[He says it bluntly. He's not even lying - the last few days have been an emotional slog he could care less for. To have Lobelia involved with all of that (and being the source of some of that to begin with) would've been like threatening to throw a match onto the oven.]
[But now, as ennui sets in with the monotony of this place (with not even the screens enough to draw much interest at this time - why focus on the living when you're focusing on where your pathetic dead soul will go?), its a little easier to broach this bag of worms without feeling like he wants to implode.]
[He sees the gesture, thinks on it for a moment...and steps over with a little huff, moving to sit.]
I'm guessing you haven't found anything on your lonesome.
[Lobelia could care less what the living get up to when he can neither affect their circumstances nor control his own, so it's with the same listlessness that he glances at the screen every so often. Familiar faces might bring a smile to his face, but only just. The only thing that truly makes him happy is right here within his reach, and he's not very happy himself. What else can he do but lapse into quiet complacence?
Lobelia shifts, collects his arms in his lap so Vergilius doesn't have to wonder if he'll be grabbed at random and assailed with vibrations and whatever other nonsense Lobelia has in mind. He isn't someone who makes promises lightly, so his self-made promise to do this man no further harm is one he won't go back on.
With a thin sigh, vaguely playful, Lobelia shakes his head.]
I'm afraid not! I've made several attempts, but the magics that construct this place can't easily be tampered with. Though it pains me to admit it, Monsieur Merlin is as powerful a mage as he claims to be. We are well and truly trapped.
How irritating. At least he could be more creative. It's like going to someone's apartment and finding all they own is a chair and a desk.
[Not even a bed! Not even that! He's actually attempted to get sleep here and there, out of habit, but its hard when there's no true "night", and time is impossible to keep. Truly, the dead are devoid of things that they took granted for in life. What a novel way of suffering.]
[He sees the way the other's hands fold ever so neatly in their lap. Hands that embraces him, pressed against his chest, scratched into his hips. But here, they're wonderfully well-behaved. It almost seems like a dream in and of itself.]
[Lobelia, the mad magician, as docile as anything. There's some reckless urge to reach over, shake him, as if to ask where the previous Lobelia had gone? A trick? An illusion?]
[The mental image Vergilius conjures up makes Lobelia chuckle in earnest for the first time in days. Would it have killed Merlin to throw in a little bit of personality here? Some babbling brooks, a braying deerโ anything but the scant table and chair they've been provided with.
Alas, all they have to entertain themselves with is each other now. Lobelia follows Vergilius' gaze with muted curiosity, but he smiles as if the change in his behavior is only natural.]
Do you truly think so? Mm... [Humming, Lobelia brings a hand up to his chin, closing his eyes.] Despite our unfortunate circumstances, I've been made whole! I'm happier than I've ever been, truly, and I'm no longer left to wonder what that shining jewel you spoke of looked like. At long last, I've found my own.
[As he says that, he's gazing directly into Vergilius' eyes, his smile thin but genuine. He's seized that gem for himself, a shining jewel forged from his own death and destruction. Had he known that his own agony would satisfy him so, he would've broken his pact with The Tower long ago.]
[It's simple, isn't it? Lobelia smiles, looking like he'd love to chide Vergilius for asking such a question, but he'll cut him a break and answer it honestly with a shake of his head.]
I would rather live in the service of the one who made me happy than waste precious time and effort digging through restes in search of happiness that isn't meant to last.
[He'll let Vergilius arrive at his own conclusion, but it's not as if Lobelia makes much of an attempt to be vague. Had he not ended Vergilius' life in search of that shining gem, Lobelia would never have found where it lied within himself. In brief, it's Vergilius he owes a debt to now and into eternity.]
[Of course, the conclusion is staring at him right in the face. It seems like irony itself. Lobelia poking, prodding, pushing him into all these terrible circumstances, finally even killing him once and for all for that happiness that Vergilius had dangled in front of him. And then, he had reached it. He had happiness. All that effort had in fact led him down the path that Vergilius had laid out for him.]
[What a good guide he is.]
[He doesn't know what to feel about this, though, eyebrows furrowing.]
Is service to me your way of giving me thanks for such a thing, then? Why not move on?
[One would think Lobelia would look pleased with himself after admitting all that he has, and while it's true that he's smiling his usual smile, there's something almost bashful about it. Vaguely shameful, but only vaguely, because Lobelia isn't a man with much shame to begin with.
Still, if his life's goal has become repaying Vergilius for the happiness he showed him to, he has to try, doesn't he? Has to change, in whatever small increments he can. All the same, Vergilius' questions coax an almost haughty laugh out of him. Can't help it, sorry.]
Move on? Vergilius, have you so quickly forgotten when I'd said to you before? Je t'aime. There is no "moving on". This is รฉternitรฉ.
[Ah, yes. Eternity. Bound together forever. All those declarations from before are still ringing true even right now, huh.]
You really meant it.
[Sort of a Captain Obvious observation, here, but he's saying it with a little sigh, as if the very idea of it is as exhausting as waking up from a nap to find out you're still not feeling well-rested. He's been loved, but not like this, never like this and an odd part of him feels somewhat more intimidated by the idea of it now than when it was said before, akin to a threat.]
[His hand goes up to thread through his own bangs.]
Oui. I hope now you've learned not to question my sincรฉritรฉ.
[Intimidating... Yes, Lobelia is feeling a bit of that himself, the situation much more strenuous now that he's attempting to spare some consideration for Vergilius' feelings as opposed to taking what he pleases from him and forcing his hand. That was familiar territory, knowing Vergilius would snap and froth and rile but ultimately cede and give him exactly what he wants, left with no other choice. This... This is different. Mutuality is different, and when he might otherwise take this opportunity to yank Vergilius into a kiss and bite his bottom lip bloody, Lobelia finds himself at a loss.
Another quiet sigh, his exasperation clear. Why can't Vergilius just be happy with being jerked around and forced to do whatever he pleases? Lobelia knows why โ the illusion of choice and all that โ but this is... Stressful. Is this stressful?? And another exasperated sigh for good measure. Hell if he knows what to make of all of "this". When in doubt, take the edge off by bullying the old man.]
Ah, but it pleases me to hear that you've not yet forgotten! Memory is a fickle thing, especially at your age. รmes soeurs are destined to be, I must remind you, and our bond is not one that can be severed.
[Now this feels more like familiar territory - the tease makes him shoot a little displeased glower at the man, but there's no ferocity in it like before. Things really have changed. He's far too used to people being careful around him, of course, what with his status and power, but Lobelia is clearly edging on nerves related to....well, acceptance. It's acceptance, isn't it?]
[Can he even give acceptance, after everything?]
[....Well, he actually already gave it in a sense, didn't he? Even if he was prodded into it, something here was set in stone, and now impossible to look over. He lets out an exasperated noise of his own, hunched forward with a dull look.]
Even now, I can't convince you otherwise? What a troublesome thing your heart is, Lobelia. [And a beat.] Attaching itself to an old guide like me.
[Familiar territory is naturally much more comfortable, Vergilius' anger less intimidating and more like a welcome return to form, and Lobelia can't help but grin broadly when he's told to shut his trap. Will he ever want anything more or less from Vergilius than this? Is mutuality really what he wants from the man?
Ah, what a conundrum. Nothing in Lobelia's life prepared him for this, but he can't feel too terribly lost when his guides is here to... well, guide him. Still, how far can Vergilius guide him into territory he'd rather avoid entirely? It's all a bit laughable, and so Lobelia laughs, flopping back against the flowers with his arms tucked up overhead.]
C'est dommage. You can only assert so much control over another's heart, non? You can try to break it however you please, but my mind is already made up. How unfortunate for you!
[No, he can't control other's hearts. Truly a tragedy. Everything he does seems to be built on that. No matter what decisions he makes, what paths he turns, there will always be a constant. His happiness was lost, and here he is to be the shambling hollow of a man, dripping with blood, to atone forevermore.]
[Except Lobelia seems to have quite the different perspective. He raises his eyebrows as the other flops back pleased as punch. Troublesome as ever, of course.]
...What would you do, then? [He finally asks - his voice seems quieter than he means to, but he's asking sincerely. Call it curiosity, damned as it is.] If I accepted your service?
[In the tumult and confusion of his feelings, Lobelia can at least answer that question with certainty. He tips his head to the side to regard Vergilius, smile spread as shamelessly thin as ever, because he knew the answer as soon as he was granted his punishment at the hands of the tower. There really is no going back, no escaping the eternal cycle, no cutting the cord.]
Je ferais n'importe quoi. You would be better served asking me what I wouldn't do for you, and to that, I would say "nothing".
[What devotion. The worm chewing through his skin has become akin to a lap-dog, ready to serve a master unto death.]
[It makes something flare in him - not anger, not annoyance, not sorrow - what is it? It's like that feeling during their fight, something deeper, like a heart beating in tandem. That reckless, strange feeling.]
[If this is real, and Lobelia had his eyes on him, and him alone...the path of destruction behind him, the bodies massacred senselessly for minute satisfaction, they'd end, wouldn't they? Just him and the other man delving into the hell of eternal repentance.]
...If I told you to leave everyone else alone, then, you'd do so?
[...Ah. Vergilius is asking for quite a bit, isn't he? No, it's an entirely reasonable question, offering himself up for the sake of everyone else... but it's an offer all the same. A question that may as well be a proposal for how much weight it holds.
If he agrees, supposing his question isn't simply a hypothetical, then he truly will be shackled to this man. Bound to him inextricably. That's what Lobelia wants, of course, but even so, considering his answer has his heart thumping in his chest. It's an unusual feeling, foreign, and only Vergilius has ever made him feel this way. If he were to agree, would Vergilius take responsibility for rousing that strange feeling in him too?
To his credit, Lobelia thinks his question through, the silence hanging heavily between them. He knows his answer, and yet...]
...Oui. In exchange for you, I would pay any price.
[It rings in his head, like a bell. Lobelia has made so many deals with him. Deals to entrap, to torment, to pull everything from him. And now, a deal of his own. To take the creature known as Lobelia, as blood-covered as him, and carry him on his shoulders. The terrible albatross. The world on Atla's back. His burden...but that's not even the word, exactly.]
[He turns to the man, silent, and stares. And stares, with that old face, that fraying gaze. He doesn't think he's worth much. His paltry soul guaranteeing security for others, freedom from Lobelia, dearest mad magician dancing on a path of destruction? Perhaps that's a deal worth taking. No one else has to suffer.]
[Corpses, shackled to each other, and the world can be free of them for good, after his own hope has been secured.]
What would you do to guarantee that oath, Lobelia? I will never forgive those who go back on their word.
[This deal is a fair one, Lobelia thinks. One life for another, handing his freedom over to Vergilius in exchange for the right to remain as leaden shackles around his limbs. Vergilius will never be free of him if he agrees. Vergilius knows that, surely, so is it worth sacrificing personal freedoms to keep a man like Lobelia muzzled? Is restraining him worth that much?
For Lobelia, it's a freedom easily handed over, a life he willingly tucks into the crook of Vergilius' palm in the hopes that his touch will warm him. Turning on his side, Lobelia's hand raises to settle over Vergilius' cheek, recalling how deceptively warm his skin is, how it feels beneath his touch. He's ended so many lives, felt so many warm bodies go cold beneath him, and he held Vergilius as he turned to ice and was rendered little more than an object, no longer the man he loved.
Once was enough. All those stolen lives were enough. Lobelia's fingers curl slightly against Vergilius' cheek, the smile fading from his lips. With his mind made up, there it's a simple matter to make Vergilius a promise that he can't take back.]
Intuition tells me that we won't remain in this place for long. When we leave, you'll have the freedom to decide what you'll do with meโ allow me to stay or refuse to let me follow. Gardez-moi ou tuez-moi. If that isn't enough...
[Lobelia's palm slips from Vergilius' cheek to slide down his neck, his shoulder, his arm, until their palms nestle together.]
...Perhaps a serment de sang would suit you better? Regardless, all you have is my word. You can choose to believe me, or you can walk away. I won't force the decision for you.
[So considerate. It feels almost foreign to him. Not even from the fact its from Lobelia, of course, given the man's prior actions in the land of the living as ingratiatingly persistent to a vile point, but just anyone being considerate to him in the first place. The City is a vicious place. Kill or be killed. Fall in line, or be powerful enough to dictate the rules. Deals were made day in or day out, but there would always be a knife held behind the back.]
[So its not every day when someone takes their life and puts it directly in his. No fear. No hesitation. Like his EGO, his future is stained forever in blood, no matter what. Lobelia would be one extra puddle among many, if he decides to kill him.]
[The touch is soft - it makes the other's eyelashes flutter above those vivid eyes, glancing down as the fingers trail down to rest in those gnarled palms. His own hand twitches, fingertips resting against the back of that immaculately soft hand.]
...Your word, huh. [He remembers everything the man said to him, the way he giggled, laughed in glee at the worst of times. His story about his father, and his mother. The sighs from his throat. Vergilius pauses, eyes searching the other's face for a long moment.] A blood oath, you say? Then...very well. So it shall be. My life to bind yours. My decision to do with you whatever I like, in exchange for myself. No going back.
[It's a fair price to pay, isn't it? For all the destruction Lobelia has wrought, his life ultimately isn't worth much. Beyond that, his selfish needs have been met, happiness settled into the palm of his hand, so giving over what remains is a simple matter.
All the same, he feels his heart rate spike when Vergilius agrees. Just like that, eh...? He hadn't anticipated much back and forth, knowing this man to be one who makes up his mind decisively and stands behind his choices. Still, this is a commitment. A promise. Neither of them can back out of it now, Lobelia lifting himself to sit crosslegged, slipping the glove free from his right hand so he can carve a clean line into his palm with a sharp whistle. Blood spills from the open wound, extending his hand to Vergilius with fingers loosely splayed.]
Une promesse est une promesse. From now on, your every wish is my command. Should you go back on your word, I promise you'll not live long enough to regret it.
Oh, so you think you could best me again? You always have been so arrogant, Lobelia...
[But there it is, no matter how many times he sighs the man's name. The blood starts to pool into the little lines and creases of his hand, awaiting his own reply. Vergilius clicks his tongue.]
You do know that the palm is an awful place to cut for this kind of thing? You're not going to hold much for a while after this.
[Guess he might have to kill Lobelia again for the healing!! Anyways. His gladius didn't make it to the afterlife. He has no implement to cut with. But even so, he leans down to bite down on his own thumb with a muffled groan, his own wound starting to trickle as he pulls it back. He lets it flow into his own palm before he reaches forward and grasps the other's hand tightly.]
[Blood for blood. A deal made. A compromise. Two souls bound unto hell.]
Heheh, that's quite alright. If the pain begins to bother me, you can soothe it with your langue.
[Awful, just awful. The scent of blood, acrid and metallic, has naturally never bothered Lobelia. Death hangs around him like an ill omen, but it's only when Vergilius bleeds that he feels the weight of his life and how very precious it is, enlivened by it in turn.
Vergilius' blood mingles with his own, a connection that will bind them body and soul, and Lobelia squeezes his hand tightly. What spills out between their twined hands is truly beautiful to behold, meaningful in a way blood never was before. Vergilius' blood is his own now, just as the opposite is also true. How very romantic.]
...Come here, mon amour.
[With their palms still joined, Lobelia tugs Vergilius into his lap. He's his now, right? He shouldn't have any complaints when Lobelia's free hand settles around the small of his back.]
I'm in your debt now, non? That means I owe you a service, so allow me to tend to your needs! Rest assured that if this hurts far more than you can bear, death is but a snap away!
[So it is done. It is right to do this in the form of blood. For the lives they have taken. For the lives yet to be taken. For the atonement for one's sins. He knows Lobelia is a soul who does not weep for his victims, and while Vergilius himself does not weep either, he can now ensure their souls go right to the cold well of karma where they belong, in the end.]
[...He is a bit too underestimating of the man's hunger, however. He lets out a little noise of disgruntlement, but he's pulled into the other's lap with a bit of exasperated resignation in his features. He can't pull away. He takes Lobelia in all that he is, as wicked as he is. That is the oath, as it stands. His bloody thumb stings as it rolls over the back of the hand it is grasping.]
And what service do you have in mind? One that hurts, you say? Don't be so presumptive, Lobelia.
[What service, he asks, as if it isn't immediately obvious... Well, it certainly is to Lobelia, insistently pulling Vergilius further onto his lap.]
There may be no helping it! I have no intention of hurting you, but we have precious few resources in this place. What will we use as lubrifiant? If I hurt you inadvertently, know that this place is to blame.
[Yeah.
Anyway, hope Vergilius is mentally prepared to be on the receiving end of his eternity-long prison sentence. Lobelia's mind is made up, but he doesn't immediately move to toy with Vergilius' body as he pleases, cognizant still of his promise to act in the service of his needs before focusing on his own. In other words, he's waiting for permission. Please let him debase you, Vergie? Please???]
[He's actually dumbfounded. For a moment, he stares, even as he's practically all up in the other's lap. His hands find the other's shoulders - and when realization seems to drop down like a stone to the bottom of the well, that shocked look is replaced by something much more disgruntled.]
Ask Merlin if you desire such a thing to help you out. [In the tone of someone exasperatingly going JESUS CHRIST.] You haven't even done it before. Where's this confidence coming from, huh?
[HE IS NOT AGAINST BOTTOMING THIS IS JUST ???????????????????]
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[He says it bluntly. He's not even lying - the last few days have been an emotional slog he could care less for. To have Lobelia involved with all of that (and being the source of some of that to begin with) would've been like threatening to throw a match onto the oven.]
[But now, as ennui sets in with the monotony of this place (with not even the screens enough to draw much interest at this time - why focus on the living when you're focusing on where your pathetic dead soul will go?), its a little easier to broach this bag of worms without feeling like he wants to implode.]
[He sees the gesture, thinks on it for a moment...and steps over with a little huff, moving to sit.]
I'm guessing you haven't found anything on your lonesome.
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Lobelia shifts, collects his arms in his lap so Vergilius doesn't have to wonder if he'll be grabbed at random and assailed with vibrations and whatever other nonsense Lobelia has in mind. He isn't someone who makes promises lightly, so his self-made promise to do this man no further harm is one he won't go back on.
With a thin sigh, vaguely playful, Lobelia shakes his head.]
I'm afraid not! I've made several attempts, but the magics that construct this place can't easily be tampered with. Though it pains me to admit it, Monsieur Merlin is as powerful a mage as he claims to be. We are well and truly trapped.
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[Not even a bed! Not even that! He's actually attempted to get sleep here and there, out of habit, but its hard when there's no true "night", and time is impossible to keep. Truly, the dead are devoid of things that they took granted for in life. What a novel way of suffering.]
[He sees the way the other's hands fold ever so neatly in their lap. Hands that embraces him, pressed against his chest, scratched into his hips. But here, they're wonderfully well-behaved. It almost seems like a dream in and of itself.]
[Lobelia, the mad magician, as docile as anything. There's some reckless urge to reach over, shake him, as if to ask where the previous Lobelia had gone? A trick? An illusion?]
[The power of love...?]
[Instead, he gives the other a sidelong glance.]
...You've really changed, haven't you?
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Alas, all they have to entertain themselves with is each other now. Lobelia follows Vergilius' gaze with muted curiosity, but he smiles as if the change in his behavior is only natural.]
Do you truly think so? Mm... [Humming, Lobelia brings a hand up to his chin, closing his eyes.] Despite our unfortunate circumstances, I've been made whole! I'm happier than I've ever been, truly, and I'm no longer left to wonder what that shining jewel you spoke of looked like. At long last, I've found my own.
[As he says that, he's gazing directly into Vergilius' eyes, his smile thin but genuine. He's seized that gem for himself, a shining jewel forged from his own death and destruction. Had he known that his own agony would satisfy him so, he would've broken his pact with The Tower long ago.]
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[So he has been made whole. A true and honest miracle. The hunger has been sated, in its own way.]
[How odd, to now look at him from the perspective of someone who has lost happiness, to someone who has newly found it.]
[His eyebrows raise, his expression a little curious despite himself.]
Is there no more satisfaction to be found in other's dissatisfaction?
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I would rather live in the service of the one who made me happy than waste precious time and effort digging through restes in search of happiness that isn't meant to last.
[He'll let Vergilius arrive at his own conclusion, but it's not as if Lobelia makes much of an attempt to be vague. Had he not ended Vergilius' life in search of that shining gem, Lobelia would never have found where it lied within himself. In brief, it's Vergilius he owes a debt to now and into eternity.]
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[Of course, the conclusion is staring at him right in the face. It seems like irony itself. Lobelia poking, prodding, pushing him into all these terrible circumstances, finally even killing him once and for all for that happiness that Vergilius had dangled in front of him. And then, he had reached it. He had happiness. All that effort had in fact led him down the path that Vergilius had laid out for him.]
[What a good guide he is.]
[He doesn't know what to feel about this, though, eyebrows furrowing.]
Is service to me your way of giving me thanks for such a thing, then? Why not move on?
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Still, if his life's goal has become repaying Vergilius for the happiness he showed him to, he has to try, doesn't he? Has to change, in whatever small increments he can. All the same, Vergilius' questions coax an almost haughty laugh out of him. Can't help it, sorry.]
Move on? Vergilius, have you so quickly forgotten when I'd said to you before? Je t'aime. There is no "moving on". This is รฉternitรฉ.
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You really meant it.
[Sort of a Captain Obvious observation, here, but he's saying it with a little sigh, as if the very idea of it is as exhausting as waking up from a nap to find out you're still not feeling well-rested. He's been loved, but not like this, never like this and an odd part of him feels somewhat more intimidated by the idea of it now than when it was said before, akin to a threat.]
[His hand goes up to thread through his own bangs.]
Your รขme soeur.
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[Intimidating... Yes, Lobelia is feeling a bit of that himself, the situation much more strenuous now that he's attempting to spare some consideration for Vergilius' feelings as opposed to taking what he pleases from him and forcing his hand. That was familiar territory, knowing Vergilius would snap and froth and rile but ultimately cede and give him exactly what he wants, left with no other choice. This... This is different. Mutuality is different, and when he might otherwise take this opportunity to yank Vergilius into a kiss and bite his bottom lip bloody, Lobelia finds himself at a loss.
Another quiet sigh, his exasperation clear. Why can't Vergilius just be happy with being jerked around and forced to do whatever he pleases? Lobelia knows why โ the illusion of choice and all that โ but this is... Stressful. Is this stressful?? And another exasperated sigh for good measure. Hell if he knows what to make of all of "this". When in doubt, take the edge off by bullying the old man.]
Ah, but it pleases me to hear that you've not yet forgotten! Memory is a fickle thing, especially at your age. รmes soeurs are destined to be, I must remind you, and our bond is not one that can be severed.
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[Now this feels more like familiar territory - the tease makes him shoot a little displeased glower at the man, but there's no ferocity in it like before. Things really have changed. He's far too used to people being careful around him, of course, what with his status and power, but Lobelia is clearly edging on nerves related to....well, acceptance. It's acceptance, isn't it?]
[Can he even give acceptance, after everything?]
[....Well, he actually already gave it in a sense, didn't he? Even if he was prodded into it, something here was set in stone, and now impossible to look over. He lets out an exasperated noise of his own, hunched forward with a dull look.]
Even now, I can't convince you otherwise? What a troublesome thing your heart is, Lobelia. [And a beat.] Attaching itself to an old guide like me.
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Ah, what a conundrum. Nothing in Lobelia's life prepared him for this, but he can't feel too terribly lost when his guides is here to... well, guide him. Still, how far can Vergilius guide him into territory he'd rather avoid entirely? It's all a bit laughable, and so Lobelia laughs, flopping back against the flowers with his arms tucked up overhead.]
C'est dommage. You can only assert so much control over another's heart, non? You can try to break it however you please, but my mind is already made up. How unfortunate for you!
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[Except Lobelia seems to have quite the different perspective. He raises his eyebrows as the other flops back pleased as punch. Troublesome as ever, of course.]
...What would you do, then? [He finally asks - his voice seems quieter than he means to, but he's asking sincerely. Call it curiosity, damned as it is.] If I accepted your service?
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Je ferais n'importe quoi. You would be better served asking me what I wouldn't do for you, and to that, I would say "nothing".
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[It makes something flare in him - not anger, not annoyance, not sorrow - what is it? It's like that feeling during their fight, something deeper, like a heart beating in tandem. That reckless, strange feeling.]
[If this is real, and Lobelia had his eyes on him, and him alone...the path of destruction behind him, the bodies massacred senselessly for minute satisfaction, they'd end, wouldn't they? Just him and the other man delving into the hell of eternal repentance.]
...If I told you to leave everyone else alone, then, you'd do so?
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If he agrees, supposing his question isn't simply a hypothetical, then he truly will be shackled to this man. Bound to him inextricably. That's what Lobelia wants, of course, but even so, considering his answer has his heart thumping in his chest. It's an unusual feeling, foreign, and only Vergilius has ever made him feel this way. If he were to agree, would Vergilius take responsibility for rousing that strange feeling in him too?
To his credit, Lobelia thinks his question through, the silence hanging heavily between them. He knows his answer, and yet...]
...Oui. In exchange for you, I would pay any price.
[Simple as that.]
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[In exchange for you.]
[In exchange for you.]
[It rings in his head, like a bell. Lobelia has made so many deals with him. Deals to entrap, to torment, to pull everything from him. And now, a deal of his own. To take the creature known as Lobelia, as blood-covered as him, and carry him on his shoulders. The terrible albatross. The world on Atla's back. His burden...but that's not even the word, exactly.]
[He turns to the man, silent, and stares. And stares, with that old face, that fraying gaze. He doesn't think he's worth much. His paltry soul guaranteeing security for others, freedom from Lobelia, dearest mad magician dancing on a path of destruction? Perhaps that's a deal worth taking. No one else has to suffer.]
[Corpses, shackled to each other, and the world can be free of them for good, after his own hope has been secured.]
What would you do to guarantee that oath, Lobelia? I will never forgive those who go back on their word.
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For Lobelia, it's a freedom easily handed over, a life he willingly tucks into the crook of Vergilius' palm in the hopes that his touch will warm him. Turning on his side, Lobelia's hand raises to settle over Vergilius' cheek, recalling how deceptively warm his skin is, how it feels beneath his touch. He's ended so many lives, felt so many warm bodies go cold beneath him, and he held Vergilius as he turned to ice and was rendered little more than an object, no longer the man he loved.
Once was enough. All those stolen lives were enough. Lobelia's fingers curl slightly against Vergilius' cheek, the smile fading from his lips. With his mind made up, there it's a simple matter to make Vergilius a promise that he can't take back.]
Intuition tells me that we won't remain in this place for long. When we leave, you'll have the freedom to decide what you'll do with meโ allow me to stay or refuse to let me follow. Gardez-moi ou tuez-moi. If that isn't enough...
[Lobelia's palm slips from Vergilius' cheek to slide down his neck, his shoulder, his arm, until their palms nestle together.]
...Perhaps a serment de sang would suit you better? Regardless, all you have is my word. You can choose to believe me, or you can walk away. I won't force the decision for you.
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[So its not every day when someone takes their life and puts it directly in his. No fear. No hesitation. Like his EGO, his future is stained forever in blood, no matter what. Lobelia would be one extra puddle among many, if he decides to kill him.]
[The touch is soft - it makes the other's eyelashes flutter above those vivid eyes, glancing down as the fingers trail down to rest in those gnarled palms. His own hand twitches, fingertips resting against the back of that immaculately soft hand.]
...Your word, huh. [He remembers everything the man said to him, the way he giggled, laughed in glee at the worst of times. His story about his father, and his mother. The sighs from his throat. Vergilius pauses, eyes searching the other's face for a long moment.] A blood oath, you say? Then...very well. So it shall be. My life to bind yours. My decision to do with you whatever I like, in exchange for myself. No going back.
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All the same, he feels his heart rate spike when Vergilius agrees. Just like that, eh...? He hadn't anticipated much back and forth, knowing this man to be one who makes up his mind decisively and stands behind his choices. Still, this is a commitment. A promise. Neither of them can back out of it now, Lobelia lifting himself to sit crosslegged, slipping the glove free from his right hand so he can carve a clean line into his palm with a sharp whistle. Blood spills from the open wound, extending his hand to Vergilius with fingers loosely splayed.]
Une promesse est une promesse. From now on, your every wish is my command. Should you go back on your word, I promise you'll not live long enough to regret it.
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[But there it is, no matter how many times he sighs the man's name. The blood starts to pool into the little lines and creases of his hand, awaiting his own reply. Vergilius clicks his tongue.]
You do know that the palm is an awful place to cut for this kind of thing? You're not going to hold much for a while after this.
[Guess he might have to kill Lobelia again for the healing!! Anyways. His gladius didn't make it to the afterlife. He has no implement to cut with. But even so, he leans down to bite down on his own thumb with a muffled groan, his own wound starting to trickle as he pulls it back. He lets it flow into his own palm before he reaches forward and grasps the other's hand tightly.]
[Blood for blood. A deal made. A compromise. Two souls bound unto hell.]
It is agreed.
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[Awful, just awful. The scent of blood, acrid and metallic, has naturally never bothered Lobelia. Death hangs around him like an ill omen, but it's only when Vergilius bleeds that he feels the weight of his life and how very precious it is, enlivened by it in turn.
Vergilius' blood mingles with his own, a connection that will bind them body and soul, and Lobelia squeezes his hand tightly. What spills out between their twined hands is truly beautiful to behold, meaningful in a way blood never was before. Vergilius' blood is his own now, just as the opposite is also true. How very romantic.]
...Come here, mon amour.
[With their palms still joined, Lobelia tugs Vergilius into his lap. He's his now, right? He shouldn't have any complaints when Lobelia's free hand settles around the small of his back.]
I'm in your debt now, non? That means I owe you a service, so allow me to tend to your needs! Rest assured that if this hurts far more than you can bear, death is but a snap away!
[????????]
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[...He is a bit too underestimating of the man's hunger, however. He lets out a little noise of disgruntlement, but he's pulled into the other's lap with a bit of exasperated resignation in his features. He can't pull away. He takes Lobelia in all that he is, as wicked as he is. That is the oath, as it stands. His bloody thumb stings as it rolls over the back of the hand it is grasping.]
And what service do you have in mind? One that hurts, you say? Don't be so presumptive, Lobelia.
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There may be no helping it! I have no intention of hurting you, but we have precious few resources in this place. What will we use as lubrifiant? If I hurt you inadvertently, know that this place is to blame.
[Yeah.
Anyway, hope Vergilius is mentally prepared to be on the receiving end of his eternity-long prison sentence. Lobelia's mind is made up, but he doesn't immediately move to toy with Vergilius' body as he pleases, cognizant still of his promise to act in the service of his needs before focusing on his own. In other words, he's waiting for permission. Please let him debase you, Vergie? Please???]
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[He's actually dumbfounded. For a moment, he stares, even as he's practically all up in the other's lap. His hands find the other's shoulders - and when realization seems to drop down like a stone to the bottom of the well, that shocked look is replaced by something much more disgruntled.]
Ask Merlin if you desire such a thing to help you out. [In the tone of someone exasperatingly going JESUS CHRIST.] You haven't even done it before. Where's this confidence coming from, huh?
[HE IS NOT AGAINST BOTTOMING THIS IS JUST ???????????????????]
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me slapping on the nsfw here speak now or forever hold ur peace thank u
teehee
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1/?
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