[ Good of her to remember his offer, and good that this time spent with him hasn't made her reconsider it. There are more than a few things that he could think of to do with her away from this lake and its uncomplicated comforts, as long as she's keen to do them with him. ]
And I'll make sure not to embroil you in anything unsavory. [ Hm. ] ...Hopefully.
[ Best not to make promises he can't keep; trouble finds him everywhere. A simple errand to go pick flowers usually ends with him fighting for his life against a monster five times his size, so. He'll have to protect Aerith, wherever they go. (Not such a daunting prospect, that.)
The men and women manning the kitchen look up when Clive and Aerith approach. Delivery, Clive announces, and one of them wipes her hand on her apron, bright eyes looking the both of them up and down.
[It's a good thing Aerith has no intention to start holding him to promises like that, though as far as she's concerned, if he's not using the word 'promise' it's not one. Nothing to hold him to, as it were. And she knows better anyway. Besides, who's to say that he's the one who'll get them into trouble?
She's not said it, but there are reasons Aerith doesn't travel out often. The last thing she wants is for a piece of her past to catch up to her. But it's been... some years, hasn't it? And those years for Aerith have been surprisingly quiet. Each time she goes out, however, it's a risk to take.
...She should say something to Clive. After some moments of thought, she concludes that she has to. So she will. When they're setting out.
Her thoughts turn when he announces their delivery and the moment they're assessed, she grins from ear to ear, looking pleased.]
Yes, we are. [She says, seeming extremely proud. Casting a look up to Clive, it's only a beat before it returns to a set of eyes that could quite possibly rival her own.] 'Cid' did a really good job. I'm trying to talk him into helping out in the gardens more often. I'll have more for you in a couple of days. If there's something you want us to grow in particular, we might be able to get it for you, so don't be afraid to ask.
[It might be a long shot, but there's never any harm in anything. She offers a hopeful look to Clive.]
[ Oh. Clive is poised with the bowl, handing it over to helpful hands that'll turn the fruit and herbs into something palatable for the others, when Aerith starts speaking.
And, well― ] ―It's as she says. A joint effort, on both of our parts.
[ To that, Molly finally sidles up to them from where she'd been busy tending to her stews, and delightedly clasps her hands in front of her. Just nosy enough to telegraph curiosity, but just mindful enough not to push too hard for details.
"Is that right? I'll have to take a look at my recipes, then― see if I can't get you two to fetch me something interesting."
She winks; it goes a bit over Clive's head, and he tips his head to the side. ]
[Maybe. Just maybe Aerith shouldn't be speaking up for him. Shouldn't be volunteering him for anything. Technically, she'd argue that she's not, but... Appearances.
Whether Aerith notices what exactly Molly is looking for between them is somewhat unknown. To be fair, it's a valid curiosity for anyone to see Aerith and Clive together, perhaps in any capacity. He helps out everyone in the hideaway, of course, so it's not like helping her is out of the ordinary or something worth immediately speculating. So maybe it's the way they've both dirt smudged on their faces. Or maybe it's that Aerith seems to be glowing just a little more than she normally might.
Clive winds up being not the only one to tip his head. It is likely that she picks up on some kind of implication, but chooses not to address it. For his sake. For her own. Who can really say when Aerith is at the helm of such thoughts.]
If you consider making some baked apples, I'll put in an extra good word for you with him. [She can't resist. It's a little flirtatious, that look she gives to Clive, but she seems to be teasing. Maybe.]
[ "So dense that light might bend around'ya", Gav sometimes says about Clive and attraction. And maybe there's truth to that, that he truly doesn't see it, but maybe it's more accurate to say that he sees it, and attributes it to an interest in a concept of him. Cid the Outlaw, leader and pioneer and torchbearer. Clive Rosfield, on the other hand, isn't very attractive at all.
Doesn't keep his heart from fluttering when Aerith looks at him like that, though. He's fairly certain that she's incapable of insincerity, even when she's trying to obfuscate; her masks still have a distinct feel that of her.
It makes him quirk a brow, then relax. ]
Nefarious, the both of you. I won't have bribery in this Hideaway.
[ Fondly, without chiding at all. Molly laughs, as if she's surprised that 'Cid' is playing along; Clive wonders if he really projects himself as so sullen and joyless all the time. ]
[Her own eyebrows raise at his reply and she begins to grin, unable to help herself. She really does like it when he humours her. But when she realises that maybe, just a little too much of her shows through, she carefully pulls it back. He's 'Cid,' after all. Maybe she shouldn't be too familiar with him in front of others. He might not want or like that kind of attention.
So instead, she manages to huff out a laugh into a hand.]
Spoilsport. We're just a couple of girls trying have fun. But if you're looking for more to do...
[Aerith straightens her posture, tries to at least seem a little more serious, and clears her throat.]
There's that ledge. The one that's partially broken. I don't think the full thing needs to be replaced, but at least the portion that's incomplete. Otherwise, someone's going to lose their footing and get hurt.
[She knows even if she's not the one doing it, someone else (probably more suited) will, but there's really no time like the present.]
[ Oh, well. It seems like Aerith is threatening him with a good time. More excuses to hover in her periphery, to figure out what makes her tick, what makes her tock. ]
Ah. After bribery comes coercion.
[ Content to continue on in this vein of casual banter, comfortable to be seen by Aerith, with her. There's no shame in being known in these small, happy moments, no embarrassment that his affection for someone so luminous is rightly perceived－ Aerith is good company, and what of it? Who's going to argue with him?
He can see Molly tittering in the background, having gotten over her intial surprise. As always, things brighten whenever Aerith is involved. ]
Fine－ I'll get the hammer and nails ready for my lady.
[ A hand over his chest again; another low-sweeping bow. ]
[Dramatically she gasps. Even clasps a hand over her heart, but she's grinning all over again, which means not a lick of it is serious.]
It's not coercion at all! I didn't say you had to do it. I just said if you were looking for more to do. I can do it all just fine all by myself.
[It won't be 'just fine,' though Aerith is a very impressively independent woman. Having Clive's assistance would be a boon. And it's one she'd like to have, so when he agrees to help, even if he's teasing, her grin relaxes into a smile.
She eyes Molly fondly, a tilt of her head.]
Well, you heard him. We have a ledge to fix. If you can think of anything else or notice anything else that could use a helping hand, let me know.
[ Molly agrees to letting the pair go with ease― if anything, she ushers them out with a hurried hand, insisting that Aerith's long hair and Clive's long cape will get caught in the food, or worse.
"Go, go! The hideaway needs fixing, and I can't think of any pair better than the two of you."
Hm. ] That's an exaggeration, [ he sigh-laughs, but obliges. It'll be a quick visit to their resident blacksmith for tools and a greeting before they can go fix the ledge they'd hopped the night prior, and Blackthorne will undoubtedly have less to say to the both of them than their kitchen head.
As they make their way across the main hall: ] ―I spoke to Otto, by the way. [ On the topic of errands. ] I can arrange Obolus to take the both of us to Rosaria's borders in two days' time, if you're keen.
[ Risky, with the general state of things recently, but not impossible. Sanbreque has been preoccupied with its skirmishes against the Dhalmeks, and Waloed...
...Well, Waloed is still a wildcard. But their presence is rarely felt this far to the west of the Twins, and Clive can't imagine them doing something brazen so far from their home turf. ]
[She smiles up at Clive. It sure is an exaggeration. An enthusiastic attitude to getting things done is all well and good, but Aerith really isn't knowledgeable on everything. Sometimes, she's just a very good actress.
In stride with him, her head tilts as she listens.]
Two days, huh... Of course I am. I mean. [Is she, though? She is, but.] If you still want to do that. [She has two days available to her if she wants to turn her thoughts over in her head and potentially get no sleep. Or. She could head all of that off at the pass and talk with him now.]
Clive, before we go, I need to tell you something. You might not want to go afterwards and I'd understand that, so it's fine if you change your mind. It might be important, though.
[And she should have said something much sooner. Better late than never, perhaps.]
Or. I'm concerned about nothing, which is possible.
[ A habit of Aerith's, Clive is finding: to offer something with the expectation that it might be rescinded a breath later. Maybe a case of pot and kettle. He's about to insist that the offer was his, and that it'll remain on the table as long as she's amenable to it－
－but now, there's this new bit of information to contend with. A nebulous Something that Aerith thinks might shift Clive's perception of her, which makes him stop mid-step.
Hm, he hums, brows pinching inwards just a sliver as he pivots, tilts, settles his focus. ]
If it's important to you, I'd hear it. [ No quick assumptions yet. Gesturing in the direction of his room: ] We can speak in my quarters. Less eyes and ears.
[Aerith watches, carefully, the shift of his expression, wondering for a moment what hers must look like. She doesn't even fully know what she'll say. It isn't a conversation she's really thought about how to have, which feels awfully shortsighted as she's looking at it objectively.
He gestures and she follows the direction he motions towards. Maybe that too is wiser, though it makes it sound like she is hiding something so terribly nefarious. It's... not. Right? Now she's second guessing herself.]
I'll make sure not to take up too much of your time with it.
[She almost says it won't be a problem, but she knows she can't promise that. She knows the way to his room, though. Aerith isn't afraid to go there. And she suspects he's right. In that place, she can say anything and it is probably the safest place she could exist in the world to make that happen.]
[ This floating island is a hideaway― it's meant to be safe. And safe is how Clive wants Aerith to feel, not necessarily just in his company, but in general: safe, seen, understood. And if there needs to be a space carved out for that, he can think of no better place than his room.
Up they go, past Blackthorne (they may yet consult him later, depending on the course of their upcoming conversation) and towards the short flight of stairs that leads up into that familiar, unchanged sleeping-quarters-turned-semi-office.
When they enter, Aerith might note that the bed is a bit more rumpled than the night prior; signs that Clive slept well enough that he didn't have time in the morning to tidy his sheets. He gestures towards the desk, then the unmade bed, giving Aerith the option of where she wants to sit with impunity. ]
Take as much time as you wish. [ Sincerely. ] My day is yours. I'd rather know all that needs saying than have you rush through it.
[Nerves flutter about the most quiet parts of her. The parts that people can only hear about and never see for themselves. She's so focused on what she's going to say, how she's going to lay it out, that she neglects giving a busy Blackthorne the way she normally would.
Up in his room, she takes stock of it again, more so when he gestures. Studying him for some moments, like she's trying to figure out where he might prefer for her to be, she isn't sure what the answer should be. Eventually, she slowly meanders her way towards his bed before she sits. From there, she lifts a hand and she splays her touch across it, wondering what she had expected. Maybe she thought he'd have slightly nicer arrangements. But that's not true. Clive is such a modest man. He wouldn't have wanted anything special. He would've wanted the same thing everyone else had.
It's evident that she's still thinking, still not really even sure where to begin. After a moment more, she folds her hands together in her lap, drawing her gaze up to him.]
I know I don't say much about— [Herself. Her situation. How she came to be here. Any of those would fit right into this slot. As she tilts her head ever in slight, she's still finding that the words just don't come out easily.] —why I'm here. Why I don't go out often. I'm not from Storm.
[After a moment, she settles back on her hands.] When I made contact with Cid some years back, it was because I had been chased out here. [Not here, here, she means, gesturing with a hand and trying to think of how far she must've gotten before Cid picked her up.] So I haven't really gone back out to settlements or where there are people outside of the hideaway since then.
[With her gaze fluttering from place to place in her thoughts, she eventually returns them to Clive.]
I'm not saying I don't want to. I do. I wouldn't want anything happening to you, or anyone else here, just because of me.
[ His weight and presence find themselves beside Aerith shortly after she starts speaking, steady and steadfast in the way it sinks the thin mattress. There's a polite handspan's worth of space between their knees; he keeps himself upright even when she settles back, ninety to her forty-five degrees.
"I'm not from Storm" doesn't raise alarm bells. Cid hadn't been, either－ somewhere from beyond the sea, he'd heard, and not even from the man himself. While it's true that he has no idea what being outside of Storm entails, he thinks that it doesn't change anything about who he thinks Aerith is: a kind, open-hearted woman with pain she carries close to her chest.
But he waits for Aerith to finish before he says anything of the sort, with his hands folded on his knees and the blue of his eyes calm, contemplative. ]
―You say 'chased'. [ This, first. ] And you have reason to believe that whoever chased you from your home would have found themselves here, to the Twins?
[ Not even touching the 'anything happening to him' part, yet. It matters very little what happens to him, as long as the people he loves are safe. ]
[After a moment's thought, she nods. That probably is the short version of everything. Of course, years later, is it a worthy prospect to pursue her? Is she that important? She wouldn't think of herself like that, but just because she feels that way doesn't mean anyone else does. And if she is important, she'd like it to be for more than what she is.]
It's possible. [Shifting, she leans forward, seemingly incapable of sitting still for the conversation. Maybe that's to be expected when she doesn't exactly know how to have that kind of talk.] Or they think I died somewhere out there. That's not likely.
[Too important to die.]
I don't know if they're still looking for me. Probably. But here we are, out in the middle of a place that isn't easy to get to. And since I don't really go out much, it'd be hard to get a look at me, let alone anything else. There's a saying about how luck doesn't last forever. I've been pretty lucky the last few years. Even I know I shouldn't rely on it. It might be smarter for me to go somewhere else, but even if I did, the story would be the same.
[ He sees the restlessness, and offers touch as an anchor to keep her grounded: a palm to the back of Aerith's hand, his sword-loved calluses brushing along her knuckles. It's often difficult to speak about the past when one has tried to outrun it, and harder still when it seems that the past is catching up.
(Sometimes, he still sees standard-issue Sanbrequois armor and feels his heart clench. Emotions, as ever, remain impossible to account for.)
This is where he can ask why they would be searching for Aerith－ what about her would make her pursuers cross the ocean to retrieve her, specifically? What is she holding within her, that makes her so valuable to these strange men and women beyond the Twins?
He doesn't ask, because he holds to that last bit: "the story would be the same. If not here, then wherever else." What matters isn't what Aerith is, but how Clive would like her to live her life. Free, unburdened. ]
Luck may not last forever, no, but there comes a time when you'll have to weigh that luck against the life that you'd like to lead. And I don't think a life of isolation suits you.
[ Having to always move from place to place, for fear of hurting the ones around her. No, that doesn't seem good or fine. ]
If you're being pursued, let them look. I'll see to it that, when the day comes, you won't have to face them alone.
[His hand touches her and maybe it's precisely what she needs. A touch to keep her in that moment. Not the ones that can and have taken her so far from him and from the others around them. That sequestered place where no one else can reach her. A place that Aerith has always thought she kept to herself.
He's so sharp.
Aerith looks over to him, listening, attentive, and immediately she wants to protest. Not against the life of isolation. She doesn't want that. Never did. But has understood that her past has not given her a lot of options otherwise. It's the rest of what he says that she wants to argue against. He can't put himself at risk for her.
It's just not right. She suspects her expression gives her away, however, despite the way she tries to laugh it off.]
I can't ask you to do something like that. [Her expression softens and her gaze drops down to where his hand rests against her own. Her hand turns to carefully take his that she might hold it between both of her own.] Everyone here is looking to you. It's not fair to put the others here at risk. Every time I leave, it's just one more chance they could follow us back.
[Maybe all the more reason to cut them down and remove that possibility, but Aerith, perhaps, is too gentle of heart to want that.]
[ A lot of talk about what can and can't be done, and a lot of balancing the scales of fairness. Clive understands－ he does, more than most－ but the standards that he upholds for himself are often not the standards that he makes others uphold.
Duty and self-sacrifice are virtues. Gods know that he held onto those values and kept himself from crumbling by keeping them as his North Star. But still, a part of him remembers the night his world shattered, remembers the last words he spoke to his brother before they parted (before he did the unthinkable): "protect Father. You must do your duty."
Cruel, terrible words. And where is Joshua now? ]
And what of what you want?
[ Quietly, as he warms Aerith's hands with his own. ]
Every time I leave, there's a risk of my being followed. That goes for any one of the Cursebreakers, for Goetz, for Charon. It's no reason for you to shut yourself from the world.
What does she want? Freedom. In an ideal world, freedom. Can someone like her have that? Maybe not. Definitely not if Clive is right when it comes to the notion of magick. She doesn't want to think about that, but she can't avoid it forever.]
...That...
[Aerith sighs and she laughs a little more, squeezing his hand between her own.]
You make it so difficult to argue with you, you know? [Not that she really wants to.] I wonder why I think it's so different for me than it is for everyone else. I've always been like that. For some reason, I... I don't know. It's like everything has to be different for me.
[She smiles, both fond and a little bittersweet.]
I think I just worry. About you. About everyone here. I would never forgive myself if something happened to the hideaway because of me. All I've ever wanted to do was help protect everyone. But if you're sure, Clive... I just didn't want us to go without you really understanding what could happen.
His heart lurches. It's an admission of fault that he also understands, also feels― but he has a reason for that, doesn't he? Him, a Dominant of an Eikon that shouldn't exist. Him, flawed by design. He can justify misgivings about himself, but struggles with the idea of Aerith holding something similar in her own heart.
Fingers curl around her hands, squeezing lightly. His brows knit in poorly-concealed concern, but he remains steady where they're sat, firm and obstinate in his resolve. ]
...I understand your worry. [ Cid's legacy almost died once; the risk of it happening again is frightening. ] And I appreciate you trusting me with this weight you've been carrying.
[ For how long? Has she never had anyone in her life to hold this alongside her? ]
[It's likely and probable that she hasn't heard someone say something like that to her before. More so, that she actually believes it from Clive. They aren't the same, not that she knows of, and yet, he's likely the closest she's come to having that understanding. Having someone who might, just slightly, be able to sympathise with her position.
Except there's a sharp proverbial pin prick of realisation that Aerith wishes he didn't. Not because it isn't nice to have someone associate with her on such a level. It's because she is so familiar with how she feels and has felt for years that she would never wish it on anyone else. Especially not someone who is so giving and, at times, incomparably selfless like Clive.
The squeeze of his hand is, in many ways, as sharp as the blade of a sword.
At least one of us does.
She nods, then. One more laugh for the road.]
I shouldn't have interrupted our ledge repair for that. It was important, but maybe not that important.
[Feels less important when he runs the very same risk that she does. Perhaps it's arrogant of her to think herself so important. It's complicated. A part of her wants to joke some more, but instead, she opts for a rare moment of something serious. Aerith scoots closer until she can set her head to his shoulder.]
Thank you for listening. For not outright dismissing it. [For not being angry that she didn't say something sooner.] Back home in Waloed, I didn't have this. People I knew, sure. But not someone like you.
[ Her weight displaces, then rests. It's a nice anchoring that feels more vulnerable than just the layering of their hands: a full-bodied giving of weight that Clive accepts gladly, especially after Aerith's quip about levels of importance.
Every life is important. That's both the salve, and the problem. Apathy and aggression are easier than equilibrium, and the last thing Clive wants is for Aerith to slip into the former about her worth. ]
I would sit and listen to you speak for the rest of the day, if you wanted.
[ The ledge can wait. The ledge can be fixed by someone better suited for it, even. But anxieties fester when left to their own devices, and Clive would rather they got laid out, not to be resolved, but just to be shared.
One arm cautiously winds itself around Aerith, cradling the small of her back before fingers find the edge of her waist. He holds her there, hoping that the touch punctuates his intent. I like listening to you. ]
She's not that interesting, she doesn't think. Almost immediately, Aerith wants to counter with that, but somehow she gets the feeling Clive might disagree. Whilst she's weighing the option to protest under the guide of playfully bantering with him, the very sensation of his arm curling about her stops short that thought.
What an interesting feeling that is. The same flutter of nerves she's gotten in his company before. A little sliver of fear of how close he comes to her. Yet a certain safety and stability that she certainly hasn't found anywhere else. It's an amalgamation of sensation and sentiment and feeling. But it isn't unwelcome. On the contrary, she rather likes it.
That almost worries her more, actually. Ignoring that little fluttering, Aerith looks up at him.]
Really? [She finally asks.] I think if I seriously spoke the entire day, I'd lose my voice. I also don't know that I'd have that many interesting things to share. But... I guess it'd be a lie if I hadn't thought that about you. I think I just like hearing you say anything. Something about your voice, maybe.
[But of course, there are certain things he says that sound so nice coming from him. Like every time he says her name, no matter what way he might be saying it. Everything sounds nice when Clive says it, though.]
[ She's dropped a fairly sizable bomb on him already, with that admission that she's from Waloed: it seems to be where all the troubled men and women seem to filter in from, Cid and Benedikta and the rest. Clive would wonder what it is about Ash and its king that makes life so inhospitable for those with a soul, but digging into that can come later.
Now, he has Aerith's weight against his shoulder, and her watchful eyes like searchlights beaming up at him, green and deep. She says she doesn't know what she could share, and that's alright－ she says she likes to hear him speak, and it makes him gentle against her side, and drum his fingers softly against her waist. ]
That's a first, [ he hums, warm. ] About my voice, I mean.
[ A voice like any other, in his opinion. But it's a sweet sentiment on Aerith's end, and he doesn't want to dismiss it outright. ]
If it makes things easier... [ An offer, which he offers with careful trepidation. ] ...If only speaking about yourself feels daunting, I'll offer something of myself in return.
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flamebrand) wrote2023-10-31 01:24 am
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And I'll make sure not to embroil you in anything unsavory. [ Hm. ] ...Hopefully.
[ Best not to make promises he can't keep; trouble finds him everywhere. A simple errand to go pick flowers usually ends with him fighting for his life against a monster five times his size, so. He'll have to protect Aerith, wherever they go. (Not such a daunting prospect, that.)
The men and women manning the kitchen look up when Clive and Aerith approach. Delivery, Clive announces, and one of them wipes her hand on her apron, bright eyes looking the both of them up and down.
"Well, don't you two make a pretty picture!" ]
no subject
She's not said it, but there are reasons Aerith doesn't travel out often. The last thing she wants is for a piece of her past to catch up to her. But it's been... some years, hasn't it? And those years for Aerith have been surprisingly quiet. Each time she goes out, however, it's a risk to take.
...She should say something to Clive. After some moments of thought, she concludes that she has to. So she will. When they're setting out.
Her thoughts turn when he announces their delivery and the moment they're assessed, she grins from ear to ear, looking pleased.]
Yes, we are. [She says, seeming extremely proud. Casting a look up to Clive, it's only a beat before it returns to a set of eyes that could quite possibly rival her own.] 'Cid' did a really good job. I'm trying to talk him into helping out in the gardens more often. I'll have more for you in a couple of days. If there's something you want us to grow in particular, we might be able to get it for you, so don't be afraid to ask.
[It might be a long shot, but there's never any harm in anything. She offers a hopeful look to Clive.]
no subject
And, well― ] ―It's as she says. A joint effort, on both of our parts.
[ To that, Molly finally sidles up to them from where she'd been busy tending to her stews, and delightedly clasps her hands in front of her. Just nosy enough to telegraph curiosity, but just mindful enough not to push too hard for details.
"Is that right? I'll have to take a look at my recipes, then― see if I can't get you two to fetch me something interesting."
She winks; it goes a bit over Clive's head, and he tips his head to the side. ]
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Whether Aerith notices what exactly Molly is looking for between them is somewhat unknown. To be fair, it's a valid curiosity for anyone to see Aerith and Clive together, perhaps in any capacity. He helps out everyone in the hideaway, of course, so it's not like helping her is out of the ordinary or something worth immediately speculating. So maybe it's the way they've both dirt smudged on their faces. Or maybe it's that Aerith seems to be glowing just a little more than she normally might.
Clive winds up being not the only one to tip his head. It is likely that she picks up on some kind of implication, but chooses not to address it. For his sake. For her own. Who can really say when Aerith is at the helm of such thoughts.]
If you consider making some baked apples, I'll put in an extra good word for you with him. [She can't resist. It's a little flirtatious, that look she gives to Clive, but she seems to be teasing. Maybe.]
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Doesn't keep his heart from fluttering when Aerith looks at him like that, though. He's fairly certain that she's incapable of insincerity, even when she's trying to obfuscate; her masks still have a distinct feel that of her.
It makes him quirk a brow, then relax. ]
Nefarious, the both of you. I won't have bribery in this Hideaway.
[ Fondly, without chiding at all. Molly laughs, as if she's surprised that 'Cid' is playing along; Clive wonders if he really projects himself as so sullen and joyless all the time. ]
no subject
So instead, she manages to huff out a laugh into a hand.]
Spoilsport. We're just a couple of girls trying have fun. But if you're looking for more to do...
[Aerith straightens her posture, tries to at least seem a little more serious, and clears her throat.]
There's that ledge. The one that's partially broken. I don't think the full thing needs to be replaced, but at least the portion that's incomplete. Otherwise, someone's going to lose their footing and get hurt.
[She knows even if she's not the one doing it, someone else (probably more suited) will, but there's really no time like the present.]
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Ah. After bribery comes coercion.
[ Content to continue on in this vein of casual banter, comfortable to be seen by Aerith, with her. There's no shame in being known in these small, happy moments, no embarrassment that his affection for someone so luminous is rightly perceived－ Aerith is good company, and what of it? Who's going to argue with him?
He can see Molly tittering in the background, having gotten over her intial surprise. As always, things brighten whenever Aerith is involved. ]
Fine－ I'll get the hammer and nails ready for my lady.
[ A hand over his chest again; another low-sweeping bow. ]
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It's not coercion at all! I didn't say you had to do it. I just said if you were looking for more to do. I can do it all just fine all by myself.
[It won't be 'just fine,' though Aerith is a very impressively independent woman. Having Clive's assistance would be a boon. And it's one she'd like to have, so when he agrees to help, even if he's teasing, her grin relaxes into a smile.
She eyes Molly fondly, a tilt of her head.]
Well, you heard him. We have a ledge to fix. If you can think of anything else or notice anything else that could use a helping hand, let me know.
no subject
"Go, go! The hideaway needs fixing, and I can't think of any pair better than the two of you."
Hm. ] That's an exaggeration, [ he sigh-laughs, but obliges. It'll be a quick visit to their resident blacksmith for tools and a greeting before they can go fix the ledge they'd hopped the night prior, and Blackthorne will undoubtedly have less to say to the both of them than their kitchen head.
As they make their way across the main hall: ] ―I spoke to Otto, by the way. [ On the topic of errands. ] I can arrange Obolus to take the both of us to Rosaria's borders in two days' time, if you're keen.
[ Risky, with the general state of things recently, but not impossible. Sanbreque has been preoccupied with its skirmishes against the Dhalmeks, and Waloed...
...Well, Waloed is still a wildcard. But their presence is rarely felt this far to the west of the Twins, and Clive can't imagine them doing something brazen so far from their home turf. ]
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In stride with him, her head tilts as she listens.]
Two days, huh... Of course I am. I mean. [Is she, though? She is, but.] If you still want to do that. [She has two days available to her if she wants to turn her thoughts over in her head and potentially get no sleep. Or. She could head all of that off at the pass and talk with him now.]
Clive, before we go, I need to tell you something. You might not want to go afterwards and I'd understand that, so it's fine if you change your mind. It might be important, though.
[And she should have said something much sooner. Better late than never, perhaps.]
Or. I'm concerned about nothing, which is possible.
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－but now, there's this new bit of information to contend with. A nebulous Something that Aerith thinks might shift Clive's perception of her, which makes him stop mid-step.
Hm, he hums, brows pinching inwards just a sliver as he pivots, tilts, settles his focus. ]
If it's important to you, I'd hear it. [ No quick assumptions yet. Gesturing in the direction of his room: ] We can speak in my quarters. Less eyes and ears.
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He gestures and she follows the direction he motions towards. Maybe that too is wiser, though it makes it sound like she is hiding something so terribly nefarious. It's... not. Right? Now she's second guessing herself.]
I'll make sure not to take up too much of your time with it.
[She almost says it won't be a problem, but she knows she can't promise that. She knows the way to his room, though. Aerith isn't afraid to go there. And she suspects he's right. In that place, she can say anything and it is probably the safest place she could exist in the world to make that happen.]
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Up they go, past Blackthorne (they may yet consult him later, depending on the course of their upcoming conversation) and towards the short flight of stairs that leads up into that familiar, unchanged sleeping-quarters-turned-semi-office.
When they enter, Aerith might note that the bed is a bit more rumpled than the night prior; signs that Clive slept well enough that he didn't have time in the morning to tidy his sheets. He gestures towards the desk, then the unmade bed, giving Aerith the option of where she wants to sit with impunity. ]
Take as much time as you wish. [ Sincerely. ] My day is yours. I'd rather know all that needs saying than have you rush through it.
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Up in his room, she takes stock of it again, more so when he gestures. Studying him for some moments, like she's trying to figure out where he might prefer for her to be, she isn't sure what the answer should be. Eventually, she slowly meanders her way towards his bed before she sits. From there, she lifts a hand and she splays her touch across it, wondering what she had expected. Maybe she thought he'd have slightly nicer arrangements. But that's not true. Clive is such a modest man. He wouldn't have wanted anything special. He would've wanted the same thing everyone else had.
It's evident that she's still thinking, still not really even sure where to begin. After a moment more, she folds her hands together in her lap, drawing her gaze up to him.]
I know I don't say much about— [Herself. Her situation. How she came to be here. Any of those would fit right into this slot. As she tilts her head ever in slight, she's still finding that the words just don't come out easily.] —why I'm here. Why I don't go out often. I'm not from Storm.
[After a moment, she settles back on her hands.] When I made contact with Cid some years back, it was because I had been chased out here. [Not here, here, she means, gesturing with a hand and trying to think of how far she must've gotten before Cid picked her up.] So I haven't really gone back out to settlements or where there are people outside of the hideaway since then.
[With her gaze fluttering from place to place in her thoughts, she eventually returns them to Clive.]
I'm not saying I don't want to. I do. I wouldn't want anything happening to you, or anyone else here, just because of me.
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"I'm not from Storm" doesn't raise alarm bells. Cid hadn't been, either－ somewhere from beyond the sea, he'd heard, and not even from the man himself. While it's true that he has no idea what being outside of Storm entails, he thinks that it doesn't change anything about who he thinks Aerith is: a kind, open-hearted woman with pain she carries close to her chest.
But he waits for Aerith to finish before he says anything of the sort, with his hands folded on his knees and the blue of his eyes calm, contemplative. ]
―You say 'chased'. [ This, first. ] And you have reason to believe that whoever chased you from your home would have found themselves here, to the Twins?
[ Not even touching the 'anything happening to him' part, yet. It matters very little what happens to him, as long as the people he loves are safe. ]
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[After a moment's thought, she nods. That probably is the short version of everything. Of course, years later, is it a worthy prospect to pursue her? Is she that important? She wouldn't think of herself like that, but just because she feels that way doesn't mean anyone else does. And if she is important, she'd like it to be for more than what she is.]
It's possible. [Shifting, she leans forward, seemingly incapable of sitting still for the conversation. Maybe that's to be expected when she doesn't exactly know how to have that kind of talk.] Or they think I died somewhere out there. That's not likely.
[Too important to die.]
I don't know if they're still looking for me. Probably. But here we are, out in the middle of a place that isn't easy to get to. And since I don't really go out much, it'd be hard to get a look at me, let alone anything else. There's a saying about how luck doesn't last forever. I've been pretty lucky the last few years. Even I know I shouldn't rely on it. It might be smarter for me to go somewhere else, but even if I did, the story would be the same.
[She shakes her head.]
If not here, then wherever else I'd be going to.
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(Sometimes, he still sees standard-issue Sanbrequois armor and feels his heart clench. Emotions, as ever, remain impossible to account for.)
This is where he can ask why they would be searching for Aerith－ what about her would make her pursuers cross the ocean to retrieve her, specifically? What is she holding within her, that makes her so valuable to these strange men and women beyond the Twins?
He doesn't ask, because he holds to that last bit: "the story would be the same. If not here, then wherever else." What matters isn't what Aerith is, but how Clive would like her to live her life. Free, unburdened. ]
Luck may not last forever, no, but there comes a time when you'll have to weigh that luck against the life that you'd like to lead. And I don't think a life of isolation suits you.
[ Having to always move from place to place, for fear of hurting the ones around her. No, that doesn't seem good or fine. ]
If you're being pursued, let them look. I'll see to it that, when the day comes, you won't have to face them alone.
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He's so sharp.
Aerith looks over to him, listening, attentive, and immediately she wants to protest. Not against the life of isolation. She doesn't want that. Never did. But has understood that her past has not given her a lot of options otherwise. It's the rest of what he says that she wants to argue against. He can't put himself at risk for her.
It's just not right. She suspects her expression gives her away, however, despite the way she tries to laugh it off.]
I can't ask you to do something like that. [Her expression softens and her gaze drops down to where his hand rests against her own. Her hand turns to carefully take his that she might hold it between both of her own.] Everyone here is looking to you. It's not fair to put the others here at risk. Every time I leave, it's just one more chance they could follow us back.
[Maybe all the more reason to cut them down and remove that possibility, but Aerith, perhaps, is too gentle of heart to want that.]
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Duty and self-sacrifice are virtues. Gods know that he held onto those values and kept himself from crumbling by keeping them as his North Star. But still, a part of him remembers the night his world shattered, remembers the last words he spoke to his brother before they parted (before he did the unthinkable): "protect Father. You must do your duty."
Cruel, terrible words. And where is Joshua now? ]
And what of what you want?
[ Quietly, as he warms Aerith's hands with his own. ]
Every time I leave, there's a risk of my being followed. That goes for any one of the Cursebreakers, for Goetz, for Charon. It's no reason for you to shut yourself from the world.
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What does she want? Freedom. In an ideal world, freedom. Can someone like her have that? Maybe not. Definitely not if Clive is right when it comes to the notion of magick. She doesn't want to think about that, but she can't avoid it forever.]
...That...
[Aerith sighs and she laughs a little more, squeezing his hand between her own.]
You make it so difficult to argue with you, you know? [Not that she really wants to.] I wonder why I think it's so different for me than it is for everyone else. I've always been like that. For some reason, I... I don't know. It's like everything has to be different for me.
[She smiles, both fond and a little bittersweet.]
I think I just worry. About you. About everyone here. I would never forgive myself if something happened to the hideaway because of me. All I've ever wanted to do was help protect everyone. But if you're sure, Clive... I just didn't want us to go without you really understanding what could happen.
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His heart lurches. It's an admission of fault that he also understands, also feels― but he has a reason for that, doesn't he? Him, a Dominant of an Eikon that shouldn't exist. Him, flawed by design. He can justify misgivings about himself, but struggles with the idea of Aerith holding something similar in her own heart.
Fingers curl around her hands, squeezing lightly. His brows knit in poorly-concealed concern, but he remains steady where they're sat, firm and obstinate in his resolve. ]
...I understand your worry. [ Cid's legacy almost died once; the risk of it happening again is frightening. ] And I appreciate you trusting me with this weight you've been carrying.
[ For how long? Has she never had anyone in her life to hold this alongside her? ]
But I'm sure. I know what I want, Aerith.
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Except there's a sharp proverbial pin prick of realisation that Aerith wishes he didn't. Not because it isn't nice to have someone associate with her on such a level. It's because she is so familiar with how she feels and has felt for years that she would never wish it on anyone else. Especially not someone who is so giving and, at times, incomparably selfless like Clive.
The squeeze of his hand is, in many ways, as sharp as the blade of a sword.
At least one of us does.
She nods, then. One more laugh for the road.]
I shouldn't have interrupted our ledge repair for that. It was important, but maybe not that important.
[Feels less important when he runs the very same risk that she does. Perhaps it's arrogant of her to think herself so important. It's complicated. A part of her wants to joke some more, but instead, she opts for a rare moment of something serious. Aerith scoots closer until she can set her head to his shoulder.]
Thank you for listening. For not outright dismissing it. [For not being angry that she didn't say something sooner.] Back home in Waloed, I didn't have this. People I knew, sure. But not someone like you.
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Every life is important. That's both the salve, and the problem. Apathy and aggression are easier than equilibrium, and the last thing Clive wants is for Aerith to slip into the former about her worth. ]
I would sit and listen to you speak for the rest of the day, if you wanted.
[ The ledge can wait. The ledge can be fixed by someone better suited for it, even. But anxieties fester when left to their own devices, and Clive would rather they got laid out, not to be resolved, but just to be shared.
One arm cautiously winds itself around Aerith, cradling the small of her back before fingers find the edge of her waist. He holds her there, hoping that the touch punctuates his intent. I like listening to you. ]
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She's not that interesting, she doesn't think. Almost immediately, Aerith wants to counter with that, but somehow she gets the feeling Clive might disagree. Whilst she's weighing the option to protest under the guide of playfully bantering with him, the very sensation of his arm curling about her stops short that thought.
What an interesting feeling that is. The same flutter of nerves she's gotten in his company before. A little sliver of fear of how close he comes to her. Yet a certain safety and stability that she certainly hasn't found anywhere else. It's an amalgamation of sensation and sentiment and feeling. But it isn't unwelcome. On the contrary, she rather likes it.
That almost worries her more, actually. Ignoring that little fluttering, Aerith looks up at him.]
Really? [She finally asks.] I think if I seriously spoke the entire day, I'd lose my voice. I also don't know that I'd have that many interesting things to share. But... I guess it'd be a lie if I hadn't thought that about you. I think I just like hearing you say anything. Something about your voice, maybe.
[But of course, there are certain things he says that sound so nice coming from him. Like every time he says her name, no matter what way he might be saying it. Everything sounds nice when Clive says it, though.]
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Now, he has Aerith's weight against his shoulder, and her watchful eyes like searchlights beaming up at him, green and deep. She says she doesn't know what she could share, and that's alright－ she says she likes to hear him speak, and it makes him gentle against her side, and drum his fingers softly against her waist. ]
That's a first, [ he hums, warm. ] About my voice, I mean.
[ A voice like any other, in his opinion. But it's a sweet sentiment on Aerith's end, and he doesn't want to dismiss it outright. ]
If it makes things easier... [ An offer, which he offers with careful trepidation. ] ...If only speaking about yourself feels daunting, I'll offer something of myself in return.
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🎀💕!