[A muggy, humid dusk has fallen over this courtyard; it's the kind of humidity that makes the clothes stick to your skin and your hair cling to your neck. It won't last much longer, though: there are storm clouds in the sky, gathering for a nighttime downpour, and thunder rolling in the distance. It's only a matter of time until the sky breaks open
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Odd that we even get weather in a place like this, don't you think?
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[Just reaching down to hold the bottle out to him. Red wine, Portuguese; a rather decent vintage. Don't mind how stiff her own arm is.]
Here.
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You look worse for the wear, lass. Been up to something?
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Alma.
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[Not in a talkative mood himself, apparently. Or just content to be silent for now.]
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It's a girl.
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[Right, he isn't the father after all. Right? Right.]
My my. Do you have a name for her?
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No. Its father is taking it when it's born; he'll name it.
[It, it, it, not her. She rests her head against one of the gazebo beams.] How's the wine?
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My my, the father's here is he?
[He pauses at the question and sets the wine down, leaning forward to inspect her, elbows on his knees.]
It's very good. It used to be a favorite of mine back home. What is it you want, lass?
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[She stares at the rain for a moment, and slowly unfolds herself to cross the gazebo and sit next to him. For some reason, she feels like she shouldn't talk too loudly.]
What's happening in your world?
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[Not him. That settles him a little bit. Though damn it's confusing. He watches her openly, not reaching out to touch her, just... Watching, taking her in. Thoughtful.]
My world? [We're about to ambush you with Alma.] War. Killing Exorcists. The usual. Why the sudden interest?
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[Definitely not you, Tyki. You can relax now. Kind of strange that a week ago you wanted to rip her in two, though. She rests her head on the railing.]
... I want to understand it. The war. Your war, my war.
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[He does relax Not his responsibility. Which means he doesn't have to kill the kid. Or worse, decide not to kill it.]
Understand it? Now that's a curious thought. Why? Isn't it over for you? You won.
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[She draws her legs up underneath herself again, evenly meeting his gaze.]
Is it too late to want to understand it?
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I suppose not. Though I have to wonder--why? What about it do you want to understand, anyway?
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[She reaches over, brushing her fingertips over his hand, light and soft, before bringing it back to rest on her lap.] Why did I have to kill the version of you in my world? How are we any better?
["... when I can just sit and be when I'm around the versions of you here?"]
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