(open.) though it be singular

[decrypter]

who: helena and open.
what: getting back to normal, shapeshifting into a bunny, apology tour, etc.
when: all of may, some bonus june.
where: across the boat.
warnings: discussions of repeated murder in various threads.

Comments

[not_the_last]

Cassandra stops mid-stride, briefly frozen, and then turns toward the familiar voice.

"Miss Helena," she says. "Of course. I've been hoping for a chance to speak with you."

[decrypter]

Her hands twist a little on her cane, but she doesn't let her resolve slip away. Any moment, someone could come in, break this moment - her face speaks to her nervousness, but her tone is steady.

"...I owe you an apology, Miss Cassandra, for everything that happened on the bridge. And it's one I should have given far sooner than this."

She doesn't expect forgiveness, that would be too generous. But still, she's so, so sorry for how it panned out - for the pain that got thrust into the public sphere for the both of them, for how Cassandra felt the need to defend herself. There's no guile attached to this, she simply means it, and has to confront it head on.

[not_the_last]

"I think I owe --" she starts to say, half overlapping, and then falls silent in plain shock.

There's a brief silence before she says "I was about to say," slowly, "that I believe I owe you an apology. For that conversation."

[decrypter]

For a second, she goes quiet as well, before a tiny frown takes the place of her surprise.

"But why? You didn't do anything wrong."

Nothing worth apologizing over, at least.

[not_the_last]

"I --"

She stops. Shakes her head. Realizes a moment later that Helena can't see her shake her head.

"Perhaps I should let you go first," she says, "and tell me what you're apologizing for."

[decrypter]

Oh, this is stranger than she thought it would be. Isn't it obvious? Isn't her rudeness totally apparent? She falters, but then regains her strength, taking a deep breath.

"For hurting you. For making you feel as though you needed to showcase your pain in public. For placing you in a difficult position, Miss Cassandra."

[not_the_last]

She has to say it. It's the truth and she has to say it, no matter how little she wants to.

"It wasn't you who hurt me, Miss Helena." She folds her hands in front of her, trying not to grip too tightly. "At worst you reminded me too much of how I was hurt in the past. You showed us your own pain to try to convince us of your sincerity, and all I did was pull out my own to measure it against yours, as though it were some kind of contest. It wasn't even to back up a solid argument, only to try to -- to slap yours aside."

She swallows. "It was unworthy of me, and I apologize."

[decrypter]

For a moment, she's quiet. The expression on her face will tell Cassandra that it's not to reject her, but being taken aback at getting an apology at all. It'd be the right thing to say that she doesn't hold it against the woman, that they were all in a difficult place - but the truth is that it still cut, it still made Helena want to be cruel. She didn't expose her own scars and bleed in front of them to be told someone else had it worse. She tells herself that enough on a daily basis.

That she managed to avoid cruelty that time is still an act of will. And it takes another one to take a breath, to speak and not try to shove everything under a rug, to not say what is correct but what is true.

"...as I said back then, I can't guess at your pain. And neither am I going to ask you about it, because I feel that such a thing should be yours to choose and reveal, however much you want others to know, who you want to know."

That choice was out of her own hands, now - there had been no other route. All she can do is hope enough got lost in the chaos that not so many of them have access to that part of her. It's the veil of pretending to be just a student, just a writer, ripped in half.

"But...if you want someone to know, I'm told I'm a very good listener." And sometimes the only ones who understand hell are the other ones who lived through it.

[not_the_last]

Cassandra takes a deep, slightly hitching breath in turn, just absorbing what Helena has offered her. In the face of everything that's happened, everything that was said. Not just an apology in turn, but a hand outstretched.

"I've told ... some people here. Erin knows, and -- and Security." Another hitch and stumble there, and she looks away. "If I might ask you: is this something you would want to know, all else being equal? Or something you would be willing to bear knowing, should I need to tell you?"

[decrypter]

"It falls in some area between, to be candid. There's a part of me that wants to know, to be able to understand you better. But there's another part of me that knows that my wishes when it comes to someone else's suffering mean little, that I have no right to it."

Her hands twist on her cane a little more, a nervous habit.

"For you to share it would not be a burden to bear. I know that much."

[not_the_last]

It takes her a moment to say it, even though at some level she knows she's already made the decision.

"I think I'd like to tell you, then." That's very quiet; her voice flexes dry in the next words. "I've already told you the worst thing about me I know, so you may as well have the context."

[decrypter]

She nods, accepting Cassandra's decision, but something else comes to mind.

"Do you want to go somewhere? Somewhere you can have a touch more privacy?"

So that they're not standing on the decks while Cassandra pours her heart out.

[not_the_last]

"I was about to say," she agrees, "that this may or may not be the time, but it's certainly not the place ... Do you have any suggestions? It's hard to find true privacy here."

[decrypter]

"I don't think anyone actually eats in Stellar. Or goes in there, if you're looking for areas that are truly private. Otherwise, I've found that on the higher decks off to a side, you can hear someone coming quite well."

Or see them, in Cassandra's case.

[not_the_last]

"Stellar might do," says Cassandra, who does in fact regularly dine there, and knows how empty it usually is.

"If I might ask," she begins, as they start toward the dining room, and then shakes her head. "No, I'm not going to ask anything. I will tell you, instead -- for your own knowledge, and with no obligation to give any answer -- that I feel much the same about knowing your story as you said you feel about knowing mine."

Wanting to know, to be able to understand better; knowing that one has no right to know.

[decrypter]

"I think...I'm all right with you knowing. I told you a part of it in the broader sense, and it makes sense that you'd want to know."

That's the half of her life she feels safe giving out. That's the one where she asks for no pity, and doesn't get it, and continues moving on. And perhaps it will explain to Cassandra why she would be frantic to never be put back where she came from.

[not_the_last]

Cassandra nods. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

For a while it's quiet as they walk, the only nearby sounds the tapping of their feet and Helena's cane.

[decrypter]

When they finally reach the dining room, she'll open the door, pausing before it's fully open to listen.

"...No, no one's in here. We'll have privacy."

Now she'll open it in full, and hold the door so Cassandra can come and choose whatever table she wants to sit at. Or if she wants to stand, that will work as well.

[not_the_last]

Cassandra makes for her own regular table, saying "Over this way," as she goes, keeping her footfalls audible to make it easier for Helena to follow. She takes a seat facing the front door, as usual.

Once they're both seated, she rests a hand on the tablecloth and sighs. "Shall I begin, or would you like to? Or do you have any particular questions?"

[decrypter]

"Please, start at whatever point feels comfortable for you. I don't doubt that I'll have questions spring up, but...not at this point."

And she doesn't want to overpower Cassandra's desire to tell with her own story. Not yet.

[not_the_last]

None of this is going to feel comfortable for her. But she finds she does appreciate the openness of it. She folds her hands on the table, watching her own fingers stack neatly against each other, and draws a breath to begin.

"I don't believe I've told you much about my home. If anything."

[decrypter]

"Nothing at all."

The smallest things she can guess, she'll keep to herself, one hand still resting on her cane for lack of a better thing to do with it. She's here to listen, and it's more polite sometimes to close her sightless eyes, to focus only on what she hears.

[not_the_last]

"My father and mother were Lord and Lady de Rolo, and they ruled Whitestone. I was the youngest of their seven children."

It begins so like a fairytale. She could continue in that tone; she finds she doesn't want to.

"When I was twelve, we received a pair of visiting nobles who turned out to be planning a coup. They had suborned one of my father's men to assist them from within, and in one night they killed or took prisoner all of my family and those who remained loyal to us. My brother Percival and I were the only survivors, and for five years each of us thought the other dead."

[decrypter]

Though it's long since happened, Helena still is visibly unsettled by the fact that it happened at all, a chill down her spine. Such monstrousness is possible in the world, she knows, but it doesn't make it more palatable to hear, nor can it be justified.

"I'm so sorry."

Her voice is soft - she knows the words can hardly cover the gaping wounds there. Cassandra was a child. And left to feel like she had no one in the world left for her.

[not_the_last]

Cassandra barely hears it. She's nowhere near finished.

"I spent two years in hiding in the city, while the two who murdered my family took over as the new Lord and Lady. The Briarwoods. They killed any of the lower nobles who opposed them, and installed their own creatures in their places. They wouldn't let anyone leave, to keep word of what they'd done from spreading. To maintain their legitimacy," and for the first time there's an emotion in her voice, a deep bitter scorn, "as Whitestone's new rulers. The townspeople started a resistance, in hiding. I was ... their figurehead, I suppose. Their banner. The last living de Rolo. I worked with them to make a plan, to enter the castle in secret and kill the usurpers."

A pause, as she gathers herself for the next part.