RP:Stolen Moments

Part of the The End's Not Near Arc

Summary: A sun kissed blonde human and an earthy garbed dwarf meet in Gualon Gardens, purely by chance. They discuss the conditions of Muzo's employment with the Larketian government and the tangled web of secrets woven between all involved. He asks for a chance to support Reginae from the shadows but she reluctantly requests more time to decide. Accepting him back publicly would mean the destruction of her longest held alliance with Frostmaw. Once again, she is forced to choose between her personal affairs and Alithrya's future.

Gualon Gardens

Muzo strolls the gardens. Stout and modestly dressed, he's kept his dwarven guise, wearing a monk's coarse robe of plain, earthy colors. Sandals shuffle along the cobblestones as he passes through the irrigated rows, his gentle face looking pleasantly... tired and distant. Chubby fingers rest interlaced over his belly, and he twiddles his thumbs, watching his feet without really watching them as he paces, winding his leisurely, meandering way between the trees and flower beds. Elsewhere in the world, winter's callous touch has painted the land stark and brown, but Gualon's fair southern breeze blows warm yet, no matter how much the locals complain; after all, they've had to close the windows at night! Well, this dwarf must be warm enough beneath his cowl, even if he is a new face around town. He must be new, anyway, for surely someone would remember a dwarf with an eyepatch, wouldn't they?

Reginae had taken a break from her Muzo hunting, since the Naga now claimed amnesty with the Uyeer. That was a less urgent problem, because it meant that Hildegarde wouldn't be able to take his head immediately. Damn this entire situation. Her restless thoughts brought her here, in disguise outside of her usual range. A blonde humanoid woman, clad in formless blue robes trapsed with cautious bare feet through the garden’s borders. A cluster of honeysuckle tickled her ankles but still she did not smile. She stopped, staring at the flower with distant eyes. Her angular chin lifted to scold the plant’s unwelcomed contact. With her tanned index fingers looped behind her back, dull fuchsia eyes scan the path ahead only to settle on a familiar dwarf. Her lips curl momentarily into a snarling frown hidden in the shadow of her rounded nose before she clears her ill temper with a controlled exhale and approaches the calm man. No extra attention is paid to his eye patch, though it takes strangely terrible self control to muster this feat. “Good eventide to ye Master Dwarf.” Her weary voice calls out in higher pitches than her own. The dying light of autumn snapdragons reflect a muted version of his visage back in the otherwise hollow depths of her eyes.

Muzo looks up, his expression one of reveries suspended, of invisible internal machinations that have not yet finished coming to a halt. "Eventide," he parrots, and his thumb twiddling comes to a halt. Though his eye finds hers, it's hard telling how much of his attention Reginae's gained. Indeed, as his feet stop, he looks on either side of her, as though he were accounting her an obstacle to be circumvented. "Hope you are," the dwarf glances behind himself, considers an about face, hesitates, misses the casual opportunity, "well." Resigning to the interaction, the squat, pockmarked fellow looks up to his aesthetic superior. "Clement weather we are having." His nostrils flare, and he unclasps his hands from his belly to fold them behind his back instead.

The blonde smirked, the left corner of her lip tugged up just so to inspire a quaint but quintessential politeness. Everything about this moment is a farce. Their appearances, their mellow actions and conversation. They are talking about the weather now, for Aramoth's sake! "Aye,"she agrees before eyeing a nearby bench. It's aged and stained a dark, glossy mahogany. The legs and backing woven with tawny young saplings forever trapped in the blossom of youth. "A moment of your time perhaps?" The cut of her jaw appears to soften with a weak smile as her wrist gestures towards the bench a pace or two to their west. There's no need to fight him now, in this moment where the rest of the world can pass on without judgement of their political or person influence or affections. She could drop her haunted hound demeanor and he could... Be whoever he wished. This dwarf. No matter how frequently she herself shifted, seeing Muzo in another state was unnerving. "I pray thee, sit and hear my plea.”

Muzo's breath stills when pressed, though he tries to hide it. This is what he gets for leaving the safety of the Uyeer, some inquisitive biddy fraying the edges of his serenity. No, no, he reminds himself with a collecting breath, she's a nice lady asking for help. After all, it's impossible she could have recognized him, isn't it? There weren't more than, goodness, two souls alive that happen to have pierced his present disguise. "My my, alright," he assents with a nod of cordial confusion. "Sit and hear a plea," he's tackled the gruff tone of dwarven speech, though his manner is somewhat noticeably flatter than the bombastic mountain stereotype. "A moment you want, so a moment you'll get. Now now, what's this all about?" With an 'oof' of exertion, he sits himself on the bench.

Reginae’s form glanced cautiously around the gardens while the dwarven man seated himself beside her. Was it that easy then? To just ask for something and be granted it, even as a stranger? “You know,” She offered, as if she’s about to launch into a woeful or heartfelt tale, “You could easily disguise the eye with flesh and blood. Without removed the metal beneath.” She focuses her eyes on his eye patch, leaned forward without fear to brush her knuckles against the side of his face it covered if he didn’t pull back. “But then, I can’t imagine you prefer this to begin with…unless you are somehow a completely different being altogether from the one I used to know.” Her expression is serious, brows scrunched above her nose, lips downturned in a frown. She dared not utter his name, for fear that anyone or anything might be able to overhear. “Why are you here and not...elsewhere?”

Muzo is internally rehearsing polite let-downs, assuring himself he won't buy anything no matter how pitiful her story might be, but, much to his surprise, the conversation takes a very different direction. "Nice of you to offer, but I must decli-... ah...," Muzo is left rather agape, and his lone eye sweeps the blond stranger from head to toe. Perhaps not a stranger after all. Any doubt of her identity is dispelled at the playful brush of her knuckles. A thin sheen of sweat glistens across the dwarf's forehead, and he wipes it with the hem of his sleeve. His heart rushes. He swallows. "This, I..." Overwhelmed with all that he wishes to ask and say, Muzo starts by answering the question Reginae has posed. "Came to cheer myself up. Or find some catharsis. Sweet memories. Bittersweet, in context. Why are you here?"

Reginae smiles grimly as the recognition creeps into Muzo’s functioning eye and facial features. Not his real features but they had been playing this game for a little while now. Since her ‘death’. There’s a certain freedom that comes with being seen how you really are, despite disguises and accents. Altered mannerisms or exaggerated flaws. Her hand comes back to her lap, lies with digits blossoming upward. A flower turned to drink in sweet sunlight. “Don’t worry. I didn’t come here looking for you.” She casts her gaze to a patch of flowers nearby, a snail hidden in the brush to chew on the green stem of the late bloomers. The corners of her eyes soften. “I came for much the same. Felt a directionless relief with you finding a place among the Uyeer. Not much else I can do at the moment but be content Hildegarde can’t bring you to her brand of Justice. If you could have seen how livid…” A sigh while she draws her lips together in a thoughtful line. “Anyway…” How did she explain this listless feeling of being a wanderer? Alithrya had been all she loved, and Muzo a time. Both are gone, unreachable to her. The anchors that gave her purpose have been drawn up, her boat cast out to sea to drift aimlessly until she runs aground. It’s hard to stay focused on what she needs to do without momentary reprieves from the sole burden. To be standing alone. “I had no way of knowing you’d be here.” The way it sits on her tongue, it sounds like both a blessing and a curse woven into one.

Muzo scratches his beard and focuses on the cobble path. The mention of the Uyeer prompts a sigh. "Relieved, likewise, myself. Heard secondhand about Frostmaw's Queen and their demands for 'justice' according to their," his brows furrow, bewildered, disdainful, "own barbarian customs." Lithrydel is certainly a home to all types. "Warrior, she, with her royal armaments, litters the battlefields with corpses, yes, but a few bodybags in Larket's cellars are an international atrocity. Well..." Catching himself, Muzo blinks, swallows, takes a measured breath and swings his short legs. "Never mind all that." He looks up to the late autumn sky. "Forgive me, tsk tsk, forgive me. I'm bitter. Not toward you."

Reginae listens, keeping her eyes tucked on anything that wasn’t the dwarf. Any shadow or blotch of light that drifted through the garden under or in spite of the rolling cloud cover. She can’t bring herself to make remarks on the crime he’s committed. The witches harmed or perhaps even killed by what he’s done. The wound is too fresh to prod, especially sitting next to him on the bench. Feeling the weight of his presence, less a ghost she’s casing and more a being rich with life. “I should hope not.” She huffs, shifting her fingers so they splay on either side of her hips on the bench below. Every word she’d uttered before him she’d meant, even if it sounded harsh or cruel. A difference of opinion and moral compass. Naga weren’t technically known for their warmth or compassion. Their mentality ran along the same lines as Hildegarde and her warriors. Was he asking her forgiveness for the situation? His work with Larket? Not telling her what was going on? Her shoulders slump forward while she attributes his apology to his remarks of Frostmaw and the Dragoness. It’s fitting. More fitting than between them. Still she’s hurt by this, more than the deaths of witches or pursuit of justice. “I despite this feeling.” A beat while she attempts to articulate the internal chaos. “That I cannot trust you. That we do not stand together. That…” Another pause while she focuses her breathing. “…you will not be able to come home.”

Muzo remains gazing up into the low, rolling ceiling of clouds. "Should have kept you informed," his amicable tone is that of one agreeing to another's suggestion, "know why I didn't, hadn't occurred to me at the time. Left it all to 'professional confidentiality' and didn't pause to consider any exceptions. Wish I had. Would have, had it crossed my mind." Side to side, he tilts his head within the cowl, and he folds his arms back over his belly, tucking each hand into the opposite sleeve. "The Larket Royals were only my employers, but you are my Queen." And more. His stomach does a somersault, and his face pales. Muzo looks back to the cobblestones. Reginae can tell by his inflection that he'd meant to say more, but his jaw is suddenly tight, as are his lips.

Reginae remains silent in the aftermath of his words, the burning sensation of a knife ripping through her ribcage steals her breath. It’s nothing but bittersweet, this moment and admission. “I directly inquired Muzo...” His name is leaden and metallic on her tongue. It’s icing on the proverbial cake. Not only had she expressly asked him but she’d always been supportive of his stranger projects. Now she was the outsider on his work. It’s no wonder she felt injured, pushed away. It’s not the first or the last time she’s bound to feel this way. To happily trade the crown for more personable titles. What is a Queen in this sense? Not someone trusted or informed. He didn’t come to her for help when the tide turned either. There are plenty of unspoken reasons, logics that could explain it but she can’t make excuses on his behalf. She’s too tired. “Perhaps this is just a battle we are not fit to win.” Her tanned palms press against the woven bench seat and brings her humanoid form to it’s feet. Her restless gaze drifts to his clenched jaw, his single eye, and the patch that hide the mechanism within. Tears sting her eyes but do not fall. The misty memory of their last encounter here plays in the forefront of her mind. They’d come, forgotten Muzo’s trusty side kick. He’d refused to let Reginae go back for the book alone and made a promise to return here together soon. Only four months prior. “This isn’t what I had in mind…” This trip. This work. Then, an afterthought. “Where is Formulae…?” Her pitch pulls with genuine concern for the tome.

Muzo mutters a low, sharp retort. "You can't have directly inquired. You didn't even know enough to know what to ask." Again, the chest of his foreign guise swells and falls in a deep sigh, and he echoes her rather bleak supposition. "'...perhaps this is just a battle we are not fit to win.' Don't talk about battles when we're trying to make amends, tsk!" One could only hope Muzo's rough tone is a product of his present disguise. "What did you have in mind? Don't change the subject, as though we have anything else to discuss if this can't be addressed. Approach me like this for vague platitudes. Ksst!" Catching himself, Muzo glances side to side, making sure no one nearby might have noticed his serpentine exclamation. He clears his throat, adopts a surly grumble and stares ahead into the bushes. "Willing to parlay in earnest, not to dither."

Reginae wears her surprise plainly on foreign features. Still, the arch of her brow, the twist of her lips. Those are her mannerisms, something her disguise can’t alter. “I asked you in the garden in Larket what you were working on, directly. There’s no other way I could ask anything more specific.” His accusation of changing the subject is alarming. She isn’t accustomed to this frankness. Could they make peace? Come to an arrangement? “That isn’t what I came here for.” She remarks callously. “Because I don’t –know- what to do. This is a nightmare.” A pause while she draws a heavy breath. “If I take your side in this, and don’t think I should just because I…” Blonde strands whirl around her shoulders, cutting off that thought. “You know the damage it’ll do. As if Frostmaw wasn’t angry enough, now I’m –defending- what you did by protecting you? And Larket is denying all involvement. The Queen claims she had no idea what you were doing. Said she wanted to deal with it on their own terms but no one here is standing up for you.” Except Kreekitaka, apparently. Fingers curl against her palms. “And you haven’t given me a reason why I should.” Her words feel feeble now. “What is it you want from me in all this? Do you think I haven’t been trying? I’ve put all my effort and time into trying to sort out a solution to this more than I have to anything else. What do you want me to do?”

Muzo's surliness lingers like smoke or an unpleasant odor, but, lucky for the both of them, Reginae's frankness seems to be clearing the air, and the longer she speaks, the more his expression relents. "Believe I owe you some secrets," Muzo lowers his tone. There's a pulse of hesitation, a reflexive moment in which, even now, he must battle his deeply ingrained inhibitions; nevertheless in the end, Muzo explains, turning his head to face his fellow shapshifter and begin, even if he has trouble looking her in the eye quite just yet. "All projects sanctioned and funded by employers, the crown heads. Sometimes kept secrets from one another. Queen's claims are true, she did not know because the King approved the vivisection. A few trusted guards knew. There was planning, arrangement." He goes on. "Publicly reject and deny, yes, but both privately support. Continue to support, were crucial in assisting safe escape from the city. Could not have appealed to the Uyeer without their protection." A gentleness enters Muzo's voice, now, that had not been discernible prior. "Want you to... rather... Am not asking for any public support. Understand the disaster I've caused. Would prefer, rather, to assist you in private however I possibly can." Finding his courage amid the freedom of truth, he dares to look her in the eye. "If you'll permit me to do so."

Secrets; Reginae’s most treasured guilty pleasure. There’s no joy or relief gleaned from the scene he weaves. Both Larketian rulers kept his projects secrets, even from each other at times. ‘Continue to support’ catches her like a stray wind gust, seizing her chest. They helped him escape Larket too? Her gaze is focused but flexing solely on this dwarven mask. Internal gears sieve through what he’s offered in slow, thorough pulses that paint her expression with meek disappointment. What had she really hoped to hear? There’s contention between her need of his support and her want of it. One doesn’t outweigh the other. “This doesn’t feel right…” She complains, digits digging into her temples on either side of her sun-stained face. “You deserve more than to be…everyone’s secret.” An elongated sigh follows the statement. The truth she’s presented weighs heavier on her than the misconceptions. The few pieces of the puzzle she thought were in stone had shifted. But his voice is calm; his gaze lifting to meet hers comforting. She folds back down to occupy the bench once more, fingers curled around the edge just in case she has to rise or flee. Her heels dig into the dirt, skin stained with an orange glow from the dying afternoon light. As much as she wants to grant him every pardon and reassurance, the words won’t come. “I…need more time. To decide.”

Muzo waits in silence as Reginae considers all this, and he keenly feels the weight of her long, long sigh. Watching her face feels forced, but there's really nowhere for his attention to rest at ease. He studies his toes in his sandals. He follows the lines between stones in the pavement. Is he hearing a word she says? Fidgeting, the great bushy mustache bristles and swishes over his beard. "Yes. Very accidental, today. Not prepared. Neither of us." A stark contrast to Reginae's tense posture, her readiness, like a wound spring ready to pop, instead Muzo looks more resigned than anything, sunk in place and quite prepared to accept whatever fate deems fit. "Would be willing to make specific-,"he cuts himself off, grimacing in self-disgust at his distant choice of words, his bargaining tone. He takes a breath, starts over. "I hope I can prove to you, soon, my priorities," he swallows. "You, I mean. That you are..." Muzo's breath fails, and words no longer form.

Reginae's fingers tremble vehemently against the bench. This small dose of affection and she's eager to fold. Her thoughts and emotions become tempestuous, tumultuous in the face of what he manages to speak. Azurite bleeds into her eyes, still cast at the ground. It's not hard to imagine her train of thought revolving through the same stations; elation at this acknowledgement and fear that it is a promise he can not keep. A declaration made in suffering, to be forgotten when the storm has passed and the waves have settled. Her palms press into the wood to push her upright. It would have been easier to dither. Is it so troublesome to verbalize the ethereal? To give substance to the loose idea that binds her heart? Their surroundings felt too compact, a subject that mattered existed only in this space. A steady glance glides smoothly over her shoulder. "Priorities can change." She whispers, albeit with remorse. "Mine have-" A pause while she exhales. "It's always been you, more than all else." What other notion would make her stray from her other paths so boldly? "I'll find you after the fight is settled and we can....resume negotiations." What dry phrasing. Her fingers flex, a vain attempt to dispel their discontent, and she moves back onto the path that brought her to this place. This stolen moment that both soured her stomach and sought to mend her weary heart.