crooked moon: draža and gideon

[onefellswoop]

-The Crooked House. shut the fuck up eustace. WHY ARE INFINITE WEASELS?
-A private word. jack you can't slip away from the bird that easily.
-Where you belong. hello puppy, hello daddy. hello gideon?



supplemental:
-Jack's notes. revelations in the margins.

Comments

day 2: a private word.

[onefellswoop]

After talking to Jean, the party exits the smithy. Jack has, until now, been following along peacably enough, but now announces, "I'm going back to the Inn." When Cala looks torn in response, he tells her not unkindly, "You can do what you want. It's okay. Stay with them."

<.>

Orev's response is immediate, unwavered though there's a warning bite at the edge: "You'll find that's simple, Calamus." And, Looking At You Jack, "We could all use a stop at the inn.

"As I said, I'm not of a mood for bread."

Still watching Jack. Absolutely ready to strike down any argument.

(Anyway, going to the inn means Walt can refill on sausages and give his filthy romance some attention.)

<.>

It's true. Walt will get plenty of read time.

Jack stiffens and his jaw clenches, but he doesn't look at Orev. Unable to back out now, he simply turns and heads for the inn. Cala hurries to keep up with his stride, casting a bemused glance between him and Orev. For now, she says nothing, however.

Back at the inn, Jack says nothing to the party, but makes a beeline for the stairs; it could be he believes he just needs to get to his room and Orev won't follow, or that Cala WILL follow and provide a buffer if Orev is going to try and corner him.

*Cala does not, in fact, follow him.

<.>

Orev hadn't anticipated the lack of pushback. He had, however, absolutely expected the boy to attempt retreat, and follows that beeline quietly, without remark. However close he's able to trail Jack, he will be following him stuck-on-you-like-glue. There isn't any need to speak just yet; best keep words behind closed doors. Well. And. He may be hoping the boy doesn't notice he's been followed.

[orev, stealth check: 19]

<.>

Yeah Jack doesn't actually notice he's being followed.

When he gets to his room, he starts to close the door immediately behind him, so make an acrobatics check to dodge or an athletics check to stop it from hitting Orev in the face.

[orev, stealth check: nat 20]

Orev soundlessly catches the door, preventing it from closing and not alerting Jack to his presence. Jack, assuming the door has closed and he's alone, heaves a sigh of relief, snatches the new hat off his head, and throws it irritably on one of the chairs in the room. His coat follows and he drops onto his bed with a weariness he didn't show at all outside. He buries his face in his hands, shoulder slumped, scrubs his palms through his hair, and then raises his head to stare out the window.

<.>

Orev is going to keep to the room's perimeter, making his way toward the chair.

He's careful with his motions; graceful, focused. And for a moment, he permits himself to stand behind the chair, observing, thinking— He'd like to draw his fingers through the man's hair.

(Thinking— Does he knows its softness?) (It seems not alien to him.)

What he does is settle a hand on Jack's shoulder, speaking soft-firm as he does—

"What was it."

<.>

Although Jack didn't perceive him, when Orev's hand meets Jack's shoulder, the man doesn't seem to startle more than a sudden tensing - almost as though he's not surprised. The only indication he gives that he might have been caught off-guard is an angry snort and a side-long glance.

It's almost bitter, the way he looks at Orev.

"You're not big on boundaries, are you?"

<.>

That's... odd.

How little the boy reacts. Orev might not have intended to give Jack a particularly heinous startle, but surely there ought to have been something more to his reaction. He blinks. Considers.

(Doesn't like the way Jack's watching him.)

"And you're not inclined toward transparency.

"You've avoided the question."

And, after a moment: "You knew I was behind you." It isn't a question. (It's. Kind of a question.)

He hasn't moved his hand from Jack's shoulder.

<.>

"No." Jack doesn't indicate which un-question he's answering, but then again, he's not inclined towards transparency.

He's a gambler, after all.

He leaves Orev's hand on his shoulder far, far longer than seems reasonable before standing and moving away from the man. Folding his arms across his chest, he comments, "If you're here to ask me about your little identity problem, I can't help you."

<.>

The little shit.

He remains in place, hand shifted only enough to rest on the back of the chair, fingers tapping, tapping, claws pressing light into the fabric. Straight-faced, he offers, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean.

"No, 'Jack.' We've other concerns at present.

"What the woman in the bakery told you.

"What you were doing with Tolliver."

<.>

Jack seems thrown by this, then laughs incredulously. With an ugly sneer, he bites out, "I'd say I didn't take you for the jealous type, but it's more like I'm not sure why you think you've got a right to be jealous."

<.>

Oh, he doesn't like that.

Orev's lip ticks briefly, briefly to flash teeth before he can regain composure.

There's a question in mind: Why should Jack assume jealousy at all? Why the biting, the sneer? Just what does he know about Orev.

(And there's a question for himself: Why in fuck's name should he care. Is he jealous, and why, and what is it about this man?)

And Orev. Is going to go for cast number two of Detect Thoughts.

Which is maybe not wise and he's fairly certain it isn't wise, but that's not going to stop him.

<.>

[jack, perception check: 28]

Jack immediately starts with the PUT ON YOUR SUNDAYS WE'RE GONNA DIG A HOLE.

Orev looks as if he'd like to jump out a window.

But.

He's going to ride this out for the moment. Because he would like to trY to get a little deeper.

<.>

Jack manages his willpower save (18 on the die) and shouts, "Get out of my head!"

<.>

That's the spell done and over with.

And Orev is now clutching the back of the chair with both hands, claws clamped a little too harsh. Yes he is frustrated. (And in the back of his mind, he feels as if he's going about this all wrong, but for fuck's sake how else is he supposed to do it?)

His voice low, he offers, "As you wish."

And, "This might be simpler if you'd afford a measure of cooperation.

"We'll put it in your terms, shall we? If you're...muddling about with our potential suppliers, we'll all need to know. Simply to understand our own footing for dealing with them."

That is. Absolutely not what he's concerned about. But it sure is what he's going with right now.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Jack rubs his forehead as though easing a headache; there's a look of frustration bordering on (?) tearfulness (?) in his eyes, which he tries to disguise by looking off at the window. A silence follows, cold and thoughtful, before he finally responds.

"I'm not 'muddling about' with him."

A beat, and then he continues, "We don't need to keep traveling together. I don't know how this arrangement took shape. It's Cala that insists we have to stay with you and your corpse; I'd be halfway to [NAME OF OTHER COUNTRY] if I had a choice, and believe me, if it meant muddling a hundred Tollivers to do it, I would."

And another pause.

"But he lowered the cost of the gods-damned hat without any muddling. So - your concerns are noted and alleviated."

<.>

A jolted awareness: He doesn't want Jack to leave.

(He can't. The man can't leave. Orev needs— Jack needs— Something, there's something here he can't reach.)

Then, another moment of awareness: He's moved, several strides across the room toward the boy. Not sure how it'd happened. Not sure when. He draws himself up short before he reaches the man, now crossing his own arms, hands clutching his elbows.

What he says, voice less steady than he'd like: "That won't be necessary.

"Fleeing, that is. Whatever's brought us to this village... I suspect our chances are better as a unit."

He does examine the boy closely, trying to determine whether he's lying about any muddlings or non-muddlings with Tolliver, though he suspects it's true enough. (Trying as well to not linger on just how ill-at-ease he felt, hearing this boy speak of parting ways.) (Probably, it's because Orev could use the support, at least until he figures out what in the hells he's doing here.) ((Probably, that isn't the reason at all.))

"Your Calamus is sensible. I'd heed her, if I were you."

Then, irritably, "And Walt is not 'my' corpse."

Well. Maybe Walt kind of is, but Orev has made no claim to him.

Orev gestures toward the bed. "Sit, wouldn't you?"

<.>

[orev, insight check for lying: 16]

Jack seems to be speaking from a place of deep hurt and anger, and he truly seems to believe he'd follow through on his threat to fuck his way across Druskenvald - and also, meant for that comment to hurt.

And he's telling the truth about Tolliver.

<.>

That comment did in fact hurt. At the moment, it's drowned out by the panic (it wasn't panic!) ((it was absolutely panic)) at the thought of Jack leaving. Slowly, though, the sting's beginning to burn through, and as Orev watches the boy, he grips his elbows a little harder, clas beginning to sink through feather and skin.

(Why in fuck is this man so hell-bent on being far from him?)

<.>

Jack sits, but only slowly, and on Cala's bed. Or, what would be her bed if she slept. He doesn't look at Orev; it seems almost as though he doesn't WANT to look at Orev, or perhaps can't look. (Perhaps doesn't want to see the hurt he caused.)

"A unit. I'm sure that's your primary concern. Tactical cohesion." A snort.

"Cala's sensible. She's also too trusting. But if this is what she wants, I'm not going to refuse her."

Now he does look at Orev, his gaze stony and full of acrimony. "Don't make me regret it, or I'll make sure regret's the only thing you know how to feel anymore."

<.>

He blinks, thinks to remark that he is not unconcerned about tactics and practicalities, but it really isn't the point, or it isn't where his attention's focused.

(He doesn't doubt this man could cause regret.) ((Has it happened before?)) (Strange; he doesn't know much of what he feels anymore. Confusion, yes. Irritation. A desire to know... something.

And, when faced with this man, what he feels is something akin to— Well. It couldn't be called longing, could it? The word, the notion makes no sense applied to himself. Perhaps take thought of feeling out of it. Perhaps simply acknowledge that there is something to this man that he doesn't want to let go.)

He meets the harshness of Jack's gaze with a composed blankness. "I don't doubt you will."

Then, carefully, "What I cannot discern is what you believe I'd do to make you regret anything. Or why.

"After all, you've never known me."

<.>

Jack once more crosses his arms and stares impassively at Orev. He seems to be thinking of how he wants to reply to that statement: a comeback, a nasty remark, or just a quiet -

"No. I've never known you.

"But I've known enough men to know which ones will take your heart and break it for a bit of fun." He lets that hang in the air a moment before continuing with a nod towards the door. "But we're talking about her. She still thinks people can be trusted. Don't give her the kind of education I had."

He seems to know he ought to stop there, but he just can't help himself. He adds, "She's not replaceable like some."

[orev, insight check: 21]

That last comment seemed bitter and pointed, as though he's echoing something someone told him.

[orev, wisdom check: 15]

Orev feels a creeping sense that, if only he could remember, he would know EXACTLY what Jack is talking about.

<.>

What he thinks, sharp and sudden, cutting through a growing wariness: 'Who on earth told you that?'

(Who ever said you were replaceable.) (Who could think it.)

And itching beneath his skin, a subtle torment through his mind, he knows, he knows there's something familiar in those words. Which does nothing to settle his unease. Which turns toward its own kind of gnawing, because if he knows those words, if he's not mistaken about having known, he must have known this man—

The conclusions can't bode well. And he doesn't reach to draw them in connection now.

(But he worries. And for the first time, the thought forms coherently, with something like certainty: What did he do to this boy?)

He's looked away from Jack. Finds his eyes tracking along the room's perimeter, pausing now and then to stare at nothing. (For fuck's sake, if he could remember something, if he knew the shape of any piece of this, he might see some way forward.) (Maybe. Or he might bring it to ruin, regardless.)

When he looks up again, his vision settles near Jack, not quite holding him. "I have no interest in quashing her optimism.

"It's— She is. Charming. I don't mean her any harm."

And, after a breath, his eyes fix on Jack. "...I'm not certain you are replaceable."

<.>

"I'm certain I am, to certain men," he responds immediately, but the hardness in his eyes is gone for a moment, replaced with painful longing. This gives way to further anger, as though he can't help but feel furious with Orev for making him feel anything but bitter, and with himself for being weak. (4 on Performance.)

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, then tries to continue. "You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through. Don't talk about me like you do." A harsh jerk of his head towards the door. "And if you don't mean her any harm -"

There's a pause here as though an idea has struck him. He glances at Orev and seems to soften, perhaps even be considering offering an olive branch. "If we're going to keep together as a 'unit', maybe you could help us."

<.>

He doesn't know what to make of that; the pain, the angry bitterness, and why it feels so pointed, so particular.

(He might know, if he could remember anything, anything.) (It. Might be better that he doesn't know. (He doesn't believe that.))

There's a moment in which he nearly argues that he does know Jack, which must be an impulse toward gambit, toward bravado, because he doesn't know this man. ((However much he might, perhaps, like to.)) (And even if. Even if he knew Jack once before, that knowledge has been excised, with no telling whether it can ever be returned.)

The change in tone throws him. Orev looks at if he doesn't quite trust whatever Jack's leading toward (it's too good to be true, isn't it? when the boy's been nothing but prickly, ireful in his direction), though he keeps hesitation from his voice when he replies, "That strikes me as reasonable."

Possibly. Depending on the ask. (Depending on what Orev is capable of achieving.)

"You have something in mind?"

<.>

[onefellswoop]

He knows it's too easy, but he didn't expect Orev not to be suspicious. Even if he actually didn't know the man, he's a gambler: he knows people don't trust as easily as they claim.

(No one but Cala, anyway.)

Still, it's worth a try.

"I have something in mind. Maybe it'll satisfy your curiosity about the baker," he shrugs. Unfolding his arms, he rests his hands on his knees. "Cala. I won her. Not that I was trying to," he adds, his remark carrying some hints of disdain. "Some piece of shit tossed their contract into a pot he was sure I'd lose."

Of course, he hadn't begun losing that night.

"I didn't realize what it was until after, and now I've got a too-trusting, 'charming' Threadborn at my beck and call. Can't tear up the contract because she didn't make it with me; I just inherited it. So that's what we're out to do: get her autonomy back."

A little wave of one hand. "The baker said she knew I owned Cala's soul. She said our redemption's at the Drowned Crossroads."

[orev, insight check: 20 not-nat]

[jack, deception: 29]

As far as Orev can tell, Jack is telling the truth as though his life depends on it.

<.>

It seems he isn't the only one in the business of owning souls.

That isn't a helpful thought. It also isn't strictly true, and he's not about to say it, for fuck's sake. For several moments, he only lets himself consider the information. Thinking—

Well. The girl is probably better off with this man than whoever came before him.

And. There are always ways to slip out from a contract. (A thought - a knowledge? - that stings sharper than he'd like, with roots he cannot trace.)

Slowly, eventually, he nods, eyes not-quite-settled on the window. "The baker. It might be wise to pay her another visit."

Then, perhaps (??) attempting levity (??), never mind that the words fall a bit flat, "You do still need to eat, in any case."

His arms have settled at his side, and one hand flexes again, again in thought. "Do you know how she came to— Mm. Be parted from her soul in the first place?"

<.>

Jack looks faintly surprised - perhaps that Orev is so amenable to helping - but replies, "I didn't ask. I get the impression her parents sold her. It happens. I don't think it's anything she cares to talk about."

There's another silence from him before he goes on, "You're concerned about me eating. Why? It's not like I'm starving myself."

<.>

"...You mentioned your hunger. I would prefer that you not pass out while we're attempting to get our bearings."

That's definitely the entire reason. Or. It's the entire reason that Orev's given to himself; he's not going to touch the impulses behind it, because it doesn't particularly make sense that he'd give a shit one way or another about this boy's care, certainly not. It's all practicality. Yes, practicality and tactical cohesion.

He shakes his head, huffs a perhaps-forced sound of derision. "I can't begin to imagine what the Old Ways have to say about fainting. The barber might attempt to exorcise you via an over-bloody dental extraction."

He clears his throat. Looks back at the boy. "Are you familiar with the Drowned Crossroads?"

(And. A thought occurs, briefly, dim: Is your soul your own?)

<.>

The joke about the barber passes without reaction.

Jack shakes his head. "I've never heard of it. Them. Whatever they are." The Drowned Crossroads, he means. "But I find out what I need to know over a game of dice, when Cala isn't trying to throttle me for -"

For just a moment there, he had half a fond smile on his face. However, he seems to remember who he's talking to and the smile abruptly vanishes, replaced with his familiar cold impassiveness.

"I have rations. I'll eat when I need to eat. I don't need you mothering me."

<.>

[q: does orev have any scattered memory flashes related to the drowned crossroads, or to crossroads in reference to the owning and exchange of souls?

Nope.
However, everyone in Druskenvald knows -
the crossroads are where one goes to make a deal with "the devil".
Or whatever entities want to accept the terms.
This is, of course, known to be a superstition, so whatever the baker meant, Orev would know it's probably not that]

"I'm not—" He snaps his mouth shut, jaw tightening. Suddenly, he's glaring very sharply through the window.

Fine.

It's fine.

Let the boy do what he pleases, it isn't (it ought to be) (it *is*) Orev's business. He could point out that Jack's state this very morning suggests some need for care, but no, no, he wouldn't want to *mother* the boy.

Prickly little (brat) *shit*.

"Do as you please. Though I'd venture to say that the information may be gleaned without the company of dice."

And, moving quickly along, "I'd like to see the contract sometime. If— She doesn't mind. It might help."

<.>

Jack lets the silence drag out, offering no response to anything Orev says. He seems to be wrestling with himself, perhaps trying to convince himself 'do as you please' isn't a command.

Finally, he asks quietly, "Was there anything else?"

<.>

"...Am I detaining you."

<.>

Jack raises an eyebrow and counters with rising, perhaps performative, suggestion, "I came up here to sleep. Am I tempting you to stay in my room while I get in bed?"

<.>

His response follows on impulse, too quickly, "And here I thought you'd had your fill."

Fucking. Tolliver.

Orev.

Immediately.

Regrets saying that.

(Well. The boy wasn't entirely wrong; he's already got Orev feeling an uncommon amount of regret. ...Shit.)

He takes a breath. Sighs deeply. (Thinks that. Sees that. Yes, this man is... attractive would be an understatement. Appealing. Something about him is— Uncommon. The boy is uncommon. And if Orev were to let himself consider it, wouldn't it be nice to—) (For SHIT'S sake, he can't think about this!)

Again, he clears his throat.

Again, he finds he's not quite looking at Jack.

He makes himself focus on the man.

Breathes again.

Attempts to compose himself, intends to speak, something wry or something vaguely dismissive or something to excuse himself from the room.

What he says instead: "I'm not certain how you knew me. Or what I was to you. But the— The knowledge is lost to me.

"It might do you well to know this."

And once again, he knows Regret.

<.>

Jack holds his eyes unflinchingly, then replies softly, firmly, "I never knew you."

There's a breath half-drawn. An unsteadiness, and then, "I never knew you. You weren't anything to me. You're not anything to me now."

He shakes his head as though unconcerned, his half-smile showing a glint of teeth. "You're never going to be anything to me. Probably will do you well to know that."

[orev, insight check: 1]

Jack seems to be telling the truth.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Orev hears these words as truth.

Hears these words as truth.

And yet. Something. *Something* nags at him. Perhaps this boy never knew him. Perhaps they've never met. But there's some manner of connective tissue between them. And that glinting smile— Oh he doesn't (and he does, oh he *does*) like that.

What he says, voice near-hissing, eyes burning, forefinger pointed at Jack: "*Listen* to me."

It might be a command. It certainly has all the force of a command, intended or otherwise.

"Whatever it is you haven't said. Whatever it is you're dancing around. Gambler, rogue; speak in what vague truths you like. I *will* find what you've hidden."

(What he doesn't like, what he doesn't want to think about: How much a wounding it is, to hear that never. To know its resonance like vow, like promise, like ending. To have offered— Something. Showed his hand, bared his throat in admission, and this is what he's met with.

Perhaps he should have known. Perhaps the risk couldn't have been worth it.

He's given something up and this is... What? A sour, a corrosive return. It's his own fault, really. He should have known better.)

He shakes his head, arms crossed again until he throws one hand upward. "This ire of yours, for what?

"This poison.

"And yet you'd take my aid."

He watches the boy a moment longer, bright fury (and something, something other, deeper, velvet-looming anguish) crowding his vision. Then, curtly, "Sleep as you like. Join us for dinner if you'd like.

"As you say: You don't need 'mothering.'"

<.>

[orev, insight check: 15]

Orev sees an immediate remorse flickering in Jack's eyes on the heels of what he said; the rogue does his best to hide it, even through the faint anger at being commanded to listen. By the time Orev finishes speaking, Jack isn't looking at him. His shoulders are stiff as though he's fighting slumping, curling in on himself. His hands flex, curling into loose fists and uncurling again.

He remains silent after, only eventually looking up, clearly guilty, clearly hurting, and clearly trying to hide it from Orev.

His jaw works against whatever else he's trying not to say before he replies quietly, "I'll take your aid for her. Not for myself."

<.>

He was on the verge of leaving. He'd felt, nearly followed the impulse to free himself from this room, this mass of stranded... feelings, the thoughts that lead only to confusion, to a sense of, well, it can't be betrayal, but of wounding, of a dagger inflicted with a sardonic, a sneering grin.

This, though.

He doesn't know what to make of what he sees.

What he thinks (what he knows): There's more to this - more to Jack - than he comprehends.

And. There's no need to make this more difficult. (For himself?) (For Jack?) (He doesn't know.)

He moves a hand to his neck. Rubs. Feels the drag of his claws.

And dares to speaks again, "For her, I give it freely."

(Thinking, 'I might, I think I would, for you as well.')

Then. "I don't know your name.

"I don't know my own.

"I would prefer not to be at odds with you."

<.>

Jack needs a minute to think, because he comprehends some sincerity in Orev's words. In, maybe, the way he's rubbing at his neck. (Jack's eyes linger too long and perhaps longingly on Orev's throat.) He considers the offer, and then the admission.

Finally, he clears his own throat. "My name is Jack. Yours is Orev. Jack and Orev don't have any reason to be at odds that I can think of, except that you keep coming uninvited in my fucking room."

It's a wry sort of peace offering; even with that last bit, he doesn't seem particularly hostile. Rather, it's almost an offer to return to square one with each other.

<.>

It's relief. (It feels more sweeping than it should be. He only just met this man. It shouldn't really matter.) (He doesn't believe that, at all.) It's an inhale taken when he'd forgotten, he finds, to breathe. It's a loosening at the center of his chest, slight, slight, but not without (meaning) effect.

(It feels like mercy.)

He very nearly, nearly smiles.

What he does manage, what he offers is a nod to himself, a meeting - if he can - with Jack's eyes. (Eyes someone might fall into. Eyes that might be a pleasure to lose oneself within.) Orev and Jack; yes, they might as well start there. (But what existed before? What might they have—) (It doesn't matter. Not just now.) (Maybe.)

"You present a fair point. About— The needlessness of hostility."

And. Possibly. About the room. But— "Perhaps next time you'll invite me in, and save us both the headache."

<.>

Thinking the conversation is winding down and feeling wearier than he did half an hour ago (and yet somehow lighter?), Jack will wait until Orev seems to take the hint and start heading for the door. Until he has his hand on the doorknob.

He breaks his own silence with a cryptic and almost playful, "If you did know me, you'd know why I'd never invite you in."

[orev, insight check: 7; DC 5]

Jack's not being THAT cryptic.

He seems to be suggesting something about how one would go about gaining entrance to his room, not about whether Orev will always be unwelcome.

But and also, he's suggesting that Orev not knowing how to go about getting into Jack's bed is evidence that they were never involved before.

<.>

Orev will—

Let that remark land.

Decide he isn't entirely clear about its meaning but. But, he thinks he sees it near enough.

And as he begisn to turn the doorknob, he'll offer over his shoulder, eyes seeking Jack, "Something to consider for the future, perhaps.

"Food for thought."

And, as he moves to leave, "Sleep well, Jack."

(Oddly. Oddly, he feels like there was almost another... Name? Term? Something, in place of 'Jack.' It's gone without a trace.)

<.>