Restrictions
Authors Note: Giving that special thanks to DecepticonQueen for causing this plot bunny to gnaw on my shin for the last day and a half. So now have I not only written what is possibly the least-ambiguous one-shot to date, but I have another limp to go along with it. X3 And I still can't find those candles. ;3
This house was normally very quiet, and the eerie quality of it was also of the norm. With nothing alive on the face of this world except they themselves, there was nothing to create sound. No birds, no insects, and the rare wind would be solar-drawn rather than birthed by the tide of the dried-up oceans or clouds.
But War had, admittedly, jumped almost right out of his skin when there was sound, and a lot of it. It had been shouting, voices— He recognized one as his eldest brother, and the other as their companion. A sigh weighed heavily on his chest, bidding to be released, but he retrained himself. In spite of how well they get along under normal circumstances, there were the occasional times where Death's arrogance and her own sense of pride clashed, causing sparks to singe all who drew near.
For what it was worth, he thought wryly, it didn't sound serious.
Soon, a small blur rounded the corner just as he finished affixing his gauntlet, and he began peering over his shoulder as it soon took shelter behind him.
"What are you doing?" He attempted to hide the more obvious signs of his amusement. No, he wouldn't be feeling even the slightest bit smug that she had done such a thing— Not at all.
"It's— It's that brother of yours," She hissed in frustration, skirting right out of his line of view. He shifted his gaze over his other shoulder, just for her to do it again. Remarkable, how she would get the inflections correct in reference to his siblings now of all times. "The hell does he think he is, the king and ruler of the place? I get that this is his house, but there are just some things you just don't do."
He could only imagine. "Such as?" And now he wouldn't have to.
There was a belated silence, and that anger was still mildly brewing in her following mumbles. "He was trying to tell me what I was and was not allowed to wear to bed. Honestly, how is any of that his business?" Hold on, what was— "I mean, what does he wear to bed, huh? I'd like to see that—… Oh, Maker no, I didn't mean it like that. Just, uhh, just forget I even exist."
She was just about to dart back around him again when he caught her by the shoulder, confused. Failing to regain her balance against the abrupt stop, he had, just as abruptly, understood his brother's issue.
Everything they had seen her in up to date had been armored in one shape or another— From the body-armor clothing to the full set of plate and chainmail they kept for her, there was always a sense of protection carried.
The Red Rider would not expect her to take to bed in her armaments outside of travel, he knew better. And yet the small, open shoulders and thin fabric seemed wrong.
He retracted his hand without thinking, and she cocked her head at him curiously. War decided to take it one question at a time. "What was it that had my brother so displeased?" He chose one with more ambiguity, to start.
Her expression clouded over, and her arms crossed sourly. Was she always so small? Or was it that he was so large in comparison… "A dead climate means that the air is very still, and it gets stifling in my room at night. I have to wear something light, or I'll die of heatstroke." She glared daggers at the empty, stone hallway from which she had come. "He doesn't care, and wants me to be bundled up to my chin in furs. Does he want me to die, or something?" She started her usual digression, and he wasn't inclined to prevent it, lost in his thoughts. "Being Death and all, is that supposed to be some form of affection? Granted, everyone I make friends with had attempted to kill me in one way or another, but he doesn't need to try so damn hard!" Her tirade ended with another scathing look shot to the innocent, unoffending hallway.
He carefully didn't laugh. "I can assure you that he has nothing but your best interests in mind," War began his explanation with a platitude, so her ire wouldn't find itself redirected at him instead. "To understand his trouble, you must first understand how he sees it. We are built to be suited to the harsh lives we lead. You are not. He knows that, and sees it all the more when you are clad like this. It would be the same with any of us, myself included." His elucidation was made brusquely, and he could see the fire burn out of her.
"…Oh." She whispered, shoulders slumping. The Horseman was half-tempted to tell her not to do that, as usual, but something stopped him. Most likely the same thing that had spurned the wrath of his brother into action; It was her look of vulnerability… "I didn't think of it like that… But, what can I do about it?" She asked, brows angling down slightly in self-directed frustration.
His mouth twitched. "What can you be expected to do?" He reiterated her question shortly. "It is his own insecurities that plague him. I would advise heading to bed quickly, however. He may come around for round two should you linger." A wise warning, but she didn't seem to be taken by it.
For good reason, it seems. "Oh, I know round two is waiting for me." She huffed darkly, dropping her arms only to fold them again. Restless girl, he thought. "I left him standing right outside my bedroom door like some gargoyle waiting to bite my head off when I return." This looked to trouble her…
He found himself offering ease in spite of the possible repercussions. "I head to Earth for another sweep of the demons— You are welcome to join me, if you wish."
There it was— A smile appeared, fleeting but grateful, the first he'd seen since she'd approached. "I appreciate the thought, but I need my rest. If I start tripping over corpses again because I'm too tired, Strife won't let me hear the end of it. Thank you, though." She'd taken his arm and given it a gentle squeeze, a rare gesture of fondness.
War hated the complicated feeling he was swarmed with in these instances. There was disappointment that he was going into battle one-handed, that she'd rejected the offer; But, at the same time, he was calm and easily accepting of it as well. Was he always this easy to appease? "It was just a suggestion." He demurred without thinking, and once his mind was able to suppress the fog of puzzlement, he looked to the door he himself had just exited from. "If you still wish to flee my brother, however, my room will be open. It is not often that Death is unreasonable, but in this case you may be lacking in sleep should you confront him."
She stared up at him, and suddenly pealed into laughter. "Did you just suggest that I not take the brave option? Your time outside the Council's really changed you, huh?" Her smile indicated that it might not be a bad thing.
But the Red Rider oddly felt a serious answer to her flippant question needed. "All that has changed is where duty falls on my list of priorities. And taking the smart option opposed to taking the brave option should never be a difficult decision." He motioned to her meaningfully. "I would ask you to be wise more than courageous, personally."
Then she had one of those strange reactions: She pressed her lips together in a tight line, then loosened them only to sigh, covering her face with her hands for a brief moment. "I think I'll take you up on that." She said in a little too bright a tone, and seemed to realize it, for she then laughed sheepishly. The fear that he'd done something wrong vanished before it could fully form. "And thank you, again. Stay safe out there, please? Good night." His arm was given another squeeze— Gentle, soft— and she disappeared from sight, slipping past to enter the door behind him.
He only found his voice after the door had shut.
"Good night."
