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+--- Thread: The Killing Moon (OOC Welcome) (/showthread.php?tid=11826)
The Killing Moon (OOC Welcome) - Faye - 05-29-2015
He remembered standing there in Camp Bronze Lake, two weeks ago now, growing tired of the heat and humidity even without all his armor donned. He couldn't recall how long he'd stood on the doorstep, knocking endlessly. Surely, it had been a bell, maybe two. He was certain he could have just barreled straight through the door, but he was no barbarian. He knew she was inside, and eventually, she must have simply grown tired of the noise, the sound of the door being unlocking reaching his ears before Faye threw the door open with puffy, red-rimmed eyes readied into glare for whoever she would face--a glare that only intensified when she saw who was on her porch.
"Faye," was all he offered in greeting.
"What do you want?" she spat, voice hoarse from tears. He was half-surprised to find her fully and formally dressed in black, though if the fact that for once her garments were not without a wrinkle and every white hair on her head not in place were any indication, she was hardly prepared to face the public or welcome any visitors.
He did not respond, only stepping forward to let himself in with no invitation, and reluctantly yet almost skittishly, she backpedaled out of the way to compensate for his broad frame and avoid being trampled by it to give him room enter. She shot him another icy glare over his shoulder, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. He made his way inside to the parlor, and she followed closely behind him, watching him carefully.
"Nice place you've got here," he broke the small stretch of silence as he settled out upon her sofa and took a moment to glance all around the room, and she took a seat in the armchair adjacent to him, folding her hands stiffly in her lap, back rigid. Compared to how relaxed he was leaning back into her couch, any onlooker might mistake the situation as the Midlander woman being a visitor to his home. Normally, she'd have offered tea or snacks. But then, he didn't deserve such hospitality, did he? He continued after a brief pause, "Reminds me of home."
Faye's nose wrinkled with distaste at the mention of "home." "Did you come here just to comment on my interior decorating?" she asked flatly, her patience already wearing thin.
He shook his head, his expression sobering slightly, somber enough to catch her off guard. "No, I heard what happened. I'm sorry for your loss."
She winced for but a moment before it was gone, replaced with a sour expression instead. "You heard," she echoed, a note of malice in the word. "And I am to believe you came here just to offer me your condolences?"
He gave a curt nod. "And to check up on you. I know you two were close. I spent a lot of time with him, too, you know. It's a shame. Always so chipper, fearless, altruistic. Don't find many people like that. I can't say I'd miss most people, but I will miss him a bit. Eorzea will be a lot more dull without him."
Faye only offered him an icy stare all the while he spoke, her fingers clenching to curl into the black fabric of her skirt. If looks could kill, he probably would have fallen dead half-way through. "He was the only family I had left," she murmured beneath her breath, voice low enough he barely managed to make out the words.
His lips fell into a heavy scowl to mirror her own. "You know that's not true," his voice was calm, eerily so, to the point it was obviously forced.
"Is it not!?" She snapped, restlessly standing from her chair, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides. "That man is not family, and neither are you, or anyone else with that filthy blood in their veins! You took all the family I had from me, both of you," she retorted, her voice laced with venom.
His eyes studied her for a moment, one brow slowly arching higher up his forehead. "You think we did this," what would have perhaps normally been a question was simply a statement. He had caught the accusing tone of her voice; he knew her first instinct always seemed to be to blame this sort of thing on him.
"Of course I do."
"And have you considered that maybe it was the actions of--"
"Shut up! I'm tired of your lies!" she suddenly snapped, not knowing what exactly was going to come out of his mouth to end that question but still certain that she would rather not hear it. "You killed Zularti!" Faster than he could hope to avoid with no further warning for the assault, she unexpectedly lunged at him before he could do anything other than move to his feet, both her hands curling taut around his neck to strangle him. "He was my brother! And you took him from me!" she shouted, voice breaking, her fingers curling tighter around his throat, choking the air from him. With a look at her already bloodshot eyes now wide with fury and glistening with barely suppressed tears, he could hardly recognize her, so far was she from the dignified noblewoman garbed in white he had often seen.
Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for her, she was not exactly physically strong, especially as distressed as she was, with several suns of no sleep and little food. His hands caught her wrists, brushing her hands aside with embarrassing ease, though she at least had the satisfaction of leaving her mark, the fair skin of his neck now red, scratches along the side of it glistening with small dots of crimson blood where her long fingernails had broken his skin. She struggled futilely against him--or more so against herself, since she might as well have been flailing against a brick wall, he entirely unflinching with an iron grip along her wrists. For a moment, he caught her gaze as the tears flooded over to spill down her flushed cheeks. "What did they tell you? Did they recover any of his body?" he questioned, his voice notably calm and casual. In fact, he looked rather bored with her antics as he continued to hold her back in her now half-hearted struggling.
She stumbled backward with the question, calves bumping into the coffee table and knocking her off balance. He finally released her wrists as she tripped to let her fall, the Hyur woman crumpling over the table to land on her rear on the other side of it, skirts sprawled across the table. She placed her hands upon the ground behind her, propping up her upper body to peer at him. For a moment, something brief and bright flashed across her features. Realization? He wasn't sure; it was there and gone too quickly to read. But the look that came next on her face, he knew all too well: the grimmest of determination.
He know exactly what that look meant. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew her mind was made up and there was no changing it, a thought he dared not acknowledge. At that moment, their fates had been sealed, and he couldn't bring himself to consider where that would inevitably lead.
RE: The Killing Moon (OOC Welcome) - Loxlen - 05-30-2015
(Dang this is a good read. Moar!)