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[contractuallybinding]

For AU shenanigans

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[end_recording]

Fawn's not gone that long. Having forgotten a change of clothes he re-enters with his arms curled around himself, holding the bloody rag that had been his shirt. The scars Wisp wanted him to have really do seem to be everywhere, scattered constellations all over his chest and back and shoulders.

He tries to make it back to his room without obviously running, but the sight of the two of them... stops him. "... Are you two baking?"

[curriculum_fictae]

Wisp had almost been enjoying himself, in fact. Sure, the spoon smacks were annoying, and got complained about quite sharply, but the baking itself was ... pleasant? And Wisp found he enjoyed making new things, especially since they were going to get to eat the results. It was all just a matter of timing, anyway, and he'd learned that...

All and all, he's quite distracted when Fawn returns, jolting back towards the doorway with something like guilt? "W-well - yes, Bastard remembered something, I guess, so--"

And then finally Fawn's actual appearance sinks in. Wisp ... is not proud to say that he gives Fawn a full look over, seeing that those scars are indeed everywhere. (Scars that he's responsible for - scars that mark Fawn as being his--) He blushes furiously for a moment, and frankly looks a bit possessive before he manages to yank his gaze away, focusing instead on a small crack in the ceiling. "W-where are your clothes?"

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And oddly enough, it's the Bastard's whose appraisal is more subdued. Inwardly interested, perhaps, to see if that odd ... warmth was there at the passing glance that he remembered.

... Huh.

He hardly knew what to do with it. Break it, or break Fawn to see if it dies. Or perhaps... merely observe it for now.

On the other hand, for as much as Wisp tears his eyes away... the Bastard's is level. Assessing. Cataloging.

"Tsk. Is it so odd to think one might enjoy an indulgence or two?"

[end_recording]

Though the finder shadings are beyond him, the combined weight of the scrutiny of the other two makes Fawn acutely aware he is half-naked. Unconsciously, his arms curl more tightly around himself. "I would hardly think you'd deny yourself," he mutters to Bastard. "I, I'm g-going to change now."

And scurries off, into his room to do that.

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Wisp is the one who watches him go, though he jerks his gaze back again at the last moment. Back to the cave scones they're working on. "R-right," he says, his cheeks still red. "Are these about done? I should set them out to cool."

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His answer is just a sweep of a spoon to the somewhat smoothed stone counter, and a tap on it's surface. Over there.

"Not particularly subtle, are you?"

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Wisp obediently ducks his head, then, moving to retrieve the pan of cave scones. "Shut up," he hisses. "You were just as bad."

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He moves only enough to keep out of direct accidental scorching distance. Carefully, he checks the edges of the scones. It doesn't particularly stop the next potshot, merely delay it while he ensured a good batch.

"Had you the attention to spare me? Why, Wisp. I'm flattered."

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That nets him a withering look. "Don't be," he snaps as he lays out the rough metal pan. "Think I'd rather watch Fawn murder someone else first."

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"Oh, you make that sound so bad." The Bastard leans back against the counter.

"I could imagine someone like you... rather enjoying it, for the right circumstances."

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That flush was there already, right? And he's been handling a hot pan.

"You make me sound like a bloody sadist," he says.

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Clearly, that's it.

"Too narrow a diagnosis, I think." He waves it off.

"Lets call it... practical."

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"Practical," Martin says, with another withering look. "In what way, exactly."

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"I'm honestly surprised you haven't thought about it." He stacks the emptied bowls and hands them to Wisp for cleaning, dusting off his hands. "Or would you like me to say it so you can pretend to be offended and claim oh, no, it wasn't you who could think in those terms."

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"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," Wisp says stubbornly, even as he accepts the bowls wordlessly. Not really questioning why he's stuck doing the dishes.

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"The latter, so be it. Never let it be said I'm not an agreeable fellow."

There's something here, and he has to know. It would be a shame not to get the full feel of it, understand it's minutia.

He'll need it if he's to grind Wisp down properly, after all.

"You propose to have..." There's a thick layer of doubt here, " some claim. It would seem... incomplete without some indication of acceptance. An ends it works towards. Oh, perhaps not to further some master scheme, but even in, say, spilling blood to protect you. Revenge for misdeeds done to you? Hmm. Any preferences? How would you like your mark to blossom?"

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Good god. It's like the Bastard can laser-target his weaknesses and just hone in on them. Wisp chokes hard enough that he nearly drops the bowl he was cleaning; only quick instincts make him manage to set it down hard rather than let it meet an untimely shattered end on the floor.

The truth, of course, is that he doesn't know why he feels so possessive of Fawn. Why he'd waited on the worms so they'd make their mark so indelibly. He ... is certain there was some plan, because he'd felt so fulfilled in seeing the early piece come to fruition, and yet. Any of those options the Bastard lays out are plausible, aren't they? Revenge. Power. They don't feel right, no, but they don't feel wrong either.

"Maybe I'm just reclaiming him from you," he says sharply. "Maybe - maybe you're the reason why we're all here to begin with."

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One of those hit. Which one is .. unclear, but that's certainly something to work with.

"Now, now. You have no more indication of that than I do."

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"No, I don't," Wisp says, straightening up. "But laying a claim is very different from whatever nefarious thing you're picturing."

1/2

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"Is it now?"

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"Ah. But I did promise not to mention that."

A pause. "My apologies."

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God. Wisp just goes terribly scarlet and more than a little miserable, furiously washing the dish in his hands. How did this man manage to leave the decision up to Wisp and yet also use that secret to get leverage over him? How? Shouldn't Wisp get a break somewhere?

(No, of course not. He'll teeter between Bastard's insinuations and his own horror of Fawn's potential reaction for a while. Forever, maybe.)

"You did," he says, his tone acid. "Are you breaking it already?"

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That does get a ripple of irritation on that Bastard's face. Hadn't he just apologized? Well, not sincerely, but the WORDS were there.

He gives a light, casual sigh. "Not at all."

And scoops up one of the cave scones to try. Moment of truth.

[curriculum_fictae]

"Well - well good. That wouldn't be a very good note to start this on, would it."

He can be just as much of a bastard back even without the capitalisation, okay. Don't try him. He's got a memory backing him up now.

Although ... he can't help his curiosity watching Bastard take up one of the scones. He certainly put his best effort into following Bastard's instructions, so if it's bad it won't be due to his sabotage or something.

[contractuallybinding]

It is... passable, approaching not-half-bad. It certainly had a denser, harder texture than one might like, but the flavor is reasonable, just sweet enough without being overpowering, and well, it could certainly do with some tea to soak in, likely one of the stronger blacks over the florals, but.

"Well. Certainly will need tweaking, but wont leave too much wanting." He breaks the scone in half and tosses the other to Wisp to give his own verdict.