Closed A Farewell to Friends

[Noven]

Winter, Day 35, 514AV

You'll lose him in the end, just like the rest...

Nov's eyes flew open, staring unseeingly at cold, grey stone before he remembered the need to breathe. Even in the fresh, disorienting throes of awakening, he remained considerate of the slumbering figure beside him and resisted the urge to gasp. He did, however, take in a deep, silent breath. Air rushed in to fill his aching lungs, spreading relief through his chest as he fought the vise-like grip of panic.

Slowly, muscle by muscle, limb by limb, his body began to relax. He could feel the reassuring weight of the Initiate against him, a pale arm draped over his chest and a sleeping face pressed snugly into the crook of his neck. For a second night in a row, it appeared that their shared warmth while sleeping had lent Keene enough physical heat to replace the usual chill of his skin. Nov was beginning to wonder if his companion was incapable of being anything other than cool to the touch, given how balmy Sahova's weather could be. Even when he was sweating and exerted, his flesh was lukewarm at best, as both had personally witnessed many times over. But now he was radiating a soft warmth of his own and proved that sharing a good night's rest could cure almost anything.

Almost.

It took several ticks before Noven convinced himself that this was, in fact, reality, and the fiasco he'd been tumbling through mere chimes ago nothing more than a bad dream. A jumble of hazy details and intense emotions still echoed round and round his head, linked in no particular arrangement of logical sequence. Just blurs of shouts and struggle that bobbed above the surface of his memories for a couple of ticks before submerging out of reach again.

The merc had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was unsettling to suddenly receive a nightmare so close to his departure. For his entire stay thus far, his sleep had been free of dreams of any kind. A veritable, miraculous blessing, if there ever was one. Yet, right before he had to leave this island for gods knew how long, the nightmares returned.

Unlike his fellow slum dwellers, the Sunberthian wasn't especially superstitious, but even he had to admit the coincidence didn't seem likely to bode well for the journey home.

Nov lay there for a few more chimes, trying to remember what the dream had entailed. His memory was fuzzy at best, but he did recall a sense of dread that had escalated rapidly into sheer horror. There had been a pair of hands wrapped around a vulnerable throat. Whether it had been his hands and Keene's throat, or the other way around, the Scar couldn't say. What he did know was that it had left one of them suffocating in the grips of a lethal chokehold, dying at the hands of the last person they'd ever think to be truly afraid of.

It was an unpleasant nightmare, to say the least, and Noven was eager to leave it behind in the murky realm of forgetfulness. With slow, careful movements, he tried to extract himself from the sleeping Initiate. He was too clumsy trying to re-settle Keene's head on the pillow, however, and caused the other man to stir.

"Sorry to wake you," he whispered, genuinely regretful of having woken his exhausted companion so early. But the sleepy eyed look on Keene's face eased some of that regret, enough for Noven to lean down for a gentle, morning kiss.

"I've got some business to take care of before I leave," he explained in a low murmur. It was almost as if the man was trying to lull his partner back to sleep, though he knew the chances of succeeding were slim. "It won't take long. I'll be out for less than a bell then come straight back, promise."

Nov almost wanted to say more, but restrained himself at the last tick. This was supposed to be surprise and spilling the beans now would only lessen the impact of his gift later. A positive impact, too, he hoped. The Scar hadn't exactly planned it all out, nor had he come to the Citadel with the intention of giving this particular item away. He'd just been holding onto it for so long, toting it around in his pocket or keeping it hidden in the crock pot back in his apartment, never finding a truly good use for it. It was almost as if he'd simply been safeguarding it this entire time, waiting for the right person to claim it.

Then Keene came along, with the events between them unfolding as they had, and suddenly there was no doubt in Noven's mind who this object was meant for. Useful or no, he wanted the Initiate to have it. If not for practical purposes then as something tangible to remember him by.

With much reluctance, Nov rose from his cozy side of the mat to begin his day proper. He was loathe to leave the peace and comfort of lying by the other man's side, but the sooner he got this done, the more time they'd have left to spend together. He lingered just long enough to tuck the blanket securely around his companion, willing Keene to retain some of the heat that they had so blissfully shared, before throwing on his clothes and boots. With one last look back, he opened the door and slipped quietly out of the room.

A quick trip to his quarters to grab his coat and feed his Gibbat pup later, the Scar was taking brisk steps across the Courtyard, gloved hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched to ward off the eerie sight of the graves. He could only hope no ghosts or Nuit mistresses would waylay him halfway through, and that the blond haired Bloodhill Initiate would be waiting on the other side, as promised.

[Keene Ward]

Dreamless sleep. It was something that Keene had often had when he was younger, though usually it was something borne of exhaustion both mental and physical. That night, however, was warm. It soothed him, carried him away into the realm of blissful slumber, a tender kiss to quiet his ever shifting thoughts. While his partner shifted fitfully beneath him, Keene remained inert, his muscles bruised and battered but relaxed. When Noven woke, Keene felt himself drawn back from the peaceful darkness, a dull glow of awareness burgeoning around him. It did not break his sleep, but images began to form where there had been none before.

Noven stood, strong and proud, against a cloudy backdrop, one that swelled with the impending force of a storm. His body marked a stark outline, dark, smooth skin taut over the muscles of his back, clothes seemingly lost or discarded some time ago. There was something different about the Noven atop the knoll, something more distant and cold. In his dream, Keene moved without sound or effort, the scene drifting closer as he approached. There was a pause, words were said, words he didn't quite understand but knew them by the feeling they elicited from his chest. He wanted Noven to know something, something that he shared with a desperation like one might cling to at death's door - a bargain, perhaps?

There was thunder in the distance, lighting streaking across the sky in a brief precursor, though rain had yet to fall. The dark head of hair seemed to shiver in the gathering winds a tick before he turned, but when he faced him, Keene felt his incorporeal body stiffen. Deep crimson rivulets ran down the man's face, coating his body in a dark scarlet such that it was difficult to tell blood from skin. His dark eyes burned, a wild flare of some twisted desire influcence the crescent of his lips, pale white contrasting so completely with the stains of the blood's path across them. There, in his hands that pulsed with the dark crimson of the Vexer's curse, was held a familiar head. Tawny brown hair sat matted upon the blank stare of his own face, grey-green eyes blind and empty.

His vision shifted downward, spectral hands rising to meet him. Noven spoke, again not words, just intention. It was reminiscent of the manner in which Cryptly had conducted himself during their "investigations". It was hot, empty, gloating... and void of the warmth he had come to know. His eyes that were not eyes turned back to stare at the sanguine struck face, the fire filled gaze, the head - his head - in the dark, clenched hands. He felt as though there should have been more in his ethereal chest than simple, cold understanding. Rage, maybe, or perhaps a tinge of betrayal or sadness. Instead, there was just a deep, hollow pit within him, one that expanded through him like some voracious beast. He knew that what Noven had done was something acceptable, though he couldn't figure out why, not within the sleep hampered mind the dream had crafted for him.

As the rain began to fall and the thunder rolled in the distance, Noven dropped the head, letting it roll down to rest at Keene's feet. He said something else, something that Keene was able to understand in both words and feeling.

"Goodbye."

It hung in the air, permeating everything. Though he could not feel the rain upon his skin, the emptiness seemed complete. He simply watched as Noven walked away, frame drifting ever more distant until there was nothing but the blood soaked barren crest of the muddy rise of earth where he had stood.

There was a lurching sensation, as if he were falling, and Keene tumbled from the strangely stoic visions back into the gently protesting skin of his own flesh and blood. He shifted, only half aware that there was something missing but not quite cognizant enough to determine what that something was. His chest hurt, the scrapes from the day before having only just begun to heal, and it was an uncomfortable sort of ache that paired with his scattered bruises. There was, however, a warmth around him, something beyond the blanket. Noven. His eyes blinked awake, light muted by the bleary state of his half-consciousness. The sharp pain of Noven's kiss paired with the ever present, overwhelming allure he felt towards the other man pulled him from his minor delirium and into the early morning, blinking into greater clarity as Noven's deep, low whisper sent shivers down his spine.

Promise.

Keene's lips turned in a slight frown, the vibrancy of his dream still clear in his mind. He had never put much stock in the realm of the unconscious before, and he still found it hardly something to be too concerned about. Still, this was the last day they had together, and the dream had represented their separation quite completely - a completeness Keene preferred mitigated some by his continued drawing of breath. With a nod, he felt a tug at his heart as Noven slipped from the covers. His eyes slid easily over the familiar form, one that he had etched into the very nature of his own djed. His face refelxivly flinched as Noven wrapped the blanket around him some, his bruises aggravated from the restless end to their night previous in spite of the gentle way he moved his hands over him. Leaning back, Keene watched him dress in silence, eyes still adjusting to both the murk of the room and his body's desire to drift back into sleep.

He met Noven's parting gaze with one of his own, the sharpness of his gaze having slowly returned by the time the man had laced his boots. With a nod and a soft light in his eyes, he watched Noven leave, closing the door behind him. Leaning back on the mat, Keene stared up at the ceiling, fingers absentmindedly playing with the blanket's edge. His tongue ran over his lips, Noven's taste reminiscent on the soft, partially parched skin, thoughtful gaze growing distant. He had to say goodbye to Noven. He had to let him leave, to return to Sunberth to seek the Scarlet Woman. He had to return to the Cavern. Their lives had to once more separate.

A small sigh escaped his lips as he pulled himself upwards into a seated position, the pain of his exhausted body's protest substantial but ignored. He didn't want Noven to leave, but the window for what he wanted was coming to close. Soon, reason would once more claim him, and for the better. He understood that what he had done in the past few days, what he had taken and given and desired and fulfilled, all those things were unnecessary distractions. They had filled him with a tumult of emotion, some pleasing some terrifying, and though Keene had given himself to those things, it was becoming time he once more separate himself. He had not thought it would prove so difficult.

Rising, Keene shuffled about the room, first dressing himself then rolling the mats and folding the blanket. Finally, he extinguished the few candles that remained before heading out the door. Noven had given him a short time frame in which he could give his legs a much needed stretch. Winding down the stairs of the Quarters, the chill slightly seeping its way though his quickly cooling skin, Keene made his way into the Courtyard. As he made his way over the uneven, winding paths, he heard not one familiar voice, but two. It seemed a discussion between Noven and the young woman from the Bloodhills. Pausing in his walk that had been intended to take him down to the testing grounds for a very short jog, Keene drew closer to the conversation.

He wasn't quite sure why he did so. Noven's business was his own, just as Keene's was Keene's, but there was just something that pulled him, a want - a desire - to know that he had not quite yet become accustomed to curbing when it came to matters involving the dark, handsome man who made his heart skip its essential beats. While not being particularly stealthy, he did slow his pace and place his feet a bit more tactfully, drawing near enough until he could better catch what the two were saying, still partially clouded in the swirling mists.

[Noven]

He glanced to the right, then the left, paranoid as ever. There was nothing particularly shady about what they were doing, but old habits died hard.

"Do you have it?"

The honeyed blond before him pouted in mock disappointment. "All business and no play, as always. Not even a pleasant hello or how do you do after I've so trustingly held up my end of the bargain."

"You mean after I so trustingly left something that valuable in your cunning little hands," Noven retorted, unmoved by her complaints.

At this, Lorelei gave a coy smile. She would do well for herself, the merc noted idly, in the cut throat streets of Sunberth. Even the most hard bitten of men would be fooled by her delicate features and simpering charm, and if any of them decided to give her trouble, she was more than capable enough of handling them on her own. He knew that first hand from the night that ear-splitting siren had brought them all together.

"Was it just my imagination," the Bloodhills Initiate cooed, "or did you actually pay me a compliment?"

Nov made an impatient sound. "C'mon, Lorelei. I haven't got all day and neither do you. Tell me what you found." Holding out his hand, he added, "And I'd like it back, too, if you don't mind."

This time the disappointment in the blond's expression looked more genuine, but she handed over the object all the same. The merc's hand covered hers for half a tick before his precious gift was stowed safely back into his own pockets. Once the exchange was made, he looked up at her expectantly, doing his best not to demand the answers right then and there.

"Well," he asked when the silence grew too unbearable, "what did you find?"

"You managed to test it on Cryptly, yes?" was Lorelei's reply.

Noven nodded. "He didn't see it at all, the greedy bastard. Had it right in front of his face, too, but no reaction."

A finely shaped eyebrow arched in skepticism. "And how do you know he simply didn't care enough to notice it?" Lorelei gave a graceful little shrug. "Maybe he was distracted by all the coin you paid him, or the prisoners you helped him squeeze answers out of. How can you be sure he couldn't see it at all?"

"Because," Nov responded, patience wearing incredibly thin, "I didn't have it on me the first time, and he would have wondered where I got something like that in less than a fortnight."

He crossed his arms over his chest to cope with the agitation. "That, and he's Cryptly. How would he not notice?"

Lorelei shrugged again, this time in casual agreement. "Fair enough. There wasn't much I could figure out on my own, so I asked Master Silverheart to give it a look." She crossed her arms as well to mimic the Scar, lips curved in amusement for reasons Noven was not privy to. "He guessed that the object must have come from Lhavit. Don't ask me how. I tried, and all I got were even more cryptic questions. He also said it must have been stolen, since you claimed you found it on a group of men lowly enough to kidnap a lone girl."

The disdain in her voice was palpable, though fortunately it did not thwart her from divulging the rest of her findings. "The last thing Master Silverheart told me was that he thinks you have in your possession a treasure of true beauty and fine craftsmanship. Which is impressive, coming from one such as he."

Lorelei tilted her head just a hair to the right. "Are you sure you want to give something like that away? You clearly appreciate it for what it is, otherwise you would not have known its existence in the first place. But how can you be certain the person you wish to gift this to won't be blind to its true value? You don't have to be as greedy as Cryptly or as insufferable as Telemaran to cause it to hide."

Nov barely even hesitated in his reply. "I just am."

There was another moment of awkward silence before he brought up his end of the deal. "So, this favor of yours. You said it wouldn't take long, right?"

The Bloodhills Initiate twirled a lock of golden hair around one finger. "Depends. It doesn't have to, or...it could take as long as you like..." She let her words trail off, no doubt a practiced method of getting others to fill in the blanks with their own imagination. And, as loathe as Nov was to admit it, it kind of worked, if only a little. It was hard to completely resist someone as appealing as Lorelei.

"Let's just get this over with," the Sunberthian growled. "Where we headed?"

Another elegant shrug. "I don't normally spend too much time inside of walls, let alone the Citadel. I have everything I require in my pack. We could do it right here, right now, if you like." The coy amusement in her tone grew ever more noticeable. "Or we could do it in the privacy of your room. Whichever you'd prefer, though I'd personally suggest your quarters, if you'd rather not have an audience of spirits watching you while you strip."

Noven's peeved expression turned into a full blown scowl. He did not like ghosts. And, apparently, it was somehow no longer a secret to the likes of Lorelei. The Scar wasn't terribly thrilled with this turn of events, but he had given his word. He would do what was required.

"Right. Follow me, then."

They walked back through the Courtyard in mutual silence, each finding their own worries eating at their thoughts, regardless of the nonchalant fronts they'd put up only a few chimes ago. The entire way back, Nov found himself fretting over whether Keene was still asleep or not. It would be complicated at best if they bumped into him along the way and some kind of explanation was required. The Scar didn't like the idea of lying to his companion, but what else could he do if he wanted to keep this surprise secret?

Fortunately, the Initiate was not roaming the halls by the time they made it to Noven's door. The merc pulled on the latch, heart already quickening at the thought of what he might say and how he ought to present the gift to the pale, serious young man. It was not only an item of significant value, but one of sentimental import as well. A symbol others might find heavily laden with meaning and Keene absolutely none at all.

Not that he had much attention to spare for planning a course of action. Because the moment they set foot inside the room, a furry mass of Gibbat launched itself at Noven's legs. Then it quickly abandoned this familiar scent to investigate the new one, causing Lorelei a surprised little laugh when the pup leaped into her warm, willing arms.

"And who is this adorable fellow?" she inquired, barely able to keep her face far enough from being licked. "I didn't think you'd be the type of man to care for such a sensitive animal. Though he is quite precious."

As Lorelei set the pup down, Nov moved around her to shut the door. He thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye on the other side, but dismissed it when the Gibbat began yapping at their heels, demanding attention after having been deprived for so long. "I caught it," he answered simply enough. "Keeping it alive until I get back home and figure out what to do with it. And how are you so sure it's a he?"

"The tail, of course," the Bloodhills Initiate replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She moved farther in to inspect the room before opening her pack and withdrawing some kind of fabric. "Right then, straight to business, as you prefer." Lorelei beckoned the Scar to come closer, that look of subtle mirth still ever present in her beguiling features.

"Shirt off, please."

[Keene Ward]

He kept himself still in the obscuring fog, staring at the two figures he knew to be Noven and Lorelei more to augment his ability to listen than to discern anything in the featureless mist. A tree, gnarled and twisted, stood winding up out of the ground beside him, sturdy and more than enough to give his own silhouette the appearance of plant more than person. Though muffled, Keene could hear the words well enough. His curiosity held fast, spurred by some unknown, gnawing feeling in the bit of his stomach. For a brief moment, Noven's grinning, bloody face drifted across his consciousness only to be mentally batted away so that he could concentrate on the conversation that he was still deliberating the importance of. He listened out of some investigative need, but more so because he was more interested in why he was so interested.

The pair was surprising cryptic. They spoke of deals and bargains, things that Keene was familiar with. He had spent time with Noven, though their time had been relatively consumed with consuming the other's, so it while it was a minor surprise Noven was fluent in the language of Sahova, it was not necessarily unexpected. The Sunberthian was hardly a fool, and it didn't take a genius to understand that nothing could be gained on the island of the death without something given in exchange. Noven wanted something, something he hadn't yet paid for by the sound of Lorelei's teasing. Keene found himself far more invested in his eavesdropping than he had first thought he might be, a small frown playing at the corners of his mouth in thought.

He had never been very good at puzzles or riddles. They were the sort of things that his mind had a difficult time wrapping around by the very nature of the problem: it was often something simple for a complicated, convoluted question. What was before him was a puzzle. He was given pieces: Noven wanted something, Lorelei had gathered information, whatever it was Cryptly hadn't noticed it. Then, they mentioned Silverheart and Lhavit, two things that Keene had little knowledge of. He considered the information, but there was little action taken to solve anything. The object, whatever it was, was valuable, and Noven wanted to give it away. The irrationality of it, for once, wasn't surprising. Noven had a way of doing things that Keene found illogical. It was just the way he was, which he supposed, in a way, made it logical.

Like with most things that Noven made his mind up about, he replied quickly, confidently, and without thought. A short silence passed during which Keene calmly ran through all of the memories he had with Noven, excluding those where he had throughly explored the other man, with the vague hope that there would be something there he had missed. What he found, however, was that details about anything that wasn't specifically Noven were lacking. He could remember the exact scent, the way his lips curled in amusement, the smoldering fire of repressed desire, the honest exasperation, all of it. What he could not remember were specific things he may or may not have been holding or wearing.

Noven's words pulled him out of his introspection, and he found he had been lingering on the rivulets of rain trailing down a particular, tanned physique. It seemed the payment was to be made, though in what form and how, Keene couldn't tell. Lorelei spoke in her usual way, alluding to but never really flat out saying anything. It made deciphering what was going on all the more difficult, and Keene resigned himself to simply follow and observe. A small part of his mind reminded him that he was supposed to be at the Testing Grounds, but that had been a self-imposed suggestion that was easily altered. He trailed behind the two, knowing where Noven's room was and not needing to keep close to them.

It was much easier to let the fog rise up and carry the two shadows away paired with his own careful, quiet steps to remain unseen than to stay as close to them as he had before. From their conversation, he'd learned very little, and he assumed that their walk would reveal, if anything, only a marginal amount of interest. He slipped into the Quarters behind them, calmly catching the door before it closed shut with a muted click, keeping out of the way of direct line of sight until the two started up the stairs. He gave them space, listening to their footsteps as they ascended for a few chimes before following in his own quiet, soft shoed manner. He waited several steps below the floor he knew Noven's room to be on until he heard the door open. Laughter filled the hall, and he paused just before stepping into the archway, having to take a few steps back to remain out of sight.

The two spoke a few more words, though neither carried very much importance. When he heard the footsteps file into the room, Keene resumed his careful movements, gliding into the hall under the cover of their voices. The command that Noven remove his shirt was certainly odd, but Keene was hardly one to jump to conclusions - not that he even had many conclusions to jump to at that point. Instead, he positioned himself just outside Noven's room behind the wall, hardly inconspicuous to any passer by.

[Noven]

Noven stared at Lorelei for a few, wordless ticks. The blond stared back, one delicate eyebrow cocked, lips curved in expectation.

"Well?" she drawled. Her tone was almost lazy, like a cat sprawled out under the midday sun. "You said it yourself. Haven't got all day, now do we? Unless you've changed your mind about getting this done quickly..."

A season ago, he might've considered taking the grain of genuine curiosity in Lorelei's words seriously. Perhaps even pressed it to see where it might lead. The Bloodhills Initiate was as beautiful as she was formidable, and that was no combination to resist for the sake of obstinate pride alone.

But too much had happened. Keene had happened. And there wasn't enough temptation on this whole, sodding island left in the Initiate's absence to deter Nov from his final goal before the Scars' departure.

That, and he knew a troubled woman when he saw one. Try as Lorelei might, she could not maintain a perfect pretense the entire time she remained in his presence. Proof of her turmoil slipped through, now and then, from the momentary creases of her brow to the way her slim fingers tapped restlessly against a leather-clad thigh. The favor Nov had asked was no small endeavor, and it only made sense that the blond had agreed under the assumption she would get something equally if not more important in return. And she was going to, though the Scar remained clueless as to why taking his shirt off had anything to do with the truth.

He didn't trust pretty faces. And he certainly didn't trust the natives of this island, regardless of their appearances. But Sahovians were serious about their bargains, and there was a forlorn cloud lingering behind Lorelei's gaze, reminding him all too much of his own helplessness not half a season ago.

Without speaking, Noven did as he was told. The tunic came off easy enough. He'd lost count of how many times he'd disrobed in the past handful of days.

A measure of relief--and possibly a glint of appreciation--rippled through Lorelei's soft features as she eyed the Sunberthian from head to toe before shaking out the fabric in her hands. It was...a shirt, from what Nov could tell, with a section around the midriff and one of the sleeves newly mended. He was slowly starting to understand what the Bloodhills Initiate was doing, but the why's were still eluding him.

"Try this on," she coaxed, voice devoid of the amusement it had so teasingly entertained moments before.

Noven took the shirt in his hand. His brow knit in undisguised confusion. Had her worry made her grow delusional, or did the lass really think carrying on as if nothing had happened might actually bring him back? He could tell her from an abundance of personal experience that it wouldn't.

Instead, he merely asked, "You do remember he was taller than me, right?"

The blond looked mildly offended. "Of course I do. But a couple of inches is close enough, and you do have a tendency to put your own clothes through hell and back." She shrugged and maintained her feigned indifference. "I just wanted to see if my stitches would hold."

By then, Nov had already tugged the tunic over his head and was giving it a few experimental stretches. "So you just want me to, what...get into a few fights in this thing?"

Lorelei blinked slowly and sighed. "No, that would be ridiculous. Just me will do."

"You want me to fight you?" Nov blurted. "Right here, right now?"

"Yes," she replied in a way that suggested she might be talking to a complete simpleton. "Fight me. Right here, right now. Unless you have some other method you'd rather exercise?"

The coyness had returned in full force in Lorelei's tone. But even so, Noven doubted her seriousness. He knew she was a proficient mage, much as Keene was, but his quarters were tiny and the shirt he was trying on freshly patched. Fighting under such conditions simply made no sense whatsoever.

"Just try to hit me," she commanded at last, tired of waiting for the merc to make up his mind. "And don't hold back."

He was reluctant, to say the least. But a deal was a deal and Lorelei seemed confident in her request. Before he could convince himself otherwise, Nov's body language changed, his knees bending and loosening, his arms raising to position themselves between Bloodhills Initiate and Scar. And then, without warning, he threw his first punch, aiming straight for the center of the blond's chest.

To his complete surprise, his fist was stopped mid air by some unseen force. "Again," Lorelei dictated. Noven complied at least a dozen more times, swinging his punches in nearly every variation he could think of before the lass was finally satisfied. By the time she asked for the mended shirt back, he was somewhat winded, lightly perspiring, and more confused than ever. He hadn't managed to land a single hit on the dainty woman before him, and he was fairly certain Lorelei hadn't so much as lifted a finger during the entire exercise.

"What kind of sorcery was that?" the merc asked bluntly as he took back his shirt. The fabric was already going over his head when it seemed to get stuck. He pulled on it, surprised his own clothing was being so stubborn.

"It's called projection," came Lorelei's honest enough reply. Only her voice had grown infinitely closer, to the point where he could feel her breath upon the bare expanse of his chest. Noven froze. The strange hold on his shirt was released, allowing full view of his stupefied expression as the fabric fell around his neck. But it wasn't the blond's proximity, her answer, nor her continued, subtle use of magic that put him in such a state of bewilderment. It was the fact that whatever ghostly limbs this projection of hers relied upon were now concentrating on his lower half. Insistingly. Very, very insistingly.

"Lorelei, what are y--"

Warm soft lips and even softer curves pressed against him, and his mind promlty went blank for a tick. He'd been spending so much time with Keene that he hadn't even thought of what another's company might feel like. And now that it was being forced upon him, dragging him through a jarring but telling comparison, he found that not only was the attention undesirable, it was actually invasive, violating. Even contemptible.

Beside them, the Gibbat growled. His long ears twitched, his second pair of eyes scanning for signs of danger. But the pup was also torn between the new scent and the old. Neither had seemed to bear ill will, only much worry, and he couldn't decide whether the two humans were still engaged in friendly combat or if the darker one was in actual trouble. So many confusing sounds and emotions cluttered up his senses, until all he could do was lay himself flat against the ground, whimpering in indecision.

Meanwhile, Nov tried to push her back, force some distance between them, but invisible limbs kept his arms pinned against the cold, stone wall. Never in his life had he imagined being used this way, this effectively, by someone who appeared to be more doll than lass at first glance. Yet, now that he knew what to look for, he could see the predatory hunger in her gaze. The gloating smugness of a huntress having caught her prey as she freed him from the unsolicited kiss long enough for the ghostly hands to start tugging deftly at his belt. Gone was the facade of playful and demure. In its place was triumph, determination, and unapologetic need.

Bleeding Krysus, her magic is strong. The merc strained against his invisible shackles as the hem of his pants grew ever looser. Strained and struggled, to no avail, though his efforts seemed to amuse Lorelei a great deal. Enough for her to redouble her own on his notoriously uncooperative belt.

"Stop," he panted, his new predicament a hundred times more taxing than the brief spar he'd just engaged in. "Lorelei, you have to listen to me, he's--"

Neither growing annoyed nor deterred, the blond pressed on. And when she leaned forward to trap his unwilling lips in hers a second time just to shut him up, Nov did the only thing he could.

He bit the absolute shyke out of her.

"Gods dammit Noven," she swore, finally pushed to her limits. The Bloodhills Intiate held her lip, glaring daggers at the mercenary while dabbing a finger to see whether or not any skin had been broken. She was bleeding, but only mildly, and the carnivorous gaze returned. "If you wanted to play rough, all you had to do was--"

"He wasn't in the dungeons," Noven interrupted. Within the cramped confines of his quarters, his voice sounded steady, quiet. The Gibbat was up and wagging his tail again, happy to see the two humans were no longer struggling, though he remained a safe distance away, wary of being yelled at again.

The Scar continued before Lorelei could so much as open her lovely mouth to protest. "I checked. Every last cell. And no, I didn't ask Cryptly. Never mentioned his name once, as promised. But the crazy old Nuit didn't waste my mark on just any lowlife. We were on limited time so he had me torture only the important ones. The ones with information useful to him." Nov paused a moment to regain the rest of his composure, words heavy with truth. "He wasn't there," he repeated. "And he wasn't at the docks, either. You and I both know this."

Normally, Noven might've reacted with anger and violence. He'd been manhandled, after all, by a mere slip of a lass through cunning sorcery, and on such an important day no less. But Lorelei's face was crumbling one piece at a time. He knew what it was like to hurt the way she was hurting. To become desperate in filling that void. And even so, he turned to face her squarely, unflinchingly, with the truth. "Which means he might still be out there. Dead or alive, we have no way of saying."

The blond stared back in defiance, ignoring the tears pooling at the corner of her eyes. "He's dead then, if he wasn't at the dungeons. There's no other explanation."

Noven shook his head. "You don't know that. Might never know. And trying to petch the first person you trap isn't going to make it feel any better. Trust me on that. Two broken hearts don't make a whole one."

"You're a liar!" she hissed back. "You did the exact same thing, you hypocrite! I saw you. Both of you, that night in the hills..."

The admission seemed to dampen Lorelei's sudden, exposed temper with a hint of embarrassment, but it only confirmed what Nov had suspected all along. "This was nothing like that," he calmly replied, as if he were speaking to one of the runts back home suffering a bout of angst, "and I know you know it, but I'll tell you why all the same, Lorelei."

Nov took a step away from the wall. Hot, angry tears were trickling down the Bloodhill Initiate's face, but the Scar said what needed to be said. "It's different because you're hurting and I'm not. Because you took without asking and we gave without asking. Because I..." His eyes grew a little wider at his own, unhindered confession. "...because I love him. I never thought I would, but I do, and it's real. More real than the stones in this room and the scars of my past. Though, sadly no less real than me having to leave."

He felt the object in his pocket, thankfully undisturbed by their recent conflict and added, "That's how I'm so sure about giving it to him. "

Lorelei stood there, languishing in a spectrum of pain. Her lip was bloodied, her face awash with tears, and her pride shriveled to nothing. But her heart was still good, and with her shame she found a shred of dignity as well. A sense of graciousness she gained upon realizing there were precious few choices other than accepting the truth of Noven's words.

"The deal is done, then," she said after a stretch of doleful silence. "You've held up your end, and I mine. I wish a swift and safe journey for you and your friends."

Nov nodded, unable to offer any balm to Lorelei's suffering. It sent a pang through his heart, knowing that Keene could so freely and easily give him what he could not to the poor lass now wiping tears onto the uncaring floor below. And how ironic it was that Noven himself would find himself in the same state of aching loneliness the moment he set foot on that ship.

Without another word, Lorelei picked up her things and fled the room, leaving the Sunberthian to sink wearily onto his mat. He didn't even look up when she burst through the door, distracted instead by the rough licks his Gibbat pup was now using to groom his hand. It was almost like the bloody thing knew what had happened and was offering comfort, though how this was possible was beyond the mercenary's abilities to guess.

At least I still have something to show for, he reminded himself, patting the weight of the gift resting reassuringly in his pocket.

[Keene Ward]

He leaned against the cool stone, letting the bricks press back against him, chilling his skin through the thin linen of his shirt. He focused his eyes on the wall directly across from him, the solidarity of the stone proving a substantial point of focus to allow his ears to settle into discerning the muffled words that crept through the slightly ajar door to his right. He was used to seeing the faces matched with their respective speech, and while he was not necessarily the greatest at reading expressions, they often helped to steer his assumptions in a more proper direction. On voice alone, Keene had no context, no secondary tells to maneuver through the over heard conversation with any semblance of accuracy. Rather than to try to make sense of what he was hearing as he normally would, Keene simply listened, setting each sentence and vocal nuance to the side to be examined once he had a better idea of what was going on.

Oddly enough, without the use of sight, Keene heard the fabric slipping over Noven's broad shoulders, and an image to accompany the subtle sound drifted into focus. He could see with crystal clarity every scar, ever slope and dip of his muscle, each inch of the dark, smooth expanse. It was curious, and while certainly arousing, there was something else about it he found odd. In the pit of his stomach, there was an ache, one that he had not felt before. It was twisting and sharp, scraping against his gut as if he'd swallowed a dagger. He did not like the feeling, and so he pressed down upon it, pushing the image out of his head as Lorelei gave Noven another command.

Their conversation shifted, a pronoun suggesting another man added to the mix. Taller than Noven? Keene found that relatively useless information. Neither he nor his partner were incredibly tall individuals. Half the citadel was taller than the two of them, and of that half a fair portion male. Both Lorelei and Noven seemed to be fully aware of the masculine subject, so Keene set the issue aside for the time being. His niggling curiosity had spread, though its motivations still unknown to him, and Keene had little desire nor real need to move from his chosen spot beside the door. It was, in some strange sense, far more interesting than his walk would certainly have proven.

Again, the subject changed, this time from mysterious to martial. He knew full well that the other initiates were hardly forces to be underestimated, and while Noven was strong of will and body, there were things magic could do that the Sunberthian never would be able to combat. Keene considered, for all of two ticks, stepping in to stop them there. The thought passed, however, as Keene found the whole idea of interrupting the two's predetermined business hardly something worth the effort. Noven could take care of himself, and Lorelei was certainly aware that the visitors were not to be harmed under typical circumstances. The sound of Noven's effort soon drifted from behind the solid wood of the door, though no tell-tale smack of fist against flesh followed.

As the voices died down to a point where Keene couldn't quite make out what was said, he heard a familiar growl. It seemed the Gibbat dog that Noven had procured earlier on in his stay found the situation a hair bit uncertain. The malcontent of the creature slowly shifted into one of whimpering subjugation, something that Keene took to insinuate that the situation was under control. There was a panting gasp in Noven's voice, his words too quiet to hear exactly what he said, and Keene chalked the breathlessness up to the efforts expended prior. Though, when Lorelei shouted, Keene's eyebrows raised a slight inch. He had not been expecting so venomous a tone to drift from the delicate woman's lips. He supposed it was entirely possible he had misjudged the situation, and the urge to push open the single barrier between the three of them welled up within him once more.

He had not been part of the agreement, one that Noven and Lorelei had formed of their own volition. To interrupt the two of them was to infringe on the basic nature of Sahova, something that, while he felt a slight constriction of his heart as he clenched his fists in some reflexive response to whatever it was he was feeling, he was loathe to do. Instead, he let out a slow, steady breath, refocusing on the spot he had chosen on the juxtaposed wall with an icy gaze. He had chosen to listen, not to act. He was not Noven's keeper, and he wasn't even quite sure he was his guard any longer. He wanted to protect him, certainly, but protection was a curious thing; there were many more ways than one to protect another.

Again, their voices drifted quiet. He could make out some of what was said, though it made little sense to him. Whoever they had been speaking of before, the man, seemed to be missing. As he focused on the the muffled words, Keene's lips turned slightly in a frown. Noven seemed to be explaining something that Lorelei didn't want to hear. He found it partially frustrating that so much of what was said was lost within the few ticks it took to pass through and around the door, but short of stepping into the room, there was no helping it. He had inched closer to the door, his ear more inclined towards what was said. Stones and scars. Something ready to be given... Leaving. That part Keene understood. Noven had to leave.

Then, footsteps. Keene blinked, his mind suggesting that, perhaps, it was best not to be pressed against the door as he was, and he took several quiet steps backward just as Lorelei pulled open the portal, eyes reddened and lip even more so. The two of them paused, once a icy, analytical regard while the other's seemed a dropped mask, one that was quickly re-donned with a curve of the lips and glare of her eyes. He's all yours, Initiate." Before she brushed past him at a walk that was a few clicks faster than brisk. His face followed her retreating figure, grey-green gaze lingering where she disappeared down the Quarters' stairwell.

He lingered in the hall for a few ticks then, just out of sight of the door's arch. The exchange between the two individuals had hardly been what he might have considered successful, and he wasn't quite sure how to proceed. Eventually, he took the final step to find Noven seated against the wall, his creature-pet lapping away at Noven's weary looking frame. When he saw him, however, doubts and uncertainties were cast aside. In his usual, fluid motions, Keene drifted across the floor, kneeling down beside him and pressing his lips to other's. There was a faint taste of blood and no mystery where it had come from. While again, the twisting shred of the dagger in his stomach began to scrape within him, Keene paid it no heed. He pushed past the biting sting of their contact, his own explorations causing him a pain that could not match the desire he felt.

When he pulled away, the Gibbat dog had taken a few steps back, seated and tail wagging as it regarded to the two with a happy loll of the tongue. He regarded Noven like one might a piece of art, words soft but not without a faint hint of curiosity. "What was that about?" While he had taken the time to gather the information, the parts had yet to come to a whole. There was little better way to consolidate them than an explanation from their source.

[Noven]

His tired, jumbled mind was still running through options, trying to decide how best to deliver the gift, when a familiar set of footsteps approached from beyond the open door. Noven looked up just in time to see a visage of pale, lithe features gliding towards him. He was confused at first. Had his thoughts alone summoned the Initiate out of thin air?

And then those velvet lips were upon his once more, erasing the weariness, the doubt, the stupor that came after having almost been used against his will. Nov's body turned to meet that of his companion's of its own volition, a calloused hand rising to draw Keene nearer. He could taste the faint, metallic flavor of Lorelei's blood between them, but it only served to drive his kiss deeper, hungrier, as if he were trying to cleanse himself of the unsolicited advances.

Just Keene's presence alone made the Scar feel awash with peace. The graceful strength of the other man's form, the coolness of his touch, the ardent desire with which he kissed--all sweeping at any dark sentiments he still harbored.

Alas, the moment of obliviousness could not last forever. Truth always found a way to resurface, and this case proved no exception. Nov would have chosen to forget the ordeal with Lorelei altogether, leave it as far behind them as possible, had the Initiate not asked in his usual, guileless manner why the blond had stormed out in such a state.

Noven flicked his gaze downward for a few ticks, unable to meet the other man's eyes. It was not out of shame, nor was it a product of fear. It was, rather, a whole mess of entangled emotions, from pity for the lass, to revulsion at what she'd done, and further still to his own ineptitude in the face of magic. A sense of helplessness and vulnerability made so painfully evident in the last ten or so chimes. Where to even begin? How to broach these subjects at all without revealing too much of Lorelei's personal strife, or exposing the gift's existence before he could even think of a proper way to present it?

Not to mention Keene had to have caught at least some of the conversation between Bloodhills Initiate and Scar. How long he'd been outside and for what reasons were anyone's guess, but Noven figured it safe to assume he hadn't actually seen anything. He was fairly certain that if Keene had witnessed his lover being pinned to a wall and taken against his will, Lorelei would have left the quarters in icy bits and pieces.

Yet, that was also precisely why he hesitated to divulge the truth in its entirety. Lorelei had done wrong. There was no mincing that. But she was also young, and in pain. And if every error made in the wake of a broken heart was to be punished by agonizing, brutal death, then Nov himself ought to have died a hundred grisly deaths over. He was spared from just the one, though, and in his place a blameless boy, whose only mistake was in knowing him and sharing similar features, was bled dry in some nondescript, dead end alleyway. Gutted and robbed of life for nothing other than petty revenge.

The Sunberthian leaned his head back against the cool, stone wall and closed his eyes. "It's a long story," he answered with a sigh. Then he cracked on eye open as he smiled faintly at the Initiate. "so we'd best get comfortable. Here..."

Gently, Nov tugged at Keene's legs, guiding the other man to sit astride his lap. He did it partly because he felt it was important that they speak face to face from here on out, and partly because he found himself deeply in need of the physical comfort. "I have nothing to hide from you," he began in earnest, warm hands resting on either side of the Initiate's hips, "and I'd like to keep it that way."

Not that it's hard to do when you leave in a matter of bells, a voice sneered unpleasantly in his mind. But the merc chose to ignore it and continued.

"We both know what it's like to lose someone important to us," Nov explained, fingers traveling only enough to feel the solid, reassuring flesh above him. "But when you fall in love and your partner just suddenly disappears one day, it's...different. The hole is still there. You still feel lost and alone. But you don't know why they left, if they're dead or alive or ever coming back, and it can drive you mad. Make good people do terrible things, and terrible people do even worse."

His rust colored gaze grew cloudy with remembrance. "Imagine if you'd woken up this morning and I was gone. No explanation, no goodbye, no warning. Just gone. And then suddenly you wonder if all those words we shared, everything we'd done together, was even real."

Nov shook his head at the very thought, forcing himself not to sink too deep into the wounds of his past. "It makes you feel crazy. Do crazy things. And that's...that's what happened to Lorelei." Peeking around Keene's arm to make sure the other Initiate had truly gone, he continued, "It was just a trade, at first. I needed the Isur, Master Silverheart, to check something for me, but I'm not allowed that far into the Gug. So I asked Lorelei to go instead, and in return I looked in the Dungeons for the person she'd lost."

The merc's face scowled briefly at the memories. "It was a petching shyke job, but I did it. And it should've been easy from there. The whole thing was supposed to be as simple as you tell me what you know and I tell you what I know. But when I met with Lorelei to finish the deal, she..."

Nov struggled with how to proceed. He wanted to be truthful in the fullest sense of the word, and that included painting Lorelei's half fairly as well. "She tried to run from her pain," he settled at last, "to escape it, if only for a little while, through someone else. And that someone else just happened to be me." He held onto the Initiate a little tighter, fighting the unpleasant memories of being bound by magic. "But I wanted no part in it and we fought. She couldn't understand at first, what made that first night you and I spent in the hills different from today. From what she'd tried to take just now."

The Scar gave his companion an affirming look. "And yes, she did catch us in the act. Just like your master had. Who knows, maybe they even watched together. Guess we were good enough for an audience."

It was somewhat surprising, how little that possibility actually bothered him. The man was no exhibitionist by any means, had never been and probably never would be, but his usually reserved nature bore no qualms with having been seen with the Initiate. Maybe it was just because he was leaving the island soon and such trivial issues hardly seemed worth the time. Or maybe it was something else entirely, he couldn't say.

What did bother him, however, was that Lorelei had known who they were, even under the effects of the mystery brew. Which also meant she knew who had assaulted Overseer Telemaran on that very same day. If the blond wanted to do some real damage with that information, she probably could. But there was also Atziri, Keene's master, to consider, and Nov had a feeling Lorelei was smart enough not to cross paths with such a dangerous superior.

"Not that it matters," Nov amended, drawing Keene a bit closer as he straightened a little. "What's important is that Lorelei understands the difference now. And that you're here. With me."

Looking up at the Initiate, he waited to see if there would be some kind of response. Keene was as predictable at times mystery brew itself, and Noven was more anxious than he cared to admit to know what was going on in that head of his. Was the man jealous? Angry? Relieved? Indifferent? There was no way of knowing until Keene spoke.

[Keene Ward]

Keene's eyes lingered on Noven's face as he cast his gaze downwards. When he had been listening to the conversations, pondering over what it was each meant in tone and choice of word, Keene had felt anxious, as if his lack of understanding somehow seemed to imply that there was something ominous or foreboding yet not understood in the unknown. Staring across at Noven's pensive visage, however, his heart beat steady and there was no reflexive need to clench his fists. He trusted Noven, something beyond his natural tendency to assume that those who entered into verbal agreements would hold to them; it was deeper, more ambiguous and far more real. Whatever it was Noven had to say, Keene found he could wait if that was what was required of him. He was comfortable, something that he had not been in a long time. It was a warmth that filled him from within, something intangible that settled first in his bones and spread out to the end of each of his hairs.

He had long since abandoned reason with Noven, but he found that that abandonment was something far less contained than he had thought it to be; Noven's reach of influence extended far greater than he had anticipated, and it had become confusing to tell when reason should and should not be applied. In many ways, it was a good thing that Noven was to leave, to disappear into the rolling waves never to be seen again. His life had become complicated in just the short time the impossible man had captured not only his heart but mind as well. A part of him, one that grew with each bell only to shrink every tick he drank in each precious feature of the other man's seeming, welcomed the departure. He had fallen into both complacency and foolishness, two things that would serve him poorly in the years to come, should they come at all. Noven was a liability, and his feelings even more so. He needed him gone, but he wanted him to stay.

When Noven did reply, Keene moved obligingly before his guidance, legs still bruised but hardly hampered as they loosely wrapped around the other man. He felt the pressure of Noven's hands against his hips, and instinctively he pressed back, eyes set on Noven's own, their faces only a short distance apart. Though his brow slightly raised at Noven's words, he nodded. He'd never thought much about either of them hiding anything. To him, words that were not said were merely a subject that had not been asked for. The act of hiding only required that Noven not wish to tell him, which would have been easy to do with a simple shake of the head. There were times, rare times, where Keene thought he understood the confusing young man who spoke of things both strange and superfluous, but astride the warm, familiar lap held by hands that elicited a patter of the heart, there was no understanding in his gaze, only the same hint of curiosity playing at the edges of his stare.

As the words began to flow in Noven's steady baritone, Keene felt his muscles relax themselves some, settling his body into a more comfortable position as his hands gently played with the cuffs of Noven's shirt. The rough, worn fabric scratched against his fingers, a vague reminder that there was only a thin barrier between him and a body he never stopped craving nor cared any longer where that craving came from. Only, while his mind was certainly occupied with what they could be doing, as it always was with most things, he found it did not require much effort to focus on what was being said. It was, after all, something that he had asked not out of social etiquette, but because he had genuinely wanted to know the answer.

It was an appeal to emotion, something that Keene was hardly versed in. Though his gaze remained steady, his mind whirred behind the placid stare. Had Noven been gone from the island, he would have carried on. That was something that he knew full well. What he would have felt, regardless of its weight, would not have stopped him from his duties, his training, his life. What they had done was real; what he had felt was as real as feelings could be. He doubted Noven's absence would make anything less so, but for the sake of Noven's monologue, Keene remained silent. While he would not have reacted in the way that Noven depicted, he had a feeling that Noven spoke truth, at least in the subjective sense. Whether Keene agree with Noven's predictions for himself or not, he did not disregard the possibility that it was accurate for others.

While he did not know who Silverheart was, his lips still turned a slight frown. He did not understand why Noven had not simply asked him to do the task. It was not that he was hurt or insulted, only that Noven had gone out of his way to use a more expensive resource when he had had a free one the entire time. It was, he supposed, just yet another thing about Noven that was incomprehensible. Then, there was the trade itself. The only person he knew to associate with Lorelei in any capacity beyond the passing interaction had been her partner, Derain. He had met him, formally, only once at the beginning of the season, but the memories were hazy, clouded by the exhaustion from the fire before. The frown remained steady as his mind gathered the few bits of information about the mysterious "he", finding that "Derain" fit into most of them without trouble.

Again, the twisting scrape at the pit of his stomach returned, rending hot, blistering heat at both the apparent struggle in Noven's controlled features and the contents of the story he relayed. Keene's face, however, remained mostly passive. Logically, if Lorelei missed Derain and thought Noven a proper substitute, it made sense she would wish to take out her frustrations on the other man. Keene was not particularly adept at determining the physical attractiveness of an individual, but he supposed that Lorelei simply appreciated similar qualities. Only, Noven was much different from Derain, hardly a substitute, which made the logic waver under the hissing roll of the strange grip of burning cold in his stomach. He was glad she had not taken what she had come for, but he wasn't sure why. Noven was not his property, not even anything more than a man who had captured his heart with a magic all his own. There was no ownership, no rational reason for him to feel the chill of relief spreading to calm the rage that had slowly and subtly raged up to the middle of his chest.

He did raise a brow at the mention that there had been more than a single watcher during their first night, and Noven assured him it had not been a misspoken word. It was dangerous for more than his master alone to have seen them and known them to be who they were, but Lorelei was an initiate of the Wardens. Whether she could be trusted to keep Keene's involvement in Telemeran's assault a secret or no, he doubted she was directly oppose whatever it was Atziri had done to smooth things over.

As Noven pulled him closer, his words coming to an end, Keene stared back at him. There had been a lot of information to sort through, though not necessarily to process. In essence, Noven had explained that he had asked Lorelei for a trade of favors, one she had tried to take advantage of but, for whatever reason, had left, the bargain complete. She had tried to seduce him, that much was clear. Judging from the wound she had left with, Noven had bitten her, a small fact that sent a curious warmth through his chest as if he had just discovered something particularly pleasing, though he wasn't sure why. In essence, nothing had changed; or perhaps it had, only Keene couldn't quite see how or where. Without saying anything, he pressed his nose against Noven's, the sting of the contact far outdone by the warmth and tingle of pleasure that ran down his spine at the smooth touch of skin.

"I am here," His voice was quiet, smooth, and soft, drifting from his lips to tease at Noven's with their solidarity. "With you." Gently, he pressed his lips over Noven's, lingering in the gesture, rather than the search that itched in the forefront of his mind, wishing him further and deeper into the kiss. "Until we disappear." He drew back, hands resting on Noven's shoulders as he regarded him with his steady, grey-green gaze. His heart beat several ticks faster, loud enough that, in the silence, it was easy to hear in the cramped quarters where the Gibbat dog still watched with a quiet approval. "What was it you wanted Master Silverheart to check for you?" It was the only thing he hadn't quite understood and was still unable to piece together. He knew it was from some land called Lhavit, that it was valuable, and that Noven intended to give it to someone he trusted. Beyond that, it could have been anything.

He was painfully aware that Noven was to leave soon. Their limited time felt even more so, but he could not help the curiosity when it presented itself. He wanted to know. Whatever it was, whether important or mundane, Keene waited for the reply. It was strange, almost as if he wanted to know simply because that meant one small thing more than he could remember about the Sunberthian once he was gone. An odd thought, to be certain, but one that did not strike him as completely lacking reason. He wanted to remember Noven, for whatever it was or wasn't worth. Whether that would prove detrimental to his efforts on Sahova or not, he found it wasn't worth forgetting him over. He loved Noven, whether he truly understood the meaning of the word or not, and distraction or no, his memories made in the short time they had had together were the warmest he'd ever experienced if not some of the most confusing. To have just a little bit more of that, even if it was nothing more a few extra words and a sheepish grin, Keene wanted that. There would be time for useful knowledge within a half day's time, when his wants and desires would once more take a back seat to what was required of him, as they should have from the start.

[Noven]

For a span of wordless ticks, they simply stared at one another, seated as they were in a position of both intimacy and trust. It was impossible to guess what exactly was going on through the Initiate's head; his face remained too carefully composed, his lips purposefully still as he processed everything the Scar had said. Though, Nov suspected he may have seen a small glint of pride in those gray green eyes, shining briefly before being replaced by something more certain, more...exultant.

He was half expecting some kind of backlash. A torrent of jealousy, perhaps, or suppressed displeasure at best. But instead he found himself face to face with the cool, soothing tone of Keene's voice, their noses brushing against one another in careless attraction.

Nov's thoughts grew hazy beneath the other man's teasing proximity. He wanted more, ached for that contact he couldn't seem to get his fill of no matter how many times he had it, but his satisfaction was left completely at the Initiate's mercy. A moment of disconnect followed as expectation and reality struggled to come to terms with one another, the task made all the more slippery by a very soft, very hungry mouth as it delved deeply into his own. Lips parted, tongues searched, and Keene kept them locked long enough to leave the other man panting for breath by the time their kiss was broken.

He watched Keene watching him, allowing himself to float aloft in the fog of growing desire. It was quiet enough within his spartan quarters for Noven to hear the thumping-thumping of Keene's heartbeats. They mirrored his own, which had risen with each added gesture of intimacy, beating hard enough to send little vibrations through the thin fabric of his shirt.

When his lover finally asked what he had sought Master Silverheart for, the energetic pattering of Nov's heart doubled. He didn't really have a plan beyond getting the thing inspected. Not when he wasn't even sure the object wouldn't somehow endow the bearer with any negative side effects. Hence, the exchange of favors with Lorelei. But now that the two of them were here, together, and relatively alone--the Gibbat had decided to content himself with a nap by this point--it seemed like as good a time as any to finally hand over what he had been safe guarding for so long.

The Scar maintained an expression of neutrality as he answered, "Oh, that? Well, funny you should ask..."

Reaching for the gift still tucked safely in one of his pockets, Noven was just about to reveal his surprise when he thought of a better idea. He gave a little cough before drawing back his hand again and leaning away from the wall.

"So, I'm not sure if these kinds of customs mean anything to you," he began, gently maneuvering himself out from under the Initiate, "but they're a pretty big deal to other folk out there in the world--and I mean big, for a thing so small--and...well...ahh, petch it. Here, I'll just show you."

The merc got to his feet, stretching to full height with a slight groan, before offering a gloved hand to his companion. Once they were both standing upright in the cramped confines of his room, that was when the anxiety truly kicked in.

How would Keene receive what he was about to offer? Would he appreciate it? Despise it? Completely fail to comprehend its significance altogether? Nov strove to keep his nerves under control. He hadn't felt this jittery in years. It was probably due to equal parts apprehension over how the other man would react and the sheer fact that he'd never done this before. It seemed Keene would be a first for a lot of things, and the surprises never stopped coming.

But Noven was committed. In more ways than one. And he was going to see this act through if it was the last thing he did.

"You don't need to do anything, just stand there," he instructed, doing his best to keep his demeanor calm and unrevealing. "Alright, now close your eyes. Don't open them until I tell you to."

As soon as Keene obliged, Nov would swallow nervously one last time before reaching into his pocket. Then he got down on one knee, trying to remind himself that this was for a good cause, no matter how stupid he might look in that moment. He spent some time adjusting his position above the cold, stone floor, stalling a bit, until he was ready to hold up the gift.

Another embarrassed little cough. "You can open them now."

He knelt there on one knee, face upturned in earnestness and fear, a small, gold object resting between his index and thumb. It was a ring of impeccable crafstmanship. A simple yet elegant band, polished to a shine high enough for one's reflection to peer through. It was also a relic of curious, magical properties, disappearing before the greedy of heart like a shy maiden in the face of unwanted suitors. Lorelei had asked him of his certainty, but there was no doubt in Noven's mind. He knew Keene's heart was as free of greed as his own. Freer, even, he was willing to bet. And there was no one else in this vast, unknown world that he'd rather give such a precious object of beauty to.

"Keene," Nov announced, his voice carrying with it a sense of heartfelt beseechment, "will you accept this ring as a token of my feelings, to remember me by when we are apart?"

[Keene Ward]

Keene blinked at Noven's statement. While he was aware that often something that he didn't find particularly humorous might seem to inspire levity in others, he could find no reason why asking about the object the conversation had involved was anything short of logical. Still, he waited as Noven shifted his hand from his waist - the loss of warmth a necessary evil - to slip towards his pocket. It seemed, however, that for whatever reason, Noven decided that a simple reveal wasn't quite in the cards. As Noven gave him a subtle indication it was best Keene stand, he obliged, allowing Noven space enough to stand and stretch, his height a few inches more than the initiate's own.

At the explanation as to why Noven didn't just show or tell what it was he'd been researching using both master and initiate, Keene just blinked in reply. He had never really understood most of the rituals of society, though he adhered to many of them for the sake of simplicity. If Noven was trying to hint at something, Keene did not pick up on the suggestions. There was a slight hint of nervousness in Noven's voice, but nothing quite overt enough for Keene to notice as he nodded at the further instruction. As his eyes closed to bathe his vision in the darkness Noven requested, Keene's mind found itself at a loss.

He had no idea why Noven didn't just tell him. There was a growing feeling of apprehension in his chest, a slight constriction of his heart as he waited, unsure whether he felt such things because Noven was acting more strangely than usual or if there was something else his body seemed to understand better than his mind. It was odd, all of it, and his thoughts were jumbled with those of desire and longing for the warmth lost as well as confusion and investigation of what it might be Noven was going to show him. With so many possibilities, Keene found it was too difficult to sort through them to narrow it down to any believable possibilities. Whatever the object, when Noven told him to open his eyes, Keene did so, blinking a few times to focus his gaze on the outstretched hand attached to the peculiar stance Noven had taken up.

Keene's eyes slid over the scene before him, face a neutral mask as he processed the visual information with all the meticulous concentration of one in a world unknown. Noven's voice, steady in its request, resounded in the small room, a deep, rhythmic anchor that Keene let his focus center on as it was the only thing about what Noven was doing that made much sense to him. For a few ticks after the question had hung in the air in silence, Keene simply stared down into the searching gaze of the other man, the earnest feelings so clearly worn that Keene's own chest filled with an unprecedented warmth. Still, the request itself needed to be addressed, and while there was a veritable tidal wave of various desires he wished to employ to quench the inexplicable hunger he suddenly felt before the gaze of the other man's honest, beseeching expression, Keene finally spoke.

"I have accepted everything you've given me, Noven." He set his hand over Noven's, the ring pressing into his palm as he slowly closed his fingers around the far more desirable prize of the other man's hand. "I do not need a token to remember you by." With a slight wince, Keene joined Noven in a kneel of his own, his other hand moving to pull gently at Noven's chin, drawing him nearer so that their faces converged over their respective wrists, just a small distance apart from the other. "I accept you, Noven." He drew the ring from the fingers, the slight release of the searing pain where their hands had touched a gentle, soothing breath as he held the ring up between them. "If this is how I would show that," His hand withdrew from where it had been gingerly tracing the line of Noven's jaw, the other slipping the ring over his finger. "Then I will wear it - a physical representation of memories I would not trade for anything."

Where Noven's words had been earnest and heartfelt, Keene's were soft, factual, and void of most of the depth of feeling the other man had employed. Yet, there was a warmth, an undercurrent of Keene's overwhelming affection riding just below the delicate timbre of his voice. There was honesty, always, in what Keene said, but in that moment, it was something slightly more. It was a revelation of soul, though perhaps one that was unrealized by its bearer as he gazed with an unabashed appreciation of not only the features before him, but the man he knew them to represent. Noven would be gone before the end of the day, perhaps for the rest of their relatively short lives. That was not a possibility, it was a certainty, and it was something he had come to terms with as best he could. He understood that Noven had a life to return to, a world that was his own, one that was as foreign to Keene as Sahova had been to Noven.

The memories, however, the perfectly detailed, vivid recollections of everything that had passed between them, would never leave. They were permanent marks upon his soul, passages added the life story of his djed's weave that could not be unwritten any more than they could be recreated. The ring, while certainly a work of art, was inconsequential as far as Keene was concerned. He would remember Noven, all of him from the wry grins to the panting, roaring throes of his love to the desperate, frantic panic of confusion to the cold and callous mask he was forced to wear. Those things were his bond, his treasure; and though Keene would never admit it, not even to himself, he cherished those things above all else. Whether that changed or not, as he stared back at Noven, grey-green gaze locked with the deep, dark amber, he didn't think about anything else but how much his heart ached: it was pain, pleasure, desire, and warmth all at the same time.

Things seemed to move slowly, every tick crystal clear, every point of information both physical and metaphysical clearly defined to the point where it was impossible to think in any other time than the present. His lips brushed against Noven's, the flare of pain sending a silent scream through his body, every point of tearing agony felt a thousand times over; the pleasure that followed felt a million times more. He did not understand the ritual of the proposal. He did not understand the symbolism of the ring. He did not even realize that the ring itself had been the object Noven had been investigating. None of those things mattered to him as he pressed on, his body wrapping itself around Noven's as he carefully and deliberately pressed him to the floor. All he could think about was the taste in his mouth, the scent of their breath, the warmth of both passion and pain. It was like a sickness he could no longer fight, one that struck him to his core in such a way that he was finally lost to it.

He had never felt like he did with Noven. The feelings were extreme, often confusing and rarely ever logical. Those things had frightened him, to an extent, and the ever present knowledge that he and Noven would be separated had hung over him, fueling his carnal desires like an animal. But there, in the cramped quarters with the warm metal of the ring about his finger that pressed into the heat of Noven's chest as Keene continued on the path he could no longer turn away from, that carnality faded. There was just pure desire, not for Noven's body or his words or his affections. He simply wanted to be closer to him, to hold onto him and never let go. It was far more powerful than anything before, and Keene lost himself to it. It was almost as if there was no feeling at all, instead only a flood of never ending sensations, each a perfect moment leading into the next.

Whether by his own will or the strange, all-encompassing will of something larger than himself, Keene's voice whispered soft and cool in Noven's ear, their bodies pressed together in a flawless fit. "I love you, Noven." And meaning was lost. Thought was lost. Whether Keene knew what love was, whether it had even been he who had said the words, he embodied them. There was nothing but the present; nothing but the two of them together.