Sinceritas
Posted: October 1st, 2022, 1:35 pm
His trusted satchel wouldn't cut it this time. For this trip, nothing less substantial than a backpack would do.
It lay open on a chair, the neat stack of provisions carefully wrapped and tucked on the bottom. Quincy was no hunter, so he needed to manage his nourishment very closely lest there was nothing palatable being offered at the tents by Bright Lantern. The packing was surely taking longer than expected, though he knew the reasons why: the recent developments kept resurfacing in his mind, ebbing in his conscience and delaying whatever task was at hand; and, ultimately, he didn't want to leave, though he didn't know how to handle it otherwise.
"What would you say the penalty of abandoning someone is for a man's soul?", he remembered asking Rikard in a private conversation at Eryn's communal room. Quincy had quickly become fond of the unlikely priest, enough to impart a serious matter to his judgment.
"You askin' if abandoning someone, the punishment is yer soul?", he said plainly. "No, short answer. The long answer is a bit more complicated".
"Of course".
"What's your abandonment? And why you abandon?".
"Do you perchance know the physician from Kaduraas?".
As he folded some sheets, their exchange kept bouncing back and forth in his head, he wondered if had disclosed enough to Rikard: the tumultuous encounters with Drusilla in the past, the equally unrelenting dealings with her as of late, Quincy's misplaced sentiments for her and the unsteady, treacherous path to an eventual recovery. The older man listened, nodding placidly at times, as it's expected from clergymen.
"And here's my point, Rikard", he said, wringing his hands over the table, "Drusilla is in need of aid".
"Hmm".
"Greatly, so I cannot see her uncared for in this time. But I may irreparably damage my relationship with Miranda if I'm the one to do it".
"You want to separate yerself from this Drusilla", he asked, scratching his head, "but you fear doing so will harm her greatly. And to not do so, will harm your relation with Miranda?". Quincy nodded in response.
"The last thing I need to ask her is that she herself tries to patch the relation with Miranda", he said, pressing his temple. "If that fails...".
He still remembered his relief when Rikard accepted his plea to help Drusilla on his behalf, should the worst take place. The priest dissuaded him from the ultimatum, saying that they never worked. It would have been to the best, only Drusilla came to seek him at his house the very next day.
"You never answer the door when I come here. Maeby always says you're out or too busy...", she said, wide-eyed and still on the mat by his porch.
"Well, I won't deny that I'm quite occupied as of late", he motioned her in, making room in the dining hall.
"With what?". She was brasher than usual, just returning from a particularly controversial sermon on Sacrifice, as she would later tell him. Drusilla seemed quite distraught with the priest who held it, motioning widely as she relayed the implications his words might have on the general, less cultivated public.
Even her garments were different this time: she retired her usual crimson attire, opting for a fairly underwhelming outfit bathed in browns and unremarkable white. "It's getting colder out there, and the red draws attention", she offered with a gentle shrug. Yet, soon they were trudging on known and rocky territory, the same terrain they inevitably reached whenever they were alone.
"Do you want me to go?", she asked.
"Do you want to go?".
"I don't want to go. You just seem like you don't want me here". It took a while to explain his business at Bright Lantern, supervising closely a hearty shipment of mulled wine he ordered.
"I hope we've settled that there was no avoiding involved?", Quincy asked, receiving her reluctant nod. "Good. Drusilla, please listen to me".
All of it just poured out. Brother Rikard's advice held for only so long, and Quincy told her about Miranda's distrust in her intentions and what her presence was doing to their relationship. Drusilla's reaction was adamant as she explained what she tried to bridge the gap between both women, to no avail.
"This is ridiculous, Quincy!", she said, half-rising from her seat as her words. "I did it! I'm doing it. I gave her a flower the last time I saw her. I told her I liked her clothes. She said thank you. She seemed happy. How are we here now? Why can't anyone ever just be -happy-? How can I fuck up even -that-?".
Quincy draped a cloak over his shoulders, watching himself in the mirror. Her face still haunted him: she wasn't furious or hurt; she just gazed at him with a chilly neutrality to her features as she walked past the door. "It was nice knowing you for a while". The calm tone she used knifed him deeper than the words themselves. What wouldn't he have given to be slapped instead!
All that was left was Miranda. Constantine always advised him to be honest with her, even though the Kaduraan didn't know exactly what that entailed. Rikard explained the Virtue of Honesty at length to him, and no other reason stood in his way but the fearful outcome itself. In his wildest dreams, Miranda would find a way to see past of what he had to confess to her.
But he wasn't dreaming: the image of Miranda's hands drowning in her hair rooted Quincy into hard, cold reality.
[To be continued]
It lay open on a chair, the neat stack of provisions carefully wrapped and tucked on the bottom. Quincy was no hunter, so he needed to manage his nourishment very closely lest there was nothing palatable being offered at the tents by Bright Lantern. The packing was surely taking longer than expected, though he knew the reasons why: the recent developments kept resurfacing in his mind, ebbing in his conscience and delaying whatever task was at hand; and, ultimately, he didn't want to leave, though he didn't know how to handle it otherwise.
"What would you say the penalty of abandoning someone is for a man's soul?", he remembered asking Rikard in a private conversation at Eryn's communal room. Quincy had quickly become fond of the unlikely priest, enough to impart a serious matter to his judgment.
"You askin' if abandoning someone, the punishment is yer soul?", he said plainly. "No, short answer. The long answer is a bit more complicated".
"Of course".
"What's your abandonment? And why you abandon?".
"Do you perchance know the physician from Kaduraas?".
As he folded some sheets, their exchange kept bouncing back and forth in his head, he wondered if had disclosed enough to Rikard: the tumultuous encounters with Drusilla in the past, the equally unrelenting dealings with her as of late, Quincy's misplaced sentiments for her and the unsteady, treacherous path to an eventual recovery. The older man listened, nodding placidly at times, as it's expected from clergymen.
"And here's my point, Rikard", he said, wringing his hands over the table, "Drusilla is in need of aid".
"Hmm".
"Greatly, so I cannot see her uncared for in this time. But I may irreparably damage my relationship with Miranda if I'm the one to do it".
"You want to separate yerself from this Drusilla", he asked, scratching his head, "but you fear doing so will harm her greatly. And to not do so, will harm your relation with Miranda?". Quincy nodded in response.
"The last thing I need to ask her is that she herself tries to patch the relation with Miranda", he said, pressing his temple. "If that fails...".
He still remembered his relief when Rikard accepted his plea to help Drusilla on his behalf, should the worst take place. The priest dissuaded him from the ultimatum, saying that they never worked. It would have been to the best, only Drusilla came to seek him at his house the very next day.
"You never answer the door when I come here. Maeby always says you're out or too busy...", she said, wide-eyed and still on the mat by his porch.
"Well, I won't deny that I'm quite occupied as of late", he motioned her in, making room in the dining hall.
"With what?". She was brasher than usual, just returning from a particularly controversial sermon on Sacrifice, as she would later tell him. Drusilla seemed quite distraught with the priest who held it, motioning widely as she relayed the implications his words might have on the general, less cultivated public.
Even her garments were different this time: she retired her usual crimson attire, opting for a fairly underwhelming outfit bathed in browns and unremarkable white. "It's getting colder out there, and the red draws attention", she offered with a gentle shrug. Yet, soon they were trudging on known and rocky territory, the same terrain they inevitably reached whenever they were alone.
"Do you want me to go?", she asked.
"Do you want to go?".
"I don't want to go. You just seem like you don't want me here". It took a while to explain his business at Bright Lantern, supervising closely a hearty shipment of mulled wine he ordered.
"I hope we've settled that there was no avoiding involved?", Quincy asked, receiving her reluctant nod. "Good. Drusilla, please listen to me".
All of it just poured out. Brother Rikard's advice held for only so long, and Quincy told her about Miranda's distrust in her intentions and what her presence was doing to their relationship. Drusilla's reaction was adamant as she explained what she tried to bridge the gap between both women, to no avail.
"This is ridiculous, Quincy!", she said, half-rising from her seat as her words. "I did it! I'm doing it. I gave her a flower the last time I saw her. I told her I liked her clothes. She said thank you. She seemed happy. How are we here now? Why can't anyone ever just be -happy-? How can I fuck up even -that-?".
Quincy draped a cloak over his shoulders, watching himself in the mirror. Her face still haunted him: she wasn't furious or hurt; she just gazed at him with a chilly neutrality to her features as she walked past the door. "It was nice knowing you for a while". The calm tone she used knifed him deeper than the words themselves. What wouldn't he have given to be slapped instead!
All that was left was Miranda. Constantine always advised him to be honest with her, even though the Kaduraan didn't know exactly what that entailed. Rikard explained the Virtue of Honesty at length to him, and no other reason stood in his way but the fearful outcome itself. In his wildest dreams, Miranda would find a way to see past of what he had to confess to her.
But he wasn't dreaming: the image of Miranda's hands drowning in her hair rooted Quincy into hard, cold reality.
[To be continued]