logs | catchall

[D pulls slowly up short as Laurent turns. He did not think Laurent was a stupid man before by any means, but he can see now that Laurent is, in fact, a much more cunning man than D initially assumed.

And maybe a bit foolish (D's assessment) in the unyielding way of it.]

If I take you, then you will have to face me and hold onto my front with your arms and legs. Is that something you're willing to do?

[Laurent had not touched his hand. He's a dhampir. He knows this. Many people do not want to touch him no matter how beautiful his face may be.]

[ it has little to do with him being a dhampir — laurent does not wish to touch anyone on any given day. but laurent also lives an uncomfortable life of discipline and duty, swallowing his discomforts when they can't be avoided. without comment, he steps forward and briefly assesses the logistics of this particular request, pulling his hat away and tucking it into the folds of his jacket. his highly identifiable blond hair is pulled back into a loose braid, settled over his shoulder like a sweetly resting serpent.

his expression remains impassive except for the briefest flicker in his gaze, something wide-eyed and caught, an animal quivering in a cage. there and gone, barely perceptible. then there's only cool steel as he tucks himself against D, his slender stature lined with hard muscle, coiled with tension. he has not been pressed this close to a man — to anyone — since his youth. ]

Well? Get on with it.

[Sweet Laurent.

It's not surprising that D doesn't move when Laurent prepares. He always seems to be standing around like a stone. His rust-colored eyes watch Laurent from under the brim of the black hat. He's a quiet man for good reason. There is so much more he can parse when he's silent, when he's listening.

It's fear, but D does not want to insult Laurent with that. Being fearful is not a bad thing to him. The apprehension is not what he is, but what he could perhaps do. The subtle shift he can hear in Laurent's heartbeat tells him, the way Laurent is tight with dislike against his surprisingly warm front. He's lived long enough to have seen this from many people for a completely different reason.

He still hasn't moved, not raised his arms nor turned his head.] I'm going to clear a way for us first. [His voice is soft when he says it. He'll let Laurent be the one to draw back.]

I can find another way if it makes you uncomfortable. I did not want you to be hit if we were spotted.

[ the stillness is a hard thing to read. D, in general, is a hard thing to read, his emotions nonexistent, at least outwardly, but laurent has the distinct feeling that he is being read with every dead-eyed stare he receives. it's a feeling he thinks might be similar to having his skin peeled off, bit by bit.

laurent's heartbeat rabbits in his chest, but he otherwise gives little sign of panic. he's still. breathing at a relatively even pace. fighting his every instinct to put distance between them. D feels like a man, and it dredges up memories he can't afford to think of but are all the same never far — and still he lets out a displeased breath at his words, his gaze flickering up for a brief moment. ]

I promise you, I am no wilting maiden. [ his stature, his too-pretty face, the nearly irreparable damage his uncle has done to his reputation — all of it works against the truth of his character and ability. mostly, laurent does not mind being underestimated, as it tends to work in his favor, and he finds enjoyment in the shock of an opponent's abrupt realization that they're hopelessly outmatched. in this moment, it chafes. he shifts, the dagger at his hip pressing into D's leg. ] You're not being paid to express an opinion.

[The chivalry in D only extends so far; he does not waste time arguing. People will do what they want, sometimes even with advice. Laurent has made his decision, and there isn't much D can do about that except back out with two coins.]

Put your arms around my shoulders. [Even if they plan to look ridiculous getting into a heavily guarded place, Laurent can retain a little autonomy. But maybe not much pride.] I'm going to lift you up.

[As a warning.]

We're going to climb the tower.

[ laurent's chest rises and falls in a long, disgruntled breath, but he complies, his arms rising to slip around D's shoulders as if embracing. this is much worse, awkward in a way that sends every nerve ending to flight. he used to cling to his brother like this, and auguste would laugh and lift him off his feet, and those were the last times laurent ever felt a frisson of happiness swell in his chest.

carefully, he sets the thought aside, as if preserving a special, fragile possession. the clinical nature of D's speech helps to ground him in the present, and after he spends a moment taking in the angles of D's face — unwillingly, due to proximity alone — he turns his attention to the tower. ]

You're not here to protect me. You're here to get information. It would do you well to remember this. [ he speaks quietly into D's ear, his words icy despite the warmth of his breath, his lips touching dark hair. ] I don't fear the Gallows. Now move.

[Both long hands shift under Laurent's arms, and it isn't with any sort of struggle D simply lifts Laurent up onto his chest. The left arm falls away, the right hand moves around to rest high in the middle of Laurent's back. That's all that D seems to need to keep Laurent in place.

The long cape falls naturally around again, shielding most of each side of Laurent; the material is surprisingly heavy, the collar of it tall. But when D starts moving, the strides are sturdy and graceful, unhindered somehow by the heft of the accessory.

Winding through the trees on the far side near some of the towers, he emerges like a wraith bearing a child, head tipped down to hide some of his face behind the brim. He stretches out his left arm, flashing forward the palm at the first guard who turns, shocked. The noise of the face emerging is actually not so grotesque. An odd voice cackles quietly, and D, still marching forward, encloses his whole hand over the guard's face.

The guard wilts reluctantly, and D catches them by the upper arm to let them sprawl onto the ground. It'd be best to move them out of sight, but there's no time. This gets them closer to the outer rim of the tower. Another guard is patrolling toward them; the man looks as if he plans to call out, but halts suddenly, expression bewildered and charmed. D does the same again, palm out, dropping him to the ground.]

Hold on.

[ it's the first time he's seen D exhibit any sort of behavior out of his routine non-reactions. he's always known the man must be strong, possessing great talents. but laurent has never seen anything like the trick he does with the palm of his hand, overpowering the guards with an unnatural strength. it's enough to make him forget their close proximity, suddenly enthralled with wanting to know more of the mechanics of what makes the arm work.

he forces himself to refocus. holds on because it's the wise thing to do, not because he was told. and when they reach the edge of the tower, laurent moves on his own, relinquishing his grasp without warning and launching himself away from D to haul himself over the railing. ]

Get a look at the other side. [ it's the only thing he says before he's running along the edge of the tower to get a closer look at one of the glimmering windows. it becomes immediately apparent that unlocking it from the outside is impossible — what seems like ordinary locks are completely inaccessible, as the entire tower is protected by the same hazy magic that seems to permeate all of stygia in the most inconvenient of places. there must be people who have tried, maybe someone in the bowels of the city who might be willing to share a spell for a hefty price.

he turns at the sound of movement, coming face to face with a guard. laurent slips a hand into the folds of his clothing and withdraws his blade. ]

I'm merely here to pay my respects to the Hierarchy, but you don't look very friendly. I recommend a bath and a good fuck.

[ he takes his hat out next and nestles it snugly over his hair, tucking the end of his braid into his collar. the guard lunges at him then, and laurent manages a series of side steps, but quickly realizes that this man's shadow is more sentient than the man's natural mind. the fight veers off balance, laurent taking a blow to the face that blinds his vision. he staggers back but recovers, sinking his blade into the man's shoulder — or would have, if the man hadn't raised his hand and blocked, the dagger going through his hand instead, giving the man the opportunity to drive laurent's back into the railing. he almost goes over, but clutches at the guard, leveraging his weight to stay upright. ]

And here I was hoping you could be bribed. [ the blade still stuck in the guard's hand, he drives it up, sinking the dagger into the man's chest. for a moment he goes stiff — and then slackens, his weight much more than laurent's stature, taking laurent off his feet. for one horrible moment laurent sees the world tilt upside down as he goes over the railing, nothing to catch him, nothing but hard ground after the long fall in which he will surely break bones. ]

[Some visible surprise bubbles up when Laurent leaps away, but D does not call out, or try to stop the other man. This is the independence of others; he has no control here.

Turning, he walks with an annoying sort of calmness around to the other side. The building is as stout as he had assumed. This place wouldn't be the way it was if not protected and impenetrable. It reminds D a lot of the Nobility's castles; gargantuan and elegant things, wrung up from the earth and carved into beautiful, deadly, defensive glory. A set of stone fingers stretching into the sky, full of power, and technology, and secrets.

He starts to return, but another guard rounds the bend, and he stops.] You don't want to fight me. [But his warning goes unheeded. D dodges to the side, only stepping, and his image blurs.

The guard's arm is captured in one of his hands, and he twists it up so suddenly and easily, like it's paper, in the wrong direction. A scream of pain follows the snap, and another guard joins the fray.]

D! [an old, scraggly voice yells.] The brat!

I see him.

[Without turning away from the new guard, D walks slowly backward in Laurent's direction as Laurent struggles with the one at the railing. The guard advances, and D prepares to offer another snake-like blow, but the parasite in his hand again yells, "D!" as Laurent careens over the edge. Without hesitating, D whips around and dives over the edge, his rusty-colored eyes now two bright, carnelian pools. Even without compressing himself, even with the heavy cape, he somehow gains on Laurent in seconds, closing the distance.

His arms, and then the whole of him swallow Laurent up; he drops his waist and legs down, intending to land on the ground. It should obliterate him from the bottom up, splatter him, but he slows them both in the air and lands in a partial bend. A second passes, and the gravity catches up, cratering the regally architectures ground below his feet. Immediately, he takes off with Laurent in his arms, but more guards have run for the commotion.]

Damn, they're everywhere like flies! [the voice yells. It's closer now, Laurent can tell. It's close. It should be D, but it isn't his voice at all.] I told you this was a bad idea! More are on the way! Get us the hell out of here before we get turned into a fancy household accessory!

[D speeds for the outer edge, but the guards are using their magic now. What feels like an invisible, rippling orb of energy encapsulates him, lifts him up off the ground.] I can't swallow it, D! I'm spent! [He curls around Laurent, hiding Laurent beneath his bulk and his cape. The bubble flings them, smashing him back-first in the dividing stone fence, but they both roll up over the top and drop down on the opposite side.]

[ he's cocooned in darkness, and the impact he braces for never comes. something rocks the ground while laurent struggles to regain his bearings, dizzy from the sudden drop — and perplexed by the voice that isn't D. he is not prone to panic. not outwardly. he remains still, tight with tension but holding fast as they go careening toward stone. inwardly, he thinks he might've stopped breathing, or his heart might be the on the verge of bursting. a normal, routine sensation. no need to let the squawking in his head be shown.

he needs air. he needs to get out from D's secure clutches. when they finally stop moving and the orb dissipates, laurent dislodges himself with haste, crawling on his hands and knees in the grass as he fights not to upend the contents of his stomach — but when he looks up, there's a guard standing over the both of them, looking down with hard eyes at what has to be a most pitiable sight.

laurent sits back, settling his hands on his knees. ] I paid this man to be here. He had no prior knowledge of my intentions. Direct your archaic punishments to me and only me. All hail the Hierarchy and may their cocks be sucked for many generations to come.

[ the guard moves so fast he doesn't see it; a heavy hand strikes him across the mouth, blood springing to his tongue, and a boot catches him in the ribs, kicking him back toward D, where he lands in an unceremonious heap. with blood dripping down his chin, he watches with sharp blue eyes as the guard captures them in another capsule of energy — and then darkness for a split second, so absolute he can't make out his hand right in front of his face, and when the world flickers to life again, they've been deposited back at the harbors, bustling with nightlife.

laurent blinks, testing his aching jaw. ] We need paper. I'd like a glass of water. [ he sits up with a wince, turning his gaze to D. ] Are you hurt?

[On the ground, D can feel the cracks in his ribs. He lies there, even when the guard's shadow seeps over them when appearing.

Admittedly, he's surprised by Laurent's willingness to take the brunt of any charges. He didn't think Laurent was necessarily as much talk as it seems, but... it still surprises him regardless. Laurent's soft center...

Also surprising--D doesn't move when the strikes come. The muscles of his body tense, readying himself defensively for something worse, something needing his intervention. But it doesn't come. Laurent sprawls near him, and he watchfully keeps his eyes on the guard. This bubble is a little different. Darkness even his eyes can't pierce shrouds them before dumping them unceremoniously back at the harbors, his hat cast aside. The few inches of drop makes him stiffen.]

You're bleeding.

[It's a dodge that gives him time to carefully pull himself into a sit. Beneath his skin, muffled, his bones crackle. He drapes his left arm over a knee, waits. It takes a lot longer than it ever had before, when alive. Around the edge of the long hair folded over some of his face, his brows pinch. There's a subdued grimace pulling his lips thin. The crackle has become short, sharp pops as the bones mend. Slowly.]

What you need is a reality check, kid! [It's the peculiar voice again. D isn't speaking, so it doesn't seem to be his.] What the hell were you thinking? Anyone could tell you that would've gone ass over kettle. Now you two are gonna be the poster boys for the Gallows! D, why didn't you try to talk some sense into him?

[D's voice is sudden, but firm:]

Enough.

[ laurent's pale brows rise at both the crackling of bone and the voice that suddenly scolds him. he doesn't look disturbed, per se — more curious than anything else, his eyes studying D with renewed interest as his hand slowly rises to wipe carefully at his bloodied mouth with the back of his knuckles. ]

You have a pet. [ not in the grand sense of the term. but there is a definite presence that laurent had not been made aware of. he addresses the voice as if D hadn't just told it to shut up. ] We were mostly successful, were we not? We have a general layout of the outside to work with. We know the formation of guards, though with the ruckus we caused, that's likely to change. And we know the palace is protected by magic. It's a start.

[ then he looks at D again, removing the cloak around his shoulders and tossing it aside, giving his aching back a stretch. his ribs give a protest, right where the guard's boot had made impact, and he frowns and presses a hand to his side. ] And you have a very unique hand.

A parasite.

[The correction isn't scathing or irritated. He can feel Laurent looking at him, but he doesn't return the gaze for now. The ribs beneath his skin are tender even snapped together again. It's strange to have taken away what he hated relying on most to let him be stupid. Laurent is right, it isn't a bad opportunity. To see how long it takes him to heal.

Lacking a wince that might find other people's faces, D takes his hat with his left hand and pulls himself fluidly to his feet. He surveys where they are in the harbors briefly, then his right hand appears out of the edge of the cape, extended to Laurent.]

Is there pain when you breathe? Try to stand.

It seems a useful companion. It feeds on you? [ as any parasite does. such a power — or more likely a curse — surely comes at a price. he finds it odd that for the first time, D does not meet his eyes with his unwavering gaze, but at least the grotesque sound of popping bones has ceased. as D sweeps himself to his feet, laurent turns and spits blood onto the grassy bank, wiping fastidiously at his mouth with the inside of his wrist, the lace peeking out growing stained with red.

he looks up at the proffered hand, his mood suddenly souring. D has been an acceptable companion for this excursion, but it unsettles something within him to rely on him any further. he struggles to his feet while ignoring the hand. ]

Don't. [ fuss. ] We need paper to draw the map. I'm sure one of these shops can help. Once we finish, you'll get your payment and you may go.

[ walking introduces a new twinge at his side with each step, but he makes his way down the street nonetheless, stopping at what looks like a tea shop, fragrant. laurent slides into one of the velvety seats and soon has acquired paper and pencil, sketching away while someone brings a pot of hot tea to their table.

laurent slides the paper in front of D. ] Add what you remember.

No, it doesn't.

[But that's all he says about the bothersome parasite, and it doesn't speak up again, surprisingly. For now.

The offered hand lowers when Laurent doesn't take it; he doesn't look bothered by the disinterest. Some people just don't want help, and there's nothing he can do about that. Laurent goes, and he follows quietly. He can hear the noises of Laurent's body, but makes no comment on it, figuring Laurent will only brush him off again.

In the shop, he removes his hat politely and sits with Laurent, waiting as annoyingly silent as always. Without the imposing headdress, it's easier to see more of the face framed by the long, dark hair. He's surprisingly youthful and much too beautiful for it to be natural. It's too perfect, the skin too pale and tinged gray.

His eyes watch the paper come to him. His left hand rises, the long fingers taking the pencil. The motion fits a man who leaves his right hand free for drawing a sword. But this means the left is the off-hand.

Except when he begins to sketch, it's in the soft, steady strokes of a hand skilled by time. He doesn't rush. The inhumanity in him has honed his senses, being alive for so long maybe too. He fills in small places, embellishes on a wider area that could not be seen, one fashioned from hearing the way sounds bounced, or from looking through the perimeter before Laurent had arrived. The guards appear in their current rotations with arrows, though they may change out in the future.]

You should put more thought into what you will do with this, [he says in his quiet voice,] than what you did with the plan today.

[ unsurprising that D doesn't offer much in the way of explanation. he could ask, but spends a moment looking at him from beneath his fronded gaze instead, pretty in a way that laurent finds almost distasteful. he'd be the subject of much talk in vere, just as laurent is.

but his usefulness is what he's interested in, and he proves it when he fills out the map, adding a level of detail laurent could not have achieved without him. ]

I fulfilled my purpose. [ he was bait more than anything else. now, he reaches into his jacket and produces a tidy bag of coin, which he sets beside D's hand. ] And so have you.

[ he pulls a cup toward himself when he withdraws his hand, examining the clear, steaming liquid without taking a sip. ] You can go.

[Setting the pencil down on the paper, he exchanges it with the hat which he situates back on his head and down over his brows. His left hand takes the bag of coin, and his body pulls itself fluidly into a stand. He's not here to convince Laurent of anything; that's none of his business. He isn't a wrangler.

The two coins from earlier join a few more from the bag as he's paused, and he places them down on the other side of the table as payment for tea he didn't drink. A polite courtesy to the understanding other people work and offer a service. Laurent may or may not take them, but all that matters now is he left them initially.

While he nods in departure to the one who brought them tea, he does not give Laurent any words of goodbye nor does he look back. Not really out of rudeness, but finality. The soft jingling of the spurs on his boots and the flick of the end of his cape is what carries him to leave.]

catchall

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