Mordred (traitorously) wrote in mythologs, @ 2012-05-06 02:16:00 |
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Current mood: | amused |
i dream about how it's going to end, approaching me quickly... [closed/complete]
Characters: Famine (appetentia) and Mordred (traitorously)
Date/Time: 05/05, early afternoon
Location: Presbyterian Hospital
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Talk of suicide
Summary: Mordred gets another visitor
Having smoked through three cigarettes that morning alone, Famine was feeling sufficiently tired out. He'd emptied a cup of black coffee and felt no kick, leaving him disappointed and extremely lazy. But despite the message on his phone regarding an interview for that afternoon, he found his way to New York Presby.
He'd offered a lie to the nurse at the front desk, insisting he needed to see his lover very desperately, as it appeared to be the only thing that would get him in. Now he stood over the knight, slender arms crossed over his chest. His eyes roamed those bandages, quietly taking in the sight.
~*~
Laying in bed with little to do except sleep or get lost in his thoughts, Mordred was wishing he was in more of a mood to screw with the hospital appointed psychologist who visited him daily. The man was an idiot, and the girl who sometimes came instead was far too eager to believe any line of pull he dished out.
It'd probably be better for everyone involved if he just lied, told them he was feeling much better and faked a smile, but much like he'd told Agravaine earlier in the week he just didn't have the energy to argue. Resting when the horseman came in, he opened his eyes to blink blearily at the redheaded man.
~*~
And in return, Famine blinked back at him, silently peering down at the bed-ridden knight. He would've been perfectly content not to say anything and merely watch, but then Mordred might've had to say something. But was there anything to say? It didn't seem so.
He opened his mouth anyway. "You look like hell."
Such a charmer, he was.
~*~
Why he would visit, Mordred couldn't say, although perhaps he was making sure that Mordred had gotten his note. The urge to thank him, sarcastically, was on the tip of his tongue, but deep down he knew Famine had probably done him a favor.
A smirk twisted his lips. "You'd know."
Their conversations were always so pleasant.
~*~
"I never dealt with Hell, or Heaven," Famine pointed out with a slight tilt of his head. As a Horseman, it wasn't up to him where everyone else ended up. In the end, they would just be taken. Where they went, it didn't matter. He took a step closer.
"What I'm wondering is, is that where you were planning on ending up?"
In the back of his mind, he remembered their encounter at the shooting range, and how that had worked out.
~*~
"Then how do you that's what I look like," Mordred asked, in all utter seriousness. As a fan of semantics, and riotously bored, he knew he wasn't in the best position to be poking at someone he considered a friend, but he'd take the entertainment where he could.
"I had no preference, really, though others could argue that I deserve hell."
Most would argue that, minus his mother and Agravaine. Mordred truly didn't care either way, as he'd be dead.
~*~
A few steps brought Famine right up to the bed, hands coming out to wrap around the railing. Pity it was in the way, or else he might've perched himself on the bed to invade Mordred's personal space. It was so tempting an option.
"Are you sure about that?" His tone was light, amused. "Because I have a story that might conflict with that. There was a boy, almost a year ago from today, who wanted to die. He brought someone along with him, hoping that someone would have the guts to shoot him. When his friend asked him 'why?', he said 'because if I do it, it's a sin'. Now why would he say that if he didn't believe it?"
~*~
Watching as he walked over, Mordred perked up slightly at Famine's approach. Despite their sometimes rocky history he never felt he had anything to fear from the slighter man, even now when he was at a disadvantage.
"A lot can change in just under a year," he responded, shoulders moving in a light shrug. "Entire philosophies can be shifted in the blink of an eye. Is it so strange to believe that I've changed caring about punching my ticket towards heaven? Ask anyone who knew me when, minus my brother Agravaine or my mum, and they'd say hell is the only place for a man like me. With so many people in agreement, how could they be wrong?"
~*~
The Horseman didn't bat a lash. "Let's be real here. You didn't care where you ended up, as long as it was over. Punch your ticket and you're out of there. Right?"
Somehow, it seemed hypocritical to be speaking of suicide in such a candid manner, when this had all been his reality months ago. Heaven or Hell -- it didn't matter. Famine hadn't given it thought then, and he wouldn't do so now.
~*~
The knight admired the horseman's ability to cut t the chase. "That's about the gist of it right there, yeah. You always did get me."
Conversely, talking of suicide with someone who'd been where you were seemed like a perfectly logical thing. Who else could understand the mindset better than someone who'd experienced it? Mordred felt comfortable speaking of this with him.
~*~
There were so many things one could say to that. Famine opted not to be sentimental. That wasn't his manner of doing things.
"This is the second time you should've died under my hands." Slim fingers reached out to brush the stark white bandages. With the touch came an unspoken question -- what's underneath? -- but it wasn't voiced for a reason. Eventually, he'd see the scars, as the knight had seen his.
"Why do you think I didn't let you die, Mordred?"
~*~
Of all the questions one could ask, he went with that one. Mordred grew quiet, seriously considering his answer.
"I could get treacly and claim you'd miss me, but I think you rather like knowing that there's someone out there who you've saved." His tone was soft, familiar, and had a slightly amused edge to it. In all truth he had no idea why the horseman saved him.
"Why don't you tell me why, Famine?"
~*~
For a couple of moments, it seemed like Famine wasn't going to reply. He fell silent for a time, enough to convince anyone he'd simply clammed up, until he spoke. "Because I had to learn the hard way that you don't get to clock out whenever you want. Because I see myself in you sometimes, and it fucking weirds me out. Because I'm a selfish person, and because you're mine."
If it'd occurred to him just how easily that last part could've been misconstrued, it didn't show on his face. But he'd meant it, though perhaps not in the way it sounded. Mordred had been at his side for over a year, had been the only person in his life who he could open up completely to, hence his honesty. They were more than friends. They were something he couldn't put a name to.
He hated being sentimental. But he would always, always be selfish when it came to Mordred.
~*~
Famine's words took Mordred by complete surprise, though thanks to the drugs still flowing through his system his face barely betrayed the emotion. Taking a few moments to compose his thoughts, he reached up slowly, resting his hand on top of the horsemans' and gently running his thumb over the other mans' knuckles.
"I always thought I was stronger, that I didn't need anyone to help me, and yet in the few times I've gone overboard you've been there to keep me from jumping off the edge. If that doesn't convince me you've got some claim on me then I'd be a bloody moron." He paused, lips quirking into a smirk. "Though I suppose I could be a moron anyway, at least to some."
It was the closest he would get to admitting that he was touched by what Famine said.
~*~
Blue-greens fell to that hand, following fingers up to the bandages, then up the arm to Mordred's face. "You are a moron," the younger boy admitted, his words a stark contrast to the sentimental garbage he'd spewed earlier, but it was, at the very least, said without malice.
It was so bizarre for a Horseman to have such sentimental connections. But Famine supposed he owed it to his human side, which had been so prevalent in his recent life. Over a year of companionship was hard to shake. They'd had ups and downs and fallouts, but in the end, Mordred was someone he could trust. And those individuals came so very few, being limited to only three before.
He'd burn something after this. Something to remind himself of what he was, but for the time being, he'd accept this closeness.
~*~
Ice-blue eyes softened at the remark, obviously not offended in the least by hearing those words come from Famine's mouth. "There are worse things in life," the knight replied simply, accepting of the criticism that came with the territory of disappointing someone.
If anyone were to ask, the knight would think it just as odd that he'd developed a connection with someone other that those few members of his family who'd believed in him, but Mordred chalked it up to being a side-effect of the lives they led. It was hard not to form some outside bonds when there were so few people who understood exactly what the hand of fate threw at you on a monthly basis, and Famine had been there for most of what Mordred had gone through.
Had he not been stuck in the hospital this conversation most likely would not have taken place. The irony of that was not lost on him.
~*~
If Mordred had been one of his siblings, Famine might have picked up that hand and kissed those bony knuckles. Because it wasn't, he settled for slipping his own hand out and brushing fingertips across the back of Mordred's hand.
"Do you plan on trying again?" He meant no harm by the question; he was genuinely curious.
~*~
If Famine had kissed his knuckles, Mordred would have assumed his guess was on better drugs than the hospital provided. The light brush of fingertips over his hand was just quick enough for it to barely register.
"No, I believe I've learned my lesson." He couldn't handle upsetting his family like that again.
~*~
That answer seemed to satisfy Famine, who gave a brief nod and pulled away from the bed, slight fingers lingering on the railing. If Mordred kept to his word, there would be no bleeding all over the living room floor anymore. That was something he could deal with.
"The next time you want to know what death is like, I'll gladly show you," the Horseman promised him, not a trace of amusement in his words. "But while I'm forced to play this game, you're playing it with the rest of us." Finally, he pushed off the railing.
"And that's not an offer."
~*~
It was the only answer Mordred had to give, the reactions of his family constantly playing through his head when he was alone. If Famine was concerned enough to open up to him in the way he did, which was as shocking as Agravaine's visit, then it was obvious he would need to learn to accept he was stuck here.
"If I find myself contemplating that matter you'll be the first I call," the knight solemnly swore, stopping short of crossing his heart. "So long as I know I have you and a few others worth playing for then I suppose I can handle that," he conceded.
"Wasn't thinking it was."
~*~
Famine was definitely feeling that urge to go light up a cigarette, one that he knew had been denied of Mordred already, and unable to do so within the confines of the hospital, he knew to shift toward the door to satisfy his craving.
"That's sweet. My heart just fluttered." Which wasn't a complete lie. It was good to have a reason to be amused, and though he didn't smile, the sentiment was there. Paused at the door with fingers curled around the handle, he shot a look over his shoulder.
"Bye, sweetie."
Oh, how resistance was futile.