"I don't argue." He says that while pretty much just grabbing Zerxus by the throat and pivoting him around so his back is to the Manor. Then... releases him with an at least somewhat controlled shove. "Now go inside."
He stumbles a little, but maintains both his balance and his deeply unimpressed expression - though that isn't exactly directed at Bruce himself.
"Clearly." The word is hoarse, but otherwise steady; he'd try to linger just to make a point but it doesn't seem worth fighting the compulsion this early, so he whirls around to stride to the door.
In fairness I don't have to live with him. Asmodeus has transitioned smoothly to arch amusement.
Both gates and door open for him, and Bruce takes a moment or two to reign in his temper. There is no need for that nonsense and he really does not want it to continue for a year. It's just physically unpleasant.
(Also, there's some very buried and suppressed at least attempt to feel guilty about it, but that's also dangerous and just cannot happen. So, at least mostly, does not).
At this stage I believe he'd enjoy that more than you
But he's following Zerxus along, and into what is... very much overdone foyer. SOmething about crystal and black marble. Dark, but... reflective.
The look he gives Zerxus is somewhat amused - and an awful lot like he hadn't just been enraged and grabbed him by the throat.
"You'll be more comfortable with the kitchen and upstairs." Not... a lot but at least the spaces that he doesn't live in and no one sees are less... of a showcase.
That's much what he expected, and if he's a bit relieved by it... maybe it has something to do with his own desire to be done with this.
...and maybe it has a lot more to do with wanting to feed the tired mortal and put him to bed.
It's both. It's definitely both.
The Manor continues to be dark, strangely reflective and lit ...oddly, as they move through the space, with relatively deep shadows.
Until they reach the kitchen. Which, while still black and very mirrored is decently lit, spacious, and - well, it's still Ominous because of who lives there but much more normal.
And there's already a decent, heavy, meal on the table and a quick glance when Bruce flips open a cupboard to be sure shows that it is stocked.
"Sit down and eat." He is going to sit down and... drink coffee? Leave him alone, he has his vices. Some of them are murder and shadows and terror, some of them are bitter bean water.
Zerxus, who fully expected to get in there and make a sandwich or something, just - well, he's listening, his feet are moving him towards the table to sit down, but he sure is staring the whole time.
It's not new, exactly; it just reminds him of a world that doesn't exist anymore. The mages of Avalir conjured feasts on a regular basis.
It never tasted quite right, at least not to him. In this case, though, he really can't tell; it's been too long since he had a meal like this. Even back home they had to be careful with portions, their spices were limited, they could only grow or slaughter certain kinds of food.
It's a full fifteen minutes before he notices that Bruce did in fact sit down with him.
"...Does the caffeine do anything or do you just like the taste?"
Bruce is leaned back in his chair watching the entire time Zerxus is eating, watching him with... satisfaction.
Not for any nefarious reason, but simply because it is satisfying.
He knows the man was hungry and that what he was likely eating before was nowhere near as... indulgent?
He's almost surprised when Zerxus asks his question.
"I can't be positive. I like it, but I've had it for so many years that I've long since forgotten whether it ever had any effect on me or I've just developed a tolerance. At a guess it doesn't."
"Do you know if it tastes the same for you as it would a human? What about alcohol, is - " He cuts himself off with a slight, rueful shake of his head.
"Sorry. ...We're always cooking for new sorts of people." Many of them tieflings, because so many settlements turn them away. That fiendish heritage also makes a lot of things unpredictable - like what tolerances they may have, how different senses like taste are - and he doesn't have exactly get to quiz devils about this kind of thing.
"I've no idea," he admits. "I have very few and very, very vague memories of being human and none of them involve coffee, or alcohol," he says, dryly. "Nor do I expect I'd ever had either."
There is definite, solid, confirmation of fact in there.
Though he is a devil so he could be lying and reciting a rumor he knows. Could have started.
It's neither but technically possible and he will lean into that deniability should he be given any reason at all.
He knows the rumours. He didn't have the context to pry any truth from them, so he didn't try. Until now, gone utterly still, his gaze stricken.
It's so utterly, viscerally clear that he believes it, and he won't elaborate on why. Let Bruce think it's gullibility, when really -
He could choose to decide that it's a lie, and hurt someone whose entire world was shattered, whose childhood was stolen. Or he could choose not to, and be considered foolish.
It's not even a question.
"How old were you?" He's set his fork down. He's still holding the steak knife.
He lifts his eyebrows and points back at Zerxus' plate. There's no order there, but there is certainly a prompt to pick his fork up, or at least remember that food exists.
The lifted eyebrows and faint amusement fits the rest of the conversation, too. ...Or rather doesn't, but fits the 'am I lying or not' game he's very carefully playing. Holding that idea at the front of his mind and not reacting to the topic or Zerxus' response on any deeper level.
"Based on the timing of events, somewhere between seven and nine." He isn't more clear. "Why do you ask?"
He'll remember before it gets cold, but right now - he's thinking of the first time he saw Elias in Evandrin's arms and knew he loved him. Right now he's thinking of his son's face when they fled CathmoÃra, barely outflying the shockwave, clinging to the only parent he had left.
Right now that knife is flaring with starlight, and his voice is half growl.
Bruce's eyebrows can't get higher but the expression on his face shifts to subtly irritated. "I cannot think of a single reason you would be angry at all."
Flat, and it's not even any flatter for the intrusion of his father's laughter into his mind. He doesn't like that amusement, but he does understand it and it isn't immediately threatening.
"Both because it has nothing to do with you and because saving children seems the sort of nonsense you'd approve of."
"You'll accept the destruction of entire cities by gods, but draw the line at one bringing home an orphaned child and raising them as their own? What an interesting stance."
Bruce isn't sure if he's intrigued, amused, seriously annoyed or all three. It's all three. The last at the lack of logic as much as... a very real, if somewhat twisted loyalty to Asmodeus. His father saved him and raised him. That he can also be terrifying and brutal simply is.
He's taking this very personally. Which of course makes sense given his son, but also: Very mortal of him, in the the basis of all that self-righteous... indignation.
He's not as above it all as he thinks he is. An old song, but always a fun one.
"I don't like it, but there's a difference between collateral damage and - " He's waving the fork around as if that illustrates...anything, before grimacing and lowering his hand. A moment's pause is enough, at least, to dam the stream of - well, righteous indignation.
"And you don't need me to sit here telling you about how awful your life has been."
"Yes," he agrees. "One's the result of not caring at all, the other is the result of caring." Since when is not caring who you kill morally superior than - much of anything actually, including decisions to murder and torture?
What am I missing about him? It's a bit more direct in the admission that he isn't quite following than he'd normally be, but... asking feels safer at the moment than assuming or guessing, and he truly wants to know.
He frowns and takes another drink of his coffee, though, even once that statement is out, head back to that slight incline. "I do actually. By all means explain to me how awful my life has been. Enlighten me."
Direct questions don't always work out, but this time, He thinks himself so humble and wise, when he's as arrogant and blind as any knight on a grand vocation. As if giving it to himself makes him better than accepting it from one of us.
A direct line to divinity, not channeled through any god, is - definitely novel.
Zerxus, meanwhile, is chewing contemplatively before he blurts out anything insensitive again.
Thank you. It isn't warm, of course, or effusive but it is sincere. Questions at all are a gamble, but he has an answer and he now has something he can use against this idiot when he chooses to, without having to pry out the specifics on his own. If there's a price later - or had been in the moment - the answer alone was worth it. If it hadn't worked out... well, risk and benefit ratios.
Meanwhile he snorts, which doubles as a response to that insight and now much clearer understanding of Zerxus, as well as the soft response.
"And you agreed to obey me for a year. I'm not certain you're a good judge on the line between trust and stupidity, even if I understood what how much I trust anyone has to do with you thinking my life was 'awful'."
Of course. He says it so pleasantly, so naturally, that it's like those potential consequences didn't even exist. It may be the most dangerous thing about him.
Zerxus is staring at him again, though it's more dumbfounded than terrified this time.
"...That makes sense for a devil to say, but you - " He swallows words like you weren't supposed to be or you were stolen from your life. It won't be taken well, and it's...
"If that was the only way to save you, then I'm not about to say it was wrong." There's a note of apology in his voice that really does sound sincere. Maybe he was right and maybe he wasn't, but clearly that line of conversation isn't productive.
"But I will say it means you've missed out on a lot, and that it's a shame."
It is most assuredly dangerous, both in that it is absolutely unpredictable and because even pleasant and neutral feel, on a very base level, very, very emotionally good to Bruce - satisfying even.
He doesn't trust it, knows the unpredictability is there, but that doesn't change that anything that's not effectively punishment feels like reward.
"I'm sure I did. I wonder what your son is going to miss out on this year that you're here."
Edited (fixing my word salad.) 2024-11-27 06:19 (UTC)
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Interesting my ass.
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"Clearly." The word is hoarse, but otherwise steady; he'd try to linger just to make a point but it doesn't seem worth fighting the compulsion this early, so he whirls around to stride to the door.
In fairness I don't have to live with him. Asmodeus has transitioned smoothly to arch amusement.
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(Also, there's some very buried and suppressed at least attempt to feel guilty about it, but that's also dangerous and just cannot happen. So, at least mostly, does not).
At this stage I believe he'd enjoy that more than you
But he's following Zerxus along, and into what is... very much overdone foyer. SOmething about crystal and black marble. Dark, but... reflective.
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"It's..." Grand. Daunting. Lonely.
Absurdly it reminds him, if only in the broadest sense, of the Palazzo Por'co.
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"You'll be more comfortable with the kitchen and upstairs." Not... a lot but at least the spaces that he doesn't live in and no one sees are less... of a showcase.
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"Are we doing the whole tour?"
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"Do you want the whole tour or would you prefer to be shown the areas of most relevance to you, so that you can settle in sooner rather than later?"
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Besides, since Bruce had mentioned it he's increasingly aware of how hungry he is, and how much rest he hasn't had.
"Let's do the streamlined version."
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...and maybe it has a lot more to do with wanting to feed the tired mortal and put him to bed.
It's both. It's definitely both.
The Manor continues to be dark, strangely reflective and lit ...oddly, as they move through the space, with relatively deep shadows.
Until they reach the kitchen. Which, while still black and very mirrored is decently lit, spacious, and - well, it's still Ominous because of who lives there but much more normal.
And there's already a decent, heavy, meal on the table and a quick glance when Bruce flips open a cupboard to be sure shows that it is stocked.
"Sit down and eat." He is going to sit down and... drink coffee? Leave him alone, he has his vices. Some of them are murder and shadows and terror, some of them are bitter bean water.
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It's not new, exactly; it just reminds him of a world that doesn't exist anymore. The mages of Avalir conjured feasts on a regular basis.
It never tasted quite right, at least not to him. In this case, though, he really can't tell; it's been too long since he had a meal like this. Even back home they had to be careful with portions, their spices were limited, they could only grow or slaughter certain kinds of food.
It's a full fifteen minutes before he notices that Bruce did in fact sit down with him.
"...Does the caffeine do anything or do you just like the taste?"
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Not for any nefarious reason, but simply because it is satisfying.
He knows the man was hungry and that what he was likely eating before was nowhere near as... indulgent?
He's almost surprised when Zerxus asks his question.
"I can't be positive. I like it, but I've had it for so many years that I've long since forgotten whether it ever had any effect on me or I've just developed a tolerance. At a guess it doesn't."
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"Sorry. ...We're always cooking for new sorts of people." Many of them tieflings, because so many settlements turn them away. That fiendish heritage also makes a lot of things unpredictable - like what tolerances they may have, how different senses like taste are - and he doesn't have exactly get to quiz devils about this kind of thing.
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There is definite, solid, confirmation of fact in there.
Though he is a devil so he could be lying and reciting a rumor he knows. Could have started.
It's neither but technically possible and he will lean into that deniability should he be given any reason at all.
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It's so utterly, viscerally clear that he believes it, and he won't elaborate on why. Let Bruce think it's gullibility, when really -
He could choose to decide that it's a lie, and hurt someone whose entire world was shattered, whose childhood was stolen. Or he could choose not to, and be considered foolish.
It's not even a question.
"How old were you?" He's set his fork down. He's still holding the steak knife.
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The lifted eyebrows and faint amusement fits the rest of the conversation, too. ...Or rather doesn't, but fits the 'am I lying or not' game he's very carefully playing. Holding that idea at the front of his mind and not reacting to the topic or Zerxus' response on any deeper level.
"Based on the timing of events, somewhere between seven and nine." He isn't more clear. "Why do you ask?"
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Right now that knife is flaring with starlight, and his voice is half growl.
"I just want to know how angry I should be."
Asmodeus's laughter chimes in Bruce's head.
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Flat, and it's not even any flatter for the intrusion of his father's laughter into his mind. He doesn't like that amusement, but he does understand it and it isn't immediately threatening.
"Both because it has nothing to do with you and because saving children seems the sort of nonsense you'd approve of."
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"He's a god. He didn't need to drag you into the Hells to save you." He's picking the fork back up, now, but his gaze remains heated.
Ah, there's a paladin's self-righteousness. Of course he knows better. There's something downright intrigued beneath the arch amusement, though.
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Bruce isn't sure if he's intrigued, amused, seriously annoyed or all three. It's all three. The last at the lack of logic as much as... a very real, if somewhat twisted loyalty to Asmodeus. His father saved him and raised him. That he can also be terrifying and brutal simply is.
He's taking this very personally. Which of course makes sense given his son, but also: Very mortal of him, in the the basis of all that self-righteous... indignation.
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"I don't like it, but there's a difference between collateral damage and - " He's waving the fork around as if that illustrates...anything, before grimacing and lowering his hand. A moment's pause is enough, at least, to dam the stream of - well, righteous indignation.
"And you don't need me to sit here telling you about how awful your life has been."
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What am I missing about him? It's a bit more direct in the admission that he isn't quite following than he'd normally be, but... asking feels safer at the moment than assuming or guessing, and he truly wants to know.
He frowns and takes another drink of his coffee, though, even once that statement is out, head back to that slight incline. "I do actually. By all means explain to me how awful my life has been. Enlighten me."
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A direct line to divinity, not channeled through any god, is - definitely novel.
Zerxus, meanwhile, is chewing contemplatively before he blurts out anything insensitive again.
Finally, low and soft, "You don't trust anyone."
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Meanwhile he snorts, which doubles as a response to that insight and now much clearer understanding of Zerxus, as well as the soft response.
"And you agreed to obey me for a year. I'm not certain you're a good judge on the line between trust and stupidity, even if I understood what how much I trust anyone has to do with you thinking my life was 'awful'."
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Zerxus is staring at him again, though it's more dumbfounded than terrified this time.
"...That makes sense for a devil to say, but you - " He swallows words like you weren't supposed to be or you were stolen from your life. It won't be taken well, and it's...
"If that was the only way to save you, then I'm not about to say it was wrong." There's a note of apology in his voice that really does sound sincere. Maybe he was right and maybe he wasn't, but clearly that line of conversation isn't productive.
"But I will say it means you've missed out on a lot, and that it's a shame."
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He doesn't trust it, knows the unpredictability is there, but that doesn't change that anything that's not effectively punishment feels like reward.
"I'm sure I did. I wonder what your son is going to miss out on this year that you're here."
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