Chapter 2
Twenty minutes later, I watch, my hand held respectfully over my heart, as the mystery woman's carriage goes bouncing down the steep incline into the water.
Lucky for me that the tavern was built on the water.
Otherwise, more than one citizen of Truce might have wondered what on earth that wife of that young Isaac fellow was doing parading through the town with a very nice carriage in tow.
I'm pretty sure that would see me tried for wilful destruction of the property of others, at the very least, theft.
And I'm quite aware that they would not buy the excuse of 'I was drunk.'
The past twenty minutes, I reflect, has been brilliant fun. There must be something wrong with me. Aside from the bottle of whiskey coursing through my system.
That is, of course, why, after setting to rights everything around the house that I could, I strode confidently into town, bold and brash as anything, took a quick peek in the window of the tavern to observe my dear husband sharing a bowl of soup - from the same damn spoon - with a stunning blonde woman. She had a fantastic figure, I noted to myself instantly, thus fuelling my resolve to carry off the rest of my plan. After this, I set loose the two lovely chestnut brown mares harnessed to the front of this Ariana girl's carriage.
I've never believed in the caging of animals.
Or of carriages, which is why I've liberated Mystery Blonde's by shoving it into the ocean.
Alright, maybe it's just because I'm a bitch.
Then, just as I am about to put into effect by far the most satisfying aspect of my plan, to march straight into the tavern and confront them both, a niggling voice whispers from the back of my mind that eventually, Isaac's little side-munch will find out about her carriage. And if she knows that I know that she's spent the past three days bonking my husband, I will be a prime suspect.
The prime suspect.
The ONLY suspect.
Never mind the bit about her bonking my husband.
Apparently, between the vandalism of carriages and engaging in acts of fornication with other people's spouses, the vandalism is by far the more morally bankrupt action.
Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Categorizing all the reasons that barging into the tavern and confronting them would be the dumbest move I've ever made.
I've no desire to end this night in prison.
I think I've been through enough.
So, what do I do? Go back home, make a cup of tea, and curl up with a good book, pretending that I've noticed nothing?
Hey, I could have read '150 Favourite Love Poems,' if I hadn't destroyed it...
Somehow, I don't think that waiting for them at home will exonerate me. I doubt I could keep a straight face before my husband's 'unexplainable' agitation and subtle attempts to shoo away his gorgeous blonde plaything.
And then, of course, I would have to explain to him why I hadn't unpacked yet.
'Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I thought I'd give you time to rearrange the room, clear away anything you'd rather I didn't see. Any sexy lingerie that isn't mine, perhaps...'
I would need one squashy head to do something like that.
So, all in all, home is out.
Well, I was originally to return tomorrow evening. I could just head somewhere else until then, pretend that I haven't even been home today.
But where?
Mom and Dad?
Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to run crying to Mommy and Daddy right now, to have Mommy cuddle me and pat me on the head and comfort me while Daddy paces back and forth, furiously ranting about all the vile and destructive things that he plans on doing to the man who dared to break his little girl's heart.
The problem is, they've both liked Isaac since they met him.
I just can't bring myself to take that away from them.
Hell, I can't even take it away from myself. I'm still telling myself that everything will be just fine, that this whole thing is a misunderstanding.
Yeah, right.
Mmm...we still have the Epoch in a shed in our backyard. Everyone else along for the whole 'destroying Lavos' thing decided that we should keep it on hand, just in case. In case of what, no one's ever really told me. And I guess I was the obvious choice to have it cluttering up my shed, as I was the one who spent, as Crono always laughingly said, the 'quality time' with it.
Luckily, Isaac was very understanding about the whole thing, and as a fellow gadget-nut (professed, at any rate), was fascinated with the Epoch.
You wouldn't believe the time I've had trying to keep him from tinkering with it and consequently blowing it, himself, and the entire neighbourhood sky-high.
If I'd known what he was finding to tinker with instead, the destruction of the neighbourhood might not have looked so bad to me.
The shed was for the obvious purpose of halting the prying eyes of neighbours from ogling the futuristic machine stashed in our yard.
I could take it for a spin, go to see some of the old group...
Robo pops to mind first.
Somehow, though, wonderful a piece of machinery - and more than that, a friend - as he is, I think I'd rather be around a flesh-and-blood person right now. After all, a robot has a standard of morals programmed into him that would be likely to believe me to be the villain.
After all, wanton vandalism goes above adultery on any purely intellectual moral code.
No Robo.
Crono?
He's really the obvious choice. Unfortunately, I've learned over the past years that Crono doesn't have a lot of time to nurse old friends through their marital crises and relating emotional breakdowns.
Too bad, because it would be really nice to hear him rant about how he was going to find Isaac and take his innards out through his ass.
He's never liked Isaac.
Not only that, Marle's firm conviction that hugs and chocolate can cure anything wouldn't be completely unwelcome at the moment.
Still, both of them are probably - no, definitely - busy doing 'ruler of Guardia' things, and probably wouldn't hail my impromptu visit with unbridled joy.
And I hate to push myself where I'm unwanted, I think to myself with an ironic grin at the utter ridiculousness of this statement.
Ayla?
I...don't think she would be a lot of help. Sure, she might understand the problem if Isaac had up and told me that he wanted me to take off so he could be with some other girl, or many other girls for that matter, but I've learned through my friendship with Ayla that the Ioka don't have any context for the concept of adultery. Sex is shared as freely as wine at a party, and sharing a bed with someone (or a fur, rather) doesn't always indicate any deeper feelings.
So long as a committed person doesn't decide that they like another person better than the one they've committed to, there isn't a problem with anyone sharing a bed with anyone.
And even if I did get her to understand why this situation makes me so miserable, to truly feel my misery herself, there's always the chance that she would take it upon herself to go pound them both out of loyalty for a friend wronged.
Damnit, Ayla, if anyone's going to be pounding them it's ME!
No Ayla.
Frog?
Erk! No, I don't think it would be a good idea to go to someone as...morally upright as Frog after having just trashed a strange woman's carriage and ripped up and hurled through windows her various and sundry other belongings.
I would be sure to be subjected to a Frog-lecture.
And then, of course, I would be forced to rip him up and hurl him through a window.
No Frog.
Well, geez! I'm kind of running low on people here!
Gaspar?
No.
Melchior?
No.
Try to find Toma?
Uh...no.
...
...
Magus?
...
Hmm...
This just might work.
Sure I won't be expecting any sympathetic hugs, but at least I can rant about my plans to disconnect Isaac's reproductive bits, fling them to the floor, and force both him and his new bed-buddy to watch, with the Wondershot aimed at their heads, as future generations of the two of them are well and truly obliterated, ground to nothingness beneath my heel.
Magus certainly wouldn't judge me as evil for it.
He'd be more likely to suggest that I use that boot I tripped over to do the grinding, for a bit of poetic justice.
But I'm still a little unstable right now, and the thought of what his reaction would be if I broke down again gives me a moment of pause.
I'm past the 'craving death' stage. Now I just crave chocolate and hugs and more alcohol.
Let's summarize:
Lack of any mentionable moral code: plus.
Lack of any mentionable human kindness and pity: minus.
All in all, I think Magus is out.
And so, this decided, I plunk down on the rocky slope dipping into the ocean and wrack my brains for somewhere else to go.
It is now half an hour later, and I am striding quickly away from the Epoch, which somehow managed to survive the brutal beating my drunken attempt at piloting gave it, and gazing up in slight nervousness and consternation at a dark, massive, foreboding castle.
Nice place you got here, Magus.
Gradually, I slow to a stop, re-tallying the pros and cons of staying here.
It turns out, my brains just aren't in the mood to be cudgelled today. So naturally, they couldn't think of anyone else for me to go to.
Magus was the best overall choice, with Ayla as a close second.
After all, her philosophy of 'party now, think later' is very appealing at the moment.
As I'm thinking all of this, I've approached the house and somehow contrived to lift the massive knocker and let it fall back into place.
During the wait for someone to come to the door, the idea of visiting Ayla begins to look better and better.
Finally, my mind made up, I turn and start back toward the Epoch...
...and cringe as I hear the heavy front door of the massive castle creak open.
With a nervous laugh, I turn back to the door and plaster a big, phoney smile onto my face. I have this terrible suspicion, though, that it comes across more as a pained grimace than anything.
"Hi, Magus!" I greet the tall, blue-haired man leaning against the doorframe and surveying me as though I'm some kind of poisonous spider that isn't supposed to be found in this part of the world: with a hint of curiosity overshadowed by distaste.
He continues to gaze at me such as I stammer out more pathetic small talk, and gradually, my steady stream of nervous chatter peters out into a heavy silence.
"What are you doing here?"
Well. Magus has never been one to waste words; I'll say that for the guy.
"Well, y'know, I was in the area, and I thought to myself 'hey, Lucca, it's been a long time since you last saw Magus. Why not drop by to say hello?'"
"In the area?" he repeats, and for a split second, I am certain that I catch a slight bit of humour in his tone. Then again, that could just be the whiskey speaking. Shut up, whiskey! "You live four hundred years in the future."
Uh-oh. The bastard's got me there. Feigning carelessness, I am in fact very careful to keep my eyes on the ground, to avoid his at any cost.
"Yeah, well, I kind of needed to be out of the house."
He sighs.
"You'd better come in. It isn't exactly safe to be roaming around outside in the middle of the night."
"Is it that late already?!" I exclaim, making a sad attempt to go back to small talk.
Rolling his eyes, he says nothing. He simply opens the door farther and steps aside to let me in.
Once we are inside, he leads me down a dark hallway to a surprisingly small and pleasant, if slightly dark, library, dimly lit by a large fireplace along one wall, and four torches hung at various locations around the room. Then again, there could be two, and I could be seeing double.
Damn lack of restraint.
But I'm getting off track again.
Magus motions for me to sit, and so I do, giggling in delight at the way that the immensely squishy black velvet cushions of the sofa almost envelops me. He seats himself in a wing chair opposite the sofa with a grace that, although fluid, is tempered with steel; there is no missing its strength.
Then he proceeds to fix his eyes on me, neither blinking, nor moving a muscle, nor speaking a word.
I'm beginning to get a little creeped out when suddenly he speaks up.
"So, how about telling me what you're really doing here?" he suggests.
"But I already have," I protest, thinking, it'll be a miracle if he doesn't Dark Bomb me on the spot for insulting his intelligence like this.
He doesn't bring into use his considerable skill with magic, but he does snort incredulously.
"You don't really think I believed that story, do you?"
I sit back against those nice squishy cushions, looking away sheepishly.
"Okay, not really. But do you really wanna know what I'm doing here?"
"I don't know," he replies, then stops and frowns at me. "Lucca...are you...drunk?"
"How could you tell?" I slur, feeling utterly pathetic. The jilted wife. Doomed to the pity of her friends forever. "Not drunk enough, though."
"I think you're plenty drunk enough," he replies firmly. "How did you manage to get here, anyway?"
"How else? I took the Epoch."
"You...can't walk in a straight line, but you took the Epoch?"
Damn. How did he notice that? Does this man have eyes in the back of his head?
"Well...I had to. I really had to get out of Truce for the night."
He is silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the fire, shadows flickering over him.
"I think you'd better tell me what happened," he finally says.
Oy. Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into, you moody bastard?
Slowly, I begin. I tell him about this past evening. I tell him about coming home to find the house littered with another woman's belongings. I tell him about the unfortunate fate of some of those same belongings. I tell him about going upstairs to find the bed mussed up and another woman's nightie on my pillow. I tell him about the letter, confirming what I had suspected about the identity of the woman. I tell him about the havoc I have wreaked on the mystery woman's carriage and horses. The only thing I don't tell him about is the puddle of tears that I left on the landing. After all, I still have my pride. Morals and decency be damned, but I still have my pride.
He is silent for a long time after I finish.
"So...the reason that you have to stay out of Truce tonight is that you don't want to get in trouble for destroying someone else's," he finally says.
"Pretty much," I agree cheerfully.
He is silent for another long moment, slowly and deliberately pouring two glasses of the brandy on a small shelf nearby.
"I must say, I'm surprised," he admits, handing me one of the glasses.
"How do you mean?"
"I never thought of you as a vandal."
"These aren't ordinary circumstances."
"I honestly never thought you'd have the nerve."
I blink. Is he...impressed? I mean, I didn't think he would be disapproving, but I didn't expect to earn his admiration for this.
"I sort of did it without thinking," I admit.
"There was thinking involved," Magus corrects grimly. "It just wasn't yours. It was the alcohol's."
"You know," I point out, indicating the glass in my hand, "this isn't exactly helping with that."
"You don't have to drink it," he informs me, reaching for the glass.
I cuddle my precious brandy protectively.
"I didn't say I didn't want it! You just sounded kinda disapproving that I'd been drinking."
"It isn't for me to approve or disapprove," he replies boredly.
Oh, thanks.
"Oh, thanks," I say. Hey, I'm too drunk to be creative, people!
He sighs, sipping at his own drink.
"I wonder about one thing, though."
"What's that?"
"You've broken the window, torn up the woman's belongings, broken windows, and depleted your whiskey supply. Don't you think it'll be obvious to this husband of yours that someone's been in the house?"
"Nope," I reply proudly. "Really, Magus, have a little more faith in my brain power than that! I got rid of any signs that I'd been there. I brought my duffel bag along-"
"How convenient," he murmurs, rubbing his forehead wearily.
I ignore him and continue.
"-I buried that book, and all the empty whiskey bottles. I brought her boot back inside and put it exactly where I found it. Oh, and I took a cookie jar full of money, just for effect."
"How underhanded of you."
"A laughable statement, considering my husband is the one who's been trying out another woman in our bed."
"Yes, there is that. I think that carriage or no carriage, you would have been better off confronting them both immediately."
My hands start to shake ever so slightly, and I feel a fiery pang tear through me at the knowledge that to admit I knew would likely be to lose Isaac forever.
Either that, or he'll make excuses, and this will become a cycle. Even losing him immediately couldn't be as bad as being fed lie after lie for years on end.
"Why?"
"What will it help to keep this kind of knowledge to yourself? It's only going to hurt you all in the end, with you getting more and more bitter by the day. You know that you'll be helpless to confront him after the fact."
"I...I want to wait," I whisper, now squeezing my brandy glass so tightly that I can nearly hear my knuckles creak.
"Wait for what?" he demands, annoyed.
"It might have been a one-time thing. We all know that men turn into simpering idiots at the sight of blonde hair and a nice set of...ahem. Anyway...it was probably some idiotic hormonal thing that won't happen again!"
How desperately I wish that I believed that.
Magus apparently doesn't believe it any more than I do. He rises from his chair and walks around the low table between us, and carefully pries the brandy glass from my hand. Then he sets it on the table and sits next to me. He gives an incredulous snort.
"You're joking, right? Are you really that much of a fool?"
"No; I'm that crazy about him."
"So crazy that you're willing to put up with his dalliances with another woman?"
"If it doesn't happen again, yes."
"Lucca, for Gods' sake, it isn't just some three-day stand. They slept in your bed. They've been playing housekeeper."
I stare down at my hands, folded in my lap, and cringe in horror as drops begin to fall from my eyes, splashing down over my fingers.
"I...I still want to wait. If it doesn't happen again, I'm going to forget about it."
"No," he corrects, and I can hear the rising anger in his tone. "You'll try to forget."
"Love is about forgiveness."
"But not forgetfulness."
"Forgive and forget."
"That's a myth," he informs me with a bitter laugh.
That shuts us both up, as we both gaze moodily off in opposite directions.
Wow...this is not how I envisioned my evening. I thought I'd get home from a long day of travel, enjoy a quiet meal with my darling, loving husband, listen to him prattle on for a while about the hidden meaning of some novel or other that he's been reading, eventually shut him up with a kiss, and...well, go from there.
Instead, I'm spending my evening drinking brandy with a moody sorcerer as I pour out my soul to him about all my marital troubles.
Not that I'm complaining.
This is damn good brandy.
End Notes: Wow. I really don't know what Magus is doing in here. If I put in any sort of romance, I'm going to have to take it painfully s l o w l y. Let me know what you think, okay?
Twenty minutes later, I watch, my hand held respectfully over my heart, as the mystery woman's carriage goes bouncing down the steep incline into the water.
Lucky for me that the tavern was built on the water.
Otherwise, more than one citizen of Truce might have wondered what on earth that wife of that young Isaac fellow was doing parading through the town with a very nice carriage in tow.
I'm pretty sure that would see me tried for wilful destruction of the property of others, at the very least, theft.
And I'm quite aware that they would not buy the excuse of 'I was drunk.'
The past twenty minutes, I reflect, has been brilliant fun. There must be something wrong with me. Aside from the bottle of whiskey coursing through my system.
That is, of course, why, after setting to rights everything around the house that I could, I strode confidently into town, bold and brash as anything, took a quick peek in the window of the tavern to observe my dear husband sharing a bowl of soup - from the same damn spoon - with a stunning blonde woman. She had a fantastic figure, I noted to myself instantly, thus fuelling my resolve to carry off the rest of my plan. After this, I set loose the two lovely chestnut brown mares harnessed to the front of this Ariana girl's carriage.
I've never believed in the caging of animals.
Or of carriages, which is why I've liberated Mystery Blonde's by shoving it into the ocean.
Alright, maybe it's just because I'm a bitch.
Then, just as I am about to put into effect by far the most satisfying aspect of my plan, to march straight into the tavern and confront them both, a niggling voice whispers from the back of my mind that eventually, Isaac's little side-munch will find out about her carriage. And if she knows that I know that she's spent the past three days bonking my husband, I will be a prime suspect.
The prime suspect.
The ONLY suspect.
Never mind the bit about her bonking my husband.
Apparently, between the vandalism of carriages and engaging in acts of fornication with other people's spouses, the vandalism is by far the more morally bankrupt action.
Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Categorizing all the reasons that barging into the tavern and confronting them would be the dumbest move I've ever made.
I've no desire to end this night in prison.
I think I've been through enough.
So, what do I do? Go back home, make a cup of tea, and curl up with a good book, pretending that I've noticed nothing?
Hey, I could have read '150 Favourite Love Poems,' if I hadn't destroyed it...
Somehow, I don't think that waiting for them at home will exonerate me. I doubt I could keep a straight face before my husband's 'unexplainable' agitation and subtle attempts to shoo away his gorgeous blonde plaything.
And then, of course, I would have to explain to him why I hadn't unpacked yet.
'Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I thought I'd give you time to rearrange the room, clear away anything you'd rather I didn't see. Any sexy lingerie that isn't mine, perhaps...'
I would need one squashy head to do something like that.
So, all in all, home is out.
Well, I was originally to return tomorrow evening. I could just head somewhere else until then, pretend that I haven't even been home today.
But where?
Mom and Dad?
Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to run crying to Mommy and Daddy right now, to have Mommy cuddle me and pat me on the head and comfort me while Daddy paces back and forth, furiously ranting about all the vile and destructive things that he plans on doing to the man who dared to break his little girl's heart.
The problem is, they've both liked Isaac since they met him.
I just can't bring myself to take that away from them.
Hell, I can't even take it away from myself. I'm still telling myself that everything will be just fine, that this whole thing is a misunderstanding.
Yeah, right.
Mmm...we still have the Epoch in a shed in our backyard. Everyone else along for the whole 'destroying Lavos' thing decided that we should keep it on hand, just in case. In case of what, no one's ever really told me. And I guess I was the obvious choice to have it cluttering up my shed, as I was the one who spent, as Crono always laughingly said, the 'quality time' with it.
Luckily, Isaac was very understanding about the whole thing, and as a fellow gadget-nut (professed, at any rate), was fascinated with the Epoch.
You wouldn't believe the time I've had trying to keep him from tinkering with it and consequently blowing it, himself, and the entire neighbourhood sky-high.
If I'd known what he was finding to tinker with instead, the destruction of the neighbourhood might not have looked so bad to me.
The shed was for the obvious purpose of halting the prying eyes of neighbours from ogling the futuristic machine stashed in our yard.
I could take it for a spin, go to see some of the old group...
Robo pops to mind first.
Somehow, though, wonderful a piece of machinery - and more than that, a friend - as he is, I think I'd rather be around a flesh-and-blood person right now. After all, a robot has a standard of morals programmed into him that would be likely to believe me to be the villain.
After all, wanton vandalism goes above adultery on any purely intellectual moral code.
No Robo.
Crono?
He's really the obvious choice. Unfortunately, I've learned over the past years that Crono doesn't have a lot of time to nurse old friends through their marital crises and relating emotional breakdowns.
Too bad, because it would be really nice to hear him rant about how he was going to find Isaac and take his innards out through his ass.
He's never liked Isaac.
Not only that, Marle's firm conviction that hugs and chocolate can cure anything wouldn't be completely unwelcome at the moment.
Still, both of them are probably - no, definitely - busy doing 'ruler of Guardia' things, and probably wouldn't hail my impromptu visit with unbridled joy.
And I hate to push myself where I'm unwanted, I think to myself with an ironic grin at the utter ridiculousness of this statement.
Ayla?
I...don't think she would be a lot of help. Sure, she might understand the problem if Isaac had up and told me that he wanted me to take off so he could be with some other girl, or many other girls for that matter, but I've learned through my friendship with Ayla that the Ioka don't have any context for the concept of adultery. Sex is shared as freely as wine at a party, and sharing a bed with someone (or a fur, rather) doesn't always indicate any deeper feelings.
So long as a committed person doesn't decide that they like another person better than the one they've committed to, there isn't a problem with anyone sharing a bed with anyone.
And even if I did get her to understand why this situation makes me so miserable, to truly feel my misery herself, there's always the chance that she would take it upon herself to go pound them both out of loyalty for a friend wronged.
Damnit, Ayla, if anyone's going to be pounding them it's ME!
No Ayla.
Frog?
Erk! No, I don't think it would be a good idea to go to someone as...morally upright as Frog after having just trashed a strange woman's carriage and ripped up and hurled through windows her various and sundry other belongings.
I would be sure to be subjected to a Frog-lecture.
And then, of course, I would be forced to rip him up and hurl him through a window.
No Frog.
Well, geez! I'm kind of running low on people here!
Gaspar?
No.
Melchior?
No.
Try to find Toma?
Uh...no.
...
...
Magus?
...
Hmm...
This just might work.
Sure I won't be expecting any sympathetic hugs, but at least I can rant about my plans to disconnect Isaac's reproductive bits, fling them to the floor, and force both him and his new bed-buddy to watch, with the Wondershot aimed at their heads, as future generations of the two of them are well and truly obliterated, ground to nothingness beneath my heel.
Magus certainly wouldn't judge me as evil for it.
He'd be more likely to suggest that I use that boot I tripped over to do the grinding, for a bit of poetic justice.
But I'm still a little unstable right now, and the thought of what his reaction would be if I broke down again gives me a moment of pause.
I'm past the 'craving death' stage. Now I just crave chocolate and hugs and more alcohol.
Let's summarize:
Lack of any mentionable moral code: plus.
Lack of any mentionable human kindness and pity: minus.
All in all, I think Magus is out.
And so, this decided, I plunk down on the rocky slope dipping into the ocean and wrack my brains for somewhere else to go.
It is now half an hour later, and I am striding quickly away from the Epoch, which somehow managed to survive the brutal beating my drunken attempt at piloting gave it, and gazing up in slight nervousness and consternation at a dark, massive, foreboding castle.
Nice place you got here, Magus.
Gradually, I slow to a stop, re-tallying the pros and cons of staying here.
It turns out, my brains just aren't in the mood to be cudgelled today. So naturally, they couldn't think of anyone else for me to go to.
Magus was the best overall choice, with Ayla as a close second.
After all, her philosophy of 'party now, think later' is very appealing at the moment.
As I'm thinking all of this, I've approached the house and somehow contrived to lift the massive knocker and let it fall back into place.
During the wait for someone to come to the door, the idea of visiting Ayla begins to look better and better.
Finally, my mind made up, I turn and start back toward the Epoch...
...and cringe as I hear the heavy front door of the massive castle creak open.
With a nervous laugh, I turn back to the door and plaster a big, phoney smile onto my face. I have this terrible suspicion, though, that it comes across more as a pained grimace than anything.
"Hi, Magus!" I greet the tall, blue-haired man leaning against the doorframe and surveying me as though I'm some kind of poisonous spider that isn't supposed to be found in this part of the world: with a hint of curiosity overshadowed by distaste.
He continues to gaze at me such as I stammer out more pathetic small talk, and gradually, my steady stream of nervous chatter peters out into a heavy silence.
"What are you doing here?"
Well. Magus has never been one to waste words; I'll say that for the guy.
"Well, y'know, I was in the area, and I thought to myself 'hey, Lucca, it's been a long time since you last saw Magus. Why not drop by to say hello?'"
"In the area?" he repeats, and for a split second, I am certain that I catch a slight bit of humour in his tone. Then again, that could just be the whiskey speaking. Shut up, whiskey! "You live four hundred years in the future."
Uh-oh. The bastard's got me there. Feigning carelessness, I am in fact very careful to keep my eyes on the ground, to avoid his at any cost.
"Yeah, well, I kind of needed to be out of the house."
He sighs.
"You'd better come in. It isn't exactly safe to be roaming around outside in the middle of the night."
"Is it that late already?!" I exclaim, making a sad attempt to go back to small talk.
Rolling his eyes, he says nothing. He simply opens the door farther and steps aside to let me in.
Once we are inside, he leads me down a dark hallway to a surprisingly small and pleasant, if slightly dark, library, dimly lit by a large fireplace along one wall, and four torches hung at various locations around the room. Then again, there could be two, and I could be seeing double.
Damn lack of restraint.
But I'm getting off track again.
Magus motions for me to sit, and so I do, giggling in delight at the way that the immensely squishy black velvet cushions of the sofa almost envelops me. He seats himself in a wing chair opposite the sofa with a grace that, although fluid, is tempered with steel; there is no missing its strength.
Then he proceeds to fix his eyes on me, neither blinking, nor moving a muscle, nor speaking a word.
I'm beginning to get a little creeped out when suddenly he speaks up.
"So, how about telling me what you're really doing here?" he suggests.
"But I already have," I protest, thinking, it'll be a miracle if he doesn't Dark Bomb me on the spot for insulting his intelligence like this.
He doesn't bring into use his considerable skill with magic, but he does snort incredulously.
"You don't really think I believed that story, do you?"
I sit back against those nice squishy cushions, looking away sheepishly.
"Okay, not really. But do you really wanna know what I'm doing here?"
"I don't know," he replies, then stops and frowns at me. "Lucca...are you...drunk?"
"How could you tell?" I slur, feeling utterly pathetic. The jilted wife. Doomed to the pity of her friends forever. "Not drunk enough, though."
"I think you're plenty drunk enough," he replies firmly. "How did you manage to get here, anyway?"
"How else? I took the Epoch."
"You...can't walk in a straight line, but you took the Epoch?"
Damn. How did he notice that? Does this man have eyes in the back of his head?
"Well...I had to. I really had to get out of Truce for the night."
He is silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the fire, shadows flickering over him.
"I think you'd better tell me what happened," he finally says.
Oy. Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into, you moody bastard?
Slowly, I begin. I tell him about this past evening. I tell him about coming home to find the house littered with another woman's belongings. I tell him about the unfortunate fate of some of those same belongings. I tell him about going upstairs to find the bed mussed up and another woman's nightie on my pillow. I tell him about the letter, confirming what I had suspected about the identity of the woman. I tell him about the havoc I have wreaked on the mystery woman's carriage and horses. The only thing I don't tell him about is the puddle of tears that I left on the landing. After all, I still have my pride. Morals and decency be damned, but I still have my pride.
He is silent for a long time after I finish.
"So...the reason that you have to stay out of Truce tonight is that you don't want to get in trouble for destroying someone else's," he finally says.
"Pretty much," I agree cheerfully.
He is silent for another long moment, slowly and deliberately pouring two glasses of the brandy on a small shelf nearby.
"I must say, I'm surprised," he admits, handing me one of the glasses.
"How do you mean?"
"I never thought of you as a vandal."
"These aren't ordinary circumstances."
"I honestly never thought you'd have the nerve."
I blink. Is he...impressed? I mean, I didn't think he would be disapproving, but I didn't expect to earn his admiration for this.
"I sort of did it without thinking," I admit.
"There was thinking involved," Magus corrects grimly. "It just wasn't yours. It was the alcohol's."
"You know," I point out, indicating the glass in my hand, "this isn't exactly helping with that."
"You don't have to drink it," he informs me, reaching for the glass.
I cuddle my precious brandy protectively.
"I didn't say I didn't want it! You just sounded kinda disapproving that I'd been drinking."
"It isn't for me to approve or disapprove," he replies boredly.
Oh, thanks.
"Oh, thanks," I say. Hey, I'm too drunk to be creative, people!
He sighs, sipping at his own drink.
"I wonder about one thing, though."
"What's that?"
"You've broken the window, torn up the woman's belongings, broken windows, and depleted your whiskey supply. Don't you think it'll be obvious to this husband of yours that someone's been in the house?"
"Nope," I reply proudly. "Really, Magus, have a little more faith in my brain power than that! I got rid of any signs that I'd been there. I brought my duffel bag along-"
"How convenient," he murmurs, rubbing his forehead wearily.
I ignore him and continue.
"-I buried that book, and all the empty whiskey bottles. I brought her boot back inside and put it exactly where I found it. Oh, and I took a cookie jar full of money, just for effect."
"How underhanded of you."
"A laughable statement, considering my husband is the one who's been trying out another woman in our bed."
"Yes, there is that. I think that carriage or no carriage, you would have been better off confronting them both immediately."
My hands start to shake ever so slightly, and I feel a fiery pang tear through me at the knowledge that to admit I knew would likely be to lose Isaac forever.
Either that, or he'll make excuses, and this will become a cycle. Even losing him immediately couldn't be as bad as being fed lie after lie for years on end.
"Why?"
"What will it help to keep this kind of knowledge to yourself? It's only going to hurt you all in the end, with you getting more and more bitter by the day. You know that you'll be helpless to confront him after the fact."
"I...I want to wait," I whisper, now squeezing my brandy glass so tightly that I can nearly hear my knuckles creak.
"Wait for what?" he demands, annoyed.
"It might have been a one-time thing. We all know that men turn into simpering idiots at the sight of blonde hair and a nice set of...ahem. Anyway...it was probably some idiotic hormonal thing that won't happen again!"
How desperately I wish that I believed that.
Magus apparently doesn't believe it any more than I do. He rises from his chair and walks around the low table between us, and carefully pries the brandy glass from my hand. Then he sets it on the table and sits next to me. He gives an incredulous snort.
"You're joking, right? Are you really that much of a fool?"
"No; I'm that crazy about him."
"So crazy that you're willing to put up with his dalliances with another woman?"
"If it doesn't happen again, yes."
"Lucca, for Gods' sake, it isn't just some three-day stand. They slept in your bed. They've been playing housekeeper."
I stare down at my hands, folded in my lap, and cringe in horror as drops begin to fall from my eyes, splashing down over my fingers.
"I...I still want to wait. If it doesn't happen again, I'm going to forget about it."
"No," he corrects, and I can hear the rising anger in his tone. "You'll try to forget."
"Love is about forgiveness."
"But not forgetfulness."
"Forgive and forget."
"That's a myth," he informs me with a bitter laugh.
That shuts us both up, as we both gaze moodily off in opposite directions.
Wow...this is not how I envisioned my evening. I thought I'd get home from a long day of travel, enjoy a quiet meal with my darling, loving husband, listen to him prattle on for a while about the hidden meaning of some novel or other that he's been reading, eventually shut him up with a kiss, and...well, go from there.
Instead, I'm spending my evening drinking brandy with a moody sorcerer as I pour out my soul to him about all my marital troubles.
Not that I'm complaining.
This is damn good brandy.
End Notes: Wow. I really don't know what Magus is doing in here. If I put in any sort of romance, I'm going to have to take it painfully s l o w l y. Let me know what you think, okay?