logs | (catchall / open)

[ there are certain reactions anyone would expect from Rudbeckia. she's built a character for herself: the gentle Lark of Sistine, sweet but sheltered. beneath the stress of this situation, she should fracture, break down crying; or else wail about the unfairness of it all, from a more uncharitable perspective. she does neither. for the entire time Dimitri has been in here with her, Ruby has been silent. her hands tremble with fear, and her expression is blank.

the brand hurt. it wasn't any worse than being whipped by her brother. more than anything, she's shaken by the despair.

Dimitri's presence had slipped her mind entirely for a time, and his cough startles her back into awareness. her response is automatic, half-hearted: ] It's fine—

[ then she actually looks at him, and sees the petals falling from his hand. ]

Dimitri?!

[ Stress responses vary wildly between people. This place has so many of them: there are some that grieve, unprepared for the situation, afraid and shaken into quietude or shrieking. Some shield themselves with morbid humor, some are furious, though there's usually fear behind those, too. Others seem to shut down. Rudbeckia seems more the lattermost. Not pushed into hysterics, but likely no less affected, wrapped up in whatever terrible emotion has visited her.

In this particular moment though, he almost wishes she'd stayed distracted. He's quick to raise a placating hand, petals caught in the other one as he clears his throat, which still strangely stings. ]

—It's nothing.

[ He chances a look down at his palm, closing his fingers over the small blue flowers there. ]

...No surprise that some sort of sickness would spread in a place like this. [ The conditions are abysmal. ] That's likely all this is. [ A totally normal flower-coughing strep throat. ]

[ Bullshit. What kind of sickness looks like that?

under ordinary circumstances, she might have let him brush her off in any way he pleases and told herself it's none of her business, but she's relying on Dimitri here; she needs to eke out whatever good will she can so that there's a chance he'll protect her if it comes down to it, or at least that he won't leave her behind. it'll be bad news for both of them, too, if he's actually far sicker than he's letting her know. ]

Maybe it's a curse? [ a compromise: she'll press the issue gently, without challenging him. ] Something like the food from the Harvest Festival.

[ the long chain connected to her shackles clinks when she crawls closer to Dimitri, despite her best efforts to silence it. even if none of the guards seem to be concerned with their prisoners, past experience warns her to avoid drawing attention. her voice is similarly hushed, a hand reaching out to Dimitri's forehead—she stops just shy of touching him, awaiting permission. ]

Are you in any pain?

[ He's visibly torn as she draws closer. On the one hand, it's learned instinct to deny that there's anything wrong. Admitting weakness is no flaw at all for most, but it was a mistake few could make often as nobility. On the other... he's no stranger to the dangers of blight—he knows better than to undersell it.

Also, there are small, bright petals now scattered on the dingy floor, so it's a little hard to pretend it didn't happen. ]

It isn't terrible. [ He doesn't flinch away, though it takes him a second to nod tightly, assenting to her hand. He's not terribly feverish, at least. ] ...The strange effects at the festival faded quickly enough. One can hope the same here.

[ Though now that he's actually listening for it, there's some errant coughs here and there echoing out from other cells. ]

Do you feel any ill effects? [ In case it's contagious, or it was laced in their meager food, or otherwise spreading. Whatever this is. ]

[ ... haaah. she was so worried that he would slap her hand away, snap at her for the presumption of trying to touch him. that he does neither is such a relief Rudbeckia forgets for a moment what she was checking. there's no significant fever, and his eyes aren't glazed or unfocused, thank god—she doesn't know what the hell she would have done if he really was in a bad state. but those flower petals... ]

No, I don't feel sick. [ not beyond the light-headedness she would expect. she withdraws her hand and sits back, outside the boundary of his personal space. ] I'm really worried about you, though... What if it gets worse and there's nothing I can do to help you?

[ she's screwed, that's what. in which case: ] When they bring around food and water, you should have mine too.

[ At least they're not both feeling sick, but if it does get worse... he doesn't want to risk letting the affliction spread, or even the possibility of her having to take care of him. There's no way the guards would care.

He frowns, shaking his head. ]

I wouldn't accept it.

[ what a nice girl wow ]

You need your strength in a place like this too. [ And it'd be a temporary solution besides. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the bangs that now fall freely on his face. ] ...If people are falling ill, we can't stay here.

[ she shakes her head too. ]

I don't need it. No matter what happens, I won't be useful at all. You're... [ the protagonist. not literally, she knows this isn't the novel anymore, but if you put someone like her next to someone like Dimitri, then how can she describe him better than that? this is the hero, the shining knight. ] ... more important.

[ to her, it's only logical. her chances of survival are better if all their resources go to Dimitri. what can she say to convince him? It's not a big deal, my body is used to starving — yeah, that would go over well. if she refuses to eat, maybe he'll give up and just accept her share anyway. he's trying to find an alternative: obviously they can't stay here. even if people weren't falling ill, why the hell would they stay? the only reason anyone is here is because it isn't that easy to leave.

surely he doesn't think the two of them will be staging a daring escape. ]

... Are there people that will come for you?

[ it's not said in any way that doubts Dimitri's answer would be yes, and that it would be true. rather, there's something about it — the reedy, exhausted croak of her voice; the flat intonation; the resignation and hopelessness clouding her gaze — something that suggests Ruby's answer to the same question would be no. ]

[ Frustration wells up in him with alarming immediacy; he's not any more important than her. Why would she think that? He's no lord, no hero, no knight. Even in life, his title had carried weight, but a king didn't deserve to live more than any of his subjects. Did she think so highly of him, a near stranger, or so lowly of herself?

Paired with the defeat and flat-toned despair in her voice, it's a heartache. He responds firmly, biting back any more petals. ]

I won't measure anyone by their "usefulness." You need to protect your health so you don't fall ill as well—and in case we must move in a hurry.

[ Because even if it's just the two of them, they need to be ready to act if an opportunity presents itself. As for an escape—he has to consider for a moment. ]

I don't know if anyone will seek to rescue me. [ It's an honest answer, and not just forced modesty. He can't be sure. Sylvain might feel obliged, but... in that case, Dimitri hopes he stays home. And if Rudbeckia truly doesn't have anyone on the outside—or is on the brink of losing hope, anyway— ] It hasn't concerned me; I am willing to pay for what bloodshed I've wrought. But we may need to manufacture an opportunity for you to escape soon.

Me?

[ just her? is that what he's saying? unless he intends to walk her all the way to the gate, then he might as well be telling her to go die. she doesn't think to confirm his meaning; the panic is already setting her thoughts ablaze, clawing at the walls with single-minded desperation: she can't let him send her alone.

her hollow stare breaks, but what replaces it is a wild, animal fear. ]

I don't want to... Don't make me go by myself. [ Dimitri talks about atonement, as if that fucking matters. even if that's what he's after, she'll do whatever she needs to in order to drag him away from it. who cares what he's done, what blood he's spilled, whether he's noble or a monster—

she was Bluebeard's wife. anything is fine as long as it helps her survive. ] I'm begging you, Dimitri.

[ The shift is sudden, and alarming. Where there was a concerning stillness to her, there's now a rush of terror to fill the void. He's not sure how to read or steady her.

Because he really hadn't planned on escaping for himself; whether to punish himself for his actions in life, or for the ones here, it didn't matter. Her reaction hits him with a helpless little sting of guilt for his thoughts, and after a moment, he reaches out to grip her shoulder, his hand steady even if the gesture is uncertain. ]

...I'm sorry. It wasn't my intent to say that I would leave you. If it eases you, I can swear that I will not.

[ He's quiet then, trying to work through what he wants to say. Being so clumsy with words is a nightmare. ]

What I mean is... you should prioritize your safety. If you see an opportunity to run, then I will clear your path. If an opening does not appear, then we will make one. And if we escape, and are to be recaptured—you could tell the guards that I coerced you into fleeing with me.

[ All he means is that it's more important that she escapes than he does. Even from a practical perspective, he'd stand a better chance on his own than she would. But mostly—he's worried. She already seems to be strained here, wilting like a flower away from the sun. ]

[ as soon as his hand touches her shoulder, she lays her own atop it, weakly prying him away only so she can clasp the hand in both of hers. this is the priority. there are no consequences that matter right now: if she has to cling to him, or cry with all her heart, or plead on hands and knees, then she will, until she's well clear of danger. when Dimitri later abandons her for behaving like a needy child, it will still have been a worthwhile use of her lifeline. ]

S... Sorry. [ she hiccups, genuine and involuntary, a useless fear response she's never been able to overcome. ] Just, I'm really scared... If I'm alone, I don't think I'll make it.

[ the steadiness of Dimitri's words and the sincerity with which he explains himself does seem to have calmed Rudbeckia some—that sharp edge of desperation is blunted, her gaze still fearful but no longer looking at him as though he's condemned her to death. ]

And if we get caught... I'm not going to betray you. [ her grip on his hand squeezes tight. ] It's okay if they punish me. I'll be fine.

[ this is not the dismissiveness of bravado, or even a false reassurance said to placate; it is the plain delivery of a factual statement. ]

[ Fear is a natural response; he's had it trained out of him, but he doesn't regard that as the norm. She's been imprisoned, branded, and left completely in the dark—of course she would be afraid.

So he'll stay with her. That isn't a problem. But even as she squeezes his hand, he shakes his head. ]

No. [ He says this firmly, a princely edge of authority sneaking out. ] I want your safety, not your loyalty.

[ He won't claim to be a saint; of course betrayal stings, and when he was younger, it would outright burn. But fealty comes at a cost he never wants to pay. She could use him as a weapon, a shield, a distraction—whatever it takes, and he wouldn't flinch.

Then, more quietly, ]

...Even if you are fine with being punished, understand that I am not. If you do, then I will help you escape this place.

[ For all he cares for the risk, they could leave right this instant. ]

[ that isn't true. sure, he probably doesn't want her to die, not in a situation where it would feel like his responsibility; that's the exact sentiment she gambles so much of her survival on, after all. but if it were that simple, she would never have had to struggle so desperately. safety is always, always conditional. somewhere, there is a line, and once she crosses it, even this hand she's holding will turn to violence.

it doesn't matter. all he wants is reassurance—it doesn't need to be true. ]

I understand. I'll keep myself safe. If I can escape, then I won't look back.

[ there is a blank obedience to her tone. her gaze lowers to his hand clasped between her own, and she releases it to instead, gently, link her pinky finger with his. ]

But I'm counting on you to keep me safe too, so... please don't put yourself at risk either.

(catchall / open)

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