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BlackFireKitsune Vice Captain
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 Posted: Sat Mar 12, 2011 12:26 pm
He listened quietly as she spoke, still studying her searchingly. What she said.. That was understandable. Anyone who had seemingly lost everything had every right to be as angry as they chose, except she hadn't lost everything. Her husband, his father, yes - but she was never in any danger herself, would have been able to live a long, healthy, happy life in Grand Ile with this girl, his sister, who would have had the benefit of a wonderful education, growing up in a loving home...
What had their mother done? Why did she flee? Had she harbored these feelings for him even before that night? Is that why she left in the first place? Why? Why?
It was a question, he realized, that he'd probably never know the answer to. The only thing that really mattered were the end results of her decision: That his sister, Aila Christelle, had grown up impoverished - the very thing he wanted to prevent in his home country - and likely had little formal education, and was brought up by... by someone who wanted him dead. His mother wanted her to kill him.
He drew a shuddering breath, rose eyes sliding down to the grass between them as he tried to figure out what to say. "So that's why you.. at the Ball..." She'd killed his daughter instead. Not that he could bring himself to say those words, but that was the end result. His brows furrowed slightly as a thought occurred to him, and he brought his gaze up to meet hers once more. "Why her and not me?" That had been plaguing him ever since the Ball. If she'd killed him instead, his daughter would still be alive... Fatherless or not, she'd still be alive. His dear Aila, another innocent victim in his mother's misplaced hatred and malice. And yet the ever-present question loomed in his mind: Why? He just.. didn't understand, and now that she was gone, he probably never would.
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Posted: Sat Mar 12, 2011 6:06 pm
"You don't understand!" Her shout was followed immediately by a swift retreat back into the cover of her hands, jaw clenched at the memory. "She was... She was living the life I would have lived. The life I should have lived. Right down to her name." A sharp intake of breath signified a quiet sob, though her hands concealed the possibility of tears. It was all so horribly wrong. "You don't understand. I was exiled from my homeland. I knew no father. My mother died of disease." She lowered her hands, an immense sorrow swaying her features. "And she had all of it... A home, a family, a future... I was so angry."
C'est ma vengeance.
"It was revenge. You took my mother, so I took your daughter. ...I thought it was my right. I'm sorry." The two-word phrase was the final drop that overpowered the dam, every regret she had contained in the preceding months breaking free with the torrent. A small hand, quivering, reached and took hold of her brother's sleeve instinctively, the other lingering at her eyes to catch the tears before they could fall. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't forgive me. I'm so sorry."
(Finishing up a sort of solo/self-RP.)
Leon drew backwards at the initial shout. He listened in stunned silence as his small sister recounted her purpose. It was painfully obvious, however, that she didn't believe in her own words. Not anymore, at least. When she had finished speaking, he lowered his gaze to the hand that reached for his sleeve, staring in pensive silence. He came to a decision, and he reached forward and pulled the girl into his arms. Perhaps it was a bit forward of him, considering they were practically strangers, but he refused to sit idly by while the stranger that was his own sister sat weeping before him.
"If you absolutely refuse to allow it, then I won't forgive you," he said. "But in return, you're not to forgive me."
The sudden presence of arms around her, the soft fabric of her brother's clothing, the slight fragrance of cologne - Aila had little time to react before she was immersed in these sensations. For a moment, the most fleeting of moments, she gave in to them. It wouldn't be long before she rejected them, pushing away from their source in confusion.
"...Forgive you? For what?" Hands lingered at jacket lapels, wide eyes staring up at her brother. How could he say something like that so sincerely?
"For not trying harder," he answered, his eyes not meeting his sister's. "I should have found you and Mother, brought you back home, but--" The search is frivolous, Your Grace. We're expending valuable resources, Your Grace. There are more urgent matters that require your attention, Your Grace. It's not likely that they survived, Your Grace.
And he had accepted it. As Grande Ile's new leader, he had no choice; he had to attend to his nation. He had searched for ten years without ever finding the slightest hint. It had been seven more years since he had given it up and discarded the fantasy of reuniting his family. But had not that fantasy just presented itself once more.
"Aila," finally he met her gaze, "will you come back to Grande Ile with me?"
She shook her head and responded in a quiet voice, "I don't know if Mother would have gone home even if you asked her..." Though she had been a selfish, lazy woman, and Aila wouldn't have been surprised if the woman had discarded all contempt the very moment she was invited to return to luxury.
The sudden offer surprised her, and she drew back with an expression between confusion, longing, guilt, grief - an indistinguishable amalgam of emotion. "I--" She stopped, tearing her gaze and leaning backwards against the tree. She was overwhelmed, and a vague sense of fear took her. "I can't-- You don't understand..."
He silenced her with as little as hand upon hers, gentle and firm. "I understand," he affirmed. A faint smile, "Well, I understand that I don't understand. But I also understand that you can't simply pick up your things and leave..." The smile faded. "I want you to see your home some day, Aila. I know you probably don't consider it as much, but it is. We will always welcome you, even if it's only to visit. Please don't spend your entire life without having seen your own home."
With an extended hand, he gestured the Pidgeotto, who had watched quietly from a side, to join them. "If you'd ever like to contact me, you can send Alou. He was our best courier. Just give him a letter and send him my way." Patting the bird affectionately, he stood and waited to hear a reply before offering a bow in farewell. Eyes lingered on the girl momentarily, and a few steps in withdrawal carried him towards his departure.
Though he waited and waited, Leon would hear no reply from his sister. What reply could she give? As he left, though - as the form of her only family left in the world slowly drew away from her - she found it in herself to raise a hand with a slight wave of farewell.
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