With doll like eyes and five fingers crammed down my throat, I’ve inhaled tainted oxygen and lived surprisingly long. A lush sky, where the sun can’t see, The filthy words you spat out! The lute thrummed in his hand, an entirely different instrument than the flag he bore before. Each string danced on its own as cacophonous harmonies burst to life, pulled out of the lute by callused fingers. It was a violent song for tonight, full of angst and anger and desperation, the sort that clawed at his throat with the voracity that paled only in comparison to the Cadenza Lacrimosa, that immoral resurrection spell. But it was also great, the sort of song one can scream out, carrying painful notes long past how they should be, before launching into another high tempo lyrical machinegun blast. Emotions burst like water from a dam, and even as his voice began to crack, he had his fill of fun, and then some. Tonight, the Silver Willow Tavern was filled with patrons, all drawn by the voice of the master class Muse that freely offered up his services to all that required it. Despite his allegiance to Astorea, the nation that had struck down their King of Light, it appeared that the common citizenry was still totally fine with enjoying the otherworldly music he presented. Dim lighting cast soft shadows as sweat beaded from his brow, flooding the room with the weight of his emotions, the heft of his journeys themselves. Each individual sat raptly, at the edge of their seat as the strings crescendo’d, hands a blur. And then, like a calamity, he slammed a palm on the strings, the candlelights of the tavern snuffed out in the same instant. There was a silence then, the darkness so profoundly alive that one could hear its very heartbeat. And then, the applause came, the midnight haired muse bowing as coins clattered onto the small stage. Making no move to pick them up, he strode off, offering a few handshakes to those asking for it, before secluding himself in a quiet corner of the elegant bar. A nod was spared to the white haired bartender who had slid over a glass of honeyed water. Bundling his hair back, he pulled a towel, still smelling of hot springs, to wipe off his face, before letting out a sigh. If only that was the highlight of the night. On the stage, another performer came up, playing a much more soothing melody on the piano, soft keys twinkling like stars. He sipped at the drink, warmth enveloping his throat, while his chin rested against the palm of his spare hand. The world’s weight clung to him even now. But perhaps this anxiety was healthier than his devil may care attitude before. Because it meant that he truly did want this, enough to snap the cords of that noose apart, over and over again. The willpower of someone who strode willing into the gravity of a collapsing star, hm? A long way since Honeyhome. He took another sip, and wondered if he should have asked for something stronger.
How… beautiful. While she couldn't approve of what Cain had done during their previous encounter together, Kyupin found herself enraptured just like every other member of the audience by his song. She had originally slid into the corner, watching from afar and trying her best not to look as out of place as she felt. As the strings were plucked and strummed, singing beautifully under Cain's talented fingers, she had been drawn out – closer to the stage, closer to the music. Perhaps it was just her interpretation, but the grief, the raw pain, buried deep into each note was something she could relate to. Something she could understand. A small little piece of Cain that she could reach out and understand. A rarity, in recent times. Kyupin only snapped out of her frozen stare as a new melody of gentle twinkling keys ushered a sense of calm into the bar. Right. There'd been a reason for coming here. She looked around the tavern, blue eyes searching for the head of purple among other less exotic colours. Once she spotted him at the bar, she began her steady approach. She dared not let her fear show. The embarrassment of sending that message, why had she sent something like that, the fear stewing inside of her over the potential conflict. The regret. The doubt. The dread. She hated to be hated, and boy, wasn't that just hypocritical of her? The white haired barkeep smiled as she neared, holding up a glass of something to the air. She shook her head. "Just water, please," she said. Next to Cain was an open stool, which Kyupin hovered before. Should she take the seat? Was that… was that okay? She swallowed as a glass of clear water slid across the bar, coming to a stop at her knuckles. He knew she was here. She knew he was here. There were so many things that had to be said, so many words that laid, tangled and muted, between them. A tangible entity of painful silence, one she refused to let live. She licked her dry lips. "Hey there."
“Hey.” He nodded at the blonde Felis as she took her seat, before turning back to his own drink. An evening of drinks and music, and perhaps some elucidating conversation? He’ll take what he could get out of this. Another sip of the honeyed concoction warmed his throat, before the glass clinked against the table. His finger traced the rim slowly, two easy laps as he peered into the bottom of the well. There were no answers in there, and he wasn’t here to look for a singular, objective truth anyways. “Got a grasp on what you wanted to say, Kyu? I can wait if you’re still thinking about it.” Life was short, and much too cheap. He was willing to offer such a limited, infinite commodity to her at a discount for tonight, at the very least.
She flushed as Cain cut straight to the point, eager to remind her of her silly, stupid voice message. The glass she nursed in her hands seemed too light as she lifted it to her lips and took a long sip. Not long enough. Soon, she'd have to put it down and explain herself. The idea of talking. Of explaining… it made her sick. The sickness brewed in her stomach, wrapping around her lungs and squeezing until all she could feel was the ill in her chest. "Why did you…" Kyupin coughed, trying to clear her throat, to eject the nasty emotion that was tearing her apart. "I… why?" Her shoulders shook as she settled on the simple question. Of all the things she could say, of the thousands of words that lingered between them, this seemed to be the most important. The only question that really, truly mattered. Why. It seemed so vague, so open-ended, yet at the same time… it covered everything. Why had he said those things? Why had he acted like that? Why has it come to this? Why must they fight? Why? Her blue eyes sought out his own lilac ones. Her fingers left the comforting squeezing grip around her glass and came to rest upon the hand running laps around his own. She would not let him look away, let him hide. She had to know. Wanted, so desperately yearned, to know. And if he had the answers, which seemed to be the case, he would tell her. Why?
It wasn’t lilac that greeted her as Kyupin’s gaze burrowed into his own. It was never such a gentle color, not even during his happiest moments. It was dark. A dark, dark, dark shade of red, like embers on the brink of being extinguished, like blood that had crusted into black. He met her questioning gaze, devoured the entirety of her emotional medley, and kept that gaze. She was choking it out. She should have written it down instead, if it was so hard to ask. If she had decided to come here, she should have steeled her resolve, decided firmly on what she had said, and then, only then, pressed on. But instead, here Kyupin was, a veteran player who regularly partied with the Wild Huntress Gwyn, choking on her own saliva while she struggled to form a coherent question. But what sympathy he held for her plight, for this emotional divide, was buried beneath coal. He dared not bridge the gap with a comforting hand, he dared not break this unease and this ‘difficulty’. Kyupin took the first step. She can take the others as well. But there was still the ‘why’ that had to be answered, hm? Why was he like this? Why would he be so cruel? Why was he so self-centered? Inane, childish ramblings, bereft of any true understanding. His eyes narrowed slightly, before he relaxed. In the palm of his hand, the glass of honeyed water became lukewarm. In the corner of the bar, the silver haired barkeep wisely kept his distance. On the stage, more gentle notes were pressed, plinking and plinking like winter droplets and frozen tears. “If you’re referring to that moment when I asked you to have Vulcan protect me,” he began, steadily, refusing to look away, “That was a moment of weakness in my part. I was fine with dying, but between life and death, I still preferred living. An immortal’s life is cheap, after all. I apologize for that. It was thoughtless of me to expect help when you correctly prioritized the safety of the caravan.” A pause. He tapped against the glass rim, and it rang like a bell. “But if you’re referring to the words I spoke…” He still did not look away. He dared her to. “A question, Kyu. Do you think someone would be hated less if they killed another person gracefully, as opposed to brutally?”
She hated this – this feeling of weakness that consumed her as she drowned in his enchanting stare. Conflict-driven anxiety pooled in her chest, flooding every inch of her with a tingling that made her want to cry. She felt sick. Horrible. Why question it at all? Why confront him? She had wanted to be friends, once upon a time, and now… here they were. Was everybody like this? A side to them that she could not see, could not even begin to understand? Her mind flashed to dirty blonde hair and awkward hugs and she violently tore that memory apart. Not now. Not here. She didn’t want to doubt, didn't want that sick paranoia curling all around her, but it refused to leave her be. His words overlapped the gentle tinkling of piano, a smooth accompaniment joining together with droplets of song. She swallowed down the nausea, the dizziness that threatened to knock her over. "Don't talk like that," she whispered, fingers twisting and clenching. She wanted to scream in the breath of silence that swept over them. Don't say those things! But he spoke again and she wilted once more, unable to will the words forward. Pathetic. His eyes kept hers, refused to let her free. She couldn’t let this continue – couldn't let herself stay weak and controlled under his grasp. Her fingers curled deeper into her palm, nails sharp and biting crescent moons into supple flesh. The pain grounder her. Reminded her of her own strength. Like the piano sweeping into crescendo, her eyes came alive. Bright, twinkling, refusing to stand down. "You can offer somebody dignity in death. Unnecessary cruelty, brutality, that's what the bad people do. Do you delight in their suffering, is that it? Have you lost sight of what it means to be good and a hero? You think that in all your immortal power you can tear these people apart?" If only rising from her seat would make her tower over him. She squared her shoulders, narrowed her eyes. "I thought you were better than that." She would not look away. Would not give in. "I guess I was wrong."
That hurt more than expected. But the noose had prepared him enough for the anxiety and the agony, searing phantasmal flesh like a bridge that was going to be burnt to ash. The midnight haired muse remained quiet for a moment, dropping eye contact as his gaze swept over to her palms. They were clenched, nails digging deep as blood seeped between. Did she notice it? She must have. Drawing strength from familiar pain. He understood that tactic all too well, but decided not to apply it here. So he listened, instead, sipping still on his beverage as her mouth loosened, questions full of righteous anger pealing out. Loud enough that the bartender shifted further away to give them the space to sort out their feud. Quiet enough that the piano player was not disturbed by their fierce mutterings. But sharp enough that he had half the mind to laugh and mask over the drama with foolish levity. Had half the mind to go for a run again. He didn’t. Cain clamped down on that impulse and kept his expressions neutral, as he mentally praised the blooming strength of character that Kyupin was showing. So this was the sort of person that Gwyn was closest with, hm? He could approve of that, definitely. Sunset Sage, she may be not, nor a Wild Huntress, but the diminutive waif held that wild spark of inner strength as well. Fangs hidden until they were needed. “Yeah.” The crystal glass was set down, definitively. “You were wrong.” Droplets of blood pitter pattered onto the tavern floor as he turned his gaze upwards. “I push people to extremes, always. Sometimes, it inspires heroism, like it did with George. Other times…” he flinched, a moment of hurt passing by so fast that it may have just been one’s imagination, “I drive them elsewhere, to darker depths. A miracle is just power given a name, after all. And after that time in the prison, well…” A shrug. A diversion to buy time. “I decided to stand on one side, and make an enemy out of the opposing side. If painting a target on my back is all that’s needed to keep those behind me safe, then that’s fine with me. And if someone is willing to destroy a country in order to avenge an individual?” A smile. A truth splitting the mask. “I can understand that perfectly. I will push them to that extreme and pull all that righteous vengeance towards me. Dignity won’t change death, and revenge is not something I will steal away.” His finger struck the rim of the glass, a chime to signal the end. “If I did, I’d lose the right to do the same, after all.”
She had been prepared for him to fling his own accusations at her. She had been prepared for him to hastily explain himself and reason with her. She had been prepared for him to do anything and everything, except for agreeing with her. She faltered as he finally broke his gaze. Stepped out of the war raging in their eyes and mulled over his words, providing a moment of weakness. She saw the flinch of hurt as he brought forth deeper, buried, painful memories. All she could do as he spoke was listen, entranced, as if he were casting her under one of his musical spells. She hated it. She hated how honest he was. She hated that he'd accepted this. She hated that she could understand it. She didn't want to understand it. She sucked in a breath through her clenched teeth and willed away the tears that wanted to fall for him. "Aren't you afraid of becoming a monster?" she asked, voice soft and frail once more. Her fists loosened into curled fingers and reached out towards him. She wanted to help him. Somehow. But as she looked at him and his smile, at the mask coming down before her, she knew, deep down, that he didn't need any helping. That, even if he did, she wasn't the one that could offer it.
A hand outstretched. A desire to help? A willingness to understand? He kept his hands closed, the gesture left unreciprocated. Forgiveness was something else that the vengeful did not require. They were a bunch of idiots constantly chained down by the past, after all. A bunch of morons who powered themselves with painful memories instead of happy ones. It was always like this for him, reality or virtuality. What he lacked in his childhood became the charcoal to fuel his present drive, allowing him to plow further and further through the obstacles in his path. Hah. Was he a masochist? Pain fucking fuelled him. That was pretty messed up, wasn’t it? Cain leaned back as Kyupin lost those fangs once more, empathy eroding the anger and displeasure that she was rightfully entitled to. A part of him was relieved, but another part was…regretting. Was this just manipulation then? Did he even deserve this? There were other paths he could have taken, and his hand reached for the phantasmal noose, the spectral executioner that always reminded him of other paths, other opportunities. What did he want out of this? He no longer knew. But questions, questions were easy enough to answer. “I’m not.” Simple as that. He had his limits, but those limits were far, far off from what one would consider normal. If it was for someone he cared about… “Hey, how’s Persephone doing?” …he’ll wade through all the sins and grudges in the world to get them back.
She held her hand out for a while longer, waiting, watching, but eventually let it fall back into her lap with a small frown. Without the fury fuelling her, she found herself unable to search out his eyes, unable to make the connection. Sat next to each other, Kyupin could feel the miles of distance separating them. A wall that she'd never be able to climb. Her laugh hadn't been intentionally bitter, but it came out so. Soft, pained, agonizing laughter. It died fairly quickly as she pushed back from the bar and looked to the ceiling. "Persephone's fine. She's quite taken with the yards and with Vulcan," she said, fingers reaching out to tangle into the aforementioned wolf's fur. "I'm surprised you remember her." She bit her tongue and looked to the side, trying to hide her wince. She hadn't intended to say it aloud, to say it so rudely. She swung off the bar stool and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry," she mumbled to herself as she ran a hand through her hair. "That came out wrong." Did it really? Or had it come out exactly as intended – honestly? Genuinely? "… Good talk," she said after a long moment of hesitation. She turned towards the bar exit as the crescendo of twinkling music came to a gentle end. The song would close on this act just as her heart would close to his case. Cain may have been a brilliant fighter, but he was not a good person. She'd seen enough, heard enough, to realize that. "See you, then." Because they would see each other again, doubtless. Hopefully they'd see one another on the same side of the battlefield. Because if he were her enemy… she may not hesitate to strike him down.
“I’ve only used a resurrection spell twice,” Cain replied, unbothered by the barbs in her words, “It’s nice to see my efforts haven’t been completely wasted.” There was nothing more to be said between the two. A miserable end for a relationship that had never been much more than a faint friendship. There it was, that regret, biting in the back of his mind further more. But neither of them had stepped all that far upon the bridge, so as it crumbled…exhausting, but not painful. In a couple of days, he’d forget about it, just like he had with Elmyra, Zelrius, Alice, Harveste, Solaria, Sylpha, Aden, Surrechis, Stelluna… This wasn’t Eldhi or Ursa. Perhaps Kyupin wouldn’t be smiling in his direction any longer, but the midnight haired muse could rest, knowing that she hadn’t be so thoroughly broken. That was enough for him. A tidy enough ending. He nodded once at the huntress, a half smile cresting his features. “I wish you a happy life, Kyu.” Around him, the music concluded, quiet applause sound around him. The silver haired bartender turned, arcing an eyebrow at Cain, but the muse waved off his concerns. Unpleasant as it was, agony was poetic, and this conclusion was cleaner than anything else he had ever received. Now, what song should he sing? … How about a love song to destroy the world?
