( he repeats like an echo, hollow and distant - a reflection that can't quite understand. he's tried to avoid his home.
as the fog clears from his ears, he realizes the softness on his shoulders. ah, he's given his scarf back. he means to say something witty, but when he goes to wind it over laurent's shoulders - )
It's fine. This will serve you... more...
( ... his hands linger. a memory comes back to him unbidden, and his emotional distress and his lack of control over his soul magic only serves to open the memory to laurent as well. it's not like the previous attempt, when aspen was trying to save himself - it's not intrusive, it's not bullying its way into laurent's brain.
it's the shore, lapping at his feet. the memory overtakes slowly - laurent as aspen, waking up blearily. he lies beside a man taller and broader than him, but with wings just like him - dyed black as night. he is statuesque with a roguish, sleepy smile. he tells aspen to return to bed, that he'll take care of the ruckus.
aspen does not, insisting that if aza will get up, then clearly he'll have to. aza laughs, pulling him up and to his feet. it's only when there's a scream that their teasing is gone, and they both rush out of the spacious bedroom. the stone castle is dilapidated, dotted with greenery and vines and flowers, and everywhere one looks, there are men and women with wings. just like aspen. some are clad in chainmail. others are in plainclothes.
and many of them are dead. before both aspen and aza stands a man with wild red hair, unyielding against an assailant. "wisteria!"
"go back to bed, both of you!" the human amidst winged folk shouts. the assailant notices aspen and aza, and in a split second, he averts his focus. it's then that wisteria slices through them at the waist. he runs to the two of them, checking them over, mumbling 'you really shouldn't be out here, your majesty, and you either, do you know how much of a target you two are--'
and he stops. a sword runs through his back. as wisteria falls, his bloodied body in aspen's lap, aza bolts forward to fight the second assailant. the slaver shouts of finally finding where all those missing slaves had bolted off to, the intent to kill their little king and round them all back to the markets, even that pretty one - and the assailant's eyes focus on aspen, giving a toothy, lecherous grin. aza's eyes burn, and he drops the shawl around his shoulders around aspen's, without a glance back.
"this will serve you more than it will me." he says, and returns to the fight - but not before the air shifts, before powerful magic shifts along his skin. )
Ah -
( the memory breaks. full, fat tears roll down aspen's cheeks, just a few before he clears his throat and rubs them away.
aspen had said he'd been murdered. he hadn't explained that he wasn't the only victim that night. his voice, still affected and throaty, grows harsh as he rifles through his satchel. )
no subject
( he repeats like an echo, hollow and distant - a reflection that can't quite understand. he's tried to avoid his home.
as the fog clears from his ears, he realizes the softness on his shoulders. ah, he's given his scarf back. he means to say something witty, but when he goes to wind it over laurent's shoulders - )
It's fine. This will serve you... more...
( ... his hands linger. a memory comes back to him unbidden, and his emotional distress and his lack of control over his soul magic only serves to open the memory to laurent as well. it's not like the previous attempt, when aspen was trying to save himself - it's not intrusive, it's not bullying its way into laurent's brain.
it's the shore, lapping at his feet. the memory overtakes slowly - laurent as aspen, waking up blearily. he lies beside a man taller and broader than him, but with wings just like him - dyed black as night. he is statuesque with a roguish, sleepy smile. he tells aspen to return to bed, that he'll take care of the ruckus.
aspen does not, insisting that if aza will get up, then clearly he'll have to. aza laughs, pulling him up and to his feet. it's only when there's a scream that their teasing is gone, and they both rush out of the spacious bedroom. the stone castle is dilapidated, dotted with greenery and vines and flowers, and everywhere one looks, there are men and women with wings. just like aspen. some are clad in chainmail. others are in plainclothes.
and many of them are dead. before both aspen and aza stands a man with wild red hair, unyielding against an assailant. "wisteria!"
"go back to bed, both of you!" the human amidst winged folk shouts. the assailant notices aspen and aza, and in a split second, he averts his focus. it's then that wisteria slices through them at the waist. he runs to the two of them, checking them over, mumbling 'you really shouldn't be out here, your majesty, and you either, do you know how much of a target you two are--'
and he stops. a sword runs through his back. as wisteria falls, his bloodied body in aspen's lap, aza bolts forward to fight the second assailant. the slaver shouts of finally finding where all those missing slaves had bolted off to, the intent to kill their little king and round them all back to the markets, even that pretty one - and the assailant's eyes focus on aspen, giving a toothy, lecherous grin. aza's eyes burn, and he drops the shawl around his shoulders around aspen's, without a glance back.
"this will serve you more than it will me." he says, and returns to the fight - but not before the air shifts, before powerful magic shifts along his skin. )
Ah -
( the memory breaks. full, fat tears roll down aspen's cheeks, just a few before he clears his throat and rubs them away.
aspen had said he'd been murdered. he hadn't explained that he wasn't the only victim that night. his voice, still affected and throaty, grows harsh as he rifles through his satchel. )
I'll kill them.