Post by tezzy on Nov 25, 2009 14:28:20 GMT -5
((Disclaimer: I'm KIND OF EMBARASSED at the heartwarming fuzzy places this went. Because I am too much of a MAN for that. Sniffles or diabeetus(-beetus beetus beetus) gained from reading this are NOT MY FAULT (or Campy's)
This was picked up on AIM after server crash, so the beginning bits aren't logged. Conversation topics covered then: How much Tezzy and Grinne are both crazy raptor otakus, allies up hordes down, how much secret Crusade warlocks suck, and boring smalltalk. They're on the roof of Campy and Grinne's place in the Bay. Tezzy is using her human disguise potion. ))
Campion ducks his head and mumbles, "...He found one of my letters from Grinne." He doesn't look at Tatiana, but he grimaces regardless. Yeah.
Tezzy ducks her head a little and winces. "Is that it? I mean -- he shoulda signed it 'P' only, or are Crusaders not allowed to have sweethearts?" (she thinks they could have been better sekrit squirrels.)
"Well, it's fine to have loved ones and family. But...well, ANY are a liability if they come before the Crusade, or could be used against you by the enemy. But-...Yes. I-...The nature of mine is-...I-..." He stumbles with his words. He's getting BETTER about not being ASHAMED about it, and the Crusade's obvious disapproval is becoming easier to just...not regard. But still. "...And it wasn't his name. It was the, uh. The content of the letter was still a giveaway." Ahem.
Her grimace stays put. Oh dear. She's so curious to know. "Oh." she mumbles. MOVING ON. "Well, I'm sorry it happened. Is it -- is it any better?" She glances to his gauntleted hand.
"It wasn't anything like THAT!" He babbles quickly, defensively. He's a bit red in the face now. "It just mentioned. Light, hah. What a backfire this was. But he mentioned in the letter how weird it would be to pretend being a relative or brother or something, so the Crusade would not suspect we were...together." He shrugs. Figures, huh? "And...wh-what part is better? I-...The higher-ups of the Crusade don't know. I don't intend to let them."
A breeze blows past, and Tezzy shakes the hair out of her face. She scoffs a little, she's developing a fairly advanced guttermind, even without specific knowledge. "Thats -- small mercies, I suppose. Will you get any correspondence up there? Any tips to make it past the censors would be wonderful."
He shakes his head, then looks up, wondering at the sky. Did he just feel a drop of rain? That'd be nice, all told. He remains hopeful, watching the clouds still. "Probably not. Anything that gets up there would take ages. And, well. Yes. Everything's screened. I'd rather not take the risks. Not just with YOU," he assures her hastily; this isn't restricted to just his dead friends! "Everyone. I just-...I don't want them to be hurt. Or to end up hurt because of it, since I just know that'd make whoever sent it all the MORE miserable." The lack of concern for his own harm is...noble? Or just curious priorities?
Tezzy follows his eyes up. She has probably less of a weather eye than he does. She hmmphs, and leans against his armor-plated side. The potion gives her the illusion of normal body warmth, but in this climate, in that getup, he wouldn't be able to notice. She's, fortunately, able to parse Campion self-sacrifice-inese, and lets it slide without comment, nodding. It goes without saying that he doesn't want to kick it. "Well, I'll write anyway. And keep them." They'll be his, later, if she has to put them in his coffin.
Campion looks over at Tatiana when she leans against him, as if trying to consciously decide if he's okay with this. Is he? He is. The fact his armour's in the way helps, and the fact she looks a lot how he remembers her. The eyes are still a little strange, but in a way he can't put his finger on. But they're not black and yellow, so there's that. Carefully, hesitantly, as if afraid he might break her, an arm puts itself around her shoulders. "Please do. And if I, by some miracle, make it back. I'll read them then."
In death, if not in life, Tezzy can easily support a armor-plated arm. And though he's not as feathery as a Moonkin, he's far more heartwarming. She is quite content. She snuggles maybe the tiniest bit. She sighs a breath she didn't realise she was keeping in. "I'll pray. I remember how. There are... chapels on neutral ground." She doesn't want to mention the Argents. But if the Light has a sense of humor, it'll certainly answer the pleas of a withered old deadder for the victory of the Scarlet Crusade.
"That's all I'm asking of the lot of you at this rate. I don't need people following me up there and guarding me. Probably just get both of us killed if any of them try," he grumps. "Just pray. That really and sincerely is what I want and need. I-..." He looks at her carefully again, trying to weigh his words. He's never sure any more if reminders of what she is are hurtful or not. "...I don't know how pleas to the Light work for you now, but...the effort means even more because of that."
"I know at least one." Tezzy says, smiling a little wistfully at the memory. "One Forsaken who's right with the Light. One with the Light and died dead. Maybe she'll give me some special intercession. She said she'd look out for me, anyway." She glances up to see if he's curious. Or thinks she's spouting awful heresy. Or just to remember him in case he doesn't come back.
He's looking forward again, out over the Bay at that obnoxious goblin statue greeting incoming ships. And then upward, still watching those rainclouds roil, fat and grey with a potential downpour. It gives him a strange sense of peace. Rain has always been a good sign. It showing up before his departure must mean something. Hopefully? He doesn't answer about that Forsaken being 'right with the Light' though. He's doubtful, but he's just doesn't have the energy to object. "...Looks like it's going to rain," Campion says instead.
She can parse Campionese on that one as well. She reinforces her small smile. She shouldn't have hoped for his agreement and she didn't need it! She calls up an image of Moiera in her mind, and paints it half guardian spirit and half banshee, a little sad she can't quite recall her face -- Adrius has probably given up remembering her -- and follows Campion's eyes to the clouds. "With any luck." she says. "Mind getting soaked? Or do you have a roof to run under?" She doesn't want to be in their house if an unprepared Peregrinne is there.
"I want to stay out in it," he replies quietly, head still tilted back, eyes turned upwards. "Remember-...Remember what I used to say as a kid? About how waking up hearing the rain meant it was going to be a good day?" The corners of his mouth twitch up into a soft smile when he feels the first warm patters of water on his face. "I just like rain for that reason in general now."
The tok-tok of fat jungle raindrops on the boardwalk certainly is soothing. She smiles too, and nods. Just sitting there in comfortable silence is something she'd never have expected to have. She closes her eyes to focus on the sensation of rain on her illusion-softened skin -- her unnatural disconnect between sensations and brain still remains, but this is worth paying attention to. "I would rather legions of Forsaken soldiers fell to the Crusade than you." She looks down, and lightly squeezes some of the rain out of her hair. "I would rather you took Lordaeron." She frowns, knowing the moral disconnect there. "Should I be confessing?" She smirks with sad irony, and affection.
He listens, faintly surprised, strangely touched. He doesn't consider her a traitor for what she's saying; it's just shocking regardless. ANYONE caring that much about him always is strange. Even from his friends. His own spouse. His best and closest and only childhood friend. "...Well, I AM an ordained confessor now," he mutters, still rolling over what she'd said in his mind. "So. You know. I can make this official," he adds with a soft laugh.
Tezzy laughs! Her voice is really rather nice to listen to. She regrets, in some beta-cycle of her thoughts, that when this disguise melts she'll be back with her regular crone cackle. She leans her head back and shakes out the water like a wet worg. Water that is replaced almost instantly. Both of them must be soaked through -- she, in plainclothes, certainly is. "Well, I wasn't expecting that, but, I suppose you're the easiest one to tell." She smiles warmly. This certainly is easier with the disguise, pretending everything is, and will be, allright.
His red hair is dark and plastered to his head at his point, water dripping from his goatee and the tip of his crooked nose. There's water dripping into the chinks and seams of his armour, getting the garments underneath wet, and his tabard is soaked and sticking to the contours of his breastplate. But this doesn't seem to bother him a bit; he looks content. A lot more peaceful than he has in days and days, just sitting in the rain with his oldest friend, looking out over the bay from the roof of his home. "You can tell me anything, Tatiana. It's the least I can do. And...your sentiments are surprising. But sweet. Thank you." He gives her arm a gentle squeeze.
She leans her head down on his shoulder for a moment, a sort-of-hug. There's really nothing pressing to say, just gathering Campion into her heart. A thought strikes her, and she shifts away, fumbling in her backpack (she's never without a backpack) for the thing she's been hopefully carrying whenever she's been in the Bay, lately. It's a gadget -- a camera. She scampers to the far side of the roof, framing Campy between the rigging and the buildings behind. "Don't look at me like a doof." she says, shooing his gaze out toward the water. "Think of Peregrinne. Think of the old days."
Campion does, indeed, at first, look at her like a doof. Confused and blinking water from his eyelashes. But then Tatiana gives him those instructions and he snorts and laugh, smirking as he looks away, as instructed. Back out over the bay. Thinking about the old days. Tromping through the woods with Tatiana, balancing on fallen log bridges, looking under rocks for insects, spotting the flashing white tails of deer through the trees. The fondest memories he has of his childhood, being safe and removed from all that waited for him at home, enjoying the tranquil forest and sharing its wonders with his sheltered best friend. And thinking of Grinne. His laugh, his smirk, the scar on his face, the first time he'd kissed him, the ever-present comforting warmth he provides next to him in bed, the nights spent in comfortable silence and simply lying next to one another and holding hands. He's smiling softly at these thoughts, just as Tezzy probably hoped he would.
The little click-whirr of the gadget as it captures the image is hopefully not enough to stir a blink from Campion and ruin her memento. She smiles too, remembering his silent presence at the side of her bed during her worst sicknesses -- the fact that he'd finally learned enough to quit trying to do something made him the most comforting of all, and knowing that lesson herself is probably what's making Tezzy a blessing and not a curse on Campy's little time left, in the Bay, in the civilian world. She holds the camera gingerly, wrapping it up tight in the backpack, safe from the water. She takes her seat on the side of the roof, again, holding the bundle on her lap, murmuring a shy little, 'thanks', and looking at Campy like she's ready for the next thing now.
As she gets settled next to him again, Campion lifts his arm, waiting for Tatiana to resume her leaning before settling it around her shoulders once more. "I'm glad I got to see you again," he murmurs after a long silence filled with nothing but the patter and drumming of rain on the planks and docks. "That we could make things right between us before I go." It's a simple sentiment, one he's probably said before, but it's true and worth repeating.
As a horrible zombiemonster by day, the deliberate offer of more touch, friendly, innocent, and not accidental or apologised for, is almost heartbreakingly welcomed. She tucks her head down to hide a little wobble in her chin as she leans against Campion. Oh, she will miss him. She nods. "I am too." she says plainly. There's really not much more to say! Just wait out the time until he has to leave.
There IS one more thing to say, that probably really very much SHOULD be, should this be the last time. But he keeps rolling it over in his head, debating saying it aloud, not sure if it'll just come out awkward or stilted or sounding insincere or unwelcome, or out of place or uncalled for or inappropriate. So the fact that, while he's debating all of this, Campion mumbles, "I love you, Tatiana," catches him by surprise; doesn't even know he said it until several seconds after the fact. Well. Humm. It's out there now, so...
Tezzy smiles a smile that's just for herself. She's already said it. Back when she was a teen, when your first this your first that, your first significant look from a boy was agonized over, she'd said it. When she started to digest the knowledge that she'd probably marry this boy, that no one else would marry her, at least, she'd said it out loud to the walls of her room, like it was something that could be made easier with practice. 'I love you, Miles Campion, I love you, Miles Campion, I love you, Miles Campion.' The fact that this repeated phrase comes out aloud, and without the tickle of anxiety that she remembered going along with the teenage recitation, surprises her as well, and she laughs at herself, at the pair of them. "Well, that was a long time in coming, wasn't it. Holy Light." She shakes her head ruefully, humorously.
He chuckles, nervously, relieved, his arm tightening around her again in another brief squeeze. "Better late than never? But...Light. I always have, Tatiana. You are all that was good about my growing up. I needed you. I don't know if you ever-...If you ever realized that. But I don't want to know what sort of person I'd be now if I didn't have you. You-...You were-..." He trails off, unsure of where to go. There's still that uncomfortable lump of cold guilt in his gut about the fact he's here now, a married man (to ANOTHER man), when they both knew the comfortable consolation they had of a life together before the plagues came. It's no one's fault, but.
Tezzy turns a bit to have a look at Campion as he sputters. She tips her head to the side. "You too, you know." she says, a little uncomfortable with the Big Feelings being thrown around all of a sudden. He is married after all -- she doesn't get the whole cake. "We've had a lot of good luck, yeah?" She twines an arm behind him and around his waist, squeezing back. Thank the Light for this disguise.
He's doing his best to keep her 'usual' appearances out of mind; to not think of her current look as a disguise. It's Tatiana; end of story. It's a comfortable lie. And it allows them this moment of closeness, so what harm is there in it? "Yeah. I know, but. Hah, I mean. Even when you were just a little girl, sick in your bed, you really MEANT something to me. And I just...you know. Thought you should know." He coughs, raising his free hand to brush sopping bangs from his face and behind his ear. "Luck, huh? How do you figure?"
She doesn't want to start enumerating the ways in which things could be worse. "You're here, I'm here..." She traces a meandering wobble in the air with her finger, "And the crazy path that got us here." Her death, ressurection, and freedom -- his refusal, despite membership in the world's most universally hated militant faction, to keel over, the luck of finding a romance that brought him to the Bay, their coincidental meeting that brought them, for better or worse, into friendship again. She glances at him and squeezes some water out of her own sleeves, a futile effort.
He stops to think about this. How, one way or another, all these strange and sundry and sometimes unsavoury events either of them have been through since the fall of Lordaeron...and somehow, all of it comes together to bring THEM together once again. And then, eventually, at peace with one another. Able to share this last tender moment before he's deployed. "...Yeah," he finally replies. "Hah. The Light works in mysterious ways."
She nods, fidgeting a bit now, combing fingers through her wet hair, shaking the drops from her fingers, squeezing out the hem of her shirt, making sure her backpack is closed. The rain seems to be getting lighter. She tries not to anticipate the parting that's coming up, the gravity of it. "It does." She agrees, simply to have speech rather than silence.
He finally now notices the constant sifting her wringing of water from her clothing, hair and belongings, and the paladin starts a little, looking down with concern. "Shit, sorry. Should we get somewhere dry? I didn't even think-..."
"No, no..." Tezzy suppresses a nervous laugh, taking a steadying breath, clasping her hands and setting them calm on the tops of her legs. "I'm just...worrying." She looks Campion in the eye, after a beat. "And don't you try to stop me."
He gives her a flat, considering look. Then sigh and shakes his head. "I won't." A lull settles for the time being; his armour clinks and rattles as he shifts his own position slightly, drawing his knees up closer to him. Campion eventually glances over to Tatiana again, studying her expression. "...Anything you want to voice, or is it just...you know. The usual."
She leans close, greedy for comfortable friendly leans. "Just... yeah, the usual." She shakes her head, looking at him, another light going on in her head. "You're -- You know, you're way more than stubborn, you're astonishing. To go..." She trails off, they both know what kind of shit he's wading into. Her expression is resigned, encouraging. "They don't know what they have, with you, they really don't." She shakes her head again, resting against his side.
The compliments catch him off guard. Not JUST because they're compliments, but because of how...profound they are. To be called ASTONISHING. The implication that he is something precious and amazing that the Crusade cannot and does not fully appreciate. How do you even respond to that? Better still, how do you respond to that after such a long and illustrious lifetime of being told you're a fuck-up and will never amount to anything worthwhile? "...I'm not special," is the lame, mumbled and uncertain response given.
She drops her shoulders, scoffing a little. "I bet you copper to gold no one else deployed in Icecrown has had as many reasons to get back anywhere else, or as many people begging them to stay." She drops her eyes for a second at the notion that she could be wrong -- that Onslaught Harbor could be filled with nothing but Campions, and the sheer numbers of mourners, if the stories she'd heard were true, that this could imply. Never a religious person, the sense of flat wrongness to war hits her, hard.
Campion wouldn't know either, and he says as much. "Don't really...uh, get all that close to anyone I work with." He clears his throat and tucks another wet strand of hair behind one ear. Why? Well, he's never really SAID as much to anyone, so why not Tatiana. It's a sharing sort of moment between them right now, it seems. "...I don't want them to know about me. The things I do when I'm not at the monastery on deployed. The-...The people I'm with." This is all encompassing; the Kamil, his ragtag misfit family, and the man he loves and lives with. Both could end in disaster if the wrong Scarlets know, so. He hangs his head in shame, regardless. He's not proud of the fact he has so much to hide from the brotherhood he considers the utmost paragon of virtue.
Tezzy is still having a bit of an existential moment. She wibbles visibly, at his expression. "You're a good man," she says, silencing the criticisms she has for the Scarlet Crusade, knowing he shares a few, wishing it could be an group full of others just as good. She raises a hand to the back of his neck, drawing fingers lightly between his shoulderblades, where the tension hides -- a gesture she remembers her mother giving her father. For an awful-zombiemonster-by-day she takes to the comforting touches like a fish to water.
The rain is indeed tapering off at this point, but there's really no such thing as a light drizzle in the Bay. It just means the fat jungle raindrops aren't as frequent, and the air is still thick with a wet, foggy haze. Campion's huddling in on himself a bit now, legs drawn closer to chest, arms curled and propped on his knees. Lank strands of damp hair droop into his eyes again. "I have such a hard time believing that, Tatiana. I can't believe that so many people care at ALL about me. I just-...I keep thinking they're mistaken. Or they'll realize they've made a mistake after so long. And there's no getting around the fact I'm a dreadful paladin. A paladin shouldn't have to hide so much about himself from his order for fear of repercussions. That says-...That says an awful lot about me."
Tezzy clasps hands in her lap again, suddenly selfconscious. She pushes hair behind her ear, and looks at Campion sidelong. "You're a Paladin, you're all about faith, yeah?" She just lets that hang there. 'Apply that answer to this problem' is the answer she isn't saying out loud.
"Y-Yes. Of course I am." He's dense and doesn't see where this is going, so he lifts his head enough to turn and look at her questioningly. He's interested, though.
She rolls her eyes, though a Tezzy Mocking is never meant to cut. "Then have some faith in what your friends are telling you." She uses a duh voice, but her face is sincere.
He smirks, weakly, and huffs a laugh. "I could say something about how my calling is about faith in the holy Light, and not in man, but..." He sighs, slipping his eyes shut briefly as he nods once, bowing his head in gratitude. "...Thank you. I love all of them. You included. And-...Yes. I should have that faith in them, if I don't have it in myself."
Tezzy gives the sad Paladin a flat, appraising look. Light above, she will miss him. His words roll over her like water on a duck. There's dogma, and then there's stuff she knows is true. If he were anyone else she'd prod them over having faith in themselves, as well, but this is Campion talking.
He only now seems to register her touches along his back, in the few unarmoured spots he has open by his neck and shoulders. There's a moment where he considers being alarmed, and he probably would have been if she were outwardly looking like her 'usual' self. But this reclaimed closeness and friendship between them is so precious, he dare not say anything that could disturb or ruin it. And it IS comforting. Her being living may be a facade, but it's still her. No matter what. He sighs quietly, head hanging and eyes closing. Just letting the silence drag on for the time being. She doesn't need to hear his doubts anymore.
The silence stretches on, companionable enough, thoughts drifting through her head without any direction, a slow simmer of worry in the bottom of her gut. She starts to feel the slightest beginning of an itch, down her back and arms, under her skin -- faint enough to have missed if she were absorbed in conversation. The disguise effects will fade, soon enough. "Ah-I should..." Tezzy hesitates, looking around for some last miracle. "I should go." She sounds a little defeated." I'd rather you remember this-" she cups her chin in her hand like she could take off a mask. "-rather than the other."
Campion looks over her again, as if searching for any outward signs of what she's talking about, of her transformation. And his face falls when she makes that admission. A twist of sadness in his chest for several tiny reasons: the reminder that she's dead, the fact she's conscious enough to not upset him with those appearances, the fact she feels she has to hide it, the fact that he APPRECIATES she hides it. "I-...All right. I-...I guess this is-...This is it." He finishes it lamely and uncertain. It's easier than saying 'this is goodbye' or 'this is the end', even though they both know that's what it is.
Tezzy stands quickly, she's much lighter than Campion, at least. She offers him a hand to steady himself on the sloped roof, because she can't be sure he'd do the same for her, after being reminded.
Campion pushes himself up to his feet without the offered assistance, his armour clinking quietly. He'll probably duck inside and dry himself off, regardless of all his talk about not wanting to remove his armour again. And Grinne should be back soon from the business he had to take care of; all the more reason to have it off. (He feels guilty for having such a thought with Tatiana right next to him, as if she can read his mind. Or as if she'd fault him for wanting to spend more intimate time with the person he's married to, for that matter.) "Tatiana, I-..." He turns to look at the pale woman, unsure of what to say. The two of them face one another, dripping and weary, and he has no idea what to say.
She looks at him, shaking her head a fraction -- making the best goodbye you can make is counterproductive, you always worry about it later. And anyway, they're lucky enough to be tuned to the same wavelength. She pulls him into a hug -- a real, serious, serious hug, closing her eyes with her head tucked where his neck meets his shoulder. What are human disguises for if not great hugs, anyway?
He returns it readily, no hesitation except to be mindful of his armour. Arms around her and holding her as close as he can, eyes squeezed shut, a faint marvel at the warmth she has. Is that part of the illusion? The Kamil uses potions that make the likes of him and Grinne completely into elves, and Natharai unmistakably a dead man, but does it work the other way around? This thought is barely there and gone again in the span of a moth's wingbeat, however, and he just continues to hold his oldest friend in this embrace. "No matter what," he murmurs close to her ear, "I will always love you, Tatiana Winchel."
She laughs a little, right next to his ear. "Aye, me too, living or dead. But I think Peregrinne would prefer you living." she squeezes one last time -- what a use for knowing the weak spots in armor! And holds him by the shoulders, at arm's length. "Be safe." she says, seriously. "And good luck."
"I-...You too. And thank you. For everything. And know that, no matter what, I fought my damndest up there. And for the lot of you." He smiles, quiet and genuine. "Take care of yourself, Tatiana." He gives her shoulder one last pat, then steps back, allowing her to go past him and on her way.
She looks around. Okay. She can live with this. She nods a little, stepping past him, only letting herself look back before jumping off the far edge of the rooftop. "OH!" she exclaims, seeing the bank building behind him, ruining a poignant moment with a practical rememberance. "Wait right there, one second!" She scurries off down the boardwalk.
He blinks, and then watches her do that scramble for the bank. Huh. Well, in the meantime, he jumps from the roof and onto the porch with a heavy, armour-clad thud, leaning on the railing and still observing her from there. Can't help by smile. Ahh, Tatiana. You card.
She practically sprints back, with a wad of something in hand, as though he might vanish into thin air. She's baffled for a second by the route to the -porch- rather than the -roof-, and settles for the up-to-the-roof-down-to-the-porch tack. She smiles, apparently very pleased with herself, and drapes a red handknit scarf over his his shoulders, with the crest of Lordaeron on the end in gold. "This," (oh she is just pleased as punch) "belongs to you, I think."
Campion's eyes are wide and eyebrows high, blinking rapidly as she wraps the scarf around him. He looks down at it, holds up the embroidered end of it to see it clearly. "You-...You kept-..." Words fail him, the rush of emotions washing them away entirely. Remembering how she came into possession of it, how he'd left it as an confused, heartbroken apology of sorts, how she'd KEPT it at all and then kept it safe, and now was returning it after they've reconciled and renewed their friendship...His arms are around her again, a bit tighter than before, careless in his eagerness to hug his friend.
She oofs a little at the hug -- she doesn't breathe to breathe, but she breathes to talk, and she's pretty thin. She hugs back! Yay hugs. She isn't as desperately emotional as he is -- she's found the storybook talisman, the enchanted so-and-so. The thing that will bring him back. It came back with her, after all. She's confident, even as she knows it's a false confidence. Maybe it will give him confidence, maybe that confidence will make the difference. "Hang onto it," she says, "I think it's got another trip there and back again left in it." From Northrend to the Eastern Kingdoms, or from the brink of death? Left intentionally vague, of course. She smiles stupidly. Happy. She feels that itch again.
"I will," he says will still hugging onto her tight. And even though she can't see his face from the way he has ahold of her, there's a distinct note of strain in his voice. There's a deep breath, held for a moment, then let out in a shuddering sigh. Armour creaking, the paladin finally, hesitantly lets go of his frail friend, arms dropping to his sides. Composure regained. Mostly. "Thank you, Tatiana."
Even though this might be their last parting, Tezzy has a good feeling. She savors it -- the worries will come later. She smiles at Campion, and hops down the balcony, waving up from beside the door below. "See you," she says, her eyes maybe shining a little. She doesn't want to risk tears coming out ichor-black -- she turns quickly and walks with a measured pace out of sight -- the convoluted path to the wyvern roosts and a flight out of town.
This was picked up on AIM after server crash, so the beginning bits aren't logged. Conversation topics covered then: How much Tezzy and Grinne are both crazy raptor otakus, allies up hordes down, how much secret Crusade warlocks suck, and boring smalltalk. They're on the roof of Campy and Grinne's place in the Bay. Tezzy is using her human disguise potion. ))
Campion ducks his head and mumbles, "...He found one of my letters from Grinne." He doesn't look at Tatiana, but he grimaces regardless. Yeah.
Tezzy ducks her head a little and winces. "Is that it? I mean -- he shoulda signed it 'P' only, or are Crusaders not allowed to have sweethearts?" (she thinks they could have been better sekrit squirrels.)
"Well, it's fine to have loved ones and family. But...well, ANY are a liability if they come before the Crusade, or could be used against you by the enemy. But-...Yes. I-...The nature of mine is-...I-..." He stumbles with his words. He's getting BETTER about not being ASHAMED about it, and the Crusade's obvious disapproval is becoming easier to just...not regard. But still. "...And it wasn't his name. It was the, uh. The content of the letter was still a giveaway." Ahem.
Her grimace stays put. Oh dear. She's so curious to know. "Oh." she mumbles. MOVING ON. "Well, I'm sorry it happened. Is it -- is it any better?" She glances to his gauntleted hand.
"It wasn't anything like THAT!" He babbles quickly, defensively. He's a bit red in the face now. "It just mentioned. Light, hah. What a backfire this was. But he mentioned in the letter how weird it would be to pretend being a relative or brother or something, so the Crusade would not suspect we were...together." He shrugs. Figures, huh? "And...wh-what part is better? I-...The higher-ups of the Crusade don't know. I don't intend to let them."
A breeze blows past, and Tezzy shakes the hair out of her face. She scoffs a little, she's developing a fairly advanced guttermind, even without specific knowledge. "Thats -- small mercies, I suppose. Will you get any correspondence up there? Any tips to make it past the censors would be wonderful."
He shakes his head, then looks up, wondering at the sky. Did he just feel a drop of rain? That'd be nice, all told. He remains hopeful, watching the clouds still. "Probably not. Anything that gets up there would take ages. And, well. Yes. Everything's screened. I'd rather not take the risks. Not just with YOU," he assures her hastily; this isn't restricted to just his dead friends! "Everyone. I just-...I don't want them to be hurt. Or to end up hurt because of it, since I just know that'd make whoever sent it all the MORE miserable." The lack of concern for his own harm is...noble? Or just curious priorities?
Tezzy follows his eyes up. She has probably less of a weather eye than he does. She hmmphs, and leans against his armor-plated side. The potion gives her the illusion of normal body warmth, but in this climate, in that getup, he wouldn't be able to notice. She's, fortunately, able to parse Campion self-sacrifice-inese, and lets it slide without comment, nodding. It goes without saying that he doesn't want to kick it. "Well, I'll write anyway. And keep them." They'll be his, later, if she has to put them in his coffin.
Campion looks over at Tatiana when she leans against him, as if trying to consciously decide if he's okay with this. Is he? He is. The fact his armour's in the way helps, and the fact she looks a lot how he remembers her. The eyes are still a little strange, but in a way he can't put his finger on. But they're not black and yellow, so there's that. Carefully, hesitantly, as if afraid he might break her, an arm puts itself around her shoulders. "Please do. And if I, by some miracle, make it back. I'll read them then."
In death, if not in life, Tezzy can easily support a armor-plated arm. And though he's not as feathery as a Moonkin, he's far more heartwarming. She is quite content. She snuggles maybe the tiniest bit. She sighs a breath she didn't realise she was keeping in. "I'll pray. I remember how. There are... chapels on neutral ground." She doesn't want to mention the Argents. But if the Light has a sense of humor, it'll certainly answer the pleas of a withered old deadder for the victory of the Scarlet Crusade.
"That's all I'm asking of the lot of you at this rate. I don't need people following me up there and guarding me. Probably just get both of us killed if any of them try," he grumps. "Just pray. That really and sincerely is what I want and need. I-..." He looks at her carefully again, trying to weigh his words. He's never sure any more if reminders of what she is are hurtful or not. "...I don't know how pleas to the Light work for you now, but...the effort means even more because of that."
"I know at least one." Tezzy says, smiling a little wistfully at the memory. "One Forsaken who's right with the Light. One with the Light and died dead. Maybe she'll give me some special intercession. She said she'd look out for me, anyway." She glances up to see if he's curious. Or thinks she's spouting awful heresy. Or just to remember him in case he doesn't come back.
He's looking forward again, out over the Bay at that obnoxious goblin statue greeting incoming ships. And then upward, still watching those rainclouds roil, fat and grey with a potential downpour. It gives him a strange sense of peace. Rain has always been a good sign. It showing up before his departure must mean something. Hopefully? He doesn't answer about that Forsaken being 'right with the Light' though. He's doubtful, but he's just doesn't have the energy to object. "...Looks like it's going to rain," Campion says instead.
She can parse Campionese on that one as well. She reinforces her small smile. She shouldn't have hoped for his agreement and she didn't need it! She calls up an image of Moiera in her mind, and paints it half guardian spirit and half banshee, a little sad she can't quite recall her face -- Adrius has probably given up remembering her -- and follows Campion's eyes to the clouds. "With any luck." she says. "Mind getting soaked? Or do you have a roof to run under?" She doesn't want to be in their house if an unprepared Peregrinne is there.
"I want to stay out in it," he replies quietly, head still tilted back, eyes turned upwards. "Remember-...Remember what I used to say as a kid? About how waking up hearing the rain meant it was going to be a good day?" The corners of his mouth twitch up into a soft smile when he feels the first warm patters of water on his face. "I just like rain for that reason in general now."
The tok-tok of fat jungle raindrops on the boardwalk certainly is soothing. She smiles too, and nods. Just sitting there in comfortable silence is something she'd never have expected to have. She closes her eyes to focus on the sensation of rain on her illusion-softened skin -- her unnatural disconnect between sensations and brain still remains, but this is worth paying attention to. "I would rather legions of Forsaken soldiers fell to the Crusade than you." She looks down, and lightly squeezes some of the rain out of her hair. "I would rather you took Lordaeron." She frowns, knowing the moral disconnect there. "Should I be confessing?" She smirks with sad irony, and affection.
He listens, faintly surprised, strangely touched. He doesn't consider her a traitor for what she's saying; it's just shocking regardless. ANYONE caring that much about him always is strange. Even from his friends. His own spouse. His best and closest and only childhood friend. "...Well, I AM an ordained confessor now," he mutters, still rolling over what she'd said in his mind. "So. You know. I can make this official," he adds with a soft laugh.
Tezzy laughs! Her voice is really rather nice to listen to. She regrets, in some beta-cycle of her thoughts, that when this disguise melts she'll be back with her regular crone cackle. She leans her head back and shakes out the water like a wet worg. Water that is replaced almost instantly. Both of them must be soaked through -- she, in plainclothes, certainly is. "Well, I wasn't expecting that, but, I suppose you're the easiest one to tell." She smiles warmly. This certainly is easier with the disguise, pretending everything is, and will be, allright.
His red hair is dark and plastered to his head at his point, water dripping from his goatee and the tip of his crooked nose. There's water dripping into the chinks and seams of his armour, getting the garments underneath wet, and his tabard is soaked and sticking to the contours of his breastplate. But this doesn't seem to bother him a bit; he looks content. A lot more peaceful than he has in days and days, just sitting in the rain with his oldest friend, looking out over the bay from the roof of his home. "You can tell me anything, Tatiana. It's the least I can do. And...your sentiments are surprising. But sweet. Thank you." He gives her arm a gentle squeeze.
She leans her head down on his shoulder for a moment, a sort-of-hug. There's really nothing pressing to say, just gathering Campion into her heart. A thought strikes her, and she shifts away, fumbling in her backpack (she's never without a backpack) for the thing she's been hopefully carrying whenever she's been in the Bay, lately. It's a gadget -- a camera. She scampers to the far side of the roof, framing Campy between the rigging and the buildings behind. "Don't look at me like a doof." she says, shooing his gaze out toward the water. "Think of Peregrinne. Think of the old days."
Campion does, indeed, at first, look at her like a doof. Confused and blinking water from his eyelashes. But then Tatiana gives him those instructions and he snorts and laugh, smirking as he looks away, as instructed. Back out over the bay. Thinking about the old days. Tromping through the woods with Tatiana, balancing on fallen log bridges, looking under rocks for insects, spotting the flashing white tails of deer through the trees. The fondest memories he has of his childhood, being safe and removed from all that waited for him at home, enjoying the tranquil forest and sharing its wonders with his sheltered best friend. And thinking of Grinne. His laugh, his smirk, the scar on his face, the first time he'd kissed him, the ever-present comforting warmth he provides next to him in bed, the nights spent in comfortable silence and simply lying next to one another and holding hands. He's smiling softly at these thoughts, just as Tezzy probably hoped he would.
The little click-whirr of the gadget as it captures the image is hopefully not enough to stir a blink from Campion and ruin her memento. She smiles too, remembering his silent presence at the side of her bed during her worst sicknesses -- the fact that he'd finally learned enough to quit trying to do something made him the most comforting of all, and knowing that lesson herself is probably what's making Tezzy a blessing and not a curse on Campy's little time left, in the Bay, in the civilian world. She holds the camera gingerly, wrapping it up tight in the backpack, safe from the water. She takes her seat on the side of the roof, again, holding the bundle on her lap, murmuring a shy little, 'thanks', and looking at Campy like she's ready for the next thing now.
As she gets settled next to him again, Campion lifts his arm, waiting for Tatiana to resume her leaning before settling it around her shoulders once more. "I'm glad I got to see you again," he murmurs after a long silence filled with nothing but the patter and drumming of rain on the planks and docks. "That we could make things right between us before I go." It's a simple sentiment, one he's probably said before, but it's true and worth repeating.
As a horrible zombiemonster by day, the deliberate offer of more touch, friendly, innocent, and not accidental or apologised for, is almost heartbreakingly welcomed. She tucks her head down to hide a little wobble in her chin as she leans against Campion. Oh, she will miss him. She nods. "I am too." she says plainly. There's really not much more to say! Just wait out the time until he has to leave.
There IS one more thing to say, that probably really very much SHOULD be, should this be the last time. But he keeps rolling it over in his head, debating saying it aloud, not sure if it'll just come out awkward or stilted or sounding insincere or unwelcome, or out of place or uncalled for or inappropriate. So the fact that, while he's debating all of this, Campion mumbles, "I love you, Tatiana," catches him by surprise; doesn't even know he said it until several seconds after the fact. Well. Humm. It's out there now, so...
Tezzy smiles a smile that's just for herself. She's already said it. Back when she was a teen, when your first this your first that, your first significant look from a boy was agonized over, she'd said it. When she started to digest the knowledge that she'd probably marry this boy, that no one else would marry her, at least, she'd said it out loud to the walls of her room, like it was something that could be made easier with practice. 'I love you, Miles Campion, I love you, Miles Campion, I love you, Miles Campion.' The fact that this repeated phrase comes out aloud, and without the tickle of anxiety that she remembered going along with the teenage recitation, surprises her as well, and she laughs at herself, at the pair of them. "Well, that was a long time in coming, wasn't it. Holy Light." She shakes her head ruefully, humorously.
He chuckles, nervously, relieved, his arm tightening around her again in another brief squeeze. "Better late than never? But...Light. I always have, Tatiana. You are all that was good about my growing up. I needed you. I don't know if you ever-...If you ever realized that. But I don't want to know what sort of person I'd be now if I didn't have you. You-...You were-..." He trails off, unsure of where to go. There's still that uncomfortable lump of cold guilt in his gut about the fact he's here now, a married man (to ANOTHER man), when they both knew the comfortable consolation they had of a life together before the plagues came. It's no one's fault, but.
Tezzy turns a bit to have a look at Campion as he sputters. She tips her head to the side. "You too, you know." she says, a little uncomfortable with the Big Feelings being thrown around all of a sudden. He is married after all -- she doesn't get the whole cake. "We've had a lot of good luck, yeah?" She twines an arm behind him and around his waist, squeezing back. Thank the Light for this disguise.
He's doing his best to keep her 'usual' appearances out of mind; to not think of her current look as a disguise. It's Tatiana; end of story. It's a comfortable lie. And it allows them this moment of closeness, so what harm is there in it? "Yeah. I know, but. Hah, I mean. Even when you were just a little girl, sick in your bed, you really MEANT something to me. And I just...you know. Thought you should know." He coughs, raising his free hand to brush sopping bangs from his face and behind his ear. "Luck, huh? How do you figure?"
She doesn't want to start enumerating the ways in which things could be worse. "You're here, I'm here..." She traces a meandering wobble in the air with her finger, "And the crazy path that got us here." Her death, ressurection, and freedom -- his refusal, despite membership in the world's most universally hated militant faction, to keel over, the luck of finding a romance that brought him to the Bay, their coincidental meeting that brought them, for better or worse, into friendship again. She glances at him and squeezes some water out of her own sleeves, a futile effort.
He stops to think about this. How, one way or another, all these strange and sundry and sometimes unsavoury events either of them have been through since the fall of Lordaeron...and somehow, all of it comes together to bring THEM together once again. And then, eventually, at peace with one another. Able to share this last tender moment before he's deployed. "...Yeah," he finally replies. "Hah. The Light works in mysterious ways."
She nods, fidgeting a bit now, combing fingers through her wet hair, shaking the drops from her fingers, squeezing out the hem of her shirt, making sure her backpack is closed. The rain seems to be getting lighter. She tries not to anticipate the parting that's coming up, the gravity of it. "It does." She agrees, simply to have speech rather than silence.
He finally now notices the constant sifting her wringing of water from her clothing, hair and belongings, and the paladin starts a little, looking down with concern. "Shit, sorry. Should we get somewhere dry? I didn't even think-..."
"No, no..." Tezzy suppresses a nervous laugh, taking a steadying breath, clasping her hands and setting them calm on the tops of her legs. "I'm just...worrying." She looks Campion in the eye, after a beat. "And don't you try to stop me."
He gives her a flat, considering look. Then sigh and shakes his head. "I won't." A lull settles for the time being; his armour clinks and rattles as he shifts his own position slightly, drawing his knees up closer to him. Campion eventually glances over to Tatiana again, studying her expression. "...Anything you want to voice, or is it just...you know. The usual."
She leans close, greedy for comfortable friendly leans. "Just... yeah, the usual." She shakes her head, looking at him, another light going on in her head. "You're -- You know, you're way more than stubborn, you're astonishing. To go..." She trails off, they both know what kind of shit he's wading into. Her expression is resigned, encouraging. "They don't know what they have, with you, they really don't." She shakes her head again, resting against his side.
The compliments catch him off guard. Not JUST because they're compliments, but because of how...profound they are. To be called ASTONISHING. The implication that he is something precious and amazing that the Crusade cannot and does not fully appreciate. How do you even respond to that? Better still, how do you respond to that after such a long and illustrious lifetime of being told you're a fuck-up and will never amount to anything worthwhile? "...I'm not special," is the lame, mumbled and uncertain response given.
She drops her shoulders, scoffing a little. "I bet you copper to gold no one else deployed in Icecrown has had as many reasons to get back anywhere else, or as many people begging them to stay." She drops her eyes for a second at the notion that she could be wrong -- that Onslaught Harbor could be filled with nothing but Campions, and the sheer numbers of mourners, if the stories she'd heard were true, that this could imply. Never a religious person, the sense of flat wrongness to war hits her, hard.
Campion wouldn't know either, and he says as much. "Don't really...uh, get all that close to anyone I work with." He clears his throat and tucks another wet strand of hair behind one ear. Why? Well, he's never really SAID as much to anyone, so why not Tatiana. It's a sharing sort of moment between them right now, it seems. "...I don't want them to know about me. The things I do when I'm not at the monastery on deployed. The-...The people I'm with." This is all encompassing; the Kamil, his ragtag misfit family, and the man he loves and lives with. Both could end in disaster if the wrong Scarlets know, so. He hangs his head in shame, regardless. He's not proud of the fact he has so much to hide from the brotherhood he considers the utmost paragon of virtue.
Tezzy is still having a bit of an existential moment. She wibbles visibly, at his expression. "You're a good man," she says, silencing the criticisms she has for the Scarlet Crusade, knowing he shares a few, wishing it could be an group full of others just as good. She raises a hand to the back of his neck, drawing fingers lightly between his shoulderblades, where the tension hides -- a gesture she remembers her mother giving her father. For an awful-zombiemonster-by-day she takes to the comforting touches like a fish to water.
The rain is indeed tapering off at this point, but there's really no such thing as a light drizzle in the Bay. It just means the fat jungle raindrops aren't as frequent, and the air is still thick with a wet, foggy haze. Campion's huddling in on himself a bit now, legs drawn closer to chest, arms curled and propped on his knees. Lank strands of damp hair droop into his eyes again. "I have such a hard time believing that, Tatiana. I can't believe that so many people care at ALL about me. I just-...I keep thinking they're mistaken. Or they'll realize they've made a mistake after so long. And there's no getting around the fact I'm a dreadful paladin. A paladin shouldn't have to hide so much about himself from his order for fear of repercussions. That says-...That says an awful lot about me."
Tezzy clasps hands in her lap again, suddenly selfconscious. She pushes hair behind her ear, and looks at Campion sidelong. "You're a Paladin, you're all about faith, yeah?" She just lets that hang there. 'Apply that answer to this problem' is the answer she isn't saying out loud.
"Y-Yes. Of course I am." He's dense and doesn't see where this is going, so he lifts his head enough to turn and look at her questioningly. He's interested, though.
She rolls her eyes, though a Tezzy Mocking is never meant to cut. "Then have some faith in what your friends are telling you." She uses a duh voice, but her face is sincere.
He smirks, weakly, and huffs a laugh. "I could say something about how my calling is about faith in the holy Light, and not in man, but..." He sighs, slipping his eyes shut briefly as he nods once, bowing his head in gratitude. "...Thank you. I love all of them. You included. And-...Yes. I should have that faith in them, if I don't have it in myself."
Tezzy gives the sad Paladin a flat, appraising look. Light above, she will miss him. His words roll over her like water on a duck. There's dogma, and then there's stuff she knows is true. If he were anyone else she'd prod them over having faith in themselves, as well, but this is Campion talking.
He only now seems to register her touches along his back, in the few unarmoured spots he has open by his neck and shoulders. There's a moment where he considers being alarmed, and he probably would have been if she were outwardly looking like her 'usual' self. But this reclaimed closeness and friendship between them is so precious, he dare not say anything that could disturb or ruin it. And it IS comforting. Her being living may be a facade, but it's still her. No matter what. He sighs quietly, head hanging and eyes closing. Just letting the silence drag on for the time being. She doesn't need to hear his doubts anymore.
The silence stretches on, companionable enough, thoughts drifting through her head without any direction, a slow simmer of worry in the bottom of her gut. She starts to feel the slightest beginning of an itch, down her back and arms, under her skin -- faint enough to have missed if she were absorbed in conversation. The disguise effects will fade, soon enough. "Ah-I should..." Tezzy hesitates, looking around for some last miracle. "I should go." She sounds a little defeated." I'd rather you remember this-" she cups her chin in her hand like she could take off a mask. "-rather than the other."
Campion looks over her again, as if searching for any outward signs of what she's talking about, of her transformation. And his face falls when she makes that admission. A twist of sadness in his chest for several tiny reasons: the reminder that she's dead, the fact she's conscious enough to not upset him with those appearances, the fact she feels she has to hide it, the fact that he APPRECIATES she hides it. "I-...All right. I-...I guess this is-...This is it." He finishes it lamely and uncertain. It's easier than saying 'this is goodbye' or 'this is the end', even though they both know that's what it is.
Tezzy stands quickly, she's much lighter than Campion, at least. She offers him a hand to steady himself on the sloped roof, because she can't be sure he'd do the same for her, after being reminded.
Campion pushes himself up to his feet without the offered assistance, his armour clinking quietly. He'll probably duck inside and dry himself off, regardless of all his talk about not wanting to remove his armour again. And Grinne should be back soon from the business he had to take care of; all the more reason to have it off. (He feels guilty for having such a thought with Tatiana right next to him, as if she can read his mind. Or as if she'd fault him for wanting to spend more intimate time with the person he's married to, for that matter.) "Tatiana, I-..." He turns to look at the pale woman, unsure of what to say. The two of them face one another, dripping and weary, and he has no idea what to say.
She looks at him, shaking her head a fraction -- making the best goodbye you can make is counterproductive, you always worry about it later. And anyway, they're lucky enough to be tuned to the same wavelength. She pulls him into a hug -- a real, serious, serious hug, closing her eyes with her head tucked where his neck meets his shoulder. What are human disguises for if not great hugs, anyway?
He returns it readily, no hesitation except to be mindful of his armour. Arms around her and holding her as close as he can, eyes squeezed shut, a faint marvel at the warmth she has. Is that part of the illusion? The Kamil uses potions that make the likes of him and Grinne completely into elves, and Natharai unmistakably a dead man, but does it work the other way around? This thought is barely there and gone again in the span of a moth's wingbeat, however, and he just continues to hold his oldest friend in this embrace. "No matter what," he murmurs close to her ear, "I will always love you, Tatiana Winchel."
She laughs a little, right next to his ear. "Aye, me too, living or dead. But I think Peregrinne would prefer you living." she squeezes one last time -- what a use for knowing the weak spots in armor! And holds him by the shoulders, at arm's length. "Be safe." she says, seriously. "And good luck."
"I-...You too. And thank you. For everything. And know that, no matter what, I fought my damndest up there. And for the lot of you." He smiles, quiet and genuine. "Take care of yourself, Tatiana." He gives her shoulder one last pat, then steps back, allowing her to go past him and on her way.
She looks around. Okay. She can live with this. She nods a little, stepping past him, only letting herself look back before jumping off the far edge of the rooftop. "OH!" she exclaims, seeing the bank building behind him, ruining a poignant moment with a practical rememberance. "Wait right there, one second!" She scurries off down the boardwalk.
He blinks, and then watches her do that scramble for the bank. Huh. Well, in the meantime, he jumps from the roof and onto the porch with a heavy, armour-clad thud, leaning on the railing and still observing her from there. Can't help by smile. Ahh, Tatiana. You card.
She practically sprints back, with a wad of something in hand, as though he might vanish into thin air. She's baffled for a second by the route to the -porch- rather than the -roof-, and settles for the up-to-the-roof-down-to-the-porch tack. She smiles, apparently very pleased with herself, and drapes a red handknit scarf over his his shoulders, with the crest of Lordaeron on the end in gold. "This," (oh she is just pleased as punch) "belongs to you, I think."
Campion's eyes are wide and eyebrows high, blinking rapidly as she wraps the scarf around him. He looks down at it, holds up the embroidered end of it to see it clearly. "You-...You kept-..." Words fail him, the rush of emotions washing them away entirely. Remembering how she came into possession of it, how he'd left it as an confused, heartbroken apology of sorts, how she'd KEPT it at all and then kept it safe, and now was returning it after they've reconciled and renewed their friendship...His arms are around her again, a bit tighter than before, careless in his eagerness to hug his friend.
She oofs a little at the hug -- she doesn't breathe to breathe, but she breathes to talk, and she's pretty thin. She hugs back! Yay hugs. She isn't as desperately emotional as he is -- she's found the storybook talisman, the enchanted so-and-so. The thing that will bring him back. It came back with her, after all. She's confident, even as she knows it's a false confidence. Maybe it will give him confidence, maybe that confidence will make the difference. "Hang onto it," she says, "I think it's got another trip there and back again left in it." From Northrend to the Eastern Kingdoms, or from the brink of death? Left intentionally vague, of course. She smiles stupidly. Happy. She feels that itch again.
"I will," he says will still hugging onto her tight. And even though she can't see his face from the way he has ahold of her, there's a distinct note of strain in his voice. There's a deep breath, held for a moment, then let out in a shuddering sigh. Armour creaking, the paladin finally, hesitantly lets go of his frail friend, arms dropping to his sides. Composure regained. Mostly. "Thank you, Tatiana."
Even though this might be their last parting, Tezzy has a good feeling. She savors it -- the worries will come later. She smiles at Campion, and hops down the balcony, waving up from beside the door below. "See you," she says, her eyes maybe shining a little. She doesn't want to risk tears coming out ichor-black -- she turns quickly and walks with a measured pace out of sight -- the convoluted path to the wyvern roosts and a flight out of town.