[Aefenglom IC Inbox]

[judgementor]

"Leave a message. If it's important, I'll get back to you."

*beep*

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[judgementor]

I don't know why you'd think it would to begin with.

[Ugh.

His head hurts.]

[battlebound]

( fine.

he's just going to go for a walk until he arrives at the house in the early hours of the morning. )

[judgementor]

[And Red Wine, who has spent most of the night pacing around the house (after giving a brief welcome to Prompto's new friend, and Noctis of course) has crashed into bed to avoid the daylight by the time Steak enters the house.

But one ear twitches, recognising the sound of familiar footsteps.]

[battlebound]

( back here, huh... it feels like no time at all, and yet he knows it has been. he knows he's been back to Tierra — hell, he can't forget that fact, given the way his body has been reset to how it's supposed to be.

he's going to have to deal with those transformations again, of that Steak is convinced, but for now. for now he looks as he should.

Red Wine isn't around, and with the dawn peeking through, Steak knows why, and for once... maybe it's better like that. there's no sense of the bond they'd agreed to so long ago — Steak assumes it was broken when the city spat him out back to Tierra — and after their text conversation, he's not entirely sure he wants to see Red Wine. not when certain other memories are making themselves known.

maybe it's better that Red Wine sleeps, while Steak pads through the house, reacquainting himself with an unchanged layout, and heads towards the kitchen. )

[judgementor]

[Red Wine had, in fact, been out and come back while Steak had been meandering his way around the city. Carefully avoided, naturally. He fully intends on going to sleep and dealing with this new set of problems when he wakes up, but he finds that the irritation boiling in his chest won't settle and eventually he simply has to get up.

There's no bond, not anymore, but that doesn't mean Red Wine doesn't still feel the ache of its absence. Another thing that Steak doesn't have to deal with, and another thing to be bitter about.

He stands in the doorway of the kitchen, looking as ashen and underfed as he ever did when Steak was here before. His fingers grip tightly around his elbows, white-knuckled and digging into shirt fabric.]

Nothing changed in here, either.

[battlebound]

( he hardly asked to be dragged back to Tierra. alone, anyway. though it shall never be vocalised, not by Steak at least, whatever they do, they should do together. (excepting good reasons like trying to save someone or discover what scoundrel is ruining Red Wine's reputation.) if one of them arrives somewhere, the other should too. and if one of them leaves...

well.

apparently it doesn't work like that.

that particular bit of information bothers Steak, because while he has no doubt Red Wine can handle himself (he can draw level, and sometimes even beat Steak in combat, after all), it cannot be denied that they're better together. Aefenglom's ability to split them up could lead to terrible things.

(and, given what Steak's been told about rogue Witches and the like, he wonders if it didn't already.)

he's going through things in the cabinets, looking for items which could make a good breakfast. Food Souls may not need to eat, but routine is still good. it helps make mornings easier. and helps integrate them more fully into the human world.

and it tastes good. )

I can see that.

( bacon, flour, milk... do they have eggs? pancakes sound good. )

[judgementor]

[It doesn't work like that. Red Wine was left alone for the first time in his long life, and he didn't like it one bit. But he survived, didn't he? He survived, and he didn't get himself killed, and it raises certain questions about certain things that he isn't willing to even lend a thought to at this moment in time.

Steak moves around the kitchen like he never left, like he just... popped out for an afternoon.

So aggravating.]

Well, you look like you're doing fine. I'm going back to bed.

[It's that or punch him, and it's far too early in the morning to be making a mess he'll just have to clean up before he can finally go to bed.]

[battlebound]

( not even an afternoon, in Steak's mind. he got to go to the bathroom. that's literally it. it was quite possibly the most pointless experience of his life.

(and, let's be honest, the list of contenders for that position is long).

Red Wine's voice does what it so often does — grates on his nerves — and the words do worse, but despite everything, Steak does nothing more than tighten his grip on the spoon in his hand.

maybe he's getting old.

or maybe he's getting flashes of how pointless and venomous all their arguments have been here. every single one without a climax, without a resolution or an excuse to blow off steam.

maybe violently stirring this pancake mix will work as a substitute for punching Red Wine in his usually smug face. )

Alright. Sleep well.

( those words are said with a remarkably even tone for someone stirring that spoon that hard. )