![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
DUST TO DUST ❅ EVENT
It will take them time to discern the cause. After all, all the artifacts brought back from the fight with Project Prometheus were deemed safe or at least contained, only able to have their dangerous power unleashed if people were dumb enough to try it.
The altheiometer is not the real thing. It was created by the belief of a child, after reading a certain book series, and therefore is more of a symbolic object, with none of the real capabilities of the device in fiction. Instead, it had other magical abilities. It was not entirely understood by the Project itself, just kept there to be studied and eventually co-opted for sinister use if possible. But it had remained inert in their company.
At the Pole, it passes the magical scan, since it technically is "safe," then finally activates. It works on a child's logic, after all. A child would think daemons are cool but wouldn't think bad people deserved them. A child would think the device should only activate to let good guys have daemons.
In the study containing the safer artifacts, the altheiometer opens of its own accord. Gears turn. The hands start clicking as they move in circles around its clock-like face, rotating back and forth between different symbols. The hands finally stop, clicking as they meet in the same spot, on the symbol of an apple, with a bite taken out of it.
It's all very metaphorical isn't it. The soul can't exist without free will. In some worlds they think free will only exists because of an apple in a garden.
There is a burst of light and sound that reverberates through the Pole. As the floor shakes, everyone sees a brief glimpse of the wave as it passes through walls - and then passes through each of them. Getting hit by it is like getting hit by a storm wave in the ocean, briefly lifting everyone off their feet.
Alongside the sensation of being briefly levitated, there is also the painful sensation of suddenly being aware of something deep inside, briefly made to feel almost like a splinter in their very core.
Then, with all the subtlety of getting attacked with a giant hole punch, the splinter is removed, excised. It does hurt, but there is also a strange relief. Except...whatever it was, it's still here. Next to each of the Guardians. Still attached, just...an externality now.
The wave crashes to the shore. They're all knocked to the floor again.
If they were alone in a room, they aren't now. If they weren't alone in a room, said room's occupants have now doubled.
Each PC now temporarily has a daemon. Daemons are the soul externalized, sentient and able to talk. Taking the form of animals, they often shapeshift and change forms during someone's childhood, but settle into a permanent shape during someone's teen years as the person's personality becomes more concrete and distinct.
- Form: A daemon takes an animal form that represents the person's personality. They usually have a gender opposite to their respective person's, but there are sometimes exceptions, sometimes for entirely unknown reasons, or if the person is some flavor of queer. Daemons will know that they're their owner's soul and be able to tell them that.
- Daemon Selection: Here is a page with interpretations of a few animals and what types of personalities they can represent, but please don't take it as law. It's just possible inspiration. The daemons can be any animal. For characters not from Earth, their daemons can be animals that are entirely made up or ones in their canons.
- Link: Daemons are connected metaphysically to their person through an invisible link, allowing that person to still be attached to their soul. Moving too far from your daemon can cause physical and spiritual agony. Suddenly being ripped apart by a great distance can kill someone. Killing a daemon - which is only as hardy as the animal they are - also kills their owner.
- Personalities: Daemon personalities are often similar to their owner's, but sometimes daemons are more willing to be honest about feelings or subconscious impulses. For instance, daemons often instinctually show affection to the daemons of people their owner is fond of. Daemons will remember everything their owner remembers, and was basically there the whole time they were alive, just integrated. Despite being externalized, they aren't something separate from each person, they were always a part of them.
- Physical Contact: People can touch their own daemons without effects and cuddling their daemon can be a positive experience of self-love. Someone hurting their own daemon can feel like they've caused the damage to themselves, and hurts on a spiritual or almost self-hating level. Meanwhile, picking up someone else's daemon without permission can cause incredible discomfort and pain. Alternately, touching someone's daemon with permission can cause comfort, a surge of happiness, or even pleasure, depending on the context of the contact and the relationship the two people have.
❅ Event Length: The plot will last an OOC and IC 2 weeks before they can figure out what's causing the change and reverse it, making the daemons internal again. During this time, allies of the Guardians will temporarily take over their duties and fortunately no major crises will happen. Players can set their own opens during this time as well as play out anything that happens over the whole 2 weeks in this post.
❅ New Characters: If your character is introing at this time, assume they arrived just in time for the magical wave to hit them, or walked into a cloud of its residual energy.
❅ Opt-out: Anyone that doesn't want to play in the plot or have a daemon can handwave Vasilisa's magical defenses caught on to the power surge and her glowing charms protected at least some people in the Pole from the transformation. You can ignore this and thread as if there's just a little extra chaos around the Pole.
❅ Jack Frost: There will also be a network post with Jack explaining what Vasilisa has magically discerned has happened. It will take time to find the source, as the altheiometer is very good at cloaking its readings and registered as "safe." (Technically, it is safe, it's just...inconvenient.)
no subject
He can't recall the last time someone actually tried to – comfort him like this; even with Aziraphale, it's been a brief hand hold or just comfortable silence, nothing as bold as trying to hug him, and Crowley has no idea what to do with it. He allows Jaskier to pull him closer, but his posture is stiff, shoulders tense because he can't quite force himself to relax enough to accept it.
In an ideal world, he'd be able to say that he doesn't want it back, that God can take Her love and grace and keep it for the rest of eternity, but he doesn't trust himself to be able to sell that particular lie. There's no ignoring the hungry, yawning void that was left behind when he fell, and making peace with it only covers the wound. It won't ever truly heal.
Maybe there's nothing he can say, not without giving in to the instinct to be cruel so that Jaskier will leave him damn well alone. He knows Asteria senses that particular instinct when he feels a paw against his leg, her claws pressing into the fabric of his jeans in a silent warning to not be an asshole to someone just trying to be kind.
"What's done is done." Being created, falling, and now this, none of it was a choice and and none of it can be controlled. "There's no reason to get hung up on it, s'fine, really."
It isn't, but the truth is that he sees no purposes in continuing a discussion about something painful that can't be changed. All it does is reopen the wound.
no subject
Jaskier can see Anthony trying to close himself off. He knows that, if he lets him do so, his friend will do everything he can to make sure this never comes up again. He is suddenly desperate to keep him talking. He has selfishly hoarded every scrap of information, every minor detail, that Anthony has dropped about himself and the idea of losing this thread forever is absolutely unacceptable.
But he can’t push, because that will just cause him to shut down. But he doesn’t have many more tools at hand. He usually pushes and pushes until he gets rejected. He can never tell when the line is crossed— when he it stops helping and starts being too much, going too far. He really doesn’t want to risk that. He can’t afford to.
“Do you know what my first thought was after Jacenty explained things?” Sometimes vulnerability must be returned in kind. Anthony and Asteria have been wrenched open for them to see, the only fair thing is to bare their own wounds.
“'Finally, someone who couldn’t leave me even if he wanted to.'”
He’s familiar with what it means to be used and discarded. He tells himself that it’s a bard’s lot in life, to experience everything but keep nothing, but he knows it was happening long before he started his career. There’s a unique torment in living your life at the mercy of others— especially when you only learn after it’s been rescinded.
"Which is ironic considering that I'm usually the one walking away from others, but that has more to do with a lack of a permanent residence than who rejects who."
Some days it's all Jaskier can do convince himself that Geralt even tolerates him, much less enjoys his company. Other people enjoy him as a novelty, a pretty song and a pretty face-- good for a night's entertainment, but never good enough to ask him to stay.
no subject
She starts purring softly as Jaskier speaks, the kind of low rumble that's intended to comfort rather than express contentment.
Crowley doesn't have any shortcuts for offering comfort, and even if he did, it's possible he wouldn't want to use them anyway. All he can do is listen and frown and grow more than a little furious with the damn Witcher who's either too stupid or too cruel to realize that he's been stringing Jaskier along for decades.
"You don't have to do this, buttercup." It's a bit gentler, now. He doesn't want Jaskier to feel obligated to share some of his own pain just because he's caught Crowley wallowing in his. "We can just leave it. Move on. Plenty of other nonsense to talk about."
He does not, of course, realize that's the opposite of what Jaskier is looking for right now, because he can't imagine wanting to dwell in anything unpleasant like this.
no subject
Jacenty nuzzles closer to Asteria. He enjoys the vibrations of her rumbles. He takes the comfort and projects as much of it to Jaskier he can without making it overwhelming. He hopes the other two are doing the same.
"And how many times have you talked about this in the last, oh, millennia?" Jaskier's pretty sure he knows the answer.
no subject
He equally doesn't feel much like being comforted, so he's both ignoring Asteria and making a half-hearted attempt to shrug off Jaskier's arm. Frustration and annoyance are easier to deal with than whatever awful, hurt thing was loitering in his chest.
"What's there to talk about? I fell, it's done, there's no undoing it." Whether or not he'd want it undone isn't the point, because it's impossible. "Talking about it changes nothing."
So there's no point to that, either. It's all categorically pointless. Exhuming the hurt doesn't serve any purpose except to make the pain worse, and he's dealt with it for long enough that keeping it buried seems so much easier.
no subject
He loosens his grip around Anthony but doesn't let go. If he wants to actually move he can do it himself-- none of this half-hearted squirming.
"If it hurts this much after all this time not talking about it, don't you think it might be worth a shot? Worst case scenario is you just feel miserable about it, and it seems like you're doing a fine job of that already. What's there to lose?"
It's like draining an infected wound. Anthony's been hoping that it will go away on its own, but now it's got all that pus and gross shit built up. There will be no healing until he excises his pain. Leaving it will just allow it to fester. (Jaskier is the biggest hypocrite in the Continent.)
no subject
Crowley opens his mouth, but Asteria hisses at him and his teeth click as his jaw shuts, shoving past his worst impulse despite how easy it would be to end this discussion.
"If I'm feeling miserable about it, that's 'cause you're digging your blasted fingers into the wound." They could have just moved on! Jaskier said something that would've sat heavy in Crowley's chest for a few days before he processed it quietly by himself, and he could've figured out some plausibly deniable way to thank Jaskier, and that would've been that.
This is only serving to make him feel worse.
no subject
"And you two were holed up in your rooms for what reason, exactly?" Jaskier snipes back. He isn't going to let Anthony blame his shitty emotions on him just because he said something he doesn't like.
"Our daemons are currently snuggling under the table. I don't think fingering's the problem, here." Dammit, he didn't even mean to make an innuendo that time.
...Jacenty thinks that Asteria may have the right idea and leaving his human to have this conversation unchecked might've been a bad idea. It's unfortunate-- he's far too comfortable to be bothered to move now.
no subject
"Stop touching me, Julian." He doesn't want to shove him off, he needs Jaskier to move away of his own accord, because he needs to exert a tiny bit of control back over the situation.
He shouldn't be surprised, really, and it's likely for the best, anyway; proof that he was right about not wanting to get into this with someone who apparently can't even take it seriously.
Once the arm is gone from around his shoulders, he rises to his feet, while Asteria jumps up into the space he left behind to shove her head into his hand. She doesn't look at Jaskier, either.
"I've known you for a blink of the eye, in the grand scheme of time. What makes you think you're entitled to any of my story?"
no subject
He's not Julian, hasn't been for years, and has no desire to be. He thought his friend understood the importance of the name he chose for himself. To hear it now sends a chill down his spine. It hurts in a way he wasn't expecting, especially from Anthony's mouth.
"I-" He cuts himself off, because more talking always seems to make things worse. He doesn't know what he did wrong and he doesn't know how to fix it. He raises his arm as Anthony stands and moves away, like he wants to reach out, but doesn't follow through. His hand is just hovering in the air.
Jacenty takes a few steps in Asteria's direction, but doesn't chase her when she jumps to her demon's side. He wasn't expecting her to pull away. He thought-
He just wasn't expecting it.
"I don't..." another failed attempt at a sentence. Why does his tongue always fail him when he needs it most? The bard can't argue with Anthony's point because he's right, what place does he have in any of this? He is mortal-- fleeting and inconsequential. It's bad enough with Geralt and his extended lifespan, but Anthony is a whole different creature.
Jacenty lets out a mournful trill and flies to the tabletop.
Jaskier pulls his raised hand back to his chest and curls in on himself. He looks down at his daemon, then straightens up. The confusion and hurt is gone from his expression, but he's betrayed by how he's keeping his head ducked down and can't bring himself to look directly at the other two for longer than a moment.
"Right." He's trying to keep his voice neutral, but there's a warble of suppressed emotion. "You're right."
Jacenty chirps in protest. It's a pathetically distressed sound. A glance at the daemon tells Jaskier that he is displaying all of the emotion that the man is trying very, very hard to push down right now. He keeps looking back and forth from Crowley and Asteria, back to Jaskier. His wings twitch with anxiety.
They sit there and wait for Anthony to ask them to leave.
no subject
"I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to properly think about it," His voice is carefully measured, most of the anger tucked away because he's too old and tired and hurt to hold onto it when faced with someone he considers a friend. He wants Jaskier to really think about this, not just give the most placating answer he can think of. It's too important. "Was it really about making me feel better?"
It isn't an accusation, because he doesn't think Jaskier is necessarily being malicious, he's just human. That's the problem, of course, about allowing humans to get too close, because even if they aren't cruel, they're curious and self-centered and too bloody persistent for their own good.
no subject
Which doesn't matter, because that's not the question that Anthony's actually asking. He's asking Jaskier if he was doing this for his friend or for himself.
It's an impossible question, because selfishness and selflessness do not only work in opposition to the other. They're inosculated-- grown into each other to the point of being indistinguishable.
He wants to know Anthony. He wants Anthony to feel better. He wants to be liked by Anthony. He doesn't want Anthony to hurt. He wants Anthony to trust him. He wants Anthony to stay. He doesn't want Anthony to leave.
"That's not a fair question," Jacenty protests. "It's not that simple."
Jaskier shushes him, because even if it's the truth it's unlikely to help. He leans back in his chair.
It takes a few moments, but he slips back on the mask of Jaskier-the-Bard. He needs that safety, that distance, if he's going to get through the rest of this. Jaskier-the-Bard is ignorant to insults to his person. Jaskier-the-Bard gets distracted by every pretty face he meets, but never gets tied down. He's mirrored glass-- a blank slate for others to project onto, whether that's love, hate, pleasure, or pain.
He's a fool, and Jaskier-the-man feels very foolish.
"I'm not trying to use your pain for material, if that's what you're asking."
no subject
"It's part of what I'm asking." If he's asking for honesty, he ought to give it in return, and he won't pretend that the thought didn't cross his mind. It's what Asteria was stopping him from saying, it's what inspired the paranoia that the innuendo only seemed to confirm.
But he appreciates that Jaskier doesn't try to deny any selfishness.
"When I was an angel, I asked too many questions. I didn't understand why the Earth was destined to end, why some angels were more important than others, why God was drawing further away from us. Lucifer, the Morningstar, seemed to have the same sort of questions that I did. He was asking out of jealousy and hatred, of course, but I was naive, stupid, foolish, whatever you'd like to call it, and when the war came, the Morningstar handed me a weapon, so I fought." Asteria looks as miserable as a cat can look, her head tucked into Crowley's side, despite the fact he can keep his expression and voice blank. He does have to pause, though, summoning and lighting a cigarette in one motion, to give him something to do with his hands, an excuse to breath in and out. "Don't remember much of it, if I'm being honest. But I remember Michael's voice announcing God's decree. I remember falling. I remember landing in what would become Hell. I remember God's love and God's grace burning out of me in the pit of sulfur until the only thing left was instinct and pain."
That could be the end of it, and he nearly leaves it there, but it feels — incomplete, ending the story in the worst part.
"Turns out if you toss a bunch of angry, hurt and terrified fresh demons into a pit together, they'll take it out in each other. Never was much of a fighter, so I learned to be clever, and how to make friends in the right places. When God set the first humans on Earth, Lucifer already liked me well enough to send me up there to make trouble. The rest is history.“
That's a better ending point, and he takes a slow drag of the cigarette, blowing out smoke after a moment. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
no subject
Jaskier doesn't bother answering the question. Anthony feels exposed and raw and is doing what he can to feel in control.
He pities the demon in front of him. It likely shows on his face, but it's not from a place of condescension. It's true sorrow for the irremediable pain his friend went through. There's a deluge of thoughts pouring through his head, most of which he can't express without the risk of further agitating Anthony and Asteria.
Jaskier knows what its like to be used and discarded-- he's made a career of it. He's traveled for long periods of time without escort and has not come out unscathed. The scale of his struggles may be smaller but he suspects that, for all of the demon's claims to be an Other, the root emotions are the same. Anthony acts so damn human, sometimes.
There's nothing the man or daemon can say to make this better. They can only feel honored at the display of trust, because Anthony and Asteria could easily have just left the room. For all their protests, they chose to share and Jaskier isn't going to diminish that.
While Jaskier is still trying to figure out the safest sentiment to express, Jacenty speaks.
"I don't think I like your 'God' very much." Jaskier winces at the admission but can't disagree. She seems cruel, especially if She's as omniscient as the stories claim. There's no excuse for throwing Anthony in with the likes of the Morningstar.
no subject
"You should hear what She did to Her son." That one will always stick in his throat, how much Yeshua loved God and people and life and how he suffered for a mistake that God practically forced humans to make. Crowley never had the heart to ask Aziraphale what became of him. It's hard to picture Yeshua amongst the arch angels; Crowley always hoped he was allowed into the human part of Heaven, to tend to his flock.
"Imagine someone took your music away. Couldn't hear it, couldn't make it, couldn't even see the notes on a page." This seems the best way to make someone like Jaskier understand how painful it was to lose his grace. It wasn't some nebulous concept, it made up the entirety of his being, and it was all he'd ever known until suddenly it was gone. "That's what falling is like."
no subject
"People have tried. They never had the... resources at their disposal to fully succeed."
Jacenty has been bobbing up and down the whole time Anthony spoke, almost bouncing in place. His wings twitch and his talons scrape against the wooden surface. Jaskier can tell that he's holding himself back from flying to Asteria's side. He is a little feathered ball of anxiety and Jaskier observes his daemon with concern. He hasn't put himself in arms reach, so he's unsure of what he can do to sooth his soul.
"Can Jacenty sit with Lady Asteria?" he asks quietly. They will respect if the answer is no, but it's difficult to watch the poor creature work himself up like this.
As he waits for an answer he can only look at Anthony in wonder because he's here. He survived all that terrible shit and clawed his way out of Hell, literally, and somehow fashioned himself into this absolutely remarkable person. All that pain and heartache, and he still manages to be unfailingly goodhearted.
His finger twitch with the need to play. Not to make a song of his friend's story, but to have someplace to channel all of the things he's feeling. (He may end up penning some lines anyway. Over the years, his creative process has become completely intertwined with the way he processes emotions. The song might need to be written but it would be unlikely to ever see the light of day.)
no subject
Rather than answer the question immediately, he looks down at Asteria, letting her decide what it is that she might want. After a few moments of deliberation, she butts her head against Crowley's hand and stretches out, front paws reaching towards Jacenty. Crowley can still touch her, his hand resting low on her spine, but so can Jacenty.
Crowley doesn't move, but some of the stiffness in his posture eases. "M'sorry I called you Julian. That wasn't fair." It was meant to hurt and drive him away, and it almost worked.
no subject
The apology is-- well, he won't say it isn't necessary, but it's still surprising.
"Thank you," he feels a little breathless. He can't remember the last time someone lashed out at him and apologized for it. He feels like he should apologize too, but he wouldn't know what he's apologizing for. Doing it out of obligation feels worse than not doing it at all.
"We don't know what we did that upset you," Jacenty says. "So we don't know what not to do again."
Jaskier inhales sharply. That's not a confession he would have made, but he can't unsay it. Maybe Anthony will be willing to answer. Maybe he won't think they should be able to figure it out themselves.
no subject
The question that isn't a question is slightly easier to deal with, although part of it isn't, because he couldn't speak to what exactly got his emotions up in the first place. He doesn't think that's necessarily what Jaskier is asking, though, and he can answer what caused the shift from it being a discussion to a fight.
"You made it about sex." There's more he could say by way of explanation, but he thinks (hopes) Jaskier is smart enough to understand that it isn't about a lewd innuendo in and of itself. It was a confirmation of what he'd been worried about in the first place, putting his trust in the wrong place.
That's why he used Julian, too. To make a point how easily secrets can be twisted into knives.
cw: child abuse, physical abuse, corporal punishment
"It wasn't intentional. I'm sorry." It feels better to apologize with purpose. He didn't mean to make it about sex, he didn't mean to make Anthony uncomfortable, but he did and that's what's important right now.
There's something he- He doesn't want to say it, exactly, but he does want Anthony to know. He could let Jacenty speak for him, but he think his daemon is exactly where he needs to be, doing exactly what he needs to do.
"My mother would say I was a difficult child," he starts slowly. "Shocking, I know." He tries to give a smile that he doesn't feel at the half-hearted joke. He's not sure if it translates.
"There was something wrong with me," he says this like it's a fact. To him, it is. "I was loud, disruptive, obnoxious, sensitive-- you get the idea. I was ill-behaved, especially for the firstborn son. My mother had the staff and three other children to worry about and I was too much for her to handle. So my parents sent me away to be properly educated."
It's not a unique story, it's the story of every boy who ended up in that wretched place. Jaskier was just more trouble than most of the others.
"I don't know if my they knew what it was like there. If it was supposed to be the point to- to get me to behave the way I should. The teachers didn't like any of their students, but I was, um, I was a distraction in class. I asked too many questions and wouldn't sit still."
Jaskier doesn't notice, but his fingers are tapping an anxious rhythm onto the tabletop.
"And the other boys- the teachers would believe them if they blamed me for things. I don't hold it against them, there were times I did the same to avoid-"
Jacenty hides his head in Asteria's pelt. Jaskier forces himself to say it.
"To avoid the cane."
He thought he was going to die from it, a few times. He isn't sure if that was true, but it's what it felt like. He has three long and warped scars striping his otherwise unmarred back to show for it. One wrapping around his side. They're light-- old. Difficult to notice if you don't know what you're looking for.
It takes him a moment to compose himself.
"By the time I came home, I was everything they wanted me to be. The perfect eldest son to show off at parties. And when I wasn't, Father was more than happy to remind me to keep in line." There's venom in his voice as he says it.
"It wasn't until a year or so later that I woke up, I suppose you could call it. I was in a music lesson, just like I had every week, but something just... clicked. For those hours, I was alive. The same thing happened the next week, then the next. One random day I saw my practice lute sitting in the corner of the room and picked it up and-- it's like the world came back into color."
In reality, the transition from that dull, lifeless boy to lively youth wasn't as smooth as that, but he thinks Anthony will forgive him for some minor little artistic liberties.
"I was older, so sending me back to the temple school wasn't an option. I think that's why my they let me go to the university when I expressed interest. They hoped I would either fall back in line or get it out of my system.
"Two summers later, when I went home on holiday, I told them I was studying the bardic arts. My father threw my lute into the fire. I started going by Jaskier after that. When I graduated I sent them a letter to say that I was going to travel and Father cut me off entirely. My mother-- I think she expects me to come back. Eighteen years, and she still thinks I'm having a fit of teenage rebellion."
He looks down at his hands and stills them. The drumming is too loud, he's making too much noise-
Jacenty sends him a wave of softwarmpeace. Jaskier reminds himself to breathe.
"It's not the same, I know. It's not anywhere close to the same." Nothing close to what Anthony went through, but-
He hasn't told anyone all of this. Not ever. Geralt has gotten little bits over the years, probably enough to piece things together if he bothered to try, and Essie and Priscilla were there at Oxenfurt when some of it was happening. But laying it out like this isn't something he's done before. For all most people know, Jaskier popped into the Continent fully formed at the age of eighteen.
Anthony is right-- it hurts. But there's a small comfort in the simple knowledge that someone else knows. Even if Anthony and Asteria walk away and never speak to them again, Jaskier and Jacenty will be known. He's not sure if it would be worth that price, but it would be worth something.
no subject
The apology is appreciated, though, and while the story isn't — necessary, he shuts the hell up to listen, understanding that this is important to Jaskier and being willing to accept that. At the mention of the cane, he sneers in his obvious distaste, while Asteria moves to curl her paws around Jacenty, tucking him against her fur and nuzzling in beside him, effectively wrapping him up, hiding him away.
Crowley makes the decision to sit down, further away on the bench than before, but looming over Jaskier feels like an unpleasant thing to do while listening to this story. He's still agitated, still has an unpleasant twist of emotions in his chest, but he doesn't want to seem like a threat while something so vulnerable is being shared. He's not entirely sure how to actually offer comfort, but he can at least avoid causing more distress.
It isn't an uncommon story, he's heard thousands of variations over the millennia, some better, some worse, all of them awful in their own way.
"There's nothing wrong with you, Jaskier." That is something he can be certain of, even if he has no idea how to actually navigate the rest of this situation. His knowledge of the world is somewhat haphazard, but raising Warlock meant keeping relatively up to date with current practices around children's development and he's fairly sure if Jaskier can be raised on Earth, in current times, they'd have slapped a diagnosis on him and given him some meds to help.
He doesn't know if saying any of that would actually be helpful, though. He has no idea what else to say that might actually be helpful, either, and he's far too aware that the continued silence might be taken the wrong way, so he steels himself for the one thing he can offer. "Do you... want a hug?"
no subject
Jaskier tilts his head at Anthony's declaration. He isn't conceding the point, but he won't argue either. It's not worth getting into, they've both done enough baring of the soul for the day. Possibly for the whole season, or the year.
Anthony sounds so damn awkward with his offer that Jaskier is startled into a laugh. "Do you want to give me a hug?"
It's half teasing and half genuine. He has no interest in encroaching any further upon Anthony's boundaries, but if it is a real offer his friend needs to work on his delivery. Maybe sound more enthusiastic and less like he's pulling teeth.
no subject
"I'm not in the habit of making offers I wouldn't keep." If he were normal, he could say that he's fine with giving Jaskier a hug, that it might not be something he personally seeks out but he understands the importance of physical comfort and isn't entirely opposed to supplying it when necessary. Unfortunately, he isn't even a little bit normal.
But he will stand up again and flick his cigarette into the ether, freeing up his hands. "C'mere."
no subject
"Always with the displays affection," he jokes, because humor and deflection are perhaps his favorite coping mechanisms.
He is careful about the hug, knowing that Anthony isn't the most touch-y sort, but he absolutely basks in the contact-- barely holds himself back from melting into it. It's a gift and he will treasure it as such.
"I would tell you that I care for you deeply, if you weren't such a miserable bastard who can't stand to hear remotely nice things."
no subject
But Jaskier's here, and Crowley thinks that this is likely more of a comfort to the man than any kind words he could string together, so he manages a proper hug, shoving aside any awkwardness for at least a few moments.
"I am a miserable bastard, thanks for noticing." If Jaskier happens to get a little squeeze around his shoulders along with the words, that's between him and God.
(no subject)
(no subject)