middaeg | fellas is it gay if you can magically read your best bros thoughts (OPEN)

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fellas is it gay if you can magically read your best bros thoughts (OPEN)

Who: Rich and others
When: Morning and noonish, November 15
Where: Jeremy, Rich, and Michael's home
What: Rich and Jeremy's Bonding ceremony and celebration
Warnings: none

i. Bonding (Closed)

[Jeremy shows up at Rich's door bright and early the next morning. Despite how Rich claimed that suits weren't required, Jeremy still put together the nicest-looking thing in his wardrobe. His hair is slicked back, his skin is clearer than usual (where did he find concealer?), and he's used up a good chunk of his precious deodorant that he brought with him through the mirror.

The SQUIP had a lot of drawbacks, being an evil mind-controlling robot and all, but it taught Jeremy a valuable lesson: Jeremy cleans up good.

When Rich opens the door, Jeremy's waiting expectantly, hands behind his back and bouncing on his toes. It's clear that he's been there a while.]

You ready to go?

ii. Announcement (Open)

[To announce their Bond and to celebrate, Rich and Jeremy have opened the house up for any and everyone who wants to check it out--both quietly not mentioning how empty the space seems with Justine's recent disappearance. At Rich's suggestion, they've sent an open invitation out on the watch network to anyone who wants to drop by and offer congratulations.

Their budget isn't huge, but Jeremy's insistence on hospitality means that they've got enough finger food and drinks for people to try out. There's no alcohol.

Jeremy's still nervous even though the deed is done, so he's bustling around constantly to make sure that everything is perfectly neat, that they've got enough seats, and that nobody needs a refill. In his rush, bringing a hot tray of cookies from the oven straight onto a serving tray, he bumps into you. As he turns around to see who he's plowed over, he rushes to apologize. The niceties run into themselves before he even sees your face.]

Shoot--I'm sorry--thanks for coming!

iii. Wildcard (Open)

[Jeremy and Rich are both available to talk about their new bond with your character. Let me know if you want a specific situation!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[L is almost always uniquely happy to see Myr, on almost every occasion. This doesn't quite qualify, even so; he's winning, after all, at least by the terms of the particular game he's chosen to engage in, and so it feels like this is really him at his best, in top form. It should be impressive, but... Myr's not reacting that way. No, quite far from it, in fact. At one point, L would dismiss it easily as someone simply not understanding the game, as Rich so clearly doesn't, as most people don't... but he can usually count on Myr to understand such matters, even if he doesn't agree with them.

There's an impasse. L doesn't like it, not for the inherent qualities it possesses, but because of the squirming discomfort it sets in motion beneath his lungs. Maybe it's annoyance at Rich for being a substandard plaything, in the end; so many of their fights end because someone else cuts in, and not because L has delivered a killing blow. It's a frustrating lack of closure for someone born to humans who somehow manages to fall short of being human in most capacities.

One thing is certain, now. No matter how this ends, Rich will not hear an apology from him. His pride has a chokehold embargo on apologies, especially the heartfelt kind that readily admits deficiency.]

Every rule has to be pushed to the point of absurdity for its limits to have meaning at all. I suppose when you live in a constant state of absurdity, it's not a very effective illustrative technique.

[He was trying to teach Rich something about the world, you see? But some people can't be taught.]

I'm sorry that the cookies fell because you pulled them out of my hand. I'm sorry that you have to mop the floor at your own party, and I'm sorry that your ambiguous and imprecise phrasing leaves a lot of room for innocent misunderstanding. Technically, I've done everything you've asked me to, and all I wanted were several cookies.

[Rich is extremely frustrated by this conversation, and it's only made worse every time L bothers to open his mouth. L can dance around with vague wording all he wants, but Rich understands the implications there. There's no way to ignore what he's saying or what he thinks of Rich.

It makes him feel sick to be around him. He was trying to be polite with him, but it never matters. Nothing he says ever matters because apparently, he's just not smart enough to be worth anything.]

You know, forget it. You and the SQUIP are a perfect match. You never say anything straight forward and you never own up to any of your mistakes.

I could say more, but I don't want to break my own house rules.

[He really does have some thoughts on what the fate of the SQUIP and Linden is going to end up being, but he bites them back.]

You can apologize properly, or you can leave my house now.

[It's worse because Myr can understand Linden's reasoning--at least some of it--for that instinct to showy dominance lurks in his own breast. How often had he dug in on an argument instead of relented with grace? (How often, when he was so much younger, had that desire spilled over into physical violence instead from frustration and outraged protective instincts?)

These aren't his non-apologies to accept or comment on--they're Rich's--and so he's silent as Linden offers them and as Rich (rightly) responds with frustration. Then it's time to intervene, once the Dragon's spoken and before the Witch can reply, because Myr knows very well exactly how this is going to go from the last time he stepped into one of their fights.]

Let's step outside a moment, Linden. [Not serah Tailor, any longer; that's a distance Myr can maintain but in instants and flashes, without a very different sort of sustained emotion than what he's experiencing now.] If you'd be so kind as to escort me?

[Then, to Rich,] If we might talk later, as well? I've a recommendation for the--spell. [The sign.

He knows a guy who can fix that, if need be.

But also there's other things he'd like to say without displaying too much of his hand intended for the other in front of either disputing party.]

[Could you say more? Please try. Please give it your very best shot. L's viper quick tongue is at the ready to retort... when Myr interjects again, this time with purpose and wisdom that he is absolutely too close to see. Because he's so close to winning; that's what matters. That's, in so many ways, all that matters, and the result is absolutely peeved annoyance.

But he respects Myr. It's what mitigates a withering or acidic response, and results instead in a plaintive sigh that is actually not contrarian in any way. Just... well, disappointed, in a far more childish way. His victory on his terms, and therefore his fun, is being taken from him.]

Right now...?

[He knows what the point of this is. There's no pressing need aside from separating the two of them... but it also preserves L from the unbearable degradation of being forced to apologize. It's intended to save face instead of shredding L's dignity after pushing it to its knees. That, at least, is worth something.]

Fine... I'm glad to.

[Even if it means doing what he hates to, more than anything, and walking away.]

Edited 2019-11-26 20:30 (UTC)

[He weighs his responses in silence as they make their way to the door and out of the cottage. What do you think you're doing? waits at the front of the queue, instinctive and disappointed and--Myr realizes--unsuitable. Childish as he might act, Linden is a man grown and in all of Myr's experience, responds better when given something to grow to rather than sink toward.

And he did walk away when asked.

So, and so. Once they're outside, Myr--

finds his attention distracted as the buffering presence of other Monsters in so small a space is stripped away. There's something that's not a smell (ozone) and not a feeling (pinpricks in a sleeping limb) that's nevertheless half-familiar to him; were he back home, he'd say instantly the Veil had been worn thin around them. Except that's not how magic works in Geardagas; it's not layered thick over everything, interpenetrating the realm of opposition. Magic in Geardagas flows and pools and collects like water, drawn toward and drawing in Monsters--where it fountains up from Witches.

He draws in a long slow breath through his nose, tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth against the sudden thought of Witchblood.

Whatever else he'd been planning to say is driven straight out of his head.]

Sweet Andraste singing--maybe I ought to have you walk me up to the Coven and we'll see if anyone's still there officiating Bonds. [I'm sorry. I should have checked in with you sooner--]

How are you feeling?

[L's steps are brisk and his posture is stiff. Typically, he's considerate when Myr is walking beside him, extending an arm or some other form of sighted guidance, but now it's as though it doesn't even occur to him to offer. Not that he would shake off the faun if Myr were to reach out and take hold of him, but he's encapsulated in a storm and fury of his own in these moments, afflicted with tunnel vision as the molecules around him just feel like they whirl faster than the ones outside of the peculiar radius. His lungs are too small for the hurricane he wants to inhale, his eyes a glazed and shrouded mirror for an incomprehensible universe.

So he crushes the air out of his chest, swallows, squeezes his eyes shut and recenters himself before he can properly answer Myr. Even then, the true definition of "proper" is debatable, because the detective seems uncharacteristically scattered and volatile.

Myr said something, just now. He's sure he misheard, at first.]

I'm sorry...?

[Right... Bonds. They'd discussed it. L had assumed the champagne had had more to do with it than any genuine wish on Myr's part. His own wishes are very clear to him, but most of the people who genuinely admires and has very few negative feelings towards can do so much better than him.]

You... still want a Bond, with me?

[He doesn't answer the question about the way he's feeling. The odd peaks and ebbs of energy surrounding him probably communicate it more succinctly than he ever could in words, even at his most clear-minded.]

Yes.

[There isn't even a beat of hesitation in him. It would have been yes, you dear idiot with Everett--the dimensions of that relationship a teasing, softer thing--but it had not come to that between them; there, Myr had been the one to wonder that someone would want him, given everything else on offer.

He doesn't have to guess at a fragment of what Linden's feeling in this instance.]

Even if I didn't admire you as much as I do, I couldn't stand by knowing you were being pulled apart by magic. You need a Monster and I need a Witch before something eats me next full moon when I'm out frolicking bare-arsed and careless in the Wilde.

[Danger--especially danger to those he cares about--makes him uncommonly direct; the knight-enchanter's training to communicate succinctly and without pretense when lives are on the line.]

That you're a dear friend makes it all the more urgent.

[L's circumstances are so strange and twisted; it's rather like him to immediately question any proclamation of extreme devotion or sincerity, even if it comes from a trusted source. He is cynical, after all, when it comes to humans... but Myr isn't that, wasn't even before he came to Aefenglom. Perhaps that mollifies some of L's natural tendency to balk at the claims, or assume that they are pretty lies painted to appeal to someone lonely and in a desperate way. He's built that trust, brick by brick, and any wariness or panic L feels is phantom pain, purely reflexive, not helped by the burgeoning magical mania that tugs at his spine and heels.]

You're... framing it as something mutual. So that I don't feel indebted to you, but...

[One of us is clearly in more need. One of us is clearly a force that's edging toward being uncontrollable, in far more destructive ways than just "frolicking bare-arsed and careless in the Wilde." Full to the brim with magic, uncycled and explosive, L has more in common with mist or lightning than with any gentle-natured hedonism.]

It's well beyond that point. I know.

[They're going to the Coven tonight, in other words. There's no time to ponder or posture, play some little game where thought experiments and wishes perform a dance for their entertainment. L and Myr's discussion must move toward action with far greater urgency than either of them are accustomed to, and maybe they do owe it to each other.]

Edited 2019-12-03 05:32 (UTC)

[They're as good as settled, then. Now Myr reaches to take Linden's arm, grip firm and steady as his voice,]

We'll talk about that after. Lead on.

[In truth, he is not so level as he makes himself appear; the tone of Linden's voice and the unwonted directness of his words leave terror cold as ice congealing in the pit of Myr's stomach. He'd let this go on too long, let Linden tread much too close to death. Damn the man's other Bonds, too, for bringing it to this (though truth be told most of his animus is not for the SQUIP; whatever its flaws, it did not want Linden at risk).

It is at least not a long walk to the Coven, especially not for a pair impelled by urgency, and Myr--chatterbox that he often is--will not find words to share for any of it. He's in no fit control of his emotions.]

[An electric thrum glazes up through Myr's hand and wrist as he takes L's arm, and the witch's steps are weaving as he starts forward though the punch at the party was nonalcoholic. Now that he's been called out on it, perhaps it feels safer to relax his insistent and determined conviction that he could do the impossible for longer than the other mortals, and the pull and call of a fey wind begins to become more pronounced and tempting.

There are stars that burn brightly overhead; none so bright as he could, if only for a moment. His steps are no steadier, but his pace faster, lighter. There's an unnamed euphoria that tugs at L like a kite on a shredding string, that urges him often toward places that are decidedly not the Coven... but Myr's presence is grounding, and in the strangely breathless and tense silence they walk in, he manages to stay on track, and get them there.

He raises a hand in greeting, and though Myr can't see the reactions of the witches standing guard, there's a definite impression that something is strange and alarming about L. They aren't made to wait even a moment to get a witch to preside over a Bond, although the hour is late and it seems as though this is irregular by the usual hours and standards.]

I think that...

[L sounds vaguely shocked, numb.]

This should have happened a long time ago.

[The sudden raised voices of the Witches around them--the haste with which they're conveyed, nearly pushed to the circle for the Bonding ceremony--oh, Myr has to bite his tongue not to laugh an unhappy laugh at Linden's observation. It would not be kind, it would not be of any use, that stress response of his. Instead, he grips his friend's arm the tighter--a reassuring squeeze--before letting go and separating from Linden only far enough that he can put both hands out for the taking.

He's no real idea if it's a tradition here, but it's how he'd held hands with Everett for his first Bond. While the tenor of his relationship with Linden is far different from what he has with the other Faun, the magnitude of sentiment is not, and Linden deserves no less of him.]

It should have, and I was remiss in not coming to you sooner. You'll take me as your Bonded anyhow?

[There's a great deal more he'd say than that, but he thinks--in this instant--he can save his longer declaration for his friend until after the Bond's in place and everyone in the room can breathe again. The weight of wild magic longing only for the least spark crowds out all the air and any chance of long-winded vows with it.]

[Spindles of living lightning twine in return around the faun's fingers. There's a quaver, the slightest tremor in the energy that surrounds him and seeps into the monster L is facing, but it isn't L's resolve that is shaken. It's the knowledge that once it's done, there will be ugly and broken things that he'll no longer be able to obfuscate, things that he has hinted at with Myr but never been truly blatant or frank about addressing.]

I will... of course I will.

[He wants to say that the fault rests just as much with him, that he could and should have said something, approached Myr, made a point of mentioning what the Coven witches can see so clearly. The words stick in his throat; will all his apprehension be wasted? Will it turn out that things are actually easier when Myr can understand what he'd say if he could express his emotions and his needs the way most humans are capable of doing? When the roundabout, stupid, strangely necessary game is truncated, will life get sweeter and gentler?

It must, if for no other reason than L does not trust or get close to others, and now as a result he's wreathed in power that wants to disassemble him.]

Whatever comes... whatever you see, or feel as a result of...

[I'm sorry. I don't know why it's like this.]

Try not to be angry or afraid. Please.

[It makes Myr's heart contract painfully to hear those words. Not so much for anticipating what he might find but that this anxiety should ride Linden even here, even now, when a Bond's become a matter of life and death. That is too, too familiar; it is what had kept him shy of Bonding until circumstances had forced it.

(How awful to be known for what's beneath the masks they wore. How wonderful it would be to find them unnecessary.)

He cannot quite manage the reassuring smile he'd like, this close to the maelstrom's center; but he can do his damnedest. Gently,]

Linden, dear friend, you've a shadow that will burn the world for you.

[I may not know the extent of your darkness but I know it's there. I'm not afraid. His fingers tighten on Linden's too-thin hands, a tangible promise added to the words unspoken. Once committed, he is not one to let go lightly.

He raises his voice, addressing the nervous Witch officiating:] Now, if you would.

[It's pure instinct on Myr's part to brace in the instant before the Bond's set. If all that pent-up magic must flow to ground through him--]

[L, likewise, can't smile here and now as the blaze that's long boiled beneath his still waters swells nearer the surface. The officiating Witch feels it, Myr must feel it... even as L himself is so accustomed to treating unsustainability as the status quo that he scarcely registers a hint of heat and pressure. Not only is a smile far from his lips and his eyes, but Myr's comment chases the color from his face, as well. It's true; L has a shadow who would burn the world for him. Myr has met Mello; he knows, but does he realize he has a reason to be afraid, yet?

There's so much he doesn't realize. But it's too late to think of other options, other plans, other ways for Myr to continue to think that perhaps he deserves that kind of devotion. The darkness is more than the melancholy that L carries often with him, the blithe casual cruelty in words that convey tremendous understanding for all but the hearts of his fellow, feeling humans. It's a mangled soul in a thousand grisly pieces that is somehow still walking and moving as a human facsimile, in constant fear of its revelation unraveling its tenuous existence.

The Coven Witch hurries through the ceremony, stumbling over his words in his haste, the normally reverent and biding tone of Bonding taking on a hunted and harried quality. He even stands aside as the spell reaches its final stages and moves towards completion, as though anticipating the incredible shock that's bound to come from such a huge amount of uncycled and pent-up magical energy being released into a properly balanced environment.

In the end, it's actually gentle. Deceptively and insidiously so; L would not have people who would burn the world for him if there were not exquisite pieces of beauty scattered throughout the ruins, brilliant stars against a pitch-black night. Mello had felt it when they'd Bonded, seen the wonder before the despair, and Myr may feel something like it now. L is strikingly unique among humans, spectacular, and doomed; it could inspire those who view such a creature with sympathy to reach for the treasures and succumb to the tar beneath it.

I'm sorry.

As the electricity begins to ebb from his frame, and his feet seem a little more connected to the earth and the manic and otherworldly light fades from his eyes, L watches his Bonded warily. The mental connection is settling and the wavelengths establishing; as he suspected, the fit is a highly compatible one, making it even less likely that Myr will regret this immediately or even soon. It's a shame... but selfishly, L is grateful.]

Edited 2019-12-11 03:35 (UTC)

[There is so, so very much that Myr does not know.

But this is not the first time he's cast himself into the dark without concern for what might be lurking there (or despite it)--trusting that whatever is there, he'd find a light or make one of his own. Though when that darkness resides in the soul of one who is, for all the little time they've known each other, already so dear to him... It hardly seems right to charge in there as torchbearer, to dim those brilliant lights with his own. It hardly seems kind, even if his first and strongest instinct is the valiant knight-enchanter's: To find whatever had made a ruin of his Bonded, rip it up by the roots and erase it so it could do Linden no further harm. (So that Linden would not have to stand before him feeling so profoundly of guilt.)

Life is rarely that simple, though, and this--this expanse that's horror and glory by turns--was not the work of a moment but a lifetime, not something that can be rectified in one heroic stroke. Myr was never a healer by magical inclination, but for all he has been impatient and negligent in his own process of recovery (see, here and here, the marks left in him; the skein of knotted scar tissue shaped as self-doubt dimming a confidence like a desert sun), he knows somewhat of what a healing takes. For all this was a Bond they entered into hastily, by absolute necessity, it's not something he'd done casually, without a thought of what it would require of him...

But Maker, he did not think it would take so much. Yet there's a symmetry in that, a deservedness; the ransom for someone who shone so brilliantly as Linden could not come at any lesser price.

Is this why You suffered me to come here? To witness this singular mind and all it would take to buy it back?

It's long seconds after the Bond has set that Myr finally remembers to breathe, and takes a step into the black,]

Linden Tailor, before the Maker and His Bride and these witnesses I take you as my Bonded, to walk with you on the path before us so long as you'll have me.

[Perhaps the best thing one could do for a sufferer trapped in so profound a darkness was find him and stay at his side.

It's all right. This is more than I'd thought it would be, but it will be all right. We're a match for this, together.

There is magic in his veins again. It may not be his to wield but it is there, undeniable and correct, and with that he can do anything.]

[It's astonishing and humbling, just how unique every Bond is. L had taken it for granted, once, and then he'd Bonded with someone who was determined to see him as fixable, and then someone who was determined to see him as above such an insulting notion as being fixed.

It's quite another thing entirely to Bond to someone who is determined to see him, ironic as that may be considering Myr's blindness. L wasn't prepared for the warm blaze of sincerity that Myr brings with him. This is a terrible place in so many ways, but Bonding with Myr doesn't bring the incriminating exposure L believed was coming, even though Myr might begin to suspect certain things about him that fail to quite pass genuine muster. Foremost is the fact that Linden Tailor is not his real name and never was; something like that sits near the surface like a floating fish carcass, flimsy and recent and obvious. Otherwise, there are many truths, even if they've been complicated by breakage or vandalism, or frosted over in ice too thick for the senses to discern.

The tendrils of connection begin to show L, in turn, Myr's own complications that are buried deeper than even a trained eye or a deep conversation can delve. There are weathered signs, injured signs, places where healing has happened but resulted in thick and disfiguring knots and calluses. Myr really is the sort to wear his pain like armor, pouring it outward in ways that can help others, isn't he? Anything to keep it from becoming a prison; anything to keep from letting it devour him by dwelling too long in his own dark places. But he's willing to inhabit this Bond, in spite of the chasms and abyss. The stars are beautiful, even if they're cold and so far away.

His hands are shaking in Myr's, and he catches the formation of a reassurance and a pledge. Myr would be insane, not to feel overwhelmed or afraid at all, but he's not leaving. It's heartening and encouraging, and builds something up stronger in him even as it chips away at something else, a long-held expectation that might as well be scripture.]

Myrobalan, I take you as my Bonded, and... I'll do my best, and I'll try...

[His breath catches. His head is so much clearer and more level, now that two witches aren't caging and amplifying his magic until it tears at the bars and his bones. But this is a difficult path they've chosen, and it's not lost on him that the task isn't only Myr's.

It would be so much easier to lie down and watch the stars until they faded into empty silence, but...]

I won't stop trying.

Edited 2019-12-14 21:44 (UTC)

[Each Bond was unique as the people who formed it--a truism Myr could have mouthed without having any experience of his own, but now he knows it for a fact. Everett's heart had been an oasis in a desert of loneliness and their Bond a chance for that garden to blossom. This Bond, with Linden--

--with L--

--as much as it's like looking up into the night sky while knee-deep in drifting wreckage it's also looking down into a cave, vast and deep and glittering with promise and rot. Myr had known he wasn't being given the whole truth of who "Linden Tailor" was, so there is no surprise in him to find that identity does not hold up beneath the weight of a Bond. There is a kind of dismay, there and gone; a realization less that he's been lied to and more he's foresworn himself in the act of speaking his vows.

Linden Tailor is chimerical, but Myr cannot pledge himself aloud to the person inhabiting that chimera--he knows without knowing why he knows, nor how he came by the profound caution that knowing imparts. He thinks, furiously, and lifts one of his Bonded's hands to his lips to grace the knuckles of it with a knightly kiss. Like so many of his gestures it is moved by instinct more than thought, a bone-deep feeling for the rightness of the moment and what's needed of him.]

That's all that's ever asked of us, [he says gently, once done.] That we try, and not cease. And whoever you try to become, I'll be with you.

[It is a promise that extends backward and forward in time, and so neatly ties up the hole left in what he'd spoken before--and more than that it is meant as absolute reassurance that it is not the outward seeming he is here for. Even if he is only growing to know that now, as the Bond knits itself deeper, and that knowledge...

That knowledge sparks an odd anticipation in him, blossoming and almost shy. Who are you, that I've glimpsed so briefly and loved anyhow? Who might you become?

(Almost shy because he is cognizant he's seen and known as much as he sees and knows, or perhaps even more than. His Bonded practiced in divination, and Myr knows from first-hand experience how much a talented diviner could find. Especially when--so he'd been told--the locus of his memory, that sun-baked Circle tower that means home and safety to him, was so tidily organized to keep all a blind man must memorize near to hand.

The emotions that swag and bedeck it, blazing brighter even than Myr shows to anyone--because a mage without control is a danger to himself and everyone around him--are not nearly so neat, no matter how he tries to marshal and mute them when he must. As he is now, by focusing on his breathing--he keeps forgetting to, enraptured creature that he is--and keeping a welcoming aspect toward his Bonded.

It is, almost, an invitation. If he will bind his soul to someone, there is no sense in trying to hide those things he cannot say aloud.)]

Edited (homophones.... shakes fist to the sky) 2019-12-15 14:40 (UTC)

[The fluttering lurches of expectations dismantled and then accounted for, rebuilt more accurately, is initially anxious and unstable. Truly knowing and being known by another was a privilege L never assumed or aspired toward; it was simply a piece to an alien jigsaw puzzle with no place slotting into his own. Now, there's an audacious inkling that perhaps it could, and it inspires both optimism and dread. Knowing that something is inaccessible is an absence of feeling, but having, and then losing on this scale, can tear a person to bleeding shreds of flesh with every raw nerve exposed and reeling.

No one sane or reasonable would want that, even if the temporary gift it paid for was sublime... right? But L believes he does want it, standing across from Myr as the faun tenderly kisses his knuckle, accepts the futile strange bracken that is a part of his life now. No one's ever done that, before, at least not without the ulterior belief that they had something to gain through a connection to this title's wealth and power and tireless fixation. Without those things... he's still a man, and a mind, and it fully appears that Myr would still want them without the millstone of that illustrious and deeply damaging legacy that has shaped L, and Mello, and the other contenders.

The Bond allows him to probe deeper and more discreetly than mere divining would allow him to; when used in conjunction, the combination gives him enviable insight to a partner's thoughts and motives. His training and skill as an investigator only give him a further edge, to the point where it comes naturally and he almost doesn't realize that he is reading Myr as deeply as he is. He'd intended to hold off on it, at least while the Bond is so new, but Myr's mind is a clean, well-lit and welcoming place, at least on this surface level. If he was bold and brazen enough to assume as much, he'd believe that this was a deliberate invitation exceeding the inherent invitation of a Bond... is Myr really so willing to share this much with him?

He wants to be the kind of person who deserves that, in the end. Sisyphean and hopeless, there are still things here worth trying for, aspects and elements that he wants to appropriate for himself.]

I believe you.

[Now, of course, remains only the troubling matter of ensuring that his best can actually be enough for an entirely new sort of task.]

[I believe you.

Three little words, and they mean as much to Myr as any more elaborate vow would. Framed as they are in his knowledge of L, both new and old--oh, it makes his heart leap to hear them, to know he has that trust.

He hopes he's earned it fairly; he hopes it is something he will continue to live up to, from here. (How strange some outside observer might find it, that two men who were so wholly different in how they responded to the world's reception of them, in how they navigated the vast universe of social understanding--one well, one poorly--might come to their Bond with such similar concerns about worth and ongoing worthiness. But then it's that willingness to try that made for the best friendships, families, marriages--it's finding that willingness indelibly present in L despite everything that gives Myr so much hope.

Of course, he's hope for everyone he meets--but how much more for someone he recognized as instant kindred, whose life had echoes of his own?)]

Let me ever be worthy of that, dear friend. [The word he uses is intimus from Tevene, the language of serious scholars of magic...and half Myr's heritage, though "fraught" doesn't even begin to describe it. The endearment seems utterly right either way for someone he'd connected to first as an intellectual sparring partner, then a friend, and now... Now this, the absolute openness a Bond could permit, should they let it.]

Let's give them their circle back, shall we? I'd like--[to get to know you better still,] to spend a little time alone with you.

[Or more than a little, but they'd walked out rather unexpectedly on something and Myr's notions of social propriety would eventually bite him over that. ...To say nothing of the entire rest of what he owed to Rich, given the apparent shift in loyalties this Bond would appear.

But let that bide a moment; let him bask a little longer in this newlywed sort of glow with L beside him a little longer. Let them find somewhere to sit and sort themselves out--

Myr squeezes L's hands, reassuring, before letting one go and taking a careful step back. He came from that way; it's likely a safe path of retreat until L can lead him elsewhere.

Despite the clouding of outside worries, Myr's side of the Bond remains as open as that first moment.]

Edited 2020-01-06 18:55 (UTC)

[Doesn't Myr realize? If he is able, then he is worthy... and so few people are able. So few have the patience to understand. Something of the sentiment radiates through, plaintive and soft, but it's not entirely new. There's something about it that feels as though it's been worn before, or applied out of necessity as a painter might with very limited colors in his palette and no ability to mix them for new shades, added nuance. It's not that Myr isn't uniquely special; it's not that L views him simply as a parent or a protector or a lover. But this same shade has been painted over the SQUIP, and further back, an elderly inventor. Even further back the gloss might even have belonged to the first to know and subsequently reject him.

While he doesn't believe that Myr will reject him, he doesn't expect to be a priority. A treasure among several, perhaps, more rough-hewn and raw than some of the rest, an interesting texture for curious fingers to explore. It's why he's surprised when Myr suggests what he does. The part of L that still struggles to accept that others would willingly spend time with him outside of a professional and necessary capacity swells and stretches like some caged thing finally given space to move... but another part of him is all too glad to snap the lock back in place, count the familiar bars from his smaller but far safer world.]

I want to, but...

[There's always a but. All the connections he's formed in Aefenglom, whether or not they've resulted in a Bond, have been longer and messier than any glancing interactions in his own world. While Light Yagami was his mortal enemy, as Kira, L hadn't lied entirely when he'd called the younger man his first friend. Days passed at his side, and he was still there, never mind that he was handcuffed to the detective and didn't have the freedom to walk away.

So much has changed since then. Conflict and uncertainty tumble against each other, wrestling without intent, indecisive and mewling infant expressions. They want to be part of that open, gentle suggestion that Myr's continued presence offers.

Or, he could run, and hide, and save something that merely being here feels like he's in the process of destroying.

The note cards and pens he always carries, as a dedicated etcher who is always prepared at a moment's notice for some custom job, are pulled from his pocket. He murmurs indistinctly to Myr, using a nearby podium as a back as he carefully scratches out a set of runes. He flutters the card a few times to speed its drying before nudging it, folded, into Myr's hand. ]

It's only a one-time use, but... it'll fix things. Provided no one's tried to force it and damaged the table. Just touch the edge against any part of the sign.

Edited 2020-01-07 06:49 (UTC)

[For one so devout as Myr, worthiness was a tricky concept. It isn't merely a mortal standard he's bound himself to but a higher, stricter one requiring constant striving. Accordingly he tries to be many things--patient, kind, understanding--and often succeeds at them; but he is also mortal, also in possession of needs he cannot always silence or ignore. The good regard of those he loves is among them and for one long, heart-bruising moment he hears rejection in that but; he hears his own failure that cut him from his Circle and it presses on too-fresh scars.

But. But he does not withdraw or recoil, and the moment passes, fear erased by reason; this isn't, can't be about him, about that (about the thing his mind shies from even in vaguest reference) because L knows what he had done, knows and had not turned him aside. The shallow pool of comparators L has to draw on gives the clue: It is not a deficiency but a surfeit that makes L draw back, and that too is cause for heartache. (He remembers that feeling of cage-cramped wings unfit, he thought, to bear weight; he still isn't sure he belongs out, or that he's flying rather than falling this far from home.)

Each Bond is different. Where a warm and open closeness had been key to mending what was wounded in Everett, L--it seems--would require protected space to grow into. It hasn't been the style of Myr's affections (for fear those not immediately acted upon would vanish), but he is willing to learn--more than anything, he is willing to learn, to become what L needs of him.]

I understand. It's a lot at once, and you're frayed already. [I'll be here when you need me, and never far.

The urge is yet there to trail after L as the Witch pulls away to do--what exactly, Myr isn't sure, though the scratch of a pen is familiar. He follows after a step or two, halting to not hover and waiting to know what will come of this.

...A slip of paper, as it happens, and an explanation that reinforces--as if he needed it!--Myr's choice in taking L as his Bonded. The road before them is long and dark, but not lonely nor without waypoint, and that's all Myr would ever ask of such a journey. He catches briefly at L's fingers--you are mine and I am glad of you--then tucks the spell-slip away with the careful regard such a thing is due.

An anxiety dispelled, a trust vindicated. The smallest actions are often the most meaningful; restitution could be easier than an apology and as effective.]

Thank you. I'll take it back with me. [He favors L with a smile, bright and sweet and yet a little sad.] Where are you bound next?

[Myr's understanding brings with it tangible relief that the faun can likely feel through what they've so recently forged, more intensely due to the foundation that they've spent so many months building before this point. L's astonished at what a difference that seems to make, because while he had a sort of intimacy with the SQUIP, and history with Mello, somehow neither of those things are really the same as what he's experiencing now, or even on a comparable level.]

I was going to...

[And L, himself, is disquieted at the utter void that gapes wide where the formulations of a plan are usually sitting. They're locomotive rails that end abruptly, twisted and snapped forcefully away, a complete shock to the conductor who expects to see more track. It really suggests that on an unconscious and intuitive level, this part of him expected to be stardust and fragments of an indifferent universe by this point in the evening.

An overbright smile masks a rapid and necessary recovery that's more of a patch job than anything else, but holds up to the task sufficiently enough.]

On Halloween night, apparently I came home soaking wet. It suggests that I either fell or was pushed into the harbor after I left the bar.

[There's a third possibility, one that L means not to burden Myr's mind with on a night he is returning to someone else who would do himself harm in a dark and trapped moment.]

Furthermore, I never kicked my shoes off, so I probably didn't make it out on my own. It's quite a mystery and I never really sorted it out, so... no time like the present.

Edited 2020-01-13 16:19 (UTC)

[Even if tonight's been a night of shocks and revelations, hidden depths and hidden sorrows revealed, Myr's known L long enough to feel like he's on steady ground with the detective--knows his patterns (the ones he's shown) and the way his (public) mind works.

So that hole where a plan should have been trips him, too.

Not so profoundly as it does the one who'd been staring down the end of his own life with those too-sunken eyes, but there is a palpable hitch in Myr's manner; he rocks back on his heels as if from a blow in perfect time to how L trails off.

They'd cut it so fine. Maker and Lady, too fine.

But let them not look too closely at that for now. Nor that third possibility Myr catches vague shadows of in regard to that particular night (his own recollections of what he'd done, where he'd gone after parting from L hazed yet with panic's aftermath--something he cannot worry over because doing so means remembering why he'd panicked).]

Ah, [a breath out of acknowledgment,] and I'd like to hear what you've found when you get to the bottom of it; if someone did push you, I've of course a vested interest in preventing it from happening again.

[A note of faint, recovered humor laces the words.] Though when you grow weary of the trail, intimus, [this one, or all the many others you're following,] and it grows dark once more, you might come back to me.

[There are other ways out, I promise you. I found them once.] I'll make time.

[There are glancing, tentative little flickers of insight into what L shows the world with his thought process... and what he chooses to guard and conceal more jealously. A Bond will inherently blur the line between those, and it's further complicated by the fact that he likes and trusts Myr to such an unprecedented and disarming degree.

What feels like a punch to the gut when his path ends so abruptly is something that Myr physically reels back from; that alone proves handily what L knew from their first conversation, that connection is not only possible between them but practically inevitable, Bonded or no.]

Yes... I might.

[Truly, he means it. Maybe even tonight, if he suspects for a moment that Myr has returned to someplace he can access the faun. He knows that the intentions of his Bonded are pure, but also that he is kind, and time is finite, and likely to go foremost to those who appear to be the most in need. No matter how dark it grows for L, he's determined that he will not need too openly and honestly.

Even though he perhaps could have benefitted to do so, tonight. Before things got so dire and desperate.]

I... think I'll know, if you return home. But don't rush any matter on my account; I'm likely to be out late, now that I can think clearly again.

[Thank you for that, my friend.]

Edited 2020-01-14 06:51 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

fellas is it gay if you can magically read your best bros thoughts (OPEN)

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