View source for Tragedy and Comedy

The morning is clear and chill, yet the sun bright. The temperature alone might keep most from the vicinity of the basalt temple. In fact there are few; primarily the Vardamen arriving and departing in their duties, perhaps some departed arriving, and several not-yet departed departing.

And Aya.

Despite the environment and the bright sun upon the mountain, she is seated upon a corner of the first basalt step from the road. Her eyes look out across the roadway and to the city below, though her focus may not be upon the same.

Looking like a thing coughed up from the catacombs, Jinks steps past the braziers at the top of the stairs and starts his stiff-legged descent. His dark amber suit is in desperate need of a wash and the silken shirt he wears is stiff, sweat-stained, and clinging. The dandy still sparkles with his jewels but the world-weary clothing hangs off him in startk contrast. 

The gnome is gnearly asleep on his feet, dark eyes sunken and heavy-lidded. Shock-white hair is starting to go matted as he dangles around his head. There's a heavy, hoarse sigh followed by the squeaking of his flask being twisted open somewhere behind Aya. His whistle wet, the flask disappears into his jacket and he starts again down the steps, passing the freshly-resurrected mul'niessa.

Aya is not accustomed the being the one behind whom others suddenly appear. Perhaps this is why she is slow to react. It is not until a pair of gnome-steps after the squeak that her head turns from the vista to the visitor. A brow lifts somewhat.

"You appear as if you were just arisen. I hope that your state is not indicative of the Vardamen's restorative abilities?"

"Skipping towards not crawling out," Jinks croaks, eyes closing for a moment. The muscles of his jaw flex behind his dangling hair and then he's walking again, stomping down and falling roughly into a seat not far off. He smells of the incenses of the temple but other, stronger scents, too; pungent aromas of intoxicating smokes and pleasure houses, stale liquor, and a handful of days without a bath. 

The gnome's lipped are stained a faded black and cracked from wandering the streets in the chill. He has some bruising along his chin and neck. "And you?" He wonders before stifling a yawn. "Can't keep away?"

Aya notes more than a few of the finer details of Jinks' current state as he nears. Some are not overly surprising, others moreso. "I am visiting," she notes before turning head and eyes back towards the cityscape. "Waiting. He is here, though... possibly not for long."

Jinks nods and takes a moment to work his hands back through his hair in an attempt to tug the worst of it behind his ears. It's slow going with the snags and there's a wince or two before he just realizes it'll have to sit as for now. The gnome considers his fingers and rubs the worst of the greasiness onto his pants. 

"Little good comes of waiting," he opines, turning to follow Aya's look and frowning. He drops his consideration to his fancy boots, instead, and frowns at the state of them, too. "Nobody is anywhere for long until we're somewhere permanently. And even that finality can be interrupted."

"That is my hope, yes," Aya comments without looking back to him. "I can return the choice that I took from him, regardless of what he ultimately decides. I owe him that much, if not more." A breath is exhaled.

"He was entombed, as none claimed him. I await the Vardamen to retrieve him."

"Ah. Him-him," Jinks realizes, blinking and driving the heel of his palm into his eye and rubbing firmly. He sits there silently, just looking at his boots for awhile. "If the love-fool gives you resistance let me have a word; I'm getting quite adept at cleaning up my messes." 

After something of a pregnant pause he shrugs and issues a quick huff of a humorless laugh. "Not particularly any more adept at not creating said messes, but..." The gnome's wrists turn and his ringed fingers flare out in a 'what're you going to do?' sort of gesture.

"Yes, he was a fool," Aya concurs, though her tone is not quite light nor is it harsh; rather, a jumble between. "Though that is a common thread amongst those who follow Coyote's laughter... is it not?" Now she looks to him, one brow half-raised.

"He will be offered the choice to return. I do not know whether he would wish to or not, but he deserves the opportunity. If he does not..." She adds her own pause. "...I will need to determine what to do with his holdings. The fool ... bequeathed all to me. I do not understand."

"He'll come back," Jinks sighs, picking up a foot and resting his heel on the same step occupied by his backside. He leans forward and rests his forehead agaisnt his knee, his eyes closing. "You'll tell him what you did. Why you did it. He'll understand." His eyes shift behind closed lids, watching shadowplay or reading a story in his head. "Maybe he flinches if you move too fast after he comes back. It takes weeks or months and it seems like nothing will ever quite go back to how it was... easy and relaxed. But one day-- a day that isn't especially remarkable otherwise-- you realize it is." 

The simple story told, Jinks moves his face against his pantsleg, perhaps trying to keep awake. "If not you give the house to Aryia; you won't want to live with a ghost and her parents are still staying at the Fernwood."

Aya's eyes cannot help but widen at the start of his words. The trend continues as Jinks does, even if he cannot see her expression. Perhaps it better that he does not. She all but stares at him through the process: hearing, interpereting, revelation.

She is left without words for a long moment or three before her eyes close and her head turns. "I hope that he does return, but I don't share your certainty." Hopes, much less expectations, are kept small. "If he does, all that happens after is his to decide. That he returns would be enough for me. He is owed, not me."

A breath. "If he does not... that is an excellent idea. Thank you."

"I've co-signed all of your debts, Aya," Jinks sighs again, forcing his eyes open and turning his head as it continues to rest. "You did a fantastically stupid thing that was also remarkably selfless and brave out of love. I was shat back out of the hells and into the city to be a coward... and I played my role to perfection." 

That tired, humorless smile twists his lips up slightly and one shoulder shrugs. "You owe your lover. I owe you and everyone else I fucked along the way. Everything 'good' I do now is just trying to make up and correct the ruins in my wake." There's a subtle cant of his chin towards the temples down the road and to the southwest. 

"The luckbringers say that was the demon's talent; to isolate and exploit and make us the worst possible version of ourselves. I hope they're right. Either way, we both have a lot to make up for."

Aya now likewise turns to him, her own gaze suddenly firm. It seeks to meet his eyes; take and hold them if need be. "Our choices, and debts, were entwined the moment I chose to kneel in the baths." She does not seem inclined to allow him to claim all, nor even most, of the debt.

The firm on her features grows further, to ire, and her expression turns to scowl as she leans near to him. "If that was your role, then you at least played it well. What did I accomplish?! I solved nothing, merely shifted the cost to others, and increased it. Was it love? It was not enough to prevent me from murdering him."

"Life isn't a poem or a comedy," Jinks suggests, sitting on the steps of the crypts feeling exhausted, fragile, and honest. "Love isn't enough. It won't kill a demon or stop a blade. We can love a thing and still ruin it just as easily as we can hate a thing and save it. 

"But Lily is alive and... undamaged and about to become a big sister to a number of Cryosanthia's spawn. Because of what you did." The gnome draws up his arms, working them between trunk and thigh to wrap them around his torso. "The whitescale heard my confessions and apologies and somehow managed to accept them," he smirks, amazed by the irony. "Now one of my closest friends is a creature I've loathed my whole life and a person whom I've wronged in the most ergegious manner possible. 

"We endure our lives as tragedy. Love isn't enough," the gnome shrugs again, tired. "But it's a nice thing and an important thing... and a thing not easily destroyed."

Aya's ire fades as quickly as it arose, along with its briefly-empowering energy. Her posture sages along with that departure. She cannot refute Jinks' statements and considers them a moment. Then a hand reaches out, to rest upon his shoulder (as the rest of him is curled upon itself or has his arms wrapped out it).

A smirk of her own is kindled to somewhat mirror his own. "She accepted it. That is enough, or a start. You should seek your friend, so that you can offer the same to them..." A pause and her smirk then deepens. She does find one point she can argue. "Would this not all, then, be comedy? Does Coyote not laugh?"