His wound was healing nicely now, the right side of his face was less bloody - though the cuts and lacerations were still a somewhat bright and fresh, they no longer looked ugly and infected. He had managed to keep himself sorted, with the help of a few others. @Melusina being one of them. Their last encounter had been rather...interesting, but he hoped that he could still look to her for assistance concerning his face.

It became obvious that he needed to know about medical things in order to help himself. Dominic wasn't keen on relying on others if he could help it, even if he did love them. He'd move along the territory of the gardens with idle interest, studying each little flower he came across. He wasn't truly aware of what they were used for, or if they were, but he wanted to learn. A sigh escapes him as he sniffs at them individually, choosing to pick a few here and there with the intention of asking Melusina what she thought.


+5 +10 - Collect herbs
+5 +10 - Study the flora of a neutral territory
+20 +40 - Learn something from a Master of your trade

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It's easier to drift further and further away from the Brook. She lingers on its outskirts like a ghost somedays; others, she trudges through her tasks in some broad show of duty. But no matter how deep her loyalty is driven, there is an inescapable force festering within the heart of Vermeda and the heart of her. And it's easier to—just—get away.

She wraiths about the gardens as if she was always meant for them. Delicate hands plucked flowers with focused perfection, careful to save just enough to maintain growth while being so very greedy otherwise. There is no denying Melusina is a master of her craft, but there is no joy in her forlorn gaze, there is no love in her methodical, almost-robotic movements.

At some point, she spots him from between the trees, their paths crossed purely by chance.

Or some other, fantastical, forgettable thing.

I didn't take you for one to pick flowers, she peers from between the flora, lifting a single brow, @Dominic.

The sound of another approaching hadn't initially drawn him from his task; he was determined to try and remember every scent and detail of the flowers he studied.

One in particular had a stronger scent than others and primarily consisted of green leafing; there was a slight sheen to the leaves. This caused the leaves to catch his attention before anything else.

Before he could focus on pulling some from the bush he'd found, the sound of her voice fills the air. While his intention was to find her eventually to ask about these herbs, he hadn't really been mentally prepared for seeing her again.

Ears sweep back and his head shoots up abruptly; the beast clears his throat, "Ah, yeah...trying to learn." He offers in a low, gruff tone. "So I can take care of myself." The scarring on his features twists into a scowl; primarily at himself. Why did he feel a need to explain himself?

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Their tension had never quite settled. She's allowed it to simmer, to settle in the back of her mind as an unease she reflects on now and then. She regards it with such a clinical manner that it surprises even herself. She has spent so long in fight or flight that it was easier to simply coexist, as if nothing had ever happened at all. As if he'd never told her he loved her and she never said it back.

Ah, yeah...trying to learn, @Dominic murmurs, So I can take care of myself.

Uh...huh, Melusina replies, lifting her brow. I thought you were more interesting than that.

Herb-picking was for the weak and those foolish enough to enjoy the moaning and groaning of others. There was wonder in the science, of course—and the application of her knowledge in the battlefield has often given her the upper hand. She often finds herself marveled by how they body works; how powerful it is to feel the weight of life in her hands.

But herb-gathering? Frolicking through a meadow like some lackadaisical babysitter?

Blegh.

That one you're carrying? She points a single claw toward one of the herbs he was carrying, thoughtfully nestled among the others. Is enough to kill ten grown lions.

It wasn't.

He shouldn't have let her words get to him, but despite himself the hair along his back prickled at her words. Realizing she was on the left side of him, Dominic was sure to keep the right side of his face faced away. He wasn't keen on seeing her reaction to his face now that it was healed - now that the lack of an eye was more evident without all the gore masking it.

"Likewise." He muttered in response, instinctively throwing out the insult before he could stop himself. It annoyed him that she could even prompt such rudeness. Scowling, his head raises, but he keeps his head angled still.

She does on to explain one of the herbs he was carrying. A single brow arches as he looks down to the herbs at his feet, particularly at the one she pointed to. "Might be useful later, then, I suppose." He has no way of knowing she was messing with him, so he turned slightly to gather more of it, studying the details of the plant and attempting to commit it to memory.


+5 +10 - Collect herbs
+5 +10 - Study the flora of a neutral territory

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His wounds never bothered her. A perk of being a medic, she supposes. She has seen parts of lions no others would ever care to know, and if @Dominic were ever-so-eager to follow down that same path, then she would not stop him. She would never shy from his maimed, gnarled face; if there was one good thing left about Melusina, it was that she would never find his handsomeness skin-deep.

Likewise, he jabs. She blinks, then laughs.

But then her laughter fades, replaced by genuine surprise by his answer.

Might be useful later, then, I suppose.

She was expecting fear, the innate instinct to drop everything he was carrying and back away from it as far as possible. She wouldn't have blamed him for it—even the most confident of fledgling medics respected the lethality of poisons. But perhaps more, she was expecting doubt. She was expecting knowledge. Perhaps he already knew what it was, perhaps he was going to call her out on her bullshit.

She remembers larkspur. Why had she been collecting larkspur? Oh—

Alright, assassin, she rolls her eyes, Why don't I call Lathan for you instead?

Some part him wanted to assume she was joking. Was that the case? That the herb he had in his little worn pouch wasn't something that could truly do so much damage. If it were, why hadn't she used it on her enemies. Cassius?

Dominic knew the answer to that, and he shoved it away - deep into a dark crevice. For now. The lush length of his tail sweeps behind him as the musical lilt of the birds around them began to grow louder, swirling around them before they darted off somewhere, toward the wooded area.

His gaze followed those fluttering wings for a moment...wishing he could fly away too. Dominic is brought back by the sound of her laughter. While he might've enjoyed that sound, he worried that it might be disingenuous.

Attention shifts back to her, "Whoever that is, no. I thought you might be lying to get a rise out of me. What is this, truly?" If she doubled down, he'd have no choice but to believe her - otherwise, maybe she'd actually teach him something real.

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Whoever that is, no.

She expects that answer. She wouldn't have wanted to get Lathan for him—more than likely, she would have been denied simply because @Dominic was not a member of Vermeda. What use was there in teaching someone something from which the pride would not benefit? Melusina could make the same argument here. She is certainly bitter enough. Dominic was finding joy and fulfillment in the very same thing she found as her prison.

I thought you might be lying to get a rise out of me.

What is this, truly?

Bluestem, she admits, with a casual roll of her shoulders. Completely harmless.

Wraithlike, she makes her way toward him, until she eases to a stop at a just-comfortable distance. Her eyes, curious and prying, wander over the state of him—healthier, fuller. He'd been keeping better care of himself, or had found someone to do it for him. It relieves her, though she shows little to admit it.

I just don't understand why, she continues, lifting a single brow, You could choose to be anything.

If she had been given the choice, she would have picked ten thousand other things before she picked being a healer. It was a job for the soft and compassionate, those who willingly let themselves work those countless, thankless hours for those who would either die or would not remember them and the sleepless sacrifices they made keeping them alive.

You are choosing the most noble of professions, Tinúviel had once justified to her.

But I did choose anything, Melusina had protested.

But Tinúviel had just laughed, told her that one day she would understand.

How very lucky you are, she snarls out of her reverie, reactionary; she regrets it almost immediately.

Bluestem. He takes the information and stores it in the back of his mind for later use. Nostrils flare as he takes a deep inhale of the scent it carried, doing his best to remember that as well. A single ear sweeping back in her direction is the only indication he was paying attention to her. He continues to quietly observe the flora nearby, but he was keenly aware of the distance she kept between them.

Of course.

It's only when she speaks about her lack of understanding that Dominic finally turns to look at her. The empty socket of his eye was on full display now, along with the jagged scars that seemed to snake out like winding tendrils, wrapping along the right side of his face. "This jealousy and bitterness," He drawls slowly, his heart tightening in his chest as he speaks, "Is getting boring." Dominic stops, watching her reaction closely, his nose wrinkling a bit as he shifts his back limbs, allowing his body to angle and face her more head on now.

"So you were born small, so you were born without balls. Isn't it exhausting trying to prove to others your worth?" Perhaps it was privileged of him to say these things. He was neither small nor a woman, but his life had by no means been easy. Being the son of a Savante came with it's own challenges. It's own struggles. For so long he'd wondered why he wasn't wanted, if his Father even actually cared for him. He had so many kids just like him. Dominic had even, once upon a time, wanted to prove he could be a good son.

The Moon name, while didn't come with any sort of expectations, didn't stop the worry of disappointing his Mother from weighing him down. "It can't just be for yourself." It couldn't. Not with how fervent she was about it. How she looked at him and he could feel her annoyance, her disapproval. Dominic wasn't doing this for anyone; he wasn't doing it to save others, her help them. It was for his own survival and if others were benefited as a secondary result, then so be it.

Lucky? Dominic wasn't lucky. He was alone, he had nothing - despite her envy - Melusina had far more than he had his entire life.


+20 +40 - Learn something from a Master of your trade

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He regards her with apathy, with a practiced indifference. And Melusina feels her heart wrenching in a million different ways, for what a good job she's done of tearing to shit the foundation of their relationship. What had once been built on shared strife, tested by time and distance yet still resolutely strong. She had taken him and crushed what they had into a thousand irreconcilable differences.

For what, a petty grudge against a boy who used to bully her?

Something deeper lingers there. Some distant desire to shut him out by force, because she is so undeserving of his love and he is so dogged about giving it to her. And, like a snake, she can do nothing but recoil and lash out, uncaring of who or what she destroys in the process.

She could be happy with him. She could flee Vermeda and never look back, and she is certain she would regret none of it.

But Melusina doesn't want to be happy.

She wants recompense.

And justice spares no feelings.

This jealousy and bitterness, he begins with a low drawl, is getting boring.

She crinkles her nose.

So you were born small, so you were born without balls. Isn't it exhausting trying to prove to others your worth?

I'm not allowed to feel fucking bitter? she demands, her ears pinning back against the sides of her head. You of all people should feel just as bitter as me.

The sight of his scar has never scared her. She regards it with almost clinical indifference—the side effect not from a lack of anger that Cassius had attacked him, but from the mere fact that seeing such malice and such disfiguration has become so commonplace to her that she no longer thinks it anything at all. His scars have become as much a part of him as his very skin.

The distance between them begins to shut. She's stalking forward without thinking. Her mouth presses into a pointed frown, and as she comes to a stop just before him her brows are furrowed, angry.

She fights, because it's a thousand times easier than crying.

Go pick your flowers, @Dominic, she finally says, Pardon me for trying to spare you from the most boring, thankless job anyone could ever have.

She tears her gaze from his. Her anger starts to fizzle.

It can't just be for yourself.

There is no higher calling.

I do it to prove my worth. Her sigh comes through gritted teeth. And it is exhausting, so yes, I am bitter.

And she is jealous. Jealous that he was born a man, jealous that he gets to choose and still chooses this.