( surprised, the phone fumbles from her fingers, plunking down into a pile of loose craft glitter. alina blows it away like dandelion weeds, shiny fractals scattered to the wind. by the time she's gotten her paint-grungy hands on the right buttons, alia's treated to alina's too-close zoom on her own face, the box framed by her pursed mouth.
after another fussy moment, the video wobbles, refocuses on alina's pinched (grandmotherly, frankly) squint at alia's reflection on screen, like a caveman discovering the magic of fire for the first time. )
[Alia is on her stomach on her bed, feet kicked up behind her, grinning wide and eager and delighted. She's so ready to gloat, but she pauses long enough to giggle, propping her chin in one hand.]
Alina, do you not know how to use a video chat? You look so confused! [One finger reaches out, taps the screen.] You have a little furrow, right there, between your brows.
( respect your elders who are also younger than you, alia. 😠 )
I don't use it for a reason.
( the reason: don't perceive her, ever. text is easier, little holes in vowels to hide within — a grace she isn't afforded here, in the now, her indignation perfectly on display like framed artwork, taking up the gallery of alia's screen. her eyes roll, wearing the exhaustion of an unimpressed sibling. )
I'll leave if you're going to gloat.
( she does not, in fact, need the gift of prophecy to sense alia's smugness from this many corridors and rooms away, or to know alia's worst weakness: being left on read. )
Edited (why did i do that with my html) 2024-08-30 04:45 (UTC)
What reason is that? [Alia sets her phone up against her pillow so she can rest her chin in her hands and beam sweetly at Alina's huffy, close-cropped face, the grainy screen blurring her freckles and stilting her movements.] I'll agree that the real thing is far preferable, of course...
[Then it's her turn to scowl, to draw her full mouth into a pout and stick her tongue out, the picture of maturity as always.]
Cruel, cruel threats! I am not gloating, I'm simply sharing my delight at this truly fascinating bit of information. [Kicking her feet, slowly, then crossing her ankles in the air, toes curling and uncurling as she speaks.] I'm inviting you to share in my joy.
( the shallow, juvenile reasoning. still, it doesn't make it less true. even now, she shies away from the reflected, compact version of herself living in the phone, like a vampire hiding from sunlight. look too long, and she's certain she won't like whatever future version of herself — saints, even the past version of herself, especially the past version of herself — she sees in the crystal ball of the screen.
half for her comfort, half in retaliation for alia's meddling, alina lets the phone droop back onto her desk with a slap, affording alia a nice, scenic view of the ceiling. out of view, she adjusts the boned collar digging into her clavicle, the very thing she can't stand to look at for long, the first oddity people must see when they look at her. )
Be joyous all you want. There still aren't any real werewolves around to knot you.
Hmmmph. [Alia let's out this very huffy, childish sound of annoyance as the phone flops back, scowling and scrunching up her nose at the scene of the ceiling.] I do. I've taken so many photos with it, it's so much clearer and more bright than the recordings at home. Those were like -- projections of light, flimsy things.
I like looking at you all the time. [Matter-of-fact, absently bringing up her photos, scrolling slowly through the (mostly blurry) photos she has of Alina.] Even if you are very difficult to photograph.
[Then, in the same breath:] Who said I want to be knotted? The opposite is so much more enjoyable.
( she snorts a breath, predictively dismissive — all disbelief disguised as humor., tamping down on her honest urge to spit out there are better things to look at. )
You like looking at pond scum.
( which alina starkov might've been, to some. she can still hear whispered words passed around the orphanage, echoing in the hallways of her memories, calling her ugly, painful to look at, sour and ill as curdled milk. better that she had made herself a ghost, keeping to her own corners, haunting the only living thing that could stand the sight of her: mal, with his baby-fat cheeks and curly mop of hair, telling her i don't think you're ugly.
a pretty lie from a boy whose eye had always been taken with someone shinier.
she forces out an incredulous breath of an otherwise genuine laugh, interspersed with the distant scratching of a pencil on paper, clearly engrossed in something. a lock of her hair edges into view, dangling. )
For you, maybe. I'm not sure I'd like the opposite.
( tmw you don't even realize you've confessed to liking being knotted. anyway. more's the point: )
It doesn't matter. I'm still not going to tumble a werewolf to indulge your curiosity, if one comes to the manor.
Mmm, and the stars. [Alia counters it, watching the lock of dark hair, imagining twining it around her fingers, tugging like a bell, imagining Alina poking at her with the pencil, huffing and pink-cheeked and soft-eyed.] And the morning sun on the little drops of water the geese scatter when they take flight, making rainbows in the sky. And the dew on the grass -- I had never seen dew before here, did you know? I had never seen a lot of wonderful things.
[Including you, as loud and vivid as if she'd said it aloud.
Alia starts pulling feathers out of her pillow, flicking them up to coast through the air.]
No? I shall keep that in mind should any arrive and your honor need defense. I've never fought a werewolf, but I would win, I'm sure.
( out of frame, a flush crawls onto alina's complexion in slow motion, a dry lump lodged firmly in her throat. it would be a lie to claim she's unaffected by it, despite lifetime of verbal beatings, of learning to beat herself down before anyone could do it for her. still, she feels her insecurities prickle, craving and fearing alia's praise in equal measure — a wild animal, too afraid to feed from an open hand. )
That explains it, ( she parries back, a little shakier than she wants to admit. unsubtle as ever, she clears the thickness in her throat. ) You haven't seen much.
( copper looks dazzling, when you haven't seen the polish of a diamond. a pigeon is remarkable, if you haven't seen a peacock's feathers. the pencil pauses as she scratches at one cheek, like that might rid her of its heat, blowing out a huff of an amused exhale. )
You're making me sound like a storybook maiden. I suppose that makes you my valiant knight, then?
[The shakiness gets a very smug little smirk from Alia, unseen due to the current angle of Alina's phone -- though it slips quite easily into a pout, a soft puff of air escaping said pouty lips to send the plucked-free feathers flying. The maids hate her.] I've seen every person here, haven't I? And all their films and all their books -- as you might recall, I am the fount of all knowledge.
[A dismissive handwave, typically bold Alia, dismissing all this world has to offer.] I like birds and frogs and cinnamon rolls and you. I don't need to see a thousand worlds to know that I've chosen the best things. My favorite things.
[Then she grins, scooting forward and scooping up the phone, cradling it in her palms.] No, no, not the knight. I look terrible in armor, Paul is much more suited. I'm the fearsome dragon that breathes fire and hoards treasures far below your castle, and gobbles up any knights who aren't worthy of you. Or werewolves, I guess. [A soft giggle, bright teeth pressing at her lower lip, watching the sway of that tendril of dark hair.] I'd be the most ferocious dragon for you, Alina, if you'd have me~
And you could like salamanders and cherry cake tomorrow.
( equally (frustratingly) dismissive, on alina's end. i am not fickle, paul had told her, once, and maybe she's begun to believe it — that he's steadfast and deliberate in his choices, and not as fair-weathered as a bird, flying wherever the wind takes it. alia is another matter altogether. alina thinks of her mucking through pond fronds, scooping up wet, wriggling worms between her squishy fingers with delight, like a child exploring a new world. a desert girl plucked from the dunes and given free rein to splash and swim and soar in the skies, everything fresh and exciting in its novelty.
it feels like a given that alina will lose her shiny newness eventually, even if it fills her with soft warmth to hear alia call her a favorite. for now, at least. half of her face pops into view, from temple to chin, a hand propped up beneath it — amused, still, despite her pushback. the corner of her mouth perks up, quietly teasing. )
Alia. It's the dragon who steals away the maiden to become their bride in those stories. The knight is meant to slay the dragon and rescue her from her lonely tower. ( laughable, to think of paul chasing down alia, and — not entirely out of the realm of possibility, now that she's imagining it. imagining them, sword-fighting with sticks, playing their game of make-believe. so, to pull on alia's metaphorical pigtails: ) Unless you're admitting Paul could outwit you?
I like salamanders today, don’t be silly. [Alia has several of the little feathers resting in her hair, tangled in her curls, wafting delicately down to rest on her bare shoulders, the straps of her thin nightgown once again having given up their post. She tilts her head, chin in her hands, reading through the lines of Alina’s dismissal and frowning gently.] And tomorrow I will find more things to like, and more and more and more. I am greedy and I am selfish, and there is room in my cavernous heart for so many, many treasures.
[She isn’t Paul, isn’t a stoic, steadfast figure, but she is zealous and protective, called on as the protector, the vengeful, the wrathful. Love is the root of all wrath, in Alia’s opinion – what greater show of affection could there be, than to kill for someone?
But then, such an affront to her dignity that she gasps, sits up straighter, scattering feathers. ] He never could! I could eat him up in one gulp, without even using my teeth! [These she snaps, growling and huffing in annoyance, rolling to her back and consequently out of frame.] Especially as he is now, little Muad’Dib in the high desert, making his burrows in the moon! I could scoop him up in my hands and leave him atop a cactus blossom and tell him it’s the surface of a new planet, and he’d be none the wiser!
[There’s endless affection in the words, it’s impossible for there not to be, but also a grandiose sort of loftiness – Alia is the younger sister, but the Paul she knows is older, sadder, grimmer. She loves him then, loves him always, but this bright and soft-faced version leaves her limbs weak with tenderness.]
( she hums, a considering — if not wholly unconvinced — little sound. still, she lets that argument fade without another word, like honoring a children's session of make-believe to keep from trampling on their unrealistic dreams. better to let alia's imagination think of alina starkov as a lovable creature — alia's own imaginary friend, dreaming alina to be something more than she actually is. )
Could you? ( her head lists to one side, squinting at her screen, as though genuinely measuring alia's through the screen. a tap, tap, tap of her fingers against her chin distracts from her growing smile, slinking across her face like a stealthy cat in the night. ) If he's a mouse, wouldn't that make him much quicker than you?
( — says alina starkov, fellow mouse, in mouse solidarity. warm mischief drips from alina's eyes like melty chocolate as her stare skips to the feathers ruffled in alia's hair, choking on her own laughing amusement when she continues: )
You look more like a plucked goose than a ferocious dragon right now, anyway. Hardly scary to a mouse knight.
[A battle won, in Alia's mind, that brief flash of Alina's mind from that night they'd slept curled together like children, seeking the comfort of another body, another breathing, moving, living, warm creature to press against burned into her soul. She'd barely glanced it, invading like she had, barging in careless and heedless, but she recalls the edges, like running her hands over the shape of things in the dark. Horror and fear, the bite of despair, the roiling sickness of self-loathing. The way Alia saw Alina and the way Alina saw herself, clashing together, two different girls in one.
So she knows: even reaching a pause in denial of all she is (lovely and bright and beautiful) is a victory. Wars are won by skirmish after skirmish, holy or no, though few things are as holy as convincing Alina of her worth.]
Speed isn't everything, dearest, best beloved. [Alia kicks her feet up, sending feathers swirling.] Paul may impress with an initial sprint, but I do not tire and I do not surrender. Though I'll admit, he has better stamina than most. [Normal things to say about your brother.
Then she giggles, the sound near-giddy with the warmth in Alina's eyes, the sight thrilling Alia to her soul, actually causing her to catch her breath. Lovely and lovely and lovely, she repeats to herself, saving up each fervent declaration until Alina is ready, until Alia can slip back into her mind invited and fill it with her ardor.] Haven't you ever met a goose? They're ferocious! [She bares her teeth on a hiss.]
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no subject
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What was I right about, Alinaaaaaaa
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Since all knowledge is yours.
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Real werewolves do knot each other.
text > video
[UN: COAN_TEAN WOULD LIKE TO FACETIME.
ACCEPT/REFUSE?]
video ►
after another fussy moment, the video wobbles, refocuses on alina's pinched (grandmotherly, frankly) squint at alia's reflection on screen, like a caveman discovering the magic of fire for the first time. )
... Hello?
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Alina, do you not know how to use a video chat? You look so confused! [One finger reaches out, taps the screen.] You have a little furrow, right there, between your brows.
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I don't use it for a reason.
( the reason: don't perceive her, ever. text is easier, little holes in vowels to hide within — a grace she isn't afforded here, in the now, her indignation perfectly on display like framed artwork, taking up the gallery of alia's screen. her eyes roll, wearing the exhaustion of an unimpressed sibling. )
I'll leave if you're going to gloat.
( she does not, in fact, need the gift of prophecy to sense alia's smugness from this many corridors and rooms away, or to know alia's worst weakness: being left on read. )
no subject
[Then it's her turn to scowl, to draw her full mouth into a pout and stick her tongue out, the picture of maturity as always.]
Cruel, cruel threats! I am not gloating, I'm simply sharing my delight at this truly fascinating bit of information. [Kicking her feet, slowly, then crossing her ankles in the air, toes curling and uncurling as she speaks.] I'm inviting you to share in my joy.
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( the shallow, juvenile reasoning. still, it doesn't make it less true. even now, she shies away from the reflected, compact version of herself living in the phone, like a vampire hiding from sunlight. look too long, and she's certain she won't like whatever future version of herself — saints, even the past version of herself, especially the past version of herself — she sees in the crystal ball of the screen.
half for her comfort, half in retaliation for alia's meddling, alina lets the phone droop back onto her desk with a slap, affording alia a nice, scenic view of the ceiling. out of view, she adjusts the boned collar digging into her clavicle, the very thing she can't stand to look at for long, the first oddity people must see when they look at her. )
Be joyous all you want. There still aren't any real werewolves around to knot you.
no subject
I like looking at you all the time. [Matter-of-fact, absently bringing up her photos, scrolling slowly through the (mostly blurry) photos she has of Alina.] Even if you are very difficult to photograph.
[Then, in the same breath:] Who said I want to be knotted? The opposite is so much more enjoyable.
no subject
You like looking at pond scum.
( which alina starkov might've been, to some. she can still hear whispered words passed around the orphanage, echoing in the hallways of her memories, calling her ugly, painful to look at, sour and ill as curdled milk. better that she had made herself a ghost, keeping to her own corners, haunting the only living thing that could stand the sight of her: mal, with his baby-fat cheeks and curly mop of hair, telling her i don't think you're ugly.
a pretty lie from a boy whose eye had always been taken with someone shinier.
she forces out an incredulous breath of an otherwise genuine laugh, interspersed with the distant scratching of a pencil on paper, clearly engrossed in something. a lock of her hair edges into view, dangling. )
For you, maybe. I'm not sure I'd like the opposite.
( tmw you don't even realize you've confessed to liking being knotted. anyway. more's the point: )
It doesn't matter. I'm still not going to tumble a werewolf to indulge your curiosity, if one comes to the manor.
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[Including you, as loud and vivid as if she'd said it aloud.
Alia starts pulling feathers out of her pillow, flicking them up to coast through the air.]
No? I shall keep that in mind should any arrive and your honor need defense. I've never fought a werewolf, but I would win, I'm sure.
no subject
That explains it, ( she parries back, a little shakier than she wants to admit. unsubtle as ever, she clears the thickness in her throat. ) You haven't seen much.
( copper looks dazzling, when you haven't seen the polish of a diamond. a pigeon is remarkable, if you haven't seen a peacock's feathers. the pencil pauses as she scratches at one cheek, like that might rid her of its heat, blowing out a huff of an amused exhale. )
You're making me sound like a storybook maiden. I suppose that makes you my valiant knight, then?
no subject
[A dismissive handwave, typically bold Alia, dismissing all this world has to offer.] I like birds and frogs and cinnamon rolls and you. I don't need to see a thousand worlds to know that I've chosen the best things. My favorite things.
[Then she grins, scooting forward and scooping up the phone, cradling it in her palms.] No, no, not the knight. I look terrible in armor, Paul is much more suited. I'm the fearsome dragon that breathes fire and hoards treasures far below your castle, and gobbles up any knights who aren't worthy of you. Or werewolves, I guess. [A soft giggle, bright teeth pressing at her lower lip, watching the sway of that tendril of dark hair.] I'd be the most ferocious dragon for you, Alina, if you'd have me~
no subject
( equally (frustratingly) dismissive, on alina's end. i am not fickle, paul had told her, once, and maybe she's begun to believe it — that he's steadfast and deliberate in his choices, and not as fair-weathered as a bird, flying wherever the wind takes it. alia is another matter altogether. alina thinks of her mucking through pond fronds, scooping up wet, wriggling worms between her squishy fingers with delight, like a child exploring a new world. a desert girl plucked from the dunes and given free rein to splash and swim and soar in the skies, everything fresh and exciting in its novelty.
it feels like a given that alina will lose her shiny newness eventually, even if it fills her with soft warmth to hear alia call her a favorite. for now, at least. half of her face pops into view, from temple to chin, a hand propped up beneath it — amused, still, despite her pushback. the corner of her mouth perks up, quietly teasing. )
Alia. It's the dragon who steals away the maiden to become their bride in those stories. The knight is meant to slay the dragon and rescue her from her lonely tower. ( laughable, to think of paul chasing down alia, and — not entirely out of the realm of possibility, now that she's imagining it. imagining them, sword-fighting with sticks, playing their game of make-believe. so, to pull on alia's metaphorical pigtails: ) Unless you're admitting Paul could outwit you?
no subject
[She isn’t Paul, isn’t a stoic, steadfast figure, but she is zealous and protective, called on as the protector, the vengeful, the wrathful. Love is the root of all wrath, in Alia’s opinion – what greater show of affection could there be, than to kill for someone?
But then, such an affront to her dignity that she gasps, sits up straighter, scattering feathers. ] He never could! I could eat him up in one gulp, without even using my teeth! [These she snaps, growling and huffing in annoyance, rolling to her back and consequently out of frame.] Especially as he is now, little Muad’Dib in the high desert, making his burrows in the moon! I could scoop him up in my hands and leave him atop a cactus blossom and tell him it’s the surface of a new planet, and he’d be none the wiser!
[There’s endless affection in the words, it’s impossible for there not to be, but also a grandiose sort of loftiness – Alia is the younger sister, but the Paul she knows is older, sadder, grimmer. She loves him then, loves him always, but this bright and soft-faced version leaves her limbs weak with tenderness.]
no subject
Could you? ( her head lists to one side, squinting at her screen, as though genuinely measuring alia's through the screen. a tap, tap, tap of her fingers against her chin distracts from her growing smile, slinking across her face like a stealthy cat in the night. ) If he's a mouse, wouldn't that make him much quicker than you?
( — says alina starkov, fellow mouse, in mouse solidarity. warm mischief drips from alina's eyes like melty chocolate as her stare skips to the feathers ruffled in alia's hair, choking on her own laughing amusement when she continues: )
You look more like a plucked goose than a ferocious dragon right now, anyway. Hardly scary to a mouse knight.
no subject
So she knows: even reaching a pause in denial of all she is (lovely and bright and beautiful) is a victory. Wars are won by skirmish after skirmish, holy or no, though few things are as holy as convincing Alina of her worth.]
Speed isn't everything, dearest, best beloved. [Alia kicks her feet up, sending feathers swirling.] Paul may impress with an initial sprint, but I do not tire and I do not surrender. Though I'll admit, he has better stamina than most. [Normal things to say about your brother.
Then she giggles, the sound near-giddy with the warmth in Alina's eyes, the sight thrilling Alia to her soul, actually causing her to catch her breath. Lovely and lovely and lovely, she repeats to herself, saving up each fervent declaration until Alina is ready, until Alia can slip back into her mind invited and fill it with her ardor.] Haven't you ever met a goose? They're ferocious! [She bares her teeth on a hiss.]