The Places Between (Part 2)

Though the queen touches Aya, it's to Ravenstongue that she speaks. "Never felt at home among his kin? What nonsense, but then he had peculiar proclivities did he not? Taking a mortal as a lover." She traces Aya's face with her fingertips, clutching her face with long pale fingernails. "Mortals. Their pain _is_ lovely."

She leans down to Aya. "You offer Us love? Death? We will take it all from you dear..." She offers her lips to Aya. Like a kiss.

Aryia throws her ruined project to the ground, jaw clenching that she can't even make something so damn simple! The conversation draws her back, her listening for what ammo she could use to weave pin holes through the ongoings to have even a glimpse of The Queen's attention. Mingled with a true part of her, the mute scowls as her hands flicker of silvery moonlight to draw her sister's attention.

Though the light could never truly overshadow the swallowing shadows of the Queen's domain.

“Excuse me?! What about MY love?! Is that shit not good enough for you, sister?!" she crudely motions to the entranced mul'neissa. No, not herself, the other one.

Though it feels more like the peanut gallery jeering in the background. Unheard. Barely seen. And not worth noticing. <Handspeech>

There's something in Cor'lana's expression as she looks at Aya making what is likely to be another mistake--something dark and fleeting in her eyes, but nowhere as dark as what surrounds all of them. "Your Majesty, don't listen to her. Don't /listen/ to her. She offers you fleeting pain, but mine's been with me since the day I've been born," Cor'lana says, her expression contorted as she looks between Aya, who is on the verge of giving up too much, and the Queen of Air and Darkness.

She takes a step forward. She opens her mouth. And she speaks--no, she recites--no, something more. It is a thing mixed between melody and oration, here in this place of darkness where her friends and allies, save one, are laid low by the Queen. All but her and the love of her life.

"I offer you pain:

        Pain, the sound of a child rejected
        A child forlorn and neglected
        Who cries and yearns to belong--
        The sound of a girl bisected by life,
        Her world torn apart before she ever drew breath
        By divisions in mortalkind, the lines drawn
        Long before it was ever her turn on stage.

        I offer you the pain of the lonesome soul,
        The one descended from one so close
        That they share a rhythm and a song
        We never belonged--we /have/ never belonged
        And we mourned while still living
        We screamed while still sobbing,
        And every friend we meet becomes
        A wound that will bleed out in time."

The violet eyes on Cor'lana, the ones that she inherited from the Feathered One--the lonesome soul who turned down the Queen's offer in what were likely centuries, if not eons ago--leak tears as she speaks, but they are freely offered tears, not tears that are offered out of charm. "You will find, Your Majesty, I have tears unending--pain that will never stop so long as I exist--so take this pain I have offered you. Take the pain I feel from being this child caught between two mortal peoples and rejected by them both."

Mikilos keeps still and quiet. He wants the Queen's attention. He could have attention. But after a pledge like that, it would be the annoyed attention given to a naughty child, and his pride is still intact enough to resist.

Telamon firmly places a hand on Cor'lana's shoulder. "Do not move with too much haste, Lana," he murmurs. "I don't want you to trade away something that would make you less than the woman I love." His eyes glitter sharply at the Queen's dismissal of the Feathered One's 'proclivities', and it's clear in his gaze that was not something he approved of. "No matter what pain you suffer, you know that I will always be there with you to endure it."

He fixes the Queen with those starlit eyes. "Trading in pain, tears, and sadness." His lips twist. "The marks of the Hells never fade, hm?"

So easy for love to turn to jealousy and hate. So easy to see why certain disciplined individuals shut themselves off from these base emotions entirely, a safeguard against manipulation. And there's perhaps even a corner of Halani's mind observing this. For despite her typical outward behavior, there is within that mind a solid core of discipline. But that corner is in the shadows, muted. Right now the active mind is simply seeing competition for attention of the most divine being she could ever hope to be in the presence of.

The islander is under no illusion that she's actually /good/ enough for this Queen of Air and Darkness. That every moment spent in the Fey Monarch's presence is Grace. But to have to share this moment.. no, to risk being sidelined. Scenarios run through her head. Possible violence. Could she disassemble Aya quickly enough? Would Aryia assist, prompted by the same jealousy, or would her sibling bond show through the stronger? Maybe Aryia first...

And then Ravenstongue's plea and poetry register, and Halani's almost manic gaze turns to the pair of half-elves. Oh, that stings. How can Halani possibly compete with such a presentation, one that even one such as she can hear the pain and the sorrow and the regret and the longing. Darker thoughts, as her gaze settles upon Telamon. Perhaps imagining the anguish that dark haired sorceress might feel if she disassembles HIM....

Halani won't ever be sure what draws her away from that darker thought. Maybe the part of her that's still her. Maybe the knowledge that the extra fresh pain Ravenstongue would suffer then would endear her even more to the wondrous creature here. Whatever it is, the Xian monk withdraws into herself a little bit. Not pouting. Never pouting. "Hey.. I have that too! A stupid knight father who wouldn't admit me.. a mother dying of a broken heart 'cause he wouldn't love her.. a grandfather who raised me, but as a student, never family, 'cause he blamed me for it all. And then.." And then.. BLANK. EMPTY SPACE. Halani freezes for a moment, her mind tripping and skipping over memories that simply don't exist anymore. "And.. and.. and now all I have left is looking for fights until the last fight! That's all I have!"

Love and death are why Aya is here: love for others, death to the one threatening them. Give that up? That... does not seem right. This gives her pause enough for her eyes to shift from HER enthralling countenance to the glowing, waving hands of her sister: either she is yelling at her, is about to strike her, or both. She does catch the message, though. "That is why we came," she hastily retorts, adding (perhaps to no surprise) "to see HER!" In hindsight, maybe not the most clear answer.

Perhaps worse, the silent exchange leaves Cor'lana's entreaty and poetry to ring clear. Aya growls, never having had quite that talent with words: misleading, intimidating, yes; that? No. The doubt (suspicion?) of her sister only add to that growing ire…

Her eyes swivel back to The Queen and she swallows before starting with a word that she has trouble forming, growing anger or not. "No, Your Majesty. That is my pain. It is what drives me." It is true, and maybe it will impress her further? Not give away, but horde? "It is not my offer." As to what her offer shall possibly be... she is still working on that. Nothing like what the fae-touched promises, however. She can much more relate to Halani's truth. What do they have to offer? None of them are poets, orators, diplomats... Well, most of them are not.

The group is falling apart. Each person vying for the queens attention. Offering harsh words and promises of painful memories to the woman who they are drawn to without knowing why. She seems pleased, and her pleasure eases some of the burden of wanting to be her special - one. After all, even if you have to share the glory to have pleased her... that is something! Her first words are to Cor'lana. A harsh denial of her offer in a dismissive way. "Your pain comes from Alud'rigan, and his choices. Share your half-world pain with him. We have no interest in it..." Suddenly her eyes light upon the woman. "Unless you would be willing to stay with Us for a time. The pain of being so far from your two worlds... The knowledge that you are taken from those who know and care for you... To be in Our court in the place of Alud'rigan..." Her fingers slip from Aya's face. Disinterested suddenly in what there is no offer of.

Her eyes flicker toward Telamon and like a flash of shadow Doyle is there, his dark eyes glittering with disdain as he looks at Telamon. "Do not insult the Queen again - boy. We have no association with Hell whatever you have been taught. We are our own kingdom, our own people, and your insinuation... is an insult to us. Do it again and the lesson I teach you will not be a kind one."

There's a flicker of fear in Cor'lana's eyes that glitter with tears--both from the proposition given to her and Doyle threatening her beloved. But the questions passes her lips, presumably to draw attention off of Telamon.

And to buy Aya time, if there is anything she can think of that can possibly be of offer.

"How long would I stay here in your court, Your Majesty?" she asks.

Pothy looks nervously from atop Cor'lana's shoulder at the proposition--but that nervousness turns to jealousy that his mistress has been noticed, even offered something. "Take me!" he declares, but in Cor'lana's voice. He volunteers as tribute!

Mikilos considers. Pain. He has his own, but it's a dull, common ache. It's a simple part of him, not a worthy gift, and not something he'd part with anyway. It's pain, but pain that made him who he is. Give it away, and would be someone else.

So not pain. But what else is desired? What else does the Queen value? Surely meetings such as this are not a common event, what else does She do all day? Is there a comfy chair with a half-read book somewhere in the darkness? Is there a office with paperwork piled on a desk where Doyle spends his time not acting as a personal guard?

Not productive thoughts, but welcomely distracting ones.

Aryia's blathering peanut gallery doesn't add much of anything, her instead on her knees, lips pursed as she looks the bloody corsage over in her hands. Cor'lana's prose dancing about like ambient song around her silver clad ears. She couldn't really relate to it. Or any of this.

She fidgets with the fabric, watching how the shadows of this domain flit across the grey.

The ease of burden from a brisk denial lifts her gaze to look about. Staying on the Queen a moment overlong before stopping on her sister. She raises her shoulders, then lets them sag.

She's out of ideas. Not like she had any in the first place.

Telamon doesn't rock back or flinch, to his credit. Instead, he fixes his eyes on Doyle's. "I merely note that the claws of Hell leave long scars, especially upon Ygdrassil. Do you not find this so, Captain? The trauma of so long ago, it must echo even today."

Then he actually leans forward a bit. "Your loyalty does you credit, Captain. I assure you, it won't be forgotten." Only then does he back down a bit, firmly squeezing Lana's shoulder as he steps back.

Halani feels that relaxation in pressure.. no longer absolutely needing to be the center of attention of the glorious one, finding some contentment in simply being there. In basking in the Queen's pleasure. The relaxation ease the barricade on that corner of her mind, and through it there is a flash of concern. Not overriding, but concern about leaving one of their number behind. This isn't supposed to be how it works. "No.. Artee.. s'not even.." she manages.

Aya exhales a breath with the ease of that pull, but this only makes others more apparent. Aryia, who Aya dragged here, slumping. Aya knows her sister is wildly out of familiar ground here; they both are. Make that at least three with Halani. Mikilos who seems to be out of ideas despite his prior experience. Meanwhile, the fae-blessed pair seem to have gained attention for both boon and bane. The thought of the offer to Cor'lana strikes far to close to the mul'niessa and she shakes her head in sign as she looks to her. Pothy... well, if he wants to go and SHE accepts him...

Aya does not think this likely, though, and still believes she should, if not must, have something to offer. Her problem, her solution. Yet they are here for her to fight for what little she still has, and to reclaim-

"Majesty, if you desire company, I cannot offer you all of me for a time, but I can offer a part, for all of it... once your blade strikes down the foe I intend it for."

The Queen is pleased, her gaze intent, sensing an end to her hunt. The fact that she ignores the others hurts, but to interrupt something that is so obviously pleasing to her... Unless there's a better offer. She looks between Cor'lana and her raven. Reaching out and idly stroking the pale bird on his brow. This act seems to please her as well. "One hundred years. You will not age, you will not die, but you will be Our guest for that time. A blink for everyone else, but a hundred years in Our court. Subject to Our pain, Our pleasure."

Her black eyes never leave Cor'lana's. Never waver. "Then if you wish to leave you may go. It is your choice child." Her hand hasn't moved from Pothy, she strokes the bird gently, fondly. Doyle keeps his eyes on Telamon, as if preparing to restrain the other man. Aya's offer doesn't garner a reaction... yet.

Mikilos perks. 100 years, not aging, not dying, but experiencing, LEARNING, in a place few others ever even visit? ...that doesn't strike the wizard and a bad price at all.

...which means there has to be a catch. He hesitates.

Telamon regards Doyle with that icy gaze, not making any sudden moves. Instead, though, he looks to Cor'lana, and minutely shakes his head. He'll let her answer for herself, but his expression is clear: he thinks this is a terrible idea. His hand slides down, and twines his fingers with hers... squeezing gently. "Do not, queen of my heart." he says simply, in Sylvan.

Halani wants the Queen to be happy. It seems like Ravenstongue spending time in her court would make the Queen happy. Should be simple, right? As much as it tears at Halani to not get to be the one spending that time... while being equally terrified at the idea of anyone spending that much time in this place, no matter the promises of no ageing, no dying. And again, that unwillingness to leave anyone behind. And as much as she recognizes that unwillingness in herself, she knows its only amplified in Aya's. But what other options are there?

"All of us. Please. All of us." Make it out together, or remain behind together.

Aryia looks to Aya, her brow furrowing. "If you repeat this shit /again/ I'm going to crack your skull so fucking hard that you'll actually get it through your thick head this time," she gestures crudely, getting a moment to breathe and be the guiding hand she was /supposed to be/ on the trip here.

But alas, Cor'lana was being offered something similar? Though, it was... a guest time. A hundred years though... to a mul'neissa? That's a long time, but not as mind melting for someone who's much shorter lived.

On the other hand, she's berated the fey-touched woman for dabbling in stuff like this before. So... time to learn a lesson.

Her shining gaze snaps to Halani. "Fuck. No. I am /not/." <Handspeech>

There's a long and painful pause where Cor'lana contemplates the offer. Her violet eyes are like her forebear's, and that is a blessing and a curse in its own right. There's hesitation in her eyes, and of course there'd be hesitation. The Queen promises the pain of parting and the pain of all that she will endure--a hundred years of suffering.

But there's that feytouched sense of madness, too, that whim, that look in her eyes that Cor'lana has that takes over almost briefly where she looks at the Queen of Air and Darkness, clothed in enough feathers to knit together the wings of many injured ravens, and there's a sentence that could be gleaned from her gaze:

'I want to be you, or be like you.' But it's not said aloud, and when Telamon pleads to her, the look is interrupted to deep shame.

And while Cor'lana wasn't there when the first act played out, in a sense, it's like a reenactment of what happened all those years ago. Her violet eyes regard the Queen respectfully, and the words leave her lips. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty--"

"So take me instead," Pothy says.

The white-feathered raven says this in his true voice, the cherubic voice of a boy maybe a few years old--to those without the ability to understand magic speech, it comes out only as whistles, but his voice rings true for those who understand him.

This draws a look of shock from Cor'lana's eyes. She looks at him in shock--and then new tears blossom in her eyes. "No, Pothy, you can't--You can't leave. You /can't/ leave. We grew up together. You sang the alphabet to me when I was learning how to read. You... You wrapped your wings around me when I cried all alone in that house, after Mother was gone--"

Pothy's eyes blink slowly in that very self-assured manner as he nuzzles into the Queen's hand. "I know," he says. "But I have to grow up someday. Your mother always said that. Allow me to introduce myself, Your Majesty--I am Apotheosis, repository of knowledge. I have served Cor'lana's maternal bloodline for generations."

Aya echoes her sister's thoughts on group solidarity in this case, for a plethora of reasons. She was absent for mere months, and look what trouble that caused! Nor is she about to offer up Aryia for this, nor anyone else. Aya has claimed as much multiple times. She sure as the Iron Hells isn't going to put them ALL through that. As for Aryia's fists of reason... well, she has good reason to be ticked. Aya might benefit from a concussion or three, but they would be worth it as they'd be around to give and receive. For whatever comfort or assurance it might bring, she gestures back simply, "Nothing that I don't live without."

With Cor'lana seeming to seriously consider making poor choice, and Telamon likely to do make another immediately after, she starts to speak up to clarify her own ...poor choice.

And then Pothy beats her to it?

Aya's mouth opens and closes. No immediate objections come to mind.

Mikilos puzzles. A hundred years of experience and learning in a unique place, while still able to retain other commitments and duties? This isn't a price, this is a reward! Why wouldn't the Queen take his offer to... go... willingly...? Oh. Oh, that's clever.

She gets his Pain of not being chosen.

"I accept." The queen states, offering her hand to Apotheosis. "But not in that form. It does not suit Our court." As the raven is lifted from Cor'lana's shoulder he shimmers. The Queen pulls him aside, shielding him with her body, and Doyle steps between Cor'lana, Telamon, and the Queen. When she turns back she has a boy by the hand. One with skin so pale that it is statue-white. Like paint rather than flesh. His hair is almost more naturally colored by comparison, being platinum blonde. His eyes are the sole source of color on him, because he has been dressed in pure black. Blue eyes. Like the summer sky, the same blue eyes he has always had.

Doyle moves then, pulling a weapon from his back and offering it to Cor'lana. "You will be gifted Mortal Dread, until your foe is slain. It will remain with you in your care until that time. You must swear not to use it against the Fae, nor allow it willingly to be used against them. You must swear to do all in your power to protect the weapon against theft; even unto your own death. Swear these by the Darkness which Devours all Things, and the weapon will be yours until your foe be slain."

Aryia frowns at Aya, her tabling another rebuttal as Cor'lana starts to turn down--

Her eyes widen. Blink blink. Did Pothy just-- Ears press against the sides her head. The Queen accepted?

Her gaze drops to the little boy in hand. Her eyes soften. A tinge of guilt tugs at her. She'd been threatening a little kid all this time?

She slowly rises to her feet, head hung slightly as she clasps her hands behind her back.

The Queen gets her Remorse.

Telamon's expression tightens. It's not a personal pain, for him, but it's pain by proxy. Because it hurts Lana, and because he is bound to her, just as she is to him... her pain is his. His arm around her, as Doyle proffers the blade to her. And a sinking realization: just as he is bound to her, inexorably he is bound by Doyle's oath to guard Mortal Dread.

Well, that's inconvenient. He can't even remember the last time he tried to use a sword.

He focuses on Pothy, in his little-boy form now. "Don't worry, Pothy," he says quietly. "I'll take care of Lana while you're gone."

The acceptance of the deal is like a silent thunderclap for Halani. She blinks. The Queen's aura hasn't receded, of course, but with the deal struck.. there is a tension released. And she realizes what just happened. Having not been all that acquainted with the white raven, his transformation into a child is less of a surprise to her than it might be to others... it's not the weirdest thing she's ever seen. Though the thought of leaving a child, even one revealed to be generations old... well, Aryia gets a quick shrug, and a slightly less quick series of finger gestures. "And this is any better?" Not for the group. But for the Queen, certainly... for the one who trades in pain and sorrow, she's definitely going to get a banquet of it from Ravenstongue with this deal. "He's just a kid, yeah? S'not right."

Mikilos glances to Halani. "We are ALL mere babes, comparatively speaking. Fairly sure Pothy is the eldest of our party, by a fair margin."

Pothy sticks close to the Queen, holding her hand with a pleasant smile--but there's a conviction in his bright blue eyes that is far older than a boy that appears to be so young should have. Cor'lana's gaze fixates on him, her tears flowing down her face like small rivers. "Pothy, please--please just tell me you'll be okay," she whimpers.

The little boy offers her a wide and boyish grin. "I'll know more things, Lana. That's what I'm supposed to do. That's what I was made for. And for you, big sister? I'll do anything to make you happy."

Cor'lana puts her hand to her mouth to muffle the sob that comes out of her, but she nods. "I love you, Pothy," she says, nodding to him. "I love you so much. I'm sorry I don't say it more."

"You can make up for it in snacks later. I love you too, big sister," Pothy says merrily, a cheeky little twist to his grin now.

The feytouched sorceress nods again, drying her tears. She looks back to Doyle, takes a breath, stands up a little straighter--even as tears still spill anew down her face--and she says: "I swear by the Darkness which Devours all Things."

Pothy just smiles fondly, his eyes twinkling as he looks at Cor'lana, standing there in her fancy dress. He knows her best, arguably, out of anyone here--he'd knelt by her cradle, he'd watched her grow. "Nadina would be so proud of you," he says warmly, like the summer of his blue eyes.

There is some sense of relief in Aya. With the deal struck, there is no more competition. Aryia will be pleased that she did not make the offer (though there will still probably be punches). Aya is, also, on some level, pleased.

And then the bird is a boy. Know him well or not, that still strikes a blow. The clear exchange that follows, being more than snack-based conversation, only makes the wound deeper. Halani has a valid point, and yet, "The deal is struck," she notes flatly to the woman. "It is done." She has not made deals with fae before, but she is far too familiar with vows and the Darkness Which Devours All Things for her own good.

The Darkness Which Devours All Things. Not something to swear by lightly, if ever. Telamon's brow furrows, but he makes no protest. Instead, his arm tightens a little around Lana's shoulders. Being her lifeline, her support. Because someone will have to take up the slack without Pothy, and it falls to him. A willing act, though.

"It'll be all right, love," he murmurs to her, trying to reassure her. Hating to see those tears, only wanting to wipe them away.

Doyle hands the heavy weapon over to Cor'lana. It's a hefty sword. It does not rest easily in her hands. Yet the weight of the new burden somehow only makes her more aware of the loss of the weight on her shoulder. The Queen walks into the darkness and is swallowed by it. Pothy goes with her. Trailing like children do after adults. Doyle is last. He fixes you all with a look before he goes. Something that's firm and yet somehow you know he feels your pain. He is gone when you blink. As if he were never there.

Yet if he had never been there, then Pothy would be with you now. It feels wholly wrong to be leaving one of your own behind. Yet you have the weapon you came for, and all that's left is to return to the mortal lands. Which you do. Somehow the sunlight which greets you there seems... Wrong.

-End