Máire and Caelus - One and a half logs.
Who: Máire and Caelus
When: The Harvest Festival, and later, after Duncan's little scandal (around Nov 7th, I think!)
Where: At the festival, and later at the market
Rating & Warnings: PG; sorry about the time-jump: we abandoned the festival bit because I hate eating scenes. Om nom nom, etc.
Thursday at the stables unless he heard otherwise.
Máire, earlier in the week, had contemplated a dozen different ways to get out of the dinner engagement: fall sick, pick up extra work, have to look after Ara -- but of course, it was quite impossible to lie to a telepath, and so for this reason the puppy was in the care of another stablehand for a few hours. She'd opted, after some debate, to go to no great lengths to dress up, and wore a gypsy's circle skirt, its blocks of fabric in various shades of dark blue, a long-sleeved blouse, and a gray corset. Most of this, of course, was hidden by the long, forest green sweep of her cloak, which the brunette had thrown closed to fight off the early hints of autumn's chill. She left the hood down for now, hair drawn up and fastened with a silver celtic pin pushed through the dark strands. The equerry, perched up on a rail to wait for the guard, had three strips of leather between her hands and was braiding them to pass the time: working, probably, on another one of those unusual bridles: not at all unlike the pair she'd given to Diya for his wedding.
With hundreds of people likely out and underfoot within the city, Caelus had opted to walk the distance between the House and the Stables. He hadn't dressed up either, for he was neither trying to impress the lady nor was he in truth so conscious of his appearance that he cared. Some innate sense of instinctive style had ensured his fashion was always survivable, and in this case he had stuck to simple peasant-dress so that he stuck out a little less within the common surroundings they'd be immersed in. The only failure on Caelus' part to dress the commoner was in his cloak, a rich, thick piece of assembly in traditional Stark grey, and it warded off the brittle night air admirably. Otherwise, a loose, open-necked shirt, wide belt, and leather traveling trews sketched his frame, the heels of high-topped boots striking the cobbles decisively as he walked.
It was these, this time, and not his mind, that announced Caelus' presence, and while he wasn't necessarily sure of Máire's mood upon arrival, he didn't bother to cheat and check. He sauntered up to the wall, leaning against the angular build of it, and folding one of his arms across his chest. The other offered up a small paper parcel of cinder toffee wrapped with a rich, russet ribbon, a tradition for the Harvest Festivals of Samhain in Ireland, he'd heard. It hadn't been particularly hard to locate an Irisher who peddled the goods. He didn't break the silence just yet, content to listen to the revelry of the surrounding city and wait for Máire's acknowledgement.
Máire had been so focused on completing the braid between her fingers that she, too, had no longer paid attention to the hum of emotions in her surroundings, and only looked up when the click of boots came close enough to be more than chance passing. She neatly tied off the cord, holding her place, and slipped the pieces into a satchel hanging off of the rail's wooden post. "Good evening, Caelus," she said, an almost automatic response to his approach and the result of years of practice in proper manners.
When the guard held out the small package, the equerry's expression shifted into surprise, and she offered him a slight smile, reaching to pluck it from his open palm. The ribbon she kept. "What is this ...?" Of course, the answer came soon enough, once she'd opened the package, pondered for half a moment why he'd brought her sweets, and then remembered the harvest festival and the date. "Ah," added the brunette. "Samhain ..." She shook off a brief wave of homesickness, and glanced back at Caelus, neatly hopping off of her perch on the rails.
"How did you know? Have you had a piece?"
The youth shrugged one shoulder, habitually tossing out his hands to catch her as she dropped. "Every people has its traditions," he said. "Harvest festival is one where they all kind of mix up - and, well, I don't really think people are going to be celebrating Citamas* this year." A wry smirk accompanied the tasteless sally - too soon? Never too soon. "I haven't tried it, I figured you'd be the one to tell me if it was good quality or not. The grandmother who made it was Irish, so I presumed she'd know her trade." The smirk widened into a grin. "Don't eat too much of it now," he advised. "Unless you're feeling particularly hungry... I figured that we could wander the fair and see about getting a meal - most of the good foodhalls will be utterly empty tonight."
"I haven't had this in years," Máire explained, breaking off a piece and then breaking it in half to offer one part of the small chunk to Caelus. The other half she ate, before carefully folding back up the rest and tucking it away into her bag, picking the satchel up and tossing the strap over one slender shoulder. "It's good. Someone told me how to make it once ..." Trailing off, the equerry shook her head slightly. Cooking wasn't her strong suit. Something she likely had in common with most nobles across the entire span of history. "There hasn't been a harvest festival while I've been here," she noted. Apparently that meant he was going to drive:
So lead the way.
"Four years or so since the last one," he confirmed, popping the candy into his mouth. Then, he set a hand to Máire's shoulder to guide her onwards. From the stables to the hub of things it wasn't a long walk, a mere stride or few down the hill, and within short order they were swamped with voices, milling people, and a plethora of stalls, games, and activities. The onslaught smacked his head like a boulder, but he bolstered up and did his best to ignore it. He did, however, lead Máire away from the central hub. "Dinner first, then exploring?" he said. "I'll admit I'm hungry and could eat. I believe there's a decent enough restaurant that's set up an open front onto the market plaza."
The empath's vision shone for a moment with a myriad of colors and lights, most, thankfully, pleasant -- festivals and holidays tended to bring out good moods in most people. Máire followed Caelus away from the hum of activity, not at all surprised that eating was immediately on his mind. This was, after all, the guard who apparently carried apples everywhere. "By all means," she said, demure, with a trace of amusement, looking around the booths with some sense of curiosity. "I'd hate to make a hungry guard wait."
"That would be very cruel," he agreed, and threaded through a surprisingly courteous crowd. Their manners, or at least their speed in moving out of the duo's path, were aided by quiet suggestion from Caelus' mind. Oh step that way, good sir., What's that to look at? Huge fat-ass elephant coming through, gotta move!. Suggests, hints and tips were a great thing, the guard had decided, leaving the morals aside to be questioned later. It couldn't hurt, could it?
When they reached the overhanging restaurant, it was brimming with people. Caelus had presumed as much, but a little prior visit solved all ills, and a small corner table had been kept for them where they could see the wealth of chaos in the streets, yet be sheltered from the true onslaught of noise. It was common, to be sure, nothing particularly noble about it - but for a guard and an equerry, it would surely do.
"Everything is good here," he commented. "At least, everything I've tried... which is basically everything."
Her lips curled in slight amusement as she glanced over to the list of dinner options and then around at the rest of the patrons to spy what they were eating, particularly. Most humans seemed to think that a proper diet consisted of meat, mead, and bread, in roughly that order (with the first two sometimes interchangeable). Máire preferred fruits and vegetables, but it was likely no surprise that someone as waif-like as she was a picky eater. Or at least an exceedingly healthy one. There was a vegetable stew which didn't seem too offensive, though, and if she could avoid drinking, Caelus wouldn't have to be dragging her alcohol-affected figure through the rest of the festival on the way home, half-asleep.
"What are you getting?" She asked, mostly to be conversational, although her mind was largely already made up, and he, being a mind-reader, probably knew that already.
"The pheasant, I think," he said. At this time of year they were greased and fat, shot from the estates of the nobles and sold on to avoid unnecessary waste. "I've had it here before and it was well cooked." Unfortunately for Máire, Caelus was precisely one of those humans who dined on mead, meat and bread, precisely in that order, but her luck was upon her: he did not plan to start drinking and become legless in her presence. Such, he believed, would not be received well, and as he had invited her out, he should at least attempt to cater to her wishes. Further to this, he did not comment on her choice of vegetable soup (yuck). "How about you?"
"The soup, I think," she said, still bemused. To each his own.
---
Who knew that events after a simple harvest dinner would become so complicated: the risen ghosts in the city had created a wealth of emotional anguish, which Máire had done her best to avoid by sticking to the stables and then returning straight to the pair of rooms she rented. It had resulted in an over-eager Ara, the puppy tired of evening hours spent indoors, and when she did surface again, it was only to immediately be presented with the latest gossip: that Duncan Evandros, the Hour's supposedly noble doctor, had been experimenting on live, captive patients. Disgust and outrage had risen in her immediately: at home, the aos sí were guardians, of a sort, entrusted by their godly ancestors with a certain responsibility.
The debate had dragged on for years over the role the race of men were to play in this task: whether they were ally or enemy. Some argued they could never be trusted: they were too tempted by power and wealth, too fickle, intemperate. Her brother had been an advocate for their potential, a position which had gotten him nowhere, and now, again, one of the city's institutions harbored a killer. Not only that -- the institution that swore to offer protection to the very people who were, at home, at least, her father's responsibility. If Tyrol had ever had fae they surely ought to have taken swift revenge for such a mockery of those responsibilities.
There'd been a dragon, at least, the one highlight of an otherwise dismal week: the doctor, after all, had turned himself in only to magically escape the gaol, a feat which only further convinced Máire of man's incompetence at ruling anything well. They had no justice, offered no protection, and seemingly couldn't even lock up a prisoner properly. The other stablehands knew better than to ask after her foul mood, but eventually Ara's cabin-fever and the practical matter of supplies at home got the better of the equerry's desire to sulk: winter was coming, apparently, and that meant a trip to the market was in order with the spaniel close on her heels. Bread would keep, and she could take advantage of the last harvest of fruits and vegetables: it was about to get into the colder months when there'd be little of either available.
At least the nights were getting longer. A little cold, she drew her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and picked up her pace.
It was, in the end, nothing but a hand that saved them from an embarrassing collision. Máire (for it was, in fact, she) was speeding along wrapped in her own thoughts, and Caelus, his powers of observation at that time nailed firmly internally in the attempt to skim the minds around him for sight, sound, or sensation of Duncan Evandros dancing free in the streets. The past week or two had been a travesty, from the fall of the Hour's good name to the escape of the aforementioned graverobber. Caelus had had the dubious pleasure of being alone with the man for a short discussion of his crimes, and he had little doubt as to both the Evandros' guilt and his self-inflicted penance. It wasn't enough, of course, the man had killed far too many and with far too much deliberation and precision. To have him gone was an embarrassment to the competency of the Guard as a whole, and no doubt his mother and her fellow lieutenants were getting it in the neck from the bureaucrats who paid them.
Back to the hand. It was currently situated in the centre of Máire's chest, holding her upright, keeping her from crashing headlong into his taller frame, and likely saving Caelus himself from an ignominious tumble to the ground. He'd make such a racket in all this armour.
Easy now, crabapple, he said, silently. Wouldn't want to put a fragile thing like me on his backside in the street, would you?
Thump.
Four things went through Máire's mind as she ran into Caelus -- or more precisely -- Caelus' hand -- one, something of a curse, judging by its tone, not that he'd recognize the word; two, the immediate obligation to look up and apologize; three, the realization that the armored wall she'd just bumped into was none other than Caelus Stark; and four, perhaps most importantly, Caelus Stark's hand was planted on her chest. Another flurry of annoyance shot through her thoughts and she took care of the fourth revelation first, by taking a very swift, steadying step backwards.
She looked up at him, contemplating the answer to his question in silence. Ara, blissfully unaware of all of this, padded happily around her master's apparent new friend, sniffing at his shoes.
"Sorry," she said, acknowledging, at least, the habit of being proper, though her mood was not at all encouraging it naturally. "You look plenty protected," Máire added, finally. "I'm sure nothing would break."
"Only my heart," he agreed, cheerfully. His hand hadn't touched anything remotely feminine in its adventures, so her thoughts caused a great deal of mirth to pour through Caelus' mind. He regarded her with only uplifted eyebrows and a cocky grin, and then became distracted by ruffling Ara. He didn't have his dogs with him at this juncture, for his mother had forbade their presence at the station. He didn't have too much objection, for police dogs received a sort of training he had no need for in dogs at home. "She's getting bigger," he noted. "She'll always be that much smaller, but I don't see that she's too out of size from Remus, now."
Straightening, he gave the permanently irritated female a once over. "What's up?" he asked, cluelessly. "You look like a thundercloud pissed on you."
"Oh, I don't think I could break that," she replied, almost blithely, although it was perfectly likely that if Máire ever very seriously wanted Caelus to feel heartbroken that she could do so through other means. Máire watched the puppy circle Caelus until Máire had tired of Ara's sense of investigation and snapped two fingers, calling the little spaniel back to her side. Not one to let the dog's obedience go unrewarded, the brunette bent down, scratching behind Ara's ears. "She must smell them ..."
She glanced up, then, studying Caelus for a moment. "You cannot possibly be so thick," murmured Máire. "Have you forgotten so quickly?"
He grinned at her. "Not thick," he said, with glib candour. "Selective." He glanced at the sun, checking the time, and the humour left him. "What have you heard?"
Máire's demeanor shifted subtly; she stood, though her eyes remained mostly fixed towards the ground. She seemed disappointed, or perhaps discouraged. "Only of the ghosts, and then the arrest," she admitted softly. Perhaps we should walk, the brunette suggested, then; it might be less awkward than being seen standing still in the middle of the street.
Cael nodded. His shift wasn't quite complete, but by the time they'd wandered through the marketplace it would be, and if they kept their conversation quiet and their faces controlled, it shouldn't be too much of an oddity to see a dashing young guard with a pretty woman hanging off his arm. Keep thinking it, Cael.
Without further ado he set them off. I'm kind of looking through these people for something, he admitted, silently. Sorry, if I get distracted it isn't because you're boring or anything -- unless you're being boring of course. Then, yeah, I'm distracted.
"I'm not boring," she retorted, quietly. It was strange, to hear his voice in her thoughts like that, almost certainly intrusive, even though she supposed she'd invited him. In the few past instances, Máire hadn't exactly thought of it, but for a moment, her thoughts wandered to her brother, and then to his wife, who had no such talents. She shook herself off that path, mentally, considering instead what it might've sounded like for Caelus whenever she attempted to reply. Or perhaps he saw the words, written out, somehow, as she thought them?
Empathy was more of a both/and; in front of her eyes was a sheen Máire had long ago accepted was invisible to nearly everyone else, and at the same time, just as invasive: she felt, as they passed, the frustration and worry of a merchant who hadn't sold all he'd hoped, so far in the day.
What are you looking for ...?
Can't really say too much detail, sorry. Caelus' expression, when he turned it towards her, was a grimace of apology. He knew how it was to be only told half of something, but if it was a choice between offending Máire and getting kicked around the city by his mother for spilling guard secrets, then he would err on the side of filial wisdom every time. As far as Caelus knew, the only people who were aware of the absconding Evandros were the Guard members, their superiors, and the people they had interrogated. For the sake of embarrassment and city-wide hysteria at such a murderer being on the loose, Caelus could stay his tongue. Besides, what would Máire know? Unless Duncan had appeared to grab a horse from the stables, in which case there would be a report of stolen equine and likely a report of a murdered Evandros. Girl took her horses seriously. Missing person.
"Glad to hear it," he said, aloud, and accidentally twisted around to look at the man her thoughts had wrapped around.
Máire looked at him a moment, brow furrowed. What sort of missing person? She inquired back. The Guard seemed to have been out in perhaps larger than normal numbers, now that she reflected on it, indicating a case of some importance. Either some noble's child was missing -- perhaps unlikely, as she hadn't seen any of their guards scouring the streets -- or a criminal.
The bureaucracy he supported wasn't particularly good at dealing with the latter.
... Back home, she thought carefully, and a little reluctantly, as though aware that the topic was going to be sensitive, My father is ... like your King. My people are the oldest left, and so we feel we bear a certain responsibility ... to the other races. Granted, it was mostly the nobility who considered such things. The lower classes spent a great deal of time pulling pranks on unwitting or cruel mortals; they were responsible for a great many of the legends. And of course, a very small percentage of them went bad, becoming the banshees of legend, or worse. There has been a long debate about the role of men in this task; there are many more of you, and your minds are set to conquer in a way which we do not feel. She lifted her right hand, briefly envisioning its fingers wrapped in those slender tendrils of silver, the knots which appeared when she let her magic have free reign. On the one hand, you've got great courage, and a certain ingenuity ... passion, loyalty ... Pausing, she lifted her left, picturing the inky black tendrils, though none, of course, appeared. ... And on the other, you are easily seduced by power, corruptible...
Dropping both, Máire reminded herself that it was best to talk occasionally; they were, after all, in public. Still, she kept her voice low. "... I cannot truly believe that not a single soul did not know what it was Lord Evandros was up to. Therefore, if the highest levels did, they are his accomplices, and the knowledge which they pursue is of the most despicable kind; if they did not, they are horribly negligent in their responsibilities to protect those whom they say they serve, and perhaps do not deserve the chance to search for what they seek. This is why it bothers me so much..."
At home, it would be my father's responsibility to decide what to do. But I cannot believe that he would not know, and would not have done something sooner ...
"It's not something I understand," murmured Máire, finally, her eyes mostly fixed on the ground, "... and it's terribly important that I do."
The usual kind, he responded, cheerfully. Some festering canker of a human being who deserves nothing more than they get. Her thoughts, both the ones she meant him to hear and the ones she didn't, were of a sobering variety, and to be honest, quite offensive. She had thought herself that there were some of her kind who did despicable things, and yet she - and her race - chose to tar humans with the brush of corruption as if it were solely creditable to their species.
It was her final words that saved Caelus from the anger of affront, that suggestion that she needed to understand, the confession that she didn't. She was correct in that the corruption went far higher than Evandros. Caelus had questioned both men himself, and had come away sickened at the extent of oblivion that both had carried. Evandros, at least, showed enough humanity to feel guilt, to know what he had done was a horror, but Vance... it wasn't particularly that Vance was an evil man, although Caelus had zero respect for him and his goals. His mind had not been particularly filled with devilry, and Cael had touched enough now to know the difference between those who set out specifically to covet evil, and those who were merely ruthless, those who let the evil happen to further what they considered science. Vance, he had decided, was of the latter category, and therefore, in his own way, far more harmful a character than those wrapped up in their own wicked needs. He had no remorse, no conscience, and would no doubt continue with his wicked experimentation as long as necessary to get the information that he wanted.
Now that he was under house arrest (too lenient, if you asked Caelus, although nobody did) and there were guards patrolling the Hour, though, perhaps it would be possible to affect change. The institution as a whole was not corrupt, no more than the Civitates who had stayed behind while the rest of their cohort went to war. How to explain this to Máire, though, when Caelus wasn't precisely sure what it was she wanted to understand...
"It is something akin to what I said to you in the forest," he said. "There will always be snakes in the grass, no matter how many heads you cut." It is better, at times, to let their leaders live so that they may be watched and limited. If you cut a worm in two, it does not go away. You just end up with two worms.
Caelus wasn't any kind of teacher, nor someone who was particularly good with words in serious situations. He knew the answer wasn't holistic, and wasn't even sure he'd touched on what Máire had asked. Her race was so old that a human's value of time and efficiency would be wasted on them. His thoughts took a side trip. How old was Máire?
Máire, at least, seemed contemplative, and avoided another mental soliloquy, for the most part, deciding that perhaps it wasn't the reaction to Evandros that was the source of her dissatisfaction, but Evandros himself: whatever it was in him that had broken; whatever it was in the false god that set the Citadel upon the Hour. There was, about her thoughts, a tremendous amount of hesitation to apply his analogy further, or even personally; to give up more secrets to a telepath she never quite seemed to get along with.
And then swept in one, quite clearly: you're never going to make it home.
"... That's not quite it," she replied, quietly, sounding almost sad as she said it, and looked away, careful to impose upon herself only thoughts of what could be immediately observed in the market. This, too, she realized might be obnoxious: Caelus could see the cart for himself, after all, and the mule, and the merchant without her narrating them mentally in order to distract herself.
"... What is it like?"
The interjection, which she'd thought in English, surprisingly enough, caught Caelus entirely unawares, and for that moment between her tilt of topic and shift of mind, there stretched long seconds of awkward discomfort. He was clearly not meant to have heard it, even more so meant to ignore it, but for the life of him, the Stark could not. He was forbidden from comment, and barely polite enough to hold to convention and follow protocol. Nonetheless, his palm itched, and he solved it by breaking the gap between them to lay the weight and warmth of a friendly palm on her slim shoulder. Words were of no use here.
Then he dropped his hand away, and let her do what she wanted with her privacy. His mind sifted elsewhere, settling on a target as far away from their immediate circle as possible. "What is what like?"
Máire, for her part, accepted the hand with just a slight smile, aware, perhaps, that he'd caught her in the middle of an unpleasant truth. There'd been enough of a shift in his feelings to suggest as much, and so she neither jumped nor shied away when he touched her. "Being like you are," she replied, quietly enough that such an odd turn of phrase would go lost amongst the rest of the noise of the market.
Do you hear it as though I'm speaking? Or do you see words? Pictures?
"A bit of both," the youth said. "Mostly words, but I guess it's backed up with ideas, like..." Here, Caelus paused, uncertain. Should he really admit to the girl that her privacy was compromised even when she thought in Gibberish? She'd probably take offence, and not just because he couldn't remember the name of her language. It was probably better to maintain that illusion, give her the idea that she had one or two secrets. This was a white lie, one calculated with good intent. He couldn't imagine, in this case, the truth being better than ignorance. "It's not conscious words, like reading a book," he went on, covering the pause as though he'd just been hunting for the right phrasing. "It just kind of sounds out in my head like you're actually talking aloud." Another pause, and he shrugged one sheepish shoulder. "How is it for you? I mean, yours is less cut and dried, yeah? I heard one old bat telling people once she saw auras around people, like colours and so forth. Is it like that?"
"... If you could see, I'd show you," murmured Máire in reply, glancing out over the market somewhat contemplatively. The brunette wasn't entirely certain what normal was like without the layer of light and sense empathy provided. A certain glow hung over everyone in the market, a transparent, ethereal shimmer, and from this, if she focused on only one individual, there were unique strands, thin as a spider web; these led to the things they cared about most, whatever and wherever they were. More than that, though ...
"I see some things, I guess. I don't know what it looks like when you see..." she said, quietly. "The rest is like an echo; like something I'd feel myself, but less ..." Pause. "Different."
Caelus glanced about him. Trying to describe what it was he saw to anyone - not the objects but what he saw, was a task impossible to achieve. From that perspective, he realised his question had been ignorant, and he shrugged one shoulder. People asked stupid questions all the time, didn't they? He could just go into Máire's head if he wanted, see what she saw that way. It was tempting, and he'd half turned towards her before he realised what he was doing. No, that wasn't who he was. The brief moment of eye contact ended, guilt began, and he turned his sights towards the street behind them.
"I should head back," he said. "Got a lot of stuff to catch up on at the office."
The shift around him was palpable; Máire blinked reflexively as though to be quite certain her reading was accurate. Guilt in Caelus, of all people, was certainly unexpected; the sheen around him was, typically, bright -- even today when it was, and had been, undercut by a thoughtfulness -- probably focus on whatever case he wasn't telling her about.
"What did I say?" She wondered out loud, her tone mostly conveying notes of confusion and a subtle sort of worry. Surely if she'd offended him (again), irritation would've been the primary reaction.
Caelus threw her a look, then cocked a convincing grin. He knew she wouldn't believe it, not with her unconscious thing going on, but the fact that her skill was automatic compared to his potential to choose did not exempt him from morals. It was not an excuse. "Nothing," he said. "Just got stuff to think about."
Indeed, Máire offered him an unconvinced look, though she chose to smile back instead of pressing the point. They only ever got so far in these conversations before someone was offended or annoyed; better to quit while relatively ahead. "Thank you for the escort," she said, instead, letting her lips settle into something wry -- though it wasn't quite a smirk; she didn't feel confident enough to throw one off completely. A touch of mischief lit her eyes, briefly.
"I'll need it." His response was high and dry, and along with a quirk of both brows, the Guard dutifully trotted off towards his pronounced destination.
When: The Harvest Festival, and later, after Duncan's little scandal (around Nov 7th, I think!)
Where: At the festival, and later at the market
Rating & Warnings: PG; sorry about the time-jump: we abandoned the festival bit because I hate eating scenes. Om nom nom, etc.
Thursday at the stables unless he heard otherwise.
Máire, earlier in the week, had contemplated a dozen different ways to get out of the dinner engagement: fall sick, pick up extra work, have to look after Ara -- but of course, it was quite impossible to lie to a telepath, and so for this reason the puppy was in the care of another stablehand for a few hours. She'd opted, after some debate, to go to no great lengths to dress up, and wore a gypsy's circle skirt, its blocks of fabric in various shades of dark blue, a long-sleeved blouse, and a gray corset. Most of this, of course, was hidden by the long, forest green sweep of her cloak, which the brunette had thrown closed to fight off the early hints of autumn's chill. She left the hood down for now, hair drawn up and fastened with a silver celtic pin pushed through the dark strands. The equerry, perched up on a rail to wait for the guard, had three strips of leather between her hands and was braiding them to pass the time: working, probably, on another one of those unusual bridles: not at all unlike the pair she'd given to Diya for his wedding.
With hundreds of people likely out and underfoot within the city, Caelus had opted to walk the distance between the House and the Stables. He hadn't dressed up either, for he was neither trying to impress the lady nor was he in truth so conscious of his appearance that he cared. Some innate sense of instinctive style had ensured his fashion was always survivable, and in this case he had stuck to simple peasant-dress so that he stuck out a little less within the common surroundings they'd be immersed in. The only failure on Caelus' part to dress the commoner was in his cloak, a rich, thick piece of assembly in traditional Stark grey, and it warded off the brittle night air admirably. Otherwise, a loose, open-necked shirt, wide belt, and leather traveling trews sketched his frame, the heels of high-topped boots striking the cobbles decisively as he walked.
It was these, this time, and not his mind, that announced Caelus' presence, and while he wasn't necessarily sure of Máire's mood upon arrival, he didn't bother to cheat and check. He sauntered up to the wall, leaning against the angular build of it, and folding one of his arms across his chest. The other offered up a small paper parcel of cinder toffee wrapped with a rich, russet ribbon, a tradition for the Harvest Festivals of Samhain in Ireland, he'd heard. It hadn't been particularly hard to locate an Irisher who peddled the goods. He didn't break the silence just yet, content to listen to the revelry of the surrounding city and wait for Máire's acknowledgement.
Máire had been so focused on completing the braid between her fingers that she, too, had no longer paid attention to the hum of emotions in her surroundings, and only looked up when the click of boots came close enough to be more than chance passing. She neatly tied off the cord, holding her place, and slipped the pieces into a satchel hanging off of the rail's wooden post. "Good evening, Caelus," she said, an almost automatic response to his approach and the result of years of practice in proper manners.
When the guard held out the small package, the equerry's expression shifted into surprise, and she offered him a slight smile, reaching to pluck it from his open palm. The ribbon she kept. "What is this ...?" Of course, the answer came soon enough, once she'd opened the package, pondered for half a moment why he'd brought her sweets, and then remembered the harvest festival and the date. "Ah," added the brunette. "Samhain ..." She shook off a brief wave of homesickness, and glanced back at Caelus, neatly hopping off of her perch on the rails.
"How did you know? Have you had a piece?"
The youth shrugged one shoulder, habitually tossing out his hands to catch her as she dropped. "Every people has its traditions," he said. "Harvest festival is one where they all kind of mix up - and, well, I don't really think people are going to be celebrating Citamas* this year." A wry smirk accompanied the tasteless sally - too soon? Never too soon. "I haven't tried it, I figured you'd be the one to tell me if it was good quality or not. The grandmother who made it was Irish, so I presumed she'd know her trade." The smirk widened into a grin. "Don't eat too much of it now," he advised. "Unless you're feeling particularly hungry... I figured that we could wander the fair and see about getting a meal - most of the good foodhalls will be utterly empty tonight."
"I haven't had this in years," Máire explained, breaking off a piece and then breaking it in half to offer one part of the small chunk to Caelus. The other half she ate, before carefully folding back up the rest and tucking it away into her bag, picking the satchel up and tossing the strap over one slender shoulder. "It's good. Someone told me how to make it once ..." Trailing off, the equerry shook her head slightly. Cooking wasn't her strong suit. Something she likely had in common with most nobles across the entire span of history. "There hasn't been a harvest festival while I've been here," she noted. Apparently that meant he was going to drive:
So lead the way.
"Four years or so since the last one," he confirmed, popping the candy into his mouth. Then, he set a hand to Máire's shoulder to guide her onwards. From the stables to the hub of things it wasn't a long walk, a mere stride or few down the hill, and within short order they were swamped with voices, milling people, and a plethora of stalls, games, and activities. The onslaught smacked his head like a boulder, but he bolstered up and did his best to ignore it. He did, however, lead Máire away from the central hub. "Dinner first, then exploring?" he said. "I'll admit I'm hungry and could eat. I believe there's a decent enough restaurant that's set up an open front onto the market plaza."
The empath's vision shone for a moment with a myriad of colors and lights, most, thankfully, pleasant -- festivals and holidays tended to bring out good moods in most people. Máire followed Caelus away from the hum of activity, not at all surprised that eating was immediately on his mind. This was, after all, the guard who apparently carried apples everywhere. "By all means," she said, demure, with a trace of amusement, looking around the booths with some sense of curiosity. "I'd hate to make a hungry guard wait."
"That would be very cruel," he agreed, and threaded through a surprisingly courteous crowd. Their manners, or at least their speed in moving out of the duo's path, were aided by quiet suggestion from Caelus' mind. Oh step that way, good sir., What's that to look at? Huge fat-ass elephant coming through, gotta move!. Suggests, hints and tips were a great thing, the guard had decided, leaving the morals aside to be questioned later. It couldn't hurt, could it?
When they reached the overhanging restaurant, it was brimming with people. Caelus had presumed as much, but a little prior visit solved all ills, and a small corner table had been kept for them where they could see the wealth of chaos in the streets, yet be sheltered from the true onslaught of noise. It was common, to be sure, nothing particularly noble about it - but for a guard and an equerry, it would surely do.
"Everything is good here," he commented. "At least, everything I've tried... which is basically everything."
Her lips curled in slight amusement as she glanced over to the list of dinner options and then around at the rest of the patrons to spy what they were eating, particularly. Most humans seemed to think that a proper diet consisted of meat, mead, and bread, in roughly that order (with the first two sometimes interchangeable). Máire preferred fruits and vegetables, but it was likely no surprise that someone as waif-like as she was a picky eater. Or at least an exceedingly healthy one. There was a vegetable stew which didn't seem too offensive, though, and if she could avoid drinking, Caelus wouldn't have to be dragging her alcohol-affected figure through the rest of the festival on the way home, half-asleep.
"What are you getting?" She asked, mostly to be conversational, although her mind was largely already made up, and he, being a mind-reader, probably knew that already.
"The pheasant, I think," he said. At this time of year they were greased and fat, shot from the estates of the nobles and sold on to avoid unnecessary waste. "I've had it here before and it was well cooked." Unfortunately for Máire, Caelus was precisely one of those humans who dined on mead, meat and bread, precisely in that order, but her luck was upon her: he did not plan to start drinking and become legless in her presence. Such, he believed, would not be received well, and as he had invited her out, he should at least attempt to cater to her wishes. Further to this, he did not comment on her choice of vegetable soup (yuck). "How about you?"
"The soup, I think," she said, still bemused. To each his own.
---
Who knew that events after a simple harvest dinner would become so complicated: the risen ghosts in the city had created a wealth of emotional anguish, which Máire had done her best to avoid by sticking to the stables and then returning straight to the pair of rooms she rented. It had resulted in an over-eager Ara, the puppy tired of evening hours spent indoors, and when she did surface again, it was only to immediately be presented with the latest gossip: that Duncan Evandros, the Hour's supposedly noble doctor, had been experimenting on live, captive patients. Disgust and outrage had risen in her immediately: at home, the aos sí were guardians, of a sort, entrusted by their godly ancestors with a certain responsibility.
The debate had dragged on for years over the role the race of men were to play in this task: whether they were ally or enemy. Some argued they could never be trusted: they were too tempted by power and wealth, too fickle, intemperate. Her brother had been an advocate for their potential, a position which had gotten him nowhere, and now, again, one of the city's institutions harbored a killer. Not only that -- the institution that swore to offer protection to the very people who were, at home, at least, her father's responsibility. If Tyrol had ever had fae they surely ought to have taken swift revenge for such a mockery of those responsibilities.
There'd been a dragon, at least, the one highlight of an otherwise dismal week: the doctor, after all, had turned himself in only to magically escape the gaol, a feat which only further convinced Máire of man's incompetence at ruling anything well. They had no justice, offered no protection, and seemingly couldn't even lock up a prisoner properly. The other stablehands knew better than to ask after her foul mood, but eventually Ara's cabin-fever and the practical matter of supplies at home got the better of the equerry's desire to sulk: winter was coming, apparently, and that meant a trip to the market was in order with the spaniel close on her heels. Bread would keep, and she could take advantage of the last harvest of fruits and vegetables: it was about to get into the colder months when there'd be little of either available.
At least the nights were getting longer. A little cold, she drew her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and picked up her pace.
It was, in the end, nothing but a hand that saved them from an embarrassing collision. Máire (for it was, in fact, she) was speeding along wrapped in her own thoughts, and Caelus, his powers of observation at that time nailed firmly internally in the attempt to skim the minds around him for sight, sound, or sensation of Duncan Evandros dancing free in the streets. The past week or two had been a travesty, from the fall of the Hour's good name to the escape of the aforementioned graverobber. Caelus had had the dubious pleasure of being alone with the man for a short discussion of his crimes, and he had little doubt as to both the Evandros' guilt and his self-inflicted penance. It wasn't enough, of course, the man had killed far too many and with far too much deliberation and precision. To have him gone was an embarrassment to the competency of the Guard as a whole, and no doubt his mother and her fellow lieutenants were getting it in the neck from the bureaucrats who paid them.
Back to the hand. It was currently situated in the centre of Máire's chest, holding her upright, keeping her from crashing headlong into his taller frame, and likely saving Caelus himself from an ignominious tumble to the ground. He'd make such a racket in all this armour.
Easy now, crabapple, he said, silently. Wouldn't want to put a fragile thing like me on his backside in the street, would you?
Thump.
Four things went through Máire's mind as she ran into Caelus -- or more precisely -- Caelus' hand -- one, something of a curse, judging by its tone, not that he'd recognize the word; two, the immediate obligation to look up and apologize; three, the realization that the armored wall she'd just bumped into was none other than Caelus Stark; and four, perhaps most importantly, Caelus Stark's hand was planted on her chest. Another flurry of annoyance shot through her thoughts and she took care of the fourth revelation first, by taking a very swift, steadying step backwards.
She looked up at him, contemplating the answer to his question in silence. Ara, blissfully unaware of all of this, padded happily around her master's apparent new friend, sniffing at his shoes.
"Sorry," she said, acknowledging, at least, the habit of being proper, though her mood was not at all encouraging it naturally. "You look plenty protected," Máire added, finally. "I'm sure nothing would break."
"Only my heart," he agreed, cheerfully. His hand hadn't touched anything remotely feminine in its adventures, so her thoughts caused a great deal of mirth to pour through Caelus' mind. He regarded her with only uplifted eyebrows and a cocky grin, and then became distracted by ruffling Ara. He didn't have his dogs with him at this juncture, for his mother had forbade their presence at the station. He didn't have too much objection, for police dogs received a sort of training he had no need for in dogs at home. "She's getting bigger," he noted. "She'll always be that much smaller, but I don't see that she's too out of size from Remus, now."
Straightening, he gave the permanently irritated female a once over. "What's up?" he asked, cluelessly. "You look like a thundercloud pissed on you."
"Oh, I don't think I could break that," she replied, almost blithely, although it was perfectly likely that if Máire ever very seriously wanted Caelus to feel heartbroken that she could do so through other means. Máire watched the puppy circle Caelus until Máire had tired of Ara's sense of investigation and snapped two fingers, calling the little spaniel back to her side. Not one to let the dog's obedience go unrewarded, the brunette bent down, scratching behind Ara's ears. "She must smell them ..."
She glanced up, then, studying Caelus for a moment. "You cannot possibly be so thick," murmured Máire. "Have you forgotten so quickly?"
He grinned at her. "Not thick," he said, with glib candour. "Selective." He glanced at the sun, checking the time, and the humour left him. "What have you heard?"
Máire's demeanor shifted subtly; she stood, though her eyes remained mostly fixed towards the ground. She seemed disappointed, or perhaps discouraged. "Only of the ghosts, and then the arrest," she admitted softly. Perhaps we should walk, the brunette suggested, then; it might be less awkward than being seen standing still in the middle of the street.
Cael nodded. His shift wasn't quite complete, but by the time they'd wandered through the marketplace it would be, and if they kept their conversation quiet and their faces controlled, it shouldn't be too much of an oddity to see a dashing young guard with a pretty woman hanging off his arm. Keep thinking it, Cael.
Without further ado he set them off. I'm kind of looking through these people for something, he admitted, silently. Sorry, if I get distracted it isn't because you're boring or anything -- unless you're being boring of course. Then, yeah, I'm distracted.
"I'm not boring," she retorted, quietly. It was strange, to hear his voice in her thoughts like that, almost certainly intrusive, even though she supposed she'd invited him. In the few past instances, Máire hadn't exactly thought of it, but for a moment, her thoughts wandered to her brother, and then to his wife, who had no such talents. She shook herself off that path, mentally, considering instead what it might've sounded like for Caelus whenever she attempted to reply. Or perhaps he saw the words, written out, somehow, as she thought them?
Empathy was more of a both/and; in front of her eyes was a sheen Máire had long ago accepted was invisible to nearly everyone else, and at the same time, just as invasive: she felt, as they passed, the frustration and worry of a merchant who hadn't sold all he'd hoped, so far in the day.
What are you looking for ...?
Can't really say too much detail, sorry. Caelus' expression, when he turned it towards her, was a grimace of apology. He knew how it was to be only told half of something, but if it was a choice between offending Máire and getting kicked around the city by his mother for spilling guard secrets, then he would err on the side of filial wisdom every time. As far as Caelus knew, the only people who were aware of the absconding Evandros were the Guard members, their superiors, and the people they had interrogated. For the sake of embarrassment and city-wide hysteria at such a murderer being on the loose, Caelus could stay his tongue. Besides, what would Máire know? Unless Duncan had appeared to grab a horse from the stables, in which case there would be a report of stolen equine and likely a report of a murdered Evandros. Girl took her horses seriously. Missing person.
"Glad to hear it," he said, aloud, and accidentally twisted around to look at the man her thoughts had wrapped around.
Máire looked at him a moment, brow furrowed. What sort of missing person? She inquired back. The Guard seemed to have been out in perhaps larger than normal numbers, now that she reflected on it, indicating a case of some importance. Either some noble's child was missing -- perhaps unlikely, as she hadn't seen any of their guards scouring the streets -- or a criminal.
The bureaucracy he supported wasn't particularly good at dealing with the latter.
... Back home, she thought carefully, and a little reluctantly, as though aware that the topic was going to be sensitive, My father is ... like your King. My people are the oldest left, and so we feel we bear a certain responsibility ... to the other races. Granted, it was mostly the nobility who considered such things. The lower classes spent a great deal of time pulling pranks on unwitting or cruel mortals; they were responsible for a great many of the legends. And of course, a very small percentage of them went bad, becoming the banshees of legend, or worse. There has been a long debate about the role of men in this task; there are many more of you, and your minds are set to conquer in a way which we do not feel. She lifted her right hand, briefly envisioning its fingers wrapped in those slender tendrils of silver, the knots which appeared when she let her magic have free reign. On the one hand, you've got great courage, and a certain ingenuity ... passion, loyalty ... Pausing, she lifted her left, picturing the inky black tendrils, though none, of course, appeared. ... And on the other, you are easily seduced by power, corruptible...
Dropping both, Máire reminded herself that it was best to talk occasionally; they were, after all, in public. Still, she kept her voice low. "... I cannot truly believe that not a single soul did not know what it was Lord Evandros was up to. Therefore, if the highest levels did, they are his accomplices, and the knowledge which they pursue is of the most despicable kind; if they did not, they are horribly negligent in their responsibilities to protect those whom they say they serve, and perhaps do not deserve the chance to search for what they seek. This is why it bothers me so much..."
At home, it would be my father's responsibility to decide what to do. But I cannot believe that he would not know, and would not have done something sooner ...
"It's not something I understand," murmured Máire, finally, her eyes mostly fixed on the ground, "... and it's terribly important that I do."
The usual kind, he responded, cheerfully. Some festering canker of a human being who deserves nothing more than they get. Her thoughts, both the ones she meant him to hear and the ones she didn't, were of a sobering variety, and to be honest, quite offensive. She had thought herself that there were some of her kind who did despicable things, and yet she - and her race - chose to tar humans with the brush of corruption as if it were solely creditable to their species.
It was her final words that saved Caelus from the anger of affront, that suggestion that she needed to understand, the confession that she didn't. She was correct in that the corruption went far higher than Evandros. Caelus had questioned both men himself, and had come away sickened at the extent of oblivion that both had carried. Evandros, at least, showed enough humanity to feel guilt, to know what he had done was a horror, but Vance... it wasn't particularly that Vance was an evil man, although Caelus had zero respect for him and his goals. His mind had not been particularly filled with devilry, and Cael had touched enough now to know the difference between those who set out specifically to covet evil, and those who were merely ruthless, those who let the evil happen to further what they considered science. Vance, he had decided, was of the latter category, and therefore, in his own way, far more harmful a character than those wrapped up in their own wicked needs. He had no remorse, no conscience, and would no doubt continue with his wicked experimentation as long as necessary to get the information that he wanted.
Now that he was under house arrest (too lenient, if you asked Caelus, although nobody did) and there were guards patrolling the Hour, though, perhaps it would be possible to affect change. The institution as a whole was not corrupt, no more than the Civitates who had stayed behind while the rest of their cohort went to war. How to explain this to Máire, though, when Caelus wasn't precisely sure what it was she wanted to understand...
"It is something akin to what I said to you in the forest," he said. "There will always be snakes in the grass, no matter how many heads you cut." It is better, at times, to let their leaders live so that they may be watched and limited. If you cut a worm in two, it does not go away. You just end up with two worms.
Caelus wasn't any kind of teacher, nor someone who was particularly good with words in serious situations. He knew the answer wasn't holistic, and wasn't even sure he'd touched on what Máire had asked. Her race was so old that a human's value of time and efficiency would be wasted on them. His thoughts took a side trip. How old was Máire?
Máire, at least, seemed contemplative, and avoided another mental soliloquy, for the most part, deciding that perhaps it wasn't the reaction to Evandros that was the source of her dissatisfaction, but Evandros himself: whatever it was in him that had broken; whatever it was in the false god that set the Citadel upon the Hour. There was, about her thoughts, a tremendous amount of hesitation to apply his analogy further, or even personally; to give up more secrets to a telepath she never quite seemed to get along with.
And then swept in one, quite clearly: you're never going to make it home.
"... That's not quite it," she replied, quietly, sounding almost sad as she said it, and looked away, careful to impose upon herself only thoughts of what could be immediately observed in the market. This, too, she realized might be obnoxious: Caelus could see the cart for himself, after all, and the mule, and the merchant without her narrating them mentally in order to distract herself.
"... What is it like?"
The interjection, which she'd thought in English, surprisingly enough, caught Caelus entirely unawares, and for that moment between her tilt of topic and shift of mind, there stretched long seconds of awkward discomfort. He was clearly not meant to have heard it, even more so meant to ignore it, but for the life of him, the Stark could not. He was forbidden from comment, and barely polite enough to hold to convention and follow protocol. Nonetheless, his palm itched, and he solved it by breaking the gap between them to lay the weight and warmth of a friendly palm on her slim shoulder. Words were of no use here.
Then he dropped his hand away, and let her do what she wanted with her privacy. His mind sifted elsewhere, settling on a target as far away from their immediate circle as possible. "What is what like?"
Máire, for her part, accepted the hand with just a slight smile, aware, perhaps, that he'd caught her in the middle of an unpleasant truth. There'd been enough of a shift in his feelings to suggest as much, and so she neither jumped nor shied away when he touched her. "Being like you are," she replied, quietly enough that such an odd turn of phrase would go lost amongst the rest of the noise of the market.
Do you hear it as though I'm speaking? Or do you see words? Pictures?
"A bit of both," the youth said. "Mostly words, but I guess it's backed up with ideas, like..." Here, Caelus paused, uncertain. Should he really admit to the girl that her privacy was compromised even when she thought in Gibberish? She'd probably take offence, and not just because he couldn't remember the name of her language. It was probably better to maintain that illusion, give her the idea that she had one or two secrets. This was a white lie, one calculated with good intent. He couldn't imagine, in this case, the truth being better than ignorance. "It's not conscious words, like reading a book," he went on, covering the pause as though he'd just been hunting for the right phrasing. "It just kind of sounds out in my head like you're actually talking aloud." Another pause, and he shrugged one sheepish shoulder. "How is it for you? I mean, yours is less cut and dried, yeah? I heard one old bat telling people once she saw auras around people, like colours and so forth. Is it like that?"
"... If you could see, I'd show you," murmured Máire in reply, glancing out over the market somewhat contemplatively. The brunette wasn't entirely certain what normal was like without the layer of light and sense empathy provided. A certain glow hung over everyone in the market, a transparent, ethereal shimmer, and from this, if she focused on only one individual, there were unique strands, thin as a spider web; these led to the things they cared about most, whatever and wherever they were. More than that, though ...
"I see some things, I guess. I don't know what it looks like when you see..." she said, quietly. "The rest is like an echo; like something I'd feel myself, but less ..." Pause. "Different."
Caelus glanced about him. Trying to describe what it was he saw to anyone - not the objects but what he saw, was a task impossible to achieve. From that perspective, he realised his question had been ignorant, and he shrugged one shoulder. People asked stupid questions all the time, didn't they? He could just go into Máire's head if he wanted, see what she saw that way. It was tempting, and he'd half turned towards her before he realised what he was doing. No, that wasn't who he was. The brief moment of eye contact ended, guilt began, and he turned his sights towards the street behind them.
"I should head back," he said. "Got a lot of stuff to catch up on at the office."
The shift around him was palpable; Máire blinked reflexively as though to be quite certain her reading was accurate. Guilt in Caelus, of all people, was certainly unexpected; the sheen around him was, typically, bright -- even today when it was, and had been, undercut by a thoughtfulness -- probably focus on whatever case he wasn't telling her about.
"What did I say?" She wondered out loud, her tone mostly conveying notes of confusion and a subtle sort of worry. Surely if she'd offended him (again), irritation would've been the primary reaction.
Caelus threw her a look, then cocked a convincing grin. He knew she wouldn't believe it, not with her unconscious thing going on, but the fact that her skill was automatic compared to his potential to choose did not exempt him from morals. It was not an excuse. "Nothing," he said. "Just got stuff to think about."
Indeed, Máire offered him an unconvinced look, though she chose to smile back instead of pressing the point. They only ever got so far in these conversations before someone was offended or annoyed; better to quit while relatively ahead. "Thank you for the escort," she said, instead, letting her lips settle into something wry -- though it wasn't quite a smirk; she didn't feel confident enough to throw one off completely. A touch of mischief lit her eyes, briefly.
"I'll need it." His response was high and dry, and along with a quirk of both brows, the Guard dutifully trotted off towards his pronounced destination.