"...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?"
It's a good opportunity to claw back his composure, at least. Zerxus only turns when Steve speaks, and for a moment he can't grasp the words because -
"Of course you look good in blue." There's a deeper ache beneath the wry grumpiness, but he's trying to get focused again.
"There's nothing else in the contract, but..." Was there something he missed, before he had the right context? It's easy to see the angle Asmodeus was working from, now - enforcing a need for trust and reliance - but does that change anything?
Finally, with a slow shake of his head, "No. ...And if I ever feel the need to make another one, I'll talk to you first."
"That isn't the contract I meant, but I'll take that."
Steve's reasonably dressed, feels like vulnerable (it's also an illusion, but it helps), and at least a little more steady. More ready to deal with here and now and at least try to stop speculating on what is going to come next, what move Asmodeus is likely to make--
This isn't a battle and it isn't a place for a soldier. He is going to have to at least try to find a way to turn that off. At least a way to push it down.
He circles back to the thing that really caught his attention: "What's the importance of blue?"
Wryly, not quite meeting Steve's eyes, "It's what I'd be wearing if I had the choice." Or would have been, once, because he couldn't swear he'd be able to bear the sight of it at this point.
(Evandrin had favoured green, but he looked good in it too; it brought out his eyes.)
"...Sometimes, it really hits me that he knows everything about me. Even the things I've forgotten."
"I guess that'd make even more sense of all the red in your wardrobe." Meaning things that Zerxus wears. "I don't know if it helps or hurts here, but pretty much everything I wear that's not a uniform's always been some shade of blue."
He's betting that makes it worse, somehow. That seems to be how the... not just morning, but this whole thing, is going.
At least he's got clothes on now. That helps him feel steadier. It doesn't make him less worried.
"He seems very...." He breaks off. "Is he likes this with anybody else?"
On the one hand, at least Asmodeus picked someone who liked the colour. On the other hand he also picked someone who would like Zerxus and that's still something he's having a hard time grappling with.
"It's - important to keep in mind that he's never doing one thing, and he's rarely in one place at once. I'm sure he wants everyone to think they have his undivided focus, but I doubt even his siblings get that." Nowadays, at least. "We're always assigning more important to it than he is."
Funnily enough, there's more bitterness in that than mentions of the god's actual manipulation and betrayal.
That gets a grimace, but he does reluctantly meet Steve's eyes.
"He's the only one left who knows those things. He's the only one here who - " Zerxus sighs, shaking his head. "It isn't love. But it's still something."
It makes sense, that the only comfort in Hell is a weapon forged by the devil.
"You outrank me, anyway," says the soldier who has never, not once, respected a chain of command in his life.
Go ahead. Stay between him and Asmodeus. Until they're all in the same room again, at which point the bad innocence act will drop and he'll do what he feels the need to do.
That earns a wry glance over Zerxus's shoulder that says he's exactly as reassured as that statement deserves. (And, perhaps, a little bit delighted. Shut up.)
Then he takes his sweet time leading them back, hoping that tempers will have cooled enough to let sense prevail. The man's known him for two days, that can't be worth punching a god over.
It doesn't help that the god in question is lounging again, flipping through some sort of leather-bound tome, casual as you please.
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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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"Of course you look good in blue." There's a deeper ache beneath the wry grumpiness, but he's trying to get focused again.
"There's nothing else in the contract, but..." Was there something he missed, before he had the right context? It's easy to see the angle Asmodeus was working from, now - enforcing a need for trust and reliance - but does that change anything?
Finally, with a slow shake of his head, "No. ...And if I ever feel the need to make another one, I'll talk to you first."
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Steve's reasonably dressed, feels like vulnerable (it's also an illusion, but it helps), and at least a little more steady. More ready to deal with here and now and at least try to stop speculating on what is going to come next, what move Asmodeus is likely to make--
This isn't a battle and it isn't a place for a soldier. He is going to have to at least try to find a way to turn that off. At least a way to push it down.
He circles back to the thing that really caught his attention: "What's the importance of blue?"
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(Evandrin had favoured green, but he looked good in it too; it brought out his eyes.)
"...Sometimes, it really hits me that he knows everything about me. Even the things I've forgotten."
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He's betting that makes it worse, somehow. That seems to be how the... not just morning, but this whole thing, is going.
At least he's got clothes on now. That helps him feel steadier. It doesn't make him less worried.
"He seems very...." He breaks off. "Is he likes this with anybody else?"
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"It's - important to keep in mind that he's never doing one thing, and he's rarely in one place at once. I'm sure he wants everyone to think they have his undivided focus, but I doubt even his siblings get that." Nowadays, at least. "We're always assigning more important to it than he is."
Funnily enough, there's more bitterness in that than mentions of the god's actual manipulation and betrayal.
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At the moment though red's got his attention in a much more metaphorical way. One mostly involving flags.
"Are you jealous?"
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"He's the only one left who knows those things. He's the only one here who - " Zerxus sighs, shaking his head. "It isn't love. But it's still something."
It makes sense, that the only comfort in Hell is a weapon forged by the devil.
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He doesn't look happier about it.
He's not judging Zerxus.
The displeasure is about how much more precarious things here keep getting.
And not just because he really wants to hit Asmodeus for doing this to Zerxus. Again.
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"I know that look. Don't do it."
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He's dressed. He's ready to go back.
There's a look and he's going to.
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"Fine, but I'm leading the way." He starts before he even finishes the sentence. Just keep himself between the devil and the soldier, it'll be fine.
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Go ahead. Stay between him and Asmodeus. Until they're all in the same room again, at which point the bad innocence act will drop and he'll do what he feels the need to do.
Which is violence.
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Then he takes his sweet time leading them back, hoping that tempers will have cooled enough to let sense prevail. The man's known him for two days, that can't be worth punching a god over.
It doesn't help that the god in question is lounging again, flipping through some sort of leather-bound tome, casual as you please.
"Welcome back." He doesn't look up.
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