[Food is important. Food is of the utmost important, second only to--]
She.
[--Well. She is not necessarily of the utmost importance, but she's certainly weighing heavily on Scipio's mind. Fears renewed, he grabs again for a firmer hold on Rafael's arm.]
She. Not he. There was no food. I only wish there were food. I was in the library, sleeping--only for a moment! And when I woke, she was there, and I asked her what help I needed, and, and the next thing I knew, she was-- staring at me. Through me. I thought she was going to strike me down, there, where I stood. Maker, Rafa--
[ Food is extremely important, and right now Rafael is beginning to fear he may never eat again once Scipio succeeds in cutting off circulation to his fork arm. He doesn't shake him off, but sets a hand on his friend's shoulder and gives it an encouraging pat. ]
Elves are always angry, Skip, that's just how elves are. Surely she didn't mean it personally. Nobody dislikes you at first sight unless we mean them to. You weren't in character, were you? No fake nose or anything? What did she do, then? Did she explain?
[He droops, mournfully, comforted by the weight of Rafael's hand. It is unfortunately less-than-difficult to remember how awful it was under the razored gaze of the elf in question, even here, in amid warmth and laughter and conversation and food. And drink, which, speaking of, Scipio grabs his mug and takes a draught.
Better.]
I was only myself. No noses. Nothing. But she looked at me, and it was-- like the way a rat must feel, when he eats of a poison. All shriveled up. Awful, Rafa, and I hope that you never feel anything of its like. You're so good, and strong, you must stay this way forever-- [He reaches to pat a hand against Rafael's cheek, weak, boneless--] --while I languish.
[A little exaggerated, but exaggeration makes him feel a little better. Like playing a character, and he can distance himself from reality. Only when he thinks of it that way, he thinks of that reality, the spool of song played faint at the back of his head. Sobering like nothing else is. That's what gets him to say:]
She knew, Rafa. About-- She had never heard of Wardens before. I don't know how, I didn't ask. A hermitage, maybe, one so far removed no tale has ever reached its shores. But she knew. She said my blood was poison.
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She.
[--Well. She is not necessarily of the utmost importance, but she's certainly weighing heavily on Scipio's mind. Fears renewed, he grabs again for a firmer hold on Rafael's arm.]
She. Not he. There was no food. I only wish there were food. I was in the library, sleeping--only for a moment! And when I woke, she was there, and I asked her what help I needed, and, and the next thing I knew, she was-- staring at me. Through me. I thought she was going to strike me down, there, where I stood. Maker, Rafa--
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Elves are always angry, Skip, that's just how elves are. Surely she didn't mean it personally. Nobody dislikes you at first sight unless we mean them to. You weren't in character, were you? No fake nose or anything? What did she do, then? Did she explain?
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[He droops, mournfully, comforted by the weight of Rafael's hand. It is unfortunately less-than-difficult to remember how awful it was under the razored gaze of the elf in question, even here, in amid warmth and laughter and conversation and food. And drink, which, speaking of, Scipio grabs his mug and takes a draught.
Better.]
I was only myself. No noses. Nothing. But she looked at me, and it was-- like the way a rat must feel, when he eats of a poison. All shriveled up. Awful, Rafa, and I hope that you never feel anything of its like. You're so good, and strong, you must stay this way forever-- [He reaches to pat a hand against Rafael's cheek, weak, boneless--] --while I languish.
[A little exaggerated, but exaggeration makes him feel a little better. Like playing a character, and he can distance himself from reality. Only when he thinks of it that way, he thinks of that reality, the spool of song played faint at the back of his head. Sobering like nothing else is. That's what gets him to say:]
She knew, Rafa. About-- She had never heard of Wardens before. I don't know how, I didn't ask. A hermitage, maybe, one so far removed no tale has ever reached its shores. But she knew. She said my blood was poison.