middaeg | (open) & i may not see the future,

Entry tags:

(open) & i may not see the future,

Who: Aymeric and Francel and Solas in closed prompts; whoever wants an elf goodboy who likes ethics discussions and long walks on the beach in the open prompt!
When: mid to late May.
Where: the Coven, the Haven.
What: magic, ruminating on politics, rich boys probably putting mattresses on the floor, etc.
Warnings: gore, actually, but it's fine, everything's fine,

♞ practical magic. (the coven, open.)

[ Every day, without fail, Aymeric can be found at the Coven, diligently working on his magic. He's progressing slowly, in part because he's chosen no straightforward discipline: often he has an object in front of him on which he'll cast a spell; then he'll wait a little and touch it lightly with his fingertips. Many times he'll only purse his lips or frown, but other times, he'll yank his hand back as if burned (and he might be).

He also practices shielding magic, as best he can — he may turn, sometimes, and ask the nearest obvious newcomer if they wouldn't mind throwing something at him, yes really, harmless or otherwise. He's wearing armor; it's fine. ]

♞ walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut. (moving in, for francel.)

[ The house, the witches assured them, is perfectly safe. Yes, it did once belong to a family who succumbed to the Cwyld, but that's no reason for alarm, of course, they said; get a tea table and some chairs; get a fire started in the hearth, and it'll feel just like home.

It feels nothing like home, though, even after he and Francel have dusted all the rooms and carried in a few pieces of inexpensive but solidly-built furniture. Aefenglom is much too warm, for one thing.

By the time night falls, and there's nothing else to bring in or to clean, Aymeric has shed his armor in the house somewhere, poured two glasses of water, and coaxed Francel out to the covered front steps with them as a remedy for the house's stale air.

No one, at this hour, will see Francel's emerging scales.

The twin moons are bright overhead. Aymeric settles on the top step, allowing Francel space, and stretches out his dusty legs, looking pensively up at the sky. He takes a long, cool sip before he speaks. ]

I've wondered, I must confess, how much they truly know of that lesser moon. Folly, I suppose.

♞ a strategy discussion. (tea, for francel & solas.)

[ It still hasn't occurred to Aymeric to use his watch more often — or almost ever — so he's delighted when he runs into Solas by pure chance a day after they've moved into the Haven. They can't offer much in the way of hospitality, but they do have tea, and a table, and chairs, just as the witches suggested, and Aymeric extends a prompt invitation.

The house is too large for two people, though not as luxurious as some of those nearer the center of the city. The yard is a tangled mess of weeds, and thick ivy has smothered all but the windows on one side of the house. Part of the quaint carved wood detail above the covered porch has a sizable splintered hole in it, as if it was struck by something heavy, and a massive scrape mars the faded paint on the front door. The towering pale wall that separates the inner city from the outer is starkly visible, here, through the other homes.

Aymeric slows as they approach the door. ]

Francel has been reclusive, of late. I've no doubt he'll be glad of your company, but if he appears reluctant, pray forgive him.

[ He pushes it open, stepping into a clean but empty narrow foyer split by a staircase, and raises his voice: ]

Francel?

(note/the wildcard option: prose is always okay. for any other ideas/whatever, feel free to pm me or hmu on plurk at elegiae ♡

unrelated note that a reference to the parliamentary records building is now undermael college because I didn't see a question on the faq until right now,,,)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ It was difficult, and he would have admitted it. It felt something like the lesson where his tutor first taught him where the dead went, and why, and how they arrived there — a concept so abstract that it felt outside of reality, untouchable; a thing to be taken on faith.

At some point he'd tilted his head again, childishly toying with the tip of his ear while he frowned at the button in the water. He stopped the second he realized Cain was looking at him, lifted his head. ]

Then whether we can or cannot harness the mirrors to travel back, monitoring their use is vital. That must be done as swiftly as possible, I should think.

[ He paused, drawing his thumb across his lower lip unconsciously. ]

When you say cosmic forces can be caught up in another loop, how can that be? I...believe you, but I want to understand.

Um... okay, so...

What's important to understand is that... space, time, just like light, they aren't... static things. They can be concentrated in areas, have a... natural movement. Like currents in an ocean, or... a river, or something.

If a whole bunch of new water floods a river, it behaves... differently, wildly, is more destructive, right?

It's kinda the same concept. By coming here, with our own different... time, timelines, we've.... interrupted something. We're like all the new water in a river, making a flood. Whoever pulled us here, they're trying to use the dreams as... walls, dams and stuff, to change the original course of the river, to make something new. Right now, though, we haven't done enough to help them with that goal.

The flooded river is still on the same course, and on that course, you, me, everyone, we all die.

That's our fate, right now. In a little bit of time, we're gonna die here, for nothing.

So, our time is... stuck in that loop. Wrapped up in the river. We need to change its course or leave, else we're all... doomed, basically.

Edited 2019-06-30 20:11 (UTC)

[ Aymeric went pensive and silent, gaze fixed on the water. Change its course or leave, where leaving would mean abandoning the land and all its people to their deaths, if Cain was right, and Aymeric trusted that he was.

He answered slowly— ]

I would like to bend all my efforts to the former possibility and have faith that it will be done — but I have sworn an oath to my city above all others, and...the state of affairs there is fragile. I fear what may have become of it already. If I can leave, I must.

[ He looked at Cain, then, silent and appraising for a moment. ]

My homeland has children, you know. And honey, and spices, and works of art.

Edited 2019-06-30 20:26 (UTC)

And it'd have you, when you go. I love all those things, but you know if I went, it'd be for you.

[ He looked back to the window, again. The shadow of a bird flit past it, a speckled gull. ]

And I'd be a liability, to you. Let's say we get there, you use connections to... what, find me a place to fight? A place to be a strategist?

I'll be hated by people who worked to get hard where they are, and maybe I'll make some kinda difference, but I'll always be the upstart. The outsider. I'm a prickly fuck, and it'll get worse when I know I'm alone. I'll offend the wrong people. You'll come talk to me, eventually, because you must, and so much balances on your knight's reputation. I won't want to tarnish it... but I will. It's who I am, and I'll only change so much for you.

And you'd only change so much for me. Just a little, and mostly where nobody else could see.

[ He smiled and set an elbow on a knee, set his chin in his hand. ]

The other path? You do nothing and let me find my own way. And then what?

You consort with a common woodworker on weekends? Tch, I'm no fuckin' idiot. You're going back to work, and maybe we'll see each other plenty at first, but I'll get less novel, your work will be intense. I can see a time where we haven't seen each other for a seaon, then two, then a year.

It's... sweet. Seriously. I don't think you'd offer somethin' like that to... most people. But I'm not gonna chase after you like a puppy just to flirt when we're alone and tell myself that's enough. And I'm not gonna run from death to let a whole city of other people die. Not if I can stop it.

Not if I have even the smallest fuckin' chance.

[ Aymeric's breaths were slow, carefully deep. His hands, folded together loosely, were as still as marble, and his voice was steady and even. ]

That is— more noble than perhaps you realize, and it is that virtue, and it is virtue, that tells me I would regret leaving you here, each day, all my life. My people could benefit so greatly from your knowledge. And you are mistaken— [ he looked at Cain, intense, making no effort to return the smile. ]

"A place to be a strategist" would be with me. I am the strategist. Your office would be created under mine. And my reputation — has weathered far worse. Nothing you could do would best what I myself have done. I have torn apart my country's faith; I have left its seat of authority vacant. I had the temerity to be a bastard and claim a holy office. People say I had my father slain, and by a certain reckoning, they have the right of it. There are some who believe I had him slain for no more than bitterness, and still I lead the knights, still I speak for the lords. Even the smallest aid you could be to the least of my people would be a hundred times greater than what little damage you might do to my name.

[ He looked away, at the ceiling, at the far window, broad shoulders tight and rigid. ]

But this is not convincing you.

You are a good man.

[ There was something in Aymeric's voice. Cold fingers drew down his spine. And it was like... something in that voice coiled around his lungs and with the smallest pressure made him unable, quite, to breathe.

He'd been... happy, to come here. So fucking happy, and happier every day, that only a few months here and his whole other life felt like a fucking... bad dream. Aymeric offering this was like the whispered words of his grandmother, beginning a faerie story while he and his sisters all piled in the same bed to listen.

Because what boy hadn't wanted to be a hero? To save people, and to have that kind of power? Need had driven him to theft and crime so young he'd learned to scoff at noble sorts and Earther ideals under the hands of seasoned Bratva enforcers, and though his tattoos had all been taken when he'd been scraped out of military service, he remembered the pain of earning a star, and the blood and panic of his first murder, until it was all so rote that he could cut off an ear faster than most men could pull something out of their pockets.

But he'd never forgotten that impossible want. Buried it, smothered it, like most men learned to do. But something about this place... made it grow like a vining weed, and branch, until now it felt like it was smothering the corpse of his old self and using the decaying body for fucking food.

He stared at Aymeric, and imagined all the things they could do. Antiobiotics. Vaccines. The list ran down the back of his mind, medicine, education, science, industry.

And was interrupted by thinking of the pack of children from the homes on the block, who he played with sometimes and who had set up traps to catch him because he'd promised to teach them to play cards if they could. The harpy pickpockets, the merrow singers by the docks, and the first time he... realized that he was free. The taste of strawberries. Having all the water in the world, the sight of the light of the sunset the ocean.

He leaned back, and the breath he released was deeply shaken. ]

[ And then he grinned, an expression that cut across his features with a knife. ]

I'm not a good man. I keep telling you.

And you're right. I'm gonna stay.

But I'm gonna fuckin' save this place, or die trying, and if heaven won't fuckin' move to help me, then I'll move hell. Nothing impossible has stopped me before, and it won't now.

If this world doesn't die, then you're going to see me again. Maybe in years, or decades, but I'll find a way, and tell you in my own voice just how we fuckin' did it. And you'll pour me wine, and tell me all you've done in the meantime.

Got it?

[ Aymeric stared at the window several seconds longer, quiet, swaying fractionally with the beating of his heart. He didn't need to see Cain's grin to know it was there. ]

You are exceptionally skilled at divining what I both do and do not hope to hear.

[ He stood, then, as if he meant to go — but he knelt smoothly in front of Cain instead, practiced, head bowed deeply. ]

If we can save this place, and we manage it before we understand the mirrors, and if there is a choice, after all of that — I humbly ask you to consider returning with me. Beseech you, beg you. Anything.

Hey, everybody's gotta have a talent.

[ Aymeric stood, and it was like... all their dances had been. The familiar move to leave. A farewell was on the tip of his tongue as he stood, too...

But a bow came instead. He looked... stunned, at first, pulse beating in the side of his throat. Almost unconsciously, his hand moved, twitched forward from his side, tanned dark, and calloused hard, as if he might try to touch Aymeric's face.

Paused, an inch away. He thought he could feel the heat of the elf's cheek. ]

Back to being a knight again.

Don't beg. It's totally just as beautiful as I... thought it'd be, but... you don't... you don't need to.

I'm with you.

[ He turned his head very slightly at the approach of Cain's hand, as if deciding what to do with it — breathed out against his fingertips, breathed in sawdust and brine.

It was enough. Pressing him for excruciating clarity would do no good.

Aymeric got to his feet, just as smoothly, looking down at Cain. A faint smile came back to him— ]

Was I a rogue, for a moment? Apologies.

Edited (sorry,,) 2019-07-01 00:39 (UTC)

[ The skin of his forearms tightened into stark goosebumps, visible where his sleeves were messily pushed up toward his elbows. Both hands trembled, this time, a little tremor of... restraint.

They returned more to his sides as Aymeric stood, and his grin returned. Lopsided, instead of sharp, and he huffed a 'tch' and rolled his eyes. ]

'Apologies' my ass, you're doing it again! Don't think that little smile hides it, either, your eyes are laughing.

[ Aymeric raised his eyebrows. ]

I am doing nothing. Firstly, were I to take what I wanted, I should throw you over my shoulder and drag you back through a mirror with me—

[ As he'd done days before, at the Coven, he laid his hands fondly on either side of Cain's jaw. ]

—But I cannot. Your conviction is one of your most admirable qualities.

[ As before, Cain went calmly still. Settled. His eyes closed, and he focused on all his other senses. The warmth and scent and feeling of the other man, the sense of his height. The electric points of contact between fingertips and skin. ]

Most people just call me crazy.

[ He cracked one eye open, just a black sliver, and peeked up at Aymeric. ]

And since we can't make the mirrors work anyway, we could just.... split the difference.

[ He should let his hands fall, he knew — but Cain liked them there, evidently. They were alone in the tower. It meant nothing. He let them linger, shaking his head minutely. ]

"Split the difference" in what way?

[ He should stop. He should fucking stop. It was... enough, it was enough, he fucking knew better. And between all the fucking problems of rank, station, different worlds, different wants, expectations, it was just...

A trap, a fucking gorgeous wonderful six-foot-whatever handsome elf-knight trap and he smelled so fucking good and ever since fucking playing at buying him Cain had wanted to just trip him into a bed and grab a fistful of his pretty hair and fuck him 'till dawn or unconsciousness, whichever happened first.

In his old life, a knife's edge from death, and under the protection of the sleazy commander, he could take what he wanted.

But would taking this, now... or trying to... fucking break it in his hand? It felt like spun glass, beautiful and fragile somehow, but... powerful. Every nerve in him hummed with it.

He cracked both eyes open, just catlike slits, and whispered. ]

I could be the rogue.

[ Nothing, for a few seconds, moved. Aymeric's hands were very steady; the faint smile he wore was undisturbed. The gentle rise and fall of his shoulders became artificially even again.

He'd invited this back with him. It wasn't only Cain's virtues, or his knowledge; it was this — standing too close, whispering insinuations. The seat of the lord commander was a relatively large room, for the desk and chair it held, but whispers carried in those stone halls, and there was never a moment when the door wasn't guarded.

If his knowledge and compassion and determination were Cain's virtues, this was undeniably a vice, and Aymeric knew he could not have the first without the last. Winning a war required sacrifices.

And he liked Cain, besides.

Aymeric gave him a measured look, tilting his head. The corner of his mouth hitched up. ]

I think you would have some difficulty throwing me over your shoulder.

Edited 2019-07-01 02:46 (UTC)

[ His smile firmed a little, and he closed his eyes again. He focused on the feeling of the hands at his jaw and neck. Relaxed again, let the tension of his wants flow... somewhere away.

One day I'm gonna tell you about all the standard Martian gene mods and really melt your mind. On a good day I could carry twice your weight. ]

Underestimate me at your peril.

Edited 2019-07-01 03:01 (UTC)

[ Almost imperceptibly, Aymeric also relaxed — his hands slackened; the set of his shoulders eased. The thin suggestion of challenge in his voice shifted to good-natured teasing. ]

Oh! My peril. I suppose this forces me to reconsider.

[ He pushed his hands back, sweeping his thumbs over the tips of Cain's ears — he had no idea whether it was subtly pleasant or nothing at all, but it was a harmless thing to discover — and settled them on his shoulders, down his biceps, gone. He folded his arms. ]

But I have interrupted your lesson.

[ Cain only hummed a questioning note with his arms crossed as if he'd forgotten what the entire conversation were about, shoulders lifting unconsciously up around his ears at the unexpected but not unpleasant touch to their ends, brows both arching and lifting to smooth out his expression. It made him look like a small, rumpled bird ruffling its feathers and tucking in on itself in a moment of peaceful, transcendant pleasure.

And then the touch fell away and he blinked up. ]

I, uh... sorry, what did you say?

[ Well — once more wouldn't be terrible waste of time. Aymeric reached out, smiling. ]

Forgive me; your ears are so — I'd no idea whether it might have the same effect.

[ So short, they were short, but that was relative. He did it again to prove his point: traced the tip of Cain's ear between his thumb and forefinger, a little more deliberately, lingering. ]

[ This time his eyes closed again, and he looked as if he might start melting wholesale to the floor, go liquid as a pet cat. ]

Same...?

[ He echoed, voice almost softened by a dreamy quality. Aymeric's bolder touch made the short, black claws of his modest gauges tremble at his lobes. He tucked in as if he might burrow between Aymeric's arm and his body and just start properly leaning if this went on. ]

It's... ears are... sensitive, but not for all humans. Just... most. Erogenous is the word, I think.

[ His thoughts had gone pleasantly scattered. ]

Are yours like that, too? Does your earring mean anything?

[ Aymeric's fingers kept moving very slightly; they'd picked up a rhythm. ]

It means nothing at all. [ Except that it helped, for one in his position, to stand out a little. Cain would learn that, if by a convergence of good fortune he ever really came to Ishgard — the very first thing they'd need to do was have a tailor brought to the manor. ] And they are, a bit. It imparts a sort of calm.

[ He gave the words a rising intonation that said he didn't expect Cain to do anything with that knowledge, but he was allowed to have it.

He couldn't have said whether he'd do exactly what Cain was — though that, in part, was because it was shameless. Only a little more of this, and then he'd pull Cain's attention back to where it needed to be. A little more. ]

Nothing... but it looks good... definitely...

[ He spoke like a dreamer, the words loose, only the barest thread of logic stringing them together. Totally un-selfconscious as he did begin to lean, just a little, chin ducked almost to his chest, brow making contact low on Aymeric's chest. ]

I thought... longer, right, maybe less sensitive?

The very tip is less so; you're not entirely mistaken.

[ He didn't hide the amusement in his voice. His free hand hooked around the back of Cain's neck — neither heavy nor holding him in place; just a quiet assurance that he could stay if he liked. ]

You were thinking on it?

[ Aymeric's hand curved over the back of his neck, pleasantly dwarfing, and Cain melted in like a stroked cat, eyes closed, voice muffled against Aymeric's chest. ]

Tch.... 'course, yes, thinking... always thinking...

Ears, face... nose is straight, magic? You've been in fights. Scars? Hands, you have nice hands... Quiet, you move quiet, I like that... And tall, what... are all elves so tall... mmh

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1/2

2/2

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