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[closed]

Date & Time: 12/22, early morning
Location: Koltira's cabin, at the lake
Characters: Koltira Deathweaver (

deadelfwalking), Bariyan e Kodhi (

stonefaith)
Summary: HEY MAN, WHAT WAS UP WITH ALL THE YELLING??? also thanks for saving my sorry princess butt, i guess
Warnings: N/A

[ A week had passed by. The undead seemed to be gone from the streets, Martin was doing all right, Bariyan's apartment was now completely cleared of alcohol.... Bariyan's spine had long since healed over, too.

So it seemed prudent to walk his damn self right back to the man who'd broken it.

He slips the medallion back underneath his shirt as he approaches the cabin, then shoves both hands deep into his pockets. He approaches with, well, a little trepidation. He's not afraid of Koltira. He's afraid of what's happened to Koltira. The man had set off after Arthas, after all, and Bariyan hasn't heard from him since. He doesn't think Koltira's dead. He's sure someone would've said something about that. But still.

Bariyan takes the steps up to the door -- tries not to think about the fact that last time he'd been here, Koltira had dragged him up these steps -- and knocks on the door. ]

Hey. I know you're in there.

[ No, he doesn't. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[tonelessly.]

Yes. He could have done that very easily.

[ Bariyan lowers his eyes. ]

I won't let that happen again. For Martin's sake, and yours. I'm sorry.

[He scowls. He had been angry over finding Bariyan with Arthas--angry that Bariyan hadn't simply turned and run away at the very sight of Koltira's former master. But it seemed foolish, even downright hypocritical, to chastise Bariyan about Arthas when, in the end, Koltira himself had done the most damage.]

If you really want to protect yourself and the child, you should leave here. Leave, and don't look back.

[ That gets Koltira a sharp look. ]

I think not.

[ Maybe. If it came down to it-- if, somehow, it came to a choice-- but it hasn't. Not in Bariyan's mind. Not yet.

He leans forwards. ]

I need to talk to you about what happened after we left Arthas. I want to ask you about the things you said.

[ Smooth, almost business-like. As if he'd prepared beforehand. Well, he had to, a little; hadn't been much else to think about on the walk here. ]

[That's just exactly the last thing Koltira wants to talk about. Roughly:]

Forget them. I was mad.

[ nope, not getting off the hook that easily, pal. ]

I know you were mad. That's why I'm asking about them now, instead of then-- [ He stops, and takes the time to pick his tenses very carefully. ] I want to know why you're mad.

[Hey. Hey. That's equivocation, Bariyan.]

I meant, I was insane. I was out of my bloody mind.

[ Uh-huh no Bariyan knows what you're doing you're still trying to wriggle your way out of this, Koltira ]

Not so out of it, I think. [ He pulls the medallion back out of his shirt, pulls the chain taut, meaningfully. Then he tucks it back out of sight. ]

And you had grievances to air. [ Ones that required a blood frenzy to unleash? Bariyan doesn't pretend to understand Koltira well, or at all, but he thinks he can at least guess that Koltira's self-control is phenomenal. And that maybe his self-control has been forcing his silence. ] You still do, I think.

[He does have impressive restraint. But, as always, Bariyan is quite skilled at pile-driving right through it.

Koltira slams his bottle down on the table with such force that the whole thing rattles. He leans forward over it, the cold fire in his eyes blazing.]

What the hell do you even care, Bariyan? You only ever speak to me to scold me--and the rest of the time, you are ignoring me outright. As far as I can tell, I'm simply an uncomfortable problem for you.

[His already deep voice drops another octave, to a sharp, pained growl.]

So here it is, Bariyan: the solution. Get out. Don't speak to me. Don't think of me. Forget everything I have ever done or tried to do for you.

[ He's taken back by the sudden anger, and he freezes, clenching a fist over his knee in lieu of pushing himself back and away. But the initial shock wears off, quickly.

He lets the silence sit for a moment, pushing his bottle away, folding both arms over the table. His posture is set; the posture of a man who does not intend to move any time soon. Then he looks up to meet Koltira's gaze. ]

But I do care, Koltira.

Just, perhaps-- [ a grimace. his gaze flickers away, briefly. ] --perhaps I have not done a good job of showing it.

I would hardly say you have shown it at all.

[He keeps a hard stare on Bariyan. Memories of the past several months rise to the surface of his mind, and it seems that, in nearly all of them, Bariyan's expression hardly changes: he is constantly agitated, sullen, bothered when in Koltira's presence. The memory of his visit to Bariyan's apartment is particularly galling: the man said hardly two words, and his eyes seemed to follow Koltira with irritation or indifference for the whole duration. He sets his jaw as he thinks of it.

But at the same time, Koltira feels more than a little ridiculous. Friendship is not a concern that death knights are supposed to have. Community, warmth, family--all of these things are closed to his kind, and always have been. He might not be a monster. But that doesn't make him fit to access the comforts of the living.

He shouldn't be angry over this. He should feel nothing. His heart should be cold, closed, immaculate. But Koltira just can't manage it.

He tries, though, and speaks again after a moment, calmly, trying to push away his emotions.]

It doesn't matter. You are right to regard me with distance. [He narrows his eyes, glaring down at his table.] The others in this place should follow your example.

Stop that. I can't speak for the others, and I won't. [ Bariyan leans in, again. ] And you can't speak for me. It does matter.

I'm not here to talk about whether you should or shouldn't be loved, we've been over that already-- [ have they? damn it, bariyan can't recall clearly enough. he presses on. ] --I've made my choice about that. I care. And you've got no reason to hole yourself up in here, like you've got no friends in this world.

Are we settled on this? Can I move on? Or do I have to fight you some more on the matter?

[He visibly bristles, his long ears pinning back against the sides of his head like an irritated cat.]

Fine. Move on, then.

[ Bariyan sits back, feeling... not entirely satisfied about the matter, but hell. He probably wouldn't have felt any better even if they'd fought over it for the rest of the day.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, searching for the patience to do this right. ]

You're right. I haven't treated you well. But I swear... [ He looks down, eyes on the floor. ] I didn't mean to. I've caused you grief, haven't I?

[ And that, Bariyan doesn't understand himself. Why him? Why did his opinion of anyone matter? Why did anything about him matter, beyond keeping Martin alive and well?

Never mind; something to ponder later, to keep to himself. ]

I apologize. [ Again. (Weak.) ]

[Grief. Yes. But, more than that ...]

Bariyan, you are frustrating. Ever since we met, I have done nothing but try to do right by you. I have done my damnedest to look out for you, to show concern, to protect you. I have tried, in short, to be your bloody friend.

[The anger has drained from his voice. Now he just sounds bone-deep exhausted. He drinks deeply, finishing off his second bottle. As he collects a third, he shrugs his shoulders.]

Initially, I had thought there could be a kinship between us. Everything I've done with regard to you has been in service of that thought. But even I can grow weary of some things.

[He sits back down. Shakes his head.]

I care about you, Bariyan. I have from the start. Have I not done enough to show it? To prove it?

[He lifts his hands in a surrendering gesture.] I honestly don't know what else I can do. Sometimes it is as though you forget entire conversations. Entire events. I ... [he trails off. He's gone on for too long as it stands. More quietly.]

Bariyan, I will always come for you. But there is a wall around your heart, and I don't think I have the strength to scale it.

[ Bariyan listens, the way that he listens to Martin -- silent, attentive, considering. He rarely listens so closely. Always distracted by his own thoughts, always too busy forming opinions halfway through someone else's words, always preoccupied by his own, eternal anger. And so it'd been with Koltira, too. Until this moment.

It helps that he's still sober, too.

In a low voice, the first thing: ]

I didn't realize that you were so unhappy with me.

[ He says it as if from very far away, a line crinkling between his brows. Confusion, maybe disbelief. But then Bariyan comes back in full, and he twists his mouth into a smile, sad, resigned, and cold. ]

Death changed me, Koltira. [ Both deaths. ] You of all people should understand. That wall you speak of, it separates me from what I was before, and it probably always will--

[ He stops, looks away. He's leaning forwards over the table again, one hand resting against his forehead. ]

I'm not asking you to scale it. I can't scale it. I'm-- [ He laughs, shortly. ] No. I'm not asking anything of you at all. You've done more than enough to prove yourself.

[ Walls. Koltira's right. There's but one door through to Bariyan's heart right now, and it lies in the medallion around his neck, in Martin's presence and Martin's voice. And to everyone else, he can present only stone. Including himself.

He mulls over Koltira's words again, and the exhaustion in the other man's voice. Maybe it's not worth it. There'll be other people, there are other people who care for Koltira, who aren't quite as frustrating as Bariyan. But... but it never does anyone good to see someone give up on them. He supposes he has to try.

Bariyan sighs. He clasps both hands in front of his face, looking down at the table. ]

What would you ask me to do? Bring down my walls?

[He does understand. The person he was as a living man is radically different from the person he is now, so much so that he's sure no one would recognize him were they to meet his past self.

But even death couldn't entirely erase who he used to be. Even in death, he tried to form connections, and to stay loyal to them. He was loyal, in fact, and it had lead to his downfall.

A wan, half-smile precedes his reply.]

I'm not asking anything of you, either. I don't believe I ever have.

[He covers his face with one hand, burying his fingers in his long hair.]

Just go back to Martin, then. Do whatever you want to do.

Gods. [ Bariyan draws his brows together, frowning deeply at Koltira. ] Has nothing I've just said gotten through to you? I--

[ He wishes Koltira wouldn't play this game. He wishes things were easy, as he's always wished, as surely everyone wishes -- wishes that Koltira would ask something of him. An apology, a favor, a change in behavior, a goddamn arm and leg, anything, because this would be so much easier if he just had a clear idea of what to do. Bariyan can't act on metaphors and mental constructs, can hardly think that way. He needs something solid. But he understands that's not always possible.

(What do you want from me? A different man, a different conversation entirely. Two swords crossed on the table between them, unsheathed, clean and bright. What can I do to make you come with me? He'd nearly begged, would've got down on his knees and prayed if he'd been asked to, but things were before as they are now-- except he'd received no answer, then. Hardly a word. Just a smile and a thoughtless, careless laugh, as if nothing were wrong. And then Cat had sheathed his swords and walked away.)

Bariyan is finally prompted to reach for the bottle again. He takes a long drink, chasing the memories away. ]

I want to make amends, then.

[ He extends a hand to Koltira. ] But you have to give me the chance. [ another one; a second, a third, god knows how many by this point. ] Please.

[It's a while before Koltira responds, or takes any action at all. For a full minute, he sits there, looking at Bariyan, his expression inscrutable. He had taken in every word Bariyan had just said, and he had taken the solemn, ice-cold tone, too. He doesn't understand why Bariyan is pursuing this--why he won't just walk away. It's not something Koltira wants, but it would be in Bariyan's best interest. It would be in Martin's best interest.

After that minute passes, Koltira takes Bariyan's hand. He supposes he doesn't have to worry about the eternal chill of his body with this one, which is good, as he presently wears no gauntlet or gloves. A few more moments pass before he speaks.]

Tell me something about yourself. Something you haven't told anyone else. Anything at all.

[ The inquiry takes Bariyan by surprise, too, and causes him to freeze momentarily before squeezing Koltira's hand and letting go, taking up the bottle again to consider the question. Gods, he was not prepared for this conversation.

Why? he wants to ask, immediately. Retort with all the reasons why he doesn't want to answer, evade the question, deflect the conversation. But he'd wanted something solid to work with, hadn't he? Here it is.

And he can't think of anything to say.

His discomfort shows in his silence, in his gaze drifting towards a wall, in his fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the neck of the bottle, filling in, buying for time. He picks through his memories, reluctantly, finding each one more painful than the last.

He drinks. ]

Anything specific that you've been wondering about...?

[ It might be easier to focus if Koltira steers him down a particular path. Perhaps. He continues to think, sieving through his thoughts, trying to recall names and faces and erase them at the same time. ]

[He wonders about basically everything with regard to Bariyan, as he knows very little about the man. Bariyan's world, both figuratively and literally, is an enigma. Meanwhile, Koltira feels that he has shared more of himself than he really even should have.

He thinks for a few seconds; shrugs helplessly. Any topic at all will do. Just something.]

I don't know. Tell me about the city where you were born.

[ Bariyan brings a hand to his face, thumb and forefinger pressed against his brow. It's a while before he speaks, again. ]

Kodhi, then.

[ His tablet is registered under the name Bariyan e Kodhi, though he rarely introduces himself that way anymore. ]

It used to lie on the border between two empires, and right on the edge of a desert. Thrived off trade and traffic between Sachra and Kharta. It was the last bit of civilization you'd see for a while if you were traveling into the desert, and the first you'd see coming out of it. Always seemed like there were more people coming out than in. Sachrans didn't like leaving home, didn't want to try the desert, didn't see any reason to go to Kharta. But I think the Khartans liked it that way, anyway.

[ His speech is slow and halting, at first, as if he has to wrench each syllable out. But the more he says, the easier the words come. ]

No one ever wanted to live in Kodhi. Everyone in Sachra wanted to go westwards -- to the coastal cities and the river ports. Ankhar, Inya... Viciro. That was where all the wealth and glory was, where people went to make names for themselves... [ Where his son had gone, in the end. ] Kodhi seemed a harsher place to live by comparison, far removed from the rest of the empire, and everyone was always coming or going. Everything was transient. It was a place where you stopped for rest. Like a stepping-stone, going one way or the other.

It was young, too. The road between Sachra and Kharta was a young thing itself, and Kodhi wouldn't have existed without it. So... the city was only about two hundred years old when I was born. It was part of Sachra by then, but it'd been traded back and forth a few times. So most of the population looked like they came straight out of Kharta. Myself included. My mother was Khartan, and her language was my first.

[ Bariyan frowns. His rambling has taken a personal turn, something he's still -- even now -- trying to avoid.

He's avoided talking about how the city came under his command. How he used it as a stepping-stone, too, how his bloody takeover of the city led to his bloody war, his own rise and fall... history. It's all so far away now. He writes it off. ]

In any case... it's gone, now. About eight hundred years gone.

[ He shrugs, as if that hadn't been one of the first real blows to him upon reawakening. And he lapses back into silence. ]

[Koltira listens very carefully, sitting statue-still throughout Bariyan's talk. He doesn't raise his drink to his lips, nor shift his limbs, nor move his gaze from one point to another. The sole movement is his ears--an involuntary pricking forward, suggesting the intensity of his focus.

He draws conclusions about what Bariyan tells him--that e Kodhi refers to birthplace, clearly. That Bariyan came from a desert.

That centuries, apparently, have passed between his birth and now. It's all very interesting. But more importantly, it's information. He doesn't intend to press for anything else. Bariyan's discomfort is obvious, and making him uncomfortable isn't Koltira's intent.

He smiles, genuinely, and it brings a strange warmth to his features, creates an echo of his friendly, gregarious, living self.]

Thank you. That will do.

[ Bariyan almost misses the smile, so lost in his own thoughts, staring into space and seeing nothing. But he refocuses, eventually, turns his head back.

He studies Koltira's smile, with no expression of his own. Until he remembers why he's here in the first place, and he manages to return a smile of his own. Small, fleeting, barely more than a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

So maybe he hasn't done so badly. Maybe he'll be able to carry through, on all his apologies, on fixing his mistakes.

He finishes off whatever's left in his bottle, leaning back in his chair. His smile widens, a little. Only out of self-deprecation. ]

I'm sorry. That must have been boring.

[softly, quickly.]

No, not at all.

[I just don't want to press you.]

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