impure_tale

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I have to say I am somewhat surprised; I have been so long since graduating that I suspected the Admiral was awaiting me to finish the play before he would assign me. It is a special irony that I am not only wrong, but have had my assignment made within theatrical circles just the same. I am surprised and in a way honored.

Monsieur Iago, you and I are going to have to have a little chat.

[Filtered to the Cast and Crew]

To my theatre troupe: Owing to the fact that a vast majority of you are in need of time to recover, group rehearsals are postponed for the time being. If any of you require my aid, or lessons or exercises from me to help you get back into the proper mindset to act, I am happy to provide, should you ask.

[Private to Pavi]

Paviche?

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[Pavi answers the door a long few moments later. His normally rather ostentatious fashions have been abandoned in favour of a white sleeveless shirt and simple black trousers; his hair is unstyled, falling loosely around his face. Even despite his scars, the shadows under his eyes are obvious.

He just looks at the other man for a moment, saying nothing, then steps back to allow him inside.]

[The Marquis is a little surprised at the uncharacteristically somber appearance of the other man, but he says nothing. The last time a man he was sleeping with had something terrible happen to them, he had been missing a good deal of the sense of tact he feels he carries, now. He is going to play this by ear, see what Pavi lets him do.

He enters, walking a few paces before turning to face his host.]

Hello, Marquis. Thank you for coming.

[His voice is still high and lilting, a little effeminate, but the Italian accent has gone. Speaking without it - deliberately, not simply dropping it out of stress or shock, for the first time in years - feels like more of an exposure than being seen without his mask. But he doesn't care. More than anything he wants to be himself, unadorned and unconnected, and the intensity of that desire overrides everything else.

Almost everything. He knows exactly what he wants from the Marquis, he just...doesn't know how to ask.]

You...will sit down?

[He notices the absence of the accent immediately. It is something he has always partially suspected, and meant to ask about eventually, when he felt the situation was not too delicate. He just always noticed that the man's sister did not have one, and sometimes -- when they were in the throes, themselves, it had a tendency to disappear when Pavi reached the higher octaves. Not hearing it now would have been seen as something of a step forward, if he were not suddenly worried that it was a sign of breakage.]

Of course, Paviche.

[He moves to sit, first setting the bottle and the box aside before finding a chair.]

[Pavi sits down close to him, his movements languid - not his ordinarily well-practiced sense of relaxed control, but more as if he's completely beyond any sort of poise. He feels a little guilty that he's allowed the Marquis here when his sister would not be welcome, but he doesn't think he could bear the company of someone whose echoes he can still feel in the back of his mind.]

You are well?

I have certainly been worse, cherub. [He watches him, allowing him to settle close but still making a mental check of every motion, all the changes from his usual body language.] But is there anything I can do for you?

I...

[He swallows dryly.]

I do not think I should make any...demands of you.

If I can provide, it is yours, Paviche.

Oh...

[He's silent and still for a brief time, his body tensing; a moment later he pushes himself out of his seat and against the Marquis, kissing him with the savage sort of passion borne of desperation.]

[The Marquis sits back a little, surprised, but does not stop him from kissing him. He returns it, half wanting to, half like he knows it's needed. After a moment he pulls back for a breath.]

...Paviche, are you certain?

[Pavi refuses to let him pull back quite all the way; he presses his face to the Marquis' throat, kissing the line of his jaw.]

I n-need it. I need you to. Hurt me. As much as you want. As much as you can.

[He stares up at the Marquis, his eyes dark.] Please.

[He bites his lip.] If you're certain. [He's not incapable, but he has to weigh for himself whether this could backfire horribly later.]

I am. [He is. More certain of this than anything he's wanted in a long time. He doesn't care if what happens next leaves him broken and scarred - all the better if it does. Anything to burn away the pain of the previous week. He presses himself closer to the Marquis, kissing him again, unable to bear the idea of any protest.]

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