Fickle of Heart

Ari

Ring Ring. Ring Ring. It is the first of Spring!

It is early where she is. Before dawn early.  Before the sky begins to lighten early.  But the timezones between them do him the favor of softening the blow. For not all Robins like spring time.  Not all Robins like morning.

It is Arianna's number on his phone.

Rob

Some Robins are, of course, excellent examples of Hermeticism and diligence, are serene at the crack of daybreak and serene at the tolling of midnight, and are serene when they look at their cell phone and see an old friend calling. 

People's voices are different on the phone. He sounds younger, but also stronger, richer.

"Yes?"

Ari

"Kestrel?"

It sounds different for her to call him this from so many hundreds of miles away.  It sounds strange for this piece of his name to be so transmitted, transmuted by the networks ---

--- no. Not just that. It is different because her voice is low, and somewhat raspy.  It is not entirely well.  There is the edge of ill-ease to it.

"Might I bother you a moment?"  And absent is the playfulness, the touch of mercury and something-shining.  He cannot know that she sits in the darkness where she is, that she has rested her elbows on her knees and that she is waiting. On. Something.  One hand holds her phone; it carries his voice to her. The other her wand.  He cannot know, but he might suspect.

Rob

"Yes, I am listening," Rob says. He manages not to sound wry; he understands that people need to wind up, need to work their way in. Ari can hear nothing of ambient noise on the other line, and the connection seems clear as crystal. 

Ari

Ari is usually one of those people. They dance around a topic, taking steps toward its center and away. Shifting. Or at least they had been like this, once upon a time ago.  So the candor might be abrupt in her, or jarring even in his puddle of serenity and calm.

"Have you means to tell if a man's mind is all his own?"  It is wrong.  There is a tension to her words where there should be levity. It should be a feint, not something deeper. "And do you think it to be within my grasp of Ars Mentis?"

Rob

"Yours? No. Why do you ask; who do you suspect of being under influence?"

Ari

Damn.  She does not need to voice the thought for it to carry clearly in the silence on the line.

"I do not know what I suspect just yet. I had hoped to rule the possibility out."  There is quiet on her end of the line as well. It is not as crystal clear and perfect as his.

"I suppose there are less expedient ways in which to do that.  And Kestrel? -- thank you. For what you taught me when we were all together.  And thank you for answering at this ungodly hour," there is levity, here, but it is forced. It is thin and barely brimming over the watchfulness in her voice.  Which is kept low, so as not to disturb someone sleeping.

Rob

"Yes, yes. Now answer my question as I have answered yours, Ari. 'I do not know what I suspect just yet.' I cry bullshit."

Ari

There is a quiet, and perhaps it angers him.  But Ari, who is quite fluent and generous with her words is reticent this early morning. She is cautious with them.

"An old friend of mine is here in Denver.  We are close, but we have been apart.  He seems changed."  A pause.  There is no good way to speak this to a Tytalan; no good way to admit wounds or weakness.  "After a manner, he has hurt me.  It is out of character."

"At least I'd like to think it to be so."

She rubs at her forehead with the heel of her hand.

Rob

Is he made angry by her quiet? It is often difficult to tell when Robin is, truly, angry. Of course it is, because anger is weakness. He is readier to show irritation, faux-annoyance, than he is to show real anger. Real anger begets trouble.

He silent a while after she has finished speaking. Not quite long enough for her to think they have been disconnected, but enough of a space for it to be of note.

"People change, Ari. People change and they don't always know how to behave around others. How close they are does not factor in when it comes to the moment of hurt. How did he hurt you 'after a manner'? Or what of it was out of character?"

Ari

There is a quiet then, which stretches far longer than its due.  He can almost hear her attempts at working sounds together to form words and it is good that they have the phone between them, far better that they do not stand face to face where she would have to step fully into the armor of her misdirections.

There are any of a dozen platitudes she could offer him, and Robin Anton Kestrel would sweep each of them off the table as quickly as she could speak them.  It leaves her spellbound after a fashion -- Arianna Giametti with nothing to say? The quiet stretches to where it is uncomfortable.

"You're right, Robin," she says.  She hardly ever calls him Robin.  "People change.  I was foolish to think otherwise -- and I am lucky to have you to call me on my bullshit."

A beat.

"Anyway... happy spring."

Rob

"If you aren't going to give me specifics, I can't use my superior understanding of human motivation and character to give you a more accurate perspective," Robin says. He says it calmly, and not unkindly; perhaps a little unkindly.

"You'll have Thane soon if you don't have him already. Don't let him get you skyclad," he deadpans, by way of happy Spring. Seasons do not touch Robins. 

Ari

"To give you specifics, Kestrel, I would have to Name the thing." This is said so plainly that it may seem simple, as if it draws nothing more out of her than the words themselves. As if they were effortless: he knows better.  "I am not ready to give it that weight.  I am not ready to make it immanent."

It is an answer to the little bit of unkindliness in his tone.  It gives way; it gives more away than she knows.  But yes, soon, Thane will be there. Thane will be there and there will be jokes and laughter about being skyclad.  It warms her a little; there is the slightest huff of amusement on the line.

Rob

"Never thought you were faint of heart, Ari," Rob says, and he may well be mocking her, needling her, though this next bit is an offhand and true remark which becomes confiding: "Word is fickle of heart perhaps, but we both know that isn't true."

Ari

"Would that I were, Kestrel. That I were fickle of heart.  It would make the rest of this all the easier."  This, too, is a confidence.  It is a thing half-hoped and not likely to erupt into being.

"I miss you," she tells him, and before he can object to it or sneak some ridiculous comment in between, she continues. And it is more like they usually are; she is a bit redeemed and returned to herself for having spoken with him. "I should come to visit and drink your wine and make dinner for you and then, if you still want to know, I will tell you -- but not until we are well and truly drunk; because even Tytalans get well and truly drunk, I have heard it; I have been told.  And then you will know how foolish and faint of heart I am, and I will even let you tell me of it.  Three-fold. And what you say three-fold is true, Kestrel."

A pause.

"What you say is often true."

A pause again.

"I should let you go."

Rob

"Arianna. You are welcome to visit when you're back in town, but you chose Denver over Connecticut. I hope you don't forget that. I won't."

"Send Thane home with some Broncos swag. Happy spring."

And then the silence before a phone call is severed.