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.

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Something's happened. There's a difference in the tension of the garrison, a change in the way the soldiers talk amongst themselves and to passersby. Even on its own, it would be worrying.

Then there's the bragging, and Dain begins avoiding conversations for fear that he won't be able to control his expression. Is this what he has to look forward to, back in Cliffside? Soldiers with no restraint or judgment, fighting a war everywhere but Black Rock? People who do the right thing, punished or executed for their trouble? And Tuo -- Tuo will blame himself for this, once he hears of it.

It could be worse. It could always be worse. Lorne could be dead.

It may not strictly be a Shepherd's duty to look in on the suffering, and Dain may get a few strange looks for it, but he finds he doesn't quite care today. He knocks; opens the door. "Lorne, are you home?"

Leaving the door unlocked means Lorne doesn't have to get up for anyone who comes to visit, and he suspects no one would attempt to enter the magistrate's house with ill intent. He hears a knock and a familiar voice, shakes off the drowsiness. "Yes, come in," he calls back hoarsely. "Be down in a minute."

Slowly and with a lot of wincing, Lorne carefully rolls to his side, swings his legs to the floor, and stands. Every movement pulls something taut and painful on his back, but if he takes his time then he's not at risk of reopening any of his wounds. It's manageable. He grabs a loose shirt as he leaves his room, debating if it's worth putting on.

Not yet, evidently, since he arrives at the bottom of the stairs shirtless. Lorne's expression is a bit unfocused as he blinks at the Shepherd. "...Dain. I'm--" Surprised. Confused. "...Would you like something to drink?"

Maybe he should put the shirt on now.

Well, that's a surprise. For many reasons, not least among them that it's still freezing outside and Dain cannot fathom removing layers even when indoors. That's not, however, the reason he looks for perhaps a bit longer than necessary, before quietly chastising himself -- Lorne's just been flogged.

"No," he manages, "thank you." He won't make Lorne consider the trivialities of being a host when the man is, no doubt, on enforced bedrest. "Although, if you point out where things are -- would you like something to drink?"

It is cold, that hasn't escaped Lorne's notice. Right now the choice is between being a bit chilly and having anything more than the lightest of cloth on his back, and the former is definitely winning. The house is warm enough that he's not actively freezing, and the kitchen is even warmer. Briefly he considers rejecting the offer, insisting he's capable of doing it himself, but that's pride speaking. The less he needs to reach and bend, the better.

"There's tea," Lorne says, gesturing towards the kitchen. Alcohol might be nice but Lorne prefers to keep his wits about him, even if it might dull the pain. A kettle is already set out near the hearth; cups are easily available on shelves and Lorne indicates the pantry and a box of tea. Dain's still very welcome to have some too.

The chair he sits in is turned around so he can spare his back. Lorne drops into it wearily, arms resting across the top with the rumpled shirt for a bit of extra cushioning. "...Thank you. For the help." Beat. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

In the end, Dain does set down two cups. There's enough water in the kettle for several, and it seems a pity to waste it.

He laughs, in reply to Lorne's observation, a short huff of a thing that passes quickly. "Understandably," he says dryly. "I can't help but feel partially responsible -- and even if I'm not, I was involved. I don't want to turn a blind eye."

Ironic, perhaps, given Lorne has seen Dain turning the blindest eye to ever blind, but Dain lets the sentiment hang in the air regardless.

With the kettle on its way to boiling, Dain turns his full attention on Lorne, considering. "Do you mind if I take a look?" he asks, gesturing around the chair at Lorne's back.

"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."

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

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