Who: Fever, Helena, and those threading with them What:January non-event things. When: All month. Where: Across the isle. Warning(s): To be noted in threads individually
"I've already butchered in this clinic, messes can be cleaned."
He says this with the straightest face in the world because it's absolutely true. Artemy knows the heart he'd pluck from her chest would be whole and fresh.
Her eyes stay on his face, focused and careful, before she sets the tea down and reaches behind her to draw out a thin dagger made of iron. It's a little strange, patterned after a feather as it is, but it's in exceptional condition.
He didn't actually expect her to take it that far. And he doesn't want her to. Really, what could would it do? How would it help?
"And what good will that do?" He replies, voice measured and calm despite an insane situation, "I can show you my heart, and you show me yours, but I'm certain I'd see beauty where you do not."
It's out, but she is absent any intent about the knife. Merely holds it, a device to make her point instead of severing flesh. Almost an accessory rather than a weapon. A knife on its own cannot harm anyone.
"What makes you want to hurt so badly?" Artemy retorts back, "Do you really think that will help? Furthermore, is that why you came here? To be rejected by me?"
Yes, he's really going there.
"If so, picking a butcher to condemn another butcher was a poor choice."
She has no answer to that, no good response, and she feels an awareness creeping back into her - the sensation that she might have gone too far again, let her inner thoughts speak when perhaps they should have remained in. Answering his questions seems more difficult than facing off against a whole host of mindflayers, and the only mercy that can be found is that everything's not being shouted down by the desire to kill, cut her way out of the situation.
(As if she could cut herself open with this knife in particular. It's like her fate would stay her hand.)
"It's what I am." His answer comes simply enough, "I inherited the birthright to cut open another person's flesh, but even with the birthright, it is still socially taboo where I come from. It is said to me derogatorily by others, but instead of shunning it, I embrace what I am."
He gives a small shrug. Artemy isn't one to brush off other people's words, nor is he one to take it too personally. It doesn't make him good or bad, it's simply what he was born to do, to cut flesh.
After another moment of silence, she tucks the knife away. Better to not have it out. Better not to forget it here, or forget herself, or run the risk of too much temptation.
"What happens to those who cut flesh without the birthright?"
"Truthfully, I do not know. It never happened until- well, until the plague happened, and at that point, they were typically killed, since they were men who had gone mad and needed to be murdered to keep others safe."
He speaks about it impassively, coldly, he indeed was the one who had to do a lot of those spree killings.
"No one killed each other or really did any sort of crimes where I'm from." He shrugs, "It was just that kind of place. That question would have likely been better suited for someone like my father."
"Regardless of if you believe or not, it is the truth." He says, "Though I wouldn't use the word 'peace' to describe it. Despite a lack of crime, we had our own problems. Bigotry being the main one, I would say."
Forcing the Kin into servitude and locking most of them away in a giant building to work until they die is not exactly the picture of peace in Artemy's mind.
"More surprising to me that there was no crime, then. Resentment, anger..."
But there's the catch she was looking for, waiting for.
"...you didn't answer my question." Even as she had sidestepped his. "What makes you so sure that if we saw each other's hearts, you'd see mine as worth saving?"
"My people, the Kin, take their taboos incredibly seriously." He says, "Cutting flesh indiscriminately is as good as harming Boddho herself, the earth, our god." He explains further.
"And to answer your question, it's because I already have seen your heart." Artemy says casually, "The way you conduct yourself, help others, your guilt. Those are symptoms of someone with a good heart, full and in tact. You gave Dankovsky a chance when he pushes everyone away. I knew right then and there you were someone worth knowing."
She cannot look at him. Cannot make eye contact, not with such sincerity given to cut her open, not with what he's saying. A good heart? Her? Many would disagree, her included. But nothing she says is going to change his mind, she knows. Nothing will shake his resolve - even if a storm howls and rages, it will not bring him down.
It would have been kinder to simply open her chest.
Absently, her hand goes to the charm around her neck, toying with it for lack of anything else to touch.
"He reminds me of someone I used to know. Someone I haven't seen in a long time."
Would it be kinder, though? Sure, it hurts. Sometimes love hurts. Sometimes being pulled out of the muck and being told you're worth something hurts. But eventually it doesn't hurt. Time soothes all wounds. But time cannot soothe a wound that's being held onto like a feral kitten grasps onto their mother.
"Hm?" Both eyebrows raise, "Now you've got me curious about who."
"His name is Astarion. He's proud, self centered, and not the best at getting along with others. When we met, he had a knife to my neck, and I had to push back and convince him I wasn't an enemy he wanted. But at the same time, he's brave, determined as anything, and no matter what he's said, I've never known him to leave anyone behind if they fell in a fight. He doubts himself, and he wants to make sure the world never does the same. His heart..."
There's a gentle fondness in her voice, as she speaks.
"He probably would strike anyone as an asshole. But I've never regretted inviting him to travel with me."
"It sounds like he was a very good friend to you."
Most people aren't perfect. Plenty of people come with a list of flaws. But it's the fondness, it's the way they treat you, the way they make you feel.
Artemy is thinking of his own asshole, one that Fever has had the pleasure of meeting.
"I would have liked to meet him. He sounds like the character."
"I wish you could meet him as well. He might get along with you just fine. But placing him near Dankovsky would be a game of chance - either they'd understand each other perfectly, or they'd be trying to tear each other's throats out."
That she'd be interested in seeing the results either way, she won't say.
"He'd absolutely hate being here. Even though I think it'd be good for him."
He chuckles over the idea of these two people meeting. Might be fun to watch. Though him and Fever both would probably end up wrestling their proverbial cats away from each other.
"It sounds like they'd understand each other alright. Understand each other so well that they can't stand one another." He knows if Dankovsky was put in front of a mirror, without any awareness that it was a mirror, he'd probably hate the reflection.
"Perhaps we'd have the joy of seeing how it works out someday? Unless, he is still of the living." Artemy quickly adds that last part, as an addendum. He's trying not to seem entirely thoughtless. No one REALLY wants their loved ones to die, after all.
"So he's living, but not in the same way as you or I are. But that doesn't mean he might not land on these shores, given how dangerous things could get back where I came from."
"Enough of it that I know he'll keep fighting, even if I'm not there."
She makes herself stop fiddling with the necklace, not wanting it to break. If the cord snaps, she can't wear it, and it'll be her fault.
"I know, I know, it's right and proper that him and the others are in that world, and it means I can believe they're alive. Just wish sometimes we could catch up one evening."
Though the tears have long since retreated from where they threatened, the melancholy remains. Of course it does. This is a melancholy conversation.
"I don't know-" He says, and it's so truthful. Part of him wants to stay, but part of him... the responsibilities he's left behind weigh on him. "I don't know if there's anything to go back to."
But is it worth taking the risk? He's under the assumption that everyone is dead, and in his mind, he's likely correct. The sand pest has probably taken everything from him. But wouldn't it still be his responsibility to go back to start everything anew? To rebuild his town?
It sounds like a lonely existence, but no one ever said duty wasn't lonely.
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He says this with the straightest face in the world because it's absolutely true. Artemy knows the heart he'd pluck from her chest would be whole and fresh.
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Her eyes stay on his face, focused and careful, before she sets the tea down and reaches behind her to draw out a thin dagger made of iron. It's a little strange, patterned after a feather as it is, but it's in exceptional condition.
"I could always use this blade instead."
Would he let her, is the question.
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"And what good will that do?" He replies, voice measured and calm despite an insane situation, "I can show you my heart, and you show me yours, but I'm certain I'd see beauty where you do not."
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It's out, but she is absent any intent about the knife. Merely holds it, a device to make her point instead of severing flesh. Almost an accessory rather than a weapon. A knife on its own cannot harm anyone.
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Yes, he's really going there.
"If so, picking a butcher to condemn another butcher was a poor choice."
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(As if she could cut herself open with this knife in particular. It's like her fate would stay her hand.)
"...why do you call yourself a butcher?"
Easier to ask than to answer.
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He gives a small shrug. Artemy isn't one to brush off other people's words, nor is he one to take it too personally. It doesn't make him good or bad, it's simply what he was born to do, to cut flesh.
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"What happens to those who cut flesh without the birthright?"
Those like her, she means.
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"Truthfully, I do not know. It never happened until- well, until the plague happened, and at that point, they were typically killed, since they were men who had gone mad and needed to be murdered to keep others safe."
He speaks about it impassively, coldly, he indeed was the one who had to do a lot of those spree killings.
"No one killed each other or really did any sort of crimes where I'm from." He shrugs, "It was just that kind of place. That question would have likely been better suited for someone like my father."
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Which might tell him something, it might not.
"Not without something underneath the surface to force it to be a certain way."
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"Regardless of if you believe or not, it is the truth." He says, "Though I wouldn't use the word 'peace' to describe it. Despite a lack of crime, we had our own problems. Bigotry being the main one, I would say."
Forcing the Kin into servitude and locking most of them away in a giant building to work until they die is not exactly the picture of peace in Artemy's mind.
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But there's the catch she was looking for, waiting for.
"...you didn't answer my question." Even as she had sidestepped his. "What makes you so sure that if we saw each other's hearts, you'd see mine as worth saving?"
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"And to answer your question, it's because I already have seen your heart." Artemy says casually, "The way you conduct yourself, help others, your guilt. Those are symptoms of someone with a good heart, full and in tact. You gave Dankovsky a chance when he pushes everyone away. I knew right then and there you were someone worth knowing."
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It would have been kinder to simply open her chest.
Absently, her hand goes to the charm around her neck, toying with it for lack of anything else to touch.
"He reminds me of someone I used to know. Someone I haven't seen in a long time."
It's a faint defense, and not a true one.
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"Hm?" Both eyebrows raise, "Now you've got me curious about who."
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There's a gentle fondness in her voice, as she speaks.
"He probably would strike anyone as an asshole. But I've never regretted inviting him to travel with me."
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Most people aren't perfect. Plenty of people come with a list of flaws. But it's the fondness, it's the way they treat you, the way they make you feel.
Artemy is thinking of his own asshole, one that Fever has had the pleasure of meeting.
"I would have liked to meet him. He sounds like the character."
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That she'd be interested in seeing the results either way, she won't say.
"He'd absolutely hate being here. Even though I think it'd be good for him."
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"It sounds like they'd understand each other alright. Understand each other so well that they can't stand one another." He knows if Dankovsky was put in front of a mirror, without any awareness that it was a mirror, he'd probably hate the reflection.
"Perhaps we'd have the joy of seeing how it works out someday? Unless, he is still of the living." Artemy quickly adds that last part, as an addendum. He's trying not to seem entirely thoughtless. No one REALLY wants their loved ones to die, after all.
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She says this as if it's perfectly normal.
"So he's living, but not in the same way as you or I are. But that doesn't mean he might not land on these shores, given how dangerous things could get back where I came from."
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It is meant as a complement. Artemy thinks he sounds great. Would love to watch him and Daniil fight about something that doesn't matter.
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She makes herself stop fiddling with the necklace, not wanting it to break. If the cord snaps, she can't wear it, and it'll be her fault.
"I know, I know, it's right and proper that him and the others are in that world, and it means I can believe they're alive. Just wish sometimes we could catch up one evening."
Though the tears have long since retreated from where they threatened, the melancholy remains. Of course it does. This is a melancholy conversation.
"But, well. It's better this way."
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"Maybe so, but it's only natural to miss people. You know that I do."
He doesn't even have to explain, he knows that she knows. He's talked about it enough already.
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"Artemy, do you intend on going back home, when the barrier is down?"
The question is a pathway into her real meaning, something she's long since accepted about herself.
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But is it worth taking the risk? He's under the assumption that everyone is dead, and in his mind, he's likely correct. The sand pest has probably taken everything from him. But wouldn't it still be his responsibility to go back to start everything anew? To rebuild his town?
It sounds like a lonely existence, but no one ever said duty wasn't lonely.
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