In the forest along the edge of Lake Dala, an arrow buries itself in a tree trunk. The dull sound echoes across the water. Clint stares at the paper target taped up against the bark with a dead expression, slowly drawing another arrow from his quiver and lining up the next shot. Pain relief patches poke out from his sleeves, and one can only guess at the matrix of bandages that lie beneath the surface.
It's difficult to miss the strange fog that descends upon the city once again. The first time this happened, Clint was forced to make amends with the fact that he'd finally become a monster. The second time, there was no transformation--at least, not physically.
Clint had shrugged off most of the effects to be a matter of post-transformation depression--or...rather, just, regular depression. But as the days stretched on, things got worse. Insomnia ate at the edge of his mind, and no matter how much he desperately wanted to rest after each nightly transformation, his thoughts would simply not allow it. But when Clint Barton feels stuck, he does all that he can to quiet his mind--usually by throwing himself into whatever presents itself at the time. Like tracking down criminals without offering himself an ounce of sleep. Or, in this case, practicing archery until his arms and back are sore for days.
Nevermind the fact that his bones still ache from his transformations earlier this month, nevermind the fact that his muscles are drenched with fatigue. He has to keep himself sharp--because if he isn't able to leap into action when it matters, then what good is he?
Thunk. Thunk.
One arrow hits a few centimeters from the edge of the bullseye. Not good enough. He scowls, stalking forward to wrench the arrows from the tree trunk when he spots a figure looming near the edge of the lake. He frowns, tilting his head to the side. Horns, wings, tail--a demon, and a familiar one at that.]
Angelica?
[His voice sounds foreign to himself. It's hoarse and marred with exhaustion, and it's only now that he realizes that he's hardly spoken aloud to anyone in the last few days. He seems...human, at least for now.]
[ The voice isn't wholly familiar to Angelica, and only in part from the rough edge it has picked up in disuse. The last and only time she had heard it, after all, had been in circumstances where other things had left a stronger impression. She recognizes Clint when she turns, however, and with some awkwardness, she wonders if meeting him while strangely overcome with emotion is going to become a trend.
(Then again, she has been nothing but strange emotions for the last month and a half. Perhaps she should accept as much as an inevitability.) ]
Clint. [ Some of that awkward feeling bleeds in her tone as she returns the greeting, such as it is. Wings settles around her shoulders like a cloak, and her line of sight briefly shifts to the target on the tree before it returns to his face. ] Is there something I can do for you?
[ She gives him a quick glance-over as she steps farther from the water, in his direction, and notices the lack of outward differences in his appearance. But, of course, it's been long enough that something must have changed, even if it isn't immediately apparent what. ]
[Clint scratches the back of his neck, tilting his head to the side. At least the feeling of awkwardness is mutual here. When he speaks, his voice is halting and unsure.]
Uh, no...I'm just surprised to see you out here, that's all. [A pause.] I'm, um, shooting arrows?
[Barton, you absolute moron. You sound like you haven't spoken to a human being in years. Clint gestures vaguely towards the arrows he's currently fiddling with. Despite how deeply they seem to be embedded into the trunk, he doesn't seem to have any trouble pulling them out--though, he does wince slightly as his muscles twinge.
It takes more than a few moments to sift through the thoughts in his brain. Wading through everything seems like...well, wading through a fog. Clint has always been plagued with these thoughts, but for some reason, they've been harder to ignore recently. But if Clint Barton's good for anything, it's putting on a face and pretending that everything's perfectly fine.
He attempts to make small-talk again.]
It helps me focus. Archery, I mean. You ever try it?
[ More than the awkwardness of the answer, Angelica notices the wince. Her brow pinches faintly, and as she approaches the tree, she wonders if she ought to suggest he take a break.
By the time he has managed to put himself together enough for the second attempt, Angelica has drawn within normal speaking distance. There's some hesitance that lurks within her own mannerisms, the way her eyes seem poised to dart from him to the tree he'd been firing at and yet never quite do, and her answer is delayed by seconds as well. ]
No. [ She understands his intention is small talk, and she also knows that small talk is something she has never been good at. There's a moment where that flat reply just sits there, but then she adds, ] I haven't had the opportunity to take up many hobbies, previously. I suppose I could try, now that I'm here.
[ ...But, ] Would you like to take a break? You look like you've been focusing for quite a while.
[Clint glances reluctantly between his arrows and the bow deposited a few yards away. At rest, his already aching muscles scream to be stretched to the breaking point. It's what he's done to make his brain shut up before, and it's what he desperately wants to do right now. After a few moments, he lets out a short sigh.]
I guess.
[It's clear from his tone of voice that he does not want to take a break, but Angelica's presence is enough to dissuade him from destroying his muscles any further. For now. He deposits his arrows in his quiver, leaning against the tree and looking up at her.
...Huh. Did she used to be this tall? He doesn't remember needing to look up that much. He blinks.]
I...just need to make sure I stay sharp. Especially after my-- [He hesitates.] --um, monster...fication.
[He speaks, as if he needs to justify himself to Angelica. He pauses again, running a hand through his hair.]
I, uh, realize it doesn't look like anything has happened.
[ Very clear. Half of her thinks she should tell him not to stop on her account, but this is probably for the best. Overtaxing himself isn't likely to help much of anyone in the long run—even if she won't patronize him by saying as much.
Angelica hums out a soft, sympathetic noise, though of course, it's hard to say whether it's sympathetic to the transformation, his driving motivation, or both. She gives him another quick glance over, trying to discern something beneath the surface. ]
There are some cases where the difference isn't immediately obvious. [ Though he looks a bit too healthy, even like this, to be undead, she thinks. ] Even I only came away from my first fog with sharper teeth.
[ And look at her now... ]
How are you holding up?
[ Like, she can tell, but it feels right to offer an ear as someone on the other side of it. ]
[Ah. Now there's the question, isn't it? Clint lets out a small snort. When in doubt, deflect by being as self-depreciating as possible.]
Oh, you know. Broke my hearing aids while turning into a big, stupid dog monster. Fell down a flight of stairs. Didn't sleep for a few days due to the unspeakable pain. Started thinking about the fact that I might be effectively stranded here with no way to actually communicate with anyone else on my team, plus the fact that they probably don't even miss me.
[He speaks in a light-hearted tone in an attempt to distract from the severity of his thoughts. If you treat yourself as a joke, nobody will be bothered to think of your problems in a serious manner. God forbid someone pity him and try to help. He shrugs again, rubbing his forearm.]
Overall, not the worst that I've been.
[It's difficult to tell if he's just saying that to be funny or if he's genuinely telling the truth. Hard to compare scenarios when you're deep in your despair.]
But enough about me. I'm sure whatever you've got going on is more exciting.
[ For as much as the answer is a deflection, it's likewise more candid than Angelica had expected. That he seems so quick to brush aside the mere idea that his troubles are worth listening to, however—that doesn't surprise her. She recalls the way they had pushed apologies and gratitude back and forth between one another in that bar. ]
Not particularly. [ She rolls her shoulder with a dismissive air to match him. ] Of everything that has ever been said about me, that I am exciting is not one of them.
[ There is a self-depreciating note in her own tone, but the shape it takes is far flatter than it had been in his. It's gone in the next second, when she opens her mouth to speak again. ]
I realize my perspective may not be the most helpful for you. For me, this place was a salvation. But, even so... I believe speaking to someone who has already been through these circumstances can be of help to those experiencing them now. I won't patronize you by saying that you should open up, but...
[ She trails off. She shrugs, her wings shifting with the motion of her shoulders. ]
I wouldn't have asked if I had thought the answer was that you're doing fine.
[For a moment, Clint considers clarifying that it was a joke, but the moment has already passed, and he fears that it may be awkward now. That's him. Clint Barton, master of conversation. However, with her last comment, he frowns.]
Oh, well--that's, uh--
[Nice? Concerning? Why can't he just accept people offering him an ear? He runs a hand through his hair.]
--I, um, appreciate it, but I'll get over it. [He scrubs the face with the palm of his hand.] I always do. There's just--just a lot going on. A lot on my mind. But there's always some big bad to take down or some criminal organization to infiltrate or--
[He pauses again, a thought occurring to him.]
Actually, what are you doing out here? I didn't think anyone really lived around here.
[Not unless she lived in, like, a tree or something. But that would be out of the question. Right? He pauses for a moment, squinting and evaluating her and trying to imagine the demon perched in a tree.
Of course. [ There is a faint sigh at the edges of her answer, but he has made himself clear. She won't press the matter any further, now that he knows the offer stands.
When he asks what she is doing here, though, something ghosts across her typically expressionless face. A fractional furrowing of her brow, a momentary downward tug at the corners of her mouth. It vanishes nearly in the same instant that it appears—but something of that disquiet remains on her demeanor as she turns her gaze aside from him again, staring dully out over the lake. This time, she doesn't return her eyes to his as she opens her mouth to answer. ]
I'm not... I wasn't doing anything. [ The words are quiet, and they might seem guilty in just a slightly different tone of voice. ] I've felt like... I'm not sure. Like there is somewhere I should be, or something I should be doing, and that I am not. It has made me restless.
[ Restless being a slightly less embarrassing euphemism for searching for something I logically know does not exist. ]
[Clint is quiet for a few moments, his expression unreadable. His gaze follows hers out towards the water, though there isn't anything of note beyond the occasional ripple from a fish breaking the tenuous surface. Half of him wants to simply turn back and hermit himself again, but the other half tells him he should probably say something. She wouldn't be sharing this if she didn't want some sort of help...right?
He was--is an Avenger, he's supposed to help. Why isn't he? Idiot.]
I...think I get what you're saying.
[It's a familiar feeling to him, at least. Knowing nothing except the world of vigilantism and superheroes means that when there's nothing to do, you feel stuck. And, in part, that's what Clint is (wrongly) tracing his current feelings to. He scratches at the back of his neck, trying to find the words to respond.]
I dunno if this helps, but whenever things get...like that, I try and focus on what I can do. You're obviously not gonna get to where you wanna be by just wandering around, and it's not going to make you feel any better. Doesn't make it go away, but if you're not focusing on it as much...it's easier to deal with, I think.
[If only Clint could take his own advice. He gestures awkwardly towards his own bow.]
[ None of that is anything Angelica doesn't know herself. Still, she appreciates the sentiment behind saying as much at all, and she nods her agreement as she looks to him again. ]
In some respects, I'm still not accustomed to the amount of freedom I have now. It makes it somewhat more difficult to find what I can do in the absence of all else. [ If nothing else, she used to be the caretaker of an entire castle. There's not quite as much property to clean or grounds to tend, when all else fails.
Also, what she usually does involves helping newcomers settle into their new situation, but... She told herself she was going to let that go for now.
Her eyes follow his gesture to the bow, and for a moment, she says nothing. Then, her shoulders roll in a little shrug. ]
Why not? I've never used the weapon before, so you'll have to guide me.
[ It sounds like a decent enough distraction for them both. They're both focused elsewhere, and his shoulders get a bit of a rest. ]
I would like to formally apologize for my behavior towards you, both in private, and in public. It was rather uncalled for, and while I could not control myself very well the last time we were face to face, that is no excuse for how I spoke to you over the network.
I am feeling rather... raw. You have seen sides of me that very few have seen, been made privy to information no one else knows, including those whom I consider to be life-partners. I ask that you forgive my anger and defensiveness over such things, and that you accept my apology for the disrespect I have shown you.
I would like to make it up to you. Please let me know if and when you are willing to talk.
[ The reply takes some time, but not for any lingering anger. Rather, it's much easier for Angelica to apologize than to answer an apology. ]
There's no need. Though I was taken aback by your behavior, you were never under any obligation to accept my apology for what occurred. If you had simply been so honest from the start, I would have freely given you the time and space you required, and been less vehement in my argument.
In any case, I do not say as much to further berate you. I would rather leave the matter behind us entirely, so there is no need for you to make anything up to me. Simply agreeing not to let such things color our perceptions of one another is enough to satisfy me.
Having said that, I would like to extend another apology as well. Even at the time, it hadn't been my intention to force you to relive such traumatic memories. Unfortunately, such specifics are not something the spell allows me control over. Though I understand if you do not want them, you have my sympathies in that matter.
Regardless of the circumstances, even now I accept your apology. My ego had gotten the better of me, blinded me with emotions I have been struggling to keep in check since my arrival in Ryslig, but I still know that you never caused me pain out of malice.
If it is alright with you, I would appreciate it if we could, perhaps, start over? Perhaps a friendship is much to ask at this point, and with everything that has happened between us in such a short time. Yet, even if I was obstinate, your advice during our first interaction was thought-provoking. You offer a genuine perspective that I respect, even if my behavior has led you to believe otherwise.
I appreciate your sympathies, and while I do not know the full circumstance of your previous life, you have mine as well. For what it is worth, I admire your courage, Angelica. For all my centuries, you are far more resolute than I am.
So, I apologize for showing you such a shameful side of me, and I hope it does not have you think less of me for it. I hope that we are able to salvage this relationship, but I understand if you would not want to associate with someone who has disrespected you so profoundly.
I can't deny that I have felt patronized by your comments on my age, and I've said as much already. Nonetheless, our first meeting hadn't left me with the impression that you were an unpleasant or intolerable person, merely one who may have grown too accustomed to regarding others from a position of superiority. I don't mean that as a judgment, but rather
You reminded me of the magi of my world, so I suppose I may have made presumptions about you, as well. In any case, I believe that is the source of the similarities that exist between us, so if you wished to speak again, I would not dislike it.
I appreciate your sympathies as well, but I cannot help but feel they are somewhat misspent. The life that requires them is already lost to me, and it had never offered me any choice but to stand by my decisions. Even so, thank you.
I, perhaps, am a product of circumstance in many ways. Prior to my coming to Ryslig, the times I interacted with anyone who was not of the same background and social standing as me numbered very few. I am still having to adjust myself and my perceptions of others when it comes to making... first impressions.
[Which is his way of saying he is trying(?) to be less xenophobic. How nice of him.]
But you would not be the first to say I am reminiscent of the magisters of another world. [And he's still unsure of how he feels about it.] Regardless, I am glad that you realize I am not those people you knew before.
I very much would like to speak to you again, perhaps, with a little less prejudice in my mind. Is there a time of day that works for you? Or would you like to meet once more when the winter activities come to town?
[ "Those people," is it. It makes it sound as if she isn't one of them, but in a way, she supposes she isn't anymore. Her role changed quite a bit with her death. ]
I truly hope you are right about that. I have had enough of their ways simply by being born to a magus bloodline.
An acquaintance of mine has come to me with some garments in need of modification. Perhaps we could meet during the holiday, so that I may finish with them swiftly.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
<a.dyer>
I know this is out of nowhere but I'm having a bit of a weird day. Can we meet for lunch? I have a feeling you might be able to help.
Thank you so much!
-- Annie Dyer
[ Attached is also an address and time should Angelica wish to go. ]
10/12, during the miniplot
In the forest along the edge of Lake Dala, an arrow buries itself in a tree trunk. The dull sound echoes across the water. Clint stares at the paper target taped up against the bark with a dead expression, slowly drawing another arrow from his quiver and lining up the next shot. Pain relief patches poke out from his sleeves, and one can only guess at the matrix of bandages that lie beneath the surface.
It's difficult to miss the strange fog that descends upon the city once again. The first time this happened, Clint was forced to make amends with the fact that he'd finally become a monster. The second time, there was no transformation--at least, not physically.
Clint had shrugged off most of the effects to be a matter of post-transformation depression--or...rather, just, regular depression. But as the days stretched on, things got worse. Insomnia ate at the edge of his mind, and no matter how much he desperately wanted to rest after each nightly transformation, his thoughts would simply not allow it. But when Clint Barton feels stuck, he does all that he can to quiet his mind--usually by throwing himself into whatever presents itself at the time. Like tracking down criminals without offering himself an ounce of sleep. Or, in this case, practicing archery until his arms and back are sore for days.
Nevermind the fact that his bones still ache from his transformations earlier this month, nevermind the fact that his muscles are drenched with fatigue. He has to keep himself sharp--because if he isn't able to leap into action when it matters, then what good is he?
Thunk. Thunk.
One arrow hits a few centimeters from the edge of the bullseye. Not good enough. He scowls, stalking forward to wrench the arrows from the tree trunk when he spots a figure looming near the edge of the lake. He frowns, tilting his head to the side. Horns, wings, tail--a demon, and a familiar one at that.]
Angelica?
[His voice sounds foreign to himself. It's hoarse and marred with exhaustion, and it's only now that he realizes that he's hardly spoken aloud to anyone in the last few days. He seems...human, at least for now.]
no subject
(Then again, she has been nothing but strange emotions for the last month and a half. Perhaps she should accept as much as an inevitability.) ]
Clint. [ Some of that awkward feeling bleeds in her tone as she returns the greeting, such as it is. Wings settles around her shoulders like a cloak, and her line of sight briefly shifts to the target on the tree before it returns to his face. ] Is there something I can do for you?
[ She gives him a quick glance-over as she steps farther from the water, in his direction, and notices the lack of outward differences in his appearance. But, of course, it's been long enough that something must have changed, even if it isn't immediately apparent what. ]
no subject
Uh, no...I'm just surprised to see you out here, that's all. [A pause.] I'm, um, shooting arrows?
[Barton, you absolute moron. You sound like you haven't spoken to a human being in years. Clint gestures vaguely towards the arrows he's currently fiddling with. Despite how deeply they seem to be embedded into the trunk, he doesn't seem to have any trouble pulling them out--though, he does wince slightly as his muscles twinge.
It takes more than a few moments to sift through the thoughts in his brain. Wading through everything seems like...well, wading through a fog. Clint has always been plagued with these thoughts, but for some reason, they've been harder to ignore recently. But if Clint Barton's good for anything, it's putting on a face and pretending that everything's perfectly fine.
He attempts to make small-talk again.]
It helps me focus. Archery, I mean. You ever try it?
[That's...marginally better. For now.]
no subject
By the time he has managed to put himself together enough for the second attempt, Angelica has drawn within normal speaking distance. There's some hesitance that lurks within her own mannerisms, the way her eyes seem poised to dart from him to the tree he'd been firing at and yet never quite do, and her answer is delayed by seconds as well. ]
No. [ She understands his intention is small talk, and she also knows that small talk is something she has never been good at. There's a moment where that flat reply just sits there, but then she adds, ] I haven't had the opportunity to take up many hobbies, previously. I suppose I could try, now that I'm here.
[ ...But, ] Would you like to take a break? You look like you've been focusing for quite a while.
no subject
I guess.
[It's clear from his tone of voice that he does not want to take a break, but Angelica's presence is enough to dissuade him from destroying his muscles any further. For now. He deposits his arrows in his quiver, leaning against the tree and looking up at her.
...Huh. Did she used to be this tall? He doesn't remember needing to look up that much. He blinks.]
I...just need to make sure I stay sharp. Especially after my-- [He hesitates.] --um, monster...fication.
[He speaks, as if he needs to justify himself to Angelica. He pauses again, running a hand through his hair.]
I, uh, realize it doesn't look like anything has happened.
no subject
Angelica hums out a soft, sympathetic noise, though of course, it's hard to say whether it's sympathetic to the transformation, his driving motivation, or both. She gives him another quick glance over, trying to discern something beneath the surface. ]
There are some cases where the difference isn't immediately obvious. [ Though he looks a bit too healthy, even like this, to be undead, she thinks. ] Even I only came away from my first fog with sharper teeth.
[ And look at her now... ]
How are you holding up?
[ Like, she can tell, but it feels right to offer an ear as someone on the other side of it. ]
no subject
Oh, you know. Broke my hearing aids while turning into a big, stupid dog monster. Fell down a flight of stairs. Didn't sleep for a few days due to the unspeakable pain. Started thinking about the fact that I might be effectively stranded here with no way to actually communicate with anyone else on my team, plus the fact that they probably don't even miss me.
[He speaks in a light-hearted tone in an attempt to distract from the severity of his thoughts. If you treat yourself as a joke, nobody will be bothered to think of your problems in a serious manner. God forbid someone pity him and try to help. He shrugs again, rubbing his forearm.]
Overall, not the worst that I've been.
[It's difficult to tell if he's just saying that to be funny or if he's genuinely telling the truth. Hard to compare scenarios when you're deep in your despair.]
But enough about me. I'm sure whatever you've got going on is more exciting.
no subject
Not particularly. [ She rolls her shoulder with a dismissive air to match him. ] Of everything that has ever been said about me, that I am exciting is not one of them.
[ There is a self-depreciating note in her own tone, but the shape it takes is far flatter than it had been in his. It's gone in the next second, when she opens her mouth to speak again. ]
I realize my perspective may not be the most helpful for you. For me, this place was a salvation. But, even so... I believe speaking to someone who has already been through these circumstances can be of help to those experiencing them now. I won't patronize you by saying that you should open up, but...
[ She trails off. She shrugs, her wings shifting with the motion of her shoulders. ]
I wouldn't have asked if I had thought the answer was that you're doing fine.
no subject
Oh, well--that's, uh--
[Nice? Concerning? Why can't he just accept people offering him an ear? He runs a hand through his hair.]
--I, um, appreciate it, but I'll get over it. [He scrubs the face with the palm of his hand.] I always do. There's just--just a lot going on. A lot on my mind. But there's always some big bad to take down or some criminal organization to infiltrate or--
[He pauses again, a thought occurring to him.]
Actually, what are you doing out here? I didn't think anyone really lived around here.
[Not unless she lived in, like, a tree or something. But that would be out of the question. Right? He pauses for a moment, squinting and evaluating her and trying to imagine the demon perched in a tree.
...Yeah, definitely out of the question.]
no subject
When he asks what she is doing here, though, something ghosts across her typically expressionless face. A fractional furrowing of her brow, a momentary downward tug at the corners of her mouth. It vanishes nearly in the same instant that it appears—but something of that disquiet remains on her demeanor as she turns her gaze aside from him again, staring dully out over the lake. This time, she doesn't return her eyes to his as she opens her mouth to answer. ]
I'm not... I wasn't doing anything. [ The words are quiet, and they might seem guilty in just a slightly different tone of voice. ] I've felt like... I'm not sure. Like there is somewhere I should be, or something I should be doing, and that I am not. It has made me restless.
[ Restless being a slightly less embarrassing euphemism for searching for something I logically know does not exist. ]
no subject
He was--is an Avenger, he's supposed to help. Why isn't he? Idiot.]
I...think I get what you're saying.
[It's a familiar feeling to him, at least. Knowing nothing except the world of vigilantism and superheroes means that when there's nothing to do, you feel stuck. And, in part, that's what Clint is (wrongly) tracing his current feelings to. He scratches at the back of his neck, trying to find the words to respond.]
I dunno if this helps, but whenever things get...like that, I try and focus on what I can do. You're obviously not gonna get to where you wanna be by just wandering around, and it's not going to make you feel any better. Doesn't make it go away, but if you're not focusing on it as much...it's easier to deal with, I think.
[If only Clint could take his own advice. He gestures awkwardly towards his own bow.]
Do you wanna try shooting some arrows?
no subject
In some respects, I'm still not accustomed to the amount of freedom I have now. It makes it somewhat more difficult to find what I can do in the absence of all else. [ If nothing else, she used to be the caretaker of an entire castle. There's not quite as much property to clean or grounds to tend, when all else fails.
Also, what she usually does involves helping newcomers settle into their new situation, but... She told herself she was going to let that go for now.
Her eyes follow his gesture to the bow, and for a moment, she says nothing. Then, her shoulders roll in a little shrug. ]
Why not? I've never used the weapon before, so you'll have to guide me.
[ It sounds like a decent enough distraction for them both. They're both focused elsewhere, and his shoulders get a bit of a rest. ]
<Archmage>
I would like to formally apologize for my behavior towards you, both in private, and in public. It was rather uncalled for, and while I could not control myself very well the last time we were face to face, that is no excuse for how I spoke to you over the network.
I am feeling rather... raw. You have seen sides of me that very few have seen, been made privy to information no one else knows, including those whom I consider to be life-partners.
I ask that you forgive my anger and defensiveness over such things, and that you accept my apology for the disrespect I have shown you.
I would like to make it up to you. Please let me know if and when you are willing to talk.
Sincerely,
Eridanus Sungazer
<Angelica>
There's no need. Though I was taken aback by your behavior, you were never under any obligation to accept my apology for what occurred. If you had simply been so honest from the start, I would have freely given you the time and space you required, and been less vehement in my argument.
In any case, I do not say as much to further berate you. I would rather leave the matter behind us entirely, so there is no need for you to make anything up to me. Simply agreeing not to let such things color our perceptions of one another is enough to satisfy me.
Having said that, I would like to extend another apology as well. Even at the time, it hadn't been my intention to force you to relive such traumatic memories. Unfortunately, such specifics are not something the spell allows me control over. Though I understand if you do not want them, you have my sympathies in that matter.
<Archmage>
If it is alright with you, I would appreciate it if we could, perhaps, start over? Perhaps a friendship is much to ask at this point, and with everything that has happened between us in such a short time. Yet, even if I was obstinate, your advice during our first interaction was thought-provoking. You offer a genuine perspective that I respect, even if my behavior has led you to believe otherwise.
I appreciate your sympathies, and while I do not know the full circumstance of your previous life, you have mine as well. For what it is worth, I admire your courage, Angelica. For all my centuries, you are far more resolute than I am.
So, I apologize for showing you such a shameful side of me, and I hope it does not have you think less of me for it. I hope that we are able to salvage this relationship, but I understand if you would not want to associate with someone who has disrespected you so profoundly.
<Angelica>
You reminded me of the magi of my world, so I suppose I may have made presumptions about you, as well. In any case, I believe that is the source of the similarities that exist between us, so if you wished to speak again, I would not dislike it.
I appreciate your sympathies as well, but I cannot help but feel they are somewhat misspent. The life that requires them is already lost to me, and it had never offered me any choice but to stand by my decisions. Even so, thank you.
<Archmage>
[Which is his way of saying he is trying(?) to be less xenophobic. How nice of him.]
But you would not be the first to say I am reminiscent of the magisters of another world. [And he's still unsure of how he feels about it.] Regardless, I am glad that you realize I am not those people you knew before.
I very much would like to speak to you again, perhaps, with a little less prejudice in my mind. Is there a time of day that works for you? Or would you like to meet once more when the winter activities come to town?
<Angelica>
I truly hope you are right about that. I have had enough of their ways simply by being born to a magus bloodline.
An acquaintance of mine has come to me with some garments in need of modification. Perhaps we could meet during the holiday, so that I may finish with them swiftly.
<Archmage>
I would like that, Angelica.
I will be in the market throughout the festivities, shopping for presents for my loved ones.
It would be nice if we could run into each other, so I'll keep on the look out for you.
[And perhaps ask her more about her magic then.]