[ 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
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
....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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.