The daemon clears his throat, “A-Ah… Alrigh’… Ah… Ah promise…” [Only you.]
Jarl really is human…
The thought surprises Áesta, although he isn’t entirely sure WHY. And it fills him with…
Well, he’s not really sure, exactly; but it’s dark and hurtful and sends his mind whirling.
Áesta’s had humans—summoners—like this before: ones who want to monopolize him, own him completely, and share him (or, rather, his… riches) with no one else; ones who look at him as a prize, a trophy, a MEANS; ones who view him as a PET, a weapon, and a shield; ones who use him, care nothing for him, and then—when he’s all dried up—throw him away like trash.
Like a used tissue, Kane had once said after what he’d agreed to finally dawned on him—almost broke him.
He’d been different after that: more reluctant and unwilling to make deals and involve himself with humans. He’d also begun refusing to participate in the affairs of gods, capital g’s or otherwise, which was—to Áesta—astonishing because, while Kane wasn’t very devout in his life, he DID live during the reign of Henry II.
He was THERE as they brought the capital g to Ireland
For him to so blatantly disregard the plans—or especially the orders—of that one in particular… Then again, Kane’s sin as a human—that which landed him in Áesta’s clutches—WAS that of hedonism.
That of Lust.
And Gluttony, Áesta supposes. Regardless, the evergreen Daemon Head had to answer—a LOT—for Kane and his abandonment of duty, usually ending in him taking on extremely unsavoury (to daemons) tasks.
Like Jarl.
And Jarl… Áesta sighs, disturbed and perturbed by the truths he’s just [ok, no: he’s been noticing these things and just… ignored them in favor of the more beautiful things he’s been seeing in the light of Jarl’s smile…] now realizing:
That Jarl’s the same thing.
Despite all the gentleness, the lovingness, the sweetness, the caringness… Jarl sees him as a tool.
~
“Can we protect him?”
Áesta blinks the light from his eyes. It likes to gather there when he’s too emotional—too STRESSED—like matter teasing the lips of a black hole. He’s supposed to be eating—The Rose Couple at the bar’s counter (Britta and her husband, Tobias) are laying it on THICK and, normally, Áesta would be BASKING it in right now—but he PROMISED; so, the feelings permeating the room are, instead, left to film on his person like moister on glass: beading like tears in fabric and hovering like stars on an event horizon.
Áesta licks his lips, thirsty for the emotions gathering under his eyelids and slicking his skin.
“… Ye wan’ta?” He leans forward, universe trembling under his desires. He thinks he hears his claws clink, signaling that the world around them is momentarily forgetting the image Manus gave him, but he ignores it: there’s something hiding in the depths of Jarl’s ask; something that’s like bits of plague beneath lead paint: a love so passionate that even Lucifer would eat it.
Protectiveness: “Yes.”
(But it’s not for him.)
(It’s for Manus.)
(Not HIM.)
(… Still…)
“Deal.”
(It doesn’t really matter if it’s for him or not.)
(Nor does it matter who’s really using who.)
(The deal will help Áesta protect his friend.)
(And give him a third way to stay with Jarl.)
(That’s all the reason he needs to do it.)
~
“Thank you.”
Jarl’s smile is blinding. It’s full of warmth, gratitude, kindness, and affection. Áesta blinks when he sees it, face warming in surprise and satisfaction. Jarl’s feelings for him flood his small form, filling it with love.
It’s… breathtaking.
But also bewildering. If he is just an object to Jarl, a tool to help him achieve his goals… How can he love him like this? How can he feel so much gratitude towards a shield for his friend? So much affection for a battery?
Áesta does not know: in all his years, there’s never been a precedent like this; even MANUS wasn’t like this—he didn’t feel THESE things for Áesta until AFTER he asked for his friendship in return.
Jarl may be human, but he’s a kind of human Áesta’s never seen before.
(And he really doesn’t want to leave him.)
~
Jarl orders himself a light dinner after that (Áesta just continues to fill up on him and sugar cubes).
He gets a refill on his tea, as well, saying it’ll pair perfectly with his steak. Tobi (replacing Emit as their waiter), of course, agrees; and says something to the effect of red meats always go great with assam.
They end up in an impassioned chat after that, loosing Áesta completely but amusing Rose.
After a few minutes, though, she eventually drags her husband off so Jarl can eat.
~
Their night goes pretty smoothly after that.
Full, the priest retires to their Super Room, taking his daemon with him. Áesta, distracted by his revelation and the inner turmoil it’s unleashed upon him, is noticeably reluctant to get in bed with Jarl and Manus.
When Jarl asks, though, he just says he doesn’t need the sleep and there’s no room anyway.
“And ye DID jus’ feed me down t’ere. Ah’ll be fine.”
Jarl looks uncertain, perhaps feeling guilty or even strange as this will be their first night NOT sharing a bed, but nods after a long moment; “Wake me if you need anything.”
Áesta nods, warmth flooding him again as Jarl’s genuine concern for him fills his stern order. He then leaves, footfalls whisper quiet even if they needn’t be: Jarl and Manus are both passed out from their long days; but the hotel’s other guests—and the owners, themselves—won’t be. (Better safe than sorry.)
It’s cold when he gets outside; and, for a moment, he isn’t quite sure where he should go.
There’s no Wet Wagon or Witch’s Where here. There’s no old friend or their relative.
There’s only…
The Grume.
~
Mademoiselle Grape, as Jarl so often called her, is exactly where they left her that evening: Tourist Tower.
She smiles when she sees him, pale dress fluttering after her as she turns to greet him with a glass of wine. The bottle it comes from is missing, probably sitting in the garbage outside, and in its place is a decanter. And, next to it, another glass.
“Ye were expectin’ me.”
“Mais bien sûr~” She grins as he rolls his eyes at her French, waving him over with leaf decorated nails.
“O’ course ye were…”
He settles next to her, elbow finding purchase on the counter, and ignores the frivolous grapes around them to focus on the one that actually matters: HER. She grins wider in response.
“Yer a sióg, aye?”
“A fée, oui.” The French fairy sips from her glass, appearing perfectly unperturbed by the fact that she’s, technically, drinking HERSELF, and gestures eagerly towards the Irish daemon’s untouched glass.
He politely declines (he only deals in emotions, after all).
“O, vous démones! Never accepting our hard work!”
“Pardon…”
She stops teasing and squints at him for a second, appearing thrown off by his poorly accented apology, before setting down her glass and reaching out to him with a frown. “What is wrong?”
He questions telling her anything—but only for a second.
“Jarl is usin’ me.” His mouth tastes bad as soon as he says it, causing his whole face to twist.
Grume looks at him worriedly but he waves her off.
“‘E only wants me ta ‘elp ‘im get ‘is brot’er back: ‘e’s trapped somehwere nort’east in an underwather cave.” Some place literally named after him and his people… “hWich is fine ‘cause it’s a really sweet deal—lit’rally: ‘is love fer Jasey is DELICIOUS and makin’ me a fine meal. But… Ah hate it: bein’ used like tool an’ t’en jus’… t’rown away…” His throat gets tight, imagining all those moments past with JARL now the one in the light… “Ah’ve gotten used ta it, sure—but… Ah t’ought Earl were different…”
And he really had: not just because he’s a PRIEST (he’s been down that road before) but because he’s KIND, patient, understanding, SELFLESS, and LOVING—even to a daemon like HIM.
“hWich ‘e IS! But…” He struggles to explain it, growing frustrated and irate.
“It’s not in t’e right WAY: ‘e’s still USING’ me—jus’ like e’eryone ELSE—only now it’s T’RICE O’ER!”
He thinks back to the series of deals he has with this one man: “Ta save Jasey an’ now Handsy; and t’en maybe even ta fight KANE—! (hWich Ah’m not even sure Ah can do b’cause ‘e’s me FRIEND!)” He scowls.
“An’ Ah STILL—!!!” his voice breaks and reality crashes into him, taking his anger with it.
“hWy do Ah still…?”
~
“Vous knows why.”
Áesta sniffs—a human action he learned to mimic when trying to keep his inners (phlegm and bile for humans but the Void, itself, for daemons like him) from spilling out into the world. He knows, of course, it’s pointless: his inners spill from more than just his nose; but he finds it helps him express that he’s feeling overwhelmed without the use of words—with the added bonus of getting most people to give him space so, if he DOES fail to keep the Void in, it’s less likely that he’ll hurt or Void anyone in the outpouring.
It only occurs to Áesta that he’s sobbing after Grume offers him a tissue.
He stares at it morosely as Kane’s comparison comes back to him. It makes him reluctant to treat anything—inanimate or not—the same way so many humans treat them.
Including, as much as he hates admitting it (to himself), Jarl.
Because she’s right: he DOES know why. Jarl is BEAUTIFUL: he’s kind, compassionate, loving to a fault (although, admittedly, Áesta doesn’t see much of this directed at HIM; he still sees it and has fallen for it), brave, considerate, caring, strong, smart… understanding, forgiving, gentle, sweet…
Sure, he’s up-tight, overly religious, a bit violent, and kind of obtuse…
But he’s SELFLESS. About EVERYTHING. And that…
That’s the most attractive thing to Áesta.
The most beautiful thing about Jarl.
~
Áesta’s thoughts must be showing clearly on his face because the French fairy seems to understand all of it.
She sets the tissue aside with a sympathetic smile and hugs him instead. She’s warm and soft and smells of her fruit—gently sweet—causing him to calm and relax against her.
Until her dust gets in his nose, of course.
He sneezes, expelling the foreign substance from the Void and causing her to giggle at him in amusement. “Vous all right?”
He nods.
“Bon,” she smiles, eyes kind. Then, she gets serious: “Now, a solution to vos problem.”
“Céard?”
“Zhe reality is: you are bozh using each ozher; but, you bozh also are liking each ozher. Ah ah ah! No arguing! Zhere is NO mistaking zhe way he look at vous! Zhat is LOVE! AMOUR! However platonic—for now!”
“Yer insane…”
“I am fée. We are, how you say…? Like true cupids!”
“Completely insane.”
But he’s grinning, she can see it plain as day. She laughs, amused by his playful teasing, and swats at him. “Hush. Now: vous are bozh suffering from zhe same problem—vous both zhink your feelings are false: or, razher, only present because of zhe deal, oui? Vous zhinks whatever he feels is just so he can feed vous?”
Áesta stares, silent and shocked, but manages to nod as he, himself, realizes what she says is true.
She nods back, “And he probably zhinks zhe same: zhat he only feels zhese zhings to feed vous. He’s also, probably, also assuming zhat any affection from YOU is just a stratagème—a plot—to get food from him.”
“T’at… makes sense…”
“Oui! So! What vous must do…”
Áesta leans in, eager, now, to hear her advice.
She smiles kindly at him, “Make him realize your feelings—and HIS—are true.”
~
“Okay, but HOW—?”
“Literally: court him—be romantic, do zhings not designed to get you fed but to make HIM happy/feel loved. Also, be HONEST: don’t just agree to deals so you can stay wizh him—just TELL him it’s what you want!”
“But what if he doesn’t—?”
“Zhat is what being in love is all about! It is about RISK! About CHANCE! About putting yourself OUT ZHERE where you’re VULNÉRABLE!!! And, seriously, he DOES. He may not even realize it, but he is doing as you do.”
“Céard?”
“He made zhat zhird deal wizh you not just to ensure your help later on but also because it KEEPS you here. You are bozh doing your WORST to keep each ozher near when all you has to do is TELL each ozher.”
“…”
(But hwat if he doesn’t BELIEVE me?)
(Ah’m a DAEMON, he’s a priest, and we’re in a DEAL!!!)
(Also, Ah’m lyin’ ta him ‘bout a LOT o’ t’ings—including knowing t’e bloke t’at took ‘is brot’er!)
(Not ta mention all t’e lies stemmin’ from t’at…)
(Like Manus and Duir…)
“And, lastly: don’t do zhings zhe daemon way. Do zhings specific’lly undaemon.”
“hWa—UNdaemon—hwat does t’at even MEAN???”
“Do not make deals: make promises for vos human. The way he makes EXCEPTIONS for vous.
“Tu es scared he isn’t different:
“Give him good reason to be.”
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