Just for now

"Resentment?" Remi repeated, his expression one of thoughtful disagreement. "No ... not that. Not for me at least." Looking across at Rory as he fidgeted with the reins and the material of his pants, Remi tried to think of a way to explain just what it was which was driving him. "I did not ever expect freedom back home," Remi began, gaze softly falling over the side of Rory's face. "But I had hoped for at least the ability to leave our small city without an armed escort. Then coming here..." Remi looked out towards the barrier, expression still soft and contemplative. "...I do not have the words for it." He admitted almost reluctantly, glancing tentatively towards Rory with a growing and crooked smile. "But it is not resentment. It is just..." Lips remaining parted for a moment, Remi sort of chuckle-sighed and shrugged. "..a dream perhaps. Swallowing down his immediate feelings of awkwardness at having described his situation with such an uncharacteristic lack of clarity, Remi was grateful for the slight shift in conversation.  "I—" am an alchemist. But for some reason that isn't what he said. Instead, gazing silently at the man seated next to him, the words died on his tongue, feeling inappropriate somehow as if he didn't have the right to claim that he was anything, especially not in a world to which he didn't belong. "—I make things. Teas and liquors for the Rathskeller, paints and inks...other various small machines and the like." He made weapons too, but that was merely a hang-up from Northaven that he'd rather not mention. Besides, his last weapon had been given to Kalt, and truthfully the alchemist was glad that the sword was no longer in his shop. "My father was a merchant, though quite a bad one. He swindled and stole and ended up whoring or gambling or drinking away most of what he did earn. So I began to try and make things that our customers wanted." A skill born out of necessity, but Remi had always rather liked it. Without any proper schooling what he made was likely quite crude and unskilled, but without any real bench mark as a child he had no way of knowing. And at least it afforded the boy enough to buy himself a blanket to keep himself warm with. Finding Rory's blue stare, so still and deep, Remi searched within it for the answers that the man had quite literally said he didn't hold. Still, something in the gently sculpted canvas of Rory's expression made Remi believe that perhaps he did. Or maybe that he could. REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires

The tale was not one he had expected, and he listened with both reluctance and great interest. It was Remi, god's sake, yet he wanted to cling to whatever shreds of inhumanity he had left, to wallow in his bitterness and keep his grounds on which to demonize the Outlanders.

But how could he, when he looked into those pale green eyes? Whenever that charming, disarming smile broke out? He was lost every time, ever since the first, when his startled mind screamed danger, danger and backed the pony up from the outstretched hand. He had wanted to trust him then, and he wanted to trust him now, but in the end, it was himself that he didn't trust.

So he sat where he was, his hands resting on his knees, his heart struggling against itself.

"..a dream perhaps."

And one Rory shared, but did not believe in. And when had he stopped? He, who always participated in building a perch for a bird they had not seen in forever; he, who always hung his lanterns looking for Ludo's favor; he, who always rode the Outskirts, looking for answers; he, who always rode by the Spire, never afraid, but ever watchful.

It was ritual, but at some point along the way, he had stopped expecting answers. He had stopped expecting change, and now that it was here, he found himself regurgitating the words of his elders: there is no way out. it is too dangerous. we have tried everything. you will die.

you will die.

He thought of his cage. He thought of Remi's cage, how the bars had bent and bowed but not broken; how it had expanded yet remained locked.

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

But he listened, as Remi spoke of what he made, of his father. Rory glanced his way, and found only the green of Remi's gaze.

Holding him. Trapping him. Searching him, looking for his soul in all that blue. Rory blinked, still and gentle, the way animals did to confirm their good intentions. Yet whatever answers the Alchemist looked for, Rory did not have them—believed himself not to have them—and even if he had, could not give them. He couldn't endorse a hunt for a way out when it was fraught with so much danger, would not encourage anyone towards risks that might cost them their lives.

"I never knew my father," he said, still helpless to look away from those eyes, yet wanting to. He felt shy when under his regard. "He died before I was born."

It was a worthless bit of information, yet the only thing that came to mind.

Softly Remi's eyes scanned Rory's looking for an indication of sarcasm and malice. The alchemist already recognized that the phrasing of his desire to try and find a way out of the bubble was a bit too poetic  (to his ears anyhow), but hearing Rory repeat it seemed to drive home the sensation that not only had he not captured what it was he meant to say, but that what he had said was ridiculous. Shyly his expression softened, part of him wanting to sheepishly look away, but the majority of his willpower making him helpless to do so. Their eyes are always blue, he mused silently, and yet for all his lack of artistry, Remi thought perhaps you'd have to be an idiot to ever mistake the blue of Rory's eyes with Loren's or Ianto's. Or anyone elses. They were so distinctly him, whatever that entailed, and though Remi could feel the seconds piling up, he couldn't bring himself to look away. Answers there might not be, there was something else, wasn't there? Captivated and puzzled and enthralled Remi's pale stare searched Rory's. He wanted to reach across the space between them—the distance barely anything at all, and yet seemingly a gulf he couldn't' cross—and steady himself against Rory's knee, to bring himself nose to nose with the man and just look. He was certain then he'd be able to see what it was hiding just below the depths of— —I never knew my father. "Mmm." Remi hummed distractedly, before fluttering his eyelashes and inhaling a rather shaky breath. The fact that the world did not consist simply of Rory's eyes crashed back down on him, and a rather boyishly charmed smile crossed his lips as his eyes finally lowered. Though Remi had only negative memories of his own father, he'd not say anything so childish as lucky you or anything similarly worded. Instead as his eyes flitted back up he offered his friend a small smile of sympathy and nodded. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like if he didn't?" With a gentle inhale, Remi nibbled the inside corner of his lip thoughtfully. "My mother died when I was quite young...and I do wonder it often. What it would be like if she were here." REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires

Rory was no stranger to affection, nor to desire: yet the combination of both was what kept him where he was, and kept his mouth from forming words he might otherwise have said. It was what kept his hands in his lap, instead of on Remi's knee, thigh, casually, until he knew if the man was steady or not—

But that was not what was happening. Nor what would be happening, his fingers playing with the rein as Bakshi, bored, browsed the hard ground for blades of grass or roots behind him.

He felt like a deer in the headlights under that gaze, trapped in a moment of indecision, and one he could never break out of: he could just sit there, helpless, wanting something that was firmly forbidden and better off that way—

Like waiting for the end times, somehow.

Meeting anybody's eyes had always been a strange thing for him, but rarely had he felt so compelled to not look away, as if there was something he was trying to say—

It was all far too dangerous, so in a sense, it was a relief (but like clouds shadowing the sun; cold and forlorn) when Remi glanced away. Rory felt a shuddering breath leave him, as if he could finally breathe again, yet it felt colder, and he felt uncertain, somehow—not of Remi, but of what had just happened. He lowered his gaze, afraid of being trapped by his smile and his eyes again. They were too easy to get lost in.

At the question, Rory shrugged, chancing another look at Remi as he mentioned his mother. So, a role reversal, of sort; he was silent for a couple of seconds, before sighing. "My best friend had a great father," he began hesitantly, feeling his way along the words. "When I was young, I thought all fathers were like that, but.. as I grew older, everyone said me and my father would not have gotten along at all. He was very, ah, down-to-earth, no-nonsense, with little patience even for my mother's ideas and quirks." Rory's mouth curved into a sad smile. "I took after her a lot, so they all say had he lived, I would've been a very unhappy and bruised child."

Slowly, as if the motion might scare the other man away, Rory tilted his head to the side. "What was your mother like?"

It was that perfect sort of fluttery feeling. The one that wasn't too terribly strong, but instead waffled pleasantly in his belly, every now and then throwing warm sparks up his ribcage to settle in the back of his throat. It made him want to laugh, to reach across and press his lips against Rory's, but also to sit perfectly still and just sort of revel in the way his entire body seemed to be alight beneath Rory's gaze. Perhaps if he got up suddenly, he could offer his hand to the man to help him stand? It wasn't as though Rory would need it, but at least then he'd have it, and he could use it to pull him close and— —listening, Remi found the smile curdling on his face at the words his friend used. Swallowing down the blackened feelings of understanding, he nodded gently and encouragingly as the man continued. Remi's own father was not necessarily no-nonsense (there was a good deal of nonsense employed by Enuccio, just not the good kind), but the boy and his father were perhaps as different as two people could be. Where Remi was kind and honest, Enuccio  swindled and took whatever he could; where Remi was generous and inquisitive, his father stole and cared about little that didn't directly lead him towards the bottom of a bottle or between the thighs of a whore. "Well then I am glad to hear that he was not around." Remi said softly, his eyes rising from the sparse patch of ground he'd been focused on, to (the paleness of Rory's lips, how he was sure that the softness of them would be offset by how strong his jaw would feel beneath fingers or his palm as he—) Rory's eyes. The way his head tilted made Remi instinctively want to do the same. To mirror, to ensure that like two puzzle pieces they would fit, if only the breath of distance between them was gone... "She—" The words caught in his throat. The comfortable sea of anticipation and softly brewing desire was rapidly upset with thoughts of his mother's smiling face, and how she'd been all but skin stretched over bones the day she died. Clearing his throat, Remi looked down. Conjuring a feather in his hand, he ran the vein of it across his palm and took a breath, thinking of her laughing face and the way she smelled like cinnamon and lavender after an afternoon of baking. Even after all of these years, he still missed her dearly in a way only a boy could. "She was perfect." Remi murmured, the adoration and longing clear in his voice. "Kind and beautiful. I do not know how she ended up with someone like my father. " He concluded with a disparaging chuckle. REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires

"Well then I am glad to hear that he was not around."

The smile curving Rory's lips was soft, yet a little sad. While it did not seem to be a thing that Remi said lightly, Rory had heard it quite often—and it made sense, didn't it? Everyone who had known, or known of, his father said the same thing (though some said it the other way around; your father ought to have still been around, would've knocked some use into you).

Yet he couldn't help but wonder, as he had so many times in the past, dreaming of long Deepfrost evenings in which the man baked with his mother, content to jest and talk in front of a merry fire. Daydreams of the hand steadying his on the bow belonging to his father, not his sister; of the strong torso he leaned against when learning to ride ponies as a toddler being his father's, not his mother's.

Not that there was anything wrong with having your sister teach you archery, or your mother teach you riding: he was just missing things that might have been, dreaming about what he couldn't have, couldn't know.

Like the world beyond.

Remi began, then hesitated. Rory's gaze softened as it traveled back to the man's face, following gently along the lines of his expression, daring to linger at the corners of his green eyes. Then he looked down again. The emotion conveyed by his voice was familiar. Even after all these years, it hurt, and he picked again at a seam that was beginning to come undone by his knee.

"I sometimes wondered that about my parents too," he said, his gaze still lowered. Bakshi abandoned his fruitless grazing and nibbled the back of his neck instead. He batted the pony's muzzle away without even thinking about it. "I suppose they saw something in our fathers. Just.. I don't know, maybe time killed whatever it was."

Remi watched the familiarity with which Rory quickly dispensed Bakshi's wandering muzzle, and something in it made a flower of warmth bloom in his chest. Perhaps it was because he too was an animal, and so seeing the man so easily deal with a member of, if not his species, at least his kingdom, was reassuring.  Then again, the way most dealt with animals spoke volumes of their inner selves, and so perhaps Remi was simply relieved to see that the Rory he thought he saw on the surface might also be the same man underneath. Leaning casually back, Remi placed the hand closest to Rory on the ground, just a little ways behind and to the side of the man. It wasn't much, just a posture of slight relaxation after all, but it felt as big as any sort of gesture. The last time Remi had tried to enter into whatever sort of spacial bubble Rory kept—when he'd offered Bakshi the molasses-y contents of his pockets—Rory had drawn back. It felt silly to suddenly feel so ... anxious? nervous? worried? simply by leaning perhaps an inch or so closer, and yet he did. The entire time he kept his eyes focused on the bit of string that Rory's fingers kept worrying away, wanting the fabric to keep the blue-eyed man distracted...but also to not. "Maybe." Remi answered in almost a whisper, swallowing down some uncertain emotion building in the back of his throat. What he actually wanted to say was that he wished time had killed his father, instead of his mother and whatever emotions she might once have had for the man, but he didn't. Instead he looked out towards the barrier, content to more or less sit in silence, enjoying the tense and thrilling closeness he achieved (if indeed Rory hadn't shied away again). REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires

Rory was a rather finicky and flighty creature despite his seeming steadiness: animals he invited close to his body without second thought, humans.. well, that was a whole other story, and with many, many chapters. Taking a customer's measurements, helping someone who had fallen, all done with a sort of clinical briskness and oh-so-impersonal—and yet sometimes he leaned into practical strangers, his hands and their hands all over. And those he knew, those he was comfortable with, he treated like animals, not quite noticing when he touched them, or how close he stood, not realizing he put his hand on their hip or shoulder to gently move them out of his way.

But Remi.. Remi was dangerous to him, and while he was rather comfortable around the man (wanted him closer, even—) he was also

flighty

much too aware of his body and his movements and his presence, how he leaned a little closer: the slight movement like an electric jolt through Rory's bones, every nerve taut and buzzing as he slow-blinked to mask his reaction and steady his breathing. Remi's presence pressed up against his, Rory's instincts demanding he bend and break and move away even as some other, still primal part of him yelled more more more more more on repeat.

Addictive and poisonous and treacherous and thrilling and everything Rory ran from.

Yet he remained sitting where he was, as if he hadn't noticed, as if he hadn't subtly leaned a little closer, as if his body wasn't on fire and he was doing his best to put it out.

After a moment Rory heaved a small sigh—surprised by how steady it was—and laid down on his back, somehow finding space between Remi's hand and Bakshi's hooves. It wasn't exactly comfortable. Shifting slightly he pulled his legs up a little and bent his knees, then stared in silence at the uninteresting sky above them.

( I feel like Rory is one of the few who has mandate to say he treats people like animals and it's a good thing... )

Remi watched out of the corner of his gaze as if expecting some immediate backlash from what could simply be construed as a casual lean. But it wasn't. It was calculating in a way that did not come naturally to the alchemist who had kept sudden hidden intentions latent and hidden for so long that even just a lean felt like a heretical gesture sure to ruin everything. And so he held his breath, eyes scanning but not seeing the barrier, and waiting for anything at all. The sound of Rory's breath was like a gunshot and beneath his coat the alchemist flinched, forcing himself not to look over immediately. As he did, he heard himself suck in a shallow breath of air, as if startled to see Rory suddenly laying down, eyes trained above. He had a second at most. Anything else and the realization of just how easy it would be to slide his arm down through the grasses and be suddenly next to Rory would be too strong. Indeed as his eyes dusted across the man's face his lips appeared too real as if everything else had faded and lost its sheen save for them and the blue of Rory's eyes. And with his head over his shoulder and arm stretched out just so how easy it all would be to just— —it had been 3 seconds at most before Remi returned his stare to the barrier, trying to exhale as quietly as he could while a comfortable if not entirely empty silence filled the gaps between them. ~fin REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love