judgementor | [Hadriel IC Inbox]

Monsters from this world are attacking people here.

( And, once everything is said and done, there's no one else he'd consider discussing this with. )

So it would seem.

We need to do something, Red Wine!

( Ideally something which involves him sticking his swords in all of them, but he'll also take letting Red Wine do so. )

'Do something'. I've always said you make a wonderful tactician.

Did you have anything less vague in mind?

Edited (better words) 2019-01-23 18:48 (UTC)

( It's easier on Tierra, because they have modes of transport and the landscape generally has more than two identifying features. But even there, Steak can't say he'd exactly want to waste a load of time trying to hunt down Fallen Angels. Eliminating them and other threats, sure, but hunting them down takes time away from other possible disasters.

And if he knows anything, Steak knows that there's always another disaster. )

The same thing we do when we search for a Fallen Angel, of course. Find out what we can.

( Unfortunately, these things don't seem to manage the same level of wanton destruction or obvious trails that Fallen Angels generally do. )

I see.
And you've already volunteered us for this task, I assume, without consulting me first?

[It would be completely typical if he had...]

Hmph. There's no one we need to ask.

( He's just saying. They can just. Go. )

Missing my point, as usual.
You might have thought to ask me.

That's what I'm doing.

( He can go alone, if he has to. )

Is it?
You have very peculiar ways of asking me questions.

[As if he's going to say 'no', but they can't possibly have a conversation without it being an argument.]

Is it my fault you can't understand the beginning of a discussion?

( Especially not in this city, it seems. )

I don't believe you understand what a discussion is, Steak. Would you like to start over?

( Steak is rolling his eyes at his phone right now. )

What do *you* want to do, bastard?

( How does someone make acquiescing sound so confrontational via text? IDK but Steak sure can do it. )

[From Red Wine's end, there's only silence for several minutes. An indication that he is typing something appears and disappears a few times.]

Whatever we do, we do it together. I'll not have you running off by yourself again to get injured by those things.

( He still doesn't see what the big deal was. He was doing what he had to do, and the risks are just part and parcel of that. He's always accepted it. )

I wasn't alone. Nor were we seeking those things out when we encountered them.

That's hardly the point.

[Of course he doesn't see what the big deal is. Because he's an idiot.]

( Well, yes. )

Then what is?

I made a promise to look after you and being here does not relieve me of that.

You weren't here when it happened.

( Which is obviously also the point. Why is Red Wine so bothered about something like that? )

And now I am. Did you think a brief absence from your side would make any difference in the present?

Of course not!

( It's one of the few things he accepts and respects about Red Wine. The bastard is unexpectedly loyal, diligent in maintaining his vows. )

Good. Perhaps there's more hope for you than I thought.

...Asshole.

( There are many types of arguments and sometimes, Steak thinks he and Red Wine have had each of them. But this ongoing silence is a far cry from the litany of yelling and bickering, a million miles from their usual method of solving everything with physical confrontation.

Steak manages to deal with it for a week after they return to Hadriel before it annoys him too much and he decides to be mature about the whole thing.

... Just kidding. He decides to attempt to annoy Red Wine into doing something, anything other than moping around silently, staring at him like a particularly moody dog. He slams doors too hard and thuds around the house as though attempting to break it, or check whether the gods are trying to bring any objects back to life.

It isn't until he's chewing — too loudly — on a sandwich that Steak has had it, officially, with Red Wine ignoring him. )

Are you going to say anything?

[Red Wine is certain that they have never argued like this. Arguments between he and Steak are always vocal, physical, bright flares of light between clashing personalities. Never this stoic, dragging silence hanging between them.

He's perched in a chair, by the window but not in any direct light (deliberate, that) and skimming idly through a book when Steak speaks up. The book is nonsense, of course, but he does wonder if he might find anything at all of use within its pages. Steak has been trying to get his attention for days, and he hasn't been blind - or deaf - to it. The baleful glares, the slamming doors... everything designed to draw his irritation. For a change, he hasn't been rising to it.

No, he hasn't, because he still sees what happened between them every time he closes his eyes. He can still remember the rush of adrenaline and hatred and rage and the very, very real urge to hurt this person that he had once sworn to protect. He had felt himself losing control, losing himself, and nothing has ever frightened him more.

When he replies, it's without looking up.]

What are you expecting me to say?

( For the love of—

Frustration builds in Steak's throat and he doesn't manage to bite back the growl as he leans into Red Wine's space, hands on either of the armrests (and the crumbs of his sandwich going all over the upholstery), effectively pinning Red Wine in. )

Anything—. ( Something other than this weighted silence, it isn't right on Red Wine, who always has some jibe about how uncouth Steak is, or some comment or quip coming from the unshakable superiority complex he totes around. He'd like a thank you, but Steak isn't stupid enough to believe that will ever be on the table between them. So he'll settle.

Just— be a dick again, Red Wine. )

Anything?

[Finally, he looks up from the pages. He looks up and he meets Steak's eyes with a smouldering fire glowing in his own, the heel of his hand hitting the other Soul's chest sharply as he pushes him back.]

Do you even understand why I might not want to speak to you, Steak? Why I might not want to look at you? Can you actually conceive of anything outside of your own narrow view of events?

[He doesn't expect Steak to fully understand. No, because he's always thought it was ridiculous. He doesn't expect that, but he did expect better than this.]

( That reaction strikes a match, a fire, but that's far more normal than the frost that's been hanging over the house for the past few days. Steak would rather Red Wine was yelling, that they both were.

That's normal. And there's so few things about this city that really are normal — from the architecture to the variety of people and everything regarding the natives — that fighting monsters and arguing with Red Wine is a blessed reminder of his purpose as a Food Soul.

It still exists here, even if nothing else of Tierra does. Even if these beings they call gods have abilities which forced them uncomfortably close to a reality Steak has long denied ever truly being possible.

Not again. One close call was one too many. )

So you'll sit and mope? ( They've always disagreed on these sorts of things. Steak just wants to keep moving. They've made it through this, like they've made it through everything before it, why keep that weight around? Why dwell on it? )

I did what I promised I'd do.

( He went along with the transfer and saved Red Wine. He'd think that was enough. )

You think that's what I'm doing? [He doesn't shout. His voice is careful, measured, almost quiet and he keeps his eyes steady on his fellow knights' face.

Steak doesn't understand. He's never understood this.]

You saw the influence of this place almost drive me to-- [Red Wine cuts himself off, jaw snapping closed with an audible click of teeth. Duty. That's all it is to him, isn't it. Duty and what he's promised to do, and nothing else matters.

Shallow. Stupid.]

You think I'm sulking. You're ridiculous.

( He did, but they've never seen eye to eye here. Many would think they've never seen eye to eye on anything, but those people would be wrong. It's simply that their agreements are often unvoiced, natural, as obvious as the colour of the sky or the purpose of a Food Soul. Their disagreements are the things which need to be voiced, to be fought about until they can come to a mutual conclusion.

But Red Wine isn't wrong. Steak has never understood this, because the potential of becoming a Fallen Angel, of the coin flipping, has always been a million miles away from actually happening. He would never let it happen to himself, and obsessing over a possibility is useless when there are things to be done.

It's just... it isn't simply a possibility now, is it? Whatever these beings are capable of doing, they did to Red Wine. Even Steak has to admit that.

He exhales, a huff of breath through his nostrils like the animal responsible for his food, and pinches the bridge of his nose. )

As long as I'm here, that won't happen. ( These are the kind of words that might have been said softly to Madam or his Attendant, but to Red Wine, they're ground out, an admission as grating as everything about the other Food Soul is. God— ) Haven't I done so before?

( That time Red Wine gave into his bloodlust, when he so nearly lost it. Steak was there, as he is now. And as he always will be. )

[Their agreements are ones better left unvoiced, after all. Acknowledging that there are some things on which they are in full alignment would only be a reason for further arguments.

Steak doesn't understand. He never has and it has never been more of a source of frustration to Red Wine than it is in this moment. After what Steak saw, and knowing what this place can all too easily do to him, he would still act as if it's something inconsequential.

Idiot.]

That was different. It was different, and you know it. [His teeth grit as he says that. How dare Steak bring it up now?]

No alien force manipulated my weaknesses then.

( Perhaps not inconsequential, not any more, but certainly not worth this apparent brooding Red Wine seems to want to honour it with. It happened, and it was brought to an end. The world moves on. Tierra moves on, as does this city they find themselves in now. Perhaps some day in the future these arrogantly self-titled "gods" will attempt such a foolish move once more...

But Steak believes — no, he knows — they'll handle it. One way or another. That is the one irrefutable truth of their duet, moreso than even the arguments: Together, they can shatter any obstacle. Whether that obstacle is these so-called gods or Red Wine's own mind, there are ways to defeat them.

And perhaps, just perhaps, it's this stubborn, unvoiced belief of Steak's which leaves him so prickly at Red Wine's reaction, that wordless how dare he showing in his expression as Red Wine fights against him. (But, for once, without touching, and Steak thinks this might be the longest they've gone in an argument without attempting to attack one another—

It's unnerving.) )

Red Wine— ( It's something they're so used to now: when Steak is at a loss for words, he growls out Red Wine's name, or simply You—!

But this time, here and now? It isn't simply a growl, isn't simply anger, instead tied up tightly in some lost, impotent frustration. He can fight Fallen Angels, monsters, so called gods, he can even fight Red Wine when in the throes of rage, but he can't fight Red Wine's battles for him.

He can't fight whatever Red Wine keeps clinging to. And God (their God, the real God, the one that fell into slumber so long ago) only knows he's tried. He's spent decades, centuries, even, treating this idea as something that doesn't need to be thought about, and he thought Red Wine had too. )

These things — these so-called gods — won't make you a traitor. I won't allow it.

( He can hear movement. As a matter of fact, he's been hearing movement for the last few minutes, and it's finally enough — when combined with the awkward position he's rolled into, his horn skewering a pillow awkwardly — to bring Steak around to a grumbling, puffy-eyed wakefulness.

That bastard— Steak ought to give him a piece of his mind.

Which is exactly what he is going to do, marching to the door, turning the handle and... realising he should pull some pants on before he does that.

...

...Okay. That's sorted. Now. To yell at Red Wine. )

Are you ever going to sleep?!

( It's bellowed wildly as he bursts out of the bedroom door, Steak very sure that it was worth leaving his bed, hair sleep ruffled, eyes bloodshot, and entirely topless, to start a fight.

...Ay. )

Edited 2019-04-28 19:55 (UTC)

[He's being quiet. There is some awareness that it's very, very late and he doesn't go about making noise to wake Steak up on purpose, but evidently his efforts are not quite enough and he hears the other Soul moving before he bursts into the room.]

Keep your voice down, you brute, we have neighbours. [He mutters waspishly, sitting down on the couch with the cup of black tea he had been making all that noise preparing. Both hands curl around it, the cup brought up for a deep inhale.]

I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Is that a problem?

( Look right here, Red Wine, you know Steak enjoys his sleep almost as much as you. It's Gingerbread who's the true morning person among the three. He's grumpy as anything at being woken up after so little sleep and even more so at the belated realisation that even Red Wine isn't trying to wake him up. It was just his own body being overly attentive, twitchy and restless.

Maybe he wasn't sleeping so well in the first place. And Steak can be so bad at impulse control, or volume control, even when he's fully rested. )

... Nngh.

( He's up now. Give him a minute of yawning and finding a cold glass of water before further words manage to form in his head. )

You— ( YAAAAWN ) —You're up a lot.

( That much? He has noticed. One night after another, little noises Steak normally manages to force himself to sleep through. But not tonight. )

[He fully expects that Steak will go back to bed, and settles into the corner of the couch with his legs drawn up under him while he takes small sips of the tea. The small noises that the other Soul makes continue, however, and when he speaks again it isn't entirely unanticipated.

It's been the same ever since this place all but pushed him to the brink of madness. Since the thing he has feared for almost all his life nearly came to pass. He may have appeared to have moved past it as far as not wanting to be near Steak was concerned, but his sleep has been unsettled ever since.]

Mm, I didn't think you'd noticed. [He had, after all, seemed to have slept through it quite soundly until tonight.] Nothing you need to trouble yourself with.

( How could he not? Red Wine's in the room next door to him. ~~And yes, perhaps Steak is still a little sour about the fact that Red Wine claimed the largest room and refuses to move like the frustrating jerk he is, but that's a story for another day.~~

Red Wine curls up on the couch and Steak stretches out, leaning against the armrest and extending his legs underneath the coffee table, pushing a hand through his hair idly and making a small, dismissive noise at Red Wine's words.

Like he'd ever trouble himself with such things. )

If we're awake — ( Which they both, unfortunately, are now. ) — we might as well get a drink.

( Something a bit stronger than water and tea, Steak's thinking. )

Why is that the first thing that comes to your mind?

[Said with the expected tone of derision at the very idea that they should use this kind of time to have a drink, or spend any time together at all.

But...

Red Wine sighs very quietly. It's not the most terrible idea that Steak has ever had.]

Very well. Find something.

( Because enduring Red Wine completely sober and sleep deprived is a task Steak is ill-equipped for. )

Lazy bastard.

( Grumble grumble, but it is your fault, Steak. Still — where is Red Wine's endless supply of his namesake drink when Steak's asking for it? He can find time to swirl a glass in battle, but this evening is too difficult?

Ugh.

Either way, a minute later he's back from the kitchen holding a bottle of something dark and pungent, and a couple of glasses. )

Here.

[Red Wine says nothing to the barb. It's hardly the worst thing that Steak has ever decided to call him, and it loses some of its fire when the other Soul gets up and does as he's told regardless of his grumbling.

His attention goes back to his tea while Steak searches the kitchen, and he sips the still-hot liquid quite pointedly when he returns.]

I'll finish this first. Feel free to start without me.

[It will make drinking him under the table all the easier if he has a head start.]

Do I need your permission?

( Clearly, he has never needed Red Wine's permission for anything and he's perfectly capable of starting to drink by himself. Which he does. He has a glass of water there for later, it'll all be fine.

Ah, the sweet burn of alcohol, good enough to take the edge off the exhaustion and irritation. But then, isn't Steak always irritated, always finding some way in which Red Wine bugs him? Still—

He wouldn't drink with anyone else, really. )

Don't be so obtuse.

[But it isn't like a real argument. It's waspish, snippy comments that flow back and forth between them as easily as kindness does for any normal friendship.

He finishes his tea, and swiftly moves on to the offered wine. Between the two of them there's never been any question of who would win a drinking contest, but this isn't a contest... yet.]

Tch!

( Old habits die hard, don't they? Like these contests, despite Steak having never won a single one, keep happening.

(And no, they're not included in the ongoing tally. That is physical fights only.) )

Cheers.

( Give him a while. Red Wine will be less insufferable in a few glasses. Maybe. )

[Maybe Steak is only counting the physical fights. Red Wine has his own mental tally of how many times he has managed to drink Steak under the table.

Red Wine sinks easily into the first glass of wine, and the second, and the third. He takes the initiative in going for a second bottle, and keeps the both of them topped off as they work their way through it.]

Hmm... did I really wake you?

( Steak isn't a slouch in the drinking department, but nor is he the literal spirit of booze, so, you know, it's not a fair comparison. Red Wine will always have an advantage there. But so far? Steak is keeping up nicely, the barest sensation only beginning to peek through as they work their way into bottle two. )

What do you think?

( It's said with a gesture to his eyes, which are still puffy from the lack of sleep, and the tousled hair... well, Steak's hair has never been particularly neat or orderly. )

[He gives Steak's hair a long, lingering look. His wine-red eyes settle on the tousled almost-curls for longer than is entirely necessary, then he smiles a small, subtle smile.]

I think you need to learn to tell the difference between a home invader, and someone making a cup of tea to help them sleep.

[Red Wine swirls the liquid in his glass idly, and takes another sip. It's not awful. Not 'good', but not awful.]

( Steak, despite what Red Wine (and Steak's player) might say, is not an idiot. He's a skilled fighter with a myriad of other strengths. Unfortunately, when it comes to Red Wine, Steak can be somewhat blinded by tradition and irritation. He misses the smile, his lips to his glass, and bristles at the comment instead.

Hmph! )

What if they were raiding the kitchen!

( Steak... is that... is that really what we're going with? Yes? ... Okay. )

And what if they were? [Red Wine replies lazily, smiling in that infurating way that he does when there's something he isn't saying, but he doesn't think Steak deserves to not have to struggle to figure it out.

Is that really what Steak is going with?]

What would you do about it?

( This is supposed to be an easy drink, a way to relax in the face of what is clearly poor sleeping, but nothing is ever relaxing when it comes to them. Perhaps it's a good thing they're at least bickering in the quiet of their own home rather than in the public of the city, but still...

A less than dignified growl of frustration leaves Steak's throat, glowering at Red Wine and that smug, asshole smile he loves to wear. )

I can handle a few thugs.

( What do you think he would do about it, Red Wine? )

[Hadriel IC Inbox]

text; after peter's post

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hey hey guess what

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action; at like 2am

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