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Is he serious?
He must be.
Absurd as it seems, she finds herself rising slowly, taking steps towards him. It's silly, isn't it - and she's awkward when she's close enough to reach out, trying to figure out how to fit her arms around him. Stiffness and tension, wound up to keep it all together.
(It'd be too much to fling herself at him, at someone's arms and sink in the way she wants to. Too, too much. Don't cry, don't collapse. A new plant needs to sink roots into the earth or it shall die. Don't be pathetic.)
Harder to do this than to contemplate how much force would be needed to crack apart her bones, what knife to score the flesh. Pain is always easier to manage and take, measure and breathe through. Pain is understood. Familiar. This feels like the sanctuary of a hiding spot opened up, but there is no way to fix it.
Because in the end, she does want it, even if it's hard to say.
He must be.
Absurd as it seems, she finds herself rising slowly, taking steps towards him. It's silly, isn't it - and she's awkward when she's close enough to reach out, trying to figure out how to fit her arms around him. Stiffness and tension, wound up to keep it all together.
(It'd be too much to fling herself at him, at someone's arms and sink in the way she wants to. Too, too much. Don't cry, don't collapse. A new plant needs to sink roots into the earth or it shall die. Don't be pathetic.)
Harder to do this than to contemplate how much force would be needed to crack apart her bones, what knife to score the flesh. Pain is always easier to manage and take, measure and breathe through. Pain is understood. Familiar. This feels like the sanctuary of a hiding spot opened up, but there is no way to fix it.
Because in the end, she does want it, even if it's hard to say.
Artemy wraps his own arms around Fever as soon as she wiggles hers around his frame. He's a good hugger. Not too tight, but tight enough to feel secure. He smells of burnt leaves and autumn and a tinge of blood.
He probably could crack her bones if we're being honest enough. He's certainly large and strong enough. But he understands his own strength, he's in control, from giving hugs to knowing exactly the pressure required to sever flesh under a knives blade.
Artemy grew up comfortable and okay with physical contact and somehow that does come through. His father was strict, but not unloving.
He probably could crack her bones if we're being honest enough. He's certainly large and strong enough. But he understands his own strength, he's in control, from giving hugs to knowing exactly the pressure required to sever flesh under a knives blade.
Artemy grew up comfortable and okay with physical contact and somehow that does come through. His father was strict, but not unloving.
Despite all her resolutions, when they do embrace, some of the tension bleeds out of her. The contact makes her breathe easier, relax some, a steadiness with her feet back on the ground. A longing satisfied, a heart soothed. She breathes in his scent and thinks, this is my friend.
A friend that she had told the truth to, and he did not turn away. Who she had cracked in front of, and he had spoken reason enough to soothe her -
And while there had been the desire to lash out, to strike something, even herself, there had been no overwhelming pressure to resist, no deep contemplation of how everything in the room could be used to slay him or what he would sound like as he dies to drown any other thought. Such a wonder to only feel impulses so.
She finds, at the heart of it all, a profound relief. He's safe.
A friend that she had told the truth to, and he did not turn away. Who she had cracked in front of, and he had spoken reason enough to soothe her -
And while there had been the desire to lash out, to strike something, even herself, there had been no overwhelming pressure to resist, no deep contemplation of how everything in the room could be used to slay him or what he would sound like as he dies to drown any other thought. Such a wonder to only feel impulses so.
She finds, at the heart of it all, a profound relief. He's safe.
His eyes go round. "Really? But you're so good at it! You can do all kinds of magic like it ain't nothing!"
Another attempt. It feels more -- solid this time, like the air is pushing back a little against his palms. Without realizing, Radar pokes his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates, squinting down at his hands.
Another attempt. It feels more -- solid this time, like the air is pushing back a little against his palms. Without realizing, Radar pokes his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates, squinting down at his hands.
"That I can," she agrees, full of every confidence in that, "but that doesn't mean I can do everything. I've never worked with the type of spell he gave me before now. It'd be fantastic if it was easy, don't get me wrong, but it isn't, and so I have to keep working with it."
Anzu shakes his head.
"Go sit down, darling," he says. "I'll find my way about the kitchen. After all, feh ... it is hard to arrange a kitchen such that a kettle will remain hidden to all but its owner. And pardon me saying so, but thou give'st not no impression of having the skills necessary to really fuck up the local spacetime."
He sounds as though he's talking from experience. Throwing out calculated conversational sallies — wishing to put Fever at ease, and to make this visit more than a fulfilment of a promise.
He smiles at her, a little sadly, and disappears into the kitchen, without waiting for a reply. But he leaves the door open, in case Fever wants to linger and talk, and busies himself with the kettle, and scalding the cups and finding the teaspoons.
It's not hard to find everything - the kettle already on the stove, cups in the front of a cabinet, tea in a jar. And Fever does sit, for a time. She spends it pulling herself together enough, she thinks, to have a visitor. It isn't going to be an easy conversation, and she catches herself feeling a current of that deep anger, the desire to tear something or someone apart, that longing that shakes her to her core to have to refuse. Instead of sitting here and talking about this, she'd rather sink her hands up to the wrist in gore and violence, collecting enough bones to build a cathedral.
But she knows, she knows that won't fix the problem. It won't ease the space left.
Sometimes people come back.
They can. They do. But so far, the odds are stacked against it.
It didn't even say goodbye.
When Anzu returns, there she is, sitting on the couch, leaving his options as the armchair or to sit next to her. There's a distant sort of look in her eyes, but she makes herself focus when he's in the room. Visitor. Right.
But she knows, she knows that won't fix the problem. It won't ease the space left.
Sometimes people come back.
They can. They do. But so far, the odds are stacked against it.
It didn't even say goodbye.
When Anzu returns, there she is, sitting on the couch, leaving his options as the armchair or to sit next to her. There's a distant sort of look in her eyes, but she makes herself focus when he's in the room. Visitor. Right.
Anzu sets the full teacups down in front of Fever, and takes a seat beside her — close enough to be present, not so close as to be crowding her personal space.
He suspects he knows what this will be about. He's noticed Angel's absence. And he's been telling himself that here, disappearing in the middle of the night is probably a good thing. Or at least a neutral thing.
Maybe a little more neutral than death.
But ... a loss is a loss.
"Thou need'st speak only as much as thou wish'st, darling," he says. "And ... nu. When thou feel'st thou'rt quite done talking, I shall take my leave." He pauses. "I will call, or come by, later. But I shan't insist on staying longer than thou can'st stand."
For a moment, there's silence, only her picking up the cup to let it warm her hands. Breathing in the familiar scent. Trying a sip, to let it unlock her throat and make its way past the lump in the way.
"Angel was seen boarding the ferry."
It's hushed, unable to be said louder. Saying it aloud makes it more real, as if he's going to just show up again. Here in this apartment is where they cut his hair, giving him proof of his own identity. The memories exist everywhere.
"There wasn't a note."
It happened. It could happen to any of them. It has happened to many other souls. She's lost friends, allies. So why this time does it feel this way?
"Angel was seen boarding the ferry."
It's hushed, unable to be said louder. Saying it aloud makes it more real, as if he's going to just show up again. Here in this apartment is where they cut his hair, giving him proof of his own identity. The memories exist everywhere.
"There wasn't a note."
It happened. It could happen to any of them. It has happened to many other souls. She's lost friends, allies. So why this time does it feel this way?
Hearing her say it makes it more real, somehow. Anzu puts down his cup of tea, and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes; he doesn't bother hiding that he's tearing up.
"So it was," he says, hollowly. "I suppose even here, few are able to leave a final goodbye."
He falls silent; in part it's to let Fever speak. In part it's because he's choking up, and doesn't quite know what he'd say, anyway. He'd come to assist Fever with her grief. He wasn't expecting to be ambushed by his own.
"I don't know what to do."
His grief and her own sit side by side, and she sets her cup down, sinking back into the couch. All she could do was keep going through her days, sleepwalking, trying to not dwell on the truth. But it won't be changed, and Fever wonders if it is cruel, to be relieved by Anzu's obvious pain. Someone else knows that something is wrong, wrong enough that there is a distance between you and everyone else, the world behind layers of glass.
"I've had an idea what to do every time before. But not now."
His grief and her own sit side by side, and she sets her cup down, sinking back into the couch. All she could do was keep going through her days, sleepwalking, trying to not dwell on the truth. But it won't be changed, and Fever wonders if it is cruel, to be relieved by Anzu's obvious pain. Someone else knows that something is wrong, wrong enough that there is a distance between you and everyone else, the world behind layers of glass.
"I've had an idea what to do every time before. But not now."
"Yeah." More thoughtful. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You know back home it seems like every other month they got a new form they want us to fill out for requisitions or a new thing they wanna start including in everybody's personnel file, and half the time it means I gotta change up how I do stuff all over again. It's not as tough as magic, but it ain't something you can learn once and never have to learn again, either. Voco."
Something sputters to life between his hands, a glimmer that barely lasts half a second, but Radar still yelps in delight. "Didja see that?!"
Something sputters to life between his hands, a glimmer that barely lasts half a second, but Radar still yelps in delight. "Didja see that?!"
"I did, I saw that! It's coming along!"
She's as excited as he is, having caught the beginnings of it instantly. Oh, it's going to work. It's getting closer and closer now. Maybe if they keep talking, it'll help - help Radar relax or at least pass the time. It certainly can't hurt.
"And yeah, sometimes it feels like that. I'd show you how the spell is so far, but it's nothing worth seeing. Just difficult, and something I can work on for only so long until I get another of my headaches." And still far too cute and not vicious and deadly enough. "You know what you want to do, and you know you can do it, but you have to figure out the how."
Wizards get spellbooks where they write their predetermined rites and methods. But sorcerers? Things need to be felt and refined. She can only teach him the way she knows, in the end.
She's as excited as he is, having caught the beginnings of it instantly. Oh, it's going to work. It's getting closer and closer now. Maybe if they keep talking, it'll help - help Radar relax or at least pass the time. It certainly can't hurt.
"And yeah, sometimes it feels like that. I'd show you how the spell is so far, but it's nothing worth seeing. Just difficult, and something I can work on for only so long until I get another of my headaches." And still far too cute and not vicious and deadly enough. "You know what you want to do, and you know you can do it, but you have to figure out the how."
Wizards get spellbooks where they write their predetermined rites and methods. But sorcerers? Things need to be felt and refined. She can only teach him the way she knows, in the end.
"Aw, I think any kind of magic's worth seeing," says Radar loyally. "It's still real neat finding out all the stuff you can do with it, even if I've been here a while. What kinda spell is it?"
The motion of his hands grows smoother as he talks. Definitely seems like when he's not thinking about the spell so hard that his brain's about to overheat, it gets easier to string all the components together properly.
The motion of his hands grows smoother as he talks. Definitely seems like when he's not thinking about the spell so hard that his brain's about to overheat, it gets easier to string all the components together properly.
"Shapeshifting," she admits, noticing the change to his hands. Overthinking it is as bad as underthinking it, and this is meant to be easy and fun. "I don't have the same variety as he does - he can be anything he likes, all the chaos in him - but I'm learning to be something different. Things that both are and are not me."
Max hadn't realized, at least, so there's hope for the future of slinking past undetected.
"But, I don't entirely know how to be these other things yet. So Father says, when I asked him why it wasn't working how it should."
Max hadn't realized, at least, so there's hope for the future of slinking past undetected.
"But, I don't entirely know how to be these other things yet. So Father says, when I asked him why it wasn't working how it should."
Instantly, Radar perks up. (Well, perks up further.)
"Shapeshifting! Gee, I always wondered about shapeshifting magic. You know Miss Ylva told me about it the first day I was here and I dunno if I'd wanna spend too long as something else, but I thought it was the neatest thing, being able to turn into an animal whenever you wanted. I bet it'll be real handy once you get the hang of it! There's -- well," and here he pulls a mild face, "Edgar's got a friend who's over at the ranch a lot who can turn into whatever she wants, and a lot of time she just uses it to tease me, but she's good at it. Maybe she can help teach you how to be other things too."
(Look, you can't blame Nimona too much. Radar's such an easy mark sometimes.)
"Shapeshifting! Gee, I always wondered about shapeshifting magic. You know Miss Ylva told me about it the first day I was here and I dunno if I'd wanna spend too long as something else, but I thought it was the neatest thing, being able to turn into an animal whenever you wanted. I bet it'll be real handy once you get the hang of it! There's -- well," and here he pulls a mild face, "Edgar's got a friend who's over at the ranch a lot who can turn into whatever she wants, and a lot of time she just uses it to tease me, but she's good at it. Maybe she can help teach you how to be other things too."
(Look, you can't blame Nimona too much. Radar's such an easy mark sometimes.)
"I know her, it just..." And here, Radar will bear witness to a rare sight, Fever looking somewhat embarrassed at the thought. "Nimona's really good at what she does, and I don't know. It feels like asking a world famous artist to look at a child's sketch drawing. I feel like I should at least have a basic handling of it before I ask for her advice."
"Thou ought to do nothing," Anzu says, raising an eyebrow. "Pardon me for the presumptiveness, darling, but I shall not permit thee to try to do aught. There is no body to bury, but there's a mourner left behind to sit shivah. More than one, even. And while I shan't ask thee to take on a ritual not thine own ... nu. I think thou ought to mourn, and force thyself not to work nor talk to others."
He pauses, and adds, "Zivia will understand. What's more, I quite positive she'll agree with me. She can talk to the Mayor on thy behalf and make the case. Or I can."
Oh, gosh, Fever. She looks so unlike herself that Radar's gotta pause all his gesturing for a second, just so he can give her an encouraging pat on the shoulder instead.
"Hey, maybe if you want, you could practice while I'm practicing? We can work on our spells together!"
Because, well, Fever's kinda got a point. Considering how much Nimona teases Radar, he's pretty sure she'd poke fun at Fever, too, and nobody needs that when they're just learning.
"Hey, maybe if you want, you could practice while I'm practicing? We can work on our spells together!"
Because, well, Fever's kinda got a point. Considering how much Nimona teases Radar, he's pretty sure she'd poke fun at Fever, too, and nobody needs that when they're just learning.
"...I won't make you promise to not laugh, but can you promise you won't tell anyone? Just...just until I figure it out."
She knows it'll be and look ridiculous. Expecting him to not laugh might be a bridge too far.
She knows it'll be and look ridiculous. Expecting him to not laugh might be a bridge too far.
Far from being presumptuous, Fever is listening, letting her hands lie quiet next to her. Not working seems strange to her, not talking to others - these things had not been in her head. So many times, she's simply worked through it, told herself to keep going, figured it out. Keeping busy will fix it, attend to the problems of others, do something. And yet Anzu is saying otherwise. Saying she could think to mourn.
(And at the center, a revelation - that the concept no longer tugs at her mind in strange ways. No more being steered away from the thought. That part of her is free now.)
"I've never been able to do that before."
Not beyond adding to a list of names kept, names of those absent from her life that she would remember.
(And at the center, a revelation - that the concept no longer tugs at her mind in strange ways. No more being steered away from the thought. That part of her is free now.)
"I've never been able to do that before."
Not beyond adding to a list of names kept, names of those absent from her life that she would remember.
"I promise," he says immediately. "And I even promise I'll try not to laugh, okay?"
He can do that much!
He can do that much!
Edited 2025-03-23 15:51 (UTC)
Oh, this pleases the Skooma Cat. This pleases the Skooma Cat immensely. He begins chowing down, doing that wacky things cats sometimes do where they audibly "om nom nom nom" as they eat. Whatever that's usually meant to indicate, he's doing that purely because he thinks it's hilarious.
something something the author is depressed and this is a mood
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blindwatchersees
2025-03-19 05:28 pm (UTC)(link)
"Sort of the nature of things, isn't it? You can't proper take the feelings out of the box sometimes unless you rip them out crying and screaming. Then you feel a pleasant sort of tidiness, once your head is pounding and your cheeks are raw and you know you've made a scene. Much better an idea than keeping that box shuttered forcibly until everything inside of it rots."
"It's not like I'm a stranger to rot."
It was what made the soil so rich to begin with. Things broken down, changed, left as fuel and nutrients, where madness might find purchase and drink deep. Earth in her throat, her mouth.
Sitting down on the floor, crosslegged, the box in her lap. Reaching for one of her knives - it's the Figment Blade that answers this time, and she brings down the edge to try and cut through the seal that secures this box. No dice - the weapon's temperamental as it is, and today is a day where it wants to be nothing more than a beautiful paperweight. No cutting edge.
Fine then, if it wanted to be like that.
"What if I blow this one up?"
It was what made the soil so rich to begin with. Things broken down, changed, left as fuel and nutrients, where madness might find purchase and drink deep. Earth in her throat, her mouth.
Sitting down on the floor, crosslegged, the box in her lap. Reaching for one of her knives - it's the Figment Blade that answers this time, and she brings down the edge to try and cut through the seal that secures this box. No dice - the weapon's temperamental as it is, and today is a day where it wants to be nothing more than a beautiful paperweight. No cutting edge.
Fine then, if it wanted to be like that.
"What if I blow this one up?"
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