ircncladā.
šššššš ššš šššššš šš šš šššš šš ššššš, sharp and unyielding, but she is also human, as odd as that may sound. She recognizes the shift in his expression and she purses her lips for a moment, the poor choice of words only widening the rift between the two of them. Connection, beneath the auspices of alliance and crown, is easy to come to, but it seems that her guard is impenetrable, even outside the known treachery of the Court. It is perhaps the failing that she regrets the most; how many tragedies she could have overcome if she had learned to wield her emotion as well as the steel in her spine.
āShe only fed us the same line. Some with tears, some with a haunted look. I was thinking about using an experimental spell, one that would have a chance in aiding us in finding a perpetrator, but her disappearance complicates matters.ā She takes a sip of wine before setting down the glass altogether, leaving her drink half-empty on an ornate end table next to her. The lessons come easy, the tucked foot, the half-made smile to comfort, but Helene takes a step across, and puts a hand on his shoulder, her half smile turning into a soft one that reaches her eyes.
āIāCommander. Michel,ā she offers, no amount of flattery in her words. She always recognizes the efforts made, and does not allow herself or others the delusion of the padding of unearned compliments. And a simple word, she has learned, conveys more than the prattling on of more common nobility. āI am severe, I know, but even those under the employ of Her Majesty must find respite, unless they become a dulled blade. He would have hit you over the head to let you rest, and do not think I would do the same for you.āĀ An ache, an echo. It hurts, but she presses forward.Ā āDo not let yourself burn on both ends. I would miss your company.ā
Her touch, the hand at his shoulder, comes as more of a comfort than anything else heās taken refuge in in the past several months. He doesnāt jump, but itās a near thing and Michel takes the time to look at the floor instead of at her, because that would be a little like staring directly into the sun. Listens, quietly, to what she has to say instead, runs over it the way one would familiar words in a book. Fed us the same line. Haunted look. Amelie had been empty like a tall pitcher with nothing in it when theyād taken her away from the scene, but heād expected that attitude to break at some point or another.
But if it hadnāt... well, then that does indeed complicate things.
āYouād hit me over the head?ā Thatās the first thing he takes from all of it, the first thing Michel is even remotely comfortable addressing. He can see it now: Helene, with all the fury in the world, smacking him directly on the skull in an effort to make him take a twenty-minute nap. He might even take that option, if it meant attaining the rest he so often misses out on.Ā āI know, but I donāt know how else to handle...ā he motions with his hand, circular and simple,Ā āwho else is going to do it, if not me? Victoire, who already has his hands full? The Chevaliers, who preen like birds but get very little actually done?ā
That last line is almost certainly subjective. Chevaliers are efficient, to Michel, when applied to certain tasks, but theyāre no better than any one man walking down the street. Itās less about the order and more about the individual, in his mind.Ā āI donāt know what else to do, Helene. Iām already at a loss and weāve hardly even gotten anywhere, and the girlās gone.ā He shrugs, voice full of despair but face almost entirely devoid of emotion.Ā āI know it shouldnāt be this way, but it is. And even if he were still alive, I donāt know that things would be any different.ā


















