Áesta’s blushing.
Not the angry/embarrassed/defensive blush from when Manus explained that Áesta just wanted a friend, either. No; it’s more like the awed/happy/touched blush he had when Jarl commented him (Ah… that’s it…) on how WELL Áesta understands human emotions (which is ironic now that they’ve found one he doesn’t).
And it’s fascinating.
Áesta’s blush under normal circumstances is black—probably due to his blood (as that’s what a blush IS: blood suffusing your face). Now, however, it’s not entirely that. True, it’s darker than one would expect (and, no, this isn’t just because Áesta’s skin is darker, too: red blood through brown skin is still RED, after all), indicating that his natural blood’s color is not actually changed by Manus’ spell; but it’s still mostly red.
And it’s beautiful.
The way it contrasts with his bright green eyes, the olive green tint of his false skin, and the black of his hair…
(It’s almost… human…)
~
The daemon clears his throat, “A-Ah… Alrigh’… Ah… Ah promise…”
Snapping back to reality, Jarl leans back in his chair and blushes as well as he realizes what he was just doing: lusting—over a daemon. Horror washes over him, flushing his blush right out of his face, and he swallows heavily, hoping no one notices just how pale he’s suddenly become.
Just how SICK he’s now become.
Sipping his tea, Jarl forces the thought from his mind, allowing the brew to be his sole focus for a moment. It’s rich, full body flows smoothly over his tongue, delighting it with the Assam’s bold, malty flavor.
Better.
“Good.” He sets the tea down and calms himself farther by looking around. Britta is by the counter, interestingly enough, talking to a man Jarl doesn’t recognize. He’s older, well dressed for a hotel owner, and wears the same glasses as Britta (which she’s actually wearing now that she’s not needed outside).
They also have matching rings.
“Huh…” He sips his tea again as he watches the two of them laugh together.
Even the curvature of their lips match.
(They must really love each other…) Jarl remembers seeing his own parents laugh together—an image that, today, is vague and fuzzy at best. He’ll eventually forget what they look like and sound like—he knows—but, for now… He’s glad he remembers SOMETHING (Jasey can’t remember their faces at all…).
“Tobi also likes tea.”
“Huh?” The priest blinks, confused. He turns to look back at Áesta but finds the daemon looking at Britta—and her partner.
“Tobi—Rose’s husband.”
“… Rose.” The holy man bites back a smile, growing amused at the tiny devil’s annoyed pout—and at his habit of giving people nicknames. (It’s really quite cute.) Even if he can’t always guess who he’s talking about.
(He wonders exactly WHY Áesta does it, though…)
“Britta; Britta is Rose.”
Jarl laughs, nodding. “I know. Well, figured.” He glances at the daemonic being, noting that his pupils are—strangely and very faintly—glowing a yellowish pink (like peach). He isn’t sure what exactly that means, but he figures it has something to do with his recent thought of cute (which he’s slowly getting used to…) and ignores it. “What I meant was…” He trails off, suddenly wondering if he really SHOULD ask. Does it matter?
Probably not.
“I-I was just confirming. You’ve met him?”
“Aye; ‘e ‘eard from Rose t’at Handsy were down so ‘e brought up some tea ta ‘elp ‘im.”
“Ah…” Jarl nods, glancing back at the sweet couple to show he understands and agrees. “Did it?”
“‘E were already asleep.”
“Looking for Kane?” It was meant as both a praise and a joke
but Áesta looks away, small frown on his face. He looks… uncomfortable.
Wondering why he feels so bad, the human quickly clears his throat and adds:
“Hopefully getting some rest, anyway.”
Áesta’s quiet for a moment.
Then, he says yes.
~
They sit in silence for a while.
Jarl continues to glance around, hoping for inspiration or a distraction—he isn’t quite sure. Áesta stays quiet, watching HIM. He can feel the daemon’s piercing gaze, oddly cooler than normal.
It’s normally warm like the summer sun: inviting and happy.
Now, though… It’s like Áesta’s… SCARED.
But why?
“… Som’in’s botherin’ ‘im.” Jarl’s gaze snaps back to Áesta’s, sky blue meeting emerald green eyes and locking. “T’at’s hwy Ah flirted. Ah wan’ed ta make sure Ah were really seein’ it.
“An’ Ah wan’ed proof.
“Ta show ‘im.”
~
They return to silence for a moment.
Jarl uses it to think. On one hand, it’s very bad that Áesta used the waiter that much: not only as a meal but also to simply make a point; it’s not going to make him stopping that easier.
But, on the other…
Manus… HAS been acting strangely. Jarl’s mind flashes back to when they were checking in—with Britta—and how unenthused the mage had been to share a room—a BED—with the two of them.
At the time, he was too distracted to notice it; but, thinking of it now…
Why DIDN’T Manus cheer with joy?
Why didn’t he drag them to bed?
(Why was he UPSET?)
“I… thought he was just tired…” He winces at how weak that sounds: Manus STILL flirts even when exhausted (he’d know: he’s been subject to that many times and really only ever tolerated it because Jasey laughed). For him to NOT be flirting… Wait, “He flirted with Britta just fine.”
“T’at’s hwy Ah had ta be SURE.”
Jarl huffs out a sigh. Then, he nods, “I understand.”
He ignores Áesta’s startled look.
“How worried should we be? You talked to him after getting your proof, right? What happened?”
Áesta looks away, after a moment, looking somber—almost sad—before answering quietly, “… ‘E’s scared: t’e Elders t’ink ‘E’S t’e one responsible hwen ‘e’s not; but t’ey’re t’e ELDERS: t’ey don’t care much fer facts—just hwat FITS—and if we can’t prove t’at it WEREN’T Handsy…
“T’ey’re gonna punish ‘im—severely.”
~
Punish him—severely.
Jarl swallows thickly.
Punishment… is probably the one thing about religion—yes,
even his own—that he hates disagrees with: punishment—FEAR—is not the
right way to go about things; it’s cruel, contradictory, and just plain
criminal; all it does is inspire hate and harm and encourage people to hurt
each other.
Jarl thinks he understands, now, why Áesta called them gobshites.
~
“Can we protect him?”
The daemon blinks up at him. From across the table, even in the bar’s dim lighting, Jarl can see SOMETHING shining in Áesta’s eyes—he just wishes he could define it. Tears? Light reflections? His glowing pupils?
All three???
The devil licks his lips. “… Ye wan’ta?” Cloth rustles as Áesta leans forward, invisible claws tapping the table (at least, Jarl THINKS that’s what he just heard; there were no physical claws back in Sunder Inn’s bed when they laid together and Jarl still FELT their shadow ghosting along his neck; so, perhaps, they ARE still there—Manus’ magic just makes them unseeable?) as he uses his forearms to support himself. He looks excited.
And determined.
Jarl’s not entirely sure what to do with that information. Or the way his eyes tracked his tongue (unconsciously).
He is, however, concerned; and a shepherd (yes, even of this wayward witch): “Yes.”
Áesta smiles, eyes glowing yet again—this time, like the first time… “Deal.”
Comments (0)
See all