[action] A glorious return

[faterecanted]

[It's probably a peaceful enough day, as Luceti goes. Maybe people are out looking through the shops. Maybe they're strolling through the plaza. Maybe they're sitting on the edge of the fountain, reading a book or having a snack.

Maybe there's a 6'2", 180 lb man in new feather pants being dropped into the fountain from a height of, oh, about 3.14 feet.

Wait, what?

Van is falling. That doesn't surprise him, it's exactly what he should be doing; except then he blinks, or thinks he does, and instead of purple and glow, there is blue sky. He has the barest of moments to register confusion over this development, and then he hits the water ass first. Shortly followed by the bottom of the fountain which, for the record, is hard. He's not feeling any better about the day he's had so far, either, now that it also includes being doused and viciously spanked by an inanimate object.

He may need a few moments to sort out what just happened to him.

Handily, that's about how long it takes for his regular clothes and journal to follow after, and land in the general vicinity of on his head and also his ruined pride. In case he needed a reminder that his boots are really heavy.]

What? [What else can a man possibly say in a situation like this?]


[Somewhat later, after he has recovered from his terrible butthurt, better remembered where this even is, and maybe picked up a change of clothes that isn't soggy, he will squelch over to his house. Oh, house 47, he barely knew you. He hopes it's still his house, because if it isn't someone's getting a terrible surprise when he barges on in through the front door and leaves puddles all the way to the laundry and shower.]

Comments

[faterecanted]

[The cheagle's glower doesn't have much effect on Van. Perhaps he'd pay it more mind if he didn't have other things occupying his thoughts, worth mentioning or not.]

I need a change of clothes, but you've created a mess to clean up first.

[...Well. Perhaps they are worth mentioning, however obliquely.

The last of the teacup gathered, Van stands. The shards clink together in his hand, and the wet leather of his boots creaks slightly as it flexes. Now his knees are stained with tea, not that Asch can see it, wicking increasingly outward through the damp fabric. He should toss a rag on that puddle, at least, even if he leaves the others for later...]

And how long would you wait; until I noticed? Not hiding something doesn't mean admitting it. [His voice, though he's still projecting it clearly, grows more distant while he goes into the kitchen to dispose of the broken cup, and louder again, when he returns with a tea towel to drop on the spill.

If he spends enough time needling Asch about the small things, maybe he can put off the real question for days.]

[dissonates]

[Asch lifts the cheagle and sets him on his shoulder, finally standing up from the couch and edging his way around the coffee table, heading for the kitchen. Now he has to make more tea.]

Why is this such an problem for you? One way or another you would have found out.

[What he isn't saying is the concern dwelling in the back of his mind- the concern that Van will eventually find out how he died. And depending on just how bitter he's feeling about what happened in Auldrant, that could have disastrous results.]

[faterecanted]

Why did it upset you when I neglected to mention things?

[Because it's a matter of trust. He may have found out one way or another, but only one way involved Asch choosing to give him the information. And that Asch didn't... he thought they were beyond that, here; though clearly they never were on Auldrant... and never can be, now. Perhaps this would have been easier, if they were.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...]

[dissonates]

Because you hid them for years. You were barely here for thirty seconds. You expect me to greet you by going, "hello, welcome back, by the way, I'm blind?" I'm not obligated to tell you everything that happens to me.

[His irritation is swiftly becoming anger. What right does Van have to feel so damned entitled?]