Closed More Than Strangers

[Noven]

Winter, Day 33, 514AV

He had been sitting there at the edge of the harbor for almost two whole bells before one of the passing sailors took pity on him.

"Look, mate," the swarthy deckhand muttered as he crouched beside the Scar. "Yer not gonna get a biter. Not with that shyke excuse for a stick." He nudged a sun browned thumb in the direction of Noven's fishing rod, which was pretty much just a piece of string tied to a branch he had found lying around in the Courtyard.

Nov's first impulse was to take offense. He had, after all, worked very hard to procure both string and branch.

But the sailor wasn't looking for a fight. He merely held up his hands and gave a disarming little smile. "Meant nothing by it, mate, just thought I'd offer you a better deal. You look like you could use it. And, trust me when I say you don't want to be eating any of the local shiners here." The man glanced back at his ship, the rest of his fellow crew members busying about the deck, bringing down the last of their wares before departing post haste. They had reached the docks a full day late and were now scrambling to get back on schedule. Though, even without delays to consider, it seemed a regular trend that none of the visiting ships were eager to stay for long in Nuit run waters.

"We're about to set sail again, but I keep my own store of goods," he explained, making sure he was out of earshot of his ship mates. "You know, for a few extra coins on the side when the Captain's finished with his business.

Nov sighed, staring at the empty waters around his pitiful bait. It wasn't even a real worm. Just some random bug he had managed to capture and spear through the hook, which was actually an old needle bent clumsily at the middle. He just wanted to catch something for supper with the Initiate tonight. Something fresh, a proper dinner. But so far all he had to show for was one wasted morning and several amused glances from visitors and sailors alike.

The Scar turned his head and rumbled reluctantly, "I'm listening."

"Well," the sailor chirped, suddenly in much higher spirits, "whudya need? I got all manner of goods stowed away. Fish, too, and much less eerie looking ones than these man-faced Koi--"

"Wine," Nov interrupted. "Do you have wine?"

"Course! I got cheap wines, fine wines, rum and whiskey too if yer interested. What kind did you have in mi--"

"Your best wine," the merc interrupted a second time. "Name the price, and I will pay it."

The sailor balked for a tick. "Ah, 'o course. Only the finest for a man like yerself."

Nov had already turned to face the water again, though he had given up on his fruitless fishing endeavors and begun to coil the string around the stick for future use. "It isn't for me."

"Well, all the more reason!" the sea dog turned merchant readily encouraged, clapping his weathered hands together. "A special wine for a special someone. The perfect way to celebrate any occasion with a person ya hold dear. I bet she's a fine catch, she is, yer lady love."

Without so much as batting a lash, Noven turned to regard the seaman and responded in the most casual of manners, "Aye. He is. Would you happen to have any lemons, too?"

---Later that evening---

It had taken one hell of a journey to get everything prepared, but the Sunberthian was nothing if not resourceful. Poverty tended to instill such traits in those who survived the City of Slums.

From the enterprising little swabbie at the Harbor, Nov had acquired two pounds of fish, ten standard candles, two withered looking lemons, and a bottle of the finest wine available. With these items in tow, he then made a trip to the galley, dark skin blending in easily enough with the rest of the sailors. He managed to bribe the cook to take a breather for thirty or so chimes while he made use of the galley's humble facilities. The cook had been hard enough to convince just for the borrowing of a stove and pan; everything else, such as the salt, spices, and labor, Nov had to see to himself.

The merc had no qualms with this. His personal belief was that if you wanted something done right, you did it yourself, and this meal was no exception. Within half a bell, he had managed to turn the fish into fillets, sprinkle a bit of salt and thyme over each, broil them for a spell in wine, which he regrettably had to uncork ahead of time but figured he could explain it easily enough to the Initiate, and wrap it all up in brown parchment before packing it in a small basket. The seasonings he had fortunately brought along with him from home in the form of a kit, and the basket a complimentary gift from the sailor for 'being a fine customer.'

It wasn't a terribly fancy meal. But it was the best he could do with such limited supplies and short notice. By the time Noven returned to the Quarters, he smelled faintly of fish and brine and smoke. Making sure to keep his over eager Gibbat pup from breaking into the basket, he covered the goods with his coat, ordered the dog to go poke his noise elsewhere, and quickly rinsed himself with some of the precious water in his flask and a small bar of soap from his pack.

Next, Nov went through the rare routine of combing his hair with an actual brush and switching out his current shirt for a more presentable one. A dark, red tunic with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and no patches or stains to speak of.

Satisfied, he fed the dog some rations to keep it busy, gathered the rest of his supplies, and shut the door behind him. The merc made his way up a couple of floors to the empty room he and Keene had designated as their meeting point, arms laden with gifts and heart beating erratically.

They had spent the past day and a half with only fleeting glimpses of each other. Once, Nov happened to be walking down the same hall as the Initiate. Gripped by the spur of impulse, he pulled Keene through some random door, bursting in shoulders first before turning eagerly to ask when they would be able to meet. But instead of words, he received a kiss for an answer. Noven responded deeply with one of his own, surprised by how much he had missed the other man's presence in so short a time, and for a moment he thought he might lose his composure then and there, pressed against the cold, stone wall as they were.

But in the end he got a verbal answer as well. Tomorrow evening, the Initiate would be free, as would the Scar. They agreed to meet around the sixth bell, once Syna had set and their duties finished. Just a few chimes and nothing more before both were forced to return to their tasks, leaving the unoccupied room to part their separate ways. Nov couldn't remember the last time his heart felt so jittery and his stomach so confused. He counted down the bells until the following night with infallible vigilance, scarce able to sleep in the distracting face of anticipation.

Mind snapping back to the present, Nov stopped as he arrived at an unassuming, wooden door. He paused for the mere space of a breath before ducking in, eager to get everything set up before Keene arrived. The merc had taken what comforts he could from his room, leaving just his coat for the gibbat to sleep on once it had chewed down its rations. He spread a blanket before the empty mat to cover the grey stones and set down the basket. First, he placed and lit each of his ten newly acquired candles, giving the drab little room some semblance of warmth. Next, he pulled out the bottle of wine and packet of cooked fillets. Sadly he had no cups, plates, or utensils to speak of, but he figured the Initiate wouldn't mind. As a final touch, he arranged his own mat across from the original, spreading a thin blanket over it to form a more comfortable seating area. This way, they could sit facing one another as they ate.

Running fingers absently through his dark hair, Nov took a step back to examine his handiwork. It was...obvious he tried, at the very least, but nothing one could call artistic or luxurious.

While he waited, he held a candle to the fish, determined to keep himself busy until Keene's arrival. He also feared letting their supper go cold and ran the candle flame up and down the fillets, careful not to drip any wax on them or set the parchment on fire.

It was only a matter of chimes before he could sate the growling in his belly and gnawing of his heart.

receipt-20 gm for 1 Fine Wine
-1 gm for a of couple wrinkled lemons (not in season)
-4 gm for 2lbs fresh fish
-1 gm for 10 candles
-5 gm to bribe ship's cook
Total: -31 gm

[Keene Ward]

.
Keene stood in the middle of the cramped quarters of his room, djed drifting about him as it shimmered in a hazy cloud, his focus set on tasking it to repel him before he began to slowly and carefully spread it out over the cold stone walls, gentle curls and shimmering filigrees of the icy weave settling into place. It was his third and final pass, filling in any holes or areas he'd had yet to cover along the walls. Once it was done, Keene delivered a swift punch directly into the wall in front of him. The shield flared, and the momentum of his hand was partially absorbed before the muted recoil bounced the fist back from its intended destination. Finding it acceptable, Keene removed his shirt, carefully folding it before setting it on top of the rolled up sleeping mat that was tucked into one of the corners of the cupboard. With that done, Keene turned his attention and focus back onto the shimmering, opalescent frost that allowed him a target to strike that would neither strike him back nor seriously injure him.

As he began to alternate strikes, each delivered with a small hiss, Keene favored his right and avoided most use of his left. While the cut had begun to heal, Keene had little intention of further wounding himself. The entire point of the exercise was to relax him, and reopening a wound was hardly relaxing. As jabs, kicks, knees and elbows flew at the inanimate opponent before him, Keene let his mind wander. While he still allotted enough of his mental processes to handle the technicalities of form, stance, and strength, the rest of his thoughts began to sift through the events of the days past.

Noven.

He had been the only thing that the initiate could think about since the events that had taken place only two days ago in the pools of the Palsa Hydrasa. When they had returned to the Quarters, Keene had had to retire to the current cell of a room to rest while Noven's presence had been required by the others. The following day, Keene had spent most of the morning asleep while his body adjusted only to spend the rest of it at the Testing Grounds. At some point, he and Noven had crossed paths, and Keene had taken the opportunity to express his more carnal desires. Fortunately for the two of them, Noven had thought to ask when they could meet, and Keene had scheduled a time for them. He'd done so rather arbitrarily, as he had not known if the others would require him for anything or not, but it had proven a wise choice to set the time for the sixth bell.

While the Scars had not needed his assistance, Keene had spent most of the morning with Kinapak chasing a particularly elusive creature that a wizard had "accidentally" released. It had taken most of the day and had left Keene tired and anxious. The prior for obvious reasons while the latter more of a mystery to him. With each passing tick, Keene could feel his nerves become more and more tense, as if the impending bell of their meeting was akin to his execution or some such nonsense. His fist sent a larger flare through the intricate lattice of the icy barrier, and he blinked, taking a few steps back, his panting breath the only sound in the otherwise empty and silent room.

Everything about Noven was confusing and often new. The manner in which his heart seemed to race just a hair faster than it might should have as he advanced on the wall once more to deliver a quick kick was a more subtle change in the larger and more concerning anxiousness. He wanted to see Noven. Keene had imagined that their meeting would be desirable to him, and in a way it was. He wanted to be there, in the room they had agreed to meet in with Noven, the two of them. Yet, he also felt strangely about it. There was a gnawing worry at the pit of his stomach, though where it came from or what it was worried about, Keene couldn't quite place it.

Thus, in his flustered confusion, Keene had taken to beating out his frustrations against the shielded wall. He moved carefully and controlled but allowed a heavy amount of force to exert itself through his strikes. It made him feel slightly less tense, though it didn't do much to assuage his misgivings about allowing the meeting time to be so late. He had wanted to just spend the entire day with Noven, but Keene was fully aware that, when it came to the dark smile and heady gaze of the man who constantly occupied his mind, his desires seemed to directly contrast with his duties. And, as much as he wanted to see Noven, Keene was not so short-sighted as to allow the petty cravings to get the better of his responsibilities. Of course, as he staggered back from a poorly placed kick, Keene was done with his Warden duties for the time being and wanted the sixth bell to come sooner than thirty chimes.

Thirty chimes. The thought struck him that, perhaps, it was not best to appear before Noven in sweat and stupor. While that had been, just about, the only way in which he'd ever presented himself to the other man, Keene had done so more out of necessity than choice. He saw no reason there was not time to bath himself, and so he ended the exercise with a brief nod of conclusion before removing the rest of his clothes, taking his time so that his breath returned more to its natural rhythm rather than that of gasps.

Taking the soap out of his bag and gathering res above him, Keene methodically transmuted the particles of res into water, creating a magical cloud under which he could bath in the reimantic rain. It was cold but so was everything else within the walls of the citadel, and within a few chimes, Keene was free of his sweat and shivering in the state of his cleanliness. Using what res remained, Keene gathered up the water and drew it out of the window, letting it drift away into the air before releasing his hold on res and water alike. As he dressed himself, Keene chose fresh clothes, or in better description: the clothes that were not quite so worn nor quite so dirty.

With that done, he sat in the middle of the room, carefully picking apart the shield and allowing the djed to return back to the form it had come from, the gentle tingles sending shivers down his back that were from more than cold alone. With everything in order, Keene left the room to pace. He paced up and down the hall, his boots quietly tapping against the cold stone as he counted the ticks. Four hundred fifty-three. Four hundred fifty-four. Tap tap tap. Six hundred seventy-eight. Tap tap tap. Eight hundred twenty-two. Tap tap- Nine hundred.

It was time.

Keene paused before the stairwell, staring into it with a small frown on his features. The very first thing that came to mind was a very simple, very concerning thought. "What if Noven isn't there?" There were a myriad of reasons that Noven might not be there when Keene arrived, and they all played through his head at once. In the next tick, Keene had started up the climb, frown deepening some in the silent expression of disdain at his own stupidity. Noven would be there. Of course he would be there. The very fact that he felt so apprehensive about whether or not Noven would uphold his end of their agreement was foolish. There had been no point in their relationship that Noven had ever given him reason to believe that he would not hold to his word. "There is a first for everything." Keene stopped at the arch that led to the floor that housed the room he and Noven had agreed upon.

He supposed that logic was relatively sound, but he refused to allow it much more purchase than that. Instead, he forced his feet to take him to the door, but his hands faltered. If Noven wasn't in the room- His eyes slid to where the door was raised slightly to keep it from scraping against the floor in such a way it would be unopenable. Light. A relief washed over him for tick before it was replaced with yet another bought of self-disdain. He had never acted so foolishly before, and while Noven was certainly a novel sort of interaction, Keene found it did not excuse him for acting in such a manner in the slightest. With a deep breath, Keene carefully opened the door.

The sight that met him was unexpected. The first thing he noticed - as it was also the first thing he searched for - was the handsome, dark haired man that sat with fish in one hand and a candle in the other, a look of concentration mingled with worry on his features that lingered for a tick as Keene stepped into the room. The next thing he noticed were the candles. Having only ever lit the single candle, Keene found the little space much brighter and a bit less drab than usual. Even the chill was more or less dissipated by the candle's glow, though he had to be careful not to knock them over as he settled down to sit across from his host, eyes flicking to the fish, the basket, and a bottle of something that Keene imagined wasn't water before the settled on the other man's dark gaze.

Social law, as Keene understood it, was something that he abided by. In fact, it was the single dictating factor under which he conducted most, if not all, interactions with other sentient creatures. Noven was an exception to that rule. Having never felt the way he felt in Noven's presence before, Keene didn't know how to incorporate it into his understanding of the natural social world. The typical greeting of "Hello" seemed just as appropriate as the question he actually asked. "What is that?" Which was directly followed by, "It smells good."

Keene blinked, a small flicker of realization in his eyes as he pieced together that the fillet in Noven's hands was fish which, in turn, was food - a food he had not had in a long time. Once more his eyes slid over the room, though the second time it was far less analytical. "Did you..." He paused, turning his attention back to Noven. "Did you do all of this for our meeting?" There was little emotion in his voice, though a hint of something akin to a more mild awe lingered in the soft tone. He didn't really understand it, but it was certainly a gesture of sorts. His eyes flicked back to the basket, and he frowned. "Was I supposed to bring food as well?"

.

[Noven]

He heard the soft footsteps first, having had nothing but the sound of flickering candle light in his ears for the past ten or so chimes. Noven froze. He held his breath, head tilting up to greet the visitor in half dread and half wonder, as the door creaked gently open.

For a moment, the Scar worried that someone other than Keene had walked into the room. How did they know if this room was truly unoccupied, anyway? Nuits needed few comforts and there were no locks on these cell like quarters.

But he recognized that familiar, pensive frown within an instant. It was colored with the faintest shade of surprise, pale skin reflecting the orange glow of candle light like untouched canvas, and at this rather captivating sight Nov visibly relaxed. He'd been so focused on keeping the fillets warm that he hadn't even thought of how he might address the Initiate once he'd arrived. Luckily, the other man seemed distracted by the decor, green grey eyes roaming from item to item until they stopped to linger on Noven's apprehensive gaze. Did he like it? Did he not like it? It was petching impossible to tell, what with Keene's ironclad composure.

Most of Nov's former companions had been easy to read. A squeal of joy, a sparkle in the eyes, a crumbling expression of disappointment--something, anything, to clue the man in on the reception of his efforts.

It certainly didn't help that, despite the unified efforts of ten, brand new candles, their little block of a room was still rather dim. But Keene showed none of the typical signs of pleasure or displeasure. He merely sat down across from the merc and commented on the fillets still resting Noven's hands. They smelled good to him, at least. Nov took that as a good sign.

He was just about to explain the nature of their supper when something in Keene's gaze changed. There was a blink, then a flicker of what might've been comprehension as the Initiate re-examined the room. It'd never occurred to Nov that his companion might be unused to this sort of treatment. Or have never experienced it altogether. He felt like he was watching the slow hatch of a birdling as Keene processed his surroundings a second time, no doubt coming to realize that yet another new aspect of life beyond his self-contained shell awaited learning. The question that followed was even more amusing, and Nov found himself grinning at the Initiate in answer.

"Not for our meeting," he responded with a slight shake of the head. "For you."

Nov regarded the other man for a few ticks. Keene's entrance had brought with it a shy breeze, sending the tiny flames wiggling in its wake. It had taken some time for the candles to settle, but once they did, their low, warm light cast all manner of interesting hues and shadows across the Initiate's contemplative expression.

The Scar spoke again after a brief silence. He had to, before he forgot where and who he was altogether. "I'm guessing no one has ever...uh, courted you before." Heat crept into his face as he said this, the word 'courted' sounding far too formal on his tongue. But he didn't have another term for it. For all the efforts he had poured into their supper. That, and he was curious to know if the Initiate had ever been involved with other people. "Cause that's what this is. Not just a...another meeting."

Chagrined as he was for having to be so forthright, Nov wanted Keene to understand. Time was not on their side; he needed to know, now, for reasons the Scar knew were important but hadn't quite worked out yet.

Steeling his will, Noven pushed on. "This is...this is a date, Keene. With me. "

His face felt hot enough to do the work of twenty candles. But he arranged the fillets before them as if he'd said nothing unusual, one for each, golden crust and tender meat nestled in greasy, brown parchment. "Sorry there aren't any forks or cups," Nov apologized as he reached for the wine bottle, "we'll just have to eat like Myrians and take turns with the swigs."

Easing out the cork with a loud pop!, Nov gave a happy whoop and offered the bottle to Keene first. "I got this for you, since we never shared a round of drinks like I'd promised. I had to use some to cook the fish, but there's still plenty left. It's the good stuff, too. Cost me a pretty copper."

He stared at the Initiate levelly, a ghost of a grin still tugging at his mouth. "But it was worth it. First taste is yours."

[Keene Ward]

.
As Noven grinned, Keene felt his heart flutter in his chest for a few ticks before the other man responded. "For me..." Keene echoed the words in a soft whisper as he let his eyes pass over the contents of the room for a third time. The only thing he needed or even wanted was the amused Sunberthian who sat across from him. Everything else seemed unnecessary, yet ritualistic in a way. There was a reason to the display, something that wasn't necessarily very common with Noven's actions. The candles allowed for softer and warmer atmosphere, though Keene didn't notice the change on more than a subconscious level. He was, for the time being, preoccupied with the fact that there were just so many candles. The thoughts whirred, but he found his eyes eventually rested on the only thing in the room that he found more than worthy to rest upon. The manner in which the light kissed his sun tanned skin casting curious shades of dark and tints of light across the features Keene had so completely internalized sent small shivers down his spine. Perhaps that was the point of the candles, to make Noven an even greater distraction than he usually was.

When he spoke again, Keene wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he found he was more than content to have spent the rest of the day simply staring at him. Keene blinked at the explanation of what as happening. He'd read of courtship before, or at least he believed he'd seen the term at some point during his literary endeavors, however what exactly it was, Keene didn't know. Apparently, it involved candles and fish. He shook his head, the wordless response given not out of a lack of willingness to speak, rather a desire to communicate in the most efficient manner possible. From what he could tell, the act of courtship was something that required planning both to set the time each would meet and to prepare the place of meeting. He didn't quite understand the practicality of it, nor did he find an easily observable purpose. Still, Noven's cheeks had darkened some, and it seemed there was still more he had yet to say.

The words that followed, however, carried little more revelation than the last. He raised a brow, unsure how to respond to what Noven obviously seemed to have required some effort to say. He'd heard the term "date" as used not in the proper lexicon but rather the colloquial term for a meeting between lovers. His brain paused then, grey-green eyes gently regarding the stifled fluster of Noven's reddened visage. Where he and Noven lovers? The thought had never really crossed his mind. Keene had never given love much thought, in fact, as he had never experienced it prior, Keene had always thought of it as a negative emotion to detract from the greater experience of efficiency. Thus, the ambiguous notion of "love" had never crept into his thoughts until that very moment. When it did, Keene's own cheeks blushed a few shades brighter as he silently blinked in return. Did Noven love him? Did he love Noven?

With the offer of the fish and wine, Keene was given an out for both his thoughts and mouth which he accepted swiftly. Shaking his head, he spoke a bit quicker than he usually did, a sharp strain in his tone as he dropped his gaze from where it had been locked in contemplation to the fish before him. "No need to apologize. I haven't used either in a while." He gave Noven a small shrug to indicate that the lack of utensils was hardly something for the other man to concern himself over. While fingers were slightly messier in terms of tools than a fork, they were much more convenient. Keene's eyes bounced back to the source of the cork's pop, settling on the gentle, dark curve of the glass with housed the alcoholic beverage he imagined to be wine. In his life, he had only ever consumed alcohol twice: once after Mella had died and (though whether it had truly been alcohol or not) only a handful of days ago with the very man who offered it to him with a faint grin.

Steady, pale hands took the bottle from Noven's, fingers intentionally brushing against the other's, sending a sharp sting through his nerves. His grip on the bottle, however, had not been compromised by the slight jerk of his hands, and he set the bottom of the bottle onto the mat he sat upon as he stared down at it with a thoughtful glimmer in his eyes. He knew what the typical social etiquette would have required him, but when he spoke, it was far less lacking in emotion than was customary for him. Confusion was mixed with a sincerity that sounded foreign to his own ears as they drifted from between his lips, eyes rising to meet with Noven's steady, dark gaze that was tinged with its own palate of concern, happiness, and anxiety. "I... Have never been 'courted' before." His finger moved absentmindedly around the neck of the bottle as he held it in place with the other hand. "I don't know what... is expected in a date." He frowned then, the candle's light casting a darker furrow to his features that exaggerated what would have otherwise been a slight change in feature. "But thank you, Noven. For this."

The bottle lifted in a slow, half sweep of the room before he nodded. Keene was hardly an eloquent individual, and he had said his piece. Bringing the bottle to his lips, Keene took a cautionary sip of the dark, reddish liquid. The wine passed through his lips, over his tongue, and down his throat with ease, and as he lowered it, there was a crinkle in his brow, though whether he liked it or not was difficult to discern. The flavor was full and strong. It filled his mouth with a heady lull of fermented fruit, but he did not particularly enjoy it. It was not as sweet as the potion he and Noven had consumed previously, nor did it flow down his throat like a warmer, burning water. It settled into his stomach instead, lurking with a pleasant warmth. He licked his lips, a thoughtful curve of his lips dipping to the force of gravity as he handed the bottle back.

"So," His head tilted slightly to the side as he broke off a small piece of the fish before him. The food smelled much better than anything he'd had in the past season (or, for that matter, ever in his life). "How does one court?" There was a hint of interest in the question as he popped the bit of meat into his mouth. Immediately, the rich and foreign flavors of the fish mixed with the hints of wine and spices burst over his tongue, eliciting a surprised blink. He glanced down at the fish, finding it was relatively unassuming in its appearance but, by far, one of the best forms of food he'd ever put into his mouth. Mella had rarely ever cooked, and when she had, Keene had preferred she not. Thus, food had always been something one ate when one was hungry and never for any other reason. The fish before him, however, whether simple or gourmet, gave him pause in that understanding of food. Without really thinking about it, Keene broke off another chunk once he'd swallowed and slipped it between his lips as he awaited the answer. Noven's cooking was just another facet that emerged a pleasant surprise on the scintillating gem that had once been so rough a stranger. The thoughts of how he felt about Noven - the words and terms specifically - were held at bay as he wondered about the more pressing matter of courtship.

.

[Noven]

Their fingers touched as the bottle was passed. Nov felt a tingle of pleasure, just as Keene suffered another prickling of pain. The glaring discrepancy between their reactions weighed heavily on his heart; it felt wrong, that what one relished the other endured. Though Keene seemed content enough with their present circumstances, the Sunberthian hardly saw that as being fair. Just because a street rat never knew the feeling of a full stomach, or a whore the sort of love no measure of mizas could buy, it didn't mean they were satisfied with their lot. Tolerant, maybe. And survivors, too, who were no doubt better off not knowing.

But happy? Hardly. They knew better than most what it was like to be missing something, be it in one's stomach or one's heart. And if you tried to fill that gaping hole with things you knew would do you no good...well, it would either bring you a slow death or a quick one. Never anything in between.

Noven watched his companion through a fall of dark locks, grin disappearing as he tracked the progress of the pale hand that held the wine bottle. He wasn't surprised to hear that Keene had never been courted before. Though, the news did bring a pinprick of light that broke through his otherwise darkening mood. The Initiate was guileless in his admissions, and it reminded Nov that this was to be a happy occasion, not one filled with guilt ridden, sobering introspection.

"You're welcome, Keene," he replied, crooked smile hinting the return of his good spirits. "And there's a joke about the expectations of a date, but I'll tell you about that later."

No sooner had he finished speaking did the Initiate tip the bottle into his mouth. His sip was a cautious one, but from the ambiguous expression on his face he managed to taste a good amount of the crimson liquid. Noven didn't expect him to like it straight away. A taste for wine was something to be acquired, then honed. Constantly, with new vintages to train one's tongue, until the wine became just as complex and nuanced as a piece of poetry or expertly performed melody. At least, that was how Nona had described it to him. Hence, Nov's regular efforts to slosh down his usual share of dish water disguised as ale before bed and be done with it. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted his tongue to smarter than he was.

One thing the Scar did notice, however, was that Keene had not bothered to question where he'd gotten the wine from. He realized that it had to have been an enormous amount of trust they two of them shared, for a mind as piercing as the Initiate's to skip the precaution altogether. Then again, part of why Nov had decided to uncork the wine ahead of time was to test it first. He had taken a small swig five chimes before pouring some over the fish. Just in case there were any delayed or unwanted effects. So, the Sahovian's trust was well placed after all.

It took a moment for him to realize Keene had asked him a question, absorbed as he'd been in watching the other man reach for a piece of fillet. He accepted the bottle back absentmindedly. "How do people court? Well--"

Panic seized him. "Shyke, wait! I almost forgot..."

Nov fished out one of the lemons from the basket with one hand and unsheathed a small cooking knife with the other. He cut the withered little fruit in half on a corner of brown parchment, slicing through with a practiced, albeit somewhat harried, motion. Then he used the tip to pick out all of the seeds, letting them drop onto the paper as a lemony aroma filled the air.

"Just a little bit of this," he explained, squeezing the half in his hand to drizzle its juices over Keene's fillet, "to give it the proper kick. Nothing goes better than lemon and seafood."

The satisfaction that beamed in Noven's features was one of both passion and pride, as there were few things he enjoyed more in life than finding just the right, final touch to a good meal. "Try it now. I only put a little, in case you don't like the taste."

He felt a bit foolish, not having asked the Initiate before embellishing his otherwise perfectly edible meal. But if Keene preferred the fillet lemon-less they could always trade.

"Right. Courting. Well, normally people in the...in the act of courting get to know each other first. Usually in a place where they can talk, share a meal. Much like we're doing now." Nov felt strange talking about something that happened back home about as often as the rich giving to the poor. What he should have said was that normally people skipped the fussy process altogether and went straight to rutting. But, while that certainly would've seemed logical for their circumstances, it didn't feel right. He felt a genuine desire for them to be less of strangers by the end of the night. They had tortured an Akvatari, become fugitives for one day, and lain with one another in magically altered states, but they still knew next to nothing about each other.

"Most of the time," he continued, determined to paint this picture properly for his companion, "you start slow. With more than one, er, date, so you can spend time with each other. Learn what the other person likes, what they don't like, their pasts, that sort of thing."

Nov had to stop there. He knew that, one way or another, those cans of worms he tried so furiously to keep closed were going to be unleashed. It was only a matter of time. A certain series of questions before they arrived at those dark corners he preferred not to visit. But for some reason, this reality didn't deter him. He almost...wanted to set them loose. If not for a small taste of catharsis, then as a masochistic kind of test to see what Keene thought of him after the truth was unveiled. If the Initiate would still desire him once he knew Nov's goals, and the blood stained past that drove them.

The merc took a good, long draught of wine. It was the best thing he'd tasted so far on this island, other than a certain pair of velvet lips, and he was going to need all the help he could get for what lay ahead.

He could feel the wine warming his empty stomach. Hopefully, it would hit him faster with the lack of contents in his belly, as he'd long since lost the ability to get drunk on just half a bottle alone. "I...want to know you better, Keene," he murmured, wiping the edge of his mouth with his bare forearm. Nov set the bottle of wine on the blanket between them, candles flickering all around reminding him strongly of a meager campfire, and of the night they'd shared an intimacy so powerful he couldn't push it from his mind no matter how hard he tried. "We can start anywhere you like. Talk about anything you want."

He broke off a piece of fish and regarded the Initiate with earnest curiosity. "Would you like to ask something first, or should I?"

[Keene Ward]

.
Noven's panic was plenty enough to give Keene pause as he reached once more for the fish. His fingers hovered above what was quickly filling the previously undefined role of "delicacy", but his mind held off on the categorization as Noven interrupted himself to quickly withdraw a strange, yellow something that Keene had occasionally seen offered at the market in Zeltiva. It had been rare for him to have ever eaten anything more exotic than cheese or bread on the off chance that he was able to find them before they disappeared from the port city's stock, but Mella had never been a fan of any vegetable aside from kale or any fruit aside from the uncommon tomato. Keene had also never really seen anyone cook before. His eyes settled with a curious sheen on the manner in which Noven sliced through the fruit as easily as Keene's magic cut through flesh. The seeds were removed, and Keene's eyes followed each of the tiny continuations of the fruit stick onto the paper below. An acidic aroma filled the room, and Keene blinked down at the source of change. The fruit was quite definitely of a strong scent if nothing else.

As the lemon's juice was added to the food he'd been more than happy to consume prior, Keene's eyes drifted from curious act to Noven's face, where they settled on the pride filled grin of a man in his element. He'd never known Noven as a cook or chef, and he found the act suited him. While Keene was not quite so supportive of the passion or pride, he understood the drive to accomplish in one's given field. Noven had something outside of killing and torture, a creative pursuit, as it were, to balance out the destruction. Keene found balance to be a necessity in life and death. Equilibrium was a delicate relationship, and he found it useful that Noven was able to find his own balance should he need to. Of course, Keene's search for power was more of a personal desire to counterbalance the weakness he'd fallen into, and Noven had put that on hold if only for a short amount of time. To his surprise, he found it more welcome than resentful: a short break in which to enjoy the presence of another.

Fingers broke off another piece of the fish and, without hesitation, delivered it past his lips. He had already decided to just be however he was in the other man's presence and worry about it later - if ever. Had the young man been anyone else, Keene would not have allowed it to get to the point where he sat in a candle filled chamber eating fish as leisurely as the doe-eyed couples he'd seen in the Scholar's Forum as a child. The thought never truly crossed his mind that, perhaps, he actually become like one of them. Instead, he let his mind wander from the questionable stray of path to that of the flavors that mixed in his mouth. The lemon was tart, and it's flavor danced with the almost nutty sweetness of the fish, creating a sensation that was, for lack of better terminology, delicious. He blinked, twice, before giving Noven a short nod as he ate another bit after throughly chewing the first. "It's good."

The explanation continued right along with the relatively meditative rate at which the fish began to slowly disappear before the methodical movements of Keene's jaw. It seemed, from what Noven explained, that the first step was already under way. He frowned slightly at the mention that it was typically over several days. They were running out of time. Still, if Noven wanted to court him and to be courted back, Keene saw no reason to refuse him. He'd never been interested in the pasts or lives of other before that were not directly benefiting or extremely curious. Noven, as it seemed with all things, was an exception. It was not so much that he wanted to be privy to the live that Noven has thus far led, rather Keene didn't particularly mind being told. Everything about Noven was interesting in its own way, thus he brain seemed to process whatever Noven said more along the lines of relevant information rather than useless personal data that he had little need to remember.

He nodded his understanding of the more expansive term of courtship given him as Noven took a heavy swig from the bottle. Keene found he preferred the taste of fish, and the wine did little to quench what thirst he did have. He watched as the bottle was set back between them, eyes slightly more distant than before as he considered the words Noven had said. It was different than the way in which others had sought to know him, to "understand" him. Before, any person with such a desire had never intended the actual information as what they seeking, rather something beyond: his strength, his complacency, his words. Noven, however, spoke the words as true as anything. He wanted to know Keene. It was a desire for him, yes, but it was on a level that Keene had never thought to be asked of him. His past, his life, they were things that he'd never placed a grave amount of importance upon. His past was a series of events that the present had led to, but that was all. That Noven wanted to know those events - for no other sake than to simply know them - was strange to him.

There was another thing that Noven did that confused him. He spoke of what Keene "liked" or "wanted". Those were terms he'd rarely ever associated with himself on a conscious level. He did what he did for the sake of efficiency - except for Noven. In a way, it was highly relevant. Noven was what he wanted. Noven was what he liked. If Keene truly followed his preferences, their bodies would have long since been pressed together. It was a desire he found more manageable than it had been in the past, however, sated partially by Noven's willing company and again by Noven's own desires to want to know Keene more than just as lips against lips. Thus, for that reason, Keene turned a steady gaze to Noven's flushed, curious face. What did he want to know?

Picking up the wine, Keene took a slow, steady swig from it. The flavor made him want to wrinkle his nose, but his composure was still well in hand, keeping his face from moving much at all. As the warmth traveled down his throat to settle into the comfort of his belly, Keene drew a small breath before speaking. "You seem well versed in courtship. Have you courted before?" There was almost no emotion in the words, and Keene found that while he was curious, it was more a matter of drawing upon the relevancy of their previous conversation to find a question appropriate. He didn't particularly care if Noven had been with others before him, as the others were not on the island. The thought of jealousy never crossed his mind as he ate another piece of the fillet, eyes studying the man before him. If there were others who felt what he felt towards Noven, Keene had a difficult time imagining that Noven had not been on dates with others - and vice versa. He did not believe what he felt for Noven to be anything special in the grand scheme of things. Subjectively, it was one of the most incredibly powerful things he'd ever felt, but however naive Keene was, he was not so much that he did not believe that others felt the same way on occasions more often than he.

While it was not a perfect understanding, Keene was beginning to find that those he'd considered so foolishly in love were, perhaps, not quite as weak as he had thought them. They were still weak, of course. He had foolishly succumbed to his own desires to the point where Noven occupied his mind day and night. The knowledge that the other man was only paces aways, separated by stone and wood, was more than enough to drive him itching to the Testing Grounds to sweat out his frustrations. There was little wisdom in what the two of them had fallen into, and little in the lives of those who shared their fate. Still, Keene was fully aware that his self-control and discipline were things that many others did not have. For that to have been so easily overturned, Keene imagined that his previous assumption that those who allowed themselves to be trapped in the gripping vines of love and affection were, perhaps, not quite as incompetent as he might have imagined.

.

[Noven]

Once Keene approved of the lemony addition to his meal, Nov could hold back no longer. He waited only until the Initiate finished taking a second swig before he reached for the bottle again, stuffed some fillet in his mouth, and washed it all down with a mouthful of wine. The fish would've paired better with a white rather than red, but having any booze at all was good in his book. Wine was currently making its merry way down his throat and he had no complaints for it.

And that was precisely when Keene chose to ask his first question.

Nov sputtered, almost choking. Krysus. Had it been a woman instead who'd done the asking, the merc would've taken it as underhanded interrogation rather than barefaced curiosity. Then proceeded to scan the room for all possible escape routes. There was only one type of woman that bothered with such questions: the kind that wished to reform him. And he would have none of it, ever again.

Fortunately, Keene was just being Keene, and Nov found his direct manner as refreshing as it was entertaining. He alternated between coughing and laughing, taking another drink from the bottle to clear his throat.

"Sorry," he rasped through his mirth and the burn of the wine. "It's a reasonable enough question. I've just never had anyone ask it quite like that before."

Noven set the bottle back down, tapping his fingers along its side for a moment as he contemplated. "Well," he responded, not quite sure where to begin, "I wouldn't say I'm...well versed. But aye, I've courted before, for a certain few. The thing is, though..."

The Scar scrunched his face in deliberation as he struggled to find the right words. "...folk in general don't have much time to court in The Berth. Or mizas to spare for it, either. We just kind of...get what we can, when we can. And some are less picky than others about the difference between the willing and the unwilling." His expression turned ugly for a tick, disdain written clear across his features. "There's a special place for scum like that in Krysus's realm. And I'm more than happy to give a personal send off to as many as I can."

Nov took in a sharp breath, realizing his words had come off far more vehemently than he had intended. It was petching hard to hide his hate for those who preyed on the weak. And harder still to keep his trap shut at this point.

"The truth is, Keene..." he went on against all better judgment. "I don't...court others very often, because...well, courting itself..." With an impatient sigh, Nov shook his head and amended, "Ah, petch that word. If I'm going to tell you I might as well tell it straight."

He stared levelly at the Initiate, confession hanging at the tip of his tongue. Perhaps the wine had worked a wee bit faster than he'd hoped. Because, before he knew it, everything was rolling out all at once, too fast for him to reign back in. "Court is just a fancy way of saying pursue. And I don't usually pursue anything serious--commitment, affection, love, whatever you want to call it--because nothing good ever comes of it. Every person I've ever cared for..."

Nov stared at his half eaten fillet, eyes lost for a moment in the grip of the past. "...is dead. Or gone. Same thing, if you ask me."

Turning his left hand over in a slow, heavy circle, the Scar inspected those crimson veins of his curse for the thousandth time. Some distant part of him noted this had not been part of Keene's original inquiry. But he went on anyway.

"My only goal left in life is to find one man and torture the shyke out of him. My past, present, and future...all stained with blood. And I'm marked by the Goddess of Murder, Pain, and Death herself. Trust me when I say no good ever comes of being involved with the likes of me. As fate has proven again and again." He set his hand down and returned his gaze to that of Keene's. "The last two women I loved disappeared without a trace. There one day and gone the next, like the bloody wind itself. I know too many petchers who would kill to score a grievance against me. The kind which leaves a festering wound that never closes, never scars. Only problem is, I can't figure out which one did the deed. Assuming my lady loves didn't just run off, 'o course. Unlikely, but possible, and bollocks all the same."

Nov picked up the bottle to tip it in Keene's direction before downing another mouthful. A burning exhale, both bitter and satisfied, followed.

"And now you know."

Suddenly feeling rather drained, the merc set down the half empty bottle and flopped onto his back. The motion sent several of the candles flickering about nervously, their jittery flames making strange shapes dance across the roof of the tiny quarters, reminding Noven of the shadow puppets the children back in Sunset enjoyed playing with so much.

"What ties you here, Keene? To this island and its living dead." His voice was almost a whisper, brows drawn in genuine interest. "What drives you to train yourself half to death the way you do?"

It wasn't exactly comfortable on the thin mat, but the wine was starting to lull him into a warm state of contentedness. Despite his dark confession, he was still very much aware of the Initiate's presence, and, to his own continued surprise, deeply glad for it. No many stuck around long enough to listen to his loaded ramblings. Though, Keene's willingness to stay might have lost some of its power by now, the thought of which sent his head jerking to one side just to check and see if the other man was still there. Not wanting to give the impression that he was about to nod off in the middle of their meal, Nov propped himself halfway up to continue picking at his fillet, waiting to see if Keene would be willing to answer.

[Keene Ward]

.
Keene blinked at Noven's reaction, unsure whether the man was in a panic or a bought of mirth. Humor had always been a confusing concept to him, but when it was mixed with another emotion all together, Keene had no idea how it was supposed to be handled. Thus, he remained sitting and staring, his face neutral save for the flickers of curiosity in the reflections of the many lights scattered throughout the room in his eyes. Noven seemed flustered, but his words offered a grinning sheepishness that Keene merely responded to by depositing another bite of fish into his mouth to steadily chew as he waited for the answer he assumed was coming. In the short span of the several chimes since their "date" had begun, Noven had apologized to Keene more times than anyone had in his entire life. He wasn't sure why the man felt the need to express such a needless thought every other tick, but Keene imagined it had less to do with him and more to do with whatever it was that was running through Noven's mind.

When the answer did come, it was more of a story than Keene was expecting. From what he understood, while Noven had courted others before him, there was something different about the manner in which he did so then. Keene wasn't quite clear on what got the other man so riled up, but the flash of loathing Keene had seen in the dungeons painted itself over Noven's features once more. The subtleties of what Noven explained were lost on him, artful deviations from the barefaced truth taken literally rather than expanded upon in comprehension. Keene didn't really see much of a difference between what Noven explained and what they were doing: neither of them had much time and Mizas weren't entirely very helpful in the island. They spent what time they could together. The matter of the willing or the unwilling seemed peculiar to Keene, as he imagined if one was unwilling it would simply amount to not meeting; but Noven seemed to think of it in a light Keene wasn't quite able to see. It was a light - or darkness, perhaps - that Keene didn't doubt cast those it fell upon in a deserving manner of Noven's wrath.

He raised a brow at Noven's flustered mannerisms, but as the words began to flow past the point of Noven's better judgment, it was exchanged for a small frown. Keene had little issue paring "pursue" with "court"; he did find, however, that the concept of Noven feeling as though he still had to pursue Keene was troublesome. He had thought he had made himself clear before, though he supposed it was possible Noven had not taken the words to heart. There had been a promise before that Keene had broken in favor of another, and it wasn't so far fetched that Noven might think the second would be as easily broken as the first. The frown found itself evening out some as Noven elaborated. More information was given, a background to the mysterious man who had such a way with his heart painted before him.

Little change lit his features as he listened. Vengeance had been a path Keene had never given much thought to. It was not something he considered inherently inefficient or unworthy of pursuit, not was it something he held much of any regard for. Nothing in his life had been something worth seeking retribution for. Mella had died by her own hands, not those of any other that Keene could exact payment from in the form of blood. Still, from the poems he had read of those who sough such a path, it was one that was focused, disciplined, and relatively linear. There was nothing about it that gave Keene any pause: to take a life meaninglessly was one thing, but to pay back what one was due? It was a natural response of action. The other women in Noven's life were of little consequence to him, their deaths relatively meaningless. He could see the pain on Noven's face, the toll that the memories took on him, and he was aware that they were not quite so meaningless to Noven.

The worst part about loosing Mella had been the emptiness, the lack of everything that had filled him - or drained him - to the point where the line between life and death had been far too blurry. Noven seemed better adjusted to it, to the loss. It had happened to him enough times, from what he said, that Keene imagined it had become something almost common to him. Perhaps it was not any less painful, but with repetition came habituation. He watched Noven flop onto his back, half of the bottle mostly stowed away in his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling, eyes swimming with emotions Keene was unfamiliar with seeing. He couldn't name them, but Noven's voice was soft and quiet, a weariness to it that Keene had never heard the man speak with before. Out of everything, Keene found that the manner in which his companion spoke then was by far the thing he liked least. The question itself was easily answered, and Keene intended to do just that, only there was something he felt he needed to do first.

He stood up, though with a steadiness that only sent a light ripple through the air to play at the flames that so quietly fed at the candle's wicks. With a few, easy movements, Keene had positioned himself so that, as he sat back down, he was on the same mat as Noven, his hands gently running through the man's hair as he leaned in to lightly press his lips to Noven's. Drawing back, though only after making a point to press through the sudden burst of pain that ran its way through his face, Keene stared directly at the troubled, dark eyes, his own steady pools of grey and green like polished stone. "What I know now, Noven," His voice was soft and quiet, emotion still absent save for the flicker of something warm behind his gaze, something that Keene had already decided to let burn whether he understood it or not. "Is that you have courted before." He picked up the bottle of wine, taking another conservative drink, before nodding. "I will try to reply as liberally as you have."

He kept is posture straight as he spoke, eyes occasionally straying. He was not well practiced in telling stories, and while the facts came easily to him, he had a problem sorting through what was relevant and what wasn't. "I came to the island to learn and grow powerful." Keene paused, frowning. "I was born in Zeltiva. My previous master trained me, and when she died I was no longer 'tied' there." The chronological order was a bit of mess, but he continued anyway, his soft, cool tone steady in spite of the words he said. "I was a mage in a city that did not want me. I had read of the island of the dead in books, and I thought it a place that would be useful. It took... time. When Mella died, I died." His eyes settled on the flicker of one of the candles nearby. "I needed purpose, and I... have looked for it here. It ties me, I suppose, along with my vow to protect the island itself." It was rare for him ever to speak so much at a single time uninterrupted, but Keene didn't think to much of it. He did his best to give back what he had been given, it was simply a bit more difficult for him for reasons different than those that had given Noven pause.

"There is nothing else for me outside of magic." His gaze returned to match Noven's, the same passivity clouding them for a brief moment. "It was the reason I was born, and it is the reason I continue to live." Keene's eyes settled into a stoic seriousness as he held steady in tone and stare. "It seems it may, some day, be the reason I die." The last bit was speculation, however, Keene had used it as a point to answer Noven's question. Finding his soliloquy finished, he ended with the same phrase Noven had used. "And now you know."

.

[Noven]

He had a piece of fillet halfway to his mouth when the Initiate chose to stand. Confused at first, Noven moved to sit fully upright, worried Keene was responding negatively. Was it something Nov said? A part of his confession, or maybe one of the questions he'd asked? Normally, he couldn't be bothered to give a rat's arse what kind of effect his words had on other people...unless he was purposefully trying to goad them, of course. But his companion's approval, or disapproval, made him unreasonably anxious. Enough to bring on a minor--

No. Don't think about headaches.

It was with softened eyes and palpable relief that he realized the other man was merely switching sides to sit beside him. Just a few, effortless motions and Keene was there, bare inches away as he placed himself on the same mat.

Noven was not, the merc mused to himself, someone who understood finesse. He was more the sort who needed to spend all of, oh, maybe five or so chimes hanging around a fragile object or person of delicate sensibilities before disaster struck. But Keene...Keene was like a breeze in a china shop, all poise and lightness, barely audible in passing as he left everything behind him unruffled. To think the Sunberthian had to travel all the way to an island run by the dead to find someone so full of grace. Then again, he noted, they were a quiet lot here, even the Pulsers, so he supposed it was rather fitting in its own way.

The darker of the two was still holding a piece of fillet in one hand and entertaining useless thoughts when he felt pale fingers run through his hair. The sensation was at once surprising and soothing, but not nearly as surprising as the lips that leaned down to press against his. Nov responded without thinking, without caution, pushing his elbows deeper into the mat to give himself more leverage. He could taste a little bit of everything, from the fish to the wine to a flavor that was distinctly Keene. For half a tick, he wanted to raise his free hand, bring a lemony palm to draw the Initiate closer. But then he felt a wince of pain spasm through Keene's features, and he remembered.

When their lips parted, the Scar could only look up at his companion in wonderment and disbelief. What did Keene see in him? What could possibly compel this young man, frozen as he was to his duties and training and ice cold composure, to reach out and seek the pain inducing touch of a thug headed mercenary like himself?

And the Initiate's next words only served to drown him ever deeper in bewilderment. He'd courted before...that was all Keene had decided to glean from his admissions. Not the fact that his history left a trail of dead or missing bodies in its wake, nor the reality that Noven's single, life ambition was more likely going to get him killed than anything else. No, he might as well have forgone the effort of confession altogether, for all the impact it seemed to have on the other man. The Scar couldn't decide if it was frustrating or remarkable, this ability of Keene's.

The one thing his troubled story did manage to inspire, however, was a desire to return the favor. And liberally so, as the Initiate had put it.

Nov tugged his bundle of parchment and fish closer and stuffed his mouth full of food as the story began. He needed something to distract him from the flustered state Keene's unexpected kiss had left him. That, and the wine was starting to grow more potent than he'd thought possible. Or maybe it wasn't the wine. Maybe it was other...stuff...godsdammit, focus.

The tale that Keene told was as simultaneously straightforward and unpredictable as the the storyteller himself. It reminded Nov of a brick house, made of perfectly shaped bricks. Except, the house itself was oddly built, with windows where doors should have been and stairwells that led to no where. It had the right parts, just not in the right places.

But he was able to understand that the Initiate had come to Sahova seeking knowledge and power. Seemed fair enough, Nov deemed as he wolfed down the rest of his fillet. What other reason would be strong enough for anyone to live here of their own free will? The Scars themselves had come to reap the same rewards, just not on a level quite as committed or consuming as Keene's. And if there was anyone who would be able to transition from a comparably luxurious life in Zeltiva to one of austerity and bleakness in Sahova, it would be Keene. As the story continued, though, it grew apparent that self advancement was not the only thing keeping him here. There had also been pain in his life...Mella, whoever this person was, other than the vague figure of a former master, had been important to Keene. And when she had died, a part of the Initiate died with her. How awfully familiar Nov found this specific slice of another's past to be.

There was pain, and there was also a sense of purpose and duty. Just like the Scar, the Initiate had used his ambition to fill the gaps in his life. To provide direction, meaning, and stability where everything and everyone else had failed. It had served them both well enough, it seemed, allowing them to grow stronger while so many others had chosen to give up. Even if 'well enough' didn't necessarily equate to true happiness, or that either of them would live to see a day past thirty.

And, like always, that choice came with a price. Magic was Keene's life. His bread and butter, and air, and day and night and everything in between. It made Nov wonder if that was part of his appeal to the Initiate. That he was something different, something completely outside of this endless cycle.

The Initiate ended his story the same way Nov had ended his. "And now I know," the merc echoed, a ghost of a grin still lingering on his face.

There was a small stretch of silence that followed as he digested this wealth of new information, even if said wealth was rather sobering in nature. To remedy this, Noven took another generous swig of the bottle. And then he, in a moment of unfettered and wine-influenced impulse, moved to lay his head in Keene's lap.

"Do you think..." he began, looking up at his companion in earnest and slightly fuzzy inquiry, "...you could...do that thing again. With your fingers in my hair? It felt...good."

Which was a strange thing to admit, let alone request, Nov knew. But he was growing less and less inhibited, now that they had shared some of their grim pasts, and good things were floating about in his belly. Only, perhaps they had started off a bit...too grim, he reasoned. And it was entirely his fault. He ought to steer their conversation on a lighter path, but what lightness could even exist between two individuals so steeped in dark purpose as they?

Noven ran through the options in his increasingly woolly head. They could talk about Sahova. No, too boring. They could talk about Sunberth! No, petching idiot. Light. Think light. Magic? Too scholarly. Nuits? Too creepy. The Scars? Too classified. Keene's affliction with being touched? Worst idea yet.

Krysus, the man thought to himself, I'm fucking terrible at this.

And that was when the mother of all stupid ideas leaped into his mind. No...don't do it...it's too petching awkward...stop, keep your mouth shut. Don't you DARE--

"What do you like, Keene?" Nov blurted, head still resting in the Initiate's lap, toned muscle pillowing his skull. "About...about me, I mean. Why do you...why do you like me?"

Mortification was advancing steadily upon him. But even so, Noven continued staring up at his companion, feeling for all the world like he was bobbing in the ocean, trying not to hurl for the hundredth time, as a tidal wave the size of a two story building came roaring overhead.

Stupid mouth. Stupid, stupid mouth.

[Keene Ward]

.
Noven was not the only one affected by the warmth of wine. While the other man had consumed nearly double what Keene had, he did not possess much of a constitution when it came to alcohol. Thus, when Noven's head found itself cradled in Keene's lap, he only slightly adjusted his legs to create a more comfortable pillow. He blinked down, surprise hardly concealed behind the color of his eyes as Noven asked him to repeat what he'd done a few chimes before. There was no reason to deny him, and Keene wanted to be closer to him. So, as his fingers began to slowly and steadily make their way through Noven's hair, Keene leaned over to lightly brush his lips against Noven's. As he eased back, he kept his fingers from rubbing against Noven's scalp too often. The sensation was similar to running one's fingertips over a jagged edge of glass, and while it wasn't unbearable, Keene found that the tickle of Noven's hairs as his fingers wound their way through them was more pleasurable than a constant sting.

He seemed to be thinking about something, his eyes not quite focused as he stared up at the ceiling. Keene didn't say anything, content in the moment to simply be there with Noven. It was odd, in a way. Before, there had been a desperation, an all encompassing need for him and Noven to occupy the same space, to press himself against him in an all consuming hunger. Yet, there, in the chill of the quarters surrounded by the host of the flickering points of warmth, Keene felt peaceful, serene almost. The content of what they spoke of didn't strike him as particularly dark or troublesome. They spoke of facts, and facts were simply that. The past had happened, and while it had a bearing on the present, it was far enough removed that Keene didn't dwell on it.

Noven was who he was. There were things about him Keene still didn't know, but those things didn't seem important. He had two days with Noven left. Anything to impede those days was little more than a bothersome detail he would attend to when the time came, but Noven's history, his background, wasn't one of them. He stared down at the sun tanned complexion, the dark eyes that stared with a misty haze upwards, the gentle curve of his lip and strong manner of his jaw. He cared for him.

It was a strange, almost revolutionary thought. There had never been anyone in his life that made him feel the way he did as Noven did. Never had Keene ever imagined he might one day find someone who had such a power over him, and one that was rarely ever exercised with intention. It was a curious situation, one which served to create a very large gap in Keene's defenses. There was something about him, more than physical appearance or collection of mannerisms, that inexplicably drew him to Noven. He didn't understand it, and though it caused a fair amount of pain, Keene grit his teeth and continued to gently press his fingers into Noven's scalp, massaging the skin beneath as he played with his hair. There was a peacefulness to the action in spite of the pain. Noven calmed him. It was something Keene found odd, along with the majority of the rest of their interactions.

Before, Noven had caused him unexplainable stress. He had had to fight against what he wanted and what he knew he couldn't have, which had created a strain so powerful he had not been able to maintain the necessary barriers to contain it. Now, however, Noven had released him from that bond. He had returned the desire, the need, and left behind only a comfortable warmth in its wake. The stark difference in reactions was enough to confuse him, but the amount of pleasure he derived some simply looking at Noven made it all the more strange. Aesthetics had never been something Keene had much concerned himself with. A face was a face and a body a body. Noven was Noven. Everything about him was alluring from his voice to his looks to the way his cheeks flushed a shade darker every time he mumbled out something he thought embarrassing.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden advent of Noven's interrogation. He blinked down, curiosity and surprise vying for superiority in his gaze. His fingers paused for a tick as he thought before they began their steady paths once more. "Why do I like you?" The echo was more for himself than Noven's benefit, and Keene continued to stare down at the face he had come to adore. "I don't like you, Noven." Though his eyes expressed that same curiosity, his voice still remained relatively void of emotion. "That word is... weak." He shook his head, a small sigh slipping from his lips as he continued to think, finding it slightly more difficult thanks the to warmth of the wine that drifted through his stomach. "I'm drawn to you. You're..." He frowned then, not able to find a very good way to explain it. "Very appealing."

Keene's succinct eloquence was not unaffected by the alcohol. He shook his head, a flash of frustration in his eyes as he let them drift to the candle light. "You're strong. Dangerous." Pausing, Keene gently pressed his hand against the side of Noven's face, the burn ignored as he continued to try to give words to his feelings, something he had already displayed he wasn't the best at. "I know that... That you can't stay. That this," He gestured around the room with a free hand, "Is temporary. Passing." The hand returned to join the other as he gentle tousled Noven's hair in a contemplative pattern. "And I know... We're different. You smile. You laugh. You... hide." Keene looked down at him then, a softness in his eyes as he regarded the near defenseless head that sat so carefully cradled in his lap. "I don't. I don't know how." There was no bitterness or sorrow in his tone, merely the factual, soft, cool tone that he typically emplyd. "Nothing about you makes any sense to me. I never know what to say, what to think... All of the things I think I should do are never what I want to do and..."

He paused, eyes fixed on the eyes of the other. His finger trailed along the line of Noven's lips, the other gingerly cradling a side of his head. The pain of the touch was evident in his eyes, the finer control needed to keep them empty as they usually were lost to the influences of the drink, but there was a warmth there as well. It was far brighter and far larger than the slight wince of his features, and it carried with it a sort of wonder. "I cannot answer 'why', Noven, because I don't know." His finger trailed from Noven's lip, curling to caress the side of his jaw. "But I can tell you that I do. It..." He paused, drawing in a sharp breath as his hand ran the course of the graceful line of Noven's face, the piercing pain a bit more than he'd anticipated. It only took a tick to recover, and he continued as if nothing had happened. "It is unlike anything I've ever felt... Ever known before. I am..." He frowned, more so at himself than Noven. "I am comfortable with you. I am... not so... alone."

The answer itself was unsatisfactory to him. He had been unable to answer, but he had given what he could. Letting out a sigh that was not without a hint of frustration, Keene leaned back, his hands moving to support him as he did so, eyes shifting towards the ceiling. "And you, Noven? I have never had another so interested in me before, not in the way you are. What about me draws you?" The question this time was not one of a courteous return. Keene truly couldn't place why he felt so strongly about Noven. There was no one specific thing, and the myriad became too messy to be labeled anything but "everything". If Noven had a better answer, a more reasonable explanation, Keene wondered if that would help him to understand. It wasn't so much he needed to understand to continue, rather, the opportunity had presented itself, and Keene saw no reason to pursue it.

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