Revival, Act I: Penance (ShadoWeaver)

[Jaycy Ashleana]

-----((Thursday, August 6th, ~1AM RST, after the Air Tower Challenge))-----

It was with a quiet fwip of the air that Mart and Jaycy appeared on the floor, in the living room of the Cuckoo's nest. The brazier crystals were bright and emitting warmth, and they were surrounded by soft things.

"Welcome to my home. I am sorry I was unable to bring you back any sooner... There was so much to research."

Whatever hysterics she'd held at bay in public broke over her in a tide of misery. It was sad, really, because that meant she missed the wonder of his new home. "Oh gods, Mart, I'm so sorry!" Torn between ridding him of herself and clinging to him, she chose finally to be a burr, burying her face in the chest so near. "I..." Sob. "I..." She failed again.

"You're not a child!" What finally came out was perhaps the least of her worries, but in this moment, it might have been the most. Memories came hot and thick those moments ago when he'd touched her, and foremost was likely her ill treatment of him because he'd been the one to bring her back.

"I know." He was smiling, but his cheeks were wet. Opaline fingers ran across the fiery crown of her head, and he kept her as close as he could. "You were not yourself." He paused and corrected himself. "Not all of you, at least. But had you been any other way, I may not have been able to find you."

It seemed, mayhaps, that she wasn't hearing what he was saying, for once she started talking, she continued, releasing the storm of what she'd learned about events in the last several months. "Oh gods," she wailed, "... I did such horrible things!" Something others might consider a grace, if and when they heard it for themselves, was that she took full and immediate responsibility for the actions that some part of herself had accomplished.

"Not all of you." He just continued his little mantra of reassurance as she unburdened herself. There wasn't much more that he could do until she'd burnt out a little further, so to speak.

It was hard, and long, but she finally subsided into intermittent sniffles, inelegantly wiping her nose on the back of her leather sleeve. "I'm sorry, Mart," she repeated when she finally resumed speech. "For all the trouble." Sniffle. "But ... thank you..."

The last words came flatly, as if she had difficulty in truly feeling the gratitude she claimed. Some semblance of sanity returned (for the moment) she attempted to disengage from his embrace and resume a sitting position without using the moon elf as a prop.

"-No." He pulled her in tight again when she tried to pull away from him. His face pressed into her hair, and he breathed out slowly, avoiding the tremble at the edge of his words bleeding into them. "Not yet." He held on to her for the few more minutes it took to gather himself. Once he had, he released her with a small apology, and settled down before her.

She only put up mild resistance but by the time he was ready to let go, she almost wasn’t. Arms curved around his neck and she held to him as the lifeline he was.

“No,” came her own denial. “No apology. You don’t ever need to apologize to me. Please.” A shuddering, trembled breath and she turned green-gold eyes, so bright with her tears, up to his angelic face.

“A Baron, love? I’m so proud of you!” Her voice almost broke, choking on those words before recovering.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

It felt, to him at least, that he would always find something to apologize to her for. Regardless, his smile was as warm as ever. "I would not have achieved such, were it not for your peeking through the cracks of the façade. That was when I knew for certain that you were still inside. Or, at least, that you were being held back."

He tugged the sleeve of his coat further up his arm with a thumb and forefinger, then leaned forward and began to dab beneath her eyes somewhat diligently.

"Would you like some tea? You look like you could use something to warm your bones." And maybe a cookie. Maybe two. And a blanket, he'd have to warm up a blanket.

"No, no," she declined as her head shook back and forth a bit. While she could manage a few inches, there was likely no way she could stomach the loss of Mart's presence entirely - even if it was just to another room. As it was, her hands twitched, itching to curl back into his hold. That urge became stronger with his tender ministrations, crescendoing until the dam broke.

She peered up and pressed forward to press a kiss to his lips. There was passion in the motion but not the passion that ignited between lovers. Perhaps it could be better said that this was a kiss of emotion and release, a quick explosion of everything that demanded expression. It was a short, physically superficial thing but one conveying words that she couldn't form of her own volition.

His eyes widened, and his hands tensed up at his sides, though he did not fight against her kiss.

Drawing a gasping breath as she broke away from him, he quickly brought a sleeve up to cover his assuredly reddening face.

Her own face mirrored him, rounded eyes and flushed cheeks. "Oh! I'm sorry!" Dropping her gaze, she whispered ".... don't know what came over me." Everything came over her.

She shuffled away, hands to floor and move bum and do it again, until there was a more significant space between them. Sniffle. Tears threatened a reappearance but held at bay for the nonce.

His other sleeve came up to cover his face, and he straightened his back. "No! It is... It was surprising. That is all!" He lowered his sleeves, revealing his eyes but still hiding his nose and mouth. "I... I have not done that in a while."

Shame suffused the color beyond her cheeks, to top of forehead and tips of her gently pointed ears. "I'm sorry," she repeated. If anyone in this pairing needed to proffer constant apologies, it would be her. She'd been nothing but cruel their entire friendship, and he'd still even saved her. Hands came up to her cheeks, pressing in before lowering. Wet eyes turned toward him, now a safe distance from harm on the moon elf. "So many people..." she trailed off before continuing, pleading for an answer, for a path to absolution. ".... what do I do...?"

[Jaycy Ashleana]

He calmed, then, at the talk of what had transpired in her absence. "Whatever you can." His hands lowered to his knees. "You had no control, but you must do whatever you can to make things better. Not how they were. Just, better than they are. You can do no more, and to try would be folly, for these things cannot be undone."

She gave an abstracted nod, pulling knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, linking wrist to forearm. "I...." Softly, into her knees, she spoke. "You're right. I need to make things better." From what she'd culled from those retrieved memories, there were immediate things that could be accomplished. Sniffle. She wiped at her nose once more and then returned the hand to its prior position.

Long-term, though ... that was not so clear. She didn't deserve the Barony; she'd done too much to Old Market's citizens. The question, however, was whether she could come to do so in the future.

"I have to go," she started suddenly, peeking up at him. Her arms unwound and legs pushed out straight before she got hands under her and she stood. Tears glided down her pinked skin as she looked to him, longing, sad. All she wanted to do right now was hide in his arms and cry confession of her sins.

But she hadn't earned it.

"No, you do not." He puffed his cheeks out in a way that seemed natural, but unpracticed, almost like he'd picked up the trait in a dream and stared her down. "You may believe you do not deserve as much as a few hours' comfort and rest, but I know you believe that I have earned so simple a request as that." He shrugged out of his coat and began to unlace his bracers.

"Now, I will stay at the door while you shower, no more than a few feet away, and you will have to forgive me for asking you to wear pajamas, but you will stay here until morning, for me, and then you may go about the business of doing your best for those people." It was a very selfish request, but it seemed he'd learned somewhere along the line to put his little foot all the way down when it really mattered.

"..Please." Well, almost all the way down.

She started, blinking owlishly at the man before her. It had been some time - far too long - and in that time, he'd grown immeasurably. "Aye, Mart," she meekly acquiesced, pushing to her feet. He had her dead to rights; for all that she felt she didn't deserve any mercy, he'd more than earned the right to almost whatever he could think to ask for.

"Do you have any spare pajamas?" she whispered, cheeks filling with blood again, head ducking sheepishly.

"Do I have any spare pajamas..." He couldn't help it, he almost burst into laughter. It turned from a single little bark into giggles as he rose and took her by the arm. "Jaycy, I have more pajamas than I, or anyone else, would ever know what to do with!"

And with that, he led her down the hall and into the bedroom, before bringing her back to the bathroom and its massive, naturally formed walk-in shower partitioned by tangled branches of gold-white and frosted glass with a change and an almost gigantic, fluffy towel, as warm as if it'd just come out of the dryer.

The water, like most of the utilities in his home, was powered by sustained spells running through gem arrays. Instantly as hot or cool as desired, and never turned to boiling by a poorly timed flush somewhere else.

It should come to no one's surprise that Mart's mirth was infectious. Her sheepish expression lightened to a moment of true amusement, even bringing so much as a chuckle, a weak grin, and a retort. "That's good, because I seem to have forgotten mine."

The moment faded quickly enough, and she fell into silence as they traversed this place, able to (for now) appreciate the loveliness of their surroundings.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

Once released into the bathroom, she modestly raised the towel, wrapping it loosely enough around her form that she wouldn't dirty the thing with her clothes as she removed them. The cloth shield was, of course, for his comfort and not her and served as an additional layer beyond the curtain of shaded glass. It took some wiggling and changing of hands, but she managed to divest herself of the ruined fighting clothes.

She stepped into the shower and after trial and error gave a sigh of pleasure at the luxury of it. Then, majority silence as she cleansed herself with an intermittent sob that was hopefully protected from detection by the rushing water.

She didn't tarry too long (as much as she might have wanted to) under the fall and in short order it stopped. Sniffle. That, she couldn't quite hide. She made quick work of donning the offered nightclothes and finding as proper a place to leave the towel as she could think of. She leaned over to pick up the leathers and curl them in her arms before returning to his sight, making an attempt at playfully wrinkling her nose at him. It might have looked more grotesque than she intended, though, as her heart wasn't completely in it.

"I should have asked if you had any in my size," she teased. She'd purposely not rolled up the extra fabric and it sagged at ankles and past her wrists.

He sat himself on the small wooden chair used for changing, getting ready, et cetera while she took care of things, and once she was done, he smiled at her.

"Lamentably, I do not." He offered her a hand, then, and would lead her back down the hall and to the bedroom, wherein he disappeared for a few minutes behind the white curtains of his walk-in, returning in pajamas of his own. Flannel, in lavender and shades of black and grey.

The bed was raised up on a few short, wide platform steps, sitting several feet above ground level all in all. It was topped with all sorts of furs and throws and pillows, all atop cool, smooth and luxurious silvery bedding linens. When he ushered her up and encouraged her to 'nest,' as he called it, he went to the opposite wall to fiddle with a few gems sitting along a shelf.

"I have made a television! Did you know there are millions of stories just waiting to be told? Some are very good, better than most bards even! It is very nice to have in the background. Sometimes quiet can be unwelcome, you know." He was smiling as he turned back, and then carried a small pad over with him towards the bed.

She'd rectified the pajamas' fit while he was changing and when she climbed up and then onto the bed, thick rings of fabric banded at wrist and ankle. She offered him a small smile, allowed in those few moments to lapse from her former amusement, quieter again. Once atop the bed, she burrowed under a few of the throws.

"You made it?" Of course he did. "Televisions are wonderful things." She'd had experience with them, by now, and knew of the joys of programming. As he approached, she held her arms out to him, to pull him closer so that he could hold the pad without trouble.

Aye, sometimes the quiet could be unwelcome. The redhead filled time with soft murmurs that accented the viewing until he fell asleep. Slumber wouldn't come to greet her, however, and once he had succumbed, she buried her face in one of those luxurious pillows. Sniffle.

Eventually, though, exhaustion won her over too.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

(( August 8, evening. ))

Stepping through the door to the Arena from the Inn, Jaycy turned to watch the door behind her until it closed with a soft click. She looked tired, restless, somber, but none of the haggard deadness that had marked her the last few days. Dressed in her usual simple t-shirt and jeans, feet covered by low boots, a hand dug into her pocket.

She stood there for a few moments, gaze drifting from the door to the main space of the sacred dueling hall. Staff moved lazily, knowing the burden of hosting the evening's events would not be theirs tonight.

From people, ascertaining who was here, to the rest of the area, she slowly peered at features of significance. First, the bar, that long feature where so many conversations and deals had been had. Next, the rings themselves... including the one where not-so-long ago she'd gained a new title. One that brought little current joy; even the pleasure of who she'd gained it from fell flat.

The skybox was third, a visual representation of the power the Barons held within this basement (even if they chose not to utilize power in the districts they 'held'). That earned at least the tiniest of fleeting smiles; there was one relatively good memory there.

A familiar banner hanging from the rafters caught her attention as recognition flashed in those green-gold eyes. A roaring, winged silver tiger stretched onto a field of forest green, dominating the space on the fabric, its stripes an azure blue. Three black stars spread across the top left corner as she faced it. Her old banner. Even though she'd claimed no banner at the recent challenge, it seemed that the staff had moved it from history to current ranking of their own volition.

Two teardrops, one on each cheek, slid down.

They fell with a tiny plop onto the ancient wood of the railing and that seemed enough impetus for her to begin her descent. One hand settled on the bannister for safety while the other dipped into a pocket and remained there.

Once level with the staff, she called a lad over. "Please, take that down," she said, waving to the offending banner. He peered around as if seeking confirmation on the request; was that something they could even do? Finally, though, he turned back to the Baroness and nodded, answering that it would be done in the next few days.

She made heavy, ponderous steps to the corkboard and allowed herself to peer aimlessly at it, shifting from one side and notice to the other and back again. The hand not clutched in her pocket captured a piece of the readily available paper, an envelope, and a pen. She maneuvered to the nearest table where she set down her procured items.

From her pocket she fished out a ring and a set of car keys, placing them next to the envelope on the wood. Pen was lifted in left hand and set again to paper, poised. She sketched a short note and carefully lowered the writing implement after adding a notation to the front of the envelope.

Please keep these and only let me have them when I've earned them.

Deft hands set the ring in the middle of the paper and folded it twice on the horizontal plane, covering the precious burden. Jaycy slid both that bundle and the car keys in the envelope and sealed it.

"Reginald?" she called. It was a few moments - likely, one of the other staff had to retrieve him - before he arrived but he came at the summons. Jaycy proffered him the envelope. "Please make sure he gets this?" The tender peered down at the addressee – Mart – and promised he would, taking the note and its contents with him to a safe place.

Jaycy cast another look around and then exited the way she came.