[Aefenglom IC Inbox]

[judgementor]

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

*beep*

Comments

[battlebound]

[ And, after so long, Steak knows well enough that he can come in.

Which he does, closing the door and leaning against it. It's remarkably casual, all things considered. ]

If this transformation should claim me, I'm relying on you to kill me as well.

[ Considering he just decided to drop that bomb onto Red Wine, the leg kicked against the door and the folded arms seem far too blasé. ]

[judgementor]

[Reclined on the bed with a book on his lap, Red Wine observes Steak silently for several long moments. Then, clicking his tongue lightly against the roof of his mouth in a soft 'tch' sound, he looks back to the pages and shakes his head.]

Obviously. You don't need to ask something like that.

[battlebound]

[ Perhaps it's a redundant question, true, but there's something to be said for having an oath spoken aloud the way his own has been. ]

Well... good. [ Having someone to rely on in a situation like this makes it easier. And who else would Steak consider relying on more than this bastard right here. ]

... What are you reading?

[ The abrupt change in topic is so dramatic, one might wonder whether Steak had something else on his mind and then decided not to address it.

Or, more likely, Steak is simply moving on from one thing to the next, as he always has. ]

[judgementor]

[He closes the book with a snap.]

I'm examining my own work for errors.

[Red Wine shifts, pulling his legs in and crossing them, resting one elbow against his knee. His hair falls forwards over one shoulder.]

I promised Aziraphale I'd donate to his collection.

[battlebound]

Your own...?

[ That gets Steak's attention. He's been writing a book?

And... is Steak growing a little paler at the thought? Maybe. Not that it has anything to do with the possible contents. ]

What is it about?

[judgementor]

[Another of those silences stretches out while he watches Steak with those too-bright red eyes, then he sighs and lets the book fall open again. There are hand-written lines of text on the pages within, taking up over half of the book.]

Stories from Palata. Poetry. Myths.

[Nothing about you, fool.]

[battlebound]

[ Steak seems to see that as an invitation to sit on Red Wine's bed and look over the writing there, glancing over the Palatan myth written on the paper. ]

Ah, I remember that one. [ Though, as he reads further, he frowns. His Master Attendant said something slightly different about the end of it, though. ] There's a version where the squire asks his Lord for apples, instead.

[judgementor]

Mmn. This is the first version that I know of.

[He huffs out a sigh and passes the book over for Steak's perusal.]

Here, have a look. You can do it under my eye so I don't have to worry about you taking something I didn't want you to see.

[battlebound]

[ Why are you like this, Red Wine? ]

And what did you plan on doing when I found it at Aziraphale's shop?

[judgementor]

[Because the alternative is being nice, and he couldn't possibly.]

I didn't expect you'd find it in Aziraphale's shop. [Red Wine replies tartly. He shifts position on the bed and fidgets absent-mindedly with a lock of hair.]

Are you telling me you actually know how to read?

[battlebound]

[ !!

Steak, you walked RIGHT INTO that one. ]

Why, you bastard... [ Steak why do you suck at retorts so much. ] Do I look like a fool?!

[judgementor]

[He deliberately looks Steak up and down. Slowly.]

... This feels like a trick question.

[battlebound]

[ Excuse you?! ]

I can read, asshole!

[judgementor]

Congratulations.

[Lying back, he stretches out and tucks a hand under his head. A faint wince flickers over his face, and the slender points of his ears twitch minutely.]

See if you remember any stories I haven't written down yet.

[battlebound]

[ Steak watches Red Wine, rather than the book, as he lays back, expression drawing into a frown as he catches the wince, but he says nothing. ]

Hm.

[ He skims the contents of the book for now, deep in thought (yes, really) of anything else he remembers from Palata.

Or anywhere else, for that matter. ]

Oi, what about the story of the Sacred Wine?

[judgementor]

Hm. Strange I forgot that one. [Red Wine mutters thoughtfully, tapping his fingertips lightly against one kneecap. Maybe it had felt a little too 'on the nose', given his name and all, but... really, no reason not to add it.

He picks up his pen and offers it out.]

Do you remember it properly?

[battlebound]

[ Humming an affirmation, Steak nods. ]

I think so. They recite it too much at Creation Day celebrations.

[ And with that, he gets writing, brow furrowed in concentration, head bowed, his horns casting a shadow across the page Steak doesn't think he'll ever fully be used to. ]

[judgementor]

Hmn. Use your best handwriting.

[He can see that Steak is, in fact, doing that and there is some small appreciation for the fact that he is doing his best to not ruin something that Red Wine has worked hard on. Their rivalry has never functioned like that.

Carefully, he slides off the bed and goes to the window, looking down into the street with a small frown.]

I'm going to need to do something about these cravings. One way or another. You do know that, don't you.

[battlebound]

[ Steak will gladly be petty with Red Wine at any time (and that reminds him, he has a small and petty something to give the bastard in a moment), but this doesn't seem petty. It's some small way in which Red Wine isn't simply moping about their situation here in Aefenglom, and even Steak knows that's too important to mess up.

Red Wine pipes up as he finishes a third paragraph, and Steak's head raises to look in the direction of his voice. ]

How, exactly?

[ The promise he made only a short while ago hangs in the air between them, unspoken, and Steak mulls over the location of his swords. ]

[judgementor]

[It's been difficult, and while he knows it hasn't been easy for Steak either there's something so very personal about what he is going through that it feels like a deliberate affront.]

Blood.

[He says it bluntly, like a curse-word, despising the necessity of it. If his reaction to things on the last full moon were anything to go by, things are only going to get worse until he snaps and harms himself... or someone else.]

If I'm going to have to think about it, I'd rather it be on my own terms.

[battlebound]

I know that.

[ Give him some credit, Red Wine. ]

How are you going to get any?

[ There have to be... less objectionable ways for Red Wine to get what he needs, versus the methods always used in the kind of literature which talks about Vampires on Tierra. ]

[judgementor]

There are places here that offer it.

[He doesn't like it. At all. His aversion to the idea is evident enough in his voice, but he likes the idea of losing control and going feral even less.]

I have directions to one, though I may look into what else is available.

[battlebound]

[ Well. That's something. Steak supposes, now that he thinks about it, it makes sense for such places to exist in a city like this.

Still. It doesn't mean it doesn't turn his stomach a little to consider the implications it creates. ]

Tch, they make it convenient here.

[ And while that means Red Wine should be okay, Steak doesn't know what to think about this entire thing. Monsters are things they were supposed to kill, not become. ]

[judgementor]

[It means he should be fine, and maybe he should be pleased about it, but something in what Steak says almost seems to make Red Wine flinch.

But he says nothing. No reproach, no snide comment about the content of the other Food Soul's statatement. His fingers tighten around his elbows and whiten at the knuckles, and the line of his jaw tenses.]

Yes. [He says eventually, his darkened eyes troubled but turned away in the mute hope that Steak's usual inability to read the atmosphere will keep him from noticing.]

Yes, they do, don't they.

[battlebound]

[ Even if they'd been lucky enough to be Witches in this city, Steak is all but certain he wouldn't feel any differently about this. It goes against everything he's known to be true, goes against so much of what their purpose is that he hates even having to entertain this world order, let alone wrap his head around it and internalise it.

He dots the full stop of a sentence and lays the book down before he falls back on the bed with a groan, not giving the slightest of fucks that it's Red Wine's bed and not his own. ]

... Red Wine. [ There's a hesitation to his voice, a stumble as though he intended to say something else and changed his mind at the last second. ] You're still the same bastard here.

[ Charming. ] That won't change if you go.