[ 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[ A habit of Aerith's, Clive is finding: to offer something with the expectation that it might be rescinded a breath later.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.
[Really? Her eyebrows raise and she almost asks. But then, she considers that she probably would feel the same if someone turned her words around on her. She doesn't think she's particularly significant or that she really stands out. She's never really wanted that. Spotlight, attention, those kinds of things just aren't her. She suspects those things aren't like Clive either.
...Maybe the reason she likes him so much is because they have these similarities. That it feels like he can understand her without her needing to explain herself.]
Daunting or not, I'd think you'd... I get the feeling you'd like to hear anything, no matter what the weight of the content was. [Well. Maybe not like a food diary or anything like that.] When it comes to things about you, Clive... I only ever want you to share with me the things you're comfortable sharing. I don't ever want to push or pry. If you find that you trust me, that you find security in my company to share things, then I'll wear that with pride.
[Lifting a hand, she reaches over and very gently places her touch right about where his heart must be.]
[ The weight of the content. Clive has to spare a moment to consider that, though any wandering thoughts are interrupted by the sudden brush of fingertips along his chest, followed by the warmth of a palm settling over his heart. His pulse under that touch skips for a palpable second (he knows she must be able to feel it), but thuds along with calm clarity a moment later, steady as a metronome.
He trusts her. With the rhythm of his lifeblood, and the vulnerability of this moment. ]
You expect very little.
[ Which is almost a chide; a suggestion, maybe. You should expect more.
So, with his arm still looped around Aerith, and with her head still rested against his shoulder: ]
[He's right. She expects very little. Maybe because she hasn't had an opportunity to feel otherwise. Maybe because there have been things expected of her, or she's felt there were expectations made of her. There's no argument for her to make either way. She seems to understand the implication.
Maybe she shouldn't be worried about expecting more. It's a worthy thought to consider. She will keep it in mind.
With his offer so laid out there and open, she thinks. She could ask for something very deep and profound. She could ask for something embarrassing. She could ask for something very sweet. She opts for...
Something amusing. Levity. Something that will tell her a great deal about him. And may come with the bonus of embarrassing him. She does enjoy flustering him.]
Anything at all, hm? You might regret those words. [Smiling she looks up at him.] When you sleep, and it's not after you've been writing a lot of letter, what do you wear to bed? For real?
[ He expects... well. Actually, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. Something equivalent to the weight of what she'd just told him, perhaps: a question about his past, or the scar on his face, or the hellbeast currently taking residence in his body. Certainly not something as benign as the matter of his sleepclothes, which are as unremarkable as they come.
He knows what Cid would've said to something like this. "Nothing at all, love－ is that what you wanted to hear?"
Clive isn't audacious as all that, and so, his brows hike in mild surprise. And he does fluster somewhat for listening to that Cid-shaped voice in his head; what, does he want to flirt with Aerith in that way? Founder help him. ]
Come on. That can't be your question.
[ Without any actual consternation. The tips of his ears turn slightly red. ]
She loves it when she can catch him by surprise. In the same way that she loves when she can imagine the thoughts churning his head. Clive gets a certain look about himself in those moments. Aerith has no way of knowing what's going on in that head of us. She can surmise, but that's it. For some moments, she appreciates the surprise that flickers across his expression in relatively small ways.
She could retreat. But Aerith commits. She can't help being curious, but it's probably because she intends to start scolding him if he dares to tell her that he sleeps in his day-to-day wear. If she can have sleeping garments, so can he.]
Why can't it be? You said I could ask anything.
[Batting her eyelashes at him, Aerith sunk a little down, hiding her face against his shoulder, so he could only see her very green eyes staring up at him. She's so good at looking innocent.]
You're not changing your mind now, are you?
[No. Maybe not. Perhaps just blushing a little. Founder, he's cute.]
[ He sleeps in his leathers when he's out and about, but Clive doubts that Aerith is asking about that. In fact, he wonders if this is a coded question to indicate something else, something more pressing or important, but the innocent gleam of forest-green eyes says nothing to that effect. It's just playful curiosity all the way down (down, down).
He could get lost in that look, if he's not careful. Clive clears his throat as he tips his head, untamed bangs sifting over cobalt blue. ]
No, it's... not that.
[ He can't imagine why this would be information that Aerith would want to know, and he finds himself overthinking her intentions. Does she want to imagine what he looks like at night? By the flame, Rosfield, don't assume.
A low sigh, resigned, and then: ] ...I dress in cotton shirts and linen trousers. Just plain, simple things.
[ He gestures to a modest dresser that contains his repository of plain white shirts and dark pants. Somehow, admitting this incredibly boring thing is what makes his blush deepen. ] Nothing scandalous, I'm afraid.
[She listens attentively, without judgement, so much the way she often does when he says anything. When anyone in the hideaway says anything. As she studies him, eventually she smiles. Maybe it's relief that he wears something as simple as she does. She wonders if he ever really rests, though. Closing his eyes, that might not be the same.
Somehow she refrains from drowning him in more questions disguised under the notion of trying to mother him. He doesn't need her to do that.
When he gestures, Aerith follows with her gaze, sitting up a little more. Ah. Maybe she'll have to go snoop later. But soon enough, her attention sets right back onto him and she smiles, squeezing his hand in her own.]
That wasn't so hard, was it? I just wanted to make sure you weren't like, you know, wearing those leathers. They look good on you, no doubt, but there's a time and a place for everything, right? I was getting prepared for possibly nagging you.
[Maybe it's a joke. Maybe there's a little sliver of truth in there. Either way, she flashes him an understanding wink. Look at how he darkens. She suspects she might never tire of that. Maybe that's how he felt their night under the stars.]
[ "Nagging" is an uncharitable word. "Fussing", maybe. The blindside of this sudden turning of tables renders Clive slightly dumbfounded for these extended moments, his flush lingering like embers on coal as he tries to regain composure.
Hard, that. Especially when Aerith squeezes his hand, looks up at him, and winks.
(Clive's shoulder devil, who sounds a lot like Cid, says "flirt with her a little, lad." He tries to ignore it.) ]
You're... [ Hm. ] ...Kind, to care about my comfort.
[ (Again, the shoulder devil: "Greagor's tits, you're bad at this.") He shakes his head, trying to clear it of fog. ]
Has... Hortense given you some new clothes to wear?
[ Quickly moving on to Aerith's needs!!!! Founder, please don't perceive him too closely, he might explode. ]
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flamebrand) wrote2023-10-31 01:24 am
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
－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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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. ]
no subject
[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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...Maybe the reason she likes him so much is because they have these similarities. That it feels like he can understand her without her needing to explain herself.]
Daunting or not, I'd think you'd... I get the feeling you'd like to hear anything, no matter what the weight of the content was. [Well. Maybe not like a food diary or anything like that.] When it comes to things about you, Clive... I only ever want you to share with me the things you're comfortable sharing. I don't ever want to push or pry. If you find that you trust me, that you find security in my company to share things, then I'll wear that with pride.
[Lifting a hand, she reaches over and very gently places her touch right about where his heart must be.]
But it's not required. I don't expect it.
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He trusts her. With the rhythm of his lifeblood, and the vulnerability of this moment. ]
You expect very little.
[ Which is almost a chide; a suggestion, maybe. You should expect more.
So, with his arm still looped around Aerith, and with her head still rested against his shoulder: ]
Come on. Ask me a question. Anything at all.
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Maybe she shouldn't be worried about expecting more. It's a worthy thought to consider. She will keep it in mind.
With his offer so laid out there and open, she thinks. She could ask for something very deep and profound. She could ask for something embarrassing. She could ask for something very sweet. She opts for...
Something amusing. Levity. Something that will tell her a great deal about him. And may come with the bonus of embarrassing him. She does enjoy flustering him.]
Anything at all, hm? You might regret those words. [Smiling she looks up at him.] When you sleep, and it's not after you've been writing a lot of letter, what do you wear to bed? For real?
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He knows what Cid would've said to something like this. "Nothing at all, love－ is that what you wanted to hear?"
Clive isn't audacious as all that, and so, his brows hike in mild surprise. And he does fluster somewhat for listening to that Cid-shaped voice in his head; what, does he want to flirt with Aerith in that way? Founder help him. ]
Come on. That can't be your question.
[ Without any actual consternation. The tips of his ears turn slightly red. ]
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She loves it when she can catch him by surprise. In the same way that she loves when she can imagine the thoughts churning his head. Clive gets a certain look about himself in those moments. Aerith has no way of knowing what's going on in that head of us. She can surmise, but that's it. For some moments, she appreciates the surprise that flickers across his expression in relatively small ways.
She could retreat. But Aerith commits. She can't help being curious, but it's probably because she intends to start scolding him if he dares to tell her that he sleeps in his day-to-day wear. If she can have sleeping garments, so can he.]
Why can't it be? You said I could ask anything.
[Batting her eyelashes at him, Aerith sunk a little down, hiding her face against his shoulder, so he could only see her very green eyes staring up at him. She's so good at looking innocent.]
You're not changing your mind now, are you?
[No. Maybe not. Perhaps just blushing a little. Founder, he's cute.]
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He could get lost in that look, if he's not careful. Clive clears his throat as he tips his head, untamed bangs sifting over cobalt blue. ]
No, it's... not that.
[ He can't imagine why this would be information that Aerith would want to know, and he finds himself overthinking her intentions. Does she want to imagine what he looks like at night? By the flame, Rosfield, don't assume.
A low sigh, resigned, and then: ] ...I dress in cotton shirts and linen trousers. Just plain, simple things.
[ He gestures to a modest dresser that contains his repository of plain white shirts and dark pants. Somehow, admitting this incredibly boring thing is what makes his blush deepen. ] Nothing scandalous, I'm afraid.
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Somehow she refrains from drowning him in more questions disguised under the notion of trying to mother him. He doesn't need her to do that.
When he gestures, Aerith follows with her gaze, sitting up a little more. Ah. Maybe she'll have to go snoop later. But soon enough, her attention sets right back onto him and she smiles, squeezing his hand in her own.]
That wasn't so hard, was it? I just wanted to make sure you weren't like, you know, wearing those leathers. They look good on you, no doubt, but there's a time and a place for everything, right? I was getting prepared for possibly nagging you.
[Maybe it's a joke. Maybe there's a little sliver of truth in there. Either way, she flashes him an understanding wink. Look at how he darkens. She suspects she might never tire of that. Maybe that's how he felt their night under the stars.]
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Hard, that. Especially when Aerith squeezes his hand, looks up at him, and winks.
(Clive's shoulder devil, who sounds a lot like Cid, says "flirt with her a little, lad." He tries to ignore it.) ]
You're... [ Hm. ] ...Kind, to care about my comfort.
[ (Again, the shoulder devil: "Greagor's tits, you're bad at this.") He shakes his head, trying to clear it of fog. ]
Has... Hortense given you some new clothes to wear?
[ Quickly moving on to Aerith's needs!!!! Founder, please don't perceive him too closely, he might explode. ]
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🎀💕!