“… They stayed a night at the hotel after spending the day in tourist place."
Father Judas’ words echo softly in Jarl’s head. They’ve done this a lot over the last few hours, of course, but this time… Jarl isn’t entirely sure what to do with them. Certainly: they mean Jasey was probably here, once, and—given their scheduling—Tobias probably saw him—probably checked him IN—and the daemon, Kane, too; but…
What does that matter???
Jarl already KNOWS so why should he ASK—?
~
“Ah wanted to know if ‘e were like me. … Ah wanted friendship. … Ah t’ought… maybe ‘e does too…?”
It’s Áesta’s words, now, that echo in his mind and he’s certain
it’s secretly (or not so secretly…) his answer. Jarl’d thought Áesta quite mad
when he first proposed the idea: that Kane might actually want to be FRIENDS
with Jas’ just because ÁESTA had wanted that with MANUS. Jarl’s first instinct
had been denial to refute it—
To claim that Áesta is SPECIAL and UNIQUE and there’s NO DAEMON LIKE HIM.
But now… Áesta, himself, suggested otherwise and if anyone would know, it’s him, right?
So, is there merit to his suggestion?
Are other daemons as friendly?
(Does Kane want a friend?)
~
Jarl doesn’t end up asking Tobias about Kane—or Jasey, for that matter.
He feels like he already knows what the older man’s answers will be.
Kane was kind, looked out for the child, and cared for him.
Just as everyone else has said.
~
Because of this, Jarl ends up finishing his cuppa and cake with Tobias in peace.
It actually proves rather nice, not having an (admittedly) ulterior motive to speaking with someone. Relaxing.
Novel.
It takes him a moment, because—instinctually—he knows it shouldn’t be, but he does eventually realize why: as a parish’s priest, he rarely has interactions with anyone that isn’t somehow two-faced or double-edged. He’s always keeping an ear out for second meanings and playing the role of understanding father (figure).
It’s, thus, new to be… not that.
To just… talk.
(He likes it.)
~
Despite this, however, chatting over cuppas and cakes is not why he left his room.
Deciding that it’s better to wait for Manus’ answer to his clothing questions, Jarl doesn’t ask about laundry—even if it means going a bit longer with less than clean clothes. He’s sure no one here would judge him.
Probably.
Instead, Jarl decides to bundle into his new coat and head outside to answer his original question of the night: where is Áesta?
~
He ends up finding his answer rather easily [although, retrospectively, he went about it all wrong].
It just takes him a while. Mainly because he immediately goes to the bar across the street, first.
But it’s closed.
Just like the bar attached to the hotel. And like the bar farther down the block.
Standing at the crossroads with the two cafés/bars on either
side of him and the corner store behind him, Jarl’s admittedly lost—until he
remembers starlit snow on Áesta’s dark clothes walking this same path.
~
Tourist Tower is closed; but the lights are still on.
Jarl would find this strange if it weren’t for growing up in a small town where literally everyone works. Burning the midnight oil has always been the norm in Shantown to the point that Jarl got used to it, himself, when he was left to mostly raise Jasey on his own. He spent many years doing carpentry in the wee hours after putting his brother to sleep so he could pay bills (although the bank always tried to be kind to him).
He knows what it is to stay long nights after closing in your workplace—especially if you LIVE there.
Which he sort of assumes Mademoiselle Grape does. I mean: there DOES appear to be housing under it so…
Regardless, it’s not the lights being on that surprises Jarl but the reason WHY they’re on.
Áesta is with their new French friend.
~
(I shouldn’t be doing this…)
Jarl glances around himself with nerves on high, one hand hovering hesitantly between the door’s knob and the door itself, as a silent debate rages within him about whether he should announce himself or not.
He’s hidden by the shadows of the building’s archway, the one that protects the doorway like an awning and shelters customers from the weather like treetops, coats, and mothers. There’s no light on outside, currently, despite there being a lone lantern cleverly hidden away in the rafters of the arch above him.
It’s probably off to let people at a distance know she’s closed.
(Smart.)
Inside, Áesta and Mademoiselle Grape are huddled around a small table that was probably brought in specifically for them to sit down at. She probably kept it in the back, Jarl deduces, and only brings it out whenever she has a friend or more over—perhaps she even has a bigger table for larger friend groups.
Jarl could see it.
On the table, between them, is an opened bottle of wine—one of the painfully expensive ones that are OLD and stored in the back where they can’t be damaged or stolen or whatever else some horrid people might do (true story: one of the bars in Shantown’s outskirts got hit by robbers once when Jarl was still young and Sorcha, his grandmother, was still around; when she found out her favorite pub got hit, she RAGED and mounted an expedition to hunt down those renegades and bring them to justice; many thought she’d punish them with beatings or beheadings or beltings; but, instead, to everyone’s surprise and farther respect/love, she simply had them work in the fields out behind the bar where they grew their own grapes for their wine; Jarl learned, that day, through his beloved grandmother, that violence isn’t always the answer; hard work is). On either side of it is a pair of glasses, both half full, and around them is a plethora of food stuffs.
Jams, jellies, cheeses, crackers, breads, grapes, raspberries, apple slices, and even peanut butter.
And SUGAR. Cubes of it just sitting in a saucer. A bottle of honey beside it.
Áesta’s holding a knife and one of the jam jars in his hands.
He then JAMS THE SUGAR CUBES.
(Jarl thinks he might faint.)
(At least now he knows:)
(Áesta DOES eat.)
(Like a heathen.)
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