[ He breathes the night like one might a flower. It's been this way for years now, something that he's adjusted to out of necessity, out of a hate that's tainted every ounce of his life – as undead as it is – and accepting change has never been more difficult as it has been since he'd met Casimir. Working with him is trying in a way that he can't quite describe, mostly because there is nothing that can convince the other to do as Larus suggests, and it's days of watching carefully constructed control slip out of his fingers because someone else thought to do something that made little sense. But he doesn't fault Casimir for these things because he assumes he doesn't know any better.
Time will teach him the way it has taught Larus the bitterness of death.
Still, when they meet on the roof, it's different than the purposeful visits he pays to Casimir's shop, and he's alone for exactly half an hour before he recognizes the telltale sound of Casimir's gait across the rooftop. His heartbeat echoes like a shadow, and it's oddly familiar, an old friend that Larus has not considered in some time. There's the occasional thought of what it might be like to sink his teeth into that ridiculously delicate throat of his, but every time it crosses his mind, he's flooded with an intense guilt so much stronger than any hunger he's ever felt. Never mix business and pleasure—even if that pleasure is necessary for surviving. So, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and ignores the fragrant scent of the peach Casimir bites into wafting over the salty smell of the sea. ]
I'm wondering how long it would take someone to notice that you've fallen and cracked your head on the ground. Or if you'd be lucky enough to miss that and land in the water instead. [ He pauses, gaze settling on Casimir. ] That's implying I prefer the taste of blood. I don't. [ There's another brief pause, though the slightest hint of a smile briefly flits across his face. ] And none of that matters now, so I'm declining your right to an answer.
It wouldn't take long at all. I am cherished and adored by all. [ He glances at Larus, admiring the silhouette of his face, and he doesn't miss the flicker of a smile that passes across his expression so quickly that Casimir might have imagined it. ] By most. [ This is, pointedly, directed at him.
He takes another bite of the soft fruit, simultaneously chewing while wearing a pout. ] I do hate to be declined. Somehow I feel as though you do these things with the express purpose of being contrary. [ His pout morphs into a thoughtful purse, leaning back on one hand and crossing his legs. His fingers are stained with burnt orange ink in an intricate, swirling design. ] Must we only talk about things that matter?
What would you prefer to talk about? The weather isn't exactly setting a mood. [ But there's nothing rough about the words, instead moving from his spot in the shadows to join Casimir on the ledge. He swings up onto it easily, quietly settling himself there, and for a moment or two, this seems ordinary. If he had still been alive, Larus wonders if they would have met or if they would have been friends. He wonders that now, though it's only a brief thing before he turns his gaze to the dark seawater that spans an eternity out around them. It reminds him heavily of home, and he frowns. ] Things can't stay this way forever, Casimir. You want change, and throwing these meetings away for conversations like this isn't going to bring that. I haven't gotten your information yet.
[ It takes time, longer than two days because it's the kind of information people tend to die with, and he's had to threaten more than a handful to get somewhere. His expression smooths after a second, watching Casimir the same way he watches everything else: intently. ]
All work and no play isn't how I operate. [ He offers him a sidelong look, as if Larus should know this particular fact already, but he can't exactly fault him. Meetings in the dark and various espionage missions being their main sources of contact make it difficult to get to know him. The deal struck between them has proven fruitful, nonetheless. Sharing covert information in exchange for more covert information keeps Casimir several extra steps ahead of the crowd.
He licks a bead of sweet peach juice from his thumb before it can make its way any lower. ] I am a wholehearted believer in self-care. Sometimes, it's not such a bad thing to take a moment to enjoy the sound of the waves and some brooding company. Although, the waves I could do without. It reminds me of being seven again, stuck in the filthy belly of a cramped ship heading to the Dusk. There wasn't any space to isolate myself, so I spent weeks on end listening to a barrage of the miserable thoughts of the people around me.
[ His barriers had failed him then, too young, too weak with grief and memories of screams and fire to properly execute his lessons. For him, the inky waves hold a cruel kind of beauty, a rescuing path to a new land while tearing him farther away from the people he'd known and loved. ]
Not many people know I can't read them without a touch. [ He smiles gently, as if sharing a secret he knows Larus will keep. In truth, he has no idea what he'll do with the information, but he does know how to make a mind bleed if he needs to. On a vampire, though... it might be trickier, but no less doable. ] I've spent much of my time cultivating a very tactile personality so that an arm here and a hand there seem perfectly ordinary for me.
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no subject
Time will teach him the way it has taught Larus the bitterness of death.
Still, when they meet on the roof, it's different than the purposeful visits he pays to Casimir's shop, and he's alone for exactly half an hour before he recognizes the telltale sound of Casimir's gait across the rooftop. His heartbeat echoes like a shadow, and it's oddly familiar, an old friend that Larus has not considered in some time. There's the occasional thought of what it might be like to sink his teeth into that ridiculously delicate throat of his, but every time it crosses his mind, he's flooded with an intense guilt so much stronger than any hunger he's ever felt. Never mix business and pleasure—even if that pleasure is necessary for surviving. So, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and ignores the fragrant scent of the peach Casimir bites into wafting over the salty smell of the sea. ]
I'm wondering how long it would take someone to notice that you've fallen and cracked your head on the ground. Or if you'd be lucky enough to miss that and land in the water instead. [ He pauses, gaze settling on Casimir. ] That's implying I prefer the taste of blood. I don't. [ There's another brief pause, though the slightest hint of a smile briefly flits across his face. ] And none of that matters now, so I'm declining your right to an answer.
no subject
He takes another bite of the soft fruit, simultaneously chewing while wearing a pout. ] I do hate to be declined. Somehow I feel as though you do these things with the express purpose of being contrary. [ His pout morphs into a thoughtful purse, leaning back on one hand and crossing his legs. His fingers are stained with burnt orange ink in an intricate, swirling design. ] Must we only talk about things that matter?
no subject
[ It takes time, longer than two days because it's the kind of information people tend to die with, and he's had to threaten more than a handful to get somewhere. His expression smooths after a second, watching Casimir the same way he watches everything else: intently. ]
Or is this about something else?
no subject
He licks a bead of sweet peach juice from his thumb before it can make its way any lower. ] I am a wholehearted believer in self-care. Sometimes, it's not such a bad thing to take a moment to enjoy the sound of the waves and some brooding company. Although, the waves I could do without. It reminds me of being seven again, stuck in the filthy belly of a cramped ship heading to the Dusk. There wasn't any space to isolate myself, so I spent weeks on end listening to a barrage of the miserable thoughts of the people around me.
[ His barriers had failed him then, too young, too weak with grief and memories of screams and fire to properly execute his lessons. For him, the inky waves hold a cruel kind of beauty, a rescuing path to a new land while tearing him farther away from the people he'd known and loved. ]
Not many people know I can't read them without a touch. [ He smiles gently, as if sharing a secret he knows Larus will keep. In truth, he has no idea what he'll do with the information, but he does know how to make a mind bleed if he needs to. On a vampire, though... it might be trickier, but no less doable. ] I've spent much of my time cultivating a very tactile personality so that an arm here and a hand there seem perfectly ordinary for me.