rehandle | saltburnt inbox

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.

saltburnt inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject