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Post by Aziraphale on Nov 26, 2008 23:16:23 GMT -5
"Was. But it isn't, anymore," *he said, already on his way to the bathroom. He rummaged around in the first aid kit (bought ages ago, because one can never be too careful) and emerged from the bathroom triumphant, a bottle of aloe in hand.*
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Post by Herbert von Krolock on Nov 26, 2008 23:25:39 GMT -5
"Zira-"
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Post by Aziraphale on Nov 26, 2008 23:39:03 GMT -5
"On the bed. I won't be argued with."
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Post by Herbert von Krolock on Nov 26, 2008 23:40:08 GMT -5
Under any other circumstances, Herbert would have tried to say something coy, but he was in no mood for that, and he sighed and did what Aziraphale asked.
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Post by Aziraphale on Nov 26, 2008 23:41:37 GMT -5
*With a sigh, Aziraphale spread the cooling lotion on Herbert's back.*
"You should have let me do this earlier-"
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Post by Herbert von Krolock on Nov 26, 2008 23:43:30 GMT -5
"I didn't want you to know," Herbert said without looking up. "I didn't want you to worry-"
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Post by Aziraphale on Nov 26, 2008 23:49:32 GMT -5
"I always worry."
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Post by Herbert von Krolock on Nov 27, 2008 0:00:35 GMT -5
"You don't need to," Herbert said softly, but his voice faded into a small sigh of relief as he realized that the aloe really was making him feel better. The fact that it was Aziraphale's hands made it that much more pleasurable, of course...
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Post by Aziraphale on Nov 27, 2008 13:41:41 GMT -5
"I want to," *he said, finishing up with generously spreading the lotion on the burn.*
"There. Better?"
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Post by Herbert von Krolock on Nov 27, 2008 15:33:47 GMT -5
"Much," Herbert half-grumbled, as though he didn't want to admit it. "I really wish I could stop being so foolish..."
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Post by Aziraphale on Nov 27, 2008 15:46:47 GMT -5
"It's all right," *he said.* "Just... let's go to sleep."
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Post by Herbert von Krolock on Nov 27, 2008 15:54:49 GMT -5
"I'd rather wait until I'm not slightly sticky, thank you," he said, perhaps a little too sharply. He at least caught himself as soon as he said it, and he sat up apologetically, his face almost entirely covered by his hair. It seemed to enjoy being released from the tight ponytail he had affected recently that it was actually misbehaving.
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Post by Aziraphale on Nov 27, 2008 16:01:14 GMT -5
"Then wait. I'm exhausted," *he said, ruffling Herbert's hair and doing nothing at all to help with the mess.*
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Post by Herbert von Krolock on Nov 27, 2008 16:46:49 GMT -5
He pushed it back rather ineffectually as he nodded.
"All right.
As Aziraphale prepared for bed, Herbert went back into the bathroom and pulled his nightshirt from a hamper full of clean laundry that he still needed to fold. Something small and pink was clinging to the sleeve.
He pulled it off and made a face. Evidently, Marishka wore novelty panties, because they weren't his, and they certainly weren't Aziraphale's. He dropped them back in the laundry. He'd have to talk about doing her own loads instead of horning in on his and Zira's.
Herbert's disobedient hair unhooked itself from behind his ears and fell over his face, an action which made his temper flare up again and him mutter a few swear words under his breath until he had a terrible thought.
It hadn't been like this since he was human... did they-
He whipped his head toward the mirror and saw, to his intense relief, that he was still invisible. Even his nightshirt had done what it was supposed to and become nonreflectable in the mirror, though the trousers he had been wearing were now quite visible dangling apparently by nothing now that they were only in his hand.
That did mean, though, that his hair really was just running wild, and this didn't please him one bit. He kept wondering if it all would have ended differently if he weren't what he was...
"Nein," he said aloud. It wasn't what he was, it was who. The vampire part was the smallest of details in the scheme of things. It was that Herbert was self-indulgent and vain and cocky and young and knew all too well that he was beautiful thanks to countless little comments from everyone around him. Even the insults tended to admit that he was immensely attractive- "pretty enough to be a girl", "freakishly beautiful"...
And Aziraphale was a solid, practical man of a certain age, with features that were warm and pleasant and endearing rather than truly attractive to most people, who was sullying his dignity by associating with such a frivolous, airheaded creature. People in Paris, Herbert had noticed, very rarely had any issue with the fact that he and Aziraphale were both male. It was Herbert's appearance and youth contrasted with Aziraphale's once apparent and now actual age that caused people to stare. As though Herbert were only Aziraphale's toy- as though he were using Herbert as a kind of pretty adornment.
He knew it wasn't true, but that's what people thought. He could actually hear it sometimes.
Herbert did not want to be beautiful anymore. The compulsion to start by hacking off his hair to the scalp and then move onto mutilating his own face was racing through his mind. Then maybe-
No, that wouldn't help at all. Then it would make him the object of pity, and the same people who once thought Azirapahle was only keeping Herbert around because he was young and attractive and endlessly flattering would start to think that Aziraphale merely felt sorry for the ugly, scarred thing Herbert would have become. The ideas already mixed on occasion- Herbert had nearly had one of his breakdowns in front of a customer a few weeks ago, and all he could hear was the man's braying thoughts of "Poor little twinkie. Bet he can't be left on his own."
That's all I am, isn't it? Herbert thought. A mad little doll.
He could endure scorn and abuse, however private, far better than pity. And if he mutilated himself, Herbert thought, Aziraphale would know how much of a danger to himself Herbert could actually be, a fact which Herbert had fought rather strenuously to hide.
Herbert began to laugh bitterly. There he went again- people would think, Imagine, not wanting to be beautiful! What a terrible chore it must be to look like that!
But he didn't want to be beautiful anymore. He hated it. In his mind, his beauty was what had doomed Aziraphale, the being he had been happily anticipating an eternity with.
He walked back out into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.
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Post by Aziraphale on Nov 27, 2008 19:27:40 GMT -5
*Aziraphale had no way of knowing how much Herbert loathed himself at this moment- all he wanted now was to sleep, and to hold him.*
"Herbert, just come to bed. Everything will look better tomorrow.*
*He didn't know if it was true. Really, he very much doubted it. But keeping up the appearances of optimism was important.*
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