icarusalsoflew | 003. and in every raindrop... // open post.

[ Yeah, chuckling now. ]

I am oddly okay with this.

[ The conversation is due. He knows that much.

He has absolutely no clue how to start though. ]

[And he won't press. He'll wait for whenever you're ready.

While he's doing that, of course, he's cleaning up for the both of you, and filling both of your glasses again.]

[ There's a faint smile on his mouth before he goes for his cigarettes.

He doesn't light up right away, and he's playing with that lighter again. ]

...I don't know where to start.

You could pick up where we left off earlier.

[That seemed like the most logical place to start at, at any rate.]

[ A soft, wry laugh. ]

You mean the part where I had to say no to the idea of sleeping with you because it wouldn't have been you?

[ He's not trying to make light of it because it doesn't matter -- on the contrary, the subject's a complicated one that he's not quite sure how to handle. ]

[Don't worry, love: he gets what you're trying to do. People aren't difficult to read for this one, and he's especially attuned to the minutiae that makes one Joshua LaRue who he is.]

Well... yes.

[There was probably a lot more to talk about outside of how weird and wrong and possibly sad that was for Josh, wasn't there?

And, unsurprisingly, the other in this one's head is quietly withdrawing to the recesses of his vessel's brain. He'll deal with Death later, or drag him out accordingly. It all depends on how this talk goes down.]

[ He falls quiet at first, brows knitted together as he works out what to say next, because he's replaying that night and how he'd felt, how he'd tried to calibrate and then reassure that while yes, the proposition had startled him and made him uncomfortable, it didn't have to be too big of a deal.

Abstract being or no, the look on your face animated then by Brother Death, had looked pretty human. ]

Is Brother Death alright? [ It's probably not the question most people may think to ask -- but most people didn't spend several days in the company of Death, watching him be around but keep himself separate, with the exception of well. The only time he could think of was in Russua and Yulia.

There's a wan and quiet laugh as he reaches for that glass of whiskey, knocks back half of it and looks off to one side. ] No, um, sorry. Forget I asked. That's a weird question.

[Honestly? He isn't surprised in the slightest that you'd ask that, nor does he find it weird. Many members of the "old guard" (i.e. the vets, the Kings, his own people in Zangyaku) were acclimatizing themselves to viewing Brother Death as yet another comrade, a fellow Keeper in the Vigil. While that wasn't entirely accurate, it wasn't like one could say that He was still exactly the way he used to be before the Godslaying Ceremony. Before Fate bound Him and an unknowing Japanese boy together.

He reaches out and snags your wrist, in an attempt to get you to look back at him.]

It's not a weird question. [Saying that softly.] He's been off, actually, ever since he relinquished control to me.

[ You catch his wrist and he looks back at you before he turns his palm over to that he can tangle your fingers together.

He's also quiet for awhile, as he mulls that response over in his head, and then: ]

He said he was curious. [ There's a brief flash of discomfort on Josh's face, as if he's voicing out something that was spoken in confidence. ] He said you couldn't properly... [ how exactly did he put it? ] That you couldn't explain to him the concept of desire.

[ He's averting his gaze at that. Sorry, Brother Death. ]

I really can't, given the fact that desire in itself is sort of a "know by doing" thing. Can you blame a guy for not wanting his big brother peering over his shoulder every time he makes out with someone?

[Or sleeps with someone?

Yeah.

That would be kind of awkward, even for somebody like the Blade King.]

He's also never dealt with emotions before, at least not until he and I really ended up becoming One. He's the End: impartiality, along with everything that follows that, is the only suit he ever really had.

[ He listens to you put that last part in that way and nods.

He totally understands the first part. But he's never had to worry much about his own "tenants" prodding into his business. Coach, he has confidence, would turn the other way. And he's come to the conclusion that there's really no point in hiding anything from Makoto. ]

He stuck it out with us at the Tower -- Brother Death, I mean.

Stayed with us the whole time. [ Pausing at that. ] But he didn't really interact with us much. Not after that first night.

[Can I...?

(does it matter?)

He is, at that moment, reminded of a sullen child. Who would have thought, right?

Yes, it does.

(...)

That is why Hikaru's response to you was delayed, LaRue: he had to check in with his passenger upstairs, and he didn't bother hiding it this time.]

I think being in close proximity with all of you and having you tell him, flat out, that you could not do what he asked reminded him of something.

[ What you'll see then, from this one, is the way his eyes drop and slide away, the subtle shift of his torso as if he is about to lean back into that chair before he catches himself and remains sitting up straight, and the breath that he quietly exhales through the gap there between his lips.

There is no doubt that the answer he would have given Brother Death would have always been "No," but Josh does feel bad that it had such an adverse effect that the abstract being who had been in their company for some time had, in fact, chosen to hold himself apart from them.

He's remembering the offer to join them, you see, and the way he'd simply moved away from all of the Hounds. Josh is also remembering the end of their part of the Hour, which he has deliberately decided to keep to himself.

The tell for that is the subtle twitch of his brow, and the subsequent schooling of his features as he shelves the memory of being the last one standing on that field, out of all the people in Wave 6. ]

What was it?

That none of you are really his. That he doesn't actually have anyone.

[Leaning back, taking a drag.]

Companionship, or the lack thereof, only becomes a problem when you start caring.

[And Death has started caring. So.]

Oh.

[ Huh. That is... a problem... right? ]

But we-- [ he cuts himself off at that. Because saying that they tried to include Death in their interactions sounds terribly trite. Even if they had, in their own way.

Shaking his head now. ] Sorry, forget I said anything.

[A small smile, but it disappears the moment he's bringing that cigarette back to his lips.]

Go ahead, Josh.

[Even if he has an idea of what you might have tried to say. They need to talk this out, and Death needs to hear it.]

[ A shake of the head at that. The press of his lips together, an indicator that he's uncomfortable with this enough as it is. ]

It's okay. It's nothing.

[ Lighting up a cigarette now, that frown still between his brows. ]

Edited 2014-06-05 11:35 (UTC)

Josh.

[He says it as gently as possible, but the look on his face might tell you that he has no plans of letting this go. He normally would.

Normally.]

[ He smokes through about a third of that cigarette before he exhales something that sounds like a sigh. His gaze is still averted, because this is hard.

They tried. But they also didn't know how to move -- at least, that's his take on it. He can't really speak for the rest. He tried. But the conversation had ended on an awkward note and it's not like he could have taken what he said back, because it wasn't somethung he could give into anyway. ]

We tried. [ Wait. Amending that. ] We wanted to anyway -- I did. But we didn't know how to move. I didn't know how to move.

And it wasn't even that it was awkward for me. I let that go right away. He asked, it just wasn't an option.

[ Leaning back now, and adding softly: ] Yulia had better luck.

[Going quiet for a moment as he's sifting through the memories that Death is now letting him see.

Okay. He understands why Yulia had managed to have a bit of a breakthrough.]

I think he had figured out a bit of what he was feeling by then. With Yulia, I mean.

[ He's smoking through that cigarette a little more as he nods quietly. ]

That's good.

[Quiet for a moment after that, as he busies himself with assessing his boy's mood. He doesn't speak until he's done with his cigarette and already lighting up another one.]

It's hard for Him, you know. All of this isn't his at the end of it. The best he'll usually get is reluctant tolerance, and most everyone just won't get it.

[Brother Death is Brother Death, after all.]

[ He's remembering the way Brother Death had gone up to the top of that boat the day they'd encountered Oliver Queen. It had been easy to kick back and relax, to treat the day like the vacation it had been intended to be. Josh hadn't been able to help but glance over several times though, wondering if he should walk over, worried that he might give offense. ]

There were... [ He starts, takes ones last drag and exhales as he kills that cigarette. ] There were a couple of times I was thinking of walking over.

At least, at first.

[ In Russia, before the trip to the Mariana Trench, he'd deliberately given Brother Death space. Their conversation had ended awkwardly and it had been unnerving to catch those little tells that made him look more like you. ] But I guess my timing was off or I just took too long to calibrate and then there was just so much going on.

[ And by that he means preparations for the Hour. ]

I don't think there's ever good timing for this sort of matter, especially when the other party cannot People.

[You'll probably be able to hear the capitalization there.]

You tried: He knows that. I think he was as much at a loss with what to do with you as the lot of you were with Him.

[ You actually make him smile in spite of himself.

He's nodding in assent to all of that. It makes sense: not much time, awkwardness all around and life just carrying on anyway.

Lighting up a second cigarette now and looking off to the side where he can spot the both of you reflected in the window glass. ]

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