"He was like a child on vacation begging to go on a water ride."
Jarl frowns as he makes his way out of Father Gianni’s house. The morning air is crisp and bitter in his throat as he leaves Manus in the kind hands of Maria and walks with quick but assured steps to the bar.
And isn’t that a joke: Father Jarl confidently stepping into a bar.
What has Áesta done to him???
~
Aforementioned daemon isn’t quite where he expected it to be.
Instead of sitting amongst the drunken wreckage or in the laps of pampering bargoers, Áesta’s in a room: “P1, if ye must know.” Sharp blue eyes pierce Jarl’s soul like a flaming harpoon through a storm as the blonde receptionist studies him snidely through her caked eyelashes. There’s a scowl to her lips, too, like a dog baring their teeth at an enemy, “It’s our luxury suite.” The eyes narrow, “One ye couldn’t afford.”
Ouch.
Jarl shifts uncomfortably. He wonders, idly, if her guard dog attitude is actually due to the early morning hour before realizing she must be accustomed to serving the post-mass community. It just ended, after all.
“I-I just wish to apologize.”
“O?” The woman raises an unimpressed eyebrow; but there’s a sparkle in her eyes like hopeful joy. “Are ye?”
Jarl latches onto the hope and dares to make it his own, “Yes; I treated him poorly last night… I must fix it.”
“Hm…” the blonde hums as she slides the key to P1 across the counter and then leaves.
~
The turning of the lock is loud enough to wake the dead.
Jarl winces as the hinges are no quieter, screeching like Banshees in the morning light as he opens the door. Talk about alarms… The air is warm in the room, not stuffy or smelly like he’d have expected, and soft—almost cozy—with the scent of Áesta everywhere.
Evergreen.
There are bodies in the bed (the very large bed which makes sense—it’s supposed to be the best in the bar) that stir at all the noise: three men and two women, all piled on top of each other and appearing quite naked, with Áesta in the middle. He’s practically buried, in fact, with just his faux-dark hair and limbs viewable. Everyone’s clutching some part of him, their arms wrapped around him but also sometimes each other, and everyone’s legs tucked around each other’s knees. It’s almost protective, the way they hold each other.
The way they hold Áesta.
Jarl swallows thickly. He remembers the harpooning glare the receptionist gave him as soon as he entered, and the animosity he’d received from the Cunning’s Bargoers in Bailemore—and even the fights with Manus over the way he treated the little daemon—and suddenly realizes what had been wrong.
Áesta had been scared.
This whole time, perhaps.
~
“… 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.”
~
Jarl shivers as he remembers that cold, chilling laugh.
Father Gianni, somehow, despite appearing perfectly kind to Jarl, was at least one of the priests before him: one of the priests that made a deal with Áesta and acted in such a way that it caused him to hate all priests moving forward. Including, perhaps even still, Jarl himself.
And that makes Jarl sick.
Not even that a priest might cause such hurt, fear, or pain; but that he’s causing it without even meaning it. Yes, Jarl was (he realizes now) cruel when he first met Áesta—yelling at him, hitting him, chaining him up—but he’d rationalized it as: it’s not human, it’s a daemon, it’ll hurt me otherwise, it probably doesn’t feel pain, etc.
And he’d truly believed those thoughts, too.
But then Manus flipped out on him. Áesta was kind and forgave them both for so many things. He was gentle, too, with complete strangers and Manus and even him, now, too.
Áesta’s nothing like he ever thought a daemon would be.
And yet he’s been everything Áesta thinks a priest is.
~
So, it’s time to prove him wrong.
It’s time to show Áesta that priests can be kind and gentle to daemons, too. Time to show other priests, too. Whatever it was that Father Gianni—or any other priest before them—did, Áesta shouldn’t fear again. Because it won’t happen again—whatever it is (he… really needs to figure that out; what happened.).
Jarl will make sure of it.
As he steps farther into the room, into the warm space that somehow smells only of Áesta and feels of love, Jarl promises himself and the daemon before him and even Manus and his little brother that he’ll do this: he’ll make sure nothing happens to Áesta while he’s with them, make sure he has nothing to fear…
He’ll protect their surprisingly sweet little daemon.
And it starts with this: “I’m sorry.”
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