judgementor | [Aefenglom IC Inbox]

Well now I know you're up to no good.

[The next reply takes a while to come.]

Because you've always been so forthcoming with what you get up to when you're not with me.

What's that supposed to mean?!

[ Oh Steak, don't open that door. ]

You know very well what I mean. Don't act stupider than you are.

I had good reason for that!

[ Like the fact that Red Wine was just ignoring it and Steak wanted to make sure that bastard knew that he didn't get to mess with any of the Knights without having to deal with Steak. ]

A good reason to snoop behind my back and then run off and put yourself in danger? Did you even spare a moment to think of how I might have felt about that?

[ Red Wine, do you really need to ask that question? ]

... No.

[ But Red Wine's insistence on leaving it unaddressed was just as dangerous as Steak going back by himself. He knew he would make it back, and if he was, by chance, wrong, he would have returned to the Chaos doing something worthwhile. ]

Why the hell were you ignoring him?

[ They could have confronted Bloody Mary so many times before Steak left, all three of them, unified and able to overpower the bastard together. ]

[He writes few things out and deletes them again as he begins to walk back to the city, his body heavy with exhaustion.

It wasn't worth

I didn't want to give him the satisfa

He was never

But in the end, he settles on;]

Because I understand him.

[ He might have expected one of the unsent answers. They might have been easier to read than the one Red Wine actually sends. ]

I see.

[ No complaints, no arguing, because maybe, just maybe, Aefenglom is teaching Steak something about the darkness he usually dismisses.

He doesn't understand, but he sees. ]

Don't do something like that again.

Don't make me resort to it.

[ Slightly petty? Maybe. ]

You keep too many secrets.

[ Maybe if Red Wine had spoken more about what was going on, Steak wouldn't have resorted to that. ]

I don't control you you absolute moron. How dare you try to blame me for something you decided to do of your own free will.

[ Oy. Why is it so hard to get his point across, even after knowing Red Wine for so long?

Alright. Give him a minute. Maybe he needs to think about what his point even is. ]

If something's happening, I want you to tell me what the hell is going on.

[ He didn't know who was attacking Red Wine, who was sending those letters. Sure, he had suspicions, but nothing more. It was simple curiosity, and a burning need to make sure Red Wine was safe.

Anything to avoid the repeat of that moment back at the Baroness' mansion, the chilling knot of worry in his stomach as he realised Red Wine was there, out of sight of all of them, doing who knows what. ]

It was my problem to deal with. Not yours.

You had no right to interfere like that.

[ But was it? Those arrows have been deflected by himself or Gingerbread many times, and with the three of them together so often, anything that affects one of them, affects the others by proxy. ]

We're a team. You, me and Gingerbread. These problems affect us all.
But I went too far.

[ And while he might feel guilty for what he now knows it did to Red Wine, confronting Bloody Mary is something he can't bring himself to regret. If he faces Bloody Mary's ire instead of Red Wine, that's fine. He can take it. ]

Yes. You did.

[Because Red Wine had seen the full contents of those letters before he tossed them into the fire. Because he knew what Bloody Mary wanted.

Because he didn't want Steak to be anywhere near him alone.]

Next time you decide to take my business into your own hands, spare a moment to consider what I'm supposed to do if you don't come back.

... Fine. I'll try.

[ Because trying is all he can really promise when it comes to Red Wine's secrets and safety. He knows it's all he can promise, because he made too many oaths to keep this bastard safe.

Ones to Master Attendants, ones to Red Wine himself, and ones he's left unspoken for centuries. ]

When will you be back?

I don't know. An hour. Maybe two.

Go to sleep.

I'll see you then.

[ Because he's certain he's not getting any sleep after all of that. ]

Go to sleep. I'll wake you when I get back.

... Good night.

[ If it will shut Red Wine up.

But by the time Red Wine gets home, Steak is lightly dozing on his bed, atop the covers, the pale skin of his tentacles freckled with shifting dark spots. ]

[The first thing that Red Wine does when he arrives back, a few hours later, is quietly set his sword in his room. The second thing that he does is take a long, hot bath.

When the water he pours over himself finally runs clear of blood and muck he dries off, dresses in some comfortable bedclothes and fulfils the almost-promise he made by slipping into Steak's room to find him half asleep.

His ears prick up slightly, his hair loose, dark and damp around them, and he crouches down beside the bed before he lightly nudges Steak's shoulder.]

[ He's somewhere between awake and asleep, with exhaustion wrapping around him but mind unwilling to succumb to the weight of it, just enough that the click of the door opening isn't enough to make him sit up.

But someone beside the bed, shoving his shoulder? That'll do it, and Steak cracks open one eye, then the other, a smile tinging the corners of his mouth. ]

Good morning.

[ Is it morning? How long has he been lying here? ]

It isn't morning yet.

[Not quite yet, but probably soon. Red Wine shifts his weight, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet. Steak was trying to stay up to make sure he got home.

Why couldn't he be so considerate all the time, instead of just when it suited him?

He reaches out and brushes a few stray strands of red hair away from Steak's eyes. His hand lingers there for a moment, then draws back.]

I told you I'm back, like I said I would. Will you go to bed now?

[ Because he's honestly just figuring out how to do it at all. Actions come a little easier, as misguided as some have clearly been, but they're Steak and Red Wine and they've never been defined by their consideration for each other.

And Steak was always too much like his Master Attendant, who swallowed his truths until he thought his fiancée died and even after all of it could only communicate in arguments.

Far too much like his Master Attendant.

Cold fingers brush his forehead and Steak's eyes open fully at the chill, staring at Red Wine with an unreadable expression, searching his deathly pale face for...

Something.

He's not sure what. ]

Will you?

[ It's surely getting close to the time the undead should be in bed anyway. ]

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