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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.]

Hmm. [It's a non-committal noise that suggests that Asra doesn't believe him for a moment. He imagines that there's several more days added to that guess at least, although he does believe that Julian isn't entirely certain.

For himself, he eats a piece of the bread and melted cheese, then passes the rest to Julian once he's mostly finished with his own.]

This too.

[He looks up when the magician slides more toast onto his plate, raises one thick auburn brow. His expression, it's one of mild concern.]

You ought to eat that, my dear. You should take better care of yourself. Sleeping out on the streets, not eating enough, neglecting yourself. You'll become unwell.

[Ahem]

Hmmm... I think I have a more reliable memory of when I last ate than you do, Ilya. [He reaches out, snake quick, to trace his fingers down Julian's side and show how far in the jacket and shirt he's wearing go before he touches skin. Asra's brow creases again.]

You're starting to turn into skin and bone.

[And again, there's the sudden stiffening of his body as the magician's hands reach for him, a small jerking movement as he tries to arch away from the touch. Subtle panic blooms in him, shows briefly on his face, as if somehow Asra's attempt to lay hands on him through his clothes could reveal the secret he's trying so hard to keep-- from the magician, from everyone, from himself.

There's nothing there, of course. Only the feel of his ribs through his clothes. So far, the feathers have only scattered his chest, and they're no longer there, besides. Although it seems the more he pulls out, the faster they grow back in again. Quickly, he clears his throat. Tries to cover for that brief moment of jumpiness. Flashes an incorrigible smile.]

The word you're looking for is svelte, and it's just the way I'm built.

[He pulls his hand back quickly once it's clear that Julian doesn't like the touch, and Asra expression falls for a moment as he pulls back and rubs his arm. He doesn't like any of this and worse, doesn't like that there's always one easy option to get the result he wants. Something that he knows Julian is more likely to listen to and respond to, even though he knows it's manipulation to try it. But he won't, not yet. He wants to at least try and work things out between them without the hurting and bitterness.]

Ilya, you're usually all skin and bone but this is getting ridiculous. You're going to get sick yourself if you don't eat more and get some rest. Please...

[The 'please' surprises him. There's something close to plaintive in the magician's voice, and the way he pulls his hand back, the look on his face, as though that moment of rejection has hurt him...Julian's expression softens, just a touch, and for one brief moment he wants to say something, to tell him everything, to let his fears spill out of him like a lanced wound, letting the poison drain away. But it's there and then gone again, fast as thought. Saying it aloud, giving it voice-- it's like calling it into being, isn't it? Making it real.

He shakes his head, auburn curls falling into his face.]

I'm all right. I've just had a lot on my mind, you know, what with being trapped in a magical realm and everything.

It's been difficult for everyone I think. [He knows it's a lie but doesn't feel he has the right to argue the fact. So Asra falls silent and draws his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and staring into the flames.]

You should get some sleep after you've finished. You've been working hard.

Mmmm.

[The noise is non-committal as he stares down at his unfinished food. Lifts the piece of toast Asra had slid onto his plate-- he can't give voice to the worst of his fears, to the ugly truth of what's happening to him, but at the very least he can do some of what the magician wants. Perhaps, for the moment, it will be enough.

Sleeping though-- it never has been something that comes easy to him. And now, with the ever-growing fear of what he'll awaken to find? It seems an even more distant possibility than ever before.

He takes a bite of toast, topped with a slice of the apple. Changes the subject.]

And what will you do? Not going to go slinking off again, are you? Sleeping out on the streets like some vagrant?

[Normally he'd make a snide comment that Julian is the one who sneaks away in the night, but it's a low blow now and he doesn't want to make matters worse. So Asra turns his head enough to rest his cheek on his knee and give Julian a sleepy, gentle smile.]

No, I'll stay. If it means you'll sleep as well it'll do us both good.

[He waits until Julian has finished the last of the toast and stands, picking up the plates and setting them aside.]

Take off your coat then.

[He doesn't protest when Asra takes the plates, sets them off to one side. Stretches long and languid instead, doing his best to ignore the thrumming ache in him, the strange raw sensation deep in his bones. A feeling like growth. He rises slowly to his feet--

--and then pauses, a shadow passing over his expression as Asra's words sink down into him. Abruptly, he shakes his head.]

I think I'll uh, I think I'll leave it on. It's a touch cold in here, isn't it?

[Never mind that the pile of blankets and pillows that stand in for a makeshift bed, the fire from the little stove, the potential for shared body heat, all make a lie of that statement.]

[He blinks in surprise at the sudden reluctance and shakes his head, not quite understanding how the other man can go from clearly wanting him to stay to wanting to keep his distance.]

We'll be warm enough without it, Ilya. And it's not going to be comfortable for either of us.

[There's more than enough blankets and pillows by the look of it, and Asra takes a moment to prod the fire and feed it some more wood, wondering if Julian is feeling the chill more.]

You'll warm up faster without it.

[His lips curl in a faint smile and Asra unwinds his own scarf and bundles it up by the fire for Faust, slips out of his shoes and stretches from his toes all the way to the tips of his fingers. He turns the motion in a smooth tug of his shirt over his head as well and drops down to sprawl across the pillows.]

Come on. No need to be shy.

I um, that is...

[But his words tail off into silence as the magician begins his languid undressing, his shirt sliding away from him smooth and easy, a snake shedding unneeded skin. Julian swallows, a little thickly. Watches as Asra drops down boneless into the nest of blankets and pillows, sprawls out with all the casual grace of a cat in the noonday sun. It makes him think, for one bright moment, of those early days, back at the palace in Vesuvia. Asra napping lazy and loose beneath the tree, beside the fountain. Watched from the window of the library, his desk set up just so.

Hesitation, just for a moment. And then he's crossing over to the little clutch of candles, leans low to blow them out. The room dips further towards darkness then, lit only by the stove's cheery glow, and then finally - his back to the magician - he begins undoing the snaps on his jacket. Peels off the soft leather of his gloves. Lets everything drop in an unceremonious heap onto the floor. He takes a moment to glance down at his partly bared chest with a feeling like cold fingers walking the length of his spine--

--no new feathers. Not yet. Just a little raw, a little marked, from where he's plucked them all out. Perhaps, in the dimness of the room, Asra won't notice? He takes a breath to steel himself, peels out of his long leather boots. Only then, in trousers and shirt, does he pad over to the place where Asra has sprawled. Sinks down to his knees.]

Since when have I ever been shy?

[He says it with the raise of one auburn brow. Good question, though, isn't it? When he's still half-dressed, still vaguely hesitant.]

[The lighting in the room dims and Asra makes a soft, contented noise and watches at Julian finally gives in and removes the heavy jacket and gloves, the boots slowly following before he returns. It's strangely intimate and relaxed and comfortable, which he wouldn't have expected to have with Julian, although he tries not to think too much on that point.

Instead Asra sits up enough to reach out and take Julian's hand, tug him closer towards him.]

Mm, well you seem to be the one ready to run with me being here. Are you sure you don't want me to give you some privacy, Ilya? You seem nervous.

[The doctor's chest is reddened in places too, and Asra has to wonder if that's Cain's doing.]

Or... are you worried Cain might come back and find us here?

[And it's true enough-- there's still a stiffness in him, an uncertainty, even as he allows himself to be drawn down by the hand, until he's collapsing onto his side with a soft 'oof' beside the magician. His white shirt hangs loose, and he has to resist the urge to tug it more tightly around himself, to ignore the whispering voice at the back of his head that says what if he's missed one? What if Asra notices?

But he forces himself to smile in the wake of that question. To lift a brow in an approximation of his usual lasciviousness.]

Oh, I'm not worried about that. If he comes back and finds us like this, no doubt he'll slide right in along with us. It'd be quite the homecoming, eh?

[He snorts at Julian's teasing, letting him hide his concerns for the time being. He knows the other man well enough now to know the best ways to find out what he's hiding and that it's easier if Julian's guard is down. And how to get that as well.]

Hopefully what he'd find is you and I asleep. You do need it, Ilya.

[Asra tugs him closer still, pushing Julian into the position he more or less wants him and piling pillows around them both and adding a couple of blankets. Then he curls in close, only hesitating a moment before resting his head against Julian's chest.]

Comfortable?

Spoilsport. I'm not that tired, you know. I could go all night.

[There's the incorrigible waggle of both brows in the wake of his obvious innuendo, but the words break up around a yawn which makes a lie of them, and he does nothing to prevent the magician from pushily arranging him like part of the furnishings. He winds up on his back amidst the pillows, a pile of blankets drawn up around them, and he only stiffens a little when Asra rests his head against the broad expanse of his chest. There's a subtle spike of anxiety in him, at the possibility that feathers may start sprouting overnight yet again, at any time even, that Asra will see it. Feel it--

--but the hardening of his muscles is less intense than earlier, tiredness threatening to sweep over him despite what he'd said.]

Oh, I'm all right. More importantly, what about you? Are you warm enough? Do you need me to move, at all?

Ah, my mistake. The yawning must be a sign of how much energy you have and not that you're tired.

[He feels Julian tense as he curls up and Asra lifts his head, still faintly worried about the other man's reactions. It's not like him to reject intimacy, and he wonders what it could be that he's missing.

He hopes that it might wait a little longer, and Asra reaches out to gently press his hand against Julian's cheek.]

All I want is for you to relax, Ilya. Whatever's bothering you, just let it go for a little while and rest. I won't let anything hurt you here.

Don't waste your worry on me [OPEN]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)