ioduanlogs | Oh today I'm just a drop of water

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Oh today I'm just a drop of water | April Catch-all

Characters: Pepper Potts, Devin Parker, and you!
Date: Throughout April
Location: Around Aifaran
Situation: Pepper is enjoying shopping and some gourmet meals, and Devin is decidedly not enjoying a sudden flood of attention. Neither is especially bothered by the rain.
Warnings/Rating: None yet, will add as needed

A. [Pepper] Arts 5 | Throughout April | Open

Pepper will basically never say no to free food, especially food that is gourmet. Sure, there are some things that she's not all that familiar with as far as ingredients, but she's been assured that nothing being served can kill her (probably). With her skills in persuasion, she's also managed to let the cook bring a friend along each day, so long as they know they will be expected to give honest and helpful critiques. And there's no rule it can't be a different friend each day - this actually seems to delight the chef, who is getting a wide variety of testers without having to do the work of recruitment. Come join her for lunch!

B. [Pepper] Dreaming Bridge | Bakura

It has not escaped Pepper's notice that Bakura is a bit… distant? She's not quite sure that's the right way to describe it, but something is on his mind. Her insatiable curiosity is there, as always. Over the past two years of living in this world, however, she's learned it was sometimes better to be gentle and subtle about inquiries than acting like a battering ram. They'll be moving out of the Bridge soon, which is an event to look forward to in a number of respects, not the least of which is privacy.

"If you're not careful, I'm going to make all the decor decisions," she teased, waving her pencil at him. Her notetaking with Tony the previous month had only expanded beyond apartment features to budgeting for furniture and the like. The departure of the Bresilykians was an opportunity Pepper intended to take advantage of, too.

C. [Pepper] Renewal Festival | April 1-15 | Open

Anyone who knows Pepper knows that she loves shopping. The rain doesn't bother her too much; it isn't the torrential downpours New York got yearly, and the temperature isn't too bad most of the time. The festival reminds her of Keeliai, in some respects, and while she doesn't go diving in the vernal pools she does go shopping. Mostly window shopping, because budgeting is a thing that needs to happen, but the brightly colored rain gear and artistically decorated umbrellas are lovely to look at. She's got a decent coat to deal with the weather, but Pepper can be seen trying on a few different hats or chatting with merchants. Any chance she gets, she will definitely invite people out to the markets with her.

D. [Pepper] Metaphysics 3 | Miles

Pepper is no stranger to weird Dreaming shenanigans. They happen a lot. This, though, is new. All she was trying to do was go back to her room, but she gets about halfway into the lobby when she's suddenly yanked upwards. It feels a lot like she's just fallen, but fortunately Pepper doesn't hit the ceiling too hard. Enough that she may end up mildly bruised, no more.

"Ow," she grumbles, 'sitting' up and staring at the floor. "Okay, this is really freaky."

E. [Devin] Crime 1 | Kit

Devin swears he does not get into fights on purpose. In this case, he's not even remotely involved with how it starts, seeing as he's on the other side of the bar when the first punch is thrown. This isn't his favorite establishment by any stretch, but it quickly turns into an all-out brawl when others unsuccessfully try to resolve it and brawls are not fun for anyone. Sighing, Devin puts his drink down and dives into the fray, moving faster than anyone has a right to and separating people with what might be casual boredom.

F - 1. [Devin] Arts 4 | Open

There is a reason that Devin does not use social media, and that reason is so no one can find him who he does not want to. He also doesn't have time for flame wars and diatribe, and the sole reason he would ever consider an account on any platform is to keep an eye on other people. There are no vampires here to track, but he has a Xa Xa account with zero pictures or information on it just in case it could prove useful to access.

The sudden influx of messages and, disturbingly, offers to do things like model for more photos - when did he model in the first place? - has him grumpier than average. The written letters that arrive for him may be well-intentioned, but the fact that people know how to find him feels… threatening. He's going to find the artist and politely but emphatically tell them to stop.

F - 2. Closed to Leo

It quickly becomes clear that a candid shot Leo took of Devin with his new pet inan draped across his shoulders is the cause of this uproar. He's not thrilled. He's also aware that it's not actually Leo's fault, but given that the young man has such a large following on the network, perhaps he can exert some influence to make this attention go away. The knock on Leo's door is curt.

G. [Devin] Petrichor | Around Aifaran | Open

Devin is among those who take well to the near-constant drizzle over Aifaran. It reminds him more than a little of England. Though he claims nowhere as home, he has a certain fondness for the country that he belongs to whether he would want it or not. Trying to write notes about the city in this weather is nigh impossible unless he can find a different kind of paper, and so Devin wanders. It's nice, in it's own way, to just be in the city and the rain. Luthien occasionally joins him, but the inan usually ends up hiding in his coat to avoid the drizzle. He's not happy, exactly, but the pensive look he wears is less harassed than in previous months.

H. [Pepper] On kaa | Gene

Practicing with Shadow magic is something best done in open spaces, just in case, so a park on the edge of the city seems fitting. Pepper had previously assured Gene that his ka is still there and that they just need to work on getting him to this plane. She is not an expert by far, but at least she can provide advice and moral support and her own ka to give a little guidance.

OOC note: Let me know if you want a specific starter or feel free to make your own!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's... somewhat complicated to explain the exact circumstances. One of them fell on me while I was trying to stop them from leveling the city."

"That does not sound very complicated to me," the Fool replies while turning off the tap. "You played the part of the hero, and reaped the heroic consequences, naturally."

He wrings the excess water out of the cloth, folds it neatly into a square, and comes back to the table to stand in front of his friend. When he holds the cloth out to him, his cross frown has given way to something else; there's genuine worry, perhaps even fear in his amber gaze, though he works to keep it from dominating his features.

A pause, and then, "How bad is it?" asked quietly. The look in his eyes makes clear the plea he doesn't say aloud: please don't lie to me.

"I did what was necessary," Devin returns. He is not a hero, though the Fool is not the first to call him one in this sort of light. Valdis had done it before, and Aly in her own way, too. All of them paired with needling of one variety or another.

After staring at it for a moment, Devin takes the cloth and covers one black eye with it. Most of the swelling has already gone down, but ice or anything cold still brought some relief from the constant ache that was most of his body. He studies the Fool in silence, weighing his expression and the likelihood that evasion will do Devin any good.

"Near as I can tell, I've broken or fractured most of my ribs, and definitely more than I've broken at any one time before," he answers at length. "I probably have a few other small fractures in my facial bones at the very least, and judging from the spectacular rainbow of color on my torso, some minor internal bleeding from the breaks. None of it is life-threatening; given how she fell, I'm fortunate she didn't break my spine or crush my skull." Devin cracks a wry smile at the Fool from behind the cloth. "I've had a lot worse. I'll heal in a few days."

"...I'm fortunate she didn't break my spine or crush my skull. ...I've had a lot worse. I'll heal in a few days."

"Fortunate," the Fool ends up repeating the word aloud to himself, softly under his breath, and has to look away for a moment. He won't be charmed by that wry smile this time. Perhaps, if this had not followed so closely on the heels of Fitz's disappearance--

He brandishes a finger at Devin and instructs him, "Leave the cloth against your eye," and then moves out of the kitchen further into his small apartment. He disappears into the small bathroom, located beside a closed door that undoubtedly leads to the Fool's bedroom, and emerges a short time later with another cloth, a basin of warm water, and a canister of something that smells fragrantly herbal.

"It is a salve made from arnica." He sets the supplies down very carefully, regarding them rather than his friend's face for a moment. "I used it myself after--after I was attacked. But I am now quite well," said with an artless gesture to himself, "as you can see, and so I offer the rest of this to you, for help with your pain."

Undoubtedly, he will protest. The Fool regards him quietly. "Please, Devin."

Perhaps Devin should have waited to visit the Fool until the damage was less visible. It seems he keeps forgetting, somehow, that the strange prophet is an enigma, or else he thinks he can bring the full force of his bristling exterior to bear even though the Fool has already seen past it. This is also the worst injury he's incurred since arriving in Konryu, and his standards for what counts as severe are admittedly informed by a long history. His current state really doesn't seem that serious to him, nor does it bother him how close he came to death. He's felt the brush of it more times than he can remember, and it's a familiar line to walk by now.

But the Fool clearly does not see it as he does. His perspective is nearly alien to Devin, but that worry-- that's what gives him pause more than anything else. It is uncomfortable that the Fool cares, which isn't new, exactly, but in the privacy of his apartment it dominates the space. Devin's expression is unreadable as he looks at the Fool, his uncovered eye standing out starkly from the bruises around it. He sighs again, softer this time.

"If this displeases you, Fool, then seeing the results of my lifestyle will not be much better," Devin warns, but he's already putting the cloth down so he can unbutton his shirt. "I am accustomed to this." He pauses, fingers working at the fastenings. "Some things are more important than my physical safety. Many things. I would much rather take a beating than let others be harmed."

If he must unfairly press what minor advantage he has in their dynamic to ensure that Devin takes some small steps to better care for himself, then that is a manipulation the Fool is prepared to engage in. When Devin at last relents, the Fool's expression softens some, and he returns his attention to his supplies, unscrewing the top of the arnica canister and examining the contents.

"If I am displeased by anything," he replies dryly, "it is only that you look as though you have been keel-hauled."

He warms both of his hands within the basin of water, then neatly dries them off before dipping two fingers into the arnica salve. When he turns to face Devin again, he stops short at the sight and extent of the angry bruising extending across his torso. His initial dismay at Devin's state doesn't resurface on his face; instead, something subtler that speaks to deep, unresolved pain twitches at the corners of his lips, at his eyes. A slow breath, in and then out, before he gestures to Devin's arm.

"Lift it," he murmurs, "as much as you are able." Then he comes to kneel at Devin's side, and gently smooths the arnica against one of the angriest bruises blossoming across his battered ribcage.

Edited 2018-04-21 13:09 (UTC)

The mottled bruising is uneven in shape and color, darkest where soft tissue bore the brunt of impacts with bone or where a break had been especially severe. He shrugs the shirt off without much difficulty; it had been selected specifically for the ease of donning and removing it. The angry swaths of red and purple don't conceal the canvas of scars that map out the events of his life, but certainly may distract from them.

Reluctantly, Devin does as instructed. He can lift his arm almost to shoulder height and rests his elbow on the chair back so he doesn't have to hold it up the whole time. It's not terribly comfortable, but very little is at the moment. There's no instinctive withdrawal from the Fool's touch; if the contact aggravates anything, Devin doesn't show it. His blue gaze is elsewhere, roving around the apartment in study of his surroundings. Analytical avoidance.

"You don't have to do that. I can reach most of my own torso," he points out, grumbling. Why the Fool insists on doing it himself, he's not entirely sure. It's awkward. Yes, reaching might hurt some, but so does breathing. "Which I will have to do anyway later. I know how to tend my own injuries and what my limits are after a century."

Somehow, Devin does not believe this will dissuade the Fool.

There is not much to occupy the eye in the Fool's apartment, given he hasn't yet had the time to truly settle in and make the space his own. But the beginnings of a small indoor garden line a southwest facing window. Wooden wind chimes hang there before the glass, the artful designs rendered into the wood grain ostensibly done by his own hand. The memory stone carving on the sill remains where the Fool left it; his face is visible on one side of it--as is Fitz's, beside a noble-looking wolf.

The Fool does not look up from his task, and though his eyes linger on the scars long enough for it to be clear that he has seen them, he does not pry. (Healing magic took his own scars from his flesh, but they remain in other ways.) "I have no doubt that you are capable," he replies mildly, but does not pause in the delicate work of applying the arnica to the bruises. He does raise his eyebrows though. "Would you like to ask me whether or not I think you will actually do it?"

This time, he does glance up at Devin with a knowing sort of look on his face; it might be a smile, under better circumstances. Then he dabs his fingers back into the arnica salve and smears a bit more of it into place. "I am nearly finished, regardless, and if you heal as quickly as you say, this won't even be necessary tomorrow. It will do very little for broken bones, but will at least provide some relief from the bruising." He looks back to his fingertips to add more quietly, "I don't wish to see you in pain."

Devin turns his head to see that look; he'd had much the same thought about what Sam would have done just after the fight in the park (and surely the man would be quietly, smugly pleased that someone else was taking up the mantle). He would not have neglected himself, per se, but a few days of receding pain and discomfort was more a problem for what it prevented him from doing than the pain itself. The fact that Devin is drawing parallels to the doctor again, however--

Well, this is not the first time he's been reminded that his habits are less than kind to himself. Sometimes, that's the point.

"I would not have you worrying about me," Devin replies at length, staring at a far wall. He gives a quiet, solitary laugh that's little more than an exhale and lets his eyes close. "Though I have been told, on numerous occasions, that it's not up to me what others think."

"...Though I have been told, on numerous occasions, that it's not up to me what others think."

The Fool gives him another look at that, and this time a modest smirk does tug at one corner of his mouth. "Wise words," he replies, but if Devin was expecting a lecture, he doesn't get one. Instead the Fool carefully twists the lid back into place on the salve container and then offers it to Devin. "You may keep this, to use--or not--as you will. As I said, I have no further need for it."

(No further need at present, at any rate, though the Fool's prophetic abilities have yet to protect him from assault in the streets.)

Whether he takes it or not, the Fool rises to his feet and returns to the basin of warm water, washing the arnica residue from his hands and then towelling them dry. Then, in a lighter voice, "Tea or coffee?" he asks, and steps over to the stove to collect the kettle. "I assume you came to see me for some reason other than to have me fuss over you like a broody peahen."

No lecturing is new, as his associates go. The Fool has always had a softer touch in that regard. Devin does take the container, but after a moment to consider it he places it on the table. He needs both hands free to get his shirt back on, regardless of whether he eventually takes the salve with him when he departs.

He stifles the urge to laugh, since it will hurt to do so. A wry smile will do instead. "An apt description; I'll have to remember that one. Tea, please," he answers, slowly getting his arms into the shirt and settling the loose fabric over his shoulders. "I have an update about the people that harassed you, if you want to hear it. I wasn't certain how much you preferred to know."

"An apt description; I'll have to remember that one."

"I shall thank you very much not to do that," the Fool replies, but there's a trace of genuine laughter in his voice as he does so; evidently he's more than capable of taking a bit of needling, as well as doling it out. He fills the kettle with enough water for two cups of tea, turns on the eye, and sets it to boil.

Devin's next words give him pause, and for a moment he's almost too still, his back turned and his expression hidden. It is not a question of whether he wishes to know the details--he does--but whether he is prepared to venture back towards those memories so soon. Not the memories of the street assault, of course, but what they had brought back to him--

"Tell me what you found out," he decides at length, choosing courage even if he does not feel it. He puts lightness back into his expression when he turns to face Devin again, watching his friend expectantly... and hoping that he won't be pitied, or interrogated, over the flicker of unease on his face.

Pity is not among the things Devin feels when he recalls the trauma he had seen the Fool endure. Sorrow, yes, and a vague sense of effectively pointless anger for whatever or whoever did that to him, but it is only with long practice that Devin's own traumas don't show up in pauses that last a second too long or glimmers of unwelcome emotion. Sometimes, even that isn't enough. The Dreaming has not been gracious to either of them in revealing their pasts.

"The group that they belong to isn't one of the large criminal organizations in the city," Devin begins, buttoning his shirt closed. "As far as I can tell, anyway. There's some business dealings there, presumably, since they aren't fighting over turf out in the open. Going after Dreamfolk isn't popular - we vanish too frequently to make regular targets in the long-term, not to mention that many of us are overpowered, but apparently they've deemed it worth the risk. I believe they're an up-and-coming group trying to build a reputation, or else have few better options. There's instability that can be taken advantage of."

While Devin speaks, the Fool listens. He doesn't do so idly; after a moment or two, he turns to take the kettle off the eye and prepare the tea, holding up milk and sugar and adding it--or not--as Devin indicates his preference. He carries both mugs over to the table and, after setting one down in front of Devin, settles himself into the chair beside him with one leg tucked beneath the other.

"...There's instability that can be taken advantage of."

"With the departure of the Bresilykians?" It's only a guess, but it is the most immediate cause for the sudden shift in the balance of illicit powers in Aifaran. His attack preceded their departure by a number of weeks--but the tide must recede before the next wave can come crashing in again. The Fool furrows his brows and takes a pensive sip from his tea, before setting the mug aside and placing his hands in his lap. "Or do you refer to the state of Konryu more broadly?"

A pause, before he adds, "I spoke with Bakura not too long ago. He mentioned that the Bresilykians' home is on the back of a dead continent turtle. How many of them are left?" It's a departure from the topic at hand, but it's nevertheless one that has occupied the Fool's thoughts ever since he learned of the war that occurred in Konryu's past--and causes him no small amount of dismay, considering he has grown especially fond of Aifaran's continent turtle in the months since his arrival.

"Both. The mass exodus means newcomers to fill their place, at least some of whom may have never been to Aifaran before, and who could be taken advantage of. More generally, the group itself isn't likely to be terribly robust, if they operate on high risk ventures," Devin elaborates, bringing the mug of tea closer. It gives him the opportunity to shake their ranks, and to do so effectively if not permanently with the right application of force.

He taps the side of it while he recalls what he knows of the demographics of Konryu beyond Aifaran. "I believe around seventy-five or eighty thousand still live in Lichoyras, which is their old capital city. I'm told it's a massive domed metropolis designed to withstand the harsh winters at the southern pole." The Englishman considers his tea and sighs quietly. "It is not an easy journey, but their technological advancements have surely made it safer than it otherwise would have been." Barring the Dreaming randomly opening up and swallowing a transport ship whole. The collision of the Dreaming and Death planes had already decimated the Bresilykian's outer settlements in centuries past.

"Wondering about the previous renter?" he inquires of the topic change, gesturing around the small apartment.

"Wondering about the previous renter?"

A slight incline of his head is his answer, along with a thin, pensive smile. "And many other things," the Fool replies, before lapsing into another spell of silence in which he considers his reflection in the milky surface of his tea, and then allows his gaze to wander the interior of his modest apartment. There are still traces of the Bresilykian woman who lived here previously; little mementos that perhaps she had abandoned in a hurry, but which the Fool has set aside for her or her relatives, in the event anyone comes to call searching for them.

"I have to wonder," he muses softly, "what desperate lengths the residents of this world must be pushed to by a Dreaming that can pull them, or their loved ones, from the only existence they've ever known, while propelling strangers into their midst instead." Up comes the teacup for a sip, before he sets it aside again, his fingers lingering on the handle. "It must be a frightening way to live."

After a moment, he looks to his friend again and quirks another small smile. (The sadness he's been staving off since Fitz's disappearance is beginning to slip into his expression again, despite his best efforts.) "Thank you for looking into this for me."

Thoughtful silence follows the Fool's words for a few seconds. "For some, perhaps. But I think the people here are adaptable and robust - how else would they have been able to form such a successful alliance?" He offers a wry smile over the lip of his mug. "The Dreaming is not unlike your dragons in that way, perhaps. A force against which nearly everyone is united in order to thrive."

He pauses, studying the Fool's expression closely. The fuss over his injuries doesn't account for the sadness he sees there, and Devin debates over inquiring. It's not that he doesn't care, which is exactly the problem. His gaze drops to his tea, and he shrugs lightly. An indirect approach will do.

"And it's no bother. I have more than enough time on my hands," Devin replies. A glance up to the Fool, and what might be a glimmer of concern. "If you're finding yourself still living in fear, Fool, I'd hope there's a way I can assuage some of your worries."

"If you're finding yourself still living in fear, Fool, I'd hope there's a way I can assuage some of your worries."

A sound somewhere between a laugh and sigh escapes the Fool, and he looks aside from the concern he glimpses in Devin’s eyes. His fingers curl around the handle of his teacup again. “Am I so transparent?” he replies, a hint of humour in his voice, but it fades. He gives his head a modest shake. “No, I am not afraid. It is something else.”

For a moment or two more he is quiet, though his silence perhaps says more than his words might; he needs the intervening seconds to gather a protective wall about his composure. He had not expected this sudden loss to hit him so acutely. After all, wasn’t he the one who chose to abandon Fitz, back in their world? Yet it was different somehow, knowing that it was not his choice this time. Perhaps this was how Fitz felt.

He carefully settles his hands into his lap and takes a breath. When he speaks again, his words are accompanied by a smile entirely bereft of happiness. “It seems,” he says softly, “that Fitz has disappeared from Aifaran.” He doesn’t say anything else; there is nothing left to say.

Finding himself uncomfortable around the Fool seems to be a running theme. It's not the thinly masked display of emotion that Devin finds disquieting; what bothers him most is not knowing how to help. His expertise is in action, and his ability to read people has always been directed towards manipulation and violence and survival. Grasping for comforting words that have genuine foundations is like reaching across an abyss. He stares into his tea, and the milky liquid provides no insight.

"I did wonder," he says at length, allowing a stretch of silence to hold the somber declaration. "I hadn't seen him at the Bridge, or when I went looking for him." But he hadn't wanted to assume. Devin's tracking skills were not infallible, and he had not made an exhaustive search. And, perhaps for the Fool's sake, he had hoped Fitz was simply avoiding him.

Devin fiddles with the mug, turning it back and forth in place slowly. "I'm sorry, Fool. This place is… splendid and terrible, for what it gives and takes."

"I'm sorry, Fool. This place is… splendid and terrible, for what it gives and takes."

The immensity of his grief and pain had been easier to hold in his heart before sharing it--but it had been a heavy burden to carry, leaving him taut and tense in other ways. Devin's gentle caution is still pressure enough against a raw wound to bring an unexpected sheen of moisture to the Fool's eyes, though he isn't truly on the cusp of weeping openly yet. His smile softens, before he looks away.

"Splendid and terrible. Yes."

He reaches for his tea, sips from it to steal precious seconds with which to centre himself, and if his breathing seems a touch unsteady when he sighs afterwards, surely he can be forgiven that much. "If not for the Dreaming," he admits after a spell of silence, "Fitz and I would never have met again. I suppose I should thank it for the chance to see him one last time."

He grows quiet again for a moment, then closes his eyes. Then, in a voice stricken with guilt, he whispers, "I should have been more patient with him. I should have..." He trails off.

Devin is familiar with carrying grief around like a lead weight around his neck, tucked away from the eyes of others. He himself has not ever really dealt with the loss of what few friends he has had, even those who died decades ago. Though their situations are quite different, the Fool's sorrow does not feel alien to him. Fitz's departure is still raw, and the Dreaming has left the Fool with a painful situation that may never be resolved.

"You cannot change the past," Devin begins simply. The Fool knows this, but it bears repeating. "But keep in mind, Fool, that as far as anyone knows, we don't remember the events that happen here when we return to our worlds. I certainly didn't remember, until I came back. The time spent in the Dreaming is... like the space between heartbeats. Liminal and ephemeral."

He raises his eyes to the prophet, who calls himself Devin's friend. Just as he would not see the Fool become sick, he would not see him hurt, either, but his ability to help is so much more limited here. His methods are practical and blunt, not to mention often unhealthy, and ill-suited to the delicate nature of this pain.

"As I see it, you can either dwell in regret over the way you parted last - which ultimately was entirely out of your control - or you can let it go," Devin reasons quietly. "Grieve that he's gone, Fool, but you don't need to go looking for burdens to bear and to beat yourself with. It would serve no purpose."

"...Grieve that he's gone, Fool, but you don't need to go looking for burdens to bear and to beat yourself with. It would serve no purpose."

"Guilt of this nature seldom does." The Fool's agreement is soft, introspective; it doesn't quite counter Devin's words, but neither does it seek to affirm them. For several long, quiet moments, he sits in silence across from Devin and seems to feel no need to fill the intervening time with conversation. (With feelings like these, sometimes it is necessary to just sit with them a while, rather than try to sort them out.) It presents quite the marked departure from their first meeting in the busy festival streets a few months ago, where the Fool seemed rather incapable of letting any silence in to fill the empty spaces. But they had been strangers to each other then, and his artless whimsy was as much a mask and defence mechanism as Devin's surly reticence. Now the space is welcome and acknowledged. It is just enough to let the light in.

After a time, he quirks a vague smile and lifts his chin. "I will try to do this," he decides, as if it were so easy. It isn't, of course, but saying the words aloud make his commitment to trying something that seems tangible. To clarify, he gives an idle gesture with one hand. "To--let it go." His hand moves to the side of his neck and settles there. "And to be better to those around me in this world, here and now. I suppose if there is any lesson to be gleaned from this, that is it."

The silence is more companionable than Devin imagines it would be. It's not an easy silence for him, given the subject of conversation, but the tension isn't of his own creation. It exists external to his actions, and the Fool has allowed him to share in some part of it. Devin keeps his eyes on his tea, occasionally taking a sip. Were their places reversed, he wouldn't want to be watched.

"Easier said than done," he acknowledges quietly of letting go. Devin has little advice to offer on that front; he's a poor example of how to deal with guilt. The past century has certainly left him time to try, but it hasn't been a high enough priority - or else Devin felt the guilt was reasonable for what he'd done.

He takes a carefully deeper breath, mindful of his ribs. "Konryu does make a significant argument for living in the present, for those who can. From what I've seen, you're not lacking in kindness to offer others, however." He gestures to the canister of arnica.

In Fitz's case, Devin suspects that it was precisely how close he and the Fool are that makes it easy to hurt one another. Such is the argument that Devin abides by, that allowing people in only leads to pain. Konryu has been doing it's best to chip away at that particular resolve.

Whatever grief they may have brought into each other's lives, both knowingly and unknowingly, the Fool feels secure enough in the knowledge that Fitz's love for him will never be in question. That grief is the price paid for love; the Fool would pay it again tenfold, if he must.

"Konryu does make a significant argument for living in the present, for those who can. From what I've seen, you're not lacking in kindness to offer others, however."

At that gesture, he looks to the arnica canister and promptly smiles a small, closed-mouth smile, then reaches for his teacup again. "A small kindness I hope you will make use of, should a Hound fall upon you again," he remarks almost pointedly from behind the rim before taking another sip, eyes glinting; he can't help a bit of needling. But sincerity softens the expression after a moment or two, and when the Fool lowers his cup again he appears not solemn, precisely, but there exists a candour in his gaze that is difficult to miss.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask you to take more care with yourself, in the future," he says quietly. The slight, pained twist to his smile--and the little skip of his heartbeat when the Fool looks into Devin's eyes--are indication enough of how much a 'yes, I will,' answer might mean to him, though he realistically does not expect one.

Edited 2018-05-10 21:39 (UTC)

The Fool is not the first person to make that request, nor does Devin believe he will be the last. The expression he wears, however, is far rarer. It's not the look of resigned annoyance or clinical opinion or petulant stubbornness. No, this is personal, like the time the Fool followed him after his altercation with Trahearne.

Like a certain doctor that Devin is reminded of more in the Fool's presence than anyone else's. His gaze settles on the canister for a moment while he arranges his features into something suitably aloof - it's a mask, but not a cold one. Merely one Devin needs so he does not make promises he cannot or will not keep, and to hide a more honest reaction to the Fool's concern for him. The lives of others will always come before his.

"If I am in a position to prevent loss of life, it's my responsibility to do something. I don't take risks lightly or without thought," Devin assures the Fool. "But enduring a little pain to ensure that others remain safe is no choice at all. I'm built to withstand more than most people can."

It's not a yes, but it's not strictly a no, either. He doesn't purposely try to get himself hurt, but he's played meat shield more than once in his lifetime.

"...I'm built to withstand more than most people can."

The Fool does not lose his small, wistful smile, and his gaze on Devin lingers a moment or two longer, even after his friend looks away from him. At length he sighs. "Of that," he replies, "I have no doubt."

Even the strongest among men must have their breaking points, but the Fool doesn't say this aloud. It is either a fact that Devin already knows, or one that he has refused to let himself know; if he refuses to acknowledge a weakness of will or in the strength of his own body, perhaps he believes he can push past his own limitations. It's a mindset not altogether foreign to the Fool. Fitz, he recalls, was all too willing to compartmentalize the needs of the body--his pain, his grief, his suffering--if it meant protecting others. (If it meant protecting him.)

(They could turn spotting parallels in each other into a drinking game.)

"Well," he begins again lightly after a brief pause, but seems unsure suddenly of what to say. Instead he reaches for the canister of arnica once more and then stands up. "I shall wrap this for you. We wouldn't want it leaking in your pockets on your walk home." He takes a few small steps back into his small kitchenette and fetches out some wax paper, then adds over his shoulder, "And I assume if I receive any other 'requests' for protection money, I ought to contact the Sentry rather than you?" It had been curious instinct that bid him reach out to Devin in the first place, but the Fool does not wish to become a burden upon anyone.

Oh today I'm just a drop of water | April Catch-all

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