chrisisofaith | IC Contact

[He does, at least, put some thought to it.]

There's a black and green sweater in my closet. And one of the daggers on my dresser, the one you gave me is among them. Pick one, please.

Just some clothes. I've nothing in my drawers or cabinet that ought to offend you, it's the decretive boxes you need to avoid.

And the book by my bed. There's a bag hanging by the trapdoor that you can put it all in.

[A full list? She'll take it. It'll be easy enough to gather everything with a bag available to her there.]

I'll save us both the embarrassment and not dig overly.

If you think of anything else in the next two hours, send me a message. I'll be about the Up in that time. Safely and quietly. As indiscreet as I can be.

[That feels like something important to mention, given the circumstances.]

[A quip about not being embarrassed runs through his head, something about offering a full inventory if she wanted, but he doesn't have the energy to type it.

Instead, he can feel some dregs of worry rise into his throat, but he doesn't type anything about that either.]

Thank you.

[His fingers hover over the keyboard a moment, his thumb pressed to the letter T longer than he needs. He shouldn't ask for anything more than basics. Clothing. Safety. Something to do while he does...nothing.

That choking feeling grows a little tighter as he types the letter 'H' next. It's slow going but he eventually forces each letter out of himself, like they're pressing from his bramble-filled throat after all.]

There's a stuffed raven on the bed

[She's out the door by the time his message about the raven arrives, dressed fully nonchalant in jeans, a black turtleneck, ankle boots, and with her hair braided down her back over a black wool peacoat she picked up after starting at The Crucible. It's a surprisingly soft ask, and it makes her smile as she slips down back alleys and avoids majorly trafficked streets to get to Marzipan Terrace.

A half hour later, once she has a pile of things set aside for him, she takes a picture of the raven sticking out of the bag he mentioned.]

On the way to you. Hold a little longer. We'll be there soon.

[She only has one more stop to make for a jar of her favorite tea, a gift for him and something for them to share that he can put his hands to making once she arrives.]

[He gives a quiet scoff to himself as he makes to set the kettle on for her arrival. 'We're' like the silly thing was sentient and not simply a teasing gift from an Archivist looking to rankle him and failing.

He shouldn't indulge her, especially with what Jon had told him about the toy's inherited name a couple months ago...but maybe it would help her. Or at least help the image she had of him right now.]

I put the kettle on, hopefully Jacob's got some tea you'll like.

His name is Topher. He was a present.

Topher. I'll remember that.

I was planning to pick some up on my way as well. He can keep it if he finds he likes it.

Not long now. Tea, and then straight to the Hollow.

[Only... she takes far longer to arrive than she should. What was supposed to be a quick text to Cinder has... had other effects, ones she's desperate to hide. If what's happened is real, if Cinder has... if she's...

No. There's no time. Chris needs her. She'll focus on that. Everything else can wait, tears and anguish included.

She's a little pale when she arrives, her smile tired but warm and her arms open to him the second he steps outside to greet her.] Sorry for the delay. I had to take a long way around a few streets to avoid a patrol and some birds, but I avoided being seen.

[She takes...a concerning amount of time. Enough so that, by the time she has arrived, he's nearly set to pacing, mind running circles on possibilities and outcomes and plans of action he's not sure he needs until- she's at the door and pale but there and the panic that had started to clamp down on his throat loosens by degrees.

Her arms open and he's in them in moments, his own hold tight for all of his fear. He takes a breath and steps back again after a moment to fold it all back down.]

So long as you're safe. Come in, water's likely still hot and you look a bit closer to death than I'd like.

She exhales a relieved breath at his touch, understanding and appreciating the concern in it. If she'd sent a message along the way, she would have broken completely and not made it to him. This lie, an omission at best for how careful she was getting here, will have to stand for now. He'll have an apology for it soon enough.

Her feet take her inside and she toes out of her boots without much thought to it. She retrieves the tea from the bag on her shoulder first, offering it to him before making her way to the couch to set the bag down for him to find as his mind allows.

"How are your bruises this morning?” An easier question than others, one with an objective answer. "Have you eaten anything yet?"

She's filling the space, not wanting to let silence settle. If it's quiet for too long, more uncomfortable subjects may come up, and she's not ready for that to happen yet.

He takes the tea with curiosity, though it slowly turns muted again as the relief and adrenaline fade. The motions of making a pot are easy as Amelia's fussing kicks up again. It's easier after this morning than any of it yesterday, at least. Even if he's still...unsure of himself. He feels okay with her right now.

"I made breakfast for Jacob earlier and ate some of it." A couple bites. He just hasn't been hungry. "I'd direct you to make some toast for us, but I know better."

He offers a small smirk before returning his attention to the tea.

"My magic's returned. I've some lingering soreness, but the visible bruises are gone." He pauses and reaches for mugs. "How's your hand?"

It's a simple blend, very floral in nature, green with jasmine and lavender. She has a feeling she might be the only one who enjoys it, but she figured he'd feel better if she picked something she actually liked. She certainly won't mind if he sends it home with her.

"If you have the machine set for it, I'm certain I could manage that," she jokes. Though she does still worry about how well that might go, given the tales of woe she's heard about toasters.

Her smile is a little tense at the edges as she makes her way back to him, Cinder's cream in her hands. "Nothing worse than I've done to myself. Shower softened everything before bed last night." In more ways than expected, but that's not for Chris to hear. She forces herself to take a breath and holds out the jar to him.

"If this'll help, I want to put my hands to use. There's not much else I can do but listen." She huffs a laugh. "Which I don't mind doing, but I'll not push again like I did this morning. I'm... I shouldn't have done that, and I'm sorry."

The tea might be a little more delicate than he typically likes, but it smells wonderful and that's half the appeal to the drink.

He looks up to the jar with a soft smile. "It'll help with the soreness and phantom pains. Thank you. Here. Tea needs some minutes to steep regardless, this shouldn't take long." It's something to do and a small buffer to keep them occupied so maybe words could be a little easier between them.

He steps around to her side of the counter and pulls the shirt from over his head to fold and set on one of the bar stools. "I think along my right side here and across my shoulders...if you'll be so kind." He gives a small beat of silence before his tone turns softer. "If it's not your hand and we've already settled this morning-" a pointed glance. '-then what's put a tenseness to your face, my lady?"

She's quiet as she works, a forced smile on her face that doesn't reach her eyes. When he looks to her, she doesn't look back. Her gaze remains fixed on the rest of him, a redness building in expressive hazel eyes as she tries to keep breathing through the tightening of her chest.

"It can wait," she murmurs, voice unsteady. "You've--" Her jaw tenses briefly until she's able to right herself. "There other things to think on. Forget this for a time."

She wants to lie again. She wants to tell him it's fine and that nothing is truly wrong. It's... better for Cinder to have gone home, to have a chance to see those things she knew were ahead of her through.

The truth doesn't stop her heart from breaking, though.

She's too quiet. Her smile doesn't quite fit her lips or reach her eyes. The waver in her breath, in her voice. She didn't stammer like that. A hundred red flags has Chris turning, focus snapping to razor sharp on her. One gentle hand takes her wrist and the other brushes a thumb very briefly by her jaw.

"Amelia...what's wrong? What's happened?" His thoughts race out to options even as his voice is achingly gentle. "Why were you late?"

She doesn't look up. She can't. Not when it hurts so much. Instead she lets him pull her closer, leaning in to rest her temple against his cheek.

Dreams, this hurts. She feels ill even thinking about this.

"Cinder is gone. Sent home again." Her breaths are a little ragged at the end as she shuts her eyes. "I tried to message her, but it wouldn't go through."

His hand comes up to tangle his fingers in the hair at the base of her head as the other one lets go of her wrist to move to her shoulder instead.

"Oh." That's all he can get out at first. An urge to message her himself rips through him and he swallows it down as he grits his teeth through his next few breaths. When it rains...

He takes a brief, indulgent, moment to think on the last time he'd seen her, living it up at Hellboy and Harley's orgy. Nights of drinking with Hawke, all of their various adventures...he lets it run through him, lets it hurt until it threatens to open up too much he's kept locked down still...and then it gets locked up just as soundly.

"I'm sorry, lovely...I know you were close with her." He turns his face to press a kiss to her temple. "It's alright that it hurts. You're allowed."

She knows what he's doing, has done it so many times she couldn't begin to count them all, and she won't have it. She shakes her head just a little, barely daring to breathe as she wraps an arm around his waist in a loose hug.

"Not now. I can't yet." Not when she's here for him. Not when there's things to do and work at The Crucible later, and other people to tell and let cry, and--

"I can't." She doesn't let go, but she doesn't give in to the urge to sob as she wants. That's a want, and she... can't have that. Not now.

"Let me tell Wolfe, please. I--" Her breath catches a little at the idea of having to see his face when she breaks the news, but... "You've been through enough the past day and a half. I can catch him as he hears this."

Her mantra feels too familiar. 'I can't yet. There's others who need me. Others who need my back unbowed, who need strength in my eyes and not tears.' Perhaps achingly, hypocritically, familiar.

Then maybe it was time to accept he was hypocrite.

His fingers tighten a little in her hair. "You can tell him later, when you see him next...you can catch him when he hears and be strong for him. Right now, let me catch you. I promise I can. I want to."

"Chris..." It's not that she doesn't feel safe with him, or that she's worried about hurting him with it. It's that she doesn't do this. Wolfe has managed because he's... him. And Cinder just... Cinder... used to...

Her face scrunches as she inhales a sharp breath, tears rolling down her cheeks as the reminder that Cinder was always there for her, climbed the fucking tower in the Up in the middle of winter to get to her, opened her heart and encouraged those around her to do the same hits her. Dreams, she... she should have told Cinder more often how much she appreciated the woman, that she loved her as a friend, too. But she didn't, and now...

Her arms wrap around Chris as she presses her face into the top of his shoulder, trembling and tears falling freely now. It hurts. Dreams, it hurts and there's no fixing this. There's no getting better. There's no making this right, because she's just... gone.

"I wasn't ready-- f-for this. I'm not... I can't..." It doesn't matter, though. There's no changing that her oldest friend in Duplicity is simply... gone.

She holds on admirably, but he can see the pieces falling away until she turns to wrap her arms around him and he does the same. One wraps tight across her back while the other presses to the top of her back so his thumb can brush the back of her neck. Quietly, he turns to kiss the side of her head again.

He's told others before, but people leaving here...even if they're going back to a grand life, it's tantamount to a death for those left behind. Sudden, rarely a chance to say goodbye, and a hole left in the tapestry of the lives here. It would be closed eventually, but never perfectly.

At least, in this, he felt a wash of...certainty. This was familiar, even as it hurt.

"I've got you. Let it hurt, that's the only way it'll heal." His own eyes burn a bit and he smiles. "You know she loved you. Cinder loved her friends fiercely."

Her arms curl tighter about him, shoulders beginning to shake as she clings to him. She avoids digging in her fingers, not wanting to hurt him or remind him of pains he's suffered, but she needs something to hold onto. Something solid and stable and that isn't leaving. Just for now. Just for a few minutes.

"I know." But she never said it back. She wishes she had. Why didn't she? Why did she hold back? Why was she so afraid of being honest?

It doesn't help to berate herself now. It will only make things harder for both of them if she does.

She's quiet for a long time as she cries, but eventually she manages a few soft words, her heart breaking with every one. "I loved her too."

He's quiet for that and simply keeps his hold on her tight enough to feel like she could fall apart nd still keep her shape. There weren't proper words for things like this, for a feeling of loss so deep. At least, back home, there was some chance of finding a loved one on the other side of the veil. There wasn't even that assurance here.

They were simply gone.

Cinder, Nate, Nick, Crais, Anduin, Lux.

He takes a shuddering breath and then finds an even pace for focusing on his breathing. Something for her to follow when she was ready. At least until she offered those few words like shattering glass. "I think she knew. You love just as fiercely."

Knowing it and saying it are so different. For years, Amelia has loved the man who was her second, but she couldn't tell Aloïs until Candleglow. Couldn't open her mouth to speak the truth when she was so determined to be who and what she was before. Even if she loves fiercely and shows it, it's not the same.

Even if Cinder wouldn't have said it, if none of her closest friends would say it, she's failed them in this. It should be so easy, and yet she's failed them.

She shakes her head a little, pulling back briefly as she wipes at her eyes. "It's not the same. It's not." Her shoulders continue to shake as she tries to steady her breathing. She has to stop this, to catch herself before her mind strays too far. Chris may think he can catch her, but he can't catch that, and she knows it. Not when he's like this. Not when she knows how dark and deep these thoughts go.

They both know where it goes. They've seen it in painful clarity. It doesn't end well, and she will not force that on him again now.

"I-I have to do... better for everyone." To be more honest with them. To stop hiding so much. It continues to fuck her over every time she is, but if it's the difference between this and knowing Cinder had heard her say it, just once, she'll make the effort. She has to. Everyone she cares for, that she loves in some way or another, deserves that.

She's silent for another few moments, still struggling to breathe again, but she holds tight to him to show she's not trying to run the way she desperately wants to. "I love you, Chris. I need you to hear it from my lips." Just in case. Just... to be safe.

'I have to do better for everyone.' It's so stark and reminds him of the lights in a way he doesn't want to think too closely on. Not when he knows how easily they'd made an echo chamber of their minds. They were too similar in some terrible ways. This was one of them.

He could feel what she was feeling even without being in her mind. That urge to be better, do better, for those around you because they are better...and deserve more than you might usually give them. Cause what you usually give them simply isn't enough. It's not easy...but she was working on it. That was the hardest step, in his experience. The slow shift from what you're used to into something better for them.

He continues to keep his breathing even. "I love you too...and I know you'll get there. I know you'll do better, I've faith in you and what you're set to. For now, just breathe. When you've got your breath, we'll figure out the rest."

There's much more here than either of them can deal with, at least immediately. Amelia knows she could do more here to allay what fears either or both of them have, but it... also seems like a thing that they shouldn't do. Something to be avoided while Chris is still raw and recovering from yesterday, and the both of them are reeling from the shock of losing one of their friends.

She knows how this goes for them. She knows the way their minds work. It's best to leave things as they are. If they still haven't spoken about the lights, how could they begin to speak about the way they handle moments like this?

Someday, somehow, she'll manage that conversation. If she could face talking to Wolfe about Tumenalia, and the ways they both hurt one another and lost their agency, she can face this conversation with Chris, too.

But not today.

Her tears stop long before her breathing evens out, and eventually her hold on him loosens to allow him space. She turns a small smile up at him, not minding that her face is a mess or that her eyes are red. He promised to stand here, to let her run this through, and there's no hiding the aftermath of it.

"Thank you." It's not enough, but it's a start when her mouth is dry and her hands are shaky. "I needed to do this in safety, and you gave me that."

When she releases him, it eases some of the hum in his skin and distance would do more, but he's loathe to pull away completely. He just lets his arms fall and resists the urge to magically clean her face. Sometimes doing something manually was part of the process.

He pulls on a quiet smile. "You're welcome. You made me feel safe last night, least I can ever hope to do is offer you the same whenever you need it." That's what being in a party was, right?

"Come on, splash some water on your face, I'll warm up the tea...and we can figure out who needs to know next or if there's anything to check in on. I think you'll feel better with a plan."

IC Contact

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Switching to prose >>;;

Works for me!

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