middaeg | Don't waste your worry on me [OPEN]

Entry tags:

Don't waste your worry on me [OPEN]

Who: Asra
When: Throughout the week
Where: Various locations
What: Wandering magician life - namely failing to do anything legally at all
Warnings: None at this point

i.
[Asra isn't terribly concerned about the promise of a reward, but helping someone find a lost pet seems like the right thing to do and offers a chance for exploring. Which is why he's hunting around the harbour, enjoying the smell of salt and water, reminded of the years he spent in similar situations growing up.]

Any luck, Faust?

[He doesn't appear to be talking to anyone else close by, but someone who wanders a bit closer may find a pale snake winding around their leg and hear a faint voice, almost like a whisper in their mind.]

(Found friend!)

ii.
[It's a warm day, and the sun overhead glints off of Asra's jewellery and sends rainbows dancing across the stone walls of the alleyway entrance that he's set up in. He's seated on a brightly coloured blanket at the entrance of the narrow gap, an assortment of trinkets, a few carved masks, and one or two packets of herbs spread out before him. His cards flash from hand to hand as he lazily shuffles them, the bright paints and bits of gold leaf catching the light. Faust curls about his chest and shoulders, her head resting on Asra's shoulder, although she looks up and flickers her tongue at any who stop by.

Sensing someone watching, Asra looks up and smiles, crooks his finger for them to come closer.] Interested in a reading? Or something--

[Before he can finish, there's a shout from nearby.] Oi! I already told you to move on!

[An annoyed looking guard starts towards them and, quick as a flash, Asra is up, the cards disappeared and the blanket gathered up around everything and tied rapidly into a makeshift bag.]

Come on! [Laughing, he grabs for the other's hand and starts running down the streets, seeming to enjoy the sound of chasing footsteps after them more than he probably should.]

iii.
[Maybe it's late, or maybe it's early. Or maybe it's even the middle of the day with the sun warm overhead. It doesn't seem to matter exactly what time it is or even the location, really. Much like a cat, Asra finds places to sleep whenever the mood takes him and it apparently has now.

He's found in various places; curled up out of the way in a huge coil of rope by the harbour, sprawled out under a tree in a park, stretched out on the warm stone surrounding a decorative fountain. Should he be sleeping somewhere more appropriate? Probably. Are you going to wake him up to tell him that though?

...well even if you don't, that guard who looks severely done with the magician's shit right now might.]

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[It's not Muriel's deep, gruff voice that thrums through the broad chest Asra is currently nuzzling against, however, but instead one softly coloured by a Nevivon accent, not so harsh, not so guttural. And the scent of him, it's a mix of leather and musk and cheap whiskey.

Muri, Asra says, and Julian's brows pull together around a vague frown as he begins to walk, his grasp on the other man both gentle but firm. It's not a name he knows, nothing that holds any familiarity to it.]

Not ah, not Muri, alas. Sorry to disappoint.

Mmm? [The voice is familiar, as is the scent, but he's not used to hearing it reverberating through a body he's cradled against and he stirs and blinks sleepily, frowning up as he pieces together what is happening.]

Ilya? What... put me down.

[If the doctor doesn't listen, Asra is confident he can wriggle free anyway, but he doubts that Julian will ignore him.]

What are you doing?

[Hesitation, long and drawn-out as the confused command comes. He considers disobeying, refusing, insisting on maintaining his hold on the magician despite his protests. But he doesn't have it in him, ultimately, to outright ignore the subtle steel that underlies Asra's velvet voice.

And so he sighs, moves to set him down on his feet. Reluctantly relinquishes his hold.]

You're being ridiculous. You can't sleep out here like some stray animal, curled up in a coil of rope. Who knows what scoundrels are about at this hour? I could have been anyone, and you didn't fight me, did you? Anything could have happened.

[A fluttering pause, and then--]

I was taking you back, with me. To the tower.

You're being ridiculous, Ilya. Nothing would have happened, Faust would have let me know if there was any danger.

[Hearing her name, Faust's pale head peeks out from Asra's scarf and turns towards Julian. Asra uses the moment to observe Julian's face, noting the sharp angles that catch the light and the dark circles under his eyes. He hums faintly in thought, turning over the other man's words in his mind.]

I suppose I'm hungry.

Oh, and I suppose you and Faust would have been able to fight off a gang of sea-hardened sailors, would you? Or a group of...of those...

[But he cuts himself off at that, shakes his head. Monsters he was going to say. But the word sticks like lead in his throat, turns hard and cold. He thinks, very briefly, of the feathers. Lets the subject die.]

You haven't eaten? You ought to be taking better care of yourself.

[Pot, kettle.]

Look, just er, just come back with me, will you? For a late supper, if nothing else.

Well if they're anything like you, Corsair, I'm sure we'd be fine.

[Although he is curious what Julian had been going to say, tilting his head to watch him for a moment from beneath pale lashes before he shrugs.]

The sun was warm and I fell asleep instead. But I suppose something to eat would be nice. Can you cook?

[Julian just clicks his tongue, shakes his head, but the magician appears to be conceding, on some level. So he motions for him to follow, begins moving in the direction of the tower with a dramatic whirl of his coat.]

Have a care, Asra. This isn't our world, and you don't have your magic here. I've heard things, at the tavern. Mutterings and the like. Not everyone thinks our presence here is a good thing.

[There's a pause, just the length of a fast-thudding heartbeat--]

And I can cook...though whether or not you'd consider it edible is another matter entirely.

[His lips quirk then, into just the faintest ghost of a smile.]

[Asra shakes his head at the swirl of Julian's coat, the dramatic snap of the fabric entirely Julian. He half wondered if the doctor wished that he could carry Asra through the streets like some fainting maiden in one of the plays so popular in Vesuvius. But instead he follows behind the other man, his lips quirked in a faint, enigmatic smile of his own.]

I have more of it than before, Ilya. More every day. [He laughs quietly.] And the guards only chase me so far.

[But their disagreement aside, he does give a surprised snort of amusement at the comment the other man makes about his cooking.,] Oh? I suppose I'll have to judge that for myself.

That's bad enough, isn't it? What do you suppose they'll do if they catch you? I can't protect you if you won't at least try to protect yourself.

[He says it, both worry and disapproval mixing in his voice. Never mind that they're both aware Asra is capable of looking after himself, probably far moreso than Julian.

And he decides to strategically leave out the tale of how he burnt the porridge to the skillet so badly that they had to throw it out, or how he'd scalded his hands making tea thanks to a moment of carelessness. Clearly, he doesn't need to know that.]

Lucky for you, you probably won't have to. We have bread, cheese, butter, and some honey. I think there are some sweet apples left. Even I can manage to make a meal out of that.

[His smile flashes just a touch wider, this time.]

I imagine they'll fine me again. [Asra shrugs loosely at the concerns, clearly not worried himself. He's faced worse things, the guards here aren't a concern for him.

Asra hums at Julian's suggestion, not terribly surprised that it happens to not involve any cooking.]

I suppose that would work. Maybe we can toast some of it as well.

Hmmm. You know, it wouldn't be a problem at all if you stopped being difficult and just moved into the tower.

[He says it lightly though, all casual ease, as though it isn't something he would very much like to occur. Just a polite offer. The slight dusting of pink at the tips of his ears means nothing, nothing at all.]

And no doubt we could, if that's what you want.

[He says it as he sweeps long the darkened streets, leads them down a twisting back alley that proves a faster - if slightly more dubious - route towards the gardens where the tower stands stark against the night.]

Moved in? Hmmm... I don't know if I could manage to keep both you and Cain in line. [Although he imagines that both of them might like him to try.] Besides, you said it yourself, Ilya. "As hard to pin down as smoke", or something like that wasn't it? You know how I feel about being bound to just one place.

[Asra doesn't pick up his own pace to match Julian's longer stride, letting him get ahead with the easy knowledge that it's more likely that Julian will worry about losing him than the other way around. Although the other man might have a point about one thing; now that the sun is down and the ocean spray has worked at his skin and he's not curled in on himself any more, Asra does find that heat leaving him quite quickly, his own clothing meant for much warmer climes, and he wraps his arms around himself as he follows after the doctor.]

Don't tell me you're not up to the challenge. I would have thought you'd have more faith in yourself.

[There's a note of teasing in his voice, and though his back is turned on the magician, perhaps Asra can discern it there all the same-- the wily smile, the incorrigible raise of his brow. Perhaps if he makes it all joke, all flirt, Asra will be unable to discern his concern. The low thrum of his disappointment.

He glances back over his shoulder then, trying to ensure that his former lover hasn't fallen too far behind, has a response poised on the tip of his tongue, some witty rejoinder to Asra's insistence on remaining untethered--

--but he catches it, as he turns. The way Asra's arms wrap around himself, and subtly he slows his pace. Brows pulled together around a frown.]

And look, your shivering. You should have said. Do you want my coat?

[He says it even as he begins whipping it from his shoulders in a showy flourish.]

And it's all the more reason to be inside, where it's warm. You're being foolish.

There's a challenge and then there's punishing myself. Only you enjoy suffering that much, Ilya. [It's the same sort of dismissive tone that the doctor should be used to by now after years of knowing the magician. There's less malice behind it now, more gentle teasing, but the answer is still firm. And truthfully, Julian had been mostly right about Asra's feelings on calling any one place 'home'. None of it really seemed to fit the word right after... the past few years.

But he shifts the thoughts aside and gives Julian an exasperated look at the concern and how he's already pulling that over dramatic monstrosity off of his shoulders.]

I'm fine, Ilya. Really. You probably need that more than I do.

Punishing yourself. Of course. Then ignore me, my dear. Naturally I wouldn't want to inflict myself on you, overlong.

[He says it a little coolly despite the tease in the magician's voice, notes the steel that underlies the statement. The look on his face, it closes off. Goes a little distant. But regardless, he's moving to try draping that 'over-dramatic monstrosity' over Asra's shoulders before he can quite prevent it.]

Nonsense. You're obviously cold, and I'm quite all right. Unlike you, I have the sense to layer up.

[True to his word, he's wearing a jacket under the coat, a shirt beneath that, gloves concealing his hands as always. Overdressed, if anything. Though he has more reason than usual to want to keep his skin concealed.

And with the coat out of the way it may become that little bit more obvious that the jacket underneath fits him less flatteringly than it used to. A touch too loose, now.]

[He knows his words hurt Julian, that the doctor still seems to want to be close despite everything, but Asra knows he can't offer that, even without the discussions they'd had about his apprentice's feelings. There just isn't enough left of him, he feels.

He wishes there were an easier way, which is perhaps why he doesn't protest the coat and looks up at Julian drapes it around him, the action putting them close enough that he can see much closer the way that Julian's cheekbones press against his skin and the hollow circles under his eyes. He's silent as he wraps the coat around himself and tilts his head, expression unreadable as he surveys the doctor's face.]

...well we'd better get inside quickly then, hadn't we?

No doubt.

[He says it, his voice still slightly frosted at the edges, turning away from the magician to continue leading them towards the place that, for now, he calls home. Ducks into the narrow alley and it's cluster of buildings like crooked teeth, leading to the gardens behind the homes facing the street, carved out around the base of the old tower. Pauses only briefly when reaching the Jacob's ladder, ensuring that Asra is still behind him before he turns to make his nimble ascent. Says nothing more, not until they're both inside.]

[Asra follows silently, half-considering slipping away at the base of the ladder and knowing that Julian wouldn't try to follow if he made it clear he didn't want to be. But he can't ignore the obvious state that the other man is in and the fact that while Julian has always been good at fussing over others, he's also far too willing to neglect himself.

So he climbs, with some difficulty considering the coat wrapped loosely around him, and ends up having to wear the giant thing and climb the ladder reminded rather uncomfortably of vague memories of borrowing Muriel's cloak in the colder months. It's far too big for him and despite his own familiarity with rope ladders and climbing, Asra stumbles on getting through the window and makes an irritated noise.]

I don't need this any more.

[He takes the opportunity to slip out of it, despite the fact he's still rather chilled, and passes it back to Julian.]

...is Cain out?

[Asra stumbles, and Julian turns to place a steadying hand on his shoulder, automatic as breathing. Takes the heavy coat from his hands, crosses the room in long, sure strides to place it on one of the nails hammered into the far wall. The fire has burnt out, and the room is a little chill-- something he'll have to attend to, shortly.

It also attests to the fact that the other man must, indeed, be out.]

Mmmm. Looks that way, doesn't it? Sometimes he stays late at the Coven, studying.

[Learning magic goes unsaid.]

Or perhaps he's out with friends, hard to say.

[He moves to begin lighting a little clutch of candles, clustered about near the stove, then shifts to crouch beside the stove itself. His back turned to Asra, jacket going unremoved. But there's nothing noticeably unusual in that, considering the chill.]

Ah, how is he taking to magic? He seems like he could have some talent in it. [He knows that the topic isn't Julian's favourite, but avoiding it won't change the fact it's here and a very real part of their lives, as much as the other man might wish otherwise.]

Maybe you should join him, Ilya. [He suggests teasingly, absently rubbing his arms to work the chill of the room from them.] It seems everyone here is starting to show some skill in magic or other changes, so you should have something too.

[It's a moment of muttered cursing before he gets the kindling lit, a little fire beginning to take shape within the pot-bellied stove. Asra's question almost bypasses him, and it's a smattering of seconds before he catches up, poised to say that he doesn't know, hasn't asked--

--but Asra continues, and something in Julian visibly stiffens, the long line of his shoulders growing taut, body strung like a bow.]

No.

[It's all he says, and that one word cracks like a whip, uncharacteristically harsh and abrupt. His face remains averted from Asra, turned towards the fire, but what little colour he had drains right out of him, and again his mind turns to feathers. To the raw itch of his skin beneath his clothes, where he's pulled them out.]

[The sharp edge in Julian's voice surprises him, seems so much more than the idea of learning magic has ever bought out from the doctor, and Asra frowns as he pads closer, reaches out to put a hand on Julian's shoulder as he leans in close to look at the fire.]

It was just a suggestion, Ilya. I didn't expect you to take it so seriously.

[He reaches out, just shy of putting his hand into the stove, and feeds a little magic into the coaxing the flames to catch and build faster, the soft pale glow at his chest throwing into sharp relief the edges of Julian's cheekbones.]

Maybe you'll feel better when you eat something.

[He hears the soft sound of the magician's footsteps as he approaches, and yet he veritably flinches when a hand falls on him. Tries to cover for it after, forcing the hard lines of his shoulders to sink into a parody of relaxation.]

Oh. Um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. Maybe I just er--

[He wants to say he's fine, he's always fine, nothing ever bothers him, but perhaps a small half-truth here is a necessary evil. Perhaps a small admission of defeat will detract from the greater darkness rattling through his bones.]

--maybe I do need to eat something. Surprising really, how tiring it is. Working behind a bar. Who'd have thought it. Hah.

[His words ring a little hollow, and slowly he unfolds himself, heads over to the shelves that currently suffice as a meagre larder of sorts, to fetch the promised food.]

It's alright, Ilya--

[Asra tries to reassure the other man, surprised that he's so on edge and having felt the way he flinched at the touch, but Julian turns away and heads to the shelves, turning his back and hiding his feelings once more. Asra doesn't push further, wondering how much he really can considering their history, that he's hardly in Julian's life now. It feels like a concern he has little right to.

Instead he sighs and settles down by the fire, warming his hands and letting Faust out of his scarf to settle on the warm stones.]

Maybe you've been working too hard. [He offers softly, watching Julian's back.] Come sit here with me, Ilya. Let me make you something to eat.

It feels like I haven't been working hard enough. I should be doing something...more. Something useful. Though the one thing I can say about working in a tavern is one hears a lot of things. If one wants information, one needs look no farther than the local barkeep. And when one is the local barkeep...well.

[He turns then, after filling up the tension-laden spaces with idle chatter, and this time - as he makes his way back to where the magician has settled himself, arms laden with the promised food - he manufactures a lightning-strike smile. Forces the clustering shadows away from the angles of his face. Feigns normalcy.]

And nonsense, my dear. You're the guest. I ought to be making food for you.

[Never mind that he's singularly useless at it and would be much better off conceding. He closes the distance between them in just a few long strides, begins to lay the trappings of a meal out in front of them.]

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