RP:Lanlan's New Ambition

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Summary: Lanlan returns from his misadventure in House Dragana with dreadful information and a lead. First, Gospel has been summoned from the moon and is in one of the oceans. Second, Gospel has a sibling, a weapon of terrible power that Lanlan wants to find and wield against Caluss. He needs Gevurah’s help. She says no, and as his Matron, forbids him from pursuing their foolhardly plan. Lanlan storms out, intent on carrying out his plan with or without Gevurah’s approval.

House D’Artes

When Lanlan returned from House Dragana, he was moving as fast as he could, which was still quite slow. Even with the magical cane Gevie commissioned for him. He was aware of his temporary new limits, generally, that if he moved with any amount of haste, he'd run out of breath. If he breathed too deeply, he might cough, and possibly bleed. That hurt. So he'd urgently walk for several steps, then urgently wait and lean on his cane, enchanted to make him feel lighter, and painted with hot rod flames. When he did find his love, she was understandably worried, upset, angry. But it hurt him so much to talk, lately, that he was learning quickly not to waste words. He was able to endure her wrath, and breathe while his regrettable impulses burned at the tip of his tongue. For several seconds he did nothing but breathe and think of the most hurtful things to respond with. What could he say to avenge his pride? Several seconds and breaths passed, and his ego soothed itself. She was right, he was a fool. He'd apologize sincerely for his idiocy and sneakiness. He was lucky it paid off! He told her much of what he did and saw. Kasyr nearly lifeless, Quintessa desperate to save him. Then the dream. This, he said, was worth being stupid for. Lanlan believed he learned everything Kasyr would've told them if he wasn't a reckless buffoon, and even more. He learned from the source, that there might be yet another weapon to wield against Caluss, that Lanlan himself could wield! But he needed to use Gospel to get it... That was days ago, or weeks. During this lull, Lanlan focused as best he could on resting, and doing anything else Gevurah wanted. Yes, he almost certainly wounded her with his callous misadventure, but also he believed she could help him get this weapon. While Lanlan rested and acquiesced, Gospel traveled. From the moon back to Lithrydel. Lanlan dreamed of water. Dark, disturbed, endless. And salty! Lanlan knew this much. Today, Lanlan went out on a limb. "Gospel is back from the moon," Lanlan told Gevurah at dinner, sounding casual. "I think we should find it." But he wasn't casual. His eyes were wide, intent on her reaction, and he was unconsciously holding his breath.

During Lanlan’s foolhardy adventure, Gevurah could have found him and dragged him back to her cave, but she resisted that impulse for reasons that elude her powers of introspection (an underdeveloped skill of hers, to be sure). For a matron accustomed to keeping a firm grip on anything she can control (and who is easier to control than a drow in love with her?), she keeps a bafflingly loose touch on the illusionist, though she’d deny this if asked directly. This does not spare him a tongue lashing upon his return. She expends a considerable amount of creative energy making colorful threats that they both know she’ll never act on. Just as she begins to calm down, the mention of Kasyr and Quintessa re-inflames the embers of her wrath. “I want him to watch me kill her, and then I will kill him too.” This is a colorless threat which they both know she will act on. Then Lanlan floats the idea of wielding a powerful weapon against Caluss and Gevurah snorts at the idea. “No.” ...But that was days ago, or weeks. During that time, Gevurah and Lanlan fell into the less violent patterns of their lives as lovers and she transitioned from saying ‘no’ to ‘yes, yes, yes’. When apart, Gevurah devoted herself to researching the problem of Caluss, the source of his power, and how to defeat him without Kasyr or Daath. On this night, the night after Lanlan dreamt of new monster in the sea, Gevurah was completely at ease and amenable to just about anything the clever illusionist may suggest. He chose his timing well. There couldn’t be a more perfect time. “No,” she says firmly without looking at him.

Lanlan was aware enough of his privilege not to abuse it. An instinct kept him from leaving again even when he wanted to. In the early days of his recovery, this was often. Being infirm and quite powerless, did for some reason spur him toward the acquisition of a power he knew was out there. When he was healthy enough to love Gevurah again, he was comfortable. Greedily reveling in Gevurah's body and companionship equally. She was able to suppress his restlessness for a while, and he loved when she did. There was a small voice quietly shaming him for being so easily subdued, but he ignored it. Until he couldn't anymore, and he told her what he wanted, desperately wanted, and she declined him. Some part of him expected this, and he didn't know why. "Okay. Have Izzerin prepare provisions for me. Two weeks should be enough, I think."

Gevurah sat tensely in the silent seconds that followed her ‘no’. The way he said ‘okay’ pulled her nerves taut like brittle wires. But he insisted. She slammed her fist onto the table hard enough to make her dinnerware rattle. “I said no, Lanlan!” she hissed. The servants scurried out of the room lest they be dragged into another of Gevurah and Lanlan’s fights which often spill onto servant flesh. She glared at him across the table and would hold the glare until he backed down, or, more likely, provoked her.

Lanlan jumped a little bit much to his chagrin. This wasn't fair, he thought they were playing civil! He took a breath while the servants exited the room. Then he took another breath because he'd accidentally made it a habit. "I don't know what you're saying 'no' to. No to killing Caluss? No to helping me? Or simply no to anything I want." Then he cut off a piece of the very expensive truffle on his plate (made more expensive by the fact that no trees grew in the underdark, and the haste at which it must've been delivered specifically for his enjoyment). He toyed with eating it, even though he couldn't now. He was too amped up to eat anything. He balanced it on his fork, raised it halfway to his mouth, and then stopped. With barely a thought, he catapulted it toward her. As soon as it left the silverware he wished for it to miss.

Gevurah snarled at Lanlan’s response. “I don’t--” she bit her tongue, waited. “I said no.” She looked back down at her plate, perhaps foolishly on her part, knowing Lanlan’s penchant for impetuous acts. All she could hear was the pounding of her own blood in her head. Why did he insist on chasing these impossible, dangerous goals? Why did he always bring them back to these horrible arguments where- where- where she-- She couldn’t even bring herself to think of the words she’d been too cowardly to say. She’s so distracted in her anxious thoughts that she completely failed to detect the airborne fungi that smacked her squarely in the forehead and bounced off harmlessly onto her plate. She stared at the truffle in disbelief, then up at Lanlan, she quickly swiped her glass of wine and splashed the drink in his face.

Lanlan knew at a certain part of its trajectory that it wasn't going to miss. He shut his eyes and held his breath, and continued to do so even after he heard two soft plops. Only when the wine splashed against his face did he open them aghast. "How dare you!" He grabbed a fancy high-class cloth napkin and began to dab his face and lick his lips. "How dare-! Mmm." He tasted the wine and it was surprisingly good. He usually didn't partake. Was he supposed to still be mad? He couldn't be. There should've been a smack, isn't that right? Confused, thoughtlessly, he stands up, crosses the table, and grabs her chair by its arms and spins it toward him. Then he aggressively kisses her on the forehead where the mushroom hit her. Upon pulling his lips back, she's clean. "How did I know you would say no to this. Even though we both know it's right." He looks down and kneels, finding her hands in his. He brings them together and kisses them before looking up into her eyes. "Tell me what to do. I'll do it. Then you help me with this."

Gevurah read Lanlan’s intentions in the way he stood and approached her with such purpose. He sent a spark down her spine that reignited the passion that kept them fused despite the arguments and food fights. He reserved this level of sincerity only for her, and that special status intoxicated her, made the matron unable to keep up her end of a fight - if he didn’t push it, at least. Instead of answering him she kissed him, opened up to him, pulled him close despite the stickiness on his face, kissed and licked the wine off his cheek as her lips trailed towards his ear to whisper exactly what he should do. “Get me out of these clothes.”

Lanlan straightened his back and stretched his neck to receive her lust, eyes closed to focus on the sense of feeling. Her lips washed away the last remnants of tension rendered by their quickly forming and just-as-quickly dissipating skirmish. He gasped and smiled in sweet surprise when she licked his face, and then dove into her, sucking on her neck and collar bone, hungrily. When she spoke he stopped, put his hands on her shoulders, and stood up. With an imperious and smug grin, he says: "No."

Gevurah grins back, misinterpreting his mimicry for a game. “Oh?” she purrs back as she loosens his pants. With his absurd idea to chase an all powerful, sentient, evil weapon far from her mind, the tension has gone from her body as well. “We’ll see how long you can resist.”

Lanlan really didn't want to resist. He really didn't. But there was something else at stake, more important even than nooky. He had no choice but to grab her hand apply a slight rap to the back of it. "I said 'No', Gevurah," he scolded her, implying he was serious with the use of her actual name. "Not until you agree to help me."

Gevurah’s mood soured slowly then all at once. “This again,” she spat out. Her lips curled into a snarl. She’s unaccustomed to being questioned, unaccustomed to being defied. “Watch your tone, Lanlan. You’re not as indispensable as you think.” She leaned back in her chair as if it were her throne and leveled a steely glare on the illusionist. “You forget that I am still your matron. Perhaps I’ve given you too many freedoms, but I am happy to take them away if you’re confused about how this works.”

Lanlan was too quick, he realized. Maybe if he applied a little more caressing, a little more loving, she would've melted and acquiesced. But his sexy event horizon isn't far enough away for him to push it, and the way she can surprise him sometimes (by licking his face for example) can throw off all his calculations. So he failed. And he doesn't take the news pleasantly and his face darkens. Instinctively he looks around to remind himself there's no one else in the room before he says anything too insubordinate. Then he scowls deeper, realizing what he just did. A stressed twitch quirks his neck and he takes a slow breath in through flared nostrils. Then his face softens and he smiles a little, stepping slowly over to her. "You're right, Gevie. I love you. I'm sorry. You are my matron. " He gives her some hopefully mollifying upper arm rubs and a small kiss on the cheek. "But only as long as I'm in this house." Then the illusion vanishes and the door slams behind Lanlan. Gevurah's alone.