✣ 9 Ashan, Arc 719, Morning. ✣
Zarik
woke before dawn, to sit at the tower windowsill, and watch the rise of golden light over the horizon. It looked as if it might be warmer than the day before. He felt a sense of hope, persistently uplifted since last night’s intimacy with his… his… he still struggled to find a word that suited Alistair. He supposed fiancé was appropriate considering their agreement, but even that didn’t feel right. Lover felt too distant and love felt merely factual. He still felt as if there was a word out there, lost to him, that he only needed to find so he could express the emotive connection he felt toward the magister.
But he had a new word also. A word for himself, that Alistair used: Durien. He’d never heard it before now and he wondered how well-known of a word it was in the greater world. Zarik held his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them, as he stared through the glass and listened to the quiet sounds of Alistair waking for the day ahead. He had tried to keep silent, stealthily sneaking out of bed to watch the sunrise and contemplate all that had been said and done between them in the dark hours of the night. He didn’t look at the man, instead closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he spiritually absorbed the sun rays cascading over the Quacian cityscape.
He loved Alistair, that much he was sure of. Even in the light of the morning, that sensation didn’t change. But with the new day came reminders of his life… perhaps his old life, one that would change now. It had to. There was little possibility that he could carry on like before. Even if Alistair hadn’t asked to marry him, he would never be able to be the man he was before – never again, the chaste unknowing youth, oblivious to the intricate details of lust and romance.
Alistair had changed him overnight. Zarik was happy for it, but he also felt a sense of guilt. He had betrayed his father by doing such a thing. It had not been his intention, of course, but it was the fact of the matter. He’d come for a job, for his first ever excursion to interrogate without his father’s watchful eye. He knew that meant a lot to his parent, that it was a sign of him coming into his apprenticeship… and what did he do? He failed so horribly and then laid with the noble client. He knew his father well enough to know what he’d think of that… a degenerate slag, that’s what his father called people who acted like that.
Zarik gnawed on his lower lip, the flesh swollen from the activities of yesterday, and he moved to leave the windowsill. It was time for him to get dressed. He wanted to assuage his guilt some, he wanted to check on his father’s cough, and maybe confess to the man if he could gather enough courage to do so. He didn’t want to simply abandon his father by disappearing, though he considered drawing out a lie... creating a fabrication that the job still was going on, but he did not want Alistair to have to pay him as if he were still performing the job he’d already finished. The thought of payment made what they were doing feel too… strange. Zarik didn’t want to ask for the money. And he didn’t want to go through the next few days, worrying about his father’s well-being and potential reactions either. He would be expected this morning and if he did not show, his father would likely send a contact to find out why.
His clothing had been brought up by the thrall, folded next to the door. He needed to get ready. He had brought his boots over to the sill and already wore his undergarments and breeches, having put them on when he woke. Zarik leaned back against the stone frame of the window and pulled on his stockings. He grabbed a boot, slid it on, and started the long process of tightening the many crisscrosses of the front-faced lacing.
But he had a new word also. A word for himself, that Alistair used: Durien. He’d never heard it before now and he wondered how well-known of a word it was in the greater world. Zarik held his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them, as he stared through the glass and listened to the quiet sounds of Alistair waking for the day ahead. He had tried to keep silent, stealthily sneaking out of bed to watch the sunrise and contemplate all that had been said and done between them in the dark hours of the night. He didn’t look at the man, instead closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he spiritually absorbed the sun rays cascading over the Quacian cityscape.
He loved Alistair, that much he was sure of. Even in the light of the morning, that sensation didn’t change. But with the new day came reminders of his life… perhaps his old life, one that would change now. It had to. There was little possibility that he could carry on like before. Even if Alistair hadn’t asked to marry him, he would never be able to be the man he was before – never again, the chaste unknowing youth, oblivious to the intricate details of lust and romance.
Alistair had changed him overnight. Zarik was happy for it, but he also felt a sense of guilt. He had betrayed his father by doing such a thing. It had not been his intention, of course, but it was the fact of the matter. He’d come for a job, for his first ever excursion to interrogate without his father’s watchful eye. He knew that meant a lot to his parent, that it was a sign of him coming into his apprenticeship… and what did he do? He failed so horribly and then laid with the noble client. He knew his father well enough to know what he’d think of that… a degenerate slag, that’s what his father called people who acted like that.
Zarik gnawed on his lower lip, the flesh swollen from the activities of yesterday, and he moved to leave the windowsill. It was time for him to get dressed. He wanted to assuage his guilt some, he wanted to check on his father’s cough, and maybe confess to the man if he could gather enough courage to do so. He didn’t want to simply abandon his father by disappearing, though he considered drawing out a lie... creating a fabrication that the job still was going on, but he did not want Alistair to have to pay him as if he were still performing the job he’d already finished. The thought of payment made what they were doing feel too… strange. Zarik didn’t want to ask for the money. And he didn’t want to go through the next few days, worrying about his father’s well-being and potential reactions either. He would be expected this morning and if he did not show, his father would likely send a contact to find out why.
His clothing had been brought up by the thrall, folded next to the door. He needed to get ready. He had brought his boots over to the sill and already wore his undergarments and breeches, having put them on when he woke. Zarik leaned back against the stone frame of the window and pulled on his stockings. He grabbed a boot, slid it on, and started the long process of tightening the many crisscrosses of the front-faced lacing.
∆ I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think ∆