The Tale You Tell

[andhiswife]

It's been a difficult week.

That's actually an understatement. But she can't let the full weight of it settle on her, not when she's out in public like this. So for as long as she's out here, doing some shopping, it's just been a difficult week.

She's told Baz and Simon about her situation. They'd offered to give her time off, but that wasn't what she wanted. The Gardens are one of the few places where she doesn't feel like climbing the walls. There's too much else going on, too many other things that require her attention. It's everywhere else that's the problem. Her apartment is too quiet and too empty and too immaculate; she can't even justify housework anymore because everything that could possibly need doing has already been done thrice over.

And she knows she has friends who would help her, who would be happy to provide company or distractions or whatever she needed. But that would require telling them. Repeating the story wouldn't make it any more real than it is already, but the thought of burdening anyone else with it -- and how could something this heavy not be a burden? -- turns her stomach. So much so that she's been politely deflecting the invitations she's received, rather than try to face anyone.

She'll say this for texting: it makes it easier to lie.

The thought of food rather turns her stomach, too, but she's getting groceries, anyway. Even if the chief appeal of cooking is making a mess that she would then have to tidy up, it's still a necessary chore. Her clothing is starting to hang a bit looser than it ought to, and she doesn't want to make new garments for what she knows, distantly, to be an impermanent state of affairs. So, groceries. She can do this.

[Find Greta looking terrible either at or en route to a grocery store, or on her way back to Candlewood. Closed unless we've spoken; hmu if you still want in.]

Comments

[andhiswife]

One unanticipated side effect of being told her story is that these longer sentences are starting to feel reassuring instead of appalling. Being in Darrow for years sounds more like a reprieve than a punishment (though the reprieve still has an inescapably temporary feel to it, which makes it hard to justify uncorking any champagne). She doesn't expect the Iron Bull to see things that way, and knows better than to reply with some variant of 'oh thank goodness,' but the shift in her own perspective is rather jarring.

"I suppose there are worse places you could have woken up." Honestly, his account sounds downright convenient. No long walk into town, no need to impose on a stranger. Granted, she's glad to have met Biffy, but it's not as if she was at her best.

They reach Candlewood, and she looks up at the building, not knowing whether she feels relieved or defeated by the sight of it. "This is mine," she says, nodding at it. She feels an impulsive desire to invite him up, though it's hard to say whether it would be a good idea. He's been willing enough to distract her, which she greatly appreciates. But in the privacy of her own apartment, she's not sure she trusts herself to keep politely ignoring the elephant in the room. So she hovers indecisively, neither shepherding him toward the door nor attempting to retrieve her things so he can be on his way.

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

"Eh... he was engaged to someone here at the time. It was inconvenient in different ways." He knew other people showed up here in different ways, and while showing up in Dorian's apartment had been jarring, Bull knew it, maybe, could have been worse. He didn't necessarily feel guilty for being the reason Dorian ended his engagement with Biffy, but he did feel bad that it had caused so much heart ache on each side. "Both parties seem to have recovered, though. Asit tal-eb."

When she stopped, he realized the building was probably where she lived. He also noticed Greta's hesitation. "How about I come up and make you some tea," he offered. "You can ask me awkward and invasive questions that I probably won't hesitate to answer."

He was quiet a moment, then added, "And if whatever is bothering you needs to wordlessly come to the surface, I'm warm and well-padded, and I will never speak of it to anyone if you need to cry on my shoulder."

[pontmercyfriend]

"I wouldn't blame you, either way," Marius says with a soft smile as they put their groceries up on the counter to be priced. "But I do miss her cheerful disposition during some of our busier hours." He shakes his head. "We are all the more grumpy for her lack of presence at work. But she must go where she is happiest. And I'm glad she has you working there with her.

Marius nods, smiling, as the cashier finishes ringing up his purchases. He pays with cash, though he is used to the plastic cards, after so long.

"I think I will, as soon as I can," he says. "It would be nice to visit you both."

[andhiswife]

It's not at all unusual for people to lose their parents at young ages back home, but that doesn't make the thought of it easier to bear. If anything, it's gotten harder since she learned she was among the ranks of deceased parents. Her son will hear stories of her, but will he remember her?

"I'm sorry," she says, though she isn't sure if it's for Dee or for Dee's mother that she has the most pity.

[andhiswife]

"Nothing too big," Greta says, thinking aloud. "I suppose I'll have to keep it on a leash for a while, at first, and I don't fancy being hauled about." She's seen some dogs in town even larger than Cu, and though she hasn't been in the proverbial dog market for more than a few minutes, she already knows she's not after what might as well be a pony.

Then again, she wouldn't want something too small, either. Any dog she gets would have to be able to withstand the affections of all the children in her life. Jordan and Saoirse are both dog savvy, and it's not as if Marvin is that big, either. But she's also seen dogs small enough to practically fit up someone's sleeve. "It ought to be large enough that you can tell it's a dog at first glance, though," she says with a wry smile. "I wouldn't want something too small to play with Garrick. Or to weather children's attention."

[andhiswife]

To Jessica's credit, she immediately changes direction without question. Greta knows that she owes her friend an explanation, by this point -- and even if she didn't, she's such a terrible liar that the truth is the only viable option. But that doesn't mean she wants to try and explain any of this out in the street, where anyone might bear witness.

Her nod of agreement is far less firm than Jessica's, but it's about all she can manage. She's been to Jessica's apartment before; it's familiar territory. And it'll be quiet, and private, which are the most important things.

Whether she'll be able to manage a chipwich is a bit more in doubt, but she wonders if it might be easier to eat if someone with a surplus of willpower was standing over her and telling her she had to. It's humiliating to think such a thing might be necessary, but practically speaking, she knows she could use all the help she can get.

"Sorry," she says at length, once she trusts her voice. "I'm a... bit of a mess."

[madesomenoise]

Girl shrugs.

"Can't miss what I never had," she says. "It was harder when the others died. I was six."

[andhiswife]

She manages to get through the whole transaction with more ease and grace than she originally would have anticipated (though either way, she wouldn't have expected any probing questions from a cashier), and there's nothing in her bags that need to go straight into the fridge, or that will be worse off for spending some time in Marius's apartment.

She doesn't think any of it will even prove to be tempting to his cats, though she knows better than to make any presumptions on that front. Cats might get into something just for the sake of it, not because it's especially enticing.

Still, the closer they draw to his apartment, the more anxious she feels. Even if she could keep up a semblance of normalcy, it wouldn't matter -- she was clearly in a bad way when he first ran into her, and that hasn't changed. She'll have to tell him something, which means she'll end up telling him everything. And then he'll know. God, she wishes there was some way to share this without feeling as if she's doing a disservice to anyone who might still be in Darrow after she's gone.

[pontmercyfriend]

Marius leads them to his apartment, carrying his groceries and letting silence fall between them. He knows, from experience, that sometimes one just needs to let their thoughts gather. And he doesn't want to force any sort of conversation on Greta that she doesn't want.

Soon enough, they're at Dimera and Marius is holding open his apartment door to Greta.

"If you have anything that needs to go in the fridge, please feel free to use mine," he offers as he follows her inside and shuts the door. He moves to begin putting groceries away and setting out some wet food for his cats, who obediently come calling when they hear the door.

"Don't mind them," he calls out to Greta with a smile. "They'll wax poetic about their tragic lives if you let them."

He soon begins pulling out the sweets he promised Greta and begins preparing to make tea.

"What sort of tea would you like? Or coffee? Or cocoa?" He ventures to ask her.

[andhiswife]

God, maybe she should have gone first. Is that what her son will do, when he's Dee's age and someone asks about his mother? Shrug? Blithely reassure the questioner that he doesn't -- can't -- miss her?

She doesn't blame Dee, not really, but that doesn't make it easier to hear.

[andhiswife]

Oh. Oh. It's an embarrassingly belated epiphany, though in her defense, it's not as if little Ashkaari and Dorian had presented themselves as lovers. That would have been appalling. But she knows Dorian was Biffy's fiancé, and she doubts it's some other engagement the Iron Bull coincidentally broke up.

She wonders if she ought to be indignant, on Biffy's behalf, but finds she doesn't have the energy.

The first half of his offer isn't particularly surprising, but the second half is. She can't help but think of what an absurd picture that would make, her sobbing on this enormous, battle-scarred spy. She'd need a stepladder just to reach his shoulder, unless he sat down on the floor for her. Which he just might, if she asked.

It's absurd, but it's touching, too, and she can already feel her eyes welling up. She inhales deeply, then nods, leading him into the building and up to her apartment.

At least she doesn't have to be embarrassed by the state of the place; it's neat as a pin. She's recovered herself enough to nod towards the cabinet where the tea's stored as she starts to put away her groceries. "Tea's up there, and the kettle's on the stove."

[andhiswife]

"These should be all right," she says, setting her bags up on the counter. She's seen enough of Pawvus' antics to know that there probably isn't anywhere she could put her bags where the cats couldn't get at them, but the creatures seem far more interested in the food Marius has put out than anything else.

Coffee is right out -- she's made no attempt to develop a taste for the stuff after trying it once -- and while she normally loves cocoa, it feels a bit too rich for the weather or her stomach. "Just tea, I think," she says, smoothing her palms down her skirt and wishing she had something practical to do. "Whatever's easiest to find." She doesn't know Marius's tea-drinking habits, but her own cabinet -- even when it's well-organized (as it is now) -- is crammed with enough varieties that some are always harder to dig out than others.

The conversation will already be troubling. She doesn't need her beverage order to be difficult, too.

One of the cats, an almost ludicrously fluffy creature with striking blue eyes, eventually abandons the food to investigate the new visitor. Greta drops into a slow crouch, offering a hand, and the cat inspects it for a few moments before butting its head against her. "You're a friendly thing," she murmurs, giving its head a gentle scrub with her fingers.

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

He saw the pieces fit together, saw as the picture form, and as Greta realized what the picture was. But Bull didn't say anything, just offered a small smile and let her lead the way to her apartment. He supposed thinking of he and Dorian as a thing would be difficult when she'd first met him as a child. He also saw the tears she held back, and he didn't press. The offer was there, and it would remain.

Bull wasn't surprised to find that Greta's home was neat and tidy, with everything in its place. He went into the kitchen and set her back of groceries down, then tended to filling the kettle and turning the stove top on. He found the tea and looked through the selection. "What kind is your favorite?" he asked.

[on_mans_road]

"Perhaps you will see it someday," she said with a small smile, meaning her silliness. She let Greta pull back, a faint smile in her eyes at the assurance she wasn't cruel.

"Molly told me to return kindness when I found it. I have tried to do that more since coming here... It is easy to be lost in my own concerns."

[improvises]

It isn't that he's lurking, exactly. For one, that would be creepy, and two, it would definitely be overstepping several boundaries. Greta is a friend, someone who's become important to both him and Jordan, but she's got a life of her own, and it isn't his business to infringe on that. Still, it's been longer than usual since he's heard from her, enough that Jordan has started to ask after her and when she'll next be coming over, which is reason enough — as if he didn't have one already — for him to want to see what's going on and make sure that everything is okay. It's strange, this absence, and there's a part of him that he knows is probably irrational but can't turn off anyway that's wary about Jordan forming connections to anyone who'll wind up leaving. She's lost enough as it is.

So, while it hadn't occurred to him when he first left the house to run errands, when he finds himself in the vicinity of Greta's building, he figures he may as well swing by on the off chance that he might catch her coming or going. Nothing weird or stalker-y or uncomfortable, just one friend hoping to run into another friend, wanting to make sure she's alright. That can't be such a bad thing. If it were the other way around, he tells himself, he would probably appreciate it, in fact. Eden almost certainly would have tracked him down by now, though they at least have the benefit of years of friendship, with her being the closest thing to family he's got, other than Jordan.

It's enough of a justification that he doesn't feel too out of place heading past her building, stopping in a nearby coffee shop for something to drink. When he does see her, it almost comes as a surprise — he'd figured it was unlikely that he actually would see her here, but there's something of a relief in it, too. At least she seems physically alright, not hurt or sick or anything.

"Greta, hey!" he calls, crossing the street to where he's spotted her. That relief fades quickly once he really gets a look at her, the expression on her face. "What's going on?"

[pontmercyfriend]

"Tea it is then," Marius says with a soft smile, nodding. He pulls out one of his favorite blends, one designed to help ease anxiety and tension and one that also happens to taste good, a rare combination. He moves to prepare their drinks, as well as grabbing out the cake he promised Greta, along with some whipped cream.

"Please, make yourself at home," he insists, wanting his friend to be as comfortable as possible.

He turns back over when he hears one of the cats approaching Greta. He smiles when he sees who it is.

"That is Courfeyrcat," he says. "Named for my best friend. He takes after him in more than just his name." He offers Greta a smile.

[andhiswife]

Oh. Oh, no. It hadn't even occurred to her that she might run into Sam; their respective buildings are far enough apart that she wouldn't expect errand runs to overlap. If she'd known, she might not have left the apartment at all. Explaining herself to her friends -- any of her friends -- is a miserable prospect, but with Sam, it's almost incomprehensible. He's already lost so much. How can she tell him what her loss would mean? It would be too cruel. She'd hoped she might pull herself together before she saw him again. She'd hoped to avoid telling him altogether.

But scurrying off isn't an option, now that he's spotted her, so she stills and waits for him to cross the road. The real, bitter irony of it all is that part of her is glad to see him, has missed him (and Jordan, of course) despite the necessity of her avoidance. She hadn't realized how much time they were really spending together, but a week apart has felt wrong, and empty, in addition to all the other wrongness and emptiness she's been drowning in.

He sounds cheerful enough when he first calls out to her, but once he draws close enough to get a good look at her, his concern is immediate and apparent. God, it's already too late, isn't it? Even if she could pull herself together and lie convincingly (and she knows she can't), he knows something's wrong, he knows it's serious. And he's one of the dearest friends she has here. The thought of trying to put him off is just as repulsive as the thought of telling him the truth. Either way, what sort of friend does that make her?

She has to say something, offer him something, and she opens her mouth to fumble out a greeting. But she's miserable and exhausted, and the frustration of being trapped between two horrible options is too much, and her throat tightens before she can get any words out. Oh, god, this is just brilliant. Her face crumples, and she turns aside, as if that will make it any less obvious that she's moments away from bursting into tears in the middle of the sidewalk. She hates this.

[numberhuang]

When Greta's finally able to say more, we're already halfway to my apartment, and I open up the app on my phone to turn off the security system from a distance. (Yes, I have become pretty good with a lot of technology since arriving in the city. The phone is very useful, in spite of its small size. I can find many videos that help me learn just about everything around here.)

"Don't worry about it. All of us have off days, especially around here, where things are crazy so much of the time," I tell Greta with a wave of my hand. I know that she probably does not feel great. Nobody likes to fall apart, and nobody likes to be a burden on their friends (at least, I think they don't, but sometimes my sister makes me think otherwise).

"If you're going to be a mess, probably makes more sense to be a mess in private anyway. Who wants to air all that dirty laundry?" I say with a shrug of my shoulder. I assume she wants to wait until we're in my apartment before she explains, so I keep our pace quick.

[andhiswife]

Having her current state summarized as an 'off day' coaxes a humorless huff of laughter out of her. That is an incredibly charitable way of putting it. Not that Jessica has any way of knowing just how bad things are, of course, and she's probably fully aware of the understatement she's making.

But there's something oddly reassuring about having her own obvious misery waved off. It doesn't feel like a dismissal of her problems, but of her anxiety over what a wreck she is. Pathetic as she might feel, she can't help but think that if Jessica really had a problem with her behavior, she wouldn't make a secret of it.

"That's been the aim," she admits. The awareness that she's completely failed at it is implicit, tucked into the dryness of her tone. "But I can't seem to help myself." She can't quite bring herself to meet Jessica's gaze, but she does reach over to lay a hand on her arm. "Thank you." For being understanding, and for getting her out of public.

[andhiswife]

Greta glances up at Marius in some surprise, forgetting to pet the cat until it makes a soft chirruping sound and rubs itself along her shin. "Does everyone name their cats after people they know?" she asks, mostly rhetorically.

Granted, it's not as if she's met many cats here. But this is the second one she's met sporting someone else's name twisted into a cat-related pun. It's beginning to seem like some sort of Darrow-specific cultural quirk.

"What's the other one called?" She's not sure she knows anyone whose name would lend itself to such a scheme, and goodness knows how many acquaintances they have in common. Demelza Purrdark seems like too much of a stretch.

[improvises]

Somehow, everything seems to happen at once in slow motion and too quickly. Her face falls, and Sam doesn't need to know the cause of it to tell that she looks like she's about to cry, and his breath stutters a little for it. She hadn't looked right, once he'd gotten close enough to really get a look at her expression, but God knows he couldn't have expected this. While she seems drawn in on herself now, he's reminded abruptly of that day it stormed, how she'd thrown herself at him so abruptly, seemed so shaken for reasons she didn't seem to understand any better than he did himself. In a way, that was easier. He doubts he was able to make that much difference, but he could at least feel useful somehow, try to help. Now, he's even more at a loss, and he wants — God, he wants to reach for her, to draw her into his arms like he did then, but he doesn't have a clue if that would be welcome, not when he doesn't have the first idea what might have prompted this.

"Hey," he says again, soft this time, hands held out in front of them before he gently, hesitantly, rests them on her arms. It seems like a reasonable compromise, offering comfort if she needs it, not getting too close if she doesn't want it. "Hey, it's okay." He doesn't know if it is or not, but he isn't about to press for answers under the circumstances. If just asking her what's going on has, somehow, been enough to elicit this sort of reaction from her, he doesn't want to ask even more pointed questions and risk making this even worse. There's still clear confusion written in his frown, but he doesn't act on it, not now, not yet. Better to get more of a sense of what she needs first, and then try to figure out what he can do.

[andhiswife]

It's not 'okay' in the least. She almost envies his ability to say it so easily. Or she would, if she thought she could get through the day without bursting that particular bubble in spectacular fashion. He won't be harboring any misconceptions about her okay-ness for much longer. And goodness knows she won't be doing him any favors by telling him.

But his hands are on her arms, steadying her. The temptation to just pitch forward and let him catch her is almost overwhelming. He's done it before; he could do it again. Probably would, too. But she can't quite bring herself to accept his comfort when he doesn't even know what it's for. She needs to--to account for herself.

She takes a few deep breaths, then gives her head a little shake. "I didn't want you to see me like this," she admits in a rush, as if getting the words out quickly will make them easier to say. It doesn't; even that relatively small admission makes her want to curl up in a hole somewhere. "I just..." she lifts her hand to grasp his forearm, the only concession she'll allow herself. "Can... can you get me home, please?" Her voice quavers, but at least she's holding herself together, even if it's only by a thread.

[improvises]

Sam doesn't even need to think before he nods, still fighting off the temptation to pull her closer, to step forward and embrace her or at least tuck her under one arm. Even without knowing what's going on, though, it's clear that it's something serious, and doing what she's asked simply goes without saying. She shouldn't have to stand out here on the sidewalk looking on the verge of tears anyway. If she didn't want him to see her like this, then he can't imagine that she would want any passersby to, either. Besides, they're already close to her place. He'd have walked her halfway across the damn city if that was what she needed, but at least it will be easy to get her back there, and hopefully without too many eyes on her. That seems like the last thing she needs right about now.

"Of course," he says, nodding seriously, taking the smallest of steps back as if to start them in that direction. "Come on, we'll get you back, and..." That, he isn't quite sure how to finish, not wanting to assume that she'll want to tell him whatever has prompted this, but wanting to make sure she knows that she can if she wants to. If she doesn't know that already, though — and he hopes she does — then that, too, can wait until they've gotten somewhere a little more private. He isn't going to ask her more than he has to when she seems to be in such an unsteady state, barely holding it together, nor is he going to put her in a position to say more than she needs to. "Well, you can sit down, and we'll take it from there."

[andhiswife]

Of course, he says, clearly trying to help, to make things as easy as possible. Which is a lost cause, really, but she's grateful all the same. She just wishes she could pull herself together. The lump in her throat is comprised of frustration as much as anything else -- anger with herself for not being able to spare him all of this.

She's probably being too hard on herself. She can imagine the look Demelza would give her if she saw her trying to treat her own misery like some sort of disservice, as if her sorrow is a terrible affliction she's spreading to anyone unfortunate enough to get too close. But it's hard to shake that conviction, not when she can see the impact this has on the people she tells. If she vanishes, that'll be it for her. She probably won't even know it's happened. It's everyone she's come to care for in Darrow who will have to deal with what her disappearance truly means.

God, she really, really hates this.

But she nods in agreement, and when Sam takes a tiny step backwards, she follows, as if he has her on a string. She can at least get to her apartment without causing a scene; she owes him that much. Part of her wants to take his hand, like a child. She settles for sticking close by his side, almost literally in his shadow, letting him hide her from at least some of the other pedestrians.

Candlewood is mercifully close. Her throat aches by the time they reach it, but her mortification and anxiety have congealed into a heavy sense of dread which, while still awful, at least makes it a little easier to not burst into tears. Once they're inside her apartment, she lets out a breath, rubbing her hand over her face. "I'm sorry about this," she says quietly, referring both to what's already happened and what she hasn't gotten around to, yet.

[pontmercyfriend]

"I can't speak for everyone," Marius admits with a sheepish grin. "But I know I like doing so. It's comforting, in its own way, I think."

"Well, there's two more," he says, flushing a bit as he does so. He's used to the teasing he's gotten, from friends and otherwise, about his abundance of cats.

"The one with one eye is Poly, and the other one is Shelley," he says. "I only named Shelley. Poly has had his name from his original owner, before he disappeared." His face falls momentarily as he thinks of Rat, heart twinging a bit as it always does when he thinks of him.

As the water finishes boiling, Marius pours them tea, moving to bring their mugs over before opening the cake between them. "Please, feel free to dig in," he tells her.