Print Lead & Paint it Gold

[Arvælyn]

"Print Lead & Paint it Gold"

The 62nd of Searing
121st Year of the Age of Steel
The Velvet Cabaret

The come-down wasn't quite as abjectly awful after Arry's second foray into aether-enhanced coupling. That was not to say it was ever easy to transition away from feeling closer to another being than anyone had any right to be. At least he'd been able to sleep off the worst of it, until it was time for Finn to head to his academy for some reason or another. The notion of remaining in the room where the literal magic happened whilst Finn was away seemed abysmal to Arry's exhausted mind. Memories of being connected, with no access to further such connection. He staggered down the steps after Finn, kissed him goodbye and slipped out through an alleyway to avoid any semi-familiar faces that might be haunting the Crown & Lion at present.

He covered his head with a hood and made his way out onto the streets of Low City. Grimacing at the dearth of cabs, he realised he'd have to make his way to a nicer block to find transport at this time of day. He glanced skyward, and silently cursed the Avialae for their good fortune. Would that he might fly himself home and avoid the sights, sounds and smells that assaulted him on a busy street whilst his head was pounding.

By the time he saw an open cab, Arry decided he'd walked too far to bother wasting money. He wearily walked the rest of the way to the Velvet Cabaret, and staggered up the steps leaning heavily on the railing as he made his way along the wall to his tiny room. He shut the door behind him and collapsed onto his mattress, tugging the pile of folded costume tunics he used for a pillow to a comfortable spot and laying down his throbbing head.

He curled himself into the smallest ball he could, and shut his eyes hoping to fall asleep quickly and wake feeling like himself again.

[Aurin]

Time passed. Aurin's meeting next door had been just after the lunch hour, and then there had been enough champagne to fill the time until Lord Yserloo begged off to flit off to some more important event. The new managing director of the Theater already clocked him as relegating Aurin to the Help category, but that was fine—for now. Elric looked interested, and Celisa looked relieved. He agreed he would see them on the morrow to begin the transition, which he imagined he could largely do on his own just having access to the books.

But regardless, while he kept a calm facade, he was elated that his plans were moving forward and the first person he wanted to tell was, he hoped, quite close by. He moved through the Cabaret like breathing was easy, all smirks and jokes and making sure everything in his wake was going smoothly—he had mastered this job, and soon he would give Lunaria notice that he would be moving next door. She might be cross. He had made her life easier, but she could hardly be angry. She had rebuffed his attempts to buy into the business and eventually he knew, even then, that he wouldn't stay forever.

He knocked on Arry's closet door.

Of course, he didn't know that Arry was present, but he hoped. He wanted to share the good news and the good fortune, and Arry was the one who stood to benefit the most from it. Things had been a little strange since Arry made a decision about their relationship, such as it was, but he hoped that proving he was still working to make Arry's life better might help them get back to something like friendship, even if he was mooning after his minstrel and wouldn't want any time in Aurin's bed.

"Milord Arvalyn, are you at home?" he asked. At least he could tempt him out with a fancy dinner, he hoped.

[Arvælyn]

"Ng!" The sound of knocking, gentle though it may have been, felt to Arry as though it was hammering directly onto his throbbing temples. His whole body tensed and the tight little ball of half-elf got somehow smaller for an instant. He let his body relax slightly, pausing to register that the gods-awful din had been little more than a rapping at his chamber door. He paused in the pursuant silence, hoping that whoever had knocked hadn't heard his groan and would merely move on. That hope was not long-lived, as a voice soon followed.

Aurin. At least that voice hadn't taken long to register, nor that tone. The Fox of the Jewelled Arches sounded like he was in a good mood. Arry knew too well what that sounded like... Had even elicited the odd good mood or two in Aurin during the winding course of their relationship. He hadn't much, of late, he thought as he strained to lift his head from the pile of clothes.

"Come in." He rasped. The door wasn't locked. The door didn't lock. Sometimes he'd wedge a chair (The one piece of furniture present, beyond his small mattress) against the door. But that was only if he was feeling particularly private. Mostly, he just kept the door shut and the other staff members who haunted this particular hallway knew to respect his space as they hoped he would respect theirs.

He sat up as he heard the door creak open, criss-crossing his legs and running a hand through sweat-dampened hair. He glanced up with squinting eyes, bloodshot pink framing gold. His typically vibrant skin had a greyness behind it that was at its starkest under his eyes, though the contours it exaggerated made Arry look gaunt and drawn in several places.

"Wha' is it?" Arvine urged, tersely.

[Aurin]

There was a noise, so Arry was home. When he finally deigned to allow Aurin an audience, he let himself in. It was dark but for the light shining in from the hallway behind him, so he squinted as his eyes adjusted.

"Last night must've been a long night," he said, chuckling softly so as not to exacerbate the hangover more than necessary. Seeing as it was almost time for supper, either Arry had been up quite late or over-imbibed. But then an itch in his mind scratched itself when he remembered that Arry hadn't been working last night. The schedule was something that Aurin helped set, after all. So he must have been out with his minstrel, but then he ought to have stayed over if he was in such a bad way.

When his eyes adjusted, they narrowed, "Arry, you look like shit."

And then he was sitting at the edge of the bed, back of his hand to Arry's forehead as if he knew fuck all about bodies except how to make them stop working. Well, and to get certain parts of them hot and bothered.

"What's wrong? What can I get for you?"

He squinted suspiciously as if Arry had done something wrong, but really he was only trying to suss out what was wrong so he could fix it because that was what he did. In his own mind, Arry would always be his responsibility, and it was a reality he took seriously and to heart. He couldn't tell people he loved them, but he could show them. Still and all, they didn't always catch his drift.

As his eyes adjusted even more, he could see the bloodshot suffering in Arry's eyes and it took all his self-control not to panic.

[Arvælyn]

"Not as long as you might think..." Arry said with a wan chuckle that turned into a cough. The inside joke, which was really for Arry's benefit alone, was derived from the fact that both of his forays into aetheric sex hadn't lasted terribly long. With so much emotion wound up and bound together, it felt impossible to uphold for very long before the symphonies crescendoed and reached their summit. Though, if this was the state in which Arry was left, perhaps that was ultimately for the best.

"Oh, thanks." The half-elf rolled his eyes, "Well, you look like the fox that got into the bloody 'enhouse, innit?" He grumbled, rubbing his face with the heels of his palms.

"Nothing!" He snapped, "I'm fucking fine. Just... just tired. I was 'aving a nap, before you decided to pop in, so, um..." He cleared his throat and took in a deep breath, shaking out his body in hopes of dismissing some of the lingering languor.

"What's this about, anyway? It ain't often you come aknockin' these days," He gestured toward the old, rickety chair that occasionally (but not presently) served as a doorstop. "Make yourself at 'ome." He suggested, as he squirmed a bit and straightened out his spine to sit upright in the hopes that he wouldn't look as exhausted as he felt. He hadn't even bothered to remove any of his outer garments before plopping down on the mattress. He was still wearing his cloak and boots, although the hood had been drawn back, at least, so the disheveled state of his hair was on full display. He lifted a hand, again, self-conscious as he attempted to tame a handful of gold.

[Aurin]

Aurin frowned. He recalled one time Arry had come down with something and all he could do to comfort him was lie next to him, risking illness himself, but willing. Hesitation earned him a nod toward the chair, so he abandoned that idea. Nodding, he got up to close the door, dropping them back into darkness which was probably blessed given Arry's state.

"I could come back," he offered. The news he brought was some of the best news they had had in some time, but perhaps this wasn't the right moment for it. Would Arry thank him for ruining the moment? He didn't know.

In any case, offer or no offer, he settled into the chair and let his senses filter through his rune passively. If he spent enough time in Arry's presence, he ought to suss out what was wrong. It was difficult, though. He hadn't any real medical training so he didn't have a lot of context to compare what his senses took in. Arry didn't smell like he was sweating stale wine, so perhaps he was just tired and had a headache. But Aurin thought not; he knew the clever thief better than that.

"Well, I was going to take you out to dinner," he began slowly. "Then see if there are any decent tailors open late. I need some new clothes, nicer clothes, and you've a better eye for that than me." He paused. "I could just ask Rickter, I suppose, but fur-lined skivvies aren't really my style. And I don't know if he imports that wet dog-smelling cologne from somewhere, but also, no thank you. Of course, you'd probably outfit me in too much lace and thread-of-gold but I can't really pull off the dandy aesthetic, so I guess I'll just go to dinner by myself and see what I find."

He didn't move yet, though, still gauging Arry, and his response might be telling.

[Arvælyn]

Arry seriously considered Aurin's offer to leave. After Arry revised the terms of their relationship, things had never really gotten back to normal. Or rather, they hadn't found their new normal. The half-elf still didn't wish ill upon his beloved saviour, and it was more to spare him that he mulled over the idea of letting this wait until such a time as Arry wasn't like to be as much of a sass monster. But then Aurin was seated, and it seemed too late to take him up on the offer.

Arry rolled his neck as Aurin continued, but he froze and his eyes snapped up at the offer of free supper.

"Dinner and shopping, you say?" Now it was his shoulders that he rolled, as his head straightened out with a thoughtful purse of his full lips.

"I reckon I could rally in the interest of keeping you looking more foxy than, um... doggy?" He wrinkled his nose as much at the memory of Rickter's cologne as his failure to come up with a better word than 'doggy'.

He grimaced as he untucked and extended his legs, stretching forward catlike to unlace his boots.

"Just let me splash a bit of water on me bits and change into summat I ain't worn last night." He requested, thinking a bit of cold water from the basin might be just the thing to wake him out of this malaise. He kicked his boots off, then pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it into a different pile from the one he used as a pillow.

"How's Torin?" Arry inquired through his teeth sounding, as ever when he posed that particular question, as though the question was obligatory, rather than out of earnest interest.

[Aurin]

That an offer for food and clothes perked him up was a good sign, but something still felt off, with and without his Semblance trick. But if Arry was willing to come out of his cave and join the land of the living, Aurin would give him some time to be forthcoming about it. If he didn't, the elder man might just have to pry for his own good. He was glad that the minstrel was giving him things Aurin couldn't, but Aurin would still force him to take care of himself if he needed it.

"He's fine," he said, honestly wondering why Arry bothered to ask when it was so clearly a chore. He didn't ask after the minstrel, assuming Arry knew how to take care of himself and that he could ask Aurin for help at the drop of a hat no matter what.

"I'll just wait out front," he said when Arry started to change. It was dark in the room, but lines had been drawn in the sand and he wanted to respect Arry's wishes as best he could. But he hurried past the closet with the medicines for something that would help with a headache, and dropped into the kitchen for some water, and made it back to Arry's door before he emerged, the better to let him dose up and drink before they quit the premises. It was solicitous, but it wasn't new behavior. He second-guessed it, though, while he waited. Perhaps taking care of Arry was what had led him to want some exclusive thing with him. But he couldn't not take care of him. He had offered the songbird a place to perch far from the streets of Antiris. He had grown to full manhood here, and things between them had blossomed into other things, but even if Arry had outgrown him, he wanted to take care of him when and how he was able. That was the whole point of him being here at all with news of the Theater waiting in the wings.

When the door opened, he held out the painkiller and the water.

[Arvælyn]

Arry glanced over his shoulder,

"All right." And waited for Aurin to exit, before undressing further. With the privacy he was now afforded, he used his water basin to give himself a whore's bath. At least that terminology wasn't quite as apropos as it had been, now that he'd retired from the oldest profession, but he was still washing off the aftermath of carnal relations. He dried off with a rag, which was then tossed onto one of the piles in that occupied the corners of the room.

He took his time picking out something comfortable to wear, landing on a pair of brown breeches and a flowy, poet's shirt in the customary cream colour. Slightly oversized boots of brown leather were tugged on last, and he left the lacing loose around the collar of his shirt.

He opened the door and started, at finding Aurin there.

"Oh! I thought you were going to wait outside..." He said, glancing down to the tablet in Aurin's one palm and the glass of water held in the other hand.

"Ah, but you brought drugs. Thank you." He said, popping the pill and gulping down a few swallows of water without questioning what the tablet was for. "So." He said, gesturing for Aurin to lead the way.

"What's the occasion that requires a new wardrobe?" Arry inquired, as he followed his saviour down the steps. He discarded the water cup on the bar as they made their way through the main floor of the Velvet Cabaret and headed out the front door onto the street, where the Searing sun made him squint and wrinkle his nose with an uttered, "Ugh." The light from above made his pallour look that much sicker.

[Aurin]

"I was," he said, "but I thought you might find me more palatable if you're in less pain."

He delivered it like a joke, but it was the truth. He deflected the question while they were inside, then looked hard at Arry's complexion when they were in the sun. That wasn't quite what he looked like when he was hungover, but he would continue to wait for more on that story. Just a season ago, he would have demanded to know and Arry would have put up a fight but he would have told him in the end. Now he wasn't sure he had a right to ask. Perhaps he never had.

"Well," he said, squinting at the sun, as well, then back at the golden boy of the Velvet Cabaret, "I got a new job and these are the nicest clothes I've got. I'm not entirely sure what a serious impresario ought to wear. My only study is the soon-to-be-former managing director and I don't think I'd look good in her dresses." He had been up in her skirts, of course, but that had been when he was wearing another man's face and using another man's name. Of course, he didn't volunteer that information, but he would rather Arry not always know what he did to get what he got, rather that he told him he would do a thing and he made it happen.

"Anyway, I figure if we eat first, then they will make sure to leave me a bit of room where it counts so I won't pop buttons when I eat, you see?"

That said, he started across the plaza shared by the Velvet Cabaret, the Golden Peacock, and the Jade Crane. Arry might squawk at the news and hurt his little head, but at least Aurin was playing it cool and collected.