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You always thought the Seventh’s domain was rather quiet– made more evident after learning that there are only two (conscious) entities residing in the realm. Clearly, you were wrong, proven in the days following the other symbols being informed of Septem’s (and supposedly, your) new status; the domain somehow becomes quieter. A new kind of silence – neither tense nor long-stretching, but fresh. Like the early hours before dawn.
(The calm before the storm, you could say.)
You don’t take much issue with it though, knelt down by the small stream, watching as the fish (energy, really, but Septem looks at you with this quiet and pensive expression whenever you call them ‘fish’ that you fail to find a reason to stop) swirl around in soft circles. Mindless and wandering in the unmoving current – you suppose it’s not so different from the people who keep real fish for decoration. You wonder if the fish here exist for a similar purpose, or if it was just natural to put fish in empty waters. Filling in the gaps, so to speak. (But why bother if they wouldn’t be alive?)
A sigh leaves you. As nice as this garden is, it’s far from interesting enough to roam around here on your own. Really, you’re only here because you’ve hit a bit of writer’s block, trying to clear your mind and let the frustration of poor prose slip away with passing minutes. At the same time, every moment you spend not actively attempting to write fills you with a bone deep annoyance. Which is why you’ve been out here for a little longer than you were planning to be. Oops. In your defence, your sense of time has been rather muddy since you’ve came to the domain.
You hear a familiar voice call your name from a short distance away, turning around and finding– well, who else?
“Your Holiness,” you greet, standing up and smiling as Septem remains in place. You don’t move closer either, not until he tilts his head with expectation and his face starts to morphs into an expression that says ‘well?’
(Cute.)
You step towards him, neither fast (eager) nor slow (dawdling) but at a pace where you can watch as the Symbol’s stance changes: lax in his shoulders, shifting the position of his feet, his wings flexing before relaxing – the eyes of his halo focusing on you.
“There’s no need for you to refer to me by my title,” he says as you finally come into a close enough range, “your current standing… isn’t so beneath mine to require that kind of behaviour. Nor are we currently in a setting that calls for that sort of formality. I recall having told you this before. Were you not listening or have you already forgotten?” There’s an amused lilt to his voice. Not quite annoyed, then.
“Couldn’t it be the case that I just like hearing your voice?” You reply, grinning wide as he raises a brow to your words, a light huff leaving him. You continue, “but, no, I haven’t forgotten, and I was listening to you at the time. In fact, if I’m remembering correctly, my response to you was that I believe it’s only best to show you the respect you deserve. That still applies, I’m afraid.”
There’s a faint dusting of pink that appears on his ears as his eyes narrow at you. The corners of his mouth twist down, seemingly confused. “You don’t find it reminiscent of when you were,” he pauses, looking for the right way to say what he’s thinking, “connected to that puppet?”
When he was continuously rude to you, he means to say. To give him credit, he’s long since acknowledged his past actions and has apologized for them. That’s better than most people you know.
“Not really,” you answer honestly. “Besides, that’s water under the bridge– long past us at this point. Really, I’m not debasing myself when I refer to you as ‘Your Holiness’, if that’s the main concern. It would be best to consider it an act of admiration on my part. Though, if you’d really prefer I stop, then I’ll stop.”
At that, a small crease forms between the Symbol’s brows and his mouth settles into a frown. “Admiration,” he echoes, eyes widening a slight bit. “You’re serious,” while not asked, it still comes out as a question.
So you reply: “I’ve never been able to find it in my heart lie to you, Your Holiness. This hasn’t changed since we first met.”
Septem seems to consider this, his expression relaxing and returning back to a neutral position as he makes this quiet, content sound, finding your answer to be more than acceptable. Whatever tension was left in his posture loosens when he sighs. “Just refrain from addressing me as such in the company of others– it’ll only lead to unnecessary confusion and questions,” he says, the pink by his ears receding to the very tips. “But, if it’s truly your preference, feel free to call me what you like in private.”
(‘What you like’? How generous.) “Then, Your Holiness,” you start grinning again as Septem looks at you, unimpressed but warm. “How can I help you?”
There’s a soft hum, pondering, scanning you from head to toe, searching for who knows what. Then, he replies, simply, “you’re usually in your room at this time of day.”
It’s enough for you to understand. “I had to clear my head for a bit. It seems like my ability to write anything worth reading has decided to fail me today,” you sigh theatrically. “Woe is me, I suppose.”
“And coming out here helps?”
“Along with seeing you, yes.”
His mouth presses thin, though the eyes of his halo have widened slightly.
“You really just say whatever you want, don’t you?” he asks rhetorically, voice forcibly flat.
“Only the things most sincere. Your company delights me more than you know,” you answer regardless, smiling as Septem’s expression changes into bafflement. You’re not entirely sure why he’s so shocked– he’s literally the only other person here. You’d be inclined to enjoy his company even if you weren’t already attached to him.
His confusion fades, though, after a brief second, and he regards you again. Like he’s seeing something different. “It seems like we share the sentiment,” he says, soft and secretly. “However, should you try to say something like in public, people are going think you’re trying to gain my favour. Which would go against the image we’re currently trying to convey of being a united front.”
“I know how to act in front of others, Your Holiness, don’t worry,” you chuckle, the sound rounded out by fondness. “And I already have your favour, no?”
“Hm. Yes, you do,” Septem replies, sounding pleased with your response. His wings stretch before closing back in – a slight movement, but enough to catch your attention. He makes a light sound– something between a scoff and a short laugh. “Very well. Let’s return to why I sought you out in the first place: you’ve missed lunch.”
“Ah.”
“Indeed,” he agrees, smiling like you’re the dumbest thing he’s seen all day. (You probably are. For most of his days, in fact.) “I’m not even sure how you’ve managed it. Human bodies are designed to notify the brain when it’s lacking energy. And I’m certain that it’s not my handiwork that’s caused you to miss a meal.”
Well, this is a little embarrassing. How do you go about explaining to an entity who formerly spent a large chunk of his time ensuring the body he was using didn’t keel over – that you just didn’t notice you were hungry?
Easiest answer: you don’t mention that to him.
“I apologize, Your Holiness,” you begin to ramble quickly before he can start asking questions that really don’t need to be answered (for your dignity’s sake). “It seems like I’ve taken your attention away from your work for something so trivial. I’ll go make myself–”
“There’s no need,” he interrupts, holding up a hand. There’s a clear hint of a smirk on his face. (This prick).“Having lunch now would leave you no space for dinner. It would be best to have something light to sustain you until then. Follow me.”
Then he starts… walking away(??). You follow, of course. A step behind as he leads you into another, more open part of the garden. (Empty, a part of you thinks. Unfinished, another part reasons.) And there, under the shade of an overreaching tree, is a table for two. A plate of food (likely incredibly bland) on one side, and nothing on the other.
“Huh,” the sound escapes you before you really notice.
Septem turns back to look at you. “Not enough?”
“More than enough,” you’re quick to correct. You’re not sure what expression you have on your face, but whatever it is, Septem smiles at it, smug. You continue, “I should start skipping lunch more often.”
“Don’t.”
“I jest.”
He sighs at your nonsense. The sound comes out less exasperated than it was probably supposed to.
Septem sits first, on the side with nothing, and gestures for you to sit across. You do so swiftly, smiling at him even as the silence stretches on. He just stares at you. (Honestly, this guy…)
“Don’t expect this kind of treatment again,” he says after a long moment. The words are harsh, but his voice less so. “You have to take care of yourself properly without me needing to remind you. You’re important to the Garden,” and he leans forward, “and you’re important to me. If anything where to happen to you, I’m not sure what I’d do. Do you understand?”
(Is that concern you hear?)
“I understand, Your Holiness. It won’t happen again,” you promise easily.
He sits up straight again, satisfied. “Good. You can eat now.”
And you do. You’re right – the food is fairly basic and pretty bland. That’s not entirely unexpected considering Septem, while puppeting a human body, likely ate for function rather than enjoyment. Despite that, the small meal manages to taste better than most of what you’ve had during your time here.
Midway through (about 5 minutes, really. It’s a small meal), Septem starts to talk again. “You mentioned writing… is that why you had asked me for a journal earlier?”
You look up from your plate and find that he’s holding a glass of wine (did he summon that just now?), main eyes gazing into the garden while his halo’s eyes focus on you.
You respond after a brief pause. “Yes. I’ve been trying to get back into it.”
“Hm,” his main eyes slide onto you. “Anything written yet?”
“Nothing worthwhile, no.”
“That should be for the audience to decide, shouldn’t it?”
(Alarms start ringing in your head. Oh no.)
It’s a beautiful sentiment that you’d normally agree with if it wasn’t your writing he was referring to. You can’t let him read any of it. (It’s literally all poems about him.) You’re planning on taking them with you to the grave. (Like. All of them. Are poems about him. There aren’t that many, sure. But still. It’s the principle of the thing.) Or the nearest fire you can find. (Maybe Umum would be willing to help?)
“Sextam had similar qualms before,” Septem continues, looking right into your mental turmoil, it seems. “Even then, she proved to be an exceptional writer.”
You laugh, awkwardly (panicked) “I don’t think I can compare to the Sixth Symbol, Your Holiness. My work is far from that skill level.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not worth reading,” he says, notably not arguing against the idea that Sextam is a better writer than you. (You take very little offence to it. It’s overwhelming endearing, but that does not help you right now.)
“I think I have to disagree.”
“Your lack of confidence in this one area is truly astounding,” he comments, completely judgemental. He swirls the wine in his glass, regarding you carefully. “Or did you write something you weren’t supposed to write?”
“Would that get you to stop asking?”
“Quite the opposite.”
“Oh,” you wilt. What a conundrum you have found yourself in. He really isn’t going to let this go. And you’re pretty sure that part of the reason is because you yourself are so adamant on him not reading anything you’ve written. You’d really rather him rip out your heart again. That was a lot easier than this. It hurt, sure, but you bounced back.
Septem eventually decides to take mercy on you after a few more minutes of back and forth. Well, kinda.
“Alright, since you’re being so stubborn, how about this?” He starts, placing his glass (which he hasn’t drank from) down on the table. And he must really want to read your stuff because he could easily just command it of you. Rummage through your room without you noticing. Or maybe it’s the act of being given something – offered to him. Not wanting to take, or ruin what already exists just to fulfill a momentary curiosity or desire.
Whatever the reason may be, you know he’s not going to give up until he gets what he wants. (Diligence is a virtue, you suppose.) Especially not when you’ve given him more than just a few pieces of paper with silly words on them.
He continues speaking, “I’ll give you a treat in exchange for a glance at a couple of your works. A small collection of your choosing. They can be as short or as long as you’d like.”
Despite the laughably simple bribe, you latch onto it immediately. “A treat?” And just like that, most of your hesitation about Septem reading your works seems to disappear.
“A small one,” Septem says, smiling at having his bait eaten instantly. “Of your choosing. Something in my power, of course. And reasonable– though I expect you to know that.”
The face he gives you is hard, strict in a way you haven’t seen in a while. (Don’t push at his boundaries. Simple enough.)
“Preferably one chosen now, before I decide one myself.”
Oh, so there’s a time limit. Great.
What could Septem do for you that would be worth your dignity and possibly the fairly new camaraderie that you’ve developed with the Symbol? Hm. (When you put it like that, there really isn’t much, is there?)
However, for some reason, your mind jumps back to a few moments before the meeting with the council heads and the Symbols. (Huh.) He probably wouldn’t mind it, right? That was perhaps the most relaxed you had ever seen him. Separate from the pressures of perfection and leadership, when it was just Septem and you. Would that still be the case even when not offered by him organically? There’s really only one way to find out.
“Would you,” the words are hard to get out as you feel your face flush, warm and quick. “Uh. Would you… be willing to read to me again?”
It really doesn’t help when Septem just stares at you as if you said something unexpected. Even the eyes of his halo are wide open. (Well, it’s too late to take it back now, you’ve already said it aloud.)
This is made possibly ten times worse as he starts to laugh (an angel sound, you lament.) At this point you’ve put your head in your hands in shame, avoiding his amused gaze. Because he is certainly amused – even as the laughter fades to a warm rumble, his voice drips with mirth.
“That’s all you want?” He’s closer now– you can hear it. You peek out of your hands, finding that the Symbol has started to lean over the table, arms crossed as he grins at you. There’s a delight in his eyes that grows when your gaze returns back to him.
(He’s beautiful.) Then he opens his mouth (unfortunately) to ask, “are you really so simple?”
You struggle for a moment, pushing down the rushing embarrassment and rage that you feel, quite frankly, whenever you speak to Septem for longer than you should. What comes out of your mouth is a gritted, “I can ask for something else if Your Holiness would prefer.”
He tilts his head (halo’s eyes curved into crescents), observing you for a quiet, excruciating moment. Foolishly, you observe him in return. And you believe him to be happy.
“No, I think that was really the best thing that could have come out of your mouth,” Septem hums. “It’s a waste of an opportunity, but – ha – I really can’t imagine being asked anything else now that you’ve gone and said it. Any other option feels like a distant possibility.”
There is triumph – reverent and victorious, as if he’s been struck by something profound. His expression shifts, slightly, as the contentment on his features slips into elated confusion. “Was that truly the only think you could think of?”
“Mm,” you hesitate, but end up answering honestly regardless. “There’s nothing else I that would want from you at the moment.
There’s a small twist at the corners of Septem’s mouth as he hears your reply, the lightest dusting of pink at the high end of his cheeks. Once more, this vision is ruined as he decides to open his mouth and say (command): “Ask me again.”
Your head back in your hands.
“My dear, there’s no need to hide. You’ve done nothing to be embarrassed about,” as kind as the words are – nearly enough to make you sick with the adoration it carries – you very clearly hear the sadistic joy on the edges of his voice. “You’ve already asked me once. There’s no harm in asking again.”
“I asked the first time under the assumption I wouldn’t have to ask again,” you argue, muffled by your hands.
“You stuttered the first time.”
(The absolute nerve of this guy–) Your head shoots out of your hands, palms placed face down on each side of your plate. At the sight of Septem’s smiling (evil) face, you soften a bit. But only a bit, as you respond, biting and flustered, “and yet you understood me perfectly fine.”
“And I’ll understand you even better on the second attempt.”
“Just– ha, forget it,” you huff, warm with an embarrassment that feels borderline childish, like the beginnings of a tantrum. “If you’re not going to agree, then I can ask for something else. Something that’ll consume less of Your Holiness’s time.”
“Who said anything about not agreeing?” Septem asks, still amused. He then changes his approach, and bargains. “One of your works, then. You let me read one of your written pieces rather than two, so long as you ask me to read to you again.”
You level him a frustrated look – mouth pulled to one side of your face.
His Holiness finds this even funnier.
So you steel yourself, taking a breath and clearing your head. And you ask, “would you be willing to read to me again, Septem?”
The reaction is instantaneous. His eye twitches, and those in his halo narrow. But he grins, sharp. “I suppose I should, seeing as you’ve asked me so kindly,” with that, he leans off the table and keeps himself to his seat. He’s almost back to his saintly persona he likes to portray to the masses, if not for the utter satisfaction radiating off of him. “There are more stories by Sextam that I could read to you. They might even serve as inspiration for your own writing.”
Despite getting confirmation that you’re going to get what you’ve asked for, you feel like you’ve lost. Severely. You let out a short exhale. “I’m looking forward to it,” you say, trying to go for simple and accepting, but ending up with tender and fondly exasperated. Whoops.
Septem doesn’t seem to notice– or– no. It’s not that he doesn’t notice, but that his attention is dragged elsewhere, main eyes looking past you and to some off point. There’s a furrow between his brows and any previous peace is replaced with conflict.
“My apologies,” he starts, sounding genuinely regretful, “it seems like we’ll have to end here. A guest has arrived.”
(Without notice?) “May I ask who?”
His main eyes refocus and look at you, a flicker of worry. “Duae.”
The Second Symbol? Your eyes widen a touch. (Ah. Could it be for… Andromeda?) When you look at Septem – who’s gaze never left you – you can see he’s come to a similar conclusion. It’s then that he looks away, but not before you catch a flash of remorse cross his face that he flattens swiftly.
With light and easy steps, Septem gets out of his chair and stands next to yours. He holds out a hand. You take it easily, letting him help you up.
He doesn’t let go immediately, instead taking the time to trace out the lines of the four-pointed star engraved into the back of your hand. His eyes follow the movements while yours stay on his face.
“I should at least walk you back,” he confesses, ever so quietly that you barely hear it– nearly believing that you imagined it if not for seeing his mouth move.
“And let you leave your guest unattended? I would never,” you say. “I know my way back, Your Holiness. There’s no need to worry about me.”
Septem looks away from your hand and onto you. “Is that right?” The questions sounds rhetorical – more to himself than to you – so you keep quiet. It was the right choice, as he smiles and presses his thumb into the centre of that star. “I’ll come read to you after.”
The pressure isn’t light, but not painful either. Firm, heavy– there. “And I’ll pick out one of my poems for you to read,” you say.
His hold slackens, a hint of surprise colours his face. “Poems?”
“Not good ones,” you remind him.
“Hm. We’ll see,” he says, bending down at the same time as he brings your hand up to his mouth, and lightly places a kiss on the point where he pressed down. He lets go of you as he stands up straight, offering you a small smile and teleporting away.
A warmth lingers on the back of your hand.
…It’s quiet again.
You don’t take much issue with it though.