[ 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

[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 ]

[sterngaze]

[Liem is not sure how to feel about the reassurance that Set offers. He does not feel as though he deserves it, as though he has been living up to his side of their covenant of friendship — one that grows more tenuous by his own actions, as the other man attempts to shore up the weaknesses between them. And yet, despite the god's words, he feels rudderless; he does not know how he could turn around to meet him, even if he were resolved to.

But it does make him smile to see Set wear his earring, small and unassuming though it is. Liem clasps the remaining stud into his own ear, pleased by the wry warning that he receives as the god is examining the new "pair."]

Please do. I think it suits you very well.

[He is not used to seeing studs on Set, just as he is not used to wearing long earrings on his own ears, but the asymmetry of the earrings is reminiscent, in a way, of their own strange relationship. They are two companions who are very unalike; but, together, they are not as asynchronous as might be supposed.

Abandoning his mirror for the moment, Liem scoops his waistcoat up from the bed to button it over his shirt and tie. He feels, in this ensemble, about as ready as he ever will to find out what a theatre date with Set entails. A little nervousness does nip at the back of his neck, but as he well knows by now, looking good goes a long way to instilling confidence. He just needs a nice pair of shoes and some sunglasses to hide his eyes, and he will be golden.]

You flatter me, Set. Were you so grieved, that you didn't get the chance to dance with me?

Everything else I need is downstairs, on the way out, so we need not linger here much longer.

1/2

[redsoil]

[ Liem's compliment is not met without that small, not-insignificant response from Set. The startle, the unfathomable disbelief — something so deeply tethered in him that it might has well be him, not the well-rooted insanity someone who sought, and succeeded, in isolating him. Making an already-difficult man impossible. He turns quickly, as if trying to outrace the fluster that builds upon his own face once more, intent instead on making his way to the door of Liem's bedroom, and downstairs.

Awaiting him, at the bottom of the stairwell, means that Set has recovered enough to shore up his own vulnerabilities and become ruthlessly confident, a beaming smile worn upon his mouth as finally, he answers: ] I did not grieve your lack of presence at the masquerade, for I had every intention of getting what I want from you in the future.

[ He offers both hands to Liem, stretching himself up like a flower to the sun, a long neck upon which a mouth ought to be pressed, a friend seeking the contact of another. He carries nothing with him, Galaniel holds their tickets in reserve at the theatre — for Set has taken a creature of war and hunger and encouraged him to transform into something additional. He never asks anyone to replace themselves, nor their parts, for they can always add on to the foundations, place new things upon their walls and decorate themselves over and over.

He is so envious of mortals, loving and hating them more and more every day. ]

I hope you enjoy tonight, Liem. Already, I would like to do this again.

[redsoil]

[ It is to the Last Dance that Set will escort him, down into the Below and into the lacework alleys of luminous golds and reds, bronze lanterns and gauzy drapes, softly-jingling chains of jewelry and countless stalls, further branches wherein other businesses are displayed and live. It is an open-air environment underground, and Set points out some of his favorite spaces for Liem to look upon, as they make their way with the flow of the crowd towards the cavernous cistern decorated that evening in great greens and creams.

The theatre's seats are hewn from the stone wall surrounding it, with the theatre itself sitting across the shadowy waters of the cistern, the unknown depths of which are lit by the accumulated glow of thousands of candles. Galaniel waits for them at the door, a hulking insect-like entity of branching beetle-like mandibles and horns, feathered like some strange, unholy angel; in full attire, prepared for the show that will go on, he hands them their reserved tickets, the thrum of his mind a calm, dark thing shot through with newfound pleasures.

Have a good time, Master Talbott, he chirrups secretly, Set will not tell you, but he has been planning this for you since the moment the show was selected.

Set takes his time to play around, to cavort among some audience members that he seems to know or recognize. To introduce them to Liem, invitingly and without reservation; as the lights go down for the show, he takes his seat alongside the other man. The long slit up the side of his outfit for the night proves helpful, as he crosses one leg over the other to better lean himself into Liem's space. To gather the man's hand into his own and give him excited looks, thoughtful squeezes when the show begins.

The story is simple — a musical rendition of the historical ambitions of someone who had not sought to become Springstar's Tribune, but was forever heralded as the one who would have been their best. A woman who was the second wife of a political leader, beloved by the city for her faith, her charity, her compassion. A rising star, robbed of her short life, her dutiful and loving life, by illness. And even until the end, she clung to the people she loved — defiant, shattered, impassioned.

With the last notes of her final song fading with the thunderous applause, and the evening's showing concluded with bows and flowers — Set pauses outside of the doors, to look back upon Liem Talbott. Silent, as if awaiting condemnation or approval with the same willingness he has shown at all times. ]

[sterngaze]

[Liem has never met anyone as uncomfortable with a compliment as the god of the desert appears to be. It is familiar enough to him, as a man who has always been shy of his own appearance, but to see reticence on Set strikes him as profoundly odd — especially because of how shamelessly he ambushed Liem with every aspect of this date. He cannot help but believe even more strongly, faced with this strangeness, that the only reason Set has gotten it into his head to invite Liem out in such a way is because he's decided this is what Liem wants.

Well — he is not wrong. Though how he came to such a conclusion, Liem still doesn't know.

He follows down the stairs in Set's wake, shrugging into his suit jacket as he goes. Far from being unnerved by the other man's choice of words, he reaches out to take Set's hands with a slight smile, his cool grasp gentle.]

How very like you.

[It is charmingly on-brand for Set to be so unwavering in pursuit of what he desires. Although Liem is certain this outing has been devised for his benefit more than for the god's, he's still tempted to believe the fantasy that Set is simply pursuing him for his company.

One fussy little pair of boots and a set of dark spectacles later, he is as ready as he's going to be to accompany Set on their date. Liem allows the other man to guide him around the underground venue, glancing curiously at the gently lit stalls and alleys. The atmosphere here is intriguing and inviting both — more agreeable by far than many places he has been to in the Below. If he is struck by a surfeit of free time in the future, he suspects this place may lure him back to explore its secrets more thoroughly.

For now, he has a show to attend with his animated companion. Galaniel's face is familiar by this point, and he manages to startle not at all when the insectoid hulk looms out of the crowds to deliver their tickets to them.

The aside that he delivers is accepted just as graciously as the ticket itself.

The style of theatre favoured here is less ostentatious than that most commonly favoured in his home city. It's a little unfamiliar, but the story is straightforward, and the presence of the man beside him, warm fingers clutched around his own, makes him glad for the company. Somehow, the performance makes his own loneliness feel more stark, so Set's companionship glows like a candle flame flickering bravely against the gloom. He wonders if it is an obvious thing about him, that he has a preference for melancholy tales.]

Set. [His fingers squeeze the other man's briefly, a small, quiet gesture in the midst of the crowded space.] Thank you for bringing me here. I would do this again.

[redsoil]

[ During the show, he is still — a hovering presence, warm and vibrant against Liem's side; holding his hand, bowing into his space, the soft ends of his hair tickling along Liem's cheek, the flash of pale leg as he shifts a little during moments that seem to affect him in some ways. Music is Hathor's domain, and Set is more accustomed to warsongs in camp, upon the field. To find some enjoyment in a musical showing about a woman who had sought the highest point, only to be felled by her own mortality.

The only reason a deathless being such as Set comprehends death, is on a metaphorical level, on the level of it being a necessary aspect of mortal life, and the degree to which he experiences the deaths of many, many souls — one, after the other, imbuing him with the knowledge of mortal pain, mortal ends. The songs are what he likes most, if he had to pick something about the theatre. Sometimes the things that mortal life focuses on are inane to him, confusing and frustrating, but the music they create — celebratory, mournful, indignant? he can like those things.

He pauses in the crowd, and does not draw aside. In that, he is so unapologetically himself — willing to stand in the midst of the natural flow of theatre-goers and force them to flow around the space where he stands, with Liem. To hear that the man enjoyed it, though? His smile is small and quick, eyes flashing with obvious delight, as if the reward for doing this thing properly is enough to sate himself on. ( It is not, really. Nothing short than everything he can lay his hands upon is enough. ) ]

I was once Egypt's protector, before I was their god of war. I liked to travel. I was able to meet so many other gods, immerse myself in their customs and culture, learn of them and from them. I thought, you might like to share a taste of that with me. For there is so much in this world that deserves to be known.

[ Even as the people mutter and skirt around his edges, he heeds them not. Stepping a little closer to his date for the evening once more, to find his other hand and hold them both — ] You are part of this world, too.

[sterngaze]

[If Liem had the freedom to pursue whatever life he chose, not simply the one dictated by his superiors in Abadar’s church, he would return to travelling — farther abroad this time, instead of stopping at the borders of his own country. “Travel” was the aspect of his lord’s domains that he had devoted himself to the most, when he was learning what it truly meant to serve Abadar as an inquisitor, and not just an acolyte.

That was the domain concerned with the spread and transformation of civilization in its entirety, unconstrained by city limits or national borders. Much as Liem loved the place where he was born and raised, he had ever been possessed of a curiosity for other lands and other peoples. It was reflected in the uncanny attention with which he noted the words and mannerisms of others, questioning their thoughts and their motives; a good trait in an inquisitor, though not such a good trait to have in a subordinate. Perhaps that was why his superiors had been so ready to unleash him into the countryside as a young man, to serve Taldor’s smallest communities as an itinerant.

It surprises him to learn that he shares this bit of history with the desert god; surprises him more to be subject again to Set’s undivided attention, here in the flow of theatre-goers flooding back out into the passages of the Last Dance. As he stands there with his hands held in Set’s, surprise makes a smile pass, small and soft and transient, over his expression.]

That is, I think, my favourite thing about living in Springstar; the customs of so many different places are kept alive here. But I much prefer the role of observer. As you said: to fade into the wholeness of the spectacle.

[redsoil]

That is what I have come to enjoy, too. This place — and everyone I have met in it — are all from worlds I wish to visit one day. Far more than just lands and cultures upon one realm, there are multitudes within multitudes! To know that now, and to seek a way to traverse them all... I have not had a thought like that in millennia!

[ He had stopped dreaming of travel, when he had been called upon to serve as the god of war. Osiris had urged him to return to Heliopolis, had looked so mournful and dire that even Set's heartstrings had tugged in his direction — sympathetic, perhaps, to the weight of the crown and the throne and the responsibility he had known his elder brother to have. ( What can I do? he had asked of him, alighting upon the sill of the window, the one looking out and far over the Nile in the distance. The gleaming golden sands on the horizon and the beautiful, verdant life springing forth so close to their home. Osiris had sighed so strongly, and looked so regretful: I need you here, he had said, you will be our strongest warrior, in the coming days. Tomorrow, I will announce you as Egypt's god of war, and you will lead our armies against the threat at our borders. )

And that had been the end of his travels beyond the edges of Egypt. That had been the end of communication with the gods he had called companions, mentors and those he would be the mentor to. ]

Springstar's core culture resembles one from my home world, in fact! That of Helles, or Greece, which is intriguing to me. I wonder where your world overlaps with this one, or mine.

[ Merciless, he seems to have found something he is genuinely overjoyed by. Set's delight is — perhaps infectious in its sincerity, the way it brightens at the smallest of thoughts and carries forth with momentum until it collides with something immovable and is dashed from his face. Like he's been slapped, or crushed below a weight. ]

— ah, but enough of that. My focus ought to be you, Liem Talbott. Just the whole of you, aside from talks of origins or dreams. You are all my attention will be on, for the remainder of the evening, [ as he had scolded Liem for speaking of Hayame, now he reflects on his own fumbling. ]

I saw your smile, just now. [ All he has wanted, in return. ] Do you think, I could have it one more time? I have one more thing to share with you.

[sterngaze]

[As ever, Set overflows with passion, with enthusiasm as he speaks of the cultures and interests that have captured his attention. Liem is charmed despite himself; even though the sect that has now subsumed him into itself would make dreams such as these impossible, he cannot help but be endeared for a brief moment by the joy that the war god seems to have for the simple act of discovery. His dream is an enchanting one, and like the other man, Liem too used to hold this fascination close to his heart, before he was obliged to give up on such things for reasons beyond his own power to change.

His world cannot overlap with any others, anymore. How could it, when all of their worlds have been doomed to oblivion?

The abruptness with which Set abandons his train of thought is almost startling. Somehow, Liem had not imagined that there would be more in store for them after the conclusion of the performance; he had not considered the possibility of a "remainder of the evening." Still, he does manage to summon a small, wry smile for the other man when asked. He is, after all, ever eager to accommodate, even in circumstances such as this.]

I did not realize you had yet more planned for me.

[It is enough to make him feel a little flustered, on-edge with nerves he tries to tamp down while Set's hands still grasp his own and Set's eyes are still on his face. He is not used to effort from others — not when it comes to him. Who would bother, when he has never demanded such a thing in order to provide his service, his companionship, even his loyalty? It is unnecessary, a complication that he doesn't understand being introduced just for his benefit.]

What occasion warrants this attention?

[redsoil]

Actually, I had not — planned beyond this.

[ Taking Liem anywhere to eat was out of the question, as both of them had unique diets ( or lack thereof ) and took to dining in privacy, not in the street. Perhaps the most he would have done was an awkward, expeditious walk back to Liem's place to drop him off and provide him with what he needed. Before leaving, again.

Dates are not exactly his strong suit, he thinks. Even his wife had been swept up into sharing a hobby with him when he'd thought to take her out to enjoy something in tandem, though he had brought her flowers. Had listened to her faithfully, whenever she spoke. Like he tries to listen to others, his skill stunted and desiccated with age and a lack of practice.

The crowd is beginning to thin, the divide they have caused by standing dead-center, ruthlessly wrapped up in one another begins to abate. He steps in, closer to Liem. This time, he brings the other man's hands close to him, to set them upon his waist and press them there as if to pin them in place. As he leans down and sweeps his now-freed hands to gather Liem's face between them. ]

There is no special occasion, I just want to share something with you. I think you will like it.

[ A murmur, as his hair tumbles loose over Liem's face, drapes over his shoulders. ]

You see. I found it abandoned, and I made it mine.

[ A dangerous set of words. Particular and distressingly low-spoken, as he dips his face close to Liem's and presses his mouth against his. ]