ioduanlogs | In your hands, there's a touch that can heal

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In your hands, there's a touch that can heal | September Catch-all

Characters: Pepper Potts, Devin Parker, and you!
Date: Throughout September
Location: Around Aifaran
Situation: Pepper starts off having a very bad month that quickly improves, and Devin is trying to learn how to deal with emotions.
Warnings/Rating: None yet, will add as needed.

A. [Pepper] Commerce 3 | Before September 5 | Open

No matter how devastated Pepper may be that Bakura is gone, she also can't put her life on hold forever. At some point, she has to go back to work and spend time away from the townhouse again. As in many things, Pepper takes after her father when it comes to dealing with grief. She does more than go back to work - she throws herself into it with near abandon, even doing daily evening patrols in the Rescue armor once she's off duty. At night she can be found on rooftops or in the air, and when she's not at work or at home it might be possible to catch her at a cafe near the townhouse, looking tired and much more subdued than her normal self. The cafe owner has been treating her to free refills, and sometimes Pepper will sit there for hours watching people go by, or staring off into the distance.

B. [Pepper] September 5 | Bakura

[watch this space]

C. [Pepper] Around Aifaran | After September 5 | Open

Once Bakura returns and is his normal self, Pepper's entire demeanor becomes brighter. She smiles a lot, makes conversation, and is clearly energized. This means she's not just going to work and coming home; she'll stay nearer home for the first little while, but before long she's shopping and exploring again. Her nightly Rescue patrols don't stop entirely, but now it's for the joy of flying rather than for distraction.

It may also be possible to find her in a park with open space sparring against her ka or one of the other Shadow monsters she's capable of summoning.

C. [Pepper] Verdant Sentry | Mid September | Valdis

Despite working for the same organization, Pepper and Valdis don't get to see each other at work all that much. They were in separate units that catered to their particular skill sets as Dreamfolk - though Valdis could probably work just about anywhere they needed her. The recent incident with the Narrakra had definitely fed into Pepper's tendencies to investigate things outside her purview, and she was fairly certain that Valdis was intent on much the same given her network post. She'd asked her friend to meet her for lunch where they could Discuss, and a cafe near the central Verdant Sentry building seemed fitting. Pepper claimed a table and waited for Valdis to arrive.

D. [Devin] Apartment | September 2 | X

After an intense conversation with the Fool, Devin has been going in circles about what to do. He's simultaneously convinced that any attempt at a relationship is a terrible, impossible idea; and yet can't make the decision to forever cut that tie. Normally, he would never bring this to anyone because it would be too much vulnerability for him to be comfortable with. But X has already born witness to that, and since he's read Devin he can also understand what's happening without needing to be told all the details. Devin bites the bullet and texts X to ask him to come to the apartment to discuss something important.

E. [Devin] Die Rose Tulpa | September 8 | The Fool

So. X and Devin had a long conversation, and after a few more days of ruminating Devin makes a tentative - but deeply significant - decision. He shoves down the nerves and heads to Klaus' cafe to see if the Fool is there selling his carvings or in his apartment. And it seems he comes bearing gifts; Devin has a small paper bag with him that swings like it has something weighty in it. When he doesn't spot the Fool in the cafe proper, Devin takes a deep breath and cautiously heads upstairs. A full minute goes by in which he simply stares at the door before finally knocking.

F. [Devin] Meta 3/General | Throughout September | Open

Devin is out and about a little more than he has been over the past few months, the turmoil finally beginning to die down (at least on some fronts). Valdis' brief devolvement into her ten-year-old self forced him back into the city and demanded he set aside some of his misery to ensure her safety and well-being. When out on a purposeless walk in the early evening, Devin finds himself at an outdoor market that's closing up. He comes away from one merchant's table with a serrated knife and stops on the sidewalk to examine it closely.

It starts living on his belt after that, hidden mostly from view. Devin also returns to a more normal work schedule this month after doing his best to have the most erratic pattern of employment possible. He can be found most days in the Academy's largest library, helping to maintain the organization of shelves or doing the careful work of archive management.

(OOC note: Feel free to let me know if you'd like a starter or make up your own!)

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The very gentle needling is better than the both of them walking on eggshells around each other, and more like their usual interactions. Devin consciously reminds himself not to fidget, instead shoving hands into his pockets. He can't just smother his emotions here like he normally would, like all of his instincts are telling him to, because that is exactly opposite the point.

"He didn't, but indoor plants can be finicky enough when they're from the same world as you, much less when they aren't," Devin replies, not quite smiling. "I've a bit of a green thumb if you're having any trouble with these, though," he adds, gesturing to the window.

It's an innocent enough offer to help, but also a good potential reason to come back (ignoring the fact that the Fool could obviously walk downstairs and ask Klaus for help, too). He hesitates; there really is no natural segue from there to 'so those Feelings that've been happening.' Maybe it would be worth not looking for an easy transition; Devin might just as easily look for a way to avoid bringing up the most important reason for his presence.

"Honestly, I think I needed to give myself an excuse to visit," he admits, a bit chagrined with himself. "I'm... rusty with people, even after being here for over a year." Including his time in Keeliai, anyway.

His not-quite-smile is nevertheless a welcome change from the look of stricken pain that he'd worn when they'd last parted ways, and the sight of it is heartening. The Fool's own wry smile at that offer quirks up the corners of his lips knowingly; if he's having trouble? the look might as well say. Devin has eyes--surely he can see the pitiful state of the plants for himself.

Then he gets to the meat of the matter, and what choice does the Fool have but to grow still, though he can hardly call himself surprised by the development. He drops his eyes from Devin's to consider the plant that has been gifted to him, touches one of the leaves with gentle fondness once, then steps away from the window and towards the kitchenette.

"Rusty or no," he allows, "I am always glad for your company. Tea?" Already he has removed the tin from one of the cupboards, as well as two cups, when he glances back to Devin again; it is far easier to go through the motions of something so simple and familiar than to wait motionless for words that might break his heart.

Edited 2018-09-04 02:10 (UTC)

For all that the Fool said he wanted nothing that Devin wasn't prepared to give (and Devin is willing to believe him), it would be cruel to hedge around the subject any longer, especially alone like this. The Fool deserves honesty.

"Please," he says with a small nod.

Hesitation again. This is uncharted territory.

"I've been thinking a great deal about what you said." They probably both have; Devin is grateful that the turmoil of recent events let up enough to actually give him space for it. He stares anywhere but at the Fool, most often at the floor. "You were right that-- I shouldn't take the choice away from you."

It's not the first time he's been told that, both here and in his home world. Perhaps it's been said enough times in recent memory that it's beginning to sink in, although Devin still thinks it has a certain amount of logic to it. He cannot let go of habits so ingrained that quickly.

Devin sighs. "I've spent most of my life doing exactly that, giving people reason to dislike me so they wouldn't become targets." He sounds regretful. It usually works when he isn't stationary for long periods. Every time he has been, he finds it harder and harder to be cruel to people as he gets to know them better. And the death of strangers weighed on him heavily, too. He will never be able to protect everyone. "But it's well past the point where I can try to use that as an excuse with you." Devin pauses once more, the volume of his voice dropping. "I can't pretend you don't-- matter as much as you do."

The Fool fills the kettle and places it on the stove top as Devin speaks, and is grateful for the moment that he has his back turned. What would Devin be able to read on his face, if he turned around? Always he's worn masks to protect himself and his ambitions, but baring the extent of his fear of rejection now would be too painful--and too selfish. He takes a moment to gather his composure instead, dispensing tea into one cup, then the next.

"I can't pretend you don't--matter as much as you do."

"Then don't. Don't pretend." The Fool takes a breath and turns around to meet Devin's eyes, his own unguarded and sincere. One hand lifts in an artless sort of gesture between them. "We've not had much use for pretence between us for some time, which is as I would prefer it. I would hope it is the same for you."

He seems to deliberate his next words for a careful moment, his fingers twisting in the loose fall of the fabric of his shirt. The he takes a small step forward and says softly, but earnestly, "I care for you, very much--about your safety, your happiness, your... opinion of me," he admits lastly with an almost abashed smile, as though that last admission is almost too callow to be included, and yet he shares it anyway. He did say no pretences, didn't he? He fights the impulse to look away again, though he can only do so much about the bit of colour that's risen to his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. "I think about our conversations for hours after we've had them, and in a crisis there is no one else in Aifaran I'd trust to have by my side as much as I trust you. When we are together I can put aside the artifice I wear around everyone else in this place, and--" There, he hesitates only a moment before he goes on, "And when we are apart, I find myself hoping to glimpse your face on crowded streets and train platforms just for the chance to see... that look in your eyes, when you look at me."

In the spell of silence that follows, he touches his fingers to his mouth, looking aside. Then, almost too quietly, "No one else has ever looked at me the way you do."

Well before the Fool quiets, Devin finds himself rooted to the spot where he stands with shock evident on his face. Point by point, he can agree to having many of the same experiences - especially the Fool lingering in his thoughts. He's still not expecting nor prepared to hear it. He's not prepared to be so wanted. The Fool is holding out his heart and Devin is frozen with the weight of that responsibility. That may be the only reason why he doesn't tear his gaze away.

This would be the moment to utterly ruin what's grown between them, comes a vicious whisper in the back of his mind. It's fear that speaks as much as training. Devin has always been better at destroying things than creating them, and the mere idea of a relationship is an incredibly fragile one. Will his touch bring ruination? As inexperienced as Devin is, even he knows that his damaged state is a poor foundation from which to start.

He blinks pinpricks from the corners of his eyes and takes a shaky breath. "I told you-- it's not about what I want to give," he says softly. "There is-- so much I want to give." Too much to put into words, or more than Devin has vocabulary for. The possibility that he only has the capacity for desire is daunting, and he can only hope that X's belief is enough to convince himself to try.

Abruptly, he turns towards the window, clinging to composure. "But I don't know how. I've no idea how to be a-- partner, much less a decent one."

He's nearly forgotten the kettle on the stove behind him until it begins to whistle, and the Fool turns with a soft oath under his breath to turn the bloody thing off; tea will wait, and with the fire hazard dealt with he steps around the tiny table separating him from Devin to stand before him. "You try," he says and reaches out a hand to ghost gently along Devin's jaw, coaxing him not to look away, not to withdraw back into himself, for surely he's spent enough of his life doing penance in his own solitude. The Fool looks up into his eyes wistfully. "That is all any of us are able to do. Devin, that is all I am able to do, because I--I've never been wanted before, either."

It's a humbling, and slightly humiliating confession to make, given how the Fool first spoke of Fitz upon his arrival in Aifaran; to admit that the man he'd loved had never loved him in return will never grow any easier, especially recalling the cruel manner in which Fitz had first rebuffed him.

Now it's the Fool who suddenly can't meet Devin's eyes for long, looking aside from him with a shamed wince. His mouth works a moment like he's struggling to speak past the lump in his throat, but it is a long moment before he can get any words to come out. "That you want to give anything," he ends up whispering, because his voice has fled him, "is already more than anyone else has ever offered me." A fey, changeling child who grew into a beauty too angular and alien for the society that fate had propelled him into; what suitors he had entertained had come to him out of lurid fascination. None had known his heart, or bothered to try.

"It is all right to want," he finishes quietly, hesitates, and then frames Devin's face delicately between both hands. He searches those arrestingly blue eyes, thumb stroking the angle of his cheekbone. "Please, tell me what it is that you want."

A slightly confused frown pinches Devin's brow at that admission. Perhaps it had been a poor assumption, that someone as close to the Fool as Fitz would have returned that affection, in part or in whole. True, their interactions in Aifaran had been tense, but to produce the shame he can see in the Fool's face it must have gone beyond tense into outright painful. It makes their positions a little more balanced, though Devin would rather have spared the Fool that.

And then there is that question, sweeping away the molten ball of anger about Fitz that had formed in the pit of his stomach.

Devin has made a practice of burying his desires for most of his life. Killers do not deserve happiness. There are so many answers he could give, and each weighted too heavily to put into words now. Freedom. Peace. A family. Safety to live without looking over his shoulder, or worrying that he will bring ruin to those around him. Safety to trust and to be vulnerable. To be more than a tool and a weapon. To be whole. To never be a disappointment again. To assure the Fool he won't fail.

He tips his forehead down against the Fool's, taking a shuddering breath. "Promise me something," he pleads quietly, lightly curling his fingers over the Fool's wrists. "If I can't-- be what you need, if I'm not enough--" If and not when is Devin's only concession to a withered sense of hope, "--you will put yourself first. Promise you will not keep me around out of kindness."

I am broken pieces pretending to be whole. That has not changed in the past month, and it may not ever. Devin refuses to become a chain around the Fool's neck.

Devin's fingers curl around the Fool's wrists with as much delicate tenderness as the Fool's touch against his face; they are, together, cradling something new and fragile, held together as much by hope as by scar tissue.

"I promise."

How immense the temptation to lean into these strong arms is now, to let his own fear of inadequacy be something that he buries deep in his heart and leaves to the shadows. Except the light will fall upon them eventually, if he and Devin truly are to embark upon this adventure together, and if in that moment Devin decides he cannot stay--

It would hurt, immensely. Yet he would rather endure that rejection than have Devin feel obligated to stay out of some misguided sense of chivalry. (The Fool has spent more than enough time managing the stubborn bull-headedness of Chivalrous men.)

"You must--" His voice falters and he squeezes his eyes shut; there's a near imperceptible tremor in his hands now. Recovering himself, he goes on. "Devin, if I am not what you need--" or what you expect, he could say, "--then you must make me the same promise." He forces himself to open his eyes, to look into Devin's unwaveringly. "I will not be where I am not wanted."

Privately, Devin is fairly certain that no longer wanting the Fool will be a problem. He has never left those closest to him because their bonds had weakened - he left because they were too strong. His particular brand of commitment issues had never let him get this far before, and Devin can't say exactly how far he would go to protect the Fool.

But if he would beg this promise, it's only fair that he be willing to give it in return. There are worse things to have as a ground rule.

Christ, this is really happening, isn't it? It feels surreal, standing here on the edge of an invisible precipice and desperately hoping he won't hit the ground when he jumps. The leap nearly destroyed him once before, but he reminds himself that this is one taken on more than just faith and infatuation. This is not framed by hotel walls or built upon a shared skill at violence. This is, he dares to let himself believe, real. Devin finds he can't speak past the swell of emotion, so he nods his affirmation instead.

Closing the distance between them to kiss the Fool may be the scariest thing Devin has ever done.

If Devin is the one who takes the leap of faith, then it is the Fool who rises to catch him. His hands, both gloved and ungloved, cradle Devin's cheek, the back of his neck; he closes his eyes, lifts his chin, and meets him halfway, receiving that kiss so gently, so tenderly. There will be time enough for passion later, for the grasping closeness of two people learning to know each other in private behind closed doors. Later, when Devin feels less like cracked porcelain under his fingertips.

His fingers card softly through the dark hair at the nape of Devin's neck to rest against his shoulder; when he breaks the kiss, it is only to rest their foreheads together again, his eyes closed. A tiny smile curves up the corners of his lips.

"That was," a pause, before his smile warms some, a bit of colour rising to his cheeks. "..very nice." He hesitates. "I would not want to keep you from your obligations," he begins again softly, "but if you've nowhere else to be..." There he trails off and lifts his eyes to meet Devin's again; the plea in them is clear. Stay.

For a brief and dizzying moment, Devin's vigilant attention to the world around them evaporates. Everything is taken up by fingers in his hair, the softness of the Fool's mouth, the angles and curves of the Fool's back and shoulders where Devin's hands have settled. It is nearly enough to be struck dumb by, and certainly enough to explain the astonishment on his face when there is space again to speak.

He smiles back, a hesitant flash of undisguised emotion that gives his face a boyish quality while it lasts. The wounds are still there, and the fear, but they are overshadowed by the significance of what's just happened.

"I don't." Devin figured he would need the day, no matter which way the visit turned out. "Besides, I haven't had my tea yet," he reasons, somehow finding room for teasing. He can't tell if it's the shock or a defense mechanism kicking in. More soberly, he adds, "I've no idea what to do now."

Tea, presumably, and closeness, and then at some point he will have to go outside and live in the radically altered world they've created.

There is a brief moment in which the Fool's eyebrows bend into a puzzled furrow, and then--"oh, the tea, of course," and he touches Devin's cheek once more in wordless apology before he steps back into his kitchenette to finish the task he'd started only moments ago. The kettle is still hot from recently boiled water; had it truly taken so little time for so much to change? A bit giddy, the Fool can't stop himself from smiling as he pours first one cup, then the next. Milk and sugar he sets out for Devin to make use of, or not, as he so desires.

"...I've no idea what to do now."

"You might try drinking this before it gets cold." The Fool's suggestion is coupled with a wry little smile, a humorous glitter in his eyes. Then his expression softens and he considers Devin in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Must you do anything?" he asks quietly.

The Fool moves away and his absence invites the answer to that question. He has too much space to overthink when they're not holding the moment (even if, right now, his thoughts are all hazy at the edges). Devin busies himself with the tea, pouring in milk and studying the clouds it forms.

"I'm not particularly good at inaction," he admits. The Fool has probably noticed. Even during those months he lived alone, Devin was usually doing something in all his waking hours, even if it was simply reading. Left with only his thoughts, he tended to follow them into dark corners. Though here, of course, he'll have company. "It's not that I can't be still, it's--" Devin gestures a circle by his head, eyes downcast to the tea. "Getting this to shut off."

It's the universal symbol for a restless mind. The Fool recognizes the tendency well.

He considers Devin in fond, contemplative silence for a second or two more before bringing up his own tea for a sip. The warmth and familiarity of it couple nicely with the gentle affection newly burgeoned in his heart; yes, he thinks, this is good, and right, and worth the risk. A moment later, he steps near enough to Devin to kiss the corner of his mouth--simply because he can--and then drops one hand down to settle against his arm.

"Come sit at my work station," he invites him, gesturing with his tea cup towards the window. There's a glint in his eye when he looks back again. "I shall teach you how to make oil-varnish."

Devin's eyes close when the Fool kisses him like this simple, easy affection is normal. That brief contact and the hand on his arm causes a sudden yearning for closeness that he's denied himself for so long and that he may now have in unlimited supply. It's a little intoxicating.

Gratitude tugs at the corners of his mouth when he meets the Fool's amber gaze again. "Putting me to work already?" Devin asks rhetorically, lightly teasing. It's a smart move. He picks up his cup of tea and goes to the window as indicated, properly examining the tools laid out there. "I shall attempt not to spill or ruin anything," Devin adds wryly.

"Putting me to work already?"

In response, the Fool flashes him a smile full of sly humour. "Naturally."

The work of cooking the resins and the oils and thinners required to turn all these basic ingredients into varnish is time consuming, and requires enough attention to detail that the restless wheels of Devin's mind have plenty to keep them busy. Truthfully they spend more of their time over the stove than at the work station, though there is a bit of back and forth as ingredients and tools are carried back and forth between locations. The Fool walks Devin through the steps of the process in his usual way, with enough light-hearted and breezy whimsy to almost verge upon carelessness, though never quite venturing that far. When at last the varnish can be poured, all gleaming golden brown, into a jar for storage, a few hours have past and the sounds of midday traffic and activity can be heard filtering in through the open window.

Sighing, the Fool at last drops back down onto the chair at his work station, though he more drapes himself across it than looks as though he's about to set to work. Absently, he peels off his work gloves and sets them aside, temporarily revealing the silvered fingertips of one hand in the process. "There is still much left to do," he tells Devin wearily, "but I think we have earned a bit of rest."

He tilts his head to prop his chin against his curled fingers, regarding Devin through a few loose strands of hair. Then he reaches out a slim hand for his, beckoning him closer towards the other empty chair at the table.

The process of creating the varnish is novel for Devin, though there are aspects of it that are familiar from both his past and present. Tools and techniques from well before the rise of the internet were mostly a distant memory. Fortunately, Devin's hands are both steady and deft. The Fool's whimsical approach helps keep his mind on track as much as the task itself, though nothing can actually distract him from why he's working at the Fool's side in the first place. His wariness fades a little as time goes by until it can be seen more in his eyes than his frame.

All the same, Devin's hesitation only lasts a moment or two before he takes the Fool's outstretched hand and sits. His grip is uncertain, but soon enough Devin finds where the shape of their hands fit together comfortably. It's strange, but not in a bad way.

"You know you can probably buy something like this," Devin points out, recapturing some of his usual cheekiness. "Then you would have more time to carve."

The Fool scoffs lightly. "That sounds dreadfully sensible." How boring.

He laces their fingers together with contemplative slowness, tracing his thumb over each ridge of Devin's knuckles, as though the exploratory touch satisfies some private curiosity he's kept to himself all these months. Eventually he quirks a pensive smile and meets Devin's eyes, opens his mouth to speak again--

--then blinks at the broad, peculiar shadow that has suddenly cast itself across Devin's features. He frowns and murmurs, "What..?" already turning some to look backwards over his shoulder.

There in the window, with one large foot braced on the sill, sits a juvenile-ish gyroshei. It cocks its head first at the Fool, then at Devin.

Then it turns its head and fixes its beak around the wind chimes that, up until precisely a second ago, were clinking melodically against each other. And that is, frankly, all it takes to get the Fool incensed and on his feet, exclaiming, "Oh, you wretched thief--!" while the gyroshei clumsily tries to tug at the wind chimes to loosen them from their fixture.

The Fool, meanwhile, comes by his name honestly, given he doesn't hesitate at all in stepping right up onto the window sill to grab hold of the wind chimes, intent on holding onto them. (They're very nice, cut him some slack.)

Oh, hells. Devin would probably be more amused by the Fool's earnest attempt to reclaim the wind chimes if physics didn't dictate that he would lose. They've had a hard enough time of getting to this point and he's not about to let an unruly bird make it worse.

Before the Fool can fall out the window, Devin is at the sill to be within reach - but what he takes hold of is the gyroshei. Its foot, specifically. "Watch the beak," he warns, and then the bird is braced only against air as Devin lifts its foot and shoves it backwards.

There is, predictably, a lot of frantic flapping of wings and squawking. He throws an arm out to steady the Fool in case both he and the gyroshei still refuse to let go.

It is good that one of them is, in fact, a sensible person.

The squawking gyroshei flaps its wings desperately to right itself and ultimately struggles away from the window without its prize. The end result is that the Fool, though he yelps and wobbles and ultimately does topple from his tenuous perch on the windowsill, does not fall out the window, but instead sideways. He seizes Devin's arm with one hand, while the other has a firm grip on those wind chimes.

He looks at them with very wide eyes for a moment longer, before he lifts them up rather triumphantly and turns his eyes back on Devin, looking rather too pleased with himself for someone who nearly fell out a window.

He grins and tips his chin up. "I daresay that could have gone worse."

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In your hands, there's a touch that can heal | September Catch-all

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