Revolting Desires

[rassafraggin]

Seated on the floor, her back against the Dancer's wooden frame, her shoulder leaning against Merrisol's strength. Her legs are drawn up against her chest, one arm looped about them. Her other hand is in Merrisol's, "So. After I was grabbed and lifted up, I remembered that Wynter tried to see what was through the window in the sky. I let them carry me up until I could see what was up there." Her voice trails off as her gaze leaves his face. She had been looking at him until then but now her eyes slide from him to focus off in the middle distance where her distraction lies. Her skin grows pale and a faint tinge of sweat begins to gleam at her brow.

The floor rolls slowly beneath them, the rhythm of his breathing keeps pace, and the cyclical brush of his thumb over her hand holds counterpoint, all in an unconscious bid to soothe as the tale approaches that moment of trauma. He's listening intently, brow furrowed in concern and the frustration of hearing something that is long past the point of intervention. All Kerf can do now is be right here, beside her, while she relives it in her mind. He leans his head forward a little to observe her preoccupied glance away, and waits.

Maggie knows that she needs to tell him. Needs to be able to talk about it. Her eyes are haunted, hunted. She murmers, "I was recognized, Kerf. They knew me. That is why they plucked me from the crowd. I... almost forgot that. We were fighting and..." But that is going backwards, not forwards and, while important, it is not the point. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she glances down to where her hand rests in his. It is life she seeks and finds in his quiet support. Looking up again, she shares a faint smile just for him. She is not broken. It dies and she steals herself to finish it. "I got a peek. I saw... them. At first, I thought that, maybe, if I could talk to them, explain that Amber isn't what it was under grandfather. Maybe we could come to an agreement. But, then I saw their intent, Kerf. Their desire." A long shudder slides through her and she tightens her hand in his, her arm across her knees. "It isn't revenge. It is domination. They will begin with Rebma." Her eyes abstract again, but she does not entirely lose focus. Blinking, she reclaims his face to keep going. "They want to poison the sea. Kill everything and everyone that lives there. Round up those who survive. Then, they want to drown all land beneath the dead sea. Until Kolvir's peak is all that is left of land anywhere. They want to be as gods to whatever life survives." Now that she is talking, she can't seem to stop. Maybe it is for the best. "They want to gather anyone alive on Kolvir and work them, breed them. Until they are ready to..." She swallows, "To bring them to their place of power and torture them, Kerf. Before they eat them. I thought in a flash that I could set fire to their entire group. You know. Just incinerate them. But there was too much. I realized in a flash that I could not fight them alone and did not want them to have me. I chose and cut my hair. I fell. Ascian caught me." She sighs, unaware that angry tears for those beings already under their sway trail down her cheeks.

Merrisol's gaze brightens rather than clouds over from her growing anguish, as tears come in sympathy but do not spill over. He nods to keep her going, to get it all out of her, even if it isn't really taking the horror and pain away for good. Anger comes in little sparks of impulse as the level of devastation is described, but his other side is also in play, tempering his reaction with cool rationality. His eyes drop to the chopped ringlets at the end, however, and that incites a larger surge of outrage, welling from deeper within. "Damn them," he growls quietly, reaching up to catch the lead teardrops before they run down her jaw, with his fingertips. He leans in, to kiss the rest away, tenderly. "But I'm so glad you escaped them, beloved. That vision..." He takes in a long breath through his parted lips, looking off, then scans her face while calming his own features. "It's nothing more than that. A vision. A lot of... impossible things.. would have to transpire, for that to become reality."

Maggie nods as though his exclaimation matches her inner thoughts. Damn them indeed. The loss of her long hair? Will bother her in a few days, then again on and off for a while. The shudder that periodically ripples through her fades to a faint shiver as his touch sooths some of her tension. The gentle kisses help too. Her hand remains within his, but as he continues, the despiration in the grip lessens. Wet lashes, dark, red-touched black, flutter as she listens, almost absorbs his words. A shuddering breath is taken in with his scent and wisdom with it. "Do you suppose so? That is was only a vision? I mean, it must have been..." SOmething deep within eases as a coil of terror begins to relax. He wins a real smile then, though watery and hopeful, "That is an encouraging thought, beloved."

Fortunately, as he hasn't taken a straight razor to his face in some time, the golden beard that has framed the lower half of his face is more fuzzy than bristly. It ripples as he smiles back, relieved beyond pleasure to have diminished the despair which had her in its clutches. "I am certain of it, Maggie. Dreams of revolt are rarely what you'd call reasonable." The easing of her grip gives him the opportunity to swap his other hand in, while bringing his arm back to loop around her shoulders... without clouds or braids of autumn red to wade across, that move is easier than before, if realized with a pang.

The wave of gold that moves so beautifully with his smile is enchanting and her own grows to watch it. "I like the beard, Kerf." Okay, so that part is a whisper, almost unspoken. There. Drawing a deeper breath, she lowers her head to give him room to maneuver his arm around her. The ducking is habitual and, without her locks, not as necessary. It registers on some level, but she is not going to process that just yet. Settling a bit more surely against him, she nods in agreement with his assessment, though she does not try to answer verbally. As more of her anxiety is teased away by his nearness and his marvelous rationality, she slowly comes to realize just how tired she has become. Comes of trying to sleep while holding onto that mess. Her head leans to rest against his shoulder and she turns into him a bit. "Thanks for listening, Kerf. My only love." Trailing off, her hand eases in his a bit more as a deeper sleep than she has had in a while takes hold.