[open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

[priorly]

Who: Prior Walter (priorly) & you??
What: Catch all logs for October!
When: October!
Where: various
Warning(s): language, likely mention of terminal illness (AIDS). Adult themes?
Notes: Please PM me if you'd like a starter, or feel free to wildcard me anytime.

Comments

[priorly]

[Oh. That doesn't make any sense.]

But I like my own things.

[vorrutyer]

[ Dryly: ]

It'd be a piss-poor sacrifice if you didn't.

[priorly]

I gave him the better part of my glorious youth. You'd think it would be enough. [Yes, haughty, yes an act. Yes, he's watching Byerly with a little more intent now.] Then what should it be?

[vorrutyer]

[ With a frown and a shrug - ]

Well, that answer is one that must come from your own heart. Hair is traditionally part of it. And with that - oh - widows often burn a little corner of a particularly fine piece of embroidery, or soldiers will burn their letters of commendation in tribute to their comrades. A spray of flowers that reminds you of them. Their favorite food. A splash of brandy - though be careful with that one, of course - I saw a fellow light himself on fire by accident, once, trying to pour out spirits for his late father.

[priorly]

And that's terrible. [Certainly nothing to smile about, and Prior's trying.] Something similar happened at a party I arranged catering for. The chef was attempting crepes suzette en mass, when in one second his whites had charred to blacks. He wasn't hurt, thankfully. We even served the dish as the crepes of wrath.

[All of which is a distraction, of course, from the point. He pushes a hand back through his hair - certainly thick enough to be spared, though it would seem disingenuous.]

I'm not sure. The relationship may be dead, but - most of the time - I don't wish the same on him. I think it might make for a bad omen?

[vorrutyer]

[ With a lift of his eyebrows - ]

If you're looking for me to try to push you into it, you'll be sorely disappointed. I think death-offerings are horseshit. One of the stupider aspects of Barrayaran culture. But if you talk yourself into it, I can give you instructions on how to go about it.

[priorly]

[No, no he really isn't, quite the reverse, and there's a thin seam of tension that breaks with that.]

Death does have a way of making one... stupid and desperate. But then, no. Louis is alive, the relationship, elle est mort. Neither one deserve gifts for the fact.

[vorrutyer]

[ With a wave of his hand - ]

Well, that and death is a convenient little lever on the people around you. It's all about social control, you see. Forcing all those poor trapped land-bound barbarians to go forth and fuck and breed so that you'll leave behind someone to do you a death-offering. Like all religions - all about control. But very well, dear fellow; keep your lovely hair.

[priorly]

That's a very bleak take. Not necessarily inaccurate. Bleak. [His eyebrows raise at the vehemence of it.] I'd certainly prefer presents while I'm living. Still. Should you try dying on me, I'll now know-

[Which is the strand Byerly keeps toying with? Ah.]

exactly what to burn to spite you for it.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, don't do that.

[ He sighs, shaking his head, tugging that strand away from Prior to play with it. ]

Stay beautiful. As beautiful as you possibly can.

[priorly]

[There's only the slightest wince to show for the impossibility of that. Too late, alas, too late.]

And if I can't? [If fading is a process that doesn't reverse and he's already lost more than can be imagined? Too big a question to ask someone's who's been sweet to him beyond all reason. So: an out. A touch leant into more than he should.] I do like that. Maybe I won't cut it for the fire just yet.

[vorrutyer]

Hm.

[ By, with exaggerated solicitousness, brushes the strand of hair aside. He makes a show of studying Prior, then pronounces - ]

Ah. How wretched. You're just as beautiful without it. It's unfair, you know.

[priorly]

[What's unfair is how much he wants to pretend it's true. Oh - for five minutes, why not. As he's studied, he's studying back: a careful process, his hand resting against Byerly's cheek.] And you're quite hideously flattering. If you weren't also so gorgeous you'd be entirely impossible to be around.

[vorrutyer]

You would suspect my motives?

[priorly]

I asked you to bed with me.

[But, yes. Byerly stands accused of an excess of kindness, or pity, two well-meaning crimes that can only be tolerated so far.]

[vorrutyer]

But you wouldn't have if I were an ugly man?

[priorly]

Without the use of time travel and some extensive prosthetics, we may never be sure. [Lightly, he continues.] I can't think I'd like you less, bald and warty. But if I hadn't sat down for that drink, how would I know.

[vorrutyer]

[ Lightly: ] Well, I'd detest you if you weren't beautiful. I surround myself only with the best, you know.

[priorly]

[Oh, for fuck's sake, he knows it's all facetious and still can't let it pass. There is, after all, precedent for not coping with this. He bites his lip and makes it quick.]

Then I'd better warn you living with me is not always pretty. [This close, it's possible to feel him tense.]

[vorrutyer]

Mm.

[ By doesn't tense. But his hand turns just a little gentler - tracing Prior's cheek. ]

And what should I expect?

[priorly]

I'll spare you everything I can. [A hundred small daily humiliations.] There are days where staying upright's a challenge, you've seen that. The pills keep the rest under control, mostly, until they don't. If something happens - anything bad - call a doctor. There's one who knows me. You don't have to... touch me.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly is quiet just a slight moment. Then he smooths Prior's hair, and he murmurs: ]

Will you prefer that I not touch you?

[priorly]

There are people who wouldn't wipe the tears of men like me. Even nurses. [a small shiver ruffles him - he's used to it, used to this. It doesn't matter what he prefers.] If I'm bleeding, best not.

[vorrutyer]

Then I won't if there's blood.

[ By doesn't look at him, but says softly: ]

But if you're in pain, it seems like dishonor of the highest order to withhold that.

[priorly]

[Something remarkably painful crosses Prior's face right then. He's caught it almost before it's visible, teeth pressed tight until it's safer to speak.]

You might just be the most honorable man I've ever met. You don't owe any oaths to me.