[SE] cut from marble

Maea

I feel it in the wind, my dear
The sun is gonna reappear

It was just another proof of how tense she was that Astaroth's voice made her flinch. Part of her hated that he tried to tell her what to do. Part of her was pathetically grateful for it, when her own head offered no help at all. Moving mechanically as if her body was still made up of coils and springs and fueled by something far more volatile than blood, she obeyed. Took the blanket from the bottom of the bed, and pulled it over herself as she laid down. The wide porcelain white horns made it impossible to choose anything but her back - not without messing up the pillows, and she couldn't bring herself to do that - and so she was left to stare up into the ceiling. Listening to the crackle of the fire, and the subtle sounds Asta made as he settled in.

Swallowing thickly, it was all she could do to just drag one breath after the other into her lungs. So quiet, as if making a sound would be the end of her. She hated this. Hated being like this. Hated the turmoil within that ultimately brought tears to her eyes out of sheer frustration. Rubbing angrily at them, she waited for the questions to come. Sure he had plenty by now; she had not exactly been forthcoming about herself, unlike him.

Good days are gonna come along
Hold on, hold on!

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

He isn’t one to pry, but there’s also a resounding amount of tension in the air that’s palpable, and he wonders if half of it is due to his presence being here – the fact that she had reacted as she had in their initial meeting (never mind the fact that she could absolutely just turn into a gore crow and have him fighting to get out). But that’s beside the point – the ball is in her court, and it seems as though she’s silently fighting wars that he has zero idea even about.

Until amongst the flickering flames, he can hear the way she rustles and settles, the way that she swipes at her eyes and he glances up to the mirror, before averting his gaze again. He closes his eyes in case she does boldly look, not wishing for her to be self conscious of it, even as his accented voice paints the air between the silence and crackling hearth. “Would you like to talk about it?” He asks quietly, leaving it entirely up to her whether or not she wished to speak about what was bothering her, completely unbothered one way or another.

He'd already pried enough out of her today, he didn't want to be too nosy.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

Maea

I feel it in the wind, my dear
The sun is gonna reappear

There it was. But, though he did ask, it was not the question she had expected. Growing very still upon the bed, Maea realized that she wasn't sure what to answer. It wasn't just one thing, after all. It was many things, stacked so high one atop the other that a light push sent them all toppling over, burying her under a mountain's worth of issues and the kind of breakdown that took days to recover from. She could explain, but it was a long and winding tale that didn't make much sense - and required more time than the night had to offer.

And she was growing sick of rehashing it. Even to herself.

"Dunno... don't even know where to start," came the quiet answer. It wasn't a no - but it wasn't exactly a yes either.

Good days are gonna come along
Hold on, hold on!

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

In truth, the butcher doesn’t know much about the pale woman – aside from the little things that Danta had told him, which admittedly hadn’t been a whole lot. Other than the fact that maybe he shouldn’t have led with the fact that he ate people when meeting her more officially. Which is honestly a fair point. But as it stands, he doesn’t push or pry, instead letting her decide what to offer and when.

Only to be faced with her not knowing where to start. Which sparks a little hum in his throat, clearing it as his fingertips run along the fire a bit more, as if trying to supply an option for her to start that hopefully isn’t too much – but knowing everything that would leave his lips would be considered a hard and difficult question. So, why not, he supposes. “Are you afraid to let people in for fear that they’ll leave or disappoint you?” He asks, not wanting to put words in her mouth, but seeing it objectively from his point of view.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

Maea

I feel it in the wind, my dear
The sun is gonna reappear

Way to make a conversation short, Asta. The sharp intake of breath from the direction of the bed had the feeling of one who'd been punched in the gut out of the blue. It was not the kind of insight she wanted anyone to have, not the kind of obvious she ever wanted to be.
"Well fuck you too," Maea hissed, flaring up like powder keg. "Thank you for summing that up so neatly. I'll just take my common ass problems and get over myself, shall I -"

Sitting up, she was halfway out of the bed before she'd finished speaking. But the blanket and skirts both tangled into her legs and into one another, and she was left pulling aimlessly at both, cursing  so as to not have to feel the searing burn of humiliation. So much for even thinking about opening up!

Good days are gonna come along
Hold on, hold on!

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

Well, he certainly hadn’t expected that response – and belatedly, he’s reminded of just how Danta had been trying to teach him how to decently talk to people in more private settings – a lesson obviously not learned just yet as she hisses and flares, sits up and gets tangled in the blankets and her skirts.

It has him sitting up, withdrawing his hand from the fire as he uses his other to brush back the hair from his face, turning slightly toward her but not preventing her from leaving if she does get herself unwrapped. “I never said they were common.” He offers unhelpfully, the too hot hand waving around a little as he gestures. “I don’t let people in either.” It’s far more casual coming from his tired accented tongue, but he peers at her as a shadow amongst the light of the fireplace behind him, dark gaze focusing on her as she fidgets. “But there is a difference between pretending to and actually letting them in. I, for one, do not wish to be disappointed.” It isn’t loneliness, they’ve been over that. But when it came to disappointment?

Well, that was another thing entirely.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

Maea

I feel it in the wind, my dear
The sun is gonna reappear

The cloth wasn't yielding to her angry tugging, and thus there was no escaping to be had. She just bristled even more when he kept talking, absolutely hating how pinpoint accurate he managed to be. Even though he knew absolutely nothing about her.
"Apparently it is if it's such a widespread ailment," she snapped back. "No different from a cold - no one's complaining about those either." Which made her melodramatic and self centered for lingering so much over her pathetic little issues, right? Right. So what was she doing, hyperventilating over sleeping in the same room as a guy? That was beyond pathetic. That was just sad.

"Are you saying I'm pretending?" She was too tired for this. Giving up on the blankets she fell back on the bed and let tangles be tangles. Her breath came too fast, the burn in her throat a bit too close to tears for comfort - she would much rather remain angry. Anger she could handle.

Good days are gonna come along
Hold on, hold on!

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

“Because two people happen to have it?” He asks with a small huff of a laugh, a roll of his eyes. Sighing, Astaroth sinks down onto an elbow as she stops fighting the tangled blankets and flops back, and he wonders if she’s aiming to be like a fish out of water – or if it were truly that torturous to be in his presence. Either or, Astaroth draws silent for a moment until her question breaks the air and he can’t help but to laugh.

It might come off bad at first, until his voice clears the air. “Not at all, my dear. I pretend.” He clarifies. “I can be charming and daring out in public, but in my own space with my own vices, I am quite anything but.” Except right now, as it turns out, as he fits that mask back onto his face. Such that, if she might have noticed, it might be the first time of the night that there wasn’t a smile glued to his face.

It doesn’t last though, because the mask includes the smile, and the sharp toothed twist of it is offered toward the bed even if she cannot see it, until he hauls himself out of his makeshift bed, standing and wandering over to untangle the blanket from her unless she swats him away – he’s used to it with Danta, after all. “What I am saying, is that it is hard. But it is not impossible. I am learning, which is why I was so obnoxiously insistent on making sure you did not leave and turn to stone.”

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

Maea

I feel it in the wind, my dear
The sun is gonna reappear

She heard it, even if she couldn't see the moment when the smile fell away. It was in his voice, and in the confession. Propping herself up on an elbow, Maea watched him warily, eyes narrowing when he rolled up from his bedding and came over. Not sure what he was planning to do at first, she was about ready to defend herself, only to realize her mistake when he began tugging at the blanket.

It was strange, being touched in such a familiar way. Even through the layers of cloth she was all too aware of every point of connection, and she couldn't help but shrink away - only to catch herself in the act, and froze up instead. Biting her tongue, fumbling for something to say that wasn't harsh - this really wasn't his fault. It would have been easier if it was.

"I just... don't know how to trust people, anymore," she finally managed. As the restriction around her legs eased off, she scooted back towards the pillows and tugged her knees up to the chest. "They leave. Or die. Or disappear. One person I knew about as much as I know you said I shouldn't be allowed to exist and tried to kill me. So you'll have to excuse me if I need a bit more than just assurances that a self-confessed cannibal is safe to sleep next to."

Alas. That was not what she had meant to say.

Good days are gonna come along
Hold on, hold on!

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

She is a wounded, prey animal right now as he fidgets with the blankets to get her unwrapped, watching as she withdraws to the pillows and draws her knees up, leaving the expanse of the foot of the bed available for him to slip onto. His hand lifts to brush his hair back, itching at the back of his neck as his dark gaze focuses on her curiously, nodding at the beginning of the commentary, allowing it to smooth over before he offers any advice – only to be given more.

And honestly, her whole thing here is just survival – which if anyone knew anything about him, it’s precisely the same for him. He’d been left for dead, his sins catching up with him, until others with similar ideals had spotted him and saved him, had given him a place and room to grow – isn’t that what she has here, with the rest of the Ancients? “Do you care about what they think? We hardly know much about one another and yet you are letting it eat at you.” He starts to say, cocking his head before he snorts lightly and shakes his head.

“I may have misconstrued your opinions before I announced that tiny tidbit about myself, so I apologize for the worries it has sparked. It was far more acceptable before I had fallen into my slumber.” It’s surprisingly casual, despite the bite in her tone with her distrust. But it’s a smaller smile that meets her, even if his teeth are still sharp, when he sighs a little to add; “I don’t believe it will help, but, I assured you that I would not cause problems. And if It does help, you aren’t exactly what I prefer in terms of taste.” His head tilts a little before he straightens up and shrugs his bad shoulder on accident, wincing a little at his shoulder where his bone deep wound is still causing pain, despite his lack of nerve endings in the majority of his torso. His hand lifts to rest against it and feel the radiating heat before he sighs a little and replaces the wince with that same small smile. “I don’t eat Ancients.”

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

Maea

I feel it in the wind, my dear
The sun is gonna reappear

Hiding the bottom half of her face away behind her knees, her shrug was a small, reluctant thing. "I care," she admitted, slowly like the words had to be dragged from the bottom of her very being. It wasn't something she liked to say, but it was the truth. "Too much. About everything and everyone. Even when no one asks for it. I don't want to, but I can't help it." Words had a way of lingering with her long after the speaker was dead and rotten. They had a power she didn't know how to fight, because too often they reflected what she was already thinking.

Expecting him to take offense by her blunt outburst, it was with wary eyes that she watched him settle by the foot of the bed to explain his side of things. The apology startled her. As did the attempt to assuage her worries. It was almost believable, and she could see the paths his logic was moving... It just didn't hit right, because it wasn't losing her life that she was worried about.

Sighing, Maea thumped her brow against a knee. Silky tresses of white hair clung to the velvet of her dress, making it electric and prone to dancing in the air around her head. "I guess that should be reassuring," she mumbled. "Except it isn't, really. It still means you're going to eat others who aren't ancient. And if I'm fine with that, doesn't it make me just as bad? What else will I be able to look away from? Where does the line go between tolerating something and participating in it? Will I even notice if I start to slip, or will I wake up one day on a pile of bones and wonder when I lost myself?" Pale fingers searched their way up into her hair, rubbing tiny circles around the base of the horns. There was an ache beneath them that she couldn't quite place.
"It's not really that I'm afraid of you," she said. "It's me I don't trust. It's this tendency to throw caution to the wind and let myself be influenced by people around me. I care what you all think about me, and so I try to change myself into something that is a bit more like you - so that I'll fit in. So you'll like what you see. So that I won't be alone anymore. But I don't know... if I'll end up liking myself in the end. I just... don't know."

Good days are gonna come along
Hold on, hold on!

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

He wants to ask her why she cares so much – but he figures it’ll be along the same lines as her elaboration – that she doesn’t want to be like this, but she is. And so he nods, understanding and letting it linger, letting it fill the space between them as she figures out how to get her tongue to start working. And truthfully – there isn’t any disappointment in the fact that he isn’t frightening – trying to push past that moniker that the Climb had dubbed him with (he was often an enforcer for the Ancients acting up, something he doesn’t wish to continue at this stage, and something Danta had not asked of him).

But she elaborates further, and hides her face and Asta sinks down a little onto the elbow that sparks shooting pain down the bone as he starts to press and massage around the area where it hurts, listening to her say her peace as she fights her own pains. “No, it doesn’t. Because you, darling, are not my keeper.” He murmurs, tilting his head back a little to close his eyes seeing as she’s hiding her face too, and it does work to stretch out the soreness of the wound. “You are not responsible for my actions. You do not even have to tolerate it for us to be friendly toward one another. I understand your point of view. Believe me. It’s what got me eaten by gore crows, after all.” He offers a little bit more truth from himself, now that she’s opening up, even if it had been difficult to get her here.

He pauses to silently hitch his breath a little before resting that massaging hand on the side of his neck, pressing against some of the lingering soreness, keeping his eyes closed and away from her as he continues to formulate his thoughts. “You do not have to become me for me to appreciate you as a person. You are allowed to pick and choose your influences.” Another brief pause, trying to figure out what exactly he’s trying to say. “Does spending time with Danta influence you into wanting to be more like him, sharing anyone’s bed who asks? No. Does spending time with me mean that you’ll get a sudden craving for cannibalism? No.” And here, he chuckles a little, sighing at the end as he blinks his dark eyes open to scan her form. “No, if anything, let Danta influence your carefreeness and let me get you a stunning wardrobe to show off that new confidence you'll gain. You are your own person, my dear.”

Long story short, he’s trying to tell her to pick and choose what parts of those she considers friends she likes and appreciates, and let those be her guiding factors, rather than replicating each individual.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

Maea

I feel it in the wind, my dear
The sun is gonna reappear

There was such a thing as guilt by association. Sheltering a criminal was a crime in itself. Not attempting to change a situation meant you accepted it - and all it took for evil to win out was for good men to do nothing. Objections along those lines kept flaring up, along with a rather guilty argument that Danta's lifestyle really might be rubbing off on her in more ways than one. But she didn't voice any of it. It was pointless, because as much as Asta's points were valid and persuasive, they couldn't entirely erase her concerns. It was so easy to say that she was her own person, but when it came down to it she barely knew what that meant anymore.

"Even if I prefer order and stability over tumult and chaos? Even if I don't enjoy hunting or dousing myself in blood and care just as much about people who aren't ancient? Is it still fine to be myself if I would pray to gods other than Dygra?" She peered up over the edge of her knees, mistrusting his acceptance enough to push for a limit, for some border where the tolerance would end.

Good days are gonna come along
Hold on, hold on!

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

Sure, she could linger down those roads when it came to him – but until there was an issue she could certainly pretend to not care or know what was occurring. He was quiet about it, too, and it was likely that she didn’t even know he had indulged week after week since his arrival. He was resourceful, and quiet, and had followed every single rule that Danta had told him.

“If I may be objective.” He starts to say, returning to massaging the wound before he sits up from the bed and moves, heading toward a small basin in the edge of the room, peeling away his shirt so that he might be able to clean the wound with a rag, giving her time to settle by herself as his back is turned toward her. “You were… What were they called? Ascended, before now, yes? And you chose Dygra for survival.” He pauses, jaw flexing as he presses against the wound and his shoulders sink with a small amount of relief. “I don’t know why you would want to pray to anyone else, considering they didn’t care about your survival once the war ended. But Dygra did. She has always been there for you.” But to each their own, he supposes, even if he thinks it’s a pointless venture.

Perhaps it’s a lesson she will need to find out on her own.

“And besides, maybe you should give it an honest try without the attachments. Blood is quite fun, after all.” He says it so nonchalantly as he presses that rag to his shoulder beneath his shirt that it almost seems like he could be daydreaming about it. “A world with only stability and order becomes dreadful after a time if you don't make some chaos to make it interesting.” And given that they tend to live a bit longer than average, well… What fun is there?

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //