Who: Bast & Grantaire What: Checking in on a friend When: Early May sometime after this Where: R & Kurt's apartment Status: complete Rating: F for feels, but not super high?
There were very few people that Bast set to fussing over and R happened to be one of those people. Maybe it was unnecessary, but she had a feeling a couple people worrying about him wouldn’t hurt. Also she wasn’t sure he didn’t need someone to worry about him. Even if it was only a little. She’d brought coffee and breakfast in case he needed it. In case he wanted it, really. She couldn’t force him to eat, but she could bring food in case he wanted to eat - something she gathered he might need to do.
Kurt had let her in when she knocked. She’d given him one of the three coffees and breakfast options since it seemed a little rude to just show up with things and give him nothing. Of course, if he hadn’t have been there, it would have seemed a little silly. So Bast thanked something (really, she would have thanked herself if she was the goddess of good fortune, but she was not) that he was actually there.
Finding her way to R’s room, she knocked lightly before stepping inside. “Morning, kitten. Though, it is almost afternoon. I thought a nine AM wake up call was a little rude given the circumstances. I brought coffee and food. Can I interest you in any?”
***
R hadn’t slept - too afraid of what was going to happen (though he was dead, he wasn’t sure what else could happen, but he didn’t want to find out) - so a 9am wakeup wouldn’t have been as terrible as it could have been. He also hadn’t gotten off the floor, just pulled his blanket over him and burrowed in. He wanted a drink but had nothing, and wasn’t willing to get up to find anything. Maybe he could talk someone (probably Killian) into bringing some to him later, but for now, he had to face the day without a drink in hand. And the day seemed to involve a cat goddess.
He tried to smile for her but his face didn’t want to work. None of his muscles did. He felt languid and yet was so, so tense at the same time. So he tried to convey with his eyes that he appreciated her being here. He didn’t particularly want to eat but he knew that he probably should. Instead, he managed to pick his hand up and reached for the coffee. It wouldn’t help as much as whiskey or vodka (and he doubted she had the forethought to spike it) but it would do.
The problem was that now he had to sit up, and that was just so daunting a task for his aching, tense body. He set the coffee down and went about trying to figure out out before deciding that it wasn’t worth it after all. “I am fine, ma minette,” he mumbled into the floor.
***
Bast resisted the urge to look at him sympathetically. It seemed better to behave normally. Things were not normal, of course, but she would do her best to try to make things a little better. She moved to sit next to him once he’d taken the coffee and sat his food in reach. If he wanted to eat, it shouldn’t require moving. She wouldn’t force him to eat, though. Perhaps a little gentle needling, but she wasn’t sure telling him he had to eat was a good plan.
Instead, she reached over, tucking his hair behind his ear as if it was the most normal thing she’d ever done. “Perhaps I should have brought a bendy straw,” she commented, voice casual. “If you don’t feel you can hold yourself up, I will allow you to use my body to hold you up. I’m sure we can figure out a way. Unless you’d prefer to stay on the floor.” She studied him, finally letting the disguise she’d kept up over her eyes drop. Given who R was, she didn’t think she needed to hide the truth of herself from him. Even if part of that was cat eyes.
“I’m not saying you have to eat, but it might be a good idea.” She took a sip from her own coffee, letting her breakfast sit off to the side as she leaned back a little. “I can also see about that bendy straw.” Who knew if his roommate had them? It was anyone’s guess. Either way, she’d be here for him. Even if it just involved sitting there and running her fingers through his hair until he felt a little better. It would be hard to feel better about dying, of course, but physically better was just as good.
***
R didn’t even notice the change in her eyes, too caught up in his own misery to notice anything outside of it (and, truth be told, even if he weren’t mourning the death of his friends from the Dreams and his own death, he probably would have missed it anyway, given his drinking habits). He was also caught up in the idea of there being something like a bendy straw in the house. Not with Kurt, it just seemed too...plebian for a man like Kurt, to own something like a bendy straw. It was almost enough to make him laugh. Shoring himself between Bast and the bed was the best option, he was fairly certain. Just...had to convince him to get up.
He managed to roll onto his side and, yep, that was about as far as they were getting. One hand did snake out to pull the bag of food to him, just to investigate, and tip it onto the ground so he could see inside. Nothing seemed at all appealing - normally, yes, but right now it would have taken mana from Heaven to convince Grantaire to eat. The thought of having to put food into his mouth, to chew, to swallow, it all seemed too difficult when he knew it would only taste like ash and sawdust on his tongue, or that his stomach would reject it. It was cramping already at the thought of food, as tired as the rest of him. He knew that yes, he should eat, but he couldn’t really see the point in it right now.
“I am sorry, ma minette,” he said, staring at the carpet. “But I do not think that I am hungry.”
***
“You don’t have to apologize,” she said softly. She could just put it in the fridge on her way out in case he wanted it later. Even if she’d have to tell Kurt to go check in on him and poke him into eating a little. “Eventually you’ll be hungry again.” The dreams were a terrible thing sometime. She didn’t have too many terrible things to deal with. Perhaps the understanding that her father had intended her to die (well, to have her and Apophis tear each other apart so often that neither of them existed anymore), but it wasn’t the worst thing. She hadn’t been destroyed. Ruby Kane had set her free with the help of her husband. She had given up her life in the end, to keep Apophis from escaping. Bast couldn’t thank her properly.
Letting out a slow breath, she reached out to idly run her fingers through his hair. “I wish I could make the hurt stop, but my godly abilities only extend so far.” She could do some healing and combat magic. Even a little spell casting, but she’d never been able to take away someone’s pain. Even if she could, she didn’t think it technically polite to do so. “If there’s any way I can help, I will. Or at least I will try.” This couldn’t be healed in a day. Time was meant to be a great healer, but who could say how much time one needed.
“When you are hungry again, I’ll take you for anything you like.”
***
R felt like he had to apologize - his bravado and playful personality hid a lot of insecurities that he didn’t want to see the light of day. This was not the first time he’d been so despondent (though this was the first time it had been quite so intense, so acute and pronounced and feeling like a legitimate wound rather than a nagging sense of darkness), and when he was younger his parents often found his little episodes annoying. Fusses were made about staying home to take care of him yet again, rather than going to fancy soirees or important dinners, and so often he found himself murmuring “desole, desole, je suis desole” into the pillow as his mother stood at the foot of his bed complaining. He never asked for their care. He hadn’t asked for anyone else’s either, though they had offered, and he couldn’t quite comprehend that. Why would anyone want to take care of him when he was like this?
“I am appreciative, ma minette. I do not think that any god could make this better.” Enjolras, perhaps, whole and well and irritated with him lying around; or, really, any of his friends from the dreams. Even Pontmercy.
...never mind, he wasn’t that desperate.
“I will think about what I would like to eat. Terrible American food,” he said, though the thought of it turned his stomach. The thought of anything turned his stomach, really, but particularly all of that grease, normally the thing that so enchanted him about Americans and their terrible cuisine. He turned his face further into the carpet, hoping that would help him avoid thinking about it.
***
Bast was, in all rights, very cat-like. Only perhaps less with the showing up when you didn’t want her and not showing up when you wanted her. She liked to think she was fairly consistent. Even if she did sometimes show up when she wasn’t wanted. On occasion. She wasn’t perfect, but she was fairly stubborn, so it meant that the people she cared about got to deal with her presence in some fashion. Even if that fashion was her sending cats to keep an eye on people. It had happened more than once. Especially with R...whether he was aware of it or not. She tried to keep it subtle, but if anyone knew Bast well enough and saw a cat just milling about, it would be easy enough to deduce where the creature had come from.
“No. I doubt they could. Well, not without a sacrifice.” She couldn’t be sure whether or not some gods had the ability to take away pain, but she didn’t like the concept of losing something. The pain would not be there, but knowing it should be there… That was the difficult part. At least she imagined it would be.
“Of course. Whenever you’re ready.” But for now, she would switch topics and tactics. After a long pause, she glanced down at him. “I have apparently developed the ability to speak to baboons somewhere along the way.” Because at least baboons were neutral. Even if it was technically a side effect of the dreams. “My brother Thoth’s sacred animal is that baboon. And they are apparently very fond of basketball. They even wear basketball jerseys.”
***
R had never noticed any cats hanging around, but then, he wasn’t the most observant - he saw things, of course, and often things people didn’t want people to see. It was his gift, having terrible knowledge and no filter to keep it in. But things like a stray cat following him around he never would have taken notice of.
“They are inconsiderate. Much has been sacrificed, if not in this world then in another. Much blood has been shed. I have already died. And they would want another sacrifice? They are greedy, those gods.” R sighed. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to insult the gods in the face of a goddess, but, well, R wasn’t good at self preservation.
R was grateful for the switch. “Baboon? They are the ones with the red asses, yes? Why do they like basketball?” He wasn’t sure which of the complex American sports basketball even was, but still. It was odd for a moneky to like it either way.
***
“No one ever accused the gods of being considerate,” she said with a hint of a laugh. Well, perhaps Bes, but then he was perhaps one of the better gods...all his oddities aside. She liked to think the Egyptians might be better than, say, the Greeks or the Romans, but it was difficult to say for sure. Especially when one considered Isis. She always considered her one of the more troublesome ones, but Sekhmet was also there. “Just be glad I am me and not Isis or Horus. They have such touchy egos.” A pause. “And always be prepared with red food dye and beer when going up against Sekhmet.”
Bast nodded at his question. “Yes. The ones with the red asses. I cannot say why basketball. I just know that is all they talk about. Well, perhaps not all. They are capable of talking about other things. So many things can be said with just a few grunts.” She considered it unusual that a cat goddess could speak to baboons so easily, but then...she was Thoth’s sister. So maybe not so unusual after all.
“T’Challa found my ability to talk to baboons very amusing. Perhaps it was the red asses. But then perhaps it was the manner of talking to them in varying numbers of grunts.”
***
R was well aware of that fact, considering the position he was in - if there was a god, or gods in any number and configuration, they were certainly cruel for putting him in this position. He certainly found it comforting to think that they didn’t exist, Bast not withstanding, of course. He sometimes believed the things in front of his own eyes, provided he hadn’t been in his cups. He didn’t much care if it was an insult or not; he was very good at insulting people. “I can do the beer, but I am not sure that I can do the food dye. Perhaps she will be contented with the beer. I will be.”
Grantaire hummed. “It is strange either way. I do not understand. Sports are very strange. Why do they even know what basketball is?” He frowned and turned his head to look at her. “Who is T’Challa?” (He didn’t pay much attention to the Network, too often wrapped up in himself to care about anyone else, particularly strangers.)
***
“Sekhmet is my sister. The dye was to convince her she was drinking the blood of her enemies so she'd get drunk and pass out because she was…” she paused, considering the story. “Well, she didn't listen to our father and got a little out of hand.” Not strictly the truth, but she wasn't counting on him fact checking her. Sekhmet’s murderous rampages might not have been the story to tell at the moment.”
“I suppose because Thoth is the god of knowledge and he is bound to know everything, even such mundane things as sports. And they are sacred to him. Plus, I don't think they'd make very good research assistants.” More because they were baboons and less because they did not have the mental capacity for it. “Have I not mentioned him? I must be slipping.” She shook her head. “In his dreams, he lives in a place called Wakanda...which doesn't exist here. Apparently I'm very popular there and they worship me, which is basically my favorite thing to hear about a place.” A joke, but not exactly untrue. “Well, he is my Champion in the dreams.” At this, she clapped her hands. “I get my own Champion. Very exciting.” And it was. She'd found nothing but delight in the knowledge that one version of her had a Champion and so it carried over now. Maybe not technically, but she decided to keep him. “Anyway, we're also technically dating. His ass is a thing from the gods. I am unapologetic in my appreciation.” She paused before adding, “One day I will get a picture of him in his Black Panther suit and you can appreciate it as well. If you like.” What could she say? She was very generous.
***
“Sometimes it is best to just pass out, oui,” R agreed. “Often that is all there is to it. You must just sleep because you are too crazy.” He’d certainly had nights like that.
It made sense, in a way, or at least R thought. Though he thought that if they were able to be obsessed with a sport, they wouldn’t be too bad at compiling other information. Though why the god of knowledge would need research assistants, he wasn’t sure.
T’Challa certainly sounded like an interesting man, and R was an opportunist. He would take an offering of a sculpted ass. “I think that I would like that, oui.”
***
He’d certainly understood the situation well enough. Even without the mention of the murderous rampage. Her father had learned to choose his Champion wisely after that. Well, perhaps she had not been the wisest choice. She had, eventually, abandoned her post.
Grinning, Bast looked down at him. “Then I will be sure to get that picture for you.”