not your burden to bear

awareness is the enemy of sanity

”I see,” Finn says dryly, hoping that the smirk is audible since it hurts too much to smile. He wavers in the doorway as Remi holds it open, not expecting either the proximity or the gesture, nodding stiffly before stepping inside. That they blur together should be more concerning than it is, and Finn glances over his shoulder at the other man. ”That’s not the same as forgetting,” he says.

Scoffing out another laugh that’s more painful than the last, he painstakingly shrugs his shoulders. ”On the contrary - I didn’t have to expend much energy at all being mugged. I was quite a passive participant.” There are eyes on him from others who are sitting out of the rain; eyes on the blood, on his gods-awful appearance, on the Governor. But nobody says anything, for which Finn is grateful.

Perhaps it’s because Remi is a mirror into a part of himself as of yet unexplored (possibly never) that Finn has no qualms looking into it. Less, certainly, than when they first met. Remi is at his most surprising when he is like Finn - something that happens remarkably rarely, in his limited opinion. Still, the Alchemist agrees to a drink, and so Finn makes his slow and agonising way up the stairs, leaning heavily against the banister.

”Tea? Or something stronger?”

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

"No, it isn't." Remi agrees. He just isn't sure if it's worse, or better.

Snorting under his breath at Finn's description of himself during the mugging, he follows comfortably behind the Spyglass as they move through the foyer. Well used to eyes on him now just as those eyes are used to seeing him covered in blood, he thinks very little of their wandering eyes as the pair passes.

Hoping very much that Finn isn't about to fall backward into him as they climb the stairs, Remi braces himself to catch the Spyglass should this all prove too much for him. "I take it that implies you don't normally heavily lace your tea with alcohol." The Alchemist says with a bit of a smirk.

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

Finn also hopes very much that he doesn’t tumble backwards into Remi - pride alone would skewer him on the prongs of its disappointment. Still, it’s a close thing, and as he reaches the top of the stairs he does need to take a second, the world clouding before him again like it might slip away entirely. He recovers with a shaky exhale, removing the key from his pocket and limping down the hall to the room that has become his own.

It’s cold inside, when Finn unlocks the door - almost unpleasantly so. The reason for it is apparent in the window left wide open to let in the chill and the drowning sound of the rain. The bed is still unmade, suggesting that Finn has only recently left it, and the curtains are still drawn. Even from a first glance, it paints a picture of a man trying desperately to create a distraction and atmosphere that might lend itself to sleep.

”Sorry - I didn’t intend to have company,” he murmurs, scoffing over his shoulder as he makes his way over to the window to close it. ”Not alcohol, no.” Giving the paper bag a little shake, he sets it down and hisses in a pained breath as he pulls the window shut, opening curtains and lighting lamps to make it seem less obviously personal. The room is otherwise neat but lived in, and Finn turns to nod at the two comfortable chairs, a table set between them.

”Whatever you decide - tea, alcohol or both - I’m sure I can get it arranged.”

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

The room looks entirely fine to the Alchemist's eyes. Whatever decorum Finn thinks Remi expects of him, the Alchemist doesn't. He isn't so much of a predator (not right this second, anyway) that he can smell the desperation and sweat in the air, but he nearly can. "Yeah, you might have cleaned up all your personal belongings, Finn." Remi scoffs back. Underwear and pornographic drawings are the sorts of things the Alchemist would expect Finn's apology for; not an unmade bed and state of disarray that is positively tidy compared to Remi's standards.

That Finn is in pain but still worried about drawing blinds and lighting lamps is telling. Only...Remi isn't sure what it is meant to tell. He hears it, but doesn't understand. "I can do that too, you know." Remi murmurs. He can have tea and liquor flowing from his fingertips if he chooses.

Returning Finn's nod with a pointed stare of his own, a you sit down, Remi glances around the room to see how much he'll need to simply snatch out of thin air. "The real question is what will you take? And if you'd like bandages to go with, for your ribs."

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

Finn blinks at Remi, unsure whether or not he’s joking, but too tired and too hurt to try and figure it out; either way, there really are no personal belongings to speak of. This is not home - this is just for now, and it shows. Again, he’s caught off guard by the reminder of all that the Alchemist can do, and the surprise that Remi might have been expecting shows briefly on his face. ”Of course you can,” he manages instead with a nod, though he doesn’t sit down even at the gesture. If he sits he doesn’t know if he’ll get back up, and he’s still soaking wet.

”Hot whiskey, if it isn’t too much trouble,” he mutters, the words roughened by pain as he clumsily gets out of his coat, depositing it down on the back of the chair. His shirt is in a similar waterlogged state, and so he works on the buttons of that next. ”Bandages would be a good idea too. Though I can’t really owe you a drink if you make it,” he points out, though any amusement in his tone disappears at the attempt to shrug out of the shirt.

Hissing in a breath that hitches in his chest, Finn promptly changes his mind; the movement causes muscles to scream and bruised bones to protest, leaving him half frozen in the movement. ”Do... you think you could...?” he asks Remi, hoping the end of his question doesn’t need to be stated: get me out of this thing, please?

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

It isn't too much trouble, but Remi doesn't say so. He's always been a bit clumsy when it comes to speaking about his magic in a way that doesn't make him sound like he's just a humble-brag. "Fine well, you can hand me mine, if that makes you feel better." Remi says, instead of after the other night, you'll never owe me anything again.

As Finn begins to shed layers, even just his jacket, the Alchemist promptly begins to busy himself with making the requested drink. A cup appears in his hand, and as he raises the other for whiskey to flow, a ball of fire appears as well, hovering over the rim of the glass. This amount of pageantry isn't necessary but it's a far cry better than watching Finn undress—

—glancing over his shoulder and doing his damndest not to look as pained by this request as he feels, Remi places the glass of hot whiskey down on the table. His gaze doesn't rise to Finn's, focusing instead on the buttons, on the problem, rather than the man beneath. Feathers traitorously roughly through his wet curls, and it's both helpful and devastating that he should be thinking of Ronin now. Having helped the Star out of his clothes any number of times in any number of similar situations steadies Remi's fingers as they easily loosen the buttons of Finn's shirt. But that his mind slips to what normally comes next for the pair isn't quite as useful, just now.

Shirt unbuttoned, Remi finally looks up to try and pin Finn in place. "It will be worse if you try to help." So saying, he reaches gently upwards, peeling off the wet garment starting at the shoulder. He'll grumble at the Spyglass should he try and roll his shoulders or move his arms to assist, all the while doing his damndest not to actually touch the man.

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

Luckily for Remi, Finn is neither energised nor focused enough to sense his discomfort - he’s actually quite taken with the little display with the fireball, honestly - and he manages to grate out a laugh at the idea of handing Remi his drink. That will have to do for now, he supposes. ”Magic is banned, where I am from,” he says to fill the silence as Remi approaches, pain loosening his tongue as it seems to do for most people. ”Strange to see it used for such domestic things.”

Green eyes pin him in place at that point and, feeling quite like the teenager he once was about to be chastised, Finn does what he is told. Wet fabric is peeled away bit by bit, the Spyglass gazing at a point out of the window and taking slow breaths in and out to manage the discomfort. He will prove a good listener, from Remi’s point of view, still and compliant as he goes about his work, revealing pale skin and a body toned and athletic but not overly muscular. Oh, and scars. A dozen, perhaps more.

They stripe across Finn’s back and shoulders, the deeper ones pinkish still (they probably always will be) and the rest silvery with age. Lashes from a whip, unmistakably. ”So what drink will I be handing to you?” he asks idly.

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

"Banned?" Of all the things Finn might have said, this was not one of the ones Remi was expecting. "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this Finn. But the lot of us you've all been speaking to? We're all quite magically-inclined." Well. Not Phoebe, but if Cian was right about her, she'd be following in Remi and Ronin's footsteps soon enough.

It shouldn't surprise him to see that Finn's body resembles the earlier iteration of his own. Athletic, capable, but nothing to write home about. Save for the multitude of scars that decimate any lingering notion Remi might have had that Finn's life wasn't as difficult as his counterpart was making it out to be. For a moment, the Alchemist is helpless to look away. The nauseating number of them grab his attention, forcing him to look at each and every one to silence their silvery screams. "Sorry." He mumbles after a moment, clearing his throat and looking away. "I hate when people stare at mine." Remi offers. The one across his throat is almost always visible, and given that he's nearly always shirtless during the warmer months in Torchline, the rest usually are too. Still, he hates the pity that accompanies the looks he gets.

"That one." Remi replies, nodding towards the table where, next to Finn's cup, another has appeared. It holds a dark liquid that smells strong and herbal. "Bandages first, though." He says in a softer voice.

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

”Oh, we know that,” he says with a wheezing sort of laugh, trying to stifle the cough that threatens under pain of Remi’s grumbling. ”Demi-gods don’t count.” If Finn could have shrugged, he would have. ”Not to the Order, anyway. Your magic is blessed.” And that was that, according to his government. There was very little else to it.

He doesn’t realise, at first, why Remi has stopped and fallen silent, until his apology comes tumbling out. And Finn’s stomach drops, the Spyglass - rarely touched these days, certainly not undressed - has completely forgotten the topography of his own body. The flush heats his cheeks, creeping up his neck around his ears, and he clears his throat awkwardly. ”It’s... it’s fine,” he mutters, free of the shirt now and turning about to reveal the already angry bruises spanning over the left side of his rib cage.

”Bandages first, then.” It’s like Finn has withdrawn into himself, doing as he’s told with perfect compliance, but he can still hear the questions Remi hasn’t asked yet. Swallowing hard, he aims his gaze over the other man’s shoulder. ”I stole from a temple,” he explains. ”I couldn’t have been more than... fourteen, or so. I fell into the red lamp districts not long after that.”

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

"Funny. We don't count, yet you've come such a long way to try and recruit us." Remi says with a smirk, intentionally mincing the words.

Inhaling a sympathetic stream of air—Remi has seen far, far worse to be overly moved by Finn's injuries—but still, he knows the sort of pain the man must be in. "Arms like this." The Alchemist says, his fingers ghostly-light on Finn's upper arms, to lift his biceps slightly away from his sides. "Fourteen is old enough to know about the consequences." He murmurs as long white strips of gauze appear in his hands. Obviously this can't be done without touching Finn, and indeed quite a lot of touching is necessary to do it right. Taking a breath, sending a silent pulse of love and fidelity to Ronin, he begins.

"What did you steal?" Something necessary, Remi thinks. 14 is old enough to know what will happen if he's caught, but Finn did it anyways. Necessary or...required, somehow. Though whether that necessity was internal (heart-driven), or commanded of him, Remi has no idea.

With hands well-used to performing such tasks, Remi gets on with the work of wrapping up Finn's ribs. If Finn slouches at all the Alchemist will softly remind him to keep straight, levitating Finn's whiskey within reach to take his mind off of the pain.

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

”It’s not my job to decide who counts and who doesn’t. I’m just the how,” Finn says, wincing a little as Remi moves his arms, though he stands straight and upright, letting the Alchemist do his job. An unasked for and much appreciated job, though the Spyglass isn’t able to express that right now. ”Hunger doesn’t really care about consequences,” he points out, holding his breath and trying hard to focus on anything but the screaming in his ribs.

Oblivious to the other man’s hang-ups over touching him - Finn has hang-ups over everything, in fairness, and he’s near dead on his feet with exhaustion - he merely lets him get on with it. ”Jewellery. And a statue of Safrin,” he says quietly. ”Twenty lashes, they gave me. Passed out after... twelve, maybe? I’m told they stopped holding back after that.” Flinching and realising he’s slouched, he works on straightening his back again.

”Meant I fetched a lower price at the silk houses.” Brothels, in order words. ”The scars put the men off. Most of them, anyway. But I was told I had a pretty face, so there’s that I suppose.” His smile is pained but boyish.

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

Remi can't help the dark laugh that escapes his lips to hear that Safrin was included in this story, if only tangentially. "I can almost guarantee were you to tell Safrin what happened, she'd wipe your body clean of every single scar." But there was no praise or adoration in the Alchemist's voice. Maybe Finn would know why thanks to his research, and maybe not. But those who helped others simply to bolster their own vanity were not likely to receive high praise from the Alchemist. Certainly not Safrin, with all else she'd done.

Breathing more steadily now—thinking of Finn beaten and passing out from pain making it easier for Remi not to focus so much on where his fingertips were forced against the Spyglass's skin—he listens with a strange sort of attentiveness as Finn elaborates. Glancing into Finn's dark gaze when he mentions having a pretty face, a face they both share, Remi nods with a grave sort of understanding. "And..the women? Did they think they could fix you, or did they like to pretend the scars came from something else? A battle, or so..?"

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

”What good would that do? It wouldn’t erase the memory of every lash,” Finn points out softly, though he doesn’t sound as though he particularly feels anything about... anyone, really. About those who whipped him or Safrin for having a temple so close by, or the madames at the brothels he ended up working in. There are emotions there, certainly, but they are buried deep with the pain, where it can’t sneak out and bite him.

Noticing the whiskey as if for the first time, and seeming quite sweetly surprised by it, he murmurs a thanks and takes it from the air. The hot liquor definitely takes the edge off, Finn’s head tilting back a little, eyes slipping shut. ”The only women I saw were there to earn a crust,” he says in a quiet voice. ”I existed to entertain rich men looking to slum it for a night. If they could stand to look at the back of me. I wouldn’t show them my pretty face without a fight.”

Is there a little bit of seditious pride in the twist of his lips? That’s for Remi to decide.

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

"It won't. But it would make it so no one had a reason to ask you about them." Remi points out with a small shrug, not aiming to convince the other man. His comment was more a jab at Safrin anyway. "I used to have more scars than I do now...and you're right, it doesn't change how it feels." Loren, once, in a misguided effort to simply make everything all better had erased every mark on the Alchemist's body, and it hadn't mattered one bit.

"Earn a...crust?" Remi repeats, glad Finn's eyes are closed. He doesn't understand, though if he had to guess, he'd have assumed the women were only there to work. Never paying customers. Which entailed that the Spyglass had been with men, almost exclusively during his time as a prostitute.

Grimacing to himself, Remi can feel his wings wanting to sprout from his sides as if one big inhale isn't enough to soothe down the smattering of things he feels in response to what Finn has to say. It isn't as though he wants Finn in the way we might all be expecting, not in the way his paying customers once had. Instead, it's...a magnetism that he possesses—or perhaps that they possess together—that keeps drawing him into places he ought not go. The lights low, the smell of whiskey and blood, Remi's hands softly orbiting the front half of Finn's torso with smooth white bandages.

"There weren't male prostitutes where I came from." It being illegal, and all. Or if there were, they weren't in the sort of places Remi's father took him. For a moment he closes his eyes, able to picture the scene with Finn far too easily: meaty hands tangled in his curls, pulling obnoxiously hard. Headboards banging out irregular rhythms from fat fucks who probably only lasted a few minutes. But oh, how long those minutes would have been. Finn with lean limbs that one could pretend were anyone's, and eyes so sad the men would likely say later were asking for pain.

Realizing where his mind had gone, colour blooming on his cheeks, Remi lets his eyes open as he sharply inhales. "But I ... it sounds ... worse." He manages, almost shamefully, in a voice like gravel.

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection