judgementor | [Aefenglom IC Inbox]

[ He rolls his eyes behind Red Wine's back, not deigning to answer the comment. He has to do something if he can't sleep, and, well...

His mind goes to Red Wine a lot of the time. Even more since they've come to Aefenglom and Red Wine's worst nightmare has come to life.

His mind goes to the fact that he hasn't seen any sign of Red Wine feeding since the night he died, wild and out of control, more instinct than thought. And he has to ask, because how many times has he assumed something and earned Red Wine's ire as a result? ]

I don't want to assume.

[ Or undertake actions behind Red Wine's back. Not again. Not if he can avoid it. ]

[The lack of argument makes him suspicious. He turns, fixing Steak with a hard stare as if trying to read something from his posture and expression. Their discussions when they disagree are rarely reasonable. Where's the insult? The snippy remark..? Or the attempt at one, at least.

Nothing.

Steak is trying to be understanding, and Red Wine bristles against the audacity of the gesture.]

I'm touched.

[He is not.]

But no. Not since-- no. I haven't.

[ It's difficult, admittedly, for Steak to rein in his anger and his instinct to argue with Red Wine, but after his own problems earlier in the month, after every time approaching this the way he would normally approach Red Wine has backfired, it's clear to Steak that he needs to try something else.

Something that grates against him, but nonetheless. ]

And — [ God, he wants to yell at Red Wine. Tell him to stop being so stubborn and accept that he has to deal with this and eat, but he swallows those words back, expression as sour as a person drowning in vinegar. ] — Do you feel weak?

[ It's been a long time since that night. Do vampires need to feed as often as humans? ]

[It's an uncomfortable and invasive conversation for someone like Red Wine, who broadcasts so little about how he's really feeling to anyone, when those who know him best.]

It doesn't matter.

[He avoids Steak's eyes, and wraps his arms loosely around himself. The lack of answer says all it needs to. He's feeling the effects, but he'd rather feel weak than feel so much less than what he is.]

Did you just come in here to badger me?

[ It's an uncomfortable conversation for both of them, given that they function best when coming to wordless agreements and avoiding anything more serious than what to eat for tea. It's made worse by Steak's intrinsic, Food Soul-given, desire to fix things. To make them better.

The one thing neither of them can do in this situation is fix it. ]

Of course it matters. [ He doesn't bother to answer Red Wine's question, because Red Wine's question is nothing more than petty sniping in a situation which is anything but petty. ] What the hell are you thinking?! Did you forget what happened already?

[ What happened to him. He, who doesn't even have to contend with this hunger tempting him into madness. ]

Get out.

[He barely lets Steak finish talking before he stands up, steps back from the bed and points to the door. Just who the hell does he think he is, coming in here and trying to do this?

Yet, he's still eerily calm. A sheen of solid ice covers the rolling water beneath and he isn't letting Steak in now, despite the effort it takes to keep him away. Has he forgotten? No, it's all he thinks about. He dreams about it.]

I'm not doing this with you. Get out.

[ Habits are hard to break. Two hundred years of yelling at Red Wine, confronting problems with blunt words and finding the simplest solution to anything that was wrong doesn't come easily. He tried, but Red Wine breaks down any patience Steak has.

He always has. He's always burrowed so far under Steak's skin, impossible to forget and impossible to look at objectively.

The icy calm only makes Steak burn brighter, only makes him storm over to where Red Wine stands, ordering him out. ]

Don't you dare ignore me, Red Wine! [ Blowing him off and refusing to address this issue, to be practical about it. ] I won't let you become a wild monster, you bastard.

[Red Wine only looks at him coldly, and that extra inch in height that he has is used to its full advantage as Steak attempts to square off against him.]

I had thought, just for a moment, that you might be here because you cared about my well-being. [He says evenly, icy, his bright red eyes sharp.]

But I should have known that it would just be about you, and what you want, and what you won't allow. You just want to force your decisions on me. You're always so selfish. Get out, Steak. I've had a long night, and I'm tired.

[ Whatever anger drove Steak to stride so close to Red Wine is frozen by that assessment of his character, the glare wiped from his face in an instant.

Maybe he should just leave.

But he doesn't. He can't. He can't leave Red Wine, no matter what Red Wine might be saying about his character. ]

Would I have stayed by your side for this long if I didn't?! [ Two hundred years, Red Wine. He could have said no to his Attendant's promise, could have forgotten it or let it lapse, but he didn't. Because it's Red Wine, an insufferable bastard, but one who has only ever made Steak stronger.

Better. ] I only want to protect you.

[He doesn't regret what he said, despite the way the memory of the words sits bitter on his tongue. Steak is drunk, and Red Wine is exhausted, and they probably should have just stayed away from each other.]

You can't.

[Not here. Not from what being here is doing to him. Steak can protect him any more than he can protect Steak, and coming to terms with that had been part of the anger that had been poisoning them both only weeks before.

They have always protected one another. Despite having nothing to force them to stay together except a quiet promise made to a dying Master Attendant, they've never strayed far.]

You can't swing your sword at this and made it vanish.

... No.

[ He can't, he agrees, and the fact doesn't sit well with him. It's so much easier to fight things with swords and fists and fire, he understands that. Specialises in it.

He can't make this stop, as much as he wishes that he could. Wishes that he could go back to the days where he could simply roll his eyes and ignore Red Wine's worries because they were impossible. ]

But my body, heart, and sword will do all they can to assist you through this.

[ His arm lies over his chest, fist curled against his heart, and he bows automatically with his words. He can't make this vanish, but if he can prevent Red Wine losing his mind... Perhaps that will be enough. ]

[And at this, he doesn't laugh or mock. Those words are ones he had never heard in their true context, but ones he feels he knows somehow from a time and place long before either of them took a physical form. He narrows his eyes slightly, then huffs out a breath through his nose.]

... There's nothing you can do.

[There's one thing he could do, but that point of desperation has not yet been reached. The tips of his ears take on the faintest flush of pink. ]

So stop being so annoying.

[ There are certain words Food Souls can invoke which mean more, but Steak has never been the type of Soul to invoke them out of manipulation. Referring to his summoning is something he's never done before, words which are only uttered because he means them.

He tips his head up and straightens again, that slight discolouration of the tips of Red Wine's ears just poking out from loose hair.

Annoying. Hmph. ]

You're one to talk.

[ He's had Steak worried sick, so who's the annoying one here? ]

We're not talking about me.

[He doesn't want to talk about him. Not even a little bit. All it does is provoke more arguments and Red Wine is, for once, just tired of arguing with Steak. He brushes his hair back slightly and that discoloured graze on his cheek comes into view again for just a moment before he turns away.]

If you're determined not to leave me be, you can make yourself useful and talk to me while I try to sleep.

[Ugh. So annoying.]

[ They're not, but Steak couldn't help the jibe. It was meant light-heartedly, for once, and no arguments erupt from it.

Instead, Steak seems more interested in the mark on Red Wine's cheek, catching his shoulder in a light grip and turning him back to brush a thumb over the mark.

It's a little thing. One which will heal soon enough, the kind of injury he's seen on Red Wine a million times but rarely on his face, as vain as the bastard is. ]

If you insist.

[He flinches minutely under that grip, resists it slightly, frowns down at Steak's hand and then freezes at the brush against his cheek. Red Wine stares for a few moment in startled bewilderment.]

-- Hmph.

[Chilly fingers around Steak's wrist pull his hand down, though with no measure of force behind them.

It had been a moment of a slip of concentration. A moment had been all the creature he faced had needed to strike a blow across his face, infuriating him to such an extent that he then tore the offending beast apart.]

Annoying...

[ He could snatch his hand back, but he doesn't. Aefenglom's bonds rearing their heads again and changing a source of irritation to one of comfort.

Red Wine's touch means he's himself, here and alright, and Steak can still keep him safe. So he lets fingers remain looped around his wrist and rolls his eyes. ]

Bastard.

[ But there's something entirely too fond about the way Steak says that. Red Wine may be a bastard, but he's Steak's bastard. His brother in arms. His... best friend. ]

[Something small, quiet and nameless flutters in the pit of Red Wine's stomach. Something beyond all the anger, the irritation, the weak aching in his body and that constant blasted chill through every limb. He looks at Steak as if he doesn't quite recognise him, just for a moment, and with his free hand he brushes a stray red curl back off his forehead.]

You're utterly intolerable.

[He mutters, then he drops his hand and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, carefully taking his earrings out and picking up a length of ribbon to tie back his hair.]

I don't know why I put up with you.

[ Being a wholly mature, immortal being, Steak does something exactly as mature and refined as one would expect:

He sticks his tongue out at Red Wine and returns to the bed, flopping on the other side and carefully undoing his boots, red eyes continually flicking up to watch Red Wine's hands work at all that hair.

It's too much hair. Steak doesn't get it. It's hardly practical for all the fighting they do, but then again, Red Wine has never been one for practicality. In that way, it suits him.

Boots are placed to one side and trousers soon follow, tossed over them carelessly, and hands begin to work at all the fastenings on his top. ]

[The ribbon is tied into a neat bow, and Red Wine looks over his shoulder. He observes Steak for a few seconds, impassively, then huffs out a sigh and drops his head down onto the pillow.]

I wasn't aware you had to undress in order to talk. Did you decide you're to share my bed as well?

[So selfish, so annoying, yet it doesn't appear that Red Wine is going to kick him out.]

You really ought to get into the habit of asking my permission before you do things that involve me.

[ Like it's the first time! Steak pauses, halfway to easing his top over his horns, and scoffs. ]

Was I supposed to sleep on the floor?

[ You're not Angelea!

But, if Red Wine insists... ] Fine. Can I sleep with you, Red Wine?

I didn't ask you to sleep here at all, but if you're going to insist.

[Looking at him from his already quite comfortable position, he makes a gesture at the open space beside him on the bed.]

Fine, but if you kick me in your sleep I'm throwing you out.

I'll kick you now, you—

[ The grumbling is reflexive, Steak dropping his top on top of his trousers without paying any real attention to what it looks like, before he leans back into the bed, shifting his pillow down so his horns don't scrape the wall, legs hanging off the edge.

It's uncomfortable, but Steak's arm brushes against Red Wine's side and the Bond's calmness washes over him once more. ]

Red Wine?

[ His voice is quiet when he pipes up, glancing up at the other Soul as he speaks. ]

[It's easier, when he isn't feeding his rage into that vicious feedback loop between the two of them. Forget about going feral... he'd almost completely lost his mind.

Red Wine turns onto his side and curls up slightly, making himself look smaller than he is under the curve of the duvet. His eyes were shut, but he half opens them when his name is so quietly called.]

... yes, Steak, what is it.

[He notices it too - the way he feels oddly calm when they touch. It's the first time he really allows himself to feel anything from the peculiar bond between them.]

I—

[ God, this phrase tastes horrible on his tongue. Old habits die hard when it comes to the two of them. ]

... I'm sorry. [ A sigh. ] For everything.

[ Ugh. Never tell anyone he said this, alright? ]

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