[ As the man said as he turned his back to the both of them. Courage begets courage, as one might say. That is, foolishness begets more foolishness. As the seconds wear on, Shuyi finds less need to bite her tongue because these could be the last words she might ever speak to her friend. Coddled words are of no worth in times like these. ]
What will you call him now? Nobody?
[ She keeps her voice low, barely rising above the carnal sounds seeping from the next room, too soft to wound, or so she hopes. Then it occurs to her, that if she had to have someone dear twist a blade into her heart that she would rather it be fierce, unforgiving, and certain. There is so little time to say the things that matter, or to wound in order to let heal.
Shuyi looks up from her own busy hands to look at Lakshmi's back to her, unyielding as ever. This time she raises her voice. ]
[ That makes her chuckle. Because he could insist that as much as he liked to her - but it didn't matter. His nature was an unmovable as her own. As stubborn, as insistent. ]
No. Always. Even if I must remember it when he can't.
[ It's wry and dry in the back of her throat. ]
He hasn't realised it yet. These titles. It is not a word. For people like... [ Her fingers grip, tighten, loosen, the table groans. ] It is what we are.
[ It's seldom she speaks this way at any length. Everything must be about what has to be done, what is forward, what is outward - she doesn' t have the time, most often. ]
I know you would. [ She sighs. ] But he would not keep you. The damn fool is too stubborn.
[ Disagreeing with Lakshmi is a foolproof recipe for disaster. Shuyi knows, and so she bites her tongue and carries on to methodically check the guns.
Titles are nothing but robes, she thinks. One wears them and discards them. They are masks with which others can judge you more readily, an honorable knight or a wayward one, a wise queen or a cruel one. Titles cease to be useful once they burden rather than elevate. There is no honor in being called a devoted princess of a corrupt regime. The crowds shouted her titles once, a balmy spring day with petals strewn in the wind, hand in hand with her betrothed. They did so because they could not pronounce her name. ]
If we were younger, if the world was different, I would have you see if you could prove more stubborn than him.
[ Picture it, the kind of storybook romance that ends with a tearful kiss on the bridge, the hero deciding to stay, the camera panning out into the horizon. ]
If we were younger, and the world was different. We all would be but faces to one another, he would have died when he was supposed too, and I would have gladly laid myself down to rest.
[ But we don't live in those kind of stories, that is not our lot. What if, no longer mattered, what was, was the thing in front of them, and she would change what was, not wish over what could have been.
Lakshmi at long lasts straightens. Her back uncurling where her head was hung low. She begins to move, shifting her weight back onto her heels, straightening herself to that same proud form that had no time for misery. Time for wailing was done, so, so long ago. ]
It doesn't matter. It never mattered. We have to keep moving.
[ Shuyi has many of her own vices, chief among them the streak of blinded foolishness that has landed her here, but pride is not one of them. If she ever once walked with her back held as straight as Lakshmi's, it would only be due to decorum. Misery is the most comforting of companions, hovering close to the ground, never one to ask for more.
But she does move, slinging her packed bag over her slouched shoulder and walking toward the queen to grab her arm. ]
They matter, these ties of affection, even if we cannot afford to hold them.
[ It is alright, she means to say, to admit that we have lost something precious. That the loss is devastating. That we would never be the same.
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no subject
[ As the man said as he turned his back to the both of them. Courage begets courage, as one might say. That is, foolishness begets more foolishness. As the seconds wear on, Shuyi finds less need to bite her tongue because these could be the last words she might ever speak to her friend. Coddled words are of no worth in times like these. ]
What will you call him now? Nobody?
[ She keeps her voice low, barely rising above the carnal sounds seeping from the next room, too soft to wound, or so she hopes. Then it occurs to her, that if she had to have someone dear twist a blade into her heart that she would rather it be fierce, unforgiving, and certain. There is so little time to say the things that matter, or to wound in order to let heal.
Shuyi looks up from her own busy hands to look at Lakshmi's back to her, unyielding as ever. This time she raises her voice. ]
If you ask me to follow him, I would.
no subject
No. Always. Even if I must remember it when he can't.
[ It's wry and dry in the back of her throat. ]
He hasn't realised it yet. These titles. It is not a word. For people like... [ Her fingers grip, tighten, loosen, the table groans. ] It is what we are.
[ It's seldom she speaks this way at any length. Everything must be about what has to be done, what is forward, what is outward - she doesn' t have the time, most often. ]
I know you would. [ She sighs. ] But he would not keep you. The damn fool is too stubborn.
[ Lakshmi, have you met your kettle yet? ]
no subject
Titles are nothing but robes, she thinks. One wears them and discards them. They are masks with which others can judge you more readily, an honorable knight or a wayward one, a wise queen or a cruel one. Titles cease to be useful once they burden rather than elevate. There is no honor in being called a devoted princess of a corrupt regime. The crowds shouted her titles once, a balmy spring day with petals strewn in the wind, hand in hand with her betrothed. They did so because they could not pronounce her name. ]
If we were younger, if the world was different, I would have you see if you could prove more stubborn than him.
[ Picture it, the kind of storybook romance that ends with a tearful kiss on the bridge, the hero deciding to stay, the camera panning out into the horizon. ]
But this is not that kind of story, is it?
no subject
[ But we don't live in those kind of stories, that is not our lot. What if, no longer mattered, what was, was the thing in front of them, and she would change what was, not wish over what could have been.
Lakshmi at long lasts straightens. Her back uncurling where her head was hung low. She begins to move, shifting her weight back onto her heels, straightening herself to that same proud form that had no time for misery. Time for wailing was done, so, so long ago. ]
It doesn't matter. It never mattered. We have to keep moving.
no subject
But she does move, slinging her packed bag over her slouched shoulder and walking toward the queen to grab her arm. ]
They matter, these ties of affection, even if we cannot afford to hold them.
[ It is alright, she means to say, to admit that we have lost something precious. That the loss is devastating. That we would never be the same.
Then she lets go. ] Which way, then?