victory_road | This road is going nowhere [Closed]

Entry tags:

This road is going nowhere [Closed]

Who: Dirk Strider and Hythlodaeus.... Emet-Selch shows up around comment #80
Where: Goldenrod, XIVhaus Garden
When: August 15th shhh this is forward dated
Summary: Can't believe Dirk is the one cornering someone else for acting weird for once tbh
Rating: PG except for swears? [EDIT] ....convo got nsfw around comment #70

Hours after Dirk finally slept (and then woke up again) while Emet did not, Emet himself falls asleep (the natural way) and Dirk is left... free. Free to wander the house on his own. Free to track down some answers. Or rather, to lie in wait for the source of his questions and then ambush him for said answers.

Hythlodaeus has generously yielded all the clues he needs to establish the location; a sad, dead excuse for a withered 'garden,' comprised though it is of a single dead tree and an open sky, with sunlight streaming from overhead and soft, gently buzzing fuzzbugs by the dozens. No special preparations are required for this--though he does take the time to let Salome out of her Pokeball to circle the sky overhead, it's for his convenience and not out of any desire to threaten the eight-foot neurotic with a jealous magical bird. (In fact, it's for the lack of that desire that he sends her spiralling up and out of human line of sight.)

Then, he just has to wait.

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Cool.

Awesome. Fantastic.

Now that that's over...

Dirk turns and leaves the kitchen to retrieve his gloves, pulling them back on along the way to Emet's bedroom--if, that is, Hythlodaeus doesn't move to stop him.

"Hades is not the only one who keeps score."

He wraps up the breads and places them in the refrigerator before he walks back out to the cutiefly holding zone.

As Dirk walks into the room, he will be greeted with the sight of Hades laying in the same spot he had left him. However, he is decidedly less asleep. His hands are resting upon his chest, fingers laced together as he's staring at the ceiling with a tired and withered expression. His gaze shifting to Dirk as he enters, looking no less worn.

"...Am I to assume the two of you are quite done exchanging that which you believe to be the best means to control me?" He doesn't sound angry, yet he doesn't sound entirely ecstatic, either. Just drained, and by more than what he endured during his week long nap. Really, he did not wish to be woken up by the two men he cares deeply for having some sort of...whatever that was, like he somehow wouldn't hear them discussing it through these thin walls?

He's not even mad. He's just tired.

Dirk walked away from Hythlodaeus with the impression that the conversation was simply over; whatever reason(s) or sentiment(s) Hythlodaeus was harbouring had not been communicated to him in tone, action, or word, and he had no reason hgimself to assume there was anything more complicated to that.

The parting shot isn't even especially threatening, but it does suggest that Hythlodaeus wants him to keep in mind..... something. What kind of something that would be is left completely ambiguous to him. All right.

No doubt he'll find out what that means later.

In Emet's doorway, his expression doesn't change one iota.

"Yup," is all he has to say on that topic.

"Unless you had something to add to it. In which case the floor is all yours."

That gets a humorless and short laugh at that, letting his gaze pull away from Dirk for a moment, it almost seems like he's going to just ignore him. Maybe try to go back to sleep. However, after a beat of a moment, he speaks up.

"You should listen to him." He offers quietly, "there is wisdom in experience, and none have more than he when it concerns me."

He turns his eyes back to Dirk, giving him a soft smile, "though I should hope that you did not enter this partnership with me under the misapprehension that I am merely your subordinate, and that we are not equals. 'Twould be rather folly to believe as such, especially now."

Edited 2020-08-24 04:51 (UTC)

The door slides open, though there is no looming figure standing behind the door. In float two cutiefly with a saucer between them with that promised cup of coffee.

One of Dirk's eyebrows rises over his shades in the seconds before the door opens--

"You? My subordinate?"

And that sarcastic response is as far as he gets before he's cut short--by the sound of wood against wood and paper against air. His head turns and his eyebrow levels with its partner, the stiff line of his mouth never moving at any point in the sequence.

He reaches to intercept the cup, but his left hand closes over nothing but empty space--the Cutieflies' vertical ascent is so swift it almost defies the human eye.

Dirk shifts his weight back, heel against the corner of the wooden frame without a word or sound or change of expression.

And then, in a move so obdurate and unnecessary that it defies human reason, he takes a fucking leap directly into the air, using the wooden part of the frame as leverage to gain the few extra inches needed to seize the fucking coffee off its ferrying saucer.

To his extremely minimal credit but immense personal satisfaction, he lands perfectly on both of his feet, spilling not a single drop of coffee in the touchdown.

Instead of taking it away to pour out, however, he stands in the doorway, still holding the cup.

"If you have anything to say to me, you can say it yourself."

Edited 2020-08-24 05:29 (UTC)

...That was. Certainly something to behold, and Hades isn't entirely sure at which point he propped himself up on his elbows, unlacing his fingers entirely, to watch the acrobatic stunt. But, with Dirk sticking the landing, and neither spilling the contents, nor breaking his door, he settles a little into a lazy slump on his elbows.

The blanket having shifted down his front to settle on his midsection, that scar of his visible once more, but he pays it no mind. As if the thing wasn't there at all.

"Well, well, wasn't that exciting." He comments with amusement lacing his tone. He shakes his head, before letting it settle into a sideways tilt as he watches Dirk.

"But, if you are concerned I am concealing complaints from you—I am not. If I took issue with aught you've done—or I suppose have not—then I would simply say so." As he talks, he shifts and waves Dirk to come closer. Whether for the coffee or for Dirk's company, it isn't clear. "I know well you would not deny me, yes?"

The scar is more a distraction for Dirk, who doesn't show it but wonders, in a train of thought disconnected from the moment, when or whether he'll get used to the sight of it.

He has the presence of mind to feel at least somewhat absurd, leaving the doorway to carry the tiny cup of strong-smelling 'coffee' to Emet's side... where he stands, still holding it.

He doesn't offer Emet the coffee, but he isn't saying 'no.' He's just. You know. Holding this incredibly tiny cup with two fingers. Normal.

"Depends." His tone is smug, but not condescendingly so.

Sometimes it's better I do.

"Sometimes you're into that."

As Dirk approaches, Hades just keeps his eyes on him, not even looking at the coffee. Much rather, he is watching his expression, as much of it as he can see, anyway. As usual, it stays stoic, which he expected, but ever is he dutiful in observing him.

"I am speaking specifically of the time I would not 'be into that', therefore such denial would less likely be beneficial for either of us." He softly retorts, before his eyes fall to the small, dainty mug. Which looks a bit comical in Dirk's hands, especially with his fingerless gloves.

"I do believe that's for me, but from what I heard, you have an aversion to my consumption of it. I cannot well imagine it is a concern for my health, so then...?"

Edited 2020-08-24 20:54 (UTC)

"Why can't it be about your health?" Dirk's question is mostly rhetorical, though he does find the inference that he wouldn't be concerned about that to be mildly offensive.

"In a way, it is. The repeated consumption of psychoactive substances to alter your brain chemistry is a bad pattern to fall into. Once you make a habit of it, you've made yourself a problem that's just not worth the illusion of its temporary benefits."

The answer is...not quite what he imagined, and the offense taken is not so obvious. He would assure him he was not implying that Dirk is indifferent to his health, so much as coffee of all things was not likely to harm it. That, believing coffee was any danger at all was rather ludicrous, and such myths were above someone like Dirk.

Or so he'd like to believe. And yet...

For a moment, he stares at Dirk, eyebrows raised as he blinks owlishly at him. As if the man before him spun a tale beyond belief, and maybe he did just that. In the coming moments, he politely smiles up at him, trying to find some way to put this that won't offend Dirk any worse than the topic existing already has.

"My dear boy, have you ever consumed coffee before?" He asks that with a gentle ease, like one might a child when they were about to dispel some fairytale they've taken a particular and self-destructive fancy to.

"I ask because it holds no more psychoactive components to it than most other consumables. Rather, it has quite a few health benefits to mortal flesh, and I daresay the amount of sugar used in most foods here is far more harmful to one's mind and body both, than that which coffee could ever hope to achieve." He shifts, pushing himself to sit more upright, than leaning on his elbows like he was moments ago.

"Consider me intrigued with your stance, but not in direct opposition. I merely wish to understand what makes it the focus of these proported bad habits, but nary aught else that could influence the minds of mortals just as easily?"

Edited 2020-08-24 22:30 (UTC)

Dirk studies Emet for a few seconds, apparently thinking--and thought is really the only conclusion that could be drawn about his purpose for pause, unless defeat or anger can be truly indistinguishable from any other expression he wears.

Sometimes they can.

Sometimes they can't.

He didn't really expect this conversation to 'go' anywhere. It's just that Emet asked--

"It's not 'other than.'"

So what else would he do, but tell him the truth?

"Try 'in addition to.'"

Emet surprises him often, and always for the better. So often that Dirk's learned to recognise it--the possibility for something real, for difference, even despite himself. So there had been... a chance that this could have been the same. But he was also prepared.

He knows what happens when you buy into something like hope. The inevitable letdown, the precipitous drop into abyssal despair.

Dirk is a realist now. He knows to catch himself, how to stick the landing.

And the raw truth is that no one sees this issue the way he does.

That's why he prefers prevention rather than persuasion.

"But I'm not looking for another fight. Not today. So this conversation is over."

He hates it, knowing the hidden benefits to growing up alone the way he did. The clarity of perspective that Emet lacks. It's not his fault--he grew up in a society. An ideal society. A perfect world. The reason that Emet sees what he sees when it comes to other subjects has no connection to this one.

Ah, he sees that his attempt to not offend failed, for why else would he wish to flee from the conversation like he is? It's a pity, really, when otherwise Dirk is so willing to converse with him, instead of shut him out. Though, he supposes in a way this is more telling than what words might escape his lips on the matter. Something personal, which drives the irrational thought behind it. The superstition, that is not quite so, but as equally compelling.

"Right. You will forgive me for any uncouth questioning that was more provocative than intended, yes?" Ever ingratiating in that way to quell the tempers he has little intention of igniting. With an upward tilt of his brow he gestures at the coffee that has long since become bitter, and just as likely has lost its temperature, "I would suggest pouring that out, little would it be worth enduring its lost flavor, and even less would I wish to upset you further."

Taking the moment to stretch, he lets out a tired yawn, which adds little confidence to what he adds, "I should be able to manage well enough. After all, your conversation with Hythlodaeus was enough to chase the languor from anyone's system."

The door slides open a bit more for something larger than a couple of Cutieflies. Much larger, in fact.

"For all the efficacy that being spoken about may have, it never has the right flavor."

He ducks under the doorframe, flanked by his swarm of cutieflies to keep certain parkouring houseguests at bay. He takes the few steps of his long legs over to Hades' bedside, kneeling down to set the cup down beside him with his soft, neutral expression.

He turns, reaching to take the cup from Dirk's hands.

With the sound of the sliding door moving, Hades cannot help but tear his gaze from Dirk to watch as Hythlodaeus approaches. His expression swapping from the simpering smile, to something a little more agitated. Really, it's not that Hythlodaeus is exactly a problem, it's more that he was trying to quell Dirk's temper, and coming in with the offending drink to only undermine Dirk does not assist in such an endeavor.

As Hythlodaeus puts the cup down, then turns to Dirk—it's a split second decision, one that takes just as swiftly done of a maneuver—Hades picks up the cup and places it back in Hythlodaeus' hands. "Pray, take both of those to the kitchen, will you? We have little need for either."

There's a notable edge to his tone, a dangerous one that does not leave room for defiance nor arguing. They can settle this matter later, when prides are not so sensitive, and Hades' patience is not worn thin.

"Very well," he says, making eye-contact with a couple cutieflies before flicking his gaze down to the cup. They make swift work of retrieving it. It seems he's been training them well.

"The sfougato will be ready soon."

He leaves with his swarm, allowing the stragglers to very cutely pull the door closed behind them.

"Incredible," Dirk remarks without affect as the door closes.

It's not clear whether he means Hythlodaeus, Hades, or some combination of the two in interaction during that entire minute or so that just passed with him playing bystander and observer (and not much else.)

It's also not clear whether he meant for that to be clear.

There's a lot to unpack in what just went down.

Hades' fake grace and slightly frustrating attempt at amelioration following the predictable level of ridicule. (Dirk did not miss that Hades was appeasing him, but that would have been sufficient for now.)

Hythlodaeus' absolute fucking nerve--though Dirk will grant him that it was very smoothly executed. It was just so transparently premeditated that it fit perfectly in Hythlodaeus' MO.

And then Hades' sharp correction, which is where things really got interesting.

Hythlodaeus' departure was so simple that he's left tense and uncertain if he's supposed to step in somehow at this point.

He really didn't want a(nother) fucking fight right now.

As the door closes and Dirk makes his remark, Hades lets his eyes close for a moment as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He just needs a moment, a moment to try and fight back this headache that is pressing at the back of his eyes (a migraine, actually?), a moment to collect himself.

A moment to breathe.

Indeed, he was trying to appease Dirk in a sense, but really he merely did not want a fight anymore than Dirk did. He just left a fight, literally stabbed himself through during a fight that had far heavier stakes than this, and maybe he was hoping for some semblance of peace.

Perhaps that was too selfish of him to ask for.

Finally, after a slow, long, and controlled breath taking in and breathed out through his nose, he lowers his hand and looks up at Dirk. His expression tired, and doing little to hide this fact.

"I hope you are not too upset—that was egregious of him, even if I know he meant to do right by me. It changes not that he did wrong by you. Surely we can put this matter to rest for the time being and enjoy one another's company?"

Maybe it's foolish, but he certainly hopes so. Really, having a peaceful meal with the two of them is a small comfort he wants to indulge in, a simple concession.

Dirk is observant enough--aware enough of himself and his level of intrusion--to stand aside while Hades re-composes himself, while he closes his eyes and breathes and recovers.

He knows that he just caused a great deal of discord in the household--and he won't apologise for that, at least not in any way that recants his position or purpose. If Hades really wants him--the way he claims he does, the way he pushed for and proposed to him back at the very beginning--then Dirk has nothing to apologise for.

This is what he wanted.

But....

This isn't what Dirk meant to happen. He didn't anticipate and he doesn't understand Hythlodaeus.

"....don't worry about that." He prsses his lips together, turns his head aside slightly now that he's out of sight of any but Hades. "I think I might have provoked him somehow, but I'm really not sure."

A low bar it may be, but the fact that Dirk can allow him that moment is enough for now. That, and the fact he admits that he might have been part of the problem, even unwittingly. Even if such admittance is a rather pitiful display of taking responsibility, at the very least of it he's aware that something went wrong, and he might have had a hand in it.

He could have denied it outright, and he didn't.

"Indeed." He says a little flatter than intended, but then his tone shifts to something a little more empathetic, "it would seem the two of you have a talent for miscommunication with one another, at the very least."

Something he's certain he will be a key part in fixing, if not for their sake, for the sake of his sanity. He needs to mitigate Hythlodaeus' goading, if nothing else.

"'Tis a matter for another time. For now we should eat, little did we get around to such ere our intimate reunion of sorts, and starving ourselves further will hardly serve us." With that said, he'll be rising out of bed and...well, before he goes out into the kitchen, he'll be needing to get dressed. Or, at the very least put on his house robe, which if Dirk continues to stand there awkwardly, he will be aiming to do just that.

Once Hades has fully risen, Dirk... sits, actually, more or less taking up residence in the same spot that his partner just vacated. It's still warm, making it a comfortably real space to inhabit.

Dirk could spend hours just watching his lover in the nude, basking in his presence and the appreciation of his physical form. The casual, efficient artistry of his muscular grace is breathtaking in a way that Hades himself renders mundane.

But from this vantage, he can finally see the size of that scar on Hades' back. It's beautiful, the aesthetic proof of his suffering and the willingness to endure any pain for his purpose. The altar of responsibility demands that much and more--and Hades offers himself as sacrifice to it time and again as an act of devotion. To Dirk, there is little more powerful, moving, or understandable than that.

"I think it'll go better if I keep my mouth shut." There's a kind of grim resignation to his tone, though no demonstrable sense of guilt. What Hades overheard is one thing, but Hythlodaeus is the one who fetched the subject directly back to Hades' bedroom and dropped it in his lap like some kind of fucked up dog.

He wouldn't blush if he knew the exact measure of Dirk's appreciation for his body, but were he one to be flustered over such perhaps he would. At the very least, he'd be moved by it. It isn't that he cannot or does not appreciate the physical, he certainly does, but being an eternal being that can sculpt his vessels in any likeness he so desires, the usual appreciation behind such is lost on him. However, he has been rediscovering it, what with his loss of such a power, and the work and effort he has since put in to maintain this ideal form for himself.

That Dirk appreciates it so is certainly an added bonus. That, and the level of appreciation Dirk has towards the scar that adorns his body. If it was merely the shallow admiration of the aesthetics of it, that would mean little to him, but that Dirk views it as some kind of trophy or award for his sacrifice? His willingness to allow himself to be destroy bit by bit for those he would save, those he would resurrect, for the world he would make whole again...well, it simply proves that Dirk understands his toiling.

Values it unlike so many others.

It isn't till he's pulling his arms through the sleeves of the robe that he turns and notices Dirk watching him—settled in the spot he vacated mere moments ago. He pauses to stare down at him for a single beat, before his mouth curls into an affectionate smirk. His own appreciation of Dirk's subtle but genuine gestures of affectionate attachment to Hades' very presence. His existence, and what traces of such he leaves behind—even if its fleeting warmth, or the indent his weight left in his bedding.

Pulling his robe closed around himself he approaches again. Tying the sash loosely in the front, but enough to hide that scar, he finally speaks, "come now, if you offer him silence, he may very well take that as a victory, ill-won as it would be. He is already rather incurably smug, do you not agree? Little should we encourage him."

There's a beat of seriousness.

"Oh, he hasn't won. Trust me."

But the corner of Dirk's mouth twitches up just briefly; to some extent, it's like he and Hades sharing a secret through the short-lived presence of even that much smile.

"... I can't tell whether you mean that 'we' or if you just want me to do it so you don't have to."

That smile, or rather a ghost of it, is always a treat when he sees it, and the way his expression brightens upon seeing it broadcasts his delight. At Dirk's question, he lets out a soft, nearly inaudible huff, shrugging with his arms out at his sides, palms facing upward.

"We are in this together, yes? What sort of lover would I be if I were to abandon you to shoulder this burden alone?" Offering his own smile down at Dirk, he extends his hand to him—not that he needs help getting to his feet, but perhaps it's a more symbolic gesture, than anything else.

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