Angels and Insects. [Florian]

[Eitan Angevin]

"Your mother is gone," he said, gently as he could manage while still being firm. "It's an awful truth and I'm here for you if you need to cry, if you need someone to hit... whatever. But eventually it's going to be a scar. A painful one, but just another time life tried to destroy you and you didn't let it. I guess I'm what you have left and I'm certain that's... not the most reassuring thought in the world. But I accept you for who you are, with your scars, your pain, and everything. I even kind of like who you are... even when who you are makes me want to punch you in the face..." He smirked, but even that was oddly gentle.

Angevin was mixing the gold dust into the lacquer. It was going to have to be a relatively quick job. The stuff dried quickly from what he had learned, and when it was done, the seam would be stronger than the horn it joined back together.

"I don't know the right things to say or do, but I'm going to keep you alive and I'm going to help you come back stronger. She was proud of you and... I'm proud of you." He held his hand out for the horn. "You don't have to keep pieces of yourself on the shelf gathering dust. You don't have to feel embarrassed or off-balance. I mean, I'm sure you will sometimes, but you can lean on me when you do. I want to take your broken horn and make it art. I want you to trust me that you can feel whole again. When you look into the mirror, you'll just have a reminder that... that someone gives a shit and thinks you're beautiful."

[Florian]

Florian didn't know what he was expecting. Did he ever know what he was expecting? Especially from Eitan, who seemed intent on baffling him every step of the way. He was not prepared for the barrage of kind words. But kind words felt like a weak description for they made him feel. He handed Eitan the horn. He felt a bit dumbfounded, if anything, and all too quickly his eyes started to water again. He spent so much time crying lately and he hated it, but at least these weren't quite tears of grief. He wiped away the forming tears before he could really start crying.

"What?" He said, but he immediately kicked himself for it. Though Florian really didn't know how to respond otherwise, and he felt overwhelmed with feelings he didn't really know how to think about or confront. He sighed. There were other things he wanted to say, that felt appropriate to say, but he floundered on thinking of the words to say them.

"I care about you, too." It also felt like a weak response, but he had to acknowledge something. He did care about him. He cared about him a lot, and probably too much. He cared what he thought about him, and he cared how he felt, and he cared enough to have been wrangled into a dangerous expedition without protest or second thought. Eitan had showed that he cared, but it was different to actually hear it out loud. That he was liked, that he was proud of him. He didn't think he'd ever done anything worth being proud of. His eyes had shifted, just a touch, some admixture of grey and blue as if his emotions were competing with the grief.

[Eitan Angevin]

Angevin accepted the horn, but gave Albrecht enough time to process and reply. His smile was almost pained; vulnerability was not his strong suit, and he wanted Albrecht to trust in his strength so he had to be strong. It was nerve-wracking to care about someone whose behavior could easily get him killed or worse, and to bear responsibility for him. All the same, he hadn't requested a change.

He probably ought to have said something more, but he couldn't think of anything. Any half-formed thoughts were quickly dismissed as stupid or maudlin, so he just began to paint the thick golden lacquer onto the splintered end of the horn he had been given. If Albrecht changed his mind before the horn was affixed, it would just have some golden detail work, though Angevin hoped he didn't back down. The idea of the finished product in his head was actually rather impressive, almost like a much more badass pirate with a golden tooth sort of thing. Not that he wanted Albrecht to fuck off from the Air Defense Corps and become a pirate, but it was the sort of dream he might have had back in the days he was playing at XO of the Invincible atop Trystan's Folly with Brenner rather than smile and salute important folks in the military and political spheres at what was nominally their joint birthday party.

The thought made him smile. He wondered what life would have been like if Albrecht had been there. Obviously, it would have been better if he had been human and from a military family, but it was a daydream, so he could pretend.

"This is going to look so good that you're going to become a fashion icon among the Lysanrin," he promised.

[Florian]

"Ah, I'm not really a— I mean, I don't want people to go around breaking off their horns so they can fix them with...how much did that—" Florian stopped and realized he was more babbling than anything after he tried and failed to finish three separate thoughts. Instead, he sat there as Eitan did...whatever he was doing. Florian was not familiar with the process or the materials.

"Where did you learn about this?" Another question, though Florian was curious as to why Eitan knew about repair work. It wasn't something you would find on an airship, but he realized he knew little about Eitan's hobbies, or if he had any. Everything they did seemed focused on work, and preparing for work, and work just somehow work-related; even when they were nowhere near the Noble Gambit. Maybe it was a bit odd that he wanted to know more about his personal life, but he shared more about himself than Eitan did. Perhaps he was over-eager because he had so few friendships, even growing up. He felt like he was normally private, but maybe that was because he had always refused to be close enough to anyone to share.

He was also eager for the end result. A broken horn had been an aspect of him, but it was not always him. A change in his appearance, as something so seemingly permanent as this, as just as much a mark on him as her death. At least, for now, it was a good mark. Another question occured to him.

"How long were you planning this?" Perhaps it was a few days, something spur of the moment, after he learned his mother had died. More curious would be if it had been something he had thought of doing for a longer time.

[Eitan Angevin]

Angevin chuckled at all the questions, some tripping over the last one before it was fully uttered. He was calmer, and calculating as he attempted to make this joinery something that Albrecht could be proud of. There was nothing worse than shitty art, or so his grandmother had always said. Well, she had been more witty about it, but the idea was the same.

"It was a joke," he said. "But perhaps those with broken horns might feel less off if they see a decent repair job." His dark eyes flicked down to gauge Albrecht's for a moment before going back to his work.

"It didn't cost much and money isn't really an object for me, you know. Well, the budget is more important now that I've a house of my own, but..." He shrugged. Sooner or later, he would have to teach Albrecht not to talk about money except in the grander scheme of things. It was gauche. And if he was smart about his own finances, he might not be living on the West End, but he would be fine. Not many Lysanrin could say that.

"My grandmother is a great patroness of the arts. She has some antique pieces. Pre-Sundering. Same idea. That inspired me, I suppose. And I've been thinking about it for a while, I suppose. Didn't say anything. Didn't want to offend. But now..." He shrugged again. "It just seemed right. It won't fix what's wrong, but it's a little change. Something to remind you that everything changes..." His mind wandered a little as he concentrated on the lacquerwork. "When I was small and having a particularly rough time, she gave me a sketchbook and some colors and took me out into the garden. She said, take your broken heart, make it into art."

He was quiet for a while, then realized what he had said.

"I can't fix your heart. Just... taking your broken horn and making it into art. Perhaps it will help a little."

He cleared his throat and then stood up, putting another quick coat of golden lacquer on the base of the horn, and affixing it to Albrecht's head.

"It dries fast. Just hold still five minutes and I'll hold it down, and then... you can go preen in the mirror."

[Florian]

"When I was a kid and upset I'd read, or we'd go on a walk..." He paused for a moment too long. "When she wasn't working, at least. If she wasn't home, I just stayed inside and figured it out, I guess." Once he was old enough and learned to read, he had usually spent his time alone while she worked. At some point he had realized it was unusual for a young kid to be left at home alone, but she didn't seem to trust anyone to watch him. He had grown up entertaining himself, sorting through his feelings himself. There was always too much time to think.

Florian sat still. Though he had no nerves in his horns and couldn't feel what was happening, he waited the five minutes, and then he kept waiting. It was almost nerve-wracking. He could feel the extra weight of the rest of his horn on his head. He moved his head and felt suddenly off-balance.

"It might take a bit for me to get reacquainted with two horns," He said, though he still had yet to retrieve the mirror that lay on the side table to his bed. "I think I was a bit too used to being off-balance." His head did seem to rest just a bit tilted towards the side of the horn, the muscles on that side of his neck just a touch weaker than the other half.

Finally he stood up and retrieved the mirror. His face looked like shit. His skin and eyes especially were still a bit puffy, and his hair was a mess, but there was the horn, reattached to his head, and a bright, shiny gold scar to show for it. He could see Eitan in the reflection, too. He did not think he'd be able to look at his own reflection without thinking of him.

"I think she'd have liked to see this." The gold matched the necklace he wore. "When I came home with horn broken off at the scalp, bloody-faced from where the skin broke, she was furious. First it was at 'who could do this to my baby?' and then it was at me. 'Why do you insist on picking fights with men twice your size? Did I not teach you when you need to leave?'" He laughed a bit. "I told her I'd stop, and I did, a little bit. But sometimes people don't like to let you leave, or they get mad, and what else am I supposed to do? A little Lysanrin girl found me afterwards and helped me home. She told me never to forget her, but I've never seen her since. Santhia." He realized he was rambling, and then turned to look back at Eitan directly.

"How does it look? Do you think you did a good job?"

[Eitan Angevin]

After the five minutes were up—and then an extra thirty counts just to be safe—he let go, and everything seemed fine.

"Well, you've got the rest of your life to get accustomed to them again, I suppose," he allowed, observing Albrecht observing himself. He offered a slight smile to the Lysanrin's reflection in the mirror. He listened. He might have been getting better at listening when it wasn't some mystery of mages he was trying to unravel. He smirked.

"Then you joined the Corps and started picking fights with your XO. Way to graduate top of the class, Albrecht." But there was a gentleness to his teasing. At the question, he gave Albrecht due consideration. "I think you look different. You're more symmetrical, but then not because there's only the one scar. It's rather distinguished, actually. Almost like the hint of a crown. Don't get any dreams of empire, though. You know those end badly..." He paused, though, one detail of what Albrecht had said standing out to him.

"Is Santhia a common name among Lysanrin? Last season, I saved a Santhia Valkhaene and several other Lysanrin from a collector." He said the last bit with distaste. He may glance askance at a Lysanrin who was out of place, but he didn't think they ought to be chattel. "She's a... Stormborn." He pointed to his face as if that would help Albrecht picture a blue-faced woman. He was helpful like that.

He didn't want it to sound like 'oh, I met a Lysanrin, so you probably know her,' but as he had said, he didn't know if Santhia's was a common name. He wondered what she was up to since he had freed her and the others from Fverard. Now he owned the scheming, climbing bastard's town house and that was working out well. The just were rewarded. Eitan Angevin was just.

[Florian]

Florian reached up and touched the repaired horn now. He had no dreams of empire. He had dreams of survival. At the mention of Santhia's full name, Florian walked back towards Eitan and took his hand without really thinking about it. His eyes were blue, finally.

"That was her name! You met her? She told me her name was Santhia Valkhaene, and to remember it. She kept chastising me for fighting when I should learn to run and hide instead. I didn't take her advice, clearly, but..." He looked and sounded excited, but it faded when the rest of what Eitan said hit him. He deflated again, and the blue eyes didn't last long.

"Wait, she had to be rescued? From a collector?" Florian had known some people, especially strange men, to fetishize nonhuman races of all sorts. If the insinuation that the collector had multiple Lysanrin stored away... Santhia's concern those years ago made a bit more sense. Her strange way of dress. The way she tried to avoid notice, her fear. His attention was dragged from the new repair on his horn and into wracking his memories for anything he should have noticed that night. But he couldn't blame himself for not knowing - how could he? And what would he have even done?

"I had no idea that anything like that was going on. I never saw her again, I thought it was..." He stopped. He didn't know what he thought. He thought too many things. He wasn't sure what he was feeling or what he was supposed to be feeling, and it was overwhelming. He dropped Eitan's hand and slumped back into the chair, where he took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. Florian blinked away more tears —he hated how often he cried. He remembered how his mother had taken care of him when his horn broke. How she reassured him it would still grow.

His mind was all over the place.

"That's a lot. This is so much. I just want this shit to stop. I just want to take a break and— I feel like I don't have any time to figure out what's going on."

[Eitan Angevin]

"Yes, I rescue people sometimes," he replied, either amused, irritated, or both. "I'm a Watcher, I'm supposed to make the world safer for people." Lysanrin were people, too. It was just they were problematic people. That being said, he probably ought to check up on Santhia and her fellows. He knew the Order of Reconciliation had high principles, but there were people who cut corners and he could see that happening when it came to processing those poor, unfortunate souls. The little demon boy had looked at him like he was a savior, and so he had a sort of soft spot for him, at least. He didn't want to become the Savior of the Lysanrin, but he could at least make sure they weren't consigned to the worse places, like those that held the line between the High City and the Warrens.

When Albrecht loosed his hand and slumped down, Eitan sighed and crouched down in front of him, putting his hands on the private's knees and looking up at him.

"You're coming with me on the expedition," he explained reasonably. "If you don't, we'll be understaffed and then we'll be fucked. We need you. Anyway, you'll just spend all the free time drinking and getting into fights and I just fixed your horn. And... truth be told, I need you there. I don't know exactly what we're up against, and Beeman's a scholar. We need you there. I need you. You can find out-of-the-way spots for privacy on the ship. Otherwise, the expedition can be a distraction. You aren't going to just grieve for her overnight. It's going to be a long process. When it's safe to fall apart, you can fall apart and I'll help you pick up the pieces. When it's not safe to fall apart, you'll have to man up. And that's life. And I'll be here for that, too.

"All right?"

[Florian]

Florian nodded, sighed, and rubbed his eyes, more in the way of stress than to wipe away any tears. And just like he had a few days before, he pushed back his chair and slid on the floor and wrapped his arms around him. His chin rested on the Eitan's shoulder. He wasn't crying, at least. There was something comforting about just being on the floor with him. Then again, there was just something comfortable about being around him, when no one else was around, and he didn't have to really be polite or worried or out of his element. He liked Eitan. He liked being around him.

"I know, I know I'm still coming with you on the expedition. I'm going on it for you. I just wish everything didn't happen all at once. It feels like nothing happened for a long time, and now everything is falling apart." He sighed again. "I'll do my best. I can handle it." He wasn't sure if he could handle it. He wished he didn't have to handle it, and that he could melt away into a puddle and seep through the cracks in the floor and eventually soak into the ground along with everything he worried about. But he also didn't want to die, or to give up, or to disappoint anyone, let alone his mother. And she had high hopes for him, even as he spent years dashing them over and over with every fight he lost and scar he gained. With every mistake and lost job and attitude problem, she never let him think he was a failure. Even when he really, really was.

"Alright."