Two Roads Diverged in a Blackened Wood...

Tairais 
@Amuulzhaan 3 years ago
So I have two things to share that I call "Heart on his (Book)Sleeve" and "Deus ex misericordia Dei" (Which is not supposed to be Italian, thanks Google Translate.)
The former is a response to @jekyll1886 and the latter... ))
"Heart on his (Book)Sleeve":
Directly under it, there was a response to Lewis's message, written in small, spidery handwriting, obviously written with great care and deliberation:
Lewis,
"That which the fountain sends forth again returns to the fountain."
Similarly, I know that the time will come when you read this, for one reason or another. Thus, it only seems fair that I preface this journey into the fountain of knowledge with the following:
Thank you.
And with that, let us delve into all the parts of me I cannot, or do not yet want to, see. Perhaps they will be more useful to you than me.
Upon reading, it became obvious that the journal well and truly was a fount of knowledge, both obvious and subtle, if one knew how to look.
Turning through the pages revealed a wealth of information in a surprising (perhaps not so surprising) number of languages. English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, and the occasional page in Dutch were among those Lewis would be able to recognize and read.
For that matter, it was easy to see which languages Richard preferred based on the handwriting of whichever sentences were written in them: English was printed with a heavy, blocky sort of font, as if each letter were put down with heavily repressed irritation. French, Spanish and Italian, on the other hand, were written in flowing, elegant cursive, with a fountain pen, if the pattern of the flow was to be believed. German and Russian were hastily, almost hatefully written in furious cursive. For the rare page in Dutch, it had a sluggish, drifting quality to it, as if Richard were falling asleep as he wrote (which he usually was, not that Lewis would know).
However, for all the pages that were recognizable, the majority of the pages were either written in a language that one could only assume was Richard's native tongue, given the care in which it was written, or a curious cipher of sorts- one with its own unique letters, written and set in charcoal. They were generally jerky, as if the writer had frantically jotted them down in his last moments on earth.
For the most part, each different language corresponded to a different subject material:
Those pages written in Spanish were a study in duality, either talking lovingly of his memories of dancing in ballrooms and ballet studios or full of mechanical and engineering drawings, hastily rendered with calculations and costs written in the margins. The fact that Richard had (and still did, from the sound of it) been trained in ballet for a number of years was something largely unknown, but it went some way towards explaining the grace in which he moved. A large amount of the drawings had to do with weapon design, which seemed... somewhat out of place, given he had, on one passing occasion, mentioned he rather loathed forging weapons for other people to kill with.
The pages in French were solely recipes he had remembered and, for whatever reason, written down for memory's sake. There were a surprising amount of dishes that required organ meat, but aside from culinary tendencies and a love of aesthetics, not much could be gleaned from those entries.
The pages in Dutch were largely nonsensical, with phrases like "You must use four cups. Very four." and Do not forget to tell them to taste the stripes of the tiger." and other rambling gibberish floating across parchment as if carried on a breeze.
Anything written in English was fairly normal, all things considered. For the most part, they merely recounted the events of his time in the Society in a bullet-point format, cutting them down to their base parts. No thoughts, no emotion. It looked more like Richard was trying to practice his use of the language than anything else.
The thoughts of him that were written in Italian, Russian, or German, on the other hand... They most certainly held memories.
In Italian, dated some weeks ago:
"Last night I dreamed of Jack's murder and of my own paralysis at the hands of Elise.
I wish I had stayed with him. He didn't deserve to die alone. Or die at all. Elise's fury was my fault, after all. He was just trying to protect me.
Should our paths cross again, Elise will not live long. She will suffer long, yes, but she will not live long. I oew Jack that much.
I can't draw attention to myself, though. In moments like these, I remember Hannibal. I remember Will. I remember Torke, David, and Kirin, Beverly, Jimmy, Brian, and Jack, Crawford that is. Elise, Emily, Lauren, Holly, and Rose. I remember all of them, I remember myself. I remember blood staining my hands countless times and elevating coal into diamond. Turning ugly rudeness into beauty worthy to be shared with the world.
I seldom remember how to feel guilt in these moments, but Jack (Harkness) was always an exception.
Much like Elias is now. Much like Benediktas, Here, there were two more spaces, two more names, furiously scratched away as if he were trying to forget they had ever existed.
The date of the next entry (reminiscing about his old family home, a pencil sketch perfectly capturing the many small details and was two weeks after, and the hidden silence within it spoke volumes.
A few pages further still, and frenzied German and Russian overlapped each other in his haste to get out thoughts and memories that burned like unwanted brands.
"We had run so far, so fast, and yet it never mattered, couldn't matter. We didn't know how to hide, and I didn't yet know how to growl instead of howl. Children suffered for it. Benediktas suffered for it.
And yet, it made me stronger, even after I locked my voice away and took to fighting silently. They would not have my truest emotions again. They were not worthy of it.
Pigs, fit only for slaughter. The most rude and grating kinds of ungodly creatures.
Pigs, fit only for slaughter and consumption and transformation."
The pages like these were frenzied and reverent. Very few of them made sense. Many of them spoke of a forest of ash and of the footfalls of hired thugs or soldiers or the staff of some hungry, looming building.
He was reaching towards his sense of self with hungry arms and a starving mind.
A metamorphosis once underwent, completed, and now lost under the formation of a new chrysalis. 
The beginning of a new era followed by the end of another.
Save for a few mentions of his and Jack's time in Italy, Richard said nothing more in Italian that was of particular note, rambling on about the places in Italy he had visited, the people he had met. Though, by his accounts, the people he met were seldom friendly. In fact, they were frequently reported as being "rude" or "grating" or any number of irritated adjectives. He seemed fond of the canals of Venice, and of the art and culture found throughout the country. He frequently wrote of his memories of the opera and of art galleries, though he just as frequently spoke of living on the street and enjoying the view of such wonderful cities from the lowest depths of depravity.
As always, a study in duality.
A study in cruelty that was also a study in empathy, for the greatest acts of the former required the greatest amounts of the latter. A study in floating above the dredges of humanity, and a study of being at the lowest the race had to offer. A study in torture, and a study of comfort.
Round and round they chased themselves, frantically searching for one key detail to make sense of it all.
And then, the most recent entry, dated the day before the Society was turned on its head by Artemis's frantic search, in slow, meticulous English.
"I had a dream last night.
I was back in the library, the day my memories and thoughts painted the walls. The balcony was breaking below me, only it flickered away into the same cliff I stood upon on the night the Phoenix fell. The sea of blood was both above me and below me, chipping away at both myself and the cliff with single-minded hunger and... yearning.
I fell. Off the cliff, and apart, revealing a creature made of white and black. Of harshness and beauty, respectively. With antlers and feathers and broken glass.
And wings, always wings. Leather and glass and more feathers. Reaching and climbing far from the sea of blood, only I flew too close to the moon, and they fell apart again. Shattered.
I fell once more, and I drowned.
I emerged on a beach of coal dust and stardust, the water of blood black and beautiful in the moonlight, gently caressing me, apologizing.
I emerged different and whole.
...
Something monumental- perhaps several somethings- is about to happen.
I find myself afraid while aware for the first time since that night. I have people I can lose, I have masks that should not fall.
I have people that will not stop hunting for myself and for those I treasure should I shed blood they can smell.
And they always do smell it."
~*~*~*~*~
"Deus ex misericordia Dei":
Fate, he decided, was a cruelly humorous and fickle mistress. Just.. not in the way he had expected.
Years worth of careful preparations, of strings and chess pieces carefully woven and carefully placed. They had meant nothing, in the end.
His ghosts had still come to haunt him, and the hellhounds biting at his heels had come to drag him back into their hellish depths.
And, gods damn him, he was repressing a shiver of thrill. There was to be a hunt.
Then, all at once, guilt and grief pounced on him like wolves in the snow, and they tore his heart to shreds.
What was he going to tell Elias? Panic joined the mix and the he had to shake his head to breathe as his whole being began to shake with bitter determination.
He took a breath in, then let it out slowly, forcing his body to still. The shudders had lasted but two moments, but they were two moments too many. He needed control now more than ever. Needed to go over the events of the past.. two years? Roughly. A rough time-frame would work better than none.
The most recent of events had happened like this:
Boredom had been scratching at his mind like a dog scratching at a door to be let outside, and he too felt a similar urge. Lying more or less paralyzed for several days as his mind wandered and his body healed had led to a quicker recovery than the last time he had woken up in a place like the Infirmary (now thought of in capital letters for the significance of the events that had landed him there), and for that he had been grateful.
He had softly and carefully told Elias he was going for a walk to try and regain some of the agility he had lost, and Elias had agreed. He had then (after tamping down a flash of guilt that had surfaced when he heard the slightly bitter tone in Elias voice, and after feeling his gaze dart to his still-broken, still-healing leg) meandered into and down the halls of the Society, letting movement soothe his jittery mind and his weary heart.
He had, by some strange machination of fate and subconsciousness, ended up at the door to his room without much incident and without much stress on the part of his largely unused legs and stamina.
He had opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it, only to turn and find a slice of his own personal hell laying before him.
To others, it would've simply seemed as if he had come in earlier to tidy up before returning to the infirmary to rest. To Richard, it was a sign of reemergence.
His room, in all its clutter and misshapen qualities, had been impeccably clean. The bed was made with almost military sharpness, every stray paper or half-finished project neatly rearranged on a table or desk or other nearby flat surface, every stray object placed into its rightful spot, save for a few slightly-skewed books in all too telling a position on his bookcase.
At first, he had simply thought Lewis to have gone the extra.. several miles while he had investigated his journal, but a fearful, shrill sound from Gerard had stopped that train of thought cold.
He had only heard that sound once before, and he had nearly lost his other leg that night, only to have part of his back taken from him instead.
Even without reading the seemingly innocuously placed letter, he knew exactly who the culprit.. culprits were now.
He had still read the letter anyways, unfolding it with steady hands. All-too-terribly familiar handwriting greeted him with a savage smile full of teeth and promises of retribution.
Thumbnail'
https://uploads.disquscdn.com/images/a0dec7d2d2e79454990f125251ab1310ddff2560eeb4023fc709d0f730dff486.png
(( For those who can't read it: Dearest Richard: I do apologize for stealing the moon from your sky, seeing as you seem so fond of him and his brother, but I hope to shed a little light on your current set of circumstances. We hope to have you to dinner very soon. I am certain the moon will wish to return to the sky sooner, rather than later. All our love, H.L. and W. G. ))
He had almost convinced himself he was surprised, but he wasn't. He had expected it, expected consequences and spectres that would follow him no matter what, and still, he thought he had been so, SO careful. What had given him away?
All too easily, he remembered, he knew, and he cursed himself for so blindly following his instincts.
An investigator, a Knight by name. Jacob Knight. A back-alley confrontation at the behest of one 'Doctor Roman Fell'.
A murder, a blank canvas on which he had painted a masterpiece and then carefully rendered it into pieces, slowly disposed of over the course of many months.
If he had known to send hooks into England, they had gotten too far already. The investigator would have been sending back regular reports at 'Doctor Fell's insistence. 'Doctor Fell' would have known how he would react, would have known exactly what it meant when his precious pawn missed a date.
In his eyes, the pawn would have been sacrificed to capture a queen.
He stifled a very long, very colorful string of words and sighed.
What was he going to tell Elias? Tell Nicolette? Tell Susan- not that she would care. Tell Alicia or Lewis or anyone, really.
He paused, realization coming to him in a flash of sickening, white-hot lightning.
He wouldn't.
He could deal with the subsequent hunt that way.
He glanced at the clock and noticed forty-five minutes had passed all too quickly. With another glance, he noticed he had been absently patting Gerard for likely just as long, comforting, consoling. All the things he couldn't do to Artemis, at present.
He couldn't even take comfort in the fact that they wouldn't hurt him, or that wherever he was held would be comfortable, clean, warm, and full of good food. Comfortable isolation would still drive a man mad, and well...
The food would be people. It always was.
Tucking the letter away in the hidden compartment in his bookcase confirmed what he had suspected: They had found the hidden compartments in his room, and all their secrets. Had likely found them amusing too, and almost certainly had found his journal according to Gerard and, surprisingly, the ever-quiet Stephan.
He sighed one more time, then returned to his place at Elias' side with a smile he both felt all too much and not at all. A perfect mask.
There was a game afoot, but the prize was not something he could afford to lose. It thrilled and sickened him all in one.
What did they have in store for the three of them? For surely Elias would be brought into this game if they knew of his attachment to Artemis. They would have learned of his "attachment" to Elias as well.
Nothing good, of that, he was certain.
(( Edit: the picture is refusing to cooperate with me on mobile, so I'll add it when I get back from choir!
Edit again: Picture has been added! ))
Enjoy :) ))
Mz.Hyde Mod • 3 years ago
(And I took the one less traveled......AND IT HURT MAN!!! THORNS!!! MUD!!! GLASS!!! NOT COOL ROBERT FROST!!!)
Tairais  Mz.Hyde • 3 years ago
(( I was gonna say "And it's had made none the difference", but.. that works much better xD There's suffering either way. ))
Elaina Hyde  Mz.Hyde • 3 years ago
(I LOVE KID PRESIDENT
He's such a sweetheart!!!)
Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago • edited
Lewis closed the journal. Things did make a bit more sense, though he never thought he'd find himself wishing he spoke Lithuanian as much as he did right now. Nevertheless, even this much information was enough to put several pieces together, though likely not all.
Journal in hand, he was about to head down to Richard, to ask him if he wouldn't mind translating the indecipherable passages. Yet something caught Weir's attention. Something...metaphysical.
Past the strange cane, in the area to the right of the writing desk, part of the wall felt...oddly like Richard, if he wasn't mistaken. He pressed his fingers to it, trying to get a better read on the energy.
To his surprise, the square inch of wall under his middle finger gave way, with an audible click. Part of the wall shifted out of the way to reveal...
An armory. It was an appropriate designation. He found himself staring at weapons of all kinds--there, a Doppelhänder; here, a claidheamh-mòr; next to some stilettos and katars, a daishō. He also spotted a peculiar set of leather armor; it sported a coat of arms that featured what looked for all the world like fire-breathing lions.
Why on earth does everyone around here feel the need for so much weaponry? he wondered, thinking back to Hela and her reluctance to be parted from her knives. He shook his head. Fearful lot.
He left the little room, and pushed the wall-button again in hopes it'd close the panel. It did.
Once more, Lewis attempted to leave Prince's quarters, but was waylaid by yet another metaphysical signature. Across from the foot of Richard's bed, at a crawl-section of the wall, he found an additional hidden button. His curiosity got the better of him, and he pressed it.
Inside was handmade altar. It looked decidedly pagan, with carvings of faeries, ravens, and--why was he not surprised?--stags all dancing under the moon, the whole scene framed by twining branches. On the altar were some unlighted candles, as well as a dish for offerings. The latter contained cured meat, fresh fruit and grain, and sprigs of holly, yew, aspen and pine. Holly: foresight. Yew: sorrow. Aspen: lamentation. Pine: pity. Weir knew their meanings well, but certainly hadn't expected to see them here. To be fair, he hadn't expected the altar, either. Not only that, but there was a sigil drawn onto the floor in charcoal--smudged, as if someone had tried to undo it. There was the smell of candles, and a faint aura of decay. Something in this little cubby of a room was giving off an odd emanation--nothing so much as the feeling of being watched while walking alone down a country road at night. But where, exactly, was it coming from?
Unable to help himself, he closed his eyes and passed his hand over the altar, back and forth, trying to key into it. His fingers brushed just the right spot, and he found a drawing. It had been hidden within the altar itself. It looked as if it had been drawn by a child, albeit a talented one: A stained glass window, mostly broken, the pieces suspended like stars before the nearly empty frame; there were reflections of many different people, impeccably rendered, in these shards--as if another set of hands had drawn them, so meticulous and careful was the style. This was the source of the strange metaphysical signature.
What the hell is this?
He replaced the drawing where he'd found it, exited the space, and pressed the button to slide the wall back in place.
Lewis didn't care if Richard would think him nosy for his actions; he needed to talk to him about all this. He was trying to help Prince, and, for that, he'd avail himself of every answer he could find.
As he passed one end of a bookcase, he found yet another hidden compartment.
Bloody hell, from whom are you hiding all these things, Richard? Why such secrecy? If the fellows you mentioned that night in the library are ever in your very room, the Society shall have bigger problems than whether they find a few of your trinkets.
When he opened this latest compartment, he discovered...a plague doctor's mask, of all things. Though it felt like Richard, it sent him spiraling off into his own memories: A crowded dance floor. An insufferable Brighella. A faux pas, and a flight from the ballroom, dropping his own mask in his haste. Later that night, a tumble from an upper-story window...and a fog-drenched flight through the streets of London, his London, back in his home dimension.
He came back to himself, to the present. He restored Richard's mask to its rightful place.
Yet, as he proceeded along the length of the bookshelves...
More? Really?
Sighing, he investigated further. He found a medical kit and, next to it, a bag of--by the look and smell of them--various poisons.
He simply shook his head and put them back.
Finally, he exited the room and made his way to the infirmary. He had many, many questions for Richard...
Jekyll1886  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
"Richard," said Lewis, journal in hand, making his way through the infirmary doors. "May I have a word?"
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
"You may have several, if you s-so wish." The man himself sat upright, eyes all but closed as the effort to stay awake slowly and steadily grew to be quite difficult.
He was, however, a determined man to begin with, and he was determined to set things right with Lewis (especially considering, deep down, he knew he'd need the man's help, and soon). He was now also a man anticipating many uncomfortable questions. The combination of these two, therefore, was enough to keep him wake and... relatively lucid.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"I'm sorry to come back so soon, but I have many questions," he explained, setting the journal down in front of Richard. He took a seat and laid his crutches on the floor. "The first of which, is...why do various objects in your room have souls?"
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
He blinked. Forget uncomfortable, that question was.. unexpected, and..
What?!
Caught completely off guard, he went completely still, not even not even breathing for a handful of moments as he slowly tilted his head.
"I.. beg your pardon?"
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"Several of the objects in your room have souls. They are ensouled. A tea kettle, for one. A cane, for another. They have stones or gems in them very similar to this one, in fact." He reached into his vest and pulled out the fragment Richard had lost from his hand the day they'd rescued Elias. "I found it, by the by. 'Been meaning to return it to you. Here."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
"I... what? How.. Whose souls are they? How did that even... What?!."
He took the chip of the stone that had been in his hand and hissed as the quickest flash of feeling returned to the damaged limb before vanishing with a sensation not unlike a bucket of ice-water being injected straight into his bloodstream. Almost as quickly as awareness of his missing limb came, it left, and it didn't return.
He was silent.
He was afraid. If the stones in the inanimate objects had souls in them...
Quietly, childlike, slipping into the shoes of the young boy who had asked for his mother's reassurance as she lay ill that it wasn't his fault, he asked:
"Lewis.. Are these stones.. part.. of.. my soul?" He used his working hand to flip his unresponsive arm over, staring at both stones in turn, watching flashes of turquoise chase swirls of black in circles, colors warring against each other.
He was silent. He was terrified. What happened if one lost part of their soul?
Little did he know, he already had, and it was currently curled up where his journal had been.
What would happen to him?
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"The one in the tea kettle seems to be, although it feels somehow...younger? I'm not sure if that's the right word, but it's the best one I have. More lively, more innocent...that sort of thing. The one in the cane, though...I got the distinct impression of lavender and roses...and bloodstains. Peaceful but tragic, but trying not to dwell on the tragedy, if that makes any sense. And--I hope you'll forgive me, but I did find an altar, among other things. It was difficult to miss, the energy was so strong."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
A terrible, impossible idea flickered into being in the depths of his eyes. He quickly hid it behind a shuttered gaze, though it had lingered too long for Lewis not to have seen it. Maybe he wouldn't push. He didn't want to bring voice to the idea only to have it be true.
He had thought he couldn't be any more frightened and lost. He had been wrong.
But surely not? He wasn't magical, the barriers at The Warehouse had proven as such.. so.. what was the truth?
"I.. I.. The altar is a r-remnant from.. home. Um. Energies?"
His voice trailed off into silence, still lost in thoughts of souls and energies and things he hadn't known about himself.
So much for having a sense of self.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago • edited
Lewis didn't press. Richard obviously hadn't known about the soul-shards, and had been thrown for enough of a loop.
"Ay. Energies. The altar itself...upon closer inspection, it had the feel of...you, presently. Ozone and smoke, for whatever reason. The fury and glory of the storm. But the sigil in front of it...that was a different matter. Its emanations permeated the whole space." He paused. "Richard...do you ever feel like you're being...watched? In a particularly disconcerting yet nebulous way?"
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
"I.. no? No more than usual; I've grown up with the feeling of being watched. Memories and regrets have always been tangible with me- I see too much or I see too little of other people, of what I should have done, and I have a very.. vivid imagination."
As if summoned by his internal turmoil, the stag heaved itself to its feet from Lewis' shadow, leading to a choked sound in his throat as he swallowed either a snarl or a scream, he wasn't sure either. Braced and tensed in preparation of some fresh pain brought on by his subconscious, he was both relieved and disturbed to find that the stag just... stood there, staring intently at Lewis.
The whisper of a voice long-dead carried itself to him on a breeze never felt.
"See? See?
He didn't see, he wanted to scream. Something was terribly wrong and he couldn't see what it was to correct it. Why was the stag here, NOW? What was its purpose, even?
He stared at his hands again, refusing to look his specter in the eye.
He sighed and shook his head. Best to tell Lewis and hope he could make sense of it all. He looked up, opened his mouth to speak... And went as pale as he had been in The Warehouse.
An ungodly shrieking rang through the halls of the cathedral, windows shattering and reforming in the blink of an eye as stone and wood alike crumbled. It was all his imagination of course, but no visualization would change the fact that for a moment, as he locked eyes with Lewis, he felt such a sickening wave of wrong wrong wrong get out get out NOW that if physically tugged at his stomach.
And left him with a nasty headache.
He opened his mouth and spoke as if nothing had happened, wiping his face carefully clean of any last traces of facial expression. That was new, as with all the other information that had been revealed to him in the past few moments.
"Perhaps that in and of itself is something to be worried of, then? The fact that I have been... haunted by myself since birth?"
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Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"Richard, I...don't know how to tell you this--and you're understandably in some distress, so I debate whether I even should--but...I don't think it's by your self alone you're being haunted. Nor do I know if it's been 'since birth', as you say, but I'd wager it's at least since whatever age you were when you made that drawing I found within the altar. The one with the stained glass, and the rather skillful portraiture." He paused, as a thought occurred to him. "Were you aware of the drawing, Richard?" Weir asked, unsure of the answer.
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
He felt more than a little ill, and almost didn't want to ask. If it were not by himself then what...?
All right. Facts, he needed information.
"I.. all right. N-no. Not aware of the drawing." That was one. A start, no matter how shaky.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if that would help stave off the massive headache building in his temples and behind his eyes.
"What am I to make of.. any of this?"
Still, completely still, a blank face, the picture of reserved nothingness. He didn't know how to react anymore.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"I do hope to assist you in making sense of all this, if possible. To that end, I'm afraid I don't speak...is it Lithuanian?...and whatever the other language or code in the journal is. So, if you wouldn't mind translating those passages--at least, anything important you may find in them--it would be most helpful. Meanwhile, I'll happily go fetch the drawing in question, if you like."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
He nodded gratefully. "I can do that. My apologies, I would have written only in English had I remembered I intended to share the contents. And I would like to see the drawing. Perhaps seeing it will... return forgotten memories to their rightful place."
He tried to reach for the journal with his unresponsive hand. Frowning slightly with frustration when he noticed the lack of response, he lifted his other arm instead.
Souls. The stones were souls, or parts of them. Were they his? What would happen if he tried to reclaim them? He both wanted to know and wanted to bury the thought as far from the light of day as possible, something deep within him recoiling at the idea.
But surely it would be better to be whole..?
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"No apologies necessary," Lewis assured him. "I imagine the thoughts flowed more freely in your native tongue." He picked up his crutches. "I'll be back with the drawing shortly."
* * *
"Here we are," he said, upon his return. He sat down, and handed the artwork in question to Richard.
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
Richard frowned down at the drawing with a disquieted look. For several terse moments he wa silent, the gears in his mind all but visibly turning with great unease and difficulty.
"Nothing. There is nothing coming to mind." He set the drawing down on his lap next to the journal and rubbed his face, nodding towards the book. "There are a number of childhood memories, but they are mostly.. innocent? things. Performances I attended or was in as a child, early years in a ballet studio, the layout of my family home, running through the halls with... my younger brother. My father and mother at the piano by the fireplace."
He does his best to remain tethered to the present, using the razor-sharp focus of Lewis' (mildly terrifying in its intensity) gaze as a weighted anchor.
"I did speak of witnessing my mother and father's deaths, and of... my role in my uncle's murder following the former. Of sitting down as a child in the kitchen, blinking, and then staring down at Gerard as it- he? whistled cheerfully at me for the first time."
He flipped to the page where he had mentioned a list of names and recited (some of) them back thoughtfully.
"Torke, in the bluntest of terms, was a gargoyle-like creature I made friends with after... Benediktas... passed. He was rude, and we frequently butted heads, but we made a good team when working for David and Kirin, a cryptozoologist and electrochemical neoalchemist respectively. Odds and end jobs, mostly.
Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller, Jack Crawford, and.. Will Graham were colleagues of mine for a time when I consulted on a series of murders connected to an earlier set of crimes. I had been in France long enough, at the time, to have connections to information they could not.. acquire through the usual means, and there had been enough tales of my penchant for cryptography that I came recommended to them by... a different consultant of theirs.
I... killed Elise and Lillian, though I did not speak of the latter. It felt important to add. Emily died from a fire that was my fault. Lauren, Holly, and Rose were sisters running an inn together, which I stay in when I find myself in the Alps exploring for one reason or another. They were the ones who found and pulled me from the same fire that claimed Emily."
He left out Hannibal's name deliberately, a twist of fear and guilt and rage digging its way into the depth of his stomach. After a moment, he shrugged.
"I either have not remembered anything more substantial, or it slipped my mind to write it down in the past."
His gaze returned to the picture. A strange mixture of terror, thrill, and revulsion swelled in his heart as he stared at it, recognition on the fringes of awareness yet just out of reach, like a piece of paper snatched up by the wind. He sighed and sank back against the pillow of his cot, closing his eyes to think once more.
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Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
Lewis nodded, and of course let Richard think for a bit, as the latter seemed to need to. But, eventually, Weir had to ask:
"Are the people in the drawing's stained-glass shards any of the people you just mentioned? Anyone you know?"
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
He cast a quick glance over the picture and shook his head, finding his answer immediately, despite his body's minute twitches as he struggled to come to terms with a wealth of information he hadn't known existed.
A wry smile passed his lips. "I do not suppose there is any chance of the... souls and picture and watching being an elaborate prank?"
He shook his head, knowing the truth full well. Still, it could hardly be blamed, his trying to make a joke. Humor was always a good defense mechanism.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago • edited
"Heh." Lewis returned the smile. "On the part of fate, perhaps."
Then his gaze turned downward as further thoughts welled up. He debated even expressing them, but...Richard had a right to know.
"Richard, there's...something I haven't mentioned, because I wasn't sure exactly how the pieces fit together. But it occurs to me presently that..." He broke off, collecting his thoughts. "In the workhouse...there was a moment where I sensed something not quite you, like a shadow behind you, like..." the Wizard of Oz--pay no attention to that blighter behind the curtain... "a gust of wind blowing through the reed that is you." With an air of derision, not of Richard but of the Other, he continued, "It was smug as anything. As if it did me a great favor in allowing me to catch a glimpse." He sighed. As if the Society needed another ego as large and fragile as the Hindenburg to contend with... "But, the thing is, around those soul-shards...I felt not just your energy, but also its. Like...like burnt edges around a fine manuscript. In point of fact, I think your memory lapses may not be entirely your fault. Unless I miss my guess, you've an unseen manipulator along for the ride, Richard, a...puppeteer, of sorts, who doesn't like to show its hand." He gathered his crutches and moved away from Prince. "And, even as I've been speaking with you of this, I've felt more and more intensely that sensation of being...watched. I daresay it's listening to us even now."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
Richard's smile turned bitter and brittle. What was a little more destruction of his shattered perception?
He didn't know what to say beyond "Wonderful. Exactly what I need, to know my entire life has been someone else's plaything. Wonderfully conductive to recovery."
He was grateful for knowing, but ignorance truly is bliss. Gods knew he'd seldom had bliss in his life.
(( Sorry, Richard... ))
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago • edited
Weir made an exasperated sound. Not at Richard, but at the truth of his statement, at the unseen hands at play, at fate...
"Well, puppeteer or no, I've said I'd help you, and I shall," he vowed with a nod, his jaw set. "To toy with free will is the lowest of the low. If this manipulator is tied to you metaphysically...I may well be able to loosen the strings." He gave a feline smile. "If not sever them entirely. It is my area of expertise, after all: the soul, one's being, one's...essence. Be it a poltergeist or a so-called 'Guardian of the Multiverse', I've no doubt I'll sound it out eventually."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
He offered another smile, feeling it grow dimmer and dimmer. Gods, he felt ill.
"I l-leave m-myself in y-your capable h-hands then, Doctor." His heart was momentarily warmed by relief and a warped form of cheer. He didn't deserve people like Lewis, Arty, Catt, Elias, or... any of his newfound friends, really. He shouldn't have any of them.
Gods help him, though, he was selfish. And so he did.
His eyes slowly slid off Lewis to the stag standing behind him, and he chuckled, reaching out a hand to it. It walked towards him, jolted out of its silent revere by his sudden movement. It stopped to loom above him before pushing the tines of its antlers through his throat, a continual reminder of... something. A plea, a wish. A hope yet unseen. He didn't notice the choked, gurgling sound he made as his eyes glazed over and he followed the sound of a cold mountain stream in his mind.
"Not yet, my constant companion. I will not lose you yet.
The stag led him further into the depths of his own mind with his own blood dripping from ivory antlers and ebony feathers.
The sensation of his hand falling from its place in the air to land on his false knee with a muffled metal 'clang!' jolted him from the riverbank all too soon. He was grateful- it kept the varying bits of his mind from getting caught in the currents and dashed around into smaller pieces.
As if he could feel any smaller than he already was. He resolutely ignored the many, many trains of thought that would give him an existential crisis in favor of pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his one good arm around them, curling into a ball in what was his only nervous tic, one he did not show to others very often for... obvious reasons.
Still, in a frankly irritatingly and paradoxically wonderful way, the feeling of confinement kept him grounded and comfortable, unlike... in any other similar circumstances, ever.
He let his forehead rest on his knees and sighed, momentarily forgetting Lewis was there.
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Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
Weir approached audibly, but not jarringly so. He laid his crutches aside, keeping his weight on his left leg. The scent of amber and sandalwood further heralded him to Richard as Lewis leaned down and gave him a gentle hug from behind. His breathing was soft, steady, reassuring; his body and presence, warm.
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
As always, he froze for a handful of moments as his mind assessed his situation, determined if he was in danger, then decided it was safe to relax. He sighed, soft and frustrated, tension momentarily leaving his shoulders.
Comfort. He still wasn't used to it.
He let his head fall back, a wounded, broken sound leaving his throat.
"Aš tik noriu žinoti ... mane," he whispered, "Aš tik noriu žinoti, Lewis." It was easier to hide behind the barrier of an unknown language. Easier and better to hide just how lost he was.
Did none of his life matter if it was some other.. thing's toy? Were any of the decisions he made truly his own? Were any of the deaths he'd caused by his own volition?
Was he truly a kind soul at heart, warped by another's cruel, unyielding flame? Was he truly a person Elias should love, instead of jagged edges and misplaced intentions. How much of his life was defined by these.. presences on, in, and around his life?
"Aš tik noriu žinoti ... mane." I just want to know... me (myself). Was that so hard a thing to ask? He had thought he had, at one point.
Maybe he had never changed from the boy standing in a burning mansion clutching his uncle's heart like a talisman, slowly cracking at the seams. With a wry smirk, he remembered his promise to his father, of never exposing his emotions to another, of remaining stoic.
He never had been good at keeping promises, he thought, as silent tears tracked down his face, catching in the corners of his watery grin. His chuckle was the worst parts of choked laughter and muffled sobs as his shoulders shook softly. He didn't want to disrupt Lewis, after all.
Bit late for that, probably.
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chatterghosts • 3 years ago
(( *nyooooms into action as one of my characters goes missing.....again* ))
All through his life, people had made the joke that Elias could only ever live like he was dying, locked in constant obsessions with the uncertainty of the future, but this, this was why. Because avoiding the vicious punches that life constantly seemed to throw at him was futile;
because he really was scared of dying, stupid decisions be damned, and he'd never, ever admit it to anyone;
because he just got back to his baby brother and this just wasn't fair;
and damn it, most of all because for all the nights he'd spent lying awake to wonder just how many more near misses Death would give him, he would resign to such a fate in one single heartbeat to save Arty from a pain that he had caused. Unbeknownst to him, however, this was not his fault-- not entirely.
There were none to appreciate it now, though. But the timing was impeccable: any later seen, and the puzzle pieces would have locked together at a much slower pace (a truth extended to Richard's understanding of the events as well).
Advancing that idea, the parallels that had occurred between Richard and Elias were, quite frankly, scary, though neither of them would ever have it known to each other just how true it was.
For the latter, however, the sequence of events and the revelations that followed had occurred in a significantly..different manner:
Kindly as she was, Nicolette never failed to make her weekly visit to the infirmary. It had been remarkable timing in the moment, seeing that Richard had departed not long before, but this time, her expression was creased with worry.
Gently and carefully, she stated that Arty hadn't come home that night. And of course, that had been news to Elias; after all, his sibling's absence - lack of a goodbye, rather - had led him to assume that Arty had been with her. (Though he was unaware presently, further investigations would provide that no one had seen his little brother--not in a day or so.)
He dismissed Nicolette soon after that with a smile all too knowing, patiently awaiting Richard's return once more. Days would pass. Oliver had gotten particularly curious, but Elias said nothing to him. He remained calm, he remained even, and his efforts to stay himself succeeded: in the events that ensued, not once did he transform.
In the aforementioned days, a certain rosey friend had visited him, bearing magical saliva that had ended up mending his damaged shin quite well. Nicolette's time there increased too, though she took admirable care in only discussing the absence of a certain sibling when Richard wasn't around (which was generally when he was shooed away to go 'stretch his legs').
In the end, the two reached a compromise - with Oliver's assistance, surprisingly. Couldn't have him doing something unneeded, after all. Elias could and did successfully gain his trust and aid in the search.
This time, he'd leave a note, offer reason for his absence. "Family business", he'd say. He'd vouch for Arty as well - he'd have to. Nicolette would answer any and all questions, the angel she was. He wasn't missing, this time. He wasn't abandoning post. Everything was to be accounted for, abrupt as it was.
He was grateful that he had people he could stay with - a specific face came to mind, albeit one that would need coaxing due to past estrangements. Luis would cooperate, though, he was sure of it. He'd always appreciated personal stakes. Rather, he had after Meridian's passing.
Nevermind the fact that both knew, subconsciously, that allowing Elias to work alone wasn't an option-- at least, not a safe one, or one that would end well for the parties involved.
Leaving a bitter letter behind promising his return in less than two months time, Elias would flee.
The problem was that there were simply too many variables. He could only assume, due to the terrifying convenience of the previous month's events, that Arty's absence was brought on by something of his own past. For what else would want him to suffer? Surely not Richard's own. The idea was simply unthinkable.
Wasn't it?
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Tairais  chatterghosts • 3 years ago
It most certainly was Richard's own past that wanted suffering, just not Elias'. Not that anyone but the who owned it knew.
Though Elias' departure was carefully planned to have some semblance of inscrutability, Richard knew he did not have the luxury of time to set his own failsafes in place.
Thus, the night of the very day Elias left the infirmary, he left the country. He had taken only what he could fit in his leather doctor's kit (which included many important, smaller items, his journal, and two spare changes of clothes), and the clothes he usually wore, accompanied by Jack's coat and a sturdier pair of boots than he would normally wear.
His damaged arm had been painstakingly replaced with its crude, unfeeling, skeletal counterpart, but that one did not shake and spark like his broken arm's predecessor, and he could not afford shaking hands for such precise work.
Aside from terse instructions to Gerard to inform only those necessary of his departure, he left no note, no hint he had gone. He hadn't even slept in the eerily-made bed- he'd sleep on trip across the Channel, in the carriages he'd have to take to avoid too much attention, et cetera.
He was headed to Germany. To the small town where he had met Doctors Fell and Anderson- and then his former mentors- over the cooling corpse of a very foolish drunkard.
He hoped, for Artemis' sake, that he was not wrong in his assumption of the 'circumstance' that he was to be seeing. Being wrong would cost Artemis weeks and months he could never regain.
He was going to lose those anyways, but it was best not to add to it. Much.
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chatterghosts  Tairais • 3 years ago
Elias had been left quite in the dark about the circumstances; therefore, when he began his own departure, his stopping by Richard's room had been entirely futile.
Easing open the door, Elias would find that the room was...eerily immaculate. Which was highly concerning, considering it's normally hurricane-wracked state. Cautiously, he shut the door behind him. Concerned, critical eyes swept across the room.
Tairais  chatterghosts • 3 years ago
An elated (frankly terrifying, given the quietness of the room before) whistle broke the silence almost as soon as Elias shut the door behind him, followed by a series of concerned and nervous... beep-like sounds.
Lo and behold, a quick glance around the very-disconcertingly-clean room revealed the source of the sounds to be a teakettle, casting gray and red light around the room as the last rays of the evening sun hit and bounced off its silver and ruby components. It danced nervously back and forth on its equivalent of feet for a few moments before it hopped over to Elias and let out a forlorn sort of sigh, like a depressed pennywhistle.
For a creature that only communicated in beeps, whistles, and shrieks, Gerard was surprisingly good at getting his message across.
chatterghosts  Tairais • 3 years ago
"OH, SH*T!" came the alarmed response to the shrill noise, as Elias quickly ducked to the side, gaze darting around before settling on...a teakettle.
First instinct was to punch the 'lights' out of the teakettle, but for multiple reasons, that idea was deemed no good.
A second thought: didn't Richard mention, almost in verbatim, a semi-sentient teakettle named... Gerald? No, wait. Gerard!
Thirdly, the whistles were really quite clear to him in their messages - perhaps more than they should have been, considering, but he wouldn't judge.
Slowly, his shoulders dropped. "I remember you, too. Richard is...gone, you say?"
Tairais  chatterghosts • 3 years ago
Gerard piped some sort of sound that managed to be both apologetic and chiding at once, as if it knew what Elias' reaction and instincts had been (and didn't really appreciate nearly being punched, understandably so).
That was quickly followed by a weary chirp of confirmation, a series of almost grumbled bubbling sounds, and the patter of metal "feet" across the floor as it hopped across the room towards on of the bookshelves, scrambled up a makeshift ladder with only a small amount of effort. After scanning the vast array of books before it, it knocked down a seemingly random book and watched as it fell open before landing on its spine on the floor.
Hopping down after it, it somehow managed to flip through the now-open book until it got to the page it needed. Though the book was written entirely in a language Elias couldn't read, it was immediately recognizable as German, with a picture of a coat of arms consisting of two crossed keys on a red background sitting next to the title of "Regensburg".
Gerard whistled cheerfully from his position on the floor, beckoning Elias to come and see.
chatterghosts  Tairais • 3 years ago
"My apologies, Gerard," he grumbled in response to the scolding. However bitter it was, the apology was genuine.
Elias watches on curiously as the teakettle scurries to retrieve the book and follows after with a cautious approach, kneeling aside Gerard slowly. His eyes soon fall to the book, and he points to the text, asking gently, "Is this where he is?"
Tairais  chatterghosts • 3 years ago
He whistled brightly in confirmation, then once more inquisitively, seemingly mollified by the honest apology.
It looked as if it were staring at him intently.
chatterghosts  Tairais • 3 years ago
He stares back at the teakettle, before scoffing. "Of course I'm going to help him." A pause. "What...exactly, is he doing there?"
Tairais  chatterghosts • 3 years ago • edited
A whistle, a flash of movement, and another book was pushed to the ground.
This book was a book on Greek mythology. The page it opened to?
A tale of one of Artemis' hunts.
Gerard let out a soft, apologetic whistle, almost a whine, really.
chatterghosts  Tairais • 3 years ago
Elias' breath hitches in his throat, and he quickly closes the book, tucking trembling hands beneath his legs. "Why didn't he tell me? Did he think I wouldn't notice?"
His words sounded more resentful than he intended. He knew full and well they were more than likely answers Gerard couldn't provide, but saying them to himself gave...comfort, he supposed.
Tairais  chatterghosts • 3 years ago
Gerard made an almost indignant sound on the behalf of his owner, the meaning of which was somehow clearly transferred despite the kettle's lack of... proper speech or body language.
He paused, then heaved the equivalent of a sigh, though it was a much more reedy sound than any human sound. A different series of whistles and low shrieks followed as afterthoughts.
chatterghosts  Tairais • 3 years ago
Elias wouldn't communicate it, but Gerard's statement had brought on a revelation that left him internally reeling in rage:
This is Richard's fault, and he wasn't even going to tell anyone.
(Ironically, this was where Oliver chose to speak out from his silence.)
Elias, don't be brash... This is personal to him too, and--
Did he just not care to tell me, or would I have just slowed him down? Does he think that low of me? Does he think I can't protect myself?
I doubt that was his thought, but you're...also prone to do stupid things. Now, if you would listen-
Quit helping his case, dammit! He can't justify this!
W- what, then,Why are you just going to go running after him? You'll get yourself killed!
Elias' fist had tightened during the short amount of time he'd spoken with Oliver, and though he'd yet to to notice, his nails were digging into his hand, and it was suffice to bleed.
I'm not going after for Richard. I'm going to go and get my brother.
He paused, slowly breathing in and out. He couldn't afford to get emotional now, couldn't afford a transformation-- there wasn't time.
Slowly, his eyes cracked open. Only a minute or two had passed. His voice didn't let on to the bitterness that was growing in his mind. "I'll go and...help him."
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Tairais  chatterghosts • 3 years ago
Gerard quietly whistled his skeptical concern, then darted away to places unseen, seeing its task as done for the time being. Unless anyone else came by, it was done with its task.
Eerie stillness fell over the room, and the stones of the Society continued standing, unaware of the great changes about to affect only a scant few of its residents.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago • edited
Some time later, Weir came to Prince's door and knocked.
"Richard? It's Lewis. I've been doing some research, and...I think I just may have found a way. Potentially."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
Tense silence greeted Lewis, not a singe noise coming from the room.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"Richard?" He knocked again. "Richard..."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
No response. The door shifted slightly, clearly unlocked.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago • edited
That was unusual. With a sense of concern and trepidation, Lewis entered.
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
The room was the same as it had been, with its eerie put-togetherness and air that was just the right side of disquiet to suggest someone who didn't belong had been there recently.
Once more, several moments passed before there was any form of sound, this time a distant metallic 'thud!', followed by the patter of metal feet across the floor.
Gerard nudged the door to Richard's workshop open from the inside, letting out a chirping whistle of welcome.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
This room was not at all as he'd seen it last; it looked as if it belonged to a martinet! Where was the happy clutter? The projects and letters and lived-in feel of the place?
This did not bode well...
At Gerard's whistle, Lewis started, then relaxed.
"H...hello, there, little one."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
Gerard whistled an apology, then hopped up to Lewis and gently bumped his leg like a dog would press its forehead against the hand that pet it. It hopped back and looked up at him with a chirping sort of inquisitive noise, leaning sideways in a manner that (rather adorably) emulated his owner's head-tilt rather closely.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"Have you seen Richard?" he asked. "Any idea why the place looks so...spartan?"
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
Gerard whistled a sliding sort of maybe, then followed with a mournful affirmative. It hopped over towards the books it had knocked down and let out a quiet sort of shrieking sound to summon Lewis its way.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
Lewis followed, using his cane to brace against his bad foot.
He saw the pages before him, but as he had no idea Artemis was missing, the book on mythology wasn't particularly helpful. Still, he could read German, and did see the reference to Regensburg.
"Has Richard...gone to Regensburg?" he asked, incredulous. "Whatever for?"
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago • edited
Gerard wobbled back and forth in the same way a human would shift back and forth on his feet. It tried to get its point across by nudging the book on mythology on top of the book about Germany.
'Sometimes' it thought in its own little way, 'Not being able to speak is awful.' The letter Richard had received was nowhere to be found, so there was little more it could do.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"Alright," said Lewis as he gave the mythology book another once-over.
What does Richard going to Regensburg have to do with the story of one of Artemis's...hunts...!
"Is...is Artemis gone missing?" he asked with alarm, remembering Elias's kidnapping all too well. Had he made the wrong choice? "Is it Joseph?" he asked as a terrible, sinking feeling washed over him.
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
A low, regretful, affirmative whistle preceded a shortened negative. After a pause, Gerard let out a hiss of frustration, not knowing how to get its message across. It piped a series of rapid-fire two and one-second chirps on a whim, without any care for if the meaning of them was heard.
Said series of chirps grew increasingly more frustrated and worried as it lasted for a good five minutes.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago • edited
Oh my word... thought Lewis. He couldn't believe his ears: The tea kettle was using...Morse code! He translated in his head as it continued:
"Hannibal and Will took him. Not that it matters, you probably can't hear me anyway. 'Stay here and tell those necessary where I've gone' he said, without telling me how I, as a teapot, am supposed to do that. I'm trying my best here! He's going to get himself killed!" There was a frustrated shriek. "Or, well, he won't. Because they all admire each other so much, but he's going to get hurt and he's not going to let anyone help him, not that anyone CAN because Hannibal and Will are really scary and really mean and" there came a very long shrieeeeeeeekkkkk before Gerard concluded (as best Weir could understand it), "I'm worried for him!"
Lewis blinked a few times and nodded his head slowly. He swallowed.
"I can certainly understand why," he said, his voice a little higher than he would've liked, his mind still absorbing the new information.
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
Gerard seemed similarly shocked that Lewis understood it at all, whistling lowly in amusement after the initial shock passed. That whistled was followed by a sigh-like sound as it tilted forward to rest what could be seen as the equivalent of its forehead on Lewis' shin, almost... grumbling.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"I...I can't simply up and go to Regensburg at this juncture, I'm afraid, but thank you for telling me; I am naturally concerned. Is there any way to contact Richard?"
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
A croaky mix of a Brooklyn and some indistinct Scottish accent filtered into the room, slightly muffled as it pushed through the glass of one of Richard's windows. It had a strange slithering and ethereal quality, as if the sound were coming from both right in front of you and directly whispered into your ear.
More than anything, though, the voice sounded coarse and grumpy.
"Yeah. Me, kid. You gonna invite me in? Or am I gonna have to sit out 'ere and wait for Gerard ta try and find the right combination of whistles tae qualify as an invitation for the third time this decade?"
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Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
For a moment, Lewis blinked and stood with mouth open slightly. Then he simply decided to accept one more impossible thing and proceed onward.
Why the hell not?
He opened the window.
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
Gerard chirped excitedly. In another impossible turn of events, the raven- or at least, the-thing-that-looked-like-a-raven smiled at the animate teakettle with a mouthful of pointed teeth. "Heya, kiddo." Gerard whistled happily, hopping up and down slightly.
The raven's sharp smile and gaze focused on Lewis after its smile widened at the teakettle. "Ya gotta invite me in all vampire-like, kid. Name's Charricthran. Messenger, miscreant, mischief-maker, minor demon. Friend o' Richard first and foremost, though, so doncha worry 'bout my intentions."
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"Friend of Richard's?" repeated Lewis, with the passing reflection of how odd it was that the sudden appearance of a demon should be a potentially lucky thing. "Excellent. So am I. If I gave you a message, could you get it to him? Even bring back his reply?"
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
"'Course, kid. Be a useless messenger if I couldn't. Besides, I only ever show up when th' man's aboutt do something tha' has a high likelihood o' him gettin killed, see? But that's irrelevant. I can get ya a letter and bring yours over, yeah. Much faster than any other bird, too, kid."
He paused and tilted his head, and really, did everything associated with Richard do that same, considering gesture. "Say, ya still haven't invited me in, kid."
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago • edited
Weir gave a lopsided, closed-mouthed smile.
"Noticed that, did you? Clever lad. Given the powers with which our mutual friend is entangled, surely you can understand my caution. I shall write Richard a letter, which you shall deliver to him, just as you say. When you return with his written reply--including his signature and express instruction to invite you in--then, and only then, will I do so."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
The thing-that-wasn't-a-raven's red eyes glowed for half a second as his expression warped to one of equal parts anger, indignation, and amusement.
"Write away then, lad. "
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
Lewis merely chuckled in amusement and made use of Richard's writing desk.
Fitting, given that I've just spoken with a raven of sorts, he mused to himself.
He returned shortly with the letter, having folded and rolled it tightly enough that it would fit on Charricthran's leg. He also bore a small piece of string, which he'd found among Prince's supplies.
"Here we are, then."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
"Don't bother with the string, kid, he's probably still close an' well enough I won't have ta hold it long."
Charricthran held out a taloned foot like others would hold out a hand, a shimmering, purple barrier of sorts flickering nigh-on transparently in the light of day as it came closer to the threshold of the window.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago • edited
Lewis proffered the letter, letting it--but not his fingertips--pass through the barrier and into Charricthran's grasp.
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
Charricthran grabbed the letter, flashed a wink and a smile towards Lewis and Gerard respectively, then hopped off the window ledge. When he was but three feet from the ground, he vanished with a puff of maroon-colored smoke.
Gerard turned towards Lewis and whistled a soft question.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago • edited
"Ah, no, but thank you," replied Lewis. "You've been most helpful already." He looked out the window, hands resting behind his back. "Now all that remains is to wait and see."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
With a slight warping, popping sound and a small puff of the same maroon smoke, the raven appeared about thirty minutes later with a new letter in his mouth, setting it on the window ledge and rolling it into Lewis' hand with a smirk.
"He sighed and told me ta say 'Of course it would be you who sees Charricthran first. At this point, I am running out of secrets to hide.' He was jokin', 'course. Least I think he was."
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
Lewis chuckled. That did sound like Richard.
"Thank you, Charricthran," he said, taking the letter and unfurling it.
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
The letter basically confirmed most, if not all of Lewis's suspicions. Richard hadn't a clue where Elias was, but hoped he didn't end up on his trail for.. understandable reasons. The letter spent a few sentences explaining that his priority was to rescue, not seek vengeance before also confirming, in an almost amused way, that yes, Charricthran was allowed to be invited in.
He had already known Gerard could speak Morse Code, though if the tone in his letter was anything to go by, Lewis's note of the discovery amused him greatly. The letter closed with a promise to keep in touch and Richard's flowing, spidery cursive.
The aforementioned raven tapped a claw against the windowsill. "Good enough for ye, kid?"
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"Ay, lad," he returned with a short laugh. "Good enough." A fond smile. "Come on in."
Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
"Thanks, kid."
The bird flew into the room with an elegant little flourish, alighting onto the back of Richard's sofa.
"Can't send another for a few hours at least, but the option's there if ya want it. I'm not goin' anywhere else for a while, so I'll be here even when ya leave."
The marking on his chest glowed, causing him to glance down in surprise. "Well. Wonder what he's seen that's gotten 'im all in a tizzy. Probably nothin' life threatening. Different color for that." He gave the birdlike equivalent of a shrug, as if to say 'what can ya do?'.
Jekyll1886  Tairais • 3 years ago
"Interesting." You're a supernatural mood ring for Richard, then? "Would he and you mind keeping me appraised of his progress in the search? I'm willing to help, but not till I'm needed."
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Tairais  Jekyll1886 • 3 years ago
"That's one way of putting it. An' of course. I can't actually follow him around unless one o' you has a letter to give to the other. I can see what he's doin', just can't get ta him, y'see?" He fluttered to the top of one of the bookcases, shifting as if to get comfortable before he grinned.
"As for help... Well, the idiot ain't gonna ask for it any time soon. This is a dance between him and th' two of his... mentors, for foreseeable future. Intimate and terrifying and graceful, y'know? Doesn't want to share it. Doesn't help he's fourth little brother riding on it too."
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