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The floral scent wafting from the sidelines is what clues Cross in to Nox's presence. The training yard is Cross's stomping ground — he's pretty much the only one who uses it on a regular basis — but Nox has become a fixture in it as well, by virtue of it being relatively close to the castle, but still outside.
It's oddly funny to see someone who looks so like Dream chainsmoke, though it's less so combined with Nox's penchant for looking like a cornered animal. He acts like whatever he ran from is going to get him at all times, and it's worse in the yard. The only reason he ever steps outside the castle in the first place is because Nightmare prefers him to smoke either in his room or outside, and sometimes outside is just easier.
Cross doesn't look over, but as he moves through his exercises, he can see the purple-blue smoke wafting from Nox's mouth in his peripheral vision. He's not quite sure what it is that he's smoking — some kind of flower, he's seen Nox grinding it into a powder and rolling it into cigarettes himself at the kitchen table, but what flower it is, Cross has no idea. He thinks Dust might have asked once, but if Nox had answered him, Cross hadn't heard about it.
Normally Nox leaves him to his exercises and Cross leaves him to his smoking, but today Cross can feel the prickle of eyelights on his back. He glances towards the bench, tucked against the stone of the castle wall, and predictably finds Nox there with his usual haunted look. He's hunched over, pressed into the stone so he can keep an eye on every angle, but his eyelights flick away quickly.
So, he's being watched. Nothing new, really — everyone has come out to stare at Cross training before at some point, and frankly, it's good for his self-esteem to be ogled by his boyfriends every so often. Nox is another story, but despite his shitty people skills and complete lack of talent for reading a room, Cross gets the feeling that the other has something to say or ask or tell him.
He turns back towards the dummy he's been steadily slicing at, focusing again on his exercises. Nox will get out whatever he has to say eventually. He tunes out the feeling of eyelights on his back and the smell of the sweet, floral smoke of Nox's cigarette, falling into a rhythm of slashing set to the sound of his swords cutting through air and fabric.
Eventually, he decides it's time for a water break, so he kicks the stuffing from the dummy into a semi-cohesive pile and lets his daggers disappear into his inventory. Nox is still curled up on the bench, looking only slightly calmer. Not for the first time, Cross wonders if there's weed mixed with whatever flowers the other grinds up.
He sits heavily on the bench, picking up the water bottle he'd left on the end of it. On the other end, closer to the door back into the castle, Nox still looks haunted, but he says nothing, so Cross focuses on rehydrating instead. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Nox put out his cigarette on the ragged bottom hem of his jacket, before placing the half-smoked nub into a cigarette box that he must have taken from his inventory. It looks like cardboard, but the design on it is so faded that Cross can't make it out. Likely it's just some no-name brand that's only sold at shitty convenience stores or gas stations on the Surface.
Artwork by Fanatical Arts
When he places his water bottle back onto the bench, Nox finally speaks: "Why do you work with Nightmare?"
Cross blinks, and looks at the other. He won't make eye contact, and he's bouncing his leg, looking for all the world like a stray dog about to bolt. "What do you mean?" Cross replies carefully.
"Well, he's… he's evil, isn't he?" Nox doesn't sound so sure about it, but Cross frowns anyway.
"Nightmare saved my life," he informs Nox, perhaps a bit testily. "He took me out of my empty world and gave me a purpose again."
Nox frowns. "That's not…" His jaw flexes a bit, as if he's literally chewing on his next words. "Nightmare is this multiverse's equivalent of my brother."
"What, Dream is evil in your multiverse?" He can't picture it — they may be on opposite sides, but Dream has never struck Cross as anything but naïve yet well-meaning. Then again, though, he wonders if Nox's version of Dream is actually evil, considering he seems to think Nightmare is. Cross can vouch that he certainly isn't… probably, anyway.
"He definitely isn't good anymore," Nox grumbles. He heaves a large sigh, before continuing, "All I mean is… you're not a murderer, Cross. Not like the others."
Cross stands, staring down at the other in disbelief. "You don't know anything about me," he snarls. The scar on his face feels like a brand, hot and stinging as the day he'd received it. "And you don't know anything about any of us if that's how you group us."
"I just said you aren't a murderer!" Nox says exasperatedly, standing to meet him. He's smaller than Cross, but he doesn't seem cowed.
"Have you even fucking checked my LV? Because it's a lot higher than Horror's, so if there's anyone you should be acting all holier-than-thou to, it's him!" Cross gestures wildly towards the door, at this point uncaring that his mates could take notice of the argument. "I destroyed my entire fucking universe, after killing my entire family!" He huffs and puffs for a moment, focusing on the feeling of the cool, dry air circulating through his leylines. Quieter, he continues, "It was meant to be a mercy kill. They weren't supposed to stay dead… And you'd do well to remember that Dust and Killer expected the same thing. We all got shafted."
Nox doesn't speak, but he looks less like a cornered dog now, more like an awkward teenager stuck in a conversation. Cross gives him a moment, before sighing. "I don't give a shit about your morals. As far as I'm concerned, Nightmare is good, because he's good to me."
"...I don't think my brother thinks of what he's doing as 'mercy killing,'" Nox says eventually. "I'm not sure he thinks of it that much at all."
Annoyed, Cross snaps, "Have you considered that, just maybe, not every multiverse is the same? And that not everything is black and white?" With a sigh, he continues, "I'm not sure why I thought you weren't all that similar to our multiverse's Dream, because you have the same naïve, holier-than-thou bullshit going on."
He doesn't bother to wait for Nox to speak; instead, he takes his daggers from his inventory once more and descends on the mutilated training dummy with a growl, uncaring of how the stuffing he'd previously eviscerated from it spreads across the yard with each movement. Nightmare has been on his ass about anger management since he brought him here, not to mention he'd definitely be mad if Cross beat up his guest.
Artwork by Fanatical Arts
…Maybe not so much if he were privy to their conversation.
"I don't think that I think of what I'm doing as mercy killing." Nox sounds more sure of himself now, but Cross doesn't bother turning yet. Instead, he flexes his hands where they grip his daggers tight, taking deep breaths to keep himself calm, just as Nightmare taught him.
"So you and your brother on the same page, at least," Cross says with a roll of his eyelights as he turns around. He's just in time to see Nox cringe a bit, gaze flickering away from Cross's own. Cross doesn't bother trying to make him hold eye contact; instead, he turns around again, half-heartedly kicking at the thoroughly destroyed dummy. "I don't think outcodes get moral compasses, at this point. Black-and-white would be nice, but it's not a real possibility." More to himself than Nox, he continues, "Not anymore. Not once you're aware of it all."
"I don't think it's a possibility even for non-outcodes," Nox says. If he heard Cross's aside, he doesn't show it. He's still standing a polite distance away, looking for all the world as if getting yelled at by Cross had actually calmed him down.
"You have a funny way of saying it, then," Cross mutters, not quite willing to forget the thoughtless statements their conversation had started with.
"Look, I…" Nox pauses, and Cross waits impatiently for him to continue, kicking around the dummy's stuffing boredly. "Maybe I'm just projecting," he sighs. "It's… it is mercy killing. Practically the dictionary definition for 'mercy kill.' But…"
"You don't like it. That's okay," Cross says, sharper than he means, but he can't make himself feel apologetic. "None of us liked it, either."
Nox doesn't flinch, but he averts his eyes, and it's enough for Cross to know he's gotten a rise out of him. He doesn't back down. "You're not better than us just because you're practically a god," Cross says. "Killing is killing. You don't get to judge us. We did what we thought was right, and most of the time, it was in the middle of a psychotic break, too. I don't think you have that excuse."
It's that remark that gets Nox to flinch, and Cross allows himself to feel proud of that. He's never been good at throwing Killer or Dust's venom back at them, but he's picked up how to throw it at others. He'll feel bad about it later, but for now he basks in the sick pride of making a demigod cringe.
"...Right," Nox says after a moment. "Sorry to bother you, then."
Cross grunts, aiming a kick at the dummy's worn-out fabric body. He repeats the motion until he hears Nox's footsteps, and then the creak of the door closing. With his spectator gone, he sighs and moves to clean up the stuffing that now covers the training yard.
Idly, he notes that he can't quite picture Dream killing anyone, but Nox, a near-carbon copy of Dream in looks, has killed enough that he seems to view it as a necessary evil. Cross can tell that he hates himself for it.
He's not special in that way — Cross hated himself for it, too.