middaeg | Sad Song, Warm Occasion [Closed]

Entry tags:

Sad Song, Warm Occasion [Closed]

Who: L and Myr
When: Before quests
Where: L's cottage
What: Soft talks after they got matching magical tattoos
Warnings: Soft stuff, maybe sad stuff

[There's something bittersweet about two people mutually deciding that pursuing any sort of romance would be ill-advised and unhealthy, and then opting to get matching tattoos. They serve a practical purpose, of course, as well as a symbolic one; prior to a dangerous mission, a spell to address one of L's particular blind spots isn't exactly unwise, and if it's a way to amplify the boons L receives by merit of being Bonded to a faun, all the better.

With limited options on a sparse and bony frame, L had chosen for the design to cap his shoulder: two bees and a honeycomb nestled against a bunch of plum blossoms. It'll take some time before he's used to seeing himself with it; he's certainly never worn anything so ornate or colorful. Any warmer and his skin would look grey against the hues, but the design's palette was well-chosen, soft, and harmonious.

Even if they weren't, he reasons, it's rare for him to expose much skin at all even when the weather is warm. Only a hypothetical lover would be in a position to see it, and such occasions aren't exactly routine for the withdrawn detective.

As they approach the cottage, L glances over his tattooed (and currently covered) right shoulder, back at his companion, who is still clad in mourning black since Everett's departure.

Typically, Myr jingles softly even when he's standing still. L's accustomed to the ambient sound of charms clinking against each other, but Myr's removed his antlers, as well.]

I hope you'll stay for tea.

[The words are more frequent in L's vocabulary since the dream with the True Fae. He knows that there's a line between a demand (stay so we can be together) and silent pining (go, so I can imagine that we are), and "I hope" seems to strike the gentlest balance. It's permission and reassurance, laying the decision in the lap of one who can be trusted with it.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[L watches his hands as they go about the process of brewing the tea. They've changed so much in the last year; they've been whole, then ruined, then metal, then reformed through necromancy and healing but bearing scars. It's a lot to keep up with; they've been difficult hands to hold, because L is himself, and Everett was stable, and gentle, and sturdy. He had been a place for Myr to pour what L couldn't contain, what he hasn't magically gained the ability to now that a posting has become available.

Thin hands; insubstantial hands. Deft and steady hands, at least; one reaches down to offer Crookytail the sought-after biscuit. The tin, conveniently, is right next to the ones holding varieties of tea leaves.]

You won't sleep alone.

[A pledge; L still keeps Myr's shrine lit in his room. He always has some magic to spare to recharge it; it's a priority, though the one it's made for can't even see it.

His hands still for just a moment at the words Myr never thought he'd say; L, likewise, didn't think he'd hear them. He swallows as the water heats.]

You may have felt something over the Bond.

[Fury, giddiness, heat, desire. The things L keeps concealed otherwise, sweeping them out of sight like shameful indiscretions.]

We drank an off-potion, and he confessed to me. The game's different, now; he won't kill me while we're here, and I intend to find a way to stay.

[As long as I can is implied. They're both aware of his mortality. They're both aware that years of bad habits won't help him age, or heal, or fight illness. Even if he "wins", and stays, and a murder doesn't end his life, he's unlikely to have a long one by human standards, let alone those of a monster.]

There must be one. I'd rather smash my mirror, if it's just a gateway to home or nothing... for all that I know where I should be, I know where I'd rather be, just as well.

[And he's heard it suggested, recently, that others might like that too, and that it isn't a selfish thing to wish for however hungry fate might be.]

I did.

[Even as far gone in his grief as he was, Myr had felt something over the Bond, and wondered at it. Not far enough to find his way to this conscious, worrying conclusion...but somehow, even so, what L says of it does not come as a surprise. Who else, after all, could evoke those emotions in his Bonded? The fumbling tryst with Hector had come nowhere near, the--

He cringes away from remembering what had happened with Mello and how that had come to him through the Bond, to say nothing of his own complicity in the face of it. His ears droop low; he fidgets with his fingers, now pressing them tip to tip, now winding them together.

Crookytail accepts her prize with maturing decorum and retreats beneath the table to eat it. The sounds of her quiet chewing fill the stretch of silence as Myr fumbles for words.]

And you'll keep him here with you. Your prisoner, [a breath,] while you're his.

[There's a terrible bleakness behind the words, the gaping hollow of some hurt that is far deeper and older than the scrapes and bruises he and L have given each other in their time as Bondmates. Something left clawed-open and raw by Everett's departure.

It should not gape that way. He should be reassured by L's conviction to stay (and not think too hard on what that should mean if the mirrors snatch Myr back before he's made his own decision on remaining).

But hurt rarely availed to logic.]

[L pets Crookytail's head gently, glancing back over his shoulder at Myr's tone. He doesn't even need to feel the hurt through the Bond, not when he can hear it, soft and dull. He's accustomed to hurt, of course, all sorts, and he's not sure he knows what a Bond feels like without it.

Did Everett? Did Myr, with Everett?]

We don't need to speak of it now.

[Or ever; there are different strengths in different Bonds, different pains. L's free to seek what he and Myr can't have elsewhere; he's free to shackle one who deserves it while keeping one he loves unburdened. It's how these things work, boxed off neatly, the locked and mangled things out of sight.]

Tell me how I can help you. If you don't know, that's OK, just... try to be patient with me while I figure it out.

Don't we?

[The words are a challenge; the tone is as small and defeated as the hunch of Myr's shoulders. He sounds pathetic even to himself, stripped of confidence, and suddenly that is a maddening way to repay all he'd been given by Everett, and all the other Mirrorbound who'd loved him and left.

Not of their own accord. They had not walked away from him of their own accord.

But others had and the very reminder of it bleeds anew.]

Don't we need to speak of it? [A little steadier. Not angry. He can be patient.] Because we are bound up in each other. There's nothing we do that won't come back on both of us, somehow. And if you--

[if you choose to walk away, he stops himself from saying. And: You could help me by giving up everything you've ever worked for.

This would be easier if you weren't obsessed.

This would be easier if you weren't the man I fell in love with.

He doesn't finish the sentence. He crosses his arms on the table and buries his face in them, shoulders trembling faintly.]

Edited (words are important) 2021-04-13 06:26 (UTC)

[L's eyes widen. The water, he decides, can boil just a bit longer. Ensuring that Crookytail isn't in danger of overturning it and injuring herself, his light, quick steps bring him closer to Myr's side. Without his antlers, slumped over the tabletop and seeking comfort in his own trembling arms, Myr almost looks human.]

We... we can, if you'd like that.

[L's mind goes to Myr offering not to mention trysts with lovers to L, to spare his feelings; it had hurt his pride to think he'd worn it all so blithely and clearly. Subconsciously, he'd transferred that onto Light, assuming that Myr simply didn't want to know, couldn't possibly benefit from hearing those details.]

I'd meant to try a more comforting tack. You're already grieving someone and... I think one person is enough. It's Everett's turn, today.

[A great wordless wash of sorrow meets L's words, obliterating and all-consuming. What Myr would like, what he would want, are impossible to articulate beneath it. Details of Light and L's relationship, Myr's own jealousy and anxiety, simultaneously seem absolutely irrelevant and absolutely vital in the clarifying roil of that pain, until it erodes those concerns to nothingness and leaves a single thought behind:

Don't leave me. Everyone always leaves me.]

[The sudden rush is intense, though not entirely unexpected. L knows the depth of feeling that Myr is capable of, and how deeply his Bonded can be affected by joy or sorrow alike, but it can still be stunning, even diluted secondhand. It knocks the wind right out of him for a second, and for that second, all he can do is stand and grasp for comfort in the familiar, well-worn notion of reinforcing Myr through others better-suited to all of this, because in L's mind, leaving people better than he found them does in fact involve leaving them.]

Hey...

[His voice quavers as he rests a ginger hand on the faun's shoulder. Knowledge that boundaries are a blind spot of his makes it paralyzingly difficult to even attempt contact with others, even (especially) Myr, but he's the only option, save for Crookytail, who is preoccupied with nosing around the orange peels in compost.

A shadow of an option, really. Even his best is going to be woefully inadequate, the kind of thing that he imagines Everett had always been on standby to fix before with magic tea, magic words, magic touches.]

I'm staying as long as I have a choice, like he did.

[The choice seems to be the sorest, tenderest point. It's one L's been ready to make at points in the past, mistaking it for some kind of nobleness if he severs his ties with others, like cutting loose an anchor. It's actually a twisted compliment, because the more he cares for someone, the more the impulse to weed out the corrupting influences in their lives exists, starting with himself.]

Even... even if I think it's best, I won't choose to leave you. You don't have to be afraid of that, on top of your grief.

[Words--hearing them, understanding them, responding in them--are too difficult right now. There's a treacherous undercurrent beneath the assurances that pulls at his heart and limbs; L justifies it to himself in terms of his own monstrosity, but how would that look any different than Myr being the anchor, Myr being the one who is difficult, demanding, and ultimately unwanted.

(Consider how even now L can scarcely touch him.)

It is fortunate, in its way--in a way Myr cannot reflect on now--that this doesn't rise to the level of conscious reflection; it is only a black and undifferentiated misery that blindly wants something outside itself to quiet it. One of those sources of comfort is gone, perhaps forever; one is near enough to touch and yet a gulf still seems to yawn between them, threatening to swallow whatever dares a crossing.

Myr reaches, anyway, lifting a hand to clutch at L's where it rests on his shoulder. The quivering need for more is patent in the Bond, as hunger or desire or moons-pull; he could pull his Witch down on top of him and shelter beneath those bird-frail bones until this tide of grief recedes.

But it is frightening to need that much, that openly; the last he had been so vulnerable, those dearest to him had given him up as too much. So he hesitates and yearns without words, and clutches L's hand as a drowning man would a rope.]

[L used to be much better at this, than he is now. The trembling panic of a prey creature, desperate for support and grounding and shelter; he's felt it, of course, but he's no kind of shelter.

Typically, he is the storm.]

Myr...

[L expected Myr to hold his hand, not to grasp it as though it's the only viable way to escape a precarious dangle above death many feet below. It's shocking, and humbling as well; he's permitted, in these moments, to see just how much his Bonded needs a lifeline.

He leans over. Fitting; it's a lean-to attempt the kind of shelter Myr needs, shoddy and poorly made and unfinished, however earnest the effort. Half-embracing and half-draping across Myr's shoulders, he offers the act he's forgotten how to perform without too much thought. Now it's fraught; now he's worried it will communicate the kind of desiring wish he's tried very hard to simply put from his mind, where it can do the least damage.

Not knowing the boundaries of himself or others as well as he should, he's started to err on the side of just not reaching, not wanting, not asking. Taken to the extreme, he believes everything that gives him pleasure or benefits him is selfish and disgusting parasitism. It's not about him, and his energy should not be connected to what does not concern him, but were their places reversed, Everett would be a shelter, now, brewing the tea with one hand and saying the right things, supporting his bonded Faun with a muscular arm.

Sorry, sorry... as if he'd sent Everett away himself, though he knows he didn't, that it's not true, that no amount of wistful envy could have prompted it.

He nuzzles his face against Myr's neck as his arms clasp loosely around his shoulders. He likes Myr's scent; does that make him a thief, for this level of contact? He decides that, since the motive was not ulterior, it's probably forgivable.]

Edited 2021-04-13 21:33 (UTC)

[Whether or not L trusts his own expertise, the promise of shelter he offers is enough. Whether or not he believes himself comfortable or comforting, Myr takes comfort in him, and knows him steady in this. Now Myr can let go of his precarious hold on himself, and fall into that soundless dry sobbing that's threatened to overwhelm him every day since Everett left.

Now he has the cover to grieve, and does, both what he has lost and what he may yet lose; what has been difficult about today, and this month, and all the months preceding it that have led them to this point. He is no stranger to loss: He knows this hurt will heal and be transformed in its own due time, but until then it will demand to be felt, and strike from ambush, and no matter his pretensions there is not a thing either of them can do to prevent it.

But L can be close to him, and L can hold him, and that is balm enough.

Eventually the storm subsides; eventually, Myr finds words again, to offer in a quiet, husking voice:]

I don't need you to be him. I need you to be here.

[L had been his friend nearly from the start, too. A challenging friend, a difficult friend, but a friend all the same, and the one who reminded him of parts of home that had gone missing long before Myr did. That initial affection had only deepened over time; what he had given to L had been a natural outflowing from it.

He shifts in his Witch's arms enough to bring a hand to the side of L's face, holding him gently there.]

I need you.

[Not only for the sake of what L could provide--comfort, magic, intellectual challenge, quiet presence and sometimes-quiet dreams--but for what he could give L. For all that his beloved Witch drew out of him and asked of him, for every way they've grown, and grown together.

It hurts to know that they've grown apart, too; to feel the tickling intimations of L's fear of taking too much when Myr knows only delight that someone could and did enjoy the sheer physicality of his presence as he did theirs. As much as he offers words he offers that, too: Though muddled now with strong grief, he is glad to be touched and held and comforted, whoever's need precipitates it.

He tips his head back further to rest against L's, letting himself dissolve into the touch and how it strengthens their Bond, letting his edges grow fuzzy and blur into his Witch's.

I gave you myself when we Bonded. That hasn't changed.]

[This process, something ancient and sacred, is not one L's been a part of much in his life. Usually he's witnessed it from afar, others engaging in their rituals and ceremonies and tears. The rites have passed him like a parade on television; even those events that were close to him (relatively speaking) felt distant and unreal, because regardless, until he was the one in the body bag, the next day certainly involved solving cases, and that simply wasn't negotiable.

The world seems to stop for this, because Myr's world has stopped. His Bonded is correct, in that the things they do come around to affect the other, whether they are subjectively good or bad. So L ceases his jittery motion, and his quick-footed restless desperation to keep himself occupied at all times still. He lets himself breathe, slacken, putting all the tension into the rail-thin arms that hold Myr firmly enough.

His own breath catches in his chest at Myr's touch. The bones in his face are fine, and the skin is soft and smooth, not because he's particularly diligent about shaving, but because he's actually never needed to.

In answer to Myr's need, he wishes he could be more, and aches to be. He holds tighter, nearly to the limit of his strength, and the contours of his jagged, bony body can't be comfortable digging against his faun's warm back.]

I'm here. I'm staying. It's OK...

[He speaks quickly and softly, almost in a whisper, nodding firmly as if he's trying to give the words more impact and weight. Those are things that L lacks, for all that he desires and adores the same physical grounding that Myr finds value in. In the dreams they share, he's often slightly transparent, as if to reflect that he might as well be a ghost in the presence of caber tossers or new lovers, or old friends who could have been lovers, if things had gone differently.]

Whether or not you think so, you have all of me.

[Such as it is. He knows it could and should be more.]

Your... I'm going to get your tea. I'll be right back?

All right, [Myr says, but does not immediately let go; he keeps his head pressed against his Witch's a moment longer for the comfort of it. This, he can feel now, is his. They are each other's, and that feels more stable than it heretofore had in sorrow's aftermath.

Startling what a good cry and a few minutes of being held by someone who loved him could do.

He finally releases L on that thought, though it's with obvious reluctance, and sits up a little straighter to rub at his face and check the lay of his blindfold. There are really no positive sides to his blindness, but not getting hopelessly congested and snotty after moments like that isn't terrible.]

[L extracts himself from the embrace carefully, so as not to cause a shock too sudden. He considers, as his lips brush past Myr's cheekbone, planting a kiss there; it seems too forward and bold. He squeezes his Bonded's hand, instead, reassuring him before he moves to fetch the whistling kettle, the tea leaves, the cups.

He can read them, now, a bit. It's less invasive than asking to creep through someone's skull, anyway.]

You know...

[He moves quickly, so as to return faster with the hot drinks.]

There's a whole branch of divination devoted to this. The way the tea leaves fall after you've finished drinking. I'm told that I have a talent for it.

[He has a talent for a lot of things; it's probably not surprising, especially given that divination is his specialty.]

[And perhaps Myr feels the absence of that kiss-that-might-have been, from the fluffing of the fur along his neck, the nearly imperceptible shiver as L pulls away.

There's a conversation they need to have about what Myr meant when he'd said he was worried for L's boundaries, and where Myr's own are drawn, but perhaps that's not for today.

His ears perk visibly as L starts in with you know; that's a reliable indicator of something new, and fascinating, that his Witch has learned.]

Truly? I'd heard them mention it in passing, once, but hadn't thought much of it. What's the principle behind it?

[Certain students of Entropy, and others of Spirit, did have some talent in reading the disordered events of the Fade, but no one could be really sure of which worldline actually carried the future in it. Presumably it worked through other methods on Talam.

He holds out his hand for his cup, knowing from habit and Bond about where L will wish to offer it. Once he's got it, he adds--with a first hint of a smile,] Intend to do a reading for us once we're done?

[L's always learning, always collecting, always processing. His body is limited in so many ways; it's fitting and strange and a blessing that his mind is not. There's beauty there, and worlds within worlds, and lots of soothing scenarios to loop and replay when reality is too harsh for even drugs to take the edge off.]

I've heard it described as a perfect union of chaos and control. The tea leaves and dregs fall as they will, but... only yours could fall that way, as you chose to drink your tea at a given point in time. There are so many small things that can influence it... and the relationship between small choices and what evades any kind of conscious thought is fascinating to me. If it's alright, I would like to practice.

[Myr tucks his tea cup toward himself with one hand, extending the other across the table in silent invitation: Would L sit somewhere they can hold hands as they drink?

His ears are trained on his Witch the whole time; his ravenous curiosity has been drawn to the fore, as L well knew it would be.]

More than alright--I'd love to have you try. [He cocks his head to one side as he considers the matter through an experimentalist's lens.] Will you be reading the past, the present, or the future? And how're we to know it worked?

[L pauses; the impulse has become one he's better at suppressing because he's convinced it's the right or appropriate thing to do, but the suggestion is strong enough through the Bond, and Myr's desire clear and sincere enough, that he actually does move his chair closer, to the point where their hands can comfortably overlap either over or under the table.]

The past is easiest because it's the most stable, and the easiest to confirm. The present stops being accurate practically the moment you've read it... and the future is vague. Difficult... by far the most open to interpretation, because nothing is set until it's actually happened.

If you want to know whether or not it worked... the past is certainly the option to go with.

Edited 2021-04-14 05:45 (UTC)

[Warm tea in one hand and his Bonded's touch in the other as they converse over magic--it is as good a moment as Myr could wish for a distraction.

He takes a careful sip of his cup as L explains, cautious of the temperature. Close to drinkable, it turns out--so their experiment might begin as soon as he's ready to down it.

Though bolting through it would be a waste of perfectly good tea.]

Sensible. Now--and forgive me for this, because you know I trust you, but for the sake of the experiment--what order ought we to do this in to ensure you've really read my past, rather than aligned your prediction with my retelling, or told me something vague but plausible enough I'd reinterpret my own memories to match?

[He gives L's fingers a fond squeeze as he says all this, clearly eager to hear what his Witch comes up with.]

[With the hand not holding Myr's, L nudges something hard and cold toward him. An ice cube, easy to procure for him due to his elemental specialty. He rarely has to wait for hot coffee or tea to cool too long, and neither do his companions.]

The less I know, generally, the better... but the shape that's formed will be influenced by your state of mind. If you're thinking of a specific person or event, or place, it'll probably have something to do with those; if it's just a general vague emotion, or a question, something related will sift to the surface. When people want their leaves read, it's often because they're hoping to find an answer to a specific question, or a truth they didn't know they were looking for, so... enjoy your tea, however you'd like to. Talk as much or as little as you please.

[He picks up the offered ice cube with a look that turns from puzzlement to pleasure, and promptly dunks it in his tea.]

Hm-m. Still seems parlous vague to me, amatus. [But he is teasing, coming as he does from an academic tradition of magic that prides itself on quantifying itself and its outputs by rigorous standards.] How do we know we didn't just influence it with the ice cube?

[It's a straw protest, given his next act is take a contented sip of his now-cool-enough tea. Thinking of something to think of--something that isn't the gaping wound in his chest--is...surprisingly difficult. There is certainly a question he wants an answer to, desperately, but it's likely beyond the reach of divination.

What else was there? He's certainly putting his hopes in this conversation to ease matters between him and his Witch (he takes another sip of tea); was that enough of a "question" to be amenable to this odd scrying process?]

...This is a little harder than I thought, you know. Coming up with a question I'd like an answer to, that isn't simply frivolous.

[Which might be a way of saying he's uncertain how much trust to put in such a process. Did he dare rest hopes on it?]

They're tea leaves; some degree of vagueness is inherent, I'm afraid, but luckily, your witch overanalyzes absolutely everything.

[A fault, posed in a self-aware way with fake bravado as if this is actually a tremendous boon to both of them. In some fairness to the detective, his life has swept him in directions where even his faults have been useful or sometimes vital. It has a tendency to all fall apart around other people; it has a tendency to rip at him in small or large ways when he really wants it not to.

At least Myr knows more or less what to expect of him, by this point, if not to the extent that Watari had simply taken all of his behavior in unflappable stride. L's sure he prefers Myr's method and the gentle ways he communicates belief for the man's growth and personal improvement. It's not simple acceptance that a destructive and vicious monster will never manage to become a family pet, much less a functioning member of human society.]

Also... please don't interpret "influence" as a spoiling agent. You can also add sugar or cream or even alcohol to the tea, and if that's what you wished for at that point in time, for any reason, it only makes the result more authentic. So would changing your mind after taking the first sip... whether or not drinking the tea is a positive experience, a good diviner can still find some kind of accurate answer in the leaves.

[It's probably growing clearer why this branch of divination appeals to L so much. A mundane and simple starting point, and an endlessly complex process that only rewards one who pores over events and motives in microscopic detail.

He sips his own, after adding his customary ridiculous amount of sugar. Uniquely when he's with Myr, he does this with honey and not small white cubes.]

Any question, or no question. Regardless... I'm not here to judge frivolity.

Edited 2021-04-14 16:08 (UTC)

Luckily, [Myr echoes, his smile widening,] my Witch and his Faun both have that tendency. [One far more than the other, true, but Myr at least understands and shares that desire to pursue an idea, a concept, an outcome to its absolute last detail. It is one of the ways they had meshed from the beginning; taking hours to talk with L over some subject that's painless for both of them is still a treasured activity.

Though so many topics they could speak of seem to have grown thorns lately...

Yet it did little to dampen Myr's dedication to his Witch. Whatever L seemed to think of his own nature and whatever painful ramifications of those beliefs manifested in the detective's behavior, the Faun believes--he knows--with diamond intensity that there is more to L. There is always room for growth.

Which, itself, seemed fittingly analogous to tea-leaf reading per L's description: Subject to a vast world of influences, apparently chaotic, and ultimately unique to individual undergoing it. Myr's visibly chewing over this explanation, giving his tea cup an absent swirl as he does. Yes, this is a divination method with enough intricacies to keep L fascinated; they'll have to do more with it in the future.]

It's a little early for alcohol yet, [ignoring the fact he has been experimenting with more, and earlier, drinking to ease his own troubles of late,] but I take your point. All my training rejects the notion you could get results from a process like that--or at least show how you'd gotten them, but...

[He essays a thoughtful little hum, takes another drink.] The theory behind it is that even our least actions have meaning to them, and grow out of the ongoing story of our lives, whether or not we will them in the moment. There's something lovely in that, [to a man who thinks in stories.

It doesn't give him any more guidance on what to hold in mind, as he finishes his tea, but conceiving of it thusly does remove his anxiety that he should be keeping something in mind. Rather, let the dregs fall where they may.

He gives L's captive hand a squeeze with his own, sets down the empty cup, and nudges it in his Witch's direction.]

In that case, let's see what you come up with.

Too early? That is wholly subjective...

[He wouldn't say no, or judge if he knew Myr's habits lately. He's reckless in his own self-medication, after all, often careless. Maybe that's rubbed off on Myr; perhaps his Bonded's own sorrow has swollen to the point where it's not necessary.]

My training insists otherwise. No two crime scenes are alike. They're riddled with the unique choices and errors of individuals who don't always behave logically, under panic or pressure. People do strange things with no reason at all, and... even stranger things, when they've convinced themselves they have one. Seconds speak louder than years, sometimes... the least actions.

[A pause]

And it is lovely.

[He agrees easily as he reaches for the empty cup, turning it, keeping it on the table so he can continue to hold Myr's hand.]

I see dead flowers. Chlorophyll... crisp leaves. Someone is restoring them; the pride swells, and glows. You worked really hard on this.

[It is, in part, knowing that L wouldn't judge him that's kept Myr so rigidly quiet about it. He is ashamed of his own lack of control, yes, but also that he's not setting a better example, and that L would not take him to task for it when he truly, honestly...needs someone to.

He's not so self-sufficient as he'd like when he's this frayed around the edges.]

Ah, [comes a breath of recognition. It took no real cleverness to understand why L had become a diviner in the first place, given his avocation; but this is nevertheless a welcome pearl of insight into Myr's Witch.] So you were a diviner all along--and you'd told me magic didn't exist in your world.

[Or not as such as Myr knew it. It's teasing, on one level; and true on another.

He leaves that line of thought as L takes up the cup, ears angled intently to catch every word of this divining. It...sounds innocuous, almost; something someone could almost invent from knowing him only as a Faun and having heard a word or two about Creation magic. But dead flowers, restored, that he'd been very proud of...

Not a trivial memory L's picked up on, then, but a precious one, if it is what Myr thinks it is. He shivers; there's a frisson of intense, excited curiosity through the Bond as his fingers tighten on L's.]

I did. I hadn't known I could. [Until he had, which is how it went for most mages. His awakening had simply been gentler than most.]

[L's accustomed to darkness and misery. So much, perhaps, that he is bewildered when someone suggests being pulled out of it. Kira's arrival had been some form of that, a declaration that the world would change and grow brighter; L had pushed back, because the world was the world, along with the darkness and misery; they would always remain, always exist, always sweep and claim and conquer every mortal, all their games.

He's brilliant at challenges... and poor, at the kinds that demand better from those who have met him at his own sunken level.]

Of sorts... every world needs finders, and problem-solvers. The methods might differ, and the means and names, but... it's all the same thing, when it comes down to it.

[And L, with a genius that came closest to magic for any human in his world, draws immense comfort from stability. The same thing, paradoxically, soothes him, even as outside his repetitive mundane routines, his boredom has an appetite all its own.

He glances up, dark eyes ignited and elated, at the hint that he's onto something.]

You became a mage later, so... was it was the first time you'd practiced magic? I'm seeing a bee...

[No real surprise, there. Bees are inextricably woven into the person Myr is, the things he cares about.

His eyes close, and when he speaks, it doesn't quite sound like the careful, probing questions a cold-reader might ask.]

Stamen-nurtured, reaped, collected,
Left to rot, then resurrected.
The pistil withered, disconnected,
Delivered gifts henceforth rejected.

Edited 2021-04-15 05:07 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject