exsiliumlogs | so show me family; all the blood that i will bleed

[there are muffled, barefoot steps to the door and a silence, as Martin is sure to check before opening the door. because...safety first? so Bariyan doesn't worry about letting in strange people.

it's not a long silence, though, because even if he can only see just a bit of him through the peephole, Martin knows who it is and pushes the door open right away, smiling big up at him.]

Koltira.

[ Bariyan's still hanging back in his own room, and he scowls at the wall when he hears the knock. Anora's post has left him in not a good mood at all, but he's sobering up now, and hasn't had a drink in the past hour or so -- mostly because he'd run out.

His scowl fades slightly when he hears Martin greet their visitor.

He's up, then, but only goes as far as the door to his room before stopping. He leans up against the door frame with his arms crossed and stares at Koltira in the front entrance, with a slight frown.

Bariyan doesn't say anything. His eyes do flicker to the bottle in Koltira's hand. ]

[He doesn't know how to take either reaction. Bariyan had told him to come over, but his expression isn't terribly welcoming. And Martin's grin just disarms Koltira. He's still more accustomed to the looks of hate and fear that the boy used to give him, and while he's grateful that Martin is so much more comfortable and happy, he's still working on how to respond to it properly. Or anything properly at all.

He lifts the hand holding the bottle in greeting.]

Ah, good evening. May I come in? I ... I will not disturb you for long.

[gosh, he's just so bad at this. He holds the bottle more tightly than necessary in his anxiety, wonders if this was yet another misstep. Why is he even here?

Because he cares about these two. Because the network is suddenly alive with people from Azeroth, people that he either doesn't know how or doesn't want to approach. He had lived as apart from the people of his own world as he lives now, apart from the island, off alone in the wilderness. Regardless of their relationships, Martin and Baryian are two of the people with whom he's most familiar. And so, however foolishly, he's come to them.]

[Martin's already begun to move out of the way before Koltira can even ask. the smile looks a little fretful for a second – what's that? haven't quite gotten to asking Bariyan about Anora? aha ha..ha......ha.........

FORGET THAT. he shakes his head, smiling better.]

You aren't a bother to me. Either of us, right? [he looks over at Bariyan.]

[ Bariyan quirks an eyebrow at Martin, then turns the look back on Koltira. ]

'Course not. Show him in, Martin.

[ In the meanwhile, Bariyan rouses himself to disappear further into the apartment, thinking that he ought to check if either of their roommates are in. He doesn't think so, but it's probably prudent to check anyway. ]

[he walks in, albeit still hesitantly, looking 'round as he does so. Once he's beyond the threshold, he unhooks Byfrost from his back--the sword glows ever more ominously--and sets it down in some corner.

The bottle--a big one, top shelf--he sets on the kitchen counter. To Martin, he says--]

You're looking well.

[a little thin, though ...]

[absently:] I'm alright.

[look don't bring shiny soul things in the house if you expect completely attentive responses, okay. but he at least has something to do other than stare, since the door needs to get itself all closed n junk.]

[ His check reveals no one, which is a small relief. Bariyan's not certain that he can handle anyone in-person other than Martin and Koltira right now.

He emerges and joins Koltira in the kitchen, on the other side of the counter, leaning against it for support. And, now at the limits of his self-control, he reaches for the bottle that Koltira had just set down. He assumes it's for him. Right? Hopefully. Come on, he needs it. ]

[yeah, honey, that's for you. Koltira nods at Bariyan as he goes for the bottle. A sense of imposition clings to him, and he's not sure how to dispel it.]

Just that? I know it is nearly the dinner hour ... have you eaten?

[Byfrost pulses quietly in its corner. A dark miasma runs along the blade, like a contained, black mist. It does not give off any particular feeling, yet, though the way the mist creeps along and up the runes might look unsettling.]

Huh–? [he's a little late on the uptake, forcefully pulling his attentions back to, y'know. people.

dinner hour? he blinks. but it's like...not even four in the morning...]

Oh, I...I guess I don't remember. [more blink.]

I... don't think he has. [ Bariyan's staring thoughtfully at Martin, but the direction of his stare is deceiving; most of his efforts are currently concentrated on getting this bottle open. All else goes unnoticed.

As soon as he gets the bottle open he turns his stare on it instead. Would it be rude to start drinking now? Bariyan's accustomed to taking it straight from the bottle... but they've got company, and Koltira had apparently brought it as a gift. Some niceties must be observed, Bariyan supposes. He sighs and goes digging through the cupboards for glasses. ]

[Koltira's eyes narrow as he looks from Bariyan to Martin. He's not bothered by whatever Bariyan chooses to do with the vodka--it was a gift, after all--but the situation here is troubling, nevertheless.]

When was the last time you had a meal, boy?

[he's heading over to the fridge without waiting for an answer, because he already suspects that the reply will translate into 'too long ago'. As far as Koltira was concerned, Martin should be eating on a near-constant basis. That was how he understood human adolescence to go, anyway.]

Oh, well...

[that started out strong, but, uh. well. Martin pulls a face, scratching at his scalp. halted when he sees Koltira off too rummaging anyway. he flusters a moment before catching himself. is it...really that much of a problem?

still. he pads over, joining both of them near that kitchen area. a little self-conscious:] When I woke up, certainly...But I'm sure there's something sitting around to– [oh.

well.

have at it, Koltira.]

[ uh oh someone's starting to feel faintly guilty here, and it shows on bariyan's face. he, uh, he'd sorta assumed that martin had been feeding himself... and surely he had, right? it's been a month or so, after all....

bariyan also looks and feels slightly guilty because koltira is about to happen upon the sad state of affairs that is unit 202's refrigerator.

silence reigns, on bariyan's end. he is resolutely not looking at koltira as he pours himself a full glass of vodka. the glass is not a shot glass. ]

[Koltira ain't here to judge; only to assess, and perhaps intervene, if necessary. One glance at the booze- and raw fish-filled fridge tells him that intervention is, in fact, required. He rubs his scarred face and sighs.]

Wait one moment.

[he turns right around and leaves. It takes him about fifteen minutes to collect what he wants from his own apartment and return--with apologies and gold left on the counter for his roommates--to Bariyan and Martin.]

You must eat, Martin. Regularly and well. Your physical body is human, is it not?

[he unpacks what he's brought as he talks--a handful of fat, unpeeled potatoes, some uncooked steaks, and a bundle of fresh asparagus, along with a small bag of various spices and so forth.]

You don't have t...o... [oh.

well, bye, Koltira?

in that fifteen-minute void, Martin lingers close to Bariyan, feeling self-conscious.] I didn't mean to trouble him. I've been fine...

[he startles upon Koltira's return, opening his mouth to come up with some protest or excuse, but.

well, come on. he's got a bunch of foodstuff he actually recognizes. big eyes, all the attention.]

Huh–? [what? questions?] Oh, I– [he forces himself to look up between Koltira and Bariyan.]

I doubt you're troubling him. [ Said to Martin, in the short time that Koltira's gone. Bariyan says nothing afterwards, drinking silently.

The bottle is, surprisingly, not even halfway empty yet when Koltira returns. ]

He is human. [ Bariyan answers the question for Martin, and frowns even more guiltily when he sees how closely Martin is staring at the food. He distracts himself by pouring a drink out for Koltira and offering the glass to the other man, raising an eyebrow.

He turns that skeptical look on the kitchen, too. He's gone through a few roommates in his time here, but he can't recall if he's ever seen any of them cook before... so he suspects this may be the first time anyone's tried turning on the stove. ]

[Koltira takes the glass and drinks deeply; he's brought more alcohol, too, though it's red wine instead of vodka. He sets the glass down, arranges everything he's brought neatly on the counter top, and then goes hunting for some utensils. The search produces what he needs: a skillet, a pot, a potato peeler, and some decent-looking knives. He glances at them both as he rinses the skillet in the sink.]

Then he must eat. Have either of you ever peeled a potato?

[Martin practically cuts him off at the last word, definitely eyeballing the small bunch of potatoes.] Those're real potatoes? [it's been...forever since he's had one, feels like. might as well be.

this is exciting. he totally knows what potatoes are.]

I can do it. [he's not even looking away, just sliding around the counter toward them.] I used to, when I was really little. I'll do it.

[wow watch out any naysayers because he's totally going to do this thing, grabbing up one without any confirmation one way or the other.]

[ Bariyan side-eyes the potatoes like he expects them to explode or something. He had never cooked much. There'd always been someone else, servants, or friends, or....

Oh, come on. Bariyan grimaces, and he finally puts the vodka down. ]

Here. I can... try.

[ Said so self-consciously, while scowling. He holds his hand out for a knife. ]

[Koltira watches them both for a moment. Though his impassive face betrays no emotion, he's inwardly incredulous. Then again, plenty of his own people had little ability to care for themselves, either. Although not a noble himself, he had shared banquet tables with many wealthy, privileged, and ultimately helpless people. Bariyan's hesitancy about the potato makes him wonder.

He gives them both small paring knives, and then glances at Martin, addressing him.]

Stand over the sink. Mind you don't cut yourself on the blade. We will need about six of these for our purposes.

[He sees little need to warn Bariyan of the same, given that the man hasn't got any blood to spill. Koltira takes another swig of the vodka before turning to the steaks. For the sake of normalcy, and leftovers, he's brought four rib-eyes. He prepares them for the skillet while the other two work on the potatoes: a coating of oil first, followed by a rub-down with salt, herbs, and cracked pepper.]

I won't.

[Martin is all over this, moving where he's told. but uh...he gives the paring knife a funny look, turning it over in his hand. he loosens his grip a bit, peeking at the lines of his palm behind it.

mm...

with Koltira busy doing the pot-preparation, Martin takes the chance to swap out the funky knife-thingy for a knife that makes sense to his ex-Darkov brain. CARVING KNIFE. not really the uh...knives Darkovs make themselves as kids to do this kind of work.

fun fact number 2: this body doesn't have the intuition to do this kind of work! so...it's a little awkward, trying to get his fingers to set the way he wants–]

Hh. Oh – [there. he finds a rhythm, twisting the potato against the knife, keeping one thumb as a buffer for the other. good.

he lets a long, curly peel dangle for a minute before shaking it off. looking up at Bariyan:] I can do them all if you want. [the joys of potato peeling.]

[ Bariyan, again self-consciously, has to take his cues from Martin. He goes at a much slower pace, frowning hard in his concentration. The peel slides off into the sink. ]

No, it's all right. I can--

[ wHOOPS, nicked himself there. He grimaces at the bloodless cut. Nice going guy. ]

[mildly.]

You must have been a wealthy man, Bariyan.

[cos only rich motherfuckers can't handle potato peeling. He nods approvingly at Martin.]

That's well done, boy.

[he places the seasoned steaks on the skillet, then fires up the range. As the meat begins to cook, he withdraws a vial from his coat pocket and sprinkles several flakes of an aromatic, exotic herb over each rib-eye in turn. A warm, savory scent soon fills the apartment.

That done, he unwraps a package of fresh asparagus and holds out the whole cluster--about fifteen spears total--to Bariyan.]

Tear off the tough ends, would you?

[Martin stops what he does on the spot, letting the knife and potato drop their small distance into the sink while he reaches over to grab Bariyan's hand. it takes him a second to stare, blink, and realize oh, right...before letting go, ducking his head with a sheepish air before going to fish the things he discarded out of the sink.

glowy guardian problems...]

[ the zombie equivalent of a blush? okay, not really, but bariyan does look mighty uncomfortable right now.

wealthy? he mumbles his answer as martin grabs and inspects his hand. ] For a while, I suppose....

[ he sighs and takes the asparagus from koltira, then moves away to the counter to allow martin more room at the sink. it takes him a bit, even, to decide which end koltira's talking about -- but bariyan manages to figure this one out, at least. he starts to snap the ends off, quiet and engrossed in his work. ]

[He's well-apprised of Bariyan's cagey nature, so Koltira doesn't say anything more on that point. Instead, he takes the potatoes that Martin's already peeled and begins to dice them with fine, precise strokes. The steaks are cooking now, their juices hissing and sizzling in the pan, their scent permeating the air.

He can't feel the heat rolling off of the stove, but he can smell the meat well enough, and it conjures memories for Koltira, of days and meals long since past. He glances at Martin, working diligently, his face so eager and earnest, and Koltira can't help but think of his younger brother.

But that was all a long time ago. He speaks quietly.]

I once did this nearly every day.

[he blinks, staring blankly at his half-done work, trying to put the conversation back together. he wasn't paying the best of attention, as much the single-minded worker as he was before...but at least he caught the last part?]

I did, too. [a slight pause, resetting his knife in proper position.] When I was...smaller, though. [wait. okay. had to find the rhythm again.] Everyone does...Darkovs, I mean. When you're small. It's practice... You make the blades to cut them yourself. Just little ones.

[he shakes a peeling off his thumb.] That's about all most anybody can do when they're small...

[ guess who's like never peeled a potato in his life THIS GUY HERE so bariyan remains stoically silent throughout this exchange.

he listens, though. he enjoys listening. he finds other peoples' stories far more interesting than his own, even if they are equally unhappy -- or even more unhappy, in certain cases. but maybe it helps to talk about such things, or maybe people simply like to talk. bariyan won't question reasons or motives. he simply listens.

when he's done with his own work, bariyan scrapes the pile of discarded ends to one side, away from the spears, and turns back to koltira to await further instruction. his eyes briefly flicker over to the vodka that koltira had first brought in, but -- for the first time in a while -- bariyan doesn't feel the pressing need to empty the bottle.

strangely enough, he is content in this moment. ]

I see. [Even mealtimes were martial training for this child, apparently. Koltira continues to dice the potatoes as Martin finishes them, his expression becoming muted, wistful. Both he and Faltora had learned swords at a young age, too, though it was sport to them, at least at first. But a high elf's life, back then, was long and easy and bountiful. There was no need for rigorous training, or so they had presumed.

Once the dicing is finished, Koltira scoops up his work and dumps it into a pot. He adds various things--more savory herbs to add to the heady mix of scents already permeating the air, several cups of fresh milk, and so on. He hands Martin a clove of garlic.]

I had a younger brother. [without skipping a beat--] Crush this, then peel off the skin. [he demonstrates with another clove, pressing the heel of his hand down firmly until the skin is loose. He peels the skin free, then sets it aside.] Like this.

[For Bariyan, he places a pan on the counter, which he then covers with a foil baking sheet. He uncaps a bottle of olive oil, shaking it gently before he sets it beside the pan.]

Asparagus on the sheet. Olive oil on the asparagus. Toss them up a bit so they'll be covered. Salt and pepper as you will.

[Martin struggles a moment, having to stop his train of thought to pay attention to what Koltira's asking him to do. he almost misses it – the words, mostly – but seeing it helps.

he drags his palm across the clove he was given, slow to set about doing as told. look, he's curious, ok. he at least keeps a lid on it until after Koltira's done giving orders.

he looks over and up:] What was his name?

[ Bariyan manages his task without much trouble until it comes to the salt and pepper, at which point he weighs the shakers in his hands and squints at them. Not really sure what as you will means... damn his missing sense of taste.

He goes for moderation, light on the salt, just a little heavier on the pepper. Better to err on the side of caution.

He keeps listening, perking up a little and watching Koltira out of the corner of his eye. Family was practically all Martin could talk about, whenever he spoke of home, but he doesn't recall Koltira having ever discussed his family.

As for Bariyan's own -- well, that was a matter best left in the past. ]

[He sprinkles the crushed garlic into the pot of simmering, diced potatoes, nodding at Martin to do the same once he's done. By this point, the steaks are a lovely brown color; Koltira turns down the heat, but does not yet remove the skillet from the stove.]

Faltora. We were both temple guardians. I trained him for the job.

[he takes the pan from Bariyan with an approving look--more pepper is always fine by him--and slides it into the oven. The preparations are about done; it's come down to waiting, now. He searches a drawer for something to uncork the wine as he continues.]

He was quiet. Shy, especially with women.

[Koltira smiles to himself at the memories, still fresh in his mind from when Martin's power brought them to the surface.]

I did my best to care for him.

[his task done, Martin's moved out of the way to let Koltira do his thing – but not far. he walks around a counter, folding his arms and slumping over, chin resting atop his forearm. his nose crinkles a little as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to grasp the images fleeting from his head. he'd seen it before, after all, but not as the human boy. keeping things like that in his head wasn't easy.

inevitably, he can but think of what it'd be like to have a brother. he doesn't really know it, but has a basis to wonder.

he makes a muffled sound as he fidgets, but nothing else, eventually opening his eyes to look at the both of them in turn, smiling absently.]

[ seeing as Koltira's apparently run out of things for them to do, Bariyan takes a few steps around the counter and goes straight back to the still-open bottle of vodka to pour himself out another drink. ]

What happened to him, then?

[ Koltira was speaking in the past tense. Something had happened, and Bariyan thinks he can guess at the general gist of it.

In the meantime, if it's a corkscrew that Koltira's looking for, he might be searching for a while. The last person in this apartment to use it had been -- unsurprisingly -- Bariyan, and he hadn't put it back in its proper place. ]

[everything is baking/sizzling/steaming/otherwise cooking now. It won't be long, but in the meantime, Koltira keeps looking for that corkscrew. Finally, he sighs and gives up. He can use his bare hands. Like a man.]

He died during the invasion. He ran forward, recklessly, into battle.

[Koltira picks up the wine bottle, digs his nails into the soft wood of the cork. His voice is even, restrained.]

I tried to protect him. But I failed.

[He taps the bottle against the counter several times, using a precise and carefully controlled amount of force. Then, with a twist of his fingers, he pops out the cork. Koltira sets the opened bottle down as the oven beeps.]

I don't suppose either one of you could direct me to the plates.

[Martin's smile is a little strained, feeling inklings of assurances that, to him, feel out-of-place in the moment.

to counteract that, he pushes away from his temporary perch and moves around the both of them, standing on tip-toe to fish out the plates as asked, jumping a little at the cork pop – but it's nothing more than a little dinnerware rattle.]

Where do you want them?

[ Right. Dead. As Bariyan had figured. Bariyan leaves it at that; there's little else to say, and anything he could say was, in his mind, already known. I'm sorry.

Martin starts moving before Bariyan's even fully processed Koltira's request, so he shrugs and lets the boy handle it. Bariyan instead turns to look at the oven, a little anxiously. Is it supposed... to make noises....

He takes a drink. It occurs to him that he ought to stop staring at the oven and make himself useful. He finally puts his glass down and moves to the other side of the counter, trying to remember what else is involved with dinner. Silverware...? He pulls open a drawer and starts to count out-- wait.

Bariyan spends a few moments wondering hard about zombie biology. ]

[He interprets their collective silence badly, and feels keenly awkward as he turns off the stove, the oven, and so forth. Everything is finished now; all that remains is to plate it.

Perhaps this is his cue to go.]

Just on the counter there.

[he gestures to the creamy potatoes, the well-seasoned steak, and the lightly browned asparagus. A balanced meal for a growing boy.]

Take whatever you like now, and save the rest for later.

[he goes to pick up Byfrost.]

[oh no this is –

Martin's got to pry his attention off overwhelmingly delicious smells to Koltira moving too close to the –]

Wait. [he pushes away from the counter and all that goodness.] Are you leaving? [:(] You have to go somewhere?

[ All right, well, that seems to render the biology questions moot. Bariyan grabs a knife and fork and makes his way to Martin, pressing the silverware into the boy's hands. But he keeps his eye fixed on Koltira, watches him pick up the sword... has it always glowed like that?

Bariyan leans back against the counter, and crosses his arms. ]

You're welcome to stay, if you'd like. [ Just following up on Martin's statements, extending the offer. As is probably polite. ]

[Indeed, it has not always glowed like that. The black miasma crawling up and down the sword's blade leaps and arcs over the hilt as Koltira takes hold of it, swirling around his fingers for a moment before settling. He returns the sword to his back, and then bows his head slightly, his eyes moving from Martin's anxious face to Bariyan's crossed arms. His welcome is done, he thinks.]

It's time for me to go. [he turns, lifts a hand in farewell.] Eat as much as you can, Martin. And the both of you--take care.

[after that sword's been secured, Martin's grip on the silverware slacks, and he presses them on the counter before trotting over the small distance to the elf, reaching out and grabbing at sleeve/gauntlet/glove??/ARTICLE OF FOREARM-BASED CLOTHING ON AN ELF to tug it.]

You'll come back, right? You'll come again. And show me how to do the rest? So it's not just cutting potato skins...

[ Bariyan stays right where he is, unmoving, unblinking. It seems like an abrupt departure... an abrupt departure to go with an almost equally abrupt arrival.

But Bariyan finds none of it strange. He figures that Koltira just has something else to do, perhaps. Other appointments to keep. Or maybe he's just tired of his time here -- fair enough.

So Bariyan merely nods, in acknowledgement. And: ]

Thank you.

[Koltira's in his suit, wearing leather gloves. Because of their insulation, he lightly covers Martin's hand with his own, though only for a few seconds. He murmurs.]

Perhaps, child. [this, of course, being code for 'no'. He glances at Bariyan and nods stiffly in return. Again, everything is taken wrongly; badly. He is an interloper here, and he has intruded long enough. The task he set himself has been accomplished; he need not impose upon these two any longer. What little words they exchanged had been stilted, halting. It translates to discomfort and reticence to Koltira's mind, and he's hardly surprised by it. He's rarely experienced otherwise, after all.

Gently, Koltira pulls away from Martin. He opens the door and steps back out into the hallway. Truth be told, Koltira has no particular agenda, and nowhere really to go. He just knows he shouldn't be here.

And so he leaves.]

so show me family; all the blood that i will bleed

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