[Closed] Like Real People Do

[Lars]

vortas 2, 2719
en route in the night

Lars looked down when he felt Gideon's fingers tap against his own. There was confirmation that he'd been doing it himself, then, but that was alright. Gideon apparently didn't mind, if they were doing it themselves, so he didn't stop his fingers from their nervous tapping. He would have been content to walk the rest of the way back to his apartment in silence, if only to quiet the voice in his own head, but the human beside him spoke and it left the passive feeling very confused. What did they mean, what was Lars? He was Lars, of course. He had always been Lars, and always would be Lars. Hadn't he told them -

Oh. He had not.

The pale-haired passive raised his eyebrows, glancing over and up to Gideon's face. Just as pretty out here, he thought. He wondered if they were at the docks very often - surely they must be, seeing as they worked there. He liked to watch the dockworkers, sometimes, even if he didn't pay much attention, but Gideon was probably a fair bit more attractive than the rest of them. In Lars' opinion, of course, but he couldn't imagine anyone thinking otherwise. Not that... thinking had ever really been his strong suit, as evidenced by the way he'd let his name drop from his lips as soon as he'd had a few drinks and was suitably distracted. It didn't really matter though, did it? Gideon wasn't from Brunnhold, at least not as far as Lars knew.

"He's..." a man? Two? A collection? He didn't really know himself. It all felt so much more complicated, when he was drunk. When he was sober, he could just tell himself not to think about it too hard.

"Ah, too ma - too many voices," he said then, his free hand coming up to tap at the side of his head, near his temple. Lars slipped the hand into his pocket then, to keep it warm, and moved to walk a little closer to Gideon. They were smart - wore a sweater, as was proper in this sort of weather. Lars had left his shirt back near Sharkswell, and didn't feel very inclined to go and get it now. The jacket he'd taken off of Yulis was better than nothing, and it would at least make a good addition to the clothes he had acquired since arriving in the harbor. Hardly any of them had been bought, but did that matter, really? Maybe if Gideon wasn't so pretty and strange, he would have gotten a nice sweater tonight too.

That wasn't what they had asked him, though. "Lars is me," confessed the shorter, "I'm Lars. I... I think. Yes. I'm Lars. Tha's um... 's hard to keep things straight when 'm drunk. An' when I'm not drunk too."

He didn't typically admit that it was hard, though. Didn't typically admit anything of the sort, actually. He didn't know why his intoxicated self felt it appropriate to give that information to a near stranger. Lars had only tried to explain it all once, and it had went about as well as expected - he wasn't really wanting to have the workings of his mind picked apart and misunderstood again, especially not when he didn't even understand it himself.

"Have a hearth, if - if you're cold," said Lars, still trying to keep himself from shivering, but he wasn't succeeding all that well. "Apartment's right there." He nodded towards the buildings they were walking towards - not too far, at least. Hot House Glass looked like a fuckin' ray of warm, bright sunshine right now, compared to the chilly outside air.

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Dark Hours
En Route

The question seemed harder for Cailan than Peregrine had been expecting, when they'd asked about the nature of a Lars. Peregrine's head stayed tilted, bird-like, as they listened. Their brain sloshed around pleasantly in their skull. Gideon's skull, Peregrine's skull. Slosh slosh slosh. The shorter man tapped the side of his skull--voices, he said. Peregrine weren't as too familiar with those, but they'd lived a long time. Seen lots of things. Plenty of folks with too many voices, though they weren't always sure whether them voices were real or fake. Supposed it didn't matter, much. Seemed as the result were the same either way.

Gideon's arm went up, automatic, moving a bit closer yet. Warmer that way. Didn't seem as if Cailan were warm enough, shivering away like that. Peregrine blinked then, remembering the time they'd once watched a man die of the cold. What did doctors call it? Had a fancy name, dying of the cold. Peregrine hummed while they thought on it. Hypo... hy... Hypothermia, that was it! Hypothermia. Seemed as like it weren't quite cold enough to kill a man, not of hypothermia, not in Vortas. But it weren't comfortable, neither. Lots of things weren't as like to kill a body that weren't comfortable or good. Also, they had to admit they were starting to wobble a little at Five Drinks O'Clock, and putting an arm on the pale man's shoulders helped steady Peregrine as they walked.

Not a Cailan then, but a Lars. Peregrine's glance was sharp, hawkish--they knew all about secret names and not keeping things straight. If Peregrine weren't so good at it, it would be hard for Peregrine too. They'd had a lot of practice. Weren't nobody had a secret name for a good reason, usually. But Gideon weren't a petty sort of man, they'd decided already. Weren't a petty sort of man, and weren't going to judge neither. Leastaways not over a name. Not over that kind of a secret.

"There's a trick to it, as I've found," they said. Thoughtful-like. They had a trick, though they couldn't as recall what it was at the moment. Not with the cold and their brain all soupy in Gideon's skull. They allowed as they were just real practiced at it; might be harder for other folks. Given as they didn't have so much time to get good at it. "Leastaways I think so."

Peregrine looked down and grinned again, a little blurry. They thought of explaining the trick, and how they came to be so practiced to it. Never would, although it weren't as if anyone would believe them if they did. It just amused them to think on it, to think on what Not-Cailan-But-Lars would do.

"Needs practice, the trick. Takes a while." Could tell him, of course. Could tell him the whole thing, but then Peregrine would need to bury their secret. Didn't think as that would be quite as much fun as the current path for the evening. Not at all. Too much to clean up besides. Would be easy though, they thought, and rolled the thought around. Would be a waste of a pretty face, and Peregrine thought that was the only crime there really was that mattered much.

Peregrine followed the line of Lars' sight, but found as he weren't too sure where those pale eyes were looking. Well, didn't matter really. It was either that they would get there or they wouldn't.

"Fair cold," they allowed. Lars was shivering. Not for the first time, Peregrine wondered why it came to be as he was wandering around with no shirt on. "Not as cold as you. Not as cold as it takes a man to die of, neither."

[Lars]

vortas 2, 2719
en route in the night

Gideon pulled him closer, and put an arm across his shoulders. His surprise was clear on his face as he looked up to the taller, but he didn't move away - no reason to do that, it was warmer sticking together, and considering everything, it wasn't like the passive didn't want to be close to them. Wasn't like that at all, no. He leaned his head against them, a little, too drunk to care if it seemed childish or weird or not. They were the one that started it, right? He was just leaning into it all. In any case, Gideon didn't seem upset with him for having not given his real name from the start. Aremu knew his name too, and probably Niccolette, and they hadn't done anything with it either, so maybe Gideon was like them. Didn't care about names.

There was a trick to it, they said, but they didn't explain it. They grinned down at him, and Lars couldn't help but return it - he really liked the way Gideon's face twisted itself into a grin, he decided, in case of any lingering doubt. It was strange. It wasn't like the smiles he was used to, the ones that looked natural, like they really fit the face they were on. Like Aremu's smile - Aremu always looked real, and Lars had never figured that part out. Looking real. Gideon didn't look quite real either, and maybe he took some comfort in that. Whether it made him feel more real or less, he didn't know.

They still didn't explain this trick of theirs, and Lars hummed in consideration - he wanted to know, now, of course he did. They couldn't just say something mysterious like that and expect him not to be curious, could they? The passive glanced away again at the mention of it being cold, offered a nod in agreement.

"Y - yeah, 's not that cold, yet," said the Hessean, his eyebrows drawing together for a moment as he considered that. Not cold enough to kill a man. That seemed... familiar, somehow, like he'd seen something like it. His eyebrows raised again as he looked back to Gideon's pretty face, gray eyes alight with interest now.

"I, um, 've seen that," he informed, "people dyin' from th'... th' cold. Yeah. Plenty. Frozen through. Didn't know y'could die like that, 'till then. Neat. Or.. not."

At least, he thought they'd died. He couldn't remember the specifics now, with his mind swimming and his speech slurring, but he could remember the cold. It had clung to his fellow servant like a field, and he knew that he, at least, had died. It had been an interesting sight, but not one he had been allowed to witness for long, seeing as he'd had to help out with the rest of them. He wondered how many of them had been permanently disfigured because of Terrence's diablerie, and how many of them had died instead. Lars remembered it all feeling electric.

Lars shrugged a shoulder, just slightly, taking care not to jostle the human's arm. He didn't really want it to leave, now that it was there. "Gotta die some... sometime, s'pose. Somehow."

Admittedly, he wasn't fond of the idea of freezing to death, but he supposed it was better than a few other ways. Was it worse than fire? Better? He wondered how his family had felt in Dorhaven, how exactly they'd died. Was it fire? Was it the manor crashing down upon them? Better not to wonder things he'd never know, he thought, but he was curious nonetheless. Wanted to know how they'd felt when it happened, or if it happened so fast they couldn't even put a feeling to it.

"What's the... trick?" questioned Lars, looking back up to Gideon's face curiously, probably looking far too interested now. "Needs practice? I've got... got plenty of um, chances t' practice."

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Darkest Hours
En Route, Old Rose Harbor

"Lots of ways to die," Peregrine agreed amiably. "All kinds of things kill a body." They sounded almost pleased as they said it. Morbid creature, this Lars was. They weren't sure as to where or when he'd seen someone die of cold, couldn't even remember as to where they'd done it themself. Somewhere awful cold. Couldn't remember when last they'd been so cold. Something pushed at the edge of their memory, something scrabbling up through the gaps in Peregrine's time. They squashed it back down, swift and sharp. Weren't the time for things like that, things that came oozing out of the holes.

Gotta die sometime? This made Peregrine laugh out loud, a sharp scratched out noise. Other people, maybe. Gideon, surely. But not Peregrine--Peregrine weren't like other people. Weren't quite a people at all, really, but they weren't dead yet and that mattered for something they felt. Didn't aim to be dead no time in the future neither. A whim took them, and they leaned in real close.

"Ent everyone gotta die," they almost purred into Lars' ear. Their voice was low, amused. Daring to be asked the question. What made them say such a thing? Must be the drink, they thought. The drink, and that morbid shine of interest in them pretty grey eyes. Of course, he poked around too much, and no matter how pretty were, Peregrine would have to dim them forever. "Dyin' helps with the trick of keepin' it straight, of course."

It wouldn't come to that, Peregrine thought. To having to kill Lars. Likely as not, anyhow. It weren't like they couldn't lie, it was just that they weren't so sure they could always be trusted to keep all of their time. Sometimes they lost it, time, and in the holes they'd done things they wouldn't think as to do normally. And it would be a shame if that happened now. Sometimes digging into the holes was what done it. They just wanted to live quiet, see? But there were all them holes.

Peregrine moved their arm from the casual way it was slung across Lars' shoulders to place their hand more in the realm of the man's waist. Awfully fine-featured, Peregrine thought, and something tried to swim up through the liquor and into their teeth. Something about the way they couldn't even window shop with this one. Something off, and not the way they were off, or someone moony was off. Though he was that too, Peregrine was almost sure of it. Moony, but that was fine enough. A century or so, you got used to lots of kinds of moony. The new position of their arm weren't so steadying, and they stumbled a little on the cobbles of the street.

"How come," they asked, pausing between beginning the question and finishing it, "how come as you are dressed like that, anyhow? Did y'forget 'bout the hypothermia?" Peregrine sometimes forgot about hypothermia, it seemed reasonable enough a thing to forget. If Peregrine, in their century or so of wisdom, forgot about little things like dying of the cold and wearing the right kind of clothes for it, they were willing to believe as other folks forgot too. Lars could be a forgetter. Or Cailan--maybe they was different, the way Gideon and Peregrine weren't the same.

[Lars]

vortas 2, 2719
en route in the late, late night

They agreed with him, and Lars was glad for it. It was true, wasn't it? There were lots of ways to die. Lots of ways to kill, too. Too cold, too hot. Too much blood, too little time. Knives and guns and weapons of all kinds. Hands. His hands were tapping at his sides again, in a little pattern now. He wondered if Gideon had ever killed anyone, or if they would care that Lars had. Was everybody bothered by it? Was there some inherent moral rule within everyone else that Lars simply didn't have? He wondered if there were others like him, others that didn't have that rule. He kept looking up at Gideon when they laughed, all sharp, and he kept wondering.

Gideon leaned in close, and their voice was low, sending tiny little shivers from the base of his neck down his spine. Lars wasn't sure if he could stop smiling if he tried, and the nature of the words really didn't help it. He wasn't certain of what the taller was implying, exactly. That some people simply didn't die? That was a curious thought. Strange, just like Gideon, and he wondered where a strange thought like that could have come from. Wondered where Gideon had come from, too, but he didn't repeat that question. They hadn't liked the inquiry.

Dyin' helps, they said, and Lars laughed - not a laugh that sounded like he took it as a joke, but a laugh that sounded so amused, so bewitched by the thought of dying helping anything at all. Did it? Help anything? Now he wanted to know that, too. Maybe killing people was really just helping them out. In some cases, he thought that was certainly true, without even taking into consideration whatever it was that Gideon was holding from him. Some people didn't need to stay alive, he thought. Some people were more helpful, more useful, when they were dead. He liked those people. He liked Gideon, too, but he didn't want to kill them, not now. They were handsome, and interesting, and he felt so light walking next to them. No, he didn't want to kill them.

"Does it?" he questioned, leaning closer still when Gideon's arm fell to rest around his waist. The passive was well aware that he sounded too curious, too interested, too into it to really sound like he was trying to ask a normal, innocent question. "Y'know that for sure, d'you?"

He wondered, too, if Gideon knew how appealing they were, and if they knew how much more so they were when they spoke to him like that. Lars breathed out, watching the air leave his parted lips and make itself visible in the cold, but the breathing didn't do much to help that light, fluttery feeling in his chest. He turned his gaze forward after they stumbled a little at his side, considering for a moment how to answer their questions.

Lars closed his eyes, attempting to bring focus to the human's query. Dressed like that... why was he dressed like this? The answer was a simple one, but he wasn't sure if he should give it. Surely, if Gideon accepted it, then that would be excellent - but he did not wish to push his luck, and end up having to do the same thing to Gideon that he'd done to Yulis. It would not be wise to tell them the full truth.

So he said, "my... my shirt was on th' ground, an' I didn't want t' wear a dirty shirt. Left 't there, and took th' jacket instead. Warmer than th' shirt by itself, anyhow, an' I couldn't have 'em both." Another little laugh escaped his throat, as they grew nearer to the building he had pointed out before - Hot House Glass. He knew he could make it. His eyes swept over the exterior walls in the dim night light.

Gideon would look nice against that wall.

Stop that.

"I didn' say 't out loud!" he insisted, and heard laughter that didn't leave his throat, this time. "Sorry," offered Lars, glancing back up to the human's face, and he kept on, until they approached the building. "Some - some things aren't... s'posed t' come out. Th' trick help with that, too?"

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Last Chance
Outside Hot House Glass

Lars' laughter was something Peregrine was rapidly coming to appreciate. It weren't normal, not like the way other folks laughed. More like the way Peregrine laughed, which Peregrine weren't sure was often considered as a positive trait in someone who hadn't died more than once. They were more than a little pleased with it. Such a strange, morbid and pretty thing had found him today.

"I do," Peregrine confirmed. Lars seemed so very, very interested. They couldn't help but want to preen a little--who didn't like to be appreciated? It was sore tempting, to tell him. Except--ne, nah, no. They'd tried that before too. Telling someone just what they were. Hadn't gone over well, not well at all. Couldn't remember who it had been or what face had done the telling, just that they'd started screaming after and Peregrine had killed them. On accident, of course. Just had to make the sound stop before somebody came, you see? Weren't intentional, not at all. Hadn't meant to. The body had been stronger than they thought was all. And necks were easier to snap than they'd realized.

Peregrine shook off the memory and drew themself back to the present. Lars was saying... something. What was he saying? He was answering a question, but Peregrine couldn't remember what they'd asked. Ah! Yes. The shirt. Asking about how come CailanLars was wandering about with no shirt on, just a jacket. And if he'd forgotten about hypothermia. Peregrine watched too as Lars' breath formed a little cloud in front of him. They could take it, they thought. Metaphorical or literal, weren't sure which. Leaning to metaphorical. Drink made metaphor hard, made lots of things hard except that ache in their borrowed bones. A particularly crude joke flitted across their mind and they grinned at themselves.

"Fair enough." Their voice was amiable, pleased. Clothes could be troublesome this way. Troublesome in other ways, too, so it all worked out didn't it? Leastaways Peregrine weren't as like to complain if Lars wanted to run around without a proper shirt on. It was still too warm for hypothermia in the end, after all.

The pair of them approached the building that must have been what Lars had pointed at before. Hot House Glass, it said. Glass. They'd never made glass before. Not in all their lifetimes. Maybe--but ne, not now. Weren't important now. Important now was where they were going that had nothing to do with glass at all. At least not usually, but Peregrine was willing to be surprised. Could always work in glass somewhere, they reckoned. Somehow.

"What didn't y' say?" Moony, absolutely moony. Then they thought about the second part of the question as Lars looked at Gideon's face, giving it grave consideration. After a moment they shook their head. "No. Don't help with that at all." Instead of continuing forward, Peregrine paused outside the building itself. They angled Gideon's tall frame so that Lars was between them and the wall.

"Last chance to think twice," Peregrine said, their voice all smooth and slippery and quiet. That heavy dark glance fell on Lars again, and that predator's smile too. Everything about Peregrine announced what they were in that moment: a devourer.

[Lars]

vortas 2, 2719
outside of hot house glass

Lars wasn't expecting to be questioned about what he hadn't said - and it made him laugh all over again, quiet and light though the sound was. His face was pink along the sharp lines of his cheekbones and nose, warm from drink and good company, and the color didn't fade as their steps slowed. Gideon said that no, the trick of theirs didn't help with keeping the wrong things from falling out of your mouth. It was disappointing to hear, but only slightly, and he wanted to ask about it more - he wanted to know what it was, how they knew about it, what they had to do - but he kept his mouth shut, this time. They weren't likely to be wanting more questions, were they? He wondered, briefly, if he was bothering them with his curiosities, but Gideon hadn't seemed all that bothered. Rather, they had seemed almost pleased, responding to each of his inquiries with vague and mysterious words, as if they were wanting him to keep prying. And that only made it more interesting.

They came to a stop outside of the building, and Gideon turned, so that the passive was left standing between the human and the wall. The wall was cold too, he knew it because he stepped back into it, an almost nervous sound escaping his lips - no, not nervous. Not nervous. Giddy, and pleasant, in that adrenaline-fueled, nerve-wracking kind of way. The feeling of anticipation and the knowledge that you were doing something wrong, illegal, immoral, and it made your fingers shake and it set your blood on fire. Like the way it felt right as you brought down the blade, stuck in that lovely in-between, of knowing what was going to happen (they were going to die, die, die), feeling it, wanting it, but it hadn't happened yet. So you just felt giddy.

That was how it felt, looking up at Gideon now, at the smile that looked so off-kilter in some indiscernible way. It felt like looking at something dangerous, something wrong, something he should walk (or stumble, drunkenly) away from. It was like being in that in-between again, only he wasn't sure who was holding the blade and who was baring their neck. He wasn't sure if he cared to figure it out, either, because it felt just the same being on the other end of it. Lars blinked rapidly, forcing gray eyes to focus properly on the human's handsome face. Gideon's eyes were dark, all-consuming. He felt another little, jittery chill across his shoulders and his back beneath the dead wick's jacket.

Last chance to think twice, they said, and it tugged the passive's face into an amused little grin. Think twice. Well, Lars always thought twice about everything, just not in the way the taller meant it. Lars hummed in consideration, and a pale hand reached out for Gideon's sweater. His fingers clung to the knit, not hard enough to cause harm but just enough to pull the human close, and closer, but not close enough.

"Thought about 't," he offered, his voice quiet.

"Twice."

Lars breathed out a small sound of amusement. Shhhut.. up. They're pretty. He knew that, of course. Gideon was very pretty, more so when they smiled like that, like a wolf baring its teeth. His fingers let go of the sweater to rest at the human's waist, while his other hand came up to pull at the collar of it. He was very appreciative of just how tall they were - it felt so imposing - but it was inconvenient now, when he wanted to reach their face.

He hadn't exactly intended on kissing them now, but they had made it very difficult to resist. The passive raised his head, lifting his chin to compensate for the difference, to bridge the gap between where his lips were and where they wanted to be. Lars kissed them, finally, wanting and slow, with his heart abuzz with nervous, excitable energy within his chest, and his fingers holding to the collar of their warm knitted sweater.

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - The Point of No Return
Outside Hot House Glass

Asked about what he hadn't said, Lars didn't answer--just laughed. Peregrine didn't quite get what was so funny, but it was fair enough they supposed. They laughed about all kinds of things that other folks didn't understand. Turnabout was fair play, and all that, eh? Right. What did it much matter, anyway? It didn't, not a bit. Just like it didn't matter if the color on that monochrome face was drink or Peregrine. Bit of both, most like. Peregrine weren't no fool, weren't blind neither. They knew what they were about with a face like Gideon's.

Nah, nah. Peregrine's face just wouldn't stop smiling. Nah--not just drink. Not with a sound like that escaping Lars as he backed away, just a bit, into the wall. Could be misreading the room, so to speak, but they didn't think as the two of them had come all the way over here because Lars weren't interested. Liquor made everything slide around, but hunger made them sharp all over. All teeth and edges. A different kind of hunger than the kind that they got when they was alone with all the holes in their mind. Nah, that they didn't like. This? This was better.

Peregrine had said that was his last chance, and the way Lars reached out to pull on their sweater seemed answer enough. There wasn't too much light, out there on the street backed up against a wall, but that pale hand stood out like a ghost anyways. Something already dead, drifting along in the dark. And Peregrine? They were a chip of that dark, stalking along after. Nothing bright about them but their teeth. He'd thought about it, sure enough. Peregrine was thinking too, or not thinking--whichever was more convenient at the moment.

Lars pulled at the collar of that nice sweater of theirs and Peregrine didn't stop him. They liked the sweater, didn't exactly want it all stretched out that way, but they liked the way Lars had to do it to get their face closer more. Peregrine leaned into the kiss, pushing Lars just a little more against the wall. One of their arms came to brace Gideon's body against the cold stone that bit even through the sweater. Both of their faces were cold; Peregrine pressed their mouths together, encouraging Lars to open his. All that brittle sharpness focused, all those teeth trying to get purchase.

Lazily, Peregrine slid the hand that wasn't against the wall along Lars's torso and up, coming to rest around his neck. Slender-looking, Peregrine thought. Easy to snap--but they knew that now, knew the limits. Weren't going to make a mistake like that. Just like having their hand there, right around his throat, feeling his pulse. All that blood just beneath the surface of thin, fragile skin. There was a thrill in just leaving it there, thinking about all them bones and muscle and such right underneath. And a thrill too in thinking about replacing that hand with their teeth. Sharp sharp sharp.

"Now, darlin', happy to stay outside if you want," they said with a laugh, pulling just far enough away to form the words but not enough to release the smaller man from the cage of Gideon's arms. "But it's fair cold out here. Should go in, yeah?"