![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
At first, Elidibus pretends not to hear. Not even a long glance as he finishes gathering up the saddle and moving outside. Naturally, there is no protest when Irhya follows suit and the reasoning is sound for a mortal's habits. While it's true he does tend to Filia's needs and the amaro is rather attached to Elidibus, he still consciously sees the bird as a useful tool. Why else bother to take such good care?
Filia had been dozing in the last rays of the sun- which has now pretty much set- and gives a sleepy warble of greeting when the two emerge from the cottage into the early evening. The newer saddle is set down beside Filia while Elidibus begins the familiar process of removing the current tack, saddle, and padding. From one of the saddlebacks comes tools that will make sure the amaro's shaggy coat is laying properly before thinking of putting on the new saddle.
When it's like this one could be tricked into believing it is Ardbert. Perhaps a bit too quiet during the work- one might picture a cheerful conversation with Filia to occur- sure. But the focus denotes certain care in the task and the fondness Filia displays as she enjoys the grooming is sincere. And when he does speak up, it is with Ardbert's 'voice' again as they are in a public place. Elidibus still takes care with that. The words though?
"I don't particularly care if he chooses to indulge you. Though I hope you are referring to a general statement of shared intimacy and not that you have been troubling a man recently back from the dead and still covered in visible injury?" It's very pointed. "I would be disappointed if you did."
Elidibus may well dislike Irhya's relation with Emet-Selch. It may even equal Lahabrea's displeasure. But what seems to matter to him currently is how it is going to affect the physical recovery of the Ascian in question. And he's going to voice it whether or not the Warrior of Light might end up displeased hearing it from 'Ardbert'.
Filia had been dozing in the last rays of the sun- which has now pretty much set- and gives a sleepy warble of greeting when the two emerge from the cottage into the early evening. The newer saddle is set down beside Filia while Elidibus begins the familiar process of removing the current tack, saddle, and padding. From one of the saddlebacks comes tools that will make sure the amaro's shaggy coat is laying properly before thinking of putting on the new saddle.
When it's like this one could be tricked into believing it is Ardbert. Perhaps a bit too quiet during the work- one might picture a cheerful conversation with Filia to occur- sure. But the focus denotes certain care in the task and the fondness Filia displays as she enjoys the grooming is sincere. And when he does speak up, it is with Ardbert's 'voice' again as they are in a public place. Elidibus still takes care with that. The words though?
"I don't particularly care if he chooses to indulge you. Though I hope you are referring to a general statement of shared intimacy and not that you have been troubling a man recently back from the dead and still covered in visible injury?" It's very pointed. "I would be disappointed if you did."
Elidibus may well dislike Irhya's relation with Emet-Selch. It may even equal Lahabrea's displeasure. But what seems to matter to him currently is how it is going to affect the physical recovery of the Ascian in question. And he's going to voice it whether or not the Warrior of Light might end up displeased hearing it from 'Ardbert'.
She's almost, almost managed to forget about it in watching the amaro happily receiving all the attention when he speaks up again. Gods damn it all.
"You say that like I wasn't injured too," Irhya replies dryly, squinting at him. "Besides, didn't I already tell you my whole purpose in asking was to avoid being too much of a pain in his arse about it?"
A part of her wants to go off further, about how she doesn't care about his disappointment or his general dislike of her bond with Emet-Selch, but she manages to turn her thoughts in a slightly less inflammatory direction. "And if he wasn't up to it physically or in the mood for it, I wouldn't push the issue." She crosses her arms, digging her fingers into her sleeves. "I'm not as much of an ingrate as you seem to think I am."
"You say that like I wasn't injured too," Irhya replies dryly, squinting at him. "Besides, didn't I already tell you my whole purpose in asking was to avoid being too much of a pain in his arse about it?"
A part of her wants to go off further, about how she doesn't care about his disappointment or his general dislike of her bond with Emet-Selch, but she manages to turn her thoughts in a slightly less inflammatory direction. "And if he wasn't up to it physically or in the mood for it, I wouldn't push the issue." She crosses her arms, digging her fingers into her sleeves. "I'm not as much of an ingrate as you seem to think I am."
"You appear to misunderstand the extent of his injuries," Elidibus answers while handling a spot on the back that the amaro was happy to have handled, being it was itchy. "If you are currently thinking of asking him at all." He looks at Irhya, eyes flicking with no particular surprise to the tell-tale bald patches. He probably noticed them before and seems to understand what they imply. "Then your mind is more addled by the curse than I first presumed. This would apply as much to your recovery as his." He seems somewhat frustrated that he has to explain this, though it doesn't appear to be specifically directed toward the miqo'te.
More likely, it's that attitude Ascians have toward mortal tedium which so often manifests. Being trapped in a mortal body and having to experience matters at their level has hardly alleviated Elidibus of a millennia-long prejudice.
"Ingrate...?" The vocabulary momentarily gives him pause. Elidibus understands what she means but it indicates he's a bit distracted that he even dwells on it. An impatient sigh escapes him and he finishes with the tools. They're set aside to be cleaned out and put back later. For now, he starts working on the new saddle. "Far be it for anyone other than myself to presume knowledge of what I am thinking. But it is not on of your lack of gratitude."
Cinch a belt, crouch to pull a strap under the belly, make sure nothing's pinching the wings. Small huffs of air might escape with his words from these exertions. "This curse which heightens base instincts to a point where you would proposition an enemy to not be an inconvenience to another enemy." You personally had a hand in destroying he doesn't add. But he's putting any current relationship between Irhya and Emet-Selch aside in favor of a reminder of their shared past.
The Emissary closes his eyes and calms himself down. "I am concerned you are not currently capable of following through upon rational thought. Do not treat it as disdain or a matter of selfish behavior. But as a symptom of a condition that I will acknowledge you are suffering." Rising, the Emissary pauses to regard Irhya over the expertly crafted and no doubt flashy saddle.
Of course, he can't help but have some disdain or bias toward mortals. They both probably know it. He's spoken directly about it. But he seems willing to acknowledge that this case is a little different than the usual mortal tropes. Elidibus sets about checking the fit of the saddle while letting Irhya mull over what he just said.
More likely, it's that attitude Ascians have toward mortal tedium which so often manifests. Being trapped in a mortal body and having to experience matters at their level has hardly alleviated Elidibus of a millennia-long prejudice.
"Ingrate...?" The vocabulary momentarily gives him pause. Elidibus understands what she means but it indicates he's a bit distracted that he even dwells on it. An impatient sigh escapes him and he finishes with the tools. They're set aside to be cleaned out and put back later. For now, he starts working on the new saddle. "Far be it for anyone other than myself to presume knowledge of what I am thinking. But it is not on of your lack of gratitude."
Cinch a belt, crouch to pull a strap under the belly, make sure nothing's pinching the wings. Small huffs of air might escape with his words from these exertions. "This curse which heightens base instincts to a point where you would proposition an enemy to not be an inconvenience to another enemy." You personally had a hand in destroying he doesn't add. But he's putting any current relationship between Irhya and Emet-Selch aside in favor of a reminder of their shared past.
The Emissary closes his eyes and calms himself down. "I am concerned you are not currently capable of following through upon rational thought. Do not treat it as disdain or a matter of selfish behavior. But as a symptom of a condition that I will acknowledge you are suffering." Rising, the Emissary pauses to regard Irhya over the expertly crafted and no doubt flashy saddle.
Of course, he can't help but have some disdain or bias toward mortals. They both probably know it. He's spoken directly about it. But he seems willing to acknowledge that this case is a little different than the usual mortal tropes. Elidibus sets about checking the fit of the saddle while letting Irhya mull over what he just said.
Indignant, she opens her mouth to shoot off a response, but the instant, scathing reprisal doesn't come out. Her jaw clenches.
"Look," she says finally, "if you're that beside yourself that I asked you personally, fine, I get the message. But Emet is-- he's--"
Still an enemy, her mind throws at her, and she can't find reason to dismiss it. But he doesn't really still feel that way, right? It can't be, if he's been so kind to her, let her do all the things she has, even more or less acknowledged her as a friend.
The mental image of him placing the orange crystal into her hand is hard to scrub from her mind.
"I already told you I was trying not to pester him, and I am endeavoring to continue that. But I think you're letting some of your 'mortals are stupid' get in the way here." She might be contrary by nature, but not where it concerns other people's well-being. Her own, maybe. Not his. "I'm fine. He'll be fine, too. I'm not going to push him. How many times must I tell you before you're satisfied?"
"Look," she says finally, "if you're that beside yourself that I asked you personally, fine, I get the message. But Emet is-- he's--"
Still an enemy, her mind throws at her, and she can't find reason to dismiss it. But he doesn't really still feel that way, right? It can't be, if he's been so kind to her, let her do all the things she has, even more or less acknowledged her as a friend.
The mental image of him placing the orange crystal into her hand is hard to scrub from her mind.
"I already told you I was trying not to pester him, and I am endeavoring to continue that. But I think you're letting some of your 'mortals are stupid' get in the way here." She might be contrary by nature, but not where it concerns other people's well-being. Her own, maybe. Not his. "I'm fine. He'll be fine, too. I'm not going to push him. How many times must I tell you before you're satisfied?"
"Hmm. Even a non-machine would know that my recovery time is entirely dependent on how cared for I am."
At this, he flutters his lashes. He must be Cared For to recover. Just, lovingly and constantly tended to and served... Mettaton smiles sweetly.
Mettaton was never deeply insulted. If anything, he was only behaving snappishly because he had something to hide. There was no duration of time it'd require to recover entirely. As for his battery... He'd been sleeping well enough so as to reduce the possibility of unpredictable power-offs. Because it's true: Mettaton has absolutely no way of handling diagnostics. He could tap into some features of his body, sure, but he was no better than a person piloting around a machine, blindly groping around for dysfunctional parts and using his best guesses to diagnose his issues.
But Elidibus continues, and Mettaton grows momentarily bashful, glancing away. He doesn't mean to growl... He even knows that Elidibus and doctors alike are often tending to Emet-Selch's well-being, not hurting him. But the very moment a shock of pain makes its way through Emet-Selch, the Puca's on the defense, and it's nothing short of an instantaneous reaction that requires higher thought to soothe. It's a quality he's gained as a Monster, he's sure. There was no other explanation.
There's more to digest, though Mettaton's brow begins to knit. This wouldn't be the first time during his stay where he is advised that there's something questionable about his... lifestyle. Or that he and Emet-Selch had a lesson to learn from all of this, but the Puca has a hard time figuring out what that lesson's supposed to be. To express his frustration with this notion, he unconsciously stomps the ground with a furry rabbit foot. It's not as strong as a full kick would be, so its not anything worth terrible concern.
Yet he considers what he's said, trying to find meaning. Elidibus works on helping Emet-Selch, and Mettaton watches patiently. And despite the advice to do anything other than growl... Any time, if at all, Emet-Selch experienced pain, even incidentally—the Puca's upper lip would stiffen, and he would tilt back his chin, stifling his defensiveness. Even though their Bond was weaker than before, it was returning to its full strength with speed. He could see it in his Bondmate's stiffened posture besides, and this was disturbing to him at his core.
But rationally speaking, he knows it's all required. There would be no clean recovery without a bit of pain and discomfort for everyone, including Emet-Selch, no matter how much he wished to protect him from it.
The next time Mettaton's given even a moment where Emet-Selch's not experiencing any shocks of pain, he heaves a sigh. And on his cheery voice, past a mellow smile, he glances away.
"I'm afraid I don't know where you think we've erred," Mettaton responds simply. "I was mind controlled. We were sick. We tried to recover... And unfortunately, oh my! My condition took a turn for the worst! The rest is... history."
There was a personal issue in there. The fears of being in love in a place that encourage ephemeral visitors, made manifest. But Mettaton thought this something they could work on between each other. While he speaks, Mettaton watches as Elidibus cleanses the bed in something that resembles transmutative magic... but there were many disciplines that could achieve such a result. Perhaps this was even considered a general pursuit. He'd smile and clap at it, but he's busy reflecting over their deaths, gazing off into the air with his head tilted vaguely down, focusing on nothing. He revisits the memories he could barely remember of their deaths, anyway. It was all so dark, and he felt the only thing he could recall with any clarity was the excruciating sense of loneliness, and the sight of Emet-Selch staring at him, unseeing. It would still his heart, if he had one.
At this, he flutters his lashes. He must be Cared For to recover. Just, lovingly and constantly tended to and served... Mettaton smiles sweetly.
Mettaton was never deeply insulted. If anything, he was only behaving snappishly because he had something to hide. There was no duration of time it'd require to recover entirely. As for his battery... He'd been sleeping well enough so as to reduce the possibility of unpredictable power-offs. Because it's true: Mettaton has absolutely no way of handling diagnostics. He could tap into some features of his body, sure, but he was no better than a person piloting around a machine, blindly groping around for dysfunctional parts and using his best guesses to diagnose his issues.
But Elidibus continues, and Mettaton grows momentarily bashful, glancing away. He doesn't mean to growl... He even knows that Elidibus and doctors alike are often tending to Emet-Selch's well-being, not hurting him. But the very moment a shock of pain makes its way through Emet-Selch, the Puca's on the defense, and it's nothing short of an instantaneous reaction that requires higher thought to soothe. It's a quality he's gained as a Monster, he's sure. There was no other explanation.
There's more to digest, though Mettaton's brow begins to knit. This wouldn't be the first time during his stay where he is advised that there's something questionable about his... lifestyle. Or that he and Emet-Selch had a lesson to learn from all of this, but the Puca has a hard time figuring out what that lesson's supposed to be. To express his frustration with this notion, he unconsciously stomps the ground with a furry rabbit foot. It's not as strong as a full kick would be, so its not anything worth terrible concern.
Yet he considers what he's said, trying to find meaning. Elidibus works on helping Emet-Selch, and Mettaton watches patiently. And despite the advice to do anything other than growl... Any time, if at all, Emet-Selch experienced pain, even incidentally—the Puca's upper lip would stiffen, and he would tilt back his chin, stifling his defensiveness. Even though their Bond was weaker than before, it was returning to its full strength with speed. He could see it in his Bondmate's stiffened posture besides, and this was disturbing to him at his core.
But rationally speaking, he knows it's all required. There would be no clean recovery without a bit of pain and discomfort for everyone, including Emet-Selch, no matter how much he wished to protect him from it.
The next time Mettaton's given even a moment where Emet-Selch's not experiencing any shocks of pain, he heaves a sigh. And on his cheery voice, past a mellow smile, he glances away.
"I'm afraid I don't know where you think we've erred," Mettaton responds simply. "I was mind controlled. We were sick. We tried to recover... And unfortunately, oh my! My condition took a turn for the worst! The rest is... history."
There was a personal issue in there. The fears of being in love in a place that encourage ephemeral visitors, made manifest. But Mettaton thought this something they could work on between each other. While he speaks, Mettaton watches as Elidibus cleanses the bed in something that resembles transmutative magic... but there were many disciplines that could achieve such a result. Perhaps this was even considered a general pursuit. He'd smile and clap at it, but he's busy reflecting over their deaths, gazing off into the air with his head tilted vaguely down, focusing on nothing. He revisits the memories he could barely remember of their deaths, anyway. It was all so dark, and he felt the only thing he could recall with any clarity was the excruciating sense of loneliness, and the sight of Emet-Selch staring at him, unseeing. It would still his heart, if he had one.
"Look at you," Elidibus says with a frighteningly accurate mimicry of Ardbert's speech habits along with the general voice and charming grin, "using 'Emet' as if it is a personal name and not a proper title of office. Don't tell me that puca has rubbed off on you as well?"
If Irhya is keeping track she may mark a moment of 'getting under the Ascian's skin'. While he may be intentionally goading her, there is a little bit more irritation in the words than is strictly needed. And he certainly didn't have to lay the Ardbert on thick.
In any case Elidibus is on edge. While not flustered by the Warrior of Light's earlier proposition on any level, Emet-Selch's death experience and what it might actually mean was more than enough reason to have shorter patience than normal. Lahabrea and Emet-Selch may be here now but there was a time when they were not. Recent events served as a harsh reminder of the fragility of their circumstance.
The charming grin disappears. "Mortals are foolish. Harken to your own words. In the same breath promising you won't trouble another, leaving it ever a conveniently open possibility. Why should I be satisfied when I have seen what mortals do with such vague promises?" Elidibus won't deny his bias is not influencing his outlook at least. "Perhaps consider how oft deeds are more telling than spoken words, Warrior of Darkness."
The way he gives her title suggests a slight crack to the carefully caged emotions of anger he harbors to that particular person. Whom in another time and place is, after all, Irhya.
If Irhya is keeping track she may mark a moment of 'getting under the Ascian's skin'. While he may be intentionally goading her, there is a little bit more irritation in the words than is strictly needed. And he certainly didn't have to lay the Ardbert on thick.
In any case Elidibus is on edge. While not flustered by the Warrior of Light's earlier proposition on any level, Emet-Selch's death experience and what it might actually mean was more than enough reason to have shorter patience than normal. Lahabrea and Emet-Selch may be here now but there was a time when they were not. Recent events served as a harsh reminder of the fragility of their circumstance.
The charming grin disappears. "Mortals are foolish. Harken to your own words. In the same breath promising you won't trouble another, leaving it ever a conveniently open possibility. Why should I be satisfied when I have seen what mortals do with such vague promises?" Elidibus won't deny his bias is not influencing his outlook at least. "Perhaps consider how oft deeds are more telling than spoken words, Warrior of Darkness."
The way he gives her title suggests a slight crack to the carefully caged emotions of anger he harbors to that particular person. Whom in another time and place is, after all, Irhya.
"Stop using his godsforsaken voice," Irhya growls tightly. They're getting to that point again, not unlike what often happens with her and Lahabrea. But it is interesting to note the sheer intensity of emotion he's displaying right now: the taunts were never this pointed, the anger never this direct, not when he could barely remember his reason for clinging to it in the first place. It had always been there in some measure, surely -- but how pronounced it comes out here is mildly surprising.
She glances from Filia back to Elidibus and says, "You'll hardly know if I do choose to keep my distance from him anyway, so even if I promise you that, of course you wouldn't believe it. But... dare I say we are both a tad too irritable right now to continue this conversation either way."
Without me decking you first, Ardbert's face be damned, she adds mentally.
Walking backwards without breaking her gaze on him, she leans against the side of the house, crossing her arms and looking sour. "So perhaps it is best you take your leave for now."
She glances from Filia back to Elidibus and says, "You'll hardly know if I do choose to keep my distance from him anyway, so even if I promise you that, of course you wouldn't believe it. But... dare I say we are both a tad too irritable right now to continue this conversation either way."
Without me decking you first, Ardbert's face be damned, she adds mentally.
Walking backwards without breaking her gaze on him, she leans against the side of the house, crossing her arms and looking sour. "So perhaps it is best you take your leave for now."
Filia is not graced with the blessing of sentience that sometimes comes to her kind after a century or so of life. She is young and it would be decades before something of that nature even manifests if it does at all. But she is smart enough in her own right to recognize the tension in the air and the emotions behind them. In particular those manifest under the careful veneer of her recognized owner. The amaro lets out a trilling noise those familiar with the beast would recognize as comforting, leaning her head closer and trying to press it against the brown-haired witch's chest.
It is sentimental and sweet and honestly not entirely lost on Elidibus even if what comfort may be accepted is on a subconscious level. A touch of surprise and a glance at the amaro observes the steed's responses before a soft sigh follows. Though the Ascian guides firmly Filia away from butting against his chest it is not lacking in gentle action or a discreet soothing gesture. Perhaps it is calculated to seem like he's going through the motions needed to settle a distressed animal. But there is much left to interpretation.
"I will not distress you further then." Same tone but at least Elidibus has returned to his particular brand of reserved formality with the words. He's calmed down at least- gone is the edges of anger in his words. He does not hide that he had emphasized the way Ardbert speaks intentionally, either. "But I will make no promises to not 'use his voice', as you so succinctly put it." There are reasons beyond what Elidibus admits, though Irhya need not know the Ascian doesn't have the capacity to do more than an exceedingly skilled mimicry of his real voice. Tired, stressed, or injured there will just be times he cannot help but sound like a shockingly formal Ardbert.
Elidibus frowns slightly. He'll certainly not arrest Irhya's movement to put distance between the both of them but he will remark on the assumption spoken of in the retreat.
"I ask you not presume what I will and will not know, nor what I will believe, Irhya." At least he returns to using her given name. Though she has unintentionally touched on another slightly sore spot, this time the Emissary keeps his temper in check. "I will be watching."
During this time he has finished the barding's arrangement and fitting - excellent fortunately otherwise how awkward would things have been? - and performed a hasty cleaning of tools before storing them away again. The functional saddle and tack are gathered up. Wisely the decision has been made to carry it with rather than put it back on. One might think it would be awkward to ride away from the encounter on a fantastic showpiece at this point but as Elidibus pulls himself into the saddle, there is a dignity presented that seeks to push such odd matters into the background. The spare saddle is braced before him.
Rather than further words, the Ascian favors Irhya with a short nod before nudging the amaro into a trot which will turn into a faster pace once they have reached the road. At least until they are out of sight. He could have offered words on the work completed but at that moment it seemed like it would have been too much. Word will be sent later of the gear's success.
It is sentimental and sweet and honestly not entirely lost on Elidibus even if what comfort may be accepted is on a subconscious level. A touch of surprise and a glance at the amaro observes the steed's responses before a soft sigh follows. Though the Ascian guides firmly Filia away from butting against his chest it is not lacking in gentle action or a discreet soothing gesture. Perhaps it is calculated to seem like he's going through the motions needed to settle a distressed animal. But there is much left to interpretation.
"I will not distress you further then." Same tone but at least Elidibus has returned to his particular brand of reserved formality with the words. He's calmed down at least- gone is the edges of anger in his words. He does not hide that he had emphasized the way Ardbert speaks intentionally, either. "But I will make no promises to not 'use his voice', as you so succinctly put it." There are reasons beyond what Elidibus admits, though Irhya need not know the Ascian doesn't have the capacity to do more than an exceedingly skilled mimicry of his real voice. Tired, stressed, or injured there will just be times he cannot help but sound like a shockingly formal Ardbert.
Elidibus frowns slightly. He'll certainly not arrest Irhya's movement to put distance between the both of them but he will remark on the assumption spoken of in the retreat.
"I ask you not presume what I will and will not know, nor what I will believe, Irhya." At least he returns to using her given name. Though she has unintentionally touched on another slightly sore spot, this time the Emissary keeps his temper in check. "I will be watching."
During this time he has finished the barding's arrangement and fitting - excellent fortunately otherwise how awkward would things have been? - and performed a hasty cleaning of tools before storing them away again. The functional saddle and tack are gathered up. Wisely the decision has been made to carry it with rather than put it back on. One might think it would be awkward to ride away from the encounter on a fantastic showpiece at this point but as Elidibus pulls himself into the saddle, there is a dignity presented that seeks to push such odd matters into the background. The spare saddle is braced before him.
Rather than further words, the Ascian favors Irhya with a short nod before nudging the amaro into a trot which will turn into a faster pace once they have reached the road. At least until they are out of sight. He could have offered words on the work completed but at that moment it seemed like it would have been too much. Word will be sent later of the gear's success.
Page 7 of 7