Paul Atreides (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
terriblepurpose) wrote2030-12-01 07:56 pm
terriblepurpose) wrote2030-12-01 07:56 pm
Deer Country Contact
ic contact
un: younghuman ✦ text ✦ voice ✦ video
Paul,
I sincerely hope I have found the correct person! These devices are not the easiest for me to navigate despite several months' learning and a few guides. In the hopes that I have in fact found you, I would like to extend to you my sincere thanks. You were put in a remarkably tense situation with no good outcome and you did everything you could to try and help me change it. There was no reason for you to do this, putting your own self at risk like you did, but you did, and you were there for me the whole time, and I never really got the chance to thank you for that.
Not many people would have done that, I think. I hope you know how remarkable a thing it was, and how much it meant to be, no matter the outcome. Looking back, I do not believe my actions or the actions of anyone could have changed Alexei's mind. He was a great man, once, but I am beginning to think that with such greatness comes a sort of isolation, particularly when one feels desperate and alone.
You reminded me that, despite my now holding that same office (or, well, I suppose I did, at home! I don't any longer, and I am still attempting to make my peace with that), there are people in my corner who are willing to help me. That I am not alone. Sincerely, from every corner of me: thank you for that.
I hope you are well, and that you will give me a chance to return the favor when it is required. We are none of us here alone.
Sincerely,
Flynn Scifo
I sincerely hope I have found the correct person! These devices are not the easiest for me to navigate despite several months' learning and a few guides. In the hopes that I have in fact found you, I would like to extend to you my sincere thanks. You were put in a remarkably tense situation with no good outcome and you did everything you could to try and help me change it. There was no reason for you to do this, putting your own self at risk like you did, but you did, and you were there for me the whole time, and I never really got the chance to thank you for that.
Not many people would have done that, I think. I hope you know how remarkable a thing it was, and how much it meant to be, no matter the outcome. Looking back, I do not believe my actions or the actions of anyone could have changed Alexei's mind. He was a great man, once, but I am beginning to think that with such greatness comes a sort of isolation, particularly when one feels desperate and alone.
You reminded me that, despite my now holding that same office (or, well, I suppose I did, at home! I don't any longer, and I am still attempting to make my peace with that), there are people in my corner who are willing to help me. That I am not alone. Sincerely, from every corner of me: thank you for that.
I hope you are well, and that you will give me a chance to return the favor when it is required. We are none of us here alone.
Sincerely,
Flynn Scifo
Flynn Scifo,
As generous as your assessment of my actions is, the effort and the risk were yours, not mine.
If there had been a way to change your former commander's mind, I believe you would have found it. I regret promising you an outcome I could not give you, and that fault lies with me, not in any word or gesture of yours. You demonstrated integrity, honor, and compassion, while my irresponsibility put you in danger more than once.
The debt here is mine to repay, and I will repay it. You have my word, sworn by the honor of my House. If you wish to grant me a favor, let it be that you allow me that.
Yours,
Paul Atreides
As generous as your assessment of my actions is, the effort and the risk were yours, not mine.
If there had been a way to change your former commander's mind, I believe you would have found it. I regret promising you an outcome I could not give you, and that fault lies with me, not in any word or gesture of yours. You demonstrated integrity, honor, and compassion, while my irresponsibility put you in danger more than once.
The debt here is mine to repay, and I will repay it. You have my word, sworn by the honor of my House. If you wish to grant me a favor, let it be that you allow me that.
Yours,
Paul Atreides
un: merlinus; at least twelve hours after their conversation on Paul's post
unsheathedfromreality
2022-01-27 11:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[ooc: cw for dead fish, descriptions of fish innards, fish body horror.]
Paul,
With Ives' supervision, I've examined the fish. I have included photographs of them for your perusal. Much of the divinatory significance is beyond my interpretation as zhrets, without a priest or augur to confirm. I will leave ultimate interpretation to your authority.
There were twenty-eight fish in the original sequence. The twenty-ninth, last of them, was caught the following day as comparison. The first picture in each pair is what the Omni captures and what I presume a human will see when looking at them. The second is through my Omen's eyes. Her sight is much as my own was before I lost it. It may be disorienting at first.
Text in this color represents a word that may not translate correctly from Shriketongue. These are terms pertinent to directions and aspects present only in the higher dimensions.
[The first picture is of a single sunfish set on a piece of oilcloth. A short ruler is laid beside the fish for scale, showing it to be roughly four inches from nose to tail. A shallow x has been cut into the flesh of its top side.
The second picture is identical in subject, but represents the Omni's absolute best attempt to compress a four+-dimensional image down into three dimensions. The sunfish, the cloth beneath it, the earth beneath the cloth, the roots beneath the earth, are all visible in a view the brain insists on interpreting as a cross-sectional profile while still showing the entirety of the three-dimensional structure, inside and outside. The fish's innards appear normal. It had eaten an insect shortly before being caught.]
This is the twenty-ninth fish. It is as normal and healthy as any fish caught from the Salt Lake during the full moon.
[The third picture is twenty-nine sunfish, lined up in very widely spaced rows of six. The marked fish is the last, on the right, in the bottom row. To all appearances the other twenty-eight fish are also "normal and healthy," varying only subtly in size and coloration from the last fish.
In the fourth picture, all but the last fish--the control--are totally opaque to Iskierka's high-dimensional sight. The first fish is subtly monstrous, with surplus fins in the additional dimension(s) and odd projections on its scales; the last fish is no longer recognizable as a fish, being instead a massive teratoma of disparate sea life nearly twelve inches in diameter. Eyes of every conceivable description stud its flat surfaces. Some are human and may seem horribly familiar. All seem to follow the viewer, no matter what angle or distance the Omni is held at.]
These are the fish as I caught them. Their inward selves appeared wholly dead as of this photograph, by Ives' confirmation. Some of them were still moving their outward parts.
When gutted, all of them contained more offal than fish their size should hold. This held true whether I started my cuts from an inward or outward direction. I understand the volume of the entrails to speak to the extent and chaos of the coming battle, though the signs of the organs in each fish otherwise contradicted each other. Many of these organs also had eyes or mouths where they did not belong. I have included individual photographs of the entrails in an appendix to this report, if you are more skilled in haruspicy than I.
The last of the fish did not contain a heart. Nevertheless, it was alive when I caught it.
In addition to the offal, many of the fish also contained small objects. These include coins, small bones, scraps of film, and flowers. I have included a detailed list of their locations as well as a photograph of the set.
One of the coins had my own sigil on it, but I do not remember where I found it and have since misplaced it entirely.
[The two appendices contain the promised pictures of twenty-eight piles of fish guts--all low-dimensional, thankfully--and the eclectic collection of other objects removed from the fish, along with a list of where they were retrieved from.
Many of the objects have blatant Sleeper symbolism. Others appear to be meaningless (but who ever knows with prescience).
Some of the Sleepers' tokens were found in stomachs or mouths. At least one was broken in half.]
Paul,
With Ives' supervision, I've examined the fish. I have included photographs of them for your perusal. Much of the divinatory significance is beyond my interpretation as zhrets, without a priest or augur to confirm. I will leave ultimate interpretation to your authority.
There were twenty-eight fish in the original sequence. The twenty-ninth, last of them, was caught the following day as comparison. The first picture in each pair is what the Omni captures and what I presume a human will see when looking at them. The second is through my Omen's eyes. Her sight is much as my own was before I lost it. It may be disorienting at first.
Text in this color represents a word that may not translate correctly from Shriketongue. These are terms pertinent to directions and aspects present only in the higher dimensions.
[The first picture is of a single sunfish set on a piece of oilcloth. A short ruler is laid beside the fish for scale, showing it to be roughly four inches from nose to tail. A shallow x has been cut into the flesh of its top side.
The second picture is identical in subject, but represents the Omni's absolute best attempt to compress a four+-dimensional image down into three dimensions. The sunfish, the cloth beneath it, the earth beneath the cloth, the roots beneath the earth, are all visible in a view the brain insists on interpreting as a cross-sectional profile while still showing the entirety of the three-dimensional structure, inside and outside. The fish's innards appear normal. It had eaten an insect shortly before being caught.]
This is the twenty-ninth fish. It is as normal and healthy as any fish caught from the Salt Lake during the full moon.
[The third picture is twenty-nine sunfish, lined up in very widely spaced rows of six. The marked fish is the last, on the right, in the bottom row. To all appearances the other twenty-eight fish are also "normal and healthy," varying only subtly in size and coloration from the last fish.
In the fourth picture, all but the last fish--the control--are totally opaque to Iskierka's high-dimensional sight. The first fish is subtly monstrous, with surplus fins in the additional dimension(s) and odd projections on its scales; the last fish is no longer recognizable as a fish, being instead a massive teratoma of disparate sea life nearly twelve inches in diameter. Eyes of every conceivable description stud its flat surfaces. Some are human and may seem horribly familiar. All seem to follow the viewer, no matter what angle or distance the Omni is held at.]
These are the fish as I caught them. Their inward selves appeared wholly dead as of this photograph, by Ives' confirmation. Some of them were still moving their outward parts.
When gutted, all of them contained more offal than fish their size should hold. This held true whether I started my cuts from an inward or outward direction. I understand the volume of the entrails to speak to the extent and chaos of the coming battle, though the signs of the organs in each fish otherwise contradicted each other. Many of these organs also had eyes or mouths where they did not belong. I have included individual photographs of the entrails in an appendix to this report, if you are more skilled in haruspicy than I.
The last of the fish did not contain a heart. Nevertheless, it was alive when I caught it.
In addition to the offal, many of the fish also contained small objects. These include coins, small bones, scraps of film, and flowers. I have included a detailed list of their locations as well as a photograph of the set.
One of the coins had my own sigil on it, but I do not remember where I found it and have since misplaced it entirely.
[The two appendices contain the promised pictures of twenty-eight piles of fish guts--all low-dimensional, thankfully--and the eclectic collection of other objects removed from the fish, along with a list of where they were retrieved from.
Many of the objects have blatant Sleeper symbolism. Others appear to be meaningless (but who ever knows with prescience).
Some of the Sleepers' tokens were found in stomachs or mouths. At least one was broken in half.]
Edited 2022-01-27 23:02 (UTC)
[The fish are difficult to look at in the most literal possible sense. Paul is only able to maintain his focus on them with sheer force of will, and even then, it's as if he's trying to press together repulsing magnetic fields. It hurts parts of his mind that are incapable of feeling pain.
He needs to see. He huddles in a folded lotus on the floor of the bare cell in the Sanctuary and he stares until the sea comes to take him, the undertow of dreams pulling him from his body.
The beach. The wave. The beach again. The pattern rarely varies anymore, now that it's been set. Still, without Lazarus' guidance, the details shift and blur. Clarity is lost. He rises to his feet in a vision that has no weight, a gauzy, silver-tinted paleness. The steps that lie in front of him do not have the assertiveness of stone, the sky overhead does not bear true light, and the choir -
The choir is worse to look at than the fish in the way that the sun is worse to look at than a candle. Paul sees into it, and through it, and into it, into the many segmented, clashing layers of its past, its doubled, tripled, hundredfold perspectives and anatomies. He perceives eyes. He perceives teeth. He perceives no distinctions, no boundaries, he forgets, he forgets, he forgets.
There is a coin in his hand. There is a coin in another hand. There are feathers and fine bones and new eyes, a golden bursting profusion of them, and they both turn to observe the intrusion-severance-inwards that invades the choir as a disease.
The choir raises a blade that shines like invisible light, and severs an arm at the elbow. By this time, the few Disciples that visit this deep in the Sanctuary have learned to ignore the screams.]
Merlinus,
Thank you. I appreciate your thoroughness, as ever. This has confirmed several of my suspicions.
I believe I found your coin, but I also misplaced it. If I come across it in the Waking World, would you like it returned to you?
Paul
He needs to see. He huddles in a folded lotus on the floor of the bare cell in the Sanctuary and he stares until the sea comes to take him, the undertow of dreams pulling him from his body.
The beach. The wave. The beach again. The pattern rarely varies anymore, now that it's been set. Still, without Lazarus' guidance, the details shift and blur. Clarity is lost. He rises to his feet in a vision that has no weight, a gauzy, silver-tinted paleness. The steps that lie in front of him do not have the assertiveness of stone, the sky overhead does not bear true light, and the choir -
The choir is worse to look at than the fish in the way that the sun is worse to look at than a candle. Paul sees into it, and through it, and into it, into the many segmented, clashing layers of its past, its doubled, tripled, hundredfold perspectives and anatomies. He perceives eyes. He perceives teeth. He perceives no distinctions, no boundaries, he forgets, he forgets, he forgets.
There is a coin in his hand. There is a coin in another hand. There are feathers and fine bones and new eyes, a golden bursting profusion of them, and they both turn to observe the intrusion-severance-inwards that invades the choir as a disease.
The choir raises a blade that shines like invisible light, and severs an arm at the elbow. By this time, the few Disciples that visit this deep in the Sanctuary have learned to ignore the screams.]
Merlinus,
Thank you. I appreciate your thoroughness, as ever. This has confirmed several of my suspicions.
I believe I found your coin, but I also misplaced it. If I come across it in the Waking World, would you like it returned to you?
Paul
Edited 2022-01-30 03:55 (UTC)
I don't know. What is the difference between a jeweler and a jailer?
by hinata shōyō
ワンチャン (wan chan): you’ve only got one chance!!!!
あたおか（ataoka): your head is weird
おk (ok): 👍
WWWW: laughing in japanese
4649 - yoroshiku: nice to meet you
ズルい (zurui): not fair
激 (geki): super duper or really really really like when you say “that toss was super duper phenomenal!!!! or 激辛, super spicy!!!
ドンマイ donmai: DONT MIND DONT MIND NO PROBLEM
それな (sore na): i know right?!
調子どう? (chōshi dō): what’s up?? what’s going on??
カッケー (kakkee): cool!! so cool!!
おっす！(Ossu!): hi!
beleza: beauty but it’s kind of like “cool”!
Sei la: i know there…. like I don’t know
mano: man
meumão: meu irmão that’s my brother all squeezed together
mano do céu: man in the sky
amarelar: to get yellow, like to back out
arroz de festa: rice party, someone that likes to party
bombar: to bomb!! this party is going to bomb!! 🎉
cara de pau: face of a stick, you have lots of nerve
coé: surprise or hi!
deus me livre: god free me
gringo: me!! a foreigner!
mão de vaca: you have cow hands and you don’t want to spend
KKKKKK: also laughing in portuguese
inha: anything you want to say is small you add this at the end. like…… franginha. little chicken!!
ão: anything you want to say is HUGE you add this at the end. frangão!! big chicken!!!
puxa saco: you pull someone’s balls that’s giving them compliments all the time
encher o saco: something fills your balls that’s like something that makes you annoyed
[ and probably a lot more than i put here— ]
Edited 2022-02-02 13:47 (UTC)
Shōyō,
Thank you very much for this dictionary. I'd like to offer you some words in exchange from my own universe.
GALACH LEXICON (official language of the Imperium)
Aumas (also Chaumas): Poison in solid food
Baliset: A nine-stringed musical instrument
Chaumurky (also Murky or Musky): Poison in liquid beverage
Faufreluches: The rule of authority and place
Heighliner: The largest cargo ship type
Kanly: A formal death feud
Mentat: A human mental adept
Ornithoper: A winged flying machine
Solari: Imperial currency
FREMEN LEXICON (known words of the indigenous language of Arrakis, also known as Dune)
Amtal: To test to destruction
Baraka: A living holy man
Crysknife: A sacred blade made from the tooth of a Maker
Fremen: The free people of the desert
Shai-Hulud (also: Maker, sandworm) The indigenous term for the tunneling sandworms of Arrakis, who are attributed spiritual significance by the Fremen
Sayyadina: A holy woman
Umma: A prophet
Yours,
Paul
Thank you very much for this dictionary. I'd like to offer you some words in exchange from my own universe.
Aumas (also Chaumas): Poison in solid food
Baliset: A nine-stringed musical instrument
Chaumurky (also Murky or Musky): Poison in liquid beverage
Faufreluches: The rule of authority and place
Heighliner: The largest cargo ship type
Kanly: A formal death feud
Mentat: A human mental adept
Ornithoper: A winged flying machine
Solari: Imperial currency
Amtal: To test to destruction
Baraka: A living holy man
Crysknife: A sacred blade made from the tooth of a Maker
Fremen: The free people of the desert
Shai-Hulud (also: Maker, sandworm) The indigenous term for the tunneling sandworms of Arrakis, who are attributed spiritual significance by the Fremen
Sayyadina: A holy woman
Umma: A prophet
Yours,
Paul
[Johnny's been on a bit of a bender after reviving after the battle. The one thing that sticks out the most in his mind is the students he was training either getting injured or dying on the field of battle. His last moments seeing Paul get dragged up and eaten by that thing. Everything had went red after that. And after after he revived that was all he could think about.
This message comes after he's been to a few of his new haunts and miraculously made it back to the dojo.]
Ph-Paul...
I don't know if you're back yet. Or if you're coming back.
I just want to say you were really fucking brave out there. Going out and pulling everyone together like that- to fight that huge son of a bitch.
You should be really fucking proud of the man you're growing up into.
But a kid like you shouldn't have to stare that shit down the way you did. And I don't know how to say it but I'm sorry- I'm your sensei and I should have been there to protect you from that thing instead of just letting it tear you to shit.
I'm sorry I let you down. That I couldn't even put that pussy piece of shit down to avenge you.
But... I'm not going to let you down again.
If you still wan to train under me when you get back, I'll work you harder than you've been worked before. You're going to be the toughest badass this place has ever seen. Can ever imagine.
So just like... I don't know call me back or some shit.
This message comes after he's been to a few of his new haunts and miraculously made it back to the dojo.]
Ph-Paul...
I don't know if you're back yet. Or if you're coming back.
I just want to say you were really fucking brave out there. Going out and pulling everyone together like that- to fight that huge son of a bitch.
You should be really fucking proud of the man you're growing up into.
But a kid like you shouldn't have to stare that shit down the way you did. And I don't know how to say it but I'm sorry- I'm your sensei and I should have been there to protect you from that thing instead of just letting it tear you to shit.
I'm sorry I let you down. That I couldn't even put that pussy piece of shit down to avenge you.
But... I'm not going to let you down again.
If you still wan to train under me when you get back, I'll work you harder than you've been worked before. You're going to be the toughest badass this place has ever seen. Can ever imagine.
So just like... I don't know call me back or some shit.
[Paul doesn't call back that night. For one, he recognizes a man in the depths of a bottle; for another, he has to watch the video again, and again, curled up underneath a quilt with the volume set so quiet he all but has to hold his Omni against his ear like a shell.
He sends his answer in the late morning of the next day, and it's almost like he has a sympathetic affliction to match Johnny's as he calls from a dimly lit room, his dark hair mussed, his face blanched ghost-pale. He's even wearing tinted glasses despite the closed black curtains behind him.]
You didn't let me down, Sensei Lawrence.
[There's some kind of distortion in the audio, an odd reverberation in Paul's very soft voice.]
He sends his answer in the late morning of the next day, and it's almost like he has a sympathetic affliction to match Johnny's as he calls from a dimly lit room, his dark hair mussed, his face blanched ghost-pale. He's even wearing tinted glasses despite the closed black curtains behind him.]
You didn't let me down, Sensei Lawrence.
[There's some kind of distortion in the audio, an odd reverberation in Paul's very soft voice.]
[It's the middle of the afternoon but the thick, swirling storm clouds are so thick over the trench that feels like it's deep into the evening. It's disorienting and easily drags the body into malaise as the rain against windows beats a soothing pattern and the distant rumble of thunder sounds like a murmured invitation to shut close your eyes and welcome the infectious sleep.
Kaworu doesn't know how long he's been asleep when he wakes up as the room is dark as when he dropped onto the mattress for a light nap. He isn't even sure what woke him up. Out of habit he reaches up to rub at his nose with the heel of his hand to sooth the now ever-present itch (thanks pollen) with a soft sigh before rolling over towards the window onto his back, stretching out his pale limbs as much of the bed as possible.
As he turns, his shoulder collides with something hard, but not sharp, and a little warm. Oh... Paul. By now, Kaworu can recognize how the other boy breathes in his sleep (deep and through his nose) to know who it is without looking, though a midday nap was not particularly common. For a few moments, he lets the sensation of the gentle pressure of Paul's lungs filling with air against his body soothe him, eyes slowly fluttering back closed.
Then the itch is too much to handle and he rolls away, covering his mouth and nose, and tenses all of his unimpressive muscles to suppress a sneeze into nothing more than a soft hiccup and a twitch of the body. Ow. He sits up, rubbing at his chest to soothe the soreness of containing the obnoxious paroxysm. His eyes trail down and then over to Paul.
He marvels a little that Paul looks like a child when he sleeps, even though he is one, barely older than the angel-turned-boy watching him. It's good, he thinks, to see Paul sleep like this. He doesn't sleep enough. There's too much moving around in his head, weighing on him. Like if he sleeps, he'll never be able to pick it all back up.
The blankets are tangled up in both of their legs but the lion's share has ended up in Kaworu's lap and his side of the bed. Gently, carefully, like he's holding delicate gossamer fibers instead of blankets that John found in the closet, he takes the blankets and drapes them over Paul's shoulders.
Then he drops back down, curling up under the covers instead of caccooning in them like a little thief, thinking: what does it mean to protect someone? To spare them from death and from physical pain. But they can handle those things. And Paul can fight and lead and yet there's something small instead of him that the angel wants to protect. Kaworu doesn't know how to name it but he wishes could reach out and grab it, cradle it against his chest in his hands, and not let anyone harm it. Not even Paul himself.
What does something like that mean? And then... what do you do with it. A heavy sigh, louder than he intended through his congested sinuses, as he wonders what he's supposed to do with feelings like this.
He thinks there may have been someone he could ask. But he can't place his finger on who. Like that person has faded into a crowd and now he can't find them amongst all the faces he holds in his mind's eye.
Hm. Kaworu shuts his eyes and watches the thoughts he doesn't know how to grasp and make real turn over and around in his head.]
Kaworu doesn't know how long he's been asleep when he wakes up as the room is dark as when he dropped onto the mattress for a light nap. He isn't even sure what woke him up. Out of habit he reaches up to rub at his nose with the heel of his hand to sooth the now ever-present itch (thanks pollen) with a soft sigh before rolling over towards the window onto his back, stretching out his pale limbs as much of the bed as possible.
As he turns, his shoulder collides with something hard, but not sharp, and a little warm. Oh... Paul. By now, Kaworu can recognize how the other boy breathes in his sleep (deep and through his nose) to know who it is without looking, though a midday nap was not particularly common. For a few moments, he lets the sensation of the gentle pressure of Paul's lungs filling with air against his body soothe him, eyes slowly fluttering back closed.
Then the itch is too much to handle and he rolls away, covering his mouth and nose, and tenses all of his unimpressive muscles to suppress a sneeze into nothing more than a soft hiccup and a twitch of the body. Ow. He sits up, rubbing at his chest to soothe the soreness of containing the obnoxious paroxysm. His eyes trail down and then over to Paul.
He marvels a little that Paul looks like a child when he sleeps, even though he is one, barely older than the angel-turned-boy watching him. It's good, he thinks, to see Paul sleep like this. He doesn't sleep enough. There's too much moving around in his head, weighing on him. Like if he sleeps, he'll never be able to pick it all back up.
The blankets are tangled up in both of their legs but the lion's share has ended up in Kaworu's lap and his side of the bed. Gently, carefully, like he's holding delicate gossamer fibers instead of blankets that John found in the closet, he takes the blankets and drapes them over Paul's shoulders.
Then he drops back down, curling up under the covers instead of caccooning in them like a little thief, thinking: what does it mean to protect someone? To spare them from death and from physical pain. But they can handle those things. And Paul can fight and lead and yet there's something small instead of him that the angel wants to protect. Kaworu doesn't know how to name it but he wishes could reach out and grab it, cradle it against his chest in his hands, and not let anyone harm it. Not even Paul himself.
What does something like that mean? And then... what do you do with it. A heavy sigh, louder than he intended through his congested sinuses, as he wonders what he's supposed to do with feelings like this.
He thinks there may have been someone he could ask. But he can't place his finger on who. Like that person has faded into a crowd and now he can't find them amongst all the faces he holds in his mind's eye.
Hm. Kaworu shuts his eyes and watches the thoughts he doesn't know how to grasp and make real turn over and around in his head.]
[There was no intention of sleep when he stretched out on the mattress next to Kaworu. It was only that he felt the pull of gravity too much when he was vertical, a dragging down through his limbs and his blood that persuaded him that he could monitor Kaworu's sleep lying on his side, and how would he be able to see him clearly from the floor?
He wakes up on his belly, one eye gummed with sleep slower to open than the other as he surfaces from a cold dream. He knows the breathing behind him, lightly clotted with pollen, moving in a rhythm that tells Paul he's not the only one awake. He's not sure what color his eyes are, so he brings his fingertips closer, to see what shade spills over them as he rubs his encrusted eye.
A pale blue wash over his skin, so Paul turns his head, the lines of crumpled sheets stark red on an otherwise bloodless face.]
It's still raining.
[There are whispers under whispers in the multi-part hush of his voice, but at least they're in harmony.]
He wakes up on his belly, one eye gummed with sleep slower to open than the other as he surfaces from a cold dream. He knows the breathing behind him, lightly clotted with pollen, moving in a rhythm that tells Paul he's not the only one awake. He's not sure what color his eyes are, so he brings his fingertips closer, to see what shade spills over them as he rubs his encrusted eye.
A pale blue wash over his skin, so Paul turns his head, the lines of crumpled sheets stark red on an otherwise bloodless face.]
It's still raining.
[There are whispers under whispers in the multi-part hush of his voice, but at least they're in harmony.]
[ After coming back from the dead, after being trapped in his house for two weeks, after talking Flynn down from corruption, it's late in March and Yuri's forgotten to do something really important. He may have seen Paul after everything when he was a squid, but it isn't really the same. Actions speak louder than words, in Yuri's book, and they certainly speak louder than squid squeaks.
Paul will find a dog, Repede, waiting patiently at the front door of his house with a box in his pannier that has Paul's name on it in messy scrawl. Repede barks a few short times for Paul to come get the package. If he doesn't come, Repede will leave it there.
There's a short note attached to the box: ]
hey paul
nice work with the leviathan
- yuri
ps. promise this one won't turn you into anything
[ Inside the box is a small cake, neatly if simply decorated. Nothing says "good job with the war effort" than a cake, right? ]
Paul will find a dog, Repede, waiting patiently at the front door of his house with a box in his pannier that has Paul's name on it in messy scrawl. Repede barks a few short times for Paul to come get the package. If he doesn't come, Repede will leave it there.
There's a short note attached to the box: ]
hey paul
nice work with the leviathan
- yuri
ps. promise this one won't turn you into anything
[ Inside the box is a small cake, neatly if simply decorated. Nothing says "good job with the war effort" than a cake, right? ]
[Paul comes to the door, and then to his knees, reaching out to scratch Repede behind the ears, under the jaw, to bury his dry face into soft fur. He does this even before he reads the note, because there's no one to bear witness but the skeletons, and the only person they would tell has seen him do worse.
He scratches out a note of his own to send back in the emptied pannier.]
Hello Yuri,
You didn't do so badly, either. I'm glad you're back to yourself.
Thank you for the cake.
- Paul
P.S. I wouldn't mind if it did.
He scratches out a note of his own to send back in the emptied pannier.]
Hello Yuri,
You didn't do so badly, either. I'm glad you're back to yourself.
Thank you for the cake.
- Paul
P.S. I wouldn't mind if it did.
I'd like that. Thank you. What are they like, or should I be surprised?
Also, how have you been?
Also, how have you been?
[Checking up on your friends, episode 1: strategy A: asking about something else entirely. Observe:]
Do you know how to handle explosives?
(Skipping to the end: If you have time, I could use your assistance with acquiring and behaving poorly with some fireworks.)
Do you know how to handle explosives?
(Skipping to the end: If you have time, I could use your assistance with acquiring and behaving poorly with some fireworks.)
I know how to handle explosives.
How poorly are you planning on behaving with them? Assume I'll still say yes, I just want to know what to plan for.
How poorly are you planning on behaving with them? Assume I'll still say yes, I just want to know what to plan for.
[It's a warm, starlit afternoon when Paul and Kaworu make their way to the roof to practice something that couldn't, on the surface, be more different than the various tumbling falls through folded spatial dimensions they've been perfecting.
As Paul smooths out a woven blanket and sets down the basket of light, sweet pastries (and a few other things, hidden under the draped napkin over top of them) he brought up with them, his stomach has the same dizzy, pleasant whirl in it, the anticipation that makes his pulse thrum in his throat and his thoughts light and present.
He stretches out on his back, wearing a borrowed black t-shirt that leaves his arms bare, and lays his arm out to the side as he smiles up at the other boy with him.]
Come here?
As Paul smooths out a woven blanket and sets down the basket of light, sweet pastries (and a few other things, hidden under the draped napkin over top of them) he brought up with them, his stomach has the same dizzy, pleasant whirl in it, the anticipation that makes his pulse thrum in his throat and his thoughts light and present.
He stretches out on his back, wearing a borrowed black t-shirt that leaves his arms bare, and lays his arm out to the side as he smiles up at the other boy with him.]
Come here?
[Kaworu is also wearing a light t-shirt, white and slightly large on him, tucked into into black slacks that are rolled at the ankles and contrast his white sneakers.
He's used to being up here, but for different reasons.
A hiccup, a flutter in his stomach, a flutter against his nose and his cheek as a few butterflies, dark with a streak of red like his blood, appear around him as though birthed by the feeling in his chest.
Embarrassing. He waves them away but they dance around the basket and Paul's hair, wings reflecting in the moonlight. So at the request, he comes, dropping down to his knees and then to his side as he curls up next to Paul, fitting against him as best he can.]
He's used to being up here, but for different reasons.
A hiccup, a flutter in his stomach, a flutter against his nose and his cheek as a few butterflies, dark with a streak of red like his blood, appear around him as though birthed by the feeling in his chest.
Embarrassing. He waves them away but they dance around the basket and Paul's hair, wings reflecting in the moonlight. So at the request, he comes, dropping down to his knees and then to his side as he curls up next to Paul, fitting against him as best he can.]
[Not for Falco.]
No. Why? Is everything all right?
No. Why? Is everything all right?
Paul-kun. I guess it had to happen eventually, but I messed up. I'm sorry.
[ Bad start. Use your words, Izuku Midoriya. ]
You can lie really well so I can tell you and you can hide the fact that you know this and be safe.
[ Worse start... ]
Do you remember when I told you someone could come after people I care about? Hypothetically?
The tournament. Someone was watching. It wouldn't matter so much, except well
we
you know
got carried away.
This person could have seen that.
[ An indiscretion in more than one way... ]
[ Bad start. Use your words, Izuku Midoriya. ]
You can lie really well so I can tell you and you can hide the fact that you know this and be safe.
[ Worse start... ]
Do you remember when I told you someone could come after people I care about? Hypothetically?
The tournament. Someone was watching. It wouldn't matter so much, except well
we
you know
got carried away.
This person could have seen that.
[ An indiscretion in more than one way... ]
It wasn't your mistake.
[Paul had known better. He'd been careless, myopic.]
I initiated, I'm the one at fault. I'm sorry.
[Gritty shame threatens his focus, but he pushes it aside. He can regret later.]
If they did see it, it's going to be all right. I know how to handle things like this.
We'll come up with a strategy. It might not even be such a bad thing.
What do I need to know?
[Paul had known better. He'd been careless, myopic.]
I initiated, I'm the one at fault. I'm sorry.
[Gritty shame threatens his focus, but he pushes it aside. He can regret later.]
If they did see it, it's going to be all right. I know how to handle things like this.
We'll come up with a strategy. It might not even be such a bad thing.
What do I need to know?
cw: mouth trauma
Paul.
[anna appears on a video feed near a plateau. the landscape stretches below her; she's stopped walking for now. the camera is steady, and she is sitting on a rock. she stares off into the distance, not even looking at the lens.]
If you ever take over my body like that again. [she is talking slowly, calmly, but with a hollowness to it. she wants every word to be understood.] Then I will reach into your mouth, and I will cut your tongue from your throat, and I will choke you with it.
[it's just a matter of fact. it's just. what she'll do.]
And when you come back to life, I will do it again. And again, and again. Until your body learns that it's better off without it, and your squid washes up on the shore begging to be thrown back in.
[she lets the words hang for five, ten seconds. there's nothing but wind as her hair blows in the orange sun. and she cuts the feed with a reserved hand gesture.]
Paul.
[anna appears on a video feed near a plateau. the landscape stretches below her; she's stopped walking for now. the camera is steady, and she is sitting on a rock. she stares off into the distance, not even looking at the lens.]
If you ever take over my body like that again. [she is talking slowly, calmly, but with a hollowness to it. she wants every word to be understood.] Then I will reach into your mouth, and I will cut your tongue from your throat, and I will choke you with it.
[it's just a matter of fact. it's just. what she'll do.]
And when you come back to life, I will do it again. And again, and again. Until your body learns that it's better off without it, and your squid washes up on the shore begging to be thrown back in.
[she lets the words hang for five, ten seconds. there's nothing but wind as her hair blows in the orange sun. and she cuts the feed with a reserved hand gesture.]
[The first time Paul watches the message, he closes it unanswered. What can he say to it with his untorn traitor tongue? And there is so much else he has to do, and no time in which to see it done.
The second time, he pauses it on her silence at the end, her hair frozen in pale cirrus clouds around her face. He wonders if she knew she'd be dead by now. If she understands what he was trying, so hideously, to protect her from. If she still thinks everything unfolds in the right direction.]
Understood.
[A quiet, toneless rasp.]
The second time, he pauses it on her silence at the end, her hair frozen in pale cirrus clouds around her face. He wonders if she knew she'd be dead by now. If she understands what he was trying, so hideously, to protect her from. If she still thinks everything unfolds in the right direction.]
Understood.
[A quiet, toneless rasp.]
[It's not like he didn't know deep down. He knew everything wasn't right but... fondness seems to surpass all things. And knowledge and feelings can somehow exist independently and equally as powerful. It doesn't make sense, he thinks, but he can now understand how this is true.
He looks for Paul, dutifully taking Shinji-kun in his little wagon to make it easier for him to move. (He knows why, but why does it matter? He's certain there's a part of this creature that feels some sort of distant joy from this. It's small but important. (He's met one of his brethren, he's seen what it's like to exist with no will and through no fault of your own).
Then he finds him, prone and contemplative in the grass of the front lawn, not even aware that Kaworu is approaching. Lost in some thought or terrible purpose or all the boring things that entice Paul.
But that's okay. He grabs Shinji-kun around the middle and heaves him with all his might out of the wagon, causing him descend on Paul like an asteroid, landing between his stomach and hips.
Then Kaworu follows, dropping down next to Paul, resting his head on his arm and easily closing all of the gaps between then, nestling under Shinji-kun (who does not do much of anything but... he does seem to settle).]
Are you worried? About me? And Gideon? You shouldn't. I think Shinji-kun is alright. And so are we.
He looks for Paul, dutifully taking Shinji-kun in his little wagon to make it easier for him to move. (He knows why, but why does it matter? He's certain there's a part of this creature that feels some sort of distant joy from this. It's small but important. (He's met one of his brethren, he's seen what it's like to exist with no will and through no fault of your own).
Then he finds him, prone and contemplative in the grass of the front lawn, not even aware that Kaworu is approaching. Lost in some thought or terrible purpose or all the boring things that entice Paul.
But that's okay. He grabs Shinji-kun around the middle and heaves him with all his might out of the wagon, causing him descend on Paul like an asteroid, landing between his stomach and hips.
Then Kaworu follows, dropping down next to Paul, resting his head on his arm and easily closing all of the gaps between then, nestling under Shinji-kun (who does not do much of anything but... he does seem to settle).]
Are you worried? About me? And Gideon? You shouldn't. I think Shinji-kun is alright. And so are we.
[The fall of the lizard wrings a surprised oof out of Paul, the breath knocked from his body as he reflexively catches Shinji-kun in his arms, steadying him with care that they all now know he doesn't need to take with him. He's in no position to fend off Kaworu, even if he wanted to, and so he finds himself well and truly surrounded.
He runs a hand down the lizard's cool scaled back as he wraps his other arm around Kaworu's shoulders, also a matter of reflex.]
I'm not worried.
[It's less of a lie than it could be. The three of them are all doing all right. So is Midoriya, and Falco has been soothed, and while Merlinus remains a more complicated topic he knows his fellow Disciple is, at least, not overburdened by these circumstances.
He's the odd one out.]
I'm... [He breathes out, long and slow.] Disappointed. Frustrated. Not at you, or her, just...
Why do people have to be like that?
He runs a hand down the lizard's cool scaled back as he wraps his other arm around Kaworu's shoulders, also a matter of reflex.]
I'm not worried.
[It's less of a lie than it could be. The three of them are all doing all right. So is Midoriya, and Falco has been soothed, and while Merlinus remains a more complicated topic he knows his fellow Disciple is, at least, not overburdened by these circumstances.
He's the odd one out.]
I'm... [He breathes out, long and slow.] Disappointed. Frustrated. Not at you, or her, just...
Why do people have to be like that?
[Don't think he hadn't noticed.
Those times when he had use enough of the hands to send quick messages out into the world, to check on his friends, make contact with allies, and harrass god-- don't think that he didn't notice something else happening in the periphery.
Oscar Pine implicitly understood the rules of sharing headspace with another. A part of him had done so dozens upon dozens of times over the millennia, after all. However, Oscar was still a country boy. Certain matters of simple politeness needed to be followed. It meant being an asset to his 'host' and not making a pest of himself...
And evidently it meant making sure that the other occupant didn't get swept away in the ether.
No matter how high the walls were between them, Oscar still understood enough about what Paul knew to recognize the way Paul had turned himself both inward and beyond. Those eyes seemed to see nothing-- and everything.
...And Oscar was just a voice.]
Paul, what's going on?
[He asked finally, ending his odd reunion with Pyrrha. There would be more conversations and requests later-- but that wasn't important.
Oscar trusted his strange counterpart to have the matter of John as under control as she could. For now, Paul was his responsibility.]
I know everything's weird and scary and confusing-- And, I'm sorry for it. But, if something's happening? You've gotta let me in to help.
Those times when he had use enough of the hands to send quick messages out into the world, to check on his friends, make contact with allies, and harrass god-- don't think that he didn't notice something else happening in the periphery.
Oscar Pine implicitly understood the rules of sharing headspace with another. A part of him had done so dozens upon dozens of times over the millennia, after all. However, Oscar was still a country boy. Certain matters of simple politeness needed to be followed. It meant being an asset to his 'host' and not making a pest of himself...
And evidently it meant making sure that the other occupant didn't get swept away in the ether.
No matter how high the walls were between them, Oscar still understood enough about what Paul knew to recognize the way Paul had turned himself both inward and beyond. Those eyes seemed to see nothing-- and everything.
...And Oscar was just a voice.]
Paul, what's going on?
[He asked finally, ending his odd reunion with Pyrrha. There would be more conversations and requests later-- but that wasn't important.
Oscar trusted his strange counterpart to have the matter of John as under control as she could. For now, Paul was his responsibility.]
I know everything's weird and scary and confusing-- And, I'm sorry for it. But, if something's happening? You've gotta let me in to help.
[Paul knows the black.
It's the emptiness underneath his dreams, the unlit forge where they are born and die. It's the silent mouth of purpose that presses against his heart, and whispers. It is riptide and abyss and gravity.
The grey is new. The grey is a place he drifts in between moments, a sleeping cinder tucked into a bed of ash.
It takes a little while for Oscar to call him back from it, Paul coalescing into coherence like a wakened sleeper of the mundane kind blinking to consciousness.]
Would you specify?
[Even then, he's muzzy, lulled towards torpor by the recollection of heat.]
It's the emptiness underneath his dreams, the unlit forge where they are born and die. It's the silent mouth of purpose that presses against his heart, and whispers. It is riptide and abyss and gravity.
The grey is new. The grey is a place he drifts in between moments, a sleeping cinder tucked into a bed of ash.
It takes a little while for Oscar to call him back from it, Paul coalescing into coherence like a wakened sleeper of the mundane kind blinking to consciousness.]
Would you specify?
[Even then, he's muzzy, lulled towards torpor by the recollection of heat.]
[After going through his omni and noticing a string of texts that grew increasingly difficult to read, and after hashing out a deal with the brought-low John, there's someone L absolutely must contact.
It's an ungodly hour, befitting someone whose sense of time is jolted out of tune by the lost days of death. L's quite drunk, which Paul might suspect given their bond, but he's typing with his typical clarity. Lycka might be helping out a bit as the waves lick at his ankles where he's lying on the beach.]
Are you there?
[He hopes that Paul answers, and not the white-hot tirade of a mad sermon.]
We need to talk, if you're there.
It's an ungodly hour, befitting someone whose sense of time is jolted out of tune by the lost days of death. L's quite drunk, which Paul might suspect given their bond, but he's typing with his typical clarity. Lycka might be helping out a bit as the waves lick at his ankles where he's lying on the beach.]
Are you there?
[He hopes that Paul answers, and not the white-hot tirade of a mad sermon.]
We need to talk, if you're there.
[Drunkenness is one of those sets of sensations that the structure of the Bond between them seems to mute. He is aware of it only if he tries to be, and then only as the knowledge that it is occurring. He supposes it is, in some way, one of Doorway's strange considerations.]
I'm here.
[He knew when Lazarus came back. The presence of a renewed shadow heartbeat was difficult to overlook after having grown so accustomed to its presence. He could have reached out then. All the reasons he didn't are tired and worn thin, as he is.]
Go ahead.
I'm here.
[He knew when Lazarus came back. The presence of a renewed shadow heartbeat was difficult to overlook after having grown so accustomed to its presence. He could have reached out then. All the reasons he didn't are tired and worn thin, as he is.]
Go ahead.
[He's given it time; he's let it simmer. He's assured Harrow they're still friends, he's sent Gideon his relief and his forgiveness, even fielded Anna's crumbling emotional state in the midst of still being a little personally offended she threatened to murder him, and etc.
Holes patched. Bones set. He's repeated so many times that simply painting over the ugly parts of life, of themselves, of each other serves nothing at all; there's solace in a beautiful fresco, but not when the plaster is dust underneath.
He waits, then, until he can stop looking at his omni like a paintbrush and instead like an olive branch, and then he sends Paul a message:]
Hi, Paul.
I don't know what you're up to, [He types these days and tap-tap-taps it back out, because it's been longer than that, he figures,] so don't worry about getting back to me in any kind of specific window.
When you're just yourself again, let me know.
Holes patched. Bones set. He's repeated so many times that simply painting over the ugly parts of life, of themselves, of each other serves nothing at all; there's solace in a beautiful fresco, but not when the plaster is dust underneath.
He waits, then, until he can stop looking at his omni like a paintbrush and instead like an olive branch, and then he sends Paul a message:]
Hi, Paul.
I don't know what you're up to, [He types these days and tap-tap-taps it back out, because it's been longer than that, he figures,] so don't worry about getting back to me in any kind of specific window.
When you're just yourself again, let me know.
[The black crush of the first few days is gone from Paul by the time he can bring himself to open the message, whose instructions he abides by. The thought of not doing so barely has time to form before he dismisses it.
He's been making the rules he sets for himself simple, having followed such complicated old ones to this end. One of them, etched in bright, towering letters, is doing what he's asked, as it's asked, without interpretation. Palamedes wants to know when he's himself again, and Paul strives to think of nothing more than that.]
Hello, Palamedes.
It's Paul. Just me.
[He has to start somewhere.]
He's been making the rules he sets for himself simple, having followed such complicated old ones to this end. One of them, etched in bright, towering letters, is doing what he's asked, as it's asked, without interpretation. Palamedes wants to know when he's himself again, and Paul strives to think of nothing more than that.]
Hello, Palamedes.
It's Paul. Just me.
[He has to start somewhere.]
Hello, Shōyō.
She did tell me. I worried some.
But not because you hadn't said anything. No apology needed.
How are you?
She did tell me. I worried some.
But not because you hadn't said anything. No apology needed.
How are you?
He was your friend, too, so I thought it only right to inform you that Shoyo has left us.
[The news never comes easily. It's foolish of him, Paul knows, to think so swiftly - after Shōyō's bright smile, his eagerness and ready joy, the quiet but warm thing between him and Lazarus - what will Koz do without him?]
Lazarus.
I'm sorry. I'll miss him, too.
Lazarus.
I'm sorry. I'll miss him, too.
Paul —
I find myself regretting how much of your jam I sent off with Nigenad — not merely from missing the taste, although yours was one of the better orange-peach marmalades I've had in quite a few centuries at least — but I found myself feeling quite nostalgic, yesterday, over watching you learn to navigate a kitchen with grace and equanimity. It's reminded me of any number of other times I've watched the young men and women in my life working to master the skills necessary to address human needs; perhaps it will please you to know you fit amongst the more perspicacious of their number.
The house proves much quieter, with your generation absent; I'm certain that's no surprise to you. The shrike of our mutual acquaintance has taken to visiting regularly, and a Lyctor's cavalier made a permanent arrival on the ninth day of the month; Pyrrha Dve, sometimes known as Duty, not unlike my identity as Patience. (Neither of them are remotely as loud as a group of teenagers, together or separately, strangely enough.) Perhaps you'll forgive me for not mentioning her arrival when I spoke to you briefly before my swim; I was not at my best,so shortly after John was kil and it remained to be seen whether or not she intended to remain resident, besides.
Alfred tells me, with no small measure of distress, that those of you who left the house have established yourself in a warehouse-turned-dojo, with minimal creature comforts or amenities. While I can understand the necessity of finding shelter in short order, and will not fault you for that — it's certainly a more effective shelter than many I've used, over the years — I find I cannot believe it is your intention to remain there indefinitely; you have taken too many steps towards the reestablishment of your House, in its own name and under its own power, to hide it away again within someone else's.
I am aware, as it happens, that hawks desire to stretch their wings and fly, you see.
You may or may not be aware that John has managed to get himself killed three times, by three different parties, over the course of the last month. It is far less likely that you would be aware that there are a few new leashes on his power — not absolute limitations or preventive measures, as such, but more in the way of externally-imposed inhibitory reflexes, along with ensuring that those who have already been used to putting up with him for the longest will know if he gets himself hurt or killed again. Given the precise nature of these bonds, I will of course understand if you would prefer not to accept my assistance in seeking out a more permanent(ly defensible) domicile — but I commend my brother to you; he and I share a great many of the same opinions, but his thoughts are only ever shared when he specifically wishes them to be, and so your secrets will be safe with him — even from me, should my knowledge of them put you at an unacceptable risk.
That, too, is part of the cost inherent in watching a young man grow up, I've learned — eventually every fledge leaves the nest, to make it out in the world on their own merits, or die tr.
I should like to hear from you again, regardless — whether you prefer the traditions of stationery and correspondence, or perhaps to meet somewhere more neutral than someone's home for a conversation — I have yet to hear that Nigenad has scheduled one of his readings, or I might have suggested meeting at one such, and continuing a talk afterwards. I am quite open to suggestions (although I will note that I am not going to accept any invitations to the shore at minimum for the rest of the month).
Until then,
— Augustine
PS: I hope your dragon has decided to stay with you, and grows well; I would be delighted to hear more about them, or have you meet ours.
I find myself regretting how much of your jam I sent off with Nigenad — not merely from missing the taste, although yours was one of the better orange-peach marmalades I've had in quite a few centuries at least — but I found myself feeling quite nostalgic, yesterday, over watching you learn to navigate a kitchen with grace and equanimity. It's reminded me of any number of other times I've watched the young men and women in my life working to master the skills necessary to address human needs; perhaps it will please you to know you fit amongst the more perspicacious of their number.
The house proves much quieter, with your generation absent; I'm certain that's no surprise to you. The shrike of our mutual acquaintance has taken to visiting regularly, and a Lyctor's cavalier made a permanent arrival on the ninth day of the month; Pyrrha Dve, sometimes known as Duty, not unlike my identity as Patience. (Neither of them are remotely as loud as a group of teenagers, together or separately, strangely enough.) Perhaps you'll forgive me for not mentioning her arrival when I spoke to you briefly before my swim; I was not at my best,
Alfred tells me, with no small measure of distress, that those of you who left the house have established yourself in a warehouse-turned-dojo, with minimal creature comforts or amenities. While I can understand the necessity of finding shelter in short order, and will not fault you for that — it's certainly a more effective shelter than many I've used, over the years — I find I cannot believe it is your intention to remain there indefinitely; you have taken too many steps towards the reestablishment of your House, in its own name and under its own power, to hide it away again within someone else's.
I am aware, as it happens, that hawks desire to stretch their wings and fly, you see.
You may or may not be aware that John has managed to get himself killed three times, by three different parties, over the course of the last month. It is far less likely that you would be aware that there are a few new leashes on his power — not absolute limitations or preventive measures, as such, but more in the way of externally-imposed inhibitory reflexes, along with ensuring that those who have already been used to putting up with him for the longest will know if he gets himself hurt or killed again. Given the precise nature of these bonds, I will of course understand if you would prefer not to accept my assistance in seeking out a more permanent(ly defensible) domicile — but I commend my brother to you; he and I share a great many of the same opinions, but his thoughts are only ever shared when he specifically wishes them to be, and so your secrets will be safe with him — even from me, should my knowledge of them put you at an unacceptable risk.
That, too, is part of the cost inherent in watching a young man grow up, I've learned — eventually every fledge leaves the nest, to make it out in the world on their own merits
I should like to hear from you again, regardless — whether you prefer the traditions of stationery and correspondence, or perhaps to meet somewhere more neutral than someone's home for a conversation — I have yet to hear that Nigenad has scheduled one of his readings, or I might have suggested meeting at one such, and continuing a talk afterwards. I am quite open to suggestions (although I will note that I am not going to accept any invitations to the shore at minimum for the rest of the month).
Until then,
— Augustine
PS: I hope your dragon has decided to stay with you, and grows well; I would be delighted to hear more about them, or have you meet ours.
I <3 All Might!!!
[When Paul receives the message, he checks its contents before its sender.]
I know, love. Any reason in particular you're reminding me?
I know, love. Any reason in particular you're reminding me?
Edited 2022-11-09 19:44 (UTC)
[Like all accidental videos, it starts with a picture of a room, but the sounds of chopping, bubbling, and sizzling can be heard in the very near distance. Ochako left her Omni on one of the counters as she cooks, probably prepping a tasty dinner for tonight, when her housemate and boyfriend gets back from his patrol. Something hot, hearty, to warm her cold-hating partner up fast.
The kitchen sounds are all that echo for a while, Ochako's image flitting on screen here and there to grab ingredients or spices, a gentle hum trailing along with her before she actually starts to sing. And why not? She's home alone, after all. Who would be privy to her little sound session?]
What am I to be? What is my calling?
The kitchen sounds are all that echo for a while, Ochako's image flitting on screen here and there to grab ingredients or spices, a gentle hum trailing along with her before she actually starts to sing. And why not? She's home alone, after all. Who would be privy to her little sound session?]
What am I to be? What is my calling?
[Unlike some modern youth, Paul is not wedded to his Omni. This is another way of saying he forgot it in his coat pocket when he returned home and hung it up. By pure coincidence of timing, he is also in the middle of preparing food, and when the soft strains of someone singing reach him from what he thinks must be the hall of the building he shares with a few other people, he thinks nothing of it. He even starts to hum along for a while, echoing the tune, until a catch of familiarity strikes him.
Paul sets down his chopping knife and pads to the front door curiously, checking the peephole for any evidence of Midoriya's friend. When she isn't there, he pops the front door open and looks up and down the hall, increasingly perplexed as he calls out:]
Uraraka-san?
Paul sets down his chopping knife and pads to the front door curiously, checking the peephole for any evidence of Midoriya's friend. When she isn't there, he pops the front door open and looks up and down the hall, increasingly perplexed as he calls out:]
Uraraka-san?
I made everything so magnificently awkward in under 15 seconds. I am magic.
[ I apologize for my transgressions.
The words don't leave Daniel's mind, along with the image of the broken boy bowing so far that his forehead reached the mat itself, not entirely. Even though he has so much to deal with first when it comes to Robby, Daniel is well aware that two kids came out of all of that hurt, and completely ignoring one of them just isn't something Daniel can do, even if he may be nowhere near as close with Paul as he is with Robby.
So when Daniel finally has a moment for it, he ends up sending a text - figuring that it's probably better than outright calling the other. Less intrusive.
But he has to check up on him. ]
Paul.
Are you alright? Has someone tended to your wounds?
The words don't leave Daniel's mind, along with the image of the broken boy bowing so far that his forehead reached the mat itself, not entirely. Even though he has so much to deal with first when it comes to Robby, Daniel is well aware that two kids came out of all of that hurt, and completely ignoring one of them just isn't something Daniel can do, even if he may be nowhere near as close with Paul as he is with Robby.
So when Daniel finally has a moment for it, he ends up sending a text - figuring that it's probably better than outright calling the other. Less intrusive.
But he has to check up on him. ]
Paul.
Are you alright? Has someone tended to your wounds?
[By all rights, Paul should have been the first to reach out. The laws of Faufreluche would demand it of a Duke whose House erred as his did, even if Daniel is only the head of a martial school and not a House of his own, even if Paul had been acting in his role as a student and not as Atreides itself.
But his signet ring finger is bare, the simulacrum of his heritage reduced to so much carbon, and Paul doesn't feel like Duke Atreides. He doesn't even really feel like Johnny's student, his t-shirt still a crumpled ball shoved to the bottom of his bag. He doesn't feel like anything except someone who has to keep his breathing shallow against the angry throb of his cracked rib.
He sucks air hard through his teeth after sitting up to read the message, another fuck up to add to the litany of fuck ups that got him here.]
I've been seen to.
I apologize again for my escalation of the fight and disruption of your dojo's peace.I let myself get a It was an unacceptable lapse.
But his signet ring finger is bare, the simulacrum of his heritage reduced to so much carbon, and Paul doesn't feel like Duke Atreides. He doesn't even really feel like Johnny's student, his t-shirt still a crumpled ball shoved to the bottom of his bag. He doesn't feel like anything except someone who has to keep his breathing shallow against the angry throb of his cracked rib.
He sucks air hard through his teeth after sitting up to read the message, another fuck up to add to the litany of fuck ups that got him here.]
I've been seen to.
I apologize again for my escalation of the fight and disruption of your dojo's peace.
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