not your burden to bear

awareness is the enemy of sanity

”No one really has. Seen, but not asked about them.” Finn takes another generous sip of whisky, the heat blooming in his chest and throat. Already in a sorry state (and then some), he can already feel it hazing his mind, an altogether too pleasant feeling. ”I volunteered it,” he adds, as though just realising it himself - and that sends a curl of discomfort right through his core.

Opening his eyes again, he exhales shakily, looking down at the bright white bandages covering his torso. ”Yeah, a crust. Working girls. They were kind to me, mostly,” he mumbles, blinking a few times to stop the world from swimming. Remi’s voice draws his eyes up again, Finn scowling at the face that mirrors his own so well. He wonders if they looked the same when they were younger, too - if the silk houses would have liked to get their teeth into Remi.

”It’s worse,” he promises him. ”Whatever you imagine, it’s worse.” He finishes his whiskey. ”Your tea will get cold.”

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

"Sometimes that's easier than waiting to be asked." Remi notes, his voice tinged with personal experience. Yes, the claw marks on my throat were made by my own hand. Such was the brutish sort of snark the Alchemist had spit many a time in the Hanged Man when eyes lingered on the grotesque and ugly-healed flesh on Remi's throat.  

"They were usually kind to me, as well." From the outside this sharing of information might have seen to imply a level of comfort between the two, but such was not necessarily the case. Offering information meant it was freely given. But questions asked? Uncomfortable ones? That's when the screws were truly turned.

"I've a very vivid imagination." Remi says without thinking, his face both draining of colour and then blooming with it, the green of his eyes and coral of his cheeks all the more vibrant for the lack of blood elsewhere. It isn't a lie, and so he doesn't apologize, but he does furrow his brows in a silent and internal reprimand as he finishes the last wrap. "It will, yes. But it isn't tea, so the temperature doesn't matter. This first." This, being finishing the bandaging.

"Do you know the drill with this sort of injury?" Remi asks, smoothing the last bit of cloth down and fixing it with utmost care and dexterity.

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 jerks his head in a nod of agreement at that - sometimes it is easier, to give the information and put an end to the questions he can hear scratching at the inside of other people’s heads. ”It must be a whore thing,” he says, a wry hint of amusement in his voice. Finn almost says it, almost shoves away every hint of whatever it is they have in common - your vivid imagination has nothing on my long memory - but he thinks better of it, leaving it caged behind his teeth.

Because perhaps Remi can imagine bruises in the shape of hands and a mind too young to understand what is being done to it. Maybe he can visualise the creak of a headboard, the sound of a voice breaking not through puberty but through something else entirely. Dark blue eyes meet green, though Finn’s colour is pallid again now, made all the more so by gaunt shadows beneath his gaze.

”What is it?” he asks of the not-tea, holding the empty whiskey glass in hand. It’s still warm under his fingers, and he flexes his grip on it and sets his jaw as his ribs are fully bandaged. Softly, he shakes his head - Finn has not dealt with an injury like this before. Others, yes. This? Not so much.

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

"To be kind to boys with pretty faces who should not spend so much of their time in brothels? Probably." Though...Remi never worked in one. Never could have, and he supposes that the knew it. For all the tricks they taught him, for however much he tried, willingness wasn't enough to make his body cooperate even under their kind tutelage.

"I've never been able to pronounce the name of it." His accent does not mix well with the germanic-sounding language that the word comes from. "It's made by taking the leftovers of nearly every spice one has in their cupboards, berries and fruits too." It's the dark older cousin of gin, this strange blackish herbal liquor is: The drink of the common people.

Taking a step back from Finn to appraise his work, Remi nods. "You could seek out a proper healer for this. If not, take it as easy as you can. No slouching. It's going to hurt like a bitch and short of a healthy supply of whiskey, there's not much else you can do for it."

Looking at Finn's glass and feeling the wetness of his own shirt clinging to him, Remi considers for a moment. Being blunt would likely make things harder on the pair, instead of better, and so instead of asking, Can I stay longer? If so, I'll just change my shirt Remi asks, "Would you like another?" Eyes moving towards Finn's now-empty glass, and then back to his hollowed eyes.

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

”Yes, probably.” Finn surprises himself with a laugh at that, a sound that cuts of abruptly as his own breath tightens the bandages around his ribs. Honestly, talk of whatever it was in Remi’s cup was a refreshing change from rummaging through the dark tar of Finn’s childhood (he would cringe at how much he had revealed, once he’d had a chance to sleep - that’s if he remembered).

”It sounds delicious,” he says frankly, wondering if he’d have an occasion to try it in future, perhaps, when he’s not in such desperate need for whiskey and oblivion. He listens as keenly as he can manage to the advice, nodding and stepping away at last to grab a cloth from the washbasin and clean up his face. ”I try not to make a habit of slouching,” he murmurs. ”And I have regular checkups with a doctor at the Order. I’ll be sure to have him take a look at it.”

Taking it easy, though? Cian won’t have that, so Finn doesn’t mention it. Drying off his face with a towel - and there’s going to be a beautiful bruise along his cheekbone in the morning - he gazes back to Remi, a sudden smile on his face. ”Very much,” he says of another drink, picking his glass back up. ”Do you... are you good?” He nods at the red stain on Remi’s shirt. And the fact that he’s still soaking wet.

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

"Also, no laughing. Not even once." Remi warns, though it's surprisingly refreshing to hear Finn laugh, even if the cause of it is horrible childhood memories. He doesn't ask about what these regular checkups entail. He can only imagine, and what he imagines sounds far too reasonable to be the sort of thing his mind is capable of discussing at this very moment.

Looking at the glass held in his direction, biting the inside of his lip after the first bit of a relieved sigh escapes his teeth, he nods. Refusing to look at Finn's smile, a bubble of mahogany liquid appears in the air, encircled by flame. As soon as the liquid is heated, it flows neatly into the glass.

Meanwhile, realizing how absolutely uncomfortable it is to be so thoroughly soaked, Remi chuckles under his breath as he thinks carefully about what he's going to do next. To turn away from Finn would be to draw even more attention to what he's doing. The best course of action would simply be to change as if it were completely commonplace. Creating a new t-shirt in his hands, Remi half-turns away from the Spyglass, focusing on the ruffled bedding with sudden interest. Quickly and awkward, Remi sheds his magical shirt (why didn't he make it waterproof?). His body tells a story very different from the one writ upon Finn's, but it's all done with similar penmanship despite different canvases. Remi's body is nothing but muscle and scar-tissue now; the only thing left of him that is soft are his curls. Quickly slipping into the new shirt with a bit of a sigh, he turns back to Finn, his fingers itching at the starburst in the middle of his torso.

"Cheers to not dying today." He says a touch wryly, extending his glass out towards Finn.

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

”Not even once? I’ll need to get a second opinion about that,” Finn says seriously, as if he is the sort of man who is utterly full of cheer and will struggle to get even through an hour without laughter. Watching with unfettered - if not exhausted - interest at the bubble of whiskey that heats itself up before his eyes, Finn tilts the glass to and fro, as if trying to get the liquid to reform into a sphere.

So utterly oblivious is the Spyglass to Remi’s discomfort, his unease at showing, touching, even being too near him, he has little to do other than to wait for him to change his shirt. Still, he at least occupies himself with sipping at the hot whiskey, feeling more of that liquid heat flood his veins and numb the sharpest edges of his senses, where the faces of dead children live.

”Cheers,” he agrees wholeheartedly once Remi is dressed again, having seen much more than he makes a show about, merely stepping forward to clink glasses with the Alchemist. It’s a mistake, obviously, and the world starts to spin a bit, Finn reaching out for the back of the chair to steady himself. ”Sorry, I swear I’m not usually a lightweight.”

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

"Not even once." Remi warns, brows raised as if entirely serious about this.

Just as they were for Remi, what Finn's sees are just scars. He doesn't see the dead child speared through with ice against his chest, doesn't feel his own claws against his throat. The slices on his chest are just jagged lines rather than the hands of LongNight monsters trying to strip him of his skin.

"You'll forgive me if I find that a bit hard to believe." Finn is not overly large, despite being taller. He seems like the sort who very easily slips into his alcohol and happily allows himself to drown here. "Either way, you should lay down. It'll be more comfortable than sitting." Remi, of course, wants to be nowhere near the man's bed, and so sits himself comfortably in one of the two chairs.

"This is where my daughter died." Remi says, a hand on his chest. "Its been nearly a year, actually. Maybe it has been, I don't actually recall when Fiat Lux is meant to be."

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

”You’re free to believe what you like,” Finn mutters, though he does agree that laying down is preferable. Straightening up and ensuring he has his bearings, he makes sure to grab the paper bag en route, though he doesn’t take his medicine just yet. Falling asleep on Remi mid-conversation is the sort of thing he’s exactly likely to do in his current state, without any additional help.

Hissing in a sharp breath as he eases himself down onto the bed, Finn settles back into the pillows and regards the Alchemist with weary eyes. He doesn’t expect the volunteering of information, wondering if Remi feels like he has to respond in kind to what the Spyglass has given. ”I’m sorry to hear that,” he says softly. ”It’s in a few days from what I can recall. Fiat Lux, I mean. What was her name...?”

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

Remi could have made the transition from standing to being prone much easier for Finn. He has more than the strength to do it, but instead he takes a moment to study the ceiling. Thinking of his arms wrapped around the other man, bodies pressed together as Remi slowly lowered Finn onto the bed makes Remi's stomach turn to ice.

As Finn answers, the Alchemist thoughtfully sips his drink finding it much easier to speak with Finn when he can't see more than the profile of his feet and the length of his legs.

"Aoife." Remi replies, the word said with shocking adoration and joy. "Or, rather.." He pauses for a moment, eyes playfully narrowed as he concentrates. "Aoife." He can't quite say it the way Ronin can. His accent smooths the syllables out much more than his husbands ever did. Even so, her name sounds just as sweet.

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 difficult to sip at his drink from a prone position, so Finn does the only reasonable thing - he knocks it all back before lying down properly, of course. It makes his head swim and his cheeks feel warm, and takes away from the aching in his ribs. Perfection, in a word. ”Aoife,” he repeats, trying the name out for himself. It’s a strange mix between Remi’s first and second attempt, but sounds just as joyous on the tongue.

”A beautiful name,” he remarks. ”What happened...?” It’s a faux pas, a big one - Finn is asking the same kinds of questions they’ve agreed do not need to be asked. This is another bit of information better off volunteered. And yet, here they both are. ”I’ve never... I don’t think I’d be a good father.” He’s slurring. It’s only a matter of time.

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

It's bittersweet to hear the name said by someone else. Were she still here the Alchemist was quite sure there wouldn't be anyone who didn't know about the little starry-eyed girl. Her presence was just about as large as Ronin's was...and had she the chance to grow it, Remi was sure it would have eclipsed them both.

Almost everyone already knew what happened, so Remi finds it rather strange he's being asked. Part of him is glad this didn't come up in Finn's research. "I took her to the festival. She'd just gotten a flower crown..from Phoebe I think, before placing one on Isla's head.." Remi spoke as if Finn already knew who everyone was. But the only characters of any importance were he and Aoife. And Loren, perhaps, but that was for entirely different reasons. "There was...the sentient mud had..balled itself up and was crushing some fences in a field. It started to roll towards the festival were a few gathered to stop it." So far, this was relatively tonelessly said. Like a narrator forced to speak, the Alchemist recounts it all with a glassy expression.

"It came closer and so did the attempts to stop it." His voice is low now, threatening to become a whisper. "Loren threw a spear of ice. I was stronger then than I am now, but it didn't matter." His fingers pressed against the scarring as if expecting the skin to still be cold, his eyes unfocused on Finn's feet, brows furrowing as if he is still stunned by his own words. "It went right through me and into her." For a long while he simply stared ahead, seeing red on his white shirt, Aoife's dark curls matted and unmoving. There had been screams that day all around, but Remi hadn't heard them. There was just Aoife, so fragile against him, so utterly perfect.

"It was almost instant." Eyes fluttering as the world swam back into view, Remi reaches over and drains his entire glass without so much as a wince. "I didn't think I would either." He says, pressing his lips to the back of his arm and taking a breath. "But when Ronin died...whether or not I'd be good at it became irrelevant."

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection

awareness is the enemy of sanity

There’s a distinct impression that what is being said is secret, important, sacred almost. And Finn’s world has reduced down to a foggy haze of blurred lines and Remi’s accented voice, carrying the story along in a curiously musical way. It’s a tragedy, one that Finn feels deeply in his bones. He forms apologies on lips that no longer have the coherence to say them; he feels his chest burn like he also bears the scar that Remi touches. Aoife - a whimsical name for another dead child.

And they’re there again, those three pale little faces, drowned but not, and Finn’s pulse rockets and he nearly surges to sit up to get away from it. Only pain prevents him, squeezing forcefully around his ribs, and he relaxes back, his breathing laboured. ”So much death in your life,” he grates out, the words thick in his mouth. ”How do you manage?”

for once you hear the screaming

it never stops

FINN

REMI

Not knowing what is or isn't flitting through Finn's mind, Remi nonetheless tenses and lurches forward himself as the Spyglass threatens to sit up. He's nearly on his feet when his twin seemingly thinks better of his choices and relaxes back into the bed. Unneeded and unhelpful adrenaline sloshes through his system as Remi too relaxes back into his chair, pulse racing.

"I'm surprised you think I do." Remi replies in a dry voice, magically refilling his cup and drinking almost half of it. Part of him wants to keep talking, to unburden himself of all that's on his mind to a man who is mentally and physically unable to respond. Part of him wants to leave, seeking out his bed and his husband. Part of him wants to simply sit and listen to the ghosts that haunt this room, making thick the air and silently echoing back all that the two men are saying.

"Do you need what's in your bag, yet?" Remi asks in a voice which sounds, despite everything he's said to the contrary, caring.

honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.

Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection