middaeg | Deceuer Catch-All

u can still touch an upper back with wings... go 4 the middle but yes shoulders are good too.

Another hot rush of abashment flushes through Soren at his drool being noticed and called out, but there's really no contesting it: Waver's just telling it like it is. He slumps in his chair, gives up any stubbornness to keep trying to make himself useful, and gives in to logic.

"Today just isn't working out, it seems." The other shifts he's taken weren't much better, but this time his performance has been plain inexcusable. "You're right. I'm being more of a burden than a benefit. I'll see myself out."

Waver feels a little bad for him. It's only partially his fault, after all. The limiter magic makes Waver uncomfortable, but it's not up to him to say if it's earned or not, and it's true that Soren should have been more careful. He'd put people in danger, not just property.

It doesn't mean Waver agrees with punishing him in this way, on top of the weather being so difficult for Monsters of his kind.

He sighs, setting the papers aside.

"Are you sure you can make it home in that state?"

"..."

A pause reveals his slight uncertainty. He can no longer fly, for one, so he must now recall intimately the travel inconveniences of a wingless life.

"I've made it back before. I can do it again."

When he rises from his seat and collects his bag from the rest of his seat, he staggers slightly. His face is always pale, but right now it is plaster-white, which does nothing to vouch for his affirmation.

"Hey--!"

Waver steps forward quickly to catch Soren by the elbow, steadying him. Leaning in, he peers at Soren's face, brows creased with what is presumably worry but looks about indistinguishable from his annoyed scowl.

"You don't look particularly convincing right now, you know. Why don't I come with you?"

Soren blinks slowly at him.

"I've been worse. Don't you have more important work to do than escort me home?"

"Nothing I can't take care of at home, really. Mostly paperwork and testing out some recipe combinations. I've got a workshop there though, so it hardly matters."

Honestly, he's probably the most dispensable person working right now since he can't do work with clients, so as long as someone can take over the front desk, it doesn't matter much. He'd feel too guilty letting Soren go on his own-- and kind of gets a pang of guilt just thinking about trying to explain it to Ranulf if something went wrong. Not that Waver will admit to the real concern he's hiding beneath that scowl though.

He lets go of Soren's arm, giving the Dragon a little nudge toward the door.

"Go sit in the waiting area," he directs sternly, leaving no room for protestations. "I'll go figure out if someone can cover for you. And don't fall asleep."

"...Fine."

He's too tired to argue or protest his help any longer, though he hates that his condition looks poor enough to compel Waver to go out of his way like this. When he edges out of the space at his desk, the world around him swims like a snowglobe, his vision tumbling in vertigo. His chest feels tight, a symptom of either the constricting cold or the limiter on his breath. He can't be this exhausted...

Soren manages to make it over to the waiting area just fine, where he takes it easy until Waver is ready.

Luckily, Waver doesn't take too long. One of the others was able to cover the desk for the rest of the day, and there aren't too many appointments left. It's unlikely they'll get any walk-ins with the weather outside being so unpleasant and cold. All things considered, it's been a slow day and Waver can't see it getting busier; they won't be missed.

Unfortunately, it gets dark so early these days, and it's freezing out. Waver offers Soren an enchanted amulet, slipping it around his neck before he hands Soren his jacket and scarf too.

"This should keep you a bit warmer. Do you have gloves?"

He'd even forgotten his own coat? Soren's eyes widen marginally in dim surprise at yet another instance of his unnatural forgetfulness, leaving behind two articles that would help insulate him. He already has enchanted heating wards, but they've weakened over time. He neglected to charge them. It's not too late, but he left his batteries at home.

He could grab another right here. But... from where he's sitting, it seems like too much effort. The amulet is enough.

Soren takes his coat back without reply, reaching into his coat pocket for the pair of black leather gloves he'd stuffed in there. With torpid motions he dons his coat, then his burgundy scarf.

"Thank you."

Waver's softer, more caring side is showing, not worn on his face or seeping into his words, but woven into his actions. It's really not bad to be exposed to, but he feels guilty to be taken care of like this for basic tasks, like a child being dressed up to go out by his mother. At the same time, he couldn't deny that it's appreciated. He really is quite useless as he is today. He rises from the seat.

"I can't fly well right now, so... I can pay for transportation." He reaches into another pocket to check and see if he forgot to bring cunes somehow, too. "Footing it back will take some time."

Waver snorts, shaking his head.

"Obviously you shouldn't fly in your state. We'll hail a cab."

He does not comment on Soren's offer to pay; if Soren forgets, Waver will pay for it, but if he insists, Waver won't stop him. He's already doing the Dragon a favor helping him home.

"Come on. Before you keel over next time there's a strong breeze outside."

Walking in step with him, just in case Soren tries to take a tumble down the slightly steep steps outside the front door, Waver guides them out to the cobblestone street and looks around, waiting for a cab -- or maybe just a kid who can go find one for a cune -- to pass by.

"...."

Soren swallows his minor irritation at being rushed along and simply shuffles after his escort as best as he can. It's not just the chilly air threatening to creep into his clothes, but how sore his muscles have been made from all the heavy, repetitive lifting he's been made to do lately. He certainly doesn't feel light enough to blow over.

They're in luck, however, and the clop of hooves echoes off the harbor district within mere minutes of them standing there. Soren points in the direction of them and tries to move his leaden legs again.

They board the cab and Soren instructs the driver where to take them, and soon enough, they're off. There is absolutely no more room for regret, for even though the streets make for a bit of a bumpy ride, the relief of settling into a seat next to his warm fellow Turnskin passenger more than makes up for the cost. The Dragon watches his breath curl up like a phantom into the late afternoon light as he sighs, the only kind he can make right now.

"I'm feeling better already."

It is a relief they don't have to wait long. He doesn't have the same problems Dragons do, but that doesn't mean Waver enjoys the frigid winds, and he too is quite grateful to climb quickly into the carriage, which seems to have some sort of enchantment to keep it warmer inside than expected. Even if it's just the curtains and the cushioned seats keeping in the heat, it's much better than standing outside.

(He feels for the poor driver, especially when it's windy, though, and makes a note to tip him decently.)

As Soren sighs and slumps a little, half-leaning on him, Waver settles back in his own seat and allows the closeness for now. He knows from Berserker how troublesome it is for Dragons to be so cold.

"Good. Just don't fall asleep on me, got it?"

"Mm... You'll just have to deal with it," murmurs Soren with a yawn, head tilting further in Waver's direction as he shifts toward his living heat source. "I can probably even sleep through the bumps."

He's not actually sure about that, considering what a light sleeper he is on the regular. Still, he hasn't been quite so tuckered out before his punishment commenced.

Waver sighs, but despite his grumbling seems to resign himself to his fate. He doesn't push Soren away when he eventually (inevitably) ends up leaning on his shoulder. It's probably a bit bony, but it is warm.

When the road gets bumpy and jostles Soren's head, Waver doesn't even bother with the performative sigh of exasperation, not when Soren is asleep. He wraps an arm behind the sleeping Dragon and steadies him against himself, looking out the window to gauge how far they are.

Most of the Mirrorbound have taken residence in The Haven, where free housing had been provided to them. Uncomfortable with having anything to do with the evicted occupants, Soren stayed away from the houses and lived in the barracks. As of a few months ago, he has come up with enough to afford his own modest place in one of the nicer areas of the Western District, which he shares with Ranulf. That said, the driver steers them clear of the dilapidated neighborhoods where the smoggy harbor district bleeds into the Monster-dominated slums, skirting around the quick-pawed hoodlums and stinking disrepair by keeping to the roads pulsing though the shopping district. It takes less than an hour to reach their destination.

For Soren's part, he isn't sound asleep as he rests against his companion, a bony shoulder serving far better than some of the terrain he's made do with in the past. He drifts along different levels of consciousness, of half-sleep and feigned sleep. It's more comfortable this way. He doesn't have to talk much if he's asleep, and neither does Waver. He also does not need to react to being hooked close by an arm, which surprised him. If he were someone he were less acquainted with, someone he hasn't gotten even more physical with in the past, he might have "woken up" to shrug him off. But he's tired, Waver smells familiar, he can trust him this much, and... it's not a bad feeling, being wrapped up like this by someone who cares enough about him to make sure he gets home safely. He surrenders to it.

When the rhythm of hooves starts to decrease, Soren slowly rises from his volunteer pillow along with his sleepy eyelids. He blinks at Waver, the imprint of his shoulder pressed into his scale-flecked cheek, then out at their surroundings.

"Mm, we're about here," he mutters, followed by a yawn he covers with a gloved hand - then a couple of harsh, rib-strangled coughs to his wrist. "You're... welcome to stay for a little while. Warm up a bit before moving along."

The trip isn't a bad one. Soren seems to soak in his warmth and reflect it back into him, so their proximity in the small carriage warms Waver up too. Another reason not to let go.

When they finally slow and then stop in front of Soren's place, Waver pulls away, ready to bid him a good evening. Those coughs, however, worry him even before the invite is given. He hesitates for a moment, wondering if Soren is asking out of polite obligation or because he really does want Waver to stay.

When the driver clears their throat impatiently, Waver grabs Soren's hand and helps them both out of the cab.

"All right. I'll come in for a few minutes. I could use a warm drink, if you've got one."

Soren lets himself be dragged even if he doesn't like it much, for he would rather get a move on even if his body has decided to take it slow. He works on fetching his keys from his pocket as he's towed by the more lively monster.

"Sure. I'll brew us some tea."

The inside of the house contrasts pleasantly with the frosty outside thanks to the magitech-based heating system, a relief to the worn and sluggish dragon. Nevertheless, he keeps his coat on and gestures to the room adjacent to the entryway, but when he tries to tell Waver he can make himself comfortable, his lungs burn again and he succumbs to another coughing fit.

"Soren--"

Waver catches his arm, making sure Soren's not about to fall over as he hunches forward and coughs again for several seconds, coughs that are beginning to sound more concerning.

"Listen. I'm going to go make the tea. You sit down and catch your breath," he says sternly once Soren seems to done with his coughing fit.

"And then, you're going to tell me what's going on with you. Are you sick? You need to stay home if you're sick, you idiot."

Once the coughing subsides, he takes a shaking breath and tries again to speak, but by now there has been a slight adjustment in who is doing what. He looks quite resigned. It's a little embarrassing, causing Waver inordinate concern by coughing. It's not like he hasn't dealt with it before... and alone. But if there is anything he has learned about the Turnskin over the past year, it's that underneath all his bristling and name-calling, he's a lot softer than he wants to let on.

"Fine. Kitchen is over there," he instructs with a point, "and... ahem. You will find teas in the top cupboard to the right of the stovetop. I will make myself comfortable here in the parlor."

"You do that."

It doesn't take Waver too long to figure out where everything is, and like a proper Englishman, making a decent cup of tea is as essential as breathing. Soren can hear him bustling about in the kitchen, cupboards opening and closing, the sound of water boiling and perhaps the squeal of the kettle before it's quickly taken off the fire.

After a few minutes, he emerges with two steaming ceramic cups balanced on their saucers.

"Do you take milk or sugar?"

Soren looks up from the nascent flame crackling in the hearth with a languid tilt of his head. He grants this question a few more seconds' thought than he would normally do and opts for a choice out of his usual preference of neither.

"I will take both." He shifts away from the heat source and toward the low table beset on three sides by a sofa and lounge chairs, not looking like he's eager to move much further anytime soon. "Just about a teaspoon of each."

"Sure. No problem."

Waver sets down the cups and goes back for the cream and sugar, adding a splash of the former and a teaspoon of the latter and leaving the spoon in there for Soren to stir with as he likes. Waver drinks his own tea black and settles down beside Soren on the sofa (or the floor, if that's where he's ended up).

"You should take the rest of the week off," he suggests, though it sounds less like a suggestion and more like a blunt order at this point.

Enjoy the floor, Waver. Soren draws both his cup and his tail closer to himself, casting his eyes down after Waver's recommendation with resigned acceptance. He had already taken some time off in Noveuer, but toiling out on the construction sites without his draconic gift of strength has been unduly hard on his little body.

"That would be for the best," he agrees soberly. "I can take the financial blow. I'm not doing too badly." He levels his eyes back up and begins to stir the cloudy mixture around. "I'm both surprised and relieved that they didn't demand retribution in cunes, too." The embittered shadow of a smile lifts his features. "They had the perfect opportunity to take advantage of my position for more gain and they squandered it."

"It would have been better to just fine you. There was no need to mess with your magic and humiliate you like that." Waver sounds annoyed, but it's annoyance in sympathy, not directed toward Soren. He'd made his thoughts clear before too, but even though it's true that Soren had gone out of control in a way that should be discouraged, the drawn-out punishment seems too much.

"Listen... if you need to take more time off, we can get by. I'll look at the budget, but it should cover partial pay. That doesn't mean you get to slack off when you get back though."

Though Soren accepted his punishment and understood it was suitable, if not informed by fear of a dragon's power, a private part of him still savors someone finding some injustice in it. Waver's disappointed in him, this he understands. But he's also on his side, heated on his behalf where he can't find it in himself to be.

"You know me," he replies with a straight face but a sarcastic tone. "Left unsupervised, I ~~smoke all your doggy weed~~ slack off any chance I get."

Deceuer Catch-All

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