i know its rough, when you go it alone

BASTIEN

The walk back from the pyre was a slow march; Bastien was silent and for a large part of it mindless, his brain entirely blank and wiped clean with a heavy depression. Now, for the most part, it was over; Rexanna would not be at the Sanctuary when he got home and no matter what music he put on the thought player, it would be too quiet. Pittore and Azrael where little heartbeats for the home, but they weren't his companion, his teammate: he was the sole ruler of their little kingdom now.

He got to the door and with the ring clasped tight in his hand, he pushed it open; Azrael was with Mabel and Evelyn and would be brought back soon, Pittore was somewhere in the house (since he had had the news, he'd not been his usual pattering happy self).

----

Hours had passed, though he'd hardly noticed. Azrael was upstairs in their room, washed and fed and sleeping and he was sat in the main studio, his massive array of paintings of Rexanna out before him. He had gathered them all from the house, from behind cupboards and up on walls, from sketchbooks and finished canvases: all of them surrounding him in a painted audience made up of just his wife.

Bastien sat drinking wine he couldn't taste, staring at them all. He had originally dragged them out with the intention of destruction, thinking that it was best to clear himself of the constant reminders, but now he found that he couldn't. When the pictures were around him, they each held a little memory: how she'd found that one funny, how he'd loved the way she'd smiled while posing for that one, how while he was painting the largest he had spilled paint on her dress. Together, the paintings amplified the voice of her ghost tenfold and the noise was deafening.

So he sat and did nothing.

You always let me down so tenderly
So live fast and die young and stay forever numb

KIADA i wish that i could say, i am a light that never goes out. She was still trying to wrap her mind around it, after the pyre and everything else. But she did have something of Rexanna’s from a previous life, something she didn’t pay much attention to but had snagged from her trip to the Rift – a little gold necklace that her mother had never truly taken off. It was a wonder that she had it, and part of her doesn’t want to keep it – not when Bastien had loved her mother far more than her father ever had. She feels numb as she takes the trek toward the Artist’s Sanctuary – the last time she’d been here, she was blighted, helping decorate for their wedding, where she’d crafted this little polecat with Bastien’s help to remember her mother’s previous life’s companion. And it was a soft, sweet gesture that she knows her mother had loved even if they hadn’t ever talked about it. All in all, she thinks she wants to make sure he’s okay. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she reaches the door, hand raising to it and knocking lightly as she focuses on debating just walking in. And so she does anyway, the knock a warning of her presence before she slips inside and clicks the door shut behind her, shedding the light jacket in the foyer before peering into the varying rooms in an attempt to find Bastien and perhaps her half sibling. And while she doesn’t find Azrael, she does find Bastien, sitting in the middle of so many paintings of her mother that she feels her throat grow tight again, hand clutching at the gold necklace. “Bastien?” She says quietly, announcing that it’s her, standing in the doorway to the room and looking at all of the paintings. but i flicker from time to time.

BASTIEN

Bastien was entirely lost in the world he had created around himself, one where Rexanna looked from every angle and yet was nowhere to be seen. He craved sleep, the chance to switch off his mind, but knowing that he didn't have to rest kept him awake, a sense in him that it was somehow honourable to spend all his time from now on mourning --

A voice calling his name snapped him out of his disassociation and back to the present moment, where he realised he was a sad picture indeed. Half dressed, wine glass in hand, tear stained cheeks and surrounded by paintings: there was no doubt of what he was doing to any onlooker. Too far gone to be embarrassed he turned his face to look up at her and scoffed, gestured around the room. "You can come in. I'm trying to decide what you do with art when the soul has gone."

You always let me down so tenderly
So live fast and die young and stay forever numb

KIADA i wish that i could say, i am a light that never goes out. He acknowledges her, and she steps slowly into the room without a formal invitation, coming up to his side around the makeshift shrine of paintings. She can feel his eyes on her, turning a small amount to look at him as he gestures to the paintings. And really? She can’t blame him, but she can also try and get through her own sorrow to tell him perhaps more stories of her mother, of his wife, and how she’d known a different but very much similar version of the Penumbra. So she kneels in the makeshift circle beside him, keeping the necklace in her hand clutched tight as her gaze slips over each painting. “I don’t think it’s gone.” Kiada says quietly, voice a bit deeper with the emotions she tries to swallow down, lifting a pale scarred hand toward a painting where her mother appears to have been laughing brightly. “Like that one. She’s smiling, happy. I’ve never seen her that happy so much.” She admits quietly. “Maybe before, when Kianzo and I were still young before we'd even met my father. She’d tell us stories of Halyven, of the good parts, one time when she’d worn the same dress twice to an event and the nobles almost died of offense. That one was my favorite.” A small curl of her lip at the memory, wondering if Rexanna had ever told Bastien that story before. But her head tilts toward Bastien then, her thumb rubbing over the gold necklace as she mulls it over. “She really loved you. And I’m sorry I was so shitty through all of it. I think… I got really jealous. I got even more jealous when I heard about Azrael and I left for Halo to kind of deal with it. I think I just wanted to have a family like you had instead of the version of her I got.” She cuts herself off as she bites down on her lip, unsure where she’s going but imagining she’s making it worse. “But… I have this necklace of hers, from the Rift when we were living in Halyven after it’d been torn to the world. I think you should have it.” She says, even softer, lifting the gold necklace and offering it to him. but i flicker from time to time.

BASTIEN

Somewhere distant from his conscious mind, Bastien thought how similar Kiada was to her mother in that moment; seeing a disaster and coming to kneel right in the middle, to speak and spread calm. All of a sudden he regretted that they had never made more of an effort, that he had not encouraged Rexanna to know her daughter better; he wondered if it was too late for him to forge a bond with her: after all, it was clear they were joined by affection for Rexanna, even if it was in different forms.

He raised his eyes to the painting she pointed out, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he listened to her talk about it. She was right: it was a good one, captivating in the way only Rexanna could be. Something Bastien could truly say about his marriage was that it had been a very happy one, full of laughter and smiles: he had never had to force one out of her for a portrait.

Bastien was not expecting an apology from Kiada and when it came it was enough to move him, make him sit up and frown at her, shake his head. He took the necklace wordlessly, closed his eyes as he clasped it in his hand, then placed it back in her hand, which he held as he spoke to her. "No, dear. You keep this: she was your mother and I have many trinkets to remind me of the wife I knew here in Caido. In fact, I got something for you...something I thought your mother might like you to have, to know you were safe." Standing up, he stepped over some of the portraits to get to the back wall, where the bladed parasol rested up against the corner. Picking it up, he walked back and held it out to her. "It holds a secret."

You always let me down so tenderly
So live fast and die young and stay forever numb

KIADA i wish that i could say, i am a light that never goes out. She can’t meet his gaze, doesn’t want to meet it as she focuses on the task at hand – offering a necklace of sorts that has some bit of history that she’d tucked away, only to look at when she was feeling particularly lonely or resentful. But now? Now it was all she had, after burning that piece of Halyven with her mother, and part of her isn’t sure if she deserves to keep it when someone who had loved her for herself was here and willing, capable, surrounded by a makeshift shrine for the Penumbra. What she doesn’t expect, is for him to hand it back, red rimmed eyes lifting to meet his face as he speaks. Her lower lip trembles, brows furrowing as she fights to keep her tears in place, trying to keep that collective calm she’d grown so used to over the years. She fails, however, as soon as he’s standing, her hand lifting to wipe away the tears that slip while his back is turned. But he comes back with a parasol, and her confusion only grows. “I… What?” She asks, setting the necklace to the side as she reaches out for the umbrella, still sitting in the middle of the paintings on her knees, lowering it and inspecting it, pressing here and there and looking at the intricate details of the vines growing along the handle. But when she twists it, it springs open a small amount, the handle popping out and revealing a sharp hidden sword within. There’s a hiccup of laughter through her despair, however, and she looks up at Bastien with a pained but amused expression. “Some things didn’t change, did they?” She asks him, her mother holding secrets and far more strength than she’d ever imagined. She pulls the dark hair away from her face, dark hair that matched Rexanna’s nearly perfectly, before leaning in to inspect the carved blade. but i flicker from time to time.

BASTIEN

Bastien said nothing of Kiada's obvious tears: he had shed many of his own after all and it was only natural in the circumstances. As sick as he was of the constant sobbing of the last few days, he didn't see any stop to it for quite some time. Had Rexanna known this was what she would leave? How strongly they would mourn, how rivers and seas would be cried from the eyes of those who had loved her?

He did enjoy Kiada's reaction to the parasol, a tiny turn of the corner of his lips upwards; he thought Rexanna might find it amusing too, watching her daughter discover the secret.

"Indeed. She always knew how to defend herself." Bastien smiled and sat back down, picked up his wine glass just to swill it around a little and look at the wine move: a very simple distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. "I hope you might be able to find some use for it...though I must admit I don't know if you share your mother's taste for adventure and heroism. Perhaps you lead a much quieter life? Either way, it can be a nice momento." It was a pretty display piece, if nothing else.

You always let me down so tenderly
So live fast and die young and stay forever numb

KIADA i wish that i could say, i am a light that never goes out. If she thought about it, she’d probably thank him one day for ignoring her tears and her sorrow as she tries to hide them. It’s an understandable reaction, but part of her still shudders at the fact of showing that side of her, the crack in the mask. She’s only shown it to Deimos and Amalia, as well as Chulane recently. So for him to ignore it, it does wonders, and she’s managed to recover a fair amount while she goes to focus on the parasol in her hands. The secret is found easily enough, and she inspects the blade as she listens to Bastien, a soft smile curling around her lips. “I’m, uh, I took over the Monster Hunter’s Guild after it burned last year.” She tells him, red rimmed eyes flickering up to focus on him as she tries to explain more. “When I left Helovia, we were sucked into a place called the Rift. Full of monsters and creatures that were ready to kill at a moments notice. I think I got that from her.” And of course, the experiences, but the thought is nice. The thought that some of her mother had rubbed off on her in her survivability, after everything the ex-Queen had gone through. It was everything. but i flicker from time to time.

BASTIEN

While Rexanna's face still looked on from all around, it was odd to be listening to Kiada and hard to do so attentively; Bastien began to walk around the room slowly stacking and collecting the images back up, doing so quietly so he could still hear her. He suspected over the next few months there might be a lot of taking them out and putting them back, deciding to burn them then wanting to keep them all...but he couldn't leave them surrounding the studio forever.

When finally enough of the eyes were away that he felt able to speak, he looked back to her and nodded. "You certainly have her ferocity. I admired it - I have always been a storyteller, an artist, one who absorbs the stories of others; but people like you and your mother, you are the heroes. Those who forge the stories in the first place." A soft, sad smile touched his face as he thought that Rexanna had paid the price for it.

"..If...you wanted to keep any of the pictures, you are welcome to." He offered, gesturing out towards the paintings. There were all kinds, ranging from tiny to huge, canvases and scraps of paper, smiling and neutral and portraits and full bodied: a whole array of depictions of Rexanna.

You always let me down so tenderly
So live fast and die young and stay forever numb

KIADA i wish that i could say, i am a light that never goes out. She talks while Bastien reorganizes, pulling and putting pieces away without having them surround the area too intensely. And she chews on the inside of her cheek after her words are aired, fingers running along the fabric of the parasol as if she might be able to coax her mother’s spirit back from it. “When I was little I wanted to be a crafter.” She comments quietly – no complaints from her for Bastien’s choice of storytelling and artistry. If she hadn’t have been thrust into battle so young, she likely would have followed suit. But life was hard, wasn’t made for her to be that way. Her head tilts toward him, feathers sprouting along her neck as she considers his offer, before her iceberg gaze slips toward the room around, scanning the pictures. And then she moves to stand, chewing on the inside of her lower lip while she considers it. “I’d like that.” She replies quietly, investigating the idea of it all, a keepsake of her mother where she could keep in case she began to forget what the Penumbra looked like, just as she’s already starting to forget how Kianzo looked. Pointing to one of about medium size, she swallows down a small amount of tightness in her throat again, turning her head toward Bastien. “Can I have that one?” One of her mother looking as regal as ever, the queen and mother she always knew with a soft hint of a smile on her face if you looked hard enough or knew her well enough. “What will you do with the rest of them?” She asks suddenly, too, curious of the answer, unsure if she can withstand seeing these burn too. but i flicker from time to time.

BASTIEN

"Ohh?" Bastien did not have to feign any enthusiasm for that remark; if he could bring Kiada closer to himself and her half-sibling through art or crafting, it would be one of the best things to come from Rexanna's death. "Is there still some desire in you to craft? I would be more than willing to provide for you any materials you need. It can be...very therapeutic." Though personally, he knew he wouldn't be painting for a while: the moment his wife had died, something of his creative soul had been pulled out from between his ribs.

He was somewhat relieved that she wanted one of the pictures - he was fragile at the moment and it would be embarrassing to be rejected - and nodded, selecting the one she wanted and putting it into her hands. "Painted on a quiet night in Longheat; I asked her to try on a new dress...she looked radiant, that day." Each painting held a story and a memory, a moment he had loved her.

Did that mean he had to keep every one, though? Collecting up some more of the canvases and papers in his hands he sighed and held them out, looked them over. "..I don't know. What do you think I should do with them?"

You always let me down so tenderly
So live fast and die young and stay forever numb

KIADA i wish that i could say, i am a light that never goes out. She considers his question, trying to see what parts of her might edge more toward crafting and creating rather than destruction. And she does also consider the fact that it can be therapeutic, something they likely needed more and more every season. So she takes a deep breath, tilting her head from side to side. “I’m not a good artist.. But maybe I could try. Even if it doesn’t turn out well it might help.” Her eyes flicker up toward Bastien as she peruses the paintings, quietly considering if he’d be her teacher, if they wanted to have a relationship because of Rexanna. But she decides on one, pointing toward it, and as he nods she plucks it from its place, fingers trailing along the edge of the painting as she hears his explanation of when it was created. “She does.” A quiet agreement, a quiet thank you hidden within the words without being aired. But her question of what would happen to the rest of them hangs in the space between them, and she clutches the painting close to her, turning to focus on him as he asks her what he should do with them. Anything but burn them, she wants to say, but that does nothing. A sharp inhale of breath is taken, and she turns to approach him as he looks out over more of the canvases. “What if you made a memorial? Something we could visit when we miss her.” but i flicker from time to time.

BASTIEN

Usually Bastien loved to tell people they were great artists, that skill didn't matter where passion and love was concerned, that no matter what they made they would have made art; he couldn't seem to summon the enthusiasm he usually held for the topic and instead just nodded, gave Kiada a weak smile. "You are welcome to come here and try any time; you only need to ask. I'll find you a key so you can let yourself in." After all, he was probably going to be locking the doors from the general public for a while.

He watched Kiada take the painting and hold it close and hoped it came close to even beginning to stitch closed the hole in her life; that it could hold for Kiada a remnant of the mother she'd never really known. At first her suggestion of the memorial almost made him laugh; the entire house was a memorial and he was always going to miss her...but the part of him that wanted to be kind to Kiada won out and he took a breath, nodded. "Perhaps. I can't use all of them for that, though. There are too many. I might just...store them somewhere for now and work it out later. Perhaps when Azrael is grown they might want some..."

You always let me down so tenderly
So live fast and die young and stay forever numb

KIADA i wish that i could say, i am a light that never goes out. “Thank you.” She says, an easy agreement to the attempts at using art to heal her pain, to give her the ability to focus on something else for awhile and perhaps long enough to get something she’s proud of, to keep. Maybe she could put down her memories of her family to keep them close, so she wouldn’t forget about them. It’s a thought she adds to her ever growing to-do list, while she considers the idea of using the paintings for a memorial of sorts. Her gaze finds him, the underlining of seriousness within the icy gaze she levels toward him – a lighter hue than her mother’s had been, but a similar sharpness, a similar calculation to them though not nearly as practiced. “You should give one to Deimos too… And Hotaru. I think they’d enjoy it a lot.” She offers, clutching her painting closer. If anything, a memory was kind enough, and for some of Rexanna’s oldest friends as well? Certainly. She peruses some of the remaining paintings, one that seems so much like her mother from the Basin, from when Kiada was naught but a small child. She steps toward it, hovering nearby it. “She looks like she did when I was little in this one.” She comments quietly – a sort of secretive flare to an otherwise almost perfectly trustworthy face, a skill her mother had excelled at. but i flicker from time to time.