(no subject)
Characters: Vincent and Rishfee.
Progress: Ongoing
Summary: A little on the spot maintenence, a lovely chat, and coffee. Of course, coffee.
Location: what passes for an inn in Figaro.
Date: Shortly after the Gaheel Ja fight a long, long time ago.
Warnings: angst.
Even after leading the elder man away from the aftermath that had resulted from Gaheel Ja's rather... harsh death, the silent hours spent traipsing back to the desert capital from the oasis they'd encountered the Mamool Ja Hussar Overlord at (which now was more a smoking crater...) Rishfee was still half shaking from the sight of the Galian Beast. Even more so from the revelation that came from the man he'd taken as a friend and a mentor shortly afterward.
First things first. He'd been paid for the execution of Gaheel Ja, and then he'd paid for privacy, a two-bedded room at a local inn within the castle's walls. And silently, he'd left Vincent to do whatever he wanted while he'd made himself scarce to find a water supply- in the aims of reattaching his eye. And by Ayedeewa's tentacles the task hurt. It really, really hurt. If Vincent was to listen attentively, he would have heard a lot of hissing. And a lot of aradjian cursing.
...However. Rishfee highly doubted that the older man would find time to eavesdrop. He had far too many other matters on his mind. So instead, he bandaged his reaffixed eye with what had been used to keep it upon the Mamool Ja, namely the crap of Ovjang's turban, and removed his keffiyah, top layer of his jubbah, and dastanas - leaving him in mere shalwar and the white, flowing undershirt which the other parts of his uniform held so tightly about him.
One might think it odd, but even Rishfee's uniform had purpose. Not for decoration, it contained magical properties which repressed the beast within and helped the facade of a human stay outside. Viewable. He didn't want any sort of repression. In fact, he needed every aspect of what he really was unreigned; to enable his eye to heal properly.
And he returned to their room, carefully -- silently opening the door, closing it behind him, locking it upon seeing the other was inside; and immediately folding the uniform he wasn't wearing neatly upon the foot of the bed he'd taken as his own. Then he made his way to Vincent.
"...You do not deserve to be punished..."
He just wished, more than anything at the moment, he could make the other see that.
Progress: Ongoing
Summary: A little on the spot maintenence, a lovely chat, and coffee. Of course, coffee.
Location: what passes for an inn in Figaro.
Date: Shortly after the Gaheel Ja fight a long, long time ago.
Warnings: angst.
Even after leading the elder man away from the aftermath that had resulted from Gaheel Ja's rather... harsh death, the silent hours spent traipsing back to the desert capital from the oasis they'd encountered the Mamool Ja Hussar Overlord at (which now was more a smoking crater...) Rishfee was still half shaking from the sight of the Galian Beast. Even more so from the revelation that came from the man he'd taken as a friend and a mentor shortly afterward.
First things first. He'd been paid for the execution of Gaheel Ja, and then he'd paid for privacy, a two-bedded room at a local inn within the castle's walls. And silently, he'd left Vincent to do whatever he wanted while he'd made himself scarce to find a water supply- in the aims of reattaching his eye. And by Ayedeewa's tentacles the task hurt. It really, really hurt. If Vincent was to listen attentively, he would have heard a lot of hissing. And a lot of aradjian cursing.
...However. Rishfee highly doubted that the older man would find time to eavesdrop. He had far too many other matters on his mind. So instead, he bandaged his reaffixed eye with what had been used to keep it upon the Mamool Ja, namely the crap of Ovjang's turban, and removed his keffiyah, top layer of his jubbah, and dastanas - leaving him in mere shalwar and the white, flowing undershirt which the other parts of his uniform held so tightly about him.
One might think it odd, but even Rishfee's uniform had purpose. Not for decoration, it contained magical properties which repressed the beast within and helped the facade of a human stay outside. Viewable. He didn't want any sort of repression. In fact, he needed every aspect of what he really was unreigned; to enable his eye to heal properly.
And he returned to their room, carefully -- silently opening the door, closing it behind him, locking it upon seeing the other was inside; and immediately folding the uniform he wasn't wearing neatly upon the foot of the bed he'd taken as his own. Then he made his way to Vincent.
"...You do not deserve to be punished..."
He just wished, more than anything at the moment, he could make the other see that.