[His own reply takes a moment. Steering into the start of being unacceptable, steering them towards the end of conversation. It is easier to move on and pretend particular answers never happened.]
[The armour is delivered the next hour. It occupies the entirety of the lounge, lying across the couch and coffee table. Jasper polishes it piece by piece. Each is carefully set aside before he starts work on the next. It takes him the better part of a few hours before he hears footsteps in the hall.
Hendrik is standing behind somewhere, looking down with some emotion he cannot name.]
[Seeing that silver armor is a reminder of things that once were and never would be quite the same again.
It is, perhaps, inconceivably superficial of him to think of Jasper's dulled hair and ashen skin, in comparison to the striking contrast he made with golden hair and silver mail. But that is where his mind wanders, thinking of humanity lost rather than what was retained and regained in this time-frozen world.]
[Jasper turns the pauldron over. Fingers delve into nooks and crannies, polishing the inside of the metal with a small cloth. The air smells of a solution of solvent and oil. It excuses the open window that brings in cold air. He looks at it for an instant. It takes time for him to build up to what he wants to admit.]
[He shakes his head, drawing a little closer and glancing out the open window.]
You already wanted it. I just said it was yours.
[Perhaps that had a lot of meaning to Jasper, but he was just telling the truth. Whether or not Jasper should be wearing that armor ever again was another question entirely.]
[The comment goes inside one ear and lodges in his thoughts. Memories of being passed over, knowledge he was judged a failure. He shakes his head and frowns at his armour, adjusting his position on the edge of the couch, bringing one leg over the other. His pauldron rests on a rag unfurled over his lap.]
I am a failure to my kingdom and myself. I do not deserve it.
[Yet he sits cleaning it. Perhaps he finds comfort in the motion.]
[Jasper hardly looks up from his labour. His brow furrows and he polishes firmly in circle. He hardly feels anger but not having the wisdom to understand himself is frustrating; a barrier of sorts.]
I do not throw possessions aside because I find them difficult, Hendrik.
[Hendrik has nothing to say to that; his mind gravitates to how Jasper callously threw kingdom and people away, but he refuses to give the thoughts voice.
He pushes away from the window to head over to the hallway, to check the space under the stairs. The storage space sees little use, but still comes equipped with a small light to illuminate it. Today he finds his familiar napping inside, tail shielding his eyes.]
[The work is finished within a handful of minutes. He tosses the cleaning rag across the coffee table and rests his pauldron on the cloth; noting the silence when pushing himself off the couch. Fingers screw the lid on the solution and he cleans them with a damp cloth before crossing the room to close the window. Questions of Hendrik's mood and opinion lead him to seek his old friend.
One moment later he comes up behind him carrying his chain mail. He stoops to look inside the closet and closes his eyes whilst stepping back.]
[Hendrik doesn't outright refuse Jasper's request, instead crouching next to the sleeping platypunk and patting its crest. Then he gathers it up in his arms and steps out, watching the monster warble-snort and go back to sleep.]
There should not be anything in there keeping you from storing your armor. I will put Quis down and return.
Delighted to hear it. Put him on my bed if you cannot find another.
[Nothing lies in his way. He descends to one knee and positions his chainmail: up the far end of the closet against the wall. His journey to the lounge sees him return with his boots and those go beside them in the corner. Sabatons and graves, faulds and gauntlets. Each piece is collected and settled in a new home.
Each collection takes time. By the end he is standing by the door and looking upstairs. A hopeful glimpse of his old friend would be nice - and soon his voice can be heard from downstairs.]
[The platypunk stirs sleepily as Hendrik climbs the stairs, but there are no complaints as he goes into his room and sets his familiar on the bed. It's not the usual place he tends to sleep, preferring smaller spaces like closets or boxes or curled into the armchair in the living room, but it works.
...He really should have asked if his familiar wanted an actual bed. Something to work on in the future.
Remembering what he had said about having something to put away, Hendrik goes to his wardrobe to pull out the Shield of Heliodor. Its considerable size always made it difficult to put more things in his wardrobe, but he did not want to have it somewhere more ... in view.
He heads back to the stairs upon hearing Jasper's call, descending with the shield carried across one arm.]
[Eyes sight the armour slung over Hendrik's arm. They widen in recognition before narrowing immediately. Niggling doubts swirl like fog; delusions about being overlooked and judged unworthy. He has lost his right to be recognised as a hero so why does it bother him to the point of pain?
He refuses to move and forces his emotions to reduce to a state of neutrality - voice included.]
Do you not want to tell me why that is in your possession?
[Even though he expected the question, Hendrik still pauses as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. He shifts the shield to look at its front with a frown.]
I do not know. It was among my possessions when I arrived here, and I was not about to leave it for someone else to pick up.
[With a shake of his head, he walks closer to the storage space.]
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[He knows what His Majesty would advise on this matter, estranged as they are by his decisions.]
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We are living on the edge of the world. Perhaps it is possible.
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Perhaps.
[He doesn't know how he feels about that prospect.]
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Do I buy it, then?
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Regardless of what has happened, it is yours, Jasper.
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Regardless, we are sure to have room under the stairs, I suppose.
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[But he doesn't have anything to say to having to buy things.]
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You will see when you return with your armor.
Next Morning
Hendrik is standing behind somewhere, looking down with some emotion he cannot name.]
Yes?
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It is, perhaps, inconceivably superficial of him to think of Jasper's dulled hair and ashen skin, in comparison to the striking contrast he made with golden hair and silver mail. But that is where his mind wanders, thinking of humanity lost rather than what was retained and regained in this time-frozen world.]
They had all of it?
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[Jasper turns the pauldron over. Fingers delve into nooks and crannies, polishing the inside of the metal with a small cloth. The air smells of a solution of solvent and oil. It excuses the open window that brings in cold air. He looks at it for an instant. It takes time for him to build up to what he wants to admit.]
Thank you. For telling me to bring it home.
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[He shakes his head, drawing a little closer and glancing out the open window.]
You already wanted it. I just said it was yours.
[Perhaps that had a lot of meaning to Jasper, but he was just telling the truth. Whether or not Jasper should be wearing that armor ever again was another question entirely.]
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I am a failure to my kingdom and myself. I do not deserve it.
[Yet he sits cleaning it. Perhaps he finds comfort in the motion.]
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[Hendrik's voice remains neutral as he goes to the window to assess the weather. He sighs to himself and speaks again.]
If it truly bothered you, you would not be tending to it now.
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I do not throw possessions aside because I find them difficult, Hendrik.
[Only people.]
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He pushes away from the window to head over to the hallway, to check the space under the stairs. The storage space sees little use, but still comes equipped with a small light to illuminate it. Today he finds his familiar napping inside, tail shielding his eyes.]
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One moment later he comes up behind him carrying his chain mail. He stoops to look inside the closet and closes his eyes whilst stepping back.]
Would you tell it to move?
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[Hendrik doesn't outright refuse Jasper's request, instead crouching next to the sleeping platypunk and patting its crest. Then he gathers it up in his arms and steps out, watching the monster warble-snort and go back to sleep.]
There should not be anything in there keeping you from storing your armor. I will put Quis down and return.
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[Nothing lies in his way. He descends to one knee and positions his chainmail: up the far end of the closet against the wall. His journey to the lounge sees him return with his boots and those go beside them in the corner. Sabatons and graves, faulds and gauntlets. Each piece is collected and settled in a new home.
Each collection takes time. By the end he is standing by the door and looking upstairs. A hopeful glimpse of his old friend would be nice - and soon his voice can be heard from downstairs.]
Any time today, Hendrik?
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...He really should have asked if his familiar wanted an actual bed. Something to work on in the future.
Remembering what he had said about having something to put away, Hendrik goes to his wardrobe to pull out the Shield of Heliodor. Its considerable size always made it difficult to put more things in his wardrobe, but he did not want to have it somewhere more ... in view.
He heads back to the stairs upon hearing Jasper's call, descending with the shield carried across one arm.]
I lost track of time, I suppose.
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He refuses to move and forces his emotions to reduce to a state of neutrality - voice included.]
Do you not want to tell me why that is in your possession?
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I do not know. It was among my possessions when I arrived here, and I was not about to leave it for someone else to pick up.
[With a shake of his head, he walks closer to the storage space.]
It has remained in my wardrobe the entire time.
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