MARI + MOIRINE // act

[homagedue]

Who: Moirine & Mari
When: Evening of the 19th.
Where: The Fox'n'Crown.
Rating & Warnings: Rated FUCKING WEIRD for fucking weirdness.

Mari had waited until the last moment to take the potion, to ensure maximum time as Abel. It was freeing, almost, to change form, change name, to walk through the streets unrecognised. Abel's strides were confident, he nodded and smiled at strangers, ruffled the hair of passing children and laughed. He went out after dark without worrying about wolves. His hearing was something he accepted, rather than anything that made him feel self conscious. He wore glasses when he read or looked at things close to his face. He didn't worry about finding a partner, or getting further in his studies.

When he walked into the Fox and Crown a little before their meeting time, it was with a flourish, rather than the suspicions of Mari. Locating a table and some drinks (hot cider would be sweet and nutritious for both mother and child), he settled down to wait for them, pulling out a book of poetry and his glasses and beginning to read.

Moirine wished that she could say that this was one of the strangest things she'd ever done. Unfortunately, given the direction her life was heading, this was just one odd thing on a laundry list of strangeness. Pretending to be someone else with another person pretending to be someone else (and under a magic spell, no less) was ridiculous, but if it helped to keep her from being recognized, she had to practice. And some piece of her she wasn't willing to admit to thrilled at the idea. Perhaps it would be fun...

She'd found a warmer dress to wear beneath her cloak. As she walked into the pub, her fingers and toes stung at the change in temperature. Moirine- Cerys scanned the room for Mari- Abel. First thing first, keep their names straight. When a huge head of hair caught her eye, Cerys forced a wide smile and walked over to the table. She plopped down opposite Abel and placed both her hands on the table. "Well," she said, "Don't you look like a regular adept!"

It was too strong an act, but she'd strike a balance in time.

Abel put the book down and grinned up at Moi- no, Cerys. "Hey sweetie!" Pet names could be annoying. Perhaps she'd tone them down a little. "Got you a drink."

His voice was a little louder now. Mari had practised her English accent over and over in her room until she'd grown more confident in it. Abel reflected that; with less time focusing on keeping the accent he could introduce new ranges of emotion and vocabulary into his speech. Putting the book down, he left the spectacles on. Mari didn't wear glasses. It would be another part of the portfolio of evidence suggesting that Abel was his own person. "How's your day been?" He offered her a sly smile. "Or would you prefer me to recite poetry at you?"

'Sweetie'? She fought the urge to widen her eyes and instead narrowed them, trying to make her smile a little warmer. Cerys liked Abel. They were friends. They even worked together. It was a little easier to be playful with Mari after the other night, though, truth be told, Simon would have made it that much easier. She took off her gloves and reached for her drink. "Mmmm," she hummed, letting the cider warm up her palms. "Cheers. I'd give you a cwtch if it didn't mean letting go of this drink."

She'd literally said 'kuh-wuh-itch', which she was almost entirely positive wasn't correct. Mari could give her a note later, though.

"My day?" Cita, it had been long. Her knees and arms ached after the first day of hard labor she'd ever worked. Being a maid was much more tiring than she'd imagined, but she was stubborn enough to keep on. Scoldings from the head maid had almost driven her to tears, but she'd struggled through. Now, she was just thankful for a warm room and a hot drink. "Cita, you don't want to hear about that. It's all scrubbing and washing. And," she leaned forward conspiratorially, "Running from Lord Myron. The other girls say he's a festering, rotten mess in the day. Bugs crawling beneath his skin and everything."

Finally, she took a sip of her drink. "Let's have us a poem, then." So far she thought she was doing quite well. Maybe not so convincing as Mari, but all things considered, she wasn't a failure.

Mari threatened to surface for a moment - she had to struggle not to laugh or splutter. "No problem, m'dear!"

"Ugh!" Abel wouldn't like the idea of rotting bodies. Mari didn't either, but she was more apathetic, with a stronger stomach for gore. Abel would be horrified at the thought. He made an exaggerated exppression of disgust with his face. "Hope you never run into him."

Oh, alright, bluff called. Abel glanced around. The bar had its fair share of hard men, but, Mari decided, Abel wouldn't be afraid to show his foppish side. Not even in front of other men. He flicked through the book, then began in a quiet voice- "Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine..."

There was some slight amusement in his voice, as though he was laughing at the words even as he read them to her. Abel would read poetry enthusiastically, be open about his enjoyment. Mari, who copied them down secretly and read them alone, felt even a little jealous of her other self.

"Oh, he's alright at night. Actually, a right sweetheart, far as lords go." Did people speak like this? The more she studied her ledgers, the more she realized that she was the one speaking strangely. No eighteen year-old girl tried to sound so lofty... She took another drink and shrugged. "I shouldn't complain."

Cerys listened to the poem, closing her eyes at intervals, pretending to truly enjoy it. Poetry had never been a passion of hers, but this one was alright, she supposed. She liked being read to. It made her think of Allen. When Abel finished, Cerys clapped quietly, then fanned herself with one hand. "Does the proposal still stand? 'Cause I'll marry you here and now. Who needs my papa's blessing?"

A smile tugged at Abel's lips, though Mari had to keep from rolling his eyes and sniggering. Earnest, he was earnest and enthusiastic. "Let's find a priest and you got a deal!" He scratched at his chin and the stubble that was poking through. Did Rhys shave? She needed to learn. It might not come up - after all, any facial hair disappeared when she switched bodies - but what if she spent more time in Abel's body?

Running a hand through his hair, he grinned widely at her. "I can lend you a book if you want. I've got-" residual embarrassment from Mari left him hesitating, but he forced confidence into his voice, "a lot!"

Though she was joking along, Moirine- Cerys pulled a face at his suggestion. It was like the discussion on the ledgers, she told herself. It didn't matter what she said, so long as she didn't back down. She had to hold to her character. Cerys, the half-Welsh girl who'd been born and raised in The Grounds, worked as a maid most her life after being rejected by the Citadel as an initiate, who'd been impregnated by a high lord and now worked for the leader of the Ashen Order. Someone who'd gone through all that would be willing to joke. Cerys did roll her eyes. "Sorry, only joking. I'd never marry an Englishman. Better be Tyrolian or a Taffy. Hope I didn't just break your heart."

She almost cringed at how awkward and forced she sounded, but what had Rhys said? Everyone had their own screaming voice, one that probably drowned out anything embarrassing she thought she was doing. Still, she took another deep drink of cider. "Wouldn't really have time to read. At least, I wouldn't want to spend my free time on poetry." That much was true.

Mari swallowed, Abel's adam's apple bobbing in her throat. She wasn't English - but Abel was, she reminded herself. Taffy too - she'd have to correct that usage. It wasn't something to use in front of the English. "My heart will never stop breaking!" He swayed back and forth in his seat as though wounded and clutched a hand to his chest. "Oh the pain!"

Abel drank as Cerys did, then shrugged and smirked, even as Mari felt her stomach knot. Why did nobody like poetry? "I'll just read it to you and force you to listen!"

Cerys gulped at her drink. She was unused to drinking, but it made it much easier not to over-think her lies. And, well, she was a girl who'd been locked in a building for near ten years. It was nice to be able to decide that, yes, she would be drinking irresponsibly tonight. Setting the glass down, she smirked at Abel. "I'm sure you'll get over it," she said. "There's always Rhys."

Putting her hands over her ears, she shook her head. Oh, not a good idea. A wave of nausea came over her and that telltale build-up of saliva in her mouth told her she was going to vomit if she didn't focus. Cerys drank again, hoping that the cider would take her mind off her roiling stomach. It did, but... well, everything was seeming quite nice. Even the lights in the bar had little halos.

She pat Abel's forearm a few times. "Hey, hey, you should finish your drink," she said, just on the cusp of slurring, "And we should go for a walk." The snow was so pretty. She didn't care how cold it was.

"Don't even joke about my love for Rhys. It's pure, like morning dew. And baby bunnies." He touched his tongue to his straight front teeth, unconscious of how much Mari was in the gesture.

Her recent experience with dizziness meant Mari leaned back ever so slightly, recognising the signs in Moirine. Should have mentioned it when she visited her before, they could have bonded...'you have morning sickness? My head broke! Let's talk about how horrible it is to move up and down quickly and our favourite shades of green!'

She'd just opened her mouth to ask if she was alright when Cerys touched her arm and she remembered to be Abel. "Of course, darling!" He stood and bowed to her, offering his arm. "Let's catch snowflakes on our tongues!"

"Mmhmm," she nodded and got to her feet. That hadn't been so bad. "Pure as a priest that breaks their vows." If anyone else had made that joke, her hackles would have risen in a second. Now, she just giggled at herself.

Cerys wrapped both her arms around Abel's, leaning her head on his shoulder. It was fun to be Cerys. The less she let herself think about Moirine, the easier it was. And, for the moment, she wasn't heartsick over Allen. That was the biggest relief. Walking slowly out the door, she frowned when she realized just how cold it was. Oh well. Cerys kicked at the snow with her thick boots as they got further and further away from the pub and turned down deserted streets.

"How am I doing?" she asked, her smile fading a bit.

It was hard to believe this was happening, especially considering who they were. Abel walked slowly to accommodate her shorter legs, unsure of what to do with his arm now Cerys had it. Nobody offered Mari their arm when they walked; did she just leave her arm there to be held? Put an arm around her? She had no experience, wasn't certain.

So she left the arm there as a support to Cerys as they walked, watching the snowflakes come down in contemplative silence. "Very well," she whispered back at Moirine, almost surprised at the voice that left her mouth. "You're doing very well."

Very well? Cerys- Moirine- it was beginning to get difficult to know who she was being- smiled. Her story was simple. Most of it was true. Almost every minor slip-up she might make was accounted for by her backstory. She nodded. She was doing very well.

"Your accent's good," she said, glancing up briefly. All she could really see was his nose and his hair. "Wish I could do one."

'Wish I could do one.' She hadn't even meant to drop the 'I'. As they passed by darkened houses, she shivered, but was perfectly happy to keep walking. Snow was still a novelty.

"I lived in England for a little while," she breathed out fog, staring down the darkened street. "I got a little sick of the teasing. I could teach you a little, but you learn best listening to native speakers." She felt so clever, so proud of herself and so well travelled giving advice to Moirine. She gently touched Abel's elbow to the girl's side and smiled down at her.

The snowflakes were settling in Abel's hair, leaving it wet to the touch when she ran his fingers through it. "Do you have a cap?" She worried for the baby. Pregnancy could be hard on both parties, especially when the mother was poor and inexperienced.

"No, that'd be over-complicating things, but still, it's a clever trick." Cerys was from Tyrol. It would be strange for her to sound foreign. She tried to speak higher as the maid, but at times she slipped into her natural cadence.

Cerys yelped a bit at the prod, then smiled. On second thought, perhaps this was the strangest thing she'd ever done. No one ever played with her. Allen had when she was little, but for years, all she'd known was deference and reproach.

"Oh." She let go of Abel and flipped the hood of her cloak up. It was hard to feel anything through the wig. It would be easier (safer, too) to use her wages to buy henna and dye her hair, but she was too prideful to turn brunette. "Why did they tease you?" Cerys asked absently. The houses were thinning out. They had to be near a gate.

Mari folded her arms over her chest and was momentarily surprised not to find breasts. Forgetting which body she was in was no good; she'd have to be more on the ball. "I suppose they like to remind us who's superior. Back home," she shook her head. "It's difficult." The law was against them. Education, influence, they were impossible unless you spoke English. She gave the top of Cerys's head a lop-sided grin. "If you married Abel, all his rights as an Englishman would be taken away and he'd be treated the same as you." It encouraged separation, she supposed.

"I know I should go back one day, but I don't wish to. Balfour is...a lot freer than many places." They didn't know how good they had it. People could be proud of being illegitimate, Others could declare themselves openly and wander around the streets without fear of massive backlash from the church. The poor could receive an education, women could take up jobs... "Even if Tyrol is full of bastards."

She eyed the gate as they drew closer to it, and gestured in a direction that would lead them away. Even in another body, she didn't wish to tempt fate - or a werewolf - just yet.

That was rather stupid. An Other couldn't be married with the consent of the Citadel, but Tyrol supported multiple religions. Was that not common in Europe? Moirine worried what might have happened if she and Allen had made it to France. Did they persecute the Civitates? For a moment, she felt very ignorant, then the thought vanished. Better to be happy and enjoy the way streetlamps made the snow glitter.

"So terrible, to be treated like me," she murmured, knowing he couldn't hear her. Cerys didn't feel sorry for herself. She fretted and nagged, but she made the best of a bad situation. "We couldn't even get married! Unless you bathed yourself in... whatever that potion is made out of." Bats' wings and newts' eyeballs, if the stories had taught her anything.

Angling down an alley without question, Cerys locked her hands in front of her and nodded. "It's unsettling, to live somewhere all your life and know so little about it. Perhaps Tyrol isn't so bad."

Abel nodded absent-mindedly, barely able to hear her. What was the potion made out of? Best not to ask if she was going to be drinking it often...then again, since when had she questioned the things she ate? If it was edible, it sustained her. If it was not, then she learned a valuable lesson.

"Perhaps one day you'll see more of the world," but even ever-enthusiastic Abel would know that for a lie. He lay a hand gently on her shoulder. What was the point of her leaving when the best place for her was right here? As hard as it was to be a young, pregnant single mother with no real skills especially since MTV had yet to be invented, Balfour would make it easier. Her support system was here, after all, even if it was tiny. They had the ledgers in case anything went wrong. Many would not seriously judge her for being unmarried and alone. "But why would you want to leave when I'm right here?"

Were they still practicing? She didn't even know. She did know that she'd never leave Tyrol unless she was chased out. Her cancellari didn't care where she was. They hadn't even bothered to write to her. It was too hard adjusting to civilian life without topping it off with a foreign culture. And, once the baby was born, she'd never get to leave.

Without thinking, she threw her arms around Abel and buried her face in his chest. It wasn't Mari, Cerys told herself. Everything was becoming so convoluted, but it was a way of coping. 'You won't leave me, too?' she wanted to ask. "I like you so much like this."

She'd said those words before. Was she using Mari or was this what it felt like to have a friend? It was pathetic that she couldn't tell the difference.

That was a surprise. They'd been walking along joking around, and suddenly Moirine had her arms around her. Mari - Abel? - wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. Mari loved bodily contact, hugging, touching, kissing people - there was nothing better than a cuddle, in her opinion. But Moirine didn't seem like the kind of person who reached out to people often. Perhaps Cerys was? Abel would hug back, she decided, giving her a squeeze.

'I like you so much like this' - did she like Abel, or did she just like her more as Cerys? These things were too complicated to work out. "I'll walk you home," he told her, fondness creeping into his voice.

shit's about to get weird, i apologize

She twined her arms around his neck and tentatively glanced up. Still dreamy and half-drunk, she swallowed hard and asked, "Can I kiss you?" Cerys was a stupid girl; she'd told Silence that much. That meant that now she was a stupid girl, too.

;ajsdlf

Mari looked down at her, Abel's stomach flipping, Abel's breath catching. This was a bad idea - Moirine would wake up the next morning and would be horribly embarrassed...and Mari would enjoy that. The very thought of it was hilarious - Moirine kissing the very person who tormented her! But they were supposed to be better to each other now. Would she have kissed Lucia if Lucia asked? Yes. But then Lucia would have a sense of humour about the whole thing. Somehow she sensed Moirine would not.

She dipped Abel's head to brush a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Is that alright?" She smiled at her, as warmly as she could.

"No."

Cerys went up on her toes to press her lips to Abel's. Not Mari, not Mari, not Mari. She put a hand in his hair and tried to shut her brain down. She was halfway there, anyway, but her emotions were running the gamut. And, honestly, she didn't care anymore. Ira knew who she was, Silence knew who she was, her only friends were part of the Whispers or the Hour. She was publicly ridiculed. If Mari was going to flirt with her over the ledgers, she'd cash in on the only intimacy she could get.

She was beyond pathetic. Still, she leaned into him, waiting to be pushed away.

...Abel would kiss back but worry about her slapping him for it, Mari would laugh out loud, worry about her slapping her for it and still kiss back...caught between the reactions, she tried to ignore the fact that Moirine seemed to be running her hand through his hair and how weird it was that her stomach kept flipping, instead returning the kiss.

Mari went to lock Abel's fingers behind Moirine's back the way she would with any of the men she normally kissed, only to hesitate and take them away again. Where did hands go if you were a boy? Everywhere, from her own research. Best not to do that. She wrapped Moirine up into a hug instead as she leaned into his body.

When it came to the emotions of others, most of the time Mari had no idea what was going on in anyone's heads, but Moirine had gone from only gingerly touching her on the head a few days ago to full on kissing - it didn't take a genius to realise something was up. She was actually worried she realised, once the mix of glee and slight worry had subsided. What was she doing? Would Mari be the one to get the blame for this in the morning? "Hey now," she whispered, Abel's voice soft and quiet. "You alright?"

She pulled away, face flushed with embarrassment and the cold. She couldn't look at him and instead went navel-gazing. "I don't know," she said. Her breath came fast. Of course she wasn't alright, but explaining exactly how she wasn't alright might take hours. Nothing was alright. Moirine wanted to forget, but only one thought rang through her head now that she was faced with her behavior.

'Allen would be so ashamed.'

"I'm sorry, I'm not thinking clearly." Being two different people at once was too much of a strain. She had to let one of them go.

Not sure of quite what to do, Mari rested Abel's hands on her shoulders. His hands were huge, seeming to cover them. Her hands were big as a girl too, but with normal sized palms connected to long, slender fingers that looked like broken twigs. Abel's were massive, neatly in proportion and resting them on Moirine's shoulders made her stomach twist uncomfortably as she realised how small and delicate the other girl seemed beside her new form. She recognised the sensation, the same one she felt whenever Marijke disapproved or when her sister had asked after mother. Guilt. Maybe she only felt guilty for it because Moirine would be a mother soon. Or had she found that decency people always told her she lacked? No, that thought was dismissed as soon as it came to mind. It was the mother thing.

"Let me take you home," she said, instead of anything else. "You need to lay down."

Cerys nodded. She kept herself from crying at his words. Myron's mansion wasn't her home- how could it be? Her teeth chattered, and not only because of the cold. Ignoring the hands on her shoulders, because she was liable to launch into Abel's arms again, Cerys pointed west. "It's this way."

She thought of her small bed, roomed with two others maids. She thought of the way she had to sleep with the covers pulled over her head in case her wig shifted in her sleep, and she took a deep breath. "Thank you. Let's just... forget all this."

If they couldn't put it behind them, she'd retch all over him. For various reasons.

"Alright," Mari put an arm around her shoulder without thinking about it - it was the kind of normal everyday gesture her friends got when she walked alongside them. But then she remembered the kissing again and hesitated. Obviously yanking her arm away like she'd just burned herself would be a bad idea. She settled for giving Moirine a sort of awkward sideways hug before letting her arm drop back to her side. "Forgotten." Well. No. Nobody could simply wipe their mind of something like that. She'd just have to hope her natural thoughtlessness would kick in and she wouldn't agonise over what it meant.

"You'll be alright in the end," she managed after a moment. Most things turned out alright. It took a lot of struggling but...all things considered, she wasn't dead, married to some illiterate shepherd who didn't value her, her education had suffered minimal disruptions and she was no longer a spy. Life was a constant struggle to keep your head above water, but things turned out alright if you kept it up. "You're a fighter." Literally, Mari thought, rubbing a finger along Abel's nose the same way she'd done when she remembered Rhys punching her in the face. "Like me. You'll feel better."

'You're just like me' was a high compliment in Mari's universe. Unfortunately she had yet to realise it was fairly similar to an insult to most other people.

The arm about her shoulders wasn't unwanted, but she shrugged away from it all the same. Allen had told her to find someone who made her happy. Mari made her... well, angry most the time. And she didn't at all want to kiss her as a woman, with the face she'd punched. It was just a moment of confusion. She was only eighteen; she was meant to have them.

"I know," she said in order to get off the topic. Cerys didn't know. Ira, or worse, Silence, could show up to slit her throat at any moment. Lord Myron or one of his guests might realize who she was. A cancellarius could happen upon her in the streets. It was a hopeless situation.

They were in sight of Myron's estate. Every step she took made her feel worse. She went up on her toes and kissed Abel again. I don't care. I don't care about anything but the baby. Pulling away, Cerys put her fingers over her lips. "Sorry. Sorry..." She hurried away towards the servants' entrance.

Mari waited until she'd left, a little in shock. Then she pressed her palms to her temples, hoping to block out the confusion. It was probably good for Cerys, if the other maids had seen her with some mysterious young man at the door. It was to keep up the act. She was certain of it. There was a lead weight of guilt at the bottom of her stomach and she stumbled as she went to turn back and misjudged how long her arms were when she went to steady herself, scraping her knuckles against a tree. They were Abel and Cerys when she took the potion and the other girl wore the wig. So why did it still feel like Mari and Moirine? Abel would've been happy with kisses. So would she, normally. Why did it feel like everything was about to go horribly wrong?

The world spun momentarily from the tilt. She still had some time before the potion wore off, she reckoned, rubbing her chest, then running a hand through Abel's wet hair, her bare fingers turning slightly numb in the cold. She'd walk off the worry by taking the long route back to The Hour and hope that this particular misadventure wouldn't end badly for all involved.