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(no subject)

Who: Leto + You
Broadcast: Video
Action: N/A
When:

[ The video flickers on to Leto sitting on his bed, kicking his legs briefly. He grins when the video starts recording, pushing himself onto his feet. He tilts his head, that odd bird-like movement he often exhibits. ]

I have heard some interesting things of late, so I thought I'd put the question to you all. When you fall in love, can you only love one person? Can you fall in love with multiple people? Is love something you find yourself stopping after just one?

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[ Gently. ] I do.

So the question now is; will you let me?

I will. [ Not because she feels as though she doesn't have a choice, but because she has a choice. She can choose to have this man in her life or to reject him. It is strange to think it. ]

[ He smiles, his eyes crinkling. He looks younger than he is. ]

We can continue this face to face if you prefer.

[ That brings out a tense moment of silence and she has to force herself to speak through the block in the throat. ]

So long as we do not touch, or get close enough for it.

If you are worried, you need not be. You cannot hurt me.

But I shall respect your wishes. Shall I see you on the Starstruck?

Yes. [ Her voice is a little more hoarse, now, but she repeats herself still. ] Yes, we shall meet.

Wait for me.

[ He words it like a promise, to reassure her that he's not going to leave her alone. After that, the connection closes as he makes his way to one of the shuttles. ]

[ And she does wait. True, she makes her way down towards where the shuttles dock, but she waits all the same, a quiet shadow in the background near the doors, the only thing really letting on where she stands being the brightness of her eyes. ]

[ As he approaches the shuttle dock, Lauralae can probably see the wormskin more clearly, like mottled leeches, linked together around his face and hands. His eyes briefly light up when they spot her and he seems to hold no fear or apprehension. ]

We meet at last, Lauralae.

[ Lauralae gazes at him, intense and sure, almost dangerous, before she steps out of the shadows. He isn't afraid to look upon her, and something in her chest catches at that - people here are not afraid of her, true, but at the same time she still expected the worst. ]

Greetings. Well met.

[ His lips twitch. ]

I realize that I have forgotten my manners. My name is Leto.

Leto.

[ The name rolls off her tongue with a hint of an accent, something foreign but oddly musical - definitely a reminder of her elven heritage. She tilts her head, hair falling away to show scarred and cut off ears, her eyes narrowing before she calms. ]

I care not for your manners. Do not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer. I can face my fear and let it pass through me. Only I will remain.

[ The Litany Against Fear, the foundation of the Bene Gesserit's teachings. One that Leto has held onto his entire life, when things felt hopeless. His self is one of the most important things to him. He'll never give it up. ]

What do you care for?

Such handsome words for such a cruel thing.

[ Lauralae's eyes flick over him before she turns her head to one side, gazing at nothing. ]

My magic and my Lord.

Words can pave the way to greater things.

[ He gestures to her. ]

Tell me about them.

[ For a moment, Lauralae is stunned into quiet. True, he had said he wished to know her, but at the same time... She did not expect it to be a true, honest desire. She watches him, as if trying to see into his heart, before she speaks. ]

My Lord is Sidra, master of the Undead and Prince of all Hellions. He is my Lord and my Saviour, in ways I cannot explain.

[ Mostly because she doesn't know exactly how they're tied, only that they are. ]

My magic comes from his sister, Sundra, but I hold no love for her. Blood is my strength, and that is what I follow.

How do you follow blood?

[ Magic and its rules are strange to him. His life, odd as it may be to others, is still firmly based in the realm of science. ]

[ Lauralae steps up and shifts, drawing back the black robe along her arm. She bares the flesh, then, and along the pale skin - almost deathly pale - are scars, littered up and down like tiger stripes. ]

I use blood as fuel, as life, for the magic within me.

It is a cruel cycle they have subjected you to.

[ Blood as magic. It reminds him briefly of offworlder opinions of Fremen and their rituals. ]

It is my choice. I am not of my people, and this is my talent.

[ Exiled, Lauralae had been forced to survive. There was no other choice. ]

Did they send you away?

[ A possibility that would have existed for Alia, Ghanima and himself if they hadn't been Paul's family. His bloodline. ]

I was cast out.

[ It's strange, how much she wishes to speak to this man, how she feels free to bare herself; and she does, drawing her hair back to show ears cut down along the tip, scarred over badly as if not allowed to heal well. ]

I lost home, life and hope in one foul day. My Lord is all that remains.

[ Gently. ]

Has your Lord asked anything of you beyond your role of survival?

No.

[ Lauralae lets her sleeve drop down, gloved hands brushing over the marks. The silk looks thin, but beneath them are hands as black as the hair atop her head. ]

We do not speak. He is a God and I am simply a woman.

[ That must sting. To be reborn but cast out and without purpose. ]

If you could choose, what would you like your purpose to be?