[Mature] The Worms Will Come

[Lars]

THE MAD QUEEN
ROALIS 50, 2719 ꧁꧂ IN THE NIGHT

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Why the man was showing him any form of kindness in the current situation, he didn't know, and maybe he never would. It didn't matter, not from his side anyway, and he told himself to ignore it or chalk it up to simply wanting more men for Hawke; it was different here, in the harbor, but the truth remained the same that it was unwise to take someone's kindness for empathy. Had he ever actually cared for the other servants he'd shown kindness?

No. They'd been a means to an end, and so was he.

Lars nodded, messy strands falling back over his forehead, lightly concealing the light gaze that scanned the room, now adjusted to the dim light, before landing back on the other passive, more curious in nature. With the assumption that he wouldn't make any move to attack him now, Lars moved back toward the bed, his movements slightly slower as the adrenaline left his system and reminded him of his lack of sleep.

Sitting at the edge, he let his hands twist absentmindedly into the sheets at his sides, fingers smoothing against the worn silk. It begged him to move back further, lie his head down and allow sleep to overcome him. Taking a slow, deep breath, Lars turned again to the other, nodding again and knowing, truly, that rest would still come easily to him once they'd left. He could've fallen asleep right then if he'd been just a bit duller, just moony enough to risk that they'd leave without further confrontation if he tried.

"Mm. I guess that I'll be seeing you two again, then." It wasn't clear if he was more pleased or disappointed by that fact, his tone almost distant, faraway. "And, Aremu -"

Lifting his head a bit more into the light to look at Aremu proper, Lars added in a softer voice, "thank you."

Not for the situation, not for the offer he'd made - no, it was all still ridiculous if he allowed himself to put any thought into it, but he was far too tired again to do that, and was simply grateful that he hadn't been relieved of his ears tonight. Without anything else to say, Lars let himself lie down atop the covers with a gentle sigh, his eyes closed and ready to embrace the darkness and the sweet comfort of sleep when it descended.

[moralhazard]

Late Night, 50th Roalis, 2719
The Mad Queen

Lars sat back down on the bed. It was not questions or concerns that he gave Aremu, not fear or excitement, but something much worse - his thanks. Aremu’s face did not change, his dark eyes glittering in the dim light; he stood, with both arms resting against his sides, both wrists settled against the edges of his pockets, and one hand clenched loosely into a fist.

It seemed to him that there was nothing to say, and so he said nothing. Aremu turned and walked from the room as Lars lay back down on the bed behind him, and he thought the other man’s breathing had already smoothed out into sleep before he even closed the door.

Niccolette was waiting in the hallway; she stood, leaning back against the wall, one boot lifted up slightly to rest her toes against it, her right hand crossed over her body and settled on her side.

She straightened up slowly when she saw Aremu - tiredly, as if she ached. They walked together through the dimly lit halls, back out to the parts of the ship where, if they were not welcome, they could not tell the difference. Back through laughing voices and red-stained lips, through too much bare flesh mingling with sweet, heady smoke for Aremu’s tastes, just now.

Back into the open air, and Aremu did not look around as they descended the gangplank, did not respond to grasping hands or calls to return soon. The muscles of his arms were tight, and he let his chin duck down into the collar of his coat.

“It worked,” Niccolette said, once they were back on the ground. She stopped, this time, and turned to look at him, standing between him and the rest of the Rose. “Losing your nerve?”

It was a question one could answer with a yes, but not a no. The worst of it was that she sounded almost kind. Aremu stood, his hands in his pockets, and met her gaze without yielding; he looked down, but he felt as if were looking up. “It worked,” he agreed, and the silence between them stretched a little longer.

“How would you have liked to handle it, then?” Niccolette asked, and her tone was sharp and bitter now. She shoved her hair back off her face, the wind tugging at the long dark strands of it.

“Does it bother you?” Aremu asked. She frowned, and he knew he would need to clarify. “Saying such things.”

“Of course not,” Niccolette said, coldly. Her gaze flicked over him, and she made a little face; he knew the one. “I am a galdor.”

With that Niccolette turned and stalked off into the night.

Aremu stood behind her a long moment more, his hand clenched tight in his pockets still. Then, with a shake of his head, he followed her into the dark.