[As he takes the offering, there is a subtle shift. It's difficult to describe. Things simply become more; there's a sense of comfort slipping in that wasn't previously there. Everything is magnified. The creases on Dantes's gloves; the lines on Andersen's fingers; the way Dantes's hair curls like the fine insides of a sea shell. He hesitates a moment too long before he puts the drug to his mouth and breathes in deep.
...
He forgot to answer. He's too caught up in the little details.]
[he can tell, and he grins a little, leaning back some against the pillows of his bed.]
Just like that, relax into it. Nothing is going to hurt you.
[the parts of the world that lost sharp edges and the release of tension in his body, the softness of fabric and the way smoke curls into the atmosphere. he'll air out his room at a different time, he always does, but right now it's allowed to dissipate over them.]
[Nothing is going to hurt you. Such a simple reassurance, yet it's a relief to hear it. Andersen closes his eyes. He feels as if he could melt into the leather of the chair.]
... it's never been this quiet before.
[From a very young age, his head has always been such a noisy place. Dreams of grandeur, fears and worries, remnants of inspiration -- a constant stream of thoughts, never still. It's strange to be fully present in the moment.]
Hm. This is the sort of feeling I looked for in alcohol.
[and it had a tendency to make him say the wrong thing, if he was too far gone. this doesn't make him unaware of who he is and what they're doing, it only pulled back the veil somewhat.
Dantes continues, slow and without any strain. he's anchored to the here and now instead of the past - a relief, for a short time.]
This is all, naturally, a complete secret. But times being what they are...we both could use the break.
[he turns towards him, propping his head up on the side. ordinarily, his questions would come much faster, urgent, but right now they float up like bubbles in a reasonable order.]
[He turns to look at him, movements slow and easy, his gaze not quite focused.]
I'm a burden to you. I'm not a Servant in this world. That's one strike against me. I'm not a good Witch, either. That's two. I'm a drunken, cynical, sniveling weakling.
[He would be more cagey about the real reason were he not under the influence right now, so he gives it in the bluntest fashion possible.]
Just-- I don't want to see you so desperate again.
[Such unreserved honesty from Dantes causes Andersen's face to heat up. He has to look away, otherwise he'd find it difficult to continue speaking.]
Don't fret so much, it's unbecoming of you. I'm not someone you should messily spill your emotions to, I'll pick you apart like the vulture I am. And in any case, I won't be gone for long. It'll... only be for a few days.
[he could reply that Andersen, knowing his story, knows quite well that his emotions are there regardless of how many walls he sets up. but it feels like an undue effort, fighting the drug in their systems for that, and instead he passes it back.]
...Do what you feel you must, Andersen. But I shall want to know details, later - just so I know where you are.
[as a courtesy, his tone implies. not demanding the answers out of him, but whatever he chose to share. he cannot stop him, and he will not, no matter how something in his heart will twist with agitation and have to learn to let go.]
[He doesn't take another hit. This is his first time, and he'd rather go slowly than to force more down. Instead, he sets it on the tray between them, laces his fingers in his lap.]
I thought I'd have more trouble wrangling an agreement from you.
I won't deny that it sits very ill at ease with me, with all we've been through. But I cannot try to impose my own will upon you - say you cannot do this, force my presence in the name of protecting you.
[he frowns, but his eyes are not harsh. for all his posturing and thundering authority and darkness, right now he's just a man, looking at those eyes of blue for the answers he seeks.]
To do so would make me a tyrant. And when I have spoken to you about how I value the equal partnership in our Bond, it would make me an unbearable hypocrite. If it is what you wish, then I shall not stand in your way.
... I despise fieldwork. I'm not someone suited to trudge into a battlefield or fit to fight. I know what my role is as a Servant. It's to be an observer. A supporter. I at least had that in Chaldea. Here, I've had to start all over again. Truth be told, it's a load of work I never asked for!
[A brief pause.]
I don't have any delusions of becoming someone capable of providing you the same level of protection. That's far beyond me. What I want... is to conquer myself.
[Dantes is quiet for a moment, absorbing that information. then, slowly, he reaches out - not for the drug, but to touch Andersen's hand. a brief thing, meant to be reassuring.]
Then go, Hans Christian Andersen. Go, because it is for your own sake. Else you shall not give yourself any peace. I'll be here when you get back.
[I'm not worth waiting for sits on the tip of his tongue, an instinctual denial of the reassurance being offered to him. But they have been in Geardagas for nearly half a year, now. And for whatever reason, Dantes has chosen to remain in their contract -- even though he's surely set his roots, even though he's surely mingled plenty with Mirrorbound and natives alike. Andersen still doesn't fully grasp the reason behind Dantes's distress over his kidnapping, when his Bonded has offered little of worth. He likely will never know, for Dantes keeps everything close to his chest. It isn't a distressing observation, not with the drug's influence. It simply is.
Which is why he snickers to himself, struck by a sudden giddiness, words slipping out without any filter:]
Of course you'll be. Where else would you go! You, maniac that you are, still haven't realized the awful deal you've consigned yourself to.
[he exhales slowly, in the way people do when they are settling into something, but he's still looking. unwavering, focused - the tension gone from him doesn't mean he doesn't know what those words mean. he can hear the self-flagellation in each syllable.]
When are you going to realize that I'm Bonded to you because I wish to be?
[no one was forcing him to stay. he could go to the Coven tomorrow and annul it if he wasn't content where he was. he could take on another Bond. but he stays where he is, giving this Bond the respect he thinks it deserves, and drawing strength from it.]
I was a convenient choice. And you've still a sense of honor that holds you to our original vows, though I wouldn't have batted an eye if you turned around and found some better-off Witch.
[He's rambling now, without much thought or rhyme to what he's saying.]
Because for all your talk about being the fire of vengeance, of being a demon beyond love and hate, you are still Edmond Dantes -- and you can't stomach the sight of an innocent left behind. Is that why you were so upset to find me in the state I was, after the Rathmores?
[Because Andersen can't comprehend moving someone so deeply, so much. He should stop, but everything is funny to him with the drug in his system.]
Is that why you've stuck around? Because I'm someone you can take care of? Do my child-like looks stir a paternal feeling in your chest?
[gently, securely, leather gloved fingers close around his wrist. an insistence that asks almost more than if Dantes tugged - he's there, requesting attention, waiting until the laughing is gone.]
Hans.
[his first name, because that will call more attention than anything else.]
Do you want me to answer your questions?
[because if he does, he'll have to stop putting words in Dantes's mouth for a moment.]
[He doesn't know what to do with the hand on his wrist, or with the force of his name lodged in his chest. Andersen's laughter abruptly cuts out. He is still smiling, but the expression seems -- more tired. More resigned.]
Do you think I'll listen?
[What is he without humanity? The humanity he belongs to, the one he came from, not this other reality. It's beginning to dawn on him that, should he die here, there may not be a Throne for him to return to.
(there may not be ritsuka--)
Andersen doesn't feel like laughing anymore.]
So many Servants, so many capable heroes. And you stooped down to me? Why shouldn't I find that funny?
I'm the Count of Monte Cristo, the almighty King of the Cavern. Do you think, sincerely, I'd settle in such an important matter? That I'd make who had access to my emotions, my mind, a matter of sheer convenience and not a matter of true consideration?
[he doesn't let go, but his words are softer than they'd be if he was sober for this. collected, easy, as if he was stating simple facts. they are Heroic Spirits, Andersen was summoned as a Caster, Dantes would not Bond without making a deliberate choice.]
I could have easily turned you down, waited to find someone else, take the risk on trusting them with myself. I could have severed our connection if I found someone new, for the idea of honor in these Bonds is not life or death. People change all the time, or add new members to such privacy for reasons I cannot fathom. There are no chains anchoring me, nothing imprisoning me in this particular one.
[he lets go, but draws his index finger down the back of Andersen's hand. a careless motion, and his eyes briefly flick down to follow it.]
You think I stay because of innocence? That's enough to make me want to laugh from the sheer absurdity. You're not innocent, and I do not pity you, any more than you know to not pity me. There's no overwhelming urge to coddle you - your looks are but a cover on your mind. If I vanished tomorrow, you'd manage.
[Andersen wasn't incapable, wasn't a child in need of leading. he was the other side to this, an equal, and that's why Dantes valued his word - why he relented to let him go without much of a fuss. Andersen could shout all he wanted, cast as many doubts as he pleased on the affair, call it awful and rotten. Dantes was just as stubborn and unrelenting as he was, and he'd chosen where to dig in his heels.]
You're still my Bonded because I choose to remain as your partner. Because I trust you, in a way I cannot trust anyone else in this world. In that is the answer to all of your questions.
[Even a master of impassioned words can't argue with the inherent authority of his tone. For whatever reason, Dantes sees their partnership as valuable. Though he's of the same breed as the man who penned his damning tale, Andersen is being given his trust. And he has been given it again and again, and from someone who flinches at even allowing his physical layers down. That, he cannot deny. He is not so much of a fool that he'd willfully overlook such kindness.]
If you were to vanish... [he says slowly, deliberately] ... I would follow in your footsteps, for I don't think I would have anywhere else to go.
[Christ. It sounds like an awful line from his recent works. Has he really been churning out such trash? It isn't the appropriate time to laugh, but laughter bubbles up nonetheless. It's funny because it isn't right to find it so funny.]
It's all right. You've said it. I can't plug my ears and forget what you said, because my memory for character-defining quotes is much too strong. If you trust me, I have no choice but to carry that trust with me, you abhorrent slave master. I'll keep my mouthing off to a minimal. And you...
[he didn't know how his words would be received, and frankly, he was half expecting them to be brushed off or laughed away. whatever descended into Andersen's head in this strange confessional, with a new sort of incense in the burners.
except that they are not, and he receives the words in response - as close to I'll try as will come out of Andersen's mouth. good enough. good enough for him. there was no choice but to accept what was there, and the corners of his mouth move upwards.
my friend. yes, that was a good word for it. that just might be the right word for it.]
Then we've reached an accord. Though I have to disagree about character-defining. Certainly there are better quotes for your collection elsewhere.
I'm always the Count, Andersen. He and I are the same being.
[gently, he pulls his hand away, but the reason why becomes clear as he rolls onto his back, slowly peeling his gloves off and placing them on the side table. there, that's a little better for him.]
It's unnecessary emotion that's held back. Not all of it.
[He'll take it as a sign that Dantes is comfortable with his presence. Bolstered by the high he's on, Andersen goes over to run his hands over the bedsheets, just for the sake of smoothing out the texture before lying down over Dantes's legs.
Heh. Feels like logs.]
Ha ha! Emotions such as what? Tell me, and I'll tell you that my assumptions were right from the beginning.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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...
He forgot to answer. He's too caught up in the little details.]
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Just like that, relax into it. Nothing is going to hurt you.
[the parts of the world that lost sharp edges and the release of tension in his body, the softness of fabric and the way smoke curls into the atmosphere. he'll air out his room at a different time, he always does, but right now it's allowed to dissipate over them.]
How's your head now? Quieter?
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... it's never been this quiet before.
[From a very young age, his head has always been such a noisy place. Dreams of grandeur, fears and worries, remnants of inspiration -- a constant stream of thoughts, never still. It's strange to be fully present in the moment.]
Hm. This is the sort of feeling I looked for in alcohol.
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[and it had a tendency to make him say the wrong thing, if he was too far gone. this doesn't make him unaware of who he is and what they're doing, it only pulled back the veil somewhat.
Dantes continues, slow and without any strain. he's anchored to the here and now instead of the past - a relief, for a short time.]
This is all, naturally, a complete secret. But times being what they are...we both could use the break.
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... I intend to leave the city for a short time.
[A slow, cautious mention.]
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[he turns towards him, propping his head up on the side. ordinarily, his questions would come much faster, urgent, but right now they float up like bubbles in a reasonable order.]
May I know why?
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I'm a burden to you. I'm not a Servant in this world. That's one strike against me. I'm not a good Witch, either. That's two. I'm a drunken, cynical, sniveling weakling.
[He would be more cagey about the real reason were he not under the influence right now, so he gives it in the bluntest fashion possible.]
Just-- I don't want to see you so desperate again.
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[not wanting to see him desperate? he was the one who didn't want to see his Bonded that badly injured again.]
If you don't want to see me desperate...that's the one thing I can't help that much. My feelings are what they are.
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Don't fret so much, it's unbecoming of you. I'm not someone you should messily spill your emotions to, I'll pick you apart like the vulture I am. And in any case, I won't be gone for long. It'll... only be for a few days.
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...Do what you feel you must, Andersen. But I shall want to know details, later - just so I know where you are.
[as a courtesy, his tone implies. not demanding the answers out of him, but whatever he chose to share. he cannot stop him, and he will not, no matter how something in his heart will twist with agitation and have to learn to let go.]
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I thought I'd have more trouble wrangling an agreement from you.
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[he frowns, but his eyes are not harsh. for all his posturing and thundering authority and darkness, right now he's just a man, looking at those eyes of blue for the answers he seeks.]
To do so would make me a tyrant. And when I have spoken to you about how I value the equal partnership in our Bond, it would make me an unbearable hypocrite. If it is what you wish, then I shall not stand in your way.
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[A brief pause.]
I don't have any delusions of becoming someone capable of providing you the same level of protection. That's far beyond me. What I want... is to conquer myself.
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Then go, Hans Christian Andersen. Go, because it is for your own sake. Else you shall not give yourself any peace. I'll be here when you get back.
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Which is why he snickers to himself, struck by a sudden giddiness, words slipping out without any filter:]
Of course you'll be. Where else would you go! You, maniac that you are, still haven't realized the awful deal you've consigned yourself to.
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When are you going to realize that I'm Bonded to you because I wish to be?
[no one was forcing him to stay. he could go to the Coven tomorrow and annul it if he wasn't content where he was. he could take on another Bond. but he stays where he is, giving this Bond the respect he thinks it deserves, and drawing strength from it.]
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[He's rambling now, without much thought or rhyme to what he's saying.]
Because for all your talk about being the fire of vengeance, of being a demon beyond love and hate, you are still Edmond Dantes -- and you can't stomach the sight of an innocent left behind. Is that why you were so upset to find me in the state I was, after the Rathmores?
[Because Andersen can't comprehend moving someone so deeply, so much. He should stop, but everything is funny to him with the drug in his system.]
Is that why you've stuck around? Because I'm someone you can take care of? Do my child-like looks stir a paternal feeling in your chest?
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Hans.
[his first name, because that will call more attention than anything else.]
Do you want me to answer your questions?
[because if he does, he'll have to stop putting words in Dantes's mouth for a moment.]
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Do you think I'll listen?
[What is he without humanity? The humanity he belongs to, the one he came from, not this other reality. It's beginning to dawn on him that, should he die here, there may not be a Throne for him to return to.
(there may not be ritsuka--)
Andersen doesn't feel like laughing anymore.]
So many Servants, so many capable heroes. And you stooped down to me? Why shouldn't I find that funny?
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[he doesn't let go, but his words are softer than they'd be if he was sober for this. collected, easy, as if he was stating simple facts. they are Heroic Spirits, Andersen was summoned as a Caster, Dantes would not Bond without making a deliberate choice.]
I could have easily turned you down, waited to find someone else, take the risk on trusting them with myself. I could have severed our connection if I found someone new, for the idea of honor in these Bonds is not life or death. People change all the time, or add new members to such privacy for reasons I cannot fathom. There are no chains anchoring me, nothing imprisoning me in this particular one.
[he lets go, but draws his index finger down the back of Andersen's hand. a careless motion, and his eyes briefly flick down to follow it.]
You think I stay because of innocence? That's enough to make me want to laugh from the sheer absurdity. You're not innocent, and I do not pity you, any more than you know to not pity me. There's no overwhelming urge to coddle you - your looks are but a cover on your mind. If I vanished tomorrow, you'd manage.
[Andersen wasn't incapable, wasn't a child in need of leading. he was the other side to this, an equal, and that's why Dantes valued his word - why he relented to let him go without much of a fuss. Andersen could shout all he wanted, cast as many doubts as he pleased on the affair, call it awful and rotten. Dantes was just as stubborn and unrelenting as he was, and he'd chosen where to dig in his heels.]
You're still my Bonded because I choose to remain as your partner. Because I trust you, in a way I cannot trust anyone else in this world. In that is the answer to all of your questions.
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If you were to vanish... [he says slowly, deliberately] ... I would follow in your footsteps, for I don't think I would have anywhere else to go.
[Christ. It sounds like an awful line from his recent works. Has he really been churning out such trash? It isn't the appropriate time to laugh, but laughter bubbles up nonetheless. It's funny because it isn't right to find it so funny.]
It's all right. You've said it. I can't plug my ears and forget what you said, because my memory for character-defining quotes is much too strong. If you trust me, I have no choice but to carry that trust with me, you abhorrent slave master. I'll keep my mouthing off to a minimal. And you...
[He snatches his hand. Clumsily presses it.]
You can keep being my friend, I suppose.
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except that they are not, and he receives the words in response - as close to I'll try as will come out of Andersen's mouth. good enough. good enough for him. there was no choice but to accept what was there, and the corners of his mouth move upwards.
my friend. yes, that was a good word for it. that just might be the right word for it.]
Then we've reached an accord. Though I have to disagree about character-defining. Certainly there are better quotes for your collection elsewhere.
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[He says, still holding his hand.]
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[gently, he pulls his hand away, but the reason why becomes clear as he rolls onto his back, slowly peeling his gloves off and placing them on the side table. there, that's a little better for him.]
It's unnecessary emotion that's held back. Not all of it.
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Heh. Feels like logs.]
Ha ha! Emotions such as what? Tell me, and I'll tell you that my assumptions were right from the beginning.
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