heavensreader | [IC Inbox -- Snowblind]

[At the first moment she thinks she isn't going to be able to look at her, but the sight of Fiona there, right next to him, and the hint of Royce's presence too catch her eye. And they seem to stop the crack that feels to be running through the very centre of her. It felt like it would break her in half. But he's not alone. It's a paltry comfort, but it's enough to make her able to stay, to keep looking at the dying man.

She swallows and manages to speak, voice still broken from her screaming and the tears that clog her throat like smoke.] I'm sorry I left, Mr. Solomons. I'm sorry I can't be there. I'll be all right. Don't worry about me. Don't worry about anything. Maybe if you don't you'd -

[She knows he won't. She's seem men die and knows the look.]

Maybe something will happen. Maybe the admin will do something. She ought to do something.

No, I don't think so. I don't think that's gonna happen.

You're going to find your friend Zach, yeah? And then what are you gonna do?

[Tell him about all your grand plans and adventures, Kesara.]

But something ought to. [It's a small insistent whisper, not even really for him. Kesara swallows again. She understands what he wants. She'll try to give it to him as much as she possibly can, even if her usual prowess at telling her tales is hard to gather up now.]

I'm - I'm going to find him and Steph - I'm sorry, I had to go find him, he died and - and - after we're going to find the ghost of the teacher in the school, I have this idea, I know what to do. We'll find the teacher's ghost and she'd help us get the same trick Ecks has - and we'll light up all the eyes in the tunnel and maybe the Prophet will speak to us - I'm sure he will!

Good. Good, you do that. Brilliant idea. If I'm back, if I'm alive, you send me your results.

[He nods, a small movement, and closes his eyes for a moment. He shifts a little, and mutters a quiet apology to Fiona for jostling her leg - Bumping you a bit, krasivaya zhenshchina. The Russian: "beautiful woman".]

Edited 2016-09-17 19:20 (UTC)

I'll send them to Duster too. And Fiona. I'll help them.

[It's not much, but it's something she can do. Something she can give him.

She makes a small noise of surprise at the sound of the Russian words - the language, and the words themselves. For all her distress she registers what it might mean. And she wants to know - not for curiosity's sake, for once, but because that would mean something. Another thing, about him not being alone.]

Are - are you and Fiona -? [She swallows, embarrassed to be asking this question of an older man, no matter the circumstances.]

Do you speak Russian?

[He shouldn't be surprised. She's a remarkable kid - a remarkable person.]

And no, we're not. No.

Edited 2016-09-17 20:29 (UTC)

Yes, I - Lady Gavin taught me, she said, it's important for any Britisher in Serindia to know... [She swallows a little again.] You called her beautiful. So, I thought...

[She's still embarrassed, and now she finds that the answer makes her sad. And even a fraction more sadness might make her unable to keep talking. So she talks through it, hanging on to the momentum.]

I'll help her anyway. Because she is your friend. Do you - do you want me to tell you about Serindia? A good story?

Oh, she is beautiful.

[He starts slipping back into Russian here - not to tease Fiona, or to keep things from her, but because he's tickled pink that clever little Kesara can understand it.]

And good to have here with me, now.

I'll take a story. Yes.

[Listening is easier than talking.]

[A story. She's meant to always be able to do that. Stories always come easy. Lies, good lies... what is she going to say to a man who lies dying?]

I heard... [She doesn't have anything wise. She can only remember silly, pointless things. Maybe he'd like them, though. Maybe he'd like to laugh.]

I heard this story from a Jew in Kabul, that once there were a Christian and a Muslim and a Jew who were travelling together. Friendly as can be they travelled, until it was time to eat. They agreed that the Jew would slaughter the lamb they bought for their meal, the Christian will clean it and the Muslim will cook, and so it was. The Jew did his part, and went aside to rest.

But while they cooked, the other two conspired, saying, why should we share the good heart and liver with him? We'll make a bet, tomorrow we'll say to him, whoever had the pleasantest dream in the night will have these best portions, and they agreed between them about what dreams they will tell. They told the Jew of the bet when he woke, and he agreed, not knowing they meant to cheat him.

In the morning the Christian woke and said, "what a dreamed had I! I dreamed that the Christ himself came down from Heaven to invite me to the gates. He took my hand and led me to them."

The Mussulman then said, "I know you have, for in my dream, the Prophet himself, peace be upon him, came down to escort me to Heaven; and when I passed the gates you were still sitting outside them!"

At this, the Jew sighed and said, "and I, alas, am a poor man, witness to no such miracles. In my dream there came to me Moses with his staff, and said to me, o man, dire is your lot. Your companions are gone to their eternal reward and you are left here on this earth. At least feasting with the Christ and Prophet, they will not miss this little offal; may as well rise and eat! And so I did."

[Alfie doesn't laugh, but he does smile, just a little. He knots his fingers into the fabric of Fiona's sleeve, and whispers:]

Good girl, Kesara.

[She doesn't know if she did well. She doesn't know if he's smiling because he likes the story, because it was good, or because he wants her to be brave. All she can do is give a tiny nod, a little jerking. Her mouth trembles as she smiles back, until she has to bite her lip to stop it.]

I could - I could tell another one - maybe if you listened to me, you wouldn't sleep - ?

Yeah.

[Dying is inevitable now. He knows it. But the fighting instinct in him still wants to live for as long as he can - despite the terrible pain, despite the inevitable end.]

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