After the Fight [Private RP, Upstairs Bedroom]

[Anton]

Anton flinched at the touch, unused to blurring the two categories: comfort and violence - except under, well, specific circumstances. And not circumstances he was used to sharing. His body and instincts were still labouring under the attack, and Raife touching him gently now brought to mind all those dreams that you wake from arguing with someone, and you suddenly hate them in the waking world. The hand at his shoulder bubbled to mind, bizarely, an image of an exposed organ - perhaps a shiny spleen, and someone stroking it tenderly. Anton's stomach lurched.

He rolled his shoulder roughly to dislodge it, but knowing how Raife took that Anton - at the same time - forced his profile to turn toward the aristocrat, as if to lean into him or seek touch here, but turning was difficult. He hoped that would suffice Raife's ego. The other boy never took rejection well, of any kind. But they both know Anton hated being comforted. Especially when he was down.

He grunts, low, and tries to regather his focus enough to speak. He realises his chest isn't rising properly, has been incresingly hard to speak over the last few minutes.

"Don't - he's - don't attack him."

"Jaques. Neonate. Frenchman. Human. Was made human."

Anton wheezes slightly, and tries to force upright - falls heavily back into Raife, with both shame and relief for not hitting the bed, or the wall.

"Re-embraced. Big fuckup politically."

[Raife Black]

Anton's shrug-off did sting - a nasty pang in the center of his chest - but the pain of rejection was brief and soon replaced with rising concern as his companion made a poor attempt to speak. Before Raife could interrupt or shush him, Anton tried and failed to sit up. Raife made a quiet, involuntary sound in his throat and tried to steady Anton, catching him as subtly as he could. His shifted against the foot of the bed and tried to let Anton lean against him - anything that let Anton maintain a semblance of control.

Raife's expression showed only a faint, fixed frown as he watched Anton's ragged breathing but behind the facade, he felt a sick panic rising. He could not explain it but the sight of such grievous damage - even to another's body - all but compelled Raife to search his own form for equal damage. He was terribly preoccupied by the bruise growing on his face - something he had never experienced in life. Injury and sickness had never bothered him before but now the sight of Anton beaten and struggling to speak nearly drove him to distraction. He swallowed the sickness down - both mentally and physically - and dragged his gaze from Anton to look at Keane.

"Perhaps you could explain, sire? Jean-Jaques... I remember him being a jumped up little prick but I wouldn't have thought he was capable of this. Is he struggling with his Beast since being - what -re-embraced, as Anton says. Fucking Brujah goons. And what is this ridiculousness of him being turned human again in the first place? Is that common? Fuck -"

He cut himself off with another growl, another irritable shake of his head. He licked his teeth again and returned to looking to his sire.

"I should apologise. I thought you had attacked him," A long pause and swallowed - hard.

"Sorry."

[Posh-Tim]

"I wouldn't harm Anton" Keane says in a clipped tone.
He wouldn't really harm anyone, Raife's now swelling eye was a first for him.
Given Raife had begun to deflate Keane returned to his chair. Keeping an eye on the Aristocrat as he sensed the the dangerous ripple running through him.
"Yes. There were some... unusual effects as a result of the ritual involving the Cup. The Choire De Dagda. It was a powerful artifact. Seemingly capable of returning a Kindred to their Mortality." He shakes his head at the thought of it. It asked some very big questions now he stopped to think about it, some of which he would prefer not to dwell on.
"Either way. As Anton tried to say, he was re-embraced by... someone. Currently he considered to be Primogen Granvilles Childe but it is all gone a bit strange politically."
He gives a concerned look to Anton, still struggling to talk due to the damage he had recieved.
He shook his head. Was this how it was to be? Being a Primogen? It had been about 24 hours since he had recieved the title and already it was weighing heavily. Though the responsibility was one he would take happily if he could try and prevent future incidents like this.
"This causes a great deal of problems. Jean-Jacques is, [i ]was[/i] the childe of someone very important. I think."
He thinks for a moment. Shaking his head.
"I'm going to have to have to speak with Lady Grace about it." He looks over the Anton and Raife looking up at him in their varying states of distress.
"For now I would recommend you both steer well clear of them both. Not that I think either of you want to exactly spend time with the Brujah." He concedes.

[Anton]

Anton took the intermission to heal the worst of the damage, his flesh knitting together only haltingly; he had never been able to focus under pain. But things were starting to clear.

Which is why, when he got his breath back, he blurted, "Oh you'll apologise easily to him?"

He couldn't turn to Raife properly but certainly made effort to try, looking gob-smacked. "Really?" The green eyes narrow angrily. "Was it the cane?"

"And obviously we'll steer clear of the Brujah," Anton seethes, throwing this now to Keane, his aura aflush with surprise and jealousy. "But now that one of them isn't exactly a Brujah anymore, we're going to be seeing a lot more of him." The neonate looked moodily away at the wall, and focussed on his ribs.

[Raife Black]

Raife was about to open his mouth to lie and say that it would be no effort at all to stay quite clear of Jean-Jaques but before he could speak, Anton cut across him.

"Well I did hit him, Anton. I think I am supposed to apologise for hitting my sire-cum-Primogen," Raife retorted, clearly stinging from a comment he found to hit quite close to the bone.

"Wasn't the fucking cane - wait, what is he if he isn't a Brujah. Well then, fuck his important sire! They're not his sire anymore, eh?"

Raife's spoke to the room but his gaze still flitted periodically to Anton out of the corner of his eye, clearly concerned even though his companion seemed to be making a rapid recovery.

"Christ, tell me he is now the childe of some nobody Gangrel or other - I'll rip the bastard in two."

[Posh-Tim]

Keane sighs, its pretty obvious he will have to explain it to Raife soon enough. Why is there never a good opportunity for these kinds of things? He wasn't actually all that sure Anton even knew the whole of it. Wasn't sure he did for that matter.
"Well, when Jean-Jacques became temporarily human, he fled the occasion. But he got stopped and returned to the Manor by, um, Vortigern."
He doesn't explain any more, expecting they can both fill in the gaps.
"So now he could be seen as the Childe of one of three different kindred. It's more than a little complicated. I was hoping not to get all mixed up in it but I don't imagine that is going to be possible now. He doesn't respond directly to Anton, given that his ire seems mostly focussed upon Raife.

[Anton]

Anton swallows his own words before they're out, electing to row about it in private with Raife later. In his opinion, hitting someone was a darn sight less severe than what Raife had done to Anton. But equally, he didn't want Keane a part of that domestic.

"You can't just rip a Gangrel in two -" Anton said dramatically, and made to roll his eyes, but no one could see him, and no one was listening.

"I don't care who embraced him again. He's not a Malkavian, will never be a Malkavian. And should get lost."

Clearly, his offer of help having been snubbed, Anton was back to the previous.

"Can we stop talking about him now?"

[Raife Black]

Vortigern.

Raife's eyes widened, his upper lip curling back a fraction as he leaned forward - all the muscles in his core tightening to move him against his will. Something white hot and ugly was rising deep in his chest - an awful combination of rage, jealously and fear.

As he fought his Beast, Anton's voice sounded just behind him - oddly quiet and resigned for fiery spirit that Raife knew. Something in his tone helped to ally Raife's Beast, replacing the rage with concern and more than a small dose of shame.

"Quite right, quite right," Raife muttered, leaning back again - this time a little closer to Anton, "He is of no import - it just rankles me that such a nonentity laid a finger on you."

Raife uttered this aside but seemed to have forgotten all embarrassment, his aura taking on an exhausted, exasperated nature as it expanded from him in frustrated release.

[Anton]

The candlelight lay heavy on Anton's lashes as he peered through them, slyly over at Raife, his profile turned as much as his body would permit, trying not to give his surprise away. For all his poor defence of Jean Jaques earlier, Anton's mood was partial; it said that insults to the man now would now be conciliatory for the attack earlier. And the idea of Jean Jaques being a 'nonentity' was a good one. Anton liked being an entity, to someone.

He settled a fraction closer into the aristocrat's space, as Raife leaned marginally into him. Anton decided not to press his luck on the Vortigern topic; he knew that he'd only get angry if Raife expressed that he was a fan of their line's progenitor. Anton, meanwhile, did not like Vortigern. Could not like Vortigern. Would not like Vortigern.

"I'll heal if I can get a bit of rest," Anton repeated, sounding suddenly very tired. "Can't we just use all this as an excuse to go to bed? I know I got out of it - that was a mistake, and I regret it now."

[Posh-Tim]

Keane nods, feeling a little abashed at the closeness of the two of them, acutely aware of his own loneliness once again. He looks around at what he had been thinking was to be his room for the night.
"I agree, it has been quite lively enough for me already, I don't really feel like returning downstairs just yet. Were you both going to stay in here? Or..." He trails off, he doesn't have the heart to throw them out given the state that Anton is in right now. His own sense of privacy was beggining to rankle though. Too much time spent in the presence of other court members. He was already wishing he could have just found a Cave to spend his night in, enjoy the storm from a closer vantage point.
"The storm looks heavy, we shall have the chance to speak tomorrow. Perhaps that would be better, or at the House." again, he trails away, feeling the unpleasant closeness of his wet robes.