Still I'm spinning like a roundabout in motion

[allmydiredreams]

On the front of the Kashtta, there is a small heap of angles, knotted hair, and tattered clothes. It's up against the Kashtta's wall, one hand pressed flat against the building's wall and face totally obscured by tangles. For a good few minutes, it doesn't move, but then with a small gasp, the hand balls into a fist, hits the wall, then uncurls

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[sophicsulphur]

She's not expecting him near so fast, her mind focusing in almost entirely on their words until it's too late, and he's standing behind her, his hands on her back.

It's cold. Cold like angel, but moreover like lancing, stabbing shock, her nerves sensitised from hyperfocus and whatever part of this isn't purely wanting, isn't just her thinking herself into a delirious state of need.

"Yes, it--" She winces through the words, a clear break in her voice. "It hurts. It hurts where you touch." She takes a deep breath, tries to gather herself, because that's not quite what she means, and she wants to be accurate. "Not... not quite pain. But...." She fumbles for the word, in all her spinning. Too much, breaking down, it's-- "Overload. I feel overloaded. My shoulder blades, there's-- too much pressure."

She's so close to crying let them out, so close to just... crying. He can take a knife to her if he has to. Just hearing about how it feels for an angel, what it's like to have wings come in, and the touching. It's pressure from both sides. Her skin's going to start tearing, any moment now.

Stand back, she almost says, she's so convinced.

But it passes, dulls to a throb, unpleasant but not unbearable. He's taken his hands away, and part of her wishes he hadn't, in case one more moment would have pushed her all the way.

"I, yes," she says, when he finally asks her about the Calling. Her embarrassment's all but receded; she can only feel so much at once. If she's stammering, now, the adrenaline's got a different origin, her mind choked with almost from the buzzing-bright nerves. "I can... it's part of being an alchemist. I feel the energy of things, and people too, and I can kind of connect sometimes... I was, I was teaching an angel to do alchemy. AndIguessIsortofwantedtoknowwhatitwasliketobeher," okay, maybe she's got room for a little more embarrassment in there, "and, well. It was like I was her, for a little while, 'cause that's what it does, and... I felt."

[doyoulikecake]

Well, he is an angel, though his speed now has nothing to do with his angelic powers and more to do with his...speed. The cold, however, is angelic. The clammy is not. No matter.

The way her words break down makes him move, pull his chair around so he's sitting in front of her, leaning in close. This sort of breakdown, her laying everything about herself open like this...it's almost hard to think. The air around them feels heady, though the Chicago wind that he's still not used to still makes it hard to breathe. Possibly that's also the cigarette, though that's left burning in the ashtray, forgotten, at this point.

He reaches out again, this time gently tucking a finger under her chin, forcing her face upward. It's a familiar, almost instinctual gesture for him; it's what he always does to Lily. But he needs to see Iris's face now, to read it.

"You're not one of us," he says, almost apologetically. "If you were, it wouldn't be gradual. You wouldn't be able to function, right now, with the pain. If you truly were to get your wings today. I would offer to show you, but it's nothing I care to relive."

But he's not going to leave her hanging, as much as he'll feast on any reaction that statement gets out of her. No, he's pretty sure he knows how to hook her, and oh god does he want to keep it make sure she stays around. After all this, how couldn't he? Even if he didn't know he needed to reset, even if he wasn't seeing how far he could push himself, he would want to pursue this.

"But if we were to figure out a way for you to feel it..." he trails off, letting go of her face, an odd little smile on his lips. "If you could form that attachment, to draw on when you needed -- do you think it would be possible?" He knows he's being blatant, but then, so is she. He's sure she's not going to notice.

[sophicsulphur]

She looks up at him, and there's comfort in his tone and warmth, if not physical, in his touch. She tries to still her urge to cry, to whimper, to wrap her arms tightly around herself and just let herself come apart. It wouldn't be polite, and she's hardly been caring, but his touch and his words are just focus enough to remind her, no, it's not fair on him.

So she swallows her tears when he says you're not one of us, though she can't still her shaking. It's too much to face right now. But I, she almost begins to stammer, but I felt it, so real, but she holds herself back. If she speaks, the tears will come. She just nods, like it's okay, even though it's anything but.

But then he's throwing her another lifeline, a golden shining thread of hope, and she'll be cursed if she doesn't clutch it, with everything she's got. The small still shock of it, not everything, but something, is enough to bolster her, to give her the strength to force words out of her closed-up throat.

"Yes," she says, quick as she can manage. "I'll try. I-- if you could find any way, I'm sure I could work, on my end, to make it work for me, I... you're so kind."

She shakes her head, as if disbelieving that kindness. She doesn't, not a jot. It's just one more thing to overwhelm, after how this day has gone.

[doyoulikecake]

He knows that well. How many times did he drive Lily to this point, only to pull her into his arms again and comfort her? that's almost what he does with Iris, as well. It seems like it would work, but he doesn't want to comfort her, not yet. Perhaps not ever, though all good experiments leave the option open. If you break something too badly, you need to either put it back together or dispose of it properly, and he doesn't think Biosys would appreciate him using Lyle in that way. Or maybe they would. No matter; he'd prefer not to break his toys too badly anyway.

So instead of pulling her to him, he gives her a wider version of the smile already on his face. "I'm sure we could figure something out, though I do think you need to be as informed as possible before you follow through," he says. "Decisions like that -- what you'd essentially be doing is linking yourself to someone else, like a Guardian is linked to their ward. And some Guardians don't appreciate that link, nor do some of their wards."

He fixes her with his stare, making sure she's looking at him. "You need to be ready to make that decision."

[sophicsulphur]

She nods, firmly, repeatedly, holding her breath. Like the moment will fade, if she doesn't, like the warmdeep intensity of all of this is too real to be reality, could just leak out from around her into cool bedroom air and the bitter memory of a dream.

She wants to look like she's agreeing, like she's heeding his caution, like that's what she's nodding along with. In reality, she's just saying, yes. Give me that. If she could be anything, she'd be a Guardian, and even without the wings, well, one step at a time. Not that she doesn't want it all, doesn't need to slake the burn, but if one step at a time's how it goes, then that's what she'll take.

But now that that's settled, she supposes she'll honour the formalities. "It's-- I'd want it, I know I would," she says. "I've thought about it, ever since. Ever since that time. Actually, before. When I heard she was a Guardian, the-- the person I mentioned," she doesn't know why she's eliding her name, save it's one less thing to catch in her throat, "it seemed so right to me. So I think I'm ready, I really am. I'd protect my ward, with everything I've got. But if there's something you want to do, or tell me, to make sure, I don't know." She's looking at him, yes. "I'll read anything you want. I'll accept any test. Just say the word."

And do it fast, her eyes plead, but she's not breaking. Not right now. There's enough hope in her now to hold out, just a little bit longer.

[doyoulikecake]

The emotion is raw enough in her face that he nearly chokes on it. She can't hide that need anymore, and there's nothing he can do to sate his own need on it except draw her out more, strig her along. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't look away.

He forces himself to lean back, to let go of her face. Instead, he reaches over, across the table where his coffee is sitting cold and grabs the cigarette out of the ashtray, flicking the long ash off it. It's hard to keep the cigarette between his fingers; he can barely feel it, and he nearly drops it once before sucking in the last bits of nicotine in it. He needs to let his wings out, or he's going to lose feeling in his hands sooner rather than later. He doesn't want to think about that.

The drag lets him finally look away from Iris's face, though he wants to watch it forever. "You're being rash," he says, softly, putting the cigarette down. He reaches for the pack, to get another one, while at the same time putting a finger to her lips to stay any protest. "I know this is what you want; I can see it in everything you're doing. I don't disbelieve that."

A moment to light up another cigarette, watching her from behind the hair in his face. He's looked back at her need and now he's unable to look away again. "But I do believe that you don't know what you're getting yourself into," he says once he's done getting as much tar into his lungs as he possibly can. "I don't want to let you do something you'll regret, no matter how much you deny that now. So we'll take it slow. I'll give you the information I have now, we'll figure out logistics..."

He trails off, brushing the hair out of his face and shrugging, like it's no big deal. It's difficult to look that nonchalant, however, when the shrug turns into another shoulder-stretch. Tthough really, it's more like shoulder-contortions, at this point. He'd like the tingling to go away.

[sophicsulphur]

She almost breaks again when he tells her she's being rash, not daring to speak against his finger but feeling her eyes sting with tears, in lieu of the words she can't say. She knows he's right. She knows he's right, and that she doesn't have to tell him a single thing more, because he understands. It's going to be okay. It's just so hard, not to have everything now, and she knows he knows that and she just needs to... shut up, breathe deep, not get in the way of his trying to help.

There are a few tears making their way down her face, now, just from the effort of holding back. She'll be okay, she'll do what he says, but every little blow to her heart now is a jolt against bruised tissue. Everything hurts. She just has to hold tight and go along with it, but she can't help if the rawness shows on the surface, if her lips tremble against the finger pressed to them.

"I know it's for the best," she manages to whisper, eventually, as his words trail away. She can't manage anything more than a whisper without cracking completely, but she can squeeze that out, at least.

She'll take the information. She'll sleep on it, think on it, wait for him to contact her. "...You can contact me any time," she can't help but insist. "The journal is fine, or... whatever." She doesn't really know how else they'd stay in touch. "Or come over."

She pulls out a pen and paper, tries to write down her room number, but her hands are shaking too much to manage it. As she watches herself shake, it's starting to kick in just how much of a mess she's been in front of him, and colour floods her cheeks. "...I'm sorry, I...." She pushes the paper across to him, and tells him verbally instead. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have-- I, just thank you so much for helping me when I'm all like-- just, really sorry."

[doyoulikecake]

He tilts his head at her, taking in the tears. "I know you want this," he repeats, softer now, the picture of concern except for the smile threatening to break through. He's doing so well even in the face of all this -- or at least, he's doing passably, which is a feat considering the state he knows he's in. He shouldn't even be outside right now. At least he can still keep his wings in.

he brushes the tears off her face. Too familiar, but he doesn't catch himself in time and she probably won't care anyway. After all, she's the one inviting him to her home, instead of vice versa. "You've nothing to be sorry about," he tells her. "I'll--here." He stands up, abruptly, reaching over to grab the pile of papers he's photocopied and printed from various sources. He hadn't been expecting this meeting to be so...tactile, volatile. So right. His hands are shaking nearly as much as hers, though for different reasons, when he gives her the stack.

"Take these. Read them over. It's the basic info that I could find without talking to anyone back home, on short notice." He fidgets for a moment, standing over her, unsure what to do with this hands; he runs them through his hair, picks up the cigarette again, anything to keep himself from hugging his shoulders or touching her again. "You can keep them. And I'll be in touch, don't worry."

[sophicsulphur]

Iris doesn't mind the touching, doesn't mind the tension heating the air between them. It's all mixed up in the bright-hot dance of Kaden's energy and her hopes, too entangled for her to know what's what right now. If he touches her, if he seems to care too much, it's because right now in her life is momentous, significant, each new happening weighted with portents of change. Times like this should feel almost unreal. Strange is almost par for the course.

Besides, he's an angel, and what are angels for if not to make the world a more connected place, to bring comfort where most would turn away, to stand together where most would pursue their own needs? That's what she hopes to do as one, in any case. Is he being too nice for a human? Yes, but he isn't one. Case closed. Matter settled. It's fine, Kaden. It's all just fine.

It's only because the atmosphere, in general, could be cut with a knife that she thinks nothing of his shaking, as she stands and takes the papers from him with a bow of gratitude. It's deep, deeper than she'd normally give, but he's an angel and this is a Moment and she's nowhere else to put her thanks, nothing else into which she can pour all the complex emotions she feels right now. Nowhere else for her breaking, her hoping, her longing to go.

"Thank you," she says, and she'd almost say she's sorry again but he's told her not to, and she was paying attention. Yes, this one listens, Kaden. She'll listen to you, more than she rightfully should. "Thank you. I... if you need anything." She lets that sentence hang unfinished. "You've done so much for me."

And then there's nothing more she can say. She's poured out all her desperation; he's told her he sees it plain as day. There's nothing more to do, nothing to apologise for.

So she bows again and takes a few steps backwards, making sure to respect him by not turning as she leaves.

"I'll see you around."

You most certainly will, Kaden. You most certainly will.

[doyoulikecake]

Kaden bows back, not as deeply as her by any stretch of the imagination. It's force of habit, force that he usually suppresses, but it doesn't seem to matter here. Not much seems to matter in this moment; she won't remember anything except what she wants to. He's fed her little things here and there, but mostly her rose-tinted glasses are doing all the work, and right now he's fine with that. Later, when he's better, he'll be more subtle. He won't have to bank on her naivete.

He watches her leave without moving, just gives her a smile and a nod as she says her goodbyes. And when she's gone, he still stands there for a bit too long. He wasn't expecting something like this to fall into his lap. He couldn't have asked for anything better, in the moment. It just bought him a few more hours, a few more days at the most.

And then he sits back down, whipping out a notebook and flipping to a fresh page. He should be going to work, but there's no way in hell he's going to be able to leave without recording this interaction. So he sits, lights another cigarette, and starts a new entry: 'Iris Fortner, Wanderer.'