The Courtier wasn’t sure which part he enjoyed more about this work they did; seeing his companion become animated as he ended someone’s life, or when he was left to clean up after him the only way he knew how. It was captivating to watch the reserved and distant man come to life and move with a singular deadly purpose in mind. If he hadn’t known better, Irharel would have been convinced this quiet man he followed after was actually like him. A Courtier working on the behest of another den at the demand of some other master.
But Courtiers didn’t feel so… Hollow. Empty. A blank space where there should have been someone, but wasn’t.
He frowned, and his flames rose up angrily, reaching up in search of something more substantial than the charring body it had been feeding on. He couldn’t understand the man who stood just shy of the fire’s light and let himself be enveloped by darkness. Irharel was sure he enjoyed it, the hunting, the killing, the look of fear and pain as the prey realized its life was over. But then he would retreat a little too quickly, stand a little too far from where Irry stood now. His thoughts and feelings known only to him.
Maybe that’s what kept the elementalist following after like a lovesick puppy, leaving the fire to consume with wild abandon. Casually he slipped his arms around one of the other’s, latching himself to him, leaning against his side.
“You got to speak up, sweetheart.” Irry cooed, demeanor once more light and cheerful as he hung off his companion’s arm. “Almost didn’t hear you that time but I could have sworn you just agreed with me.”
He stood still until the heat caressing his back in waves became too much to handle, until the coolness of the night beckoned more temptingly than Irharel’s all-consuming flames, until the mage in question was almost nauseatingly close to him. Cigran didn’t offer the other a glance, but he let his arm lay slack and succumb to the courtier’s whims. They were weird whims...
The moonlight gave away the smallest tilt of his head towards his partner, its calm white light catching off the thin metal-plated ornaments that decorated the frayed edges of his scarf. His eyes remained fixated ahead and he took a step forward. His elbow garnered enough strength to lock and pull Irharel with him.
“You heard me,” Cig sighed out wearily. He could feel his insides still racing, but kept his demeanor collected. At least he tried to... His impatience was likely giving him away. But he needed to get away from their mess, and if that meant pulling Irry with him then so be it.
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