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"Too soon?" she asks, biting her bottom lip as she thinks. "Are there rules about this kind of thing? Because even if there are... I don't care. I want to see you."

"Aren't there meant to be? About-- how it's too eager to call the next day and all?"

Not that he seems to care any more than she does. He'd barely made it 24 hours before calling her in the wake of their first date, after all.

"Is it too soon to bring you down to the shore?"

"Some rules are necessary, I know, but these dating ones just seem so arbitrary and, well, stupid. If we can't be honest with one another about how we feel now, then any relationship we might have is doomed to fail. Don't you think?" She rolls over onto her back on her bed, her bedroom door firmly closed so that no one can overhear her conversation, and twirls the end of her braid around her finger.

"If you want to take me to the shore, and I want to go with you, then it's not too soon. In my opinion."

His chuckle probably sounds simply like a rush of static from his end of the phone. Hopefully she'll be able to hear the pleased mirth beneath it.

"Good. And I do. Maybe-- not out sailing yet, but down at least to the harbour. I think you'll like it."

And he was certain she'd understand him better, somehow, for seeing it properly.

As long as she is with him, she'll like it.

"How are we going to get there? I don't have a car." A car was just one in a long list of things her parents couldn't afford to get her. As it was, they shared one that was constantly on the verge of breaking down. She was so embarrassed to be seen in it that she walked to school every day.

"I dare say such a thing would imply a set of morals neither of us are prone to adhear to, darling."

There is a flash of teeth, white against red lips, and Misha's eyes dance with the laughter caught in the corners.

"We'll take mine."

And surely that's nothing so out of the ordinary for a young man of a wealthy family to have. He barely thinks of the offer at all.

"Trust me driving you?"

The shake of his head is almost entirely unconscious, as is the furrowing of his brow.

"Really? I-- rather like to think of myself as a moral person."

"Is that so? Now, are they your morals, or are they they morals of those who wish to tame that power coiled around your spine?"

She has much in the way of dealing with princes, with gods and tsarinas and myths and legends. She knows what it looks like when someone is powerful, when someone walks with the weight of an imaginary crown on their head and the subtle fear of who is watching, waiting to see it fall off.

"Because I would say that you are, by most standards, a good person. Or nice, possibly both, but mostly good."

From the lift of his brow, it's clear that he's never quite considered himself someone with anything remotely like power. Opportunity, yes; resources beyond the common lot, certainly. But actual power?

Actual power was something for men like his uncle. Actual power was something that had been taken from him when his father was.

The second thought is much easier to address, even as his shoulder edge in slightly on themselves. "I do try. To-- be a good person."

Edited (punctuation, stop that.) 2015-01-08 20:26 (UTC)

You can think that all you want, Caspian, Misha can read people. Not in the sense that most do, but read what they can be the legends that are tengled up in thie bones, and oh, how there are legends in him. The potential for power is there, and that is all that matters. Most do not even have that. And the power he thinks he never had a chance at? Not as far fetched as he believes.

The koldun'ya gives him a coy smile and a laugh.

"And how hard is it? To be good and not nice?"

She wishes to know the answer, for she is not nice. Nor is she good. Not that she is evil, persay, just-- just usually right.

"No matter, it certainly doesn't change the original question, Дорогая моя . I still do not think it is too soon. Do you?"

Edited (lets pretend i can html. also apologies if you know russian. im learning ) 2015-01-08 22:31 (UTC)

"I don't know."

And no matter how many lifetimes a soul like Caspian's lives, indecision will always come first. It's part of the way he first comes into the world; something which has to be shaken out of him with the rough test of battle.

"I-- suppose I'd have to trust your judgement."

And there it is, the proof that Caspian is, in fact, good and not just nice (which, as far as Misha is concerned, is much better. People who are nice are never very much fun, people who are good, however...)

"Now is that because you have never had to do the right thing? Or because you simply do not see the difference?"

Though Misha has her beliefs as to which is the right answer, it doesn't stop her from asking it. She must admit to herself that she is quite fond of Caspian; there was something about him that inspired a sense of--- well, she will call it respect for now.

That response, however, earns Caspian a full laugh, eyes alight with amusement. "Now that, Дорогая моя, is not something I hear often. But I thank you for it anyway."

It is then, and only then that she allows herself to move just a little bit closer to him, her guard not quite dropped but it certainly wasn't as barbed as it was before.

Her laugh has his shoulders relaxing just a bit from their tension. It's enough to keep him from tensing again when she shifts closer, even.

"You know, I'm not entirely sure I understand the question."

He's done the right thing before, surely. He's seen the difference between right and wrong on the scale he's been presented, he's certain.

"Have you ever had the dilemma of the right thing to do versus the nice thing to do? Or, like some, do you not quite see how the two are different, that is what I mean."

What is good is not always easy, and, often, it gets many people hurt. There are even moments, moments that Misha can recall all too vividly, where what is good can be very easily confused with what is evil because it seems so-- so harsh. But those who are good can stand by the decisions because they know themselves.

The quiet relaxation in his shoulders makes the smile on Misha's face soften even more.

"Though, I must admit, it is an awfully complicated question."

That brings a furrow back to his brow. His shoulders don't quite tense again, but do certainly shift uncomfortably up and down again.

"It's not-- a dilemma, really. It's more that... you try your best to-- find a nice way to do the right thing, when you have to."

Which had come more often than not in his life thus far. Which he had certainly seen his uncle do with much less hesitation than often existed in his own heart.

Do not think that she does not see that, and the movement speaks far louder than words. If anything, though, it gives her even more respect for him. It is not an easy position, and it is obvious that he has had to deal with such a thing. There is an absent thought in the back of her mind that leaves her to hope that he did not have the lives of others hanging on his choice; that makes it even worse. An even heavier burden to bear.

"That..." she pauses, eyes drifting off for a moment before she focuses back on him, small smile on her face. "That is a very interesting way of looking at it. I cannot say that I had ever looked at it that way before. I will admit that I am most inclined to try for what is good, and--"

She stops there, memories clouding her thoughts and she nearly falters, something sorrowful coming over his eyes. She is quieter when she speaks next.

"Well, at least I have tried to do good."

Of course he had a car. Of course.

"I trust you. Though I might have a hard time keeping my hands to myself. How are you at driving while distracted?" She's teasing, of course, and the tone of her voice is convey that. She wouldn't dare make it difficult for him to drive. She hopes he has an automatic, though, so that she can hold his hand.

"So when should we go?"

His laugh though the phone will obviously come as a rough burst of static. Hopefully she can easily imagine the hot flush in his cheeks at the thought of her hands being on him again.

"If-- you promise to behave yourself, I'd-- say this weekend."

He can sneak away for a few hours then. He can steal a bit of time before then to plan something wonderful for them.

In another lifetime, there had been human life--mortal cost--in the balance. He doesn't remember it to hold in contrast with the hurt he sometimes feels himself and his family doling out now, of course. The darkness in his uncle's eyes might as well be the darkness of an executioner; and, half the time, he feels he might as well be the same.

For all that, there's a core of kindness wrapped up deep in the pit of his heart. It prompts his brow to furrow now and his entire being to lean slightly forward.

"I'm sure you've done more than you know."

She recognizes that little burst as his subdued laughter. She's starting to make it her goal to make him laugh - full on, belly-busting, guffawing laughter. She wants to hear what it sounds like. She's pretty sure it will be adorable.

"I'm free Saturday. What time should I be ready?"

That tends to be the way it goes; human lives balanced precariously on choices and shoulders for those who least deserve it (but maybe that is why it happens, because they can see the value of life as well as the loss and not just the gain from the action. If there is a weight on his shoulders, or he can feel the choice, then he is doing as well as he can. It is when there is no thought or weight at all when things are no longer as they should.

When things turn as they have with Misha's closest friend.

She blinks away the memories (the bone white trees and the skeletal spirits) and gives Caspian a soft smile.

" спасибо, I appreciate that more than you could know." She tilts her head. "And I think it proves a great deal about your character as well."

The half-pause is just long enough to keep himself from blurting anything silly like 'I'll pick you up at 5 in the morning.' The impulse to be close to her has to be overridden by logic, surely.

"Mid-morning, I think-- so we'll have time to get out to the shore and really enjoy ourselves." There's a bit of a shift as he moves to lean in his chair and glance at his calendar out of instinct. "Let's say-- 10am?"

"Really?"

There's something doubtful in the tilt of his head, but also a rather obvious smoothing of his brow. It's never taken much for Caspian to feel praised, after all.

"That's-- very kind of you to say, really."

Out of habit she nods even though he can't see it. "That sounds perfect." Now for the hard part.

"Um... I know this is kinda weird, but could you pick me up at the school?" She is not ready for her family to start asking her questions about him. For now what she has with him is perfect and she has no doubt they would do their best to ruin it, especially her mother.

Misha laughs at that, bright and bold, and she finds her self even more endeared with this enigma of a man before her.

"Yes, really. You are most kind, and yet you understand. That tells so very much, makings of a wonderful man that is for sure."

She gives him a smile, absently leans in to push a stray piece of hair from his face. She doesn't know why she does it, not one to usually touch people (even with her gloves on), but she finds herself compelled. Just the briefest brush of black silk against his skin.

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imma quote into the woods like WHOA through this thread i can tell.

there's nothing wrong with into the woods o/

\o/

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Can I just say I kinda sorta love your Caspian and your writing, yes. Just <3

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Aaah you're so sweet! His AU voice always feels a little shaky to me. /o\

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nope, i think you have it spot on yes. it's lovely. <3

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<3!

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