la_calisto (la_calisto) wrote in maschinell, @ 2015-02-08 23:22:00 |
|
|||
The entire reason he'd brought himself to the library that day was to be left alone. Interacting with people was always a struggle for him to actually enjoy and occasionally irked him beyond rational reason. While he might not have minded speaking with the handsome, dark skinned young man, finding out his origins, his quirks... the young man was more interested in what he'd corned chosen to read. Completely obsessed over that book, out of an entire building of tomes, an entire section just for horror and dark tales but that single novel in Julian's hands was the one the man became aggressive over.
So aggressive.
This was why he so very often hated interaction with other people. He like to watch from afar, predict what they might do, what he might do... Imagination was much safer than trusting in what a person might actually do... he'd decided against the library for a while after that encounter, not because he was scared but out of anger and frustration that quiet, lonely sanctuary had been tainted with rude interruption.
Not like he didn't have plenty to keep him busy, being passed down an assignment to escort a dead man to his grave, the long walk with a bloody soul always managing to cheer him up, shoving them into the pit they dug themselves and watching them tear at one another.
It gave him so much muse.
With pen in hand he would write of his thoughts and the journey, to use later for his fantasy books. Perhaps people would start fights over his creations one day. That would certainly be more flattering. But a knock at his door would break the concentration...
Best that whoever mind his pen, he did like the way red letters looked and ink could occasionally be so very hard to come by.
A swollen, broken, aching body leaned against the entry doorframe of the Journeyman's home, leaking onto the exterior wall as well as the ground beneath him. The bloodflow had slowed on the walk over, though his shirt still had quite a bit of crimson seeping from it as he'd... attempted to mop up some of his shame before leaving the temple with the tome.
Would this be sufficient enough to please the Prophet? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It all depended on how the Journeyman received him.
Calisto rapped at the door, righting himself before it. A small part of him wished for the opportunity to clean up, to change clothing, though he knew this was he way the Prophet wanted him seen. His body painted in purple and red. He was a message, from his tribe, stating to the Journeyman's tribe and to anyone else that had caught wind of the situation that Calisto's behavior wasn't acceptable. Some small part of him had known that he would have faced major consequences for what he'd done, as he was doing it...
The same part of him didn't care. Perhaps he'd wanted attention. The Prophet, as strange as it was, was the closest thing to a father figure he'd ever had. He didn't know. And no one would care even if he did. He needed to fix it.
If the Journeyman would open the door...
A soft seabreeze floated over Calisto's form. He cringed as the salt air tickled his mangled, blistered left arm. Reaching out to softly thud on the door again.
Please hurry.
He heard the locking mechanism click, shifting back another pace or two. His posture straight as it could be under the crushing pain. “Hello. I've brought you this.” He took a knee before the Journeyman, setting the tome at his feet. “The Prophet sends his forgiveness. Along with mine, which I present to you directly. This book was very important to me as a child. The pages are stained with my shame. It is yours, now.”
It'd taken a moment for Julian to actually will himself out of his seat, his annoyance that someone was bothering him so soon after getting home, his feet still warm from that trail, slowed him a bit. He huffed when there was another knock, and made quick work of the locks that held his door tightly shut.
Red. So much red.
He'd held his mouth open to speak, however when the image before him reached his mind he tightly tightly pressed his lips shut, listening to the... apology, looking down at the bloody and bruised body kneeling before him, book laid at his feet.
This felt so awkward, being someone who was never honored for anything, never praised or given an... offering of forgiveness, such as this was. He could feel his face flushing, though he kept his features blank, void. He shifted to sit on his heels, slowly reaching to pick up the book that was placed at his feet, eyes flickering up to look at the man's face. "The Prophet..." he had recognized the robes that he wore, the worshipers of death's dying wishes.
He'd always been very curious about them. Dangerously so, he might believe. This attraction to this young man was only getting stronger out seemed, despite the the argument. Blood soaked and on his doorstep... "Would you like to come in. I have something that might ease your pain..." he shifted to stand, tugging at the top of the man's sleeve to indicate that he do the same. If he even could.
"Who are you."
“The Prophet would prefer you see me suffer.” Calisto pressed himself to his feet, head bowed both out of respect and to hide the anguish on his face. “If you wish me to enter your home, I will do so.” Stiff and straight as a board. Eyes reddened and clouded with a faint sheen of tears. The thought of sitting down somewhere to catch his breath before returning to the Temple... He would be thankful for it.
“I am Calisto, of Va'ronian's Kahet, Attendant to the Prophet.” The bow that he produced was slow, clunky, jagged.
"I do. I... appreciate this gesture, and the Prophet needn't worry about how much you suffer. I'm no healer, nothing I have is quite that strong." He had a mischievous look about his features now, the smile tugging at his lips as he allowed Calisto into his home. Luckily he had mostly bare wooden floors, the single rug in the way was kicked up and rolled out of Calisto's bloody path easily.
He did so love the sight of a blood-soaked man in his livingroom.
"Here." He pulled a chair for him to sit, "Calisto of Va'ronian's Kahet... I've heard so very little of the god you follow, or at least not as much as I'd like to." He set the book down by his desk where he'd been writing, shifting his attention to finding those healing agents he'd collected.
Needless to say he had a vastly larger interest in the gift bringer than the gift itself.
“As I appreciate your offer, though I will have to decline. The Prophet will decide when I have had enough and then, and only then, will my flesh be mended. Until then I will suffer the shame I have brought upon myself.” he recited mechanically, dirty, bare feet shuffling along the floor after the step of the Journeyman.
He lowered himself into the seat indicated. Folding his body down onto the stiff wood. He would have preferred a cushion, though he would have certainly ruined it and then that would be yet another thing he would either have to fuss over scrubbing clean or finding and purchasing a replacement... Plain wood was better.
“We follow a few different gods. Va'ronian, Sa'mue, and Oethe. Death, balance, revenge, the moon... Perhaps another time I will be better able to discuss them in their full glory. I apologize.” He was light-headed, dizzy, and though he lived and breathed and loved his Gods... he didn't feel he was in the proper position to be giving the man a religious lecture. “We are a disciplined people. I come here to pay respect to you. To prove to you I regret my actions, but I own them. You will never fall into harm by my hands again.”
He looked back at him, listening to him insist that he shouldn't be helped at all, and gave a soft shrug off his shoulder. "As you wish." He came over to the chair he'd sat Calisto in, "You said that book was a favorite from your childhood..." He murmured, tilting his head as he watched him, seeing the pain and agony. "Did the Prophet beat you with it?"
Would certainly make the book a much more interesting read, for novelty.
He shifted to lean on the table nearby. Being that he lived alone... Well the other chair to the set has long since been turned into whatever idea he may have had for it long ago. Probably crafted into something else entirely. Maybe the tiny catapult on the bookshelf... "I'll be eager to hear of them, another time of course." He smiled. "You must be so angry that you had to come here and grovel at my feet. You only regret it because this happened but I don't blame you. Consequences are the only reason someone would bother speaking with me again."
Not that he'd mind falling to harm by his hands, under different circumstances of course.
Calisto allowed his eyes to lull to a close, nodding solemnly. “Yes, and most of the damage done to me was by the Prophet's bare hands. The majority of the blood transferred onto the book during the journey over here. I tried to keep it as clean as I could, though it was difficult considering the tome is a large one. I apologize for the damage that was done to it. A suggestion – if you were to fan out the pages, perhaps they wouldn't stick to eachother quite so badly.”
He realized that he was occupying the only chair, watching the Journeyman's movements, and he sighed, hefting himself from it to kneel on the floor instead. “This is your home. You take the seat.” He bowed deeply to him again. Not much easier this time, though he was able to straighten himself back out more quickly. “Angry? No. I am humbled you accepted my apology.” He was moreso angry at himself, though upset at having to give that book away...
It had meant a decent bit to him.
“I should always act with and for the best intentions of my people.”
"I told you to sit there." Julian chuckled, watching him kneel again. "You're my guest. My mother taught me better. Tried to, anyway. In some things she was successful so sit." He didn't move from the top of the table, shifting more on it even to get his point across. He was comfortable.
The chair was already caked in a bit of blood anyway.
"I'll fan out the pages as you said, it didn't seem to be too sticky from what I could tell. I wouldn't be so rude as to say you couldn't borrow it from me, seeing how important it is to you." Plus any excuse for him to see him. He did this more often than not, where he fantasized about particular interactions with a man he found attractive but never really initiated any of it. Too much to go wrong.
But all the blood, he wanted to taste it...
After a moment he shifted from the table to simply kneel on the floor with him, smiling at him. "you intrigue me. Even during our little disagreement I was curious about you. I wanted to know more of what you were thinking. What was making you... tick."
He felt conflicted. Whether he should listen to the Journeyman and take the chair, or to remain on the ground, on his knees, where he felt he belonged presently. “I appreciate the courtesy you've extended to me.” He may shift back to the chair if he continued insisting... being on the ground in his current condition was by no means comfortable.
He was just trying to do what he thought was... right. In his tribe's eyes. In his Prophet's eyes.
“...if you would offer that to me I would be very grateful. That was one of my favorite stories as a child. I hadn't read it in quite some time when I came and confronted you over it...” He breathed, trembling softly with the pain. It was safer to let that little bit of weakness slip here than back at the Temple. “...The things making me 'tick' as you say is hardly anything interesting. I wanted to... hurt something. I saw you, I was mostly ignorant to who you were and I antagonized you.”
Unfortunately he'd decided not to continue insisting that Calisto sit in the chair. He seemed so hell bent on sitting on the ground that Julian didn't feel like arguing it. Sitting with him on the floor seemed the easier option, tiny little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You’re welcome. I don't mind extending my hospitality to you."
He shifted to sit an inch closer, tilting his head again to get a better look at him. It was hard with Calisto's head down. "Of course you can come read the book. I won't always be reading it, even if it's one of my favorites too." He smiled a bit more.
Plus it was an excuse to get him to come over more, if the story was really so important to him. Which pleased him.
"I can see how much you ache." He murmured, listening to him talk about his thoughts that day. "I can decide for myself if I think you're interesting or not. Of course you wouldn't think so, being inside your own head, just like I don't find myself particularity special. I'm just Julian, in the times between my journeys."
At least he wasn't alone, getting urges to hurt others.
“Thank you.” He muttered, eyes settling on the floor beneath him. “I'm grateful.”
His deep brown eyes, laden with pain, met the other man's. He choked on his soft little sigh, forcing it out with a cough, “I earned this pain. It's an apology. Don't concern yourself with it.” Gaze passing over the chair. It was foolish to kneel like this. It would be fun getting back up again.
“...I suppose that makes sense.”
He smiled when Calisto's eyes met his, "You seem very strong, to make it all the way here like that. I didn't think you needed my concern regardless of if you earned it." That was meant to be a compliment, hopefully it was received as such. It wasn't unusual for him to get misinterpreted.
He watched him glace up at the chair, smiling. "Would you like help standing? I told you just to sit in the chair..." He smiled, shifting a bit closer again and moved to place his arms on Calisto's, gently, unsure. It was an excuse to be... closer.
And now that he was, he wanted to... bold. "You suppose so?" He laughed lightly, smiling again before he leaned in to steal a taste, pressing his lips to Calisto's, taking in his scent so mingled with blood. It was intoxicating.
"Perhaps now you might see what I mean by 'intrigued'..."
“If I wasn't strong, I wouldn't be trusted with the responsibilities my people have bestowed upon me.” He replied, smiling slightly. Timidly. As if it wasn't something he was supposed to be proud of, his strength. His strength kept him alive, though. That was something, at least. He knew that he wasn't useless. That if he hadn't proven himself to some capacity, The Prophet would have never bothered with him...
These were the thoughts that kept him going. Kept him motivated. Kept him sitting up like this, though his entire body shook, ready to collapse beneath him.
“No, that's fine...” He waved the other man off, raising his brows as the Journeyman leaned closer to him.
Wondering what he wanted.
And then he found out.
The kiss came like a slap in the face. Shocking. Sudden. He sat there, perfectly poised and still, until the Journeyman drew back away from him. Then Calisto began to press himself to his feet. “I must be getting back... The Prophet will be expecting me and would like to know how you received this apology...”
Apparently, he'd accepted it just fine.
He collected himself, giving the man one final, deep bow. Grunting with the pain as he straightened back out. Before turning on his heel and seeing himself out.
It wasn't sexual orientation that was driving him off. He felt vulnerable. Confused. And after everything that had happened...
He wasn't able to stand around and try to make sense of any of this. He would return to it later. For now, all he wanted was to go home...
It was the first time he'd seen Calisto smile, and he was glad he enjoyed the compliment he gave him. He wanted to keep talking to him, asking him questions and figuring out what other strange and alluring things were stored away in his mind.
Though it seemed their time would be cut short, suddenly, after Julian broke the kiss he gave him and Calisto was suddenly back on his feet with amazing speed.
He blinked, eyes following him, before his body followed, standing.
Was it bad? What he'd done?
"I didn't mean to hold you got so long, you didn't mention needing to rush." He murmured, nodding his head when he bowed a final time.
The feeling of... disappointment, washed over him as he left, frowning, and crossing his arms.
He didn't feel the muse anymore.