Cobblestone Alley

Winter Gaslamp

Third person limited (Brooke) experiment/practice?? with drama

[Context: Nick is supposed to be nice to Brooke to get her to trust her. This would take place after Ponkey finds out Nox is an Assassin and Vicky dies]

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Brooke started walking away from Nick as quickly as she could, head down, arms crossed in front of herself in an aggressively protective way, footsteps crunching in the snow.

"You're the one who called me here," he called after her angrily. "And now that I'm here, you leave?"

"I'm sorry!" she yelled over her shoulder. Her voice caught on the last syllable and she choked and cursed. She wasn't sorry at all, but it just felt like something she should say. She did see the irrationality and naivety of her actions. She was sorry for hoping.

Her hopeful naivety had cost Nick the effort and time for the journey through the snow, to Black Rabbit Alley to see her. She had wished that as soon as they met, there would be a sudden mutual understanding and effort to fix the chasm between them. But she had always known that she couldn't have expected that of him. Nick the Assassin would never do such a thing. It was just her, standing on her tip toes and reaching out across a chasm, nearly falling in herself. But she had dared to do this because of the illusion of a safety net that he had created—and then because he had said himself that it wasn't just an illusion.

At this, Brooke crouched in the dark alleyway to focus on sobbing, because she couldn't go on thinking. She just wished that both of them could live in peace, no matter the arrangement. But when she was away from Nick, she wanted him near her; she forgot what he was like, and when Nick was near, she could only see the Assassin, the arrogance, the disregard for humanity and disrespect for life that oozed out of him and perched upon his crown like a dark halo, so absolutely disgusting to her that the distaste covered even the sorrow that she felt all the other times when she thought of how good-hearted and gentle he used to be.

If only he could reach out from the other side of the chasm, and approach her by himself.

"Hey, Brooke."

Brooke wished he would hold out a hand for her to grab onto, and together they would devise a plan. She would take his hand. He pulled her up and wrapped an arm around her. She leaned into his warmth.

Nox lead her out of the dim alley and to a bench under a burning gaslamp. He brushed off the snow and sat both of them down. Warmth coursed through her at the feeling of a solid arm holding her body still. She clung onto him and cried, hot tears turning icy on her cheeks. The harder she clung to Nox, the harder she sobbed.

"You wish I were someone else, right?" Nox asked.

Brooke turned her head up and watched his lips move. She watched small white puffs of his breath come from them. He kept talking to calm her down, spewing soft words and never dwelling on the glaring fact that he was only a stand-in. Only a stand-in. Suddenly Brooke was repulsed by the nearness of him. She jerked away, strands of dark hair flying. It began to snow.

"I'm sorry," Brooke said.

"It's all good," Nox said coolly, a snowflake landing on his nose. He brushed it away.

"Thank you for helping me up," Brooke said stiffly. She was full of gratitude and unsure how to express it. "I mean it," she added.

"Anytime," he replied.

"I owe you an explanation." This was the best way to show gratitude. If she could show vulnerability, she could make Nox feel glad and maybe heroic, because her trust in him meant that he had been a superb shoulder to lean on.

"Only if you want to," Nox said. Though he also said this in a detached manner, she knew that nobody was invulnerable to pride.

"I want to," she said softly. "Here is how it is, in the most candid way: when I feel lonely, it seems my issue is that I've pushed most people too far away. But when I see them again, I'm repulsed by their previous betrayals and their overall imperfection." This was far more candid than what she had expected to say.

"I see," Nox said. Brooke was again grateful that he didn't inquire about his specific imperfections, because she had no answer to that except that he wasn't Nick. To show her gratitude, she opted to simply lean on him because she was tired.