Post-Battle Interlude

[rememberettersberg]

As the last of the zombies disperse, dust fading in the chill air, so too does Thomas' mood, the manic good humour that had kept him going all day. Every part of his body hurts, the solid ache of extended exertion, and he knows that he must look as awful as he feels. A mirror reveals the grim reflection of a past age; Captain Nightingale, awash with blood and mud, clothes torn to rags and skin caked with grime.

He strips without thinking much of it, dives into the freezing shock of the lake's still depths, and swims until his aches turn into leaden exhaustion. A part of him, as always when near open water, reaches out in search of its spirit but encounters only dank emptiness. Usually this would bother him, but tonight it feels right, apt.

There's a towel on the shore when he emerges, one he didn't leave there, and he wonders at the mansion all over again. Hordes of undead by day, the comfort of a fresh and fluffy towel at night. His lakeside office glows with warm light and the promise of fresh tea. He trudges towards it without conscious thought, mind half a century away.

Not primarily an open post, but he'll talk if anyone turns up.

Comments

[wickedwit]

Claudius didn't die today. He didn't, as it turns out, die in a multitude of ways his mind's still trying to piece together. He's fortunate to have made strong, steadfast allies, which is always the way he's learned to protect himself -- he should be proud of the connections he's cultivated for bearing him through the day.

All the same, it doesn't feel like enough. Lan Wangji, at least, will say there's no counting of favors between them. Galahad would deny it, too, fierce and implacable, insisting with no argument that Claudius deserves the care he's given. Claudius promised Gu Xiang tonics and stories, which felt the most like a trade all day. He can't offer much, can he? Even his salves are worth little when others can heal with a touch.

At least he has Nightingale's jacket to return. He's heard about Nightingale's lakeside office, and makes his way there with the jacket over one arm.

[rememberettersberg]

The Glenn Miller is still playing and Nightingale is still damp of hair and casual of dress. He's migrated to an armchair now, full of tea and whiskey and about two thirds of the way into a doze. It doesn't look like a particularly restful sleep; his brow is creased and his cane is held firm across his lap. His eyes will snap open immediately if Claudius steps inside.

[wickedwit]

Claudius leans on the doorway, before he steps inside, allowing a moment where he could apologize for disrupting Nightingale and keep the conversation short. When the door closes behind him, he's already intruded -- it's best not to look back at the exit. "I like the music," he says. "I only just learned, you know, that music can be recorded and played again without a chamber's worth of instruments. Very remarkable." It's not the most remarkable thing in their day, but he speaks lightly enough that it could be.

[rememberettersberg]

"It's easy to forget you're from a different era altogether." Nightingale can't quite remember what era; he chases that thought for a while, but his brain is muddled, running slow. "How's your arm?" His own arms are bared by short sleeves for once, revealing a rough streak of long-healed burn across one. A spray of tiny shrapnel scars peppers the other.

[wickedwit]

"A cultivator infused it with his spiritual energy," Claudius says, in matter-of-fact tones, "and an Einherji touched it with healing light, emanating from his body. The arm's better than it was to begin with, if anything." His eyes flick over Nightingale, assessing. "How did you fare?"

[rememberettersberg]

"That certainly puts my battlefield triage into perspective," he says, not without humour. "I'm not hurt. Just tired. It's been a while since I fought like that." And the memory of last year's collapsed lung is still quite fresh. "I thought I could no longer be surprised by anything that happened here, but I have to admit, an invasion of the undead had not crossed my mind."

[wickedwit]

"Nor mine, neither." Claudius sits, as is his wont, on the edge of a table. "I've never encountered anything of the kind. I'm rather useless, in a situation like this," he says, as lightly as he's able. "In fact, it took me some time even to figure out what the situation was. I hurt my arm trying to talk to one of them, you know."

[rememberettersberg]

"Words are both your weapon and your shield," Nightingale says. "The world would be a far worse place if everyone was bred for battle only."

[wickedwit]

“You are quite the charmer,” Claudius says after a moment’s staring, a reddening flush creeping in from behind his ears. Thank you, he should say, for telling him something Claudius only tells himself in bitterness, when he has to fend off a life’s worth of being called cowardly and inferior.

[rememberettersberg]

"Nonsense, I'm just observing a fact," Nightingale says placidly, though one side of his mouth is tugging up slightly in a smile.

[wickedwit]

"Ah, yes. Another simple observation from a man who observes from a living," Claudius says, his smile open and teasing. "Any inclining towards desire yet?"

[rememberettersberg]

He laughs softly. "I'm exhausted. Too wrung out even to be embarrassed about this conversation, therefore certainly in no fit state to contemplate anything else." He looks down at his hands, slightly blistered from a day of fire and force, and grows solemn. "I enjoyed myself today, to tell the truth. But the aftermath has brought the past back into focus, and there is very little joy in revisiting Captain Nightingale."

[wickedwit]

"No, I don't imagine there would be. In-between all my graceless flirting back at the library ... I did mean what I said. " His face softens. "I understand how war can take away a man's understanding of himself. Captain Nightingale sounds like someone you had to become, not someone you enjoyed being."

[rememberettersberg]

"It was a fool's errand from the start. Such a waste of life." He sighs and gropes for a near-empty hip flask tucked behind the cushion of his chair, downing the remains of it in one deep swallow. "No matter. It's history now and not even the history of the world I'm in. Have you come to return my jacket, good sir?" Nightingale affects a rakish grin with moderate success.

[wickedwit]

"You've figured out my ploy," Claudius says with a smirk, holding it up with a wave of his well-healed arm. "I was going to keep it for myself. But then I realized what a fine excuse it gave me to visit you." And see how you were, and how you were bearing the weight of any reminders of war.

[rememberettersberg]

"And here you are." Nightingale barely stifles a yawn. "I imagine I'm quite the disappointment at this moment."

[wickedwit]

Wryly, Claudius says, "No, it's quite satisfying. I'm never at my best advantage with you -- now I see thou canst tire like other men, and thou wilt not always be the abler and wiser one in our acquaintance. And I do like thy music." Tilting his head, he asks, "Dost thou dance?"

[rememberettersberg]

"Not if I can help it," Nightingale grumbles. He won't remark on Claudius' change of language, but it has been noted. "I expect you have a whole repertoire of courtly set pieces."

[wickedwit]

"Oh, yes -- and I always learn the latest." Claudius smirks. "Hast thou danced, when thou couldst not help it? To music like this?"

[rememberettersberg]

"I cannot confirm or deny." Nightingale smirks right back, almost entirely genuine. "You'll have to wait for the next time a truth spell sends us all reeling."

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs. "Thou should not tempt me, lest I tempt the mansion's forces into sending us another truth spell. Crowley and I speculated about what's keeping us here, and sending undead from the woods. His theory is that we're here for something's entertainment, and that I'm one of the more entertaining characters." He smirks, because that's a level of negotiation he hasn't tried: negotiation with silent, god-like forces watching over everything. If he could make them think it's more entertaining to make another truth spell happen, and he made sure to run into Nightingale ...<sup>1

1</sup> Claudius. Claudius, please. This meta lever is not for you.

[rememberettersberg]

Nightingale sits bolt upright, surging with sudden enthusiasm. "I've just been saying something similar to Susan. This is a game of sorts and we are the pieces. The only remedy, it would seem, is to be so terribly boring that they lose interest." He laughs. "I'm not sure how many of the residents here could manage that."

[wickedwit]

Claudius takes smiling note of Nightingale's restored energy when connecting two threads of speculation. It's a charming trait, to add to the other charming traits. "We're such different men, Nightingale," he says, even if they share the pleasure of connecting dots. "I was envisioning a remedy wherein I become as charming and entertaining as possible, to tempt the forces into acting more directly, so we can use them in some way to our advantage. Crowley thinks they may be influenceable -- he'd expressed some impassioned criticism in their direction before the zombie attack. If they lose interest with us altogether, they might leave us here like toys in a toybox to languish." He adds, "We think the forces know us through stories that have been told about us, before they pulled us here. I have my play, Crowley has Original Sin, and I wouldn't be surprised if Susan's Narnia was in a book like Queen Janet's Fillory. And you've led an interesting enough life. Someone's surely telling stories about you. You're someone's favorite character."

[rememberettersberg]

Nightingale's face expresses grave doubt that he would be anyone's favourite, and yet-- "Narnia is from a book series," he says slowly. "A very famous one. And Shen Qingqiu told me he'd been sucked into a story. And of course there are Arthurians here." He stands up and starts pacing.

"Les Miserables!" he near-yells after several turns around the room. "Isn't that about the student uprisings in France? Enjolras and Grantaire! I've not read it but I think that's right. If it is right, then Aziraphale won't be able to conjure a copy." He looks to be on the verge of running out in search of an angel right at this moment, but restrains himself with some difficulty.

[wickedwit]

Now this, Claudius thinks, is Nightingale in his element. Seeing him command flames and conjure invisible barriers to protect Claudius was attractive enough, but seeing him pace and piece together a mystery is even more appealing. "Walk me back a bit, Nightingale," he says fondly. "Am I to take it Aziraphale can't conjure books the residents here have been in? That's very telling. I myself wasn’t able to find a copy of Hamlet among Shakespeare’s works, and in a book of his complete works, a number of the pages were blank. But I don’t have angelic powers like Aziraphale does. That makes it easy enough to test."