Aw, would you have been a gentleman for me? Offered me your arm?
[ He teases brightly, fearlessly. As unbothered by the state of his body as he was when Homelander had cleaved his arm from his body with his eyes, brilliant and powerful and enticing. But, neither does he protest to be led inside the cabin, where the world is darker and the shadows harder to differentiate between. It's definitely a vulnerable spot for him, and the flare of his nostrils gives away how he tries to orient himself with his other senses. ]
I am glad you two are reunited. I knew I could not guarantee her safety for you alone, but being able to trade off the effort in reviving you was a delightful gamble! [ He holds the weight of his earring in his hand, before holding it up to dangle. Is he okay?
( No. ) ] Of course! This is not the first time I have died. Not even the second, or seventh, or one thousandth!
[ Said without hesitation — like it's obvious, because maybe it is.
But he doesn't argue any further, instead watching the way Set's features shift as he adjusts to the space, as he adjusts to being alive again. He remembers all too clearly what it'd been like the first time he'd been brought back, lurching out of a coffin, his head spinning, the world both too much and not enough at the same time. ]
Yeah, well. I've only done it twice, and it sucked both times.
[ His frown is a lethal thing, all full mouth and furrowed brow. A bit more like a pout, than anything. Like he regrets not having Homelander come and do just that. ]
You know I cannot reshape my body in this place.
[ As if having been dead and gone, or being able to take on the curves and softness of a woman's form are the things he needs to offer up to receive that arm. It's the first he's really acknowledged that afternoon in the forest, after Ryan broke his father's heart. ]
— when I found it was you who fell, all I cared about was getting you back. When I told Armand that I did not care who was a wolf, I meant it. For a while, I wanted to catch the wolf that killed you. Now, having you back... do you want that of me? To capture and present your killer to you?
[ Like a feral cat, bringing him a bloodied gift. ]
[ Set frowns, and Homelander frowns back, though his expression reads a little more of confusion than anything else, like he's not sure, in this moment, why the form Set takes would matter to him. It shifts as Set continues to speak, asks him to consider a question that he isn't sure how to answer. ]
You brought me back, [ he says — first and most important. ]
So we can play the game together.
[ Which isn't to say that he doesn't want revenge or that he doesn't want to know, but— ]
[ He laughs, faint and breathless: to play the game together.
Well, isn't that something.
Most relationships, he's found, are transactional at their core; what-can-you-do-for-me and what-can-i-do-for-you are foundational among gods and humans, generals and soldiers, merchants and buyers, even a foreign entity visiting distant lands to learn and grow and explore. The lessons he had learned, painfully and violently were that to be worth being loved, one must be strong. To have friends, one must conquer the other and impress upon them hierarchy. And then, there is Homelander. A man he found equal in. Equal anger, equal desire, equal meaning in his strength. ]
Yes, I would have been far too unhappy, to enjoy myself. Now, I can play freely.
[ It takes a few taps of his foot to ensure nothing is directly in his way, before he grips the hand he still holds and swings himself in for a strong-armed hug around Homelander's shoulders. A warmth and relief in his sigh. ]
What else are friends for, Homelander, than to see things through together?
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no subject
[ He teases brightly, fearlessly. As unbothered by the state of his body as he was when Homelander had cleaved his arm from his body with his eyes, brilliant and powerful and enticing. But, neither does he protest to be led inside the cabin, where the world is darker and the shadows harder to differentiate between. It's definitely a vulnerable spot for him, and the flare of his nostrils gives away how he tries to orient himself with his other senses. ]
I am glad you two are reunited. I knew I could not guarantee her safety for you alone, but being able to trade off the effort in reviving you was a delightful gamble! [ He holds the weight of his earring in his hand, before holding it up to dangle. Is he okay?
( No. ) ] Of course! This is not the first time I have died. Not even the second, or seventh, or one thousandth!
no subject
[ Said without hesitation — like it's obvious, because maybe it is.
But he doesn't argue any further, instead watching the way Set's features shift as he adjusts to the space, as he adjusts to being alive again. He remembers all too clearly what it'd been like the first time he'd been brought back, lurching out of a coffin, his head spinning, the world both too much and not enough at the same time. ]
Yeah, well. I've only done it twice, and it sucked both times.
no subject
You know I cannot reshape my body in this place.
[ As if having been dead and gone, or being able to take on the curves and softness of a woman's form are the things he needs to offer up to receive that arm. It's the first he's really acknowledged that afternoon in the forest, after Ryan broke his father's heart. ]
— when I found it was you who fell, all I cared about was getting you back. When I told Armand that I did not care who was a wolf, I meant it. For a while, I wanted to catch the wolf that killed you. Now, having you back... do you want that of me? To capture and present your killer to you?
[ Like a feral cat, bringing him a bloodied gift. ]
no subject
You brought me back, [ he says — first and most important. ]
So we can play the game together.
[ Which isn't to say that he doesn't want revenge or that he doesn't want to know, but— ]
That's what matters to me.
no subject
Well, isn't that something.
Most relationships, he's found, are transactional at their core; what-can-you-do-for-me and what-can-i-do-for-you are foundational among gods and humans, generals and soldiers, merchants and buyers, even a foreign entity visiting distant lands to learn and grow and explore. The lessons he had learned, painfully and violently were that to be worth being loved, one must be strong. To have friends, one must conquer the other and impress upon them hierarchy. And then, there is Homelander. A man he found equal in. Equal anger, equal desire, equal meaning in his strength. ]
Yes, I would have been far too unhappy, to enjoy myself. Now, I can play freely.
[ It takes a few taps of his foot to ensure nothing is directly in his way, before he grips the hand he still holds and swings himself in for a strong-armed hug around Homelander's shoulders. A warmth and relief in his sigh. ]
What else are friends for, Homelander, than to see things through together?