“I’m sorry.”
The short message hangs in the air like drying laundry.
It flutters like butterfly wings and zigzags between everyone’s ears like they’re flowers in May.
But Jarl can’t tell if it alights on the ears he needs them to—isn’t sure if Áesta’s heard him—so he continues.
~
“I shouldn’t have ignored you earlier.
“I should have realized you wouldn’t just leave Manus unwell like that.
“I should have realized you were scared that whatever happened with Father Gianni would happen again.
“And I should have made it clear that I would never let that happen to you again—that I would protect you.”
~
A hazel eye peers out at him from the admittedly disconcertingly bare flesh pile.
The person it’s attached to giggles at him, “Wow!” A brown haired head follows the eyes and Jarl can see her grinning amusedly—but also kindly—at him. He relaxes. “I think even a daemon would convert after that!”
There’s a muffled groan; then, “Don’ enc’urege ‘im!”
The pile bursts into giggles as Áesta unburies himself from them like an undead monster in a horror movie. He’s as nude as the rest of them, warm brown skin contrasting starkly against all of his paler bedmates, and even less caring about his or anyone else’s modesty, or Jarl’s immense lack of desire to see so much of him, as he literally leaps out of bed and lands completely naked in front of the flustered and flabbergasted priest.
Jarl blushes.
He stammers for a moment, clearly wanting to protest Áesta’s non-attire, before faltering and looking away. Then, he falters again before glancing hesitantly back—at Áesta’s face (he can’t bring himself to look down).
“Can… can we talk… privately?”
The daemon eyes him quietly, teasing/challenging smirk no where in sight despite the ripe opportunity for it, before turning to nod at the five nude humans still piled on top of the bed: “Ah need t’e room.”
(Jarl refuses to acknowledge that five human beings just walked out into a public bar naked.)
~
“T’at was quite t’e bombshell ye just shat on meh.”
“Please don’t use such vulgar terms…” Jarl speaks warily. “I… I confessed to you. Apologized. Promised... None of that was…”
Áesta sighs. “hWy should Ah believe ye? Ye, who chained me up and bayt me and pulled a crucifix on me?”
Jarl’s mouth goes dry.
That’s… a good question…
~
“… I was scared.”
The human swallows, eyes flighty, as he fidgets and tries to
keep his gaze locked with the daemon’s before him. Áesta blinks slowly,
(orange) green eyes highly attentive, as he waits for the mere mortal to
continue digging his own grave.
“Jasey had been missing for so long and you were the only one who could help me—o-other than Manus but he pointed me to you so technically—!”
“Breathe, Earl,” the daemon interjects, voice soft and soothing. He reaches out slowly, so as to not spook, and smoothly removes Jarl’s bright red jacket. The heavy article slips from the man’s weighted shoulders like a burden unto Áesta and Jarl breaths deep, shuttering breaths as the little evil dresses himself in his red.
He calms; “I didn’t know you would be so helpful—so willing to help—and patient…”
Áesta seems to carefully click his tongue. “… Ah’m jus’ in it fer t’e meal…”
“Are you?” Jarl asks, honestly disbelieving, “Because I’m hardly feeding you (Sorry; by the by…).”
The daemon snorts. Then, he reluctantly nods. “Ye… Ye are being a bit o’ a shite, t’ere…”
The human nods, almost urgently, “So, then, why are you being so kind to me???”
Áesta frowns, appearing perturbed. “Well... don’ convince me ta not be…”
“I’m not! I just…” Jarl rakes a hand through his lengthening hair, idly noting that it’s already getting longer; “Nothing could go wrong: that was the only thing going through my mind that night; and I had to be sure!”
He can feel Áesta’s judgmental eyes boring into him, unrepentant and relentless. He can’t really blame him.
“I couldn’t risk you…” he chokes up, eyes watering, as the realization of the past several days hits him hard: “Not being you!”
And he really couldn’t. He’d been taught his whole life that daemons are vile creatures, cruel tricksters, and selfish beyond measure: only a fool would trust the likes of them OR the heathens they call friends.
Daemons, as had been described to him in his youth, were like Red: dangerous monsters.
But Áesta… Áesta is evergreen.
~
There it is again: that sound.
Soft and sweet, like the little homeless kitten he and Jasey used to feed as younglings. That kitten grew up into a cat who became a loyal dinner guest after their parents passed. It helped them through so much…
Perhaps that is why, when Áesta purrs, Jarl feels like he’s coming home…
And, probably, that’s why cats are such a soft squishy spot for him…
~
Áesta’s smiling as he sighs through his purrs, “Ye really are…”
Jarl looks up hesitantly when the daemon doesn’t finish. He then stares, breath suddenly caught in his throat, as warm orange eyes ringed in loving green gaze at him with burning pink pupils, like Valentine rhombuses.
“… Good at feedin’ me.”
The priest blinks and the effect is gone: Áesta’s pupils and irises are back to midnight blue and (orange) green respectively; and the daemon’s contented purring has lessoned to an almost imperceptible degree. “W-what?”
“If Ah’d’a known ye’d adore me like t’is from t’e start,” Áesta says, grinning, while tugging on his own clothes, “Ah’d’a not o’ bot’ered wit’ t’e cute t’ing!”
“A-adore‽” Jarl splutters, face heating up. He glares, however weak, as the tiny evil giggles.
“It’s som’t’in’ Ah can feast on; actu’lly made up fer t’e late meal, too!”
Shantown’s holy man flushes as relief floods him, unexpectedly, at that. He fidgets before nodding, “G-good.”
Áesta hums, “Yes, good;” and then he smiles and struts out the door, “C’mon, let’s go!”
Jarl blinks, flabbergasted, as the little daemon trots happily down the hallway. The sleeves of the priest’s coat flutter after him like bloody wings, stretching out to the holy man, himself, like arms begging for help… “Wait! Where’re we going‽”
The reaching wings fall as Áesta stops before the reception desk; he grins confidently at the man trailing him, “The church, where else???”
Jarl’s jaw drops (although, in retrospect, he isn’t quite sure WHY it did or why he’d needed the clarification). Behind Áesta’s shoulder, the receptionist stares with bulging eyes that look bigger due to her caked mascara. The five people (thankfully, now dressed) the daemon’d been in bed with just minutes ago raise their brows. Jarl isn’t even sure, at this point, if they’re all shocked at Áesta’s answer or Jarl’s question. Maybe both!
When Shantown’s holy man does little more than gape at him, Áesta grins—softer and sweeter than before; “Ye promised, didn’ ye?”
Something in Jarls chest (hopefully not a lung…) swells with warmth at that and a foreign confidence fills him; “Yes,” he agrees, finally moving to follow after the little devil; “Yes, I did.”
(The receptionist gives him a small smile as he returns the P1 key.)
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