"He did this. I don't know how, but he did this - " There's that flash again but it's fiercer now, flickering into literal fire. Zerxus actually takes a step back, and lets the fire wreathe him again; it won't help, but at least the fury is going somewhere.
He wants to storm right back into that kitchen, but he can't.
Instead, he closes his eyes and steadies his breathing until the fire fades into plumes of writhing smoke.
First thing's first: explain himself.
"He - there are things only he would still know. At least...of the gods who would pull this."
Steve takes a couple of steps back, too, because Zerxus is on fire (well, not on fire but surrounded by it) and that is a little alarming, but more importantly nothing he wants to bask in. It's an odd show of good sense for a man who didn't react much when Zerxus was angry in bed and letting flames touch Steve.
Or maybe it's actually mostly about letting Zerxus have his moment to do something with his anger.
"All right. So why are you this mad about it?" At least he's had some time to figure that out, and maybe some of why he's relieved is that the 'deal' Zerxus made for him is... still decent and serves Zerxus.
It reassures him a little about Steve's survival instincts, at least.
"You're here because of me." He grins, broad and bleak; all of his teeth are just a little too sharp. "I'm trapped in Hell and he is, somehow, still using me to hurt people." One day it's not going to matter, one day he's going to enjoy it, there's already a wretchedly selfish corner of his heart that's pleased about this -
"He made me fight Evandrin, when we could still walk Exandria. That was better, at least he could defend himself." At least he doesn't have a front seat to what his husband is becoming, even if there are nights when he -
"I'm going to make a deal with another Betrayer and rip his fucking heart out."
Tellingly, there's no divine crack of the whip in response to this. It would be a toothless threat even if his deal didn't forbid it, and Asmodeus knows it.
The lack of reaction is telling, given that Steve at least understands now that absolutely everything can be listened to, and likely seen. He has no doubt that means that Asmodeus is either choosing to ignore, or the threat itself is meaningless.
He also doesn't doubt that Zerxus is reeling, emotionally. Maybe he should leave it alone, but.
"Is he? Or is he using other people to hurt you?" He can't speak to Evandrin, and that bit of information makes him hurt more for Zerxus, but the fact remains: "He doesn't care about me enough to want to hurt me. He certainly didn't before I showed up here, anyway. You...."
"It's the same thing. It - he thinks it's hilarious, that I spent my life and my death trying to save people and now - "
His voice is starting to shake. He hasn't been this emotional about anything in decades.
Is that it? Were you getting bored?
No answer. He'll have to ask him face to face or not at all, it seems, and - no, they're not doing that again. Having a decision to make finally calms him down, and all of that rage fuels grim determination instead.
"Well. The deal stands, at least, and I made very sure it didn't bind you to him or the Hells. He can pull you here but he can't keep you here, not if you don't let him."
He is solidly torn between being glad to see the anger, instead of just endless resignation and exhaustion-
-and wanting Zerxus to stop being so... protective.
In the end, the fact that he is who told Zerxus to stop trying to make him stop caring is what decides for Steve. Whether it's what Asmodeus wants or not, this is better. For now, if not the long term.
"Not a lot's changed from my perspective, except I hate the deal you made a lot less than I expected to. Let's go actually find some clothes for me. Maybe explain what this conversation made you decide I was right, make sure my shield's something you're familiar enough with to use effectively." He's not trying to distract Zerxus from this. He's trying to make sure they don't get stuck without a path forward.
After a moment, Zerxus nods - but he doesn't start moving again.
Instead, he reaches out a hand to clasp Steve's arm, and it alights again - but the flames are white now, and as they dance up Steve's arm it's with a soothing warmth.
"You have his protection. This is mine, if you accept it." The spell nominally requires a willing participant, but he could force it. He won't. "As long as you're within sixty feet of me, it will be harder to hurt you, and easier for you to resist anything cast on you. Even if it's me, or him."
It would only last an hour, cast by a mortal. He's far beyond that now.
Steve enjoys the warmth, because it's personal. Also because the flames are white. He isn't sure why that makes a difference, but it does. It's a better fit for Zerxus as he's coming to understand him -- and see him.
That draws a frustrated and slightly guilty grimace, and then a huff of rueful laughter.
"Well done. I'll get hit with the damage, too - but even with that deal I'm much more resilient than you." He considers, for a second, because this is...relevant, but probably objectively horrifying.
"And, in the worst case scenario, death wouldn't be..." Novel. "It wouldn't change anything for me. Not the way it could for you."
He lifts an eyebrow at the 'well done', because it's almost a little insulting, but.
It is also an opportunity. "Now's probably a good time to mention that experiment was to make me a good soldier. " Not just physically. "You dying for me feels wrong. You taking damage for anything minor feels just as wrong. It also seems like it's a smart move and maybe it'll make me less inclined to be stupid. Just be prepared for that to mean protective, too."
"Understood, and accepted." It will sit strangely, but that's all right. His magic gleams in his eyes, more gently than it has in a hundred years, and the flames spread until they're almost like armour. Even when they fade, Steve will feel - hardier, sturdier, safer in some formless but palpable way.
"Thank you." His hand lingers for just a moment longer than it needs to, and then he walks on ahead. "We can start training together, once we've found some decent armor for you."
Steve frowns faintly as he processes through the feeling, though only in a thoughtful way.
It becomes much more of a real frown at literally every other part of that, from the removal of physical contact on. He puts his hand back on Zerxus immediately. "I don't think I like either part of that. I'll try to find a way to cope with armor. Training with you sounds... I need to know where your head is for that one."
He's not as tense, at least, and doesn't pull away from the touch. "Leather armour, don't worry."
Enchanted, obviously, though he's not sure what to prioritise yet.
"We're going to be playing right into Asmodeus's hands again, but - it's more important, to me, that we know what we're doing if we're attacked. We want to protect each other; that can go very badly if we fuck it up."
Leather, he thinks he can maybe - probably - find a way to work with. It shouldn't be any worse than the suit he arrived in, anyway, for either weight or mobility. So... sure. "We can make you getting familiar with my shield part of that process. If you're going to use it, you're going to need to know what to expect from it. It isn't magical, but it's got some interesting properties."
That part is his priority though he's still a bit wary on the point of 'training' for reasons that have nothing to do with playing into anyone's hands, and won't be explaining (it's about concern about his own abilities, but Zerxus is right). so: "Sometimes, people good intentions do the wrong thing. The reverse also applies."
He... might be on Asmodeus' side on this one. There can't be a good long term outcome, but that doesn't change the shorter term.
Oh, that gets a huff of laughter. "Careful. Thinking that way can lead you into very dark corners."
Then you're trapped there, for eternity, scratching the walls and hoping that with enough time and will and pain you'll splinter it enough for a crack of light -
"We'll keep that for later, then." He's taught from the beginning before, but that was quite literally centuries ago. There are definitely some things he needs to refresh on.
He shouldn't be surprised, upon approaching the wardrobe, that there's a brand new set of armor next to it.
It's a blend of black and red leather, of course, with golden buckles - but beyond that, it's not overtly fiendish. The pauldrons are carved into feathered wings, the bracers are adorned with celestial patterns, and the belt is clasped with - not a skull, not an imp, but a griffon.
Zerxus stands there, stock still, staring at it.
What -
Our strategy stands. They need to know who he's meant to belong to.
"We'll figure it out. Meanwhile the shield can serve as a weapon as well as a defense, if it has to." He'd rather Zerxus have it, though he can't quite articulate why.
He follows Zerxus toward the wardrobe, is also not surprised it contains new armor, but is pretty surprised by the response.
He can't even begin to guess why that's happening, so. "What am I missing?"
He'd really like to deflect. Or just be blatantly, infuriatingly stubborn.
But Steve deserves better than that, he deserves to know what's going on in the game he's been made of pawn of.
So he takes a breath, and he says, "He designed this very carefully. It doesn't reflect him, the way any other piece of armour worn in Nessus would." The way Zerxus's does, and always will.
"It's..." He can't help it; he steps forward and reaches out to trace the griffon, gaze solemnly distant. "It ties you to me, very visibly. That's the point, and I can't even argue it because that's - how we're explaining your presence."
Of course he recognizes that it's something that very much troubles Zerxus; Steve's pretty good at reading people and everything from the initial freeze up, to the reluctance to answer, to the slow step forward tell him it's... emotionally heavy, at the very least.
He doesn't immediately understand how the answer - or information within it - fits the impact it's having on Zerxus. It just doesn't fit within the... framework of how his mind works, tactically or otherwise. There's a jump there he needs to make.
It doesn't take long. He starts with a faint frown and looking slightly lost, trying to put it together to understanding to something more grimly determined and almost - almost- amused. It's as dark as Steve's humor can get, and that is absolutely a sign it's pointed mostly back at himself.
Or at least how things work out.
"It's a long way from the first time I've been branded property. It might be the most garish, though." He reaches out and squeezes Zerxus' forearm. "It'll be okay. Might even work to keep me from breaking anyone's face." He's not really making a joke. He's trying to steady Zerxus, because this is Steve. But he is also really, really ...claustrophobic? Heart racing, unsteady, weight back on his heels to keep himself physically planted. Kinda fits what he's actually seeing which is less 'property of' and more 'leashed'. Which has never, ever, gone well with or for Steve.
"...That does not make it better." There's - a trace of bleak amusement there, at least, and he doesn't shy away from the comfort - not least because he knows they're both reeling right now.
It's the one thing he's always managed to avoid. He's slaughtered thousands of people and damned a fair share of them, but never claimed a soul directly. He's the most hands-off patron an infernal warlock could ask for, even once they're condemned to the Hells.
"It isn't real. However they look at you, whatever they say to or about us - " Zerxus tears his eyes from the griffon, finally. "You don't belong to me. I don't control you." He was, in fact, extremely adamant about that not being part of the arrangement. "We're doing this together."
"No, but it makes it funnier.... There's even stars." It's his turn to stare at that 'armor' -- which will very quickly turn into something he thinks of as a uniform - instead of looking at Zerxus.
He sounds somewhat distant when he says it; stuck in his head, not wholly present.
He blinks a couple of times, shakes his head and makes an effort to get his eyes back on Zerxus and to be looking at him when he does. It mostly works?
"Yeah, I know. I get the concept of playing a role." Really well. He sucks at it. The stakes here are higher. The person he's playing it for is usually an organization and pulling the strings not this... intermediary thing where it's a person and someone he likes and wants to help. "I also get that we're gonna be controlling each other and that's the point. It's okay."
When he first learned to recognise things like this - the ways people drew into themselves and away from the situation, the ways they coped and didn't - it was about helping them. Then, like everything else, it got twisted; it's a moment to take advantage of, physically or emotionally.
Even now, feeling closer to his former self than he has in over a century, that's his first instinct. How can he even trust himself to walk this line, for who knows how long -
He swallows that fear, and the bile with it, because there's no alternative. He'll have to.
So, instead of stepping back, Zerxus reaches out to take his Captain's hand. "It's not okay. It doesn't have to be okay."
Steve knows what Zerxus is doing, because it is something he would have done. Hell, it had been what he'd been trying to do, seconds ago.
He also doesn't have a single clue what to do with it directed back at him and he just... looks bewildered. Looks down at the hand wrapped around his and then back up to Zerxus.
How the fuck he manages to smile is a mystery, but he does and while it's strained it's not fake. "Okay. It isn't. We will be. More or less." More accurate? He is at least breathing a little more normally and got his head out of ... endless possible scenarios.
As long as he's taking the lifeline and keeping afloat. (This is where you reel them in or cut them loose, depending. This is where - )
"We will, and you - you're still getting out of here. There's going to be an end to this performance." How far they'll be pushed in the meantime is...not something he can predict or control, so he isn't going to dwell on it.
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He wants to storm right back into that kitchen, but he can't.
Instead, he closes his eyes and steadies his breathing until the fire fades into plumes of writhing smoke.
First thing's first: explain himself.
"He - there are things only he would still know. At least...of the gods who would pull this."
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Or maybe it's actually mostly about letting Zerxus have his moment to do something with his anger.
"All right. So why are you this mad about it?" At least he's had some time to figure that out, and maybe some of why he's relieved is that the 'deal' Zerxus made for him is... still decent and serves Zerxus.
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"You're here because of me." He grins, broad and bleak; all of his teeth are just a little too sharp. "I'm trapped in Hell and he is, somehow, still using me to hurt people." One day it's not going to matter, one day he's going to enjoy it, there's already a wretchedly selfish corner of his heart that's pleased about this -
"He made me fight Evandrin, when we could still walk Exandria. That was better, at least he could defend himself." At least he doesn't have a front seat to what his husband is becoming, even if there are nights when he -
"I'm going to make a deal with another Betrayer and rip his fucking heart out."
Tellingly, there's no divine crack of the whip in response to this. It would be a toothless threat even if his deal didn't forbid it, and Asmodeus knows it.
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He also doesn't doubt that Zerxus is reeling, emotionally. Maybe he should leave it alone, but.
"Is he? Or is he using other people to hurt you?" He can't speak to Evandrin, and that bit of information makes him hurt more for Zerxus, but the fact remains: "He doesn't care about me enough to want to hurt me. He certainly didn't before I showed up here, anyway. You...."
He's walking around wearing your husband's face.
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His voice is starting to shake. He hasn't been this emotional about anything in decades.
Is that it? Were you getting bored?
No answer. He'll have to ask him face to face or not at all, it seems, and - no, they're not doing that again. Having a decision to make finally calms him down, and all of that rage fuels grim determination instead.
"Well. The deal stands, at least, and I made very sure it didn't bind you to him or the Hells. He can pull you here but he can't keep you here, not if you don't let him."
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-and wanting Zerxus to stop being so... protective.
In the end, the fact that he is who told Zerxus to stop trying to make him stop caring is what decides for Steve. Whether it's what Asmodeus wants or not, this is better. For now, if not the long term.
"Not a lot's changed from my perspective, except I hate the deal you made a lot less than I expected to. Let's go actually find some clothes for me. Maybe explain what this conversation made you decide I was right, make sure my shield's something you're familiar enough with to use effectively." He's not trying to distract Zerxus from this. He's trying to make sure they don't get stuck without a path forward.
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Instead, he reaches out a hand to clasp Steve's arm, and it alights again - but the flames are white now, and as they dance up Steve's arm it's with a soothing warmth.
"You have his protection. This is mine, if you accept it." The spell nominally requires a willing participant, but he could force it. He won't. "As long as you're within sixty feet of me, it will be harder to hurt you, and easier for you to resist anything cast on you. Even if it's me, or him."
It would only last an hour, cast by a mortal. He's far beyond that now.
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"What's the price?" Hey. He's learning.
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"Well done. I'll get hit with the damage, too - but even with that deal I'm much more resilient than you." He considers, for a second, because this is...relevant, but probably objectively horrifying.
"And, in the worst case scenario, death wouldn't be..." Novel. "It wouldn't change anything for me. Not the way it could for you."
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It is also an opportunity. "Now's probably a good time to mention that experiment was to make me a good soldier. " Not just physically. "You dying for me feels wrong. You taking damage for anything minor feels just as wrong. It also seems like it's a smart move and maybe it'll make me less inclined to be stupid. Just be prepared for that to mean protective, too."
In short... okay. He's accepting.
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"Thank you." His hand lingers for just a moment longer than it needs to, and then he walks on ahead. "We can start training together, once we've found some decent armor for you."
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It becomes much more of a real frown at literally every other part of that, from the removal of physical contact on. He puts his hand back on Zerxus immediately. "I don't think I like either part of that. I'll try to find a way to cope with armor. Training with you sounds... I need to know where your head is for that one."
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Enchanted, obviously, though he's not sure what to prioritise yet.
"We're going to be playing right into Asmodeus's hands again, but - it's more important, to me, that we know what we're doing if we're attacked. We want to protect each other; that can go very badly if we fuck it up."
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That part is his priority though he's still a bit wary on the point of 'training' for reasons that have nothing to do with playing into anyone's hands, and won't be explaining (it's about concern about his own abilities, but Zerxus is right). so: "Sometimes, people good intentions do the wrong thing. The reverse also applies."
He... might be on Asmodeus' side on this one. There can't be a good long term outcome, but that doesn't change the shorter term.
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Then you're trapped there, for eternity, scratching the walls and hoping that with enough time and will and pain you'll splinter it enough for a crack of light -
"Have you ever used a sword before?"
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He'll think however he wants, but the chuckle coming with the warning... Yeah , he's not surprised by those implications.
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"We'll keep that for later, then." He's taught from the beginning before, but that was quite literally centuries ago. There are definitely some things he needs to refresh on.
He shouldn't be surprised, upon approaching the wardrobe, that there's a brand new set of armor next to it.
It's a blend of black and red leather, of course, with golden buckles - but beyond that, it's not overtly fiendish. The pauldrons are carved into feathered wings, the bracers are adorned with celestial patterns, and the belt is clasped with - not a skull, not an imp, but a griffon.
Zerxus stands there, stock still, staring at it.
What -
Our strategy stands. They need to know who he's meant to belong to.
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He follows Zerxus toward the wardrobe, is also not surprised it contains new armor, but is pretty surprised by the response.
He can't even begin to guess why that's happening, so. "What am I missing?"
So he's forced to ask.
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But Steve deserves better than that, he deserves to know what's going on in the game he's been made of pawn of.
So he takes a breath, and he says, "He designed this very carefully. It doesn't reflect him, the way any other piece of armour worn in Nessus would." The way Zerxus's does, and always will.
"It's..." He can't help it; he steps forward and reaches out to trace the griffon, gaze solemnly distant. "It ties you to me, very visibly. That's the point, and I can't even argue it because that's - how we're explaining your presence."
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Of course he recognizes that it's something that very much troubles Zerxus; Steve's pretty good at reading people and everything from the initial freeze up, to the reluctance to answer, to the slow step forward tell him it's... emotionally heavy, at the very least.
He doesn't immediately understand how the answer - or information within it - fits the impact it's having on Zerxus. It just doesn't fit within the... framework of how his mind works, tactically or otherwise. There's a jump there he needs to make.
It doesn't take long. He starts with a faint frown and looking slightly lost, trying to put it together to understanding to something more grimly determined and almost - almost- amused. It's as dark as Steve's humor can get, and that is absolutely a sign it's pointed mostly back at himself.
Or at least how things work out.
"It's a long way from the first time I've been branded property. It might be the most garish, though." He reaches out and squeezes Zerxus' forearm. "It'll be okay. Might even work to keep me from breaking anyone's face." He's not really making a joke. He's trying to steady Zerxus, because this is Steve. But he is also really, really ...claustrophobic? Heart racing, unsteady, weight back on his heels to keep himself physically planted. Kinda fits what he's actually seeing which is less 'property of' and more 'leashed'. Which has never, ever, gone well with or for Steve.
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It's the one thing he's always managed to avoid. He's slaughtered thousands of people and damned a fair share of them, but never claimed a soul directly. He's the most hands-off patron an infernal warlock could ask for, even once they're condemned to the Hells.
"It isn't real. However they look at you, whatever they say to or about us - " Zerxus tears his eyes from the griffon, finally. "You don't belong to me. I don't control you." He was, in fact, extremely adamant about that not being part of the arrangement. "We're doing this together."
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He sounds somewhat distant when he says it; stuck in his head, not wholly present.
He blinks a couple of times, shakes his head and makes an effort to get his eyes back on Zerxus and to be looking at him when he does. It mostly works?
"Yeah, I know. I get the concept of playing a role." Really well. He sucks at it. The stakes here are higher. The person he's playing it for is usually an organization and pulling the strings not this... intermediary thing where it's a person and someone he likes and wants to help. "I also get that we're gonna be controlling each other and that's the point. It's okay."
He's nauseated.
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When he first learned to recognise things like this - the ways people drew into themselves and away from the situation, the ways they coped and didn't - it was about helping them. Then, like everything else, it got twisted; it's a moment to take advantage of, physically or emotionally.
Even now, feeling closer to his former self than he has in over a century, that's his first instinct. How can he even trust himself to walk this line, for who knows how long -
He swallows that fear, and the bile with it, because there's no alternative. He'll have to.
So, instead of stepping back, Zerxus reaches out to take his Captain's hand. "It's not okay. It doesn't have to be okay."
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He also doesn't have a single clue what to do with it directed back at him and he just... looks bewildered. Looks down at the hand wrapped around his and then back up to Zerxus.
How the fuck he manages to smile is a mystery, but he does and while it's strained it's not fake. "Okay. It isn't. We will be. More or less." More accurate? He is at least breathing a little more normally and got his head out of ... endless possible scenarios.
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"We will, and you - you're still getting out of here. There's going to be an end to this performance." How far they'll be pushed in the meantime is...not something he can predict or control, so he isn't going to dwell on it.
"Let's sort out the rest of your clothes."
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