Washed Ashore [Alek | Open]

Kyrie shifted and settled again before raising a brow. She gave what seemed to be a long-suffering sigh.

"Getting drunk is not something I want to do, I must admit."

She drew in a slow breath, giving the glass another swirl, and stopped her exhale partway; it was then she tipped the contents of the glass into her mouth and down her throat.

The blonde finished exhaling after, not a sputter or cough to be had. But she knew the alcohol would hit, soon, and hard, just in other ways.

He grinned.

"Me either. I can't stand the taste. But you know, I find relationship building a timely and troublesome process. Alcohol paves the road far better than sitting around trying to decide what's on topic and what's off. With booze, everything is on the table. And best of all, you don't care that you told it."

He watched her down it, nodding and leaning forward to pour her a second before looking up at her.

"So, tell me about you who lost? Seems everyone has someone on this island."

Alcohol certainly granted a looser tongue, she could give him that much. She eyed Alek several long moments, her gaze sharp enough to show she wasn't so far gone just yet.

"Hnn... If you feel you must know, my sister's fiancé, in the attack five years ago. He was also my...then-boyfriend's brother."

To drink or not to drink..?

Instead of downing it, she took another sip, resisting the rather ridiculous impulse to drown it in liquor, though from her standpoint, she realized they were rather alike too alike, even - in their guilt over the death of someone important in their lives.

He brought both his eyebrows up. He watched her sip again and talk. Good- so she did come along with having lost someone close to her. And ouch, her boyfriends brother. That probably didn't end too well. He would pour himself a shot and down in, now clearly intoxicated.

"You see him die? You hold him in your arms while the breath left his lungs?"

He watched her, his words spoken casually, like the answer he was going to give her was more than obvious.

And it was.

"If I did, I'd be as full of arrows as he was, and wouldn't be here right now. It was the middle of a battle, we were getting families out—going for my family, at that. I left him as a human pincushion on the ground."

Duty-bound. She'd left him because she had to, not because she wanted to, or that every fibre of her being hadn't been screaming at her to turn back and eliminate them. She didn't say that Damien, headstrong as he was, defied her. The details didn't matter. What was done was done, and that was all that mattered.

Though her eyes narrowed and her response was more flat than neutral - thanks, alcohol - she still answered. He was just dishing the same she'd just given to him.

Press where it hurt.

He would shrug.

"I don't care if his ass was torn in half woman. The mans alive until proven otherwise. Take it from me- someone ain't dead until their proven dead, ya got me? More than once have I killed a man to find out he still lives."

He pounded back another drink, still uncaring if it upset her.

It did hurt. Because, somewhere among the ashes of what happened, there was a tiny ember of hope. She didn't want to fan it to a flame.

"There's that chance, no matter how abysmal." Kyrie managed to concede, deliberately slowing her speech somewhat to begin lapsing back to how she normally spoke; needing the small facet of self-control. "For now, I've found peace with what happened, and where I am, but there will always be some hurt, some guilt—it is just easier to manage. And that, too, I have accepted."

He raised his glass.

"Welcome to my world, girl."

He threw back the drink. He would gesture over at the radio and TV.

"Can play some music, or watch Tv. Unless you have more questions."

He didn't. He knew what he wanted. That she had lost, that she wasn't a blabber, that she accepted things about her past that some thought should be let go of. He would look back out the window, trying to remember now his sister and the fire.

The blonde's blue eyes roamed to the things he pointed out. But, not wanting to get up for the radio, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

"The television would be fine... I am not particularly bothered, either way."

She eyed her glass, deliberating over whether she should finish it and call it there, or call it while she was...ever so slightly ahead of the game. The beach...still had to be combed over for debris, after all. She would just have to drink water for a while before leaving.

He flicked the TV on and spoke calmly for being so drunk.

"Tell me about this boyfriend of yours."

Oh yeah, she wasn't going anywhere.

Her eyes drew themselves to the television screen, narrowing again at the question.

"...what in particular do you wish to know?"

He shrugged and grinned over at her.

"He hot or what? What's his name?"

Oh, but she wasn't impressed. Her eyes flicked over, noting his grin, before pulling back to the screen.

"Hot is one way of putting it. His name is David...Blaze."

She wasn't giving up the ghost just on a couple questions. Alek would either have to get very specific, or...

Alek would set down his glass and turn toward her, ignoring the TV fully now.

"Nah girl, I spilled my guts to you, now you get to return the favor. I'm drunk enough to not remember half of it anyway. Tell me about him."

Oh, he'd remember it all. He was too resilient now not to. Still, he wanted to put her at ease, and some thingsMIGHT still be a little blurry.

"Vous me parliez volontiers; je ne vous forcerai."

She turned to eye him, taking another short swallow before setting the glass down. She exhaled a sigh...and gave in.

"We haven't spoken in years, as we each have been avoiding the other. I cannot imagine he has changed terribly much; as far as I know..,he helps to construct buildings, now. He is...proud, but not overbearing, normally—and, he is able to admit when he is wrong, even if it takes time, sometimes. He can be stubborn and indecisive...but he also feels the weight of responsibility, and he is protective—especially of family and those closest to him. If anyone needed his help, asked him for it, he would be there. He tends to be self-sufficient and...does not easily lean on others...probably because he feels he has to be stronger, but...there is strength in allowing oneself to be vulnerable. He is kind, and patient, and charismatic; he could be a leader, if he so wanted to be. He feels deeply, and that - coupled with pride and stubbornness - can lead him to be rash, and even fiery, over what he is passionate about, and those he loves... He has never raised a hand in anger—not to anyone undeserving, not to me..." But that didn't stop her from being burned; words could hurt more, be felt longer, than physical wounds. "He is intelligent, and enjoys bantering, and laughing...and, he is loyal. Honest. Sincere. I see him for who he is - flaws and all - and love him—not despite them, but because of them. Because he is who he is, completely real."

She broke eye contact and looked to the screen, though her eyes weren't quite focused on it. After a brief moment she looked back to query, softly:

"...was that satisfactory..?"