It took Grima some time to track Laslow down but when she did she made sure he was alone. She cornered him in a dark hallway and smiled warmly at him as she approached, a long thin box in her outstretched hands.
"Hello, little Inigo," Grima said as she stood in front of him. Her smile didn't reach her eyes and that much was clear. "It's your birthday, isn't it? My, how the years fly. You're so big now. I remember the day you were born even. What a joyous event that was, the birth of another life on this miserable hunk of rock you terrible creatures call yours. I wonder what you would have been like had you not existed in my world and instead existed in a world of ignorance and bliss that the fools that surround you experienced. Perhaps your mother and father would have raised you together and avoided my war together. You may have never known strife if you had been a normal young boy in the countryside."
Grima clicked the buttons on the sides of the box she was carrying, letting it open for Laslow to see inside. It was a long thin sword that seemed to suit a dancer perfectly.
"Happy birthday, Inigo. I'd like for you to have this. If you're worried about it being cursed, don't be. It's a perfectly normal blade. I want to see you use it the day you try to drive the life from my body. I'm looking forward to it even." She said, her smile not faltering once. "You'll do that for me, won't you? Show me how you've overcome that childish cowardice of yours."
Nothing can ruin today. Not even the thousands-year-old monster wearing the face of a dear friend.
Laslow feels Grima's presence before he sees her, icy nerves tripping down his spine with every approaching footstep. Damn, it's the second floor, too. Eyes dart for the nearest window. Surely a few broken bones would be far easier to deal with than whatever Grima has in store. His weight shifts, knees bending in preparation for either an attack or a retreat.
Little Inigo. He swallows and fights the urge to take a step back. Any concession would mean a victory for that monster. With an effort he hopes isn't too visible, he raises his chin, praying he's projecting confidence and not a little kid playing at being an adult. Hatred burns in his eyes despite trying for a calm expression. She'll just see that as another form of triumph.
"Y-you're right," he begins, hating the way his voice shakes around the words. "My birth was a joyous occasion. It marked the day of yet another person who will end your existence in any timeline. And while I can't deny I've never wondered what my life would be like without you ruining it, I do know one thing."
Another swallow, pushing down all the fear and rage he's tempted to unleash. "I will never stand for injustice, no matter what form it takes."
He's breathing hard by the end of his declaration, all pent-up energy with no release.
The buttons click. He jolts, fragile bluster shattering under the weight of such a simple action. Curse Grima, curse his own anxieties. Maybe he is full of nothing but cowardice. Gaze remains fixed on Grima's a heartbeat longer before dropping to the weapon.
It's beautiful, no doubt about that, cushioned on a bed of velvet that shows off the elegant lines of metalwork. Must be lightweight, too, with such a thin blade and fine crossguard. Did she custom-make this?
Of course she knows he'll be drawn in by a pretty sword.
Eyes flick back up to her and that hateful smile. "If you're so eager for a demonstration of my skill, I am more than happy to oblige right now." Fingers twitching, as if afraid they'll suddenly find themselves in the snare of an animal's teeth, he reaches for the hilt.
Only to retreat at the last moment. He often plays the fool but that doesn't mean he actually is one. "...I don't need your pity to defeat you again."
Laslow stalks away, spine straight even as fearful tremors wrack his body.
