The East Garden
Midday on the 65th of Roalis, 2719
"To be honest, I do not think that Ecks-vumein's anger originates with you. Or any politician, living or dead, for that matter. Her pain, brief though my glimpse was because she is still Hoxian, is much deeper than mere government affairs." Ezre offered practically under his breath, just the briefest flicker of insight the boy had no right to be in possession of at his age. He was still ruffled, still desperate for an outlet to express feelings he did not entirely understand, allowing his youth to flavor his consonant-grinding accent, "From what I have heard in my short life, Symvoulio politics near the end of a cycle are always a disaster, especially when the cycle is in Anaxas."
He was still frowning, so hot and so tired and so incapable of navigating this moment as well as he would have liked, ungraceful in his attempts to sift through layers of emotion in order to separate what was necessary and what was superfluous. Tom Cooke did not need his burdens: the raen carried an entire body that did not belong to him, a body with a wife and children, with a career and expectations, with an entire Kingdom looking to him to perform in a way that his previous existence had not prepared him for. Not properly, anyway. The cut-throat nature of an Incumbent's life was probably in some ways not quite as dissimilar as it seemed to the outside observer, had the boy known anything about Tom as a Bad Brother.
Excited by what he'd assumed was a rare discovery when they'd met in Bethas, eager to make something of himself so far away from home, and yearning for friendships with those who did not think him antiquated or strange, Ezre had made a fool of himself instead. He tasted it with the salty tang of sweat, tongue against the inked line of his lower lip in thought, and let the sting of it linger while he completely ignored all of Tom's worries about danger.
Raising a hand, the Hexxos Guide waved tattooed fingers for attention before using them to count, pinky first as if even the Hoxian use of digits was so unbelievably different than in Anaxas, "Let me make sure I understand you correctly, Cooke-vumash."
It was easy for the dark-haired boy to hide even the smallest hint of a smile, though he kept his voice so aloof and unemotional that he might as well have still been sulking or scolding or both, "First, you advise me to jump into things, whole-heartedly and without deliberation. Second, you advise me to stop and consider other things before taking any further action. While the situations are, indeed, very different—"
Ezre's delicate eyebrow quirked just so and he tilted his inked chin, glancing over at the not-Incumbent who was only slightly taller than himself, carefully weighing his words while the other man's fingers ran through fading red hair,
"—my relationship with a young woman and my suspicions on the haunting of the East Garden by ghosts are hardly similar subjects, which choice is more favorable?"
There, for just a breath or two, was the flicker of an impish grin; a flare of young rebellion; an edge of sarcastic, teenaged judgment; an offering of peace. His hand remained raised between them, two fingers poised with what could only be described as ritualized, mechanical precision, the lines beneath his tawny skin meeting in a specific pattern, though their thickness and angles gave no hint to their meaning,
"I am not very good at deciding which of these two options best applies to each situation, apparently, but I would be interested in hearing how you would propose I prepare anyone for what could be going on here and in the East Garden. Given your political experience, surely you must be better at proposing solutions to complicated problems than I am, zjai? Am I wrong in thinking some unknowns you must face in the moment? By the nature of your existence, you believe in things that I often cannot even broach with others. I asked you here for two reasons: one, against all counsel, I trust you. Two, you cannot be possessed. In theory, anyway. I might even, as some bonus third item, out of very selfish and idealistic bias, enjoy your company."
Dark eyes shifted to meet the raen's much paler hues, such honesty and forwardness a gift from the Hoxian who otherwise kept his innermost self hidden from view, "And, finally, as a small mercy, I do not mind giving you an escape from your, uh, professional expectations. You are an adult in a considerable position of power above me, however, and can certainly choose to not meddle in the affairs of children like myself. You are free to leave at any time."
Ezre laughed then, shaking his head and lowering his hand, tucking it back into the folds of his bright saffron linen layers, pausing to look around the slowly deteriorating lawn care while he added quietly,
"Lilanee believes because she has seen for herself a restless spirit in the Crypts with me—her world view was challenged in my company. She would think me foolish had she not been confronted with the truth, so focused on the secular side of science as she is. But now, of all my acquaintances, her knowing the truth makes her valuable support. Madeleine does not even believe either of us are sincere in our offer of friendship, waiting for us to reveal we are simply playing a joke to hurt her feelings when we are not. I—I could have done all of this alone, I suppose. I should have."
Any expression that had crept into his face faded slowly, needs and wants and desires churning beneath the decorated, sweaty surface of his skin. This garden was very reluctantly cared for, but from what the Hexxos Guide could tell of the landscaping, it was with half-hearted effort. Tall hedgerows formed a walking path, perhaps once meant to be meditative and pleasant, an escape for students whose minds were burdened by exams and trials.
Ezre did not see any immediate sign of roses, listening to Tom shift from admonishing the boy to sharing matters of the heart. He blinked, looking at faded benches and watching a few reluctant butterflies dance around the overgrown sections of beautiful summer flowers, unsure of whether he was just projecting expectations of some looming sense of fear over the place where the pair slowly began to meander or if it had been there waiting for them before they arrived,
"How long? We have shared classes here and there since I transferred to Brunnhold three years ago. We have been friends since Ophus of last year, uh, as in, actively seeking each others' company. I would like to believe she understands. Or she will understand, once we actually have a moment to talk, considering I can still hear the hum of airship engines from last night. I would like to hope our friendship—or our not-just-friendship—is rooted deeply enough to withstand our differences. It is obvious that, much like this moment you find yourself in with me, I handled things poorly. Indelicately. Without regard to the feelings of others, which are admittedly difficult for me as it is. But also, zjai, there are things, at this time, that I just cannot share—even if—"
He thought to ask about the kind of work Tom Cooke was once involved in before his death, but even if it was physical violence—as it seemed from the careful way the other man skirted around things in the young galdori student's company—it was only a shade different from how he pictured the life of an Incumbent, after all.
The boy watched the older galdor's face with his typical gentle steadiness, Anatole Vauquelin's features contorting to express Tom Cooke's emotional memories in a way that he was sure probably felt lacking. He did not miss the emphasis or the pause, the admission of further details that the raen had kept closer to his chest in Bethas. Ezre's expression was soft and held no judgment—Anaxi racial differences in ridiculous normative standards confusing to the temple-raised Hexx'en who had willingly surrendered his attachment to identity in order to touch the bodies of the deceased. Though, even he was aware he'd perhaps not surrendered as fully as he could have, still rather unwilling to give up physical desire completely.
"—I never questioned the solidity of my boundaries until I allowed someone like Kuleda-vumien to walk so closely to them, to touch the lines of separation drawn in my life. Deciding what to yield and what to hold onto is difficult. It was, from the sound of things, no different for you and the man you cared about. Cultural expectations were the least of your concerns." He admitted, squinting in the bright Roalis midday sun, noting the hum of insects that had played accompaniment to their previously heated exchange had grown quiet here in the East Garden. There were no birds, either.
A warm breath of a breeze still tickled the leaves, but the sound of the natural world felt muted. The flowers were still beautiful, if not a little more wild than most galdori liked to see them. This garden indeed was intrinsically different.
"I do not yet see roses." Ezre observed in afterthought, undaunted in taking one of the unkept paths that led toward the tall hedgerows, aware of where other students had stumbled into strange experiences, "Nor do I see any visitors save for us."