[Lucien is sitting on the middle of his bed when Kurt arrives, but the bedroom door is open and he can hear the familiar bamf that seems to accompany the other man's teleporting.]
In here, [he calls, not good enough a host to get up. The bedroom is relatively sparse. Lucien didn't have a lot to bring with him from the down, nor has he gathered a lot of things yet since moving again. Though the room is sparse, it does look lived in. The bed isn't made and there are clothes thrown in the general direction of a basket. Boots left where he managed to get them off. A few books on the nightstand.
His gift from Kurt is more carefully draped over a chair in the corner. Lucien himself looks tired.]
[ Lucien's found easily enough and, though Kurt briefly thinks that he should resist the temptation, however innocent in reality, he climbs up onto the mattress. He hands Lucien the card as he settles, legs drawn up and tail looping around the other man's back. ]
Here. It is not... I don't think it is anything drastic, but it's certainly the sort of think one isn't sure how to ask after.
[He takes the card and huffs a humorless laugh when he sees the picture on it. He flips it open, and though he seems impassive at first, his eyebrows draw together as he reads.]
I didn't write this, [he says softly, as if that needs any more confirmation.] But that's certainly my handwriting.
[He shifts closer to Kurt until their bodies touch; his tail tangles loosely with the one looped around him.]
I'd assumed. I might've heard even I little of it otherwise, hm? [ And so it was unusual to receive so verbose and informative a card.
He adjusts as Lucien does, fits the two of them together with simple shifts. There's quiet for a moment, not uncomfortable, but still. He can't think of what to say, if there's anything they ought to say... ]
You know, we have some commonality in our backgrounds, you and I.
[Lucein sets the card aside, as there's no need for him to keep staring at the writing there. He leaves it with the picture of the colorful caravan wagon in the snow facing up, wishing it brought back better memories. His tail twines tighter with Kurt's.]
I was. My mother worked there as a fortune teller. [ The fact comes with an air of an ironic chuckle. Margali used stereotypes to her advantage, difficult to say to what degree that was good or bad, and likely more difficult still to explain. ] I became a trapeze artist.
[ He's not sure where else to lead that, if anywhere, so he merely meanders with it. ]
I might've done that forever, really, but the circus was sold and the new owner had unkind ideas about the best use of me.
We did everything, as you saw. We specialized in little plays, my brother always knew his lines. I knew how to dance, how to tumble and balance on wires.
[ There's good enough humor in the answer, tinged with the slightest bitterness, less for the personal events of his past and more for... Well, Lucien isn't a diviner, so far as Kurt's aware. People are just predictable. That is what's sad.
Not that the event itself was a cakewalk or anything. ]
I could teleport, of course, so I was usually sedated. [ Half-aware and half-dressed, if that much. The people passing, their faces and their words, pooled together in some great, horrid soup of his consciousness. ] When I got an opportunity, I fled back to Germany. My family had stayed there.
There might be more people who look like us in my world, but it still has all the same assholes, [he says, his own voice hollow with bitter memory. People are predictable.
He frowns when he hears Kurt was kept sedated; Lucien's jaw goes tight and his tail gives a thrash, nearly coming loose from where it's curled around Kurt's.
Something in his chest hurts when he thinks of Kurt's family staying behind. Why would they just let him go with a person who wanted to do that to him? Maybe it's not that simple. It rarely is.]
Was it all right when you got back to them? [he asks, surprised by how tentative he sounds. Unbidden, he thinks of the look on Aldreda's face when she saw him again.] What happened to your brother?
I didn't see my mother or my sister again for a long time. [ Not that he knew about, at least, and that is due to the second question's answer. ]
I met my brother first, in the village near where we grew up, and... It is difficult to understand even now what happened to him, but he was ill or-- [ Magical interference. Mental illness. The Winding Way. These are the aspects of the Szardos line that he has no access to and little understanding of. Either way: ] I found him, having murdered a child. We argued, then fought, and I killed him in that fight.
A villager found me after that, and they assumed me a monster responsible for all of the deaths. The whole village amassed to nearly kill me, but I was rescued, and I fled to America.
[Lucien is quiet as he listens. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't even flinch at the confession that Kurt had to kill his brother. Nor does it surprise him that everyone assumed Kurt was a monster for what happened. He turns his head to brush a kiss to Kurt's shoulder.]
Well, [he murmurs.] Sometimes even family doesn't give us a choice. I didn't kill my brother, but I killed what was left of him.
[ What was left? Kurt can guess well enough what it might mean, perhaps reputation or the like, but he's also hesitant to wonder, should be be incorrect, should the truth be worse.
Still, it has been brought up, it is primed to be released; maybe it needs to be said, whatever it is.
He hums and shifts again, this time laying back with his legs drawn up. He doesn't pull Lucien with him, but his hands linger until he removes one to gesture the other man down. ]
I might have done the same when I proved my own innocence, if I guess your meaning correctly, but... Tell me what happened, hm?
[He's opened the box now, hasn't he? He could lie. He could say he doesn't want to talk about it - he doesn't. He doesn't even want to remember it, but there's no getting past that. Lucien watches Kurt lay back and waits for him to settle before following the invitation to join him. He settles down, staring at the ceiling. It's always easier to lay on his back with his horns the way they are, though with some creative pillow positioning he can rest on his side.]
He was killed, [he says quietly.] It was just us traveling together, the family. We weren't part of anything bigger. Made us easy targets for gangs and my parents couldn't keep up with the debt we found ourselves in. They killed my brother to make a point. My parents kept his body in the snow while they tried to figure out what to do.
[He's quiet for a moment, deciding how to explain what happened next. His voice is hollow as he goes on.]
They found some... witch, to bring him back. But it wasn't him. He wasn't right. He didn't sleep, just sat slumped at the food of our parents' bed, staring at nothing through the night. But I always knew when he looked at me. We called him Sock Brother, my sister and I. Our parents didn't like that. They wanted us to act like he was the same as he ever was. They punished us if we didn't.
[ ...Ah, well, he certainly did not correctly guess that in the least. It's a horrific thing, even merely explained, and he's sure his expression reflects that opinion, eyes round and mouth slightly parted. What can one even say to something like that? ]
I'm sorry. That's-- I can see why you and your sister opted for distance, when you could get it. What a dreadful thing, dreadful mistake.
[ He sounds doubtful that it does, but the hope in a genuine one. Sometimes it is good to have people who know bits of you, even (or maybe especially) the darker bits.
He doesn't know what else to say for it, especially since he might've mis-spoken by Lucien's measure in calling the error a mistake. It's an understandable stance to take, and how he imagines the decision and the aftermath may be utterly wrong and too kind. He cannot truly offer comfort with the benefit of proper perspective on the ordeal. He cannot fault Lucien's lack of forgiveness.
He finds one of Lucien's hands with his own and lifts it to kiss the heel of his palm. ]
Do you want to find something happier to talk about?
[Lucien's fingers curl lightly as Kurt's lips press to his palm. Gods, how did he land here? He pushes back against the pressure he feels in his mind, then shifts closer to tangle his legs with Kurt's. A little smile flickers to life.]
Like what? [he asks. He certainly won't mind changing the conversation, especially when he's steered it so badly in the first place. There hadn't been a need to talk about Eric, not in that sort of detail.]
Never did thank you for the gift your breezed through with.
[Lucien glances across the room to indicate the quilted coat draped over a chair.]
[ That perks him up a little. He comes up onto one elbow to glance at the jacket and then back to Lucien, tossing his free arm over the other man's abdomen. It's an easy thing to talk about, gifts, harmless material things. If he's brought something useable and wanted, good. If it doesn't suit, it's simple enough to course-correct. ]
It looks... cozy, hm? Craft-y. It'll be warm, and I thought it would look good and be fairly unique.
[ It's usually a fairly pleasant experience, at least, a gesture or a card... Well. A more cheerful card than the one he's already received, in this case. ]
Of course, I do not do good deeds specifically to be compensated for them. I try to be an upstanding fellow.
Terribly upstanding among my acquaintances, [he says with amusement. Lucien shifts so he can kiss Kurt again, making sure not to give up the way they've tangled together.]
But I mean it, [he adds, a bit quieter.] Could've ended up in a bad arrangement without your cleverness.
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In here, [he calls, not good enough a host to get up. The bedroom is relatively sparse. Lucien didn't have a lot to bring with him from the down, nor has he gathered a lot of things yet since moving again. Though the room is sparse, it does look lived in. The bed isn't made and there are clothes thrown in the general direction of a basket. Boots left where he managed to get them off. A few books on the nightstand.
His gift from Kurt is more carefully draped over a chair in the corner. Lucien himself looks tired.]
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Here. It is not... I don't think it is anything drastic, but it's certainly the sort of think one isn't sure how to ask after.
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I didn't write this, [he says softly, as if that needs any more confirmation.] But that's certainly my handwriting.
[He shifts closer to Kurt until their bodies touch; his tail tangles loosely with the one looped around him.]
These aren't things I'm prone to sharing.
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He adjusts as Lucien does, fits the two of them together with simple shifts. There's quiet for a moment, not uncomfortable, but still. He can't think of what to say, if there's anything they ought to say... ]
You know, we have some commonality in our backgrounds, you and I.
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[Lucein sets the card aside, as there's no need for him to keep staring at the writing there. He leaves it with the picture of the colorful caravan wagon in the snow facing up, wishing it brought back better memories. His tail twines tighter with Kurt's.]
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[ He's not sure where else to lead that, if anywhere, so he merely meanders with it. ]
I might've done that forever, really, but the circus was sold and the new owner had unkind ideas about the best use of me.
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[He turns his head to nuzzle Kurt's shoulder.]
Was it to be a freak show? [He asks quietly.]
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[ There's good enough humor in the answer, tinged with the slightest bitterness, less for the personal events of his past and more for... Well, Lucien isn't a diviner, so far as Kurt's aware. People are just predictable. That is what's sad.
Not that the event itself was a cakewalk or anything. ]
I could teleport, of course, so I was usually sedated. [ Half-aware and half-dressed, if that much. The people passing, their faces and their words, pooled together in some great, horrid soup of his consciousness. ] When I got an opportunity, I fled back to Germany. My family had stayed there.
I had a brother, too.
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He frowns when he hears Kurt was kept sedated; Lucien's jaw goes tight and his tail gives a thrash, nearly coming loose from where it's curled around Kurt's.
Something in his chest hurts when he thinks of Kurt's family staying behind. Why would they just let him go with a person who wanted to do that to him? Maybe it's not that simple. It rarely is.]
Was it all right when you got back to them? [he asks, surprised by how tentative he sounds. Unbidden, he thinks of the look on Aldreda's face when she saw him again.] What happened to your brother?
cw: child death
I met my brother first, in the village near where we grew up, and... It is difficult to understand even now what happened to him, but he was ill or-- [ Magical interference. Mental illness. The Winding Way. These are the aspects of the Szardos line that he has no access to and little understanding of. Either way: ] I found him, having murdered a child. We argued, then fought, and I killed him in that fight.
A villager found me after that, and they assumed me a monster responsible for all of the deaths. The whole village amassed to nearly kill me, but I was rescued, and I fled to America.
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Well, [he murmurs.] Sometimes even family doesn't give us a choice. I didn't kill my brother, but I killed what was left of him.
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Still, it has been brought up, it is primed to be released; maybe it needs to be said, whatever it is.
He hums and shifts again, this time laying back with his legs drawn up. He doesn't pull Lucien with him, but his hands linger until he removes one to gesture the other man down. ]
I might have done the same when I proved my own innocence, if I guess your meaning correctly, but... Tell me what happened, hm?
cw: body horror/general horror
He was killed, [he says quietly.] It was just us traveling together, the family. We weren't part of anything bigger. Made us easy targets for gangs and my parents couldn't keep up with the debt we found ourselves in. They killed my brother to make a point. My parents kept his body in the snow while they tried to figure out what to do.
[He's quiet for a moment, deciding how to explain what happened next. His voice is hollow as he goes on.]
They found some... witch, to bring him back. But it wasn't him. He wasn't right. He didn't sleep, just sat slumped at the food of our parents' bed, staring at nothing through the night. But I always knew when he looked at me. We called him Sock Brother, my sister and I. Our parents didn't like that. They wanted us to act like he was the same as he ever was. They punished us if we didn't.
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I'm sorry. That's-- I can see why you and your sister opted for distance, when you could get it. What a dreadful thing, dreadful mistake.
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[Lucien sighs and twists onto his side. He pulls a pillow down to rest his cheek on it.]
Sorry. I don't talk about it, or them. Suppose I don't hate that it's you that knows.
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[ He sounds doubtful that it does, but the hope in a genuine one. Sometimes it is good to have people who know bits of you, even (or maybe especially) the darker bits.
He doesn't know what else to say for it, especially since he might've mis-spoken by Lucien's measure in calling the error a mistake. It's an understandable stance to take, and how he imagines the decision and the aftermath may be utterly wrong and too kind. He cannot truly offer comfort with the benefit of proper perspective on the ordeal. He cannot fault Lucien's lack of forgiveness.
He finds one of Lucien's hands with his own and lifts it to kiss the heel of his palm. ]
Do you want to find something happier to talk about?
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Like what? [he asks. He certainly won't mind changing the conversation, especially when he's steered it so badly in the first place. There hadn't been a need to talk about Eric, not in that sort of detail.]
Never did thank you for the gift your breezed through with.
[Lucien glances across the room to indicate the quilted coat draped over a chair.]
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[ That perks him up a little. He comes up onto one elbow to glance at the jacket and then back to Lucien, tossing his free arm over the other man's abdomen. It's an easy thing to talk about, gifts, harmless material things. If he's brought something useable and wanted, good. If it doesn't suit, it's simple enough to course-correct. ]
It looks... cozy, hm? Craft-y. It'll be warm, and I thought it would look good and be fairly unique.
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I like it, I look forward to testing it out on the next trip out. And it's nicer than the coat I arrived in.
[He'd been wearing layers suitable for Aeor when he appeared here, effective but not particularly fashionable.]`
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[ He hums, satisfied with the approval. He's about to sink back down onto his side, but he pauses first to dip down for a kiss. ]
And Ororo? You are here, so... It goes well?
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[Kurt pointed him towards her, and things had gone well after that.]
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[ It's usually a fairly pleasant experience, at least, a gesture or a card... Well. A more cheerful card than the one he's already received, in this case. ]
Of course, I do not do good deeds specifically to be compensated for them. I try to be an upstanding fellow.
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But I mean it, [he adds, a bit quieter.] Could've ended up in a bad arrangement without your cleverness.