change.

thank the lord silence wasn’t a sin, that @jukudoku trusted him even when no explanation was given, and that their fingers intertwined oh so delicately as caesar diverted from the recommended path.  nightfall relegated their surroundings to mere dancing shadows; in the dim illumination of a gas flame, each tree and branch turned into a monster waiting down a deviating path, warning not to enter.

no, he would persist, he had to.  

past overgrown foliage and ageing trees laid a river, its current gentle and its waters fair; certainly not uncharted, yet less frequented than a spot mere feet away. there, they could enjoy privacy. a moment for themselves. 

“ we’ve arrived. ”   caesar couldn’t help the smile on his lips, and as he put down the lantern, choosing to grow its flame for the sake of visibility, he released wamuu’s hand, and tossed down the backpack he’d been carrying this whole time. unpacking didn’t take too long:  a towel for him, a towel for me.  a blanket to sit on afterwards. a variety of packed foods. and a watch, just in case.

it’s a bit of a distraction, mostly for himself, as the next steps are harrowing, if not exciting. 

it begins with the removal of his shoes. then his socks. then his shirt… revealing the properly tailored, baby blue bikini top underneath. and finally, his pants; caesar hesitates for a moment before he pulls them down, unveiling a matching bottom, leaving the discarded clothes atop the already-existent neat pile. if he were truly proper, he would have folded them. alas… his head was elsewhere. 

the dark obfuscated his visage enough to hide the pink hue steadily overtaking his cheeks (or, so he would hope); this was the most skin caesar had ever shown wamuu, and it was purposeful, meant to be eye-catching.  if his suspicions were true, and his general experiences with men were to be believed… maybe this clothing would hold his attention.

god, how he yearned for his attention.

but it's also true that there have been rising highs, positivity digging into what was once uncertainty and a fear that clung desperately to the walls and steadily picking at it, not ripping it away but instead gently prying each jagged claw from plaster and wood.

though wamuu silently questions caesar's motivations as to why he'd want to make such a trip in the night, there's no suspicion he holds, no concerns beyond a logical wondering about caesar's vision and how if the fuel for the lamp ran out, how he would have to navigate on the way home. (he wouldn't mind, of course, as it's hardly a taxing thing for him to do -- but would it be necessary? would caesar's pride (hopefully) allow for it in the first place?)

pulled out of his thoughts by caesar's confirmation of their arrival, he instinctively moves to assist in offloading the contents of the carried pack, only for caesar to render it unnecessary so easily and leaving wamuu to stand there, hands raised rather uselessly for a moment, with him feeling slightly foolish when he processes as much a second or two later but ultimately shrugging it off.

if anything, the preparedness impresses him, he simply lacks the wording right then to express as much.

and for the moment, he's luckily been saved from needing to scramble and name something specific right then and there by caesar's next inquiry. unfortunately for wamuu, he finds himself near-immediately tripping over words that die in his throat once he properly processes the sight of the other's new clothing.

to see another in their underclothing isn't exactly an extreme rarity, especially when in the same dwelling for so (relatively) long, but -- oh. oh. these aren't what he thought they were at all. and such a lovely shade of blue… he almost- wonders if they were.. chosen specifically for his enjoyment. but perhaps that's a bit too self-absorbed to think, is it not…?

in any case, wamuu takes a moment to clear his throat before it clicks with him that- perhaps he should.. remove his own clothing. there's no shirt to speak of, but pants, on the other hand…

hooking his thumbs under the waistband, he cautiously removes them (too slowly would seem odd, but too quickly would be too eager, wouldn't it?), halfheartedly folding them before straightening himself, revealing that he is donned in boxers. not much of a surprise, except his.. are also blue. not the exact, eye-catching shade of caesar's, but still -- rather predictably - blue.

Bruno and Giorno 🥹 my babies...

initially, it was two individuals: one who felt that surely- surely the court jester was not as dangerous as others say, that he was thrown down into the dungeon for a particularly horrid joke or something... and one who remained guarded, perhaps not believing the full scale of violence and destruction he was said to be capable of, but knowing none to be truly dangerous and thus desiring to accompany their co-worker.

(were they simply that, or something more? it didn't matter; when they got too close to the cell's bars, he would not let go, deceptively short claws grabbing, fabric and flesh alike easily giving way to a mindless desire to strike out, to share what he cannot fully understand.)

despite this and how those within some assembled guard were soon sent to investigate what should've been a short check-in and how it had ended, it wasn't enough to deter everyone. not many, of course; most decided without a struggle that they'd like to remain in one piece - thanks - but there were a couple more still who thought themselves brave, deciding that some violent, evil force like the old court jester should be taken down, put out of his misery. all they had to do was stay further away than those lost before.

stay out of his range, and it'd be okay, right? (unfortunately for them, as they would swiftly learn, the devilsknife extends the physical range of his attacking more than it seemingly should.)

curious, curious, how easy you run; my blade cuts clean and quick, why must you ruin the fun..?

like an attack on its own, the taunting had bounced around, off the walls, a horrible, echoing cacophony, neverending in its varying volume, its strength, its ability to distract -- until he made good on his threat, and one such would-be 'hero' found themself acting rather.. mindlessly as well.

the sound their head had made when it hit the solid, stone floor had echoed as well, easily heard over the suddenly-dying noise from himself. what talent! how fun! but now so boring, they and their friends are gone, boo hoo, boo hoo, so lonely is he...

a few would come down after that, once in a blue moon, but due to the danger presented by him when he was not asleep (which in itself could not be predicted consistently), efforts were banned entirely after some time. the card kingdom could not afford to lose more of its people to trying to save or reason with someone who could not be helped, so to try anyway was forbidden and deemed as one signing their own death warrant. (shortly after this, the key to the cell was broken so that nobody could even try.)

some of it was intentional on jevil's part. some of it wasn't. it's not like he remembers or holds much in the way of guilt in his heart anyway.

nowadays, memories of that time are so... fuzzy, so hard to recall that it takes a lot of concentration to recall many parts of it clearly, and to do so for long anyway prompts terribly headaches, so he simply does not really try anymore.

‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎OH, IT'S JUST A SIMPLE NUMBERS GAME.

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