fighting_mad | [OOM] Eiattu - Royal Apartments

Rial was possibly hoping that Plourr wouldn't be home. Mostly because the lovely red mark on his forehead from where Ramon prodded him with the gun is threatening to bruise, and that's the last thing he wants her to see.

On the other hand, they do need to talk. So he sidles into the main room, leaning on the wall and watching her silently.

He has no idea how he's going to ask if she ever wanted to sleep with a short, annoying man with a strange accent and a tendency for pissing people off.

Plourr makes a sharp, annoyed noise, and throws the folder that she had been studying. (Thankfully, she is wise enough to throw only the folder; she holds on to its contents.) The folder comes to a halt under the sofa, right near -- Rial's foot.

Plourr looks up. "Hi," she says, cranky but sheepish at being caught. "Wh--" Her eyebrows rise, and her head tilts to one side. "Get some paint on your head again?"

"Funny you should ask." The grin isn't really strong, and it fades fairly quickly as Rial crouches to pick up the folder and crosses the room.

"Plourr, do you know a man called Ramon...Ramon something? From Milliways?"

Her eyes snap to him. It isn't hard to read the emotion behind her dark expression: loathing, with a generous helping of anger, all directed toward Salazar.

If there's anything left over for Rial, it's a hint of wary tension.

"Ramon Salazar? You know that son of a bitch?"

"Yeah, well." Rial gestures vaguely with one hand, the knuckles split and bruised.

"We had a bit of a run-in togther. He said that you...well...he said that you had showed interest in making love to him."

Her lips thin. "Charming. I'm sure he put it just like that, too," she says.

Plourr's mouth has compressed into a dangerous line. She gathers a few nearby sheets of flimsi, taps the edges to make the pile neat, and precisely (too precisely) sets them down on the edge of the window seat. Then, and only then, she looks at Rial. "And you believed him?"

Her voice is steady, her expression calm, but snapping dark eyes give the game away.

"It was a little more earthy, yes."

Rial hesitates, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. On one hand, he wants to tell the truth - that the man didn't seem to be lying, that Plourr had come to the bar before him and maybe he'd wondered, a bit, if she'd ever had partners. On the other hand, he wants to say no, not at all, and kiss her and help her with the treasury reports and the defense minister's memos and let everything be okay.

In the end, he goes half and half.

"I did, to a certain degree. And then I did as a good consort does and defended my lady's honour."

"I--"

Rial has the rare distinction of seeing his wife (and her temper) totally and utterly derailed. She shoots him a startled look.

"You did what?"

"Defended my lady's honour."

Beat.

"Asked him outside and then punched him. I'm sure it would've been much longer and more dramatic if he hadn't pulled a weapon on me, but still."

"He did what."

Her voice cracks like a whip.

Whoops.

"It's okay, Plourr. Someone else broke us up. And I got one decent punch in, so he'll be walking around with a black eye for a while."

Her chin rises, fast and startled, and the 'snap' of her tenuous control on her temper is nearly audible.

"It is not 'okay,'" Plourr snaps, and she sets down the last of the files in her hand, hard, and she gets up. "You had a weapon put to your head." She knows that mark on his forehead for what it is, now, and it sends a jolt of fear right through her as she says it. She advances toward him as she speaks. "You asked a power-tripping psychopath to step outside with you. You could have been killed, Rial!

"And you think, you really think, that I would go anywhere near that odious little slime streak with anything but a vibroblade? I," she grits, enunciating clearly, "hate Ramon Salazar. You remember seven or eight months ago, I came home from the bar angry because I'd met somebody who'd hit on me and reacted like an asshole when I turned him down because I loved my husband? Remember how somebody called me a bitch and told me I'd be lucky if anyone at all wanted me with my mouth, that you were probably already cheating on me and were undoubtedly going to leave me? That was Salazar. He is a fucking liar. He says things to piss people off and to make them pick fights with him. And you would think low enough of me to believe him?"

She's shaking her head, now, standing close, face tight and furious. "I didn't punch him. I spoke to the Sithdamned man twice, and I didn't punch him. And do you know why I didn't punch him?" She is, as before, not waiting for a response. "Because I promised you I'd try to control my temper; that I wasn't going to hit somebody and wind up in the cells again. That is one hell of a double standard, Rial Pernon!

"So no," she says, and there is more than just this behind the way that her fists are clenched white-knuckled at her sides; there is old anger as well as new, "everything is not kriffing okay!"

No. No, everything's not, and maybe Rial is only just now seeing this. He takes a step back, out of Plourr's space, anger already starting to cloud his face as well.

"I believed a man who seemed to be telling the truth for a split-second. And then I invited him outside so that I could show him exactly what I thought of his idea of you." He takes a breath, calm, controlled, masking sharp annoyance. "I wasn't expecting a weapon. I wasn't expecting him to react the way he did. But nothing happened. So."

Plourr really must be rubbing off on him. Or maybe he's cranky, because as he turns away he mumbles "Not like I generally have a problem controlling my temper."

"Hey," she says, and she catches his arm. "Don't walk away from me. You honestly believed that I would cheat on you?"

She can't decide how she feels -- furious, upset, sharp, astonished, hurt, all warring for dominance -- and her ever-changing expression is impossible to pin down.

But her voice is quieter.

"He just said that you'd met and you'd been interested in him. Plourr, for all I knew, it could've happened when we'd fought or - before." Before us is what he wants to say, but that'd be far too cheesy and he doesn't think she would appreciate it.

"I didn't know what to think."

She looks, for a painfully honest second, like he'd slapped her across the face.

"Never," she says, and her voice is raw. "Rial, I would never. I can't believe--"

That he wouldn't trust her.

When they fight, Rial is always the one who leaves; who goes to clear his head or calm down. Plourr stays. Plourr dukes the thing out until it's done.

But she can't bring herself to finish her sentence. She takes a step back. She puts her hands up, shaking her head more at the floor than at him, her teeth sunk in to her lower lip, and she goes to brush past him.

He doesn't let her.

(this is all wrong. Rial is the one who leaves, Plourr is the one who stays and fights and she's not supposed to look like that, fragile and distressed and she's supposed to be the strong one, the one who throws the punches.

He's not supposed to be the bad guy here)

Rial reaches out and catches her upper arm, firmly, turning her until he can look in the eyes. The words don't come easily, at first - in fact, they never do.

He hesitates, tongue-tied, for a second. "Plourr, I don't-" know what to say or what to do I love you I trust you I would never I'm sorry, "I wouldn't-"

"What?" she asks, and she tries to snap but it falls flat, leaving her tense and red-eyed and tired, looking up at him. "You wouldn't what, Rial?"

"I hit him because he dared to suggest that you would cheat on me."

Among other things, but it's as best as he can explain himself.

"But you dared to believe it," she says quietly, and she wraps her arms around herself as best she can. "I haven't been with anyone but you since the day we got married. I would never."

She lowers his gaze from his. "I can't believe I feel like I have to say that." She pauses as she shakes her head.

She looks back up, her eyes red-rimmed and her voice a touch unsteady. "I vaping hate this, Rial. All we've been doing lately is fighting."

Rial can't believe she's saying it either. Can't believe that he would believe it, but when it came to that...when it came to that, he believed Ramon. For a moment, just a moment.

He hates that.

"I hate it too," he says, reaching out as if to touch her face. "I'm sorry, I wish - I wish we weren't fighting so much. I wish things were better."

Plourr doesn't make a move to stop his hand. "Don't wish," she says, with one shake of her head. "Wishing won't do a thing. We have to talk--about -- things; hell, I don't know, Rial." She runs a frustrated hand through her hair, and then tucks it back against her side again. "I'm no good at this."

"I don't know either," he says, bringing his hand back and running it through his hair. "We need to talk, you're right. Whatever's been bothering you. Whatever's been bothering me. Everything."

They just need communication, is all.

Plourr pauses, clearly considering, and then she takes a step backward. Another, and another, and she sits down on one side of the windowseat. She leans over and unceremoniously shoves the files off of the other half of the seat, scattering loose sheets of flimsi across the floor.

She looks at him, hand on the back of her neck. "I've got a couple of hours if you do."

There's maybe a smile, there, and Rial sits as well, brushing sheets of flimsi off his knees.

"Care to go first?"

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