Bruce's attention doesn't wholly and completely return to Zerxus, but it does return and it does so quickly.
"I was assuming that the nightmares were the result of recent trauma." Is that an admission? Yes, yes it is, but also: "They're not? Or was something else interrupting your sleep when you were young?"
"It hasn't helped." He reaches up to run a hand through his hair - still a little damp, already turning wild.
"Night terrors. No cause we ever figured out, and no treatment that was very effective." The Sleep spell could be helpful, but these days - he isn't going to use magic on that.
He cocks his head to the side, just a bit in that way he does. With the name Ioun still floating around his mind, that is a particularly interesting bit of information.
"You slept just fine with me for quite a while." Is he saying that to argue, verify, or just make Zerxus uncomfortable and redirect him a bit? Yes. Any or all of those. While still in bed with him, watching Zerxus' hair get wilder and wilder as it dries.
They should just get up soon. He can turn Zerxus loose in the library to entertain himself while Bruce... investigates.
"...I was exhausted." The fact that he does not meet Bruce's gaze when he says that and blushes enough to be seen with dark vision undermines that statement immediately.
"Anyway. I probably won't get back to sleep, after - that." There are times he can cling to the dream long enough to write some of it down, but all he's left with now is a sense of bleak foreboding, echoes of existential heartbreak and a split lip.
"I'm sure I can find at least one in the library." He stands up, hand held out to Zerxus. The offer of the hand is calculated. He wants that man to become very used to, and casual about, being touched by Bruce. Acclimation, as it were.
...that there are other motives that are less calculated, and perhaps some of his own needs being met is not even a thought.
He's also going to pry into the sleep with him thing more, but that'll be after he's got the man up and physical contact reestablished.
There's no hint of hesitation this time, as if Zerxus himself still needs the reassurance that Bruce is here, whole and safe. (He's already invested, of course he is, but there was - there was a greater depth to the fear in that dream, like they'd known each other longer. A little disconcerting, but that wouldn't be the first time his heart ran far ahead of him when he closed his eyes.)
Of course, once he's up it hits him that they are standing very, very close together and -
The sound he makes is stunned, strangled and frankly embarrassing. He could at least have the decency to sound annoyed, at least exasperated, but no, that's all drowned out by raw, unbridled yearning.
"You're impossible." But it's not like he jerked away from that kiss, and isn't letting himself be pulled along.
"I am not, though you may be the most desperately lonely mortal I have ever met." That may be saying something considering....
Well, a lot of things and people his mind simply skitters away from.
Once he's sure Zerxus is coming with him, willingly and knows Zerxus is aware of it, though he simply teleports them both into the middle of the library. He'll draw a map when (or if) he decides Zerxus should be allowed access to the library.
He's all set to snipe back in, probably, a deeply stupid fashion when suddenly -
"Really?" The aggravation is blunted, a bit, as he regains his bearings; it's been a while since teleportation was a normal part of his day, and he was never that thrilled with it to start with. "Well, if we're just throwing magic around - "
Casting Daylight in a dim library is definitely overkill. He's doing it anyway.
You know what else is overkill? The way Bruce draws back, squints and hisses in response to the light.
That has nothing to do with 'Devil', and everything to do with Bruce being Bruce. Not like he can't walk outside during daylight whenever he wants, however strong his affinity with shadows and darkness of the more literal sort.
Hissing about it is just... all him.
"For fuck's-" He says nothing else, but stalks over to a table tucked between two arm chairs, opens a drawer and pulls out a blank journal and wings it at Zerxus like it's a frisbee. At least he just picks up the pencil, also in the drawer, instead of throwing it like a javelin.
He's a knight, not a rogue; he does not catch that journal straight on, it just kind of bounces off his raised arms and he grabs it before it hits the ground.
"Are you a vampire, suddenly, or just a teenager?" Seriously, it's akin to turning that spell on lurking undead or yanking a pillow off his son's face.
He glares, but walks the pencil over like a grown ass, reasonable... devil, actually, and extends it to be taken.
"I have no idea how old I am, but I am certainly not a teenager and if you want bitten you'll need to ask." It's just irritating and vaguely painful after as much time as he spends in low light.
He's not... getting rid of the daylight though. Recognizes Zerxus is going to need to see in order to write. And that Asmodeus will probably benefit from the focused thought involved in writing whatever down.
"...Thank you." There's a hint of wryness, there, but the annoyance is fading as quickly as it flared; he doesn't even rise to the bait.
It's hard for anyone to keep solid, consistent track of time anymore, between the scale of destruction and the nature of divine war, but -Zerxus knows for certain how many years he had before the world changed. Bruce was a child when his own was torn apart.
There's a low, soft growl in the back of Bruce's mind. He's pitying you.
It's subtle and quickly turned into an exasperated eyeroll as Bruce hands over the pencil, but Bruce's eyes track up and off to the left in response to his father's voice.
Admodeus interjecting is very familiar, but the growl and softness of it are...surprising -- and somewhat touching. Enough so that he wants to relax into it.
"You need to stop feeling 'bad' for me. Now sit down and do what you wanted to do. I need to find a book." He points at one of the chairs and starts looking in the direction he was pointed, but. That's asinine. Why?
Edited (I had a half thought.) 2024-12-26 17:02 (UTC)
One day, perhaps, Zerxus will know enough to catch that - but for now he just sighs and accepts the direction. He really should start writing sooner than later.
I imagine he thinks you've been deprived. Asmodeus is always multitasking; the difference, here, is that he lets Bruce hear it in the distracted undercurrent to his disdain. As if they're in on the same joke. Even now, reaching for the dream, he's thinking about you. About who you should have been.
It's not a level of insight he usually displays, with mortals who don't in some way belong to him. There's definitely something going on with those dreams.
It will be far easier for Zerxus to catch, once he realizes that Asmodeus can and will 'talk' to Bruce whenever he wishes, and that Bruce himself is effectively a listening device.
Not that it should be a shock, but thus far Bruce has deliberately kept when and if Asmodeus is present hidden to the best of his ability - and his ability on that front his pretty good.
Part of that is how deeply, completely, satisfying he finds the... intimacy with Asmodeus. For all the punishment and reward at his disposal, it really doesn't take much (anymore) than his presence and approval or sense of 'sharing' something, or disapproval and removal of himself (or turning cold and remote) to shift Bruce.
Given his arrogance and pride in his own mortality... There's derision there, even for him, almost habitual toward mortals. I'm sure dead in a gutter is something he'd see as 'better'. Bruce does not agree, and that had better go without saying.
He moves through the shelves, head cocked to the side and pulling the occasional book out to see the cover, but only removing books likely to contain information about Ioun's followers. Though now with more ...focus. What was that dream about and why is it this important?
There's a low hum in response, darkly amused and quietly pleased. Damn right, mortals do suck and you are better than them. He's prouder than half our devils at least. It's almost endearing.
Meanwhile, Zerxus is indeed stuck on solid reality instead of surreal, cryptic imagery. He could try meditating, but frankly he doesn't want to do that in the middle of a devil's domain.
Even if he's distracted by worrying about the same devil. The low huff of aggravation is aimed mostly at himself; he's only got an hour until the light runs out. (Yes, he could just ask Bruce to put an actual light on. That isn't the point.)
Maybe he can use this. He was worried about Bruce in the dream, too, urgently and viscerally, because...what? Not much threatens the Prince of Hell beyond -
In fairness to Zerxus, Bruce has been... inconsistently responsive to requests, largely out of pure contrariness on his part.
Endearing, irritating, and compelling. It feels dangerous but in a fun way. He still doesn't know if he wants to break the man or protect him. He knows which he's damn well been told to do ('fun with this one') though.
He pulls a couple of books, then stops and looks back at Zerxus. "Most of them, though rarely for very long. Is this idle curiosity or related to your dream?" He shouldn't interrupt too much. He wants the man to write this down, dammit.
He twirls his pen very pointedly, despite the fact that he's written very little with it.
"The dream. There can't be many things that would make me that worried about your safety." There is, notably, no scepticism about the worry itself.
With a wry chuckle, And so quick to form attachments. Of course, part of that is his need to be your saviour, as the the rest of the world isn't burning.
"There are very, very few options for things that would be a threat to me."
Not even the other Gods, as far as he is concerned. Because his upbringing and cultivated interactions and curated remarks means that he considers them more than slightly inferior to Asmodeus.
Which means his thoughts are not traveling in a direction entirely different from Zerxus'.
Then maybe I should light one before his quest to 'save' me becomes the threat to me.
Actively distrustful of his father? Very much so, and he hasn't even cracked open a book, yet.
It's not a possibility that Zerxus knows how to broach, because he isn't assuming that Bruce will agree with him. Surely Asmodeus would at least offer the illusion that the son he chose was safe with him.
"Does anyone have a grudge? Against you, against Gotham?" Something had certainly felt...personal, about the transcendent violence he can almost remember. "Or...maybe they'd think they were saving it from you."
There's at least a rueful twist to that, because yes, that is basically why he's here. He's just not enough of a self-important idiot to think it's as simple as Kill Devil Save City.
It won't take much to distract him, or won't take much for him to become a threat to me...?
That one's rhetorical. The answer is likely both - though the second would take more. He is arrogant, yes, but he also sees the direction this is going and pretending that he cannot see the possibility being more than hinted at would require a level of obliviousness and stupidity he does not possess.
Besides, his father appears to be leading him in the direction of that conclusion.
He goes to the desk with his books and sits down, flips the first open and starts scanning pages... rapidly, looking for keywords, and only truly reading when he finds one. "The only credible threat to me or this city is my father. The people who live here are well aware their greatest protection from him is me." Zerxus is... so earnestly and endearingly backward. "You're very convinced your dream was prophetic of something."
The first keyword he'll find is clairvoyance; it goes on to describe that Ioun grants it to those followers she trusts the most. That can't be the answer here, of course - there may be gods who would bestow power in someone without their knoweldge or permission, but The Knowing Mistress isn't one of them. But it goes on to describe the groups formed by such seers, which could lead in a more plausible direction.
Meanwhile, Zerxus...opens his mouth, closes it, and counts to ten in Celestial.
"Well. Yes. I just wasn't - I didn't want to - isn't he supposed to lie about things?"
It's not a chuckle this time, there's an outright burst of laughter in Bruce's head.
Asmodeus had said 'followers of Ioun', not just the goddess herself. That's a very specific plausible direction to pursue.
He glances up briefly, though whether it's in response to the remark itself or the laughter, his expression is... exasperated but in a way that's almost fond. That's downright cute, Zerxus.
So much cute and endearingly and earnestly wrong that he isn't even remotely startled by the laughter.
"You're thinking like a paladin and operating under a false premise: these are the rules, and he follows them rigidly. If everything he said or did were a lie, there would be no element of deceit. You could simply reverse everything." Is he supposed to be spelling this out? Fuck if he knows, but there's a level of earnestly naive that apparently makes him say things. "And aside from that I am his son. If I were stupid enough to believe he was safe, he'd flay me and I'd deserve it."
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"I was assuming that the nightmares were the result of recent trauma." Is that an admission? Yes, yes it is, but also: "They're not? Or was something else interrupting your sleep when you were young?"
And why would it be embarrassing?
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"Night terrors. No cause we ever figured out, and no treatment that was very effective." The Sleep spell could be helpful, but these days - he isn't going to use magic on that.
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"You slept just fine with me for quite a while." Is he saying that to argue, verify, or just make Zerxus uncomfortable and redirect him a bit? Yes. Any or all of those. While still in bed with him, watching Zerxus' hair get wilder and wilder as it dries.
They should just get up soon. He can turn Zerxus loose in the library to entertain himself while Bruce... investigates.
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"Anyway. I probably won't get back to sleep, after - that." There are times he can cling to the dream long enough to write some of it down, but all he's left with now is a sense of bleak foreboding, echoes of existential heartbreak and a split lip.
Still... "Do you have any blank journals?"
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...that there are other motives that are less calculated, and perhaps some of his own needs being met is not even a thought.
He's also going to pry into the sleep with him thing more, but that'll be after he's got the man up and physical contact reestablished.
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Of course, once he's up it hits him that they are standing very, very close together and -
"...Are you going to put a shirt on?"
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He smirks, just faintly, and gives Zerxus a brief but searingly hot kiss, tugs the hand and starts walking. "No. I don't believe I am."
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"You're impossible." But it's not like he jerked away from that kiss, and isn't letting himself be pulled along.
Gods, he's too old for this.
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Well, a lot of things and people his mind simply skitters away from.
Once he's sure Zerxus is coming with him, willingly and knows Zerxus is aware of it, though he simply teleports them both into the middle of the library. He'll draw a map when (or if) he decides Zerxus should be allowed access to the library.
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"Really?" The aggravation is blunted, a bit, as he regains his bearings; it's been a while since teleportation was a normal part of his day, and he was never that thrilled with it to start with. "Well, if we're just throwing magic around - "
Casting Daylight in a dim library is definitely overkill. He's doing it anyway.
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That has nothing to do with 'Devil', and everything to do with Bruce being Bruce. Not like he can't walk outside during daylight whenever he wants, however strong his affinity with shadows and darkness of the more literal sort.
Hissing about it is just... all him.
"For fuck's-" He says nothing else, but stalks over to a table tucked between two arm chairs, opens a drawer and pulls out a blank journal and wings it at Zerxus like it's a frisbee. At least he just picks up the pencil, also in the drawer, instead of throwing it like a javelin.
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"Are you a vampire, suddenly, or just a teenager?" Seriously, it's akin to turning that spell on lurking undead or yanking a pillow off his son's face.
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"I have no idea how old I am, but I am certainly not a teenager and if you want bitten you'll need to ask." It's just irritating and vaguely painful after as much time as he spends in low light.
He's not... getting rid of the daylight though. Recognizes Zerxus is going to need to see in order to write. And that Asmodeus will probably benefit from the focused thought involved in writing whatever down.
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It's hard for anyone to keep solid, consistent track of time anymore, between the scale of destruction and the nature of divine war, but -Zerxus knows for certain how many years he had before the world changed. Bruce was a child when his own was torn apart.
There's a low, soft growl in the back of Bruce's mind. He's pitying you.
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Admodeus interjecting is very familiar, but the growl and softness of it are...surprising -- and somewhat touching. Enough so that he wants to relax into it.
"You need to stop feeling 'bad' for me. Now sit down and do what you wanted to do. I need to find a book." He points at one of the chairs and starts looking in the direction he was pointed, but. That's asinine. Why?
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I imagine he thinks you've been deprived. Asmodeus is always multitasking; the difference, here, is that he lets Bruce hear it in the distracted undercurrent to his disdain. As if they're in on the same joke. Even now, reaching for the dream, he's thinking about you. About who you should have been.
It's not a level of insight he usually displays, with mortals who don't in some way belong to him. There's definitely something going on with those dreams.
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Not that it should be a shock, but thus far Bruce has deliberately kept when and if Asmodeus is present hidden to the best of his ability - and his ability on that front his pretty good.
Part of that is how deeply, completely, satisfying he finds the... intimacy with Asmodeus. For all the punishment and reward at his disposal, it really doesn't take much (anymore) than his presence and approval or sense of 'sharing' something, or disapproval and removal of himself (or turning cold and remote) to shift Bruce.
Given his arrogance and pride in his own mortality... There's derision there, even for him, almost habitual toward mortals. I'm sure dead in a gutter is something he'd see as 'better'. Bruce does not agree, and that had better go without saying.
He moves through the shelves, head cocked to the side and pulling the occasional book out to see the cover, but only removing books likely to contain information about Ioun's followers. Though now with more ...focus. What was that dream about and why is it this important?
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Meanwhile, Zerxus is indeed stuck on solid reality instead of surreal, cryptic imagery. He could try meditating, but frankly he doesn't want to do that in the middle of a devil's domain.
Even if he's distracted by worrying about the same devil. The low huff of aggravation is aimed mostly at himself; he's only got an hour until the light runs out. (Yes, he could just ask Bruce to put an actual light on. That isn't the point.)
Maybe he can use this. He was worried about Bruce in the dream, too, urgently and viscerally, because...what? Not much threatens the Prince of Hell beyond -
"...Have you ever met the other gods?"
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Endearing, irritating, and compelling. It feels dangerous but in a fun way. He still doesn't know if he wants to break the man or protect him. He knows which he's damn well been told to do ('fun with this one') though.
He pulls a couple of books, then stops and looks back at Zerxus. "Most of them, though rarely for very long. Is this idle curiosity or related to your dream?" He shouldn't interrupt too much. He wants the man to write this down, dammit.
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"The dream. There can't be many things that would make me that worried about your safety." There is, notably, no scepticism about the worry itself.
With a wry chuckle, And so quick to form attachments. Of course, part of that is his need to be your saviour, as the the rest of the world isn't burning.
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Not even the other Gods, as far as he is concerned. Because his upbringing and cultivated interactions and curated remarks means that he considers them more than slightly inferior to Asmodeus.
Which means his thoughts are not traveling in a direction entirely different from Zerxus'.
Then maybe I should light one before his quest to 'save' me becomes the threat to me.
Actively distrustful of his father? Very much so, and he hasn't even cracked open a book, yet.
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"Does anyone have a grudge? Against you, against Gotham?" Something had certainly felt...personal, about the transcendent violence he can almost remember. "Or...maybe they'd think they were saving it from you."
There's at least a rueful twist to that, because yes, that is basically why he's here. He's just not enough of a self-important idiot to think it's as simple as Kill Devil Save City.
It won't take much.
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That one's rhetorical. The answer is likely both - though the second would take more. He is arrogant, yes, but he also sees the direction this is going and pretending that he cannot see the possibility being more than hinted at would require a level of obliviousness and stupidity he does not possess.
Besides, his father appears to be leading him in the direction of that conclusion.
He goes to the desk with his books and sits down, flips the first open and starts scanning pages... rapidly, looking for keywords, and only truly reading when he finds one. "The only credible threat to me or this city is my father. The people who live here are well aware their greatest protection from him is me." Zerxus is... so earnestly and endearingly backward. "You're very convinced your dream was prophetic of something."
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Meanwhile, Zerxus...opens his mouth, closes it, and counts to ten in Celestial.
"Well. Yes. I just wasn't - I didn't want to - isn't he supposed to lie about things?"
It's not a chuckle this time, there's an outright burst of laughter in Bruce's head.
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He glances up briefly, though whether it's in response to the remark itself or the laughter, his expression is... exasperated but in a way that's almost fond. That's downright cute, Zerxus.
So much cute and endearingly and earnestly wrong that he isn't even remotely startled by the laughter.
"You're thinking like a paladin and operating under a false premise: these are the rules, and he follows them rigidly. If everything he said or did were a lie, there would be no element of deceit. You could simply reverse everything." Is he supposed to be spelling this out? Fuck if he knows, but there's a level of earnestly naive that apparently makes him say things. "And aside from that I am his son. If I were stupid enough to believe he was safe, he'd flay me and I'd deserve it."
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