#( haistulf 01 )

[anghexescu]

@haistulf

A child? Why is he out in this section all by himself? "Are you lost?" He doesn't think that's the case. The young one looks so comfortable being on the shadier side of the lower levels of Fibonacci. Concerning if he has to admit it. Still, he wouldn't be someone that should judge. He would have done the same thing and has been in shady parts when he was younger too. For missions, but still.

[ostentumm]

"You're not the only one who trained to hunt," Oliver says with a grumble. He had been training to hunt moment since the day he could walk, he's sure of it. It's all he's ever known.

"Hey, don't look at my arm so closely anyway!" There's a pause and then, "You'll get stunned by its awesomeness!"

walking side by side, astolfo stares straight ahead as the other catches up. he knows he doesn't smell like anything, sure to clean up every night after a job, but it's the second comment that has him spit a quick, ' don't call it weird, ' in the direction of his own body.

   he's aware that he's defiled. he doesn't need this guy pointing it out to him, with no context as to what made astolfo the way he is. ' i've been training to hunt for years. my body is capable on its own. and what about yours? this arm is strange, at best, ' raising one of them in the direction of the other.

[hollowfaith]

「✧」 2:36AM. Quiet footsteps echo through the overgrown, abandoned alleyways of Cotes Ward's seedier east side. Aurelius should technically be asleep at this hour, but news about the town had led him to prowl its premises after a particularly boring day.

Rumor has it that if you linger in the Underside too late at night, a monster resembling the Grim Reaper itself will spawn and steal your soul.

2:48AM. The scent of blood grows prominent, though he's yet to find its source. Bits of rubble and lengths of vine litter pathways at his feet, making navigating in the dark a cumbersome process.

2:54AM. He comes upon the severed remains of a tail and remembers that monsters like to hunt here as well. Perhaps the rumors point to them instead? But the cut is too clean for claws or teeth...

3:03AM. Rounding a corner, the angel comes upon a narrow street lined on both sides by buildings. Here is where the stench is sharpest, and he's forced to watch his step as the sudden wealth of corpses on the ground makes it hard to place his feet.

"Really, what a mess..."

"I suppose this is the place—hmm?"

He looks up, wondering at the glint of light that caught his eye.

@haistulf ໒꒱

[depenndable]

@haistulf

"Uh. Hey." Awkward as ever, but, he couldn't help but notice... "Is everything alright?" Why did it look like this kid was trying to kill him with this stare.

As far as Meteorite was concerned: he hadn't done anything too outrageous...Maybe..?

[daxned]

The creature is close and how it manages to STOP dead in its track the moment the being releases Dam-bi's arm is unsettling. It doesn't move, but all three heads and all five eyes are on the boy.

"So you're smarter than you look," Dam-bi states as she gently rotates her wrist that was held. "You said that I stink." Dam-bi had been called many things, but that was not one of them. He had asked her what she was, and it wasn't a question she got often. Not in her world and not in this one. Aside from perhaps Sukuna, who had already a feeling. The child stands beside the tall beast and turns to face the other, "your question...has it been answered?"

much like the beast of gévaudan, a creature sprints at astolfo with no signs of stopping. he has angered something he can't defeat on his own, with no other chasseur inhabiting the island— and while he prides himself in his abilities, there is the distinct note of fear in his mouth as he goes to say something without knowing what.

   he lets go of her wrist, whether that's a conscious decision or the instinct to put himself into a better position. one that might have him survive this encounter. his hand goes to the knife strapped to his backside. swiveling around, one foot behind the other, his focus shifts entirely to the creature, and as it keeps approaching, he readies himself to jump. if not over, it'll at least be a start.

[ostentumm]

@haistulf

"YOU! WHY weren't you answering your PHONE?" It's a good thing he was able to track him down! Surely the guy wasn't trying to avoid Oliver with HIS face! He haaaaaas to want to get back into his own body just as much as Oliver wanted his back. sheesh, he's already over this. First an old man and NOW some guy with such a fucked up past!

"You didn't do anything crazy in my body did you? I'll BITE you if you did." What a threat.

[nicawlette]

❝ Are you sure you need my help? ❞ The reply comes as easily as the smile curling at painted lips, ❝ Looks like you have the situation completely under control, from where I'm standing. ❞ Her two-tone gaze is sharp with amusement as it sweeps across the unnecessarily gruesome scene before settling upon the one holding the spotlight. Fascinating, without a doubt. Someone so young already so angry.

It's like looking in a mirror.

Honestly, she finds the whole ordeal quite funny, chuckling even as her eyes make contact with the man behind the counter; he seems less afraid and more furious about how things have unfolded, not that she can blame him. Being bested, by a child of all things, must be a rather humiliating blow to ones ego.

❝ This isn't really the place to be making enemies, kid— especially if you're hoping for a favor. But seeing as you aren't pointing that scary thing at me and put on a pretty good show, I could be convinced to help you out. Certainly not for free, though. ❞

Pushing away from the wall, Nicolette inclines her head towards the exit, as if to say ❛ shall we go? ❜ He's successfully ruined his chances of making business deals with this particular establishment, but lucky for him, there was no shortage seedy individuals offering exactly what he wanted— for the right price, of course.

the ground level of the fibonacci ward seems to have been made for astolfo. or, at least, made for people like the chasseurs, who have been living and working underground for centuries— astolfo himself seems to be stumbling across a few ... difficulties.

   it's damp, it's dark, it's a maze much like astolfo's home. there are people engaging in illegal trade, whole markets made for items not usually acquirable. and while it's occasionally his duty to deal with vermin like this, astolfo is busy trying to buy a spear.

   one would expect criminals to let him do that, correct? well, either way, he's now standing over the collapsed body of a man, pointing his knife at the other one behind the stand, who's awfully up in arms about his partner being injured.

   ' stay back or i'll gut you. ' there's no question to his declaration, no wondering whether or not he actually means it. as though he's practiced with swinging threats around like weapons. kicking the man on the ground, astolfo huffs and turns, catching eye of a passerby. or perhaps spectator would be a better word.

   ' mademoiselle. do you happen to know any businessmen that will actually let me do business down here? '

@nicawlette / sc

[daxned]

He could snap her wrist right off and she wouldn't react any way than how she was now. Emotionless, eyes boring into his own. The low growl though, from the creature hidden behind the trees and barks only grows louder.

Dam-bi's gaze doesn't waver from the other and she speaks, "You'll see soon enough." But not even soon enough, because as she speaks. The creature that stayed hidden is BARRELING toward. With its massive 8 ft tall self, it crashes through the many trees, toppling them down like dominos. There won't be anywhere for the boy to run and Dam-bi isn't about to stop the creature either.

"You'll let go eventually. If not, you'll get crushed like the bug that you are," she tests.

astolfo tracks the pairs of eyes as they show up, five of them appearing, overcast by leaves and bark. there is satisfaction in being proven right, and that only serves to up the ante. it's roland's voice in his mind that stops the corners of his mouth from twitching upward, warning him to get a good overview of any battlefield he's in.

   what matters isn't her age or her initially harmless appearance. not even the threat in her words. it's the power he's unfamiliar with, the unpredictability of it all. the lack of tonics and marco.

   his hand squeezes around her wrist, once.

   his eyes narrow, before they widen. ' what will you do if i don't? '

[daxned]

Dam-bi stills, her body tenses, and her eyes raises to meet the stranger who dared grab her. She's not offended and she's calm as ever, but there is a thread---a warning in the air surrounding them.

"If I were you, I'd let go before something decides to rip you to shreds."

There are 5 eyes glowing in the dark, shadowed behind roots and trees around it. Glowing amber, dimly yellow, and glowing white ones seem to be piercing with into the stranger and it's followed by a low growl.

"I seem to be much younger than you, but even I that this isn't the right way to ask. Unhand me."

the chasseurs were trained to kill, not judge. rampaging vampires were too dangerous to interact with other than in battle, and that meant to kill with no hesitation, no discrimination. astolfo knows that he excelled at this, knows that the church appreciated his swiftness.

   that's part of why he doesn't mince his words as he grabs her wrist, looking it over. she's a child, but what does it matter?

   (so is he. so was that vampire.)

   ' you stink. '

   it's a simple statement, insulting as it is. not quite vampire, but different. not quite human enough for him to step in. he's still holding her wrist as he keeps speaking. ' what are you? '

@daxned / sc

[hollowfaith]

「✧」 It's charming, to watch the child coming back into his bearings with such self-control. He's precise about details, taking care of his shoes first before speaking up. Aurelius can't remember what kind of carpet he has in this study, only that it'd been recommended for its elegant design and plush fabric—more importantly, Klaus had approved when he showed him the design.

He's still thinking over Astolfo's question when he laughs—deep but soft, like a blanket of clouds drifting across a dark sky.

"I like to think I volunteer."

"My service has always been to God, even if I'm forced to express it in different ways."

He might handpick his patients, but none of them ever had to pay. Though the Dust in his bank account came from the clinic after operating costs and salaries, there was little need to touch it beyond supporting daily necessities or indulging in a strange pastime or two.

"You needn't worry too much. Those paid to clean will be happy for the extra work, and most of the furnishings here are for the benefits of my guests, not myself."

Bookshelves, couches, wallpaper—all had been calculated to soothe in a cozy combination of elements.

astolfo's tears fall silently throughout their journey. staring downwards, at himself, at the fabric of aurelius' clothes, his eyes don't find the sky, so much closer than ever before. by the time they approach, his tears have dried, and his gaze drifts over the patch of grass below, a sign in front of a large house whose font he can't make out in just the light of a nearby lantern.

   the air insider is warmer, making him aware of just how cold he is. he's silent for a moment. it's not uncomfortable, but he gives his body some time to adjust to the new light, blinks against straining eyes, drained from his small outburst of emotion.

   he doesn't want to, but he lets himself down, slipping his legs through the hold aurelius has on them to stand on the ground with two feet. his hand releases his suit, and he uses that same hand to rub at his eyes. it doesn't do a lot but smear the blood around some more, but astolfo doesn't really notice. looking around, he opts for a question instead.

   ' ... do you work here? ' it seems absurd, to think of an angel working like some type of commoner. he should be admired, astolfo's first thought is. held above the rest, not amongst them.

   suddenly very aware of his own disarray, he checks his boots to check that he isn't dirtying the carpet underneath. just to be sure, he leans forward to take them off instead, carefully unfolding the lace holding them in place. once they're put to the side, he looks back at aurelius, suddenly a little shy.

   ' thank you for bringing me here. i will ... i don't want to disturb your belongings too much. ' it's familiar, this whole place. astolfo is glad for the lack of other people nearby, the silence of nighttime having followed them into the building. ' i'll make a mess ... '

[hollowfaith]

「✧」 This then, is familiar.

Humans were such small and insignificant things. And yet God had told their kind to keep an eternal vigil over their fleeting lives. Even if the flesh should rot, the soul was immortal, and in between the mass of mediocrity one did find, on occasion, a shining jewel.

(A garnet this time, if you would.)

In this he kept his vow to his Creator to look after the poor lost lamb, for who would wield devotion with such desperation unless he had strayed from the fold and was searching for a way back?

He says nothing to Astolfo's actions or voice, only holds him closer to shield him from the wind as he flies. The boy seems to be in no mood to enjoy the stars above him—but that was all right. Their light shone on him still, soft and patient.

Aurelius doesn't go home but heads for the clinic instead, flying up to the third-floor windows that unlatch at his command and open outwards into the night. Soundlessly, the angel steps into his study and prompts a lamp to click on—in soothing hues, dim enough to not raise alarms.

"We've arrived," he states simply while carrying the chasseur in his arms. "It's late, so no one else is here."

"There's a connecting room where you can wash up."

Still he doesn't move, content to hold his charge until he made a decision.

aurelius vane-tempest does not flinch away from him. back when astolfo talked to charles for the first time, after he'd tried to— charles had told him his body was defiled, and astolfo believed it. still believes it, when he dresses himself and looks at the marks left behind by fanged mouths and clawed hands. he'd thought that god would not look kindly upon him, somebody ruined by heretics, who had tried to flee this life the second he had the chance.

   the hand on his shoulder moves to his head, staying close. astolfo thinks if he pulled too far away now, he'd break apart. so when aurelius crouches down to wrap the child in his arms, picking him up swiftly and easily, he doesn't resist, but crumble.

   it's when they leave the ground that astolfo wraps one hand in the front of aurelius' suit, holding on tightly. everything is floating, for a second, and then there's the flap of wings that takes them into the air. he's being held, he realizes, in a warm embrace, meant to keep him safe as they depart. the tears fall down his cheeks with the thought, and he bites his lip to keep quiet, leaning into himself.

defiled, he'd thought. so why does he feel like precious goods, being carried somewhere safer?

   eventually, his head bumps against aurelius' chest— with a stuttering whimper, astolfo relents entirely, falls into the hold with all the trust he possesses, until they reach their goal.

[depenndable]

Meteoriteman should really be congratulated on the restraint he's showing. Perhaps he's taking pity because this is just a kid, and there was always plenty of time to have a change of heart!

"Eh, where I come from we're more than just tools to advance human society. We're given souls so that we may be on the same playing field as humans: some even see us as friends or even something deeper than that: like their own flesh and blood. Touching stuff, I know."

"But, that's more than you asked for. So I'll be quiet."

"That means so much to me that you want to spend more time with me!" Just for being indignant, Meteorite was going to make this as painful as possible for the other. For fun! "Maybe we could get matching outfits too!" You could tell he has siblings.

' i don't know what world you live in, but in mine, nobility has servants to take care of their chores for them. automatons are usually made to do things for humans as well, so you should know something about that. marco did most of mine. '

   there, it only took half a day for him to vaguely rue the lack of his co-captain. this would be much easier if marco was here ...

   pretending like he's thinking it over properly, astolfo puts a hand to his chin. there's no real other answer, but it feels pitiful to accept the offer immediately. eventually, he nods thoughtfully.

   ' i suppose i'll have to sooner or later. what a hassle ... take me to those department stores you mentioned. '

[hollowfaith]

「✧」 There, there.

The tiny hand around his wrist is hardly strong enough to hold him, but he has answered the pleas of far softer voices, far weaker souls. For them he has been their pillar, a beacon of light holding them up from the ugliness of the world around them.

"Let your path be your own," he amends gently.

"A shepherd follows his flock from behind, guiding them to safety when they stray. Thus do the lambs grow strong and smart on their own."

He reaches out a second hand to pat the boy on the head, quite aware of the sticky stains it leaves on his palm but ignoring them for the moment.

"And as you've already shown me, Astolfo is a very capable child."

They shouldn't linger long. Even if the monsters were taken care of, there was a good chance that their blood would only attract more. Idly, Aurelius wonders if Astolfo would have kept fighting until dawn if left to his own devices.

"Come then—" His body bends down and easily sweeps the off his feet and into his arms, furthering staining his clothes with blood. Klaus would probably raise questions with the laundry, but Aurelius could explain things afterwards. "—I'll take you away, as promised."

With a powerful flap of his wings, angel and human soar into the skies.

is it truly this easy?

   faith is a funny thing in the circle of the chasseurs. astolfo remembers a time where he listened to others chastising the faith of roland, calling it self-centered, unsteady. he remembers losing his own faith, and finding it in the man that saved him. he remembers the strike across his face, and roland's expression— the hopelessness on his face— as astolfo only followed what the church had been teaching him.

   covered in blood, as he is now, bodies strewn around him. only that this time, the hand touching his face is gentle, studious. the voice is soft, inquisitive. wrapped in acknowledgments and praise as though it were a warm blanket, astolfo thinks that there is gold in roland, but it doesn't compare to the sight ahead of him.

   a shepherd has come to shelter him.

   ' monsieur aurelius ... ' aurelius vane-tempest, a name he carefully commits to memory, spelling each letter out. the hand on his shoulder steadies him as astolfo starts trembling, tears welling up in his eyes. his eagerness overpowers his hesitation as he finally wraps a small hand around aurelius' wrist, keeping it there.

   ' i will follow your righteous path, wherever it leads, if you'll have me. '

[depenndable]

"Commoner? Most...People do their own laundry, regardless of status." Hell, even the Doctor did her own laundry.

"Though, that is the real problem here, if you don't have a change of clothes..." A thoughtful tap to his chin as he thinks... "I did see a few shops on the way over."

"I'm not exactly a fashion guy, that's more my sister's thing. But, I can accompany you if you need to hit up some department stores." He would just have to ignore anyone who stared at him for too long. He seemed to attract attention in the form of prolonged eye contact...It couldn't be helped, but it was less common at home. He already missed that.

"Two or three outfits should do it, plus a set of pajamas too. You'll be washing clothes everyday for awhile, but it's good practice."

' what?! '

   with no other alternative available, it finally sinks in: he's being expected to do his own chores here. there are no servants, and certainly no nuns or other staff around, and the automatons aren't advanced enough to function on their own—

   ' like some kind of commoner? they dumped me here to do all this work? ' the stars probably didn't put him here just to learn how to do laundry, but it can't hurt. ' and no change of clothes? '

[hollowfaith]

「✧」 Garnet.

It was a gloomy gemstone, more black than red, that needed the full radiance of sunlight to reveal its luster. Quite a somber choice for such a young child, though Aurelius could appreciate the contrast of dark and light, red and pink, blood and smiles.

The name Granatum means nothing to him either—further proof that Astolfo was from a different world (if the fanatic slaughter wasn't evidence enough)—but Aurelius takes the time to lift the youth's chin and tilt his face both ways for a better look.

"You are indeed a rare gem. How gratifying that the church still recognizes and rewards devotion."

"I am Aurelius Vane-Tempest, a shepherd of God's angelic flock. You may call me as you see fit."

Nothing could have predicted that in seeking Death tonight, he found its messenger instead. Compared to such a surprise, he's happy to let Astolfo call him whatever he pleased.

His hand holding the chasseur's face slides down to rest on a narrow shoulder. The voice he speaks with next is softer than it's ever been, its tone laced with mellow warmth.

"Is you duty done for tonight? Will you come with me now—amongst the stars, where you can seek your just reward?"

the praise latches onto astolfo like a leech. where, only a few months ago, critizing his teachings would've offended him deeply ... now, it only leaves room for improvement. for another word of praise, being granted to him like a reward for a job done well.

   his smile falls to leave him looking vulnerable. his arms slack at his side, he looks up at the creature before him, perhaps taking in the sight properly for the first time: an angel with golden wings, come down from heaven to guide him.

o lord, i thank thee for this blessing, for i do not deserve it.

   a thumb wipes the blood from his cheek. astolfo's fingers only brush his sleeves, not daring to fully touch, even as he wishes to grasp the wrist, to keep it close. entranced as he is, it takes a second for him to answer. when he does, the confident cackle has left his tone, leaving only fragile openness.

   ' astolfo ... astolfo of the house granatum. for my services in church, i was granted the title of garnet. ' his knees lift a bit, into the touch, overeager, as he can't help but ask: ' what do i call you, monsieur? '

[depenndable]

"There are no servants." He says as a matter-of-factly. It doesn't bother him too much about how this guy was clearly raised, not being responsible for his own chores and all. But there was a lesson to be had here...

Maybe?

"Be sure to separate your colors, blacks, and whites, by the way."

' ... huh? '

   there is a long, a bit too long, moment of silence, his blank expression slowly morphing into upset. feeling a bit dumbfounded, astolfo takes a moment to think it over.

   if the automatons don't do the work ... and there's no servants around ... ' so ... it's not the automatons that do the work, but the servants? how do i get them here? '

   not quite grappling with it yet, apparently. that's what a lifetime of being coddled about chores will do to you.