Mornings like this reminded monsters like him about the glory days when it was easier to live with himself without any concerns regarding his behavior. Waking up covered in a fine spray of blood (who's blood? His blood? Only's blood? ) - all over him. Everywhere-
his nose stinks with it,
his ears are thick with it too,
His pretty blonde hair clings to him in bloody pink clumps against his serpent neck which -
"Damnit Only," Stephan huffs. The macabre reality unveils itself entirely. He sees the front of his legs stretched out in the grass and they too are covered in a fine mist of the same blood (
who's blood? Stephan demands to know again). It paints a path of horror all the way up his chest, along his slender long neck, and the rest off his chin which itches to the point of madness. Only has done something - but what? - Only has done something
terrible - to who? - Only should be here, right now, but he isn't - why not? What has he done?
Not that anyone's concerns
concern him all that much. Only's failures are not
his failures - and he is only vaguely aware of that pathetic whelp's life in the form of dissociated memories. He does not know how Only feels right now (he does not care - really), he does not know who Only knows or who he does not know, he does not know the places that he has been, he does not know what that slippery catfish has been up to the night before either -
Why am I...? For the first time in a long time, Stephan is the one worrying.
***
Only is a tight fitting mask that Stephan cannot lift to look under - it is
annoying. Only's only skill is lying about things - about making it seem as though everything is okay when it really is not. Only's secrets are what confuse Stephan - control him. Only's secrets have Stephan weaving the fields in search of something - anything - that may lead the man towards the answers of any questions this strange morning has left him with. While he does not like cleaning up Only's messes, he has a better sense of self-preservation. If anything links him to the blood that has him more red than black right now, he should find it and get rid of it.
The problem with that, however, is that he is not alone. Even though the dense morning fog has yet to lift from the edges of where his eyes can see, a subtle breeze has carried the notes of another presence to him. Stephan stalks after it carefully, following the scent trail until the haze thins out enough that he spies another man out in the distance. Waiting.
For what?
Anonymous, his mind is quick to recognize the runes glittering down such a strong neck - the thick wings tucked into the beast's solid form are not new either. The whole smell of him reminds him of a night they had shared together weeks ago (was it weeks? how long? why did it ache to see him?)
Stephan scoffs loudly at himself - he gives himself away in doing so but he isn't sure he cares enough to have done it.
"Well if it isn't my favorite snake handler - " Stephan hums demurely once the stallion's attention has been piqued. The serpent slides through the grass towards him, the space between them permeating with fresh blood (again - who's blood?) - he has half a thought to ask Anonymous how long he has been standing here and whether or not he has seen anything strange during that time...but he refrains.
Why?
He isn't sure why, he just doesn't. The breeze fills Anon's cloaks and they billow out around him elegantly, Stephan keeps his distance as his eyes locate the knives glinting in their scabbards. The scars on his cheeks tingle with familiarity - he knows those knives most intimately, he has felt the kiss of them against his own skin and he has even used them against their wielder. Whether or not Anonymous is still angry for that - he'll never know because he will never ask.
He will, however - for his own sake - ask the man questions to hopefully unveil secrets that the morning has left him with.
"Has it been a...quiet, morning for you? Nothing unusual?"
@Anonymous
.only
si vis pacem para bellum
There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
For many are called but few are chosen.
