judgementor | [Hadriel IC Inbox]

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.

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