04.28.3014: Intermediary
Summary: Lyrienne joins Nitrim at the baths only to find herself an impromptu intermediary to a much larger set of problems.
Date: 29 December 2013
Related: None
Cyrielle Lyrienne Nitrim 


Bathhouse - Volkan, The Crescent
Built down low in the Blackspyre where it can easily access the geothermal heat that powers the entire city of Volkan, this bathhouse is set aside for the use of those sworn to House Khournas and their guests. The room is sheathed in large black tiles, warmed by the magma behind them. A large pool centers the room, surrounded by narrow lines of red and silver tile, while a handful of smaller tubs built for one to four people fill up the remaining space. Each of the tubs is heated blood-warm, leaving wisps of steam in the air. Towels sit alongside tubs of bath-salts on small tables near the separate men's and women's changing rooms.
April 28, 3014

The after-dinner hour at the Blackspyre is a quiet time, where the workers of the day and the mid-day rush of employees and visitors has come and gone, leaving far shallower numbers in the massive stronghold. Deep beneath the crust lies the Khourni bath-house, a marvel of opaque pools of water, steam vents, and lights wavering through the fog of relaxation. It is the perfect place to hide, which is exactly why Nitrim Khournas has chosen it as his perch for the evening.

Sitting in a smaller pool near the rear, bare-chested and suggestively similar beneath the water, he is a mess of tattoos and scars with arms braced on either side of him on the edge of the pool. Leaning back with his eyes closed, face tilted towards the ceiling, he relaxes in silence with only the occasional drop of water to disturb him in the otherwise empty room.

Lyrienne is very, very pregnant. The doctors are saying she probably only has a couple more weeks before the babes arrive, and though she's carried it well thus far, she's reached the point where anything that can relieve some of the discomfort is welcome. And so, she's made the trip to Volkan, where they have large, hot baths big enough for her to float in for a bit. She walks carefully, shuffling so as not to slip or fall, and wears a light robe over her shoulders. Catching sight of her cousin, she makes her way toward his pool, taking hold of a handrail and carefully dipping her toe into the water. "Mind a little company?" she asks, voice soft in deference to the echoes on stone.

Cracking his eye open towards the familiar voice, Nitrim lifts his brow at the very pregnant blonde. Swallowing back the urge for a cigarette, knowing well it wouldn't be good for the woman, he rubs at the front of his throat and then gestures to the space across from him. "For you, cousin? Always." Nitrim replies, eyes closing and settling back into his lean. "I didn't hear that you were coming, is this a surprise visit?"

"Sort of?" Lyrienne laughs softly, starting down the steps into the pool. She doesn't shrug out of the robe until she's under the water, settling onto one of the benches with a sigh of relief. "I just wanted to relax somewhere a little quiet, where I didn't feel like a beached whale. Maybe just a swimming whale," she adds ruefully, letting out another slow breath. "And our tub at home isn't nearly big enough for that, so."

Nitrim's lip flashes upwards in a show of teeth to one side, a sudden grin that disappears as his head tilts back towards the ceiling. Voice distorted by the pull of his skin over the front of his throat, the side of his neck tugs in a show of scar tissue; a relic from the war. "Well, you know that I am always happy to see my dearest Lyrienne." The smile fades as he breathes a gentle sigh. "You're in luck if you were hoping to see me, I haven't been home steadily for weeks. If my wanderlust works out right, I might even be on the Ring when you're due. It's getting close, right?"

"The doctors say it could be another month, but I think two weeks or so," Lyrienne nods to Nitrim, setting one hand over her stomach and letting her eyes drift half-closed. "One of them might be willing to wait, but the other's restless to see the world, and when one comes, the other will as well. I'll be glad to start getting back to where I can move freely again, that's for certain," she admits, rolling her head until there's a soft pop from her neck. "What is it you've been so busy with?" she asks, looking back to her cousin. "Fighting the good fight?"

"Denied access to the Cantosan prisoner, narrowly dodging being charged with treason and likely now being tailed by more than just concerned house staff…" Nitrim's breath sucks in slowly, continuing his words as his lungs exhale towards the ceiling. "…two, maybe three family members that think I go too far and a strange bit of no contact from my father who has likely heard from the Citadel that they wanted to question me. Marriage prospect in limbo and she's off looking great on Ligonier lands and I might have just been given direct access to the Captain of the Citadel herself as a coordination contact." The words echo around the stone that surrounds them, trailing off to end with a quiet tsk from somewhere inside of Nitrim's cheek.

"However, I think the video of me being called a murderer after being jumped by Keanen Arboren was nullified by the video of Advent Sauveur accompanying me to Soleil's grave. So all in all?" Nitrim's brow perches, unseen by the swell of his cheek. "Three, maybe three-and-a-half out of ten? Your cousin's a damned idiot, Lyrienne."

Did Lyrienne bring along a messaging device or tablet? Because if she did, it begins to chime with an incoming video call from one Cyrielle Hollolas.

"Which one?" Lyrienne asks with quiet amusement in regards to her cousins, shaking her head. "It sounds like none of it's been a complete loss, though. Threats of treason balanced by contacts for information. And no response from your father means he isn't saying no. And you certainly don't need to worry about Cyrielle," she adds, arching a brow pointedly. "I was just speaking with her the other day. At the moment, she's under the impression that you're not very happy with her over the beach thing. I told her that was surely nonsense, because if anyone would know how the media twists things, it would be you." There's a soft ping from her ear, and she gives it a tap before her smile slips crooked. "Speaking of whom."

One of Nitrim's arms rises from the side of the pool. Fingers turning and coiling into a pointed finger, the arm turns, curls at the elbow, and points down towards Nitrim's jaw. "This one."

Arm flopping down to the side of the pool once more, he shifts at the hips and settles in quietly. "I don't believe that Cyrielle has anything less than love for me. What I worry is that her father would rather change gears, marry her off somewhere else, and the first one I've truly lo-" Nitrim quiets, lips drawing forth into a line as Lyrienne answers her call. "Fuck, the two of you are conspiring, aren't you? I don't know whether to be overcome with the glow of love of the dark chill of fear."

If there's any sort of projection in Lyrienne's device, it will show Cyrielle settled in a low-slung lounge chair on the beach. She's still at Honor's Keep. The woman is wearing a blue, string bikini with faint patterning on it. "Lyri," she offers once the Orelle has picked up. "I've had a fair bit of downtime here, so I've been practicing… Thought you may want to know; I'm starting to affect the weather some." She sounds quite proud of this achievement.

"I don't conspire," Lyrienne says archly to Nitrim, though there's a glimmer of humor in her eyes despite the protest. "I have friends and family, and I do my best to make sure that they're all happy." She gives the device another tap, and the projection comes from an earring. "Cyri, good to see you," she greets the other woman warmly, waving to the image. "I'm so glad to hear that. I was just in Volkan to spend some time in the baths, and you'll never guess who I ran into." She shifts, moving so that Nitrim can be in the picture too. "Say hello, Nitrim."

Blinking at the projection and the image of Cyrielle in the skimpy swimwear, Nitrim is in the process of mouthing fuck she's so hot when something catches and darkens his eyes. Tilting his head to rest upon his shoulder, he reaches to his forehead to scratch lightly, cringing as Lyrienne goes straight to outing him at being there. As the image turns to include Nitrim, Cyrielle can see the last of a shadowed, sarcastic look being cast towards Lyrienne that seems to say thanks.

"Hey Cyri." Nitrim blinks towards Lyrienne's earring, his hand falling down to the water in front of him with a splash. "So you're controlling weather now, learning polearms and tridents? Sounds like I should try Honor's Keep; level up a bit."

"You enjoy those baths. I'm surprised you're not demanding to have the parasites removed." Cyrielle grins slightly. She's got a tablet perched either in the sand or a small table so that she can observe it without needing to hold it. Her cybernetic leg is drawn up against her chest; the white still gleams. "You ran into-" The question ebbs away as the Khournas lordling himself is brought into frame.

Something flashes in her own eyes and she draws in a breath. "Drake," she offers, forcing a smooth smile into place. "I wasn't aware you were back from your visit to the Daltons." There is something of a chuckle at his words, but it's somewhat dry. "Ah, they can only help with the polearms here, I'm afraid. Even then, it's not the best place for it. It just so happens that Sir Canis can teach me a few things so that I can impress whatever mentor my father finds for me."

"They'll be out soon enough on their own," Lyrienne chuckles softly to Cyrielle, shaking her head. "Another two weeks or so, I expect. But that sounds like a lovely trip," she says wistfully. "I've been doing what I can, trying to get to the bottom of these dreams, but every time I think I have it, I seem to lose it. But since I'm not getting much sleep lately, at least I've had plenty of time to meditate. And how about the physical therapy?" she asks the other woman. "How's that going?"

"You know me, I come and go. I didn't want to spend much time in the room, but was going to write." Nitrim's jaw tightens, blinking with a distant nod as Cyrielle describes Sir Canis. Leaning to one side, he glances around the holo-image to Cyrielle, his lips flattening and bunching to one side in an awkward smirk. His fingers stretch out, spider-walking towards his case of cigarettes.

"Sir Canis sounds rather generous to aid you, maybe once Lyrienne's had the twins we could get our heads together to keep investigating the dreams. It's something I was doing before, and Captain Tiberian might want the intel." Nitrim trails off, holding up a cigarette extectantly to Lyrienne in a silent request to light it up. "I'm curious, too, though. How is physical therapy going?"

"Ahh, yes, the dreams." Cyrielle's nose wrinkles absently. "The cold I can handle, to be honest. I wake up here and it's warm. I can lie in the sun and it soothes it away… The blood, on the other hand." She shakes her head slightly, leaning in the beach chair as she gazes off; presumably towards the water. Perhaps to some passing cabana boy. The Hollolas does grab a glass from near the tablet, leaning forward in the process to do so. Talk about a cleavage shot…

After a sip, she gives a slight shrug, looking to the two of them on her device's display. "It's going well. I no longer need the crutches or cane unless I'm especially sore or tired. I'll be trying some of Ligonier's boats soon to see how they fare. There's to be a regatta soon, I hear and I'm sure the Young Lady Ines would like me to compete."

Lyrienne arches a brow at Nitrim as he reaches for the cigarette. "Really?" Her aura flares, the gentle aurora completely at odds with the flash of flame that bursts right through the cigarette, turning it to ash. "It can wait," she says firmly, then turns back to the projection, aura flickering out again. "It sounds like you're progressing well, Cyri," she says with a smile for the other woman. "I'm so glad you called when you did. I can only imagine that the two of you must be missing each other terribly." HINT. HINT.

Jaw slackening with a wolfish flash of teeth as Nitrim's poor cigarette turns to ashes, he turns his hand over to dump the ghastly remains to the edge of the pool and runs his tongue over his teeth. "Not very fair, Lyri, I'm sure your babies are ninety-nine percent done." Nitrim's working knowledge of the gestational process is imcomplete at best, but he seems to be willing to believe that when the babies are mostly done a little bit of smoke won't make them grow tails.

Trapped without his precious social-wall-mechanism, Nitrim slumps back into his place and sucks in a quick breath. "Oh, I'm missing her dearly, Lyrienne," Nitrim's eyes flit from Lyrienne to Cyrielle, brow quirking in a direct, almost defensive look. "Sounds to me like you're getting in close with them pretty well, Cyri." A pause. "Your father must be doing cartwheels."

The first shot is fired…by Nitrim.

There's a snort of bemusement from the projection of Cyrielle Hollolas when the cigarette is destroyed. There's a flicker in her eyes at Lyrienne's words and she looks away, sipping at her drink. Her features remain still, but the eyes- the eyes tell all.

When Nitrim addresses her, she finally looks back towards him. "I'm not used to being the… higher-ranked noble," she admits, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. "Sir Canis is borderling obsessive that my time here goes perfectly. I don't know how you paramounts do it all the time." Be pampered, that is. In the endless cycle of vassals and other petitioners. The last statement, however, causes some confusion and the hand bearing drink lowers to her lap. "My… father? I… couldn't say. I've not heard from him since the family departed the Blackspyre and I came here."

Lyrienne is, when it comes down to it, half-Khourni. So it can't be a complete surprise to Nitrim when she reaches up to swat a hand at the back of his head. "Stop it," she says firmly. "I am quite finished with people who refuse to take ownership of their own happiness. Advent, Declan, others. Stop hurting each other just because you don't know how it's going to end. Take a chance. Enjoy the time that you have. And stop sniping at each other."

"Oh come the FUCK on, Lyrienne, her father leaves a conversation with mine not saying shit and next thing she's off to Honor's Keep to hang around in a bikini, get carried around by Sir Canis, and get invited to a ton of shit by one of the local decision mak—" Nitrim growls, lips clamping shut because, in truth, the smack to the back of his head kind of hurt. Frowning, he turns his eyes away from the two women and reaches back to rub at where the wedding ring connected with the back of his skull. "Either I'm the paranoid crazy they all think I am or this is all leading in one direction and I don't want to just sit and watch it."

Unfortunately, the point where Nitrim explains the why and how of his feelings is missed because halfway through his initial rant? The call is terminated.

"And why would that be her faul-" As the transmission gets cut off, Lyrienne's brows rise indignantly. Did someone just HANG UP ON HER?! "She hung up," she says incredulously, swatting at Nitrim's shoulder this time. "You were such a jerk that she hung up on me! Nitrim Khournas, you call her back right now," she orders, leveling The Look on him. "You apologize for thinking so poorly of her that you would assume she thinks so lightly of you as all that. And you tell that woman that you love her, and you're just afraid you're going to lose her. And then you beg her to forgive you." Or Else, apparently.

And what a shame- Cyrielle would love to have a recording of Nitrim being beat up on by a pregnant woman.

"Or maybe she hung up because somewhere she knows that's what's going on and she's better off going with option number two than getting dragged under with me," Nitrim growls, teeth flashing in an unspoken OW as he's smacked by the half-Khourni, all-pregnant, double-dangerous woman that's naked in the tub with him. "I'm not saying she is looking to bang some Ligonier and off-load to a better, brighter fucking future Lyri, I'm - FINE - I'll fucking call her."

Grabbing at his tablet on the side of the tub, he draws up Cyrielle's contact information, gruff, smoky words flowing from his stim-fit nerve center. Not paying attention to the status of the call, he leaves the tablet on the side of the tub and turns his attention to Lyri. "I deserve this, you know. I dropped a girl once and she committed suicide; it's only natural that I meet a girl I can't live without and my bullshit makes it so that this is never going to happen. You have no idea how hard this is."

"Oh, you are ridiculous," Lyrienne rolls her eyes at Nitrim, though at least she doesn't hit him this time. "The only thing you deserve is a chance to be happy. Like everyone else. And she deserves the truth. If the two of you together decide that it's better for her to find another match, then fine. You'll both be stupid, but fine. But don't you dare try and make that decision for her by being an ass." She crosses her arms stubbornly across her chest, fixing him with a narrow-eyed look as she sends her own message to Cyrielle by voice. "Cyrielle, pick up the comm."

There's a brief delay as, on the other end, Cyrielle is fuming. When the call comes from Nitrim's tablet, the Hollolas very briefly considers chucking her own into the ocean. It would serve him right. Instead, she opens the call after a brief delay. "…never going to happen…"

There's no visuals yet. The woman is resisting crying and that's really the last thing she wants either of them to see. Instead, there's her voice, strained after a delay. "And what about me? Do I have any idea?"

If not for the fact that the situation involves real people with real problems, hashing this tense situation out in a hot tub with a naked, pregnant woman would seem ridiculous. It would be something that Nitrim would laugh about someone else going through, but it happens to be his own life in question, and tonight he's had a syringe filled with angst and frustration jabbed into his spine. As the call connects he merely stares at his cousin's face, lips slowly unraveling into a frown.

"Hey." Nitrim replies quietly, lips quickly widening into a scowl as he turns to run a hand over his face. "It's me." What are the words? Nitrim shakes his head blithely as he searches for them. "Do you remember when I swore to you I wouldn't fuck up and ruin this? I'm…so angry at myself, Cyrielle. I'm so sorry. I love you. I'm just…" Apologies are filled with fading sentences. Always.

"He's just afraid," Lyrienne chimes in, voice somewhat more gentle. "It's hard to realize that there are things you want. That you can have them. And that having them means you can lose them." She sighs, looking between Nitrim and the projection. "You two are Awakened. You don't even have to use words, if it's too hard. Just open up to each other enough to be honest."

They may be Awakened, but right now they are an ocean apart. Neither is capable of reaching that distance with their mind yet. Cyrielle, at least, is not- she has tried. Again and again. The woman sighs softly, the sensitive mic of her tablet picking up the sound.

For a moment, all that can be heard is the background; the crashing of waves upon shore and the cries of birds in the distance. When she finally does speak, Cyrielle's voice is strained. "You haven't ruined anything, 'trim." For all the strain, there's a tenderness there. "Politics have. Our families have. There's… so many things getting in the way. I just… you disappeared right after that tabloid hit. You've never wanted time out of contact with me. And then… you return to Volkan, but I don't even get word? It's… you haven't ruined anything," she opts to repeat that, to make sure he understands. To hope he does.

"But it wasn't fair of you."

"I am afraid." The words seem to hurt the poor man as he settles back onto his underwater bench, letting the pool of hot water peel the tension from his bones. His dark, green eyes turn to Lyrienne and hold there, softening into the first look of thanks in many minutes. Slowly, he nods his head and speaks up so that Cyrielle can hear. "I got used to throwing things away, disappearing, finding some other place to haunt and then I have something, some one I want so badly and…I'm finding out the damage I've done might be keeping us from this; that our fathers might deny this."

A deep sigh escapes the man and the back of his head lowers to the stone behind him. "I haven't heard anything, but after seeing that picture I was worried. Other men want you, Cyrielle. Other men your father might approve of far more than I, and if this goes bad it was my fault. I know you like me brooding and confident but…I don't know what to do right now. I want this so badly."

"For what it's worth, Nitrim, I think you're done everything you can," Lyrienne says softly, reaching out to set a hand more lightly on his shoulder. "Now you have to have faith. I know that's hard. I know it's scary. But giving up? That's not what we do, Nitrim. And Cyrielle…" She sighs, looking to the projection. "You know him. You can't let your fears make you do things like…Like hang up on me." She huffs softly. "Nobody hangs up on me."

There's a soft huff from Cyrielle, but she's quiet long enough beyond that to let the Khourni get it all out. "I don't care who wants me, Nitrim. I want you and damn you for implying that men are making my decisions for me. If my father tries wedding me off to someone else… I'll find a way around it. I doubt he will, though. He was in a loveless marriage himself." She speaks of her late mother bitterly. "I don't know what your father said, but…"

As always, there's trailing off and in that, she manages a wry laugh at Lyrienne's huffing. "Apparently I do. You can try taking it out on me once you no longer have pups taking up residence." She just cannot refer to babies normally. It's weird.

"I don't give up and I didn't mean to imply that other men are making decisions for you." Nitrim scowls, the defensiveness and Khourni fire evident in his voice as his eyes scan to Lyrienne and the tablet, which for the moment is Cyrielle. Sick of seeing a black, duraplast shell instead of a woman in a bikini, he reaches out to press the button to make the more attractive of the two come back. "It's the idea that someone might come along and be better than me, attainable, or an option that you could be happy. It's the idea that maybe this is what I did to Soleil. It's…Six-fuck…" Nitrim growls to himself, motioning to his cigarette case with a pleading look to Lyrienne. "…Nitrim Khournas is afraid that the girl he loves doesn't love him as much or he might lose her because he feels bad about his past and the things he's done, and might deserve a broken heart."

There's a loud splash as Nitrim flops back into his seat and covers his face in his hands. Not because he is crying, but because some part of the proud creature is mortified. "Fuck me, drakes don't talk like this."

Lyrienne smiles faintly as Nitrim finishes, nodding once. "No," she agrees. "Drakes roar, and smash things, and kill things. Men, though? Men know how to be honest. Just like that," she approves, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Which doesn't mean he should smoke. Smoking is not actually approved. "Faith, Nitrim. Have a little bit."

And when the request comes through, Cyrielle does allow the image to display. She's no longer lounging casually; she's holding the device firmly in her hands. It's largely a neck-up view… sorry, Nitrim's libido. The woman does appear to have cried. She's not at the moment, no. Some of that storm shows in her mien, however. The one that he knows lies beneath. The one that marked his wrists easily during a training exercise.

"I love you, Nitrim. I love you enough that I am discussing it in a place where any can hear and we can be, once again, lectured on how improper it is. I wish you wouldn't keep doubting how much I love you. That hurts. That makes me angry."

There's a pause with a brief exhale of air and she looks towards the skies for a moment. She snorts. "A drake would have come straight to this island after seeing those tabloids to lay claim to what is his. You ran." It's cruel, perhaps, but she is hurting.

Though Nitrim is resting back on the edge of the tub, arms dragging over the front of his face, it's hard to tell how he receives Cyrielle's words. Face covered, a few seconds of silence filter over the call before his fingers start to curl into fists, revealing angered brows. Lines form in the non-scarred side of his neck as his body morphs into a display of rage boiling to the surface.

Looking first to Lyrienne, the features of his face aren't angry at her, and the passing moment is obvious that he's deciding whether or not he wants to be this way in her presence. His lips flatten into a line and after a short, scant nod, he turns his eyes to Cyrielle.

"Ran?" Nitrim shows his teeth, eyes keeping their hold as his head turns, questioning her. "You think that I ran, Cyrielle?" The whites of his knuckles come to the surface of his skin. "I push and I ruin. Soon to be murdered priests come to me and when I act I'm called foolish. I laid it all on the line for your father and clearly the result of his conversation with mine wasn't enough to announce a banns." His lips curl, revealing a row of bright, white teeth that in the haze of the image look all-the-more feral. "When I run towards, Cyrielle, I do more damage than good and I am FORCED to play smart, to do the SMART thing. I am trying to earn you and you call it RUNNING?!?" His words echo off of the walls.

With one glance to Lyrienne, Nitrim turns, preparing to leave. "Seems the list of people who don't think I'm a drake grows. Fuck this. I don't need this."

"Cyrielle," Lyrienne chides the other woman, taking a deep breath as Nitrim starts to rage again. "Honestly, the two of you," she sighs. "Stop it. Nitrim, come back here. You got your shot in. She got her shot in. You're even. Evenly matched in nonsense, but even all the same. Now, do you not both agree that you love each other, and you want to be able to be together?"

The anger and shouting from Nitrim just steadily write more and more pain upon Cyrielle's features until she can do no more than turn away. This time she doesn't hang up. She just takes it. Her shoulders slump and the tablet she holds lowers until it shows an awkward angle of her shoulder. The smooth expanse of skin is no longer the faintly tanned white. She's definitely become darker during her time in Honor's Keep. She'd spent so little time actively in Beacon over the past seven or so months.

"I just wish he trusted me," she says to Lyrienne as the Khournas starts to storm off. "He wants to marry me… but he doesn't trust me to be by his side when he struggles." Her voice is very small; as if she's far away. But there's a deep thread of pain in it, as if she's struggling to hold back more tears.

"Cyri I trust you, I do. I can even trust myself to be true to you, but everything I touch catches on fire right now, and I don't want that for you. I grip hard, things explode. I don't grip at all, they go away. I'm forced into a corner." Nitrim stops, quickly turning around and sending the water in the pool to rush back and forth in a simple wave of disturbance. He stops trying to walk away, but he remains off-camera, near the edge of the pool. Swallowing, he turns to look to Lyrienne, brows perched low. If he could put up his psychometric shielding, he might be able to survive a nuclear blast with the degree of armor he's piling on.

"Not a drake…" Nitrim huffs, turning his head to the side to snarl at the wall. "…Yes. I love her. I want to be with her. Faith has failed me. This is like sitting on a fucking bed of coals. There isn't anything that I can do to force this and it's my fault, Lyrienne." He glances to Cyrielle's image. "All this weight…"

"Of course he trusts you, Cyri," Lyrienne translates. "He doesn't trust himself. It's hard for stupid, stubborn Khourni to admit that there are problems they can't pound into submission, you know. I'm reasonably certain my father still doesn't believe it's true. He's just gotten tired of crashing against the immovable object that is my mother." A dimple flashes with her smile at that, reassuring. "Nitrim, love, I know it's hard. I know it all seems like so much right now. But the truth is, the important things are very, very simple."

"Maybe that's why," Cyrielle says, her voice still distant. Now, however, it's like she's looking off into the distance again. Towards the water. Water helps balance her out. "We can't work as a team, yet. Nitrim… I don't care if you think you ruin everything. I'm still here. I want to be by your side. I have these dreams, too. I may no chase them like you do, but I hate… I hate not knowing if you're in danger. If I could be helping. Sometimes…"

The woman lets out a long sigh, "Sometimes I feel useless to you."

Like a recording in reverse, the tension in Nitrim's neck starts to ebb away and his brows lift to their normal resting place. Looking across the camera-range to Lyrienne, Nitrim casts her another frown, but it's a far more reassured frown. "You're right, it's very hard. It's very hard and it's worth it and I wouldn't trade this ache for anything."

"Cyrielle, I'll be the first to admit that there's shit I simply need to quit. I need to stop going off like this and leaving you to wonder. I should be talking to you about it; giving you a chance to tell me it's a bad idea or be there with me." Nitrim's body swims back into view, turning his eyes back to the camera to where he can only feign eye contact, but it's the kind of eye contact that counts. "You're the most important thing in my life. I was used to not having anything I couldn't walk away from. Woman, you have ruined me and you just might have saved my life and if you requested I swear the rest of my days to you to prove to you how much it means to me, I'd stalk naked up to my father's study and…" Nitrim glances to the rest of the room, laughing weakly as he makes sure they're alone. He's a drake, but there are other drakes. "…let's just say if trying to force this would work I'd have done it weeks ago."

"You don't have to force it, Nitrim," Lyrienne points out, gentle. "You just have to talk to her. And that's something you can do without any worries about whether or not things are going to be appropriate, or the press is going to make something out of it. Without bringing in parents, or worrying about alliances. Talking, my dear friends, is free."

If Cyrielle could hug Lyrienne right now, she would. She really would. Instead, the woman mumbles something unintelligable and sets the tablet aside. They get a nice view of the ocean, at least.

A moment later, when she picks it up, she's looking a bit pale and her eyes are a bit… unfocused. "Nitrim… Please come see me here at some point. Perhaps you can brag to Sir Canis about your newfound sailing skills. Apparently he doesn't know how." Her smile is a bit weak. "I'm… not feeling very well. I think I need to go lie down."

"I'll…be on my way within the next day." Nitrim quiets, a bit exhausted as if so much of his blood has been siphoned out, leaving him weak and tired. "Getting the Ligonier to grant me guestright while I come to visit and see you will make a statement. A little bit of defense and we can…talk."

Clearly not giving up, the lordling looks over to Lyrienne, suddenly curious as Cyrielle seems pale and sickly. His brows knit together and he stands in the water, which thankfully covers his hips. "Cyri…is everything okay?"

Lyrienne has nothing to say at the moment, since neither of her friends seems to need to be yelled at just yet. Instead, she sinks a little deeper in the water, smoothing a hand over her stomach as one of the twins decides to readjust himself.

"I'm fine," Cyrielle says, waving a hand slightly at the screen. She swallows and closes her eyes. "Must've eaten something that doesn't agree with me." She does manage a small smile, studying the Khournas and likely imagining some not-proper things for a brief few seconds. "I'll let them know you'll be coming by. I'm sure you'll be extended guestright. This is a rehab and training facility, 'Trim. They would love to have a Paramount visit, I imagine."

"Lyrienne, thank you for this. I know we can be…trouble. No, trouble is a bad word for it. Difficult." Nitrim turns his eyes to the blonde, breathing gently towards her with a palm flattened to his forehead. "I love you, dearly, and deep inside believe that moments like these are just going to be remembered as part of the hard work we put into it." Straightening, Nitrim's hand falls to his chest, rubbing softly over his scar from the blade that nearly killed him. His eyes turn to Cyrielle and he offers her a quiet smile. "I'll bring something to go to the beach in." He decides outright. "I missed you very much, love."

Lyrienne smiles warmly back at the pair, reaching out to give Nitrim's hand a squeeze and kissing the fingers of her other hand before holding them out toward Cyrielle. "It's worth it to see the two of you happy," she says firmly. "Now don't go mucking it up, all right?" she teases gently. "I'm got spawn on the way, and they're going to need a great deal of time."

"I miss you," Cyrielle offers with a smile into the camera. It's tempered by how she's feeling, but genuine nonetheless. "I love you, more than I think you sometimes know." The woman blinks a few times at Lyrienne's words and squints. "I just hope they aren't Awakened. Last thing I need is to be visiting you to meditate and have some sprog crying in my brain."

"Well, Lyri, you could always write our fathers and butt in, pressure them and hope to the Six that it doesn't push them farther away." Nitrim laughs, sitting back down on the bench and squeezing Lyrienne's hand in turn. "Thank you. I promise we'll babysit some time. We owe you much." With a slow blink and a deep, exhaled breath, Nitrim turns back to Cyrielle. "I'm going to entertain Lyri for the night and make sure she gets around here okay, and then I'll leave as soon as I can, alright? My heart is with you. My head is a fucking mess."

"You have no idea," Lyrienne sighs to Cyrielle. "And I had just been getting to the point where Julian wasn't doing it anymore, too. Ah, well. I'm sure they'll make up for it some day when I'm old. And take care of yourself, Cyrielle," she says with a warm smile for the other woman. "I'll send him along shortly."

"Oh, no no. You can babysit," Cyrielle says, holding up a hand. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know which end is up." She's smiling, but there's uncertainty nonetheless. "Take care of him, Lyri. Don't let him wander off too far." She does chuckle a bit, but after a blown kiss… the connection is cut off. The last glimpse shows her looking decidedly queasy. Bad food, indeed.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License