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.]

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[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]

"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.

[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]

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.

[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.

[andhiswife]

Oh, goodness, there are two more. She hadn't seen one behind the other. But three cats doesn't seem too excessive, as long as Marius is happy to care for them. It's not as if they're too big for the apartment, and while very few buildings in Darrow seem to have pests of any kind, it's probably helpful to have a few little hunters around to deal with any bugs or spiders that might get in.

Besides, it sounds like Poly was an unexpected addition. She can't blame Marius for taking in a vanished friend's cat.

Greta straightens, then slides into one of the dining room chairs. Without the immediate distraction of the cats, she remembers why she's really here, and her stomach turns over. She doesn't think she can bear food just yet -- not while her story is still this lurking, unspoken thing. But she draws her cup of tea close, letting the mug warm her fingers while she waits for it to cool enough for drinking.

He'd looked so pained, even just mentioning his absent friend. How is he going to look after she tells him what she's learned about herself? It's like those hypotheticals about attending your own funeral, which are easier to entertain when your death is hypothetical, too. Hers is certain, and the fact that it's already happened, and she's still standing, doesn't really make it easier to bear. It just makes it something she has to bear.

"Sorry, I'm... out of sorts," she says, keeping her voice steady and her eyes fixed on her cup. "I, er. Had some bad news." The last four words come out in a rush, with an edge of humorless laughter at what a colossal understatement that is. "But I don't want to--to burden people with it."

[pontmercyfriend]

"You have nothing to apologize for," Marius assures her, offering her a smile, sober though it may be, as he takes a seat next to her with his own mug of tea. He always does like this part, when the liquid is still too warm to drink, when he can simply cradle the mug and feel the warmth sink into his hands. Such a sensation is its own kind of intimacy, a comforting gesture, whether in the middle of July or on a cold winter's night.

His expression grows concerned at her words, not to mention the harsh sound of her laughter.

"I'm sorry to hear you've had bad news," he says. "I promise, if you want to talk about it, you won't be burdening me with anything. Promise."

[andhiswife]

He's not the only one to insist that it won't be a burden before hearing it, but it's not a promise he's truly in a position to make. He can't know how bad it is until he knows everything, and by then, it will be too late.

But it's too late no matter which way you slice it. 'Oh, never mind, let's just eat this apple crumble and pretend everything's fine' isn't an option. She has to tell him something.

"There are people here who... who know my story," she says quietly. "Not all of it, not every moment, but... enough. It--it ends badly, for me." She takes in an unsteady breath, shoulders hitching in a shrug. "I suppose that's the shortest way to explain it."

[pontmercyfriend]

Marius listens as Greta begins to talk, explaining the circumstances leading to her current state. His eyes widen when he begins to realize what she means by others here knowing her story.

"You mean, they know your world? And what's happened within it, even without being from it themselves?" He asks, voice quiet. He can only imagine the confusion and hurt she must feel, especially when she goes on to say that she seems destined for a cruel fate. He can only imagine how much that pain must be amplified by hearing it spoken out loud by someone else.

"Greta, I'm so sorry," he says, wishing he had more adequate words for the situation. Instead, he walks over to where Greta sits.

"Can I hug you?" He asks, feeling shy and oddly out of practice with his manners.

[andhiswife]

She nods. It's not the knowing that had bothered her, not when Jack and Rapunzel and Cinderella had their stories told and retold over the centuries. It would've been worse if they'd somehow fallen through the cracks and been entirely forgotten. Or that's what she would have insisted, back when she was just nursing her wounded pride over being edited out of the narrative.

Now, she's not so sure. There might be some comfort in knowing her family is safe, that the children are all right, but it's all laced with bitterness. She'll never share in that triumph of defeating the Giant, or enjoy the well-earned Happily Ever After. Instead, she's here, living on borrowed time until Darrow tires of her. Maybe bringing her here was a rare moment of mercy on the city's part, but she still wouldn't characterize Darrow as kind, and she doesn't trust it to do her any more favors.

But there's something terribly endearing about Marius's awkward question, and she lets out a single, damp, and slightly incredulous huff of laughter. "Oh, I--yes, of course." It might be a little weird with her still sitting in the chair, though, so she braces a hand on the table and pushes herself upright. When he puts his arms around her, she leans against him gratefully, her forehead resting on his shoulder. "Thank you," she adds, her voice a bit muffled.