logs | ( open and closed starters )

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( open and closed starters )

WHO: laurent & friends (questionable).
WHERE: here and there in stygia.
WHEN: december.
WHAT: catch-all for monthly tidings. plotting comment is here.
WARNINGS: mentions of csa and the ongoing trauma surrounding it, bloody violence, angst and general unpleasant fuckery.

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[ the cold sets in quickly, more brutal than the most vicious winters in arles, a chill that permeates far past the flesh and settles deep into the bone. it feels as though ice has replaced parts of his lungs, his heart. no matter how close to the fire he gets, no matter how much hot liquid he consumes, it offers little relief for this slow, glacial agony. stygia has frozen over and seems determined to take the restless with it.

laurent's small lodgings in the harbors protects him from the snow but not much else, his pale lashes frosted over and his breath spiraling in clouds of white despite the fire in the hearth. even without the cold sapping his strength, he's already weakened — his leftover injuries from his imprisonment still have not fully healed, and he walks now with a limp, his steps careful as he kneels next to a small bundle of fur by the fire. a cat wrapped in a blanket regards laurent warily. with a bandaged hand, he sets down a small dish of fish from the harbor, then turns to give the creature privacy to eat.

laurent himself feels ill. he's stiff with the cold and begins to suspect he might freeze to death here. the roil of his shadow has gotten worse, and every time he thinks he should venture toward someone he knows — to aspen who wouldn't question his presence, to augustine's shop that provides an excuse to wander, even to sasuke just to needle him or see if he's dead from his illness yet — he finds himself caged in isolation. it should feel normal. he has endured a lifetime of living in a place where his uncle has turned his people against him and stifled all his chances to make allies. he has always borne the weight of his predicaments alone, has had to solve every problem without help. this should feel no different, and yet the turmoil in his mind feels worse than ever, his anger a restless beast, his sorrow unceasing.

it doesn't help that no one knows he's here. he's yet to tell anyone where he's staying — a tiny flat mostly comprised of one room, with a rickety back door that leads to an alleyway. he'd found the cat there, pregnant and hissing in the snow, and she'd shredded a generous patch of his jacket before he'd managed to get her inside. other than her, he hasn't interacted in person with a living thing in nearly two weeks. he sleeps fitfully when he does at all, dreaming of the press of an unwanted touch and waking in silent terror before he remembers where he is. now it's too cold even to rest, a sprinkle of frost falling from his hair like stardust as he shudders, a blanket pulled tightly around his shoulders — and then he stills as a knock sounds on the door, brief but firm. laurent turns, realizing it's coming from the alley.

he ignores it after several seconds of consideration, limping to the fire to warm his hands, but the cat begins hissing so laurent leaves it be, dragging himself reluctantly to the door and peering through a splinter in the cheap wood. a dark figure greets him, only D is covered in a fresh dusting of snow and appears nearly white. ]

You'll die out there. [ laurent leans against the wall, crossing his arms beneath his blanket. he knows his voice will carry through the closed door. ] There are frozen rats in the alley, too.

[It is not very difficult to find Laurent if only because D can smell the scent of human flesh from a certain distance. And because he has had a very long career of being a vampire hunter. That’s what he did, relentless, for so long. Hunt.

Naruto is missing as Eddie had been before; when Laurent also becomes incredibly scarce, D tries to ignore the strange freeze settling into his body by searching for the missing blonde with the soft heart and jagged mouth.

The snow accumulating on his hat and shoulders is somehow less cold than whatever splinter of ice has wiggles down into the pit of him. And yet, he remains standing on the outside of the door, listening with the pointed ears to the way Laurent moves and breathes on the inside. His Shadow is so dangerous; he would be one of the deadliest predators here if he had been any kind of lesser man. But he does not try to enter at all.]

I’ll thaw in whatever spring might come.

[He can’t say as much for the rats. Is it odd for him to be relieved to know Laurent hasn’t disappeared into some further ether of this nonexistence?]

You’re still here, [he says in his low and quiet voice.] No one has seen you for some time. We thought you may be missing like some of the others.

You don’t sound like the other voice has taken over.

[ whatever spring might come. curious, that D that thought this far ahead, when laurent's mind has stayed solely on the present as it always does. he has never had the luxury of planning for future comforts when all of his attention is always wrapped up in surviving present calamities. he is sure none of them will survive this infernal cold; he has not yet thought of a solution for not freezing to death in the coming weeks, if the glacial temperatures do not abate.

more curious, maybe even painful, is that D has noticed his absence. laurent stares blankly ahead at nothing, unseeing, simply processing this fact. his bandaged hand tightens, still healing from the wound at the tavern when D had put a stop to the fight he'd picked.

no, his shadow hasn't taken over, but it's there. insistent. he hasn't had an outlet for his anger, so it continues to roil inside of him, leashed for now. ]

Who is we? [ the crease deepens between his pale brows. ] You've been discussing my affairs with others.

[It's funny Laurent tries to sound accusatory and offended. The only thing he offers is:] They have asked me if I have seen you. [Laurent received his lack of invasion initially, as expected (what people do is their own business). However, after at least one person mentioned it to him, he decided it would merit some investigation.]

Aspen asked me if I knew where you may be. I had no answer to give him.

[Now he is here, having dug into the depths of most bleak places to find whether or not Laurent was missing completely.]

If you're not well, I understand. I came to see the answer for myself. I'm glad you haven't vanished.

Then you should have settled for having no answer. What business is it of yours to know of my whereabouts? [ he finds himself snapping without thinking, pulling his blanket around himself in irritation, or perhaps in a childish gesture of protection. he doesn't know what to make of D's presence outside of his door. he has never had to deal with such a thing — of being hurt and alone and having another person show up just to verify the status of his person, seemingly without wanting anything else.

seemingly. laurent pushes himself from the wall and unlatches the door, swinging it open, the glacial draft fluttering his golden hair around his shoulders. he shivers, shifting his weight to his uninjured leg but otherwise standing with his spine perfectly straight, staring at D as if as insect has appeared at his door. ]

I have not vanished. However, it would be pleasant if you would.

[ at that moment, the cat makes a beeline for the door, too stupid to know she and all her unborn kittens will die in the cold. laurent's impassive stare breaks, a rush of childlike panic crossing his features as he dives into the snow for the creature.

this is all D's fault. ]

[When the door opens, the brim of the hat lifts ever so slightly to allow him to look at Laurent. His eyes immediately begin to assess what he can, whether or not Laurent is unwell, or injured. He's aware of the shivering, the familiar cold burrowing through the bones; the limp; the lift from something tired and despondent to something more unyielding.

The words slide off him as if the long cape is made of down. Without any more words, he turns around and takes several steps in his departure. The only thing that stops him is the cat and the muffled noise Laurent makes falling out of the door and into the snow.

He has enough honed reflexes, it would have been simple to catch Laurent, but he doesn't. He allows Laurent to fall face-first onto the ground because his politeness should not be mistaken for weakness, and it has its limits. Likewise, he regards the cat that has awkwardly scooted her pregnant self some distance between the two of them. He does not try to interact with her either because animals outside of the cyborg horses on the Frontier never seem to like his suffocating aura.

A gloved hand swings down into Laurent's line of sight. He isn't sure if Laurent will take the offer at all, but D has already decided he will not touch Laurent unprompted or without warning after Laurent's little spilled secret.]

She will come back to you when she's ready. Animals never forget kindness.

She'll die in the cold. [ his usual calm is broken with a line of tension, a thread pulled so taut it could snap. he doesn't know why saving the cat feels so significant. perhaps because he would otherwise be completely alone in his lodgings here. but why is that such an unbearable thing? he has always been alone. even back at the palace he spent more time curled in his quarters reading than trying to forge camaraderie with his men.

it must be his shadow making things worse, twisting his thoughts into unrecognizable shapes. on his knees in the snow, laurent looks at D's gloved hand, an offering for help. something ugly twists in his chest, and he hauls himself up, flicking D's hand aside. ]

You give a witless creature too much credit. She and her unborn kittens will freeze in a matter of hours. [ his voice is cold again, his face carefully schooled into a mask of impassivity. ] You've seen what you wanted. You were not invited here.

[ he turns, limping back inside and slamming the door so hard that the wood splinters at the lock, the door now cracked uselessly open to let in the draft. laurent stalks to the hearth and sits on the floor, wincing. he snatches his fur-lined cloak that he'd previously given up for the cat to use as a bed, now draping it around his shoulders in the hopes of gaining some warmth, but it offers little, his trim frame shivering ceaselessly in the cold room.

something wet touches his face, and he scrubs in frustration at the melting frost at his cheek. ]

[Hmm.

Slowly, he glances again at the cat once the door has slammed and cracked. The cat regards him in return.] Go on, [he says quietly. It does not bother him, what animals choose to do. Yet somehow, he trusts the credit he gives the cat.

Laurent actually does not hear anything out of D or the cat for some time. Through the small crack in the door, there is no looming dark silhouette or small pregnant lump. Laurent is alone with himself.

And then in some time, the door finally opens a little again. The first to patter in is the waddling cat. A pathetic excuse for a mouse is caught between the teeth, and she scurries hastily to a far corner to drop it by her on the floor. Rather than eat it, she squats down beside it.

Following is D; he steps inside like spilled, spreading ink to stand just past the entrance. The hat is removed now that he's indoors, and some of the snow is shaken away outside before he carefully closes the door in a way which keeps it from blowing open. Then his attention returns to Laurent even though he doesn't venture any farther than where he stands.]

Your friend will be going into labor soon.

[Laurent will soon be a grandpa.]

[ after having already committed to being alone in his discomfort and misery, the sound of the door creaking open once more startles him. he assumed D left long ago, and that the cat would never be seen again, and yet the pregnant wretch waddles in and drops a dead mouse in the corner despite laurent having spent his hard-earned (stolen) coin on fresh fish for the creature. D soon follows, though he lingers frustratingly by the door. at least the draft stops, and laurent glances over to find the broken door closed in an efficient fashion.

he isn't expecting those next words despite all the signs that probably should have told him this himself. he looks at the cat, his eyes suddenly as round as the moon. ]

How will that happen? [ he has not thought through the logistics of such a thing and has never seen a creature, human or animal, give birth before. it would be much easier if it would simply lay eggs. he clutches the cloak around his shoulders, his face colorless with either the cold or panic, or perhaps both. ] I'm not ready. I've not — it's cold, and there's only one bed.

[ he looks at the cat, then unwinds his cloak from around his shoulders — rich, heavy, a navy color with a golden sunburst emblazoned across the back, the inside warm and soft and the edges trimmed neatly with fox fur. carefully, he bundles it on the floor close to the cat once more.

now he's certain he'll freeze to death before the cat gives birth anyway. he scoots closer to the fire, shivering. ]

Well? Are you afraid of fire?

Neither will stop the inevitable birth of children.

[Not preparedness, not cold, and not the lack of bed. The kittens will come, and Laurent will have to witness it.

For the time being, he watches Laurent make an attempt with the cat, remaining as quiet as usual. He regards Laurent back at the fire for a time, and then he reaches up beneath the pauldrons to unclasp the long cape. Likewise, he carries it to Laurent’s cloak where he settles it on too, the lacquered outside facing up. It’ll be easier to clean.

To keep the cat from being skittish, he leaves the makeshift bedding and joins Laurent by the useless fire. The pauldrons and collar he unhooks from his shoulders, and when he places them on the ground, they thud much heavier than they seem.

He sits beside Laurent on the floor like he has never considered being any higher than that, separating them both by a bit of polite space. His long arms drape around the knees he has drawn slightly up.

Apparently, he is not allergic to fire.]

There are rooms in Sooyoung’s building if you would rather have one for yourself. But she charges rent.

[ and here they are. stuck in a room with a cat about to give birth, all of because of laurent's soft heart. he stares into the fire while trying to come up with a solution as to how to extract himself from this situation. he could demand that D leave, but doesn't want to. he could throw the cat into the cold, but wants that even less. he could wander out into the snow and die. this, he contemplates.

his eyes shift to the abandoned armor, his pale brows rising just slightly at the weight of them as they settle on the floor. D is abnormally strong; he knows this. he knows D is simply abnormal in general. but now, sitting beside him uncloaked and unarmed, he looks far younger, far more boyish than he ever has. laurent tries to imagine him as a child, tries to infantalize his enchanting face and the silken fall of his hair. he would have been wildly popular in vere, would have ended up as someone's royal pet, would have been plucked young and ruined early just like him. ]

I have a room here. [ getting the cat to come inside ten paces from the alley had already taken nearly two weeks; he sincerely doubts she would not object to being moved to another building altogether. ] And if I leave, there's a little boy down the street who won't eat. I pay him to do my laundry.

[ then, his arms crossed over his chest — ] How old are you?

I will pay him on your behalf.

[There isn't any implication here the boy would need to do a service for him in exchange. Simply, he will pay the boy money not to starve. But he had offered Laurent a place in the building, thus taking away the boy's means, so...

His face doesn't turn to look at Laurent. He's quiet; his eyes watch the fire from beneath the lowered lashes. And he doesn't answer for a long time. The answer to the question is complicated by what he is. A young man sits beside Laurent, impossibly beautiful, immortalized somehow right at the cusp of adulthood. D, without the long cape, without the pauldrons, without the hat, can't be much older than eighteen. Physically.

There is something old in his eyes.

He may have been a pet in Vere, but on the Frontier, if his path had been different, he would have been the one with the pet. The experimental son of a god-king, the improved and triumphant succession. Like Laurent's brother, perhaps, and yet, like Laurent a little as well. Not wanting the title, the association. A kingdom of vampires he could care the least about.]

I have seen ten millennium pass.

You don't even know him. [ laurent's eyes glitter with scorn, regarding D with something between suspicion and detachment. ] And I don't know your friend with the building with many rooms. Is there some reason you want me there so badly?

[ and then, the answer startles him, though he does little in the way of showing it. he just sits and keeps his gaze on D, now appraising. ten millennium is more than a mind can fathom. entire lifetimes of kings come and gone. kingdoms come and gone. and yet he sits a single pace away, looking hardly any different in age from laurent himself.

laurent allows some of the stiffness to leave his limbs, settling cross-legged, his profile illuminated by the dance of the flames. his yellow hair shifts to the spun threads of burnished gold. his fingers clutch idly at one ankle, his entire body taking up very little space in the room. ]

How does someone like you die? [ he looks into the fire, his expression unreadable. ] Does your cock still work?

It’s a more reliable place to stay. Yoo Joonghyuk will cook the meals.

[He doesn’t bother arguing about the boy. Even not knowing the kid, D would still pay, but he’s sure Laurent may chide him sassily for it. Or continue to refuse regardless.

The fire is reflected in the muddy color of his eyes; he hasn’t looked at Laurent still. They really do look like opposites parted in some strange mirror: one warmly pale and golden, the other ashy porcelain and black. Both princes of some kind against their will, both tormented as children in their own terrible ways.] I die when someone or something strong enough can kill me. [A lot of people might taunt Laurent for the second, crass question by asking if he wants them to show him.

But all D says, matter-of-factly, is:]

Frontier Nobles can biologically reproduce.

[Which probably explains how D came to be. Maybe.

The plumbing, weirdly, somehow works.]

I have a question for you in return. What is something you enjoy doing no one else knows?

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( open and closed starters )

( CLOSED ) d — baby it's cold outside etc. i'm sorry this is so wordy

laurent with the cat 😭😭

he's softe

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