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.
I'm not going to answer you just to hear you crow about whatever you've assumed.
[the weight of his Witch on his legs is novel, amusing. he'll let him stay for now.]
As the Count, I feel joy, admiration, anger, pain, sorrow, attraction, repulsion - everything a man feels, I do. But what is allowed to be seen in excess is what is restrained. Above all else, I am a man in control.
[folding his hands on his stomach, he looks up at the ceiling.]
It gives me dignity. And that is part of the Count's charm.
[How laughable it was, then, for the Count to be transformed into a Monster. It's something that hasn't escaped Andersen's sense of irony, though he rarely brings it up. He has handled the past full moons well, though their argument during the mists still remain in the back of his mind.]
... and you've managed to remain in control, even in this situation. I envy that. I can't imagine holding myself with so much restraint, I may as well choke myself.
[He closes his eyes to focus on the sensation beneath his back.]
I've had a long, long time to practice. You can't imagine it because you've never had a need for it, for needing to be aware of every single one of your motions and words such that you're not a man at all, but your own constructed fiction.
[there's a tinge of melancholy when he says it. he can do it, and do it well, and there is pride. but...it does not exactly bring happiness.]
No. To use a metaphor... you and I are flames, are we not? Spirits of the dead fueled by purpose. We aren't summoned to live again, but to further the goals of the World -- or that of our summoner, we aren't exactly picky, are we!
[He makes a vague gesture with his hands.]
Well, let me lay it out for you. You are a roaring inferno. Practically a walking oven with the sun in your belly! As you've said, you've had years of practice. Nothing could cease your movement, save for a second death. You will claw your way back to our Master, most certainly.
But I... [Here, he pinches his fingers together.] ... I'm a little candle, Dantes. And I feel awfully pleasant right now, and I don't think I'll get a chance to feel this pleasant again outside this room.
[he's silent for a minute, before he moves, his legs shifting beneath Andersen to nudge him upwards, to sit and look at him in the eyes again. only then does he reach out to lay his hand on Andersen's own. despite the gloves, the weather chilled them, and so absent their protection, the touch was a cooler one, only a degree below Andersen's own skin. not too warm, not too cold. just there.]
Does that really feel like the sun to you?
[anger and hatred roaring and fires climbing ever higher, but a part of him is also frigid, permafrost encasing his heart. cold as the sea at night, as iron left out in a blizzard. that ice is why he did not burn up before his job was done.]
A candle has purpose. All the world wants to do with infernos is to extinguish them before they scorch all the earth. But a candle lights the way.
[Aha! natters the authorial voice inside his head. A touch with no gloves. It's a physical metaphor. And it's so stupid for that voice to be speaking now -- so stupid for him to even linger on the idea -- that Andersen begins to laugh again, the sound bubbling out of him without control.]
No. No more speeches!
[And he holds a finger to Dantes's lips to truly silence him.]
I know. I know, for whatever reason, I've become someone of importance to you. And I won't question that... much. But -- [and he looks straight into those golden eyes, says a little too cheerfully] --how is a candle to survive when it's been thrown in the water, hmm? Quit trying to-- hold me? Cradle me? It's fine. I'm feeling quite fine!
[he can't reply, with that finger there, holding his lips shut as securely as stitches. instead he merely pulls his hands back, holds them up by his head. surrender, plain and simple. if he cannot have his speeches, he must yield, though there's something like mirth there - silencing him? it would never be a permanent thing.
mirth, and the faintest traces of sorrow. (there is always sorrow there, buried under everything else. the bedrock he was built upon required it.)]
[The gesture seems to appease Andersen. He drops his finger, and rolls away so he may, once again, be on his back. The room feels as if it's spinning. He closes his eyes once more and, through the Bond, Dantes may feel an overwhelming sense of relief at shutting out everything in sight.]
Then rest. Unless you have some pressing deadlines to meet.
[Dantes lowers his hands, the relief a little contagious, and turns onto his side to close his eyes. this discussion drained him some when he'd rather linger in the mellow high, and he knows he'd be utterly useless trying to get work done in this condition. his bed's comfortable, and it's not cold - there's the concept of trying to get the blanket up for them, but that's a thought if they get chilly.]
You need the energy to berate me for my life choices later, after all.
[with a sigh, he pulls himself up some, enough to grab the the quilt folded at the end of the bed and bring it up, drawing it over them both. there. that should be better, and the warmth will soothe him still further as he settles back down, shutting his eyes again.]
[He can't remember the last time he'd been so close to someone. And for it to be with Edmond Dantes, of all people? It sounds closer to a comedic script than something real. Yet here they were, side-by-side, just close enough to hear each other breathe. For better or for worse, they were indeed friends.
After a few seconds of silence, he moves his head so it may rest on Dantes's arm. Just to make himself comfortable enough to sleep.]
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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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[the weight of his Witch on his legs is novel, amusing. he'll let him stay for now.]
As the Count, I feel joy, admiration, anger, pain, sorrow, attraction, repulsion - everything a man feels, I do. But what is allowed to be seen in excess is what is restrained. Above all else, I am a man in control.
[folding his hands on his stomach, he looks up at the ceiling.]
It gives me dignity. And that is part of the Count's charm.
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... and you've managed to remain in control, even in this situation. I envy that. I can't imagine holding myself with so much restraint, I may as well choke myself.
[He closes his eyes to focus on the sensation beneath his back.]
If I remain any longer in this world... hm.
[... he didn't finish his thought?]
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[there's a tinge of melancholy when he says it. he can do it, and do it well, and there is pride. but...it does not exactly bring happiness.]
Do you fear this world will choke you, Andersen?
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[He makes a vague gesture with his hands.]
Well, let me lay it out for you. You are a roaring inferno. Practically a walking oven with the sun in your belly! As you've said, you've had years of practice. Nothing could cease your movement, save for a second death. You will claw your way back to our Master, most certainly.
But I... [Here, he pinches his fingers together.] ... I'm a little candle, Dantes. And I feel awfully pleasant right now, and I don't think I'll get a chance to feel this pleasant again outside this room.
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Does that really feel like the sun to you?
[anger and hatred roaring and fires climbing ever higher, but a part of him is also frigid, permafrost encasing his heart. cold as the sea at night, as iron left out in a blizzard. that ice is why he did not burn up before his job was done.]
A candle has purpose. All the world wants to do with infernos is to extinguish them before they scorch all the earth. But a candle lights the way.
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No. No more speeches!
[And he holds a finger to Dantes's lips to truly silence him.]
I know. I know, for whatever reason, I've become someone of importance to you. And I won't question that... much. But -- [and he looks straight into those golden eyes, says a little too cheerfully] --how is a candle to survive when it's been thrown in the water, hmm? Quit trying to-- hold me? Cradle me? It's fine. I'm feeling quite fine!
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mirth, and the faintest traces of sorrow. (there is always sorrow there, buried under everything else. the bedrock he was built upon required it.)]
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I'm exhausted.
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[Dantes lowers his hands, the relief a little contagious, and turns onto his side to close his eyes. this discussion drained him some when he'd rather linger in the mellow high, and he knows he'd be utterly useless trying to get work done in this condition. his bed's comfortable, and it's not cold - there's the concept of trying to get the blanket up for them, but that's a thought if they get chilly.]
You need the energy to berate me for my life choices later, after all.
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Do you intend to do something stupid so I can scold you? You're more of a masochist than I thought, Dantes.
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[there's a feeling of relaxation on his end, an undercurrent of ease that's not often present.]
...are you cold?
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Just a bit.
[He's not.]
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[with a sigh, he pulls himself up some, enough to grab the the quilt folded at the end of the bed and bring it up, drawing it over them both. there. that should be better, and the warmth will soothe him still further as he settles back down, shutting his eyes again.]
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After a few seconds of silence, he moves his head so it may rest on Dantes's arm. Just to make himself comfortable enough to sleep.]