( aspen stares, a sort of horror in his eyes that can only be shared by painful empathy. it's not sympathy. aspen is not standing there in horror because what he illustrates is a painful, traumatic thing -
he's standing there because he finally, finally understands. it clicks into place uncomfortably like a broken and pulled arm set correctly in its socket. it's the same bloody and tormented injury, worlds apart - privileges apart. laurent was a crown prince. aspen had been a street orphan. while aspen's hadn't been family by blood, it was the only family he'd had.
he does not offer sympathy. )
I was twelve. ( his voice is quiet, almost distant.
ever since they met, even on that rickety boat on the way to stygia, aspen's meticulous care of his appearance was apparent. he always kept his hair primped and polished and brushed through, his wings fluffy and snow-white, with neat dresses and skirts and blouses. he gave off an air of sophistication and elegance, even when he was spitting back venom at laurent.
yet that's not the case today - in an undyed linen shift with his hair not even pulled up or braided, rumbling down his back in completely unruly waves. there's a bandage on his lower arm, likely some sort of scrape he suffered in the rush to help - and though he has tiny slippers on for his tiny feet, one of the stockings is completely ripped open. it serves to show how grounded his words are, how much smaller he looks when he doesn't act larger than life. ) No one thinks too hard if you're purchased by a teahouse's father, and... no one there would try to help their competition.
( if laurent will spill his deepest scars, aspen will do the same. but... of course, that leaves the reason why he said anything in the first place. )
Did they - touch you? ( anger returns, simmering in his eyes angrily. ) I saw someone impaled on a - I had thought that was the worst of it, but if there's more, I'll tear their tongues out.
[ it's a mirror image, a reflection in still waters. an ache blooms in his chest, the same feeling he'd get every time he looked at the slaves he could do nothing for, every time nicaise would talk to him with foul-mouthed condescension to mask his youth. it's been apparent to him for some time that he and aspen shared too many similarities, but this — ]
No. [ they hadn't touched him, aside from branding him, the wound starkly red on his arm. he feels dizzy with the thought that they could have, that no one would have come to his rescue because in the whole of his life, no one ever has. he cuts the thought from his mind and forcibly flings it aside before it can overcome him. ] You have permission to leave their tongues intact.
[ he needs to pull himself together, acutely aware of his disheveled appearance, his wide-eyed edge of panic, the jagged pace of his breath. he clings to one of the few things he can immediately control, fisting the tattered rags he wears and delicately sliding them off his body. to be naked in vere is commonplace; laurent has no qualms about his body, all pale skin and slender lines of lean muscle, but after his confession, he feels too exposed. if only damen was here to attend to his damnable veretian attire.
he pulls on his trousers first and leaves them unlaced, hanging low on his hips, then slips on the white linen shirt, sleeves and collar loose as the laces trail over his body. his eyes flicker to aspen, unable to outright ask for assistance but clearly in need of it. ]
( aspen calms a little, but only a little. there's still rage in that small body, though none of it is pointed at laurent.
like laurent, he isn't overly affected by naked bodies. he doesn't seem to notice at first, though when he realizes laurent is disrobing he politely glances away and makes sure to spread his wings so people don't snoop and leer. while he has no problems with nakedness, the way some people act around bare skin makes his skin crawl, and he doesn't want laurent to be subject to that when he's still... exposed. vulnerable.
he catches laurent's gaze and starts momentarily. it's not the first time he's gotten a look like that, and apparently... well, apparently this might not be the last. he draws closer, helping to lace him up. he only needs to look at it for a moment or two to understand. )
These laces are just like Laufient - ...
( ... wow, that's a strange coincidence he hadn't noticed before. his brows scrunch up. )
Just... like another country's dress that I'm familiar with. ( he doesn't want to think on that now and focuses instead on his clothes. )
[ unwillingly, thoughts of another flit to the forefront of his mind — damen, attending him morning and night, their familiar, hateful ritual. his fingers had grown quite deft at dismantling veretian attire, and laurent had grown accustomed to his presence so close. having been without for some time now, it's jarring now for aspen to fill that space, his hands smaller, working quicker. laurent does not think of their shared history or consider the formation of any sort of bond, already raw from his forced honesty and unable to abide the thought of such intimacy. ]
I'm going hunting. I've heard the skin of a badaliscus can heal the brand. [ there are scars on his body, but he doesn't like the idea of being marked in this way. aspen sees to the laces along his spine, and then laurent holds out one wrist so he can secure his sleeves. the other he leaves loose, pulling back the fabric so it doesn't touch his wound. ] Just wrap it so it doesn't get in the way. That will be enough.
( he meets laurent's gaze when he says it, firm in tone. it's only when he's finished rolling his sleeve up that he fishes out some bandages, and tends to the brand. )
It wasn't until hours later that I learned you were right. D told me that what we ingested was affected, and I saw similarities in his demeanor and yours.
I'm sorry. I was far too drunk to be rational or understanding, but I shouldn't have let myself be drunk in the first place. I hate how out of control it feels.
( he lowers his gaze so much it's hard to see his eyes, but the way his hands shake minutely give context when he can't utter the words. he ties off the bandage with a knot, and tucks the ends in so it's not too unwieldy. )
There are others here capable of healing. You may not have to go through all that trouble, especially when you're already injured.
[ he looks at aspen, still, silent. an apology is not what he expected upon coming here, though he isn't sure what exactly it was he was expecting. his anger is not directed at aspen, per se, but the feeling of helplessness, the lack of autonomy, the way he can't be sure it was his own want that made his hands reach out to touch the soft feathers of aspen's wings or if it was the poison served at the festival.
it must have been the poison. but even now, he looks at aspen's wings and can't rid himself of the memory. he doesn't know if he's simply falling into the trap of loneliness after having the fleeting experience of a companion of sorts — if his slave counted as such. but damen was by his side, riding on horseback, sleeping in his tent, sitting at his table going over maps and strategy — all things laurent has never had before, and likely will never have again, and now here stands aspen showing him a kindness that doesn't feel deserved. ]
We won't speak of it. [ the warmth that forgiveness requires doesn't come easily to him, mostly out of his own spiteful nature, but in part because no one has ever tried to atone for hurting him. it's not the veretian way. ] But if you choose to be a drunken lout in public, someone will take advantage of you.
[ slowly, he draws his hand back, his arm now bandaged. something flickers in his gaze. ] You should know just as I do that no one will come to our rescue. You have to mind others and their shadows.
[ he wants to turn away now, to end this conversation by leaving altogether, set on hunting the monster, but he stops, a heavy silence hanging between them. ]
You're right. I know better, but I was careless and lulled into false security.
( and aspen isn't bothered by saying it - by agreeing that laurent's bleak view is the correct one. he shares it, as much as his sunny disposition and proclivity to help is a complete opposite to it. there are ways to oppose that point of view, and aspen is certain of it - to unfailingly insist the world was better, to be the sun in darkness, which needed a will stronger than the world's. and there was acceptance of every mortal's darkest inclinations, to admit the world was crass and ruthless and uncaring - and care anyway in just as crass and ruthless in a way of perseving balance.
aspen seemed like the former, yet was the latter.
as he tucks the bandages away, he hums, thoughtful. )
My wing, you mean? Thankfully, I was able to heal it with no complications. It wasn't too long after you broke it that I was able to heal, as healing magic requires more thought than the soul magic I used on you.
[ just as clearly as he can feel aspen's feathers in his memory, he can hear the crack of hollow bone. he finds that it's a moment he regrets, a rash act of violence in the face of his own aching panic. a slip of weakness, a loss of control. men have died for blunders such as this, and aspen would have been the least deserving. ]
I can bring some back for you. The creature's skin. [ a small offering, when a verbal apology or any other sort of atonement is beyond the depth of his grasp. he has never fostered camaraderie with his men back home — he certainly doesn't know how to forge such a thing now with the people around him. ] You can use it to treat the others. The brands aren't large, so there should be plenty.
( aspen's surprise is muted, but his warmth and gratitude isn't. it glows on his face - laurent doesn't need to utter an apology, not for someone who puts more stock in action than words anyway. )
That would be very helpful.
Are you going alone?
( the question is curious rather than prying or admonishing. after all, laurent can do something like take down a beast. probably. )
[ something shifts into place — a rightness that was missing before, perhaps, something knocked out of balance from the violence of laurent's actions, from the unpredictability of the festival's poison. discomfort eases though it doesn't disappear entirely. laurent has not been at ease for years now, holding tension like a stringed instrument, but, just for this moment, he breathes. ]
Yes. [ no biting response, just honesty. of course he is going alone, because what allies does he have here? ] I don't particularly enjoy hunting, but it's not a daunting task. It's just a more dangerous boar.
[ after a beat, just for clarification — ] You're not invited. You're too small.
Oh, no, no - I wasn't going to join, I'm useless in hunts. I know my place and I think you're the sort of person who knows what they can handle.
( and aspen's honest about that, not a hint of trying to fluff laurent up. instead, he searches through his little satchel and produces a sphere wrapped in cheesecloth. )
I was going to offer you one of these: they're small explosives of a sort. I usually make them for myself - some that release a foul-smelling gas to keep people at bay, some burst into thorns... in case you'd like them for any emergencies.
[ there's surprise in his gaze when he looks at the proffered sphere, his gaze lifting to aspen. the small bird manages to throw him off frequently, though this time the revelation piques his interest. ]
You built these yourself? Why? [ he accepts the bomb, holding it in the palm of his hand. it's the sort of thing he might've learned to do himself, in a different life. no one was ever supposed to care about the second son of the king, leaving him to do as he pleased — which mostly consisted of satisfying his voracious desire for knowledge through reading, and petting all the horses in the stables on the side. ] This is useful, thank you.
( he lowers his gaze, almost thoughtfully, trying to amass all the reasons he could claim, both vague and direct. 'the same reason we don't drink wine' works, and is just vague enough to get him out of this line of questioning. maybe. 'because everyone needs a plan C' is similarly vague, and similarly true. he has a feeling laurent won't actually accept 'someone weak like me needs more protection than fluttered lashes', if only because aspen did show that he was somewhat capable of combat on the literal boat ride here.
so instead, he breathes in and locks eyes with laurent. )
I don't think you have magic in your world, but in mine... most everyone does, and those who don't, are trained in weaponry. Magic over fire, over stone, over air - those are easy to use to hurt. You may not have noticed... but my magic is not like that. And courtesans aren't trained in weapons, and are rarely strong enough to injure others.
I needed a way to use my magic whilst in a war, whether it was on the front or back. ( he takes out a second bomb for laurent to take - this one colored a pale yellow as opposed to the vibrant green. ) And these were the answers I came up with.
I have my own, more experimental explosives I use. Those two are my tried-and-true formulas, so you can be certain they'll help you if you need it.
[ he understands right away, and would have even without the lengthy explanation. laurent himself was not born with the natural physical prowess of his brother, smaller in stature and always weaker. training himself to become a deadly force with the sword took years of grueling training, and even today he's still only half as good as auguste ever was. it required him to put his books down, to lay his softness aside, to kill the child in him and focus only on the target of killing the akielon prince who slew his brother. ]
I see, thank you. [ nothing more needs to be said. he accepts the second explosive and examines it carefully. there is nothing like this back home in vere, nothing in any of the neighboring kingdoms that he's seen. it strikes him again how many similar traits they share, with aspen flitting about appearing harmless while being anything but. likewise, laurent has always preferred not to show his hand until absolutely necessary. ] Do I just throw it to activate it?
( aspen almost heaves a sigh of relief. good - no more lines of questioning. he'd prefer it that way. perhaps laurent will be the only one who can actually handle the ugly truths aspen lives. )
Mmhm. As long as it hits a surface with force, they'll explode.
Hopefully you won't need to use them. In any case - I'll await your return, Renren.
[ for a moment he looks like a fawn facing its final moments, clearly struggling with how to react to an unfamiliar situation. he tries to remember how jord or lazar behave easily among the other men, their camaraderie a natural thing dating back to their time serving auguste, but to mimic such a thing when he has never actually participated in it himself feels... challenging. ]
Please don't call me that. [ there is no bite behind his words, and he looks half like he wants to vomit. politely, he clears his throat. ] Thank you for the explosives. I'll bring you back the creature's skin, and then our debts will be settled.
( it's a good thing aspen has trained his near-ironclad poker face. he thanks his past self for perfecting those pretty smiles and inquisitive, interested faces eyes, because otherwise, he probably would've eked out at least a small giggle. he can't help it - laurent just looked so... so... out of his element! )
Aww, alright. ( but he does look disappointed, with the tiniest pout. ) You're welcome. Stay safe out there.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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he's standing there because he finally, finally understands. it clicks into place uncomfortably like a broken and pulled arm set correctly in its socket. it's the same bloody and tormented injury, worlds apart - privileges apart. laurent was a crown prince. aspen had been a street orphan. while aspen's hadn't been family by blood, it was the only family he'd had.
he does not offer sympathy. )
I was twelve. ( his voice is quiet, almost distant.
ever since they met, even on that rickety boat on the way to stygia, aspen's meticulous care of his appearance was apparent. he always kept his hair primped and polished and brushed through, his wings fluffy and snow-white, with neat dresses and skirts and blouses. he gave off an air of sophistication and elegance, even when he was spitting back venom at laurent.
yet that's not the case today - in an undyed linen shift with his hair not even pulled up or braided, rumbling down his back in completely unruly waves. there's a bandage on his lower arm, likely some sort of scrape he suffered in the rush to help - and though he has tiny slippers on for his tiny feet, one of the stockings is completely ripped open. it serves to show how grounded his words are, how much smaller he looks when he doesn't act larger than life. ) No one thinks too hard if you're purchased by a teahouse's father, and... no one there would try to help their competition.
( if laurent will spill his deepest scars, aspen will do the same. but... of course, that leaves the reason why he said anything in the first place. )
Did they - touch you? ( anger returns, simmering in his eyes angrily. ) I saw someone impaled on a - I had thought that was the worst of it, but if there's more, I'll tear their tongues out.
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No. [ they hadn't touched him, aside from branding him, the wound starkly red on his arm. he feels dizzy with the thought that they could have, that no one would have come to his rescue because in the whole of his life, no one ever has. he cuts the thought from his mind and forcibly flings it aside before it can overcome him. ] You have permission to leave their tongues intact.
[ he needs to pull himself together, acutely aware of his disheveled appearance, his wide-eyed edge of panic, the jagged pace of his breath. he clings to one of the few things he can immediately control, fisting the tattered rags he wears and delicately sliding them off his body. to be naked in vere is commonplace; laurent has no qualms about his body, all pale skin and slender lines of lean muscle, but after his confession, he feels too exposed. if only damen was here to attend to his damnable veretian attire.
he pulls on his trousers first and leaves them unlaced, hanging low on his hips, then slips on the white linen shirt, sleeves and collar loose as the laces trail over his body. his eyes flicker to aspen, unable to outright ask for assistance but clearly in need of it. ]
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like laurent, he isn't overly affected by naked bodies. he doesn't seem to notice at first, though when he realizes laurent is disrobing he politely glances away and makes sure to spread his wings so people don't snoop and leer. while he has no problems with nakedness, the way some people act around bare skin makes his skin crawl, and he doesn't want laurent to be subject to that when he's still... exposed. vulnerable.
he catches laurent's gaze and starts momentarily. it's not the first time he's gotten a look like that, and apparently... well, apparently this might not be the last. he draws closer, helping to lace him up. he only needs to look at it for a moment or two to understand. )
These laces are just like Laufient - ...
( ... wow, that's a strange coincidence he hadn't noticed before. his brows scrunch up. )
Just... like another country's dress that I'm familiar with. ( he doesn't want to think on that now and focuses instead on his clothes. )
Do you want a salve for the brand?
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I'm going hunting. I've heard the skin of a badaliscus can heal the brand. [ there are scars on his body, but he doesn't like the idea of being marked in this way. aspen sees to the laces along his spine, and then laurent holds out one wrist so he can secure his sleeves. the other he leaves loose, pulling back the fabric so it doesn't touch his wound. ] Just wrap it so it doesn't get in the way. That will be enough.
[ then — ] I had no intention of speaking to you.
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( he meets laurent's gaze when he says it, firm in tone. it's only when he's finished rolling his sleeve up that he fishes out some bandages, and tends to the brand. )
It wasn't until hours later that I learned you were right. D told me that what we ingested was affected, and I saw similarities in his demeanor and yours.
I'm sorry. I was far too drunk to be rational or understanding, but I shouldn't have let myself be drunk in the first place. I hate how out of control it feels.
( he lowers his gaze so much it's hard to see his eyes, but the way his hands shake minutely give context when he can't utter the words. he ties off the bandage with a knot, and tucks the ends in so it's not too unwieldy. )
There are others here capable of healing. You may not have to go through all that trouble, especially when you're already injured.
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it must have been the poison. but even now, he looks at aspen's wings and can't rid himself of the memory. he doesn't know if he's simply falling into the trap of loneliness after having the fleeting experience of a companion of sorts — if his slave counted as such. but damen was by his side, riding on horseback, sleeping in his tent, sitting at his table going over maps and strategy — all things laurent has never had before, and likely will never have again, and now here stands aspen showing him a kindness that doesn't feel deserved. ]
We won't speak of it. [ the warmth that forgiveness requires doesn't come easily to him, mostly out of his own spiteful nature, but in part because no one has ever tried to atone for hurting him. it's not the veretian way. ] But if you choose to be a drunken lout in public, someone will take advantage of you.
[ slowly, he draws his hand back, his arm now bandaged. something flickers in his gaze. ] You should know just as I do that no one will come to our rescue. You have to mind others and their shadows.
[ he wants to turn away now, to end this conversation by leaving altogether, set on hunting the monster, but he stops, a heavy silence hanging between them. ]
You should be wounded. After what I did to you.
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( and aspen isn't bothered by saying it - by agreeing that laurent's bleak view is the correct one. he shares it, as much as his sunny disposition and proclivity to help is a complete opposite to it. there are ways to oppose that point of view, and aspen is certain of it - to unfailingly insist the world was better, to be the sun in darkness, which needed a will stronger than the world's. and there was acceptance of every mortal's darkest inclinations, to admit the world was crass and ruthless and uncaring - and care anyway in just as crass and ruthless in a way of perseving balance.
aspen seemed like the former, yet was the latter.
as he tucks the bandages away, he hums, thoughtful. )
My wing, you mean? Thankfully, I was able to heal it with no complications. It wasn't too long after you broke it that I was able to heal, as healing magic requires more thought than the soul magic I used on you.
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I can bring some back for you. The creature's skin. [ a small offering, when a verbal apology or any other sort of atonement is beyond the depth of his grasp. he has never fostered camaraderie with his men back home — he certainly doesn't know how to forge such a thing now with the people around him. ] You can use it to treat the others. The brands aren't large, so there should be plenty.
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That would be very helpful.
Are you going alone?
( the question is curious rather than prying or admonishing. after all, laurent can do something like take down a beast. probably. )
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Yes. [ no biting response, just honesty. of course he is going alone, because what allies does he have here? ] I don't particularly enjoy hunting, but it's not a daunting task. It's just a more dangerous boar.
[ after a beat, just for clarification — ] You're not invited. You're too small.
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Oh, no, no - I wasn't going to join, I'm useless in hunts. I know my place and I think you're the sort of person who knows what they can handle.
( and aspen's honest about that, not a hint of trying to fluff laurent up. instead, he searches through his little satchel and produces a sphere wrapped in cheesecloth. )
I was going to offer you one of these: they're small explosives of a sort. I usually make them for myself - some that release a foul-smelling gas to keep people at bay, some burst into thorns... in case you'd like them for any emergencies.
no subject
You built these yourself? Why? [ he accepts the bomb, holding it in the palm of his hand. it's the sort of thing he might've learned to do himself, in a different life. no one was ever supposed to care about the second son of the king, leaving him to do as he pleased — which mostly consisted of satisfying his voracious desire for knowledge through reading, and petting all the horses in the stables on the side. ] This is useful, thank you.
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( he lowers his gaze, almost thoughtfully, trying to amass all the reasons he could claim, both vague and direct. 'the same reason we don't drink wine' works, and is just vague enough to get him out of this line of questioning. maybe. 'because everyone needs a plan C' is similarly vague, and similarly true. he has a feeling laurent won't actually accept 'someone weak like me needs more protection than fluttered lashes', if only because aspen did show that he was somewhat capable of combat on the literal boat ride here.
so instead, he breathes in and locks eyes with laurent. )
I don't think you have magic in your world, but in mine... most everyone does, and those who don't, are trained in weaponry. Magic over fire, over stone, over air - those are easy to use to hurt. You may not have noticed... but my magic is not like that. And courtesans aren't trained in weapons, and are rarely strong enough to injure others.
I needed a way to use my magic whilst in a war, whether it was on the front or back. ( he takes out a second bomb for laurent to take - this one colored a pale yellow as opposed to the vibrant green. ) And these were the answers I came up with.
I have my own, more experimental explosives I use. Those two are my tried-and-true formulas, so you can be certain they'll help you if you need it.
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I see, thank you. [ nothing more needs to be said. he accepts the second explosive and examines it carefully. there is nothing like this back home in vere, nothing in any of the neighboring kingdoms that he's seen. it strikes him again how many similar traits they share, with aspen flitting about appearing harmless while being anything but. likewise, laurent has always preferred not to show his hand until absolutely necessary. ] Do I just throw it to activate it?
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Mmhm. As long as it hits a surface with force, they'll explode.
Hopefully you won't need to use them. In any case - I'll await your return, Renren.
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Please don't call me that. [ there is no bite behind his words, and he looks half like he wants to vomit. politely, he clears his throat. ] Thank you for the explosives. I'll bring you back the creature's skin, and then our debts will be settled.
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Aww, alright. ( but he does look disappointed, with the tiniest pout. ) You're welcome. Stay safe out there.