Cayden Yarrow (mutable) wrote in valloic, @ 2023-09-09 19:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, original character: cayden yarrow, original character: deleneios armen |
Log: Del & Cayden
There had been a distinct lack of dragons mentioned. And an even crueler lack of Mnestaes. This had felt pointed, and he was beginning to feel a heaviness come over his erasure from prominent history when he happened upon his current obsession. It took one look, one color-accurate restoration, reprinted on glossy paper stock, to keep him from tearing his eyes away. He had to have this art book.
Even now, squirreling the book away back at their newly minted Morningside apartment, Del had been unable to stop staring at it. Himself. Somewhere, distant in his mind, he knew this was narcissistic. And honestly, a little masochistic. For a dragon unable to forget anything, the reflection of himself in his mind's eye had been waning. He feared he was starting to forget himself.
But this—this was too real. His wings were spread, wide in mid-take off. His scales were vibrant and shimmering; the oil painting managed to recreate every hue between deep onyx and midnight purple. The glow of his eyes were a honeyed amber, staring at him from across the page. He was fucking magnificent in this painted tableau. A single word, Mnestaes, labeled the painting in a little footer in the corner. Artist unknown. But Del knew. How could he forget?
A knot formed in his throat, and he swallowed it down. Just soon enough to hear familiar approaching steps behind him.
Not looking up from the book, Del said, "For someone who spends most of his time as a large cat, you are not as quiet as you think you are." Only then did he turn in his seat at the dining room table, arm slung over the back of his chair, looking at Cayden with his typical smugly pleased expression. "Did you need something?"
Cayden was always very mindful of Del's movements; in faerie, he'd had to be. For both of their sakes. But even if it hadn't been his responsibility, he thought he would still have been painfully aware of him. Del had carved out a space in Cayden's life that couldn't be filled by anything else anymore. It was claimed. Branded. Property of Mnestaes.
He tried not to think about it too much. They had bigger things to worry about than his inappropriate feelings.
But his awareness still made it easy to spot Del's thievery, particularly because the dragon didn't really try to hide it at all. Cayden had been looking for a moment to talk to him about it. Finding Del pouring over the pilfered tome seemed like a fitting choice. Too bad his curiosity was piqued. He raised an eyebrow at Del's words and moved closer, trying to get a peek at the book.
"I was not trying to be quiet. We both know, if I wanted to sneak up on you, I could." He got a glimpse of colors on the page. Artwork. His interest grew. "You were not particularly sneaky yourself. Why did you steal that?"
Sensing Cayden's growing interest, Del adjusted his position in his chair, trying to block Cayden's view. It wasn't that he didn't want Cayden to see—he had been desperately trying to find written archives of his dragon self in books to prove he wasn't making shit up—but this felt intimate. Intense. This picture drew more questions that Del wasn't sure he could answer without outright lying. And he tried very hard not to do that in front of Cayden who was wholly unable to.
But even if he could, Del didn't think Cayden would, and it made the unease in his own chest burn shamefully. He had to tell himself it was for their own good, both Cayden and Eli.
He should have closed the damn book, but he turned his singular focus on Cayden trying to keep his attention on him and not the open page. "I wanted to see if I could. Did you know, they have the whole library warded against every possible attack, but I feel like anyone could walk right in and take something important," Del said, waving his hand around in a dismissively distracting way. "And lucky for them, I wasn't going for important. I was going for mundane."
His chin jutted out, going for self-assured and shifted again, nonchalantly, trying to keep the offending volume hidden. Del was, in fact, doing a terrible job. "So you can lecture me about my thievery, but I was doing them a favor."
Del hiding the book made Cayden pull up short, frowning. Part of him was viscerally aware that Del had secrets. The other part thought they had too much trust built up between them for such lies. The two parts warred, naturally, and it showed in the furrow of his eyebrows and the soft roundness of his eyes. It was just a book. What even was there that Del thought he needed to keep from Cayden about a book? Even if it was a book detailing the exact way to break his prison open, he had to know by now that Cayden would not stand in his way. He lifted his chin stubbornly, unconsciously mirroring Del.
"They allow people free and unlimited access to a vast library, Deleneios. Perhaps they think there is no need to deter theft." He crossed his arms over his chest. Frustration twitched at the corner of his tight mouth. He knew he sounded a little hurt but there wasn't much he could do to change that. "Are you honestly telling me you stole a random book for no purpose at all? You've been staring at it like…like it means something."
Del knew he wasn't winning this argument. He didn't even think it was an argument at all, but it felt like fighting. A snipping at one another until something gave. And even though Cayden might have thought otherwise, there was very little that Del wouldn't give him. Even in this moment, with the book burning a hole behind him, the words piled up behind his tongue—not wanting to tell him what this picture was but every moment that brought him to that point. All of it, the truth, the brutal honesty of it all.of their situation.
But the expression that Del had across his face was one that moved from teasing anxiousness, to frustration. Because he lost, and Cayden was being absolutely unfair the way he sounded hurt. The way he was hurt by Del's hiding.
"How long have you been watching me?" Del asked, a little surprised that Cayden had caught on. Maybe he was sneakier than Del expected. But he didn't need an answer, he just slid the book over to the empty seat beside him, and gestured at Cayden, something like well, sit.
"The book is not important to the casual reader," Del insisted, as he leaned his elbow on the table, head in hand, attention finally sliding back to the picture on the page. "But I'm not a casual reader and there are not many that mention me."
"How long have I been watching you? Over a century," Cayden answered dryly. It wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't the exact truth in this situation. He didn't care to admit how interested he'd been in Del's library search. Everything that brought that intense drive out of Del was interesting to Cayden. He focused instead on the book being revealed. He moved closer, resting a hand on the chair next to Del to lean over the book.
Of all the things he expected to find, a painting of a dragon was not on the list. Which was stupid really. It should have been at the top of the list. He knew all too well how much the lack of finding his true self in the tomes of history bothered Del. Worse still that the ones they had found had only been monstrous sketches and blood-soaked paintings. This…this was nothing short of reverence. Whoever had painted this had cared deeply about Mnestaes.
Something about the painting itched at the back of Cayden's mind. He pulled out the chair and sat down, pulling the book closer. It wasn't just that it was beautiful. It wasn't even that this was the first time he was seeing complimentary art of the dragon beside him.
"It is…stunning. You were--are…" Images abruptly snapped across his mind's eye: paint on a canvas, on a brush, on a freckled hand. A sound chased after it - that of a deep and familiar laugh, carrying more weight than his human body could hold. Cayden blinked rapidly, turning his head towards Del. The dragon wasn't laughing.
And Cayden had never painted a day in his life.
He frowned and pressed the heel of his palm to his temple. The image and the sound were gone, and the threat of a migraine was taking their place.
"I am glad to have seen this." He lowered his hand and traced a wing with his finger. "I often wondered how you really looked."
Del didn't know what to expect. It was different every time he had found Cayden in another life. Eliphas too. Sometimes it was instantaneous, sometimes they never remembered but trusted Mnestaes so inherently that they believed, without a doubt, what he was saying. Sometimes the remembering period was so short that it felt like he had to tell them every day until there weren't days to tell them. The painting in the book had been a selfish choice to stare at himself until he didn't forget himself.
But it had been even more selfish to push Cayden into recalling this moment. He had never claimed he was good. His impatience was on full display with this gesture.
He watched Cayden, furiously intense with a deep sadness in his eyes. He could see a moment of recognition, he could nearly taste the buzz in the air as Cayden traced his hand across the image. His hand reached for Cayden's, to trace with him, but he hovered just above the page. His heart thumped out of time with you, it was you, before Cayden turned to him. Del searched his face, seeing the dregs of memory leaving him as they exchanged looks. There was a burn of disappointment under his skin.
Del sucked in a breath, and placed a warm and heavy hand on the back of Cayden's neck. He massaged the muscles there once, to banish the obvious discomfort of a building headache. But his hand dropped away just as quickly; he shouldn't have touched the prince.
"You can keep giving me compliments, I won't say no to those," Del said, though he didn't sound as arrogantly confident as usual. He smiled, regardless. "Historians do me an injustice. So you can imagine my surprise when the library had this stellar artifact cataloging every inch of my glorious, stunning, self." He tapped the page, right by his wing.
In Cayden's mind, he said, I posed for this, you know.
The electricity of the moment raised the fine hairs on Cayden's arms and sent a shiver down his neck. Del's touch was scalding. How much of that was just the dragon's internal heat and how much was Cayden's imagination, he couldn't be sure. It felt wrong to appreciate every touch to this wanton degree, but he was powerless to resist. He reminded himself that Del was not bound to him by choice. The very least he could do was respect that.
He straightened his shoulders and glanced over at Del with unconsciously inviting eyes. Lying with his words was impossible; lying with his face had become harder to do as every year passed in Del's company.
"Oh?" He hummed at the thought in his head. Often he wished he could answer back the same way. To keep his words for Del alone. "I can tell the artist was fond, but I did not consider you actively posing. I suppose that does explain how they would know what the underside of your wings looked like." He brushed another finger across the page. "You…trusted them?"
It felt as though they were having two different conversations. One with words, the simple questions of digging into Del's long, long past. And one where they were staring through years of history into one another's soul, and Del wanted nothing more than to pull those memories free. To pull those feelings out. To pull Cayden into him, their bodies intimately close, and whisper, remember remember until he did. Wanting Cayden was unbearable, but if Del was honest, it had been for a century with him. He always wanted; his restraint was something to be praised.
That was why when those inviting eyes bore into Del, it was his turn to tear his gaze away and back to the page and stare at his wings. They seemed to shimmer at Cayden's touch. That felt appropriate. "I trusted him with my life," Del said out loud when Cayden didn't—couldn't—respond back in his mind. "He was tasked with slaying me, but I was either too ferocious or too beautiful to kill." He sounded amused,fond, as if recalling another conversation where he had this exact debate.
"He is—was too kind for his own good. He should have never tried to befriend me and yet—" His finger traced over the words artist unknown, and Del swallowed hard. "Our lives were better for it, for as short as his life was."
Cayden's emotions didn't seem to know where to settle. They ricocheted from one extreme to another - from longing to fondness, jealousy to a surprisingly selfless sadness. Well, mostly selfless. He felt for Del and the companion he'd lost. To old age? To tragedy? He was afraid to ask. But there was unfortunately still a part of him that ached hearing Del speak of someone in his past in such a way. It likely made itself known in the way he kept his eyes locked on Del's hand on the page and his voice took on a rough edge.
"Is that who you are waiting for?" He snuck a brief glance at Del and then sat up a little straighter, pretending to scan the page for more information. He hadn't meant to say the question out loud but it was out there now. Whether he really wanted the answer was still to be decided. "I read what you said the other day. About waiting for your people. Would you know if you found him again?"
It was a personal subject but he was fae and there was little in the way of restraint when a fae was curious - and deeply invested. "Does something…happen?" he frowned. "Or is it more just a feeling?"
Del couldn't bring himself to look toward Cayden at his initial question. His face simply fell into a doleful expression, full of sorrow and grief—not just for the loss of Cayden in so many lives before this one, but the fact that he didn't know in this one. But to Del, this was enough, this had to be. Maybe that was the punishment the fae had inflicted on him centuries ago; something less physical, more psychological, even if he had had his fair share of both under their captivity.
But he shook it off abruptly, and peered over at Cayden with a rueful smile. "I would know when I found him again," Del said. He knew curious and inquisitive Cayden would not settle for one answer when he had asked for many. Del considered which ones were worth avoiding; he did not have the unfortunate innate inability to lie like Cayden. "It is a feeling at first, like a sip of water after spending days in a dry desert. The gasp of air after drowning. The brush of warmth from a fire after spending so long in the cold. It is all very euphoric."
He didn't mention the mental connection. Or the magical channeling that came from being tethered together. The things that Cayden had access to if only he—
"You don't have to feel sorry for me, princeling," Del said, attempting to close the book, regardless if Cayden's hand was still holding the page. His voice took on a teasing tone. "I have done this dance many times. I will find him. Both of them, again. That's why I chose this." Del gestured to himself, the mortal body he accepted as his imprisonment.
Would know, he'd said. Not did. Will find, not had. Cayden forced a smile that didn't reach his too expressive eyes. It was probably good to hear it now instead of wondering. Hoping. It didn't explain the strange memory that had felt viscerally real for those few heartbeats, but Del had been speaking into his mind for some time. Maybe the memory had come from him. Maybe he'd pulled it from the mind of his beloved artist hundreds of years ago and didn't even realize he'd shared it with Cayden now.
"Euphoric," he echoed, softly. "I suppose that must help soothe the ache of missing them." He withdrew his hand from the book as Del closed the cover. His mouth felt dry and his jaw stiff. He reached up to touch the curve of one elegantly pointed ear, a sign of his anxiety that he'd never managed to fully kick. But he managed a more genuine expression, one that spoke to his determination and compassion. "We will help you find them." He didn't feel bad enlisting Eli. He was sure Eli would not argue. "I do not know how, but that has never stopped me before."
Flashing a somber smile, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. It was as close as he could currently get to speaking for Del and Del alone. "Thank you. For sharing this with me."
Del spent a century watching the subtle shifts of Cayden's face—when he was overthinking something, or trying not to give away his curiosity or frustration, or when disappointment was pushed down in order to help someone else. The little tell of touching his ear had been something Del had noticed first, and he hated that somehow this exchange had made Cayden doubt. Del looked wholly displeased with the conversation and how much the lie he told Cayden to keep him safe seemed to work.
"I appreciate your desire to be involved, but it's not your responsibility. It's not Eliphas's either. Do not be upset if we—I never find them. I will try again in another lifetime," Del said, blunt, factual. He was hiding the agony that looking had caused him. There had been a whole life where he hadn't found either of them, and he couldn't bring himself to let time be wasted again.
He only wished that helping them remember was easier, intuitive and instinctual, and not Del waiting, hoping, until that blaze of desire consumed him from the inside out.
With casual familiarity, Del took Cayden's hand that worried at his ear, and directed it away, before leaning back in his chair. "But you're welcome, and now you can't get on my case for taking the book. You're an accomplice to my narcissism. You and I seem to be racking up the felonies, huh?"
"It is not our responsibility, no," Cayden frowned. "But obligation is not the only reason to help someone, Mnestaes." His voice was still soft. Intimate. He didn't often use Del's real name. It was dangerous, for one. It felt illicit. Like he was crossing a line that wasn't his to cross. He turned his eyes away from the magnetic appeal of Del leaning back in a chair and gave his heart a mental scolding for going all wobbly from a simple hand touch. Ridiculous. This whole conversation had gotten away from him.
He needed some air. He needed to shift.
"I will save getting on your case for something more devious," he promised, slowly pushing himself to his feet and turning to walk away. He raised a teasing eyebrow back over his shoulder. "Like how you keep eating all of my carefully saved leftovers."
For all his cool collected behavior in the face of reckless danger, and his distractingly mercurial moods that—from the outside—held no rhyme or reason, Cayden saying his name had Del visibly falter. His heartbeat fell out of sync for one second, then the next. His expression turned terrifyingly expectant without hiding it. Cayden speaking Mnestaes had always undone him. But he turned his face away in perfected nonchalance, and he waved away Cayden's insistence at still helping. Another conversation for another time.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Cayden push himself to standing, knowing instinctively what it meant. And yet, Del still grinned, sly and secretive about the leftovers. "That is because some of us are still hungry," Del said, in a way that implied he was not starving for food.
Turning back to the book, Del began to flip through the pages, and not looking up, said in lieu of goodbye, "You don't need to worry, I'll still be here when you get back. I always am."