“I can definitely see why ya both like each other, but was that meant to be a euphemism?”
Jarl and Áesta simultaneously jolt, turning together as one, and stare at the sudden presence in the hall.
If it weren’t for the mix of shock, adrenaline and copious amounts of concern (at possibly being exposed) flooding their systems, both human and daemon might have been amused (or horrified) at their unity. (Admittedly, they’re a bit too preoccupied to be either right now.)
Unaware of the true reason for their overreaction, the dark eyed brunette whom had allowed Jarl to leave that morning smiles in amusement at the two men, “Ya must have quite the job, then.”
~
“Ah—yes—uh—Áesta! This is Maria! The, um, Head Nun… here…”
Careful not to mention the man currently holding the town’s mass, Jarl hastens to change the subject—seeing as the daemon doesn’t actually have what Maria assumes he does. To his surprise, however, aforementioned daemon brushes his topic change off, fearlessly (or insanely…) answering her.
“A pleasure,” the woman smiles, bowing her head slightly.
Áesta nods back. “Same. An’ ta answer yer question: it were.” Ignoring Jarl’s wide eyes and gaping mouth, and the horror suddenly pouring off the out-of-town priest in obvious and potent waves, the daemon grins. “Ah’m a t’erapist: understandin’ an’ explainin’ people’s emotions is me everyt’ing.”
“O!” Maria exclaims with a smile, eyes bright and completely missing Jarl’s which are bulging out of his skull; “That must be so fulfilling!”
Áesta grins and nods again, fully aware of his summoner’s appalled pallor, “Me bread an’ buther~”
~
“You are impossible.”
Jarl scowls as the daemon beside him giggles, (orange) green eyes twinkling up at him (which is NOT cute!) from behind a black nailed hand with slender fingers. The no-longer-claws seem to intensify the devil’s mirth, much to the priest’s chagrin, as their near pitch blackness lend a sharp contrast to the glitter in his eyes.
Bloody wretch.
Maria, they found out, had indeed reheated some of Sheryl’s stew after being told it was in their baggage. Manus, who appeared to be recovering rather quickly (thankfully), had chatted with the Nun once awake—about a few hours ago, she quietly informs them as they approach the guest bedroom together—and then eaten twice as much as she had expected before promptly falling back asleep (to her admitted amusement). She’d cleaned up the dishes he used, packed them back into their bags for them, checked on the church, and then resumed her office, so to speak; but he hadn’t woken up again since then, so, “Perhaps he will soon?”
Regardless, she’d been reading at his bedside when she heard Jarl and someone new in the kitchen.
“And ya know the rest!” She laughs as she settles back down in the chair she’d be reading from, a book—worn and dogeared—sitting on the nightstand by her side. “I was mighty curious heading out to see ya, too! Ya both sound real close.” She points a finger at the two of them as she smiles, “Real good for each other.”
Jarl works his mouth, trying to find something to say through his mortification, but Áesta simply laughs, “Yes, Is good; ‘e’d be hopeless wit’out me.”
(Jarl finds himself silent as the two laugh together, again,
and is unsure if it’s because he can’t find words or because he can’t deny it: he
couldn’t have gotten this far without Áesta’s help—without his super powers,
knowledge, ability to talk with drunkards people out of Jarl’s
own comfort zone… and surprising kindness…)
“So it seems,” Maria agrees with a smiling nod. She offers them some tea from a set whose pot is in a cosy and Jarl accepts, feeling like he’s going to need something to do while the two make fun of him…
Áesta only holds his proffered cup—slender hands wrapped delicately around the fine, filigreed porcelain—and the priest is reminded of the fact that the daemon does not eat or drink: he only needs emotions.
“Does that mean ya’re here to… understand his emotions?”
~
Maria’s question is an interesting one.
Mostly because, in away, it might actually be true.
Jarl didn’t understand a lot of things before he met Áesta: why someone might not be so forward with him, how helpful a bunch of bargoers can be, how magic might not really be about trickery but more about love, what really happened to Jasey, what Manus really feels for Jasey, what a daemon truly is like…
Áesta explains things—even Jarl, himself—in ways no one else ever has.
(It’s… terrifying…)
~
“Earl’s a v’ry complicated man.
“He’s judgemental—sometimes ta t’e point o’ being harsh—and erroneously religious—per’aps blindly so—but he’s also kind an’ lovin’—especially o’ his brot’er—an’ does ‘is best ta be hwat he wants e’eryone ta be.
“‘E’s a good person—passionate and strong and honest ta a fault—lovely, really.
“But ‘e’s also dumb and oblivious and emotionally incompetent; so Ah’m ‘ere!”
(… Was that… meant to be so… strangely sweet?)
~
Maria’s eyebrows are practically one with her hairline by the time Áesta is done razing Jarl’s reality.
The priest honestly can’t blame her: his own brows are probably just as high. He can feel his eyes bulging, anyway, and his jaw slack enough to be meeting with the ground like some sort of emissary.
What would one more comical expression be at this point, really?
The Head Nun giggles quietly into her tea cup, amuse-bright eyes darting between the two foreigners. “Well! You two are… very close, ya?” Her irises twinkle with affection and joy as she speaks, clearly happy for them.
Áesta winks at her but Jarl just keeps gaping.
How did it come to this???
~
Áesta is a complicated daemon.
Jarl decides this as he watches the little (green) daemon chat animatedly with Maria—all gentle smiles and beguiling attitudes. Even his voice is unerringly kind—despite the fact that he is literally talking to a NUN.
She is a woman of God—the same God Áesta so clearly despises—and yet he seems to not care as he laughs, not at her but with her, and sells her some stories about other nameless patients he’s had.
(And, no, he has no idea if this is a breach of any kind of doctor-patient confidentiality.)
Or, perhaps, she isn’t be sold anything. Perhaps they aren’t lies at all.
Embellishes, perhaps, but…
Áesta IS good with people. He’s good with emotions, too. Sure, he lost control of his own but, honestly, betrayal from a long time friend—especially after being summoned by an abusive arse (Jarl can admit it)—would probably do that to anyone.
He could have been vindictive.
“T’en Ah’ll take t’em back!”
Bizarre midnight blue pupils glow like eerie double moons and Jarl gasps as he collapses to the ground. Strength and power envelop him in the exact opposite way he’d wanted them to. Áesta’s power—not Jarl’s—leeches from the human’s quaking body, returning to their original home: the daemon that granted them.
It’s really taking them!
“N-no! Wait! St-stop!” Jarl begs, practically grovelling on the floor. He can’t lose these powers; not yet. He needs them to find Jasey and he can’t risk never getting them back until after his brother is safe. “Please!”
Miraculously, the leeching stops.
He could have chosen not to stop. He could have decided that the deal was void if Jarl refused to pay.
But he didn’t.
And, later, he agreed to not only help his prudish summoner but also take on a second deal while being bait.
(And he calls me kind, good, and lovely…?)
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