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[ Delivered courtesy of the house staff on the night of the 24th, in boxes wrapped in metallic red paper and blue satin ribbon:
— A set of hand wraps decorated with illustrations of cats.There's a note as well, upon which is written: ]
— A pair of shiny pink boxing gloves.
Alina,
Felt like you could use another way to blow off some steam. Maybe we'll spar again some time.
Happy holidays,
Homelander
[ Similarly, Astarion's Christmas Eve delivery to Alina's door, everything wrapped in black paper and silver ribbon, is fairly obvious once its contents are opened. Namely:
— A strawberry-shaped bag, with a smaller, beaded version stowed away inside.Still, there's a note (the back of which features a sketch of a lemon), which reads: ]
— A perfume bottle filled with a strawberry-scented fragrance. A ribbon around the next has been embroidered with a little strawberry rather than any text.
Alina,
I may be sour, but it's terribly easy to be sweet on you.
May the coming year bring you less grief. Happy holidays.
Your friend,
Astarion
[Paul and Alina's gifts come together, in jewelry boxes set on their pillows. There are cards for each, as well as odd bits and pieces tossed into the boxes -- pine cones, feathers, rocks dug out of the frozen earth and thawed, bits of string and ribbon. All things Alia treasures, all things she adores.
But the gift itself: matching star-shaped pendants, to remind her moon, her sun of who she is to them, of how she glitters and shines around them both. The stone at the center, though, is no gemstone found on earth -- or anywhere else. The metal itself is the same material, formed exhaustively into each point, hard as diamonds, gleaming in the lamplight.
Paul will know what the necklace is made of as soon as he touches it. Alina may need to be told, or she may recognize the gleam, know it to be formed from the one thing Alia had of Arrakis: her crysknife, her tooth of Shai-Hulud, taken and shattered and reformed into a sign of her love, her devotion, her rejection of everything she had been before.
Alina's brother's letter reads:]
Alina Atreides, Empress of the Known Universe, sister-mine, my just-Alina, my beloved always,
My memories began eons ago. I took my first breath on Arrakis. I have been a queen and a goddess and a saint, a she-demon and a weapon and a curse. I have been abomination and miracle.
But my life began when I met you.
I choose you, today, always. I choose us.
- Just-Alia
But the gift itself: matching star-shaped pendants, to remind her moon, her sun of who she is to them, of how she glitters and shines around them both. The stone at the center, though, is no gemstone found on earth -- or anywhere else. The metal itself is the same material, formed exhaustively into each point, hard as diamonds, gleaming in the lamplight.
Paul will know what the necklace is made of as soon as he touches it. Alina may need to be told, or she may recognize the gleam, know it to be formed from the one thing Alia had of Arrakis: her crysknife, her tooth of Shai-Hulud, taken and shattered and reformed into a sign of her love, her devotion, her rejection of everything she had been before.
Alina's brother's letter reads:]
Alina Atreides, Empress of the Known Universe, sister-mine, my just-Alina, my beloved always,
My memories began eons ago. I took my first breath on Arrakis. I have been a queen and a goddess and a saint, a she-demon and a weapon and a curse. I have been abomination and miracle.
But my life began when I met you.
I choose you, today, always. I choose us.
- Just-Alia
[ On Christmas Eve, the manor staff kindly deliver the gifts Alicent prepared for family and friends. For Alina,
— A tiny box, for a ring.
— Another velvet case, larger this time, containing a bracelet.
— A wrapped box of artist’s pencils, tipped with gold.
— Attached, she’ll find an envelope sealed with emerald wax, fine paper stock addressed in Alicent’s elegant hand. ]
— A tiny box, for a ring.
— Another velvet case, larger this time, containing a bracelet.
— A wrapped box of artist’s pencils, tipped with gold.
— Attached, she’ll find an envelope sealed with emerald wax, fine paper stock addressed in Alicent’s elegant hand. ]
Dearest Alina,
Or is it Saint? God Empress? Should I name you my little wife? Did I not wed you first, in that unreal place, outwith our bonds and roles?
No, Alina it is and shall always be, I think.
I’ll not forget our night beneath the trees — or any time spent with you. Many will promise to protect you at your most vulnerable or fight for your honour, when you are young, beautiful, and powerful. Whether or not they break such vows, they are easy things to say. Men especially love their daring feats. It is in the smallest ways, that many fail us.
As such, I shall promise to attend any party with you, even ones where we are not wanted. To speak ill of those who wrong you, for they are ever so hideous and inartful in their cruelty. And to wipe your tears, even when they are ruining a perfectly lovely bath.
Come find me when you’ve want of me, not simply when you’ve the need.
Happy Christmas, Alina.
Yours,
Alicent
( christmas is still widely celebrated throughout the known universe, because jesus christ and religion are always in the wings of one's mind with war and violence taking front stage — that said, the only religion paul knew growing up was the quiet persuasions of the sisterhood, largely going through the motions of ceremony as a duke's son should: with reverence and, admittedly, the pinching of one's hand to keep from yawning throughout the proceedings. so, these ways are ancient to him with the trees and the presents. reading up on it felt like unraveling some scroll from a long dead philosopher, writing we decorate our evergreens to scare away the devil with lights and angels. we give gifts to represent the three wise kings who gave jesus gifts on his birthday. all the information but lacking the cultural context — still, paul is fascinated by the ritualistic nature of it, and offers to take on the responsibility of the tree, like the carpenter father of jesus himself, putting axe to tree and recruiting some able bodied boys to bring it to the correct place.
anyway, it says nowhere that the tree can't be a little gift in and of itself, so paul works on that presumption — what would chase away their demons, worthy in the place of honor among their tree. he does fiddly work for long, exhaustive hours and weeks leading up to christmas when alina thinks he's reading. carving little things, predominately from the iridescent halves of oyster shells he pawned off sanji from his restaurant but also little woodworking items, sealed in wax varnish, his marble fingertips coming in handy for all he ends up stabbing himself. all illustrate simple scenes — mice and water droplets for paul, frogs and knives for alia, sunflowers and pies for alina, foxes and clovers for alicent. the whole tree is pearlescent, rows upon rows of handmade ornaments, all paired off in intentional, specific ways, kind of lost in the grand scheme of the display so one can continuously find new things throughout the night. two mice at the bottom of the tree with their noses pressed together in secret rodent mischief, a cinnamon roll and its froggy counterpart sitting atop it, a four-leaf clover and a sunflower bowing their heads in towards each other. likewise, there are some random representations for friends of the family — a key for erik, a tooth for armand, a dragon for aemond. in all of paul's deep and one might say overly thorough research for the tree, he also found a tradition that stuck out: candies hanging on the branches, in the shape of canes. unsure of how alina feels about mint, he decided to go with the more tried and true method of full candy bars balancing on the branches. of course, as they are the colors would clash, so paul spray painted the wrappers a matching pearl, so it's really anyone's guess what you'll get at any given time.
he is, after a long time of working on it to and beyond the point of obsession, shooing away alina and alia when they try to peek, convinced she'll hate it. however, time does not stop and the ground does not swallow paul whole, so the night carries on. eventually, paul relaxes. eventually, he remembers to be anxious about her gifts, of which he's also convinced she'll hate. paul tries to distract her from opening — and at least succeeds long enough to when it's her and alia and him sitting under the tree, changed into matching silk pajamas, anticipation in the air. he holds his breath, shoulders very straight and frigid, waiting.
the first gift box is small, and self explanatory — a pair of earrings which he thought was a safe bet. the second is a bit harder. when alina opens it up, she'll see a hand carved baliset, etched with simple designs of flowers and stars and suns, an instrument closely resembling a lute as alina might know it, but both flatter and larger, in size and shape. paul bobs his head. )
It's called a baliset. I thought me and Alia could teach you some songs from where we're from — we have this old mentor, Gurney Halleck, and he'd teach me chords whenever I was particularly frustrating at blades. He had the perfect song for every moment, it was a fond talent of his. ( he gives a gesture for it, settling it on his lap, against his chest. ) The only trouble is that this instrument doesn't exist yet in this world, so I made it — it wasn't hard, it was mostly math. The hard part was that I didn't recognize their sheets of music, so I ... well I practiced on the piano, because it's a ( sawing gesture ) linear scale? So I could compare piano music to the chords of the baliset, and write you music. Which I can teach you, if you like. ( having taken the potion alina brewed for him earlier (and spending some long, silent moments stroking his feeling fingertips up and down her bare arms), the strings vibrate under the pliable tips of his fingers as he does an easy scale, not necessarily talented in music but capable of the basics. ) But, um, I also learned a few of those — songs. From the market? We can play now.
( he does, a little awkwardly fall into deck the halls, humming and mumbling the words, before alina and alia joining him helps him sing a little louder.
so, the night winds further down. eventually, when paul has had enough spiked eggnog and mulled wine, his cheeks flushed, he admits, ) I have something else. ( a little jittery, he undoes the buttons of his sleep shirt, until it's open on his shoulders, pushed aside to show, etched against his collar, a small, cursive script of her name, alina. the handprint she burned into his chest is little more now than a white, nearly invisible scar — but it didn't feel right to permanently stain her on his skin in that way, as something she hates. instead, just her name on his skin, a delicate but at the same time, very clear and concise claiming. almost apologetically, ) That isn't it.
( with an implied bit of fumbling, he pushes his shorts a little off his hips, enough to briefly show his cock off — but it's not just his cock. the organ sits trapped in a smooth, golden cage, a very tiny lock sitting at the root of it. paul hides himself away again, blushing furiously, but snags a key and chain off a branch of the tree to hand to her, folding her fingers around it. ) I like, ( he squeezes her hands ) I like when all my pleasure belongs to you. I'd like it to live in the palm of your hand, yours to give out whenever you like. You can be in charge of that. I'm — um, giving it to you. Yours.
( neither is that the finishing gift, but the rest will have to wait for the next time alina opens sol & scroll. there's a small, daisy-petal path that guides her towards a backroom, previously meant for employee breaks — only when she opens it, it's been turned into a flower nursery, with propagation vials setup on every available surface, featuring several flower clippings from paul and alia's home planets.
on the table, there is a note: )
anyway, it says nowhere that the tree can't be a little gift in and of itself, so paul works on that presumption — what would chase away their demons, worthy in the place of honor among their tree. he does fiddly work for long, exhaustive hours and weeks leading up to christmas when alina thinks he's reading. carving little things, predominately from the iridescent halves of oyster shells he pawned off sanji from his restaurant but also little woodworking items, sealed in wax varnish, his marble fingertips coming in handy for all he ends up stabbing himself. all illustrate simple scenes — mice and water droplets for paul, frogs and knives for alia, sunflowers and pies for alina, foxes and clovers for alicent. the whole tree is pearlescent, rows upon rows of handmade ornaments, all paired off in intentional, specific ways, kind of lost in the grand scheme of the display so one can continuously find new things throughout the night. two mice at the bottom of the tree with their noses pressed together in secret rodent mischief, a cinnamon roll and its froggy counterpart sitting atop it, a four-leaf clover and a sunflower bowing their heads in towards each other. likewise, there are some random representations for friends of the family — a key for erik, a tooth for armand, a dragon for aemond. in all of paul's deep and one might say overly thorough research for the tree, he also found a tradition that stuck out: candies hanging on the branches, in the shape of canes. unsure of how alina feels about mint, he decided to go with the more tried and true method of full candy bars balancing on the branches. of course, as they are the colors would clash, so paul spray painted the wrappers a matching pearl, so it's really anyone's guess what you'll get at any given time.
he is, after a long time of working on it to and beyond the point of obsession, shooing away alina and alia when they try to peek, convinced she'll hate it. however, time does not stop and the ground does not swallow paul whole, so the night carries on. eventually, paul relaxes. eventually, he remembers to be anxious about her gifts, of which he's also convinced she'll hate. paul tries to distract her from opening — and at least succeeds long enough to when it's her and alia and him sitting under the tree, changed into matching silk pajamas, anticipation in the air. he holds his breath, shoulders very straight and frigid, waiting.
the first gift box is small, and self explanatory — a pair of earrings which he thought was a safe bet. the second is a bit harder. when alina opens it up, she'll see a hand carved baliset, etched with simple designs of flowers and stars and suns, an instrument closely resembling a lute as alina might know it, but both flatter and larger, in size and shape. paul bobs his head. )
It's called a baliset. I thought me and Alia could teach you some songs from where we're from — we have this old mentor, Gurney Halleck, and he'd teach me chords whenever I was particularly frustrating at blades. He had the perfect song for every moment, it was a fond talent of his. ( he gives a gesture for it, settling it on his lap, against his chest. ) The only trouble is that this instrument doesn't exist yet in this world, so I made it — it wasn't hard, it was mostly math. The hard part was that I didn't recognize their sheets of music, so I ... well I practiced on the piano, because it's a ( sawing gesture ) linear scale? So I could compare piano music to the chords of the baliset, and write you music. Which I can teach you, if you like. ( having taken the potion alina brewed for him earlier (and spending some long, silent moments stroking his feeling fingertips up and down her bare arms), the strings vibrate under the pliable tips of his fingers as he does an easy scale, not necessarily talented in music but capable of the basics. ) But, um, I also learned a few of those — songs. From the market? We can play now.
( he does, a little awkwardly fall into deck the halls, humming and mumbling the words, before alina and alia joining him helps him sing a little louder.
so, the night winds further down. eventually, when paul has had enough spiked eggnog and mulled wine, his cheeks flushed, he admits, ) I have something else. ( a little jittery, he undoes the buttons of his sleep shirt, until it's open on his shoulders, pushed aside to show, etched against his collar, a small, cursive script of her name, alina. the handprint she burned into his chest is little more now than a white, nearly invisible scar — but it didn't feel right to permanently stain her on his skin in that way, as something she hates. instead, just her name on his skin, a delicate but at the same time, very clear and concise claiming. almost apologetically, ) That isn't it.
( with an implied bit of fumbling, he pushes his shorts a little off his hips, enough to briefly show his cock off — but it's not just his cock. the organ sits trapped in a smooth, golden cage, a very tiny lock sitting at the root of it. paul hides himself away again, blushing furiously, but snags a key and chain off a branch of the tree to hand to her, folding her fingers around it. ) I like, ( he squeezes her hands ) I like when all my pleasure belongs to you. I'd like it to live in the palm of your hand, yours to give out whenever you like. You can be in charge of that. I'm — um, giving it to you. Yours.
( neither is that the finishing gift, but the rest will have to wait for the next time alina opens sol & scroll. there's a small, daisy-petal path that guides her towards a backroom, previously meant for employee breaks — only when she opens it, it's been turned into a flower nursery, with propagation vials setup on every available surface, featuring several flower clippings from paul and alia's home planets.
on the table, there is a note: )
Dear wife —
This gift comes from both Alia and I. You might be surprised to learn that there are a few types of plant life that live freely on Arrakis, even surrounded by sand and the brutal heat of the sun. Things like alfalfa, amarinth, and primrose, all thrive where the skin on your nose will peel if more than an hour is spent in sunlight. I love Arrakis as you know, and I think of this often — does the sun take pity on plants? Or are green things simply more enduring than the humans that eat them?
I think, more than anything, it proves that life and love can always be found where the sun shines brightest. That is what I found here, in your arms, my zenith sun, my brightest place. I think I love you how the primrose flower loves it's sunbeams — like something vital, like something necessary to exist. Like the center of the universe, always kissing its petals, never shy with its all encompassing affection.
If, however, you ever feel like sharing your light, me and Alia thought a garden might be nice for you. (It is much, much more important than staff breaks.)
I love you, I want you, I need you. Your doting husband,
Paul Starkov.
Edited 2024-12-18 02:46 (UTC)
[The gift comes wrapped meticulously in paper that, while not strictly holiday-themed is nevertheless very appropriate, considering who it’s from. The gift is inside, nestled in pale blue tissue paper: An assortment of candied fruit, nuts and chocolates from the faire, for those of his friends who actually eat. For those who don’t, this portion of the gift is replaced with a simple calendar.
A jar of tea courtesy of Sol & Scroll, because everyone needs more relaxing sleep around here.
For Alina, a portable art set.
The note, on thick, cream-colored card stock, is in a somewhat wobbly, but earnest hand:]
The note, on thick, cream-colored card stock, is in a somewhat wobbly, but earnest hand:]
Alina -
You didn't ruin anything. Merry Christmas. Thank you for still being my friend, after everything. For understanding. I'd still fake-marry you, if you wanted me to.
- Koby
I didn't know it was your birthday —
( so he says at sol & scroll the day of, looking a little worried — mostly because he isn't sure if alina is especially happy to see him, and also because your birthday is something a husband should know. shy is the only way to describe his fiddling before he, a little awkwardly, sets a thickly made flower crown of sunflowers on her head. a sunny bit of summer on an otherwise bitingly cold day. )
— so this was all I had time for. Sunflowers make me think of our vows. Also — well, you, the sun. Sunflower. You — you probably didn't need me to explain that, actually. Um. ( a fumbling gesture, his fingers brush little tendrils of her skunk hair as he pulls his hands away. ) I thought, if you like, we could play house today. Just, do normal newlywed, husband-wife things. I want to spend the day with you, if you do.
( so he says at sol & scroll the day of, looking a little worried — mostly because he isn't sure if alina is especially happy to see him, and also because your birthday is something a husband should know. shy is the only way to describe his fiddling before he, a little awkwardly, sets a thickly made flower crown of sunflowers on her head. a sunny bit of summer on an otherwise bitingly cold day. )
— so this was all I had time for. Sunflowers make me think of our vows. Also — well, you, the sun. Sunflower. You — you probably didn't need me to explain that, actually. Um. ( a fumbling gesture, his fingers brush little tendrils of her skunk hair as he pulls his hands away. ) I thought, if you like, we could play house today. Just, do normal newlywed, husband-wife things. I want to spend the day with you, if you do.
( a birthday in an immortal lifespan must feel no more significant than a grain of sand in an insurmountable desert. she isn't so long-lived that the childish enthusiasm of a day dedicated to her existence has dulled in shine, but there's something to be said for alina's own nonchalance when she laughs, ducking her head to accept paul's crown as any adored monarch should.
like it isn't worrisome that her first response is a flippant: )
I forgot it was my birthday. We weren't allowed to discuss our lives before Keramzin. You begin to misremember, after awhile.
( as though they were duke keramzov's children, only born the day he rescued them, awarded his own birthday in celebration of a man that hadn't even recognized alina once she'd grown from ugly duckling to the darkling's pet swan. she doesn't miss a beat of recovery, when she swoops in to press a lipgloss-sticky kiss to paul's cheek, before rubbing it away. like admitting to her sad childhood hasn't inconvenienced her any more than tripping up the stairs, used to the hurt of it. )
What do normal newlywed, husband-wife things involve, exactly? ( her eyes might be creased with warmth, but the puzzled, puppy-like tilt to her head is genuine. on one hip, she's already perching kettlewing, idly bouncing him. ) I've never played house before. It's not as fun for girls in Ravka.
like it isn't worrisome that her first response is a flippant: )
I forgot it was my birthday. We weren't allowed to discuss our lives before Keramzin. You begin to misremember, after awhile.
( as though they were duke keramzov's children, only born the day he rescued them, awarded his own birthday in celebration of a man that hadn't even recognized alina once she'd grown from ugly duckling to the darkling's pet swan. she doesn't miss a beat of recovery, when she swoops in to press a lipgloss-sticky kiss to paul's cheek, before rubbing it away. like admitting to her sad childhood hasn't inconvenienced her any more than tripping up the stairs, used to the hurt of it. )
What do normal newlywed, husband-wife things involve, exactly? ( her eyes might be creased with warmth, but the puzzled, puppy-like tilt to her head is genuine. on one hip, she's already perching kettlewing, idly bouncing him. ) I've never played house before. It's not as fun for girls in Ravka.
[ neatly wrapped and tied with a wide white satin ribbon, alina has the most boxes in the alina-alia-paul pile.
a jewelry box
some hair clips for her pretty hair
a metric shit tonne of homemade chocolate chip cookies xoxo
a small glass vial and a label tied to it with thread, FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY. it's blood, her blood.
in perfectly neat penmanship, which she got an A for in 3rd grade, the note only reads ]
Love, Caroline
in perfectly neat penmanship, which she got an A for in 3rd grade, the note only reads ]
Love, Caroline
[ Erik isn't really the Christmas sort, but he has done his best to find some gifts that he thinks would be appreciated and welcomed, so they're left on her doorstep:
🧲 A matching set of jewellery, hand-crafted by Erik himself: necklace, bracelet, earrings, all with a mixture of sun motifs but also flowers covering the suns. The sun is present, but it's not the most important thing about her.There's no note. ]
🧲 Various novels that he had collected that he thought she might enjoy, ranging from true crime, to romantasy to some of the more popular horror tales of his own world.
🧲 Some makeup, of various kinds and colours, that he thought she might like.
🧲 One very handsome dress, delicate but also sparkly.
🧲 Some candelabras, also hand-crafted, in various shapes and delicate, weaving designs.
[ this text comes shortly after louis makes a promise to alicent. ]
Maybe I'm not the one with the liberties to ask after everything here, but I need a favor. Between us.
You got a few employees at your shop.
There a boy who works there? Need to check in on one of them.
Maybe I'm not the one with the liberties to ask after everything here, but I need a favor. Between us.
You got a few employees at your shop.
There a boy who works there? Need to check in on one of them.
Edited (context wahoo) 2025-01-04 02:21 (UTC)
[ high on resculpt and feeling chastised by alina, caroline carefully wraps the book alina had so beautifully painted for her. she rips out the page alina had written on, so so carefully so it's barely perceptible. a pink sticky note is in its place, ]
You should give this to Alia instead. She deserves it.
-C
[ she leaves it at the door, labeled with alina's name so alia won't open it by mistake. ]
You should give this to Alia instead. She deserves it.
-C
[ she leaves it at the door, labeled with alina's name so alia won't open it by mistake. ]
( you could kill me, in all of its joking (not-quite-joking) self-pity, is more than likely to get her a look of kicked-puppy concern, true as it is. she's read the network post so many times it's self-inflicted torture, at this point, like reliving a time where you flashed a stranger or tripped over your own feet in front of someone cute, magnified to a thousand.
so, )
please don't talk about food
it's like talking about petting puppies to someone who has no hands in which to pet puppies
:(
so, )
please don't talk about food
it's like talking about petting puppies to someone who has no hands in which to pet puppies
:(
[A series of images comes through: Kettlewing sitting on a cushion, wings folded sedately, bumbling to himself. Then, a hand coming into frame holding a tiny paper hat. Then, the hat resting delicately on Kettlewing's head. Then, the hand reappearing in a thumbs-up.
No accompanying text.]
No accompanying text.]
( there are few things worse than the fever-sweats of detox — facing alia just happens to be the crowning champion of the list. she is, for a moment, irrationally envious of kettlewing's brain, so empty it whistles with steam. blissfully oblivious, in only a way a bird-brained creature could manage to be. wouldn't it be nice, to live without these memories crowding her brain, anxieties cluttering and cramping the space?
it's a good pause of wrestling with a response (and the water in her stomach, attempting to bubble back up) — )
👍
good work, he looks impossibly more dashing.
i think he likes it. i can tell these things
( that's mother's intuition, or just crybaby to crybaby communication, where kettlewing is concerned. )
it's a good pause of wrestling with a response (and the water in her stomach, attempting to bubble back up) — )
👍
good work, he looks impossibly more dashing.
i think he likes it. i can tell these things
( that's mother's intuition, or just crybaby to crybaby communication, where kettlewing is concerned. )
Edited 2025-01-22 05:10 (UTC)
Is this Alina, the owner of Sol & Scroll?
🐻
[ Guess who has been learning about emojis. ]
🐻
[ Guess who has been learning about emojis. ]
Alive.
( as for okay — that's a relative matter. she can't remember the last time she was well and truly okay. less so, with nothing to tie her to the making, now. )
I'd ask the same, but I presume you're not texting me from the great beyond. Where are you staying?
( as for okay — that's a relative matter. she can't remember the last time she was well and truly okay. less so, with nothing to tie her to the making, now. )
I'd ask the same, but I presume you're not texting me from the great beyond. Where are you staying?
( in terms of 'unexpected texts from unexpected people' — this ranks highly. it's only a handful of minutes scrubbing her hands free of paint enough to tap back a response. )
We made do. And I've a distinct lack of appetite for raw brains to show for it.
Is the manor still in-tact? I've barely visited since.
We made do. And I've a distinct lack of appetite for raw brains to show for it.
Is the manor still in-tact? I've barely visited since.
( why must men return to haunt her about things she's been actively trying to repress. )
Legally? Probably not binding.
Spiritually? I think we’re safe unless the Saints have a sense of humor I don’t want to test.
Though if you start referring to me as your ex-wife in front of people, I will set something on fire. Possibly you.
Legally? Probably not binding.
Spiritually? I think we’re safe unless the Saints have a sense of humor I don’t want to test.
Though if you start referring to me as your ex-wife in front of people, I will set something on fire. Possibly you.
( paul lays beside alina for bed, but he doesn't sleep. hasn't been sleeping since the whole debacle with spike went on, not because he's haunted by insecurities, but because he's haunted by his actions. he wanted spike dead, and buffy, and anyone in his way at the time. was it so long ago that he was a boy in the sand, weeping over jamis? his first kill, now a distant memory. sometimes he still dreams jamis, like a bridge across a river that flows red and buring — and sometimes he's a vision in the distance of his sleep memory, an outline of a man, a man with a head, a head shaking no. wrong. it was wrong, to get so emotional. paul supposedly has divinity in his veins where the rest of the fremen hold water. but when he lays next to alina, he's just a boy hopelessly in love with her, who doesn't know how to contain all his feelings like that of an overflowing oasis. water to drink, of course. but it's bad news for the flowers at the shore. )
Alina. ( whispered, quiet, his chin against her shoulder, body cupping hers. staring at her intently, with his bright, strange, spice-colored eyes. ) Are you awake? ( whether or not she was, she will be, because paul gives her a small shake, kissing her shoulder. discomfort makes his words come out formally. ) May I say something to you?
Alina. ( whispered, quiet, his chin against her shoulder, body cupping hers. staring at her intently, with his bright, strange, spice-colored eyes. ) Are you awake? ( whether or not she was, she will be, because paul gives her a small shake, kissing her shoulder. discomfort makes his words come out formally. ) May I say something to you?
( she isn't proud of her first instinct to feign sleep through the brimming of paul's anxiety. a coward's impulse, or maybe a mouse's — hole away in the walls when the scent of a storm salts the air, safe from the rain pattering your door. evidence, she thinks, that she's not deserving of the atreides name; a hawk can endure the turn of the weather with grace on caladan, unblinking, wings unfurled. but alina? she's just — earthbound, stuck.
spiritually, she's molting certainties. physically, she spends more time scouring her skin with scrubbing, relentless hands than she does sleeping, like the stain of betrayal will seep into the sheets, ooze out onto paul. like she can wash away another hold over her body, watch it circle the drain, when the collar prodding her neck proves how well she manages freedom. just as irremovable as her shame.
there's a critical error in that tactical plan, besides: paul has calculated her the precise tempo of her breathing, the fall and rise of her chest. a mentat's skill and a lover's knowledge — he has to know she's awake. so, she braces for impact like a soldier waiting for the blow, instead — stares off into the shadowed spaces of the room, despite how much she's never liked confronting the darkness, fearful of what she'll find watching back. knowing what the fold took from her, what it made her. still, tonight, it seems a safer bet than whatever lurks in paul's eyes, surely. )
Do you have to? ( a child's whine, soft and cracking. alina's throat clicks with a swallow, bobs. tries again. ) If it's something terrible, wait until morning.
spiritually, she's molting certainties. physically, she spends more time scouring her skin with scrubbing, relentless hands than she does sleeping, like the stain of betrayal will seep into the sheets, ooze out onto paul. like she can wash away another hold over her body, watch it circle the drain, when the collar prodding her neck proves how well she manages freedom. just as irremovable as her shame.
there's a critical error in that tactical plan, besides: paul has calculated her the precise tempo of her breathing, the fall and rise of her chest. a mentat's skill and a lover's knowledge — he has to know she's awake. so, she braces for impact like a soldier waiting for the blow, instead — stares off into the shadowed spaces of the room, despite how much she's never liked confronting the darkness, fearful of what she'll find watching back. knowing what the fold took from her, what it made her. still, tonight, it seems a safer bet than whatever lurks in paul's eyes, surely. )
Do you have to? ( a child's whine, soft and cracking. alina's throat clicks with a swallow, bobs. tries again. ) If it's something terrible, wait until morning.
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