Paid In Full
by RuwinReborn
Status: Public
Fisco disliked the cold. He disliked it with a practiced, cynical distaste that he had been carefully cultivating over the years. He was affluent enough to mostly ignore the weather, it was true, and planeswalking away was always an option. But when his business and winter overlapped, it put him in a poor mood. It had his fingers aching through the gloves. It made his cigars taste funny. If it was snowing - and it was - the flakes tickled the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. Here, standing in the too-bright night, to the left of a pile of slush, Fisco puffed discontentedly at a lukewarm cigar. He disliked the cold a great deal.
The burned down building he was staring at was not improving his mood.
It had been this way for a while, if the cracked and blackened boards, covered in frost, were any indication. He tapped his foot against the cobbled street, frowning. He had come here looking for answers, and he supposed he had found them, but now he just had more questions. A cursory glance to either side revealed that the surrounding buildings were mostly untouched - maybe a few scorch marks. No. A deliberate, controlled fire. Anyone could have done it.
Which meant he suspected everyone. And that list was just too long.
But what really bothered him was not that one of his properties had been burned down - what bothered him is that he had not even been doing anything with this place. Not anything illegal, anyway. Or obviously illegal. He stood before the remains of a waystation for the poor - a place of refuge and sturdy, warm meals.
Fisco prided himself on being wealthy enough to feed entire planes, and the poor and downtrodden of this plane were numerous and disenfranchised enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The good thing about poor commoners? No one paid attention to them. Except Fisco Vane, of course. This had been the simplest and most extensive spy network he had ever set up on any plane. All for the price of some food! He had been proud of that - the secrets of the wealthy had reached his ears, and a small blackmailing business had been formed. Before he knew it his profits had increased a hundredfold, and he was more than happy to return a bit of the investment back to this hole in the wall.
He had opened two more. And while most people viewed whoever ran those places as saints of a sort, Fisco was more than happy to bring in the coin. He had checked the social climate (although not the actual climate, damn, but it was cold) often enough to know that anyone who did not have to go to one of these places, did not care about these places. Besides, they were under his protection.
Until this one had burned down, shortly followed by the other two, and he had stopped receiving money from his business here. For no reason. Accidental. Coincidental. He had strung up a few guards, but they could not tell him anything either. He had gotten no wind of interference, no one had heard any grumbling about the soup kitchens.
And then, suddenly, fire. Not even subtle. Just his businesses, no one else’s.
It reeked of foul play, and the only way anyone did this without someone in this chilly city knowing about it was if they had come and gone without being seen or heard. Masters of stealth… or a planeswalker. He ran through a mental list of his extraplanar acquaintances, grimacing.
Daneera would never set foot in a place like this. Not her.
Fabellian… No, he had no spine. Also, he was dying.
That dragon from - Well, Fisco could not be bothered to remember her name so he doubted she remembered his. Or cared. Too broken up over Syl and Chardis getting loose.
Now there was an idea… No, they would just level the city. This was targeted. Personal.
The Duchess…? Fisco shuddered. Gods, she could have this place. He would turn and leave right now, but this seemed a little messy for her.
That pharaoh… No, too subtle, again. He would come after Fisco if he really wanted to settle the score.
There was that diabolist as well… What was his name? All Fisco remembered was the shiny black armor and the martyred look he always wore. What a prat. No, not him.
It was not that fox. The less said about that the better. Or the siren. Or anyone else involved with that whole debacle with the Dual-Walkers. It still gave him a headache to think about.
Then, there was Beryl.
Yes, his best suspect was Trevanei but he had an uncomfortable feeling in his gut that she was not the one responsible for this. Too clean. Diana had reported what had happened with the Dentevi’s, and, well, Trevanei knew how to send a message if nothing else. And unless some random planeswalker had come and burned down his businesses specifically and for no reason, he was out of suspects.
Maybe he should pay Hartley another visit. She was friends with the pyromancer, and he was out of leads. There had to be something to work with… No one left a crime scene this clean. Not even him.
Fisco sighed heavily. His ears were going numb.
The worst part about all this was this was the fifth time on as many planes that he had found this. Everything burned to the ground. No signs of his contacts. Someone… Someone was doing this, but who? Why? And, more importantly, how? His people were trained, damn it all, and he should have been contacted! But everything just went dark, and by the time he got here-
A sniffle interrupted his thoughts, the soft glow of his cigar dying down as he exhaled a plume of agitated smoke. The sound had come from the ruins in front of him. He waited a moment, staring at the blackened bones of the building, but the sound did not repeat itself. Deliberately hiding, then. He narrowed his eyes.
"Get out here." He ordered softly, letting the growl carry with it a small amount of command magic. If whoever was there could not resist, they were not worth killing. But if they were camping in the ruins of his property, well… It took only a moment for the squatter to reveal themselves. A small boy. Fisco grimaced as he stumbled blindly from behind the fallen scaffolding, fear wide-eyes reflecting the snow all around them.
Useless.
"Get." He thumbed down the road, not bothering with the spell and hoping to be alone with his thoughts once more. As expected the boy - who was bundled up in some sort of thin blanket - scrambled away. Unexpectedly, however, he stopped after only a few hasty steps, feet sliding on the slush. Fisco glanced at those feet. Bare. His lip curled. "What didn’t you understand about ‘get’, kid?" He growled.
"I don’t have nowhere to go." The boy stuttered, turning around slowly. "Found a dry bit of ground and-"
"Save it." Fisco grumbled, throwing his cigar on the ground. He had no use for a burned down lot, anyway. Fisco knew wet feet - he knew cold, wet feet. They would be dead and blue before the night was over. "Come here." He ordered, and the boy did as he was told. Good. He did not have the patience for rebellion at the moment.
Thin kid. Dirty, ragged. Too dark to tell much, but Fisco recognized the look. Street urchin, probably an orphan. If his parents were still alive, he probably would have had it worse off anyway. Gods, it never changed, and it was putting Fisco in a bad mood.
"What happened to your shoes?" Fisco asked. The boy hesitated, but Fisco pinned him to the ground with his stare.
"Taken." He mumbled. Fisco felt his jaw flex. Of course. He flicked his head at the burnt down building.
"You used to eat here?" The boy nodded.
"And sleep." He added, and shivered in the cold. He kept hopping from foot to foot. "S’all gone now. Said it was an accident. Lucky I wasn’t there." He sniffled, and Fisco supposed he must have been crying. Because that was what children did when bad things happened. They cried. They never really stopped.
It never changed.
Fisco was silent for a long minute. The boy just shifted in place, over and over.
Fisco sighed, and snapped his fingers. The boy floated into the air with a small yelp as Fisco magically dried his feet. Another bit of magic appeared some thick woolen socks, and then some sturdy, sensible boots. The thin blanket vanished, and was replaced by a long, thick cloak that covered his head. Then Fisco dropped him back on the ground. The boy stared at him, awestruck. Fisco just grimaced.
"Listen, kid." He told the boy, putting his hands in his pockets and staring at him intently. A bit of the wonder faded from the boy’s face under Fisco's glare. "I’m going to give you some advice. Pay attention." The boy nodded mutely as Fisco pulled a cigar out of his coat. "First, get something sharp. Someone tries to take your shoes again? Knife ‘em and run. You want to get their eyes or their knees. Make sure they can’t chase." The boy flinched at the image, and Fisco lit his cigar. "Second, learn to steal. Take what you can but always less than you need, and only things people won’t miss." The boy frowned.
"My ma used to say-"
"Where’s your ma now, kid?" Fisco sneered around his cigar, and the boy shut up with a whimper. "That’s the third bit - you’re on your own. Get used to it. Fight on your terms. Run on your terms. Work on your terms - because all you’ve got is you, and you can’t trust anyone else." He exhaled a great deal of smoke, and tapped ash off of the end of his cigar at the boy’s feet. He was sniffling again. "Four, stop crying. You need that water inside of you." The boy nodded woodenly, and they stood in silence for a while longer as Fisco finished his cigar. He threw it on the ground, next to the other, and stepped on it.
"Last…" Fisco muttered. "If you’ve got to pay for something, pay for it up front, and pay it in full. You don’t want to be owing anything to anybody."
The boy hesitated.
"So… what do I owe you?"
Fisco snorted. Not such a dumb kid after all.
"Your feet." He replied drily. "Keep walking on them and we’ll call it even."
"Thank you." The boy muttered, though Ficso did not hear his heart in it. He just shrugged in response.
"I haven’t made anything easier for you, kid." Fisco said. "Don’t thank me for that."
Then, he left the plane behind, the child forgotten in the feverish tempest of questions that swirled in his mind. Hartley was his best option, and the thought made him grimace. Gods, but he was going to ask her for help and he could almost picture what she was going to say as he did so.
"Of course I’ll help!" Aloise said brightly, and Fisco Vane glared at her flatly. Well, that was really no way to react to someone who was willing to help him, but Fisco was Fisco. Impossible to please, but never really angry. Not over anything that made sense, anyway.
She had been surprised to find him knocking on her door earlier this morning - or rather, Lys had been surprised. Aloise had told the older woman often about Fisco Vane, and Lys was… Less than enthused with the visit. And, well, Aloise could not blame her because last time Fisco had stopped by, Beryl had shown up some time later half-dead with a head full of nightmares. Which… was both Fisco’s fault, and not. He had not done anything. Which was the problem, when she thought about it.
But that was neither here nor there. Fisco was dangerous, to be sure, but he was not dangerous to her. She had been careful about bringing him back home on their subsequent meetings, of course - he was still a wealth of knowledge! Sometimes, he just glanced at something she had been working on for weeks and made an offhand comment about it, solving the entire thing.
And, well, they got along. He might have even smiled once - genuinely!
It would be best to keep him out of Beryl’s way, however. She was still… coping.
"You didn’t even hear what I need help with." Fisco pointed out, disgruntled. He reached into his coat, and then glanced at the closed door towards the kitchen. Lys had made it abundantly clear that he was no longer allowed to smoke his cigars inside the house.
That had been an interesting conversation. Lys just had that way about her.
Fisco declined to pull out a cigar.
"Well, I can’t imagine it’s anything you thought I couldn’t help with." She pointed out, crossing her legs. Lys had been kind enough to bring out cushions for the chairs in the sitting room beneath the loft, and serve them both tea. Fisco’s remained untouched for the moment, but that was his way. He usually drank it in one go.
"That’s not the point." Fisco grumbled, scratching at the collar of his shirt. "You shouldn’t agree to things before you hear the terms."
"Oh, so this is a business proposal?" She inquired, smiling into her tea. Fisco sighed heavily.
"Gods, Hartley." He rubbed one hand down the side of his face. "Look- You’re friends with Trevanei, right? What’s she been up to?" Aloise felt herself become very still, and she set the tea cup on the table in front of her gently. When she did not respond immediately, Fisco went on. "I went looking for her on Aliavelli, well, what’s left of it. And-"
"You could track her down yourself." Aloise pointed out quickly, pursing her lips. Fisco blinked at her.
"...What makes you think I can do that?"
"Fisco, this may come as a surprise to you, but I am an intelligent and capable woman." Aloise reached into her pocket, and produced the little golden coin that Fisco had given to her when they had first met. "And I know for a fact that these? They don’t only work when they’re lit. Not only that, but the enchantments are layered so delicately that it’s difficult to tell where one ends and another begins. But I found them all! There’s the one to alert you, there’s a compulsion to keep it, one to make sure it’s never lost accidentally, and one to let you know when someone tries to interact with all the other enchantments!" She tossed the coin on the table, and pointed at it.
A small, white fire appeared in the center, and it highlighted a myriad of lines that criss-crossed the coin, and shot outwards, seemingly into space, before vanishing a short distance away.
One went directly from Fisco Vane’s chest to the coin.
Fisco raised an eyebrow.
"...Alright, you got me. That’s what the coin does." He shrugged. "So?"
"So," Aloise explained, raising her chin. "I know you can always feel where this coin - and probably all the others - are! And I’m certain you gave one to Beryl as well. I’d bet on it, if you want." At that, Fisco huffed a laugh, and shook his head.
"Hartley, you’re too clever by half." He leaned forward, and the fire in the coin went out. "I probably shouldn’t have to mention I don’t want that knowledge getting out."
"Fisco…" Aloise warned lowly, and he took a deep breath, nodding, before sitting back in his chair.
"Right, right…" He grumbled. "No threats." He rubbed at his face, the shadow of his hand causing the bags under his eyes to deepen. "Look, what are you getting at with all this? Yes, I know where Trevanei is. I was just wondering if you had talked to her."
Aloise paused here, and looked at Fisco Vane. Really looked at him. He was thinner, she thought, then when last she saw him. Admittedly, it had been a while. He never looked particularly healthy, but his hair had never been so… light. She could pick out individual grey hairs. He was getting older.
She idly twisted the crystal ring that was on her finger. Beryl…
"I have talked to Beryl." Aloise told him. "I’d rather you did not, though." Fisco gave her a strange look.
"...Are you hiding something from me, Hartley?" Aloise rolled her eyes.
"Fisco, she’s hurting." Aloise explained, exasperated. "You went to Aliavelli, you saw what happened. All I have is what Beryl told me, and what she told me wasn’t pleasant. I sorely wish she had never had to go through something like that." Fisco pointedly eyed the tea cup on the table, adjusting his collar.
"Well, she’ll need thicker skin than that-"
"Her sister is dead, Fisco. She was killed." She interrupted softly. He did not respond immediately to that. Aloise picked up her tea and sipped at it to ease her twisting gut. "She was distraught, Fisco. I’ve never seen someone so haggard with sorrow. I can’t even imagine..."
Fisco shook his head before lifting and draining his tea cup in one smooth movement.
"Yeah, well I can imagine." He growled. And… And that was more than Aloise had ever learned about Fisco Vane in such a short sentence. She looked away pointedly, because this was something private for him and if he wanted her to know more about it, she would. "Look, some of my businesses have been burned down and I figured Trevanei would be sore about Aliavelli so I came to talk to you about it. Just need to know if you think she’s involved."
Aloise’s first instinct, of course, was to be indignant. Of course Beryl was not involved, how could he think…! But Lys had once told her that first thought are deceiving - think a second time, and things become more clear. So, Aloise’s second reaction was to realize that this was probably the most thoughtful thing she had ever seen Fisco do.
She smiled softly.
"No, Fisco. She’s here most of the time, and she always takes your coin with her - though she doesn’t like talking about it." Aloise sighed, then. "You frighten her."
"Good." Fisco stated flatly.
"Not good!" Aloise told him reprovingly. "She doesn’t need the "debt" she owes you hanging over her head right now!"
"Then she should go about repaying it." He pointed out. "I haven’t even been hounding her about it."
"Fisco, I was there. ‘A favor for a favor’. I know you’ll have to approach Beryl in order for her to pay you back, and I know that you won’t do it as long as you think she’ll be afraid of you showing up!" Aloise clamped her jaw shut, but continued to glare angrily at Fisco. Fisco was nonplussed. She took a deep breath. "All I’m asking is that you give her the opportunity sooner rather than later. She needs to leave all this business behind her." Fisco frowned at her.
"You know, Hartley, some of us don’t get to leave all that ‘business’ behind us." He told her sardonically. "I’ve got to make a profit-"
"Do you really? Because I’ve never seen you less than well-dressed." Aloise pointed out sharply, and she could tell she was testing his patience because he stiffened and glared daggers at her. But he needed to hear this, she knew he needed to hear this - for Beryl’s sake, if not his own. "And I remember you boasting to me on multiple occasions that you have enough money and influence to retire a hundred times over! When is it enough, Fisco?"
Fisco lip curled up, and then his face went blank very quickly. He stood, and straightened his coat.
"I don’t have to put up with this." He muttered, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.
"No, I suppose you don’t." She told him quietly.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"I mean what I said, Fisco. You don’t have to put up with me. Or anyone. And, really, I don’t think you do." Aloise shook her head, and stood up. It always surprised her that they were nearly the same height. Fisco often seemed larger than life. "You’ve never told me of anyone you know. Or care about. And at first, I thought it was because you were being you. Paranoid and tight-lipped. But… There really isn’t anyone, is there?" Fisco had watched her stand with the sort of wary patience that she had only ever seen rest upon his shoulders. "You’re alone."
Fisco snorted.
"Hartley, I appreciate the sentiment-" He swiftly held up his hand as she opened her mouth and gave her a stern glare. "-but I can only do what I do if I work alone."
"That sounds awful." She told him sympathetically, and he opened his mouth, then closed it again, brow furrowed. Eventually, he shrugged, but it was as though through a great weight.
"...It’s not so bad." He admitted with a heavy sigh, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I didn’t think Trevanei was behind these arsons I’ve been dealing with. Just had to be sure. You never know." Aloise nodded. It made sense, she supposed. Beryl was a skilled pyromancer… reportedly. Aloise had never seen her produce more than heat or a small flame. And Fisco was practiced in the arts of healthy paranoia.
"What about letting Beryl off the hook?" She asked cautiously, with a small, hopeful smile. For whatever reason, Fisco’s lips twitched upwards as well, and he actually chuckled slightly before rolling his eyes.
"She doesn’t get off free - that set’s a bad precedent..." Fisco told her, scratching his chin.. "...but I suppose I can find something easy for her to do." Immediately, Aloise clapped her hands and did a small cheer. Fisco just stared at her flatly before swearing softly under his breath.
But he still smiled. A little.
Aloise composed herself and cleared her throat.
"I suppose we should make this official, then." She told him with mock severity, and held out her hand. Fisco raised an eyebrow, but took her hand anyway and shook it firmly.
"Gods save us, Hartley’s being official." He replied, smirking. "Let’s keep this between you and me, though. I’ve got a reputation to maintain."
"Oh no, we can’t have that!" Aloise laughed, shaking her head. "That’s fine, Fisco. She doesn’t have to know."
"Good." Fisco said, and reached into his coat idly. His hand stuck there, like he was grabbing something, and he sighed. "Look, I’m going to step out for a smoke. When should I expect Trevanei to show up?" Aloise blinked.
"Um, do you need to speak with her so soon?" She asked hesitantly, and Fisco shrugged, producing a cigar from his coat.
"You’re the one who wanted sooner, and I don’t have much time later, so sooner it is." He stuck the cigar, unlit, into his mouth. "Why, there a problem?" Aloise opened her mouth, thought better of what she was about to say, and closed it again. This… was probably the only time Fisco was going to be so lenient. Better not push him.
"No, no, not at all. She should be back soon." She told him with a smile. He watched her skeptically for a moment before shrugging and turning to step outside. Aloise’s hand immediately went to the crystal ring on her finger, and Beryl’s face briefly flashed in her mind. She was smiling, a small, delicate thing, but it made Aloise frown.
Yesterday, of course, had been Aloise’s Name Day.
Or, rather, an approximation of it. It was the day she and Lys had chosen for it, anyway. Midway through Spring, fifth Lunar, ninth day. Lys, of course, had made breakfast. Then, she was surprised by a visit from many of her friends from Lyriswood, the nearby Enlightened forest-city. They had each brought a small amount of food for Aloise’s lunch, and Lys had gone about putting it into a basket so that she, Beryl, and Aloise could go on a picnic after her visitors departed. It had been a lovely day, and Aloise would remember it fondly.
Of course, Beryl had immediately despaired because while Lys had given Aloise a lovely pair of silkspun gloves, Beryl - who had not been aware of the occasion - had gotten her nothing at all. And really, it was fine! She had told Beryl this several times, but Beryl had been adamant about rectifying the situation, and so had left with the promise of returning with something.
She had been so adorably determined that Aloise had not the heart to stop her. And she had seemed genuinely happy and… hopeful, about the prospect. With Fisco here, though… Aloise bit her lip. No, no, getting out from under Fisco’s shadow would be better for Beryl. Fisco might kill the moment, but it would still be meaningful for Beryl, to have done something good.
Aloise sighed, but squared her shoulders. It would work out, she just knew it.
Yesterday had been far too energetic for Beryl’s tastes. Thinking back, it was all a bit hazy.
The day had not even started out normally. Normally, Beryl awoke to the small sounds of Aloise waking up. Since they had returned from the Wanderer’s Heart, Beryl had been feeling… Better, but she still had nowhere else to go. She should probably have been trying to look for Alessa, but she could not bring herself to leave. Aloise and Lys both insisted she stay as long as she liked, and neither of them ever made her feel as though she was overstaying her welcome. Beryl slept lightly, so the soft sounds of Aloise getting out of bed usually awoke her.
Instead, she had awoken to the unfamiliar smells of cooked food and Aloise’s squeal of delight. Startled awake, Beryl had sat up immediately, eye wide, but Aloise was already out of bed and offering an apologetic ‘good morning’. Then, she had slipped on a pair of slippers and ran downstairs so quickly that Beryl was not sure exactly what had happened. Groggily, she had decided it was best to follow Aloise, though she decided against slippers and went for a robe Lys had loaned her instead.
As it turned out, unbeknownst to Beryl, it was Aloise’s Name Day yesterday. Lys had made breakfast for the occasion. Though Beryl felt guilty at the thought of the older woman getting up so early to cook such a magnificent spread of sausages, hotcakes, poached eggs, and various toasted treats, she could not deny their quality. Lys was an excellent cook, though she waved off any compliments as the three women chatted over the meal. Beryl felt much invigorated after breakfast, and Lys dismissed the both of them after they were full to get cleaned up for the day as she tidied the kitchen.
Beryl assumed that was to be the extent of the day’s festivities, but it was not to be. After she had bathed and dressed herself, she returned downstairs to find that Aloise had visitors. Beryl had never met any of them, but she assumed they were villagers from the nearby town. Beryl had also never been to the nearby town. It was often talked about and Lys made the trek there every day. At first, there were just a few people, and though Aloise and Lys introduced her politely, she felt out of place and uncomfortable. Aloise, of course, spoke with each of her visitors as though they were her closest friends.
Beryl mostly stayed out of the conversation. It would have been easier if it had just been the first six people or so, but after they left - and left behind a small quantity of foodstuffs as gifts - more showed up. Aloise, with her boundless energy, was delighted. At this point, Beryl was feeling a bit put out because she was beginning to realize that she had no gift to give Aloise, and the constant stream of strangers was draining her energy quickly. She dodged most questions, and thankfully, Aloise noticed her discomfort and implored Beryl to help Lys bring the gifted foodstuffs into the kitchen with a gentle smile. Beryl agreed immediately.
In this way, Beryl avoided most of Aloise’s visitors - who kept showing up, one after the other, for a few hours yet. Beryl knew Aloise was an endearing person who was easy to be friends with, but this was ridiculous. She could not claim to be a socialite, or even to have many friends. Aloise, on the other hand, knew every single person that walked through the door. Not only did she know their names, she knew their occupations, the recent goings-on in their lives, and the best things to say to make them smile and feel welcome.
Beryl had felt strongly that she did not belong there. What if she embarrassed herself? Or worse, what if she hurt these people? Aloise would never forgive, she would-
But then, Aloise would discreetly meet her eye, and smile warmly. Beryl was half-convinced Aloise was a goddess, because it just melted away all the anxiousness she had been feeling. It was wondrous that she could do so little, and still make Beryl feel so welcome.
Eventually, the visitors trickled away. Lys had packed most of the gifted food into a basket, indicated that they were having a picnic, and immediately hurried them both out of the house. It was a lovely spring day, and though Lys had got them out the door, it was Aloise who led them excitedly on a hike through the woodlands and into a favorite glade of hers. There, they lunched on a variety of cheeses, sweetbreads, and fruit preserves as the sun slowly slipped behind the trees. Aloise told several interesting stories, and Beryl caught herself staring at her while she spoke several times. Each time, she immediately occupied herself with something else while she made sure Aloise had not noticed.
When finally they returned home, Beryl was feeling tired, but content. It had been a good day, though the sun had not yet set, it would not be long. Lys had promised supper later that night, but as they returned home, she reminded Aloise very suddenly about the old maid, Jillian, who could not make the trek from the town to their home, and would she not like to go visit that older woman? Aloise, being Aloise, agreed immediately, and asked Beryl if she had wanted to come. Then, Lys had done something she had never done before.
She had asked for Beryl’s help.
And really, Beryl was flattered, but how much use could she be with preparing supper? Lys insisted that she needed assistance, and Aloise acquiesced, and promised to be back later. Then she was gone, and Beryl was uncertain exactly what had transpired, but she soon found herself in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up, standing in front of a potful of potatoes, and trying to peel them.
She was also alone with Lys for the first time, which was why she was concentrating wholeheartedly on the spuds. Lys was… not intimidating, exactly, but it made Beryl nervous to be alone with someone Aloise respected so completely. Lys was Aloise’s guardian (and Beryl had never dared ask what had become of Aloise’s parents, afraid of the answer, afraid of so many things) and while the older woman had been nothing but kind, she would hate to misstep in some way and displease her. But… there was also a chance that, maybe if she impressed Lys, or something, that she could talk to her about how she felt. About Aloise. Maybe she had answers. Or, maybe she would deny Beryl any such chance and end the problem before it began. Either way…
"Beryl, dear, they are potatoes. You needn’t handle them like they are made of glass." Lys spoke up from beside the stove, and Beryl felt her face flush. She readjusted her grip on the potato, and angled the knife away from herself. So far, she had peeled six.
She mumbled an apology to Lys and continued working, this time with a frown. To her surprise, Lys laughed, high and clear.
"Are you apologizing to me? About potatoes?" She asked, and Beryl glanced at her. Lys was smiling warmly, though her hands were on her hips, since she had evidently already finished dicing the carrots for the stew. "No, that won’t do. Put that down, you timid thing. Come here." Beryl opened her mouth to speak, but then Lys just arched an eyebrow and she snapped it closed again. She put the potato and knife down, wiped her hand on the apron, and did as she was told.
She was taller than Lys, but did not feel like it. Simple as that. The older woman wore age gracefully, and with an air of wry wisdom. Her hair was white like spun sugar, but she was still as lively and energetic as the younger woman who she had raised. Lys looked up at Beryl, and folded her arms.
"You have something to say, and don’t know how to say it." Lys observed, and when Beryl’s eye widened in surprise, she smiled slyly. "Or, you are not sure if you should." Seemingly satisfied with… whatever she had been looking for, she turned around and gestured for Beryl to follow her to the stove. "It’s about Aloise." She stated for a fact, and Beryl suddenly understood how a read book must feel.
"I… yes." She admitted as she stepped beside Lys. The older woman hummed in response, and placed a pot filled with water on the stove top.
"Be a dear and light this for me, would you?" Lys implored off-handedly as she stepped aside to retrieve the carrots. Beryl hesitated.
"I’m… not sure,"
"I wouldn’t ask you to do anything I thought you could not, Beryl, dear." Lys interrupted briskly. "Come now, the stew must be ready before Aloise returns." Beryl shook her head, stepping away from the stove. She had not summoned flame since… Not since Aliavelli, and the Shifter. Not more than some inner heat, or light. She was not ready, it could, it might…
"No, it’s… I shouldn’t." She shook her head again, and looked away. "Please. You don’t understand." Lys had lifted up a chopping board full of carrots, and with a sigh, dumped them into the still cold water of the pot. She set the chopping board down once more, and turned to face Beryl with a soft look.
"Like a kettle, left too long on the stove but refusing to whistle." Lys said slowly, and Beryl blinked at her. "No, too gentle. More like trying to hug the wind, like holding in something that cannot be touched. Each moment it threatens to break away, burst away, from any of your weaknesses. You feel hot as it presses out against you and cold at the thought of when it might happen, who it might happen to, because you are not sure. You hold it tightly. Lock it away, like they locked you away." Beryl stared in shock as Lys made plain the fears of her heart. Lys just smiled, though it was sad and full of hurt... "Understanding is my job, Beryl, dear." She said gently. "The fire within you is an enormous, chaotic thing, full of potential destruction and heartbreak. You have seen so much of this. But…" Lys stepped aside, and indicated to the stove. "...it can also heat a stew, warm a lonely heart, or light a path fraught with darkness."
Beryl’s mouth felt dry, but she stepped forward, and let go. Just a little, with a wave of her hand. The stove lit. Nothing exploded. Beryl let out a breath she did not know she was holding. Lys patted her on the shoulder.
"Thank you, dear." She said quietly, and then moved away to rummage in the cupboards. Beryl felt… Better. Less nervous, but… How had Lys done that? How had she known? How- "You know," Lys called suddenly from across the kitchen. "Aloise would be lucky to have you."
Beryl’s thoughts came to a sputtering and clumsy halt.
"She- What?" Beryl managed to force out, spinning around to face Lys. The older woman had produced leftover sausage from breakfast, undoubtedly for the stew, and laughed as she caught sight of Beryl’s startled face.
"Oh, come now, dear." Lys said with a wink. "I’m not blind." At the implications of that statement, Beryl suddenly felt very warm, and it had nothing to do with fire. She wished she would melt into the kitchen floor.
"I… um." Beryl turned around stiffly, and marched over to the remaining potatoes, suddenly very, very interested in peeling them once more. She began at once, because what could she say to that?
"You should get her a gift." Lys suggested as Beryl hunched over the potatoes. The sound of splashing water accompanied Lys’ addition of new ingredients to the stew. "And let her know how you feel." Beryl managed a small glance sideways at the older woman, who was thankfully not looking at her. It gave Beryl a small amount of courage.
"...Do you think that will work?" She asked meekly, returning her attention to her… work. Such as it was.
"...My, you’ve never done this before, have you?" Lys replied, and Beryl tried to convince herself that Lys was talking about the potato peeling. "Beryl, you are a fine young woman, with a good heart and a gentle soul. Life has not been kind to you…" There was a pause, and the sound of stirring water, before Lys continued. "...and yet, here you are. Hurt, maybe, but whole. Aloise admires your strength, you know."
"She does?" Beryl wondered, hand trembling. It was bad news for the potato she was peeling.
"Oh, yes." Lys confirmed. "I’m sure she’s told you as much, but you thought, ‘Oh, I can’t be what she thinks I am. She’s too kind, too optimistic, too generous.’" Lys did a poor impression of Beryl’s voice, and it startled a laugh out of her. Lys chuckled as well.
"How are you doing that?" Beryl asked, hoping to change the subject. "You know what I’ve thought, or felt. Telepathy?" She had known telepaths. Astria… Astria had been a telepath.
The thought of Lys being a telepath was not a comforting one.
"Nothing so fancy, I’m afraid." Lys answered. "I’m just observant, and experienced. You’re not the first person to fall in love with Aloise, you know." She clicked her tongue. "Always the timid ones…"
"I’m not timid!" Beryl protested, dropping a potato for the umpteenth time. Luckily, it did not roll onto the floor.
"But you are in love with Aloise." Lys pointed out. Beryl fumbled the spud again. Warmth crept up her neck and into her ears.
"I… I…" Beryl felt her cheeks burning, and shook her head vehemently. "Can we please talk about something else?" She asked, almost begged. If she became any more embarrassed she was certain she would die on the spot. The potato peeling was not working as a distraction any longer, and that Lys had so deftly and quickly picked apart Beryl’s emotions left her feeling vulnerable. She very much wanted to hide.
"If you wish, dear." Lys conceded, and Beryl let out a sigh of relief. "However, just one more word of advice, if you’ll be patient with me." Beryl glanced at Lys warily, but nodded. She meant well, it was just… This had not gone at all how Beryl had imagined it. She had imagined Lys being affronted, or maybe dismissive, or… She had not thought that Lys would be so kind, if not exactly gentle. "I’m sure you’ve spent a lot of time worrying whether or not you’ll be the worst thing that ever happened to Aloise." Beryl froze, but did not turn around. She swallowed heavily. Lys was silent for a few moments, the only sound in the kitchen was that of slowly simmering water. "I think you should spend some time wondering whether or not you could be the best."
Beryl did not respond to that, and eventually, together, they finished the stew.
Beryl was pensive and nervous the rest of the night, but Lys never indicated they ever had any awkward conversations or said anything to Aloise about how Beryl felt. When Aloise returned, she was delighted by the stew and complimented them both. Beryl was happy she was back, though she was careful now to disguise exactly how happy. But she also wondered if she should hide it. Maybe Lys was right, maybe…
Lys had then presented Aloise with a pair of lovely gloves. Beryl was sure they were enchanted in some way, though as she watched Aloise’s face light up at the gift, she made up her mind. A few hasty apologies, a little determined insistence, and several hours later, Beryl found herself on the verge of locating the perfect gift for Aloise.
It was now, of course, that she was having second thoughts. Or rather, seventh thoughts. It was probably more than that, but she had lost track of how many times she had thought about it.
Aloise had detailed in one of her books - one of the books she had written, not one of the books she had owned - a lovely beach absolutely covered in pearls. The Pearl Shore, it was called by the natives of the plane of Handaru. From what Beryl understood of this plane, it was all one narrow strip of land that circled a single, enormous ocean. Aloise theorized that the world was flat, though the farther one got away from the ocean, the rougher the terrain became and, eventually, gave way to impassable mountains. It was fascinating, but Beryl was here for the pearls.
And pearls she had found! They were practically worthless on Harandu, and most everyone ignored them in favor of the harder to obtain precious metals of the mountains. Aloise, however, had described the pearls as "coming in many shades, all across the visible spectrum, and as beautiful as a summer sky after storm". She had not been wrong, and Beryl had not been disappointed in her search.
She had been hunting the beach for blue pearls for the better part of the day. Not just any blue pearls, though. She was looking for pearls the color of Aloise’s eyes. She found many - she could never forget what Aloise’s eyes looked like - though finding the right sizes had proved… trying. Still, at the end of the day, she had filled a small bag with pearls, and now they were laid out before her, some distance away from the shore as she stared at them blankly.
Pearls she could manage. Necklaces, she could make. Sentiments to go with the gift? The right words? She had no idea how to provide these things. She did not know if she could. Lys seemed to think so. Was that enough?
Her hands were idle, so she began meticulously organizing the pearls by size, from smallest to largest, and then to smallest again. Before long, the pearls were laid upon the sandy ground in a rough simulacrum of the necklace she wished to craft. She smiled softly to herself, because this had been a good idea. The necklace, at least.
She produced a bit of silver string from her bag. The bag, of course, held a bit of foodstuff and various tools and trinkets. Aloise insisted the Beryl ‘be prepared’, and had gotten her the satchel a few days after they returned from the Wanderer’s Heart. The string she had acquired simply enough from a nearby fishing village. She suspected it was, in fact, fishing line, but it was not the key feature, so she was not concerned. It would be sturdy, at least.
A small bit of magic saw to creating holes in the pearls, for her to thread the string through. Threading the pearls was also simple. When she was finished, she produced the two blunted fishing hooks that she had begged off the same fisherman she had gotten the string from. She swiftly broke one in half. The eye of the hook, she tied deftly and tightly to one end. The hook itself was placed back into her pouch, for her to dispose of later. The second hook, eye and all, she tied to the other end of the string.
Carefully, she hooked the one side to the other, and smiled.
It was just as she had imagined it.
Then, softly, she began to cry.
Because this was not going to work. Nothing ever worked. All of her best laid plans, all of her good intentions… They had always gone up in smoke, and why would this be any different? She was playing at being happy when she did not deserve it, pretending all of her past mistakes were irrelevant. But they were not irrelevant. They would haunt Beryl for the rest of her life, and Aloise… Aloise was the only person who made things better. The only person who gave her hope.
Beryl could not inflict herself on Aloise. It would be cruel to even try-
Unbidden, Beryl heard Aloise’s voice, like a whisper on the wind.
"Beryl…" Then, an image of a shock of golden hair, and Aloise’s concerned frown. Beryl touched the small, crystal ring on her finger almost automatically, but said nothing. Aloise was thinking about her. Worried. Beryl sniffled. Yes, that sounded like her. No matter what Beryl thought, or felt, or did, Aloise would worry.
And if there truly was something to worry about, she would face it. Unafraid. Lys had said that Aloise admired Beryl’s strength. Maybe it was time to be strong. Beryl dried her eye.
She could do this. She would do this. She had taken a chance with Aloise before, and that had been one of the most magical nights of her life. She could do it again.
She would do it again.
Beryl put the pearl necklace in the satchel Aloise had given her, and left Handaru behind.