18th of Saun, Arc 720
No matter how long Cierne had been friends with Diaval, she still couldn’t get over the fact that his kindness to her was born out of pure intentions.
It seemed like when she was younger everyone she befriended would stay dear until it no longer benefited them. No one cared about her. No one cared how she felt in the end. Sometimes they would up and leave, stop communicating with her with no explanation as to why.
Cierne may have a dark side that can be all too prevalent at times, but when it came to friends and family, she was loyal and only just a little bit of a brat; not too much so as to suggest it would be better to leave her friendship. She was an extremely passionate individual who would often give so much of herself just to make someone feel special (if she thought they deserved it).
But after time and time again of not receiving anything in return, her passion dwindled, dissolved, became a desecrated mess that resulted as a pile of bleh at her feet. Cierne soon had no motivation whatsoever to pick it up and reassemble the pieces.
People used her, and that irked her to such an extent that she felt the only way to react was to do the same unto others. But Diaval? He was different.
She would give him bountiful amounts of tough love, she’d push his buttons until even she would have exploded in a bout of anger, but everything she did to him didn’t deter him from wanting to still be her friend. This surprised Cierne at first. She tried everything in her power to shake him. Fear drove her to distance herself and trauma forced her to never again want anything to do with anyone. But Diaval was a persistent little bugger and as much as that annoyed Cierne at the beginning, she was glad he hadn’t left her now.
Sometimes she would wonder why he stayed. His charisma, dashing good looks, and ability to grasp any new hobby so quickly certainly made him desirable in anyone’s eyes. She had even broached the subject once or twice, asking him why he had put up with her crap all those seasons ago; why he hadn’t flocked to just about anyone else. He had simply shrugged and told her that he didn’t really want to be around anyone else. Initially Cierne thought this was because of some form of unrequited love but no matter how many times she bluntly asked him if he liked her in that way, no matter how many times she hinted at liking him back (albeit a lie), he was steadfast in his decision to just remain friends.
Presently, that left Cierne with still little to no information as to why someone like Diaval would deal with the crazy that is Cierne. But she really didn’t care anymore. She wasn’t as bratty, as cruel or dismissive as she had been before. She and Diaval had grown close over the seasons and she liked exactly where they stood with one another.
But not physically. Because right now Diaval was all up in her personal space, watching her intently as she tried writing down some key words she knew from the common language of the Quacians: Vahanic.
“My man, you’re a little too in my zone if you know what I mean,” she nearly hissed. He slowly inched away in response.
She scribbled harder on her paper (which she had taken from Everton the day before). He had lent her a pencil, but what good was just a pencil without something to write on? So she had taken some paper too.
“You know I could help you with that,” Diaval suggested with his notorious foreign lilt. Cierne had always loved his accent. It was so unique; she had never before heard anyone with that type of accent until having met him.
Cierne, being the hard headed and extremely independent woman she was, hated when she couldn’t understand things on her own. She also disliked asking for help even when she really needed it. Fortunately, Diaval hadn’t embellished his words with any over abundance of confidence or pride, which would have been another no-no for the Naer.
“Fine,” she said, pushing the paper and pencil away with frustration.
Diaval knew several languages because his family always travelled. Here and there, he would pick up new words and dialects, but he didn’t know much more than Cierne did. Except in Vahanic which was his first language. He had been born in the city and raised there too, giving him an advantage that Cierne just didn’t have. Although, Diaval wasn’t the best speaker of common, so Cierne would always be able to hang that over him if she needed to (she still had a mean streak every now and then!).
Diaval whispered something under his breath as he reached for and took the paper and pencil.
“What’s that?” Cierne asked with a narrowing of her eyes.
He smirked. “Just saying you don’t have to be a brat about it… in Vahanic.”
She playfully pushed him, brandishing a smirk of her own. “Just teach me some stuff already.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, raising his arms in mock surrender. “How about some slang?”
The Naer nodded her head, taking the paper and pencil from her friend. She was ready to take notes again, she just needed a little break. Besides, she loved slang and used it often. To be able to use it in another language intrigued her.
He spouted some words at her, all of which sounded harsh. There were strong ‘k’s and sharp ‘s’s she didn’t recognize. “You sure you’re speaking Vahanic?”
He widened his eyes at her, feigning confusion. “I think so,” he jested with sarcasm.
Cierne rolled her eyes and wrote down some of the words he had said.
“Mehka zorro da nyett,” he grunted. “I’m sure you’ll use that one at the bars.” He smirked and ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair. His hazel eyes shined in the tent’s dim candle light. He was having fun teaching her this stuff, but he kind of sucked at being a teacher. He hadn’t told her what the phrase meant!
“Which means…” Cierne prompted, turning her paper towards him so he could make sure she got the spelling of the phrase right.
He nodded his head at the words on the page and continued. “Cup a’sum, which means I’ll have some more of that drink.”
Cierne hastily wrote down his translation.
“I’ve gotta be honest with you Ceer, I’m not the best person when it comes to languages. My common isn’t all that great so it makes for a pretty bad translation. I was just trying to impress you.”
Cierne scoffed, duly noting his honesty and effort. “I know, but hey, I did learn something.” She paused, trying to formulate the right words to express her observation. “Vahanic sounds like a bunch of angry men squabbling.”
Diaval brushed a stray strand of hair away from his face and chuckled. “I guess so.”
There was a lull in the conversation but it wasn’t an awkward one. The two enjoyed each other’s company even when there wasn’t much to say. But for some strange reason Cierne needed to fill the gap with something. And there was one thing that had been on her mind for the past few days. Diaval had dodged it then, but that was because he had the opportunity to. It had been late and Cierne needed to tell Everton something before he went to bed. But now, there was nowhere he could go without making his avoidance obvious… and awkward. And they both hated awkward.
They were sitting down in her tent, heads bent over a piece of paper that Cierne had just finished writing on. It seemed like a good moment to ask.
“So what really happened between you and your brother?”
Diaval didn’t say anything at first. He was picking at the dead skin of his fingers and nodding his head to some imaginary tune.
“Hmm?” He said as though he hadn’t heard her.
“You know what I said. You two used to be so close and then you just stopped liking one another.”
“I guess we just drifted apart.”
“Bullshit,” she deadpanned, causing him to look up at her with wide eyes. “I’m your best friend. I know when stuff suddenly changes with you. You may not tell me everything that goes on at home but I know something happened between you two. You can tell me, Dee, seriously.”
Was she pushing him too hard for information that really wasn’t any of her business?
The Biqaj sighed, his hazel eyes shifting to a dull grey. Cierne knew she had pushed the right button to have caused him some grief (as noted by his change in eye color), but she figured by talking it would make him feel better (really she was just super curious).
“He got in some trouble with some friends and stole some money from my parents to get out of it.”
The explanation was short and simple, but it spoke volumes. His family, from what Cierne knew, was tightly knit. No one ever lied because Diaval’s parents were avid observers and would sniff out the fib before it was even out of anyone’s mouths. No one ever fought because they were such free-spirited people and extremely kind; there was no reason to fight. And both Diaval and his brother had been raised to be intelligent, caring men. What trouble could his brother have possibly gotten into?
The Naer voiced her ponderings, hoping she wasn’t asking for too much.
“I don’t know Cee,” he huffed, folding his arms across his chest in frustration. “I guess he couldn’t put his money where his mouth was so he had to borrow ours. Lost a bet.”
Cierne took a moment to contemplate with a finger to her temple to boot.
She had gotten what she wanted out of him, or so she thought, but at what cost? To ruffle his feathers and explain something he truly didn’t want to? She couldn’t assume that talking about it made him feel better. She simply wanted to know because she was manipulative and greedy. But now she felt something. Remorse? Guilt? It was a strange phenomenon she didn’t experience often, but right at that moment she did. And she didn’t like it.
“Umm, hey,” she announced, looking over his standoffish posture and indifferent gaze. “Why don’t we get something to eat? There’s this thing at the bar I work at that I wanna try.”
Diaval slanted her a glance. He was still riled up, but he was able to manage a small smile. “You don’t mean…”
“I do.”
And they both turned to each other and said at the same time: “pizza!”
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