[ That first day, an age ago now: Quentin safely more person than puddle as they passed him from shoulder to chest, surrendered into Takeshi's care. Early summer in the treehouse: Quentin frowning through the last of the morning's notes as Takeshi hammered nails into floorboards previously held together by spellwork and a prayer.
The word goes out somewhere between thoughts. He doesn't try to stop it. ]
Takeshi's dead.
Edited (uploads new icons to be sad with) 2024-12-03 00:27 (UTC)
[ Things have been either dead or tense with Quentin and Kovacs in recent months. He isn't sure if being on better terms would make hearing this less--less-- ]
[ The remembered image of a giant stag beetle of bone: innards spilling, bone body marked with deep fissures, one huge mandible missing. No words accompany this one. There's nothing to say. ]
[ Part true. The door may be open to the treehouse, but he's sat on the floor of Takeshi's room in the brothel, back against the bed, turning his still-bloodied stack over and over in his hand. ]
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dec 1
The word goes out somewhere between thoughts. He doesn't try to stop it. ]
Takeshi's dead.
no subject
how
no subject
no subject
where are you
no subject
[ Part true. The door may be open to the treehouse, but he's sat on the floor of Takeshi's room in the brothel, back against the bed, turning his still-bloodied stack over and over in his hand. ]