( julian stares and stares. the spear nestled into the groove between his ribs is of absolutely no concern to him anymore. can he even feel pain? does he care? could he bleed enough? would it ever stop? can he die? would he stay dead? all questions he's asked and, one way or another, found answers to. and they don't matter. nothing mattered except... well...
except the very real sentiment that morga's recollections are stirring up in him now. his mouth falls open again, the frustrated search gone from his expression. instead there's only glassy-eyed, horror-stricken, miserable shock. where are the tells? that this is all another big, horrible lie? there aren't any. there aren't any, and nothing morga is saying is untrue. he goes so long without blinking that his eyes start to water up; when he finally does, his tears are very real, very normal tears. no inky blackness, no blood. just regular human tears. )
...I had to.
( it's all but a whisper, agonized. he exhales, then inhales again. lays his hand once again over the end of that spear like if he had a mind to he'd urge it right into his body and push it clear through to his lung, just to feel again the way it felt that day. when he took that pain away like it was his own, happily and willingly. because— )
I wanted you to be safe. It was a small price to pay to— to— no, you shouldn't be here! I don't have that power anymore! I can't protect you! I can't do anything for you—I'm not anything, I'm no one. Nothing.
[that seals it. it's him. this feather-brained fool is actually him, and morga doesn't know if she should be relieved or more angry. so, she settles for both. her lip curls back in a snarl and she removes her foot, raises the spear as if to strike...
only to pivot on her heel and throw it with enough force to embed it into the trunk of a tree with a guttural yell. the birds go silent, and for a good long minute the sound of their breathing is the only thing this forest hears. sometime during this, morga starts to pace to and fro. when she'd gone into these woods, this isn't what she expected. she expected... a bear or something, not...
not whatever this is.
his words echo in her ears, and each time it brings up a new hurt. she doesn't need protection. she doesn't deserve it, not after everything in her life. not when she couldn't protect her own family. her husband. her son. her clan — she was the last of the scourge, but that didn't mean she was so weak that she needed protection. it was her generation's job to protect them, not the other way around.
she can't think straight, so she just... picks a spot and starts from there.]
One. Don't you dare think about running away. I'll track you down and lash you to a tree if you try. Two. Don't ever tell me where I should and shouldn't be. Three. I don't de— need anyone to protect me! And if I did, where the hell were you?! You vanished without so much as a word!
( julian doesn't bother to get up. just stays there on his back in the dirt, his wings crushed uncomfortably underneath him. sprawled out, one hand resting over the place where that spear sat until morga threw it. honestly, he doesn't think he can move. sit up, stand, even crawl, he's just so utterly transfixed. in some ways bad, some ways good. seeing morga, presumably real, even pacing and snarling and infuriated as she is, is so mind-boggling and so relieving, he just... doesn't know what to do but lay there.
it's only when malak lights onto the end of that spear sticking out of the tree with a quiet caw and his feathers ruffled that he does finally move. the way he sits upright is awkward. the way he moves at all is awkward. like he's rusty and badly crafted, made up of spare parts he hasn't figured out how to use all in tandem yet. it's been so damn long, and yet he never took the time to learn this body. i mean, why would he? it hardly matters anymore. )
I was... the same thing. I was protecting you. I was protecting everyone. It was the last thing I could do to be of any use to anybody. As it turns out I... still had more to give. Not now, though. I shouldn't be here, either. If I am, it means no one is safe. This could all be one big trap. You can't even begin to imagine how insidious, how vile—this is bad. This is so bad.
[her pacing stops when malak interjects, and she takes the time to count backwards from ten. rubs at her mouth with one hand, and reaches out to offer the poor frazzled animal a gentle head rub. he can croak and gurgle all he wants, but morga knows it's some form of playful "backtalk." jaeger does it, so why would malak be any different? it also gives her an excuse to avoid julian's gaze until she's good and ready. she angles herself so she can keep him in her peripherals, but that's it for the moment.]
...I'll bite. What did we need protection from?
[of course she has suspicions after everything that'd happened over the last few months, but one can't be too certain these days.]
( it feels wrong to even think of him. does he dare even speak the name? as if he could summon him by uttering it. hey, sometimes he could. or even by thinking it too loudly. in those days when he'd still had any fight left in him, it felt like sometimes it was less alerting him to his presence by thinking too hard and more just... being eternally shadowed. just because things look normal now, though, doesn't mean they are. what if he causes something—
ah, what's the use. fear is as useless as fighting anymore. his shoulders slump with utter resignation. his whole body, his countenance, everything droops like it's being pulled toward the earth. the weight of a thousand burdens. )
Why, from the Devil, of course. Who I'm sure is laying in wait even now, waiting to strike... any minute...
( any second. but nothing happens. not even a breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. even malak seems to sit totally still and quiet, for once. just for a second. )
So long as I gave myself up, he couldn't hurt anyone. That was our arrangement. But now I'm... here.
[a threat both empty and not. it wouldn't do a damn thing to him, she knows it, but it'd make her feel something before she died in the process. and even though the arcana doesn't show his hairy face, she still reaches behind her back to pull out the hunting knife attached to her waist. just in case he had any doubts about it being a terrible joke.]
But... I won't lie, Julian. I'm... a lot of things right now. More disappointed than angry. My son made arrangements with people, and look where that got him. The only difference between the two of you is... you said it yourself; you're here.
( julian's lip curls in that familiar smirk again, only just the slightest bit sardonic. the charm of his expressions isn't necessarily lost because of what's happened to his face, but because of what's happened to him. there's no light, no wonder and life in them. even throughout this entire experience of running into an... to a... to... what is she to him? god, he can't remember. whatever it is, she is, he can't believe in anything too deeply anymore. not yet, anyway. he still just looks like he's expecting to wake up.
the grin fades quick, though. that, madam, he takes offense to. then that curl of his lip is a scowl instead. his feathers ruffle—literally. he looks bigger than he did a moment ago. )
Lucio made deals that only benefitted himself, at the cost of everyone and everything around him. He was, quite literally, a plague. He didn't care who got hurt! I wanted to save everyone! I would've done anything, I'm nothing like him! I— I.
( ...and the heat goes right back out of him. sort of. )
Not that it mattered, in the end. And especially not now. Grateful? You should be concerned. The hell we've got to look forward to would put the hell he invited upon himself to shame.
[her hackles go up, and she nearly postures right back at him. were it a happier situation, she'd have gladly done it to get a rise out of him. but with things as they are, all morga does is raise an eyebrow and fold her arms across her chest. a small part of her wonders if he realizes he's doing it, but... she doesn't bring it up. she lets him go on, and she makes her move to step closer when it starts to look like his feathers deflate.
up close like this is... a little surreal. he looked big while he was on the ground, but sitting? no question about it, he'd tower over her standing up now. at the very least while he's like this, she can still look down. still look him in the eye, except not.]
My son is dead, and when Jæger couldn't find you, I—
[her words soften, and there's the faintest flicker of pain in her eyes. it's there and gone in a blink, but it's there. this isn't how she thought the week would go, but here they are.]
I don't know what happened to the world, but I don't think he's involved this time. Even the magician seems... fine. Or I assume as much.
( dead doesn't mean gone. sure, he has no evidence to offer, because he knows nothing about that snot-nosed count and his ultimate fate. because of him, everything... everything was ruined because of him. none of this would have happened in the first place. yes, it's so easy to blame lucio whether he's here to defend himself or not, but that doesn't seem to help matters much when it comes to holding his own head high. it hardly takes more than morga coming near and peering down at him for his whole house of cards to fold. he curls in on himself. he wilts under her gaze, doesn't meet her eye.
especially not after what she says. the pain on his face lasts much, much longer. he puts his hands over his face, shaking his head back and forth. )
I don't want to... please don't tell me. I don't want to know. About them. About anyone. So long as they're safe, so long as they can stay that way, I don't...
( does he actually not want to know? no, he does. about the apprentice, about asra and portia and mazelinka, nadia, her sisters, everyone, everything—but it's just not for him to know. good news or bad, he gave that all up. it hasn't changed just because his chains came loose. if anything it only makes him more determined to resist. to keep them safe.
julian's hands come away slowly from his face and he stares down at them. )
[julian folding is damn near enough to make morga follow suit. one would think she'd have moved beyond that once montag was grown and away from home, but no. what surprises her is she doesn't reach for him. not like she would monty, anyway. what she does instead is stand by and wait for his frazzled feathers to smooth down, and only then does she roll her shoulder.]
I only assume because I don't know him that well. After that night, I've spent most of the last few months shadowing your family. Just because you made a deal with the Devil under the assumption that he wouldn't hurt them doesn't mean it applied to everything else.
[she's seen the lengths people will go to when they're desperate. comes with the territory of leading the scourge, especially considering the whole bone-picking beetle motif. she knew what to look for, and how to defend against it. sure, nadia and the others were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but... it put morga at ease knowing that they'd have one less thing on their plates to worry about.]
( julian's chin jerks up sharply, eyes wide and kind of shocked, glassy again. not unlike the way he'd looked up when she'd tackled him to the ground in the first place, just unfathomably stricken to see and hear everything in front of him. then—something like pain, again. only more touched. he forgets to blink and his eyes well up as they dry out, so that his tears cut a few more icy streaks down his face when he finally does inhale again, open and close his eyes, speak. )
You stayed? You looked out for them? I...
( he'd like to reach out. get up and hug her, if he were himself, the old julian. any sort of julian, really, but he just isn't anymore, is he? instead he puts his arms around himself, shivering like he's cold. )
[it comes off as an accusation, but morga really only means to make an observation of it. her face softens again, and after a long few seconds of wrestling with herself, she offers him her hand. fingers slack, palm up, and it's just. there. she won't force him to take it. not unless she feels he needs the contact.]
Surely you know by now that I'm not so heartless.
[could she be cruel? absolutely. but julian's family has never done anything to deserve her ire - the opposite, really. for as much as morga tried to keep her distance, they still welcomed her with open arms. even with the knowledge that she had been lucio's mother... morga doesn't understand it.]
( he "just" what? he just... didn't expect it, maybe. listen, morga has never made any secret of not being one for the hustle and bustle of vesuvia, for one thing. and for another, it's the way she phrased it. the way she said she watched out for his family. as if it was a favor for him, specifically. for the others, too, of course. obviously. but she could have said it any number of ways. any number of ways that wouldn't send a lance of guilt and gratitude straight to his heart.
he might even smile if not for the guilt part, how it wins out in the end. it always wins out in the end.
julian's gaze lingers on morga's outstretched hand, hesitant. when he finally does take one arm from around himself, he reaches out hesitantly—and stops when he gets a look at the difference between the two of them. he can't touch her with those ugly, horrible talons. shaking his head, he draws his hand back again and finally manages a crooked... well, "smile" is stretching it, but it's something. )
I'm grateful, that's all. I didn't have any way to know if anyone was even still... ah, well. It doesn't matter now. You kept them safe. You... did what I couldn't, I suppose. What I tried to do. You win again, hmm?
[morga exhales slowly, and she hopes the disappointment doesn't show on her face when he pulls his hand back. it's... there, but it's hard to keep everything in check. but she doesn't withdraw her own. no, she keeps it out and open, even curls her fingers by a hair in an invitation of sorts. things would be so much easier if she took a page from monty's book and wore her emotions and heart on her sleeve around people outside of the clan. so, so much easier.
she was brought up differently. this is all she knows, and she may as well be pulling a dragon's tooth by trying it any other way. yet she still tries.]
Look. I didn't know what happened to you. I didn't know where the hell you went, only that you were gone and the world was filling up with monsters I'd only heard of in myths and legends. I had to do something. I couldn't...
[her eyes close and she takes a breath. saying it out loud makes it seem so... wrong. but if she doesn't say it, she never will.]
It was all I could think to do. To honor you. To keep what you had left alive and in one piece while I could.
( it shows. a little. maybe. julian tells himself that isn't what he's looking at, that he only wishes anyone would still feel the way about him that they did before he became a monster. and then he feels guilty for wanting that. guilty for the very notion of thinking he has any right to drag anyone down to his level. his eyes dart from her face to her hand, still held out. not insistently, but it may as well be. she wants him to put his hand in hers, and shouldn't he obey?
maybe, but it's better if he doesn't. it's the right thing to do not for her to have to feel how he's changed. still, miserable wretch that he is, he can't hold out forever. eventually, once he's stricken emotionally enough by the things that she says, he swallows and extends his clawed hand one more time. and this time he finally does lay it against her palm. the second they make contact he's crushed by guilt and regret, glancing up apologetically and then looking away again, hangdog, ashamed. )
Honor? Me? Oh, Morga, I don't deserve your honor. I don't deserve a second thought of yours or anyone's. I'm sorry... I only left you with more burdens.
( what hits him harder? the physical contact, or how he finally, finally says her name out loud? both. who knows. whichever, it makes his brow crease like he's weathering a painful blow, his voice low and rough. )
All I deserve is exactly what I got. But not you. Not any of you.
[his hand is both rougher and smoother than she was expecting. his palm and the underside of his fingers aren't even close to what they once were, but they've a sort of softness to the skin. and — gods — it nearly dwarfs her own. her fingers curl around his with only a heartbeat of hesitation. too fast, and she worries she might scare him off. too slow, and... well, probably the same thing. after another, she brings her second hand up to join the first and she moves to sit cross-legged before him, bringing his hand down with her. it's easier to look at him like this on equal ground.]
People don't always get what they deserve, whether it be good or bad. And those who think themselves undeserving are often more than those who believe they deserve the world simply because of... whatever else. Status. Position.
[carefully and oh-so-slowly, morga turns julian's hand over in her own. her fingertips brush against the rough scales across the top of his hand, while her thumbs work their way across his palm. it's... surprising to be sure, but with how often she has handled Jæger's talons? it doesn't shock her as much as it ought to. this is sort of the same thing, only more "human" and, well. much, much bigger. if she had to guess, she'd guess they were almost as large as a bear's paws. not as wide, but long. yet however big they are, she shows no fear or disgust. and why should she be afraid?]
This... You didn't deserve to have this happen to you. No one does.
[but especially not him. a kind heart was supposed to get people killed. not... tormented by a fiend. not like this.]
( morga may not show disgust or fear, but julian hardly expects her to show it. while not truly unflappable, she's a hard one to make flinch. a tough cookie, as they say. it'd only make sense that she'd face this as deliberately and pointedly as she does. brave, undeterred. a warrior, a paragon. that's his morga. he'd forgotten. in his mind's eye, he'd pictured everyone he loved afraid. hurt, lost, and scared. as much as he tried to convince himself he'd done the right thing and that they'd all be living happy lives, safe and sound, free and unburdened... all his moments were filled with dread, in reality. even morga. cornered and afraid, defenseless. unable to save herself. and no one to step between her and certain danger this time. he used to picture it all the time... when he could remember.
it's fine. he wears the disgust for the both of them. the shame roils off him, but in spite of everything he can't bring himself to continue to look away. that just makes it worse, that he doesn't have the good sense to pull back and stay away. that his eyes fix on their hands with such desperation, such a painful need. no one has touched those awful hands of his since they became what they are. big with viciously thick, sharp, curved talons at the end, the knuckles of his fingers knobby and bent. just like a bird. the shorter, thicker feathers are course and almost sharp, but they become softer and softer as they travel up his arm. for safety's sake he tries very hard just to hold still, even though all he wants is to squeeze tight. )
This is exactly what I deserved. If it hadn't been me, it would have been one of you, you see? Or all of you. After everything I've done, or... didn't do, it's fitting. And I wouldn't take it back. Not after finding out the rest of you didn't have to suffer like I did. Or do. Depending. It isn't so bad now, although I don't know how you can stand it.
[the only thing that slips out is a non-committal grunt, her brows knitting together as she slides her hands along the length of his fingers. she keeps her touch light, even as she squeezes the padded tips between her thumb and index... and then she slides them further forward, hooking them into his talons as easily as she would jæger's. they certainly put the eagle's to shame, though she wouldn't say it within earshot of the bird. not when he has a flair for the dramatics himself behind closed doors. that had been a side he'd only started to show julian and now... it'll be an adjustment period for everyone. no doubt he'll be even angrier than morga was. is? was? it's not important.
she's so engrossed in what she's doing that she's only half aware of the endearment falling from her lips. somewhere down the line she'd gotten so used to hearing things like it from julian that she started slinging them back. how much was genuine and how much of it was in jest was still unknown, but it's out there.]
You've forgotten who my closest friend is, kära. You're simply... bigger.
[her thumbs run down the smooth surface of each talon, stopping before she reaches the ends of them. back up, down, and then to the tops of his fingers once more. she turns his hand, holding it and inspecting it with nothing but neutral curiosity on her face. everything about it is unfortunate and if she had the power... it'd still be julian's choice, not hers. but it's not the worst thing she's seen. magic took all shapes and forms, and it wasn't uncommon to hear tales of other warriors in other clans taking the form of great beasts in the midst of a fight. they were few, though, and as such were better served to live only in those stories.]
Does it bother you? Having me look at you like this?
Not exactly. I missed you looking at me. It's just... unfortunate this is what you have to look at.
( so basically yes. look—he meant what he said. nobody has looked at him in such a long time. nobody has touched him in even longer. it does make his misery feel less miserable, just like it always did. why do you think he was always so quick to throw himself into open arms? because he really craved that touch and attention. receiving it, naturally, but offering it too.
not that he's doing much offering now. he's still hesitant to move, convinced he'll cut her if he curls his fingers too much or tries to squeeze her hand. yeah, yeah, she's strong and tough and not easily hurt, he knows, he remembers that much, but... but still. it's different now, or so he tells himself. it's one thing for people to be indelicate with each other. it's another entirely when he's a loathsome monster, strong and dangerous enough to do real damage. and he doesn't exactly know his own strength, either. he hasn't much had to use it.
still. after studying his other hand a moment, he lays it overtop of morga's. yeah, between the long claws and just the general size of them now, he completely engulfs her hand in his. )
It says enough that when you heard of me, you came here armed. The description those poor folk that spotted me in the city must've been monstrous. I tried not to be seen, but it was—hard to avoid. I don't even know why I'm here. I'm supposed to be locked away, serving my sentence. It can't've been pardoned. It wasn't just a life sentence. It was forever.
They could've told me that there was a white rabbit tearing through the streets hissing at people about the time and I'd still bring a weapon with me. They're deceptive, vicious little bastards under all of that fluff.
[she almost doesn't notice the corners of her mouth quirking up, though whether it's because of the rabbits or the fact that julian is presently touching back is up to debate. it might be both, or it might be over nothing. the only thing that truly matters is... he's not shying away. that counts for something.
and it does something to her, too. having her hands enveloped by something so large? gods, it was always one thing when someone had bigger, meatier hands but for them to still look and feel so delicate like this? it's something else. oh, it's something else, alright. she doesn't need to see his face to know who they belong to, because they speak for him under the rough and smooth scales.]
Either way... It doesn't matter where you think you're supposed to be. You're in the real world, not his. Not... whatever he'd twisted this one into months ago. Take your freedom and hold it tight, Julian.
( maybe she doesn't, but julian does. he notices every minute change in her expression because he's watching very carefully for... well, for lots of things. for a sign that this is all another elaborate illusion, or maybe that she actually secretly hates his, or—whatever. his own expression softens when morga's does. his heart aches. it's... god, how do you explain how it feels to have someone smile at you when you haven't seen one in so, so long?
but that all fades quickly. in an instant he's shaking his head, taking at least the one hand back, all his feathers ruffling at once. )
No—no! That's just the thing, don't you understand? If I'm here, that means the deal must have been broken. You're all in danger—all of you! What I should be doing is turning myself back in before he can find one of you and... god, I can't bear to think of it. You have no idea what he's capable of. I-I can't let that happen to you. To any of you.
[she doesn't fight it when she feels his hand withdraw. what matters is she still has the other in her own, and that's the one she gives a squeeze to. it's almost funny how much smaller her hands look and feel. it'd be even funnier if morga were to let something as small as a difference in size get in her way. she doesn't get to think about it for too long, her eyes drawn to the way the feathers around his shoulders flare. to the ones on his neck, and the curve of his wings. while part of her actually wants to reach out and smooth them down, she doesn't remove her hands from his. he isn't jæger, and she won't insult him by treating him like he were simply an upset animal.]
Oh, I have an idea of what he's capable of.
[the ritual. the state of the world. the state of julian. she tries not to think about the former, running her hands up the length of his instead. up, back down, to the outer sides. it's a way of grounding not only herself, but hopefully him, too. something to keep their minds on the present rather than something else. after a minute or so of it, morga's fingers pause at his wrist where the scales widen and creep up the length of his arm. silently, she asks permission.]
...But it won't happen. You're not turning yourself into anyone — the city guards would be on you in an instant, and I'd rather avoid the headache of pissing off the entire city by breaking you out of jail. And him... I'll write to the magicians if it'll help. Find out what happened. I'll send it with Jæger, and I'll keep everything as vague as I can.
[not until he's good and ready. it's cruel to keep this knowledge from portia and mazelinka, but it wouldn't do anyone any good if she plucked julian from the frying pan and threw him into the fire almost immediately.]
The city guard never could cage me, and they don't stand a prayer of a chance of it now. That's not what I'm worried about. It's the Devil. What's to say he can't reach this world whenever he pleases again? He had Lucio before. Now he's got...
( me, the end to that sentence falling dead on his lips before he can bear to say it. just being here at all, isn't it a risk? not that he chose it. he just... woke up here. what's a guy to do? and he doesn't know how to reach the magical realms on his own. he would've needed his good, dear friend, or asra, or someone, right? and he couldn't risk being seen by them. so he just. hid. waited. agonized. panicked. and now here morga is, and being near each other is a disaster waiting to happen.
the ruff of feathers around the back and sides of his neck are all flared out, shoulders tense. his wings rustle independently of his conscious control; he hasn't learned how to maneuver them yet. not exactly, anyway. once or twice, when things got hairy, he had completely unintentionally spread them out and beat them once, twice with a great flurry of wind. the span was so wide he felt them crash against the walls of the hanged raven, still not fully outstretched. but most of the time they only twitch, incidental additions just like the feathers and the extra teeth.
he frowns down at the path morga's hand takes along his arm. it must not be very pleasant to touch the rough, dry scaly parts, but she isn't far off from where that gives way to feathers and, more in the center, pale skin. silently, he allows her to continue, if only by virtue of looking away and up to her face again. )
If you ask them anything, it should be how to find him. How to face him. I've got to, there's no two ways about it.
[it's all she needs. her touch remains light, almost ghost-like as she touches a patch of feathers. some new, some older. she keeps it as such as she carefully wipes them clean of dirt and mud, and even straightens and smooths the heavier ones out. her thumb sweeps over a patch of black dots scattered across the inside of his arm, her brows furrowing. further up, she catches a glimpse of skin rubbed raw and red, no doubt where feathers once sat just days ago. it shouldn't bother her, but it does. the fool can't heal like he used to, so perhaps that's the reason why it does.]
You didn't make the mistakes he did. It wasn't your blood that...
[one hand slips back into julian's, fingers curling around two of his fingers. the other remains by his feathers, along with her gaze. it's easier to hide how she's feeling if she keeps her attention focused on tidying him up to the best of her ability. it's only right, isn't it? she's the reason he took an old-fashioned dirt bath. occasionally her eyes tilt up to the rest of the patches, and to the ends of his wings behind his arms. he's familiar, somehow, but... only by word of mouth. he's not just a raven, is he?]
Nevermind that. If you were to face him, what would you do? Throw yourself at his feet and beg forgiveness? Or try to kill him?
( well, there's one upside to all this feathery business: it's really difficult to tell the gooseflesh her touch gives him from the rest of him. that's just how his flesh is already, ha ha. bumpy in places, oddly textured. scaly in rough in some places, and where some of the feathers look like they should be soft and fluffy down, there's a dangerous, spiny sort of sharpness to the edges. not to mention how much in disarray his feathers are in general. he clearly doesn't maintain or groom them. if anything, he's yanking them out when they bother him. there are patches around his shoulders where they've been torn bald and bloody, covered in scabs. it itches a lot there, sometimes.
julian's head cants to the side, but he doesn't push. last thing he wants is to listen to blame herself for her piece of shit son, anyway. they all wish they'd killed him sooner, to be sure. or done something else differently. or both. instead, he looks away entirely, relaxed in her purposeful hands. relaxed-ish, at least. malak catches his eye, and when he lifts his other hand, he lights from the pole of morga's spear to roost on the inner curve of his hand with a sound like a clucking tongue. )
He doesn't forgive, or forget. And I can't kill him. I can't fight him at all, in fact. Believe me, I've tried. And tried... and tried, and tried, and tried. No, the only thing for me to do is... surrender. And if that isn't enough, then... well, it can't get any worse, can it? I'm still alive, technically. That must mean I've got something left to barter with.
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except the very real sentiment that morga's recollections are stirring up in him now. his mouth falls open again, the frustrated search gone from his expression. instead there's only glassy-eyed, horror-stricken, miserable shock. where are the tells? that this is all another big, horrible lie? there aren't any. there aren't any, and nothing morga is saying is untrue. he goes so long without blinking that his eyes start to water up; when he finally does, his tears are very real, very normal tears. no inky blackness, no blood. just regular human tears. )
...I had to.
( it's all but a whisper, agonized. he exhales, then inhales again. lays his hand once again over the end of that spear like if he had a mind to he'd urge it right into his body and push it clear through to his lung, just to feel again the way it felt that day. when he took that pain away like it was his own, happily and willingly. because— )
I wanted you to be safe. It was a small price to pay to— to— no, you shouldn't be here! I don't have that power anymore! I can't protect you! I can't do anything for you—I'm not anything, I'm no one. Nothing.
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only to pivot on her heel and throw it with enough force to embed it into the trunk of a tree with a guttural yell. the birds go silent, and for a good long minute the sound of their breathing is the only thing this forest hears. sometime during this, morga starts to pace to and fro. when she'd gone into these woods, this isn't what she expected. she expected... a bear or something, not...
not whatever this is.
his words echo in her ears, and each time it brings up a new hurt. she doesn't need protection. she doesn't deserve it, not after everything in her life. not when she couldn't protect her own family. her husband. her son. her clan — she was the last of the scourge, but that didn't mean she was so weak that she needed protection. it was her generation's job to protect them, not the other way around.
she can't think straight, so she just... picks a spot and starts from there.]
One. Don't you dare think about running away. I'll track you down and lash you to a tree if you try. Two. Don't ever tell me where I should and shouldn't be. Three. I don't de— need anyone to protect me! And if I did, where the hell were you?! You vanished without so much as a word!
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it's only when malak lights onto the end of that spear sticking out of the tree with a quiet caw and his feathers ruffled that he does finally move. the way he sits upright is awkward. the way he moves at all is awkward. like he's rusty and badly crafted, made up of spare parts he hasn't figured out how to use all in tandem yet. it's been so damn long, and yet he never took the time to learn this body. i mean, why would he? it hardly matters anymore. )
I was... the same thing. I was protecting you. I was protecting everyone. It was the last thing I could do to be of any use to anybody. As it turns out I... still had more to give. Not now, though. I shouldn't be here, either. If I am, it means no one is safe. This could all be one big trap. You can't even begin to imagine how insidious, how vile—this is bad. This is so bad.
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...I'll bite. What did we need protection from?
[of course she has suspicions after everything that'd happened over the last few months, but one can't be too certain these days.]
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ah, what's the use. fear is as useless as fighting anymore. his shoulders slump with utter resignation. his whole body, his countenance, everything droops like it's being pulled toward the earth. the weight of a thousand burdens. )
Why, from the Devil, of course. Who I'm sure is laying in wait even now, waiting to strike... any minute...
( any second. but nothing happens. not even a breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. even malak seems to sit totally still and quiet, for once. just for a second. )
So long as I gave myself up, he couldn't hurt anyone. That was our arrangement. But now I'm... here.
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[a threat both empty and not. it wouldn't do a damn thing to him, she knows it, but it'd make her feel something before she died in the process. and even though the arcana doesn't show his hairy face, she still reaches behind her back to pull out the hunting knife attached to her waist. just in case he had any doubts about it being a terrible joke.]
But... I won't lie, Julian. I'm... a lot of things right now. More disappointed than angry. My son made arrangements with people, and look where that got him. The only difference between the two of you is... you said it yourself; you're here.
[alive.]
I should be grateful for that, at least.
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the grin fades quick, though. that, madam, he takes offense to. then that curl of his lip is a scowl instead. his feathers ruffle—literally. he looks bigger than he did a moment ago. )
Lucio made deals that only benefitted himself, at the cost of everyone and everything around him. He was, quite literally, a plague. He didn't care who got hurt! I wanted to save everyone! I would've done anything, I'm nothing like him! I— I.
( ...and the heat goes right back out of him. sort of. )
Not that it mattered, in the end. And especially not now. Grateful? You should be concerned. The hell we've got to look forward to would put the hell he invited upon himself to shame.
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[her hackles go up, and she nearly postures right back at him. were it a happier situation, she'd have gladly done it to get a rise out of him. but with things as they are, all morga does is raise an eyebrow and fold her arms across her chest. a small part of her wonders if he realizes he's doing it, but... she doesn't bring it up. she lets him go on, and she makes her move to step closer when it starts to look like his feathers deflate.
up close like this is... a little surreal. he looked big while he was on the ground, but sitting? no question about it, he'd tower over her standing up now. at the very least while he's like this, she can still look down. still look him in the eye, except not.]
My son is dead, and when Jæger couldn't find you, I—
[her words soften, and there's the faintest flicker of pain in her eyes. it's there and gone in a blink, but it's there. this isn't how she thought the week would go, but here they are.]
I don't know what happened to the world, but I don't think he's involved this time. Even the magician seems... fine. Or I assume as much.
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especially not after what she says. the pain on his face lasts much, much longer. he puts his hands over his face, shaking his head back and forth. )
I don't want to... please don't tell me. I don't want to know. About them. About anyone. So long as they're safe, so long as they can stay that way, I don't...
( does he actually not want to know? no, he does. about the apprentice, about asra and portia and mazelinka, nadia, her sisters, everyone, everything—but it's just not for him to know. good news or bad, he gave that all up. it hasn't changed just because his chains came loose. if anything it only makes him more determined to resist. to keep them safe.
julian's hands come away slowly from his face and he stares down at them. )
You assume...?
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I only assume because I don't know him that well. After that night, I've spent most of the last few months shadowing your family. Just because you made a deal with the Devil under the assumption that he wouldn't hurt them doesn't mean it applied to everything else.
[she's seen the lengths people will go to when they're desperate. comes with the territory of leading the scourge, especially considering the whole bone-picking beetle motif. she knew what to look for, and how to defend against it. sure, nadia and the others were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but... it put morga at ease knowing that they'd have one less thing on their plates to worry about.]
I can promise you that they're safe.
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( julian's chin jerks up sharply, eyes wide and kind of shocked, glassy again. not unlike the way he'd looked up when she'd tackled him to the ground in the first place, just unfathomably stricken to see and hear everything in front of him. then—something like pain, again. only more touched. he forgets to blink and his eyes well up as they dry out, so that his tears cut a few more icy streaks down his face when he finally does inhale again, open and close his eyes, speak. )
You stayed? You looked out for them? I...
( he'd like to reach out. get up and hug her, if he were himself, the old julian. any sort of julian, really, but he just isn't anymore, is he? instead he puts his arms around himself, shivering like he's cold. )
I don't know how to thank you.
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[it comes off as an accusation, but morga really only means to make an observation of it. her face softens again, and after a long few seconds of wrestling with herself, she offers him her hand. fingers slack, palm up, and it's just. there. she won't force him to take it. not unless she feels he needs the contact.]
Surely you know by now that I'm not so heartless.
[could she be cruel? absolutely. but julian's family has never done anything to deserve her ire - the opposite, really. for as much as morga tried to keep her distance, they still welcomed her with open arms. even with the knowledge that she had been lucio's mother... morga doesn't understand it.]
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( he "just" what? he just... didn't expect it, maybe. listen, morga has never made any secret of not being one for the hustle and bustle of vesuvia, for one thing. and for another, it's the way she phrased it. the way she said she watched out for his family. as if it was a favor for him, specifically. for the others, too, of course. obviously. but she could have said it any number of ways. any number of ways that wouldn't send a lance of guilt and gratitude straight to his heart.
he might even smile if not for the guilt part, how it wins out in the end. it always wins out in the end.
julian's gaze lingers on morga's outstretched hand, hesitant. when he finally does take one arm from around himself, he reaches out hesitantly—and stops when he gets a look at the difference between the two of them. he can't touch her with those ugly, horrible talons. shaking his head, he draws his hand back again and finally manages a crooked... well, "smile" is stretching it, but it's something. )
I'm grateful, that's all. I didn't have any way to know if anyone was even still... ah, well. It doesn't matter now. You kept them safe. You... did what I couldn't, I suppose. What I tried to do. You win again, hmm?
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[morga exhales slowly, and she hopes the disappointment doesn't show on her face when he pulls his hand back. it's... there, but it's hard to keep everything in check. but she doesn't withdraw her own. no, she keeps it out and open, even curls her fingers by a hair in an invitation of sorts. things would be so much easier if she took a page from monty's book and wore her emotions and heart on her sleeve around people outside of the clan. so, so much easier.
she was brought up differently. this is all she knows, and she may as well be pulling a dragon's tooth by trying it any other way. yet she still tries.]
Look. I didn't know what happened to you. I didn't know where the hell you went, only that you were gone and the world was filling up with monsters I'd only heard of in myths and legends. I had to do something. I couldn't...
[her eyes close and she takes a breath. saying it out loud makes it seem so... wrong. but if she doesn't say it, she never will.]
It was all I could think to do. To honor you. To keep what you had left alive and in one piece while I could.
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maybe, but it's better if he doesn't. it's the right thing to do not for her to have to feel how he's changed. still, miserable wretch that he is, he can't hold out forever. eventually, once he's stricken emotionally enough by the things that she says, he swallows and extends his clawed hand one more time. and this time he finally does lay it against her palm. the second they make contact he's crushed by guilt and regret, glancing up apologetically and then looking away again, hangdog, ashamed. )
Honor? Me? Oh, Morga, I don't deserve your honor. I don't deserve a second thought of yours or anyone's. I'm sorry... I only left you with more burdens.
( what hits him harder? the physical contact, or how he finally, finally says her name out loud? both. who knows. whichever, it makes his brow crease like he's weathering a painful blow, his voice low and rough. )
All I deserve is exactly what I got. But not you. Not any of you.
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People don't always get what they deserve, whether it be good or bad. And those who think themselves undeserving are often more than those who believe they deserve the world simply because of... whatever else. Status. Position.
[carefully and oh-so-slowly, morga turns julian's hand over in her own. her fingertips brush against the rough scales across the top of his hand, while her thumbs work their way across his palm. it's... surprising to be sure, but with how often she has handled Jæger's talons? it doesn't shock her as much as it ought to. this is sort of the same thing, only more "human" and, well. much, much bigger. if she had to guess, she'd guess they were almost as large as a bear's paws. not as wide, but long. yet however big they are, she shows no fear or disgust. and why should she be afraid?]
This... You didn't deserve to have this happen to you. No one does.
[but especially not him. a kind heart was supposed to get people killed. not... tormented by a fiend. not like this.]
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it's fine. he wears the disgust for the both of them. the shame roils off him, but in spite of everything he can't bring himself to continue to look away. that just makes it worse, that he doesn't have the good sense to pull back and stay away. that his eyes fix on their hands with such desperation, such a painful need. no one has touched those awful hands of his since they became what they are. big with viciously thick, sharp, curved talons at the end, the knuckles of his fingers knobby and bent. just like a bird. the shorter, thicker feathers are course and almost sharp, but they become softer and softer as they travel up his arm. for safety's sake he tries very hard just to hold still, even though all he wants is to squeeze tight. )
This is exactly what I deserved. If it hadn't been me, it would have been one of you, you see? Or all of you. After everything I've done, or... didn't do, it's fitting. And I wouldn't take it back. Not after finding out the rest of you didn't have to suffer like I did. Or do. Depending. It isn't so bad now, although I don't know how you can stand it.
( touching him, that is. gross. )
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she's so engrossed in what she's doing that she's only half aware of the endearment falling from her lips. somewhere down the line she'd gotten so used to hearing things like it from julian that she started slinging them back. how much was genuine and how much of it was in jest was still unknown, but it's out there.]
You've forgotten who my closest friend is, kära. You're simply... bigger.
[her thumbs run down the smooth surface of each talon, stopping before she reaches the ends of them. back up, down, and then to the tops of his fingers once more. she turns his hand, holding it and inspecting it with nothing but neutral curiosity on her face. everything about it is unfortunate and if she had the power... it'd still be julian's choice, not hers. but it's not the worst thing she's seen. magic took all shapes and forms, and it wasn't uncommon to hear tales of other warriors in other clans taking the form of great beasts in the midst of a fight. they were few, though, and as such were better served to live only in those stories.]
Does it bother you? Having me look at you like this?
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( so basically yes. look—he meant what he said. nobody has looked at him in such a long time. nobody has touched him in even longer. it does make his misery feel less miserable, just like it always did. why do you think he was always so quick to throw himself into open arms? because he really craved that touch and attention. receiving it, naturally, but offering it too.
not that he's doing much offering now. he's still hesitant to move, convinced he'll cut her if he curls his fingers too much or tries to squeeze her hand. yeah, yeah, she's strong and tough and not easily hurt, he knows, he remembers that much, but... but still. it's different now, or so he tells himself. it's one thing for people to be indelicate with each other. it's another entirely when he's a loathsome monster, strong and dangerous enough to do real damage. and he doesn't exactly know his own strength, either. he hasn't much had to use it.
still. after studying his other hand a moment, he lays it overtop of morga's. yeah, between the long claws and just the general size of them now, he completely engulfs her hand in his. )
It says enough that when you heard of me, you came here armed. The description those poor folk that spotted me in the city must've been monstrous. I tried not to be seen, but it was—hard to avoid. I don't even know why I'm here. I'm supposed to be locked away, serving my sentence. It can't've been pardoned. It wasn't just a life sentence. It was forever.
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[she almost doesn't notice the corners of her mouth quirking up, though whether it's because of the rabbits or the fact that julian is presently touching back is up to debate. it might be both, or it might be over nothing. the only thing that truly matters is... he's not shying away. that counts for something.
and it does something to her, too. having her hands enveloped by something so large? gods, it was always one thing when someone had bigger, meatier hands but for them to still look and feel so delicate like this? it's something else. oh, it's something else, alright. she doesn't need to see his face to know who they belong to, because they speak for him under the rough and smooth scales.]
Either way... It doesn't matter where you think you're supposed to be. You're in the real world, not his. Not... whatever he'd twisted this one into months ago. Take your freedom and hold it tight, Julian.
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but that all fades quickly. in an instant he's shaking his head, taking at least the one hand back, all his feathers ruffling at once. )
No—no! That's just the thing, don't you understand? If I'm here, that means the deal must have been broken. You're all in danger—all of you! What I should be doing is turning myself back in before he can find one of you and... god, I can't bear to think of it. You have no idea what he's capable of. I-I can't let that happen to you. To any of you.
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Oh, I have an idea of what he's capable of.
[the ritual. the state of the world. the state of julian. she tries not to think about the former, running her hands up the length of his instead. up, back down, to the outer sides. it's a way of grounding not only herself, but hopefully him, too. something to keep their minds on the present rather than something else. after a minute or so of it, morga's fingers pause at his wrist where the scales widen and creep up the length of his arm. silently, she asks permission.]
...But it won't happen. You're not turning yourself into anyone — the city guards would be on you in an instant, and I'd rather avoid the headache of pissing off the entire city by breaking you out of jail. And him... I'll write to the magicians if it'll help. Find out what happened. I'll send it with Jæger, and I'll keep everything as vague as I can.
[not until he's good and ready. it's cruel to keep this knowledge from portia and mazelinka, but it wouldn't do anyone any good if she plucked julian from the frying pan and threw him into the fire almost immediately.]
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( me, the end to that sentence falling dead on his lips before he can bear to say it. just being here at all, isn't it a risk? not that he chose it. he just... woke up here. what's a guy to do? and he doesn't know how to reach the magical realms on his own. he would've needed his good, dear friend, or asra, or someone, right? and he couldn't risk being seen by them. so he just. hid. waited. agonized. panicked. and now here morga is, and being near each other is a disaster waiting to happen.
the ruff of feathers around the back and sides of his neck are all flared out, shoulders tense. his wings rustle independently of his conscious control; he hasn't learned how to maneuver them yet. not exactly, anyway. once or twice, when things got hairy, he had completely unintentionally spread them out and beat them once, twice with a great flurry of wind. the span was so wide he felt them crash against the walls of the hanged raven, still not fully outstretched. but most of the time they only twitch, incidental additions just like the feathers and the extra teeth.
he frowns down at the path morga's hand takes along his arm. it must not be very pleasant to touch the rough, dry scaly parts, but she isn't far off from where that gives way to feathers and, more in the center, pale skin. silently, he allows her to continue, if only by virtue of looking away and up to her face again. )
If you ask them anything, it should be how to find him. How to face him. I've got to, there's no two ways about it.
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You didn't make the mistakes he did. It wasn't your blood that...
[one hand slips back into julian's, fingers curling around two of his fingers. the other remains by his feathers, along with her gaze. it's easier to hide how she's feeling if she keeps her attention focused on tidying him up to the best of her ability. it's only right, isn't it? she's the reason he took an old-fashioned dirt bath. occasionally her eyes tilt up to the rest of the patches, and to the ends of his wings behind his arms. he's familiar, somehow, but... only by word of mouth. he's not just a raven, is he?]
Nevermind that. If you were to face him, what would you do? Throw yourself at his feet and beg forgiveness? Or try to kill him?
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julian's head cants to the side, but he doesn't push. last thing he wants is to listen to blame herself for her piece of shit son, anyway. they all wish they'd killed him sooner, to be sure. or done something else differently. or both. instead, he looks away entirely, relaxed in her purposeful hands. relaxed-ish, at least. malak catches his eye, and when he lifts his other hand, he lights from the pole of morga's spear to roost on the inner curve of his hand with a sound like a clucking tongue. )
He doesn't forgive, or forget. And I can't kill him. I can't fight him at all, in fact. Believe me, I've tried. And tried... and tried, and tried, and tried. No, the only thing for me to do is... surrender. And if that isn't enough, then... well, it can't get any worse, can it? I'm still alive, technically. That must mean I've got something left to barter with.
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