Hello again. (Isikais & Hadrian)

[Hadrian]

14th Spring, 510 A.V. The hours were lengthening by the time Hadrian arrived at the College of Magic. He had spent most of the afternoon in the Department of Anthropology for Professor Rochlas, and now he was trying to leave all things Akvatari behind so he could grab the books he needed and return home to study a new idea he had for his magecrafting term project. Of course he would leave things he needed at the College rather than at home. So it came to pass that he was walking through the halls, mostly barren now as hungry scholars fled in search of an evening meal, a drink, or other entertainments. Few studied as hard as Hadrian Aelius. But few, he hoped, would be as successful.

[Isikais]

The corridors of the University were remarkably simple to navigate compared to the twisting labyrinth of hallways that made up the Citadel on Sahova. Isikais had taken to spending time in the library when he could, and wandering in the shadows of the ruins of the old city when he couldn't. It was a solitary existence save for the few moments he spent modeling for Dahlia. He had established a sort of routine, walking the halls listening casually to the conversations that went on around him, picking out choice phrases for repetition in the future. The several days since he had left Hadrian's house in a fit of pique had breathed a new life into the corpse-hopping chameleon. His static and inhuman stride replaced by a more casual saunter, eyes now blinking naturally, and breath coming with rhythm and pace. Hair sleek and styled, clothes mended and carefully cleaned, a subtle fragrance of oak and cinnamon drifting in his wake as he walked. The occasional familiar face drew a nod and half-smile of friendly recognition. He was a regular student, with all the air of entitlement and intellectual snobbery that it entailed, and none were the wiser. None except one, and just as he began to let the soothing wash of his disguise cover over him, those familiar chlorine eyes caught his, and it was gone. "Hadrian." He declared, an awkward hanging lilt of expectation to his tone. "Busy as ever." Isikais looked over the boy, the same sleepy look in his eyes as when they first met only days ago. Days...the thought lingered for a moment as Isikais glanced to the books, avoiding direct eye contact. It was the first time in centuries that such a short time seemed to stretch out to its full length. So many different events, experiences, emotions in such a short time had a curious effect on the immortal creature, standing too close, now to a canvas that he once viewed from too far to appreciate. "I hope you weren't worried about me." A mocking quip, and a sarcastic grin to punctuate his comment, a dynamic deflection of a socially awkward situation that he would not have even noticed days ago. "I got distracted in the home of a lovely young painter." His tone angled toward the boasting of masculine camaraderie that he had overheard many times in his walks already.

[Hadrian]

It should not have come as a surprise to see Isikais there in the University; in fact, he had been expecting it since he witnessed the attack on his boarder and the Nuit's more violent response. The image of that night in the ruins had haunted his dreams, though he couldn't rightly call them nightmares. His home had seemed emptier without his odd house guest, but the secrets kept made him wonder if he wasn't better off without Isikais watching him as he slept. At least, Hadrian had gotten the feeling that Isikais was always watching. In fact, he had no way to be sure that his home wasn't being observed without his knowledge. If Isikais could morph so skillfully, what else could he do? Glyphing. Hmph. Hadrian took in the changes in his appearance, wondering if his morphed his hair like that or used some sort of pomade like a regular man. Indeed, for the most part, Isikais seemed to have perfected his mortal charade without any help from him. He smiled. He couldn't help himself. "Isikais." Still he made an extra effort to pronounce it as it should be. "I was concerned," he admitted, "but all seems well. If you stop by the house, I will give you back your money." He sensed nuances in the other's speech that were almost too subtle to pick up, and so he wasn't quite sure what Isikais was about. "Unless you were planning to come back."

[Isikais]

Curious eyes squinted, head tilted slightly to the left incredulously. "Hadrian, are you evicting me already?" Isikais grinned, certain the curious little creature would not pass up the opportunity to learn more of his tenant. A momentary silence passed between the two, broken by a quick hand to Hadrian's shoulder. It was a natural gesture, a friendly pat, a brotherly moment of contact between the two. Only Hadrian could have known the danger of that hand that gripped his shoulder. Hadrian and the whore whose corpse still lay rotting on the floor of forgotten ruins. "I had hoped we would have more time to get to know each other." Lips pressed into a devious smile, as he spoke. His hand slid upward, a squeeze of tensed muscles, and the bottom of his palm pressing slightly on the young man's clavicle, exploring the architecture of bone and flesh. "After all," he began, his tone and tongue reaching into the vault of subtlety and complex inflections that was Old Arumenic, "I have so much yet to learn from you." His words spoke humility, but his inflection, the tone, and cadence implied that Hadrian would in fact be the student. The chill of dead flesh crept upwards as he patted Hadrian's neck, at the base of his skull, fingers recording the texture for future reproduction.

[Hadrian]

"As I said," he repeated, "unless you were planning to come back." It required a certain steel will not to shudder at the Nuit's touch, not due to his nature as a Nuit, but for remembering those hands drawn out into monster-like claws and shredding gleefully through the whore's body. But that same steel will overcame his fear in the face of possible lore. Or perhaps it was folly, too, that stoked his will. He forced a smile while trying not to appear forced, and tried to process Isikais' words in the context of his history, as well as his strange inflections.

[Hadrian]

"Well," he said, slow to speak as he tried to maintain his composure. If he was lucky, Isikais would presume he was just flustered by his lack of understanding and the familiar physical contact. Indeed, he did hate hearing things he didn't understand, be the concepts or languages. He was fluent enough in the Ancient Tongue to recognize the words as Arumenic of some species, but he could not translate it when it was spoken at speed. "You're going to have to teach me Arumenic," he said finally, breathing a bit more easily now he had found his tack. "But for the time being, why don't we just go home? And you might want to be careful with all the petting or people will think we're lovers." He pulled away slightly, smiling so as to put Isikais at ease, while hefting his satchel of books so the strap rested more comfortably on his shoulder.

[Isikais]

Isikais snorted, a whimsical laugh at the thought of the two being mistaken for lovers. It wasn't just because they were both male. Ahnatep had bred a more fluid concept of love and carnality into him early on. Rather, it was more a matter of mechanics. The unforgiving degradation of the Nuit body offered no real bliss in intimacy. His chill flesh lacked the elastic tension that so defined an intimate touch, even without the bane of rigor that settled into a true corpse. Blood would not pump, hearts would not race, breath would not grow rapid with desire, the mind would not swim with a mix of hormones and the chemistry of love and lust. Love was not logic, and though he had recently experienced a surge of emotional moments, such lofty matters of mind and heart still escaped him. Lovers... the thought echoed, threatening a torrent of memory, and he stood there a moment, suddenly still, receding inward, eyes unblinking, as if a golem commanded to cease. A moment only, then the wash of life again hid the inhuman creature inside. "I think if that rumor spread I might escape having to disappoint Dahlia eventually. I fear she has taken a liking to me." Isikais began to walk alongside Hadrian, subconsciously matching his pace and step. As they wandered out of the building Isikais continued his routine of catching glances and stealing snippets of conversation. Every word was an opportunity to him, a chance to more seamlessly blend with those around him. "I've been considering my options for employment as well. If I am going to be here for a while, I'll need to make sure I don't run out of money." As they approached the small one room cottage that they shared Isikais leaned up against the wall, allowing Hadrian to get at the locked door. "What do you think about living with an undertaker's assistant?" Isikais chuckled at the hilarity of the thought. An undead undertaker masking himself as a living man. But still, the practicality of such a position was undeniable. Fresh corpses, and a regular income were both a surefire promise of longevity and a stable stay in Zeltiva. "I promise I won't come home smelling of embalming fluid."

[Hadrian]

"An undertaker's assistant? Well, you would be able to locate your next garment more easily that way, I imagine." He turned a smirking smile to Isikais as he unlocked the door. "What would Dahlia say if she knew she was lusting after an undead undertaker's assistant?" he asked. He wasn't worried about smells; Isikais had proven to be rather fastidious in the short time Hadrian had known him. As he pushed the door open and into the cottage, he did a quick look around and though his scholastic clutter had encroached a bit, nothing else was truly different from when last Isikais had been there. The battle against the rising tide of clutter was quickly engaged, trying to make sure there was enough space for Isikais to sit and read or do whatever else he needed to do. Except killing hookers. Though, to be fair, Hadrian's pet Nuit had been kind enough not to drag the corpse home and drop it on the porch. That would have been difficult to explain away. As to the rest, he just let it lie for now. On the one hand, he was lucky that his parents were rich and had bought him this cottage to live in while studying at the University. On the other, because of that he was only now learning what it was like to share space with another person. Of course, some people always had to ice skate uphill, and he was sharing space with an undead person. "I'm sorry if I upset you the other day," he said, keeping his eyes on what he was doing. "It was not my intention."

[Isikais]

"Let's not dwell." Isikais warned, knowing full well the repercussions of revisiting memories. It was always forward for him, always the next experience, and the one after that. An eternity of tomorrows promised possibility, potential, and a measure of control. The past was a chasm for Isikais, supplying only an abundance of sorrow and second guessing. "So you want to learn Arumenic?" Isikais deftly pivoted. "So do I." He chuckled. "I'm afraid the language has aged quite a bit according to your book." Isikais pointed to the shelf. Then a momentary doubt nibbled at his thoughts. How long after you tell him your age will you be turned into a specimen of study at the University? But Isikais pushed it aside, betting instead on the selfishness of the young man, and his desire to keep such a treasure to himself. "A thousand years will do much to change something, especially something as oft traded as words." Isikais hedged, a twinkle of playfulness in the words, enticing Hadrian to the next question, and the one after that. One could learn as much from the questions as the answer, and Isikais desired nothing more than to challenge his ability to gather such intelligence.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian was of the mind that an apology was hardly dwelling, and he liked to correct mistakes before plunging ahead rather than risking them coming back to bite him in the arse later, but he shrugged and smiled and acquiesced to Isikais' will in the matter. He was, Hadrian supposed, the offended party. And while he didn't speak as complex a language as High Arumenic was reputed to be, he had managed to master Isurian and the Ancient Tongue, the latter of which was Arumenic's root. He could still follow a complex conversation in Common. He nodded. "Those millennia are the reason I can speak in the Ancient Tongue, but not in Arumenic. Yet." He shrugged again "So if you can't teach me, I'll eventually have to find someone to do so. I can deal with racism, but I would at least like to be able to understand the racial slurs they pass behind my back." He smirked, showing what he thought of people who thought they were better than him merely because they had a few more hands with which to jerk themselves off.