[the light grows brighter, the warmth stronger, until the Witch claps their hands and it feels as though air rushes back into the room. now, they say, they are Bonded. their signatures tied together, all settled, as easy as anything else. they smile, and say that they did well, choosing this. and then the pair are set free back to go into the night, to do as they would.
Dantes pauses before they walk too far, frowning and touching where he felt the warmth in his chest earlier.]
[The night air is cool but it's slow to erase the bud of warmth still lingering in Andersen's chest. It's far from an unpleasant feeling - if anything, it feels like he first time he contracted with Chaldea. Something wound tight in him is at last relaxing, likely the magic that'd been pent up since his arrival.
Andersen glances over at Dantes. He seems fine.]
This certainly is a funny story. A Servant contracting with a Servant. [It isn't exactly the same, but the parallel is there.] Did you expect it to hurt?
I expected it to be more...involved. More invasive, for how important they proclaimed it to be. Now neither of us need worry about Bonding.
[and yet, something feels like it's settling. a hollowness in him evening out, most likely some kind of attuning to this world.
(there's something prickling in the direction of Andersen's senses, something tense and heavy, like a heartbeat. controlled, collected, but the sort that might twinge under the skin from the effort of it. a thin thread that leads back to where Dantes has adjusted his cloak, and looks ahead in the direction they came from.)]
[Something isn't quite right. The realization slows Andersen's pace enough for him to fall a little behind, puzzlement creasing his features. These emotions aren't his. In fact, there's a noticeable flow to them and he finds his gaze drawn towards the source.
(there's a light tug in the back of dantes's mind - the feeling that he's forgotten something important - it persists insistently, the way a hangnail would. his skin will itch - no, it feels chafed. scraped.)]
... I think you spoke too soon.
[(and when the words leave andersen's lips, dantes will feel it: a sharp pain in his throat, as if something rough was slid across his vocal chords.)]
[that's....not natural. he knows that, because he wasn't like this before. it could be magical interference, something greater, a phantom thought crossing over him. this city, trying to invade. he'll fight it off as best he can.]
Why? What's wrong?
[his words are calm, but that tension coils in tighter to keep it together.]
[Another slice of pain, rising with Andersen's inflection. A trickle of other emotions drips in: concern that melts into an epiphany, deflates into exasperation.
He has Dantes's attention, so he'll go out on a limb.]
Of course I'm on edge. We're in foreign territory that could turn hostile without warning. Of course I feel that.
[but that bleed is strange. concern, exasperation? those aren't....his. that pain doesn't feel like his either, when it registers with the voice.
and he was the one who said they couldn't back out. if they're going to negotiate this, it'll be back at the theater, though. this confusion can't be shown in the public square.]
...I have a strong hypothesis, but I was going to keep it to myself until we had returned to our lodgings.
[that'll give him some time to calm down and breathe. and perhaps figure out a way to mentally block things. he has determination in spades, surely that counts for something.]
Indeed, it is a demented endeavor. But all the same - I am not the sort of man to be cowed by discomfort. I gave you my word, Caster, and now we shall have to suffer the consequences.
[there's still the remainder of Andersen's alcohol to find, and he wonders what else could have been left in this place, if something stronger was by chance forgotten in the bustle of acting life.]
[His heart being exposed isn't a fearful prospect for Andersen. It's what he's done his entire life, for with each story he wrote and word he spits, he tears out a piece of himself to be consumed. If anything, he has difficulties setting boundaries between his own well-being and his readers.
But Dantes - he's the opposite. Which is why he may feel a brief hum of concern from Andersen's end, a broadcast message of, we should figure it out for his sake, at least, none of which Andersen voices. Instead, he settles for folding his arms across his chest.]
... Avengers are supposed to be fueled by a constant fire of hate. I don't sense that from you. [...] Not yet, in any case.
Nor do you want to sense such a thing. If the time comes, you shall, and you shall understand how all will turn to ash beneath the flames that rage in my soul.
[opening the cabinets, he finds little - except in the back of one, there is a dusty bottle of a brown liquid and two mugs. smelling it, he can discern it's not poison, merely forgotten, and he brings the bounty to where they were sitting.]
There. You have provided something of yours, and I cannot allow you to exceed me in hospitality.
[Immediately, his attention is drawn to the drink, all inquiries forgotten. It doesn't look pretty, but who drinks alcohol based on its looks? Andersen holds out his hand, expectant.]
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Dantes pauses before they walk too far, frowning and touching where he felt the warmth in his chest earlier.]
That was surprisingly painless.
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Andersen glances over at Dantes. He seems fine.]
This certainly is a funny story. A Servant contracting with a Servant. [It isn't exactly the same, but the parallel is there.] Did you expect it to hurt?
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[and yet, something feels like it's settling. a hollowness in him evening out, most likely some kind of attuning to this world.
(there's something prickling in the direction of Andersen's senses, something tense and heavy, like a heartbeat. controlled, collected, but the sort that might twinge under the skin from the effort of it. a thin thread that leads back to where Dantes has adjusted his cloak, and looks ahead in the direction they came from.)]
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(there's a light tug in the back of dantes's mind - the feeling that he's forgotten something important - it persists insistently, the way a hangnail would. his skin will itch - no, it feels chafed. scraped.)]
... I think you spoke too soon.
[(and when the words leave andersen's lips, dantes will feel it: a sharp pain in his throat, as if something rough was slid across his vocal chords.)]
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Why? What's wrong?
[his words are calm, but that tension coils in tighter to keep it together.]
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[Another slice of pain, rising with Andersen's inflection. A trickle of other emotions drips in: concern that melts into an epiphany, deflates into exasperation.
He has Dantes's attention, so he'll go out on a limb.]
You're on edge, Avenger.
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[but that bleed is strange. concern, exasperation? those aren't....his. that pain doesn't feel like his either, when it registers with the voice.
and he was the one who said they couldn't back out. if they're going to negotiate this, it'll be back at the theater, though. this confusion can't be shown in the public square.]
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[Oh, whoops, there's a huge flare of annoyance right there.]
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[why is he so annoyed? more annoyed than normal?]
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Why do you think?
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[that'll give him some time to calm down and breathe. and perhaps figure out a way to mentally block things. he has determination in spades, surely that counts for something.]
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[He motions at both of them.]
--is between us!
[Regardless of his complaint, he actually will shut up if Dantes insists.]
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[he'll walk faster and leave you behind if you don't shut up.]
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Either way, he'll keep his yap shut until they reach the theater. It's only when they arrive that he turns to Dantes with a prodding look.]
What a joke, yoking the two hearts of some of the most antisocial Servants together. This is a hideous parody of a trust exercise.
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[there's still the remainder of Andersen's alcohol to find, and he wonders what else could have been left in this place, if something stronger was by chance forgotten in the bustle of acting life.]
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But Dantes - he's the opposite. Which is why he may feel a brief hum of concern from Andersen's end, a broadcast message of, we should figure it out for his sake, at least, none of which Andersen voices. Instead, he settles for folding his arms across his chest.]
... Avengers are supposed to be fueled by a constant fire of hate. I don't sense that from you. [...] Not yet, in any case.
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[opening the cabinets, he finds little - except in the back of one, there is a dusty bottle of a brown liquid and two mugs. smelling it, he can discern it's not poison, merely forgotten, and he brings the bounty to where they were sitting.]
There. You have provided something of yours, and I cannot allow you to exceed me in hospitality.
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What is that, exactly?
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[excuse you, you're going to wait until he pours you some in your mug, which he'll hand off and then pour his own. don't be crude about this.]
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... hmm. If we're Bonded, does this mean our drunkenness will pile atop each other?
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[you have the smaller frame, therefore, he thinks you'll get trashed way faster. picking up his mug, he holds it out.]
It feels like we should toast something, given the circumstances.
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Our new partnership, of course. Though it's strictly business, I hope you'll derive some amusement from our collaboration.