rehandle | saltburnt inbox

( strange could theoretically mean anything or be anyone, but danny's got a gut feeling — )

you take a wrong turn in the void?

[ Oh. What the fuck? ]

Not all of us go wandering off

i only wander off during specific moments, like parties and family gatherings or when strange men come to my home to rip my daddy's heart out. (:

Sorry I couldn't arrange a playdate for you this time, looks like you figured it out fine on your own.
How long has it been?

last i saw you was ( shit, when was it? time is an unreal blur. ) months ago. may, june. i popped up here shortly after zlatka rearranged my guts at her little dinner party.

[ Months ago, when he spoke to him just the other day. There are too many things it could mean: comforts in some of them, a flipside to every coin. ]

Any sign of an out?

strange, let's be real here. if you're asking me that, we're fucked.

( danny is many things, but a time-bending wizard is not one of them. )

[ Great. That would've been too easy, wouldn't it? ] What else is new.

the house ain't right. you can leave technically, but most people who try end up right back here with little memory of what happened from a to z.

Have you tried?

i haven't had a reason to want to try.

[ He almost makes a comment here, some cold criticism. Something stops him. ]

Why?

same reason you probably wouldn't have left rubilyk of your own free will.

[ Because he wants to kill the bitch in charge and ensure life goes on in her absence doesn't seem like it's the answer here, and failing that... ]

Who else is here?

john, house, jem. eddie, too, but he ain't ours.

[ All four of them. All four of them. What the fuck. ]

And we're sure this isn't the Void?

[ It's not a question he needs an answer to. Buying time. Time to get his head around waking up in the company of so much unfinished business. ]

we're not sure of anything. i think john thinks it is.

Edited 2024-11-11 02:36 (UTC)

John also thinks you're a special boy, so we'll keep our grain of salt handy
You all arrive together?

well, if god thinks it, it must be true. (:

more or less. john already disemboweled me as my welcome present in case you've still got some axe-grinding ideas in that perfectly coifed head of yours.

Oh. Thrilled to hear the family's still fully functional after relocating. How's your body count looking here so far?

that's between me and god, too.
and the general public, i guess.

single digits.

Well, that's something. The dead staying dead this time?

you wanna find out?

Why, you got a death wish? Here I was thinking you were happily settled.

if i didn't have a death wish, stephen, i wouldn't be in love with john gaius. kind of a core character trait in my happy little family.

Great. Try to keep it in the family then, ok? What I wanted was a yes/no answer.

you're such a downer.

people don't stay dead here, just like rubilyk, just like the place i was in before rubilyk.

I'm surprised you expected anything else.

Seems like a step up from both, congrats on the upgraded cell.

hope springs eternal.

i'm still sleeping on the floor most nights, so i don't know how upgraded it really is, but the scorching hot showers are a bonus, sure. ( stephen strange is a man of a hundred questions. danny's saved most of his, except this one: ) you familiar with john murphy, back in rubilyk?

You mean the same John Murphy under whose transformed influence I decided to come into your home and rip your daddy's heart out? [ To borrow some choice phrasing. You could say he's familiar, yeah. ] I saw him at a party recently. I'm not exactly his favorite person, but he seems to be managing as well as any of us.

far as i knew, you could've only known him as daddy or master or a secret third, worse thing.

( but fair enough. )

murphy's always managing, so that don't tell me much but i guess it's good enough.

( he's alive, he's still there, exactly where danny left him five, six months ago. that's the important bit. )

[ There's a delay here. News that could make things better, could make things worse hangs in wait, unsure if it's a kindness to complicate things, unsure if he cares to be kind. But he knows too how he's felt from waking until now, thinking he's left them behind. ]

You don't need to worry. He's got people.

( danny notices things, like the username strange sprouting up on the network overnight, like a several-second delay between texts, space enough for an indecisive breath. )

if you ain't gonna jerk my dick, don't edge me, strange.

You're back there.

back where? ( . . . ) rubilyk?

( it only takes him half a moment to digest it, then accept it. like, all things considered, that's not outrageous. weirder things have happened, and if they haven't, well. now they have. a danny here, and a danny there. he would be in two places at once. )

how's my body count looking?

[ Not a bad decision, then. Neutral, maybe. ]

Far as I know it's the same as it was. Don't quote me on that, I haven't been paying you that much attention.

so i've been a good boy. i'll let jem know you said so.

Edited 2024-11-11 20:29 (UTC)

Nothing but sweetness and light to me, so you can have it.

that don't sound like me. you sure i wasn't replaced by an alien clone?

I was starting to wonder.

don't worry, i'll make it up to you.

Not if I make it up to you first :)

[ He's pretty sure he just inadvertently set Jemima on a war path, and it's giving him strength in these trying times, so. yw, buddy. ]

[ instead of John "thinks in text" Gaius's brain telepathy text pings it's just an ordinary phone message. ]

Hey. Come to add another heart to your collection?

[ it's a joke it's a joke it's a joke ]

[ That's two for two on the heart-shaped welcomes, and there are layers to this one, and if he tries really hard maybe he can find a shred of humor to spare them. Or at least - ]

Hello, John. How's the vacation?

Really good, actually, yeah. Footloose and spider-free.

Good for you. I hear the gang's all here?

Fun, right? And you've come just in time to watch Danny suffering the consequences of his murderous actions again.

So what news from Rubilyk?

Thanks. Nothing cheers me up like Danny having done another murder

Not suited to a message on baby's first iPhone.
You tried the front door yet?

I've tried a few things. But not too hard. If I have to be temporarily trapped in some strange extra-dimensional space I'll take the one with the hot showers. Cafe latte. Chlorinated pool. Housekeeping service. CD players. Modern medicine. Pizza, even.

Yeah. Seems like a cushy prison as they go.

Better than where we were.

At first I thought it was a void dream, but there are telepaths here at least as strong as Mavis who haven't been able to crack it. Like in Rubilyk, there's a large assortment of people from different universes. A couple even came from their own little multiversal prisons with their own set of different people, and honestly? None of them sounded as kitted out as this place.

[ Great. Another loop of the multiversal conveyor belt, pick n mix in some nexuses sticky fist. ]

I have things to do back there, John. If you hear any whispers, I'd appreciate it if you point me in their direction.

[ A short while later... ]

Think I just initiated a small civil war amongst your younger contingent. Sorry, if you're all still sharing a bed.

[ He's not, the schadenfreude's great for his mood actually. ]

Please, the babies are fighting more often than they aren't. What'd you say?

That Jem never left Rubilyk, while Danny took a nice walk out into the void and showed back up a month or so ago.

did u bring our goat with you

No, sorry. Hard autumn, we had to eat it.

as if mercy would let you eat her, she bites and screams like a banshee 😡

did anyone else come with u

Not to my knowledge. I'm not exactly here on purpose.

no one is

what did we miss

Plenty [ And that's all he's got to say for the time being on that, because - ] You've been here as long as the rest of them?

yeah

last thing i remember from home [ home ] was the day after the feast, more or less

[ Danny was one thing - gone, at least for a while, before returning. This is another altogether to have confirmed. He's honestly not sure if he likes the implications any more than the possibility of having abandoned the place. ]

Your people are ok. Been through a lot, but they're ok. And Eddie's birthday party went off without a hitch.

i missed eddie’s birthday

[ Hm. ]

Not exactly.

eddie being here isn’t rly the same lol

Yeah, that's not what I meant

they named a blow up doll jem didn’t they

Maybe. I wouldn't know.

[ Should he tell her? Will it be strange to know, or comforting? It's both at once for him right now, even only as a possibility. ]

You never left.

????

stephen i'm here, obviously i left

Either you're still there or we were mass-hallucinating you going about your life. Functionally it doesn't make much of a difference.

Danny came back, too.

‘came back’

elaborate

[ Oh. Right. This is getting complicated. ]

Wandered out of the Void into which he had previously wandered and asked me to unlock the family farm.

it’s your lucky day stephen, i free u from my ire and contempt temporarily

stay away from gregory’s heart :)

[ Three for three. ]

Wow. And all I had to do was hop a universe to the left? If I'd only known.

u just gave me something worse to be irritated about

dw i’ll be back for you eventually!!

[ Oop. ] My thanks and commiserations to Mr. Johnson. Please feel free to take your time.

[ are you having a peaceful evening? are you enjoying the sights and sounds of saltburnt? well, congratulations on finding a new companion tonight: this dog, with glowing hell eyes and fire collar and a stinky sulfuric perfume wafting along with her. if you step away from her, she will follow. if you move towards her, she will step back. just a little dance-y dance for about a few minutes before she decides she's had enough and leaves.

she knows you now. time to report back to her human. ]

[ Glowing hell eyes, fire collar and sulfur stink or not, this man absolutely did crouch down to attempt to pet the dog. Deeply tragic news that she would not permit pets.

He resists the urge to follow her when she turns to wander off: all things in their time. ]

[ day two of a haunting! just more of the same, but this time: SNACKS.

well, for him more than for her. hope you enjoy coal-hot beetles! they're just coming out of her mouth every time she sneezes. but you can pet now? ]

Edited 2024-11-22 01:54 (UTC)

[ Pettable dog and free beetles? Doesn't mind if he does. With each little emission, the beetles are caught in a net of amber light that wields itself around, snatching any would-be trips to the clinic and/or marks on the carpet out of the air as Stephen focuses on scritches and observing this apparently friend-shaped gal.

He will absolutely be running some recon on the collected insects later, but for now he'll conjure her up a chunk of marrowbone stolen straight from the kitchen to send her on her way with. ]

[ a bone snack! see, sometimes the humans are worth paying attention to, this is the best day so far.

dita's going to take the bone snack and demolish it. have your pets while she does, they have been well-earned! ]

[ Thank you, thank you, he'll be scratching behind those ears with merry abandon while she chomps. While he's got the proximity, might also risk easing a little magic from his fingertips down through thick fur to see what if anything beyond the doggy norm he can sense from her. Please don't bite the hand that feeds, xoxo. ]

[ there are some vibes to glean from this baby, and they're mostly about the

F̴̢̜͍̣̯͓̼̊̈́̓͆̅͌̌̆̈́͘͠Ì̶̧̧̘̺̣̩̤̦̠͛̾̄̏̓͒̋̇̏͜Ë̶̠̙̌͂̇͆̈́̑͆̌R̷̡̦̜̤͈̫̞̖̼͚̼̅͝Y̸͓̪͙̎̿̈́̐ ̴̡̲̯̻̟̇̿́̋̓͑̈́̅̒P̶͓̖̙̈́͠Ī̷̢͚̩͙͆̈́͋̈́͘T̶̢̧͖̹̻̋̂͐̌̑̚͘͝ͅS̶͙̥͚̮̊͊ ̵͕̯̣͈̩̺̾̌̀̈́͋O̷̠̹̻̞͋͑͐̇F̴̡͓̲̳̬̦̯̫͌̑͊̉͜ ̴̭̩͇̐̀̅̍H̶̡̳̞̩̜̟̻̥̖͆̆̉̀́E̵̙̻̮̯̪̟̤̝̰̽̌̆̍͑̊͛L̷̨̛̛̹̦̹̮̝̝̟͖̮͂̐̔͘̕͝͠͠ͅL̶̢̛̮̮̬̮̾̂͒̐͊̏̾̔͘͠

and her devotion to

Ṭ̶͑̚H̷̭͂É̴͓ͅ ̶̥̙̂U̷̪̅́Ǹ̶͕̼͝H̶̳̞̅̎Ö̵̜́͝ͅL̵̮̿̆Ỳ̶͇ ̸̰͚̔F̸͍͋̏Å̸͕̮T̷̛͍̺̈́H̵͙̆̊Ë̷͈̻́̚R̵͈̓ ̴̟̊̀Ŏ̸̰͍F̷̠̈̚ ̷̭̀͛A̴͉̰̕͝L̴̢̈L̶͉̉̽ ̴̢̨̈͝T̷͕͐H̶̲̾͊Á̵͒͜T̴̺́́ ̵̠̇͝I̸̳̍͌S̵͔̲͒ ̷̪͈͆̓È̵͍V̴̦̯̇Ḯ̷̢̬Ľ̸͚̞,

but in between all of that fun stuff are — faint memories. a motorcycle revving through the streets of downtown LA, a neon-lit palmistry store, a beautiful blond person with legs for days, emitting so much angelic light that it's blinding. and at the centre is a warm vision of her human, her witch, the demon boy who calls himself marco and feeds her table scraps from paper clamshells while they hunt down monsters who harm other monsters.

exorcism circles. unholy fires. running out of gas in the midwest. having to go back to hell every now and then because a hellhound isn't meant to stay topside for too long without devolving into mindless rage. when in dire need, she rises to his call.

and here, her human needs her again. ]

Edited 2024-11-23 16:24 (UTC)

I need a device capable of ocular injection. You want spraypaint. Do you see the difference?

[ Hm. ]

I do. But I don't think you need me to.

[ Best part of texting: he can lose his chill and curse at his phone and the other person will never know. ]

I appreciate that you have more sense, then, than the intended recipient of that message.

[ More sense, perhaps, but a roughly equivalent amount of tact - ]

Ocular injection. That's a niche need.

And an irritating one. Medical, I'm afraid.

Fortunate you should stumble on a doctor. Retinal issues?

About a dozen years ago I was submerged in toxic run-off.

[ And did he get cool powers? Is this a Bruce Banner or Harley Quinn origin story? No. ]

I had sustained a wound that bisected my brow and eyelid and opened the conjunctiva. The injury became infected, and treatment has had some... side effects.

[ Oof? Oof. ]

Side effects that require treatment of their own? I'm not on staff here, but I can confer with the clinic or give you the names of the other medical staff in our situation working there to see that your medication's supplied. We've a registered nurse who should be able to administer for you.

[ Politely not reccing the services of the residents he hasn't spoken to yet. ]

That may not be possible. The treatment I was using was... specialized. One drop - weekly - cures most ills. More provides physical strength and speed, along with unfortunate mutations. Enough of it applied proactively can heal even fatal wounds. The chemist who created it called it Shimmer.

So you were micro-dosing with an unstable miracle drug.
Perhaps it's time to find a new prescription.

[ That's exactly correct. ]

I suppose we shall see what the clinic says.

Were you a practising doctor, before you came here?

No. I switched career paths a handful of years ago. Before that it was neurosurgery.

Left anything particularly riveting behind yourself?

I ran a city. I'll miss it very much - the city, not the running of it.

You ran a city.
As in... mayor?

Not quite. Originally Piltover was quite literally stratified; those born in the undercity toiled amidst toxic waste and poison gas to supply those who had built over our heads. The wealthy families on the upper city council passed laws, and their enforcers enforced them, and their wealth increased on the backs of our labour.

Violent revolution failed. So instead I united all the miners and factory workers, the street gangs and the desperate impoverished, and took economic power. The council called me an industralist, at first. When I made demands, that quickly switched to insurrectionist.

I imagine it did.

That's quite an endeavor to leave behind. A weight off? For all you'll miss the city.

Perhaps. My beloved daughter - the spraypaint enthusiast - is not exactly conductive to a restful holiday.

[ Ah. More shared worlds, close connections. There's a lot of that going around here. ]

Better to be worrying about a city than a daughter left to her own devices in it.

[ Bit taken aback by that, because it resonates. ]

Yes. Yes, that much is true.

If she doesn't have any luck tracking down the paint herself, she can get in touch. Dr. Stephen Strange.

Ah, that explains the name shown; I thought perhaps you simply considered yourself an oddity.

Silco, of Zaun. No house names for the undercity. My daughter is Jinx.

No, the shoe just happens to fit. I neglected to mention I'm a sorcerer.

I don't think I'll struggle to remember either of those.

Magic? Interesting. Is that an acceptable thing to be, where you're from?

Not historically. But I've landed on the right side of popular opinion for the most part.

Lucky you.

How's your magical chemistry?

Is this a prelude to you asking if I'll remake your mystery drug?

Could you?

Did you arrive with any at all?

Not conventionally.

Meaning there's still some in your bloodstream?

[ Smart man. Though he isn't thinking of his own. ]

Could you work with it, in blood?

Potentially. If it's magical in nature, there's a chance I could skip the lab. If not, jury's out.

Hard to say. Where is the line between mutation and magic?

[ Is chemtech magic? Is 616 Wanda's magic less magic because she's a mutant? Sorry to make you think about this bullshit. ]

Give me a sample and we'll find out.

[ Excited to overthink about this in great detail. Though, for right now... ]

But to be clear: if I can do it, it'll be on prescription.

I see.

Can I trust in your discretion, doctor? Walking around with an 'experimental miracle drug' in his blood could make a man nervous.

You can. I'd hope we all have bigger concerns than gossiping about the contents of one another's bloodstreams.

Appreciated. I'll contact you again when there's a sample at the clinic.

[ Of Jinx's blood, given she's the one whose veins all but run pink after Singed saved her. But he, more than anyone, understands that the substance is a valuable weapon or medicine, and he has no intention of putting his daughter at risk of being experimented on. ]

Sure. Until then.

hihihi!

do you wear pajamas to bed?

[ If this were anyone else, he might not be inclined to answer that one. As it is... ]

Sometimes. Why?

you have silk pajama vibes. like you're too classy for boxers.

is nude the other option or am I just letting my imagination run wild?

What your imagination gets up to in its free time is none of my business
But if the sheets are good enough, pajamas just get in the way

do you enjoy your sheets here, doctor?

I regularly do, yes

you know what guarantees the best night's sleep ever? good sheets and a genuine Sleep Assist Ginger!

Is that so? Tell me more.

see, they are very emotionally supportive, which is great when you've just been tossed into an unfamiliar dimension. they're also very warm, pliable, and enjoy getting you off! orgasms help you sleep.

Well, I'm sold.

[ There's a lot of comfort to be found in Iggy being Iggy. He's tempted to invite him over later on that merit alone... but there's an imbalance here. He's already weirdly ghosted him once for mentioning people who know him from other worlds while Stephen wasn't quite ready to manage bursting that bubble, so he figures he owes him clarity before using him as a cure for not-at-all-home sickness. ]

I should probably mention
I'm one of the people who knows you from somewhere else. A you.

no way! that must be why I was so drawn to you! besides my usual attraction to wealthy older men, I mean.

it's something in you that makes my soul feel happy.

were we an item? omg was I a fumbling med student you loathed?

[ Never change, Ignatius. ]

No and no. Friends.
With a shared lover or two. [ Or three. Or more. ]

that's even better! friends are so special.

wow, really? that's so hot. gosh, other me sounds like he must have been really happy.

so like
is it weird if I sex you up then? I don't have to.

He is, I think.

[ Now. Give or take some worse days. ]

No. Honestly, I think we're overdue.
One favor though.

good.

anything. I'm very good at favours.

Please never again use the words 'sex you up' in that order where I can see or hear them

[ That's the worst phrase he's ever read with his eyes ]

Edited (where are his MANNERS) 2024-11-24 23:50 (UTC)

lol it's a really old song! but ok I promise.

do you have sexual preferences I should take note of?

By Color Me Badd, March 1991, lead single from the debut album C.M.B.? That makes it worse, actually.

[ He's playing, but also the fact that this song is 'really old' and probably older than Iggy himself is a new worst thing unlocked.

He also forgot how easy Iggy finds talking about sex like this. Apparently, it's still not a skill he's learned. ]

How about instead of me answering that you come over later, I'll open some wine, we see how we feel, and I promise to be a better communicator in person.

Edited (British English autocorrect strikes again) 2024-11-25 00:21 (UTC)

omg you know music? that's so cool! I love music.

[Iggy wasn't born until 1999. Don't think about it too hard, Stephen.]

I like the way you think. just tell me when and I'll be there. 😘

So do I. Enough that I'm dangerous at a trivia night.

Let's say an hour or so after dinner. I'm flexible if you prefer later, just message when you're ready and I can get you some transport door to door.

that's so nerdy that it's kinda hot.

that works fine!

[and at the appropriate time:]

🍑

[Yes, that counts as a message.]

[ That'll do it. A couple of seconds to receive the message, crack a smile, and then there's a portal tearing itself out of the air wherever Iggy's standing, spitting harmless amber sparks. Through the circle of torn space, another room: the house's aesthetic relatively undisturbed in here, all antique furniture and heavy fabrics.

Stephen waits on the other side, peering through. ]

Skipped the doors in the end. Hope you don't mind.

[Iggy eeps because he's never seen a portal before. But he peeks through and grins.]

I can't decide if you're keeping this on the downlow or showing off how magic you are.

[He steps through fearlessly, beaming.]

Hihihi. Gosh, your room is so neat!

[Iggy's is a mess.]

how attached are you to your assigned room?

Why?

if it's all the same to you, there are plenty of empty rooms where mine is located

interested in being neighbors, doc?

[ Yes. To be an easy distance away. Familiar territory, comfortably close. But then he remembers how much things have changed. He thinks of Ignatius Melville in his messages, an easy gateway to his bed. Does he really want to be living next door to him now...?

Then again, nobody visiting him would have to use the door. But that in itself would feel a little like lying. ]

Depends. Have you got the hall rigged with cameras yet?

considering i was part of a murder game all last month, yes stephen, i've got surveillance up

Never fucking ends, does it? [ The chaos. Doesn't matter where they are. ] Are you alright?

yes

[...]

no, that's a lie
i'm not
but i'll get over it [ because he has to. ]

i need you to keep an eye on me, stephen
i know it's a selfish request but i don't know how long i can hold out
so just in case, [ just in case he is tempted to start drinking again. ] i need you close by

Ok.

[ Doesn't need any more than that. He'll navigate the rest when he gets to it. ]

Pick me out a room, I'll come by later.

thanks
i appreciate it

[ moving on now— ]

so penny for your thoughts on this manor?

Pretty for yet another prison

much more insular too
we have no access to the world beyond the grounds here
if there even is one

Yeah
My last place was the same.
A little more restricted. Past a certain point there was just nothing

i wouldn't be surprised if the next place i end up in is an actual jailcell
or maybe a hole in the ground

every single time i feel like i'm making some progress in cracking the multiversal code in getting us all home, i wake up somewhere new and it's just rinse wash repeat

except the tech keeps getting worse

Edited 2024-11-23 23:36 (UTC)

Careful not to tempt fate
You'll end up in remote 19th century-adjacent Eastern Europe

with my luck? yeah, i'll just shut up before i jinx myself

i don't like this place, but at least there are still things i can work with

Atta boy
At least there's still coffee.

How much experience do you have with holes torn in the fabric of reality?

I create upwards of three a day. Found something?

Perhaps. A boy turning into something else. He believes it may be proof of the influence of a void encroaching upon us. Have you detected anything like that?

[ Well that's. A deeply distressing combination of words. ]

Turning into what? Is he contained?

[ The void can wait a moment, he will absolutely be getting back to it. ]

[ Good questions. Armand is all too aware he doesn't have adequate answers. ]

An angel. I have hidden him.

[ An angel. Stephen remembers his last death at the too-bright eyes of a newborn angel, a crowd of onlookers jeering their satisfaction. It was the fault of nobody inside that ring, but that doesn't mean there's no cause for concern. ]

There was a Void in the last place I watched a man become an angel. I've found no trace of it here. Are you familiar enough with him to know if there any new marks on his body?

He's covered in marks. Tattoos, bruises. But I can't say I've noticed anything new. He seems lucid, but there's something unsettling in him. A glory trying to burn through him from the inside. I worry that I can't trust myself around him.

Then clear out. I can ward him in. And you out, if that's what it needs.

No. He will be distressed. He's being hunted by others in the manor.

All the better reason to put up a ward.

Who is it?

Matthew Jamison. Do you know him? He was murdered and was reborn in the house. Perhaps that was his undoing.

[ Oh, great. A magic user, as though this weren't already volatile enough. ]

Perhaps. Whatever it is, we need to ensure it causes as little harm as possible to him and to others. You asked for my expertise. Will you take it or won't you?

Your expertise, not your intervention, Doctor.

[ But. ]

But I get the feeling I can't prevent you from doing what you consider to be right. So I'll only ask that you're careful for his sake. If he needs to die, don't let him suffer.

He won't die.

[ That's a bold statement to offer as fact, but some things are worth manifesting. ]

Are you a danger? Now, in this context specifically. I won't keep you from him if it isn't necessary, but I need your honesty.

No more than I was before he came to me changed.

[ So about a 6/10. Dangerous, but in control. ]

I can't say if that will be true if I spend too long in his company. I fear that I won't be able to say no to whatever he asks me to do.

Is he showing a tendency to make dangerous requests?

Not yet, but who can know the mind of God?

[ Give him strength. ]

If an inclination toward holy servitude makes a willing weapon of you, I will put an end to it. He's risk enough himself without foot soldiers.

[ Starting to have some regrets. ]

Very well.

Do you think you'll be capable of contacting me if your concerns manifest? Before you do anything either one of us will regret.

If you leave your mind open to me, yes. It's faster than using an electronic device.

I can do that.

[ In more ways than one, these days. Speaking of... ]

Does your gift shield your own mind?

I can close my thoughts to others, if that's what you mean. Though it has only been tested against other vampires, so far.

I don't intend to read your thoughts, but if you speak to me that way there's a likelihood I'll register a signature to recognise you by. Though I likewise don't know if it'll work with a vampire mind.

I'm prepared to take that risk.

Good. Do you want to get it out of the way?

[ All right.

Just a voice, at first. Drifting out of the darkness like smoke. ]

Stephen Vincent Strange. Guardian of New York.

[ It's all well and good being a telepath until somebody is finally a telepath right back, and better. The slightest flinch— but he settles. A power he left behind worlds ago opens up, chest glowing blue as his mind works around the voice, chasing it home, seeking the pattern at the core of neural code to associate with identity.

He keeps his response in his own head, doesn't attempt to project. Armand's already here, already listening. ]

I can't believe you full named me.

[ Two different kinds of magic, meeting like salt water and fresh in the mouth of a river. Twisting together, diluting, becoming something both more and less than they were before. Armand listens to Stephen's heart, his blood, and through the blood to his mind. Not so much coming from outside as rising from within. An inevitable predator. ]

My apologies. [ A very brief pause. ] I lived in Greenwich Village for a time. Perhaps we were neighbours.

I can't help but think one of us would've noticed.

[ If they were neighbours. But it's a funny thought: the vampire living down the street from the sorcerer. Maybe somewhere, somewhen. There are enough universes to choose from. ]

I think I have you. It's been a while since I've tested it long-distance.

[ Recollections of a far-flung future long since past. Minds drifting through his consciousness as clutches of unfiltered neural activity while he scrolls through invoices on a computer stored in his own head, each mind scratching up against his awareness like the feet of a colony of clueless ants while he searches for the ones he knows with half his focus, confirms outgoing payments with the rest. ]

[ It's not surprising that Stephen's mind is a locked door. Armand doesn't bother testing it, though he listens at the cracks, hearing the creak of dark and dangerous things beyond. It reminds him again of John, that deep black pit. He'd like to know more, but they have important work to do. ]

He's here.

[ Not so much directions as an awareness, knowledge where knowledge didn't used to be. An attic that shouldn't exist, not accessible from within, the windows only visible from certain angles outside the house like an optical illusion. Inside: old dust and feathers twisting in shafts of light. A rattling of wings. ]

Be wary of the hunters. They want to end him.

[ It's strange to be on the receiving end like this. But he adjusts quickly, accepts new knowledge as it comes, rekindles it to know it more thoroughly. ]

Who hunts him? Do you have faces?

Edited (okay question mark) 2024-12-23 17:26 (UTC)

[ Another slice of awareness/memory: a view, from above, of the two hunters searching the grounds. From the distance, one might assume the viewer is either on the roof or in the air somewhere above them, undetected. For the moment. ]

They seem to know what they're doing.

[ A moment to absorb, to know, to see. ]

Thanks. Keep an eye if you can. I'm going to see him now.

dr strange. any plans for the holidays?

Besides burning errant plants and eating too much food?

[ hang on a minute. ]

why are you burning plants. is this a christmas thing?

Edited 2024-12-26 18:42 (UTC)

Have you not had the questionable pleasure of getting stuck under mistletoe yet?

and run the risk of kissing my sister. of course not.

i've been inventorying the clinic. wanna come down and help?

Woof. Well, then you're lucky I'm out here setting things on fire.

[ He has not, in fact, actually been doing that. As for the rest... ]

Oh. It was a trap.

[ what was the point of lying if the doesn't even do anything: a philosophical question to ponder at 2am. ]

it's fine. her boyfriend's here, too. they can get trapped together. and if i was going to trap you i'd do it with more finesse.

i have soju and fish skins.

'Any plans for the holidays? No? Great. Come and do some work.' If it looks like a trap, and it sounds like a trap...

[ But - ] Fine. But I'm leaving when we run out of soju.

don't you guys have a saying about loving your work? i'm making a game out of sorting the bandaids by color.

think you drink more than i can? dare you.

That sounds absolutely riveting. Like watching paint dry. You do know you don't have to do any of that, right? The staff may not appreciate our presence, but the benefit is they do all the routine work themselves.

[ However... ]

They also don't do it drunk. But a dare is a dare.

[ Challenge: accepted. ]

i don't like the staff. they get mad when i do their job. it's not my fault they're not very good at it.

no cheats, yeah? you have to actually drink. how do you say it, all the way down the hatch?

Close enough. Yes, agreed. All the way down the hatch.

[have a nude, stephen.]

[ — Oh.

Stephen stares at his phone, feels flushed and bashful for as long as it takes him to remember he's a forty-six year old man being hit on by someone at least two decades his junior, and then being smug joins the party.

It all balances out somewhere in the middle, fondness curling around intrigue and the quick-lit fire of arousal as he searches for something vaguely alluring to say. ]

Nice hair.

[ Or that. ]

I'm suddenly really glad I didn't just send you hole.

speaking of my butt, though, look! it's bigger!

Me too. This is much better.

Got a new regimen?

[ That's Stephen for yes it is, I'm looking right now. ]

I sincerely thought about it, but you're classy. you deserve more than my grindr hookups.

kinda! haven't you seen that guy hanging around with the new like, herbal supplement? it's insane but I swear it's giving me bbl results.

do you like it? 😘

Thanks. I'll cherish that sentiment always.

[ As for the rest, uhhhh. ]

I do. [ Like it. True, and also designed to keep him sweet and hopefully responsive as he asks: ] Just some guy?

see? classy!

yay! I know you've got a ton of people vying for your attention so I'd hate to just blend into the crowd here.

oh, he's the Balfour's life coach. he's great. really like, the power of positive thinking vibes, you know?

You could never.

[ ... a hippy with a wonder drug. That sounds normal. ]

And he's handing out ass enhancement supplements?

Stephen, you're so sweet.

well, it does more than that, it clears your skin up and stuff too.

Did he tell you what's in it?

kelp, I think?

did you want some?

[ Kelp. ]

You know what, maybe I do.

[ Just not for personal use. ]

ok! I can give you some of mine, then if you really like it you can talk to Mr. Leaf. he's really cool. I think I might take his etiquette classes.

you know, so I can woo classy doctors.

You don't need any help with that, Iggy.

But I'd be grateful for a share of your supply. Thank you.

kinda feels like I do. but that's OK! I love self improvement!

happy to share. :)

I'm telling you you don't. Unless I'm not the doctor in question...

Also, I've always liked your ass.

you are. you're very attractive on more than just the physical level. you're so smart, and you care abput people although I get the impression you want that to be secret.

thank you! but it's better now. I think a lot of me is going to get better.

Is there a chemistry lab somewhere in this godforsaken Piltie maze? There's something going on with my moisturizer.

Probably. [ Helpful. More importantly - ] Something 'going on' with it?

My experiments lead me to believe it has some sort of healing or de-aging properties, but I'd like to verify that with a microscope.

Your what?

Experiments.

Yes, I can read.

You suspected something was going on with your moisturizer so you continued to apply it, presumably to yourself, intentionally. Am I following along?

Edited 2025-01-16 13:27 (UTC)

Yes.

Why do I feel like we've had this conversation before?

[ Because they have, or something close to it, in their very first talk. And then he started small scale manufacturing the drug in question before he even really knew who he was doing it for, so who's the real joker here? ]

Stop, first of all.

Why?

Silco.

Lacks persuasive power over text, you'll have to try a real reason.

That wasn't a persuasion, that was a 'don't play stupid, it doesn't suit you.'

Also doesn't convey over text.

I'm being careful, I'm documenting my results, and I'm not hurting anyone. Why stop?

Because you don't know that for a fact. There's no way to be appropriately careful with unknown substances whose risks you don't yet understand, and just because you can't see the damage now doesn't mean there isn't any.

Probably should have thought of that before I started. Bit late now.

You often put your hand on something boiling, realise it's hot, then leave it there because it's a bit late now?

Stop using the moisturizer.

Find me a lab and I'll move on to theoretical study.

This isn't a negotiation.

And yet I'm negotiating.

Ok. Stop using the moisturizer or I'll sneak in and swap it with self tan when you least expect it.

You overestimate the amount I'm applying. This is an experiment, not a skincare routine.

And it's a necessary experiment why? Boredom isn't an adequate answer.

You don't think we should find out about what they're trying to drug us with?

Not by drugging ourselves with it, no.

Good thought, but I don't gave the facilities to hold captives. And as I may have mentioned, I can't find a laboratory.

[ Uhm? Moving on. ]

You forgot to mention you're a scientist.

[ Said because he's fairly sure he's not. ]

Not professionally. But I have a passing interest.

So you're a hobbyist.

Stop.

No.

Why?

Because I don't take orders from you.

Disappointing that I can't count on your assistance, but not particularly surprising.

You didn't ask for my help. You told me to find you a lab under threat of continued self-experimentation. Pass.

[ Leaving Stephen on read because his feelings got hurt. ]

[ It's maybe an hour later. Ten minutes to wait for a response that isn't coming, forty minutes of his phone launched onto his bed so he can throw himself into an angry bout of drills, then a shower, then another five or so to drip all over his bedroom floor, dampening the sheets as he huffs down onto his bed, picks up his phone, reads back through the conversation from its beginning. ]

You don't get a lot of pushback, do you?

Edited 2025-01-17 06:55 (UTC)

My whole life has been "pushback".

[ It's why this conversation is half trauma response. It's why it's disappointing but unsurprising, that his brief vision of solving this together was killed so quickly. He has always done the hard and necessary things alone. ]

[ It offers some reminders: first, that he knows only the skimmed surface of this man, the things he's chosen to share and the things he's wrung from his body; second, that they are two very different people, on a fundamental level he can do nothing about.

Third, while his people skills may be better than they once were, there's significant room for improvement when his first response is a deep breath and a sigh. He takes a couple of minutes. Tries to step off the defensive offense and try a different approach - maybe clarity. ]

I told you to stop because I'm a doctor, a scientist, and a sorcerer, and in that context I have concerns for your wellbeing. I didn't run to find you a laboratory not because I don't think the inquiry's valuable but because I'm not about to foster a dynamic where you think you can wield your health as a bargaining chip and I'll fold. It encourages harm.

[ Unfortunately, even clarity comes with a high horse. He is what he is. ]

My health and wellbeing is just fine, thank you for asking.

I offered you a way to have what you wanted. But you feel entitled to mindless obedience. Pass.

Silco. You're experimenting with things that you've already identified are capable of altering one's body beyond the quick fix capacity of any modern medical supplement I've heard of. You don't know that you're fine.

I know what sick feels like.

At this point I've gone through withdrawals at least three times, in escalating severity. I suspect those who are deliberately using this might die if they stop abruptly, but could taper to something more managable. Part of the problem is it's difficult to be precise with dosage of a topical cream.

You're fucking with me.

[ He's not. He knows he's not. But he's so incensed that he can't not account for the possibility. ]

This would have been a more pleasant conversation if I was.

Stephen.

You've gone through withdrawals of escalating severity at least three times, you think cold turkey would kill people, you're still using this shit, and you're fine because you're not actively sick right this second.

No.

[ Immediately, violently defensive. ]

Are you listening to what I'm telling you? You need to make sure the clinic has a supply of this drug in the most measurable form you can manage, extra staff for the incoming burden, and at the very least extra saline and — whatever you use to treat epistaxis.

[ Mental notes made, calculations set running, intrigue at knowledge and terminology tucked away, impressed with the assessment of the situation, thoughts already moving to the local clinic staff rotation, to wondering if they'll heed him when he issues a warning, to whether the manor is already as they speak adapting to accommodate pending needed. But all of it goes on the back-burner within the bounds of this conversation, because - ]

I hear you. Do you hear yourself?

How is this any different to the Shimmer you supply me with weekly. I know my own limits.

You tell me you NEED the Shimmer. You have prolonged experience with it, and I have enough involvement in the process of reproduction to have faith that it's as stable as it can be, for what it is.

You don't need this. We don't know what it is, we DO know it's being introduced by the manor at the eventual detriment of everyone using it, and that using yourself as a test subject any further than you already have isn't going to get us any closer to understanding its base components or the consequences of use than observing those who are going to keep using it anyway will.

[ Pause. Wait. ]

Are you addicted?

I don't think it's chemically addictive — those who are concerned with their appearance might find it so, or I suppose avoidance of withdrawal is a kind of addiction. Neither of which apply to me.

And you're right, that there's little more I can learn through applying it.

[ A better reason than just, because I say so. He's considering it now, at least. Judging how much of his resistance is pride, how much is intellectual curiosity, and how much is the whisper of the substance itself promising him perfection. He's a vainer creature than he thinks he is, after all. ]

[ He lets that sit, giving himself a minute for the cloak of obstinance to slip from his own shoulders as it's slipped from Silco's. Starts typing again before it's been so long that he might risk seeming as though he's ignoring him, not looking to start another fight. ]

Sorry. I know I can be abrasive.

I'll help you look for a laboratory. You're right too, it's worth us understanding what we're up against.
Just please stop using yourself as a subject.

[ Sorry and please and he caves instantly. ]

All right.

Your opinion is important to me, you know.

[ Oof. Like a kiss right to the ego. ]

I didn't mean to devalue yours.

It's not that.

I'm concerned you'll presume to have authority over me just because I showed weakness in our more intimate moments. I hate being told what to do. I'd rather roll the dice on this place's impermanent death than be forced into capitulation.

Showed weakness when?

[ He's not sure he's had many less obliging sexual partners in his life, which is proving to be half of the joy. ]

I presume to have authority over any and everyone where my expertise is relevant to the topic at hand. It frustrates me when I'm shut down in situations when I know my experience qualifies me to act or advise decisively, and I'm not kind about making that known. That's on me, the amount of my life I've devoted to my vocations, the extent to which I value my own opinion as a result and the limited time I've spent caring whether or not other people like the way I speak to them over the course of my career.

It had nothing to do with you. Or the sex that we have. Which, by the way, is not a weakness.

Edited ('or indirect' a lie) 2025-01-17 13:14 (UTC)

I see.

[ Not very forthcoming, but he needs to go chew that over a little more. Resist the urge to reflexively start arguing. So there's a pause. ]

All dynamics are a power struggle. With you I lose more frequently than I don't. That's all I meant. But thanks, for explaining.

Are you sure? As I see it, you always equalize pretty quickly. But even if you didn't, it wouldn't make a difference. I'm not in the habit of assuming that winning a game is any kind of reflection on where we stand when we stop playing.

[ Because they have been playing. Playfighting: losing isn't a real loss. Nobody's taking anything from anyone, doing any harm. Passing pleasure back and forth, sex or not, is a gift, not a reflection of standing. Still... ]

It might be something to talk about. If we're going to carry on.

[ The mortifying ordeal of being known aside, things are clearly already more complicated than their easy in person exchanges would suggest. Better they both know where they're coming from. ]

[ He's got just enough ReSculpt in his system that he has to sit with this, too, talk himself down off the ledge of that if. ]

There's a lot we should talk about.

[ Vander's arrival. Jinx's instability — the slow but seismic shifts in their dynamic. Silco's Resculpt findings. Strange's time in that other world. And sure, the sex. ]

Are you free for a meal before my withdrawal starts? If all goes as usual I'll be poor company by tomorrow morning.

Yeah. Let's eat. Out, or something more private?

[ 'Out', like the various options the house has to offer are ever really that.

A strange flare of nerves shares the face of its twin, excitement, and they flip back and forth, unsure which is which for a while. He stifles them both by laying back on his bed. Smiling faintly, breathing deeply, rubbing thumb and finger lightly over closed eyes. The newness of this makes even the prospect of uncomfortable conversation seem appealing, a compliment - sign of mutuality fizzing in his chest. The looming reality of Silco's hopefully final dance with ReSculpt withdrawal doesn't go forgotten, pocketed for later. ]

Privacy. Preferably not my rooms, which have no such thing guaranteed. If you're craving something in particular, I've found the staff are typically willing to go and fetch it.

Mine then. Give me a half hour and I can open a portal.

Do you have a favorite here? If it's going to be a while until you're eating comfortably again, you should make the most of it.

Steak.

[ He still finds it insane that he can just have red meat however he wants it, whenever he wants it. Really, a lot of the food here has been blowing his mind, the one thing he's really been letting himself enjoy, even if he sometimes misses Mystery Kelp Noodles.

Stephen isn't the only one who's a little nervous; Silco has had a minor glow-up and is deeply aware that either Stephen won't approve, or worse, he'll be disappointed when Silco's more haggard features return. He showers, wears a suit, absolutely doesn't moisturise. Smokes a nervous cigar out on the balcony. But he's ready by the time the portal appears. ]

[ Steak it is. He puts in an order with a roaming member of staff before seeing to the rest of getting ready, and by the time the portal winds open, he's waiting in what one might politely call a deconstructed suit: suit trousers, smart shirt with its collar loose, sleeves precisely folded. Business casual wasn't really what he was going for, but a suit jacket (not the one he'd abandoned to its fate at the bar the other night, though that had made a mysterious reappearance later the following day via a polite knock at the door) does at least hang around the back of one of the chairs beside a table that hadn't been there when Silco last was. A nod to the further steps he might've taken if he weren't a. dining in his own room, b. busy organising that room to be a dinner venue suitable for a lesser last supper. And a conversation.

He takes a second once Silco's through to look him over, note the differences in his face forged by this place's latest ploy and file them into curiosity, concern, thoughts of a younger man he never met. Then he smiles his welcome, pulse kicking for a moment as he wrestles past his nerves to lean in, tilt his head and greet him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. On the side where his eye burns brightest. ]

Food should be up soon.

[ It's not quite hello, but he's already covered that, and he steps aside to sweep an arm with enough drama to try to offset any tension toward where their table waits.

The table itself is just right for two, not too elaborately laid, Stephen trying to strike a balance between Silco's rejection of the house's aesthetic and his own nervous urge to over-prepare. Antique, wood, inlaid with delicate constellations, he's spared the table a cloth and set out only coasters, napkins, cutlery. A bottle of red and a pair of almost artfully worn-in candles make for a muted centrepiece, and he'd banished the suit of armor to the empty adjacent room so the whole thing could nestle safe in the corner where shelves full of books, trinkets, more scattered candles line the walls floor to ceiling. ]

[ The kiss, in particular, takes this from a business meeting to something outside the bounds of Silco's experience. A brush of Stephen's beard, the mingling of their colognes (his own courtesy his Secret Santa, expensive and masculine.) His fingers flex, throat and ears pinkening a little — more obvious now that his skin is pale rather than greying.

He's brought his notes, scribed by hand into a leather-bound book, days and dosages and effects, mapping data onto graphs, three distinct points so the ratio of usage to dangerous side effects and withdrawal symptoms is a clear upward slant. Whether or not Stephen thinks he should have done this, it's done, and maybe there will be something of use in there. He sets that aside, though, for Stephen to peruse later, and takes a seat. He knows they aren't really here to talk about the ReSculpt. ]

This is nice.

[ The compliment is a little stiff, but not insincere; he just feels awkward about exactly how nice it is, this private table for two — for him. He'd wanted privacy for their conversation, overlooked how that would come with intimacy. He shakes out his napkin.]

How've you been?

[ Since they've kinda covered him, and he really would like to know. ]

[ His gaze drops from taking note of what he's sure must be a subtle flush to cast his eye over the book Silco sets aside. Curious, but willing to let it sit for now, priorities elsewhere. This is nice he absorbs with the muffled pinch of a smile that's clearly more relieved by it than he's trying to broadcast - good. ]

Oh, you know. Fine.

[ It's the put-upon, conspiratorial kind of fine that suggests what he really means is bored, restless, frustrated, all the things that come along with this place for any person who'd rather not be here. The kind he assumes they both feel on any regular day. It is not the kind of fine that makes note of the missing, signatures both neural and magical disappeared over days, the house spilling people like an overfilled glass.

A knock at the door before he can sit and a wave of his hand swings it open to allow house staff in with the food. The steaks come cooked to their taste (he'd given the name of his guest and trusted them to know how he likes it), a selection of accoutrements unloaded, food still fresh-hot. Stephen watches on with growing disgruntlement as his nice little table is overladen with bowls and dishes and far more food than two people need. By the time he's seen them out and finally sat down, there's a little furrow between his brows that he takes a second and a blown-out breath to flush out along with his tension. Anyway. ]

Wine?

[ No small amount of humor in the query as he leans over their spread of triple-cooked chips, asparagus, sautéed mushrooms, baked cherry tomatoes, homemade onion rings, glazed carrots, garlic mashed potatoes, coleslaw, corn on the cob, peppercorn sauce, rich gravy, delicate french fries, ketchup, mayonnaise, salt, pepper, and a random plate of slow-cooked gammon with four unexplained rings of pineapple sat atop... to pour the red. ]

[ He'd chosen steak as an indulgence, but this is beyond his wildest dreams. The napkin twists between his hands as the table becomes laden with side dishes, nose wrinkled very slightly — and then he catches sight of Stephen's expression and sighs as he realizes he's just as bemused by this.

So his question is arch rather than his initial condemnation of the wasteful excess: ]

I wasn't aware you were expecting so many people, Stephen.

[ A nod to accept the wine, and he decides despite the intricate formalities at play he isn't going to wait to serve himself. Starts with the pineapple, fascinated by it, and the mushrooms as he knows he likes them. Takes small samples of other things, to decide which he likes — but truly, what are they going to do with all this food. ]

Neither was I.

[ His brow folds, smiling, butt of a joke and weirdly happy about it. Adamantly pouring Silco an admirable measure as if none of this is happening all the while. ]

Well. Saves you having to see anyone over the next few days.

[ Mini fridge and a microwave and away you go. It's not necessarily a serious suggestion, nor in second-later hindsight the kindest of jests. He spares a glance up from his own pour for how it lands, a sommelier deer caught in headlights. Aware that he'd been a lot earlier, hoping to make it clear it's an easier topic now, but instead perhaps just twisting the knife. ]

[ Silco's head tips, and he gives Strange a dry look, lifts his wine glass. Swirls the wine. ]

You're better off handing off the leftovers to someone who won't be upending their stomach, I think.

[ Maybe he'll leave some fries in Jinx's room as a peace offering, but — well, even if he wasn't going to be very sick very soon, he has neither mini-fridge or microwave.

At the very least, he doesn't seem to be offended by the topic raised, nor is he quite so prickly about it. As far as he's concerned, he's agreed to stop and that's that. He sips the red; it's good, a little peppery. A good contrast to the steak. Adds, chary: ]

I brought my notes, if you want them.

[ The reply comes with a barely-there sagging of shoulders, with slightly more wine than he'd meant to pour for himself. He sets down the bottle, starts serving himself small helpings from the surrounding plethora: mashed potato, carrots - a dash of gravy for the vegetables, some sauce for the steak.

At mention of the notes, a lightbulb blinks on in his head. ]

Thank you.

[ Whether he approves of the angle of approach or not, the research itself is well worth looking over, one more tool against the coming tide. The fact that he's being entrusted with it is a small point of pride shown in an earnest meeting of Silco's gaze, a nod of acknowledgement for the work done and handed over for the benefit of all those not so careful. Though it also conjures a question he can't quite help but ask, now he's safe in the knowledge the experiment is over. ]

How long do you think you'd have kept going?

[ Dropped light into conversation - not a challenge, just a question. He can guess he was close enough to done with it, since he'd decided to reach out about the lab - threat of continuing likely more a railing against Stephen's presumption to give him instruction than a considered intention. But he can't know that. And while it makes no real difference, he's curious whether Silco knows the answer himself. ]

[ Strange might not mean it as a challenge but Silco still reads it as one, glancing up with a bladed gaze. A moment of watchfulness like a creature assessing a threat, and then he returns to cutting into his steak with sharp capable motions, apparently having decided Stephen isn't being deliberately provocative or rhetorical. ]

I was hoping to move on to studying the substance itself.

[ Keeping his tone light, not trying to return to the argument they were having over text. But it does make clear that his refusal was more about a kind of prideful resistance to Stephen's attempted authority; negotiation a failed attempt to save face. Strange would find them somewhere to collaborate and Silco would magnanimously let him think stopping was his idea in return.

Except that wasn't how it had worked out at all. A wry smile at his food, hidden by taking a bite, fondness hopefully well-disguised as enjoyment. ]

The effects don't particularly compel me. I just like to know how things work.

[ To see them with his own eyes; though typically he had Singed for biological chemistry, Jinx for chemical engineering, and he could simply watch and verify. Rare for him to be hands on again; rarer still to allow himself to be the subject. Needs must. ]

[ There's a certain gladness in having suspected correctly. They haven't known each other long, so they can't yet know each other well, but there's enough similarity there at least that his guess hadn't landed far from the mark. A nod of acknowledgement, acceptance - and then to be rewarded with a little glimpse into the man cracks him into a fresh half-smile as he's loading up his fork. ]

You should be careful. That's how a man becomes a wizard.

[ Wizard, his least favourite word for what he is, but he can't always take himself so seriously. It is, unfortunately, extremely ridiculous that he is who is he is, no matter how important or wonderful or necessary the change.

A smirking mouthful of honeyed carrot marks his approval: better or worse, he's more or less the same. ]

Edited 2025-01-22 14:43 (UTC)

[ And because he's a man who likes to know things, that little comment, clearly meant to highlight a similarity, piques Silco's curiosity. ]

I had the impression you learned magic on purpose — with purpose, I should say. But you make it sound like a finding out.

[ This absolutely isn't the relationship talk he came here to have, baiting Stephen into telling fantastical stories again, but he can't help it, he's hungrier for those than even the food. (Which is good, standard British fare rendered exotic to Silco by interdimentionality. He really likes steak.) ]

[ Talking about himself in the context of calling is a siren song he's unable to ignore. He takes up the bait all too easily, blind to the way it steers them off course - or perhaps just not worried whether their journey toward their destination is a meander or a sprint. ]

I went looking for my last chance at solving what I considered to be my problem. So in that sense, I had purpose. [ A little wiggle of scarred fingers in indication of the then-problem in question. ] Wound up at a compound half a world away where the woman in charge claimed I could heal myself with magic. I thought that was bullshit. So I scoffed, then I yelled at her, then she threw my soul out of my body and sent me plummeting through a constant stream of other dimensions.

[ As one does. A sip of wine to pause and punctuate. Looking briefly down to his food as if he's not hooked on how hooked Silco is on his tale. But he is. It's not long before he's seeking him out again. ]

When she kicked me out, I sat outside on the doorstep for as long as it took for her to let me back in. Hours, I think. Maybe a day. Sometimes, you just need to know.

Edited 2025-01-23 00:34 (UTC)

[ A point of interest: ]

You hadn't encountered magic before that point.

[ This changes his perception of Stephen's surgeon-to-sorcerer origin a little. Silco has at this point been too exposed to magic to be skeptical, even if he's still often surprised and delighted. But he understands the lightning strike of change in the world, from not knowing it held that power, to knowing.

He nods, once, takes a drink; he's been steadily working his way through each small portion of side dish he served himself, one at a time rather than combining them. ]

Obviously you can do magic now.

[ Skipping ahead in the story a little just because he's here at the end with the sorcerer himself. Carefully stepping around asking an outright question by making a deliberately erroneous statement: ]

But she was wrong, you haven't used it to heal yourself.

[ A little twitch of lips, sensing the lead and this time strolling knowingly after it. ]

No. [ A disagreement and agreement both. She wasn't, he hasn't. Not to the miraculous, total extent he'd dreamt of when he was first welcomed into Kamar-Taj. The extent he could have. His hands still shake, fingers still trembling when they trail over skin.

Just when it seems he might elaborate, he pops a sliver of steak into his mouth. Makes eye contact while he chews, a glimmer of mischief tucked into the crinkle of crow's feet. When he's done: ] I use it to take the edge off. I decided against the rest.

[ Silco knows the way those scars feel against his tongue, the neuropathic twitch of them against his own clasped fingers; they weren't the first thing to draw him to Strange, but they were where he tipped over into something less controlled than he'd like. The commonality of scarring, of holding your physical trauma so visibly on such a vital part of the body.

He's watching Stephen intently, waiting out his chewing, his amusement at knowing he has Silco hooked to reel in. That's fine. They both like to play with their food, metaphorically.

An answer finally comes, explanatory but unsatisfactory. ]

Meaning you couldn't go back to surgery. Why?

[ Dragged out of him. He serves himself some carrots, a little less gracefully than usual because he's still watching Stephen. ]

Don't try and tell me there's a cost. You use magic too flippantly for that.

There's always a cost. Maybe not for the spells, but the choices?

[ Extortionate, usually. Silco must know that as well as he does, the question posed not just as pedantry. It doesn't need answering, but the raise of his brows still asks it after he moves on. ]

I became a doctor to save lives. As a surgeon I could save one at a time, maybe three in a day, five at a push. My first day on the job as a sorcerer, I convinced a primordial entity not to swallow the Earth.

[ A shrug, gaze dropping to his food, carving off another piece of steak. ]

The choice was pretty clear.

[ As was the cost of not making it. ]

[ Could Stephen consider not simply throwing out information that clearly has a wealth of story attached to it (or at the very least, a two hour film)? Silco's attention sharpens, and then he forces himself not to chase, to stay on the philosophy rather than demand more action/adventure. ]

And you feel healing your hands fully would stop you from being able to serve that higher calling.

[ He's chewing over the words rather than the food, considering what he's been told about the situation, dismissing that there is some — magical shortage, where spending his resources on the selfishness of his physicality would leave him less to offer as saviour.

His tongue touches the inside of his cheek, where he can feel the lower tip of his scarring, eased by the ReSculpt but still keloid. ]

No, you want the reminder. That what feels like the worst thing to ever happen can really just be the turning point to something better.

[ Barely even pretending to eat his food now, avid. ]

[ It's an observation that peeks out through his own relative reticence to self-reflect and glimmers, recognised and true. Once upon a time he'd have disputed it. Now he looks up from where he'd been teasing food transparently around his plate, smiles. A little wistful, a little glad for company that isn't afraid to ask.

To state, even, anticipating that he isn't wrong. ]

At first it was practicality. My hands are fucked, really, there's as much metal keeping them held together as there is bone. To 'heal' them, I'd need to build in concentrated spellwork to tell my body they're fine twenty four hours a day. Easily enough done, but more effort than simple pain management, and sorcery doesn't need fine motor control. So what would be the point?

[ But. ] But I could've had them fixed in New Amsterdam. Four centuries of medical advancement, they'd have been good as new.

[ A pause here, mulling over Silco's theories. Finding his truth in both and in neither, catching the essence of it somewhere in the middle. ]

I think more than anything, I didn't want to give myself an excuse to be who I was before.

[ A matter of trust and the lack of it. Of things being so much better, but remembering the man who'd thought them so much worse. He'd decided to remain resolutely as he was not as a symbol of those better things, but so as not to bow to the desperation of the self who'd wrestled so frantically with the sheets of the bed he'd made that he set them aflame with himself still inside, all because he couldn't bear to feel less than.

If he'd ever been less than, it hadn't been his hands that made him so. ]

And who were you?

[ Since if ever there was a time for reminiscing on the state of selves past, selves young and left in the dust, it's been this week. ]

An asshole.

[ Short, to the point. A brief upward glance as he considers that answer, then his focus drops back on Silco again. ]

A different kind of asshole. I wasn't doing my job to help people anymore. I was doing it to impress them.

Ah.

[ Mm. A jump of the brows, a twitch of the lips, glancing away; he's picked up that Stephen likes to show off. It hardly bothers him, he finds it charming, but he can see how perhaps, younger and arrogant at the top of his field, it could have been... detrimental. Immature.

Still. The idea that he doesn't try to impress... Silco returns pointedly to cutting up his steak, lashes briefly low. ]

[ There's something going on over there, in the quiet and the looks and the lack thereof. Stephen's brow knits, smile creeping back. ]

What?

[ He knows what, but still. ]

I can imagine. That's all.

[ Fighting his own smile, murdering his steak. Thinking about alternate applications for that drive to impress. ]

I'm very impressed you henceforth decided to live a life of humble modesty.

[ There it is. A heavenward sweep of his eyes, trying as he might to mute a little the stretch of amusement at his own expense, but it's funny. What can he do? ]

You're laughing now, but I haven't taken you to a single neurological society dinner to watch me speak about my own prowess to a room full of people who paid me to be there, so. You're welcome.

Edited 2025-01-27 14:20 (UTC)

[ Silco's own smile breaks slowly over his face. He tips a shoulder up, not particularly thankful. ]

I like that you know your worth.

[ At a conference or otherwise. They're circling back around to what they actually should be talking about, now, but it feels easier than he expected. Playful. He doesn't even try to redirect into discussion of the food, though there is a moment here where he tries the gammon and pineapple and wrinkles his nose in light bemusement, having not expected fruit. ]

[ That gets him, Stephen blinking surprise, the humor in his face going briefly slack as that point fades into watching Silco try something new. He gathers himself after a short stretch of seconds, pulling on play like a coat to push through the fog of fondness. ]

In that case, I'll make sure to get you a copy of my books.

[ One last little sample of a past they can share more about another time. He can sense the full circle turn of the conversation too - even though he called for it, he's not quite sure how to start, but his expression settles into something calm and comfortable as he lapses into quiet to consider it. Watching Silco, not too concerned by the possibility of embarrassing himself entirely when he finds his next words, plucked from their earlier conversation. ]

Your opinion's important to me, too.

[ Even if it's just the fact that he likes the size of his ego, even though Stephen's wielding it disguised as play - it matters. In that and the rest. It makes a good segue: it's why they're having this conversation at all. ]

[ Silco is coming to terms with the pineapple; he doesn't dislike it, but the presence of sweetness in the meal has been startling enough to temporarily confuse his preferences. The carrots are sweet too, but in a different way, artificial and sticky and expected. He puts the pineapple to the side, to be reattempted later; refreshes his palate with a sip of wine; all of this allowing him to seem stoic in the face of conversation turned confessional. But fllirting has its own unexpected sweetness, too.

He puts the glass down, thumbing the stem a moment. ]

I've thought about you quite a lot these last few days. Mostly in the context of my own history with these kinds of things. Which, I suppose is inevitable, given the mirror becomes a window to the past.

[ But he's digressing. Glancing eye contact, trying to keep himself on track. To actually say something meaningful and honest so Stephen can understand a little better what he's getting himself into, even if Silco is growing concerned that the moment he's seen in any real clarity, this enjoyable flirtation will end. ]

Understand that aside from my daughter my relationships for the past fifteen years have been — transactional, in one way or another. And before that was something ill-defined.

[ There. They're in. Stephen listens, steady focus fixed on Silco as he speaks, dealing with the fizzing, anxious delight of I've thought about you quite a lot these last few days with an almost entirely straight face. He nods at mention of his daughter, at the gulf of time between now and when last Silco experienced any even-fielded ease in another's company.

His thoughts skim over the complex mire of his own more recent relationship history with a flip of the stomach. If not for Rubilykskoye, this might have been a less complicated conversation. But if not for Rubilykskoye, they probably wouldn't have found themselves here at all. He'd have vanished that mistletoe before they had the chance. ]

Is it alright? That this hasn't been [ hm. ] what you're used to.

[ One thing at a time. He'll start adding his colorful history to the pile once they've unpacked Silco's, the question more a prompt for a laying out worries than the sum of its parts. If the answer's no, they're shit out of luck - there's nothing else Stephen can offer him but their shared blind stumble through early days. ]

Edited 2025-01-27 18:17 (UTC)

Yes.

[ One simple word made burningly earnest, silken voice gone rough on it.

He hadn't known, of course, that he was starving himself, had been very deliberate about seeing to the distraction of his needs with ruthless efficiency. But "intimacy with a man his own age" hadn't been on the list.

There's more in him but he doesn't really know how to talk about it without the scaffolding of a negotiation. ]

It does mean I can be, I suppose, defensive. Of my autonomy, of the vulnerability that passion requires of me.

[ Weakness, he'd called it, and he makes Stephen fight for every inch of it, but that's ultimately what it is to him, the soft underbelly, the ruinously exploitable desires, the loss of total control. Silco eyes his potatoes, a little tense. ]

[ A thrill blooming bright behind his sternum with that yes, small breath snatched to compensate. There's a reason he doesn't have these conversations, he thinks. Funny enough, it has quite a lot to do with the next thing that comes out of Silco's mouth. ]

I get it. [ Phrased like this, separate from the heat of their earlier talk and cast in candlelight, it's all too easy to understand the sentiment. Their perspectives not the same, perhaps, but he knows the impulse. Remembers conversations like dark corners, his back unexpectedly against walls, fight or flight or freeze? It's the former more often than not - for both of them, it seems, and that's going to get them into some trouble if this keeps going where it's going. But. ] I know hearing it won't change that, but I won't make a weapon of the parts of yourself you let us both enjoy.

[ At least not outside of the context of that enjoyment. Words do very little to kill fear, he knows, and more of them won't change that, but context might help anyway. Something for him to remember, in the times when fear doesn't drown memory out. ]

I've spent the better part of the last year learning it's worth the risk. [ Being vulnerable. Baring the tender parts that can't hold up to misuse. ] I'll do whatever I can not to be the reason you decide it isn't.

[ It's more direct than he really meant to be, filled with a more fierce, focused determination. But it's important to him. Whatever this is, whatever it becomes, however long it's allowed to last - even if in the end he's only one small stepping stone in Silco's path, he hopes to be sturdy underfoot. To carry him onward, not crack and send him back the way he came. ]

[ This is the main difference, Silco thinks, between the two of them: Stephen is good. He really means that, Silco can see it, studying him carefully, that he wouldn't exploit Silco's avaricious hunger at being made to come apart. And it's true enough that Stephen hasn't presumed anything about him from Silco kneeling in the bathroom to suck him off, or crawling drunk and slutty over the bar to him. There's safe harbour in this, beyond anything he's had before.

He exhales a small slow breath. ]

I trust you.

[ Mostly. When he's rational enough for trust, when trauma doesn't slap that decision from his hands. It's not the first time he's felt it, but somehow it's easy to share here, mild-mannered, almost quiet, in between another bite of steak. He's almost finished his plate, and he's not sure what he's going to do with himself then, how to distract his hands and eyes. ]

That doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for you. I think it's better when we're both playing to win.

[ Sexually, anyway. This domestication, deeply held truths about himself shared over a candle-lit dinner, this is much less of a battle. If there was still a chance he could return home to Zaun he'd be reluctant, but that death freed him from certain responsibilities. Now there's only Jinx — and, newly, this.

He's flushing again. Maybe he can blame the wine. ]

[ Trust. It pulls at his cheek without the thought to commit to a smile, tugging his mouth up at one corner, marionette. ]

Good. [ Emphatic. Some leftover gladness for the trust oozing into his enjoyment of the game. ] We can agree on that.

[ And he takes a moment here to bask in it. In the colour creeping under Silco's skin, in something new discussed and made real. Not that the conversation's over, but he's lost interest in the meal, and all ten extra meals' worth of sides the staff managed to squeeze onto the table. Wine, then. Another sip, then reaching to top them both up as the few seconds' pause clears out the joy and reminds him that there's more than one conversation that needs having tonight. Just because they've made it through the first doesn't mean he's off the hook for the rest. ]

... I have your history. [ The bones of it, anyway, as it pertains to what they're doing. ] Mine's a little less, uh. [ Past. How to approach it? He's realising - slow, creeping understanding - that the way he's learned to be no longer sits in the comfortable realms of normalcy outside of its context. ] I didn't leave my last life behind on purpose.

[ The start of a point that ends and people have a habit of showing up here. He doesn't get that far, lapses into quiet and his own turn to look uncomfortable, tension clear in his jaw and the skin around his eyes for all he tries to will himself relaxed. It's been all too easy up until today to consider this almost as if it were simple, truly simple, a new shoot in empty soil. Unfortunate, then, to have to take a point to the bubble of that self-delusion. ]

[ Silco has a manipulators acute awareness of how power flows — politically, sexually, conversationally. Stephen stutters, tenses a little, and it shifts the direction of what they're doing. Silco's defenses (around research, autonomy, weakness, sex) were being, if not attacked then softened.

And now they're not.

He puts his fork down with a careful click, sits back in his chair rather than leaning in. Dabs his mouth with his napkin, letting Stephen stutter through what he's trying to say, considering the spaces of what he doesn't, words swerved. It's fine, he finds that as much a game as the rest of it.

He resists the urge to point out that nobody's here on purpose. Not the point. ]

The place with 'a lot of sex'.

[ Tenderness you took where you could get it. He can imagine where this is going, or at least the shape of it. Regrets doing it on the table rather than with the advantage of touch and teeth to stop Stephen stepping so carefully. Though Silco isn't any less deliberate. ]

Will you tell me about it?

I can. Not much of it is pleasant story-telling, but I don't mind if you don't.

[ The place isn't the problem. He can spill his hate for it happily, all his rage and resentment, the horrors and the things he can't help but miss. Some of the tension seems to slip at mention of that part at least, no resistance to be found.

But. This isn't a conversation about pasts in the general sense. Is it better to be honest now, whatever extra pressure or inference of expectation that might pile on something too new to have to bear it, than have it break under unexpected weight without warning down the line? ]

It's more that I had people there. Some of them have been and gone, here. Some of them are here and don't remember. Some of them aren't.

[ People, is the point. He's not unattached, for all that he's been torn from those attachments. It isn't— straightforward. ]

[ Silco doesn't particularly catch the plurality simply because it doesn't strike him as odd. Piltover has monogamy, of course, it's how they solidify their power, by creating houses and passing wealth and title down to their offspring. But it's not the same in the undercity.

No, what strikes him is the usual need: to be the best. The most valued, of many. But it's without particular jealousy. They've known each other a month or two, things are only newly unfolding between them. Silco knows that his history, with so few people allowed in it, is not the norm. ]

All right.

[ He props his chin in his hand, fingers covering his mouth. Considers his emotional response: it doesn't quite correspond to that logic. The drugs — the ReSculpt — does tend to twist the psyche towards insecurity. Irritating. He ignores it; if it bothers him once the withdrawals are past he'll revisit the topic. ]

My ex showed up, as it happens, so I do take your point.

[ Sometimes the world simply shifts on its axis and takes the best laid plans with it. ]

[ Any intention he might've had to interrogate that reaction dies here. Stephen's eyes gone wide under sharply furrowed brow. ]

The bartender?

[ The bartender, like that's really the thing of the few things Silco told him that Stephen actually defines him by. ]

Vander.

[ There's a yes in his tone, the tip of his head. Silco at least seems unperturbed. Death doesn't stick here, so he can't just quietly make the problem go away, but he's got it handled. ]

He's agreed to a — truce. For Jinx's sake. Missed her whole teens and still considers himself her father. It's touching, really.

[ Silco does not seem touched.

He spears the pineapple he set aside with a fork and bites into it, considering the flavour more seriously now that it's not such a surprise. ]

[ A cant of his head, this information new. Concern is etched deep in his frown, the betrayal Silco shared with him somehow made worse by the implication. ]

She was both of yours?

Her parents were our best friends, once. They died when she was four, in our attempted revolution. And our relationship with them.

[ Those last words dry, bitter. Pain too old to really hurt anymore.

He finishes the pineapple, letting the silence hang for a moment. Just when it seems he mightn't be going to say more, and they can end this digression. ]

He blamed my explosives. Gave up on our dream. Co-operated with Piltover enforcers to bring the survivors to heel. Everyone returned to their miserable lives. I was furious, at the time, but I understand it better now. He would rather Jinx and her older sister live to experience a hard world than lose them fighting for a better one.

[ He'd made the same choice in the end. Is there anything so undoing as a daughter? ]

But no, we never co-parented. So I imagine this will be a learning experience for us all. But we weren't talking about my past.

We weren't, until it made its way into your present.

[ A filler, while he digests what he's just been told. Context makes better sense of sparse details threaded haphazardly together, and he's grateful for it for all it worries. Strange how so much strife can be condensed into so few sentences. He's sure there must be things he wants to ask, surer still that this deserves its moment of silence, consideration... but Silco would rather not. And he'll have plenty of time to think on it later, bring the conversation back around once they've both had a little distance from it.

A long, conspicuous inward breath, a readying. He huffs it out, purging one story to make room for the next. Conceding to the change of direction. ]

Anything in particular you want to know?

[ Lightly impatient: ]

Everything, obviously.

[ He'd much rather hear it from Stephen than from someone else, too, especially since Jemima had been so unforthcoming. ]

Let's start with what you're talking around telling me.

[ That stumps him, briefly. He blinks, thinking he'd been clear enough. ]

We've already done that part.

[ He'd thought the shift in focus had marked it as case closed, but evidently not. Now that it's reopened, he finds his records in total disarray, no idea how to report what's inside. Hesitant to say too much and find he's overshared, out of his depth entirely. ]

Edited 2025-01-28 13:43 (UTC)

[ Silco rolls his eyes so hard his neck actually moves. ]

Barely.

[ And, with insidious honesty: ]

If you won't give me specifics I'll go asking for them.

[ Network post: raise your hand if you or someone you know has fucked Stephen Strange. Silco's eyes flicker wide, innocent. ]

Was it men and women? Were any serious? Platonic? For a long time? Are you married?

[ Chin still in hand, rapid-fire questions accompanied with a stab of his other finger in the air like he's listing them off. It's important to know his competition. ]

[ Well, that's any fear of an overshare dead, but it does also very rapidly pose a new problem: where to start. It's an obvious shift from caution to bemusement, brow tweaking uncomfortably, mouth pulling down, interrogation a not entirely unwelcome surprise. Still a little on edge, maybe, but less because of his own uncertainty than the fact of how many of those questions hit nails on heads.

And yet he started this, no matter how much he'd like the ground to swallow him. ]

Yes, yes, uhh... eh [ undecided on the platonic point, apparently, if only because he hadn't been thinking about it at all ], yes, and— no. Technically. But also yes, twice.

[ That's one way to get started, anyway. ]

[ Strange rattles off answers that really only lead to more questions and Silco gives him a flat look. The tip of his shoe taps Stephen's ankle beneath the table. ]

You're being infuriating again.

[ Though that doesn't usually result in a whole lot of talking, so perhaps it's a strategy. ]

Mm, well, I do that.

[ As they're both well aware. ]

You did ask a question.

[ Several, in fact. But he relents, the brief safety of play not meant to last. A drifting off of his gaze as he tries to decide where to start. ]

I haven't been - great, historically, at casual. Most of the people I slept with were people I'd either already invested in or ended up invested in after the fact. There are a fair few to work through if you want them all.

[ Silco sips his wine. ]

I do.

[ Voracious and unashamed about it. But then he relents incrementally. ]

Only if you're comfortable.

[ With the telling, yes, but with the choice of time and place to tell, too. He can be patient. Neither of them are going to finish this food. ]

[ A pinch of a smile melts some of the hesitance. ]

Let's do it in instalments. It's going to take a decent amount of exposition. A couple of intermissions and a scene change won't do us any harm.

[ Pause. This time it's his turn to stab the air, fingers raised per point and dropped once he's used them all up to start over again. Making a list. ]

Almost casual, unofficial spouses, bound by cult following, live-in student, it's complicated, friends with detriments, ships in the night, the ghost of Christmas past, or unlabelled cohabitant?

[ This isn't all of them, and some of those categories contain more than one person, but the point's clear enough: it's going to take them a while. ]

Edited (is this american, i think so) 2025-01-28 16:12 (UTC)

[ Silco commits this strange and all together too long list to memory, head tipping as he makes a mental schedule of instalments. It's a pleasing idea. He may be talking about other people, after all, but he's going to be talking about them with Silco. ]

The Christmas ghost.

[ Missing the Scrooge reference entirely, of course; his first exposure to Christmas has been this month past, enjoying the excuse to spoil Jinx. ]

But not here.

[ He pushes his chair back, gets up. Moves around the table to bend and take the kiss he's been thinking about for a while now. Long fingers curling into Stephen's tie, tugging. If they're going to talk about past lovers they're going to do it somewhere more comfortably entwined. ]

[ A hum of satisfaction, gratitude, leaning up into the kiss until that tug lures him up out of his seat. One hand reaching to tease fingertips into the hair at Silco's temple as his other almost topples his wine glass.

Table abandoned, flooded with warmth, it's easy to forget to be daunted by the prospect of explaining Tony Stark, the man just a wall, a world and a death away depending on your perspective. Really he shouldn't have included him in the list at all, but that's a problem for him in a few minutes time. For now he goes where Silco draws him until he recovers enough of his senses to realise what he's after, then it's: ]

Shall I magic up a couch?

[ Mostly an inside joke, throwback to some armchairs, but aside from the bed their only real option is an antique chaise lounge of untested two-person comfort. He can get that couch if they need it. ]

[ A little huff of amusement as Silco also remembers the armchairs, his sharp nose still right in close. ]

I think we can make do.

[ He picks the chaise solely because the bed feels like a step too far. It's still a pleasant little dinner date, low light, conversation — but, heady with wine and wanting, Silco nudges Stephen bodily into a chair more suitable for sprawling and climbs into his lap, drapes shamelessly over his chest and shoulders. ]

Better.

[ Low enough it's all rasp. He toys with the tie wound around his fingers, fidgeting, tucked too close for eye contact. Calm certainty betrayed by the rapid thrum of his pulse. ]

Go on.

[ A little flourish of thrill, delighted by the easy way Silco fills his space, claims his chest, nestles in. It distracts him for a moment, winewarm, tucking his head to burrow his nose into his hair, fond and unafraid of it in their shared new context.

Hand at his waist, stroking the backs of his fingers idly up over the shape of Silco's ribcage and back again, Stephen fortifies himself with closeness and draws in a deep breath.

Right. Going on. ]

Ghost of Christmas past. Tony Stark.

[ A name seems like a good place to start. But how to go on? When so much of it he's barely figured out himself. ]

He's a colleague, from home. Billionaire asshole turned billionaire hero type, habit of saving the world.

[ A beat, and he tucks his chin again, voice low as he enquires: ] —This one's kind of a downer. War stories. You want something cosier?

[ There may not actually be anything cosier, but he can offer. ]

Edited 2025-01-28 20:43 (UTC)

He's not a ghost?

[ Disappointing. Obdurate as he is — as interested in all of this unequivocally as he is — Silco takes that hesitance as a cue. ]

Start with whoever's already here, then.

[ His words a buzz against skin, breath whispering along the collar. ]

[ Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Stephen takes the out. It's not that he won't tell him, it's just - to tell it now would either require a lot of glazing over, or the total destruction of the mood. He doesn't particularly want to lie to him, or obscure any truths, and Stark's an edge case regardless. Less likely to throw this off course than him, specifically.

So he hums. Humor in it as he lets that one go, turns his thoughts to the ones here who don't remember. Who may never have been there. Marginally less alarming to explain, at least, if not really any less revealing. A deep breath moves Silco with it, released in a slow plume. ]

Eddie Munson, Takeshi Kovacs, Nami, Alicent Hightower and, uh. Aegon Targaryen. That one's platonic.

[ Mostly. Names first, because Silco could know any one of them. And because if he does, it's a fairly clear example of a possibly bewildering breadth of tastes. (Nevermind the people here who do remember. He's spoken to one of them already, and the other is... well. He'll get to Daniel Johnson another time. Or Maybe never.) ]

Edited 2025-01-29 10:08 (UTC)

The queen.

[ Oh, so he does know one - two, perhaps, Aegon only by his network appearance following his mother's death. Neither well. Aemond Targaryen is the closest he's gotten to that family, because Aemond is the one who's taken an interest in Jinx and is therefore surveilled.

Even that is enough to leave him a little bemused, though perhaps he shouldn't be. Of course Stephen would rub elbows with powerful Houses, he's exactly that sort. ]

[ A huff gives away a smile. The queen, yes. ]

Bound by cult following.

[ Category next, because it's only fair he join those dots. Except he hasn't given Silco any context at all, and that part's quite important to making sense of exact cause of their initial bond. ]

Did Jem tell you anything about the curse marks? Or was the conversation more focused on who I was fucking in her house?

She told me exceedingly little. I suspect she may have been trying to protect your privacy.

[ Despite requesting Silco blackmail Stephen with it; despite Stephen saying she hated him. Though with Vander here he understands a little better; sharing a history outside this place can make you protective of each other, of the secrets shared. ]

So. Curses and cults.

[ A second to think on that. It's possible. Just as possible she was protecting herself, and Danny. Ultimately, right now, it doesn't matter either way. ]

Curses and cults.

[ Here we go, then. ]

When we arrived there, we each found ourselves marked. The marks connected our minds, we were all - telepathically linked. But they also symbolised the presence of what they called our duchozwierz.

[ There's no way to say this that doesn't sound unbelievable outside of the context of truth, so he's just going to have to say it how it was. A hand drifts up to Silco's nape, finds comfort stroking over the skin there, edging fingertips up into his hair. When he speaks, it's calm - maybe a little too calm.

His most recent run-in with the thing inside him wasn't long enough ago for this to feel quite like the rote recollection of distant, immutable facts it sometimes could. ]

If we didn't sate sexual or violent urges, we'd begin to change. Left unchecked, the transformation would be total, and monstrous. We'd lose all control of ourselves and our instincts until the creature we became had done enough to satisfy. Or until it was killed. So that's curses.

[ Interesting. Silco stays tucked where he is, as though by drifting his nose over Stephen's pulse he can offer him some privacy from his own story. Though it leaves him equally unreadable, bar the flex of his fingers, the subvocal rumble of a hum that expresses acknowledgement. ]

And it's left you in the habit of deliberate indulgence.

[ All but calling him a slut, though at least he sounds fond. He does now understand far better how Stephen comes to have a handful of intimate partners: a man who prefers a connection with someone he's fucking, in a world where fucking is a regular requirement. ]

[ A jolt of his chest, one sharp cough of laughter. But if he's right, he's right. ]

When the fit's right.

[ A reminder of where they find themselves as a consequence of his deliberate indulgence, thank you. A little hint that he hasn't been quite so prolific since arriving here. ]

Cults was a consequence of a monster set loose. Somebody turned, and in turning gained the ability to bend wills. He caught me out in the woods. I fought it, but three days later I came out changed too. Me and a handful of others - including Alicent, Aegon and Eddie. We all did things we never would've otherwise, but the bond itself was intense. It wasn't something we made much effort to shake when it was over.

[ Inducted into a monster's cult. Silco doesn't know what to say to that, the horror of it. But they both tend to be proud of their triumph over adversity — it's just that Stephen's adversity is this ludicrous, multiversal story that seems to unfurl infinitely, more every time they talk. ]

I see.

[ His fingers creep up to the knot of Stephen's tie and hook in, loosening it one-handed. ]

What was your monster like?

[ A stillness here. Held breath. Has he ever been asked to describe it before? ]

... Like tar, to start.

[ Like tar. And with the first hurdle leapt, the rest runs free. Momentum building, carrying him with it. ]

I'd leak this black, viscous fluid. Inconvenient, but fine - until figuring out that it could interfere with sensory input, muddle up nervous responses. Further along I'd start to feel it trying to get out. Fingers squeezing between my organs, stroking up along my spine. Later stages, the fluid that had made its way out would start to form into forearms. Hands. [ A wet cough of a laugh here, aware of how on the nose that is, aware that it likely says something he's never taken the time to examine. He doesn't really want to know. ] When the ones still inside crawled up my throat, I blacked out.

[ So he doesn't have the rest. It only really got that far the once, and while he knows he must've sated it somehow, the people who suffered it either didn't see it, didn't know who it was, or didn't care to tell. So that's all he's got.

And so much for keeping the mood intact. In a bid not to linger, a lacklustre joke: ]

I don't particularly recommend making the trip.

[ A nip of teeth, suddenly, to the side of his neck, Silco's hot breath against the skin. An apologetic kiss afterwards, mouth curving crooked. Probably not the correct response to the idea of Stephen oozing tar-like black fluid and manifesting it into hands, but he's a weird little guy. ]

There's an honesty to it.

[ Thumbing open the top button of Stephen's shirt. ]

Feed your monster or it feeds without you. This place is subtler. Crueller.

[ As if to underscore that, he pauses from murmuring a prickle of words against Stephen's neck because he realizes suddenly there's blood there. Draws back, blinking, lifts a hand from its tectonic undressing to touch the sticky smear of red on his face: a sudden, sluggish nosebleed. His expression is tinted with betrayal at his own body. ]

Apologies. It seems our time might be up for this evening.

[ It startles him right out of the pleased lull that nip and the chasing kiss, the gradual undoing, had settled him into. Red, stark against pale skin— it takes Stephen a moment to remember that Silco's anticipating a reckoning.

So after a couple of wide-eyed seconds, he gets his wits back about him. Nods, gets an arm underneath himself to push up into something less comfortably sprawled so he can snatch a handkerchief from the air like a regular street magician, offering it to Silco without much thought for the image. ]

Okay.

[ He skips over disappointment altogether in the shift to care, pragmatism an easy switch to flick. The hand still at Silco's nape curls, silent comfort, thumb brushing the skin beneath his ear as Stephen's attention goes over to the table and its plates of cooling food. Later, he decides. Easy enough to deliver some leftovers to be tested by the suite's fellow inhabitant after Silco's as comfortable as it's going to be possible to be for the next while. ]

Let's get you back.

[ Silco sniffs sharply, presses this magical gift to his nose, annoyed by the betrayal of his body, eager to go lick his wounds in private. He climbs up out of Stephen's space with a lingering reluctance, and stands.

At the very least this does prove he's stopped, didn't use the cream before coming here even to give them just a little more time before this happened. ]

I'd like to see you again once I'm through this.

[ Almost businesslike, even if that isn't what he intends at all. ]

[ A blink - then a catch of air between teeth as he huffs a laugh. He's grateful for the clarity, for the confirmation of interest, but it only really helps to fuel his instincts. Even under current circumstances. ]

And here I thought this was going well.

[ Well enough to make that obvious. It's just a tease, prizing himself up from the chaise to join Silco, crowding in after him in spite of the blood and the man's pending descent into his own little hell to nudge his nose to his temple, press a kiss to the hill of a cheekbone where the skin will soon enough be more ravaged than it is now. ]

I look forward to it. [ Murmured while still close. ] Come on.

[ And he peels away, fingers already slipped into his sling ring, tearing a throughway to Silco's room out of his own. ]

[ It was as much a confirmation as it was a firm goodbye. Silco steps through into his room and turns: ]

Thank you for the evening.

[ Doesn't move until the portal is closed again. He'll keep the handkerchief, but a bloody nose is about the extent of what he wants Stephen to see. He can read the notes he left behind if he wants all the gory details.

Silco sets himself up a nest in the bathroom, and another on the bed, and moves between the two based on how many fluids are involved. The whole lovely dinner comes back up again, along with an inordinate amount of blood. He discards his nice clothes haphazardly, sweats and shivers in a cocoon of blankets. Weeps and laughs to himself until unconsciousness reaches up and draws him violently, deeply down, and then he talks in his sleep, writhing and whispering.

When he wakes, and sees Stephen, he's comforted for only a few seconds before he's seething: ]

Out!

[ Ragged, pulling sweat-soaked sheets around himself like a cocoon. ]

[ The bathroom is clean and its nest's sheets set outside the bedroom door for the staff to collect, Stephen caught on the walk back with a new batch ready to create some safe new fortress around the toilet when the hushed mutters of sleep stop. He doesn't notice. Not until the frantic shifting of sheets and mattress preclude a fully conscious voice and he stops in his tracks, caught.

The shout doesn't seem to put even a dent in his confidence. He doesn't even have the decency to look sheepish. Instead, he sets the sheets down on the edge of Silco's busy desk and crosses toward him, unperturbed by his obvious unwelcome. ]

Here.

[ He's pouring water from a full jug stationed at Silco's bedside. There's a bowl down there too, some clean glasses for if something goes awry when trying to take in fluids. He holds one out, half-filled, as if this were a morning after a night before and not - what it is. ]

[ It's lucky he brought more than one glass, then, because Silco takes the proffered water and then just throws it at him, beans it at his head in immediate escalation. Trying to emphasize that he's fucking serious and mostly coming off as deranged. ]

Leave.

[ The fact that Stephen has been here to look at him while he slept is humiliatingly awful. His good eye is red-rimmed and the bad is the worst it's ever been, like old scars are breeding new infection deep beneath the skin, everything hot and purple-yellow in the creases. And along with the illness comes the absolute torrent of emotions he usually keeps barred and gated, impotent anger at the top. ]

[ A twitch of his hand swats the glass from mid-air before it can hit home, everything costing enough here that it hits the ground with a dull thud and does not break. It doesn't spare him getting mildly drenched, but what was he really expecting?

He gets it. Were their roles reversed, he's not sure he'd appreciate the uninvited interruption of his private suffering either. But he's read the notes now. He's not going to leave him to rot through it by himself. ]

In a minute.

[ Maybe. Possibly not. Great wet stain over his chest and arm, hand lifting to wipe splattered water off of his face, he bends for a second attempt. This time doesn't bother with the jug, just lets water fill the glass from base to another half way. Doesn't offer it out quite far enough to snatch. Quick learner. ]

Drink.

[ Unfortunately he's chosen to get involved with the stupidly stubborn creature that Silco is, so not only does he not drink, after a baleful glare he actively rolls over in the other direction and pulls the blankets up past his ears, hunching into them childishly. He'd rather die of dehydration than submit to being looked after. Squeezes his eyes shut against a pounding headache, not willing to strain himself shouting a third time. ]

[ Deep breath in... long sigh out. Conscious that this is not a battle best won fresh, Stephen takes the smaller win of the tacit compliance of a sulk as cue to walk around the bed, set the water glass down on the side Silco's now facing, and return to his task. Figures it'll give Silco some time to either see to his body's need, adjust to Stephen's presence, fall back asleep, or nurture his for now impotent fury into a more calculated resistance on his return.

It takes him maybe five, ten minutes to set up a bundle of duvet, pillows, sheets in the bathroom and step back into the bedroom to see if he'll be greeted with a slightly reduced water level or another projectile flying at his face. ]

[ It's both: Silco drinks the water in desperate, thirsty gulps, presses the cool glass miserably to his eye socket, legs tucked under him on the bed — and then the moment he sees Strange is still here, throws the glass at him again. He doesn't really expect it to impact — he didn't really the first time. ]

You have no right — to be here.

[ Grasping around for something else to throw, deciding on his pillow. ]

Leave me alone.

[ This time the distance is too great and the man himself too weakened and too angry for his aim to stand a chance. It makes it most of the way, but Stephen need do nothing but let it thump to the floor, where this time thick crystal of the glass cracks but does not shatter. ]

You need that.

[ Speaking of his pillow, but if he throws it Stephen catches it on his walk further into the room, stopping far enough from the bed to not impose any further on the cornered man's territory than he already has. Holds onto it for now, for the same reason he hadn't made easy pickings of the glass a second time. ]

You were the one who wanted to make sure we were ready with treatment.

[ So here he is, resident physician, at your service. And maybe that's a slight twist of Silco's fierce run of suggestions for the clinic's preparations, but it's the best argument for his presence he has in a pinch. ]

Edited (hello an hour later edit hope this doesn't disrupt anything LMFDGF) 2025-01-30 14:33 (UTC)

For other people.

[ Silco is in no mood for this, but after the glass and the pillow he's out of things to throw, curse his minimalist living style. The argument is a sound and logical one, which irritates him further, has him curling in on himself, fingers spasming in the sheets.

His head throbs, and he's still thirsty, blood loss leaving him woozy and dehydrated. It would be a lie to spit that he can take care of himself: he hasn't, he can't. A sniff that's nearly a snarl. ]

Fine.

[ Spat jagged, giving up on protest, too sick to burn through his resources being angry. He's disgusted by his own filth and weakness, the loss of control of it all, and he hates having Stephen seeing him this way even as Stephen is, logically, one of the few people he can really trust with this. ]

[ It's one of few situations they've found themselves in so far where it doesn't necessarily gratify him to win. Silco isn't protesting solely out of stubbornness: he's distressed. There's no revelling in that. ]

Thank you.

[ Something to offset the surrender - make it a favor, or acknowledge the cost. No matter what it is, he does need his help, and now Silco's relented to accept it Stephen backs down on the attitude too, moving back across the room to him. Knee on the bed so he can settle the caught pillow behind him while he's hunched up in his frustration. When he next deigns to look at him, he'll find Stephen with another glass, more water.

There's no hesitation in offering it this time. ]

Go easy.

[ Silco takes it, holds it in both hands and sips it. ]

It's worse than last time. My curiosity now duly punished.

[ Bitter, like he thinks that's what Stephen probably thinks. That he did this to himself. His stomach roils, and he pushes down the nausea, eyes falling closed, teeth gritted. Miserable. ]

Silco.

[ A mild scolding. He's not here to relish in the consequences of his actions, especially not when they're doing him harm. Stephen's watchful as he sips, taking in deterioration, making diagnostic note of the state of him. ]

Will you let me look at your face?

[ Look at here meaning examine, not just perceive. He can do that perfectly well from where he is, but it doesn't look as it always has, something alive and working to worsen it under the skin. He wants ideally to touch, check, follow the old trails of Shimmer as he unlocks a fresh concern of magics colliding, reacting adversely deep down in the tissues. ]

[ Dully: ]

Yes.

[ Though to say he's not happy about it is an understatement.

The skin that makes up Silco's wound is complicated: an injury that would have simply healed to a scar over his brow and cheekbone if it hadn't been exposed to toxic run-off, chemical infection eating through his face. Singed had saved his sight with an early prototype of shimmer that had mutated his eye; the original injury had healed to deep fistulas of scarring. His regular dose of the purple-pink substance keeps his eye working, but in re-aging and worsening after ReSculpt the old scars have started to come open like a scurvy patient, letting infection slide her claws back in, and shimmer's magic has leapt upon this fresh tissue. All that to say: there's a lot going on in there, black goo and old scar tissue swollen up with fresh pus from his desperate immune system.

Silco sits still, breath quick and pupils dilated, as Stephen touches him. Lets him do whatever he needs to take the measure of it, flinching and sucking his teeth in turn, occasionally making an aborted gesture to grab or smack Stephen before he returns his fingers to twist against each other in his lap. ]

[ It's bad. Gentleness will only prolong things, so he opts for efficiency, chin taken in firm but careful hand. Face tilted, skin pinched and drawn taut under fingers bathed in a sanitising sheen of golden light. He finds the traces of magical rot, tests the depth of split skin, notes the hues of the body's responses to infections within - working quickly, conscious of the twitch and restraint of hands below.

When he lets him go, it's with a sweep of the thumb over his undamaged cheek, a small apology for hurt and indignity. ]

I'm going to get supplies. This needs flushing and protection, and I want samples of your infection. You'll need antibiotics. [ Clarity feels only right, given he's stolen the same. Expression tense with concern. ] I won't be long, but sleep if you can. I'll wake you when I need to.

[ A glance toward the bedside has another glass of water full and waiting as Stephen makes to stand, ready to go in search of what he needs. ]

Bathroom's fresh if you need it.

[ Stephen is all calm practicality against the fevered flush of him; Silco crumples back down into the bed in a confusing stew of feelings. He isn't used to being cared for, and his heart is beating high in his throat. Can't bring himself to say thank you, just huddles miserably back under the covers and enjoys the brief respite from being seen. At least until his stomach turns and he has to drag himself to the bathroom once more.

He does fall asleep again despite himself, and he's vulnerable with it when Stephen returns, sleepy-pliant and feverish, batting uselessly at his hands even as he drapes into his space. Drinks another glass of water hungrily, takes the sour pills he's given with deep mistrust. Getting easier as a patient the worse he feels, as his paranoid defensive instincts fall to the simple desire to have companionship in his final moments.

(Okay, he's not dying. But it feels like it.) ]

[ He's almost glad to find Silco flagging as time stretches on, weakened by his state and all the easier for it. Pills taken, Stephen moves on to administering what treatment he needs to: makes careful collections of the gunk in his wounds before flushing out the rest, patching him together with butterfly stitches and large dressings.

None of it's pleasant, but it's all better than the alternative. He murmurs to hold still in place of a sorry, whether or not his patient's moving at all.

When it's finished, when Silco's lost all seeming desire to be rid of him, Stephen shifts him upright long enough to toe off his own shoes, settle up against the headboard. Make of himself a better nook to curl into. His hands he cools, bids the magic already working to soothe his own pain to bring his skin's temperature down by a few degrees so he can cradle a cooling hand loosely against Silco's neck, luring him back down to settle against him. Come here he thinks but doesn't say out loud, to avoid inspiring Silco's stubborn refusal on principle. ]

[ He doesn't need to say it aloud. Silco tucks into his robes with a humiliated sniff, eye closed against the loveliness of the cool hand on his flushed skin. His wild and mercurial emotions tip hard in the other direction and he feels a lurch of deep affection, some misty feelings of undeservingness, all of which have him clinging close. Embodying the sea creatures he's so fond of with an octopus embrace.

He passes out completely again, immune system working overtime, though he'll likely be disgustingly leaky given his scar's intersection with his sinuses and tear ducts as well as the regular nosebleeds. Enjoy being slightly damp, Stephen. ]

[ Happily for both of them, the bedside manner that struggles during waking hours doesn't have to put as much work in for the rest of them. It makes it easy to quietly repeat the motions of carefully dabbing and mopping him up right up until Stephen himself feels sleep on the way, after which any growing pool of bodily emissions will just have to make themselves at home.

Fingers card through his hair until unconsciousness robs them of motion. They'll see each other in the morning - or whenever Silco's next dragged from sleep to make a run for the bathroom. ]

[ There's no further bathroom runs; this is the worst he's been, the scar's infection a particularly awful new symptoms, but he was careful with his dosage and the effects of the ReSculpt leaving his system decrease overnight. Silco is still run down when he awakens, sleep trying to coax him back to her healing arms. He slowly eases back from where he has Stephen in his clutches to find the glass of water left on the bedside, and those cold gulps refresh him all the way to wakefulness. He leans against the headboard with his legs bent, blanket around his hips, gaze on Stephen, who is still in his bed.

He could joke about it, Stephen overextending the typical duties of a physician. Or about the shared bodily fluids more typical of dates. But he doesn't. Instead, he puts his glass back aside and, far more coherently, slides in closer again. Solemn little man, sliding his hand up Stephen's chest, his neck, his jaw, his absurd cheekbones. A fond and fragile touch. Beneath all the bandages his expression is like a man watching his first sunset.

A soft hum. ]

Go back to sleep. I'm just going to shower.

[ Being clean always calms his mind — and the warm water is a luxury that he can indulge in without any ill effects. ]

[ He blinks awake when Silco moves, body confused by company, unhappy with the peeling away. He finds Silco better than he saw him last. More alert in spite of sleep. Reaching for the water at his own behest, a clarity in his gaze when he turns it back on Stephen that he couldn't have hoped for the night prior.

Then he's close again. Deliberate. Stephen's eyes slip closed around a sigh when the hand that soothes over him finds his face. He coaxes them open again only to succumb to the look settled on him, striding through the flourish of dozy butterflies waking in the pit of his stomach and covering that hand with his own, pressing lips soft to his palm.

Then he relents. Loose with rest, he subsides against the headboard, mouth a soft curve and eyes already floating shut again. His voice is warm and dosed with sleep as he issues an answering instruction. ]

Wake me when you're done. I'll fix you fresh dressings.

[ His hand is the last thing to accept the parting. A circlet for Silco's wrist until he's far enough away that Stephen would have to move from his spot to give chase. It drops and lets him go. ]

[ Silco doesn't, or not in the way Stephen means; he crawls back into bed clean and sweet after having some time under the falling water to process the sheer overwhelm of feeling about whatever is happening between them, something tender grown and watered embarrassingly, terrifyingly out of his control.

So he starts again on the monumental task that he was forced to abandon last night; though rather than undressing Stephen fully he's just looking to strip him a little looser, since he didn't do much more than take off his shoes to sleep. Silco feels along his bodies for places the fabric pulls tight and then explores for where the ease is, finding buckles and buttons and zips and undoing them, until Stephen is a dishevelment and Silco feels less guilty for pulling him in to snooze tangled a little more.

They'll probably be caught by Jinx at this rate, who has only been scarce because she saw the earlier withdrawals up close, who treats a locked door between them as simply a request for her to be sneaky in checking in. Silco doesn't let it bother him. If things keep going like they're going, it's something he'll have to start really considering. ]

[ He should protest. Fresh dressings are important, he's a doctor, it needs to get done... but he's languid with rest and with company, and Silco needs sleep too if he's to recover. Call it medicinal.

So he doesn't protest. Doesn't help a huge amount either beyond lifting an arm here, hitching his hips to make room for shifting fabric there. Lets Silco figure it out until everything's loose and he's drawn into a bundle of warm limbs, where he huffs out a breath and settles down, adjusts for comfort, turns his face against the threat of any later morning light. ]

Just five more minutes.

[ He murmurs, a joke, sleeprich and blurry around its edges. Content to indulge them both for much longer than that. ]

[ Silco smiles to himself, presses a kiss to whatever part of Stephen is nearest, and settles. Tells himself it's easier for him to sleep like this, protected by someone whose power he trusts. Who he, astonishingly, trusts.

When they wake again it's been far longer than five minutes. Silco yawns and grins, rolling so that he's supported almost entirely by Stephen rather than the mattress. Making a nuisance of himself. ]

Bandages.

[ A reminder because it's much more palatable as a torment that he's inflicting on his long-suffering doctor/lover. He's probably still in no state to do more than flirt, but Silco's always had ambition in spades, and he pairs this reminder with soft kisses to Stephen's neck, fingers wandering to play in the gaps of loose clothing. ]

[ A laugh coughs its way into a hum as Silco's weight becomes mostly his to bear, more than happy to worm a hand out from the sprawl of them to sink fingers into sleep mussed hair, make a bigger mess of what's usually kept so carefully controlled. ]

You know, I would, but I seem to be a little impeded at the moment.

[ An exaggeration. The difference in stature is enough that he could have them both up - or at least his own way cleared - in a moment were Silco not to provide any active resistance. But if he's going to play it this way, Stephen's more than happy to take full advantage. Stay a few more moments to appreciate those wandering ministrations, tilting his head back just so to display the stretch of his throat, make way for his mouth. ]

[ Silco slowly begins to map the skin from jaw to clavicle with his mouth, pausing only to suck a sharp bruise just high enough it'll take a scarf to hide. His tongue plays over broken capillaries with deep, possessive satisfaction before he continues to kiss, and occasionally lightly sink his crooked teeth into, the column of Stephen's throat, focused. Nuzzles his nose back up the sensitised skin, dressing crinkling like a reminder. A fond single kiss to Stephen's Adam's apple, the low-crackling vocal fry he's so fond of at this hour.

Not that his own voice is much better. ]

I think my fever broke. If you'd like to take my temperature.

[ It's a mistake, perhaps, he realises a little later than is useful. Silco makes a meal of him and Stephen's rapidly wide awake, pulse kicking, fingers curling loose into sheets. A hum of satisfaction cuts abruptly with a gasp, and after the hand in Silco's hair tightens its grip so he can hold him in place as he all but surges up and in for a kiss that threatens passion— but pulls back, sweet at the last second. Less caution than care. ]

Oh? Okay.

[ Stephen settles back into the pillow, glowingly satisfied with the smarting skin at his throat, and lets his hand slip from Silco's hair to trail fingertips down the length of his spine, palm going flat so he can grab a handful of his ass, squeeze, flirt fingers down toward the cleft.

And then he's heaving himself out from under Silco's drape in one determined rush and padding off in all his unkempt layers in search of the spare medical supplies he'd set aside the night before. He sheds as he goes, draping pieces of clothing over the back of Silco's single chair. Acquires a new one from nowhere along the way, returning to him clad only in boxer briefs and a light robe. ]

Say ah.

[ Flat, with a suitably obnoxious mostly-straight face even as his eyes all but sparkle with fun, offering the tip of the thermometer out when he perches back on the bed edge. It's relatively clear his motivation is at least 60% to be annoying. ]

Edited 2025-02-08 09:58 (UTC)

[ Silco flops an arm out melodramatically as he's cast cruelly aside, watching Stephen leave with a burning gaze. He doesn't really mind, but in the spirit of playfulness he arranges himself all pitiful. Someone's poor little meow meow, so recently on his deathbed, how could Stephen tease him like this. ]

Bastard.

[ Fonder than the epithet implies. So a win on all counts for Stephen. Silco's attempt at evening the score, of course, is to slide closer and actually stick his tongue out. ]

Aah.

[ It breaks his expression at the very least, smirk creeping in (nice parry), but he goes ahead and sticks the thermometer right in there anyway. Chucks Silco's chin to encourage his mouth closed with a wry little twist of that smirk before he angles away to fuss with dressings and wipes, hiding a more earnest smile. ]

Under the tongue.

[ A long-suffering sigh through the nose, and he does, with that stem-tying tongue, adjust the thermometre into uncomfortable place and arrange himself duly to have his bandages changed. At least he's calmed down enough to see this as sweet rather than an overreach, and kissing has mollified him into a well-behaved, albeit clearly annoyed, patient. Willing to get his claws trimmed in the hopes of getting more pets.

Not that he's fully domesticated; he keeps his own count, pulls the little glass stick out before Stephen gets to it and squints at the mercury level. ]

Seems I'll live. As expected.

As expected, huh?

[ A mild tease. He saw the state of him when he first arrived, spent enough time with him after to know there's a non-zero chance he'd anticipated the sweet embrace of death at some point in the hours before, if not the hours after. Stephen's anticipated it for less: even a bad hangover can be enough to signal the end while you're in it, and this was no hangover.

Peeling the existing bandage back, Stephen seems - if not pleased, then certainly not displeased by what he finds underneath. It's easier today to handle the open wounds, the fresh vile mess of it seeming mollified a little by his early hours efforts. He draws antiseptic around the edges, over unbroken skin, with the same old pragmatic focus. ]

Yeah. Seems you'll live.

[ Sets his work into place with fresh bandages, letting the old go swallowed up in airborne in a little magician's flourish. It dies before sparks can drop and catch. Not quite a lollipop at the end of the appointment, but something close.

The catch of his chin and swift inward lean to land a peck on his well-behaved forehead before he can protest it maybe something closer still. ]

How's your stomach? Try something plain?

Edited 2025-02-08 10:44 (UTC)

[ Silco clicks his tongue at that sentimental little kiss, even if it does effectively ease a scratchy restlessness at all the probing of his sore face, the innate flinch at being seen as disfigured and disgusting. ]

Don't mother me, now.

[ That's a no. Doctor's fuss he'll accept, but feeding him might be a step too far. That or he doesn't want to risk it and doesn't want to say so. ]

[ A huff of a laugh. Fine. He's been allowed more leeway than he expected, he won't push for more and risk shutting down the entire operation. ]

I'm gonna eat. Want me to leave you for a while?

[ For a while, an offer not a threat. He'll be back sooner or later whether Silco takes the respite of his parting for breakfast or not, but he's willing to give him some of the space he'd so adamantly craved when Stephen first showed up invited now he's not so deep in the pit of it. ]

[ Yes. Of course he wants his space back, wants to wallow — but in what misery? For what purpose? The easy dismissal catches in his throat. ]

I wouldn't begrudge you some breakfast, if you wanted to eat here.

[ Stepping carefully around the possibility that the good doctor might actually want a break from him, given givens. But definitely assenting to a little more company. ]

Yeah? Think you could stomach food in the room?

[ He was willing to let it go, but if Silco will create a self-inflicted opening in the conversation, he's not not going to take advantage of it. There's a knowing little look that says he doesn't actually have to answer.

In real response to the offer, he abandons the bed again to wander to the door, sticks his head out. True to form, a staff member is exactly where he needs them to be, and he makes his (very specific this time, fool him once) breakfast request, playfully citing the need to tend a patient to excuse them both from going down. Returns to this time climb back in properly, shedding his robe and shooing Silco out of the way to make space for himself to tuck in under the covers. ]

[ Silco moves just a little, stays close enough to run a hand down Stephen's biceps — even having let go of the dehydrated and muscular aesthetic, Stephen is always kinda of a revelation once he takes his clothes off and reveals he isn't built like the big nerd he is. Silco presses a kiss to his shoulder, then takes his hand and lifts it, ducking in under his arm to make a place for himself, but also keeping Stephen's fingers cradled carefully with his. It always makes this easier, remembering he isn't the only one with vulnerabilities. ]

Is Resculpt magic or a drug? In your opinion.

[ Bandages crinkling as he noses Stephen's skin. ]

[ Lips at his shoulder, hand on his hand, body tucking in against his side. The closeness fizzes warm, comfort without imminent threat. He curls his fingers, reaches his thumb to catch and stroke along Silco's. Leans in against him, peering down at Silco and their joined hands below as he considers the question. ]

Apparently the guy dealing the stuff says kelp's a key ingredient. [ He's spoken to Iggy in the interim between dinner and now, learned that little tidbit. ] If it is kelp [ palpable doubt ] it's magically supercharged kelp.

[ Which is his answer. There's no drug he knows, now or in the future he's seen, that can do what this has done in the span of time it's done it. ]

Shimmer is synthesized from an axolotl's secretion after it has been fed a mutagenic plant.

[ That is to say, he's aware that the line between manufactured drug and wild magical effects is a blurry one. But he's still interested in Stephen's insights, will ignore the fact that they're dozily cuddling to discuss what counts as a magical property, drilling down into theoretical magic with a hunger that Stephen likely sees an echo of himself in.

Though he's struggling through a certain amount of fogginess; by the time that breakfast arrives, ends up tentatively stealing small amounts of Stephen's, wanting the calories enough to risk the humiliation of further stomach upset. ]

[ The food is conspicuously suitable for a person whose stomach has recently spent a lot of time revolting. Plain toast cut diagonally into triangles comes in a little metal slice-holder, butter dish to one side. Scrambled eggs, avocado, a side of smoked salmon he doesn't anticipate sharing but gladly will, some slices of plain white meats. A little bowl of grapes and strawberries.

He makes no comment whenever Silco pilfers some for himself. Just keeps eating, winding through the discussion between bites. Happy to have forgotten briefly who he was talking to if only so he could be reminded with the depth of the conversation, the curiosity and the counter-offers, until the tray of food balanced over laps has seen as much use as either of them feel the need for. Instead of setting it down on the floor beside him, he reaches over Silco to place it on the empty stretch of bed they've made redundant with their closeness.

Tray abandoned, he plants one hand on the bed beside Silco's hip, twists around and steadies his chin with the other as he ducks in to kiss him. Light, fond gratitude - for the allowances made over the last many hours, for his company. The slightest edge of mischief in a barely there nip he soothes over with the soft sweep of his tongue. ]

[ While the food is rejuvenating, Silco gives too much to the conversation and wears himself thin, all his spark and stubbornness fading after so many failed rebellions, so by the time Stephen kisses him he's pliant, soft around the edges. Gives way to being handled, makes a high, pleased noise at the bite and doesn't retaliate beyond a tug of the fingers winding into Stephen's hair.

Though that same weariness is a barrier to taking advantage of this pliancy. Silco melts into the bed in a slow slide, and then just blinks up at Stephen, fingers exploring the curve of his ear. ]

I have no doubt there are patients other than me who could use your help.

[ As much as he wants to be selfish and allow Stephen to continue to dote on him with increasing precision, or maybe draw him into more lazy, sleepy cuddling, he's growing concerned about monopolising his time. ]

[ Down Silco goes. Stephen hovers over him, tender under gentle touch and the trust inherent in seeing him like this, letting the moment stretch for as long as it can after Silco utters the sentence that ushers him off to duty. He could deny it. State the local clinic staff have the situation under control, that this kind of medical practice has never been his wheelhouse anyway. But he did accept a responsibility. And he knows full well that at least one of his residents will be down there running themselves ragged before long.

A deep breath goes followed by a sigh. Stephen, rendered too fond to stop himself, ducks down to press his forehead to Silco's before drawing back entirely. Leaning to collect the tray, sit back for one last long look at him. ]

Rest. And if you feel anything going too far sideways, call.

[ Reluctant, he stands. Tray in one hand, he draws pinched thumb and finger down the midline of his body with the other, and in a second is dressed in easy basic layers, ready to get covered in whatever his self-ascribed rounds have in store for him. A smirk, a wink, and he turns to let himself out the way most people come and go: the door. Abandoned robes still hanging over the back of Silco's chair an unspoken guarantee that he'll be back. ]

[ (And if Silco flops across a bed that suddenly feels too big to smile into the pillow like a flustered teenage girl, what of it? And if he perhaps, once he's made it out of bed, takes a moment to gather up Stephen's robes and breathe in the scent of him around the collar, what of it? He's fine. This is normal. This was a normal thread with normal men.) ]

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text — un: goatface

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un: jod.

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surprise 2/2

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un: •]••´º´•» J E M «•´º´••[•

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a brief haunting.

0 stars let him pet the dog