You wouldn't survive my cruelty, no. Monsters in human skin would be smashed organs on the floor when I'm done with them.
[But Lobelia? Lobelia gets the privilege of being destroyed in different ways. He smiles, a hand moving to pat him lightly on the face. There, there.]
I may be a man made for violence. I have fun when fighting, too. But regardless, I still do it with a clear mind. So don't worry, Lobelia. You chose the right person to help you on your little journey.
[He shouldn't feel breathless. He offered temptation expecting teeth. Not softness, not tenderness, not this humiliating warmth creeping up his throat. And now Hansa has the audacity to— to pat him? Like he's some trembling thing in need of soothing? This is unbearable. And people call Lobelia audacious?]
You speak as though I'm in danger of breaking. I assure you, Hansa, I am not made of porcelain.
[His fingers rise, almost touching the spot where Hansa's lips had been, before he pointedly drops his hand instead.]
And I am not blushing. It's the light. I mourn your lack of depth perception.
[A beat. He looks away, pulse jumping. This is agony. He wants to put this man through a wall so bad.]
Besides... if your cruelty is so fatal, then perhaps I should feel honored you've spared me. For now.
[And he says he's not blushing. How funny. Hansa's tail wags behind him, his grin like a shark smelling blood in the water. He doesn't need to bite the man to get him to where he wants him to be.]
Feel honored all you want. It won't be directed to you, anyways. I found other ways to get you flustered, it seems.
[He sees that wagging tail and his fox ears flatten. Lobelia can school his expression back into compliance, but these animal bits have a mind of their own.]
Try not to make a habit of it. I tend to remember these things.
[And he holds grudges. Oh, does he hold grudges.]
You continue to surprise and delight me, ma cher Père. I don't see myself growing bored of you any time soon.
Hm? You sound like you want me to try. You really do enjoy living life on the bleeding edge, don't you?
[At the sound of a challenge, his ears perk up. Predictable, but he's made his peace with Hansa's knack for sussing out the truth, so why hide it? His words are music to his ears.
Lobelia's hand hooks around Hansa's waist and sharply draws him in. No escaping. No stepping back until he's taken what he wants and proven his point. Surely Hansa doesn't mind.]
I'll give you this one opportunity to change your mind. That's as charitable as I'll be. Que ferez-vous?
[He's pulled in, arms around his midsection like a vice. Hansa can't help but look a little incredulous. His hand finds the man's fox ear, tugging at it like he means to admonish the man.]
And just what are you going to do? Kiss me? You think that will fluster me? At least sing me a romantic ballad or something. You're scraping the bottom of the barrel, here.
[All that incredulous look accomplishes is making Lobelia want to act out more. His hand curls into a fist gripping the back of Hansa's robe. There are any number of things he could try, but why not give Hansa a special treat...?]
Tsk, tsk. So ill to please... Fine then. I have a special hymne in mind just for you... the sort of tune that will shake you to your very soul. Why don't I teach you to the words? Have you sing along with me.
[If Hansa meant to mock him, if he meant to provoke, then he has only himself to blame. The incredulity, the smirk, the disbelief. All invitations to act up, act out, and Lobelia has never been one to decline an invitation so sweetly offered.
He leans in slowly, the movement unhurried, every small movement deliberate. His hand slides from the back of Hansa's robe to support him at the small of his back, drawing him subtly closer. The other lifts, fingers brushing along Hansa's jaw, cradling his face with more gentleness than the moment warrants.
His words are ghosts along Hansa's lips, soft as silk, sharp as any blade.]
You asked for a hymne. Listen well.
[The kiss begins soft and chaste, a warmth that coaxes rather than takes. For a brief beat, it is tender and mild.
And then the hymn begins.
The sound is silent to the ear but devastating beneath the skin. It blooms from Lobelia's mouth into Hansa's like a star collapsing inward, resonance threading through teeth and tongue before slamming into bone.
Metal vibrates differently from flesh. Lobelia uses that.
The frequency splits as it travels, one wave sinking into the consecrated metal that makes up most of Hansa's body, making it ring with a low, intoxicating ache. The other spears through vulnerable human flesh, bright and sharp, a crack of pleasure edged with pain.
He deepens the kiss as the sound crescendos, holding Hansa steady by the small of his back, guiding him through it all. Chaining him to the invitation he so sweetly extended him.
He simply lets the hymn do its work, lets their kiss consume him, and lets Hansa drown in the brilliant, ruinous sound he asked for. When their lips part, Lobelia eagerly awaits his reply— provided he can still speak.]
[He's a fly. A gnat. Perhaps he should have had antennae instead of ears. He always means to get under people's skin - it sometimes works better than a well-timed punch.]
[But getting under people's skin always carries its risks. He could be drowned in blood if he isn't careful.]
[He stays still as the man caresses him - even the way he accepts the kiss is defiant. He's more than willing to show that he will not simply back down. He's never cowered from a fight, or ran with his tail between his legs. The kiss isn't some lover's gesture - this, too, is a fight.]
[And what comes next only confirms it. The sound thunders through his body - the metal adds to this horrific symphony as pain shifts and stings through every inch like he's an instrument rather than a human being. His mouth gasps into the kiss, his limbs stiffening as a choked cry comes aching out of his throat.]
[It hurts. It all hurts. What a beautiful, terrible symphony.]
[And then, just like that, its over. Hansa's eye is unfocused for a moment, his whole body trembling. Pain. It's all pain.]
[And finally, he glances up at this wretched composer of sound.]
...Hah.
[And then, he moves. It almost looks like he's going to hit him, use these powerful hands to cause harm, and instead-]
[And instead, what comes is an almost comical peck of the lips on the other man's mouth before he draws back.]
Phew. [His chest is still heaving. Hansa winces, but he's smiling as he pulls back.] You're...lucky you aren't a vampire. I would've killed you for that.
[That one stung, didn't it? Whatever nerves bind Hansa to his weaponized body weren't spared from his song, but the aftermath is...
...Impressive, for one thing. Impressive on multiple levels. That Hansa is still on his feet is a thrilling sight, enough of one that Lobelia can't catch himself before he laughs. Splendid. Beautiful. Maddening. Men like Hansa are such a rare breed.
How lovely it would be to dismantle him.
Lobelia lets Hansa loose from his grasp at last, still smiling, still laughing quietly to himself.]
I've never wanted to be anything more or less than who I presently am, but now you've got me curious. No... maybe I'm jealous. Mon Dieu! Quel dilemme! What am I to do about it now?
[Lobelia is really like a little laughing jester. Not THAT Jester, thankfully, who he would have attempted to kill at first sight.]
[What to do? Well, the man caused him harm. He can hear it now - his mentors yelling in his ear, asking why he was a fool to just let this man walk all over him.]
[He tilts his head, considering.]
Eh. You know what. You deserve more than that. Just for doing that. Don't do it again, okay? And I won't do this again.
[And he's just going to jab a punch into Lobelia's stomach, as quick as a bee sting.]
Pain sings through Lobelia's abdomen and echoes beneath his skin. Those hands carry considerable strength — and he knew that — but feeling it is much different.
Lobelia hasn't felt pain like this in a while. Not the kind that lingers long after Hansa withdraws. Not the kind that lands with such speed and force that he can't tense before the hit. It's not unlike being surprised with a lavish gift— like eating a favorite sweet he hasn't tasted in years.
He exhales, sharp but laughing, hand bracing against the pew while he straightens up. The other lifts to press lightly to the sore spot, fingers splayed, as if evaluating a treasure.
This is his reward for behaving, isn't it? God does love his little good boys and girls. The glimmer in his eyes has sharpened into something bright, carnivorous, and undoubtedly pleased.]
Such conviction. Such vitesse. If you wanted to feel my breath catch, you could have simply asked.
[But Lobelia prefers the surprise. Hansa calls it tit-for-tat, but the floodgates have been thrown open wide. Lobelia never could help himself. Lobelia never did try. He repays the favor with a snap of his fingers. The noise that rattles around the confines of Hansa's skull before spilling out as searing, disorienting pain. If that doesn't topple Hansa, Lobelia will sweep out his leg in an effort to ground him.]
But I much prefer that you don't. Tu es belle, ma cher Père. You make me want to break my promise. Over and over again... Je te briserai aussi.
[His metal leg clunks as it slams to the floor. A cry wrenches out of his mouth, head pounding - he will hold tight even as Lobelia's leg comes swinging, his position as solid as a wall. He should act. He should move. It's a threat. Kill the threat. Move, move, move...]
[Hansa wrenches his eye closed.]
[Mercy. Faith.]
[A promise.]
[He shouldn't be tempted by things beneath him. He doesn't live in the world of the mountains, but the world of people.]
[Oh...? But is this really a plea for forgiveness? Every inch of Lobelia's skin is buzzing, electric, but he's steady enough to take a knee and meet Hansa at eye level. The beast still roams free in his gaze. Lobelia makes no effort to hide it. With Hansa, he doesn't need to.
He tips up Hansa's chin with the end of a finger.]
You would beg me before your god? Hansa... what is it that you really want, and from whom? I'm not the one who will grant you mercy. My kindness is a farce... but I can give you what you want. I can feed that beast within you. All it would take is a little honnêteté.
[His head is tipped up. As much as he's smiling, there's no deference in his look.]
...I don't know that last word.
[He exhales - it almost sounds like a tch of admonishment.]
You think there's a beast. In the end, I'm worse than that. Simply human. I want to lead a life for the Lord, and do all in His name to eliminate true evil in the world.
[And is Lobelia true evil...?]
[He doesn't think so.]
I simply asked your forgiveness because I acted rashly. In the end...who knows? Maybe I really just want you to be happy. And in the end, this is not going to bring you happiness.
[But the word doesn't feel right on the edge of his tongue. When has Hansa ever lied? Is restraint a lie?
To Lobelia, it feels like a denial of the self. Maybe that's why he's bothered. Maybe that's why he seeks out the beast in Hansa's eyes and feels disappointed when it vanishes out of view. In its place emerges a humble man.
Hansa is right. About this, about everything. It hurts. It's not pleasant at all.]
Chiant.
[He doesn't care if Hansa understands or not. He'll say it anyway.]
Worry not— there is nothing to forgive, Père. Seeing that side of you made me happy, truly.
It was unkind of me to provoke you, I admit, but I have never claimed to be compassionate. Were I in your place, I would not feel the need to beg forgiveness at all.
[People are dolls, he says. The world is his dollhouse. Where is the lie? If something stood between Lobelia and his happiness, he'd simply remove it— toss those dolls aside with a flick of the wrist.
Self-preservation always came first. Any doubt, guilt, shame, only stood in the way of his goal. He hears the voices of his parents like they still stand beside him, reminding him of what's important.
Everyone has the right to be happy. Even you, Lobelia.
Hansa sees the truth, plain and ugly. Lobelia isn't happy. He can't be, won't be, living life the way he does. Lobelia sees it too. It gnaws on him, refusing to be ignored.
Lobelia settles on the floor, legs crossed, back to Hansa. He's thinking, not brooding. Concentrating, not pouting. So he'll say if Hansa thinks to question him.]
Because it reminds me that I'm alive— a human, like you. Nothing more than a simple man. It's something I've earned, isn't it? If pain finds me, I welcome it with open arms, because it was meant for me.
Does nothing else remind you that you're alive? Your precious music? Talking with others?
[Is pain really the end-all be-all of everything? Hardly not. Hansa scoffs, shaking his head as he pulls himself forward to lean on the back of the pew.]
Something you've earned. How strange. You act without remorse, and yet, for your actions, you expect some payment in the form of pain.
[Lobelia lifts his head at that, feeling as though Hansa's words have brushed against forgotten thing inside of himself. He doesn't shy away from the question. He accepts the scrutiny without flinching.]
Of course there are other things. Music. Conversation. The simple joy of another person's voice meeting mine. I am not so starved for sensation that I mistake every pleasure for pain.
[A thin, wry exhale.]
But pain is honest. Music lies, words lie, people lie. Even happiness... slips through my fingers when I reach for it.
Pain doesn't pretend to be anything else. When it finds me, it means I acted. I chose it for myself.
[His expression softens— very slightly, but enough that it shows he is not arguing, merely revealing.]
You say I expect payment. Perhaps I do. Perhaps I feel I must earn whatever small brightness the world gives me. Because it was not freely given before. But treating myself better...?
[He considers this with a tilt of the head, caught somewhere between melancholy and amusement.]
Mm. If I knew how to do that, mon cher, do you think I'd be here in this church, baring my throat to your questions?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[But Lobelia? Lobelia gets the privilege of being destroyed in different ways. He smiles, a hand moving to pat him lightly on the face. There, there.]
I may be a man made for violence. I have fun when fighting, too. But regardless, I still do it with a clear mind. So don't worry, Lobelia. You chose the right person to help you on your little journey.
[His eye crinkles.]
You should blush more. It suits you.
no subject
You speak as though I'm in danger of breaking. I assure you, Hansa, I am not made of porcelain.
[His fingers rise, almost touching the spot where Hansa's lips had been, before he pointedly drops his hand instead.]
And I am not blushing. It's the light. I mourn your lack of depth perception.
[A beat. He looks away, pulse jumping. This is agony. He wants to put this man through a wall so bad.]
Besides... if your cruelty is so fatal, then perhaps I should feel honored you've spared me. For now.
no subject
[And he says he's not blushing. How funny. Hansa's tail wags behind him, his grin like a shark smelling blood in the water. He doesn't need to bite the man to get him to where he wants him to be.]
Feel honored all you want. It won't be directed to you, anyways. I found other ways to get you flustered, it seems.
no subject
Try not to make a habit of it. I tend to remember these things.
[And he holds grudges. Oh, does he hold grudges.]
You continue to surprise and delight me, ma cher Père. I don't see myself growing bored of you any time soon.
no subject
[Fluster him, loser. Hansa throws it down, confident that he's immune to any and all attempts. Obviously.]
Haha. Good. I'm glad. I do like you. [He is sincere on this.] You keep me on my toes.
no subject
[At the sound of a challenge, his ears perk up. Predictable, but he's made his peace with Hansa's knack for sussing out the truth, so why hide it? His words are music to his ears.
Lobelia's hand hooks around Hansa's waist and sharply draws him in. No escaping. No stepping back until he's taken what he wants and proven his point. Surely Hansa doesn't mind.]
I'll give you this one opportunity to change your mind. That's as charitable as I'll be. Que ferez-vous?
no subject
[He's pulled in, arms around his midsection like a vice. Hansa can't help but look a little incredulous. His hand finds the man's fox ear, tugging at it like he means to admonish the man.]
And just what are you going to do? Kiss me? You think that will fluster me? At least sing me a romantic ballad or something. You're scraping the bottom of the barrel, here.
no subject
Tsk, tsk. So ill to please... Fine then. I have a special hymne in mind just for you... the sort of tune that will shake you to your very soul. Why don't I teach you to the words? Have you sing along with me.
no subject
I don't have a really good singing voice. You sure? I'll damage your eardrums.
no subject
He leans in slowly, the movement unhurried, every small movement deliberate. His hand slides from the back of Hansa's robe to support him at the small of his back, drawing him subtly closer. The other lifts, fingers brushing along Hansa's jaw, cradling his face with more gentleness than the moment warrants.
His words are ghosts along Hansa's lips, soft as silk, sharp as any blade.]
You asked for a hymne. Listen well.
[The kiss begins soft and chaste, a warmth that coaxes rather than takes. For a brief beat, it is tender and mild.
And then the hymn begins.
The sound is silent to the ear but devastating beneath the skin. It blooms from Lobelia's mouth into Hansa's like a star collapsing inward, resonance threading through teeth and tongue before slamming into bone.
Metal vibrates differently from flesh. Lobelia uses that.
The frequency splits as it travels, one wave sinking into the consecrated metal that makes up most of Hansa's body, making it ring with a low, intoxicating ache. The other spears through vulnerable human flesh, bright and sharp, a crack of pleasure edged with pain.
He deepens the kiss as the sound crescendos, holding Hansa steady by the small of his back, guiding him through it all. Chaining him to the invitation he so sweetly extended him.
He simply lets the hymn do its work, lets their kiss consume him, and lets Hansa drown in the brilliant, ruinous sound he asked for. When their lips part, Lobelia eagerly awaits his reply— provided he can still speak.]
1/2
[But getting under people's skin always carries its risks. He could be drowned in blood if he isn't careful.]
[He stays still as the man caresses him - even the way he accepts the kiss is defiant. He's more than willing to show that he will not simply back down. He's never cowered from a fight, or ran with his tail between his legs. The kiss isn't some lover's gesture - this, too, is a fight.]
[And what comes next only confirms it. The sound thunders through his body - the metal adds to this horrific symphony as pain shifts and stings through every inch like he's an instrument rather than a human being. His mouth gasps into the kiss, his limbs stiffening as a choked cry comes aching out of his throat.]
[It hurts. It all hurts. What a beautiful, terrible symphony.]
[And then, just like that, its over. Hansa's eye is unfocused for a moment, his whole body trembling. Pain. It's all pain.]
[And finally, he glances up at this wretched composer of sound.]
...Hah.
[And then, he moves. It almost looks like he's going to hit him, use these powerful hands to cause harm, and instead-]
2/2
Phew. [His chest is still heaving. Hansa winces, but he's smiling as he pulls back.] You're...lucky you aren't a vampire. I would've killed you for that.
[He really would have.]
no subject
...Impressive, for one thing. Impressive on multiple levels. That Hansa is still on his feet is a thrilling sight, enough of one that Lobelia can't catch himself before he laughs. Splendid. Beautiful. Maddening. Men like Hansa are such a rare breed.
How lovely it would be to dismantle him.
Lobelia lets Hansa loose from his grasp at last, still smiling, still laughing quietly to himself.]
I've never wanted to be anything more or less than who I presently am, but now you've got me curious. No... maybe I'm jealous. Mon Dieu! Quel dilemme! What am I to do about it now?
me closing my damn EYES
[Lobelia is really like a little laughing jester. Not THAT Jester, thankfully, who he would have attempted to kill at first sight.]
[What to do? Well, the man caused him harm. He can hear it now - his mentors yelling in his ear, asking why he was a fool to just let this man walk all over him.]
[He tilts his head, considering.]
Eh. You know what. You deserve more than that. Just for doing that. Don't do it again, okay? And I won't do this again.
[And he's just going to jab a punch into Lobelia's stomach, as quick as a bee sting.]
this is normal good and wholesome it's fine
Pain sings through Lobelia's abdomen and echoes beneath his skin. Those hands carry considerable strength — and he knew that — but feeling it is much different.
Lobelia hasn't felt pain like this in a while. Not the kind that lingers long after Hansa withdraws. Not the kind that lands with such speed and force that he can't tense before the hit. It's not unlike being surprised with a lavish gift— like eating a favorite sweet he hasn't tasted in years.
He exhales, sharp but laughing, hand bracing against the pew while he straightens up. The other lifts to press lightly to the sore spot, fingers splayed, as if evaluating a treasure.
This is his reward for behaving, isn't it? God does love his little good boys and girls. The glimmer in his eyes has sharpened into something bright, carnivorous, and undoubtedly pleased.]
Such conviction. Such vitesse. If you wanted to feel my breath catch, you could have simply asked.
[But Lobelia prefers the surprise. Hansa calls it tit-for-tat, but the floodgates have been thrown open wide. Lobelia never could help himself. Lobelia never did try. He repays the favor with a snap of his fingers. The noise that rattles around the confines of Hansa's skull before spilling out as searing, disorienting pain. If that doesn't topple Hansa, Lobelia will sweep out his leg in an effort to ground him.]
But I much prefer that you don't. Tu es belle, ma cher Père. You make me want to break my promise. Over and over again... Je te briserai aussi.
no subject
[His metal leg clunks as it slams to the floor. A cry wrenches out of his mouth, head pounding - he will hold tight even as Lobelia's leg comes swinging, his position as solid as a wall. He should act. He should move. It's a threat. Kill the threat. Move, move, move...]
[Hansa wrenches his eye closed.]
[Mercy. Faith.]
[A promise.]
[He shouldn't be tempted by things beneath him. He doesn't live in the world of the mountains, but the world of people.]
[Hansa shakes his head.]
...
[Quietly:]
I'm sorry. Forgive me, Lobelia.
french is such a fucked up language and i hate it
He tips up Hansa's chin with the end of a finger.]
You would beg me before your god? Hansa... what is it that you really want, and from whom? I'm not the one who will grant you mercy. My kindness is a farce... but I can give you what you want. I can feed that beast within you. All it would take is a little honnêteté.
]sahkjsdhk YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF
...I don't know that last word.
[He exhales - it almost sounds like a tch of admonishment.]
You think there's a beast. In the end, I'm worse than that. Simply human. I want to lead a life for the Lord, and do all in His name to eliminate true evil in the world.
[And is Lobelia true evil...?]
[He doesn't think so.]
I simply asked your forgiveness because I acted rashly. In the end...who knows? Maybe I really just want you to be happy. And in the end, this is not going to bring you happiness.
no subject
[But the word doesn't feel right on the edge of his tongue. When has Hansa ever lied? Is restraint a lie?
To Lobelia, it feels like a denial of the self. Maybe that's why he's bothered. Maybe that's why he seeks out the beast in Hansa's eyes and feels disappointed when it vanishes out of view. In its place emerges a humble man.
Hansa is right. About this, about everything. It hurts. It's not pleasant at all.]
Chiant.
[He doesn't care if Hansa understands or not. He'll say it anyway.]
Worry not— there is nothing to forgive, Père. Seeing that side of you made me happy, truly.
It was unkind of me to provoke you, I admit, but I have never claimed to be compassionate. Were I in your place, I would not feel the need to beg forgiveness at all.
no subject
[Things to play with to his heart's content. And easy to discard, too.]
You're a man to me. You and I are men. So to apologize is to treat you as the same as me.
[He is moving slowly back up to his feet again, a little unsteady. He has to hold onto the nearby pew to settle himself.]
....Why does pain make you feel happy, anyways?
no subject
Self-preservation always came first. Any doubt, guilt, shame, only stood in the way of his goal. He hears the voices of his parents like they still stand beside him, reminding him of what's important.
Everyone has the right to be happy. Even you, Lobelia.
Hansa sees the truth, plain and ugly. Lobelia isn't happy. He can't be, won't be, living life the way he does. Lobelia sees it too. It gnaws on him, refusing to be ignored.
Lobelia settles on the floor, legs crossed, back to Hansa. He's thinking, not brooding. Concentrating, not pouting. So he'll say if Hansa thinks to question him.]
Because it reminds me that I'm alive— a human, like you. Nothing more than a simple man. It's something I've earned, isn't it? If pain finds me, I welcome it with open arms, because it was meant for me.
no subject
[Is pain really the end-all be-all of everything? Hardly not. Hansa scoffs, shaking his head as he pulls himself forward to lean on the back of the pew.]
Something you've earned. How strange. You act without remorse, and yet, for your actions, you expect some payment in the form of pain.
[So what does he really feel?]
Treat yourself better, Lobelia.
no subject
Of course there are other things. Music. Conversation. The simple joy of another person's voice meeting mine. I am not so starved for sensation that I mistake every pleasure for pain.
[A thin, wry exhale.]
But pain is honest. Music lies, words lie, people lie. Even happiness... slips through my fingers when I reach for it.
Pain doesn't pretend to be anything else. When it finds me, it means I acted. I chose it for myself.
[His expression softens— very slightly, but enough that it shows he is not arguing, merely revealing.]
You say I expect payment. Perhaps I do. Perhaps I feel I must earn whatever small brightness the world gives me. Because it was not freely given before. But treating myself better...?
[He considers this with a tilt of the head, caught somewhere between melancholy and amusement.]
Mm. If I knew how to do that, mon cher, do you think I'd be here in this church, baring my throat to your questions?