It was beyond shocking, to hear the truth. To hear he'd died before. It explained a lot, it had to be said, but that didn't make it any better. It explained why the other orphans sleeping rough around the city seemed afraid of him, and why he remembered nothing before waking on the beach, alone, afraid and barely able to do so much as sit up.
It also opened up a lot of questions, a lot of things that needed to be answered.
If Jivanta had been brought back to life by someone, and if Asra knew that someone had sought to revive him, then where had this person been the whole time? The way Asra spoke, it sounded as if he believed the person should have been with him - a man, apparently. But Jivanta had no idea who this could possibly be. The only people around him after he'd woken were either the orphans who screamed when he came near, or the clients waiting for their fortunes to be told. No-one had picked him up, taught him how to live, survive, or even just how to function at a basic level. A couple of the braver kids, who claimed to have known him before, had helped make sure he didn't die again by sharing what little food and clean water they'd had, but he had to teach himself how to do everything. Walk, talk, the little more fiddly things he'd learnt, such as sewing or swimming, and not to mention the magic side of things...he was still getting the hang of reading and writing, it was one of the things quite low on his list of priorities if he was honest, but by god he was going to read that book Portia had recommended to him.
All in all, this meant that someone had brought him back, taken him from the Lazaret before he could regain consciousness, and had then promptly dumped him somewhere to die again, probably knowing fending for himself wouldn't be an option at this stage. So why?
Why bring him back just to abandon him immediately?
Was he not what they had expected?
Was he not what they wanted?
Why was he not good enough for them?
He quickly jumped to the conclusion that he hadn't been wanted in the first place, that he'd just been some sick experiment, to see if it could be done.
With the other street rats avoiding him now, now he no longer depended entirely on a third party's help, he'd always felt very lonely. These past few weeks at the palace, he'd made friends, felt like he had a purpose, and this news? It brought everything from before crashing back down. He didn't have a purpose, he was just someone's test to see if they could overcome death and spit in God's face. He should have been dead. By all rights, he well and truly should have been dead.
He'd not realised he'd started crying until Portia was there, taking him by the shoulders, trying to speak. At first, the words didn't register. He watched her lips move through the haze of panic and distress, and chose to focus on the touch. The firm grip of her hands on his shoulders, the feather light touch when she moved to wipe his tears away. Solid, real, something he could focus on. He felt himself calm down, if only a little.
"Vanta? You hear me?"
A slight nod.
"Hey, okay, take a deep breath. There we go. And another one, yeah? There. That's better. Now listen to me, okay? Just listen close. You're alive. You're here."
He nodded again, breath starting to even out. This was not the right time to focus on this, to panic over this. There was a lot more going on, far more important things. Now was not the time to deal with this.
"Sorry...I just...I don't understand why." Her hands came off his shoulders, her fingers interlacing with his. "It threw me for a loop, I guess...I...can deal with this later. I need time to not be...quite so overwhelmed by it all."
"That's fine. Take your time." She flashed him a smile, bright and brilliant. "I for one think you're awesome."
"You...what? Awesome?"
"Yeah! You're a zombie magician! That is so cool!"
Jivanta let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. It was a surprise, and actually funny, but he was still on the edge of his little identity crisis breakdown. "Maybe that's why nobody wants me around. They're too afraid I'll eat their brains." He joked back, doing his best to keep the waver out of his voice. Portia's expression softened, and she gave his hand a squeeze.
"I want you, you know. I love having you around. Everyone at the palace does. There's a place you belong, there are people here for you, and you're the best person I know."
"...Thank you. I think I needed to hear that."
-
Julian and Twila
When ending up with someone half his height, Julian thought if anyone would be lifting their partner up to reach things on higher shelves, or spinning them excitedly with their feet clear of the floor, it would be him. Heck, in the early days of knowing each other, that's exactly how it was. Well, he would pick her up and twirl her around, at least. Often in the heat of the moment, out of joy or excitement, and the look on her face would either be surprise or amusement. Since getting to know her a little better, however, Julian had learnt that Twila was far stronger than she appeared. Just as he would spin her in the air, she quickly picked up the courage to do the same, lifting him as though he weighed no more than a leech. When they danced together, she would always find the perfect opportunity to dip him low and hold him there long enough to place a tender kiss on his lips. Now and then, when she couldn't reach something on an upper shelf, she would call him over to help, and though he would be able to reach it without any help, he would allow her to lift him. Their shared habit of sweeping one another off their feet was a fond ritual between the two of them, and they wouldn't have it any other way.
