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.
He still isn't sure he believes getting out of here is possible. He isn't even sure if he thinks it's more or less likely as his suspicious about how and why seem confirmed.
But he isn't sure he believes it's impossible, either, and there being an end point is a thing he's going to hang onto as a means of coping.
"Oh, did he decide to be helpful?" He's pretty sure if that's the case, this is going to be a whole new interesting experience. But only pretty sure. That man is... infuriating and in part because he is... He isn't erratic, he's just unpredictable (make things worse or defy expectations or-) for Steve, and Steve hates that.
Just to confirm exactly what Steve suspects, "He's operating on at least three levels of bullshit at any given time. Yes, it's exhausting, and no, it never stops."
That's probably as detailed as he can get - actually, he's going to prod at some boundaries now that the paradigm has shifted.
"Deceit and Trickery are two different domains. Not that he doesn't lie outright, obviously, but it's not really what he prefers. He's...he understands people, more than anyone I've ever met. Insight without compassion."
"I know the type." He's encountered the type - recently. "They tend to like me." Which is a problem in and of itself. "It's also probably why he 'likes' you."
And why Steve is here.
He realizes that he's still holding Zerxus' hand. "Clothes?" Just... as an aside.
"We're fun to play with." There's an edge there, righteous indignation that's not even slightly about him.
He's also squeezing that hand, and he lets go abruptly. "Right. Um - over here, you should have your own - "
The door hasn't changed, but the wardrobe has expanded; there's a new section, but the original isn't any smaller. There's a definite difference in styles - a lack of chains, horns and serpents, for one thing, and a broader range of colours - but the fabric is just as luxurious.
Most of it is ridiculously revealing, but some of it isn't. As Zerxus examines a sturdy pair of trousers, "Well, that's...less petty than he could have been."
Of course, Asmodeus could snap his fingers and either of them would be wearing whatever he wanted, but that isn't the point.
"That's one way of putting what we are," he says, dryly.
That's also the last thing he says for a moment or two. Too busy following Zerxus, and then sort of staring at the wardrobe. First processing the abrupt change in the... configuration and appearance of different clothes, because the... magical? aspects of being here are things he's accepting but are still weird.
Then at the clothes that are in there.
On one hand: Hey, a whole pair of pants. On the other. "Good thing I already figured out he fully intended me to be your pet and for us to be having sex." Otherwise the 'property of' branding would be coming with another revelation and he wouldn't even manage to sound calm. "Hand me those."
If a leash and collar appeared, he was probably going to hit someone. Or bite. Just to satisfy his alternating anger and trauma and ability to be a smartass, all at once.
Zerxus does that, immediately, and then turns around because - well, for one thing, he wants to make it very clear that Steve can have privacy from him, at least.
For another the expression on his face is akin to a deer in headlights.
Yes, he also knew that, and it puts a whole new spin on his hazy memories of last night, but hearing it bluntly out loud is something else.
Finally, flat and quiet, "What he intends doesn't always happen."
...Huh. He really expected to suffer for that statement, but there's nothing. Well, nothing but the squirming dread in the pit of his stomach.
Steve's almost entirely naked, anyway; the pants he has on now are barely pants. He's still pretty glad to not need to be making eye-contact while they're having this conversation, much less having this conversation while changing clothes.
He pushes the pants he'd had on down and off, and pulls the less revealing pair on efficiently, but without letting himself rush. He goes back to the new section of the wardrobe to find a shirt. It's blue. It's silk. Steve doesn't care, he just wants more skin covered than not.
He's not consciously doing it, but he is avoiding feeling exposed - and not because of Zerxus, and not because he's shy.
"We don't know how this is going to play out - any of it. Neither does he, though I'll give the son of a bitch credit for doing a good job in setting us up. Is there anything else in the details of the deals you've made with him I should know?"
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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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But he isn't sure he believes it's impossible, either, and there being an end point is a thing he's going to hang onto as a means of coping.
"Oh, did he decide to be helpful?" He's pretty sure if that's the case, this is going to be a whole new interesting experience. But only pretty sure. That man is... infuriating and in part because he is... He isn't erratic, he's just unpredictable (make things worse or defy expectations or-) for Steve, and Steve hates that.
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That's probably as detailed as he can get - actually, he's going to prod at some boundaries now that the paradigm has shifted.
"Deceit and Trickery are two different domains. Not that he doesn't lie outright, obviously, but it's not really what he prefers. He's...he understands people, more than anyone I've ever met. Insight without compassion."
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And why Steve is here.
He realizes that he's still holding Zerxus' hand. "Clothes?" Just... as an aside.
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He's also squeezing that hand, and he lets go abruptly. "Right. Um - over here, you should have your own - "
The door hasn't changed, but the wardrobe has expanded; there's a new section, but the original isn't any smaller. There's a definite difference in styles - a lack of chains, horns and serpents, for one thing, and a broader range of colours - but the fabric is just as luxurious.
Most of it is ridiculously revealing, but some of it isn't. As Zerxus examines a sturdy pair of trousers, "Well, that's...less petty than he could have been."
Of course, Asmodeus could snap his fingers and either of them would be wearing whatever he wanted, but that isn't the point.
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That's also the last thing he says for a moment or two. Too busy following Zerxus, and then sort of staring at the wardrobe. First processing the abrupt change in the... configuration and appearance of different clothes, because the... magical? aspects of being here are things he's accepting but are still weird.
Then at the clothes that are in there.
On one hand: Hey, a whole pair of pants. On the other. "Good thing I already figured out he fully intended me to be your pet and for us to be having sex." Otherwise the 'property of' branding would be coming with another revelation and he wouldn't even manage to sound calm. "Hand me those."
If a leash and collar appeared, he was probably going to hit someone. Or bite. Just to satisfy his alternating anger and trauma and ability to be a smartass, all at once.
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For another the expression on his face is akin to a deer in headlights.
Yes, he also knew that, and it puts a whole new spin on his hazy memories of last night, but hearing it bluntly out loud is something else.
Finally, flat and quiet, "What he intends doesn't always happen."
...Huh. He really expected to suffer for that statement, but there's nothing. Well, nothing but the squirming dread in the pit of his stomach.
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He pushes the pants he'd had on down and off, and pulls the less revealing pair on efficiently, but without letting himself rush. He goes back to the new section of the wardrobe to find a shirt. It's blue. It's silk. Steve doesn't care, he just wants more skin covered than not.
He's not consciously doing it, but he is avoiding feeling exposed - and not because of Zerxus, and not because he's shy.
"We don't know how this is going to play out - any of it. Neither does he, though I'll give the son of a bitch credit for doing a good job in setting us up. Is there anything else in the details of the deals you've made with him I should know?"
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