hea
His exclamation makes their lips curl upward. Their drink hesitates in their hand and it could’ve almost pushed a giggle out of the pockets of their cheeks. Something of schoolgirl fantasies or terrible, childish nonsense, but indeed, Alexander continues to prove the mettle he is made of, and it continues to prove to be an excellent kind of entertaining.
It had been an excellent idea to entertain him. So, of course, because it remains in their best of interests, they would continue to do so. “Unafraid to call it as you see it. Both a dangerous and an admirable quality, as it does not give you much to hide behind.” Another drink then, in place of an answer to his cocked brow and his silent challenge, no matter how humorous it is. There might be a match of equal standing being made here, a contract of equivocal terms as opposed to Hea drawing it up and Alexander signing his name on the dotted line ( with or without flourish depends upon his mood, so it seems. ) And the wide blink they provide him does little to take away from the image of a prophetic black cat. “Delicate. Well, I do suppose that I have quite the soft touch where it is prudent, Mr. Rallis. Even the most callused of fingers can learn what it is to be gentle in the proper circumstance.” And their gaze flicks to his hands, as if they can see all of the calluses, and the blood that might cover them, upon his own fingers. “Do I believe it? It may be so. But what matters more is others believing it, yes?”
The clink upon their glass brings a sense of pleasant surprise. “Salute,” they return, and they allow him to gulp it down before they take another sip of their own. Put a war dog and a black cat in the same room, and some kind of camaraderie is bound to come from similar interests. “I thank you for that acknowledgement.” It is their turn to tease. His grouchiness seems not to be rubbing off completely, but he seems more engaged than previously thought. The brightness of their own smile is returned by his own. “I might. In several different languages. Kept in my purse at all times for whenever translation is needed.” They take in a deep breath, and because of the sincerity of his smile, they dare to be sincere in their response. “I do, Mr. Rallis. To speak in it is similar to speaking in tongues. Gibberish, that is, that some people try to understand but fail to, or that some people refuse to understand and merely accept as a conundrum of prophetic fact. It is much easier to say such things – but it is also easier to allow others to come to those kinds of conclusions themselves. Instead of telling them what to think, yes?” It is as gruff, verbally, as Hea Min dares to get at this time of night, and in public.
He thinks he might like them.
And how strange it is—to like the black cat who’s been purring prophesies at him since the dawn of his reign in Verona. Or maybe he’s just had too much to drink, and his fondness of them is rum-induced (liquor has always impaired his good judgment, and he has a habit of not knowing thy enemy when he’s under the influence of spirits).
“I’ve never found much merit in hiding.” And he hasn’t. Alexander has many vices, but cowardice isn’t one of them. He’s always been brazen and unapologetic—in the way he speaks, in the way he fights, in the way he fucks. In the way he hunts, in the way he conducts business. He’s lionhearted and foolhardy, and he’s never hidden, not from anything. “Have you?”
He laughs, and it doesn’t occur to him that he hasn’t laughed this much in a very, very long time. As if compelled by the spell of Hea’s words, he looks down at his own hands: callused, scarred; two palms covered in bad blood that’s not yet dried and weighed down by sins he’s not yet repented for. Curious, he casts his gaze sideways, so as to examine Hea’s hands, and he frowns at the disparity between theirs and his. Hea’s hands are small, and unscathed, with manicured nails and sleek, slender fingers well-versed in the art of tying fate’s strings. “And do you deem a soft touch necessary where I’m concerned?” he asks, taking a too-long swig of his drink. And then, perhaps emboldened by liquor, he snorts, and the ugly sound is full of something dark, something bitter and gnarled. “Callused hands can never learn to be gentle.” A declaration—one that leaves little room for argument. “Wolves can never learn to be house pets. Beasts can never learn to be men. Rough hands will always ruin.” And all soft things will always perish at their behest. “Surely you know better than to think otherwise.” Translation: you’ve watched us all ruin this city with bloody hands—you’re fucking mad if you think we’re capable of anything but destruction.
Or perhaps he’s mad—speaking with so little deference to the mighty black cat. But he’s never been very good at biting his tongue, and the intensity of his short tirade is directed not at Hea, but at his hands, and all the Montague blood that taints them (Damiano, Celeste, Giya—too many, too much). Callused hands can never be gentle. Bloody hands can never be clean.
His good mood (miraculously summoned against all odds by Hea and Hea alone) is not lost, merely interrupted, and his newfound companion’s agreeable temperament quickly restores his high spirits. His eyebrows shoot upward with exasperated surprise, and he rests one hand over his heart for the sake of theatrics. “Witches joke,” he muses, voice full of mock awe. “Who knew?”
I do, Mr. Rallis. Her sudden stroke of sincerity catches him off guard. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen any of the witches speak frankly, or humbly, and to see Hea speak frankly and humbly startles him. She sounds—well, she sounds like Alexander, and he’s charmed by her efforts to be blunt, and gruff, and honest. “You sound almost like a Montague,” he teases, one corner of his lips cocked. The Montagues have always been favored for their candor, and the Capulets for their chicanery. Lips pursed, he cants his head to the side, expression thoughtful. “Interesting,” he hums. He’s made every effort to be a fair and just advisor, and his captains and soldiers are heartily encouraged to challenge him when he ought to be challenged, to check his ego when it ought to be checked. He appreciates the challenge and check from Hea, and he supposes he understands her take on the matter. “That’s very...openminded of you. Very patient of you, too.”
