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Darkness was something Pavia had become plenty accustomed to. The suitcase always seemed to be a bit too dim – light didn"t quite filter in just right, especially when the rain began to pour on the outside. Clouds blocked out the sun he couldn"t decipher the truth of, and then it was as though night had encroached upon the suitcase all over again. Some complained that it interfered with their work, their practice, their little lives. Pavia couldn"t care less.
The light of his cigarette illuminated the spot right in front of his lips, a tiny flicker of flame near the window he stood before. Rain poured down in sheets, thrumming in a chaotic melody against the glass. He took a drag and exhaled quietly, smoke fanning against the pane before drifting up. If he shut his eyes in this type of darkness, he could almost feel the husky breath of the wolves against his neck, their shadowy fur wrapping around his skin –
"Oh, hello, grand knight! I have come bearing a requ- eeessst!"
Shit.
Pavia let out a purposefully loud sigh and threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping it under the heel of his boot. This was meant to be a room specifically for him – well, anyone who smoked. But he was pretty confident nobody else did besides Tennant, maybe, and she was too busy to care and far too prideful to be seen next to him. Based on this weirdo"s voice alone, he"d have been surprised if the guy knew what smoking even was. Still, he glanced over his shoulder, a small wisp of residue smoke drifting from between his lips.
Oh. Fuck. This guy.
One of the medieval freaks. Pavia had kept a far distance from them – not necessarily out of dislike, or at least not any dislike stronger than he naturally held for strangers. It was more to avoid his own contemplation of this whole… time travel thing. The idea of the Storm already left his head pounding more than he"d like to admit, and he was the last person to hold any desire to be particularly vulnerable. By avoiding acknowledging anyone with such a large difference in what modernity meant, he could choke down the miscellaneous existential thoughts and never consider them for more than a moment.
But he"d always had bad luck. The darkness had a way of coming back to bite him.
His gaze hesitated on the person behind him for a moment before he turned, sitting on the windowsill with his hands hanging onto the edge. They looked at him with an odd eagerness – Pavia took a moment to wonder how that showed in the mask the person wore, then remembered he didn"t care.
"Alright, alright… You caught me." His lazy smirk turned into a tight-lipped frown. "What the hell are you looking for, then? Can"t imagine a court jester needing anything with the wandering wolves…"
The Fool stepped toward Pavia with large steps, his stare not-so-subtly trained away from Pavia"s face. Rather, he seemed to be quite focused on the man"s arms. Not that Pavia wasn"t used to being sized up – for fighting or for more intimate purposes – but he hadn"t taken the medieval folk to be the type for either of those activities. Especially not the weird masked clown.
As the Fool closed in, smile unfaltering, Pavia grew a bit uneasy. He responded to his sinking panic by retaliating physically, shoving the Fool away by the shoulder. The man yelped and grabbed at the fabric of his skirt-cloth-whatever-the-fuck, mask now turned into a frown.
(Once again, Pavia questioned how the mask could do that, then remembered he once again did not care.)
"Hey, hey, hey –"
"Ah! I do so ask that you hear this so-called jester out before we devolve into senseless battery." The Fool clapped his hands, head tilting as the smile came back, far more self-assured. "<To be raised by wolves is only to know the wild…> not to always indulge it!" Pavia noted the man switched between a more feminine and lighthearted voice and his seemingly natural voice at a whim. Were all people from that era just… like this?
He decided to put a pin in that thought and loop back to it – er… probably never.
Reluctantly, Pavia lowered the arm he used to butt away the Fool, though his lips were still turned up in a sneer. The Fool had stopped in front of him, thankfully, his hands now clasped behind his back. Curiously, his attention did not leave Pavia"s arms.
"Fine, then. We play by your rules. So, in which case," Pavia poked a finger into the Fool"s shoulder, "you tell me why you size me up like I am your next prey. Wolves love the thrill of the hunt– but when have you seen a wolf hunted, jester?"
"Last week!" He replied merrily. Pavia blinked, caught off guard, but the Fool remained unperturbed. "I am merely– well, fascinated! Thou adorns themself in the art that would have gotten them sent to the gallows! < Such marvelous shows of modern life!> I am thoroughly enamored!"
It took Pavia a moment to process what the person was saying. Another reason he"d avoided these folks – talking to them felt like solving one of those stupid logic puzzles with the boxes and names or whatever. Word association. Something like that. He eventually pieced it together after a few seconds of the Fool"s patient smile, his gaze darting down to his own arms.
"...So you just like my tattoos?" He asked, fanning out his fingers to show off the one on his back hand. The Fool responded in earnest, clapping his hands as though he had just seen a magic trick. Pavia wiggled his fingers a bit, watching the ink move against his skin, and the Fool giggled in pure delight.
"Yes! Yes!" He cheered. "Ah, the King would have had my head for far, far less! And yet you live with no persecution?!" The Fool rocked back on his heels. "<What thrill!>"
"Not none… A man could dream, perhaps." Pavia found himself sliding over slightly on the windowsill to provide the Fool room, still showing off his left arm"s tattoos. "Purists love to stick their nose where it does not belong. But I am the one sending them to the gallows, rather. They make too many statements, and– pop!" Pavia mimicked a gun with his free hand. "They learn to keep their mouth shut."
Pavia realized a bit too late that the Fool likely was not very aware of guns, though the thespian didn"t mention any confusion he may have had. Instead, he leaned closer to Pavia after taking a seat, empty sockets examining the inking on his skin. Pavia initially tensed, his teeth baring once more as he anticipated harm. But the Fool remained rather still nonetheless, not even noticing the way Pavia tensed.
Albeit reluctantly, Pavia steadied his held breath, letting the Fool stare. He felt awkward in this position, being admired – it was uncomfortable, and yet he quite liked being appreciated. Perhaps unfamiliar?
No.
It didn"t matter. He didn"t need anyone but the darkness. Nobody but the wolves.
Pavia felt the Fool poke his arm and he flinched, recoiling a bit too harshly. "Alright, that"s about enough from–"
"What does that mean?" The Fool interrupted, reaching around to gesture to a tattoo on Pavia"s left forearm. "<La loca…> This fool only knows a few languages, but that is surely not one!" He smiled at Pavia and sat up a bit more, hands resting on his knees.
"Don"t touch me unless you"re looking to lose the face behind that mask, jester." Pavia huffed and lowered his arm, gaze flitting to the tattoo Fool had asked about. Briefly, he looked back up at the person, who lacked much reaction to the threat beyond mild confusion.
Ugh. Couldn"t even properly threaten someone nowadays. Jeez.
"La cosa. The Thing." Pavia held his arm back up again, running his finger across the words. "Fitting, no? To call me more shadow than human…" His eyes traced the letters for a moment before he looked back up at the Fool, a lazy smirk on his face.
The Fool was not as happy about that statement.
"Now, what is that meant to mean?! Looking upon you now, I see only flesh and blood! <Not a single wisp of darkness! Not a hint of shadow!> Who is one to claim, then, that they are so inhuman it must be branded upon themself?" The Fool gave Pavia a somewhat baffled look, head cocked to the side.
Pavia… didn"t know how to respond to that.
He wasn"t exactly used to that kind of response. Nobody really took it seriously – and when they did, they still found it both accurate and amusing. People did not view Pavia as human. He was a dog.
No. A wolf.
He stared at the Fool, a bit baffled himself, then quickly found a chance to change the topic so he didn"t have to think too hard. "Well– it"s the name of that sci-fi movie too. Was my favorite as a child."
"Sci-fi… movie?"
Oh. Right. Pavia mentally hit himself for not remembering that the Fool"s knowledge of modernity started and ended with theater. He leaned back against the frame of the window.
"Movies are like… plays, but they"re recorded for everyone to watch as much as they want. And a bunch"a other differences I don"t give a flying fuck about." Pavia huffed a laugh. "Sci-fi means science fiction. So… fiction film, but it"s got techie elements and what have you. You get it?"
When Pavia looked over at the Fool again, the person was practically buzzing with excitement. His hands bundled into fists at his chest as they trembled, a wide smile overtaking his mask. Pavia brought a hand up to cover the way his smile grew genuine, the way he felt himself wanting to grin, too. Ugh.
"They have immortalized theater in such a way? And people view it regularly? Without condemnation?" The Fool bounced up and down in his seat, feet kicking eagerly. " <What joy! What bliss! Ah, I can picture our King rolling in his grave!>"
"Alright, jester," Pavia interrupted, jabbing a finger into the Fool"s shoulder, "you have yet to tell me the history behind your worries of art. Something to do with this king, I imagine…"
"Ah… yes." The Fool"s voice took on a mournful tone. His hands lowered into his lap, the mask taking on a pitying frown. "Our King quite despised the idea of art. <Danger, a pipeline to sin,> he cried! To live in sadness or die smiling was a question to be asked every day!" The Fool placed one hand on his own cheek and sighed. "But, alas, we persisted! <No overlord could mute mine song!> And now I am one of the few who lived through the Storm that wrecked such a kingdom. <What envy he must have felt!> "
Pavia stared at the Fool, trying not to let his surprise show too explicitly. This guy came from a time where art and festivities were banned? He was inclined to think the person was lying, but he"d have been equally shocked if the Fool knew how to lie convincingly outside of a theatrical setting. At the same time, however, he was never skilled with comforting others.
Instead, he awkwardly sat up, then offered out his right arm.
"...You can look at these. If you want. I"ll tell you about… the art of today. I met a lot of artistic folks in Piedmont. You"d have loved them… I think."
The Fool instantly lit back up as he hunched over Pavia"s arm, bringing a gloved hand up to the skin before pausing. His head lifted to look at Pavia, asking silent permission.
A part of Pavia wanted to lash out once again. Raise his hackles and bare his teeth like the wolves. But he instead gave the subtlest nod – perhaps a smaller part of him was hoping it"d give him plausible deniability – and watched as the Fool traced the ink upon his skin.
"Tell me about… oh! <The photographers!> One of them resides here, and his medium is so deeply entrancing!"
"Ah, Click? Yeah, heard of that guy…"
And, as the rain thrummed against the glass, white noise against Pavia"s talk of photography and painting and art, he could almost forget that he was scary. He could almost forget that he was meant to bite and growl and sneer.
Next to this person, he was no longer a wolf. Not even a dog.
Simply human.