He picks his way through the garden, noting reflexively, as he almost always does now, the blank patches where Rosethorn removed the thorn bushes she murdered him with. He sits next to Quentin and sets a cloth-wrapped bundle next to him, bright red and just slightly awkwardly hemmed, tied with a strip of gold fabric folded over and sewn similarly, not badly but still by hand. Inside is a layer of parchment paper he took from the kitchens, and then the marzipan, less chewy than most earth varieties, thin translucent panes like look like mica and crunch like delicate nut brittle.
"Here. Sorry about the delay."
Only just after everything with Quentin, Mikodez told him some of what Kujen did to his mind, and Jedao didn't trust himself to be near Quentin without asking for more comfort than he really has a right to.
"It's sort of what happened, even if I didn't mean to."
Jedao knows more than most how little motivation can count for, sometimes. He waves off the candy with a brusque, brief motion; it was a gift, and he's never had much of a sweet tooth, even if he likes the marzipan better than most of the Earth candy he's found.
He pinches a little hollyhock weed at the base of the stem, and pulls the young tendril out of the earth, its slender taproot following like a thread through a needle. The tiny killing eases something in him by just as minute an amount, the howling devouring black that predates the cradle but grew fat and strong there.
"Things were. Done to me. That I was not permitted to remember."
He thinks about shooting Kujen, and how little good it did him. A hand on his shoulder blade, and those beautiful fucking eyelashes. He wonders, and wonders, and wonders.
The prototype.
He shudders for a moment, a release of tension that he hadn't allowed to be obvious until it wisps away, and his shoulders crumple a little into the embrace. He doesn't even know where to start trying to explain to Quentin that it's about something else, that it's absolutely how safety works, sideways, some of the time. When it works. The pain of being obliged to offer permission.
Let alone the rest.
"I'd really like to be a fox, for a little while," he says after a long pause, and his voice sounds very small. Not just quiet, but small, like part of him can't help but expect to be denied. "Please, can we do that?"
It doesn't matter so much, what kind of person Kujen could make of him, if he isn't a person at all.
A few deft touches to the gold accents on the uniform, and the microseals come apart. He strips down in all of three seconds, shameless and scar-spattered as ever. Some long-ingrained military instinct has him halfway through folding the clothes before he no longer has hands for the task.
He says the last few words to turn him small. Jedao is a ginger mottled black, delicate and clever. This time, Quentin doesn't join him, just extends his fingertips towards him.
"Go exploring. Bring me a stick if you'd like to fetch. Come back when you'd like a scratch."
It's - easy, suddenly. It's impossible to imagine Kujen allowing an animal into his sterile space, all pyschosurgical hygiene and abstract mathematics, black and silver and cold. It's much, much harder to care about what he is or isn't. A fox is a fox. Memories lost don't matter to an animal that lives in the present. He feels light.
Jedao licks his fingertips, then bounds off to complete precisely one loop around the greenhouse, and then pointedly clambers into Quentin's lap. Scratches, please.
He opens his arms, invites him into the safety of his lap, and begins to lavish him with utterly unconditional affection and attention. Sometimes that's what's best about the transformation.
Jedao wriggles happily, nuzzling Quentin's hands and under his chin, tail wagging forcefully, but before very long settles down and curls up, just to rest for a little while without the constant tension of uncertainty eating away at him.
He supports him expertly in one arm, then heaves himself up to head to the mess hall, where he holds Jedao all through preparing a plate to bring back to his room- with lots of chicken for sharing.
Jedao manages to twist around and snatch an entire apple in his jaws, which he holds triumphantly despite not being able to chew it without dropping it. He looks both ridiculous and very pleased with himself.
Scolds Quentin, taking it from him, adding it to the plate before heading for the door. He only sets Jedao down when they're back in his room, and halves the apple for him first, offering it over.
Jedao makes Quentin wrestle him for it for a few seconds, tugging back and forth, before finally releasing it. He settles next to Quentin's side, and crunches his apple half contentedly.
He noses the offer of the apple slice back toward Quentin, but enjoys the rest, licking Quentin's fingertips as often as not, nuzzling into Quentin's hand.
He sits up very straight, after the compliment, still for a moment, almost at attention, but without the stiffness of it; contemplating. Then he leans in, head tilting up, and deliberately touches the tip of his nose to Quentin's, one paw placed or braced on Quentin's leg.
You, he means by the gesture, for all that he isn't worrying as much about words anymore. You're extremely excellent too.
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timeasmymeasure
private/voice
Date: 2018-03-04 01:25 am (UTC)> spam
Date: 2018-03-04 01:43 am (UTC)[As a gift should be.]
He picks his way through the garden, noting reflexively, as he almost always does now, the blank patches where Rosethorn removed the thorn bushes she murdered him with. He sits next to Quentin and sets a cloth-wrapped bundle next to him, bright red and just slightly awkwardly hemmed, tied with a strip of gold fabric folded over and sewn similarly, not badly but still by hand. Inside is a layer of parchment paper he took from the kitchens, and then the marzipan, less chewy than most earth varieties, thin translucent panes like look like mica and crunch like delicate nut brittle.
"Here. Sorry about the delay."
Only just after everything with Quentin, Mikodez told him some of what Kujen did to his mind, and Jedao didn't trust himself to be near Quentin without asking for more comfort than he really has a right to.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 02:41 am (UTC)He tells him, taking his time and unwrapping it slowly, considering as he gets into the package.
"But you don't have to apologize. I wasn't expecting it on a timeline. So what's up?"
Why the pressure on himself.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 03:40 am (UTC)That's all, he thinks of saying, but doesn't.
"The rest is just. Excuses. I'll tell you if you want to know, but it feels a bit unfair, crying on your shoulder after leading you on."
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 03:47 am (UTC)Says Quentin, with a snort, offering him a candy.
"What's up?"
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 03:54 am (UTC)Jedao knows more than most how little motivation can count for, sometimes. He waves off the candy with a brusque, brief motion; it was a gift, and he's never had much of a sweet tooth, even if he likes the marzipan better than most of the Earth candy he's found.
He pinches a little hollyhock weed at the base of the stem, and pulls the young tendril out of the earth, its slender taproot following like a thread through a needle. The tiny killing eases something in him by just as minute an amount, the howling devouring black that predates the cradle but grew fat and strong there.
"Things were. Done to me. That I was not permitted to remember."
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 03:58 am (UTC)He says, gently, and reaches down to touch the back of his hand, and checks;
"Does liking to be touched extend to moments like these? My impulse is to put an arm around you."
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 04:04 am (UTC)"I can't. Entirely predict myself. But you aren't fast enough to touch me if I really don't want it."
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 04:14 am (UTC)He says, tolerantly, folding an arm around his shoulders and kissing his temple.
"Talk about it, or distraction?"
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 04:28 am (UTC)The prototype.
He shudders for a moment, a release of tension that he hadn't allowed to be obvious until it wisps away, and his shoulders crumple a little into the embrace. He doesn't even know where to start trying to explain to Quentin that it's about something else, that it's absolutely how safety works, sideways, some of the time. When it works. The pain of being obliged to offer permission.
Let alone the rest.
"I'd really like to be a fox, for a little while," he says after a long pause, and his voice sounds very small. Not just quiet, but small, like part of him can't help but expect to be denied. "Please, can we do that?"
It doesn't matter so much, what kind of person Kujen could make of him, if he isn't a person at all.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 04:34 am (UTC)"Undress. Quickly now."
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 05:34 am (UTC)"Go exploring. Bring me a stick if you'd like to fetch. Come back when you'd like a scratch."
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 06:11 am (UTC)Jedao licks his fingertips, then bounds off to complete precisely one loop around the greenhouse, and then pointedly clambers into Quentin's lap. Scratches, please.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 06:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 06:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 06:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 06:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 06:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 08:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 08:26 am (UTC)Scolds Quentin, taking it from him, adding it to the plate before heading for the door. He only sets Jedao down when they're back in his room, and halves the apple for him first, offering it over.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 08:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 08:44 am (UTC)"You're an extremely excellent fox."
Gently rubbing those downy ears.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 09:06 am (UTC)He sits up very straight, after the compliment, still for a moment, almost at attention, but without the stiffness of it; contemplating. Then he leans in, head tilting up, and deliberately touches the tip of his nose to Quentin's, one paw placed or braced on Quentin's leg.
You, he means by the gesture, for all that he isn't worrying as much about words anymore. You're extremely excellent too.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 10:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
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