with a nod of gratitude as he took his parcel and disappeared back inside the tower. Rubbing the back of his neck, Laszlo lingered there a moment longer. He wasn't sure how to handle Suria. He recognized that she needed some guidance, but he still carried visceral memories of what had happened last time he'd tried to offer help to wayward kindred. Suria seemed tragic, but all of her kind was. Eventually he paced back to her, hands shoved in his pockets. A passing breeze tossed his half-blonde curls against the curve of his horns, slowly draining their lilac hue as Summer drew closer. "I should be heading back home soon, Suria, but I'd like to know something. What happened, the other day? You all but collapsed at the end of your story. I've rarely seen someone so upset."

[Albireo]

While he left her side and approached to the tower, she stood as if frozen in place. Dark eyes, violet and blue and grey storming in tiny irises, followed his form, yet she didn’t see what she should. He was the other side of the coin. Understanding proved to be hard, maybe impossible? Shaking her head, she disregarded that thought. More crossroads would be the straw to break the okomo’s back. Yet one of thousand shards whispered: “Am I?” Resolute and unwavering. Trying to understand? Am I? Another shake, stiff shoulders. While she waited in the shadow of a nearby building fingers touched, folded, unfolded. In her head it turned into a riddle, a knot and a game of tugging at the right string to release tension. Where was the right place to search for the key? However, metaphors and ideas clouding up never qualified as a good sign. The shining Ethaefal made his way back. She followed wherever he led, then cocked her head to the side at his question, black strands cascading over one shoulder. Her arms felt awkward at her sides… so awkward in daylight. A moment of silence to remember and gather fragments. “Because fangs and claws can be peaceful? Because material value is nothing if weighed against words and stories? I’m not…” She stopped, tried again. “Not sure which of the two you mean.” And almost a whisper: “It’s a thin line, quite thin.” Another moment was spent in silence and hoping until the Vantha found remnants of courage glittering in her own darkness. “Fear is my cage. I’d be grateful to talk to you again in order to fight it.” Pale green eyes met his, asking. The answer would pave the way for many things.