OOC: A huge thank you to the player of Reffas for this lovely RP. Feels got tossed into a sack and rustled around.
"Alex."
He opened his eyes, blinking warily as he hears the familiar voice call out to him. It was sharp. The sunlight blinds him as he peers too and fro, eventually spotting the familiar lithe figure of an Elven maid skidding to a stop before him, her poise tense and constricted, as if awaiting combat. Bewilderment and confusion seeps into his tone.
"Reffas...?" He asks, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. Once his pupils adjust to the light, he finds himself being towered over by her form. He sees grey eyes glaring down at him, seething in anger. She speaks once more.
"Do you respect me?" she inquires. She only asks once. She did not need to repeat the question, for she knew that he was perfectly aware of what she was asking him. She loathes, still, to question, for her mind is telling her to disappear, yet her heart bodes her stay and hear his answer. She hates it with all her might, but ever since that young, foolish woman showed her compassion, it compelled her to act.
He swiftly sees that something had worsened. She stands stiff, tense, and no longer carried herself with the air of grace that he had been so accustomed to seeing. Beneath the inner workings of his mind he feels worry and concern. Only once before had he seen her in such a state, yet now, after what he had thought was surely the end of the game, she returns to him, and in greater distress than before. He hears a mild tremble in her tone - it frightens him.
"I do, aye, s'much as I'm loath t'admit it, bu' yes. Why?" This was not the exact response she sought. Yet still she feels herself loosening up. Some semblance of control returns to her, pleased with the response. Her breath came up in deep gasps, willing to compose herself.
"Yer tense."
That was not what she wanted to hear either.
Immediately he sees her shaking her head. He could hear her heavy breathing through the visor that she wore, as though she were having inexplicable chest pains. The distress was clear in her eyes, but he pretended to be none the wiser. His mind began to race, carefully formulating coherent steps as to how to proceed. He had begun to gain perspective, spending many of his days simply sat by the hillside in contemplation; It gave him time to recall how unsteady she had sounded when they spitefully told their goodbyes. The corners of his mouth turn up, and he did not know why.
"I should slay you now," She groans. Her voice lacks it's usual depth, "But it shall not matter. You will be gone in but a few summers."
He realizes he is smiling ruefully, "Short lifespan o' us mortals, ain' it? Does it... affec' ye? Knowin' tha' we'll be gone soon?"
She stops to glare at the pathetic man. She feels another crack splinter her desperate defenses and immediately she is angered. Her form tenses once more, "It shall make me glad to be rid of you vermin! Do not flatter yourself with worth, wretch."
She raises a fist in frustration, "Now end your smile before I remove it from you!"
She sees that he stops smiling. A somber smile creeps up onto his face and he stares past her. He obeys her for once, but she is still angered, for he did not look at her in that time, seeming to be off in some other world of his own. Worthless, pathetic mortal.
"End me, then."
He looks up back up at the Elf. He had seen enough. It gave him great displeasure to see her like this, but he knows what he must do now. He hates her for it, and resents himself for the inevitably idiotic decision that is to follow, but he feels himself awaken, his mind clearer than it had been in days. He could not deny now that the Elf was a friend of his that he feels concern and worry for, one whom he felt he could relate best - though they were opposites in every way, in a twist of irony he found that he saw so much of himself in her that it hurt him to see her suffering. Selfish, mocking immortal.
"You shall understand your place then, hmmm?" She says. Some semblance of clarity resumes within her, and she grits her teeth beneath her mask, staring down at the worthless scum seated down before her. She needed him to bow. She needed for him to submit to her, to acknowledge her superiority; To grace her with endless flattery so that she may step over his lifeless corpse when inevitably she tires of him. So a big surprise it was, when he stood up before her and she found herself staring up at his taller form. His expression was calm.
"M'place is where I am, where I'll go, n' where I stay. I respec' ye, bu' I shall no' bow down t'ye."
It drives her mad. She inhales deeply and with a quick, precise motion her greatsword embeds itself into the bark of the tree which he leaned upon, the blade inches from his neck. He would not submit.
"You shall, Man!" Her voice breaks, hoarse beneath the spite and anger. She can no longer keep her voice steady; She feels control once more slipping from her, "You shall know that I pull the strings! That I make you dance! That I determine your each and every thought! Do.. not defy m-me!"
He wants to force himself to laugh, to smile, but finds that he could not. He feels his eyes watering for some unusual reason, pity stirring within him. He wants to yell at her, to slap her and tell her to stop causing herself further distress by demanding submission; He would not stoop so low for her and continue the cycle. His gaze drifts down on the ground. He would challenge her now - it would be a dangerous gamble.
"Cut t'strings, then. As y'say, it doesn' matter. Wha' am I t'ye, bu' a fleetin' leaf in the wind tha' disappears downstream?"
In an instant, she chokes. She frees her sword from the tree bark and swings it sideways, aiming to cut a clean gash across his neck, to snuff out his life, just like he was daring her to, and forget that this had ever happened.
But she cannot.
She sees him close his eyes, turning his head sideways to await the inevitable stroke. It flashes before her eyes clearly - the fear, the uncertainty. She knows that he stays calm in the midst of it all, but once she beholds his sorrowful gaze, the questions and the doubt fall into her head like bricks. Did she really want to kill him?
She could not.
The angle of the cut changes in that moment of hesitation, and arcs diagonally downwards from his shoulder to his chest. He feels the pain, he feels the warm liquid drenching his shirt, swelling from within the cut. It hurts so much that he cannot stop but stumble back into the tree with a cry of pain. His vision blurs as he blinks in an attempt to stay awake. His mind begins to scatter. Dark spots dance between his eyes.
Panic. That is all she feels now. The greatsword leaves her grip and falls to the bloodstained grass with a dull thump. It felt as though a wave of regret welled within her, crashing down and sweeping her into an abyss. It cowed her. It held her down. It began to weigh upon her conscience. She does not want this. This was not how it was supposed to end.
He feels himself being laid down upon the grass, his mind still racing in fear and exhilaration. It felt as though numerous knives were forcing themselves into his wound, slicing over and over again. The throb of the pain makes him want to cry out in anguish, but he cannot find his voice and he instead forces himself to be subjected to an agonizing silence.
Suddenly, he felt as he were being pricked repeatedly. His chest burns. The gash burns. His skin burns. Everything burns.
The image before her terrifies her. She sees the blood seeping through his skin as she applies to salve, her hands now laid bare as they commence with the treatment. Her mind races, her eyes wide in horror, drifting to his face to check if he was still living. She faintly feels his heart beating through the skin and settles his fallen cloak over his figure.
"H-hurts..."
The foreign touch causes him to jolt slightly, eyes fluttering open as he tries to comprehend his surroundings, trying to register more than the pain radiating from the center of his chest. Trees and the fresh smell of grass, and very, very distressed breathing.
"H-hurts.... i' tried t... t'shut m'self... out... s'well... w-when... when m'sister wen'... missin'."
Whimpers and a voice whispering, attempting to stay calm. He is aware of a finger over his lip, forcing him to remain silent.
"Do not speak. Preserve your energy."
He knew now what to say.
"I' u-understand, Reffas... I u-understand w-why i' hurts..."
She fell to her knees, slumping down in guilt and shame. He understands. It rang through her head, over and over again, cutting into her mind like swords. She cannot hide her regret anymore. Her anger has long since left her, and she feels drained. Fatigued. The visor falls to the ground with a dull thump. Stupid man.
His mind drifts anew, but he strains to stay awake for a few more moments before the darkness takes him. His eyes flutter open and closed, vaguely regarding a fair face - a face so unlike what he had seen it immediately took his breath - and the sensation of something brushing against his forehead. He hears something being placed beside his head, hears strange words whose meaning he could only understand through the sound of her voice, hears the sound of retreat in the form of footsteps rushing across the grass, desperately carrying the fleeing culprit from the scene. He thinks of the price he paid to let her accept and understand what his words meant, for her to comprehend that he too knew and saw the reasoning behind her actions. The lesson of self-denial and contradictions.
As he drifts far, far into the depths of nothingness, he can only hope that he lives to see her learn it.
