bloodandflowers | (no subject)

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Kell sags against the thick stone wall of the Basin. Overhead, the ruby waters of the Isle slip endlessly by, and around him, the unnatural dark Kell had summoned begins to shiver.

"As Anasae," Kell says into the darkness. Dispel. The smoke twists into nothing as if it was never there, and Kell draws a deep breath.

"Did you kill them all?" Rhy would ask if he were here, and Kell would nod and step back to reveal the ruined remains of his training dummies. But Rhy has yet to find him today, and Kell takes another breath, closing his eyes for a moment to listen for his brother's heartbeat. Beneath the brand on his chest, the magic that binds them rises and flares, and beneath Kell's heartbeat he feels another, its thump steady and even. It means Rhy is calm, at least for now. He would feel excitement in his breast if Rhy were coming to drag him off again, back into the bowels of Red London to chase another adventure.

Kell grimaces. As if provoking Red London's criminal element could be called adventure. His ribs still ache with the hits Rhy had taken only the day before, his head foggy with Rhy's hangover. Where Kell would fight the memories that haunt them both with magic and blood, Rhy would do it with his princely fists and copious wine, and the bond that binds their lives together means that Rhy's pain is Kell's. Reaching up, Kell tugs on his own hair hard enough to sting, smirking faintly when he feels Rhy's heart skip in response.

"Sorry," he whispers into the dark, even if he isn't, and begins to clean his hands of blood. He's used a lot of magic today, and Kell's head swims as he tucks his silver blade back against his wrist. He needs food. He needs...

Kell closes his eyes.

Something more than this palace that feels so much like a prison.

You could still run. The thought echoes between his ears with a voice that sounds like Lila's, and Kell shakes his head to dispel it. Lila escaped, and Kell stayed. For Rhy, he'll stay forever.

Mostly clean now, save for the sheen of sweat on his skin, Kell raises his right hand, the cut across his palm still wet from training, and presses it to an X drawn in blood on the wall. "As tascen," he says, transfer, but when the door opens up and Kell steps through it to the other side, it's not the lavish chambers of the prince he walks into.

It's onto the wooden gangway of a port, and before him looms a gray and wintry sea. Kell turns a circle, but the palace has disappeared, without blood or command to see it gone. Kell’s heart stutters and begins to pound.

This is no London, Red, Grey or White.

This is a different world entirely.

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"A token," Sirius echoes, trying to imagine what exactly might qualify. "But what sort--"

He's stopped short as a woman approaches their table, her smile warm and easy, though it noticeably falters when she looks to Kell. The man's eye is still largely covered by the swoop of his red hair but perhaps she catches a glance and Sirius leans forward to grab her attention.

"Two pints of your favourite on tap, if you please," he says with his most charming smile, tossing in a wink for good measure. "And perhaps a basket of chips. Er-- fries, that is." Her smile returns then and as she leaves to fill their order, Sirius looks back to Kell. "What sort of token?"

Kell keeps his eyes on her, not unmoved by her fear but too stubborn to give any outward sign of it. His shoulders don't slump when she leaves with their order, but he does sink back against the booth, drawing a tired breath. Where once his eye inspired awe, now he sees only fear in those that behold him, both in Red London and now here. In everyone except, perhaps, Sirius.

Kell reaches into his pocket, rummaging for a bit before he produces a Red London lin. "Any token from the world I wish to travel to. I find coins are the easiest to keep track of. What are chips?" he asks, curious. "Or fries?"

Sirius eyes the item Kell pulls from his coat pocket, a small piece that looks not unlike a sickle. He doesn't reach for it, aware that Kell may see it as some sort of threat or at least an encroachment upon something at least marginally valuable. Particularly here, where such a thing may be nearly all he has to connect him to his home.

"Potatoes sliced and fried," he replies with a wide grin. "They're delicious, especially with vinegar. Have you not something similar where you're from?"

"In Grey London I have had potato fritters," Kell admits, "The potatoes mashed and then fried. Never sliced and with vinegar." But Kell is always tired and hungry after blood magic, and now that the shock of arriving here has somewhat faded he's famished. He can't help but feel a bit excited to eat something Sirius is so enthusiastic about.

"I always liked fritters. The palace would have considered them too base to serve."

"I can't say I like this Grey London moniker," Sirius admits with a wrinkle of his nose. He's only partially teasing, lips tugged into a hint of a smile. "Though I suppose it's not my London so much. We've magic, after all. And have done for centuries. Perhaps we should come up with a different name, if only for mine."

He arches an eyebrow as Kell continues, however, his mention of fritters prefacing a comment far more intriguing. "Palace?" he says, head cocked. "Royal family or servant?"

The question cuts more than Sirius could know, and Kell spends a moment breathing deeply. How long has it been since the Queen asked him to call her mother? How long since the King looked on him with anything but contempt? "Servant," he answers, "Though for most of my life I was treated as family."

He lowers his gaze, lifting it only when the ales arrive, and Kell doesn't hesitate. He takes his glass and drinks deeply, recalling only when it's too late that he's said no thanks at all. "Thank you," he tells Sirius. "For this."

Kell's hesitance in responding is telling, Sirius thinks. And he's proven correct once Kell does speak, the answer somewhat conflicting. A servant treated as family? It's true Sirius may not fully understand how royalty is done given he's never paid all that much attention to the Muggle monarchy, but it seems odd to him all the same.

Their pints arrive before he can say as much and Sirius watches as Kell immediately takes a large drink. Sirius sips at his own, letting the silence settle for a moment before he says, "Remember this later," he says with a wink and a smirk. "If we meet again and I succeed in pissing you off, perhaps. But tell me, of what service were you to the royal family?"

Resettling his glass before him, Kell frowns. It's strange to have to explain what and who he is, when all his life, he's never once been able to hide it. "Antari are rare," he says. "We are the only ones who can travel between worlds. I know of no other Antari still alive. And - "

Kell's expression darkens before he wrestles it back under control. "I am a symbol. The other empires think Arnes' might is because it owns an Antari. Superstition, of course, but the idea is powerful."

"Owns," Sirius replies, eyes narrowing as he catches onto that one world. He has one hand wrapped around his glass, but he's leant forward, watching Kell carefully. "As if you are a thing and not a person."

He pauses then, head tilted, lips parting to inquire further just as the waitress returns with their basket of chips. However, the basket isn't all she brings, her lips curved in a strange smile just for Kell as she hands him a familiar envelope and then walks away without a word.

"Ah, yes," Sirius says, watching the woman walk away before turning his attention back to Kell. He grabs a chip from the basket and bites into it. "Welcome packet, I believe. I'd forgotten about that," he says with an apologetic smile. "Go on, open it. It's only further proof that you've gone completely mental."

Kell looks up in surprise. Has he really said owns? He's long been thinking it, but the thought is close to treason. Something in him stirs, restless and defiant and nearly pleased, a feeling that blooms all the more when Sirius calls him a person.

He feels warm and, if not happy, encouraged to hear another person say it. He's almost smiling when the chips arrive, but it falters when the woman's smile is something he doesn't know how to read. Sirius, on the other hand, has no similar problem, but Kell doesn't feel particularly reassured. He lifts the packet as one would a viper and opens it carefully, frowning when a card with his image on it falls out, along with a key marked Candlewood.

"When could this have been made?" he wonders, lifting the card. His picture there is better than any scrying board, and shows his red coat, one that's yet to be turned out here.

"Anyone's guess," Sirius replies with a flippant wave of his hand, which he then quickly uses to grab the bottle of vinegar at the side of the table, drizzling a fair amount over the basket of chips. "I got one as well when I arrived. There should be a key in there too, and an address for where you'll be staying. Oh, and something called a mobile my godson swears is useful."

Said mobile has been on Sirius's night table since the nearly the moment of his arrival. As far as he's been able to tell so far, despite what Harry's told him, he really sees not much use for it at all.

"Here," Sirius says then, nudging the basket toward Kell. "Try a chip, it'll make the loss of reason easier to digest."

Kell pulls a heavy rectangle of what feels like metal and glass from the bag and leaves it on the table, staring at the chips when Sirius' nudges them forward. Feeling numb, he lifts one and ignores the heat that burns his fingers, pushing half into his mouth and biting down. It is, admittedly, delicious, salty and hot and a little bit crisp, but somehow it adds to the permanence Kell can suddenly feel settling over him.

Shelter, a place to sleep, food - can he really be expected to stay here? It's a mistake, he knows it is, but Kell feels panic clawing up from deep within him, and with it, childish tears. Sanct, what if he can't get back to Rhy? It's impossible. He's Antari. No world can hold him.

"Has anyone left here?" he asks Sirius, struggling through the rest of his chip.

Biting into another chip himself, Sirius keeps an anticipatory gaze on Kell and is mildly disappointed when the man's face doesn't immediately break into a satisfied smile at the taste of greasy, salty potatoes.

"Ah," Sirius remarks, understanding more of Kell's uneasy expression with the question. He chews a moment, then takes a sip of his drink before settling his forearms against the table. Is there any easy way to bear this news, he wonders. Harry hadn't had an easy time of it and the first Sirius has had to attempt it.

Perhaps he should've paid a bit more attention when Remus had tried teaching him couth.

"As far as I've been told and as far as I've seen myself in the month I've been here, I'm afraid not," he says, grimacing slightly, apologetic. "People do leave, it seems. But it's just as unexpected as their arrival and doesn't appear to happen by choice. Or effort."

Kell shakes his head, unwilling to believe that. Of course it's impossible for other people, but a traveller is what he is. Kell stares down at his hand, debating with himself whether he ought to cut himself open and try again, fatigued or not, but the shudder of his heart reminds him of something even more pressing.

Eyes widening, Kell pulls at his shirt, parting it to expose the silver concentric circles scarred over his heart. The seal is still there. He can't feel Rhy, but the seal is there, meaning the magic holds. It must, across worlds even, as it always has before, but why can't he feel him? "Rhy," Kell whispers, closing his eyes to feel for him again, but there's nothing.

Another strange expression crosses Kell's features. It isn't one of acceptance -- reluctant or otherwise -- or even argument. There's something Sirius is missing and, as Kell begins tugging at the shirt to reveal a strange, circular scar over his heart, is only more intrigued.

"Rhy?" he echoes, gaze darting from Kell's face to the mark against his skin. Kell had explained earlier that he could heal quickly from his wounds, but it's obvious this is no ordinary scar. There's even a shimmer to it, as though decorative. His gaze lands on Kell's face once more and holds, assessing. "Person or place?" He pauses a moment, lips pursed and head cocked. "Or merely a curse?"

Kell listens a moment more, straining with all of his will towards his brother, but nothing comes. "My brother," he says, opening his eyes, glad he's seated as a wave of dizziness crushes over him. Red London or Darrow, the world has no shape without Rhy, and for the first time since he arrived here Kell is truly afraid.

"In all ways but blood," he says, pressing his fingers to the seal as if it revive it. "My life is bound to his own. I can't feel him."

Eying the mark as Kell presses his fingers against pale skin, Sirius feels a strange sense of unease. As impressive as Kell's wall of steaming water had been, Sirius is oddly certain it had only been the very tip of this man's capabilities.

"Normally you can?" he asks, eyebrow arched. "And he can feel you?"

Sirius isn't certain he even knows what it means to bind one's life to another's, can barely comprehend the sort of magic that must be necessary for such a spell. Yet, somehow, he finds himself believing in the possibility.

Kell nods, silent as he reels with it, the emptiness where Rhy should be carved like a hole in his chest. "I had to," he says, eking the words out around the lump in his throat. "To save him. I promised him."

Kell draws a deep breath. He's made these justifications a hundred times over. He had to use the stone, only black magic would have saved him, he promised to stand at Rhy's side when he ruled - he had to.

And Rhy is still gone. "Could he come here?" he asks, hating himself a little for asking.

There's such an air of desperation, Sirius once again considers lying, if only to provide some bit of hope in an otherwise devastating day.

But he knows Kell will learn the truth eventually, be it now or later. And, despite the weariness in his shoulders and the sadness etched across his face, there's a sturdiness there, too. It would be demeaning to lie.

"Yes," Sirius replies because that's the easy part of the answer. "It's as much a possibility as my arrival here when, by all accounts, I should be in prison. My godson is here, and his mate. People of the same worlds can find themselves here surely as any other. However," he adds, still watching Kelly carefully. "I don't believe wishing it will get you anywhere. Nor trying to find him. He'll either arrive someday or he won't and there's no way of knowing which it will be."

Kell is grateful for the somber look on Sirius' face. He has no reason to trust him, but after the kindnesses he's shown, Kell has no reason to distrust him either. If he were lying, surely his words wouldn't be so devastating, and Kell trusts the grief he can already feel welling within him most of all.

Rhy isn't here. And Kell can't get to him.

"It would be wrong of me to wish he was," he says, glad that his voice is steady. "He has an empire to run one day. And he will be a good ruler." Fitting, that Kell's rare words of praise will never reach Rhy's ears now.

Kell drains the rest of his ale. "May I trouble you for another?" He asks Sirius. "According to the chit inside this packet, I will soon be able to repay you for the favor."

Ah, yes. If Kell has been treated as family within the royal household, albeit distantly, it's only logical his brother is the prince. Still, it catches a little, intrigues him further. Kell's deep care for his brother is obvious, but Sirius does wonder if there's any sort of resentment beneath it. Not a jealousy for the crown, maybe, but resentment nonetheless.

"There's the trick though," Sirius says, gaze dropping to the stretch of Kell's neck as the man swiftly empties his ale before his lips flicker into a grin. "As I understand it, we're in a separate plane of existence, merely a version of ourselves while our other lives continue elsewhere. For instance, my godson remembers much more of my life than I've ever lived, has shared stories of times spent together that I can never hope to remember. Similarly, you continue to exist with your brother even now and, if he were to arrive here, there would still be a version of him in your world, to rule as you've said."

He glances at the empty glass Kell holds up and, letting out a quiet laugh, nods before holding a hand out to grab a server's attention. "Mate, I'm not certain there's enough drink in the world for this conversation, but I say we try our best all the same."

"At home, I am not missing."

It's as mad as everything else Sirius has told him, but Kell understands the implication at once, or perhaps it's Lila who tells him so, for a moment so real he can almost see her sitting next to him. You could be free, she whispers, and Kell's heart begins to pound.

For all that he rails against it, Rhy will be a fine King. He doesn't belong anywhere but the throne, and though he longs for him, Kell finds that he truly doesn't wish for him to be taken as he has been. And now that he is...Kell's mind flies to the ocean, the boats that must sail there. Lila could not be on them, but perhaps he could be like her, free to live as he chose.

"You say no one rules here," he says, leaning over the table. "There is no one who would wish to make use of a man like me, or try to claim him?"

There's a wonder in Kell's voice then, surprise mixed with awe, as though something wondrous has been opened before him.

It's only when Kell leans forward with another question that Sirius understands. "As far as I'm aware, no. There's a government as I understand it. A mayor. But his rule isn't like that of any king -- no singular person here has claim over any other. Including you."

How strange, he thinks, that this man has been treated as a thing his entire life. Perhaps guarded by royalty, and protected, but only as one would shield a prized work of art or invaluable object. It's stranger still given the powers Sirius knows Kell to possess and he frowns slightly, curious. "The monarchy you remember, the king and queen you served, were they as powerful as you?"

"No one is as powerful as I am," says Kell with no hint of boasting. Power in balance. Balance in power. Kell has balanced his immense power with equal sacrifice. Even if offered more, he would not take it.

"At least not in the worlds I knew, now that I am the last Antari." Kell studies Sirius' frown. "You want to know I stayed," he realizes, impressed with Sirius' shrewdness. He should say duty. He should say because he was where he belonged, and with who he belonged to, but Kell doesn't.

"I stayed for Rhy."

It's the answer to the question Sirius had been leading to and Sirius is only surprised by Kell's honesty, though he's beginning to think he shouldn't be. However macabre the man's powers may be, he doesn't at all seem devious or calculating.

Then again, Sirius isn't always the best judge of character.

"Tell me, does he care for you as deeply as you do him?" Sirius asks, reaching once more for a chip, though he only holds it, eying Kell intently. "Does he give even half as much of himself?"