closed.

[battlebound]

Who: Steak & Red Wine, Steak & Qrow.
When: Throughout the month, before the excursion event
Where: Aefenglom, The Wilde
What: Arguments, drinking, and general shenanigans during Steak's no good very bad month.
Warnings: Anger, violence, alcohol


— closed. red wine.

[ Every morning, once Red Wine wakes up, whatever peace Steak has found disappears. Once upon a time, it would be nothing more than the promise of being annoyed by this bastard's needless fussing, the constant complaining about sunlight and sweating, but now...

Now, the anger which burns inside him is something else entirely. Poison, potent and growing with each passing day. It sizzles under his skin, a persistent itch he can't satisfy, no matter how long he spends sparring and training. No matter how often his thoughts pull back to the executions earlier in the month.

It wasn't enough.

His fingers curl into the counter until they go white when the thought strikes, as violently as the spell which left his back scarred. It wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

He swears, an exclamation from the depths of his throat, and slams his head against the wall, as though that will manage to erase the strange venom of uncharacteristic thoughts. ]

— closed. qrow.

[ He prefers drinking out of celebration, but tonight he's restless and his body already aches from a day's work, leaving the Wilde out of the question.

So Steak finds himself — tentacles, newly formed ears, and all — in a bar near the harbour, pushing his way through people to get to the bar. ]

Is anyone sitting here?

[ He levels the question at a stranger next to an empty seat, tentacles already spreading across the stool in a clear sign that he intends to take it if they're not. ]

— notes.

[ If you want something specific, you can hit me up at isanghae / isanghae#8071 to discuss! ]

Comments

[judgementor]

[Red Wine stares at him. Silent, disbelieving, knowing he absolutely means what he says and yet entirely insulted that he could so easily reduce it to something so simple.]

Well. [He says, his voice deceptively even. There's a shake in it that quivers down the bond between them like the pluck of a guitar string.] I'm so glad it's so easy for you. I'm so, so thrilled that's all you have to worry about.

[His fingers clench into tight fists against his thighs.]

But you're right about one thing, at least. You don't understand.

[battlebound]

[ They can so easily communicate without words in so many cases, but when it comes to this... This is the one fundamental schism between the two of them, the one place where Steak can't quite wrap his head around Red Wine's point of view.

And when you hate someone quite as intensely as Steak hates Red Wine, that's saying something.

His fingers dig into the countertop and he eventually pushes himself away from it, slowly crossing the space between them, folding his arms as he comes to a halt a few inches from Red Wine. Perhaps all isn't entirely true — here and now, he worries about these transformations, the war of the two parts of his form which has carried on without him vocalising any of it. But he has to be alright, as long as Red Wine is here, because they've never failed at fighting anything before.

Even becoming monsters isn't enough to stop them. It can't be. ]

...

[ Red eyes bore a hole into Red Wine's own, flicking down pale skin to pursed lips and back again as his arms unwind and a hand reaches forward, fingers brushing lightly against the back of Red Wine's hand. ]

[judgementor]

[But he's already failed, hasn't he? He's already broken under it. Still wakes up at night with the taste of Steak's blood on his tongue. Something he can't wash off no matter how hard he tries.

He hopes that Steak will get the hint and leave, but of course he doesn't. Feeling him coming closer is like an itch that can't quite be scratched, something that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he's tense and ready to lash out the moment the other Food Soul makes the mistake of laying a hand on him.

But it's a soft brush, not the rough grab or shake that he was bracing for. The ghost of a touch against his knuckles and he looks down, unclenching hands he hadn't realised were curled in so tightly.]

I've never been without you. [He mutters thoughtfully, eyes cast down.] I don't know what a life like that would be like.

[Quieter, probably.]

You're not going to let me drive you away from me, are you, Steak.

[battlebound]

[ Failure is relative. Here, what Red Wine did is a measure of sanity. Something which prevents him becoming the monster he fears. That he's stood here, arguing with Steak, is proof positive of that. It's just... adapting to that mindset.

(And, perhaps, burying the vague worry of what they do, should they ever return home, where the rules are so much different.)

But that's Steak looking at it, so close and yet so far, trapped behind thick glass unable to ever really understand Red Wine's point of view. Why does it have to be so complicated, anyway? It makes no sense to Steak, it never has. But perhaps he doesn't need to say that, for once.

Perhaps all he needs to do is click his tongue lightly at Red Wine's final words. ]

You know me better than that.

[ As long as Steak still draws breath, he'll be at Red Wine's side. ]