There's a nasty habit Ja'far has picked up since leaving Al-Sarmen: dreaming.
Can they really be called dreams when the images behind his eyelids are like this, though? They're sharp, vivid memories, more than anything. He doesn't need to fabricate anything to create nightmares; these are things that have happened, far more bump-in-the-night than any monster or displaced dread in the pit of his stomach.
That's because you're a monster, you're the thing that Sinbad dreads coming to the shores of his newly born country.
No matter how Ja'far wishes that voice would go away, it's still right, 99% of the time.
He wakes with a start, drenched in a cold sweat as he sits upright, fingers curling into the sheets. Amazing that he managed to drift off at all-sleep is a luxury these days, and something he'd rather not allow himself if it means nightmare after nightmare. He'd rather work, throw himself headlong into making sure Sindria's parliament runs as smooth as silk, and while that would be easier with a bit of sleep underneath his belt… does he even need it? Ah, maybe he truly is a monster still, and one of these days when he dies, he'll turn into one of those little dolls that Sinbad needs to crush beneath his boot…
Ja'far wipes a hand over his face and back through his bangs, collapsing backward and letting his hair spread back over the pillow, loose and sweat-soaked as his chest slowly heaves. This is also why he hardly enjoys the invitation to sleep in Sinbad's bed at night. His only solace is that the man is a heavy sleeper, and maybe, maybe he won't notice Ja'far thrashing about (he rarely does, after all).
A strong arm reaches out, snaking around Ja'far's abdomen and yanking him back hard against a firm chest. Dark hair, black in this light, spills down over Ja'far's shoulder, though Sinbad doesn't open his eyes. "This is what happens when you get cold," he murmurs, tucking his face into the crook of Ja'far's shoulder. "You wriggle away and then you start dreaming again. Lay still, I'll fight your monsters."
"Sin-" So much for not noticing. Ja'far huffs out a hot, still-ragged breath into the crook of the man's shoulder, face pressed there no matter how he contemplates squirming away. "I wasn't cold," he mutters, eyes lidding before they shut again, reluctantly admitting to himself that Sinbad is warm and that's nice, and sort of soothing. "I'm sweaty and disgusting now, let me go."
"No. You can wash in the morning, I'm used to being sticky from the heat." Sinbad lazily wraps a long leg around Ja'far's hips, added pressure to keep him close. "Come now, you need more sleep if you're going to terrorize parliament again tomorrow."
"I'm going to terrorize them anyway, sleep or no," is Ja'far's low, cross grumble, complete with a last, half-hearted wriggle to escape. It does him little good and he sighs, sagging forward tiredly. "Can't sleep now," he mutters, eyes lidding. "I don't want to."
Sinbad sighs out a breath through his nose, ruffling Ja'far's soft hairs. "You want to get up and do an inspection? Go for a starlight run?" His mouth splits into a grin, and he rolls over, pinning Ja'far down to whisper in his ear, "Leave all of this behind, take the Masrur and see where fate and the ocean send us?"
Ja'far groans up at him, giving a lazy shove at Sinbad's chest that does little to move the man anywhere. "Those are hardly the words of a responsible king," he chides, even as his arms sling over Sinbad's shoulders and his hands tangle up into his hair. "Your country is still terribly young, we can't just take off like we used to because you feel the desire to be nearly shipwrecked again."
Sinbad rolls his eyes, growling deep in his throat. "That's not very deferential of a King's advisor." He lays down hard, letting Ja'far feel every bit of his weight, the midnight stubble of his jaw rasping against pale, smooth skin. "It might be a good test. See if she can stand on her own for a while, I won't get too shipwrecked."
"Countries don't just stand on their own." Ja'far sags back with a slow, long huff of breath, the shiver that rakes down his spine this time less the result of a cold sweat and far more the product of Sinbad nuzzling against his skin. "Who do you expect to be king in your absence?" he murmurs, trailing his fingertips down the man's spine. "Someone has to be."
Sinbad groans, leaning down to nip at Ja'far's neck, sharply marking him for everyone to see in the morning. "Always so logical. What if I just asked the citizens politely to govern themselves while I was away?"
"You wouldn't come back to a country." Ja'far's nails flex in as his head rolls back, sucking in another, sharp breath before he arches his back in a shove upward. "Roll over. You're heavy."
Sinbad rolls unprotestingly onto his back, letting his hands slide down from Ja'far's back to his hips, squeezing gently. "You really do have a lot of energy tonight. Maybe you don't want to go for a sail….how about a ride?"
Ja'far snorts, shoving the messy fall of his own hair back from his face as he pushes himself partially upright, perched neatly over Sinbad's hips. "That phrasing. You think yourself very clever for coming up with that, don't you?"
"I always think myself clever," Sinbad says cheekily, relaxing back onto a pillow. "You seem to think yourself appointed to come along and tell me how very wrong I am."
"Think? Try again. I know." Ja'far's head tilts, considering, and he stretches up, grabbing for a familiar bottle of oil. There is something to be said about the luxuries of living within a palace once again-perhaps he's gone soft, but there's no denying how used to it he'd become over the years after being loaned to the Kou Empire. "Spread your legs."
The slow raise of an eyebrow is all the protest (question, really) Sinbad makes. "Ah," he says softly, letting his thighs fall open, reaching a hand to tug on Ja'far's hair, yanking him down for a kiss. "So that's how it is tonight."
Ja'far exhales a hot breath against the other man's lips, teeth lightly catching against his lower lip to tug. "If it still doesn't take the edge off," he breathes, his palm slick and dripping as it drags over his cock, "then maybe I'll 'go for a ride', too." His knees settle better between Sinbad's spread thighs, hands splaying over his hips to grab and pull him up, and Ja'far hisses out a breath just at the initial press of his cock against that tight hole. Normally, they'd make a game of this, taunting and grabbing and pawing at one another so much more-but he's strung far too tight, tense to the point of aching when he mouths a hot kiss over Sinbad's throat, and that first, slick slide inside is enough to make his breath catch raggedly, his fingers digging in hard to Sinbad's hips as he shoves in deep and stuffs him full.
Ja'far is never like this.
So Ja'far, Sinbad reasons, must need this tonight.
That's fine, and he's had rougher (at some point, years and years ago before he and Drakon had learned better), though all the breath leaves him startlingly fast at the first hard press inside. He doesn't intend the way his fingers clutch at Ja'far's hair, dragging, scrabbling down his slender back, head tipping back as he groans long and low. "Go on," he urges, low and breathy. He can't deny it feels good, in an odd, unready, burning way, something moving in him.
"Sorry," is the breathless groan against Sinbad's neck as Ja'far's lips part to bite, sucking long and hard along the bob of his Adam's apple as he makes a sloppy grab for the bottle of oil again. He draws back, the head of his cock still spreading Sinbad wide when he tips the bottle to spread more oil over his cock, and the next slide is even slicker than the last, the wet slap of his hips shoving in deep obscene to his ears and making him shudder. "Just-need to-" Fuck something, bite something, claw into something, anything. Sinbad is such a solid, hot weight underneath him, and so he can't help but do all of those things. Ja'far's hands slide down to grab at strong thighs and spread them wider as his hips shove in deep, his teeth sink into Sinbad's shoulder anew, and he's sure he's leaving bruises from how his fingers dig in, strong no matter how pretty Sinbad insists on telling him his hands are.
With that extra slick slide, everything is better, and most of the tension leaves Sinbad in a long, deep exhale. Everything about this is unbelievably lewd, from the thick heavy cock shoving into him to Ja'far's lips to the way his hair is spread out across the pillow, legs being spread like a-
Well, he'd say like a harlot, but doubts he's ever met a harlot whose hamstrings burn quite this much.
He'll complain later, though it's vaguely amusing in a disjointed, floaty way that doesn't approach the pleasure, that he can take Ja'far's fucking and biting just fine-it's the stretch of his legs that hurts.
"Go on," he rasps again, back arching, and that makes Ja'far hit that something special in him, something he hasn't felt in years. "Ahh-go on, hard as you like-"
"I'd make a comment-about how you aren't allowed to call me a whore when you make noises like that, but-" Ja'far shifts, sliding his knees up closer as he grabs at Sinbad's legs, hauling them up and both over one lean shoulder with some effort. "I've never met a whore that was so… inflexible," he teases, leaning close to snap his teeth over a nipple as his hips grind forward, forgoing hard in lieu of being able to slide in as deep as he can, liking far too much the way that Sinbad writhes on his cock, arching his back like the whore Ja'far wants to accuse him of being.
Sinbad's next noise is a strangled, helpless thing, a hard shudder starting at the base of his spine and shooting out in every direction, and his hands fall to the bed, clutching tight at the sheets. His world whites out, gone starbursts and awesome colors, every bit of him that's left devoted to trying to ride this wave, to ride the feeling of Ja'far buried root-deep inside of him, and he spares no thought for those snapping teases.
He's just too far gone.
"Just a little more," he grunts, shifting down, eyes rolling back into his head at every little press. "Just-almost-"
Like this, with Sinbad bent as double as Ja'far can make him be and shuddering, groaning like he loves it, there's no chance to do anything but obey.
Ja'far turns his head, mouthing a sloppy kiss to the inside of one thigh as he rolls his hips forward, sliding in deep and harder still, shoving Sinbad down into the mattress as he drops a hand down into the bed for leverage. Every arch, every writhe of the man beneath him makes him fuck in harder, hissing out sharp breath between his teeth, his eyes lidded and dark as Ja'far thinks less about how much Sinbad is enjoying this and more about how good it feels to him, tight and slick and the way Sinbad shivers around him, so eager to be used-
Ja'far grits his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he shoves in as deep as he can, a hand scrabbling at one hip to drag Sinbad in close as he comes, gasping out a ragged breath as he spills hot and slick inside.
Sinbad has never once in his eventful life felt so thoroughly used.
He can see it in Ja'far's face, see that echo of his thoughts, see that to Ja'far right now he's a hole, something tight and squeezing and shivering, and the obscene feeling of something wet and hot pulsing deep inside him is unbelievably different.
He tries to tell himself it isn't something he likes, but the way his body clenches and trembles, back arched into a tight bow as he comes hard all over his belly and folded-back thighs, tells a far different story.
Slowly, trying to stop shivering, Sinbad gasps out, "Can you….get off….ah, my legs don't bend that way."
"Sure they do," Ja'far groans, but he slowly, carefully pulls out all the same, rolling to the side with some effort. He flops down onto his back, raking sweaty hair back from his face. "That's why I can best you in a spar most of the time, you know. You should work on your flexibility."
It stings. Sinbad had forgotten about that, and the slick, loose, wet feeling after. He tries not to wince. During the sex it's fine, but after….
"I work on it just fine. I hire flexible people. Like I hire tall people instead of trying to grow a few feet."
"… I don't think that's how it works," Ja'far dryly retorts, and he reaches blindly toward the beside table, scrabbling around a bit before coming back with his pipe. Lighting it, he takes a long, heavy drag, shutting his eyes as he exhales smoke and half-heartedly dangles it in front of Sinbad's face. "Here. I'm sharing. Stop looking so scandalized about being bent in two."
"You're kind of cruel after I let you do that," Sinbad complains, hauling himself up to a seated position, trying unsuccessfully not to think about how he'll leave a wet spot on the sheets. He snatches the pipe, breathing in deep, and closes his eyes before handing it back. "Feeling any better?"
"Let me? You were sort of begging for it," Ja'far shoots back, eyebrows lifting. He draws in another, slow breath of smoke. "… I'm feeling a bit better. Thank you." Perhaps not so tense, but his mind never quite shuts up. Sinbad doesn't need to hear about all of that, though.
"Let you," Sinbad says firmly. "Everything we do is because we both want to. Don't let yourself forget that, I know you have before." He stretches out, grimacing as something drips.
"Keep making faces like that and I'm not going to put you through such torment again," Ja'far mutters, setting his pipe aside with an annoyed sigh. "I'll go heat up a bath."
Sinbad reaches out, catching Ja'far's wrist. "Wait. I didn't mean it like that." How to explain it, without sounding as if he's asking for Ja'far to do that to him again? And then Ja'far would just smirk, and call him a whore, and….
He lets go. "I don't mind. Just don't get annoyed if I'm sore after you bend me in half."
"I'm not annoyed." Did he sound annoyed? Ugh. He's not very good at not sounding annoyed these days, apparently. Heaving a sigh, Ja'far sags back, leaning back onto his elbows. "Forgive me. I'm terrible company these days, I know."
Sinbad raises an eyebrow. "I won't argue with you there," he says carefully. "You could tell me what's eating you, instead of sniping or snapping. Three more members of parliament threatened to quit today."
"So let them quit. I can do their jobs better myself, anyway," he mutters, flopping back down entirely and rolling onto his side, offering Sinbad his back.
Instead of immediately spooning up behind Ja'far, Sinbad brings his hands up, rubbing slow soothing circles into the other man's neck and shoulders. "Forget that, I just told them to do their jobs as long as no one's dying or bleeding and parliament's working. And you are dodging my question."
"I didn't hear a question, only suggestions." Ja'far's eyes lid before sliding shut entirely again, his head lolling forward as still-tense muscles twitch and shiver underneath Sinbad's touch.
Sinbad rolls his eyes, knowing full well of Ja'far's tendency to hear such things, or so he'd have everyone believe. He digs his thumb in a slow grind into one knot, and says, "Fine. What's on your mind, when you wake up sweating and anxious?"
Ja'far grits his teeth, swallowing down a groan when that particular muscle puts up a fight before slowly dissolving underneath Sinbad's touch. "… I've told you before. I'm just not used to having nightmares."
"But you haven't told me what they're about." Sinbad soothes out one twinging muscle with a few broad swipes of his thumb, then turns to another, even larger knot. "I can tell you one of mine, if you want."
Because if you knew, you'd put me out of my misery yourself. "You don't… ah… have to do that." Ja'far twists, turning his head to press it down into a pillow. "They're just memories replaying. It's nothing I can't handle."
Sinbad goes quiet for a moment, stroking long and slow on a tangled muscle, feeling it smooth out. "I dream about the dead, always," he says softly. "Those I've killed, and those who've died for me. Those gone to paradise, and to torment, and they all grab a piece of me and dig their nails in, pulling in all directions until they rip the flesh from my bones."
Funny, how that makes his own dreams feel oddly selfish.
Ja'far says nothing about it-what can he possibly say, when he's responsible for a number of those deaths with one starkly coming to mind?-and simply rolls away, grabbing for a discarded robe. "I've a few remedies that will make it so you don't dream. They don't work on me anymore, but they would probably do you a few favors."
"No, thanks." Sinbad folds his hands behind his head, eyes tracking Ja'far as he moves. "I deserve them. Had them since I killed my first man, actually, though then he was just dragging me to hell."
He hesitates, then ploughs ahead anyway. "Tell me. It's an order."
Ja'far's teeth set on edge immediately, and he shoots Sinbad a cold look over his shoulder. "Don't."
Sinbad mutters something about not sure what the point of being king is then, but doesn't push the subject further "At least come back to bed. Let me keep them away for a few more hours."
Said as if you ever keep them away in the first place. Ja'far bites back the words-unnecessarily cruel, even he can see that, when it isn't Sinbad's fault, not in the least. "I was going to get an early start on my work. There's no way I can get back to sleep now, I'll just end up keeping you awake."
Sinbad rolls out of bed, feeling the temperature in the room drop a dozen degrees. "Already awake," he mutters, grabbing his own robe. Judal should be around, if he's not still tormenting that poor magician he'd been so keen to play with, and ice magic or no, he's always the most active cuddler.
He's very, very good at making things worse, isn't he? The eternal paradox of what to say and what comes to mind and what he shouldn't say-it makes his head hurt, and Ja'far finds himself biting his tongue again, knowing whatever first comes to mind isn't the right thing, anyway. "… Then I will see you later." For not the first time, Ja'far finds himself fairly certain it should have been his throat that was slit in the middle of the ocean a pair of years ago.
Why the hell Sindria has to be an island nation, Kouen has no idea. Probably just to make his life that much more difficult, and at this point, he almost gets a grim sort of satisfaction from the illness on the little raft he lashes together with bleeding fingers, hands shaking from lack of food, hair falling ragged into his face. He paddles with his hands, eyes fixed on the moonlit island kingdom, though it's day and night again by the time he battles currents and waves to make it to the shore.
There's a faint thought in his mind to wait until the morning, publicly demand sanctuary, and get what is rightfully his by force.
That won't do. Look where that's gotten them.
Instead he finds a rock-more difficult than he'd anticipated on the clean streets of Sindria-and sags down to the street, trying not to simply collapse. Gritting his teeth, he drags himself upright again, and uses a bloody thumb to scrawl Ja'far's name in Kou characters, all he has space for on the small rock.
The palace isn't hard to find, though it's high up, and by the time he gets up there, Kouen swears he's bleeding from the eyes a bit. It doesn't stop him, though. Mustering the last of his strength, he hurls the rock, making it in some third-story window, hoping it finds someone, hoping it doesn't kill anyone, and sags down to the ground in a pile of battered limbs and ratty cloth, unconscious.
As luck would have it, that third-story window just so happens to be an archive, and one that Ja'far toils away in even in the middle of the night.
The rock doesn't exactly miss a target-it lands into a pile of scrolls Ja'far is busy sorting out, and subsequently, knocks the bulk of them onto the floor. Ja'far finds himself staring at the mess for a moment before stooping down to pick them all up, eyeballing the window and only then glancing down again to see the rock in question.
Kids first comes to mind, irritably at that, or maybe even Sinbad attempting to be cute, but turning the rock over in his hand, seeing that bloody scrawl of his name in foreign lettering-
The rock is abruptly tossed aside, and he dives towards the window, blades in hand. There's no one there, not in his immediate line of sight, not until he peers out and down and sees.
"Shit," is the low, muttered curse out of his mouth, and Ja'far bites his lip, torn between summoning a damned fleet to take care of this… or simply relying on discretion.
The latter will probably get him further.
It's only a matter of minutes before he makes his way out of the window and down the side of the walls, landing lightly on his feet next to Kouen's body. It is Kouen-he can tell that much just from the man's magoi, a skill that thankfully hasn't been lessened courtesy of disuse, and gingerly, Ja'far presses a pair of fingers to the man's neck to check his pulse. Still alive, somehow. "You're heavy, don't make me carry you," Ja'far murmurs, even as he kneels down, hefting the much larger man's form over his shoulder with a grunt of effort.
His own bed is a good as place as any to deal with this. Waking Sinbad about it all in the morning, once Kouen is cleaned up and hopefully still living, is a far better choice than submitting him to confusion in the middle of the night. So much for getting any work done.
Kouen wakes up as soon as he hits the bed, a startling softness when there's been nothing like that in weeks. Every part of him tenses, eyes wide and startled when he looks up, seeing Ja'far, and takes in a slow, labored breath. "You found me." His voice sounds like rock dragging against rock, harsh and ragged.
"Well," Ja'far says pointedly from where he perches on the edge of the bed, "you threw a rock onto my scrolls." Wringing out a cloth, he carefully wipes it along the other man's face, cleaning away a great deal of the dirt caked there. "Can you sit up a bit? I have fresh water, and you look extremely dehydrated."
Kouen's laugh is a harsh, mirthless bark. "The gods are on my side," he says bitterly, without a hint of conviction. He sits, though it's a struggle, and he shoves himself up on his hands. "Water, please."
Wordlessly, Ja'far reaches for the pitcher, pouring a cup and easing it to Kouen's lips, entirely unsure if he's capable of holding the thing himself. "What happened?"
The first sip makes Kouen realize just how much water he lacks, and he sips, gulping urgently, fumbling with swollen, battered hands to finish the glass before collapsing back onto the bed, panting. "Coup," he says, finally, chest heaving. "They're all gone."
Ja'far's eyes narrow at that, and he pours another cupful, sliding a hand around the back of Kouen's head to help ease it back up and help him drink again-slower, this time. "Who is gone?" he lowly asks. "And who staged it? Drink slowly, En, you're going to choke yourself."
"Her." Kouen chokes down a few more sips, then turns his face away. The heat of the rage burns away everything else he feels, up to and including thirst. "Gyokuen. She brought them in, killed father, Yuu, Ren, Ria, Ze….Ei…." Everything burns, and he can't see for a moment with the unshed tears making his eyes bright.
I told you to get rid of her. I told you she was working with them. Why didn't you get rid of her first?
If there is one thing Ja'far has learned outside of Al-Sarmen's hold, scolding others about their mistakes in the face of death never goes over well-especially regarding the death of family or loved ones. He pulls away, setting the cup down and easing Kouen's head back down onto the pillow. "And your brothers?" he quietly asks.
"Turned." The word is the most bitter, and Kouen spits it out. "They were at her side. She's put Ryuu on the throne, made him her puppet, and Ha and Mei are serving him."
That hardly sounds like Koumei, and least of all the youngest. Ja'far's eyebrows raise, and he reaches for the washcloth again, dunking it into the water once more. "More likely, Koumei is attempting some self-preservation and telling Kouha to shut his mouth so he doesn't get himself killed." He grasps Kouen's chin firmly, tilting his head back and scrubbing away another good portion of dirt and grime. "If you traveled all this way and in this state to Sindria, then you obviously think there is something there worth saving still, so use some common sense."
Kouen reaches up, catching Ja'far's eyes and squeezing his wrist. "I'm going," he says slowly, clearly, "to take my country back. And whoever stands in my way….I don't care who it is. They'll pay."
That sounds more like Kouen, thankfully. Ja'far sucks in a slow breath, twisting his wrist within Kouen's hold to free it and briefly brush his thumb over the back of his hand. "Right now," he quietly replies, "you need to rest. Let me clean you up, and you can speak to Sinbad first thing in the morning after you've slept. I'm assuming that's why you came here." Because Sinbad is going to be so thrilled at the idea of butting heads with a situation like this-ugh. The problem is that he probably will be thrilled. He's been itching for the past two years for another chance to sink his teeth into Al-Sarmen, and if this isn't the perfect opportunity, then what is?
Kouen bares his teeth, but he sinks back, doing as Ja'far says. "I haven't been using my magoi to fuel myself," he admits. "No djinn, no nothing. I remembered you saying once they could use it to track Judal."
Ja'far nods. "That must be how you made it so far. Glad to know you paid attention at least a few times. I can have him put a shield of sorts on you in the morning, to better make sure they can't follow your movements… are you injured anywhere, by the way? I could poke around myself, but you've never enjoyed that."
"Just do whatever needs to be done." Kouen grits his teeth, and raises his left arm, exposing a long, festering gash in his side. "Do something about this, it's what keeps making me fall down."
Ja'far cocks his head to look at it. "Lovely. Right," he says, climbing to his feet, "you're getting a proper bath to get all of this dirt off of you and then I can tackle that. Come on, arm back around my shoulders. You're going to hate me by the time the night is up, I apologize in advance."
Normally, Kouen would balk from anyone that has as many scars as Ja'far volunteering to sew him back up. Tonight, all he cares about is something that gets him mobile again. He somehow gets back onto his feet, fighting back the dizziness tooth and nail, and slings an arm unprotestingly over Ja'far's shoulders. "You're stronger than you look."
"I know, I already carried you all the way up here," Ja'far grunts, looping an arm firmly about Kouen's waist to haul him to the thankfully large tub. Luxuries like this are ridiculous to him, but insisted upon by Sinbad, and after the first time the man bodily dropped himself into the tub with him, Ja'far at least had some measure of thanks regarding the washtub's size.
Having it heated near-constantly is another perk, and one Ja'far is certain Kouen will appreciate right about now. A single dagger makes quick work of the man's clothing, and Ja'far tosses a handful of leaves into the slowly steaming water before helping Kouen in. "It's going to sting," he warns. "Bear it while all of the grime steeps off and out of you, and I'll get what I need to patch up your side."
It does sting-if it can be calling "sting" when liquid fire is poured into his skin, flooding his veins, and he only stops from screaming by whimpering, every muscle twitching.
Kouen turns his mind instead to Hakuei, and the pain turns as cold and dead as she.
He stops making noise.
It's only a few moments before Ja'far returns, a towel and fresh robes in hand as well, and he sets it aside in favor of moving to scrub away some of the more stubborn bits from Kouen's skin, and work soap through his hair in turn. "… I'm sorry," he slowly, carefully says, "to hear about Ei."
Kouen doesn't remember not feeling cold. He lets his head tip forward in acknowledgement, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, imagining a thousand things that aren't in front of him. Quietly, he says, "She will be avenged."
"… Just so long as you don't kill yourself in the process." Ja'far tugs lightly on Kouen's hair to ease his head back, washing the soap away in short order. "That isn't going to do any good for anyone."
"Everything my father and uncle worked to achieve," Kouen says, "is gone. I won't rest until she's gone too." He turns his head, looking at Ja'far. "Do you think Sinbad will help?"
"Likely." Eagerly, more like. Ja'far bites back a sigh as he eases himself back to his feet, and catches hold of Kouen's arm to help ease him up and out of the water. "Let me treat the wound on your side, and you can rest for awhile." The towel is thrown over Kouen's head, scrubbing away the dampness from his hair. "If you have trouble sleeping, I can do something about that, too."
"Do me a favor, knock me out before you treat the wound." Kouen levers himself up with a great deal of difficulty, vision going spotty and gray before he steadies himself on Ja'far's shoulders. "Put me to sleep, then do whatever you want. Just get me functional."
A reasonable enough request, that, and one he expected. Ja'far nods and simply produces a small vial, uncapping it before pressing it to Kouen's lips. "Drink, then. Don't worry, I'll carry you to bed. Again."
Kouen drinks without hesitation, ignoring the putrid taste. "There," he mutters. "When does it-"
He sags, eyes rolling back into his head, and everything goes black.
Sinbad has been patient.
It's a new virtue for him, something he's been working hard to cultivate for the last several months, and as of now he can say it's definitely paid off. He's waited an entire day before seeking Ja'far out to pin him down and kiss him senseless, when before he'd have been hard-pressed to wait an hour after one of their spats. Truly, with age comes wisdom.
He's not sure what comes with the knowledge that Ja'far is sleeping half on the floor, half on his bed, with none other than Kouen fucking Ren sprawled out on the bed.
He can't quite think, can't quite process, so he just waits, staring, and shuts the door.
While apparently, he's managed to sleep through a great many things, someone simply walking into his bedroom is something else entirely. Ja'far wakes with a start, eyes fluttering open as he jerks back from the edge of the bed that he kneels next to, and blinks bleary-eyed at the sight of Sinbad in the doorway, all before cursing underneath his breath at the state of the sun shining in through his windows.
"… Good afternoon." Belatedly, he glances down to Kouen-good, he's still breathing, if the rise and fall of his chest is an indication-before slowly climbing to his feet, stretching out creaking joints. "I was hoping to find you first, to tell you about this," Ja'far says, waving a hand down to the man on his bed.
"Ah. Were you." Sinbad raises an eyebrow, looking from Kouen to Ja'far, then back twice more. Funny, he doesn't feel too much like kissing Ja'far right now. "And just how long has this been here?"
Ja'far's brow furrows in open confusion. Sometimes, Sinbad acts annoyed with him for reasons he can't quite pinpoint, and this is one of those times. Maybe it's just residual from the night before… or maybe he just doesn't get it. Either way, it's headache-inducing. "Since last night, when he threw a rock at me from the palace steps and collapsed half-dead. I helped him up here and treated his wounds. It seems a coup was staged within the Kou Empire-you are looking at the result."
For the first time, Sinbad turns his attention to Kouen instead of Ja'far, and a slow, heady fizz starts under his skin. This means change. This means possibilities,, and excitement, and Sinbad can't quite help the way his eyes widen. "Well. In that case, make certain he's granted all privileges as the head of an allied nation-quietly. No need to announce his presence to his enemies, even Sindria isn't proof against spies. Will he live, or is it close? I can send Judal in, if you think his skills outweigh the risk of his loose tongue."
"… Judal needs to come in, anyway-he'll be fine, I sewed him up quite nicely, but it's a matter of shielding his magoi so Al-Sarmen can't find him." Ja'far's eyes lid as they fix upon Sinbad. "This isn't something to look excited about."
Sinbad's excitement fades as he sees the look on Ja'far's face. Ah. Not one of those theoretical, rare bloodless coups, then. "Who was lost?"
"His betrothed, for one-all of his cousins, actually, save for the youngest boy, and a number of his sisters. Of those that remain-apparently Gyokuen has put her youngest on the throne, and has Kouen's two brothers serving him. It's a classic move by Al-Sarmen, all of it."
As classic as it might be, Sinbad doubts Ja'far has seen it very often, or quite this close. He doubts Ja'far's ever spent much time in the same place, for one thing. "You knew them, didn't you?"
Ja'far stares back at him. "I lived in that palace for longer than I have anywhere else. It would be difficult for me not to." An exasperated sound, and he glances away. "I don't know why he didn't do away with her. Gyokuen has been Al-Sarmen's witch from the beginning."
"Because she stopped me." Kouen sits up with a labored groan, holding his head in his hands. He breathes deeply, trying to shove the pain aside as he leans back against a wall. "Poison, dagger, magic. None of the men I sent did any good."
Then you should have contacted me is on the tip of his tongue, but Ja'far shoves it down as quickly as it wants to escape. The last thing he wanted-wants-is involvement with Al-Sarmen again. Being sleepless because of them is bad enough. "… Then you did all you could," he simply replies instead, and turns away to grab a few leaves from the bedside table before dropping himself back onto the edge of the bed. "Chew on these, it's a good numbing agent-and lie back down, you're still unwell."
"I won't be well until I put all of them in the ground," Kouen mutters, but he chews on the leaves all the same, exhaling a stuttering breath when the mind-numbing agony starts to fade. "King Sinbad-I had hoped to meet you-I mean, officially meet you-" Ah, that came out more slurred than he'd anticipated, the leaves are acting on his tongue as well. "I'd hoped to offishally meet you in thifferent thircumshtances…." He scowls at Ja'far. "How long are theshe going to-"
Sinbad waves a hand. "Let me cut through the words. None are necessary. As far as I am concerned, we are allies." He offers Kouen a hand, which the other man takes firmly. "If Ja'far trusts you in his bed, I trust you in my kingdom."
Ja'far fixes a deadpan look upon Sinbad-really, was that phrasing necessary?-before drawing away with a shake of his head. "Keep trying to talk, it should continue to be entertaining," he mildly puts in. "If you like, I'll hunt Judal down, and you can entertain him while he heals you and possibly chews off one of your limbs in excitement."
Kouen's numb mouth twitches in a smile he can't quite repress. In spite of anything…. "I would like to shee him again," he admits.
"I'll fetch him," Sinbad volunteers. "As soon as you tell me how you got here. Was it by sea? On which side did you keep the sun? Did you keep the sun on your left side at sea as you sailed?"
Kouen shoots him a dirty look, and Sinbad claps him on the shoulder, standing. "See, we're nearly friends already."
Ja'far chokes down a snort of laughter. "Don't mind him," he reassures the prince all the same. "He has a tendency to be petty before an evening of drinking himself stupid."
Kouen shakes his head, putting a hand to his side and wincing at the feel of the stitches. "Makesh more shenshe than to do it after….god, I'm-" His mouth twists in distaste, and he wipes at the drool trying to make its way down his chin.
God, he's surrounded by worthless men. "Just stop talking," Ja'far dryly advises, grabbing for a cloth to dab at Kouen's face. "It's much more dignified, and I have too much work to do to play servant for you all day."
Kouen's numb face falls. "Of coursh. Don't want to-you're bushy." That's a thing he's used to, at least. Even before, Ja'far would see to everyone else's needs before his own, which always meant Kouen was at the bottom of the list, as the only one Ja'far could trust to take care of himself.
"On top of that, you're going to want a proper bed-my room is hardly suited for a visiting prince-"
"En!"
How Ja'far manages to catch the pouncing Magi before he can launch himself bodily on top Kouen is beyond him-years of practice, more than anything, and Ja'far sucks in a slow, calming breath, reminding himself not to strangle Judal with his own damned braid. "Judal," he slowly grinds out, gripping the squirming thing tightly, "he's injured."
"Oh." Judal squints from where he's held. "I guess he is. En, what happened?"
Only then does Ja'far release the brat, letting him topple down onto the bed next to Kouen in a heap of gauzy silks and hair, all too reminiscent of a kitten that has gotten itself tangled up into a ball of yarn. "See, you have company even without me," Ja'far matter-of-factly says, wiping his hands off as he rises. "Company far more suited to healing you up, at that. I'll check on you later, once he's done."
Kouen would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased to see Judal, and reaches a battered, bruised hand up to tug the Magi's braid affectionately. "Don't mind my voish," he says, making a face. "Ja'far gave me thoshe leavsh."
Judal makes a face. "Ooh. I can fix that, too."
"I'll be back later," Ja'far tosses over his shoulder to the both of them, pulling his hair over his shoulder to braid it as he heads toward the door. "I'll bring you something to eat-"
"Food," Judal insists, throwing a leg over Kouen's hips to perch himself above him, quite intent on examining his wounds from this 'vantage point.' "lots of food."
"Lots of food," Ja'far agrees on a sigh, and promptly shuts the door behind himself.
"And hide me," Kouen says quietly. "Al-Tharmen….take the damn leavth away before I thay anything elth."
Judal freezes briefly at that, his brow furrowing. "… What about Al-Sarmen?" he warily asks as he sinks back to sit on Kouen's thighs, and it's with a careful, prodding touch of magoi that the leaf's effects are nullified, with his own, soothing layer of magic replacing the pain-numbing effects instead.
Thank all the gods, Kouen can feel his mouth starting to work again. He spits out the last of the leaf-tasting water, making a face. "Hide my magoi, Ja'far says you can. Then we'll talk."
"You've got a lot of it… I don't know if I can entirely," Judal confesses-not to mention Kouen isn't exactly Ja'far, who makes a point of cloaking it all entirely, anyway. He frowns, lifting his hand to cast a tentative shield over the man, which shimmers briefly in the air before disappearing. "Maybe I can bind something to a metal vessel of yours later."
Little as it is, Kouen rests a little easier. He lets out a long slow breath, and nods. "They came. Gyokuen. She's gone fully to them, now." He starts to feel, then shoves it down. That's not helpful right now. "No one was safe."
Judal shivers, just the name of the woman making him uneasy, and he sinks down, flopping-carefully-atop of Kouen's chest. "Are you… did anyone else get away?"
Kouen lets his good arm drape across Judal's back, pulling him close. "That advisor of Gyoku's got her away. Ryuu is Emperor now, of all things. Mei and Ha are working with her." He swallows hard. "No one else."
No one else.
That means Yuu and Ren and Ei-Judal swallows, butting his head underneath Kouen's chin. No matter if he always complained about Kouen spending time with her instead of him, that didn't exactly mean he wanted something like this to happen… or anything at all. "Sorry," he mumbles, and it's on an errant thought that he remembers to actually set a healing spell into motion. He can feel the heat from that wound on Kouen's side, no matter Ja'far's work from the night prior. "Really sorry. It'll… you can get Kou back, I know you can."
Kouen finds himself oddly touched by the sentiment. Touched, and relieved when some of the pain starts to drain away, not in the odd tingling feel-less-ness of Ja'far's horrible leaves, but because they're actually being healed. "If I do," he says slowly, one hand stroking affectionately down Judal's back, "and I ride to war, you have to promise me you'll stay out of it. You can't fight against Al-Sarmen, they might hurt you or kill you. You're the last person I have to protect, all right?"
"I've been getting a lot stronger, you know," Judal protests, frowning up at him and taking an idle snap at Kouen's beard. "That witch couldn't even touch me." It's a whole lot of bravado, especially when he thinks of everyone else within Al-Sarmen, but still. "You helped me before, why can't I help you now? Isn't that why you came here?"
Kouen bats Judal reflexively away from his beard, tightening his arm around Judal's waist. "I was trying to keep you safe and happy then, and I'm trying to do the same now. You can help me plenty without marching up to Al-Sarmen. Remember what they did to you last time you went missing? And that was when they still thought you'd be some use to them."
"I'll bite them," is Judal's cross grumble. "Maybe if I help, they'll go away faster everywhere. They still bother Ja'far, I can tell."
Kouen has to laugh at that-and realizes with a start it's the first time he's laughed since it all happened. "They're bothersome, all right. If I promise to find you ways to help, will you agree to follow my lead on this? They're dangerous, more than most people realize."
"I know how dangerous they are." They chained me to a bed for months, for starters. Judal huffs, curling up into a ball atop Kouen's chest. "Fine. I'll listen. Are you feeling better now, by the way? Your rukh isn't so… woogly."
"I'm feeling better," Kouen allows, laying back down and stroking Judal gently. It doesn't really matter where, his rukh has always felt more at ease with the Magi present, especially when they're touching. "You do me good."
"Then actually sleep." Judal headbutts him again, settling down more comfortably. "You'll heal faster that way… and by the time you wake up, you'll be as good as new," he murmurs, eyes lidding as he's petted. "Also, there will be food."
The thought of food isn't terribly appetizing, but Kouen's stomach rumbles anyway. He can't quite remember the last time he'd had proper food, which isn't the best sign, and he sighs. "You know I may not live through all of this. Some very, very powerful people want me dead."
Judal prides himself on being able to bite Kouen's beard before he's stopped this time. "You're being dumb," he growls, scowling up at him through his lashes. "What good are you dead? Hakuryuu's a crybaby, he can't run a country, so take it back from him."
"I'm not worried about Hakuryuu," Kouen says with a snort, batting Judal away with more force this time. "He's being used as a puppet. It's that witch that's causing it all, she's the one to fear."
"He's still sitting on your throne, kick him off," Judal sniffs, eyeing Kouen's hand before deciding to try biting that instead. "And it's okay, Sinbad will help. There's a reason I picked him as my king, you know."
"Because he's better than me?" Kouen asks wryly.
"Because he's strong," Judal corrects with a frown. "You're not still mad about that, are you?"
Of course. You were my chance to rule the world, and you took the hand of a pirate and bit the one that fed you. "Of course not. Obviously I wasn't strong enough." A bitter smile creases his face. "I can see now that you were right. A strong enough king wouldn't have let this happen."
"That's not…" The Magi trails off in a grumble, sitting up with his hands planted against Kouen's chest as he frowns down at him. "You know, I just recently chose him. He's been building this country for two years and it was just a few months ago that I thought it would be a good idea. It has nothing to do with your ability to run a country or not, it's just… it's a feeling. Regular humans don't get it."
"Ah." At that, Kouen does relax slightly, reaching up a bruised hand to thumb over Judal's jawline. "That does make me feel better. I forget, sometimes, that you aren't entirely human."
"I'm more like a god," Judal says proudly, pressing his lips to Kouen's palm. "Only someone like a god could heal you this fast."
God, it's impossible to stay anything like angry at Judal. It always has been, since he was tiny. "And how can you be surprised," he asks softly, "that I was upset there was no longer a god at my side?"
"I'm not… surprised." Judal's eyes lid, and another, idle kiss to Kouen's palm makes the bruises and cuts on his fingers fade away. "I just don't want you to hate me. I didn't choose the way I did because I liked you any less."
"I never hated you. I missed you." Kouen closes his eyes briefly, relaxing as the pain fades from his hand, and tugs Judal down closer. "You weren't just the Magi I wanted. You've always been my friend."
"But you ignored me a lot," is the grumpy response to follow, "and treated me like a kid. I'm 17 now, you know. Definitely not a kid."
"I was working a lot," Kouen retorts. "And you know, you've been a kid for most of your life. It's hard seeing you as an adult."
"But I'm a Magi. That immediately excludes me from kid things." Judal folds his arms as he flops his head down onto them, pouting up at the other man. "Whatever. You can make it up to me now."
Kouen blinks down at him. "Can I? How exactly shall I do that?"
Judal rolls his eyes. "By letting me help you, like I said before."
Ah. That. Kouen huffs out a breath, collapsing back onto the bed. "Let me talk to your king first. Can you even do things without his permission?"
"I'm not his slave." Judal snuggles pointedly down against Kouen. "You can talk to him later. Right now, resting. You're still a bit woogly."
Sleep doesn't sound any better than food, but he knows enough the signs that his body is craving something desperately. Kouen submits with good grace (sort of), laying back and shutting his eyes. "I'll sleep better with you close."
Judal hums his approval at that. "I'm attached, don't worry. I make a good blanket-or my hair does, so I've been told."
"You never let me play with your hair."
"That's because you're kind of bad at it." Judal sighs all the same, and grabs at his braid to pull it up and pluck the tie from the end of it. "But right now, I'll forgive you."
Sinbad doubts strongly that Ja'far is anywhere other than his office.
He's right, of course, and Ja'far is bent over scrolls by candlelight, looking drawn and waxen as Sinbad's ever seen him, and Sinbad steps in unceremoniously, shutting the door behind him. "Come with me."
Ja'far's eyes flicker upward, though only for a sparse moment. "To where, exactly?" I'm working is the unspoken addition-unnecessary, at this point, when it's only tiresome to say and probably irritating to hear.
"Kou, I assume," Sinbad says simply, folding his arms. "And you're no use to anyone like this, so come with me and I'll have Judal knock you out, if those drugs aren't working."
His stare resumes in spades. "… You're joking. Who is going to watch over your country if we both go? And for that matter, why have you decided so quickly that you're going to go personally? It's suicide."
"I've done plenty of things people have said is suicide in my time," Sinbad says with a wave of his hand. "I'm not dead yet."
He steps closer, and sighs. "The broken man in my guest room is the only reason I have you and Judal with me, and safe. He is owed something."
"Of course he's owed something. I'm not saying don't help him, I'm saying-" Ja'far exhales a long, annoyed sigh, waving a hand in exasperation as he pushes away from his desk. "Use caution. Have you learned nothing about throwing yourself headlong into Al-Sarmen's affairs?"
Sinbad catches Ja'far's arms with his hands, holding him fast. "I've learned," he says quietly, deadly serious, "that they're calculating, cruel, ruthless, deceitful, and immense. I've also learned that they are not infallible, nor unstoppable. They can be hurt, they can be killed, and it is the duty of any who would oppose them to do so. And I owe them plenty for my friends that have gone before, and for what they've done to you and Judal. I will fight them, until my death or until they cease to exist."
Ja'far's jaw sets itself into a tense line, his weight rocking backwards onto his heels. "You seem to think you've seen the worst of them. You're wrong." Why do you think they're capable of controlling a Magi? Why do you think they've been able to kill one in the past? Sucking in a slow breath, Ja'far shakes his head, tugging back against Sinbad's hold. "You're going to kill yourself. Gyokuen… if she's moved now, then that means she has far more support from Al-Sarmen than I thought. Previously, there was some opposition in our ranks, thinking she was too unstable, but…"
"Good. Unstable, opposition, those are useful." Sinbad grins. "I think you'll find that no matter how well-armed they are, I can be quite...disarming." Ah, no one properly appreciates his humor, and that's the truth.
"Stop trying to make this into a joke!"
Ja'far wishes his voice wasn't so shrill, but there's no helping it, not when his temper spikes and he wants little more than to strangle Sinbad for being such a fool. "They killed three of the strongest people within the Kou Empire. They nearly killed Kouen. You aren't more powerful than him, no matter how many djinn you have! Do you think I am capable of diving into that nest again and pulling you out if they decide to play with you rather than kill you? Because I'm not, I'm-" His chest heaves. "I'm not, so stop trying to go places where I can't protect you."
Sinbad's humor falters, and the smile slips from his face. In one long stride, he crosses the distance between them, wrapping Ja'far firmly in his arms and grabbing the smaller man tight to his chest, a grip like iron holding them together. "I won't force you into a choice like that," he murmurs against Ja'far's hair, not giving him an inch of room to push away. "And I swear, we'll both come through this and out the other side. I swear it."
Ja'far tries to remember how to breathe normally and not hyperventilate. It's a little difficult, no matter how Sinbad is close again, and grabbing hold of the man's robes in a viselike grip is somewhat therapeutic. "But you are," he exhales shakily. "You are forcing it. By going directly to Kou, you're all but begging for it."
"Give me some credit," Sinbad says with a squeeze. "I'm hardly going directly to Kou. All I said was that I would help, and that I want to fight them. I never said I was going to knock on their front door and challenge their Father to a duel."
A groan, and Ja'far buries his face into Sinbad's shoulder. "But that's what you want to do. Given the opportunity to fight our-their Father, and you'd do it in a heartbeat."
"Yes," Sinbad admits, and grins. "Don't pretend you'd be half as interested in me if I were a modest, retiring sort. But it's fine, I have no desire to throw everything I've worked for away for Kouen's sake."
"Telling me to go with you to Kou with Judal of all things sounds like you're throwing quite a bit away," Ja'far mutters, and he shakes his head as he makes to pull away. "The brat has no idea how to handle himself against Al-Sarmen, for that matter."
"I'll take your advice on those matters, if you like," Sinbad says, and crushes Ja'far against him harder, just in case. "Just don't snap at me and tell me I'm the world's biggest fool for wanting to take the fight to them. Talk to me, and I'll listen."
"… Snapping is still talking." The words are muffled into Sinbad's shoulder as Ja'far finds himself thoroughly squished once more. "It's just forceful talking."
"Then speak forcefully to offer other solutions," Sinbad suggests. "Telling me I'm doing wrong isn't nearly as useful as giving me an idea of what to do right. I do listen, if you put forth a good idea, you know."
Ja'far's face slowly rubs into Sinbad's shoulder, probably the product of him shaking his head. "It's hard to do that," he quietly replies, "when I'm not sure my advice is very good lately at all."
"An advisor that only tells his King what an idiot he is is no great advisor," Sinbad points out, but his voice is gentle. "There's much more in you than that. I don't latch on to people who aren't any good. And I've latched on to you, whether that pleases you or not."
"… Telling you what an idiot you are is the only advice I trust myself to give as of late." Ja'far's muffled laugh is a little too high and anxious. "And even that, I'm beginning to wonder about. I resign, just leave me to file papers until eternity."
"I don't take any resignations seriously when they're given by men who haven't slept or eaten properly in weeks." Sinbad finally pulls back, but keeps a tight grip on Ja'far's arms, keeping him from going anywhere. "Let Judal spell you tonight, after you've eaten something-and I'm going to watch you eat, and I'm not going to finish it for you. If you still want to resign in the morning, I'll listen."
"He's tried to spell me already."
The admission makes his throat tight, and Ja'far's head slowly shakes again. "The nightmares still come, and then I can't even wake from them. I'd rather not sleep. Knowing about Kouen now… I… I'm certain Al-Sarmen's movements are connected to this, somehow."
Sinbad raises one eyebrow. "This is the kind of thing I was talking about," he points out mildly. "If you're going to avoid sleep, you need to come up with another suggestion. That's like giving up air-you can't. So either I'll lay on you until you sleep, or I'll fight Al-Sarmen until they leave you alone, or you'll die. If you have an alternative, please, let me hear it."
"Humans die if they don't sleep at all," Ja'far mutters, looking aside. "Considering the lack of sleep I've had lately, I'm starting to think maybe I'll just turn into one of those little dolls."
"Do dolls have nightmares?" Sinbad asks, and if Ja'far won't look at him, there's no alternative, and he simply crushes Ja'far against his chest again. "Do they have dark circles under their eyes? Stop giving up on yourself."
"Lop my head off and find out." Stop giving up on yourself-god, he makes it sound so easy. Ja'far sags, giving up on any attempts to get away, at least, and shuts his eyes, exhaling a long, shaky sigh. "I don't… know what to do." And out of everything, that's probably the worst thing he's ever had to admit.
Privately, Sinbad is thoroughly convinced that the demons aren't in Al-Sarmen, but in Ja'far's mind. He knows better than to expect that Ja'far will buy something like that, though, especially not after the recent news. At least the relaxation is a step in the right direction. "Worry about yourself first," he advises, "because to be honest, you're doing a piss-poor job of worrying about me."
Ja'far's face falls. "I don't… I'm trying to keep you from getting killed."
"But you're not," Sinbad says, frowning down at Ja'far's crestfallen face. "Look, I want you at my side, I've never said otherwise, and I'm not now! I just don't think you're present right now. Your mind is full of Al-Sarmen and traitors and everything, you're not helping anyone like this."
"… I see."
So I'm useless.
That particular thought makes him numb, the heavy, stark reminder that he would never be anything without Al-Sarmen coming to the forefront in seconds. Useless-tenfold, when Sinbad actually says it. Ja'far sucks in a sharp breath, nodding sharply and extricating himself from Sinbad's hold in short order. "Then I'll just… keep working until I can actually sleep, then. At least that's doing something."
Sinbad frowns, but he doesn't immediately recapture the man. Then, he hops up on Ja'far's desk, nudging the scrolls aside to make some room. "Do you know what you need?" he asks, musing. "You need a new title. Advisor, instead of Assassin. I mean, I haven't needed you to kill anyone for months, that's probably doing you no favors. Do you think you could think of yourself like that?"
"Those titles have to do with what we're good at." Ja'far sits down, lighting up another candle with a sigh-and making sure to keep it away from Sinbad's hair, for good measure. "I needn't explain further than that, I think."
The moaning can only go so far before it starts to make Sinbad twitchy. "What would you do if I burned your office down?"
"Set your hair on fire."
A mischievous little smile twitches at the corner of Sinbad's lips. "Would you?" He grabs the candle, and holds it a bare inch away from a pile of scrolls. "Would you really?"
"Will you stop that?" Ja'far huffs out, grabbing at his scrolls to haul them some distance away. "I've done nothing but archive and rewrite and archive again lately, don't you dare."
"Exactly," Sinbad calls, and picks up another scroll, one containing a message he's already read, and tears it neatly into five or six pieces. "You never have time for anything else. I'm going to put a lock on this place."
Ja'far stares, his mouth falling open, and his fingers twitch with the urge to snatch the candle back and truly put it to his supposed king's hair. "Who else is going to do it?" he finally manages. "In case you haven't noticed, Sindria is still an incredibly young country! Having untrained hands in parliament would be a disaster!"
Sinbad shrugs. "Worst that can happen is we fall into the ocean," he says cheerfully, and puts his feet up on the desk. "Come get drunk with me, and I'll leave your office alone."
"The worse that can happen is your country could collapse around the seams, there could be a rebellion against you, they could tear apart the palace and try and kill you-" Ja'far's teeth grit, and he grabs the candle threateningly. "Get off my desk and stop threatening my scrolls, they did nothing to you!"
Sinbad laughs, dancing out of the way of the candle. "The people love me," he says dismissively, and jumps up, hanging from one of the support beams. "One night, come get drunk with me, or I'll set this whole place on fire. Or-I know, a tornado! You've seen me use Focalor." The bracelet starts to glint in the candlelight, gathering a silver glow.
Ja'far can already feel himself start to break out in hives. "What is the point of this, exactly?"
Sinbad shrugs. "If you refuse to be my advisor, I suppose you're my friend. And my friends come drinking with me." He drops lightly onto the ground, letting the glow fade, and Focalor slips back into rest. "I'll give you ten seconds to make a decision. Ten. Nine."
"Why are you so infuriating all of the time?!" Even if he's sleep-deprived, he still has good aim, and he's rather proud of how a heavily bound book slaps right into Sinbad's chest, avoiding his face out of courtesy. "Out! I have work to do, go get drunk by yourself and stop harassing me!"
"Six. Five." Sinbad raises an eyebrow, far from dissuaded by seeing some actual life from Ja'far for the first time in months, ignoring the book as if it's no more than featherweight.
"Fine! Fine, I'll go drinking with you!" Angrily, Ja'far snuffs out the candle on his desk. "But let me get back to work afterwards, Your Majesty."
"Of course!" Sinbad beams, considering this a great success, all told. True, nothing's fixed yet, but a night of drinking can't hurt. At least he'll be getting some nutrients into Ja'far's system, and he's never been one to shy away from the healthy attributes of grapes. "Come, let's find the best tavern in town!"
I'm going to kill you in your sleep, Ja'far mentally grinds out, glaring a hole into Sinbad's back. "Fine." Ugh. At least he's sure Kouen is in decent enough hands with Judal around for the night. Small blessings, that.
