westfallcorndog | Runic Research (For Felix)

As hard as Felix has thought about it, there are just too many positives to meeting with Harrow for him to wriggle out of it. Too much to learn and, of course, too much favor to be curried with Jim. Too much favor he risks if he doesn't make an effort to be courteous with Jim's friends.

Maybe Harrow is the rare and strange undead who actually means no harm. Maybe the rules of necromancy in his world are fundamentally different from those in Nirn. Maybe it's as simple as Jim having his favor and Felix being protected by the mutual connection.

It seems equally likely that his Nexus acquaintances are simply that clueless about the undead, so Felix isn't feeling terribly sanguine here.

Accordingly, he falls back on what he knows. This is far from the first time he's gone out to meet a dangerous being of uncertain temperament, after all. Once he reaches the edge of the forest he pauses long enough to set those possibilities to the back of his mind. Clears his thoughts. Murmurs a few short invocations to Daedra who might help. He needs to go into this alert, able to take the situation on its own terms.

He comes down the path in leather armor - not his Legion uniform, but the well-worn and reinforced gear he wore before being volunteered to join up. (The skirt still ends above the knees, but you can't have everything.) Rather than a helmet, he has the blue-green hood typically worn by battle-mages. No visible weapons, of course. His ghostly wolf familiar trots just ahead of him, sniffing at everything for signs of traps or ambushes or strange magic.

Felix deliberately doesn't slow his pace when he finds Harrow waiting, although he does eye the change in appearance. And the axes. Yes, that's more what he'd expect. He nods a little to Harrow and strolls as close as seems polite before bowing properly. He's not smiling, but at least his tone is moderately pleasant when he says, "Good morning."

You have to set the right tone from the start, with these meetings.

The first thing Harrowheart notices is the ghost wolf, but of course it is. He hadn't seen it with Felix at the party, or if it had been there he somehow hadn't noticed. It's new and strange, yet somehow comforting. He knows very little about Felix, but he knows considerably more about wolves. A little smile makes its way across his face and he doesn't bother to fight it. There's no sign it's going away when he draws his attention up to Felix, either.

He rises at the arrival of the friend of his friend and goes to extend a hand to shake, but he's hardly moved before Felix bows. Well, that was unexpected. Uncertain of what to do, Harrow tries to mimic the bow. It's only polite, after all.

"It is a good morning," Harrow says. "As far as I can tell. Is it very warm out? I can never think warm thoughts when I see pine trees. I feel like they oughta be covered in snow."

Talk about the weather! Yes, that's a very normal and not at all awkward topic of conversation. Boring, maybe... But who said he had to be entertaining?

Edited 2016-07-23 17:26 (UTC)

It takes Felix a minute to drag his attention away from Harrow's armor and notice that smile. Well, that's... good. Perhaps. Let's all be polite and friendly and hope it sticks.

Just not too friendly, Harrow. He remembers the party conversation aaall too well.

"It's not over-warm, by my standards," he replies with a shrug. His familiar sits down beside him, leaning closer to sniff at Harrow. It still seems relaxed, and that's reassuring. "It's warmer here than where I'm stationed, but that's the chilliest province of the Empire. The Nexus summer makes a pleasant change."

He allows a polite moment, then tilts his head slightly, shifts the satchel slung at his side. On the one hand, small talk isn't what they're here for and the awkward air confirms that to him. On the other, he'd really like to sound Harrow out more before they delve into dangerous and unholy magic. Find out where they stand. And there is an open question right beside Harrow. Felix nods toward the pile of bread and the pitcher.

"I take it you weren't in the mood for land crab today." There's an inquiry in his tone. And a strategic reminder of the existing social connection.

Oh, his smile blooms at Felix's last comment! There's nothing fake about it, nor about the little chuckle he gives. Felix makes it easy for Harrow to like him. He motions for the bench with hands that are bound by metal bracers and takes the initiative to be the first to take a seat at the bench. Harrow offers an open palm for the familiar to sniff and with the other arm motions for Felix to join him.

"The food and drink's for you. I didn't know if you'd be doin' any magic, but I figured somethin' to eat and drink if you got hungry would be helpful. Hope you're not offended that it's nothin' fancy. I was aimin' for neutral. Hope you're not offended if I don't eat any. Bread's not really my kinda meal."

Accepting the invitation is an easy call. Felix moves round to sit across the table, eyes moving from Harrow to the bread. He doesn't know for sure how much magic he'll be doing, either. It's a reasonable and courteous concern, he's just... inclined to wonder about something as potentially symbolic as greeting him with bread and water.

Although his familiar is still quite content to inspect Harrow's floating hand. It can sense the magic about him, but unlike a human it isn't troubled by that. (Why should it be? It's a temporarily bound soul itself.)

"Not at all. That is thoughtful of you," Felix concedes, without offering an opinion as to the kind of thought involved. "It's rather unfortunate if you can't have any, though. After the buffet I thought you ate more-or-less like a living human."

"I can," Harrow says. "Eat whatever I want, I mean. I can if I choose. But if my body doesn't absorb it, it sits around. I'm not supposed to eat bread because it molds. Uncooked plants and meat, that's all I really oughta eat, if I choose to. They've got life energy in 'em. The magic that fuels my body can absorb that." Seems he's perfectly comfortable explaining certain ways his body works even without being asked. Is he used to people being curious, or simply used to oversharing?

He pulls his hand away from the wolf slowly so as not to scare it, then picks up his runeblades and sets them on the table. He places his palms on the flat side of the axes and looks to Felix. His expression is very serious suddenly, but there doesn't appear to be any malice in it. Not yet, anyway. Protectiveness, yes... But nothing more.

"Guess that's not really the kinda magic you came here to talk with me about, though. We're talkin' soul-bindin's, huh? Would you like to ask questions first, or you want me to ask you what you know and we'll go from there?"

Sits around. What an image that presents. No, he can't seriously blame Harrow for not breaking bread with him here. Felix stifles the little grimace of his mouth as best he can and just nods understandingly.

He even manages not to blink when the blades are set on the table in all their eerie, quietly thrumming glory. Whatever magic lies behind them, he already knows it's close enough to his own. He can feel them from here, although granted- he's a little hyper-aware right now. Just to act casual, he shrugs a little. Chooses to focus on Harrow's face. All the better to watch his reactions.

"I can tell you I've captured souls before, and bound them. I've handled temporary bindings for summoned beings and... dealt with those bound by other people. Both necromantic and daedric- that is, creatures summoned from outside the mortal plane." May as well lay those cards out now. "I don't know how your magic overlaps with what I know, so I suppose we'd better start by finding what we have in common."

Harrow nods slowly and thoughtfully along with what Felix says. It's an awful lot to take in, especially in the context of multiple worlds and multiple rules of magic. Yet, he thinks he's got a hold on everything Felix is willing to admit familiarity to, and so his final nod is much more decisive.

"My runeblades capture souls," he explains. "Passively. It's not my magic, it's theirs. When they take a life, they take the soul with it. They use the souls to power themselves... and me. Because they're linked to me. My soul is theirs, and we're chained together. They need me to kill for 'em, and I need them to keep me goin'. But it means I can't go far from 'em. I can't have a normal life too much, 'cause I always got two axes at my hips screamin' thoughts at me."

It's probably not coincidence that the blades' runic thrum stops abruptly. Excuse them? Shouting vicious thoughts? How could that possibly be when they're just two inert blades sitting on a table? Harrow gives Felix a look– the kind of look a despondent parent gives another adult when their petulant children act up.

"I'd need a permanent bindin', whatever we do, or else I'll have to come back to you over an' over to get the spell redone. You ever rebound somethin' forever? 'Cause that's how long it'll have to be. Forever, or until someone or somethin' kills me."

Felix settles down and listens, barely aware of the slight nods he gives in places. Admittedly there's a flicker in his expression when Harrow mentions a 'normal life', a desire Felix feels compelled to doubt. And yet - a truth that's been the bane of mages since the Dawn Era - it's really hard to be suspicious and wrapped up in thinking through the technical aspects of what he's hearing.

"We use captured souls to charge magical weapons," he notes. Which is one reason he's not fazed by discussing the subject. "And it's not so unusual to have weapons that bind souls themselves, although they can't - usually - absorb them directly. Not unless the enchanter is exceptionally skilled."

His gaze flicks down to the apparently offended blades. "There are ways to permanently bind a soul into a new form. I could do it, but..."

It must be a big 'but'. Felix stops himself and decides to clarify just what this is really going to take. "What is it you want, exactly? To change how you're connected to them, or...?"

Another glance at the blades. Maybe he won't speak of ditching them where they can hear.

Soul blades, common on another world? And Felix feels so casual talking about it? Harrow's eyebrows twitch with the effort of his thoughts. Despite the fact that most people on his own world know what a runeblade is or does, it's almost always frowned upon to discuss it. But here is Felix, a man from another world where such things are not only common, they're actually described as 'not unusual.' He doesn't even catch the way he stares at the table, engrossed in the implications of all of this. The Nexus is a strange place indeed to converge two worlds so similar and yet so different.

It isn't until Felix's final silence that Harrow jerks his attention back up, eyebrows raised high. The little white lights in his eyes flit to and fro as he tries to recall the words that were said.

"What do I want?" He repeats, then looks down again at his own weapons, brows creased now.

"I want..." He bites his lip and heaves a sigh. "I wanna be able to be far away from 'em. I can't right now. They can't be outta my sight. It makes me anxious. I can't think. I stop what I'm doin' and go to 'em and I don't even realize I've done it 'til I did it. I tried to bury 'em, but I dug 'em up straight away, and it was like I couldn't stop myself."

He looks up to Felix once more, brow still creased in thought. "We can't totally sever our bond, though. If somethin' ever happens and I need 'em but can't use 'em... I dont know. I might die. Or they might find another person to wield 'em. They'll find someone eventually. Runeblades always call to a new master if their old one's gone. I wouldn't feel right puttin' that burden on some innocent person."

Felix might be slightly more casual about the subject than the average person in Tamriel, but it's a fact: most apprentice mages learn to trap souls, if they learn no other part of conjuration. Every piece of enchanted weaponry or clothing requires a soul for its creation at the least. It's kind of ironic, considering how poorly conjuration in general is regarded these days.

And speaking of poor regard... it's hard to see Harrow as quite so terrible when he talks about his need for the blades. His dependency on them. Even the soul-snaring blades of Tamriel don't latch on to their wielder, save in one or two special cases. It's pathetic, in a way. But it's also enough to make the hairs prickle at the back of Felix's neck. Any magic so insidious is not to be trifled with.

"Weakening the binding would be the simplest thing to do," he says, trying to keep his face blank. "Crude, though. And I don't know what it would do to you. I wonder if it wouldn't be possible to remake the binding another way. Change the terms of the deal, so to speak. However..." here it comes, "that kind of permanent binding - with something intelligent and aware - normally means making a pact. Negotiating a price.

"A pact? Like... Like a demon pact?"

Harrow was already on the alert when Felix mentioned weakening the binding. It's one thing for him to say it himself, but hearing it out of someone else's mouth is somehow very different. Now we're talking pact-making like warlocks do? The blades scrape against the table as Harrow draws them protectively closer to his body.

"You think you can just... Ask 'em to let me go?..." He's skeptical to say the least, and as if to rub it in or to express some humor at the idea the runes glow rhythmically. Ha ha ha! With their grim approximation of laughter out of the way they quickly go dark again.

"What could I give 'em that I don't give 'em now? All they ever want are souls and killin', and..."

Oh.

He looks down at his blades, suspiciously calm as they are, and he frowns. "I don't do that anymore. Not since I came here. I think it's the anti-violence field, but... Here in the Nexus, they can't make me kill. That's all I got to offer 'em, unless you got a better plan?..."

"That depends on how you define 'demons'." Felix almost rolls his eyes at this use of the d-word, and just about confines himself to an unimpressed look. ~~Sorry Harrow, you've woken the snob.~~ And what's with this curling up like he's just been propositioned by a slug-man? Come on, he thought they were all big scary mages here.

As strange as Harrow's reaction is, they have to try and focus on the problem at hand. Neither his reaction nor the blades' is very encouraging: if anything there's a lingering tension here. Felix doesn't understand it: he just reacts by deliberately relaxing both his posture and voice. The last thing he needs is to push the undead knight into lashing out.

"It's usually one of those," he says with a shrug. "Powerful souls and opportunity. I've never tried it with a literal weapon before, I admit. It's hard to think of anything to offer offhand... but the other alternative is to try overriding their will in the rebinding, and that's not... my preferred approach." A strain of distaste colors his tone at that last. "And hardly theirs, I'm sure."

Harrow begins to shake his head in small motions at the mention of overriding wills.

"I don't think you could do it anyway," he says quietly, distantly, eyes on his runeblades. "I'm not sayin' you're weak. I just know a thing or two about runeblades. Mine ain't the most powerful around, but some of 'em got real dangerous wills, Felix."

He finally takes his hands off of his blades and instead rests his palms on his knees.

"We'll try makin' a deal, then. Changin' the terms of our link. You mentioned powerful souls. What kind you got in mind?" he asks, and only afterwards does he look up at the other man.

Felix gives a thin smile when Harrow starts to shake his head. It's not his friendliest smile, but it's there and it comes quite easily. And he's not ~~Jim~~ the type to protest that he could absolutely handle it when told a path is too dangerous, so the death knight's decision is met with a simple nod.

"For something like this, you're starting at greater beasts and spirits - giants, let's say - and working up to especially powerful undead." Is that an awkward thing to suggest? He's watching Harrow carefully. "Vampires, perhaps. I suppose a d- a 'demon' warrior would be fine if you dueled them for it." That last is a little hesitant. Many people use summoned daedra themselves for this purpose without any qualms; Felix isn't so callous toward them and won't even suggest doing such a thing to one of 'his' elementals.

And Harrow will probably notice the great big gaping absence of mortal souls from his suggestions. Frankly, Felix is hoping the blades won't.

Harrow grumbles lowly, not so much a complaint as a subconscious expression of his thoughts. His fingers drum against the table and his eyebrows tense and relax.

"Beasts and spirits... Undead... Demons..." he mutters. "I could find any a' those on my world." And somehow he seems disappointed by all of that. But what did he expect Felix to suggest?

"Buuuut," and now his eyebrows rise and the runes on his blades brighten with that long word, "They've never had a vampire soul before? We don't got vampires on my world. How would I get it? Would I come to your world, or would you bring me the vampire's soul in a soul shard or somethin'? And –"

Oh, wait a second here. He's been talking about making deals all this time and never even thought to ask, "What's your price?..."

Considering how similar their worlds seem to be, they might have to do a point-by-point comparison to work out where Tamriel might have something new to offer. And as faintly distasteful as it is to be discussing what 'flavors' to tempt Harrow's blades with- that's much better than some other ways of appealing to them.

And who cares what happens to a vampire's soul, anyway? Getting eaten is probably kinder than what Felix suspects happens ordinarily.

Harrow's asked a good question - while it's true Felix has a few things in mind to gain from all this, they aren't obvious and they're not things he'd choose to spell out. So he shrugs and evades.

"Here I thought I was doing a favor for a friend. But if it makes you more comfortable, I'm sure I can think of something to ask. I don't much care for the idea of hunting a vampire single-handed, but we can't have your blades getting to its soul prematurely, can we?" He frowns a bit to himself. "And an ordinary soul gem won't take it, so I'll need to go track down a black one. That might be tricky."

Harrow inches closer to the table until it touches his stomach and he can go no further unless he wants to lean. He tilts his head toward Felix as if to hear him better.

"A black soul gem? I might be able to get it for you, if that'd make us even. Where would I start with somethin' like that? You point me in the right direction and I'll do the work for you. Hell, if all'a this works out in the end, I'll say I owe ya one too. I'll do ya one free job of your choosin' whenever the need arises. Sound fair to you?"

Felix leans back a bit as Harrow scoots closer, unaware he's doing it. He just knows he's keeping a wary eye on the dead man's growing... enthusiasm.

Which is fine in theory, the whole idea is to come up with a plan they're both satisfied with, but Felix retains a quiet level of distaste for what he's getting into here.

He even hesitates over answering Harrow's very simple suggestion, his instinctive reaction of yes, favor! warring with reluctance over the source. His agreement is reduced to a stiff little nod, just short of jerking his head.

"The easiest way to find a black one it to take it from a necromancer, though. A rogue one, that is. Skyrim isn't exactly short on them, but... I don't know that I'd burden you with the task." Does that sound as weak an excuse as it feels?

"A necromancer, huh?" Harrow's lips purse and his eyes narrow, now more focused than ever.

"I... Don't wanna ask you to do more work than ya need to, but I don't know if I oughta risk buttin' heads with a necromancer from a world I don't know. I'm a necromancer too, but the difference is I'm also undead. I dunno if I'd be susceptible to their magic, and I ain't sure I wanna chance it."

He pulls a watery, guilty smile for Felix. Looks like he won't be burdened with that task after all.

Felix relaxes more than he intended to show. It's not concern for Harrow that pushes him to take that job for himself (although if Harrow got hurt it would upset Jim). In truth he doesn't think much of the average necromancer in his world and doesn't believe they could go toe-to-toe with someone on the lich end of the undead power scale.

But give Harrow the chance to dip into the repertoire and toolset of Tamrielic necromancy, and who knows what he could turn it to? However open and friendly he usually acts, Felix does have a mage's sense of the need to keep knowledge safely partitioned.

From other people, obviously.

"That seems wise. I've dealt with the type before, it shouldn't be any more difficult than usual." Difficult and dangerous enough: it's never been his favorite work. But there is an unkind pleasure in it sometimes.

"I'm, ah, more concerned with the actual negotiation. I don't know how directly you're used to communicating with your blades...?"

Harrow lets out one deep guffaw, tossing his head back as he does. He looks down at his blades after, then back to Felix.

"How do you communicate with your hands? Same as that. They're just part of me. They know what I know, and I know what they know... Mostly, anyway. They know everything we just talked about, but..."

Oh, great, he's climbing over the table to try to whisper into Felix's ear. "What happens if you give 'em the soul but they don't cooperate?"

What no Harrow stay on your side of the table. Felix leans back until his brain kicks in and he shuffles sideways, eyeballing Harrow all the way. It's a very special expression he's wearing right now, equal parts grimace and plaintive disbelief.

He composes himself, or at least shakes his head.

"We won't-" he glances between Harrow and the blades; lowers his voice to a murmur. "Won't be taking turns to hold up our end, here. These kind of contracts are binding - truly binding. I... actually haven't seen a daedra try to back out of one, come to think of it. Perhaps they just know better. It certainly never works for mortals... living or otherwise. I doubt your blades would enjoy the result."

Harrow returns to sitting more normally, giving Felix all the space he seems to need (but probably not as much as he wants.) He nods at what he's been told and once more puts a hand on the flat of one axe.

"I feel like we got a lot to think about. Is there anything else I oughta know, or anything else you wanna know? Or is it time we go our own ways?"

If he’s going to ask this seems as wise a time as any. While he still has everything to offer Harrow, and before ignorance of the answer lands him in any trouble. Maybe he’ll think differently after asking but the little jolts of adrenalin stemming from this conversation are starting to have an effect. His familiar's still relaxing in the grass by their feet and that's reassuring, but human instincts react faster than intellect.

Felix shrugs, and unless you’re watching his body language closely it looks quite casual. “Just one question for now, because I’m curious. What is your interest in Jim, really?”

The question brings an immediate and good-natured smile to Harrow's face. He rolls his eyes, though not at Felix's expense, and shrugs one shoulder playfully. It doesn't seem he's offended in the least by what he was asked. Either Felix is in luck or Harrowheart is truly a master manipulator...

"Jim, shoot. He's funny, ain't he? He's real sincere about havin' a good time. He goes a lotta places, he's seen a lotta things. Lotta people. He's got an open mind. I always feel like I'm hangin' with an old friend when I see him, even though we ain't known each other that long. Shoot, about a year now? I met him last fall at that Hallow's End – Halloween? – party someone was hostin'."

He stops for a little chuckle and another roll of his eyes. "I was so drunk. I embarrassed myself pretty bad, but he didn't hold it against me. I think that's what I like about him. He doesn't hold nothin' about me against me."

Harrow glances left, then right, then leans in just a few inches closer to Felix. "I'll be honest with ya..."

This is it, right? The subterfuge? The evil plans? The machinations?

"Iiiiii kinda had a crush on him for a while." He cups a hand to his cheek and laughs self-consciously. "Shoot, I sound like a stupid kid when I say it like that, huh?" Then he shakes his head and folds his hands and shrugs his shoulders. "I don't anymore, though. Like him that way, I mean."

Relieved by the non-hostile reaction, Felix is listening intently all the way through, without even flinching when Harrow leans in again. He doesn't dream of interrupting, not when he's busy taking in every hint as to Harrow's sincerity about this. He's just disappointed when it looks like the death knight's about to spill the whole truth and instead it's... well, a small revelation, enough to make him frown with disbelief and distaste for a second before he smooths his expression.

On the one hand, the parts about Jim ring true. That's the captain's charm, isn't it? His ability to light up the room, bring a smile to the coldest, deadest face. Felix considers himself dangerously open-minded, but he's not Jim.

After all, whether he ever accepts it or not, Jim's a hero, and Felix values his own skin far too highly to match that. There are precious few people he has the will to despise on more than a surface level, but he's not about to disregard what they are. He's not sure he can buy an undead creature having a simple and honest (harmless?) infatuation even if it is with his dashing, handsome, incredibly selfless boyfriend.

"I see," he says quietly, thinking fast. Then he lifts his eyebrows, adding, "Why not? He hasn't changed that much in between."

Harrow laughs self-consciously, very aware of what his answer is going to sound like. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clears his throat a few times. He shrugs one shoulder, reluctant to say... But it wouldn't be fair to lead Felix on like this, especially when the man is going to do him such a huge favor.

"You're gonna think I'm a terrible person," he says, forcing a smile despite his discomfort.

It's a long wait before he finds the courage to tell the truth.

"I... I don't really remember the, uh... The circumstances, but I think it happened back when we all got our bodies switched out by that Dr. Hill guy. Were you around for that? I didn't know you back then. A-anyway, uh... I think that's when I got a look at Jim's stomach, and..."

Harrow's face twists up with guilt and discomfort. "I... I guess I always imagined he was buff under there, y'know? Strong. But he's so... He's so... doughy."

Suddenly he hides his face in his hands and begins to shake his head. "Don't tell him, man. Don't tell him I think he's doughy, but I just can't do it. I can't get into a guy that ain't ripped. He can't do crunches in space, Felix!"

Remorsefully he lowers his hands and in the most solemn of voices he repeats, "He can't do crunches in space..."

Looking down at the table he says, "It's a good thing someone else is interested in him. Poor guy..."

That first warning just makes Felix raise his eyebrows and wait patiently. If it says so much about Harrow then all the more reason he wants to hear it.

But as Harrow reluctantly lets slip the awful truth, sentence by sentence, the conjurer's expression turns from an attentive frown to startled indignation. Doughy? Doughy? Okay so it's not Jim's most attractive feature but he has so many and who's this walking corpse to judge anyway?

Also: "That's it? Some ridiculous little thing is all it takes?" He looks at Harrow as if he can't quite believe it's that simple. That a dead man would really care about such a minuscule flaw in someone as fantastic as Jim. Clearly someone listened too long to Ixis Naugus in his bodyswapped rantings.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. He shouldn't argue reasons his boyfriend should be pursued by death knights. Loyalty hasn't quite overridden his sense of pragmatism here. He catches that last comment too, eyeing Harrow with brief suspicion. "Oh, he certainly won't be short of attention. You needn't worry."

Harrow lowers his eyebrows defensively when Felix challenges his own shallowness. He's primed to retort when Felix says something that softens his features and even brings an unexpected, tiny smile to his face. Okay, maybe less a smile and more a smirk. A knowing grin.

"Yeah, y'know, since I figured out he's with someone – whoever that might be – I guess that made him a little less attractive too. I ain't much of the homewreckin' type. Unless you want me to start overlookin' "ridiculous little things" and start talkin' about magic hands and not havin' a gag reflex with him again?"

Okay, granted, he's probably still going to do that, but Felix doesn't need to know. But saying that feels so damn catty. He ought to end it there, he knows, and let Felix stew on that, but he can't make himself be like that. Not with Jim's 'mysterious someone.'

"Plus," he says, shoulders slacked, defensiveness gone. "I know Jim would never really get with me. Even if he were single, and even if I asked. I'm not as dumb as I act, man. I know what I am. I know I'm never gonna get with anyone who ain't dead or doin' it for some nasty fetish. It's why I never made a move. I didn't need to hear him tell me that the whole idea makes him sick. So let me have my dumb excuses, alright?"

All right, it's confirmed. Harrow's not only well aware of their relationship, he's more than capable of using it to make a point. Felix draws his mouth ruefully, shakes his head a little in embarrassed acceptance. He can admit defeat.

What makes him frown uncertainly is when Harrow's attitude shifts: shoulders slumping, that grin vanishing. The suggestion of honest emotion - vulnerability, even - almost comes out of the blue as far as the conjurer's concerned. It's disquieting. He even feels unexpectedly guilty, called out for pressing the question when the answer is bitter and obvious. Truthfully, he doesn't want to consider what it might be like to be undead and still feel some humanity. He admits that to himself. It's easier to think Harrow has nefarious desires than any genuine need for affection.

Maybe it's the blunt simplicity with which Harrow spells it out, pre-empting any disgust or hostility Felix could have expressed. That or the reminder that however surprising it is, he's still Jim's friend. Either way Felix has no argument to offer.

"Very well," he says, subdued now. His familiar looks up from the grass and whines at them. Felix clears his throat and tries to figure out where to pick up from that. "I... suppose I've no grounds to complain."

Not the best place to leave matters, but he'll take safety over grace any day. "So, ah. I'll contact you when I have the soul in hand?"

A change is subject is openly welcomed regardless of its abruptness – perhaps because of it. It makes it easier for Harrow to smile, which is always preferable to self-loathing, though not always easier. With one serious nod he agrees, "When you've got it, I'll be here, and so will my blades."

He goes to offer a hand, but as he begins to move it across the table he realizes Felix probably is in no mood to touch him, especially given how flighty he was at earlier closeness. Instead he nods again and stands, then busies his hands by dusting off his shirt where it touched against the table.

"Safe travels." It seems like a fair goodbye for a man with Felix's mission.

Runic Research (For Felix)

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My paid icons lapsed, pretend I used the ??? one

I'll just doodle them in

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