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WHO: Faolan & Laurent
WHERE: Their apartment --> The Retrospec Mailbox
WHEN: 23rd Dec
WHAT: Picking up gifts from Retrospec!
WARNINGS: Laurent's liable to get some CW-worthy memories off his, will update accordingly

An earring

Laurent is staring at the description of the item Retrospec is holding for him while sipping his tea, and he has to admit part of him is disappointed.

An earring? Singular, even, or is that a mistake?

Laurent doesn't even have his ears pierced. Did he have his ears pierced, in this other life? Or one pierced?

Compared to a harp, or a mansion, or any of the other myriad of things people have received an earring seems underwhelming. Normal, even. Not at all interesting or exotic. Laurent could buy an earring at a department store. What is special enough about this specific earring, then, that he needs to be sent it? Is there anything special about it? Will it help him remember something?

Does he want to remember something?

"I think we should go," he says finally, taking another sip of his tea and looking over at Faolan. Faolan has his own ticket, of course, and Laurent can't help but wonder why he's having a second when Laurent only has his first. What about Faolan necessitated a harp and then something else? Why just this small thing? Did this small thing mean something. "Or," he adds finally, "I'd at least like to see what mine is."

What this earring is. It will nag at him if he leaves it.

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Faolan does have another ticket again, yes. For a dagger, or so the description on the ticket proclaims. He finds himself studying the description for a long moment as though it might give him further answers, but nothing comes, and he's left with a dilemma himself as to whether to pick it up or not, when Laurent gets one as well.

He clutches the ticket tightly in his hand, holding it close to himself for a long moment before shoving it into his pocket. "Yeah," he replies, after a moment himself. "We should. You should see what you've got and I..." He raises a hand to run through his hair for a moment. Sighing softly, before continuing, "I probably should see what I've got as well."

Ignoring it won't make it go away. Ignoring it won't give him the answers. Though he's wary of what it is he might find out. A dagger doesn't sound like anything a man with a harp should have anything to do with, after all. How unfortunate for Faolan that he doubts that's all there is to the story.

He studies the long code on his piece of paper one last time before frowning up at Faolan.

"You don't have to take it," he reminds him, folding it carefully. "Or are you worried it might be dangerous? You seemed to collect your harp without coming to harm."

At least, if there was some level of difficulty or danger Faolan never mentioned it. As far as he's concerned Faolan had simply gone and collected the instrument and returned unscathed. Does he think there will be something more this time?

Faolan shakes his head, sighing softly again. "I don't have to," he replies. "But if I don't, there will always be questions unanswered. Isn't it better to know than leave myself wondering?"

In all honesty, he isn't really sure the answer to that. Which is partially the reason why he's so hesitant to collect the item in the first place. That and the sort of an item it is in the first place.

He wonders what Laurent has got waiting for him. At the same time he wonders whether that's an invasive sort of a question to ask or not, thus he's held himself back from asking so far.

"I think that's up to you."

Laurent can't decide for Faolan if he'd rather know something or not. He picks up his cup of tea and carries it to the sink, pours out what is left and runs water into it.

"I only have jewellery to pick up, so unless it is of unusual size I think I won't need a bag. Would you prefer to go now, or...?"

He stops the water and glances back at Faolan, lofting an eyebrow in question. Laurent thinks it will nag at him unless he goes today, but he can defer to Faolan's preferences.

Well. He supposes that technically that's true, but he would have liked to talk this out with Laurent nonetheless. Still, he takes in another breath and nods regardless.

"There's no reason to wait if we're available now," he replies. Pushing himself up to stand and downing the rest of his coffee as he considers his own ticket.

"I should... Probably bring a bag myself, though," he says, with a breath. "I don't know how this could be packaged." And it's better not to go about with an unsheathed knife in his jacket or shoved into his belt or something equally as romanticized but impractical.

He steps forward towards Laurent, setting his coffee mug into the sink with Laurent's and rinsing it out as well as he loses his battle with his curiosity to ask, "Jewelry?"

"An earring. Or earrings? It says earring but I suppose that could be a typo."

Laurent scrunches his face up to show what he thinks of this and picks up a cloth to dry his hands, turning to face Faolan properly.

"Is yours another musical instrument?"

Or are they mixing things up a bit, in which case Laurent isn't sure what else it could be. Something wolf related, perhaps?

An earring? He turns to glance at Laurent, his eyes trailing to Laurent's ears, wondering whether he's had them pierced all this time and he's just never noticed, but they aren't. Perhaps his past self had done? At the question he meet's Laurent's blue eyes (he still loses himself in the color of them at times) before shaking his head.

"No," he answers, carefully. "It's..." He raises a hand to run through his hair, mussing it up a little before huffing out a breath. "A dagger, it says. Why it should be giving me a dagger, I have no idea but. I suppose that there's only one way to find out."

He glances at Laurent again before flicking him a half-hearted smile. "I'd say I'd rather it were another instrument but. If they were to keep that up I might start to run out of room so. I suppose it's for the best, really."

"I should think a dagger more practical than a harp. You are a bodyguard."

Daggers are something a bodyguard could feasibly use, mysterious past or no. Hands dried he folds the cloth and moves out of the kitchen area, checking his pockets and moving to pick up his keys and wallet.

"Shall we call a car?"

Or are they... walking? Tisse isn't the furthest away of places, but it's still more than a two minute walk.

He nods in response to the question. "Unless you have any other errands you'd like to attend to," he replies. "It's cold out there today. And I don't know whether this dagger is sheathed, or... How large it is. I'd rather not be mucking about with a potentially hazardous weapon on the streets. Not that I'm certain it isn't anything anyone else has done in this city but. At least I know that it's dangerous."

As for the point as to the fact that it's more practical to a bodyguard than a harp... Well, it is a point. But it doesn't line up with everything he had thought he'd known about the person he'd used to be. And he's wary of finding out just how it does fit in, in truth.

Aren't daggers meant to be small?

Still, Laurent supposes they can't predict what Retrospec might quantify as a dagger. He calls a car and slips on some shoes, pulls on a dark navy overcoat and scarf and waits for Faolan by the door before locking up and heading down to the foyer.

There is, so far as he can tell by network gossip, a waffle house now where the Retrospec building used to be.

(It's unnerving that an entire building has vanished, but Laurent presses down on it and tries not to let his imagination get carried away.)

The driver takes them as close to the restaurant as he can and then pulls away to park up and wait, and Laurent finds himself eyeing the blue mailbox with a frown.

"How did you do it before?"

Retrieve the harp. Did he just... open the mailbox? Did he put the bit of paper in somewhere?

Faolan shrugs on a jacket himself, toeing on his boots before pausing a moment to disappear into his room and fetch his gym bag. It'll do for now, and hopefully not look as inconspicuous as he feels it does.

He hefts the bag over his shoulder again as he follows Laurent from the car towards the mailbox. Shifting to fetch the ticket from his pocket where he'd tucked it away before frowning at the mailbox himself.

"Just drop it in the slot," Faolan says, indicating the place in question. "The mailbox figures the rest out for you itself. Must have something to do with the code on it. Somehow." He's not really going to question it. He's not really sure he'd understand it anyway.

Drop it on the slot. Right.

This isn't, Laurent thinks, something that makes sense. Then again, none of it does. How did a harp come out of this? How does it know? He presses his lips together, then after a moment's hesitation pushes the scrap of paper into the slot.

A moment later, there's a soft clank and Laurent reaches out to catch up something small and twinkling.

An earring.

It makes sense, that was what the paper said, and yet it doesn't. His ears aren't pierced, and the thing in his hands is... not exactly gaudy, it's a delicate thing, but neither is it something he can imagine himself wearing. He steps back from the mailbox, giving Faolan space to retrieve his blade, and studies it. Two thin strands of chain dangle down with blue, glinting stones. Laurent isn't versed enough in jewellery to know if it is worth anything, it doesn't feel like plastic but it could be glass or something else. Was he the kind of person, in a different life, to wear something like this? Had it been gifted to him? Had he bought it for someone else? The lack of context is frustrating, and Laurent toys it between his fingers debating if he should attempt to put it on in case something happens.

Faolan watches Laurent retrieve the earring from the mailbox. Earring, singular, despite the fact that people do in general wear them in pairs. He leaves the younger man to study the small piece of jewelry -- it does look expensive, wherever it came from and whatever it might mean to him -- while Faolan steps up to the mailbox to retrieve his own item. Fitting the ticket into the slot and waiting for the mailbox to give him his own item.

And a dagger it most certainly is. Faolan doesn't study the item too carefully as he unzips his gym bag and makes to shove it in amidst the clothing he has there, but he can't help but briefly look at it while he puts it away. Unlike the intricacies of the design work on the harp, this blade seems to be made to do its job. Sturdy hilt, sharpened blade, the knife seems to be well-used and well taken care of.

Folding it into the bag and zipping the thing shut around the dagger, Faolan turns to face the younger man again.

"Alright?" he asks, looking down at the little bauble in Laurent's fingers before back up to study his face.

"I was wondering," Laurent says, playing the chains over his fingers still, "if I should put it on. In case something happens when I wear it. Though I don't think it would suit me."

Privately, Laurent thinks it might make him look like an escort of sorts. He can't put his finger on why, it isn't cheap looking, but is perhaps overly expensive and not especially classy. Then again, perhaps it is more that he doesn't dress in a way that would suit the earring. Matched with a long flowing gown, or an expensive and ostentatious suit, something that matched its style it might look nice. Nothing Laurent wears is expensive or formal enough while still showy.

Faolan raises his eyebrows at the thought of it, tilting his head to the side slightly to consider the way it might make Laurent look, wearing such an item as the earring. Expensive dangling jewels and all. Come to think of it, he's not certain he's ever seen Laurent wearing any kind of jewelry whatsoever.

"Well. It's. Certainly more...decorative than your tastes seem to run in general, yes," Faolan says, delicately.

Decorative?

On thinking about it, that is the right word for it. Decorative, but in a way specifically meant to be seen. A way meant to draw attention.

"I don't normally wear jewellery," Laurent confirms, and pools it into his palm -- stepping closer to Faolan as he examines it. "Do you think they're real gemstones?"

The small hint of blue catches the light, and Laurent wonders how much such a thing is worth if they are. He's hardly gone around buying such things before.

Faolan reaches out to gently pluck the earring from Laurent's hand (after glancing up to be certain it's okay to do so of course). He turns the delicate bauble over in his fingers, pressing his fingernail against the little blue stone. Tapping against it and holding it up against the light.

"They seem to be," he replies. "Not that I'm an expert in this or anything, but it doesn't just seem like glass, and the way it shines..." He holds it back out for Laurent to take back from him. "It seems valuable. Expensive."

"I do have expensive taste."

A half-joke. Laurent does in some things, doesn't in others. Taking it back again Laurent considers it carefully. He runs his thumb over the stone the way Faolan did, lets the two strands hang from his hand finally. Sapphires, maybe? He's not certain of the correct colours for all the gemstones. Sapphire is the most well known name for blue ones, but he's distantly aware there's plenty of others. Should he keep it? It feels strange to sell it or give it away, but equally he doesn't think he'd wear it. So what, then?

Keep it and hope the relevance becomes clear?

"Your dagger wasn't inlaid with jewels, by chance?"

It would amuse Laurent if there was a theme, but part of him doubts that. Is just clutching at straws, trying to make sense of it all.

Faolan flicks a smile at Laurent, shaking his head as he does. "I can show it to you in the car if you like," he replies. "I'm not sure I should just be waving it around in the streets here though. But it's... Plain. Very plain."

Just about as plain and practical as this sort of a thing can get, really. Definitely nowhere near as ornamental as Laurent's earring is. The only thing he has in common with the other man is his confusion with just how it fits into the past he's been building for himself in his head. So far, at least.

"I suppose plain is more functional."

Laurent glances around the area idly, as if half expecting Retrospec employees to be watching, then back down at the earring as he begins to turn back in the direction of the car. As he walks, Laurent finds himself frowning at little. Something about it --

I don't want it. It makes me think of you.

-- Is all of a sudden familiar, and Laurent's footsteps slow again.

You look better without all the paint.

Do you think a compliment will impress me? It won't. I get them all the time.

I know you do.

All of a sudden, as Laurent looks down at the earring, he knows with a sick sense of certainty that he's been given it before. Or at least, remembers being given it. Remembers and yet, at the same time, feels terribly detached from the memory.

I remember the offer you made me. Everything you said then was a lie. I knew it was, you're leaving.

Leaving. He knows it's true, and yet the knowledge fills him with some slow sense of dread.

I'm coming back.

Is that what you think?

Laurent turns and lifts his eyes slowly to Faolan. He feels the hair begin to rise on the back of his neck and along his arms, a prickling sense of fear creeping along his spine.

"This isn't mine," he says softly.

Following along behind Laurent as he is, it's obvious to Faolan the moment when something shifts in Laurent's understanding. The moment his footsteps slow and that strange sense of stillness goes over him such that Faolan knows that he remembers. Perhaps not everything, but he remembers enough. He sees it in his eyes in the way that he looks at him as he turns them back up to him.

"It's not?" he asks, stepping up beside him once more, doing his best to keep his voice calm and steady as he does because there's something in Laurent's expression that tells him he needs to be just now.

It's not. The memory is so vivid, so perfect, that Laurent feels overwhelmed for a minute.

His fingers tighten around the earring, and he tries to steady his breathing.

"It was given to me," he begins carefully.

I'm coming back.

Is that what you think?

Laurent thinks of the cell, thinks of the face of his jailer.

No, the boy was probably right. He wasn't coming back to him.

Laurent looks shaken enough that Faolan moves to step forward and place a hand on the small of his back to steady him. Not that he thinks he's in danger of passing out but that perhaps he might like the touch as reassurance? Or perhaps not. He's made it easy for the younger man to step away if he would rather not be touched instead.

He wants to ask, if not Laurent's then whose is the delicate little bauble. But he doesn't mean to push. He glances up at the car that Laurent had been heading towards and then back at Laurent himself, trying to make a decision on how to proceed.

"By a friend?" he settles on. Attempting to tread carefully as he does.

A friend? Laurent isn't sure.

He uncurls his hand and looks down at the earring, the blue stones glinting in the light.

You'd love that. To make me your servant.

It was a face he knew, a person he knew, and yet there's no context. It's just a mixed canvas of whirling emotion, and Laurent finds that frustrating. There was something about them, something he recognised. Something he wanted to protect. Yet he can't remember, and equally isn't sure what it would mean if he did.

"A boy," Laurent says finally. "Much younger than me. I was leaving, and he thought I would never come back."

"So he gave you this earring," Faolan hazards. Looking down at the piece of jewelry in Laurent's hand as he opens up his hand again before correcting himself. "His earring."

How young was this boy to have something like this, Faolan questions to himself. He certainly couldn't have been that young. This is far too expensive a trinket for a child to own, after all, and beyond that it's too... Sensual, for that matter.

"I would like to know the sort of boy to own such an item like this," Faolan wonders aloud.

Edited (repetition) 2017-12-30 00:28 (UTC)

The sort of boy to own a sapphire earring.

Laurent feels his heart beat uneasily, looking down at the earring.

"A servant," he says carefully. "I think he may have been a servant."

A servant who... painted his face, and wore an earring. His fingers close slowly around the earring again.

To keep me as a pet?

Laurent's head feels like it's spinning. Pet could be dismissive on its own, a degrading term used in anger, yet all the same with the rest of it --

I would never ask you to do anything you found distasteful.

Distasteful. The word catches in Laurent's mind and hangs there, refusing to go away. What did he mean by distasteful?

Does he even want to know the answer to that question, for that matter.

A servant, Laurent says, and Faolan looks down at the sapphire ring and back up at Laurent again, his eyebrows furrowing at the information.

"It seems an awfully expensive item for a servant to wear," he observes, trying to keep his commentary as neutral as he can. Laurent seems pretty shaken, there must be something else he's remembering. Some piece of the puzzle a little less obvious to Faolan himself.

"Was he... Your servant, then?" he hazards.

Was he?

Laurent frowns down at his hand, fingers closing over the earring again slowly.

"No," he says finally. "But I had offered to take responsability for him."

In some fashion, at least.

"I think he wanted that."

Even if he hadn't admitted it. Even if he'd brushed off Laurent leaving, pretended not to care. Something about it had wrung false. Something about the whole situation.

Responsibility for someone else's servant. Faolan wonders whether that's risky in some ways. Especially if that servant's master were to find out about it. They have to have been close, if this servant has given Laurent an earring like this one.

"Did he accept, then?" Faolan asks. He can't help himself, he wants to know more. About Laurent's past, about this boy, about his relationship with him, about who Laurent had been. "Your offer. Or..."

He takes in a breath, pulling himself back from the train of thought. "Sorry, I. Don't mean to ask so many questions."

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