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[Along with the plate of libum--the little poppy-studded cheesecakes--and homemade honey candy that Myr leaves for L on Modranicht morning, he also presents his Witch with a truly lovely set of tools for carving, etching, or writing runes on any surface one could think of. They are unshowy but exceptionally well-made--the tools of a true professional.
Because this is Aefenglom, there is, of course, a knife in the set. Since its removal would be obvious, Myr has left it in, but carefully wrapped a golden ribbon around the entire blade and sealed the ends in wax with his bee-and-plum-blossom device.]
Because this is Aefenglom, there is, of course, a knife in the set. Since its removal would be obvious, Myr has left it in, but carefully wrapped a golden ribbon around the entire blade and sealed the ends in wax with his bee-and-plum-blossom device.]
[Myr has been admirably punctual in meeting with L after every visit to investigate the Evergreen Circle. Even if it were not a matter of their own safety to coordinate in such a manner, Myr takes a certain pleasure in their debriefings--in feeling that he's part of that enterprise that his amatus lives and breathes for.
(It almost made up for knowing L was attending the meetings at Light's side, while Myr stuck to Viren like a burr. Almost.)
But there comes a day when he simply doesn't show. Doesn't call to say he'll be late or otherwise give an excuse for his absence.
He's simply not there at the agreed-upon time.]
(It almost made up for knowing L was attending the meetings at Light's side, while Myr stuck to Viren like a burr. Almost.)
But there comes a day when he simply doesn't show. Doesn't call to say he'll be late or otherwise give an excuse for his absence.
He's simply not there at the agreed-upon time.]
[Though L can admittedly get somewhat lost in his Bond with Light, slotting so easily into place against the other Witch, he cherishes his time with Myr. Now that both of them are dividing their time between three Bonds, it's a bit sparser, though in L's case the balance is lopsided. Near does not take much; Light is freely given the difference.
He notices, in other words, when something is off. Myr doesn't just not show up, and L paces some quick, uneven steps before reaching out tenuously through their Bond, at least to see if he's nearby. If not... well, the scrying basin is how he will be found, whether or not he wants to be.
What if he doesn't want to be found? L closes his eyes, tries to concentrate on the quiet, calm connection.
Where are you? You're late... that's not customary.]
He notices, in other words, when something is off. Myr doesn't just not show up, and L paces some quick, uneven steps before reaching out tenuously through their Bond, at least to see if he's nearby. If not... well, the scrying basin is how he will be found, whether or not he wants to be.
What if he doesn't want to be found? L closes his eyes, tries to concentrate on the quiet, calm connection.
Where are you? You're late... that's not customary.]
[More puzzling still, Myr is easy to find--at home, in the cottage he shares with Caster and Archer. If the feel through the Bond is anything to go on (quiet calm, the Faun at home in nature), he's puttering around in his garden.
L's reaching-out is met with an instant reaching-back, absolutely characteristic of Myr, who is always glad to greet his Bonded. It's all-curious, a little worried, but absolutely not the abrupt and abashed ripple of dismay that normally accompanies the realization he's missed an appointment.
Need something?]
L's reaching-out is met with an instant reaching-back, absolutely characteristic of Myr, who is always glad to greet his Bonded. It's all-curious, a little worried, but absolutely not the abrupt and abashed ripple of dismay that normally accompanies the realization he's missed an appointment.
Need something?]
[It takes L mere moments; he'd expected at least a minute or two, given his distracted and frustrated frame of mind. It's jarring that Myr sounds so calm, that the imprint of his routine is... well, routine, as though he's doing precisely what he's supposed to be at this point in time.
Untrue, and it makes L uneasy... but of course, there's a simpler solution. No less frustrating, but certainly not malicious. Yes; that's the likelier explanation.
You were going to come over, this evening. Did you forget? That's not like you.]
Untrue, and it makes L uneasy... but of course, there's a simpler solution. No less frustrating, but certainly not malicious. Yes; that's the likelier explanation.
You were going to come over, this evening. Did you forget? That's not like you.]
[I was?
Now the alarm leeches through, in a coppery scent like blood and a fluttering prey-heart distress.
What day is it? Was I bringing dinner?
There are times when he does lose track of the week that badly, he knows; when his grasp on time between sleep and waking becomes increasingly tenuous and unmoored from the passage of a sun he can't see. But those episodes were rare, tied to times of heavy stress, and there wasn't any reason to be stressed lately, was there?
No reason at all. Everything continued exactly as he'd expect it, in Aefenglom.]
Now the alarm leeches through, in a coppery scent like blood and a fluttering prey-heart distress.
What day is it? Was I bringing dinner?
There are times when he does lose track of the week that badly, he knows; when his grasp on time between sleep and waking becomes increasingly tenuous and unmoored from the passage of a sun he can't see. But those episodes were rare, tied to times of heavy stress, and there wasn't any reason to be stressed lately, was there?
No reason at all. Everything continued exactly as he'd expect it, in Aefenglom.]
[You were.
From his place in the cottage, seated at the table with his cheek resting atop his folded hands, L almost feels bad to confirm it. Myr isn't lying; he so clearly just forgot, but...
...no. It isn't so clear. L's brow knits.
Why don't you know the day? What's wrong?
He sits up, going for his shoes. He hadn't planned to leave the cottage this evening, so he's only half-dressed in his trousers and an undershirt, but between what he and Light have within easiest reach, he can dress warmly enough, quickly enough, to be out the door in short order.]
From his place in the cottage, seated at the table with his cheek resting atop his folded hands, L almost feels bad to confirm it. Myr isn't lying; he so clearly just forgot, but...
...no. It isn't so clear. L's brow knits.
Why don't you know the day? What's wrong?
He sits up, going for his shoes. He hadn't planned to leave the cottage this evening, so he's only half-dressed in his trousers and an undershirt, but between what he and Light have within easiest reach, he can dress warmly enough, quickly enough, to be out the door in short order.]
[I thought it was Friday.
It is Friday.
Dinner was Sunday, I was sure.
He'd have lost two days, if that's the case. The distress from Myr's end of the Bond mounts as he tries to work out how he's lost two days without even noticing it. (He hasn't.
But he has lost the reason he'd be over on a Friday.)]
It is Friday.
Dinner was Sunday, I was sure.
He'd have lost two days, if that's the case. The distress from Myr's end of the Bond mounts as he tries to work out how he's lost two days without even noticing it. (He hasn't.
But he has lost the reason he'd be over on a Friday.)]
[L nods, more to himself than for Myr's benefit. It is Friday, making this even stranger.
The sooner he can get there, the better. None of this checks out.
Are you alone?
He grabs the nearest jacket, too light for the weather, but enough, at least, to make it to Myr's other cottage without freezing through.]
The sooner he can get there, the better. None of this checks out.
Are you alone?
He grabs the nearest jacket, too light for the weather, but enough, at least, to make it to Myr's other cottage without freezing through.]
[Frizzling irritation--at himself, at the world, a little at L--clots the Bond. He's already feeling incompetent, less-than, for having forgotten. Does it really need one of his Bonded over to help him because he's too much of a cripple to--
He squashes the thought.
I am. It's all right; you needn't come over. I can manage something simple and I'll be along.
Since it's clearly not Friday any longer he owes L a dinner and damned if he won't fix it. Even late.]
He squashes the thought.
I am. It's all right; you needn't come over. I can manage something simple and I'll be along.
Since it's clearly not Friday any longer he owes L a dinner and damned if he won't fix it. Even late.]
[L feels the needling spark through the Bond. He knows that he's irritated Myr before and what it feels like, but the faun is patient and kind and it typically takes more than this.
It's troubling that he doesn't seem to immediately connect why L is leaving home in a hurry, wearing a cluttered ensemble of his and Light's clothing based on what he could grab quickly and not on the state of whether or not it's been laundered recently. The result is probably a confusing scent, different from what's typical for him, heavily influenced by another.
Dinner is the last thing on his mind, and he wonders if Myr is using it as a distraction, even if he sincerely believes this was a committed obligation L believes he dropped tonight. No matter how quickly Myr cooks, he's already on his way, and as a witch, his time will be halved by merit of teleportation.
His knock is soft and sharp, though Myr probably felt his sudden increase in proximity through the Bond several seconds prior.]
It's troubling that he doesn't seem to immediately connect why L is leaving home in a hurry, wearing a cluttered ensemble of his and Light's clothing based on what he could grab quickly and not on the state of whether or not it's been laundered recently. The result is probably a confusing scent, different from what's typical for him, heavily influenced by another.
Dinner is the last thing on his mind, and he wonders if Myr is using it as a distraction, even if he sincerely believes this was a committed obligation L believes he dropped tonight. No matter how quickly Myr cooks, he's already on his way, and as a witch, his time will be halved by merit of teleportation.
His knock is soft and sharp, though Myr probably felt his sudden increase in proximity through the Bond several seconds prior.]
[Myr is not, as it happens, cooking at all. The ingredients he'd intended for Sunday's dinner aren't there, and he spends a long bewildered moment with a hand in the cupboard wondering where they've gone.
Or whether he's bought them at all.
He is there at the door nearly as L knocks, his ears set back and expression creased with worry.]
What day is it and what was coming over to meet you for? [he asks without preamble, moving aside to let L into the cottage.]
Or whether he's bought them at all.
He is there at the door nearly as L knocks, his ears set back and expression creased with worry.]
What day is it and what was coming over to meet you for? [he asks without preamble, moving aside to let L into the cottage.]
[From outside, L can feel the scattered confusion, the strange sense that something is missing or scrambled. It's bizarre, coming from a presence as reliably stable as Myr. He's frustrated, and maybe a touch afraid, because he's not drunk or drugged, but still somehow addled.
It's not like him. L's immediate instinct is to reassure, launching into a way to solve the problem through Divination first and other means if that doesn't work, but... there's also the notion, old and insidious, that suggests he's being somehow tricked or misled and taken for a fool. It's an insult, to believe that he is stupid enough to believe any of this. He doesn't think Myr is lying, but isn't that the definition of trust? Would he even be able to tell at this point?
He chews his lip for a moment, stepping into the cottage more carefully than he might, otherwise.]
Friday, like you said. Like we said...
[A prodding reminder that they had agreed on this, with a doubtful downturn at the end of the last word. He knows what he heard; he knows that the expectations set weren't unreasonable, though he's liable to believe that any time Myr spares him might be more happily spent elsewhere.]
It has become routine, and I would trust that alone, but we confirmed it on Wednesday.
[He wonders if Myr thinks what he thinks, which is that he's being gaslighted, led to believe something absurd and untrue, for no immediately explainable reason. The energy over the Bond is uneasy and anxious.]
It's not like him. L's immediate instinct is to reassure, launching into a way to solve the problem through Divination first and other means if that doesn't work, but... there's also the notion, old and insidious, that suggests he's being somehow tricked or misled and taken for a fool. It's an insult, to believe that he is stupid enough to believe any of this. He doesn't think Myr is lying, but isn't that the definition of trust? Would he even be able to tell at this point?
He chews his lip for a moment, stepping into the cottage more carefully than he might, otherwise.]
Friday, like you said. Like we said...
[A prodding reminder that they had agreed on this, with a doubtful downturn at the end of the last word. He knows what he heard; he knows that the expectations set weren't unreasonable, though he's liable to believe that any time Myr spares him might be more happily spent elsewhere.]
It has become routine, and I would trust that alone, but we confirmed it on Wednesday.
[He wonders if Myr thinks what he thinks, which is that he's being gaslighted, led to believe something absurd and untrue, for no immediately explainable reason. The energy over the Bond is uneasy and anxious.]
[Myr shuts the door behind his Witch as he digests this answer, and the underlying roil of anxiety that merely feeds into his own. Friday, like you said.
Then what had he been late for? What was it that he was supposed to be doing, that he'd confirmed with L on Wednesday and then missed by hours tonight?
Having the object of their agreed-upon meeting left vague does feel cruel to him, like he's done something wrong and L's decided to drag him into the kind of mocking game he'd play with Rich.
Except L wouldn't do that to him, so wherever this feeling is false as a demon's visions in the Fade. Myr reaches up to rub at one temple, expression crumpling further in dismay.]
Yes, all right. It's Friday. But what were we going to do? What did I miss, Linden? I don't--
[Please, stay your hands in this matter, if only for a while.
...No, it isn't that he doesn't remember, exactly, it's--
Those of your friends, as well.]
--Didn't we cancel? [The abrupt shift in topic is accompanied by a plaintive tone he rarely uses. There is some reason to not want this conversation and even he, familiar as he is with his own internal world, has...no idea what it is.
Only that it needs to be avoided.]
Then what had he been late for? What was it that he was supposed to be doing, that he'd confirmed with L on Wednesday and then missed by hours tonight?
Having the object of their agreed-upon meeting left vague does feel cruel to him, like he's done something wrong and L's decided to drag him into the kind of mocking game he'd play with Rich.
Except L wouldn't do that to him, so wherever this feeling is false as a demon's visions in the Fade. Myr reaches up to rub at one temple, expression crumpling further in dismay.]
Yes, all right. It's Friday. But what were we going to do? What did I miss, Linden? I don't--
[Please, stay your hands in this matter, if only for a while.
...No, it isn't that he doesn't remember, exactly, it's--
Those of your friends, as well.]
--Didn't we cancel? [The abrupt shift in topic is accompanied by a plaintive tone he rarely uses. There is some reason to not want this conversation and even he, familiar as he is with his own internal world, has...no idea what it is.
Only that it needs to be avoided.]
[L's intention isn't to be cruel. This feels like navigating something dangerous; his intuition tells him to proceed cautiously and hold all of his cards very near his chest, but the cognitive dissonance is powerful. He's not supposed to need to with Myr. The kind of footwork that is exciting and expected with Light feels upsetting in this context.
Ah, there, an opening to strike. He won't lie to Myr about what they planned to do, although it would be interesting to see his reaction, whether Myr would admit to catching him in it or be trusting, relieved that he didn't need to find the answer himself.]
If we had canceled, you'd know what we had canceled. And there would be a reason.
[Quite clearly, Myr has no other obligations. He's here alone, and somehow, that is worse than Myr surrounded by amorous reveling fauns eager to fold him into hedonism.
The theory gains traction, takes on a life of its own. Myr doesn't want to talk; there is also a reason for that, and the newly forged weapon in his hands can chip away at it.]
Why would you cancel, Myr?
[Pointedly, it is you and not we. L never would; L wants to remind him, petulantly, that he values their time and what they have deemed important enough to work toward.]
Ah, there, an opening to strike. He won't lie to Myr about what they planned to do, although it would be interesting to see his reaction, whether Myr would admit to catching him in it or be trusting, relieved that he didn't need to find the answer himself.]
If we had canceled, you'd know what we had canceled. And there would be a reason.
[Quite clearly, Myr has no other obligations. He's here alone, and somehow, that is worse than Myr surrounded by amorous reveling fauns eager to fold him into hedonism.
The theory gains traction, takes on a life of its own. Myr doesn't want to talk; there is also a reason for that, and the newly forged weapon in his hands can chip away at it.]
Why would you cancel, Myr?
[Pointedly, it is you and not we. L never would; L wants to remind him, petulantly, that he values their time and what they have deemed important enough to work toward.]
[This...isn't supposed to be happening.
It isn't. Myr doesn't understand why it is. Under any other condition he is certain that if he'd confessed to forgetting one of their appointments, or sleeping through it, L would just tell him what it was he'd missed.
(Never mind he isn't supposed to forget that sort of thing; never mind he keeps his calendar as meticulously tidy as his room, or as much as it could be around his erratic sleep schedule. He doesn't completely forget appointments with his Bonded. Not this way.)
If he could, he'd stare incredulously at his Witch at the reversal. He even does turn his face toward L, head lifting and shoulders stiffening. He doesn't know why he's under this sudden assault, doesn't know what's made L think he deserves it, but it's happening on his territory and there is a sneaking implication beneath those words he cannot abide--
(and a distraction, a distraction, a distraction from the ideas he cannot look at headlong, cannot think about, cannot act on,)]
Do you believe, [he enunciates the words carefully,] that I am lying to you about this, Linden?
[The framework of righteous offense behind the words is brittle with bewilderment, obvious to the Bond: Is he lying about this?
He doesn't have any idea because he doesn't know what he doesn't know.]
It isn't. Myr doesn't understand why it is. Under any other condition he is certain that if he'd confessed to forgetting one of their appointments, or sleeping through it, L would just tell him what it was he'd missed.
(Never mind he isn't supposed to forget that sort of thing; never mind he keeps his calendar as meticulously tidy as his room, or as much as it could be around his erratic sleep schedule. He doesn't completely forget appointments with his Bonded. Not this way.)
If he could, he'd stare incredulously at his Witch at the reversal. He even does turn his face toward L, head lifting and shoulders stiffening. He doesn't know why he's under this sudden assault, doesn't know what's made L think he deserves it, but it's happening on his territory and there is a sneaking implication beneath those words he cannot abide--
(and a distraction, a distraction, a distraction from the ideas he cannot look at headlong, cannot think about, cannot act on,)]
Do you believe, [he enunciates the words carefully,] that I am lying to you about this, Linden?
[The framework of righteous offense behind the words is brittle with bewilderment, obvious to the Bond: Is he lying about this?
He doesn't have any idea because he doesn't know what he doesn't know.]
Edited (subject-verb agreement) 2021-01-28 05:49 (UTC)
[The distance between them is always more than an arm's length. Whether or not L's doing it on purpose, his steps maintain it, giving him room to maneuver, think, and, if necessary, strike.
In the time he's known and been Bonded to Myr, his way of approaching problems has ebbed and flowed and adapted, in equal parts toward benefit and ruin. His habits can erode his clarity and sharpness, but Light's arrival heralded another piece of the detective slotting into a place it always was, and always belonged, something that slept at times but never truly left.]
I haven't decided anything. I need more information before I think that you are.
[He hasn't ruled it out, because he can't, because there is a glaring discrepancy he is being asked to ignore.]
In the time he's known and been Bonded to Myr, his way of approaching problems has ebbed and flowed and adapted, in equal parts toward benefit and ruin. His habits can erode his clarity and sharpness, but Light's arrival heralded another piece of the detective slotting into a place it always was, and always belonged, something that slept at times but never truly left.]
I haven't decided anything. I need more information before I think that you are.
[He hasn't ruled it out, because he can't, because there is a glaring discrepancy he is being asked to ignore.]
What information would that be?
[Myr's tone is brittle now, and quiet. He's noticed his own emotional disarray and begun trying to tamp it down--something that feels even more urgent now there's an unexpected opponent on the other side of his Bond--but everything is so abruptly precarious he's having little success at it.
What's wrong with me?
And what is it he's done to L?]
[Myr's tone is brittle now, and quiet. He's noticed his own emotional disarray and begun trying to tamp it down--something that feels even more urgent now there's an unexpected opponent on the other side of his Bond--but everything is so abruptly precarious he's having little success at it.
What's wrong with me?
And what is it he's done to L?]
[L doesn't know how to say that he's on Myr's side when he is so certain that something is wrong, compromised, perilous. In situations like these, there's one place he knows he can turn, and that seems handily out of the question. It leaves him without a true north, panicked, precarious.]
The source of this uncharacteristic lapse.
[That sounds harsh, doesn't it? Like L is blaming Myr, regardless. Pedal it back, or keep biting?]
The degree of absurdity you're aware of, also.
The source of this uncharacteristic lapse.
[That sounds harsh, doesn't it? Like L is blaming Myr, regardless. Pedal it back, or keep biting?]
The degree of absurdity you're aware of, also.
I don't know, [Myr shoots back, pretense of control shattered and voice rising. He tosses his antlers in a stag's display, the charms on them jangling. Next he'd scrape a hoof on the floorboards, as if L were a rival in his territory (smells like one, like not-himself, like the other who's inserted himself into every good thing they had) to be driven off.
No. Myr turns himself bodily from that, stomping away from the front door to the far side of the room. Damn good thing there's nothing in here to trip him.]
I didn't know there was a lapse until you told me and you still won't fucking tell me what it is I've forgotten!
[Pivot. Stomp back, never crossing within L's personal space without any awareness of the avoidance. They are both so attuned to each other that something like this shouldn't happen, and yet--
And yet.]
Something--allegedly!--goes wrong with me and I forget a--supposed!--appointment and now I'm a case? A suspect? Or--
[Pivot. Back the other way again.]
Simply absurd for trying to hold to what I do remember, a ridiculous spectacle of a cripple who can't even remember the day of the week!
[There is real fear behind the gouges he digs in himself with those words; in the flexing of his hands and bristling of his fur and flagging of his tail. Is this what it means to finally go all the way mad?
Is L making the same choice his Circle did, confronted with the same evidence--]
No. Myr turns himself bodily from that, stomping away from the front door to the far side of the room. Damn good thing there's nothing in here to trip him.]
I didn't know there was a lapse until you told me and you still won't fucking tell me what it is I've forgotten!
[Pivot. Stomp back, never crossing within L's personal space without any awareness of the avoidance. They are both so attuned to each other that something like this shouldn't happen, and yet--
And yet.]
Something--allegedly!--goes wrong with me and I forget a--supposed!--appointment and now I'm a case? A suspect? Or--
[Pivot. Back the other way again.]
Simply absurd for trying to hold to what I do remember, a ridiculous spectacle of a cripple who can't even remember the day of the week!
[There is real fear behind the gouges he digs in himself with those words; in the flexing of his hands and bristling of his fur and flagging of his tail. Is this what it means to finally go all the way mad?
[The name of L's arrow is concern, almost childish in its broad simplicity. The target is what complicates it, ever shifting into jarring false starts and ambiguous shadows.
He relaxes very slightly when Myr tilts his rack of antlers, increasing the distance between them, but is it just as likely that Myr views L as the threat?]
Memory is easily influenced and malleable. If you're lying, that'll become clear, and if you truly don't remember...
[Both options are bright red bullseyes, begging for L to bury his concern in them. Both are troubling, even potentially disastrous; both mean different things. It would be stressful to consider even if L was alone, but he isn't; Myr is pacing and openly (if indignantly) panicking, as well.
It reads as wholly genuine. L wouldn't doubt the assessment, if his trust and affection for Myr didn't run so deep. For all of Myr's insecurities, some of which he voices now, L has always rather put the faun's goodness and worthiness up on a pedestal. That means that he's biased; it means that his ability to sense Myr's lies could be hopelessly unreliable in a moment he needs that ability unblemished.]
If you truly don't remember, there's a reason for it. And if you're not lying to me, you want to know the reason, too.
[The reason matters more than the engagement, itself. It's arbitrary; L isn't sure if that's coming through, given Myr's fixation on what he forgot.]
He relaxes very slightly when Myr tilts his rack of antlers, increasing the distance between them, but is it just as likely that Myr views L as the threat?]
Memory is easily influenced and malleable. If you're lying, that'll become clear, and if you truly don't remember...
[Both options are bright red bullseyes, begging for L to bury his concern in them. Both are troubling, even potentially disastrous; both mean different things. It would be stressful to consider even if L was alone, but he isn't; Myr is pacing and openly (if indignantly) panicking, as well.
It reads as wholly genuine. L wouldn't doubt the assessment, if his trust and affection for Myr didn't run so deep. For all of Myr's insecurities, some of which he voices now, L has always rather put the faun's goodness and worthiness up on a pedestal. That means that he's biased; it means that his ability to sense Myr's lies could be hopelessly unreliable in a moment he needs that ability unblemished.]
If you truly don't remember, there's a reason for it. And if you're not lying to me, you want to know the reason, too.
[The reason matters more than the engagement, itself. It's arbitrary; L isn't sure if that's coming through, given Myr's fixation on what he forgot.]
Edited 2021-01-28 08:25 (UTC)
[Difficult to know which is the worse accusation: That he's untrustworthy because he's mad, or because he's lying.
Myr halts his pacing with a jerk.]
What would ever make you think that I would lie to you? [Over something so stupid, so trivial, no less. It hurts less for the insult to Myr's integrity than that the man he's known--and loved--for the better part of two years could turn on him so.
He should not be surprised: L has implicitly assumed deceit from him before when there was none. But Myr's reserves of patience are holed and drained by the hideous anxiety that vibrates in the Bond between them; he has nothing to draw on to untangle the knots his Witch has gotten himself into.
And, too, it's a different kind of hurt to be accused of lying direct, instead of some gentle shaded falsehood meant to salve his Bonded's feelings.
L is right, though, damn him: Myr wants a reason for what's wrong with him more than he wants to maintain his pride by besting L in whatever convoluted game they're playing. He waits a scant moment more before stepping into the no-man's land between them. Just one step, then he drops to his knees before his Witch and bows his antlered head. He reaches, groping, for L, to find the nearer of his Witch's hands and bring it to press against his head.
It could be a fond gesture, if he were not wound so tight even self-simulated affection might shatter him.]
I do want to know. Come find your reason, diviner.
[He gave permission for this when they Bonded; his soul is open for one who'd walk it.
(He trusts so very, very much. L hasn't walked away yet.)]
Myr halts his pacing with a jerk.]
What would ever make you think that I would lie to you? [Over something so stupid, so trivial, no less. It hurts less for the insult to Myr's integrity than that the man he's known--and loved--for the better part of two years could turn on him so.
He should not be surprised: L has implicitly assumed deceit from him before when there was none. But Myr's reserves of patience are holed and drained by the hideous anxiety that vibrates in the Bond between them; he has nothing to draw on to untangle the knots his Witch has gotten himself into.
And, too, it's a different kind of hurt to be accused of lying direct, instead of some gentle shaded falsehood meant to salve his Bonded's feelings.
L is right, though, damn him: Myr wants a reason for what's wrong with him more than he wants to maintain his pride by besting L in whatever convoluted game they're playing. He waits a scant moment more before stepping into the no-man's land between them. Just one step, then he drops to his knees before his Witch and bows his antlered head. He reaches, groping, for L, to find the nearer of his Witch's hands and bring it to press against his head.
It could be a fond gesture, if he were not wound so tight even self-simulated affection might shatter him.]
I do want to know. Come find your reason, diviner.
[He gave permission for this when they Bonded; his soul is open for one who'd walk it.
(He trusts so very, very much. L hasn't walked away yet.)]
Edited (dialogue smoothing) 2021-01-28 14:19 (UTC)
[The suspicion for the lie is easy to justify on paper: something is untrue, and therefore, someone has lied. L, committed to finding the truth above all else, will simply uncover who has lied, and if it is Myr... well, Myr himself doesn't seem to realize it, in fact seems eager to disprove it. That bodes well for his earnestness, at least, the fact that he's willing to let an experienced Diviner look into his head to look for the missing pieces that they both believe are being hidden by the other.
There's no use speculating further until he has looked, found more to work with and base conclusions on. Myr brings his hand to his forehead before he can reach out himself, and he scrambles to clear his overactive mind that is already overheating, already out of calibration and off-kilter. He brushes aside an errant strand of Myr's bangs, perhaps a clumsy attempt at comfort combined with a grasp to buy himself a few more moments to recenter his thoughts.
He's only partly successful. What he feels, immediately, is disorientation that seeps over the Bond as tilting vertigo. His breath deepens in an attempt to soothe a building wave of nausea, and he's searching for a landmark to focus on, some kind of temporary true north that can steady him, but this is unfamiliar magic. It's off the beaten path of what he's studied, not a witch's magic, and nothing like the Fae illusions he's probably the most adept with when dealing with monsters' natural craft.]
It's...
[He's hoarse. Myr's mind provides him so much comfort, so often, but being near it now is miserable. It's like being handed two knotted balls of yarn, the same color but wildly different textures, and being asked to turn them into one sweater with a pair of al dente noodles.
It's a mess... there's a void here, something has canceled something else out and only fog remains...
He withdraws his hand, reaching for the back of a nearby chair to steady himself. The vertigo lingers.]
Give me a second.
[He'll give it another shot. He just needs to regroup, consider a different strategy that is more compatible and more likely to yield a good result. His usual techniques won't work; he can't form anything with the materials those turn up.]
You're just so confused.
[More helpless, than accusatory, but he doesn't consider how one already terrified of being thought mad might take that.]
There's no use speculating further until he has looked, found more to work with and base conclusions on. Myr brings his hand to his forehead before he can reach out himself, and he scrambles to clear his overactive mind that is already overheating, already out of calibration and off-kilter. He brushes aside an errant strand of Myr's bangs, perhaps a clumsy attempt at comfort combined with a grasp to buy himself a few more moments to recenter his thoughts.
He's only partly successful. What he feels, immediately, is disorientation that seeps over the Bond as tilting vertigo. His breath deepens in an attempt to soothe a building wave of nausea, and he's searching for a landmark to focus on, some kind of temporary true north that can steady him, but this is unfamiliar magic. It's off the beaten path of what he's studied, not a witch's magic, and nothing like the Fae illusions he's probably the most adept with when dealing with monsters' natural craft.]
It's...
[He's hoarse. Myr's mind provides him so much comfort, so often, but being near it now is miserable. It's like being handed two knotted balls of yarn, the same color but wildly different textures, and being asked to turn them into one sweater with a pair of al dente noodles.
It's a mess... there's a void here, something has canceled something else out and only fog remains...
He withdraws his hand, reaching for the back of a nearby chair to steady himself. The vertigo lingers.]
Give me a second.
[He'll give it another shot. He just needs to regroup, consider a different strategy that is more compatible and more likely to yield a good result. His usual techniques won't work; he can't form anything with the materials those turn up.]
You're just so confused.
[More helpless, than accusatory, but he doesn't consider how one already terrified of being thought mad might take that.]
[A drawback of Bonds, Myr has long known, is how easily one could get into an emotional mire with one's Bonded. It's the price of the openness he prizes and offers: If they'd kept themselves safely isolated as so many "for-business" pairs did, they would not bleed the worst of their feelings into each other in times like this.
They would not soar so high in mutual joy, either; though those days have been rare with L, they're something Myr treasures still. (All the more so for the serendipitous confluence of hard work and perfect circumstances it took to achieve them.) Yet in this cold, hard moment--this bruising moment where he kneels before his Witch with evidence of his mind's dissolution arrayed around them, and evidence of said Witch's mistrust echoing between them--the Faun briefly weighs those against the hollow-hearted emptiness of being unable to convince his Bonded he's not lying, and wonders if the balance squares.
O Maker, o Creating Glory, o Redeeming Lady, forgive me for thinking so.
The moment passes in silence. It isn't worth keeping when there are so many other things he need latch on to in his confusion; but letting go of that little piece of blackness doesn't leave Myr feeling any better when L delivers his interim assessment. (He hurts. Is it all right to look that square in the face and say his amatus had hurt him and he hasn't instantly forgiven it?
Could that be balanced against all the hurt he'd ever done L and been forgiven in?)]
Tell me something I don't know, [he grits out, punctuating it with a huffing non-laugh.] I've been confused since you came looking for me. Wait--
[He lifts a hand before L's "second" has expired, forestalling the immediate dive back into his head.] --before you go on, now that you've your initial evidence.
[It should be exculpatory, shouldn't it? Someone who was so confused couldn't be engaged in deliberate, malicious falsehood; he doesn't even know what he's supposed to be covering up!]
What is it I forgot?
[(The strands of a Naga's persuasion are almost no spell at all; the real effect is in what the hypnosis has made Myr's mind do to itself in trying to simultaneously carry out his orders and be the man he has always been.
He could not, would not interfere with L's investigation of the Evergreen Circle; but continuing to meet and pass on information without trying to dissuade his Bonded from the whole enterprise would not be staying out of things.
Better, then, to forget the point of conflict entirely.)]
They would not soar so high in mutual joy, either; though those days have been rare with L, they're something Myr treasures still. (All the more so for the serendipitous confluence of hard work and perfect circumstances it took to achieve them.) Yet in this cold, hard moment--this bruising moment where he kneels before his Witch with evidence of his mind's dissolution arrayed around them, and evidence of said Witch's mistrust echoing between them--the Faun briefly weighs those against the hollow-hearted emptiness of being unable to convince his Bonded he's not lying, and wonders if the balance squares.
O Maker, o Creating Glory, o Redeeming Lady, forgive me for thinking so.
The moment passes in silence. It isn't worth keeping when there are so many other things he need latch on to in his confusion; but letting go of that little piece of blackness doesn't leave Myr feeling any better when L delivers his interim assessment. (He hurts. Is it all right to look that square in the face and say his amatus had hurt him and he hasn't instantly forgiven it?
Could that be balanced against all the hurt he'd ever done L and been forgiven in?)]
Tell me something I don't know, [he grits out, punctuating it with a huffing non-laugh.] I've been confused since you came looking for me. Wait--
[He lifts a hand before L's "second" has expired, forestalling the immediate dive back into his head.] --before you go on, now that you've your initial evidence.
[It should be exculpatory, shouldn't it? Someone who was so confused couldn't be engaged in deliberate, malicious falsehood; he doesn't even know what he's supposed to be covering up!]
What is it I forgot?
[(The strands of a Naga's persuasion are almost no spell at all; the real effect is in what the hypnosis has made Myr's mind do to itself in trying to simultaneously carry out his orders and be the man he has always been.
He could not, would not interfere with L's investigation of the Evergreen Circle; but continuing to meet and pass on information without trying to dissuade his Bonded from the whole enterprise would not be staying out of things.
Better, then, to forget the point of conflict entirely.)]
Edited 2021-02-04 05:10 (UTC)
[L needed more than a second. He's still dizzy, still trying to make sense of what had looked like something clear-cut and desolate in his Bonded's normally lush and coherent mind. He's anxious about going back, he's anxious about looking at it and trying to get close enough to navigate it. Maybe he's afraid that he's close enough to Myr's mental state that the confusion will rub off on him, and that's why he tenses, shifts his weight back when Myr raises his hand.
Injury, perhaps, and just heaping on the insults after.
He swallows, considering possibilities, wondering who else has been here and what influenced the once-familiar ground that's currently baffling both of them. Is it a risk to actually tell Myr? Could it compromise his case? Is another diviner using him as a vessel, siphoning off information that slips through that bare spot like a sieve?]
I want to tell you. Really, I do, but... depending on the catalyst for what I saw just now, it might not be safe.
Injury, perhaps, and just heaping on the insults after.
He swallows, considering possibilities, wondering who else has been here and what influenced the once-familiar ground that's currently baffling both of them. Is it a risk to actually tell Myr? Could it compromise his case? Is another diviner using him as a vessel, siphoning off information that slips through that bare spot like a sieve?]
I want to tell you. Really, I do, but... depending on the catalyst for what I saw just now, it might not be safe.
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