amore mio

[conchy]

[To call this place a hellscape would be doing it a great disservice.

Lobelia promised to follow Vergilius to the ends of the earth and back, but upon seeing the City with his own eyes, he can understand how such an oppressive atmosphere would shape a person after a lifetime of dwelling here. He's never seen skies this dull or breathed air that scorched his lungs, this place the perfect antithesis to the skydom he hails from. He'll get used to it in time, surely, but even this arrangement is temporary.

We won't be here forever, Lobelia assures both himself and the Tower who, despite its "destruction," has returned to him in one piece. It eagerly reminds Lobelia that there is work left to be done in his own world, the terms of their pact yet to be fulfilled, but that can be sorted out later. He hadn't promised the Tower his unconditional cooperation like he has Vergilius, and so helping him sort out loose ends and fulfill his means takes precedence over the desires of the Evokers back home.

This place has him feeling a bit under the weather, but Lobelia is nevertheless pleasant and chatty as usual when they step onto the... bus. What the fuck is a bus. Lobelia has a great many questions to pester Vergilius with, but he conducts himself cordially and remains relatively quiet while feeling out the power structure of this group. They're certainly an odd lot, but Lobelia can imagine himself fitting in just fine.

Lobelia leaves Vergilius to do #justvergiliusthings and awaits him in his room. His deeply depressing room........ When Vergilius eventually wanders in to give Lobelia the lowdown on how life on the magic school bus is going to be, he'll find Lobelia raising his arms up into the air and heaving a melodramatic sigh.]

Terrible! C'est terrible! How can you live like this, Vergilius? No wonder you're depressed!

Comments

[immortalpoet]

[Home sweet home.]

[As much as the City is oppressive, the overwhelming relief that Vergilius feels when he finds the bus, complete with all its passengers (and especially, a certain passenger), is like nothing else. The last thing he wanted was for something horrible to happen when he was gone, but it seems things haven't even budged in terms of time. What a blessing.]

[The appearance of a new person is enough to send his group of miscreants, the Sinners, into a flutter of confusion and interest. But being a Color truly does have its perks - with a curt explanation (he's a guest of mine, a Fixer, I think he could do the Company some good) and an intmidating stare to shut up the more chatty of them up, it should be smooth sailing. Nobody wants to talk smack about who a Color wants or doesn't want to do. Lobelia does seem to fit in just fine, even though the clockhead, Dante, ticks away with obvious concern, and a certain woman eyes him with a stern look. Ah. Of course she'd want an explanation later.]

[The bus is larger than it seems, with doors in the back that open up to a long corridor, lined with rooms. Lobelia was deposited as he went to sort a few things out. The room itself seems to be a combination of sorts - an office space, complete with whiteboard and chairs and table, and then a bedroom. There's another door, but it seems closed off for now.]

[Vergilius heads back in, huffing when he hears the overly dramatic reaction. Ah. Classic Lobelia.]

...Well, I can't say just anyone can live on a bus like this. But this is what to expect, Lobelia. We're not sunshine and rainbows over here.

[conchy]

[Lobelia has never wanted to punch a timepiece more in his life, but as promised, no harm will befall anyone on this bus unless Vergilius wills it. He just knows that clock is talking (ticking?) shit, that's all. Call it a hunch.

Regardless, Lobelia has his mind on other things right now. He flits from place to place within the room, heaving one dramatic sigh after the next before turning to Vergilius with disappointment scrawled across his face.]

A bit of couleur would not hurt you, Vergilius! Does everyone who lives on this "bus" keep such dreary quarters?

[He's not about to go wandering around in search of answers, but seriously. Someone on this bus has to have better aesthetic sense than Vergilius.]

[immortalpoet]

[PLEASE LEAVE DANTE ALONE THEY'RE JUST A GOOFY GOOBER, LOBELIA...............]

[While Lobelia paces, Vergilius moves to sit on the edge of the bed, watching him with those dull red eyes - its interesting to see his reaction. He vaguely wonders just how different the man's world is, if something like this is already making him throw his version of a mild fit.]

I don't see the need for color. And I wouldn't know. I'm not spying on other people for fun, you know.

[conchy]

[TOUCH THAT HOT OLD MAN ASS AND HE'S RIPPING YOUR HOUR HAND OFF AND SHOVING IT UP YOUR CLOCK ASS, DANTEHHHH

Lobelia's restlessness eventually settles, giving up his pacing to dramatically flop face first onto the mattress beside Vergilius. Surely he could spruce this space up and see some nominal improvement in Vergilius' day to day mood? Something to consider for later. For now, he's winding his arms around Vergilius' waist and carrying on with his dramatics.]

Non? Surely you want to know more about the company you keep! If it were me, I would be keeping tabs on everyone in this company of yours.

[immortalpoet]

[can't believe lobelia is jealous of a bipedal timepiece]

[Vergilius doesn't move when the other flops down, neither does he move when the man embraces him and continues his antics. He only tilts his head, red eyes shining through his bangs as he glances down at the other man.]

Eh. I'm only a humble guide, you know. The details aren't important to me. If they do their jobs, that's all that matters.

[conchy]

[Hm. Lobelia doesn't further entangle them nor does he insist that Vergilius return his touch, choosing instead to quietly gaze up at him.]

What an expected answer. I suppose that means your team's cohésion is nothing important to you?

[Lobelia chuckles. Sounds familiar.]

Working towards a common goal without necessarily working together... Comme c'est drôle!

[immortalpoet]

Fixers aren't meant to be friends. Not now, not ever. It's a company, not a club.

[He finally lets a hand drop - its as if he can't help himself when Lobelia is right here, scarred fingers reaching out to brush some of his hair out of his face.]

Everyone is here for their own reasons. It's understandably selfish.

[conchy]

[Lobelia closes his eyes, luxuriating in Vergilius' touch, gentle as it is. The more he learns about this "company" and the similarities it shares with the Evokers, the more amused he grows.]

It's quite alright! This is what I'm used to.

Hm... I suppose I've never spoken of my entanglements back home, but I'm part of a group as well. We speak to each other even less often than the members of your company!

[immortalpoet]

...Hm? That so?

[It's very hard for him to imagine Lobelia working in any sort of group fashion, so what he says after doesn't surprise him whatsoever.]

[His finger curls around a few strands of hair.]

What were you all working on?

[conchy]

The total destruction of the world.

[Hm. Hmm. That said, give him a moment to tack on a clarifying statement before Vergilius rethinks their arrangement.]

But I can't say I'm all too devoted to the cause. At the time, I was alright going along with such a plan because it granted me access to the Tower and its powers. Wreaking havoc is what made me happy... so I thought.

[And he still enjoys it much more than any person should, but he's learned that the fleeting ecstasy that follows the annihilation of a city or a group of people is just that: fleeting.]

Simply put, I never cared to humor the whims of the being whose cause our actions benefit. Now, I've even less incentive to act on them.

[immortalpoet]

....I remember you told me about that. In the Tower's world.

[And it makes sense that Lobelia would chase after it, enamored with destruction like he once was. There's really no judgement either.]

[Lobelia's not the only one who wanted to lay waste to the world, once upon a time.]

The others in your group likely didn't think similarly. Would they be unhappy if you showed up and told them you're leaving them?

[conchy]

Unhappy?

[Lobelia chuckles, loosening up one hand to idly draw patterns along Vergilius' lower back.]

Non, I can't imagine they would be. Not only have they not met me, but all that matters to them is that they have the Tower's strength working on their behalf. Should my pact with the Tower be properly severed, it will simply find another worthy of forming a pact with. No one will miss me!

[Such a depressing thing to say, and yet Lobelia says it quite cheerfully.]

[immortalpoet]

Hm. I see.

[His hand moves to cup over Lobelia's ear, the tip of his thumb curling up and around the outside of it.]

So they were just using you. Mm. They're not worth your time.

[immortalpoet]

[Even with the very strange idea of Lobelia watching him while he sleeps, the comfort and warmth of another person in his arms, as foreign as the idea is, lets him fall to sleep easily.]

[He wakes up like clockwork, though. Today is an important day, after all. He gladly ignores the Sinners and their continued curiosity over the new member in their midst, practically dragging him over to the closest Association building. No one would say no to a Color, and so what little care they take for checking Lobelia in to register for a license is set to the side.]

[He leaves him there. He can fill out whatever he wants for their papers. In the end, most Fixers die at low grades, barely a line on some document stored in some archives. He knows Lobelia is definitely someone to sneeze at in reality, but if get gets a license and fools them into thinking he's run of the mill, that's all that matters to the Association right now.]

[A few errands to run, some Sinners to put in line, and he's wandering back to the Association. The first thing he notices (of course he does) is the blood stains. And more. And even more.]

[His stride is lengthening, even if he's not especially worried. But still, he calls out:]

...Lobelia?

[conchy]

[Most Fixers die at low grades, so Vergilius said, and oh, how right he was.

Lobelia's skin doesn't boast many scars, but he's taken a hit or two in his life. A cut here, a bruise there... The blows he's suffered today were all taken on the chin, and more importantly, they were suffered by choice. After all, Lobelia knows how easily low-grade thugs are lured into the idea of an easy kill by the disproportionate weight of their egos.

The three who ganged up to attack Lobelia lie scattered across the ground in bits and pieces, looks of terror rendered permanent on their bloodied faces. Quite the brutal scene, but it's nothing Vergilius isn't used to. Speaking of Vergilius...]

Salut, Vergilius! You've missed the acte final... What a shame! La tragédie!

[Vergilius, Vergilius, Vergilius. As if his day could get any better. As if he could get much happier, striding down reddened halls to greet the man with a grin so refulgent that it stands as a stark contrast against the blood and viscera dripping off his face.

He's happy, happy, happy, laughing in his ecstasy when he throws his arms open wide as if to show off the fine mess he's made. Sure, he's injured, but didn't he do good? Isn't the spectacle well worth the pain?]

Why the long face? Don't tell me... Were you concerned with these imbéciles? Don't be! They were granted the libération they sought! Rejoice for them!

[immortalpoet]

[Ah.]

[The mad magician rears his head, again. Not that he expected that side of Lobelia would ever truly leave. He might have been able to tame him, but it doesn't mean the world could do the same.]

[Vergilius stares at the carnage, before letting out a little huff, walking through the bloodied mess to enter the other's bubble. His hand goes up to wipe away some of the blood from the man's cheek, almost casually.]

Why the hell would I be concerned about them. [As if he could care less.] Honestly, I'm just surprised they were this eager.

[conchy]

[If Lobelia regrets anything, it's that he couldn't find a suitable vessel to contain their dying screams, but no matter. There will be more opportunities and plenty of them. For now, however...]

...Oh, mon amour. Does it stir nothing in you to see such destruction? Perhaps you truly are too far gone!

[He means nothing by that statement — nothing insulting, at any rate — but it's cutting all the same. In his manic state, Lobelia has lost his filter.]

Well then, are you going to congratulate me on a job well done? I succeeded in keeping my head down and affecting humilité... but it was a lost cause once those stains on the ground set their sights on me.

[immortalpoet]

Stir nothing in me? [And a scoff.] You sure about that?

[More wiping away of blood - Vergilius sighs, fingers gently curling over the other's cheek.]

[He had wanted Lobelia to play nice. But the City would always find a way to prod him into doing the opposite.]

You have to be more careful, Lobelia. You can't let any Fixer play around with you. But anyways, you're a strong sort. I'm not surprised you made mincemeat out of them.

[conchy]

[How nice it is to be touched by warm, fond hands... yet that doesn't stop Lobelia's fingers from snapping around Vergilius' wrist like a manacle. He isn't trying to ward off his touch, however— just the opposite, digging his nails into his flesh until the skin beneath cedes to redden and bleed.

He isn't okay. He's never been okay. It's only a shame that Vergilius is too far gone to have left Lobelia behind on that accursed island like he should have.]

Ruffians like them were born to die, don't you think? Letting their egos dictate their every action and lead them into the grave... I'd done them a service, nothing more. They approached me, you see, so spare me your chiding!

[immortalpoet]

No one is born to die, Lobelia.

[The hand moves to let his fingers dig in - it makes him grimace, trying to loosen his grip as to not harm Lobelia.]

But....I would be a hypocrite to say otherwise. We feed rats like this to Mephistopheles all the time. In the end, if their choices bring them here...then it is their choices that will lead them to their end. I'm not chiding you.

[Another sigh.]

They didn't hurt you?

[conchy]

[So calm, so composed. Lobelia is prepared to steep in his mania and drag Vergilius along for the ride, but he isn't giving in. He isn't encouraging Lobelia to escalate with anger and sharp-eyed glares like he has in the past.

In a last ditch effort to bring him to the same point of near-boiling as himself, Lobelia rams their foreheads together, pupils blown wide where he gazes deeply into Vergilius'.

Get mad. Get angry. Shouldn't you be disgusted with me?]

It was necessary to let them get in a few blows to lower their guards, but it's nothing I won't recover from. You needn't worry!

[immortalpoet]

[Their foreheads press together. Those pupils are as black as the eyes of an animal. In past times he would hiss and spit and try to pull away.]

[Instead, something quickens in his chest - the scent of blood is potent, reminding him of his EGO - and he stares at him for a long moment.]

[He can't help himself. He closes the distance, pressing lips against lips, dragging his teeth on the bottom.]

Is that so. [He says, pulling away only slightly, voice creaking with sternness, but theres a mote of amusement, too.] Ah, Lobelia. I suppose this does go against my wish for you to focus on me. What will I do with you?

[conchy]

[...Oh. No, this isn't the old Vergilius at all. This is the Vergilius who loves him, the one who accepts him, so of course he's not going to rile over something like this. Of course he's going to be regarded fondly instead of with disgust and hostility, this man well aware of what he is and how very unseemly his tendencies can be.

That kiss puts the fire out quite easily. Lobelia relaxes like a wound coil finally springing free, releasing his nails from Vergilius' wrist to curl his palm around the little wounds he's left behind. He doesn't need to force himself to calm down when Vergilius calms him with such ease, chasing that kiss forward and wrapping his arms up tightly around him.

He's never had anything like this before— no one to soothe and calm him and hold him back from escalating into worse and worse offenses. It's a bit humorous, Lobelia thinks, that he's been so easily tamed.]

You can forgive me just this once, can't you? I only spared them a moment of my time, nothing more! I had you on my mind all the while.

[lobelia's mind: can't wait to make verg listen to murder asmr]

[immortalpoet]

Me on your mind? You sound like a cat eager to bring a dead bird home for its owner's dinner.

[Not that Lobelia is a pet or anything, but its funny all the same.]

[Lobelia moves up to pull him back in, Vergilius's head bending down to allow him the kiss in return. He realizes, dimly, how much has changed. If he had come across this in that resort, he would've been as vividly angry as anything.]

[But here and now, his heart beats for Lobelia and Lobelia alone. Perhaps it is the fact that they're in the City, when death happens like clockwork. It's easier to forgive something so necessary when survival is at the top of everyone's minds. Like he said before, to admonish him for self defense would be hypocritical. There are souls eaten by the bus that are example to that. If Lobelia just went out to murder for pure fun, though....well.]

I'll have to think about it. [A rumbling noise, like a purr, comes from his chest. They're standing among viscera and blood. He easily ignores it.] I would hope you wouldn't make the same mistake again if you can help it.

[conchy]

[Maybe that's exactly what he is: some feral stray turned house pet eager to please his master, and it's Vergilius alone whom he's allowed to tame him. Even in the midst of viscera and gore, the scent of blood acrid in his nostrils, Lobelia doesn't mind any of it. Whenever Vergilius' arms are around him, he forgets everything but his warmth, how lovely it is to be wanted.

Regardless, Lobelia remains cognizant of where they are and what Vergilius had told him. He luxuriates in self-indulgence as long as he can, mouthing along the column of Vergilius' neck to litter it with kisses before coming away to take his hand and scan for the most inconspicuous path out of here. He'll have to let go of his hand before they're seen, he realizes, but this is his hand to hold. He's not letting go of it until it's absolutely necessary.]

Oh, I wouldn't dream of it! Je suis désolé! Pardonne-moi! What can I do to make amends, mon amour? Perhaps I should share with you the sounds of their destruction...?