Severance

[Frostdrop1 1843]

 

Severance

Spoiler

 

Tipped one way, then the other, the red liquid in Reinhard’s glass sloshed freely. It was a lazy thing that lapped and oozed at the sides, and the sweet yet bitterly alcoholic aroma was practically a beg to be drunk. Ludvik Aniz. It was a kinder drink in some ways than the others. When he raised the glass and took a sip, he savoured the sourness and then the following sweetness. It was a moment he was taught to take, rather than rushing to forget the night.

Lowering the glass, the rust devil slid his gaze out to the street beyond the tavern arches. Every day seemed busy, and for the past year - or more, even - every day had been like a surreal night-terror. Loathing had boiled in his gut: a loathing of many things. Moreso, betrayal was always bitter. All his life, he was dirt - and he felt like it. No venire of charisma could lock the truth away forever. It could not change reality. He wasn’t worth the air he breathed. And so, for night after night he scratched and tore at his body. For night after night, he lost himself in the whimsy of ponderlot. For night after night, he drank until his body gave out. And so, after he bottomed out the glass he held, he slumped fourth and gave out.

 

---

The devil recoiled as fangs sank into his eye, a terrified shriek ringing out and bouncing across the walls and into the grand dome of the basilica. Whipping back, a pair of burning, thinned pupils of a familiar prussic viper glowered with a palpable repulsion. However, Reinhard was too busy stumbling back and then falling to his knees to care - gauntleted hands clawing at his eyes as a searing agony was branded into his very soul and a chunk torn away. It was a vile, sickening sort of feeling. Emptiness.

 

And in that moment, not only was the future he built for himself torn away, but so was his dignity - his pride. His connection to something more hopeful was severed, and replaced by heavier shackles than any of those with which he was born. No longer could he feel the tug of the realm he desired, and served. Anchored, he was, to that which he began.
 

Before him, as the devil was curled, and knelt, and wailing upon the floor as he begged for it to be taken back. That blue viper coiled about the shoulders of a man standing in half-plate: blue, and white, and gold. For a moment, his head tilted back as unblinking, mirror-like eyes scanned the light that trickled in from above. It was a beautiful sight. For every speck of colour in the basilica was alighted in bright hues, and the confetti of wedding-celebrations littered the floor. And resoundingly, the knell tolled. A curious hum sounded.

“If anything was watching, it didn’t seem to care.”

Callous were those words that regarded the devil, now as a broken thing. Perhaps the signs of that had always been there, that he was never regarded as much. Maybe it should have been noticed in how little time the man had spent with him, or maybe in how the man did not care for what path the devil chose, or maybe that he had never regarded him as human. Curling in a many-toothed grin, layers of needles sparkled in the pride of their act. He revelled in success.

 

The part of Reinhard that was lost was not only a physical thing, and not merely something of the soul. Deep within, that stern defiance of fate had shattered; some broken things cannot be repaired.

 

 

---

 

“Tell me you didn’t know!”  

 

The woman screamed at him - little, yet ever fierce. It wasn’t simple anger that ran through her, but fear and desperation. Meanwhile, the sable claws of the devil ran over the spine of a decorative book, withdrawing it gently from the shelf to distract his eye. Her tone grated on his ears, in something he desperately wanted to comfort. Except, it was not comfort he offered - but honesty.

 

“...Ich did.”

 

There was nothing he sought to hide from her. There was a kindness in it, to vulnerable things like them. It was something he chased all his life, yet never was he quite so brave as to take the plunge. Lesley, Reinhard was scared of his connections. Liewyn, he was scared would never see him the same. A part of him had always screamed to be honest, and yet Dima scared him so thoroughly with how she ran her mouth. Yet, he admired her tenacity. He always had. It inspired him, oftentimes and it had been many years. So many, many years. Surely, she had grown up.

 

And so, the devil was honest about all the things his younger self could never say. And he was honest, too, about the state of his being and what he had been twisted into. Except, it was only the past he let sit in honesty. Still, he thanked her for just knowing her, and promised that no matter what the future became, he would always be grateful to have known her. She did not understand, he knew. He could never make her understand what had truly happened. He could not make her understand the price he had paid now, and what it would inevitably cost no matter the path he walked next. She couldn’t possibly understand why he clung to Asahiko with all he knew. Yet, there was comfort in how things were, even if things would not work out. There was a security in how he understood her alone, and one, too, in a promise never to leave. It was a security that wouldn’t last. She would be well and stable in the life she had found, he was sure. He would see her off soon at her wedding, and all would be a final good memory. Maybe he would find a way to save himself. She trusted him, and he would try.

 

 

---

 

Only more tense did things grow in the meantime, as the devil was spotted with another in a quaint, little village. The Haensemen trotted up; scouring and questions began. Reinhard was awfully defensive. This little haven, which had always been a space for him to retreat within, was under scrutiny. This little place, which was vital to him. And everything felt horribly loud. 

He complained, he smiled, he answered what he was asked. A part of him felt scrutinized, too. Maybe he deserved that. Frustration grew and bubbled as he felt his worth questioned, until he turned to face the encroaching dame-to-be, Teodora, and her enquiry.

 

She spoke and strode forward; he spoke, and backed up.

 

“Vyr lying.” 

 

Only worse did the frustration become, a deep-seated inferiority playing dangerously on his mind. She was not wrong, though. She saw through his half-truths, and silver tongue. It couldn't be helped, how it was plated. He needed that tongue to survive. He had much to protect. His life, in that moment, was perhaps on the line - not that she would understand.

 

“Tell the truth!”

 

Only more did she press, and more did he retreat. Her tone was firm, demanding. She was offended by the inclinations of her mind to disbelieve him. It was callous, and cold. Her voice warped lower, and more calculating. His face ran warm and he could feel the ooze of it down his features, staining black. Then his back hit the ground; his breaths were huffed, shallow things. Others stepped in to break apart what had become an interrogation. There was no blood, nothing tugging on his heart other than his own fear. He was okay. 

 

Yet, she did not forgive him for what she saw, and what others did not. It was an impossible position to be in. He hollered back her lack of right. The rest of the patrol parted on an apology to him, and yet that did not repair the wound, nor the nagging alienation in his mind.

 

 

---

 

 

“You are barred from the wedding, and the Brotherhood will enforce it.”
 

Why? A meaningless thing, not voiced beyond the stare he gave the distant-flowing river. Maybe it was not important, why. If it was, surely someone would have said something earlier. Surely, he merited more than silence. Care, it had to go both ways, didn’t it? He had slotted his life into her hands. He had dug up the deepest layers of himself that he kept distant from all these normal folk. It was her he trusted; it was her he craved to tell. For her sake, he resolved not to approach her. It was her day.

Security was an addictive thing and yet he had become greedy with it. Life was sometimes kind enough to give you one chance, but it rarely found the generosity for two.

While he had resigned to step back, Dima would later approach him with Andrei. Asahiko, then, was settled on his other side. Split between two worlds, he turned to what he could trust - and left the city. While he fussed over the smaller devil, she approached regardless. Alone. She was fuming with him, at his questioning of Andrei. Some part of him was sorry for the offense, but he wasn’t sorry for caring.

“For what et’s worth, ich was happy with what ich heard.”

He told her instead, before he continued to dismally fuss over the green one. He already regretted it. Yet, there laid an agreement between them that he was to speak to her. This, he could do.

He wrote to her, and hoped to catch her. And then, maybe it would be well. Maybe, life was giving a second chance. He was embraced by others, and invited to hunt. He tried still; there was some hope, for something a little better.
 

 

---

 

A push at his back threw him back into the fight. He was weak, and tired. He hadn’t asked for a fight.

 

Ahead, a half-plated woman brought a blade around to crash towards Asahiko. In all reality, the green devil looked even worse for wear, bleeding and pale. Reinhard crashed into her, sending them both into the aviary stand - and birds were sent scattered, twittering. They were nothing but shrieking onlookers. At least they were lucky: they could fly to freedom. Once Asahiko was shoved back, a king grasped at his arm - to pull, and throw him back in. Yet, Asahiko couldn’t stand.

 

“Leave her alive.”

 

Came a voice without concern, in what was otherwise a losing battle made worse. Reinhard was left to grapple alone as the two clung bitterly, tensely, without much give between them. Once, twice, thrice a shield crashed into the side of his head, until his horn shattered and splintered. Black ran warm down his face. He had long since dropped his weapon, lost in the surprise of the fray. His claws outstretched to rake along her cheek and gouge for her eyes as she screamed for the kings. She screamed for severance. There came a fleeting thought then: was this what it took to be severed? Then, one of her eyes was gone - leaking not blood, but something acrid and alcoholic.

 

Behind, there was something of a muttering and a mocking. They were labelled as useless, those devils. Apathy stretched among the watching ranks - amusement, even.

 

Smoke encased the two - the devil coughing as he made a gambit for her other eye. A blind opponent would surely suffice for what was demanded. He might live; Asahiko might live, if only she was blinded. Her own blade struck fourth - and yet the gambit spared his life. The sword ripped shallowly through his gut as she wrenched back. Out of the smoke, she stumbled one way and Reinhard the other. He clutched for his side to stifle the ooze of black ichor.

 

There was a wave of laughter behind.

 

“Beaten by the useless devils?”

 

A voice chided, even if she wasn’t done. Somewhere behind, the fight was overtaken by a more capable party, and those two useless devils collapsed away from the scene.

 

 

---

 

Low spirits turned to despondence. The devil fell harder into drink and drugs to keep some spark to life. There were those that tried to help. He listened when they looked, and succumbed when they didn’t. It made them happy, he figured. They could feel like they were succeeding. Part of him felt it was a kindness to give them, and yet sometimes he couldn’t remember why he wanted to give them that kindness in the first place. Gradually, faces were becoming blurs. It was stress, he told himself. Yet, it never got better. And every day, in the back of his mind, there was a thought that nagged at him: he had forgotten something.

 

He bounced between fights, never fully picking them. The threat of death breathed down his neck, every waking moment. He was waiting for it. He wouldn’t have to face it, if he was drunk. Not really. It was anyone’s guess, which side it would come from. Time, it was ticking. He could hear it. Dima never grew up, and her lips never stayed sealed - his name spread to one that regarded him as filth. She knew what she was doing, surely. Every moment he spent at home, too, was a waking nightmare of insecurity - and so, there were times he didn’t return. Yet, every moment he spent with Asahiko was another in which he might be dragged off, or thrown into yet another fight. And every now and then, he heard of all the ungodly things some wished to do to him. Ignoring it could only get him so far.

 

And then, he was with that same blue and white and gold-plated man again. The very same who tore everything down, the very same who he didn’t believe in. The one who hurt him, the one who wanted to own him. It was his help that he took. An error, no doubt. Yet, he was raised to make that error again, and again, and again: to trust the things that hurt.

 

But life didn’t give third chances, either.

 

 

---

 

Settled in a basement-room, a little devil played. Pale, orange hand moved soldering figurines to attack one another, blackened claw-tips grasping each toy tight. From his mouth came a kssh! As pretend shields clashed. Each hand bore a figure then, raised as his thin pupils slid to the door with a gleaming, fanged grin. It was as if he expected someone to come and play too. Perhaps Verena would come and lean down over his game and ask what he was playing or, Siegmund would come and ruffle his hair. No one entered. Lowering his hands, he more gently knocked the figurines together, eyeing them in a quiet loneliness.

Flickering aside, his look trailed up to the grate of the street. A single, lone window. Barred. Scampering up and across, a stool was dragged into place by a practiced hand. One day, he would be tall enough to reach outside. Sometimes, he could see if he jumped. That was exciting, when he caught sight of someone. He imagined they would stop, and they would be let in to play. Or maybe, just maybe, he could go out to freedom.

 

When he jumped, foot-falls stilled outside and a shadow cast within.

 

“Must we? That - thing - is down there.”

 

A voice. Familiar. High and frail and young. Despite the words, he wanted to reach.

 

“Come on, you never know. It might be friendly.”

 

That voice? He wasn’t sure. Lower, harder. More miserable.

 

“A little monster like that? Never.”

 

What reach he did make, he pulled back. Claws drummed, before he whipped in a turn to hop from the stool and abandon the voices. To run from them. Except, when his gaze fell into the room he was no longer alone.

Varon blocked the path out, and so did Dima. Each seemed to scowl, before both spat upon him.

 

“You wish to be friends with her?”

 

A spiteful fist found the little devil’s nose. It crunched, and bled and his eyes watered. And they laughed. He murmured out something affirmative, before his gaze scoured for an exit - somewhere else to flee. Bitterness and hurt welled, though he couldn’t quite understand the sharp feeling of betrayal. In his hesitance, Dima shoved him one way - then Varon the next. Then, he was upon the ground. Every scrape, and kick, and wrench of his horn was a palpable one. It was tiring, and it hurt. They beat into his side, and the arms that protected his face, and stomped on his flickering tail. Eventually, the cornered creature he was, he lashed out. Claws wrenched down Dima’s leg - red blood was drawn - then blackness fell.

 

His gaze fluttered open in the dark.

 

“Reinhard.”

 

A soft coo, his father’s voice. In the distance, he was illuminated - and towards him the devil ran. No leg was long enough, for no closer did he come. Further away even, until the shape morphed. Then, it wasn’t his father - but a snake. It raised high, and tall, before its eyes rolled in its head to set upon the devil. Prussic blue scales shimmered before a hundred-thousands eyes snapped open along its body. Each rolled in a sickening tilt, before snapping to the devil. It poised to strike.

 

He ran.

 

Except, they coiled at his feet: little snakes. They tied his ankles like laces, knotting his legs together until his momentum brought him down to collide with the ground, settling among the snakes which writhed there, and pinned him down. More gathered, like cuffs to lock him down. He panicked, and screamed, and cried for help - until there was a weight lunged upon him, a crunch - and black.

 

Shuddered breaths were taken as he awoke next, clamped in the monstrous wing of something which held him ever so close. One might call it an embrace, and one might think it calm. He could only liken it to the Great Beast he once served - and in that, there was comfort. Maybe it was them, similar as it was. Yet, as his gaze scoured above there was something intangible and unknowable about what grasped tightly around him. The single claw ran across him.

 

He was mocked. Drugged. Carved to pieces.

 

He grasped, brought back into its embrace. His clawed hands grasped for it as some kind of anchoring life-line from the eternity that flashed before him. A soft voice filled his mind.

 

“My child, what is it you seek of me?”

Again, the claw dragged along him as if a comforting caress. It brought nothing but a twisted amalgamation of experiences, of which he could not differentiate reality from sophistry. A hundred-year hell forced into his otherwise mortal mind.

 

Eaten. Abandoned. Executed.

 

“To - escape this - all this.” 

 

He quickly rushed out, once returned to an awareness of the embrace. His head tilted back in some exhausted defeat that chipped away at his very being. This? A vagueness. Reality was an idea, more than a truth. Everything that happened was all some conjured idea. He wanted to escape the experience, yes. But this? He wanted to escape it all - all the hurt.

 

“You need only speak the words.”

 

It was a promise, spoke with a voice old and all-knowing, terrible and comforting. Its claw shifted.

 

Forced to fight. Beaten. Drowned.

 

“Please - just take et.”

 

Anything, to be free.

 

Standing together afterwards, Reinhard and the man were at a distance - and at odds. Every step Reinhard took away, he followed. And as Reinhard sought water, to wash out the ichor that coated his being, he came to stand by the water reservoir. Yet, he couldn't take the plunge. He came to stop behind him, like a shadow.

 

“It changed me, too.”

 

 

---

 

When he came to, in some delirious state, twitchy and aggressive, he marched his way far away. Home, to quell his child. To comfort the little, fragile thing while he snapped at everything else. She was the hope and dream of a family, and yet more secrets and lies were poured into his ear. Something else, hidden. Something else, betrayed. Yet, he held himself together by a thread for her sake.

And then he retreated to Valdev, away from the children. Away from home, and those who he had some desire to protect from himself. There was a crowd he pushed through. He drank something strong; it burned. Yet, he wasn’t alone.

Do you feel sorry for yourself?
 

There was some mention of Dima, some celebration.
 

You probably shouldn’t be here, you know. They’re watching. It’s that look.

He raised his glass in solidarity.

 

Oh, you are a sweet thing. She’s working against you. You know it, don’t you?

 

 And then he passed out with a thunk against the counter. 

 

 

---

Wake up. They’re here.

A grogginess took his form as there was a touch at his shoulder. Lizardly pupils slunk back to Varon.

 

A knife. He’s got a knife.

 

Pupils thinned. And the devil lunged around, to launch a kick into the ankle of Varon. Drunken and uncoordinated, nothing much happened aside from the baron walking himself away and a roused stirring of bodies at the commotion. With a hand to his temple, Reinhard raised to run himself out, tripping and stumbling over the stools. A sorry sight, he’d made of himself. He just needed to forget, for a little while.

 

Oh my, did you fall for that?

 

He muttered curses and slurred names under his breath, barely managing to get himself down the street before he collapsed into a heap, talking to himself under his breath as claws grasped at his head. And yet, he wasn’t truly speaking to himself.

 

You are rude. I helped you. If you weren’t such a lout, you could look out for yourself.

 

His mouth shut to silence. As Kazimir came. Despondent was the devil, who didn’t truly want aid. Alone. He wanted to be alone.

 

You’ll never be alone.

 

She talked in his ear, and he scratched at it - though it did not help. Ser Andrei rounded the corner, as did Varon. There was some polite exchange with Kazimir, as the devil raised to his feet and grasped to the wall for support. Part of him wanted to just beg Kazimir to stay, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything.

 

They’re here to finish the job.

 

“Should I got and teach him, borsa?”

 

See? They’re like vultures.

Kazimir and Varon departed, to leave the two to their talk. The trailing gaze of the devil flitted after his family, before settling into defeat.

 

“Do you favour Dima?”

 

She sent them. I told you, she was working against you, didn’t I? She’s playing them all.

 

The devil raised his head, and it shook. Signing followed, a silent exchange that Andrei seemed to grasp. Some tired exhaustion Reinhard  held, scrunched aside to the wall like some frightened animal. No words were to be said otherwise. There was nothing to say. It read on the man like daylight: he didn’t believe him. There came a bitterness to the devil’s throat.

 

“Stay away from her, Reinhard. From our family, or vy will pay the price. She doesn't want to see vy, or vyr drunkeness. Ea'll string vy up by the neck.”

Lucky. A chance. Take it.
 

There was a step fourth, and a pat to the belt. The devil made no contest. The voice rasped in frustration, before it dulled to silence. He refused the aid that Kazimir brought. He lashed against an olog that dared to touch him, gouging claws against its skin - and then it dropped him.

 

Go, now. Get out, before they come back.

 

And in his drunken state, finally did the devil turn to run. Out, he stepped from the city and he didn’t look back.
 

 

You see? You can trust me.

 

 

[KillerMaid 636]

Malna Loa'chil knew almost nothing about Reinhard's life now. Perhaps that was a good thing? Perhaps it was bad. All she could ever remember was a feral little boy with a love for chocolate. One who soon warmed up to her, called her auntie, and made her so proud. He reminded her of all the good Marus tried to achieve. 

 

Something had.... changed within Reinhard when he got older. She had no clue what but he felt different. She thought that perhaps it was just the actions of the world, and set about baking the man a cake. He always loved chocolate cake.

 

"He shall be fine... I'm sure"

 

She didn't want him to become what she feared most, so she refused to believe he would ever do anything wrong. She had a balance between her life in Haense and elsewhere. She cannot let it come crashing down. She can't run from another family. So she bakes, humming a tune and waiting to see Reinhard with a smile.

[Cheese 8883]

A woman with a cursed child of her own kept busy. When her daughter was born, she near immediately thought of Reinhard. She invited him to visit, and it was nice to see him all grown up and doing 'well'. It was good to catch up, and feel less afraid to rear her own devil-borne.

 

Even with her daughter toddling around as a five year old now, Juniper still found herself thinking of Reinhard on occasion. She remembered him as a little boy, excited to receive so much as a star-shaped sticker, and she was filled with hope for herself and for him now that he was grown.

 

She hoped he was doing well, even if she did not see him so frequently anymore. She hummed within her small but private sanctuary in Petra. Few feelings were as horrible as feeling so alone in a world so cruel to those not like the rest.

 

"I wonder how he's doing."

[kuebiko 684]

Companionship.

 

Almost twenty years ago, for the first of many times within the green devil's life, a place became distinctly un-home. That the attic he had been invited to sleep in by his best friend became a place of nightmare. For the first time, he had almost managed living around other people rather than in the depths of ruins or outskirts. Chased out by people he wanted to know, from a place he wanted to live. It wasn't like Reinhard didn't know this had happened. He knew that day the letter was sent that he was writing to the scorned. To the one meant to be shunned. 

 

So why did he keep writing? It wasn't one letter, not two letters, not three letters, but real conversations coming from some fretful devil he hardly knew. Every time a bird came to the green devil it came with wonder and bafflement. It was like he found a stray cat and kept going to feed it. Asahiko would stand there in Amathine, letting his world get a little bit bigger. And at some point it changed to the stray cat waiting to climb out from the shadows to see someone, no food nor reward needed to lure him out. 

Over time it only worsened. Kindness shown over, and over, new homes given - new homes lost, but now he wasn't lost alone. 

 

---

Even in the best home came an awful memory that occasionally tugged to the back of his mind. One of so few lies he had told to Reinhard. Told in a panic as he squirmed across the floor of a small shack underneath until he was forced still. And even then, white hair had been pulled at until it bled black with the acknowledgement of what he did. What he had done, that could not be reversed. But it was always going to happen someday. 

"Nie - Ich played nie part in et. None. Tell me ich didn't, Asahiko"

That man, who wasn't afraid to hurt his own child, who had cornered both of them seconds after teasing them. It was his fault a trembling house of cards fell down. A different instance where he had almost lost the light of his life. Where a blade was pointed to Reinhard and the green devil did nothing but stare in horror, frozen to fear itself with a quiet anger. He was about to watch it get snuffed out, wasn't he? Too weak to do a thing. Too indecisive to even know what to try. And so did the pile of regrets stack higher, and higher.

 

When the larger devil's safety was guaranteed, when he had been given a rest, an ill-fated letter arrived. It's always a letter. A calling to one of so few who saw worth in a lost devil, and thus he answered it. And there, a card depicted what he had been doing hours before. Cowering, lowly, powerless. She promised it didn't have to be that way. Not only that, but this was how it'd change. The card could be flipped and the world could be commanded.

How could he refuse that in a moment of distress? A weapon that worked against everyone, that would work even against him. A weapon that would protect him, and who he wanted to keep. A tool for power. To most of the village warlock's dismay, the laughably weak had become one of them. 
 

---

Asahiko took the fall first, knowing the one dearest to him thought honesty to be a necessity. A faux friendship fostered to make sure that he would be okay. He hadn't a word to say to Dima the day she took him to Kovsgrad. To be frank, she scared him. Her kindness and how she knew how to make herself vulnerable, and still retain command. Still, it was a risk he was fine taking even in an injured state. He would taste normal friendship with a cup of hot cider and ""housemagery"". She would indulge a humorous conversation of being short, and how it felt to love.

Until suddenly it was neither of which as the veil slipped. It was fighting, ushering to try and get the normal to understand the hated. Ultimately a plea for her to know not to hurt him too. 

When that devil was spotted in the quaint little village, who had defied him to stay outside, horribly disoriented? Asahiko. He watched Teodora with that deep, hiding hatred. She dared to sully the best thing in his life before him in her maddened yellings and yodeling. That flash of watching him be cornered again, yet this time he was a breath away from fighting again. She was not forgotten, and not forgiven either.

The useless devils. A distinct plurality. The two of them could only dream of taking the world on together, and yet how lucky he was to know in a fight his back was covered. The weak were picked upon until they could be picked apart, he had fought for every painful breath taken to pull Reinhard aside to where safe could be only to collapse. He didn't want a world without the other. 
 

---

 

And where did that rust devil end up that fateful night? When the world had finished turning it's back, one, lone thing stuck in some dark corner- unable to even fathom leaving it, waited. Waited, and waited, and waited. Whatever lurked in that darkness was always happy to see him. Always trying to stick to him like a second half. But that stray, that useless devil, was constrained by weakness no matter how often he fought it. Whatever strength he had that evening was spent cradling the broken thing into comfort and stop the shaking. It didn't matter how drunk he was, how he couldn't even make a coherent sentence. Blankets wrapped over him until he could be the one hiding. And for worse, he liked it. He liked being the one to care for the other. He liked how Reinhard ran home to him. More than ever did he want to follow what Deia did, to set something gentle on his forehead. That perhaps he could be nestled into the delusion of together. An unspoken love fostered over and over. The awful tangle they were in, only growing messier.

For every time one devil said "We're staying"  the other had his own favorite phrase, "Et's ordak." '

 

Those two phrases must've been the only truth to his world. A promise of companionship, and a promise of stability. 

 

Spoiler

what an incredible post frost. i couldnt get this to format. 

 

[sapphic_spidy 1089]

A man with only two interactions with Reinhard to speak of doesn't think of him that often. It's the others he thinks of- all the time. How can he be the figure he needs to be in a kid's life, how can he tell the kid all he needs to say?

 

You have been kind to me.

A cursed woman said to him.

Why do you stay with them?

A cursed woman asked of him.

What do you say when they-

 

God, enough already.

 

He doesn't need an answer to everything. He doesn't. Because he knows no one would like his selfish reasonings, and normally, that's not a big deal. He doesn't like that sometimes it feels like one. It feels like a big deal. His empathy extends beyond the two he'd like to live some fantasy of family alongside- that woman and her son- and he doesn't know what to do with this. What does he do with this? 

 

Are you sure this place is safe. Are you sure. Are you sure. Are you sure. Are you sure. Are you

 

He asked twice. Once each interaction with Reinhard.

Reinhard said yes.

 

Keep him away from his father.

******* left her all alone

liar, liar, liar,

 

Why is it so hard to turn off the thoughts.

He does think about Reinhard. He does wonder how the man is doing. 

Sure, it's out of utility. Reinhard is useful. But at least he can say it was never malicious. 

 

A man has made many mistakes.

A man has let fantasy go in a direction it shouldn't have, making him believe he was truly cold and that that was truly alright. There was something dangerous about living life as he had. 

 

God, enough already.

[ProcaPro 557]

Grae had found herself in Haense again, like she had so many times before. Road weary and lost as ever she'd come to Valdev, she'd made a beeline for the tavern. She wanted to try something new.
 

When she'd reached past a particular red devil, muttering her apology, she hadn't quite intended to converse with the man. Only to have some whiskey, and drink away the feeling that something, someone was missing that in the moment she couldn't quite remember. Someone in Valdev, someone she greatly cares for. The forgetting had always put her on edge, and the whiskey was the medicine of the day for that edge, until the memory came back. If it did. Grae had dropped herself near to Reinhard and had made some small talk. Then apologies, for the last they met, then a discussion on morality and curses. She'd noticed the man was missing a chunk of his horn, but she'd forgotten to bring it up.

Then they'd parted, Grae with her whiskey out the tavern, Reinhard right where he was before. She couldn't remember what they talked about, only that it hadn't been without an amicable nature. Maybe it would come back, maybe she could visit again.

The next Grae thought of Reinhard was when she was with her sister, receiving news, and it wasn't quite as amicable a thought as the last time.