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Who: Pell, Flick, Cal, and Ulaume
What: Pell gets everyone together to implore them to get along and it inevitably turns into a bitchfest.
Where: 1402
When: now!
Warnings: language, possible mentions of murder

This isn't going to go well and Pell knows it, but he's doing it anyway -- and that's the shorthand for his entire life, really.

As happy as he is with Cal here, he misses his best friend. And (unfortunately) Flick now comes with Ulaume. Which means all four of them are going to have to learn to get along somehow. They can't just keep avoiding each other, and the city isn't big enough if he thought that was a solution. So he's asked Flick to come back home and bring his chesnari. If he can be civil so can they. This Cal hasn't yet done what Flick hates him for, maybe it's possible that he never does.

He hasn't told Cal that the others are coming by, and they're curled up in the living room when there's a knock at the door. Pell bolts up to answer it. "Don't move," he orders Cal, his hand on the doorknob. And then he opens it to usher Flick and Ulaume in.

Let the fighting begin.

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He tears his eyes away from Cal, returning Pell's gaze. "I can't say I want to be here any more than you want me." And a lock of hair twists itself around Flick's finger, mostly of its own free will. No, he doesn't want to be anywhere near Cal. How long will that dog be able to resist its instincts before it comes for him in the night? They'd have to sleep with a knife under their pillow, for pity's sake.

"Perhaps we all need more time to think it over." Stall. Stall for days, weeks, hell--even months.

"There will be no blood." Pell squeezes Cal's hand, frustrated that they don't see Cal as he does. Not insane, not a killer for the sake of it, not going to murder them in their sleep because the broken pieces are back together. There's no reason for Cal to hurt them.

He watches Ulaume's hair twirling itself around Flick's finger and remembers the blood that beaded on his skin where it touched him. While he's not afraid of the other har, he can't yet shake the feeling that he needs to keep his distance. Which would make living together difficult. All of them are going to be stressed if they do this, but... he looks back to Flick. He really does miss his friend being around. "Time isn't the answer; it won't help us learn to be around one another. The only thing that can do that is actually being in contact. We need to stick together here, don't you understand? Hasn't Flick told you how dangerous it is?"

At first, Cal kept his silence, but not even trying to keep the glare off his face. He was trying hard not to think about what didn't add up--ten years, 8 months, nothing lined up the way he remembered and it was dizzying. What had he missed? What was he supposed to look forward to? Or, more likely, what was he supposed to be dreading?

At least, for now, there was Pell. The shining beacon to keep him anchored to what was supposed to be real. Even if sometimes it didn't feel like it.

He tried to focus on the concrete--the walls around him, the warmth of Pell's hand in his, each breath. It wasn't helping much.

"There will be blood. It won't be me that spills yours."

Unlike Pell's previous reaction to Ulaume's hair, Flick actually enjoyed it. He liked touching his chesnari, and feeling his hair move and flex and curl around him reminded him they were away from the Uigenna. Maybe not safe. But safer. He relaxed into Lor, his eyes still on Cal, wary. He did miss his friend though.

And Pell was right. It was dangerous, and Flick and Lor were out of practice. They were good at running. They'd been running for over a decade. Cal and Pell, however, were more polished fighters. He looked at his chesnari, opening his thoughts to his, hoping to communicate this so Cal wouldn't know. Wouldn't see weakness. He tensed.

"The problem is, I look at Cal, and I see blood everywhere! I see Orien's body hanging from the Nayati, Pell. You can't assume to know what affect this place is going to have on his sanity." Which was tenuous if you asked Flick. "That's right Cal. You killed him. You were convinced Orien had a part in Pell's death and killed a good har. For no reason at all. Your sick."

"The hell it will!" he says, harshly, hair dropping away from Flick's fingers. He's never been good at impulse control or keeping his fat mouth shut. "I haven't--"

Whatever he was going to say is cut off as Flick's thoughts touch his and he nods to Flick. It's true. Life may have been rough, but they've avoided any actual violence for an entire decade... Hopefully Flick can pick up on his agreement, before it's blown away by his words. Cal didn't know?

"That's the way to tell him!" Pell snapped, his grip on Cal tightening, opening his mind to send support as he struggles to calm at least his voice. "He hasn't done that. Maybe he never will, but I know that here I'm alive and well and he'd have no reason to hurt you, so stop acting like you're in danger." He isn't naive, he can vividly imagine the murder that Flick described and Cal doing it. He just doesn't believe that his Cal would. "At least we're opening up, I suppose. I'm going to get glasses."

His thumb strokes the back of Cal's hand before he lets go to move into the kitchen area, still within eye and earshot of the argument. He'll be back quickly with four glasses and sets about opening the bottle and pouring them all a drink. Maybe it'll mellow them out a bit. For his part he's distressed for reasons besides the fight -- he hates thinking that Orien did have a part in his death, a thing he can also imagine. He hates thinking about Cal grieving in the first place, let alone through violence.

Cal's expression went blank as he stared first at then through Flick. His free hand clenched into a fist at his side and when Pell let's go of his other, that one does too. He could feel his nails digging into his palms so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if he'd drawn blood. He wanted to scream, wanted to throw them out, yell that hadn't done anything, deny that he ever would have--

--but. He couldn't honestly say that was true. If he so much as suspected that Orien had something to do with it, he would absolutely have killed him.

There was so much blood on his hands and he didn't even care.

He couldn't move--he tried to leave. His hands started to hurt.

What was he supposed to do?

Flick knew it was a bad idea to antagonize Cal, especially if he was already unhinged. But he was hurt and he was angry and they'd been running and hiding for so long. It was easy to lash out, especially at Cal. He could have kept twisting the knife, Aru knows Seel gave him more than enough ammo when they talked. But, seeing the look on Cal's face, Flick stopped. And maybe he wanted to keep some of that ammo for later.

"You had days to tell him your way Pell." Flick retorted, still angry even though it'd been ten years. That anger had come slowly. At first, Flick had been more scared and hurt than angry. But knowing that Pell had been resurrected somehow? That all of Cal's actions hadn't been for anything, that pissed him off.

Flick watched Cal, leaning toward his chesnari for support in case Flick had just unleashed a wild animal in the middle of Pell's apartment. Flick almost got up to help Pellaz get the glasses, but he didn't want to leave Cal and Ulaume alone.

"Lor. Help him?"

Ulaume's eyes flicker from Flick to Cal to Flick again... and he shakes his head slightly, squeezing the shorter har's shoulder. Thoughts still open for Flick to peer at if he wishes, he watches Cal for any sign of danger. No, he doesn't want to leave Flick by himself with that creature, who's clearly on the edge of snapping. And he doesn't particularly wish to be alone with Pell at the moment, any more than Pell wants to see him.

Drinks. Drinks may help this meeting turned sour, once they've all relaxed a little. If they can't make it through one night, how in the world are they meant to live together?

It's alright, he didn't really need help. Pell pours four drinks and passes Flick and Ulaume their glasses first, then hands one to Cal and claims his own, pressing in against his chesna's side and slipping an arm around his waist. That's not how he wanted Cal to find out... at least he knows now? Pell could have done without the insults but he tries to understand that Flick's the one who was there for it, who's afraid and angry. He's neither of those things. So he just takes a sip of his drink and thinks of where to go from here.

"Why don't we take a minute to calm down? Flick, your room is as it was, if you want to go in there." He gives Cal a little tug, towards the stairs and their room.

At Pell's touch Cal seemed to snap out of it, shaking his head. He unclenched his fists, flexed his fingers against the ache and accepted the offered glass as he turned away from the other pair. The years he'd missed (apparently) and trying to find something in them... It was an impossible task and yet he was being forced at every turn to confront the things that hadn't happened yet--the things that made him a monster.

He drained his glass perhaps a little too quickly--there was courage in it he needed badly, and he tried not to shake, though whether it was from anger or something else he couldn't tell.

"That seems like a much...safer idea."

Flick rolls his eyes at Lor, refusing to leave. He reaches out with his mind, making his annoyed amusement known. He should have expected it though. They'd never stopped running, and Ulaume was not about to leave him alone with a potential threat. They started this together, it was only when they were alone that bad things happened.

He shrugged a small apology to Pell and reached out to touch his friends hopefully not closed off mind. I'm sorry. The smaller har took the wine glass gratefully and sipped at it. He forced himself to look at Cal. He was not the har he had seen before, the har who had come to Saltrock after Pell's death, emaciated and completely crazed. He wasn't the har that saw how unhappy he was with Seel, seduced him and spit him out. Whoever that Cal in front of him was, Flick had to make himself see that, and not his own sheen of hatred and self fury.

He took Lor's hand, and motioned toward his room. Maybe if they all felt safe again they could start again. And maybe pigs would fly.

A nod to Flick this time, as he takes a small, cautious swallow of the drink first. Hara can't be poisoned, of course, but if something nasty tasting has been put in his glass... that's still worth avoiding. Though Pell probably isn't that petty and Cal never left the room.

And it's fine. Not bad, in fact.

"Let's. Just a few minutes." No more than half an hour to talk it over privately out loud. That should help. He stands, gently tugging Flick in the direction of the bedrooms.

It'll be fine, he sends back to Flick, before downing his drink and pulling away just far enough to take Cal's hand -- he unfists it gently -- and lead him upstairs to their bedroom. He nudges the door closed and is pressed back against Cal immediately, resting his forehead on the other's shoulder.

"I didn't want you to find out that way." And if he's honest... "I didn't want you to find out at all."

His movements felt slow again, wrapped in a reverie of thoughts he hadn't thought I of before. He could almost feel the blood on him again, but was it Pell's or Orion's? Did that even really matter? How arms find their way around Pell's shoulders again, holding him close but gently--as if he's afraid he'd break him.

"It was bound to come out eventually." No one keeps a secret like that forever. He sighed, though, and buried his face in the other har's hair. His voice was soft and muffled as he continued.

"There can be no peace so long as that hangs over our heads."

It's never going to be fine Pell. We're all too broken. But for a moment, he let himself indulge in Pellaz's blind optimism.

Flick glared at Lor. They were definitely going to have a talk about his blatant paranoia. I heard that, he sent to him, and let his chesnari pull him into the bedroom.

"Do you really think Pellaz was going to poison you Lor?" Flick put his head in his hands, not wanting to believe just how much this had spiraled out of control and how much worse it could go. It was the secrets. There were too many and Flick didn't want to let go of his. The Aruhani statue in the by a bedside table felt like it was staring at him with burning eyes. Stop looking at me.

Paranoia? Nah. He'd rightly deserve it, wouldn't he?

"Hush." he says, amused. "Not poison! Fill it with salt, though, maybe. I wouldn't have wanted a mouthful of that." And then his mood turns more somber, as he sits down on the bed, drinking for courage. "Pell's your friend, not mine. Not remotely. It hasn't been ten years for him since I turned on him. He must see me like you see Cal."

"No peace among us, or for you? I don't think either is true." Cal's found peace in him before, it can happen again. As for the others... now that it's out maybe they can find a way to deal with it. Flick doesn't seem to realize how much pain Cal is still in from his death and now the suggestion that his mentor had a part in it. He tightens his grip, encouraging Cal to do the same. "You're not a murderer, you had your reason. I have to wonder what he'd do if faced with Ulaume's killer. What I'd do if faced with yours. It's more complicated than just being capable of a thing."

"It doesn't matter. I'd do it." He knew that much at least. "You were murdered in front of me and Thiede did it. I don't care whose hands he used to do it. If I so much as suspected Orien had anything to do with it I would hang him from the rafters!" His eyes and his voice grew wilder as he spoke, though he didn't pull away.

He laughed another wild laugh--perhaps he wasn't sane after all.

"God, that's what they want to see, isn't it? They built me up as this monster and that's all they'll see. Because I can't possibly be anything else!"

Flick sat down next to him and took Lor's face in his hands, and leaned up to kiss him. "Then we show them the real you. Not the Ulaume that worked with Lianvis. He's gone. Lunil took that all away. Aru, remember that? It seems so long ago." Flick gave a small smile, trying to forget that Pell and Cal were so close.".....We were so naive back then....they're so young Lor."

He took a large gulp of wine. They were going to need some more. "You are not your past." Sure it was completely hypocritical of Flick to say that, but he couldn't will himself to separate the Cal here from the Cal he had known.

He tastes of wine and regret, desire to go 'home', worry for his own skin and Flick's--a jumble of things, all tangled. Sighing through his nose and running a hand through Flick's hair, followed by another drink.

"We're really ahead of them in time, aren't we? I don't know. I suppose I could handle staying if you have a lock on your door. We don't need that thing creeping in while we're sleeping at night."

The horror. Just the thought alone makes him grimace. "And perhaps a knife under our pillow. He's not in control of his own mind."

Pell lifts his head, meeting Cal's eyes with a certainty that perhaps he shouldn't feel. It's in his voice as well, which is strong and even when he speaks. "Stop that. You're not mad, you're not a monster. Don't prove Flick's fears right... You have no reason to harm them and that's what they need to know." He reaches up, pushing Cal's hair back from his face.

"We could all be dangerous, if we wanted to be. They forget that Ulaume tried to kill me once as well -- and don't need the reminder. I don't believe he would now, so far from Lianvis."

"Are you so sure of that? Who else but a madman would whisk boys away from their homes in the night?" Who else would watch the world burn around them, holding the matches? Call it being the wrong place at the wrong time, but it was starting to feel like much much more than that.

"Are you that certain it's that easy? Unchain him from his master and the snake looses his teeth?"

Flick tastes of welcoming fires, mixed with worry for them, worry for Pell. He sighed and smiled, enjoying Lor's fingers through his hair, touching his scalp. He lay down on the bed, opening up his arms. "Lie with me." He reached up to run a hand through Lor's hair, enjoying as it curled and tensed around him.

"As much as I hate it, Pellaz believes in Cal. I think you're right. If we lock the door and keep a knife or a gun, we might be safe. If we're not...it's two against one right?"

"Mm, alright." He does so, a little more propped up so he can keep drinking without spilling it like an idiot. Poor Flick would probably be the one to clean the stain if he did. "I'd hardly know what to do with a gun. It wasn't our way."

And then he smiles, moving to press against Flick. "Two against one. Of course. If you still want to stay." Pell... doesn't deserve such loyalty, not really. What has he done for Flick to earn it?

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