[ If she's honest, Navia isn't entirely sure that macarons are going to be a good enough apology.
It's not that she has to apologize. Their last meeting made it clear enough that the Chief Justice holds no ill will toward her for her outburst; if anything, he was contrite, apologetic for the distress that he caused her. Which, as far as she's concerned, makes her own misstep all the greater, what with her assumption— no, her accusation— that he simply didn't care.
And so now she's here, sitting outside his office in the Palais Mermonia, a box of carefully decorated macarons in her lap, damaging her pretty lipstick with the anxious biting and licking. The Chief Justice is in a meeting, the Melusine aide told her— to be expected when she's paid him such a sudden surprise— but he shouldn't be much longer.
Not much longer, and yet with every moment that passes, she feels more and more like a mess of nerves. True to her usual form, though, Navia refuses to let it show (beyond the damage done to her painted lips, anyhow); she sits tall and with her head held high, refusing more than anything to allow herself to belie those worries that are running through the currents of her veins.
Later, she'll reject Silver's gentle questioning— why is it so important to the Demoiselle that she make things right with this man? Later still, she'll ask the same question of herself. Yet right now, she cares not to wonder at her own actions. Her focus is on an apology that needs to be made, and the man to whom she must, in her own mind, make it.
She's still lost in that thought when the Melusine tells her that she can go inside; it's with no small amount of surprise that she looks up to find the door open, awaiting her entry. And so she stands, makes her way into the office and smiles apologetically as the door snicks shut behind her. ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, I'm sorry for stopping by so abruptly.
[ Crime and villainy do not have the day off, and so justice must work around the clock as well. This is merely the nature of a Justice's work. This is what he told Lumine and Paimon after paying his respects at Callas's final resting place a few days ago, and his schedule has only gotten busier since, with little room for respite as he begins to look into what possibly could have caused the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale to declare Mr. Tartaglia guilty when they had proved the opposite beyond all doubt and found the real culprit behind the serial disappearances—and even if they hadn't, common sense alone dictates that he couldn't have been the mastermind. He is only twenty-four according to his passport, meaning that he would have been four at the time the disappearances began. This wouldn't disprove his involvement in any of the more recent disappearances (murders, he corrects himself) but his youth would have cast doubt on the scope of the allegations being made.
Yet common sense is often swept aside at the Opera Epiclese where court proceedings are spectacles for the sake of generating energy for the nation rather than a system of justice with potentially serious outcomes. Now Tartaglia is at the Fortress of Meropide because the Oratrice's verdict must be adhered to according to the law.
It's infuriating, really. Rarely does Neuvillette feel so frustrated. The institution has failed an innocent man. And going forward, can the Oratrice ever be trusted to deliver a fair verdict again? It feels as though the system he's worked for over several centuries is built on nothing but sand. He must find the truth of the matter and make sure that Mr. Tartaglia is duly compensated.
He's meeting with the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide to discuss the matter with him as well as ask him how Mr. Tartaglia is doing. He's been acclimatizing well, though he isn't on his best behavior with his frequent attempts to break out—though from the sound of it, he's only doing that so Wriothesley will come and fight him. He also doesn't seem to like the prison food very much.
With a wave, Wriothesley leaves the office without bothering to close the door behind him. Neuvillette is about to sit down and look over some paperwork before his next meeting when an unexpected visitor enters with a dainty-looking box clutched between her hands. ]
There's no need to apologize, Mademoiselle Navia. [ He says as he straightens, turning to greet her with a slight nod of his head. ] What brings you to my office today?
[ He turns to greet her, and says there's no need to apologize— and yet, the stack of papers in front of him says otherwise. Even with Melus and Silver to help, sometimes the paperwork for Spina di Rosula is overwhelming, and they're but a small organization, especially compared to that led by Monsieur Neuvillette, who holds the justice of all Fontainians in his hands.
Which is surely why he seems busier than ever right now, what with the Oratrice's first ever decision contrary to his own, its condemnation of an apparently-innocent man. Truthfully, Navia has considered doing her own investigation... but for some reason, she's found herself hesitating rather than actually carrying it through.
Perhaps she just has a little more faith in the system than she did before.
But. The purpose of her visit. Navia offers him a warm smile. ]
I know you're terribly busy, what with the strangeness with the Snezhnayan visitor, but it occurred to me that I haven't yet offered you a proper apology for my outburst the other day. I let my pain and my anger get the better of me. In accusing you of being unfeeling, I didn't stop to consider how you might actually feel... [ The words, rehearsed over and over, fall flat here, a faltering in her mind as she sees him as he was during their most recent encounter, softened and with a sadness almost palpable in his expression.
A breath. ]
I wanted to apologize, and I figured that with how busy you've been, you probably haven't been eating well enough. So I prepared some snacks. [ She holds the box out toward him, and opens its hinged lid, allowing him to see the assortment of macarons packed neatly together in rows, varied in color and flavor. ]
[ Neuvillette is about to point out that she's already apologized for it—he clearly remembers hearing her say "My apologies for taking my emotions out on you, Monsieur Chief Justice." just before leaving his office in a haste. But he quickly thinks better of it and decides not to; he feels that would be dismissive of the effort she's made by not only taking the time to come here to express it in person rather than through a written letter by also bringing him some sort of gift to smooth things over. She didn't have to do this but she did so anyway and that speaks a lot of her character. ]
Consider your apology accepted and appreciated, then. [ Taking the proffered box, Neuvillette peers at the array of colourful macarons arranged in a neat pattern. He's seen these on display in many pâtisserie windows over the years, and from a purely visual standpoint he can understand the appeal with the bright colours and elegant bite-sized form. ]
Thank you. These will make a wonderful accompaniment to my afternoon tea break with Sedene.
[ He won't have a single macaron with his tea, but he's sure Sedene will appreciate being given the whole box. Sweets are more suitable to a Melusine's palate than a dragon's. ]
[ If he were to point out that an apology had already been made, Navia would disagree. An apology made in the heat of the moment, rife with the same pain and anger that caused it to be necessary, hardly counts. It's why she's here now, watching his eyes as he scans the contents of the box he's now holding.
But...
Does it make her selfish, she wonders, to want to see him eat at least one macaron? He certainly doesn't seem ungrateful for the gift, that's not a problem at all, but her pride as a baker demands to see him enjoy that which she has made especially for him. And so she offers a bright, charming smile, a shake of her head that has her golden curls jouncing around her face. ]
Monsieur, [ she says, and there's a disarming sweetness to her tone that practically tastes of the same sugar in the treats she's prepared. ] Would you truly have me come all this way and not grant me the pleasure of seeing your reaction to the snacks I prepared for you?
[ She has no idea at all that she's asking for something impossible, a fact that shows in the hope lighting her eyes and bordering her lips. ]
[ She wants to watch him eat a macaron? Inwardly, Neuvillette groans—this isn't what he had hoped would happen. He just wanted to foist this off on Sedene without having a single bite, but it seems like he will have to pretend he likes the taste of almonds and egg whites because it would be terribly impolite of him to decline. ]
I don't think my reaction would be worth seeing, Mademoiselle.
[ Expression set in its usual neutral indifference, Neuvilette's serpentine eyes scan over the neat rows of macarons once more before settling on an orange-coloured one. Shifting the weight of the box into one hand, he picks up the macaron and holds it delicately between his gloved fingers as he takes a cautious bite. It tastes exactly as expected; egg whites and almonds being the two dominant flavors, with some citrusy flavor notes. This is a rare moment in which he's grateful he isn't good at outwardly expressing his emotions. ]
...The exterior has a lovely crisp texture while the inside is perfectly soft and chewy, and the filling is pleasantly smooth. [ Just because he's incapable of enjoying the taste doesn't mean he can't praise the technical aspects of the pastry (and hope she'll be satisfied not hearing a single word about the taste.) Because they are worthy of praise when he knows macarons are difficult to make, even for a seasoned pâtissier, as they require precision and attention to detail. ]
[ The part of her that's still an innocent, a young woman loved and spoiled by all around her, looks at Neuvillette with raised brows and a slight pout to her lips as he chews the treat she has specially prepared for him. She knows they're good; she made enough that she would have time to taste test her own work— after all, she hardly wishes to ply him with lesser desserts, and yet all she can think as she watches is that he hates it, that he'd as soon spit it out if she weren't looking right at him.
The grown woman, Boss of the Spinula di Rosa, tells herself sternly that she's being ridiculous.
But it doesn't really help when he compliments, in what seems to her to be a particularly measured and careful way, the technique of her baking, and not the flavor. Navia sighs, and makes quite the show of it, of rolling her eyes as her arms fold over her chest. Despite her misgivings, there's something playful in her expression, and yet— ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, surely you are aware that the baker bakes not for others' enjoyment of her technical proficiency? Of course I'm glad to hear that the macarons have come together well— [ but, quite frankly, she already knew that ] —but I'm far more interested in your opinion on how they taste.
[ An apologetic glint flickers across those serpertine eyes as he watches her cross her arms, a slight furrow to his brow. ]
I'm sorry my praise wasn't what you were hoping for, Mademoiselle Navia. [ Internally, he's wilting a little—this isn't how he wanted this conversation to go, but the young woman standing before him is of keen wit and pays attention to what he says... or doesn't say, in this case. Pressing the remaining piece of the macaron to his mouth, he chews slowly to buy himself a few precious seconds to consider what to say next. How can he praise a flavor he cannot experience in a believable way? ]
It's delicious—satisfyingly sweet without being cloying, and the bulle flavor is refreshing; a delight to the palate.
[ He does not realize the mistake he just made: although the orange colouring of the macaron he ate is strongly reminescent of the bulle fruit that are plentiful in Fontaine, it's actually flavored with sunsettia. Both are sweet with a citrusy tang but have a very distinct taste from each other... if you're capable of tasting the sweetness, that is. When sweetness is removed from the equation, it becomes difficult to tell the two apart. ]
[ If someone were watching this interaction, they might find Navia's response to Neuvillette's words quite amusing: first she relaxes, smiling at his renewed attempt at praising her baking skills, apparently won over and fooled by this newest lie. Next, she pauses, a gentle confusion winning over her soft features, her head tilting and a frown creasing her brows as she considers the glaring inaccuracy in his statement. ]
B-Bulle?
[ Confusion is followed by a thoughtful, troubled expression as Navia tries to understand his mistake. It doesn't make any sense. If he hated the gift like her anxiety-ridden thoughts wanted her to believe, he'd—
well, she's not sure what he would do. Neuvillette is a mystery to everyone, especially to her. She can as soon imagine him refusing politely as she can lying through his teeth about a gift he'd rather toss in the trash. But at the very least, she's certain he would not deliberately mix up the flavors of sunsettia and bulle. He would have to know that mixing them up would only invite further questions from her, given the dissimilarities in their tastes.
In fact, the only time she has ever mixed them up is when she was sick with a headcold that muted her taste almost to naught, the sweetness dying on her tongue in flavor of— ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, I—
[ And the thoughtful look changes once more to one of shock, sapphire eyes wide as she looks up at him, lips parted in her surprise. ]
You can't taste it.
[ What "it" is, Navia doesn't know. But it's the only conclusion she can reach. ]
[ Inside Neuvillette's head, there's a metaphorical record scratch. It isn't bulle? But the macaron had the same orange colour as a plump and fresh bulle fruit... just as he thought he had given her satisfactory words of praise, he fumbles at the last second because he assumed its flavor based on appearances alone and now she's figured it out. Or mostly figured it out, at least. ]
...Unfortunately, you are correct, Mademoiselle.
[ Briefly, his shoulders slump with the weight of disappointment at himself. This isn't something that bothers him, not normally, because he never felt like he missed out on a taste he can't conceptualize because that's like trying to visualize an entirely new colour. But today it serves as a reminder that he's fundamentally different from humans and all he can do is mimic their behavior and he can't even do it that well after centuries of living among them. ]
My physiology differs from human bodies in several aspects; one of them is that I lack taste receptors for sweetness. I'm sorry.
[ The slump of Neuvillette's shoulders is brief, but noticeable enough that Navia immediately feels bad for pressing him on the issue. And then to apologize for something about his physiology that he's obviously unable to change— ah, she realizes, he was trying to protect her feelings— and her heart goes out to him, the regret in her chest over calling him cold and unfeeling deeper than ever.
Navia shakes her head, and smiles. ]
Please, Monsieur Neuvillette. There's no need to apologize for something you cannot possibly change— It would be like me apologizing for the curls in my hair! My only regret is that you are unable to—
[ And she falls silent, a thoughtful look finding her features once more. Perhaps, if she...
Yes. Yes, surely she could. ]
Forgive me, monsieur, but I'm afraid I must take my leave earlier than I expected. The macarons are yours, so please feel free to share them with whomever you think will most enjoy them... and I hope you won't mind terribly if I visit you at this same time tomorrow?
[ It's with those words that Navia leaves, her mind full with a number of ideas all at once. An extended trip to the store on her way back to Poisson leaves her with arms laden with bags, and she ends up awake for most of the night, testing and testing again until she manages to find success in her intent.
When she comes back the next day, it's with a second box in hand, only this time the treats are made with only the smallest amount of sugar (merely for the structure of the macaron shells; even to her there is nothing sweet about their tastes). Their fillings are just as decadent as before, but this time in an entirely different direction: tomato and basil, smoked salmon, and bacon, among others. ]
[ Neuvillette silently watches her leave his office and resumes his work while making a mental note to keep his schedule open at this time the next day. A few hours later, he spends his afternoon break having tea with Sedene. As expected, she likes the macarons far more than he ever would and is basically beaming with joy when he tells her she can have the entire box to share with her friends.
The next day, Navia will find the Iudex seated at his office desk, reading over the court transcripts from Tartaglia's trial to see if there's anything he might've overlooked that may have factored into the verdict issued by the Oratrice. He looks up at the familiar clacking of her heels against the floor and sets the papers aside as the young woman brings over a box similar to yesterday's and places it upon the immaculately polished surface of his desk. ]
Ah, hello, Mademoiselle— [ Bringing the box closer, he lifts the lid to reveal—more macarons, to his surprise. There's a faint raise to his eyebrow as he casts his eyes over the dainty little treats. Then his nose catches the smell of bacon and salmon. ] ...These are savoury?
[ The look on Neuvillette's face when he opens the box is invaluable— for a moment, Navia wishes she had thought to bring a kamera with her so that she might capture the moment. His face, usually so well schooled into impassivity, belies the momentary surprise and confusion; the raise of his brows makes her want to giggle in a most unladylike way. Instead, she takes pity on him: her lips part, an explanation on them—
—that turns out not to be entirely needed as the aroma finds his nose, realization along with it.
Navia smiles, and nods her answer. ]
Yes, monsieur. They contain only enough sugar for the shell's structure to hold, but even my refined sweet tooth is unable to taste its inclusion. I'm quite sure these will be much more enjoyable to your unique palate.
[ And thus, they make a much more suitable apology for her uncouth behavior. Let no one say that the young boss of the Spina di Rosula does things by halves!
Of course, there's still the chance that he won't find these enjoyable, either. Which is why— ]
If they are unsuited to you, however, you must tell me this time. I'm hardly so fragile that I can't accept criticism!
[ He wants to tell her that none of this was necessary and that her "gift" from yesterday was already a sufficient enough apology because it's the thought that counts even if he didn't particularly like it. But he keeps the words to himself as he looks up from the box to meet her gaze. ]
Alright. [ He nods—truthfully, he doesn't expect much from this batch either when his palate is utterly alien compared to that of humans. It's part of the reason why he's known to never have spoken any sincere praise even about the most elegant of dishes served by the most renowned chefs. But he hopes that he can at least say something about the flavor that's both sincere and positive.
Picking up the smoked salmon macaron between his fingers, he bites into the macaron with a soft crunch. The shell is crispy without being too hard to bite into and the filing is moist without being too wet; on a purely technical standpoint, it's very well-made. Chewing slowly, he lets the flavors roll over his tongue—although nothing revolutionary, they're pleasant enough and leaves him with a positive impression. He considers how to convey his thoughts, and speaks: ]
This one is light on the palate but still has plenty of flavor, and the dill isn't overpowering. The smoked salmon tastes just like it should; only with a hint of brine and a delicate smoke flavoring. [ There's the slightest shift to his expression, his smile almost as subtle as as water trickling through sand. ] As someone who is very particular about the quality of the fish I consume, it has my approval.
[ To be fair to him, Neuvillette could possibly tell her that her gifts were unnecessary until he was blue in the face, and she would continue to bring them until she got it right. It's who she is, and what she feels that she owes him, and nothing is liable to change that.
She's hopeful that he'll enjoy them this time, but she's prepared for the fact that he won't— is what she tells herself, but she's still oddly anxious as he bites into the macaron, chewing slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. In fact, she doesn't even realize she's holding her breath until she lets it out in a whoosh of air when the compliments come.
A brilliant smile finds her lips. ]
I'm so very glad to hear that, Monsieur. There are plenty of other flavors besides— though you needn't hurry to try them all. They will keep for a few days at least, although I recommend keeping these ones— [ she points at one row of the macarons, all seafood-based in flavor ] —chilled if you are able. And if you'd like more in the future, please don't hesitate to let me know... this was an enjoyable exercise of my baking skills!
[ Besides, with how busy it seems he has been— like yesterday, the pile of papers on his desk is nothing to be scoffed at— she likes to imagine the treats will be helpful; short, tasty reprieves from the work, perhaps a top-up of blood sugar and protein, and—
Her eyes are trained on his desk, and she looks back to him with a sigh. ]
Monsieur Chief Justice, I'm well aware this is not my place to say, but I hope you are getting enough rest.
[ Neuvillette nods, making a mental note that during his next break he'll go upstairs to his suite and put those macarons away in the ice box. The rest he'll probably keep in his office; with the sheer amount of investigative work he now has on top of all the usual paperwork he handles on a daily basis, it's probably a good idea to have some treats nearby to ensure he'll keep his energy up throughout the day. The Tartaglia case could destabilize their entire nation if it isn't handled appropriately, so he must be at the top of his game until the matter has been resolved. ]
I am. Sleep deprivation can significantly impact job performance, so I make sure to always get an adequate amount of rest. [ There's nothing in his tone to suggest he isn't sincere; even when he's this busy, he tries not to sacrifice any rest. He just sacrifices his already minimal amount of free time instead. Good thing he needs less sleep than the average human to feel well-rested. Four hours is plenty enough sleep for a dragon. ]
By the way, Mademoiselle—the Gardes have identified the person responsible for spiking your Fonta with Primordial Seawater. He was arrested a few hours ago.
[ Navia smiles. It seems that Neuvillette is doing due diligence by taking care of himself, which is really all she can ask for. And he's busy, so it's likely best that she makes herself scarce now that she's delivered her gift for him. Her lips part, halfway to finding the words she needs to excuse herself
and then he speaks and her world comes to a grinding halt. The person responsible for spiking her Fonta...
Of course, Navia knew that Uncle Marcel— that Vacher— wasn't working alone. But in all the excitement of his being convicted and the events that followed, in the relief and grief both filling her heart in the wake of her father's exoneration, she forgot somehow that an attempt had been made on her life, and that the criminal— a lackey of some sort, but still a would-be murderer— yet walked free.
And now, in the quiet moments after it all, the reality of it comes crashing down on her all at once. Navia's eyes fill with tears, and she adjusts her gaze with abruptness lest the Chief Justice be forced to see her cry yet again.
By the gods. If Paimon had not accidentally taken her drink... ]
...Thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette. [ Her voice is quiet, solemn in tone even as it trembles upon her lips. ] It brings me comfort to know that.
[ For a brief fraction of a second, Neuvillette feels a chord of alarm within him when he sees the beginning of tears; why is she crying at good news? Then the thank you is spoken and it occurs to him that these are tears of joy, relief or something in that general vicinity. It's easy to forget sometimes that humans occasionally cry for good reasons and not as an expression of sadness or physical pain. (The rain his emotions bring down from the skies have never been the result of joy, only ever his sorrow.) ]
You're welcome, Mademoiselle. [ He replies, a neutral quality to his voice as he continues while he keeps his gaze affixed to what he can see of her face. He would've missed that slight tremble to her lip if he wasn't paying more attention to her body language. ] They're still working to establish whether he was aware that it would have dissolved you, but given that he's Fontainian I find it hard to believe that he wasn't at least given some sort of warning to handle it with utmost care.
[ Apparently he had confessed during questioning to having tampered with her drink, but swore that it's all he's guilty of because he wasn't told what would happen. Which, to Neuvillette, sounds like a pathetic attempt to only be charged with a lesser crime that will get him a more lenient punishment now that he's been cornered with no way out of the metaphorical noose tightening around his neck. ]
[ She's not sure why— perhaps it is merely another byproduct of the fact that they're in the quiet after the storm— but the sudden talk of her potentially being dissolved, especially in such a calm, neutral voice, makes her legs feel like they're about to give out from underneath her. Part of her wants to cover her ears, to beg Neuvillette to stop talking, but she's not a little girl anymore— this is the life for which she signed up when her father passed; these are the things she has to be able to hear. To be able to accept and deal with as a part of the reality of her world.
And yet—
There's no doubting that her face has gone rather pale as she reaches a steadying hand to his desk, trying to keep herself upright as she sets determined sapphire eyes on his face. ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, I rather think I might need to sit down for a spell.
[ —Is what she tells him, before her trembling legs cave underneath her and she finds herself doing just that: sitting abruptly, painfully on the floor. ]
[ Navia suddenly putting a hand on his desk to steady herself brings a touch of concern into Neuvillette's gaze, and he's just about to direct her over to one of the couches when she abruptly disappears behind his desk.
Eyes widening a little, he quickly rises to his feet, the chair scraping from the force of it. With hurried steps he rounds the desk to find her sitting on the floor; mildly worrying, but at least she hasn't lost consciousness like he had initially feared.
Offering a hand, he helps her up onto her feet and gingerly puts an arm around her back for support as he leads her over to the aforementioned couch. ]
[ Navia blinks in dizzied confusion for the moment or two before Neuvillette joins her, helping her to her feet and winding an arm around her shoulder. Later, she'll remember to be ashamed of the way she presses into his side, leaning into him completely as he guides her to the couch. She feels quite faint even now, and she hates the way she sinks heavily into the soft cushions, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment or two.
She nods. ]
Yes, monsieur, please. [ Her voice is faint. ] I apologize— I am not quite sure what came over me.
[ It's a lie— she is sure. But she doesn't want to admit the truth of the matter, that she's gone to her knees over her anxieties and fears about what could have happened. ]
[ With a nod, Neuvillette steps away to the glass cabinet on the other side of his office that looks like it's for wine but is actually for the storage of bottles his favourite water. He doesn't bother trying to think of what she might best from his collection and simply takes one at random—sourced from Sumeru's Lokapala Jungle—and pours its contents into one of his finely crafted chalices until it's about three-fourths full before returning to the young lady on the couch. ]
Here. [ He says, offering her the chalice. ] Could it be stress that brought this on?
[ Navia takes the chalice with a small, grateful smile, drinking from it in slow, careful sips. The water is fresh and clean, and while she cannot place the same flavors in it that the Iudex can, it helps in this moment to clear her head of the sudden fog filling it, to rid her mouth of the strange, almost metallic taste that had found its way behind her lips. ]
...Thank you. [ It's said when the chalice is mostly emptied, though she continues to hold it gently between both hands, lest the faintness try to claw its way back to where it can overtake her once more.
And frankly, she doesn't want to talk about it, lest in her weakness she admit the truth behind her sudden spell— but Neuvillette gives her an out, one she takes gladly with a nod. ]
I think that is likely the case, yes. There has been... a great deal going on, of late.
[ Neuvillette nods in understanding; yes, there has been quite a lot happening recently. The conclusion of the serial disappearances, the discovery of the Primordial Seawater and its dissolving properties, and finding closure for Callas's death at last... he can see why that would be a lot to deal with at once. Humans tend to be fragile and much less resistant to stress than dragons. ]
Please rest here until you feel steady enough to walk unaided. Is there anything else I can get for you?
[ In response to Neuvillette's question, Navia manages a small shake of her head. A short rest, that is all she needs, and then she'll be able to leave him and try to put thoughts of her almost-murder behind her. Perhaps Melus and Silver will take her for a walk, distract her from the worst of it until the fear and anxiety has finally melted away into the distance of the past. Either way, she should refrain from troubling the Iudex himself with her problems any longer— after all, she wanted to come here to offer her apologies, not distract and bother him yet further.
So she smiles, shakes her head again as if to emphasize the reassurance she aims to give him. ]
No, Monsieur. Thank you, but I do not wish to impose myself any further upon your kindness. I am all too aware of how busy your schedule is; once my strength is recovered, I will be on my way. I will be fine—
[ *** ]
—there is no need to concern yourself on my account.
[ The words come out weaker than Navia would like. The two of them are barely out of the Traveler's eyesight when Neuvillette asks after her, and it's all she can do not to collapse on the spot in an echo of that time mere weeks ago in the Iudex's office. Back then, she could think only of getting home, of inviting her closest companions on a walk so that she may put her worries behind her.
She can't do that today.
Melus and Silver will never walk with her again.
No— No, she mustn't think like that. One foot in front of the other. She will walk home, she will speak to the men she has stationed there still, she will see what else needs yet to be done. She will focus on that, on moving forward, on fixing those things needing to be fixed. Just like her Papa would have done.
[ As the Traveler and Paimon depart in one direction, Neuvillette turns to walk beside the young woman; he should be heading back to the Palais and as promised, talk to Furina about those mysterious stone slates they found at the heart of the ruins, but there's just... something that compels him to stay with Navia a little longer after that near death experience she went through. He doesn't want to let her out of sight just yet, at least not until they've made it to Poisson.
Several lives have been lost to those ancient waters; not quite dead in the usual sense of the word, perhaps, but most would not consider being melded together into a singular entity without individuality to be truly alive. What happened at Poisson is a tragedy, a dark reminder of the many more lives that will be swept away if they don't find a way to avert the preordained fate... and with no apparent solution in sight, Neuvillette's frustration grows with each passing moment. He wishes he could have done something, he wishes he had the power that the Usurper tore from his grasp so many eons ago; then none of this would be happening and he would not be feeling the twinge he feels stabbing into his crystalline heart at the sight of Navia's grief. ]
I don't think you will, Mademoiselle. [ He says, his voice a soft whisper yet carries a weight beyond its volume. ] Please allow yourself to process what you are feeling.
[ He probably should not be giving advice on emotional matters, but he can't just say nothing... ]
[ The Iudex, a man Navia previously accused of lacking in emotion, is asking her to properly process her feelings. In any other situation, she'd laugh so sweetly at the irony of it, perhaps take the opportunity to gently tease both him and herself—
But as it stands now, her heart is aching with cold, broken and shattered at her feet. Her legs tremble; her arms quake. How is she meant to move forward when she no longer remembers how to walk?
She needs somewhere to sit, lest her legs cave like they did on that day in his office. But they are standing at the water's edge, and the only things around are rocks, and...
Navia closes her eyes, breathes through the tears, tries to process the onrush of thoughts. ]
You— Monsieur Neuvillette, you saved me back there. [ She pushes aside the knowledge of Melus and Silver the pair of Oceanids that protected her for long enough for him to do so— If she thinks on them, she'll break— and focuses instead on the events that occurred outside of her realm of awareness. ] I would have been dissolved, and— and the people of Poisson would have no one to help them anymore.
[ Is she processing her feelings? Yes. Is she processing the feelings she should be processing? Most certainly not. ]
[ Neuvillette is not a tactile person and generally prefers not to make physical contact with others unless it's a handshake (or with Melusines, friendly headpats) but in this moment, the sight of Navia stirs something in him; an urge to pull her close against his chest and let her cry it all out into his jabot while his palm gently cradles the back of her head. He chooses not to act on this particular urge, but he does reach out to place a gloved hand on her shoulder, a gesture he hopes will be seen as a gesture of comfort. ]
Poisson needs you, but you mustn't ignore your feelings. [ He says, quietly, his voice gentle like the waves lapping the shore at their feet, yet also tinged with an undertone of gravity. He feels way out of his depth and isn't even sure there's anything appropriate to say here, but something in him compels him to make the effort anyway even if he's likely going to stumble when it comes to matters of the human heart. ]
I think... if you don't allow yourself to address everything you're feeling, it'll eventually come out at an inopportune time.
[ The hand placed gently on her shoulder stirs something in her; she has to fight an urge of her own, to turn and press herself into his arms and cry and cry until she has no tears left. Instead, she reaches up with one trembling hand, laying it across that which sits on her shoulder, fingers pressing gently into the fabric of his glove as if the action alone will bring her peace.
But Neuvillette yet has words to speak, encourages her to address her feelings even as she tries to run from them—
and he's right, she knows he is
—and Navia's eyes close as fresh tears slip from them, and as her legs tremble under her, she turns into him after all, shaking fingers twining in the fabric of his long, elegant robe. ]
They're gone, [ she whispers, and her voice breaks on the words. ] I didn't even have the chance to say goodbye, and they're gone. Just like—
[ The tears run down her cheeks, and she takes a faltering step into him, face pressing into his shoulder in spite of her earlier resolution to stay strong and put together. ]
[ A small thrum of tension runs through Neuvillette when the young woman first curls her fingers into the lapels of his robes and takes it a step further by burying her face in his shoulders and letting her tears soak into the fabric; he's still not accustomed to this kind of physical proximity and he isn't sure what to even do. In a sense, it's easier to deal with the occasional creepy stalker when they hug him out of nowhere because the correct response is to immediately disengage and arrest them. This is nothing like that and he must act with a delicate approach.
He takes a deep breath, relaxing somewhat. His hands hover awkwardly over her shoulders for a moment, then puts his arms around her in a loose embrace—one that's easy to pull away from if there is any discomfort. ]
Mortal lives are unfairly cut short, sometimes. [ He whispers, softly. ] ...I don't think there's anything I can say to ease your grief, Mademoiselle, but I will be here for as long as you need it.
[ When Navia does step back, it's only to look up at him, her eyes brimming with tears, sapphire gaze seeking the lavender of his before she presses back in with another helpless sob. Truthfully, she doesn't know what to do. With everything that needs to happen, the deepest part of her feels as if this is a waste of time, that they should be focused now on something that isn't her emotional health. ]
I— I'm sorry. Truthfully, we— we do not have time for that, Monsieur, we... we are in a race against the clock...
[ Despite saying as much, she stays close, trying to breathe through her tears. She can't quite help herself. His hold, his soft voice, even the scent of him somehow serves as a comfort, soothes the feeling of her trembling, quaking legs that otherwise are trying to give out on her. She shouldn't lean on him so much. He has already done so much. He saved her, he—
Navia sucks in a breath, taking a shaking step back from him. ]
[ Neuvillette says nothing more as he lets Navia sob into his fabric, the dark spot of tears growing bigger with each passing second, nearly soaking into the undershirt beneath. He wishes there was something he could say or do to alleviate her pain, but what could possibly be done to ease the pain of loss felt by those left behind? He thinks of that adage of how only time can heal, and time is in short supply right now. She is right about that. ]
...I understand. [ When she moves to pull away, part of him wants to pull her back and keep her close. But he ignores that part of him, dropping his arms from around her as she steps back. ]
But please let me accompany you back to Poisson, at least.
[ From above, a few stray raindrops fall and hit the brim of Navia's hat; not the kind that heralds an approaching downpour, but rather the equivalent of an errant teardrop escaping to drift the length of the dragon's cheek. ]
[ It's hard for her to pull back. The only thing she wants is to hover close, to press herself into him and weep until she can't possibly weep any more. Instead, she breathes through the sensation, closing her eyes and trying to gather herself back together. She has to be strong right now. Her heart hurts, but there are others who need her... She has to look forward, not back.
She looks up to him, and nods. ]
Y-yes, that would be fine.
[ She swipes a hand across her lashes, catching the tears in the lacy fabric of her glove, but in the same moment she feels something hitting against her hat, and she frowns— all Fontainians recognize the feel of raindrops— eyes tracking briefly to the sky. ]
Are you crying for them too? [ It's a murmur, not entirely meant to be heard. ] Then I won't say the usual words. Someone should cry for them.
[ It may not be meant to be heard, but her words reach the ears of the Hydro Dragon. He so badly wants to reach out and hold her but propriety is what stops him from acting on that urge; all he can do this let those stray raindrops flow from the heavens, only holding back enough to keep his emotions from manifesting into a heavy downpour. This poor woman has gone through so much today, he's not going to make it worse by letting her become completely soaked. ]
Their lives and your loss deserve to be mourned.
[ It's spoken just as quietly as the two begin to walk toward Poisson, Neuvillette matching his pace to her shorter strides. He considers what he can do to make the coming days easier for her. A personal monetary contribution toward rebuilding, maybe? The Palais will of course send relief and aid, but given the bureaucratic inefficiency in this country a personal donation would be considerable faster than waiting for the state to deliver on its obligations. ]
[ Neuvillette is not the only one of them allowing himself to be guided by propriety. With how tired and emotional she is, every last part of her wants to press into him, to let him hold her longer than she should by rights ask; instead, she moves along at his side until they find their way back to Poisson.
And with a broken heart she looks over her fallen kingdom, mostly void of people while the Spina and Fatui work together to secure the boundaries, to make sure it's as safe as it can be under the circumstances.
She wants to weep all over again, but she refuses to let herself cave to it. She tightens her grip on her umbrella, as if to seek something to help her maintain contact with the ground when she feels as if the tides of her emotion want to tear her away. ]
...Thank you, Monsieur Neuvillete. For... for everything, today.
[ It's not much of a farewell. But Navia hasn't known what to say for quite a while, now. ]
[ Although Neuvillette can't see the entirety of Poisson from where he's standing near the entrance, what he does see is heart-wrenching—homes have been destroyed and large pieces of metal debris litter the streets. The townspeople look absolutely miserable but push through their grief for the sake of helping the injured to the shelters set up outside by the House of Hearth. ]
When you can, try to get some rest. [ He says, quietly. ] The Palais will send aid to the residents of Poisson as soon as possible.
[ And with that, the two of them part ways. The next day, a bag containing 25 million Mora appears on Spina di Rosula's doorstep with a note that reads "from an anonymous benefactor." A small contribution to help provide the residents with food and medical supplies until official aid comes.
Then, a lot of things happen in the span of less than two weeks. Furina being brought to trial, accused of being a fraud. A giant narwhal, emerging in the middle of said trial. Childe appearing in the pursuit of said narwhal. Focalors revealing her plan to him; a centuries-long plot to technically fulfill the prophecy while exploiting loopholes to ensure her people would be saved—and then the sword drops and the Seven permanently become the Six. No one is dissolved when the prophesized flood comes, and no one drowns either as Neuvillette temporarily grants everyone the ability to breathe underwater like Vision holders do.
Time passes. It's probably going to take years before everything is fully rebuilt, but reconstruction is going as smoothly as it possibly can and for most people, life has started to return to what can almost be described as normal.
Today is the day of the memorial service for those who lost their lives in the tragedy of Poisson. Although their dissolved bodies can never be recovered and laid to rest, Neuvillette understands the importance of a memorial as a symbolic event to give the people some closure to their grief. A headstone for each individual victim has been installed, with Melus and Silvers having theirs next to Callas' grave.
The service is quiet, but well-attended. Neuvillette does his best to keep the dark clouds from forming overhead; rain might be appropriate for the occasion, but he doesn't want to leave everyone soaked and chilled to the bone on top of grieving. Every once in a while, he glances at Navia with a touch of concern to his gaze. How is he holding up, after everything?
Eventually, the service comes to a close and the crowd begins to disperse—and soon, the Iudex and Navia are the only people remaining. ]
[ Neuvillette can't fool Navia. When a bag with 25 million Mora shows up on her doorstep, the day after he said the Palais would send aid, she knows exactly where it's come from. But how is she meant to find the time to thank him when everything goes so wildly crazy within the days that follow? The prophecy comes true, but everyone survives for reasons Navia still doesn't entirely understand— so many things happened in a single flash of light, and she's still trying to process what little she saw— and then comes the time to rebuild, until finally things are starting to feel right again.
So they hold a memorial. She speaks, and she smiles gently, and she comforts, and she hates every last moment of it, but she does what has to be done so that the people can have their closure. Florent stays close by, ready to offer support if she needs it, and she feels now and then the gentle eyes of the Iudex, but she makes it through every last moment standing tall and proud, even as the crowd's dispersion is so painfully slow she wants to scream.
But soon she is alone— well, alone except for the Iudex himself. And in part, she is sure he's remained only to confirm her own wellbeing, but after so many others have sought her attention today, she can't quite help the way she offers him her more business-like smile, hiding her own exhaustion and grief under a gentle, kind mask. ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, thank you for attending the memorial. I know it meant a lot to the people of Poisson.
[ It meant a lot to her, too, but this is not the right time nor place for her own feelings, she thinks. ]
Was there something you wished to speak with me about?
[ The crowd thins until there are only a handful of people left, and eventually the others begin to leave as well, leaving the two alone amid gravestones and buried bodies. Above them, the sky looks like a well-used rag, mottled with gray clouds streaking the cold blue; the kind that may or may not portend rain. Most of the grave markers around them are in relatively good condition but some of the older ones are askew, leaning this way and that in a losing struggle to maintain a semblance of dignity.
Twigs and dry leaves crunch beneath the Iudex's boots as he steps over to where Navia is, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgement when he comes to stand in front of her. He's not wearing his usual intricate garb today, having opted to wear a dark suit appropriate for a funeral. ]
I wanted to ask how you are faring. [ He's... reasonably certain that she must be tired of being asked this by now, but he wants to know. ] Far too many things have happened in such a short amount of time.
[ Yes, a great deal of things have happened all at once. Between the tragedy in Poisson, the flood that affected all of Fontaine— even if it ended up so much better than it could have— and then the attempted destruction of her beloved home, the effort by a man she counted as a friend to try and murder her—
She's so, so tired.
And as always, he sees right through her, asks how she is despite the mask she wears for everyone else. It makes her smile quiver on her lips for a moment; she manages to hold it, but only just, and the breath that slips from between her lips is shaky and weak. ]
A lot has happened, [ she agrees, and it's not that she's trying to avoid the question, it's just that if she answers him truthfully, she's afraid she might start to cry all over again. ] So much so that I've not had the chance to thank you. Not only for the aid from the Palais, but... the mora you sent by yourself, too. [ Though she has no idea how he possibly had so much to spare, and she dare not ask. ] It has helped us more than I can say, so... thank you.
Ah, was it that obvious...? [ The Iudex says, lifting one hand to rub at the back of his neck. He did say the Palais would send aid, but he had meant it in an official capacity as the state providing for its citizens in need. That the young woman isn't actually answering his question doesn't go unnoticed, but he can't quite tell if that's a deliberate choice on her part.
He decides not to push it further, gaze fixed on her face as though trying to ascertain how she's feeling behind that smile she puts on. ]
There is really no need to thank me; I only wanted to make sure Poisson would be able to get the food and medical supplies it needed without having to wait for the bureaucratic wheels to turn.
[ The Palais had approved and sent aid to those affected within the week, but he considers that an unacceptable waiting period given the circumstances; people had lost their homes and livelihoods and it's almost embarrassing that the House of Hearth stepped in to help faster than the state could. The people of Fontaine like to joke about how the only certainties in life are death, taxes, and inefficient bureaucracy, but recent events have made things clear: the system must be streamlined and modernized. And that's what Neuvillette intends to do over the next decade now that he is the sole leader of the nation. ]
It was only obvious because of how quick it was. And it's still more than we could have asked for— more than we had any dream of asking for. There is simply no way to tell you how grateful the people were, Monsieur. You say you have no need of thanks, but... I think the people of Poisson would argue quite strongly against that fact. We lost so much—
[ and here, his careful gaze will no doubt catch the way her own expression falters, cracking over the thought of what she personally has lost, who she personally has lacked the proper time to grieve ]
—but your choice made it so we could get assistance immediately. No one expected that. Least of all me.
[ After all, has she not been fooled more than once now by the Iudex's apparent indifference? In this case, he acted personally so that he would not have to break rules— in and of itself, surely an act of bending them at the very least.
She takes a steadying breath, and offers him a small smile. ]
It seems I would need to spend time preparing more gifts of thanks for you. Not that there is anything even close to grand enough to express my sincerity.
[ It doesn't go unnoticed, no. In that brief second, he wonders if she had at all given herself the chance to properly process the unthinkable grief foisted upon her shoulders since their previous conversation. He can only hope that the memorial service will help ease her burdens somewhat by giving her a sense of closure after everything. ]
I do not need anything grand, Mademoiselle. [ Or anything at all, really, as he doesn't think it's necessary to come up with a gift for him; he was simply doing what was right and acted as any good leader should for his people. But he's come to understand that he can't simply decline when she clearly wants to express her thanks in this manner and if he said "No, you don't have to get me anything" she would surely reply with something along the lines of "No, I insist." ]
A box of macarons is enough to convey your gratitude; I particularly liked the ones with smoked salmon.
[ The truth of it is that no, she hasn't had the time to grieve, and while Neuvillette notices, his choice not to say anything is taken by her as a successful pass through. That's all she needs for now.
Or so she thinks. That expression which faltered is bound to falter again, especially as the Chief Justice tells her that he would gladly accept a box of macarons from her, mentioning specifically the smoked salmon ones she invented for him shortly before everything went wrong.
She smiles, and reaches out to put a hand on his wrist, glad that he accepts her offer without hesitation. It gives her something else to think about, something that isn't the tragedy— ]
I am glad you enjoyed them, Monsieur Neuvillette. They took a lot of trial and error! Managing the sugar so that the crust would properly form, yet still ensuring that the savory ingredients were the only thing you could taste... I think I went through four batches before I found the perfect recipe. And the second batch was awful; poor Silver, I think I saw him turn green—
[ Alas, her attempt to talk herself through her feelings is wont to fail. Navia falls abruptly silent halfway into her sentence about Silver, and her expression falters once more. ]
and he—
[ This time, though, it doesn't recover. Navia's countenance dissolves into something stricken, and a twin pair of tears rush down her cheeks unbidden as she looks away. ]
[ Neuvillette had been able to hold it in throughout the memorial service because he didn't want the manifestation of his grief to leave everyone drenched and cold. The skies had been an unyielding expanse of gray as if reflecting everyone's mood, but there hadn't been a single raindrop in sight—until now. As soon as the Iudex catches sight of those tears rolling down Navia's cheeks, the clouds above their heads darken to an ominous charcoal and the metaphorical dam breaks like a wooden door being kicked in.
Thick droplets of rain begin to pour down from the heavens, hitting the ground with such force that some of them ricochet several inches upward. Neuvillette says nothing, waiting for her reaction to the sudden shift in the weather; the Traveler had figured out his identity with ease, and it would be an insult to Navia's intelligence to assume she won't figure out the truth with the evidence literally falling down from above. ]
[ How embarrassing. She's been trying so hard to keep herself together, trying so desperately not to involve those men she loved so dearly in her thoughts, and yet that thought of Silver catches her so horribly off-guard that she can't help but to weep, hands coming to her face as she tries in vain to hide her tears.
And then the skies open in the most violent, bitter of downpours, and Navia's sobs are lost in the wash of the rain, her eyes wide and her hands falling to her sides as she looks to the charcoal of the clouds and to the violence of their tears finding earth only to bounce away once more. She's drenched within the instant, and she turns to Neuvillette to comment her surprise—
Only to see the look on his face, pensive and drawn, eyes half on her and half on the sky—
And in an instant, she knows. ]
Don't cry.
[ It's a whisper, as she closes the space between them, reaches up without thinking to brush invisible tears from his cheeks the way a nanny might have for her when she was younger. ]
[ Neuvillette's heart thumps like a moth beating its life away around a streetlight as he watches the realization settle across the other's features; it's not like he thinks she will take it poorly or anything of the sort, yet he cannot help but feel a little nervous. How odd, he didn't feel this way when the Traveler had figured it out in similar circumstances... then she gets closer, bridging the distance between them before he can even properly react, those soft fingers of hers touching his cheek so tenderly. ]
....I...I'll try not to.
[ Try is the best he can manage. The Hydro Dragon has wept almost daily for hundreds of years, grieving for the sorrows of the world, for a species that keeps finding new ways to be cruel to itself—for someone who struggles with understanding his emotion, he feels them deeply, like the ebb and flow of the tides.
He exhales a shaky breath, closing his eyes. The rain begins to lessen in its downpour. ]
Her fingers stay against his cheek as the rain slows its fall, continuing to stroke and caress against his skin. It's something that she's quite sure she shouldn't be doing, but now that she's started, she finds that she can't quite seem to stop.
(It's been quite some time since she's touched someone just for the sake of touching them, hasn't it?)
But even as she continues her gentle touches, realizations are coming one after another to her mind, the moments falling into place like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle easily slotted together now that the frame is in the right spot. ]
You cried for him, didn't you? All that time, I thought you didn't care at all, but...
[ She feels ashamed, thinking back to it. That day in his office, accusing him of lacking feelings at all... ]
[ Inclining his head, Neuvillette leans into the touch somewhat, the warmth of her hand against his skin a soothing balm of sorts. The rain lightens a little more, now closer to a particularly heavy drizzle compared to the violent downpour it had been moments ago.
Him. The memory of that day resurfaces, how he had thought that there was something amiss with the case; Callas had been a great man in many aspects and had even been offered the title of Baron at one point, which he refused. It didn't make sense to him that someone who had consistently showed good character would suddenly take someone's life.
Yet he had allowed the duel to proceed and Callas knew death awaited him as he stood before Clorinde. ]
I did. [ He says, quietly, eyes opening once more. ] You didn't know.
[ He does not fault her for her words back then; they had cut him deeply, but he finds that he was deserving of every single one for having failed her. For failing to stop that duel. ]
[ Even as Neuvillette expresses his confirmation, acknowledges that Navia didn't know the truth of her accusations, the woman stands there in the rain, having not thought once of putting her umbrella up for the two of them. Instead, she's in a quiet sort of shock, pieces continuing to put themselves together even as she tries to process those she already understands. And her fingers, yet resting against his cheek, still in their movements, blue eyes widening even as they fill with tears. ]
And then... that day in your office. After I.. after I said those horrid things. It rained again. You...
[ But wherefore did he weep? Was it for the knowledge that she did not yet share? Or was it for the cruel barbs aimed at him from her lips? ]
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sempiternals2023-09-04 12:13 am
And I can't get my mind off you
It's not that she has to apologize. Their last meeting made it clear enough that the Chief Justice holds no ill will toward her for her outburst; if anything, he was contrite, apologetic for the distress that he caused her. Which, as far as she's concerned, makes her own misstep all the greater, what with her assumption— no, her accusation— that he simply didn't care.
And so now she's here, sitting outside his office in the Palais Mermonia, a box of carefully decorated macarons in her lap, damaging her pretty lipstick with the anxious biting and licking. The Chief Justice is in a meeting, the Melusine aide told her— to be expected when she's paid him such a sudden surprise— but he shouldn't be much longer.
Not much longer, and yet with every moment that passes, she feels more and more like a mess of nerves. True to her usual form, though, Navia refuses to let it show (beyond the damage done to her painted lips, anyhow); she sits tall and with her head held high, refusing more than anything to allow herself to belie those worries that are running through the currents of her veins.
Later, she'll reject Silver's gentle questioning— why is it so important to the Demoiselle that she make things right with this man? Later still, she'll ask the same question of herself. Yet right now, she cares not to wonder at her own actions. Her focus is on an apology that needs to be made, and the man to whom she must, in her own mind, make it.
She's still lost in that thought when the Melusine tells her that she can go inside; it's with no small amount of surprise that she looks up to find the door open, awaiting her entry. And so she stands, makes her way into the office and smiles apologetically as the door snicks shut behind her. ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, I'm sorry for stopping by so abruptly.
no subject
Yet common sense is often swept aside at the Opera Epiclese where court proceedings are spectacles for the sake of generating energy for the nation rather than a system of justice with potentially serious outcomes. Now Tartaglia is at the Fortress of Meropide because the Oratrice's verdict must be adhered to according to the law.
It's infuriating, really. Rarely does Neuvillette feel so frustrated. The institution has failed an innocent man. And going forward, can the Oratrice ever be trusted to deliver a fair verdict again? It feels as though the system he's worked for over several centuries is built on nothing but sand. He must find the truth of the matter and make sure that Mr. Tartaglia is duly compensated.
He's meeting with the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide to discuss the matter with him as well as ask him how Mr. Tartaglia is doing. He's been acclimatizing well, though he isn't on his best behavior with his frequent attempts to break out—though from the sound of it, he's only doing that so Wriothesley will come and fight him. He also doesn't seem to like the prison food very much.
With a wave, Wriothesley leaves the office without bothering to close the door behind him. Neuvillette is about to sit down and look over some paperwork before his next meeting when an unexpected visitor enters with a dainty-looking box clutched between her hands. ]
There's no need to apologize, Mademoiselle Navia. [ He says as he straightens, turning to greet her with a slight nod of his head. ] What brings you to my office today?
no subject
Which is surely why he seems busier than ever right now, what with the Oratrice's first ever decision contrary to his own, its condemnation of an apparently-innocent man. Truthfully, Navia has considered doing her own investigation... but for some reason, she's found herself hesitating rather than actually carrying it through.
Perhaps she just has a little more faith in the system than she did before.
But. The purpose of her visit. Navia offers him a warm smile. ]
I know you're terribly busy, what with the strangeness with the Snezhnayan visitor, but it occurred to me that I haven't yet offered you a proper apology for my outburst the other day. I let my pain and my anger get the better of me. In accusing you of being unfeeling, I didn't stop to consider how you might actually feel... [ The words, rehearsed over and over, fall flat here, a faltering in her mind as she sees him as he was during their most recent encounter, softened and with a sadness almost palpable in his expression.
A breath. ]
I wanted to apologize, and I figured that with how busy you've been, you probably haven't been eating well enough. So I prepared some snacks. [ She holds the box out toward him, and opens its hinged lid, allowing him to see the assortment of macarons packed neatly together in rows, varied in color and flavor. ]
no subject
Consider your apology accepted and appreciated, then. [ Taking the proffered box, Neuvillette peers at the array of colourful macarons arranged in a neat pattern. He's seen these on display in many pâtisserie windows over the years, and from a purely visual standpoint he can understand the appeal with the bright colours and elegant bite-sized form. ]
Thank you. These will make a wonderful accompaniment to my afternoon tea break with Sedene.
[ He won't have a single macaron with his tea, but he's sure Sedene will appreciate being given the whole box. Sweets are more suitable to a Melusine's palate than a dragon's. ]
no subject
But...
Does it make her selfish, she wonders, to want to see him eat at least one macaron? He certainly doesn't seem ungrateful for the gift, that's not a problem at all, but her pride as a baker demands to see him enjoy that which she has made especially for him. And so she offers a bright, charming smile, a shake of her head that has her golden curls jouncing around her face. ]
Monsieur, [ she says, and there's a disarming sweetness to her tone that practically tastes of the same sugar in the treats she's prepared. ] Would you truly have me come all this way and not grant me the pleasure of seeing your reaction to the snacks I prepared for you?
[ She has no idea at all that she's asking for something impossible, a fact that shows in the hope lighting her eyes and bordering her lips. ]
no subject
I don't think my reaction would be worth seeing, Mademoiselle.
[ Expression set in its usual neutral indifference, Neuvilette's serpentine eyes scan over the neat rows of macarons once more before settling on an orange-coloured one. Shifting the weight of the box into one hand, he picks up the macaron and holds it delicately between his gloved fingers as he takes a cautious bite. It tastes exactly as expected; egg whites and almonds being the two dominant flavors, with some citrusy flavor notes. This is a rare moment in which he's grateful he isn't good at outwardly expressing his emotions. ]
...The exterior has a lovely crisp texture while the inside is perfectly soft and chewy, and the filling is pleasantly smooth. [ Just because he's incapable of enjoying the taste doesn't mean he can't praise the technical aspects of the pastry (and hope she'll be satisfied not hearing a single word about the taste.) Because they are worthy of praise when he knows macarons are difficult to make, even for a seasoned pâtissier, as they require precision and attention to detail. ]
Your baking skills are truly remarkable.
no subject
The grown woman, Boss of the Spinula di Rosa, tells herself sternly that she's being ridiculous.
But it doesn't really help when he compliments, in what seems to her to be a particularly measured and careful way, the technique of her baking, and not the flavor. Navia sighs, and makes quite the show of it, of rolling her eyes as her arms fold over her chest. Despite her misgivings, there's something playful in her expression, and yet— ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, surely you are aware that the baker bakes not for others' enjoyment of her technical proficiency? Of course I'm glad to hear that the macarons have come together well— [ but, quite frankly, she already knew that ] —but I'm far more interested in your opinion on how they taste.
no subject
I'm sorry my praise wasn't what you were hoping for, Mademoiselle Navia. [ Internally, he's wilting a little—this isn't how he wanted this conversation to go, but the young woman standing before him is of keen wit and pays attention to what he says... or doesn't say, in this case. Pressing the remaining piece of the macaron to his mouth, he chews slowly to buy himself a few precious seconds to consider what to say next. How can he praise a flavor he cannot experience in a believable way? ]
It's delicious—satisfyingly sweet without being cloying, and the bulle flavor is refreshing; a delight to the palate.
[ He does not realize the mistake he just made: although the orange colouring of the macaron he ate is strongly reminescent of the bulle fruit that are plentiful in Fontaine, it's actually flavored with sunsettia. Both are sweet with a citrusy tang but have a very distinct taste from each other... if you're capable of tasting the sweetness, that is. When sweetness is removed from the equation, it becomes difficult to tell the two apart. ]
no subject
B-Bulle?
[ Confusion is followed by a thoughtful, troubled expression as Navia tries to understand his mistake. It doesn't make any sense. If he hated the gift like her anxiety-ridden thoughts wanted her to believe, he'd—
well, she's not sure what he would do. Neuvillette is a mystery to everyone, especially to her. She can as soon imagine him refusing politely as she can lying through his teeth about a gift he'd rather toss in the trash. But at the very least, she's certain he would not deliberately mix up the flavors of sunsettia and bulle. He would have to know that mixing them up would only invite further questions from her, given the dissimilarities in their tastes.
In fact, the only time she has ever mixed them up is when she was sick with a headcold that muted her taste almost to naught, the sweetness dying on her tongue in flavor of— ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, I—
[ And the thoughtful look changes once more to one of shock, sapphire eyes wide as she looks up at him, lips parted in her surprise. ]
You can't taste it.
[ What "it" is, Navia doesn't know. But it's the only conclusion she can reach. ]
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...Unfortunately, you are correct, Mademoiselle.
[ Briefly, his shoulders slump with the weight of disappointment at himself. This isn't something that bothers him, not normally, because he never felt like he missed out on a taste he can't conceptualize because that's like trying to visualize an entirely new colour. But today it serves as a reminder that he's fundamentally different from humans and all he can do is mimic their behavior and he can't even do it that well after centuries of living among them. ]
My physiology differs from human bodies in several aspects; one of them is that I lack taste receptors for sweetness. I'm sorry.
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Navia shakes her head, and smiles. ]
Please, Monsieur Neuvillette. There's no need to apologize for something you cannot possibly change— It would be like me apologizing for the curls in my hair! My only regret is that you are unable to—
[ And she falls silent, a thoughtful look finding her features once more. Perhaps, if she...
Yes. Yes, surely she could. ]
Forgive me, monsieur, but I'm afraid I must take my leave earlier than I expected. The macarons are yours, so please feel free to share them with whomever you think will most enjoy them... and I hope you won't mind terribly if I visit you at this same time tomorrow?
[ It's with those words that Navia leaves, her mind full with a number of ideas all at once. An extended trip to the store on her way back to Poisson leaves her with arms laden with bags, and she ends up awake for most of the night, testing and testing again until she manages to find success in her intent.
When she comes back the next day, it's with a second box in hand, only this time the treats are made with only the smallest amount of sugar (merely for the structure of the macaron shells; even to her there is nothing sweet about their tastes). Their fillings are just as decadent as before, but this time in an entirely different direction: tomato and basil, smoked salmon, and bacon, among others. ]
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The next day, Navia will find the Iudex seated at his office desk, reading over the court transcripts from Tartaglia's trial to see if there's anything he might've overlooked that may have factored into the verdict issued by the Oratrice. He looks up at the familiar clacking of her heels against the floor and sets the papers aside as the young woman brings over a box similar to yesterday's and places it upon the immaculately polished surface of his desk. ]
Ah, hello, Mademoiselle— [ Bringing the box closer, he lifts the lid to reveal—more macarons, to his surprise. There's a faint raise to his eyebrow as he casts his eyes over the dainty little treats. Then his nose catches the smell of bacon and salmon. ] ...These are savoury?
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—that turns out not to be entirely needed as the aroma finds his nose, realization along with it.
Navia smiles, and nods her answer. ]
Yes, monsieur. They contain only enough sugar for the shell's structure to hold, but even my refined sweet tooth is unable to taste its inclusion. I'm quite sure these will be much more enjoyable to your unique palate.
[ And thus, they make a much more suitable apology for her uncouth behavior. Let no one say that the young boss of the Spina di Rosula does things by halves!
Of course, there's still the chance that he won't find these enjoyable, either. Which is why— ]
If they are unsuited to you, however, you must tell me this time. I'm hardly so fragile that I can't accept criticism!
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Alright. [ He nods—truthfully, he doesn't expect much from this batch either when his palate is utterly alien compared to that of humans. It's part of the reason why he's known to never have spoken any sincere praise even about the most elegant of dishes served by the most renowned chefs. But he hopes that he can at least say something about the flavor that's both sincere and positive.
Picking up the smoked salmon macaron between his fingers, he bites into the macaron with a soft crunch. The shell is crispy without being too hard to bite into and the filing is moist without being too wet; on a purely technical standpoint, it's very well-made. Chewing slowly, he lets the flavors roll over his tongue—although nothing revolutionary, they're pleasant enough and leaves him with a positive impression. He considers how to convey his thoughts, and speaks: ]
This one is light on the palate but still has plenty of flavor, and the dill isn't overpowering. The smoked salmon tastes just like it should; only with a hint of brine and a delicate smoke flavoring. [ There's the slightest shift to his expression, his smile almost as subtle as as water trickling through sand. ] As someone who is very particular about the quality of the fish I consume, it has my approval.
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She's hopeful that he'll enjoy them this time, but she's prepared for the fact that he won't— is what she tells herself, but she's still oddly anxious as he bites into the macaron, chewing slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. In fact, she doesn't even realize she's holding her breath until she lets it out in a whoosh of air when the compliments come.
A brilliant smile finds her lips. ]
I'm so very glad to hear that, Monsieur. There are plenty of other flavors besides— though you needn't hurry to try them all. They will keep for a few days at least, although I recommend keeping these ones— [ she points at one row of the macarons, all seafood-based in flavor ] —chilled if you are able. And if you'd like more in the future, please don't hesitate to let me know... this was an enjoyable exercise of my baking skills!
[ Besides, with how busy it seems he has been— like yesterday, the pile of papers on his desk is nothing to be scoffed at— she likes to imagine the treats will be helpful; short, tasty reprieves from the work, perhaps a top-up of blood sugar and protein, and—
Her eyes are trained on his desk, and she looks back to him with a sigh. ]
Monsieur Chief Justice, I'm well aware this is not my place to say, but I hope you are getting enough rest.
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I am. Sleep deprivation can significantly impact job performance, so I make sure to always get an adequate amount of rest. [ There's nothing in his tone to suggest he isn't sincere; even when he's this busy, he tries not to sacrifice any rest. He just sacrifices his already minimal amount of free time instead. Good thing he needs less sleep than the average human to feel well-rested. Four hours is plenty enough sleep for a dragon. ]
By the way, Mademoiselle—the Gardes have identified the person responsible for spiking your Fonta with Primordial Seawater. He was arrested a few hours ago.
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and then he speaks and her world comes to a grinding halt. The person responsible for spiking her Fonta...
Of course, Navia knew that Uncle Marcel— that Vacher— wasn't working alone. But in all the excitement of his being convicted and the events that followed, in the relief and grief both filling her heart in the wake of her father's exoneration, she forgot somehow that an attempt had been made on her life, and that the criminal— a lackey of some sort, but still a would-be murderer— yet walked free.
And now, in the quiet moments after it all, the reality of it comes crashing down on her all at once. Navia's eyes fill with tears, and she adjusts her gaze with abruptness lest the Chief Justice be forced to see her cry yet again.
By the gods. If Paimon had not accidentally taken her drink... ]
...Thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette. [ Her voice is quiet, solemn in tone even as it trembles upon her lips. ] It brings me comfort to know that.
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You're welcome, Mademoiselle. [ He replies, a neutral quality to his voice as he continues while he keeps his gaze affixed to what he can see of her face. He would've missed that slight tremble to her lip if he wasn't paying more attention to her body language. ] They're still working to establish whether he was aware that it would have dissolved you, but given that he's Fontainian I find it hard to believe that he wasn't at least given some sort of warning to handle it with utmost care.
[ Apparently he had confessed during questioning to having tampered with her drink, but swore that it's all he's guilty of because he wasn't told what would happen. Which, to Neuvillette, sounds like a pathetic attempt to only be charged with a lesser crime that will get him a more lenient punishment now that he's been cornered with no way out of the metaphorical noose tightening around his neck. ]
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And yet—
There's no doubting that her face has gone rather pale as she reaches a steadying hand to his desk, trying to keep herself upright as she sets determined sapphire eyes on his face. ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, I rather think I might need to sit down for a spell.
[ —Is what she tells him, before her trembling legs cave underneath her and she finds herself doing just that: sitting abruptly, painfully on the floor. ]
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Eyes widening a little, he quickly rises to his feet, the chair scraping from the force of it. With hurried steps he rounds the desk to find her sitting on the floor; mildly worrying, but at least she hasn't lost consciousness like he had initially feared.
Offering a hand, he helps her up onto her feet and gingerly puts an arm around her back for support as he leads her over to the aforementioned couch. ]
Do you need a glass of water, Mademoiselle?
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She nods. ]
Yes, monsieur, please. [ Her voice is faint. ] I apologize— I am not quite sure what came over me.
[ It's a lie— she is sure. But she doesn't want to admit the truth of the matter, that she's gone to her knees over her anxieties and fears about what could have happened. ]
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[ With a nod, Neuvillette steps away to the glass cabinet on the other side of his office that looks like it's for wine but is actually for the storage of bottles his favourite water. He doesn't bother trying to think of what she might best from his collection and simply takes one at random—sourced from Sumeru's Lokapala Jungle—and pours its contents into one of his finely crafted chalices until it's about three-fourths full before returning to the young lady on the couch. ]
Here. [ He says, offering her the chalice. ] Could it be stress that brought this on?
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...Thank you. [ It's said when the chalice is mostly emptied, though she continues to hold it gently between both hands, lest the faintness try to claw its way back to where it can overtake her once more.
And frankly, she doesn't want to talk about it, lest in her weakness she admit the truth behind her sudden spell— but Neuvillette gives her an out, one she takes gladly with a nod. ]
I think that is likely the case, yes. There has been... a great deal going on, of late.
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Please rest here until you feel steady enough to walk unaided. Is there anything else I can get for you?
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So she smiles, shakes her head again as if to emphasize the reassurance she aims to give him. ]
No, Monsieur. Thank you, but I do not wish to impose myself any further upon your kindness. I am all too aware of how busy your schedule is; once my strength is recovered, I will be on my way. I will be fine—
—there is no need to concern yourself on my account.
[ The words come out weaker than Navia would like. The two of them are barely out of the Traveler's eyesight when Neuvillette asks after her, and it's all she can do not to collapse on the spot in an echo of that time mere weeks ago in the Iudex's office. Back then, she could think only of getting home, of inviting her closest companions on a walk so that she may put her worries behind her.
She can't do that today.
Melus and Silver will never walk with her again.
No— No, she mustn't think like that. One foot in front of the other. She will walk home, she will speak to the men she has stationed there still, she will see what else needs yet to be done. She will focus on that, on moving forward, on fixing those things needing to be fixed. Just like her Papa would have done.
One foot, then the other. ]
Thank you, Monsieur. I will be fine from here. I—
[ Navia bursts into tears. ]
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Several lives have been lost to those ancient waters; not quite dead in the usual sense of the word, perhaps, but most would not consider being melded together into a singular entity without individuality to be truly alive. What happened at Poisson is a tragedy, a dark reminder of the many more lives that will be swept away if they don't find a way to avert the preordained fate... and with no apparent solution in sight, Neuvillette's frustration grows with each passing moment. He wishes he could have done something, he wishes he had the power that the Usurper tore from his grasp so many eons ago; then none of this would be happening and he would not be feeling the twinge he feels stabbing into his crystalline heart at the sight of Navia's grief. ]
I don't think you will, Mademoiselle. [ He says, his voice a soft whisper yet carries a weight beyond its volume. ] Please allow yourself to process what you are feeling.
[ He probably should not be giving advice on emotional matters, but he can't just say nothing... ]
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But as it stands now, her heart is aching with cold, broken and shattered at her feet. Her legs tremble; her arms quake. How is she meant to move forward when she no longer remembers how to walk?
She needs somewhere to sit, lest her legs cave like they did on that day in his office. But they are standing at the water's edge, and the only things around are rocks, and...
Navia closes her eyes, breathes through the tears, tries to process the onrush of thoughts. ]
You— Monsieur Neuvillette, you saved me back there. [ She pushes aside the knowledge of
Melus and Silverthe pair of Oceanids that protected her for long enough for him to do so— If she thinks on them, she'll break— and focuses instead on the events that occurred outside of her realm of awareness. ] I would have been dissolved, and— and the people of Poisson would have no one to help them anymore.[ Is she processing her feelings? Yes. Is she processing the feelings she should be processing? Most certainly not. ]
So... thank you.
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Poisson needs you, but you mustn't ignore your feelings. [ He says, quietly, his voice gentle like the waves lapping the shore at their feet, yet also tinged with an undertone of gravity. He feels way out of his depth and isn't even sure there's anything appropriate to say here, but something in him compels him to make the effort anyway even if he's likely going to stumble when it comes to matters of the human heart. ]
I think... if you don't allow yourself to address everything you're feeling, it'll eventually come out at an inopportune time.
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But Neuvillette yet has words to speak, encourages her to address her feelings even as she tries to run from them—
and he's right, she knows he is
—and Navia's eyes close as fresh tears slip from them, and as her legs tremble under her, she turns into him after all, shaking fingers twining in the fabric of his long, elegant robe. ]
They're gone, [ she whispers, and her voice breaks on the words. ] I didn't even have the chance to say goodbye, and they're gone. Just like—
[ The tears run down her cheeks, and she takes a faltering step into him, face pressing into his shoulder in spite of her earlier resolution to stay strong and put together. ]
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He takes a deep breath, relaxing somewhat. His hands hover awkwardly over her shoulders for a moment, then puts his arms around her in a loose embrace—one that's easy to pull away from if there is any discomfort. ]
Mortal lives are unfairly cut short, sometimes. [ He whispers, softly. ] ...I don't think there's anything I can say to ease your grief, Mademoiselle, but I will be here for as long as you need it.
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I— I'm sorry. Truthfully, we— we do not have time for that, Monsieur, we... we are in a race against the clock...
[ Despite saying as much, she stays close, trying to breathe through her tears. She can't quite help herself. His hold, his soft voice, even the scent of him somehow serves as a comfort, soothes the feeling of her trembling, quaking legs that otherwise are trying to give out on her. She shouldn't lean on him so much. He has already done so much. He saved her, he—
Navia sucks in a breath, taking a shaking step back from him. ]
I'm sorry.
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...I understand. [ When she moves to pull away, part of him wants to pull her back and keep her close. But he ignores that part of him, dropping his arms from around her as she steps back. ]
But please let me accompany you back to Poisson, at least.
[ From above, a few stray raindrops fall and hit the brim of Navia's hat; not the kind that heralds an approaching downpour, but rather the equivalent of an errant teardrop escaping to drift the length of the dragon's cheek. ]
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She looks up to him, and nods. ]
Y-yes, that would be fine.
[ She swipes a hand across her lashes, catching the tears in the lacy fabric of her glove, but in the same moment she feels something hitting against her hat, and she frowns— all Fontainians recognize the feel of raindrops— eyes tracking briefly to the sky. ]
Are you crying for them too? [ It's a murmur, not entirely meant to be heard. ] Then I won't say the usual words. Someone should cry for them.
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Their lives and your loss deserve to be mourned.
[ It's spoken just as quietly as the two begin to walk toward Poisson, Neuvillette matching his pace to her shorter strides. He considers what he can do to make the coming days easier for her. A personal monetary contribution toward rebuilding, maybe? The Palais will of course send relief and aid, but given the bureaucratic inefficiency in this country a personal donation would be considerable faster than waiting for the state to deliver on its obligations. ]
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And with a broken heart she looks over her fallen kingdom, mostly void of people while the Spina and Fatui work together to secure the boundaries, to make sure it's as safe as it can be under the circumstances.
She wants to weep all over again, but she refuses to let herself cave to it. She tightens her grip on her umbrella, as if to seek something to help her maintain contact with the ground when she feels as if the tides of her emotion want to tear her away. ]
...Thank you, Monsieur Neuvillete. For... for everything, today.
[ It's not much of a farewell. But Navia hasn't known what to say for quite a while, now. ]
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When you can, try to get some rest. [ He says, quietly. ] The Palais will send aid to the residents of Poisson as soon as possible.
[ And with that, the two of them part ways. The next day, a bag containing 25 million Mora appears on Spina di Rosula's doorstep with a note that reads "from an anonymous benefactor." A small contribution to help provide the residents with food and medical supplies until official aid comes.
Then, a lot of things happen in the span of less than two weeks. Furina being brought to trial, accused of being a fraud. A giant narwhal, emerging in the middle of said trial. Childe appearing in the pursuit of said narwhal. Focalors revealing her plan to him; a centuries-long plot to technically fulfill the prophecy while exploiting loopholes to ensure her people would be saved—and then the sword drops and the Seven permanently become the Six. No one is dissolved when the prophesized flood comes, and no one drowns either as Neuvillette temporarily grants everyone the ability to breathe underwater like Vision holders do.
Time passes. It's probably going to take years before everything is fully rebuilt, but reconstruction is going as smoothly as it possibly can and for most people, life has started to return to what can almost be described as normal.
Today is the day of the memorial service for those who lost their lives in the tragedy of Poisson. Although their dissolved bodies can never be recovered and laid to rest, Neuvillette understands the importance of a memorial as a symbolic event to give the people some closure to their grief. A headstone for each individual victim has been installed, with Melus and Silvers having theirs next to Callas' grave.
The service is quiet, but well-attended. Neuvillette does his best to keep the dark clouds from forming overhead; rain might be appropriate for the occasion, but he doesn't want to leave everyone soaked and chilled to the bone on top of grieving. Every once in a while, he glances at Navia with a touch of concern to his gaze. How is he holding up, after everything?
Eventually, the service comes to a close and the crowd begins to disperse—and soon, the Iudex and Navia are the only people remaining. ]
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So they hold a memorial. She speaks, and she smiles gently, and she comforts, and she hates every last moment of it, but she does what has to be done so that the people can have their closure. Florent stays close by, ready to offer support if she needs it, and she feels now and then the gentle eyes of the Iudex, but she makes it through every last moment standing tall and proud, even as the crowd's dispersion is so painfully slow she wants to scream.
But soon she is alone— well, alone except for the Iudex himself. And in part, she is sure he's remained only to confirm her own wellbeing, but after so many others have sought her attention today, she can't quite help the way she offers him her more business-like smile, hiding her own exhaustion and grief under a gentle, kind mask. ]
Monsieur Neuvillette, thank you for attending the memorial. I know it meant a lot to the people of Poisson.
[ It meant a lot to her, too, but this is not the right time nor place for her own feelings, she thinks. ]
Was there something you wished to speak with me about?
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Twigs and dry leaves crunch beneath the Iudex's boots as he steps over to where Navia is, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgement when he comes to stand in front of her. He's not wearing his usual intricate garb today, having opted to wear a dark suit appropriate for a funeral. ]
I wanted to ask how you are faring. [ He's... reasonably certain that she must be tired of being asked this by now, but he wants to know. ] Far too many things have happened in such a short amount of time.
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[ Yes, a great deal of things have happened all at once. Between the tragedy in Poisson, the flood that affected all of Fontaine— even if it ended up so much better than it could have— and then the attempted destruction of her beloved home, the effort by a man she counted as a friend to try and murder her—
She's so, so tired.
And as always, he sees right through her, asks how she is despite the mask she wears for everyone else. It makes her smile quiver on her lips for a moment; she manages to hold it, but only just, and the breath that slips from between her lips is shaky and weak. ]
A lot has happened, [ she agrees, and it's not that she's trying to avoid the question, it's just that if she answers him truthfully, she's afraid she might start to cry all over again. ] So much so that I've not had the chance to thank you. Not only for the aid from the Palais, but... the mora you sent by yourself, too. [ Though she has no idea how he possibly had so much to spare, and she dare not ask. ] It has helped us more than I can say, so... thank you.
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He decides not to push it further, gaze fixed on her face as though trying to ascertain how she's feeling behind that smile she puts on. ]
There is really no need to thank me; I only wanted to make sure Poisson would be able to get the food and medical supplies it needed without having to wait for the bureaucratic wheels to turn.
[ The Palais had approved and sent aid to those affected within the week, but he considers that an unacceptable waiting period given the circumstances; people had lost their homes and livelihoods and it's almost embarrassing that the House of Hearth stepped in to help faster than the state could. The people of Fontaine like to joke about how the only certainties in life are death, taxes, and inefficient bureaucracy, but recent events have made things clear: the system must be streamlined and modernized. And that's what Neuvillette intends to do over the next decade now that he is the sole leader of the nation. ]
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[ and here, his careful gaze will no doubt catch the way her own expression falters, cracking over the thought of what she personally has lost, who she personally has lacked the proper time to grieve ]
—but your choice made it so we could get assistance immediately. No one expected that. Least of all me.
[ After all, has she not been fooled more than once now by the Iudex's apparent indifference? In this case, he acted personally so that he would not have to break rules— in and of itself, surely an act of bending them at the very least.
She takes a steadying breath, and offers him a small smile. ]
It seems I would need to spend time preparing more gifts of thanks for you. Not that there is anything even close to grand enough to express my sincerity.
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I do not need anything grand, Mademoiselle. [ Or anything at all, really, as he doesn't think it's necessary to come up with a gift for him; he was simply doing what was right and acted as any good leader should for his people. But he's come to understand that he can't simply decline when she clearly wants to express her thanks in this manner and if he said "No, you don't have to get me anything" she would surely reply with something along the lines of "No, I insist." ]
A box of macarons is enough to convey your gratitude; I particularly liked the ones with smoked salmon.
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Or so she thinks. That expression which faltered is bound to falter again, especially as the Chief Justice tells her that he would gladly accept a box of macarons from her, mentioning specifically the smoked salmon ones she invented for him shortly before everything went wrong.
She smiles, and reaches out to put a hand on his wrist, glad that he accepts her offer without hesitation. It gives her something else to think about, something that isn't the tragedy— ]
I am glad you enjoyed them, Monsieur Neuvillette. They took a lot of trial and error! Managing the sugar so that the crust would properly form, yet still ensuring that the savory ingredients were the only thing you could taste... I think I went through four batches before I found the perfect recipe. And the second batch was awful; poor Silver, I think I saw him turn green—
[ Alas, her attempt to talk herself through her feelings is wont to fail. Navia falls abruptly silent halfway into her sentence about Silver, and her expression falters once more. ]
and he—
[ This time, though, it doesn't recover. Navia's countenance dissolves into something stricken, and a twin pair of tears rush down her cheeks unbidden as she looks away. ]
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Thick droplets of rain begin to pour down from the heavens, hitting the ground with such force that some of them ricochet several inches upward. Neuvillette says nothing, waiting for her reaction to the sudden shift in the weather; the Traveler had figured out his identity with ease, and it would be an insult to Navia's intelligence to assume she won't figure out the truth with the evidence literally falling down from above. ]
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And then the skies open in the most violent, bitter of downpours, and Navia's sobs are lost in the wash of the rain, her eyes wide and her hands falling to her sides as she looks to the charcoal of the clouds and to the violence of their tears finding earth only to bounce away once more. She's drenched within the instant, and she turns to Neuvillette to comment her surprise—
Only to see the look on his face, pensive and drawn, eyes half on her and half on the sky—
And in an instant, she knows. ]
Don't cry.
[ It's a whisper, as she closes the space between them, reaches up without thinking to brush invisible tears from his cheeks the way a nanny might have for her when she was younger. ]
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....I...I'll try not to.
[ Try is the best he can manage. The Hydro Dragon has wept almost daily for hundreds of years, grieving for the sorrows of the world, for a species that keeps finding new ways to be cruel to itself—for someone who struggles with understanding his emotion, he feels them deeply, like the ebb and flow of the tides.
He exhales a shaky breath, closing his eyes. The rain begins to lessen in its downpour. ]
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Navia thinks she can accept that.
Her fingers stay against his cheek as the rain slows its fall, continuing to stroke and caress against his skin. It's something that she's quite sure she shouldn't be doing, but now that she's started, she finds that she can't quite seem to stop.
(It's been quite some time since she's touched someone just for the sake of touching them, hasn't it?)
But even as she continues her gentle touches, realizations are coming one after another to her mind, the moments falling into place like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle easily slotted together now that the frame is in the right spot. ]
You cried for him, didn't you? All that time, I thought you didn't care at all, but...
[ She feels ashamed, thinking back to it. That day in his office, accusing him of lacking feelings at all... ]
I'm so terribly sorry.
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Him. The memory of that day resurfaces, how he had thought that there was something amiss with the case; Callas had been a great man in many aspects and had even been offered the title of Baron at one point, which he refused. It didn't make sense to him that someone who had consistently showed good character would suddenly take someone's life.
Yet he had allowed the duel to proceed and Callas knew death awaited him as he stood before Clorinde. ]
I did. [ He says, quietly, eyes opening once more. ] You didn't know.
[ He does not fault her for her words back then; they had cut him deeply, but he finds that he was deserving of every single one for having failed her. For failing to stop that duel. ]
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And then... that day in your office. After I.. after I said those horrid things. It rained again. You...
[ But wherefore did he weep? Was it for the knowledge that she did not yet share? Or was it for the cruel barbs aimed at him from her lips? ]
...I'm sorry. If I hurt you.