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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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.]

[Asra hums softly, not certain how much Julian would be learning that might actually be useful, but they had slightly different ideas about the usefulness of anything here. While the other man feels the need to talk to fill the silence, Asra lets it stretch out, knowing that the other man will be less comfortable with it than he is, and simply fixes his gaze on Julian as he returns.]

...what's bothering you, Ilya?

[He knows that something is at this point, something more than Asra's absence, but he's not certain what it could be. Unless...]

Did something happen between you and Cain?

[Again, there's that visible stiffening in him, though he catches it more swiftly this time, smiles a smile that seems - despite its dashing quality - somehow brittle around the edges. A subtle thing, but perhaps discernible by someone who knows him well.

But Asra's question comes, and it's so far from the shape of his fears that something in Julian infinitesimally relaxes. Slowly, he sinks down to sit beside the magician.]

What? No. He's er, that is...we've been getting along rather well. For some reason, he actually seems to think highly of me.

[Cain will realise his mistake eventually, he's sure, but for now they're getting along just fine.]

[Hm, not the concern he'd had then, and no reason just yet to have a talk with Cain, although Asra thinks he might mention something to the other man anyway. Julian might not think there an issue but he also wasn't particularly good at taking care of himself.]

I'm glad he does. You don't seem to agree but you should have someone who cares for you. You're not a monster, Ilya.

[His attention goes to the food laid out before them and Asra reaches for a knife, slicing pieces off the bread and cheese and considering the best way to toast it all.]

[Asra makes that statement, and Julian feels, abruptly, sick. There's an ugly twist of nausea deep in his gut, and again he thinks of feathers. Of the way his body aches, sometimes, lately, a throbbing grinding sensation that moves through his bones and leaves him sweating, breathless.

Something is wrong with him. Something terrible, and perhaps if it goes unspoken it will never come to pass, but more and more lately, he doubts that. There's a subtle tremor in his hands now, face dipping a shade paler than it ought to be, and carefully, he folds his arms. Tucks his hands out of sight.]

Hah! You can say that as often as you like, but it doesn't make it true.

[There's a bitter edge to his voice this time, because finally he has the proof of it. That he really is a monster.]

[Something is wrong, he can sense it in the way Julian folds his hands and the sharp stiffness of his body and how he holds himself. The bitter sharpness in his voice. But Asra can't quite find the shape of what it is, only that it unsettles him. It's close to Julian's determination to get himself killed, his self-destructive nature running rampant, and he doesn't like it one bit.

He frowns, brow furrowed in concern as he peers up at Julian past his lashes, hands carefully laying out bread and cheese. He looks away to find a toasting fork or a stick that could serve and manages to find something suitable, something else to do with his hands as he weighs up his words.]

Ilya... we talked about this before. I know you don't believe it but you can't keep punishing yourself here. What purpose does it serve?

You don't know what you're talking about.

[And the words, again they have that harsh and uncharacteristic ring to them, the flash of his smile is a wound across his face, something that holds no pleasure in it.]

I'm not punishing myself. I don't need to, I...

[Not when this place is doing it for him, showing him what he really is. Show everyone soon enough. How long can he go on plucking feathers? How long before it becomes impossible to hide? Quite unconsciously, he rises to his feet. Begins to pace.]

We need to find a way back, Asra. Quickly. This place, it...

[But again, he cuts himself off. If this continues, if whatever is happening to him doesn't stop, then will he be able to go back at all? He's seen them, the monsters. So many of them work down at the harbour, drink in the tavern sometimes. Visibly, he shudders. If that's his fate, if that's what he is to become, if it can't be stopped, then there'll be no going home again.]

[It feels like everything he's saying is just making the situation worse and Asra's eyes widen slightly at the sharp edges of Julian's words, the angry energy that has him up and pacing across the room. He can't imagine what could possibly get this reaction from the doctor and finally stands himself, their makeshift meal forgotten.]

Ilya, calm down!

[He moves to physically block his path, reaching to plant his hands on the other man's shoulders and exert enough pressure to try and make him stop.]

You're not making any sense. You've been pushing yourself too hard, just take a seat and try to breath.

[He doesn't like this at all or what it could mean, but he'll try to make Julian calm down if he can. At the very least the other man clearly needs food and rest and Asra can't imagine he's had either in some time.]

[There's one, brief, ugly moment where something fierce shows around the hard angles of Julian's face, something close to aggression, body wound tight as a spring, as though he means to knock Asra away from him. It's there in him, that coiled volatility, harsh and entirely unlike him--

--but the firm pressure on his shoulders, the command in Asra's voice, after a moment it seems to sink into him. Pulls him up short. He takes a deep, unsteady breath. His hands, at his sides, are quite visibly shaking.]

I'm sorry.

[He says it, at last. Lifts one of those trembling hands, runs it back through his unruly hair. The flickering light from the candles and the warm glow of the stove, they cast shadows across the doctor's face that only accentuate all the hard lines of him. Does his face seem a touch more angular, sharper, than it ought to? Maybe it's just a trick of the light.]

I didn't mean-- You must already regret coming back here with me. I haven't exactly been very welcoming, have I?

[He says it, sags slightly in Asra's grasp. And he'll move then, after a moment, to do as he's been bidden. To resume his seat before the stove, long legs folding under him as he sinks down into the scattered pile of cushions, shoulders hunched.]

[He sees the tension in Julian's body, taut and ready to lash out, and Asra braces himself for the possibility, knowing that if it happens it'll snap Julian out of whatever mood seems to have taken him at least.

But he pulls himself out of it on his own and the magician keeps his hands on the doctor's shoulders until he feels tension relax out of him before he finally lets go and watches as Julian moves towards the stove again.]

It's alright. [He says it softly, taking a moment to move back and return to toasting some of the bread and cheese and setting it out on plates.] You're tired and hungry. It's little wonder you're on edge.

[It's not true, but he'll give Julian the opportunity of an escape for the moment.]

Here, eat something. [Asra passes him a plate, smelling of toast and with a sweet apple on the side, and settles to watch and make sure the Julian does as he's told.] When was the last time you ate?

[He accepts the chipped, earthenware plate when it's passed to him, and the smell of toast with the melted cheese suddenly seems to awaken something in him, makes his mouth water. Reminds him that he is, in fact, hungry. A realisation that is so often worn away by his gnawing anxiety, all the high-strung concern in him. His growing fear.

He digs in, as requested, talks around a mouthful of toast.]

Oh, I don't know. This morning, probably.

[Probably. Possibly. Possibly not.]

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