why didn't you come?

inappropriate though the expression, and the sentiment, may be, hal finds the corner of his lip quirking. ❛ well, on a purely technical level, certainly. ❜ a glass that is empty cannot be more empty. it is a fine, absolute state. empty or not, without degrees of emptiness.

perhaps one more trained, more experienced in the arcane and scientific arts would disagree.

it matters not, either way. her intent is something different, and he knows it, for all he'd rather not look directly at that which she alludes to. with a heavier sigh, hal banishes his ( already grim ) humor, lowers his voice. ❛ I choose to believ there are. to believe there is a point at which it cannot get worse. the terrifying thing, though, is that I think we haven't come close to those limits. not yet. ❜ and worse, still, he fears that they may get there.

so many lie beyond his reach, a house that has never felt empty suddenly so quiet. thimble's return ought perhaps to be a small promise that none of these separations are forever... but instead he can only fear the permanent loss of them all — and more.

her victories, too, which should satisfy them both for a brother avenged, fail to comfort.

with their similar features, she expected, she'd even hoped, would find something of her partner in his brother. to feel under his gaze even a small part of the brightness he's always brought her, but hal was too much of his own man for such a trick to work. instead of feeling the burn and itch under her skin she so often felt around her partner, she softened and settled.

hands immediately raise in surrender as she whips around – kattigan knows better than to piss off the four inches of hell-raising mischief that is thimble. "yeah, i'm sure you do, yeah? i mean, you don't get to be that well-known without bein' good at what you do, am i right?" he grins faintly. teach them a lesson, huh? "and, y'know – i'm sure they deserve it. but, uh – first off, what exactly do you mean by making a scene? because with you, the possibilities range between throwing acorns like a fuckin' squirrel and flying up a guy's pants to saw off his dick, so. if i'm goin' to jail, i wanna have a heads-up in advance what it's for."

❝    the   mid-week   performances   start   at   four,    ❞        essek   says,   rising,        ❝    we   have   some   time   to   gather   our   things.   i   could   clean   your   hands,   if   you   like?    ❞        he   gently   waggles   his   fingers,   tiny   stars   of   violet   light   dancing   in   the   spaces   in   between   them.   it's   a   silent   offer   to   cast   prestidigitation,   a   cantrip   he   uses   frequently.

❝    it   is   usually   a   classic,   this   time   of   year,    ❞        he   says,        ❝    how   do   you   feel   about   sad   endings?    ❞        it's   a   gamble   on   whether   or   not   it'll   be   a   comedy   or   a   tragedy,   but   even   the   tragedies   have   laughs   and   romance.   essek's   bearing   is   shifting   from   wariness   to   eagerness.   he's   happy   to   show   her   one   of   their   favorite   haunts,   and   he's   sure   she'll   enjoy   the   options   at   the   concession   booth.

❛⠀ i suppose that is best, ❜ she says, holding her hands out to him, palms up, fingers wiggling with playful ceremony in-between the stars.

yasha signs, and though she had tacitly agreed already, she acknowledges now, ❛ I think I can handle that. ❜ what is a short journey alone, when she is so accustomed to such travel? then a line forms down her forehead. ❛ are they making the cake? or will I need to fetch it? you had better give me a full set of instructions, jester. in writing, so that I can't forget it. ❜ forget it, and thereby ruin all her careful planning.

while in the effort of squashing that particular thought, yasha wonders for a moment if she dare make a suggestion, dare recommend that jester bring the others sweeping into zadash and the evening nip to her salvation. would they care enough to? molly would, always. nott, too, yasha thinks, though she couldn't say why she thinks so. and they had all of them risked defying the gentleman himself for the blade she carries upon her back.

there was no reason for him to tut and laugh if he was going to be a dick about it. besides, she told him he could drop by and eat some of the cake if he wanted, and who can resist cake? no one, that is who, even a guy who is too cool for names must love cake!

who is yasha to deny her, even if she had a semblance of an argument to put together against her company ( and she does not )?

she was just going to have to become a yasha expert today.

to make sure next time.

So it is not difficult to show interest in her new book when Jester starts talking about it. Magic and history might capture his interest more often, but Caleb did enjoy a good romance; the ones they had come across in their travels didn't always meet his standards, but not all of them were bad. Admittedly, he could be pickier than his tiefling friend, but he takes the recommendation with an open heart — and some desperation, still, to focus on this instead of what lurks in his mind.

Dramatic romances were so much more fun on paper, Caleb thought. Happening to someone else, in a story you can put down at any time. Where no one real gets hurt; where overcoming obstacles seems like a matter of time. Astrid comes back to his mind, hand in his as his family burned. And then Jester laughs and banishes the thought like light vanishing shadow, and small though it may be, the smile he offers in return is genuine.

There is no interruption, only easy listening to her descriptions with all the attention he can muster (active effort that grows easier, as his friend goes on; engrossed, more in Jester's enthusiasm than the premise). His reactions are quiet; the skeptical look at the notion women shouldn't be independent, the quiet laughter at what any girl would do means to Jester. Losing every memory does not sound so bad, he thinks; memory can be a curse heavy to bear. Caleb does not say it, though, content to simply listen for a while longer.

"This captain seems very lucky, ja? Trading some memories for a beautiful woman caring for him does not seem like a bad deal. Do you think he will recover his memories?" Gentle inquiry, further prodding at the subject. She is excited about her book; he would be glad to keep conversation going. "What if he has a wife and does not remember it?"

caleb quickly proved her wrong. there was no love quite like the one he had for books; and it didn't matter the type! for a picky reader like jester -- whose first questions were, in very important order: (i) is there a romance?; (ii) describe the main female character? (iii) is it funny or will it make me cry? -- the way he could pick up any book and become wholly engrossed felt more magical than any spell.

❛⠀ oh, yes!⠀ ❜ jester giggles, delighted. there are a thousand possibilities, and she was anxiously peaking ahead each time she turns the page, trying to guess which delicious path the author is going to take. what if the handsome edward is actually the reason cecilia's brother went missing??? that would be so dramatic. could cecilia still love him? jester dearly hoped so. it was war, after all! edward can't be blamed for doing his job! cecilia wouldn't hold it against him, she loved him too much.

the tiefling sighed, enamored. ❛⠀ their first kiss is so delectable. edwardclaims her. not in a gross cave-man, you are mine now and i'm keeping you locked up in my tower, sort of way, but so they'll be together forever. you see, if they kiss, they have to stay married forever, even though it is a fake marriage. isn't that just insane? one kiss, and boom, bound for life!⠀ ❜

it would make things much simpler to understand. love outside her romance books was so complicated. eyes are harder to read, mouths don't smirk nearly enough. how is she even supposed to know what anything means? not would know, she was very knowledgeable about this kind of thing.

he   activates   his   floating   cantrip   as   they   spin to make sure he doesn't slip.        ❝    well,   i   suppose   you   know   yourself   better   than   i   do,    ❞        essek   says,   calming.   it's   in   his   nature   to   worry   and   he   knows   he   does   it   too   much.   still,   it   doesn't   seem   unlikely   that   jester   would   prioritize   fun   over   health   and   end   up   with   a   case   of   the   sniffles.   well,   she   can   make   her   own   choices,   and   he   has   a   variety   of   soup   recipes   for   combatting   a   cold.

if playing in the snow all afternoon with essek meant she had to say a few prayers for healing, for once, she had absolutely no problem with that. and she bets the traveller would approve. healing was created just for this, in her book. and he is even getting in the spirit of it! she can't let something as small as the creeping chill in her pretty-but-impractical boots get in the way of making snow sculptures.

❝    i   didn't!   i   didn't   tell   them   anything!   i   had   nothing   to   tell   them.   they   never   asked.    ❞        occtis   says   the   words   so   quickly   they   almost   trip   over   themselves   on   the   way   out.   he   realizes   how   his   statement   may   sound   and   reaches   out   a   placating   hand.        ❝    not   that   i   ever   would   if   they   did!   i'd   lie,   i'd-    ❞

occtis   closes   his   eyes   briefly,   taking   a   breath.   it's   an   odd   feeling.   he   has   the   heightened   buzz   that   threatens   a   panic   attack,   but   there's   no   heart   to   race,   no   current   of   adrenaline.   he's   so   empty,   yet   also   filled   to   the   brim   with   fear.   he   can't   lose   julien.   he   needs   him,   needs   thaisha.

❛⠀ it is your family that laughed its way out of this slaughterhouse -- my house.⠀ ❜ he had done it. he had dragged his family back to its rightful place, scrubbed his father's legacy clean of ridicule, forced the world to remember the name davinos as something worthy of respect. and for a time, it had worked. the shame had shrunk, grown distant, almost manageable.

@tuskslove | kattigan and thimble | answered ask! excuse me. I have to go make a scene.