judgementor | [Aefenglom IC Inbox]

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. ]

[He leans back, straightens, then stands.]

In a little while.

[There's a need to call down properly first. To do something to soothe the thrum of adrenaline still coursing through his body. One day he's going to get hurt out there, but today wasn't that day.

It may not be that day tomorrow, either... but he doesn't doubt it will come soon.]

I'll let you get some rest.

[ Of all the changes to Red Wine, Steak thinks this nocturnal behaviour may be the worst. It's no longer a simple dislike of the sun, or sensitivity to its brightness, but an actual imposition to their teamwork.

As he stands, Steak's hand shifts, reaching for Red Wine's and squeezing it. A brief, firm touch, the same thing which has calmed him since their bond was made official in this city. The only reassurance he can give Red Wine right now. ]

Good night.

Hmn.

[A warm drink, maybe.

He squeezes Steak's hand in turn, and he holds the back of it to his chest as he leans down and touches his lips to the spot where he'd brushed those hairs aside only moments earlier.

An impulse answered. Red Wine has precious few impulses these days that aren't dangerous in some way, and this soft one is quickly followed.]

Good night.

[ If Red Wine's cold fingers were enough to stir Steak into wakefulness, the brief touch of lips to his forehead has him frozen but for a small noise of shock which escapes his mouth.

What... just happened?

Perhaps it's good for Red Wine that it's also enough to loosen Steak's grip on his hand, giving him a moment to slip away.

And perhaps, by the time he wakes up, Steak will have convinced himself that there's no way it could have ever happened. ]

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