In Vino Virtus
Jun. 11th, 2021 08:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
conjuredskies[Takes place between parts 2 and 3 of the Shedding Light arc]
Promises, it turned out, were burdensome things. Felix was starting to remember why he’d always avoided them.
Getting here alone was a mix of opportunism and cunning: finding out that Jim had over-committed his time again (something about teaching kids engineering right before he was due to cover gamma shift) and telling his husband he wanted to take an overnight trip to the woods before Jim confessed as much. Taking advantage of the captain’s desire not to be scolded for running himself to exhaustion probably wasn’t very noble. But it got them both what they wanted, didn’t it?
It got Felix here, beneath the cavernous eaves of the Great Forest, draining the dregs of his cup beside the heat of a roaring bonfire. The pulse of pipes and drums and the thrumming melodies of a lute mingle with the crackle of logs, the laughter and shouts filling the air around him. Jim wouldn’t have been best pleased. Not because the captain’s at all shy about the sort of things assorted pairs- and trios, and more - have wandered off to do in the shadows around the gathering. Not because of the wicked proposition murmured in Felix’s ear by the curvaceous brunette he just danced with. Jim trusts Felix the way a Vigilant trusts in Stendarr: fiercely and against all available evidence.
But Felix promised… well. He tells himself this isn’t the sort of thing they meant, when he promised not to run off alone. Ignores the suspicion that Jim might have an opinion on what he’s here to do.
After all, the whole point is to drown his fears in as much revelry and strong drink as a cult of thoughtless hedonism can provide.
Someone hands him an open bottle of wine. Felix is pouring it when a voice rings clear through the din.
“We-heeeell, look what the Khajiit dragged in!” There’s a hint of gravel to the voice, curling like smoke in his ears. Felix looks up, and immediately lifts his cup in salute to the man who swaggers his way, a half-dressed wench on each arm. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten all your friends, Felix.”
There’s an icy little stab in his gut, but he lets the numbing fog in his head do its work and thinks nothing about it. “Forget? Me? Never. Can I offer you a drink, my lord?”
Sam Guevenne doesn’t move for a moment, but Felix could swear he whispers something to the girls before they laugh and sway off back to the party. Sam slides into the Imperial’s space and drapes an arm over his shoulders, taking the bottle from Felix’s hand. He’s not showing his true face, not yet, but he stands head and shoulders above the Imperial tonight. His hair is darkened to black, slicked back in a way that suggests things in the flickering firelight, his eyes dark as ink. When he grins at Felix, it brings to mind thorns.
“I’d say that’s the least you could offer me, Felix. After all this time? You take my favors, you run off chasing some crazy ‘raise an army of the dead’ scheme, you get out alive by my gracious intervention… and do I hear a peep of thanks? Do you come by to tell your good friend Sam how much it meant to you?”
“You say that like I didn’t invite you to my wedding party,” Felix points out, the urge to panic forestalled by the helpful memory. “And I left you offerings-“
“Trifles, Felix- oh, the wedding night was worth the wait, I’ll give you that-“ His laugh is throaty, indecent. A warmth that has nothing to do with alcohol unfurls in Felix’s stomach. “But after that? Barely a toast raised! Hardly an innuendo thrown my way, month after month, while you’ve been running around in another daedra’s skirts, hm? And now…” Felix might have argued, but Sam was going on, waving the bottle expansively. “You come slinking back in, her Ladyship’s scent aaaall over you, and you’ve got the nerve to mope at my party?”
“I’m not moping! I came here to celebrate!” He waves his cup, sloshing wine to the forest floor. “See?”
Sanguine scoffs. “You’re not even trying. Standing around getting soused in a corner like a pensioned-off sailor. Your brother could worship me better than this.” He flashes his teeth at the face Felix makes. “Felix Caelus would be out there with three pretty young things eating out of the palm of his hand right now…. or whichever way he wanted it.”
“I’m married,” he chides.
“I don’t care,” Sanguine mimics, slugs the bottle. “No-one cares. Not even you, or you’d be back home seducing that pretty little captain of yours. You came here because you wanted something different. So, out with it. What is it you’re looking for?”
His head swirls with alcohol and anger. Felix makes himself breathe deeper, until the world stops reeling. Sanguine, wholly accustomed to mortals not being at their sharpest in his presence, doesn’t seem to notice. The Daedra Lord of Debauchery isn’t going to hold marriage vows in solemn esteem, even if he had an ounce of reverence in his vast self. He’d be a fool to expect different - and a bigger fool to demand it.
“I want to feel like Felix Caelus again,” he says, resentment coiling in his gut. Honesty is easier than thinking up a lie. “Just for one night, I want to stop worrying I’m going to fall apart and get my husband - my brother - killed. I want to forget feeling afraid and guilty, hating what I’ve done - I want to not care if I’m doing the right thing, or who I’m disappointing. Oblivion take those gods-damned blades, I want to feel free from their shadow!”
He tips his cup back to drain it dramatically, only to find it empty.
“Well, that’s not working so well, is it?” Sanguine’s voice purrs by his ear. “I think your desires run deeper than that, my friend. You want more than just to drown your sorrows for a while, I can feel it.” His appreciative hum sends a shiver down Felix’s spine. “Power’s not my preferred flavor, but how could I say no to that kind of hunger…”
Unease grips his chest at that. A clammy cold rolling over his skin as the Runeblades’ ghoulish hunger rises in his gut- abruptly chased away by the heat of a laugh like molten honey.
“And there it is! There’s the thorn bush choking your roses! The grit fouling up your wine. You’re scared so shitless of them they’ve got you afraid of yourself. Aren’t I right, little buddy? They got to you through everything you wanted most, and now you can’t go after your own desires without seeing theirs…”
I want things, he tries to say, but it’s a question to himself suddenly. When’s the last time he reached for an ice spell and didn’t recoil at the (eager, potent) deathly chill of it? When had he lasted a sparring match with Stratos without (he’d meant to hurt to win to kill to prove their power) stumbling away, red-faced and palms sweating? How many times has he reached for Jim and remembered reaching for her throat how right how sure it felt-
Shutting the book on the rituals he’d need to practice a new summoning. Faltering from his goal in the shadows of Rielle. Flinching from the dremora’s binds when he knew he should have seized them. Fleeing beaten and shamed.
Choking yourself back every time you want too much, says the voice in his ear. The rest of the party is a world away. You tell yourself you want to be ‘better’ but I think you’re trying to be less… you. Harmless, meek. All the excuses and none of the scheming.
An elbow in his side brings him back with a jolt. “You,” says Sam, leaning over with the bottle to fill his cup to brimming, “need to remember how to want for yourself.” He nudges Felix, sending wine sloshing over his hand to the ground. “How to enjoy being Felix Caelus.”
He feels light-headed, unsure of what’s happening any more, but he turns to give the Prince a sidelong look. “Something you can help me with, I assume?”
“Who, me?” Sam’s grin is lazy. “You’re the one who has to figure it out. Just follow your own wants and wishes, whatever those really are. All I can give you…” He waggles the bottle, heavy as if it was never opened, “…is a little clarity.
Felix’s gaze is drawn to the bottle, and there it rests. “…And what do I have to do,” he says, slower, “to earn such a favor?”
Sanguine laughs, loud and gleeful. “Oh, little buddy… now you’re starting to sound like yourself.”
Promises, it turned out, were burdensome things. Felix was starting to remember why he’d always avoided them.
Getting here alone was a mix of opportunism and cunning: finding out that Jim had over-committed his time again (something about teaching kids engineering right before he was due to cover gamma shift) and telling his husband he wanted to take an overnight trip to the woods before Jim confessed as much. Taking advantage of the captain’s desire not to be scolded for running himself to exhaustion probably wasn’t very noble. But it got them both what they wanted, didn’t it?
It got Felix here, beneath the cavernous eaves of the Great Forest, draining the dregs of his cup beside the heat of a roaring bonfire. The pulse of pipes and drums and the thrumming melodies of a lute mingle with the crackle of logs, the laughter and shouts filling the air around him. Jim wouldn’t have been best pleased. Not because the captain’s at all shy about the sort of things assorted pairs- and trios, and more - have wandered off to do in the shadows around the gathering. Not because of the wicked proposition murmured in Felix’s ear by the curvaceous brunette he just danced with. Jim trusts Felix the way a Vigilant trusts in Stendarr: fiercely and against all available evidence.
But Felix promised… well. He tells himself this isn’t the sort of thing they meant, when he promised not to run off alone. Ignores the suspicion that Jim might have an opinion on what he’s here to do.
After all, the whole point is to drown his fears in as much revelry and strong drink as a cult of thoughtless hedonism can provide.
Someone hands him an open bottle of wine. Felix is pouring it when a voice rings clear through the din.
“We-heeeell, look what the Khajiit dragged in!” There’s a hint of gravel to the voice, curling like smoke in his ears. Felix looks up, and immediately lifts his cup in salute to the man who swaggers his way, a half-dressed wench on each arm. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten all your friends, Felix.”
There’s an icy little stab in his gut, but he lets the numbing fog in his head do its work and thinks nothing about it. “Forget? Me? Never. Can I offer you a drink, my lord?”
Sam Guevenne doesn’t move for a moment, but Felix could swear he whispers something to the girls before they laugh and sway off back to the party. Sam slides into the Imperial’s space and drapes an arm over his shoulders, taking the bottle from Felix’s hand. He’s not showing his true face, not yet, but he stands head and shoulders above the Imperial tonight. His hair is darkened to black, slicked back in a way that suggests things in the flickering firelight, his eyes dark as ink. When he grins at Felix, it brings to mind thorns.
“I’d say that’s the least you could offer me, Felix. After all this time? You take my favors, you run off chasing some crazy ‘raise an army of the dead’ scheme, you get out alive by my gracious intervention… and do I hear a peep of thanks? Do you come by to tell your good friend Sam how much it meant to you?”
“You say that like I didn’t invite you to my wedding party,” Felix points out, the urge to panic forestalled by the helpful memory. “And I left you offerings-“
“Trifles, Felix- oh, the wedding night was worth the wait, I’ll give you that-“ His laugh is throaty, indecent. A warmth that has nothing to do with alcohol unfurls in Felix’s stomach. “But after that? Barely a toast raised! Hardly an innuendo thrown my way, month after month, while you’ve been running around in another daedra’s skirts, hm? And now…” Felix might have argued, but Sam was going on, waving the bottle expansively. “You come slinking back in, her Ladyship’s scent aaaall over you, and you’ve got the nerve to mope at my party?”
“I’m not moping! I came here to celebrate!” He waves his cup, sloshing wine to the forest floor. “See?”
Sanguine scoffs. “You’re not even trying. Standing around getting soused in a corner like a pensioned-off sailor. Your brother could worship me better than this.” He flashes his teeth at the face Felix makes. “Felix Caelus would be out there with three pretty young things eating out of the palm of his hand right now…. or whichever way he wanted it.”
“I’m married,” he chides.
“I don’t care,” Sanguine mimics, slugs the bottle. “No-one cares. Not even you, or you’d be back home seducing that pretty little captain of yours. You came here because you wanted something different. So, out with it. What is it you’re looking for?”
His head swirls with alcohol and anger. Felix makes himself breathe deeper, until the world stops reeling. Sanguine, wholly accustomed to mortals not being at their sharpest in his presence, doesn’t seem to notice. The Daedra Lord of Debauchery isn’t going to hold marriage vows in solemn esteem, even if he had an ounce of reverence in his vast self. He’d be a fool to expect different - and a bigger fool to demand it.
“I want to feel like Felix Caelus again,” he says, resentment coiling in his gut. Honesty is easier than thinking up a lie. “Just for one night, I want to stop worrying I’m going to fall apart and get my husband - my brother - killed. I want to forget feeling afraid and guilty, hating what I’ve done - I want to not care if I’m doing the right thing, or who I’m disappointing. Oblivion take those gods-damned blades, I want to feel free from their shadow!”
He tips his cup back to drain it dramatically, only to find it empty.
“Well, that’s not working so well, is it?” Sanguine’s voice purrs by his ear. “I think your desires run deeper than that, my friend. You want more than just to drown your sorrows for a while, I can feel it.” His appreciative hum sends a shiver down Felix’s spine. “Power’s not my preferred flavor, but how could I say no to that kind of hunger…”
Unease grips his chest at that. A clammy cold rolling over his skin as the Runeblades’ ghoulish hunger rises in his gut- abruptly chased away by the heat of a laugh like molten honey.
“And there it is! There’s the thorn bush choking your roses! The grit fouling up your wine. You’re scared so shitless of them they’ve got you afraid of yourself. Aren’t I right, little buddy? They got to you through everything you wanted most, and now you can’t go after your own desires without seeing theirs…”
I want things, he tries to say, but it’s a question to himself suddenly. When’s the last time he reached for an ice spell and didn’t recoil at the (eager, potent) deathly chill of it? When had he lasted a sparring match with Stratos without (he’d meant to hurt to win to kill to prove their power) stumbling away, red-faced and palms sweating? How many times has he reached for Jim and remembered reaching for her throat how right how sure it felt-
Shutting the book on the rituals he’d need to practice a new summoning. Faltering from his goal in the shadows of Rielle. Flinching from the dremora’s binds when he knew he should have seized them. Fleeing beaten and shamed.
Choking yourself back every time you want too much, says the voice in his ear. The rest of the party is a world away. You tell yourself you want to be ‘better’ but I think you’re trying to be less… you. Harmless, meek. All the excuses and none of the scheming.
An elbow in his side brings him back with a jolt. “You,” says Sam, leaning over with the bottle to fill his cup to brimming, “need to remember how to want for yourself.” He nudges Felix, sending wine sloshing over his hand to the ground. “How to enjoy being Felix Caelus.”
He feels light-headed, unsure of what’s happening any more, but he turns to give the Prince a sidelong look. “Something you can help me with, I assume?”
“Who, me?” Sam’s grin is lazy. “You’re the one who has to figure it out. Just follow your own wants and wishes, whatever those really are. All I can give you…” He waggles the bottle, heavy as if it was never opened, “…is a little clarity.
Felix’s gaze is drawn to the bottle, and there it rests. “…And what do I have to do,” he says, slower, “to earn such a favor?”
Sanguine laughs, loud and gleeful. “Oh, little buddy… now you’re starting to sound like yourself.”
