longwillows | ✨ somnia inbox

[There's no hiding the utter delight on her face and through the Tether when Arthur utters the word purrito. Nor is there any hiding it when she catches the sharp buzz of that asynchronous, electric irritation. Annoyance, yes, but worry's feral cousin as well.

Her eyes widen faintly with surprise and her brow furrows as the spike draws her gaze down to Arthur. She's not terribly interested in pressing him about every troublesome feeling, particularly after the night he's had, but it just seems so sudden. She's pretty sure it isn't the purrito thing; he seemed amused by that, despite himself, and it doesn't explain the current of anxiety that touches the irritation.

For a moment her mind is stirred up, thick canopies of leaves rustling louder in the wind and the activity of distant creatures growing more agitated. Whatever her inclination about this feeling, she has to question her instincts in this context. This Tether thing—it feels so wonderful, but it's so complicated. It's still not entirely clear where to draw the line on acknowledging the information she receives through it.

It's only a breath of hesitation, of rapid-fire second-guessing before a corner of Kalmiya's mouth quirks up uncertainly, offering levity but refusing to mask her concern.] Not a fan of puns?

[She knows it's not the puns. But it's an easy out not to explain his reaction if he doesn't want to.]

[ Amidst the mixture of comfort and delight, there's a startled current. With it, he gets her confusion, the shape of which forms into a curious worry.

Hesitation settles between them momentarily before she takes the plunge, popping the spacious bubble. Ah, well. It only makes sense she'd be concerned about the sudden mood shift—he really does need to make more effort to keep the bleed from flowing over.

Sighing quietly, he figures this is bound to come up sooner or later. ] No, I ... suppose I like them well enough.

[ That part of the answer is a bit distracted, as he puzzles out where to begin. Idly, he strokes his thumb across her upper arm, where his hand is still curled. ]

The person with the cats, his name is Yusuf. Before I got here, he'd done something on the job we were working that might get us all killed. As you can imagine, our relationship is currently rather strained.

[ Understatement of the century, but she didn't need to get all the details in one go. It would be a lot to take in. ]

[Truthfully, she hasn't given much thought to Arthur's occupation. He comes from a very different world than her own, so she wouldn't have the context to guess the specifics even if she wanted to. If it were something he was particularly proud or forthcoming about, he would have already told her, as Freddie had when they met. So it's either not that important to him, or it's so important that he won't tell someone he doesn't trust; in either case, she's not inclined to ask after it.

She does figure that it's at least a little dangerous, because people who live in safety don't survive an environment like this at such an even keel as Arthur has up to this point. Plus, he seems pretty comfortable with that gun he has.

So it doesn't come as a shock to her when he elaborates upon a problem coworker in a life-or-death context. What is more interesting to her is his phrasing; Yusuf already did the bad thing, but the potential consequences are still in the future. So Arthur came to Manhattan with loose ends on that job. Doubtless that contributes to the whirring of electronics she often catches at night, the aural impression of his active thoughts.

Once again, it's clear that she's turning this information over in her head, though this time it isn't out of hesitation. Just curiosity, wondering at how all the dots connect. A touch of wry amusement replaces the worry on her face.] Mm. Incompetence and malice in colleagues are much harder to deal with when the stakes are higher than who's getting the promotion or cleaning the latrine.

[Briefly her focus finds the warmth at the path his thumb strokes along her arm, so that it doesn't instead wander to the few but infuriating times she's taken her friends to task for their choices on missions. Lightly,] One would think he'd be more cautious if he has pets to take care of!

[ Unlike the mechanics of his mind, hers sounds more like a forest when deep in thought. It's the rustle of branches in the breeze, the soft flowing trickle of a stream, the far off rush of a waterfall. Right now, her curiosity sounds like the chirping song of crickets; oddly soothing against the backdrop of his anxiety.

Because as she's surmised: he doesn't know how everything plays out. Whatever result occurs from Yusuf and Cobb's betrayal has yet to come. He's never liked loose ends and this one is especially egregious. Mouth twisting into a frown, he considers her phrasing—incompetence, it hadn't been, because both of them were good at their jobs. In fact, he would say Yusuf is an excellent chemist; even with all the tests, he's barely felt any of the usual side effects he's had on sub par Somnacin mixes.

And Cobb, well, when he's focused, he's an amazingly creative extractor.

Perhaps malice was correct. Trying not to get too worked up over it and appreciating her levity, he gives her upper arm a small squeeze, shifting just a bit to nuzzle his cheek against her chest. ]

You'd think so, yeah. [ Breathing out a sigh, he adds some more context. ] He did it because my—

[ There's a hesitation, words sticking to his tongue. ] —friend, Dom, asked him to. I run point for our jobs, I'm supposed to know every possible pitfall so I can get the team out of it in one piece. Neither of them told me about it until something had already gone sideways.

[ He thinks of the swooping sensation in his stomach when he'd turned around to see Saito pulling bloodied fingers away from the bullet wound in his chest, how it had immediately crashed him out of the adrenaline from the firefight.

More than that, though: ] If this goes wrong, I don't think Dom's gonna be able to see his kids again.

[ Sometimes he thinks of Mal, as he's winding down for sleep. But, it's this which keeps him up most of all—what happens, if none of them make it out of performing inception? What happens to Philippa and James? ]

[So it's a lot more than just Mal. The breeze whips up into a whirlwind, the stream burbles over, the creatures in the distance rumble in a way unidentifiable as any normal animal; a lot of pieces connect very quickly for her, and though it's not enough to get a full picture, she's beginning to understand a lot more about her unlikely friend here.

Arthur does a dangerous job. He is in a position of incredible responsibility in this job. Yusuf is a coworker, but Dom— Dom is a friend, and she's found that Arthur doesn't throw around the word "friend" casually. Dom, his friend, did something that prevented Arthur from being able to make sure that everyone was safe, and allowed part of the painful culpability of a bad outcome to cascade down onto Arthur's shoulders in doing so.

There's some anger to be found on her part in all this, some frustration on his behalf, but it's a quiet simmer underneath the insistent waves of her concern. There's no point in stoking the anger when she doesn't know the full story; there will be time for that when she knows how angry she should be. For now, it's set aside for more important things, like the comfort Arthur seeks as he squeezes and shifts into her embrace.

She gives him a full-armed squeeze in return. Not too tight, but tight enough that it toes the line between comfort and protection. What ultimately floats up to the surface from that underlying anger is sadness, regretful sympathy softening her words as she thinks back to what he told her in their very first conversation, when she asked what he was most passionate about.

Getting my friend back to his family.]

I'm sorry. That's not something you should have to bear. [Helping his friend, agreeing to aid in shouldering that burden, is one thing. Noble and kind, difficult but not unfair in a loving relationship. Having that trust and love taken advantage of, though, and still carrying the weight of responsibility for the outcome—

Well. There's still a little anger bubbling beneath it all.]

[ Anger, raw and untamed, bubbles over the tether; that breeze has picked up into a howl, whipping across the branches. In a way, he recognizes the vicious heat of it—she'd felt this way, when her mirror had been giving chase. This isn't muted, though, not like she'd been when she was trying to keep the emotion from flaring across their connection. She'll get a mild surprise in turn, followed by a familiar sense of gratefulness.

Kalmiya doesn't have the whole story and already, she bristles at the weight that's been dropped on his shoulders. There aren't any words to express how relieving it is, to have someone else get it. At the stronger loop of her arms, he curls into the embrace. ]

I couldn't let him go and try to do it on his own. Mal was his wife—those are her kids, too. [ Without Dom, they'd have no parents. Sure, they had their grandparents, but it wasn't the same.

Underneath of that, there's something else, a memory that's been tinged by grief; Dom, red-faced and giddy, dressed to the nines as he's slung an arm over Arthur's shoulders. Mal, just off to the other side of her newly-wedded husband, trying and failing to support him in her equally tipsy state. She's giggling under her breath as Dom leans in, asking with slurred but utmost sincerity: "Arthur, since I married Mal, does that make you my best friend now too?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it does." ]

[While a moment ago gave her some answers, the information he gives her now—paired with the glimpse of bittersweet memory attached to it—raises more questions. Truthfully, she's wondered a bit at the depths of the relationship between Arthur and Mal. However, she has no tangible basis for that curiosity, only her own limited frame of reference for relationships. This does explain her nightmarish farewell—do give Dom my regards—in a way that puts a pit in Kalmiya's stomach.

But what happened? Arthur said Mal has been gone for a few years; does that have something to do with why Dom was separated from their children? Have they really been away from both of their parents in that time?

Inquisitiveness buzzes at the forefront of her brain, but ultimately Kalmiya doesn't voice any of those questions.] I understand. I would have gone, too.

[There's a twist to her mouth that would resemble a smile if there was anything like joy in it. Instead, it's a wry sort of bitterness that underscores her observation.] Of course, I've taken lives for smaller betrayals, so I think you're well within your rights to be a little cross with them. [A purrito is not nearly enough to make up for that!]

[ Without more context, the picture would be difficult to piece together. There's so much he hasn't said; how Mal died, why Dom ran, why their kids have been left with a grandmother. Why Mal had shown up in the dream, so unearthly beautiful and twisted in a way she'd never been in life.

He can feel the queries sitting just on the other side of their connection. They press like a hand to glass. None of them spill over, though, and whatever she wants to ask remains unspoken. Arthur's not sure if he feels relieved or anxious, all of his emotions stirred up. ]

I know. [ There, though, is a slice of sunlight, however hazy it might be. Kalmiya loves with every fiber of her being and the steel of her spine keeps her firmly planted, unswayed by difficulty. So he believes her, wholeheartedly, when she says she would have done the same thing. She would have chased after Cobb. Maybe she would've had a better time of it than he has, because he just couldn't seem to bridge the gap that Mal's death had laid between them.

With a sigh, he gives her another half-hug from his current position, expression a bit of a mirror to her own. ]

How small of a betrayal are we talking here?

[The emotional chaos kicked up by this conversation might make Kalmiya regret asking, if she weren't so certain that this is something else that needs talking about eventually. This is a more recent wound; not like whatever happened with Mal, which has clearly been in need of attention so long that it has festered into something Kalmiya can't understand.

While there's no need to fuss over every little thing that bleeds, it seems like Arthur has had to dress the wounds on his own for a long time. It's best to have someone to help patch them up every now and then.

Regardless, it doesn't need further prodding right now. And the insistent nagging of her curiosity is quelled by what Arthur asks in return. Once again she slightly adjusts the tuck of her body in response to the embrace—not that there was any space left between them to close, but it's instinct to reassert the touch as the twist of her expression becomes contemplative with recollection.] Well, not too long after I made my pact, I took a job that required another set of hands. So I partnered up with the other fellow that had responded to the posting—not uncommon for adventurers.

When we were done, he tried to run off with my cut.

[Though the playfulness has fallen respectfully from her voice, there's no tremor or weight, nor any disturbance in the Tether, that indicates she finds this burdensome to retell. There's only the straightforward candor of acceptance.] I have excellent aim, so he didn't make it very far.

It wasn't even that much gold. [But of course, it wasn't really about the gold.

The tilt of her head adjusts thoughtfully against the pillow, considering the stray tendrils of ivy that cling to the ceiling.] That was a few years ago. It would take more than that now.

[ There's another small shift, so minute that almost didn't count, as she returns the embrace where she can. Then, her expression grows thoughtful, concentrated as she recalls some event he's asked after.

He'd known she's an adventurer, but it's interesting to hear a snippet of what sort of things she got into. Even if the tale she's recounting isn't what most would say is thrilling. It resonates, though, since as he sets Yusuf's betrayal aside, he's had plenty of other dreamshare people try to do exactly what Kalmiya's unfortunate fellow had done.

And for most of them, it had ended much the same way. ]

You use a bow? [ Or is there aiming involved with magic? He has no idea. ] A lot of gold or not, it's the principle.

[ Letting people off the hook when they steal right in front of your face was a recipe for disaster. She makes a good point—that now, a small handful of money wouldn't amount to the same punishment. Something he feels he can agree with, to a certain extent. ]

Priorities change with time, usually.

[There's a delighted laugh at the suggestion that she would have used something like a bow, as if he's just told a wonderful joke, but it's not unkind; if anything, the joke is at her own expense, at the idea that her specialties could sit anywhere in the realm of the martial.] Gods, no. Well— I suppose I could in an emergency, [accompanied by a wobbling motion of her free hand] but no, I typically use magic. Projectiles, made from the raw arcane energy of the Feywild.

[The hand on his back twitches with the instinct to draw it forth, but futility aborts the motion. Instead of lingering on the dim shade of disappointment that accompanies the fidgeting, she brings a visual to mind: a vaguely orb-shaped mass of swirling substance, iridescent in the way it catches light and collects color but not solid enough to get any sense of a texture, like an arc of electricity or a candle's steady flame. Licks of that captured color flick off and outwards from the spinning white mass in the center, and the whole thing glitters, shedding ultrafine particles of prismatic light as it swells over the vague impression of an empty palm.

Though it's been a few months since she was last able to evoke the gifts of the Feywild, the recollection of the projectile is vivid with detail. As she lets it go, the orb bursts like a balloon filled with liquid as it makes impact, spilling into globules of glittery particles which then dissipate from her mind's eye.

The restless hand on his back draws idle spirals on his shoulder blade with her index finger, the sounds of the dusky forest as contemplative as her answer.] What's most important to me hasn't changed that much, to tell you the truth. Only what I'm willing to sacrifice to preserve those things.

[Before being whisked into this world, she was strong enough that a thief running off with what little coin she'd earned didn't endanger the life she was trying to build. And prior to having the magical mycelia of the Feywild ripped from the loam of her being, there were many worse things she could do to someone than kill them.]

[ Situated as he is, the rumble of her laugh vibrates against his cheek, prodding a small smile from him. She tilts her hand back and forth, an estimation of her ability to use a bow, and he's starkly reminded how different their approach to a fight is.

Because, well, he knew she used magic, since she's mentioned it before. And he knows about how she got her power—a contract with a patron, which distinguished her as a warlock, as opposed to a sorcerer or wizard. It's something different to have her describe what she uses in more detail. And then to let the image bloom across the connection; a glittering orb that pulses and flickers with magical translucence, hovering above an open palm. With the way it undulates, the shape seems to be in constant motion, like the push and pull of a tide. Once the power is released, prismatic light streaks off of the loose sphere, exploding into shimmering motes.

Honestly? Kind of cool. ]

Never felt the urge to learn a physical weapon? [ He teases lightly, curiosity piqued on what her other magic looks like. The rustle of a forest at sundown mixes with the typical whir of his own mind, an oddly pleasant layering of sound as they both turn thoughts over. ]

What's most important to you? [ Said with both a quizzical tone and a very faint amusement—this feels similar to the question she'd asked him, over the Murmur: what are you most passionate about?

Hard to believe he'd been so cagey with her, then. ]

[Amusement persists in her expression as she lifts her head to look down at Arthur, a faint arch of challenge in her eyebrows. There's no attempt at all to sound like she's not boasting.] I didn't say that. I've survived this place with a pair of kitchen knives and that crowbar I pointed out to you. [For a warlock cut off from their patron, she thinks she's managed pretty well for herself!

The exaggerated confidence calms in her elaboration.] It's just not my specialty. And in a fair match, I would never best someone for whom it was.

[In a fair match carries some further implications about Kalmiya's usual approach to a fight, though for that she offers no further explanation. Instead she ventures easily into the fuzzy white noise made up of droning electronics and and wind-shaken trees, into the thoughtfulness it represents, arriving immediately at the same recollection of conversation. She better understands the source of that prickliness now.

Her head settles back into the pillow, her words both sentimental and easy, the answer to a question that part of her has always known.] Freedom, always.

[Then a fond little rise of the shoulder, almost a shrug when paired with the slight tilt of her head and her soft, amused smile.] Love, sometimes. More often recently.

[ Meeting her arch look, he gives a small laugh, good humor lingering as he listens to her describe what weapons she can use. As well as her admittance that in a fair fight, she likely wouldn't do so well. ]

Most real fights are rarely fair. [ Says the guy who's definitely fought dudes nearly twice his size. So, that kind of combat mischief is encouraged. ] I could teach you, if you want. My preference is long range, but I do well in hand to hand or with knives, too.

[ Not that she apparently needs help wielding a knife. Or multiple. Kitchen knives count.

Cheek settling against her sternum again, he only flicks his gaze up at her answer of freedom, a kind of warm surprise sliding across the tether. It's a resonance, two bells chiming in harmony. ] Yeah, me too.

[ All he wants is to live his life on his terms. To some degree, it's what he's always wanted. After the military though, well, that had set it in concrete. ]

So, just the small stuff, got it.

[She's soothed by the surprise harmony of the bells and closes her eyes to savor the warmth that slips across the connection and seeps into her chest, comforted by the sound of easy understanding. There's affection in the little laugh that follows Arthur's quip, fed by the warmth she's been given.] You didn't ask for the smallest thing that's important to me!

[You have to be specific when dealing with fey and their obnoxious protégés!

There's a content sigh as her thumb traces lines on his shoulder blade, rustling leaves as she turns his offer over in her head and watches it bounce off of hours of similar recollections; target practice, one-on-one rehearsal of forms, cohort scrimmages on the proving grounds in front of audiences. Fond memories, exciting memories. A twinge of bittersweet nostalgia, too, reflecting on the skills she's lost.] I'd love to learn, if you really wouldn't mind. I prefer long range, myself.

[In a real fight, anyway.]

I know, I know. [ He says around a cheeky grin, having been purposely obtuse. ] What's the smallest, then? My guess would be Coconut.

[ Not to say that her familiar is an insignificant presence. But, the shared images he's gotten over the tether make it seem like the bright pink owl is simply tiny.

With the quiet hush of a breeze blowing through trees, he also gets the impressions of other bits of her life, of the party she travels with and fights alongside. Practice scuffles, feats of martial and magical prowess with a rapt audience. ] I don't mind; just a few weeks ago, I showed Sharon how to use a rifle and hit a moving target. She's pretty sharp.

[She is tiny, as far as owls go, and Kalmiya can't help but return the grin like she's in on the joke.] She's pretty high on the list! But the smallest thing that's important to me...

[She trails off as if contemplative, but truthfully she doesn't have to think about it at all. What she does have to think about, even if only for a moment, is how much she wants to reveal. She hasn't quite gotten used to being able to let go of that second-nature risk assessment when she's with Arthur yet. As comfortable as this is, it's still new.

She unwinds the arm from the side that Arthur isn't laying on and reaches under the blanket to pat at a spot on her person, one of many concealed pockets. With closed fist she retrieves the object inside and then settles her hand atop the covers at chest height, allowing him to see without moving from his comfortable sprawl too much.

It's a polished stainless steel ring, clearly fitted for one of Kalmiya's fingers. It's so unremarkable on the outside that it could be mistaken for a missing piece of machinery. However, as she tilts her palm, the bare light allowed into the room catches on a brilliant gold interior and highlights part of an engraving, though the full message can't be seen from this angle.

As she tilts the ring meditatively in her hand, a soft laugh leaves her.] That doesn't surprise me. Sharon is one of the sharpest people I've met here.

[ High on the list but not at the top of it; interesting. She doesn't answer right away though, the familiar sway of leaves filling in the space as she goes quiet, contemplative. He doesn't press further, just lets the silence lapse, idly listening to the steady sound of her breathing, of the muffled beat of her heart under his cheek. It's possible he's asked something too personal, so he'd understand if she ultimately passed on sharing it. The question had been borne from a bit of cheek, as well as genuine curiosity, but it didn't mean she was beholden to answer.

Eventually, she shifts a bit, holding a ring in the middle of her palm. The circle of it is small enough to clearly be fitted for her. Stainless steel loops the outer edge, unremarkable as jewelry goes. What's lined on the inside, however, catches in the bare light, a flowing script etched in with gold. None of the characters are recognizable; a language she knows, maybe, from her own world. ]

Yeah, she'd give most of the people I work with a run for their money. [ Fucking Nash. ] What language is it, on the inner part?

[There's a huff of fond amusement in acknowledgement of Arthur's endorsement of Sharon—and his indictment of some of his coworkers. Considering what she's already heard about the ones who are apparently good, she can't imagine how bad the bad ones must be.

What language is it is a fun place to start, but she couldn't expect something as nonspecific as "what is it" from Arthur. Carefully she slides it down from her palm into her curled fingers so that she can pinch it between forefinger and thumb, giving her a more precise range of motion to show off the golden interior.

Both her voice and heart soften with bittersweet nostalgia.] Celestial. The language of the angels.

It's my first language...sort of. [She doesn't need to read off the inscription; it's as engraved upon her memory as on the metal. Out loud, the syllables on her tongue are utterly alien. Short but not sharp, pleasant even where the usual fun lilt of her voice gives way to something more elegant, more ancient. While musical, it is less like a song and more like the clear ringing of glass.

Over the tether, Arthur can understand the meaning as he hears the words: Protect what matters by hiding what doesn't.]

[ Pinched between her fingers as it is, the edges of the inscription catch in the dim light. She explains it's the language of angels—something he never even considered. For one, he'd pretty certain they don't exist in his world. And for two, it's still startling to think there's enough of them where she's from to warrant a whole tongue.

Something about it, though, matches the flowing engraving. Even if it sounds less like words and is closer to the sound of wind chimes. Or the clear ring of a finger being drawn along the lip of a fine glass. The meaning fills in automatically, over their tether, and he both understands the message and doesn't.

On a practical level, he gets it: hide in plain sight. Sometimes, that was easier than trying to formulate a whole story or keep something important from falling into nefarious hands.

How it fits in with Kalmiya, though, he isn't sure. ]

Sort of?

[Having anticipated needing to clarify that, the answering thoughtful wind blows more in the direction of deciding how much of his unspoken curiosity to indulge. In the meantime, she focuses on the actual question.] Well, I'm mortal as far as I know, so I still had to be raised like a mortal child. Taught speech and language, and all that.

I had to learn speech as normal, and Common the way most mortals do, accumulating knowledge of what words go with what concepts. But I never had to be told what the word for a concept was in Celestial; it came to me as soon as I understood the concept being described.

So, I look at this... [She tilts the ring a few times in indication.] ...and my caretakers would tell me that in Common, it's called a "ring." A small piece of round jewelry for a finger. And then I would just know— in Celestial, it's a (ring.) Like I already knew the word, I just needed the thing it went to. I still had to practice saying it, but the mouth movements came much more naturally to me than speaking Common.

[This all feels like something that most people would consider incredibly boring. Thankfully, Arthur is not most people. Still, she decides to volunteer the main point of interest in this object. For her, anyway. Nostalgia and a pang of yearning underscore the wistful candor of her explanation.] My first partner had this made for me. He's an aasimar too— the first other I'd ever met.

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