northclifflogs | Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost [Aftermath

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Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost [Aftermath | Closed and open]

WHO: Lorne, Dain, Tuo and and you! Closed and open prompts
WHAT: Lorne is recovering and receiving some visitors
WHEN: After these events
WHERE: The magistrate's house
NOTES: CW for mentions of corporal punishment and resulting injuries, will add more as needed

A | Dain and Tuo | Closed

After being tended to by Finian and watched over by Colin at the guardhouse, Lorne was able to make it back to the house before too long. His legs are just fine. The only part about walking that's truly painful is the need for clothing when he's outside, so as soon as he's home again the shirt is abandoned. Fortunately and very much thanks to Lance, Lorne has far more welts than cuts, and those will all heal in time.

A nap might be in order, if laying on his stomach weren't uncomfortable, so he settles for dozing and trying to ignore how everything aches.

B | Open

Lorne is going to be home resting for the next few days or more - probably more, if Colin and Finian and the rest of his family have anything to say about it. Lorne is wise enough to know he should listen, even if he can see extraordinary boredom on the horizon. He can't reach enough of his own back to take care of most of the welts, in any case, so he's relying on the assistance of others. It's going to become frustrating without a little distraction, so conversations are welcome where he can get them.

He sneaks out after about a week just to stretch his legs and shake off some of the stir-craziness. Any and all soldiers are avoided.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You helped keep it from getting any more serious," Lorne points out. He's too tired to spend much time on the subject of responsibility, and it does sound as though Dain is self-aware enough to know where blame truly lies.

At that question, Lorne gives Dain another bemused look, and nods shortly after. He's not ashamed of his wounds or how he came by them, and he doesn't want pity. "Go ahead."

Reddened welts stand out angrily from his skin still, some of them fading to darker colors of bruising. Most of the strikes landed between or just below his shoulders, not enough to mar his entire back. The cuts he sustained are numerous but already starting to close, and nothing actively bleeds. He's a mess, but a healing one.

They are not the first such wounds Dain has seen, which helps a little with his initial reaction. It's different, always different, when the victim is not a stranger. He stands behind Lorne, one hand in the air as though he had an arrested thought of touching the angry red welts, a thought which never fully makes it to consciousness.

Damn. If only there were something more he could do. He can't, he knows that -- even were it safe to choose a side, it certainly wouldn't do Lorne or the village any favours -- but still, the wish exists.

With his initial emotions acknowledged and set aside, Dain looks over Lorne's back with a more objective eye. "Not as bad as it could be," he concludes, surprised. "I didn't think the commander would pull any punches."

Lorne waits patiently, gaze on the plain wooden table in front of him. No sense in turning and causing himself more pain. Dain's words are mercifully empty of an apology or melancholy.

"He wouldn't have. Captain Lance interceded," Lorne says, a touch gruffly. He closes his eyes for a moment. Lance couldn't stay his hand too much, or Brickenden wouldn't be satisfied. It had hurt Lance immensely to do this to Lorne, and Lorne still doesn't have an idea of how to balm that kind of wound. "Probably saved my life. It was this or the commander was going to empty the winter stores for the whole village."

Fury sharpens the edge of Lorne's tone at the ruthlessness of that man. Not all the soldiers are like him, not all worth scorn, but this particular fire is unlikely to go out.

Lance. Dain drops his hand, relieved; that certainly explains it. It must have worked, as well, because the commander doesn't strike Dain as the type of person who would wait so long to follow through on a threat, if he was left unsatisfied.

"You're a very singular type of man," he murmurs, moving back towards the kettle. "Not many people would have made that choice, much less be able to endure it. And... not many people would have defended Tuo, either."

Speak of the Night, and she shall appear before thee. And so shall Tuo, apparently.

A polite knock to the front door announces that Lorne has another visitor. The skald waits patiently on the other side, fiddling with something in one of his pockets while surreptitiously keeping a weather eye out for anyone who looks like they'd like to re-set his nose for him.

Lorne shoves down the instinct to shrug, which would hurt quite a lot right now. Shakes his head instead. He's never been one to fidget but the need to remain so still requires a lot of conscious energy. "I was doing my job," he replies, ostensibly in reference to Tuo, though this could and does apply equally to accepting his punishment. Watching the village starve-- no. Never. It was hardly a choice.

He turns his head towards the door at the knock, frowning faintly. Lorne weighs the various complications of a Shepherd answering the door without knowing who is beyond it against the effort of getting up. "Would you mind…?"

"Of course," Dain agrees, very matter-of-factly. "Just as the commander would say he was doing his job." Or how Dain just does his own job. Choices are choices, no matter the framing.

He wouldn't have said more, even if a knock didn't interrupt them. Dain glances in the direction of the door, then looks at Lorne, using up several seconds to decide -- but after all, he knew he'd get some strange looks when he decided to visit Lorne in the first place, and if Lorne is happy to pass that power over to Dain, it's ultimately his choice. Health should be paramount. And so: "No, I don't mind at all."

He has a friendly greeting on the tip of his tongue when he opens the door, and it dies almost immediately, drowned in surprise. "Tuo?"

The performances the pair of them have prepared for when dealing with the rest of the world fall flat once they must play across from each other. At this rate, it is only a matter of time before some secrets are exposed to the world.

Tuo's pleasantly secretive smile falls away immediately when he meets Dain's eyes, and the name that comes unbidden out of his mouth truly cannot be helped: "Anja--"

No. Shit. He closes his eyes and swears a Saaristomeren oath softly under his breath. Then he steadies himself and starts again. "I came to see Lorne, if he is up to receiving visitors." Which he must be, as you are here, his eyes clearly communicate.

Lorne can't quite hear what words are being exchanged, but he can feel chilly air encroaching and decides he doesn't truly care who it is or isn't.

Very carefully, Lorne leans back, holding onto the chair so he can use his arms to support himself. "Get in here already, you're letting all the warm out," he calls loudly, just this side of grumpy.

(Tuo is going to get him killed someday.)

Mercifully, it doesn't sound like Lorne heard -- or if he did, he's keeping it to himself. Dain draws in a deep breath, finds his smile, and gestures Tuo inside. "I'm glad you're here," he says. "I think my presence alone may have been a little awkward."

Also because Tuo's burden of responsibility might be assuaged if he can see Lorne will be all right. And because this saves Dain a future trip to make sure Tuo will be all right. Dain shuts the door once Tuo's inside and leads the way into the kitchen, where the water in the kettle is just starting to boil.

"Look who I found," he announces, with another smile and some considerable good cheer.

"...I think my presence alone may have been a little awkward."

"Then what a blessed relief it is that I am here, to make it moreso." Sometimes a spade just needs to be called a spade.

At Dain's invitation he steps through the doorway and then glides after him to the kitchen. If he steals the occasional snooping glance about at the interior of the magistrate's house, well, who can blame him? Besides, it isn't often he's actually inside a Glennich home--why are these people so allergic to colours?

When he's announced, he smiles and spreads his arms theatrically to either side of himself--tada!--then blinks at the sight of Lorne, shirtless at the table. From this angle he can see the slight edges of those angry welts on his back, and the guilt that has gnawed viciously at his insides since he first overheard the boasting soldiers on the village streets claws at him again. Tuo squashes his dismay before it can colour his expression, and instead allows his smile to become coy.

"Well, well. I hope you did not dress down for my benefit." Far better to leave him feeling flustered, rather than pitied.

Lorne's eyebrows go up when the visitor is revealed to be Tuo. The odds of them bumping into each other so soon after the scuffle at Tuo's wagon-- well, he could easily chalk it up to both Dain and Tuo wondering after his health, and evidently considering the visit worth any possible risk. Still. There are more questions brewing in the back of his mind.

He much prefers banter to pity, especially from Tuo. No matter the masks Tuo wears he wouldn't be here if he weren't concerned, and it isn't hard to guess he might be feeling guilty, too. That seems to be going around. Now he's reconsidering the shirtless decision again for a couple of reasons, most of them awkward.

Ah, screw it. Lorne has very little shame about his body, and if he's causing distraction for something other than just his back, so much the better. He could use something lighthearted right now. "And if I did?" Pointedly, Lorne pulls himself to sitting straight again, causing the not insignificant musculature in his arms to flex visibly. He moves on quickly to: "Tea? There should be enough water."

Dain's wince after Tuo does something very characteristically Tuo-like evaporates in the face of Lorne, grievously injured, bantering right back. And... posing, if he's not much mistaken. Evidently they know each other much better than Dain was led to believe. Where on earth did Tuo's jealousy the other day come from? ... Not important right now.

"I see," Dain says, bemused, as he begins pouring the kettle. "The ulterior motive reveals itself. Would you like some tea, Tuo, or would the pair of you prefer some privacy?"

Tuo's jealousy comes from the same wellspring as all his other feelings. That night, it had merely bubbled up to the surface alongside his pain and loneliness.

At present he is visibly delighted as Lorne gamely plays along, laughing brightly while seating himself at the table too. He gives Dain a peculiar little smile while he busies himself unwrapping the scarf that usually keeps his mess of hair in check; habit means he often removes it once indoors. "I shall have tea," he informs Dain without losing the impish glitter in his eyes, "and before I forget--"

He shifts and reaches into his pocket, fishes out a small plush figurine that is dressed suspiciously like a Cliffside soldier, and slides it across the table to Lorne. "For you," he says. A pause, and then he mimes jabbing it with something sharp. "This one shan't tattle on you to the commander."

And if it happens to contain a bit of a soldier's spilt blood in its stuffing, as per Saaristomeri custom back home, well, what Lorne doesn't know, etc.

Lorne eyeballs the doll Tuo offers him; it is attired not unlike the soldiers camped here. And with the mimed stabbing-- he is completely confused and it shows. Is this for merely for catharsis? Tuo's always been odd, but not with the eccentricity borne simply of being touched by madness. His eccentricity has sharp edges and too much mystery for it all to be an act. There are layers to him Lorne can't even begin to guess on, and has never thought much to try.

Now though, he seems to be holding a part of those layers very tangibly in his hands, and he has no clue what it is or what it means. And Tuo is willing to share it in front of a Shepherd, of all things. That makes him properly intrigued.

"Uh, thank you," Lorne says after some seconds staring blankly at the doll, remembering his manners. Recovering a smidge of humor, he adds a touch wryly, "Though I promised Captain Lance I'd keep away from the soldiers, whether someone tells on me or not."

Being that vindictive seems like a lot of energy right now, and all of his fury is being spent on one man. But he'll keep it, and think on that further, in case anger rears its ugly head at wider targets.

It has been... so very long since Dain has seen one one of those little clothed figurines. His gaze lingers on it, hopefully blank enough not to arouse suspicion, and he begins to seriously reconsider being here at the same time as Tuo. He doesn't remember putting up a front being this difficult. All they need is for the Saaristomeri tradition to work, and one of the soldiers to get hurt, and Lorne to start asking questions. Perhaps Dain can be out of the village by then.

... He's not going to be out of the village by then.

Dain looks at Tuo, brow raised, expression caught somewhere between tired nostalgia, quiet alarm, and an unspoken Are you serious about this? Clearly the answer to that question is yes, as all Tuo gives him in return is a look so angelic it would put any of the saints to shame.

"The more I hear about Captain Lance," Dain says, shaking his head and turning back to the tea, "the more I like him. Tuo, clear with honey -- Lorne, how do you like yours?"

It takes a split second before he realises what he's said, and he closes his eyes with a short exhale. No point in correcting or backtracking; all that does is draw suspicion if none has yet been drawn. How quickly can he drink his tea and excuse himself? Can he? Why is it so extraordinarily difficult to think?

As soon as it's out of Dain's mouth, Lorne's bemusement takes a sharp turn into confused certainty. There is absolutely more going on here than meets the eye. Normally Lorne might be more careful with unfolding that knowledge, but he's not clear-headed enough to be subtle today.

"I see you two know each other even more than you've let on," he remarks dryly. "I'll take mine the same for simplicity. Someone care to explain…" He gestures between Tuo and Dain. "...this?

Tuo, who had moments ago been savouring Lorne's bemusement over the gift like the cat who got into the cream, freezes in the middle of neatly folding his headscarf. His eyes dart from Lorne to Dain, and whatever it is that his sustained eye contact with his old friend communicates, it seems at least one thing is clear: the jig is up.

Under other circumstances, and in other company, he'd be frightened. Instead, the pressure to maintain this particular performance lifts from his shoulders and leaves him feeling light enough to float, should he feel like jumping to his feet and capering about. (He doesn't.)

"Well," he sighs, heavily and resignedly, and tosses his scarf onto the table. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before this came up. You're right, of course, we do know each other." He settles back in his seat and crosses one leg over the other, considering first Lorne and then Dain with his pale, secretive eyes. The silence settles amongst them closely, like the walls and window dressings and furniture are eavesdropping, too.

Then Tuo gestures idly at Dain. "He is my betrothed."

Dain uses the silence to finish and pass out the teacups, avoiding Lorne's gaze and trying to work out what to say. He's relieved that Tuo seems happy to take up the initial explanation, but he can't expect that burden to fall entirely on his friend's shoulders, and his thoughts still move far too slowly for his liking. He likes Lorne, of course he does, but he likes plenty of people who would easily be first in line to report his transgressions to the church. Having something hot and sweet to drink is a welcome distraction --

He is my betrothed.

-- until it becomes a choking hazard.

"Do you ever break anything gently?" Dain asks, resigned, once he's able to swallow and use his voice again.

The cup is halfway to Lorne's lips when Tuo says he is my betrothed. He holds it mid-air, staring at Tuo with his mouth hanging open while Dain tries not to choke.

What.

That was nowhere in the continent of what he was expecting, and it simultaneously clarifies Dain and Tuo's relationship and makes things a hundred times more confusing. He lowers the tea carefully onto the table.

Lorne has... very little idea what to make of this revelation. His concept of betrothals and marriages is limited to couples who can produce children, which doesn't exclude the possibility of other relationships, but-- what. Dain and Tuo have been pretending in public that they're relative strangers, which says much on its own. Whether or not Tuo is simply trying to shock Lorne, Tuo is still choosing to entrust this secret to him. He'll at least try to understand.

"You've met him," he replies to Dain, a bit distantly. Lorne clears his throat, gropes around for more words, and comes up with: "How? That-- doesn't explain almost anything."

"Do you ever break anything gently?"

"My nose," comes his smart reply--which, come to think of it, does look a bit less swollen and crooked than it did a few days ago. He leans nearer to Dain so that his dazed beloved can take a closer look for himself. "What do you think? Will it do?"

It's probably best not to answer that.

Helpfully, Tuo picks up his teacup and takes a sip from it, leaving both Dain and Lorne to flounder while he enjoys the warmth and sweetness for a moment. Is he smiling behind that teacup? Yes, he definitely is. Yet even so, it's with an air of some seriousness that he waves a hand as though to dismiss their shock and confusion, or at the very least to get it out of his way.

"It explains plenty," he replies to Lorne, his eyebrows arching high towards his hairline. He gestures at Dain with his teacup and narrowly avoids sloshing some of it directly onto his coat. "This revelation, it is strange to you, isn't it? It is unexpected? As though you've stepped mid-stream into a story that follows foreign principles, and all the plot threads and motifs and characters are--" There he pauses for just a moment and artfully mimes the flitting of small fish through water with his free hand, "--skimming past you, keeping apace with the tale. How can I summarize that tale for you?"

Abruptly, he stops his elaborate metaphor and instead leans against the table, resting his chin in his hand. He smiles a little. "I can't possibly explain..." and here, he turns Lorne's own words and gestures back on him, motioning between himself and Dain again. "...this. Not in a minute, or in an hour, or in any way that will make sense of what has happened." A pause, and he drops his eyes to his tea again. "To you, or to me."

Life be like that sometimes.

Dain decides to stop drinking his tea for the foreseeable future. It's clearly not working out very well for him.

He doesn't dignify Tuo's reply with an answer, though his expression does soften a little as he studies Tuo's face. It's healing, as they all knew it would, but you can still tell something happened to it. The wounds on Lorne's back seem a poor recompense for an injury no one outside the three of them has even noticed -- not that there's anything those wounds would be adequate recompense for. Life is not and never has been fair. That just feels particularly stark right now.

If Lorne is hoping for Dain to clarify anything Tuo says next, he's going to be disappointed. What Dain says instead is directed at Tuo: "He's right. That doesn't explain almost anything. You have a gift for explaining everything but what needs explaining."

From where Lorne is sitting, staring, they're both correct: it explains nothing and everything. Tuo's wandering metaphor speaks to the complexities of two lifetimes Lorne has almost no context for. The fact that he does not - or cannot? - begin by simply saying that tells Lorne he must tread carefully. By making his armor visible, Tuo also shows him there is something vulnerable underneath. Lorne is not so addled by his injuries nor so arrogant by nature to assume he's earned the whole of that tale by the circumstances that carried them into this room.

He takes a careful breath and exhales slowly, gathering his thoughts to order. "A Shepherd who is not so Shepherd-ly in his duty, and a traveling storyteller and puppeteer from a foreign land, secretly betrothed." The corner of Lorne's mouth twitches up, studying them both. "You might forgive me any shock; I have lived through no such story, as you say. Mine is rather dull by comparison." Dryly. Most of his life has passed by in or near this very village. He's seen his own share of heartache and convoluted relationships, but not ones so unique as Tuo implies. His is a tale shared by many who live in these mountains.

He spreads his hands to the side of the mug, palms up. "So this is where our stories intersect. I am not asking for some epic recitation." What is he asking for? Lorne isn't sure, and he's rather too tired to dig that deeply anyway."You've trusted me with this much, intentionally or otherwise. Will you trust me with more, if not now then someday?"

There are worse places to begin than requesting permission to speak of their pasts. Let him try to be more than a fish in a stream.

"...Will you trust me with more, if not now then someday?"

"I suppose that very much depends on you, Mr. Guardsman." Tuo tilts his head thoughtfully to one side as though contemplating the answer, even though his wry little smile makes it clear enough he's made up his mind. Now is not the time, not with those welts and ridges of raised flesh still healing on Lorne's back. But someday, yes. (If he's still alive.)

A beat, and then he leans in towards Dain again though his eyes remain on Lorne. "I like this one," he confides in a stage whisper that conceals absolutely nothing. "He likes my stories." See, Dain? Tuo is only mostly incomprehensible.

"That gives you a permanent audience of one, then," Dain says back, slipping into Saaristomeri for the purposes of the fond cultural idiom, before he sighs and rests his face in one hand. "I don't know how I'm meant to go back home after this."

He looks quite a bit more exhausted than he usually does, good cheer still present, but filtered through years of militant caution slipping out of his grasp. How is it possible to be so careful, for so long, and then in the space of two months do this much damage to his cover? But even more importantly than that, Dain is hardly the only person in the village with no sense of caution or subterfuge, and the more people who know the truth, the more danger everyone is in. Vervain, Detlef, and now Lorne -- gods, he needs to find a way to make sure no one else from the church stays in Northcliff Pass longer than two weeks. Or, at the very least, that he and Tuo are not around when they do.

Tuo has the right of it, but: "It's not a matter of whether or not we want to," Dain explains further, this time in the right language. "It's more a matter of... safety. Someday, I hope."

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