When It All Falls Apart [Wingy!]

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For once, Mizuko wasn't baking. Her shop wasn't open; she wasn't bustling around talking to customers, laughing, and good-naturedly hitting people with baguettes. Instead, she was sitting on the street, staring sightlessly at the charred wall in front of her. It wasn't even a wall anymore. It was broken, crumbled - a heap of wood and stone, with nothing usable left in it. It wasn't her bread she missed, or the brightly checkered cloths that covered some of the shelves and lined baskets full of food. Bread didn't matter that much.

Human lives did matter. The fire had claimed some of them, and although the baker's heart broke for every hurt or dead man and woman, none of them held a candle to the people that had been in her life for so long. Her bakery had gone up in flames, torched by someone dropping a torch near one of the wooden walls. Maybe they hadn't noticed, or maybe it had been arson. Either way, the bakery was gone now. But, although that rent her heart in two as it was, it was nothing to the lost lives of her parents. They'd come to help put out the fire - they'd been the ones to kick in the door and rush upstairs to save their daughter. Mizuko had been sound asleep, hearing nothing. They'd ushered her out, but then had gone back to save the shop, carrying buckets of water inside and pouring them on the flames. Someone else had held the young baker back while her parents had stayed in the shop. Other people threw more water on the flames, but that didn't matter. Still others splashed water on the roofs of the surrounding buildings, saving them from the wrath of the flames.

But even though her parents had come out of the building alive, they hadn't stayed that way. They'd been inside too long, inhaled too much smoke, along with the other people, Mizu's friends, who had also wanted to save the little bakery. All of them, all five people, had inhaled too much smoke, and died a little while later, poisoned and suffocated by the fumes.

She hadn't cried then - not for her bakery, not for all the things she'd lost, and especially not for the people who had been lost to her. She hadn't cried at the funeral, either, though she hadn't been able to speak to anyone who told her they were sorry for her loss. She didn't care about any of that. Her family and friends hadn't been lost. They'd been murdered by whomever had dropped that damn torch, killed by someone who was either careless or cruel. Mizu didn't want to cry, didn't want to take the chance that the arsonist might come back, might see her mourning.

But it was inevitable. Mizuko couldn't hold in her emotions, not for very long. And now, sitting here on the cobblestones, staring at the burnt wreckage of her bakery, and the representation of the five people she'd lost, there was no holding back the tears. First one, then two, slid down her cheeks, and the baker buried her face in her arms, choking on the tears. Someone stopped to touch her on the shoulder, saying quietly that he was sorry. Mizu lunged to her feet, whipped around and shoved him away. "Go away!" she screamed, "don't talk to me!" Couldn't he see that she wanted to be left alone? That she wanted to mourn her loved ones in peace?

The man left, mumbling about only wanting to help. Not caring what he thought, the baker moved closer to the wreckage, and then knelt in what used to be the entryway, scooping up handfuls of greasy ash. She could clean up later. For now, it didn't matter, and she wrapped her arms tightly around her legs, sobbing and burying her face in her knees. More people stopped to try and console her, but she ignored all of them. They didn't matter. They knew why she was crying; they should all know that it wasn't worth trying to comfort her. Nobody could touch her, here in her little black haven of death and soot and tears. She had nobody left. Not her family, certainly. She'd no lovers, and her friends knew to leave her alone and let her grieve, because she'd only drive them away. There was only I'dou... but she'd driven her off over a month ago. No chance of her coming back - not after the things Mizuko had said to her, demanded of her. She deserved what she was getting. She'd lost her bakery, her parents, and everything she loved. Even the freezing air on her bare arms was welcome. Maybe it'd kill her, too, so she could be buried next to her mom and dad. She doubted it, though - but she hoped it would at least numb her, and numb the grief that was so sharp it was physical.

[winged]

The news had come from a suspect source, so the rider was first inclined to disagree merely on the basis of disagreement with the individual who spouted it. There’d been a fire in Sayaie, completely incinerated a shop and killed a handful of people in the process of extinguishing it. What a pity, it’d been the best place to buy bread for several stone throws. That sort of thing didn’t happen – and they weren’t discussing anyone she knew. She didn’t claim to know anyone back in Chydyn, so certainly it hadn’t been a single familiar face that had so unfairly been scorched off the face of the planet, in another city, where she’d spent only a short amount of time a dog’s age ago.

And besides, that Eyrie vagrant was a liar with a nasty reputation on their hands. She’d politely expressed her dismay that more lives were lost to the whimsy of fate, averted her eyes and pressed on with her day. There were more important things to be done. She was a Lieutenant now, didn’t they know? She was expected to be prompt and punctual and never lose her cool in public places. So why did they bring up such unexpectedly upsetting news when all she wanted was a cup of something hot and steaming to thaw her frozen outsides and insides? Now all her insides were concerned about were the dozens of nervous flips they performed so flawlessly, to a standing ovation from the quickened pulse that throbbed loudly in her ears, and the sweaty palms clutched with perplexing force into angry and defiant fists at her sides.

Her hot cup of something was left steaming on the table, absentmindedly abandoned as I’dou shifted her plans, rearranged them so that it made perfect logical sense that she was now standing in her eyrie, with a mouth twisted as sourly as her guts while Laraph gazed over in concern. What’s wrong? A well-rehearsed line, delivered almost as a second thought as the Gray rearranged her forelimbs into a more inviting resting place for I’dou to curl up on. That was the thing, now. Ever since she’d come back from that faraway place Laraph had found herself recipient of a reinvented affection, curiously outsourced from some well or spring that had dug itself out from beneath the avalanche of misery that bowed the slim woman’s shoulders.

The Gray had relished it, even while realizing that it wasn’t all intended for her. All that lively chatter was muddled and confused and came spilling out like a muddy geyser. Happiness inflected with misery cut short by satirical amusement. Laraph sat in her gentle, loving way and listened to all of it – she crooned where appropriate, lowered her massive head to fix a whimpering I’dou with one warm brown eye as she reassured and shared the emotional burden. She was lonely, why had she messed up? It didn’t matter anyways, she belonged here. It was a lesson to be learned, and after a while she stopped hating the baker; stopped hating the simourv that was both part of her and not.

Time had appeased the rider, scabbing over the freshness of the wound and forcing her to see the experience through a diluted lens. It all made sense, so she needn’t worry about the repercussions. Emotions were harder to sweep under the rug – those bubbled over at the most curious of times, startling and in some cases frightening the targeted man or woman who was suddenly face-to-face with a stupidly grinning gray rider who was anything but the moody grouch they’d all come to know and politely discredit.

Now those emotions were in a right bind, painful twinges symptomatic of the heartbreak sitting just around the bend. “It was just another shop, at least it wasn’t koxi.” I can’t deal with this. “I’m sure I’d just be in the way, I have responsibilities here.” I don’t want to see her grave. I can’t face another grave. “It wasn’t hers anyways, and she doesn’t want to see me.” I betrayed her, didn’t I?

Laraph listened thoughtfully, her gaze darkened with sorrow at the thought of more dead. Death was a disheartening subject, one the Gray rarely dared to opine on. She was a creature naturely bred to hope and prosperity, her determination strengthened as she came to understand its devastating effect on others. Naiveté she slowly shed, as feathers painfully plucked – yet only a fraction of the pain Death dealt. And all the more reason to aspire to the lofty promise of happiness. She wouldn’t be dragged down, she hadn’t the leisure. They hadn’t the leisure. They weren’t part of the Eyrie… She began slowly, as if selectively picking and choosing which comeliest words to use to encourage and guide. …but they're still under our protection. We should see to them. She could feel her rider’s hesitation, could trace its origins and plainly iterate exactly why and how I’dou felt the way she did. It was a clarity she hadn’t been privy to before, and it was exactly the sort of nudge the Gray needed to influence her own feelings on the matter.

It wasn’t what the rider had wanted to hear, but as opposed as she was to the idea of facing another emotional dead end, she realized she required the closure. And under the somehow false and partially well-intended pretense of ambassadorship, she dressed to the ridiculously ornate T. Down to the insignia that brandished her rank like some hierarchal blade. Her graduation present was slung at her hip, her exterior polished to precision even as her hands shook tremulously as she took hold of Laraph’s harness, hoisting herself with a few fumbles here and there into position astride the queen. There her fingers buried themselves comfortingly into the peripheral warmth of the simourv’s feathers, as Laraph briefly announced their departure (lest they be missed) to concerned parties before taking flight towards Sayaie.

It was a dismally quiet flight, heavy with unspoken expectations. It was tougher still to find an acceptable place to land once they’d arrived, and before I’dou had dismounted properly there was a small crowd of surprised and open faces clustering around the Gray. Laraph took the attention in good stride, chirping hellos while I’dou wandered (with a nudge from Laraph) away from the masses. She stuck out like a sore thumb, and one given a wide berth as well. It was a ridiculous mockery of the relative friendly anonymity she’d enjoyed beforehand. But she did admit, it gave her the room she both desired and required. One step here, a short stroll down this side-street. No, too far. Her heart was back to its relentless pounding as she frustratedly retraced her steps, trying to remember how she’d found Mizu’s little shop. What would she even say, if she found her alive? She’d probably moved somewhere else – this would all be for naught. But at least she’d be alive, maybe. Hopefully.

Oh. In the midst of all her semi-frantic ruminations, I’dou had haphazardly stumbled across the site of what had once been that quaint little shop. It was as clear a difference as night and day, and for a moment the rider had to fight back the hot bile rising in her throat as she stared silently at the wreckage of another memory. The skeletal remains, charred and blistered, seemed bleak proof that nothing had survived – until she spotted movement from the corner of her eye. A huddled figure there, in what must have once been the entrance. A disgraceful and pitiful sight, and the misery molded into the limp figure crouched there brought back unhappy memories of her younger self, crouched over the deathbed of her sickly father.

Sympathy softened her miserably pinched face, then, a sense of commiseration. I’dou knew only half of what the girl likely felt – she’d only experienced half the happiness, too. And maybe it wasn’t her place to interfere; but she was here anyways, wasn’t she? Her feet were moving of their own accord, anyways, fueled by the same such spark that Laraph thrived off of. It was pretentious to presume she represented any sort of hope, to expect to be received with gratuitous relief. Too bad, she was doing it anyways, shoring up the flimsy walls that had recently been torn down on the basis of her own sometimes shaky belief. Laraph was really rubbing off on her now – Mizuko had asked for it, too much Gray in too little time.

“Don’t you think it’s a little chilly to not wear a coat?” Working her backwards tactics, I’dou settled on the single most inane detail she could comment on. No sincere apologies here, no sir. She was too dense for such tender emotion – came with the territory, being a pathological liar and an unsavory sort all around. She was terrified of facing what might come, and she teasingly goaded fate even as her feet shook, her arms shook, her voice shook (just a little though). Just smack her, let the rest of that unpleasant afternoon play itself out with a round smack about the head. She deserved it, being such a pompous git in her nice clothes and superiority on display. What an arrogant asshat, with that weak smile - how dare she be so selfishly happy to see her, even under these depressing circumstances. How dare she.

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Mizuko couldn't stand to look at the ruins of her shop anymore, but neither could she leave. Instead, she buried her face in her arms, sobbing as though her heart had broken. It had, of course. She'd lost her mother, father, shop and some of her friends all in one fell swoop. Whose heart wouldn't break? The baker thought that she'd like to meet them, and exchange her own frail organ for theirs. It'd be nice, she thought, to feel no pain. To slough off all the emotions of the world as if they were raindrops.

Rain would be nice. Or maybe snow, so that she could fall asleep in it and not wake up again. Maybe it was a dark thought to be thinking, but Mizu didn't care. What was darkness when your life looked like her little shop did now? A shambles, burnt to the ground. The roof had fallen in, and all of her bright rugs and pillows were gone, too. Perhaps it was a stupid thing to think about, but remembering those brightly-coloured things hurt less than remembering that her parents were gone now. The baker latched onto the lesser pain, trying to subdue the greater one, and cried for her possessions instead of her parents because it hurt less.

She wanted to scream. And, because there was no one to stop her and no reason not to, Mizuko did scream: a throat-tearing shriek of such rage and loss it broke her heart again to hear herself. Everyone on the street stopped to stare at her, but the baker either didn't notice or didn't care. One person stopped to ask what was wrong, and she ignored them, back to letting the tears fall unhindered down her cheeks.

Some time later, another voice wended its way into her consciousness, forcing its way past the hard, cold grief that sat there. "No," she said without looking up. She didn't immediately recognize the voice, and so she continued: "Wish it were colder. Finish off what's left of what used to be here." Her voice was bitter, harsh and cold, and even Mizuko almost didn't recognize it. What did it matter, really? She didn't recognize herself anymore, so why should anyone else be able to do it?

Wait a moment. She paused, running the quaint comment back through her head. The dark eyes narrowed. That couldn't be right. Her brain was playing tricks on her, warping people's voices to sound like those of others. I'dou wasn't here. She was in the Eyrie, with her grey... wasn't she? Unable to stop herself, Mizu let go of her legs and twisted around. As soon as she caught a glimpse of the slender figure, the baker couldn't stop herself. She spun around, climbing to her feet, eyes searching hungrily for that familiar face, and then as soon as she saw it, her face went white. "I...I'dou?" She hadn't really believed herself when she'd recognized the voice. Now she had no choice but to acknowledge that she'd been right, that she hadn't been hearing things, and that she had missed I'dou a lot more than she'd thought. Even seeing her again ripped her heart open, just as it had when the rider had walked out the door of her shop. With an anguished sob, Mizu dropped to her knees, and buried her face in soot-covered hands, sobbing noiselessly. She couldn't help it. She'd lost everything, and now I'dou had returned - and she had no idea why. Had the rider returned for her? Or for something else? Probably something else, she concluded. She'd been horrible to I'dou last time they'd met - attacking her, trying to make her offer answers about why she'd lied. There was no way she could be here for her. Not with the problems they'd had last time.

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[winged]

It was a bone chilling shriek that stayed I’dou’s hand as the woman stepped forward to provide some comforting touch. Wincing as the blood curdling wail echoed painfully in her ears and disrupted her own thoughts, the gray rider recovered as the piercing note faded into the uneasy quiet of the cold, wintry day. She made no ascerbic remark on the irritation factor. Sympathy made her softer than she perhaps ought to have been.

The girl’s first words were unsettlingly null and void of the joy and mirth I’dou had characterized Mizuko as embodying. It lent a direr sense to the situation than was already present, and I’dou’s mouth twisted unhappily as a result. By the time Mizu had dragged herself through her self-promoted fog of misery to swivel and stare disbelievingly at what stood abashedly before her, I’dou looked mighty unhappy. Once she locked eyes with Mizuko, however, she forced a less disappointed mask into place. Not for the sake of protecting herself and her own interests, mind you, but the other’s. Mizuko didn’t so much require truth as comfort, at this moment.

And that comfort came from the bottom of I’dou’s miserably torn heart, scraping the bottom as it were. “Not going to just sit there and gape at me, are you? C’mon, you’ll catch yo—a cold out here.” Wisely foregoing the adage she’d begun to unthinkingly spout, I’dou reached out to hook one helping hand under one of Mizu’s limp arms, tugging firmly with the intention of helping to hoist the stricken baker back on her feet.

She resisted the urge, however, to clamp the woe-begotten woman in a vice-grip hug. She tamped down the relief she felt at seeing Mizuko alive and in one piece, if not exactly well. All that grief that had built up over the trip here, it all evaporated like dust on the wind, lost in happy truth that she was still alive, still here. Still available to save. There was still a chance, still an opportunity to prove that it hadn’t all been a lie, that it was a misunderstanding.

And she would. She’d be a savior and a repenting sinner, but first she’d be an intervening force. And that didn’t call for hugs and simpering and crying. That called for action, for the sake of action. Mizuko wasn’t going to get herself out of here, it was up to her. Ms. Prince Charming on a silvery steed. “I’m cold, so I KNOW you are, let’s get something hot to drink.” There had to be a functional pub somewhere around here, yeah? “Know anywhere good?” She kept a conversational tone, glancing around with vested interest. They could settle things once they were away…from here.

[‡§åkørü‡]

Mizuko hadn't even known that I'dou was standing there when she'd screamed. And it did make her feel better - a little bit. There was something about the way her voice tore her throat raw that let her feelings go, releasing them just a little so she had less of them to deal with. But soon enough she was back to merely sobbing. At least, she was until she heard that voice behind her, and responded in her own toneless one, feeling as if she'd already been buried with her parents.

It was then, of course, that she realized whose voice it was, and hauled herself around to catch a glimpse of a face she hadn't seen in over a month. Seeing it crippled her, though, taking the strength out of her knees so that she dropped down and did her best to forget I'dou's face, burying her own in sooty black hands. No rest for the wicked, though: a hand caught her under one freezing arm, and she rose, looking rather dazed. She'd swiped her tears away with one wrist, and now had soot smudged across her cheeks, almost like grim war paint. Her face, however, was anything but funny: blotchy from crying, with reddened eyes that still threatened tears. Even I'dou's touch couldn't bring a smile to her face, but at least she didn't try to reach out and hit her.

If she'd intended to hit the rider next time she saw her, that desire had evaporated. It was gone, completely gone, and Mizuko had no real intention of hitting anybody. Not so soon after her home had been burned down. Even the thought of violence sickened her at the moment, as if her parents had been beaten to death instead of dying of smoke inhalation. Whomever had dropped that torch was a murderer, a killer, and although she never wanted to meet them, if she had, Mizu would have kicked them in the face if she could.

But not I'dou. She didn't want to hit I'dou. As a matter of fact, when she finally rose to her feet, the baker stretched out both arms and, in the middle of the rider's sentence, stepped forward and wrapped them around her. Mizu didn't bother to speak for a long time, instead standing there quietly, her head resting against the greyrider's neck. She squeezed I'dou tight against her chest, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of the leather riding gear. She didn't care about getting a hot drink. And maybe she should have tried to stay angry, but there was no being angry with anyone one cared about when one had just lost one's parents, and one's home.

Nuzzling against the rider's neck in a wordless apology, Mizu hugged her close again. She couldn't hold a grudge - her emotions didn't stay that long, choosing instead to fleet away on a breath of wind... such as the one that was now shoving icy fingers through the fabric of her shirt. "Yeah," the baker finally murmured, and released I'dou. She rubbed her hands against her pants (which fortunately were black), in an effort to get the soot off, and then gave up and caught one of the rider's hands in her own. "It's... it's down this way."

Wrapping her fingers tightly around I'dou's, as if afraid the greyrider were about to blow away in the cold breeze, Mizu led the way down the street, dodging the occasional person that got in her way. Some gave her peculiar looks; she ignored them and pulled her companion into a tavern. She couldn't remember the name, at the moment, and the sign had blown down a few days ago, but it didn't matter. The baker totally ignored the looks she got, and the occasional soft greeting from someone who had visited her shop. Shunning them all, she found a table in a back corner and glanced at I'dou with dark eyes, then nudged a chair out for her and sat down herself. She was an adult, after all. She didn't have to have someone pull out her chair... but she wanted the company, suddenly. Her parents had died just a few days ago, but already she was tired of being alone, of trying to drown her sorrows in the snow and ashes of her bakery. She didn't want to fight; all she really wanted to do right now was sleep. Maybe that was the cold; her hands were tinged blue with it from sitting outside so long. But now there was the warm, smoky air of the tavern to bring the life back into her - or, if not the life, at least the warmth.

[/center]

[winged]

She’d sketched the entire scene out in her head, in the brief moment she’d allowed herself before engaging Mizuko directly. Mizu would follow, I’dou would lead – she’d somehow traverse the space between the point A of arrival to point B of sympathy without the hitches and snags that usually prohibited such a straight-forward avenue of thought and words. The impossibility of her linear designs were well apparent as her one-time part-time lover suddenly deigned it reasonable to flatten herself against the unprepared rider, stifling the witty banter that was merrily trotting off her tongue. The sudden return to intimacy was accompanied with a rehash of that fateful afternoon, cast in the faded sepia of memories past. They’d been this close before, but this time there was no flare of desire. The haggard face Mizuko wore now, streaked with soot and swollen with tears, was something nightmarish to behold. As she clumsily wrapped her arms around the baker, her sleight stature and physique was frailty, lacking as it was with the energy she’d felt and witnessed before.

It felt like she was embracing a limp rag doll, despite the pressure she could certainly feel as those tiny arms tightened around her, refusing to let go. She was disturbed, but hugged her tightly back regardless, eyes briefly squeezed shut as she thanked whatever forces had dealt their cards to keep Mizu safe. A selfish gratitude, and one that she wouldn’t share with any but her other half – and she felt only the feather-light touch of acknowledgment there, a softer sense of relief as Laraph deciphered that her rider’s friend was still alive. Not well, perhaps, not now at least. But there was a time and place for everything under the sun.

The two broke apart at last, the unspoken apology graciously accepted without a word, and Mizu spoke again in her broken voice. I’dou tried hard to ignore the tell-tale signs of misery, feigning a stubborn ignorance as the baker began leading her by hand through the streets. The baker attracted many a stare, which I’dou returned coolly over her shoulder. She never looked directly at Mizu, however, never allowed her glance to hover on her despicable state. They both knew it was there, there was no point in bringing it up.

Having been lead to a small watering hole with no name, I’dou followed Mizu obediently to the table. There, though, she acted of her own volition. Mizuko clearly had no desire for anything to drink – she sat wordlessly after thoughtfully nudging a chair out for I’dou’s pleasure. The rider managed a small smile, holding one hand up as if to pause the scene. “I’ll be right back.” Turning away, and politely ignoring the stares she fetched, I’dou spoke briefly with the tavern keep, coins exchanging hands and two mugs of strongly brewed, steaming tea traveled with I’dou back to their tiny seating arrangement. Setting one down solidly in front of Mizu, I’dou finally took a seat and sipped from her own, leading by example as it were. It was terribly hot, her tongue was scalded in fact, but she bit off the reflexive wince as if it were a non-entity. At least it took the icy bite out of one’s system. Although it did taste funny – she wouldn’t have objected to at least a pint of recognizable alcohol, but she wasn’t going to enable Mizuko to drown herself any further.

Her bad habits would remain her own. “Are you hungry?” I’dou watched Mizuko carefully, continuing to sip from her mug and gazing over its lip at the other, quiet girl. It seemed almost cruel, to keep dodging the issue of her bereavement, but the rider wasn’t satisfied. It wasn’t the right time, not yet. She and Laraph would remain here until she was – and then? …well, they’d think about it.

[‡§åkørü‡]

Mizuko, having no idea what I'dou's plan was, went with her own: wrapping her arms tightly around the rider and burying her face in her neck. She didn't care what I'dou might want to say, and she certainly didn't want to stand there in awkward silence. So she went for an awkward hug instead: one that made her feel as though she were trying to draw the life out of the greyrider and into herself. She hadn't had a real reason to live for days now - but now she did, and whether the rider knew it or not, the baker was grateful. And so, rather than trying to hold onto the harsh feelings that had marred their last visit, Mizu said sorry in the only way she could at the present moment. She was overwhelmingly glad that I'dou's arms encircled her, too, and the baker crushed the rider against her as hard as she could, though it made her arms ache.

Knowing her apology had been accepted, the young woman at last let go of the rider, her unwitting saviour, and took her hand instead. She'd lost weight, and her fingers were thinner now, but she still clutched I'dou's hand in such desperation it was almost as though her life depended on it. This was her only connection now to the world, to Sayaie: if she let go she thought she would drop deeper into her grief-stricken abyss, and then never come out again. So she held onto I'dou with deathly white fingers until they reached the pub. There she ignored every dumbstruck stare she received, both at her terrible appearance and her holding hands with another woman. Who cared what they thought? Mizu didn't spare a single one a glance, and she only looked around when she'd sat down. Even then, her eyes followed I'dou wistfully to the barkeep, keeping track of her in case she left.

But she didn't, and a wave of tear-filled gratitude rose up in her as the rider came back, bearing two mugs of steaming tea. She blinked back the tears, however, and offered a rather weak smile to I'dou. When the mug landed in front of her, she gratefully wrapped freezing fingers around it, wincing as the heat struck them. Ouch. Things always seemed hotter when one was in approximately the condition of an ice cube. Still, she paused a moment to glance at I'dou with a soft, mirthless laugh as she figured out what was in the mug. "No alcohol, huh?" she queried softly, and then the smile faded from her face. Gaze dropping to the hot liquid, the baker shrugged slightly and lifted the mug to her icy lips, letting the scalding concoction burn her tongue on its way down. A hefty swallow later, she winced at the burning, sucking in air, but it was clear that she didn't really mind the pain too much. Anything to keep her alive, right? Besides, it was burning in her stomach, a pleasant little flame that she was sure would eventually warm the rest of her, too.

Was she hungry? Good question. The baker mulled it over for a minute, taking another sip of the searingly hot tea. She hadn't eaten in days, not since the fire. Except for picking at bits of food, but she was sure that didn't count. Still, she shook her head mutely. She didn't want to eat. Eating reminded her of her bakery, and that reminded her of the fire, and that reminded her of her parents' death. Maybe she was getting too thin, but it was better than confronting the memories of her parents' face, sooty and lifeless after the touch of death had taken them.

Mizuko shuddered at the memory. Cringing, she downed a long swallow of her tea, relying on the sharp heat of it to bring her back to the present. It did, too: it seared her tongue and her throat, but she didn't care. It was happily distracting, and the baker relaxed slightly in response to it. Still, she couldn't rely only on the tea. The memories were fresh in her mind, just begging to be released so that she could relive every second of them once again. Biting her scalded tongue, Mizu dropped her gaze to the table, and then waited for a long moment before she lifted her gaze to I'dou's, speaking quietly. "Why did you come back?" she asked softly. Surely the greyrider had had no reason to return. Surely she couldn't have been expecting a warm welcome. Had she heard about the fire, or come to make amends, or something else entirely?

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[winged]

The mixed looks their curious partnership garnered were not entirely lost on the gray rider. She couldn’t entirely dismiss the uncomfortable twinge she felt under their scrutiny, either. It had been remarkably easy to open herself up to the realm of possibility when the universe extended just far enough to encapsulate the two of them, and a little more. Here there existed no such vacuum, no buffer besides her unwillingness to bend to conformity. As a result, I’dou fidgeted and glowered at suspect tavern-goers when she felt the intensity of their stares like the blazing heat of the sun on her back. They had no business ogling them; and in most cases, the offenders sheepishly averted their eyes to avoid eye-contact with the rider. They knew their folly, it was more a matter of indulgence than ignorance.

Normally I’dou wouldn’t have afforded them the time of day, but as Mizuko was being stubbornly quiet the opportunity presented itself as a convenient excuse. She’d shaken her head no to food, but the pause beforehand was telling. The girl had lost weight, her clothes bagged tellingly from her sooty body. Frowning but acquiescing through her own bout of silence, I’dou sipped again at her tea. Still scaldingly hot, but just as effective at banishing the occasional cold gust that skipped in on the heels of another entering patron. As the place began to swell with numbers of citizens, the gray rider came to appreciate Mizuko’s choice in seating arrangements, as lonely a gesture it had seemed beforehand. It all really came down to convenience.

From studying the grain of their tabletop to glancing passively over the heads of people shifting to and fro from the bar to their clustered seats, there was plenty to distract the woman from chancing something so risky as a conversation. Her drive was back to idle, her immediate concerns sated and her interest in prying dwindled to a momentary glance from beneath thick lashes every now and again. She was drinking the tea, seemed appropriately grateful for the gesture. And had, it seemed, scalded her tongue much like I’dou. That brought a twitch of immediate gratification and pleasure to the rider’s lips, though her gaze hardened as Mizu darkly noted the absence of alcohol. “I’m not dragging your insensible body around town.” She wasn’t getting a single drop, not from her.

I’dou’s face darkened moreso as Mizu prised the lid off of the box containing the motives the rider had shoved aside in favor of forgetting. Punishment for not buying her booze, most obviously. Swinging one leg to dangle crossed over another, I’dou leaned back in her chair, one finger poised on her pursed lips as she considered the wretched looking baker. She didn’t immediately speak, electing to let the din of their surroundings rush in to fill the empty space so that it didn’t seem as though she were stalling – entirely. Working her jaw in thought, staring down at her half-empty mug, the words crawled slowly into existence, pried from the clammy depths where they clung resentfully, unwilling to be voiced. “…I heard, from someone, about a fire.” Location, source, all of it was unimportant trimmings to the bare bones truth that Mizuko deserved. She’d done enough costuming. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.” Not some shriveled corpse filling a miserable hole in the frozen ground, a nameless victim. Beyond her best efforts, I’dou’s voice quavered on ‘all right,’ as if not entirely sure she’d found what she was looking for, after all. Clearing her throat loudly, another swallow of boiling hot tea later, and she scraped together her composure again. There was no outpouring of emotion, no pleading sobs for forgiveness. Just the truth, laid flat out on the table like a treatise awaiting signature. Mizu could accept or neglect, and nothing further would be said – I’dou owed her that, at least.

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Mizuko was glad enough to be quiet, sipping her hot tea and letting it scald her her tongue. It'd be sore for the next few days, but that didn't matter. At least she was warming up - since she clearly had no other option under I'dou's scrutiny. Dying was a less pleasant idea when one considered trying it in front of someone one cared about. Somehow, trying to kill oneself with tea also wasn't a very appealing idea. What were you supposed to do, drown yourself in it? And burn your entire face? The very idea made the baker's nose wrinkle. At least freezing didn't require you to shove your face into a mug full of hot liquid.

But then, she scolded herself, she wasn't even supposed to be thinking about dying. That was bad. Especially considering that the greyrider was here now, keeping an eye on her. Besides, seated in the corner as she was, she couldn't leave without walking right by I'dou (who would probably stop her). And besides that, Mizuko found herself not really wanting to go. It was cold outside, and though her blood was warming, it was bringing an uncomfortable burning sensation to her skin - the kind of hot that arrived when one was trying to thaw.

Asking quietly about the lack of alcohol, Mizu was both surprised, and not, to hear the rider's vehement response. Unsure whether she was supposed to find that comment funny or a little harsh, the baker tried to go for the optimistic option and smiled a wry, lopsided smile. "Too heavy for you, am I?" she inquired dryly. She tried to be cheerful - really she did - but the result still came out a little more depressed and flat than the baker had meant it to. Cursing herself mentally, Mizu said the words that she probably shouldn't have: asking why I'dou had bothered to come back. What was the point, after all?

The stall before the answer wasn't surprising. Mizuko figured she would have done the same thing: tried to buy time so that she didn't have to speak so soon. But the answer itself was startling, although it shouldn't have been. Deep down, somewhere inside her, she'd probably known what it was going to be. "Well, there was," she agreed in dark tones. And then the really surprising part landed in the air in front of her, set out on the table like a match that was going to set the place alight if it weren't tended to correctly. For just a moment, the misery evaporated from the baker's face, and a startled laugh, unexpectedly bright, escaped her. It was accompanied by a warm smile too, although that dwindled into a smaller, less radiant expression as memory came back to her. "Oh." Damn it. She would have loved some alcohol right now, but she wasn't going to try and make I'dou buy her any. And she wasn't ambitious enough to order it herself.

She didn't miss the little quaver in I'dou's voice, and a wry smile pulled at the corners of the girl's lips. "Dunno about the all right part... but thank you." That part was genuine, and her voice broke slightly somewhere between 'thank' and 'you.' Seeking to hide it, not wanting to showcase her unhappiness the way she had been, Mizu downed a hearty swallow of tea. She choked on it, barely got it down, and then coughed as if her lungs were going to explode. As soon as the fit receded, the baker gasped, drawing air back into her chest, and leaned her mug on the table, looking a bit dazed. Eyes watering, she lifted her gaze to I'dou's, and croaked out, "I... hoped you'd come back. Even after I... attacked you." This last was said a bit shamefacedly, and the dark eyes dropped back to the surface of the table, a slow blush rising into her cheeks. She didn't say sorry, though - she'd already done that, with her desperate hug. Something in the back of her mind told her to unload her misery onto I'dou, but she said no. The greyrider didn't need to hear just what had happened. She'd seen the results of it... she didn't need to know the details. Stubbornly, Mizu refused to give in to what her heart was telling her to do. No! She wouldn't share. But she did speak again, at length, in a slightly less croaky voice now that she'd finished nearly dying on her tea. "I'd give you something back for this..." she lifted her mug and waved it around slightly, then drank down another swallow, carefully this time. "But..." she left the sentence unfinished. Her expression said all that needed to be said. She was glad I'dou had come back - stupidly glad, in fact. But she didn't say what maybe she should have: that she might have resisted anyone else, and made them leave her there in the snow. In her shop, where she used to belong. And that she probably owed the rider something for that, and not just the mug of tea. Yet the baker stubbornly refused to even think about that, trying to focus instead on the hot drink in her hand, the one that was slowly forcing life back into her cold, thin body. She'd almost succeeded at what she'd tried to do: but not quite. With luck, I'dou wouldn't see that. Wouldn't see that she'd been sitting out there for a reason.

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[winged]

Having come prepared to face the inevitable shattering of her already hampered heart, the seemingly miraculous survival of Mizuko was reaping its toll upon the rider. Of course, every single one of the woman’s senses were primarily trained on the fragile girl slumped in the chair opposite her. She’d committed herself to this, to the effort of lightening the load that had fallen unfairly to Mizuko. In the process, unintentionally, she heaped it upon herself. This transferal of misery was at its most profound as an uncomfortably familiar sarcasm dried the baker’s dark humor to a brittle consistency, keeping entirely on par with Mizuko’s dilapidated appearance while it made I’dou squirm in her own skin.

That brooding look, the faraway pondering of heavy thoughts – it mirrored hers. Misery found happy company in mockery of itself; the rider’s pulse quickened and her blood ran cold while her face unwittingly contorted in a morbid play off Mizuko’s own suffering. Her fingers tightened in a white-knuckled grip on her mug while cold sweat trickled down the back of her neck, leaving in its wake a stinging itch which she adamantly refused to acknowledge, absorbed as she was in her spooked observations of her table mate.

She’d come here with the singular hope that Mizu was alive. That was all she’d really wanted confirmation for – the simple yes or no that delved no deeper into a permanently cracked psyche or mortally wounded heart. She’d found her answer, and had been unable to resist intervening. And now here they sat, reflections of one another with bright, paralyzing clarity. That hollow mask of deceit was now sat shamefully in the diluted sunlight of the tavern’s front room, affirming just what sort of backwards progress she’d really made. This was madness, projecting her own inner demons onto the world around her. Was she losing her mind?

Seriously considering the possibility of insanity, gazing almost accusingly at her tea, the woman jumped as suddenly a bright, mirthful laugh burst out of the formerly, somberly composed baker – followed not long after with a choking, sputtering fit. Pale pupils awash in a sea of white, I’dou stared wide-eyed at Mizuko with a wilder sense of apprehension than she’d displayed the entire time. Her heart was racing down, pounding against her ribcage like a spooked animal clawing desperately for escape. Her white-knuckled grip had transferred from her mug to the arm of her chair, and she had to painfully wrench it away with an unsettled clearing of her throat. Yes, well. She didn’t find it all that amusing, and her eyebrows furrowed into a distinct line of momentary disapproval. Whether directed at herself or Mizuko, it was unclear, and it was stuffed quickly as I’dou felt guilt upon seeing the untainted happiness fading from Mizu’s face again.
There again was the familiar guise, the pain of loss muted with a stubborn lack of acceptance for mortal weakness. It wreathed itself like a funereal shawl around the table, casting a pall in absence of hurt put to words. It was a lonely path to walk, and there was no disguising the silent plea that no amount of sheltering would cast aside. No, she wasn’t all right. The feeble thanks was undermined with the silent reinforcement of loss, she had nothing to give. It was a shameful way of reliving her own past, with all the disheartening knowledge of the present. It was too painful to watch any further – the opening of old scars, and the freshly carved furrows in Mizuko’s own life.

I’dou said nothing in response to Mizuko’s thanks, finding nothing noteworthy to say. Instead, setting down her mug, the rider took up one of the girl’s hands in her own, cupping it between both of her own, with a sad sort of half-smile hanging in a silly sort of way on her face. She neither discouraged nor dissuaded the baker from sharing her sad story, cast no stones of judgment. She was here just to be here, no matter how things turned out. “You’ll have to do worse than that.” Breadsticks couldn’t compare.

[‡§åkørü‡]

Mizuko could see the misery on I'dou's face, and witnessing it made something in her stomach twist. Her gaze dropped to the table, and instantly the baker launched an assault on the peculiar expression. She wasn't stupid; she figured that the greyrider's appearance of depression had something to do with her own. But why was it so profound? Why did she look as crushed as the baker herself did? Shaking her head slightly, Mizu tried again and again to grasp at the reason, but she couldn't quite figure it out. Was it really so easy to transfer one's own unhappiness over to someone else? With all the complexity of the human mind, could it be so easily swayed to think that it, too, should be discontent?

Apparently, because there was no mistaking the grimace on I'dou's face. Idiotically guilty for having put it there, the baker watched the rider's knuckles turn white, and then drowned the image in her tea, wincing as it scalded her mouth yet again. Didn't need to make herself feel worse, did she? I'dou had come here, and she couldn't possibly have expected a good outcome. Not if, as the baker guessed, she had heard that it was the bakery that had burnt down. Fires never brought fortune, did they? Not for anyone other than arsonists, whom she heard liked to watch their own flames. God, but if she could strangle the bastard that had done it, she would have. Would have killed him for killing her parents.

Without realizing it, Mizuko had slammed her mug down on the table, and now she stared at it in surprise, as if wondering how it got there. At least she hadn't broken it. Still, the murderous expression that had flickered black as sin through her eyes dissipated, and the baker shook her head slightly before bursting out, unexpectedly, in a bright laugh. Not expecting it herself, she blinked, and then flicked her gaze to the rider's face, uncertain of her reaction. She certainly found it: the wide-eyed, horrified stare that clearly said I'dou thought she may have lost her mind. Wilting at both that and the fact that her damn memory kept plaguing her, the baker followed her laughing-and-coughing fit with another swallow of tea, partly to kill the awkward silence between them. It resulted in a slightly less (or maybe more) awkward coughing fit, and the baker gasped as soon as she was done, and croaked out the words that may or may not have been foolishly said.

Nothing followed her admission of thanks, and Mizu's gaze dropped to the table. She didn't want to look at I'dou's face anymore, for the simple reason that she might find discomfort or, even worse, revulsion. A slow flush of embarrassment rose up her neck, staining her cheeks a dull red, and the baker gazed into her mug, which was growing increasingly empty.

Unexpectedly, someone's fingers wrapped around hers, and there was only one conclusion as to whose they could be. Mizuko looked up with an expression of blatant surprise, and then her expression softened at the silly half-smile on the rider's face. It wasn't just that, either; it was the hands that enveloped her own burning-thawing one, and the gentleness of them. 'You'll have to do worse than that,' I'dou informed her, and a ridiculous and completely unwarranted sob burst from the baker's throat. She hadn't wanted to tell. Hadn't wanted to share her little sob story and unload all the grief that crushed her heart with sharp icy fingers.

But the rider was giving her no real choice. Thin digits wrapping tightly around I'dou's, Mizu lifted her other hand to complete the chain, sliding her fingers into what spaces were available between the greyrider's own. Tears welled up in her eyes, but the baker refused to give in to that, at least, and rubbed them away on her shoulder. Before her throat could close up enough to completely prevent speech, she spoke hastily, stumbling over her words in the effort to get them out before they were choked off by the lump growing in her throat. "Someone... dropped a torch b-by the wall. A few days ago. M-my shop caught fire." Her words read like a children's book, but Mizu continued, forcing herself to keep talking in case a moment came when she couldn't anymore. Stubbornly, she defied the tears that threatened to choke off her feeble explanation. "M-my parents and s-some of my friends came to... to try and save it. My parents... they went inside. And three of my friends. They... they came out alive..."

She faltered, and then pressed on with the truth, throat closing around the words. "B-but they d-died of the... the smoke. A-afterward. I... I b-b-buried them th-this morning." So there it was. The truth, painful as it was, with nothing to make it either sweeter or more bitter. Tears rose into her eyes, but Mizu bit her tongue savagely and blinked them away, refusing to let them have that small victory. Her grief wouldn't get the best of her. Not again. At least, not while I'dou was holding her hands, keeping her grounded so that she couldn't go out and meet the same fate as her parents had. Bitterly, with the sting of anger that was directed at herself and the killer alone, Mizu offered a pained smile to I'dou. "H-hope that's... not too much. W-worse, I mean. For you."

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[winged]

The dismay that left her face stricken was reciprocated on Mizuko’s – tit for tat, the baker was clearly paying more attention to even the faintest nuances of I’dou’s posture and expression than the rider had given credit for. The stab of guilt followed swiftly on recognition’s lead, and from henceforth I’dou carefully molded her face into a mask of bottomless patience and consideration. Her companion’s behavior was erratic as it was, she’d flinched when Mizuko had unintentionally slammed her mug on the tabletop, she didn’t want to fuel it with a moment’s ignorance. She consoled herself with the reminder that it wasn’t entirely a sham – the feelings she broadcast were genuine, it was just the degree that felt a bit unnatural. She wasn’t a maternal sort of woman, and here she was with all the time in the world, holding the hands of another woman on the verge of breakdown.

There they sat, neither unable to turn away from the inevitability of what happened next. Mizuko’s already weakened composure continued to crack beneath the weight of her emotional burden, the baker’s voice wavering as words and feelings slurred together, woven integrally into the miserable recount of the recent tragedy. The way the girl’s face crumpled so brokenly while she stubbornly blinked back the tears that misted her eyes struck a resonant chord with the gray rider, so that she too was fighting back tears, swallowing roughly around the massive lump that congested her throat. Still she kept her sympathetic gaze trained on Mizu’s, hands tightening protectively around the baker’s own. It was a notion unsuited for the situation – I’dou couldn’t protect Mizuko from her own feelings, it would be terribly wrong of her to begin with.

It was there, all the same, alongside a mounting fury directed at an unknown shadowy figure minus one torch. Her thoughts were particularly nasty, and Laraph responded with the disappointed reminder that it might have all been accidental. A twist of fate, as it were – I’dou bit off the impulse to carry the argument any further, realizing her emotional investment made it a lost cause. Right now, the both of them were too upset to really think rationally. Peoples’ stares were becoming increasingly more intense, at the same time. “Don’t apologize.” The words were clipped, more of an asserting order than a gentle dismissal. She softened the curt response with a reassuringly open smile, navigating blindly through the situation. She’d acted on instinct, and she was quickly falling back on it once more. Her rationality was reserved for the more concerning matter of what they would do now. Mizuko had no place to go – I’dou could potentially pay rent and board for a room, for a set amount of time, before her diasks ran out…

We’ll take her with us. Laraph pressed the option that I’dou had been tip-toeing her way around, grown tired of the publicity she’d garnered and the cold she suffered. The gray saw no purpose in prolonging their visit – what they’d started could just as easily be carried out within the comforts of the Eyrie. This Sayaie was not to her tastes, as she shook the soot and dust from her wings, rising from her resting spot to the astonished gasps of nearby onlookers. We can’t do that! was the immediate response, I’dou’s face averted as she conversed privately with her simourv, eyebrows knitted in concern. Mizuko wasn’t a candidate, she didn’t belong there.

It’s either that or the streets, and I think the Eyrie’s better than these streets. Assured that she was making the correct decision for them all, Laraph responded evenly. Besides, we have plenty of room for more people. It was true, they weren’t necessarily lacking for room. Besides, Mizuko could work to earn her keep. It’ll be good for her. The gray was quite partial to the idea that the Eyrie was quite possibly the best place to be, period, for obvious reasons. And she rather wanted to be there, now. Come, before it’s dark and I have to fly in the freezing cold. It wasn’t freezing yet, but the promise of bitter temperatures was there in the rush of wind that blew through the emptying alleys and thoroughfares.

Well… She did have to admit, it was a convincing argument. As she turned to glance at Mizu, however, I’dou couldn’t help but foster that inkling of doubt. What if she didn’t want to come? A few seconds of dilly-dalliance, and she decided to figure that out sooner, rather than later. “Come to the Eyrie?” To the straight and narrow, no finesse necessary.

[‡§åkørü‡]

Mizuko was observant, true, but she wasn't perfect. She didn't notice when I'dou molded her face into an expression of patience, and couldn't recognize the mask for what it was. This was probably just as well, and a lot kinder than being able to see just what the greyrider was thinking. Selfish as the idea might have been, the baker had her own feelings to worry about and break her heart over. She didn't need to beat herself over the head with I'dou's emotions too - not considering that her barriers finally snapped, and she gave in to the urge that had been plaguing her all this time: the urge to tell her depressing story. True, the baker hated herself for it, but that didn't change the fact that she confessed, telling about the past few days of her life.

Choking on tears, the young baker was at least gratified to find that she wasn't the only one forced to give in to emotion. I'dou's eyes were misty too, and her hands tightened around Mizuko's in a way that only made the baker clench her own fingers tighter. Still, though her eyes reddened with the tears building in them, Mizu tried not to cry outright. Little by little, she was also beginning to notice people staring at her - her and I'dou. Volatile as her emotions currently were, they slipped from grief to anger, and she flashed a hard, tear-filled glare at the onlookers. Some turned away, and some continued to look, but she stared at them until they all went back to their own business. Reflexively, her hands clutched the greyrider's, and the baker's gaze fell back to her. Those others didn't matter, she tried to tell herself.

The words 'don't apologize' dragged her back to attention, and Mizu's dark eyes widened slightly. A tiny, unhappy little smile pulled at her lips, though, when she saw that the rider was also smiling. The curt tone had alarmed her; now, like a frightened dog, she settled down again when she was comforted by that oddly open expression. Oddities were becoming increasingly common these past few days, and at least this was a friendly one. One that wasn't going to turn around and hurt her - at least, she hoped it wasn't. She'd never been fond of untruths like that: looking friendly, and then whipping around to stab someone when they weren't looking. But I'dou didn't seem like she planned to do that... not with the tears in her eyes speaking of genuine emotion as few things could.

Dazed and lost in thought, Mizu wandered through the tangled corridors of her own mind. None of her thoughts were really coherent anymore, so she flicked from emotion to emotion instead: the deep loss that gnawed at her heart, the hot rage that lurked beneath it. And, of course, the bubbling confusion that she pushed down at all costs so that it wouldn't swallow her in questions that couldn't be answered.

Thus lost in her own thoughts, the baker didn't even notice the blank look on I'dou's face - the one that indicated she was talking to her simourv. Of course, she did notice when more words drifted out onto the silence between them, completely shattering any ideas she might have had about life after the fire. She'd been staying with a friend, that was true... but only until the funeral. And now... well, now I'dou wanted her to come to the Eyrie? Mizuko was taken aback, and she looked the part: wide-eyed, baffled, mouth half-open in surprise. She blinked several times, and then a slow blush rose into her cheeks and the baker smiled wanly, tightening her fingers around the greyrider's. "Well... okay. If you want me," she added as an afterthought. The kindness of the offer struck her hard, and more tears welled up in the baker's eyes - but they were happier this time, not the tears of someone about to snap with pain. This time, her tears were grateful, and although they were sad, they weren't so hopeless as they had been.

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