"That's the necromancer's job. Find a matching hand. Though," and thoughtfully, Doki sucks her teeth, making a show of considering this new possibility. "I could be mismatched."
She licks the back of her hand, clearing off a little smear of stew left behind by his spoon. It's good, for food on the road. Then again, stew is hard to get wrong. Her hand feels peculiarly stiff. She can't make a fist properly without it twinging a little, where the edge of the shard stands stiff against her flesh. Making a fist: such a thing to have taken for granted all this time.
Eventually, she'll get used to it, learn to compensate for it. Or lose it. The last is the most preferable. And the stupidest to trust in. Who's to say there will be any getting it out of her hand?
But that's the thing that Doki doesn't want to confront. The inevitable can't be inevitable. Not really. Not yet. Someday she'll need to face it, maybe. Pretend a little longer that quick wits and cleverness and their brand of business will get her out of this. There has never been a thing Doki couldn't get out of. There has never been a think that Aleksei couldn't get out of. Indomitable, that's them, forever and always.
"I've never liked Kirkwall," she announces, as she picks up her spoon again. "We've been there, haven't we? I remember it smells of garbage and fish. Smells worse than you, and that's saying something. What business have you heard about?"
Mismatched. Aleksei's expression creases, guilty concern writ inescapably large for a moment before he forcibly wrenches those emotions away. Doki won't appreciate that. He'll have to keep that to himself.
It would be easier if it had been him in the cart. But that isn't what happened.
"No one likes Kirkwall," Aleksei confirms without hesitation. He hadn't much liked cities anyway. Too closed in, too many people, not enough ways out to be convenient. Not that any of that mattered now. They'd have to get used to it.
He has the urge to reach over and cover Yevdokiya's hand with his own. If this were only as simple as putting a glove over her hand—
"I hear it is filled with pirates now," He continues, stirring his stew, voice pitched low. "And other questionable folk. Could be good for us. Perhaps they are not so concerned with what we do when we aren't being useful."
His voice trips delicately over useful. What is useful to these people? Aleksei does not care to find out.
"Maybe we learn how to fence what we steal. Pirates are good for that, aren't they?"
It would have made certain escapades of their easier in the past. How often can they send their sweet mother a beautifully carved vase when they'd all rather have coin?
In many ways, it's deeply unfair that Aleksei knows her so well. It makes it especially hard to lie to him--not that Doki has occasion to lie to him so often--and, worse, it makes him especially keen on ways to get to her. For example: he knows that she loves pirates. So there's a brightness to her eye when she looks around at him, and she doesn't bother trying to disguise it. Why would she? He already knows.
"Bastard," she says, and grins. "Now we've got to go. We had to, before, because of," and Doki flashes her hand at her brother again, just because, a kind of petty small revenge. If he's going to get to her by appealing to things she likes, she'll needle him right back. "But now we've double got to go. But you knew that already, didn't you."
Brat, he thinks, affectionate instead of annoyed. It's easier to pretend nothing's wrong when this conversation takes shape as if they are planning to go sight-seeing, nothing more.
"I knew there was something to make our exile bearable."
Because it is an exile. Perhaps they have not been home in many months, but they had the option to go if it pleased them. Now, Aleksei can't tell whether or not they'll have any say in where they go. Or worse, if he would, and Doki wouldn't.
"We'll get you a glove," he promises, which would at least make it easier to pretend nothing had changed. "And we will befriend all their pirates so when their war is over they'll let us sail with them."
When the war is over. What a big statement. Aleksei hadn't spared a single thought for the war. Is it even close to being over?
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no subject
She licks the back of her hand, clearing off a little smear of stew left behind by his spoon. It's good, for food on the road. Then again, stew is hard to get wrong. Her hand feels peculiarly stiff. She can't make a fist properly without it twinging a little, where the edge of the shard stands stiff against her flesh. Making a fist: such a thing to have taken for granted all this time.
Eventually, she'll get used to it, learn to compensate for it. Or lose it. The last is the most preferable. And the stupidest to trust in. Who's to say there will be any getting it out of her hand?
But that's the thing that Doki doesn't want to confront. The inevitable can't be inevitable. Not really. Not yet. Someday she'll need to face it, maybe. Pretend a little longer that quick wits and cleverness and their brand of business will get her out of this. There has never been a thing Doki couldn't get out of. There has never been a think that Aleksei couldn't get out of. Indomitable, that's them, forever and always.
"I've never liked Kirkwall," she announces, as she picks up her spoon again. "We've been there, haven't we? I remember it smells of garbage and fish. Smells worse than you, and that's saying something. What business have you heard about?"
no subject
It would be easier if it had been him in the cart. But that isn't what happened.
"No one likes Kirkwall," Aleksei confirms without hesitation. He hadn't much liked cities anyway. Too closed in, too many people, not enough ways out to be convenient. Not that any of that mattered now. They'd have to get used to it.
He has the urge to reach over and cover Yevdokiya's hand with his own. If this were only as simple as putting a glove over her hand—
"I hear it is filled with pirates now," He continues, stirring his stew, voice pitched low. "And other questionable folk. Could be good for us. Perhaps they are not so concerned with what we do when we aren't being useful."
His voice trips delicately over useful. What is useful to these people? Aleksei does not care to find out.
"Maybe we learn how to fence what we steal. Pirates are good for that, aren't they?"
It would have made certain escapades of their easier in the past. How often can they send their sweet mother a beautifully carved vase when they'd all rather have coin?
washes up on the safe shores of this thread hello
In many ways, it's deeply unfair that Aleksei knows her so well. It makes it especially hard to lie to him--not that Doki has occasion to lie to him so often--and, worse, it makes him especially keen on ways to get to her. For example: he knows that she loves pirates. So there's a brightness to her eye when she looks around at him, and she doesn't bother trying to disguise it. Why would she? He already knows.
"Bastard," she says, and grins. "Now we've got to go. We had to, before, because of," and Doki flashes her hand at her brother again, just because, a kind of petty small revenge. If he's going to get to her by appealing to things she likes, she'll needle him right back. "But now we've double got to go. But you knew that already, didn't you."
belatedly offers a towel
"I knew there was something to make our exile bearable."
Because it is an exile. Perhaps they have not been home in many months, but they had the option to go if it pleased them. Now, Aleksei can't tell whether or not they'll have any say in where they go. Or worse, if he would, and Doki wouldn't.
"We'll get you a glove," he promises, which would at least make it easier to pretend nothing had changed. "And we will befriend all their pirates so when their war is over they'll let us sail with them."
When the war is over. What a big statement. Aleksei hadn't spared a single thought for the war. Is it even close to being over?