Once all is said and done, evening is upon them.

Jarl thinks this is both horrible and a good thing: it means Jasey’s going to be at risk for a greater time period; but it also means that Manus can get some much needed sleep while the rest of them solidify their plans.

Hagen confirms that Manus managed to ensure that they’d all be able to remain in communication regardless of where they are in the world—something that they never before had to worry about.

He also assures that the parish will be just as well cared for as before if not more.

~

Áesta’s in Jarl’s bedroom when he goes to change.

“Ye’re takin’ t’at off now, ceart?” The daemon’s bright green eyes (surprisingly, he’s still in his human guise; or maybe this isn’t surprising as, clearly, Manus is asleep) are on Jarl’s habit, causing the man to smirk.

“And if I’m not?”

Áesta’s eyes narrow angrily in disgust and distain (Jarl thinks—more of assumes, really; it’s somehow harder to read the daemon’s emotions through this false image). But, he doesn’t do anything more than glare.

Jarl raises a brow at this, “… why do you hate priests so much?” (It can’t really just be the obvious… can it?)

The now brown daemon frowns, seeming torn between not wanting to speak of something and wanting to grasp at this rare opportunity to actually talk with Jarl (or maybe the human’s hubris is showing itself). Eventually, Áesta murmurs, “T’ey’re not t’e nicest contract hold’rs.”

Jarl stares while folding up his scapular, “… You’ve… been summoned by a priest before???”

The daemon laughs; and something about it is cold and chilling like the first time they met. “Yes. I have.”

They stand in silence for a while, Jarl surprised and Áesta clearly trying to not think about that other priest.

Then: “Hurry up an’ feed meh.”

~

It’s easier this time.

Jarl’s not sure if it’s because he finds Áesta cuter in this rare moment of vulnerability or if it’s just this form (there’s something to be said about him looking more human and less daemon), but it’s definitely easier now. Maybe it’s because Áesta’s just… softer: staying away while Jarl disrobes, strips down to his underclothes, much like a moody cat that’s waiting for their owner to remove something distasteful from their meal.

… Actually, that’s exactly what this is.

Jarl snorts at the thought, trying not to wonder at the fact that they’re only 3 days in and, already, Jarl’s fine with seeing Áesta as his oversized daemonic cat. Sure, he’d made jokes about it on the couch before but…

“Dianung, bhastaird tú; quit t’inkin’ and FEED ME!”

Brought back to the situation at hand, the priest turns from setting his clothes on the bureau by his bed to deal with the surprisingly petulant daemon he ended up summoning. He smiles, half naked and confident (somehow), “I can’t feed you if you keep acting out; you have to be cute, remember?”

“Aurgh!!!”

Áesta throws his hands up, rather comically, and then strides forward with a vengeance (much less comical). He grabs Jarl by the undershirt (a plain white sleeveless thing of cotton) and swings him onto the bed with his daemonic strength. Jarl lands on the covers with fear in his belly, suddenly remembering what he’s dealing with.

A monster.

“Ah’ve made ye t’ink I was cute befer, ye fek; don’t t’ink Ah won’t do it again!”

~

Fear.

It’s not something Jarl experiences often.

As a man of faith, he’s always felt the presence and thus protection of God, no matter what he faced.

Now though, facing this… the Oak Tree’s voice sounds again: Faith is not a thing here; there is only what is.

~

Áesta sighs.

Jarl jolts as the feisty little daemon wilts and practically collapses on top of him. His chest becomes the other’s pillow and his torso becomes the other’s bed; his hips are a weird seat, now, as well.

What is this?

“…” Áesta doesn’t say anything at first; and it occurs to Jarl that he might just be listening to his heartbeat. It’s erratic in his chest cavity, pumping adrenaline he can’t use more so than his blood, he swears.

But that’s just it: he doesn’t have to use his fight response; not with Áesta.

“hWat was it… about earlier… t’at ye t’ought were cute?”

~

Jarl blinks.

He stares down at the black head of hair laying on his chest, bright (orange) green eyes hidden away as the daemon shying into him keeps his head down and avoids eye contact. Earlier? When…?

When Áesta first saw Jarl in his holy habits.

“Huh…” Jarl stares up at his ceiling, eyeing the knots in the wood (the European White Oak’s eyes stare back). He thinks back to that moment: to when Áesta was sulking in his dressing room’s doorway with a scowl so disgusted and hateful that there should have been no way for him to look even remotely cute.

What was it about that moment that was cute???

Simple: The daemon’s nose crinkles cutely.

~

“… It was your nose.”

Áesta sits up, rather abruptly, and stares down at Jarl very incredulously. “Me nose.”

“Your nose.”

The daemon scuffs and shakes his head. A slender hand lifts and tapered digits (they’re no longer clawed!) cover the body part in question. Áesta seems… highly embarrassed, somehow; but also very disbelieving.

At this look, Jarl quickly explains: “It crinkled! Like…”

He tries to do it too, scrunching up his nose, but he thinks he just ended up looking ridiculous. Áesta laughs. It’s muffled by his slim hand—as is his amused face—which Jarl unthinkingly pulls away.

They both stare at each other in silence, Áesta’s hand in Jarl’s.

Jarl has no idea how he fed Áesta that night… but he did.