But I'm backwards enough not to take any steps to get there,
So what does that make me?"
"Play?"
"Yeah, you know, as in..." He made a ridiculous sound that Mozenrath could only suppose was to sound like a guitar.
He snorted, and with the tension broke, flopped down, right where Aladdin would have been sitting had he the inclination to.
Aladdin looked down.
"You're drunk aren't you?"
"Erm..No."
Aladdin cocked an eyebrow.
Mozenrath lashed out with his foot, a bit slumped in his seat, "No Aladdin, I'm fully aware and alert, capable, and coherent."
He paused in comic reflection
"I had no idea you had such a propensity for being a mother".
His humor was dry, but Aladdin laughed anyway, though made uncomfortable somehow by the referencing.
Mozenrath thought he would be, but he wasn't satisfied with that mini-victory.
"Yeah well, I didn't know you were musically inclined, Moze". He kicked Mozenrath's braced feet off the table in front of them, and with an ever-present smile, plopped down at a comfortable distance from Mozenrath.
Mozenrath gave him a curious look,
"And when you realize it's a pattern
And not a phase
It's what you've become and it's what you will stay
That's ballgame"
"Is there something you want?"
Aladdin shrugged, way too fluid a motion to be natural, and smiled a meticulously disarming smile.
"Can't I even come for a friendly visit?"
Mozenrath regarded him suspiciously, questing for a moment until he realized he was doing it again, making people uncomfortable enough to get them to leave.
"Hey, your call".
There, that was relatively...smooth...sort of.
"So, you gonna play or not?"
Mozenrath heaved his arms upward, exasperated.
"What am I, some clapper monkey?"
Aladdin winced.
Mozenrath was incredulous, "What, do you have some prejudice against clapper monkeys?"
Aladdin ignored his sarcasm, and answered truthfully.
"Bad experiences".
"Right..."
"Did you every encounter Jafar?" He asked, catching Mozenrath off guard.
"Where did that come from?"
A shrug.
"Once or twice. He came here...on social calls."
Aladdin cocked an eyebrow.
"For Destane." He clarified.
No, he didn't want to start that. He picked up the guitar, double-checking the strings.
And he doesn't want to change; hence the need for a distraction.
Giving one self-conscious glance up through his bangs, he began his musical interlude, a sonata that became all he ever was and all he ever will be.
He could feel Aladdin watching him intently, and it unnerved him. He wanted to say something, something biting, something so characteristically him.
But then that would just play into their constant game, now wouldn't it?
Aladdin, if you want it to stop, you're going to have to make the first move, because I just can't.
The notes, in Aladdin's attention, were curious at first, discovering and making it up, deciding as they went, flowing together in a humble way.
But now, he could tell they were just the start of a long, winding song, a song that spoke of personal experiences, and human influence.
He would sit back and relax, but he was too involved with watching Mozenrath's pale, thing fingers dance along the shinning cords, meticulously, lazily artful. Did he know he was so good at this?
"Cause I don't got room in my life for anyone else
And I've driven away all the people that could help"
Mozenrath's face burned, but he suppressed it as best as he could, letting the song fall into a worm pattern.
He had heard the breathed "Wow..".
But now the hero was silent, and Mozenrath allowed himself to calm, to still, living and breathing with the song, lyric less, but telling a time old story.
The atmosphere of rainy day, early morn, whatever calm hung in wreaths about them and Mozenrath sighed contentedly, pushing back a curl of hair to see.
He had to admit, Aladdin's presence was bearable. Somehow, his vision of an immature, spoiled brat who was cliché as the grass was green was melting away. He'd underestimated his maturity, the intuition that sometimes he was needed to talk, and sometimes it helped more to listen and wait. He was wittier than he thought, and he was sure the boy knew his smile was disarming.
He might even tell him that someday.
But no, Mozenrath scolded himself with a melancholy note he plucked.
He'd just scare, drive, force him away with his hope and shameless admiration.
He'd do it eventually he told himself in a matter of fact way.
Eventually he'd learn to resist his charms; He'd get him a safe distance away, fueled by a made-up anger.
"And I still don't even know what I need to do to fix myself"
Allah, why do I do this?
Could I not just join them, is it so out of my comfort zone to risk a laugh?
To risk a little investment?
A little voice in his head assured him, "That's what happened last time, remember?"
You were crushed.
Aladdin's wrenched as the melody turned, and his sympathy was stirred by the music.
What was going on in that head that produced such cynical harmonies?
He slighted his head, trying to see under Mozenrath's bangs, and was taken back by what he saw.
His eyes were half closed in concentration, each note torn and spun from his soul it seemed, and his lips lightly pursing and un-pursing, as if forming the lyrics he dare not say, but kept to himself for his coveting.
He remembered something he already said, an age ago it seemed.
"Almost pretty…"
"There's a clamp around my chest
That tightens
Every time I lapse into
Another sorry story"
Mozenrath could feel him looking, and now knew what those looks were laden with.
Fucking pity.
Something keened in his chest, a ripping, and he almost bent with the pain of it.
So he was a joke…a sad little ditty.
The song turned contemptuous, but heartbreakingly beautifully so.
God, why did he have to slop out his story to anyone who would listen?
Yeah, part of it was unintentional, but really, if he wanted to keep it secret, why was it so easy to get it out? Did part of him want someone to know? To preserve his memory, perhaps?
Yeah, he'd die, at some point, sooner than later if the gauntlet continued to eat away at his body, feeding off some contained wretchedness.
The gauntlet kept him from bursting at the seams with his power, so it stabilized him for a smooth ride to a slow death.
What a perfect ending.
He should have kept up his indifferent image.
It was so much easier, so much safer that way.
He could keep up the illusion, the 100 festering jealousy, hate, and horrible longing for something couldn't have.
You do this all to me, Aladdin.
"About my miserable collapse
A bronze box I keep encased in glass
And dust off whenever I want pity"
I've almost come to the conclusion that I could spill your blood and the eagerness to test the theory I could be impassible doing so consumed me.
Something churned from my original feelings for you, and it was like hate, it spawned a need to hurt and confound you.
I did it well, and it served some comforting, fulfilling purpose.
It's sick, really.
You'd laugh if you knew how I first met you; I bet you would.
I came to Agrabah with the desire I told you, a brunt man to do some work for me.
It was sufferingly hot, and I felt the uncommon collective eyes upon me, not knowing I looked strange compared to half naked citizens, and stirred up some monster trouble to get some chaos stirred. They looked at me with fear then, and somehow I saw it as manifested respect.
I saw a glare in the sky, framed against the sun.
"Ahhmal?"
I had actually said it, and my heart pounded, whether in fear, surprise, or otherwise. You looked, and still look, so frustratingly like him. You have almost the same hair, the same eyes, though he was older, and charmingly battle scarred, while even though you grow in my eyes, you are still a child. You've seen things, I'll concede that, but it rolls right off you,
Doesn't it?
Rooted to the spot, reality calmed my hopes, my thrilling bout of emotion, and I saw it was not Ahhmal, but you, sufferingly good you.
But while I found out your name, your nature, the ways you differed and compared as I played that little came that comes with human interactions, a seeping bitter poison tipped my words and actions, and I felt resentment.
In your laugh, I saw Ahhmal mocking me.
In your smile to your beloved princess, I saw the girl you choose to die with.
But was that still good enough reason to take out my anger, my still fresh feelings for Ahhmal on you?
Was that why it was addicting to hurt you?
"Because I've had to come to grips with scope and figure"
So keep your pity, hero, I'll be the ruin of you as well. My venom will seep into your marrow, and you might just fall with me.
Depends on my luck.
But after I set up our cat and mouse, I recalled you were the face I saw in my dreams, if you'll remember. The one twisted in pain. I had seen you hurting then, and knew I was bound to be the one to do it, and so did so several times.
Hey, why break tradition?
Like I said, soon it became an addiction, something soothing about watching you in affliction.
But still, was I punishing you in Ahhmal's place?
Or hiding my own festering, stupid crush?
His lip curled in distaste.
The song slowed, and sadly, Aladdin realized it was the winding down, the last strains of a lyrical story. But still, he was fascinated with the transformation that had overcome Mozenrath, the tenderness he bore the guitar.
Was this the real him?
How long could he elicit this?
"Well, either way,
I realize that my shit's about as small as it could be
But that makes me feel worse for even
Feeling this bad in the first place"
But what are my problems compared to yours, Ahhmal?
You lie, premature in Tartarus, or wherever heroes who didn't get the chance to go.
And I'm alive, aren't I?
I'll see you soon enough.
Just got to prepare what to say.
"And then I'll drink those thoughts away
I've gotten good at that"
There's another memory that will have to be drowned away, because you refuse to leave otherwise.
Aladdin, would you be disapproving of how I came to drink?
How I pilfered Destane's cabinets when he said I could pick my own accolade for my night of service?
Ha.
You'd be disgusted.
It was strawberry wine, and astonishingly un-pretty.
He finished with a spectacular lack of flourish, the plucked strings dieing swiftly, but their influence hovering in the air.
A hand covered his, and he froze.
"That was nice, Mozenrath."
Assuring.
Approving.
"And when you realize it's a pattern
And not a phase
It's what you've become and it's what you will stay
That's ballgame"
Dean