bakerstreet | ✨ you only get one chance...

That's an intriguing idea. I wonder if it's possible to arrange stars into a magical sigil...

[True to his nature, Linhardt pulls out a small notebook and starts jotting down the idea, making a list of questions. There are always questions, even infuriating ones he can never answer, like whether stars can be moved.

One of the questions can be answered, though.]

That is a positive impression, is it not?

[He interpreted it correctly?]

It depends on how well you like stubbornness.

[ He watches the other man dot down words and sentences, a lot of question marks. One eyebrow going up, Madge smiles slowly and shakes his head. ]

Since I nurse a personal fondness, the answer's yes.

[Noticing that the other man is watching him write, Linhardt turns the notebook around so he can get a better look. Some of the questions are scientific in nature ("Stars: State of matter?"), some are magical ("Warp? Invisible but mass? Practice on gases, heat them to deal with container problems? Equations?"), and some are social ("Stubborn = good?").]

I'm glad to hear it. Too many people want me to be pliant.

[Everybody likes that Linhardt is intelligent until they find out it means he has his own interests and opinions. It's annoying.]

[ Carefully he reaches out and takes the notebook from the other man, just gently easing it out of his grip, catching the pen from between his fingers. With a natural ease, he scribbles one sentence at the bottom of the page: Pliant people are like sand, you couldn't build a house on them.

Then, he gives the notebook back and hands the man his pen. ]

Stay stubborn. Change the stars. Change the world. If that's what you want to do.

[Linhardt relinquishes both easily enough, feeling no need to hide his thoughts or ideas. He peers over as Madge writes, unabashed in his interest. He smiles, but it's tinged with some bitterness. Yes. That is what they want: Sand that they can move and shape in accordance with their whims.

The smile turns happier, less complex, when Madge encourages him. This is most likely a dream, but at least the dream people support him.]

I want to understand the world. And I want the time to do so on my own terms.

[The word 'understand' is filled with pure, unrestrained longing. Each page of the notebook is filled with questions, and Linhardt needs to know the answers to them all.]

Edited (shouldn't do HTML on the retail floor...) 2022-10-19 15:57 (UTC)

That kind of freedom is afforded only a few. [ He saw the dreams in that notebook, things that could take a man far on his own, a long way further with the right spells and charms. The right guidance.

But Madge has tried to guide before. He doesn't lack self-confidence, so he is going to say, he didn't have a very good student. ] How much is it worth to you?

I know.

[Linhardt sighs. That is what makes it so infuriating: He's so close. If it weren't for all these politics and all these egos... why can't they just let him go?]

A great deal. It is the second most precious thing that could be offered to me. I would exchange my title or my life, but not the lives of my friends or innocents.

[His life is fine to forfeit in the pursuit of knowledge. Caspar's is not. Which is why he has not departed.]

It would also depend on whether the person offering was offering in good faith.

[Linhardt dislikes politics, but he is not naive about the negotiating process: Or the perils of accepting deals.]

Is anything ever offered in good faith? [ A small smile, sharp around the edges. ] Whatever I could offer you, I would offer because I believed in your ability to give back. Is that good faith?

[ He lives from palm to mouth to forest to cauldron. Coin can get him far, but people's willingness to believe in him will get him the furthest - and the rest of the way, he will walk himself.

As he thinks Linhardt can. Will. He's known other men, men who wouldn't. That is their loss. ]

[The question gets an honest laugh out of Linhardt, because they both know the answer.]

Fair enough. This is easier when we don't have to pretend not to have our own interests.

I suppose I could offer my skill in magic or my skill as a physician. Or just payment of whatever amount is appropriate.

[Budget doesn't seem to be a concern.]

A favor, if you're ever imprisoned or detained in my country.

[That makes Linhardt's nose wrinkle, his position is of little use to him, but he can waltz into most Adrestian jails and take people out of them.]

I will not perform acts of violence or act as a go-between.

[His access level is not for sale.]

I won't ask much.

[ That's a lie, but if nothing else an obvious one. Not truly polite, not truly rude. Madge always asks just the right amount of people that their fates will be bound to him. He's no god, he doesn't decide what happens or how, but knowledge is more valuable than most things and he likes to know.

Holding out his hand, palm up, he nods at the other man's hand. ]

I will take a look at your palm, tell you what the future holds and that should, unless you play your cards badly, if not free you from your fate, then give you the opportunity to choose a course of action for yourself.

[ A raise of his chin. ]

Your payment is that you are going to let me know what awaits, too.

If you asked for too much to begin, you would be a poor negotiator.

[Linhardt doesn't understand why the man wants to see his palm, but he offers it freely, tilting his head to the side and letting his blue eyes follow Madge's movements with interest.]

You can tell the future from my palm? How odd.

[To Linhardt, 'odd' sometimes means interesting. As it does in this case.]

And how do you propose I do that? Are you going to come to me in the future and ask for my life story?

[That would be a way for the man to check if his predictions were accurate, but Linhardt is also aware that making deals without knowing the exact terms is a poor choice.]

[ His eyes follow the lines of the other man's hand, strong but elegant hand, not hands of much manual labour like James' had been. This man is in no way as simple as his farmer's lad, is he? He isn't as easy to lead astray.

Not easy to fool.

That is a compliment to them both, surely. ]

I will come back to you when the powers that be inspire me to and for a while, I will partake in your successes or share in your misery. That energy is enough. [ He runs his thumb along the other man's life line. A soft touch. ] The cosmos only ever asks for influence, I shan't be greedier than that.

[ Pause. ]

Well, maybe a little greedy. Give me the energy and a drink and we're even.

So with no notice.

[Linhardt is a blunt man, and that extends to his dealings with strange, too handsome spirit people. Eyes are frustratingly imprecise, it's difficult to tell what the other man is paying such close attention to on his palm. Where does the information come from? He can't feel any tugs at his life energy.

The soft touch makes him shiver; it's rare for people to touch him so gently. The person who touches him the most is Caspar, and delicacy is not one of his best friend's strengths.]

Your terms are acceptable, as long as you take from me and me alone.

[Touch the life or soul energy of anyone around Linhardt, and they will have a problem. But him? He'll be fine. Even if the spirit does drain him to near death and leave him in a bush, Linhardt will be fine eventually.

And if he's not fine? He at least won't have to deal with Fodlan anymore.]

I will prepare whatever drink you desire if you also share the information you glean from the experience. Wine? Mead from the enchanted honey of Albinea?

You must tell me.

[Linhardt nods at his hand with a bitter smile on his face.]

Which stupid, ego-laden 'leader' gets me killed?

[ They always ask him, the people he reads - do you see this or this, what will happen, but the nature of palmistry does not rely on what Madge sees, but on what he doesn't, and what he can tell from the information missing. There is no clue in the man's hand, yet, at least, as to who will be the death of him. Maybe he won't be killed. Maybe he will get himself killed, like so many do.

What his hand tells Madge is not related to death at all, but to love. He is here for a reason and this man is his reason, and that is reason enough, surely. Looking up slowly at him, Madge narrows his eyes dangerously, the smile on his lips a little but haughty, a little bit cold. ]

Love will be the death of you. As love is the death of many and in that, you are not extraordinary. Perhaps only in that.

[ Releasing the other man's hand slowly, a brush of fingers over his fingers in turn, Madge straightens up. ]

If I tell you that this love could be anyone you decide, because your will is free and your choices matter, but that there is a great chance you know them already, will you still offer me any drink of my choosing?

That is a very generic thing to say.

[Linhardt smiles. His smile isn't as harsh as Madge's, but he doesn't shy away from the eye contact or the chill underlying the man's expression.]

Which does not mean I assume it's inaccurate. I am torn between being thankful there is no millstone around my neck as I feared and offended at having any part of my life be so pedestrian.

[And that isn't even getting into the possible metaphorical meanings. Love? Actual love or marriage? There isn't a shortage of nobles who have been killed by their own spouses, including a few Hevrings.]

If you weren't clearly a devil spirit, I'd think you were flirting with me.

[Something in his tone suggests that Linhardt finds the absence of this possibility disappointing. Is Madge seducing him into deal-making or just seducing him?]

I would, because you're handsome and intelligent.

Although you give away more information than you intend to, I think.

[Linhardt's eyes dance. Word and information games can be delightful if they aren't related to politics or infrastructure or other boring topics.]

[ A huff of amusement, perhaps satisfaction. It is always satisfying to be seen and recognised and understood. To be understood beyond your own understanding, even. Madge hasn't had that particular experience for a long time now. The last one ran away, didn't it? Hmm.

He smiles, slowly, warmer this time. Although his words are casual, nonchalant, he doesn't dismiss the other man's conclusion as wrong. He won't betray himself like that. ]

We all give away more than we intend. It is not in man's nature to hide himself away.

[ Do you hear, James? This far away, still, do you hear? His expression darkens for a moment, then he shakes the mood off, running a hand through his hair and catching the man's eyes, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Well, two can dance that dance, of course. ]

Do you think a devil spirit wouldn't flirt with you? Really, how many have you met?

[Why would he run away? Linhardt never runs away from things - or people - that are interesting. Is Madge dangerous? Most assuredly. But finding someone of Linhardt's acquaintance that isn't dangerous would be difficult. So it's hardly dissuading.]

Do we?

[Another tilt of his head.]

What do I give away?

I would disagree with that: I think that's it's foolish to assert that man has a singular nature. I have met people who would prefer to never speak to another living soul, and others who wither if they go an hour without another.

[Linhardt's eyes are watchful. Interesting. An indication of feeling. Perhaps not a devil spirit then. A spirit of a different kind?

The question gets a laugh out of him. It's a fair point, but there aren't many who argue with Linhardt well: That is to say by questioning his logic or the data he's using.]

None that have revealed themselves as such to me.

I would just assume they're more interested in power and my soul than my body. I'm not the sort to be distracted by such attentions.

[Indeed, it's something of the opposite. Linhardt's devotion to his own presentation is partly to satisfy himself, and partially to spitefully comply with his father's advice to always have a distraction ready. People who are wrestling with how pretty the Hevring heir is are easier to 'persuade' into acquiring things for him or to look the other way.]

Behind your wit lies a curiosity that might be the death of you before love gets the chance. [ Madge lets his eyes run over the man's face, his features pleasant and symmetrical, soft without being weak, attractive, alluring. James had carried the same kind of beauty, apparently it's Madge's purpose in life, chasing after young lads too beautiful for this world. He doesn't preserve himself better than that, it seems.

His voice hardens when he continues: ] Do not think of it as a strength; I will tell you, nothing makes you more vulnerable than wanting. [ The soft wave of a hand, the bend of a wrist. ] Wanting knowledge, wanting understanding, wanting others.

[ Stepping a little closer, Madge can sense the other man's energies, colourful, strong, stubborn. They ignite his own and he feels invigorated by them, enchanted, tempted.

And people say he's the devil. Have they not met men like this before? Devils. Why has nature put such beauty in existence, it's hardly fair. ]

No, I'm no devil, I bleed like a man and I want like a man, exactly like you. [ Another step, even closer and Madge reaches up, brushing his fingers over Linhardt's forehead, up to his hairline, pushing a stray strand out of the way. ] It wouldn't distract you either, if I were to take my drink off the sweat of your brow as I made love to you?

But an interesting death, one with purpose.

[Madge isn't wrong: some of the reluctance of Linhardt's compatriots to allow the man to truly explore wherever his mind takes him is due to the fact that the healer is less than mindful of what the results would be.

Linhardt doesn't deny what Madge points out. Madge is right: He would give his life in exchange for knowledge. What is the alternative? Not knowing? That is not acceptable. It's his life. He chooses how to live it. So what if he dies in the pursuit of knowledge? It's better than dying for love or politics.

He sighs, a small, almost silent exhale, forced to accept the truth of the man's words.]

You are not wrong. It is infuriating to not be able to quell the questions in my mind. It leads to me making poor decisions. I need to control myself.

[Words Linhardt says as though they are a recitation. They are. He's heard it his entire life. "Control yourself, Linhardt." "Pay attention, Master Hevring." "Don't use the Adrestian army for personal reasons."]

Exactly what a devil would say.

[The banter slips out before Linhardt can stop them, a pre-emptive defense against too much sincerity. Linhardt leans into the touch, taking the opportunity to close his eyes, part his lips slightly, and tilt his head so that his silken hair falls over his shoulder while exposing the pale skin of his neck above his collar.

He enjoys being touched and isn't the sort of man to deny himself.]

That depends entirely on how skillful a lover you are. Can you distract me?

Get me invested enough, and I can work magic.

[ Slipping his fingers through the other man's long hair, feeling the soft smoothness of the strands, Madge steps so close that they're chest to chest, front to front, all but nose to nose. When Linhardt breathes out, Madge only needs to breathe in to taste him. He holds himself back from simply devouring him, not because he cares about manners, but because he cares about pleasure. The longer you prolong, the greater the satisfaction. The surrender.

He bends his neck a little and runs his half-open mouth over the other man's jawline, just a brief pressure of lips. Exhalation. He moves up to Linhardt's ear and whispers, grabbing him a little harder by the hair, if only for a second: ]

Not a devil, a witch.

[ And he steps back, releasing the other man abruptly, in no way gentle. Never. ]

Oh.

[Linhardt makes a small noise in the back of his throat when Madge tugs on his hair, holding him still, breath hitching. Nobody touches him like that. He can tell that some people want to by how they watch him, but everybody knows who he is. So they don't.

Feeling no shame, Linhardt takes the opportunity to press his clothed torso to Madge's.]

Me too.

[Linhardt's lips curl back up into a smile of his own, one hand reaching out for Madge. He holds the other man's hand, his thumb pressing against Madge's wrist. And then he searches for the magical energy in the air around them, generating a wisp of heat from his thumb, sending warmth up the arm nerve, his eyes holding contact with Madge's the entire time as the small fire burns.

Delicate, he is not.]

[ The whole cosmos seems to suddenly align around them, when Linhardt grabs his wrist and sends the fire through his arm. These are not powers like Madge's, who can make potions and charm and glimpse the future in lines of a palm. These are powers unlike anything he has seen in another person before. He stares into the other man's eyes, gaze intense and his whole body feeling overheated from the points of contact. Then, he blinks and smiles and leans his head back, laughing manically. Two seconds, three and he catches Linhardt's eyes once more. ]

Fate had our paths cross for a reason, I see.

[Linhardt watches Madge as he laughs. Interesting. He should be careful that this isn't a Dimitri situation. On the other hand, is anyone he spends time around truly sane? At least this insane person shares Linhardt's interests and priorities.]

Indeed.

I'll show you my magic if you show me yours. Time has always vexed me.

[By which he means ever since he realized the Warp math suggested certain facts about time that make it almost tantalizingly tangible. Could time be reduced to elegant mathematical equations just as they do for battlefield terrain?]

You must explain.

[ Another huff of laughter, but this time Madge wrestles free of Linhardt's grip, stepping forward to grab his chin between thumb and index finger, tilting his head to the side so he can with no problem lean in and kiss his cheek. A kiss and a lick. Heavy. He breathes him in, a fellow magic wielder. Who would have thought? ]

Ask for me when the distance gets too distracting, I'll come for you. I'll explain, then.

[ He steps back and releases him, turning his back on him, leaving with a lift of one hand. ]

For now, have a good day. It's in your hand.

[Linhardt makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, deep and appreciative of Madge's assertiveness, closing his eyes so that he can appreciate all the information he's taking in: The scent of the other man, the feel of his lips on Linhardt's skin, and of course the dazzling life energy, life humming beneath the surface of Madge's skin as fish do beneath the surface of a pond.

He doesn't hide his disappointment when Madge pulls away.]

How long must I wait? Is an hour sufficient? Is there benefit to restraining myself?

[Linhardt is still young. Patience is a virtue he has not yet developed. Wait. He can't just leave! Damn it. Damn dream not-devils. He's already gone...]

✨ you only get one chance...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject