Annamarie watched the two, her head tilted in a manner that made it doubtful if she fully understood the matter of the conflict.
“A favour?” Mariane pinched the bridge of her nose with a grimace and pained groan, “Bloody hell! You didn't specify the details, did you? Listen, you just… she gets confused sometimes…”
Now, just what was that look for? In the past, Nikklaus would match a confrontation with his own anger, which Marianne would vastly prefer to… whatever this was. Conflict made sense, this didn't. By the way he shrunk back, he practically looked like she had just hit him. Try as she might, she could not decipher that look on his face, or untangle the anima's hue.
He wasn't alone in this sentiment. Even after she had adjusted her tone, trying her best not to frighten off the girl, Mariana still looked ready to bolt at the first chance that presented itself. Just like Nikk, she had the distinct air of anxiousness about her.
A red-hot lump gathered in Marianne's throat as ice filled her gut. She held her free hand tightly to her side, clutching her fingers so hard against her skirt that she could feel the nails above the fabric.
It just didn't make sense. None of it made sense. No matter what she did or said, people were always left uncomfortable. What was she doing wrong? Why was this so hard? It was easiest to dismiss the remarks of her kin, but when it was outsiders who echoed it, well, it was clear to see who the common denominator was. The fiery blaze of self-criticism only made Marianne’s expression more sour, her voice sharper. It cut through the tension like a knife, made overbearing by the meekness of the other two.
“No, absolutely not! You’ve already come this far, might as well ask!” Her eyes were dark and wrathful from the inner conflict. Try as she might, her voice was a little too prim for what she intended. The frustrations towards her shortcomings had seeped into her words and only heightened her air of hostility. This in turn only fed the fury. Quite the predicament.
She tightened her grip on Annamarie’s hand, wishing yet again that she could be a lot more like her twin. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, her flesh could become cold porcelain too. Marble hearts, red thread, old paint.
Marianne let out a weary, frustrated sigh. She couldn’t stand the look on Nikklaus’ face, but it wasn’t as if she could go anywhere. There was no place to go but through. Defeated, her voice lowered, “Alright, let’s just… let’s just start over shall well? Right. I told you I’d do my best to help you, so let’s hear it. I do want to help. Just next time, ask me first? Please? Annamarie doesn’t handle vagueness well. I wouldn't want either of you to get hurt.”
She felt awful, but as punishment for causing such distress to her peers, Marianne forbid herself from retreating into the seclusion she desired. There would be no escape until she got this absolutely perfect. No matter how much effort, time and pain it cost her. As it had always done, the sharp spurs drove her forward.
Marianne cleared her voice with a cough and her posture straightened. The rage had been hammered down into a determined look in her eye. She held up a finger and in a manner-of-fact tone she pitched the question she had tried to ask yesterday, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you both if you’d be interested in a study group organized by Rook and myself. Although I cannot say just how far my own experiences will go, I can help beginners catch up with the basics. I know a great deal about arcanist society too. I was born into it, you see, which I'm not confident was the case for most of the other students."
She turned her gaze to Mariana, a little less certain than before, "Also, Mariana? I want to apologize for yesterday. I was a bit too harsh on you when you most certainly have a lot on your mind already. The last thing I'd want to do is make you feel isolated, even if I probably did."
Marianne looked at the ground again. There, she had finally managed to say it.
“A favour?” Mariane pinched the bridge of her nose with a grimace and pained groan, “Bloody hell! You didn't specify the details, did you? Listen, you just… she gets confused sometimes…”
Now, just what was that look for? In the past, Nikklaus would match a confrontation with his own anger, which Marianne would vastly prefer to… whatever this was. Conflict made sense, this didn't. By the way he shrunk back, he practically looked like she had just hit him. Try as she might, she could not decipher that look on his face, or untangle the anima's hue.
He wasn't alone in this sentiment. Even after she had adjusted her tone, trying her best not to frighten off the girl, Mariana still looked ready to bolt at the first chance that presented itself. Just like Nikk, she had the distinct air of anxiousness about her.
A red-hot lump gathered in Marianne's throat as ice filled her gut. She held her free hand tightly to her side, clutching her fingers so hard against her skirt that she could feel the nails above the fabric.
It just didn't make sense. None of it made sense. No matter what she did or said, people were always left uncomfortable. What was she doing wrong? Why was this so hard? It was easiest to dismiss the remarks of her kin, but when it was outsiders who echoed it, well, it was clear to see who the common denominator was. The fiery blaze of self-criticism only made Marianne’s expression more sour, her voice sharper. It cut through the tension like a knife, made overbearing by the meekness of the other two.
“No, absolutely not! You’ve already come this far, might as well ask!” Her eyes were dark and wrathful from the inner conflict. Try as she might, her voice was a little too prim for what she intended. The frustrations towards her shortcomings had seeped into her words and only heightened her air of hostility. This in turn only fed the fury. Quite the predicament.
She tightened her grip on Annamarie’s hand, wishing yet again that she could be a lot more like her twin. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, her flesh could become cold porcelain too. Marble hearts, red thread, old paint.
Marianne let out a weary, frustrated sigh. She couldn’t stand the look on Nikklaus’ face, but it wasn’t as if she could go anywhere. There was no place to go but through. Defeated, her voice lowered, “Alright, let’s just… let’s just start over shall well? Right. I told you I’d do my best to help you, so let’s hear it. I do want to help. Just next time, ask me first? Please? Annamarie doesn’t handle vagueness well. I wouldn't want either of you to get hurt.”
She felt awful, but as punishment for causing such distress to her peers, Marianne forbid herself from retreating into the seclusion she desired. There would be no escape until she got this absolutely perfect. No matter how much effort, time and pain it cost her. As it had always done, the sharp spurs drove her forward.
Marianne cleared her voice with a cough and her posture straightened. The rage had been hammered down into a determined look in her eye. She held up a finger and in a manner-of-fact tone she pitched the question she had tried to ask yesterday, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you both if you’d be interested in a study group organized by Rook and myself. Although I cannot say just how far my own experiences will go, I can help beginners catch up with the basics. I know a great deal about arcanist society too. I was born into it, you see, which I'm not confident was the case for most of the other students."
She turned her gaze to Mariana, a little less certain than before, "Also, Mariana? I want to apologize for yesterday. I was a bit too harsh on you when you most certainly have a lot on your mind already. The last thing I'd want to do is make you feel isolated, even if I probably did."
Marianne looked at the ground again. There, she had finally managed to say it.