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

[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.)

<.>