[Flashback] The Demon of the Crossroads, ii [Arvalyn]

[Aurin]

"There's the Jade Crane on that same plaza," he added. "They're a glorified bathhouse with massages and the like. This is in the Plaza of the Jeweled Arches, which... doesn't have any jeweled arches that I have found, but the rooftops of the buildings are painted bright colors, so maybe it looked like that to some poetic bird boy back in the day...? Anyway, the Velvet Cabaret sits between the Peacock and the Crane. She's like the slutty sister, I guess.

"Actors are okay. They're just performers, too. Some of them work with us and at the Peacock. Some of ours also work at the Crane. I guess everyone is looking for as many opportunities to better their lives as they can. And I don't know about their lines. I guess it's all that repetition in rehearsal. I get pretending to be a person and sort of flying by the seat of your pants, but to remember a script...?" He shrugged. It just wasn't something he figured he could do.

"Anyway, Gods made you golden. Figure once you polish up, you'll look like enough to treasure."

He frowned, not disapproving or angry, but trying to figure out what to say next.

"I'm sure it sounds strange... It sounds strange hearing myself say it. Maybe it's an age thing. Just feels like I'm looking at a younger version of myself in some ways and I wish someone had offered me an alternative before I felt compelled to make every possible mistake." He shrugged. "Almost, but no. It's too difficult for me to trust someone like that anymore. I mean, I can give someone a tumble. Maybe even repeat performances. But relationships... Messy. Vulnerable." He laughed. "But hey, if you take control of your life now, maybe you'll avoid all that shit. Find yourself a woman or a man or both or in between who you want to cleave to until the end..."

He smiled, hopeful for Arvine more so than for himself. That ship had sailed.

[Arvælyn]

"Don't fall for it, Aurin. I ain't nowt but fool's gold." Arvine asserted with a self-deprecating snigger, as he glanced to the table and the big hunk of cake still remaining thereupon.

"Am I allowed to take that with me, or am I going to be back to thieving ere we leave this place?" Despite his exhibition of gluttony over the past hour, he was actually thinking about sharing some when he got back to Demitrov's. It was at least enough to share with one particular gang-mate who never so much as gave him the time of day, but remained the apple of his eye. He was only kind of mean and racist! More dismissive than anything, but who could dismiss cake?

"Well, whatever your reasons, I'll remember this, I will." Arry stated, firmly. "I'll help someone out the way you're helping me, and maybe it'll keep getting passed down to poor wretches like us, the way money and privilege get passed down to rich kids." He pursed his lips at Aurin's espoused aversion to relationships and nodded, sagely.

"I get it. It's rough out there." He spoke like some world-weary, victim of a bygone love never recovered. "You put your heart out there..." Sounding every bit like this was an area of real anguish when, in a life of sundry pains, this his heartache was far from serious,

"And people just stomp on it, you know?" He reached across the table to pat Aurin on the arm, "But stick it out, Aurin. You've got a nice jawline and a smile what could melt knickers like butter. I believe in you, mate."

[Aurin]

"I'm sure they will wrap it up in butcher paper and twine for you or something," he said. "Just don't tell them you got it from me. If you make me the pied piper, I don't know if I can find housing and employment for your entire cadre." Put in that position, he would feel compelled to try, but he didn't really want to stack them like firewood in his little cottage until he could find them all good homes like stray puppies. Anyway, it seemed like it was going to take some effort to make Arvine believe he was golden so he could be confident enough to make other people believe he was golden.

Relaxed now, he fed a trickle of his aether through his rune and let his vision double, the magical overlaying the mundane. He wasn't reaching in to pull something visceral free, merely observing what energy the lad put out. First, it seemed as though his emotions lined up with how he was portraying them. There were, from what he understood, ways to fake lies despite magical senses but it seemed unlikely a sixteen-year-old lad would know how to do that. A little paranoia went a long way in staying alive, but Aurin tried not to be ridiculous. Perhaps someday, he would observe Arvine acting and would be able to see the dissonance between what he felt and what he portrayed himself as feeling, or perhaps he would be one of those savants who subsumed themselves into a role.

It was one way for him to earn a fancy house for throwing parties.

Even his commiseration over love's labor's loss seemed sincere, as though he understood. Well, of course, Aurin was about his age when his feelings started to become very big, if not very sophisticated.

"So you get it," he said, nodding sagely. "Thanks, my man. That helps."

[Arvælyn]

"I won't..." Arry grumbled, grimacing as he glancing down. He'd have liked to have asked the object of his affections to join them on the journey, but he knew that would be asking a lot of Aurin. It wasn't fair to his benefactor, and so he'd have to leave that little piece of his heart in Antiris. It was for the best this way, even if Arry couldn't possibly see it at that way, right now. Lacking any practical frame of reference for the paths down which his hormones took him, he was prone to find grandiosity where he prolly shouldn't.

"Can you ask that boy for the butcher's paper, then?" He paused, and reached for the handle of his beer tankard and raised it halfway to his mouth before blinking, and adding: "Also, do you think they'll put more ale in my canteen before we go? It's real good, and I've got a long walk home..." The most lustrous, golden puppy dog eyes punctuated the request. Judging from that, it seemed clear that he must have had practice charming someone, in spite of his general aversion to eye-contact.

...but he noticed something amiss in the eyes his were meeting now.

"You're looking at me funny." He stated, narrowing his eyes and withdrawing his feet from the seat beside Aurin to sit upright and stare him down. "Why're you looking at me like that?" He wasn't positive what unsettled him about it, but there was something. Unconsciously, his right hand spring to his left wrist and wrung it, several times. This discomfort caused his eyes to trail back down toward the table, rather than remaining on Aurin.

[Aurin]

A pang of regret blossomed over the whorling vortex of energy that corresponded in his Vision to Arry's heart. Perhaps he had a recent wound there. He wondered if that would make leaving Antiris more difficult. A lot of lads his age saw every erection as a sign they had found their soulmate. Not that Aurin would know his soulmate if they fell out of the sky, punched a hole in his roof, landed in his bed, and punched him in the face, so he probably ought not to diminish anyone's feelings.

Feelings were just stupid. Look, they were making him twist into a pretzel to save a kid from his life. Like it would be that simple.

"Empty your canteen," he advised. "I'll see about butcher paper when he comes by. Given an inch, you take a mile. Well, if you can get away with it, that bodes well for your future." He just hoped he was good at hiding the cake and pretending to be sober. He didn't want the powers that be in Arry's life to punish him. And then there was a flood of emotions, too many for him to process quickly, almost blinding, and he was grasping his wrist—not the one he had snatched out of the air.

It flashed in his Vision, but he let that fade because somehow Arry knew, even though it was a passive magic. Unless, perhaps Arvine had the same rune and could see the flare of Vision in Aurin's own aura.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes falling to his cradled wrist. He started to reach out to take it, but let his hand fall, not wanting to alarm him. He let his Vision fade, starved of more aether to keep the rune active. His eyes didn't change in any perceptible way, though he looked on in concern. "What's that? I didn't hurt that wrist."

[Arvælyn]

The words out of Aurin drew Arry to look him straight on, again. The look he had about him that had confounded the thief who as of recently aspired to be an actor, seemed to have dissipated.

"Good." He said, softly, pursing his lips. They remained taut, even as he repeated: "Good. You were looking at me funny. But now you've stopped, so... I guess that's all right."

Arvine's eyes softened somewhat as he noted the concern that suddenly seemed to wash over Aurin. The hand wrapped about his slender wrist froze at the attention. His gaze darted down and he blinked at finding it there.

"Oh... I didn't even realise I was doing that." He spread his fingers and withdrew his hand, stretching his left arm out across the table, palm down.

"No, you didn't do anything to this wrist." He turned his hand palm up, to give Aurin a view of the blood red, eldritch symbol on the tender flesh of his wrist. "This..." He sighed lightly, and looked from the symbol up to Aurin's questioning expression.

"...is my inheritance." He let his arm remain outstretched like that for as long as Aurin cared to examine it. The other hand deftly untied his canteen from his belt, even without the aid of its mirror image, and he put it on the table. He uncorked it with his thumb, and in only a few gulps, it was empty of water and ready to house something more diverting.

"You don't really think I'm taking advantage, do you?" There was something about his expression that made it unclear whether he was being facetious or completely earnest. That something lay in the fact that he himself wasn't sure which it was, and so it rather hovered in between the twain.

[Aurin]

His rough hand was gentle enough on Arvine's wrist, his thumb running over the rune as if feeling it would help him understand it. Not the same as his, but in the same vein, perhaps. He wasn't sure how all that worked. He didn't know if he could pass along his runes, whether there something other than etching required to pass along the magic. His memories of those times were hazy and unpleasant and his mind tried to shy away from them whenever he had tried to examine his internal record of life.

Very deliberately, he closed his eyes and then fed aether into his rune. Perhaps the lad would sense its activation, recognize it.

Aurin didn't know what he was dealing with, but a Mesmer would hear his symphony. Arvine might hear a high, clear overtone of magic in his symphony, hear the cacophony of impressions that came into him even with his eyes closed, his mind trying to make sense of them. It was more difficult with his eyes closed. He was not skilled and relied too heavily on his eyes to trick his brain into translating an entirely different sense into something it could understand.

Arvine might hear a familiar melody, familiar because there were parts that were like his own. He might hear Aurin's unease with his own better angels, the urges in him to help. Aurin was a bad man, but he was not evil to the core. Helping Arvine would be a balm to his soul, but he feared being taken advantage of. He feared being seen as weak. He feared being vulnerable. To love was to lose. The song was complex, perhaps because he had lived a life like Arvine's but longer. There were characters Arvine couldn't know, plot developments, twists, and tragic elements. There was humor too, sometimes fatalistic.

But if he heard anything, he heard that Aurin was playing him straight. If there were strings attached, perhaps they were paternalistic—he wanted Arvine to listen to him, though it was to prevent him further suffering.

Aurin couldn't see his aura with his eyes closed, but he could still sense it—like sunlight on his face, his eyes weren't the only part of him that was gold. He could sense hunger, both physical and otherwise. Even all the food he had eaten was only a temporary solution. He had been hungry for so long. His wrist, the one Aurin had hurt, was fine. By tomorrow, there would be no pain. That was some small comfort.

He released the magic, let it dissipate, and only then opened his eyes so his hazel gaze wouldn't put the kid off.

"My trick is a little different from yours," he said quietly. "It's how I looked at you and knew in an instant what to say to make you feel like garbage because I wanted to root you to that spot, to make you comply. It was a knee-jerk reaction because so many touches have preceded a blade or a blow and that's another reason I don't let people close to me. I'm sorry, again, for what I said and what I did. Everything my senses tell me tells me that you're a good kid. Part of this is selfish, like if I can save you, I can save... me. Like if I can make your life better, you'll see me and you won't see a shit person. So... it could work out well for both of us. I'm really... angry right now. Not because you've done anything wrong, but because I don't like being this honest and open. I feel vulnerable and that's the worst..."

He almost didn't hear bar wench approaching, but when he did, his eyes changed. It wasn't the trick that so upset Arvine, but a wall came up behind his eyes or the color changed or something and the brooding, brutally honest man was, between one heartbeat and the next, charming and chill.

"Hey, I think we're done here, actually, but would you mind filling the canteen with ale and maybe wrapping the remains of the cake in butcher paper or something. It's too good to leave behind but I can't fit another bite..." He slapped his belly, and he had turned all his attention on the bar wench, who was responding to it like another trick, though Arvine wouldn't hear a thing off-key. Aurin wasn't a courtesan, but he certainly had the skill set. Bar wench picked up the canteen and the plate of cake, laughed at something Aurin said and he was definitely flushed.

Aurin reached out and took bar wench's hand. "Thank you. Everything was great."

The bungled welcome preceded bar wench's escape. Aurin watched him go with a faint smirk, which faded into stillness as he turned back. "Ale for the road. Cake for later." The charm was gone, but he wasn't trying to charm Arvine. "Maybe back in Kalzasi, we can practice our tricks on each other, if only so we can learn how to camouflage ourselves from other people with those tricks. That would be useful, eh? It's a lot to think about, Arvine. You know me better than most now, which is really fucking terrifying. But if you change your mind and I don't see you in three days, hey... no hard feelings."

[Arvælyn]

"I don't have a trick." Arvine replied, coolly. The frost in his tone derived not out of any bitterness or discontentment with Aurin, but it was present all the same.

"I just have a tattoo and a shitty sob story about being disappointed and abandoned by the people that are supposed to put you first and take care of you." He turned his palm back toward his face and glared at the symbol.

"It doesn't do anything. She must've..." He shrugged, "Done it wrong, or given me a placebo to make me think I'd be strong enough on my own after my father died. But I guess I'm here, so..." His hand became a fist and taut tendons warped the crimson image on that slender wrist. He put his arm down on the table, so the symbol was covered and they could go back to talking like they were before Aurin was even aware of it.

"Anyway, you don't have to be sorry. Not to me. I already owe you too much for that. You're my saviour, Aurin, and that thing you said that crippled me in that moment? That's the thing you're going to fix." A warm, sunlit smile spread. "You're going to take my deepest fear and cast it into the fire. I won't be another casualty of the streets of Antiris, I'll be somebody in Kalzasi. Even if I'm just a shop boy- to live someplace where I won't feel like I'll get stabbed for taking my hat of-..." He interrupted himself abruptly, and tipped his head down as the serving boy approached. He withdrew both arms from the table and onto his lap, and turned away to look out a window opposite from where the boy stood.

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched their exchange in his periphery. Once the boy was gone again, sucked through his teeth.

"Should I expect to see him with his bags packed when we meet in three days?" Arvine inquired, sounding downright judgemental. "Still and all, of course I'll be there. Not sure if you've picked up on this yet, but this is kind of the biggest deal in the godsdamned world to me. So..."

[Aurin]

"Not unless you want him for a parting snack," he clapped back. It was mean. He knew it was mean and he hated himself for it, but mean was a part of who he was. Mean kept him alive. Mean cut others down before they could cut him down to size. And he was a little thing, malformed in his soul even if his body was pleasing to some.

A thousand other cutting things came to mind. He should rip this boy to shreds for having the temerity to... Fuck. Sometimes he thought he was getting better, but he wasn't. But if Arvine came and met him, he would do what he had said he would do. In three days, he would have done some mental acrobatics to persuade himself that Arvine was, in fact, like him—selfish and mean. He would still bring him along. Honor among thieves. Then he would owe him. It would come in handy at some point, an investment, not a person.

"Three days, then." He smirked. It was sharp and serrated, unlike all the genuine smiles that had fought their way to the surface over the course of their lunch. Arvine could see where he pulled pouches of coin out from various spots, counting out enough to pay for everything and a healthy tip besides. Hearing bar wench's approach, he stood, stretched, then turned and sat upon the table. His foot came p to rest on the bench and he accepted the packaged dessert and Arvine's cantine.

"Thank you," he said like he meant it. He did, but he emphasized it just enough that it could read as too much to be true. He set the cake and the cantine to his side so Arvine could pick them up on his way out. He had been dismissed, after all. "So how long have you worked here and why aren't you on the menu?"

That surprised a laugh out of bar wench, who bit his lip before he realized and began shifting his weight from foot to foot. Aurin was going to fuck him just to be petty. Maybe Arvine would worry that the journey to Kalzasi would be paved with his sexual education. Maybe he would learn to harbor disdain for Aurin. At least he would remember that he was a bad man and not get too close. One shouldn't stand too close to one's savior—it was too easy to see their faults.

"That's funny," Aurin said in response to something bar wench had said, whether it was funny or not.

[Arvælyn]

Arvine cocked his head to one side, confused at Aurin's reply. He didn't fully understand the intent behind the chilly retort, but he could tell from the shift in Aurin's demeanour that he'd done something wrong and he was being punished. Demitrov had trained him well in that regard, and his posture instantly stiffened- His hands started to reach back across the table, as if they could recapture the warmth and intimacy they'd had moments earlier. Intimacy Arvine had clearly squandered.

Shit. He knew he'd been getting maudlin. All that stupid talk about his parents failing him. Boo hoo. Nobody gave a shit, and when had sharing anything about his background ever proven a good idea? When had it ever served him, or made anyone feel anything differently about him other than, perhaps, disgust or grim amusement.

"Oh." He got it now. He'd fucked up, and he didn't even know if their arrangement was really still on. Like as not, Aurin would just move on with his life and forget this day ever happened. He slowly drew his hands back to his side of the table, dejected. He set them to work gathering his things. At least he had a canteen full of ale to hopefully dull the feelings and memories associated with this moment.

He got up as the tapster returned, and Aurin's flirtation shifted into high gear. Maybe he'd take him instead of Arry. Maybe they'd leave a day early, and he would show up with a back packed and wait all day for naught.

"Bye..." He said very softly as he brushed by the other young man and made for the door. He paused in the doorway and thought to turn around, but he heard Aurin and his new friend laughing and it sounded like one of them was making a point. He stepped outside and immediately a figure slammed into him, knocking him off balance. When he regained his footing, the figure was darting off down the street. He patted the pocket where he'd stowed Aurin's purse. Empty.

"Benedict!" He called out, recognising the thief as one of his own brethren, who was looking back at him with a huge grin and a protruding tongue.

"Give that back!" He started loping after the other boy, "I'm not in the fucking mood!" He called, and chased him back in the direction of the old warehouse they called home.