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[he smiles. which is certainly not the correct response, and he immediately tries not to look so excited by the prospect.]

I wasn't about to suggest it, but...

[he does not genuinely condone killing him, but having less competition would be marvelous for the both of them. he straightens up, trying to get another look at what's now his opponent's work.]

Should I feel the same? Is this a mark that you wanted?

[should he go beat him up for hurting his thing, or what?]

[The misunderstanding catches him off guard. He blinks, then leans back, waving his hands.]

What? No! No! Not like that. I mean, yes, it's—it's something I wanted but that's not—[He sighs, running a hand through his hair.] That's not the point, Robin. Look, Oren... he could be dangerous to you. You need to be careful around him. Or, better yet, [he laughs in exasperation] not be around him at all! Which... is what I was trying to do. Keep you both away from each other.

[he's watching his face very carefully. smile still there, still riding on a little bit of stolen delight. wrong or not, he likes the way that this is going. maybe it's just an impulsive drive to watch it all burn; that Mattias isn't sneaking off with someone who could best him. Oren is trouble.]

Why would I need to be careful around him?

[He didn't want to talk about this. Give him a minute before he talks.]

Oren... He's like me. A Host. Except instead of [the slightest hesitation] god he has a demon. Enkythos. He's—he's powerful. One of the most powerful demons I've ever seen and he wants to grow stronger. Likely to rival the true gods.

[He has to remind himself that Robin... probably doesn't care about all that. Sighing, his hand flops into his lap. Glancing around, he ensures that they're alone, voice dropping to a whisper.] He'd eat you, in short. Or... you're godliness. I'm not sure how it would fare. It's hard when I don't know how... well. How you work.

[actually, his smile might not be entirely under his control. his fingers tick silently at his side and his gaze goes elsewhere. he's thinking, spooling up invisible threads as he recounts all of the factors.]

I know. [that seems like a start.] Though I didn't know that's what it wanted, that's very interesting.

[he wonders if he could kill it. are his demons more like the Kings, or simple monsters? can it be banished like spirits and ghosts can? could he destroy it? could it destroy him? he has yet to meet anything that could.]

So what does he want with you?

[that's a rude question to ask and he knows it--but he doesn't doubt for a second that Oren is manipulative and capable, just like he is. or, used to be.]

Edited 2015-04-13 00:18 (UTC)

Is it too much to believe me desirable?

[The minute the joke leaves, he knows it's not going to work. His nervous chuckles dies into a tired sigh and he slumps back, spineless, in his seat. Occasionally, he glances to Robin, trying his best to ignore the smile that pervades. It both unnerves and annoys him and neither are useful feelings at the moment.]

Honestly, I've no idea. I've lost the goddess. The Atroma... [He scrubs his face.] ... They took her. Oren seems to think we'll be able to recover her. That she's out there somewhere. But—[He frowns, gaze falling.]—I don't think she is, Robin. Space, it feels different than her. Colder.

[Canting his head, he runs a hand through his hair, pausing for a moment to think.] Once he finds out I can't bring her back... [Righting himself, he shrugs.] Well... I suppose he might kill me. Get rid of the symbol and the people crumble.

[He smiles at Robin timidly.] I do hope that doesn't sound too conceited.

[the thorough explanation gives him time to settle down. he pushes the matter of the "demon" away for a moment, stops fidgeting. his focus is back where it belongs.]

Not at all.

[they're already close, so he reaches behind Mattias' head--just so that he can lean forward and kiss his forehead, fondly.]

I'm jealous, actually, that he's getting so much of your attention.

[he pulls back to look at him, eyes level, smile softening to something honest.]

Please don't get yourself killed, Nightjar.

[He wants it to feel good. Wants to fully feel the warmth that crawls on the fringes of his heart. But it's overwhelmed, conquered by the guilt that accompanies those gentle words. The subtle insinuation, the gentle reminder, that he's with another man.

Robin smiles and he swallows tightly. Curls his fists into the fabric of his pants and thinks about how he doesn't deserve it. Not after what he said. Not after what they promised and how he still feels.

(Like he would still seas for him, turn deserts into tundras, crush mountains in his palms)

Was this infidelity or divided love?]

I'll try. [He smiles distractedly, wanting to make up for his folly, wanting to wipe away whatever jealousy Robin might have. The need to fix things overwhelms and he's okay with it, if only because it grants reprieve from an unwelcome thought.

He leans forward.] He doesn't need all of it, you know. I'd—I'd gladly give it to you. And we're here, aren't we? Together.

[He wets his lips, glancing towards the hole Robin crawled out of.] That space looks wide enough for two.

You...

[he sighs, almost a laugh. breathy. the smile is still on his face because he wants to and he would normally kill for this kind of flattery, this offer, this promise--his greatest weakness. it's what he implied he wants, isn't it?

but for the second time, something in him repels the idea. a fear, a trembling remembrance. and this isn't right, Mattias offering this while another man's mark is still fresh on him. Robin would only complicate him. ruin him. he has so much to tell him. he wants to explain, make himself clear. he wants this to have a chance in all of the levels of the Haunting of going well. he doesn't want Mattias to just turn into another one of his mistakes.

so he... brings his fingers forward, to press against Mattias' shirt, where he was stabbed. he's mentioned it, yes, but Robin pinpoints both points with eerie precision. his touch is soft, as is his voice.]

You keep so much pain here, and... [his fingers move up. to his heart.] ...Here. What do you fear, Mattias?

[He could laugh, make a joke. Brush it all off. Yet as those finger slide from wound to wound and he knows, without a doubt, he can't. Simple touches weaving a web, a cat's cradle of truth.

He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. A hand wraps around Robin's fingers, the hold gentle and worth a hundred whispered words.]

I fear I'll become someone else. [His father, his mother, a goddess, a beast, a destroyer. A thousand identities he could assume and none of them him. None of them what he's felt here.]

[there, that's better. that's the Mattias he wants. his fingers wrap around the other man's in return, just as gentle.]

Then don't get lost in either of us, Nightjar.

[His gaze lowers, but his grip holds. That, at least, never wavers.]

Promise me you'll be careful around him.

[He's already lost one god. He doesn't want to lose another.]

Very careful. I promise.

[which is an odd thing to promise, since he's spent so much of his life feeling very differently about that kind of thing.]

[the moment is... somewhat derailed as he looks down at Mattias' arm, though. lifting his hand a little.]

And what is wrong with your arm?

[he's seen the burns, a little bit, over the course of his time here. apparently now is the moment he needs to ask about it?]

[WAY TO RUIN THE FUCKING MOMENT. Mattias looks at his arm as if it's nothing more than a papercut.]

Oh. This? I got it in the attack. It doesn't hurt.

[deal with it, bitch.]

Show me.

[He gives a belabored sigh but obeys, leaning back and taking his arm out of his sleeve. The rest of his tunic flops to the side.]

It's truly nothing to concern yourself over.

[It is, actually. His arm is peppered in red and white patches of raised tissue, starting from mid-forearm and continuing onto his upper arm. Blasé, he offers it to Robin.] It's nostalgic, really.

Of what, the attack? You can't be thinking fondly back to it already.

[he doesn't look horrified, at least. isn't yelling at him to get it checked out. he simply holds the injured arm out at the hand, and brings his other hand over the surface of the ruining skin.

more of that hot-cold, tingling feeling. this feels deeper than then he was fixing simple cuts. he has to start with the damaged tissue closest to the bone, and work out from there.]

[Watching Robin mend it nearly makes him want to injure himself more. It's fascinating. Beautiful to both watch and feel. He watches it intently, teeth scraping over his lip as the tingling continues. What a delight.]

It had it's moments. [He says it as if offended and then chuckles, shaking his head.] No, I speak of earlier. Before everything started I was quite heavily scarred. I think you'd surprised if you could have seen me then.

[His tone is conversational but distracted, his gaze showing where the true interest is.]

Really...

[he's a little distracted too, since burns are hard to fix... and this will keep him occupied for a while. but the comment brings up a lot of questions, concerns. other things he'd been wondering.]

Can I ask how that happened?

[He hesitates, wary of the concern, the judgement that might accompany the news. It's only the reminder of their past conversation that makes him reconsider. They'd have to know each other in order to go forward. If they could go forward.

He sighs, running his free hand through his hair.]

It was part of my training. All voluntary, mind you.

[Though most had to be encouraged.] It was fairly standard. [Ok. Well. He shrugs.] Well, no. That's not true. It was fairly exceptional but—there were others. Ten, maybe. The point is, I wasn't alone.

Like special forces training? Or some kind of ritual...?

[those are the only two things he can really equate it to. he feels better knowing it was voluntary, regardless of the context--though he glances up at him, barely a beat after his previous question.]

Is that why you don't feel your injuries?

[He offers a polite smile.]

So you've noticed? I suppose it's a rather obvious thing.

[He chuckles, gaze falling back to the healing skin.] Yes, that's why. It was more training though there were certainly ritualistic qualities.

[He smiles nervously, shifting in his seat and wetting his lips. Hesitating before reminiscing. Afraid of being judged. Being scolded, as if his decisions were wrong. But again, he reminds himself that this is what Robin wants. Equal understanding. Pieces of him. And this—this was a large piece.] There was one. An entry ritual, of sorts, though honestly it felt more like a contest. There's a pool. Deep in the basement of our tower. And it was full of boiling water. At all times. I don't know how hot it was. Over a hundred degrees, at least. [He's getting caught up on the details. With a quick shake of his head, he gets back on topic.] There was medical staff on hand. Behind us, standing with the older troops. We—the new ones—we'd stand in a line and watch as each one of us put our arms in the water. See how long we could last.

[Having gone into a daze as he spoke, he now laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.] I lasted seventeen minutes. Second longest! [He chuckles but it dies quickly.] Anyway, we'd end up with scars, of course. Burns, up to here—[he gestures to halfway above his elbow]—or so. It was a symbol of what we were. What we could do. It was a symbol of pride.

[He falls silent and there's the distinct feeling of words left unsaid. Then he's laughing again, leaning back as far as Robin's grip will let him.] So, nostalgic! You see?

Edited (shoulda proofread ) 2015-04-16 00:51 (UTC)

[he has little to fear. Robin's eyes go back to his work, and he seems to be thinking while he talks, listening to the details with all of the divided attention he can spare...

it isn't until Mattias mentions how long he'd been in the boiling water that Robin looks up, in surprise--and continues to listen, attentive.]

Seventeen minutes? [he looks amazed! laughing.] You're kidding! That must have been... [horrible? painful? he smiles wide.] The blisters must have been terrible, I can only imagine. Amazing...

[humans. weak, flawed, painfully easy to destroy, and yet... he looks back down, though he's paused in his work.]

I'm jealous. My body doesn't scar anymore.

[but he'll leave Mattias some, he decides. he'll heal the rest of his arm, but he'll try to keep some skin ruined and white, just for him.]

[It's better than he expected. The opposite of everything he expected. Acceptance where he presumed disapproval. Appreciation where he expected anger. It's a relief and he's left wondering what would happen if he told him about all of it. If he spilled every secret, would he catch them without judgement?]

Do you hurt?

[It's a soft, curious question asked with a downcast gaze. He's watching his arm, studying the skin that levels before his eyes and noting the spots that don't. The scarring that remains. And he knows what he's doing and he knows what it means and it melts his heart and rebuilds it a temple devoted purely to this moment, this touch, this man.

How he'd kill stars for the chance to kiss him. Run his fingers across his palm and trace his knuckles. And he's tempted to do it. Fully knows he could. It'd be simple and he can picture it clear as the sky. A simple reach forward, a gentle grip, his thumb running over ridges and lines.

Is he truly someone you can be with?

It's his fantasy and yet his hand is pulling back, their hands falling away. Wordlessly, he slips back into the present, the reality, and this time the spots of raised skin do nothing but make him ache.

Oren was right. He had made his choice.]

Can you feel the pain?

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