Deer Country Contact

[terriblepurpose]

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un: younghuman ✦ text ✦ voice ✦ video

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[justoscar]

[He felt that stabbing headache as if it were his own-- from a distance. It was his, yet not his. Just like how this body, during the scattered times he borrowed it, was his and yet not. ]

Just rest, okay?

[Oscar said with the tired heaviness of someone that didn't know what to do. He still recalled Gerry's words, and the feeling of something pressed into his hands...]

I'll keep the lights on and the doors closed. Try to sleep for now. You're safe.

[terriblepurpose]

[ Paul smiles, wanly, as he lets his neck bend to rest the back of the chair against the base of his skull, digging it in for the distracting pressure on his slender vertebrae. ]

Lights on, doors closed.

[ No formless voids, no woman who move like lions and smell like smoke and sandalwood. No flickering eyes, in his face or hers or tattooed on the knuckles of a stranger. ]

I like the sound of that.

[justoscar]

[No flickering eyes, except for the ones that gleamed yellowy with reflected moonlight that he probably saw once his eyes closed. The Pthumerians of Trench had born witness to the owl shape Oscar had crafted for himself in Deerington and saw fit to subtly change the boy to fit the theme. As far as changes went, these were among the most benign and harmless.

Long, lonely nights had become somewhat familiar to Oscar after nearly a year of being nocturnal.]

You don't need to worry about the sheets, either.

[Oscar explained with a smile in his voice-- and flicked on the lighter as he had seen Gerry do numerous times. Paul might feel the thrill of warmth at his finger tips, but there was no actual spark.

Just Oscar, offering a night and a warmth equal to that of a warm cocoa on a chilly afternoon.]