Elijah
He had to retreat from the warehouse, and once
he got to his apartment, Elijah concluded that this? Maintaining two
different places of residence at the same time? Was a fucking fantastic idea.
He
owed Jenn a lot right now, mostly because on top of scaring her with
the fact that he'd been in a pretty serious car accident, he'd been
driving her freaking car when it decided to take a tumble over a
guard rail. Elijah owed Jenn. Elijah owed Jenn a lot of things, but the
first thing that he owed her was an apology, then a clean apartment, and
then (finally) another car. That last one was going to be hard, and
would likely require Elijah to get an actual job instead of living off
of a pretty sizable allowance and a crappy salary as a printing
technician at the shop on campus.
So, there he was, with a
newly cleaned apartment smelling like Pine Sol and incense, laying on
the couch thinking he'd definitely overdone it. He was wearing jeans
today, but had since decided that shoes could go fuck themselves and he
wasn't going to be putting them back on until absolutely necessary. he'd
texted Ian, a simple request- wanna see the apartment when it's actually clean? We could chill and order takeout. A moment passed, then- I suck at bribery, I really just want to see you and I can't drive.
Then, ladies and gentlemen, there was the time to wait.
Ian
It'd
been a busy week for Ian, and perhaps when no answering reply showed up
on Elijah's phone he'd think that Ian had either missed the text or
just didn't much feel like coming over. He could be a bit spartan with
his text-based communication.
But as it happened, Ian did get
the text. And a while later (maybe around an hour after dinner,) he
showed up at the front entrance to Elijah's building and hit the buzzer.
While he waited, he leaned his forehead against the back of his palm on
the door-frame and closed his eyes.
When Elijah let him in,
Ian took the stairs up to the second floor and gave a brief, casual
knock on the apartment door. He had on dark jeans and dress-boots and a
band t-shirt with a picture of Grizzly Bear's last album cover on the
front. The sleeves were rolled up high on his biceps and a couple of
frayed holes showed at the bottom of the fabric on one side. A leather
bracelet with a steel infinity symbol woven into it adorned his left
wrist.
He'd just gotten his hair cut (buzzed short on the
sides and back with a little fauxhawk on top.) When Elijah opened the
door, Ian tilted his head and smiled - all cocky charisma - in a manner
that seemed to say: So I heard you wanted to see me.
Out
loud he said: "Hey." And when he stepped inside he glanced at the place
and said "huh, I guess you can clean." When he turned around he
regarded Elijah for a moment, watching the way he moved (looking, more
than likely, for signs of injury.) "You doing okay?"
Elijah
He's
already up, mostly because he had to be up to buzz Ian in and he hadn't
felt like laying down again. The apartment looks… actually, it looks
pretty damn good, as it turns out he really can clean. Elijah would perk
up with a little pride, but one should generally not be proud of their
prowess of scrubbing baseboards. The apartment was the kind of clean
that only came when someone was either in deep shit or trying to sell a
place. Elijah's situation was more of the former than the latter. He
looked at Ian across the threshold, grinned bright and playful, which
did wonders for his complexion. "Dig your hair," he says. It's the only
thing he can think at that juncture.
He's got some bruising
still, a little bit of the remnants of what happens when an airbag goes
off whilst one is holding the steering wheel. he's got some scratches,
and he doesn't need butterfly bandages anymore holding the place where
his head cracked the window. He holds his torso pretty straight, has
some pretty impeccable posture, breathing slow and not entirely deep. He
moves carefully; he doesn't tell Ian that he has stitches where they
had to pull a piece of plastic out of his diaphragm. He doesn't bend
unless he has to, doesn't twist unless he has to. It makes cleaning
interesting, landed to an attention to detail that was probably not
naturally there.
If you're already on the ground(ish) you might as well do the job well, right?
"I'm
regretting having gone to fucking pill parties in high school because
as it turns out? You build up a tolerance to things really damn fast,"
he laughs, but it isn't full bodied. Breathless because he doesn't
breath deeply. "But yeah, I'm mostly bored. I got out of rehearsal, but
I'm not sure if I'm actually excited about that."
Ian
[Life 1 - how bad are you hurt? (practiced)]
Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (1, 2, 3) ( success x 1 )
Ian
[Oh honestly dice]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 6) ( success x 1 )
Ian
"I used to have that problem too."
Now?
He had other ways of eliminating pain - should he desire it gone. (He
didn't always. Pain had its uses.) Ian's steps took him back to Elijah's
side slowly. He touched Elijah's wrist and slid his fingers up the
slope of Elijah's arm, feeling the delicate pulse of moving blood
beneath the skin inside his elbow. There was a beat as he leaned in and
brushed his nose through Elijah's hair behind his ear. The action felt
affectionate, but it had a purpose as well (smelling him the way an
animal might.) When he stepped away, his eyebrows drew together in a
concerned crease.
"You're still hurt. Come on, let's go upstairs."
And
without waiting, Ian took the spiral staircase with an easy stride,
hefting himself up a couple of the steps with a lift from his arms on
the railing. When he got to the top he kicked off his boots and climbed
onto the bed, fishing a small pocket knife out of his jeans.
Elijah
He
doesn't move, doesn't push him away, but he does exhale. Doesn't pull
his wrist away, either. he's calm, his heartbeat steady. He's better off
than he had been and then Ian proclaims that he's still kind of banged
up, and that they should go head upstairs. Elijah looked at the stairs
and made a little sound of displeasure. Not loud, not overdrawn, but he
does head up the stairs, taking one at a time, whiteknuckle grip on the
hand rail and it takes him a little while to gt up there but not too long.
Elijah
half flopped onto the bed. Only halfway, he was pretty careful with
sitting down, with laying down because he'd been warned about stitches
and he's never actually had to worry about this before. "I'm really a
shitty patient," he told Ian, "I'm apologizing in advance that I am a
shitty patient."
He settles in, though, watches Ian with wide
eyes and keen focus. He's not strung out on pills at the moment, he'd
made sure of that. Found that he liked his focus more than he liked not
being able to feel things. Learned he could take the bad and still
appreciate the good. It was the first physical reminder he's ever had
that told him not to do anything stupid without thinking too hard about
the consequences.
Ian
[Life 3, vulgar, diff 7 -1 (focus) -1 (going slow)]
Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (2, 4, 5) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Ian
[extending]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (4, 9, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Ian
"Why
am I not surprised," Ian mused dryly. The tone was deceptively
detached, given the circumstances. As though Elijah had just come home
with a skinned knee instead of a (now-healed) concussion and a deep
puncture wound in his stomach. All things considered, it could have been
worse. Elijah could be dead.
Ian watched Elijah half-climb,
half-fall onto the bed with a carefully appraising gaze. When he spoke
next, his voice dipped into a softer register. "I'm glad you're okay.
For what it's worth." He slid the knife open. It was small and had a
curved blade. Not much of a weapon, really (though it could still kill
someone in a pinch.) Perhaps more of a ritual tool.
Ian sat
forward and pushed Elijah back into the mattress, indicating that he
should lie down. When Elijah was ready, Ian knelt over his hips and
picked up his hand. There was a moment of consideration (but otherwise
no real warning) before Ian pierced the tip of Elijah's index finger,
drawing forth a tiny well of blood. He put the finger to his lips and
sucked on it gently, which under different circumstances might have been
erotic. In this case, it was probably a bit... unsettling. With the
taste of Elijah's blood on his tongue, Ian lifted Elijah's t-shirt to
reveal the partially healed wound on his stomach. Then he pressed his
hand there and focused.
Gradually, Elijah's wounds began to
mend. It started from the inside out. Bruises faded. Pain receded into
warmth. A deep itching sensation permeated his stomach as the flesh
knitted itself back together. As the healing energy reached the surface,
Ian sliced through the stitches one by one, pulling them out carefully.
When he was done, Elijah felt healthier and more rejuvenated than he
had in days. Ian slid off the bed and went to wash his knife and his
hands - and to throw away the useless stitches.
Ian
[Oh right, why do I always forget paradox?]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (6, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Ian
[Oh NOW you give me 3 successes]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Ian
[phew]
Elijah
In
truth, Elijah might have behaved the same way if it were a skinned
knee. Perhaps he hadn't been aware of how bad things could be, or maybe
he did realize this could have been bad. It could have been a lot worse,
he's seen a picture of what the car looked like. They could have very
well been dead. He smiles, a little lopsided but appreciative
none-the-less.
Ian pushed him back onto the mattress, the
indication clear that he should lie down, Elijah watches, doesn't quite
know what to anticipate, but he watches none the less. Looks because
he's trying to put two and two together, like his brain finally goes Oh, right, that's a ritual tool and then And then, finally, this sort of trepidatious what the fuck is about to happen?
He has no frame of reference. He's seen Sera do this once, for some guy
who was nearly dying- someone Elijah was actually ready to write off
and try to comfort into the idea of dude, you're going to die.
But
then he's warm. He's warm and it's easier to breathe, and that's what
he notices first. He notices that he can pull air into his lungs without
some sharp tight something nagging at him and making him want to cough
something up. At first he looks confused, but then? Then it's done. Then
there aren't bruises, there aren't cuts, there isn't a fucking hole in his stomach being held together with baseball stitching. Ian goes to wash his hands.
Elijah sits up and just… looks. Stands soon enough and goes to a mirror hung on the wall.
"Holy fucking shit," he says, amazed and enthralled, "holy fucking shit, Ian- that's… how the fuck did you do that?"
The sound of his voice is all but drenched in wonder. Awe. Shock.
"You're like a fucking miracle worker or something…"
Ian
From
the bathroom, Ian gave this low, hushed laugh. It sounded a little
tired. Perhaps he ought to have let Elijah's wounds heal on their own.
It would have been the careful thing to do. After all, he clearly wasn't
about to die. In a week the stitches would have been out and he'd have
been wandering about good as new apart from the fresh scar on his
stomach. A life lesson. Healing could be costly. So far for Ian, it
hadn't cost much more than time and energy and part of a suit. Perhaps
he was getting a little cocky with fate. Perhaps he just didn't like to
see his friends in pain.
It was probably good to have the practice, at any rate.
"There's
no such thing as miracles. It just takes Will and experience." He dried
his hands off and pocketed the knife before returning to the bedroom.
When he got back, he sat down on the mattress and watched Elijah
marveling at his healthy, unmarred skin. Despite his words, for a moment
Ian marveled at it too.
"You should learn to heal yourself. It's a highly useful skill."
Elijah
"So,
I could learn how to do this?" he has been staring, he pokes, like he's
expecting it to all be superficial, like it might just be a well placed
veneer but he doesn't hurt and his brain is still trying to sort
it out. Ian could have let it heal on its own, probably should have
because, perhaps, this would have allowed to stand as a reminder that he
needs to be careful, that he isn't going to live forever. It's a
strange notion, that it wouldn't be brushes with the supernatural that
would get Elijah to take better care of himself but a dose of harsh
reality.
"Like, really, no different than seeing a
potential tomorrow," he runs his tongue over his teeth, turns around
and grins something bright at Ian and pushes his shirt back down.
Quickly, and he doesn't have to worry about leaking on his shirt. Which,
quite frankly, was just a tad too disconcerting for Elijah's tastes. He
does, however, linger looking at Ian. "Then again everything comes with
a price, eh?"
He meandered over to Ian's side of the bed,
leaning against the railing behind him, "I suppose if I'm going to keep
living dangerously, I should learn a means of mitigating the situation."
Though, there is something to be said, Elijah sounded a whole Hell of a
lot more southern when he was trying to hold himself together.
Ian
"Or
you can just learn to be more careful." There was just the faintest
edge of something sharp in his voice. "Like you said, everything comes
with a price. But the lives we have... sometimes pain is unavoidable.
You can learn to do anything you want, with enough practice. Just watch
out reality doesn't slap you in the face for trying."
Ian had a
habit of making things look easier than they actually were. Which was
fine for him, but... not necessarily the greatest teaching method.
Someone like Elijah needed to see the sweat and the exertion. He needed
to see what happened when people got careless with their abilities and
karma stepped in to pay them back for their hubris.
But he
wasn't offering to teach Elijah how to heal. Not just now, at any rate.
Instead he looked at Elijah leaning against the bed-frame, tilted his
head thoughtfully and said, "Can I ask you a favor?"
Elijah
He
has yet to have reality slap him in the face. Not yet, at least, but it
will happen. He has yet to pay for pushing too hard or trying the wrong
thing at the wrong time or overstepping his boundaries. It will happen,
it's not a question of if but a question of when. He knows cognitively
that the day will happen, but it has yet to really sink it. It's getting
there, though. Hopefully sooner rather than later.
Can I ask you a favor?
"Of course you can, I'd even say yes," he says, "and that's before hearing what it is. Now's the opportune time to ask for a kidney."
Ian
Ian smirked at that, but the expression didn't linger. "You should wait to hear what I need before you say yes."
For
some people, the favor that Ian was about to ask was hardly a favor at
all. But for Ian it was... significant. Intimate in ways that someone
who didn't know the Mind like he did might not understand.
"I'm
trying to teach myself to connect more deeply to other people's minds.
But it's not just something I can try out on strangers. I could,
but... it would be a violation. So I guess I was wondering if you'd be
willing to let me try it on you. I'll be careful. And I won't look
anywhere you don't want me to look."
Elijah
[Manip+sub: this totally doesn't set me off-kilter]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
Ian
[Per+Empathy]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Elijah
He
does actually get a little caught up there. Something is something
there and, for the time being, he seems fine. perhaps his naivety serves
him well, perhaps he plays it off. Elijah shrugs, but has to think
about it. It might not seem a favor to some people, maybe Elijah is one
of those people. And perhaps he is. With that shrug came a moment of
reflection. A moment that was just quiet enough that it seemed Elijah
was thinking about it. But there was something more to that. he relies
on seeming forward and seeming dauntless because it comes down to
moments like this.
Elijah doesn't understand the way the mind
works, not like Ian does. Not intimately, not entirely, and it would be
easy enough for Elijah to seem unaware of how big this was… but he did
know. He was aware and he was taken back because… there was the chance
that Ian might see something that made him walk away. That he might see
the inner recesses of what makes Elijah tick and find him wanting. there
is a moment where he wonders what would be off limits. He knows it's something you can't do with strangers.
He's
had this conversation, ranted with Ari over this about how a person's
agency is sacred, about how you don't go places you aren't invited. He
understands that it would be a violation, had been insistent with the
young woman over it and why someone depriving another of that agency was
wrong. Elijah worked in theory, but he was looking at something in
practice. This…. this really was big.
"I trust you," he says, and it sounds conversational but Ian knows better. Elijah says I trust you
and it isn't lighthearted. it isn't lightly ventured, the levity is for
his own sake lest it hit Elijah the gravity of the sentiment. He
trusted Ian. He trusts that Ian won't hurt him, not intentionally, and
that is the most important thing. Even if something went awry, Elijah
wouldn't hold it against Ian because… well, he didn't hand out his trust
lightly.
"I figure that whatever you come across, you're not
going to treat with disrespect so…" he exhales, smiles because it
centers him, "yeah, we can do this."
Ian
For
someone who guarded his own trust as though it were as fragile as spun
glass, a conversation like this echoed with an almost reverent weight.
And suddenly everything was too close, too real, too heavy. He'd thought
perhaps that Elijah wouldn't understand what he was asking - not
really. That he would say yes as easily and flippantly as he did to so
many other things. But he did understand. And he still said yes.
I trust you.
Almost, Ian said: You shouldn't. Not
because he intended Elijah harm, or because anything he'd said just now
had been a lie (it hadn't.) But because the idea of that kind of trust
seemed so anathema to him. He didn't say it though. He just got very
quiet. Then he pushed back onto the bed and folded his legs into a
crossed position. "It'll help if you can sit across from me."
Elijah
He
exhaled, sat himself down across from Ian on the bed. he put his hands
in his lap, kept his posture straight, and looked at the other man from
across the way. he thinks, for a moment, of how it had been when Kalen
had first taught him how to shield his thoughts, how he'd been taught to
center himself and it had ended with Elijah falling asleep in his lap
more times than he had originally intended.
"okay… do we just
breathe? Do we make eye contact?" he asks. there is a strange bit of
nervous eagerness… uncertain if he was ready to jump in, but it was
something that just had to happen.
"… is it weird that I'm kind of nervous and kind of excited?"
Ian
[Mind 3 - forging a telepathic link (this much he's done once or twice with Jae-shin) diff 6 -1 (taking his time)]
Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (7, 8, 8) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Ian
"You don't have to do anything but just be there. Quietly. And let me in."
Ian
put his finger to his lips to indicate that he needed peace to do his
work. The last thing he said before he started was: "If you want me to
stop, tell me and I will."
Then he closed his eyes and went
still, breathing in this slow, meditative rhythm. It was a few minutes
before anything happened. Before Ian's own mind was clear and focused
enough to attempt what he wanted to do. Then he opened his eyes, leaned
forward and pressed his lips to Elijah's in a long, slow kiss.
Ian's
presence in Elijah's mind was like softly treading paws. So stealthy
and so delicately balanced that Elijah would scarcely notice it until suddenly
there was a voice speaking in his head.
He felt it more than heard it, really. It felt rich and velvety and unmistakably Ian.
That was... easier than I thought it would be.
Ian sat back, smiling.
Elijah
He's
never experienced this before. And he can't help but think about those
moments of being young and wide-eyed and sitting across from someone on
the bed. Ian breathed in something slow, meditative. Elijah's heart was
beating loud enough that he was afraid that Ian might be able to hear
it, there and those moments of silence seem to last forever. Those
moments brought with just breathing and it's a struggle to just be. he tries, though, pushes things aside, lets things go.
If he wants Ian to stop, he just has to say the word and he will.
he
doesn't say anything, though. He waits, and there is that moment when
he leans forward and catches cues and presses his lips against Ian's.
It's long, it's slow, and it's the contact that tells him to relax. It's
the contact that reminds him to breathe and centers things. he barely
notices a presence at all until he was already there. It wasn't jarring,
it wasn't scary, it wasn't unwarranted or unwanted and it was very
clearly, very obviously Ian.
There are things that come with
surprise. Feelings and symbols punctuated with a literal gasp.
(Something small, like a pop of color and light that comes back to
equilibrium.) Elijah cocked his head to the side, let the smile linger
on his face. Ian catches that millisecond delay, en anglais imperative.
This isn't so bad, the reply comes. Very much a son of New Orleans, there's a bit of an accent that isn't repressed there. You know I'm easy, you shouldn't be surprised. A quirked brow, a grin. (mirthteasingpokewarmthstarlight)
Ian
[Mind 3 - looking for a memory this time - diff 6 +1 (new effect) -1 (slow)]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Ian
He
could actually (hear Elijah's heart beating.) It was a subtle pulse on
the edge of his awareness, only there when the room got very quiet and
when he was listening very closely.
Right now, Ian was
listening in other ways too: reading the thoughts and impressions that
filtered through Elijah's conscious mind. Elijah didn't get the same
impressions from Ian. The things that he shared felt more deliberate,
and about as spartan as one might expect from him in verbal
conversation. Perhaps that wasn't entirely fair of him, but controlled
communication was part of what he needed to practice (and when did Ian
ever leave his thoughts unguarded?)
He smiled, though. Charmed in spite of himself. For a moment, Elijah felt the warmth of it radiate through their connection.
I'm going to look for something. A memory.
But what kind of memory?
There
were things that tended to linger in a person's mind. Emotions and
sensory impressions. Most people had at least one memory of eating a
favored food during their childhood. Maybe the memory had something else
attached - maybe not. What Ian was looking for was the thread of hunger
and craving and the innocent, primal joy that children experienced when
they ate something they really loved. He'd never done this before, and
didn't entirely know what to expect. But he understood how to track, and
so that was what he did. He found a scent (an impression, a taste) and
he followed it back to its source. It was perhaps a strange sensation,
having another presence walking about in your mind. Ian's Will was more
purposeful here, its movement careful but powerful. (Hunting.)
When
he found what he was looking for, the memory opened up before him.
Elijah felt it too - as though something had triggered an old
recollection.
Elijah
"No, Maya," and a hush. A shhhhh
and the back of his mind something pawing and poking and trying to get
into places she wasn't supposed to be and the parallel between a
terribly young child don't the same thing. These were early memories,
and there is a whole sensation there. It starts and the floor is close
and there is one of those little step stools that people keep about in
their kitchens so that their children don't bust their chins trying to
get close enough to the faucet to wash their hands.
What Ian
gets, first, is triumph. The cabinets are painted white and the drawer
pulls are all that antiqued bronze and the refrigerator is stark white,
save for the half dozen pictures taped to it that all look remarkably
like the same scribbles. Little people, someone who is tall and someone
who is pretty and someone who is little. Nobody has hands, not because
there is some symbolism of feeling powerless. No, it was because hands
were hard to draw and as a child people should just be glad that Elijah
remembered to give people shoes and mouths. No noses either, because
noses were also hard. Really, they were less people and more
people-shaped scribbles.
When the world comes into focus,
there is a watermelon. Watermelon, specifically, that Elijah knew he
wasn't supposed to be eating because it was for... something. He didn't
remember what it was for, that much is clear, but half of the thing was
cut open and covered by aluminium foil and it was discarded immediately
to the floor. Something small and brown and yippy and Yorkie-shaped went
to go chase the foil.
There is the smell of boiling water,
probably pasta, and the refrigerator is open and he lept in for his
opportunity, having long since determined that hanging on the door of
the fridge and wailing never really got Mommy to open the fridge, but this time she'd felt it open. This time he got lucky.
someone
had made the terrible mistake of putting something Elijah wanted on a
low shelf. This was a mistake they didn't learn to rectify for awhile.
Pots, pans, DVDs, CDs shoe laces (Elijah had a thing about shoe laces) and now? Half of a water melon.
It
was pink, that kind of pink that bled into berry red and every perfect
little black seed was bright and visible and it's been in there just
long enough that the whole refrigerator was starting to smell like fruit
and he plunged his hand in. Whole hand, and grasped like that was how
one went about eating water melon. He couldn't take a normal bite, it
was too big, and there was that ping of delight at the sensation of
something cold on his fingers so he put his other hand in, too, dripping
juice all down his little forearms until, finally, he shoved her
pilfered piece in his mouth and it was everything,. He tasted it like
this was world changing, that this was better than regular water melon because it was his.
It
sloshed in his mouth, warmth rising heartbeat pulsinggiggle stifled for
the time being because he had his mouth full of food and in went the
second bite. And then a third. Splishing, squishing, pushing down, that
sort of ravenous hunger unique only to children. Eating for the sake of
taste, caring for nothing if it made their stomachs upset because right
now it was fantastic. The cold of the air on his skin tickled his nose
and he took another hand full. The yorkie had come back and there he
was, dripping wet with juice and pulverized melon and he drops a piece
on the floor.
"For Maya," he tells her. She makes a break for
the fridge again, he huffs and graps her with both hands, plopping her
down in front of the fruit, "Noooo, for Maya."
So, it
came to pass that a small Elijah and a Yorkie ended up eating the same
watermelon together. He got through half of it, riding that powerful
delight until someone came and got him out of the fridge.
Ian
Even
for someone as emotionally reserved as Ian (hardened, one might say,) a
scene like that was... endearing, to say the least. Elijah's memory
played out across their connection, filling Ian's mind with vivid
sensory impressions. He tasted watermelon on his tongue. Felt the cold
and the sticky wetness on his fingers. The dog made him laugh, both
aloud and within Elijah's mind. After the memory receded, a lingering
smile remained on Ian's features - this soft, almost paternal thing.
Across
their link, Elijah would pick up something that felt a bit like charmed
affection. That kind of feeling that one gets when they spot a puppy or
a small child acting adorable and suddenly everything just gets warm
and bright. It only came through for a moment before Ian thought to
quiet it. Then he sat up a little and ran a hand over his hair.
The connection broke. Perhaps intentionally. "I think that's enough for one evening."
Elijah
There
was something to be said about the fact that Elijah was quiet and he
was still. He was watching Ian's face, watching his expressions and
seeing how things might change but feeling movement and feeling
that exploration. He knows Ian is there, knows that he is looking for
something and Elijah doesn't push him away, doesn't push him out,
doesn't insist that this is too much, that he wants to walk away now
because he doesn't want to walk away.
What Ian gets is
personal in a different way. Normally, in conversation people end up
getting the older parts, the later parts, the parts that feel raw and
scraped and just revealed enough to be intriguing without giving enough
that it could ever really hurt. This was different, this was something
that was there, remembered and filed away but rarely called upon.
This... it made him smile, look to the side like he was a little
embarrassed but it was the same kind of embarrassment that came when a
Grandmother took out the old photo albums. Somewhere, there lingered
amusement. Somewhere, there was recalled joy, moreso because he could
feel that moment, could linger in it.
No ghosts, no shadows,
no barriers impressing themselves. Just... living. Ian hunted carefully,
knew what he was looking for, didn't wander into dangerous territory.
And he feels things, the moment of softness, something at the edges that
was charmed and then? Thoughts were quieted. Connections broke and they
were two separate beings again.
There's quiet.
"Y'know, if you ever want to do that again, we can. Like, I don't mind helping you practice and all."
Ian
"That's...
generous." Ian rolled the edge of his lip between his teeth, casting
his eyes toward the far wall. After a long time, he looked back. "Thank
you."
He unfolded his legs and slid off the mattress. "I'm a little tired actually. I think I'm going to head home."
It
didn't take much time to slip his boots back on. While he did it, he
glanced over his shoulder and said, with a dry smile, "Try not to get
any more serious injuries this week."
Elijah
[Did I do something? Per+empathy]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Ian
[Manip+Subterfuge]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
Elijah
"No
stress," he said, smiled even. Elijah ran a hand through his hair,
pushing things back into place, "I promise, no massive injuries for the
rest of the month. I have thus learned my lesson."
"See
ya 'round," he raised a hand, but didn't have to see Ian out. The place
was small and he did go downstairs with him, lingered long enough to
see him go and then to check the fridge, the taste of watermelon still
on his lips and the quiet disappointment that his trying to will it into
existence didn't make it true.
