thingpuncher | @glavesworn.

We gotta talk is the sort of phrase that might ordinarily set of alarm bells, but Nyx is too well occupied trying to brainstorm a way to sneak Midnighter in without rousing any suspicion. What if Drautos shows up? The Captain would definitely notice if there was a new, unknown Glaive at the party. Maybe he could pass as a member of the Tenebraen delegation... a retainer? Guard?

Absentmindedly, he responds:

sure anytime
could do it now if u want
bout anything in particular?

rather talk face to face

Once, he would have added something about Nyx's handsome face. Now he just feels like a fucking idiot.

see u tomorrow

see ya

By 5pm tomorrow, Nyx is waiting in the guard station after everyone else had already headed out to their posts. He'd scrounged up a fresh Glaive uniform a couple sizes bigger than his own and it's sitting crisply folded on a bench as he paces up and down the length of the empty locker room, antsy with nerves-- and also anticipation. Not like it's actually been all that long since he'd last seen Midnighter, not compared to his absences when he's out in the field. But it's different somehow, not having the focus of the mission to distract him from idle thoughts and weakness, stupid absent longing and plain old horniness. Part of him wonders if he's making a big mistake, jumping at shadows and rumors, but even if nothing comes of this night and nothing happens, well, Nyx figures he can probably persuade Midnighter into coming over afterward and maybe working out a little bit of that pent up desire. They can still both get something out of this misadventure.

His face is set into look of grim concentration-- but it breaks into a wide grin as soon as he catches sight of Midnighter.

"Hey, try this on for size."

Midnighter had been preparing himself for this, but he wasn't ready for that smile. When the Door opens and Midnighter walks through it in full uniform, cowl and jacket and all, it's like being suckerpunched.

Why the fuck does he look at him like that? It would have gotten his hopes up, once, but now... it's all fake, isn't it? Or Nyx just looks at him and sees, what, a quick fuck? A fellow soldier? He's kidding himself.

Maybe they both are.

Midnighter nods, curt, and pulls off the cowl to reveal mussed hair. The jacket goes along with it. He doesn't have anything to say, so he says nothing, stripping off his armor to try on the proffered uniform. He avoids Nyx's face.

Again, Midnighter's doing him the favor here, so Nyx doesn't laugh or anything so obvious, but the corners of his eyes crinkle and the quirk of his lips acquires a curl of amusement as he looks Midnighter's outfit up and down again. Yeah, it's... still ridiculous, but somehow it suits the man, head to toe. The edge of tension, the cold, set look on Midnighter's face, he mistakes for focus, a soldier's concentration on the mission at hand.

After all, a soldier's life and duty are all Nyx knows.

As Midnighter changes, he folds up his uniform and tucks it into a duffel inside some cabinets. No weapons, unfortunately, though Nyx would just love to see Midnighter take some more Nifs apart with a blade. Turning around, his breath catches in his chest in a sharp inhale-- Midnighter looks... fucking fantastic in uniform, and his fingers itch to tug the collar up a little higher, smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles over his chest. The pants look a little tight, but the leather overcoat fits perfectly, the sharp black-and-silver lines accentuating Midnighter's broad shoulders.

"Damn. It suits you."

Hell, Nyx is already looking him over like he kind of wants to peel him right back out of uniform, eyes bright and a little hungry, but-- right. The job.

"So here's the rundown. The security for this party is a fucking mess-- got thrown together last minute by some idiot bureaucrat, so you can wander around wherever and nobody will care, as long as you don't draw attention. I've been assigned to the Princess's retinue, so I can't stray too far. Let me know if it looks like any shady shit is happening, and keep an eye out. Don't uh, go around breaking any heads. Not unless all hell breaks loose.

The Nif bigwig you'll wanna avoid is the emperor-- old man with a fake smile all in white, you can't miss him, he's the only one. The chancellor is the guy I want to get a read on-- some scruffy guy with a big leather thing strapped to his arm. He's... I don't know." Nyx had only ever seen this Chancellor Izunia once, and never spoken to the man himself, but...

"Looks harmless, but he talks like a fucking snake. Try not to catch his attention either."

Midnighter keeps avoiding Nyx's gaze all through, speaking minimally. If Nyx can't tell something's wrong... they never really knew each other at all, did they? There was never love behind his eyes. There wasn't even like.

So Midnighter listens to his orders and nods along, still not talking. This is fine. One last favor for a man he still, despite everything, loves and wants desperately to love him back. Fuck, he's an idiot.

"See what I can do," is all Midnighter can manage to say over a steadily growing lump in his throat. He walks through the threshold, into the party. "Stay safe."

At this point, Nyx has noticed that something is off. Gone is the playful give-and-take, the casual flirting between them, and even if that's probably for the best-- can't be seen fraternizing on the job, after all, it catches him off guard, leaves him wondering if something is wrong. Midnighter doesn't move like a man hiding injuries, but maybe he'd gotten hurt. Maybe something had happened, this last week he'd been so busy, and as Midnighter turns to head out Nyx finds himself reaching out, about to catch him by the shoulder to check if everything was alright. But--

--I'm not like you, remember?

...

His hand drops back to his side. Midnighter seems fine and hadn't said anything to him. Nyx would trust in that, and not bother him with his petty worries.

Stepping out onto the rooftop, Nyx takes up his position at the edge of the party, back straight and hands crossed behind his back, expression blank as he surveys the scene. There's a table laden with fancy looking food, none bigger than a single bite, and waiters circling with silver trays with more food and fluted champagne glasses. Members of the Niflheim delegation and Lucian officials mingle, making stilted, awkward conversation. One of the guards from the Tenebraen contingent keeps giving him the stink-eye, which Nyx steadfastly ignores, even as the princess all in white comes up behind him, standing close enough for the gauzy edge of her skirt to brush against his leg.

The emperor stands apart from the crowd, looking over the proceedings with an expression of cool satisfaction, and some ten feet away, Ardyn Izunia catches his gaze from beneath the brim of his hat, lips curving in a smirk.

The party is stupid and boring, and it gives Midnighter plenty of time to berate himself. Idiot, idiot, he's still in love with him. He'd suspected he would be, but now, seeing him, he knows, and somehow that's worse. He was taken in by somebody who didn't give a shit about him.

He was taken in by somebody who didn't give a shit about him again.

Is he really that desperate? That hungry for anyone to love, that he'll jump at the chance to get cheated on by a guy from another fucking dimension? Is he even out? Were all the jibes at the festival about that? Is this some kind of experiment? He can't even feel jealousy for the girl he's fucking, just sorrow for both of them, stuck in some shitty situation with someone who Midnighter can't make up his mind about.

One thing's clear, though. He can recognize patterns. He really is that desperate. And that's the thought that makes him sickest of all.

Midnighter copies Nyx's stance, standing here or there for a little while before melting into the crowd. Nobody really talks to him except the occasional drunk, who he just pretends he doesn't understand before disappearing. He sneaks some of the food-- more curiosity than hunger-- and stares into the middle distance, listening with enhanced hearing for snippets of anything that might sound interesting.

Ardyn is rather enjoying himself tonight. He has no need for food, but there's a certain charm in the waiters' darting eyes and empty smiles as he lingers over their trays, boorishly picking out bite after savory bite. Over the years, the simple pleasures of life have become harder and harder to enjoy, but this never gets old. The enhanced senses lent by the scourge bring him quite the delectable banquet of emotions. Worry, doubt, hunger, greed. And fear. So much fear.

And something else, a brush against a mind strange enough for him to do a mental doubletake, Ardyn turning to catch sight of one of Regis' many toy soldiers walking away, back turned to him. Another Glaive?

...No, this can't be.

It's rare for him to be able to pick up on more than surface thoughts, a few cursory images, snippets of emotion, but this... man? No. There's a rigidity to his mind, clear straight lines and cold calculation that hint at something else entirely. This creature is much more like the metal puppets churned out in the thousands by Niflheim's factories. Some sort of Lucian experiment, then? Certainly a possibility, though Ardyn finds that he rather doubts it-- King Regis simply doesn't have the balls for this sort of drastic move. Another weakness he's found to hate about this generation of Lucian royalty.

The puppet's thoughts spiral and spiral like a hurricane, and at their center... a man. Another Glaive, the genuine article this time, not this sham of a disguise. Darkly handsome, distant, utterly unattainable, the edges sharp enough to cut, to bleed. And this creature is bleeding right now, there's no doubt.

But it's not jealousy, not envy or even rage fueling the fury of this storm. Ardyn purses his lips in thought, eyes crinkling in amusement-- no, there's a softness to his thoughts, a yearning, ugly desperation and deep hurt. The puppet is in love. And in pain.

How adorable.

Ardyn gathers up shadows like a cape behind him, the edges of his image blurring slightly into the night as he pads noiselessly up behind Midnighter and-- reaches past him, plucking a single grape from the enormous silvery fruit bowl set upon the table.

"Quite the crowd we have gathered here. And yet... it's a lonely night, isn't it?" he says with a wink.

The voice is familiar, of course. Midnighter should be wondering why he didn't hear him, why the computer didn't give its usual fifteen second warning, but Nyx's voice is like honey, and it makes his heart hurt. Midnighter turns to see him, bright and beautiful as ever, almost fucking ethereal in the lights they're shining down on this place.

How could he ever think he'd get to have that?

"Aren't you supposed to be watching the princess?" Where were they? He'd lost sight of her. Nyx is too duty-oriented for this to be a genuine failing, though; she's probably off doing... whatever princesses do.

Ah yes, the princess and her entourage. So this beloved Glaive of his is also here tonight? Ardyn is playing quite the risky game then, and the thought sends a small thrill through the black and shriveled lump he might call a heart.

As does the pang that had rippled through the puppet's thoughts when faced with the image of his love.

"I wanted to see you," he replies, the way a man pushes a pawn forward upon the chessboard.

Midnighter just keeps from rolling his eyes. He also thinks, this is odd. Nyx always puts duty over l- pleasure. Must be another way to make a fucking fool of him.

Midnighter doesn't want to do this now, here.

"Do your job, Nyx," he says, and picks up some drink they're serving. He doesn't need it. He doesn't want it. He just wants something to do with his hands. "This can wait."

Oh? A misstep then. Ardyn isn't overly concerned with maintaining a perfect facade, except in the way it allows him to continue playing the game. And with such an interesting new piece on the board, it would be an awful shame to cut this short.

"Am I not allowed even a moment's greeting? How cold." The smile he flashes Midnighter is warm and a little wistful, trying to capture and resonate with the yearning in him for some faint, fleeting sweetness. What weakness can he exploit, what crack to seep through the puppet's defenses?

Bitterness and betrayal are a pungent cocktail upon his tongue.

"You're angry. I'm sorry."

And that does hit something deep in Midnighter's heart. He's sorry. He might even mean it. Things could still be alright. They could work this out, and-

And Midnighter could continue twiddling his thumbs while Nyx kills himself by inches on the front? Now that he's farther from the center of things, he can see it all more clearly. God, what a fucking idiot he was.

This time he does roll his eyes, and they land firmly on Nyx. "I don't think you even know why I'm mad."

Well, that's not true at all. Ardyn can sense his thwarted longing, barely restrained. Most humans' minds are a jumble of contradictions, fleeting emotions, murky desires, simple and pliable. This one, in comparison, is like gazing into a pillar of clear water, down and down into the depths. A flash of memory, solitude and staring at a phone screen with no response, bites like needlemarks sunk deep into scarred skin, gentle fingers cupping a bruised cheek, wound after wound and worry from afar.

"Is that so? After everything we've shared, that's what you think?"

Injured innocence is an affectation that comes easily to him, after all these years. And sorrow... that too.

"Do you truly believe that you mean nothing to me?"

Midnighter has excellent control of himself, as a rule. You have to, when you're- a crack appears in the cup he was holding. He sets it down without comment, his expression an angry sneer.

"I don't know what the fuck means anything to you," besides the war. And that's- that's fine, Midnighter thinks, he'd never try to be more important to a man than the fucking war he's fighting, but he can at least ask to be the only person he's fucking. The memory of Nyx promising to come over to that girl's place, Crowe's, is still fucking fresh, and betrayal roils up in his stomach.

Fuck, fuck, he thought things were okay. He was trying to be upfront about everything, what he was, the computer, what it meant. The way they'd held each other that night-- Nyx had known, wanted and needed comfort, taken it from Midnighter with both fists, and he'd been happy to give it.

He just hadn't realized it'd mean nothing in the morning. Like Matt, like anyone who'd be okay with fucking a goddamn robot. He keeps letting himself get his hopes up, and that's his own fucking fault.

"Go watch your princess. I said we'd talk later." Fuck, he doesn't want to make a scene.

My, that's quite the face he's making. Ardyn cocks his head, listening in on the fresh swell of emotion-- a tumble of brown hair and a shared smile seen across the room, stale beer, pain like a stab between the ribs before it all melts into another memory, blue light and low voices, the whole scene colored by self loathing and an odd, soft sweetness that he can only vaguely identify. A robot, that's what he calls himself? Fascinating. Ardyn had certainly noticed the strange alien power coursing through the creature's veins and the fact that the dark tendrils of the scourge can find no hold upon him, but to think of where it might have come from, what amusing antics it could be put to...

Behind the illusion, Ardyn's lips curl into a contemptuous smirk. It's all a very interesting diversion, a puzzle worth teasing (tearing) apart, this puppet reeking of strange power, masquerading as Lucian cannon-fodder, filled to the very brim and spilling over with self pity, heartbreak, and a desperate yearning deep enough to drown in. It only makes Ardyn want to toy with him all the more, to see if he can find the right key to fit into this thorny lock and turn, see what manner of weakness would spill forth.

But all that being said, he's also beginning to get the distinct sense of blunting a blade against a wall. Besides, the role of pursuer had never much suited him. Ardyn leans in, lets the illusion sharpen and focus on that yearning, what this Midnighter most wished to see and hear, even as he cloaks the two of them from sight and sound. His hand brushes over his shoulder, lips just grazing the scruff of his cheek, the curve of his ear in an intimate, almost tender gesture.

"Allow me to explain, then. Come find me later, in the servants' passageways."

"I will-" He says it before he has time to think, an impressife fucking feat. God damn, he's stupid, but Nyx is just... Everything he's wanted, everything he's had time, in the intervening weeks, to desperately long for. The computer screams warnings, but that's really par the course. He wants this man, not even sexually at that moment. He just wants him back.

"One more chance. One."

It's only fair, right? Midnighter's fucked up plenty of times. Maybe... So he agrees, and they go back to their jobs, circling the room full of rich idiots. He catches sight of Nyx later, back to standing guard by his pretty princess, and gives him a curt not. They have some kind of understanding, now, and Midnighter feels better for it. He just wants a way forward.

Later, he finds the servant's quarters, flirting with a pretty boy with a tray full of tiny green cakes. He thanks the man, and finds an alcove to secrete himself in, fiddling with a carving knife he stole from one of the tables. Midnighter swings it in perfect loops, wheeling in his palm and dancing off his fingertips.

Time enough for Ardyn reclaim his own face and make the proper rounds, discomfiting the Lucian courtiers in attendance as he exchanges significant glances with Aldercapt. Doubtless all this posturing means something to the Emperor of Niflheim, who'd poured all his dreams, hopes, and ambitions into his chancellor's ears over the past few decades. Sometimes, Ardyn even bothered to listen, when he has nothing better to do.

The fall of the line of Lucis, of cursed Insomnia, shattering the Astral's closed fist around Eos, all that he has mapped out. Everything else is merely a diversion, a way to pass the time before the inevitable. Circling the rooftop, he even manages to get a taste of this Nyx Ulric's mind, though it's really nothing to write home about, just another human with petty human preoccupations and desires, something something honor and duty, with barely a thought to spare for the puppet who pined after him so wretchedly. Why, Ardyn is practically doing him a favor, merely hurrying along the inevitable.

After all, humans are always a disappointment in the end.

The illusion slides on seamlessly as he enters the sevant's quarters, dismissing a waiter with a flick of a wrist. Ardyn wear's the Glaive's face like a second skin, a smile hovering over his lips in anticipation of a fresh outpouring of pain, like opening up a vein and watching it bleed dry.

(A memory: fish guts, a golden door(????), relief like a wave crashing down overhead, all of it bound up in a smile of welcome and gladness.)

"Did you miss me?"

The knife flicks still, caught between two fingers. Midnighter looks over to see Nyx, and maybe he's just more beautiful when he's on the job? Is this what he's been missing? The way it makes Nyx shine, like everything with him is in its proper place, he can barely stand the artificial wall he's placed between them. There's something in him absolutely dying to forgive, he just needs an excuse, and it feels like they both know that.

Midnighter hates himself a little, for being so easily used, and for enjoying it so much.

"Would you cut that crap? For once?" At least he can still pretend to be angry.

The edge of the knife glints in the dim lighting and Ardyn's interest sharpens, wondering idly if he might be able to provoke the puppet into an attack. All that bloodlust and barely pent up rage... wouldn't that be quite the thing to see? But he feels more than sees the softening as he approaches, and for all that strange and whirring machinery packed up into Midnighter's head, humming in his veins, in that moment there's something altogether very soft and human in him, melting like butter in the sun.

Pitiful indeed. Whoever created him must have had quite the sadistic mind; even Niflheim's magitek troopers had at least been stripped of anything resembling humanity, with no way to long for what they could never have.

"What would you prefer?"

One, two steps forward, into Midnighter's space, close enough to touch, and the Nyx in Midnighter's memory makes it so easy to just reach out, resting light fingers against his cheek in a barely-there caress.

"Should I say instead how much I missed you?"

Another step, close enough to feel the heat rising from his skin, and it's just theatrics now, Ardyn's love of a good, dramatic scene as he leans in closer, holding Midnighter's gaze.

"But we both know that would be a lie."

Midnighter has never actually been slapped before. He's seen it on television, though, and he knows the expression, like a slap to the face. Like a fucking idiot, he leans in, hungry to forgive Nyx, to get him back and curl up together in a secluded corner.

And then he says what Midnighter always imagined he was too polite to voice.

Midnighter is a creature made for violence, a thing, occasionally barely even a noun. His name is a verb anyway. He does violence, defense and offense. When he's angry, he sharpens, his expression shifting into the hard lines his face naturally holds. The knife twirls in his hands, and he has the barest presence of mind to secrete it up his coat sleeve.

He's such a fucking idiot.

He stays close to Nyx, but it's no longer with that gentle intimacy. No, this lean is violent, a threat, imposing in another's space. "What?" He bites, instinctual readying himself for a fight. "Suddenly you forgot how to lie?"

Oh yes.

"What happened to 'cutting the crap'? Isn't this what you wanted all along? The truth?"

The sudden disappearance of the knife sends a hot, vicious thrill up his spine, and Ardyn finds his lips curling upward in glee before he schools his features back into calm composure, lest he allow some fragment to leak into the illusion. "Nyx" all but ignores the sudden shift in tension, the implicit threat in the hard lines of Midnighter's face as he lets his gaze drop with a huff, a quiet sigh.

"You think I didn't know how you felt? Here I was trying to do you a favor, make it easy for us both, but no." He shakes his head, disappointment and rueful regret. "It wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to go and muck it all up."

Midnighter leans back, rage barely contained. He knows it's childish. He wants to break something, to lose his composure, to destroy everything. Is this how Andrew felt? Nobody's really ever broken up with him before. Tried to kill him, sure, tried to destroy him. He had the 'just friends' conversation with Jason. But he never- no one he cared about has ever just given up on him.

Nyx gave up on him.

The thought deflates his rage, but only slightly. It's still there, seething and coiled in his gut, but it's mixed with tired resentment. This is another one of those life experiences he has to drag himself through. Another painful, ugly reminder that he's ignorant of everything that matters.

Why the fuck would Nyx want to stick his neck out for that.

The rage turns inward. "How long have you been fucking with me?" Midnighter hisses, "before or after the- when you woke up." The nightmare. When Midnighter had been so fucking sure Nyx at least cared about him, at least a little.

How long have you been laughing at me?

"Fucking with you?"

Repeated back with a scoff, equal parts sarcasm and contempt. Simple enough to play the part, though it takes effort, real effort to keep the taunt out of his voice. Ardyn can tell that he needn't worry-- the puppet would read enough into it all the same.

(Blue light, soft words, and hazy tenderness. The puppet had held hope in his heart once, not so long ago. How adorable.)

"Don't be ridiculous. You should have known better than to think that this could have been anything more." And just to twist the blade deeper, he looks up to meet (to savor) the fury and heartbreak in Midnighter's eyes, armed with a word plucked fresh from his ravaged mind and the velvet croon of his voice like a blade unsheathed. "Not a chance, with a freak like you."

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THAT SULK FACE

yOUR FAULT.

who me?? ????? ?

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lobster says hello

🌮🌮🌮

lobster tacos :VVV

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actually maybe this scene would be better if i used nyx & his icons instead...