Arkadia
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Arkadia
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•••m o o n l i t e a l l – n i g h t d i n e r•••
My one stop shop for half-baked ideas I might one day do something with.
Ardenwood.
–
Risur liked Ardenwood, especially the Middle City. It always seemed to smell of treachery and deceit, despite the high count of Priests and servants of God that milled about. She wouldn’t point out the hypocrisy; in fact she was glad for it. It was exactly the right kind of smell to follow when you made your living the way she did. She walked to the front door of the restaurant, pausing only a moment in order to lower the hood on her cloak. The slight breeze made a fallen strand of her hair tickle her collar bone but she ignored it in favour of the man she eyed from the hole in the wall that made a window. Her heart skipped a beat at the amount of money he had dangled in front of her just to get her to come today. It didn’t really dawn on her just exactly what he was going to be asking her to do, but for that amount, she couldn’t really find it in herself to care.
The priest was standing beside a table in the corner, talking to another man but looking at her as she walked in. Their conversation stopped once she reached them, her eyebrows raised as she slowed to a stop beside the table, opposite him.
“This is a really nice restaurant, considering.” She said to the priest as his companion walked away and sat at a table out of hearing distance, but not out of sight. The priest smirked, readjusting his robes as he sat down not motioning for her to do so first. Not very gentlemanly…
“You expected something else, perhaps a back alley in the still of the night?” He waved off the servant who had tried to poor water into the cup on his side.
“Something like that,” she sat down as well and smiled at the servant as he made his way to her side and hesitantly moved to fill her cup. It wasn’t odd for a priest to act so brazenly above a servant; they were after all, the people’s saviors. Spreading the good word to the masses since they were the only ones who could interpret the scrolls from which Ardenwood’s scripture came. But the servant was right to be afraid of this particular Priest. Risur knew his reputation. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. “They do give good ambiance. Though I have to admit, this particular setting does provide a sort of…flair an alley wouldn’t.” It was in the middle of the day and yet the corner he had placed them in casted shadows far deeper than any back alley could provide. Plus, it was eerily quiet for lunch time.
“One wouldn’t expect unpleasant dealings to be done at such a time. This way, we avoid suspicion and keep some semblance of…decency.” He had paused before he said the last word, eyeing Risur’s attire as if she were wearing a piece of rotting meat. She frowned on the inside. This was high quality leather and she was wearing the same shade of orange that most nobles wore. The blouse didn’t come cheap. The sleeves had extra fabric giving space between it and her arm. She was accustomed to tighter clothing but she figured she could sacrifice considering the place he’d chosen for this meeting.
“Of course, glad to see you’ve thought this through. Shall we then? I’m sure you’d like to get back to whatever it is you priests do around here.”
He clenched his fist in his lap, taking her words as insult. “You defile the very essence of the kingdom in which you draw your current breath, my dear. I do the work of God; the only God.” He insulted her in kind. It stung a bit but she managed. Risur spoke their language and could dress like one of them, but the accent in her words and the faith so deeply rooted in her blood would always betray her for what she was.
“This kingdom seems to work awfully hard for just one God. So many rules.” She waved a dismissing hand, taking his comment in stride. When the priest opened his mouth to retort, she digressed. “But of course that’s neither here nor there. I wasn’t hired to strike theological debates. Besides, what do I know; I’m just a mercenary.” She smiled at him and he narrowed his eyes, pushing back his anger. It was amazing how even the most corrupted of the Ardenwoodians could be some of the most pious.
He brought his hand up to the table and fiddled with the fork in front of him, rearranging the setting, not looking at her. “I want you to find the Pyramid of Vaulkaur.” His face was serious and she eyed him for a moment before giving her reaction. He wouldn’t like it.
She laughed.
“Seriously?” She laughed again. “You know for a priest you really are quite the joker.” She moved to get up to leave. He bowed his head and sighed.
“I’m quite serious. I’m also willing to double the amount I offered you before.” She stopped. “I understand your hesitation. No one knows where the Pyramid is exactly,”
“Or if it even exists.” Risur interrupted. “And even if it did exist,” she sat back down, elbows on the table and fist holding up her chin, “It would be a dangerous journey,”
“I know.”
“Arduous, long even.”
“I know.”
“There are men who have been lost for years attempting to find this thing.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Do you really? Because I’ve heard the stories too. And the stories claim this pyramid holds great, volatile magic. IF it exists, and that’s a big if, there’s a reason why it’s been hidden.”
He sighed, “I know.”
“Besides, an Ardenwood priest wanting to get his hands on that kind of magic? I know I said I didn’t want to get into theological debates, but you’re making it really hard for me not to. Even Orrea knows to stay away from that kind of unpredictable magic.”
He was silent and she sighed, thinking.
“Double your doubled offer and I’ll do it.”
–
She was mentally kicking herself. How had she grown up to be so focused on money that she’d put herself in the position to do stupid things like this? Go looking for the Pyramid of Vaulkaur? She laughed at herself because it was the only thing she could bring herself to do. Problem was she was laughing out loud, still standing outside of the restaurant, in the middle of the street, laughing.
The people of the Middle City gave her a wide birth.
She wiped a tear from her eye as she stood up straight. But something inside of her couldn’t help but feel a little excited about the prospect of finding the Pyramid. If it did in fact, exist. Part of her was wondering if it wasn’t possible to make the Priest pay her even more money if she brought it back.
A Lesson in French Aristocracy.
–
He’d dropped her hand again, and—his movements sharp to her eyes—turned away from her as soon as they were through the door. It was subtle, this blocking out.
Phillipa had, on occasion, seen him slipping away with an unknown man, thick shoulders and nondescript coat of a dull brown. An hour later he’d emerge from whichever room they’d gone into, alone, and walk by her with a certain posture she’d never placed. She was still young and they had no children—and neither could be surprised about that fact; he’d hardly touched her—but she had loved him, at least she’d had that much.
Love, she’d wanted to scoff at that. There was no love in the noblesse life. She’d married up for a title, not a dream.
Monsieur Moreau could fuck whomever he pleased; as long as he didn’t find out she was doing the same.
Gold fan snapped open, its porcelain pink design stolen from the same about her neck, complimenting the red of her hair. Skirts swooshed as she glided across the floor, from one group to another, ever the socialite. One would stop her long enough to ask how she got on with the Vicomtesse now (their hardly pleasant relationship with one another, had been the topic of discussion between the gossipers going on nearly three months now—apparently there was nothing much going on that topped their public display of unfortunate events) and she would reply, a charming smile and biting wit never faltering; “Madame is only acting as children do—she is young, but one day, she will learn.”
One group had the courage to ask; “And shall you be the one to teach her?” and those within earshot looked on eagerly, not even masking their listening gazes.
The Baroness would only smile wryly, wagging a playful finger as she moved away.
Here, away from the rest she breathed a bit easier and giggled to herself behind a slender hand. Brazened by the weight of the L’Order du Bouclier name alone, she felt like she could do or say anything…almost. Her title alone would only get her so far, flaunting the unaddressed note would only get her hurt.
Waving away damning thoughts she slowly walked the room, eyes hunting for something, she didn’t know yet.
Of all those attending the Beaudelaire ball, of all the guest sitting instead of gathered in their circles or dancing about the floor, Phillipa’s eyes had landed on Jacques.
The Comte Jacques Beausoleil was another name that came with its own accompaniment of whispers and the man himself was normally accompanied by a herd of women draping themselves on to him. Glass-green eyes blinked owlishly at his blue ones. Tonight he was alone, but not for long.
She moved as if she’d only moved to enjoy the moment and just now happened to notice his presence. “Oh, Monsieur, odd to see you here.” she’d cut the greeting off short. What she’d wanted to say was ‘odd to see you here without your wanton gaggle’ but she’d bit her tongue instead. Despite the whispers, as Comte, Jacques could ruin her with one word and, if it came to that, the Baroness thought, she would rather him ruin her in bed.
She snapped her fan closed and grinned, wickedly “It’s a good thing you’ve come; I’m in need of a dancing partner. If you’d be so kind?”
A Ritual of Fights.
–
It was funny, not really the ‘haha’ funny, more of a ‘this is pathetic’ kind of funny. The kind of funny that made me want to choke someone.
I can hear the voice in my head already ‘I thought you said you were quitting, Joel? You’re nothing but a liar, a dirty liar who’s working a shit job for an even filthier–’
I furrowed my brow and the voice (that oddly sounded a lot like a lot of my ex-girlfriends’) stopped. And I hear the man beside me breath out a frustrated sigh before agreeing to whatever the boss on the other end of the line just told us to do. He hangs up, slips the phone in his back pocket and turns to me with this look in his eye. “He said we should kill him.”
The way he said it, I can’t tell if he cares all that much for the life we’re about to take, or if he’s just upset that we’ve just spent hours torturing the poor fellow, getting the information, only to have to kill him anyway. I think he gets off on letting people suffer. He gives me another look, one I know means he’s asking me if I want the pleasure of offing the kid. I turn him down, of course, because I really don’t want to be here at all.
He shrugs, pulls out an ax from the plethora of tools he’s been switching through for the past four hours and starts hacking.
I’m trying to block out the noise with sheer will power as the boy lets out his heart-wrenching guttural screams. And I’m thinking, they’re joking. I’m thinking, they’re demented. I’m thinking, there has got to be something better than this.
Mourning After
–
“Eli.” She said softly. “Eli,” she said again. “Eli.” She repeated.
I was starting to get a little worried. Maybe this wasn’t Meredith. Maybe I’d forgotten I’d gotten a robot that looked just like her and it was breaking on me. I said her name, in a quick succession that mocked her, “Meredith, Meredith, Meredith. You mind telling me why you keep saying my name?”
She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “You’re such a fool, Eli.” her hands slipped from mine and she turned and walked away.
I have no idea if that was what she had been intending to say, and I never got the chance to ask.
I’m starting to think watching women walk away from me is my lot in life.
The Approximate Cost of Loving
He was gone, and had been gone for hours now, yet Ariadne continued to lay in the same fetal position he had left her in. She wasn’t crying anymore, but she still felt the sting on her cheek and the tainted caress of his hands all over her body. He had hit her and then made love to her in the tenderest way, as if it was their first time all over again. Thinking about that made her start to dry heave over the low edge of the bed; the same bed that had once been her salvation.
Ari believed she really had loved Cohen once; if a teenage girl and boy could ever really know love. But she’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm with him, turning the excitement that was love into something basic and easily taken for granted. As for the abuse, well, he’d never actually hit her before. And maybe he was the sweetest boyfriend when they were out in public but he was a bully in every other way when it came to their private life. She was twenty now, after high school he had prevented her from going off to college. He’d said he’d take care of her. She was surprised now that he had actually encouraged her to continue to speak to Pepper and most of her other girlfriends. But now that Ari thought about it, really thought about it, it may have been his way of keeping control over her without making it obvious. The kind of control that snakes it’s way straight through to your heart until it can wrap around your soul and crush you when you least expect it.
She stopped staring blankly at the floor to start staring blankly at the ceiling. Ariadne tried to think back to every comment she’d ever said in regards to similar situations of females in movies and television. But no matter what she tried to think about, all she could see was Cohen’s face right before he struck. She sucked in a breath and tried to turn away from the image.
Pepper. Ari sat up, legs swung over to the floor as she picked up her mobile. She’d call her friend and resign herself to taking whatever advice she would give her…
Except the phone kept ringing and Pepper never answered.
With every passing second, Ari was losing her will to go along with whatever the wiser friend would plan. She snapped her phone closed, shut her eyes, slid from the bed to the floor and sighed.
“This is stupid.” The words were whispered in the darkness that was their bedroom. Her hands wrapped around her bare legs as last night’s scene replayed itself. She didn’t know how to stop it.
Cohen had walked in, already upset. Ari had tried to calm him down. He’d reeled back and called her a slew of names, every bad word in the book. She yelled at him, told him he needed to check himself. He didn’t like that. He hit her and they both paused, shocked at what he’d just done. He said he was sorry, that he’d let all the negative feelings from the day get to him, that it wasn’t her fault. He went to kiss her and she pushed him away. He hit her again, yelled at her; how dare she not accept his apology, how dare she not appreciate how hard he worked for them? He seemed to have forgotten it was him who had told her not to get that job with Pepper as a waitress. Forgotten that it was him who had kept her locked away in the apartment that daily seemed to be falling apart around them. Ari couldn’t even argue back, still in shock from the force of the blows. He’d stopped yelling though, forced her into an embraced and kissed her. He’d said he’d make it better; he’d make her believe he still loved her—
Ari threw her phone across the room where it hit a lamp that fell and shattered on the floor along with the nightmare visions that haunted her. Her hands went to her face as tears started breaking through the cracks in her eyes that she couldn’t close tight enough and came tumbling down her cheek.
She sat that way for only a few minutes, though to her it seemed like eternity, when the phone rang in a pleasant jingle that seemed so out of place in the moment. She took a deep breath before crawling over to the other side of the room where both the broken lamp and her phone—-scratched but working—-lay. Careful not to give herself cuts to match the ones already on her heart and the bruises on her skin she picked up the phone.
“Hey, Ari. Sorry I missed your call, huge bag.” she laughed, “What’s up?” Pepper’s voice, usually cheerful, seemed so distant to Ari now.
Ari took a long pause before saying in a low, flat voice, “I think I have to leave him.”
Even Ari, in her disoriented state, could tell that Pepper’s eyebrows were rising in half confusion, half surprise before she responded. “Why?”
“He hit me.” The middle word was emphasized because Ariadne still couldn’t believe it herself even after the hours that had passed since then.
“What the fuck? Hold on.” There was a shuffling on Pepper’s end and Ari absently wondered where her friend was and why she’d have to leave that place to talk. Sure she could agree it was a serious subject, but the fact that Pepper was bracing herself made Ari worry for a different reason. “Where are you?” Pepper came back and asked.
“Calm down. I’m still at his place. He’s at work.”
“Calm down? Calm down?! You should be calling the police. I’m coming to get you.”
“Don’t! I mean, I know…it’s just…”
“Fuck it. I’m coming to get you. Pack your bags.”
“Pepper, you don’t understand. I just, I just can’t”
Pepper sighed, obviously frustrated. “The first thing out of your mouth when you called me was “I have to leave him”, Ariadne. Don’t do this. Don’t backtrack now.”
Ari could hear the pleading in her voice but couldn’t resign herself to giving up anymore. She gave an exasperated sigh, “I know I should leave him—I know I should have left him a long time ago—but…what next? I’ve been with him for so long. I don’t know how to be alone. I don’t know how to be with anyone else.” She sighed again, “This is stupid.”
There was a long silence. Then, “Seriously. Pack your bags because I’ll be there in thirty.” And then Pepper hung up, leaving Ariadne with only the dial tone to cry to.
A moment longer and she finally closed her phone. She was torn between trying to make things go back the way they were before and packing her bags and running away with Pepper. She knew what she should do, the question now though was; was she strong enough to do it?
It took Pepper exactly thirty minutes to come screeching to a halt in front of Ariadne’s apartment complex. Ari had made herself pack an overnight bag, not finding the strength to do anything more. The bag sat at her feet as she sat on the top step of the stoop with a note in one hand she had crumpled up and smoothed out and crumpled again in a push and pull of mind and heart on whether or not she should leave it or tell Pepper she was staying.
Pepper stopped at the bottom of the stoop. “Hey, let’s go. Benson is waiting in the car. Come on.”
Ari didn’t move.
“Pepper…”
“Can you walk? Where did he hit you?”
Ari didn’t reply.
“Where the fuck did he hit you, Ari?”
Slowly, Ariadne sighed and took off her jacket. Blue patches and violet kisses made like notes to a violent song on her olive skin. Pepper looked at them, scanned them as if she wanted to memorize them. Her voice was softer when she helped her friend up and spoke again.
“Come on, we really have to go.” Ari stayed wordless but stood and walked down the path to the car that was still running at the curb.
Ari sat in the backseat looking out the window as they drove away. She’d shown Pepper only half of the marks left on her body from the man she thought she loved. The ones on her arm were the only ones you could see with the human eye, the rest of the bruises, the cracks—the real pain—that was all on the inside. And even Ariadne couldn’t see how deep they went.
Stuck, between a rock and a hard place.
This must have been what they meant when they came up with that saying. Ariadne wasn’t sure whether she was more afraid of going back or moving forward. Did she regret not trying harder? Of not trying to continue to push herself so she wouldn’t fall in the same mindless routine? She couldn’t tell anymore but she knew that this was somehow her fault. Pepper would probably disagree, but that’s why she wasn’t asking Pepper.
Tears threatened to fall as the old apartment building disappeared in the distance. She slipped her hand into the cool spaces of the pockets of her leather jacket and fingered the cold metal she had hidden there. The other hand tightened around a scribbled note of rushed words she’d never say to Cohen. Partly because she’d never get them out if she saw him again, but mostly because she knew Pepper wouldn’t let her out of her sight for even a second.
She was going to leave the note there at the apartment but something had stopped her. As if for a moment it had crossed her mind to stay. And then Pepper had rushed in, ever the heroine saving the younger Ariadne from whatever trouble she had gotten herself into like she always did ever since they were little kids in elementary school playing in the sand box. And in that moment, Ari had forgotten all about the note and the words and even the reason Pepper was there at all.
When it came to her relationship with Cohen, it seemed like everyone else was always making her decisions for her. Sofia said “Go” so she went. It made her wonder; If Cohen had been there, if he had said “Stay…”
She wasn’t as strong as she kept saying she was and Ariadne didn’t think she wanted to know the outcome of that particular request.
She shoved the note in the picket along with the ring with a bit more force than necessary. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand filling herself with a steely resolve. The next place they stopped, she would shove the note and the ring in an envelope, throw it in a mailbox and be done with the whole ordeal.
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