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.]
[Hector, for his part, sleeps as well as can be expected, given the circumstances. Their camp is a far cry from his bed in Julia’s cabin, but it’s better than the cave, and no worse than what Hector is accustomed to when traveling.
He decides to join Isaac for a quick swim in the pond. He strips and wades in, shuddering at the bracing chill of the water.
When he gets waist-deep, he ducks under and pops back up, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog. Gooseflesh prickles his arms.]
Gods, that’s cold. Summer can’t come soon enough.
[Hector is generally comfortable in the water, having learned to swim in his youth, but there will be no lingering to paddle around today. A quick in and out to wash, unless the two of them want to catch their deaths.
After everything they’ve been through, that would be an anticlimactic way to go.]
Awake at last... [He muses when Hector splashes in, mildly surprised he's gone for more than washing his face. Pausing, Isaac lets his gaze slide down his body, a look no detail can escape, one that lays claim to every inch yet unexplored by his touch. Then it strays with a sudden rippling in the water: more curious fish all but begging to end up their first meal of the day.]
Burning pits, lakes of fire... [he plunges his arms in after a one, scoffing when it slips from his grasp.] ...Hell hardly seems so wretched a place.
[Glancing up at him through his lashes:] 'Warmer climes', indeed.
[Hector's not expecting the scrutiny Isaac directs toward him. It's nothing he hasn't seen...well, Hector didn't undress last time, but he's seen enough to satisfy idle curiosity, right?
The breeze makes it colder having his dripping body out of the water than in, so he lets himself sink lower, to his shoulders. It helps him think, being more hidden from Isaac's predatory gaze.]
It's a bit early in the day for Hell. I was thinking Greece, or the islands off of the Ottoman Empire to start.
[He runs his hands over his limbs beneath the water, scrubbing away any dust and grime still stubbornly clinging. Hopefully the movement will keep the fish away. He's not quick enough to catch one by hand, so until he goes back to the shore for some tool or another, they're safe from capture by him. A quick wash, and they can be back to store to dry off and warm up. Isaac's been in longer than Hector has; he's not sure how the man's not a block of ice yet.]
[Sheer stubborn will - if only to prove he isn't as weak to the chill as he is - is the answer; but even Isaac, at his fiercest, can only hold out so long and fail at a few more bare-handed attempts at trapping fish before he swallows his pride and wades back to shore, leaving Hector to finish on his own. He plucks his cloak from the heap of his clothes, briskly drying his hair with the inside and throwing it on before moving to sit on a flatter, sun-warmed rock, watching while he shivers. Spear-fishing could wait until he wasn't as miserable as a wet cat.]
Hell of a different sort, perhaps. [He wrinkles his nose.] Although were my travels to take me in that particular direction, I suppose I would stop to taste of those cheeses unique to the Greeks.
[There are few things he misses of the castle, but one is the easy access to foods and flavours he had never been exposed to otherwise, a privilege enjoyed after climbing the ranks and becoming someone of import. In some ways, he's a man of simple needs, and a fine cheese always paired well with wine and casual violence.]
[Hector gives the rest of his body a perfunctory scrub to wash away the last of the blood, sweat, and come. He dunks under one more time, combing his fingers through his hair to undo the worst of the tangles before he swims back to shore.]
Gods, I would go to Hell itself for a good Greek cheese right now. You can’t tease me with Greek cuisine if we’re not going. It’s been far too long.
[He spent a few years in that area and living off of the simple Romanian peasants fare after that has been a trial.
And great, now he is cold and starving. He uses his shirt as a towel and dries himself quickly. It’s never graceful to shimmy into his leather pants while he’s still damp, but he does it.
He sprawls beside Isaac, barefoot and bare chested.]
Is there anything else you want to sample?
[A food tour is as good of a starting point as any for their travels.]
hector and isaac then start a food-reviewing youtube channel
[Hector's choice of words, as he lies back and suns himself, pulls Isaac's lips into a crooked little half-smirk for a brief moment; and again, looking down at him with hunger of a different sort, he can only admire the hard planes and ridges of a body that has not known idleness.]
I shall know when I see it. [He dries his nose with a swipe of his knuckles, sniffing.] Though what I fancy at this very moment is a cut of slanina alongside fresh-baked bread, olives, and a crisp, sweet onion.
[It's the simple things, all the classic finger foods that could constitute an entire meal on its own, that he craves most. But they'd have to make do with what they could get living off the land - at least until the opportunity to put stealth and swift reflexes to good use presented itself. It's too late in life to feel any shame for stealing when he's already broken more than his fair share of commandments.]
...Would that we should soon happen upon a traveling merchant in need of being relieved of his goods.
Edited (LAST EDIT I SWEAR) 2019-08-28 05:44 (UTC)
Bone Appetit, They'll review food that's to die for.
[Hector closes his eyes as he suns himself, so he misses Isaac's hungry look. He groans at the mention of meat and bread. It's not fair to speak of such things when they have nothing with which to sate themselves.]
Well, our options are fish or what flora we can forage. We'll pick up supplies when we reach a town.
[He snorts at Isaac's aspirations of highway robbery.]
We will buy or trade for what we need. There's no need to steal and draw more attention. Do you have any coin on you? If not, we will stop and hunt for something to barter with before we reach civilization.
[Hector hadn't been expecting to flee when he'd left Julia's house the day before, so he didn't bring his coin purse with him. He's hoping Isaac is more prepared than he, but if not, they will make do in a way that doesn't involve thievery and/or murder.]
[He nudges him lightly in the ribs with his foot, no playfulness to it.]
You vastly overestimate how very willing most humans are to have me stand in their presence, let alone do business with me, regardless of what I carry in my coin purse. You and your pretty face, on the other hand...
[The thought is left hanging bitterly. Unfinished, but needing no elaboration.
To no surprise, maybe, he hasn't tried making contact with others for the purpose of trading more than once or twice after being terrorized as a child, finding it much easier to take what he wants. It's part of the reason why he doesn't often have money on him; the other half being that he had sought Hector out at the base of the mountain for a fight he hadn't expected -- or hoped -- to see his way out of.]
Indeed -- [it's his turn to snort, answering with biting sarcasm] ...should fish and furs not satisfy, then perhaps you can utilize your titillating powers of seduction to win the favour of the barterer.
[Hector grunts as Isaac's icy foot prods him, and he cracks open his eyes to scowl at him.]
You've got a pretty face too. You have to know that. If you didn't act like a fox come into the hen house when you walked among them, they wouldn't flee from your presence.
[He's defensive, having been kicked and teased. His plan is a fine one, and it could work if Isaac let them give it a shot. He rubs the spot at his side where Isaac's toes had touched, trying to warm it with friction.]
I won your favour. Who's to say I couldn't do it?
[Isaac had been satisfied by him, had he not? He can shove his sarcasm. Hector's not going to fuck someone else, but he bristles at the implication that he couldn't.]
Please. [The word twists his face into a snarl the equivalent of fuck you.] And I suppose when I was but a child I was still the fox in the henhouse?
[Only monsters and apprentices of Satan were said to have red hair; he had sawed off clumps of it with a knife, once, when he was young, distraught when it grew in the same, fiercely and stubbornly red, as unchangeable as his eyes. But of the few things in life he's made peace with over time, his appearance is one of them, having become both his weapon and his armour with every drop of ink scratched into him and cold metal bead pushed through his skin.]
You give yourself far too much credit. My desire of you flesh came of no wily persuasion of your own. You simply happened to exist in my presence at a time when I hungered for more than demon cunt. Or do you mean to tell me you've studied under succubi and incubi [he sweeps his hands through the air, fingers fanned out] and cast some manner of spell on me without my knowing?
[What Isaac learned of sex, or at least, of pleasure, of lubricants, and clever turns of his wrist and angles of penetration, was from those creatures mocking his clumsy roughness and his ignorance, when he first lay with them. Devil only knows how many cambions he helped spawn in his time.]
[Hector is trying, really he is, but he just does not have within him the wells of patience Rosaly had possessed. He's cold and tired and hungry, and every step in this dance with Isaac seems to lead him into a pit trap.
He wants to believe that if he pressed his body into Isaac's and asked Isaac to fill him, to warm them both up, that Isaac would oblige him. The truth, Isaac's indifference about what hole he fucks, the lack of a connection he feels between them, is a resounding slap to the face.
What is Hector even trying to do? He doesn't know at this point.
He pushes himself up off of the rocks and stands.]
Fine. If you want to stay here and fuck your demons and never walk among humans again, do it. Stay here. I'll go into town by myself and get what we need.
[He pulls his damp tunic on and takes his boots in hand so he can start walking away. Anger is outweighing practicality, so he'll go without them until he's out of Isaac's sight.]
[Isaac looks on, watching Hector put more and more distance between them.
Only this time he makes no attempt to follow, despite the urge to break his jaw over the accusation of devil-fucking. His inner demons sneer in triumph, promising him their parting can only be for the best. That anything is preferable to following Hector like a hungry stray and apologizing by way of caving and telling him what he wants to hear, affirming just how consumed he was by him and his desire, how Hector was once at the centre of his world and everything in it. Better to drive him away now than risk knowing the sting of his betrayal later, the voices whisper; no one could hurt him if he were alone.
He tugs on his leather pants with some struggle and takes up his walking stick, watching and waiting and plunging at the stillness of the pond until he manages to gouge a fish. He then fillets it with a few deft, economical cuts of his knife, lightly searing it in his hands and tearing chunks out of it half-raw.
He misses the easiness of casual sex. No attachments, no trust, or entangling emotions, the entire experience boiling down to the simple fulfillment of a need. Just another hit of adrenaline before the next came around.
Of course, a man who knew love for three good years would surely never understand it, he thinks. Just as a man who could waltz into town without most humans batting an eyelash before he opened his mouth would understand what it's like to live on the other side. So he decides he won't wait for Hector's return, wandering off in no particular hurry with a theory to test and more energy and anger to burn off than he knows what to do with. To the first people he comes across, he'll throw off his hood and announce his peaceful intentions -- and whatever comes of it, all he knows is he wouldn't walk away from the exchange empty-handed.]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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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He decides to join Isaac for a quick swim in the pond. He strips and wades in, shuddering at the bracing chill of the water.
When he gets waist-deep, he ducks under and pops back up, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog. Gooseflesh prickles his arms.]
Gods, that’s cold. Summer can’t come soon enough.
[Hector is generally comfortable in the water, having learned to swim in his youth, but there will be no lingering to paddle around today. A quick in and out to wash, unless the two of them want to catch their deaths.
After everything they’ve been through, that would be an anticlimactic way to go.]
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Burning pits, lakes of fire... [he plunges his arms in after a one, scoffing when it slips from his grasp.] ...Hell hardly seems so wretched a place.
[Glancing up at him through his lashes:] 'Warmer climes', indeed.
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The breeze makes it colder having his dripping body out of the water than in, so he lets himself sink lower, to his shoulders. It helps him think, being more hidden from Isaac's predatory gaze.]
It's a bit early in the day for Hell. I was thinking Greece, or the islands off of the Ottoman Empire to start.
[He runs his hands over his limbs beneath the water, scrubbing away any dust and grime still stubbornly clinging. Hopefully the movement will keep the fish away. He's not quick enough to catch one by hand, so until he goes back to the shore for some tool or another, they're safe from capture by him. A quick wash, and they can be back to store to dry off and warm up. Isaac's been in longer than Hector has; he's not sure how the man's not a block of ice yet.]
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Hell of a different sort, perhaps. [He wrinkles his nose.] Although were my travels to take me in that particular direction, I suppose I would stop to taste of those cheeses unique to the Greeks.
[There are few things he misses of the castle, but one is the easy access to foods and flavours he had never been exposed to otherwise, a privilege enjoyed after climbing the ranks and becoming someone of import. In some ways, he's a man of simple needs, and a fine cheese always paired well with wine and casual violence.]
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Gods, I would go to Hell itself for a good Greek cheese right now. You can’t tease me with Greek cuisine if we’re not going. It’s been far too long.
[He spent a few years in that area and living off of the simple Romanian peasants fare after that has been a trial.
And great, now he is cold and starving. He uses his shirt as a towel and dries himself quickly. It’s never graceful to shimmy into his leather pants while he’s still damp, but he does it.
He sprawls beside Isaac, barefoot and bare chested.]
Is there anything else you want to sample?
[A food tour is as good of a starting point as any for their travels.]
hector and isaac then start a food-reviewing youtube channel
I shall know when I see it. [He dries his nose with a swipe of his knuckles, sniffing.] Though what I fancy at this very moment is a cut of slanina alongside fresh-baked bread, olives, and a crisp, sweet onion.
[It's the simple things, all the classic finger foods that could constitute an entire meal on its own, that he craves most. But they'd have to make do with what they could get living off the land - at least until the opportunity to put stealth and swift reflexes to good use presented itself. It's too late in life to feel any shame for stealing when he's already broken more than his fair share of commandments.]
...Would that we should soon happen upon a traveling merchant in need of being relieved of his goods.
Bone Appetit, They'll review food that's to die for.
Well, our options are fish or what flora we can forage. We'll pick up supplies when we reach a town.
[He snorts at Isaac's aspirations of highway robbery.]
We will buy or trade for what we need. There's no need to steal and draw more attention. Do you have any coin on you? If not, we will stop and hunt for something to barter with before we reach civilization.
[Hector hadn't been expecting to flee when he'd left Julia's house the day before, so he didn't bring his coin purse with him. He's hoping Isaac is more prepared than he, but if not, they will make do in a way that doesn't involve thievery and/or murder.]
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You vastly overestimate how very willing most humans are to have me stand in their presence, let alone do business with me, regardless of what I carry in my coin purse. You and your pretty face, on the other hand...
[The thought is left hanging bitterly. Unfinished, but needing no elaboration.
To no surprise, maybe, he hasn't tried making contact with others for the purpose of trading more than once or twice after being terrorized as a child, finding it much easier to take what he wants. It's part of the reason why he doesn't often have money on him; the other half being that he had sought Hector out at the base of the mountain for a fight he hadn't expected -- or hoped -- to see his way out of.]
Indeed -- [it's his turn to snort, answering with biting sarcasm] ...should fish and furs not satisfy, then perhaps you can utilize your titillating powers of seduction to win the favour of the barterer.
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You've got a pretty face too. You have to know that. If you didn't act like a fox come into the hen house when you walked among them, they wouldn't flee from your presence.
[He's defensive, having been kicked and teased. His plan is a fine one, and it could work if Isaac let them give it a shot. He rubs the spot at his side where Isaac's toes had touched, trying to warm it with friction.]
I won your favour. Who's to say I couldn't do it?
[Isaac had been satisfied by him, had he not? He can shove his sarcasm. Hector's not going to fuck someone else, but he bristles at the implication that he couldn't.]
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Please. [The word twists his face into a snarl the equivalent of fuck you.] And I suppose when I was but a child I was still the fox in the henhouse?
[Only monsters and apprentices of Satan were said to have red hair; he had sawed off clumps of it with a knife, once, when he was young, distraught when it grew in the same, fiercely and stubbornly red, as unchangeable as his eyes. But of the few things in life he's made peace with over time, his appearance is one of them, having become both his weapon and his armour with every drop of ink scratched into him and cold metal bead pushed through his skin.]
You give yourself far too much credit. My desire of you flesh came of no wily persuasion of your own. You simply happened to exist in my presence at a time when I hungered for more than demon cunt. Or do you mean to tell me you've studied under succubi and incubi [he sweeps his hands through the air, fingers fanned out] and cast some manner of spell on me without my knowing?
[What Isaac learned of sex, or at least, of pleasure, of lubricants, and clever turns of his wrist and angles of penetration, was from those creatures mocking his clumsy roughness and his ignorance, when he first lay with them. Devil only knows how many cambions he helped spawn in his time.]
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He wants to believe that if he pressed his body into Isaac's and asked Isaac to fill him, to warm them both up, that Isaac would oblige him. The truth, Isaac's indifference about what hole he fucks, the lack of a connection he feels between them, is a resounding slap to the face.
What is Hector even trying to do? He doesn't know at this point.
He pushes himself up off of the rocks and stands.]
Fine. If you want to stay here and fuck your demons and never walk among humans again, do it. Stay here. I'll go into town by myself and get what we need.
[He pulls his damp tunic on and takes his boots in hand so he can start walking away. Anger is outweighing practicality, so he'll go without them until he's out of Isaac's sight.]
asshole is an asshole, more news at 11
Only this time he makes no attempt to follow, despite the urge to break his jaw over the accusation of devil-fucking. His inner demons sneer in triumph, promising him their parting can only be for the best. That anything is preferable to following Hector like a hungry stray and apologizing by way of caving and telling him what he wants to hear, affirming just how consumed he was by him and his desire, how Hector was once at the centre of his world and everything in it. Better to drive him away now than risk knowing the sting of his betrayal later, the voices whisper; no one could hurt him if he were alone.
He tugs on his leather pants with some struggle and takes up his walking stick, watching and waiting and plunging at the stillness of the pond until he manages to gouge a fish. He then fillets it with a few deft, economical cuts of his knife, lightly searing it in his hands and tearing chunks out of it half-raw.
He misses the easiness of casual sex. No attachments, no trust, or entangling emotions, the entire experience boiling down to the simple fulfillment of a need. Just another hit of adrenaline before the next came around.
Of course, a man who knew love for three good years would surely never understand it, he thinks. Just as a man who could waltz into town without most humans batting an eyelash before he opened his mouth would understand what it's like to live on the other side. So he decides he won't wait for Hector's return, wandering off in no particular hurry with a theory to test and more energy and anger to burn off than he knows what to do with. To the first people he comes across, he'll throw off his hood and announce his peaceful intentions -- and whatever comes of it, all he knows is he wouldn't walk away from the exchange empty-handed.]
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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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