(open) & i may not see the future,

[civicbooty]

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,,,)

Comments

[civicbooty]

[ 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.

[lovebiter]

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.

[civicbooty]

[ 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.

[lovebiter]

[ 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.

[civicbooty]

[ 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.

[lovebiter]

[ 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.

[civicbooty]

[ 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?

[lovebiter]

[ 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.

[civicbooty]

[ 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.

[lovebiter]

[ 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.

[civicbooty]

[ 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.

[lovebiter]

[ 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?

[civicbooty]

[ 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. ]

[lovebiter]

[ 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?

[civicbooty]

[ 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. ]

[lovebiter]

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?

[civicbooty]

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?

[lovebiter]

[ 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

[civicbooty]

[ No part of the flood of half-formed questions seemed significant. Aymeric picked out what he could easily and satisfactorily answer: ]

I have got scars. Magic is a great help, of course, but not often quite enough for deep wounds.

[ He drew his fingertips across the nape of Cain's neck, back and forth, light and experimental. ]

[lovebiter]

Deep wounds...

... how long have you been a knight?

[ Goosebumps rolled down his arms again, this time with a shiver that started at his nape. Something about Aymeric smelled so good, too, the pleasant masculine scent of light sweat, clean soap and clothes, something else he couldn't quite place. He wondered, in a vague way, what the elf's skin would taste like, imagined how pretty bruises must look on him.

His shoulders slowly began to sag, as if he'd go limp in small, steady measures under the other man's steady hand. ]

You look young... and then you open your mouth...

Wise, wise, wise... you ever get tired of being wise..?

[civicbooty]

[ That won a dry laugh. He wouldn't cast doubt on himself, not when Cain could revoke his help whenever he wanted, but wise was generous. ]

My kind do not age in precisely the same manner as yours, though the divergence is not much, I think. I am two-and-thirty. I have been a knight since I came of age.

[ He tipped his head to the side, thinking. His hand shifted, fingertips pressing gentle circles into the muscle on either side of Cain's spine. ]

I was an archer until I was some years older. Scars and wounds were less a concern, then. Scouts and sentries are more like to die than to be wounded.

[ Just a fact; his voice was neutral. ]

[lovebiter]

What's come of age? You're always an age... I'm two-and-twenty.

[ His brow smoothed and he tucked his chin, offering more of the space of his neck up to Aymeric's fingers, speaking down to their feet. ]

Sounds like being in the fleet... Even a glancing hit, right.. from a 'teron... their weapons are better, stronger, faster...

Most times, and you're a million pieces of... of frozen flesh and glass and metal scattered in the darknes...

Seventeen in a hundred survive first year. Survive three, you can have your name back.

[ He felt almost like he was falling asleep, and the images of all those things flowed through his pleasure-dimmed mind like water. Home. Glittering battlefields. Drinking while he watched them float by. Anna. He shifted his face minutely against Aymeric's chest. ]

Who named you?

[civicbooty]

[ He let go of Cain's ear, wrapped that arm around his shoulders. Seventeen in a hundred made pitiful odds even compared to Ishgard in the worst times of sieges and calamities; Cain's people were fighting a war of attrition, and it sounded as though they were losing. It was fortunate, in a way, that he'd decided not to give a damn.

The question wrenched his thoughts to a place that made him feel tired. ]

I...am not certain. It might have been my father, I suppose. He did not acknowledge me, but I think he hoped I would become something great.

[ He didn't wait to redirect the subject. ]

Are you still wary of giving me your name?

[lovebiter]

Yes.

[ The answer was quick, less fuzzy on the edges, certain.

There was something too-familiar in the quality of Aymeric's voice, when he mentioned his father. It probed at a place in Cain's mind he had no want to revisit, and he was just as glad to have the diversion of subject.

He didn't want to ruin this strange... comforted-safe-adored feeling. ]

Though... I know you'll keep it safe. It's... sharing names, it's... intimate. And... hah, a part of me's still afraid someone will know if I say it, and shove me in a hole again.

[ His mouth was dry. He took in a slow, steady breath. ]

I'm Alexei.

Alexei Sokolov. It's a name like yours, I guess. People give it to boys as a... hope.

[civicbooty]

[ It wasn't what he'd meant. If his father had hoped for nothing from him, he wouldn't have named him at all, and perhaps Aymeric would be named something else, the name of any wretch in the lower levels of the city, cowed by years of cold and starvation — but the way Cain interpreted it twisted something unexpected in his heart.

His hand had paused. He switched tack to cover the hesitation, stroked up into Cain's hair and back down to the collar of his shirt. ]

Alexei.

[ Undeniably foreign, but easily pronounced. It had a grace. His voice was warm. ]

Would you rather I call you Cain elsewhere?