“Ye need ta calm down, Earl[;] Handsy found t’e infermation fer ye[, b]ut ‘e can’t tell ye hwen ye’re like t’is.”
“… Wow,” Manus breathes as the door to Gina’s home slams shut behind her monster of a magicless man. The heat of the fireplace beside them flares as it battles the cold air billowing in from outside. It slowly wins as the young mage chuckles under his breath, “That was impressive. Seriously. Never seen him cave so fast.”
He continues to chuckle, playing it cool and amused—but he’s watching the door like a caged animal and shaking from head to toe; even Gina can tell her new apprentice is lying through his gums.
Despite being more than aware of this (and despite being severely shaken as well), Áesta turns to him and mercilessly scowls at the quivering man’s quip. His (orange) green eyes blaze with fearful fury as he snarks: “hWy sa foc didn’t ye jus’ TELL ‘IM???”
He doesn’t know what, exactly, Manus struggled to say, but daemons are NEVER to defy their summoner—and Áesta’s is a PRIEST; there’s no way God won’t know and… well, Áesta’s not sure what he WOULD do, but he knows what he’s done in the past and Áesta has no desire to feel his hand upon him again.
Manus, who had been slowly relaxing behind him, his self-appointed daemon shield, tenses up all over again. He splutters after a second, clearly thrown, before spouting: “Wh-wha—‽ But you TOLD him—!”
“Ah’m talkin’ ‘bout befer!!!”
Manus shuts up.
~
From her spot by the fire, Gina raises an eyebrow.
She remains silent as she looks between the two men—one family and the other a friend in the forging—and then the firmly shut door of her home which hides the fearsome foe wedging a rift between them. She huffs.
Children. (And, yes, she’s calling that daemon—centuries her senior—a child; because, right now, he is.)
Realizing the two are talking about a time before they were with her (and thus a time they weren’t hers), Gina decides to take matters into her own hands. And Áesta notices.
“hWere’re ye goin’?”
The witchy woman pauses as she lifts her tea set via the tray it comes with. She piles the cups back in and then is ready to take it to the kitchen for a quick cleaning (and a spell sanitizing). She locks unique purple eyes with disguised orange and lime, “To make another cuppa.”
And then she leaves.
Áesta watches her go, hackles still slightly raised, before turning his attention back to Manus. His friend.
His Handsy.
The daemon sighs heavily through his nose. “… hWen did ye do this?” he finally asks, hoping it’s a safer and less loaded question. Manus shifts like it’s not—like it’s just as damning as why didn’t you tell him before—before swallowing thickly.
“While I was sick.”
“…” Áesta sighs and flicks a stray lock of hair over Manus’ shoulder—it probably got dislodged from his styling when Jarl stormed him—or through their travels; who really knows. “Ye were s’posed ta be recov’rin’.”
Manus relaxes.
Grooming is a common way daemons show they care—or that they have a strong connection to another—and Áesta, being a daemon that feeds off of affection, treats these gestures like they’re treasures. Because they’re food: so, they are.
“… I just…” didn’t want to be a burden; wanted to help; get Jasey back.
Áesta hums, understanding what the human means. He keeps fiddling with Manus’ hair, grooming him, knowing he wouldn’t normally allow it and is only doing so now because they both need it—the reassurance.
They’re both here for each other.
Always.
~
“S’what did ye find out?”
Manus shifts uncomfortably as Gina putters about the kitchen. They can hear her cleaning and spelling but Áesta doesn’t hear her humming which he knows she normally does. That means she’s listening to them.
Judging them. (Mostly Manus.)
The younger mage, even if he doesn’t know Gina well enough to notice her attentive silence, must sense it and is clamming up in response to it. Which Áesta understands; he just can’t have that. He MUST know.
“Ye can tell me; t’en Ah can tell ‘im.”
It wouldn’t be too hard, honestly. Jarl is terrifying when angry, sure; but even when Áesta pushes, he’s fine. And, even if he’s not, the bottom line is that Áesta is a natural born daemon, a true immortal, a forever soul: if Jarl hurts him, it’s fine; he’ll survive; he can’t die.
Manus, however, can (even if he made the mage immortal so he’d always have a friend).
(Such things are only effective on natural causes; for a human like Handsy, Death can still come.)
“… I met with the Sage Emem.”
~
Áesta’s jaw drops.
“I asked her if any non-mage used magic and she said Yes.
“She said it came from SHANTOWN, not Bailecastle, at first.
“And… Áes… I-I can’t; I can’t tell him one of his own people…”
(Áesta’s jaw keeps dropping—or it feels like it does—as he stares.)
~
Gina drops an herbal gummy in Manus’ hand.
It’s chamomile, lavender, jasmine, and dill: meant to calm and soothe. Áesta relaxes from the smell alone; but Manus does have to actually eat it to feel anything at all.
The elder mage smiles, “Let me speak with him first.”
And then she’s gone. (With the tea.)
~
“He has to know.”
Handsy shifts, still antsy even though he should have absorbed everything from Gina’s gummy by now, and shakes his head. “I-it’d destroy him. He LOVES those people, Áes! If one of them is truly responsible—”
“Yes: IF.”
Manus pauses as Áesta places a gentle hand on his face, grounding him. They breathe together.
“IF one of them is responsible, Handsy; it could have easily been a stranger going just to get Jasey.”
“…” (They stay like that, foreheads together, breathing the same air, being one; until Jarl is screaming.)
~
“They’re from Shantown. […] We know them.”
Áesta and Gina step back as Jarl and Manus face each other. The priest’s jaw is practically on the floor and the magician looks like he wants to be swallowed by the Axis Mundi—or face the Judgement of the Elders. Áesta winces at the thought, knowing how harsh those elitist gobshites can be, and turns away from the two.
He grabs Gina’s arm and drags her back inside, giving the other two humans a chance to talk.
As well as themselves.
~
“Buíochas.”
Gina smiles secretively as she settles back down in her unupholstered reddish purple and hot pink couch. “For?” she asks, knowing full well the answer. “All I did was answer some questions and care for yer friends.”
“But that’s exactly it: my FRIENDS.”
Áesta sits beside his old healer, his friend and found family member, and takes her hand. She squeezes it.
“You didn’t tell him.”
“Of course not; Earl can’t know you two are friends, yet.”
(… Yet???)
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