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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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[ his absence has been largely intentional. laurent has holed himself away in his home in the harbors, wondering when he will finally freeze to death in this hellscape. his own flower cough is mild at best. the winter seems to be the thing that wants to do him in, and the horrible pulse in his head that he can only attribute to one of his tethers having been damaged. his shadow feels ready to strike, but he holds it back for aspen's sake, at least for now.

aspen, who doesn't look so well himself. the cold is affecting them all. ]

Your teas are full of odd things. [ his voice feels faraway, and before he knows it, he's sliding down the wall, a dusting of frost falling from his hair. ] I only take potions from my physician back home. He has cared for me since I was child.

( aspen sits down by him, stretching his wings out a little as he pulls off the fluffy scarf wound around his neck. he sets it on the floor, near enough that laurent may feel its warmth, as he twists the lid off of the thermos. )

Of course my teas are strange, I'm an herbalist. If you want plain tea, I'll do a Sakian tea ceremony by instinct. There's no normal when it comes to me, I'm afraid.

( he takes a sip, exhaling low. )

... besides. This is the only thing keeping my Shadow at bay right now. Best for me to keep drinking it, for everyone's sake.

( he takes out a vial, the orange-colored serum inside almost halfway gone before he takes a quick shot and gulps the tea down alongside it. )

Ugh. ( he shudders. what a surprise, the nurse is a bad convalescent. just in case, he does offer the tea to laurent. it's only polite. ) What was he like, your physician? I've only had experience with the doctors and healers that cared after the king I served as courtesan.

I don't want a tea ceremony, thank you. [ even without knowing that might entail, he doesn't want it. the scarf sits nearby like a living creature, almost as fluffy as aspen's better wing. laurent's dark blue cloak is lined with fur, but with the cold seemingly inside of them, even it hasn't been enough. ]

And what will your Shadow do? Chirp birdsong at us until we all wish to throw ourselves into the Tempest?

[ he eyes the tea, imagining its scalding warmth, then looks away, his breath swirling before him as he exhales quietly. groggily, he thinks of paschal. after auguste, paschal was the closest thing to family without actually being blood. they did not speak like family, never shared stories. laurent never confided in him. but paschal knew. he has always known of his uncle's boys, always cared for them after long nights without reproach. laurent does not remember how many times he'd woken in paschal's quarters in his youth, sleeping off the effects of whatever potion his uncle had given him. paschal always had the decency to clothe him before waking. ]

He was discreet. [ and because aspen already knows and therefore all is lost already, he takes the tea and brings it to his mouth, sniffing carefully before taking the smallest of sips. ] He saw to all of my uncle's whores. What is in this concoction?

If I'm lucky, he'll try to use some of the spells I've fashioned against the humans I like and fail. If I'm not lucky...

( ... well. the possibility boils in his stomach, almost like indigestion. the thought of the spells he'd painstakingly learned but only used in dire consequences used freely against his allies... ugh. it makes him sick. aspen looks green for a second before he shakes it off. )

If I'm not lucky, I suppose my ambition will bite me in the ass. Wouldn't be the first time.

Anyhow. Discreet is good. None of the doctors were.

( a tinge of bitterness seeps into aspen's voice, as he closes his eyes and lets the tea spread through his body like ink in water. the tea is surprisingly fruitlike and floral. it's warm, but most of all, it's calming - soothing. the slight sweetness lingers on the tongue. it's a balm against his temper and his desire to enact justice on those who never did anything wrong. )

Chamomile base, rose hips, wild apricot vine, lavender, a bit of mint and some beet sugar for sweetener.

Magic — [ he says the word carefully, as if if simply speaking it may have effects he does not understand. ] Seems to be common among many of the Restless here. We did not have such a thing back home.

[ it puts him at a disadvantage here, but that is nothing new — he has always operated from a place of disadvantage, and it's a familiar problem to him now. it makes him watch everything more carefully, to think over his actions two and three times where others blindly misfire. ]

There is hardly anyone here to like. [ but the tea is good — he can admit that much. it's warm, offering a brief respite from the knot of cold pulled tight within him. he brushes frost from his lashes and moves the scarf closer, pressing his stiff fingers into the soft fabric to warm them. his head still aches, sharp pains streaking across his temples as if in warning. ] I don't know how to make tea. Thank you for this. Are you on this ship to check on your home as well?

I thought as much when you made no mention of magic. ( he lets laurent take more of the tea if he wishes, relaxing now that he can be certain laurent is at least a little cared for. ) You're capable with a weapon, then. Good. All magic has limitations. In my world, magic can only be cast with a catalyst - an object you use to harness your power into being. I use my staff. Others use rings or chokers, swords or old artifacts. Even the greatest mage can't cast if their catalyst is taken from them. Finding that weakness is the problem.

( he stretches, rubbing his neck with a wince and fixing his petticoats under his buttoned dress. he doesn't care about laurent seeing. )

I am going to visit my "home", yes. I can't keep my focus on my studying or my work, and lapse of focus when dealing with medicine is deadly. I'd rather put a stop to what - or who - decided to make a ruckus than sit idly.

... I could teach you if you'd like. How to make tea. No ceremony included. I'm not good at most kitchen things - but tea is an exception.

[ all of the information is filed away for safekeeping, but his pale brows pinch as he looks at aspen, wordlessly handing back the tea and now pulling the scarf toward himself, nestled against the cold ache of his heartbeat. his eyes flicker down to the petticoats, largely uninterested in the inconvenience of these fashion choices. ]

You shouldn't share such weaknesses so readily. [ he's certain aspen will respond with something foolish. ] No one should know how essential your staff is to your magic. I have not displayed my strengths here for a reason.

[ not that he feels any of his strengths now. he's sapped of all energy — from the miserable cold, from the ache of what has to be a damaged tether. the ship rocks beneath them, and laurent thinks the tea he just ingested might make a reappearance. he sits perfectly still, resisting the pull of his shadow. ]

I don't want anything from you. [ he draws his knees up, aspen's scarf pillowed on his knees as he nestles his chin in the soft fabric, shivering despite himself. ] We'll part ways as soon as the ship docks.

( simply, while fixing his stocking - )

You're the only one I've shared this weakness with. ( he doesn't allow exasperation to seep into his voice, because he understands where laurent is coming from. laurent may not understand, but neither did aspen when he was only nineteen and just barely ripped away from his past slave master and abuser. he'd asked for help then, of course. he had not asked to know the dark depression king amir had gone through. he had not asked for power put in his lap as the king's blade. but when he realized what they were for - and it had to be his own revelation, he realized later, or else he wouldn't understand - it was a sort of power aspen relished in. ) I know that if I do something you think is foolish, I would probably think it's foolish too - your response tells me I'm right in that, as I wouldn't have shared this with you if I didn't think I might need this weakness exploited. If for some reason I knowingly do something foolish, you might as well know how to stop me. If you felt inclined.

( he takes the tea back gingerly, taking a few more sips to warm himself up and cool his shadow down before packing it away back into his leather satchel. )

Ah, 'I don't want anything from you' he says while nuzzling my scarf. ( he raises an eyebrow at laurent and looks at him with a sly look. ) What wou--hrk!

( all of a sudden, his eyes grow wide and he clutches his chest, heaving in what is clear pain. he blinks quickly, bewildered and suddenly uncertain, only straightening after a few moments as the pain ebbs. but instead of the sharp pain, there's an ache there. it's similar to what he felt before, what spurred him onward - but it wasn't this sharp before. )

What in the... nngh. ( when he tries to move, he winces fiercely. it makes his breath shaky and shallow. aspen pulls into himself, his usually sunny or matter-of-fact expressions gone and replaced by genuine fear and pain. it doesn't look right on his face. )

[ he considers this reasoning for a long moment, feeling something odd and unfamiliar settle between them, like pieces of a puzzle that don't quite fit being jammed together. he eventually wonders if this is trust and why aspen would offer it to him when he has not proven himself especially trustworthy. the things he has no desire to reveal to aspen — or anyone — aspen seems to have an uncanny knack for uncovering regardless. ]

I would possibly stop you if you decided to do something foolish. [ he gives this answer after some time. ] Only because I think you would regret your actions later if you went through with them.

[ there have been times his own anger has caused him to blunder, and if there had been someone there capable of reining him back... well, that specific person has largely been the cause of his anger, but the point stands. ]

You put it down. [ the scarf. laurent stays nestled in the soft fabric — until aspen goes into visible distress, and laurent lifts his head, his blue eyes wide. he is not experienced in giving comfort, nor has he ever received it. at a loss as to what to do, he drapes the scarf back over aspen's shoulders and sits back with his hands in his lap, his eyes steadily on him. ]

Someone has likely damaged one or more of your tethers. [ his breath puffs out unsteadily before him, the only evidence of the breaking of his calm. ] I feel it, too.

My tethers...?

( 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.

[ it plays through his head, unwanted. gruesome. death is no stranger to him, and still he's unprepared for the sudden rush of grief he feels, always waiting just beneath the surface. it's harrowing. when it's over laurent feels as though he's come up from underwater, struggling to breathe though nothing has changed — not their surroundings, not his position. they're still on the tumultuous waves, still in the dank belly of the ship, still seated on the wooden floors in the cold.

the scarf hangs haphazardly along his shoulders, returned once more. death rings in his head, his chest aching at the sight of tears clinging to aspen's cheeks. ]

I'll accompany you. [ he makes the promise before thinking, an uncharacteristic moment of rashness. he has his own tethers to see to, yet it feels... important, that he does this. ] To your home. In case — there is more danger than anticipated.

[ or in case aspen's shadow takes hold and he needs to conveniently relieve him of his staff. laurent does not ask about the two men, one's death clear in his memory, and the other very neatly implied. but something the slaver had said sticks in his mind. ]

That man protecting you. [ he treads carefully, suppressing a shiver while unwilling to shift the scarf. ] A king knows better than to jump into the fray so quickly.

[ the accusation goes unsaid, but it's clear. there was a king in this memory, and he doesn't think it was the men cut down. ]

( between his tears he coughs hard, practically a child racked with grief with his inability to tamp it down. perhaps fate has dealt him a kind hand today. perhaps laurent cannot recognize the lavender petals that he coughs up, almond-shaped with a yellow speck. every time aspen coughs up wisteria petals, he finds himself overcome with the desire to cry. laurent may have been right. maybe they were both still those scared, helpless children at heart.

despite all of aspen's kindness and openness, he regards the promise laurent makes with such terrified suspicion, it's as if the two have swapped bodies. violet-blue eyes are wide with trepidation, a deer caught in a hunt, petal-filled hand only an inch away from his mouth from where he'd been suppressing his coughs. )

... thank you. ( but he does relent and accept the help, gaze lowering. ) If you have need of it, I will do the same. I may not be the best in combat, but a second pair of eyes to watch your back is always a boon.

( he seems fit to relax in the dark and catch his breath, back against the wall of the ship. aspen even closes his eyes.

and it feels like laurent saw this moment to drive a knife in his chest. he stares at laurent, lips parted in shock, then he shuts his eyes tightly with a clear grimace.

does he have to say anything? even his expression is a clear 'aw, fuck, jig's up'. he runs a hand through his bangs, pushing them back away from his face as his wings slump in exhaustion - but also in relaxation. in a way, keeping this secret has been just as fraught as anything else he keeps close to the chest. )

To be clear, Aza, Wisteria, and I are... ( he sighs. ) were. The three of us were lovers. They were close, and understood each other in ways I could never even hope to fathom, and - Aza was the most powerful in combat, the best of us. He didn't jump into the fight just to protect me, he did it because he was furious his lover had been killed by a good-for-nothing slaver looking to bring him and I and all of our people back as chattel. Even if he were king instead of me, I think he would have done the same.

( aspen sets his staff away from him, giving it an accusatory glare before he fixes the scarf around laurent's shoulders, now. it's a clear account that what aspen claimed - being without his catalyst depriving him of magic - is true. ) I was born as Crown Prince Aquila of Zephyr, but that does not mean much when seeing my land and people killed robbed me of my memory. My earliest memory is that my name was Aspen, and that Master Phelans had bought me.

I didn't - and still don't - remember anything before.

[ somehow, it is both surprising and not to discover that aspen, once upon a time, had two lovers at once. of course he did. someone like aspen, with enough care to fill a room several times over, would have enough tenderness to fill several hearts. something laurent knows little about. ]

Crown Prince. [ easier, now, to focus on this than the tragedy that lies quietly between them. there is no balm for the pain of losing the ones you care for most in this world — at least laurent has not found one for his own wounds, even after all these years. aspen is a king. these are the words he keeps turning over in his mind, trying to reconcile his truth with the tiny bird beside him.

but the pieces fit. his demeanor, his concealed wit, his desire to help others — they are all traits of a king. traits that too few kings have. auguste would have been good and just, a rarity among veretian kings. but too long before him there have only been warmongers, content to hold open the bloody rift between kingdoms. even now, his uncle thirsts for war. laurent knows keenly what a poor king looks like, and aspen sits squarely on the opposite end.

he takes the scarf once again and settles it upon aspen's shoulders, this time looping it into a neat knot. it's the smallest measure of comfort he can offer in the face of his tears and choking petals. ]

Do you know how you might recover your memories? [ there are many things in his past painful to him, many things he longs to forget — but if it comes at the price of losing his memories of auguste, he would never make the trade. ]

( well, he's insisting. and a cursory glance to laurent tells aspen that he's trying. if this is him trying, then aspen will relent with the scarf. this time. he's quite sure of the two of them laurent is worse off physically.

emotionally and mentally, who knows. )

The doctors and healers said that if they return, they will come at their own pace - and that there was a real possibility that I will never recover my memories due to... ( he shifts, uncomfortable, not wanting to feel like a victim but also knowing that out of everyone, laurent would probably pity him the least. ) Due to the stress my mind and body underwent as a pleasure slave.

But that was years ago, at my first check with a doctor after I was freed. I haven't remembered anything yet, even with my soul magic. ( he gestures to his staff and then laurent. ) That's the magic that must have shared the memory - it influences the mind and emotion. My apologies. I didn't mean to make you witness to something like that.

But really, it's a shame.

( he forces a light smile, though it's sad in nature. he's not going to wallow in misery any longer. somehow, being around laurent makes him stubborn about regulating his own mood.

instead he pretends like his amnesia and enslavement were nothing but a missed meeting. )

In another time, in another place, maybe I would've been near your level of skill. Maybe I could've been a sparring partner. Apparently I excelled at the sword as a child.

( softer; )

Don't remember a thing about it now, though.

[ it's a common story. the pets in the palace, the slaves in vere, the children gone unprotected from those who would exploit them — there are few words suitable to describe the sort of duress they might've endured for years on end. laurent does not like to think of it, but the boy he used to be and the man he is now bears little resemblance to each other. it might not have been so, under different circumstances, if his uncle had never touched him, if he'd never grown intimate with the meaning of survival. ]

Then, when we go back — [ when they're off of this accursed ship, away from their tethers, once they're relatively safe again. ] You and I will spar and we'll see what you remember.

[ a sense-memory, a trigger, something familiar that might unearth any sort of feeling of recollection, no matter how small. ]

You can always learn anew. [ he's quiet for a long moment before continuing, his shoulders tense. ] I wasn't — gifted with the sword, like my brother was. Even now, I'm only half as good as he ever was. But being half as good as Auguste still means being better than everyone else in Vere. I trained relentlessly. I gave up all my childish pursuits in the goal of revenge, because I knew I had to be very, very good if I was to succeed at it.

[ he closes his eyes, waiting for a throb of pain to pass. when he opens them again, his gaze is cloudy. ] Aza and Wisteria are your tethers? Auguste is mine. And —

[ damen. the man he's supposed to want to kill. that name is better left unsaid. ]

( aspen starts with a bewildered expression, but it softens.

this isn't the first time someone suggested he spar and train. aza did, too. his heart aches fiercely for a moment, but it's compounded. )

Your brother? ( aspen draws his long legs in, settling his arms atop them as he looks to laurent. this is the first he heard of family. the one who attacked laurent, as far as he's concerned, does not count as family. the notion of revenge is so familiar that he has to close his eyes. it's not familiar because he wants to kill whoever hurt his tethers - it's familiar because so much of what happened a year ago was borne from his own thirst for revenge.

he understands. he really does. )

Yes. Aza, Wisteria, and my mother's sword. Those are my tethers.

... so then, Auguste may be... ( if their tethers were harmed to cause this pain, that must mean auguste - and whatever or whoever he won't name - are in peril. he doesn't want to force laurent to explain himself. aspen has long since learned how to expose bits of himself to seem forthright and open, but it's unlikely laurent is the same in this respect. he wouldn't expect laurent to expose himself so blatantly. he pulls his satchel near and begins to rifle through it. ) We'll fix this. Be it with force or wit, winds guide us.

Did you use the explosives I gave you?

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