Pour Out Thy Heart

[Juliano Ramires]

Night + 43 Ymiden + Arc 720

Juliano held his tongue, thankfully, in that he held quiet from saying anything when the Tribunal nudged his arms aside and then lifted his shirt. Silver-tint brightened and shimmered on his face, and in his mind, he stammered all the same – thoughts broken apart while he tried to keep his composure on the outside. It was weird! Weird to be in the dark little room with the oddly attentive Tribunal.

Most Tribunals shook their head and moved along with other things, better things, more important people or devotees. Juliano was so used to people just shaking their heads and walking away without a word, that it confused him why Vito seemed to do the opposite of that. He’d even followed him. Juli supposed that the other biqaj hadn’t quite figured out that all that work would be pointless in the end. That he wasn’t going to start attending prayer or be swayed from this or that. It still confused him though because… was that what Tribunal Vito wanted? Because he definitely wanted something. Of that, Juliano felt so certain.

His canine tooth bit into his lower lip while he leaned back to make inspection of the cut easier for the Tribunal. He slid on the counter, toward the edge, spine stretched in an arch while he moved until he felt his back against the wall. Thump… there was his heart again, knocking against his sternum and sending all the blood through his youthful body way too fast and way too hot. Thumpthumpthumpthump…

Difficult to pay attention to what the Tribunal said, Juliano quickly averted his gaze to avoid accidental eye contact when Vito glanced up for a trill.

“…do you only attend anything if something else is promised to you?”

“Ah- I… that’s not- what I… -it,” he tried and failed to string a proper sentence together. His thoughts felt like a nest of bees fallen out of a tree, in a flurry of frantic commotion. He bit his lower lip again, to keep himself from stammering any more than he already had.

Vito’s fingers stopped touching him. Instead, the towel got pressed up against the cut. His eyes widened when he heard mention of stitches, and he peeked under the towel at the cut before he whined. It was a pure, shameless, and unmistakable whine of discontent. His head lolled and he tapped the back gently against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, eyes of blue-green like the scum on the surface of a murky pond.

“What do you mean by weird?”

“Oh-oh, I- that’s not what I- I mean, it is, but I don’t think you understand what I meant. It’s okay. That happens a lot,” assured Juliano as if comforting the other man about it. He sat up straighter, hips wiggled to adjust his seated posture on the counter. He kept the towel against his cut with one hand but leaned slightly and looked at Vito for once while he tried to explain (again). “It’s just- like- you’re all quiet but not really, and like- why did you wear spectacles- because you’re not wearing them now- a-a-and it’s- uhm… I guess it’s like… or, no, something like- it’s tough to say or not that, not to say, it’s tough to figure out exactly…”

“You know, I’m really good at reading people,” he claimed, without the slightest hint of him not believing that to be the case. “I think it’s like… you know, not anything you’ve said or… I mean, it’s weird that like- you think I’m- or- but I don’t know what you think about me so that can’t be it, huh? Fuck. I mean, not fuck, that’s uh- Sorry, I don’t mean to swear so much. I live down in Shanty, so, people swear a lot down there and sorry, you probably know that-”

And so, Juliano spiraled out through his words. The pitch of his voice undulated in odd waves of volume and depth from a squeak to a growl and everything in-between. His face kept getting hotter and hotter as the blush spread over to his ears and down his neck. Unconsciously, he brought one hand up and waved it to fan at his own cheeks… until he noticed and hurriedly set his hand on his thigh.

A nervous laugh burst from him, a giggle, and Juliano shook his head then grimaced while he shut his eyes so he might forget where he was and what he was doing and who he was with. He kept them shut, quieted finally, and took a few deep breaths of obvious gulps of needed oxygen. With his eyes closed, he whispered in a steadier tone of voice, “Too bad you don’t have a Graft Spark, then you could just heal the cut and- I wish I had a graft spark…”

[Vito Rossau]

43 YMIDEN, 720. NIGHT

Vito stared across to the closed door, and after a few trills of apparent relaxation against the counter (for the slight lean was, in fact, relaxing compared to the stiff-backed posture of normal) he straightened up again and pushed away. Whether anyone was around to notice or not, such leniency was… unacceptable, in the Tribunal’s mind, and he scolded himself internally for it. The dig at him – at least, a dig was what he took it for – about being weird bothered him in a way that pricked at his thoughts like thorns.

He was not weird. He was not. He was anything but weird; he was a Tribunal. A devoted follower of the Theocratum and citizen of the holy city of Quacia. He was everything that a man was supposed to be, and he guided others to share that same path. The fact that this tailor’s son called him weird was just… just… who the fuck did he think he was?

When he heard a shifting on the counter, he glanced over to meet Juliano’s gaze. In the time he had spent staring at the door, the deep green of his irises had shifted slowly to a lighter, peach-toned hue, and it took just as long for the color to fade away. What was that tone of Juliano’s? As if Vito was the one overreacting, and not the boy that had literally whined when he heard of the need for stitches? He listened all the same, watching the younger biqaj as he stuttered and fumbled through waves of words, not reacting one way or the other to a bit of it.

Not for the first time, the Tribunal wondered if Juliano was always so nervous and flustered when he spoke. It could not have been for the fact of him being an agent of the Theocratum, because the soldier had acted the same before he had known. Perhaps it was because he thought that Vito was weird. Green eyes narrowed subtly as he watched the silver blush extend over Juliano’s face to his ears and neck. What kind of weird did he mean? He wanted to know, now. He needed to know, but Juliano gave him so little to work with: he was weird because he was quiet, but not quiet, and because he wore spectacles before but not now.

Juliano fanned his face with his hand before shutting himself up. For a moment. And then another sound escaped him, not quite laughter but… giggling? A giggle? Vito did not look away from the other biqaj’s flushed face, even when Juliano closed his eyes to calm down. What an anxious thing he was. Or perhaps it was some sort of odd, restless energy that simply presented itself as such. It reminded him of the older wives in the congregation that laughed and fell over Tribunal Borja’s words, all because he was nice and smiled so pleasantly at them. Vito could not imagine ever doing the same.

“Stop apologizing,” he chided, “if you only feel guilty for saying things in front of a Tribunal, and not for saying them in the first place, then do not claim to be sorry at all. If you say it elsewhere, say it here.”

Unusual words from such a devoted follower, perhaps, but Vito’s tone was not insincere, despite its relative monotony. He did not intend for ‘here’ to mean the church, after all, but for it to mean here, in this room. His hands were held behind his back again, pulled together so that his silver-coated fingers linked. His gaze swept over Juliano’s freckled face again before the older man asked plainly, “are you always so nervous, Mister Ramires?”

His eyes lingered only for a trill before he looked away again, down to the counter. Vito stepped closer and continued without apparent care for whether his first question had been answered or not. “Graft is a noble choice,” he murmured, though it was unclear from his tone whether he meant it or not. “Faster than a needle, but I am afraid that is all I have, if you wish for me to stitch it up. Have you considered that more opportunities might be made available to you, if you attended regular service? I have met plenty of mages in this church. Perhaps I would be more inclined to put in a good word for you if I knew that you were worthy of such power.”

He had not decided yet if he meant that or not. It was, like all things, subject to change.

Vito glanced back to Juliano with a tilt of his head, and asked, “are you?”

[Juliano Ramires]

Night + 43 Ymiden + Arc 720

“Stop apologizing-”

Juliano scoffed. He didn’t open his eyes, though. Still trying to forget his flustered anxiety, it didn’t help when the Tribunal’s smooth low voice chided him. In fact… it made everything far worse. His eyes quickly opened as soon as he realized what a horrible idea that was. Wide and round, indigo rings spanned the outer edge of his irises, while he looked – obviously surprised – at Vito.

The Tribunal wanted him to swear? Or… no. That’s not how it’d been said. Not exactly. He couldn’t put his finger on it, since his short-term memory fled him, and he forgot the exact phrasing already. Juliano forced himself to sigh, in an attempt to relax, while he lowered his shoulders from where they’d raised during his little outburst.

“Nervous? Me?” his voice pitched high. He laughed again, the same giggle, and he shook his head. The indigo in his eyes paled considerably. He didn’t like having his hair back in the ribbon. Juliano wanted the curtain of curls to hide behind again. In a weak whisper, he lied,

“I’m not nervous.”

Vito stepped closer and Juliano noticeably stiffened... His shoulders raised again, while he drew his body to be as slight and take up less room on the counter. The blush had faded, but it came back when he heard the endearment toward the comment about Graft. It didn’t matter to him what tone the Tribunal took with it. The subject itself was good enough. The younger biqaj was desperate for the distraction.

He lowered his gaze to his knees, while he ran his free hand over the counter surface. His dark brows furrowed together in what looked to be confusion while he listened to the Tribunal’s… suggestion? Chiding? Advice? He wasn’t sure what it was.

“…I would be more inclined to put in a good word for you if I knew that you were worthy of such power...” Vito glanced at him, and Juliano caught it because he glanced in turn. “…are you?”

Another laugh, that rolled upward and then over as if his voice ran up then leapt across to tumble down a round hill rather than the steep peaks of his voice before. He shook his head again. The giggle turned into a sincere laugh. A laugh of… anxiety? No. Sincere amusement. It echoed in the sacristy.

Juliano looked at the older biqaj, and laughed at him.

“You… do you- you actually think-”

He wrapped his arm around his waist, the laughter turned to a momentary grimace while pain shot through his cut. He kept laughing though, and whined, “Oww…. My side…”

“But- Tribunal, I’m sorry. No, I mean that. Really, I’m sorry,” he cleared his throat. The blush burned his cheeks for how much heat gathered in his face. “You really think that would work? You don’t think others have tried that one before?! Why- I don’t need some uptight Tribunal to help me get a spark!”

Juliano slid off the counter to stand beside the only slightly taller biqaj. He kept his hand against his side, tight to keep the towel against any lost blood. His gaze flitted about, unable to stick to one spot, but he surveyed Vito’s handsome face. He bit his lower lip again, and his gaze flitted downward. A quiet noise muffled behind his lips, then he looked back up and he said, “So sorry, Tribunal. I love the Wounded God, but do you sincerely think that some passed-out invisible ancient cares about lil' ol' me and if I show up to sit and stand and bleed every damn few trials?”

“A-a-and I don’t need your help,” insisted Juliano again, anxious tone turned haughty while he spoke boldly with a sudden pivot of what had seemed like fear before. He took a small step toward Vito to lessen the close distance between them. He whispered, “You should- get out more- or sorry, maybe you have, hm? I see plenty of your kind down at the dens from time to time... on my route to the docks for couriering, that is. Not that I partake in any of that horrible…”

Juliano cleared his throat, then concluded in hardly more than a breath, “…vice.”

Fuck, his ears felt like they were about to burst on fire and his heart was going to rip out of his chest and the blood would scorch his veins dry and the shadows of the room drew close around him and his vision tunneled in a blur and he was worthy, he was worthy, he was worthy of such power, more power than that, all the power, he knew he was. He was worthy.

[Vito Rossau]

43 YMIDEN, 720. NIGHT

More laughter, but not the same kind. Vito could tell the difference from the moment it started to rumble upwards from Juliano’s chest. It was not nervous, giggling laughter like before, but genuine amusement, as if the Tribunal had said something terribly entertaining for him. In spite of the blatant disrespect, he stood still, and stared at the younger biqaj without concern for whatever he was laughing at. Laughter was pointless. Laughter should have been confined to Lair, for all the good it had done him in life.

He lifted his chin as he observed, and the tailor’s son brought an arm to hold his bleeding waist because he was simply laughing too much. Vito wondered if the boy’s family would care, at all, if Juliano returned to them with the impression of his hand on his cheek. If he was like this all of the time, he could imagine that they would be grateful for him being put in his place. He pondered it while he listened to yet more apologies.

A short-lived hum sounded from the Tribunal’s throat, disapproving. Uptight Tribunal, Juliano called him, for daring to suggest that he might need help. The soldier hopped down from the counter, meeting his gaze at near eye-level now, before stepping even closer. Vito did not move away, but if Juliano intended on fighting him, the sacristy was hardly the best place for it. Not when the entire congregation waited just a few halls down.

How would that appear, if he returned to the nave clearly harmed? He would earn a different reaction indeed than if it was only Juliano that wore the marks of physical conflict. Not that he would harm the boy. He was beginning to think that he was simply too immature to think anything through, but there was a pause in his speech while the other biqaj cleared his throat and gathered his next words. Vito was glad for the momentary relief. Why had he decided to try and look at his wound, again? He should have pushed the little brat out into the storm and locked the door. Perhaps then, he would have begged to be pulled back into the safety of the church. It would have been a more appealing sight than this.

Vito inhaled deeply; his chin raised ever-so-slightly as he did. He had not dared to look away from where he steadily met Juliano’s gaze, though the deep greens of his eyes had lightened considerably, and little flecks of dark purple and pink had scattered about the minty shade.

“Vice,” he repeated in a breath.

“That was an awfully long-winded way to say ‘no, I am not.’” What did this brat hope to achieve? Did he suddenly think that it was alright to speak to him this way? Vito would not have any of that. He had already permitted far more than he had needed to, and Juliano should have been grateful for his generosity. All the other colors in his eyes flecked away, until nothing was left behind but the same dark green from before.

He looked away from Juliano and shook his head, “I said nothing of appeasing Our Lord, Mister Ramires, I merely offered suggestion. But it is good to know where you stand on the opinions of He Who Bleeds.”

Vito looked back at him, but not for long. For after that, the Tribunal turned away, to gather his things from the countertop. A little black pouch did not allow much of a hint as to what he had actually taken from the cabinets before. “Since you seem to be having such an easy time acquiring a spark yourself, I will let you handle that matter on your own. And I would suggest, Juliano–”

Pulling his hands to rest behind his back again, Vito stepped away from the cabinets to close much of the distance he had created between himself and Juliano. Until there was hardly any left, and only then did he pause, with an obvious survey of the boy’s freckled face.

“–that you do not speak to me that way again. You are free to return to the congregation, if you do not want my assistance.”

[Juliano Ramires]

Night + 43 Ymiden + Arc 720

Juliano didn’t know what to expect. He might have been wonderful at reading people (in his own approximation), but he couldn’t predict the future! The younger biqaj didn’t even think about it in such a way. None of what he said had any forethought attached to them. Driven purely by a scattered mind distracted by many things that made his blood run a little hotter than normal – such as the way that Tribunal Vito kept staring at him. Even while being laughed at, he was just so… damn… calm.

His breath almost shuddered while he settled to allow a much-wanted response. Part of him expected to get hit… part of him braced for it, too. Instead, he should have braced for the response given. The statement pierced as brutally as the calm green eyes that returned to the darker shade to stare through him. Juliano scoffed and averted his gaze with the seeming intention to argue, but he didn’t quite get there while the Tribunal efficiently tore down what he’d said in the wrapping of… was that a thinly veiled threat?

“No, you don’t,” quickly interjected Juliano, almost desperately. Vito didn’t know where he stood on the Wounded God, he needed to make that clear. In case the wrong idea formed in the Tribunal’s mind. His gaze flitted back, only to accidentally catch the older looking back at him. They seemed in accidental harmony for timing now when it came to the glances and that bothered him a great deal, though he didn’t know why.

Fortunately, the other man busied himself with the things on the countertop. For a moment, Juliano wondered what it all was. Then a stinging pain reminded him of the cut, and- had Vito been offering to stitch it for him? Yes, that had been what he said, hadn’t it? Juli couldn’t quite remember anymore.

Attitude faded, back into the anxiousness from before, his brows creased with confusion at his first name being wielded with rather dramatic pause and-

-and the distance between them vanished, all of a sudden. Juliano had done it first, but when Vito performed the forward steps… it felt so very different. Maybe he’d just die of heart failure, right there and then. He stared at Vito, this time, while the older surveyed his face because he couldn’t do anything else. Head tilted slightly up, he stared in a gentle echo of the mesmerized way he’d watched the storm.

What Vito said was more than a hint of a threat…

“That…” whispered Juliano. “…sounds like a warning.”

He considered, this time, drawing quiet and neither moving away nor toward the door. Juliano stared until he couldn’t anymore, which wasn’t too long, and his gaze darted downward to look between their shoes instead. He glanced at the hem of the Tribunal’s robe.

“I am,” he said in a rumbled murmur. His frown darkened. When I get my spark, you’ll see…

“…sorry, Tribunal.” he added as if he’d intended for the words to go together (though it had been far from the case when he’d first spoke. “I am tired. and hungry. And I need a smoke. And I don’t want to spar in the morning. I hate sparring. It’s awful. My whole body hurts all the time, I hate it and prayer just makes me wish I was home, in bed, and comfortable not… not on stone benches and my knees against hard floor and-”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said any of those things. It’s not ‘cause of you. You're just a good person, and you're not weird. I don't know why I said that. Sorry.” He paused while a loud crash of thunder rolled overhead, though a steady wash of perpetual rain created a constant backdrop of noise. Juliano looked upward at the ceiling, then he sighed. “I won’t waste any more of your time… sir. Sorry that I already have.”

Though he said it, the words tasted bitter as they went past his tongue. Juliano slid his foot back, then the other while he gained distance. He waited a pause, gaze fleeting while he looked at the other biqaj with eyes of pale blue. Juliano offered the smallest of bows, then headed toward the door.

After he opened it, he paused though and then held out the towel and said, “Here, this is your’s… least the blood didn’t get washed away in the rain?”

[Vito Rossau]

43 YMIDEN, 720. NIGHT

For as inherently difficult as Juliano seemed to be, Vito found him incredibly easy to bend. Thus far it had only ever taken a bit of gentle prodding to procure such drastic and differing reactions. Nervous, and flighty, but enthusiastic and haughty. Quick to interject and insert his own opinion, but equally as quick to rescind and quiet down, when reminded of his place. Plenty of people were like that. They had their tantrums and fits and spoke out against the world, and then came back to apologize for having broken their own toys. He could appreciate, to an extent, the ease with which they allowed him (and his fellow Tribunals) to guide them along through their emotional and spiritual paths… but sometimes, he got bored.

Sometimes, it got boring when everyone complied. When everyone was perfect, although Vito had never met a man or a woman that was. It was not that he wished for the citizens of Quacia to go against the Church, as that was possibly the furthest notion from the truth, and he did not especially like having to listen to the insolent brats that so many of them were. The ones that hailed progress and change, and that failed to listen to the teachings of the Theocratum. No, he did not enjoy them at all. But he enjoyed the process of correction.

It was one that the tailor’s son seemed apt to avoid.

“That… sounds like a warning.”

Vito did not confirm it, nor did he deny it. It would have been entirely unnecessary, as the expression on his solemn face said it all. Of course it was a warning. He could not have expected to speak so carelessly and be let off the hook without at least that. Plenty of his fellow Tribunals might have dismissed the soldier’s existence already, if they would have acknowledged it for more than a moment in the first place.

Juliano’s excuse was not all that different from the one he had provided two trials before, when the Tribunal had visited the tailoring shop. He was tired, and hungry, and needed to smoke, and he hated his training for the Dragoons. In truth he thought it rather unlikely that they would still attend their planned sparring in the morning, if the storms continued as they were, but he did not interrupt the soldier’s complaints. It was at least better than the disrespectful laughter and filthy insinuations.

Besides, he could actually understand part of it for once. He would have preferred to have gone home as well, even knowing that the kitchen would be flooded with rainwater from the opened window. The Church was not inhospitable, and Vito found no discomfort in staying there – he had spent arcs upon arcs in these halls, grown up between the pews and the pillars – but he was also tired. He was also hungry. He wanted to get out of the ceremonial robes after so many breaks spent within them.

“You did not waste my time,” the older biqaj replied. I needed that towel returned.

But Juliano was already moving away, sliding his feet backwards on the black stone floor. It glittered under the bloodlights like scattered stars, in contrast to the simple flooring in the sanctuary area. Vito watched it glimmer as Juliano’s shadow moved across it, but lifted his head when addressed. The towel… at least the younger had remembered it. In his nearly-flustered state (which, on the outside did not look like much of anything) he had forgotten that the boy had yet to return it. He approached the door and took the blood-soaked cloth.

“The Herald has asked that you remain here until the rain has passed,” he reminded, as he was not certain that Juliano had heard the other Tribunal’s call, in his rush to leave. Vito stepped closer, but only temporarily, on his way to sidestep and leave the sacristy while the other biqaj was standing in the doorframe. “Fique, Mister Ramires. I am sure that it will lighten up soon.”

It would not. But he did not know that, and he likely would not have said otherwise even if he did. Vito started his walk back down the hall after that, with the intention of returning to the nave and to Father Vilar’s congregation, bloody hands held behind his back.

[Doran]

Vito:

Knowledge:
Intimidation x5
Combat: Blades x3
Discipline x3
Deception x2

Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: Ceremonial cuts (hand)
Renown: 5
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

Juliano:

Knowledge:
Intimidation: Pour Out Thy Heart x1
Discipline: Pour Out Thy Heart x2
Endurance: Pour Out Thy Heart x5
Stealth: Pour Out Thy Heart x5

Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: Ceremonial cuts (underneath the ribs)
Renown: 5
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

- - -

Comments: You described the atmosphere in the temple very well, Juliano. I always found the religion of Quacia fascinating, so this was interesting to me. In some ways, it’s just like in real life, with nice clothes and such (I like in how much detail you described the family’s outfits), but then there’s the blood sacrifice. Juliano’s surprise at realizing that Vito’s a tribunal was well described.

Vito seems like a perfect tribunal in this thread and very devoted to the Wounded God. You write him so well in that regard. I found it interesting that there had been a time when he had wished to have red blood (Does he ever resent being a Biqaj rather than human?). He’s right though, blood is blood. I appreciate in how much detail you described the sacrifice. I actually feel as if I’m somewhat familiar with the religion of Quacia after this thread.

Juliano’s and Vito’s interaction was once again fascinating to read, in part because they seem to be such different people. Vito’s very direct, and Juliano seems to be kind of awkward and nervous. When Juliano called Vito weird, I couldn’t help but laugh. Vito’s reaction amused me as well as was Juliano’s burning desite to become a mage. It doesn’t seem to matter to him which spark he’ll get, he just wants a spark. I hope he’ll get his wish!

With that being said (or written?), I look forward to reading the next thread. I want to know how their relationship develops, and if Vito or Juliano or both will ever get magic!

Enjoy your rewards!