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If Clive lingers, it isn’t intentional—he can’t help but be a little curious. Time in Haven feels slow compared to the haste of the world south, not unlike a meandering, trickling stream. It is quaint, familiar and yet so strange all at once. Life hidden away in the rot of Blighted lands, ancient magicks yielding the impossible—and a people who seemed just as curious of him, as Clive of them. It’s only natural he would want to gather information—and idle chatter was a good source of it.
The sun beats down upon him, a blue sky blankets the firmament, and Clive leans against fencing, trying not to make his eavesdropping so obvious. Naturally, it wasn’t long until he had company.
Though he leans against the fencing with a book in hand, Clive can tell Joshua is listening too. The conversation of the townsfolk ebbs and flows, and so too does small reactions, as Joshua thumbs through his book and listens with keen ears. Clive finds his focus drifting, peering out of the corner of his eye. Occasionally, he sees a small smile, or a huff of mirth through his nose as villagers go about their day, talking amongst themselves of their strange visitors. With another smile, Clive finds himself doing the same.
His attention wandered often as of late. With tensions so high, an existential threat at their feet, it wasn’t a luxury he could afford, but he stole it anyway—Clive could hardly help it, when Joshua was so distracting.
Ever since Clive received that cryptic letter, they had little time to themselves. It had been days since they had a moment of alone time, just a drop in the ocean compared to the lifetime they spent apart, but already does Clive feel lonesome, restless—though Joshua is always near, he needs him yet closer, to bask in his warmth and never again have him slip through his fingers. It’s a greed Clive has never truly known, a gift unto itself, to allow himself to want. Perhaps it is foolhardy, knowing the trials that lie ahead, and yet again and again he tries to sate his hunger—an impossible task, when Clive has been starved for eighteen years.
While adrift in his heart and mind, Clive’s attention snaps up at murmured words—a reminder why he lingered here in the first place, while their party awaited Shula on an errand.
"Do you think he bites?" A woman says in a hushed whisper, the subdued, airy tone of idle gossip. She leans in close to her companion, cupping her hand near the other woman’s ear. Clive can tell Joshua too has heard, his eyes flickering up from his book.
"Who, the hound?” The other woman leans in even closer, her cheeky tone electing a giggle from her companion. “Or the master?"
Clive stares flatly, stupefied that his appearance apparently brings to mind a predilection for biting, while Joshua lets out an airy laugh. His book is clapped shut, as he sets it on the fencing they lean against.
“Oh,” Joshua says, leaning in close, mischief on his tongue. “The master, most definitely.”
He pulls down his red, frayed scar, revealing the pale column of his throat. There between the junction of his shoulder and neck lay a reddened indentation, the unmistakable pattern of teeth—Clive’s own, of course, laid down in a moment of passion. Though the mark itself is obvious, already has it begun to heal, fading to pink, just a whisper of the ardor in which it was bestowed. A reminder that he would need to sink his teeth down into tender flesh once more, for Clive’s ornamentation to remain.
“Joshua,” Clive scolds, barely a chastisement. Joshua reveals the salacious mark boldly, openly for anybody to see, seemingly without care. Clive looks around, but there are no eyes on them, though he finds himself pulling up his brother’s scarf all the same. His belly coils strangely, at the thought someone might see the passion he laid onto Joshua, though worse still is how it coils tighter at the thought perhaps he wouldn’t mind if his marks were seen.
Clive’s face feels warm, but most likely that’s the heat. Joshua hides his chuckle into his gloved hand, eyes crinkled in amusement.
“Torgal is most well behaved, anyhow.” He leans down to pet the canine’s head, rousing Torgal from near sleep, lulled by the warm Mysidian sun. “You wouldn’t bite, would you, boy?” For his question, Joshua receives a cool wet nose pressed into his hand. His brother shoots a look over his shoulder at Clive, mirthful and light.
“Unlike some.”