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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( 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?
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[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.]
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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.]