RP:If I'm Being Honest

Summary: Unable to accept his gift, Alvina takes it back to Xiem's office and finds him holed up in his apartment above the business. The anniversary of his wife's death caught him in a web of crippling depression. Alvina tries to help pull him out but when he demands to know why she's there, she presents the basket and tells him to never do such a thing again before leaving.

Every time I pass the hardest part, Here comes another ghost just to pull me to the dark.

Nildran Construction

Alvina keeps the basket stuffed in a closet for a couple days. She could easily put it in her purse but the idea of knowing it's there crawls under her skin in a way she'd rather not think about. One afternoon, when the kids would be at various afterschool activities, Alvina totes the basket (in her purse) to Xiem's Construction office in Frostmaw. The frigid weather is brisk, reminding her of all manner of things she'd much rather forget. Frostmaw had rarely been a kind place to her heart and the trend continues today.

At Xiem's office, she steps in the front door, shaking snow from her navy cloak. Though she's a werewolf, she remembers the ache of her bones in the cold and still feels it, like a phantom limb. Her expression is sullen and tired as she lets the receptionist (if one exists) that she's here to Xiem. Her pinned curls fall down the sides of her face and into the cloak's hood at the base of her neck. The cloak hides the rest of what she wears but it's modest and warm. Her satchel strap cuts across her chest, no heavier than usual, with a weight she can't stomach or shake. Alvina Landon takes a seat to wait until the receptionist directs her down the hall to the correct set of doors. Her pale hands fiddle with the rose clasp on her cloak nervously. If she just pictures Brennia beside her, kicking him in the shins, she'll be okay.

Xiembantointh is nowhere to be found and he hasn’t been at the work sight for the last week, so luckily Alvina has not checked there first. It has been nearly a month since their day of work and karaoke night. The door to the office is unlocked and a little bell rings when she wanders in to a poorly lit small room with a back office that Xiem must work out of. Alvina would have had to step over a pile of letters that had been shoved through the mail slot when she initially welcomed herself in and the reception desk is equally neglected. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here or even in Xiem’s office and just when things couldn’t get more eerie in the quiet, there are noises coming from the ceiling above as if someone is walking around. It wouldn’t take much for Alvina to find the stairs that lead to the second floor, but does she dare venture up there? Is that even him up there? And if it is, does the dragon really live in a drab place such as this? It’s positively abysmal! At the top of the stairs she will find herself on a small landing that leads to a locked door… That is if she’s braved it this far.

Finding the office and connected rooms to be in such a sorry state, Alvina frowns. If she was still a human, she might have hesitated more. Instead, she pads up the stairs and finds the door. She's already steeled herself against the possibility of fighting with Xiem. Of having to shut down their friendship if it came to it. She's partially to blame for it, after all, she'd gone on that tangent about 'being seen'. Now she felt seen, but she felt seen in a way she didn't like. Beggars can't be choosers, a little voice in the back of her mind tells her with cynical boldness. The sounds coming from upstairs are the only marks of life in this place, so of course she has to check it. Her hand falls on the knob of the door and turns it to find it locked. Of course it would be. This is when she might pause. The idea of busting down an unknown door in an unfamiliar business felt too familiar. If it was Hudson's office? Of course. Here? In a place like this? Alvina hesitates and listens more, trying to determine if it is Xiem behind the locked door. After weighing the decision, the state of the office below gives her cause enough to check. She digs through her satchel and pulls out a small device meant to unlock doors. Instead of busting it down or breaking in, though, she knocks with stiff shoulders and shallow breath.

Xiembantointh had not heard the ring of the office door below like he usually does, but even if he had, he didn’t care. It was when the door in his apartment is tried that makes him pause and narrow those azure hues towards it. This is new. He’d be shut up in his efficiency apartment for the last week, barely eating, but drinking plenty and not that weak stuff strong enough for humans or the like. He’s gone into his reserves of the specialty brewed liquor that is only meant for the high tolerance dragons have and that’s kept him sufficiently dulled during his shut in time. It seems he must actually get up and do something about the burglar in his office so he grunts while forcing himself to get up off the couch. There is a sheet draped over his broad shoulders and he simply wears a pair of sweatpants with slippers that shuffle the short distance to the door. Then there is a sigh when whoever it is finally knocks and while one hand grips the neck of his liquor bottle, the other switches the lock on the handle. He opens the door just enough for his face to be seen and bloodshot eyes look down to Alvina. There is no life in his face and definitely not the usual joy. With the beard and wavy brown hair left down, even a little bed ridden, Xiem’s many years are visible. It’s obvious he hasn’t been sleeping or maybe he’s been crying, but more than likely it is both. He doesn’t even say anything when he sees it’s Alvina and merely walks away from the door without so much as a, ‘come in’. Maybe there is something wrong with how her house is coming, who knows, but he shuffles back over to the couch and plops back down. If she even dares to push the door the rest of the way open to venture within she will see a very small apartment in need of a paint job and some upgrades, but most of all the stale air and general disarray of how someone keeps their living space when going through an episode of depression. He simply slumps down in the comfort of his couch and throws back another gulp of his drink while waiting for the lady to state her case or leave. Could this have possibly been over the basket he sent her!? Is she brave enough to even ask?

Alvina waits with sharp eyes and silent lips as the footfalls bring someone to the door and the door opens. Not horribly surprising to see that it's Xiem up here, it is his business after all, but the state of him is concerning. They lock eyes and he leaves the door open and moves away. Even if it's indifferently, he's invited her in. Using her cloaked elbow to open the door, she stands near the threshold. Her face is pinched with recognition. This place. Something was very wrong. And it feels, impossibly, like the best or worst time to bring up the basket in her possession. Giving it back and asking no further questions would solidify the line of employee and employer. Asking too many questions could give the opposite effect. She hears Bre's voice in the back of her mind and struggles to do the thing she'd set out to do. A person was hurting. And even if they were strangers, Alvina would ask. She doesn't bother doing much more than shutting the door behind her. Thinking better of that, she pulls the door open wider, and parts a path part way into the apartment. So she stands, not as awkwardly as one might think, in the chilled space of his home. Green eyes settle on him, strong but patient, to listen to what he might or might not say. In no universe, in her mind, is this level of upset about the basket.

Xiembantointh doesn’t look toward her as she ventures into his destitute of an apartment and he remains silent while his gaze is fixed on the old rug in the small living area. The open door allows some of the stale air to escape and replaces it with Alvina’s wonderful scent. Xiem’s guilt pulls him further down into misery and he’s reminded of when they shared a hug, a gaze, a touch or two. How he knew he would regret all of those small moments later because he wished it was his wife in those delicate moments, but he cannot understand why it only happens around Mrs. Landon. He’s had many friends that are ladies and even a couple of flings, so why does that happen? And why now? With the sheet draped lazily over his shoulders, it is obvious he isn’t wearing a shirt and the ring dangling on his chain glistens in the small forest of chest hair where the sheet parts. Even though it has only been about a week since he has shut himself in, he doesn’t know what day it even is and had successfully put to bed all those little guilty moments where he wished Alvina was Nildran. That is until she tried to break in just now and is standing there declining to speak, but he waits patiently while his gaze is still fixed on a single point on the rug and it feels like an eternity with the silence growing between them.

Alvina decides to take inventory when Xiem deigns not to speak. The clothes, his appearance all entered into a databank for processing. Not that she needed it. The apartment told the story all on it's own. Maybe the anniversary of his wife's death was approaching. That makes the most sense. "Xiem," she sighs, dropping her crossed arms to look at him. "Are you going to tell me what's going on? As much as I'd like to sit in silence...it looks like you've been doing enough of that on your own." Naturally being alone would mean a crushing silence, at least to Alvina. He looks haggard in a way she hadn't expected. Her tone is a little cold. Not out of spite but to assert the importance of speaking. Then, more softly she adds. "You can tell me." There's a feeling sitting in her stomach though. One that reminds her all too well of a certain Knight Commander she'd rather not dredge up.

Xiembantointh still doesn’t even look towards her as she addresses him, but it’s not like he’s looking everywhere else to purposely avoid her. No, he is continuously staring at the old rug in front of him as his hand brings the bottle to his lips once more. At first there is only a mere grunt at was she says, but is it a negative one or a grunt of agreement? Who’s to say. He caves when she becomes softer as he realizes it is unfair to her and there is new guilt as he reminds himself that many things have been unfair to her. So he will never ever tell her that sometimes he wishes she was Nildran. The normally warm crackling fire that is his voice sounds is barely there as it sounds so tired and a bit horse while he begins, “it happens every year.” He clears his throat as if trying to fix his voice, but it doesn’t work, “Nildran… she passed onto the beyond around this time.” The anniversary of her death was three days ago, but his days have blended together and doesn’t realize. Then he realizes that she probably showed up at the worksite and his employees know what to expect every year when this happens, so they would have pointed her in this direction. Now he has some explaining to do, “don’t worry Mrs. Landon. I’ll be back at the worksite in no time. I’m sorry to say this happens every year,” he downs another gulp of his drink and self consciously makes sure the sheet is covering his slight dad bod abdomen. He still has yet to even look her way as his eyes are trained on nothing at all it seems.

Alvina studies his expression when he finally speaks. She sighs with quiet understanding. It's exactly what she'd thought. That's going to make it that much harder to give back this basket, which she's still resolved to do. She thinks back to when she'd been crippled with depression. After the loss of a surprise child before it even had the chance to be born. Weeks and months had passed with her stuck in her bed, crying and useless. The house fell into disrepair. Hudson struggled to keep her afloat but their relationship was very new. This pregnancy an accident they weren't ready for. Who was she to tell Xiem how to process that grief? Who was she to help? "I'm sorry, I truly am." And it's clear from her tone that it's said with the most sincere understanding. She looks around the apartment again, feeling it's heavy aura threatening to drag anyone who dared enter down. "Here," she says gently, in a motherly tone that suited her. She approaches the couch and leans down, hand stretched out to take the bottle from him gingerly and set it on the floor. "It's okay to feel this way and it is okay to grieve how you must." He wasn't hurting anyone here, locked away, but it wasn't helpful either. She's positioned in such a way as to almost demand he look at her where she's leaned over in front of him. Even if he did find the strength to tell her how he wished she was his late wife, she was guilty of a similar crime. But Xiem wasn't Hudson, even when he'd hugged her and she'd wished it was true more than anything. For her estranged husband to hug her, say he sees her struggling? She'd have given anything. "I'm not here about the worksite."

Xiembantointh simply grunts again when she says she’s sorry and again it is unclear how it is intended. Xiem’s grip on the bottle doesn’t loosen right away, but he didn’t want any of it to spill out due to them wrestling for it, so he lets her take it. He doesn’t have much to add about the things she tells him because it sounded like the very thing he’s said to her before. Those days feel miles away and like another time all together, but he knows this won’t last and he will go back to being the jolly guy everyone is always happy to see. He just needs this little bit of time out of the whole year to miss his wife. He misses waking up next to her and watching as the rays of morning sun illuminate her, but the list goes on and on. She was his best friend. Alvina invites herself into his line of sight and he doesn’t avert his gaze, but it does appear as if he’s looking right through her and at the floor. “Okay,” he is a little surprised, but it doesn’t show. “Why are you here?”

Alvina winces internally at his question. Why is she here. "That can wait." And she thinks it can. It isn't the most important thing in the moment. She didn't know how to tell him he didn't need to be anything. She hoped he didn't feel like he had to be a jolly guy people loved to be around. It fit him naturally so she thinks it is natural for him. "Let me help make things easier for a minute." She doesn't blame him when he looks through her. She's mostly just relieved he'd relented the bottle. Not because she had any personal problems with drinking but because...whatever the reason she can't articulate is, it's selfish of her. Alvina stands again, moving to the side in a self made path. Maybe her being here was too personal. She tries to think of the hardest things she'd done when she was depressed. The things that felt like they took the most energy. If he was a much closer friend, she'd shoo him into the shower immediately and move through the house to make sure there was food and make him eat it. But she isn't. "What can I do?"

Xiembantointh will regret this probably for a long time, but when she says that she’s here to help make things easier, he does turn his head and cast his gaze down and away from her because he knows what he must say. It is usually natural to be a jolly man because his wife has given him five wonderful children and they’ve given him grandchildren. They all are worth pressing on for, but it is impossible to not feel the emptiness on the anniversary of his wife’s death. Finally when she asks what she can do, he does look up at her. It is everything within him to form the words because she looks so pretty and she is so very sweet, “unfortunately, the longer you’re here, the harder you’re making the situation. Please,” he sighs, looking so tired, “just state why you’ve come here and the most anyone can do for now is not be dragged into this.” Both of his hands pull the sheet around himself tighter now they are free of his drink.

Alvina feels a particular kind of gutted by this. She'd only been trying to help, and though she can rationalize this is a normal response for someone depressed, it still stings. She isn't mad...only hurt. Hurt when she didn't truly have a right to be. She'd come here to yell at him. She sighs again, trying to dissipate the heavy weight on her chest. She grabs the bottle and offers it back to him. If he doesn't take it, it continues it's residence on the floor. "I came to bring this back." Alvina throws her cloak back away from her satchel. She digs deep before hefting the large, expensive basket from inside and setting it down on the floor between them. Briefly, she wonders if her being here makes him feel the same way the basket destroyed her heart. She picks her words carefully. "I can't accept this." The whys and hows should be self evident. "I saw this...and I thought my husband sent it." Her voice cracks so she clears it. "Please don't send something like this again." Self evident or not, that seems plain enough for anyone to understand. All the contents of the basket are intact save a single chocolate. "Brennia ate one of the chocolates before we knew." That was the most Alvina Landon could muster. "Drink proper water with that alcohol." As rough a goodbye as she'd ever given. Then she turns, walking back down the same pathway towards the door but leaving the apartment door open so more air filters in. He can shut if it he wishes. The rest of the building is empty anyway.

Xiembantointh simply watches her as she struggles to pull something from her bag and for once his expression changes. His brow knits together in confusion as he watches her set the thing down. He honestly looks like he has no idea what all that is, but after a few seconds he is reminded. Had he really sent all that? It has felt like a lifetime ago that he was happy enough to try and cheer her up in such a way. “Oh, that,” then he carelessly shrugs, “do whatever you want with it.” She is deciding to leave it there, that’s fine because it is hers to do what she wishes. “Yeah, I wish he sent it,” he says honestly. “Won’t happen again,” he mumbles before she gives the odd goodbye and storms off. He doesn’t care to close the door behind her and continues wallowing in his misery before placing the whole basket gently in the garbage.