take this thing back to baltimore

Ira felt a small measure of surprise when Lecter admitted that he would not challenge Ira if Jinx decided to claim him as her heir — though she had never publicly considered Ira such he already considered himself her son even if Jinx, herself, didn’t — but nodded his understanding to the Shaman, for once, not sure what to say because there was not smart mouthed comeback to leer to Lecter. That was something that was happening too much lately and Ira wondered if he was losing his sharp edge; it was something he hoped he wasn’t losing as it had been his defense for so long. Was, more or less, his only defense. Without it Ira was just another little boy and frankly, the insolent creature hated the vulnerable little boy inside him, cocooned in pain and sorrow, caged in by fire, ice, and razor like wit that Ira had came to nurture and favor. Ira had no intentions of protesting if Jinx called to Lecter to lead with her. He was too young, first of all, and secondly, there was much for him to learn yet. Ira was not so arrogant and deluded as to not accept that.

Nothing, the Shaman had purred to Ira’s question. Nothing. The insolent Princeling was relieved to know that Lecter’s apparent left over feelings when the enmity was stripped away like a contract between two devils burned to ashes carried onto the wind mirrored Ira’s own. Nothing was a hollow thing, a strange concept to grasp but it was what Ira himself felt. Nothing. The more he thought the word, the less sense it began to make until the word almost didn’t exist at all, before he focused back on what Lecter was saying to him. “Good, we’re on the same page then,” Ira piped up with a cheeky little grin before he turned serious once more, figuring it was better, perhaps, to not invoke Lecter’s ire so soon after they had reached their mutual nothingness. Ira’s ears lowered to rest at half mast atop his skull, tail twitching at Lecter’s warning, proving that for all his smarted quips Ira was taking Lecter seriously.

Brow furrowed as nostrils flared as Ira contemplated Lecter’s following offer. An offer. To teach Ira what the Shaman knew? “Wait what?” There was nothing quite like the humiliation of metaphorically having your legs knocked out from under you landing on your behind blinking up in winded confusion. Was Lecter serious? There was nothing in the Shaman’s voice or expression that spoke of jesting — as it was Ira did not think Lecter was capable of joking. “You would have me apprentice under you?” Ira inquired softly, tone contemplative. “Would it help Jinx …and Silvertip when you die?” It was a weird word to say, and Ira had hesitated over it slightly as if it had been a hard thing for him to say. Not because he cared for Lecter and the thought of him moving on to another life was an upsetting thing for Ira but mostly because he had been thinking, briefly of Jinx and how he felt sure that the death of the Shaman would hurt her. As much as Ira hoped he could shield, protect Jinx from any kind of heart break and pain he knew that it was unavoidable and that he was no one’s savior.