westwhere | hold my hand in yours

The agreement: access to the kitchens for a very limited time per day.

Emilia accepts it for now, aware she shouldn't push her luck. She's trying to pick her battles, instead of fighting all of them.

Sometimes.

Though she doubts the culprits of the masque poisoning would attempt the same exact trick twice, she remains vigilant about the food being served at the palace. It helps cooking is an area she feels confident in. Nobility and court politics, on the other hand...

The blueberries in the ice box looked too tempting to ignore today, besides. And the focaccia bread she'd given time to rise earlier! It dimples perfectly. The end result of this bread almost blocks the waves of sadness that crash into her as she moves around a kitchen that is not Sea & Vine. Memories have tricks of their own. But no one told her they've thorns, too.

After drizzling the olive oil and garlic mixture she concocted onto the bread, she scatters the blueberries over the loaf. Adds some lemon wheels and rosemary leaves for good measure. Tops with just a bit of parmesan, salt, and cracked pepper.

It cuts into nice, long slices once she bakes the loaf golden. She shares some of those slices with the cooks on staff and thanks them for sharing their space with her, before placing the rest in a small basket. She carries that basket with her to Vannozza's wing of the Doxe palace, and much like last time, sets it down on a nearby table should anyone else from the team feel like partaking.

True, most have no reason to trust her cooking, either. But she knows she isn't a danger. ... To them, at least.

Since escaping from the tower, Marcos has been trying to come to terms with everything that has been thrown at him. One, that he's apparently in some completely different dimension where dragons and zombies are a thing, while everyone gives him a funny look at the word 'mutant'. Two, that they're completely cut off from everyone else they know and he has no clue where to find them. And three, that he and Lorna are again on separate sides and forced to not only meet in secret, but work to sabotage each other.

It's a lot.

That last point is what he's stuck on as he walks down the halls of the palace, having just sent his 'attendants' away so he could think in peace. They're presumably being paid, like he is, to ruin the reputations of some witches he admittedly isn't too fond of. But it still seems beyond strange that he's been given authority over them, like he has any idea what he's doing here.

With everything on his mind, he doesn't realize how hungry he is until he spots the basket of bread and the woman who just left it on the table.

"Wow." He really can't help but comment once he gets a closer look. After what he survived on while he was drugged in a cage, it's hard not to marvel that they eat like this in the palace. Realizing he said that out loud, he looks up to the woman with raised eyebrows. "That looks... amazing. Did you make it?"

"I did. Feel free to help yourself, if you'd like."

It all feels like a lifetime ago, some days. Or like a dream that belonged to someone that never was. But no, the dream was hers. This was all she'd wanted: a small garden to call her own and to fill bellies up with good food, no matter their station. No one would leave her corner of Palermo hungry, or sad. She can't imagine that sort of lightness anymore, but it was hers, once.

Even if Marcos weren't vaguely familiar from the night(...s) of the Bessis fete, he looks a bit like she did when she first arrived to Taravast, out of place and in search of something steady. They all want a way back.

Emilia may not be able to offer much where that's concerned, yet. But she can offer bread.

Marcos smiles at her, hoping that he's not taking something that was intended for someone else. It's hard to tell if he's seen her before, or if she has any idea where he came from, but he's still grateful for her offer. Honestly, he's just tired of making sense of everything, and he hasn't fully recovered from his time in the tower. A little kindness goes a long way.

"Are you sure?" To his credit, he waits for confirmation before he takes a piece, and he doesn't immediately cram it into his mouth. Even before he got here, his diet was terrible. Now he supposes he has money again, so he could possibly change that. He should probably spend it all on food before they catch on to him and take it back.

"Thank you. This almost blocks out the memory of the last thing I ate."

"Positive," Emilia answers firmly, tone brooking no room for doubt. "I was finally given access to the kitchens for an hour every day. I try to make good use of that time and bring food back to anyone from our group that would like some of it."

And she does know Marcos is a newer member of said group. She may leverage baked goods to her advantage at times — Wrath certainly becomes chattier when she brings him cannolis — but in this case, it's merely an offering.

She is slow to trust as a general rule, and being able to make her own food gives her some small degree of comfort. What with all the people being poisoned and growing sick, both within and outside these palace walls...

Emilia cants her head to the side. As someone who is quiet and reserved ~~when her elemental rage is not getting the best of her~~, she tries not to pry into the private ~~unless she's infiltrating dangerous courts~~. But she's too inquisitive to pretend she isn't curious.

"I now have to ask."

What was the last thing Marcos Diaz ate?

"So they share the kitchen work around here?" He tilts his head to regard her, considering everything that implies. Back before the Underground got dismantled, they would all help each other and pitch in where they could, so the concept immediately appeals to him. They also never ate anything this good.

When she asks the inevitable question, he breaks into a smile that ends in a slight grimace. That's a memory he would very much like to put in the distant past.

"You don't want to know." He picks at the bread and debates how widely known this is. It's a small leap to come to the conclusion he already has about her, but he's already formed some pretty strong opinions about the group that rescued him from that cage. "Your people helped me out of that place. I haven't really found the right person to thank, but... apparently I'm still accepting favors."

Her people?

Emilia supposes they are, in a way. For as long as they're here, they're all working toward a common goal. They may not all agree on the best way to achieve that goal, but they've been sharing information with each other, and aid.

She's not quite used to working within a group. It all still feels new.

"I know," she says. Taravast may be a place that requires masks, figuratively and literally, but Emilia prefers transparency when possible. "I was there, which is why you looked familiar to me. But I was soon pulled away to assist with the dragon."

Not something she thought she'd ever say, admittedly. But if viperidaes exist, why not dragons?

"I'm glad to see you're all right."

He seems to brighten slightly, hearing that his assumption was correct. They were drugged, so his memory of that entire event is still muddled. He remembers the dragon. He tried to lend a hand, and never really saw what happened with it. Just that it was very abruptly gone. He'd like to know for his own curiosity, but he's not sure he's ready to get into that yet.

"Oh yeah. I'm doing just fine." And he really gives it his all to sound convincing. He went from thinking he was coming into some horrific hellscape where he was tortured with visions of burning witches, to... well, talking to someone who bakes delicious bread for their little group of refugees. He's still confused, and liable to have a breakdown if he thinks of what he chose to leave behind, but he needs to get his feet under him first. For him and for Lorna.

"I'm Marcos." He turns to face her fully, still brimming with questions but needing to get this off of his chest to someone who was directly involved. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come when you did. No one really explained what they were planning on doing with us."

"Emilia," she answers in turn.

To say that one is fine, she's learned, is a malleable statement.

Enough, she forcefully tells herself when she feels the tendrils of fear or despair attempting to wrap around her heart. There is no room in it, her heart, for either. No room for sadness or regret. Certainly not mercy. Enough.

It works more often than it doesn't. They do what they must to go on. She trusts very little as far as first impressions go, these days, but he strikes her a kind man. The world likes to wrench that away first, kindness.

"And ... no, explanations are not easily given or found in this place. It wasn't that long ago I myself awoke here not knowing how or why. I was helped then, and it was my responsibility to help now. Were you able to speak to Karsa?"

He nearly asks if she arrived in a similar circumstance, but he doesn't want to call up any bad memories. It's hard not to be empathetic when it's still disturbing how little he remembers before being captured. He doesn't want to think the friends that were with them are somewhere worse off.

At least he's found someone he can relate to; bearing the responsibility of wanting to help as a repayment for what they did. He just hasn't gotten that far yet.

"I met Karsa. She... gave me a lot to process. I'm not sure I understood everything." At the time, he was recovering and didn't have the stamina to ask her more questions. After a moment, he shrugs, hoping Emilia might understand more than he does. "I still don't even know how to do the job they hired me for. I was kind of wondering if that kind of thing is common around here."

"Quite," Emilia answers in response to his question.

To their potential misfortune, it's quite common to be tasked to such jobs. That they're here at all to involve themselves in wars that were never theirs to fight is perhaps the biggest example. For all her efforts, she's learned very little about this beacon in the process... and enough about everything else to feel grim over some of their odds.

"If you don't mind my asking, what job were you hired for?"

They are both aligned with Vannozza, and this allows her to openly associate with Marcos. If nothing else, she can point him in the right direction. Their group is not without considerable resources.

He doesn't mind. Not that he was just waiting for an excuse to work it into a conversation, but it's awkward walking around with attendants waiting for him to give them something to do. At some point they might report back that he's not worth what they're paying him, and he'd be forced to agree with them.

Of course, he's also not really sure how much he's supposed to be talking about it. He at least glances around them to make sure they're alone before he answers.

"To serve the witches of Attaryl." Which is a name he keeps having to repeat to himself to not get the two groups mixed up. "They want vengeance on the Bessis. Not that I blame them, but I'm not really sure anything I said could damage their reputation more."

He knows enough about who was blamed for the days he spent in a cage being tormented by undead witches. That he might have been able to handle more than the last part of it.

"And to sabotage someone I know who was hired by the Bessis. It's... an awkward position."

She is silent in her attentiveness, absorbing what Marcos says. The information she learned from Moran already pointed to the Attaryl having greater plans, and this further confirms it. They've been biding their time, and the time may have come.

"The feud between the Attaryl and the Bessis is lasting, embittered and hard-won. It may be that damage to the latter's reputation is not deemed enough, and only the first step. I don't blame the Attaryl either, but others have been hurt in the crossfire before."

Emilia is familiar with vengeance. She's consumed with the need to right an intolerable wrong. To find those responsible for her twin's murder, and the murder of other witches, and make them pay dearly for daring. And still she believes this to be true: it doesn't matter how powerful someone is, how wealthy, or even wronged — they should not escape accountability. That's not justice.

A pause.

Marcos doesn't reveal the identity of the person he is meant to sabotage, something she finds revealing in itself. She doesn't press for a name, but she does say, "We can find somewhere more private to discuss this, if you'd like."

Marcos watches her as she explains, wondering at her own experience and if she's referring to something else when she mentions people getting hurt. He can wrap his head around them wanting to go after their enemies, but he's curious what they heard about him if they thought he was the right person for the job. Nobody asked and he hasn't felt comfortable confronting the witches when he doesn't know anything more about them.

It's hard for him to know what information he needs to guard, but at her offer, he nods. Nobody expressly told him that he needed to keep his job a secret, it just seems like something that would be. Along with the fact that he's been tasked to nullify whatever Lorna is able to do on her side. Something he doubts she wants any part in. They weren't given much of a choice.

"If you don't mind. I don't mean to keep you from anything." Then he tries to smile again, not to make this seem so... shady. "They haven't sworn me to secrecy or anything, but I'm not trying to make any more enemies while I'm here."

Emilia shakes her head with both resolve and assurance.

"You won't keep me from anything. This is important."

It doesn't sit well with her that he was roped into the conflict between the Attaryl and Bessis before he could so much as gather his bearings. If she can better arm him with knowledge and what she herself has gleaned, all the better.

No one is going to wait for them to grow fangs before bearing their own sharpness.

"And it won't hurt to be careful," she adds, as she leads him to a more private area. A silencing charm will be needed wherever they land. "People in Taravast wear masks in more ways than one. They'll rarely make their intentions obvious."

Hearing her call it important gives a weight to her words, and Marcos steps closer to her as they move to somewhere less open. He's still so confused why he's here to begin with and what purpose he's supposed to have. He doesn't doubt that they're trying to use him to suit their needs, but it sounds more complicated than what he's gathered so far.

He tries to keep from letting paranoia get the better of him when she mentions masks. Heaving a sigh, he nods. It isn't like that's unfamiliar to him, it's just exhausting to think that he's back here again. He lowers his voice, but he can't hold back his frustration the more he thinks about it.

"You can say that again. I don't know what they want out of me. If they're powerful witches, what do they need an outsider for?" He asks her, but he's also thinking out loud. "They even gave me a salary with attendants, like they think I've done this before. What will they do if I can't give them what they want?"

Emilia's silence following his last question is probably not comforting.

She'd like to help make sure Marcos never receives a concrete answer, because the answer itself isn't pretty. Truth is, people with this kind of influence can do a great deal to force their hand, and he already finds himself in a delicate position.

"Those in power will use others to do their bidding. The Attaryl have an established reputation in Taravast, whereas you're new to the political landscape. It creates opportunity. Do they know you're familiar with the person they mean to sabotage?"

Vannozza was quick to threaten Allison to keep Diego in line. Wrath has been careful to a mercenary degree to ensure Vannozza doesn't know what he cares about as he helps her.

Marcos isn't thrilled with that reasoning. They took advantage of his ignorance when he was in a vulnerable position, and he has seen enough glimpses of their history to have serious questions about his involvement with them. Especially for Lorna's.

He breathes out a heavy breath at her question. It seems like they would know about their relationship, but he can't be sure.

"They would be if they had anything to do with bringing us here. We were locked up together." Which is still hard to swallow. Since they got out, everyone else seems comfortable acting like that never happened. He's careful not to dwell on it long himself so he doesn't misdirect any lingering resentment. "...I don't know how much the Attaryl were involved in that, but to be honest I barely had my head clear when they gave me that assignment. I probably agreed too easily."

Not that he was really asked. They were given a convoluted history of what they missed, informed of what their roles would be, and separated. He owes Emilia and their group a debt for saving him, but he still hasn't sorted out the issues he has with those in power.

"How worried do I need to be about her? As far as I know, the Bessis don't have much of a reputation left to salvage. I don't want to have any hate misdirected at someone who didn't have a choice."

Emilia tries to maintain as much objectivity as possible when considering this next question. Her own world — and the world below it — were filled with secrets and betrayal. It's deepened her skeptical nature. Her sense of distrust.

But Taravast, too, has its own dangers. And it would benefit Marcos in no way to cushion the landing.

"I believe that a reasonable level of caution should always be maintained with everyone we meet. But so long as you are discreet when seeing each other and give them no reason to be suspicious, you should both be all right."

Of course, that's half the battle. At least, is for Emilia. Her instinct is to charge toward a problem. Playing her role is a constant negotiation with herself, often intolerable: she either smothers her own impulses, or she yields what ground she has been gaining. It is only her desperate need to return home and not bring devastation to the group that keeps her in line. ... Most of the time.

It's not bad advice, and no different than he was planning on doing, so he manages to relax slightly. Never mind that he hates having to spend any time apart from Lorna, but they've done this before. At least this time they weren't separated by choice and he isn't plagued by the thought that his love for her wasn't enough to stay with him.

"If they haven't thought we were suspicious yet, I don't think they're looking that hard." He says it like it's supposed to be a joke, but this whole thing has been getting to him. So far he hasn't been able to tell who kidnapped them to start with, but the witches are the prime suspects. If it was just to play these kinds of games with their lives, he's not horribly appreciative.

"Do they still burn people alive, or is that all in the past?" Days of seeing visions of witches being burned left an impression. He's not convinced they aren't as ruthless as they used to be.

When Emilia was much younger, a fratello named Carmine would search for anyone with evil in their souls that need be taken away. Sometimes there would be a knock at the door to at least give warning. Sometimes there would not be. And evil was applied loosely and abstractly. Men had a tendency to do that in her world — blame the devil for the things they did not like.

At five years old, she'd clutch her twin's hand as they hid under the covers, fearing Carmine would sense the magic in their blood and take them away. For most of her life, she did fear this: a pyre. She thought it would be her greatest nightmare.

Until, of course, that night at the monastery when she stumbled on Vittoria's body.

She remembers that fear now, perhaps not quick enough to hide away her initial reaction. Quick, though, to compose herself. That's the thing about Emilia, ravenously hungry for answers but holding herself in constant check. Thinking through her choices at length, except, of course, when she doesn't. Then she really doesn't. Like two sides of her are at constant war.

"The Bessis and the Attaryl reached a reluctant agreement years ago, though what happened at the tower where you arrived will not go unanswered, I'm sure. There've been no witch hunts that I know of, but fear makes people act in all sorts of ways."

And things in Taravast are worsening. She loosens a breath. "I don't mean to be alarming."

Edited 2021-11-13 00:55 (UTC)

After he said it, Marcos realizes that he should have phrased that more tactfully. Even if Emilia wasn't there to witness people being burned alive, just the idea that it happened here is enough to rattle anyone. That's all he reads into her reaction and how she tries to keep her composure. He wonders briefly at her formal way of speaking, if she has some higher status here that he should be aware of, but he keeps that curiosity to himself for now.

He rubs on his neck, because he knows the way this goes. Things only seem to change after they reach a boiling point, and not always for the better. But he's quick to shake his head when she nearly apologizes for answering his questions. Emilia doesn't have to tell him that tensions are on the rise for him to notice, but he still can use any bit of information he can gather.

"I asked. It seems like I've got my work cut out for me." He puts it way too lightly, in part to make up for before. She's being generous with her time, he doesn't need to waste it going into his sob story. "I thought people might be more accepting of powers here, but they might just... not have a choice, considering the ones in charge. What they're asking us to do won't help anyone."

He'd rather cut their ties now, if he weren't worried about leaving innocent people who helped them escape to the wolves. It's going to be tough to use whatever authority he's been given to calm things down. And Lorna. He knows her, and she's not going to react well to any of this, and they've been down that road before.

"No, it won't. Only themselves. But I assure you that if you look, you'll find others who do want to help."

Emilia can tell that he cares, and the truth is, so does she. Her heart may be battered and bruised, full of grief and vengeance and darker pursuits as of late, but she's always cared. She wouldn't have it any other way.

She gathers a generous helping of the blueberry lemon loaf she just baked, carefully wraps a towel around it. She hands it over to Marcos with the first real smile their interaction brings, subdued in light of recent events, but sincere.

"Here. For you and ... whomever you'd like to share it with."

His friend, perhaps.

He tries tell her that he's sure he will, but he doesn't quite make it that far after her encouraging assessment. The more he hears about it, the more of a mess he realizes he's in. Asking around is all he can do, and hope that he's not giving away something that puts him or Lorna in danger.

Emilia's people saved them, but he's no less of an outsider than he was before. He's in unique and extremely precarious position. Just thinking about manipulating some complicated political plot to help lower the pulse around here is daunting. He couldn't call how he dealt with it back home a roaring success, and there he at least understood all the sides.

When she wraps up the bread he finally warms up again. He catches her meaning with a grateful smile and nods; he's sure he's already taken up too much of her time.

"Thank you. I'm, ah...," he trails off, stumbling over his own thoughts until he meets her gaze and he lifts the bread. It does still smell remarkably good, even through the cloth. "We'll enjoy this. And if there's anything I can do to repay you, just let me know."

It's a blanket offer. They don't have their friends here, so every relationship matters. He's still unsure of a hell of a lot, but he'll do what he can to work with them.

hold my hand in yours

( CLOSED TO MARCOS. )

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cw: zealotry and death and as always my tl;dr

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