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[ He lifts his head, watches to check whether Saber will walk away or break the thing on the spot, cigarette idly burning away between his fingers.

The next time Saber blinks, Zephir will be between him and the door, watching serenely. Silent, almost unmoving, making it seem like he moved at an inhuman speed, until his voice is heard from the very same spot he was before — turns out Zepir is still there, too, smoking.

The only thing better (worse) than one Zephir is two of them? ]

You can do that here, [ The original repeats. ]

[not this shit again. again, like he's experienced it before when he hasn't. saber knows enough about messing around with life that he doesn't want to do it again. not when there are two of them. stopping abruptly when the other zephir makes his appearance, he turns halfway to look at the original.]

Take your garbage out.

[ The Zephir by the window simply takes another drag, eyes on his copy. The copy steps closer to grab Saber's face, turn it to face the plant he's so determined to confiscate; again, it isn't the one who speaks, tone audibly different by the word. The voice is coming from the one by the window. ]

Eat your rot, Saber. Or I will feed it to you myself.

[he feels - hatred. disgust, as the copy makes to touch him. he doesn't know where to put any of those feelings, coiled so tight in his stomach. hating himself for falling for zephir's tricks, hating zephir for being the trick.]

No, you won't.

[saber ducks out of the clone's reach, twisting around to kick right at his kneecap. he doesn't know what that will do aside from send a message that he's not going to be compliant. he doesn't want to eat it now, naturally, so he drops the pot onto the floor. ceramic crashes apart, pieces gliding in all directions.]

Have fun with that.

[ Everything that should happen happens, and the next time the copy falls out of Saber's view, it and its damaged leg will be gone, leaving Saber alone with a god and an act of rebellion shattered on the floor.

Paced in his movements, deliberate in how he watches the other man, Zephir puts the cigarette out in his own palm, the noise and smell of burnt flesh floating between them. Away from the window, crunching ceramic under his shoes every other step, he comes closer to the rotten, splattered plant, kneeling down to pick up a fragile piece before he's towering over Saber again. Already healed from the burn, he uses the resulting black substance generated in his mouth to spit it onto the plant. The dark sludge is quickly absorbed; in the seconds that follow, what once looked like a replica of decayed flesh reverts back into something more fitting to be in a pot. This is how Zephir has been healing what refuses to stay alive. ]

It feeds on death. All the others prefer life, but not this one.

[ And he hands that little piece over to Saber, if he'll take it. The rest is staying here, the threat he issued minutes ago seemingly a thing of the past. ]

You can visit us any time.

[zephir casts a heavy shadow over him and instincts tell him to step back, but saber's anger wins and keep him in place. annoyance twists up his expression as he watches the plant get brought back to some semblance of life.]

'Cause I feed on death. What's so surprising about that? Damn thing came from me, after all.

[staring down at the piece zephir holds out to him, then up to meet his eyes as he snatches it from his grasp like he'd been holding it from him in the first place. for saber, he reminded him of it after being forgotten about. like he knew he was moving on from their little 'tussle'.]

Fuck you.

[a broken record at this point and he doesn't care. at least he got part of it back, right? he'll be going now.]

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cw: ?? zephir ig

cw violence?? homophobia? saber

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