Legend of Ransera

"Yes, yes, it was very dramatic," he agreed, taking the opportunity to clean up a bit. "Could have been something out of a staged farce." One of these days, he was going to have to get the utilities connected to this storage shed that was now a home. But between them, they had eaten the stew so used dishes went into a wooden tub that he could easily carry back to the Cabaret kitchens before he went to sleep. There was still cake and ale and all, but he was a tidy sort and would have to be more so if they were going to be sharing space for a while. It would be a challenge, not because of any inherent fault of Arry's, but because Aurin had chosen not to deal with his life and so he was a bit twisted up inside.

If worse came to worst, he could let himself into Lunaria's office and take a nap on her sofa. Pascal would make biscuits upon his belly, but he could be alone if he needed it.

Having already pointed out clothes for Arry to try, he mostly left him to his ablutions with the water and towels. He needed a proper bath, but even this might make him feel a bit more human. Well, half-human.

"I'm surprised you wasted perfectly good corn on each other's junk when you were hungry all the time." It started out as a humorous observation, but once he said it, it just seemed even more sad. Starved for food, starved for connection, and starved for recreation, it seemed. Oh well, whomst among them could claim a happy youth? Certainly not Aurin. Perhaps he ought to share some harsh memories in a comical light.

"No good corn for no good bollocks," he agreed with a short bark of laughter. "Got it."

He banked the little fire. The tea would stay warm in the kettle over that, but he didn't want the fire truly burning more than it had to; not during the searing months of summer. He washed more often in the summer for the added benefit of keeping cool. He turned to look when Arvine bade him do so. He brought his hands up to slow clap, nodding so vociferously as to make the whole thing a tease. "Mm, oh yes, so artistic."

With a grin, he added, "You look like you're about to climb my balcony in the middle of the night to woo me and my girlish maidenhead." He clicked his tongue and gave him a thumbs up. "You'll knock 'em dead like that. Can you dance in it if Marinia wants a command performance? Is it comfortable? Can you move?" They all seemed valid questions, though he didn't know why anyone would want to wear leather trousers in the summer. But some people had fetishes.

"Yeah..." Looking around, he considered and actually gave more than a glib answer. "I think my mind still hasn't settled on the fact that I live here and I'm not likely to move. Used to be I just needed a place that was mine, but I didn't want to accumulate things because I thought I would have to drop and run. There are some blades on the walls and locks on the door so if someone comes for me, I'd have time to arm myself. Part of me says I should start nesting or whatever. The other part says that as soon as I do that, I'll need to flee."

"Well, nobody at the Cabaret is going to be shocked if you accidentally fall out of your costume. Most of them fall out of their costumes on purpose. It can be quite clever, really. It might also be quite confusing for you. For instance, if you take a shine to another dancer and whip out your corn kernels as a sort of advertisement, they'll assume you're just practicing. Oh, and if you do start sleeping with a fellow performer, try to make sure there are no pregnancies and leave any of that drama behind at the door. Unless you think putting it on stage will make people laugh..."

Everything mostly settled, he refilled his mug with ale and then set about unrolling the pallet he had brought to sleep on. He wasn't going to sleep, but best prepared. The pallet was made out of unbleached canvas and stuffed with clean rags. Much better than the rug on his stone floor.

"I said I was glad you're here," he replied. He didn't quite snap, but he did prefer when people believed him, especially if he was actually telling the truth. Softening it anyway, he shrugged. "I mean, I'll take the piss for you being two years late. We'll figure it out. I work odd hours anyway, so I won't always be up in your business."

He took a sip of his ale and then laid back on the pallet, shoulders down, but legs swinging over to the side so his spine could twist and stretch. There was a snap, crackle, and pop up his spine.

"Don't ever get old, Arry. Everything buggers off and does its own thing. Very rude." He breathed into the stretch and then lifted his knees before slowly dropping them to the other side. He had to be able to move. He was killing for two now.

Aurin wasn't going to comment on the kid's sex life or lack thereof. He was young and it was good he wanted to focus on what would bring him success or, at least, stability, but whereas Aurin had settled on a long life alone as his version of success, he hoped for better for Arry. If he found the stardom he sought and a life he loved, Aurin could take some small pleasure in that, vicarious or at least proud. And if Arry needed the monster under the bed to protect him, well, Aurin has been raised to be a monster.

"I'm just stretching," he scoffed. "Learned it from some of the dancers. Some of them, the ones that do things a body shouldn't be able to do... It wears them out, I think, if they don't take care of themselves. They get old well before their time. Creaking knees, aching backs. I'm just trying to head that off at the pass... Don't want to get old before my time." He laughed a little, then intensified the twist in his spine until his lungs were snug in his chest and laughing needed to wait.

"I'm not going to argue about it. I don't want to fight. I'm sure we'll find plenty of stupid shit to snipe at each other about... We can take turns with the comfortable bedding if that suits you. Claim the bed for a nap while I'm working, of course. I'm just not used to being a host so I'd like to be a good one. It's making me wish I hadn't put off renovations all this time... I'm just mostly here to sleep. But you're here at my invitation, so... make yourself at home.

"Ow," he groaned, his back arching off the floor, hands pushing up under so he could wedge his elbows against the floor and intensify the stretch. "Fuck, that's good. Dancers are masochists." He laughed again, but it was helping—the stretching and the humor—to release the tension of worrying that he had held onto since Princess Arvalyn had fainted right into his arms, leaving him with only his imagination to fret as to whether his long-standing invitation to Kalzasi had killed the prickly kid.

"All right," he said, instantly exasperated too. "You can sleep on the floor. You can help keep the place clean and pull your weight here so you don't have to feel like a coddled princess or whatever. Just... I don't want to be like Demitrov. Does that make sense? I'm not running off to join the priesthood, but..."

He made a noise. It might have been a snort or a sigh or some strange exhalation required by his twisting and turning, body looking for release from tensions that were barely noticeable until they were suddenly quite noticeable.

"Masochists... if you're talking about them at the Cabaret, they're people who enjoy pain. Spankings, whippings, beatings... even light torture, I guess. Outside of that, masochists are just people who seem to find pleasure or comfort in suffering or beating themselves up." One could argue that there was a masochistic streak running through Aurin's knot of personal dysfunction, but like any good dysfunctional person, he could not see it.

Or would not. Denial was a powerful force in the world.

Hazel eyes peered over at Arry. On the one hand, he thought it was probably good he was quick to try anything that might help him succeed in his mission to be famous. On another hand, he was pushing away any notion that Arry might actually look up to him. He just laughed.

"You're so fucking graceful. I don't know why you're asking me what to do... I feel like I should tip you for the pleasure of watching you work. What do you call this one? Awkward chicken?"