milliways_bar | (no subject)

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trism bon cavalish

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They sit quietly on one of the couches near the fire, chatting. Anyone who has seen Liir in the bar these past months, anyone who has spoken to him or even gotten him to speak back would probably be surprised at his animation, at how he speaks and moves and seems so very present. It has a great deal to do with the blond man sitting next to him sipping carefully at a cup of tea, listening quite intently.

There is no cigarette smoke, no verse, no morose and winding thoughts. Merely tea and conversation and a smile that will not go away even as his jaw aches fiercely from it.

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"Then I'll try to be more forward with you."

He leans over and whispers into Liir's ear and tells him exactly what he was referring to.

The tips of his ears turn just a bit pink under the rangy mess of his hair and a faint color comes to his face. There's a stuttered laugh, part amusement and part awkwardness, before he closes his eyes and breathes for a moment.

"Yes. There's that. Yes."

He smirks and leans back again and sips his tea.

And Liir scowls at him faintly.

"I'm supposed to be the quiet one, you know."

"Are you? I've never once seen you be quiet."

He's still amused.

"Would you like to see it now?" He sounds mildly irritated and just a bit pissy.

The smile softens now.

"No. I like listening to you."

He said he'd be more forward, and he meant it.

"You do?"

The irritation is gone in the face of the confusion. It was a new idea for him, that someone might actually want to hear him prattle on about things. Usually, anyone he might attempt to speak to gave the impression that his words were both unnecessary and unwanted and that he was almost certainly wasting their time. The idea that someone wanted to listen to him was... almost disturbing.

Oddly comforting, however.

And his jaw is aching again.

"I do, Liir. Talk all you like."

He settles a bit closer, leans forward to refill his tea, and pats Liir's thigh as he leans back again.

It's a very disconcerting thing to be told to do something all you like and then not know what to do. For one, he doesn't know what to talk about. He'd explained everything that'd happened at home, and everything about this place. He'd told Trism of the Princess and the singing of the scraped faces. He could talk about the odd relationship he was starting with his mother, but that might very well disturb him; goodness knew his eyes had gone wide enough when he'd signed that note at the Basilica.

The other matter was that such freedom made him want to do things that had absolutely nothing to do with talking. Just...this strange aching of the jaw and this smile and the idea that he could have Trism for a time without being chased or pressured or anything.

He was always confused whenever he had the freedom to do what he liked. He did better when people made choices for him, it felt like.

He smiles into the silence, just as comfortable with that as Liir's chattering. He ruffles the shaggy black hair.

"Let me track down some scissors and fix this for you?"

Thank the Unnamed God...

And he nods.

"Sounds good. It doesn't really bother me till it gets long, but I'm sure you don't want to be seen around a raggamuffin."

A small smirk and a tug on his fine livery of the House of Chuffrey.

He snerks again.

"I feel certain that I will join your raggamuffin state soon. I've recently put myself out of work after all."

He stands and asks the bartender on duty if he might borrow a pair of scissors and a few other toiletries.

"Come on, then."

He chuckles and raises an eyebrow.

"Oh ho, bon Cavalish, a raggamuffin? Who ever thought they'd see the day?"

He had always been dressed smartly, whether off or on duty, whether a Menacier or a Fife player.

He pulls Liir up from the couch and shoves him up the steps.

"Yes, it's a good thing my family's already disowned me or they'd be disgraced!"

An eyebrow.

"They've disowned you?"

They'd actually cared enough to disown him. That was, in an odd way, something Liir wishes he could have said. Elphaba had scorned him, called him an idiot and mocked his every move without doing a damn thing to correct his mistakes, but she'd never taken the effort to actually disown him.

"Was it the 'craven' then?"

"Well, I didn't fight to free myself from you, or turn up dead somewhere. I'm pretty sure most people've cottoned on to what we were up to at the Basilica."

He doesn't look very displeased at all of this. Mostly because Trism had made his choice and was content to live with the aftermath.

"Maybe you did. Maybe I used my wicked powers on you."

Flat. That was, in fact, deep sarcasm. As said, he can use it on people but he's never quite sure when others use it on him.

"Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?"

Just as flat, but with a swat delivered to Liir's bum as they enter their room.

He swings his hips to dodge somewhat, but Trism catches him on one side, though it only makes him laugh.

"I believe, then, that you were the one who used such powers on me. Then again, it was dark, so can we ever really be sure?"

"We'll just have to try again and pay more attention this time."

And the door clicks shut behind them.

"...I knew you didn't care about my hair."

But Trism's voice had gone deeper, more private. It was distracting enough most of the time, smooth and silky and mesmorizing. He could certainly understand how even beasts so thick and violent as dragons could fall under Trism's spell. But when they were together, in a room, alone, it nearly brought shivers to his spine.

Very good shivers, incidentally. The kind he wished he got more often.

He pulls Liir into his arms for a tight hug, and presses a kiss to his cheek.

"Oh, I still intend to sort your hair out. I'm just going to accomplish other things as well while we're up here."

"Ah. Efficiency. Enter why you became an officer while I remained a lowly grunt."

A small smile. There's no venom in his words at the moment.

He kisses the smile and starts sifting his fingers through Liir's hair.

"You'd have been an officer soon if you'd stayed on."

He turns Liir and gets him to sit in the vanity chair while he tries to comb through thick black hair.