#levent.

LOCATION: the fishery. FOR: ezra james.

THE SUN HAS BEEN beating down for hours now -- and sweat has coated nearly every square inch of levent's body since the very moment he entered the garage. since when the fuck did it get so muggy in here? that was the way the shift in the seasons always felt, no warning, no choice. perhaps to distract himself from the heat he throws himself into the project he'd hard at work on, missing nearly entirely when ezra enters to join him. he should have expected this -- she's here more often than not. an easy place to find her when shit hit the fan. and yet somehow, the sight of her causes his heart to leap to his throat, something he's cursed ever since he began to notice.

fuck this. fuck this feeling i feel for you, ezra james. because you are the one person i can never bring myself to have. i am a quarter of the man i am when you are not near, and myself and my anger become one. i've been searching for you in every other person to get you out of my system, but you are far too entangled within me. mind, body and soul.

lev knows better than to acknowledge his emotions for very long, better to quell them before the overflow begins. thus, he rips his gaze from her -- the way she turns the pages of her book with such unbridled focus. the perfect distraction comes as he notices the oil stain that's blossomed on his shirt, already coating the work gloves on his hands. there was an extra shirt in his duffle.... next to her. with a sigh, removes the stained shirt, then his gloves, before makes his way to the corner of the room where she sits. her gaze on his skin is immediate, it burns. rummaging through the bag as quick as he can, he removes his had nearly instantaneously after his fingers wrap around the fabric.

It's over. Done. Those were only some of the words that Levent had sneered into his face, had cemented into his thoughts within a future that no longer existed. It would be foolish of Bastien to think the eladrin did not remember saying those words. Nor that he decided to not mean them. Their sides had been chosen, their choices had been made. Levent betrayed Pythia, while Bastien had rooted himself beside them. All the visions that the oracle had ever peered into, had ripped from the Graeae's hands were tarnished now. They no longer existed, morphed from all that had happened. And he had not chosen to look into them further, to see if anything would change.

"Let me guess," he mused in a voice heavily accented and slurred as his gaze fell upon the approaching Eladrin, "you are here to tell me, I told you so?" The question hung in the air for a moment, before the witch laughed at his own words.

Levent had not relented his frustrations to Bastien, had not been able to speak them before they had been interrupted. Before the time had been upon them to ready themselves for this war. The knowledge of words left unspoken had been at the back of his mind, even more so after the punishment had been dealt to the Narcissus sovereign. When Pythia made it know why one did not cross them, why one did not turn their back upon the book. "What are these frustrations, Levent?" He urged once they had secured themselves some privacy. Or rather, once Bastien had pushed him into a secluded area. "What is happening to you?"

Blood had dripped from his hands, each new sacrifice to the good of the book had left its mark upon him. It coated nearly every part of him, and Bastien mildly wondered if he should have worn the sweatpants that Lucretia had shoved at him. The thought was fleeting, for the oracle had much more important matters to attend to. The book had been wrongfully decimated, and now, he would get to enjoy the selection process of finding those worthy of becoming its next skin. That is, until his gaze landed on that which held a permanent place within his thoughts. His movements were quiet and quick, until he seized Levent from behind. "I should skin you alive, cement your devotion to the book once and for all," he hissed into the other's ear, for betrayal and anger were all that the witch could focus upon.

A God was dead, and Lucretia had done what many others before her could not, or simply would not. And Bastien’s vision had come to fruition, a fact that pleased him immensely. Which was precisely why he had made himself right at home in Levent’s room, legs kicked up onto the bed as if he made all the rules. Though, the Eladrin should have known by now that what was his was also Bastien’s. “Come, come,” he instructed the moment the other had come into the room, a hand patted upon the space next to him. It had never been unusual for the witch to be in high spirits, but with the latest victory for the Asphodel coven, it was exceptionally high. A grin transformed his features as Levent came in closer, and he hummed with an almost giddiness, “Are you ready to celebrate?”

DESK DUTY. PERHAPS IT makes some amount of sense, considering levent currently has one fully working arm. and yet, his irritation has been clear throughout the day. his career before this one was literally kicking people's asses, not babying them. and yet, he knows better than to shirk off on his newfound, assigned duties. his work with the jackals wasn't the only thing he needed to pay the bills and he knew it. thus, despite his occasional cheeky sarcasam, he knew better than to bite the hand that feeds him. he's been answering phone calls all day, but then there are the times when it's silent. desolate. the busywork of filing is nearly offensive. yet, he can hear the footsteps before he acknowledges the individual approaching the desk, but rugged eyes eventually find themselves training upwards.

LOCATION: some external medical bay. FOR: ezra james.

FIGHT OR FLIGHT. LEVENT was still very clearly in fight when one of the jackals had demanded he go to the hospital, having a feeling it was inevitable the very he moment he heard a pop in his arm. the pain he feels in the aftermath, however? pretty fucking hard to ignore. besides the occasional cuts and bruises littered across his body, he's fine otherwise. thus, what was all this fucking freaking out happening over his stupid arm? he's been in a room for a short amount of time ( or at least it feels that way ) before ezra turns the corner. looking more or less unharmed, thank god. he had protested the entire way there, between the i need to see her's and the if she dies and i wasn't there to protect her, i'll have all your fucking heads -- he had still been here. alone.

" there's my girl. " levent responds in relief, holding out his free hand to take her own. this should be your first red flag, ezra, because it wasn't his dominant hand. " i was lookin' for you and those bozos told me i had to get checked out at the hospital because i -- " in the moment he's trying to angle himself towards her, he winces. fuck. as much as he tried, he had a feeling she would see through his shit anyway. " will you tell these freakin' doctors to stop pokin' and proddin' me every five seconds so we can go home? i'm fine. "

the god's honest truth? he hates hospitals. he's always hated them. how sterile they feel, the finality they could have. perhaps what he hated the most in this entire mess was that he couldn't find her. how scared she may have been out there, separated and alone. the thought that not only could he have failed her, but he could have lost her. just when he learned how to believe he could be a man deserving enough for her.