Little Song [Denskith + Richard]

[Denskith]

It was hard to get away from the music when there was nothing but it and its memorabilia all around him.

There were the posters, teased out of professors that had favored him and the few close classmates-- friends? not with Windor and his legs and-- who would ask when attending a show if he would want anything.  Often times, it was just a program, the cover torn gently off and framed neatly.  Other times, it was a kinder gift; there was a Wicked flying monkey hanging from his bed post.  He tried to pretend it prevented nightmares, not gave them.

The desk was more messy than the rest of his room, scattered scores of music being all around and about and such-and-such.  Hair's second act delusions graced the first page of Beauty and the Beast's "Human Again."  There was some music that he had tried writing himself, if one squinted through the piles, but there was a small layer of dust on that pile.  He usually didn't touch composing, anyways-- a silly endeavor.  Next to last year's Christmas present was his Phantom mask, resting against the ledge of the window and single eye ever-watching.  Ever-judging.

The window's blinds were shut; all three of them were.  It would have been dark save for the soft light of the chandelier overhead-- he had squealed out in joy when seeing it for the first time.  So beautiful!  So like Auction #666!  He had arranged the extra sofa chair given to him in the furnishings just to the side of its shine, a rather precarious arrangement if one looked a the room as a whole.  It made sense to Denskith, though.  They, along with the rest of his belongings, were greatly taken care of.

His bed wasn't made.  He hadn't bothered with it-- though he should have!-- because he hadn't planned to leave its covers for long; it was cold, and he wore only a tank top and knitted pants-- capris on him-- for sleep wear.  That was ten hours ago.

He was trying to sing again.  While sound was coming out, yes, finally yes, it wasn't enough.  It wasn't crisp, wasn't clean.  It was just a whisper, still just a whisper!  He knew it was too soon to expect much else, but he had to try.  His room was tempting him so, he himself was tempting him so.  He just had to try!

"Row row, row your--"  He tried to clear the throat for the unteenth-- two hundred fourty-fifth-- oh, God, he was keeping track-- time.  Again, then!  Maybe something a bit more seasonal?  "God rest thee, merry gentle . . ."  That time, his voice peetered out on its own.  It was against him.  It was against him!

In what he knew to be childish frustration, Denskith threw a pillow down to the ground and screamed.  That was the worst part: the scream.  It should have shattered glass like it always did, should have rained down the shards of the precious chandelier up above.  It didn't.  It didn't, it was a whisper, and he nearly missed it.

Something came up in his throat, but he brought it forcefully down.  Audience or no, he would not cry.  Not now.  H-he just needed to try again, right?  Right.  Just once more.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star . . ."

[Richard Wallace]

For some reason, Richard's left arm was slightly numb and tingling ever since he woke up. Moving or rubbing it hadn't changed anything at all, so he was forced to simply ignore it. It got slightly more annoying when the feeling spread to his leg, but the solution remained the same. It was just that in addition to pocketing his hand protectively, as he made his way through the Castle he walked along the wall in case the leg decided to give out completely. Maybe a cane would have been better, but he would not stoop to being seen with one.

Not yet, at least.

His work finished for the night, he had a choice of hiding himself away in his room and trying to not mind the pins-and-needles, or seeking a distraction elsewhere. He wasn't certain which option appealed to him less, but he was supposed to not be hiding anymore, so... the decision was made.

Denskith. One of the people he probably should have talked to earlier. There was no way he didn't know Richard was back, unless he was not in the Castle when the P.A. announcement was made, but it seemed they had managed to successfully avoid each other so far. In no small part due to Richard's efforts, of course. But now that that little friend of his was there, having talked to Richard, it would just be too awkward to keep pretending he was too busy.

So, having first checked in the Music Room and finding it empty, Richard limped to where he knew the man lived. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall next to the door to catch his breath.

...A carol. And then, a nursery song? Richard stood still with his brow furrowed, wondering whether Denskith had limited his repertoire considerably while he was away. Then, shaking his head of the thought, he outstretched a fist to the side and knocked.

[Denskith]

Oh, God, a knock.  H-he wasn't prepared at all for this!  Or, dressed.  Dressing would probably be the best move right now.  He stopped in the middle of a phrase ("Why, you ask, was I bound and--" because Phantom of the Opera always cheered him up.  He was a scarred musician; it was impossible not to see the parallels.) and bounded for the closet, tripping halfway and nearly landing on his face.  OW.

"I-- I can be there in just a minute!" he managed, the hoarse whisper defying his wanted exclamation point.  He continued to bumble over to the closet, rustle through some attire-- maybe just the pants-- just the pants; he could explain away the tank top, couldn't he?  No, that wasn't proper.  He pulled on the usual black pants first, forgetting the belts-- not really-- no time, no time-- and slipping on the first shirt his hands reached.  It was his Xenox one.

He regretted it immediately, but he hated to have the person outside wait any longer than he or she already had.  Denskith thus quickly pulled on the top, brushed through his hair with his fingers twice, and made for the door.  It took a couple more seconds to open it, mainly because panic was ever-rising.

"Hello--?" he began with caution but quickly replaced that feeling with joy.  Richard was here!  They hadn't talked in ages-- almost a year--? ages.  He beamed a lop-sided smile at the vampire.  "Hello!  Please," he opened the door fully and gestured an arm, "you may come in."  O-or, did he not want to come in?  Maybe it was just a pleasant 'hello, good-bye' sort of scenario?  He hoped that Richard would take a seat, though.  He really did.

[Richard Wallace]

Richard waited patiently, listening to the man stumble around inside. Was he about to go sleep commando? Or had he been doing something he didn't want seen? Did Richard even want to know?

The answer was quite possibly 'no' -- to all three.

As the door was opened, he cracked a smile, pushing himself off the wall. "Evening." He took a step towards the door, peering inside, then looked back to Denskith. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" With how elated to see him the man was, it didn't appear like it would matter anyway. Still, politeness... "It's been a while, hasn't it? You look well."

[Denskith]

I-It was evening?  Denskith hadn't even noticed.  Of course Richard could not visit unless it was night, he knew that, but he hadn't separately noticed the time, just that a lot of it had passed.

The pause alarmed the former-teacher-- still kinda awkward about that-- and made him open the door even more.  Was he not inviting enough?  He shook his head hurriedly.  "No.  No, you are probably not interrupting anything."  And, by "probably," he meant "definitely."  At times like this, he wished that he could be more assertive.  He could have just said no and it would have been more effective-- rude, but effective.  But, there was that one time . . . The mental disagreement crossed onto his face but a moment, and the grin returned.

"It has; I believe you seem well, too," went the reply, adding on as many passive indicators as he could to avoid an incident.  Another incident. 'Looking' was still an action, but Richard . . .  Well, he seemed a bit different from before.  His hair was different, the way he carried himself was different.  It worried him, but Denskith didn't want to show it.

"There's most likely a nice sofa chair inside?  If you would like to sit down and visit."  Company was very-much welcomed right now-- what if Richard wanted him to sing, though?  He hadn't thought of that, WHY DIDN'T HE THINK OF THAT-- TOO LATE-- DAMN IT, just keep smiling and see if he asks, PRAY that he doesn't ask, PRAY UPON UNANSWERED PRAYERS.

[Richard Wallace]

At first, he couldn't help but quirk a brow at Denskith's odd wording, but then he remembered about the commands. Right. It seemed everything started to slip his mind these days... Regardless, it was nice to see the man so careful. Richard gave a nod and walked in, trying to suppress the limp. It was just a slight stiffness in the way his leg moved, nothing major, so he hoped Denskith would not notice.

Yeah, he seemed totally well.

Straightening out his navy blue cashmere sweater, Richard scanned the room, taking in the messy desk, the unmade bed, the pillow on the floor. How homely, how lived-in. Finding the aforementioned couch, he started towards it -- before finding his gaze drawn to the doll hanging from the bedpost and smiling with amusement. He glanced between it and his host. "Are you familiar with the castle physician, perhaps? I wonder what would she think of this."

[Denskith]

He noticed the limp.  It was ever-so-slight, but re-learning how to walk with stilt legs made one observant on others' walking.  Denskith didn't mention it for similar reasons: he had hated people's own commentary on his walking and would hate to do the same to a friend.

He closed the door gently behind the vampire, then following Richard's gaze.  Denskith's face went red.  "I have heard of Sheloe, yes-- through Kevin."  He was still sad that he couldn't meet Kevin at the docks-- could have-- the pain of not having music was too great, though--! still is.  Even with Richard as a distraction-- that wasn't all he was, of course, he enjoyed the company more than as a distraction, but-- he still longed to sing, regardless.  He was happy that Sheloe had met Kevin, though; she sounded nice.  And, Kevin had told him briefly about his conversation with Richard . . .

"It was a gift," he explained a few moments later once remembering what they were talking about.  The monkey, the toy one.  Right.  "If I were to be honest, its probably not my most endearing possession."  He smiled a little and off-kilter.  "I would hope she would never see it.

"And, um--"  He began to walk towards the bed and make it up, just like he should have as soon as he had woken up.  How embarrassing!  "I-- I have heard that you met Kevin?  He sounded really sorry for the, erm, intrusion."  It was most definitely not a topic to ever bring up, but he was grasping at straws for conversation.  Come to think of it, that metaphor never really made sense to him . . .  All the while, Denskith straightened out the sheets and picked up his now flattened pillow.  Oops.

[Richard Wallace]

Richard stared at the monkey for a moment longer, then gave a shrug. "I don't think she would be bothered," he said, heading for the couch. It was not a pretty doll, but he didn't think she was the type to get offended... not about that. While he walked, the effort to not limp or show any signs of uncertainty took all of his attention; when he finally sat down, he could relax, leaning against the corner of the seat with arm rested casually on the back of it.

"And I'm not bothered, either. It was just a misunderstanding." An infuriating one, but it was fine now -- now that he was out of the reach of that danger and emotions settled down. He watched Denskith head for the bed and shook his head, chuckling. "Don't bother. It's not like mine is made."

[Denskith]

The first reassurance, well, reassured Denskith, sighing in relief before continuing to fold the covers.  The corners go out like a triangle, and in a fatal swoop, the extra bits are pushed underneath.  And now, to fluff-up the pillow . . .  He paused in his work to watch Richard, not out of concern-- he didn't want to feel concern, and Richard didn't need it or would have liked it-- but just to make sure.  He didn't see a limp that time.  Maybe . . .  Maybe he had just been seeing things?  He was sitting down now, at least, and that was all that mattered right now.  Yes . . .

He smiled at the second reassurance, the pillow being fluffed out with what was turning out to be rather violent flappings.  His half-smile was kind, though.

"A misunderstanding . . .  Yes, that's exactly it, isn't it?"  His smile grew in the embarrassment of thought becoming spoken so easily, so quickly and without hesitation.  The phrase at the end was, admittingly, tacked on for precaution's sake, though such a vague command would have been a dud.  Just in case.  Ah, he should probably explain himself-- but then, Richard commented on the bed.  He turned back to his work only to find it completely finished, pillow and all.

"Oops," he let slip, face red.  "Sorry, I-- you have a bed?" he found himself asking-- why did he ask that?  That was so horribly rude!  But here he was, with a look of dumbfoundment on his face, not quite ready to retract the question despite all embarrassment.  Because, really, he wanted to know.  It was hard to not want to know once the subject was broached.

[Richard Wallace]

Once one was settled down, visiting somebody, one started to hope for a drink -- at least Richard did. It didn't seem likely, though, and honestly if Denskith didn't have a private stash of booze in his room, that could only be a reassuring thought.

In fact, the idea of Denskith drinking at all was a rather chilling one.

For a second, Richard was given pause, staring back at Denskith, confused as to why  him having a bed was so surprising... and then, he laughed. "Sure, why not? It's comfortable for reading, and... other things." He cleared his throat. "Playing video games, for instance."

Idly combing a hand through his hair, he looked away. "So, how have you been?"

[Denskith]

Oooooooh.  A bed as furniture, not for sleeping.  That made sense, Denskith supposed.  He smiled at the video games-- they were popular in Windor, whichever ones survived long enough to be played.  A little electric mouse was especially popular.

Denskith looked away, too, mulling over the question.  A dusty desk, an originally unmade bed, and the fact that he had to stumble for clothing all said more on his condition than he would ever like to admit.  The unscarred part of his face twisted in thought-- but really, he was going to be honest.  He just had to phrase it right.

"Fine? Maybe." There was no use in lightening up the recent end of his world. "I've been . . . hindered."  Yes, that was the best word for it.  A hand, the one without ever-pulsing burns, went up to his throat.  He tried to keep smiling, but it was no use.  "There was a man-- a FIGURE," he corrected, for Sner could never be called a man in his mind, "who had decided that I had to be, um, punished, which resulted in him muting me for quite some time.  I'm only just getting it back--" which was wonderful when thinking back to the hell of before-- "but, I think it's taking a while for it to return completely.  It's probably not the same."

He looked up at Richard, expecting some sort of judgement call on such punishment.  Or, for questions.  He would answer, of course, but he would prefer not.

[Richard Wallace]

Richard's gaze was slowly drawn back to the man, and he could not help but let out an incredulous chuckle. "What? That's rough." And gave him a bad feeling, though he would withhold his judgment on the situation until he knew more of it. A man-figure...? Shifting in his seat a little, he sat straighter up, then rested his chin on his fist. He was curious, but couldn't help a little amusement from flickering in his eyes, too. It was a matter worthy of concern, and he had no doubt Denskith suffered a lot, but the whole thing was a little too ridiculous to be taken completely seriously. Muted? Really?

"What did you do?"

[Denskith]

He watched Richard warily.  He didn't seem on-edge . . . though, that would change once full explanations were given.  That would change, and the world would know again that he was a monster.  A monster amongst monsters.

"I needed a target--" he blurted out, not allowing himself better phrasing.  Just get it over with!  "--someone to practice on, and he was just so willing, just so-- so complacent."  He was singing the emphasis, little chirps and notes in otherwise quiet dialogue, and he didn't care.  Just tell him.  Just tell him so that his rightful fear will finally come.  "I sang to him sweet things, gentle things, and it became just so twisted-up, and I-- I probably deserved the muting," he finished, anguish clear, head clasped in both arms.  "I probably-definitely deserved the muting."

He did not mention the blood, nor did he mention the extent of the control.  Both things made him rather sick to think about and would shame Richard even more.  For shame.  For shame!

[Richard Wallace]

Denskith's expression, combined with the fact he still hadn't joined him on the couch, made Richard wonder what exactly had the man done to be so... alert now. Soon, the question was answered, and amusement slowly drained from his face as the confession went on.

He contemplated Denskith for a moment in silence. Then he shook his head.

"You do realize you are an utter twat, right?" His tone was rather flat, slightly disbelieving. "What the hell were you thinking?"

[Denskith]

He considered pacing if the silence had lasted any longer-- something to preoccupy him, something to focus on.  Circumstances did not allow that sort of luxury, though.  "Twat" was a bit harsh, yes, and not a word Denskith was used to hearing, but he knew that he deserved such a name and thus did not object to Richard's labeling.  He hung his head a little and continued to clasp his head.

"I-- I wasn't," he admitted with a self-inflicted flinch.  "There was just-- and I was-- and, and the singing was just so wonderful, and the blood--"

The very mention of such a thing made his mouth water.  He froze mid-sentence to savor such a thought-- what a horrible thing!-- no one got hurt, it was a blood packet-- that was supposed to be used gradually, not all at once!  No wonder he was compelled to control Sner!  No wonder he became mute!

He stared down at the floor, unable to face Richard.

[Richard Wallace]

He could not help an exasperated sigh. "Denskith... Blood? Are you serious?"

That man... Standing there, like an over-grown child being scolded for stealing out of the cookie jar. Stealing blood, Richard thought, and a shadow of a wry smile passed through his face.

He was about to open his mouth to ask who was his victim, but then instead his brows rose with a realization. A man deciding to dispense his own brand of justice through messing with somebody's speech. The options were rather considerably narrow. He could not help an amused and undignified snort, shaking his head afterwards both at the situation and at the silly noise. "I told him," he muttered to himself, then looked to Denskith again.

"You're lucky you only got muted." He paused a beat, musing. "To be honest, this could get you fired. It probably should. You're irresponsible, and frankly, a huge threat." He gave a shrug, as if it didn't concern him either way, then gave Denskith a curious look. "Come to think of it, what do you do these days, now that teaching is over?"

[Denskith]

He swallowed down the coming saliva before it could form as drool.  Richard's sigh, meanwhile, cut like a knife.  As did the snort.  At least, when being scolded in Windor, there was little laughter-- okay, that was a lie.  Some laughed.  Not the people he respected, though, not Wolfgang, and-- and, it hurt when it came from Richard.  It hurt that the noise was not an injustice.  Richard was right to laugh.  Richard was right to scold--

He knew Sner.  H-he had told Sner-- HE WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS.

He listened to Richard best that he could, really, he did, but-- lucky?  Hardly!  Being muted was the worst thing that could have happened to him-- a job is important-- some things are even MORE important, like singing-- livelihood-- there was always Windor.  There was always Windor, but he couldn't possibly go back to Windor mute.  He simply would not survive there.

Keep the rage down.  Keep it down.  Denskith shoulders shook slightly, but he took a deep breath-- too deep-- and exhaled-- too long.  There.  Breathe.  Focus on that and not-- too late.

"I have practiced," he barely managed, his words constrained for fear of exploding.  He did not want broken window panes, not after so long of a winning streak.  "And, I-- I helped with the construction of the Haunted House.  And, castle maintenance . . ."  He stopped himself; this was ridiculous.  There was no way he could continue until he asked the vampire frankly, rude or not, in a shaky voice or not, to an ORIGINAL or not--!

"H-how could you tell him that?"  The notes were imperfect in the italics, still not up to the usual par, but he did not resist the melody.  It was all that was keeping him sane.  It was all . . .  It was all that was keeping him from lunging at Richard and ripping him apart piece by confidential piece.  How could he?  HOW COULD HE?

[Richard Wallace]

Richard watched that expression, that shuddering, the deep breath... and the thought that upsetting a highly emotional person who also happened to be deadly drifted through his head, but somehow, unaccompanied by any emotions. It was a strange thing. He nodded along to Denskith listing off what he busied himself with, and was about to point out that it hardly made for a job, when the next question came.

He quirked a brow. "Tell him what--? Oh." Raising his hands, he rolled his eyes a little. "Oh please, I did not tell him anything about you. I just told him living here would get him in trouble, sooner or later." He looked to him again with a disappointed frown. "So quick to jump to conclusions..." Honestly, if he felt anything, he would feel hurt.

[Denskith]

His rage rose with the roll of the eyes.  This was not a matter to rolls eyes at--!
. . . Oh.
OH.
Oh, damn, this was embarrassing.

Denskith moved his hands to cover his face, beet red.  Of course that was what Richard meant--!  Of course Richard would never harm him, not intentionally!  How could he even think such things!  He moved one of his hands soon after the covering-- ow, the scars, ow owie-- but the attempts of hiding remained.  His back remained hunched over, lowering his height considerably but not enough for normalcy.  His eyes remained wide, now in terror of his own deeds, not Richard's.

"Sorry," he managed after a while, his voice mostly-clear but with remnants of emotions.  Music-- betrayal-- he was amazed at himself that he wasn't in tears, at this point.  Huzzah for development, perhaps.  "Sorry, I-- I should have never doubted.  It's just been . . . a difficult semester."  Without Kevin, he didn't know what he would have done.  He didn't have anyone else to really talk to, anyone else to rely on-- except for, of course . . .  Wait.

Why was Richard visiting only now?  He had been here all semester, and only now, when his voice was back, when Kevin had picked up the pieces, did the vampire return.  The former teacher opened his mouth to ask, but he quickly stopped himself; he didn't want to be rude within the same five minutes, if he could help it.  Hopefully, Richard would say on his own.  Maybe.

"H-how have YOU been?" he asked instead and in a rush.  He forced a smile on his face.  Don't linger on the muteness-- he had a voice now.  Things were better now.  Things were much better now.

[Richard Wallace]

Richard stifled a sigh.

"It's okay," he said, flatly but genuinely. He could see how stressed Denskith was, and though it was hardly a comfort, it was understandable. Reclining again, sliding down a little in his seat, he looked at him for a moment in silence. How much could he tell him? How much did he want to tell him?

Not much. He was hardly inclined toward confiding in people anyway, and when it came to Denskith... well, it was hard to imagine him using the information for malevolent purposes, but not at all hard to picture him accidentally blabbing it out. Afterwards, most likely, turning just as red as now.

Still, he had to say something... He cracked half a tired smile. "Will you come sit down? I'm not talking any more if you don't."

[Denskith]

The response from Richard was hardly comforting, but he tried to accept it as such.  Nothing to do now, was there?  It was impossible to be on perfect terms with the vampire now, impossible.  He had single-handily ruined their friendship.  His hands crawled over his face once more, embarrassed beyond belief, beyond the scope of imagination . . .

He peeked through his hands, noticed the smile, and sat down next to Richard without further word on the matter.  His high knees proved yet again to be a good place to prop his arms, and he used them as such without even looking down at the supposed perch.  It was natural-- for him, not the sheer idea of it all.  His legs were becoming normal to him.

Such a harmless-- mostly-harmless-- question had lead to an order and a turn of mood.  Was this why Richard had come here in the first place?  Was this why Richard hadn't visited him before?  He desperately wanted to know but remained silent.  Real monsters first. He should have let Richard speak first when he had first entered, not blabbered on about his own problems-- but, that could only be amended now, couldn't it?

[Richard Wallace]

Richard was at first relieved when Denskith joined him on the couch, but it seemed it was just that reflexive obedience of his. He stared at him for a moment, waiting if he would speak. He could just hear that inner lamenting, of what happened with Sner or what happened there just then. How wearisome.

"Denskith," he said softly. "Will you stop? You've made your mistakes, yes, and paid a sour price for them. Mourning it isn't going to help anybody any, least of all you."

Going back to counseling hadn't been his will or his intention, but it sure was better than talking about himself.

[Denskith]

He changed the folding of his arms three times before sighing and giving Richard a simple nod.  No, he did not believe the vampire.  Mourning was a good price to pay, the only price he could pay.  It was an eternal act of repentance and remembrance and-- this wasn't what he wanted to talk about, though.  This was Richard's time, now; it was time for his events, opinions, and the like.  It was his time to talk, not the former teacher's and his ramblings.

"Why did you come back?" Denskith asked quietly, turning towards Richard as was polite to do in such situations.  "The letter you had left was rather . . . final."  Except for his part, at least.  He still remembered the promise and was still determined to help Richard however he could.

[Richard Wallace]

Well, there was that. Richard slid down in his seat further slightly, frowning. He would not lie, at least - Denskith deserved that much. He sat up straighter, giving the other a wry smile.

"It sure ended up awkward, didn't it? Such finality, and then... welp, hi again, guys! I changed my mind." He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "It's just... well, you know, it's not easy to keep afloat in the modern world. As a middle-aged man with technically no qualifications, a remarkably empty resume and a need to remain inconspicuous, I don't exactly have a wide choice of well-paid jobs." He flipped a hand. "I don't even eat and I found it hard to juggle the bills, sometimes. Living here is hardly careless, but it is easier, and the older I get the lazier I find myself being."

It was all true, right?

[Denskith]

Denskith managed a small chuckle with the vampire.  It was painful.  This wasn't a matter to laugh about, but what else could he do to assure Richard that it was?  Th-that is, what else could he do to convince the vampire that he was correct?  Not that Richard was "incorrect," but Denskith in no way agreed that laughing was appropriate in this situation.  It was a bit "silly," maybe, but not "funny."  It was too sad to be "funny."

"I can understand the resume problem, at least."  He shouldn't have said the "at least!"  But, his thoughts rambled on, and his face put on a lop-sided smile to signal that, in the end, everything turned out all right.  "It was hard getting into college when there were no extra-curricular activities available in Windor due to the war and that no one could know about said-war or Windor, for that matter."  Which made the irony of being able to talk about Windor to Richard all the more stark-- or, rather, his mistake about revealing Windor to Richard all the more evident.

"B-but, I am, um, probably having difficulty imagining that you are becoming 'lazier.'"  He used the term reluctantly.  "While the island can be a sanctuary, it can also be a potential burden for those who try to take care of it and its population.  I-- I mean," he attempted to start again, "I probably often find the Academy-- Alliance-- to be harder than Windor before it.  Here, there can be a lot more . . . secrets."

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