RP:Ghost in the Machine

Summary: Lionel and Alvina simply cannot be. And yet they are.

Frostmaw: East Hall

Alvina arrived at the fort a short time after she departed. To Hudson's dismay, he had to journey with her to help bring supplies and basically steer the unwieldy mount that brought them here. Cleo, Hudson's flying horse, was having none of their nonsense. After the alchemist unpacked all of their stuff from Alvina's mount (Zi – an adorable little wyvern like creature that traveled with her in the shape of a silver necklace), he'd sulked off to find them a room and passed out. Truth be told, he'd done most of the hard work since Alvina looked to explode at any point in time. It's amazing what a few days time could do in terms of size and mobility. Her breathing is labored before she even opens the door to the East hall of the Fort. She's not looking for anything or anyone in particular, just trying to go through the exercises, like Emilia had suggested. If she starts having any kind of false contractions, walking around is the only way to soothe them. It's this advice that finds her white boots clicking across the stone floor.

Lionel isn’t looking for anything or anyone, either. An uncommon thing, perhaps, considering the rigors of his role. He’s pacing. Old habits die hard, and the man has never been one to suffer stillness overlong. Besides which, he has begun to realize since settling in here in one place, for the first time in his life there is necessity to heed his weight. All those fights and forward scouting operations would doubtless keep him reasonably trim on their own right, but state dinners and the weeks without travel do take tolls on men caught unawares. Lionel will not be caught unawares. And so it is that the Catalian strolls in his fine but casual black silks down one hall and then the next. Orders are issued to Rorin at one turn, Ameno another. Conference with Emrith surprises Lionel when the elf pops into view just ahead. Urgent news from southwest border patrols, pushy shopkeeps with too much pomp, and no fewer than three separate invitations to sup from three separate courtesans rounds out the man’s evening waltz of events. None of it fazes him now. Nor is the shopkeep entertained, nor the courtesans’ hands accepted. None of this is new. He sighs, leaning against a cold stone wall for a moment of tranquility, when suddenly Alvina steps into view from due west. A smile flicks his lips unwittingly. “Shouldn’t you be resting?’

Alvina stops when she spots the Knight Commander. All she can do is laugh. “Did you join the harp choir too?” Harp as in...harping on her to act like a proper pregnant woman and resort to moaning and groaning days or weeks before her labor begins. “I'll add you to the check list, they met thursdays and saturdays to compare my schedule with what I should be doing.” She gives hima smile, shaking her head in the process. “Shouldn't you be out protecting the realm?” Was her comeback. Not every quick of her. To be fair, she's struggling with the walking bit more than she should be. Good thing Hudson was snoring somewhere nearby or she'd be a damsel in distress. “Isn't it a little late for all Good Knights to be wandering around indoors?”

Lionel is unable to suppress a smirk at that. He kicks off the wall with the boot that had rested upon it, waltzing down Alvina’s way to close the distance casually. “No harps, but I did dance with a vampire in the pale moonlight just yesterday. It wasn’t intentional, mind you, but then, what ever is around here?” He steps too swiftly and almost walks straight past her. A perennial problem for someone so quick-footed. Recovering poise with a faux-normal fold of his arms, his eyes seem to catch the nearby lanterns’ fire with a certain passion. He’s in a fairly good mood but the ghost of someone ever-tired still haunts his features. “I’ve found, too late and to my peril, that there’s a whole lot of realm to be protected right inside these walls.” He extends one soon-unfolded arm in an offer to take her hand -- gently, politely, but firmly enough to aid in her composure without going through the motions of asking to help. “You wanted to talk,” he explains, “and I wasn’t available then. I am now.”

Alvina scrunches her face up at Lionel. “Dance with a vampire in the – what are you on about?” Her laughter cuts through the otherwise chilled room, bouncing perfectly off the surrounding stone work. Her crimson locks are woven into a pseudo-braid at the nape of her neck. Only a few unruly strands now claim freedom, to get into her eyes or tickle her cheeks. Her hand falls into his so she can covertly catch her elusive breath. “That's bound to cause you some trouble,” she remarked of him finding things to protect inside as opposed to outside. “When will you find time to sleep?” All gentle ribbing aside, she's surprised he remembered they were due to have a conversation...right after Emilia had left, in fact. Before Hildegarde's return. She'd asked him what was wrong, but he never answered. “Have you concocted a reply for me then? Since you are now, as you say, available?”

Lionel is glad to have Alvina’s hand; it’s been evident to him since they’d met that she’s pushing herself too hard. Under separate circumstances, he might not dwell overmuch, but this is an unusually strong connection -- even if he’s not yet sure it isn’t mere attachment to a reminiscent scenario. If she will permit him, he’ll gracefully lead the way to a nearby bench. Here in this relatively desolate corridor, they can sit and speak and for once avoid interruption. “It’s a long story,” he grins in reply to that first bit, about the vampire and the dancing and all manner of things he’d really rather not mention. Not because they’re painful, but because he’d been kissed by a flamboyant man in a pretty red dress. “Sleep’s for the weak, someone once told me.” He bites his lip and stares down to the flat yet cracked ground. The fellow who had told him that didn’t live a very long life at all, come to think. “But then again, m-maybe I ought to give it a try sometime.” He flashes a knowing smile at her, leaving unspoken the hopes that she’ll make sure she does the same. “As for your question… I suppose I have, after a fashion. The answer is… it’s a long story.” Full circle, Catalian. Smooth but deflective. If they sit, he’ll look to her with a sudden evidently-streaked sorrow. “Alvina, I really don’t know where to begin. We all live our lives, and all our lives are a story of our own to tell. There’s so much I’d enjoy learning about you -- and I’m sure there’s much you could say. But when I… try to find it in me to tell people who -I- am, who I was, it’s easier to point to a history book and tell ‘em to read the cliffnotes. I’ve fought in wars and defended Lithrydel for a long time.” He pauses, sighing. “But I don’t know that I’ve ever really -lived.- I’ll be 30 this year, and… I’ve never known what it is to just… be.” A moment might pass, and should it pass, his distanced expression will shift -- with some visible effort -- to something further upbeat. “But we’ve only just met, and you’ve got so much to focus on, lass. I don’t know why I’m telling you this…” No, Lionel. You do. When the light catches Alvina Liadon’s form just so, Alexia Isis is looking straight at you.

Alvina lets the Knight trick her into sitting down. Did he not hear Emilia's advice? That walking around was all right? Her smirk, while his hand is still in her grasp, is what gives her away. She's in the know, run for the hills. She's quiet, for a time. He's struggling in circles about what he wants to say, and still only arrives at watch Alvina guesses is the surface of the issue. 30, and starting to wonder just where life has taken you. “I see.” She nods, with a forced weight of seriousness. In truth, the bard might have enjoyed hearing about Valen's attempts, in a dress or whathaveyou but...it wasn't her place to determine what it was that bothered him. This is what Lionel has decided to share and so she takes it into her proverbial hands and holds it delicately, like he's just offered her the key to his eternal heartbreak. “First, you'll have to stop running.” The words drop from her lips before she can fully contemplate what she'll say. “From the way I hear it, you've been fighting nonstop for a very long time...and I don't have a keen knowledge of warriors or wars but I think anyone that goes about doing so many great things is...running from something. Most of the time...it's something in themselves that they don't want to face.” Her girlish smile, present moments before, has sunken in the flickering torch light to look much older. Perhaps the face of someone who understood the trials of age. Someone who had also spent a long time running. When he mumbles about why he's telling her, a complete stranger all this, a warmer glow returns to her. “ It's because you sense something about me that's familiar to you. Is that right? “ The way he's looking at her, like he's known her forever, is heartbreaking. She wants to give him some comfort, she's seen that look from others before. What was it about her that made people open their hearts to her? It certainly was not something she planned on changing any time soon, especially if it meant she could take a moment and see him as a person at her side instead of a Knight Commander, ruler of a great many men, planner of wars or battles...feller of great beasts. Sometimes...you just need to be seen...as a human being.

Lionel had heard Emilia’s advice. Truly, he trusts it, too. And yet here he is, insisting anyway. Curious, that. When she speaks, however, he listens. He’s all ears, really, his eyes continually catching that light. There’s a sparkle in them now -- no, nothing like an over-the-top glow, per se, but a bit of a passionate sparkle nevertheless. Had Alvina been privy to his relations with others, she’d note that he seems livelier with her than he does in most any other setting. Which is not to say he isn’t full of fire when speaking with the queen, or certainly -- and rather literally -- when battling dark forces. There is even some stage presence through the eyes of men and women like Khitti and Penelope and Dominic and even Briar and Esche. But it’s nothing quite like this. Alas, Alvina has not seen Lionel interact with these fine folks just yet; even so, the animated nature of his gaze, here in this hall on this bench where he can feel intrigued with her words and simply be himself, should work suitably to tell her she has his every ounce of attention. Even when she seems almost to age with the torches, Lionel’s only discernible reaction is to squint in deeper consideration. Running. She’s mentioned running. Oh, if she’d only known him as a boy. How he’d run, blade in hand, directly into archvillains until all were grateful their megalomaniacal speeches had ended. But he was running from the reality that his homeland had been conquered and his people’s way of life decimated. He was running from his duty as their rightful prince. He had chosen Lithrydel over Catal -- and one day, he’d pay the iron price for that. In the meanwhile, Lithrydel would fight back against his best efforts for peace at every turn. Is he running now? Aye, he’s running. A different kind of running. With Catal in ashes to the far east, only Lithrydel remains, and measures toward a lasting peace have been taken, boldly. But all those moments where the realm fought him tooth and nail for success? Well, they’d led to all sorts of tragedy. Tragedy like the death of his wife, yes, and he’s been running from her ghost ever since -- running from any opportunity to settle down in one place, to stop running, just long enough for someone else to die needlessly. Oh, it hasn’t stopped them from dying. Nor has Lionel felt any easier for their deaths. But that’s the thing about running. Sometimes, it’s from ourselves. ‘It’s because you sense something about me that’s familiar to you, is that right?’ Lionel has been in a trance again. It snaps him back and the glimmer in his eyes goes cold. “Yes,” he confirms. He bites his lip and looks at her, silently pleading but verbally uncertain how to proceed. One little word for all her trouble. ‘Yes.’

Alvina sensed despair. Maybe he wasn’t ready to process it. That’s okay! Better bring it back, for his sake and her own. If something rash happened because she said something…she’d never forgive herself. “Yes?” She echoes, a question but also an answer. Selfishly, she wanted his smile to come back, for him to take her hand and kick off the wall he was leaning against so she could have a moment to say something light hearted, something quaint and easy to answer. “I just wanted to know how you were, you always look happy enough but you’re very busy. Set my motherly heart at rest by saying you are taking care of yourself.” An easy out. Say the words. Lie if you must. “We arrived not long ago, we’re going to see Pilar in the morning to put her leg to use. You should stop by if you have the time. Say mid afternoon? See the progress we made.” Her fleshed digits are still wrapped haphazardly around Lionel’s hand but it feels so odd. It’s a combination of much too hot and then, by contrast, much too cold. “Lionel?” She asks, fearing she’ll lose him in the depth of the silence. Her metallic prosthetic, gleaming rose gold in the fickle flames surrounding, rose to his face. Lightly, it kisses his cheek with chilled metal. Could that she would make it feel like real skin. Concern back lights her emerald eyes as she watches him, anxiety swelling in her chest like an excitable balloon.

Lionel takes Alvina’s hand, kicking off the wall he’s leaned on. He seats himself awkwardly beside her as a metallic chill graces his cheek. Something about the man has seemed to shift the very instant those pretty eyes of hers fill with worry. “I’m sorry for troubling you.” A vibrance graces his tone. The spirit in him -- no, not Halycanos, but rather, his ardor -- seems to have returned. His azure gaze is warm again. With a sigh, he continues. “The happiness I show the world… it isn’t always real.” It usually isn’t, Lionel. “It’s not that I enjoy deception. I just don’t know how to be myself and not despair.” Another sigh. A shameful glare off to the distant shadows. “I’m speaking in riddles. But I don’t mean to. People -- good people, kind and gentle -- have tried very hard to open me back up. It’s been… a very long time since I opened myself to anything but duty. Sometimes, briefly, someone succeeds. Stick around me for long enough and I’m sure you would too. Only… you don’t have to, Alvina, because unlike all the rest of them, I’ve found I cannot remain closed to you for long. This sounds strange, maybe even uncomfortable -- I’m sorry.” He looks at her fiercely, amiable but determined. “You remind me of someone I lost long ago. The day I closed myself to all but duty. I don’t know what to do with that feeling except to confide in you. It’s foolish and shortsighted. But from the moment I met you, my only prevailing thought toward you is your safety.” He tries, but fails, to bring back the smile. “I guess that means you’re stuck with me. I hope the father doesn’t mind.” Wherever Alvina’s statement about Pilar went, it doesn’t appear like Lionel has remembered to register it. Too deep, now, is he in a battlefield he usually fears: total honesty with himself and others.

Alvina watches Lionel with every fiber in her. Her lips slack, parting in a subtle 'o'. Oh, Lionel you aren't the only one to fake a smile for the sake of others. Oh, how many times I've wished to say this to someone else. The same words you whisper back to me. His soul is shouting through all echoing stonework. 'Good people, kind and gentle – have tried very hard to open me back up.' A fierce twinge of concern. Sharp, like a shattered blade through the skin, cutting in odd angles. It bit through her heart. Why did his fake smile tug her heartstrings so? And to make this confession? The man might as well have pulled out his own, still beating and broken heart, to deposit in her lap. What could she say? He had no future in romancing her. She was about to give birth to two twin girls, their father just down the hall. What else could she expect his proposition to mean? She wanted to believe that he was noble and of higher cause but he'd always seemed like more than a mortal to her, standing tall and determined. Unbending Unbroken. “I know.” She whispers, though there's no cause to. There's something hesitant in her speech, gaze diverted to look at the palms she's retracted to overlap on her swollen stomach. Was this how Hudson felt when he met Valrae? Like they were two stars, streaming past each other at the wrong time? If she'd met Lionel first...he'd never have hurt her the same way...But those thoughts were toxic. She shook them free. None of that matters. She loved Hudson, she could only offer Lionel the same kindness she'd offer any man, woman, or child that opened their hearts to her. The bard could only promise to do her best not to break it. She's doing her best to construct a smile worthy of fooling him, but she's quite sure it's too transparent. “I will keep...every piece you share intact...That is my vow to you in return.” What else could she say? They were not lovers meeting in the dead of night, exchanging whispered vows of woe and passion. Writing jaunty love sonnets with scribbled initials in the margins. No. They were two adults, flying through life, doing the best they could with what they had. And this was what they had for now. Each other, and the people who loved them. “Come by Pilar's room tomorrow, to meet him.” It's an odd request but she has to do things correctly. If she were a weaker woman by any means, she might have wilted against Lionel then. To press her lips to his and tried desperately to suffocate his inner world with her affections. Such a thought was madness, and embarrassed her so. “I...want to give you nothing but honesty.” Only now can she re-claim her position by looking directly into his eyes. So tempestuous, even the oceans envy his turmoil. “And I can accept nothing but honesty in return.”

Lionel feels raw, like he’s been left open too long by half already. He doesn’t know what to do with this feeling. He doesn’t know how to shut the door once it’s already been opened. He doesn’t even realize it’s fatefully impossible romance what tugs at his heart like a drawbridge that can never be crossed. In war, Lionel is hero. In weakness, he is helpless. What could he expect, she wonders? Lionel isn’t even that far ahead; he expects nothing, but subconsciously craves for everything. ‘I know.’ Her whisper slices through the mental fog and clings to him. He looks to her eyes, but they do not look back. Why won’t they look back? Lionel wants Alvina’s eyes on him. His own eyes well up in protest but he’s long since learned to ignore the sting and keep the tears within. There’s a smile on her lips, now, yet it doesn’t bring peace. Why won’t it bring peace? Is it false? A taste of his own lifelong medicine? She’s vowing to him now -- vowing! -- but an ache begins to seize him though he holds it from cracking the surface. Him… she wants Lionel to meet -him.- The father. An odd sort of whimsy descends upon the Catalian and his mouth folds into a grin he tries to keep. He cannot seem to keep it. “That’s…” Lionel swallows and clears his precipitously parched throat. He can’t seem to say it. Instead, he’ll only nod to confirm. Why is his throat so dry? Why do his lips feel repressed, dissatisfied, even wishful? Suddenly, she’s looking at him, and she’s the only woman in the world whose glimpse will ever matter. Suddenly, he’s with her, and he does not want her elsewhere. Suddenly, she’s Alvina Liadon, not Alexia Isis’ ghost, nor does that bother him in the slightest. “I should very much like to have your honesty.” The words seem to pour from him without his recognition. He peers down, trying not to look long at her, as if she is the sun, yet he sees her, like the sun, even without looking.

Alvina remembers this expression. The faulty expression Lionel currently paints onto each feature as quickly as possible. She remembers...a man. Who came to meet her on the day Linken asked for her hand. So – Many – Years ago. He said he wished to talk and she'd come running. Spinning and singing at the height of her voice to declare the elf had asked for her hand. His face sank in the same irreparable fashion. She nervously issued a sound much like a sob. All the weight and air in her chest is forced out in a whimper, though she doesn't know what's happening. It startled her. She has to press a hand to her collar, w-what had happened? Was she okay? She looked up at Lionel, in a panic. Did he look worried? Was he all right? But his eyes were mirrors. All she could see...was how she felt, reflected on his face. A laugh, obviously pushed from her lungs, to defuse the situation. “I-I guess I really am exhausted after traveling I think I...I think I...” She chuckles in the space between them, trying to fill it. To change his worried expression to something she could understand and deal with. His misery was too apparent and sliced her to pieces. Almost anyone she could stand but...why not him? Then, she stands, with difficulty. He's sure to offer to help her and she'll graciously accept with some fleeting excuse. “Maybe you're right.” A false smile, plain as dawn on her lips. “I should be getting some rest.” A pause, while she mulls something over. “P-Please say you'll come, tomorrow.” It's so shallow, why would she want him there? So she can awkwardly watch him meet the father of her children, who is neither husband or fiance'. “I-I just fear I won't feel it's complete unless it has your approval.” Is he still holding her hand? Will he notice, if she doesn't pull her hand away first?

Lionel is astonished when Alvina gasps her whimper, flashing his face to her in immediate concern. Her panic becomes his panic but he shields what he can in a stubborn shot at steadfast. Surely, steadfast is what she needs. It doesn’t matter. What she sees instead is her reflection -- and he begins to see his own. They’re two halves cleaved from the same consummate diamond taxing themselves dangerously in vain to become whole. She’s stammering now, covering leagues-long holes with blunt sticks and ember. This isn’t a void they can patch with nervous laughter. Why is this a void at all? What now is missing which is needed so? Lionel chafes at his own heart beating as his lips part dumbly. Alvina rises; Lionel rises faster. Wordlessly, he catches her. All her de beaux mots seems insufficient to satisfy the void. “You have my approval, my lady,” he answers, leering gently at her when he teases with titles despite their every tragic circumstance. “Please rest.” An eternal moment. “I’ll be there.” He is still holding her hand.

Alvina pauses and then, by exercise of will power, releases Lionel's hand with a gracious almost-bow. “I bid you good morrow, Sir Knight Commander.” Again, a smile is pressed tightly on her lips but it is not her own. It is a reflection of her fear. To admit the echoes of their hearts exist is a death sentence. He may never know she felt it too, this indescribable void for no visible reason. Things were finally settling down in her life. Hudson was at last by her side, and her side alone. How could she now waver, not because of his selfish behavior, but because of her own impulse to be less than herself. If all obstacles were cast aside, could she still have made an equal confession? Or would her constant fear of being rejected, broken, left for another woman (as had twice now been the case in her love affairs) made her silence her tongue and still extend the hand of friendship in place of a careful kiss? It is too late to say. They have said their words and felt their hearts break without real reason. This night is not reasonable. Something is afoot and she can no longer trust herself here in this place. “Good night.” She calls, turning away from Lionel in a final show of rejection. Maybe she's only over thinking it. All she's truly said was goodbye, but it felt more permanent. Like he would not show up tomorrow. Like she would never see him again. The only sound that chases her down the corridor to her room is the thunderous click clack of her white heeled boots, digging in each step she takes away from him.

Lionel stands in the hall, alone and in love.