The warmth is still in Jarl’s chest as he jogs to catch up with the daemon already half a block ahead of him.
It’s getting close to 10 AM, now, and—if Father Gianni is anything like Jarl—Bailenac’ringy’s second mass. (Ok, that’s not really true: Shantown’s late morning masses are more like their social gatherings or events; they’re mostly used by his parishioners to mingle with him and divulge any unsavory things to him discretely if a more formal confessional is too… ill fitting for their image—yes, he does have parishioners like that.)
That should mean he’ll be busy with the church and, more importantly, not at home.
Which is exactly what they need.
~
“We don’t actually have to go to the church, you know.”
He says it softly, gently, so as to not ruin the slowly building… something between them. It’s fragile, delicate, like the ice crystals below their feet, crunching away as they walk, even if Jarl can’t yet name its existence.
Áesta turns to give him a look—one of those you’re only mentioning this now ones—but it’s amused, affectionate even, and he’s actually smiling slightly at him via the corner of his mouth; then, he raises a brow.
Jarl quickly explains: “It turns out Father Gianni sets people up in his house, not the church.” He lifts a finger and points beyond aforementioned place, where the local priest took him and Manus earlier. “Just up there.”
“… So?”
‘Ow’s t’at bether? He can hear the question long before he sees it in Áesta’s eyes and realizes it’s a good one: while Áesta usually hates going into churches, this time it’s the priest—Father Gianni—that he hates more. Avoiding the church isn’t, for once, his biggest goal. Apologetically, Jarl clarifies, “He should be at mass.”
“Ah!”
Áesta’s eyes light up, their (orange) green hues catching the midmorning light. He grins and then nods, appearing happier and more at ease than before. He kicks at the snow (Something ELSE Jasey loves to do; come to think of it, would the two of them get along? Since they’re both so childish? Does he want them to?) and they both watch as the wind carries the freed flakes upward, whirling them around like a choreographer, and into the dark fabric of Áesta’s jeans. His sweater catches the little crystals, too, and they resemble glitter when the sunlight hits them. The daemon kicks again, creating the same effect in his black as night hair.
And it’s beautiful.
Like stars in outer space.
(Jarl thinks he could gaze at that forever…)
~
“Ugh, it reeks!”
“Does it?” Jarl takes a confused lungful of air as he removes his red jacket, gloves, and shoes at the door. Although he does it through his nose, he doesn’t smell anything particularly bad. There’s a scent lingering, yes, but it seems to be some kind of stew (a favorite dish to make during the winter, here, too, it seems); and Áesta didn’t seem to think Dory’s smelled bad so why would he think it of this?
Speaking of that, though…
“All I smell is the stew we got from Sunder Inn.” Jarl had left all their luggage with Manus and him with Maria: so, it stands to reason that she heated some of it up for him to eat… which might mean he’s awake! “Remember it?”
“Ah course Ah remember it: ye didn’ even get hwy t’ey gave it ta us!”
Áesta sounds equal parts annoyed, grossed out, and entertained. It’s a peculiar thing. (Then again, so is he.) Deciding, however, that this is a better topic than their host’s house stinking (especially if it’ll distract Áesta), Jarl continues with it: “I still don’t.”
Áesta stares.
“I mean, I know you said it was so that I’d return it—the containers—but…” It still seems strange to Jarl, those gestures. “Why didn’t they—why didn’t Sheryl just SAY that??? Bring them back? Or something.”
The daemon is quiet; eerily so.
And then he laughs. A soft, affectionate sound.
It makes Jarl blush.
“Ye real’y don’ like trick’ry, do ye?” Áesta grins at the
priest and there’s something warm in his eyes, like sunshine and fireplaces and
love home. “Some people don’ do straight f’rward. Hwet’er
it’s embarr’ssing or not as fun: some people p’efer hidin’ or expressin’ t’eir
feelin’s in playful words or insults or riddles or tricks. Sheryl’s t’e
owner o’ t’at inn; she’s a strong woman an’ jus’ a bit intimidatin’—don’ look
at me like t’at, she is! Fer her: it’s easier to joke around, or kid, hwen she wants
ta be less frightenin’. She knows how ta be nice an’ kind an’ affectionate; but
were she ta do t’at wit’ a man she jus’ met—who were her customer, no
less—wouldn’ t’at come off as just a bit much? Or jus’ a bit wrong? Bring
‘em back or else! Come back or else! Etcetera.”
Jarl’s quiet for a moment.
He processes that, thinks back on how different his interactions with Sheryl—with any of the ladies there—had been to Áesta’s, and realizes that the daemon is right: his own position as priest—whether of that town or not—made him his own person of authority—of intimidation—and, when coupled with his own difficulties in terms of socializing and expressing himself, this probably made it even harder for her to just openly say Come back. Would he have even understood, given their few interactions, that it was welcoming? Friendly?
Or would he have seen it as an obligation.
(Probably.)
“T’e ot’ers are similar situations,” Áesta continues, aware or not of what’s clicking in Jarl’s mind. “Fer t’em, it’s about bein’ t’e workers in t’at place. Hwat right do t’ey ‘ave ta tell a customer ta come back? None. So, t’ey express t’eir want as an offer: of an excuse; ye can use t’is ta come back, if ye want ta. Like t’at.”
If you want to.
Jarl stares back at the surprisingly soft daemon with awe. Sure, he would have preferred straightforwardness; but, looking at it from their perspective (something he is rather bad at; he is only required to forgive people, not understand them), just saying that would have been hard. It could even have been catastrophic!
Would he have understood that it was all said out of kindness?
Out of a want for him—his company—and not…
(Because he’s God’s representative.)
~
“You… really understand human emotions… don’t you?”
He says it with awe, humility, and just a touch of envy (and, no, the fact that he keeps feeling these things—these SINS—around Áesta is not lost on him). But there’s respect, too; like he can’t help but admire it—admire HIM. And he can’t! While Jarl struggles so much to understand other human beings, Áesta…
“Ah eat t’em; Ah’d starve if Ah didn’.”
Huh… is he blushing?
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