[Its a chilly morning, and so Cid has chosen to wear a henley and a nice pair of pajama pants. He always was rather cool-blooded, chilling easily and preferring warmer climes.]
[The smell as he wakes and enters the kitchen is cloying, familiar, nostalgic even. It feels like a hand has tightened on his heart when he sees who's here doing it. He disobeys instinctively, walking over to stand next to Barnabas, to look at him, to see if he's wearing the collar. It's impossible to tell otherwise.]
[Barnabas glances at Cid a moment, then goes back to his task.]
Has the curse robbed you of your hearing, or has age made you irrevocably obstinate?
[As he talks, he pulls something out of the little wooden box on the counter—some chopped walnuts in a small glass container that he puts to the side for now, along with some of the fruit which will be used. As if Cid wasn't there watching him, he carries on with what he's doing, taking out the rye bread as it's ready now. He hardly needs a timer, he has baked many a bread in his time in the village, and he is not wont to discard such ingrained practices simply because he hasn't the need for such mundane things usually.
And yes, he did even go through the effort of using a cloth to pull it out with. After all, he needs to play into the domestic bit of this, and flexing his Dominant powers or Akashic state doesn't really sell that, does it? Putting the bread on the empty space on the counter, he levels a glance at Cid.]
Is it your wish to be a hurdle, or will you assist me?
Well, do you want me to sit, or do you want assistance? You’re changing orders on me before I’ve had a cup of coffee and a cigar. Or would you rather insult me in my own home while you… make bread?
[He furrows his brow as he watches him take the bread out with a cloth. He’s at war with himself. He doesn’t want to punish this sort of action. What… if it was genuine. He’s left in freefall. He shakes his head. He chooses to have hope.]
Sit, be a hurdle, or assist—they are simply options. It need not be complicated.
[He gestures to the collection of jars—fruit spreads, pickled fish, among other things that's clearly for the bread.]
If you have the mind for it, set the rest of the table. Inside your larder are cheeses and smoked salmon. I will ready the bread and finish the porridge—if you want for coffee, I will make it. If you require it ere you can do aught else but complain, then take your seat and I shall handle everything myself.
[A non-insignificant part of Cid actually does want to see Barnabas do all of this. And his head hurts, as usual, in the morning anyway.]
I do "want for coffee", actually.
[He catches himself smirking, butt against the counter as he leans towards Barnabas to bump his shoulders with him. Should he turn to look at him, he'll get up on his toes to kiss him.]
[Indeed he does look at him, and so Cid indeed kisses him—Barnabas kissing him back without skipping a beat as his hand cups Cid's cheek. The kiss isn't empty, and it feels like it's fueled by something genuine, not unlike when he wears the fetters, when the aether which chokes his feelings and sense of self is restrained.
As he breaks the kiss, he holds Cid there for a moment, his forehead against Cid's as he gazes at him through his thick lashes...then he lowers his hand and turns back to his task.]
[Cid's heart quickens with this. With the kiss, the touch, the gaze, the statement. Don't be stupid, the other part of him reminds him.
Cid's breath catches as they part.
I know, he replies to himself as he goes to sit. He just watches Barnabas, moving so easily, yet so clearly out of his natural habitat. He should be in an apron at least, he thinks.]
[He turns back to the coffee, setting it up with a familiarity that he shouldn't have. Shouldn't, if he hadn't looked over the machine prior to Cid's rousing just in case he might want some. Fortunately, he has foresight, and so he is able to get it working without issue. He's no Dion, that's for certain.
Then he goes back to his other tasks: the porridge and the bread. Silently divvying up the former, adding the walnuts and berries to it, along with a little bit of cinnamon to spice its base flavor. Then he opens the fridge to grab the cheeses he mentioned, along with the smoked salmon. From his armory, he summons forth a platter, finely crafted and made of wood, that he then begins to set it with the small jars and fruits, along with the bread, butter, and salmon. The scallions he then chops—with a normal knife—before adding them to the platter as well.
He does all of this while not answering Cid. But then finally, he speaks up:]
Then let it continue to be nice. I have never been one to speak on such matters. All I ask is for you to receive what it is I offer.
[Cid regards him with trepidation for a moment. He scowls at his back before pressing his face into his hands. He's at a loss. What does he even do about this? He could just leave, and he considers it.]
[He almost misses the fact that he had a platter in his armory, and that's almost absurd enough to get him out of the tailspin.]
Just receive what you have to offer, huh.
[Cid seems far away, crossing his arms before taking a cigar from the pack on the table and lighting it.]
[Barnabas regards Cid for a moment, and for all this was meant to be something calm and reminiscent of a home life they never shared in such a regard, it's clear to him that even this isn't enough. Perhaps, if he had worn the fetters, he might have felt what would be disappointment, but instead it's the typical hollowness that fills his chest.]
Is this gesture not enough for you—yearn you for more than this?
[As he asks he brings the platter over, along with their respective bowls of hot porridge as he set the table. Though he does not take his seat, after all, there's still the coffee.]
When we spoke on your nameday, and I brought you to the Einherjar...did I not make my intent clear then?
[There was a lot going on that day. But... Barnabas is right. He did make his intent clear that from then on, it didn't always have to be a fight. Cid starts to relax as he sucks smoke into his mouth, blowing it out through his nose.]
Pineapple. [He mutters as he stubs it out and lights a new one.]
...I'm sorry, Barnabas. It's hard, you know? And after you went to all this effort. I suppose I'm just... leery of surprises that I didn't have a hand in, maybe?
[He coughs quietly and sighs, resting his jaw on his knuckles.]
[Is his cool response as he brings their freshly poured mugs of coffee over, placing one down in front of Cid before taking his own seat. He looks to the array of food he's prepared and plated for them both, though he has long since moved past the pangs of hunger or even needing such forms of sustenance with his being an Akashic. All the same, he is capable of eating and drinking, even sleeping if he so chooses.
For this little fabrication, this fantasy between them, he will eat as Cid does.]
Yes, let us start again. [He locks eyes with Cid, his expression softening just so.] Good morning, Cidolfus.
[Cid sighs and chuckles, reaching across the table to squeeze Barnabas' hand briefly before taking up his cup of coffee and sipping it.]
... Good morning, Barney. How'd you sleep?
[He leaves his cigar in the ash tray and it leaves a whisper thin trail of smoke as Cid looks over his options for breakfast. There was so much that they could sit here and graze till noon easily.]
[It's a lie, but that's just how this has to go, and he's ever been an adept liar. They both are, really. His gaze falls to his now lonely hand, before it moves to take his own warm cup of coffee.]
I have always found the rock of the sea soothing. [He says, as if he isn't in a constant state of being calmed.]
And what of you? Do you rest well here?
[That word, here, has a lot of weight to its meaning. This apartment. With the company he has. Without Barnabas. On land, and not on the sea. Even this whole realm they are in, though he'll allow Cid to answer as he sees fit.]
[Cid takes a sip of coffee to mask his instinct to grimace. It's been weird and fraught, honestly. There hasn't been enough to do to direct Clive, things have been strange with damn near everyone... He's been smoking and drinking too much, and it always causes him to wake in the middle of the night. He tries to focus less on how poorly he does here in spite of all the good he should have.]
I think I might like a little holiday. The ship sounds nice. A little change of scenery might do me some good.
[He tucks into that porridge, unable to resist the siren call of walnuts for much longer.]
Maybe I can refocus myself properly. Clive still looks at me like I might turn to dust sometimes.
[Of course, he would think that Mythos should be above such petty emotions like loss. He is to be the lord's vessel, a being of pure reason, it isn't he who should be hindered by these fragile and flawed emotions that lead mankind to their doom.
He does not say this, of course. Instead, choosing to play the part he's dedicated himself to this morning as he takes a drink of his coffee. It is black, no sugar or anything added, he does not require it. Even if he were to play to his "tastes", they would align with this anyway.]
Though perhaps some space might serve you both. You ever did find clarity upon the sea—wind in your hair, the land and your troubles left behind.
[He looks into the dark pool of his coffee cup, a slight upward pull at the corner of his mouth. He looks like a man reminiscing on the past—one that carries some measure of fondness within him.]
However, usually, I was left to that selfsame fate, as was necessary for your missions.
I suppose I can't. I'm not enough, by myself, anyway. I can't fix everything.
[He never was good at talking about feelings either. All of his advice had been about as useful as a glass helmet. He shakes his head, moving on from that moment.]
Is that so? You could have stowed away. What would I have done, complain? [Cid chuckles, picking at the fish and the warm bread. ]
I think I might like that, to wake to the sea breeze. Next to you. For a little while, 'til Sleipnir gets sick of me.
Where was that humility when you left Waloed? So certain you could save the world all by yourself.
[His voice doesn't hold any contempt in it, in fact, it sounds almost fond despite it's usual level and deadened tone.]
Still, as inviting as the descent from King to stowaway is, it would not have worked. At least, not all the time. Nor have your complaints ever stopped me. It was but a matter of duty to Waloed.
[To Ultima, really. Though he won't touch on that this morning. As he takes another drink of his coffee, he looks to his porridge and decides he should probably eat it. No point in wasting the prop for this little production of theirs.]
Nevertheless, I doubt Sleipnir will take issue with you. For all he blusters, I am certain he misses your company.
Too little too late, as most things are. It's all that was left when I bled out, I think. Everything was finally so clear.
[He finds his way around the platter, choosing with his heart and stomach, face lighting up with joy and excitement as he finds morsels and combines different things into lovely little bites.]
Is that right? Always found him a little hard to read. That's right, what do you make of Dion's apparent capture of him?
[Silently he nods to the first bit. There isn't much to say that wouldn't just ruin this moment they've captured. So, he just lets the bit about Cid's foresight, or lack thereof, being his downfall die off as he had. Focusing then his attention on a slice of bread, helping himself to the butter and scallions.
He glances up at Cid as if he's asked him something truly ridiculous.]
If it puts the prince at ease, who am I to criticize their little game? Sleipnir seems unbothered.
Does it? Put him at ease, that is? I suppose it must, to some degree... They've got Joshua too, now. Neither of them have ever been on their own. I get the sense that Sleipnir cares for them, though. Sleipnir not minding is a little surprising to me, actually. He never tolerated spoiled behavior well, right? So what does Sleipnir tell you about Dion, anyway?
[Cid is having too much fun gossiping, at must is plain to see. He mirrors Barnabas' actions, having the bread the way he likes it.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
levindicated) wrote2018-09-14 04:07 pm
no subject
[The smell as he wakes and enters the kitchen is cloying, familiar, nostalgic even. It feels like a hand has tightened on his heart when he sees who's here doing it. He disobeys instinctively, walking over to stand next to Barnabas, to look at him, to see if he's wearing the collar. It's impossible to tell otherwise.]
What's all this, then?
no subject
Has the curse robbed you of your hearing, or has age made you irrevocably obstinate?
[As he talks, he pulls something out of the little wooden box on the counter—some chopped walnuts in a small glass container that he puts to the side for now, along with some of the fruit which will be used. As if Cid wasn't there watching him, he carries on with what he's doing, taking out the rye bread as it's ready now. He hardly needs a timer, he has baked many a bread in his time in the village, and he is not wont to discard such ingrained practices simply because he hasn't the need for such mundane things usually.
And yes, he did even go through the effort of using a cloth to pull it out with. After all, he needs to play into the domestic bit of this, and flexing his Dominant powers or Akashic state doesn't really sell that, does it? Putting the bread on the empty space on the counter, he levels a glance at Cid.]
Is it your wish to be a hurdle, or will you assist me?
no subject
[He furrows his brow as he watches him take the bread out with a cloth. He’s at war with himself. He doesn’t want to punish this sort of action. What… if it was genuine. He’s left in freefall. He shakes his head. He chooses to have hope.]
…What’s left to do?
no subject
[He gestures to the collection of jars—fruit spreads, pickled fish, among other things that's clearly for the bread.]
If you have the mind for it, set the rest of the table. Inside your larder are cheeses and smoked salmon. I will ready the bread and finish the porridge—if you want for coffee, I will make it. If you require it ere you can do aught else but complain, then take your seat and I shall handle everything myself.
no subject
I do "want for coffee", actually.
[He catches himself smirking, butt against the counter as he leans towards Barnabas to bump his shoulders with him. Should he turn to look at him, he'll get up on his toes to kiss him.]
no subject
As he breaks the kiss, he holds Cid there for a moment, his forehead against Cid's as he gazes at him through his thick lashes...then he lowers his hand and turns back to his task.]
Then it shall be so.
no subject
Cid's breath catches as they part.
I know, he replies to himself as he goes to sit. He just watches Barnabas, moving so easily, yet so clearly out of his natural habitat. He should be in an apron at least, he thinks.]
[Even if it would weirder as a whole.]
What inspired this?
no subject
Would you prefer a cold, empty morning? One without the smell of fresh bread, bereft of my company?
[As he moves on to find the supplies for the coffee, he still doesn't look at Cid, staying focused on his task.]
no subject
[His mouth hangs open for a beat as he thinks tongue tracing his lower lip as he sits back on the chair and folds his hands.]
I wish you'd do this every morning, so... What? Bored, inspired? ...Homesick?
no subject
[Now he looks back at him, his expression as impassive as it ever is.]
Does it matter why I am here? Or is that fact not enough for you?
no subject
[Cid gives him a pleading look. He wants this, he does. He just needs single assurance, like a normal human being, and he'll let himself enjoy this. ]
Come on, Barney...Please. Don't make me chase you down for it. This seems nice.
no subject
Then he goes back to his other tasks: the porridge and the bread. Silently divvying up the former, adding the walnuts and berries to it, along with a little bit of cinnamon to spice its base flavor. Then he opens the fridge to grab the cheeses he mentioned, along with the smoked salmon. From his armory, he summons forth a platter, finely crafted and made of wood, that he then begins to set it with the small jars and fruits, along with the bread, butter, and salmon. The scallions he then chops—with a normal knife—before adding them to the platter as well.
He does all of this while not answering Cid. But then finally, he speaks up:]
Then let it continue to be nice. I have never been one to speak on such matters. All I ask is for you to receive what it is I offer.
no subject
[He almost misses the fact that he had a platter in his armory, and that's almost absurd enough to get him out of the tailspin.]
Just receive what you have to offer, huh.
[Cid seems far away, crossing his arms before taking a cigar from the pack on the table and lighting it.]
no subject
Is this gesture not enough for you—yearn you for more than this?
[As he asks he brings the platter over, along with their respective bowls of hot porridge as he set the table. Though he does not take his seat, after all, there's still the coffee.]
When we spoke on your nameday, and I brought you to the Einherjar...did I not make my intent clear then?
no subject
Pineapple. [He mutters as he stubs it out and lights a new one.]
...I'm sorry, Barnabas. It's hard, you know? And after you went to all this effort. I suppose I'm just... leery of surprises that I didn't have a hand in, maybe?
[He coughs quietly and sighs, resting his jaw on his knuckles.]
Forgive me? I'd like to try again.
no subject
[Is his cool response as he brings their freshly poured mugs of coffee over, placing one down in front of Cid before taking his own seat. He looks to the array of food he's prepared and plated for them both, though he has long since moved past the pangs of hunger or even needing such forms of sustenance with his being an Akashic. All the same, he is capable of eating and drinking, even sleeping if he so chooses.
For this little fabrication, this fantasy between them, he will eat as Cid does.]
Yes, let us start again. [He locks eyes with Cid, his expression softening just so.] Good morning, Cidolfus.
no subject
... Good morning, Barney. How'd you sleep?
[He leaves his cigar in the ash tray and it leaves a whisper thin trail of smoke as Cid looks over his options for breakfast. There was so much that they could sit here and graze till noon easily.]
no subject
[It's a lie, but that's just how this has to go, and he's ever been an adept liar. They both are, really. His gaze falls to his now lonely hand, before it moves to take his own warm cup of coffee.]
I have always found the rock of the sea soothing. [He says, as if he isn't in a constant state of being calmed.]
And what of you? Do you rest well here?
[That word, here, has a lot of weight to its meaning. This apartment. With the company he has. Without Barnabas. On land, and not on the sea. Even this whole realm they are in, though he'll allow Cid to answer as he sees fit.]
no subject
I think I might like a little holiday. The ship sounds nice. A little change of scenery might do me some good.
[He tucks into that porridge, unable to resist the siren call of walnuts for much longer.]
Maybe I can refocus myself properly. Clive still looks at me like I might turn to dust sometimes.
no subject
[Of course, he would think that Mythos should be above such petty emotions like loss. He is to be the lord's vessel, a being of pure reason, it isn't he who should be hindered by these fragile and flawed emotions that lead mankind to their doom.
He does not say this, of course. Instead, choosing to play the part he's dedicated himself to this morning as he takes a drink of his coffee. It is black, no sugar or anything added, he does not require it. Even if he were to play to his "tastes", they would align with this anyway.]
Though perhaps some space might serve you both. You ever did find clarity upon the sea—wind in your hair, the land and your troubles left behind.
[He looks into the dark pool of his coffee cup, a slight upward pull at the corner of his mouth. He looks like a man reminiscing on the past—one that carries some measure of fondness within him.]
However, usually, I was left to that selfsame fate, as was necessary for your missions.
no subject
[He never was good at talking about feelings either. All of his advice had been about as useful as a glass helmet. He shakes his head, moving on from that moment.]
Is that so? You could have stowed away. What would I have done, complain? [Cid chuckles, picking at the fish and the warm bread. ]
I think I might like that, to wake to the sea breeze. Next to you. For a little while, 'til Sleipnir gets sick of me.
no subject
[His voice doesn't hold any contempt in it, in fact, it sounds almost fond despite it's usual level and deadened tone.]
Still, as inviting as the descent from King to stowaway is, it would not have worked. At least, not all the time. Nor have your complaints ever stopped me. It was but a matter of duty to Waloed.
[To Ultima, really. Though he won't touch on that this morning. As he takes another drink of his coffee, he looks to his porridge and decides he should probably eat it. No point in wasting the prop for this little production of theirs.]
Nevertheless, I doubt Sleipnir will take issue with you. For all he blusters, I am certain he misses your company.
no subject
[He finds his way around the platter, choosing with his heart and stomach, face lighting up with joy and excitement as he finds morsels and combines different things into lovely little bites.]
Is that right? Always found him a little hard to read. That's right, what do you make of Dion's apparent capture of him?
no subject
He glances up at Cid as if he's asked him something truly ridiculous.]
If it puts the prince at ease, who am I to criticize their little game? Sleipnir seems unbothered.
no subject
[Cid is having too much fun gossiping, at must is plain to see. He mirrors Barnabas' actions, having the bread the way he likes it.]
(no subject)
(no subject)