So...

[Aurin]

"Doting, eh?" he asked, musing. "Well, there's no accounting for tastes."

Aurin squinted sidelong at Arry.

"I asked if you were a cunt because... you're a cunt. And Arvalyn is a snobbish cunt. He's never said anything to me about you, but the last time I saw him, I was sewing up a wound." He walked in silence for a while, shifting a little to see whether his stitches would remain intact or pull uncomfortably. They seemed to be all right, though the wound was still aching. He could see how Arry might feel. Aurin was his foundation here; his had been the invitation, his had been the house where he stayed when he arrived, his had been the connection that got him his job. Torin wasn't much like Arry at all except in details. Wheat-blond hair to Arry's golden. New to Kalzasi.

But Arry dreamed about his career. Torin dreamed about someone to watch over him. Neither really threatened the other, though he knew well enough that when someone had very little, they would defend it with everything they had. It just hadn't occurred to him that Arry would get jealous about anything except the best billings and those weren't really within the purview of Aurin's employment. But quite a few of the employees of the Velvet Cabaret treated him much like he supposed one would treat an elder brother. At least, those for whom the Cabaret had become home and family.

"You're upset. Do you want to talk about it?" If he didn't, they might have an unpleasant evening together. Then again, if he did, it might still be unpleasant. All the same, Aurin would rather lance the wound and get the poison out than let it fester. The last thing he wanted was something septic between them.

[Arvælyn]

"Fair enough." Arvalyn couldn't really content the accusations of cuntiness- Especially not when he was in character. Perhaps it was his own perception of nobility that made for the sharper angles of that personality, but he'd lived it so thoroughly for so long now, that Arvalyn really did feel like an entirely different person from Arvine. Arvalyn valued wit, and he'd be cavalier about saying something hurtful if he felt it was clever enough for the script of his life. In Torin's case, it had amused him to poke fun at his ignorance, because it meant he had a leg up. He knew Aurin better, had known him longer. He'd even casually let it slip that he had the keys to the human's cottage, which in the moment hadn't felt cunty, but looking back...

"Upset?" Arry scoffed, "Caw, what're you on about, mate?" He shook his head profusely, "I'm not upset. Why would you thi-... Because I asked if your big, little bosom buddy talked shite about me? At one point he looked like he was about to bash me 'ead in, but we left things on cordial enough terms. Torin was one of 'em what complimented my rehearsal, so I 'aven't aught ill to say about 'im, if 'e ain't got shite to say about me." Although, in truth, it irked him the more than he hadn't borne a mention than it would if he'd been viciously slandered.

"Anyway." He crossed his arms a bit more tightly, as they walked. "I think Finn is going to write me a song. He said 'e's performed at the cabaret, 'ave you met 'im?" He was rattling along pretty manically, so he didn't pause for Aurin to answer. "Seems like a good bloke to know. One of the noble birdboy houses is paying his way through the academy, so... Who knows?"

[Aurin]

"Well, that sounds great," he said, mildly for Aurin, when there was finally a break in Arry's monologue. "I haven't met him, but I've heard his name. Someone pulled him a couple of years or so back to fill in when we were understaffed and Madame Lunaria gave approval to invite him back in similar situations. High praise since she doesn't like paying out of house if she can help it. So other people seem to agree with your conclusions."

They trekked on toward the Wobbly Stool. He remembered another place quite near to it, apparently a rival, where a foul-mouthed minstrel had recited a limerick about the Wobbly Stool. It was a double entendre, he thought the word was. Anyway, his hip gyrations had really sold the joke but he didn't think the owners of the Wobbly Stool would appreciate it, nor Arry in that particular moment.

"I look forward to tomorrow morning's performance and to hearing your new, Academy-approved song, as well."

The streets were clear, but there was snow gathered up in out-of-the-way places. It was filthy in the street, but still pristine on rooftops. The "Jeweled Arches" were shrouded in white, her lusty colors blanked out by the Season of Frost. In some cultures, white was for weddings; in others, it was for mourning. For nature, at least, it was the latter, the season of death before the season of renewal. He hoped spring saw Arry growing like a new thing. Aurin wasn't much of a gardener, nor Arry his responsibility, but he tried to keep an eye out for him as best he knew how.

It was strange — in some ways, he could read human nature like an open book, understanding its subtleties and prepared to manipulate things to his advantage. In others, he was as blind as any beggar.

[Arvælyn]

"I 'eard 'im singing out at, you know, an outdoor venue?" A bit of half-Hytori hyperbole, that, "And I thought- I've got to meet this bloke, so..." Arry realised what he was doing, probably a tad later than Aurin would have and he frowned at himself. Torin had made him jealous, and he was trying to use Finn to make Aurin feel the same. He glared at the ground ahead of him, as if the cobblestones had made him act that way. Part of him wanted to apologise, but the rest of him preferred to hope Aurin hadn't noticed what he'd been doing. He hadn't mentioned it, at the least, and that was enough deniability to satisfy Arvalyn for the nonce.

"Thank you..." It was almost worse that Aurin was just being kind and supportive in the face of his defensiveness. He rubbed his arms with his hands, wishing he'd dressed a little more warmly for the walk.

"So, um... Your knife fight. That was the day Torin popped by?" Aurin had said he was 'sewing up a wound' last time he'd seen the young burgher. "I..." He took a breath, and attempted to soften his tone. "I hope he was able to 'elp you with your wounds. He seems like a lad what knows 'is way around a spot of first aid..." Arry listened back to what he'd just said in his mind,

"That is to say he seems, um... Industrious." A person who smithed runes could probably make easy work of sewing a gash shut, he reckoned.

"Do you..." Arry glanced up to claim a quick glimpse of Aurin's face in profile, but his eyes returned to the stone below his feet as he completed his thought, "Do you like him very much?"

[Aurin]

Aurin hadn't meant to poach Arry's secrets, so when he seemed to want to leave talk of his collaboration behind, the elder man let it go. He grunted at the thanks, just a vague sort of acknowledgment. Neither of them was comfortable with that sort of thing, he figured.

"The knife fight was sometime in the wee hours of the morning," he affirmed. "Didn't start it, but I finished it. Took care of the body and took myself home. Torin was outside chopping wood."

He laughed. "So, aye, industrious, I suppose. I let him do that while I sewed up the wound. Well, I let him finish when my hands got shaky..." He laughed again, self-deprecating. "I guess I'm getting old. I'd been up all night, lost some blood. Pain was all right. I don't know why he keeps coming back."

Well, he did know. Torin didn't have any close connections with anyone anymore and Aurin was a worldly person who was willing to fill in the gaps that his sheltered life had left in his education. If he didn't know why he came back, it was why he came back specifically to Aurin, and even that was just deep-seated insecurity he had within himself that he was unwilling or unable to unpack.

"You're probably right, though. He's like a stray. I fed him from the kitchens when he came to deliver something for Madame Lunaria and now he keeps coming back. Once in a while, anyway. Apprentices are busy folk. He's a good kid."

Aurin caught Arry's eye and drew a gentle line along one of his ribs. "Wound is there, so I'd be obliged if you wouldn't aim there when throwing punches for a while." He smirked, normally rather enjoying the chance to weather Arry's violence. It was an intimacy with which he was more comfortable.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn 's eyes remained downcast, as Aurin elaborated. His lips pursed, for his teeth were clenched behind them. A slight dimple twitched in and out of existence just above his firmly set jaw. By and by, he pulled his hands free of the warmth beneath his arms and rubbed them together in front of his chest. The wringing of his hands became the focus of his gaze, rather than the path ahead.

"I know why 'e keeps coming back." Arry said breathily, as he took a sharp inspiration through his narrow nose, "Anyway..." He quickened his pace a bit to take the lead, as they rounded the corner down the alley that housed their destination.

"I shall have to go easy on you for a trice." Arry's dialect gave way to Arvalyn's, as they neared the pub where he'd have to assume his second self and suppress the first. He realised as soon as those clipped consonants and long vowels escaped his lips, that Arvalyn felt more comfortable than Arvine, just now. That wasn't usually the case in Aurin's presence. Typically, alone time with Aurin was the only point at which Arvalyn felt disingenuous. Aurin knew Arry too well, and had been there for the birth of the exiled Hytori lordling fallen on hard times for his art. But Arvalyn was an armour that had been built to hide secrets and, in this moment, Arry felt like he had things he wanted to hide. Pesky feelings that would make Aurin regard him differently. Pesky fears that he would need to let Aurin go, ere long...

"So, what show are you taking me to after we sup?" He asked, as he pressed his shoulder against the heavy door to the tavern and pushed in to enter.

[Aurin]

Aurin wondered what Arry would think of him if he admitted that he liked the worshipful gaze, the innate service and submission that came so effortlessly to the runeforger's apprentice. He wondered too what Arry would think if he admitted that he was manipulating Torin into bonding to him because he would use him, albeit not so bad as others might. He had warned Torin that he was a bad man. The lad kept returning. He had warned Arry that he was a bad man, but Arry's situation had put him on the road of bad deeds for survival's sake.

He ought to be ashamed of himself, but he wasn't, which was probably worse.

For some reason, though, Arry hiding behind Arvalyn just then pissed him off. He felt the rune hidden under his bicep tingle with power as he wove an illusory filter over his voice, speaking back to the elf in his own voice.

"She Stoops to Conquer is playing tonight at the Golden Peacock," he said. "How droll, no? How deliciously apt, wot?"

And he laughed.

Perhaps it would be better if they fought. They were both so wound up, tight and tighter, wearing masks and playing roles. Arry played Arvalyn while he played Aurin, the rakish charmer with the heart of gold. Fool's gold, perhaps. Sometimes he wanted to shake Torin and scream at him, to say he might be naive, but he was too smart to waste himself on a person of no substance. Just the same, he longed for the day that Arry had no need of him and moved on.

Then, at least, when whichever fucking dragon god weighed his soul upon their scale found him wanting, he could flip them off and say he did one thing he was proud of. But for now, he was playing another dirty trick. Not the knee-jerk harm he had caused the first time he nearly crushed Arry's wrist in his hand, but this one perhaps more pernicious for seeming more innocuous.

[Arvælyn]

Arry led Aurin through the moderately populated pub. Most of the patrons were seated at the bar, and so the tables were largely unoccupied and he was able to reclaim the table he'd shared with Finn. He smiled to himself at the memory and paused beside the table. His instinct was to claim the seat Finn had occupied, and allow Aurin the better seat where he could have his back to the wall and the clear view of the room. Given the human's background, he would doubtless prefer the strategic advantage should his past, distant or recent, come calling unannounced. Then Arry processed his own voice being mimicked behind him, and took the better seat.

"Fine." He replied, glaring up at Aurin, thinking it was a shame the curtain time was still so far away. In a theatre, they might be able to sit in silence relatively comfortably. Arry might be afforded the space to sulk or seethe without interruption or attention. In an ideal situation, perhaps whatever happened on stage might somehow echo his feelings so he could project them elsewhere- Make them seem remote, like they were really someone else's. If he had feelings to let out, he might be able to direct them at the stage, whether tears of sorrow, laughter of release, or aught else.

He glanced across the room to the board over the bar to see what pies they had available. He wasn't even hungry, now that his stomach was full of all these pesky feelings, but the board was something to look at that wasn't Aurin's smug, smirking face, so he perused the menu anyway. It was at least something to do until he came up with something else to focus upon, or Aurin forced his attention back to himself.

[Aurin]

Aurin patted Arry's shoulder but left him at the table for the time being. He walked up to the bar and smiled inwardly at the bar wench's curious reaction to the voice that didn't quite seem to fit with his face and form. After this much time knowing him and feeding him, he knew what Arry liked and ordered it. He paid for the pies and the drinks and brought them back to the table himself to save time so they could get to the theater with plenty of time for him to connive his way into seats for them.

Also, it seemed as though Arry needed a minute.

By the time he returned to the table, he had let his trick dissolve into the ether. He set the two pies down, describing their contents so he could choose. Both were nominally to his liking and Aurin would eat whichever one he didn't want. The mugs as well. He sat with his back to the door, which all but put his hackles up. It was fine. Nobody was trying to kill him. His fears by now must be irrational.

All he really knew how to do was upset Arry, or so it often seemed.

"I don't know that I would say I get jealous," he admitted, "but every time you disappear with a new client, I feel a... a twinge. I'm trying to help Lunaria protect all the kids but it's personal with you. I want to protect you... more. I know you've seen me after someone gets too rough with one of the kids... If something happened to you, I'd... I'd fucking lose it. My real family was garbage. And you're a twat, but... You're my family now, all right? It's complicated and it sucks, but it doesn't matter how many cocks you suck or how many strays come scratching at my door. That doesn't change anything. At least, for me. I'm going to be here for you until you don't need me anymore, all right? So, you can hate Torin. You can be pissed at me. But I need you to know that even if you hate him and you're mad at me, I'm still here for you. All right?"

[Arvælyn]

Arvine was grateful when Aurin stepped away. He didn't have to pretend to look at anything, whilst the human's back was turned, so he just looked down at the table. Through it, really, for his mind was racing through images. Memories of all the instances his mind could muster when he'd fucked up and Aurin had turned on him. Arry didn't like to address problems head-on. At least not where other people were concerned. He'd been raised to deal with his shit on his own, because no one else cared and no one else would put up with him if he was acting out. It wasn't worth it to lose his regular meals or the roof over his head, because he was cross or cranky. He'd seen it happen to others, and it wouldn't befall him.

His gaze didn't rise from the table when Aurin returned. Now the table had more stuff to look at, after all. He took whichever pie was closest and used a fork to break through the crust to reveal the contents. It so happened that it was his favourite- cheese and onion. Before he could pick at it, Aurin began to speak. Arry sighed and met his gaze in spite of himself.

"Well." He pursed his lips, and it was clear he was still speaking in the voice of Arvalyn- Perhaps it was even more entrenched, now that Aurin had dabbled with the voice of Arvine. "If it ever became more than a twinge, or if you ever asked me to, I would stop." He dropped the piece of pastry back down onto his plate and pushed the whole thing aside, whispering:

"Fuck." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I know jealous is off-putting. It's fine." He forced a smile, and his eyes shot back open. "I'm fine. I'm not a kid anymore. You saw to that. I can tend to myself."