Work Text:
"I'm telling you, this works for me every time," Thorongil said, taking a sip of his mead.
"I just..." Odbody trailed off. "Are you sure? Inspiration doesn't really work like that, for me."
"It hasn't failed me yet," Thorongil said. "After all, here you are asking advice from me on how to write Karmit."
Odbody winced at the portmanteau. He'd never been a fan of relationship names, and if forced to, would rather refer to them as "Battle-Brothers." It was a title they already carried, so why not?
Also, it sounded alarmingly like a mythical frog from Terra, and that didn't suit Amit or Kargos at all. And "Amargos" felt too unwieldy.
But he had come here looking for advice, not to get into a debate on the most recent Discourse.
"How are you even able to stand it? His presence?"
More than once Odbody had wondered if he had a death wish, as captivated as he was with Captain Amit. With distilled savagery from the memory and practice of the Revenant Legion, Odbody had previously only watched Amit from afar. Holovids of his matches in Lord Angron's fighting pits, picts his fellow Remebrancers had managed to capture... and the stories from the zyne. (Most of the Amit/Kargos was written by Thorongil. By the Golden Throne, why did someone who referred to them as Karmit write them so amazingly well?)
(And when one was looking for consistency in well-written fic with Amit as the focus, Thorongil was the best bet. Lcarus was a much better writer, but they did not write Amit/Kargos, and had a wider range of ships they wrote for. And they didn't publish as frequently.
And also, Odbody had no clue who was behind Lcarus' pseudonym.)
The corners of the younger Remembrancer's lips quirked up in a teasing smile. "The trick," he said, studying the amber color of the mead as he drew out his response, "is to not have him focus on you. We are human, Odbody. He is Astartes. Why is he going to pay attention to a Remembrancer or two?"
"I still feel like I'd be crushed under the weight of his sheer Presence," Odbody said.
"Or maybe," Thorongil's grin was wicked, "you'll get that inspiration you're longing for."
Odbody hadn't been as nervous about anything since he first applied to join the Remembrancers for the Astartes. Stranger still, as he was not putting on a performance of recent work. He would not participate in the Metallurgy Forum directly, but instead watch from the safety of an observation theater. Only a thin transparent barrier separated them from the heat of the forge.
It could not protect the humans from the Presence of the Astartes.
Blessed as the Blood Angels were, with a balance of their original genetic material blended with the utter perfection that was Lord Sanguinius, their art forums were always popular to observe. Metallurgy suggested the flexing of muscles, the sheen of sweat, and the hard breathing of focus on a dangerous task. This, on it's own, would be infatuating.
The crowd was a bit thicker than usual, however, since Nassir Amit was at the fore. Thorongil was a popular writer, and Amit was a recent focus. Amit's resting face was severe and full of focus, and Odbody struggled to breathe. (Why people called it Asshole Resting Face he never understood.) He had never, ever seen Amit up close. Not close enough to see the scarring on his chest in vivid detail.
By the dilated eyes he could see, neither had many other Remembrancers.
Besides Amit, four other Blood Angels were working at the forge. Odbody did not immedately recognize the names of the others, but that didn't matter. He could find out later.
The Astartes knew they were being observed, and paid their audience barely any mind. There was a brief glance from each of them - simply taking in their surroundings - but that was it. Amit counted by briefly looking at each of them. Odbody thought he might die on the spot when Amit's eyes met his.
As the Astartes worked, they conversed in Low Gothic, with frequent use of Aenokian phrases and loan words. The thunder of the tools further obscured their conversations. Odbody wasn't sure he'd be able to follow the conversation even if an Iterator spoke it in perfect Low Gothic.
In his lap, carefully placed between pages of his notebook, was the most recent issue of The Alabaster Feather. Thorongil's newest Amit/Kargos piece was in there, called "Chains." Odbody had already read it three times.
He thought his heart might explode from his chest, what those rough fingers might feel on his chin as Amit firmly grasped it, but... this wasn't what Odbody wanted.
He wanted more ideas for his own story with Amit and Kargos.
The older man had caught his attention from the moment he'd entered the room.
As he usually did, Amit took in all the details of his surroundings. He trusted the Red Tear, but this was simply an instinct he could not switch off. It was something deeply engrained in him, from before he became a Blood Angel, from before he was a Revenant. It was what saved him on the streets in Boeotia, and allowed him to make it this far.
The old man was someone he wouldn't usually pay attention to. Officers of the Astra Militarum were not a match for an Astartes, and this old man was simply a Remembrancer. He wasn't even sure he knew his way around a Bolter.
But there was something in his eyes - something so primal - that he could not ignore. Amit could smell the old's man fear from here, but he also didn't miss how dark his eyes were.
He was aroused.
It was a feeling that he did not completely understand - the arousal saddled with fear. It was not because he struggled with the concept of fear at all, either. He remembered very much of that time when he was still only a mutant. Discovery would lead to his death. Amit didn't know why he was alive, but he would live long enough to find out why.
Was the old man aroused only by the aspects of Lord Sanguinius that Amit's DNA had chosen to mantle? Or perhaps aspects of himself that he had no name for?
Amit didn't particularly care to find out the answer. This was a curiosity, was all. It was no secret that many found the Blood Angel's beautiful, and would visit the forums to have memories to recall upon later in their quarters. That this old man was so afraid but still attended was oddly charming. Amit was not used to being the center of this sort of attention. At least, not from normal humans.
The old man with his notebook - a writer, he saw by the scratchings on the page, not doing sketches - was the most interesting person in the Remembrancer theater. Enough to keep his eyes on, during the Forum.
Perhaps he'd even be interesting enough to learn his name, by the end of this.
Amit's project for today would be a 'proof-of-concept' piece he planned to make for Sanguinius. As fond as his primarch was with his metalwork, he said that there were some paper documents that he wished to showcase in something a bit nicer manner. He would make one, and if his sire approved, make as many as he wished.
Amit wondered what it was that his sire wished to showcase in such a way.
It was a relief that this was not the final design. Amit wasn't pleased at the seams, and of course the patina was uneven. But the size was correct, and he would be able to model it on the shelving Sanguinius wished to use.
As his brothers cleared up their areas, Amit glanced at the Remembrancer Theater out of the corner of his eye. Many were starting to leave, but the old man writer was still in his seat. A younger Remembrancer walked over to him, and whispered something in his ear.
Amit knew he heard his name. While the rest of the utterance was lost to the forge and shuffle of Remembrancers making their exit, the blush on the old man gave additional context.
He looked again at the notebook in the old man's lap. Actually, that should be about the right size to verify. Picking up his proof-of-concept, he walked towards door to the Observation Theater.
He didn't get far. Spooked, the two Remembrancers made quickly for the exit. Something fell from the old man's notebook, and they were long gone by the time Amit reached the forgotten item.
It was a chap book, made with paper of sub-par quality.
Not to lose chance of the opportunity in front of him, Amit put the chap book in his proof-of-concept. It fit perfectly.