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Cesare Borgia ([info]il_valentino) wrote in [info]bearandbarnacle,
@ 2008-11-27 14:09:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:cesarepost, cesarethread, event, storm, xelthread

Cesare: Event: Storm
He stands there, getting wet and wetter, but instead of hurrying inside - fixing himself a caffè, now that he's learnt how to, instead of grabbing one of those lush towels, or better yet: lounging away the rest of the day, snug in a fauteuil, swirling Armagnac - he walks away from the door, back into the rain.

He doesn't look where he's going until he bumps into a bench, shin first. Cesare takes that for a sign - isn't the sky full of portents? - and sits, getting wet and wetter, the glasses clutched in his hand as if they were a saint's relic.

Looking heavenwards, all he sees are fleeing shapes, panicked and wheeling, twisted by an invisible force and trampled by the throng. The shapes in the clouds remind him of something. Something he's seen, somewhere. He vaguely remembers being angry then.


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[info]il_valentino
2008-12-02 06:35 pm UTC (link)
For a brief moment, it looks as if the horse wanted to tell him something. Perhaps it's simply mocking him. Then again, he knows quite well what a temperamental mount's derision looks like, and this isn't it. One day in spring, tucked away among the ruins of the Forum, he'd looked at the sky, lying flat on his back in a pool of blood, ears filled with the buzzing of bees; he would have forgotten about himself then, would have forgotten about everything - he wanted to - if his horse hadn't nudged and nibbled him awake and carried him home.

The horse gives him that you, two-legs... hopeless-kind of look, and Cesare pats its neck, too tired to quibble.

And before he can so much as properly brace himself, he's back to hugging the neck again. The next thing (in between a whole lot of other things he doesn't want to think about) is sun, sun warm on his back, a bit steamy, even if it isn't a Southern sun. More like Lombardy. Or the Veneto. A glade, awash with light. If he were a dog, he'd shake himself awake, and dry.


Well, that was the problem. Not enough sheet-fashioned rope, by far. And being discovered, the rope being cut... you can imagine the fall.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2008-12-06 03:11 am UTC (link)
Xel smiles to himself (not that his mouth cooperates), and ambles, placing his feet carefully to crush a minimum of flowers. This time, he keeps his pace easy enough to give Cesare choices, and eventually slows to a stop by a more grassy than floral place by a tree to graze.

Sorry about my slowness this fortnight. Finals. :\

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[info]il_valentino
2008-12-13 05:33 am UTC (link)
This is familiar; much more familiar than the stench of cars and chemicals, synthetic aromas and cheap colognes. Drying warm horse, a strong beautiful animal moving, the smell of pine resin and leaves. He's content to absorb all of this for a minute longer, eyelids drooping while the horse ambles on.

When he slides down eventually, he needs to lean against the horse's neck, his knees unaccountably weak. "Where is this," he mutters.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2008-12-13 10:42 am UTC (link)
Xel resists the impulse to change species or write in the ground with a sharp hoof. Instead, he lifts up from his grazing to give Cesare a gentle bump with his nose, ears set on peaceful.

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[info]il_valentino
2008-12-15 04:43 pm UTC (link)
He's been missing this; only he didn't know it. Being outside. All the early mornings they went hunting, Miquel and he. Sometimes even in the deep of winter. He didn't mind the cold so much then, and his joints didn't scream.

The horse gives him a little shove, combining the kind and the sly like only a horse can, and Cesare pats its blaze, fingers curling a little. He's only got the melted, soaked remains of another chocolate bar sticking to his pocket, no apple nor carrot, and he's not fool enough to spoil a good horse with trash food. It begins to graze again - better, that - and Cesare turns and turns, confounded by the look of the clearing. Then he simply parks his behind on the ground, back against a tree.

"It's beautiful, this," he says quietly, idly ripping apart a blade of grass. "Nowhere near Margate, is it."

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[info]sunnyshadow
2008-12-15 04:54 pm UTC (link)
Xel gives as clear a NAY as he can, although answering a negative with a negative wouldn't be helpful even if Cesare believed it was a word.

And, well... between the frustration of being unable to communicate and being, frankly, bored (Cesare clearly needs this peace, but there's nothing for a horse to do but eat--and Xel does not have an herbivore's mind)...

It's terribly irresponsible of him, and he knows it's likely that Cesare will react badly to a sudden absence of transportation, and has probably really had enough chaos for one day, but, but, but!

He waits until Cesare is gazing off into the nowhere, eyes off him. With a shimmer of gold in the air, he changes forms again, and jumps onto Cesare's knee.

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[info]il_valentino
2008-12-17 06:11 pm UTC (link)
A sudden weight on his knee, something blue-white and furry, and Cesare loses his conténance: he shrieks, voice raw and loud even in his own ears, frantically tyring to brush the thing off.

It won't be brushed off. In fact, it seems determined to dig claws through his jeans, to settle and knead and look at him with ghastly eyes.

There's a reason he favours dogs.

Cesare draws a sharp brath and raises his hands; he's not quite sure why, or to impart what - defeat, exasperation, or another attempt at dislodging the thing. Graciès a Déu, it's too small to seem utterly feral.

Only part of his brain wonders where the horse went. Fled, probably. He doesn't blame it.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2008-12-17 06:22 pm UTC (link)
It's the last thing he would have expected (although maybe he should have, given the whole Buckbeak incident), and Xel bounces off in startlement at the high-pitched yowl, tail bottle-brushing. He gives Cesare a good, long, astonished, reproachful stare, and then swarms back up him, placing a small, many-toed paw over his nose and mouth, claws out just enough to prick a warning.

Good grief.

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[info]il_valentino
2008-12-18 06:02 pm UTC (link)
"Lascia-" he starts to squeal, and ends with a "mbfhh", with a cold paw pressed against his lips. He squints to avoid a clawed swipe against his eyes, should the cat?lynx?thing? decide to attack. Countless claws are sliding out just enough to catch on his lips. Cesare's nostrils grow wide.

Intead of tearing the thing off no matter what, his hands fall limply by his side. Which is rewarded by the furry beast molding itself against him, heavier than it has any right to be, and making itself quite comfortable between his chin and navel.

"Er," Cesare says.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2008-12-18 10:08 pm UTC (link)
As soon as Cesare freezes like a sensible endoskeletal biped, Xel licks him amiably on his long nose and settles in on him, purring like a lawnmower. Clearly this is someone who needs to learn cat appreciation, and towards that end, as he kneads, he keeps his claws sheathed enough to do no more than tug at the threads of Cesare's shirt.

After a while, he turns his head to give Cesare an astonished and perplexed My ears remain unscratched. Did your hand fall off? look.

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[info]il_valentino
2008-12-22 05:41 pm UTC (link)
It's... warm. Warm and heavy and breathing, and it presses against him with a certain gusto. When the cat... thing turns to look up at him, Cesare can't help but feel there's a certain... reproachfulness in the huge slitted eyes.

"I... what?" he says, helplessly. Hounds, he thinks. Somebody give him a good, nice, useful, obedient dog. The cat's swiping lick is tickling and sticky. Imagine... if a cat went down on you. What exquisite torme-.. no, he's decidedly not going here.

He fidgets a bit. Then he lifts a hand to skritch the cat's chin. It's his favourite part of their anatomy, if he can be bothered with them: the velvety birdbone sharp-angled jaw, so soft, impossibly soft, but you can still feel the structure underneath? Their brittle, mean little jaws. It's a wonderful spot to stroke with two digits.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2008-12-22 10:58 pm UTC (link)
Xel purrs resoundingly, and grabs at Cesare's other wrist with his soft, pale, silvery paws, licking the side of his hand with vigorous enthusiasm (he sighs at himself a second later, when his brain catches up, but what can one do; it's a cat thing). Receding calluses, he notices; it's a pity.

It's exactly the sort of rhythmic, mindless activity that doesn't interfere with planning in the slightest, and so he indulges. Tempting, tempting to change again and become a wolf as he nearly did to begin with; he thinks Cesare would rather prefer that form. Too long a single-file procession of purple-eyed animals in shades of grey and cream, though, especially after the birch wood, and, well, the man may not be a magic-user, but three would be rather pushing their luck, Xel feels. He eyes a soft rustle in the grass meditatively as Cesare scritches under his jaw, the tip of his tail twitching, and waits for something to change.

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[info]il_valentino
2008-12-29 01:43 pm UTC (link)
Porca miseria.

He could fall asleep like this, the rough tongue washing his hand, the rumbling purr warm against his stomach, but that doesn't really help with a slight but pesky problem: where is this, and, more importantly, how the fuck does one leave?

And where to? The question bears asking. Back to Margate, to choke on his unhappiness? Or back to Rome, to mire himself in the mess he made, with no forces to his name, no friends who'd back him? But Roma today, wouldn't she be different? Eternal, yes, but different. It would be worth a try.

He feels the cat's growing distraction - one of the reasons he's not very fond of them; damn things always have their own agenda - and gets up, tucking the cat firmly under his elbow. He's holding it wrong; its hind legs are swirling and kicking, so he tucks them under and looks the cat in the eyes. "None of this exists, little one," he says pleasantly enough, "Or does it, micio?"

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[info]sunnyshadow
2008-12-29 05:50 pm UTC (link)
He can't help it. He just can't. He has to. He has to look Cesare straight in the eye, his own eyes enormous with earnest innocence, and nod, distinctly, three times.

Then he squirm-bounds out of Cesare's hold and pounces on the rustle in the grass. A minute or two and a lot of squawking later, he dumps the dead pheasant at Cesare's feet and cleans his paws of the blood and feathers, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

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[info]il_valentino
2009-01-01 05:32 pm UTC (link)
Bloody pawprints on his trousers, the cat thing headbutts Cesare's shin and mraows. "Er." He's not sure what to say. Does one thank a cat?

He bends to pick up the still-warm bird, its neck flopping, tailfeathers beautiful and miraculously unbroken. So at least he's not given to starve here. Or not that soon, anyway. He looks around; perhaps he can find twigs to start a fire with. Not that he was ever very good with that, but needs must. "Although I guess that bird should still hang a bit," he says to the cat. It's parked its scrawny behind on Cesare's left foot and proceeds to clean itself without paying attention to him.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2009-01-01 05:42 pm UTC (link)
Xel puts a paw down to pat his ankle reassuringly, and streeeeeetches in the sunshine. He's not in any great hurry to get back into that enormous, comparatively placid skull. To cast a sleeping spell or to change back while Cesare's focused on the pheasant... decisions, decisions. He yawns, cracking his jaw like a serpent. It's as crisp here, so near to Scotland, as anywhere else, and maybe more. But it's been wet stormy so long, back in town, that the very sunshine lulls.

But look at the main comm page! (sits on the bouncing muse)

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[info]il_valentino
2009-01-17 06:38 pm UTC (link)
With a swoop, he gathers the cat in one arm, swings the pheasant from the other. The thing is, he doesn't know where to now, and his sudden surge of energy dissipates as quickly as it came.

He stands there, in the clearing, painfully, acutely aware of the fact that he must look like an idiot.

"You know," he tells the cat, looking at the sky, "if I were not to come back. If something happened here. Wherever this is." He swallows, grips the squirming cat a little harder. "They wouldn't miss me."

Eventually he can't hold the bundle any longer. He watches the cat make a few darting leaps, then stop and wheel around to face him as he sits flat on his arse, distractedly stroking bloodied tailfeathers.

You know, he almost says, some people will tell you that I was... non compos mentis, in the end. That disease had affected my brain. But that's not true. I just. I. Didn't see the point.

Not looking up, he starts to weave his fingers through blades of grass.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2009-01-17 06:49 pm UTC (link)
Oh, that right there, that is Xel's least favorite flavor. Ashes and half-vinegared treacle and glue. He prowls around nonchalantly, once Cesare is looking elsewhere, and then pounces on him from behind, knocking him face-first. No claws are in evidence until he stars kneading Cesare's back, and then they're the barest warning prickle as he purrs. He starts to cast a sleep spell. It's a very mild one, very weak and slow; the white magic is uncomfortable even at that level, and this way it will be more of a lulling descent for Cesare than a sudden plummet into slumber.

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[info]il_valentino
2009-01-17 06:59 pm UTC (link)
Ooof. Dannazione. A cat shouldn't be this heeavvv-

His hands are still clutching the bloody bird, blood seeping through his jeans where he's folded over, and the purr in his ear is loud.

"Ma che fai." He drools a little. That fur is impossibly soft. Oh, some people swore on cat's fur lining for their winter coats all right. Lucrezia had a lovely little handwarmer made of - aiee. Needled fingers poke his neck.

"What," he slurs, "didn't say anything or did I." There's a good chance he finishes that sentence only in his head.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2009-01-17 07:14 pm UTC (link)
Xel keeps kneading until he's sure the spell has really taken and Cesare won't easily wake. Then he hops off him, and stretches into the gold, regaining his own body.

He knows where Cesare lives, and although he's never been inside, he thinks there's a good chance that there won't be anything two feet beyond the door. So he teleports there, with Cesare over his shoulder (really too large for him to carry without awkwardness, but the weight isn't a problem for a chimera of his description) and the bird in the other hand.

There's some sense of shared space to the well-appointed rooms, and Xel idly lets his eyes wash over the place, finding Cesare's bedroom almost by scent. He bends to roll Cesare onto his mattress, removes the ducal footwear, and twitches the sheet over him.

Then a thousand years of mazoku priesthood smack him upside the back of the head. He tucks Cesare in more carefully. And arranges his boots neatly beside the bed. And--and--he can't help it, he has to tug his gloves on and generally nudge the room into a more graceful tidiness before he goes to find a refrigeratable container or wrapping for the pheasant. There's nothing he can do. Even if he's been trying to remember his generalship around Cesare, he was always, always both, from the moment he was a mazoku worth anything, and he's just too well trained.

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[info]il_valentino
2009-01-18 09:30 am UTC (link)
For a second or five, he's reeling, reeling, lost in some indescribable nowhere, and then he nudges his faces into someone's crook of a neck. Nice. Warm. Male, he thinks.

Nice.

There are sleep-sensed disturbances, and then there are presences, the soothing, co-habitational sort. He twists deeper into the pillows, still looking for that warm neck.

Making soft lipsmacky sounds, he flops one arm out and over the edge of the bed, fingers curled in invitation.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2009-01-18 10:48 am UTC (link)
About to pick up the bird and go, Xel glances back at the little noises. His heart twists at the sight. Is there anything he can do? Of course there is, the simplest thing in the world. It only needs a little tweaking.

Now, how to do this.

After a moment's closed-eyed thought and a long, centering breath, he lifts his hands to make the gestures, draws on the seed of the Sea within him, and returns to the language of his birth.

"Gift of a beloved Mother
Shining like gold in the dark crevices of my peaceful soul,I call upon you--
I now invoke you!"
He feels the warmth of the Sea bubbling to fill his soul, and basks in it for just a moment, smiling softly. Now the tricky bit.
"Darkness beyond blackest pitch,
Deeper than the deepest night,
King of Darkness, who shines like gold upon the Sea of Chaos,
I call upon you for one sworn to you."
That's a bit of a stretch, really, but Cesare is a priest, he'd said, and even those sworn to the god of virtue ultimately serve the Parent of creation. He lays his hands on Cesare's face, cupping it gently, and goes on into the realms of invention. At least if this doesn't work he's unlikely to get much of a backlash from it, although you can never tell for really sure with Chaos magic.
May the eyes of the soul
Of the one before me
Be opened to You as You walk with him,
That he may feel Your love
And know it true."
He bends over to press his lips to Cesare's face, between his eyes, and murmurs quietly into the bone,
"Astral Waken"

He picks up the bird and backs quietly out of the room to go hang it, as he now remembers Cesare preferred. He hopes this will help his friend feel less lonely--but, in honesty, he'll also be curious to see whether the man starts seeing the supernatural and magical around him.

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[info]liriaen
2009-01-18 11:16 am UTC (link)
*cries softly* Uh. Really. *cries a lot now*

PS: Also, two glorious new chapters, here, and here.

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[info]sunnyshadow
2009-01-18 02:48 pm UTC (link)
Oh, dear. Er, sorry?

(pounces on chapters)

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(no subject) - [info]il_valentino, 2009-01-18 03:41 pm UTC

[info]il_valentino
2009-01-18 03:58 pm UTC (link)
He half-hears his small moan, bespeaking the neediness with which he turns toward the hands, flower to the sun. He's not a light sleeper, never was, but there's only a thin veil between the now and the remembered, and he surfaces into brightness as if back in Assisi, under Giovanni di Bonino's stained glass windows casting him in azure, crimson, and emerald;

those had been colours, nothing more than colours, and he, half-bored to death, twisting his cardinal's ring, eyes glued to some noblewoman's cleavage, had sat until Mass was over, the Ite long spoken, when Miguel touched his shoulders and he'd looked up

to see Bonino's colours for the first time, really see them, playing with Miguel's curls.

He wriggles a bit in his sleep, seeking a shoulder or, that failing, the edge of the bed to anchor himself. There still are noises, quiet rummaging, good husbandry-like... they soothe him.

Lips between his eyes, aren't those. He opens his lips in turn, hopeful.

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(no subject) - [info]sunnyshadow, 2009-01-18 04:49 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]il_valentino, 2009-01-19 03:09 am UTC

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