stand & argue virtue

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241243

At least once a week, Emma would bring Aesop a basket or two of flowers from the manor's expansive garden and ask him if he would put together another one of his "beautiful arrangements."  He put them together on the floor of his room, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood with the flowers sorted by color in small piles all around him. In the wee hours of the morning he would carry the finished product down to Emma's room, with great effort, and leave it by the side of her door.

It was the middle of the night, the perfect time of night to do a covert delivery, when Aesop bumped his shoulder turning a corner too tightly and sent a good third of a freshly-filled vase's contents flying across the hallway. 

He gasped quietly and set the vase on the floor, a small panic starting to rise in his chest as he silently pleaded that no one had been woken by the thud of his shoulder colliding with the wall. At least he hadn’t dropped and shattered the vase itself.

Inspecting each flower for damage as he went, he gathered them into a hasty bunch that he stared at helplessly for much longer than he'd have liked to. They would slip back into the bouquet easily, at the cost of looking a bit messier than usual, but the structure of the task was all jumbled in his head now. The bouquet had already been finished. The stems were dripping water onto the floor. He hadn't thought to take his gloves off before picking them up.

Damn it.

name : aesop carl

residence : oletus manor

average hours of sleep :  4 to 7 hours on an average night, 2 or less on a bad night, up to 14 on the drawn-out sleepless days (which happen, say, once every few weeks)

type of bed : basic, what was provided for him by the manor. not uncomfortable but not notably soft or cushiony either. he always keeps it neatly-made.

amount of blankets : even though he likes the weight of multiple blankets, aesop overheats easily and is prone to kicking them off in his sleep or getting twisted up in them from tossing & turning, so usually just one.

amount of pillows :  two. the second pillow is more of a lightly weighted anchor.

type of clothing :  aesop is an underwear sleeper. a shirt on top at most. i’m sorry to be so frank about it. in my experience this is very much an autism “feeling like i am trapped in the tormentous crystal prison that is clothing” thing.

do they sleep with company? : no, definitely not. the thought of having to do so terrifies him. if he were ever to have any sort of life partner they would most likely have to sleep in separate beds.

do they sleep with plushies? : no.

do they sleep better with company? : probably not. again, the thought terrifies him, plus he tosses & turns constantly while struggling to fall asleep and has a lot of nightmares. having someone next to him or in the same room would likely just give him more anxiety to lay awake thinking about and he would just fixate on their presence until morning.

does it matter where they sleep? :  sort of, because he already has so much trouble falling asleep. he might doze off a bit while sitting up or pass out for a short while at his desk but he’s never had to sleep anywhere particularly uncomfortable so he’s not used to doing so and would not have a fun time trying to sleep somewhere that doesn’t at least somewhat resemble a bed.

frequent dreams, nightmares? : nightmares, almost always. we need not go into detail.

what do they do if they cannot fall asleep? : lay awake, toss and turn. if he gets frustrated enough he’ll get out of bed and do some reading or practice painting surrogates until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer, and if his struggle continues into the morning, he will sometimes just give in and go get himself some breakfast.

deep slumber or naps? : aesop is sensitive to sound and has hypervigilance from his childhood so he’s a light sleeper. he does take naps occasionally due to exhaustion from anxiety attacks but those are less “naps” and more “collapsing onto his bed and passing out.” the only time he sleeps deeply is after he’s stayed awake for 24+ hours.

when do they wake up? : he likes to get up early to have breakfast before sunrise, when not many people are awake. usually around 5 to 5:30. surprisingly, despite his many sleep-related issues, he mostly manages to do this consistently--if he passed out in sleepless desperation at 5 pm the day before, he can get up for breakfast at 4:30 am the next day. if he didn’t sleep at all, it’s something to do when he’s given up on trying. and if he actually got a full nights’ rest (by his standards), he can start his day exactly how he likes to.

when do they sleep? : assuming he’s been awake for a normal human amount of time, he goes to bed at around 8 or 9 pm each night. most nights he does fall asleep after only an hour or two of tossing and turning.

what could wake them up? : most things. he wakes up frequently due to his nightmares which causes him a lot of frustration because falling asleep in the first place can be such an endeavor for him, and often they make him afraid to fall back asleep. thumping or banging sounds will almost always wake him up no matter what due to his hypervigilance, though thankfully he doesn’t have the same “i have to get up and investigate” response that he did when he was a child looking out for his mother.

( i was talking recently about IC among us and remembered these aesops i doodled based on some IC games i participated in a few months ago... i don’t really have anywhere else to put them so i thought it might be neat to post them here. :p

warning for mentions of, well, some talk of death & embalming (detailed most in the rather long answer to the first question).

POPPY:  what comforts your muse?

aesop is very familiar with what he requires for self-soothing, as well as how to stim in discreet ways if he’s around others and doesn’t want to bring any attention to himself. when it comes to comfort he values silence more than anything, and having a solid & uninterrupted routine brings him peace & keeps him grounded. he likes to keep his makeup case with him as much as possible, being that it’s great for fiddling (messing with the handle or toggling the lock) and can provide a comfortable weight in his lap if he needs that. it also provides a sense of security since it makes him feel prepared.

SNAPDRAGON: is your muse merciful? why or why not?

“mercy” is aesop’s driving force, even if his idea of it can differ greatly from what other people might consider to be merciful. it is his life’s purpose to minimize suffering, and seeing others in pain can be very uncomfortable for him (though thankfully he isn’t squeamish). he was taught that ending someone’s life and granting them the serenity of death is the easiest and most humane solution to suffering, but after the death of his mentor, he struggles sometimes with the question of when someone’s suffering is at a threshold that warrants death. he is aware of death’s weight and has doubts that jerry carl ever truly revered its gravity, and despite not always being sure of where the line is, he knows that a mercy killing is not the answer to every kind of pain. his sense of mercy also means he can be prone to self-sacrifice in matches for the sake of his teammates.

TULIP:  how does your muse view people in general?

Emma took a closer look, inspecting the small insect. It looked so peaceful… like it was merely resting. No sign of injury anywhere, but the gardener didn’t know anything about bees and their anatomy—maybe Melly would be able to help. 

The young woman looked closer at the legs, seeing the small pocket of yellow. Instead of being proud of the little honeybee for working hard, she found herself feeling terribly sad… it just died right in the middle of working..?? Death came be so abrupt… so frightening… the thought was making her head hurt. 

“Hmm… and you found it here?” Emma asked with a slight tilt of her head, ignoring her headache as she usually did. “Strange… There’s been a lot of bees dying around this area. I wonder if one of my flowers isn’t good for them…” She doesn’t like the idea of her being the reason for all these deaths… maybe Melly could help her figure out what is going on…

Aesop noticed the subtle shift in her expression--after a few too many misunderstandings that would have been avoided if not for his social shortcomings, he’d been making an attempt to notice things like facial expressions and vocal tones. Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken so freely of mortality.

He nodded his head. His growing feeling that the bee’s death had less to do with environmental factors and more to do with him being destined to find its body withered slightly when she mentioned the recurring deaths. But he trusted Emma’s intuition when it came to gardening, and to cohabitation with the earth and its many tiny inhabitants; it felt unlikely that it could be her fault.

He could tell he had upset her, either way. He wasn’t sure what to do about that, but he pulled his hand back towards himself slightly as if to shield her from the sight of the dead bug.

tagged by @graveiris i don’t have anyone to tag but if you’d like to do this please feel free to say i tagged you.

𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 / 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. a sense of purpose & the knowledge that no one else could even begin to understand it, a desire to be left alone, complete focus & precision, being overwhelmed by the unwanted & the unfamiliar, the assurance & comfort of finality

𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. silence, a single word spoken hesitantly, walking away, openly expressing disinterest, panicking

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬. grey, yellow, black, white, red

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. powder makeup, embalming fluid, sympathy bouquets, incense, latex

𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬. a well-organized makeup case, a hypodermic needle, a pair of white gloves, a coffin, a mandala flower folded by hand

𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 / 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬. picky eating, not sleeping, denying or ignoring perspectives different from his own, walking away at “inappropriate” times, self-isolating

𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞. perfect posture, trying to stim in ways that won’t draw attention, glancing away, a white-knuckled grip on the handle of his makeup case, shrinking in on himself

→ The word the Photographer would use to describe the other on the ground would likely be pathetic. It was like a game of cat and mouse, Aesop being the little mouse that got caught by him and now laid beneath his shoes on the dirty ground. Joseph added some more pressure on the other’s back, his lips curling up into a little smirk. He was aware that somewhere was the other survivor, likely trying to decode for her life. The attempt was almost adorable, yet Joseph would stop them before it would come to the point of escape. 

→ “ Hm? “ He tilted his head slightly to the side, his gaze still on the embalmer on the ground. This amused him, the way the other spoke, the way his voice was shaking. “ Why not? After all… “ Joseph leaned in closer, using his sword to stab the ground right beside Aesop’s head, merely to scare him. “ … it is fun seeing you so scared, embalmer. Do tell me, are you scared of me? “ A noise got the photographer to look up. Another cipher was done and he was aware that he had to hurry up. At least he knew where the Perfumer was located, even if just for a moment. 

→ “ Hm… what am I gonna do with you? Chair you up and chase you again? Or… leave you here to bleed out~? “ As the words left his mouth, he pulled out his sword from the ground and pointed it right at Aesop’s head, close enough that the end of it almost touched the back of his head. A little chuckle passed his lips. He hasn’t been amused in quite a while. “ Aren’t you going to beg me to not harm you or have you already accepted your fate? “ 

Aesop managed not to flinch when Joseph’s blade pierced the ground mere inches from his head, instead briefly squeezing his eyes shut to brace for an impact that didn’t come. He had to suppress a relieved sigh when he was able to open them again.

The far-off ding of a cipher being completed rang out through the arena, the sound both reassuring and frustrating. He did sigh, then. While it meant that, in the ideal scenario, they were at least one step closer to escaping together and securing a tie, Aesop wished Vera would just give up on decoding and start looking for the entrance to the dungeon. She could still make a clean, pain-free escape if she tried, and that mattered more to Aesop than avoiding the loss of a match.

"I think that I... I should fear things that want to hurt me,” he said quietly. His voice was still strained.

He heard the blade being dislodged from the dirt next to his face, feeling the tip of it just barely brush against the back of his head a few seconds later. He kept as still as he could. Even if it only prolonged his time by a mere couple of minutes, and the effort to conjure words in his debilitated state bordered on agonizing, it at least seemed that attempting to trap the photographer in a conversation had been the right move.

Aesop wondered if Vera had found the dungeon yet, or if she had moved on to another cipher. He watched his blood beginning to pool in the grass beneath him.

“…Huh?” Emma wasn’t entirely sure of what she expected the male to be doing in the garden, but she certainly wasn’t expecting the response she received. Not that there was anything wrong with searching for dead bugs…she supposed… maybe it was just the way he said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

However, Emma didn’t want Aesop to think that she thought his…hobby was strange. Or perhaps there was a logical explanation..!! Some people collected deceased bugs to admire their beautiful bodies. Perhaps that was what he was doing? That made much more sense, and it was certainly less odd than him just searching for dead bugs in the plants just for the heck of it. 

With a newly rejuvenated smile, she took another step closer—not to get too close to the male, but rather to see what he was holding. “Sure.!! It’s a shame the poor thing had to die… but its wings must be really pretty! Can I see?” she asked with a warm smile.

Aesop held his hand out, just about as far away as he could manage to get it from his body without touching Emma, and carefully uncurled his fingers, revealing the pristine little insect resting on his palm.

“A honeybee,” he said softly. 

It was indeed a shame that it had died, but at least it could become something new in its death. He wondered what had killed it, for its body to be so unblemished: the cold, maybe, or perhaps it had expelled its stinger for some reason--he would take a closer look when he was able to go back to his room where he kept a magnifying glass for such inspections. Or maybe Emma knew something about the flowers in that patch of the garden, if there was a reason why so many bugs chose that spot specifically to lay their bodies in the dirt.