Blue Raspberry 29, Rocky Road 21
Title: The Great Largo Caprice in the Sky
Story Continuity: The Lethean Glamour
Prompts: Blue Raspberry #29: front row seat, Rocky Road #21: my favorite place
Topping/Extra: Malt (hat prompt: 3. this won't hurt a bit : Cygnelius : stairway to heaven), Caramel
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post-story. Valentio is dying. Cygnelius is not. But he made a promise a long time ago, and he intends to keep it. (The malt demanded this be written. Slash, character death, possibly AU, caramel, and angst.)
They're both old, even if only one of them looks it. For the first time, Cygnelius feels so much older. When Valentio sees him, he smiles brightly, like it's summer and his twenty-first birthday all come round again.
Cygnelius knows Valentio knows that he's dying. He doesn't really understand it, but even if Cyg was the super genius, Valentio was, well, Valentio.
"You came. Cool."
"Wouldn't miss it," Cyg said, and sat next to him. "I'll be here for a few months yet. We've got some time to catch up."
Cygnelius doesn't ask about Valentio's family; he already knows who's dead and who's alive. He's taken half of the dead, but doesn't think Valentio needs to hear that.
"Well," Valentio says brightly, "I found a red star. Reminded me of you - your eyes, you know, they're this weird glowy red since you hit forty - so I, uh, kinda named it Cygnelius."
"How mature of you," Cygnelius says, and is unable to name the emotion clinging to the words.
"You think I should have named it the Stupid Spoiled Whore?" Valentio says with a smile. "Could double as being named after my late wife."
"Cute," Cygnelius says with a snort. "I'm sure that wouldn't cause problems with Amlaine at all, pubicly proclaiming their late beloved duchess a dumb whore."
"It's true, though," Valentio says, and Cygnelius agrees.
"I found a new star," Valentio grins, full of youth and vitality. "It's one of a kind; gorgeous, shy thing. It hides behind Andromeda most of the year. I got naming rights, and damn, but it ain't for lack of protest on the Committee's part. Shit, Cyg, you should have seen their faces when I told them I wanted to name it Auto Eroticon 4."
Valentio snickers in the general direction of the stars, but it is Cygnelius who smiles back, helplessly, reluctantly. He has forever to dwell on the foolishness of befriending this man; he wants this moment so badly to just be about Valentio.
The universe moves majestically around them, unconcerned, eternal, so hopelessly dark on and on but with such brilliant light and strange wonder that Cygnelius remembers a time when he could speculate with Valentio about just how far off it would be when Anharo-bound beings could ascend to the level of the moon and see into forever.
"I wish there was a way you could live. I don't want you to die," Cygnelius says, and holds the old man's hand as asked.
Valentio laughs, and Cygnelius wonders how it is that the first word he thinks to associate with this shriveled shell is "beautiful." Valentio says, "Immortality in this body isn't quite the tempting offer it was fifty years ago, kid. Flirting freely with a twenty-something-year-old gets old pretty quick when you realize she's never gonna slap you or do anything but call you spirited."
"I always knew you'd be one of those old men," Cygnelius says, and can't for the life of him understand why he's smiling. "You're too much of a pervert to let a little thing like impotence dampen your libido."
"Hardly impotence," Valentio says, his tone offended but his eyes amused. "I wouldn't go that far."
"You're getting married to the Duchess of Amlaine. The one who breeds genetically unfortunate saber-toothed housecats," Cygnelius says. It comes out as more of an accusation than he'd hoped, and something in his eyes hardens. He knows he looks offended - he feels it - but he doesn't acknowledge it and neither does Valentio, who is just annoyed. Valentio says, "It isn't like I planned it. Lysandro's married already, and King Fuckface - dad, not Lysandro - meted out a deal with Sylvalent before his death. It's possibly the only reason I was born, devious old fuck. I mean, I know I don't typically care what I stick it in, but just once I'd like for it to have been about love, you know? Just for curiosity's sake."
Cygnelius considers what he'll say next very, very carefully.
In the end, Cygnelius kisses Valentio instead, and forgets the words.
Valentio Melman is a wonder even in old age, poker face just about as readable as a Kabuki mask and a posture that gives away nothing but a lazy, ever-present confidence, but he can't cheat death.
Ibis is in the room today, and Cygnelius freezes upon entering. Ibis nods his great billed head - this one is yours to handle - and leaves as if he was never there. He's still there; technically, he is everywhere at all times.
Today, Cygnelius has a front row seat to the death of the man who is everything. This is the moment he's been dreading.
Valentio is there. He is on his bed, eyes closed in repose. Cygnelius notes the gold shimmery haze around Valentio; he doesn't have long. He's been injected with something that will end it for him. Better to die feeling comparatively little pain and being aware of everything than to lose your faculties and be in great pain, Cyg tells himself, but the lump in his throat only grows.
Cygnelius can hardly believe his eyes. It's pink and green and gold and red and it's absolutely, without a doubt the most ridiculous piece of jewelry he's ever seen in his life. And he is expected to wear it. Jewelry.
"You seriously got us friendship bracelets?" Cygnelius says. "Friendship bracelets. Where have you been hiding the good crack, Valentio? I thought we were friends."
"Thus the bracelets," Valentio says, rolling his eyes like he can't believe Cygnelius is the smart one. "If you want, I can get us matching rings and you can be my princess, but somehow I didn't think you'd appreciate that. Also, lovely though your chest may be, I don't think you've got the bustline Father wants in my wife."
The bustline his Father wants. It's an odd choice of words, and completely ignores the existence of his wife, but Cygnelius doesn't comment, just stares at his bracelet and snaps it on, jumping when it makes a metallic noise. And he recognizes the sound.
"You got me a fucking solid gold friendship bracelet," Cygnelius says slowly, hoping to be refuted. "With fake gemstones."
"Yup!" Valentio says, and hell if he doesn't sound proud. "Isn't free trade great?"
And Cygnelius can't help but agree.
"Hello," Cygnelius says, awkward for the first time in so long but no less talented at it. Valentio tries to lift his head, and gives up. "Glad you could make it. Sit with me, Cyg. Please."
His words are sluggish and flat, but Cygnelius obeys. "I'll be here until the end," Cygnelius says quietly, as his hands gently pass over Valentio's hair and rub at his scalp. "After, too."
"What's it like, where I'm going?" Valentio says. Cygnelius breaks inside, but he's still stony stoicism on the outside. Mostly. Cygnelius says, "You're a hero. You get your pick."
"Like rats and mice," Valentio says. "Wasn't that how the rhyme went? Birds of a feather flock together, and so will pigs and swine. Rats and mice will have their choice and so shall I have mine."
Cygnelius nods absently; Valentio brightens. "I think I'd like to wander the stars," he says. "Get lost in the singing of the universe and time, all the melodies and the splendor and the greatness. Wouldn't even bitch about all the morose assholishness your soul'd be playing for all eternity. I want to be lost in there. Maybe become a song of my own. Always had a thing for largo caprices."
"You're mad," Cygnelius said. "Senile. I hope you find out your 78 virgins are all virgins for a very good, very obvious reason."
"You never heard the universe sing?" Valentio says. "I've always heard it. Some mystics have flowers, or cats, or whatever. Always suspected you could talk to cells."
"Lies. And the first cell that tells you otherwise is clearly one mitochondrion short of a eukaryote."
"The universe is where it's at," Valentio says, and smiles serenely. "I hear so much. I feel so much; they say death is the world's constant companion, but it's not. The universe is here, it's everything and everyone, it's in so many places where death isn't. And it'll be here when there's no more need for death. I want to see a supernova and not worry about dying. Planets with alien life. I want to see the galaxies and all the stars, I want to get lost in all that eternity. I want to see a world get born; it can't possibly be more horrifying than my nephews and niece's births. I want to see so much. I've heard whispers of so much wonder, and I'm stuck here. I know what's like, being blind."
"You've got a friend on the inside," Cygnelius says. "You don't have to worry."
A little time passes; Cygnelius strokes Valentio's thin hair, and Valentio tries so hard to breathe. He asks: "Will it hurt?"
Cygnelius is breaking so hard he wonders if he'll be able to find the parts again, let alone piece everything together. "Close your eyes; it's time. I won't let it hurt you, Valentio."
He wants to say "Please don't go," wants to tell him life won't be life without him even though they seldom meet anymore, but he knows that's unspeakably silly. He's taken so many souls to the other side now. He can't hear the universe, doesn't think that it will always be there, but he knows where everything in it ends up. What he says, because this is the last piece of himself that he has and he knows it will never be lost, no matter how much he wants it gone, is, "I love you."
"I'm leaving," Cygnelius says flatly. Valentio stares at him, not comprehending. Probably being dense on purpose, Cygnelius thinks, and his eyes narrow in irritation at the thought. "Lea-ving. Antonym staying. I'm almost certain you know the word, even if you don't know the meaning of go away."
"Is this about my niece asking you if the reason we made it to science board meetings late together had to do with sex?" Valentio says. "Because I have it on very good authority Capricia put her up to that."
"Valentio," Cygnelius says. "I'm forty years old today. Ibis is taking me now."
Valentio's eyes widen in panic as he reels back a little. "I thought you were immortal? Shit, do you think we can kill Ibis? How would that-"
"Your highness," Cygnelius snaps. "I told you this a thousand times before today. He's taking me on as an agent. I - I'll be starting in on ferrying souls."
There is a long, awkward pause.
"I'm not doing this because I want to," Cygnelius says. "If I could, I'd stay here. Die with you, maybe. Live with you, certainly, although that might entail wanting to die or at least - Valentio, please."
"Do me one thing," Valentio says, and smiles. It's brittle and blinding in its brightness, but it's the wrong sort of brightness, like the sun in winter. "Come back for me."
"Are you actually asking me-"
"Yeah," Valentio says. "I hate birds. Don't think I could keep my dignity if I had to be led anywhere by a giant talking bird with snake scales."
"...I'll come back yearly," Cyg says. "And I'll be there for you. At the end. Always. I promise."
"I love you."
These are the last words Dr. Valentio Melman, Prince of Volacoeur, Duke of Amlaine, hears, and his last thoughts are of how much he wishes he could find the breath to tell Cygnelius the same.
And Cygnelius guides the soul of his best friend into the heavens, wills it to be happy forever, to get all it desires out of the afterlife and then some.
He feels like the only person in the whole of the world, but there are no tears in Cygnelius's eyes. He feels death all around him, but he can feel Valentio in the heavens, and he is happy for Valentio, at least, for whom the universe waits.
He once wondered, many years ago, if he would regret befriending a mortal man. Somewhere in the middle, he was sure he would regret it.
Many years later, he would do it all again.
Story Continuity: The Lethean Glamour
Prompts: Blue Raspberry #29: front row seat, Rocky Road #21: my favorite place
Topping/Extra: Malt (hat prompt: 3. this won't hurt a bit : Cygnelius : stairway to heaven), Caramel
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post-story. Valentio is dying. Cygnelius is not. But he made a promise a long time ago, and he intends to keep it. (The malt demanded this be written. Slash, character death, possibly AU, caramel, and angst.)
They're both old, even if only one of them looks it. For the first time, Cygnelius feels so much older. When Valentio sees him, he smiles brightly, like it's summer and his twenty-first birthday all come round again.
Cygnelius knows Valentio knows that he's dying. He doesn't really understand it, but even if Cyg was the super genius, Valentio was, well, Valentio.
"You came. Cool."
"Wouldn't miss it," Cyg said, and sat next to him. "I'll be here for a few months yet. We've got some time to catch up."
Cygnelius doesn't ask about Valentio's family; he already knows who's dead and who's alive. He's taken half of the dead, but doesn't think Valentio needs to hear that.
"Well," Valentio says brightly, "I found a red star. Reminded me of you - your eyes, you know, they're this weird glowy red since you hit forty - so I, uh, kinda named it Cygnelius."
"How mature of you," Cygnelius says, and is unable to name the emotion clinging to the words.
"You think I should have named it the Stupid Spoiled Whore?" Valentio says with a smile. "Could double as being named after my late wife."
"Cute," Cygnelius says with a snort. "I'm sure that wouldn't cause problems with Amlaine at all, pubicly proclaiming their late beloved duchess a dumb whore."
"It's true, though," Valentio says, and Cygnelius agrees.
"I found a new star," Valentio grins, full of youth and vitality. "It's one of a kind; gorgeous, shy thing. It hides behind Andromeda most of the year. I got naming rights, and damn, but it ain't for lack of protest on the Committee's part. Shit, Cyg, you should have seen their faces when I told them I wanted to name it Auto Eroticon 4."
Valentio snickers in the general direction of the stars, but it is Cygnelius who smiles back, helplessly, reluctantly. He has forever to dwell on the foolishness of befriending this man; he wants this moment so badly to just be about Valentio.
The universe moves majestically around them, unconcerned, eternal, so hopelessly dark on and on but with such brilliant light and strange wonder that Cygnelius remembers a time when he could speculate with Valentio about just how far off it would be when Anharo-bound beings could ascend to the level of the moon and see into forever.
"I wish there was a way you could live. I don't want you to die," Cygnelius says, and holds the old man's hand as asked.
Valentio laughs, and Cygnelius wonders how it is that the first word he thinks to associate with this shriveled shell is "beautiful." Valentio says, "Immortality in this body isn't quite the tempting offer it was fifty years ago, kid. Flirting freely with a twenty-something-year-old gets old pretty quick when you realize she's never gonna slap you or do anything but call you spirited."
"I always knew you'd be one of those old men," Cygnelius says, and can't for the life of him understand why he's smiling. "You're too much of a pervert to let a little thing like impotence dampen your libido."
"Hardly impotence," Valentio says, his tone offended but his eyes amused. "I wouldn't go that far."
"You're getting married to the Duchess of Amlaine. The one who breeds genetically unfortunate saber-toothed housecats," Cygnelius says. It comes out as more of an accusation than he'd hoped, and something in his eyes hardens. He knows he looks offended - he feels it - but he doesn't acknowledge it and neither does Valentio, who is just annoyed. Valentio says, "It isn't like I planned it. Lysandro's married already, and King Fuckface - dad, not Lysandro - meted out a deal with Sylvalent before his death. It's possibly the only reason I was born, devious old fuck. I mean, I know I don't typically care what I stick it in, but just once I'd like for it to have been about love, you know? Just for curiosity's sake."
Cygnelius considers what he'll say next very, very carefully.
In the end, Cygnelius kisses Valentio instead, and forgets the words.
Valentio Melman is a wonder even in old age, poker face just about as readable as a Kabuki mask and a posture that gives away nothing but a lazy, ever-present confidence, but he can't cheat death.
Ibis is in the room today, and Cygnelius freezes upon entering. Ibis nods his great billed head - this one is yours to handle - and leaves as if he was never there. He's still there; technically, he is everywhere at all times.
Today, Cygnelius has a front row seat to the death of the man who is everything. This is the moment he's been dreading.
Valentio is there. He is on his bed, eyes closed in repose. Cygnelius notes the gold shimmery haze around Valentio; he doesn't have long. He's been injected with something that will end it for him. Better to die feeling comparatively little pain and being aware of everything than to lose your faculties and be in great pain, Cyg tells himself, but the lump in his throat only grows.
Cygnelius can hardly believe his eyes. It's pink and green and gold and red and it's absolutely, without a doubt the most ridiculous piece of jewelry he's ever seen in his life. And he is expected to wear it. Jewelry.
"You seriously got us friendship bracelets?" Cygnelius says. "Friendship bracelets. Where have you been hiding the good crack, Valentio? I thought we were friends."
"Thus the bracelets," Valentio says, rolling his eyes like he can't believe Cygnelius is the smart one. "If you want, I can get us matching rings and you can be my princess, but somehow I didn't think you'd appreciate that. Also, lovely though your chest may be, I don't think you've got the bustline Father wants in my wife."
The bustline his Father wants. It's an odd choice of words, and completely ignores the existence of his wife, but Cygnelius doesn't comment, just stares at his bracelet and snaps it on, jumping when it makes a metallic noise. And he recognizes the sound.
"You got me a fucking solid gold friendship bracelet," Cygnelius says slowly, hoping to be refuted. "With fake gemstones."
"Yup!" Valentio says, and hell if he doesn't sound proud. "Isn't free trade great?"
And Cygnelius can't help but agree.
"Hello," Cygnelius says, awkward for the first time in so long but no less talented at it. Valentio tries to lift his head, and gives up. "Glad you could make it. Sit with me, Cyg. Please."
His words are sluggish and flat, but Cygnelius obeys. "I'll be here until the end," Cygnelius says quietly, as his hands gently pass over Valentio's hair and rub at his scalp. "After, too."
"What's it like, where I'm going?" Valentio says. Cygnelius breaks inside, but he's still stony stoicism on the outside. Mostly. Cygnelius says, "You're a hero. You get your pick."
"Like rats and mice," Valentio says. "Wasn't that how the rhyme went? Birds of a feather flock together, and so will pigs and swine. Rats and mice will have their choice and so shall I have mine."
Cygnelius nods absently; Valentio brightens. "I think I'd like to wander the stars," he says. "Get lost in the singing of the universe and time, all the melodies and the splendor and the greatness. Wouldn't even bitch about all the morose assholishness your soul'd be playing for all eternity. I want to be lost in there. Maybe become a song of my own. Always had a thing for largo caprices."
"You're mad," Cygnelius said. "Senile. I hope you find out your 78 virgins are all virgins for a very good, very obvious reason."
"You never heard the universe sing?" Valentio says. "I've always heard it. Some mystics have flowers, or cats, or whatever. Always suspected you could talk to cells."
"Lies. And the first cell that tells you otherwise is clearly one mitochondrion short of a eukaryote."
"The universe is where it's at," Valentio says, and smiles serenely. "I hear so much. I feel so much; they say death is the world's constant companion, but it's not. The universe is here, it's everything and everyone, it's in so many places where death isn't. And it'll be here when there's no more need for death. I want to see a supernova and not worry about dying. Planets with alien life. I want to see the galaxies and all the stars, I want to get lost in all that eternity. I want to see a world get born; it can't possibly be more horrifying than my nephews and niece's births. I want to see so much. I've heard whispers of so much wonder, and I'm stuck here. I know what's like, being blind."
"You've got a friend on the inside," Cygnelius says. "You don't have to worry."
A little time passes; Cygnelius strokes Valentio's thin hair, and Valentio tries so hard to breathe. He asks: "Will it hurt?"
Cygnelius is breaking so hard he wonders if he'll be able to find the parts again, let alone piece everything together. "Close your eyes; it's time. I won't let it hurt you, Valentio."
He wants to say "Please don't go," wants to tell him life won't be life without him even though they seldom meet anymore, but he knows that's unspeakably silly. He's taken so many souls to the other side now. He can't hear the universe, doesn't think that it will always be there, but he knows where everything in it ends up. What he says, because this is the last piece of himself that he has and he knows it will never be lost, no matter how much he wants it gone, is, "I love you."
"I'm leaving," Cygnelius says flatly. Valentio stares at him, not comprehending. Probably being dense on purpose, Cygnelius thinks, and his eyes narrow in irritation at the thought. "Lea-ving. Antonym staying. I'm almost certain you know the word, even if you don't know the meaning of go away."
"Is this about my niece asking you if the reason we made it to science board meetings late together had to do with sex?" Valentio says. "Because I have it on very good authority Capricia put her up to that."
"Valentio," Cygnelius says. "I'm forty years old today. Ibis is taking me now."
Valentio's eyes widen in panic as he reels back a little. "I thought you were immortal? Shit, do you think we can kill Ibis? How would that-"
"Your highness," Cygnelius snaps. "I told you this a thousand times before today. He's taking me on as an agent. I - I'll be starting in on ferrying souls."
There is a long, awkward pause.
"I'm not doing this because I want to," Cygnelius says. "If I could, I'd stay here. Die with you, maybe. Live with you, certainly, although that might entail wanting to die or at least - Valentio, please."
"Do me one thing," Valentio says, and smiles. It's brittle and blinding in its brightness, but it's the wrong sort of brightness, like the sun in winter. "Come back for me."
"Are you actually asking me-"
"Yeah," Valentio says. "I hate birds. Don't think I could keep my dignity if I had to be led anywhere by a giant talking bird with snake scales."
"...I'll come back yearly," Cyg says. "And I'll be there for you. At the end. Always. I promise."
"I love you."
These are the last words Dr. Valentio Melman, Prince of Volacoeur, Duke of Amlaine, hears, and his last thoughts are of how much he wishes he could find the breath to tell Cygnelius the same.
And Cygnelius guides the soul of his best friend into the heavens, wills it to be happy forever, to get all it desires out of the afterlife and then some.
He feels like the only person in the whole of the world, but there are no tears in Cygnelius's eyes. He feels death all around him, but he can feel Valentio in the heavens, and he is happy for Valentio, at least, for whom the universe waits.
He once wondered, many years ago, if he would regret befriending a mortal man. Somewhere in the middle, he was sure he would regret it.
Many years later, he would do it all again.