[ The interior of the cabin is strongly lit, every candle burning high and the windows thrown open to admit as much of the grey skies into its confines; Set has taken to a distant corner of the room, intermittently pressing fingers to one eye and squinting with the other — then switching eyes, and repeating the motion. Testing to see how quickly he is recovering, if he is at all. ]
Blood of mine, I greet you. See? I look fantastic do I not?
[ Despite the obvious scars, and the exhaustion, he does maintain his ethereal beauty — the confident curl of his mouth, the narrow slyness of his gaze. ]
A vision of radiance, as always. [alia shuts the door, crossing over to where set has perched himself, then kneeling in a graceful movement to rummage in a basket she carries. weak ale, mediocre bread, lean meat -- provisions for mortal bodies unfairly given. the final item is a stack of damp, cooled tea leaves, wrapped in cloth to keep moist.]
On Arrakis, the burning sun against the spiced sands would give new Fedaykin aches and spots in their vision, if they did not veil themselves appropriately. A blinded Fremen is given over to Shai-Hulud, so the rest of the sietch would chide and laugh, but care for the injured. Compress their eyes with tea leaves [a bit awkward, she holds out the leaves, the cloth they're on.] They will soothe your pains and encourage healing.
[ His desert children always know how to treat him. Alia, Armand — the offerings and their company is always touching, even if he must hold himself above it. To be overeager is not becoming of a god, whom should always expect worship rather than treasure it — rather than desperately, ravenously crave it in some keening, wounded part of his very soul.
He can smell the herbs she brings, and some part of him
recalls, that he had mixed herbs into the waters of his husband's bath, had prepared a poultice for his bruises. That he hadn't even thought to do that for himself. Alia had to do it for him. How shameful a display. All the same, he is far too determined to climb back into the fray and compete with gusto, so he is quick to accept the gift. ]
Do I use them one by one, Alia? [ or all in the cloth? ] Guide me.
[alia gives an affected little gasp, one hand pressed to her heart -- set may not be able to see the action, but she's sure it's audible in her voice when she replies:] Flattery? Such scorn, for my words of pure truth. Fie upon thee, sayidi, to imagine my words anything but genuine.
[there's warmth in her voice as she moves closer, kneeling, a supplicants pose -- she would not do this for just any, the list easily counted on her fingers. there is the camaraderie of two desert beasts, capricious and clever and (to many) cold, the familiar lilt of their shared tongue, spoken so rarely these days. moreover, alia had shared her grief, her loneliness, and known in her soul that set understood. there was kinship between them, an understanding of the great isolation that came with being godlike, all reasons for her to hold him so dear. his acts in the games had solidified affection into loyaly: set had spoken a request that had returned homelander to life. alia cannot, will not forget that.
so she reaches, turns set's hands upright, her touch gentle, coaxing, then lays a few of the tea leaves upon each palm.] That much -- recline and they will remain, or I can fix them with the cloth, if you will permit. [smoothly:] You may tell me what cleverness you have devised, while I attend your wounds, hm? I've brought the tea itself as well, to heal from within.
I know you are genuine, Alia. We have far too much between us, unspoken but obvious, to be false with one another.
[ Set knows his form was designed to be perfect; an unbreakable, strong body befitting a god of hostile desert climate and endless battle, with a face capturing that elusive line between masculine and feminine. Even diminished from his time living as a mortal, he maintains the aura of something beyond human, in the tip of his jaw and the graceful uncoiling of his limbs to better invite Alia into the spaces of that body itself.
And she's like him, after all. A thing that understands the beauty of a desert, and the treachery of its nature. How to survive it, how to admire it, how to stand amidst the endless rolling dunes and know it to be its own living, breathing entity distinct and lonely and unlovable as the waters and reeds and fertile fields were to all others. ]
I have lain at rest for long enough, [ a week's vacation <3 ] would you bind with the cloth?
[ He hums, bringing the leaves to his nose to sniff them. Animal-like and naturally curious. ]
Honestly, Alia. I have been a round removed — what more do you think I have up my sleeve? [ a joke ] I am leaning on my allies, and making inroads with those who seem to have affection for me. Dying was honestly the best opportunity to solidify my social game. I think I could name anyone I wanted with an effective skillset and have a strong group voting in my interests, at this point!
[alia hums softly, low in her throat, bemused and soft as she stands between set's gracefully inviting thighs, thinks of the delta, the fertile nile, the world she is many, many generations removed from. his homeland and it's planet died millennia before, but alia can feel it still within her veins, as human as those first peoples had been, living and loving and warring and dying along the river's edge.
it is strange to see him diminished, scarred, blinded -- reminds her too closely of paul's own blinding by the stoneburners, the event that precluded his loss, the last she remembers of arrakis. alia's hands are careful, gentle, those of a healer or a nurse, rather than a goddess, as she presses the damp leaves against set's closed eyes, imagining instead that she's painting kohl knife-sharp, regal, resplendent.
as she works, layering the leaves over the bruises that linger from the monstrous disfigurement, alia huffs agreeably at the joke.] If you did not have plans and plots to fill a thousand tomes, I would worry you had returned to us half-formed, or with another's soul attached, perhaps. [the strip of linen cloth is next, wrapped neatly over the leaves, around set's head, mindful to leave every strand of crimson hair sleek and smooth. alia doesn't tie the cloth, remembering --] They said one of you was blindfolded, when you were killed. [softer, tucking the loose ends of the cloth in on themselves, perhaps less sturdy than a knot, but gentler.] Your mind may not remember, but your body will.
"Seem to have". You doubt your warm reception? [gently chiding, pulling out the jar of still-warm tea and pressing it into set's hands.] These games are different, sayidi. You have had a year's time to win hearts and devotion. The deaths are not of near-strangers, but of lovers, partners, family. [unscrewing the lid of the jar, with a sigh:] Such increased emotions muddy even the cleverest of machinations.
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no subject
[ The interior of the cabin is strongly lit, every candle burning high and the windows thrown open to admit as much of the grey skies into its confines; Set has taken to a distant corner of the room, intermittently pressing fingers to one eye and squinting with the other — then switching eyes, and repeating the motion. Testing to see how quickly he is recovering, if he is at all. ]
Blood of mine, I greet you. See? I look fantastic do I not?
[ Despite the obvious scars, and the exhaustion, he does maintain his ethereal beauty — the confident curl of his mouth, the narrow slyness of his gaze. ]
no subject
On Arrakis, the burning sun against the spiced sands would give new Fedaykin aches and spots in their vision, if they did not veil themselves appropriately. A blinded Fremen is given over to Shai-Hulud, so the rest of the sietch would chide and laugh, but care for the injured. Compress their eyes with tea leaves [a bit awkward, she holds out the leaves, the cloth they're on.] They will soothe your pains and encourage healing.
no subject
[ His desert children always know how to treat him. Alia, Armand — the offerings and their company is always touching, even if he must hold himself above it. To be overeager is not becoming of a god, whom should always expect worship rather than treasure it — rather than desperately, ravenously crave it in some keening, wounded part of his very soul.
He can smell the herbs she brings, and some part of him
recalls, that he had mixed herbs into the waters of his husband's bath, had prepared a poultice for his bruises. That he hadn't even thought to do that for himself. Alia had to do it for him. How shameful a display. All the same, he is far too determined to climb back into the fray and compete with gusto, so he is quick to accept the gift. ]
Do I use them one by one, Alia? [ or all in the cloth? ] Guide me.
[ Come closer to him, as well. ]
no subject
[there's warmth in her voice as she moves closer, kneeling, a supplicants pose -- she would not do this for just any, the list easily counted on her fingers. there is the camaraderie of two desert beasts, capricious and clever and (to many) cold, the familiar lilt of their shared tongue, spoken so rarely these days. moreover, alia had shared her grief, her loneliness, and known in her soul that set understood. there was kinship between them, an understanding of the great isolation that came with being godlike, all reasons for her to hold him so dear. his acts in the games had solidified affection into loyaly: set had spoken a request that had returned homelander to life. alia cannot, will not forget that.
so she reaches, turns set's hands upright, her touch gentle, coaxing, then lays a few of the tea leaves upon each palm.] That much -- recline and they will remain, or I can fix them with the cloth, if you will permit. [smoothly:] You may tell me what cleverness you have devised, while I attend your wounds, hm? I've brought the tea itself as well, to heal from within.
no subject
[ Set knows his form was designed to be perfect; an unbreakable, strong body befitting a god of hostile desert climate and endless battle, with a face capturing that elusive line between masculine and feminine. Even diminished from his time living as a mortal, he maintains the aura of something beyond human, in the tip of his jaw and the graceful uncoiling of his limbs to better invite Alia into the spaces of that body itself.
And she's like him, after all. A thing that understands the beauty of a desert, and the treachery of its nature. How to survive it, how to admire it, how to stand amidst the endless rolling dunes and know it to be its own living, breathing entity distinct and lonely and unlovable as the waters and reeds and fertile fields were to all others. ]
I have lain at rest for long enough, [ a week's vacation <3 ] would you bind with the cloth?
[ He hums, bringing the leaves to his nose to sniff them. Animal-like and naturally curious. ]
Honestly, Alia. I have been a round removed — what more do you think I have up my sleeve? [ a joke ] I am leaning on my allies, and making inroads with those who seem to have affection for me. Dying was honestly the best opportunity to solidify my social game. I think I could name anyone I wanted with an effective skillset and have a strong group voting in my interests, at this point!
no subject
it is strange to see him diminished, scarred, blinded -- reminds her too closely of paul's own blinding by the stoneburners, the event that precluded his loss, the last she remembers of arrakis. alia's hands are careful, gentle, those of a healer or a nurse, rather than a goddess, as she presses the damp leaves against set's closed eyes, imagining instead that she's painting kohl knife-sharp, regal, resplendent.
as she works, layering the leaves over the bruises that linger from the monstrous disfigurement, alia huffs agreeably at the joke.] If you did not have plans and plots to fill a thousand tomes, I would worry you had returned to us half-formed, or with another's soul attached, perhaps. [the strip of linen cloth is next, wrapped neatly over the leaves, around set's head, mindful to leave every strand of crimson hair sleek and smooth. alia doesn't tie the cloth, remembering --] They said one of you was blindfolded, when you were killed. [softer, tucking the loose ends of the cloth in on themselves, perhaps less sturdy than a knot, but gentler.] Your mind may not remember, but your body will.
"Seem to have". You doubt your warm reception? [gently chiding, pulling out the jar of still-warm tea and pressing it into set's hands.] These games are different, sayidi. You have had a year's time to win hearts and devotion. The deaths are not of near-strangers, but of lovers, partners, family. [unscrewing the lid of the jar, with a sigh:] Such increased emotions muddy even the cleverest of machinations.