occultis

The spell clears and leaves him nauseous.

For a moment, he doesn't even remember what he'd been doing, squinting through the thin layer of smoke that fills the basement and searching out Ciro's silhouette an arm's length away. He can feel him there regardless, hand resting almost heavily on the workbench. The weakness that he feels doesn't seem to dissipate so easily, thoughts immediately turning to the other witch and obscenely preoccupied with them. A forced breath of air, and his fingers skim Ciro's wrist and along his arm.

"Are you okay?"

The question is equally soft, warmed by the fact he can finally see his face. Rune's distracted by it, moving away from his arm to touch his cheek and trace his fingertips along his jaw. Everything looks fine, but something is wrong. Something is off. That, too, he can feel, but he isn't quite sure what it is.

ceremonious

Campus is completely deserted.

Rune hadn't given much thought to it, not between his studies and exam prep, but since most things are closed or running on limited hours for the holiday break, he has a lot more downtime than he's used to. He loiters at the library as long as he can—until they kick him out, at least. Then, he spends the next several minutes wandering around before reluctantly heading back to his shared dorm. Rune's not aware of any plans his roommates have, but he does know that one of them had stayed behind for some reason he hadn't pried into. Not that he needs one to guess why Ciro isn't going home.

It's that thought that he carries with him as he pushes the door open and steps inside, slipping out of his jacket and sighing. The main shared space of the dorm is empty, casting a glance at the sofa before walking past it and down the hall. Rune stops just outside Ciro's room, pausing there and eventually knocking in an attempt to get his attention.

"I have something to ask you – if you're in there."

demology

[Ciro knows the people who own the host club he works at aren't good people, but they pay well enough to make the fear of trying to quit less relevant. It helps his income to be as popular as he is, but is a little dangerous if he would ever want to leave. Losing that kind of profit wouldn't be good for their business, so he tries not to think about it so much.

Every so often, groups of important-looking men would come into the club and head straight for the back. There's a room back there behind the private lounge for employees (a makeshift make up/break room) that no one is allowed access to except the owner of the business. Usually the men are fully covered from neck to ankles in suits, but one time he remembers being joined by one of them at a table and when he reached across to take up his drink he caught a glimpse of tattoos. Not a butterfly, or a woman's name--no, these were the kind of tattoos that were meant to caution people from getting too close.

People like that weren't in the business of being nice, and so Ciro tries his best to stay out of the way of whatever business that is. It doesn't concern him, and he has his own work to do.

Usually his regulars are women, but he does get more male visitors than the other hosts and maybe that has to do with why they treat him like such an asset? He doesn't really have room to question it, and maybe he can admit he feels intimidated to do so, but when the money is good there's no point in rocking the boat. Even when he's asked to entertain the tattooed men in suits, he doesn't put up any fight. There's even one of them that he enjoys seeing. The quiet one that stays seemingly disinterested from the conversations and alcohol, but Ciro does notice him staring from time to time.

His shift is over and it's a little past 2AM as he steps outside for a cigarette. He's able to smoke inside, but when his job consists of talking and socializing with people all day, sometimes he just likes the quiet and cold air on his skin while he enjoys his alone time before his walk home. When he hears footsteps coming, Ciro looks up, expecting to see his boss leaving the building and prepares to send him off with a courteous ducking of his head, but the shoes he sees aren't flashy enough to belong to him. It's the quiet one.]

Have a good night.

ceremonious

It's been a long three weeks.

Rune hadn't wanted to agree to this journey in the first place, not when the parameters of it weren't specifically laid out. His Order had simply taken the money and demanded he escort one of the High Cleric's best to a country not even in their domain for an arranged marriage to seal an alliance he'd never heard about. Then again, he cared little for politics, and so, he hadn't cared to deliver a stranger where they wanted him. But that had been over a fortnight ago. In that time, they'd been ambushed several times and had lost everyone else in their party to unfortunate circumstances, certain now that any direct path would result in death or worse because someone didn't want him to succeed.

It's why they're on horseback in the middle of nowhere.

Which might or might not have anything to do with how aware he is of Ciro's hands around his waist.

But he tries not to think about it.

Their horse is a surprisingly sturdy mare for as old as she is, one that had taken them a few days to acquire as they had no money and had quest. In fact, outside of their own clothes and Rune's weapons, they don't have much of anything besides a day or two of rations and a couple blankets. The setting sun doesn't help either, pulling their ride to a stop near a clearing just short of another patch of forest they'll have to travel through. Rune turns his head, his hood slipping down as he does so he can better see his companion.

"We'll sleep here tonight." Not that he's happy about that, but they have little choice. "Unless you know this area, it's better to wait until morning."

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January 2021

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