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Description

Feeling a slight twinge of pain in his wrists, Faust withdrew his hands from the noodle brush he had been using to clean with and sitting back with a tired sigh. Well, he supposed, this was probably as good a time as any for a break. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a clean handkerchief, the pale off-white standing out quite a bit in stark contrast to the soot-covered sunset coloured golden fox, his dirty hands leaving glaringly large smudges all over it. He brought it to his face, having to look away from it momentarily to sneeze as some of the soot and dirt he had shaken loose caught his nose.

Rubbing the clean linen over his soot-covered face, he took to leaning up against the chimney, slowly sliding down the side of it until he was in a sitting position, crossing his legs and doing his best to cover himself with his curly tails in an attempt to keep warm. The air was crisp and fresh now that he had stopped cleaning the smoke chambers long enough for it to clear up; it was nice to breathe in something that wasn't smoke, even if it was only for a short while. Still, it was quite chilly, feeling very much like it might start to snow. He exhaled again, his breath hanging in the air for a few moments before evaporating. He watched it twist into itself then slowly vanish, eyes fixed on the skies above. He rest his head back against the stone structure, watching as a few feral taillow glided past him, obviously caught in an updraft. His face becoming slightly melancholy. Maybe if he wished hard enough, he could grow wings of his own. Something, anything that would get him away from his obligations. He shifted a little in his seat, eyes moving downward toward the edge of the roof. Ever since he was quite small, he had always been such a burden on everyone. His mother, rest her soul, may not have been the best woman, but she had at least played the part of sympathetic parental figure as much as she could. After all the husband she had gone through, it was no secret that she had very little time for her children. While Rorschach had hardened his heart toward her and would constantly remind him of the dangers and neglect their mother had brought to them, he still felt no ill will toward her.

And Rorschach.

He had done so much to keep him out of trouble. Even though it usually resulted in him getting into even bigger trouble for involving himself, if there was one person he could genuinely count on for anything and everything, it was Rorschach. His hand moved up toward his neck, head tilting back to once again observe the sky. His fingers began to softly trace the large scars hidden just beneath the warm turtleneck he had on. What he had given...he couldn't help feeling like it was all too much. Since his birth, he had always found his very existence to be...well...worthless. Born an ill and extremely weak child, his entire life felt like one long, pointless endeavor. And while he wasn't actively trying to be as ungrateful as all of this sounded in his head, deep down he still felt as though Rorschach had wasted his one and only contract with a legendary on a wish that would have been much better spent on something important, something that could benefit his brother in ways he knew he never could. He hated the fact that his brother had made a contract in the first place, but he hated it even more that his life had been the reward at the end of the proverbial rainbow. There were so many other things he could have asked for. If he was going to risk his own life and safety, why couldn't it have been on something better than useless, pathetic him.

These were all words he knew he could never say. He could never outright tell anyone about it, least of all his brother. For as close as they were, the bond they had felt terribly strained every time he even thought to tell Rorschach what he was feeling. As his hand slowly slid down to his chest to greet the slow thumps of what was now a heart that no longer was his, he couldn't help wondering...

Was he even alive at all?

After all, take the shards from his body and there would be no soul left inside him. All of the soul shards they had collected, all of the tiny pieces that had once been another person's entire being resided deep within his body. He had become little more than a fancy, sentient tote bag that harbored the one thing the Distortion Lord could not gather for himself. What a fine feast he would make, he thought with a sardonic snort, sounding far more like his brother without having to say a word.

But without them, there was no soul. There was no heart. There was nothing there that could possibly be considered life. His thoughts turned to Jamie and his ears flattened down, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn and he ducked behind his bangs, reaching up and pulling the bill of his hat down to help cover his face. There was no doubt in his mind, his feelings were far more than simply platonic for the cinccino, but...

My heart is no longer mine to give.

His brother's words echoed in his ears. He had said this when the subject of Mortimer had been bridged to the old crow that had confronted them and ever since hearing it, he couldn't help thinking...if those words were not meant for him but for Faust himself. Did something that was technically no longer alive have the right to offer something as deep and binding as the word "love" carried with it? He knew...he swallowed shallowly, feeling tears beginning to sting at the backs of his eyes. He knew that Jamie had seen death too. He knew how close to death's door he had been, but he also knew that, unlike him, Jamie had never touched the door himself. He had never actually died. The admiration he felt for the older man's zeal, his overwhelming zest for life, how he went about approaching everything with such a positive attitude...it just...it made him want to be as close to the other as he possibly could. He wanted to reach out to him, take the hem of his shirt and never let it go. He wanted to be near him always.

But there would be a time when the spiritual energy in this small town ran out. A time when both he and his brother would have to pack up their bags and slip out in the middle of the night the same way they had done to every town before this one. They would slip out and never come back. That was how they kept everyone safe. That was how they maintained distance. Simply fleeing. As it was, this was probably the longest they had spent in a single place since living with that old skuntank lady.

He sniffed softly. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to go anywhere without Jamie. The sense of security he found in the bright light that was the cinccino was immeasurable and he never wanted to let him go. It was a tiny light in his heart that he wanted to protect and carry with him forever.

He didn't want to leave. He felt a few tears slip down his still very warm cheeks. He liked this place. This was as close to home as he had ever felt. Mortimer and Jamie...neither he nor Rorschach had known them for very long, but they were almost like family and having to leave was like losing everything all over again.

He had been so lost in thought, he hadn't even noticed the thin layer of snow that had started to accumulate on him, covering his jacket and head and even the chimney he had been leaning on. Blinking, he reached up and swiped his sleeve covered wrist across his eyes. As much as he hated feeling like he was ignoring his problems rather than facing them, he knew if he stayed out in the cold for too long, he'd catch his death again and Rorschach would never let him hear the end of it. Pulling himself to his feet, he reached up, yanking out the noodle brush from the mouth of the chimney and began to flatten out the tough wire bristles until it was back in its original, far more orderly condition, dusting the rest of the soot off of it before heading down. Even though the logical voice in the back of his mind was telling him otherwise, he still couldn't bring himself to bridge this topic to anyone else.

A thought struck him and his ears perked forward. Well. Perhaps someone could help.
~~~
when you don't sleep you have a LOT of time for character development.
ugh.
sleepy.
also >> there is a certain zorua (now zoroark, boywillhebesurprised) he really needs to talk to. u___u with how attached to Rorschach I am, I was mildly surprised to find how much I've bonded to Faust. He's just so likeable!! It's hard not to feel something for the scrappy little fella.
INB4, sad boy in snow.

Description

Feeling a slight twinge of pain in his wrists, Faust withdrew his hands from the noodle brush he had been using to clean with and sitting back with a tired sigh. Well, he supposed, this was probably as good a time as any for a break. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a clean handkerchief, the pale off-white standing out quite a bit in stark contrast to the soot-covered sunset coloured golden fox, his dirty hands leaving glaringly large smudges all over it. He brought it to his face, having to look away from it momentarily to sneeze as some of the soot and dirt he had shaken loose caught his nose.

Rubbing the clean linen over his soot-covered face, he took to leaning up against the chimney, slowly sliding down the side of it until he was in a sitting position, crossing his legs and doing his best to cover himself with his curly tails in an attempt to keep warm. The air was crisp and fresh now that he had stopped cleaning the smoke chambers long enough for it to clear up; it was nice to breathe in something that wasn't smoke, even if it was only for a short while. Still, it was quite chilly, feeling very much like it might start to snow. He exhaled again, his breath hanging in the air for a few moments before evaporating. He watched it twist into itself then slowly vanish, eyes fixed on the skies above. He rest his head back against the stone structure, watching as a few feral taillow glided past him, obviously caught in an updraft. His face becoming slightly melancholy. Maybe if he wished hard enough, he could grow wings of his own. Something, anything that would get him away from his obligations. He shifted a little in his seat, eyes moving downward toward the edge of the roof. Ever since he was quite small, he had always been such a burden on everyone. His mother, rest her soul, may not have been the best woman, but she had at least played the part of sympathetic parental figure as much as she could. After all the husband she had gone through, it was no secret that she had very little time for her children. While Rorschach had hardened his heart toward her and would constantly remind him of the dangers and neglect their mother had brought to them, he still felt no ill will toward her.

And Rorschach.

He had done so much to keep him out of trouble. Even though it usually resulted in him getting into even bigger trouble for involving himself, if there was one person he could genuinely count on for anything and everything, it was Rorschach. His hand moved up toward his neck, head tilting back to once again observe the sky. His fingers began to softly trace the large scars hidden just beneath the warm turtleneck he had on. What he had given...he couldn't help feeling like it was all too much. Since his birth, he had always found his very existence to be...well...worthless. Born an ill and extremely weak child, his entire life felt like one long, pointless endeavor. And while he wasn't actively trying to be as ungrateful as all of this sounded in his head, deep down he still felt as though Rorschach had wasted his one and only contract with a legendary on a wish that would have been much better spent on something important, something that could benefit his brother in ways he knew he never could. He hated the fact that his brother had made a contract in the first place, but he hated it even more that his life had been the reward at the end of the proverbial rainbow. There were so many other things he could have asked for. If he was going to risk his own life and safety, why couldn't it have been on something better than useless, pathetic him.

These were all words he knew he could never say. He could never outright tell anyone about it, least of all his brother. For as close as they were, the bond they had felt terribly strained every time he even thought to tell Rorschach what he was feeling. As his hand slowly slid down to his chest to greet the slow thumps of what was now a heart that no longer was his, he couldn't help wondering...

Was he even alive at all?

After all, take the shards from his body and there would be no soul left inside him. All of the soul shards they had collected, all of the tiny pieces that had once been another person's entire being resided deep within his body. He had become little more than a fancy, sentient tote bag that harbored the one thing the Distortion Lord could not gather for himself. What a fine feast he would make, he thought with a sardonic snort, sounding far more like his brother without having to say a word.

But without them, there was no soul. There was no heart. There was nothing there that could possibly be considered life. His thoughts turned to Jamie and his ears flattened down, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn and he ducked behind his bangs, reaching up and pulling the bill of his hat down to help cover his face. There was no doubt in his mind, his feelings were far more than simply platonic for the cinccino, but...

My heart is no longer mine to give.

His brother's words echoed in his ears. He had said this when the subject of Mortimer had been bridged to the old crow that had confronted them and ever since hearing it, he couldn't help thinking...if those words were not meant for him but for Faust himself. Did something that was technically no longer alive have the right to offer something as deep and binding as the word "love" carried with it? He knew...he swallowed shallowly, feeling tears beginning to sting at the backs of his eyes. He knew that Jamie had seen death too. He knew how close to death's door he had been, but he also knew that, unlike him, Jamie had never touched the door himself. He had never actually died. The admiration he felt for the older man's zeal, his overwhelming zest for life, how he went about approaching everything with such a positive attitude...it just...it made him want to be as close to the other as he possibly could. He wanted to reach out to him, take the hem of his shirt and never let it go. He wanted to be near him always.

But there would be a time when the spiritual energy in this small town ran out. A time when both he and his brother would have to pack up their bags and slip out in the middle of the night the same way they had done to every town before this one. They would slip out and never come back. That was how they kept everyone safe. That was how they maintained distance. Simply fleeing. As it was, this was probably the longest they had spent in a single place since living with that old skuntank lady.

He sniffed softly. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to go anywhere without Jamie. The sense of security he found in the bright light that was the cinccino was immeasurable and he never wanted to let him go. It was a tiny light in his heart that he wanted to protect and carry with him forever.

He didn't want to leave. He felt a few tears slip down his still very warm cheeks. He liked this place. This was as close to home as he had ever felt. Mortimer and Jamie...neither he nor Rorschach had known them for very long, but they were almost like family and having to leave was like losing everything all over again.

He had been so lost in thought, he hadn't even noticed the thin layer of snow that had started to accumulate on him, covering his jacket and head and even the chimney he had been leaning on. Blinking, he reached up and swiped his sleeve covered wrist across his eyes. As much as he hated feeling like he was ignoring his problems rather than facing them, he knew if he stayed out in the cold for too long, he'd catch his death again and Rorschach would never let him hear the end of it. Pulling himself to his feet, he reached up, yanking out the noodle brush from the mouth of the chimney and began to flatten out the tough wire bristles until it was back in its original, far more orderly condition, dusting the rest of the soot off of it before heading down. Even though the logical voice in the back of his mind was telling him otherwise, he still couldn't bring himself to bridge this topic to anyone else.

A thought struck him and his ears perked forward. Well. Perhaps someone could help.
~~~
when you don't sleep you have a LOT of time for character development.
ugh.
sleepy.
also >> there is a certain zorua (now zoroark, boywillhebesurprised) he really needs to talk to. u___u with how attached to Rorschach I am, I was mildly surprised to find how much I've bonded to Faust. He's just so likeable!! It's hard not to feel something for the scrappy little fella.
INB4, sad boy in snow.