ᴀʟɪsᴀɪᴇ "ғɪᴛᴇ ᴍᴇ" ʟᴇᴠᴇɪʟʟᴇᴜʀ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fearlessly) wrote2019-09-08 05:43 pm
fearlessly) wrote2019-09-08 05:43 pm
batb part two: electric boogaloo
[ alisaie is not afraid of the woods.
truthfully, alisaie is not afraid of much at all - not the things that most are afraid of, at least. she does not fear the dark, or wolves, or bandits. she does not fear loud storms or knives in the dark of faerie tale monsters stalking haunted forests. what she fears is being along. grieving. losing those she loves.
and that is why she is here. alisaie has ridden tirelessly through the night, driving baptiste hard over the hard, wintry earth, her breath frozen in her lungs, the frigid wind stinging her cheeks and ears and eyes. alphinaud is her entire world. he is all that she has, all of her family that remains, and the thought of living her life without him, moving forward alone..
she would rather not move forward at all.
and so she will find him, regardless of he consequence, heedless of the potential danger, for without him, she has no life at all.
baptiste remembers the way, and though she can feel the tension and fear in the body of the horse beneath her, still they press on, hooves slamming hard into the earth, empty branches pulling at her hair, whipping over their heads. the forest seems to go on and on, deeper and deeper into darkness and mist, until at long, long last the space opens up, and a dark castle looms ahead, its twisted spires climbing into the gray sky, its gloomy edifice frowning down as she approaches the wrought iron gates choked with decayed vines.
alisaie is not afraid of much, yet still the sight of it sends a chill down her spine.
what is this place? she's heard of no such estate as this - a castle, so close to the village? how have there been no stories? no history? she has ridden less than a day to find her brother, not far from home at all, and yet.. there is nothing in their books about this great castle, no tall tales, nothing at all. it is a phantom. still, somehow it feels familiar to her.. like a memory of a dream's dream.
exhaling a shudder, alisaie slides from baptiste's back, leading him to an icy, overgrown brook for a drink, looping the reins over a strong, bare branch before at last she approaches the castle. it's silent, sinister, but she.. she has no choice. if this is where alphinaud is, then she must press forward. the rusted gates groan, splitting the silence, and alisaie approaches the great doors, the old rotten oak swinging beneath her weight as she slips carefully into the great, dark foyer. ]
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It's better this way, and he must make himself believe that, before the soft, weak parts of himself that linger at every corner of his being do not take hold and break him. The years have made a callous of his heart, have pried his humanity from him, have made him into a machine, instead of a man. By necessity, he has grown to be like this. By necessity, he must stay this way. Because to do anything else...
To hope for friendship, companionship, to hope that this spell might at long last be broken, only to have it to be dashed to pieces, would unmake him. So instead, it must be like this.
It's better this way. ]
You're right. It's what I am. A monster—
[ But his voice quivers over the word, and he hates it. He should not stumble over the truth, over what is immediately apparent, to himself and everyone around him.
Before he can say another world, however, there is a thunderous crash from somewhere in the castle, loud as cracking lightning, and Prompto turns swiftly with a start, his posture instantly on the defensive. ]
The doors.
[ He utters fearfully, and without another look back at her, he is moving swiftly from the room, heading to investigate the sound. ]
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but then their argument dissolves immediately, the loud crash like the crack of a whip, and alisaie startles, leaping up from her seat, reaching - by rote once more - for the rapier at her hip that is not there. ]
What in hells -
[ she hisses, but he is already sweeping from the room, and she follows immediately behind. was it truly the doors, or another sound, from another place? gods, she hopes it is not the doors, for that would mean that alphinaud has broken his silence, broken her deal, and what might befall them both if he has? ]
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But not for the reason she fears, as she will soon discover, hot on his heels. Even with all his haste, Prompto can only move so quickly in this lumbering, mechanical body, which has certainly seen better days. What could have happened? Did her brother betray their secret? Are they given away? He can only hope that for all their sakes, that is not the case. Panic lancing through his gears and bolts, he hoofs it to the entrance hall, only to see that the doors have indeed been forced open. Not by men, but by nature.
The storm that rages outside has pushed too hard against the aged doors of the castle, splintering the bolt that had locked them in place, leaving nothing to hinder the pressure of the wind. The hall already is filling with snow and bitter cold. No, no...this is bad, very bad. He has to protect the castle, he has to make sure everyone within it is safe and intact—
Oblivious to Alisaie's pursuit behind him, Prompto rushes towards the rattling, open doors, throwing his weight against one of them to attempt to force it shut, while attempting to grab the other as well.
It's going about as well as you'd think. ]
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.. but thankfully, there is no mob with pitchforks and torches behind it, nor is it her brother charging in on a misguided rescue attempt, but only a storm blasting the old doors open, frigid winds howling through the vaulting foyer. the cold cuts right to the bone, and alisaie inhales sharply through her teeth.
the wind is too strong, he is struggling, and meanwhile the foyer is in an uproar. the sound of the doors blasting open had not alerted only them, and the servants are running to investigate as well in a clamor of wood and brass and tinkling china, and the strong winds buffet them all. most are heavy and strong enough to withstand it, but some are quite small and delicate, and with a shout, alisaie lunges to catch a chipped teacup that flies, wailing, through the air, stuffing it into her collar for safekeeping. ]
Well, what are you all looking at? Help him!
[ she snaps, and with a start (and looking abashed), some of the heftier servants lumber forward to assist, using their heavy bodies to help push the doors back against the storm. but alisaie is not helpless. she certainly does not possess the strength of the knight, nor the weight of enormous wardrobes and cast-iron wood burning stoves, but she is not without tricks. performing magic without her crystal focus is not simple, but it is doable, and though the wind whips her hair and yanks her clothes and whistles in her ears, she centers herself, closing her eyes and extending her palms to touch the air with her fingers, calling it, coaxing it..
it's full of energy. storms feel like children, buzzing with kinetic force and vitality, and it is not easy to persuade the winds to calm. they do not want to listen, instead bounding around her, laughing in that high, trilling way that the wind laughs, but she keeps her focus and exerts her will without relent. the storm does not abate, not entirely, alisaie does not have that sort of power, not without help, but it does begin to ease, the winds lessening and drawing back with all the sulky petulance of a scolded child. ]
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...But he cannot do it alone. Nor must he, because not long after his struggle begins, the castle's denizens join him, coaxed on by Alisaie's encouragement. But even as they join him in forcing the wood and metal of their unusual bodies against the door, that still is not enough. The storm is hungry, eager and wild. How can they possibly hope to fight it off? What will happen when they can't keep the cold of the winter out of the castle? He will have failed.
But just when things seem the most bleak and it feels like his body will go slack against the door, the wind begins to...ease. At first he simply thinks it is simple dumb luck, that the storm chose to relent right at the moment when they needed it to, but it takes no more than a glance over his shoulder and the sight of Alisaie there, weaving magic in her palms, for him to understand what has happened.
She...helped them? She helped him? When she could have taken this opportunity to run through the doors to her freedom? Sure, there is a storm beyond, but surely she could take her chances. She is resourceful. But, no — instead she chooses to stay, and she chooses to help.
Slowly but surely, with Alisaie's aid, Prompto and the other enchanted servants are able to force the doors closed, while a resourceful armchair pulls over a plant of wood to use as a makeshift bolt. With the door secure once more, the crowd erupts with cheers amid the snowdrift that still remains on the floor.
They did it.
Sagging back against the door, Prompto takes a deep, rattling breath, and sighs in relief. ]
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speaking of which. the teacup in her collar wriggles free at last, hopping into her hand where it squeals a high thank you! before bouncing once or twice on her palm, and hopping to slide down the snowdrift with a howl of excitement.
alisaie sighs, dismissing the glyphs of light that still hover near her fingertips, and plants her hands onto her hips, surveying the damage. there's snow everywhere, and the wind has tossed about papers and (actually inanimate) items, leaving the foyer looking more disastrous than usual. ]
What a mess..
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...but gods, how long has it been since they have had such a coordinated effort to do something on that scale?
As the servants begin to dissipate once more, chattering excitedly to one another and thanking Alisaie as they go, Prompto catches his breath, and looks up at her once more.
She is...extraordinary, isn't she? He knew it wasn't uncommon for Elezen to wield magic, but still, he has never seen her do something like that before, and to force back a storm of such magnitude...and for the sake of them, for this castle.
The moment of silent lingers, and still he doesn't rise to his feet — he lacks the strength to. But at last, he speaks up. ]
...Thank you.
[ Without her, things could have gone much, much worse. ]
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It was nothing.
[ she might not entirely trust or like him, their relationship is certainly complicated, but there are innocents here, gentle, kind people(?) who would she would not see injured. what happens to them, if they break in this form? what if a cup shatters, or a chair is dashed to splinters? could they be repaired? would they be.. gone forever?
it isn't worth the risk to find out. ]
Now, are you going to get your big arse off the floor and give us a hand, or not?
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He...doesn't know what to make of her. But, gods...she is extraordinary. ]
Oh, I suppose...
[ There's as close to the sound of a smile in his voice as he can manage, and while he doesn't sound happy, exactly, he does sound...relieved. Lighter. ]