03 | Voice | Backdated to the evening of the 10th

[healplz]

Bariyan is dead.

[ Someone is having difficulties sounding his usual calm and measured today! This comes out sounding pretty forced. ]

I tried to — I'm sorry. I could do nothing for him, and... and perhaps the Initiative, as they've done for others, will return him. I couldn't— 

[ a pause. ]

I'm sorry.

Comments

[allsongs]

[a beat.

she leans a little, tilting her head down to try and catch his attention again. is there more? if he's not already poured it out already, that is.]

[healplz]

[ It works, and he can't rightfully ignore a look like that. There's guilt in every line of his face when he meets her eyes, but he stays quiet. There's more, of course there's more, but he can't unload it on someone that wouldn't even understand him. He's pretty sure that counts as rude and selfish. ]

[allsongs]

[he appears awfully strung up on...something not good. however nefarious it winds up being really doesn't matter, however; she's not in a position to condemn or pardon. just listen. but listening requires speaking...

she reaches over, placing fingers just under his cheekbone before settling her palm down, intent on holding his face there so there's no more of this dodging glances.

hushed, but still rather insistent:] Speak to me. Please.

[healplz]

[ Oh. Gosh, face-touching. If he weren't feeling so awful, he would probably think to blush and pull away. But as it is he only looks alarmed for a second or two before it sinks back into disheartened. ]

Forgive me, it is only... difficult. [ He takes a breath, closes his eyes. ] We have fought for too long now, to protect a child. To prove to others that he can be peaceably stopped, and he is only— terrified, not in control of himself. Today, I am afraid we have been proven wrong.

[allsongs]

[seeing, hearing, and feeling the words under her fingers. child. stop (stopped?). afraid. wrong.]

And the man?

[healplz]

And the man... closer to the child than any of us, but still he was killed by him.

[ He lifts a hand to touch hers, fold his fingers over hers. That's held for just a second before he makes to pull both hands down, finally opening his eyes again to watch the ground. ]

You should not have to hear this.

[allsongs]

[she tilts her head down to try and follow his eyes.

should not have to hear this?]

...I want to. [she slips her hand out of any lingering hold and settling it on top of his.] Ashraf Salib, you hurt.

[healplz]

[ It's vaguely embarrassing to be caught being evasive so consistently, so this time he meets her eyes, and gives a small shake of his head. ]

Then... thank you for listening. But this won't last. All wounds heal.

[allsongs]

[her eyes narrow a little.]

This sad is wounds?

[healplz]

[ Another shake of his head, and he lifts a hand to press to his chest. ]

Only wounds of the heart.

[allsongs]

[she considers that a moment, then withdraws her hand, settling it on her lap with the other. the picture is still hazy in detail, but clearer on the whole.

gently:] Thank you. I understand this.

[healplz]

[ Well that's good, because that was just a little poetic for him to want to say more than once. ...Though he does have to admit, that it all feels like a slight bit less heavy now.

He nods in acknowledgment, glancing away again quietly. There's little else to say of it all, really. ]

[allsongs]

[a soft sound escapes – somber and low.]

Do you want...me to go? [she has to ask carefully; plurals and placement and all that still new.]

[healplz]

—No. [ Well, that's sure out fast. He blinks, a little surprised by the kneejerk answer, and turns attention back onto her again. His tone softens when he refines his answer. ] ...No, not if you don't want to go.

[allsongs]

[she smiles a little. what she wants is rather irrelevant for him – should be. but being offered?]

I will stay.

[healplz]

[ He returns the smile, small and hesitant. ]

Thank you.

[allsongs]

[her own warms, pleased by the reception. take and take.

and give a little, in good time. settling into the scene, understanding a little better, she can respond. a song of grief and comfort. child. man. dead. from what she's gleaned, it seems most appropriate. criminals and innocent men alike can resonate with it.

long and low, but warm, like an understanding, sturdy embrace. there's not much by way of acoustics in the room, but she can make do.]

[healplz]

[ He leans back in his chair to listen, head tipping back against the wall behind him and eyes closing. It's... soothing. It seems more encompassing than the music of his world, even the music the bards lace with magic.

He's silent and unmoving as he listens, perfectly content to sit just as he is all day, if that's how long she sings. ]