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I thought we had a deal.
[ guess who showed up at the apothecary, got firmly turned away, and then jumped to the worst possible conclusion??? ]
[ guess who showed up at the apothecary, got firmly turned away, and then jumped to the worst possible conclusion??? ]
How’s the resurrection thing work around here, anyway?
I've been meaning to ask, how did things go with your snake milking?
not bad actually I was able to make a deal with Khoriya (giant dog man type?) and might make another go at it now that things are less voidy all around
There are a couple folks I think might be able to help a lot
maybe pulling a little more for use/research will help more people relax about us
by which i mean, maybe it'll help more rubeans relax about void touched
There are a couple folks I think might be able to help a lot
maybe pulling a little more for use/research will help more people relax about us
by which i mean, maybe it'll help more rubeans relax about void touched
( left for quentin in the woods, on a path he regularly takes while foraging or hiking to and from stephen's place: a gut hook knife stuck eye-level into the bark of a dying spruce tree, stag horn and rosewood handle, damascus steel. wrapped around the handle like a protective sleeve is a note written in danny's neat, clean script, reading:
for my king of love and beauty,
— d. )
for my king of love and beauty,
— d. )
[Joan hasn't been avoiding Quentin, exactly, she just hasn't been seeking him out. She stopped running errands for him gradually enough that, she hopes, he didn't notice. And they don't run in the same circles, and she's easy to forget, so it's probably fine. It's probably fine, but she needs to know.]
Are you... safe?
Are you... safe?
[ In the upheaval, he hasn't worried about checking on her--Joan's presence is like a bull. He figures she'll learn her lesson and be fine. Her hesitance in his head is discomforting. ]
I'm safe. I mean, I figure. Strange's treehouse is like...impenetrable, and I'm pretty used to being stalked, so I've got my--y'know. Sixth sense thing. What about you?
I'm safe. I mean, I figure. Strange's treehouse is like...impenetrable, and I'm pretty used to being stalked, so I've got my--y'know. Sixth sense thing. What about you?
[Jin Guangyao's presence slips into his mind, unobtrusive and courteous as always, since he doesn't wish to interrupt or intrude if Quentin is busy. like a warm, gentle touch on his arm, accompanied by a curl of affection.]
I have something for you. Are you still staying with Strange-yisheng?
I have something for you. Are you still staying with Strange-yisheng?
[ He's studying--or trying too--and eager for the distraction. His attention swivels easy towards Jin Guangyao's energy. ]
Yeah, but I could be in town pretty quick. Did someone give you something to pass off to me? I didn't leave anything at Merta's, did I?
Yeah, but I could be in town pretty quick. Did someone give you something to pass off to me? I didn't leave anything at Merta's, did I?
[ The memory is thinner than mist. A lot of them are, or should be, but some he dredges up again and again to run his fingers through. Quentin's is one that's squashed low, low, low. But he remembers holding Quentin's license, seeing the name that matched her maiden name, and— May 12.
He would've forgotten. But, someone checks the sky and the Rubean calendar and says, 'It's gotta be May. Right?' So— ]
Hey, man. Happy birthday. Ish.
He would've forgotten. But, someone checks the sky and the Rubean calendar and says, 'It's gotta be May. Right?' So— ]
Hey, man. Happy birthday. Ish.
[ If it isn't the last thing he expected to hear from the last person he expected to hear it from. He hasn't heard it for (two? five? seven?) years. ]
Hey. How did-- [ Their licenses, side-by-side, California and Indiana. Billy's hair short in one DMV photo and long in the other. Comparing dates, trying to find out who was older, though the dates would never read clear. Of course, one detail did stay clear. ] --thanks. I forgot. The way these days go, I didn't even...it's been a while since it mattered.
Hey. How did-- [ Their licenses, side-by-side, California and Indiana. Billy's hair short in one DMV photo and long in the other. Comparing dates, trying to find out who was older, though the dates would never read clear. Of course, one detail did stay clear. ] --thanks. I forgot. The way these days go, I didn't even...it's been a while since it mattered.
[ Of all the people he expects to seek his help in this chaos, he least anticipated this one. A dark corner of his mind imagined that Danny would thrive in these conditions. Still, without missing a beat, his mind starts to run through scenarios, paths to Danny, what does he tell Stephen, where is his knife-- ]
Where are you? Are you hurt?
Where are you? Are you hurt?
What are you going to do about the name thing?
For what it's worth, I dug him up.
You did good. As much good as you could do. [ He's wondered since he last talked to Gabe if he was right to make that recommendation. Was he scratching his own need to keep things moving over protecting someone in distress? Hearing how things went down after, he's wondered. But, like Adam would say after a rough trial: the right thing isn't always the easy thing. ] They might not have found him. He wouldn't be back now if they didn't.
[Death is not what Harlan thought it would be. Hoped, even. Ianthe had told him that he would be conscious, but... It's like his mind has sunken into itself and exploded into endlessness all at once. Where is his body? There's pain, distant and bright and grounding, but it slips through him and flitters away if he tries to grab hold of it. He is nothing, and he is all that is left.
Or is he? He feels... something. Someone? He's not sure, but he tries like hell to reach for it.]
Where—? [Can you hyperventilate without lungs?] How long...?
[Does this last? Have I been here? Until I wake up? The question falls apart into an overlap of frantic voices.]
Or is he? He feels... something. Someone? He's not sure, but he tries like hell to reach for it.]
Where—? [Can you hyperventilate without lungs?] How long...?
[Does this last? Have I been here? Until I wake up? The question falls apart into an overlap of frantic voices.]
[ While it's only Quentin's second rodeo here in Rubilykskoye, dying is old, unsavory hat at this point. His death was easy this time around, his struggle with reviving more disorientation and nausea than the pain. He's reaching out for others--maybe Jin Guangyao, maybe Felipe--and Harlan comes to him easy.
[ Like an exhale, something to follow down: ] Take it easy. It might be a while.
[ Like an exhale, something to follow down: ] Take it easy. It might be a while.
( the morning danny leaves and never comes back, he wakes long before quentin and seats himself at the foot of the bed to watch him sleep. quentin is a baroque kind of pretty, all dainty pink strokes and long ivory lines to danny's heavy shadows, this macabre and unapologetically morbid nightmare encroaching on quentin's idyllic sunset. danny's thumb plumps out quentin's cherubic bottom lip so he can spit on it. he rolls up the sleeve of his nightshirt to his elbow and traces out the grooves and wrinkles of the scar wrapped around his forearm like the tidiest of bows. he strokes his hair, his nose, fans out his eyelashes with one thumbnail, then takes his nightshirt by one greedy fistful and licks his little budding nipples into peaks, sucks an angry bruise onto the soft knotted swell of belly beneath his navel until quentin stirs, moans, nearly wakes. danny johnson is a murderer. danny johnson is a devout worshiper of this body and only this body. danny johnson loves quentin smith forever. danny johnson will find quentin smith again and again and again. that's a threat.
when he's gotten his fill, he picks up their flat for the last time, laces up his boots for the last time, shrugs on one of his many jackets for the last time and spreads another jacket over quentin's sleeping body, baby-soft leather collar tucked up under his chin. on the table nearest the door, he carefully sets out: a kettle of warmed tea for when quentin wakes up, a well-loved hunter's knife wrapped in its leather sheath and laid on top of danny's thigh holster, a custom-made medallion, and scrap of paper containing five words and five words only, no signature, pinned down by a thin braid of hair, black and blond, morbid nightmare meet idyllic sunset. this sun bites back.
he leaves his second pair of boots on the rug by the door, like he'll return for them later. one of his shirts hangs out to dry on the back of a chair beside the table, still damp. the door makes no sound when he closes it behind him, nor do his descending footsteps on the stairwell.
five words, no signature. just a, )
You'll always be my girl.
when he's gotten his fill, he picks up their flat for the last time, laces up his boots for the last time, shrugs on one of his many jackets for the last time and spreads another jacket over quentin's sleeping body, baby-soft leather collar tucked up under his chin. on the table nearest the door, he carefully sets out: a kettle of warmed tea for when quentin wakes up, a well-loved hunter's knife wrapped in its leather sheath and laid on top of danny's thigh holster, a custom-made medallion, and scrap of paper containing five words and five words only, no signature, pinned down by a thin braid of hair, black and blond, morbid nightmare meet idyllic sunset. this sun bites back.
he leaves his second pair of boots on the rug by the door, like he'll return for them later. one of his shirts hangs out to dry on the back of a chair beside the table, still damp. the door makes no sound when he closes it behind him, nor do his descending footsteps on the stairwell.
five words, no signature. just a, )
You'll always be my girl.
[ Regardless of how she feels about Daniel, that heart is bleeding his name as the grief swallowed Murphy whole.
... He was not the only one that loved him, even if Gilia never did. ]
... I am sorry, dear-heart. If there is anything you need, you need only say the word, and I shall be there for you, always.
... He was not the only one that loved him, even if Gilia never did. ]
... I am sorry, dear-heart. If there is anything you need, you need only say the word, and I shall be there for you, always.
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