duskrecluse:

nebula1984:

duskrecluse:

Basteaux recognizes the voice before the words fully register. He
curls his hands more fully around the wooden mug in front of him rather
than look up to the face he knows he’ll see. “Even if one doesn’t have to be, from another’s perspective, sometimes it’s better that way.”

He
breathes a sigh and looks up, squinting slightly in the dim light of
the tavern. “I know you mean well, Destiney,” he continues, “but you
would be better off simply forgetting my existence.
Surely there are
others more receptive to your attention?” There is, perhaps startlingly, something akin to warmth coloring his smooth baritone despite the words. It’s as he rises from his seat that the reason becomes more clear. Though he hides it well, there’s a lack of stability about him, each step deliberate as he makes his way toward the exit.

He stops with his hand on the doorframe, glancing back over his shoulder to his surprise visitor. “Goodnight.”

A deep breath before slowly letting it out. Nearly in a sigh. Stubborn to the core. However his words had struck a cord. Someone else that decided she was ‘too good’ for them. She hated that. Yet for some reason it only made her more stubborn than want to run off. She was totally not letting this go so easily.

She walked over to stand beside him, Daisy perched on her shoulder and merely watching the exchange. A warm smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes as she looks to him. “I think I would much prefer not forgetting. Besides are you going to force me to stay put and not follow you?”

She shrugs and looks out the doorway into the night outside of the tavern. “Did you ever think maybe the Twelve decided you need a friend?
Nymeia works in strange ways.

Maybe it’s time for you to quit isolating yourself for at least one friend?”

Now that smile had a hint of mischief to it as she patted the book sitting against her hip. This time the smile did reach her gaze. “Worse comes to worse I could just give you a light bop on the head. Don’t try to tell me I’m ‘too good’ to talk to you or be your friend. We don’t know each other well enough for you to fairly make that judgement of me.”

“I cannot force you to do anything,” Basteaux replies. For a moment his piercing eyes close and he rests his head against the sanded wood. “Perhaps the Twelve, in their infinite wisdom, have some plan or another. If they do, they’re the only ones capable of understanding it.” It’s difficult to tell if he’s being sarcastic, or if the edge to his voice is just simple tiredness. Either way, he opens his eyes again to look down at Destiney.

Her words have a ring of truth to them. While Bast never did say she was ‘too good’ for him, the implication had certainly been there. Past her, however, he can see at least one of the other patrons who’s taken an interest in their conversation. “Fine. If you insist on following me, then follow.” His steps are still awkward as he leaves the warm light of the tavern.

The moon’s light silvers him, softening some edges while at the same time throwing the angles of his face into sharp relief. About halfway across the empty span of hard-packed earth Basteaux stumbles and catches himself on one knee. Waving off any attempts to help him up, he rises back to his feet with a small grunt and continues toward the outer edge of the settlement.

One small triumph. Though nothing worth celebrating over. He had at least given in a small bit to her stubbornness. At least it was a step in the direction she wanted. Wanting to get him to accept the fact he could use a friend. She wanted to be that friend. Something about him intrigued her enough to try. Beyond any similarities he shared with a dead man.

A look of concern crossed her features when he stumbled to his knee but she allowed him to stand on his own. No sense in pushing too hard. It would only ruin any attempts she was making with him. Instead she just falls into step beside him.

“You do not seem the kind to drink to this point for no reason.” Her words soft and low, almost cautious. Her eyes looking skyward rather then at him. Almost as if making an observation rather then asking him for answers. Asking right out she knew would probably just get her the cold shoulder. “I’m not asking you to explain. That’s your choice. But if there is anyway I can help… I’d like to. No matter how strong we feel we need to be. No matter how tough we try to act. Eventually we all have breaking points. Someone to watch your back when you need a moment like this.”