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[survivra]

I need to learn how to make maps. Big maps—I know how to do towns and short distances between roads, but that's not big enough. And I want to know about trading ships. How far do they sail? Do their captains take passengers?

[ She rattles off her list of questions with no explanation, because don't these sound like any reasonable questions no matter why she's asking them? Katsa opens her mouth to say something else, stops, frowns, and then starts again with less of a demand in her voice. This is far more awkward for her, something she's unused to asking or even desiring, and so it's the more difficult request. ]

And... I don't wish to continue training on my own. I don't mean in magic. I've plenty of help. And I don't mean that I need teachers. I need someone who can challenge my Grace. Who can push me so that I don't stop becoming faster and stronger, as far as I can.

Comments

[cockade]

[He knows from the moment she speaks his name, she realizes her mistake. That what has now been said cannot be taken back, and if anyone is curious, he could be in jeopardy. She goes to apologize and he won't let her, and any attempt she makes he knows that she has chosen to listen rather than speak. Every word he delivers is like a blade, strong and painful and he cannot stop it, will not because it is so incredibly important to him and who he is.

He should be thankful she realizes where she went wrong. He should be thankful she understands that it's her fault, that this is something she can't take back. Instead all he feels is regret and hurt of his own, not for what she's done, but what he has said to her. The accusation he gives, asking for who she's told- isn't one of scolding, but one where he's trying to sort out how to avoid problems, how to counter if anything goes wrong. He doesn't mean it to hurt as it does, but that's the price that comes with words; a double-sided blade that can do more damage than what was intended. He's upset that she's broken his trust, but more than that he's upset that he's upset her.

Arno opens his mouth to say something else once she reacts, but he isn't prepared for the words that come next, ones that sting just as raw as he gave to her. He immediately blanks, acting as if he's just been struck across the face with her palm, not even knowing how to process what she's told him. Arno knows it's anger that's the reaction, which is valid, but it burns him in ways he hasn't felt in years, back to the time when Élise accused him of letting her father die.

So instead of saying anything gentler, or perhaps an apology of his own, he snaps his jaw shut and swallows back the immediate retort of at least I know I can trust myself, knowing all too well it will only make things worse.]

You're right. You don't.

[A spitting back in his own way, harsh and strong; his anger hasn't lessened by any degree.]

I trusted you, Katsa. I thought I knew you just as well as I knew myself. [There is a beat in between the sentences, a look of defeat coming across Arno's face as he realizes he can no longer trust her as his friend.

Not for now, at least.]

I was wrong.

[survivra]

[ It's worse than if she had hit him, because at least then she could have seen the damage, known how to regulate her swings and stopped things before they got out of hand. And physical blows from him in return wouldn't hurt as much as this does, either. Words are more difficult. Katsa has no idea the strength of their blow when she says them nor the sting of them when they land. It's more difficult, and because of that it's more frightening; and even if she wished to she can't hit him now in an effort to turn words into something physical that she understands, because she is not even standing next to him. ]

Yes. I suppose you were. No—how dare you look at me like that.

[ Of course she's also crying hot tears now, and that's just embarrassing on top of everything else. She wipes furiously at her face, setting her mouth into a scowl, blue and green eyes as bright with fierceness as they are with her tears. She'd made a mistake, one stupid, maddening mistake. And suddenly everything is falling apart and she doesn't know how to keep it from doing so. How had she allowed this to happen? She had always been the one angrier with Po whenever he'd suggested telling his own secret; she'd always held on to secrets so tightly, when the truth could put others at risk. It isn't as though she cares for Arno any differently. Perhaps she simply hadn't comprehended the magnitude of this secret. But that couldn't be right, either, for Katsa would never had let it slip if she hadn't thought they were alone. She'd grown complacent, that was it: she'd been so relieved and happy, so sure of herself, that she'd forgotten what it was to need to be careful. And that was a terrible, deadly thing to allow.

But still he wasn't being fair.

You could always trust me. You always can trust me, Katsa aches to say, but she doesn't say what she should. ]

I made a mistake, and I'm sorry for it. But how dare you act as though you're blameless between us.