Especially when combined with his obsessive nature. And the fact that he'd want to. And probably find that hot. He does not need that pressure and fully intends to resist doing that, at least until and unless he's either pushed or this idiot figures out how to be, if not more intelligent, better at navigating these things.
...That year should be a good chance to try to teach him a thing or two regardless of any ultimate goals.
"You stand out in it and look as though you expect to be attacked. I'll find something more suitable. Since you'll be staying."
Edited (WORKING IN THE JOKE OK) 2024-11-22 01:49 (UTC)
I sometimes forget that you weren't born to it. He absolutely does not, but it's always been an easy lie; the soothing ones usually are.
"Good point. ...It's strange, seeing so many adults without armour at all." Piece by piece, Zerxus reveals a gambeson that's clearly the oldest thing so far. It's been stitched and patched so often it's clearly leagues away from its original appearance - save for the carefully preserved crest over his breastbone. It isn't an emblem Bruce would recognise, though the script that circles it reads City of Thrones.
Asmodeus, of course, is a different story. Cathmoíra. It's half a purr and half a growl, half proud and half - wistful, almost. Domunas.
Now that's a name Bruce definitely knows. Early in the war the continent of Domunas was wrecked, scoured, shattered.
Bruce doesn't forget, and he doesn't for one moment believe that Asmodeus forgets.
That particular assumed lie Bruce reads as a sign that he is behaving in a way that is ... less than desirable, but is not so far out of line as to warrant it being addressed in a stronger way.
At least for the time being, and with other more interesting things to hold his attention. They are also holding Bruce's attention. More so with that low, vibrato quality of his father's voice and the... wistful? tone.
The state of his gambeson and where it came from tells a story. It's a fairly large piece of the puzzle as to why Zerxus is here.
"How old are you?" That is... absolutely out of nowhere and after having been silent for likely entirely too long to fit within the flow of conversation. It can't be anything but a response to seeing the insignia.
Cathmoira was a city.
yes, he's asking Zerxus a question while very much not asking one of Asmodeus.
A far better one than its sister, if I recall - Avalir was one of those floating bastions of magical hubris.
Zerxus is confused, for a second, before his gaze settles on the crest. Then his hands still, and his expression dims. Without looking up, and with barely maintained nonchalance, "Forty...three? Something like that." It's not always easy to keep track; calendars haven't exactly been their priority.
Ah. I imagine he was one of his city's...defenders.
Bruce refocuses more on Zerxus than his father temporarily, head cocking over at his response. This man is going to give him a literal pain in the neck (if that were possible) at this rate.
Yes, and that certainly explains some things about his presence here..
"How long is this going to take you?" He sounds impatient. He isn't, really, it's just a means of prodding Zerxus out of a... revealing reaction, for reasons he can't quite explain. He just knows he's uncomfortable with it.
"Have you ever taken off a full set of armour? It isn't quick." He's grasping for indignation, and just about manages it but mostly he just sounds wearily grateful.
Interesting. Knowledge is in your grasp, and yet. There's a warning note, in that soft voice.
Zerxus can't hear him, of course, so he just focuses on getting the rest of his armor off and spreading it across various satchels. (Well, his outer armour; the gambeson has stayed.)
Please just keep focusing on getting out of your armor and ignore Bruce's not all that subtle (by his standards) response to being clearly warned. There's that brief freeze again, and some subtle tension.
That particularly silky tone is... clear.
He doesn't even have justification beyond failing at impulse control, which makes it worse.
"How long has your son's other parent been dead?"
That's an assumption but it isn't a hard one to make and it is both... sadistically pointed and (he hopes) enough of a course correction.
He'd be less blindsided by this if Bruce hadn't given him a reprieve first. Was that just to make it hit harder? Or did he forget himself, and this was his way of making up for it?
(He can't know that Asmodeus's response is silent but palpable, a surge of darkly amused approval.)
He snaps the final button on the last satchel, taking a steadying breath. When he meets Bruce's gaze his expression is a mask of gentle placidity, and his voice echoes it.
"I was thirty, when my husband died. Elias was six."
There is a moment or two there where he has a combination of his father's amusement and approval, his own relief and just barely there and quickly buried deeper... not guilt, exactly, but discomfort at Zerxus response, and (very basic) going on in his head.
That does not tell him why Zerxus is here now? That answer is one he very much wants. He probably isn't going to get it in the next fifteen minutes. He's...is not (much) backing off due to discomfort this time. There's no immediate leverage there, and he has time.
"As long as it wasn't day before yesterday." Dry, and not at all sympathetic. "I need to show you where you'll be staying and provide you with a wardrobe when you're finished with this."
He takes his time patting Tempus down, straightening the saddle and doublechecking all the straps. Definitely testing his boundaries here, in a way that...probably says a lot about the months to come.
Oh, you're going to have fun with this one. It's half delighted assurance and half subtle command.
"Aren't you?" asks the king of hell's son. Truthfully, his impression of most mortal parents is... conflicted. He has strongly ingrained ideas, but he also has occasional evidence, and that doesn't matter right now. "If you say so. Now finish."
'Fun'.
He actually might, but it's going to be a long year. Especially if he can't get Asmodeus reassured that his son isn't too interested or invested.
The order rings in his ears, and suddenly it feels like there's nothing he'd rather do.
He could resist that, he thinks, at least for a moment - but this is no time to try it out. His movements become swiftly efficient; even when he leans down to press his forehead against his griffon's, his message to Tempus is brief.
Watch over them. Give Elias my shield. I'll see you in a year.
The griffon's wings flare again, furling around his knight's shoulders in a last gesture of loyal protectiveness. Then he backs up, turns, and runs - faster and faster before he leaps into the sky, and soars in a direction that his home is very much not in. (That was always the plan; they'd already planned route with random twists and turns, he just assumed he'd be taking it too.)
Finally, he turns back towards Bruce and crosses his arms. Even beneath the leather and wool of his gambeson he feels keenly vulnerable. "Lead the way, then."
Bruce... walks. Could he move more quickly via other means? Of course. He doesn't want to. He likes this city and making the man walk so he can navigate the city more easily is only practical.
(He'll find his way to the Manor, either way. It looms to such a degree it very nearly has it's own gravitational field. ...Or a magnetic one, set to repel. Either way, it is very difficult to miss).
Zerxus keeps his arms crossed, at first, but the further they go and the more he focuses on taking in the city, the more relaxed they become until finally they fall back so his sides.
"I ate rations a few hours ago." He had plenty left for the trip back, but he sent those home with Tempus. "Lunch in the air isn't as romantic as it sounds."
"It frankly sounds nauseating." Might have something to do with the Griffin, it might not, but either way it didn't sound romantic to him to start with.
He also is gradually relaxing. Not completely but not having an additional participant in this conversation makes that easier. Though he has not one. single. doubt. that it is being observed.
Maybe not so much, later, or if things are truly boring enough, but this new? Nope. That is a level of fire he will not be discounting as near certain rather than even probable. (It's always possible).
"I'll feed you after we've worked out what we'll be dressing you in, though I'm leaning heavily toward red." It'd be nice contrast to how strongly Bruce prefers things to be primarily black. "Then make some sort of arrangement so you can feed yourself while you're here."
He's a devil. It's not high on his priority list, usually. Care and keeping of a mortal skills are on par with 'feed it and clothe it so it doesn't die'. Good luck on things like 'where to shower'.
"I didn't know devils had delicate stomachs." Wry, sharp, but not a real barb. If he's still feeling wounded he isn't showing it through blatant hostility.
"If I told you I'm more of a 'blues and greys' sort of person..." There's not a lot of optimism in his voice. It's not like he hates red, at least. "But I'm not picky about food."
It's pretty damn hard to be in a world-spanning divine war, granted, but it was true even in the life he used to have, the one that increasingly feels like it belonged to someone else.
"And I can make my own. ...Does anyone else live there, besides you?"
"I said it sounded nauseating, not that I'd vomit." There's a difference there, and it's truthfully really is mostly about his complete lack of desire to fly, much less on a celestial anything, thank you.
He keeps walking, moving easily through the streets and not paying much attention to do so. Very much honing in on 'home' though, and doing so very directly. "I'll accept gray. Blue, no. You'll be very clearly a member of the household. You're going to look the part." That means blue is all the way out, thank you. ...also he just doesn't like it much.
Then shoots Zerxus a strange look in response to that question. Not that it is a question, but that the answer seems really obvious to him. "No one lives there besides me. There are occasional visitors and staff. You'll be left largely alone." But not unsupervised.
"I'm not sure two people makes a household." Flippant, but there's an undercurrent of wistfulness there. This won't be the first time he's joined one of those.
(Evandrin hadn't yet become First Knight when Zerxus first moved in, but he was steadily climbing the ranks and came from a wealthy family besides; surprising absolutely nobody he tended to get along with the servants better than his in-laws, but he felt comfortable in the place far more quickly than he expected.
Somehow, he doesn't think he should count on that.)
"...What kind of visitors should I be expecting? Because some of them might have a grudge." Between all of the devils he's sent back to the Hells and the divine Champions he's beaten bloody...
"If there are visitors present when I am not, it is not a situation that will last long or that you will need to concern yourself with." He is... absolutely confident and in fact downright confident on that point. If a devil is messing around the Manor, they have chosen the wrong person to mess with, several times over.
"The odd mortal providing a service is a possibility." And then: "Two may not be a household, but three is and you are part of it now." And truthfully Zerxus' life would be much easier and safer, both in being able to work and not being targeted, with that both known and clear.
Zerxus is fine stopping, his stare just as aghast.
"No one?" Admittedly, the circle of people with that level of trust has shrunk for him - the stakes are so much higher now - but it at least exists.
It makes sense, broadly speaking - devils are cutthroat, and fairly or not Asmodeus is considered the ultimate Betrayer - but he figured there would be exceptions. People aren't meant to live like that, he doesn't care if they're humans or devils or gods.
The layers of confusion and surprise that are happening here are truly impressive. The question startled and confused Bruce. Bruce's answer left Zerxus in disbelief. Bruce is disbelieving that the answer isn't obvious.
Even abruptly understanding that it is being asked out of some sort of concern isn't less confusing. The whole thing does remind him of his childhood, though, and that isn't a time period he would like to revisit.
"I trust you alone in the Manor." Because he can give the man orders he must obey and also trust is not the right word, but whatever. It can serve as a deflection. "My father's the Lord of Hell."
His expression says it all, in response to that deflection - that absolutely doesn't count - and somehow it only sharpens at the explanation.
"Your father is one of the gods who bound themselves to an entire world, shaping the life here forever. And then he was ready to throw it in the trash when things got difficult, which..."
He waves a hand. Yes, yes, shitty of the Betrayers, everyone has heard it.
"But my point is - they feel a connection to each other, and they made a connection to Exandria." (Earth, Gaea, Midgard, Terra; it has a lot of names, all these thousands of years later.) "Isn't that why he's so angry, being cut off from both for so long?"
And it's more than bitter frustration in his voice, in his expression; they're strained with bleak sympathy, too.
They are within a hundred yards of the Manor's gate. Bruce stops walking there, entirely.
That is not the response he expected, even having decided this particular mortal has more empathy than sense. He's still not even convinced the man isn't trying to die. Or leverage his soul for something, which would be worse.
Frustration and sympathy?
Well. It isn't wholly unreasonable, from Bruce's somewhat... biased knowledge, but it is unreasonable to be coming from Zerxus.
"He's certainly angry. He's also the Lord of Hell." What the fuck is happening here?
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Especially when combined with his obsessive nature. And the fact that he'd want to. And probably find that hot. He does not need that pressure and fully intends to resist doing that, at least until and unless he's either pushed or this idiot figures out how to be, if not more intelligent, better at navigating these things.
...That year should be a good chance to try to teach him a thing or two regardless of any ultimate goals.
"You stand out in it and look as though you expect to be attacked. I'll find something more suitable. Since you'll be staying."
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"Good point. ...It's strange, seeing so many adults without armour at all." Piece by piece, Zerxus reveals a gambeson that's clearly the oldest thing so far. It's been stitched and patched so often it's clearly leagues away from its original appearance - save for the carefully preserved crest over his breastbone. It isn't an emblem Bruce would recognise, though the script that circles it reads City of Thrones.
Asmodeus, of course, is a different story. Cathmoíra. It's half a purr and half a growl, half proud and half - wistful, almost. Domunas.
Now that's a name Bruce definitely knows. Early in the war the continent of Domunas was wrecked, scoured, shattered.
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That particular assumed lie Bruce reads as a sign that he is behaving in a way that is ... less than desirable, but is not so far out of line as to warrant it being addressed in a stronger way.
At least for the time being, and with other more interesting things to hold his attention. They are also holding Bruce's attention. More so with that low, vibrato quality of his father's voice and the... wistful? tone.
The state of his gambeson and where it came from tells a story. It's a fairly large piece of the puzzle as to why Zerxus is here.
"How old are you?" That is... absolutely out of nowhere and after having been silent for likely entirely too long to fit within the flow of conversation. It can't be anything but a response to seeing the insignia.
Cathmoira was a city.
yes, he's asking Zerxus a question while very much not asking one of Asmodeus.
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Zerxus is confused, for a second, before his gaze settles on the crest. Then his hands still, and his expression dims. Without looking up, and with barely maintained nonchalance, "Forty...three? Something like that." It's not always easy to keep track; calendars haven't exactly been their priority.
Ah. I imagine he was one of his city's...defenders.
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Yes, and that certainly explains some things about his presence here..
"How long is this going to take you?" He sounds impatient. He isn't, really, it's just a means of prodding Zerxus out of a... revealing reaction, for reasons he can't quite explain. He just knows he's uncomfortable with it.
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Interesting. Knowledge is in your grasp, and yet. There's a warning note, in that soft voice.
Zerxus can't hear him, of course, so he just focuses on getting the rest of his armor off and spreading it across various satchels. (Well, his outer armour; the gambeson has stayed.)
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That particularly silky tone is... clear.
He doesn't even have justification beyond failing at impulse control, which makes it worse.
"How long has your son's other parent been dead?"
That's an assumption but it isn't a hard one to make and it is both... sadistically pointed and (he hopes) enough of a course correction.
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He'd be less blindsided by this if Bruce hadn't given him a reprieve first. Was that just to make it hit harder? Or did he forget himself, and this was his way of making up for it?
(He can't know that Asmodeus's response is silent but palpable, a surge of darkly amused approval.)
He snaps the final button on the last satchel, taking a steadying breath. When he meets Bruce's gaze his expression is a mask of gentle placidity, and his voice echoes it.
"I was thirty, when my husband died. Elias was six."
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That does not tell him why Zerxus is here now? That answer is one he very much wants. He probably isn't going to get it in the next fifteen minutes. He's...is not (much) backing off due to discomfort this time. There's no immediate leverage there, and he has time.
"As long as it wasn't day before yesterday." Dry, and not at all sympathetic. "I need to show you where you'll be staying and provide you with a wardrobe when you're finished with this."
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He takes his time patting Tempus down, straightening the saddle and doublechecking all the straps. Definitely testing his boundaries here, in a way that...probably says a lot about the months to come.
Oh, you're going to have fun with this one. It's half delighted assurance and half subtle command.
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'Fun'.
He actually might, but it's going to be a long year. Especially if he can't get Asmodeus reassured that his son isn't too interested or invested.
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He could resist that, he thinks, at least for a moment - but this is no time to try it out. His movements become swiftly efficient; even when he leans down to press his forehead against his griffon's, his message to Tempus is brief.
Watch over them. Give Elias my shield. I'll see you in a year.
The griffon's wings flare again, furling around his knight's shoulders in a last gesture of loyal protectiveness. Then he backs up, turns, and runs - faster and faster before he leaps into the sky, and soars in a direction that his home is very much not in. (That was always the plan; they'd already planned route with random twists and turns, he just assumed he'd be taking it too.)
Finally, he turns back towards Bruce and crosses his arms. Even beneath the leather and wool of his gambeson he feels keenly vulnerable. "Lead the way, then."
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(He'll find his way to the Manor, either way. It looms to such a degree it very nearly has it's own gravitational field. ...Or a magnetic one, set to repel. Either way, it is very difficult to miss).
"How long has it been since you've eaten?"
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"I ate rations a few hours ago." He had plenty left for the trip back, but he sent those home with Tempus. "Lunch in the air isn't as romantic as it sounds."
(It used to be. He isn't thinking about it.)
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He also is gradually relaxing. Not completely but not having an additional participant in this conversation makes that easier. Though he has not one. single. doubt. that it is being observed.
Maybe not so much, later, or if things are truly boring enough, but this new? Nope. That is a level of fire he will not be discounting as near certain rather than even probable. (It's always possible).
"I'll feed you after we've worked out what we'll be dressing you in, though I'm leaning heavily toward red." It'd be nice contrast to how strongly Bruce prefers things to be primarily black. "Then make some sort of arrangement so you can feed yourself while you're here."
He's a devil. It's not high on his priority list, usually. Care and keeping of a mortal skills are on par with 'feed it and clothe it so it doesn't die'. Good luck on things like 'where to shower'.
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"If I told you I'm more of a 'blues and greys' sort of person..." There's not a lot of optimism in his voice. It's not like he hates red, at least. "But I'm not picky about food."
It's pretty damn hard to be in a world-spanning divine war, granted, but it was true even in the life he used to have, the one that increasingly feels like it belonged to someone else.
"And I can make my own. ...Does anyone else live there, besides you?"
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He keeps walking, moving easily through the streets and not paying much attention to do so. Very much honing in on 'home' though, and doing so very directly. "I'll accept gray. Blue, no. You'll be very clearly a member of the household. You're going to look the part." That means blue is all the way out, thank you. ...also he just doesn't like it much.
Then shoots Zerxus a strange look in response to that question. Not that it is a question, but that the answer seems really obvious to him. "No one lives there besides me. There are occasional visitors and staff. You'll be left largely alone." But not unsupervised.
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(Evandrin hadn't yet become First Knight when Zerxus first moved in, but he was steadily climbing the ranks and came from a wealthy family besides; surprising absolutely nobody he tended to get along with the servants better than his in-laws, but he felt comfortable in the place far more quickly than he expected.
Somehow, he doesn't think he should count on that.)
"...What kind of visitors should I be expecting? Because some of them might have a grudge." Between all of the devils he's sent back to the Hells and the divine Champions he's beaten bloody...
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"The odd mortal providing a service is a possibility." And then: "Two may not be a household, but three is and you are part of it now." And truthfully Zerxus' life would be much easier and safer, both in being able to work and not being targeted, with that both known and clear.
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The way Bruce talks about those visitors sets off alarm bells that have nothing to do with danger, per se, just - bog standard concern.
"Do you...have any friends?"
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"That I'd trust alone in my residence? No!."
That he'd trust around Zerxus without direct supervision? Also no. That he'd trust at all? With anything? No!
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"No one?" Admittedly, the circle of people with that level of trust has shrunk for him - the stakes are so much higher now - but it at least exists.
It makes sense, broadly speaking - devils are cutthroat, and fairly or not Asmodeus is considered the ultimate Betrayer - but he figured there would be exceptions. People aren't meant to live like that, he doesn't care if they're humans or devils or gods.
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Even abruptly understanding that it is being asked out of some sort of concern isn't less confusing. The whole thing does remind him of his childhood, though, and that isn't a time period he would like to revisit.
"I trust you alone in the Manor." Because he can give the man orders he must obey and also trust is not the right word, but whatever. It can serve as a deflection. "My father's the Lord of Hell."
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"Your father is one of the gods who bound themselves to an entire world, shaping the life here forever. And then he was ready to throw it in the trash when things got difficult, which..."
He waves a hand. Yes, yes, shitty of the Betrayers, everyone has heard it.
"But my point is - they feel a connection to each other, and they made a connection to Exandria." (Earth, Gaea, Midgard, Terra; it has a lot of names, all these thousands of years later.) "Isn't that why he's so angry, being cut off from both for so long?"
And it's more than bitter frustration in his voice, in his expression; they're strained with bleak sympathy, too.
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That is not the response he expected, even having decided this particular mortal has more empathy than sense. He's still not even convinced the man isn't trying to die. Or leverage his soul for something, which would be worse.
Frustration and sympathy?
Well. It isn't wholly unreasonable, from Bruce's somewhat... biased knowledge, but it is unreasonable to be coming from Zerxus.
"He's certainly angry. He's also the Lord of Hell." What the fuck is happening here?
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