Closed Tread Softly

[Fia Eaven]

Laszlo made Fia's crude diction of condolence a sharp thing and raked it across her. The woman gave no sign that the claw had struck true, keeping her face toward him. She had already flinched her last for the evening. "I don't know your life entire," this encounter was a sad testament to that. "But I know you let a stumbling girl come in and knock things about when you had your own grieving to do. And that's a wonder. You don't deserve me moods and I cannot ask your forgiveness and expect it again." To her, he was good, and she would not be turned against her hopes and faith. Monsters did not sit and read aloud to ignorant girls, keep a candle burning for them in evening or reorder the cupboards so things were within reach. Any man could manage a grand gesture once in a while. It was the daily signs of care that had affirmed her beliefs. Laszlo would not believe her thoughts, if she spoke them, as her habits had not been undone by understanding yet. The mind had failed the body so many times before. Base instinct vowed to protect the life the higher mind had been so reckless with, so knowledge only dashed itself against self-preservation's walls. "I've been careless with your patience, like hammering cold iron." Fia spoke with a rare surety and the calm she usually wore in the morning. Her hands were clenched in a ladylike shape in the lap of her skirt. When she resurrected her voice again, it was clothed in kind understanding. It was a dress adopted too late to be useful, but she would not be so callous as to abandon it entirely. "Just 'til sun up." It was an easy enough promise to be understood, and given without rancor. Hoping to avoid awakening any obligation Laszlo might feel, she mentioned a room nearer the forge that had come up for rent.

[Laszlo]

Fia announced she was leaving. Some of the ire drained out of Laszlo's features. He wasn't expecting that, but it did seem to be the direction this discussion was heading. He fell quiet, pressing his mouth into a firm line instead of reaching for words. Despite his frustration, he regretted that things had come to this, but perhaps it was becoming obvious that this arrangement wasn't working. It was always meant to be temporary, but Fia had only been living here for around ten days and already Laszlo's temper had broken. She was a perfect house guest, even offered to do the cleaning, but her fear of Laszlo's night form struck him to his core. The moment grew thick with the uncertain silence. Fia had made her proposal to solve this problem, and she was waiting for Laszlo's reply. He wasn't sure how to answer her. All of his ferocity had already spent itself, and Fia's gentle, apologetic nature made it impossible to stay angry at her. Still, he resented her circumstances and loathed himself for letting his frustration get out of hand. The fresh reminder of Abalia's fate was not helping. What Fia didn't understand was that his invitation to have her stay in his flat wasn't pure generosity. The Ethaefal's loneliness had been crushing him. He needed something to fill the void, and Fia not only needed help, but she was pleasant, non-threatening, and had tragedies of her own. Naively he'd assumed that this shared sadness would provide a mutual comfort. It had done that. It had also done the opposite. "Sun up?" Finally exhaling, Laszlo looked down. "I don't know, Fia." He had said too much. Already he was wishing he could take some of it back. As hurt as he was by her fear of him, he also didn't want her to go. Then again, maybe he should let her. Just as Laszlo didn't deserve Fia's apprehension, she didn't deserve to be blamed for her scars. Still… sun up was so soon. "If you want to leave, then leave. It doesn't make a difference to me." Some of Laszo's bitterness breached the surface again. "I don't belong here either. In this apartment, in Lhavit, or anywhere. I'll always face disdain, if not from you, then everyone else. But I endure it, because I must. What choice do I have? This is the fate my goddess has assigned me. I believe it has a purpose, even if that purpose is punishment." Laszlo reached up and righted his cloak, then pulled his hood forward with the snap of his wrist. "I have nothing more to say. I'm going out. That involves walking past you; you may want to make room." Forget the books. There was a cheap pub at the south end of the Zintia that still took coin from Widows. The liquor there was as good as any.

[Fia Eaven]

Fia drifted gracefully to the side as Laszlo cut past her. She stayed there until the door slammed, rattling the apartment. When the echo ended, the iron slipped from her spine. Her curled back thumped the wall and resolve left her. "Gods, Fia. Clumsy thing." She breathed in the cold air and exhaled it with dull resignation. Finding her feet steady again, she stood straight and wiped her palms on her apron. As a child, she had thought by now she would be planted in some beloved perpetual place. The world would be glimpsed with delight and then she would follow the worn string back to hearth and home, where she would stretch her boughs and let all her loved ones gather at her feet. Home was to be Tynan and when he left it was to be herself and when that frayed, it was to be Denval. Home had become a someday place until it wasn't a place at all. Fia was accustomed to beginning again. This would be a small ending compared to some, but it found her too soon. She was only in the middle of the song. Come along, Fee. There's still chores and living to be done. You can't wander the earth until your boots are tied. The human made it down the hall, swaying between her wide set feet and began to roll her things into bundles and sweep them into pouches. Constant travel had made her life a portable thing. The pile seemed small when she looked at it, near the same size of what belonged to a girl who was no longer there. *** Fia's Da had taught her to never let the sun set on anger. Going to bed while things were still amiss between them would lay the foundation for a higher wall. Their troubles would not be mended entire, but Fia prayed some softer peace could be reached between her and the Ethaefal before sunrise. Priskil shine on me, she asked, and let your light go where I cannot. Fia began her vigil around eleventh bell. She chose a deep chair and made the hearth burn low should she drift. A blanket was pulled over her lap and she entertained herself by trying different braids in her hair. When nothing happened for half a bell she began to make enough tea for two. The pot and her cup were long cold by the time she felt asleep in the chair, curled protectively into herself. It was a familiar pose for this room, but some of that first night's grief had flown out let tranquility take its place on her brow.

[Laszlo]

With the utmost care, the door was opened somewhere around the third or fourth bell. The rain had long since stopped, allowing the Symenestra to slip silently back into his apartment. He paused with a start, holding the doorframe as he saw Fia seated in the armchair by the hearth, but to his relief realized she was asleep. Letting go of his breath, he gently shut the door and began to cross the room. Had she tried to wait up for him? Laszlo grimaced guiltily. She was a sweet girl. He shouldn't have said those things to her, but it was too late to take them back. The damage was done. She'd be gone by morning, if she was a woman of her word. It was just as well. Laszlo did not want her to see him this way. Pain arced up through his gut and chest with every step, forcing him to pace his walk with a delicate limp. Beneath his cloak, he held himself with one long arm to soften some of the ache, but he was fairly certain at least one or two ribs were broken. The rest of him fared no better. His jaw was discolored and he still tasted blood. It was a miracle it hadn't shattered. Cuts were lightly littered around the rest of his face, but at least they had been cleaned. His right eye was blackened and would likely be worse tomorrow. Laszlo missed having a medic on hand whenever he needed one. He would be relying on his Ethaefal resilience to recover. Or he might think better of it and bring himself to an infirmary in the morning. Right now, he wanted to sit down somewhere safe and quiet. Read a book to keep himself awake. His vision was still sliding away from his eyes and the floor seemed to keep rising as if on an incline, and that coupled with the ringing in his years caused him to suspect it wasn't just the ale. He'd felt this way once before. Dor was tasked with keeping him alert. She had been good at that. Before heading into the hall, Laszlo paused to glance at Fia. Perhaps he wouldn't see her again. If he did, it would be brief glimpses. They'd wave and exchange glib pleasantries, then find reasons to excuse themselves. Terrible thought. It was cold though, and her fire was dying. Laszlo made a brief detour to her chair. Two claws hooked into the corner of her blanket and tugged it up onto her shoulder. With the embers reflecting in his eyes, the human received one last, long look before he turned and made for his room. He spun a little too fast and lost his footing, staggering sideways and into a table against the wall. It skidded as his weight came against it, causing an unlit candle to tip over and fall from its footing, rolling lightly across the floor. Laszlo clenched his teeth and righted himself with some effort. Still leaning lightly against the table, his violet eyes caught a set of claw marks he left on the table surface.

[Fia Eaven]

Laszlo?" Fia's voice had a womanly husk, contradicting her girlish countenance. "What bell is it?" A useless question that betrayed she was still casting off the velvet shroud of sleep. "Laszlo." She repeated his name with greater clarity as she stretched from her protective coil, and her stockinged feet softly found the floor. The hearth light was too weak to move some of the room's heavy mounds of shadow, so Fia spoke as she carefully picked her way toward him, scared she would lose her opportunity. "Can we talk a space afore you go to bed?" Her eyes flickered to the hand that lightly steadied him on the table. Dear Priskil, please don't let him be much in his cups. Since the Ethaefal had not turned, she rounded the bent shadow to seek his face. "I didn—Oh sweet mercy." Fia's oath was low. She looked at Laszlo's battered face then turned her head away for reasons vastly different from the common cares. The back of her hand was raised reflexively to her mouth and she was commandeering her breathing. "Gods," she swore again. When she looked at Laszlo again her eyes were drawn down with pity. "What--?" she didn't bother finishing the question. What else would happen to a Widow in Lhavit? Though she made no sound betraying it, Fia was crying. They were the sudden tears of a body overwhelmed and she was quick to pull them off her face with her fingertips. "Come on. Bed." Fia fit herself against the Symenestra's side and draped his arm over her. She hadn't the time to consider whether she was brave or afraid. This new feeling was broad enough to cover each. "Tall enough for a crutch," she said to no one in particular.

[Laszlo]

The Symenestra in this apartment had such poor luck. Duvalyon hadn't escaped Laszo's notice either when he came home in this state. Suppose this could be considered an initiation. Welcome to the Symenestra race. Everyone hates you. Fia cast his name at him before Laszlo could manage to fully regain his balance. He closed his eyes and winced. A brief thought occurred to him, telling him he could always convince her she was dreaming and lay her back to sleep, but he stamped it out. Merely the corrosive after-effects of using hypnotism. Disturbing. He made it one step before Fia called him again. He stopped, abandoning his futile hopes of escaping. Before he could think of words to placate her, she was at his side. Laszlo stared at the floor, withstanding her scrutiny and sudden concern. He thought the light would be dim enough to keep her from seeing too much, but it was always difficult to judge with these eyes. Well, fantastic. This was going to complicate things. They weren't bad enough already. As Fia wiped her eyes, Laszlo looked at her sidelong. His forehead creased. "Fia…" She was crying? Why would she cry? How could he make her stop? Perhaps lying would work. "I'm fine." But there was no fooling her. Soon she was under his arm and leading him to his room. Laszlo was too surprised to stop her, and if she was frightened, she wasn't showing it. He tried to avoid putting too much of his weight on her shoulders, but Symenestra were lightly built creatures and she was surprisingly sturdy. It was easy to forget that she was a blacksmith. Laszlo was carefully placed on the edge of his bed, trying in vain to avoid hurting his ribs. He grunted, leaning one arm on his uninjured side. His other resumed cradling himself. Breathing in shallow gasps, he was still trying to stop the room spinning and couldn't stop Fia from continuing to help. "Fia, you don't have to, please…" He leaned forward slightly. It hurt to speak. After a longer pause, he swallowed. It seemed for a moment he was going to say more, but he didn't.

[Fia Eaven]

"I know I don't have to, but I want to," Fia softly answered as she knelt to remove Laszlo's boots. When his shoes were set aside, she carefully felt her way out of the room to fetch a candle. The silver light of Lhavit's evening was a useless mist where it slipped in from the half curtained window. She returned with a mug of water and a flickering light. All of which she very carefully placed on the bedside table that had begun the whole mess. "You'll bring damp and cold on the bed with your mussed cloak and such." It was a gentle chide, made to explain why she was trying to help him remove both it and his coat. The snapped clasp was eyed. "I can fix that at the forge." It was the only thing she was capable of mending. Odd that a broken bit of metal should make her feel upright again. Fia looked him over as each layer left, despite the feelings it awakened. It was Laszlo that was in need, not her. "Howdja get home in such a state?" She charted the wounds on his face. They would have bled more if fresh. "Someone cleaned you up a mite at least. I'm in their debt." Fia never fancied herself clever enough for medicine and could only perform the most basic of remedies. Things mothers and grandmothers peddled for small maladies and aches. Her ignorance was tearing her flesh again. "I'm standing here monstrous mad I can't do anything to mend you better," she admitted quietly, "It's maddening to have no sway over another's pain." A wind of understanding gusted through Fia's thoughts. Yes, it would be insufferable to just watch someone wince in front of you. Especially when powerless to heal. Affection drove the nail deeper. Had she not wrapped her thoughts about Laszlo, she might not have been so inwardly agitated. "I suppose you know that though." Fia whisked things along as she arranged Laszlo's pillows. They were a bit tattered to her surprise. Horns and claws were no friends to fabric. "I can fetch a cold compress of snow, if'n you like, or tea, or light the hearth in here." Please, she was asking, let me be capable of something that would comfort you.

[Laszlo]

As Fia left to find herself a bit of light, Laszlo eased himself further onto his bed and propped his back gingerly against the wall. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and began to lose a battle with an onset of fatigue. She wouldn't let him be, the Denvali. Earlier this evening, she flinched when he so much as reached for a shirt. Now she was doting on him like a nurse, removing his shoes and later his coat as if she was never afraid of the Spider underneath. "Thank you," he mumbled when Fia offered to fix his cloak's broken clasp. It was uttered half delirious. He opened his eyes when she asked how he got home, the urge to recall a memory pulling him back out of his head. The candelight did away with the predatory shimmer in Laszlo's eyes and lit the room in dim shades of yellow. "There was a girl. She was hurt, trying to stop them." Laszlo lifted his free hand and rubbed tenderly at his jaw. "She's fine. Lives around here." There was a sense of urgency in him, feeling as if had something important to say to Fia. An apology, reassurance, something. He couldn't understand why she was so worried. Laszlo was immortal. None of these wounds were fatal or crippling. As with all things, the pain would pass. She voiced her reasons, and Laszlo understood a bit more. He did know how it felt to be in her position. And Fia wasn't even the one who did this to him. "It's alright, Fia," he told her softly, trying not to agitate his ribs. Speaking quietly helped, a little. He reached for the mug of water and took a long, careful drink from it. It managed to wash some of the copper taste out of his mouth. Politely as he could, he dabbed his mouth with his sleeve. "Um." He narrowed his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts, reviewing her options. Initially he meant to dissuade her from helping but… it was unexpectedly pleasant to have anyone remotely care that he was hurt. "Tea. I think. Would be good." Before she could run off again, he reached for her small hand with his longer, clawed one. "Fia, I'm… I'm sorry. About earlier. I shouldn't have said any of… why were you crying?"

[Fia Eaven]

When Laszlo caught her hand, Fia betrayed only common surprise. The rest had been purposefully bound. Fortunate for both, an instinct more powerful than self-preservation was at work. Or perhaps it was all self-preservation, just in a different cloak. Fia needed a friend as much as she needed safety, and only when cruelly presented with the potential loss, did her flesh start to give way to the spirit. The bells packing her things and staring at the door had been stricken with regret. Pain, her Da had always said, was the signpost to growth. "Hush, Laszlo," she said lightly, "It needed to be said. I don't blame you." His second phrase made her laugh once and turn her face from him. When she met his eyes again, she answered. "Lud, you were knocked about worse than I thought if'n you can't figure that... You look a mess. And it hurts me to think how you got that way." Fia was struggling for a foothold in the conversation. "I may be skittish about your claws, but it's nothing real. You know that." The bell and her already paltry vocabulary were turning her answers to gruel. Had she a bed between her and the question she might have managed something with a dose of complexity. For now it only boiled down to a frank admission patched onto the moment. "You mean something to me." Fia squeezed the hand that had reached for her and then withdrew from it, never so grateful for a task as then. Chimes passed before she returned with the promised tea and the blanket she had draped across her earlier. Laszlo's bedside table was becoming crowded as she eased the cup of hot tea onto it. Fia moved the candle to the desk and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders before she sat on the foot of the bed. "I'll invite her to supper. The girl. Thank her proper." Fia sat in quietude for a bit, letting Laszlo sip his tea. Without anything tactile to offer him, she could only give company if he sought it. "Would you like me to go? 'Tis fine. Me Da says," she had either forgotten her tenses or her grief, "I tend to brood when worried."

[Laszlo]

"You mean something to me." Laszlo gave a small smile. Not his best with a split lip. She left him again, freeing herself from his hand and leaving in search of small comforts for them both. Alone, Laszlo inspected his long, cruel hand and tried to focus his vision. It was still rebelling against him, trying to multiply the number of fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them, wishing he could compel them to cooperate. Eventually giving up, Laszlo turned his hand over. It still remembered the feeling of Fia's unusually callused hand. Not as soft as most women, but just as warm. He'd taken her hand before, when helping her to her feet or to clamber onto rooftops. This was the first time she had ever clasped his in return. "Hn." She said his claws made her skittish. Laszlo closed his hand and rested his chin against his fingers. It was more than that. Mikendril had left himself with her in shards, hiding in every shadow, waiting for his chance to step back out of her memories and finish what he started. Abalia had been the target of a harvest herself, but her killer spared her as a mercy, or perhaps just out of inconvenience. Although she had not been nearly as scarred as Fia, Abalia's harvester had left a clear imprint on her in other ways. Undoubtedly, there was a creeping quality to Widows. They knew how to skitter up into a woman's mind and perch there, spinning webs and lying in wait. Where Fia was haunted by fear, Abalia had forgotten hers—and it was her undoing. For the first time, Laszlo wondered if that was intentional. Perhaps Abalia's intended to return for her when she was ripe and unafraid. It would make for easier transport. It wasn't real, Fia said. Laszlo was likely the second Symenestra she had ever met. Her 'skittishness' was reserved for someone else. She knew Laszlo meant her no harm, and for now she even seemed half comfortable around him. How long would that last? The room filled with an herbal fragrance as Fia returned. Laszlo lowered his hand and looked up, his weak smile returning. His eyes thanked her, as speech still hurt him. Laszlo picked up his tea, managing to keep himself from cursing during the effort. He hummed some form of agreement when Fia suggested inviting Johanne over, then belatedly wondered if that meant Fia planned to stay. Or would this happen in her new place near the forge? Her question then finally drew words from him. Laszlo looked up from his warm drink. "No. Please, stay." The cup was lowered into his lap while a claw traced the rim. It bothered him to be helpless like this, but he never had much use for dignity anyway. Laszlo attempted a smile. "I've seen worse brooding. I rather wish you weren't seeing me this way, but… It's a relief. Not to be alone." He looked down. She had been waiting for him to come home. "Are you still leaving tomorrow?"