[No, Solomon's just messing with him. His face is fine! Just— just to be sure, Akira staggers upright and catches his face in the mirror. Oh. Oh. He's more than just flushed. What greets Akira in the mirror is a goddamn tomato.]
It's not my fault! It's just— ish just...
[What does he do? How does he worm his way out of this. Quickly, deflect!]
You did this. You actually look kinda cute for once. You and your stupid face.
[Akira flops back onto the couch and petulantly turns away from Solomon, face buried in his bent knees. No talk, he angy.]
[Ah gods, he can't.... the laughter just bubbles, everything feels like a joke. The heat's settled over his brain like a thick fog, even as he lets his bottle clatter in an attempt to put his bottle down. Thankfully, it doesn't spill.]
A cute stupid face.
You could call it a cupid face. [heheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheh]
[That laugh takes a whisk to his brain and batters his thoughts it to a slurry, but it's charming, so charming, like the peals of a little bell on a kitten's collar. He's about to accuse Solomon of trying to seduce him and steal his 232 demons when he makes that downright abominable pun.]
Cupid face...?
[What a lame pun. A terrible joke. Akira swears he hears Solomon winding up to laugh at his stupid joke all over again only to realize in horror that he's the one laughing.]
Heh... h-heh...
[Akira clamps his hand hard over his mouth. Laughter seeps out between the gaps of his fingers.]
That's so... that's so...! Not funny at all! Hahaha!
[And so they continued, on and on like this, for the next 45 minutes - flirting and joking and bullying back and forth in increasingly garbled speech until they both blacked out cold on the couch.
The scent of incense hangs heavy in the echoing of glass and the weight of alcohol.]
[Akira awakens, in whatever state of hangover and regret he may find himself.
This isn't where he fell asleep.
The room is dark and cold. The furniture is sparse, with most of it crowding one wall furthest from the door. What small cracks of light spill in come from a tiny latticed window, far above his head.
There are crumpled pictures drawn, letters and numbers practiced in fumbling, immature writing, in a language Akira does not know. Books falling apart at the seams from how often they've been read litter the space.
It's quiet. The outside air smells... strange. Acrid. But the sun is warm, in what bits come through.
Murmurings come, from behind the doors, from beyond the window. You feel fear. You want to curl in tighter. Maybe to look out the window. Carefully. Carefully.
Do not let the voices hear you. Do not let them see you.]
[Imagine Akira's surprise when he wakes to find himself in a space so opposite of the one he'd fallen asleep in. There's no joy in this place, no merriment, no pinecone and patchouli gently wafting through the air. His temples ache, but at least that much was to be expected. The rest is wholly and unnervingly unfamiliar.
This fear, primal and raw, is not his own. Even in an apparent fugue state, Akira recognizes that much. Hide. He needs to hide, but where can he in a confined space like this? Behind what little furniture there is, maybe? Despite himself, despite that creeping fear, Akira chances a glimpse at what lies beyond the window.]
[He'll attempt to stand. Why does the window seem so far away? He doesn't feel any different from normal, but trying to sneak up to the window makes him suddenly aware of how small he is.
He hears the muttering. He hears breathing. Frightened, but forcefully tempered breathing. The haze of the space shows someone else on the bed.
A little boy, hair a shocking white and clothes incredibly plain, staring down into the covers with his knees tightly hugged to his chest. Unaware of Akira, but very aware of the noises, given how anything louder that approaches gets him to try and press himself as close to the wall as possible, in the shadow that is cast over them both from what little light shines in.
He listens. He's frightened. But he listens. He listens.
There's moaning and wailing in the distance. A sound like horses, like passing soldiers. The knocking on distant doors forces a flinch. The acrid scent persists.]
[No matter how tall Akira stands, the window seems no closer. Getting up on the tips of his toes feels so pointless. It's when he turns his eyes off the window that he jolts, realizing he's no longer alone, or... had there been someone with him from the start?
Akira pads over to the boy, his hair a familiar snow white. His chest tightens. His stomach flips. I know this boy. Why does he look so sad?
Akira settles on his knees beside him, dropping into a whisper. His hand finds the boy's shoulder.]
...Hey. What's wrong?
[Quiet, so the passing soldiers don't hear them. Quiet, so his words reach only the one they were intended for.]
[Duh. So says his tone. He can't be more than seven, maybe eight, though he's a scrawny little twig of a boy and very pale.]
It's easy to tell if it's just for the sick ones. If you use your ears real good. 'Cause you can hear the wheels of the carts. They're heavy.
They don't break the doors for those ones, though.
[There's the muffled sound of raising voices above, perhaps from another building. Wood being slammed with forceful hits before a door gives way. A panicking scream, bargaining tones with no clear words, the whinnying of horses.
Solomon glances up towards the window, the same brassy colored eyes that show such intense emotion, bright and vibrant. Like it's a different person entirely that sits before Akira.]
I... I wanna see whose house they broke, when they go. It sounds too close.
[...Hah. Cheeky from a young age, eh? There's little time to dwell on that when the black death is deathening just beyond the window, but if it were that simple, Solomon wouldn't be hiding away in this ramshackle space, would he?
Who else would they be taking away alongside the dead, and for that matter, why? He recognizes that look in Solomon's eyes, bright and deep, and it fills him with dread. The words that follow solidify that fear.]
No, Solomon.
[Even if he weren't a pale slip of a boy, barely old enough to sass him properly, Akira wouldn't want him taking that risk. He's hiding for a reason, isn't he? And what is a child going to do to defend himself if he draws the eye of one of those soldiers?
Akira's hands settle on Solomon's shoulders and hold him firm.]
Don't. You can look after the soldiers leave. I'll go with you, alright?
[Out of this hovel and away to a place free of danger. Dream or no, that's what this boy deserves.]
[He'd feel better if Solomon were only pouting, but the likelihood of him being sequestered to this miserable space whether he likes it or not is high.
What would it hurt to allow him a taste of freedom? Something more than he's been afforded in this tired old cellar? Akira weighs the pros and cons and ultimately caves to the sight of that petulant face, palm coming down to ruffle that shock of white hair. Beneath his hand, Solomon is so, so small.]
...Who is keeping you here? Is it too dangerous to leave?
[Where are the goddamn adults here?]
Edited (buries nik's inbox in edits) 2024-05-08 01:54 (UTC)
[Mama and Papa, spoken as if parental abuse is only to be expected, perfectly normal. Oh, Solomon. Have you been suffering from the start?
Akira is quick to temper his reaction, trading out disgust and shock and the cold pangs of needles stabbing into his heart for an expression firm and unflapped. He can't let it show how shaken he is by that simple, damning answer, leave of all in front of such a young child. Least of all in front of Solomon.
Despite himself, Akira loops his arms around Solomon and embraces him tightly.]
Would you feel better if you looked out the window? Would that help?
The boy doesn't answer at first, stiff under Akira's arms as though he doesn't know what to do with the gesture. His expression tightens in thought.]
Oh. You're warm...
...
[He tilts his weight to rest a little more against Akira.]
Mm-hmm. I like to think about nice stuff. Like how big the sky might be. I like to watch the people talk.
One of my scrolls says that a fish that you eat comes from a place they call an "ocean". And I like to look outside and think about what kind of place it is, and how the fishes live.
[Solomon's parents have gone beyond simply failing the kid. He doesn't even know what the ocean is, for god's sake. Akira is reluctant to let go of the boy, and so he doesn't, but he's well aware that he's being selfish. Who is he really comforting here?]
Why don't I take you? To the ocean. I can even teach you how to fish.
[He wants to take that risk. He wants to believe everything will be fine, that he can get away with it, that they can outrun any repercussions that may follow.
Akira wants to believe he holds the keys to the world in his pocket, but it's not quite so simple. Confidence will only get him as far as Solomon's dream will let him, and that's enough to give Akira pause.
He clicks his tongue. Damn it. Loosening his hold, he seeks out those brassy eyes.]
[He puts a finger to his lips, not unlike his ancient counterpart, before turning around to climb on top of a small worn table next to mattress with a jump of effort, filling the air with the smell of damp straw. It must be what his bed is stuffed with.
Successfully on his new perch, the boy once again checks the window, then the line of where the shadow stretches the room, before bringing his hands together, palm up and cupped carefully .]
I'm here. Come to me.
[There's an immediate shimmer of sparkling lights, a pleasantly glowing water forming above his hands in a swirling, playful ball. He immediately breaks out into a grin, but he works his best to try and stifle it in concentration, lip back between his teeth despite the obvious joy.]
Let's go for a swim again today. Okay?
[His hand drifts up and out, fingers outstretched, and the water follows suit, multiplying over itself into rippling, glowing streams that start to dance around the shadowed space like ribbons. Here and there flutters the shape of fish, of bubbles, an aquarium made of pure imagination.
The child jumps back down from the table with a quiet giggle to run into the midst of the shallow, circling line, the subtle colors dancing along the white of his hair. Letting his hand follow the flow of the water as it moves, letting it change colors under his hands.
There is no spell, no seal, no pacts. There is only a pure, natural talent, and unbridled curiosity.]
[How lovely. How brilliant. It isn't the least bit surprising that Solomon has had a talent for magic from a young age, but the degree of artistry, of imagination and creativity, renders Akira silent.
He extends a hand to run his fingers through those spooling ribbons of laminar water, utterly transfixed. Who would see this child as anything but a treasure? A miracle? He shudders to imagine. He refuses to believe.]
You're amazing. Not to disappoint you, but this is even more beautiful than the real ocean. How'd you learn how to do this?
Papa says it's called magic. But... he doesn't sound happy when he says it.
[He raises a hand, and the water lowers just a little. Away, away from the window. Stay away from the view of the world. His eyes stay trained upwards as he talks - lost in the temporary wonder.]
The soldiers say magic makes you bad. It makes your whole family bad. They call people "heretics". And when people get called that, the soldiers take them away, and all their family.
They set big fires somewhere where everything smells like smoke, but... nobody ever comes back from them. And everybody acts scared of the soldiers, but they're scared of the heretics, too.
Papa says it's cause it's not right. It's not... um... it's not something a person does.
[He turns towards Akira, hurt in his eyes, but a smile on his face.]
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no subject
[No, Solomon's just messing with him. His face is fine! Just— just to be sure, Akira staggers upright and catches his face in the mirror. Oh. Oh. He's more than just flushed. What greets Akira in the mirror is a goddamn tomato.]
It's not my fault! It's just— ish just...
[What does he do? How does he worm his way out of this. Quickly, deflect!]
You did this. You actually look kinda cute for once. You and your stupid face.
[Akira flops back onto the couch and petulantly turns away from Solomon, face buried in his bent knees. No talk, he angy.]
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A cute stupid face.
You could call it a cupid face. [heheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheh]
Maybe I'm guilty as charged, officer~
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Cupid face...?
[What a lame pun. A terrible joke. Akira swears he hears Solomon winding up to laugh at his stupid joke all over again only to realize in horror that he's the one laughing.]
Heh... h-heh...
[Akira clamps his hand hard over his mouth. Laughter seeps out between the gaps of his fingers.]
That's so... that's so...! Not funny at all! Hahaha!
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The scent of incense hangs heavy in the echoing of glass and the weight of alcohol.]
/2
This isn't where he fell asleep.
The room is dark and cold. The furniture is sparse, with most of it crowding one wall furthest from the door. What small cracks of light spill in come from a tiny latticed window, far above his head.
There are crumpled pictures drawn, letters and numbers practiced in fumbling, immature writing, in a language Akira does not know. Books falling apart at the seams from how often they've been read litter the space.
It's quiet. The outside air smells... strange. Acrid. But the sun is warm, in what bits come through.
Murmurings come, from behind the doors, from beyond the window. You feel fear. You want to curl in tighter. Maybe to look out the window. Carefully. Carefully.
Do not let the voices hear you. Do not let them see you.]
no subject
This fear, primal and raw, is not his own. Even in an apparent fugue state, Akira recognizes that much. Hide. He needs to hide, but where can he in a confined space like this? Behind what little furniture there is, maybe? Despite himself, despite that creeping fear, Akira chances a glimpse at what lies beyond the window.]
no subject
He hears the muttering. He hears breathing. Frightened, but forcefully tempered breathing. The haze of the space shows someone else on the bed.
A little boy, hair a shocking white and clothes incredibly plain, staring down into the covers with his knees tightly hugged to his chest. Unaware of Akira, but very aware of the noises, given how anything louder that approaches gets him to try and press himself as close to the wall as possible, in the shadow that is cast over them both from what little light shines in.
He listens. He's frightened. But he listens. He listens.
There's moaning and wailing in the distance. A sound like horses, like passing soldiers. The knocking on distant doors forces a flinch. The acrid scent persists.]
no subject
Akira pads over to the boy, his hair a familiar snow white. His chest tightens. His stomach flips. I know this boy. Why does he look so sad?
Akira settles on his knees beside him, dropping into a whisper. His hand finds the boy's shoulder.]
...Hey. What's wrong?
[Quiet, so the passing soldiers don't hear them. Quiet, so his words reach only the one they were intended for.]
no subject
He glances up at the window, the over to the door, a very tense pause, before the boy's shoulders relax with a pouting look to Akira.]
You gotta be careful. They're takin' people away again.
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But... why?
[And are they after Solomon too? He won't abide by that. He won't let them take him. But this is a dream, not reality, isn't it? What can he do?
...That's thinking too far ahead. For now, Akira focuses only on what Solomon has to say.]
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[Duh. So says his tone. He can't be more than seven, maybe eight, though he's a scrawny little twig of a boy and very pale.]
It's easy to tell if it's just for the sick ones. If you use your ears real good. 'Cause you can hear the wheels of the carts. They're heavy.
They don't break the doors for those ones, though.
[There's the muffled sound of raising voices above, perhaps from another building. Wood being slammed with forceful hits before a door gives way. A panicking scream, bargaining tones with no clear words, the whinnying of horses.
Solomon glances up towards the window, the same brassy colored eyes that show such intense emotion, bright and vibrant. Like it's a different person entirely that sits before Akira.]
I... I wanna see whose house they broke, when they go. It sounds too close.
no subject
Who else would they be taking away alongside the dead, and for that matter, why? He recognizes that look in Solomon's eyes, bright and deep, and it fills him with dread. The words that follow solidify that fear.]
No, Solomon.
[Even if he weren't a pale slip of a boy, barely old enough to sass him properly, Akira wouldn't want him taking that risk. He's hiding for a reason, isn't he? And what is a child going to do to defend himself if he draws the eye of one of those soldiers?
Akira's hands settle on Solomon's shoulders and hold him firm.]
Don't. You can look after the soldiers leave. I'll go with you, alright?
[Out of this hovel and away to a place free of danger. Dream or no, that's what this boy deserves.]
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His brows furrow.]
Huh?
Are you gonna lift me to the window?
[Despite the sounds above, those bright eyes shine, framed by a boyish grin.]
You don't gotta. I can do it allll on my own.
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[Akira's smile skews apologetic.]
Aren't you worried about being seen? I understand the temptation to look, but I don't want you getting hurt. Stay put.
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I though imaginary friends were supposed to be nice.
[With a squirm away from Akira's hands, the boy draws his knees up to his chest, resting his head against them, fingers picking at the thin blanket.]
'M not going anywhere. I always gotta stay put.
[It sounds less like sulking and more just resignation.]
no subject
What would it hurt to allow him a taste of freedom? Something more than he's been afforded in this tired old cellar? Akira weighs the pros and cons and ultimately caves to the sight of that petulant face, palm coming down to ruffle that shock of white hair. Beneath his hand, Solomon is so, so small.]
...Who is keeping you here? Is it too dangerous to leave?
[Where are the goddamn adults here?]
no subject
[Said as though Akira just asked if the sky was blue.]
It's cause the soldiers are gonna come if they don't. They said it's better if people think I'm sick, too.
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Akira is quick to temper his reaction, trading out disgust and shock and the cold pangs of needles stabbing into his heart for an expression firm and unflapped. He can't let it show how shaken he is by that simple, damning answer, leave of all in front of such a young child. Least of all in front of Solomon.
Despite himself, Akira loops his arms around Solomon and embraces him tightly.]
Would you feel better if you looked out the window? Would that help?
no subject
The boy doesn't answer at first, stiff under Akira's arms as though he doesn't know what to do with the gesture. His expression tightens in thought.]
Oh. You're warm...
...
[He tilts his weight to rest a little more against Akira.]
Mm-hmm. I like to think about nice stuff. Like how big the sky might be. I like to watch the people talk.
One of my scrolls says that a fish that you eat comes from a place they call an "ocean". And I like to look outside and think about what kind of place it is, and how the fishes live.
no subject
Why don't I take you? To the ocean. I can even teach you how to fish.
[We just need to get you out of here.]
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[No second thought to it - his face tilts up like he's just heard something beautiful. But it settles, morphs back into hesitance.]
But... if they catch you, you'd die. Just like my family would die.
I... don't want that. [His lip worries between his teeth.] But the ocean... I'd like to meet a fish.
[He glances back up towards the window, licking his lips, before lowering his voice even further.]
I've gotten better. Even better than Mama and Papa think. But they don't wanna see.
Can I show you?
no subject
Akira wants to believe he holds the keys to the world in his pocket, but it's not quite so simple. Confidence will only get him as far as Solomon's dream will let him, and that's enough to give Akira pause.
He clicks his tongue. Damn it. Loosening his hold, he seeks out those brassy eyes.]
...Yeah. Go ahead and show me.
no subject
Successfully on his new perch, the boy once again checks the window, then the line of where the shadow stretches the room, before bringing his hands together, palm up and cupped carefully .]
I'm here. Come to me.
[There's an immediate shimmer of sparkling lights, a pleasantly glowing water forming above his hands in a swirling, playful ball. He immediately breaks out into a grin, but he works his best to try and stifle it in concentration, lip back between his teeth despite the obvious joy.]
Let's go for a swim again today. Okay?
[His hand drifts up and out, fingers outstretched, and the water follows suit, multiplying over itself into rippling, glowing streams that start to dance around the shadowed space like ribbons. Here and there flutters the shape of fish, of bubbles, an aquarium made of pure imagination.
The child jumps back down from the table with a quiet giggle to run into the midst of the shallow, circling line, the subtle colors dancing along the white of his hair. Letting his hand follow the flow of the water as it moves, letting it change colors under his hands.
There is no spell, no seal, no pacts. There is only a pure, natural talent, and unbridled curiosity.]
no subject
He extends a hand to run his fingers through those spooling ribbons of laminar water, utterly transfixed. Who would see this child as anything but a treasure? A miracle? He shudders to imagine. He refuses to believe.]
You're amazing. Not to disappoint you, but this is even more beautiful than the real ocean. How'd you learn how to do this?
no subject
[Plain and simple.]
Papa says it's called magic. But... he doesn't sound happy when he says it.
[He raises a hand, and the water lowers just a little. Away, away from the window. Stay away from the view of the world. His eyes stay trained upwards as he talks - lost in the temporary wonder.]
The soldiers say magic makes you bad. It makes your whole family bad. They call people "heretics". And when people get called that, the soldiers take them away, and all their family.
They set big fires somewhere where everything smells like smoke, but... nobody ever comes back from them. And everybody acts scared of the soldiers, but they're scared of the heretics, too.
Papa says it's cause it's not right. It's not... um... it's not something a person does.
[He turns towards Akira, hurt in his eyes, but a smile on his face.]
I don't get it.
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