[The Beatrix of the dream somehow seems so separate from the woman van Zieks has come to know in this place. Thirsty for battle, perhaps even bloodshed for its own sake—and sharp, her edge meant for cutting others down rather than for the wit and strategy the prosecutor has enjoyed. But there is no denying that this is the same prideful woman, whatever has occurred between this dream and now.
Barok would very much like to assume that this is nothing more than an unfortunate nightmare brought forth from the horrors of war, but there is a sense to it that feels worn, like the marks left from treading old, familiar paths. The puddles that gather in those spaces reflect more than the cloudy sky, in her dreams and his own.
As familiar as van Zieks has become with death, he will never truly accept the loss of innocents. Are such atrocities as the destruction of an entire people ever forgivable, even for a soldier following the orders of her queen?
And so, once he wakes, he withdraws into his thoughts for a time—and then on the next day, and the next, attending to his typical tasks between. He sees little reason to ambush her with accusations and concerns, with the distance she has displayed from her own feelings. Others have likely already done so, regardless.
It's only a few nights following the dream that their paths finally cross, or rather—that Beatrix's late patrol crosses under the man's view from where he stands on the deck of his towering abode. He still holds onto some faint hope that this is all merely a misunderstanding of her psyche, but his sleepless musings and tense posture as he's watched for her reveal them for the flimsy things they are.
The glitter of a blue reflected from the glass in his hand may draw her attention to him, if she doesn't look up on her own. Even if she doesn't, he'll stop her with a short address before she steps out of sight.]
no subject
Barok would very much like to assume that this is nothing more than an unfortunate nightmare brought forth from the horrors of war, but there is a sense to it that feels worn, like the marks left from treading old, familiar paths. The puddles that gather in those spaces reflect more than the cloudy sky, in her dreams and his own.
As familiar as van Zieks has become with death, he will never truly accept the loss of innocents. Are such atrocities as the destruction of an entire people ever forgivable, even for a soldier following the orders of her queen?
And so, once he wakes, he withdraws into his thoughts for a time—and then on the next day, and the next, attending to his typical tasks between. He sees little reason to ambush her with accusations and concerns, with the distance she has displayed from her own feelings. Others have likely already done so, regardless.
It's only a few nights following the dream that their paths finally cross, or rather—that Beatrix's late patrol crosses under the man's view from where he stands on the deck of his towering abode. He still holds onto some faint hope that this is all merely a misunderstanding of her psyche, but his sleepless musings and tense posture as he's watched for her reveal them for the flimsy things they are.
The glitter of a blue reflected from the glass in his hand may draw her attention to him, if she doesn't look up on her own. Even if she doesn't, he'll stop her with a short address before she steps out of sight.]
General.