funnygirl | Appointments + Voicemail

Don’t -- [The Forgemaster cuts in, firmly, before smoothening the rawness from his tone.] be sorry. [He dimly shakes his head, his lips pressing into a tighter smile through the sting.] …I’m not.

[He is silent as she listens to the exchange, observing her reaction as always. Without a doubt, he would spring to Julia’s defense like a hellhound unchained and would have torn limb from limb the person responsible for poisoning Zevran. But he had neither now. Only himself, like old times.]

Would a stern glance and a simple warning not have sufficed on her part? Instead, there is this -- a threat dripping with a venomous, almost palpable hatred just waiting to be unleashed. Even your beloved Beast, furious as he was, wasn’t half as vicious when we crossed paths.

[He shuts the journal with a padded thump.]

Tell me… why is it you seem troubled by what it is you hear? Is she not merely... acting in your defense?

[A beat, his smugness expertly contained.]

She shows you kindness; of that I have no doubt. But think you, truly, she would speak a word of it to you were she to drag me someplace unseen and ravage my flesh in novel ways? Would she show you her fine work? Or would she hide it thinking it might spare you pain, and as not to let you see just how deep the darkness is within her? You might call a friend one whose faces you have not all seen... but not I. Not any longer.

[A frown forms on her lips. Her eyes never leave his gaze and instead seem to be searching for something; a flaw perhaps that will allow her to see what he's thinking, what he wants. She slowly folds her arms across her chest, a little retreat from things she does not wish to speak about.]

And what of you? Would you say that I have seen all of your faces? Why should I place doubt in one of my dearest friends simply because you imply I should? Perhaps it's because I have already seen the darkness that's in you? Although I would hardly say that you try to hide it. No, whatever darkness Saori might be hiding, she does it as a kindness. But you...you hide any bit of goodness under anger and insults. Is it really easier being the devil than just being the man?

[Ah, some fight to her; he enjoys a challenge and admires her spirited defiance, seeing something of himself in it. He is seemingly unfazed, but the flickers of emotion scintillating in his eyes defy his pleasant mask.]

Never was I a man to begin with. [He chuckles softly albeit humourlessly.] There was only a devil whom was foolish enough to dream of being a man. Of being something it could never be. And soon did it fade as I was shown the error of my ways and learned my place in the world. [His smile twists into something nastier, sharp as a knife’s edge with fury and hurt. His voice drops to a seething hiss.]

How keen were many to put me in my place... men and beasts alike.

[Nothing has changed, he thinks. His eyes fall shut as he relives a moment, vivid and violent, in flashes, his hand doubling into a powerless, trembling fist. It's the sting of his nails biting deeply into his palms that draws him back. Breathing slowly with a conscious effort, his eyes slide open.]

I am what I shall always be. [His conversations with Julia echo in memory and he angrily wills away the sudden, sharp ache in his chest.]

Edited (You didn't see that either. >>) 2013-03-23 06:09 (UTC)

[She realizes that their circumstances are completely different, but that doesn't stop his words from piercing her. Belle is not unfamiliar with others trying to force her into a role she did not want. Gaston had tried when he'd asked for her hand. And all the eyes on her that she couldn't help but feel every time she walked through the village, silently judging her and her father.

Smiling a little sadly, her gaze drops down to stare unseeingly at the table.]

I've always found it silly how people cling to their "place" in life. Well, I suppose it's really only society's idea of place. Men are supposed to be strong and unyielding and must provide for their families. Women must keep the household going and bear children, as many as possible. Simple rules that were created before we were born and so we have no control over them. No choice.

[She looks up then, expression set in determination.]

I have never been so good at following those ideals, nor do I ever want to. If there truly is a place for me I shall find it myself. Or, failing that, create my own. [Pause.] You speak as if you have no choice in the matter, but that's not true. Only you can control who you are and only you can decide what you will be.

[It should have meant something that she was sympathizing, that she was trying to connect. But his eyes narrow to mean slits, locked on hers as he rises slowly from his chair and moves around the table’s edge one deliberate step at a time to stand before her, barely a foot separating them. His body’s taut and primed for attack, his breathing shallow and sharp with the vehemence of a tirade on the very verge of erupting. But his voice is low, raw, and deathly calm. Hundreds of answers, hundreds of screaming voices in his mind clamour to be heard, and all but one are silenced.]

A prisoner in an inescapable dungeon can always aspire for more, scraping and clawing his way at stone walls until his fingers bleed and are worn down to the bone. [He says, tautly.] But try as he might, in that cell he shall rot for the rest of his days. [His eyelids lower, his gaze glassy and unfeeling and fixed on her still. But staring through her, as if she were a pane of glass.] I had a choice.

To live, unafraid, no longer at the mercy of man or beast... [His Adam's apple joggles slightly.] Or to die, would I be so fortunate. For there are fates far worse than death itself. Fates that would make even a gruesome death the sweetest kindness.

[There’s a twitch of at the corner of his mouth, lips pinched.]

Such… [A snarl, barely controlled, issues through gritted teeth.] were my choices. I made mine.

[Her back straightens and she holds herself still as Isaac rises from his seat and approaches. And yet she does not move, even by a step, as he enters her space. She's well used to his sudden changes in mood and refuses to be intimidated by them.]

The thing about choices is that they are small, fleeting, and never ending. One choice leads to another which eventually leads to even more. They can lead us to great happiness or overwhelming regret. Yet they can always be amended. Like a child who places his hand in a fire because it looks lovely and gets burned. That choice will teach him a lesson that he either has to take to heart or continue making the same mistake.

[Her words begin to come fast, with more conviction.] Although many see this place as an inescapable prison to me it is a world far more accepting of me than my own. And it could be for you as well! Whatever choices you have made in the past have no bearing here. And I doubt people here would react as the ones in your world have. You need only give them a chance. You can hardly blame them for seeing you as a devil when you strive so hard to make it so.

[He tilts his head at a challenging angle as she speaks, his eyes hard and smouldering with a cold, implacable fury.]

I have given more than enough to those undeserving… and I have learned from my mistake. [The words mean to strike, sharp and venomous as a viper’s bite.] Forgive me if you shan’t enjoy the gratification of guiding a lost soul to salvation; forgive me, still, if it isn’t all as simple as you think it to be. I will not be some accomplishment of yours you will look upon when it pleases you, taking great pride in your fine work.

[I shall be only that which I am. ‘tis all I have, in the end. His chest heaves.]

You speak of tolerance, of placing faith in others, of being fair. [The ‘f’ is bitterly enunciated, as if he meant to spit a much harsher word.] Were men and women as gracious as you believe, they would not dare think to force me into becoming someone they would prefer far more than this. No -- they would take me as I am, for I am not nor shall I ever be obliged to satisfy them.

Perhaps I would have an easier time accepting you as you are now if I truly believed you were happy as such. However, I do not believe that is true and so I simply try to appeal to that side of you. The part of you that is not as prickly and hateful. If this has offended you than I apologize.

[She meets his eyes directly, jaw set, and eyes blazing.] Yet I must ask once again that you do not make up conclusion about me or my actions. If I merely saw you as an accomplishment I would have long ago set my sights on someone far more reasonable. Perhaps you simply don't know what it's like to have someone care.

[The sting of a remark cutting far too close to the bone gives him pause for a split second too long. He blinks away a blank, inward-searching look in his eyes, casting words of his own like stones in the heat of the moment in a bid to cut short this frustrating subject.]

Neither I nor my affairs are any concern of yours… but should you persist, God help you, I will become one. No matter what tortures your friend is prepared to inflict.

[Even as he says it, though, he knows it'd be too impetuous of him to follow through in the manner he's suggesting. But physical threats aren't the only means of shaking off someone bothersome; they're only the most familiar to him.]

If she pursues you, it is for her own reasons, because I will not tell her. That would only show that I have something to fear from you. And I don't believe that I do.

[Despite the conviction in her words there is a slight wariness in her eyes that hints at uncertainty. But she refuses to allow him to scare her.]

[The Forgemaster searches her face for something to exploit with unblinking intensity, panting softly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he wrestles with his more violent impulses. But then, in an instant, the fierce inward struggle ends and his thin, pale lips twist into a crooked smile.]

How fortunate a woman you are –- [He purrs, lifting a hand, so slowly, with the intent to stroke her face with the backs of his gloved fingers.] -- to have a powerful guardian.

[He had one, once, whom had died long before her time.]

We were not all so... blessed. [He adds musingly, not without a hint of scorn.] But... there is a danger in relying on them, in becoming rather... comfortable with the idea that they shall be there for as long as we have need for them. For one day, sooner or later... they all disappear.

[A gentler smile comes as he finishes.]

You misunderstand me. I have not asked for Saori's protection, nor do I mean to use it in any way against you.

[Her lips thin as she battles with herself whether or not to say more. Finally she concludes that it wouldn't make things any worse.]

I believe if you meant me true harm, you would have already acted on it.

[Challenge flickers in his eyes as he holds hers, his sibylline smile lingering as he feathers a gloved finger slowly down the column of her throat, the shape of his fingernail, long and filed sharp, sharply delineated against leather.

Bold creature, he thinks.]

There are times... [He murmurs.] ...when impetuousity is most unwise.

[A soft giggle issues from him, anger seemingly forgotten for the moment.]

[She licks suddenly dried lips and swallows, feeling Isaac's fingers as they slid down her throat.]

I am merely speaking honestly.

...Of course you are.

[He drawls softly, almost reassuringly, satisfied on some level by the infinitesimal hints of nervousness. For these are nuances in body language he is all too familiar with from years of laying siege to human settlements and coming to know death and the moments before very intimately.

He draws back slowly without turning, glancing aside only to collect his journal.]

[She watches him go warily, not quite ready to move from her spot. Although she'd never admit that if asked.]

...We're reading The Princess Bride. For the Book Club. As I haven't yet set a date you might still have time to read it.

[With a look of sly contentment spreading across his features, he dips his head acknowledgingly - and with gentility - as if to say, 'I am yours', tucking his book under his arm.]

Thank you kindly. 'til next we meet...

[With a mind not to linger any longer than he already has, he then turns on his heel and drifts down an aisle, disappearing.]

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