[ When the moment to ask passes, relief prickles over her. She didn't want to have to explain, didn't want to risk him seeing the source of her...what? Her embarrassment? Her hurt? The last thing she wants to do is explain that their fight had been so upsetting that she had to store the box he had given her that she had been using until recently to store tools in a completely different building on a shelf she never would have been able to reach on her own accord.
But as he brushes by her towards the box without a word or cursory glance, she can't help but feel a little taken aback that he didn't ask. That moment of surprise is quickly quashed when he reminds her of the night in the maze. Right, why would he ask? They're aren't friends. That's why the box and that unfinished project are in the crate in the first place.
Hilda sniffs, flouncing towards the boxes before carefully climbing up after him. ]
If we end up on the floor it isn't going to be my fault.
[ When she's beside him she motions for him to hold out his hand so she can step up onto it. ]
But as he brushes by her towards the box without a word or cursory glance, she can't help but feel a little taken aback that he didn't ask. That moment of surprise is quickly quashed when he reminds her of the night in the maze. Right, why would he ask? They're aren't friends. That's why the box and that unfinished project are in the crate in the first place.
Hilda sniffs, flouncing towards the boxes before carefully climbing up after him. ]
If we end up on the floor it isn't going to be my fault.
[ When she's beside him she motions for him to hold out his hand so she can step up onto it. ]
[ Claude immediately opens his mouth to ask if she's sure because it certainly was last time, and then thinks better of it and issues a tsk by clicking his tongue. Not worth it, he has to remind himself; it won't feel better to point that out. Silence is so rarely his default, but given how it feels like any step he might take is like being in range of a ballista? It's the better option.
When Hilda steps up and makes the requisite motion to be expected, there's a second of hesitation from him. That flutter from earlier in their accidental brushing of fingers comes back to mind - if something so small could cause it, what will holding onto her hand do? He's about to find out since that's what he does. The answers is it tugs on all those intricately bittersweet threads laced through everything, and most of all: it hurts that it still feels like her hand is meant to be in his.
It's distracting, but not enough so that he doesn't hear the sudden sound of splintering beneath them. There's no time to look to find out which it is because next the mostly level platform of boxes they're standing on becomes considerably less so by the second. Claude lets go of her hand to on instinct wrap an arm around her waist to pull her closer in reflexes he doesn't question and to lean back against the wall in hopes that - if they're lucky - maybe they'll just have a slow slide to the ground when the planks underneath their feet crack entirely. ]
When Hilda steps up and makes the requisite motion to be expected, there's a second of hesitation from him. That flutter from earlier in their accidental brushing of fingers comes back to mind - if something so small could cause it, what will holding onto her hand do? He's about to find out since that's what he does. The answers is it tugs on all those intricately bittersweet threads laced through everything, and most of all: it hurts that it still feels like her hand is meant to be in his.
It's distracting, but not enough so that he doesn't hear the sudden sound of splintering beneath them. There's no time to look to find out which it is because next the mostly level platform of boxes they're standing on becomes considerably less so by the second. Claude lets go of her hand to on instinct wrap an arm around her waist to pull her closer in reflexes he doesn't question and to lean back against the wall in hopes that - if they're lucky - maybe they'll just have a slow slide to the ground when the planks underneath their feet crack entirely. ]
[ Hilda had become astoundingly good at pretending things away – at least that's what she tells herself. She had however been so flustered by the discovery of what had been in the box that she had in fact briefly forgotten about the spark between them when their hands had touched.
His hesitation prompts a reminder, and her cheeks flush, embarrassed. Not just at the hesitation but at the thought that flashes through her mind unbidden that he might be balking at the thought of touching her. Claude has the propensity for pettiness. Has no problem cutting people out. She's seen it firsthand. It had just never occurred to her that she might be on the receiving end and the thought cuts deep.
But then he's grasping her hand and an all too familiar warmth rushes through her. She can't help but stare down at their hands, part surprise, part confusion. Holding her hand wasn't going to get them up to the window. What was he –
And suddenly the world falls from beneath them. Or the boxes do rather. Hilda feels her heart drop to her stomach as the sound of splintering wood and clattering of the contents of the boxes tumbling to the ground fills her ears. A small, startled sound escapes her lips and it's only when they tumble to the ground too that she absently registers Claude's arms are wrapped around her, bracing her from the impact.
Or most of it at least. Her elbows smack against the concrete and she hisses, the immediate prickle of hit nerves distracting from the fact that some of the items that had escaped where the ones in her crate. Inches from their heads lays the silver jewelry box – now dented because of a small anvil falling onto it – and the mildly crushed cardboard box.
She can't help but whine, not realizing that she's still wrapped in his arms, their faces are dangerously close to one another, and that her hurt, embarrassment, or whatever, is now scattered around them. ]
Ow, ow, ow! I thought the boxes we picked were fine.
His hesitation prompts a reminder, and her cheeks flush, embarrassed. Not just at the hesitation but at the thought that flashes through her mind unbidden that he might be balking at the thought of touching her. Claude has the propensity for pettiness. Has no problem cutting people out. She's seen it firsthand. It had just never occurred to her that she might be on the receiving end and the thought cuts deep.
But then he's grasping her hand and an all too familiar warmth rushes through her. She can't help but stare down at their hands, part surprise, part confusion. Holding her hand wasn't going to get them up to the window. What was he –
And suddenly the world falls from beneath them. Or the boxes do rather. Hilda feels her heart drop to her stomach as the sound of splintering wood and clattering of the contents of the boxes tumbling to the ground fills her ears. A small, startled sound escapes her lips and it's only when they tumble to the ground too that she absently registers Claude's arms are wrapped around her, bracing her from the impact.
Or most of it at least. Her elbows smack against the concrete and she hisses, the immediate prickle of hit nerves distracting from the fact that some of the items that had escaped where the ones in her crate. Inches from their heads lays the silver jewelry box – now dented because of a small anvil falling onto it – and the mildly crushed cardboard box.
She can't help but whine, not realizing that she's still wrapped in his arms, their faces are dangerously close to one another, and that her hurt, embarrassment, or whatever, is now scattered around them. ]
Ow, ow, ow! I thought the boxes we picked were fine.
[ Used to falling as he is, those other falls come with the benefit of being from much farther up and with time to correct the downward course - or be saved by a wyvern with faster reflexes than his own could ever hope to be. Neither of those things happen here even if he pulls Hilda closer still to somehow lessen the impact if he can. The air's knocked out of him in a rush when they hit the floor. On second thought, he would've accepted being tossed on the ground in the maze again. At least the earth has some give.
Though he'd tried to protect her, what he's managed doing in the same instant is reopening his own invisible wounds. Hilda's weight in his arms and the exact way she feels is something Claude wanted to believe he'd erased from his memory for it to never be part of it again. For it to be something he'd never have to remember, and yet it'd taken all of a second for all of it to come flooding back with her face right next to his in a way she's made clear is an impossibility for anything outside of this.
Those injuries will last longer than any bruises from this fall to the ground, and he knows it. ]
They seemed solid enough. Are you --
[ Claude was about to ask if she was alright as he carefully detangles himself from around her to start sitting up, but then his eyes catch on the contents of the box scattered around. Or rather: one item in particular in gleaming silver he recognizes quite well from being the one to proudly select it from the tables in the markets to bring back like a prize. It's been evicted, it seems, even though everything she's ever brought him still sits on his own shelves where it belongs.
He shouldn't be surprised. Hurt shouldn't run like a bolt of electricity through him with the current being as strong as any electrical spell ever aimed his way and landed. But for a second, Claude feels it so strongly it even slips through as a ripple crossing over his face, there and gone in an instant like it was never there at all when he wrangles all of his walls back into place and moves away to get more boxes to start over. Nothing else to do but to keep moving forward like always. ]
Though he'd tried to protect her, what he's managed doing in the same instant is reopening his own invisible wounds. Hilda's weight in his arms and the exact way she feels is something Claude wanted to believe he'd erased from his memory for it to never be part of it again. For it to be something he'd never have to remember, and yet it'd taken all of a second for all of it to come flooding back with her face right next to his in a way she's made clear is an impossibility for anything outside of this.
Those injuries will last longer than any bruises from this fall to the ground, and he knows it. ]
They seemed solid enough. Are you --
[ Claude was about to ask if she was alright as he carefully detangles himself from around her to start sitting up, but then his eyes catch on the contents of the box scattered around. Or rather: one item in particular in gleaming silver he recognizes quite well from being the one to proudly select it from the tables in the markets to bring back like a prize. It's been evicted, it seems, even though everything she's ever brought him still sits on his own shelves where it belongs.
He shouldn't be surprised. Hurt shouldn't run like a bolt of electricity through him with the current being as strong as any electrical spell ever aimed his way and landed. But for a second, Claude feels it so strongly it even slips through as a ripple crossing over his face, there and gone in an instant like it was never there at all when he wrangles all of his walls back into place and moves away to get more boxes to start over. Nothing else to do but to keep moving forward like always. ]
[ Hilda's realization is belated on...everything. Several seconds tick by before her eyes widen when she realizes the proximity of their faces along with the feeling of being in his arms like that, and she's quick to try and right herself. Unfortunately losing mild feeling to her elbows makes that more of a difficult task than expected. Determined to put space between them she pushes through, so focused on trying to right herself even with tremoring arms.
It's only when Claude cuts himself off that she comes to her next realization. Her eyes dart from him to the surrounding items as a stark horror dawns on her. The box. There's a sharp intake of breath from her, heat rising to her cheeks building off the lingering heat from before. Hilda breaks her gaze away from the box and back towards him.
She's always been able to read his expressions, but she can't read the flicker of something in his face now. Time has caused a rift that feels like it's distorted her vision of a face that she knew as well as her own. The brief second flash of something unreadable on his face can't be hurt. Why would it be? It can't be because if it were, then the constriction of her chest and the heat on her cheeks that's quickly making its way down to her neck would be shame. And why should she be ashamed of removing something that reminded her of him?
But Claude doesn't say anything, the moment passes, and she's left swallowing a strange lump in her throat. Her eyes stay trained on Claude's back, torn between apologizing and saying nothing at all. The quiet clinking of objects fills the air like a clock ticking down as her window of opportunity to apologize begins to close. Her body seems to move automatically, fingers numbly taking a hold of the jewelry box. Absently they run over the dent in the box.
Her voice is astoundingly steady but only because her voice is quiet. ]
I guess the foundation of the wood wasn't strong enough. We should have checked more closely. [ Clearing her throat, she goes in search of a different box for her jewelry box leaving the other cardboard box on the floor. ] There's other ones over here that will probably be fine.
It's only when Claude cuts himself off that she comes to her next realization. Her eyes dart from him to the surrounding items as a stark horror dawns on her. The box. There's a sharp intake of breath from her, heat rising to her cheeks building off the lingering heat from before. Hilda breaks her gaze away from the box and back towards him.
She's always been able to read his expressions, but she can't read the flicker of something in his face now. Time has caused a rift that feels like it's distorted her vision of a face that she knew as well as her own. The brief second flash of something unreadable on his face can't be hurt. Why would it be? It can't be because if it were, then the constriction of her chest and the heat on her cheeks that's quickly making its way down to her neck would be shame. And why should she be ashamed of removing something that reminded her of him?
But Claude doesn't say anything, the moment passes, and she's left swallowing a strange lump in her throat. Her eyes stay trained on Claude's back, torn between apologizing and saying nothing at all. The quiet clinking of objects fills the air like a clock ticking down as her window of opportunity to apologize begins to close. Her body seems to move automatically, fingers numbly taking a hold of the jewelry box. Absently they run over the dent in the box.
Her voice is astoundingly steady but only because her voice is quiet. ]
I guess the foundation of the wood wasn't strong enough. We should have checked more closely. [ Clearing her throat, she goes in search of a different box for her jewelry box leaving the other cardboard box on the floor. ] There's other ones over here that will probably be fine.
Edited 2023-07-21 06:41 (UTC)
[ It's easier to face away from her for now, to take a few seconds to push back against what's threatening to numb the edges of everything. It takes Claude a bit longer to figure out what it is until as he reaches for a box he registers it's the extinguishing of some sliver of hope he hadn't truthfully realized he'd been holding onto. There's all the times he's told himself that this, whatever it is - was, is over, and then there's seeing proof.
Maybe Hilda's doing him a favor with this. That's the first rationalization he reaches for though all it brings with is more of that same feeling of being plunged into ice. It's better to know so he can let go in a way he'd been denying he'd have to eventually even if she'd already made it so clear before this instant. The signs were there. He just didn't want to read them for what they actually were until faced with one that can't be ignored or twisted into anything else and one that says more than any of the barbs they've leveled back and forth.
Somewhere he's certain the gods are laughing that all he wants to do is to talk to someone about it like that'll help him make sense of things, but that the only person he wants to do that with is the very person it's about who doesn't want to hear any of it. He'll just have to live with that, too. The far kinder thing to do after he's caused her this much pain is to finally leave her be. ]
Sure.
[ That's all he can manage in an equally quiet tone when even summoning forth one single word feels like an effort to keep it even and trim away anything else out of it besides an acknowledgement of hearing her rather than any of what's said. Even if he doesn't really, even if it's more because he's been silent enough and he doesn't want to argue over who should've checked what. He blinks and remembers he's supposed to be moving this box his hand is still resting on, and comes back into motion to yank it off the shelf.
Whatever else is on the floor that'd spilled out of the crate holding the jewelry box - he doesn't want to know. Ignorance really is bliss, he reminds himself, and sets the crate down without looking. First comes clearing the smashed pieces of wood so neither of them have to step on it and putting those aside to clear out later so Cyprian won't have to clean up more of a mess. Claude adds the new crate to the stack and then steps away to retrieve another one. ]
Maybe Hilda's doing him a favor with this. That's the first rationalization he reaches for though all it brings with is more of that same feeling of being plunged into ice. It's better to know so he can let go in a way he'd been denying he'd have to eventually even if she'd already made it so clear before this instant. The signs were there. He just didn't want to read them for what they actually were until faced with one that can't be ignored or twisted into anything else and one that says more than any of the barbs they've leveled back and forth.
Somewhere he's certain the gods are laughing that all he wants to do is to talk to someone about it like that'll help him make sense of things, but that the only person he wants to do that with is the very person it's about who doesn't want to hear any of it. He'll just have to live with that, too. The far kinder thing to do after he's caused her this much pain is to finally leave her be. ]
Sure.
[ That's all he can manage in an equally quiet tone when even summoning forth one single word feels like an effort to keep it even and trim away anything else out of it besides an acknowledgement of hearing her rather than any of what's said. Even if he doesn't really, even if it's more because he's been silent enough and he doesn't want to argue over who should've checked what. He blinks and remembers he's supposed to be moving this box his hand is still resting on, and comes back into motion to yank it off the shelf.
Whatever else is on the floor that'd spilled out of the crate holding the jewelry box - he doesn't want to know. Ignorance really is bliss, he reminds himself, and sets the crate down without looking. First comes clearing the smashed pieces of wood so neither of them have to step on it and putting those aside to clear out later so Cyprian won't have to clean up more of a mess. Claude adds the new crate to the stack and then steps away to retrieve another one. ]
[ it's something sam can at least consider later on - he's no psychologist, but he's been here long enough to know how horizon domains can reflect things people don't really want to address. he'll keep it in mind as the rest of the day continues on, but hilda might recognize that look tucked back somewhere during the conversation.
the sound of the wyvern screech, and sam's attention turns towards that, now. there may even be a flicker of oh god, are we really doing this that he moves on by real quickly. ]
I mean, yeah. In a way he did it to me too. I wasn't born this fit. [ he is so unaffected by her whining and pouting. completely and totally. ]
I am always on your side. In a supportive and maybe a tough love sorta way - but you are always my girl. But okay, you've got me: what do you want?
the sound of the wyvern screech, and sam's attention turns towards that, now. there may even be a flicker of oh god, are we really doing this that he moves on by real quickly. ]
I mean, yeah. In a way he did it to me too. I wasn't born this fit. [ he is so unaffected by her whining and pouting. completely and totally. ]
I am always on your side. In a supportive and maybe a tough love sorta way - but you are always my girl. But okay, you've got me: what do you want?
[ She doesn't enjoy this feeling of her heart splintering apart again. In her usual, Hilda way, she had patched the cracks back together with stickers, crystals and bright baubles in an attempt to tell herself that she was getting over it and that nothing was wrong. In vain she had tried to fill the absence of him with dirt and flowers like that would somehow nurture something else to grow in its place. The Feywilds had helped, with its pastel, dreamlike scenery. There hadn't been any moping or pouting from her, taking every experience in stride. The distractions helped so long as she didn't let herself stop to think about how that was possibly a once-in-a-lifetime experience that she would have loved to experience with him. It's catching up to her now: the denial, the flowers that refuse to take root, the feeling of how good it is to be held by him and how she'll never experience that again and it's for others to have now.
The original box she had come here looking for still stands stalwart on the shelf she had left it on. After a moment's hesitation, the jewelry box finds a place inside amongst her other supplies. The dent in the lid feels fitting somehow. It's not beyond repair. It still works. And objectively speaking, she knows she can fix it by hammering it out but that feels like a metaphor for something she doesn't want to dwell on. Steeling herself she tries to draw in a breath but finds it halting instead. Several more moments pass in an attempt to pull herself together, to stop unnecessary tears from forming before she turns around to retrieve her cardboard box.
Thankfully, nothing inside is damaged. The small pouch containing the beads he had picked out at the market lie nestled in their velvet bag.glinting up at her like wyvern eyes. The sight prompts her to draw the bag shut immediately. Her other project is in there too, waiting for the final finishing touch that she's been keeping at the Old Public Hall. She tries to compartmentalize everything she's feeling into the box as she closes the lid. They strain against the constraints of the box but she pushes down, hard. If he doesn't care, then she can't either. How else is she supposed to protect herself? How else will she ever get over this hurt she's carried with her for months? How else will she ever grieve the loss that is Claude?
When the cardboard box is placed alongside the jewelry box she returns to help him with the boxes. She doesn't want to argue. Hadn't even meant what she had said as an avenue for bickering. Uncomfortable silence accompanied by the fall of their feet and the soft shifting of boxes fills the air. When the boxes are situated again, Hilda motions to their little pyramid with a measured expression, devoid of anything on purpose. ]
Second time's the charm?
The original box she had come here looking for still stands stalwart on the shelf she had left it on. After a moment's hesitation, the jewelry box finds a place inside amongst her other supplies. The dent in the lid feels fitting somehow. It's not beyond repair. It still works. And objectively speaking, she knows she can fix it by hammering it out but that feels like a metaphor for something she doesn't want to dwell on. Steeling herself she tries to draw in a breath but finds it halting instead. Several more moments pass in an attempt to pull herself together, to stop unnecessary tears from forming before she turns around to retrieve her cardboard box.
Thankfully, nothing inside is damaged. The small pouch containing the beads he had picked out at the market lie nestled in their velvet bag.glinting up at her like wyvern eyes. The sight prompts her to draw the bag shut immediately. Her other project is in there too, waiting for the final finishing touch that she's been keeping at the Old Public Hall. She tries to compartmentalize everything she's feeling into the box as she closes the lid. They strain against the constraints of the box but she pushes down, hard. If he doesn't care, then she can't either. How else is she supposed to protect herself? How else will she ever get over this hurt she's carried with her for months? How else will she ever grieve the loss that is Claude?
When the cardboard box is placed alongside the jewelry box she returns to help him with the boxes. She doesn't want to argue. Hadn't even meant what she had said as an avenue for bickering. Uncomfortable silence accompanied by the fall of their feet and the soft shifting of boxes fills the air. When the boxes are situated again, Hilda motions to their little pyramid with a measured expression, devoid of anything on purpose. ]
Second time's the charm?
You?
[ The thought of Sam being carried like a swooning maiden in Steve's arms is oddly fitting and Mirth returns to her expression, almost a clear indication that her pouting and whining had been entirely put on (but then again, he probably knew that.)
And while she knows that their banter is meant to be lighthearted by design, her chest still warms when he calls her his girl. Knowing that she has Sam in her corner helps more than he realizes. It's enough to give her pause while she contemplates her answer as they silently pass through the entrance hall. If she gives off the impression that she's seriously considering it, it's because a small part of her is. But no one else can fix the things she's run across the last several months, even someone as strong willed as Sam.
After a beat she grins. ]
I want to see you try and ride a wyvern. Just remember that if Waffle gets a little nippy that I'm also your side but in a tough love sort of way because you're always my guy.
[ The thought of Sam being carried like a swooning maiden in Steve's arms is oddly fitting and Mirth returns to her expression, almost a clear indication that her pouting and whining had been entirely put on (but then again, he probably knew that.)
And while she knows that their banter is meant to be lighthearted by design, her chest still warms when he calls her his girl. Knowing that she has Sam in her corner helps more than he realizes. It's enough to give her pause while she contemplates her answer as they silently pass through the entrance hall. If she gives off the impression that she's seriously considering it, it's because a small part of her is. But no one else can fix the things she's run across the last several months, even someone as strong willed as Sam.
After a beat she grins. ]
I want to see you try and ride a wyvern. Just remember that if Waffle gets a little nippy that I'm also your side but in a tough love sort of way because you're always my guy.
[ It's while picking up another box that Claude feels like he's suddenly aged years all at once. More than what the war brought on, more than what arriving here had taken months to undo, far more than the pit dredged up of which he still hasn't addressed - the reality is that this realization simply takes up so much space it seems to crush all the fragile things he'd kept close in its finality. It's probably not a coincidence it feels somewhat like standing at the edge of a battlefield when it clears and looking at the wreckage left behind.
This time it's them. There's the faint memory he has of thinking during their fight how there'd always been the chance of losing her and that he'd steeled himself against it, thinking he could rely on all those old habits of not needing anyone to pull him through when he'd always managed on his own, and yet none of that anticipated what it'd actually mean. A fault in a calculation he can't correct, and now they'll both pay for it when unlike atter a battlefield there's no clear steps forward from here.
Homesickness suddenly flares, but not for a place. It's been too long since he's been home for it to fit there, and Fodlan feels more and more distant with every day he opens his eyes and looks out the window at Cadens. With it now comes longing as painful as any animal teeth when it claws its way through his chest with no regard for anything in its path. He's been on the other side of this enough by now to know what this is without needing any time to identify it: it's grief. Unlike before, now it's for someone who's still standing here when he swallows the feeling back and turns to look at her with a worn smile he can't bother to disguise. ]
I'll test it out first this time.
[ Said as he's already halfway up onto the first box and stepping towards the next row while placing his boot down on the edge to see if it'll hold. It does, so Claude climbs up onto it and shuffles a couple more steps around to complete his test. The wood doesn't give or give any signs it will. He doesn't even know if he's relieved so much as simply going through the motions towards the escape he'd wanted so badly minutes ago and now feels like it was in another lifetime with the rift between it and facing whatever else will happen once they leave.
With that same wooden expression on his face he holds out a hand to her to help her up to keep moving. ]
C'mon, the window awaits.
This time it's them. There's the faint memory he has of thinking during their fight how there'd always been the chance of losing her and that he'd steeled himself against it, thinking he could rely on all those old habits of not needing anyone to pull him through when he'd always managed on his own, and yet none of that anticipated what it'd actually mean. A fault in a calculation he can't correct, and now they'll both pay for it when unlike atter a battlefield there's no clear steps forward from here.
Homesickness suddenly flares, but not for a place. It's been too long since he's been home for it to fit there, and Fodlan feels more and more distant with every day he opens his eyes and looks out the window at Cadens. With it now comes longing as painful as any animal teeth when it claws its way through his chest with no regard for anything in its path. He's been on the other side of this enough by now to know what this is without needing any time to identify it: it's grief. Unlike before, now it's for someone who's still standing here when he swallows the feeling back and turns to look at her with a worn smile he can't bother to disguise. ]
I'll test it out first this time.
[ Said as he's already halfway up onto the first box and stepping towards the next row while placing his boot down on the edge to see if it'll hold. It does, so Claude climbs up onto it and shuffles a couple more steps around to complete his test. The wood doesn't give or give any signs it will. He doesn't even know if he's relieved so much as simply going through the motions towards the escape he'd wanted so badly minutes ago and now feels like it was in another lifetime with the rift between it and facing whatever else will happen once they leave.
With that same wooden expression on his face he holds out a hand to her to help her up to keep moving. ]
C'mon, the window awaits.
[ The tired smile catches her off guard and there's a brief moment she worries that he had seen the flicker of worry on her face. She had spent so long always fussing and worrying after him in her own way that the urge to do so now is still there. She shouldn't be so surprised. Habits like that rarely went away so quickly. And yet the realization adds to the scales that threaten to tip her over the edge into tears.
He's only climbing up the boxes in order to test their stability but it feels like she's saying goodbye to him. The urge to reach for his hand, to stop him from going crosses her mind and her fingers twitch, like she's about to. That's the opposite of what he wanted though, isn't it? He had already said as much that he wanted to get out of here, get away from her. Doing that would hinder him, cause ire that she doesn't want to stoke anymore. So her hand remains limply to her side instead.
Even when the stability of the boxes seems clear and he's prompting her to climb up, she finds that she can't. Every part of her feels heavy, filled with regret and a reluctance to move towards a curtain call that she had all but resigned herself to so quickly in the wake of their fight. But he's waiting. And somehow that makes her move. Somehow she makes it up the boxes, fingers curling into familiar (beloved) ones and she has to look down at her feet in a feigned move to ensure her footing is sound. When she's sure that her voice won't crack when she speaks, she looks up towards the window in order to examine the latch there. ]
How did you want to do this? I could step into your hand or I could climb onto your shoulders.
[ Said like they were discussing a plan to escape from Garreg Mach away from Setheth's always watchful eyes. Said like this is just another ridiculous scenario that they so often found themselves in in the past and not at all like it feeling like an ending. ]
He's only climbing up the boxes in order to test their stability but it feels like she's saying goodbye to him. The urge to reach for his hand, to stop him from going crosses her mind and her fingers twitch, like she's about to. That's the opposite of what he wanted though, isn't it? He had already said as much that he wanted to get out of here, get away from her. Doing that would hinder him, cause ire that she doesn't want to stoke anymore. So her hand remains limply to her side instead.
Even when the stability of the boxes seems clear and he's prompting her to climb up, she finds that she can't. Every part of her feels heavy, filled with regret and a reluctance to move towards a curtain call that she had all but resigned herself to so quickly in the wake of their fight. But he's waiting. And somehow that makes her move. Somehow she makes it up the boxes, fingers curling into familiar (beloved) ones and she has to look down at her feet in a feigned move to ensure her footing is sound. When she's sure that her voice won't crack when she speaks, she looks up towards the window in order to examine the latch there. ]
How did you want to do this? I could step into your hand or I could climb onto your shoulders.
[ Said like they were discussing a plan to escape from Garreg Mach away from Setheth's always watchful eyes. Said like this is just another ridiculous scenario that they so often found themselves in in the past and not at all like it feeling like an ending. ]
— it'll never be the same from a heart's collision | mid/end july, cw for drinking
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theidlemaiden
2023-07-24 05:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It's been several days since everything came to a head with Sylvain. Several day since she had found out that he had been Lief, several days since she had told him that she didn't care or want him in any way, shape or form. She had been halfway out of his bedroom door when she heard him say that she couldn't avoid Claude forever, and a small voice said that she'd prove him wrong. Hilda was good at avoidance; it wasn't so unlike the dances she had practiced from a young age. Avoidance helped soften the reality of things, coloured her actions and choices so that all roads lead to ignorant bliss.
But ignorant bliss can only do so much in the face of gnawing guilt, and her rose-coloured glasses had been askew for far longer than she's willing to admit. Nothing can soften the image of Sylvain hunched over on his bed, rubbing face in his hands. No amount of Caden's noise can help her forget how hollow he sounded because of something she had done. But maybe alcohol can.
The sun sets on Cadens. Hilda had spent most of the day at the Sarstina, tucked away instead of being out front and centre in the middle of the tavern like she's normally want to do. Her table is littered with mugs; she had started with wine before moving to ale (a decision that will probably end poorly for her tomorrow) - all of it on a mostly empty stomach. Mags had insisted she go home (not the room she had returned to upstairs, but the loft), but Hilda had refused, stubbornly digging her heels in. In a moment of concern, Mag is quick to send for Sylvain having heard enough slurred cries about how Hilda hated Claude and never wanted to see him again. But by the time Sylvain arrives, Hilda's table is vacated and empty, the only trace of her being there at all is her cloak draped over the chair. ]
But ignorant bliss can only do so much in the face of gnawing guilt, and her rose-coloured glasses had been askew for far longer than she's willing to admit. Nothing can soften the image of Sylvain hunched over on his bed, rubbing face in his hands. No amount of Caden's noise can help her forget how hollow he sounded because of something she had done. But maybe alcohol can.
The sun sets on Cadens. Hilda had spent most of the day at the Sarstina, tucked away instead of being out front and centre in the middle of the tavern like she's normally want to do. Her table is littered with mugs; she had started with wine before moving to ale (a decision that will probably end poorly for her tomorrow) - all of it on a mostly empty stomach. Mags had insisted she go home (not the room she had returned to upstairs, but the loft), but Hilda had refused, stubbornly digging her heels in. In a moment of concern, Mag is quick to send for Sylvain having heard enough slurred cries about how Hilda hated Claude and never wanted to see him again. But by the time Sylvain arrives, Hilda's table is vacated and empty, the only trace of her being there at all is her cloak draped over the chair. ]
[ He’d almost ignored the messenger knocking on the loft door. It was getting late and he’d been settling in for the evening after dinner, the loft quiet and empty. Which it was far too often these days. He was beginning to wonder if maybe them moving away from the Inn had been a mistake after all.
The message from Mags had drawn a frown to his lips as he read over the words. He hadn’t seen Hilda since that night in his room. Hadn’t sought her out, not when everything was still too raw and painful. Which was really only his own fault anyway.
Even now, he’s pretty sure he’s the last person she’d want to see, but he doesn’t know who else he could send, not when she and Claude still aren’t talking. So he gets up and heads out with a quiet sigh, traversing the darkened streets to the Inn with an easy familiarity.
Stepping inside doesn’t find him his quarry and it’s only after asking around that he steps out the back door into the stableyard where he’d spent so much of his time when he’d lived here himself. He pauses on the back step, head cocked and listening and wondering how far he’s going to have to go hunting tonight. ]
The message from Mags had drawn a frown to his lips as he read over the words. He hadn’t seen Hilda since that night in his room. Hadn’t sought her out, not when everything was still too raw and painful. Which was really only his own fault anyway.
Even now, he’s pretty sure he’s the last person she’d want to see, but he doesn’t know who else he could send, not when she and Claude still aren’t talking. So he gets up and heads out with a quiet sigh, traversing the darkened streets to the Inn with an easy familiarity.
Stepping inside doesn’t find him his quarry and it’s only after asking around that he steps out the back door into the stableyard where he’d spent so much of his time when he’d lived here himself. He pauses on the back step, head cocked and listening and wondering how far he’s going to have to go hunting tonight. ]
[ Thankfully having pink hair and only being one of two Summoned to have such vibrant hair means Hilda is easily remembered and therefore easy to find.
She hadn't wandered far in the end. Her hazy mind had ping-ponged between choosing the couch in her office at the Old Public Hall as a place to lay her head that night, or the small, but warm attic of Cyprian's workshop could work too. She had set out with no particular destination in mind but then immediately become distracted by the stables and a horse hanging out of the stalls.
What had started out as her going to pet the gentle-eyed horse had somehow turned into her full on sobbing and sniffling by the time Sylvain finds her. ]
I'm just such an awful person, Marshy.
[ There's a giant heaving sob, and it's hard to tell if any of the words are audible to anyone passing by because aside from the tears and the slurring she's got her face pressed into the horse's long face too. "Marshy" doesn't seem too bothered by it at least. ]
I said such awful things to him and he didn't even deserve it.
She hadn't wandered far in the end. Her hazy mind had ping-ponged between choosing the couch in her office at the Old Public Hall as a place to lay her head that night, or the small, but warm attic of Cyprian's workshop could work too. She had set out with no particular destination in mind but then immediately become distracted by the stables and a horse hanging out of the stalls.
What had started out as her going to pet the gentle-eyed horse had somehow turned into her full on sobbing and sniffling by the time Sylvain finds her. ]
I'm just such an awful person, Marshy.
[ There's a giant heaving sob, and it's hard to tell if any of the words are audible to anyone passing by because aside from the tears and the slurring she's got her face pressed into the horse's long face too. "Marshy" doesn't seem too bothered by it at least. ]
I said such awful things to him and he didn't even deserve it.
[ The tones aren’t hard to miss, once he gets close enough to hear them. He can’t quite make out what she’s saying - or sobbing - into the horse’s mane, but it’s enough to have him alarmed and hurrying forward. He’d anticipated finding her drunk, he hadn’t prepared for crying. ]
Hilda?
He calls out to her as he rounds the corner of the stable, spotting her slim figure under the lantern light. Approaching her carefully, he holds out a hand, just in case he startled her. ]
Hilda?
He calls out to her as he rounds the corner of the stable, spotting her slim figure under the lantern light. Approaching her carefully, he holds out a hand, just in case he startled her. ]
[ Her name being called startles her and she pulls away from Marshy's face for a moment, blinking wet lashes confusedly at the horse. Her hands brush tenderly across Marshy's face as she pulls it towards her with a rather wet sounding sniffle. ]
Why do you sound like Sylvain?
[ Her confusion means that she doesn't immediately see Sylvain, never mind notice him. His footsteps are swallowed up in a blubbering sob upon hearing his voice and confusing it (somehow) for the horse being able to speak. Stranger things had happened in Abraxas, so why not a talking horse? Maybe someone had taught it how to speak. ]
You're so sweet for trying to make me feel better, but it's just not working. I miss him so much, but I can't just tell him that. Not after what I said.
Why do you sound like Sylvain?
[ Her confusion means that she doesn't immediately see Sylvain, never mind notice him. His footsteps are swallowed up in a blubbering sob upon hearing his voice and confusing it (somehow) for the horse being able to speak. Stranger things had happened in Abraxas, so why not a talking horse? Maybe someone had taught it how to speak. ]
You're so sweet for trying to make me feel better, but it's just not working. I miss him so much, but I can't just tell him that. Not after what I said.
[ He blinks at her back as he comes up behind her, hearing her say all that to the horse. For a moment, his lips quirk in amusement because wow. Mags hadn’t been kidding when she said Hilda was drunk. He’s not even sure he’s ever seen her like this. Probably best to get her home and tucked into bed, then. ]
Hilda. [ He calls her name again, this time stepping up behind her and resting a hand on her shoulder, so she’d know he was there and not a talking horse. ] Come on, sweet, it’s time to go home. I think your night has been exciting enough.
Hilda. [ He calls her name again, this time stepping up behind her and resting a hand on her shoulder, so she’d know he was there and not a talking horse. ] Come on, sweet, it’s time to go home. I think your night has been exciting enough.
[ The touch draws her from her momentary despair and for the first time in probably an hour, the stable is silent. The sight of Sylvain subdues her sobs to sniffles. Pink, misty eyes blink up at him; it wouldn't be hard to see that her brain is trying to piece together that it hadn't been Marshy the horse doing a very convincing impression of Sylvain, but Sylvain himself.
Had she had more of her faculties, she would have found herself torn between wanting to reach for him and to turn tail in the other direction and flee into the night. Instead his appearance and touch start a delayed chain reaction that only serves to root her to the spot. Her face crumples and her already splotchy face turns pinker than before. She lets out another resounding wail that is quickly muffled as she buries her face into her hands so he doesn't have to see how much of a mess she is. ]
No, I can't. I'll only disturb you two. You're already here and I've already disturbed your night I don't want to disturb it more!
[ The quickly drawn conclusion only seems to send her further spiraling. ]
Had she had more of her faculties, she would have found herself torn between wanting to reach for him and to turn tail in the other direction and flee into the night. Instead his appearance and touch start a delayed chain reaction that only serves to root her to the spot. Her face crumples and her already splotchy face turns pinker than before. She lets out another resounding wail that is quickly muffled as she buries her face into her hands so he doesn't have to see how much of a mess she is. ]
No, I can't. I'll only disturb you two. You're already here and I've already disturbed your night I don't want to disturb it more!
[ The quickly drawn conclusion only seems to send her further spiraling. ]
[ The horse gives a whicker and startles back a little, withdrawing back into its stall. Sylvain doesn’t bother to stifle his chuckle this time, even if it doesn’t have the same amount of energy and humor behind it as it normally does.
Instead of pulling away, he just reaches out to wrap fingers around her wrists and tug her hands away from her face so she can’t hide from him. ]
Well, since I’m already disturbed, the best way to make it up to me would be to let me get you home safe and sound so I don’t spend the rest of the night worrying. Because that would definitely be far more disturbing.
[ He gives a tug, drawing her closer. ]
Just how much did you drink, anyway?
Instead of pulling away, he just reaches out to wrap fingers around her wrists and tug her hands away from her face so she can’t hide from him. ]
Well, since I’m already disturbed, the best way to make it up to me would be to let me get you home safe and sound so I don’t spend the rest of the night worrying. Because that would definitely be far more disturbing.
[ He gives a tug, drawing her closer. ]
Just how much did you drink, anyway?
[ In spite of how much she'd had, her strength still remains and he's met with some resistance initially when he tries to tug her hands away – apparently appearances mattered even when she was drunk – but he wins out in the end.
The tug isn't even that hard but on her wobbly legs, Hilda stumbles forward, squishing her face against his chest, arms encircling him to steady herself. ]
Who tattled?
[ His question is met with an annoyed question from her, albeit mumbled into his shirt. Her face remains there, suddenly overwhelmed by his familiar smell and something else – probably the dinner he had cooked. Another wave of tears is on the horizon when she realizes numbly he had come in the middle of his meal. Her stomach churns at the thought. ]
Maybe...not a lot? Six? Seven? [ She hiccups. ] That's not a lot for someone like Raphael.
The tug isn't even that hard but on her wobbly legs, Hilda stumbles forward, squishing her face against his chest, arms encircling him to steady herself. ]
Who tattled?
[ His question is met with an annoyed question from her, albeit mumbled into his shirt. Her face remains there, suddenly overwhelmed by his familiar smell and something else – probably the dinner he had cooked. Another wave of tears is on the horizon when she realizes numbly he had come in the middle of his meal. Her stomach churns at the thought. ]
Maybe...not a lot? Six? Seven? [ She hiccups. ] That's not a lot for someone like Raphael.
The horse.
[ His deadpan answer comes almost instantaneously as he releases her wrists, only to wrap one arm around her shoulders and let the other smooth a hand down the back of her hair as she buries her face against his chest.
Her estimation gets a choked-sounding laugh from him, however, as he glances down at her. ]
Sweetheart, Raphael is at least three times your size, so can probably drink three times as much. Not to mention I’m pretty certain that man has a bottomless pit for a stomach. [ A pause, as he gives a lock of her hair a tug. ] And why were you trying to out-drink Raphael, exactly?
[ His deadpan answer comes almost instantaneously as he releases her wrists, only to wrap one arm around her shoulders and let the other smooth a hand down the back of her hair as she buries her face against his chest.
Her estimation gets a choked-sounding laugh from him, however, as he glances down at her. ]
Sweetheart, Raphael is at least three times your size, so can probably drink three times as much. Not to mention I’m pretty certain that man has a bottomless pit for a stomach. [ A pause, as he gives a lock of her hair a tug. ] And why were you trying to out-drink Raphael, exactly?
Marshy wouldn't!
[ Her defense of her new long-faced friend is instantaneous too but she's not moving her face any time soon. She knows she should. She should head home - or no, back to the Old Public Hall or the workshop. Maybe not the workshop actually. Cyprian might hear her and then she'd wake him.
The feel of Sylvain's arms around her is a grounding force and his hands smoothing her hair only serves to subdue the heaving sobs. He receives a grumbled protest that sounds something along the lines of she doesn't care if he's three times her size, she could do it if she really wanted to. It's punctuated by a hiccup as her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. ]
He always said that eating and drinking made him happy so maybe that would work for me too. [ She pauses. ] It kind of worked I made a new friend.
[ Her defense of her new long-faced friend is instantaneous too but she's not moving her face any time soon. She knows she should. She should head home - or no, back to the Old Public Hall or the workshop. Maybe not the workshop actually. Cyprian might hear her and then she'd wake him.
The feel of Sylvain's arms around her is a grounding force and his hands smoothing her hair only serves to subdue the heaving sobs. He receives a grumbled protest that sounds something along the lines of she doesn't care if he's three times her size, she could do it if she really wanted to. It's punctuated by a hiccup as her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. ]
He always said that eating and drinking made him happy so maybe that would work for me too. [ She pauses. ] It kind of worked I made a new friend.
And I’m sure Marshy will make for a great friend, but it is definitely past the horse’s bedtime, so let’s let Marshy get some sleep, alright?
[ His lips quirk faintly at the sound of her hiccups, the feel of her fingers curling in his shirt. It’s really hard to stay upset with her when she’s so damn adorable.
Then again, he didn’t really have the right to be upset in the first place, so that was his problem to manage.
Separating himself from her grip just enough that he could turn and crouch down in front of her, he glances back over his shoulder at her with a faint, crooked smile. It might not hold the level of warmth he normally sported, but there was still fondness in it, if a little subdued. ]
Come on, Princess. Let’s get you home, alright? Climb on.
[ His lips quirk faintly at the sound of her hiccups, the feel of her fingers curling in his shirt. It’s really hard to stay upset with her when she’s so damn adorable.
Then again, he didn’t really have the right to be upset in the first place, so that was his problem to manage.
Separating himself from her grip just enough that he could turn and crouch down in front of her, he glances back over his shoulder at her with a faint, crooked smile. It might not hold the level of warmth he normally sported, but there was still fondness in it, if a little subdued. ]
Come on, Princess. Let’s get you home, alright? Climb on.
[ When he pulls away another sob threatens to bubble up, like his lack of warmth is suddenly made more apparent than ever. She almost tells him not to go before realizing that he isn't actually going anywhere. Not like how she had left him sitting his bedroom alone.
Her lower lip trembles at the realization that she hadn't wanted this. But just because she didn't want it, didn't not make it the right choice, right? ]
I'm only going if you bring me back to the Old Public Hall.
[ She can't help how pouty she sounds. It comes with the territory when she's been drinking and crying for several hours. ]
Her lower lip trembles at the realization that she hadn't wanted this. But just because she didn't want it, didn't not make it the right choice, right? ]
I'm only going if you bring me back to the Old Public Hall.
[ She can't help how pouty she sounds. It comes with the territory when she's been drinking and crying for several hours. ]
[ There’s a moment of hesitation before he sighs and gestures to her again.
If that’s what you want, Hilda. Now, come on. Let’s get going, alright?
[ His answer seems genuine enough, but then again, he’s not against twisting the truth of his own words around if it suits him at any given moment. He tends to leave himself loopholes like that. ]
If that’s what you want, Hilda. Now, come on. Let’s get going, alright?
[ His answer seems genuine enough, but then again, he’s not against twisting the truth of his own words around if it suits him at any given moment. He tends to leave himself loopholes like that. ]
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