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Tears shone in Rook's eyes as she cried—whole-body-wracking sobs that she could feel in her teeth—as she realized that it didn’t matter that she’d done her best, that she’d come to them anyway, broken, bruised, battered, and running on fumes…it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. She had failed. Again. It had been an impossible choice. Treviso or Minrathous. Her own Crows or the Dragons that she’d come to care for. It didn’t matter that she’d had seconds, maybe even less to make the choice. Didn’t matter that she’d already been tired. That she’d already made hard decisions. That she’d split up her team, trying her best to weigh their odds (not good) in either place. Sending her newest recruit (Davrin) in the place she didn’t choose. Hoping that his expertise (if he’d had any, she’d asked him to fight the blight and monsters, not dragons) would be enough to tip the scales in their favor. Alongside Lace Harding, who could not only track the legendary Dread Wolf, but could strike fear into the heart of her targets with a single nocked arrow. Never mind that they also had Neve Gallus and the Dragons with them. Mages, rogues, warriors…she had thought that Minrathous would be able to hold on, just until she and the rest of the team were able to join them.
In the seconds—it was still sickening to realize that—that she’d had to do the math on the choice…they should have been in a better place than the civilians of Treviso. Lucanis’ plea, though just as heartfelt as Neve's, had been right. Treviso had no army but the Crows. And once blight got into the water…If the Dragons had a slim chance Treviso had none.
She knew what Neve would believe. What the others would think. That she’d chosen Treviso because she was a Crow. Because despite all the horrors that they had heard, to say nothing of the hard work she had put in with each of them—Crows stuck together. But she would swear on whatever they’d like that she hadn’t. Her choice had been cold. Logical. And she had (at least she’d thought she had) been ready to bear the weight of her decision.
But then…then she’d seen Neve. Seen Tarquin. Seen the absolute devastation of the city and the Dragons' headquarters. They hadn’t had a chance. Neither city had. The façade of choice, was just that. A mirage. There had been no “right" choice.
Didn’t make it hurt any less.
She'd give herself ten minutes.
Ten minutes to absolutely lose it, then it would be time to put it away. There were things to do. People she needed to check on. She was the leader of this team, and though she hadn’t wanted to be, she would continue to do it—in ten minutes. To keep herself honest, she’d pilfer the kitchen for one of Lucanis' timers, set it, break down, and get back to business. Ten minutes was all she was allowed.
Through eyes blurred with tears that she did not let fall, she stumbled into the kitchen, hoping, praying that she would be alone. That the inhabitant of this space was occupied elsewhere, perhaps in his own grieving ritual, as now that she’d given herself a plan to her grief (and permission to carry it out) she didn’t think she could stop it. Not now. She would inevitably have to piece herself back together but not now.
However, luck wasn’t on her side today—if it ever had been—and the ghost (or perhaps Spirit was more apt) that haunted the kitchens was just there. Knife in hand, mindlessly prepping vegetables. She couldn’t say why her mind knew that this was his own form of “ten minutes”. But it was. Perhaps it was how he held the knife, perhaps it was that look in his eye, perhaps it was the fact that she had gone (thus far) unnoticed despite being fully in the kitchen proper.
“Lucanis?” her voice trembled and though it was barely above a whisper, it felt almost too loud in the thick silence of the room. Despite her previous thoughts of wanting to be left alone—she like could have snuck in, grabbed the timer and left, for as present as he was in his body—she couldn’t leave him. It wasn’t that she thought he'd maim himself, his knife work was impeccable, but just something in her (or perhaps him?) that sparked something of familiarity.
He jumped as if she’d shouted at him, and she winced in apology. “Rook,” he blinked owlishly at her as if he were trying to kick-start his mind to find the bits of the conversation he’d missed. Perhaps Spite was filling him in, or perhaps the demon was also wrapped up in grief as well. “You’re back.” Was she? His words, though they weren’t meant to, made her take a pause. While yes, she was back in body, her mind and heart was still in Minrathous. With Neve. Crying with her. Attempting to help despite being rebuffed. Perhaps something on her face gave her away or her silence in puzzling out what to say was too long because he continued, “How—how did it go? Is Neve...?”
This at least, she could answer. “It was—I was too late. City was absolutely ravaged by the dragon. They couldn’t get her to land. The Dragons are…Viper he was blighted and the rest have mostly scattered or been detained by Venatori. Neve…” here her voice broke and the tears she had been—no, still was holding back blurred her vision once more. She took a deep breath, without looking at Lucanis, trying desperately to treat this as a debriefing to Viago, as just a statement of facts, but she was failing miserably. “Neve made it out all right but she'll be staying behind. Indefinitely.” There wasn’t anything I could do. The sentiment went unsaid, though she was certain that he’d heard it just the same. Something in the gleam of his eye or the way he stepped towards her…he just knew. His hand hovered in the air above her shoulder like he wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how—or perhaps more accurately if such comfort would be welcomed. They were Crows. The things they were going through now—the feelings—there were those amongst their number that thought that a weakness. And to display weakness to another Crow? To another House? It was a shame. An embarrassment. Yet another mark to mar her name. But she wished…oh how she wished he’d initiate the contact. Yearned for a moment to just be two people. Not Crows. Not leader and team member. Not client and solicitor. Just two people. Two people who'd been through dragon fire and lived to tell about it.
“Rook,” he said again, so softly. Like an invitation. Something about the tone, or the genuine hurt mixed with understanding that darkened his coffee-colored eyes, or the fact that she’d never gotten those promised ten minutes…broke her.
All the tears she’d been holding back escaped her in a strangled sob. Her eyes burned, her chest heaved, her body shook with not only the measure of her grief—so many were lost not only in Minrathous but Treviso as well—but with exhaustion tinged with frustrated anger. There hadn’t been a “right” choice. There had only been a choice. One that arguably she never should have had to make. She hadn’t been prepared—if one even could ‘prepare’ for decisions like these. Ever since she’d taken—or been forced to take—this job everything had gone from bad to worse with no sign of letting up. Botched rituals. Escaped gods. The Dread Wolf stalking her dreams. Blight. Venatori. And now…dragons. She hadn’t had a break. It was no wonder she was stood there crying like she was a child.
It was a wonder Lucanis didn’t berate her for her weakness. It was no better than she deserved.
But he didn’t do that. Instead he’d placed his hands on her back, gently as if she might break, and guided her into a loose embrace. Her head resting somewhere around his shoulder. It wasn’t graceful but it was what she needed. He didn’t embrace her, whether for his own comfort or hers she didn’t know, but he did pat her back, simply letting her cry, murmuring half-heard words of comfort, seemingly unbothered by the tears soaking his vest.
He must have changed after the battle. Taking time to do at least that much while she’d rushed towards the city she’d abandoned. She hadn’t even had the presence of mind to do so. Wandering through the Elluvian to the kitchen for the timer still partially (or mostly) singed. He didn’t complain. Didn’t flinch away from the unexpected outburst. Didn’t brush her off as “too much” or laugh at her inexperience. He simply let her cry. Without a timer, until she was spent.
She didn’t know how long they’d stood there. All she knew was that eventually her sobs quieted to hiccupping breaths and her eyes were dry. Her head ached. She felt hot, whether because she was now in a place of mind to be embarrassed again or simply because she’d cried herself sick, she didn’t know. She should step away. Give him back his space. Apologize for the outburst and fling herself into the fade. But she was so tired. And he made no move to banish her from where she leaned against him.
“I know hearing this doesn’t make the pain any less…but you made the best decision you could.” She winced, thankful that her face was still hidden from him. Though she didn’t know how much farther she could sink today. “I…thank you, Rook—Zita. Thank you for choosing our city.”
Zita. She sighed. He knew her name then, the person she’d been before. Part of her wondered how he’d found out. Whether it was by his own means or if he’d asked around or if he’d been told. It wasn’t a secret, per se, too many people—Neve included—knew it already. And if he’d been told…who knew what else he knew. She’d thought in picking up the mantle of “Rook” Zita could be washed away. Her past mistakes, forgotten like dust on the wind. And perhaps that might have been so, if not for the need of the Demon of Vyrantium. If not her need to always, always, go back to the Crows. Still, hearing her name fall from his lips was enough of a shock to bring her back to herself, to force her to step away, to create what little distance she could between them. Zita, it seemed could rely on him for some measure of comfort, a professional courtesy perhaps, or a bargaining chip to be cashed in at a later date. Rook, could not. Clearing her throat and hopefully piecing herself back together, she brushed off his thanks, opting instead for the cold comfort of logic. “Treviso isn’t my city. It hasn’t been for a while. I simply went where I thought I was most needed. It was logic, not any love or sense of loyalty, that sent me there. I…miscalculated but I stand by my decision. And I'll carry the weight of it for the rest of my days.”
If he was shocked by her words or thought she was lying he didn’t say so. While most Crows, even those not from Treviso felt a blinding loyalty and sense of “home" to the city, she truly didn’t. Not anymore. If he wanted to know why (though perhaps he knew some of the reason, depending on who updated him on the state of affairs after he’d returned from the Ossuary) he didn’t ask. Didn’t do anything at all, save for thank her again.“Be that as it may, I thank you just the same. As for Neve and the Dragons…they'll understand in time.”
An undignified snort escaped her in response. Understand it in time. Sure. Like he would have if she’d decided differently? She didn’t bother refuting him. She didn’t have the energy for it. “I'll believe it when I see it. Until then, I suppose I'll make myself scarce and send the team along to help without me.” There was no way she’d be leaving them to pick up the pieces alone. Despite what Tarquin might say. Davrin and Lace would be welcomed, or at least as “welcomed" as they could be all things considered. Perhaps without the reminder of her (or Lucanis by proxy) then the surly Shadow Dragon could bring himself to accept help. Or maybe he’d spit on them too. Who knows. Tiredly, she ran a hand down her face, both to smear the evidence of her tears away and to clear her current thoughts. Those were worries for another day. Likely tomorrow. “Anyway…uh…thanks for listening I guess.” She paused awkwardly snuggling her feet, not sure how to escape this interaction with any sort of tact. “Just uh…send me your dry-cleaning.” There. That was the best she could manage. With that, she turned on her heel and left. She didn’t bother checking on the others—there'd be no hiding her upset and the last thing she wanted was more questions. She’d see to them and all her other worries tomorrow. For now, she would tend to her wounds, both physical and emotional, on her own and then (hopefully) collapse into sleep.