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[He looks up, and there's the slightest flash of anger amidst his sorrow and guilt. He shoves it down, considers it unworthy.]

What would you have me say? That I envisioned doing the opposite? Ignoring your safeword? I am a man of the law, sir, and do not hold to committing transgressions to punish transgressions.

[There the thread of red to tug on and keep.]

I will have no signale in this messire. You will break no laws acting as Kushiel would against a sinner that come to him.

[He gets up.] Think. If you need inspiration so desperately - I'll tell you that I carved that of House Shahrizai's key into my cousin's chest for his penance. And with that we were even.

I will be back. [And goes to the counter to finally get some drink. Leaving Edgeworth to percolate tends to do result in something.]

[As soon as Mavros' back is turned, Edgeworth's expression crumples for just a moment into something resembling cold grief. He's a criminal, or as good as one - not one year before, he'd found that the crime that he'd thought he'd borne upon his shoulders was nothing. But he was no longer freed of that weight...

But never had he been blameless. Never had he been free of stain. Because even if the dark mark of that first crime had been washed away, the fact remained that he'd tarnished himself hundreds of times over since then. Men and women, deprived of freedom, some doubtless innocent. And he, coward, had run away from that crime. He'd been unable to face them.

Always a coward. Running away from Mavros, too - not staying to help him. As though running away could eradicate his sin. As though it could undo the damage that had been done. The least he can do is this. For the Demon Prosecutor always did act the evil man in order to atone, did he not?

When Mavros comes back, he has but five words for him.]

You will have a signale.

[The cafe does serve Mavros' newest addiction but he cannot dredge up the want for something that will leave him so intensely alert. Instead he flashes a smile lovely enough but far from his eyes to the girl behind the counter and earns the tea that she deems the best in the shop for his meager efforts.

...he has no idea what he's doing and only now does he realize he's been playing up some fantasy of how this would go. He would offer himself; Edgeworth would clearly see he deserved to be punished and then do so with minimal pause and little hesitation. It would purge the sickness in him which had rooted instead the hulking lust. It would make things even. He would no longer be so agonized over what he did because Edgeworth would have his own satisfaction that he took what he needed out on him to erase the horror of it all.

That's what he wanted.

Juggling Edgeworth's guilt, coercing him into what he needed to do wasn't in the plan. Mavros has to wonder in he's violating him again, pressing as he is even if he can see the cracks whispering everything against the words that come from Edgeworth's lips.

The man's decree stops him with his hand on the back of the chair. Mavros opens his mouth with his brow furrowing in protest and then closes it.

He seats himself and sets the cup down.]

As you wish.

[The hesitation twists him a bit tenser, but the agreement undoes some of that. He nods once and tries to hide his relief. Because even if he hated Mavros, he couldn't do this if he felt he was harming him. He couldn't do it if he felt he was coercing him. Even if he does now bear the stain of having in essence raped the man, however unknowingly, he cannot compound that crime, even if that sort of abuse is what Mavros craves.

Which is foolish. It was always so foolish. The Demon Prosecutor was supposed to be cruel and heartless, wasn't he? It was just that he was able to be cruel when others were administering the true cruelty. If he has someone under his hand, he can't draw true suffering from them. He never could. Too squeamish.

Still. He'll do what he can.]

And you will not merely have it: you will use it. You wish me to determine how it shall go. How it shall go is this: if you want it to stop, you will say as much. If I see you allowing yourself to be pushed beyond your limits, then I'll stop at once and send you away without any possibility for further atonement. Understood?

[His jaw tenses but he nods -- somewhat glad there's that automatic resistance of someone ordering him about. That's still there, he's not the creature they poisoned him to be and giving himself over to Edgeworth is a completely different situation than being submissive which is not his nature.

Edgeworth is smart to knot off those loopholes.]

Yes, it's understood.

[And?]

[He nods once.]

I will want a block of twelve hours for this. I'll want you to come fully rested, fed and hydrated, not under the influence of anything. Tell me, then, when will be the earliest opportunity for that.

Two days from now. I have no work and I shall clear the rest of my calling rounds.

[Fully rested...

He'll see what he can manage.]

[Another short nod. Finally:]

In two days, then. We'll meet at my apartment. When you come, I want you to come with a written list of acts that you do not wish to do or are reluctant to do. The first few minutes will be spent reviewing this list and having a frank discussion about your expectations and desires. Understood?

[That's not-

...Gods.]

Yes.

And at what time should I deliver myself?

Fairly late in the morning. Nine o'clock.

['Late' he says, when Mavros is pressed to rise before 11.]

Very well, messire.

Have you anything else you wish to add?

Edited 2013-04-17 05:00 (UTC)

["That you'll be prohibited from mocking me for my weak efforts" is something he doesn't precisely want to lead with. But the thought of him playing dominant for one such as Mavros...The notion is quite nearly absurd. He was honestly rather uncertain whether he was even equal to serving in a submissive role, and that was merely following orders. This -

Well. No matter. It shall be what it shall be.]

Nothing. Do you have any questions?

[That it shall.

Whatever Edgeworth deems fit to give, he'll take. And he will have no allowance to mock.]

I cannot think up more at the moment, so no.

[A single, short nod. Then he meets Mavros' eyes, and asks him:]

What is your signale?

[Mavros doesn't look away, though he does sit back in his chair and rub his knuckle along the bottom side of his mouth. His signale? Definitely not sunshine...

...it takes a few moments for him to come up with something and what he decides on prompts wry amusement.]

Amarante.

[Edgeworth's eyes narrow very slightly. He asks, in response to that edge of amusement:]

Am I missing a joke?

[Easy, messire.]

Something of one. 'Amarante': the name of the woman who serves as Princess Sidonie's closest attendant. Maddening with her beauty...and yet daughter to The Head of Naamah's Order.

[Which is more of the key for him than the fact he wishes to court her shamelessly.]</small.

[He relaxes very slightly and allows this explanation with a slight upward incline of his chin.]

I see. Very well. Then that will serve.

Remember it well, and practice it if you must. I expect that it is not the sort of thing you are accustomed to uttering. But like I said: I will tolerate any number of things; I will engage in any act your fancy impels you to wish. But I will not see you suffering by my hand.

[Being lectured like this would have him rolling his eyes in any other situation. He still wishes to, but this is serious and for his penance is going to treat Edgeworth with the utmost respect. What misfortune is that he can't toss a quip in reply. Not accustomed just yet, messire, but if I ever find way home be sure to know I'll be fixing that.

Instead he takes a drink.] If those are your rules, then I will honor them.

[A nod, and he drinks the last of his tea and stands.]

Then be prompt.

[And he turns and goes.]

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