Private Tales Forastero

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
She should have startled at the sudden feeling of him wiping at her cheeks, but she was far too sated in her inebriated emotions for any sort of reaction. Instead she closed her eyes, forcing a fresh flood of tears out, and made a face at his comment about her sweating.

"That's not what I mean, Kishou-" voice only slight with offense, a scowl tried to express itself but soon found itself wiped away with the second flush. She frowned instead, the sort of frown one made when weary with distress.

"But why would your people help me, an outsider? I have hold no value to them, I have nothing to give them in payment. We don't even have money to pay for this room. ...you did tell the woman that, didn't you?"
 
“Minor... details... were not discussed.” He cleared his throat and lowered his hand from her face and lifted the other off her back. Then he fell into a brief contemplative silence.

“If he is still alive, there is a man that would show kindness even to those that would steal from him.” The way he spoke about this man was the same way Amore had spoken about her teacher, Master Leonardi. “He isn’t only kind. I believe he may actually be able to help.”
 
"Kishou!" somehow she had returned to speaking to him and addressing him by his name. In her current state, Forastero didn't seem appropriate. Now she was the Forastero ... Forastera. Or whatever word in his language they ascribed to those who did not belong.

The Priestess threw a glare in his direction, though it may and most likely was off and landed on some poor, unsuspecting stone.

"You lied," she hissed, "again? I cannot be party to this. It's ...awful!"

Her usual colorful lexicon was presently failing her.

"And what do you mean if he is still alive?"
 
“Well, I did say we had coin, but didn’t think it to be beneficial for us in specifying the variety of coin!” he chuckled, “I think everything will work out.”

Maybe the sake had affected him more than he’d initially thought. Despite their circumstances, he was happy. And as she glared at his shoulder, the swordsman grinned like an idiot.

“He was already rather old. Old enough to be my grandfather,” Kishou grumbled and rubbed his chin. A light stubble had grown during their time in his homeland. “But I can’t say I could ever imagine him passing. Seemed like he would just-” he waved his hand in the air “-live forever.”

Kishou pushed off his knees and stretched his legs out to sit next to Amore.

“You would like him.”
 
For just a moment her jaw hung open in disbelief. How could he be so ... cavalier about their situation? It was dishonest and underhanded and wrong. She would never, never even consider doing such things. Under different circumstances she would have made the lands her shelter.

"I cannot believe this ... you kidnap me on a whim of a man who might still be alive and may or may not be able to help me?"

A long beat passed as she stared aside in disbelief and affront before yet another frown took over, "Why?"
 
Kishou quietly sighed out of his nose and leaned back on his hands. “I had a hunch.”

He looked at the cherry blossom tree and frowned. “He is a monk. He most definitely does not have the education of an Elbion professor nor the reputation of a famous Allirian apothecary, but it does not make him any less capable.”

The land they tread on was saturated with magic. The grass, the trees, even the soil and air. A strong connection to the world here meant a strong connection to magic, and Kishou never met another person with a stronger connection than the old monk.

“I’m sorry, but you will have to bare with this for a while longer.”
 
Her frown did not soften. In fact, his words may have driven it deeper.

"You're not sorry." She looked away, feeling at once incensed and grief-stricken. The sting returned to her eyes but this time it was hot with anger. By the light of the Father, her emotions were out of control.

"You're not."
 
Brows raised, mouth open, Kishou turned his attention back to Amore.

“Wh- I,” he stammered, “I am.”

He sat forward, suddenly agitated and snapped at the young woman. “You may think of me as a lying, selfish man, but I truly want to help you.”
 
"Then take me back!" Amore rounded back on the man, setting upon him eyes of molten silver, liquid in their pleading, "If you want to help me, take me back to Cortos, back to my family," the tears were back and she would not be letting him wipe them away this time. A bitter sob clutched her chest, "leave my fate to the Church and be free of me!"
 
Kishou’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he felt his temper rise further. Was it because she raised her voice at him? Maybe it was her tears. Or what she said?

“Is that what you want, then? To go home, and be pitied and sheltered for the rest of your life? Well, until you are healed, I refuse.”
 
"And what if I cannot be healed? What then?!"

The likelihood of that result was overwhelming, considering all those they had seen to prior. The odds of her recuperating any modicum of her former self were about as likely as her learning who her birth parents were.

"What if this redemption quest of yours is all for naught?"
 
“Well, then I’ll walk you up the stairs of the Church myself and they can have my head, or burn me, or do whatever else they please!” He dismissively waved his hand in the air. The alcohol and his temper betrayed his characteristic manner of carefully picking out his words. He pointed at Amore. A useless gesture. “But if you get healed, I will just laugh and say ‘I told you so’!”

Kishou didn’t care about the few sliding doors that were cracked open, the other guests peeking through to check on the late-night disturbance. He didn’t even notice.
 
"Is that what you think!"

Amore could not see the finger pointed at her but felt strangely incensed nevertheless. Her voice was growing louder. Perhaps it was his tone, or his flippant nature of this very sensitive subject. She was discovering a side of the man she would never have believed to exist - he was an ass.

"That I would let them burn you? Kill you?" By any right, it was a just punishment for what he'd done. Kidnapping a Priestess of the Solar Choir was nothing less than a death sentence. Despite her anger, there wasn't any part of her that wanted to see Kishou dead.

See being relative in terms of the current discussion.

"I would never!"
 
Their voices had risen to a volume that all of the rooms around the courtyard could hear their argument, and at that moment one set of sliding doors opened completely next to where the pair shouted at each other.

"Well, I-" Kishou's voice raised for no other reason than to match Amore's. He didn't know what angered him so; there was truly no reason for it.

"Um," A man's voice interrupted the swordsman, who twisted to find the voice's owner. A man of middling age, with the appearance of a trader. A woman shyly remained in the room behind him as he stepped out. "Is everything alright?"

It may have been the slight inconvenience of being interrupted that caused Kishou to explode. "Yes! Mind your own business!" And as he turned back to Amore, he had completely forgotten what it was he was going to say. And as he tried to remember, he only thought of his wrongdoings. Sitting there with Amore, eyes red from crying, and the stranger he just yelled at for no good reason, he began to feel very embarrassed with himself.

“Just,” he sighed, “leave us. We will quiet down.”

They probably would not stay quiet for long, though.

After the man reluctantly left and they sat in a tense silence, Kishou leaned forward, put his face into his hands, and groaned. Loudly. He slapped his hands down on the wood that they sat on. Were he not under the sake's influence, he would have left it at that.

"So, what, you would convince them to let me go?" What are you doing? "So I could at least leave with my life," Shut up, fool. "After having taken you from your friends and family, and utterly failing in finding a way to heal you? Why? Out of pity? Spite?"
 
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Amore very suddenly cowed at the sound of another person's voice. Oh dear, how loud had she been? She couldn't dare to think that they had disturbed the peace of others. She flushed deeply, turning away, shrinking, and quickly pulling the hood of her cloak back over her head to hide her shame.

How utterly embarrassing. Listening to the exchange in their native tongue didn't help matters either.

"So, what, you would convince them to let me go? So I could at least leave with my life,"

"...yes," she whimpered, lifting a hand to her eyes to shove away the resurgence of tears. Why couldn't she stop crying?!

"After having taken you from your friends and family, and utterly failing in finding a way to heal you? Why? Out of pity? Spite?"

"...no," she sniffed, her hand falling to the length of her fraying braid of crimson and attempting to smooth it to no avail. She needed a bath and a brush in the worst way. "Out of gratitude. You spent so much time - sniff - watching over me. Worrying about me. A bad decision doesn't undo that."
 
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Kishou's hands, which had curled into fists, relaxed. And the unreasonable anger he felt waned as quickly as it grew. He hadn't even noticed, until then, how the Priestess had shrunken in on herself, nor did he realize what he said - how he said it. Her kind words only made him feel more embarrassed, more foolish.

"No- wait," he stammered and reached out to Amore, but couldn't bring himself to lay a hand on her. "I didn't mean that."

He truly hadn't intended to make her cry at all.

"I," the swordsman paused only to swallow. Hard. "I'm sorry, Amore."
 
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"I didn't want them to stay on the island. I told them to return to the boats, to allow me to investigate the camp. So many people died...I could have saved everyone. If only he had listened, I'd still be able to see."

Somehow the regrets she'd bottled up, refused to acknowledge, were seeping out.

"I'd still have my magic."

A withering sigh sounded, shoulders rounding and sinking forward, "I just want to be back in my garden, drinking tea with you."
 
The swordsman frowned as she spoke. Diego. Hernan. While he hadn't spoken much with the older brother, "much" being when Kishou was administered punishment for the killing of the Anirian soldiers, he did form some type of short-lived camaraderie with Diego. It shocked Kishou when the brothers left on their next adventure, with not even so much as a goodbye.

"Your garden will always be there," he cooed, "I promise, healed or not, I will take you back home."

Kishou fell silent for a moment, and carefully took one of her hands into his. Sleeve once again pinched between his fingers, he raised it to her face. Gently wiped her cheeks and under her eyes.
 
Amore's mind slowly sifted through her recent memories, the sensation of the material on her cheeks reminding her of something else. It felt very similar to the kimono he'd worn to the gala. In spite of everything, that had been a wonderful evening.

A far cry from the evening they found themselves in now.

"You know, I'll never forget the ball."

He would have to forgive her drunken conversational driving.

"That was one of my favorite evenings ever."
 
Kishou sputtered a small chuckle and lowered his hand from her face. "Goodness," he said under his breath, "I had never danced before that. I remember feeling so stiff."

The swordsman gazed down at the wood between them, almost embarrassed. One of her favorite? Heat rose in the tips of his ears. His cheeks.

"The food was good."
 
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It was a shame she couldn't see him blush. She would have liked that. Might have smiled.

Instead she gave a sniffling sort of laugh and wiped at her eyes with her own hand, "You were wonderful. I felt so naked in that dress..." she'd never worn anything so revealing in her life. It wasn't proper for a Priestess.

"Oh, yes it was. The lemon cakes were divine."

But still nothing compared to their tea.

"In another life ... I think I would have liked to spend more time with you like that."
 
Relative to her usual attire, the dress certainly could be considered immodest. Kishou had felt like the luckiest man in the room that night. As far as he was concerned, he was.

"You were beautiful in it," he quietly blurted out.

Yes. The lemon cakes. The memory of Amore excitedly making him try a bite from her slice brought a small smile to the swordsman's face.

He gently squeezed her hand. "I think I would have, as well. So long as Mithri is not there to scold me."

What had he even been mad about? By now, Kishou had completely forgotten everything except for the woman in front of him. When had they last spoken like this? Elbion? Before then?

If it were up to him, he'd never let the moment escape them.
 
A choked sort of laugh sounded, hushed in the quiet of the night. Even a small smile ventured forth, "Mithri sees all. I think she may be scowling right now. Hm."

Amore's free hand tentatively reached out to the one that held her other, gently brushing past his knuckles to follow the bend of his arm up to his shoulder where her fingertips found the man's face. In moments of anger she thought she could remember exactly what he looked like, but the Priestess worried it was only a mockery of his true self. Something she imagined to paint him in the light of a beast, a heathen.

When she knew he was anything but. She remembered him being handsome in the same way a masterpiece of art was. Different and unique in almost every way from any other man she'd met. Perhaps that was simply the sake talking to her thoughts, yet as her fingers lightly traced the line of his jaw up to his cheek, Amore remembered how he had reminded her of the jagged mountains of a distant land. The lines of his face sharp, as if carved into that horizon.

Then, suddenly, the Priestess seemed to realize what her wandering mind and hand was doing and pulled it back, "I'm sorry, I just ..."
 
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“She needn’t scowl so much,” Kishou softly snorted. He had liked the attendant, though could say with confidence that sentiment was most likely not shared. Perhaps to say he had liked her was strong, but her presence had been entertaining, even if somewhat frustrating.

The small smile he wore fell as her free hand traveled up his arm. He took a shallow breath as her fingertips grazed his face, the strong contours of his jaw and up his cheek. He held his breath, as if he were at the mercy of a serpent that had travelled up his arm. Of course, he knew her to be anything but that.

Still, her actions were questionable. Though, he had one too many drinks to find the answer and instead let her fingers briefly explore, her touch like leaves floating atop a stagnant pond.

Kishou would be a liar if he said he was relieved that she pulled her hand away.

“No it’s...” he cleared his throat, “it’s quite alright.”

The tips of his ears were now searing. If it were winter, perhaps the swordsman would be steaming.
 
Even still, she'd managed to spook herself with the action. Touching another person without permission - physical contact from the Priests and Priestesses of the Solar Choir were almost strictly limited to blessings and divine justice. Kishou had, somehow, managed to place himself in the position of the Priestess' constant escort in her current state. Much as it ruffled the feathers of her attendants, Amore had found she preferred his company to those of the Church.

At the very least, Kishou's presence was warm and friendly and he provided a wealth of interesting stories and conversation. If Amore really thought about it, Kishou was the only person she'd ever been permitted to spend as much time with, or get to know so personally.

He was special, even if he did kidnap her.

Amore placed that wandering hand back on her lap and gently cleared her throat, "Could you ... take me back inside. The day has caught up to me."
 
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