[ PERMANENT. ] a (k)atch-all log for kenos

[dawnlord]

WHO: Set ( redsoil ), Bondrewd ( dawnlord ), Drizzt ( twohand ), et. al
WHAT: i actually can't stand month-by-month logs so i'm gonna crush my boys into one perma-log for anything outside of events
WHERE & WHEN: Listed in comment headers, or under the cut.
WARNINGS: General warnings for violence, vulgarity and unethical science. Will update/comment with warnings!


I struggle so hard w/ month-by-month logs, so y'all have to deal with my weird organization...

— [MARCH | SET] GOT NO SHAME, GOT NO PRIDE

Comments

[JUNE] closed, liem talbott

[redsoil]

[ After Set's no-good-bad-week, there comes an obnoxious banging coming from Liem's front door.

Incessant, rough. It carries on, seemingly without end because the individual on the other side of the door carries their discourtesy as a weapon, as the core of their person. Liem ought to know who it is by now: the war god who claimed him as friend, whom stands awaiting his presence. If Set gleans the change that has come over the wilting figure, it only seems to harden the set of his jaw; to elevate the cant of his throat, curl harder at the corners of his mouth. Most striking, however, is his relative state of — well, actual dress. The pattern of attire he wears is distinctively Springstar in nature, in a deep black that fades into a charcoal grey, a hemline of pale blue.

He wears only one earring tonight, the long gold line of it gleaming with delicate spokes. A sun? No, a long, liquid star. There is something etched upon it in delicate hieroglyph, and he makes no comment upon what it could mean. Black, gold, pale blue. There is a lack of jewelry upon him, speaking to a more somber appearance, perhaps something a little more ascetic in design, but his hair is brushed until gleaming, unbound around his shoulders, and his mouth is as rosy and full as ever. ]

Put on something nice, Liem Talbott. [ He declares, a battering ram of a man. ] I am taking you to the theatre at the Last Dance tonight, as my date.

[ There is no question in his words. There is only proof that the only person he had in mind for this venture was Liem himself; Set adorns himself in their Faction's ( their Faction's ) style, but the colors are the ones he has come to commonly associate with Liem. They are the ones chosen to match his typical attire, as if Set himself has gone to great lengths to ensure they will match handsomely. ]

However deeply your heart has broken, you are still to be my friend. I want you with me always.

liem.exe has stopped responding

[sterngaze]

[The hammering at his door is one that Liem could recognize anywhere, even had it caught him totally unawares and roused him from a dead sleep. He appears at his door promptly, well aware that his visitor will not cease until he is answered, still somehow concerned with his neighbours' opinions of him even though they must already have sunk all the way into the street gutters. Liem squints out into the relentless day, a frown of consternation already upon his pale face.

It is an expression that only deepens when Set confronts him with his demand.]

Now? [he asks, because it's the first question that breaks through his shock, and because he is under no illusions about the possibility of him not doing this thing. Set is already on his doorstep, dressed in—

Actually, he's more dressed than Liem can recall seeing him since the Scorching Isles. He looks resplendent, dressed to go somewhere nice. With Liem.

The second thing that breaks through his bewilderment is:]

The theatre?

[These are more manageable, bite-sized pieces of information than just about every other word out of Set's mouth, and right now they are evidently all he's equipped to grapple. (Perhaps his recent lack of sleep has something to do with that. The shadows beneath his eyes seem especially deep, today.)]

[redsoil]

The theatre, at my favorite venue. The Last Dance is putting on a show tonight that I think you will find most pleasing — it reminded me of the things we speak of together.

[ Of home. Perhaps of responsibility, and that undercurrent of love that all Shard-bearers feel, regardless of their side.

Liem's neighbors are probably beginning the phone tree already, to whisper about the presence of the red-headed harlot that shows up to his door and how tonight, he is remarkably dressed. Could Mister Talbott have finally bought him something nice and, ahem, respectable to wear? His feet are bare below the hemline of his robe? gown? neck tauntingly hidden from view. And without mercy, without pausing to allow Liem a moment's more to rest — he claps his hands together. Bright, commanding.

Perhaps he, too, wears his energy and enthusiasm as a shield against the despair Meridians feel right now. The despair Liem is spared from, unless it be his own. ]

I have our tickets already. Come come, must I pick out your clothes for you?

[sterngaze]

[Whether the explanation of the outing satisfies him, or whether he simply doesn't wish to put on a show for his neighbours, Liem blinks levelly at his guest and steps back to allow him entrance, and respite from the light. (Not that the desert god seems bothered by the sun, but it is the principle of the thing. In any case, he's hardly going to make him wait out on his front stoop.)]

That won't be necessary, [he says mildly, regarding the god through the dimness of his abode. The outfit that Set has chosen for this visit is striking, and not least of all because of the colour scheme, which greets Liem every time he gazes into a mirror. He looks deliberately groomed, in a way that Liem appreciates and makes a habit of aspiring to, regardless of his weariness — but he still doesn't wish to have the god poking around his closet. Preparing for a… a date is surely meant to be a solo activity.

And, aside from that, Liem has some doubts about Set's ability to pick an outfit for him. Current attire notwithstanding, he doesn't necessarily have confidence in the fashion taste of a god who often just wears the same thing day after day.]

You might have given me some warning, at least. [So Liem could make excuses and flee the premises before his arrival? Surely not, surely not…] Now I'll have to make you wait.

[Isn't he already groomed and dressed handsomely by probably anyone's standards? Yes. Always. But he's not dressed to go out, which, as he retreats further into the house, evidently means he does indeed need to go redo his entire look, fop that he is.]

[redsoil]

[ Stepping into Liem's darkened home has become something he is at ease with. Familiar with, for they meet up with clockwork regularity most "evenings" in Springstar and take back those precious, frightening moments from the world that had summoned them to do battle. Even the approach he takes to batter down Liem's door, physically and mentally, is a strange and chaotic routine that he takes on unflinchingly.

He enters, when permitted.

Liem looks terrible, no doubt the result of all things that have come to him. A different tide washes at his shores, but to Set, like all tides — it will abate, and the same waters in different patterns will reach him. He does not wish to think about Liem, a Zenite, with him. Only Liem, a friend. To that end, as he enters — he slides an arm like liquid across the man's shoulders.

To clasp him to his side. ]

You think I am unwilling to wait for you? Hah! As if. You can run as far as you like in this existence, and will find me awaiting you wherever you go.

[ The one room in the house he probably has no clue about WOULD be Liem's personal quarters, and he's dying to see them! ]

Besides, you are meticulous where I am not, and I wish to watch you. Galaniel helped make my vision into this [ a little ruffle of the long robe,

the hint of a thigh-high slit,

and Set's feet are definitely still bare! He prances forth, deeper into Liem's home, to begin rattling at doors and their frames in search of the man's "elusive" quarters — and upon his bare, exposed back, twin lines of black follow the path of his spine. Nothing is upon it, just the thin gathering of dark material that hides the length of his throat from the eye, but leaves the space where Liem bites on display like a weapon brought lovingly to bear. ]

[sterngaze]

[How can one man be so completely impossible? Set hammers on Liem's door as he always does, demands his company and tells him to change his clothes without a second thought, and through it all wields intimacy like a weapon, denying Liem's doubts even the slightest purchase. He allows him no room to ponder why the god is here to sweep him off to the theatre, or to question that Set would remain so steadfast a companion even as Zenith maintains its grip on Liem's shard. Each time he comes close to wondering about these things, the brazen immediacy of the chaos god loose in his home slaps him full across the face.

Or clasps him in a one-armed embrace only to prowl off and start trying doors, as the case may be.]

When did I say you could watch?

[Dear gods, his back is still just as bare as ever — perhaps more, even, bare as it is of the heavy necklace that often rests upon Set's shoulders. Liem has an excellent view of the strange new marks upon it as he pursues his guest through the hall, catching up with him next to the stairs that lead to the uppermost level. That way lies Liem's bedroom and his study; despite the presence of a guest bedroom in one corner of the level, he has never yet had cause to bring anyone up there.

He cannot help but think now of what it would be like to let the other man watch him dress; something he had previously managed to avoid considering. It strikes him also that Set looks suspiciously tarted up for a friendly jaunt to a performance in the Below. Then:]

You had that ensemble put together just for this?

"SUSPICIOUSLY TARTED UP" DAMN

[redsoil]

Oh, all right. Twist my arm about it. I will not just watch, I will assist you.

[ Liem's path is one he soon follows, in pursuit of him with a vibrant, heedless glee that seeks nothing less than to utterly steamroll a man who would shut him out if given the opportunity. Who would try to take shelter in shadows that did not belong to Set. The distinct, mad possession he feels towards Liem burns hot and heady. No matter where he goes, he must be made to know that as Set's companion, he cannot flee his cruel graces anymore.

He takes the stairs, by two, darting up them with the gait of a predator that is attempting to close the gap between itself and prey. Except. His prey right now is Liem's bedroom, and after rattling at a few more doors — and leaving them all open as he goes — he finds the one he seeks. Whether Liem is behind him or before, he enters and moves directly to the center, to spin slowly and look at the things that the man surrounds himself with. ]

No, Liem. [ As he stills, his attention hones in upon Liem again. That otherworldly intensity that serves only to strike ruthlessly: ] I put this together for you.

[sterngaze]

Wh—

[Set, that is not what he meant! Liem scowls after the god as he plunges up the stairs, too married to his dignity to quicken his pace and chase after the other man. He doubts that doing so would accomplish anything in any case; is he going to physically bar the Egyptian god of war from his bedroom? No. Nor does he bother objecting to Set’s offer of help in choosing an outfit (but just in choosing one, right Set? right…?); he feels much like the more he struggles against him, the more force the god exerts to keep him from refusing his advances.

(Perhaps, on some level, he enjoys the inconvenience. He is not used to being pursued so tenaciously, over his own gentle objections. And though he could be firmer, more resolute in his denials, he does not really want to see the day when Set gives up on seeing him, if such a day were to exist. Never once has he considered saying “I’m not interested,” or “I don’t have time for you.”

A poor excuse for communication, though, for a man who has sworn to help Set with that task.)

The bedroom he follows the god into is large, though only when considering the modest size of the home. It is richly appointed in cream and midnight tones, the floor plush with rugs and the bed neatly made. Though there is a nightstand and a dressing table, not so much as a stray earring lies out in plain view. A small bookshelf bears a modest collection of books, primarily poetry and religious collections, mixed with historical treatises and other non-fiction works.

By the sliver of light filtering in through the shut curtains, glimpses of a washroom and a walk-in closet can be seen through a pair of doorways leading from the space. The only other notable feature of the room is a small shrine to Abadar, tucked into a small alcove and set low to the floor, that it might be accessed by a kneeling person.

Liem meets Set’s intent look and sighs.]

Thank you.

[He does not say “you are a strange man, to do so,” although he thinks it. Would one not need to be strange, to put such deliberate thought into hunting him down and taking him on a date? A nice date, he assumes, because he has every reason to at this point. What a strange man, a strange god, Set is to seek meaning in the likes of him. Strange — or perhaps just broken.

In any case, he assumes the theatre will not wait.]

How much time do we have, before we must go?

[redsoil]

[ True to form, upon delivery of his utterly lunatic sentiments, Set gets into absolutely everything he can lay his hands upon. Liem's bed? Wrinkled by him bouncing onto it briefly. The rugs? Slightly off-kilter, as he darts across them and kicks up a corner or two in his wake, leaving them to overlap misshapenly. The nightstand is left alone, in favor of a brief pawing through books — gazing at their spines, looking for which ones have the most wear around the edges. The shrine, he does not approach.

Yet.

Instead, he goes for that sliver of light. Closet, found! ] A-ha!

[ The exclamation of victorious finding comes in the wake of Liem's small 'thank you', the soft flow of Set's hair ( trimmed up to his shoulderblades, from the knee-length sheet it had once been — for there was no salvaging it, after his skirmishes under the Tree ) drapes over his shoulder. It falls across his vision, half-obscuring the expression that creeps along his mouth and eyes, something that existed to be unclassified by mortal eyes. ]

I came early enough for this. Two hours, to prepare you and reach the venue before seating begins. If you select your clothes, I can do your hair. Galeniel picks my clothes, but this [ he touches his face, the dusky shadow and iconic, sharp angles of kohl around his eyes ] I do, myself.

[sterngaze]

[What a short time it takes, for this chaos god to rumple Liem's neurotically tidy bedroom into a more haphazardly lived-in state. He watches for a moment in tired bemusement as Set investigates whatever seems to catch his fancy, leaving disarray in his wake. Liem hates to think what kind of state his own home must be in — unless his retainer also serves as his maid.

When Set makes for the closet, Liem crosses to the wide, curtain-shrouded bedroom window and slides back the outermost layer of fabric, letting a profusion of soft light flood in through the translucent curtains that lie beneath. Even he prefers not to dress in the dark; it makes judging colours difficult.

Having progressed rapidly from shock to denial to arrive now at resignation, he turns around to regard the beautiful, unbearable man who has invaded his closet.]

It looks very handsome.

[Though Liem knows nothing about make-up, that much is obvious. Also, it's just polite to say so to one's date, which he has belatedly accepted that Set is.

Joining the other man in his closet, he begins looking through his (fairly substantial, at this point) wardrobe. Perhaps the reason Liem is always tired is because of all the hours he works to finance his shopping habits.]

Is this a venue where people go to be seen, or are the other patrons simply meant to burn with envy when we arrive?

[redsoil]

[ For all that he cavorts and enjoys himself at the expense of Liem's tidiness, it is when Liem joins him at the closet and says that to him, that he falters in his ruthless pursuits. One moment, he runs his eyes over the other man's expression, as if to await the mockery that follows, perhaps a just kidding or other rude barb that makes a compliment sound like something depraved and poisonous — only to find that it is not going to arrive. Maybe he will be made to wait again, for the other shoe to drop. ]

— well, it is the face I was made with. Most mortals are not allowed to look upon it.

[ After being parted from his divinity, he'd gone around in hood and veil — not just because he was, perhaps, the only true redhead in Egypt, but because something about him drove men insane. In terrible ways. At least in Kenos, there are women and other lovely people, as well as individuals with all sorts of tastes that are not beguiling redheaded war gods. Liem's compliment colors the high line of his cheekbones, the flush nearly indistinguishable at its origins because the stain upon his eyes is red, like all things about him.

He remains in the frame of the door, watching as Liem begins to sift through his wardrobe. ( There are so many clothes, how does he wear them all! ) It doesn't seem like he's going to look away, once his eyes return to the other's person. ]

The Last Dance is a bastion for artists and actors. They are all eclectic and know when to avert their eyes from private moments, but they will always appreciate a good showing. Provided you match me — which, I will ensure you do — we will be seen, envied and ultimately fade into the wholeness of the spectacle. Lest we do anything purposeful to draw it, the Last Dance is keen upon allowing its visitors to exist unmolested by attentions.

[ To him, it was a haven. And then he had hallucinated his own version of Liem's father in the dark, and now it was painful to go alone. ]

[sterngaze]

[The more he gets to know Set, the more of a puzzle the man seems. He is shameless, in showing his body and in initiating close contact; yet a simple compliment flusters him — and when he speaks of the Last Dance, it is to laud it as a place where one can escape the attentions of others. He is brash and even aggressive — and then, within a span of heartbeats, thoughtful. And although he grapples eagerly enough with the challenges of war, he cannot master the art of making other people understand him.

Isolation cloaks him like a burial shroud. Liem wonders if it is only because of Set's divinity that mortals of his land were not permitted to see his face.]

Then I should have visited there long before now. But I have been too busy to seek the pleasure of such places.

[It sounds like the sort of place he would have been pleased to visit, in his bleaker moments back home. He had often sought refuge among the bizarre fringe cultures in Oppara, the freaks and the deviants and the political artists: those who were already outcast and who would not turn away a strange, dark-eyed man looking to forget himself for a few hours.

For all that he owns more clothes then anyone rightly needs, it doesn't take him long to begin narrowing down his options. Liem pulls out jackets in various shades of blue and black, considering each and moving on from most. It is not a difficult process; his clothes are sorted by type and then by colour, so he has no need to go hunting.]

Have you a preference?

[So asking, he pulls two suits from their places, holding each potential prospect aloft by its hanger. One is pale, decorated by floral designs in dark blue; the other is dark and patterned with gold.]

[redsoil]

I know. You were working hard on the matter of Alenroux, all this time. But, do not fret — Claude has come up with a clever idea. Meridian will seek to make an exchange of diplomats, "ambassadors" as they are called. Not for conscription of others, but to address grievances and work across this divide.

[ Gotta' catch Liem up on SOME good developments happening, after all. He did so much for Alenroux, perhaps it would do him good to learn that his efforts were not for naught, and instead could begin to resonate. Not for one side, nor the other. What Set does not tell him, is that the idea did not originate from Claude — but, from himself. It is just that, Claude is a better fit to extend the offer. He does not tell Liem, that he had thought of him, when broaching the topic. Of him, and the other more moderate Shard-bearers who could despair further, become polarized and lost to one another.

As he fears many of them are lost from him.

It is neither here nor there for him to think of such things, though. Not when Liem is offering him a choice of clothes and asking for an opinion. While initially he thinks of the dark suit as one that will match him more, he cannot bear the idea of Liem wearing something dark right now, call it too on-the-nose or metaphoric, but garbing him in a night-shade feels like losing. Instead, he gestures to the suit in blue. ]

I think this one will bring out your eyes. Galaniel said that was important, in selecting colors for one's attire.

[ He leans back, past the curtain, to seek Liem's various pieces of furniture — ]

Where are your combs? I will do your hair after you dress.

[sterngaze]

[It is strange, still, to hear anyone comment on his eyes simply with respect to a choice of outfits. Even with the magic he can use to cloak himself entirely from the suns' direct rays, Liem still often wears his sunglasses while he is out and about, as a matter of habit. In his own country, where anyone sporting obviously inhuman features was looked at askance, it would have been unthinkable for him not to wear them, even while indoors. He has rarely considered his eyes while selecting clothes to wear.

But at Set's suggestion, he replaces the darker suit next to the others and sets out the other where it might be more easily accessible. They are heading Below, regardless, so perhaps he will leave his lenses at home.]

They are in my dressing table, [he says, fingers marching down the line of buttons on his waistcoat.] In the left drawer.

[Along with various jars and bottles of hair product, which he switches between depending on his mood and what kind of scent appeals most to him on a given day. Truly, smelling nice is just one of life's little pleasures.

When Set mentions Claude, it reminds Liem of the open communion the man had extended towards those of Zenith — an attempt to understand them better, it had seemed. Given what he has seen of him in the past, he's unsurprised to hear that Claude would support such a venture.]

That is a good idea. I made recommendations in my report that Springstar should include Highstorm in its efforts to settle Alenroux, but the support of the shard-bearers will greatly affect the success of such overtures.

[He shrugs out of the garment; removes his tie pin and sets it aside for the moment before following with his tie as well.]

We actually spoke, earlier — though not about that. [A frown touches Liem's expression.] He seemed concerned about Hayame. Is she… doing well?

[redsoil]

[ Suit selected, Set leaves the fold of the curtain creased as he steps aside to reach for the table that Liem refers to as his dressing table — there are so many drawers, and all things are tidied in a way that Set wishes to disturb. Perhaps he does, by picking through them to locate a comb he is familiar with, some hair product that indicates itself as useful for styling and holding, and spends a moment sniffing his way through the various scents. After a while, he sneezes horrendously over them, and shoves them all away. Ugh.

The curtain, which he left open, never leaves the peripherals of his vision. Set angles himself, as well, so that he is never avoidable, never out of sight. ]

He mentioned. [ Claude did. That he spoke with Zenith, that he'd spoken with Liem. It was Claude's mention of the three Set ( held dear / worried about / felt himself torn in two over / misery and failure and a timeless ache of abandonment and helplessness ) had been most interested in knowing the wellbeing of that resolved him to seek them, whether Zenith was their forever, or not. It could never be allowed to fully be their home, their refuge. That was his duty, his desire.

While Liem frowns, Set does not allow his expression to droop, nor contract. While his smile fades, the way that he holds himself is elevated; his spine straightens a little, his eyes narrow and harden. Anger does not overtake him, but something made of brittle, oft-broken steel attempts to stand before Liem with resolve, and an inner strength that was only a lie. With a soft clatter, he sets the combs aside for use in a few moments, stepping back into the closet — moving, to stand behind Liem. His body brushing along the others, naturally warm but made warmer yet by Meridian's innate properties, he slides his fingers across Liem's waist.

Hooks them, into the fastenings upon his front and begins to take them apart. One by one, by point of thumb and forefinger, the other three fingers forming a brace, a guide that he slides down Liem's chest, his belly, as he takes his shirt apart meticulously. ]

Isolated. More and more, she is isolated.

[ He will not hide a painful truth, but he does drop his nose briefly to the crown of Liem's head. A smile pushed into it, although what he says? It should not be a normal thing to smile over. To Set, though? It is. ]

She dedicates her violence to me, so that I may share in her victories and pain. Your death became her prayer to me, and I hope to bless her. She made you ours, irrevocably. No matter where you go, I am sure some part of her still yearns for your company.

[sterngaze]

[Liem cannot resist the urge to glance Set's way as the god retreats back to the bedroom to paw through his drawer of hair things. Partly this is because, despite Set's beauty, he doubts whether the god actually knows how to style hair like Liem's, or what to do with any of the products nestled in the drawer along with the combs. He has never noticed any scent on him other than his own, that of unblemished life mixed with the hot scent of sun-baked sand, and never seen him wear anything in his hair except the quiet little bead of his sunbeam.

The other reason he watches is so that he can see Set sniff through the jars, and then sneeze and reject the whole lot, like a dog snuffling through something it shouldn't.

His fingers slow their motion as he brings up Hayame, faltering as he discards his tie and begins on the buttons of his shirt. Even though he had dismissed Claude's assertion that he had somehow broken her heart — ridiculous, baseless exaggeration — he still worried that she would be suffering in the wake of the Oracle trial, alone with her self-recrimination. The change that comes over Set's expression does not, then, put him at ease.

But he is still not expecting the man to move behind him, and slide his arms around him to undo his shirt fastenings one by one. Liem grows very still for a moment, as fingers brush over the thin fabric. Then when Set presses his nose into Liem's hair, he lets out a soft, resigned breath, and leans gently back against the warmth of the body behind him.]

I wish I could have spared her that. I only meant to be a signpost on her way.

[The point of such things is that they are meant to be left behind. He had not imagined, when he first spoke to her in that space between worlds, that she would try to tether herself to him.]

She yearns for the company of a person who is better than I actually am.

[redsoil]

[ Tucked along the line of Liem's spine, there is a notable difference between their heights; something small, but present enough that it is so very easy for him to duck his face and align himself there, atop the crown of the other man's head. To breathe faint and purposefully against him, as his hands travel down the length of his shirt. To the hem, where he has no more buttons to observe and work upon, and he can dip his fingers into the part ever-so slightly and draw his hands back up the tailored line of it, back to the throat. There, he can hook his fingers below the material and draw it back, over and off of Liem's shoulders.

Fluid, and purposeful. He works it away, voice low and rich with that elevated, ever-vast wisdom he sometimes is able to speak. Usually when he is alone with one other person, instead of managing the eyes of all those upon him; it is when he is alone with others, that he can be multi-faceted. That he can reach into the depths of his existence and draw up the unfailing-but-terse wealth of acceptance Nephthys had urged him to give to others.

It hurts, badly, to connect with anyone. It is dangerous to. Allowing himself purchase in them is one matter, one where he domineers and holds all the power, lives so that their eyes will turn on him with love, or hate, or anything else. Letting them connect to him, in return, feels like condemning them to death and agony. To frustrations, like Hayame, who cannot comprehend why he dallies with her enemies ( because they are hers, and Set treats everyone, anyone, as an individual untethered by their associations foremost ). ]

You are assuming she, or anyone, is only capable of traveling in a single direction, Liem.

[ He steps back, and takes the shirt with him. Not truly knowing what to do with it, though ( folding? meh ), he chucks it to the side boldly. When he smiles, his own eyeteeth are long and prominent, animal-teeth that flash in a way that always suggests he will bite. ]

Even as "a signpost", you would forever hold two purposes. To direct someone visibly forward, and to subconsciously show them the way to return. One only needs to walk in the opposite direction they are pointed, to do so.

[ He points, down to Liem's pants. A silent command to be rid of them, and approaches the suit chosen for their evening as his next victim. ]

You are not a signpost, though. You are a young man, [ by set's standards tbh ] as complex as the next person and as capable of all things you could set your mind to. And you are also dragging your heels about our date, for shame! Am I truly going to be that terrible a partner for the night, do you think?

[sterngaze]

[It is difficult to concentrate entirely on what Set is telling him while the god's fingers continue to move down his body, dipping just so into the opening of his undone shirt and sliding back up. Liem tenses slightly when those fingers brush against his skin, skim over the planes of his shard, quickening something electric in their wake. Set's pulse seems very loud in the muffled, enclosed space. Liem is, despite his best intentions, more than a little distracted.

Still, he manages to be a little startled by the wisdom Set dispenses. The god has a knack for saying things to Liem that it never would have occurred to him to think on his own; it has been decades, what feels like a lifetime, since he has thought of himself as a young man. The people he knew in his own country were almost all human, and even the youngest of those he'd known as a boy had aged and withered and turned to dust by the time he earned the first of the silver hairs at his temples. He is not young, though perhaps he still looks it. Inside, he feels so terribly old and worn.

Set's ageless perspective defies that perception, and his admonishment rebukes Liem's gloom. A wry smile touches his lips.]

Ah — I am the one being a poor date.

[Moping over a woman while his companion is helping him dress? Anyone would be right to be offended, let alone a Divinity like the man now going for his suit. Obediently, he undoes his trousers and steps out of them, setting them aside with the rest of his discarded clothing.]

I would not have hazarded a guess prior to this occasion, but no — I do not suspect you of being a bad partner. Demanding, perhaps, but not disagreeable.

[redsoil]

Fear not, Springstar's false night is still young. You can make it up to me yet.

[ Pulling Liem from his gloom is the purpose of the evening, drawing him into the life he seems so prepared to hide from — into the life he was not allowed to have, for fear of attracting the eyes of the specter haunting him that he'd called father. While Liem makes headway on his trousers, Set slides free of the line of his back in order to fetch the suit that he had chosen, the handsome blue brocade of it a marvel to him.

He cannot stop running his fingers over the pattern, over the material and the tailoring of it. Even Set's attire for the evening is dressier than his normal clothing, which has a militant austerity and performative authority alongside its, well, supposedly sensual purpose. It has been what he has worn all his existence, without fail, for ease of transformation and emblematic of his status as a god, and to be in anything even slightly more lovely brings with it a wealth of thoughts he cannot quite sift through. A little embarrassment, a little shame, a touch of self-consciousness as if the act of putting on more invited the eye; Set is self-conscious, having already been called out as attractive.

Wielding his body as a purposeful weapon is different than having it looked upon freely, after all.

He brings Liem's suit to him, piece by piece. ] That is good. I had originally suspected you of being too self-contained and mournful to agree to this, but you are not at all disagreeable a man either. I quite like you. Now. Get dressed. I have your hair to do, and a gift to officially bestow.

[ surprise! ]

[sterngaze]

[Perhaps it is for the best that Liem is gifted with such a brazen and unorthodox date, considering that it has been years — decades, really — since he had any practice going on what he would consider a normal date outing. Set does not appear at all daunted by his melancholy moods, though still, Liem tries to banish them as much as possible as he receives his suit from his oddly helpful companion. Set has clearly made an effort for him; he would be remiss not to do the same.]

I didn't want to foil a plan you put such effort into, [he says lightly, as he begins to dress. Set showed up dressed unusually nicely, with tickets to a performance? It would have been callous of him to shut the door in his face in order to mope over paperwork instead.

Besides, he was when he answered the door, and continues to be, almost pathetically relieved to see Set and to be granted a night's unexpected company. Giving up on returning home already made him feel terribly lonely; his isolation from his previous sect-mates on top of that was difficult to endure.

When he has buttoned himself into a shirt and trousers, Liem selects a tie, picks up the jacket and waistcoat, and steps back out of the closet. The waistcoat and jacket are tossed gently onto the (now slightly rumpled) covers as he comes to stand in front of the dressing table mirror, sliding the silk tie around his collar.]

What do you mean by a gift?

[If Set has brought anything along with him aside from his good self, Liem has failed to notice it.]

[redsoil]

[ Even if he is a former sect-mate, and he badly misses Liem for Meridian, the fact remains that he will not revoke the offering of friendship to anyone he has bestowed it upon. After all, he consorts readily with Zenites at all times. The pain associated with Liem, however, is that he feels he had failed him — to steady his heart, to find a way to encourage him to stay. If he could not hold faith in himself, then he should have been able to rest in someone else's embrace until the tide returned.

As Liem steps out of his closet, Set awaits him. A comb in one hand, and some of the best-smelling hair product held in his other; he brandishes them, with all the delicacy one might expect a war god to brandish a dagger, or other small blade, advancing upon his date without mercy. ( Call mercy, Liem. )

Standing behind him again, he tucks the back of the comb into Liem's hair, seeking his natural part wherever it might rest — before he lines a little product along it and begins to work down, and back. Surprisingly, he is not as incapable at hair as he might be with clothes; while his own hair is perfect all the time, he knows headdresses, wigs and the care taken by his sisters to affix their looks and change them. Isis had once spent hours trying to emulate Ma'at's powerful appearance while Set had been forced to comb and comb and comb her hair into a variety of styles.

It also means, as he sweeps Liem's hair into a handsome, but slightly roguish form — his bangs left loose and softly curled by the hook of a finger, his sides flattened to expose the lovely streaks of color... he can set the comb down, eventually. And his hand can find the man's left ear, to take off one of the earrings he wears. Again, Set stands close to the line of Liem's spine. Only this time, he reaches into the depths of his hair ( a flash of sunny-warm glow sits behind his ear, woven in by thread and metal; the strand itself as ink-black as a certain jinba's mane ) and takes out the hidden object.

The second earring, the melting star. ] My gift, to you.

[ Gently, he applies it to Liem's ear. There is a lightness to it, though it is long. The delicate etching in hieroglyph is different, than the etching upon the one in Set's own ear. ]

[sterngaze]

[Although the way that Set advances on him once he's emerged from the closet does make a small thrill of apprehension slide down to Liem's stomach, he manages to maintain the appearance of unconcern as the comb moves through his hair. Unlike a true vampire, he has no difficulty seeing Set's progress on his hair as he fixes his tie in the mirror. The god goes about the task with surprising competence, and Liem is lulled from his uncertainty by the smooth, deliberate stroke of comb and fingers guided by someone other than him.

The result is somewhat less reputable than his usual style, a little less severe, but he is nonetheless forced to admit — it does look good.

Liem still needs to finish dressing; he has the garments yet lying on his bed to put on. But Set is not yet done with him, and he pauses instead as Set unclasps the jewelled stud from his left earlobe and retrieves something from within the glossy curtain of his own red hair: another earring, just as long and glimmering gold as the one he wears. Liem regards it intently, surprised and unexpectedly pleased, as Set replaces the removed earring with this one.

Liem's original earrings do not really match this long, elegant piece of jewellery. He removes his right as well, placing it beside the other, then tilts his head curiously to regard the golden earring dangling from his ear.]

What is that design etched upon it?

[He does not recognize it, though the style is vaguely familiar, reminiscent of Set and his pantheon. The jewellery is, Liem thinks, better suited to someone possessed of more beauty than himself, but it looks well enough on him for the time being, a matched set with his partner for the evening.]

[redsoil]

[ The comb is set down upon the dressing table with a soft clatter, while Set rubs his fingertips together to disperse the rest of the product and finishes stroking it into Liem's hair. He toys with the ends of his bangs to ensure they look disheveled enough, some sort of imperfection that blends well with the heaviness of his brow. Set, too, has a stern brow. For someone who cavorts, his idle expressions are far more severe than they are possessed of the fits and bursts of mania that possess him ( especially in public Communion, as if he has multiple faces and masks he wears ).

As he strokes his thumbs across the line of hair he has laid, he tucks the rest of the product along the nape of Liem's neck, to hold the smaller, stray hairs there in place. And then he touches the dangling earring with the back of a crooked finger, to turn it so that the man can see the delicate hieroglyps etched upon it. It must be custom-made, for Set's ancient language is either dead with their worlds, or dies in the future. And to him, his world has to have a future, as he has not seen the day when the kingdoms of his land are naught but dusty tombs and forgotten peoples.

Sebastian would tell the truth, even if it was cruel or obscured in some ways. And Set's own research had concluded it.

To Liem, he says: ] It is a saying, from my lands. Long before a nation called "Greece" takes over my Egypt, we effectively warded our borders with spoken prayer and song. My duties included the defense of these edges, from those who would seek to leave us with our precious things, or those who would seek to enter with wicked intentions.

[ His other hand cups Liem's shoulder, follows the line of his bicep to his forearm. Spreads, warm across his palm. ]

There is no direct translation I can give, but it is a wish akin to those they would give to those who defended those edges, and were thus far from home. Like you. We will draw fresh waters, mine says. And yours says, we will dampen the altars. It was a promise, between those who went and those who stayed. That together, we would wash all uncleanliness from our hands, under the same roof.

[sterngaze]

[Liem cannot miss the meaning behind Set's gift; behind the inscription, and the hand sliding warm against his palm. It is so terribly, heartbreakingly sentimental, this promise of togetherness, although the distance Liem has put between them has nothing to do with defending the home of anyone yet living. He has done so little to deserve such sentiment; it makes denial threaten to well up in him again, to cast off this temporary thing and its hidden barbs. Even as he tries to accept it instead, to let the feeling settle within him, it feels slippery, as if it will slide loose and disappear at the first opportunity.

For just a brief moment, he squeezes Set's hand.]

I don't know how long I will be away for.

[From home, as Set puts it. He does not know that he is going to return at all. There are too many evil truths jumbled up in his head, ones that had lunged up from the depths to assail him when he'd thought them long since put to rest. He cannot return with them haunting him like this.

But it is a painful thing, to begin to put down roots, only to be plucked and called elsewhere.]

Thank you, Set. It is a lovely gift.

[He does not expect to wear the piece often, considering its departure from his usual style, but… perhaps now and then, if the occasion demands. After a moment's thought, Liem strips the rings from his hands one by one, until the only one left is an engraved golden band. The discarded rings and earrings he puts in another drawer, one that fairly glitters with the jewellery he's collected in the half-year he's spent in Kenos. The man clearly likes his sparkle — but tonight he is content to go mostly without. The only thing he takes out of the drawer before closing it is a pair of simple golden stud earrings, the same glossy gold as the one dangling from his left ear.]

Would you like one?

[Liem knows he at least will feel naked without something in his other ear.]

[redsoil]

[ He might think to say something about the presence of one's home; about how, like the signpost Liem thinks that he resembles, it is never something that leaves its people. It exists as a point, for them to always look to for reference in the grand scheme of things. He also thinks such words would be painful, this evening, as Liem struggles with the weight of his heart and the things in his mind that Set seeks to draw from him — not like a healing salve, but like a glancing blow meant to gouge and bleed someone.

He is too indelicate for more than he already offers. ] Well, you are not alone or adrift, even while you are away. You have me here in these trying times, with you.

[ He dips his head, a wash of red hair falling across Liem's shoulder as he bows to inspect the golden earring he's been offered in turn — agreeably taking it between his fingers once he's inspected it for detail, to hook it into the empty lobe of his other ear. Like Liem, he feels a little lopsided with even one ear bare, and plenty 'off' as he's forgone most of his native jewelry for the evening. Besides, the two wrist cuffs from his home are gone now — one given to a teenage boy to pawn, and the other given to another teenage boy as a token of his attentions. A reminder he was present for him.

He straightens, once he has the earring in. ] I hope you do not expect this to be returned to you. I am likely going to treat it as the full set from now on.

[ The question is wry, as he pulls a segment of his hair back to examine the asymmetry of the earrings — before shaking his head to straighten himself back out. Away from the mirror he stepped, to instead pace in a little semicircle, as if taking a proper look at the man he'd selected as his partner for the evening, deeming him suitable company — dressed sharply, bearing his token, artfully disheveled... excellent! ]

How do you feel? Prepared? Have you any other preparations you would like to make? I think you look quite dashing, it almost makes up for your lacking presence at the masquerade.

[ he's never going to let liem live down that he AVOIDED IT ]