smash_logs | merry merry christmas, and I want you to know

Entry tags:

merry merry christmas, and I want you to know

Who: YOU
What: KISSLETOES
When: December 14th - January 1st
Where: Everywhere
Warnings: Sloppy makeouts.

SUDDENLY, AND WITHOUT WARNING...

title or description

The entire school has become covered in mistletoe overnight. It grows out of the walls! The ceilings! Everywhere you least expect it? HOW CAN THIS BE??

It's probably best not to think about it. Attempts to uproot the plants or burn them away only makes the plants grow back faster. For the time being, it seems the school must live with it.

[OOC INSTRUCTIONS:
+ Post dudes, get kisses!
+ Some (NOT ALL) plants are cursed. If you manage to step under a cursed plant, you will exchange a memory when or if you exchange a kiss. The memories will be first-person and very vivid, and characters will feel like they are experiencing the memory in real time, though in reality the transfer is instantaneous. Memories can be as short, long, happy, sad, or traumatic as you like.
+ If you'd like to participate, we highly suggest making a list of a few memories (with accompanying links/descriptions) that are up for grabs, and linking or posting the list in your top-level comment. Memory exchange is COMPLETELY OPTIONAL. When in doubt, OOC communication!
+ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TAG YOUR CHARACTERS
+ That's it, we love you.]

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The nice thing about the situation is that Caim is well familiar with magic and magical beings. The more time that passes where she isn't shooting anything at him is nearly a welcome one. Well, as welcome as the predicament of hers allows them to have.

She's selling him on the idea, or trying to, but the words she's using are all wrong. Caim loathes assumptions and in general, loathes most people and ideals. Maybe not as much as he once did, but he still inevitably does. To her it's nothing. To him, it's not. A kiss isn't just a kiss. And merely saying it would imply he's much more involved with personal sentiment than he wants anyone to know.

In short, it's something of an inner war that he begins fighting.

He pauses in front of her and he shakes his head. "You should respect the concept of that affection more. Not everyone is going to agree that it is something so simple. However, I have been in your position before." He hasn't forgotten the first year he endured the mistletoe. In fact, he had some reasonably unpleasant adventures with kisses back then.

Come to think of it, at least Midna's being a little more polite about it. On the other hand, Caim gets the feeling that if their roles were reversed, she might not even give a warning.

There's enough confliction about what he says that speaks loud enough about what is going on internally. The unchanged expression of hers should tell the lack of amusement in the progress of their encounter thus far, if anything arms folding over her chest and crossing one another nearly sealing the conviction made not-so-obvious.

"Is that so? Tell me, if you will, what happened back when it was you in my position?"

She can only guess, but if he made it this far, then whatever went on having something to do with what should be and obviously didn't kill him, standing here in front of her as he is, so what could it be?

His shoulders lift in what he can only consider a casual shrug, and that's almost uncharacteristic of him. Almost. But truth be told, there are only a few words that he can say about the whole thing. Mostly that it was not enjoyable and he doesn't care to relive it, which is why he walks with as much as care as he does.

"People at the academy can be very... welcoming," he begins, somewhat uncertain as to how to phrase it. "Some are a little too enthused over the tradition, regardless of who is and is not caught. I have had more than one person cross my path in the past and have enjoyed what you deem a mere kiss more than they ought to have."

Raikov came to mind. But truth be told, that moment beneath the mistletoe aside, the artist soldier wasn't that bad. So maybe that was Caim softening up a little over the days. Maybe, anyway.

"I would like to approach your situation with all of the professionalism that I may muster." For it only seems right.

There's words to answer a question that she wouldn't have thought to expect come her way. At least there's truth to what he's saying, as far as she can tell - unless he's a very good liar. From what she can gather of his stories, though, "It seems to me that you think I'm going to take this beyond what it should be. Is that it?"

Why waste time with beating around the bush and instead just get straight to the point? "These things happen, don't they? But if you're up front about it, I feel it relieves any kind of apprehension about this sort of thing occurring. Now tell me if you've had that as an element in your past encounters."

She's going to wake a wild guess that no, probably not, but as much as she likes to predict the outcome of situations she's going into will offer, at the same time assuming isn't always the best as the element of unpredictability can always lie in await to rear its head at any moment. Even now.

"I would simply appreciate you not to take so much delight in it."

When he puts it that way, Caim has to wonder why he didn't bother to do that to begin with. It's succinct and direct, two of Caim's favourite things. There's no love with the prince for beating around the bush, though Midna's not really inaccurate. He seems much more like a war-hardened soldier than the reality of the situation.

"Although it seems you understand what well enough," he observes with a short, little nod. "And no, it is true that several people here who have had the privilege of being in my company have not quite had that behaviour." Much to his chagrin, not that he says so. "All the same, if you are so determined with your request, Midna—" For he certainly remembers her name, "—then you had best offer me something."

Like a cheek. A cheek is good.

Though she doesn't know too much about him, the kind of way he carries upon himself would suggest his lineage comes from something more than a commoner. She can only guess, and it would be unwise to rely on those guesses, but still, the idea in itself sits in the back of her mind.

She can't help but smile at his remark of the supposed delight she takes in this; she isn't sadistic or anything by any means, but the simple act of him asking of something like that tickles a certain fancy that had otherwise been left dormant for too long now. Appreciating his coming forth with it, she respond with a nod, taking note to tone it down slightly. Not everybody can appreciate that kind of enthusiasm, even if it's playful, and she'll respect that. After all, thus far he's only shown her nothing but.

A soft 'hmmm' is her response to the inquiry, not much surprise in her mind nor expression that carries out in the response her body language shows. Such things can be as much of a nuisance as they are complicated, especially if one genuinely is still concerned for another on an entirely platonic level and nothing more, but that's a topic she won't go into for many reasons.

Conducting the rest of this exchange as if it were a business arrangement, Midna nods and levitates slightly higher so she can meet Caim eye-to-eye. "I'm sorry those experiences have tainted your expectations. Nevertheless, I intend not to add to the negativity of it. Here." Making it as simple as anyone could hope it to be, with a slight turn of the head Midna offers her cheek, the one not partially covered in ancient artifact, for the two to seal the deal and carry on with their business.

She's sorry, she says. Like she should actually feel that way. It's something Caim can't wrap his independent mind around. No one in Midgard or Acheron says they're sorry about anything. And if they speak, it's usually through bloodlust, blades, and magic. And the only words that usually get uttered are by the weaklings who beg for their life not to be taken, so they can simply waste it away.

No. Caim doesn't understand her at all and can't even begin to make an educated conjecture as to whether she mocks him or offers sincerity. But at the end of things, he supposes that it really doesn't matter. She's willing to at least play along, probably because of her own position in the predicament, and there's really nothing more he can request of her. And even if he could, he has no desire to. Asking someone for something, usually implies the other person wanting something in return and Caim's willing to wager that nothing he has is anything someone else would want.

Except perhaps his expertise and mastery with a sword, which is something he doesn't intend to share with anyone. Except perhaps his students.

He watches her, rightfully wary, still suspicious on many levels and before he leans over to her, Caim even offers an investigative glance around. Just in the event that anyone else should see him. The last thing he needs are uncouth rumours being spread about him. Better to prevent that if at all possible. And when he finds that the way is clear, wordlessly he reaches over to take her rounded chin as carefully as he can muster. And he leaves upon her bare cheek of dual-toned flesh a kiss that's a contrasting tenderness in comparison to his seemingly rigid composure.

It is at that moment he decides to drop guard even slightly to engage in this seemingly silly tradition, something as simple as the plant above them encouraging, where upon skin to skin contact strikes and takes about her consciousness, mind swirling for a moment to another realm that isn't of her own. The first-person view she has at this time is of a young man advancing forward towards a group of some others, smiling even, that is until the older of the two in the group turns away to grab something sharp as if all the pain and sorrow in the world were on her shoulders and nothing would relieve her of that pain but escape.

The face of the young man quickly draws towards concern, the sharp object raising slightly in the hands of the troubled young woman and without a second in between thought thrust deep into her chest. Maybe a gasp could be heard of the man, if anything, foot steps stopping dead cold in their tracks, droplets of blood finding the floor beneath it as the life pierced with that blade leaks through promising an end through these actions. The young woman leans against an object, uttering something, and from here on out it gets hazy and as the vision of this bleak scenario comes to a close, laughter of a small child, happy and innocent as if unaware and/or uncaring of the situation that had just unfolded, fills the air until nothing more can be seen but black..

..and with that Midna comes back to, eyes wide with nothing but Caim and the landscape before her to offer a weak explanation as to what had happened. Given that the last thing she remembers happening in this environment is a simple gesture of a kiss on the cheek from one to another, nothing of this makes sense.

"Did you... did you just see that?" Hopefully she doesn't sound too psychotic with this question, but if anything the expression painted on her face will tell that she isn't lying or acting genuinely insane. Something had happened here.

For him, it's like reliving the experience. There aren't many nights that the man lies down at night and replays all of the horrors from his past. In fact, he can't remember a night that he hasn't endured that. Night terrors, people would say if they knew he had them. Except he doesn't talk about them. At least not to simply anyone.

He isn't accustomed to experiencing it in the very abrupt day. The things his eyes have seen aren't for anyone else, and especially aren't made for daydreaming about.

Caim tenses. It's impossible for him not to. Part of it is caused by Midna addressing him, but most of it is him trying to rapidly keep himself composed. It's not just a memory for him. It's like he relives that moment and everything that comes with it. The voice of his sister, the girl he always thought—and wanted—to be innocent. The words she doesn't say, but the pleading look she gives him. As if to say, please do not despise me for how filthy I am.

Caim's never hated his sister. Never. But where his feelings remain concerning her are convoluted and downright perplexing. He misses her, though. From the academy. From life. From their adolescence.

He shakes his head, as if to right himself and it doesn't take a second thought for him to put distance between them. "...You mean to say that you did," seems to be the most graceful response he can muster, and even then it's not eloquent at all. (To be fair, Caim's never been known for being eloquent, though.) He takes many moments to eye his hands and he moves his deep blue eyes off of Midna, as if trying to put together what's just occurred.

"That is an uncommon occurrence," he continues. He can't be nonchalant about it. Not the way he wants to be. Not the way he wants to shrug it off and pretend he didn't just see his sister kill herself. Again. "The academy's interference shows itself once more."

Should he apologise? He can't see any reason that he ought to. He simply doesn't know how to address the situation, which means he'll do his best to play the evasion game. The less he has to explain, the better.

Sure, evading the situation may seem best at first. But like any significant problem it'll come back again, and again, and even again until it's persistent to the point of unavoidable. Perhaps what happened here was a result of that; maybe it was a random mishap that misadventures of events produced by the academy brought about the two, who knows. But it happened and it was obviously very real and very pertinent, evidenced more so by how Caim tries to move away from the reality of it all.

It isn't Midna's business to get into what happened to each and every individual prior to what led them here nor is it her business to try to fix it, but being brought into the world for a moment that felt as real as it did of Caim's past, at best, put her at the very least minimally vested in what happens of it. It isn't as if she's entirely heartless, despite whatever demeanor she may try to put up front initially.

"Caim," she says softly, carefully even, knowing this is a moment that can make or break the intent of conversation, "That is something that happened, isn't it?" Though poised as a question, she doesn't expect him to answer. "You shouldn't have to hold something like that to yourself. I'm not saying that I'm the end all be all of releasing deep, dark secrets of your past unto so you can be anew but.. at least consider it somewhere."

The kind of pain she felt, though not nearly comparable to whatever it is the viewer had to of felt for the moment she was living the experience presented to her moments ago, was more unbearable than what she could had hoped on even to the persons she disliked most. Not one person should have to endure such harsh feelings derived of a deeply dark past.

More so, it probably doesn't mean much, but knowing what little she does know of the glimpse she got of his past, she can't imagine it's easy for him to carry on with that kind of weight. For that, "..I'm sorry, Caim." He probably doesn't want or care to hear it, but if he'll take anything she has to offer in the last that'll do.

Her tone sets him on edge. It's kind and considerate, soft and dare he even think it? Affectionate to some degree. Platonic affection is still affection. The thought of someone caring about him or caring for him makes him so incredibly uneasy. He doesn't know how to handle situations like that. Midgard certainly never allowed for it. One didn't get to focus on feelings when the fate of the world rested upon his shoulders. And that's what it was for Caim. Everything was constantly 'go go go.' There had never been the time to genuinely stop and think about the 'how' of everything.

And Caim has never wanted to think about the 'why.'

It is not your place to even address this. Words he wants to say and something deep inside of him tugs on the invisible leash that keeps him in line. Vianca, perhaps. He never forgets her and she's still a part of his life, even if her sister isn't.

He looks aside, as if trying to pretend she didn't just say anything is a possibility. It's not, of course. He has the option to turn and walk away and never speak with her again, but fact of the matter is she's seen what she's seen. It's one hell of an impression to make on someone. Most get to be greeted with a scowl at the very least and an introduction. She gets a name, a brief synopsis of his occupation, and a horrendous look at the world he's come from. It's a fabulous way to imprint himself in her mind.

But he can think of worse things. Perhaps. At least she didn't get the part where he killed his sister after she was reborn into a... a thing. He's had a fair share of night terrors involving the screams and the shrieks and the inevitable doom of his entire world. Or what he assumes must have been.

Finally, he lifts a hand and he waves it off. "The past is the past." Except so much of it is bullshit and he knows it. "It does not involve you. You have no reason to be offering apologies."

There's so much that tells that it isn't just the past, as he so pleasantly puts it, but who is she to convince him otherwise? Once a person makes up their mind about something, especially something of their own upbringing, it isn't exactly easy to change through the course of a heart-felt confession or statement. Maybe with time...

..well, she can only hope, but from experience she knows she can't count on. At least the hope is there, though. Another smile at his remarks, those things of his having this recurrent reaction on her, before she concedes with what she knows. "You're right."

That's all she can say, really. There's no kind of words that will force the thoughts of Caim into any other way of thinking from here on out. It has to be on his own. But, still, with this memory of his, precious and significant as it is, shared between the two, they won't be left at just that from here on out at least.

"I can't imagine what that's like to carry, but if you're willing, you should know that you don't have to be alone. Or not, it's up to you, no one can force you one way or another."

Awkward grin, one canine tooth elongated and pressing on her bottom lip as she smiles the way she does, Midna tries her best to put on the most of pleasantries that she can. "Happy Christmas Caim."

...is that what the say around here? Well, at least she's not one to be too embarrassed if that isn't the case, but still. "Thanks if anything."

"...if you're willing, you should know that you don't have to be alone."

Those words resonate with something in a very deep and dark part of him. Like a part of him that's long since been tucked away in an adolescence that he forgets he's had. Not every day has always been an unpleasant one. It's not as if he's never smiled. True, that perhaps he hasn't given a genuine smile in over a decade, but once he was a happier young man. Once he laughed. Once he carried on with a form of contentment as most people do.

How the years change.

And here she is telling him he doesn't have to be alone. But how to say that even standing in a room full of people, he still feels that he is? So many parts of him are missing that he's almost like a hollow shell walking about. The gestures are all there, but who knows where his heart has gone. Eaten by creatures of darkness. Trampled on and shattered. There are a plethora of theories as to its location and its condition.

'Happy Christmas,' she says. And his name as well. And there's something about it that has an air of sweetness to it. He's almost embarrassed. Well, the truth is that he is. Memories and kindness. There she goes making him a new one. If he has any humanity left in him, perhaps a part of him will consider briefly shedding a tear in the privacy of his own quarters.

"And to you, Midna," he replies carefully. "May yours be a pleasant one." Because there's no part of him that can wish his own unhappiness on her. And if he's honest, he finds himself only tainted beside an imp of pleasantries. There's no part of him that can willingly support the notion that he may taint her in turn. It's just a shame that he doesn't know how to vocalise that yet.

But he does make a mental note to procure her something for the holidays. He may not be able to say it, but at least he can show it.

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merry merry christmas, and I want you to know

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