Luke Arrives Home

Jace had been waiting for sleep, sleep that didn't come no matter how much he'd welcome it... Until dreary thoughts would invade his dreams and turn them into nightmares, but that was a risk he was willing to take. Even he needed his sleep, perhaps not as much or as regular as other Shadowhunters, Downworlders and mundanes, but it simply wasn't something he could skip forever. And with Clary out with her mother -her family- today, he'd been left mostly alone. He hadn't actively been avoiding everyone, but the fury with which he had been practicing in the Training Room had given a clear enough message. He was working through some issues, or attempting to, anyway, until he had lost appetite for an enemy who didn't fight back.

He was itching to get back out there, throw his weight into the fight. True, he was just seventeen years old, not even old enough to join the Gard, but he had proven his worth. In an almost sullen mood, he'd withdrawn to his room, reclining on his bed as he once again was irritated he wasn't allowed by the Clave to join the fight. They had their reasons, sure, but he was ready, he could contribute. He was their only shot, even if he said so himself. The Heavenly Fire was a nice bonus in that regard, but even without, they had no Shadowhunters that could fight like him. It wasn't experience or a lack thereof, had more to do with what his... Valentine had done to him, while still in his mother's womb, that had resulted in his physical prowess, but that didn't change the facts. Sebastian was faster and stronger than he was, which was something he... Was none too happy with. Really, being on top of the food chain quite suited him. Since Alec had convinced him that he could do extraordinary things too, like Clary with her new runes, he'd slowly been finding the edge of his skills, of his abilities.

He had nearly dropped off into a slumber when a ruckus downstairs woke him again. Well, Church streaking through the halls, more accurately. Waiting a moment to hear whether it was a threat or not, he allowed himself to drop off again, only to hear his door open not that much later. Consciously staying relaxed in his bed, the hand not in sight slowly crept up towards the nightstand, fingering the dagger he had abandoned there after training, when he remembered why it sounded vaguely familiar. Hearing no weapons being drawn, he decided to take a gamble, not prepared for a cool hand touching his forehead in an almost worried gesture - the hand being drawn back rapidly was something he had expected. Rolling over and up until he was seated half in a crouch, he locked eyes with...

"Luke?"

He let go of the dagger now in his hand, realizing that okay, perhaps this was a bit too much as a greeting. "As if increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on, and yet within a month – Let me not think on it;" he shot back, grinning a little as he quoted back. Not exactly starting where Luke had ended, but close enough. "What? You saying I wasn't perfect before?," he quipped, making sure that he didn't accidentally brush against Luke as he rose to his feet too, watching an old-time friend. "Didn't expect to see you here and now," he said, but it was a question - why? And perhaps even how?

Jace was seriously tempted to get Luke otu of the room when the younger boy started to ramble. Oh yeah, he'd forgotten how talkative the kid was. "I don't do almost stabbing people, thought you knew that," he quipped, though it was the truth. He did or he did not stab, hit, kill or whatever verb you wanted to place there. The middle ground was not something Jace often took advantage of. Still, no need to impress that fact on Luke. "And if I remember right, you were the one hanging over a toilet bowl half the night," he shot back, smiling too. Shadowhunters finally allowed women to join their ranks, but it came at a price. The road there wasn't easy, as he had seen with Isabelle's training, and knowing femine tasks didn't help, hence her total lack of skills where it came to cooking. Unless it was used as poison or to scare people away, for which it worked more than fine. Not that he'd ever really told her that in so many words: Isabelle could be damn scary if she was angry or slighted.

Jace noticed the aborted pat on the shoulder, giving a small shrug as if to rearrange his dark t-shirt, nodding as he listened to Luke explain, a grim smile flitting over his face as the young man mentioned Portals. He had some experience with those too, these days - not particularly good experiences. Then again, Portals were better than... Alternative means of transportation. No need to tell Luke that, thouh. "It can't have been that bad," he consoled Luke, grinning mischievously. "Better than flying back while invisible to mundies," he added - people kept trying to occupy the seemingly empty seat or steal your stuff. Or you went without the glamour, and had a lot of things to explain: Shadowhunters, even young ones, rarely traveled without any weapons. Some were worse than others, but knowing what was out there? Not particularly reassuring. Even if they could fight it, were fighting it, demons were far more active this past last year. Shadowhunter-numbers were dwindlign with all the casualties from the Mortal War and even before, and there were... Appealing forces at play.

He snorted, quite loud actually, at Luke's suggestion he hadn't changed a bit. He wasn't willing to expand on the subject, still not entirely happy with the knowledge that he kind of died one-and-a-half time, had been possessed by two different... Entitites, carried more than his fair share of angel blood in his system... Noo, he was exactly the same as a year ago, let alone five year ago. Luckily, the boy'd heard about Clary too, which made things a little easier - good distraction. Very good one. "Wouldn't call it a relationship exactly," he started. "We haven't even dated yet." Unless her 'birthday surprise' was a date, and even that one had been... Memorable, sure, but not what he expected from a date. Not sure about her; he wasn't very well versed in mundane ways. Not eager to learn, either. Didn't matter now, though. "You'll meet her soon enough if you're here to stay," he teased, not sure he wanted to reveal Clary's name already, how widespread her... Circumstances were. Or rather, the knowledge of said circumstances. Parents weren't something you chose, though in his case he had in the end chosen the Lightwoods again. Still, she was Jocelyn's daughter more than Valentine's. "Her name's Clary," he added almost as an afterthought, though she most defintely wasn't.

"As for that," a floppy gesture at the blistered part of his hand, a shadow of guilt lurking behind his eyes "side effect from the last battle," he explained. "Got knocked out, woke up literally hot," there was an almost flirtatious smile accompanying his words, though his eyes were far more serious and sad. He didn't want rumors to spread or even anyone other than those that already knew to know about the sacred fire. It was a gift and a curse at the same time, and he'd rather not that anyone could exploit it - or punish him for it, for whatever twisted reason. Paranoid or not, caution was not a bad thing. "I thought you'd be warned already before coming to my room," he waggled his eyebrows at that, mostly teasing Luke - he wouldn't get more than this as an apology.

Especially not when the blond's mouth ran off to the next subject - Max. A sore subject if there ever was one. Without actual movement, Jace seemed to change nevertheless. Gone was the twinkle in his skyblue eyes, gone was the perpetual smirk playing around his lips. Instead, he seemed cold and hard, dangerously so. And only for those that knew him there was pain hidden behind that mask, seeping through the minute cracks in the mask. "Max died in Alicante," he eventually said, giving a tiny shake of his head, voice cold and empty to hide the pain. He didn't explain more: there was only one reason, one night that a child could have died in the city of glass, the one city where demons couldn't enter... But not that night. He hadn't been there when Max had died, and he regretted it, wished he could have been there, could have made a difference, even if he rationally knew that he couldn't have saved the young boy. His little brother.

"That's what we are for," he easily shot back, grinning like a madman - each of them had their embarrassing moments, though Alec less so than the others. For himself, though... There was that moment with the fairie drink and the antlers and the nudity and... Well, no need to expand on that. He nodded along with Luke; it was very true. Isabelle's cooking was one of a kind, only she never seemed to realize it was never meant as a compliment, and he didn't have the heart to inform his sister just why everybody always was full or already ordering out when she cooked. It was, however, the only thing in which he didn't defend her. There truly was no defense possible for such a staggering lack of skill, and he meant that in the nicest way possible.

"Few mundane things agree with us," he agreed, having already made his point; and Luke had acknowledged that, even if not in so many words. Jace didn't need to hear it though, he already knew. It was one of many reasons people often thought him obnoxious - he was quite a smart ass when he wanted to, and that was nearly all the time. He didn't particularly care how others thought about him, as long as those closest to him, like Alec, Isabelle and now Clary didn't mind him. Once upon a time, he too had cared how Max thought about him, but dwelling on the dead seldom brought something good with it. Still, he missed the kid brother with his almost worship-like behavior.

Jace threw Luke a long, hard stare upon his rambled, made-up title for Clary before his customary smirk returned. "That one, yeah," he agreed, sighing. He might just have condemned Clary to meeting Luke whilst he had knowledge about her she didn't have about him, which might just make her life supremely awkward. Then again, why not. She dealt with demons and evil overlords as biological family, this wasn't all that bad of a surprise then. Frankly, he was curious to see how she'd deal with it, but knowing her, it'd all work out just fine. She too had a hefty dose of charm hidden behind those big green eyes, not as suave as his, but more of the innocent, sweet little girl variety. Not that calling her 'little girl' did anyone any good, she really didn't like that moniker much. Then again, Luke wasn't the type to use names like that.

Loosening his stele from its sheath, he tapped it lightly. "I can Mark you if you want," he offered, not entirely sure an iratze would be of much help healing it, but it was worth a try. Otherwise, aloe vera and ice would indeed be a good start. He really wondered how long these effects would last, if it was for the rest of his (quite possibly) short life, or if it would wear off. Whatever it was, he really should be a little more careful, even if that felt as against his nature. But even despite the plaintive acknowledgement of being out of the loop, Jace didn't really feel the need to fill him in on all that he had missed.

This single bit of information already was nearly too much, after all, the weight of it crushing on his heart as it had done when he'd walked into the Hall of the Accords in Alicante and saw the Robert with Max in his arms, Isabelle a sobbing mess in Maryse's arms. He hadn't wanted to get closer, hadn't wanted to really see, to confirm what he already knew deep in his gut the moment he walked through the door. He could see that his few short words had shocked Luke, broken news to him he hadn't yet known. For a moment, Jace envied Luke for being to show his emotions like that, to be able to crumble even just a little. Despite what everyone told him, in his heart, he knew that what his 'father' had taught him was true. To love was indeed to destroy, and to be loved was to be the one destroyed. People kept saying it wasn't so, but all evidence was on his side in this. Maybe it was worth it, of that he wasn't sure yet, but that didn't change the facts. It made you vulnerable, left you open to pain and grief and loss and sadness. It cracked your defenses, mad eyou prone to emotional decisions. Compromised your judgmenet. And weakness ultimately led to death. "You didn't know," he absolved Luke, swatting at his hands as he saw his left forearm turn red under his own grip. He couldn't grap the younger man's wrists or hands in an effort to comfort him or stop him from hurting himself lest he burned him again, but this? This shouldn't do much damage.

Jace was ready to snort again. Oh, he had emotions aplenty, and apparently a pretty good mask where it came to hiding them. He'd never been the type to show his emotions openly, and given how his father had reacted to him showing emotions, it'd been over pretty quickly. The last time he had cried had been when his pet falcon had been killed in front of his eyes for not being broken in and tamed, but rather for having been gentled. Since that day, years ago, he hadn't cried anymore, not even when he should have.

He hadn't cried for Max.

He wasn't sure if he still knew how to. That didn't matter, though. He didn't answer Luke, not sure he had an answer, let alone a satisfactory one. Years of being raised with the firm belief that to show any kind of emotion was a weakness, a flaw, he had learned not to, even now it was OK to be human. Being human wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Far fLurom it, actually. In a mostly detached fashion he watched Luke Mark himself with an iratze, angry red scrapes closing rapidly, leaving only the blood as evidence he had hurt himself just now. He frowned for a moment, aware of the warning Luke gave him, aware of he (rightfully, perhaps) implied danger he might pose. He knew that bottling up emotions asn't good, but he had plenty of outlets. Emotionally repressed people were par for the course for Shadowhunters; killing demons tended to work miracles to get anger out of your system, for starters. He had resorted to it more than once, to the point where Isabelle (rightfully so) told him that what sex was for normal people, fighting was for him. And she had been correct in that, he thought.

"I'm far from perfect," he told Luke, conviction coloring his voice. Sure, he was good at what he did, seemed untouched by genuine worries or sorrow, but that was just the facade. So what that he looked like an angel, according to some, that he was fit to be a model. It wasn't the outside that counted. "Also, I'd prefer Vogue," he quipped a moment later, skipping over the 'envy' part - he wasn't entirely sure what he should say to that. Could say to that. He didn't respond beyond a raised eyebrow to the thrown dagger. Everyone had different ways of stress relief or grieving, after all.

For a moment, Jace reconsidered. After all, what was perfection and when had one attained that? He had, once upon a time, considered himself damn close to perfection. His looks, his skills, his charm and wit. His childhood may not have been the best when compared to the standards, but it wasn't all bad either. Not from his point of view, anyway. Yes, perhaps that once, he had thought of himself as perfect. That was, however, far before the mayhem and chaos from the last year. He never had believed in illusions, and last year had only strengthened that attitude. He wasn't perfect; he would never be.

The piece of poem recited back to him made him half-smile, for once actually genuine and not degrading or otherwise ironic, cynical or sarcastic. It was an oddly fitting piece, he'd admit that. But he didn't wear a mask; not really. This truly was him, just not all of him. People -well, other Shadowhunters- sometimes had issues with him, his arrogance and his confidence and his utter lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. He was so honest it frequently was considered rude and blunt, and even if he kept his mouth shut (if he ever managed that) he was considered abrasive. He couldn't deny that, but he refused to bend to their will. Jace wasn't doing anything wrong.

For a moment, he kept his silence. He'd seen the question coming a mile away, but that didn't make it any easier to answer. Or perhaps he did; he offered Luke a quick nod of acquiescence. He wouldn't tell. Not yet, anyway. He didn't know whether Luke was out of control or not, whether his self-harming actions actually endangered himself and others. He would, on the other hand, keep a sharp eye on Luke. If it got out of hand (literally, too) he would interfere, and he didn't think he needed to put that intent into words for Luke to know. "With your size, it's simply impossible to look weak," he teased - or was it a tease? Either way, it was true: no Shadowhunter looked weak, all carried the scars and the muscles from many hours working out and training, with and without weapons. Some were bulky while other were lean and wiry, like himself, but that didn't matter. Each Shadowhunter was a fiercesome foe in his or her own right. Even the scholars knew how to properly defend themselves. Such was their society. And given that Luke stood at an impressive 6'4" meant he, lengthwise, towered over him. It was a good four inches of difference. Then again, Jace had presence and seldom felt dwarfed (well, there was that time with that demon. And that other time with a Forsaken. Still, generally he didn't feel dwarfed).

This conversation was quite frankly heading in a direction he wasn't too thrilled about just yet. Or ever, for that matter. He was good, he didn't deny that, but even his charm didn't come effortlessly. Part of it was in his blood, part of it sheer practice. It was a defense system of his, as proper to hide behind as cold, indifferent expressions and the blades he wielded so smoothly. In a way, Inquisitor Herondale hadn't been wrong in her comparison of him and a cuckoo. He had wormed his way into a new life, making the best of a difficult situation at the time. Tilting his head a fraction, snickering when Luke threw up the knife and missed.

And then snorted for good measure too, given the way the man had been exaggerating just now. "Just put on some glitter, I'm sure you can woo some girls then with that pale skin," he quipped, making a reference to Twilight. Pesky modern literature; he much preferred Stoker's version of vampires. Not entirely accurate either, but it worked well enough to keep afraid of them, rather than enamored with the idea of vampires. Really, he had no clue why you would want to be one, although Simon had had the luck of getting around of the peskier parts of being a vampire, thanks to Jace's blood. He... Almost was glad of it, if he were honest. Sure, it wasn't everything to be friends with a Downworlder, but Simon wasn't all bad. Not for a Downworlder or (former) mundie, anyway. His grin waned a little when Luke finally asked how he was doing, but he wasn't too keen on answering it. "I'm fine," he answered before responding, rueful smirk tainting his expression "Considering I was stabbed in the chest not too long ago, anyway," he added.