“It seems I am interrupting.”

Manus and Áesta look up in surprise before Manus’ face morphs into a disgruntled pout. Jarl, meanwhile, bolts for the front door, happy to have an excuse to leave the two in the spare room completely alone.

They were making him uncomfortable.

In the living room, Jarl finds Hagen unloading his satchel onto the coffee table with rigidly steady movements. Memories of his last visit (All those glances towards the now open door…) make Jarl quick to reassure: “There’s nothing to worry about—”

“You have fed it?”

“What is this it???” Manus strides in before Jarl can say anything, dragging the daemon in question with him. The priest notices that Manus’ head is no longer wounded—he must have finally cast that healing spell. Hagen watches Áesta with obvious hawk-eyes but no one seems perturbed—except Manus: “Áes is a he!”

“Technic’lly, Ah don’t have a gend’r,” the tiny green being points out idly, appearing more interested in Hagen and what he decided to bring than actually taking part in the conversation he’s probably heard before.

Manus, of course, shushes him. He never did like being interrupted or overshadowed. “And of course he’s fed! Look at him! He’s adorable! How can Jarl NOT feed this precious little thing???”

“Easily.”

“Well, that’s just him being a butt.”

~

“What is all of this anyway?” Jarl asks, moving closer to investigate.

Hagen hands him a large piece of rolled up paper as Manus grabs for the pamphlets the doctor put down. “Preparations. Ve are going on a trip now, ja?” The large roll turns into a map when Jarl unravels it.

One of Ireland.

“I have already marked off Bailecastle as requested.” This line is directed at Manus whom nods acceptingly. The mage’s nose, however, is more buried in the pamphlet marked as a tourist’s guide than anything else—including Áesta whom is eyeing their doctor friend with obvious suspicion. “Ve just ‘ave to plan a route.”

“W’y de ye smell like t’at?”

“Ah? Smell like what?” Manus looks up, surprisingly, and glances between Áesta and what he’s looking at—or, rather: who. Hagen frowns slightly at the little daemon, clearly still unsure about it being here with them, “Chemicals? Hags is an apothecary so he always smells like his shop; you’ll get used to it.”

Something calculating gleams in Áesta’s eyes which sets Jarl on edge; but then he’s sniggering at Manus, “’Ags?”

The doctor groans [“Z’at sounded like gags!”] while the witch grins, “Hags.”

~

“I still don’t understand what all of this is or why you’ve brought it.”

“Did I not just—?” Hagen confusedly begins before Manus holds up a hand (pamphlet still in it) to stop him.

“We’re going to get Jasey back. Right?” asks the mage.

“Well, yes, but I—!” Jarl yelps as he is grabbed by the elbow and dragged out of the room, Hagen and Áesta both just watching in surprised confusion.

~

Jarl wrenches his arm free once they’re in his bedroom (not the farthest from the living room, sure, but certainly sound proofed enough that the other two won’t hear them), “What are you doing‽”

“Me?” Manus scuffs, clearly angry, “What about you? Mr. I’m-fine-on-my-own.”

“I am!”

“How‽” The witch gestures to the door and the implied world beyond it, “You couldn’t find Jasey alone, couldn’t figure out that he was even taken from the parish or get Áesta’s help without me, and now—what—you think you can just waltz over to this underwater cave without ANY help‽ From me or Hagen‽ Or Áesta‽”

“I have superpowers now! I can fly, Manus!”

“And how long will you have them?” A silver brow raises when Jarl hesitates to answer this one. “How long ago did you feed Áesta? Did you know that his strength is what determines your own? That you have to keep him strong to keep yourself strong? Because you were locking him away like some kind of animal, Jarl!”

“…”

“I tried to tell you this before, ok, but I see now that you really weren’t listening: daemons feed on passion; yes, the passion you have for Jasey and finding him and keeping him safe are all wonderful and powerful—but they’re also based in LOVE, Jarl, and that is the most unsavoury of meals to daemons. To find a daemon willing to accept that passion as a meal is impossible; not even Áesta could probably stomach it—especially since it’s not a passion directed at HIM (which is super important because, otherwise, it’s like asking a human to eat what you’ve literally just poured into their lap rather than their mouth)—but, really, finding a daemon that’s at least willing to accept the passion a mere level above that—affection—is just as impossible.”

“… Hagen… has explained this…”

“But he clearly did not explain that it isn’t okay to just lock your greatest assistant away.” Manus looks down, golden eyes pointedly staring at the holy relic still hidden in Jarl’s pocket, “With that as the key.”

“… It is just a cross, Manus…”

But the magician shakes his head, “No, my friend. That is a weapon. It is a symbol of your devotion to God and a symbol of your views on daemons like Áesta. Think, for a moment, about this, Jarly: how did he feed?”

“You mean just now? He shoved me against the wall—”

The mage snorts, chuckling slightly and clearly picturing what that explanation sounded like (Very naughty…). Then, he holds up his hand, “No, no; I mean, what passion did he invoke in you and where was it directed?”

“O…” Jarl blushes, “… He… made me think he was cute…”

“Exactly,” Manus nods matter-of-factly. “He got you to feel affection and direct it at him; this translated as you thinking he’s cute.”

“Translated?”

“Yes: feeling affection for someone could be seen as platonic, like thinking they’re cute; or it can be romantic—like, you want to make them feel cute. Making someone feel cute requires doing things—performing actions—you probably wouldn’t want to do with Áesta, or any daemon; like petting, caressing, cooing, kissing, etcetera. But just thinking it: finding or seeing him as cute; that’s easy—for both of you.”

“Both???”

“Well, yes: do you really think it’s easy to force a person into finding you cute or any kind of attractive? Especially if you’re a daemon and the person is just terrified of you—or, like you, highly distrusting?”

Jarl remains silent as he mulls this over.

“Your view of Áesta, of him being a daemon, makes him a monster in your eyes—and you won’t bed that. Honestly, I’m not even sure if forcing you to engage in those kinds of activities would even benefit Áesta; logically, any pleasure he feeds off of you in that kind of situation would be tainted by hate and disgust.”

“Wouldn’t a daemon prefer that?”

“If they did, do you think they’d be feeding off of Lust, Possession, Desire, Affection, and Love?”

The two stand silently for a moment, Jarl feeling rather cowed (Again.) and Manus trying to be patient. Finally, the priest sighs and braces himself, “Fine; I’ll… I won’t lock him in the spare room.”

Manus smiles, “Thank you.” The smile is gone a second later, though, “Next order of business: the cross.”

Jarl stiffens, “What about it?”

“I already told you: it symbolizes the fact that you see him as a monster; holding it reminds you of this—reminds you of the fact that he’s a daemon and you think the worst of him; that you think he’s vile.”

The holy man frowns, unconsciously slipping his hand into his pocket and feeling the securing object.

“How do you think that effects you feeding him? How do you think it effects him in general?” Manus huffs, heated air billowing out of his nose in frustration, “It hurts him, Jarl. Literally. He described it as burning.”

“… Burning…?” the priest softly repeats, biting his lip unsurely: he hates hurting people but… are daemons really people?

“Yes,” Manus nods seriously. “Burning. He says holy relics like that try to purify him—”

“Ah, then it is a good thing—”

A gust of wind flings Jarl into his bedroom wall, despite the fact that his window is closed, as Manus growls. “Don’t you dare make your damned god’s disgusting spurns out to be a good thing; don’t approve of it either; that ignorant joder isn’t making Áesta—or any daemon for that matter—better: your god is refusing to accept daemons for who or what they are; refusing to see that they’re beautiful exactly as they come!”

“We are talking about daemons, Manus.”

“Si, daemons. One of which has been kind enough to not force you, considerate enough to listen to you, and beautiful enough to not only grant you a ridiculously overpowered wish but also stay after you crucified it. You may not understand what you have been given, Jarl, but we both know who would.”

“He has nothing to do with—!”

“He has everything to do with this, Jarl, and you know it. Jasey grew up mute, maldición, and forever different—forever wrong—because of it. Do you think he needs purifying too‽”

Jarl gapes, rendered speechless by the comparison.

“No; no, he doesn’t; neither of them do.”

~

Manus’ hissing words, full of venom and valor, are interrupted by hurried knocking on Jarl’s bedroom door.

Both men look at each other in tense silence before Jarl is released by the mage’s wind and opening the door. The perturbed face of Hagen and concerned face of Áesta greets them, “T’e fizz a ye doin’ in ‘ere‽”

“I was having my wicked way with him, obviously,” Manus effortlessly answers, winking one golden eye.

Áesta gapes as Hagen sighs, the human doctor clearly more than used to this kind of occurrence. “Dummkopfs.”