[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.]
I cannot imagine why else he would continue to endure Sleipnir's presence. Perhaps they have a budding fondness—Sleipnir has more than enough experience dealing with young men who can barely wipe their own chins.
[As he says this, he gives Cid a pointed look. After all, Sleipnir had a hand in helping him adjust to the castle life, didn't he? When he was but a scrappy lad of eighteen, wandering Ash as nothing more than a sellsword before Ramuh awoke within him and earned Barnabas' notice. A memory that has almost been blotted out of the fondness he once held for it by the aether that floods him...almost.
After taking another bite of the bread, his eyebrows tick upward ever so slightly at the question. His gaze still on Cid's face.]
Little of interest. Mostly that the boy harbors a fondness for you. Chasing youth through these young men, are we?
[He sighs about Dion’s fondness for him. It’s true, but it is a little bitter… Considering that night Dion found Barnabas’ hair in his pillow. It’s a little complicated with Dion.]
You’d know, wouldn’t you? I was a young man, once. You loved that I could keep up with you. Tire you out, even.
[He butters bread and smirks at the other man.]
I can’t say I want to be twenty again, but I miss those days, too.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
levindicated) wrote2018-09-14 04:07 pm
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
[As he says this, he gives Cid a pointed look. After all, Sleipnir had a hand in helping him adjust to the castle life, didn't he? When he was but a scrappy lad of eighteen, wandering Ash as nothing more than a sellsword before Ramuh awoke within him and earned Barnabas' notice. A memory that has almost been blotted out of the fondness he once held for it by the aether that floods him...almost.
After taking another bite of the bread, his eyebrows tick upward ever so slightly at the question. His gaze still on Cid's face.]
Little of interest. Mostly that the boy harbors a fondness for you. Chasing youth through these young men, are we?
no subject
You’d know, wouldn’t you? I was a young man, once. You loved that I could keep up with you. Tire you out, even.
[He butters bread and smirks at the other man.]
I can’t say I want to be twenty again, but I miss those days, too.