An Early Evening Run

[Eidolon]

Malaika

Byron seemed contemplative, and Malaika didn’t interrupt his thoughts - she in fact turned her gaze away from watching the expression on his face, as though it was something private, though she did wait for him before walking. Nothing like her brother. It sounded like he felt he still owed Osilia, was responsible for her happiness and security because he had taken her brother - or perhaps he even felt a debt towards Dekan, who for all his flaws had still taken the young Byron off the streets. Certainly he seemed to have Mistress Osilia’s best interests at heart, though she didn’t discount that it could just be simple kindness on his part. He seemed that way inclined.

When he spoke again, Malaika had still been thinking of Mistress Osilia, so the dramatic change of subject threw her for a moment. Had she missed something? She half suspected she had drifted from the conversation, but it was only a passing observation; as a Brown who tended to flow from thought to talk without much consideration for the other person (and their lack of ability to read minds), she barely even blinked at the oddness. Malaika was accustom to others knowing about her past without her imparting much detail, so the inferences didn’t startle her; she’d not gone to any lengths to hide or reveal much about herself, and whatever else might make the Brown uncomfortable, talking about her past was not one of those things. When it was asked of her.

“Sea Folk,” she confirmed, though she did not think he was as uncertain as his look suggested. The memories didn’t stoke much emotional reaction - internally or externally. She’d long since separated herself, and didn’t even wonder at the miracle of it, now. And it had been miraculous, especially in hindsight. Only the Creator himself knew why they had not killed her; blinded by fear, she had not made amnesty easy. Or maybe it had simply been a flux in the Pattern and there really was no logic to it at all. The latter, probably; she could see no reason why the Sea Folk should have spared her after what she had done, irrespective of her state-of-mind at the time. That part she didn’t share; never had with anyone.

He seemed serious in his sympathies; most people were when they thought on what she had been, and it always amused Malaika to some degree. The majority spoke of the leash as the worst possible thing to have lived through, but he cut to the heart of what had truly been terrifying; the freedom from it. She had been frightened, of course; hysterically frightened and utterly senseless. But the memories of it were choppy and fleeting, like a disturbing dream that loses all potency in the waking world.

“I remember little and less, to be honest, but you give me too much credit to call my survival bravery. I had no choice but to live through it, and even then had I not been found, cared for and ultimately sent to the Tower, I’m quite sure I’d be dead.” Even at the Tower it had been duty for the longest time, not bravery or fortitude or any such thing - she had not had the self-worth for those qualities. To live, to embrace, to learn all that novices were required to learn; she had done those things because she had been told to do them. Had the Tower abandoned her back then, she would have abandoned herself without question; Malaika had no doubt about that. She spoke as though she was talking about someone else, which she was in a sense. Shea had not been a part of her for a long time.

And then Byron got to his point, and Malaika smiled wryly. The Light forbid that he should not have noticed her awkwardness with the tea mistress, busy stacking chairs and acting the fool at the time or no. There was no tease in his voice, though, or in the way he smiled, so she did not dismiss the words as humour. Not necessarily concern, either; just observation: I see you. Perhaps he simply thought her reaction to the embrace cold; it was probably easier if he did, but the fact he had chosen now to impart what he had pieced together of her past suggested an insight that spoke otherwise.

“She … caught me by surprise.” For a moment she said no more, perhaps wondering if she should. He had been nothing but candid this evening, though, and it inclined her towards explaining herself in a way she would not normally bother to. “They taught us our touch was defiling. It's not that I believe that” - there was an unspoken ‘anymore’ - “but habits seldom die without conditioning. Aes Sedai are hardly known for their affection. You don't think I offended her, do you?"

Byron

Byron listened quietly, gazing ahead as they strolled along but there could be no hesitation she had his full attention. Well, as full an attention as a Warder could spare from giving his full attention to everything else; he sometimes wondered just how much attention a Warder could truly have. Could it be measured or factored in some manner? His mind immediately snapped back to the moment, and he offered her a comforting smile; none of the boyish charm or mischievous glint about him. Simply calm and understanding.

"That's true enough I suppose, at least to the common person. Aes Sedai are often more aspects of nature, forces beyond understanding. Few see the woman, once they know of the ring. But we both know better, yes? There are some very affectionate folk about the Tower, in any of the Ajahs. Some Yellows are like grandmothers you never knew, personally interested in making you feel better. But there are the others that simply see an injury as a problem to be fixed. See the same in every group."

He brought one hand up to gently pat her shoulder, just a brief pat-pat intended to be well seen coming and hopefully comforting. Best to start small with such things, after all. Light if it hadn't taken an age to get over his discomfort of heights. "No, you really needn't worry about offending Mistress Osilia. She's a tougher hide then most...just don't word it quite like that about her, if you've a mind to save yourself a talking to? It didn't help that I brought her a very tasteful, and expensive, jar of a Domani cream that's supposed to wonders for your skin." As always, he had brought the trouble on himself, carefully masking the gift with a poke and jab that had led to quite the long-winded speech on Osilia's part.

"A person can be convinced to believe anything, given time. All male Channellers are evil, cursed and spat upon by the Dark One himself, meant to bring nothing but death and destruction. Wasn't so long ago that was the Truth. Period. With no exception, no wiggle room. Written in stone. And the sentiments are still there, if you go to the right place." He shrugged it off; it was just a matter of time now until everyone accepted the truth of that matter.

"Takes time, takes effort. But you have to be willing to try. You'll come around eventually, although I rather doubt you will quite the...what was the word? Sensationalist? Yes, I believe that's what she called me. Well, I doubt you will be quite so fond of touch and taste and sound and sight as I am. Rather known to indulge, after all." The mischief was back and he cast her a grin and a wink, hands clasped lightly behind his back as he walked. He'd also been called overly empathic, overly interested and involved in how others felt. But since he thought that was probably a good thing, he left it unsaid.

Malaika

It was true enough; Aes Sedai weren't heartless (not all of them, anyway), and beneath the glamour and extended years of their lives, they were just women. She hadn't meant to imply otherwise, and was still mulling over a reply when he reached over to pat her shoulder. Since it was a slow and obvious gesture she made sure not to flinch, and even looked sort of amused that he should bother; it seemed he thought her aversion was something that needed curing? The brief touch seemed almost consolatory, as though she were missing out on some hugely important part of human existence, though she couldn't see how; it was something she had lived without for the longest time, and she did not crave the intimacy. Why would she?

Does he think I'm broken? Malaika could endure touch when she had to, and even offer it after a tentative fashion when appropriate; the better she knew someone, the easier it generally was. She had never really thought about it in any great deal - not as something akin to a phobia, and certainly not as something she should work on changing. Or even could. It was simply an understanding that she had always had of herself, for as long as she could remember. She might have dismissed the whole notion, except that there was still no hint of mirth in Byron's tone or demeanour. He was perfectly sincere, which clearly perplexed the young Aes Sedai. She was not quite sure what to make of it, or how she was supposed to respond.

"I... suppose not." There was not much time to ponder it. A grin and wink marked the return of Byron's more usual manner - at least usual by what she had observed in this one evening - and Malaika relented to smiling and shaking her head. Mask or otherwise, he was utterly disarming. "Yes, it does seem to be the part of your reputation that you enjoy the most."

Byron

"Ah but the greatest curse one could bestow upon me would be to steal my tongue. I am rather fond of it, as you've noticed. What with the words and the stories. But I suppose I could write...although I've little patience for such things usually. Most of my writing is to mimic someone else's hand for some nefarious deed or another." He glanced at his hands briefly, likely pondering what it would be like to be without them...it would be a fair bit harder to juggle, or roll the dice. Eating would be a challenge too. And instruments! His poor lute would go abandoned, unable to entertain crowds ever again. He would have to find someone to pass that on to. "Perhaps losing my hands is second..."

His tone was boyishly curious, giving the rather upsetting idea a moment's more thought before moving on, "I've often wondered though. As I understand it..." he paused as if struggling for a way to explain it, speaking of a topic that he often seemed relatively uneducated in, "Embracing? Yes? Well, as I understand it, it can heighten the senses yes? I've spoken once or twice with the Asha'Man on the subject, and the whole 'constant struggle' never appealed to me. But they often speak of the ability to feel, to sense, being heightened. Almost addictive. And it's similiar for women? Light, but that would be distracting."

He frowned briefly, pondering it a moment longer, "Back when I worked for Master Dekan, I learned of a tea rarely and quite secretively imported from Shara, beyond the Aiel Waste. Too expensive for any but the most ostentatious and foolish of Nobles, usually along the south coast. Tear mostly, although it's quite hush hush you see. Well, the tea is supposed to be rather unpleasant tasting, so you would mix it with something else to help mask the flavour, but then you would have to drink quite a bit for the effects. Hallucinations, heightened senses, eratic emotions."

He clearly considered the entire idea in rather negative terms, wearing a frown the entire time, "Such things are common amongst more degenerate nobility. There is no shortage of herbs and plants that can have all sorts of strange effects on the mind. Often expensive, because those few who might sell it are all too aware of what it might be used for. Not the common 'cure the cold' medicinals, to say the least."

He wasn't simply flaunting his knowledge on such obscure and generally frowned upon topics. Sensation, in his mind, was an important thing. Hugs were hugely beneficial for a person's psyche, simple day-to-day contact. To excess, however, was to be frowned upon. Aes Sedai were always cautioned not to grow addicted to the Source, and equally so he frowned upon those who grew addicted to such dubious substances. Sensation in excess, for the simple sake of feeling, wasn't the point at all. But, Byron couldn't claim to be philosophical, and would never claim to be thoughtful for that matter.

"Well, I suppose my point, if I even have one, would be that even my reputation for excess is a bit inflated. Why, no doubt plenty think I've bedded no end of women. Likely they think that's all I do with my nights. Drink and gamble and womanize. Quite to the contrary. Well, the womanizing at least. Much more interested in talking and laughing. Conquest is best left to those with nothing else to offer." He ended with a grin, back to his chipper self. There were no shortage of men who could woo a woman to his bed, and likely he was amongst their numbers. But he was always more interested in laughs and smiles at leaving it at that.

Malaika

Malaika did not think it would much phase her to lose her voice, not that she would actually wish the disability down on herself. Her hands, too; to lose them both would be an inconvenience, but not an impossibility to adapt to. But of course she had saidar to compensate, and therein lie what she would most fear losing; cause of all the upheaval in her life, and yet the one thing she would not trade for anything one could think to offer.

"It heightens the senses, yes. But there is no struggle for women; it's like falling, letting go of all control. Light and warmth and peace. Not distracting, just... beautifully natural." Something so profound could not really be captured by words, and Malaika was no wordsmith to even try; she could think of nothing the experience was even comparable to. Even now saidar lay dormant in her peripherals, an ocean of serenity and comfort she had only to yield before to flood with bliss. She didn’t of course; she had been channelling for far too long to succumb to the dangerous seduction. “I would show you, if I could.” She shrugged, since such things were impossible for any man, let alone one that couldn’t channel anyway.

He made quite the flowing leap from talking of the Power to talking of mind-altering drugs, and she imagined his distaste was intricately linked with his opinion of Dekan and the things he had been party to when he had worked for the man. She did not like the comparison between saidar and something so negative, but she decided it was the notion of heightened senses he was talking about. The abuse of it. Saidar could certainly be abused, just as anything else could; a woman could kill herself or burn the ability from her body by overwhelming herself with more than she could handle. It was the first lesson any new novice learned.

He deflected the topic with his usual humour, but she felt like she had touched a nerve. It was the second time he had explained himself as being contrary to the masks he adopted, as though there were definite boundaries to the falsities he was comfortable letting others believe of him. "I wasn't judging you, you know,” she said, wondering if that’s why he had corrected her. He’d said before that not many had ever showed an interest in his past, and she supposed the same was true of this; who would care to look beyond the veneer? She had contemplated that before, but had kept the question to herself. At risk of offending the man who had told her he rarely grew offended, she decided to break silence. “But why the mask if it’s so contrary to who you are? If that’s not too personal a question.” There was open curiosity in her tone, and one might have likened it to the brazen honesty of a child rather than the machinations of an Aes Sedai; she clearly did not mean to pry deeper than was acceptable to the situation... but the intrigue was too much to dismiss a second time.

Byron

It was an interesting question, and something he had pondered on occasion on those warm hill tops, watching clouds roll by. He was all too aware of the things he could do, with the proper reasons behind them. "The ends justify the means. A dangerous thing, that little statement. Men have used it for who knows how long, to explain the most horrid of attrocities, as long as the end goal was good. Stirrings of a plague? Kill anyone that might be infected, burn it from society. And easily justified, as more oft then not it's the poor that catch it first. In the long term, who knows how many lives you've saved at the expense of the few? Is it right though?"

He spoke thoughtfully, and he himself wasn't even clear as to where he was going with it. "Why the masks? Why the masks." Another moment's silence as he walked along, the Tower growing closer, the streets widening as they neared it's gates. "Well, for starters...I suppose I'm scared of what I am. Or could be? Might have been? Have been. Have done. Light, but often I wonder what path leads a person to swearing dark oaths, and shiver at the thought of how close I might have come. Master Dekan did horrible things, no doubt about it. For money, for knowledge that he could sell for more money, or hold as leverage over those of power. He and his crew, the men that had raised me, some terrible things I'll never forget."

"Fear, I suppose. Worry and doubt and all sorts of things like that. But I wasn't too far gone I suppose. One fever dream and here I am. And someone truely warped and twisted can't possibly enjoy making people smile quite as much as I do. Maybe I'm stubborn? I've met people, known people that have been crushed by loss and pain. Maybe I know something's broken, but refuse to give in to it. Oh, I can't deny I see problems differently then most, think of solutions none would even care to think of."

He frowned briefly, more a 'how does this work' contemplative frown, less so one of disappointment or unease. "Maybe I like the challenge? Of tricking everyone into seeing something other then what I am. The Fool is much less likely to be spared a second thought or looked at too closely. Brave, strong warrior men are an object of fear, distrust, jealousy. The Fool? Everyone wants the Fool around. You don't fear the Fool. Ah, maybe it's that I'm afraid people will fear me? Rejection? Perhaps that's it. Before the Tower, I was a pickpocket and boyhood thug. Then I was a spy, a killer. And here, a Warder."

He slowed to a stop near the gate of the Tower, offering the guards on shift a familiar wave but lingering too far for them to hear anything. One called out briefly, letting him know of the end of their shifts, of a game of dice that would ensue, coin that would be won back. The usual comraderie of friends and equals. "Warders are things of legend and myth, icons of both the good and bad of Tar Valon. Glowing, powerful warriors that stand between all that's good and Dark. The strong arms of insipid Aes Sedai, conspiring to bring thrones and nations to heel. Both to be feared and respected. But the Fool? Is a travelling Gleeman out of motley, a familiar face at the dice circle, the handsome man with the funny tales and lover of dance and music."

His gaze finally settled on her again, offering a vague shrug. "Or maybe? I just like being unique."

Malaika

The question troubled him, even if he didn’t baulk at answering it with startling honesty. If Malaika had not been so interested in his answer, she might have felt bad for asking; might have backed away from the topic in the face of such naked truths, each one offered so seemingly freely. But as much as she enjoyed his effervescent personality, to the vulnerabilities that lay beneath she was like a moth to flame. So she listened quietly and did not interrupt, watching his thoughtful expression quite openly as they walked, that familiar intensity to her gaze suggesting she was absorbing everything carefully.

He seemed to like answering questions with questions; his reply was full of conjecture and maybes, yet there was truth there too, hidden in plain view. Only the more she considered his words, the more they seemed to slip away from her. Perhaps he caught her in wordplay like everyone else and she was blinded by answers she wanted or expected to hear amongst his offered possibilities. She might have responded to his fears if she’d known him better, but as much as he elicited a sense of trust from her, a small fraction of her mind was wary of being played by an expert actor. She wanted to believe, but she was too naturally cautious to reveal the extent of her proclivity for empathy. Not until she was sure he wouldn't just laugh at her.

When they paused at the steps she was quiet for a time, folding her arms about herself as though she was cold, though she was not. The tests to become Aes Sedai pulled a person apart, and Malaika had faced the ugliest facets of herself; she understood, in some fashion, the sorts of doubts a person could have about the truth of themselves. She knew her own capacity for sin, for betrayal; had done and seen things in the Arches she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of. But it didn’t make her a monster; even the things she had done in the real world, as a damane and after, did not make her a monster. Things like that were not so easily categorised and labelled. She thought of sharing that observation, but only ended up watching the guards who had called out, letting her thoughts meander a moment before she finally gathered them back up.

She didn’t know Byron well enough to say whether the man that lay beneath the veneer of foolery and laughter was something he should fear revealing, though she had observed enough to have a cursory opinion. He had done horrific things in the past, and had to live with the knowledge that he had the capacity for it in the future. But he had also done good, or so she witnessed in his relationship with Mistress Osilia and the friendship extended by the guards at the gate. Fear, rejection, a challenge, a lark. Just because. All reasons, all valid - all likely a facet, and she still wasn’t sure she understood.

Those contemplations she internalised, the faint urge to console his insecurities abandoned in light of the strange confidence that assured her he did not need her sympathies or comfort. He’s a Warder, not an orphan-child. Her gaze flicked back to him, head tilted. She smiled.

“You are perhaps the oddest person I have ever met. But I like you.” He seemed to care what people thought, so she offered that out without thinking; the closest thing he would get to what she thought of all he had said. The way she used odd did not have a bad connotation; it was almost a compliment, and he had clearly left her with much to think about. She glanced up at the Tower, then back, assuming he planned to take leave back into the city, or perhaps join the guards, or whatever it was he truly did with his nights.

Byron

He had yet to figure what to make of her. She seemed to give everything he said such careful attention and painstaking evaluation. He wasn't used to anyone paying quite so much attention to anything he said. Maybe that was why he kept blurting things he had only ever voiced to walls. Or a rabbit once upon a time. "Odd really. Only other living thing I've ever voiced any of that tirade too. A rabbit, back in Murandy. Sitting on a hill, it had just rained, soaked to the bone trying to start a fire. And this fool rabbit hops out of it's hole and just stares at me. So I start talkin' about this and that, what got me there, the roads and the turns."

"Lost a good pair of boots too, worn the soles right out, had a hole in the toes anyways. From a knife actually. My own...dropped it, near took my own big toe off. That's what I get for trying to show off, I suppose. So it's me and this rabbit, and I just go on and on about this and that and the other thing. Soon enough, only topic left is me and the things in my head. Little runt listened long, just watching, nose twitching from time to time. Hungry as could be...gave the fur ball my last turnip. Never been fond of them myself, and he was happy as could be. Or she. Not too good an eye for rabbits I suppose."

His usual grin was back, the mischief back in his eyes, but beyond that was a strong hint of...joy? pride? for what she had said. He'd received it well; wasn't often someone called him odd in a good way. There were no end of people that liked Byron, but so very few that knew enough of him to be able to say it after everything he'd told her. It was...nice. His gaze lingered briefly on her, the tilt of her head and honest smile, then he puffed his chest and cleared his throat, rocking on his heels with hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"Yes. Well." His voice had a deeper tone to it, an attempt at gruff and manly, "Until later, good Lady Malaika? I think a night cap is in order before I tarnish my sheets. Bit late for a bath I'd think, and the Guard aren't fond of my taking a dip in the fountain no matters what the hour. And besides, I've some coin purses to plump up. Young Egger there's son turns three in a few days as I recall, and he's eager to win some extra coin for a present."

He ended the last speaking just loud enough that the guards could hear him, and the two barked a laugh, the older giving the younger man a friendly shove, "Aye, you going to get that vest Byron picked out? Suit your boy just fine that would, easy to tailor to fit for a few years yet." Then the two turned to friendly arguing and bickering, moods heightened and awareness sharpened just a touch for it.