cailisairgid | { log } waters black wood in snow dead of night how bright you glow

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{ log } waters black wood in snow dead of night how bright you glow

'Informal' isn't a way that Nuala can typically be described, and by anyone else's standards she still isn't - but her gown and traveling coat make a slimmer silhouette than the elaborate skirts she usually favours, and her hair is pulled low in a chignon to be finished with her plain circlet in lieu of the bejewelled alternatives under lock in her chambers. In short, it's a low-key outing (albeit one that required significant advance notice to find the time and make her arrangements), and though she stops at the nursery before she leaves, she doesn't waste the time she's allowed for.

It's been some time since she saw Doul last, but she'd thought of him when Belani wrote to invite the twins to Armada and been pleasantly surprised to be contacted before she had the time to make anything of her thoughts. With her even-tempered escort in tow, she makes her way through the nexus to where she gathers he's been living lately.

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"I have known for some time that you are something other," she reminds him, kindly. "This comes as no surprise to me."

Doul puts his teacup down on the table between them and rests his hand on the wood. He's not about to touch her hand to show his gratitude for this kindness, but the thought is there.

To Nuala, it's no more than common sense - but she treats him gently with it, all the same. "On the contrary," she says, setting her cup down much the same way, "I'm pleased to think you're settling into yourself."

He is a stranger to common sense.

"So'm I. It's, ah, awkward and not all that comfortable, but I don't wish to reverse it." Not even at the cost of seeing Armada again.

"Transitions, for good or ill, are never very comfortable times." She curls her fingers into her sleeves, smiling a little. "I think it will be very interesting to see the other side."

"I'm not very comfortable, it's true. I feel ill at ease in my own skin and I'm torn between not bothering anyone about it or just talking." He doesn't expect to ask for advise or assistance, and he certainly doesn't want to drag Nuala into whatever happened with the Brucolac.

"If you would like to talk, you know that I will listen."

"May I be blunt with you? I have no desire to cause offence, but I might."

Nuala considers him for a moment, and then she waves her hand to the side in acquiescence. Go ahead, Doul.

"I met with the Brucolac and when he saw my arm, he lashed out and bit me before I could stop him. I was unarmed and unprepared." After this happened, he spent some time thinking about weather or not he ought to return to carrying a weapon. "He then drank my blood and was violently ill for a time. The next day, when he could speak, he explained that he did this because I would not tell him what I am and that my blood would."

"I hadn't thought to tell him about removing the wires before I did it and now, I'm not sure how to avoid this problem in the future."

Nuala absorbs this in silence, her gaze falling from Doul to her lap and then back again; she remains steady, but it takes her some time to form a response. It does, in a way, explain something that she'd been wondering about but had opted not to push the Brucolac himself about; she's not entirely sure, otherwise, what to make of it.

"I knew," she says, carefully, "that something had passed between the two of you. I saw it in him on the Uroc. ...but I had not considered that, and I confess I'm puzzled by it."

"So am I." He hadn't thought that removing his wires would have been important, but it appears that the Brucolac saw it as a landmark decision. "I think, perhaps, that I am changing too much for his liking."

Doul adds a bit more tea to his cup and holds it just to enjoy the warmth of it.

"It may be so." Nuala seems troubled by the notion, but unsure of how to address it; her hesitance turns into further silence, and she takes refuge in her own teacup.

"I doubt that it will help matters, but for the time I have withdrawn myself from his company." It may annoy the Brucolac and Doul suspects that the vampir will not understand his reasoning and see this avoidance it as sulking or being petty.

"I ... I have thought about it and I do not think I will halt or try to reverse whatever is happening."

"If he fears a loss, I imagine withdrawing would only cement such thoughts," she observes, not yet looking up from her tea; she phrases it in the hypothetical, unwilling to quite break a confidence that she wasn't asked to keep in the first place. She simply took it as read - she wouldn't tell the Brucolac what she discusses with Uther here, either.

"He already thought that I was so far gone that he could not talk to me or treat me as a rational being." If he'd asked, Doul would have either avoided the topic or explained in such obscure terminology that it wouldn't have been much help. Still, according to Doul either of those options would have been preferable to being bitten.

"I don't know what to make of it," she admits.

"Neither do I, but I am well and he is well again, so I we shall all continue on." Although, they may not continue on as before. Doul has been bitten and no matter the good intentions, he will not forget.

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{ log } waters black wood in snow dead of night how bright you glow

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