[Deaths] two De'Aths
Title: midnight conversations
'Verse/characters: Deaths; Eduard De'Ath, Julian De'Ath
Prompt: klgaffney: "the deaths, a carved bone box (that might not contain what's expected.)"
Word Count: 1192
Notes: After feint (only not), well before presents.
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"I am eventually going to have to go home," Julian said one night, just halfway through her fourth cup of coffee. "You can't just keep manufacturing wars to hold my attention."
Eduard nearly spat coffee all over the table. Scowling at her mostly-hidden triumphant grin, he pointed out "I am not actually manufacturing wars for your amusement."
"I didn't think you were, but you must admit the timing is suspicious," she replied, draining her mug and then rolling it around in her hands like she was considering throwing it, or trying to smack someone upside the head.
"I admit nothing," he said automatically, wondering if it was his head she was idly considering. Decided against it when she rose, going to fetch the carafe from the sideboard. When she shook it at him, he nodded, so she brought the carafe back to the table, set it down between them so he could pour his own.
"Would Kali have come in useful, this last round?" she asked as he finished topping off his coffee, and he froze. Managed to keep himself from spilling, and set the carafe down gently on the table, before he answered.
"Kali was very good at making himself too useful to bother killing, but no, he wouldn't have. He disliked war." Eduard permitted himself a slightly evil smile. "He wasn't very good at changing tacks as soon as someone died. Which was why there hadn't been a big war in generations, while the Councils were running things."
"And why you gave him a war," his niece murmured, an evil smile of her own flitting across her face. "I always was a little curious about that."
"You never asked," he said, not quite a question.
"I never needed to," she replied, refilling her own cup. The carafe clicked down on the wood of the table precisely in time with "It wasn't my game."
"That's one of the Morrigan's answers," he frowned.
"Or Azrael's," she agreed, grinning. "But still true. I would have run things differently, and maybe lost for lack of knowing my opponents and the terrain. Here is far from home, Uncle, and the fight mine for who was involved, not where."
He considered that, considered her, and the look in her eyes, the line of her shoulders. "When does your ship leave?"
Her shoulders dipped in brief surprise, then she grinned again, faint tension lifting from her spine. "Two weeks--the first of the spring sailings. The last letter was the first that asked when I was coming home, and I found myself without a reply." She shrugged, then took a long drink from her mug, setting it down and caging it with her fingers as she finished. "It's time."
"You'll be missed," he admitted, and she ducked her head, grinning down at the table.
"I was missed when I left the first time. Let the Morrigan know I've gone?"
"She'll be annoyed you didn't wait to say goodbye, you know."
"She can stand a little irritation," his niece replied, laughing. "and it's not forever. I'm sure you'll manufacture another war for me, one of these years."
He couldn't help laughing at that. "I'm still not manufacturing them."
Grinning her father's grin, "I know. But you bristle so well when I suggest it."
He shook his head as he investigated the remains of the coffee, tipped himself out a half-mug. "You'll tell your father?"
"The day before I leave," she replied, stealing the other half-mug left. "He won't have enough time to send me off with a hangover."
"Have some faith in your father," he mock-chided. "That leaves you an entire night for drinking."
"But not a week to lay in a stock to drink," she said cheerfully. "And while I have every faith in my father, that just means I know he never knows when to quit."
Which was the closest he'd ever heard her come to talking about the years her father'd spent in Kali's hands. He covered the mild surprise with coffee, then rose to go and make another pot of coffee.
The bone box was still full of coffee beans, he was pleased to see, though the tin next to it was completely empty. He wondered if they just hadn't bothered investigating, or if Julian had decided anyone who kept coffee in an imported elephant-bone box carved with demons was probably willing to protect it appropriately.
"Do you need to go over any maps, before you go?" he asked as the pot began to burble.
She grinned. "Uncle 'uard, you'll never be at war with me. No fishing."
"I cannot be faulted for curiousity," he told her, shaking a chastising finger in her direction. "Navigation charts are hardly a full map."
"Mm, yes," she agreed, playing with her mug again, still grinning. "The Councils always were content to leave me to my sandcastles, weren't they."
"I'd like to think I'm not so foolish."
She glanced up, then laughed a little. "Not with me, you won't be, no. Maybe with my father, if you're not careful. Trusted him with a line, yet?"
"Do I look like an idiot?" he growled, and didn't back off when she rose, came over to stand punching-close.
"No," she said softly, "Not an idiot. But terrified of losing him again?" Her mouth quirked when he forced himself not to flinch. "Ever not know exactly where he is on a line, and how it's doing? Because you don't with me--and he hasn't lost the sharp. He knows, whether or not you've ever admitted it, and uncle?"
She waited until he raised his eyebrows in impatient question. "Remember he's your brother, and how he'd react to anyone else doing that."
"... That's one of the best ways to deflect annoying questions about your territory I've ever seen," he realised suddenly, and watched her face go blank in shock for a second before the laughter bubbled out, grew to half-gasping shouts of mirth that echoed in the confines of the room.
"Point to you," she said when she could breathe again.
"You're ahead," he replied, and offered the coffee. "I hadn't thought that one through yet. He's either going to break my nose or disappear inside a year. Maybe both."
"Probably both," she corrected, accepting more coffee, "with an argument in the middle. I thought about offering tickets but decided that would just make me a target and the Morrigan might consider stabbing me for airing that sort of fight publicly. You'd think about it--" she grinned as he closed his mouth again, "--but she'd stab me. She's known you two longer than I have."
"I note how your father doesn't even come up," he didn't complain.
"He wouldn't stab me," she said, confidant and annoyingly cheerful. "He'd come up with something much worse. And no, no fishing still."
"I do believe you're the most successful of us," he told her, and watched her blink. Then grin.
"Well, no-one else claimed a territory none of the rest of the family's seen. I have a lot better chance of pulling it off."
He toasted her with his coffee. "Well played."
She replied in kind. "Thank you."
'Verse/characters: Deaths; Eduard De'Ath, Julian De'Ath
Prompt: klgaffney: "the deaths, a carved bone box (that might not contain what's expected.)"
Word Count: 1192
Notes: After feint (only not), well before presents.
---------
"I am eventually going to have to go home," Julian said one night, just halfway through her fourth cup of coffee. "You can't just keep manufacturing wars to hold my attention."
Eduard nearly spat coffee all over the table. Scowling at her mostly-hidden triumphant grin, he pointed out "I am not actually manufacturing wars for your amusement."
"I didn't think you were, but you must admit the timing is suspicious," she replied, draining her mug and then rolling it around in her hands like she was considering throwing it, or trying to smack someone upside the head.
"I admit nothing," he said automatically, wondering if it was his head she was idly considering. Decided against it when she rose, going to fetch the carafe from the sideboard. When she shook it at him, he nodded, so she brought the carafe back to the table, set it down between them so he could pour his own.
"Would Kali have come in useful, this last round?" she asked as he finished topping off his coffee, and he froze. Managed to keep himself from spilling, and set the carafe down gently on the table, before he answered.
"Kali was very good at making himself too useful to bother killing, but no, he wouldn't have. He disliked war." Eduard permitted himself a slightly evil smile. "He wasn't very good at changing tacks as soon as someone died. Which was why there hadn't been a big war in generations, while the Councils were running things."
"And why you gave him a war," his niece murmured, an evil smile of her own flitting across her face. "I always was a little curious about that."
"You never asked," he said, not quite a question.
"I never needed to," she replied, refilling her own cup. The carafe clicked down on the wood of the table precisely in time with "It wasn't my game."
"That's one of the Morrigan's answers," he frowned.
"Or Azrael's," she agreed, grinning. "But still true. I would have run things differently, and maybe lost for lack of knowing my opponents and the terrain. Here is far from home, Uncle, and the fight mine for who was involved, not where."
He considered that, considered her, and the look in her eyes, the line of her shoulders. "When does your ship leave?"
Her shoulders dipped in brief surprise, then she grinned again, faint tension lifting from her spine. "Two weeks--the first of the spring sailings. The last letter was the first that asked when I was coming home, and I found myself without a reply." She shrugged, then took a long drink from her mug, setting it down and caging it with her fingers as she finished. "It's time."
"You'll be missed," he admitted, and she ducked her head, grinning down at the table.
"I was missed when I left the first time. Let the Morrigan know I've gone?"
"She'll be annoyed you didn't wait to say goodbye, you know."
"She can stand a little irritation," his niece replied, laughing. "and it's not forever. I'm sure you'll manufacture another war for me, one of these years."
He couldn't help laughing at that. "I'm still not manufacturing them."
Grinning her father's grin, "I know. But you bristle so well when I suggest it."
He shook his head as he investigated the remains of the coffee, tipped himself out a half-mug. "You'll tell your father?"
"The day before I leave," she replied, stealing the other half-mug left. "He won't have enough time to send me off with a hangover."
"Have some faith in your father," he mock-chided. "That leaves you an entire night for drinking."
"But not a week to lay in a stock to drink," she said cheerfully. "And while I have every faith in my father, that just means I know he never knows when to quit."
Which was the closest he'd ever heard her come to talking about the years her father'd spent in Kali's hands. He covered the mild surprise with coffee, then rose to go and make another pot of coffee.
The bone box was still full of coffee beans, he was pleased to see, though the tin next to it was completely empty. He wondered if they just hadn't bothered investigating, or if Julian had decided anyone who kept coffee in an imported elephant-bone box carved with demons was probably willing to protect it appropriately.
"Do you need to go over any maps, before you go?" he asked as the pot began to burble.
She grinned. "Uncle 'uard, you'll never be at war with me. No fishing."
"I cannot be faulted for curiousity," he told her, shaking a chastising finger in her direction. "Navigation charts are hardly a full map."
"Mm, yes," she agreed, playing with her mug again, still grinning. "The Councils always were content to leave me to my sandcastles, weren't they."
"I'd like to think I'm not so foolish."
She glanced up, then laughed a little. "Not with me, you won't be, no. Maybe with my father, if you're not careful. Trusted him with a line, yet?"
"Do I look like an idiot?" he growled, and didn't back off when she rose, came over to stand punching-close.
"No," she said softly, "Not an idiot. But terrified of losing him again?" Her mouth quirked when he forced himself not to flinch. "Ever not know exactly where he is on a line, and how it's doing? Because you don't with me--and he hasn't lost the sharp. He knows, whether or not you've ever admitted it, and uncle?"
She waited until he raised his eyebrows in impatient question. "Remember he's your brother, and how he'd react to anyone else doing that."
"... That's one of the best ways to deflect annoying questions about your territory I've ever seen," he realised suddenly, and watched her face go blank in shock for a second before the laughter bubbled out, grew to half-gasping shouts of mirth that echoed in the confines of the room.
"Point to you," she said when she could breathe again.
"You're ahead," he replied, and offered the coffee. "I hadn't thought that one through yet. He's either going to break my nose or disappear inside a year. Maybe both."
"Probably both," she corrected, accepting more coffee, "with an argument in the middle. I thought about offering tickets but decided that would just make me a target and the Morrigan might consider stabbing me for airing that sort of fight publicly. You'd think about it--" she grinned as he closed his mouth again, "--but she'd stab me. She's known you two longer than I have."
"I note how your father doesn't even come up," he didn't complain.
"He wouldn't stab me," she said, confidant and annoyingly cheerful. "He'd come up with something much worse. And no, no fishing still."
"I do believe you're the most successful of us," he told her, and watched her blink. Then grin.
"Well, no-one else claimed a territory none of the rest of the family's seen. I have a lot better chance of pulling it off."
He toasted her with his coffee. "Well played."
She replied in kind. "Thank you."