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[ceremonious]

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[veile]

[ it's been three days since he was thrown into one of the cells in the deep basement of the dahlia. three days since he returned mijat's errant jaguar and earned a mouthful of obscenities in response. three days since his little tiff with rune.

the guard is kind enough to keep his phone alive, though lynx doesn't spend much time using it. he sits cross-legged with his back against the stone wall, perfectly still, his eyes closed as he rewinds memories and plays them back through his head. walking through the woods with mika on his shoulders, teaching her the names of flowers. chasing sofija across the beach after she showed him how to build a sandcastle. family dinners, back when he and mijat actually got along. he plays through them until his heart begins to ache, and only then does he stop, keeping his mind carefully blank as he waits.

sometimes it's just a few hours. sometimes it goes past a week. sometimes his punishment is cut short because even mijat knows he keeps the dahlia in excellent working order and deals with petty crises with grace. the guard tells him something goes wrong every time he's gone, and lynx takes a great deal of personal satisfaction in knowing that mijat knows he's fucking his own business every time he gets angry and throws him in the basement.

his hand takes its time healing. he downplayed the severity of his injury to rune, not that it fucking matters because rune doesn't fucking care, but the jaguar broke three bones in his hand and fractured his wrist. the guard offers him human painkillers, which lynx accepts just to crush into the concrete floor to pass the time. he's not ingesting poison. he'd rather have tea.

three days, and not a peep from rune. the nerve. the fucking nerve of him, thinking he can swoop in and restore his wings and save him from his miserable existence. the sheer arrogance of a witch who can barely tap into his own magic. he knows nothing. nothing of love and family and atonement. lynx yields to it all so mika can be safe. sitting in a cell is nothing. the stupid cat nearly taking his hand is nothing. none of it is anything. rune has no idea the depths lynx would go to for her, because rune has never cared about anyone.

on the third night, after spending hours half-asleep counting the same stones over and over and over, he finally decides he can accept the shame of being the first to break. ]

will you behave if we speak?

[ceremonious]

[ he's not mad at lynx.

he's furious.

as if a faerie would know just what he'd been through in his life, of the pains he'd suffered and the loss he'd lived through. he hadn't let it crush him the way lynx's own grief does; he'd used it, rose up to consume it before it consumed him. and rune's aware that it doesn't always make him the most agreeable person, especially when it comes to normal things, but he didn't get to the place he is by rolling over and taking it. oddly enough, it's the lapse of time that he notices more than the silence. he could apologize – laughable since he doesn't apologize to anyone – or he could go to the club and demand to see lynx regardless of whatever punishment he might have been dealt.

he could do a lot of things, but instead, all rune does is work.

there's research first, of course. and he has to reach out to some old contacts to find out what they know about faeries and their particular kind of magic. witches and fae have never gotten along, but there's always something somewhere. a pair that fell in love, or close friends. someone had information, and rune is patient enough to wait the day and a half it takes for an address to appear in his phone one night while he's working on a basic healing spell. it's exactly what he wants, but it's also a day away from the tea shop. which means he has to leave as soon as he tells ciro that he's going.

he's checking into a tiny b&b nearly twenty hours later when lynx texts him. there's no reply for at least ten minutes. ]

What do you want to talk about?

[veile]

how would you get the color right?

[ he might as well ask. ]

in your ridiculous fantasy in which you restore my wings, how would you know the right colors?

[ceremonious]

It's your biology, isn't it?

There are ways.
And if there aren't, I'll find one.

[ which is exactly what he's doing right now, so. ]

[veile]

quite predictable that your ways don't include simply asking the subject for his firsthand knowledge on the topic.

[ceremonious]

I could ask you.
But I know you'll give me some impossible answer that couldn't ever be replicated.

So your body will tell me instead.

[veile]

not so. i would simply tell you the truth, and if your pea brain could not fathom the magnificence of my wings in their original glory, that is not my problem.

[ceremonious]

If this is the kind of conversation you want to have, bother someone else.
Those are your choices, and beggars can't be choosers.

[ but after a minute: ]

What color are they?

[veile]

i am no beggar.

light summer blue. lilac. seafoam. ballet slipper pink. it all depends on the light.

[ something like this. ]

[ceremonious]

[ a typical faerie answer. ]

I'll just stick with my original plan.
It would work better that way.

[veile]

has your plan taken into account how to force some absurd spell onto an unwilling participant?

[ceremonious]

I'm not going to force you.
I have time. I can wait.

[veile]

why do you want to do this?
just to say that you did? another successful experiment added to your bag of tricks?

[ceremonious]

What's wrong with doing something because you can?

[veile]

[ excuse him while he rolls his eyes. ]

nothing. unless it comes at the expense of someone else.
but why care about that? it would be enormously impressive to restore fully functional wings to someone who's lost them.

[ceremonious]

Because I'm not going to let someone tell me what I can and cannot do.
Because I know I can.
Because I want to help you.

Pick whichever one you like best.

[veile]

how do you think this will help me?

[ceremonious]

Maybe you'll stop moping and do something about the situation you're in.

[veile]

i am not mopey.
and if i am, it's a recent development only because i've been sitting in a cage for three days.
i'll be back to my usual sparkling self when i'm out.

[ceremonious]

You don't sparkle.
You're dim. You've forgotten how to live.

But do whatever you want.
I'll think about doing it for you one day if you ask nicely.

[veile]

[ he sighs to himself. even if there was an ounce of truth to rune's accusation, it wouldn't change the circumstances. ]

i haven't forgotten how to live.
i'm grieving a loss. there's a difference.

now i have to ask?
i'm surprised you're not planning on appearing out of thin air and throwing pixie dust at me.

[ceremonious]

I don't think you know that.

[ but he's convinced himself he doesn't care. when his entire coven had been slaughtered and scattered to the wind, he hadn't given up. even now, revenge fuels him. ]

You don't seem to believe me when I say I can do anything.
I'm not going to beg you.
I'm not even going to try to convince you.
You'll want it badly enough one day that you'll finally give in and ask.

[veile]

then who would?
you?

i do want them. of course i do.
it's like missing a limb. i still forget they're not there.
but they'll only be a liability to me now.
is it so terribly important to convince everyone around you that you can do anything?

[ceremonious]

I don't know enough about you to tell you that.
I'm just telling you what I see.

Some of it isn't about convincing anyone.
I want to know I can do it.
Then I can put to rest the things that have been taken from me.
Like I said, I have time.

[veile]

should i tell you all my deepest hurts so you can better tell me how i'm wasting my life away?

ah.
so you're only trying to convince yourself.