Ultimatum PV November Morsus Closed

Green snorted, knocking his shoulder against November lightly. It was a thin thing, bony and sharp as one might expect from a boy so small, but somehow light, too, hollow. The boy felt breakable, even when he was being rough. "Of course you can. You think I'm going to eat all these tarts by myself? No, no, no. I have a physique to maintain," Green purred, gesturing to himself elegantly, as if he were a high-class model posing for a photoshoot. He licked crumbs from the sides of his lips, sucking on his teeth for a moment.

He looked up at November with interest as he spoke, breathing slowly, his small chest rising and falling with a depth and regularity that seemed somehow different from before, slower, more at ease. "I didn't know you had a big book. It sounds as if you did a lot for everyone," he contemplated, sitting up, putting his chin on his fist. "They must have been quite grateful. Did it inspire any to grant you favors?"

The fact was, this boy seemed to reveal more and more value the deeper Green scratched. His competence was compelling, and a fascinating contrast to his quivering. Quivering which seemed to be falling away, bit by bit.

Green's body tightened. Who knew how long he'd have this one before he realized he didn't need Green?

"I think your physique is just fine, in fact, perhaps it could use a tart or two," November chuckled, feeling the birdlike weight of the other boy against him. He was so very small, but then, so was November himself, so he supposed he had no room to talk. He considered their plates, then swiped a small scoop of mashed potatoes onto Green's plate in exchange for a pile of roast tomato and carrots, and one fat link of sausage. "All the more reason we should split, really..." Unable to help himself, he speared a carrot, nibbled delicately. "Mmm..."

He sighed as he spoke again, gaze drifting back downward towards the food. "I wish I could say yes," he mumbled, barely a whisper, "but, well, they didn't like me much. They liked the cakes, sure, but half the time they'd just, throw them at each other and swear that they must have been poisoned..." His narrow shoulders drooped. "Most of the time I'd just wind up tidying it all up myself, and then getting scolded for wasting all the food once it was discovered what I'd done..." He sighed, gaze downcast, staring at the food he'd suddenly lost all his appetite for.

"Hence why I brought three," Green grinned, taking one of the tarts and biting into it deeply. He sighed blissfully, licking crumbs from his lips with a luxurious stretch of his arms. He chewed thoroughly, perhaps longer than was necessary, taking his sweet time before swallowing that first bite at last. "Mind, I'm being facetious. I'm sure that 'stick figure' isn't everyone's ideal of beauty for the male physique. But the fact is, it's my stomach. It just isn't big enough to get all this in there, even if I wanted to gain million pounds. I can't gain weight even if I try, neither fat nor muscle. So I'd better get damn good at spellcraft," he murmured, licking the custard from his tart. Nevertheless, he grinned at November handed over the potatoes.

Green frowned as November recounted his experiences at the orphanage, brow furrowing. "What stunningly ungrateful little morons," he sneered, frowning deeply. "Even my tormentors learned to at least leave me alone when they learned I was useful... and I did poison some of them," he shrugged, eyes rolling heavenward. He scoffed. "Scolded for what you'd done - it wasn't even something you did. You were useful. They sound like a pack of shrieking baboons, but with less charm and even less sense. Did you ever get back at them?" he asked with narrowed eyes, itching for indirect revenge.

November gasped in conspiratorial delight as Green bit into the tart, his eyes going wide. "You're eating dessert first! Oh, that's very naughty, very naughty indeed..." he broke down into giggles, hiding them behind one pale hand in vain as they spilled out into the room. "Goodness, what are we to do with you..."

The laughter sobered as Green mentioned his stomach, replaced with a look of concern. "Oh dear, I really do have to find how to fix that, don't I? I've been looking in my anatomy books, but I've not found anything specific just yet..." he sighed. Normally his greatest challenges was a flu or a scrape or a broken bone, something as specific yet unknown as an eternally cantankerous stomach was far more challenging indeed.

November couldn't help a smile at Green's biting yet accurate description of those he had grown up with, but at the question of revenge, his blood ran cold. "I-...." His whole body had gone still then, frozen, like a statue, like a deer. Images flashed through his mind: of a snarling face, of a staircase, of blood. Did he know? He couldn't know. But if he didn't know, why would he ask that question?

Green grinned at him like a shark as he shoved the rest of the tart in his face, crushed it between his teeth, swallowed. He locked his chops like a wolf, then laughed, "And who's going to stop me? That's a quote I like - 'The question is not who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me," he declared, triumphant. 'Someone very annoying said that. I don't even know who it was, exactly, but you can tell from the quote," he nodded at November, taking one tapered finger and tapping the side of his head.

Green shrugged as November grew concerned, huffing a breath. "Don't worry too much about it. There's likely not all that much that can be done. And anyway, it's a liveable thing. I was never planning to become a competitive eater or anything," he laughed, but it was a forced laugh, and Green's eyes were soft as he looked back at November. Vulnerable. When he wasn't puffing himself up, you could see it - the bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin. He looked sick.

His face clouded with worry as November went white, and he leaned in to look at him a little; then, blinking, he huffed out a sigh, crossing his arms, leaning against the wall again. "Well, if you did," he began, eyes closed. "And I'm not saying you did - they deserved whatever they got," he nodded firmly. His eyes snapped open, and he looked at November again, ferocious. "Whatever," he ennunciated, punctuating his point with a finger, "They got. Understand?" His tone left no room for argument.

November remained frozen and still as a statue, his tiny heart hammering rabbit-fast and elephant-loud within the delicate confines of his ribcage, his wide dark eyes transfixed on Green. He couldn't possibly mean that, could he? Sure, people said all the time that bullies were so dreadful, and of course there was nothing wrong with wanting to get back at them sometimes, that it was all perfectly understandable, until of course the subject came around to the sort of thing he had actually done, and every single time, all that understanding disappeared faster than he could blink. If there was one thing November had learned early in life, it was that when people said there was nothing wrong with something, there was always an exception, and that exception was inevitably him.

But the look in Green's eyes was so complete in its passion and its earnesty that it gave November pause. There was no room for exception in his gaze, in his voice, and it was so direct and intense in its response, that November could almost believe in this. ...But all the same, past experience gave him pause, and he only nodded, slowly, allowing relief to creep in. Maybe Green didn't know just exactly what he had done.

Green stared at him, gaze flickering back and forth, analyzing for any change in expression, no matter how minute. As he watched the progression of conflict and doubt spiral in November's face like leaves in a whirlpool, his brow slowly furrowed, and he nodded, as if to confirm that he did mean what he said. But instead, he only said, "Alright. You don't need to take my word for it. As long as you're eating, that's enough for me tonight," he huffed. "I don't care what you think about them so much as what you think about yourself. People who don't care enough to eat, die," he murmured, spearing another slice of turkey, stuffing it into his mouth viciously. "And then where would that leave me, hmm? Don't be selfish," he chided gently.

It came out like a joke. Was it really a joke? Memories flashed through Green's mind: the feeling of a silent dinner table, the sound of his grandmother crying. He used to have dreams that sometimes, one or both of his parents just froze, sat down and wouldn't get up again. Someone had to drag them out of the chair, order them, slap and scream at them sometimes. Or they might never move again. And it was his grandmother doing this, over and again, until there were routines for everything, places where even the simplest of automatons couldn't get stuck.

The memories distressed Green. But it might just have been a dream. ... He thought it was a dream.

His fork drooped somewhat, and he swallowed, belly feeling swollen full and empty all at once. "Well. You're going with me, anyway," he said with a sort of finality, having finished his portion. "And things are going to be different here."