By neko

For Caleb, my precious muse, and many thanks to Carolyn.

Scene one: Thesis

Soliloquy lowers himself into the hot bath water with a sigh of relief and lets the day's worries soak out of him. He lives for these solitary midnight baths when everyone else is asleep and he has no part to play. At these times, he doesn't have to be co-owner of the theatre, not Monologue's brother, not even himself; he can simply be.

The sounds of the door opening and bare feet on the tiles surprise him out of his thoughts and he looks up to see who has disturbed him, hands moving automatically to cross over his belly.

"Malevolence," he says in greeting. "What brings you here so late? Can't you sleep?"

"I imagine it's the same reason that you have. The quiet of night is so comforting, don't you think?"

Soliloquy nods. For a while there is no talk, just two men sitting together, before Malevolence speaks, startling Soliloquy once again.

"There is one thing I wanted to see you about, though. I suppose it's fortunate that I found you here. Restraint and I are writing a new piece, and I'd like you to play the lead."

"What sort of script is it?" Malevolence takes his work very seriously, but Soliloquy has learned by now to take nothing for granted.

"It's not finished yet, but it's about Orpheus in the underworld. We're trying to find something new in it."

"But wouldn't that be better suited to Cantata? I'm no singer."

"I'll admit that he could better play the musician, but Orpheus needs to inspire the sympathy of even the dead. He needs to understand their darkness in order to communicate with it. Cantata can't do that. None of those happy people can. But you," and his eyes skip down to Soliloquy's crossed scars, "you're not like them, are you? Even living in the light, you know darkness. You're a brilliant star to those of us in it." He lifts his left hand to caress the other man's cheek. "I believe I would redeem my soul for you, my little light."

Soliloquy flinches slightly. "Please don't call me that." He closes his eyes, not liking what he sees in Malevolence's stare, only to open them again at the touch of a hand on his stomach, tracing the lines there.

"How did you get these? Surely your brother didn't give them to you?" Malevolence's tone is conversational, as though they are still discussing the new script instead of this proscribed topic. "Did it hurt, my little light? What were you thinking when they cut you? Did you realize at the time what a gift that pain could be?"

For a moment Soliloquy is shocked into silence, trembling with rage and no small amount of fear at this man's observation and audacity. "Need I remind you of the first rule of this theatre, Malevolence? Rule number one--"

"Of course," Malevolence interrupts smoothly and mockingly. "Forgive me. I withdraw the question." The hand on Soliloquy's cheek curves around to tangle at his neck, the one on his stomach moves to his hip, and suddenly the discomfiting touch becomes a confining embrace.

That silken voice continues, "Still, it does seem a pity for one man to have something so lovely, something marked, yet not by himself." The grip in his hair tightens and pulls his head to the side. He flinches again as Malevolence's lips whisper over his exposed neck, followed swiftly by the brief brush of teeth. "Someone might find the temptation to mark his own claim difficult to resist."

When Malevolence pulls back he is smiling with dark amusement as though at some shared secret.

Meeting his eyes, Soliloquy removes Malevolence's hands from his hair and hip. "You're wrong, Malevolence," he says, rising from the bath. "These scars do mark my brother's claim on me, and mine on him. He may not have given them to me, but it was for him that I received them." He dries himself with his towel, then wraps it around his waist.

"And I ought to warn you: he does not like to share."

Malevolence waits for Soliloquy's footsteps to fade before replying. "No, little light, I imagine he doesn't. But neither do I."