IF WE AMASS ENOUGH SHITPOSTS NO ONE CAN READ OUR SHAME

[conchy]

Comments

[conchy]

Heh! Don't look at me like I've said something strange! Would such a permanent reminder of our bond not be appropriate, given the nature of our arrangement?

[translation: are they not already fucking insane, why not commit to the bit]

[immortalpoet]

[him sighing in being insane why does he have to be insane why wasn't he born in a normal city like a normal person so that things like this wouldn't be happening]

Doesn't that mean you need to return the favor?

[conchy]

Naturellement! In fact, I would be delighted to!

[One more scar to wear is no big deal, is it Vergie?]

[immortalpoet]

[:|]

[Of course he is.]

You don't even have a weapon to make a scar with.

[conchy]

Heh-ahaha!

[No weapon? Please! Lobelia is the weapon. Lifting a hand, Lobelia rapidly snaps his fingers — snap, snap, snap, snap, snap — and slices into the tree looming above them, a rough circle cut into the bark.]

It's a simple matter to carve a pattern into an object... or another person, with my audiomancy. Need I remind you how versatile and wildly powerful my peerless magic is?

[immortalpoet]

[....Right.]

[He stares up at the tree with its garish gashes, before his gaze fixes on Lobelia. Mad magicians and their immense weird sound powers (just Lobelia).]

Don't hype yourself up. [binch] But I get your point. And what would you want me to use? My gladius? I could slice your finger off.

[conchy]

[Please, don't spare him any praise!! Lobelia is certain that somewhere deep, deep down inside of Vergilius, he's very impressed with his abilities. He's gotta be.

As for his question? Lobelia practically giggles (gross) and squeezes Vergilius tight. Cutting his finger off... Ah, he wouldn't mind that one bit, however—]

Je te fais confiance. I know you're quite skilled with a blade. Should you get overexcited and cut my finger off, I won't hold it against you! I'll understand! You can fashion a necklace out of it and wear it for good luck.

[immortalpoet]

[In the most deadpan voice.]

If you say things like that, I'll just cut your hand off for good measure.

[WHY ARE YOU LIKE THISSSSS]

[conchy]

Ah, you're so violent! You aren't romantic at all! Très bien!

[VERGILIUS, DON'T GET HIM WOUND UP]

[immortalpoet]

That reaction is going to get the arm off, now. And I won't reset you by killing you either.

[INB4 HE REALIZES THIS IS GETTING HIM WOUND UP HE KEEPS WALKING INTO THIS]

[conchy]

Heheh! What delightful agonie! You'll keep me alive to savor the pain that much longer, non?! Ahhh! What a wonderful idea!

[Vergilius is so considerate making all these threats of bodily harm. If that isn't foreplay, what is?]

[immortalpoet]

[closing]


[his]

[eyes, hi realization]

I can't stand you.

[conchy]

[How is he supposed to nap when Vergilius has wound him up as tightly as a coil? Lobelia shivers and it's not because he's cold. This is Verg's fault, all of it, and now he has to live with it.]

Je t'aime aussi~

[If nothing else, Lobelia hopes he's proven to be a good distraction for Vergilius in the wake of all that's happened today. It's hard to think about how miserable you are when you're disgusted and fed up, right?]

[immortalpoet]

Mm.

[Where did he go wrong? When did his path lead him here? His sins, the weight of his darkness, it all came to this...the manifestation of a SADOMASOCHIST ON HIS CHEST-!]

[...But its true, it is a distraction. Hard to say if its a good one though.]

...Do you really want a "ring" or are you messing with me?

[conchy]

[Don't worry! He's calming down!! Gradually... Vergilius will still feel those full body tremors by proxy, but at least Lobelia isn't escalating. When in doubt, remember that it could always be worse.]

Mm, why not? Rings are a symbol of des couples everlasting devotion to one another, non?

[They've already made The Accursed Blood Pact, so at this juncture, a shiny ring or even a permanent scar to commemorate it is only appropriate.]

[immortalpoet]

I'm not sure whoever invented that particular ritual expected it to be used for me and you.

[Also he is trying not to focus on those full body tremors. he is trying. Please. Jesus christ. A shaky little sigh.]

I guess it is still devotion of a kind...

[conchy]

[It's fine! This is normal Lobelia behavior! He'll calm down eventually... maybe.]

Still, it's poor form to ask someone for a ring. I would never make such demands of you, rest assured. What you've given me thus far is more than sufficient.

[Lobelia really isn't the kind of guy who would throw a fit and burn all of Vergilius' possessions if he didn't give him a ring. Lobelia is a lot of things, but he isn't that particular shade of unhinged.]

[immortalpoet]

...

[He thinks about it for a long moment. The memories of the past, falling through his hands like sand. His many markings, evidence of the turmoil of his life.]

[So...]

What's one more scar, I suppose...?

[conchy]

[Ah... He could easily drop this conversation and be done with it — Lobelia did give him an out — but could it be that leaving their permanent mark on one another would hold some sort of symbolic meaning for Vergilius too?

Lobelia glances up at him, taking Vergilius' hand in his own and encircling his ring finger with his own.]

Are you quite certain that's what you want? I won't humor any second thoughts.

[immortalpoet]

...

[Hand grasping hand. He meant the blood oath then. Sealed in blood. Now, more physical evidence of it.]

[One more mark to bear. He doesn't even think he minds bearing it, somehow.]

Do it. Before I change my mind.

[conchy]

[Lobelia is silent, soaking in Vergilius' answer, before he slowly rights himself and splays Vergilius hand out in his own.]

Comme tu veux.

[With a sharp, piercing whistle, Lobelia carves a jagged circle into the flesh of Vergilius' finger, leaving his indelible mark on his body as well as his soul. The blood flows freely from the wound left behind, crude in its design, but a cleaner injury would stand less of a chance of properly scarring.]

All done! Do your best not to spill blood on your clothes.

[immortalpoet]

[He naturally winces when he feels the shear of pain through his finger, resisting the urge to pull away. But within an instant. It's done. Vergilius glances down on Lobelia's handiwork. A jagged, rough-looking thing.]

There you go. Reminds me of the thorns of my laurels...

[And he's holding it up to grasp the other's cheek, smearing the skin - it fits that it bleeds. His blood, given up for this.]

Hrm. Keep it from dripping, then.

[conchy]

[Quite fitting and quite beautiful, Lobelia would add, the acridity of spilt blood sharp in his nostrils. Vergilius is as warm as ever, his blood staining his cheek, and Lobelia turns his face to draw his tongue along the heart of the man's palm. Can't help it, sorry! This is him keeping the blood from dripping.]

Now you have to return the favor.

[immortalpoet]

[If he has to be completely honest with himself, he was asking for it.]

[Those vivid red eyes narrow, more pleased than his neutral expression belies.]

...Blood for blood.

[He could shove him off and draw his gladius to do the deed, but there's something of a slothful feeling that passes through him. No. He doesn't feel like doing that. With his other hand, he pulls the other's wrist, rough hands taking him by the palm before moving up, isolating his ring finger....]

[And taking his mouth to pull it in. His teeth hold onto the base for a brief moment, a blink of the eye, a few seconds, before his jaw opens and he bites down, harshly.]

[A ring that does not connect, but a bleeding ring, nonetheless.]

[conchy]

[It's a harsh, smarting pain, one that is certain to leave a mark. Lobelia feels the rush of blood through his body more keenly than ever, feels the throbbing wound Vergilius leaves behind with such alarming clarity that his breath's stopped up in his throat in the wake of it, a tremble setting into that very same hand.

How wonderful. How lovely. How fulfilling. He's happy.

Happy.

Happy.

Happy.

The moment Vergilius releases his finger from his mouth is the moment Lobelia takes him by the jaw and tugs him into a kiss, the taste of their blood mingling on their tongues. Vows ought to be properly sealed with a kiss, shouldn't they? Happy pride!]