I will hold it over you forever that when I recanted my bullying to ask you nicely, you refused me and take it as further proof that asking anyone for anything is worthless.
Nothing else, though.
Truly, I would just enjoy seeing you. And caring for you, like I did before.
Even if that "bully" opens his door lightning-fast, revealing bright eyes and comfortable grey sweats ( sue him, he likes LILITH's standard-issue ones ). His hands reaching out to seize Sampo's face, pushing his bangs up to lay the back of one to his brow. ]
Do come in — I had something made for you to drink.
[ It's warm, steaming softly in a plain mug — waiting for Sampo on his austere, clean work desk behind him.
There are children's drawings all over his room, a dried bundle of flowers that could only have come from Ereshkigal's lovely shop, and a variety of other eclectic gifts. In fact, the only belongings in Set's room are really items that have been gifted to him. Save for the corner of the room that belongs to an image of a beautiful blonde woman, a blade of obsidian, and a set of canopic jars. ]
Have you been overworking yourself, Sampo? Or is this an ailment of your heart like the last?
[Those are definitely hands on his cheeks, there, his bang being flipped over. Such familiarity is something maybe he - and Elysium, yes - would indulge in, but never quite like this. These were games played for games sake. Set is sincere in all things. Maybe that's how all gods are.]
Oh, goodness me. That's real kind of you.
[A little clearing of the throat, as he casts his gaze everywhere. The woman catches his eye, of course, do does that blade, and the jars - but he's sweeping in and not bringing them to attention just yet.]
[He approaches the desk, his finger playing around with the handle of the cup, before glancing back at Set.]
Y'know...bit of both, maybe. Nothing your ol' friend Sampo Koski can't handle.
[ Ironically, Sampo has figured out a piece of the most delicate parts of the war god: that he is shockingly sincere. When not donning one of his million masks to play a role or accomplish a goal, he has nothing more to his name than violent, miserable sincerity. It shines like the sun and writhes across the ground like a serpent.
The cup contains a tea, smelling strongly of ginger and some other red fruit that has to be mandrake root. ]
I have seen you at striking lows, Sampo Koski. Those hands of yours that murdered against your will, and left your heart pained, are ones I have held even still.
[ He likes funny little clowns with weird depths, sue him.
Shutting the door behind him, he curls his fingers under the edge of the cup and urges it up towards his mouth. It's for your stomach, is the soft explanation before he carries on. ]
My friend [ He's so unused to saying the word, because it means so much. It is so hard won. ] does not have to say anything, if he does not want. He should know I am here with him, regardless. The same as before.
[ Blame the presence of children in his life again. Of the softening of his defenses as he finally begins to allow the formalities and dangers of the last, dire war he had fought in to slip away behind him. As he rests, and allows others to lead and determine their own fate once more.
Set emits a cautious little sound, as Sampo comes into his arms. Somewhere between animal curiosity and that strange, parental gentleness he wears at times.
He offers no words, lest he jeopardizes this.
Only folds his arms around the evasive man, palm skimming the line of his spine in sweeping motions. To soothe him, maybe. ]
[...Man, how pathetic. Outside of Elysium, he doesn't remember the last time he embraced, or was embraced like this. The man's palm slides over his spine, and he heaves a sigh into the other's broad shoulder. He shifts, and the red feather hanging from his ear cuff (new, it's very new) brushes over the other man.]
[What a beautiful mess.]
....Have you ever lost someone special to you, Set?
[It's better to talk about it in the abstract, or in relation to someone else. To approach it directly is to dance on ice.]
Sampo is a silly man, full of antics and hedonism — and Set, who still wears a thousand masks, can find at least one that mirrors his own. Some part he can scratch at and think "maybe, I am not as hard to understand as I think". At least before he is inevitably proven wrong, again.
He wonders if this is the crux of Sampo's current pain. If others who have been stricken from the roster had deep connections he feels relief not to know of. Not to have to know, for the purposes of using them against an enemy or to control an ally, as he has in the last place. ]
Do you need to hear of them, or just hear that I know loneliness and loss, too?
[He doesn't know what to say to that. Doesn't detach just yet, but gives a little shrug.]
It's up to you. I'd be fine either way. [A pause.] I guess it just interests me, y'know? Most of the time, gods are gods. They seem so far away from us mortals. Nice to think that...you're kinda close, yourself.
Do not think that because I will speak first, you are off the hook.
[ Neither does he detach, holding Sampo's shoulders and torso firmly to him with one arm; the other is gentle with the pale ends of his hair, mindful not to touch the feather woven into it. Goodness knows he used to have all sorts of trinkets from those he'd sworn he would not miss. ]
Mm, I could take your tongue out for such slander.
[ There's no heat in that threat, though. It is that Set has never enjoyed being directly compared to mortals, or empathized with through a lens of humanity. ] Gods are the foundation of all things that the world has come to know; love, marriage, parenthood... we taught our mortals these things. Of course we are beholden to the same losses as them. We also would show them how to survive the heartbreak.
[ Which is to say, he's an old pro at relationships of various forms. ]
— I lost [ a pause, as he decides who best to speak of; it's for Sampo, in the end, so he goes with: ] a goddess named Quetzalcoatl, in the last realm I inhabited. She was very dear to me. A friend, a confidante, one of the few individuals I could wholly trust with the "me" under all my masks. Is it like that for you?
[He laughs a little - always the jester willing to laugh at the king - though it seems a little bit of a kneejerk reflex, as he quiets just as fast. Set could cut out his tongue. Then he wouldn't say anything, anymore. Would that be its own mercy?]
[He listens quietly. A friend, a confidante, someone who he could trust with the true self, underneath everything.]
...No. He didn't see my core. [He says, as sure as anything.] But man. He got close. I did the same for him, too.
[A little rough noise, his nose rubbing up against the god's neck.]
Two birds of a feather. I was real bad at being a bird.
Sometimes that is worse. Losing what may have been, and living with its ghost.
[ The redhead doesn't enjoy physical contact, as a point of pride.
For someone to lay hand upon his divine body was tantamount to a cardinal sin. Yet, there are subtle exceptions that can readily be found by attentive souls; if Set initiates the contact ( or can be lead to initiate it, by guile or request ), he is far more inclined to warm up to whatever comes of it. The point being, that as Sampo noses along his neck, he doesn't wallop the snake-y businessman for it. Instead, he croons some animal noise — unfathomable to most, save for his immediate kin. ]
You are definitely not a bird, Sampo. You are a wonderful, sly thing that need not twist himself into knots to become anything else in the pursuit of acceptance. Not love, not friendship, not anything that requires you to change to be worth its receipt.
[ Lightly, he tips his cheek against the side of Sampo's head, nudging at it in that same animal-strange way. ]
Is that what pains you most? Did you want to be seen?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Could you please not
1/2
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It may take him a while, but he will. Clearly he's still looking around ( hunting sampo with his bloodhound nose ) when he texts again. ]
— you usually enjoy coming out with me, why so resistant?
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Just have a stomach bug no biggie its fine! It's fine
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Of all things great and small, you would speak false to me?
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Honest!
Just don't feel good it's fine
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That is what friends do, is it not?
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I guess that's what friends do
I'm not at home though
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Yet, you are not well enough come out with me?
My feelings might be hurt, Sampo. Come by my room.
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Nothing else, though.
Truly, I would just enjoy seeing you. And caring for you, like I did before.
[ at the castle, after that horrible time ]
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[mmmmMMMMMMMMM THIS IS SO HARD TO BE WEASLEY ABOUT THIS]
[fuck.]
[It may take a reluctant 15 minutes or so, but here is a knock on the door...]
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Even if that "bully" opens his door lightning-fast, revealing bright eyes and comfortable grey sweats ( sue him, he likes LILITH's standard-issue ones ). His hands reaching out to seize Sampo's face, pushing his bangs up to lay the back of one to his brow. ]
Do come in — I had something made for you to drink.
[ It's warm, steaming softly in a plain mug — waiting for Sampo on his austere, clean work desk behind him.
There are children's drawings all over his room, a dried bundle of flowers that could only have come from Ereshkigal's lovely shop, and a variety of other eclectic gifts. In fact, the only belongings in Set's room are really items that have been gifted to him. Save for the corner of the room that belongs to an image of a beautiful blonde woman, a blade of obsidian, and a set of canopic jars. ]
Have you been overworking yourself, Sampo? Or is this an ailment of your heart like the last?
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[Those are definitely hands on his cheeks, there, his bang being flipped over. Such familiarity is something maybe he - and Elysium, yes - would indulge in, but never quite like this. These were games played for games sake. Set is sincere in all things. Maybe that's how all gods are.]
Oh, goodness me. That's real kind of you.
[A little clearing of the throat, as he casts his gaze everywhere. The woman catches his eye, of course, do does that blade, and the jars - but he's sweeping in and not bringing them to attention just yet.]
[He approaches the desk, his finger playing around with the handle of the cup, before glancing back at Set.]
Y'know...bit of both, maybe. Nothing your ol' friend Sampo Koski can't handle.
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The cup contains a tea, smelling strongly of ginger and some other red fruit that has to be mandrake root. ]
I have seen you at striking lows, Sampo Koski. Those hands of yours that murdered against your will, and left your heart pained, are ones I have held even still.
[ He likes funny little clowns with weird depths, sue him.
Shutting the door behind him, he curls his fingers under the edge of the cup and urges it up towards his mouth. It's for your stomach, is the soft explanation before he carries on. ]
My friend [ He's so unused to saying the word, because it means so much. It is so hard won. ] does not have to say anything, if he does not want. He should know I am here with him, regardless. The same as before.
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[He doesn't deserve this.]
[What did he ever do for this? Be funny? Be a silly little jester playing tricks? Is that enough to get the attention of a god like this?]
[Not many people call Sampo Koski "friend", and for good reason.]
[...]
[His lower lip quivers - unexpectedly emotional, and he hates himself for it. His mask always feels like its slipping.]
[He won't take a sip of the tea just yet. Instead, he twirls on his feet, moves in, and embraces the man.]
[Silently. No words to say, at least for now. He just wants that warmth he so sorely misses, like an open wound.]
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Set emits a cautious little sound, as Sampo comes into his arms. Somewhere between animal curiosity and that strange, parental gentleness he wears at times.
He offers no words, lest he jeopardizes this.
Only folds his arms around the evasive man, palm skimming the line of his spine in sweeping motions. To soothe him, maybe. ]
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[What a beautiful mess.]
....Have you ever lost someone special to you, Set?
[It's better to talk about it in the abstract, or in relation to someone else. To approach it directly is to dance on ice.]
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[ Of course he has, god or not.
Sampo is a silly man, full of antics and hedonism — and Set, who still wears a thousand masks, can find at least one that mirrors his own. Some part he can scratch at and think "maybe, I am not as hard to understand as I think". At least before he is inevitably proven wrong, again.
He wonders if this is the crux of Sampo's current pain. If others who have been stricken from the roster had deep connections he feels relief not to know of. Not to have to know, for the purposes of using them against an enemy or to control an ally, as he has in the last place. ]
Do you need to hear of them, or just hear that I know loneliness and loss, too?
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It's up to you. I'd be fine either way. [A pause.] I guess it just interests me, y'know? Most of the time, gods are gods. They seem so far away from us mortals. Nice to think that...you're kinda close, yourself.
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[ Neither does he detach, holding Sampo's shoulders and torso firmly to him with one arm; the other is gentle with the pale ends of his hair, mindful not to touch the feather woven into it. Goodness knows he used to have all sorts of trinkets from those he'd sworn he would not miss. ]
Mm, I could take your tongue out for such slander.
[ There's no heat in that threat, though. It is that Set has never enjoyed being directly compared to mortals, or empathized with through a lens of humanity. ] Gods are the foundation of all things that the world has come to know; love, marriage, parenthood... we taught our mortals these things. Of course we are beholden to the same losses as them. We also would show them how to survive the heartbreak.
[ Which is to say, he's an old pro at relationships of various forms. ]
— I lost [ a pause, as he decides who best to speak of; it's for Sampo, in the end, so he goes with: ] a goddess named Quetzalcoatl, in the last realm I inhabited. She was very dear to me. A friend, a confidante, one of the few individuals I could wholly trust with the "me" under all my masks. Is it like that for you?
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[He listens quietly. A friend, a confidante, someone who he could trust with the true self, underneath everything.]
...No. He didn't see my core. [He says, as sure as anything.] But man. He got close. I did the same for him, too.
[A little rough noise, his nose rubbing up against the god's neck.]
Two birds of a feather. I was real bad at being a bird.
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[ The redhead doesn't enjoy physical contact, as a point of pride.
For someone to lay hand upon his divine body was tantamount to a cardinal sin. Yet, there are subtle exceptions that can readily be found by attentive souls; if Set initiates the contact ( or can be lead to initiate it, by guile or request ), he is far more inclined to warm up to whatever comes of it. The point being, that as Sampo noses along his neck, he doesn't wallop the snake-y businessman for it. Instead, he croons some animal noise — unfathomable to most, save for his immediate kin. ]
You are definitely not a bird, Sampo. You are a wonderful, sly thing that need not twist himself into knots to become anything else in the pursuit of acceptance. Not love, not friendship, not anything that requires you to change to be worth its receipt.
[ Lightly, he tips his cheek against the side of Sampo's head, nudging at it in that same animal-strange way. ]
Is that what pains you most? Did you want to be seen?