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TOPIC | [Lore] Tobin's Lair Lore
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Trying to Sleep

The first year, there was no sign of it except for the spell that declared it. Detect Disease didn't lie, but back then it didn't seem serious. There were no symptoms, no pains. The two of them had even joked that Magdelina had picked up something from a lover while Tobin had been gone rescuing Estelle. She'd quipped that it had to have come from him and that he'd picked it up being near Camillus too long. Life was still good back then, they were in love, and it seemed as though all would be fine.

The next year wasn't much different. They'd settled in, with far fewer quips about it than before. She thought she felt a lump, and he'd confirmed it. They ignored it, largely. She didn't feel any worse than she'd been before. He didn't know enough about medicines to think it was bad if she didn't feel bad. They talked of having children when the next year came.

They did have children, the third year. Two girls, Anna and Phoebe, healthy as they could be. The two of them thought nothing of how tired Magdelina felt, between the pregnancy, their work, and taking care of their daughters. She'd expected to feel tired, if the feeling went all the way to her bones it made no difference. He was tired too, but bone-tired was only an expression where he'd come from, rather than an accurate depiction.

Their two daughters grew up healthy, started walking too. Wobbling around before they got more confident. She was still tired but thought it was because of taking care of them. They liked to run around, getting into any trouble they could find. She was grateful for a chance to lay down, she thought little of the pain if she tried to lay on her chest. Breastfeeding two girls must have done it, surely. Tobin stayed home, stopped working for a bit to let her rest.

The fifth year, they didn't have space in their hearts to worry about the disease, themselves, or even one another. The girls had been taken from them, and they'd both turned back to their ways to try to find them. The pain in her chest came from crying, she was certain. Tobin had been gone trying to find them, and she'd been trying to find how they'd been taken. She was still bone-tired, surely it was the misery and the worry.

When they found out, a year and a month later, that their daughters weren't coming home alive, they'd spent the year locked up at home. They looked to one another for comfort, as they tried to understand why it had happened. They noticed the tumor had grown but didn't have the willpower to consider it.

By the seventh year, it was clear to Tobin it would kill her. She hadn't been up for more than a few hours a day for months, and she was exhausted when she was. The clerics said they couldn't help, that it would only come back worse and worse. She was afraid of the pain getting worse, of extending the amount of time Tobin had to see her like this. Magdelina didn't want it to kill him too.

Year eight, Magdelina was certain it would kill her. The pain had spread everywhere, no longer just her chest. She was grateful, for the hour or two she was awake each day. Bushmill had stayed by her bedside, to alert Tobin whenever she was awake. He brought food and water, and when she didn't have the appetite to take any of it, Magdelina was content to be held until the exhaustion took her again. Tobin made sure that the tears only came after she'd been brought back to sleep.

A year from the end, her hands shook too badly to take food and water on her own. She tried, and it took a week of convincing for her to let Tobin give it to her himself. Magdelina knew it wouldn't be long now when she could hardly keep the food down for the waves of pain and nausea. Tobin knew it wouldn't be long when the tumor was the only part of her that wasn't wasting away to the bone. They didn't know who clung to the other more desperately when they slept together each night.

The last year, was short. It was only two months in when she died. Tobin was grateful that she'd passed from the illness rather than the starvation; before the symptoms did her in. He was grateful that he'd been there in the end. Magdelina was grateful that he'd held her as she went, it wasn't as terrifying as she'd been told though it was every bit as painful. Her soul had stayed until he'd stopped holding her body, guided away by Ellisa before she saw him get any further than tears. He spent the rest of the year trying to find a way to sleep.


~ Index ~
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December 11, 2021 03:00:08
Trying to Sleep

The first year, there was no sign of it except for the spell that declared it. Detect Disease didn't lie, but back then it didn't seem serious. There were no symptoms, no pains. The two of them had even joked that Magdelina had picked up something from a lover while Tobin had been gone rescuing Estelle. She'd quipped that it had to have come from him and that he'd picked it up being near Camillus too long. Life was still good back then, they were in love, and it seemed as though all would be fine.

The next year wasn't much different. They'd settled in, with far fewer quips about it than before. She thought she felt a lump, and he'd confirmed it. They ignored it, largely. She didn't feel any worse than she'd been before. He didn't know enough about medicines to think it was bad if she didn't feel bad. They talked of having children when the next year came.

They did have children, the third year. Two girls, Anna and Phoebe, healthy as they could be. The two of them thought nothing of how tired Magdelina felt, between the pregnancy, their work, and taking care of their daughters. She'd expected to feel tired, if the feeling went all the way to her bones it made no difference. He was tired too, but bone-tired was only an expression where he'd come from, rather than an accurate depiction.

Their two daughters grew up healthy, started walking too. Wobbling around before they got more confident. She was still tired but thought it was because of taking care of them. They liked to run around, getting into any trouble they could find. She was grateful for a chance to lay down, she thought little of the pain if she tried to lay on her chest. Breastfeeding two girls must have done it, surely. Tobin stayed home, stopped working for a bit to let her rest.

The fifth year, they didn't have space in their hearts to worry about the disease, themselves, or even one another. The girls had been taken from them, and they'd both turned back to their ways to try to find them. The pain in her chest came from crying, she was certain. Tobin had been gone trying to find them, and she'd been trying to find how they'd been taken. She was still bone-tired, surely it was the misery and the worry.

When they found out, a year and a month later, that their daughters weren't coming home alive, they'd spent the year locked up at home. They looked to one another for comfort, as they tried to understand why it had happened. They noticed the tumor had grown but didn't have the willpower to consider it.

By the seventh year, it was clear to Tobin it would kill her. She hadn't been up for more than a few hours a day for months, and she was exhausted when she was. The clerics said they couldn't help, that it would only come back worse and worse. She was afraid of the pain getting worse, of extending the amount of time Tobin had to see her like this. Magdelina didn't want it to kill him too.

Year eight, Magdelina was certain it would kill her. The pain had spread everywhere, no longer just her chest. She was grateful, for the hour or two she was awake each day. Bushmill had stayed by her bedside, to alert Tobin whenever she was awake. He brought food and water, and when she didn't have the appetite to take any of it, Magdelina was content to be held until the exhaustion took her again. Tobin made sure that the tears only came after she'd been brought back to sleep.

A year from the end, her hands shook too badly to take food and water on her own. She tried, and it took a week of convincing for her to let Tobin give it to her himself. Magdelina knew it wouldn't be long now when she could hardly keep the food down for the waves of pain and nausea. Tobin knew it wouldn't be long when the tumor was the only part of her that wasn't wasting away to the bone. They didn't know who clung to the other more desperately when they slept together each night.

The last year, was short. It was only two months in when she died. Tobin was grateful that she'd passed from the illness rather than the starvation; before the symptoms did her in. He was grateful that he'd been there in the end. Magdelina was grateful that he'd held her as she went, it wasn't as terrifying as she'd been told though it was every bit as painful. Her soul had stayed until he'd stopped holding her body, guided away by Ellisa before she saw him get any further than tears. He spent the rest of the year trying to find a way to sleep.


~ Index ~
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Last edited on Mar 13, 2022 21:45:10 by Tobin
Favor and Honor

"Lover, I'm going to have to ask for that favor," Hadrian yelled over his shoulder as he backed up into the bar. The patronage went silent, however small the meaningful population of it was.

"When you said you owed me your life, time to save mine." He sounded afraid, it was enough to have the barkeep headed out from the backroom, Bushmill already itching to fireball whatever it was pursuing their once-beloved.

"Who've you-" the world seemed to stop as Hadrian was backed into the bar at Camillus's swordpoint. It did not stop for Bushmill who immediately let loose, trigger happy as he was. The fireball rushed through the doorway and around Camillus, giving the vampire enough time to scramble for a semblance of safety behind the bartop. There was a long gash through his coat and side, his ankle bent something odd and painful. Swordsman, assassin, and barkeep each stopped, waiting to see what the other might do. Camillus swore, brushing cinders out of his hair and off his armor from the burst. Hadrian stayed prone behind the counter trying to spot any potential weapons within reach. Tobin scolded Bushmill for being so reckless under his breath, keeping his hands on the counter so both could see he wasn't going to grab a weapon to add to this nonsense.

"Kill him! I've wounded him, he's disarmed too. A Highcrossonian spy's what he is!" Camillus shouted, tossing his sword to the barkeep. It clattered on the bartop, not to be picked up.

"We're not killing anyone, no violence in the bar," Tobin said, doing his best to maintain something calm and even-toned even as he saw Hadrian give up his hunt for a weapon from the corner of his eye.

"Then I'll take him outside," Camillus offered, thinking that was a helpful suggestion. "I'll kill him out there, no violence in the bar. Easy as it comes."

"No, you're not. You're not hurting a guest of mine, and one to who I owe a favor or two at that," Tobin replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose when Camillus narrowed his eyes like he'd put the pieces together from two entirely different puzzles.

"You're with the enemy!" Camillus declared, apparently having eaten the pieces from two different puzzles. "How much have you told the spy?"

"I am not with the enemy, let alone this scrawny idiot," Tobin said, nudging Hadrian's side with a foot to make sure he was still alive. The faint groan affirmed that. "Sit yourself down and I'll explain."

"Fine, but he's not going anywhere until you do," Camillus demanded, thinking he had any say around here.

"No, he's going upstairs to go stitch himself up from whatever the hell you did to him," the barkeep replied, "Estelle, go with him to make sure he doesn't end up gutting himself on the way."

"Well, get to explaining," Camillus said, sitting at the bar where he'd thrown his sword earlier. "How'd you get to know a Highcrossonian spy?"

"His name's Hadrian, he's not a spy, he's an assassin. He respects the hand of power nearly as much as you or I do," Tobin said, taking the sword off the bartop and setting it behind the counter. "I know him back from when I was a soldier, back when Sonam was a Highcrossonian colony. He was an assassin master back then, too. Always seemed a bit foolish they wanted him to have guards around. We were friendly."

"So you were carousing with the enemy!" Camillus declared, having heard exactly none of it.

"Six thousand years ago, give or take a century, sure, I'll give you that," the barkeep nodded. "But he's not a spy, and you're not killing him - not in my bar at least. Not to say he's not loyal to Wellmoore, though."

"Wait, that'd make him older than you are. You sure that's the right guy?" the god asked.

"I'm sure it's the same man, yes," Tobin affirmed, getting back to making sure everything was in order to deal with customers rather than Camillus.

"But he can't be older than you, he looks younger than me and you look ancient compared to me!" Camillus insisted, easily distracted.

"He's older than us both," Tobin reaffirmed to Camillus's frustration. "Are you done trying to kill him, or are we done?"

"You were with him when you were a soldier, right?" the swordsman's eyes narrowed as he spoke. Tobin swore he could hear the rust grinding in the gears turning in his head.

"I was," the barkeep said, distracted by his work once more.

"So he's the one that gave you all those scars, the ones that make it look like you were attacked by wolves!" Camillus exclaimed. "He can't just get away with that!"

"He's the one who stole Tobin's honor too," Ornithaea replied, sliding onto the seat next to Camillus and leaning over the bar. "Isn't he?"

"We're not talking about this," Tobin replied.

"What!" Camillus shouted. "I'll give him a proper duel about this, to get your honor back!"

This wasn't going to go well.


~ Index ~
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December 21, 2021 13:50:27
Favor and Honor

"Lover, I'm going to have to ask for that favor," Hadrian yelled over his shoulder as he backed up into the bar. The patronage went silent, however small the meaningful population of it was.

"When you said you owed me your life, time to save mine." He sounded afraid, it was enough to have the barkeep headed out from the backroom, Bushmill already itching to fireball whatever it was pursuing their once-beloved.

"Who've you-" the world seemed to stop as Hadrian was backed into the bar at Camillus's swordpoint. It did not stop for Bushmill who immediately let loose, trigger happy as he was. The fireball rushed through the doorway and around Camillus, giving the vampire enough time to scramble for a semblance of safety behind the bartop. There was a long gash through his coat and side, his ankle bent something odd and painful. Swordsman, assassin, and barkeep each stopped, waiting to see what the other might do. Camillus swore, brushing cinders out of his hair and off his armor from the burst. Hadrian stayed prone behind the counter trying to spot any potential weapons within reach. Tobin scolded Bushmill for being so reckless under his breath, keeping his hands on the counter so both could see he wasn't going to grab a weapon to add to this nonsense.

"Kill him! I've wounded him, he's disarmed too. A Highcrossonian spy's what he is!" Camillus shouted, tossing his sword to the barkeep. It clattered on the bartop, not to be picked up.

"We're not killing anyone, no violence in the bar," Tobin said, doing his best to maintain something calm and even-toned even as he saw Hadrian give up his hunt for a weapon from the corner of his eye.

"Then I'll take him outside," Camillus offered, thinking that was a helpful suggestion. "I'll kill him out there, no violence in the bar. Easy as it comes."

"No, you're not. You're not hurting a guest of mine, and one to who I owe a favor or two at that," Tobin replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose when Camillus narrowed his eyes like he'd put the pieces together from two entirely different puzzles.

"You're with the enemy!" Camillus declared, apparently having eaten the pieces from two different puzzles. "How much have you told the spy?"

"I am not with the enemy, let alone this scrawny idiot," Tobin said, nudging Hadrian's side with a foot to make sure he was still alive. The faint groan affirmed that. "Sit yourself down and I'll explain."

"Fine, but he's not going anywhere until you do," Camillus demanded, thinking he had any say around here.

"No, he's going upstairs to go stitch himself up from whatever the hell you did to him," the barkeep replied, "Estelle, go with him to make sure he doesn't end up gutting himself on the way."

"Well, get to explaining," Camillus said, sitting at the bar where he'd thrown his sword earlier. "How'd you get to know a Highcrossonian spy?"

"His name's Hadrian, he's not a spy, he's an assassin. He respects the hand of power nearly as much as you or I do," Tobin said, taking the sword off the bartop and setting it behind the counter. "I know him back from when I was a soldier, back when Sonam was a Highcrossonian colony. He was an assassin master back then, too. Always seemed a bit foolish they wanted him to have guards around. We were friendly."

"So you were carousing with the enemy!" Camillus declared, having heard exactly none of it.

"Six thousand years ago, give or take a century, sure, I'll give you that," the barkeep nodded. "But he's not a spy, and you're not killing him - not in my bar at least. Not to say he's not loyal to Wellmoore, though."

"Wait, that'd make him older than you are. You sure that's the right guy?" the god asked.

"I'm sure it's the same man, yes," Tobin affirmed, getting back to making sure everything was in order to deal with customers rather than Camillus.

"But he can't be older than you, he looks younger than me and you look ancient compared to me!" Camillus insisted, easily distracted.

"He's older than us both," Tobin reaffirmed to Camillus's frustration. "Are you done trying to kill him, or are we done?"

"You were with him when you were a soldier, right?" the swordsman's eyes narrowed as he spoke. Tobin swore he could hear the rust grinding in the gears turning in his head.

"I was," the barkeep said, distracted by his work once more.

"So he's the one that gave you all those scars, the ones that make it look like you were attacked by wolves!" Camillus exclaimed. "He can't just get away with that!"

"He's the one who stole Tobin's honor too," Ornithaea replied, sliding onto the seat next to Camillus and leaning over the bar. "Isn't he?"

"We're not talking about this," Tobin replied.

"What!" Camillus shouted. "I'll give him a proper duel about this, to get your honor back!"

This wasn't going to go well.


~ Index ~
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Last edited on Mar 13, 2022 22:13:20 by Tobin
One Scar, Volunteered To Twenty

As the dinner party slumped on, Hadrian's eyes screwed shut where he'd hidden in one of the many winding halls Dame Redscar's home provided. Painful, gnawing hunger gripped him, but the food there would do nothing for him. He sucked in air, hoping the cold winter chill of it would aid in ignoring the pain for another day. It didn't work.

"This is where you went off to, why-" the vampire didn't hear the rest, blacking out at the scent of potential prey so close.
-

Hadrian awoke several hours later, back in his own manor, in his own bed - tied down. Frustrated and still in pain, he let his head fall back against the pillow, silently grateful his bonds allowed enough movement that he could move to lay on his side. He pulled at one seemingly fragile ribbon, finding it far stronger than he envisioned and glimmering with magic.

He didn't realize he'd fallen back asleep until the door's creaking woke him, eyes snapping open and limbs pulling sharply against the tethers once again. They didn't give. It came as a great relief that it wasn't an enemy at his door, but rather his loyal, young soldier, with a spare blanket and water. There were stitches above and below his eye, the scent of the blood dizzying. The vampire shut his eyes again, trying to think of anything else.

"What happened?" Hadrian mumbled, knowing his soldier's magic was likely responsible for the tethers as soon as they disappeared.

"Sit up, drink," Tobin all but demanded. The vampire accepted, learning quickly that it was a raw egg, not water. He didn't want to admit how much of the edge of pain it took off. "You bit me or tried to. You'd think in a thousand years you'd've learned to take care of yourself before snapping."

"Don't lecture me," the vampire hissed, albeit half-heartedly. "I haven't had the time, with the need to keep the arch's construction safe. What happened to your eye?"

"You tried to bite me; you missed," the soldier repeated. He sat against the nightstand at the hazard of the lamp.

"I didn't blind you, did I?" Hadrian asked, cracking an eye open only to have to shut it again at the sight of the clean access to a vein with the soldier's shirt partially unbuttoned.

"Nope. Got real close, though. It'll scar, but that's not a real issue. Still can't feel it, but it has stopped bleeding after flushing out whatever you've got on those fangs of yours," Tobin said, matter of factly. He set the lamp aside on the ground after nearly knocking it over leaning back.

"Did anyone else get hurt or see us on the way?" the vampire said, disinterested in the answer compared to the last.

"Nope, we snuck out the back, and it's late enough that curfew covered us." The soldier waved a hand, lighting the lamp on the other side of the room. It glowed nicely, and more importantly, let his eyes strain a little less.

"How long has it been since then?" Hadrian asked.

"Three hours, it's nearly midnight," Tobin replied, setting the blanket aside as he decided against asking if the vampire actually did feel the cold. "Do you need me to stay longer?"

"Stay longer?" the vampire echoed, hesitating a few moments. "Have you been here the whole time?"

"Yep, been checking in on you about every half hour with egg whites. This is the first time you've done anything but snarl at me," the soldier said.

"I thought this was meant to be a door-opening agreement?" Hadrian said, sounding far less certain than he'd hoped to.

"You needed more than that," Tobin answered, as though it was meant to be a question.

"That doesn't explain why you chose to stay for three hours," the vampire pointed out.

"Doesn't it?" the soldier asked.

"Did you stay just because I needed more than that?" Hadrian said, more doubt than a question.

"I stayed because it looked like you'd hurt yourself, yes," Tobin affirmed. Hadrian risked opening his eyes again, a hand having to ball into the sheets to keep him steady long enough to confirm the sincerity on the soldier's face.

"The list of the things in this agreement is getting long," the vampire murmured.

"We could make it longer," the soldier offered, and the assassin swore he could hear an edge of hope.

"What else could we add to it?" Hadrian asked, curiosity providing a distraction from the pit-like feeling of hunger.

"I could fix your current problem; we could add that to the list," Tobin said, as though it were a safe decision.

"Spell it out like I'm nearly mentally dead," the vampire said, unwilling to put ideas in his own head.

"You could feed off me if you wanted. Tonight and further," the soldier explained, certain he wouldn't have to say it a third time.

"I'm not sure if there's anything more I could take from you, beyond that," Hadrian said, strained. "I want you to take a walk downstairs and through the gardens and think on that offer. Even a moment of doubt, and I want you to leave."

"Whatever you need to know I'm sure," Tobin said. The assassin knew his soldier was certain as the door shut behind the man, and a sense of debt settled over him.
-

When the soldier came back, there was an unusual softness to the room - and no vampire. The two lamps, both lit, lent a warm glow to the room. There were many more blankets and pillows on the bed than he knew Hadrian preferred, the hazy scent of frankincense and myrrh drifting up from the oils the vampire had added to the lamp oil. Bandages, salves, and a faintly glimmering potion were carefully arranged on the nightstand.

"Was wondering where you were," Tobin said as he turned to find the vampire returning with a dish of dried fruits and chocolate, which was placed carefully on the nightstand aside from the bandages.

"I needed to make sure you'd be comfortable," Hadrian explained, raising a hand to lay at the soldier's cheek, thumb brushing just below the already healing wound. "I don't want to hurt you more than is necessary."

"Don't act like I'm some sort of martyr. I get something out of this," the soldier expressed when the vampire's gaze and touch got a bit too soft.

"I won't pretend I'm not a bit jealous of the person I saw you with when we first ran into one another," he said in answer to a curious noise.

"You still haven't told me how much you've seen," the vampire murmured.

"Do you need to know right now?" Tobin hummed.

"No," Hadrian answered, gentle and nearly apologetic for what was soon to come.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," the soldier answered, quiet as he let a hand tangle in the vampire's hair. He let his eyes slip shut at the faint pinprick feeling, the pain quickly receding in the wake of whatever venom the vampire had. The lightheadedness came soon after, a vulnerability that felt soft and warm and safe held gently in the vampire's arms. There was the faintest sensation of one of the assassin's deft hands moving down, gently petting the soldier's side until he stopped trembling. It was over quickly - at least in the soldier's eyes. Before long, Hadrian's fangs had slid out of him, soft kisses over the wound making up for the stinging feeling that remained.

"I love you," Hadrian murmured as he pulled away, only far enough to retrieve bandages and salve to stop the bleeding. The injury was slight, nowhere near as terrible as it would need to be to warrant the potion set there. A questioning noise followed his remark, and the vampire looked down, almost apologetically. "You don't need to say it back."

"Want to," Tobin said quietly, too dizzy to move much further than the few millimeters it took to get back against Hadrian's touch. "Y'said not to get attached. Figured it wouldn't count if I never said it out loud."

"I'm sorry," the assassin whispered, gently drawing his soldier up closer to him. "You can say it as often as you'd like, lover."

"Love you," the soldier murmured, pressing a clumsy kiss against Hadrian's shoulder.

"Stay the night," Hadrian said, offering his soldier small pieces of the dried fruits, knowing it would make his symptoms a bit lighter.

"You sure?" Tobin asked, suddenly concerned at the changes in how much affection was allowed. "One of us isn't dying, right?"

"Neither of us are dying," Hadrian reassured him, gently running a hand through the soldier's hair. "Stay the night."

"Promise?" his soldier whispered, and Hadrian's heart hurt with how much hope and love hid behind the soldier's eyes as he looked up at him.

"I promise," the assassin murmured. It was enough to reassure him, enough to have Tobin settling in with a head on his shoulder and a hand against his chest. He returned to petting the soldier, fingers drawn softly through his hair and palm smoothing over his side. Hadrian relished in the warmth of him, a pleasant reminder of where he ended and where his soldier began.


~ Index ~
Tobin
467
635
271
2321
December 21, 2021 14:14:41
One Scar, Volunteered To Twenty

As the dinner party slumped on, Hadrian's eyes screwed shut where he'd hidden in one of the many winding halls Dame Redscar's home provided. Painful, gnawing hunger gripped him, but the food there would do nothing for him. He sucked in air, hoping the cold winter chill of it would aid in ignoring the pain for another day. It didn't work.

"This is where you went off to, why-" the vampire didn't hear the rest, blacking out at the scent of potential prey so close.
-

Hadrian awoke several hours later, back in his own manor, in his own bed - tied down. Frustrated and still in pain, he let his head fall back against the pillow, silently grateful his bonds allowed enough movement that he could move to lay on his side. He pulled at one seemingly fragile ribbon, finding it far stronger than he envisioned and glimmering with magic.

He didn't realize he'd fallen back asleep until the door's creaking woke him, eyes snapping open and limbs pulling sharply against the tethers once again. They didn't give. It came as a great relief that it wasn't an enemy at his door, but rather his loyal, young soldier, with a spare blanket and water. There were stitches above and below his eye, the scent of the blood dizzying. The vampire shut his eyes again, trying to think of anything else.

"What happened?" Hadrian mumbled, knowing his soldier's magic was likely responsible for the tethers as soon as they disappeared.

"Sit up, drink," Tobin all but demanded. The vampire accepted, learning quickly that it was a raw egg, not water. He didn't want to admit how much of the edge of pain it took off. "You bit me or tried to. You'd think in a thousand years you'd've learned to take care of yourself before snapping."

"Don't lecture me," the vampire hissed, albeit half-heartedly. "I haven't had the time, with the need to keep the arch's construction safe. What happened to your eye?"

"You tried to bite me; you missed," the soldier repeated. He sat against the nightstand at the hazard of the lamp.

"I didn't blind you, did I?" Hadrian asked, cracking an eye open only to have to shut it again at the sight of the clean access to a vein with the soldier's shirt partially unbuttoned.

"Nope. Got real close, though. It'll scar, but that's not a real issue. Still can't feel it, but it has stopped bleeding after flushing out whatever you've got on those fangs of yours," Tobin said, matter of factly. He set the lamp aside on the ground after nearly knocking it over leaning back.

"Did anyone else get hurt or see us on the way?" the vampire said, disinterested in the answer compared to the last.

"Nope, we snuck out the back, and it's late enough that curfew covered us." The soldier waved a hand, lighting the lamp on the other side of the room. It glowed nicely, and more importantly, let his eyes strain a little less.

"How long has it been since then?" Hadrian asked.

"Three hours, it's nearly midnight," Tobin replied, setting the blanket aside as he decided against asking if the vampire actually did feel the cold. "Do you need me to stay longer?"

"Stay longer?" the vampire echoed, hesitating a few moments. "Have you been here the whole time?"

"Yep, been checking in on you about every half hour with egg whites. This is the first time you've done anything but snarl at me," the soldier said.

"I thought this was meant to be a door-opening agreement?" Hadrian said, sounding far less certain than he'd hoped to.

"You needed more than that," Tobin answered, as though it was meant to be a question.

"That doesn't explain why you chose to stay for three hours," the vampire pointed out.

"Doesn't it?" the soldier asked.

"Did you stay just because I needed more than that?" Hadrian said, more doubt than a question.

"I stayed because it looked like you'd hurt yourself, yes," Tobin affirmed. Hadrian risked opening his eyes again, a hand having to ball into the sheets to keep him steady long enough to confirm the sincerity on the soldier's face.

"The list of the things in this agreement is getting long," the vampire murmured.

"We could make it longer," the soldier offered, and the assassin swore he could hear an edge of hope.

"What else could we add to it?" Hadrian asked, curiosity providing a distraction from the pit-like feeling of hunger.

"I could fix your current problem; we could add that to the list," Tobin said, as though it were a safe decision.

"Spell it out like I'm nearly mentally dead," the vampire said, unwilling to put ideas in his own head.

"You could feed off me if you wanted. Tonight and further," the soldier explained, certain he wouldn't have to say it a third time.

"I'm not sure if there's anything more I could take from you, beyond that," Hadrian said, strained. "I want you to take a walk downstairs and through the gardens and think on that offer. Even a moment of doubt, and I want you to leave."

"Whatever you need to know I'm sure," Tobin said. The assassin knew his soldier was certain as the door shut behind the man, and a sense of debt settled over him.
-

When the soldier came back, there was an unusual softness to the room - and no vampire. The two lamps, both lit, lent a warm glow to the room. There were many more blankets and pillows on the bed than he knew Hadrian preferred, the hazy scent of frankincense and myrrh drifting up from the oils the vampire had added to the lamp oil. Bandages, salves, and a faintly glimmering potion were carefully arranged on the nightstand.

"Was wondering where you were," Tobin said as he turned to find the vampire returning with a dish of dried fruits and chocolate, which was placed carefully on the nightstand aside from the bandages.

"I needed to make sure you'd be comfortable," Hadrian explained, raising a hand to lay at the soldier's cheek, thumb brushing just below the already healing wound. "I don't want to hurt you more than is necessary."

"Don't act like I'm some sort of martyr. I get something out of this," the soldier expressed when the vampire's gaze and touch got a bit too soft.

"I won't pretend I'm not a bit jealous of the person I saw you with when we first ran into one another," he said in answer to a curious noise.

"You still haven't told me how much you've seen," the vampire murmured.

"Do you need to know right now?" Tobin hummed.

"No," Hadrian answered, gentle and nearly apologetic for what was soon to come.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," the soldier answered, quiet as he let a hand tangle in the vampire's hair. He let his eyes slip shut at the faint pinprick feeling, the pain quickly receding in the wake of whatever venom the vampire had. The lightheadedness came soon after, a vulnerability that felt soft and warm and safe held gently in the vampire's arms. There was the faintest sensation of one of the assassin's deft hands moving down, gently petting the soldier's side until he stopped trembling. It was over quickly - at least in the soldier's eyes. Before long, Hadrian's fangs had slid out of him, soft kisses over the wound making up for the stinging feeling that remained.

"I love you," Hadrian murmured as he pulled away, only far enough to retrieve bandages and salve to stop the bleeding. The injury was slight, nowhere near as terrible as it would need to be to warrant the potion set there. A questioning noise followed his remark, and the vampire looked down, almost apologetically. "You don't need to say it back."

"Want to," Tobin said quietly, too dizzy to move much further than the few millimeters it took to get back against Hadrian's touch. "Y'said not to get attached. Figured it wouldn't count if I never said it out loud."

"I'm sorry," the assassin whispered, gently drawing his soldier up closer to him. "You can say it as often as you'd like, lover."

"Love you," the soldier murmured, pressing a clumsy kiss against Hadrian's shoulder.

"Stay the night," Hadrian said, offering his soldier small pieces of the dried fruits, knowing it would make his symptoms a bit lighter.

"You sure?" Tobin asked, suddenly concerned at the changes in how much affection was allowed. "One of us isn't dying, right?"

"Neither of us are dying," Hadrian reassured him, gently running a hand through the soldier's hair. "Stay the night."

"Promise?" his soldier whispered, and Hadrian's heart hurt with how much hope and love hid behind the soldier's eyes as he looked up at him.

"I promise," the assassin murmured. It was enough to reassure him, enough to have Tobin settling in with a head on his shoulder and a hand against his chest. He returned to petting the soldier, fingers drawn softly through his hair and palm smoothing over his side. Hadrian relished in the warmth of him, a pleasant reminder of where he ended and where his soldier began.


~ Index ~
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Last edited on Mar 30, 2022 20:39:40 by Tobin
Home Again

A slow night at the bar, a usual sight for so late in the night at the bar. The lady Estelle sat on some poor soul's lap, cooing and comforting like he was some slain hero. Maybe he was; there was always a lotta those folks that came in. Camillus and Ornithaea had long since gone off to go socialize. With no customers about, it wasn't surprising to give in to some distractions, practically demanded. Magdelina was a sight for sore eyes, back from the war front - perhaps for good. The barkeep was trying with all the guile he had, not that it'd ever been much. She seemed willing enough to humor him anyways, leaned forward against the bar, twiddling with the ring on his finger - the ring that she'd given him.

"Maybe you could close up early?" she offered, features soft and smile sharp. "We could do a bit of catching up now that I'm home. Sonam's gone free. It could be just us. No duty or oaths present to witness us slacking off." He'd always loved how direct she was, never one for the types of guessing games they'd spent their whole lives losing.

"Maybe we oughta, not like anyone'll be sad about shaving a few minutes short," Tobin accepted, the two sliding off and up the stairs together.
-

"With arms like that, someone'll think you're a soldier," Magdelina laughed, her husband's eyes rolling at the remark. She sat on the low dresser like it was a throne made for her. It was, in a way. It mostly had her things in it.

"I think the bloodstains on your coat give you a leg up on being a soldier, soldier," he scoffed, tossing the collared shirt across the back of his desk chair. "Might want to change into somethin' less armored if you intend to get any sleep."

"Just wanted to make sure I wasn't missing a view," she replied, eyes drifting down over him. Tobin tried to ignore the lump it put in his throat, pushing his hair back in an effort to forget how he might compare to some of the knights. She pushed herself down from the dresser, slipping off her armored clothing like it was falling off anyway. His wife replaced it all with his shirt left behind on the chair, as good a reassurance as he'd ask for that he didn't look all that poor an option after her travels. "This good enough attire to get into your bed again?"

"You'd be welcome in my bed no matter what," Tobin said, a touch too softly. His wife smiled, smile falling as soft as her features for a moment as she slid into bed atop him rather than beside him. Her hand pushed gently through his hair, fingers tangling there for a moment. "As glad as I am to have you home, don't go acting like I'm a younger man or it's an earlier hour now."

"You look better than you did when we were younger," Magdelina remarked, hand lingering against his cheek.

"That's because you have worse vision now, can't see all the scars and wrinkles and grey hairs," he said quietly, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm.

"No, you look better now," she asserted once more. "You don't look like you're walking on broken glass anymore, now that you've left your old man and his legacy behind." They stayed that way for a moment, both taking the other in in the warm glow of the lanternlight. It felt less late than it had been when they'd come up the stairs.

"I'd marry you again if I could," Tobin murmured as she moved to lay on his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, giving a faint - if involuntary - noise of approval when she pressed a kiss against the side of his neck.

"I'd say yes again in a heartbeat," Magdelina replied, a smile apparent in her voice. A wave of her husband's hand doused the lanternlight. "Do you really prepare a spell just to put that out every night?" she laughed.

"I do. Are you planning on sleeping on me or the bed?" he asked, arm still wrapped around her.

"On you," she answered, pulling the blanket up over them both a bit haphazardly. "Goodnight, I love you."

"I love you too, glad to have you home," he said quietly, wrapping both arms around her to hold her tighter. Bushmill slept soundly on the windowsill, and for the first time in six years, the whole family was home together.



~ Index ~
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December 21, 2021 14:21:52
Home Again

A slow night at the bar, a usual sight for so late in the night at the bar. The lady Estelle sat on some poor soul's lap, cooing and comforting like he was some slain hero. Maybe he was; there was always a lotta those folks that came in. Camillus and Ornithaea had long since gone off to go socialize. With no customers about, it wasn't surprising to give in to some distractions, practically demanded. Magdelina was a sight for sore eyes, back from the war front - perhaps for good. The barkeep was trying with all the guile he had, not that it'd ever been much. She seemed willing enough to humor him anyways, leaned forward against the bar, twiddling with the ring on his finger - the ring that she'd given him.

"Maybe you could close up early?" she offered, features soft and smile sharp. "We could do a bit of catching up now that I'm home. Sonam's gone free. It could be just us. No duty or oaths present to witness us slacking off." He'd always loved how direct she was, never one for the types of guessing games they'd spent their whole lives losing.

"Maybe we oughta, not like anyone'll be sad about shaving a few minutes short," Tobin accepted, the two sliding off and up the stairs together.
-

"With arms like that, someone'll think you're a soldier," Magdelina laughed, her husband's eyes rolling at the remark. She sat on the low dresser like it was a throne made for her. It was, in a way. It mostly had her things in it.

"I think the bloodstains on your coat give you a leg up on being a soldier, soldier," he scoffed, tossing the collared shirt across the back of his desk chair. "Might want to change into somethin' less armored if you intend to get any sleep."

"Just wanted to make sure I wasn't missing a view," she replied, eyes drifting down over him. Tobin tried to ignore the lump it put in his throat, pushing his hair back in an effort to forget how he might compare to some of the knights. She pushed herself down from the dresser, slipping off her armored clothing like it was falling off anyway. His wife replaced it all with his shirt left behind on the chair, as good a reassurance as he'd ask for that he didn't look all that poor an option after her travels. "This good enough attire to get into your bed again?"

"You'd be welcome in my bed no matter what," Tobin said, a touch too softly. His wife smiled, smile falling as soft as her features for a moment as she slid into bed atop him rather than beside him. Her hand pushed gently through his hair, fingers tangling there for a moment. "As glad as I am to have you home, don't go acting like I'm a younger man or it's an earlier hour now."

"You look better than you did when we were younger," Magdelina remarked, hand lingering against his cheek.

"That's because you have worse vision now, can't see all the scars and wrinkles and grey hairs," he said quietly, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm.

"No, you look better now," she asserted once more. "You don't look like you're walking on broken glass anymore, now that you've left your old man and his legacy behind." They stayed that way for a moment, both taking the other in in the warm glow of the lanternlight. It felt less late than it had been when they'd come up the stairs.

"I'd marry you again if I could," Tobin murmured as she moved to lay on his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, giving a faint - if involuntary - noise of approval when she pressed a kiss against the side of his neck.

"I'd say yes again in a heartbeat," Magdelina replied, a smile apparent in her voice. A wave of her husband's hand doused the lanternlight. "Do you really prepare a spell just to put that out every night?" she laughed.

"I do. Are you planning on sleeping on me or the bed?" he asked, arm still wrapped around her.

"On you," she answered, pulling the blanket up over them both a bit haphazardly. "Goodnight, I love you."

"I love you too, glad to have you home," he said quietly, wrapping both arms around her to hold her tighter. Bushmill slept soundly on the windowsill, and for the first time in six years, the whole family was home together.



~ Index ~
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Last edited on Mar 30, 2022 20:42:58 by Tobin
Uncertainties

The tavern was quiet, the late night crowd having slowly dwindled down until there were only two souls left in the tavern. Maxwell stayed quietly polishing off his weapons at the edge of the countertop, the steel seeming alive with the light of the fireplace. He tried not to look up at the bartender, tried not to notice the way the light glistened over the muscular arms that cleaned and polished the wood of the bartop.

The siren realized his failure to do anything but stare when he noticed the barkeep pour himself a drink, noticed the eyebrow cocked at him as an unspoken question. Maxwell looked back towards his weapons, packing them away with a bit of longing nagging at his heart. His silence, wasn't answer enough.

"You're here awful late," the barkeep drawled before taking a sip from the glass, amber-dark liquid disappearing as Maxwell's silence disappeared in the bartender's amber eyes.

"I stayed because you're here," the rogue answered, leaning forward towards the counter, towards the barkeep.

"Is that so?" Tobin asked, looking at the weapons packed away, the full coin pouch that signaled money or work couldn't be what he was wanted for.

"Yeah," Maxwell squeaked out, feeling ill prepared for the way the Tobin's gaze set his heart racing.

"You feeling alright kid?" the barkeep continued, noticing the siren swaying in his seat a bit. It wasn't good for business to be cleaning up customers from the floor.

"I think so, can we talk about something?" Maxwell tried to look calm as he could, grateful for the distraction that came in the form of a glass placed before him.

"Sure, say what you need," Tobin leaned forward on the counter, and Maxwell was certain the fireplace had moved closer judging by the warmth in his chest.

"I think, you," was all that came in response. The barkeep couldn't help but notice the way that the rogue drew the glass up, spent a bit too long focused on the glass like it wasn't the whiskey he was trying to savor. There was trouble here, and Tobin was uncertain if he could fix it before it burned one of them.



~ Index ~
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December 21, 2021 14:24:47
Uncertainties

The tavern was quiet, the late night crowd having slowly dwindled down until there were only two souls left in the tavern. Maxwell stayed quietly polishing off his weapons at the edge of the countertop, the steel seeming alive with the light of the fireplace. He tried not to look up at the bartender, tried not to notice the way the light glistened over the muscular arms that cleaned and polished the wood of the bartop.

The siren realized his failure to do anything but stare when he noticed the barkeep pour himself a drink, noticed the eyebrow cocked at him as an unspoken question. Maxwell looked back towards his weapons, packing them away with a bit of longing nagging at his heart. His silence, wasn't answer enough.

"You're here awful late," the barkeep drawled before taking a sip from the glass, amber-dark liquid disappearing as Maxwell's silence disappeared in the bartender's amber eyes.

"I stayed because you're here," the rogue answered, leaning forward towards the counter, towards the barkeep.

"Is that so?" Tobin asked, looking at the weapons packed away, the full coin pouch that signaled money or work couldn't be what he was wanted for.

"Yeah," Maxwell squeaked out, feeling ill prepared for the way the Tobin's gaze set his heart racing.

"You feeling alright kid?" the barkeep continued, noticing the siren swaying in his seat a bit. It wasn't good for business to be cleaning up customers from the floor.

"I think so, can we talk about something?" Maxwell tried to look calm as he could, grateful for the distraction that came in the form of a glass placed before him.

"Sure, say what you need," Tobin leaned forward on the counter, and Maxwell was certain the fireplace had moved closer judging by the warmth in his chest.

"I think, you," was all that came in response. The barkeep couldn't help but notice the way that the rogue drew the glass up, spent a bit too long focused on the glass like it wasn't the whiskey he was trying to savor. There was trouble here, and Tobin was uncertain if he could fix it before it burned one of them.



~ Index ~
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Tired

A creaking door made a good alarm when paired with the squeaking floorboards around it. Both were enough to wake Tobin from the dreamless darkness he liked at this hour of the night. He was surprised to find that Bushmill hadn't already put their intruder to ret, though a simple light spell revealed the intruder to be a friend in need.

In the doorway, Maxwell leaned against the frame, leaking blood onto the hardwood from the sides of the four knives embedded in him. Highcrossonian iron, the blue-black of it glimmering in the light as the barkeep moved himself from the bed to move the assassin to the desk. It wasn't long enough, but it was flat and already cleared off. It would have to do.

"Who did it?" Tobin asked as he began cutting away the siren's armor with the knife in the desk drawer, which proved annoyingly dull. He kept the knives in Maxwell in place as he dug out a spare needle and thread from the bedfront trunk, the glass on the edge of the desk filling to the edge with gin as Bushmill opted into being useful.

"Hadrian," Maxwell seemed to heave out as he grabbed onto Tobin's shoulder. The barkeep couldn't imagine the feeling was pleasant, when he pulled out one of the knives and doused the wound in gin. He wasn't much of a healer, but he'd been injured enough to know how a wound felt and how to dress one. He didn't truly need to be a healer though, Tobin thought; Hadrian was an honorable man, there wouldn't be any poison on the blades.

"Where was he?" the barkeep questioned as he began stitching the last of Maxwell's injuries. They were deep, but not too very wide. They'd heal without too much of a fuss so long as they didn't end up infected, having missed anything vital.

"In the market, he was following Alexander," the siren's voice was a bit steadier now, though he remained clutched onto Tobin's shoulder as the barkeep poured the last of the gin over Maxwell's stitched wounds. They stayed like that for a moment, until the rogue pulled down on Tobin's shoulder.

"We're both tired, you're hurt, and I'm too old for this," the barkeep excused for what felt like the millionth time. He was growing weary of turning down the company, as Maxwell got older. The siren was nearly a hundred years old, a Marai, no longer a mere merfolk. The barkeep still remembered the starved and beaten kid who'd wandered in so many years ago, looking for somewhere to hide.

"Humor me just once? Let me stay the night?" the siren pleaded, still holding onto the barkeep like a mast in a storm. Tobin was tired of turning down the company, and just plain tired, as he nodded his assent. Maxwell was easily picked up and the bed wasn't far. He hadn't gotten much heavier, as he got older.

They settled in easily, Tobin's longer, broader form falling in around Maxwell's thin, graceful one as a sort of shelter. Bushmill, sensing it'd be quiet the rest of the night, laid back down on the windowsill and returned to his previous existence as a wooden pipe. The old rattler didn't need to be troubled with a heartbeat or breath when he wanted rest.

"Goodnight, I love you," Maxwell mumbled in a last, half-conscious thought as he pulled the covers up around them.

"Goodnight, we'll see," the barkeep responded, not one to hand out false hope.



~ Index ~
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December 21, 2021 14:29:22
Tired

A creaking door made a good alarm when paired with the squeaking floorboards around it. Both were enough to wake Tobin from the dreamless darkness he liked at this hour of the night. He was surprised to find that Bushmill hadn't already put their intruder to ret, though a simple light spell revealed the intruder to be a friend in need.

In the doorway, Maxwell leaned against the frame, leaking blood onto the hardwood from the sides of the four knives embedded in him. Highcrossonian iron, the blue-black of it glimmering in the light as the barkeep moved himself from the bed to move the assassin to the desk. It wasn't long enough, but it was flat and already cleared off. It would have to do.

"Who did it?" Tobin asked as he began cutting away the siren's armor with the knife in the desk drawer, which proved annoyingly dull. He kept the knives in Maxwell in place as he dug out a spare needle and thread from the bedfront trunk, the glass on the edge of the desk filling to the edge with gin as Bushmill opted into being useful.

"Hadrian," Maxwell seemed to heave out as he grabbed onto Tobin's shoulder. The barkeep couldn't imagine the feeling was pleasant, when he pulled out one of the knives and doused the wound in gin. He wasn't much of a healer, but he'd been injured enough to know how a wound felt and how to dress one. He didn't truly need to be a healer though, Tobin thought; Hadrian was an honorable man, there wouldn't be any poison on the blades.

"Where was he?" the barkeep questioned as he began stitching the last of Maxwell's injuries. They were deep, but not too very wide. They'd heal without too much of a fuss so long as they didn't end up infected, having missed anything vital.

"In the market, he was following Alexander," the siren's voice was a bit steadier now, though he remained clutched onto Tobin's shoulder as the barkeep poured the last of the gin over Maxwell's stitched wounds. They stayed like that for a moment, until the rogue pulled down on Tobin's shoulder.

"We're both tired, you're hurt, and I'm too old for this," the barkeep excused for what felt like the millionth time. He was growing weary of turning down the company, as Maxwell got older. The siren was nearly a hundred years old, a Marai, no longer a mere merfolk. The barkeep still remembered the starved and beaten kid who'd wandered in so many years ago, looking for somewhere to hide.

"Humor me just once? Let me stay the night?" the siren pleaded, still holding onto the barkeep like a mast in a storm. Tobin was tired of turning down the company, and just plain tired, as he nodded his assent. Maxwell was easily picked up and the bed wasn't far. He hadn't gotten much heavier, as he got older.

They settled in easily, Tobin's longer, broader form falling in around Maxwell's thin, graceful one as a sort of shelter. Bushmill, sensing it'd be quiet the rest of the night, laid back down on the windowsill and returned to his previous existence as a wooden pipe. The old rattler didn't need to be troubled with a heartbeat or breath when he wanted rest.

"Goodnight, I love you," Maxwell mumbled in a last, half-conscious thought as he pulled the covers up around them.

"Goodnight, we'll see," the barkeep responded, not one to hand out false hope.



~ Index ~
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Last edited on Mar 30, 2022 20:44:24 by Tobin
Many Mornings After

The morning rose without much fanfare, and the soft rays of light that drifted in through the thick canvas of the curtains stirred the old barkeep as they always did. The warm body tucked against his own was new, but not unwelcome. The faint damp patch where Maxwell's head laid against his chest told him enough of what the rogue had done his best to hide, no sobs or trembling to give away the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

It was a consideration and a half, about how to approach this. Maxwell didn't cry often, and he wasn't sure whether the pain of his injuries from the night before had caused it. The old barkeep wasn't anywhere near as charming as his compatriots either, he'd never needed to learn the soft words of diplomacy, hadn't used words of comfort more than once a year since Magdelina had passed. He was always better at actions, and that's what he decided on, among other things.

A kiss pressed to the top of Maxwell's head as he was hauled back up by the arms around his waist went over better than anticipated, as the rogue wrapped around Tobin once more, a choked sound coming out of him. The barkeep wasn't sure if it was protest or surprise, though Maxwell seemed to take comfort in being held a bit closer, a bit tighter, as he kept his eyes squeezed shut, and slowly but surely the tears waned. The sheet corner served as a good enough bit of cloth to wipe the last of them from Maxwell's cheeks.

The rogue eventually brought himself to crack his eyes open though they remained half-lidded, with tears or from the light seeping into the room the barkeep couldn't be certain. Not that they stayed open long, as all the tension ran out of him all at once and he'd tucked his head back against Tobin's chest before the barkeep could think to protest.

"Don't get rid of me just yet," Maxwell plead through trembling breaths, though he didn't seem at all capable of acting on such a request as he laid there loosely curled around the barkeep's broader frame. Tobin wondered how long he'd been crying, and why. He pulled the rogue closer as an answer to his request, and the faint notice of how nicely Maxwell fit against him there being held crossed him first as a passing thought and then all at once. He'd decided on an answer to the prior night's question.

"I won't," Tobin murmured as he ran a hand over Maxwell's back, hoping it felt as reassuring as it was intended to be. "I wouldn't have let you into my bed, to sleep next to me, if I intended to be rid of ya' the next morning," he continued, a quick glance sliding over the rogue's bandages. No new blood on them, one less thing to worry about. Maxwell nodded his response, seeming to shrink into the hold on him. Tobin wondered if the front of the bandages were as clean as the sides he could see.

"What's got you all shaken up?" the barkeep asked after a moment of laying there when the warmth had just about settled them both again. Tobin knew better than to get settled like that, at his age. Eternal life didn't mean his aching bones wouldn't bid him to sleep through the day.

"Can't think about getting tossed out again," Maxwell mumbled, sounding dangerously close to tears again. Though the barkeep wanted to know the expression on his face to understand him, he wasn't about to make the rogue talk about his griefs eye to eye and inches apart.

"I don't like the not knowing, the not knowing if this is the sum of all the nights I'm going to get with you after all these years and attempts and stumbling into your door, injured and broken and lost," came the shaky admission with the tears again, as Maxwell clung to him.

"When you're able to hear it, I can give you some of that knowing," Tobin offered as the rogue cried against his chest, though it calmed with every pass of fingers carding through the siren's hair. Eventually, a nod came along and Maxwell settled once more, hissing a bit of pain as he shifted wrong on his injuries.

"It won't be the last night, not unless you'd like it to be," he began, hoping it'd quell the siren's more immediate fears. "I can't promise it'll be easy, adjusting to this. I wouldn't claim much in the way of knowledge either, something about rust around the edges and being out of practice at this love endeavor. But I can give you that much, that I love you. I'm not a prophet, I can't predict any sort of forever and a week or some nonsense about love being undying like Ghalzari and Agaphia's sorts, but I can give you the here and the now, that I love you here and now. I don't see you as some broken thing in need of fixin' though, injured at the moment, but broken's a harsh word to use on yourself."

"I love you too," Maxwell whispered, wrapping around the barkeep in an embrace that was more squeeze than hug, legs tight around Tobin's waist and arms across the back of his neck. Tobin knew it had to hurt him, being angled like that with his injuries, but he made no immediate move to correct it. Pushing him off would send exactly the wrong message, pulling him further in could hurt him further. Tobin settled on the same old method, a gentle arm around Maxwell's waist and the other hand slowly carding through his hair. He couldn't help the small smile that formed on him when he felt a shy kiss pressed to his cheek.

"Do you think you can stay here today? I know the bar, but..." the siren trailed off, sounding almost too hopeful to turn down. Almost.

"I still have to work, if that's what you're asking," the barkeep said, sounding more resolved than he felt. Maxwell felt right, tucked up against him. "We can stay a bit longer though."

"Can I stay with you, in the bar?" Maxwell continued, hope still rampant. "I wouldn't get in the way, and, it's not like I have anything else worth doing, cut up as I am."

"Course you can, I wouldn't tell you not to stay in the tavern even if I didn't love ya'. Not a very good decision to be chasing off the regulars," Tobin laughed as he got out of the bed, Maxwell still wrapped in his arms being picked up without any noise or sign of complaint. He was lighter than Tobin remembered from the night before, now that he didn't feel nearly as exhausted.

"Could I borrow one of your shirts?" Maxwell mumbled, suddenly aware that his shirt had been cut away to stitch up his wounds the night before. It was colder, now that the fire had long since gone out during the night and the blanket had been pulled off of him.

"Sure can, don't know if it'll fit you very well," the barkeep replied, setting Maxwell down on top of the low dresser that sat beside the desk. His bandages didn't have much blood on them, all of it dried rather than new. They'd still need to be changed out though. "We should probably get to cleaning and changing those first though," he said with a gesture towards Maxwell's bandaged chest.

"I can do it myself, save us some time," the siren chirped, seeming to be in far better spirits than he had only half an hour before. Tobin nodded, grabbing his spellbook off the desk chair to summon up a bowl of water and a towel, something that got him an amazed look and a soft word of thanks.

The barkeep sifted through the spellbook again, mentally cataloging what he thought he'd need for the day. Basic spells first, like the one he used shortly after to get himself sorted for the day ahead before opening up the wardrobe to start rummaging through it. A simple linen shirt and vest pressed from being in a tight stack in the drawer. No magic needed to keep up appearances, really. He pulled out a spare shirt for Maxwell, turning to the siren to hand it off to him to see him struggling to redo the bandages without pulling the stitches out by stretching too far.

"Need a hand?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow as Maxwell continued to struggle. He knew the answer was yes, but he wasn't about to step on Maxwell's independence, knowing how much it meant to him to be able to care for himself.

"Please," the rogue replied, a bit sheepish. The barkeep gently wound and tied the bandages, careful not to make them too tight around the stitches. They were already starting to mend up, after a night. Still ragged at the edges, but it meant there wasn't any sort of mucking about on Hadrian's part. The man might've been the enemy but he wasn't cruel.

The barkeep didn't think much of being so close to Maxwell, they'd done this before after all. Maxwell had been injured before, come to him for help before, had needed help in the morning before. But Tobin hadn't come to terms with having wanted the same thing Maxwell had, all those times over all those years. He hadn't considered just how close they'd end up when he straightened out the bend in his spine from redoing the bandages. Hadn't considered the jump his heart would take, realizing he'd fallen in love again with the man whose face had ended up only a few hairs from his.

Maxwell, seemed to be more prepared for this than the barkeep was according to the hesitant, gentle kiss pressed to the corner of the scar that crossed his eye and the small smile that followed. An action to spark action, with the barkeep nowhere near as willing to play coy. A kiss pressed directly to Maxwell's lips, with the siren pulled into him. He hadn't realized how long he'd wanted, how many thoughts of how soft Maxwell's lips might feel against his he'd ignored, until the striking thought of how much better it was in reality.

"I couldn't explain how long I've wanted that," Maxwell mumbled as the kiss broke, a hand still clutching at Tobin's collar.

"You could always try," Tobin remarked, a sharp smile forming as he set the spare shirt down in the rogue's lap. The reminder of having nothing but bandages covering his torso was enough to flush Maxwell's cheeks a soft pink that the barkeep found perhaps a touch too pretty. It would take him a while to figure out why that was, shouldn't be too much to handle now. He'd been seeing it for years, but it was only something he'd linger on now? The barkeep tried not to think too much about it and the chances he'd just been ignoring it.

"I, I think it was the first time I stumbled into the door, back when I offered to give you anything for a room and a meal," the rogue began, keen to take him up on the effort. "I think it was when you gave me a dry set of clothes and a meal and a bed to sleep in, as long as I needed, you said. I offered again, in the morning, and you had me help Thais with the kitchen work. When you paid me for it and told me to keep the money and save until I didn't need the bed anymore. I started falling in love with you, back then. I told Estelle like I was on death row because I thought she was your wife back then."

"Estelle wouldn't marry me with a gun to her head and a sword at her back, after all she's had to deal with," Tobin laughed, a hand offered out to help Maxwell down from the top of the wardrobe that was gladly accepted. "I made a good decision back then, having you chop vegetables rather than sending you back out to the street to fend for yourself. You're better with a knife than you are on the streets, judging by your pay."

"I could always do more work for you," Maxwell said with a quick flicker of his eyebrows that had the barkeep rolling his eyes.

"Calm down there, no need to get ahead of yourself. We've got plenty of days and plenty of time to get there, but I've got work to do and I've claimed to love you for all of half an hour now. Besides, you're hurt and too reckless to manage your work," the barkeep replied, too much concern on his tongue for the insults to bite.

"I love you too, have for more than a half-hour. I don't mind you being a slow old man though," the rogue teased, getting his weapons back off the desk though he wouldn't really need them sitting at the bar staring.

"If I'm a slow old man, you ought to learn to respect your elders," Tobin remarked as he held open the door for Maxwell to go through, hoping Estelle and Camillus were late as always. He didn't need to explain his decisions to them before he'd figured out his story and how to stick to it. Something about intentions and actions, something else about being allowed to have a life outside of barkeeping.

"I respect you plenty," Maxwell chirped as he leaned up to steal another kiss on his way out the door, using the frame and the barkeep for balance. As he watched the rogue head down the stairs, not a creak sounding out of sneaky practices and sneakier habits, Tobin realized he could stand to get used to this.



~ Index ~
Tobin
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December 21, 2021 14:48:53
Many Mornings After

The morning rose without much fanfare, and the soft rays of light that drifted in through the thick canvas of the curtains stirred the old barkeep as they always did. The warm body tucked against his own was new, but not unwelcome. The faint damp patch where Maxwell's head laid against his chest told him enough of what the rogue had done his best to hide, no sobs or trembling to give away the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

It was a consideration and a half, about how to approach this. Maxwell didn't cry often, and he wasn't sure whether the pain of his injuries from the night before had caused it. The old barkeep wasn't anywhere near as charming as his compatriots either, he'd never needed to learn the soft words of diplomacy, hadn't used words of comfort more than once a year since Magdelina had passed. He was always better at actions, and that's what he decided on, among other things.

A kiss pressed to the top of Maxwell's head as he was hauled back up by the arms around his waist went over better than anticipated, as the rogue wrapped around Tobin once more, a choked sound coming out of him. The barkeep wasn't sure if it was protest or surprise, though Maxwell seemed to take comfort in being held a bit closer, a bit tighter, as he kept his eyes squeezed shut, and slowly but surely the tears waned. The sheet corner served as a good enough bit of cloth to wipe the last of them from Maxwell's cheeks.

The rogue eventually brought himself to crack his eyes open though they remained half-lidded, with tears or from the light seeping into the room the barkeep couldn't be certain. Not that they stayed open long, as all the tension ran out of him all at once and he'd tucked his head back against Tobin's chest before the barkeep could think to protest.

"Don't get rid of me just yet," Maxwell plead through trembling breaths, though he didn't seem at all capable of acting on such a request as he laid there loosely curled around the barkeep's broader frame. Tobin wondered how long he'd been crying, and why. He pulled the rogue closer as an answer to his request, and the faint notice of how nicely Maxwell fit against him there being held crossed him first as a passing thought and then all at once. He'd decided on an answer to the prior night's question.

"I won't," Tobin murmured as he ran a hand over Maxwell's back, hoping it felt as reassuring as it was intended to be. "I wouldn't have let you into my bed, to sleep next to me, if I intended to be rid of ya' the next morning," he continued, a quick glance sliding over the rogue's bandages. No new blood on them, one less thing to worry about. Maxwell nodded his response, seeming to shrink into the hold on him. Tobin wondered if the front of the bandages were as clean as the sides he could see.

"What's got you all shaken up?" the barkeep asked after a moment of laying there when the warmth had just about settled them both again. Tobin knew better than to get settled like that, at his age. Eternal life didn't mean his aching bones wouldn't bid him to sleep through the day.

"Can't think about getting tossed out again," Maxwell mumbled, sounding dangerously close to tears again. Though the barkeep wanted to know the expression on his face to understand him, he wasn't about to make the rogue talk about his griefs eye to eye and inches apart.

"I don't like the not knowing, the not knowing if this is the sum of all the nights I'm going to get with you after all these years and attempts and stumbling into your door, injured and broken and lost," came the shaky admission with the tears again, as Maxwell clung to him.

"When you're able to hear it, I can give you some of that knowing," Tobin offered as the rogue cried against his chest, though it calmed with every pass of fingers carding through the siren's hair. Eventually, a nod came along and Maxwell settled once more, hissing a bit of pain as he shifted wrong on his injuries.

"It won't be the last night, not unless you'd like it to be," he began, hoping it'd quell the siren's more immediate fears. "I can't promise it'll be easy, adjusting to this. I wouldn't claim much in the way of knowledge either, something about rust around the edges and being out of practice at this love endeavor. But I can give you that much, that I love you. I'm not a prophet, I can't predict any sort of forever and a week or some nonsense about love being undying like Ghalzari and Agaphia's sorts, but I can give you the here and the now, that I love you here and now. I don't see you as some broken thing in need of fixin' though, injured at the moment, but broken's a harsh word to use on yourself."

"I love you too," Maxwell whispered, wrapping around the barkeep in an embrace that was more squeeze than hug, legs tight around Tobin's waist and arms across the back of his neck. Tobin knew it had to hurt him, being angled like that with his injuries, but he made no immediate move to correct it. Pushing him off would send exactly the wrong message, pulling him further in could hurt him further. Tobin settled on the same old method, a gentle arm around Maxwell's waist and the other hand slowly carding through his hair. He couldn't help the small smile that formed on him when he felt a shy kiss pressed to his cheek.

"Do you think you can stay here today? I know the bar, but..." the siren trailed off, sounding almost too hopeful to turn down. Almost.

"I still have to work, if that's what you're asking," the barkeep said, sounding more resolved than he felt. Maxwell felt right, tucked up against him. "We can stay a bit longer though."

"Can I stay with you, in the bar?" Maxwell continued, hope still rampant. "I wouldn't get in the way, and, it's not like I have anything else worth doing, cut up as I am."

"Course you can, I wouldn't tell you not to stay in the tavern even if I didn't love ya'. Not a very good decision to be chasing off the regulars," Tobin laughed as he got out of the bed, Maxwell still wrapped in his arms being picked up without any noise or sign of complaint. He was lighter than Tobin remembered from the night before, now that he didn't feel nearly as exhausted.

"Could I borrow one of your shirts?" Maxwell mumbled, suddenly aware that his shirt had been cut away to stitch up his wounds the night before. It was colder, now that the fire had long since gone out during the night and the blanket had been pulled off of him.

"Sure can, don't know if it'll fit you very well," the barkeep replied, setting Maxwell down on top of the low dresser that sat beside the desk. His bandages didn't have much blood on them, all of it dried rather than new. They'd still need to be changed out though. "We should probably get to cleaning and changing those first though," he said with a gesture towards Maxwell's bandaged chest.

"I can do it myself, save us some time," the siren chirped, seeming to be in far better spirits than he had only half an hour before. Tobin nodded, grabbing his spellbook off the desk chair to summon up a bowl of water and a towel, something that got him an amazed look and a soft word of thanks.

The barkeep sifted through the spellbook again, mentally cataloging what he thought he'd need for the day. Basic spells first, like the one he used shortly after to get himself sorted for the day ahead before opening up the wardrobe to start rummaging through it. A simple linen shirt and vest pressed from being in a tight stack in the drawer. No magic needed to keep up appearances, really. He pulled out a spare shirt for Maxwell, turning to the siren to hand it off to him to see him struggling to redo the bandages without pulling the stitches out by stretching too far.

"Need a hand?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow as Maxwell continued to struggle. He knew the answer was yes, but he wasn't about to step on Maxwell's independence, knowing how much it meant to him to be able to care for himself.

"Please," the rogue replied, a bit sheepish. The barkeep gently wound and tied the bandages, careful not to make them too tight around the stitches. They were already starting to mend up, after a night. Still ragged at the edges, but it meant there wasn't any sort of mucking about on Hadrian's part. The man might've been the enemy but he wasn't cruel.

The barkeep didn't think much of being so close to Maxwell, they'd done this before after all. Maxwell had been injured before, come to him for help before, had needed help in the morning before. But Tobin hadn't come to terms with having wanted the same thing Maxwell had, all those times over all those years. He hadn't considered just how close they'd end up when he straightened out the bend in his spine from redoing the bandages. Hadn't considered the jump his heart would take, realizing he'd fallen in love again with the man whose face had ended up only a few hairs from his.

Maxwell, seemed to be more prepared for this than the barkeep was according to the hesitant, gentle kiss pressed to the corner of the scar that crossed his eye and the small smile that followed. An action to spark action, with the barkeep nowhere near as willing to play coy. A kiss pressed directly to Maxwell's lips, with the siren pulled into him. He hadn't realized how long he'd wanted, how many thoughts of how soft Maxwell's lips might feel against his he'd ignored, until the striking thought of how much better it was in reality.

"I couldn't explain how long I've wanted that," Maxwell mumbled as the kiss broke, a hand still clutching at Tobin's collar.

"You could always try," Tobin remarked, a sharp smile forming as he set the spare shirt down in the rogue's lap. The reminder of having nothing but bandages covering his torso was enough to flush Maxwell's cheeks a soft pink that the barkeep found perhaps a touch too pretty. It would take him a while to figure out why that was, shouldn't be too much to handle now. He'd been seeing it for years, but it was only something he'd linger on now? The barkeep tried not to think too much about it and the chances he'd just been ignoring it.

"I, I think it was the first time I stumbled into the door, back when I offered to give you anything for a room and a meal," the rogue began, keen to take him up on the effort. "I think it was when you gave me a dry set of clothes and a meal and a bed to sleep in, as long as I needed, you said. I offered again, in the morning, and you had me help Thais with the kitchen work. When you paid me for it and told me to keep the money and save until I didn't need the bed anymore. I started falling in love with you, back then. I told Estelle like I was on death row because I thought she was your wife back then."

"Estelle wouldn't marry me with a gun to her head and a sword at her back, after all she's had to deal with," Tobin laughed, a hand offered out to help Maxwell down from the top of the wardrobe that was gladly accepted. "I made a good decision back then, having you chop vegetables rather than sending you back out to the street to fend for yourself. You're better with a knife than you are on the streets, judging by your pay."

"I could always do more work for you," Maxwell said with a quick flicker of his eyebrows that had the barkeep rolling his eyes.

"Calm down there, no need to get ahead of yourself. We've got plenty of days and plenty of time to get there, but I've got work to do and I've claimed to love you for all of half an hour now. Besides, you're hurt and too reckless to manage your work," the barkeep replied, too much concern on his tongue for the insults to bite.

"I love you too, have for more than a half-hour. I don't mind you being a slow old man though," the rogue teased, getting his weapons back off the desk though he wouldn't really need them sitting at the bar staring.

"If I'm a slow old man, you ought to learn to respect your elders," Tobin remarked as he held open the door for Maxwell to go through, hoping Estelle and Camillus were late as always. He didn't need to explain his decisions to them before he'd figured out his story and how to stick to it. Something about intentions and actions, something else about being allowed to have a life outside of barkeeping.

"I respect you plenty," Maxwell chirped as he leaned up to steal another kiss on his way out the door, using the frame and the barkeep for balance. As he watched the rogue head down the stairs, not a creak sounding out of sneaky practices and sneakier habits, Tobin realized he could stand to get used to this.



~ Index ~
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Last edited on Mar 30, 2022 20:50:42 by Tobin
Mornings of Panic

The early morning sun made a good alarm clock, and the old barkeep rolled over to the bedside where his lover would be as he always was. Maxwell had a tendency to drift towards the window as the night went on, closer to the slight draft from it. He'd learned that over the two years they'd spent like this, learned that the best wakeup call for Maxwell was being pulled closer and held for a bit. A good habit for them both, really. This morning, his lover was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was work that had called Maxwell away, he tried to reason until he saw the hastily folded piece of parchment on the desk.
"Dear Tobin,

I write this, not to hurt you, but to give you some reassurance of where and why I've gone. I've fled Sonam for Bakhduat, to aid our old friend Arthur and the cause of his good friend, Ptolemy, in his war against Highcross and their imperialism in Oskrand. Understand that I've fought over this, that I didn't choose this for the war. I sided with liberty, and that's what I've gone to fight for. Tobin, I love you dearly, and my love for you is endless. I hope that you'll see I thought about this twice and that I've tried to find a route around this. I know your opposition to heading off to war, and I couldn't ask you to go, nor could I face you about my choice.
I love you, I'm sorry,
Maxwell"

He was gone, off to Oskrand. Likely already there. No stopping him, no changing his mind, and the barkeep wondered for a moment if he was even still alive. A simple spell fixed that notion, a glimmer of a soul still on the material plane, not yet having found its fate. But how long would that last? Maxwell wasn't strong or well-suited to the desert, he was a Marai, he wouldn't last long out of water or far from home. His heart might've been right, but the war didn't care about who was in the right. Highcross had more soldiers, more weapons, more money. It was a losing fight, Elizabeth was too smart to lose it unless she wanted to.

It meant losing Maxwell too, and for a moment the selfish thought struck him that at least this time, he didn't need to watch his lover die. The idea of it shook him, as he realized it meant Maxwell dying there alone out in the desert, far away from home and all who cared for him. Tobin looked over the letter again, as he tried to figure out the words to get Maxwell home again and realized there were none that would convince him that it was life over liberty.

The thought took him ten minutes of pacing before the barkeep was grabbing his spellbook and heading through the halls, informing guests they could leave or end up in Bakhduat. None stayed, save for Estelle, bless her soul. Camillus could figure out where they'd gone. It'd take him three spells to do what was right by Maxwell, far fewer spells than it'd take for Tobin to forgive himself if he didn't. One to find Maxwell, one to move him and Lady Estelle, and one to move the tavern.

All of them done in short order, he found himself confronted by two local fools who didn't know enemy from an ally, pointing swords at him as he took out into the street with Bushmill wrapped around his arm.

"You'll move along or be moved along," he stated plainly, already seeing Bushmill preparing a spell of his own to do the moving.

"Tobin?" shouted a familiar and welcome voice, dropping from the rooftops nearby and shoving aside the city guards. Bushmill could handle the two if they decided on being reckless, Tobin decided as Maxwell pressed up into his arms. He tried to ignore the tightness in his own grip on Maxwell, not liking the thought of how afraid he was to lose him already.

"Nothing you haven't seen before," Tobin answered with a bit more bluster than he felt, the guards having backed off at the sight of Maxwell. He'd already made a name for himself here, it seemed. The faint scales along the edge of his jaw shimmered in the light, and he found himself enthralled by how nicely he looked like this.

"Why did you come? You hate war," Maxwell mumbled, head already falling to press against Tobin's shoulder as he clung onto the barkeep.

"I love you more than I hate war," the barkeep said as he pulled Maxwell in against him, kissing the top of his head. "Besides, freedom's worth fighting for."

"I love you too," the rogue said, muffled against the barkeep. "Are you staying?"

"I'm staying, long as you are. Estelle is too, something about seeing the world," Tobin said, a brief flicker of wonder about whether or not they were causing a scene. He knew little, of what people here thought of gays.

"I've got a house if you'd like to stay there," Maxwell said as he leaned up to press a kiss to the side of Tobin's jaw.

"Suppose you don't need that bed anymore," the barkeep mused. "Course I'd want to stay with you though, I didn't come all the way here just to kiss you once and leave."

"Would you sleep with me tonight, just this once? Or more, if you like it," Maxwell whispered, still tucked up next to Tobin as his heart stopped up in his throat. He had to shove down the worry that still boiled up in the back of him, that Maxwell would have him and die the next day, or the next week. Two years in, he was still the same slow old man, worried.

"I love you," he started off, gently running a hand through Maxwell's hair. "I love you, and I think I'd want you. But I'll promise nothing, not so long before."

"I love you too, we'll see is better than we won't," Maxwell laughed, pressing another kiss to Tobin's temple, and suddenly the panic from the morning fell away. Maxwell was there with him once more, and Tobin would make sure he was safe.



~ Index ~
Tobin
467
635
271
2321
December 21, 2021 14:54:50
Mornings of Panic

The early morning sun made a good alarm clock, and the old barkeep rolled over to the bedside where his lover would be as he always was. Maxwell had a tendency to drift towards the window as the night went on, closer to the slight draft from it. He'd learned that over the two years they'd spent like this, learned that the best wakeup call for Maxwell was being pulled closer and held for a bit. A good habit for them both, really. This morning, his lover was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was work that had called Maxwell away, he tried to reason until he saw the hastily folded piece of parchment on the desk.
"Dear Tobin,

I write this, not to hurt you, but to give you some reassurance of where and why I've gone. I've fled Sonam for Bakhduat, to aid our old friend Arthur and the cause of his good friend, Ptolemy, in his war against Highcross and their imperialism in Oskrand. Understand that I've fought over this, that I didn't choose this for the war. I sided with liberty, and that's what I've gone to fight for. Tobin, I love you dearly, and my love for you is endless. I hope that you'll see I thought about this twice and that I've tried to find a route around this. I know your opposition to heading off to war, and I couldn't ask you to go, nor could I face you about my choice.
I love you, I'm sorry,
Maxwell"

He was gone, off to Oskrand. Likely already there. No stopping him, no changing his mind, and the barkeep wondered for a moment if he was even still alive. A simple spell fixed that notion, a glimmer of a soul still on the material plane, not yet having found its fate. But how long would that last? Maxwell wasn't strong or well-suited to the desert, he was a Marai, he wouldn't last long out of water or far from home. His heart might've been right, but the war didn't care about who was in the right. Highcross had more soldiers, more weapons, more money. It was a losing fight, Elizabeth was too smart to lose it unless she wanted to.

It meant losing Maxwell too, and for a moment the selfish thought struck him that at least this time, he didn't need to watch his lover die. The idea of it shook him, as he realized it meant Maxwell dying there alone out in the desert, far away from home and all who cared for him. Tobin looked over the letter again, as he tried to figure out the words to get Maxwell home again and realized there were none that would convince him that it was life over liberty.

The thought took him ten minutes of pacing before the barkeep was grabbing his spellbook and heading through the halls, informing guests they could leave or end up in Bakhduat. None stayed, save for Estelle, bless her soul. Camillus could figure out where they'd gone. It'd take him three spells to do what was right by Maxwell, far fewer spells than it'd take for Tobin to forgive himself if he didn't. One to find Maxwell, one to move him and Lady Estelle, and one to move the tavern.

All of them done in short order, he found himself confronted by two local fools who didn't know enemy from an ally, pointing swords at him as he took out into the street with Bushmill wrapped around his arm.

"You'll move along or be moved along," he stated plainly, already seeing Bushmill preparing a spell of his own to do the moving.

"Tobin?" shouted a familiar and welcome voice, dropping from the rooftops nearby and shoving aside the city guards. Bushmill could handle the two if they decided on being reckless, Tobin decided as Maxwell pressed up into his arms. He tried to ignore the tightness in his own grip on Maxwell, not liking the thought of how afraid he was to lose him already.

"Nothing you haven't seen before," Tobin answered with a bit more bluster than he felt, the guards having backed off at the sight of Maxwell. He'd already made a name for himself here, it seemed. The faint scales along the edge of his jaw shimmered in the light, and he found himself enthralled by how nicely he looked like this.

"Why did you come? You hate war," Maxwell mumbled, head already falling to press against Tobin's shoulder as he clung onto the barkeep.

"I love you more than I hate war," the barkeep said as he pulled Maxwell in against him, kissing the top of his head. "Besides, freedom's worth fighting for."

"I love you too," the rogue said, muffled against the barkeep. "Are you staying?"

"I'm staying, long as you are. Estelle is too, something about seeing the world," Tobin said, a brief flicker of wonder about whether or not they were causing a scene. He knew little, of what people here thought of gays.

"I've got a house if you'd like to stay there," Maxwell said as he leaned up to press a kiss to the side of Tobin's jaw.

"Suppose you don't need that bed anymore," the barkeep mused. "Course I'd want to stay with you though, I didn't come all the way here just to kiss you once and leave."

"Would you sleep with me tonight, just this once? Or more, if you like it," Maxwell whispered, still tucked up next to Tobin as his heart stopped up in his throat. He had to shove down the worry that still boiled up in the back of him, that Maxwell would have him and die the next day, or the next week. Two years in, he was still the same slow old man, worried.

"I love you," he started off, gently running a hand through Maxwell's hair. "I love you, and I think I'd want you. But I'll promise nothing, not so long before."

"I love you too, we'll see is better than we won't," Maxwell laughed, pressing another kiss to Tobin's temple, and suddenly the panic from the morning fell away. Maxwell was there with him once more, and Tobin would make sure he was safe.



~ Index ~
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Last edited on Mar 30, 2022 23:58:15 by Tobin
[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/25661486][img]https://i.imgur.com/ihaVK1n.png[/img][/url] [i]“He can switch from one view to another with frightening ease. I think it is a sign of being accustomed to such power that the truth does not matter because you cannot be contradicted.” - Anna Funder[/i][/center] [center][color=000000][font=Book Antiqua][size=5][size=5]Culpireal[/size] LE · Creation Deity · Angel He/Him/His Heterosexual[/size][/font][/color][/center] [center][color=000000][size=4][font=Book Antiqua]The first god, and first creature of this version of all creation. Culpireal was created by the Voidheart as a flawed ideal of power, and lived it through. Though he acted as creation and started it all, his abuses led to his end at the hands of his younger brother, Beathal, who slew him to begin The Fall of Heaven.[/font][/size][/color][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/KYTvx7G.png[/img][/center] [color=000000][size=4][font=Book Antiqua][color=transparent]XXXX[/color]Culpireal's beginnings were at the very beginning of this, the second to last, iteration of the universe. He was created as an imperfect vision of power - and under the ideal that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Culpireal began creation, left to his own devices by the Voidheart nearly from the moment of his creation. Beathal was his first creation, a brother made to stave of the loneliness of a solitary existence. [color=transparent]XXXX[/color]Together, Beathal and Culpireal created the first vision of Heaven: as the garden, Paradise. All plants and animals were found here, and it was in its creation Culpireal's first plan for the future of the universe. Verdancy and abundance was its goal, one that Culpireal readily accomplished. In the creation of life, Culpireal took little issue with its inevitable death while Beathal cared too much - a difference that led Culpireal to view Beathal as flawed and weak. [color=transparent]XXXX[/color]This view, that Beathal was weaker, lesser, drove Culpireal to attempt other creations such as Timaern, Tiamora, and his wife, Eraille. He became more lawful, focused on power and control. He began to abuse Beathal for his perceived flaws, and it was that abuse that prompted the creation of all archdaemons, soon to be known as the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Culpireal's evils spurred Seophokram and Verniu's hatred for his hypocrisy. His corruption became the food the demons fed upon. Locked in an eternal war against Hell, Abaddon, and The Abyss, Culpireal gave himself more and more power under the guise of protecting heaven, and the more power he gained, the more brutal he became. [color=transparent]XXXX[/color]It wasn't long before Timaern and Tiamora grew their own hatreds for Culpireal, formed from his constant suspicion of them both and his prejudices against Tiamora. Petram, his treasurer, he scorned again and again - refusing to acknowledge his work while removing his ability to do it well. Taurakis, an Archon, was another target for Culpireal's wrath for taking pride in teaching Beathal to use a sword. In hell, Matanbuchus had found Beathal after a beating and grew to hate and fear Culpireal for it. It was Matanbuchus's fear that drove Seophokram to hate, and in Hell, Seophokram and the newly banished Timaern formed a plan. It was on those hatreds that that plan, The Fall, was written, unbeknownst to Culpireal, though Beathal's vision for The Fall differed from the more reserved version created by Timaern and Seophokram. It was Culpireal's death that began it, killed by Beathal as justice for the millennia of abuse. When the Age of Omens began, he was killed again - resurrected only to be met again with Beathal's wrath, though this time Beathal spared no time explaining himself to the corrupt god. [img]https://i.imgur.com/B4ThU4L.png[/img] [columns][center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/71764116][img]https://i.imgur.com/KilKEQC.png[/img][/url][color=000000][font=Book Antiqua][size=5] Eraille Wife[/size][/font][/color][/center][nextcol][center][color=000000][font=Book Antiqua][size=4]The wife Culpireal created as a perfect companion for himself, he did, if nothing else, love his wife. Though he saw her as an accomplice who was meant to be subservient to himself, Culpireal ultimately treated Eraille as closely to his equal as any being got. Culpireal also rose Eraille to prominence by making her a deity of both motherhood and war - a companion to his own portfolio of creation and leadership. Together, they raised hundreds of children in their thousands of years, and Culpireal credited Eraille for the success of their children in supporting her place as a deity of motherhood.[/size][/font][/color][/center][/columns] [img]https://i.imgur.com/0HZzwKA.png[/img] [center][color=000000][font=Book Antiqua][size=5][size=5][u]Writing[/u][/size][/size][/font][/color][/center] [center] [/center] [center][color=000000][font=Book Antiqua][size=5][size=5][u]Humanoid Art[/u][/size][/size][/font][/color][/center] [center][color=000000][font=Book Antiqua][size=5][size=5][u]Dragon Art[/u][/size][/size][/font][/color][/center] [center][color=000000][font=Book Antiqua][size=5][size=5][u]Other Art[/u][/size][/size][/font][/color][/center] [center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/3079549#post_49657345]~ Index ~[/url][/center]
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“He can switch from one view to another with frightening ease. I think it is a sign of being accustomed to such power that the truth does not matter because you cannot be contradicted.” - Anna Funder

Culpireal
LE · Creation Deity · Angel
He/Him/His
Heterosexual

The first god, and first creature of this version of all creation. Culpireal was created by the Voidheart as a flawed ideal of power, and lived it through. Though he acted as creation and started it all, his abuses led to his end at the hands of his younger brother, Beathal, who slew him to begin The Fall of Heaven.

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XXXXCulpireal's beginnings were at the very beginning of this, the second to last, iteration of the universe. He was created as an imperfect vision of power - and under the ideal that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Culpireal began creation, left to his own devices by the Voidheart nearly from the moment of his creation. Beathal was his first creation, a brother made to stave of the loneliness of a solitary existence.

XXXXTogether, Beathal and Culpireal created the first vision of Heaven: as the garden, Paradise. All plants and animals were found here, and it was in its creation Culpireal's first plan for the future of the universe. Verdancy and abundance was its goal, one that Culpireal readily accomplished. In the creation of life, Culpireal took little issue with its inevitable death while Beathal cared too much - a difference that led Culpireal to view Beathal as flawed and weak.

XXXXThis view, that Beathal was weaker, lesser, drove Culpireal to attempt other creations such as Timaern, Tiamora, and his wife, Eraille. He became more lawful, focused on power and control. He began to abuse Beathal for his perceived flaws, and it was that abuse that prompted the creation of all archdaemons, soon to be known as the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Culpireal's evils spurred Seophokram and Verniu's hatred for his hypocrisy. His corruption became the food the demons fed upon. Locked in an eternal war against Hell, Abaddon, and The Abyss, Culpireal gave himself more and more power under the guise of protecting heaven, and the more power he gained, the more brutal he became.

XXXXIt wasn't long before Timaern and Tiamora grew their own hatreds for Culpireal, formed from his constant suspicion of them both and his prejudices against Tiamora. Petram, his treasurer, he scorned again and again - refusing to acknowledge his work while removing his ability to do it well. Taurakis, an Archon, was another target for Culpireal's wrath for taking pride in teaching Beathal to use a sword. In hell, Matanbuchus had found Beathal after a beating and grew to hate and fear Culpireal for it. It was Matanbuchus's fear that drove Seophokram to hate, and in Hell, Seophokram and the newly banished Timaern formed a plan. It was on those hatreds that that plan, The Fall, was written, unbeknownst to Culpireal, though Beathal's vision for The Fall differed from the more reserved version created by Timaern and Seophokram. It was Culpireal's death that began it, killed by Beathal as justice for the millennia of abuse. When the Age of Omens began, he was killed again - resurrected only to be met again with Beathal's wrath, though this time Beathal spared no time explaining himself to the corrupt god.


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Eraille
Wife
The wife Culpireal created as a perfect companion for himself, he did, if nothing else, love his wife. Though he saw her as an accomplice who was meant to be subservient to himself, Culpireal ultimately treated Eraille as closely to his equal as any being got. Culpireal also rose Eraille to prominence by making her a deity of both motherhood and war - a companion to his own portfolio of creation and leadership. Together, they raised hundreds of children in their thousands of years, and Culpireal credited Eraille for the success of their children in supporting her place as a deity of motherhood.

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Last edited on Mar 31, 2022 03:00:29 by Tobin
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