[When Diarmuid heads back to his room one evening, he'll find a pair of pillowcases sitting on his bed. The first is filled with bottles of water and long life juices. The second, jarred and canned foods. Chocolate. And both a small paring knife and can opener; both of which are wrapped in a piece of paper that has a messily scribbled keep the knife with you at all times on it.
...good luck figuring out the can opener though, kid.]
[Another day, another delivery. Yes, it's food again. And yet another borrowed knife. This time it's complete with a makeshift sheath for him to tie it to his side. And surprise, another note:
It's not safe here. Someone was killed.
Use the bed if you want to. It's only storage. We sleep in the other room.
He's well aware that Furiosa will tease him about this later if Diarmuid takes him up on the offer. But hey, it's worth it.]
[Diarmuid is quick to rope the sheathed blade onto the rope belt he often wears with his robe, because the note received is quite horrible. Someone has died? Been killed? His heart races at the thought of it. He's not sure if Max will reply back, being like he is, so Diarmuid moves to try and find him in his room.]
Max, are you here?
[He speaks softly, as he pokes his head into the room.]
[It's one of those rare days where Max has opted to keep to the rooms over heading outside. For all that being indoors often leaves him feeling trapped, sometimes he needs to be able to tuck himself away completely. Put some distance between himself and other people.
So when Diarmuid lets himself in, Max is sitting in the far corner, open tins and packets of food surrounding him. Because he's never going to stop taking advantage of the abundance of food here. His gaze is fixed on the door though the moment he hears footsteps stopping outside it. So it does take a few moments for his expression to shift from wariness to something...warmer.
Of course, that doesn't actually mean he responds with anything more than a hum. And a bag of chips being slid to the side to give the boy somewhere to sit.]
[It's okay. Hums are usually more than he even gets sometimes. From the Mute, but even from monks who practice silence during work. Stepping further in, his hands wring the strap of his satchel quietly, moving to sit down with the other.]
Do you know what happened? To the person who was killed?
[Which is why he's jumped to the conclusion that whatever it is that killed the guy, it wasn't natural. And considering some of the things this place has already inflicted on them, he doubts they'll be seeing the end of it with just Embry's death.]
Before you arrived- They throw celebrations here. One of them had people eat each other. Then they released an animal that tried to kill people.
[He pauses a moment then, gaze shifting to the side. To the middle distance as he tries to remember whether that was before or after he stumbled across Diarmuid hiding under the bed. Was he here for those gatherings?
No matter.]
People are made to fight. Bleed. There are things here that feed on it. [His eyes snap back abruptly, narrowed as he stares back at the boy.] Don't take risks. Don't wander around alone.
[Though he's not so sure that it won't. He sure feels some small, quiet anxiety building up in his chest at the very thought of someone's death. He ducks his chin, thinking about his own short time here thus far.]
The escaped wolf-man, right? I had hid from such a creature once before here.
But I was fortunate not to directly meet its claws.
What does this manor want from us? Are we a cruel form of entertainment?
They burned the halls to kill it. Didn't care if people were out there.
[Which, he supposes, is partly an answer to Diarmuid's last question too. Nothing about this place seems to have any logic behind it. Any reason. They're all here for the amusement of someone else- the owners of this place? -and have forcibly lost control over their lives in the process.]
We're- [How to word it...] -objects here. Possessions. Whoever brought us here thinks they own us. Does whatever they want and doesn't care who gets hurt.
[His voice is very matter of fact. Coming from the world he does, he's all too used to the concept. Has seen what men have turned in to when the world fell apart.]
You need to learn to defend yourself. Against everyone. [Even him.]
[Diarmuid had feared much of the same himself. That they were just possessions. To whom, he's not sure, but he's from a time where the concept of being owned by another is far too normal. Even so... the idea of having to arm himself after so long of being without a weapon makes him shrink a little.]
Against 'everyone'?
[He does anticipate Max's answer, but he still asks anyway.]
[It's partly an answer. But he feels like it goes without saying that he's the least trustworthy of them all. As much as he may not want to hurt the boy, he knows it's only a matter of time. That, sooner or later, he'll end up caught in the crossfire of Max's broken mind. It's not a side of him that he wants Diarmuid to bear witness to. But it's still an inevitability.]
Furiosa. She's the only one you can.
[Though that's very much his own feelings coming through. She's the only one who holds his trust, so clearly that's something that should be felt by others too.]
[Ah! An unholy thing, indeed. Diarmuid looks a little flummoxed when he moves over to the window; should he open it? It is a little demonic in nature, to scratch on the unusual entry to one's home. He opens the window, though, short and sweet and to the point-]
[Be at peace! Diarmuid looks particularly unafraid as he places the little flask on his nightstand. The whole room isn't terribly fancy beyond what is already given to them; he's a simple creature, and his bed is made carefully. Not a thing out of place. Properly clean.]
When I heard such demonic scraping noises outside, I had worried you may be an unholy beast, so I blessed this water and threw it upon you. Fortunately, you seem quite spiritually sound.
[A pause, and he reconsiders.]
Or, well... you're not a demon, anyway.
Do you always visit friends in such concerning ways?
Some help your waters were against an evil god, urchin. "Spiritually sound", bah.
[ This WILL be the way in which he refers to Diamuid, now. Petty of him.
Swinging his legs over the sill, he slips onto the ground and holds out the cowl he'd been lent. There's no need for it now ( wasn't one to begin with, he just needed to hide the Clown Nose Blemish ), but he had said he would return it. ]
I am able to identify everyone's rooms from the windows, better than wandering through the halls. And I like to keep everyone on their toes. If I can enter through a window, do any of them really consider their quarters "secure", should I wish to do them harm?
[Diarmuid looks him over, head to toe, thoughtful for a moment.]
... Very well. Please, take a seat; I'll be but a moment.
[And he vanishes into the joint bathroom area, his own bare feet pattering on tile as he enters; he exists not only with a towel slung over his shoulder, but a small basin of steaming, warm water, which he places carefully near the foot of the chair.
He gives Set the towel, then ducks down on a knee, holding up a hand.]
I hate that instead of questioning this or protesting in the least, Set's first reaction is simply to pick up his foot and provide it. Because, to him, it IS an ordinary request! He's not exactly the most contact-focused individual, but he is used to seeing mortals on their knees in positions of service.
Thankfully, he's juuuuuuuust self-aware enough to say: ] If your fellows saw you like this, they'd be insulted on your behalf.
[ And he begins to run the towel over his hair, fluffing at the ends until they're dried. ]
This is twice now you've offered something to me. Are you looking for a service in return?
... My brothers would be content with such traditions.
[On his knee, Diarmuid gently washes the offered foot in warm water. It's only when the question is posed that he looks up with eyebrows raised — though he still is sure to continue his task, devoted to memories of rare wanderers coming through the monastery's boundaries.]
Is it so unusual, to be serviced kindly, without anything in return?
I have not, dear Lauralae, for I'm not sure any are as sweet as yours! 😊
[Oh, he's learning how to have game. Praise be!]
And I've been terribly worried for everyone, too much to pursue sweet kisses. But I am well, and my health and soul survives another day. Are you well, my friend?
i cannot judge if you are sincere or you tease me. i am glad to hear of your wellness, and that you survive still. i am much the same, unchanged despite the strangeness of this world. did you attend the tourney?
[ Left on Diarmuid's doorstep is a little gift, with a note atop it;
To the sweetest of kissers.
Enjoy the season.
- L
Inside is a simple gift: some flowers, pressed together to make a bookmark, some empty notebooks with parchment style paper, a pen, and some chocolates. ]
[Alia’s gift is wrapped somewhat clumsily in brown paper, likely taken from the kitchens, and taped excessively to ensure it’s secure. Inside, resting in sparkly, star-studded tissue paper:
A smooth-polished rock from the lake (yes, everyone gets a rock) with the gift-receiver’s initials carefully carved into it (with what? Don’t worry about it.)
A business card for Sol & Scroll, because if you aren’t patronizing it, you should be.
Diarmuid doesn't get a note, but rather a carefully-folded heart made of notebook paper, with a little stick figure drawing of a curly-haired boy holding a wild-haired girl's hand.]
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...good luck figuring out the can opener though, kid.]
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Max will find something delivered to his pillow in turn: a comfortable black scarf.
It appears handmade!]
stakes a claim on this inbox ig
It's not safe here. Someone was killed.
Use the bed if you want to. It's only storage. We sleep in the other room.
He's well aware that Furiosa will tease him about this later if Diarmuid takes him up on the offer. But hey, it's worth it.]
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Max, are you here?
[He speaks softly, as he pokes his head into the room.]
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So when Diarmuid lets himself in, Max is sitting in the far corner, open tins and packets of food surrounding him. Because he's never going to stop taking advantage of the abundance of food here. His gaze is fixed on the door though the moment he hears footsteps stopping outside it. So it does take a few moments for his expression to shift from wariness to something...warmer.
Of course, that doesn't actually mean he responds with anything more than a hum. And a bag of chips being slid to the side to give the boy somewhere to sit.]
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Do you know what happened? To the person who was killed?
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[Which is why he's jumped to the conclusion that whatever it is that killed the guy, it wasn't natural. And considering some of the things this place has already inflicted on them, he doubts they'll be seeing the end of it with just Embry's death.]
Before you arrived- They throw celebrations here. One of them had people eat each other. Then they released an animal that tried to kill people.
[He pauses a moment then, gaze shifting to the side. To the middle distance as he tries to remember whether that was before or after he stumbled across Diarmuid hiding under the bed. Was he here for those gatherings?
No matter.]
People are made to fight. Bleed. There are things here that feed on it. [His eyes snap back abruptly, narrowed as he stares back at the boy.] Don't take risks. Don't wander around alone.
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[Though he's not so sure that it won't. He sure feels some small, quiet anxiety building up in his chest at the very thought of someone's death. He ducks his chin, thinking about his own short time here thus far.]
The escaped wolf-man, right? I had hid from such a creature once before here.
But I was fortunate not to directly meet its claws.
What does this manor want from us? Are we a cruel form of entertainment?
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[Which, he supposes, is partly an answer to Diarmuid's last question too. Nothing about this place seems to have any logic behind it. Any reason. They're all here for the amusement of someone else- the owners of this place? -and have forcibly lost control over their lives in the process.]
We're- [How to word it...] -objects here. Possessions. Whoever brought us here thinks they own us. Does whatever they want and doesn't care who gets hurt.
[His voice is very matter of fact. Coming from the world he does, he's all too used to the concept. Has seen what men have turned in to when the world fell apart.]
You need to learn to defend yourself. Against everyone. [Even him.]
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Against 'everyone'?
[He does anticipate Max's answer, but he still asks anyway.]
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[It's partly an answer. But he feels like it goes without saying that he's the least trustworthy of them all. As much as he may not want to hurt the boy, he knows it's only a matter of time. That, sooner or later, he'll end up caught in the crossfire of Max's broken mind. It's not a side of him that he wants Diarmuid to bear witness to. But it's still an inevitability.]
Furiosa. She's the only one you can.
[Though that's very much his own feelings coming through. She's the only one who holds his trust, so clearly that's something that should be felt by others too.]
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[As he sits down, he fidgets with the sheathed knife on his rope belt.]
A dangerous home, to be sure. Mine has its own dangers, things that have made men mute with suffering. Is yours something like this, too?
@SET
You are not at the party, so where are you? I will meet with you to return your cowl.
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I'm returning from the chapel to my room for the night.
Did it serve in keeping you warm? Are you well?
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Where is your room? I will bring it there.
You know I did not really need it, yes?
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But after a moment, he adds:]
I did not offer it just to stave off chill.
Small kindnesses warms us all.
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He Will Not be using the door, either. It's windows or nothing, for him. ]
I find fire works just as well, if not better.
[ soon enough..... there will be the skritch skritch of an unholy demon with red eyes at poor diarmuid's window ]
1/3
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... Ah, what a relief.
Come in.
[He shan't explain.]
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there is immediate revulsion on his face, as he drips water on the windowsill, followed by a scowl of annoyance. ]
— what on EARTH was that for?!
[ HE CLIMBS IN ALL THE SAME, towing the cowl with him as he does ]
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When I heard such demonic scraping noises outside, I had worried you may be an unholy beast, so I blessed this water and threw it upon you. Fortunately, you seem quite spiritually sound.
[A pause, and he reconsiders.]
Or, well... you're not a demon, anyway.
Do you always visit friends in such concerning ways?
HELP THIS TAG NEVER GOT SORTED IN MY INBOX
[ This WILL be the way in which he refers to Diamuid, now. Petty of him.
Swinging his legs over the sill, he slips onto the ground and holds out the cowl he'd been lent. There's no need for it now ( wasn't one to begin with, he just needed to hide the Clown Nose Blemish ), but he had said he would return it. ]
I am able to identify everyone's rooms from the windows, better than wandering through the halls. And I like to keep everyone on their toes. If I can enter through a window, do any of them really consider their quarters "secure", should I wish to do them harm?
[ he says the last bit VERY cheerily! ]
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Do evil gods return cowls?
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[ petulantly; damn he wishes he threw the cowl in the boy's face ]
Now, I fetch me a towel. I hate being wet.
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... Very well. Please, take a seat; I'll be but a moment.
[And he vanishes into the joint bathroom area, his own bare feet pattering on tile as he enters; he exists not only with a towel slung over his shoulder, but a small basin of steaming, warm water, which he places carefully near the foot of the chair.
He gives Set the towel, then ducks down on a knee, holding up a hand.]
Let me see your foot.
[Like it's the most ordinary request!]
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I hate that instead of questioning this or protesting in the least, Set's first reaction is simply to pick up his foot and provide it. Because, to him, it IS an ordinary request! He's not exactly the most contact-focused individual, but he is used to seeing mortals on their knees in positions of service.
Thankfully, he's juuuuuuuust self-aware enough to say: ] If your fellows saw you like this, they'd be insulted on your behalf.
[ And he begins to run the towel over his hair, fluffing at the ends until they're dried. ]
This is twice now you've offered something to me. Are you looking for a service in return?
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[On his knee, Diarmuid gently washes the offered foot in warm water. It's only when the question is posed that he looks up with eyebrows raised — though he still is sure to continue his task, devoted to memories of rare wanderers coming through the monastery's boundaries.]
Is it so unusual, to be serviced kindly, without anything in return?
un: lauralae
have you stolen more sweet kisses?
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[Oh, he's learning how to have game. Praise be!]
And I've been terribly worried for everyone, too much to pursue sweet kisses. But I am well, and my health and soul survives another day. Are you well, my friend?
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i cannot judge if you are sincere or you tease me.
i am glad to hear of your wellness, and that you survive still. i am much the same, unchanged despite the strangeness of this world.
did you attend the tourney?
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We are of a flock!
I had visited for a time, though I fear I was... a little overwhelmed by some of the events.
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[ the naked wrestling. ]
would you be free, for a walk?
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I am always available, whenever you would like.
Shall I meet you somewhere?
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I'll see you at the entrance. Be well, until I see you again.
[Let him try to copy the others who text:]
♥
🎁
To the sweetest of kissers.
Enjoy the season.
- L
Inside is a simple gift: some flowers, pressed together to make a bookmark, some empty notebooks with parchment style paper, a pen, and some chocolates. ]
delivery; christmas eve 12/24
Diarmuid doesn't get a note, but rather a carefully-folded heart made of notebook paper, with a little stick figure drawing of a curly-haired boy holding a wild-haired girl's hand.]
text. un: fool (1/2)
need you to teach me how
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please