Harrowheart (
westfallcorndog) wrote2016-07-23 12:08 pm
Entry tags:
Runic Research (For Felix)
The small forest clearing Harrow now sits in is not new to him; he'd found the same place once before when he thought he might be able to teach frost magic to Steve. It seemed like it might be the perfect place to meet Felix, too, for a little bit of magical testing and theory. Plenty of privacy from the thick pines that traced a circle around the grove, a split rail fence encircling it, a sizable clearing to move, and a conveniently-placed table with benches off to one side.
He's brought with him a pitcher of water and a plate of bread that wait beside each other on the table, untouched. He expects Felix to arrive soon – they had agreed on it, after all – and so sits watching the path into the clearing. He looks tired, but being dead has a way of doing that to anyone. For whatever reason he's decided that today's discussions should be undertaken in his suit of blue Scourge armor and flowing red cape. Certainly a shift in appearance from the 'draugr in a floral shirt' he met Felix as. His runeblades, rather than being chained at his belt, are resting across his legs. The blue glow of the runes thrums eagerly, contrasting Harrowheart's dead, dull expression. It seems they're anticipating this more than he is...
He's brought with him a pitcher of water and a plate of bread that wait beside each other on the table, untouched. He expects Felix to arrive soon – they had agreed on it, after all – and so sits watching the path into the clearing. He looks tired, but being dead has a way of doing that to anyone. For whatever reason he's decided that today's discussions should be undertaken in his suit of blue Scourge armor and flowing red cape. Certainly a shift in appearance from the 'draugr in a floral shirt' he met Felix as. His runeblades, rather than being chained at his belt, are resting across his legs. The blue glow of the runes thrums eagerly, contrasting Harrowheart's dead, dull expression. It seems they're anticipating this more than he is...

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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?”
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"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."
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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."
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"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..."
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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."
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"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?"
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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?"
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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.