I'm waiting for the night to fall
     I know that it will save us all
     When everything's dark
     Keeps us from the stark reality
     He's been drinking more than usual lately. Out all night, only stumbling in before you wake up or after you've left, falling into bed unconscious. He wakes up before you get back, usually, slipping out again by a window if he hears your keys in the lock.
     It's better that way. That way, he doesn't have to think. When he's home and awake and you're not home, he's got the apple green Fender out of its case. Another way of making noise - another way of avoiding thought.
     I'm waiting for the night to fall
     When everything is bearable
     And there in the still
     All that you feel is tranquility
     Tonight was another such night. He slid out quietly onto the ledge when he heard two sets of footsteps approaching, pulling himself up onto the roof of the Black Jack Davy's. The window was eased closed behind him with a click - nothing left behind to even hint he was there at all. And he sat on the roof for a little while, looking at the slowly darkening sky.
     There is a star in the sky
     Guiding my way with its light
     And in the glow of the moon
     Know my deliverance will come soon
     With a sigh, Gwilym Gwyn Garu pulled himself to his feet, looking down at himself. Black jeans. Black t-shirt. Black boots. Black jacket. A modern rendition of an antique highwayman. For the only antiquated touch, a tricorn on his head - his father's cap. His father's once-colors. Striding across the gable of the roof, he heads to the drainpipe, shimmying down it until he can simply drop to the ground, readjusting the cap at a more rakish angle. Ah, the alley. "Life. Funny thing, isn't it," he says aloud to himself, quietly enough not to disturb any lovers kissing in doorways. Shaking his head, jaded eyes glancing about, the thief prince begins to make his way towards the alley's mouth.
     There is a sound in the calm
     Someone is coming to harm
     I press my hands to my ears
     it's easier here just to forget fear...

     Tiernan is no fool. He knows that something is not right in the energy between my brother and I, my brother and him. I didn't even have to ask. When I entered the apartment with him, returning from our ship to start to pack our things, and found the apartment empty yet again, he knew even as I did that I needed to find my brother.
     I wasn't going to be happy until I did...
     But finding my brother has never been an easy task. He can walk between shadows, this one -- as easily as I navigate the waters of two worlds. I would have to take to the air, to gaze at the world, at the labyrinth of alleys if I expected to have any chance whatsoever of finding Gwilym Gwyn Garu this night.
     London is crowded with pigeons, pigeons, starlings and finches and the fat little budgies that escaped their gilded cages to form flocks of feral budgies. A starling, the bird of the Holly King, zips in and out of alleys, lands on roof tiles before taking to the air again, all in search for a man who doesn't want to be seen, doesn't want to be found.
     Overhead, a starling lands in a rain gutter, splashing in the remains of the last storm and sending droplets of water down. The keen eye searches for the prized worm, picking out shadows from shadows, and figures moving in the evening air...

     He isn't making any supernatural efforts to avoid being seen; only natural stealth, and not as much of that as could be. The tricorn is of particular noteworthiness, the scarlet feather trailing behind like a beacon. There's a difference to him from his usual state; you might notice it.
     Gwilym is keeping to himself...
     When he is like this, he is withdrawn. Instead of the lambent glow to him, the unearthly beauty and presence which draws others to him, he sinks into his own shadow. He moves between people as if between raindrops, a song running through his head as if through his footsteps. He draws a flask from inside his jacket, taking a swallow of potent brandy - smuggled from the other world, that...
     And when I squinted
     The world seemed rose-tinted
     He grins lopsidedly at a couple of girls coming out of Davy's, tight shirts stretched across tight bodies; the smile fades, and he steps back as if to lean into shadows.
     And angels appeared to descend
     To my surprise
     With half-closed eyes
     Things looked even better
     Than when they were open
     "Ah, shite," Gwilym mutters to himself. He gives his head another shake, the flask away again; taking his hat off, he looks at it, at its feather. With a deep exhale, he puts the hat back on his ruffled red-gold hair, summoning up, it seems, the energy.

     The starling is a little bird. Dark with speckled white at its breast, it is the perfect companion to a star-pocked evening. From building to building, rain-drain to rain-drain, it follows you until you stop, take off your hat and then put it back on.
     You feel a sudden, if small weight on your head with the landing of a small starling bird.
     You can't hide from me forever, Gwilym Gwyn Garu, comes your brother's voice trumpeting beneath you skin. Wherever you run, my brother, I shall have wings enough to follow you...
     The small talons of the little starling dig into the tricorn and with a ruffle of his feathers he settles in to take your journey with you.      You've been avoiding me for days. Did you think I would just let you leave without so much as a by the by?

     There's a stream of profanity - Welsh, all of it - as you startle it out of him. He turns his head, a whipping motion that nonetheless does not dislodge you. Sweet god, Io. Haven't you heard of telephones?
     It would ordinarily be humored, even if flavoured with exasperation. Right now, it is tempered with something else - an edge of desperation. Shite...
     Alleys. He has been learning alleys. Now he crosses a street and turns down an alleyway and is swallowed up in shadow. He is not using his magic. Perhaps he does not need to. The alleys and shadows pulse in answer to his presence; do you feel it?
     There is darkness, here. Older darknesses than he contains. But it is a place where he can stop, and he does. The hat is plucked from his head and set upon a stack of mouldering old crates. "You can," Gwilym suggests, "turn back if you want. Noone will see... or interrupt..."
     His face is half in shadow, and he folds his arms over his chest as he waits. He doesn't know what else to say to you; you can see the flickering edges of self-doubt and hesitation in what little of his expression you can make out. But ... here he is ... and here you are ...

     In your uproarious movement, he nearly was unseated. But the tiny talons did dig in, and he held on for all of that. But as you step into one of the many alleys, the little starling lifts off and drops to the stone.
     Rising, brushing off his jacket as if he landed on ungracefully, Iowerth Rhudd Draig looks across to you. "I felt like reaching out and touching someone." Folding his arms against his chest, he leans against the brick wall of a building, giving his shoulders to the edifice.
     "I haven't seen you for a few nights," he begins. "I'd hate to think you were avoiding me. Can't we just face all this head-on, brawd? Without the dodge and parry..."

     He inhales; sighs, exhales. "What do you want me to say?" Gwilym looks at you, jade eyes clouded as he does so. He drops onto one of the crates, grabbing up his hat. "What's to face? It isn't you I'm avoiding."
     No ... it's myself I'm running from. I don't know what the questions are, let alone the answers...
     He settles on the edge of the crate, but he isn't looking at you, now. He runs fingers through his hair with another exhale; a little shaky. He wasn't really expecting this, tonight, and he's more rattled than usually you'd ever see. "I left a fifty for the Boddington's and food. Oh, and da stopped by, said to give you his love," he tells you, as if this were all there is to be told. "Mum's got a bun in, apparently..."
     But this isn't what you want to talk about, is it? He glances to you, then glances away, falling silent. "What," Gwilym asks finally, "do you want me to say? What do you want from me, Io?"

     "I want you to quit running," Iowerth states it simply. "Slinking in and out, not facing me. Or if it is you your running from... to stop, brawd. To confide in me. To let me help you, if I can, but at least to tell me what the hell is going on. Or if you don't know, then to share that. But you skulking about and avoiding me, not speaking, barely showing yourself... this just... isn't acceptable."
     There, I've said it. I don't like it. I don't get it. And it's just not acceptable.
     "It's not that I don't trust you to handle...whatever it is, but if it's me.. or... my relationship... or the gender issues, whatever it is, Gwilym, if you run from me... or avoid me...how can we hope to get past it? You say it isn't me, it isn't Tiernan, whatever, but then you completely avoid any situation that puts you into contact with me... your brother... with my lover. How can you say that the two are not connected? You're certainly not acting as if they are unrelated, brawd..."
     He doesn't even get to the bun in the oven. He brushes right past that. He must know.

     Damn. The diversion didn't work. "I told you. It isn't you. Or your lover." Gwilym reaches into his coat with a sigh. It's times like these that he wishes he'd picked up smoking himself. It's bloody tempting. He takes out the flask instead, engraved silver it is - with a running fox. It's unscrewed, then offered to you.
     "I ... can't you just trust me to work through this on my own?" You get a sudden direct look. "My needing this ... time ... I don't know how long it'll take. I don't, Io. You are my brother, and I love you. Without you, I feel ... empty. Oes? Alright? I'm not mum, to rattle on and on about how things make me feel. This isn't easy. I don't deal with things the way that you do."
     Unfortunately, there seems to be nowhere near enough brandy, beer or vodka in Britain by which I can drown out these confusions. But you don't need to know where it's taken me. Or why.
     "I do not want to hurt you. Hell's teeth, Io, I would do anything for you. And if you do not know it by now, I don't know how to convince you." Gwilym slouches back against the wall opposite you, scowling at you terribly. "I'm sorry I'm not as good as Prince Tiernan at being simply understood by you, or at understanding you. I have a lot going on inside and outside both. And there is not enough brandy in here or in me to get it all out yet."

     "If you don't share it, how can you possibly expect me to understand it? You blame me for not understanding, but you do nothing to help me bridge that gap." He takes the flask, takes a sip and passes it back. "You can't have it both ways, brother. You can't say: why don't you understand me and distance yourself because I don't."
     Iowerth looks at you pointedly. "Sure, I trust you. This has nothing to do with not trusting you to work it out. It has to do with this...discomfort and distance. I don't like it. And I'm not going to encourage it. The more you run, the more I'll follow until you turn to me and tell me what is on your mind."
     Iowerth inclines his head at the commentary on Tiernan. He removes a pack of cigarettes (stolen from his father) and lights up. "I'd do anything for you as well. I love you, you're my brother. Even if I have to transform to a starling and drop shite bombs onto your tricorn hat, I'll pursue the truth from you. Don't accuse me of not trusting you, when you are the one running off, skulking about and not trusting me to confide in me. So... that said, I leave it now to you."
     He exhales a puff of smoke then tosses the cigarette away. "I had dinner with mother last night. She told me," Iowerth murmurs. "And... so you know... Tiernan and I will be moving out at the end of the week. I found a place. So... maybe that will make things a bit easier... for whatever this is you're dealing with..."

     He goes suddenly rather still, and you can see him pale beneath his hair. That dramatic shift; and then the jade gaze drops to his hands, to the alley floor.
     You are leaving me...
     I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; I've been bloody well gearing up for it for two years now...
     Doesn't mean acceptance has actually fucking arrived, though, has it. I always was said to be the slow one, wasn't I...
     "Well," he says finally, striving for lightness, "I suppose that's it, then, isn't it? Me giving you two your space wasn't really enough. Didn't take you very bloody long, did it." Gwilym slides to his feet, picking up his hat and turning it over in his hands - looking for those shite bombs of which you mention.
     "It's a done deal, then, isn't it? Not much left to actually talk about." Your brother doesn't look at you. Instead, he turns so that his face is further in shadow, colour suddenly suffusing his cheeks once more. Strong emotions that run riot, in this family.
     "Good luck," Gwilym says softly. "No, I mean it - really. I hope you'll be happy, Io. One of us ought to be, oes? Here." The hat is tossed to you without looking, the brandy flask - sin of sins - dropped onto one of the crates, amber essence leaking out to the wood. Suddenly, he just doesn't care so much for it anymore, prized possessions or no. "You need something with a little bit of flash."
     What will I do now...
     Feel sorry for myself, I suppose...

     "How's the air up there on the cross, brother?" Quit with the martyr act. While he catches the hat, he doesn't keep it. He tosses it back at you. "If you can't live with us and be part of us, what's the point? You aren't there... we're making you uncomfortable. You won't even stay in the same room as Tiernan and he avoids you because he feels you don't accept it. And if it's not about us, then stop fucking acting like it is."
     Iowerth pushes off the wall finally. "You can't have it both ways, brother mine. You can't expect me to sit and take whatever you hand me, and then blame me and pity yourself when I decide not to. It's time to grow up, Gwilym," he murmurs. "We're men. We're brothers. We need to act like it."
     And when you're ready, come find me...
     He looks at you a moment and then he exhales. "Have a good night, brother. If you want to find us... we'll probably be at the apartment... reading." Or doing what you bloody well know they do frequently.

     "I've been trying to fucking HELP you." His voice goes up, colour flooding his face, and he glares at you, eyes narrowed. "Alright? I fucking searched his things a week ago. And if you want to know why I have been avoiding you since then, brawd, then maybe you shouldn't have fucking rushed in so fast!"
     The hat is batted out of the air irritably, the colour rushing into his face as he takes a step forward. "For god's sake! You're my brother, and in our fucking family, and that's descriptive, not just swearing - in our fucking family, don't we have enough issues about all this? You're into men! I can live with that, except that I can't help that it makes me wonder things!" He grabs his head in both hands, turning to the wall and banging his head on the brick once.
     That didn't help...
     "Look," your brother says tightly, tensed, "if you like men, what does that mean for me? That's just the tip of the iceberg, Io. Oes - I'm selfish. You're my brother, and I miss you. I miss spending time with you. I miss being close enough to you that I'd know what's going through your mind almost before it did. I miss knowing you. But more than that? I miss knowing myself."
     He doesn't turn; doesn't look at you. "I know what you two do. I'll never be able to look at Pashmina's the same way again. And the worst bloody part - well, the second worst - was being stuck under there for six fucking hours, able to smell the food and not being able to eat. Find you? I don't even know how to find myself. Nos dda to you."

     He hasn't gotten far, a couple of steps no more, when you launch back your own tirade. When Iowerth turns to face you, his face is so scarlet you can feel the heat coming off his skin. Pashmina's. You were...?
     Under the bed?
     "I ... didn't know you were under there, Gwilym... or ... well... I'd not have..." Done. All of that. Repeatedly. He's absolutely mortified, part of him is. The other half of him is just relieved that you've spoken up, even if you have to shout it. Even if he had to back you into a corner (or under a bed) to get it out of you.
     Settling on a crate, Iowerth sighs, the scarlet of his complexion still firmly entrenched. My, it's gotten warm out here. He clears his throat, his eyes lifting to look at you directly -- well, sort of. "I'm sorry about that... I'm not upset about you going through his things.. just... you know, we've been trying really hard not to...be with one another? When we know you're around. I don't want you to be uncomfortable, Gwi. I don't want to impose. You're the most important person to me, you do know that ... right?"
     His coloring starts to return to normal. No wonder you've been gone for nights. "I bet you wanted to remove your ears, maybe...claw out your eyes..." Iowerth smirks, then blushes hard again, a hand sliding along his face then raking through his hair. Sweet lord.
     "And... you know... just because I am bisexual doesn't mean you are, need to be, should be, or could be. We're twins, but we're not identical people, Gwi. You don't need to doubt yourself just because I happen to like men. If you don't, that's fine. If you do... that's fine. If you need to explore... then that's fine too. But I think you're being too hard on yourself, demanding that you find yourself. I mean, who you are... you're always going to be working on that. It's not an endpoint, Gwi."
     He takes in a breath, exhaling away the flush (or trying to). "I miss spending time with you too. If ... you don't want us to leave... we won't. I'd like to live with you. I ... just figured you ...wouldn't want to live with me... and Tiernan. I bought a place. Maybe... Tiernan and I can simply use it as... well..." He clears his throat and leaves that thought unspoken.

     "I told you, that's just the tip of the iceberg." His face is flushed as well - he's as embarrassed as you are, easily, embarrassed for you as well as himself. "It's a question, Io. Let's not go into the others." Let's not. Really. Neither of us needs to be pilloried on that particular rock.
     Gwilym exhales, dragging both hands back through his own hair now. You are so alike in some ways. Maybe that's the problem. "I ... did not really feel like being there more than I had to, after that. It is hard enough to look someone in the face when going through this. After that?" A reluctant smirk. "Brawd, you're lucky I wasn't leaving you notes. Not the couch, I sleep on that. Not the counter. Touch my fucking mattress and I kill you both. But... I also don't ... want to come between you and him."
     His smile fades; he sends you a jaded glance, and looks away. "You are more important to me, Io, than I can ever tell you. But ... you've someone else to be important to - to be important to you, now. Oes? I ... suppose," he exhales, "I am too much a thief, brawd. I am greedy. I want it all, and - I suppose I need to learn to share, oes?"
     It is easy when it is things I don't care about. And there is so much that I don't care about, not truly. The few things that I do ...
     I suppose I need to learn to let go. "I want you to be happy, Io. If he makes you happy, then that is all that matters, oes?" Your brother glances at you again, a wry twist to his mouth as he then looks away again. "I ... need to know who I am, I need a better grasp on myself. My being like this ... it is not your fault, and you shouldn't take it on your shoulders. It is what it is, Io. And if it feels like imposing, being around me - if that's how it is, then it's better you do move wherever you need to be. Haven't I made enough of a mess of things without making things worse?"
     He rolls his eyes, then rubs his palms against them. "Look. I'm - going to go out. Drinking. Doing whatever. I'll be home around dawn, oes? If you want ... we can ... have breakfast, or - well, you two can have breakfast and I'll have coffee and aspirins ... and I'll try to be something halfway acceptable and in the line of being human. But ... I'm a mess right now, Io. I can't put things back together the way they were."

     "Maybe moving out is... the easy route, and maybe we don't need for it to be easy. Maybe if I move, it'll just be... enabling this ...issue we seem to have or play into whatever you have going on." And it's more than you're saying, but at least he has the gist of it now. He snorts a laugh at the mention of 'notes', cutting a glance to you. Smartass.
     "You're my brother. I could have a stable of Tiernans and it wouldn't change that, Gwi." A stable of Tiernans would kill me, actually. "And... you can't compare yourself to him, in my heart. You ... you are like a part of me, a limb. A vital organ, something without which... I just wouldn't survive. Half myself. Tiernan..." He pauses. "He is very important to me. I do love him, and I do trust him. But he is not you. And he knows that. I've told him. So... please... don't compare apples to oranges, brawd. There's no replacing you in my life. You can't lose me to someone else. They can only borrow me a while..."
     Iowerth starts to stand, raking a hand through his hair again, he scratches at his scalp as he goes. "I want you to be happy too, Gwi. I'm concerned for you. And worried that you won't talk to me, won't lean on me when you need to. Promise me... you won't close yourself off to me. Can you give me that? If nothing else..." Iowerth steps up to you, arms going around you and tugging you in for a solid, brotherly hug. "I'll see you in the morning. I'll set my clock for dawn."

     Maybe. He slants a glance at you, then shrugs. He doesn't know. He isn't going to rule it out. "It's your decision to make, brawd," Gwilym says simply. "You've found a place. I don't ... want you to have to do anything because of me. But I don't want to close any doors, either." He attempts a smile. "I'm a thief, oes? I always prefer a door left cracked open, just a bit. Makes my job easier."
     "As long as it isn't your you-know-what that I am," your brother cracks at you. He has to; it's his way of dealing, of coping with things. "I realize I can be a bit of a prick, but I'd rather be my own, thank you. Cock of the walk or otherwise."
     But you are being serious, and he cannot sustain it. The jade green eyes glance at you, away again, and he slouches back against the wall, arms folded over his chest. "You are important to me, Io," he says quietly. "Y' are, oes? But ... I need to learn this, this thing. You - are going to go off in other directions. I've been ... using you for balance, all my life. And now ..." You have gone off in another direction. And my equilibrium is suffering. "It's like sea sickness," he says finally, "and I'm not the sailor you are. Without you, I can't find my feet, and - even with you, now, the floor still rolls up at me. I ... will get by, eventually. But I need to find a way of balancing again. Before I fall hard."
     You come to him, and he straightens, wrapping one arm around you, clapping you on your back. "I will try not to close myself off behind my own cell," Gwilym promises. "But ... being a thief ... and as good as I am ... noone can catch me but myself. But I'm the harsher gaoler, aren't I?" You are released. He does not look at you, ruddy with emotion. "I love you as a brother; I'd damned well better. I - oes. Dawn."
     He turns, starts to walk away quickly, and then he stops, pausing to look back at you. He hesitates, then, finally, he speaks. "Say hello to Tiernan for me."

Posted by rowan at June 14, 2006 11:20 PM