RP:Self-Inflicted

From HollowWiki

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc


Part of the The Day I Tried To Live Arc


Summary: Alvina seeks to ease her anguish over Khitti's apparent death by speaking with Lionel. Her hopes are dashed when he neither tells her the truth -- that she's alive but without her memories -- nor opens up enough to comfort her. Esche offers small words of hope as he watches Alvina struggle.

Cenril

Alvina had a lot on her mind, per usual. It's evident in her gait. The heavy weigh she wears on her shoulders at all times. The lack of sleep showing on her unusually pale features. Otherwise, she appears healthy enough as she strides towards the wharf. She'd heard tell that one Lionel O'Connor was sighted near the ship known as Tranquility. Several sailors had pointed her in this direction. She'd gotten lost twice. She's dressed in her usual garb; navy high neck dress without the accompanying cloak. She'd seen Meri a couple weeks ago and received news of Khitti's death. Lionel was the obvious link in the chain for her. Khitti had been very fond and close to Lionel, the depths of which Alvina didn't know. Her crimson hair is windswept from the Cenril breeze.


Lionel leans against the railing as a Rynvale-bound cargo ship departs filled with coriander, mustard seed, Cenrili flour and a Frostmawian spy tucked inside a fishing barrel. He watches the ship make way, out past the shallows and the patrol skiffs and their prying eyes and into the high seas to deliver his spy to their mission. “This had better work,” Lionel says to his elven companion, “or we’ll never hear the end of it from Ranok.” Esche cants his head agreeably, although his left brow is lifted. “I would be more concerned with the orcs.” Lionel chuckles dryly. “The orcs can’t talk a man to death. Ranok can.” Truth be told, it’s probably a trait he shares with the fellow, but only on certain occasions. On others, he’s a man of few words. It just so happens that Alvina Landon appears from the eastern docks at this time, passing fishermen and sailors and fetch boys eager to be done with a long, hard day very soon. The sun has set upon the western shoreline, after all, where the cargo ship disappeared into her journey, and a golden glow has filled the wharf.


Alvina's pace slowed as various workers moved past her and called to each other for tavern invites and talk of their wives or girlfriends. Ahead, she saw the Prince of Catal with his companion. She recognized him by name. She appeared behind them, the soft clack of her heeled boots announcing her presence long before she spoke. Her hands, metallic and flesh, wrapped around the leather satchel strap that crossed her body. The satchel itself sat on her left hip. "Good evening Esche, Lionel. How does the end of this day find you?" She greeted them with a ghost of a smile. The golden light of the eve stole into her hair, lighting various strands a blinding copper. "I wonder if I might take a moment of your time, Knight Commander?" The bard isn't sure if that's still he's title. It's been a while since they've conversed.


Lionel and Esche turn to meet Alvina upon her arrival, nodding in unison, although Esche’s nod soon transforms into a humble bow. “It is good to see you again, Alvina,” the elf says as he rises. “The day is rich with achievement.” Lionel scratches an itch at the back of his neck. “Yeah, how’s life?” His courtesies are not, nor shall they ever be, in the same league as his companion’s. “And of course you might. Esche and I were en route back to the tavern, as it happens. Care to join us?” Presuming Alvina responds in the positive, he’ll set pace; by Lionel’s standards it’s a leisurely stroll, which means she and Esche will have a fair to decent chance not being breathless by the time they arrive at their destination. Cenril’s infrastructure is of a more orderly layout than most Lithrydelian cities and townships, meaning the trio’s trek is full of straight multi-block stretches and occasional sharp turns. They’ll pass many folk along the way, hastening through the streets to complete professional tasks or traipsing in small groups to enjoy the weather. It’s been a beautiful season here in Cenril, and much of the citizenry’s attention is devoted to the pending elections. But others speak of the unexpected peace they’ve been given in the wake of a slum lord’s grisly demise, while others still prefer to avoid such heavy subjects altogether and instead plot festivals and weddings and bar hops. Cenril is alive with chatter.


Alvina holds her pleasant smile, dipping slightly at the waist to return the gesture of Lionel's companion. "Always a pleasure." She adds before addressing the next query. How is life? It's funny in a morbid sense, considering the circumstances. "I'm still quite alive, as you can see" is her reply, shoulders shrugging with an indifference to the subject. When the blonde man invites her to tag along, she hesitates. The idea of a tavern cluttered with loud conversations and the odd disturbance didn't sound appealing but...she didn't want to set them off track. "Of course." She falls into step beside Esche, who looks like he's mastered the art of staying near enough to Lionel without breaking his back to do so. Alvina's legs are a little shorter but she picks up the pace before they reach the tavern. She hears tidbits of these conversations and reflections on Fitz, the mayoral candidate Hudson is working with. A friend from school, with a lovely wife. An agricultural witch. The shuffling sounds of their footsteps are lost amid the myriad amount of citizens on all sides. It's a little suffocating if she's honest. Her lips pull into a thin line as they move through the streets. The tavern appears around the next corner and a grizzled fisherman on his way out holds the door for the trio to move inside without incident.


Lionel | Once inside, Lionel and Esche lead Alvina past the hubbub of a tavern come alive with nightfall and up the stairs to their rented room. “Figure it’ll be quieter in here,” Lionel explains, opening the door into a room that’s clearly been lived-in for several weeks at this point. It’s not that it’s unclean; even if service were poor, Esche would never have allowed it to fall into disrepair. It’s the amount of material brought into it that reveals the duration; burlap sacs with fresh produce, stacks of parchment paper on the bureau filed with efficiency by status and state of handling, a few assorted crafting projects Esche must have convinced Lionel to give up space toward. Lionel sighs and scoops up this morning’s reports -- as well as a third of a rather stale bagel -- from the table before ushering them both to be seated. “If you require refreshment, I can arrange its delivery,” Esche dutifully informs Alvina. “Grab me a beer,” Lionel tells him, taking full advantage of his greater hospitality.


Alvina sighs with relief at this development. Thank the gods. She follows behind, waiting for the two men to go first into the room. She stands, awkwardly in one clear corner and looks around with careful consideration. She offers the elf a smile. "A glass of wine would be lovely." Then, perhaps rudely. "This is quite a lot of stuff." Well done Alvina, pointing out the obvious. "What's going on in Cenril that a Frostmaw official has set up...camp, as it were?" She's off topic but it helps to throw out casual conversation. It'll make the blow less hefty.


Lionel watches Esche bow again on his way out the door. The man does love his formalities. There are days Lionel wonders if Esche would be better off assisting Tratt and Delenn at Siochain. Then he sees the elf work his magical miracles again and he’s reminded how wasteful that would be. “More stuff than I care to have in any room at any given time, truth be told, but that guy and his crafting, let me tell you. Not that it isn’t handy to have a few extra arrows at any given time.” He winces and waves toward the table again, taking a seat. “This isn’t really a Frostmawian thing. I’ve taken up temporary residence down here after working briefly with Hudson and in the wake of Khitti’s passing.” He says it relatively nonchalantly. “And frankly, I can’t shake the feeling something big’s about to happen again, and I’ve been in no real urge to return to Frostmaw as a result.”


Alvina scuffs her boots against a clear space of floor. "That's actually why I came. Not whatever you and Hudson are involved in." She waves her fleshed hand, dispelling the notion. "...but Khitti...I heard from Meri what happened..." She frowns, eyes skating across the floor. "I knew how close you two were and I wanted to come see how you were." Meri told her that Lionel had been present when it occurred. "She sent us letters..." Alvina's pretty positive if she and Meri got one, Lionel did too. "I don't know, I..." Her fleshed hand rubs against the back of her neck nervously.


Lionel pauses uncertainly. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a part of him is hoping that Esche will swing the door wide open with drinks and break the tension of his self-imposed deception, cleverly detecting the goings-on like he almost always does and either adding substance to the lie or cutting through it with the news of her return. Esche has always seemed like a better judge of character than Lionel has given him credit for, and it’s not like Lionel wouldn’t trust Alvina, anyway. It is, as Lionel has said more than once in this very room, complicated. But Esche doesn’t appear, so Lionel is forced to reply in earnest. “Her loss is felt in many corners,” he says truthfully. Whoever Red is, she’s only Khitti up to a point, after all. She’s Khitti in almost every conceivable way, and Lionel believes it so, but without her memories is it fair to claim she’s truly, deeply her? “I hate that it happened, and I hate that I was unable to stop it. I hate that it came to this.” All still true. There, that was easy enough. The door even opens, too, and drinks are delivered accordingly. Esche’s own beverage is the chamomile tea he’s grown so fond of lately, and he seats himself across from Lionel and sips.


Alvina lifts her emerald gaze to Lionel's oceanic eyes. Her lips pull into a frown. There's something unsettling about his calm but that's just Lionel's facade. She'd forgotten. It's difficult. "I'm sorry." She whispers, just as Esche opens the door and offers her the glass of wine she'd requested. "Thank you." She dips her head with thanks and tips the glass to her lips. A silence settles in and she's unsure what she'd come to say. She'd wanted to grieve with someone who felt the loss as much or more than she did and Brand wasn't an option in her case. Though, she and Lionel have their own walls to deal with. "I...hope things go well with whatever you're working on. I guess I also wanted to say she'll be missed." She nods, voice straining with grief. Next to Jos, Khitti was her best friend. "The last time I saw her..." She smiles grimly, "We told each other it wasn't really goodbye but...it absolutely was." She sniffles a bit, caught off guard by the wave of emotion. "I'm sorry, I came to make sure you were okay and to see if there's anything I can do to help with anything related to Khitti now that...she's passed."


Lionel tips his head in thanks to Esche and takes a firm swig of his beer. Out here in Cenril, they tend to sell them by the bottle, not in horns or tankards. Lionel has found it oddly pleasant to drink straight from chilled glass, and he’ll need to see about opening up the option in Frostmaw when he’s returned to his stewardship duties. Placing the half-emptied bottle down on the hardwood table, he watches Alvina cautiously as she speaks her piece. “It’s fine; no need to apologize. People grieve in different ways. I understand your feelings and I apologize for being unable to prevent her demise. I focused too heavily on the enemy and too little on my friend.” Esche has returned to a room full of deceit, and the slight grimace he’s cast tells Lionel he’s none too pleased with it. An irony of ironies, this, given the colossal weight of Esche’s many-splendored deceits since coming to this land, but in the final days and weeks and months before his ambitions are realized he’d vastly prefer to see those he cares for more open with one-another in ways he himself cannot emulate. “You did admirably,” Esche states matter-of-factly, “as did we all. But it is true that, with the benefit of hindsight, I believe we could have saved her. You have my apologies as well.” He nods to Alvina in earnest.


Alvina didn't feel like she deserved apologies for Khitti's passing. She pressed the pad of her thumb into her the corners of her eyes and nods. "Thank you." She clears her throat and takes another sip of her wine. "I'm sure you fought admirably. Sometimes things just happen...and there's nothing we can do..." And sometimes it doesn't and people die. It's the second death close to the Catalian. Briar and now Khitti? He'd been in a worse state after Briar...it just didn't make sense to her. She shrugs. Things are different. She doesn't feel better. "Anyway, just let me know if you need anything...with Khitti or otherwise. I just wanted to be around people who understood but I think I've cried Meri's shoulder off." She chuckles, hand pressed to her chest to stifle it's beating.


Lionel leans into his chair and ponders the conversation. A part of him is screaming to let someone help shoulder the burdens of his and Brand’s handling of the situation, but that part is small and frail and unable to break his iron determination. He will not crack; he will not inform anyone, especially not without Brand’s express permission. And what makes Brand so worthy of dictating how Khitti’s life is handled? Surely, if anyone else but Khitti herself made such decisions, it would be him -- but even still, he isn’t her, so why does Lionel treat him as emperor of the ordeal? If Lionel had an answer, it would likely have a great deal to do with the fact that he has tricked himself into believing wholeheartedly that she simply cannot be told, or else she might endanger herself again, which he cannot allow. Thus, in her ‘absence’, everything falls to Brand. Brand, who should not shoulder this burden alone, and so Lionel takes up as much as he can, but this in turn loops back to Alvina, and to Lionel’s wish that he could share his fragment of that burden by revealing the truth to more than just Esche. To someone, anyone who can be trusted. Lionel closes his eyes briefly, and when he reopens them, he’s steeled his resolve anew. “Likewise. If there’s anything we can do, you have but to ask.”


Alvina smirks mirthlessly into her wine glass, the curtain of her hair falling forward to surround her glass. "You could bring her back." She says, reflexively. "I'm sorry, I just..." She shakes her head, setting her wine glass down on the nearest surface with enough room for the stem to rest without fear that it'll fall and shatter. "I loved her. She was my sister and she...she knew my secrets and loved me anyway. I just...Lionel, she was so upset when she left and I...I couldn't imagine that it would be the last time. Not truly. And maybe it's selfish but....I just wanted one more chance." She huffs. "I thought I'd feel better if I could tell someone." She nods, regretfully. "Sorry to take your time. Thank you both for your audience." She bows carefully at the waist before smiling at Esche. "And the wine, truly."


Lionel continues to watch Alvina, passively, like an onlooker in some lucid dream. In fairness, his face -does- react slightly to her partial breakdown; his eyes fall to the floor for a moment and his cheeks run a slight awkward blush as he sees it unfold. “Sometimes, the pain runs too deep, and even time cannot heal it,” Esche speaks suddenly. “But it can at least… cauterize the wound, I suppose you might say. It can certainly make us stronger. While I understand it may seem impossible that such tragedy will embolden anyone, time may surprise you both.” Now Esche is fully invested in the facade, and judging by the peerlessness of his delivery, the elf seems to be in top form about it. If either of his two conversation partners knew even a hint of his past, Lionel wouldn’t be half as surprised. “Please, do let us know if you need anything else,” Esche continues, setting aside his tea and tactfully making ready to show Alvina out should she indeed be about to depart. “Thanks for stopping by,” Lionel adds, a touch distantly.


Alvina nods solemnly, pulling her lips into a tight smile. "Take care of yourself, Lionel. Esche." And with that, she turns, a spin of her autumnal hair flares out behind her. She follows the loquacious elf to the tavern's exit and back out into the Cenril city wilds.