Runic Research (For Felix)

[westfallcorndog]

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... 

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[westfallcorndog]

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?"

[conjuredskies]

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?"

[westfallcorndog]

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.