There is something in the combination of the self-loathing and... almost arrogance that is very, very confusing for him and that expression is once more stamped on his face, albeit fairly subtly.
It is also clear in his pause before reply, and the way his fingers on the plant he was touching still.
"I don't think that's quite how that works," is all he says, still looking... well, completely and utterly baffled, completely still save the wind toying with the occasional strand of his hair.
"No?" He holds Alaric's gaze a moment, amber eyes steadfastly taking in every ounce of that confusion. It was fine, better he didn't. Maybe he'd never understand and this would be filed away as 'that one really odd conversation I had with the crazy Alpha healer' and it would never matter again.
All at once, his expression melted to an easy smile and he gave a wave of his hand as though brushing aside the entire thing. "Well, then I must be wrong, forget it entirely."
He laughs, a startled thing at first, but then genuine and he crosses his arms over his chest.
"How do you know I'm not? Lucky for you, you're endlessly charming, I'm sure you'll do fine. Is there anywhere else you'd like to go or anything else you'd like to do before the old codger calls on you?"
He leads them back out of the garden and down the colorful hall back to the lower floors. As they crossed passed the floor with the wards, Anders tossed a curious look over to Alaric. "This might be too personal, but you responded to my answer about the cycles with disdain earlier. I'm curious what it is you're used to, what you were expecting."
"As you said about secrets - there's very little I would consider too personal, here."
There's no hesitation in his steps, he simply carries on. He does however briefly break eye-contact, to try to find words. Not answers, he has those, just the words.
Then he realizes there isn't really any dressing it up and he wouldn't if he could. It's brutal in its own way but it's the sort of thing he is used to. Familiar. "Being left alone." It really is that simple.
"Really?" They weren't crammed together when it happened, but there were usually two or three omegas to a room, depending on how many of them hit their heat at the same time and if there were hands to spare. Alphas were kept two to a room and at opposite ends, too much instinct and too much aggression, depending. Either way, even if the odd circumstance where someone ended up alone, there was always a templar to be found, Betas with ant-magic abilities to break or sooth depending on the guard.
If it was really bad, he or Wynne might be called in with a specific person or a full room depending on the definition of 'bad' and it was miserable for all involved. Another aspect of serving, but he couldn't imagine being left to suffer entirely alone.
"I cannot speak from experience," he says, sounding just a little grumpy about it, "but I cannot see a single way company would have actually been preferable."
A pause, and amendment, "Excluding several days when anyone with a dick would have been fine, but incredibly awkward and uncomfortable shortly after."
Then he softens and shrugs, slightly. "It is physically miserable, there is little to nothing I could realistically do about it." In hiding, remember? "Curling up behind walls and waiting it out if nothing else saved my dignity."
He shook his head as they finally got back to floor with the library. "Well, those plants I was tending earlier are meant for a potion that is supposed to help symptoms for the cycles, though it's largely experimental right now and some batches are stronger than others." Plus, sometimes there wasn't enough if a mated pair without their other half needed it, more was siphoned off to try and make them comfortable, but no one aside from the healers knew that one, it would make the placebo they had to replace it with less effective.
Their path led them past a set of templars stationed at the stairs, then another stationed at Irving's closed door and Anders stepped a bit closer to lower his voice, tone pointed and eyes on the next templar stationed thirty or so feet away. "In the meantime...welcome to a life of never being alone again, Ser Morgan."
He looks very slightly pained, but nods and manages another smile, albeit this one strained. "Thank you for your help. I look forward to seeing you again."
That is all true at least, though he is not looking forward to discussions.
Dinner is about what Anders would call ordered chaos, even Breakfast was easier. There was a group breakfast, but there were options for those who rose early either due to duties, worship needs, or preference. Dinner was simply everyone all at once.
Gregoir and Irving, for all their flaws, ran a tight ship as far as process was concerned, however, and it was hardly a zoo, but even lowered voices for conversations at the various mage tables and templar tables could create a din.
For his part, Anders was faced with the same dilemma he'd been faced with for the last year and a half: where to sit. A simple problem, really, and it wasn't that there weren't options, he just had to pick his preference of downside.
He could sit with Wynne and a few of her peers who either kept quite and dull conversation or none at all and potentially suffer his previous-mentor's disapproving or judgmental remarks. He could sit with a couple of the Apprentices that had recent undergone their Harrowing and suddenly feel ancient or be bombarded with questions, depending on the flavor of the night, or he could sit with his old friends. The ones that knew what number of theirs was missing and had been and still they looked at him with such pity in their eyes, though he knew some of them were beginning to think 'hasn't it been long enough?' and that was worse.
He was contemplating the table full of only Alphas when he caught sight of Alaric instead. He could start there at least, maybe make sure his temporary charge settled in somewhere.
Alaric had paid absolutely no attention to where he sat, only that he sat. He was sitting with a fork in his hand and plate in front of him.
He was also sitting with his other elbow on the table, head propped in his hand, and his head tilted deliberately, so as to direct his hair to fall over his face. He was not complaining about... anything, but the number of people and noise level were creating issues - or one issue made worse by the other.
He is holding himself, in spite of the casual posture, with a lot of tension - in his back, his shoulders, his jaw, and the fact that the hand in his hair is a white knuckled fist. For all that, the hand he's holding the fork with is relaxed.
He has barely any idea who sat down to eat with him, just that someone has. He automatically looks up and then smiles. "Hello, again."
He wasn't exactly at the right place, but he hadn't put himself at the Alpha's table or the Omega's table either, simply one of the Apprentice's tables, silly but harmless. Anders had been all ready with some quip about finding people Alaric's own age when the look in his face and strain in his voice stole his attention and took the playful tease from his expression.
"Are you...?" He paused, hand partially up towards Alaric, but hovering uselessly in the air in his hesitation. He most certainly was not alright.
"What's the matter? You seem in pain. Is it the volume?" Alaric had said he'd been alone for his cycles and a noble's house was sure to have plenty of free spaces with quiet corners, maybe the hall was simply too crowded?
"Loud and loud," he muttered, as though that made perfect sense and he wasn't repeating himself.
He blinks and makes an effort and manages to release his hand from his hair, at least. "I'll be fine. Just a bit of a headache. It's been a long day for me and I'm certain it has you as well. I don't want you to ruin your meal with more work."
Nothing about that lessened his concern and he eyes Alaric a moment before making a decision. He takes up Alaric's food and stands, then leans down to keep his voice lowered. "Come with me, take my arm."
This would, undoubtedly, feed the monstrous rumor mill, but maybe he was due some new back-handed whispers. Alaric wasn't. Day one and he's lead off on the arm of an Alpha carrying his food for him? Licentious, but the poor blond had barely set foot in Kinloch before rumors had caught like wildfire and if the headache was so bad, people whispering behind his back was a price worth paying for a bit of peace.
It was more for not getting lost, but he wasn't going to press it if Alaric was sure, he just seemed so small hunched in on himself then.
"Some place quieter."
He lead them to a far corner of the room, a small round table set up near one of the thin floor-to-ceiling windows. The corner was cooler for it, the lighting less harsh for the moonlight, and placement of the table near that particular corner meant the acoustics turned more muffled here.
At the table sat three older women and two older men, two humans and two elves, all but one of them Omegas. Only two looked up at the young men's approach and Anders nodded to one of them. "Wynne...Mind if we join you tonight?"
Wynne had been his teacher for nearly ten of his thirteen years here, as soon as he'd shown a spark of talent for Spirit Healing, she maybe knew as much about him as Irving did and her blind faith and loyalty to everything to do with the circle's systems often put them at odds...but she was good and reasonable and he trusted her to see Alaric's pain and know exactly what Anders was looking for.
She nodded and gestured to a set of chairs left empty beside her. Anders set Alaric's food down beside the woman and took the other for himself as her familiar pulse of panacea reached out and soothed through the occupants of the table. Their conversations, what little happened, were often boring, but this was probably the quietest corner in the room.
Once they were settled, Wynne smiled softly to Alaric and made brief small talk with him, an introduction, a request to let her know if he needed anything, and then she went back to her quiet conversation. The other three at the table never looked up from their books and notes.
It was a pride thing. He was grateful for the attention and had that impulse to reach out to Anders and let him know that he was grateful. He did not, because the urge was a bad idea -- and a physical one, to touch and maybe squeeze the man's forearm.
Instead, he simply complied and went where he was led.
It helped - some. It left him with the pressure and weight in his head, but without the aggravating factors he managed to return the small talk politely.
...Okay the panacea probably had a lot to do with that, and how he managed to eat most of his food.
He still ended up in posture similar to the one he had been in. Curled in on himself, and - this time listing over into Anders, albeit slightly. Turned toward him because it was away from everyone else and Anders was relatively more soothing.
He did not quite fall asleep on Anders, but he got relatively near it.
It isn't perfect: the pain only seemed lessened, but it seemed to help and that would be enough for now, hopefully.
He notices when Alaric ends up closer to him than closer to Wynne and he has to fight the very real urge to pull him closer and wrap an arm about Alaric's shoulders. It wouldn't help anything. What he does instead is take advantage of the seemingly slipping awareness to mix his panacea in through Wynne's with practiced ease, though he kept his more localized. Wynne must sense it, though, because soon enough he can feel her gaze on him. One quick glance up as he moves just a bit closer in case Alaric were to fall asleep against him confirms the gentle disapproval. He can practically hear her: 'Don't be foolish, I warned you last time too.' His mental-Wynne goes as ignored as the real one.
When dinner is beginning to wrap up and more people have left, Anders' hand brushes Alaric's shoulder. "Maybe it's time to retire?"
He was drifting in other people's feelings and emotions, and that was made more pleasant by the panacea - less unpleasant and crushing, anyway, but it didn't really stop perception.
Meaning:
"Does she not like you?"
Wait. No. He shouldn't be able to have picked that up.
That was...odd. He leaves it for now and waits until he's coaxed them out of the dining hall and into the relative quiet of the Circle's halls before coming back to it. Better privacy, if nothing else, plus they had a ways to get back up to the Mage's quarters.
"She doesn't approve of a lot of things. Chiefly: a lot of what I do. I don't think she dislikes me, though, if she did she'd leave me alone." He knew that much. He knew it because that was the very problem: if she could care less about him or completely dislike him, they'd likely get along just fine.
"More importantly: you barely looked at her...what makes you ask that?"
He shakes his head slightly, as though to clear it. It is much better out here, and he can think, but he has no good answer so goes with something that is at least true. "I thought I heard her say something about warning you last time."
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It is also clear in his pause before reply, and the way his fingers on the plant he was touching still.
"I don't think that's quite how that works," is all he says, still looking... well, completely and utterly baffled, completely still save the wind toying with the occasional strand of his hair.
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All at once, his expression melted to an easy smile and he gave a wave of his hand as though brushing aside the entire thing. "Well, then I must be wrong, forget it entirely."
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"...How long have you been here, Anders?"
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He tilts his head a bit, easy smile firmly in place. "Many more to go, I think. Maker willing."
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"Your coping mechanisms are, I'm sure, effective, but they also make you seem psychotic."
Just, you know, throwing that out there.
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"How do you know I'm not? Lucky for you, you're endlessly charming, I'm sure you'll do fine. Is there anywhere else you'd like to go or anything else you'd like to do before the old codger calls on you?"
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He leads them back out of the garden and down the colorful hall back to the lower floors. As they crossed passed the floor with the wards, Anders tossed a curious look over to Alaric. "This might be too personal, but you responded to my answer about the cycles with disdain earlier. I'm curious what it is you're used to, what you were expecting."
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There's no hesitation in his steps, he simply carries on. He does however briefly break eye-contact, to try to find words. Not answers, he has those, just the words.
Then he realizes there isn't really any dressing it up and he wouldn't if he could. It's brutal in its own way but it's the sort of thing he is used to. Familiar. "Being left alone." It really is that simple.
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If it was really bad, he or Wynne might be called in with a specific person or a full room depending on the definition of 'bad' and it was miserable for all involved. Another aspect of serving, but he couldn't imagine being left to suffer entirely alone.
"You find that to be better?"
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A pause, and amendment, "Excluding several days when anyone with a dick would have been fine, but incredibly awkward and uncomfortable shortly after."
Then he softens and shrugs, slightly. "It is physically miserable, there is little to nothing I could realistically do about it." In hiding, remember? "Curling up behind walls and waiting it out if nothing else saved my dignity."
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Their path led them past a set of templars stationed at the stairs, then another stationed at Irving's closed door and Anders stepped a bit closer to lower his voice, tone pointed and eyes on the next templar stationed thirty or so feet away. "In the meantime...welcome to a life of never being alone again, Ser Morgan."
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That is all true at least, though he is not looking forward to discussions.
It doesn't even occur to him to dread dinner.
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Gregoir and Irving, for all their flaws, ran a tight ship as far as process was concerned, however, and it was hardly a zoo, but even lowered voices for conversations at the various mage tables and templar tables could create a din.
For his part, Anders was faced with the same dilemma he'd been faced with for the last year and a half: where to sit. A simple problem, really, and it wasn't that there weren't options, he just had to pick his preference of downside.
He could sit with Wynne and a few of her peers who either kept quite and dull conversation or none at all and potentially suffer his previous-mentor's disapproving or judgmental remarks. He could sit with a couple of the Apprentices that had recent undergone their Harrowing and suddenly feel ancient or be bombarded with questions, depending on the flavor of the night, or he could sit with his old friends. The ones that knew what number of theirs was missing and had been and still they looked at him with such pity in their eyes, though he knew some of them were beginning to think 'hasn't it been long enough?' and that was worse.
He was contemplating the table full of only Alphas when he caught sight of Alaric instead. He could start there at least, maybe make sure his temporary charge settled in somewhere.
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He was also sitting with his other elbow on the table, head propped in his hand, and his head tilted deliberately, so as to direct his hair to fall over his face. He was not complaining about... anything, but the number of people and noise level were creating issues - or one issue made worse by the other.
He is holding himself, in spite of the casual posture, with a lot of tension - in his back, his shoulders, his jaw, and the fact that the hand in his hair is a white knuckled fist. For all that, the hand he's holding the fork with is relaxed.
He has barely any idea who sat down to eat with him, just that someone has. He automatically looks up and then smiles. "Hello, again."
Does he sound right?
No.
Because he is in physical pain.
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"Are you...?" He paused, hand partially up towards Alaric, but hovering uselessly in the air in his hesitation. He most certainly was not alright.
"What's the matter? You seem in pain. Is it the volume?" Alaric had said he'd been alone for his cycles and a noble's house was sure to have plenty of free spaces with quiet corners, maybe the hall was simply too crowded?
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He blinks and makes an effort and manages to release his hand from his hair, at least. "I'll be fine. Just a bit of a headache. It's been a long day for me and I'm certain it has you as well. I don't want you to ruin your meal with more work."
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This would, undoubtedly, feed the monstrous rumor mill, but maybe he was due some new back-handed whispers. Alaric wasn't. Day one and he's lead off on the arm of an Alpha carrying his food for him? Licentious, but the poor blond had barely set foot in Kinloch before rumors had caught like wildfire and if the headache was so bad, people whispering behind his back was a price worth paying for a bit of peace.
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He stands up but does not take the arm, out of principal. His legs are fine, thank you, and he can deal with gossip (probably).
"Where are we going?"
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"Some place quieter."
He lead them to a far corner of the room, a small round table set up near one of the thin floor-to-ceiling windows. The corner was cooler for it, the lighting less harsh for the moonlight, and placement of the table near that particular corner meant the acoustics turned more muffled here.
At the table sat three older women and two older men, two humans and two elves, all but one of them Omegas. Only two looked up at the young men's approach and Anders nodded to one of them. "Wynne...Mind if we join you tonight?"
Wynne had been his teacher for nearly ten of his thirteen years here, as soon as he'd shown a spark of talent for Spirit Healing, she maybe knew as much about him as Irving did and her blind faith and loyalty to everything to do with the circle's systems often put them at odds...but she was good and reasonable and he trusted her to see Alaric's pain and know exactly what Anders was looking for.
She nodded and gestured to a set of chairs left empty beside her. Anders set Alaric's food down beside the woman and took the other for himself as her familiar pulse of panacea reached out and soothed through the occupants of the table. Their conversations, what little happened, were often boring, but this was probably the quietest corner in the room.
Once they were settled, Wynne smiled softly to Alaric and made brief small talk with him, an introduction, a request to let her know if he needed anything, and then she went back to her quiet conversation. The other three at the table never looked up from their books and notes.
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Instead, he simply complied and went where he was led.
It helped - some. It left him with the pressure and weight in his head, but without the aggravating factors he managed to return the small talk politely.
...Okay the panacea probably had a lot to do with that, and how he managed to eat most of his food.
He still ended up in posture similar to the one he had been in. Curled in on himself, and - this time listing over into Anders, albeit slightly. Turned toward him because it was away from everyone else and Anders was relatively more soothing.
He did not quite fall asleep on Anders, but he got relatively near it.
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He notices when Alaric ends up closer to him than closer to Wynne and he has to fight the very real urge to pull him closer and wrap an arm about Alaric's shoulders. It wouldn't help anything. What he does instead is take advantage of the seemingly slipping awareness to mix his panacea in through Wynne's with practiced ease, though he kept his more localized. Wynne must sense it, though, because soon enough he can feel her gaze on him. One quick glance up as he moves just a bit closer in case Alaric were to fall asleep against him confirms the gentle disapproval. He can practically hear her: 'Don't be foolish, I warned you last time too.' His mental-Wynne goes as ignored as the real one.
When dinner is beginning to wrap up and more people have left, Anders' hand brushes Alaric's shoulder. "Maybe it's time to retire?"
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Meaning:
"Does she not like you?"
Wait. No. He shouldn't be able to have picked that up.
Oh well.
Definitely time to retire.
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"She doesn't approve of a lot of things. Chiefly: a lot of what I do. I don't think she dislikes me, though, if she did she'd leave me alone." He knew that much. He knew it because that was the very problem: if she could care less about him or completely dislike him, they'd likely get along just fine.
"More importantly: you barely looked at her...what makes you ask that?"
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