[open] never meant to start a fire

[lowtohigh]

It could have ended a few different ways. Nearly all of them would have been a victory. Only one or two of them would have been this.

Eileen had almost assented to chess, this first go around. She had contemplated the odds of staying in place unchallenged long with an initial foray based solely on mental agility, just as much as she had contemplated wandering across traditional Suit lines toward something like throwing daggers or poker. It had all ultimately fallen away, leaving her with just the one choice.

Her biological father's first challenge had been a knife fight, Tobias told her once.

Scherma fights haven't been particularly vogue in the Clubs since the late 1980s, but it isn't difficult to find a Four willing to take her up on it. (The Threes had all been wary. Most of them were young enough to have had an otherworldly sense about her their entire lives--or to simply be petrified of the concept of the King's daughter Challenging them at all.) Sergiu Somma is of the slightly older guard, after all. He's also more than a head and shoulders above her; already not bad odds for a weapon that relies so much reach.

She doesn't ask for a big crowd. Rachel and Elisha are quietly invited, of course, with the grim sort of determination that's been settling into Eileen's features more firmly every day for the last year. Kevin is asked to be a referee. Her uncles are informed, almost in passing, certainly without any proper intention that they'll actually find the time (or allow her cousins to attend). It's mentioned exactly once without a proper date or information to Ethan and Elani. It's assumed that Julien will appear if he wants to.

It's a delicate dance to tell Leigh and Jake it's happening. There's a stumbling rush with both to explain they don't need to come, and that she'll tell them all about it after; and that this is the way things just have to be.

Eileen still likes to wear her hair fairly long, but it's pulled up tight today in the sort of bun that makes the eyes water slightly. She still likes to wear skirts and pastels, but today her slacks are long and everything's black, apart from the pink ribbon winding her hair so tightly to her head. (Her mother would say the crease in her brow is her father all over, but her mother isn't here to take note of it.)

Somma looks as unconcerned as ever when they take the small pitch. Eileen looks as much like a quiet mask as she has in years.

The points of the stiletto knives are slightly blunted, the ends dipped in rather neon paint to catch where the point would have burrowed into flesh from a proper hit. It's meant to be as calm and civilized as this sort of thing can get--first to five touches, no actual blood.

And of the many ways it could have ended, most of them would have stuck to that ambition.

The first point goes to Somma; a sharp jab at her shoulder where she loses her footing just slightly in balzo. Her own first point follows quickly, blade twisting around abruptly in her hand into a pakal grip for what would have been a deep wound just above Somma's hip. Her next point is imperfect; glancing against the ribs as she barely ducks below his own swing down toward her shoulder. His next follows quickly as he catches her tempo and his blade catches her arm.

And it's just a little too hard, apparently, because the blunted tip doesn't prevent the fact that the lime green streak marking his point is slashed through with a thin line of blood.

A piece of her knows that it could have been fine. A piece of her admits that it could still have been a civilized bout the rest of the way up to five. But something in her (something Spade, people might say; something survivalist, something purely angry) won't let that be the case.

She barely waits for the next whistle before she leaps in, catching a point against Somma's other hip. Her silence gives way to a snarl when he anticipates her next feint and his blade catches her wrist as her own finds his ribs. There's a certain severity to the silence between them as Kevin hesitates, exhales, and finally blasts what seems as if it might be the final whistle.

Of the one or two ways it could have gone wrong, this one feels easier to live with.

Because this one neither of them see coming, even as Eileen evades Somma's first broad slash, even as his wrist catches hers briefly like an odd sort of parry, even as she ducks again to slip past his next offensive strike. Neither of them expect it when they briefly step back into a careful circling; neither of them know it will happen when she makes her dart forward.

It's smooth and elegant as she feints left, drawing a fluid forward strike from him. It's graceful as she leaps nearly even with him, blade twisting again in her hand as she swings it down at his back. And it's brutal and ugly that the way she plunges the knife bounces just wrong off the bone of his hip, snapping the blade slightly and letting the momentum of her strike dig the proper broken edge deep into his side. Instinct takes over the minute she feels the give of flesh, and the sharp twist she gives pulls an anguished shout from Somma's lips.

The whistle sounds distant as she wrenches herself from the pitch. She hears Kevin somewhere distant telling her it's all right now. She senses the damp towel thrust into her hands, fingers moving mechanically to handle the blood she hadn't realized was there.

It isn't such a big thing, in the grand scheme. It's a pretty good scratch, Somma chuckles as he shakes her newly-clean hand (and it's such an odd sensation, two damp and sterile hands briefly clutching together). It's probably not going to kill anyone, a medic reassures as he begins hustling Somma toward the surgery. It isn't death. It isn't a terrible accident. It's just that it is enough to leave an odd taste in her mouth while she wonders why it isn't such a terrible thing that it should have been nothing and now it's stitching up a few organs.

Her feet find Elisha first. There's no help for it. Rachel will be next.

Despite that, there won't be words quite ready when she goes to find Jake. It feels a bit like searching for an apology she isn't sure is necessary and feels fairly certain won't actually come.

Comments

[thecutdiamond]

Argine isn't here to note the familiarity in the crease in Eileen's brow, so Rachel notes it for her. Edgar isn't here to be proud of the fight in his little girl, so Rachel is for him.

Andrew isn't here to soothe her nerves, so Rachel is the one to step forward, arms open in offer for a hug.

"All right, little one?"

[lowtohigh]

Her lips press firmly together for a moment. Her entire being holds itself tight and close for a heartbeat. A tiny piece of her feels an impossible gap between the Two who could easily slide into her aunt's arms and the Four who's just wiped blood off her hands.

Thankfully, it all folds quickly enough. Her shoulders slump as she lets herself slip forward to burrow against Rachel's shoulder and clutch tight to the embrace.

"--I don't know."

[thecutdiamond]

"That's okay," she says softly, holding the girl close, "You feel whatever you're feeling right now. It's all right."

[lowtohigh]

"I don't-- know, though. What... I'm feeling."

It helps to have Elisha's voice still gentle in her ears. It helps to bury her face against Rachel's shoulder. It's just that it doesn't settle the emotions any more solidly into place.

[thecutdiamond]

"That's okay, too," Rachel says, pressing a kiss to the girl's temple, "You don't have to have words for it right now. You can just-- feel it."

[lowtohigh]

"But..."

She doesn't have much punch left in her. Most of it is giving way to quiet ache, being allowed to hide here the way she always could as a child.

"...but then it won't... leave. Will it?"

Naming anger usually helped disperse it. Naming grief usually helped pull through it. This amorphous feeling currently seems inclined to simply stay.

[thecutdiamond]

"It won't leave any faster if you don't let yourself sit with it and understand it," comes the gentle reply, "You might not even be able to-- find the name for it, if you don't sit with it and understand it."

[lowtohigh]

She can take a deep breath for that. Nodding comes before she can also properly turn her head out from her aunt's shoulder again--not quite lifting herself away, but more leaning than burrowing.

"...I don't-- like it." That's a start. "And I don't like-- how it happened."

[thecutdiamond]

"That's understandable."

And comes with another light kiss to her hair.

"Sometimes Challenges aren't-- pleasant."

To put it mildly.

[lowtohigh]

"But-- we pick them." Or, at least, "I-- picked this one."

And that made it sit entirely oddly in the pit of her gut. That underlined all the odd hurts in an entirely uncomfortable way.

[thecutdiamond]

"We grow with our thoughts of what Challenges are appropriate, mm?" She can't help the sigh as she says it. It's something that rests more heavily on her heart now that Eileen's moving through the ranks and she has her son to think about, "I-- wonder, sometimes, if maybe we should change that line of thinking. Andrew always thought this sort of thing could be-- too much."

She's been growing to speak more easily of Edgar, of late. Andrew's name still escapes past a lump in her throat, but it's getting better each time.

[lowtohigh]

It's not that she doesn't know the answer. She does. Even years later, it was still incredibly easy to feel the love and support and pride that clung around her in an almost ghostly fashion.

It's just that part of the ache of the moment makes it important to ask.

"Would-- he have been-- upset? With me?"

[thecutdiamond]

The shake of her head is instant.

"No, little one." There's absolute certainty in her tone, "He would have been-- upset that it's troubled you, but not upset you chose that. He-- he understood this, just as well as we do."

This is the world we were raised in.

[lowtohigh]

The affirmation helps. If Edgar holds an idealized place in her mind and heart, Andrew holds a much more visceral place of longing. There will always be something particularly soothing about knowing he would have approved of the halting path she's set herself on.

Her brow doesn't quite clear, however.

"How... do you explain-- something like this? To someone who... doesn't understand?"

[thecutdiamond]

"Talk about-- how you don't like it." Because that much is clear, "Talk about-- how you'll want to Challenge like this less, if that's a plan you have. Talk about how it's still important for-- you especially to know these skills because just because you may not want to use them in the future doesn't mean others will, and knowing is how you-- keep yourself safe. Like how-- Outside, so many of them use guns because that's what they feel they need, to stay safe."

[lowtohigh]

Relief bleeds instantly and obviously through her shoulders as she listens. It's good to have the articulation, after all, from a mind beyond her own--beyond the jangling nerves.

"...and..." It's probably a frivolous question. It's still one she feels compelled to ask. "...and Dad wouldn't-- be upset about that either?"

[thecutdiamond]

The shake of her head is instant.

"No," she says firmly, "He wouldn't be upset."

Neither of her fathers would.

[lowtohigh]

Nodding her head makes it heavier. Thankfully, Rachel's shoulder is there to rest it against when she can't bear to hold it up on her own.

"I hate-- feeling in the middle about it."

Feeling half that she wanted to honour tradition and half that it didn't make sense. Feeling half proud of how well she had done and half horrified that she had done so well.

[thecutdiamond]

"That's understandable," she murmurs, "We aren't-- always right about things, mm? Sometimes-- change doesn't hurt."

The Deck as a whole, mainly, but certainly the words apply for Rachel herself if not her niece.

[lowtohigh]

That gets a thoughtful nod, had still not lifting away from her aunt's shoulder yet.

"...thank you. For-- being here."

[thecutdiamond]

"I'll be here as often as I'm able and wanted, little one. I love you."

Which she's fairly certain Eileen knows, but it can't hurt to reaffirm.

"Go and see Elliot and Edgar when you're all done, mm? They're playing in the Clubs gardens."

[lowtohigh]

She wants to just give into the suggestion. She wants to abandon every other plan and fall into the safety of her aunt's family.

But she can't help tensing up again.

"...I feel like... I shouldn't."

It feels like her hands are still dirty, despite their lack of actual physical blood.

[thecutdiamond]

She squeezes her gently, a light kiss to her hair once more.

"Your parents would hold you after Challenges," she murmurs, "It made them feel-- better. Like there was a reason they-- would work as hard as they did and do some of these more-- painful things."

[lowtohigh]

That gets her shifting slightly, frowning properly up at the older woman.

"--really?"

...i am missing tags left and right this time around. this time it's my phone's fault, though :|a

[thecutdiamond]

"Really," she murmurs, "Even let me do it once, when I-- really needed it. There's something-- soothing, about babies. No judgement; just-- absolutely easy love."

Not like the more complicated way love could become, even between a parent and child, as the years went on.