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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years

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Reunion

After avoiding the hell out of each other for a week, Alastor and Sir Pentious finally meet to discuss the whole “I found out you like me and yelled at you until you cried” thing.

It’s very emotional.

To all of you that read the chat log last week and screamed: read this one and scream some more.

Alastor

Inside Rosie's Emporium, Alastor is frantically preparing for Sir Pentious's arrival, as he has been for the last few hours—he's showered *twice*—all while singing the most obnoxiously perky show tunes he can think of. He is NOT going to be a simpering emotional wreck this time. He intends to get through this meeting without breaking character; or if he fails, he's at least going to put it off as long as possible.

Outside the emporium, meanwhile, the door's locked and a sign in the window says "*CLOSED*" with a second, handwritten sign underneath reading "*Except for appointments. - R.D.*"

Sir Pentious

The appointed time had arrived. Sir Pentious slipped out of a portal created by his beloved, though she did not follow. This was something he'd be doing on his own, as it was between him and Al. It was funny to think about, wasn't it? That months ago, Sir Pentious would have loved to meet the other over *bitter* circumstances, to feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through him at the chance to confront his enemy.

But this was unlike anything he'd ever faced before. So used to breaking down everything he could get his hands on, the serpent wasn't prepared for how emotionally exhausting it was to... try to put the pieces back together, good as new. He could fix most *any* machine, but this? This was *harrowing.*

While Alastor was adamant about not losing character, Penley found it nigh impossible to stop his hands from *shaking.* He slithered up to the door, took hold of the knocker, and made his presence known. Tok. Tok. Tok. His body shook like an earthquake, and he quickly used his right hand to still his left, both of his hands now behind his back. He attempted to look *dignified*, but the look of anxious *dread* on his and Hatty's faces was unmistakably present.

Valera's words repeat in his head. *You could fumble and fail a thousand times, but you're still trying and I still love you with all my hearts.* Yes... he was trying. All he could do was try.

Alastor

Right! There was the knock. Show time. Alastor had barely had enough time to find a seat to perch on near the front of the empty store before he was leaping back to his feet and swinging the door open. "*Hel—!"

He wasn't ready for the gut punch of seeing Sir Pentious's face again—especially seeing him looking so downright miserable. "...-lo."

*AHEM.* Switch stations. "Right on time, do come in!" He stepped aside, ushering Sir Pentious inside. "We have the place to ourselves, Rosie was kind enough to agree to take care of some business out on the town. Door in the back left, the one that says 'staff only'—I know I said not to expect food, but Rosie, it turns out, actually *does* know how to prepare tea, so I've got a table set in her parlor with a pot and a few little snacks—you know, in case we need to cover any awkward silences, haha!"

He sounded like himself. But he hadn't looked at Sir Pentious since that first moment, his gaze instead across the store at the door in the back he'd indicated.

Sir Pentious

.... Oh... *Oh.* Oh this felt,.. wrong. Sir Pentious kept his hands behind his back, the hand holding the other by the wrist squeezing it tight enough to cut off blood flow. Alastor talking in that usual way of his, but it just twisted and turned his stomach. "R--RIGHT. OF-- OF COURSE." he replied, slithering into the store, toward where the deerman had gestured.

His brain was already screaming for him to get out of there, this was awful! This was AWFUL. Get out get out get out GET OUT--No no, no. Don't do that. Don't make it worse than you already have. Stay here, you can do *at least that much.* His throat felt *itchy* and he wanted to *scratch* at it, but no! No he must try to look dignified! His face just barely manages to look only mildly concerned, but Hatty, Oh Hatty... Never before had there been a chapeau *so* stressed out--expression looking borderline *sick* and instead of sitting tall, it was crinkled and somewhat mangled in appearance. Sir Pentious hadn't done that, at least not *intentionally.*

Alastor

Alastor inwardly cringed at the way Sir Pentious stuttered. It wasn't like him. Alastor was still firmly avoiding eye contact, and that meant *all* eyes—but it was safe to say that on the inside he was making about the same face the hat was.

There, a modest little table in a charming little Edwardian parlor, set for tea as promised with a few pastries Alastor had managed to scare up that he thought were soft enough for Sir Pentious's tastes. "Sit where you'd like," Alastor said. "I mean—I know there's only two seats, hah—unless you want to sit on the divan over there or something—hard to reach the tea, though—well, you know what I mean!" A gesture at the table.

Sir Pentious

"... ACTUALLY, I DON'T. THINK I COULD SSSIT. RIGHT NOW..." If he sat down, then, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands behind his back, without looking like he was tied up or something. He *winces* at the sound of his own voice, and tilts his head, craning his neck uncomfortably...

"ALASSTOR." Oh, he felt sick. That letter from Alastor had been so *short*, and, now he wasn't really even looking at him at all. Just hearing the demon's voice after an entire week of *not...!* He took in a sharp, shaky breath.

Alastor

Alastor hesitated, then nodded sharply. "You're going to make me look like a bad host." He laughed nervously. "Not—well—not that anyone else is going to see, but..."

He flinched at the sound of his name. "Sir Pentious." He clasped his own shaking hands behind his back and straightened his posture.

Sir Pentious

Look at them--both standing in just the same way. Hands tightly clasped behind their backs, their postures straight, foolish old men attempting to appear dignified as their hearts sank and drowned. Sir Pentious had to say something, *had* to... do something... but his mind was running blank. He... looked, glanced-- toward Alastor, and his eyes settled on where he'd bitten before, wincing.

"... ..does it hurt?" Oh, that's a pathetically quiet sound for a gentleman to make, shame on you, Sir.

Alastor

Stubbornly avoiding eye contact like he was, it did not occur to Alastor that Sir Pentious was talking about the bite. He made a garbled noise of surprise. "Uh, *well*—I mean—jumping right into it, aren't we?—it hurts about as much as you'd expect it to hurt a week after your best friend said he'll hate you if he sees your face again!" A strained laugh. "But enough about me! Here I am playing host and I'm letting my guest ask all the questions. On a scale from 1 to 10, how much pain are *you* in?"

Sir Pentious

He *flinches*, badly. His teeth *grit* as he grimaces from the strain of having to *restrain* himself, keep himself from having immediate reactions--bad ones. Don't make any stressed snake sounds, don't do anything WEIRD, don't DON'T *DON'T* make him hate you more. He's digging his talons into his hand so tight now that he can feel warmth run down his palm.

"W-... I--..!" He can't get anything out, again. Showing this side of him, he feels *shame* course through him once more. No, don't rely on the man you *bit to shreds* just for trying to help you. Just for loving you. What a **piece of** ***shit you are, Pentious.*** Deep, deep breath. Slow inhale, fill those powerful lungs of yours... and exhale. You're alright. You're alright.

"... AN ELEVEN, OR A TWELVE. I AM SSSSORRY.... YOU *DID* READ MY LETTER, CORRECT...?"

Alastor

He hates hearing Sir Pentious's stop and start, hates hearing his voice drop so soft. Hates that *eleven or twelve.*

"I—yes. Of course. The moment I got it. Several times." Alastor swallows hard. "There's really no call for a... Eleven's a bit... You really shouldn't have to go past a five. Six tops."

Sir Pentious

"I SHOULDN'T HAVE *HURT YOU,* IS WHAT I *SHOULDN'T* HAVE DONE. NEVER MIND THE IRRELEVANCIESSS OF *NUMBERSSSS.*" He turned his head to and fro, more exaggerated than necessary with that long neck of his--he refused to bring his hands out, even if it looked RIDICULOUS at this point to maintain such a stance.

Alastor

His immediate instinct was to try to excuse it, to say that maybe Sir Pentious shouldn't have, but on the other hand Alastor shouldn't have— But Alastor wasn't in the wrong, he reminded himself. He wasn't in the wrong to feel something he couldn't control, and he wasn't wrong to try to keep that to himself.

He was, perhaps, wrong to make friends in spite of all that—but he'd been invited to, hadn't he?

"No," he conceded, looking at his shoes. "You shouldn't have."

Sir Pentious

He wasn't sure if it was relief slipped down his throat, dragging a knife the entire way down. That's.... not what relief is supposed to feel like, right? It was probably guilt. Intense guilt--he was glad that Alastor wasn't making excuses for him or blaming himself, but oh, did he continue to feel shame. It wasn't going to go away. It wouldn't ever go away.

It was getting hard to keep his hands behind his back, and he smeared the blood between his palms. "... A-AGREED... INDEED..." Usually so wordy, he was... failing. Failing to speak.... Say something *else*, you GODDAMN FOOL. "... I... LETTERSS CAN BE... SS-SO IM*PERSSSONAL*, YOU KNOW, BUT, I DID NOT WANT TO... *IMPOSE* AFTER THE MESSS I MADE OF THINGSSS...." He gestures to his head, then a few vague gesturing at... between them... and then immediately remembers his hands should be behind him, so back they go, flicking a bit of blood and immediately COVERING it with his tail. Nope.

"SS...SSSO I SSSENT THE LETTER, FIRSSSST. I WANTED YOU TO KNOW, ALASSSTOR, THAT I'M SSSO DEEPLY SSSORRY FOR THE WAY I ACTED, HOW I... *RE*ACTED TO YOUR WORDSSS. IT WAS OUTRIGHT FOOLISH AND NONSSSSENSSSICAL..."

Alastor

Alastor was sure he saw *something* drop down, but when he glanced over Sir Pentious had shifted his tail. Alastor glanced up at Sir Pentious—for the first time since opening the door—faintly worried, but he wasn't sure of what.

"They can be," he agreed, looking away again. "Very, *very* impersonal. Even if the words are all there, you can never quite tell if it was... crafted to be that way." He took a deep breath. "For what it's worth, I've been here *waiting* for you to impose—as soon as you could stand the sight of my face again." He huffed. "Bad joke. Sorry. Shouldn't have, not the time. Couldn't resist."

He wasn't ready to touch that apology quite yet. It felt like claws on his skin, although he wasn't sure why. Not clawing like some wild beast was cutting him up. More like some drowning creature was trying to scrabble up to safety.

Sir Pentious

The implication that he was just crafting them--just so, as if he was making it up! He... turned his face away, tongue hanging as he felt the stress wringing his chest. The length of time his tongue spends in his mouth is now shorter than the amount it's out! Another bout of harsh words-- he deserves much worse.

Maybe if Alastor could just. Cut him apart, it would feel better. He deserved that much, right? If someone had done what he did to Alastor.... to him? Why, they wouldn't be allowed to leave! He'd rip them apart!!!

... Tear them with his teeth. He makes a *sound*, a choked little whine, that he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth for. Shut *UP!* This isn't ABOUT YOU. You have to WORK HARDER, Pentious. You're NOT doing a good job, you're not even doing a SATISFACTORY job. He straightens himself up, more, but doesn't move his hand--his palm was warm, and he realizes what he just did. Ugh. Time to talk through the hand on his mouth.

"I DON'T HATE YOU-- I DON'T. I'M... SSSORRY." Sorry tasted disgusting in his mouth, like excuses. *Excuses.* "IT WAS... CRUEL. UNNECESSsssssARILY. EVERYTHING I SSSAID WAS.SS... I JUSSST... I NEEDED SSSSPACE TO THINK AND...." I'm too fucking honest for my own fucking good.

Alastor

Alastor immediately looked up when Sir Pentious covered his mouth. It took longer this time for him to drag his eyes away. God, that look on Sir Pentious's face.

And it was there because of Alastor. It made him feel sick.

"I know you're sorry," he said. "I'd... say I forgive you, but—hah—I *tried* to resent you and couldn't quite manage it, so I guess I don't need to forgive you. So instead I'll say I..."

*I accept your apology.* But he couldn't quite get the words out. Sir Pentious had insisted so often that he always wanted Alastor to give it to him straight, that now Alastor couldn't quite bring himself to do otherwise.

So instead he said, softer than he meant, "I *want* to accept." He cast a forlorn look at the table he'd set out. "Could we *please* sit? I feel ridiculous, standing next to a bunch of perfectly good chairs."

Sir Pentious

They both felt mutually sick, and Penny regarded the chairs like they were death traps. When he felt this stressed out, *sitting* was the last thing he wanted to do... But who cares about what he wants? Didn't he do enough selfish things?

Pentious swallows down the sick tasting lump in his throat as he moves to, well, attempt to sit. Slip in, bend tail like *so*.... There. Sitting, like a real person!

And keeping his hand to his mouth because he knows if he pulls it away, he'll have blood on his face. Stupid.

"YOU... *WANT* TO, BUT, YOU CANNOT, I PRESUME?" Ahh. Acid.

Alastor

He sat, dropped his elbows on the table, laced his hands, and hunched his shoulders. "I don't *know* if I can," he said. "The thing is—Here's the thing—How do I know it's over? If my... If all this is so upsetting to you, then—well, you're acting quite the gentleman *now,* which I do appreciate, but how do I know..."

He couldn't quite get it out. He wasn't playing the right character to say these kinds of things. He swallowed hard and fiddled with his monocle. "How long until there's a repeat performance?"

Sir Pentious

... Oh no. Oh, God. This was the exact thing he was petrified of, he'd confessed to Valera countless times about how he's unable to predict his psychosis, how he's unable to stop when it starts, and how he can't promise they'll never happen again..

Valera always reassured him, but here he was being asked the very question that shook him so badly. He makes a pitiful stuttering sound, like a laugh meeting a sob, and he turns his head away, reaching for a tissue or something to wipe up the drying blood on his face.

"I-- I.. I can't. I can't prOMISSSE ANYTHING B, BECAUSE I DON'T. I DON'T *KNOW.* I... I. THESE... THESE MOMENTSSSS JUSSST HIT AND, and. AND IT'SSSS LIKE I'M DOING ANYTHING I CAN JUSSST TO *HOLD ON.*" How could they stay with this neurotic fool indeed? Look at how *unpredictable* he is. Not an ounce of reliability.

Alastor

His heart plummeted at the sound of the sob/laugh. Sir Pentious's answer didn't do anything to lift it back up—but the answer didn't push it any deeper, either.

Alastor leaned more heavily on the table, staring down at an empty teacup as he turned that over in his mind. "And I appreciate knowing that," he said. "But, I meant... If you explode at me over something different, okay, we'll deal with that then, but..."

He fell silent again. Dead air hummed loudly for a moment. "How much do you hate... *this?* Specifically? Are you going to be... courteously swallowing your distaste every time we interact, until it builds up and bursts out again? Is this going to irritate your mind every time you look at me?"

Sir Pentious

His eyes widen, and he *slammed* his hands down on the table, quite suddenly--harder than he'd intended, but too late.

"NO! NO, I-- IT *DOESN'T* IRRITATE ME, IT. I DON'T. I REALLY *DON'T CARE* ABOUT IT!! I HAVE *QUESTIONSSSSS*, CERTAINLY, BUT I'M NOT IRRITATED, AND, AND I DON'T HATE THE SSSSIGHT OF YOU."

Alastor

He sat bolt upright when Sir Pentious slammed his hands down—and then froze there, back rigid, staring at him. “Really?” he asked, quietly.

*I don’t care* was the best option he could have hoped for. (Second best option. *Best* option was “I thought it over and realized I feel the same—“ But second best was pretty good and much more realistic.) Apathy was far better than mere tolerance—tolerance would mean it was still a negative, but one Sir Pentious could put up with, as long as it didn’t become too much. Apathy meant it wasn’t even a negative—it was a neutral. It should have been a huge weight off Alastor’s shoulders.

But it wasn’t. The weight on his shoulders had claws and was digging in hard. “You’re *sure?* Because, you... certainly seemed irritated at the time.”

Sir Pentious

He winces when he startles the other, and his tongue flicks--more like hangs out--for longer. Stressed.

Sir Pentious slides his hand over his hood, looking away as his other hand drums against the table.

"THAT WASS. I. I DON'T. *KNOW* WHY I GOT SSSO UPSSSSET. I... *TRIED* TO SSSSTOP MYSSSSELF, BUT I COULDN'T WIN AGAINSSSST THE ACID MELTING MY MIND. IT, IT WAS UNCERTAINTY, PERHAPSSSS? FEAR... FEAR OF..." Losing this. "CHANGE! AND... I DIDN'T WANT THINGSSSSS TO CHANGE, AND, I, DON'T LIKE IT WHEN THINGSSSS ARE HIDDEN FROM ME, SSSSO I... I PANICKED AND LASHED OUT, AS I AM WONT TO *DO*..."

He wants to take Alastor's hands, hold them in his and *ask* him to believe him. It sounded like a TERRIBLE answer, all things considered. What kind of answer was 'I don't know why I did that?' But it was the only one he could muster. Speculation about why he felt that way was the best he could do.

Alastor

It *was* a terrible answer. It was about as godawful an answer as Alastor could think of. But Sir Pentious was also a pretty terrible liar. If he said he didn’t know why he was upset—then he probably really, truly didn’t.

Which wasn’t much comfort. It meant they didn’t know for sure what set it off. But there were much worse answers he could have given.

“Well,” he sighed deeply, “I didn’t want things to change, either. Just one of many reasons why I didn’t say anything. At least we’re on the same page.” He paused a moment, then asked, “So, that’s... what a full-blown ‘acid blood’ incident is like, is it?”

Sir Pentious

He sighed as well, perhaps just as deeply, and began to play with a tea cup.

"YESSS. VALERA HASS EXPERIENCE WITH THEM, BUT I AM ASHAMED YOU HAD TO BE AS WELL. I CANNOT CONTROL THEM, A GREAT SHAME OF MINE. I FEEL LIKE RIPPING AND TEARING THROUGH MYSSSSELF IS THE ONLY WAY TO COOL THE BURNING, AND I EVEN LOSE THE ABILITY TO SSSPEAK, BUT THE *MADNESS* IS SSSTILL THERE..."

Alastor

He noted Sir Pentious playing with the cup, and lifted the tea pot an inch or so. Want some?

“You know, you mentioned the acid in your veins, the clawing at yourself, and the disconnected feeling—but I think you forgot to mention the part where you verbally assault whoever’s talking to you.” A rueful laugh. “See, that—that would have been a good one to know. Otherwise, it sounds an awful lot like you mean it.”

His stomach twisted. He was dancing on the edge of a question that had been plaguing him since he received Sir Pentious’s letter, so... “How much of it *did* you mean?” It would be all too easy if every word out of Sir Pentious’s mouth had simply been whatever, in that moment, he thought would hurt the most. He couldn’t shake the fear that *some* of it was sincere, just typically buried too deep for Sir Pentious to share.

Sir Pentious

He deserved that laugh. He deserved far worse than that, but it still made him *flinch* again. Had he neglected that part? Sir Pentious made a face, extremely uncomfortable, and his shoulders hunched as he dropped the tea cup back onto its saucer. No, no tea right now.

"I... I *didn't mean it.* I didn't mean any of it." What an easy answer, Penny! You *disease.* He rakes his claws over his hood, taking in another breath.

"I just. I grab anything I can to make it hurt. It'sssss shameful. I know, I know. I'm *ssssorry*. I wish I hadn't sssaid a thing."

Alastor

All right, no tea. Alastor poured himself a cup instead.

Then stared at it. Why did he do that, he doesn’t like tea.

So. Sir Pentious meant none of it. Not a word. Alastor nodded, finally feeling that heavy weight on his shoulders start to tug its claws out of his tense muscles.

It was difficult to believe—he wasn’t quite sure it wasn’t just what Sir Pentious himself wanted to believe. Some of the words—“*I let you* touch *me!” “How could I set limits?” “If you hadn’t* fucked things up *back then*”—it was hard to imagine they weren’t sincere when the accusations were true. But if Sir Pentious himself didn’t think they were...

“Okay.” He nodded. “That’s good. All good news, right? No big rifts here.” He offered an encouraging smile.

Sir Pentious

Questions muddled into lashing out... He shouldn't have screamed at him, he shouldn't have. He would much rather have asked questions, calmly! Like a proper gentleman. Like a *good friend.* But he wasn't a good friend.

And seeing that encouraging smile finally snapped the string trying to hold everything together. Sir Pentious put his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook, trying to keep himself *silent* as tears slipped down his wrists, some going into his sleeves, others dripping onto the table.

"I-- I'm sss-ssorry, my friend! I'm *trying*. I am, I *am.*" A harsh whisper, as quiet as he could speak.

Alastor

“N—!” Alastor automatically reached across the table, stopped with his hand halfway to Sir Pentious, and pulled it back to set on the table on his side of the tea pot. “I—come now, you’re doing just fine.” His claws dug into the tabletop. He wanted so much to take Sir Pentious’s hands. God, he couldn’t do that now.

So instead, he pulled out Sir Pentious’s freshly washed handkerchief and offered it to him.

Sir Pentious

His fists pressed against his eyes, and he grit his teeth, trying so hard to get a hold of himself. Stop crying, haven't you cried enough? You really are wrong in the head, Sir Pentious.

His hands finally pull down, and he takes deep, deep breaths, like he hasn't breathed in a while. It's okay, you're okay, you're okay.

The handkerchief--he remembers his teeth shredding Alastor's shoulder, and all he did was give him a *handkerchief* for it, and some awfully *short* words. How his chest ached now, and he felt *sick* and *vile.* Penny moved to take the handkerchief, hovered over it, then put his hand down on *top* of Alastor's, with the cloth serving as a barrier between.

"I don't... Undersssstand why you both put up with me. If I were treated as I treated you, I would have plotted REVENGE. I would have sssssought out the perpetrator, and put a BULLET in his BRAIN. I would have FED him his own INTEssssSTINAL TRACT! And yet, you're. Not doing that to me. And. I don't know why. I've. I'm not *good* at this, I've never had *friendssss* before."

Alastor

Alastor’s hand flinched when Sir Pentious’s settles on top of it, but then he freezes, not pulling back. The cloth was only a symbolic barrier at best—with both of them wearing gloves, he couldn’t even feel the handkerchief in between. It felt like any other time they’d touched. It was too much.

He held still anyway.

“I save the intestine-feeding for people who did it on purpose. And also for people I’m not quite so—“ *fond of,* he wanted to finish, but the word “fond” also felt like *too much,* implying things far larger than he wanted to say; “—don’t get along with so well.”

Sir Pentious

Slowly.... He pulls the handkerchief back, and his hand with it.

"*Got* along with. I *fucked* that one up." He brought the cloth to his eyes, dabbing away tears. "I CANNOT IMAGINE *WANTING* TO BE IN MY PRESENCE AFTER THAT SSSHITSHOW. YOU CONFIDED IN ME, AND I RIPPED YOU APART WITH THOSE SSSSAME WORDSSSS! WHAT A *SSSSNAKE* I AM." A bitter laugh, all the while he spoke his other hand is digging into the table, splintering it somewhat. Sorry Rosie.

Alastor

He held still long enough to be polite, then snatched his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove.

“To be fair, I wouldn’t really say I *confided*,” Alastor muttered, then cleared his throat and turned his volume back up. “You say ‘got along with’ like we’re not going to get along anymore! I’d say we’re getting along right now.”

Sir Pentious

"YOU CALL THISSSS GREAT?? I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE *TENSSSSSE.*" He shudders, clasping his hand together and rubbing his face up and down his forearms.

"I DON'T... *WANT* TO BE A *FOOL* AND *MISSSSSPEAK!* BUT I CAN'T... GET MY THOUGHTSSSSS OUT. WHEN IS IT A GOOD TIME? IS IT NOW? IF I'VE LEFT ANY *MESSAGE*, IT'SSSS LIKELY 'DON'T SAY ANYTHING OR THE INSANE SNAKE DEMON IS GOING TO YELL AT YOU, BITE YOU AND TELL YOU IT'S YOUR FAULT!'"

Alastor

Wryly, Alastor said, “Actually, the message I’m picking up is ‘if the snake demon yells at you and bites you, don’t take it personally because he probably didn’t mean it.’” He leaned halfway across the table, supporting himself with his elbows. “Listen to me. I’m not grading you on your eloquence. I’m the professional public speaker here, not you. You’ve apologized about three hundred times and you’ve issued a retraction for every thing you said, that’s what matters. Take a couple of deep breaths and shake out those shoulders, alright?”

Sir Pentious

With Alastor leaning across the table like that, Sir Pentious swallowed hard.... And did as he was told, closing all of his eyes so he could breathe in deeply, exhaling through his grit teeth. Repeating this a few more times, never knowing how much was enough as thoughts pooled and splattered across the sharp shoreline of his mind.

He was still tense, but, there was a reassurance than he wasn't on trial here. Speak, Sir Pentious.

"I... SSSOME OF THE THINGSSSS I SSSAID SHOULD HAVE BEEN WORDED AS *QUESTIONSSSSS* RATHER THAN WHAT I TURNED THEM INTO.... BECAUSE TRUTH BE TOLD, MY REASONSSS FOR TOUCHING YOU, FOR HOLDING YOU, WERE SOLELY PLATONIC. IN MY DAY, THISSS WAS MORE ACCEPTABLE BETWEEN MEN.... KNOWING NOW THAT YOU FELT MUCH MORE *ROMANTICALLY* INCLINED TOWARD ME, IT DOES *SHAKE* ME. NOT OUT OF... OUT OF *DISGUST*, BUT RATHER!" He sighs, rubbing his temples. "I WASS JUSSST *HURTING* YOU DEEPER, WASN'T I? AND INVITING YOU FOR MOVIES WITH MY WIFE, IT. I. DIDN'T WANT TO *HURT* YOU LIKE THAT! I'M FRUSSSSTRATED, OF COURSE, BUT I'M NOT... *DISSSSGUSTED.*"

Alastor

Oh, here it was, the part Alastor had been dreading. His gaze dropped to his teacup. He made a very determined (and nearly successful) effort not to wince when Sir Pentious said “romantically.”

He was silent a moment after he listened to Sir Pentious speak; then clucked his tongue critically. “You must think I’m either dumb or deluded, if you think I need to be *told* that it was all platonic on your end.” He shook his head. “It was the same in my day. I didn’t start seeing it change until I’d been in Hell, oh... a couple of decades, maybe?” He’d liked the change, actually. He’d hated that people had previously thought that being pals with him a year or two gave them the right to touch him. In life he’d posed for pictures with others’ arms around his back and others’ legs crossing his legs, his shoulders and abdomen and smile held painfully stiff as he fought the urge to recoil. “What makes you think all that was hurting me?”

Touching, that that was Sir Pentious’s main concern. If it wasn’t just the one concern he thought was gentlemanly enough to share.

Sir Pentious

"I DON'T THINK *EITHER*, I AM JUST TRYING TO--" His hands close into fists and then open again, irritation on his face. Deep breath. Slow exhale. "I AM SSSIMPLY TRYING TO EXPLAIN MY THOUGHT PROCESSESSS. *PLEASE*, BE *PATIENT.*" He'd no right to ask, of course, but he was trying so hard. He didn't like being touched either--at least, from people he didn't know well. And that was most of everyone. It was fine from his ex-wife, but that was different! That was *expected*, and even then, he still found himself flinching at times with her touch. Generally speaking, when it came to being touched or grabbed, Sir Pentious wanted nothing to do with it-- but! With Valera and Alastor, he found he missed it when it wasn't happening.

"YOU DIDN'T THINK IT CAME ACROSS AS... AS RUBBING IT IN YOUR FACE??? I DON'T KNOW. I WOULD THINK SSSO, IF I WERE IN YOUR SHOESSS... I THINK!" Of course, he wouldn't willingly spend time with someone he was crushing on if they were with their partner. That would be needless heart ache.

Alastor

All right, all right, patience. He nodded.

“Of course not! You can’t rub something in someone’s face without malice, can you? Malice and intent.”

Sir Pentious

His head tilts to the side, and he's back to rubbing his face against his forearms...

"WELL, IF IT *ISSSN'T* A PROBLEM... THEN I SSSUPPOSE I WILL TRY NOT TO OVERTHINK IT. I'VE... WELL I. I WOULD LIKE... TO HOLD YOUR HANDSS AGAIN, AND. MAYBE HANG OUT AGAIN... BUT. ONLY IF YOU'LL HAVE ME."

Alastor

The way that was phrased made something inside Alastor try to expand, and made something surrounding it try to shrivel up and contract. Every word prickled him more deeply than it should, every nerve ending was raw. Secrecy had been a well-padded shield, muffling all the impacts; he missed it.

He nodded. “Of course.” The words came out slightly static-strangled. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t think of anything else to add that didn’t sound like *too much,* that wouldn’t now be laden with double meanings he didn’t want them to have.

Sir Pentious

... Was that it? Sir Pentious looked to his friend, his eyes wide, pupils expanded more than usual, his brow creased with anxiety... and Hatty looked about the same. Just words alone now felt... impersonal. He wished he could feel proud and confident that things would be okay. Wishes that he could saunter out of this store and snap his fingers for a portal, adjust his bowtie with a sm--

The bowtie. He starts patting down his jacket, before reaching inside and... taking out the yellow-middled bowtie, placing it on the table. "DO.. DO YOU SSTILL WANT IT...? I'D LIKE YOU TO HAVE IT, I... HAVEN'T TAKEN OFF YOURSSS."

Alastor

He stared dismally at the bow tie. Yes, he wanted it. God, he wanted it. But just the *thought* of reaching for it made him nauseous with anxiety—he hated this feeling, it wasn’t like him, he shouldn’t be like this. He didn’t want it. He couldn’t touch it.

But Sir Pentious wanted Alastor to have it. He snatched it off the table—like ripping off a bandaid, it hurts less if you’re fast—and stuffed it in his pocket. “Thanks.” His throat was dry. He sipped from his cup.

Ugh. Tea.

Sir Pentious

The movement caused him to wince more, and ... Sir Pentious found that he'd hit his limit on eye contact. He couldn't do it anymore, all of his eyes looking in every direction *except* for Alastor's. There, it was. Done. Right? It was done now? Things were supposed to be ... better... right? Why didn't they feel better? Why did everything feel just as bad, maybe if not worse than before?

He'd like to be with his wife right about now, curled up around her, safe and secure. Sir Pentious cleared his throat, feeling just as uncomfortable as before--maybe he should have some tea. There was food made, right? It would be ever so rude to just... leave. Right. Don't leave. Don't be *that guy.* He reached for the tea pot, to pour himself some tea.

"... I, UM. .. I MISSED YOU, ALASSSTOR."

Alastor

The words felt like a sledgehammer on his ribs. He nodded. “Yeah.” Oh, very eloquent, Mr. Professional Public Speaker, do a little better than that. “I—missed you, too.” *Every minute, every second—it’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about for a week—I’ve hardly slept in days—a couple of Rosie’s pillows are stuffed with more tears than down, I’ve probably done more crying in the last week than in the last forty years combined—* Too much, too much, too much. But he needed to say more. “A lot.” Even that was too much.

Sir Pentious

.... He... puts his hand out, resting it on the table for Alastor, talons open and doing their best to appear non-threatening. He, too, couldn't take his mind off of Alastor! He'd *tried* but the man was his best friend. Every time he saw something funny, saw something that reminded him of that grinning deerman, well, it just made his chest *ache.* Even the thought of *drinking* put Sir Pentious' mind into an uneasy state.

Alastor

His smile had remained impressively steadfast throughout the conversation, but when Sir Pentious offered his hand, it threatened to wilt, drooping at the corners. He couldn’t say no. Sir Pentious would think Alastor was rejecting *him.*

He slid one hand back to the edge of the table so that he could dig a sharp claw into his palm without Sir Pentious seeing, and with the other took Sir Pentious’s hand. His hand was trembling. There was nothing he could do about that now.

Sir Pentious

Well, you know. Alastor would be able to feel the way Penny's hand was trembling, too--he'd just about managed to get it under control, barely noticeable except in how it shook just below the surface. He couldn't disguise it anymore. He gave the other's hand a squeeze. "I'M... YOU MUSSST BE TIRED OF HEARING ME APOLOGIZE BY NOW, I MUSSST SSOUND LIKE A BROKEN RECORD. BUT I... DID YOU GET THE BITE LOOKED AT?"

Alastor

Well, great. At least they were in the same boat. Alastor’s hand was limp as Sir Pentious squeezed it.

“Yeah—yes. A couple of days after. I got one of the infernal demons to treat it. It’ll be fine.” His gaze was away from Sir Pentious, away from their hands, away from the table completely.

Sir Pentious

.... Actually. He wasn't that hungry after all. In fact, he felt sick, and it was getting worse. Probably... better to just. Leave after all. He... pulled his hand away, trying hard not to have a visceral reaction to the most awkward and ***stupid*** decision he'd made yet. Not very comforting at all are you, *snake.* Sir Pentious made to push his chair back, but... he stopped.

"... DO. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO LEAVE, ALASSSTOR? GIVE, ERM. TIME. TO PROCESS? I'D RATHER NOT OUTSSSTAY MY WELCOME."

Alastor

He jerked his hand back the second it was free.

The *last* thing he wanted was for Sir Pentious to leave, but he couldn't possibly say that.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm sure this must be agony for you, putting up with all this. I'm sorry for the stupid..." He gestured at the teapot et al, then propped his chin in his hand to gaze forlornly down at the table. "I won't make you stay."

Sir Pentious

Frustration was bubbling, *agonizingly* below the surface. He couldn't take this much more, but he didn't want to *yell* at the man. That was what got him in all this trouble in the FIRST goddamn place. He stood up, or at least, stopped sitting down awkwardly on that chair, and placed both hands firmly upon the table, hood raised only somewhat.

"ALASSSSTOR. PLEASE.... *PLEASE* TALK TO ME. IT'SSS NOT... IT'S NOT *PUTTING UP* WITH, NOT IF IT'SSS YOU. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M SAYING??? I WANT TO *TALK* TO YOU ABOUT THIS, I WANT TO COME TO SSSOME KIND OF UNDERSSSSTANDING, BUT... I *CAN'T* JUST DO IT ON MY OWN!"

Alastor

Alastor squeezed his eyes shut. He knew he was being insufferable—say something. "That's the thing. I'm happy to talk about anything else—but I don't want to talk about **IT.**" Hateful distortion emphasized the word. "I don't even like to *think* about it—I spend as much time as possible ignoring it. If there was any way for me to get rid of it, I *would.* Instead, I have to *deal* with it."

He forced his eyes open and looked up at Sir Pentious. "And now *you* have to deal with it. I hate that. I hate that you're *never* going to look at me again without *knowing.* I hate that I'll never be able to say anything again without my words being *filtered* through it!"

At some point in that speech he'd gotten to his feet. He shoved back his chair and started pacing irritably, chewing on one corner of his mouth to make sure his smile hadn't dropped.

Sir Pentious

When that distortion rung true, Sir Pentious knew that he was hearing something more honest. There was relief soaking at his brain, mixed with pins and needles. Hey, he could handle anger--frustration, irritation, the works! That was his bread and butter. The pacing, the rage. He knew it all well.

The serpent slithered out from the table, allowing himself a moment to stretch, at least somewhat--it wasn't of his arms or shoulders, it was mostly that he'd unconsciously coiled his tail so tightly he could barely feel it anymore. "SSSO *WHAT* IF I KNOW NOW! I ALREADY TOLD YOU I DON'T CARE, AND YOU TOLD *ME* THAT SSPENDING TIME WITH VALERA AND I WASN'T HURTING YOU, SSO I AM NO LONGER *AGITATED* ABOUT IT! I WANT TO SSSPEND TIME WITH YOU, I WANT TO RAISE *HELL* WITH YOU LIKE WE DISCUSSED! I WANT TO WATCH THOSE COWARDLY SSINNERSS RUN AND FLEE IN TERROR AT OUR COMBINED *MIGHT!*" His hands ball into fists as he digs his talons into his palms, "I WANT TO DO THOSE THINGSSS WITH YOU! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT ME TO *SSSAY* ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

"i don't kn—I want you to say—*nothing!* I want you to not know it! I want you to forget! *I want my secret back!*" He stopped pacing, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And I want... all that, too. Everything you said."

Sir Pentious

His mouth SHUTS, and. He stares at Alastor wide eyed. There's a look of hurt-- maybe he misunderstood the "I want you to say nothing", took it a bit too literally. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't just *unknow* something. His talons *flex*, feeling frustrated and helpless. Ineffectual. Useless.

Alastor

Sir Pentious had been quiet a moment too long. Alastor glanced over—oh. "No—sorry. I didn't mean *nothing* nothing. I don't want you to shut up. I like hearing you talk."

He flung up his hands in frustration. "There—you see? A week ago if I'd said that, it would be about *you*—'you're interesting, you're witty, you're a delight to listen to!' Now, when I say it, it... it just reflects on *me.*" He half sat on the edge of the table, shoulders slumping.

Sir Pentious

Penny thinks it over, rolling it around in his mind. He's making all kinds of thinking faces, the man's an open book of expression... all the while Hatty's keeping its eye on the deerman. "IT... DIDN'T SSSOUND BAD, TO ME.... NOT AT ALL."

Alastor

"Good." He crossed his arms tight and looked down at his feet. "But it felt rotten."

Sir Pentious

He felt a very sudden, and STRONG URGE to SHRUG his shoulders, but he *REFRAINED.* Not the time, not the time at all. What to do here? Usually, he could take Valera into his arms and hold her tight, and even before when Alastor had confided that realization of Hell wearing him down, he'd been able to just hold his hand and lie on the floor with him.

But here, well. He didn't know. So. He sat in his own coil and looked at the floor, too. "... WELL UM... I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO. I CAN'T REALLY JUSSSST... UNLEARN SOMETHING LIKE THAT, BUT, I DON'T THINK YOU BELIEVE ME WHEN I TELL YOU THAT IT DOES NOT BOTHER ME. THAT IT IS NOT SOMETHING THAT UPSETSSS ME. MY OWN PARANOIA AND MADNESS IS WHAT HURTS ME MOST, IT UNDOES ME AND EVERYTHING I WORK FOR, AT ALL TIMESSS... AND... AND IF YOU CAN SSSTILL WANT TO BE MY FRIEND, DESSSPITE THE UNCERTAINTY OF MY NEXT *PUTRID* MENTAL COLLAPSE, THEN... I'D WISH YOU'D BELIEVE *ME* WHEN I TELL YOU THAT HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT ME WILL NOT CHANGE ANYTHING, UNLESS YOU WANT IT TO."

Alastor

He shook his head immediately. "No—of course not, no. I don't want anything to change." He took a deep, shaky breath in, slowly let it out. White noise. "I know you can't unlearn it. I just... *wish.*" But what were wishes worth? Especially in Hell? "I... do believe that it doesn't bother you. At least right now. But it bothers *me.*"

Sir Pentious

"... WERE YOU SSSIMPLY HOPING THAT I'D NEVER FIND OUT? THAT... DOESN'T SEEM VERY FAIR TO ME." He rubs his arm, like he had any right to demand fairness, especially in hell.

Alastor

He winced. That was true. "I wanted to wait for a better time. When we'd known each other longer, or I could spin it as a positive. Maybe after I'd met another who felt the same and the first you had to hear about it was that I could channel all that *off* of you and onto another." He scoffed. What were the odds of that?

Sir Pentious

... He rubs his arm a little harder, sliding his claws along the fabric. "... IT... *IS* A POSITIVE, ISSN'T IT? I MEAN, THE THINGSSS YOU SAID AT THE TIME... THEY WERE GOOD THINGSSS. *I'M* THE PROBLEM HERE, MY BRAIN IS ALL WRONG, AFTER ALL. YOU TOLD ME THAT YOU ADORE ME, AND I INTERPRETED IT AS--- AS AN ATTACK." A sad chuckle, and he stares harder into the floor.

Alastor

"Is it?" He glanced cautiously at Sir Pentious. "I've been on the receiving end more than once, and it's never felt like a positive."

He winced at the word *adore.* "I'm quite sure I never told you that. You keep talking like I *confessed* something to you. I *didn't.* You asked me. I'm fairly certain I didn't even *confirm* the accusation, did I? Just declined to deny it." He shook his head. "You already see me differently. You're started putting words in my mouth."

Sir Pentious

--His hood flares up, and he feels a red hot *flash* of embarrassment course through him. "MUST I *DIRECTLY QUOTE YOU*, OR SSSOMETHING? I CANNOT REMEMBER IT *WORD FOR WORD*, BUT I KNOW WHAT YOU TOLD ME, AT LEAST THE SSSENTIMENT!!" Oop. Too late. He was already feeling a bit of rejection from that last sentence, and because of it, found himself withdrawing from the situation. Too much in a short time, Sir Pentious was nothing without his flashes of anger. "FINE, I WILL NO LONGER *ATTEMPT* TO RECALL IT! AS FAR AS I AM CONCERNED, YOU SSEE *YOURSSSELF* DIFFERENTLY, AND I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU THISSS ENTIRE GODDAMNED TIME THAT I DO NOT SSEEE YOU IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT! BUT I THINK WE'VE HIT AN IMPASSSSSE." A deep breath, he's not sure he can calm down, so he's going to TURN AWAY and fold his arms tight against his chest.

Alastor

Alastor cringed. His claws dug into the underside of the table he was leaning on. He stared at Sir Pentious's back, momentarily silent as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry. Look at us, you were so worried about misspeaking, and I'm the one who's said everything wrong." Deep, shaky breath in. "I'm... having trouble *not* seeing how you see me as different now."

Sir Pentious

".... YES, I *KNOW* ABOUT YOUR SSSECRET NOW, BUT SO WHAT! I AM A SSSSTUBBORN OLD MAN, ALASSSTOR. AND I'M NOT WILLING TO GIVE YOU UP, OVER SSSOMETHING LIKE THAT. YOU'RE SSSTILL THE SAME MAN YOU'VE ALWAYSSS BEEN, THIS ISSN'T ANYTHING *NEW* TO YOU, SSSO WHY SHOULD IT BE, TO ME???" He takes another few moments before wincing, "... IT ALMOST FEELSSS LIKE... YOU *WANT* ME TO DESPISE YOU FOR IT."

Alastor

He listened hard, trying to somehow absorb the words, trying to force himself to believe them. Something about them still rang hollow. But he could keep trying.

"Of course I don't," he said immediately; then stopped, double-checked his thoughts more carefully, and finally said again, "No. I don't want that. I just think you *should.*"

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious turns around-- no... he ROUNDS on Alastor, slithering close *very* quickly. "YOU THINK I *SHOULD?!* WHY!?"

Alastor

"Because there's no second chances in Hell! I ruined what I had with one version of you, Hell isn't going to just—let me rummage through the parallel universes for another version of you that's more amenable to being friends! It feels like a trap. The only question is when is it going to be sprung?"

Sir Pentious

He looks hurt again, but quickly fights it back, moving CLOSER. "YOU DON'T *WANT* TO ME FRIENDSS, ISS THAT IT??? BECAUSE I DON'T THINK I SHOULD BE BLAMED FOR SSSOMETHING LIKE THAT-- I *LIKE* YOU, AND YOU HAVE YET TO ACTUALLY BETRAY *ME*, AND SSSSINCE I KNOW *YOU'RE NOT DUMB OR DELUDED*, YOU AREN'T GOING TO *DO THAT*, ALASSSTOR, SO--" He takes a breath, hands together, "GET THE *FUCK* OVER YOURSSSELF! I'M HERE BECAUSE I WANT TO FIX WHAT I'VE DONE, WHAT PART OF THAT FEELSSS LIKE A FUCKING TRAP!?"

Alastor

"*No,* that's not what I'm saying! Not you—!" He almost reached out, stopped, pulled his hand back. "Not you. I think *Hell* is setting the trap. For both of us. That's what Hell *does,* it *tortures* people. So here we are—waiting to find out what Hell's scheming for us. Why it allowed us to be friends. And I'm—afraid of finding out! I am." An edge of ferocity entered his voice: "But I'm *not* going to let go of you until Hell *makes* me."

Sir Pentious

This was the part where they'd HUG TIGHT like in the radio plays and movies. Hold tight for a few moments, laugh about it later. But! Holding was off limits--and Sir Pentious looked like a long noodle that didn't know what to do with himself, his tail slithering closer to Alastor, but stopping over and over until he was in this abysmal zig-zag pattern.

Alastor's last words get Sir Pentious' chest *aching*, and he GESTURES with his hands like *SO WHY ARE YOU FIGHTING ME ON THIS!?!*, but no words come out. He's just. SAT THERE, WITH HIS HANDS OUT, AND THE MOST *VAGGIE* LIKE DONE EXPRESSION....... and he FINALLY MANAGES to speak.

"ARE WE GOING TO HUG OR NOT!?"

Alastor

For a couple of seconds, Alastor waged an internal battle with himself.

It was a brutal battle. Hundreds died. Bodies littered the landscape as far as the eye could see. The soil in that region was permanently stained red from the sheer quantity of blood spilled. A battle to end all internal battles.

And then he darted across the space between them, pulled Sir Pentious into a rib-crushing hug, squeezed his eyes shut, and buried his face in Sir Pentious's shoulder.

Sir Pentious

He'd ALMOST expected Alastor to say *no* with the way he paused-- he was preparing for it, his hands slowly lowering, before he was quite SUDDENLY *CRASHED* INTO, letting out a YELP of surprise as he was pulled into the tightest hug he's received from Alastor *yet*-- and he didn't complain in the *least*, immediately throwing his arms around the deerman, his tail coiling around the both of these foolish old fools.

*THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT.* is what he'd wanted to say, but... best to keep it in his head.

Alastor

Being hugged back was like an electric shock, jolting his system, making his skin prickle, and it was almost painful but it was such a relief.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut—no crying, no crying. He managed to get out a garbled apology, but that was it.

Sir Pentious

A hand moves to Al's head, kind of petting the ears. "SHHH. HONESTLY, I THINK WE'RE BOTH SSSICK OF THAT WORD...."

Alastor

A choked laugh. "I never want to hear or make another apology." Oh, that was nice. He tilted his head into it. Guilt was seething deep in his gut—*what gave him the right to something so nice?*—but for now he could swallow it down.

Sir Pentious

Penny *smiled*, after what felt like FOREVER without a grin. He put his chin on Alastor's head, settling into his coil with the other demon.

"THERE MUST BE ANOTHER WAY OF EXPRESSING SSSSUCH THINGSSSS. MAYBE WE OUGHT TO SSSSAY IT IN FRENCH! MY TEXTBOOK FRENCH AND YOUR BASSSTARD FRENCH, NYA HA HA!"

Alastor

"You can't call it that, I'm an actual bastard." He prodded Sir Pentious's back with one sharp claw. "Anyway, my French comes from an unbroken lineage of native French speakers. *You've* got the bastard French."

It felt far too soon for banter—but it was so much easier than ripping open his veins an inch at a time and spilling one drop of blood after another as he tried to figure out how much he needed to sacrifice before they could be *normal* again.

Sir Pentious

SNORT. "A LONG, *PROUD* LINEAGE! YOU'RE RIGHT, MY FAMILY IS ENGLISH AND AMERICAN! NOT A *HINT* OF FRENCH, I *SSSTOLE* MY WAY IN!" He beams.

Maybe it was too soon, maybe he was feeling lightheaded from the rush of emotions... But he had his buddy in his arms again. There wasn't awkward silence, it felt... *doable* again.

"I'VE MISSED YOU, SSO, SSO MUCH. IT'SSSS ONLY BEEN A *WEEK* AND YET... TORMENT."

Alastor

A lump threatened to form in his throat again. No, he was determined not to cry, he wouldn't.

"I—haven't been able to—think about anything else." *It felt like too much.* Sir Pentious said he didn't see Alastor differently—and Alastor didn't want to test how true those words were, but if he didn't take a leap of faith, he wouldn't be able to move at all. "I haven't even had an appetite; Rosie's nearly had to force-feed me."

Sir Pentious

Ohh God. His heart broke at that. He continues to pet those ears, rocking back and forth with Alastor in his arms.

"MM... I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH APPETITE EITHER. ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WASS WRITING THE LETTER.... HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO USE MY *FANGSSSS* SSSINCE.... THEY JUST MAKE ME FEEL *SSSICK.*"

Alastor

Almost like dancing. He forced his muscles to relax so he could sway freely with Sir Pentious.

He swallowed down the urge to apologize for Sir Pentious’s fangs. “Is that why the letter ended up so...” Find a neutral way to put it. “... Effusive?”

Sir Pentious

Penny's breath shakes, and he gives a little laugh, rubbing at his eye.

"W-WELL.... I WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU *KNEW*... AND.. I WASN'T *SURE* IF YOU EVER WANTED TO... *SSSSEE* MY FACE AGAIN..."

Alastor

“*Of course I did.* I told you where to find me and everything, didn’t I? How could I *not* want to?”

Sir Pentious

He sinks a little lower, silently gesturing to his own head.... Then awkwardly (though delicately) touching where he'd *bit*....

"Becaussse."

Alastor

There was a faint crinkle of a fresh bandage beneath Alastor’s clothing. “You bit me the first time we met, you didn’t hear me complain about that.”

He opened his eyes as a realization hit him. “Hold on. Let me—let me summarize this. Since our last meeting, you’ve been afraid that I wouldn’t want anything else to do with you—now that I know more about the things going on inside your head that you wish you could get rid of. And I’ve said it doesn’t make a difference to me, and you’ve got to take that on faith, but you, you can’t imagine how it could possibly be true. Is that a fair summary of your last week?”

Sir Pentious

Without mention of all the crying, yes. Sir Pentious nods his head, still not speaking much in case he starts blubbering.

Sniff. He rubs at his eye again.

Alastor

Alastor started laughing. A wheezy, pathetic, *relieved* laugh.

“Good *gracious,* look at the two of us.” He pulled back so he could make eye contact with Sir Pentious, eyes watery and smile shaky. “A *whole week* we’ve been avoiding each other, when we were both terrified of the *exact same thing!*”

Sir Pentious

Penny's eyes get bigger, and he leans back a little so he can make that eye contact--he was so much bigger after all.

"THE... *SSSAME* THING?"

Alastor

Alastor let out an amused huff. "I mean—isn't it?"

Sir Pentious

"... I... WELL, YES! I SSSSUPPOSE IT IS...." He attempts a smile, but boy, it's so much more wiggly this time.

... A little laugh.... "IT... ISSSS REALLY SSSSIMILAR, ACTUALLY..."

Alastor

“Hah! You see?” His grin widened, finally squeezing the first tears out of the corners of his eyes. “We really are a couple of old fools, aren’t we?”

Sir Pentious

Another little laugh, and his eyes squeeze shut, a *big* sniff as he tries to keep smiling but. He's getting into big blobby tears. You'd think after a week of this, he'd be too dehydrated.

"we-- we really are!"

Alastor

He lifted his heels and flung an arm around Sir Pentious’s neck to pull him down close enough to butt their foreheads together. “We’re going to be fine. Right?” he asked. “We’ll get over ourselves, and—and get along just *terrifically.* We’ll be fine.”

Sir Pentious

*Bonk*--it rattles his dehydrated brain somewhat, but his arms come around the deerman tighter. Big intakes of breath, he's trying to get ahold of himself... Being able to touch *really* makes a difference for him.

"WE'LL BE FINE, YESSSS... WE'LL BE FINE."

Alastor

“*Good.*” Now he was crying, too. Clearly he returned the hanky too soon. He dropped his face back to Sir Pentious’s shoulder.

Sir Pentious

Two old men, hugging tightly to one another and *crying.* Rosie, don't come in.

Alastor

She’d better not. Alastor planned on holding Sir Pentious either until he was told to get off or one of them fainted from dehydration.

Sir Pentious

After a while of hugging... Sir Pentious felt that maybe! It was time to go home to his wife. He'd love to stay, but actually, he wouldn't--he was *tired* and *sore* and *exhausted*............ he had his best friend again and would love to hang out properly! When he wasn't a mess. He began to uncoil... "ALASSSTOR, I SHOULD BE GOING, YOU KNOW... I'M VERY TIRED..."

Alastor

He clung tighter when Sir Pentious started to loosen—not yet, he hadn’t had enough yet—but reluctantly let go when Sir Pentious said he needed to leave.

He wanted to offer to let Sir Pentious rest here, if he was tired—but no, not appropriate. Absolutely not appropriate. Anyway, Alastor wasn’t much better; he was developing an impressive headache, himself. He wasn’t sure if it was from sleep deprivation or from crying his eyes out on Sir Pentious’s shoulder—

If *Alastor* had a dehydration headache, then Sir Pentious had to be even worse off, didn’t he? “Hold on,” he said firmly. He poured a cup from that long-neglected teapot and held it out to Sir Pentious. “You’ve been leaking like a faucet since you got here. I’m not letting you leave like this, you’ll shrivel up like a worm on the sidewalk. Drink.”

Sir Pentious

!! Oh... He takes the cup, somewhat less *hot* now.... but the care that Alastor showed him was most definitely *felt.* Sir Pentious nods his head, smiling as he drinks the tea down... ohhh. That felt good. Actually. He offers the cup forward...... A little bashfully. ... More please.

Alastor

Alastor just chugged his whole cup like he was taking a shot and was in the process of refilling it when Sir Pentious asked for more. “Another round for everyone, eh?” He refilled Sir Pentious’s cup, then held up his own. “Cheers.”

Sir Pentious

Penny smiles, into a toothy grin--and he snorts. "ALASSSTOR... DO YOU EVEN *LIKE* TEA?"

Alastor

“Hate it! But I’ve only got myself to blame, I’m the bad planner who only supplied us with tea, aren’t I?” He tossed back his second cup. Bleh.

But Sir Pentious was smiling again. Alastor hardly tasted the leaf juice.

Sir Pentious

COLD leaf juice. He cackles... A high pitched giggling. Down the hatch!

"YOU KNOW, I HAVEN'T EVEN BEEN ABLE TO *DRINK* ANYTHING BOOZY SINCE THISSSS ALL HAPPENED." A little bit of a sniff, "NOT THAT *ALCOHOL* REMINDSSS ME OF YOU, BUT RATHER... THE *COMRADESHIP* OF THE EVENT DOES...."

Alastor

“*Hah.* I haven’t been able to risk it.” A grimace. “When I’m drinking in a bad mood, it’s to skip over as much time as possible. I didn’t want to risk you coming over to be told that I was going to be unconscious for the next four days.”

Sir Pentious

"AH..." He nods his head and.... slithers around to put an arm around his friend's shoulders, nuzzling his cheek. Too much? DEAL! WITH IT!!!

Alastor

The cup is DOWN on the table and Alastor’s arms are AROUND Sir Pentious again and that’s THAT. There was no such thing as too much. He’d been snake deprived for half a century and after just a few scant months of getting a regular dosage of snake he’d suddenly plummeted into withdrawal by being forced to go cold turkey again. He was taking everything he was offered.

Sir Pentious

Prrrr...... You get terrible, horrible Cobra sounds. He's going to.... plant a kiss! To Alastor's forehead. It's such a kind, gentle gesture. A gesture of "I trust you and care about you." It didn't have to be romantic, it was friendly. Only three people have been bestowed Penley forehead kisses. Be elevated in status of the SOUL!

Alastor

He inhaled sharply with a quiet record scratch sound, eyes wide with shock. His forehead blazed around the kiss.

He'd been kissed there before, once, decades ago, so near the scar of the shot that killed him—just as gently, by nearly identical lips. For a moment, Alastor couldn't breathe.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious couldn't see his reaction, as he put his chin on Alastor's head, mindful of the antlers. Prrrr... He's going to lie down with him, tail coiling again. OH NO! Too bad looks like he's going to get a nap in anyway. Or at least just... lie here for a while.

Alastor

Alastor was fine with that, his legs sort of felt like jelly anyway. He slid down to the floor with Sir Pentious, leaning against him the whole way down.

Before he lay down completely, Alastor took one of Sir Pentious's hands and gave him a return kiss, just as lightly, on his knuckles. Like a layman offering reverence to a bishop, like a subject demonstrating fealty to his king. It could be a platonic gesture. It definitely *wasn't,* but it could be.

Sir Pentious

*Prrrr.* His tail slithers around underneath the both of them. A very comfortable, squishy mattress. He means only to rest his eyes... He can *finally* relax after all of this tenseness.

Alastor

And Alastor got a *purr.* Not discomfort, not defensiveness. Sir Pentious didn't recoil from him. His dead heart soared.

Quick rest, nap, thousand-year coma—Alastor was game for anything. His eyes slid shut as he relaxed on Sir Pentious's coils.

It was good to be home again.

#hissandvinegar #chat log

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