(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]

I want this to go on.

[ The heel of his palm settled in the hollow of Cain's collarbone, close in a way that might have taken on a different meaning if they were alone, not standing in knee-deep grass within view of the city wall. ]

I like knowing that you are well; that you're...in good spirits. Even so, my wants must never infringe upon yours.

[lovebiter]

No: your wants will, sometimes, infringe on mine. And sometimes, mine will infringe on yours. It's the nature of a relationship, right, and... pretty much all fuckin' compromise. And it'll happen, eventually, in all areas of our lives. What we do, where we spend time, resources. In politics, in conversations, hell, even in bed.

I want Aymeric, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights.

But also... Aymeric, the Actual Mortal Man Who Sometimes Wouldn't Refuse a Stiff Drink and Has His Own Wants and Desires and Probably Steals the Covers When He Sleeps.

[ Some trick of his voice capitalized every part of the second title, and he leaned in, just a little, against Aymeric's hand. ]

Life is too fuckin' messy to ever be perfectly even.

Think about it, hell. If I got sick, or injured, you'd put time aside to help me, and let at least a little of my wants and needs infringe on yours. The reverse is true, too.

[civicbooty]

[ Aymeric looked away just a little, at the grass, and nodded slowly, running his thumb in an idle arc over the column of Cain's throat. ]

I take your point. Allow me to be more clear, then: in this, my wants should be subservient to yours. Whether we have a Bond or no, you are half a city away, and if you go on with your regimen, you are not at risk. I am satisfied. You've asked me not to offer this without some emergency, and...it is selfish, entirely.

There is also the matter of Francel. He will not care for the notion, I suspect.

[lovebiter]

I also asked you what you wanted.

[ A tease at his own expense; and his lashes fluttered, closed, at the pleasant pass of Aymeric's thumb. His lips parted for a shaken breath to spill out of, and he trembled there, for a second. Cracked his eyes opem to smile up at Aymeric...

But that expression, and the acceptance on the tip of his tongue froze.

Francel. The name burned in his mind like a firebrand.

He was so delicate, so... fucking enamored of Aymeric, and also so fucking uncomfortable, in the middle of his change... he'd take it hard, and strongly. Might even consider it a betrayal of trust.

What to do? It was unthinkable for them to proceed without informing him, and ideally his permission; more, Cain could admit to himself, because he liked the other man than because he felt other parties were owed details on his... whirlwind romantic life.

He slipped his hands up Aymeric's arms, gentle. ]

No, he won't. We've got to talk to him, together. You made your commitment to him, first, and he's our friend.

If you want this, even knowing what it means to me, then I'm yours. And we can consider it our first test. Being a team, under pressure, with a lot on the line.

[civicbooty]

I do.

[ He'd gone back into practicality, the lines of his face hard and cool, and worry was ebbing back in where he'd been at peace with everything, minutes ago. ]

But Francel does not weather disappointment well, and there is much that I owe him. If he is set against it, at least he'll know my intent. I think he may see reason — another day, if not at once. I agree, in any case; we must speak with him together. He must understand that this is not a...rejection, or a replacement.

[lovebiter]

[ That, too, came easy. The cooling and hardening, as if a cloud had been pulled before the sun.

It wasn't the way to handle Francel. Aymeric's politician's face and focused demeanor weren't soft enough. The other man wasn't a puzzle of logic, but of feeling.

Smiling, he stepped back. Now he heard the distant plod of hooves, and harness, and the wooden rattle of the wagon. But his hands slid down Aymeric's forearms, hooked fondly under his hands, to grip them gently. And he tried to thread his optimism into their Bond, to coax what had tightened in the other man to relax, a little, once more. ]

We just need to go to it gently. And with... y'know, being affectionate. He's clever, he'll sense if we're tense, and it'll make him feel worse, he'll beat himself up.


We've gotta treat him.. like a vine rose we're trying to guide up a trellis. Soft hands, light touch, and thinkin'... of the longer-term, bigger gains, not the immediate ones. If we handle this perfect, perfect, we can win more than just him not being upset; we can make him feel trusted, cared for, and confirm that he is important.

Not just a win. But a win-win.