// May the road rise up to meet you //
Heaving a long sigh, Maea rubbed at her temples. A headache was coming on, brought about by tension no doubt. "Believe me, I don't expect him to. It was a stupid ask and one I won't make again. I'll hold myself accountable - though once again you have more faith in my character than I do myself. I don't think you understand what it's like to have your head tell you one thing while your body with all it's impulses screams another. And then having everyone you talk to dismiss you as uptight and silly – just because I won't throw away the values I grew up with like they don't matter."
To her own dismay, tears were rising in her eyes as her control slipped. Growing pathetically emotional in the face of someone who scoffed at anything resembling weakness was humiliating; turning away Maea swiped angrily at her eyes, and counted her breaths, the beams along the ceiling, the panes of glass in the window until she had mastered herself again.
"Then at least he has learned some caution," she muttered, having very little pity for Astaroth's indulgences. "He told me about it the first time we met, with barely any prompting. And believe it or not, but I really tried to be okay with it. Especially since he assured me that he didn't eat people anymore, he said he didn't have to – but apparently he lied." Her voice hardened, hurt flaring at the dishonesty – far more personal than his choice of meat, despite her own objections. They were philosophical, indeed based on fear, and while still important to her, far easier to set aside than the dishonesty.
And when it came to those fears... Maea turned her palms up in a miniature shrug. "By the time they come with the pitchforks, it will already be too late. Don't you know how rumors work? It starts like a whisper. 'Outlaws in the Hollowed Grounds disappear'. No trials, no executions, nothing official; they just vanish. Weird, but not alarming. But since Asta can get away with eating people, and you know about it, and I, and Danta, and probably Charlie, sooner or later someone else will try it too. Perhaps someone with less discernment than Asta - and now it's not just criminals that go missing. It's merchants, relatives, innocent travelers - and soon it's 'anyone who goes to the Hollowed Grounds won't come back. " There was a grim certainty in the picture she painted, one experienced too many times to be so easily dismissed. "Soon merchants won't go there to do business. You will be cut out of deals, guards will start pulling you aside because you have horns and a tail and that must mean you're a Grounder, and therefore untrustworthy. If nothing changes, maybe someone will grow bold enough to throw rocks at you whenever you show yourself unglamored, and should a mob get riled up enough... blood will be shed. At which point our dear Theocrat will have to get involved, and now we're at the brink of war. All over something that could be prevented now, with a bit of consistency and no favoritism."
Reaching for the tea she drained the cup and refilled it, wishing she had anything stronger. But it was just as well there was no alcohol involved; she didn't needd anything else to lubricate her tongue, it was getting her in enough trouble without it.
To her own dismay, tears were rising in her eyes as her control slipped. Growing pathetically emotional in the face of someone who scoffed at anything resembling weakness was humiliating; turning away Maea swiped angrily at her eyes, and counted her breaths, the beams along the ceiling, the panes of glass in the window until she had mastered herself again.
"Then at least he has learned some caution," she muttered, having very little pity for Astaroth's indulgences. "He told me about it the first time we met, with barely any prompting. And believe it or not, but I really tried to be okay with it. Especially since he assured me that he didn't eat people anymore, he said he didn't have to – but apparently he lied." Her voice hardened, hurt flaring at the dishonesty – far more personal than his choice of meat, despite her own objections. They were philosophical, indeed based on fear, and while still important to her, far easier to set aside than the dishonesty.
And when it came to those fears... Maea turned her palms up in a miniature shrug. "By the time they come with the pitchforks, it will already be too late. Don't you know how rumors work? It starts like a whisper. 'Outlaws in the Hollowed Grounds disappear'. No trials, no executions, nothing official; they just vanish. Weird, but not alarming. But since Asta can get away with eating people, and you know about it, and I, and Danta, and probably Charlie, sooner or later someone else will try it too. Perhaps someone with less discernment than Asta - and now it's not just criminals that go missing. It's merchants, relatives, innocent travelers - and soon it's 'anyone who goes to the Hollowed Grounds won't come back. " There was a grim certainty in the picture she painted, one experienced too many times to be so easily dismissed. "Soon merchants won't go there to do business. You will be cut out of deals, guards will start pulling you aside because you have horns and a tail and that must mean you're a Grounder, and therefore untrustworthy. If nothing changes, maybe someone will grow bold enough to throw rocks at you whenever you show yourself unglamored, and should a mob get riled up enough... blood will be shed. At which point our dear Theocrat will have to get involved, and now we're at the brink of war. All over something that could be prevented now, with a bit of consistency and no favoritism."
Reaching for the tea she drained the cup and refilled it, wishing she had anything stronger. But it was just as well there was no alcohol involved; she didn't needd anything else to lubricate her tongue, it was getting her in enough trouble without it.
Maea
// May the wind be at your back //
