[Little by little, Hector talks, chips at him, until something cracks, deep inside.
Not alone.
What it could've meant to know that, have that, when he had needed it most. When riding out the brightest time in Hector's life amid the darkest part of his own, with only himself and his inner demons for company.
He blinks through a stinging blurriness and tosses his head to clear it, angrily pressing onwards.]
There is nothing I fear. [Jutting his jaw.] ...And if it is your desire to tether me now, [his voice is raw, wavering] I am warning you once, and once alone-- [Stopping, he turns to look Hector square in the eye] ...stay out of my way.
[Hector lengthens his stride to keep pace with Isaac. If the forgemaster thinks he'll be put aside by just that, he's underestimating Hector. He feigns confidence as he replies.]
Only once? Good, then I won't have to hear it again.
[He is not exactly in Isaac's way. He's at his side, where for so long, no one has stood.
'Bless you, Rosaly,' he thinks to himself. When he had stood in much the same place as Isaac, broken and alone and convinced that he was unlovable, she had accepted him. When he'd walked away, she had followed, never forcing him, but always offering him a place beside her. He'd slithered out of the darkness and she had been like the sun, at first too bright to look at, but eventually coming to be a source of light and life, vital to him. He had not even realized all she had done for him until now, seeing the lack of it in Isaac.
He can never hope to offer the same gentleness and patience as Rosaly, but even a pale reflection is better than nothing.]
I know a place in the foothills where we can camp for the night. We should be able to reach it before night falls, if we waste no more time.
['So long as you don't fight me on this, Isaac,' he means.]
[For better and for worse - depending on who is asked -, the final leg of their journey down the mountainside is as uneventful as it is long. The way is just rugged enough that slipping into thought could have dangerous consequences, and Isaac is already restless and annoyed without having to worry about watching his step, inevitably pinning that frustration onto Hector as the afternoon wears on. But in the brief moments they stop to sit and drink, he doesn't hold out on what he's been able to gather along the way; pragmatic thinking prevails and Hector is offered a hunk of hastily-seared hare meat with a non-committal grunt, then small handfuls of mushrooms or tart berries, the ones Isaac recognizes as safe.
Hector's navigational sense and familiarity with the finer details of the landscape thankfully see them through. At dark, they reach a quiet clearing nestled among evergreens, where Isaac trudges around on aching legs to help pile dry leaves and twigs together. His boots aren't fit for travel and have chafed the patch of skin above his heels raw, but at rest, he elects to leave them on.
After the day they've had, simply basking in the heat of a humble bonfire and picking at a meal of roasted lizards feels almost indulgent. He doesn't complain, doesn't say much of anything while crunching through charred skin and spitting the many little bones aside.]
[Hector finds himself pleased with the campsite. He stretches a bit of scavenged canvas above a dry patch of earth near their fire. More pine needles are gathered to spread under it to cushion them, with a dead man’s cloak spread over. It’s a humble place to lay their heads, but world better than the night before spent on cold stone.
He too shares what meager supplies he has, offering his canteen to Isaac before he drinks any of it and adding some nuts and an unfortunate squirrel to their meal.
They eat in a silence that isn’t quite companionable, but can’t be said to be hostile. Hector will take that, for now.
He strips off his boots and gives his aching feet a rub as he checks for blisters by the light of the fire. He sighs as he digs his thumbs into the weary soles.]
You’re next. [He tells Isaac. They have to keep moving tomorrow, and that means taking care of themselves tonight. Hector tries not to push too hard, knowing Isaac to be skittish about any order he gives, no matter how well-meaning. His tone, he aims for easy. ‘Of course you will accept this, no question.’]
[He pauses to wipe some hot grease off his lips onto his arm, eying him across the spitting flames. But he gives in without word, unbuckling each boot and shucking them off, half-tempted to pull away from the fire just to dip his feet into the pond behind them. Despite his familiarity making do with what the wilderness provides, he longs for the luxury of a bath, the chance to wash away blood and sweat and dirt, fresh and old, griming his skin. One of the more unusual habits he owed Dracula and the castle for instilling in him. God forbid if he had ever presented himself in the throne room a second time smelling like rank goat.
Crossing his legs, he takes up a stick and stirs the logs some, throwing another look around the clearing. It feels too open to give himself permission to fully relax; no walls to put his back up against. Were there trees of a different sort in their midst, with thicker branches and no needles, he'd consider climbing up and sleeping leaned up against the trunk, readily trading comfort for a sense of safety and a decent vantage point.]
I do hope you are prepared for the morrow. [He husks, as if Hector spent most of the trip lagging behind. And because he didn't, it's nothing more than some half-hearted attempt to make conversation.]
Mmmmmh. [Hector hums noncommittally as he moves to sit near Isaac’s feet. He draws the first one up onto his thigh and begins to rub the sole. The initial pass is to examine and find the tender places for his fairy to patch up. Once the chafed skin is healed and whole, he presses his thumbs in deeper to massage the muscles.
He’ll wash up in the morning before they leave here, when having wet skin and wet hair will not doom him to a cold night. It might even feel nice despite the cool weather, depending on how grueling a pace they set tomorrow.]
Have you decided where you will go?
[He keeps his eyes downward, focused on the pale foot in his hands, purposely casual and non-threatening. It’s a tenuous alliance, and Hector has to be careful with how he proceeds.]
I know of some islands to the south. Warm clime, secluded, where people look to their own affairs, not to anyone else’s.
[He releases the first foot and draws up the second to repeat his ministrations.]
[The second Hector's hands land, gently manipulating skin and muscle, he questions why he agreed to this. To be fair, it's not unpleasant: the kneading and pressure are well-tolerated, a good sort of tingly soreness; but it's the ease with which Hector persists in helping unasked that's a hard thing to wrap his head around. A muscle flexes in his cheek, but he doesn't yank his foot away. Or offer it, either.]
You'd have made a passable servant in the castle, with your pretty mouth alone. [He muses, pointedly ignoring the question.] I have a little itch.
[It's his way of feeling out where Hector's boundaries lie while wondering what he gets out of this at all, what his angle is. There has to be something, his cynicism reminds him, or he wouldn't be so willing. If Hector looks like he's taken the hint and is moving to service him, he'll offer a stern, quiet 'no' and turn his hand or his face away in refusal, whichever is closest.]
I've heard rumours of new lands far to the West, over the water.
[Isaac says, eventually, not sounding particularly committed as he's never given the specifics serious thought. What other places may hold for him won't be much better, if at all, he suspects. But he'll settle for different, whatever that might look like. A new world and all its trappings, all its pleasures and disappointments.]
[He raises his head and arches an eyebrow at Isaac. Trying to build this alliance does not mean the death of his sass.]
I would have made a very poor servant, for by your word, you would have killed anyone I served.
[He does not give in to the goading, though, if he is honest with himself, he would not be opposed to taking Isaac's cock in his mouth again, or feeling Isaac's fingers grasp tight in his hair and forcing Hector's mouth around his cock. His own perversions, he will have to put aside. If he is to have any hope of getting through to Isaac, he can only reach out with gentle, innocent touches. For anything more, he must be still, and let Isaac come to him, if he wills it.]
It would be a long way by boat to reach those lands. Have you sailed on the open ocean before?
[He finishes with the massage and stops himself before he's tempted to move from weary feet to shapely ankles, where he could trace inked lines further up where they disappear into tight leather. He leans back on his hands.]
[Isaac stares into the flames, light and shadow dancing across his face.]
I was never so fortunate as to have the means.
[All his life experience is based on land, with many of his years spent in a small house tucked in the woods not far from Cordova, when it was thrived, once upon a time; The rest was in and around the castle, where what he knows of sea travel was gleaned from many maps and books in the library. He's aware that for everything he has learned as an alchemist and a general, a survivalist and weaponsmith, there are many gaps in his knowledge, so much of the world and its workings left untouched and untasted.
Maybe in a different life, a different time, he and Julia could've sought their luck out on the open water, stailing from island to island in search of home - a real home.
He snorts wryly, drifting back to reality.]
'twas not until my eleventh year when I had even set foot in a town, never mind a boat. [He can still remember what it was like, keeping to the shadows, queasy with fear and excitement.]
...And then I had only a good look about for a night or two, before my curiosity was met with swift punishment.
[Each glimpse Isaac offers of his past makes Hector ache. It's a light shone on darkness that helps explain some of the shadows he casts. He dares not delve further for fear of unveiling truths that Isaac would rather keep hidden.]
My father studied alchemy, and he dragged my mother and I along behind him as he traveled to learn more. I hated the towns. The children threw rocks at me, and the old women crossed themselves when I passed by.
[They'd recognized an otherness in him and rejected it instinctively. Hector drudges up the old memories, not to compare with Isaac's, but to meet his honesty and the vulnerability that comes of it with the same.]
We did take a boat a time or two before we...parted ways. I remember enough of it. I should be able to prepare us for the journey, if you wish to take it.
[To fully cross the sea, they will need to book passage on a vessel, but to see them a shorter distance, he thinks he could manage.]
[It's a little funny to think that for all the time they've shared one another's company, they've never really scratched the surface of each other, never spoken frankly, one man to another. Isaac had studied him at every opportunity, jealousy and lust and curiosity eating him alive, but there was only so much he could learn from fighting with and against him, from memorizing movements, mannerisms. Competition had kept them fierce, and surely if the Dark Lord had caught wind of something deep and meaningful taking root, either he or the castle would've found some way of twisting it, turning it against them.
He listens, expressionless. It's hard to know what's worse: to be let in someplace but scorned by the company one kept, or to be shut out forever. Either way, no good ever comes of a child who grows up feeling hated, isolated, and the something approaching sympathy softens the rougher edges of his voice when he finally answers.]
I shall think on it. [Though the answer is closer to a yes than it isn't, it seems unwise to decide on a impulse, much less when tired, and when sleep has a way of putting things into perspective.] I take it that you will regardless? Bound for 'warmer climes'?
[Hector looks to the fire, pleased in spite of past pains remembered. He and Isaac have always been connected. That they can recognize their reflections in one another gives Hector hope that he might be let in further.]
All else being equal, I would like that. I was born further south, and I have no love for snow or ice.
[He has survived the harsh winters in the mountains, and if Isaac chooses to lead him somewhere cold, he will bear it. He hopes for warmth, though. One of the few things he remembers fondly from Dracula’s keep was the ingenious devices that could heat the castle all year round.]
Nor do I. [Like Hector, he could endure it out of necessity, but he'd hate every minute just as much, cursing the cold and burying into Iyeti's thick fur when he could.]
A forgemaster on a boat... [Chuckling grimly, he tosses a twig into the fire with a careless flick of his wrist.
A log snaps, spitting sparks.]
...It resembles the beginnings of a joke.
[It also does seem like a cruel form of torture for restless men like himself, being cooped up on some vessel for long stretches of time with little to do other than to stretch his legs and look around, or fish. For better or for worse, he wouldn't drown instantly if a little boat capsized. He learned how to keep his head above the water thanks to a then-terrifying trial resulting in being pushed into a pool teeming with mermen, but swimming gracefully is a whole other story. ]
I would have you try a short voyage before committing to crossing the ocean, else the punchline might be ‘and he spent the entire trip vomiting over the rails.’
[Hector is blessed with a strong stomach, but in those youthful travels, he’d seen the meek and the mighty alike brought low from seasickness. A miserable trip would be made absolutely hellish if Isaac be one of that number who cannot stomach the waves.]
If we were to make for the new world, we would have to book passage on a larger vessel, with a crew that knows how to navigate the open waters. You’d have to play nice.
[Or else the joke would end with them overboard or on a boat filled with corpses and no idea how to get themselves to their destination.]
Ha. [He can only sneer at the idea of being diplomatic and pleasant when their company wouldn't necessarily extend the same courtesy. What Hector's asking isn't an impossible task, but it'd take everything he has to tamp down his darker urges -- assuming he'd make it within thirty feet of any docked vessel without his look alone raising alarms the way it always has.]
How bold of you to assume I would be welcome to board in the first place.
[He lets that hang in the air, thinking. Then he huffs to himself, as if remembering an old, bitter joke.]
...But a few months ago, you had wanted my head on a pike, and now, you would have us ... elope, [he says, with a mocking toss of his head] ...like forbidden lovers.
[It's still running away no matter how he looks at it, a cop-out, instead of standing his ground like he should and viciously defending his right to exist in his homeland, at any cost. But maybe there's something to this silly little idea they're tossing around. Maybe, with Julia's safety secured, he'd be able to find something else worth staying alive for while out at sea, another reason to keep pushing forward. Or maybe he's too muzzy-headed to think straight and Hector is wearing him down, rubbing off on him.
Scoffing, he half-turns from the bonfire and lies back in the grass, settling. The air is cool, tinged with the bitter hint of smoke; he pulls it deep into his lungs, stretching to the gentle popping of joints and ligaments. It's a nice night - clear and calm, the sky spattered with the same constellations Julia could see if she were out right now, looking heavenward for guidance. But like all nice things, it wouldn't last forever.]
Edited 2019-08-21 01:59 (UTC)
Only with chairs so it doesn't break the game, sheesh
Gold will open most doors. If there's one vice that outweighs fear, it's greed.
[It's not an optimistic view of humanity, but it's true. So long as they can pay for their passage and they keep from being openly hostile, Hector thinks they could manage the journey with relative ease.]
A few months ago, we were both under the thrall of the curse. Neither of us were fully in control of our actions.
[He ignores the gibe about elopement. They are, in some sense, lovers. They have known each other carnally. And if Hector has his way, they will be going off together, so Hector can protect Isaac. He's not going to make light of the situation the way Isaac does.]
Do you want to sleep first? I can take first watch.
[He makes the offer stiffly. He made a bed for them in their makeshift camp, and here Isaac is lying on the grass instead. Endlessly vexing, this red-headed demon. Still, Hector is bound to him, and will see to it that he can rest without worry of any intruders.]
[A thought sticks like a quill in his brain and, suddenly, he's more awake than he's been the entire night.]
...What if I knew very well what it was I was doing?
[He asks, while absently thumbing a scar seaming his belly. There's a pause, then, like he's hoping Hector to weigh in, to struggle to prove otherwise and realize he can't.]
With every passing day I watched you from afar... [he wets his lips, dreamily musing aloud] ...I would conjure up novel ways of torturing you within an inch of your life, only to heal your wounds and start anew. I wondered how long I could keep you alive before you broke in my hands like a child's toy and could no longer recognize yourself in the mirror. Do you know how very long I contemplated taking you by force well before the curse fed my deepest, blackest desires?
[He laughs to himself, though his smile doesn't reach his eyes.]
You said it yourself: you know not what it is I'm capable of. Who is to say I would not leave you adrift, were disaster to strike? 'tis in my means to teleport, after all. You, on the other hand... would be utterly helpless.
[The devil take Isaac, Hector does not have energy for this. Isaac can't but see a healing wound without poking it at to make it bleed once more.]
Yet you only acted when the curse fell upon you, not before.
[He has to laugh as well, a single bitter bark, devoid of humor.]
Gods, Isaac, do you think I have not thought of murder, of violence, of taking what I want by force? I have heard voices in my head, willing me to evil since I was a child! I have done everything in my power to quiet them, but still, still I hear their whispers. But it matters not what evil thoughts come, so long as they stay thoughts and nothing more.
[He has to believe Isaac can overcome his dark impulses, because he believes himself capable of it. He balls his fists, wills his heart and his breaths to calm.]
And no, I know not what you would do, if we were faced with crisis. We will find out when it happens. But I have not proven myself without resource, and if I find myself alone, it will not be helpless. Now, first watch or second? If you aren't going to sleep, I am.
[They've been here before, Hector wanting to kill a conversation and Isaac too stubborn to let it die. Where the rare surge of emotion might have stirred pity in a gentler heart, all Isaac sees in the moment is an opening, smelling blood and hungry for his fill. All he sees is a man defanged and declawed, a fate that, to him, seems worse than death. Far worse.]
We. [He echoes, a mocking note sharp in his voice. It looms between them with all the weight of a death sentence.] ...Ever since I fucked you, you've clung to me like a burr. No fool am I, Hector - do not think I know not from whence comes this... [his nose wrinkles] ...sentiment.
[He pushes off the ground to sit upright, his chest heaving deeply. There's air all around him but it's not enough, his lungs feeling tight.]
The only reason you turn to me now is naught but pure desperation. [It's a word he spits into Hector's face like a hot piece of food.] You have nothing and no one, so you scrabble for what precious pity scraps this life has to offer -- even I, the lesser, the spare, a non-entity in the three years you wallowed in paradise.
[Eyes piercing, shiny-wet, his lips curve into a sliver of a smile that could cut steel.]
Were you in your right mind, you'd never forgive yourself for lying with me, for spitting on your woman's memory... and that burning shame would haunt you for the rest of your days.
How I choose to make peace with my wife is none of your concern.
[He is trying to be open, to be patient, but he can't about this. His words are cold, meant to be the final ones he'll speak on the subject. Isaac shall not speak of Rosaly to him, not without consequence.]
I am not here for want of options. I am here because I choose to be. I have no intention of celibacy, but if you dislike my 'sentiment', I need not fulfill those needs with you.
[If Isaac wants to dig into his flaws, Hector can respond in kind. Green-eyed envy is the devil that sits on Isaac's shoulder, jealous and violently possessive. Hector makes a clumsy jab at it.]
Would you have me find a new lover? I could, easily enough. I don't drive people away like you do. Maybe it would put you in a better mood if I did. You could sulk in the shadows and spy with your magic while we fuck, just like old times.
[Hector's gone for the throat and he's gashed him open, far too easily.
Isaac's eyes goes wide and blank and stricken, blood slamming his eardrums --
-- and in his hiving thoughts he sees himself reaching out to snap Hector's neck in a single, decisive jerk of his hands. No more torment; no more doubts. And with his death, a return to what has always been: misery, but at least, he knows what to expect and where he stands, a cold comfort found in that predictability.
There's a sense of purpose in the set of his jaw, when he rips his knife from its sheath at his boot and holds the point inches from Hector's throat. Only his hand won't follow through. It shakes and shakes for a minute, Isaac's lips hard and white as he fights it and fights against it, a vein throbbing hard in his temple.]
Look me in the eye -- [he seethes, spit frothing through his teeth] -- and tell me this is no ruse! Tell me this show of camaraderie is not your revenge!
[His face tightens as desperation gains momentum with nowhere to go, and for a moment, he's dangerously close to tears.]
You have ruined me once and you will not live to do it again - I swear it. Should you lie to me now, I will run you through your heart where you sit.
[There's a knife at his throat, but it's not the first time, and Hector meets Isaac's wild gaze without wavering.]
I've never been one for farce, and my quest for revenge has come and passed. My companionship, I offer freely. You can accept it or no.
[He leans forward a little, putting his neck dangerously close to the blade.]
Do not speak of her again. That is what I ask of you. If you do but that...then I will stay by your side.
[Hector isn't sure what it is that Isaac wants from him; he runs hot and cold like a feral cat, hissing one minute and demanding attention the next. Hector's willing to learn, though, if it can bring some peace to those wild, pained eyes.]
[Tunneled vision, the deafening rush of air in and out his lungs -- it's like being sucked under the curse all over again, watching everything unfold from someplace deep in the back of his mind. Watching Hector dare to lean towards the sharp, trembling point of his knife, trusting Isaac more, maybe, than he does himself. His control is slipping, fingers squeezing the hilt so hard he barely feels them.
Why he's even searching Hector's face at all for something that goes against his conditioning, against all the coldness and ruthlessness that kept him alive, he doesn't know. No good has ever come of letting his heart want what it wants, or placing his faith in anything other than himself and his devils - and he can't promise Hector he wouldn't speak Rosaly's name again, just like he's sure Hector couldn't promise him that he'd never run away, run towards a brighter future, a prettier face. Better to strangle any hope left in his heart while it's was still so young, too frail to thrash as violently.
At least, if he expected nothing, he'd never know disappointment.
Isaac blinks, shoulders dropping. His ears are still ringing when he growls and finally wrenches the knife away, staring hazily at it in his hand. His demons clamor for blood - and if they can't have Hector's, they'll settle for his, when he'd be alone with them.]
[Hector watches the struggle in Isaac's face before he finally lowers the knife. It's not unexpected, but it is a relief to see the blade move away from him.
He reaches out slowly to touch Isaac's shoulder, a confirmation of their nearness. It's a brief touch; he is trying not to overstep while navigating these uncharted waters.]
I do not lie. Tomorrow, where you go, I'll follow. For now, we both need rest.
[One night of restless sleep is unfortunate; two in a row is a curse. He blames Hector and their traveling arrangement in the hours he's left brooding until dawn, whittling animals and gargoyles and sharpening the end of a walking stick until sunlight breaks through the trees. By then the pond sprawling across them is slightly warmer - at surface-level, at least - and a little more conducive to peeling off his layers and rinsing off before they breakfast and set out. Abel guards his belongings, looking on as he braves the chill the way he knows best - throwing himself in and thrashing to move his sluggish blood around. It's much less pleasant than he was hoping for and exactly what he was expecting, all at once - but the shock brings on an immediate sense of clear-headedness and vigor, at least. He bobs up for air, parting the wet curtain of his hair for a look around. A fish darts past his leg, tail kicking up a swirl of sand.]
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no subject
Not alone.
What it could've meant to know that, have that, when he had needed it most. When riding out the brightest time in Hector's life amid the darkest part of his own, with only himself and his inner demons for company.
He blinks through a stinging blurriness and tosses his head to clear it, angrily pressing onwards.]
There is nothing I fear. [Jutting his jaw.] ...And if it is your desire to tether me now, [his voice is raw, wavering] I am warning you once, and once alone-- [Stopping, he turns to look Hector square in the eye] ...stay out of my way.
no subject
Only once? Good, then I won't have to hear it again.
[He is not exactly in Isaac's way. He's at his side, where for so long, no one has stood.
'Bless you, Rosaly,' he thinks to himself. When he had stood in much the same place as Isaac, broken and alone and convinced that he was unlovable, she had accepted him. When he'd walked away, she had followed, never forcing him, but always offering him a place beside her. He'd slithered out of the darkness and she had been like the sun, at first too bright to look at, but eventually coming to be a source of light and life, vital to him. He had not even realized all she had done for him until now, seeing the lack of it in Isaac.
He can never hope to offer the same gentleness and patience as Rosaly, but even a pale reflection is better than nothing.]
I know a place in the foothills where we can camp for the night. We should be able to reach it before night falls, if we waste no more time.
['So long as you don't fight me on this, Isaac,' he means.]
no subject
Hector's navigational sense and familiarity with the finer details of the landscape thankfully see them through. At dark, they reach a quiet clearing nestled among evergreens, where Isaac trudges around on aching legs to help pile dry leaves and twigs together. His boots aren't fit for travel and have chafed the patch of skin above his heels raw, but at rest, he elects to leave them on.
After the day they've had, simply basking in the heat of a humble bonfire and picking at a meal of roasted lizards feels almost indulgent. He doesn't complain, doesn't say much of anything while crunching through charred skin and spitting the many little bones aside.]
no subject
He too shares what meager supplies he has, offering his canteen to Isaac before he drinks any of it and adding some nuts and an unfortunate squirrel to their meal.
They eat in a silence that isn’t quite companionable, but can’t be said to be hostile. Hector will take that, for now.
He strips off his boots and gives his aching feet a rub as he checks for blisters by the light of the fire. He sighs as he digs his thumbs into the weary soles.]
You’re next. [He tells Isaac. They have to keep moving tomorrow, and that means taking care of themselves tonight. Hector tries not to push too hard, knowing Isaac to be skittish about any order he gives, no matter how well-meaning. His tone, he aims for easy. ‘Of course you will accept this, no question.’]
no subject
Crossing his legs, he takes up a stick and stirs the logs some, throwing another look around the clearing. It feels too open to give himself permission to fully relax; no walls to put his back up against. Were there trees of a different sort in their midst, with thicker branches and no needles, he'd consider climbing up and sleeping leaned up against the trunk, readily trading comfort for a sense of safety and a decent vantage point.]
I do hope you are prepared for the morrow. [He husks, as if Hector spent most of the trip lagging behind. And because he didn't, it's nothing more than some half-hearted attempt to make conversation.]
no subject
He’ll wash up in the morning before they leave here, when having wet skin and wet hair will not doom him to a cold night. It might even feel nice despite the cool weather, depending on how grueling a pace they set tomorrow.]
Have you decided where you will go?
[He keeps his eyes downward, focused on the pale foot in his hands, purposely casual and non-threatening. It’s a tenuous alliance, and Hector has to be careful with how he proceeds.]
I know of some islands to the south. Warm clime, secluded, where people look to their own affairs, not to anyone else’s.
[He releases the first foot and draws up the second to repeat his ministrations.]
no subject
You'd have made a passable servant in the castle, with your pretty mouth alone. [He muses, pointedly ignoring the question.] I have a little itch.
[It's his way of feeling out where Hector's boundaries lie while wondering what he gets out of this at all, what his angle is. There has to be something, his cynicism reminds him, or he wouldn't be so willing. If Hector looks like he's taken the hint and is moving to service him, he'll offer a stern, quiet 'no' and turn his hand or his face away in refusal, whichever is closest.]
I've heard rumours of new lands far to the West, over the water.
[Isaac says, eventually, not sounding particularly committed as he's never given the specifics serious thought. What other places may hold for him won't be much better, if at all, he suspects. But he'll settle for different, whatever that might look like. A new world and all its trappings, all its pleasures and disappointments.]
no subject
I would have made a very poor servant, for by your word, you would have killed anyone I served.
[He does not give in to the goading, though, if he is honest with himself, he would not be opposed to taking Isaac's cock in his mouth again, or feeling Isaac's fingers grasp tight in his hair and forcing Hector's mouth around his cock. His own perversions, he will have to put aside. If he is to have any hope of getting through to Isaac, he can only reach out with gentle, innocent touches. For anything more, he must be still, and let Isaac come to him, if he wills it.]
It would be a long way by boat to reach those lands. Have you sailed on the open ocean before?
[He finishes with the massage and stops himself before he's tempted to move from weary feet to shapely ankles, where he could trace inked lines further up where they disappear into tight leather. He leans back on his hands.]
no subject
I was never so fortunate as to have the means.
[All his life experience is based on land, with many of his years spent in a small house tucked in the woods not far from Cordova, when it was thrived, once upon a time; The rest was in and around the castle, where what he knows of sea travel was gleaned from many maps and books in the library. He's aware that for everything he has learned as an alchemist and a general, a survivalist and weaponsmith, there are many gaps in his knowledge, so much of the world and its workings left untouched and untasted.
Maybe in a different life, a different time, he and Julia could've sought their luck out on the open water, stailing from island to island in search of home - a real home.
He snorts wryly, drifting back to reality.]
'twas not until my eleventh year when I had even set foot in a town, never mind a boat. [He can still remember what it was like, keeping to the shadows, queasy with fear and excitement.]
...And then I had only a good look about for a night or two, before my curiosity was met with swift punishment.
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My father studied alchemy, and he dragged my mother and I along behind him as he traveled to learn more. I hated the towns. The children threw rocks at me, and the old women crossed themselves when I passed by.
[They'd recognized an otherness in him and rejected it instinctively. Hector drudges up the old memories, not to compare with Isaac's, but to meet his honesty and the vulnerability that comes of it with the same.]
We did take a boat a time or two before we...parted ways. I remember enough of it. I should be able to prepare us for the journey, if you wish to take it.
[To fully cross the sea, they will need to book passage on a vessel, but to see them a shorter distance, he thinks he could manage.]
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He listens, expressionless. It's hard to know what's worse: to be let in someplace but scorned by the company one kept, or to be shut out forever. Either way, no good ever comes of a child who grows up feeling hated, isolated, and the something approaching sympathy softens the rougher edges of his voice when he finally answers.]
I shall think on it. [Though the answer is closer to a yes than it isn't, it seems unwise to decide on a impulse, much less when tired, and when sleep has a way of putting things into perspective.] I take it that you will regardless? Bound for 'warmer climes'?
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All else being equal, I would like that. I was born further south, and I have no love for snow or ice.
[He has survived the harsh winters in the mountains, and if Isaac chooses to lead him somewhere cold, he will bear it. He hopes for warmth, though. One of the few things he remembers fondly from Dracula’s keep was the ingenious devices that could heat the castle all year round.]
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A forgemaster on a boat...
[Chuckling grimly, he tosses a twig into the fire with a careless flick of his wrist.
A log snaps, spitting sparks.]
...It resembles the beginnings of a joke.
[It also does seem like a cruel form of torture for restless men like himself, being cooped up on some vessel for long stretches of time with little to do other than to stretch his legs and look around, or fish. For better or for worse, he wouldn't drown instantly if a little boat capsized. He learned how to keep his head above the water thanks to a then-terrifying trial resulting in being pushed into a pool teeming with mermen, but swimming gracefully is a whole other story. ]
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[Hector is blessed with a strong stomach, but in those youthful travels, he’d seen the meek and the mighty alike brought low from seasickness. A miserable trip would be made absolutely hellish if Isaac be one of that number who cannot stomach the waves.]
If we were to make for the new world, we would have to book passage on a larger vessel, with a crew that knows how to navigate the open waters. You’d have to play nice.
[Or else the joke would end with them overboard or on a boat filled with corpses and no idea how to get themselves to their destination.]
learn how to teleport, hector, GOSH
How bold of you to assume I would be welcome to board in the first place.
[He lets that hang in the air, thinking. Then he huffs to himself, as if remembering an old, bitter joke.]
...But a few months ago, you had wanted my head on a pike, and now, you would have us ... elope, [he says, with a mocking toss of his head] ...like forbidden lovers.
[It's still running away no matter how he looks at it, a cop-out, instead of standing his ground like he should and viciously defending his right to exist in his homeland, at any cost. But maybe there's something to this silly little idea they're tossing around. Maybe, with Julia's safety secured, he'd be able to find something else worth staying alive for while out at sea, another reason to keep pushing forward. Or maybe he's too muzzy-headed to think straight and Hector is wearing him down, rubbing off on him.
Scoffing, he half-turns from the bonfire and lies back in the grass, settling. The air is cool, tinged with the bitter hint of smoke; he pulls it deep into his lungs, stretching to the gentle popping of joints and ligaments. It's a nice night - clear and calm, the sky spattered with the same constellations Julia could see if she were out right now, looking heavenward for guidance. But like all nice things, it wouldn't last forever.]
Only with chairs so it doesn't break the game, sheesh
[It's not an optimistic view of humanity, but it's true. So long as they can pay for their passage and they keep from being openly hostile, Hector thinks they could manage the journey with relative ease.]
A few months ago, we were both under the thrall of the curse. Neither of us were fully in control of our actions.
[He ignores the gibe about elopement. They are, in some sense, lovers. They have known each other carnally. And if Hector has his way, they will be going off together, so Hector can protect Isaac. He's not going to make light of the situation the way Isaac does.]
Do you want to sleep first? I can take first watch.
[He makes the offer stiffly. He made a bed for them in their makeshift camp, and here Isaac is lying on the grass instead. Endlessly vexing, this red-headed demon. Still, Hector is bound to him, and will see to it that he can rest without worry of any intruders.]
FINE
...What if I knew very well what it was I was doing?
[He asks, while absently thumbing a scar seaming his belly. There's a pause, then, like he's hoping Hector to weigh in, to struggle to prove otherwise and realize he can't.]
With every passing day I watched you from afar... [he wets his lips, dreamily musing aloud] ...I would conjure up novel ways of torturing you within an inch of your life, only to heal your wounds and start anew. I wondered how long I could keep you alive before you broke in my hands like a child's toy and could no longer recognize yourself in the mirror. Do you know how very long I contemplated taking you by force well before the curse fed my deepest, blackest desires?
[He laughs to himself, though his smile doesn't reach his eyes.]
You said it yourself: you know not what it is I'm capable of. Who is to say I would not leave you adrift, were disaster to strike? 'tis in my means to teleport, after all. You, on the other hand... would be utterly helpless.
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Yet you only acted when the curse fell upon you, not before.
[He has to laugh as well, a single bitter bark, devoid of humor.]
Gods, Isaac, do you think I have not thought of murder, of violence, of taking what I want by force? I have heard voices in my head, willing me to evil since I was a child! I have done everything in my power to quiet them, but still, still I hear their whispers. But it matters not what evil thoughts come, so long as they stay thoughts and nothing more.
[He has to believe Isaac can overcome his dark impulses, because he believes himself capable of it. He balls his fists, wills his heart and his breaths to calm.]
And no, I know not what you would do, if we were faced with crisis. We will find out when it happens. But I have not proven myself without resource, and if I find myself alone, it will not be helpless. Now, first watch or second? If you aren't going to sleep, I am.
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We. [He echoes, a mocking note sharp in his voice. It looms between them with all the weight of a death sentence.] ...Ever since I fucked you, you've clung to me like a burr. No fool am I, Hector - do not think I know not from whence comes this... [his nose wrinkles] ...sentiment.
[He pushes off the ground to sit upright, his chest heaving deeply. There's air all around him but it's not enough, his lungs feeling tight.]
The only reason you turn to me now is naught but pure desperation. [It's a word he spits into Hector's face like a hot piece of food.] You have nothing and no one, so you scrabble for what precious pity scraps this life has to offer -- even I, the lesser, the spare, a non-entity in the three years you wallowed in paradise.
[Eyes piercing, shiny-wet, his lips curve into a sliver of a smile that could cut steel.]
Were you in your right mind, you'd never forgive yourself for lying with me, for spitting on your woman's memory... and that burning shame would haunt you for the rest of your days.
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How I choose to make peace with my wife is none of your concern.
[He is trying to be open, to be patient, but he can't about this. His words are cold, meant to be the final ones he'll speak on the subject. Isaac shall not speak of Rosaly to him, not without consequence.]
I am not here for want of options. I am here because I choose to be. I have no intention of celibacy, but if you dislike my 'sentiment', I need not fulfill those needs with you.
[If Isaac wants to dig into his flaws, Hector can respond in kind. Green-eyed envy is the devil that sits on Isaac's shoulder, jealous and violently possessive. Hector makes a clumsy jab at it.]
Would you have me find a new lover? I could, easily enough. I don't drive people away like you do. Maybe it would put you in a better mood if I did. You could sulk in the shadows and spy with your magic while we fuck, just like old times.
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Isaac's eyes goes wide and blank and stricken, blood slamming his eardrums --
-- and in his hiving thoughts he sees himself reaching out to snap Hector's neck in a single, decisive jerk of his hands. No more torment; no more doubts. And with his death, a return to what has always been: misery, but at least, he knows what to expect and where he stands, a cold comfort found in that predictability.
There's a sense of purpose in the set of his jaw, when he rips his knife from its sheath at his boot and holds the point inches from Hector's throat. Only his hand won't follow through. It shakes and shakes for a minute, Isaac's lips hard and white as he fights it and fights against it, a vein throbbing hard in his temple.]
Look me in the eye -- [he seethes, spit frothing through his teeth] -- and tell me this is no ruse! Tell me this show of camaraderie is not your revenge!
[His face tightens as desperation gains momentum with nowhere to go, and for a moment, he's dangerously close to tears.]
You have ruined me once and you will not live to do it again - I swear it. Should you lie to me now, I will run you through your heart where you sit.
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I've never been one for farce, and my quest for revenge has come and passed. My companionship, I offer freely. You can accept it or no.
[He leans forward a little, putting his neck dangerously close to the blade.]
Do not speak of her again. That is what I ask of you. If you do but that...then I will stay by your side.
[Hector isn't sure what it is that Isaac wants from him; he runs hot and cold like a feral cat, hissing one minute and demanding attention the next. Hector's willing to learn, though, if it can bring some peace to those wild, pained eyes.]
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Why he's even searching Hector's face at all for something that goes against his conditioning, against all the coldness and ruthlessness that kept him alive, he doesn't know. No good has ever come of letting his heart want what it wants, or placing his faith in anything other than himself and his devils - and he can't promise Hector he wouldn't speak Rosaly's name again, just like he's sure Hector couldn't promise him that he'd never run away, run towards a brighter future, a prettier face. Better to strangle any hope left in his heart while it's was still so young, too frail to thrash as violently.
At least, if he expected nothing, he'd never know disappointment.
Isaac blinks, shoulders dropping. His ears are still ringing when he growls and finally wrenches the knife away, staring hazily at it in his hand. His demons clamor for blood - and if they can't have Hector's, they'll settle for his, when he'd be alone with them.]
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He reaches out slowly to touch Isaac's shoulder, a confirmation of their nearness. It's a brief touch; he is trying not to overstep while navigating these uncharted waters.]
I do not lie. Tomorrow, where you go, I'll follow. For now, we both need rest.
The morning sun has vanquished the horrible night
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hector and isaac then start a food-reviewing youtube channel
Bone Appetit, They'll review food that's to die for.
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asshole is an asshole, more news at 11
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crimson's deadly absorb is and will always be a lousy skill /huff
np, hec is here with tiramisu for two
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guess who is being a stubborn shit
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full blown lost it
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if this doesn't work for any reason, I'm happy to change it, just lemme know
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And what gets high... must come down. Something like that.
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imma fudge some travel times here so Isaac doesn't have to wait around for days
LOL fucking pumpkin
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no real kids for them is probably for the best, lol
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HOW DARE HECTOR HAVE NEEDS OF HIS OWN
HE’S NOT SAYING IT SHOULD totally absolutely BE HIM
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hope this timeskippery is okay -- let me know if you wanted anything changed
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