I'm never as tired

[leitstern]

🧙 WHO: Hendrik and Jasper
⚔️️ WHAT: Waking moments
🕒 WHEN: Post-event
🗺️ WHERE: Camelot
⚠️ WARNINGS: Nothing yet

[Jasper opens his eyes and nervously worries his lips about the flower on the bedside table. A spray of clemantis, with dark green leaves and a single star-shaped flower. He had not possessed it before awakening from that nightmare. Dressed in night clothes multiple sizes large, laid beneath a duvet in bed. Looking past the twig to the window reminding him, in fact, of not awakening at home at all. Beside him a thin candle offers light and comfort.

Breathe. He inhales through his mouth, filling his lungs for the first time in days. The last thing he remembers is awakening in that pond. The last thing he wants to remember is how he arrived here. Borne in Hendrik's arms or drowsing against his shoulder? Thoughts crawl in his attempt to relive the moment. His chest heaves and begins to sink and swell. It feels wrong and he cannot understand why.

He lies in silent for several minutes until exhaling angrily. The candle flickers and illumiates, air fuelling the flame. Feet slip outside the sheets and alight on a cold floor. Never before has he so badly lost his sense of balance and he teeters forward - stepping on a sleeping platypunk's tail. With its quack ringing his ears he groans and grumbles, hands rubbing against his forehead. Stomach bubbling as the accursed creature disappears in a flash to its master. One hand rubbing his eye moves to support his back, urging him to return to bed. To the stairs. To the door.

Fatigue dries his eyes as begins pacing back and forth, trapped between his desire to flee and a need to stay, stopping only when his path carries him past the window. It is startingly late, the sunset visible over rooftops and across the backstreets. He looks down at the yard and sees Hendrik working in his garden.

There is a flicker of emotion in his heart. Pride? He cannot know for certain.]

Comments

[standvastig]

[Recent months have reminded Hendrik why he dislikes the dark. The darkness after the Fall was like a suffocating miasma, blotting out the sun and taking with it much of the joy and hope of life. The darkness of Avalon is mysterious and strange, filled with uncertainties that he could not account for with his life experience on Erdrea.

He thinks the same even within the protection of the city. He knows little of the magical maladies and supernatural beings of the island, and working to be self-sufficient has kept him from doing research and learning more for himself.

Now situated with his own place outside of the hotel in which he stayed for over a month, there is some comfort in having his own space. In having a place he can recognize every waking day.

Working with the small garden in the equally small backyard is something of a whim, but also something of an indescribable pull. While the revelation of more magic is considered with wariness, he tries to be open to the possibilities. Being open is how he found himself favoring a greatsword over the longswords he had used throughout his youth, after all. Being open is how he met Obsidian despite the opinions of others.

He's pulled out of his quiet contemplation by the now telltale little pop that precedes the appearance of his familiar. The platypunk plops down next to his leg and grumbles, leading him to pat its mohawk.]

He is awake?

[He gets a grumbled quack in return. Not much else is needed.]

[leitstern]

[Standing here in silence. Standing by the window, his reflection limp and empty, his face a blackened and blemished mood. It is dificult to muster up the spirit to tear himself away and head outdoors. Fingers ache to open the latch and usher in fresh air but he curls them into fists; straightening his arms until his feelings disappear.

His attention clings to what's happening outside. The platypunk plopping onto the grass. Hendrik patting it gently and keeping himself busy. Their company offers hope of a connection but he finds himself running his hands through his hair just thinking about it. He swallows a lump in his throat and groans, holding his breath for a second. It compounds the misery of being apart all those years ago, being separated by glass. But the distance they stand apart is even greater than that.

So he continues watching.

The dedication his friend offers his work is admirable yet his opinion cannot deepen into admiration. There is too much history for that.]

[standvastig]

[Hendrik glances back at the tiny plants in the garden. He has little knowledge of plants beyond observable dangers and the names of more popular forms of flowers out there. Even the plants in this garden are not really his project; they were already growing when he first moved in, and he saw no reason to displace them.

The little plants seemed ... happy, though. Perhaps that was something of an exaggeration. They seemed well. Bright despite the rapidly setting sun.

He sighs, brushing his hands together and craning his head to look up towards his room -- where he had left Jasper to recuperate. He had no clue where his former friend resided and no desire to leave him in those vernal pools, so he had reluctantly carried him off to his own place.

His thoughts freeze for a moment as he catches sight of pinpricks of crimson against his windowpane, framed by a pale face. Unfamiliar and yet familiar. If he was more prone to showing his feelings nowadays, he might have grimaced outright.

Instead, he stares up. Acknowledging Jasper is awake.]

[leitstern]

[Jasper watches his old friend with a heady mixture of revulsion and curiosity, lips twisting into a frown at the care and attention Hendrik invests in his work. He cannot imagine why he could not have received such concern. Memories of altercations and arguments, fraught encounters and meetings turned sour.

All colour the scene before him. Clouding his thoughts and curdling his mood.

His body aches with the effort of keeping together. Every muscle longs to return to sleep but he is too wilful to run away and hide. Hendrik's last words in the dream are keeping him awake in the real world.

Dark clouds loom on the horizon and he is reminded of those casting shadows on Heliodor. The pressure of war replicated in this land's low pressure of air. Specks of water begin appearing on the window. If he can see it's raining, then Hendrik can surely feel it. And might come indoors. And wish to talk.

Perhaps he should return to bed.]

[standvastig]

[The sensation of rain against his forehead draws Hendrik's attention away from the face at the window, his head tilting towards the dark clouds. A little bit of rain would be welcome, especially as he has not yet watered the plants. He pokes his familiar before picking it up, unable to feel the fluffy fur of the platypunk as he takes it under his arm and carries it back inside.

He deposits the platypunk on an armchair so his familiar can get back to sleep, and then walks over to the kitchen to wash off the dust and dirt from outside. The quiet leaves him somewhat uneasy, especially if he concentrates on the fact that there is a man upstairs who has made more than one attempt on his life.

And yet that was not a worry when he had initially brought Jasper to his place. He doesn't understand his own feelings in regards to the man.]

[leitstern]

[Hendrik rummages around downstairs for what feels like eternity. Suspicion tells him his old friend is keeping out of his way, walking around the problem; figuratively knocking every door before entering. The distant sound of running water underlines how distant they are - two men looking at each other from opposite banks of the river.

He sits on the bed to find time to think. There is little urge to peek into other rooms and see how Hendrik lives his life - some consideration for how he would not want the same treatment. Words come together as he begins thinking, but if he cannot express them to himself now, how can he speak to Hendrik later? He presses his fingers together and finds himself reaching for his phone upon the bedside table.

It's placement there more thoughtful of his friend than anything else.]

I did not expect you to develop green thumbs.

[Gardening. An inoffensive topic, right?]

[standvastig]

[His handheld device buzzes on the countertop where he had left it, and he stares at it while putting away dried bowls. It had taken some time to get his familiar to accept eating off of plates and bowls, but the argument was apparently sealed when the platypunk realized it could carry more than two apples with a bowl.

He retrieves the device and taps it on, staring at the received message. Jasper is the only person with whom he has communicated over private message like this. Perhaps it's to be expected that they continue that pattern even while in the same house.]

I have not. My thumbs remain firmly not green.

[What did such an observation mean to Jasper? Did it surprise him that he was capable of turning soil?]

[leitstern]

[The reply comes swiftly, vibrating his phone upon the bedside table. So loud and irritating that he clenches his fingers, itching to throw it at the wall. His memories of the dream are colourful and vivid. That he cannot scribe them on this device and promptly forget about them makes it a waste. The only thing that comforts him about it is the peculiar way it lets him talk. Instantly like he and Hendrik are face to face, but without looking each other in the eye. It hardly matters if they talk, so long as he is there.

Though he expects plans to change and feelings to disappear. He is a tolerated guest not a companion, his change of clothes a courtesy. What these long sleeves make him remember is the old colour of his skin and the golden threads of his hair. Now the two of them barely talk in person and he sees the redness of his eyes in his reflection. Does he know this human any more?]

I doubt your garden could make that any clearer.

[He sends another message straight after.]

Where is my attire?

[standvastig]

[An insult. Of course. Why did he attempt to find deeper meaning in Jasper's observation? Why did he think there would be something genuine in that remark?

He leaves it with no reply, frowning to himself. The demand that soon follows is straight to the point.]

Drying in the bathroom. You may claim them whenever you wish.

[He did not wash the clothes in any particularly thorough fashion; just enough loosen the worst of any dirt and liquids gathered from the strange flower pods.]

[leitstern]

[Hendrik's reply is short and pointed, prompt like the last. Impersonal to a fault. Everything about this message looks tolerable but questionable. Does he need a more distinctive answer? Something private and confidential? These devices lack the touch and feel of intimacy. Might he seek that? He finds it all puzzling.

His own response is short and straight to the point.]

Thank you.

[Is he grateful for his laundry? Or perhaps something else?]

[standvastig]

[Another message in short time. It's surprisingly not difficult to imagine Jasper bent over his device in a manner similar to himself, staring at the short sentences and trying to dissect some sort of meaning from them.

A thank you feels very strange considering their current tension, but he can't say it makes him uncomfortable to see it. Confused? Certainly sad.]

You are free to stay until the morning.

[He's never heard of any concerns of crime or trouble on the streets, but it seems like common courtesy to not turn out someone once it's dark out.]

[leitstern]

[Jasper closes his eyes a moment; attempting to banish that new response from his head. The front part of the sentence offers kindness and hospitality but the reverse of it affords only indifference. Every word is common courtesy but nothing more. He strains to find the energy to respond and resorts to delving back beneath the covers, trapping the duvet between his body and the mattress. He rolls to face the wall and tucks his body closer to his chest. Is this a comfortable position? Yes.

He does not answer right away.]

Well, at least with that ultimatum I should have the afternoon for myself. I suppose I ought be grateful.

[That he is alive and not in prison should be a good start. But he cannot exactly even think of those right now.]

[standvastig]

[The reply doesn't come as quickly, leaving Hendrik to check that the door to the backyard is secure and start pulling the simple curtains over the windows while he waits. He's already pulled the extra blanket from his closet so he can sleep downstairs -- on the rug because he has nothing resembling a chaise or couch yet.

Another message he can't easily decipher. There is some implication of obligation, which is ... probably in response to his own words of courtesy. But what is he supposed to take away from that?

His reply is not quick, pondered for a few minutes.]

I would have thought you would like to return to your place as soon as possible.

April 15

[standvastig]

[The rain is not the underlying reason, but perhaps a contributing factor, to why Hendrik climbs the stairs that day. The gloom of constant rain, the pools and puddles and flooding in the city, the soaked clothing that is only avoided by spending the day inside, the laundry that must be washed and dried and folded...

It is wearisome. Especially on top of already feeling uncomfortable with someone else in the house.

Especially on top of that someone else being a former friend who you thought would do well being brought into your house.

He only has himself to blame, really. And he lets the issue stew for far longer than is necessary before he stares at (what was once) his master bedroom door.

There is nothing quite like knocking on your own bedroom door to make you feel out of place.]

Jasper.

[leitstern]

[Rain splatters down too strongly, spatters the window too loudly. Footsteps echo downstairs and send him falling into bed when they begin creak upon the stairs. By the time they walk upon the landing he is struggling to pull his leg over the side, too happy to spend his day inside...

Two months of isolation in this world. It proves a struggle to exist amongt its people, humans who seem fond of discussing nonsense. The nature of this place has changed him without consent or permission and he scarcely knows what to do most days. He cares little about restoring this world and less for his own.

By the time his old friend is bearing down beyond the door, he is reading one of the books left within his study. A pile now situated upon the bedside table. His own have been left behind.]

Do you think you might feel gracious enough to leave well enough alone?

[standvastig]

"Leave well enough alone"?

[Hendrik's initial reaction is immediate bewilderment. He hadn't even said anything and Jasper was already dismissing conversation.

His hands curl into fists and he frowns at the door.]

It has been over two weeks. I believe I have been gracious enough.

[leitstern]

[No response.

Jasper turns over numerous replies; all result in them confronting emotions and unearthing feelings. Each a surefire way to make him even more depressed than he feels this minute. Torrential rain and overcast skies and no signs of sunlight. A scenario he scarcely knows how to handle in this new world. He can hardly fly to Octagonia and try his hand at slots or journey to Gondolia for their famous desserts. He cannot hide away from humanity when he needs them to fund a new life he never asked for.

The thought of approaching them is enough to make him turn his shoulder. To wrap himself in these sheets and turn his back to the world. He cares enough about what his old friend might have to say that he would rather avoid this conversation.

No answer is answer enough.

Yet he knows Hendrik is hardly the sort to ignore silence.]

[standvastig]

[Silence. Of course.

It's always been silence, hasn't it? For years upon years upon years. It's little wonder that he was never aware of what Jasper truly thought of him, considering ... this. He takes a deep breath to keep from seething outright.]

Get out of there.

[He raps on the door again.]

I want you out. Now.

[Blunt. Irritated. A far cry from impassioned speeches across a broken throne room.]

[leitstern]

[Anger seethes beyond the door, out of sight and out of mind till he regards it with a look, finding the strength within to ignore it more. That might provoke Hendrik too far, he observes. This man who is righteous with his temper but ignorant of the cause of it. He feels his heart skip a beat as he rubs his neck, wincing before he rolls over and turns his back.

The simple fact is he needs that outrage. He wants something to tell him he mattered at one time. Hendrik should never admit it so he shall just take the scraps.

As he has done throughout life.

His face burns indignantly and he glares his own anger into the wall. Perhaps he shall offer no answer after all.]

[standvastig]

[The silence continues to stretch on, defiant against his agitated words and the rattling of the door. He growls to himself as he drops his hand to instead try the doorknob. The locks are sturdier than what he recalls of his quarters in Heliodor, but if exerts enough pressure, he should still be able to...

He grimaces as he realizes what he is doing, forcing his hands off of the doorknob before he does in fact break it.]

You have done nothing in the time you have been here other than sustain yourself on resources I pay for. Do you not have a job? A house to maintain? You have been a layabout long enough.

[leitstern]

[The house Hendrik speaks of? One room filled with nothing, surrounded by many. No space of his own. No place to call his own. His envy of Hendrik's talent and adoration mirrored in a world where they are supposed to be equal. The man has a life and friends. He works hard and makes himself belong.

The rattling doorknob shakes his trail of thought. It is enough to snap him to reality for a minute.]

What a fine thing to say! You rode on my coattails for thirty years.

[Bitter. Spiteful. Twisted. Words from another that became truth over time.]

[standvastig]

[Now it's Hendrik's turn to lapse into silence, struck by the implication made with that mention of thirty years. Since they were children? What can he even say to that?

If he stays quiet long enough, thinking on that hurt and confusion more and more, he can almost see a hurt little boy in his mind's eye.]

You had no coattails to ride thirty years ago.

[Flat. His tone is very flat.]

[leitstern]

[Jasper turns around only to twist and twine the sheets tighter around his form. Containing an excruciating strain that surprises as a shock, from his shoulder down to his feet, buried in rolls of fabric. He finds himself thinking not of a wailing child who had forced his way inside the castle, but a rival who offered him a hand off the ground with a smile.

Who now continues treating him like a child. Forgetting how he shared his wisdom, his time, his trust. His voice slides down into a tone dripping with venom.]

If that is what you believe who am I to argue otherwise?

[standvastig]

Apparently you believe that to be the case, as that is what you are saying!

[While his voice doesn't quite rise to a shout, Hendrik's voice is quite agitated as he wars with his feelings over Jasper's accusation.]

We were children. We were friends. There was nothing else to it.

[If Jasper truly believed things were bad that far back in their relationship, he can't blame Mordegon for such beliefs.]

[leitstern]

[The accusation is greeted by a sigh; a wearied groan of grievance that sticks in his chest. One or two coughs are hardly enough to forget how Hendrik blames him again. The outrage and agitation lack the power to shake him out of his comfortable bed; their discomfort enough that he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

The white paint reminds him of his armour. His white cloak and the symbol of the double eagle that shone in the sun. He crosses his ankles, observing that his old friend's armour resembles the shadows in the eaves. A contrast of light and dark that is inseparable. The connection between then inescapable.

Perhaps that is why he cannot speak. What might he say?]