middaeg | Deceuer Catch-All

Entry tags:

Deceuer Catch-All

Who: Soren and OTA!
When: Various dates in in Deceuer.
Where: Depends on the prompt!
What: A catchall. Prompts are in the comments.
Warnings: Depression... References to house fires... the rest TBD

If you would like to plot a custom starter for your character, feel free to hit me up at

wingything or my CR plotting meme comment! I love personalizing threads to suit specific characters. Feel free to create your own starter in the comments below if there is something different you have in mind.

I will be writing these in bracket style for accessibility, but while I am flexible, I have a slight preference for prose. Feel free to use whichever suits you best.

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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."

"Ha. I sure do. You're the biggest trouble maker on the team."

Waver warms his hands on his cup, blowing across the top of the tea little bit to cool it.

"I mean it though. It's fine. Get rid of that cold you're apparently fighting first, at least."

Just being reminded of the agitation scratching the back of his throat tempts him to cough. Wanting to avoid drawing any more attention to his ailment, he drowns the urge in his first sip of tea. Its liquid warmth soothes the troublesome feeling. He clears his throat afterward, though.

"Thank you. When you come down with my cold, I will try to pick up your slack in return." It would probably reassure Waver if he adds, "Though to be honest, I doubt it's contagious. It's the same kind of feeling I got when my breath originally developed. And the fatigue is from overwork, the chills from the weather. You won't be getting any germs from cuddling up to me in the cab earlier."

As if he didn't do the same.

"H-hey! I wasn't cuddling," Waver quickly defends himself, blushing slightly in chagrin. His ears twitch, pulling backwards.

"You're the one who fell asleep on me. I just chose not to be an asshole and wake you, so I let you cuddle up or whatever you want to call it. You should be thanking me."

Waver reacts exactly like he expected he would, which turns a corner of his lip up. It doesn't seem to bother him as much that he willingly "cuddled up" to him.

"Can you blame me? My blood runs cold. You Turnskins are too warm not to take advantage of."

Ranulf isn't exactly a Turnskin, but he's close enough in concept to come to mind... not to mention sinfully warm. It forces Soren's half-smile to drift unbidden into something a little more genuine, a little more dreamy. He helps himself to a deep breath designed to pick up on the faint traces of his scent that exist in this household and licks his lips as he lifts up his cup from its saucer to cradle in his palms.

"Hey, watch it. That's starting to sound sinister," Waver grumbles. He might be... pouting. Maybe. Don't at him.

"You don't seem to have your wits about you enough to take advantage of me anyway. What's with that idiotic look?"

Of course, Waver can scent Ranulf in the air too. So much that he's not entirely sure if Ranulf actually lives here too or not. Though it'd probably be weird to ask...

That idiotic look sobers up the moment it's pointed out. He glares coldly for a moment until he registers his Ranulf-oriented thoughts prior, realizes he must have been doing something with his face, and that's when his expression starts to heat into chagrin trying its best to remain hard and serious. It's only about 60% effective.

He holds off on drinking his impending sip.

"I... I may not be contagious, but stupidity is," he scrambles to riposte. "There's nothing sinister about stealing your warmth."

Edited (i forgot how punctuation) 2021-04-02 04:02 (UTC)

"Okay, okay, no need to get all flustered. It's fine."

Waver decides to take it easy on him, mostly because Soren is sick and he's had a rough couple of weeks.

"Take it easy. Wouldn't want to catch your stupidity if it's so contagious."

He knows that's not at all what Soren was implying, but who cares...

"Are you still cold? I can go grab you a blanket."

"I am just fine," he counters with a tense jaw and a firm tone, his scaly hands squeezing the cup so hard that it might be a good thing that his draconic strength has been taken from him for the sake of the moment. If he denies being flustered, that's only going to make him seem more so, and as such, he resists. "What are you, my mother? Shut up and drink your tea."

Waver actually laughs at that, shaking his head. Soren must be feeling better if he has the energy to be flustered like this.

Sitting back against the couch cushions, Waver complies with the petulant order, lifting the cup to his lips to inhale the steam even if it's still too hot to drink.

"Oh, all right. I'll be quiet and let you fend for yourself."

Soren is quite content to bask in Waver's silence for a while. He also partakes in his own silence, lets the time elapsed between the last Waver spoke carve distance from his own surprise and embarrassment at being caught daydreaming. For a minute, he reins back his composure. Sips his tea. Watches the fire. Before he knows it, his thoughts have slipped right back into those fond and recent memories of his. Over the span of that minute, Soren's expression relaxes. In his renewed self-awareness, he manages this time to avoid being so swept up in the blissful stream of his thoughts that his lips move, but there's no denying the softness in the gaze he steeps in his tea. He looks forward to Ranulf coming home to him. To Waver, who has grown a little more used to the finer nuances of the Dragon's faces by way of working with him than afforded to those who don't spend time with him, it is tough to deny the uncommon peace, the marked contentedness that lighten his features.

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Deceuer Catch-All

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