Eval/Joar "You don't have to stay."
An Age late (and I don’t even have a Starbucks anywhere nearby) but I’m going through my drafts for old prompts to get some writing done, and here we are.
Warning for implied Forsaken-typical acts of violence.
The woman’s screams echoed in the bunker complex. They could have sound-warded the room where the procedure was done but they had – evidently – chosen not to. Eval wasn’t judging that decision; it was none of their business. Drawing it out like that, though? Yeah, okay, maybe they were judging, just a little bit.
Eval lounged against a wall, inspecting their nails. It was next to impossible to get a proper manicure anymore. This is what it means to end the civilisation, they thought wryly. Thanks, Tedronai.
Finally the door to the interrogation room opened, and a sobbing and wailing woman, barely recognisable as Mrs. Addam, was dragged away by two Myrddraal. Eval couldn’t say they were impressed with that part, but again, it was none of their business and they had no right or authority to interfere. They might have considered doing so anyway – better to end one’s life as Trolloc fodder than as a Myrddraal’s plaything – if not for the sight of the man who walked out of the room a bit behind the trio.
Joar Addam was pale, dark hair slightly in disarray in a way that might – no, definitely would – have been attractive under most other circumstances. There was a wild look in his eyes, though he did his best to appear unaffected; his hand shook as he raised it to wipe his face with a lacy handkerchief.
Eval approached the man cautiously, keeping their expression neutral. “All done?”
Joar gave a start, only now seeming to notice them. “Yes, ah. Yes. All done indeed, quite done.” If he was aiming for nonchalance, he missed by a mile.
Eval wasn’t surprised; few people could condemn their mother to a fate worse than death and feel nothing. “Care for a drink?” they asked, casually reaching out to steer the man towards the exit, decidedly not in the same direction where his mother had been taken.
“Drink?” Joar sounded faintly surprised, but didn’t shake off the hand on his shoulder or resist the attempt to guide him. “You mean you can actually get something alcoholic out here?”
Eval chuckled. “Not in general, no, but I’m prepared,” they replied. “Come along, now.”
* * *
Eval’s room was not much different from any other living quarters in the compound; their rank gave them a separate bedroom and a work space, as well as their own bathroom, but comforts were few and aesthetic elements next to nonexistent. They’d covered the concrete walls with purple curtains and stuffed a narrow bookshelf in one corner of the bedroom in addition to the one in the office room.
Joar looked at the bookshelf like he’d never seen one before, but made no comment as he slumped on the bed. Eval reached under the bed and, after a brief search, pulled out a bottle of liquor. They sat cross-legged on the floor and took a moderate mouthful of the drink before handing the bottle over to Joar. Joar accepted the bottle without a word and drank before handing the bottle back with a grimace. “What is this stuff?” he asked.
Eval shrugged. “Something alcoholic,” they replied. “If it’s not good enough…”
“Ah, shut up,” Joar said with a groan and reached for the bottle again. Some colour had returned to his face but the bleakness remained, and something bordering on hysteria that he was so far succeeding in keeping tightly leashed. He looked around as he passed the bottle back to Eval again. “You know, I’m sure this is precisely the same as my room but it looks so much nicer. Where’d you get the curtains? Not the quartermaster, I bet.”
Eval raised an eyebrow; if this was nicer, what did Joar’s own quarters look like? On the second thought, they didn’t want to know. “No, not the quartermaster,” they replied. “You could say it’s spoils of war.” They gave a confidential smirk. “I may have looted a fabric store.”
“…Right.” Joar clearly didn’t know whether they were being serious. “And I suppose that’s why you’re dressed like Tedronai and Aellinsar’s wardrobes had an illicit affair?” So, he did have some sense of humour left in him, though Eval couldn’t take any commentary he made on other people’s fashion choices seriously when he was still wearing velvets and falls of lace in the middle of a blasted world war.
The description was amusing, though, Eval had to give him that. “I’m being practical,” they replied smoothly, “unlike someone I could point out.” No reaction. “Someone sitting on my bed, drinking my liquor…”
“Speaking of which,” Joar interjected and reached for the bottle again. Eval hesitated a moment before handing it over, but they could always find more and if Joar was actually planning on getting drunk, well, that was his prerogative. Joar looked as though he could tell what they were thinking but didn’t care as long as he got to keep drinking. “Not saying you don’t look good,” he continued, apparently still hung up on the topic of clothes. “You just never struck me as the cargo pants and tank tops kind of guy. Person,” he amended quickly though Eval had not been about to get offended.
Eval chuckled. “You’ve clearly never been to a butch club.”
“You’re certainly right about that,” Joar replied, but there was barely any of the expected condescension in his voice.
* * *
It was well past midnight by the time Eval was walking Joar back to his own quarters. They’d not talked much, certainly not about what had passed earlier in the day, but Joar had certainly accomplished his goal of getting drunk; his alcohol tolerance must have nosedived during the war because Eval could remember him being able to drink much more than that with next to no visible effect. Now he was… well. He was walking and mostly steady, though Eval kept a hand at his elbow just in case. They were nearly there when Joar stumbled and, being taller if not significantly heavier, nearly pulled Eval down with him.
When he didn’t instantly get up, Eval crouched beside him. “Hey,” they said. “Just a little further. Or I could carry you but that won’t be particularly romantic, so if you don’t mind I’d rather pass.”
Joar let out what sounded like a wheezing laugh. “Romantic?”
Eval shrugged. “I don’t know, if you were thinking of bridal carry or something like that. Not happening, you’re too bloody tall.”
Joar sat up, but instead of getting all the way to his feet, he slumped against Eval, still shaking with silent laughter. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve absolutely no desire to be carried to bed by you. No offence.”
“None taken,” Eval muttered. They couldn’t be sure anymore if the man was laughing or crying and they didn’t particularly want to be dealing with the latter.
With some effort — and a little help from the One Power — Eval lifted Joar up to his feet and maneuvered him the rest of the way to his room. He collapsed on the bedroom floor and wouldn’t budge, and after briefly contemplating just leaving him there, Eval sat down and gathered the wreck of a musician in their arms.
“I hate her so, so bloody much,” Joar muttered, in a voice thick from crying and the alcohol, once his sobs subsided.
He probably expected some kind of a response but Eval had nothing; their own parents had not been channellers and had been dead for several hundred years already from natural causes. “Yeah,” they said eventually, stroking Joar’s hair. “Come, let’s get you to bed. I’ll stay until—”
“You don’t have to stay,” Joar interjected.
Eval snorted. “Oh, I know,” they began but Joar cut them off again.
“No, I mean you don’t have to stay,” he said. “I’m fine. Well, I’m. Safe. Whatever. I’m not going to…” He made a vague gesture. “You know. I’m not Elan Morin.”
Well, that was certainly true. Eval sighed, leaning back against the cold concrete wall. “Yeah, I know.” The room really did need something; it looked like a holding cell, for Light’s sake. “Shit, I’m sorry.” They were so used to having to keep an eye on Tedronai that they’d just automatically entered suicide watch mode. This was not what they’d signed up for when they’d joined the Shadow, yet somehow it had happened. They rubbed at their face, then looked back at Joar. “Well, this is mildly awkward.”
Joar gave a shaky chuckle. “You don’t say.” He got up just enough to roll into bed. “Alright, I’m in bed now. Good enough?”
Eval stared at him. “Yeah,” they said eventually, getting up as well. “Sure. Whatever. Good night.”
